10937	----	LIFE OF ST. MOCHUDA OF LISMORE (Edited from MS. in Library of Royal Irish Academy). Translated from the Irish With Introduction by REV. P. POWER, M.R.I.A. University College, Cork. PREFACE It is solely the historical aspect and worth of the two tracts herewith presented that appealed to their edition and first suggested to him their preparation and publication. Had preparation in question depended for its motive merely on considerations of the texts' philologic interest or value it would, to speak frankly, never have been undertaken. The editor, who disclaims qualification as a philologist, regards these Lives as very valuable historical material, publication of which may serve to light up some dark corners of our Celtic ecclesiastical past. He is egotist enough to hope that the present "blazing of the track," inadequate and feeble though it be, may induce other and better equipped explorers to follow. The present editor was studying the Life of Declan [Project Gutenberg Etext #823] for quite another purpose when, some years since, the zealous Hon. Secretary of the Irish Texts Society suggested to him publication of the tract in its present form, and addition of the Life of Carthach [Mochuda]. Whatever credit therefore is due to originating this work is Miss Hull's, and hers alone. The editor's best thanks are due, and are hereby most gratefully tendered, to Rev. M. Sheehan, D.D., D.Ph., Rev. Paul Walsh, Rev. J. MacErlhean, S.J., M.A., as well as to Mr. R. O'Foley, who, at much expense of time and labour, have carefully read the proofs, and, with unselfish prodigality of their scholarly resources, have made many valuable suggestions and corrections. P.P. INTRODUCTION--GENERAL A most distinctive class of ancient Irish literature, and probably the class that is least popularly familiar, is the hagiographical. It is, the present writer ventures to submit, as valuable as it is distinctive and as well worthy of study as it is neglected. While annals, tales and poetry have found editors the Lives of Irish Saints have remained largely a mine unworked. Into the causes of this strange neglect it is not the purpose of the present introduction to enter. Suffice it to glance in passing at one of the reasons which has been alleged in explanation, scil.:--that the "Lives" are uncritical and romantic, that they abound in wild legends, chronological impossibilities and all sorts of incredible stories, and, finally, that miracles are multiplied till the miraculous becomes the ordinary, and that marvels are magnified till the narrative borders on the ludicrous. The Saint as he is sketched is sometimes a positively repulsive being--arrogant, venomous, and cruel; he demands two eyes or more for one, and, pucklike, fairly revels in mischief! As painted he is in fact more a pagan deity than a Christian man. The foregoing charges may, or must, be admitted partially or in full, but such admission implies no denial of the historical value of the Lives. All archaic literature, be it remembered, is in a greater or less degree uncritical, and it must be read in the light of the writer's times and surroundings. That imagination should sometimes run riot and the pen be carried beyond the boundary line of the strictly literal is perhaps nothing much to be marvelled at in the case of the supernatural minded Celt with religion for his theme. Did the scribe believe what he wrote when he recounted the multiplied marvels of his holy patron's life? Doubtless he did--and why not! To the unsophisticated monastic and mediaeval mind, as to the mind of primitive man, the marvellous and supernatural is almost as real and near as the commonplace and natural. If anyone doubts this let him study the mind of the modern Irish peasant; let him get beneath its surface and inside its guardian ring of shrinking reserve; there he will find the same material exactly as composed the mind of the tenth century biographers of Declan and Mochuda. Dreamers and visionaries were of as frequent occurrence in Erin of ages ago as they are to-day. Then as now the supernatural and marvellous had a wondrous fascination for the Celtic mind. Sometimes the attraction becomes so strong as seemingly to overbalance the faculty of distinguishing fact from fancy. Of St. Bridget we are gravely told that to dry her wet cloak she hung in out on a sunbeam! Another Saint sailed away to a foreign land on a sod from his native hillside! More than once we find a flagstone turned into a raft to bear a missionary band beyond the seas! St. Fursey exchanged diseases with his friend Magnentius, and, stranger still, the exchange was arranged and effected by correspondence! To the saints moreover are ascribed lives of incredible duration--to Mochta, Ibar, Seachnal, and Brendan, for instance, three hundred years each; St. Mochaemog is credited with a life of four hundred and thirteen years, and so on! Clan, or tribe, rivalry was doubtless one of the things which made for the invention and multiplication of miracles. If the patron of the Decies is credited with a miracle, the tribesmen of Ossory must go one better and attribute to their tribal saint a marvel more striking still. The hagiographers of Decies retort for their patron by a claim of yet another miracle and so on. It is to be feared too that occasionally a less worthy motive than tribal honour prompted the imagination of our Irish hagiographers--the desire to exploit the saint and his honour for worldly gain. The "Lives" of the Irish Saints contain an immense quantity of material of first rate importance for the historian of the Celtic church. Underneath the later concoction of fable is a solid substratum of fact which no serious student can ignore. Even where the narrative is otherwise plainly myth or fiction it sheds many a useful sidelight on ancient manners, customs and laws as well as on the curious and often intricate operations of the Celtic mind. By "Lives" are here meant the old MS. biographies which have come down to us from ages before the invention of printing. Sometimes these "Lives" are styled "Acts." Generally we have only one standard "Life" of a saint and of this there are usually several copies, scattered in various libraries and collections. Occasionally a second Life is found differing essentially from the first, but, as a rule, the different copies are only recensions of a single original. Some of the MSS. are parchment but the majority are in paper; some Lives again are merely fragments and no doubt scores if not hundreds of others have been entirely lost. Of many hundreds of our Irish saints we have only the meagre details supplied by the martyrologies, with perhaps occasional reference to them in the Lives of other saints. Again, finally, the memory of hundreds and hundreds of saints additional survives only in place names or is entirely lost. There still survive probably over a hundred "Lives"--possibly one hundred and fifty; this, however, does not imply that therefore we have Lives of one hundred or one hundred and fifty saints, for many of the saints whose Acts survive have really two sets of the latter--one in Latin and the other in Irish; moreover, of a few of the Latin Lives and of a larger number of the Irish Lives we have two or more recensions. There are, for instance, three independent Lives of St. Mochuda and one of these is in two recensions. The surviving Lives naturally divide themselves into two great classes-- the Latin Lives and the Irish,--written in Latin and Irish respectively. We have a Latin Life only of some saints, and Irish Life only of others, and of others again we have a Latin Life and an Irish. It may be necessary to add the Acts which have been translated into Latin by Colgan or the Bollandists do not of course rank as Latin Lives. Whether the Latin Lives proper are free translations of the Irish Lives or the Irish Lives translations of Latin originals remains still, to a large extent, an open question. Plummer ("Vitae SSm. Hib.," Introd.) seems to favour the Latin Lives as the originals. His reasoning here however leaves one rather unconvinced. This is not the place to go into the matter at length, but a new bit of evidence which makes against the theory of Latin originals may be quoted; it is furnished by the well known collection of Latin Lives known as the Codex Salmanticensis, to which are appended brief marginal notes in mixed middle Irish and Latin. One such note to the Life of St. Cuangus of Lismore (recte Liathmore) requests a prayer for him who has translated the Life out of the Irish into Latin. If one of the Lives, and this a typical or characteristic Life, be a translation, we may perhaps assume that the others, or most of them, are translations also. In any case we may assume as certain that there were original Irish materials or data from which the formal Lives (Irish or Latin) were compiled. The Latin Lives are contained mainly in four great collections. The first and probably the most important of these is in the Royal Library at Brussels, included chiefly in a large MS. known as 'Codex Salmanticensis' from the fact that it belonged in the seventeenth century to the Irish College of Salamanca. The second collection is in Marsh's Library, Dublin, and the third in Trinity College Library. The two latter may for practical purposes be regarded as one, for they are sister MSS.--copied from the same original. The Marsh's Library collection is almost certainly, teste Plummer, the document referred to by Colgan as Codex Kilkenniensis and it is quite certainly the Codex Ardmachanus of Fleming. The fourth collection (or the third, if we take as one the two last mentioned,) is in the Bodleian at Oxford amongst what are known as the Rawlinson MSS. Of minor importance, for one reason or another, are the collections of the Franciscan Library, Merchants' Quay, Dublin, and in Maynooth College respectively. The first of the enumerated collections was published 'in extenso,' about twenty-five years since, by the Marquis of Bute, while recently the gist of all the Latin collections has been edited with rare scholarship by Rev. Charles Plummer of Oxford. Incidentally may be noted the one defect in Mr. Plummer's great work--its author's almost irritating insistence on pagan origins, nature myths, and heathen survivals. Besides the Marquis of Bute and Plummer, Colgan and the Bollandists have published some Latin Lives, and a few isolated "Lives" have been published from time to time by other more or less competent editors. The Irish Lives, though more numerous than the Latin, are less accessible. The chief repertorium of the former is the Burgundian or Royal Library, Brussels. The MS. collection at Brussels appears to have originally belonged to the Irish Franciscans of Louvain and much of it is in the well-known handwriting of Michael O'Clery. There are also several collections of Irish Lives in Ireland--in the Royal Irish Academy, for instance, and Trinity College Libraries. Finally, there are a few Irish Lives at Oxford and Cambridge, in the British Museum, Marsh's Library, &c., and in addition there are many Lives in private hands. In this connection it can be no harm, and may do some good, to note that an apparently brisk, if unpatriotic, trade in Irish MSS. (including of course "Lives" of Saints) is carried on with the United States. Wealthy, often ignorant, Irish-Americans, who are unable to read them, are making collections of Irish MSS. and rare Irish books, to Ireland's loss. Some Irish MSS. too, including Lives of Saints, have been carried away as mementoes of the old land by departing emigrants. The date or period at which the Lives (Latin and Irish) were written is manifestly, for half a dozen good reasons, a question of the utmost importance to the student of the subject. Alas, that the question has to some extent successfully defied quite satisfactory solution. We can, so far, only conjecture--though the probabilities seem strong and the grounds solid. The probabilities are that the Latin Lives date as a rule from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, when they were put into something like their present form for reading (perhaps in the refectory) in the great religious houses. They were copied and re-copied during the succeeding centuries and the scribes according to their knowledge, devotion or caprice made various additions, subtractions and occasional multiplications. The Irish Lives are almost certainly of a somewhat earlier date than the Latin and are based partly (i.e. as regards the bulk of the miracles) on local tradition, and partly (i.e. as regards the purely historical element) on the authority of written materials. They too were, no doubt, copied and interpolated much as were the Latin Lives. The present copies of Irish Lives date as a rule from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries only, and the fact that the Latin and the Irish Life (where there is this double biography) sometimes agree very perfectly may indicate that the Latin translation or Life is very late. The chief published collections of Irish Saints' Lives may be set down as seven, scil.:--five in Latin and one each in Irish and English. The Latin collections are the Bollandists', Colgan's, Messingham's, Fleming's, and Plummer's; the Irish collection is Stokes' ("Lives of Saints from the Book of Lismore") and the English is of course O'Hanlon's. Most striking, probably, of the characteristics of the "Lives" is their very evident effort to exalt and glorify the saint at any cost. With this end of glorification in view the hagiographer is prepared to swallow everything and record anything. He has, in fact, no critical sense and possibly he would regard possession of such a sense as rather an evil thing and use of it as irreverent. He does not, as a consequence, succeed in presenting us with a very life-like or convincing portrait of either the man or the saint. Indeed the saint, as drawn in the Lives, is, as already hinted, a very unsaintlike individual--almost as ready to curse as to pray and certainly very much more likely to smite the aggressor than to present to him the other cheek. In the text we shall see St. Mochuda, whose Life is a specially sane piece of work, cursing on the same occasion, first, King Blathmac and the Prince of Cluain, then, the rich man Cronan who sympathised with the eviction, next an individual named Dubhsulach who winked insolently at him, and finally the people of St. Columba's holy city of Durrow who had stirred up hostile feeling against him. Even gentle female saints can hurl an imprecation too. St. Laisrech, for instance, condemned the lands of those who refused her tribute, to--nettles, elder shrub, and corncrakes! It is pretty plain that the compilers of the lives had some prerogatives, claims or rights to uphold--hence this frequent insistence on the evil of resisting the Saint and presumably his successors. One characteristic of the Irish ascetics appears very clear through all the exaggeration and all the biographical absurdity; it is their spirit of intense mortification. To understand this we have only to study one of the ancient Irish Monastic Rules or one of the Irish Penitentials as edited by D'Achery ("Spicilegium") or Wasserschleben ("Irische Kanonensamerlung"). Severest fasting, unquestioning obedience and perpetual self renunciation were inculcated by the Rules and we have ample evidence that they were observed with extraordinary fidelity. The Rule of Maelruin absolutely forbade the use of meat or of beer. Such a prohibition a thousand years ago was an immensely more grievous thing than it would sound to-day. Wheaten bread might partially supply the place of meat to-day, but meat was easier to procure than bread in the eighth century. Again, a thousand years ago, tea or coffee there was none and even milk was often difficult or impossible to procure in winter. So severe in fact was the fast that religious sometimes died of it. Bread and water being found insufficient to sustain life and health, gruel was substituted in some monasteries and of this monastic gruel there were three varieties:--(a) "gruel upon water" in which the liquid was so thick that the meal reached the surface, (b) "gruel between two waters" in which the meal, while it did not rise to the surface, did not quite fall to the bottom, and (c) "gruel under water" which was so weak and so badly boiled that he meal easily fell to the bottom. In the case of penitents the first brand of gruel was prescribed for light offences, the second kind for sins of ordinary gravity, and the "gruel under water" for extraordinary crimes (vid. Messrs. Gwynne and Purton on the Rule of Maelruin, &c.) The most implicit, exact and prompt obedience was prescribed and observed. An overseer of Mochuda's monastery at Rahen had occasion to order by name a young monk called Colman to do something which involved his wading into a river. Instantly a dozen Colmans plunged into the water. Instances of extraordinary penance abound, beside which the austerities of Simon Stylites almost pale. The Irish saints' love of solitude was also a very marked characteristic. Desert places and solitary islands of the ocean possessed an apparently wonderful fascination for them. The more inaccessible or forbidding the island the more it was in request as a penitential retreat. There is hardly one of the hundred islands around the Irish coast which, one time or another, did not harbour some saint or solitary upon its rocky bosom. The testimony of the "Lives" to the saints' love and practice of prayer is borne out by the evidence of more trustworthy documents. Besides private prayers, the whole psalter seems to have been recited each day, in three parts of fifty psalms each. In addition, an immense number of Pater Nosters was prescribed. The office and prayers were generally pretty liberally interspersed with genuflexions or prostrations, of which a certain anchorite performed as many as seven hundred daily. Another penitential action which accompanied prayer was the 'cros-figul.' This was an extension of the arms in the shape of a cross; if anyone wants to know how difficult a practice this is let him try it for, say, fifteen minutes. Regarding recitation of the Divine Office it was of counsel, and probably of precept, that is should not be from memory merely, but that the psalms should all be read. For this a good reason was given by Maelruin, i.e. that the recitation might engage the eye as well as the tongue and thought. An Irish homily refers to the mortification of the saints and religious of the time as martyrdom, of which it distinguishes three kinds--red, white, and blue. Red martyrdom was death for the faith; white martyrdom was the discipline of fasting, labour and bodily austerities; while blue martyrdom was abnegation of the will and heartfelt sorrow for sin. One of the puzzles of Irish hagiology is the great age attributed to certain saints--periods of two hundred, three hundred, and even four hundred years. Did the original compilers of the Life intend this? Whatever the full explanation be the writers of the Lives were clearly animated by a desire to make their saint cotemporary and, if possible, a disciple, of one or other of the great monastic founders, or at any rate to prove him a pupil of one of the great schools of Erin. There was special anxiety to connect the saint with Bangor or Clonard. To effect the connection in question it was sometimes necessary to carry the life backwards, at other times to carry it forwards, and occasionally to lengthen it both backwards and forwards. Dr. Chas. O'Connor gives a not very convincing explanation of the three-hundred-year "Lives," scil.:-- that the saint lived in three centuries--during the whole of one century and in the end and beginning respectively of the preceding and succeeding centuries. This explanation, even if satisfactory for the three-hundred-year Lives, would not help at all towards the Lives of four hundred years. A common explanation is that the scribe mistook numerals in the MS. before him and wrote the wrong figures. There is no doubt that copying is a fruitful source of error as regards numerals. It is much more easy to make a mistake in a numeral than in a letter; the context will enable one to correct the letter, while it will give him no clue as regards a numeral. On the subject of the alleged longevity of Irish Saints Anscombe has recently been elaborating in 'Eriu' a new and very ingenious theory. Somewhat unfortunately the author happens to be a rather frequent propounder of ingenious theories. His explanation is briefly--the use and confusion of different systems of chronology. He alleges that the original writers used what is called the Diocletian Era or the "Era of the Martyrs" as the 'terminus a quo' of their chronological system and, in support of his position, he adduces the fact that this, which was the most ancient of all ecclesiastical eras, was the era used by the schismatics in Britain and that it was introduced by St. Patrick. As against the contradiction, anachronisms and extravagances of the Lives we have to put the fact that generally speaking the latter corroborate one another, and that they receive extern corroboration from the annals. Such disagreements as occur are only what one would expect to find in documents dealing with times so remote. To the credit side too must go the fact that references to Celtic geography and to local history are all as a rule accurate. Of continental geography and history however the writers of the Lives show much ignorance, but scarcely quite as much as the corresponding ignorance shown by Continental writers about Ireland. The missionary methods of the early Irish Church and its monastic or semi-monastic system are frequently referred to as peculiar, if not unique. A missionary system more or less similar must however have prevailed generally in that age. What other system could have been nearly as successful amongst a pagan people circumstanced as the Irish were? The community system alone afforded the necessary mutual encouragement and protection to the missionaries. Each monastic station became a base of operations. The numerous diminutive dioceses, quasi-dioceses, or tribal churches, were little more than extensive parishes and the missionary bishops were little more in jurisdiction than glorified parish priests. The bishop's 'muintir,' that is the members of his household, were his assistant clergy. Having converted the chieftain or head of the tribe the missionary had but to instruct and baptise the tribesmen and to erect churches for them. Land and materials for the church were provided by the Clan or the Clan's head, and lands for support of the missioner or of the missionary community were allotted just as they had been previously allotted to the pagan priesthood; in fact there can be but little doubt that the lands of the pagan priests became in many cases the endowment of the Christian establishment. It is not necessary, by the way, to assume that the Church in Ireland as Patrick left it, was formally monastic. The clergy lived in community, it is true, but it was under a somewhat elastic rule, which was really rather a series of Christian and Religious counsels. A more formal monasticism had developed by the time of Mochuda; this was evidently influenced by the spread of St. Benedict's Rule, as Patrick's quasi-monasticism, nearly two centuries previously, had been influenced by Pachomius and St. Basil, through Lerins. The real peculiarity in Ireland was that when the community-missionary system was no longer necessary it was not abandoned as in other lands but was rather developed and emphasised. INTRODUCTION--ST. MOCHUDA "It was he (Mochuda) that had the famous congregation consisting of seven hundred and ten persons; an angel used to address every third man of them." (Martyrology of Donegal). In some respects the Life of Mochuda here presented is in sharp contrast to the corresponding Life of Declan. The former document is in all essentials a very sober historical narrative--accurate wherever we can test it, credible and harmonious on the whole. Philologically, to be sure, it is of little value,--certainly a much less valuable Life than Declan's; historically, however (and question of the pre-Patrician mission apart) it is immensely the more important document. On one point do we feel inclined to quarrel with its author, scil.: that he has not given us more specifically the motives underlying Mochuda's expulsion from Rahen--one of the three worst counsels ever given in Erin. Reading between his lines we spell, jealousy--'invidia religiosorum.' Another jealousy too is suggested--the mutual distrust of north and south which has been the canker-worm of Irish political life for fifteen hundred years, making intelligible if not justifying the indignation of a certain distinguished Irishman who wanted to know the man's name, in order to curse its owner, who first divided Ireland into two provinces. Three different Lives of Mochuda are known to the present writer. Two of them are contained in a MS. at Brussels (C/r. Bindon, p. 8, 13) and of one of these there is a copy in a MS. of Dineen's in the Royal Irish Academy (Stowe Collection, A. IV, I.) Dineen appears to have been a Cork or Kerry man and to have worked under the patronage of the rather noted Franciscan Father Francis Matthew (O'Mahony), who was put to death at Cork by Inchiquin in 1644. The bald text of Dineen's "Life" was published a few years since, without translation, in the 'Irish Rosary.' The corresponding Brussels copy is in Michael O'Clery's familiar hand. In it occurs the strange pagan-flavoured story of the British Monk Constantine. O'Clery's copy was made in January, 1627, at the Friary of Drouish from the Book of Tadhg O'Ceanan and it is immediately followed by a tract entitled--"Do Macaib Ua Suanac." The bell of Mochuda, by the way, which the saint rang against Blathmac, was called the 'glassan' of Hui Suanaig in later times. The "Life" here printed, which follows the Latin Life so closely that one seems a late translation of the other, is as far as the editor is aware, contained in a single MS. only. This is M. 23, 50, R.I.A., in the handwriting of John Murphy, "na Raheenach." Murphy was a Co. Cork schoolmaster, scribe, and poet, of whom a biographical sketch will be found prefixed by Mr. R. A. Foley to a collection of Murphy's poems that he has edited. The sobriquet, "na Raheenach," is really a kind of tribal designation. The "Life" is very full but is in its present form a comparatively late production; it was transcribed by Murphy between 1740 and 1750. It is much to be regretted that the scribe tells us nothing of his original. Murphy, but the way, seems to have specialised to some extent in saint's Lives and to have imbued his disciples with something of the same taste. One of his pupils was Maurice O'Connor, a scribe and shipwright of Cove, to whom we owe the Life of St. Ciaran of Saighir printed in "Silva Gadelica." The reasons of choice for publication here of the present Life are avowedly non-philological; the motive for preference is that it is the longest of the three Lives and for historical purposes the most important. The Life presents considerable evidence of historical reliability; its geography is detailed and correct; its references to contemporaries of Mochuda are accurate on the whole and there are few inconsistencies or none. Moreover it sheds some new light on that chronic puzzle-- organisation of the Celtic Church of Ireland. Mochuda, head of a great monastery at Rahen, is likewise a kind of pluralist Parish Priest with a parish in Kerry, administered in his name by deputed ecclesiastics, and other parishes similarly administered in Kerrycurrihy, Rostellan, West Muskerry, and Spike Island, Co. Cork. When a chief parishioner lies seriously ill in distant Corca Duibhne, Mochuda himself comes all the way from the centre of Ireland to administer the last rites to the dying man, and so on. The relations of the people to the Church and its ministers are in many respects not at all easy to understand. Oblations, for instance, of themselves and their territory, &c., by chieftains are frequent. Oblations of monasteries are made in a similar way. Probably this signifies no more than that the chief region or monastery put itself under the saint's jurisdiction or rule or both. That there were other churches too than the purely monastic appears from offerings to Mochuda of already existing churches, v.g. from the Clanna Ruadhan in Decies, &c. Lismore, the most famous of Mochuda's foundations, became within a century of the saint's death, one of the great monastic schools of Erin, attracting to his halls, or rather to its boothies, students from all Ireland and even--so it is claimed--from lands beyond the seas. King Alfrid [Aldfrith] of Northumbria, for instance, is said to have partaken of Lismore's hospitality, and certainly Cormac of Cashel, Malachy and Celsus of Armagh and many others of the most distinguished of the Scots partook thereof. The roll of Lismore's calendared saints would require, did the matter fall within our immediate province, more than one page to itself. Some interesting reference to Mochuda and his holy city occur in the Life of one of his disciples, St. Colman Maic Luachain, edited for the R.I.A. by Professor Kuno Meyer. There are many indications in the present Life that, at one period, and in the time of Carthach, the western boundary of Decies extended far beyond the line at present recognised. Similar indications are furnished by the martyrologies, &c.; for instance, the martyrology of Donegal under November 28th records of "the three sons of Bochra" that "they are of Archadh Raithin in Ui Mic Caille in Deisi Mumhan" and Ibid, p. xxxvii, it is stated "i ccondae Corcaige ataid na Desi Muman." Not only Imokilly but all Co. Cork, east of Queenstown [Cobh] and north to the Blackwater, seems to have acknowledged Mochuda's jurisdiction. At Rathbreasail accordingly (teste Keating, on the authority of the Book of Cloneneigh) the Diocese of Lismore is made to extend to Cork,--probably over the present baronies of Imokilly, Kinatallon, and Barrymore. That part, at least, of Condons and Clangibbon was likewise included is inferrible from the fact that, as late as the sixteenth century visitations, Kilworth, founded by Colman Maic Luachain, ranked as a parish in the diocese of Lismore. Further evidence pointing in the same direction is furnished by Clondulane, &c., represented in the present Life as within Carthach's jurisdiction. The Rule of St. Carthach is one of the few ancient Irish so-called monastic Rules surviving. It is in reality less a "rule," as the latter is now understood, than a series of Christian and religious counsels drawn up by a spiritual master for his disciples. It must not be understood from this that each religious house did not have it formal regulations. The latter however seem to have depended largely upon the abbot's spirit, will or discretion. The existing "Rules" abound in allusions to forgotten practices and customs and, to add to their obscurity, their language is very difficult--sometimes, like the language of the Brehon Laws, unintelligible. The rule ascribed to Mochuda is certainly a document of great antiquity and may well have emanated from the seventh century and from the author whose name it bears. The tradition of Lismore and indeed of the Irish Church is constant in attributing it to him. Copies of the Rule are found in numerous MSS. but many of them are worthless owing to the incompetence of the scribes to whom the difficult Irish of the text was unintelligible. The text in the Leabhar Breac has been made the basis of his edition of the Rule by Mac Eaglaise, a writer in the 'Irish Ecclesiastical Record' (1910). Mac Eaglaise's edition, though it is not all that could be desired, is far the most satisfactory which has yet appeared. Previous editions of the Rule or part of it comprise one by Dr. Reeves in his tract on the Culdees, one by Kuno Meyer in the 'Gaelic Journal' (Vol. V.) and another in 'Archiv fuer C.L.' (3 Bund. 1905), and another again in 'Eriu' (Vol. 2, p. 172), besides a free translation of the whole rule by O'Curry in the 'I. R. Record' for 1864. The text of the 'Record' edition of 1910 is from Leabhar Breac collated with other MSS. The order in the various copies is not the same and some copies contain material which is wanting in others. The "Rule" commences with the Ten Commandments, then it enumerates the obligations respectively of bishops, abbots, priests, monks, and culdees [anchorites]. Finally there is a section on the order of meals and on the refectory and another on the obligations of a king. The following excerpt on the duties of an abbot ('I. E. Record' translation) will illustrate the style and spirit of the Rule: "Of the Abbot of a Church. 1.--If you be the head man of a Church noble is the power, better for you that you be just who take the heirship of the king. 2.--If you are the head man of a Church noble is the obligation, preservation of the rights of the Church from the small to the great. 3.--What Holy Church commands preach then with diligence; what you order to each one do it yourself. 4.--As you love your own soul love the souls of all. Yours the magnification of every good [and] banishment of every evil. 5.--Be not a candle under a bushel [Luke 11:33]. Your learning without a cloud over it. Yours the healing of every host both strong and weak. 6.--Yours to judge each one according to grade and according to deed; he will advise you at judgment before the king. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10.--Yours to rebuke the foolish, to punish the hosts, turning disorder into order [restraint] of the stubborn, obstinate, wretched." Reservation of the Coarbship of Mochuda at Lismore in favour of Kerrymen is an extremely curious if not unique provision. How long it continued in force we do not know. Probably it endured to the twelfth century and possibly the rule was not of strict interpretation. Christian O'Connarchy, who was bishop of Lismore in the twelfth century, is regarded as a native of Decies, though the contrary is slightly suggested by his final retirement to Kerry. The alleged prophecy concerning Kerry men and the coarbship points to some rule, regulation or law of Mochuda. LIFE OF ST. MOCHUDA or "BEATA MOCUDA" The renowned bishop, Carthach, commonly called Mochuda, was of the territory of Ciarraighe Luachra [North Kerry] and of the race of Fergus Mac Roigh. The illustrious bishop, who is generally known as Mochuda, was of the Ciarraighe Luachra; to be exact--he was of the line of Fergus Mac Roigh, who held the kingship of Ulster, till the time that he gave the kingship to a woman for a year and did not get it back when the year was over. His descendants are now to be found throughout various provinces of Ireland. He fell himself, through the treachery of Oilioll, king of Connaght, and the latter's jealousy of his wife, Meadbh, daughter of Eochaid Feidhleach. Finghen Mac Gnaoi of Ciarraighe Luachra was father of Mochuda, and his mother was Mead, daughter of Finghin, of Corca Duibhne, in the vicinity of the stream called Laune in the western part of Ireland. The forthcoming birth of Mochuda was revealed to St. Comhghall by an angel, announcing--"There will be conceived a child in the western part of Erin, and Carthach will be his baptismal name and he will be beloved of God and men--in heaven and on earth. He will come to you seeking direction as to a proposed pilgrimage to Rome--but you must not permit the journey for the Lord has assigned him to you; but let him remain with you a whole year." All this came to pass, as foretold. In similar manner the future Mochuda was foretold to St. Brendan by an angel who declared: "There will come to you a wonder-working brother who will be the patron of you and your kindred for ever; the region of Ciarraighe will be divided between you and him, and Carthach will be his name; to multitudes his advent will be cause for joy and he will gain multitudes for heaven. His first city will be Raithen [Rahen or Rahan] in the region of Fircheall, territory of Meath and central plain of Ireland; this will become a place revered of men, and revered and famous will be his second city and church, scil.:--Lismore, which shall possess lordship and great pre-eminence." One day when there was a large meeting of people at a certain place in Kerry, the men and women who were present saw descending a fiery globe, which rested on the head of Mochuda's mother, at that time pregnant of the future saint. The ball of fire did no one any injury but disappeared before it did injury to anyone. All those who beheld this marvel wondered thereat and speculated what it could portend. This is what it did mean:--that the graces of the Holy Spirit had visited this woman and her holy child unborn. Mochuda's father was a rich and powerful chieftain owning two strong lioses--one, on the south side of Slieve Mish, and the other, in which Mochuda first saw the light, beside the River Maing [Maine]. Both places were blessed for sake of the Saint, who was conceived in one of them and born in the other; it is even said that no evil disposed or vicious person can live in either. Carthage in due course was sent to be baptised, and, on the way, the servant who bore the infant, meeting a saintly man named Aodhgan, asked him to perform the ceremony. There was however no water in the place, but a beautiful well, which burst forth for the occasion and still remains, yielded a supply. With the water of this well the infant was baptised and Carthach, as the angel had foretold, was the name given him. Nevertheless 'Mochuda' is the name by which he was commonly known, because he was so called, through affection and regard, by his master (St. Carthach Senior). Many scarcely know that he has any other name than Mochuda and it is lawful to write either Mochuda or Carthach. Speaking prophetically Aodhgan said of him:--"This child whom I have baptised will become famous and he will be beloved by God and men." That prophecy has been fulfilled, for Mochuda was graceful of figure and handsome of features as David, he was master of his passions as Daniel, and mild and gentle like Moses. His parents however despised him because he valued not earthly vanities and in his regard were verified the words of David:--"Pater meus et mater mea derliquerunt me, Dominus autem assumpsit me [Psalm 26(27):10] (For my father and my mother have left me and the Lord hath taken me up)." Like David too--who kept the sheep of his father--Mochuda, with other youths, herded his father's swine in his boyhood. On a certain day as Mochuda, with his companion swineherds and their charges, was in the vicinity of the River Maing, he heard that the king of Ciarraighe Luachra was at his residence called Achadh-di; he waited on the king by whom he was kindly and politely received. The king, whose name was Maoltuile and who wished to see Mochuda frequently, invited the youth to come every day to the royal lios and to bring with him his companions, who would be made welcome for his sake. One evening as Mochuda sate in the king's presence Maoltuile gazed so long and so intently at the youth that the queen (Dand, daughter of Maolduin Mac Aodha Beannan, king of Munster) reproved her husband asking why he stared every evening at the boy. "O wife," answered the king, "if you but saw what I see, you would never gaze at anything else, for I behold a wondrous golden chain about his neck and a column of fire reaching from his head to the heavens, and since I first beheld these marvels my affection for the boy has largely increased." "Then," said the queen, "let him sit there beside you." Thenceforth the youth sate as suggested. Sometimes Mochuda herded the swine in the woods and at other times he remained with the king in his court. One day as Mochuda was keeping his herd as usual beside the river already alluded to, he heard the bishop and his clerics pass by, chanting psalms as they went along. The Spirit of God touched the boy's heart and leaving his pigs Mochuda followed the procession as far as the monastery called Tuaim [Druim Fertain] [into which the clerics entered]. And as the bishop and his household sate down to eat, Mochuda, unknown to them, concealed himself--sitting in the shadow of the doorway. Meanwhile the king, Maoltuile, was troubled about the boy, noticing his absence [from the homestead at Achaddi] that evening and not knowing the cause thereof. He immediately sent messengers to seek the youth throughout the country, and one of these found him sitting, as indicated, in the shadow of the doorway of the bishop's house. The messenger took Mochuda with him back to the king. The latter questioned him:--"My child, why have you stayed away in this manner?" Mochuda replied, "Sire, this is why I have stayed away--through attraction of the holy chant of the bishop and clergy; I have never heard anything so beautiful as this; the clerics sang as they went along the whole way before me; they sang until they arrived at their house, and thenceforth they sang till they went to sleep. The bishop however remained by himself far into the night praying by himself when the others had retired. And I wish, O king, that I might learn [their psalms and ritual]." Hearing this the king at once sent a message to the bishop requesting the latter to come to him. About this time Mochuda's father gave a feast in the king's honour and as the company were at supper the king calling Mochuda before him offered him a shield, sword, javelin, and princely robe, saying: "Take these and be henceforth a knight to me as your father has been." But Mochuda declined the offer. "What is it," asked the king, "that you will accept, so that [whatever it be] I may give it to you?" Mochuda answered:--"I do not long for anything of earth--only that I be allowed to learn the psalms of the clerics which I heard them sing." In this answer the king discerned the working of divine grace, whereupon he promised the youth the favour he asked for. Shortly afterwards the bishop, Carthach, whom we have mentioned as sent for by the king, arrived, and to him the latter entrusted Mochuda to be instructed in reading and writing. With great joy the bishop undertook his charge for he saw that his pupil was marked by grace, and under the bishop's guidance and tutelage Mochuda remained till his promotion to the priesthood. Mochuda was very handsome of features with the result that at different times during his youth maidens to the number of thirty were so enamoured of him that they could not conceal their feeling. But Mochuda prayed for them, and obtained for them by his prayers that their carnal love should be turned into a spiritual. They afterwards became consecrated religious and within what to-day is his parish he built them cells and monasteries which the holy virgins placed under his protection and jurisdiction. Finntan Mac Cartan, bringing with him an infant for baptism came to Bishop Carthach. The latter said to him:--"Let the young priest there who was ordained to-day baptise the child." Whereupon Finntan handed the infant to the young priest. Mochuda enquired the name he was to impose, and the father answered--Fodhran. Having administered baptism Mochuda taking the infant's hand prophesied concerning the babe--"This hand will be strong in battle and will win hostages and submission of the Clan Torna whose country lies in mid-Kerry from Sliabh Luachra [Slieve Lougher] to the sea. From his seed, moreover, will spring kings to the end of time, unless indeed they refuse me due allegiance, and if, at any time, they incur displeasure of my successors their kingship and dominion will come to an end." This prophecy has been fulfilled. Sometime afterwards Mochuda with his master, Carthach, visited King Maoltuile, whom they found at a place called Feorainn, near Tralee, from which the lords and kings of Kerry take their name. Said Bishop Carthach:--"Here, Sire, is the youth you gave me to train; he is a good scholar and he has studied the holy writings with much success. I have ordained him a priest and (his) grace is manifest in many ways." "What recompense do you desire for your labour?" asked the king. "Only," replied Carthach, "that you would place yourself and your posterity under the spiritual jurisdiction of this young priest, the servant of God." The king, however, hesitated--because of Mochuda's youth. Soon as Carthach perceived this he himself inclined to Mochuda and bending his knee before him exclaimed:--"I hereby give myself, my parish and monastery to God and to Mochuda for ever." Touched by the bishop's example the king prostrated himself before Mochuda and pledged to God and to him, his soul and body and posterity to the end of time. Then Mochuda placed his foot upon the king's neck and measured the royal body with his foot. Against this proceeding of Mochuda's a member of the king's party protested in abusive and insulting terms--"It is a haughty act of yours, laying your foot upon the king's neck, for be it known to you the body on which you trample is worthy of respect." On hearing this Mochuda ceased to measure the king and declared:--"The neck upon which I have set my heel shall never be decapitated and the body which I have measured with my foot shall not be slain and but for your interference there would not be wanting anything to him or his seed for ever." Addressing (specially) the interrupter, he prophesied:--"You and your posterity will be for ever contemptible among the tribes." Blessing the king he promised him prosperity here and heaven hereafter and assured him:--"If any one of your posterity contemn my successors refusing me my lawful dues he will never reign over the kingdom of Kerry." This prophecy has been fulfilled. Next, Mochuda, at the suggestion of his master, the bishop, and the King Maoltuile, built a famous cell called Kiltulach [Kiltallagh] at a place between Sliabh Mis and the River Maing in the southern part of Kerry. Here his many miracles won him the esteem of all. In that region he found two bishops already settled before him, scil.:--Dibhilin and Domailgig. These became envious of the honour paid him and the fame he acquired, and they treated him evilly. Whereupon he went to Maoltuile and told him the state of affairs. Soon as the king heard the tale he came with Mochuda from the place where he then was on the bank of the Luimnech and stayed not till they reached the summit of Sliabh Mis, when he addressed Mochuda: "Leave this confined region for the present to the envy and jealousy of the bishops and hereafter it will become yours and your coarbs' to the end of time." The advice commended itself to Mochuda and he thanked the king for it. Thereupon he abandoned his cell to the aforesaid bishops and determined to set out alone as a pilgrim to the northern part of Ireland. In the meantime an angel visited Comghall and repeated to him what had been foretold him already--that there should come to him a young priest desirous for Christ's sake of pilgrimage beyond the seas--that Comghall should dissuade him and, instead, retain the stranger with him for a year at Bangor. "And how am I to recognise him?" asked Comghall. The angel answered:--"Whom you shall see going from the church to the guest-house" (for it was Mochuda's custom to visit the church first). [See note 1.] Comghall announced to his household that there was coming to them a distinguished stranger, well-beloved of God, of whose advent an angel had twice foretold him. Some time later Mochuda arrived at Comghall's establishment, and he went first to the monastery and Comghall recognised him and bade him welcome. In that place Mochuda remained a whole year, as the angel had said, and at the end of the year he returned to his own country where he built many cells and churches and worked many wonders, winning many souls to religion and to good works. Many persons moreover placed themselves, their children, and their kindred under his jurisdiction, and the great parishes of their own territory were assigned to him, and finally the episcopate of Kerry became his. Subsequent to this Mochuda, having committed the care of his cell and parish to certain pious and suitable persons, set out himself, accompanied by a few disciples, through the south of Munster to visit the Monastery of Ciaran Mac Fionntan at Rosgiallan [Rostellan]. From Ciaran Mochuda enquired, where--in south Munster (as the angel had mentioned to Comghall)--the chief and most distinguished of these churches should be. Ciaran, who possessed the spirit of prophecy, replied--"You shall go first to Meath where you will found a famous church in the territory of Ibh Neill and there you will remain for forty years. You shall be driven thence into exile and you will return to Munster wherein will be your greatest and most renowned church." Mochuda offered to place himself under the patronage and jurisdiction of Ciaran: "Not so, shall it be," said Ciaran, "but rather do I put myself and my church under you, for ever, reserving only that my son, Fuadhran, be my successor in this place." This Mochuda assented to and Fuadhran governed the monastic city for twenty years as Ciaran's successor in the abbacy. Next, Mochuda entered the territory of the Munster Decies where dwelt the Clanna Ruadhain who placed themselves and all their churches under him, and one Colman Mac Cobhthaigh a wealthy magnate of the region donated extensive lands to Mochuda who placed them under devout persons --to hold for him. Proceeding thence Mochuda took his way across Sliabh Gua looking back from the summit of which he saw by the bank of the Nemh [Blackwater] angels ascending towards heaven and descending thence. And they took up with them to heaven a silver chair with a golden image thereon. This was the place in which long afterwards he founded his famous church and whence he departed himself to glory. Hence Mochuda travelled to Molua Mac Coinche's monastery of Clonfert [Kyle], on the confines of Leinster and Munster. He found Molua in the harvest field in the midst of a 'meitheal' [team] of reapers. Before setting out on this present journey of his Mochuda had, with one exception, dismissed all his disciples to their various homes for he, but with a single companion, did not wish to enter the strange land ostentatiously. The single follower whom Mochuda had retained wishing to remain at Clonfert, said to St. Molua: "Holy father, I should wish to remain here with you." Molua answered:--"I shall permit you, brother, if your pious master consents." Mochuda, having dismissed so many, would not make any difficulty about an individual, and so he gave the monk his freedom. Mochuda thereupon set out alone, which, Molua's monks observing, they remark:--"It were time for that aged man to remain in some monastery, for it is unbecoming such a (senior) monk to wander about alone." They did not know that he, of whom they spoke, was Mochuda, for it was not the custom of the latter to make himself known to many. "Say not so," said Molua (to the censorious brethren), "for the day will come when our community and city will seem but insignificant beside his--though now he goes alone; you do not know that he is Mochuda whom many obey and whom many more will obey in times to come." As Mochuda went on his lonely way he met two monks who asked him whither he was bound. "To Colman Elo," he answered. Then said one of them to him:--"Take us with you as monks and subjects," for they judged him from his countenance to be a holy man. Mochuda accepted the monks and they journeyed on together till they came to Colman's monastery [Lynally]. Mochuda said to Colman: "Father I would remain here with you." "Not so," replied Colman, "but go you to a place called Rahen in this vicinity; that is the place ordained by God for your dwelling and you shall have there a large community in the service of God and from that place you will get your first name--Mochuda of Rahen." Having said farewell to Colman and obtained his blessing Mochuda, with his two monks, set out for the place indicated and there in the beginning he built a small cell and Colman and he often afterwards exchanged visits. Colman had in the beginning--some time previous to Mochuda's advent-- contemplated establishing himself at Rahen and he had left there two or three [bundles] of rods remarking to his disciples that another should come after him for whom and not for himself God had destined this place. It was with this material that Mochuda commenced to build his cell as Colman had foretold in the first instance. He erected later a great monastery in which he lived forty years and had eight hundred and eighty seven religious under his guidance and rule. Subsequent to Mochuda's foundation of Rahen his miracles and the marvels he wrought spread his fame far and wide through Ireland and through Britain, and multitudes came to him from various parts of those countries to give themselves to the service of God under his guidance. In the beginning he refused worldly gifts from others although his church was honoured and patronised by neighbouring kings and chieftains who offered him lands and cattle and money and many other things. Mochuda kept his monks employed in hard labour and in ploughing the ground for he wanted them to be always humble. Others, however, of the Saints of Erin did not force their monks to servile labour in this fashion. Mochuda was consecrated bishop by many saints and from time to time he visited his parish in Kerry, but as a rule he remained at Rahen with his monks, for it is monks he had with him not clerics. On a certain day in the (early) springtime there came to tempt him a druid who said to him:--"In the name of your God cause this apple-tree branch to produce foliage." Mochuda knew that it was in contempt for divine power the druid proposed this, and the branch put forth leaves on the instant. The druid demanded "In the name of your God, put blossom on it." Mochuda made the sign of the cross [over the twig] and it blossomed presently. The druid persisted:--"What profits blossom without fruit?" [said the druid]. Mochuda, for the third time, blessed the branch and it produced a quantity of fruit. The druid said:-- "Follower of Christ, cause the fruit to ripen." Mochuda blessed the tree and the fruit, fully ripe, fell to the earth. The druid picked up an apple off the ground and examining it he saw it was quite sour, whereupon he objected:--"Such miracles as these are worthless since it leaves the fruit uneatable." Mochuda blessed the apples and they all became sweet as honey, and in punishment of his opposition the magician was deprived for a year of his eyesight. At the end of a year he came to Mochuda and did penance, whereupon he received his sight back again and he returned home rejoicing. On another occasion there came to Mochuda a secular who brought with him his deaf and dumb son whom he besought the saint to heal. Mochuda prayed to God for him and said, "My son, hear and speak." The boy answered immediately and said, "Man of God, I give myself and my inheritance to you for ever," and thenceforth he possessed the use of all his senses and members. Another day a young man who had contracted leprosy came to Mochuda showing him his misery and his wretched condition. The saint prayed for him and he was restored to health. At another time there came to Mochuda a man whose face was deformed. He besought the saint's aid and his face was healed upon the spot. On yet another occasion in the springtime a poor man who dwelt some distance from the monastery of Rahen, came to Mochuda, and asked the loan of two oxen and a ploughman to do a day's ploughing for him. But Mochuda, as we have already said, had no cattle, for it was the monks themselves who dug and tilled the soil. Mochuda summoned one of his labourers named Aodhan whom he ordered to go into the nearest wood to bring back thence a pair of deer with him and go along with them to the poor man to do the spring work for him. Aodhan did dutifully all that Mochuda bade him--he found the two deer, went with the poor man and ploughed for him till the work was completed when the deer returned to their habitat and Aodhan to Mochuda. On another day there came to Mochuda a man troubled by the devil. Mochuda cured him at once, driving the demons from him and the man went his way thanking God and Mochuda. Once, when the brethren were at work in the fields and in the kitchen, Mochuda went to the mill to grind meal for the monk's use, and nine robbers, who hated him, followed with the intention of murdering him. The chief of the band sent each member of the gang to the mill in turn. Not one of them however could enter the mill because of a violent flame of fire which encircled the building round about, through the goodness of God protecting Mochuda from the robbers. The latter, through the mill door, watched Mochuda who slept portion of the time and was awake another portion. And while he slept the mill stopped of itself, and while he was awake it went of its own accord. The gang thereupon returned to the chief and told him all they had seen, which, when he heard, he became enraged. Then he hastened himself to the mill to kill Mochuda. But he experienced the same things as all the others and he was unable to hurt Mochuda. He returned to his followers and said to them--"Let us stay here till he comes out of the mill, for we need not fear that he will call help nor need we fear his arm." Shortly afterwards Mochuda came out carrying his load. The robbers rushed on him, but they were unable to do him any injury for as each man of them tried to draw his weapon his hands became powerless, so he was unable to use them. Mochuda requested them to allow him pass with his burden and he promised them on his credit and his word that he should return to them when he had deposited the sack in safety. They took his word and he went, deposited his bag of meal in the kitchen, and returned meekly to martyrdom. The brethren imagined he had gone to a quiet place for prayer as was his custom. When he returned to the robbers they drew their weapons several times to kill him but they were unable to do so. Seeing this wonder they were moved to repentance and they gave themselves to God and to Mochuda for ever and, till the time of their death, they remained under his guidance and rule and many subsequent edifying and famous acts of theirs are recorded. An angel came to Mochuda at Rahen on another occasion announcing to him the command of God that he should go that same day to Mac Fhiodaig, king of his own region of Kerry Luachra, and administer to him Holy Communion and Confession as he was on the point of death. Mochuda asked the angel how he could reach Kerry that day from Rahen. The angel thereupon (for reply) took him up through the air in a fiery chariot until they arrived at the king's residence. Mochuda administered Holy Communion and Confession and the king having bestowed generous alms upon him departed hence to glory. Mochuda returned that same day to Rahen where he found the community singing vespers. On another occasion Mochuda visited Colman Elo at the latter's monastery of Lynally and requested Colman to come with him to consecrate for him his cemetery at Rahen, for Colman, assisted by angels, was in the habit of consecrating cemeteries and God gave him the privilege that no one should go to hell who was interred in a grave consecrated by him. Colman said to him:--"Return home and on the fifth day from now I shall follow." Mochuda returned home, where he remained till the fifth day, when, seeing that Colman had not arrived he came again to the latter. "Father," said he, "why have you not kept your promise?" To which Colman replied, "I came and an angel with me that day and consecrated your cemetery. Return now and you will find it marked (consecrated) on the south side of your own cell. Lay it out as it is there indicated and think not that its area is too small, because a larger will be consecrated for you later, by the angels, in the southern part of Erin, namely--in Lismore." Mochuda returned and found the cemetery duly marked as Colman had indicated. About the same time clerics came across Slieve Luachra in the territory of Kerry to the church of Ita, honoured [abbess] of Conall Gabhra. They had with them a child upon seeing whom Ita wept bitterly. The clerics demanded why she cried at seeing them. "Blessed," she answered, "is the hour in which that youth in your company was born, for no one shall ever go to hell from the cemetery in which he will be buried, but, alas, for me, that I cannot be buried therein." The clerics asked what cemetery it was in which he should be buried. "In Mochuda's cemetery," said she, "which though it be as yet unconsecrated will be honoured and famous in times to come." This all came to pass, for the youth afterwards became a monk under Mochuda and he is buried in the monastic cemetery of Lismore as Ita had foretold. A child on another occasion fell off the bridge of Rahen into the river and was drowned. The body was a day and a night in the water before it was recovered. Then it was brought to Mochuda who, moved with compassion for the father in his loss of an only son, restored the boy to life. Moreover he himself fostered the child for a considerable time afterwards and when the youth had grown up, he sent him back to his own country of Delbhna. Mochuda's foster son begat sons and daughters and he gave himself and them, as well as his inheritance, to God and Mochuda, and his descendants are to this day servile tenants of the monastery. Once as Mochuda, with large offerings, was returning from Kerry to Rahen he passed through the confines of Delbhna [Lemanaghan?] by the lake called Muincine [Lough Gur?] where he and his party were overtaken by night. They found here before them by the roadside revolving wheels, which an artisan, who was erecting a mill on the stream from the lake, had set up for a joke. As the wheels revolved they made a terrific noise which was heard by the whole neighbourhood. Many of the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages aroused by the noise rushed out, with appeals for help and loud cries, to investigate the matter. Mochuda's people were frightened by the din and their pack and riding horses stampeded and lost their loads and it was not without difficulty that they were caught again. Mochuda knew what caused the noise and he told the workmen who had played this mischievous trick that they should be scattered throughout the different provinces of Ireland, that they should be always worthless and unprofitable, that the mill they were engaged on should never be finished and that their progeny after them should be valueless race of mischief-makers. The latter are called the Hi-Enna [Ui Enna Aine Aulium] to-day. One day Mochuda came to a place called Cluain-Breanainn where apples abounded. His followers asked some apples for him but the orchard owner refused them. Said Mochuda:--"From this day forward no fruit shall grow in you orchard for ever," and that prophecy has been fulfilled. Mochuda had in his monastery twelve exceedingly perfect disciples, scil.:--Caoinche Mac Mellain [Mochua Mac Mellain or Cronan], who was the first monk to enter Rahen; Mucoinog [Mochoemog]; the three sons of Nascainn--Goban, Srafan, and Laisren; Mulua [Molua]; Lugair; Mochomog Eile; Aodhan [Aedhan]; Fachtna Coinceann [Fiachna or Fiochrae]; Fionnlog and Mochomog who became a bishop later. The virtue of these monks surpassed belief and Mochuda wished to mitigate their austerities before their death. He therefore built separate cells for them that they might have some comfort in their old age as a reward for their virtue in youth; moreover he predicted blessings for them. He made [a prophecy] for one of them, mentioned above, scil.:--Mochua Mac Mellain, for whom he had built a comfortable cell at a place called Cluain-Da-Chrann. He said to him: "Your place of resurrection will not be here but in another place which God has given you." That prediction has been verified. To a second disciple, scil.:--Fiachna, Mochuda said:--"Your resurrection will not be in this place though I have made you a cell here; you will have three further abiding places, nevertheless it will be with your own companion, Aodhan, that your remains will rest and your resurrection will be in the territory of Ui Torna, and it is from you that the place will get its name." For this Aodhan alluded to Mochuda likewise built another cell in the land of Ui Torna close by Slieve Luachra, and speaking prophetically he said to him: "The remains of your fellow-disciple, Fiachna, will be carried to you hither and from him will this place be named." That statement has been verified, for the church is now called Cill-Fiachna and it was first called Cill-Aeghain. Concerning other persons, Mochuda prophesied various other things, all of them have come to pass. A child born of secret adultery was abandoned close by the monastery of Rahen and Mochuda fostered the child until he became a bishop, though no one knew his name or his progenitors. Mochuda said:--"This child's name is Dioma and his father is Cormac of the race of Eochaidh Eachach." All thereupon magnified the foreknowledge of Mochuda, which he had from no other than the Holy Spirit. Having consecrated him bishop, Mochuda instructed him: "Go in haste to your own native region of Hy-Eachach in the southern confines of Munster for there will your resurrection be. War and domestic strife shall arise among your race and kinsfolk unless you arrive there soon to prevent it." Dioma set out, accompanied by another bishop, Cuana by name, who was also a disciple of Mochuda's. They travelled into Ibh Eachach and Dioma preached the word of God to his brethren and tribesmen. He made peace between them and they built a monastery for him and he placed himself, his kindred, and parish under his chosen master, Mochuda, and he ended his life (there) in peace. On another occasion Mochuda travelled from Rahen to the provinces of Munster and entered Ciarraighe Corca. It happened that Cairbre Mac Criomhthain, who was king of Munster, was at that time in Magh-Cuirce, the place to which Mochuda came. At the same time there fell a fire ball which destroyed one of the king's residences, killing his wife, many of his people and his son, Aodh Mac Cairbre, who were buried in the falling ruin. There were killed there moreover two good carriage horses of the king's. Cairbre besought Mochuda that he would restore the queen and his son to life, and when the saint saw the king's faith he prayed for him to God and then addressing the dead he said,--"Arise." They arose thereupon and he gave them safe to the king and they all gave glory and thanks to God and Mochuda. The king moreover made large offerings of land and servile tenants to Mochuda. But one of the tenants, through pride and jealousy, refused to obey Mochuda, notwithstanding the king's command. Mochuda said: "Your posterity will die out and their inheritance, for sake of which you (mis)behave towards me, shall become mine for ever; whosoever takes from me that which another has given me shall be deprived of heaven and earth." That man and his posterity soon came to nought. On another occasion Mochuda sent a golden belt to Fergus Mac Criomhthan who suffered from uncleanness of skin arising from kidney disease and upon application of the girdle, by the blessing of Mochuda he recovered. Another time again a king of Munster, Cathal Mac Aodha, in the region of Cuirche, was a sufferer from a combination of complaints--he was deaf, lame, and blind, and when Mochuda came to see him the king and his friends prayed the saint to cure him. Mochuda therefore prayed for him and made the sign of the cross on his eyes and ears and immediately he was healed of all his maladies--he heard and saw perfectly, and Cathal gave extensive lands to God and Mochuda for ever, scil:--Oilean Cathail and Ros-Beg and Ros-Mor and Inis-Pic [Spike Island]. Mochuda placed a religious community in Ros-Beg to build there a church in honour of God. Mochuda himself commenced to build a church on Inis-Pic and he remained there a whole year. [On his departure] Mochuda left there--in the monastery of Inis-Pic--to watch over it, in his stead, and to keep it in perfect order--the three disciples whom we have already named (scil:-- the three sons of Nascon, i.e. Goban a bishop, Srafan a priest, and holy Laisren) together with the saintly bishop, Dardomaighen [Domangenum], (who had conferred orders on them in presence of Mochuda) and forty monks. Thereupon Mochuda returned to Rahen. That island we have mentioned, scil.:--Inis-Pic, is a most holy place in which an exceedingly devout community constantly dwell. Mochuda next directed his steps eastward through Munster and he crossed the river then called Nemh, and now named the Abhainn More. As he crossed he saw a large apple floating in the middle of the ford. This he took up and carried away with him in his hand. Hence (that ford is named) Ath-Ubhla in Fermoy [Ballyhooley]. His attendant asked Mochuda for the apple, but the latter refused to give it saying--"God will work a miracle by that apple and through me to-day: we shall meet Cuana Mac Cailcin's daughter whose right hand is powerless so that she cannot move it from her side. But she shall be cured by the power of God through this apple." This was accomplished. Mochuda espied the child playing a game with the other girls in the faithche [lawn] of the Lios. He approached and said to her:--"Take this apple." She, as usual, put forth her left hand for the fruit. "You shall not get it in that hand, but take it in the other." The girl full of faith tried to put out the right hand, and on the instant the hand became full of strength and blood and motion so that she took the apple in it. All rejoiced thereat and were amazed at the wonder wrought. That night Cuana said to his daughter: "Choose yourself which you prefer of the royal youths of Munster and whomsoever your choice be I shall obtain in marriage for you." "The only spouse I shall have," said she, "is the man who cured my hand." "Do you hear what she says O Mochuda?" said the king. "Entrust the child to me," answered Mochuda, "I shall present her as a bride to God who has healed her hand." Whereupon Cuana gave his daughter Flandnait, together with her dowry and lands on the bank of Nemh, to God and to Mochuda for ever. Cuana was almost incredibly generous. Mochuda took the maiden with him to Rahen where she passed her years happily with the religious women there till Mochuda was expelled by the kings of Tara as you may hear. He took Flandnait with him (from Rahen) in his party to her own native region that she might build herself a cell there. She did build a famous cell at Cluain Dallain in Mochuda's own parish. Previous to his expulsion (from Rahen) Mochuda visited the place where (later) he built Lismore and he heard the voice of persons reading at Rahen, wherefore he said to his followers: "I know that this is the place where God will permit us to build our monastery." This prophecy was subsequently verified. On a certain occasion Columcille came to Rahen where Mochuda was and asked him:--"Is this place in which you now are dear to you?" "It is, indeed," answered Mochuda. Columcille said: "Let not what I say to you trouble you--this will not be the place of your resurrection, for the king of Erin and his family will grow jealous of you owing to machinations of some of the Irish clergy, and they shall eventually drive you hence." Mochuda questioned Columcille who had a true prophetic gift--"In what other place then will my resurrection be?" Columcille told him--"The place where from the summit of Slieve Gua you saw the host of angels building a chair of silver with a statue of gold therein on the bank of the Nemh--there will your resurrection be, and the chair of silver is your church in the midst of them [,and you are truly the golden statue in its midst]." Mochuda believing what he heard thanked and glorified God. As Mochuda on another day was at Rahen there came to him a priest and monk of his own community from the northern part of Munster; he made a reverence as was the custom of the monks, in Mochuda's presence and said to him, "Father, I have complied with all your commands and the precepts of God from the day I left Rahen till now--except this--that, without your permission, I have taken my brother from the secular life." "Verily I say to you," answered Mochuda, "if you were to go to the top of a high hill and to shout as loudly as you could and were to bring to me all who heard the cry I should not refuse the habit of religion to one of them." Hearing these words all realised the character and extent of Mochuda's charity and returned thanks to God for it. On a certain day about vesper time, because of the holiness of the hour, Mochuda said to his monks:--"We shall not eat to-day till each one of you has made his confession," for he knew that some one of them had ill will in his heart against another. All the brethren thereupon confessed to him. One of them in the course of his confession stated: "I love not your miller and the cause of my lack of charity towards him is this, that when I come to the mill he will not lift the loads off the horses and he will neither help me to fill the meal sacks nor to load them on the horse when filled. And not this alone but he does everything that is disagreeable to me; moreover I cannot tell, but God knows, why he so acts. Often I have thought of striking him or even beating him to death." Mochuda replied, "Brother dear, the prophet says--'Declina a malo et fac bonum' [Psalm 36(37):27]. Avoid evil and do good. Following this precept let you act kindly towards the miller and that charity of yours will move him to charity towards you and ye shall yet be steadfast friends." Things went on thus for three days--the monk doing all he could to placate the miller. Nevertheless the miller did not cease his persecution, nor the brother his hate of the miller. On the third day Mochuda directed the brother to confess to him again. The brother said: --"This is my confession, Father, I do not yet love the miller." Mochuda observed:--"He will change to-night, and to-morrow he will not break fast till you meet him and you shall sit on the same seat, at the same table, and you shall remain fast friends for the rest of your lives." All this came to pass; for that monk was, through the instruction of Mochuda, filled with the grace of the Divine Spirit. And he glorified and praised Mochuda, for he recognised him as a man favoured by the Holy Ghost. On another occasion two British monks of Mochuda's monastery had a conversation in secret. Mochuda, they said, is very old though there is no immediate appearance of approaching death--and there is no doubt that his equal in virtue or good works will never be found--therefore if he were out of the way one of us might succeed him. Let us then kill him as there is no likelihood of his natural death within a reasonable time. They resolved therefore to drown him in the river towards close of the following night and to conceal all traces so that the crime could never be discovered. They found him subsequently in a lonely place where he was accustomed to pray. They bound him tightly and carried him between them on their shoulders to the water. On their way to the river they met one of the monks who used to walk around the cemetery every night. He said to them: "What is that you carry?" They replied that it was portion of the monastic washing which they were taking to the river. He however, under the insistent suggestion of the Holy Spirit, believed them not. He said: "Put down your load till we examine it." They were constrained to obey and the burden proved to be--Mochuda. The monk who detected [the proposed murder] was the overseer of the homestead. He said mournfully, "My God, it is a dreadful work you are about." Mochuda said gently:--"Son, it were well for me had that been done to me for I should now be numbered among the holy martyrs. And it were bad for them (the two wicked monks) for it is with Judas the betrayer of his Lord they should be tortured for ever, who had desired my death for their own advancement. Neither these wretched men themselves nor anyone of their nation shall be my coarb for ever, but my successors shall be of his race through whom God has rescued me. Moreover my city shall never be without men of the British race who will be butts and laughing-stocks and serve no useful purpose." The person who saved Mochuda was of the Ciarraighe race and it is of that same people that the coarbs and successors of Mochuda have commonly been ever since. [See note 2.] Mochuda refused for a long while, as we have already said, to accept cattle or horses from anyone; it was the monks themselves who dug and cultivated the land and they did all the haulage of the monastery on their own backs. St. Fionan however who was a kinsman of Mochuda and had just returned from Rome, came at this time on a visit to the monastery. He reproached Mochuda saying: "Mochuda, why do you impose the burden of brute beasts upon rational beings? Is it not for use of the latter that all other animals have been created? Of a truth I shall not taste food in this house till you have remedied this grievance." Thenceforth Mochuda--in honour of Fionan--permitted his monks to accept horses and oxen from the people and he freed them from the hardship alluded to. Sometime later the holy abbot, Lachtaoin [St. Lachten], compassionating Mochuda and his monks because of their lack of cattle paid a visit to Rahen bringing with him a gift of thirty cows and a bull, also a couple of cattlemen and two dairymaids. Coming near Rahen he left the cattle in a secluded place, for he did not wish them to be seen. Thereupon he went himself to the monastery and simulating illness requested a drink of milk. The house steward went to Mochuda to tell him that Lachtaoin was ill and required milk. Mochuda ordered the steward to fill a pitcher with water and bring it to him--and this order was executed. Mochuda blessed the water which immediately was changed into sweet new milk apparently of that day's milking. He sent the milk to Lachtaoin but the latter identified it as milk miraculously produced; he in turn blessed it with the result that it was changed back again into water. He complained:--"It is not water but milk I have asked for." The messenger related this fact publicly. Lachtaoin declared:-- "Mochuda is a good monk but his successors will not be able to change water to milk," and to the messenger he said--"Go to Mochuda and tell him that I shall not break bread in this house until he accept the alms which I have brought to the community." On Mochuda agreeing to accept them he handed over the cattle and dairymen to the monks of Rahen and the stewards took charge of them. Mochuda said thereupon, that he should not have accepted the cattle but as a compliment to Lachtaoin. Lachtaoin replied:--"From this day forward there will be plenty cattle and worldly substance in your dwelling-place and there will be a multitude of holy people in the other place whence you are to depart to heaven (for you will be exiled from your present home)." After they had mutually blessed and taken leave and pledged friendship Lachtaoin departed. Once, at harvest time, the farm steward came to Mochuda complaining that, though the crop was dead ripe, a sufficient number of harvesters could not be found. Mochuda answered: "Go in peace, dear brother, and God will send you satisfactory reapers." This promise was fulfilled, for a band of angels came to the ripest and largest fields, reaped and bound a great deal quickly, and gathered the crop into one place. The monks marvelled, though they knew it was God's work and they praised and thanked Him and Mochuda. The spirit of obedience amongst Mochuda's monks was such that if any senior member of the community ordered another to lie in the fire he would be obeyed. As an instance of this,--some of the brethren were on one occasion baking bread in an oven when one the monks said to another younger than himself, "The bread is burning: take it out instantly." There was an iron shovel for drawing out the bread but the brother could not find it on the instant. He heeded not the flames which shot out of the oven's mouth but caught the hot bread and shifted it with his hands and suffered no hurt whatever. On another day the monks were engaged in labour beside the river which runs through the monastery. One of the senior monks called upon a young monk named Colman to do a certain piece of work. Immediately, as he had not named any particular Colman, twelve monks of the name rushed into the water. The readiness and exactness of the obedience practised was displayed in this incident. Great moreover was their meekness and patience in sickness or ill-health as appears from the case of the monk out of the wounds of whose body maggots fell as he walked; yet he never complained or told anyone or left his work for two moments although it was plain from his appearance that his health was declining, and he was growing thinner from day to day. The brothers pitied him very much. At length Mochuda questioned him--putting him under obedience to tell the truth--as to the cause of his decline. The monk thereupon showed him his sides which were torn by a twig tied fast around them. Mochuda asked him who had done that barbarous and intolerable thing to him. The monk answered:--"One day while we were drawing logs of timber from the wood my girdle broke from the strain, so that my clothes hung loose. A monk behind me saw this and cutting a twig tied it so tightly around my sides that it has caused my flesh to mortify." Mochuda asked--"And why did you not loosen the twig?" The monk replied--"Because my body in not my own and he who tied it (the withe) has never loosed it." It was a whole year since the withe had been fastened around him. Mochuda said to him:--"Brother, you have suffered great pain; as a reward thereof take now you choice--your restoration to bodily health or spiritual health by immediate departure hence to eternal life." He answered, deciding to go to heaven:--"Why should I desire to remain in this life?" Having received the Sacrament and the Holy Communion he departed hence to glory. There came to Mochuda on another occasion with her husband, a woman named Brigh whose hand lay withered and useless by her side: she besought the saint to cure her hand. Moreover she was pregnant at the time. Mochuda held out an apple in his hand to her as he had done before to Flandnait, the daughter of Cuana, saying--"Alleluia, put forth your nerveless hand to take this apple." She did as she was told and took the apple from his hand and was cured; moreover as she tasted the fruit parturition came on--without pain or inconvenience, after which [the pair] returned to their home rejoicing. In fulfilment of the prophecy of Columcille and other holy men that Mochuda should be expelled from Rahen the king of Tara, Blathmac, the son of Aodh Slaine, and his brother Diarmuid came, together with some clergy of the Cluain Earaird [Clonard] community, to carry out the eviction [in A.D. 635]. They said to him, "Leave this monastery and region and seek a place for yourself elsewhere." Mochuda replied--"In this place I have desired to end my days. Here I have been many years serving God and have almost reached the end of my life. Therefore I shall not depart unless I am dragged hence by the hands against my will, for it is not becoming an old man to abandon easily the place in which he has spent great part of his life." Then the nobles returned to Blathmac and they made various complaints of Mochuda, accusing him falsely of many things; finally they asked the king to undertake the expulsion personally, for they were themselves unequal to the task. The king thereupon came to the place accompanied by a large retinue. Alluding prophetically to the king's coming, previous to that event, Mochuda said, addressing the monks:--"Beloved brothers, get ready and gather your belongings, for violence and eviction are close at hand: the chieftains of this land are about to expel and banish you from your own home." Then the king, with his brothers and many of the chief men, arrived on the scene. They encamped near Rahen and the king sent his brother Diarmuid with some others to expel Mochuda and to put him out by force--which Diarmuid pledged his word he should do. It was in the choir at prayer that Diarmuid found Mochuda. Mochuda, though he knew his mission, asked Diarmuid why he was come and what he sought. Diarmuid replied that he came by order of King Blathmac to take him by the hand and put him out of that establishment and to banish him from Meath. "Do as you please," said Mochuda, "for we are prepared to undergo all things for Christ's sake." "By my word," answered Diarmuid, "I shall never be guilty of such a crime; let him who chooses do it." Mochuda said:--"You shall possess the kingdom of God and you shall reign in your brother's stead and your face which you have turned from me shall never be turned from your enemies. Moreover the reproaches which the king will presently cast upon you for not doing the work he has set you, will be your praise and your pride. At the same time as a penalty for your evil designs toward me and your greater readiness to drive me out, your son shall not succeed you in the sovereignty." Diarmuid returned to the king and told him that he could do no injury to Mochuda. The king retorted [sarcastically and] in anger, "What a valiant man you are, Diarmuid." Diarmuid replied:--"That is just what Mochuda promised --that I should be a warrior of God." He was known as Diarmuid Ruanaidh thenceforth, for the whole assembly cried out with one voice--truly he is Valiant (Ruanaidh). Next, the nobles present cast lots to decide which one of them should go with the king to lay hands on Mochuda and expel him from the monastery. The lot fell upon the Herenach [hereditary steward] of Cluain Earaird. He and the king accompanied by armed men went to the monastery where they found Mochuda and all the brethren in the church. Cronan, a certain rich man in the company, shouted out, "Make haste with the business on which you are come." Mochuda answered him--"You shall die immediately, but on account of the alms which you gave me for the love of Christ and on account of your uniform piety heretofore your progeny shall prosper for ever." That prophecy has been fulfilled. Another man, Dulach by name, winked mockingly with one of his eyes; moreover he laughed and behaved irreverently towards Mochuda. Mochuda said to him: --"Thus shall you be--with one eye closed and a grin on your countenance --to the end of your life; and of your descendants many will be similarly afflicted." Yet another member of the company, one Cailche, scurrilously abused and cursed Mochuda. To him Mochuda said:-- "Dysentery will attack you immediately and murrain that will cause your death." The misfortune foretold befell him and indeed woeful misfortune and ill luck pursued many of them for their part in the wrong doing. When the king saw these things he became furious and, advancing--himself and the abbot of Cluain Earaird--they took each a hand of Mochuda and in a disrespectful, uncivil manner, they led him forth out of the monastery while their followers did the same with Mochuda's community. Throughout the city and in the country around there was among both sexes weeping, mourning, and wailing over their humiliating expulsion from their own home and monastery. Even amongst the soldiers of the king were many who were moved to pity and compassion for Mochuda and his people. One of Mochuda's monks had gout in his foot and for him Mochuda besought the king and his following that he, as he was unable to travel, might be allowed to remain in the monastery; the request was, however, refused. Mochuda called the monk to him and, in the name of Christ, he commanded the pain to leave the foot and to betake itself to the foot of Colman [Colman mac hua Telduib, abbot, or perhaps erenach only, of Cluain Earaird], the chieftain who was most unrelenting towards him. That soreness remained in Colman's foot as long as he lived. The monk however rose up and walked and was able to proceed on his way with his master. There was an aged monk who wished to be buried at Rahen; Mochuda granted the request, and he received Holy Communion and sacred rites at the saint's hands. Then he departed to heaven in the presence of all and his body was buried at Rahen as he had himself chosen that it should be. Leaving Rahen Mochuda paid a visit to the monastic cemetery weeping as he looked upon it; he blessed those interred there and prayed for them. By the permission of God it happened that the grave of a long deceased monk opened so that all saw it, and, putting his head out of the grave, the tenant of the tomb cried out in a loud voice: "O holy man and servant of God, bless us that through thy blessing we may rise and go with you whither you go." Mochuda replied:--"So novel a thing I shall not do, for it behoves not to raise so large a number of people before the general resurrection." The monk asked--"Why then father, do you leave us, though we have promised union with you in one place for ever?" Mochuda answered:--"Brother, have you ever heard the proverb--necessity is its own law [necessitas movet decretum et consilium]? Remain ye therefore in your resting places and on the day of general resurrection I shall come with all my brethren and we shall all assemble before the great cross called 'Cross of the Angels' at the church door and go together for judgement." When Mochuda had finished, the monk lay back in his grave and the coffin closed. Mochuda, with his following, next visited the cross already mentioned and here, turning to the king, he thus addressed him:--"Behold the heavens above you and the earth below." The king looked at them: then Mochuda continued:--"Heaven may you not possess and even from your earthly principality may you soon be driven and your brother whom you have reproached, because he would not lay hands on me, shall possess it instead of you, and in your lifetime. You shall be despised by all--so much so that in your brother's house they shall forget to supply you with food. Moreover yourself and your children shall come to an evil end and in a little while there shall not be one of your seed remaining." Then Mochuda cursed him and he rang his small bell against him and against his race, whence the bell has since been known as "The Bell of Blathmac's Extinguishing," or "The Bell of Blathmac's Drowning," because it drowned or extinguished Blathmac with his posterity. Blathmac had a large family of sons and daughters but, owing to Mochuda's curse, their race became extinct. Next to the prince of Cluain Earaird who also had seized him by the hand, he said: "You shall be a servant and a bondman ere you die and you shall lose your territory and your race will be a servile one." To another of those who led him by the hand he said:--"What moved you to drag me by the hand from my own monastery?" The other replied:--"It pleased me not that a Munster man should have such honour in Meath." "I wish," said Mochuda, "that the hand you laid on me may be accursed and that the face you turned against me to expel me from my home may be repulsive and scrofulous for the remainder of your life." This curse was effective for the man's eye was thereupon destroyed in his head. Mochuda noticed that some of Columcille's successors and people from Durrow, which was one of Columcille's foundations, had taken part in his eviction. He thus addressed them:--"Contention and quarrelling shall be yours for ever to work evil and schism amongst you--for you have had a prominent part in exciting opposition to me." And so it fell out. The king and his people thereupon compelled Mochuda to proceed on his way. Mochuda did proceed with his disciples, eight hundred and sixty seven in number (and as many more they left buried in Rahen). Moreover, many more living disciples of his who had lived in various parts of Ireland were already dead. All the community abounded in grace: many of its members became bishops and abbots in after years and they erected many churches to the glory of God. Understand, moreover, that great was the charity of the holy bishop, as the following fact will prove:--in a cell without the city of Rahen he maintained in comfort and respectability a multitude of lepers. He frequently visited them and ministered to them himself--entrusting that office to no one else. It was known to all the lepers of Ireland how Mochuda made their fellow-sufferers his special care and family, and the result was that an immense number of lepers from all parts flocked to him and he took charge and care of them. These on his departure from Rahen he took with him to Lismore where he prepared suitable quarters for them and there they have been ever since in comfort and in honour according to Mochuda's command. As Mochuda and his people journeyed along with their vehicles they found the way blocked by a large tree which lay across it. Owing to the density of underwood at either side they were unable to proceed. Some one announced:--"There is a tree across the road before us, so that we cannot advance." Mochuda said: "In the name of Christ I command thee, tree, to rise up and stand again in thy former place." At the command of Mochuda the tree stood erect as it was originally and it still retains its former appearance, and there is a pile of stones there at its base to commemorate the miracle. It was necessary to proceed; the first night after Mochuda's departure from Rahen the place that he came to was a cell called Drum Cuilinn [Drumcullen], on the confines of Munster, Leinster, and Clanna Neill, but actually within Clanna Neill, scil.:--in the territory of Fearceall in which also is Rahen. In Drum Cuilinn dwelt the holy abbot, Barrfhinn, renowned for miracles. On the morrow Mochuda arrived at Saighir Chiarain [Seirkieran] and the following night at the establishment where Cronan is now, scil.:--Roscrea. That night Mochuda remained without entertainment although it was offered to them by Cronan who had prepared supper for him. Mochuda refused however to go to it saying that he would not go out of his way to visit a man who avoids guests and builds his cell in a wild bog far from men and that such a man's proper guests are creatures of the wilderness instead of human beings. When Cronan heard this saying of Mochuda he came to the latter, by whose advice he abandoned his hermitage in the bog and he, with Mochuda, marked out the site of a new monastery and church at Roscrea. There he founded a great establishment and there he is himself buried. Mochuda took leave of Cronan and, travelling through Eile [Ely O'Carroll], came to the royal city named Cashel. On the following day the king, scil.:--Failbhe [Failbhe Flann], came to Mochuda offering him a place whereon to found a church. Mochuda replied:--"It is not permitted us by God to stay our journey anywhere till we come to the place promised to us by the holy men." About the same time there came messengers from the king of Leinster to the king of Munster praying the latter, by virtue of league and alliance, to come to his assistance as Leath-Chuinn and the north were advancing in great force to ravage Leinster. This is how Failbhe was situated at the time: he had lost one of his eyes and he was ashamed to go half-blind into a strange territory. As soon as Mochuda realised the extent of the king's diffidence he blessed the eye making on it the sign of the cross and it was immediately healed in the presence of all. The king and Mochuda took leave of one another and went each his own way. The king and his hosting went to the aid of Leinster in the latter's necessity. Mochuda journeyed on through Muscraige Oirthir the chief of which territory received him with great honour. Aodhan was the chief's name and he bestowed his homestead called Isiol [Athassel] on Mochuda, who blessed him and his seed. Next he came into the Decies. He travelled through Magh Femin where he broke his journey at Ard Breanuinn [Ardfinnan] on the bank of the Suir. There came to him here Maolochtair, king of the Decies, and the other nobles [or one noble, Suibhne] of his nation who were at variance with him concerning land. Mochuda by the grace of God made peace amongst them, and dismissed them in amity. Maolochtair gave that land to Mochuda who marked out a cell there where is now the city of Ardfinnnan, attached to which is a large parish subject to Mochuda and bearing his name. The wife of Maolochtair, scil:--Cuciniceas, daughter of Failbhe Flann, king of Munster, had a vision, viz.:--a flock of very beautiful birds flying above her head and one bird was more beautiful and larger than the rest. The other birds followed this one and it nestled in the king's bosom. Soon as she awoke she related the vision to the king; the king observed: "Woman you have dreamed a good dream and soon it will be realised; the flock of birds you have seen is Mochuda with his monks coming from Rahen and the most distinguished bird is Mochuda himself. And the settling in my bosom means that the place of his resurrection will be in my territory. Many blessings will come to us and our territory through him." That vision of the faithful woman was realised as the faithful king had explained it. Subsequently Mochuda came to Maolochtair requesting from him a place where he might erect a monastery. Maolochtair replied: "So large a community cannot dwell in such a narrow place." Mochuda said: "God, who sent us to you, will show you a place suited to us." The king answered:--"I have a place, convenient for fish and wood, beside Slieve Gua on the bank of the Nemh but I fear it will not be large enough." Mochuda said:--"It will not be narrow; there is a river and fish and that it shall be the place of our resurrection." Thereupon, in the presence of many witnesses, the king handed over the land, scil.:-- Lismore, to God and Mochuda and it is in that place Mochuda afterwards founded his famous city. Mochuda blessed the king and his wife as well as the nobles and all the people and taking leave of them and receiving their homage he journeyed across Slieve Gua till he came to the church called Ceall Clochair [Kilcloher]. The saint of that church, scil.:-- Mochua Mianain, prepared a supper for Mochuda to the best of his ability, but he had only a single barrel of ale for them all. Although Mochuda with his people remained there three days and three nights and although the holy abbot (Mochua) continued to draw the ale into small vessels to serve the company, according to their needs, the quantity in the barrel grew no less but increased after the manner of the oil blessed by Elias [3 Kings 17:16]. Then one of the monks said to Mochuda, "If you remain in this place till the feast ends your stay will be a long one for it (the entertainment) grows no smaller for all the consumption." "That is true, brother," said Mochuda, "and it is fitting for us to depart now." They started therefore on their way and Mochua Mianain gave himself and his place to God and Mochuda for ever. On Mochuda's departure the ale barrel drained out to the lees. Mochuda proceeded till he reached the river Nemh at a ford called Ath-Mheadhon [Affane] which no one could cross except a swimmer or a very strong person at low water in a dry season of summer heat, for the tide flows against the stream far as Lismore, five miles further up. On this particular occasion it happened to be high tide. The two first of Mochuda's people to reach the ford were the monks Molua and Colman, while Mochuda himself came last. They turned round to him and said that it was not possible to cross the river till the ebb. Mochuda answered: --"Advance through the water before the others in the name of your Lord Jesus Christ for He is the way the truth and the life" [John 14:6]. As soon as they heard this command of Mochuda's Molua said to Colman, "Which of the two will you hold back--the stream above or the sea below?" Colman answered:--"Let each restrain that which is nearest to him"--for Molua was on the upper, or stream, side and Colman on the lower, or sea, side. Molua said to Colman--"Forbid you the sea side to flow naturally and I shall forbid the stream side." Then with great faith they proceeded to cross the river; they signed the river with the sign of Christ's cross and the waters stood on either hand and apart, so that the dry earth appeared between. The side banks of water rose high because there was no passage up or down, so that the ridges were very elevated on both the sea and stream sides. The waters remained thus till such time as all Mochuda's people had crossed. Mochuda himself was the last to pass over and the path across was so level that it offered no obstacle to foot-passengers or chariots but was like a level plain so that they crossed dryshod, as the Jordan fell back for Josue the son of Nun [Josue 3:17]. Soon as Mochuda had crossed over he blessed the waters and commanded them to resume their natural course. On the reuniting again of the waters they made a noise like thunder, and the name of the place is The Place of Benedictions, from the blessings of Mochuda and his people. Next the glorious bishop, Mochuda, proceeded to the place promised to him by God and the prophets, which place is the plain called Magh-Sciath. Mochuda, with the holy men, blessed the place and dedicated there the site of a church in circular form. There came to them a holy woman named Caimell who had a cell there and she asked, "What do you propose doing here, ye servants of God?" "We propose," answered Mochuda, "building here a little 'Lios' [enclosure] around our possession." Caimell observed, "Not a little Lios will it be but a great ['mor'] one (Lis-mor)." "True indeed, virgin," responded Mochuda, "Lismore will be its name for ever." The virgin offered herself and her cell to God and Mochuda for ever, where the convent of women is now established in the city of Lismore. As Colman Elo, alluded to already, promised, Mochuda found his burial place marked out (consecrated?) by angels; there he and a multitude of his disciples are buried and it was made known to him by divine wisdom the number of holy persons that to the end of the world would be buried therein. Lismore is a renowned city, for there is one portion of it which no woman may enter and there are within it many chapels and monasteries, and in which there are always multitudes of devout people not from Ireland alone but from the land of the Saxons and from Britain and from other lands as well. This is its situation--on the south bank of the Avonmore in the Decies territory. On a certain day there came a druid to Mochuda to argue and contend with him. He said:--"If you be a servant of God cause natural fruit to grow on this withered branch." Mochuda knew that it was to throw contempt on the power of God that the druid had come. He blessed the branch and it produced first living skin, then, as the druid had asked--leaves, blossom and fruit in succession. The druid marvelled exceedingly and went his way. A poor man came to Mochuda on another occasion with an ill timed request for milk, and beer along with it. Mochuda was at the time close by the well which is known as "Mochuda's Well" at the present time; this he blessed changing it first into milk then into beer and finally to wine. Then he told the poor man to take away whatever quantity of each of these liquids he required. The well remained thus till at Mochuda's prayer it returned to its original condition again. An angel came from heaven to Mochuda at the time and told him that the well should remain a source of health and virtues and of marvels, and it still, like every well originally blessed by Mochuda, possesses power of healing from every malady. Mochuda, now grown old and of failing powers and strength, was wearied and worried by the incessant clamour of building operations--the dressing of stones and timber--carried on by the multitude of monks and artisans. He therefore by consent and counsel of the brethren retired to a remote, lonely place situated in a glen called "Mochuda's Inch" below the great monastery. He took with him there a few monks and built a resplendent monastery; he remained in that place a year and six months more leading a hermitical life. The brethren and seniors of the community visited him (from time to time) and he gave them sound, sweetly-reasoned advice. He received a vow from each to follow his Rule, for he was the support of the aged, the health-giver to the weak, the consoler of the afflicted, the hope-giver to the hopeless, the faith-giver to the doubting, the moderator and uniter of the young. As soon as Mochuda saw the hardship to the visiting brothers and elders of the descent from Lismore and the ascent thereto again--knowing at the same time that his end was approaching--he ordered himself to be carried up to the monastery so that the monks might be saved the fatigue of the descent to him. Then it pleased God to call to Himself His devoted servant from the troubles of life and to render to him the reward of his good works. He opened the gates of heaven then and sent to him a host of angels, in glory and majesty unspeakable. When Mochuda saw the heavens open above him and the angel band approaching, he ordered that he be set down in the middle of the glen and he related to the seniors the things that he had seen and he asked to receive the Body of Christ and he gave his last instruction to the monks--to observe the Law of God and keep His commands. The place was by the cross called "Crux Migrationis," or the cross from which Mochuda departed to Glory. Having received the Body and Blood of Christ, having taught them divine doctrines, in the midst of holy choirs and of many brethren and monks to whom in turn he gave his blessing and the kiss of peace according to the rule, the glorious and holy bishop departed to heaven accompanied by hosts of angels on the day before the Ides of May [May 14], in his union with the Holy Trinity--Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, for ever and ever. Amen. Finit 7ber [September] 4th, 1741. NOTE 1 One of our scribe's predecessors omitted a word or two from the text here, with disastrous results to the sense. The Latin Life comes to our aid however and enables us to make good the omission; the latter, by the way, puzzles our scribe who is like a man fighting an invisible enemy-- correcting a text of which he does not know the defect. Insertion of the words "walking backwards" immediately after "church," in the angel's answer, will enable us to see the original writer's meaning. The text should probably read: The angel answered:--"Whom you shall see going from the church walking backwards to the guest-house" (for it was Mochuda's custom to walk backwards from the door of the church). Comghall announced to his household that there was coming to them a distinguished stranger, well-beloved of God, of whose advent an angel had twice foretold him. Some time later Mochuda arrived at Comghall's establishment, and he went to the monastery first and he did just as the angel foretold of him and Comghall recognised him and bade him welcome. NOTE 2 The obits of Mochuda's successors, down to Christian O'Conarchy, are chronicled as follows:-- A.D. 650. Cuanan, maternal uncle and immediate successor of Mochuda (Lanigan). A.D. 698. Iarnla, surnamed Hierologus (Four Masters). In his time King Alfrid was a student in Lismore. A.D. 702. Colman, son of Finnbhar (Acta Sanctorum). During his reign the abbey of Lismore reached the zenith of its fame. A.D. 716. Cronan Ua Eoan (F. Masters). A.D. 719. Colman O'Liathain (Annals of Inisfallen). A.D. 741. Finghal (F. Masters). A.D. 746. Mac hUige (Ibid). A.D. 747. Ihrichmech (A. of Inisf.) A.D. 748. Maccoigeth (F. M.) A.D. 752. Sinchu (F. M.) A.D. 755. Condath (Ibid). A.D. 756. Fincon (Annals of Ulster). A.D. 761. Aedhan (F. M.) A.D. 763. Ronan (Ware). A.D. 769. Soairleach Ua Concuarain (F. M.) A.D. 771. Eoghan (Ibid). A.D. 776. Orach (Ibid). A.D. 799. Carabran (Ibid). A.D. 801. Aedhan Ua Raichlich (A. of Inisf.) A.D. 823. Flann (F. M.) A.D. 849. Tibrade Ua Baethlanaigh (F. M.) At this period the town was plundered and burned by the Danes who had sailed up thither on the Blackwater. A.D. 849. Daniel (A. of Inisf.) A.D. 854. Suibne Ua Roichlech (F. M. and A. of Ulster). What is probably his gravestone is one of five Irish-inscribed slabs built into the west gable of the Cathedral. A.D. 861. Daniel Ua Liaithidhe (F. M.) A.D. 878. Martin Ua Roichligh (Ibid). Another of the inscribed stones above referred to asks "A prayer for Martan." A.D. 880. Flann Mac Forbasaich (A. I.) A.D. 899. Maelbrighte Mac Maeldomnaich (Ibid). A.D. 918. Cormac Mac Cuilennan (A. I.) He is to be distinguished from his more famous namesake of Cashel. A.D. 936. Ciaran (F. M.) A.D. 951. Diarmuid (Ibid). A.D. 957. Maenach Mac Cormaic (Ibid). A.D. 958. Cathmog (Ibid). He was also bishop of Cork. A.D. 963. Cinaedh (F. M.) A.D. 1025. Omaelsluaig (Cotton's "Fasti"). A.D. 1034. Moriertach O'Selbach, bishop of Lismore (Cotton). A.D. 1064. Mac Airthir, bishop (Cotton). A.D. 1090. Maelduin O'Rebhacain (Ibid). A.D. 1112. Gilla Mochuda O'Rebhacain (A. of I.) A.D. 1113. Nial Macgettigan. His episcopal staff, possibly enclosing the venerable oaken staff of the founder of the abbey, is still preserved at Lismore Castle. [Also known as the 'Lismore Crozier,' in 2004 it is housed in 'The Treasury' exhibit at the National Museum of Ireland, Kildare St., Dublin 2.] A.D. 1134. Malchus. Most probably he is identical with the first bishop of Waterford. During his term both St. Malachy and King Cormac MacCarthy dwelt as fugitives, guests or pilgrims, at Lismore. A.D. 1142. Ua Rebhacain. A.D. 1186. St. Christian. He had however resigned the bishopric. +-------------------------------------------+ | | | __ __---_ | | ,-~~~ ~\/ ~\ | | ,_/ | | | /,_ / | | _ _/ ~\ | | /~~ ~\/~-_| / | | \ /~ | | \ _ _\/ | | ,' | | | /~ Tara \ | | \ * | | | '~|__- Rahen / | | .- ,/~ * \ | | | / | | / | | | /_,_/~ | | | / Cashel / | | ,--~ * | | | /--- Lismore __|_-_/ | | ,-~ *-,-~ | | \_-~/ \ /~ | | ,-~/= _/~ | | --~/_-_-/~'~ | | | +-------------------------------------------+ | MAP OF IRELAND | +-------------------------------------------+ TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE The source for this text includes the Irish text & English translation on facing pages and notes. The notes are quite lengthy and should take longer to transcribe than the English text. Except for a few notes transplanted in brackets to the body of the text I have not transcribed them. Due to inexperience with the Irish language and its script I have decided not to attempt to transcribe the Irish text. Hopefully someone with the appropriate talent and interest will undertake that task some day. I have corrected the errata as indicated in the source and a few obvious printer errors. 
14391	----	THE CATTLE-RAID OF CUALNGE (TAIN BO CUAILNGE) An Old Irish Prose-Epic Translated for the first time from Leabhar na h-Uidhri and the Yellow Book of Lecan by L. WINIFRED FARADAY, M. A. London Published by David Nutt At the Sign of the Phoenix Long Acre 1904 CONTENTS INTRODUCTION THE CATTLE-RAID OF CUALNGE (from Leabhar na h-Uidhri) Cuchulainn's Boyish Deeds The Death of Fraech The Death of Orlam The Death of the Meic Garach The Death of the Squirrel The Death of Lethan The Death of Lochu The Harrying of Cualnge (first version) The Harrying of Cualnge (second version) Mac Roth's Embassy The Death of Etarcomol The Death of Nadcrantail The Finding of the Bull The Death of Redg The Meeting of Cuchulainn and Findabair The Combat of Munremar and Curoi The Death of the Boys (first version) The Woman-fight of Rochad The Death of the Princes The Death of Cur The Number of the Feats The Death of Ferbaeth The Combat of Larine Mac Nois The Conversation of the Morrigan with Cuchulainn The Death of Long Mac Emonis The Healing of the Morrigan The Coming of Lug Mac Ethlend The Death of the Boys (second version) The Arming of Cuchulainn CONTINUATION (from the Yellow Book of Lecan) The Combat of Fer Diad and Cuchulainn The Long Warning of Sualtaim The Muster of the Ulstermen The Vision of Dubthach The March of the Companies The Muster of the Men of Ireland The Battle on Garach and Irgarach The Meeting of the Bulls The Peace INTRODUCTION The Cattle-Raid of Cualnge [Note: Pronounce _Cooley_] is the chief story belonging to the heroic cycle of Ulster, which had its centre in the deeds of the Ulster king, Conchobar Mac Nessa, and his nephew and chief warrior, Cuchulainn Mac Sualtaim. Tradition places their date at the beginning of the Christian era. The events leading up to this tale, the most famous of Irish mythical stories, may be shortly summarised here from the Book of Leinster introduction to the _Tain_, and from the other tales belonging to the Ulster cycle. It is elsewhere narrated that the Dun Bull of Cualnge, for whose sake Ailill and Medb [Note: Pronounce _Maive_.], the king and queen of Connaught, undertook this expedition, was one of two bulls in whom two rival swineherds, belonging to the supernatural race known as the people of the _Sid_, or fairy-mounds, were re-incarnated, after passing through various other forms. The other bull, Findbennach, the White-horned, was in the herd of Medb at Cruachan Ai, the Connaught capital, but left it to join Ailill's herd. This caused Ailill's possessions to exceed Medb's, and to equalise matters she determined to secure the great Dun Bull, who alone equalled the White-horned. An embassy to the owner of the Dun Bull failed, and Ailill and Medb therefore began preparations for an invasion of Ulster, in which province (then ruled by Conchobar Mac Nessa) Cualnge was situated. A number of smaller _Tana_, or cattle-raids, prefatory to the great _Tain Bo Cuailnge_, relate some of their efforts to procure allies and provisions. Medb chose for the expedition the time when Conchobar and all the warriors of Ulster, except Cuchulainn and Sualtaim, were at their capital, Emain Macha, in a sickness which fell on them periodically, making them powerless for action; another story relates the cause of this sickness, the effect of a curse laid on them by a fairy woman. Ulster was therefore defended only by the seventeen-year-old Cuchulainn, for Sualtaim's appearance is only spasmodic. Cuchulainn (Culann's Hound) was the son of Dechtire, the king's sister, his father being, in different accounts, either Sualtaim, an Ulster warrior; Lug Mac Ethlend, one of the divine heroes from the _Sid_, or fairy-mound; or Conchobar himself. The two former both appear as Cuchulainn's father in the present narrative. Cuchulainn is accompanied, throughout the adventures here told, by his charioteer, Loeg Mac Riangabra. In Medb's force were several Ulster heroes, including Cormac Condlongas, son of Conchobar, Conall Cernach, Dubthach Doeltenga, Fiacha Mac Firfebe, and Fergus Mac Roich. These were exiled from Ulster through a bitter quarrel with Conchobar, who had caused the betrayal and murder of the sons of Uisnech, when they had come to Ulster under the sworn protection of Fergus, as told in the _Exile of the Sons of Uisnech_. [Note: 1 Text in Windisch and Stokes's _Irische Texte_; English translation in Miss Hull's _Cuchullin Saga_.] The Ulster mischief-maker, Bricriu of the Poison-tongue, was also with the Connaught army. Though fighting for Connaught, the exiles have a friendly feeling for their former comrades, and a keen jealousy for the credit of Ulster. There is a constant interchange of courtesies between them and their old pupil, Cuchulainn, whom they do not scruple to exhort to fresh efforts for Ulster's honour. An equally half-hearted warrior is Lugaid Mac Nois, king of Munster, who was bound in friendship to the Ulstermen. Other characters who play an important part in the story are Findabair, daughter of Ailill and Medb, who is held out as a bribe to various heroes to induce them to fight Cuchulainn, and is on one occasion offered to the latter in fraud on condition that he will give up his opposition to the host; and the war-goddess, variously styled the Nemain, the Badb (scald-crow), and the Morrigan (great queen), who takes part against Cuchulainn in one of his chief fights. Findabair is the bait which induces several old comrades of Cuchulainn's, who had been his fellow-pupils under the sorceress Scathach, to fight him in single combat. The tale may be divided into:-- 1. Introduction: Fedelm's prophecy. 2. Cuchulainn's first feats against the host, and the several _geis_, or taboos, which he lays on them. 3. The narration of Cuchulainn's boyish deeds, by the Ulster exiles to the Connaught host. 4. Cuchulainn's harassing of the host. 5. The bargain and series of single combats, interrupted by breaches of the agreement on the part of Connaught. 6. The visit of Lug Mac Ethlend. 7. The fight with Fer Diad. 8. The end: the muster of the Ulstermen. The MSS. The _Tain Bo Cuailnge_ survives, in whole or in part, in a considerable number of MSS., most of which are, however, late. The most important are three in number:-- (1) Leabhar na h-Uidhri (LU), 'The Book of the Dun Cow,' a MS. dating from about 1100. The version here given is an old one, though with some late additions, in later language. The chief of these are the piece coming between the death of the herd Forgemen and the fight with Cur Mac Dalath (including Cuchulainn's meeting with Findabair, and the 'womanfight' of Rochad), and the whole of what follows the Healing of the Morrigan. The tale is, like others in this MS., unfinished, the MS. being imperfect. (2) The Yellow Book of Lecan (YBL), a late fourteenth-century MS. The _Tain_ in this is substantially the same as in LU. The beginning is missing, but the end is given. Some of the late additions of LU are not found here; and YBL, late as it is, often gives an older and better text than the earlier MS. (3) The Book of Leinster (LL), before 1160. The _Tain_ here is longer, fuller, and later in both style and language than in LU or YBL. It is essentially a literary attempt to give a complete and consistent narrative, and is much less interesting than the older LU-YBL recension. In the present version, I have collated LU, as far as it goes, with YBL, adding from the latter the concluding parts of the story, from the Fight with Fer Diad to the end. After the Fight with Fer Diad, YBL breaks off abruptly, leaving nearly a page blank; then follow several pages containing lists, alternative versions of some episodes given in LU (Rochad's Woman-fight, the Warning to Conchobar), and one or two episodes which are narrated in LL. I omit about one page, where the narrative is broken and confused. The pages which follow the Healing of the Morrigan in LU are altogether different in style from the rest of the story as told in LU, and are out of keeping with its simplicity. This whole portion is in the later manner of LL, with which, for the most part, it is in verbal agreement. Further, it is in part repetition of material already given (i.e. the coming of the boy-host of Ulster, and Cuchulainn's displaying himself to the Connaught troops). COMPARISON OF THE VERSIONS A German translation of the Leinster text of the _Tain Bo Cuailnge_ will soon be accessible to all in Dr. Windisch's promised edition of the text. It is therefore unnecessary to compare the two versions in detail. Some of the main differences may be pointed out, however. Of our three copies none is the direct ancestor of any other. LU and YBL are from a common source, though the latter MS. is from an older copy; LL is independent. The two types differ entirely in aim and method. The writers of LU and YBL aimed at accuracy; the Leinster man, at presenting an intelligible version. Hence, where the two former reproduce obscurities and corruptions, the latter omits, paraphrases, or expands. The unfortunate result is that LL rarely, if ever, helps to clear up textual obscurities in the older copy. On the other hand, it offers explanations of certain episodes not clearly stated in LU. Thus, for example, where LU, in the story of the sons of Nechta Scene, simply mentions 'the withe that was on the pillar,' LL explains that the withe had been placed there by the sons of Nechta Scene (as Cuchulainn placed a similar with in the path of the Connaught host), with an ogam inscription forbidding any to pass without combat; hence its removal was an insult and a breach of _geis_. Again, the various embassies to Cuchulainn, and the terms made with him (that he should not harass the host if he were supplied daily with food, and with a champion to meet him in single combat), are more clearly described in LL. Some of the episodes given in LU are not told in the Leinster version. Of the boyish deeds of Cuchulainn, LL tells only three: his first appearance at Emain (told by Fergus), Culann's feast (by Cormac), and the feats following Cuchulainn's taking of arms (by Fiacha). In the main narrative, the chief episodes omitted in LL are the fight with Fraech, the Fergus and Medb episode, and the meeting of Findabair and Cuchulainn. The meeting with the Morrigan is missing, owing to the loss of a leaf. Other episodes are differently placed in LL: e.g. the Rochad story (an entirely different account), the fight of Amairgen and Curoi with stones, and the warning to Conchobar, all follow the fight with Fer Diad. A peculiarity of the LU-YBL version is the number of passages which it has in common with the _Dinnsenchas_, an eleventh-century compilation of place-legends. The existing collections of _Dinnsenchas_ contain over fifty entries derived from the _Tain_ cycle, some corresponding with, others differing from those in LU. This version has also embodied a considerable number of glosses in the text. As many of these are common to LU and YBL, they must go back to the common original, which must therefore have been a harmony of previously existing versions, since many of these passages give variants of incidents. AGE OF THE VERSIONS There is no doubt that the version here translated is a very old one. The language in LU is almost uniformly Middle Irish, not more than a century earlier than the date of the MS.; thus it shows the post-thetic _he_, _iat_, etc. as object, the adverb with _co_, the confusion of _ar_ and _for_, the extension of the _b_-future, etc. But YBL preserves forms as old as the Glosses:-- (1) The correct use of the infixed relative, e.g. _rombith_, 'with which he struck.' (LU, _robith_, 58a, 45.) (2) The infixed accusative pronoun, e.g. _nachndiusced_, 'that he should not wake him.' (LU, _nach diusced_, 62a, 30.) (3) _no_ with a secondary tense, e.g. _nolinad_, 'he used to fill.' (LU, _rolinad_, 60b, 6.) (4) Very frequently YBL keeps the right aspirated or non-aspirated consonant, where LU shows a general confusion, etc. LL has no very archaic forms, though it cultivates a pseudo-archaic style; and it is unlikely that the Leinster version goes back much earlier than 1050. The latter part of the LU _Tain_ shows that a version of the Leinster type was known to the compiler. The style of this part, with its piling-up of epithets, is that of eleventh-century narrative, as exemplified in texts like the _Cath Ruis na Rig_ and the _Cogadh Gaidhil_; long strings of alliterative epithets, introduced for sound rather than sense, are characteristic of the period. The descriptions of chariots and horses in the Fer Diad episode in YBL are similar, and evidently belong to the same rescension. The inferences from the facts noted in the foregoing sections may be stated as follows: A version of the _Tain_ goes back to the early eighth, or seventh century, and is preserved under the YBL text; an opinion based on linguistic evidence, but coinciding with the tradition which ascribes the 'Recovery of the _Tain_' to Senchan Torpeist, a bard of the later seventh century. This version continued to be copied down to the eleventh century, gradually changing as the language changed. Meanwhile, varying accounts of parts of the story came into existence, and some time in the eleventh century a new redaction was made, the oldest representative of which is the LL text. Parts of this were embodied in or added to the older version; hence the interpolations in LU. THE FER DIAD EPISODE There is much difference between the two versions of this episode. In YBL, the introductory portion is long and full, the actual fight very short, while in LL the fight is long-drawn-out, and much more stress is laid on the pathetic aspect of the situation. Hence it is generally assumed that LL preserves an old version of the episode, and that the scribe of the Yellow Book has compressed the latter part. It is not, however, usual, in primitive story-telling, to linger over scenes of pathos. Such lingering is, like the painted tears of late Italian masters, invariably a sign of decadence. It is one of the marks of romance, which recognises tragedy only when it is voluble, and prodigal of lamentation. The older version of the _Tain_ is throughout singularly free from pathos of the feebler sort; the humorous side is always uppermost, and the tragic suggestions interwoven with it. But it is still a matter of question whether the whole Fer Diad episode may not be late. Professor Zimmer thinks it is; but even the greatest scholar, with a theory to prove, is not quite free. It will of course be noticed, on this side, that the chief motives of the Fer Diad episode all appear previously in other episodes (e.g. the fights with Ferbaeth and with Loch). Further, the account even in YBL is not marked by old linguistic forms as are other parts of the tale, while much of it is in the bombastic descriptive style of LL. In the condition in which we have the tale, however, this adventure is treated as the climax of the story. Its motive is to remove Cuchulainn from the field, in order to give the rest of Ulster a chance. But in the account of the final great fight in YBL, Cuchulainn's absence is said to be due to his having been wounded in a combat against odds (_crechtnugud i n-ecomlund_). Considering, therefore, that even in YBL the Fer Diad episode is late in language, it seems possible that it may have replaced some earlier account in which Cuchulainn was so severely wounded that he was obliged to retire from the field. PREVIOUS WORK ON THE '_TAIN_' Up to the present time the _Tain_ has never been either printed or translated, though the LU version has been for thirty years easily accessible in facsimile. Dr. Windisch's promised edition will shortly be out, containing the LL and LU texts, with a German translation of the former. The most useful piece of work done hitherto for the _Tain_ is the analysis by Professor Zimmer of the LU text (conclusion from the Book of Leinster), in the fifth of his _Keltische Studien (Zeitschrift für vergl. Sprachforschung_, xxviii.). Another analysis of the story, by Mr. S. H. O'Grady, appeared in Miss Eleanor Hull's _The Cuchullin Saga_; it is based on a late paper MS. in the British Museum, giving substantially the same version as LL. This work contains also a map of ancient Ireland, showing the route of the Connaught forces; but a careful working-out of the topography of the _Tain_ is much needed, many names being still unidentified. Several of the small introductory _Tana_ have been published in Windisch and Stokes's _Irische Texte_; and separate episodes from the great _Tain_ have been printed and translated from time to time. The Fight with Fer Diad (LL) was printed with translation by O'Curry in the _Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish_. The story of the Two Swineherds, with their successive reincarnations until they became the Dun Bull and the White-horned (an introductory story to the _Tain_ ), is edited with translation in _Irische Texte_, and Mr. Nutt printed an abridged English version in the _Voyage of Bran_. The Leinster version seems to have been the favourite with modern workers, probably because it is complete and consistent; possibly its more sentimental style has also served to commend it. AIM OF THIS TRANSLATION It is perhaps unnecessary to say that the present version is intended for those who cannot read the tale in the original; it is therefore inadvisable to overload the volume with notes, variant readings, or explanations of the readings adopted, which might repel the readers to whom it is offered. At the present time, an enthusiasm for Irish literature is not always accompanied by a knowledge of the Irish language. It seems therefore to be the translator's duty, if any true estimate of this literature is to be formed, to keep fairly close to the original, since nothing is to be gained by attributing beauties which it does not possess, while obscuring its true merits, which are not few. For the same reason, while keeping the Irish second person singular in verses and formal speech, I have in ordinary dialogue substituted the pronoun _you_, which suggests the colloquial style of the original better than the obsolete _thou_. The so-called rhetorics are omitted in translating; they are passages known in Irish as _rosc_, often partly alliterative, but not measured. They are usually meaningless strings of words, with occasional intelligible phrases. In all probability the passages aimed at sound, with only a general suggestion of the drift. Any other omissions are marked where they occur; many obscure words in the long descriptive passages are of necessity left untranslated. In two places I have made slight verbal changes without altering the sense, a liberty which is very rarely necessary in Irish. Of the headings, those printed in capitals are in the text in the MS.; those italicised are marginal. I have bracketed obvious scribal glosses which have crept into the text. Some of the marginal glosses are translated in the footnotes. GEOGRAPHICAL NAMES As a considerable part of the _Tain_ is occupied by connecting episodes with place-names, an explanation of some of the commonest elements in these may be of use to those who know no Irish: Ath=a ford; e.g. Ath Gabla (Ford of the Fork), Ath Traiged (Ford of the Foot), Ath Carpat (Ford of Chariots), Ath Fraich (Fraech's Ford), etc. Belat=cross-roads; e.g. Belat Alioin. Bernas=a pass, or gap; e.g. _Bernas Bo Ulad_ or _Bernas Bo Cuailnge_ (Pass of the Cows of Ulster, or of Cualnge). Clithar=a shelter; e.g. Clithar Bo Ulad (shelter of the Cows of Ulster). Cul=a corner; e.g. Cul Airthir (eastern corner). Dun= a fort; e.g. Dun Sobairche. Fid=a wood; e.g. Fid Mor Drualle (Great Wood of the Sword-sheath). Glass=a brook, stream; e.g. Glass Chrau (the stream of Blood), Glass Cruind, Glass Gatlaig (gatt=a withe, laig=a calf). Glenn=a glen; e.g. Glenn Gatt (Glen of the Withe), Glenn Firbaith (Ferbaeth's Glen), Glenn Gatlaig. Grellach=a bog; e.g. Grellach Doluid. Guala=a hill-shoulder; e.g. Gulo Mulchai (Mulcha's shoulder). Loch=a lake; e.g. Loch Reoin, Loch Echtra. Mag=a plain; e.g. Mag Ai, Mag Murthemne, Mag Breg, Mag Clochair (cloch=a stone). Methe, explained as if from meth (death); Methe Togmaill (death of the Squirrel), Methe n-Eoin (death of the Bird). Reid, gen. Rede=a plain; e.g. Ath Rede Locha (Ford of Locha's Plain). Sid=a fairy mound; e.g. Sid Fraich (Fraech's Mound). Sliab=a mountain; e.g. Sliab Fuait. I need perhaps hardly say that many of the etymologies given in Irish sources are pure invention, stories being often made up to account for the names, the real meaning of which was unknown to the mediaeval story-teller or scribe. In conclusion, I have to express my most sincere thanks to Professor Strachan, whose pupil I am proud to be. I have had the advantage of his wide knowledge and experience in dealing with many obscurities in the text, and he has also read the proofs. I am indebted also to Mr. E. Gwynn, who has collated at Trinity College, Dublin, a number of passages in the Yellow Book of Lecan, which are illegible or incorrect in the facsimile; and to Dr. Whitley Stokes for notes and suggestions on many obscure words. LLANDAFF, November 1903. THIS IS THE CATTLE-RAID OF CUALNGE I A great hosting was brought together by the Connaughtmen, that is, by Ailill and Medb; and they sent to the three other provinces. And messengers were sent by Ailill to the seven sons of Magach: Ailill, Anluan, Mocorb, Cet, En, Bascall, and Doche; a cantred with each of them. And to Cormac Condlongas Mac Conchobair with his three hundred, who was billeted in Connaught. Then they all come to Cruachan Ai. Now Cormac had three troops which came to Cruachan. The first troop had many-coloured cloaks folded round them; hair like a mantle (?); the tunic falling(?) to the knee, and long(?) shields; and a broad grey spearhead on a slender shaft in the hand of each man. The second troop wore dark grey cloaks, and tunics with red ornamentation down to their calves, and long hair hanging behind from their heads, and white shields (?), and five-pronged spears were in their hands. 'This is not Cormac yet,' said Medb. Then comes the third troop; and they wore purple cloaks and hooded tunics with red ornamentation down to their feet, hair smooth to their shoulders, and round shields with engraved edges, and the pillars [Note: i.e. spears as large as pillars, etc.] of a palace in the hand of each man. 'This is Cormac now,' said Medb. Then the four provinces of Ireland were assembled, till they were in Cruachan Ai. And their poets and their druids did not let them go thence till the end of a fortnight, for waiting for a good omen. Medb said then to her charioteer the day that they set out: 'Every one who parts here to-day from his love or his friend will curse me,' said she, 'for it is I who have gathered this hosting.' 'Wait then,' said the charioteer, 'till I turn the chariot with the sun, and till there come the power of a good omen that we may come back again.' Then the charioteer turned the chariot, and they set forth. Then they saw a full-grown maiden before them. She had yellow hair, and a cloak of many colours, and a golden pin in it; and a hooded tunic with red embroidery. She wore two shoes with buckles of gold. Her face was narrow below and broad above. Very black were her two eyebrows; her black delicate eyelashes cast a shadow into the middle of her two cheeks. You would think it was with _partaing_ [Note: Exact meaning unknown. It is always used in this connection.] her lips were adorned. You would think it was a shower of pearls that was in her mouth, that is, her teeth. She had three tresses: two tresses round her head above, and a tress behind, so that it struck her two thighs behind her. A shuttle [Note: Literally, a beam used for making fringe.] of white metal, with an inlaying of gold, was in her hand. Each of her two eyes had three pupils. The maiden was armed, and there were two black horses to her chariot. 'What is your name?' said Medb to the maiden. 'Fedelm, the prophetess of Connaught, is my name,' said the maiden. 'Whence do you come?' said Medb. 'From Scotland, after learning the art of prophecy,' said the maiden. 'Have you the inspiration(?) which illumines?' [Note: Ir. _imbas forasnai_, the name of a kind of divination.] said Medb. 'Yes, indeed,' said the maiden. 'Look for me how it will be with my hosting,' said Medb. Then the maiden looked for it; and Medb said: 'O Fedelm the prophetess, how seest thou the host?' Fedelm answered and said: 'I see very red, I see red.' 'That is not true,' said Medb; 'for Conchobar is in his sickness at Emain and the Ulstermen with him, with all the best [Note: Conjectural; some letters missing. For the Ulster sickness, see Introduction.] of their warriors; and my messengers have come and brought me tidings thence. 'Fedelm the prophetess, how seest thou our host?' said Medb. 'I see red,' said the maiden. 'That is not true,' said Medb; 'for Celtchar Mac Uithichair is in Dun Lethglaise, and a third of the Ulstermen with him; and Fergus, son of Roich, son of Eochaid, is here with us, in exile, and a cantred with him. 'Fedelm the prophetess, how seest thou our host?' said Medb. 'I see very red, I see red,' said the maiden. 'That matters not,' said Medb; 'for there are mutual angers, and quarrels, and wounds very red in every host and in every assembly of a great army. Look again for us then, and tell us the truth. 'Fedelm the prophetess, how seest thou our host?' 'I see very red, I see red,' said Fedelm. 'I see a fair man who will make play With a number of wounds(?) on his girdle; [Note: Unless this is an allusion to the custom of carrying an enemy's head at the girdle, the meaning is obscure. LL has quite a different reading. The language of this poem is late.] A hero's flame over his head, His forehead a meeting-place of victory. 'There are seven gems of a hero of valour In the middle of his two irises; There is ---- on his cloak, He wears a red clasped tunic. 'He has a face that is noble, Which causes amazement to women. A young man who is fair of hue Comes ---- [Note: Five syllables missing.] 'Like is the nature of his valour To Cuchulainn of Murthemne. I do not know whose is the Hound Of Culann, whose fame is the fairest. But I know that it is thus That the host is very red from him. 'I see a great man on the plain He gives battle to the hosts; Four little swords of feats There are in each of his two hands. 'Two _Gae-bolga_, he carries them, [Note: The Gae-bolga was a special kind of spear, which only Cuchulainn could use.] Besides an ivory-hilted sword and spear; ---- [Note: Three syllables missing] he wields to the host; Different is the deed for which each arm goes from him. 'A man in a battle-girdle (?), of a red cloak, He puts ---- every plain. He smites them, over left chariot wheel (?); The _Riastartha_ wounds them. [Note: The Riastartha ('distorted one') was a name given to Cuchulainn because of the contortion, described later, which came over him.] The form that appeared to me on him hitherto, I see that his form has been changed. 'He has moved forward to the battle, If heed is not taken of him it will be treachery. I think it likely it is he who seeks you: Cuchulainn Mac Sualtaim. 'He will strike on whole hosts, He will make dense slaughters of you, Ye will leave with him many thousands of heads. The prophetess Fedelm conceals not. 'Blood will rain from warriors' wounds At the hand of a warrior--'twill be full harm. He will slay warriors, men will wander Of the descendants of Deda Mac Sin. Corpses will be cut off, women will lament Through the Hound of the Smith that I see.' The Monday after Samain [Note: Samain, 'summer-end,' about the beginning of November.] they set forth, and this is the way they took: south-east from Cruachan Ai, i.e. by Muicc Cruimb, by Teloch Teora Crich, by Tuaim Mona, by Cul Sibrinne, by Fid, by Bolga, by Coltain, by Glune-gabair, by Mag Trego, by North Tethba, by South Tethba, by Tiarthechta, by Ord, by Slais southwards, by Indiuind, by Carnd, by Ochtrach, by Midi, by Findglassa Assail, by Deilt, by Delind, by Sailig, by Slaibre, by Slechta Selgatar, by Cul Sibrinne, by Ochaind southwards, by Uatu northwards, by Dub, by Comur southwards, by Tromma, by Othromma eastwards, by Slane, by Gortslane, by Druim Licce southwards, by Ath Gabla, by Ard Achad, by Feraind northwards, by Findabair, by Assi southwards, by Druim Salfind, by Druim Cain, by Druim Mac n-Dega, by Eodond Mor, by Eodond Bec, by Methe Togmaill, by Methe Eoin, by Druim Caemtechta, by Scuaip, by Imscuaip, by Cend Ferna, by Baile, by Aile, by Bail Scena, by Dail Scena, by Fertse, by Ross Lochad, by Sale, by Lochmach, by Anmag, by Deind, by Deilt, by Dubglaiss, by Fid Mor, by Colbtha, by Cronn, to Cualnge. From Findabair Cuailnge, it is thence the hosts of Ireland were divided over the province to seek the Bull. For it is past these places that they came, till they reached Findabair. (Here ends the title; and the story begins as follows:-- THIS IS THE STORY IN ORDER When they had come on their first journey from Cruachan as far as Cul Sibrinne, Medb told her charioteer to get ready her nine chariots for her, that she might make a circuit in the camp, to see who disliked and who liked the expedition. Now his tent was pitched for Ailill, and the furniture was arranged, both beds and coverings. Fergus Mac Roich in his tent was next to Ailill; Cormac Condlongas Mac Conchobair beside him; Conall Cernach by him; Fiacha Mac Fir-Febe, the son of Conchobar's daughter, by him. Medb, daughter of Eochaid Fedlech, was on Ailill's other side; next to her, Findabair, daughter of Ailill and Medb. That was besides servants and attendants. Medb came, after looking at the host, and she said it were folly for the rest to go on the hosting, if the cantred of the Leinstermen went. 'Why do you blame the men?' said Ailill. 'We do not blame them,' said Medb; 'splendid are the warriors. When the rest were making their huts, they had finished thatching their huts and cooking their food; when the rest were at dinner, they had finished dinner, and their harpers were playing to them. It is folly for them to go,' said Medb; 'it is to their credit the victory of the hosts will be.' 'It is for us they fight,' said Ailill. 'They shall not come with us,' said Medb. 'Let them stay then,' said Ailill. 'They shall not stay,' said Medb. 'They will come on us after we have gone,' said she, 'and seize our land against us.' 'What is to be done to them?' said Ailill; 'will you have them neither stay nor go?' 'To kill them,' said Medb. 'We will not hide that this is a woman's plan,' said Ailill; 'what you say is not good!' 'With this folk,' said Fergus, 'it shall not happen thus (for it is a folk bound by ties to us Ulstermen), unless we are all killed.' 'Even that we could do,' said Medb; 'for I am here with my retinue of two cantreds,' said she, 'and there are the seven Manes, that is, my seven sons, with seven cantreds; their luck can protect them,' (?) said she; 'that is Mane-Mathramail, and Mane-Athramail, and Mane-Morgor, and Mane-Mingor, and Mane-Moepert (and he is Mane-Milscothach), Mane-Andoe, and Mane-who-got-everything: he got the form of his mother and of his father, and the dignity of both.' 'It would not be so,' said Fergus. 'There are seven kings of Munster here, and a cantred with each of them, in friendship with us Ulstermen. I will give battle to you,' said Fergus, 'in the middle of the host in which we are, with these seven cantreds, and with my own cantred, and with the cantred of the Leinstermen. But I will not urge that,' said Fergus, 'we will provide for the warriors otherwise, so that they shall not prevail over the host. Seventeen cantreds for us,' said Fergus, 'that is the number of our army, besides our rabble, and our women (for with each king there is his queen, in Medb's company), and besides our striplings. This is the eighteenth cantred, the cantred of the Leinstermen. Let them be distributed among the rest of the host.' 'I do not care,' said Medb, 'provided they are not gathered as they are.' Then this was done; the Leinstermen were distributed among the host. They set out next morning to Moin Choiltrae, where eight score deer fell in with them in one herd. They surrounded them and killed them then; wherever there was a man of the Leinstermen, it was he who got them, except five deer that all the rest of the host got. Then they came to Mag Trego, and stopped there and prepared their food. They say that it is there that Dubthach sang this song: 'Grant what you have not heard hitherto, Listening to the fight of Dubthach. A hosting very black is before you, Against Findbend of the wife of Ailill. [Note: Findbennach, the Whitehorned; i.e. the other of the two bulls in whom the rival swineherds were reincarnated.] 'The man of expeditions will come Who will defend (?) Murthemne. Ravens will drink milk of ---- [Note: Some kenning for blood?] From the friendship of the swineherds. 'The turfy Cronn will resist them; [Note: i.e. the river Cronn. This line is a corruption of a reference which occurs later, in the account of the flooding of the Cronn, as Professor Strachan first pointed out to me.] He will not let them into Murthemne Until the work of warriors is over In Sliab Tuad Ochaine. '"Quickly," said Ailill to Cormac, "Go that you may ---- your son. The cattle do not come from the fields That the din of the host may not terrify them(?). '"This will be a battle in its time For Medb with a third of the host. There will be flesh of men therefrom If the Riastartha comes to you."' Then the Nemain attacked them, and that was not the quietest of nights for them, with the uproar of the churl (i.e. Dubthach) through their sleep. The host started up at once, and a great number of the host were in confusion, till Medb came to reprove him. Then they went and spent the night in Granard Tethba Tuascirt, after the host had been led astray over bogs and over streams. A warning was sent from Fergus to the Ulstermen here, for friendship. They were now in the weakness, except Cuchulainn and his father Sualtaim. Cuchulainn and his father went, after the coming of the warning from Fergus, till they were in Iraird Cuillend, watching the host there. 'I think of the host to-night,' said Cuchulainn to his father. 'Go from us with a warning to the Ulstermen. I am forced to go to a tryst with Fedelm Noichride, [Note: Gloss incorporated in the text: that is, with her servant,' etc.] from my own pledge that went out to her.' He made a spancel-withe [This was a twig twisted in the form of two rings, joined by one straight piece, as used for hobbling horses and cattle.] then before he went, and wrote an ogam on its ----, and threw it on the top of the pillar. The leadership of the way before the army was given to Fergus. Then Fergus went far astray to the south, till Ulster should have completed the collection of an army; he did this for friendship. Ailill and Medb perceived it; it was then Medb said: 'O Fergus, this is strange, What kind of way do we go? Straying south or north We go over every other folk. 'Ailill of Ai with his hosting Fears that you will betray them. You have not given your mind hitherto To the leading of the way. 'If it is in friendship that you do it, Do not lead the horses Peradventure another may be found To lead the way.' Fergus replied: 'O Medb, what troubles you? This is not like treachery. It belongs to the Ulstermen, O woman, The land across which I am leading you. 'It is not for the disadvantage of the host That I go on each wandering in its turn; It is to avoid the great man Who protects Mag Murthemne. 'Not that my mind is not distressed On account of the straying on which I go, But if perchance I may avoid even afterwards Cuchulainn Mac Sualtaim.' Then they went till they were in Iraird Cuillend. Eirr and Indell, Foich and Foclam (their two charioteers), the four sons of Iraird Mac Anchinne, [Marginal gloss: 'or the four sons of Nera Mac Nuado Mac Taccain, as it is found in other books.'] it is they who were before the host, to protect their brooches and their cushions and their cloaks, that the dust of the host might not soil them. They found the withe that Cuchulainn threw, and perceived the grazing that the horses had grazed. For Sualtaim's two horses had eaten the grass with its roots from the earth; Cuchulainn's two horses had licked the earth as far as the stones beneath the grass. They sit down then, until the host came, and the musicians play to them. They give the withe into the hands of Fergus Mac Roich; he read the ogam that was on it. When Medb came, she asked, 'Why are you waiting here?' 'We wait,' said Fergus,' because of the withe yonder. There is an ogam on its ----, and this is what is in it: "Let no one go past till a man is found to throw a like withe with his one hand, and let it be one twig of which it is made; and I except my friend Fergus." Truly,' said Fergus, 'Cuchulainn has thrown it, and they are his horses that grazed the plain.' And he put it in the hands of the druids; and Fergus sang this song: 'Here is a withe, what does the withe declare to us? What is its mystery? What number threw it? Few or many? 'Will it cause injury to the host, If they go a journey from it? Find out, ye druids, something therefore For what the withe has been left. '---- of heroes the hero who has thrown it, Full misfortune on warriors; A delay of princes, wrathful is the matter, One man has thrown it with one hand. 'Is not the king's host at the will of him, Unless it breaks fair play? Until one man only of you Throw it, as one man has thrown it. I do not know anything save that For which the withe should have been put. Here is a withe.' Then Fergus said to them: 'If you outrage this withe,' said he, 'or if you go past it, though he be in the custody of a man, or in a house under a lock, the ---- of the man who wrote the ogam on it will reach him, and will slay a goodly slaughter of you before morning, unless one of you throw a like withe.' 'It does not please us, indeed, that one of us should be slain at once,' said Ailill. 'We will go by the neck of the great wood yonder, south of us, and we will not go over it at all.' The troops hewed down then the wood before the chariots. This is the name of that place, Slechta. It is there that Partraige is. (According to others, the conversation between Medb and Fedelm the prophetess took place there, as we told before; and then it is after the answer she gave to Medb that the wood was cut down; i.e. 'Look for me,' said Medb, 'how my hosting will be.' 'It is difficult to me,' said the maiden; 'I cannot cast my eye over them in the wood.' 'It is ploughland (?) there shall be,' said Medb; 'we will cut down the wood.' Then this was done, so that Slechta was the name of the place.) They spent the night then in Cul Sibrille; a great snowstorm fell on them, to the girdles of the men and the wheels of the chariots. The rising was early next morning. And it was not the most peaceful of nights for them, with the snow; and they had not prepared food that night. But it was not early when Cuchulainn came from his tryst; he waited to wash and bathe. Then he came on the track of the host. 'Would that we had not gone there,' said Cuchulainn, 'nor betrayed the Ulstermen; we have let the host go to them unawares. Make us an estimation of the host,' said Cuchulainn to Loeg, 'that we may know the number of the host.' Loeg did this, and said to Cuchulainn: 'I am confused,' said he, 'I cannot attain this.' 'It would not be confusion that I see, if only I come,' said Cuchulainn. 'Get into the chariot then,' said Loeg. Cuchulainn got into the chariot, and put a reckoning over the host for a long time. 'Even you,' said Loeg, 'you do not find it easy.' 'It is easier indeed to me than to you,' said Cuchulainn; 'for I have three gifts, the gifts of eye, and of mind, and of reckoning. I have put a reckoning [Marginal gloss: 'This is one of the three severest and most difficult reckonings made in Ireland; i.e. Cuchulainn's reckoning of the men of Ireland on the _Tain_; and ug's reckoning of the Fomorian hosts at the battle of Mag Tured; and Ingcel's reckoning of the hosts at the Bruiden Da Derga.'] on this,' said he; 'there are eighteen cantreds,' said he, 'for their number; only that the eighteenth cantred is distributed among all the host, so that their number is not clear; that is, the cantred of the Leinstermen.' Then Cuchulainn went round the host till he was at Ath Gabla. [Note: LU has Ath Grena.] He cuts a fork [Note: i.e. fork of a tree.] there with one blow of his sword, and put it on the middle of the stream, so that a chariot could not pass it on this side or that. Eirr and Indell, Foich and Fochlam (their two charioteers) came upon him thereat. He strikes their four heads off, and throws them on to the four points of the fork. Hence is Ath Gabla. Then the horses of the four went to meet the host, and their cushions very red on them. They supposed it was a battalion that was before them at the ford. A troop went from them to look at the ford; they saw nothing there but the track of one chariot and the fork with the four heads, and a name in ogam written on the side. All the host came then. 'Are the heads yonder from our people?' said Medb. 'They are from our people and from our choice warriors,' said Ailill. One of them read the ogam that was on the side of the fork; that is: 'A man has thrown the fork with his one hand; and you shall not go past it till one of you, except Fergus, has thrown it with one hand.' 'It is a marvel,' said Ailill, 'the quickness with which the four were struck.' It was not that that was a marvel,' said Fergus; 'it was the striking of the fork from the trunk with one blow; and if the end was [cut] with one blow, [Note: Lit. 'if its end was one cutting.'] it is the fairer for it, and that it was thrust in in this manner; for it is not a hole that has been dug for it, but it is from the back of the chariot it has been thrown with one hand.' 'Avert this strait from us, O Fergus,' said Medb. Bring me a chariot then,' said Fergus, 'that I may take it out, that you may see whether its end was hewn with one blow.' Fergus broke then fourteen chariots of his chariots, so that it was from his own chariot that he took it out of the ground, and he saw that the end was hewn with one blow. 'Heed must be taken to the character of the tribe to which we are going,' said Ailill. 'Let each of you prepare his food; you had no rest last night for the snow. And something shall be told to us of the adventures and stories of the tribe to which we are going.' It is then that the adventures of Cuchulainn were related to them. Ailill asked: 'Is it Conchobar who has done this?' 'Not he,' said Fergus; 'he would not have come to the border of the country without the number of a battalion round him.' 'Was it Celtchar Mac Uithidir?' 'Not he; he would not have come to the border of the country without the number of a battalion round him.' 'Was it Eogan Mac Durtacht?' 'Not he,' said Fergus; 'he would not have come over the border of the country without thirty chariots two-pointed (?) round him. This is the man who would have done the deed,' said Fergus, 'Cuchulainn; it is he who would have cut the tree at one blow from the trunk, and who would have killed the four yonder as quickly as they were killed, and who would have come to the boundary with his charioteer.' 'What kind of man,' said Ailill, 'is this Hound of whom we have heard among the Ulstermen? What age is this youth who is famous?' 'An easy question, truly,' said Fergus. 'In his fifth year he went to the boys at Emain Macha to play; in his sixth year he went to learn arms and feats with Scathach. In his seventh year he took arms. He is now seventeen years old at this time.' 'Is it he who is hardest to deal with among the Ulstermen?' said Medb. 'Over every one of them,' said Fergus. 'You will not find before you a warrior who is harder to deal with, nor a point that is sharper or keener or swifter, nor a hero who is fiercer, nor a raven that is more flesh-loving, nor a match of his age that can equal him as far as a third; nor a lion that is fiercer, nor a fence(?) of battle, nor a hammer of destruction, nor a door of battle, nor judgment on hosts, nor preventing of a great host that is more worthy. You will not find there a man who would reach his age, and his growth, and his dress, and his terror, his speech, his splendour, his fame, his voice, his form, his power, his hardness, his accomplishment, his valour, his striking, his rage, his anger, his victory, his doom-giving, his violence, his estimation, his hero-triumph, his speed, his pride, his madness, with the feat of nine men on every point, like Cuchulainn!' 'I don't care for that,' said Medb; 'he is in one body; he endures wounding; he is not above capturing. Therewith his age is that of a grown-up girl, and his manly deeds have not come yet.' 'Not so,' said Fergus. 'It would be no wonder if he were to do a good deed to-day; for even when he was younger his deeds were manly.' HERE ARE HIS BOYISH DEEDS 'He was brought up,' said Fergus, 'by his mother and father at the ---- in Mag Murthemne. The stories of the boys in Emain were related to him; for there are three fifties of boys there,' said Fergus, 'at play. It is thus that Conchobar enjoys his sovereignty: a third of the day watching the boys; another third playing chess; [Note: _Fidchill_, usually so translated, but the exact nature of the game is uncertain.] another third drinking beer till sleep seizes him therefrom. Although we are in exile, there is not in Ireland a warrior who is more wonderful,' said Fergus. 'Cuchulainn asked his mother then to let him go to the boys. '"You shall not go," said his mother, "until you have company of warriors." '"I deem it too long to wait for it," said Cuchulainn. "Show me on which side Emain is." '"Northwards so," said his mother; "and the journey is hard," said she, "Sliab Fuait is between you." '"I will find it out," said Cuchulainn. 'He goes forth then, and his shield of lath with him, and his toy-spear, and his playing-club, and his ball. He kept throwing his staff before him, so that he took it by the point before the end fell on the ground. 'He goes then to the boys without binding them to protect him. For no one used to go to them in their play-field till his protection was guaranteed. He did not know this. '"The boy insults us," said Follomon Mac Conchobair, "besides we know he is of the Ulstermen. ... Throw at him!" 'They throw their three fifties of toy-spears at him, and they all remained standing in his shield of lath. Then they throw all the balls at him; and he takes them, each single ball, in his bosom. Then they throw their three fifties of hurling-clubs at him; he warded them off so that they did not touch him, and he took a bundle of them on his back. Then contortion seized him. You would have thought that it was a hammering wherewith each little hair had been driven into his head, with the arising with which he arose. You would have thought there was a spark of fire on every single hair. He shut one of his eyes so that it was not wider than the eye of a needle. He opened the other so that it was as large as the mouth of a meadcup. He laid bare from his jawbone to his ear; he opened his mouth to his jaw [Note: Conjectured from the later description of Cuchulainn's distortion.] so that his gullet was visible. The hero's light rose from his head. Then he strikes at the boys. He overthrows fifty of them before they reached the door of Emain. Nine of them came over me and Conchobar as we were playing chess. Then he springs over the chessboard after the nine. Conchobar caught his elbow. '"The boys are not well treated," said Conchobar. '"Lawful for me, O friend Conchobar," said he. "I came to them from my home to play, from my mother and father; and they have not been good to me." '"What is your name?" said Conchobar. '"Setanta Mac Sualtaim am I," said he, "and the son of Dechtere, your sister. It was not fitting to hurt me here." '"Why were the boys not bound to protect you?" said Conchobar. '"I did not know this," said Cuchulainn. "Undertake my protection against them then." '"I recognise it," said Conchobar. 'Then he turned aside on [Note: i.e. to attack them.] the boys throughout the house. '"What ails you at them now?" said Conchobar. '"That I may be bound to protect them," said Cuchulainn. '"Undertake it," said Conchobar. '"I recognise it," said Cuchulainn. 'Then they all went into the play-field, and those boys who had been struck down there arose. Their foster-mothers and foster-fathers helped them. 'Once,' said Fergus, 'when he was a youth, he used not to sleep in Emain Macha till morning. '"Tell me," said Conchobar to him, "why you do not sleep?" '"I do not do it," said Cuchulainn, "unless it is equally high at my head and my feet." 'Then a stone pillar was put by Conchobar at his head, and another at his feet, and a bed was made for him separately between them. 'Another time a certain man went to awaken him, and he struck him with his fist in his forehead, so that it took the front of his forehead on to the brain, and so that he overthrew the pillar with his arm.' 'It is known,' said Ailill, 'that it was the fist of a warrior and that it was the arm of a hero.' 'From that time,' said Fergus, 'no one dared to waken him till he awoke of himself. 'Another time he was playing ball in the play-field east of Emain; he alone apart against the three fifties of boys; he used to defeat them in every game in this way always. The boys lay hold of him therewith, and he plied his fist upon them until fifty of them were killed. He took to flight then, till he was under the pillow of Conchobar's bed. All the Ulstermen rise round him, and I rise, and Conchobar himself. Then he rose under the bed, and put the bed from him, with the thirty heroes who were on it, till it was in the middle of the house. The Ulstermen sit round him in the house. We arrange and make peace then,' said Fergus, 'between the boys and him. 'There was contention between Ulster and Eogan Mac Durtacht. The Ulstermen went to the battle. He was left asleep. The Ulstermen were defeated. Conchobar was left [on the field], and Cuscraid Mend Macha, and many more beside. Their lament awoke Cuchulainn. He stretched himself then, so that the two stones that were about him broke; in the presence of Bricriu yonder it was done,' said Fergus. 'Then he arose. I met him in the door of the fort, and I wounded. '"Alas! God save you, friend Fergus," said he, "where is Conchobar?" '"I do not know," said I. 'Then he went forth. The night was dark. He made for the battlefield. He saw a man before him, with half his head on, and half of another man on his back. '"Help me, O Cuchulainn," said he; "I have been wounded and I have brought half of my brother on my back. Carry it for me a while." '"I will not carry it," said he. 'Then he throws the burden to him; he throws it from him; they wrestle; Cuchulainn was overthrown. I heard something, the Badb from the corpses: "Ill the stuff of a hero that is under the feet of a phantom." Then Cuchulainn rose against him, and strikes his head off with his playing-club, and begins to drive his ball before him across the plain. '"Is my friend Conchobar in this battlefield?" 'He answered him. He goes to him, till he sees him in the trench, and there was the earth round him on every side to hide him. '"Why have you come into the battlefield," said Conchobar, "that you may swoon there?" 'He lifts him out of the trench then; six of the strong men of Ulster with us would not have brought him out more bravely. '"Go before us to the house yonder," said Conchobar; "if a roast pig came to me, I should live." '"I will go and bring it," said Cuchulainn. 'He goes then, and saw a man at a cooking-hearth in the middle of the wood; one of his two hands had his weapons in it, the other was cooking the pig. 'The hideousness of the man was great; nevertheless he attacked him and took his head and his pig with him. Conchobar ate the pig then. '"Let us go to our house," said Conchobar. 'They met Cuscraid Mac Conchobair. There were sure wounds on him; Cuchulainn took him on his back. The three of them went then to Emain Macha. 'Another time the Ulstermen were in their weakness. There was not among us,' said Fergus, 'weakness on women and boys, nor on any one who was outside the country of the Ulstermen, nor on Cuchulainn and his father. And so no one dared to shed their blood; for the suffering springs on him who wounds them. [Gloss incorporated in text: 'or their decay, or their shortness of life.'] 'Three times nine men came to us from the Isles of Faiche. They went over our back court when we were in our weakness. The women screamed in the court. The boys were in the play-field; they come at the cries. When the boys saw the dark, black men, they all take to flight except Cuchulainn alone. He plies hand-stones and his playing-club on them. He kills nine of them, and they leave fifty wounds on him, and they go forth besides. A man who did these deeds when his five years were not full, it would be no wonder that he should have come to the edge of the boundary and that he should have cut off the heads of yonder four.' 'We know him indeed, this boy,' said Conall Cernach, 'and we know him none the worse that he is a fosterling of ours. It was not long after the deed that Fcrgus has just related, when he did another deed. When Culann the smith served a feast to Conchobar, Culann said that it was not a multitude that should be brought to him, for the preparation which he had made was not from land or country, but from the fruit of his two hands and his pincers. Then Conchobar went, and fifty chariots with him, of those who were noblest and most eminent of the heroes. Now Conchobar visited then his play-field. It was always his custom to visit and revisit them at going and coming, to seek a greeting of the boys. He saw then Cuchulainn driving his ball against the three fifties of boys, and he gets the victory over them. When it was hole-driving that they did, he filled the hole with his balls and they could not ward him off. When they were all throwing into the hole, he warded them off alone, so that not a single ball would go in it. When it was wrestling they were doing, he overthrew the three fifties of boys by himself, and there did not meet round him a number that could overthrow him. When it was stripping that they did, he stripped them all so that they were quite naked, and they could not take from him even his brooch out of his cloak. 'Conchobar thought this wonderful. He said "Would he bring his deeds to completion, provided the age of manhood came to them?" Every one said: "He would bring them to completion." Conchobar said to Cuchulainn: "Come with me," said he, "to the feast to which we are going, because you are a guest." '"I have not had enough of play yet, O friend Conchobar," said the boy; "I will come after you." 'When they had all come to the feast, Culann said to Conchobar: "Do you expect any one to follow you?" said he. '"No," said Conchobar. He did not remember the appointment with his foster-son who was following him. '"I'll have a watch-dog," said Culann; "there are three chains on him, and three men to each chain. [Gloss incorporated in text: 'He was brought from Spain.'] Let him be let slip because of our cattle and stock, and let the court be shut." 'Then the boy comes. The dog attacks him. He went on with his play still: he threw his ball, and threw his club after it, so that it struck the ball. One stroke was not greater than another; and he threw his toy-spear after them, and he caught it before falling; and it did not hinder his play, though the dog was approaching him. Conchobar and his retinue ---- this, so that they could not move; they thought they would not find him alive when they came, even though the court were open. Now when the dog came to him, he threw away his ball and his club, and seized the dog with his two hands; that is, he put one of his hands to the apple of the dog's throat; and he put the other at its back; he struck it against the pillar that was beside him, so that every limb sprang apart. (According to another, it was his ball that he threw into its mouth, and brought out its entrails through it.) 'The Ulstermen went towards him, some over the wall, others over the doors of the court. They put him on Conchobar's knee. A great clamour arose among them, that the king's sister's son should have been almost killed. Then Culann comes into the house. '"Welcome, boy, for the sake of your mother. Would that I had not prepared a feast! My life is a life lost, and my husbandry is a husbandry without, without my dog. He had kept honour and life for me," said he, "the man of my household who has been taken from me, that is, my dog. He was defence and protection to our property and our cattle; he was the protection of every beast to us, both field and house." '"It is not a great matter," said the boy; "a whelp of the same litter shall be raised for you by me, and I will be a dog for the defence of your cattle and for your own defence now, until that dog grows, and until he is capable of action; and I will defend Mag Murthemne, so that there shall not be taken away from me cattle nor herd, unless I have ----." '"Then your name shall be Cu-chulainn," said Cathbad. '"I am content that it may be my name," said Cuchulainn. 'A man who did this in his seventh year, it would be no wonder that he should have done a great deed now when his seventeen years are completed,' said Conall Cernach. 'He did another exploit,' said Fiacha Mac Fir-Febe. 'Cathbad the Druid was with his son, Conchobar Mac Nessa. A hundred active men were with him, learning magic from him. That is the number that Cathbad used to teach. A certain one of his pupils asked of him for what this day would be good. Cathbad said a warrior should take arms therein whose name should be over Ireland for ever, for deed of valour, and his fame should continue for ever. Cuchulainn heard this. He comes to Conchobar to ask for arms. Conchobar said, "Who has instructed you?" '"My friend Cathbad," said Cuchulainn. '"We know indeed," said Conchobar. 'He gave him spear and shield. He brandished them in the middle of the house, so that nothing remained of the fifteen sets of armour that were in store in Conchobar's household against the breaking of weapons or taking of arms by any one. Conchobar's own armour was given to him. That withstood him, and he brandished it, and blessed the king whose armour it was, and said, "Blessing to the people and race to whom is king the man whose armour that is." 'Then Cathbad came to them, and said: "Has the boy taken arms?" said Cathbad. '"Yes," said Conchobar. '"This is not lucky for the son of his mother," said he. '"What, is it not you advised it?" said Conchobar. '"Not I, surely," said Cathbad. '"What advantage to you to deceive me, wild boy?" said Conchobar to Cuchulainn. '"O king of heroes, it is no trick," said Cuchulainn; "it is he who taught it to his pupils this morning; and I heard him, south of Emain, and I came to you then." '"The day is good thus," said Cathbad; "it is certain he will be famous and renowned, who shall take arms therein; but he will be short-lived only." '"A wonder of might," said Cuchulainn; "provided I be famous, I am content though I were but one day in the world." 'Another day a certain man asked the druids what it is for which that day was good. '"Whoever shall go into a chariot therein," said Cathbad, "his name shall be over Ireland for ever." 'Then Cuchulainn heard this; he comes to Conchobar and said to him: "O friend Conchobar," said he, "give me a chariot." He gave him a chariot. He put his hand between the two poles [Note: The _fertais_ were poles sticking out behind the chariot, as the account of the wild deer, later, shows.] of the chariot, so that the chariot broke. He broke twelve chariots in this way. Then Conchobar's chariot was given to him. This withstood him. He goes then in the chariot, and Conchobar's charioteer with him. The charioteer (Ibor was his name) turned the chariot under him. "Come out of the chariot now," said the charioteer. '"The horses are fine, and I am fine, their little lad," said Cuchulainn. "Go forward round Emain only, and you shall have a reward for it." 'So the charioteer goes, and Cuchulainn forced him then that he should go on the road to greet the boys "and that the boys might bless me." 'He begged him to go on the way again. When they come, Cuchulainn said to the charioteer: "Ply the goad on the horses," said he. '"In what direction?" said the charioteer. '"As long as the road shall lead us," said Cuchulainn. 'They come thence to Sliab Fuait, and find Conall Cernach there. It fell to Conall that day to guard the province; for every hero of Ulster was in Sliab Fuait in turn, to protect any one who should come with poetry, or to fight against a man; so that it should be there that there should be some one to encounter him, that no one should go to Emain unperceived. '"May that be for prosperity," said Conall; "may it be for victory and triumph." '"Go to the fort, O Conall, and leave me to watch here now," said Cuchulainn. '"It will be enough," said Conall, "if it is to protect any one with poetry; if it is to fight against a man, it is early for you yet." '"Perhaps it may not be necessary at all," said Cuchulainn. "Let us go meanwhile," said Cuchulainn, "to look upon the edge of Loch Echtra. Heroes are wont to abide there." '"I am content," said Conall. 'Then they go thence. He throws a stone from his sling, so that a pole of Conall Cernach's chariot breaks. '"Why have you thrown the stone, O boy?" said Conall. "To try my hand and the straightness of my throw," said Cuchulainn; "and it is the custom with you Ulstermen, that you do not travel beyond your peril. Go back to Emain, O friend Conall, and leave me here to watch." '"Content, then," said Conall. 'Conall Cernach did not go past the place after that. Then Cuchulainn goes forth to Loch Echtra, and they found no one there before them. The charioteer said to Cuchulainn that they should go to Emain, that they might be in time for the drinking there. '"No," said Cuchulainn. "What mountain is it yonder?" said Cuchulainn. '"Sliab Monduirn," said the charioteer. '"Let us go and get there," said Cuchulainn. They go then till they reach it. When they had reached the mountain, Cuchulainn asked: "What is the white cairn yonder on the top of the mountain?" '"Find Carn," said the charioteer. '"What plain is that over there?" said Cuchulainn. '"Mag Breg," said the charioteer. He tells him then the name of every chief fort between Temair and Cenandas. He tells him first their meadows and their fords, their famous places and their dwellings, their fortresses and their high hills. He shows [Note: Reading with YBL.] him then the fort of the three sons of Nechta Scene; Foill, Fandall, and Tuachell were their names. '"Is it they who say," said Cuchulainn, "that there are not more of the Ulstermen alive than they have slain of them?" '"It is they indeed," said the charioteer. '"Let us go till we reach them," said Cuchulainn. '"Indeed it is peril to us," said the charioteer. '"Truly it is not to avoid it that we go," said Cuchulainn. 'Then they go forth and unharness their horses at the meeting of the bog and the river, to the south above the fort of the others; and he threw the withe that was on the pillar as far as he could throw into the river and let it go with the stream, for this was a breach of _geis_ to the sons of Nechta Scene. They perceive it then, and come to them. Cuchulainn goes to sleep by the pillar after throwing the withe at the stream; and he said to the charioteer: "Do not waken me for few; but waken me for many." 'Now the charioteer was very frightened, and he made ready their chariot and pulled its coverings and skins which were over Cuchulainn; for he dared not waken him, because Cuchulainn told him at first that he should not waken him for a few. 'Then come the sons of Nechta Scene. '"Who is it who is there?" said one of them. '"A little boy who has come to-day into the chariot for an expedition," said the charioteer. '"May it not be for his happiness," said the champion; "and may it not be for his prosperity, his first taking of arms. Let him not be in our land, and let the horses not graze there any more," said the champion. '"Their reins are in my hands," said the charioteer. '"It should not be yours to earn hatred," said Ibar to the champion; "and the boy is asleep." '"I am not a boy at all," said Cuchulainn; "but it is to seek battle with a man that the boy who is here has come." '"That pleases me well," said the champion. '"It will please you now in the ford yonder," said Cuchulainn. '"It befits you," said the charioteer, "take heed of the man who comes against you. Foill is his name," said he; "for unless you reach him in the first thrust, you will not reach him till evening." '"I swear by the god by whom my people swear, he will not ply his skill on the Ulstermen again, if the broad spear of my friend Conchobar should reach him from my hand. It will be an outlaw's hand to him." 'Then he cast the spear at him, so that his back broke. He took with him his accoutrements and his head. '"Take heed of another man," said the charioteer, "Fandall [Note: i.e. 'Swallow.'] is his name. Not more heavily does he traverse(?) the water than swan or swallow." '"I swear that he will not ply that feat again on the Ulstermen," said Cuchulainn. "You have seen," said he, "the way I travel the pool at Emain." 'They meet then in the ford. Cuchulainn kills that man, and took his head and his arms. '"Take heed of another man who comes towards you," said the charioteer. "Tuachell [Note: i.e. 'Cunning.'] is his name. It is no misname for him, for he does not fall by arms at all." '"Here is the javelin for him to confuse him, so that it may make a red-sieve of him," said Cuchulainn. 'He cast the spear at him, so that it reached him in his ----. Then He went to him and cut off his head. Cuchulainn gave his head and his accoutrements to his own charioteer. He heard then the cry of their mother, Nechta Scene, behind them. 'He puts their spoils and the three heads in his chariot with him, and said: "I will not leave my triumph," said he, "till I reach Emain Macha." 'then they set out with his triumph. 'Then Cuchulainn said to the charioteer: "You promised us a good run," said he, "and we need it now because of the strife and the pursuit that is behind us." They go on to Sliab Fuait; and such was the speed of the run that they made over Breg after the spurring of the charioteer, that the horses of the chariot overtook the wind and the birds in flight, and that Cuchulainn caught the throw that he sent from his sling before it reached the ground. 'When they reached Sliab Fuait, they found a herd of wild deer there before them. '"What are those cattle yonder so active?" said Cuchulainn. '"Wild deer," said the charioteer. '"Which would the Ulstermen think best," said Cuchulainn, "to bring them dead or alive?" '"It is more wonderful alive," said the charioteer; "it is not every one who can do it so. Dead, there is not one of them who cannot do it. You cannot do this, to carry off any of them alive," said the charioteer. '"I can indeed," said Cuchulainn. "Ply the goad on the horses into the bog." 'The charioteer does this. The horses stick in the bog. Cuchulainn sprang down and seized the deer that was nearest, and that was the finest of them. He lashed the horses through the bog, and overcame the deer at once, and bound it between the two poles of the chariot. 'They saw something again before them, a flock of swans. '"Which would the Ulstermen think best," said Cuchulainn, "to have them dead or alive?" '"All the most vigorous and finest(?) bring them alive," said the charioteer. 'Then Cuchulainn aims a small stone at the birds, so that he struck eight of the birds. He threw again a large stone, so that he struck twelve of them. All that was done by his return stroke. "Collect the birds for us," said Cuchulainn to his charioteer. "If it is I who go to take them," said he, "the wild deer will spring upon you." '"It is not easy for me to go to them," said the charioteer. "The horses have become wild so that I cannot go past them. I cannot go past the two iron tyres [Interlinear gloss, _fonnod_. The _fonnod_ was some part of the rim of the wheel apparently.] of the chariot, because of their sharpness; and I cannot go past the deer, for his horn has filled all the space between the two poles of the chariot." '"Step from its horn," said Cuchulainn. "I swear by the god by whom the Ulstermen swear, the bending with which I will bend my head on him, and the eye that I will make at him, he will not turn his head on you, and he will not dare to move." 'That was done then. Cuchulainn made fast the reins, and the charioteer collects the birds. Then Cuchulainn bound the birds from the strings and thongs of the chariot; so that it was thus he went to Emain Macha: the wild deer behind his chariot, and the flock of swans flying over it, and the three heads in his chariot. Then they come to Emain. "A man in a chariot is coming to you," said the watchman in Emain Macha; "he will shed the blood of every man who is in the court, unless heed is taken, and unless naked women go to him." 'Then he turned the left side of his chariot towards Emain, and that was a _geis_ [Note: i.e. it was an insult.] to it; and Cuchulainn said: "I swear by the god by whom the Ulstermen swear, unless a man is found to fight with me, I will shed the blood of every one who is in the fort." '"Naked women to meet him!" said Conchobar. 'Then the women of Emain go to meet him with Mugain, the wife of Conchobar Mac Nessa, and bare their breasts before him. "These are the warriors who will meet you to-day," said Mugain. 'He covers his face; then the heroes of Emain seize him and throw him into a vessel of cold water. That vessel bursts round him. The second vessel into which he was thrown boiled with bubbles as big as the fist therefrom. The third vessel into which he went, he warmed it so that its heat and its cold were rightly tempered. Then he comes out; and the queen, Mugain, puts a blue mantle on him, and a silver brooch therein, and a hooded tunic; and he sits at Conchobar's knee, and that was his couch always after that. The man who did this in his seventh year,' said Fiacha Mac Fir-Febe, 'it were not wonderful though he should rout an overwhelming force, and though he should exhaust (?) an equal force, when his seventeen years are complete to-day.' (What follows is a separate version [Note: The next episode, the Death of Fraech, is not given in LL.] to the death of Orlam.) 'Let us go forth now,' said Ailill. Then they reached Mag Mucceda. Cuchulainn cut an oak before them there, and wrote an ogam in its side. It is this that was therein: that no one should go past it till a warrior should leap it with one chariot. They pitch their tents there, and come to leap over it in their chariots. There fall thereat thirty horses, and thirty chariots are broken. Belach n-Ane, that is the name of that place for ever. _The Death of Fraech_ They are there till next morning; then Fraech is summoned to them. 'Help us, O Fraech,' said Medb. 'Remove from us the strait that is on us. Go before Cuchulainn for us, if perchance you shall fight with him.' He set out early in the morning with nine men, till he reached Ath Fuait. He saw the warrior bathing in the river. 'Wait here,' said Fraech to his retinue, 'till I come to the man yonder; not good is the water,' said he. He took off his clothes, and goes into the water to him. 'Do not come to me,' said Cuchulainn. 'You will die from it, and I should be sorry to kill you.' 'I shall come indeed,' said Fraech, 'that we may meet in the water; and let your play with me be fair.' 'Settle it as you like,' said Cuchulainn. 'The hand of each of us round the other,' said Fraech. They set to wrestling for a long time on the water, and Fraech was submerged. Cuchulainn lifted him up again. 'This time,' said Cuchulainn, 'will you yield and accept your life?' [Note: Lit. 'will you acknowledge your saving?'] 'I will not suffer it,' said Fraech. Cuchulainn put him under it again, until Fraech was killed. He comes to land; his retinue carry his body to the camp. Ath Fraich, that was the name of that ford for ever. All the host lamented Fraech. They saw a troop of women in green tunics [Note: Fraech was descended from the people of the Sid, his mother Bebind being a fairy woman. Her sister was Boinn (the river Boyne).] on the body of Fraech Mac Idaid; they drew him from them into the mound. Sid Fraich was the name of that mound afterwards. Fergus springs over the oak in his chariot. They go till they reach Ath Taiten; Cuchulainn destroys six of them there: that is, the six Dungals of Irress. Then they go on to Fornocht. Medb had a whelp named Baiscne. Cuchulainn throws a cast at him, and took his head off. Druim was the name of that place henceforth. 'Great is the mockery to you,' said Medb, 'not to hunt the deer of misfortune yonder that is killing you.' Then they start hunting him, till they broke the shafts of their chariots thereat. _The Death of Orlam_ They go forth then over Iraird Culend in the morning. Cuchulainn went forward; he overtook the charioteer of Orlam, son of Ailill and Medb, in Tamlacht Orlaim, a little to the north of Disert Lochait, cutting wood there. (According to another version, it is The shaft of Cuchulainn's chariot that had broken, and it is to cut a shaft that he had gone when he met Orlam's charioteer. It is the charioteer who cut the shafts according to this version.) 'It is over-bold what the Ulstermen are doing, if it is they who are yonder,' said Cuchulainn, 'while the host is behind them.' He goes to the charioteer to reprove him; he thought that he was of Ulster, and he saw the man cutting wood, that is the chariot shaft. 'What are you doing here?' said Cuchulainn. 'Cutting chariot-shafts,' said the charioteer. 'We have broken our chariots hunting the wild deer Cuchulainn yonder. Help me,' said the charioteer. 'Look only whether you are to select the shafts, or to strip them.' 'It will be to strip them indeed,' said Cuchulainn. Then Cuchulainn stripped the shafts through his fingers in the presence of the other, so that he cleared them both of bark and knots. 'This cannot be your proper work that I put on you,' said the charioteer; he was greatly afraid. 'Whence are you?' said Cuchulainn. 'The charioteer of Orlam, son of Ailill and Medb,' said he. 'And you?' said the charioteer. 'My name is Cuchulainn,' said he. 'Alas!' said the charioteer. 'Fear nothing,' said Cuchulainn. 'Where is your master?' said he. 'He is in the trench yonder,' said the charioteer. 'Go forth then with me,' said Cuchulainn, 'for I do not kill charioteers at all.' Cuchulainn goes to Orlam, kills him, cuts his head off, and shakes his head before the host. Then he puts the head on the charioteer's back, and said to him: 'Take that with you,' said Cuchulainn, 'and go to the camp thus. If you do not go thus, a stone will come to you from my sling.' When he got near the camp, he took the head from his back, and told his adventures to Ailill and Medb. 'This is not like taking birds,' said she. And he said, 'Unless I brought it on my back to the camp, he would break my head with a stone.' _The Death of the Meic Garach_ Then the Meic Garach waited on their ford. These are their names: Lon and Ualu and Diliu; and Mes-Ler, and Mes-Laech, and Mes-Lethan were their three charioteers. They thought it too much what Cuchulainn had done: to slay two foster-sons of the king, and his son, and to shake the head before the host. They would slay Cuchulainn in return for him, and would themselves remove this annoyance from the host. They cut three aspen wands for their charioteers, that the six of them should pursue combat against him. He killed them all then, because they had broken fair-play towards him. Orlam's charioteer was then between Ailill and Medb. Cuchulainn hurled a stone at him, [Note: Apparently because the charioteer had not carried Orlam's head into the camp on his back. Or an alternative version.] so that his head broke, and his brains came over his ears; Fertedil was his name. (Thus it is not true that Cuchulainn did not kill charioteers; howbeit, he did not kill them without fault.) _The Death of the Squirrel_ Cuchulainn threatened in Methe, that wherever he should see Ailill or Medb afterwards he would throw a stone from his sling at them. He did this then: he threw a stone from his sling, so that he killed the squirrel that was on Medb's shoulder south of the ford: hence is Methe Togmaill. And he killed the bird that was on Ailill's shoulder north of the ford: hence is Methe n-Eoin. (Or it is on Medb's shoulder that both squirrel and bird were together, and it is their heads that were struck from them by the casts.) Reoin was drowned in his lake. Hence is Loch Reoin. 'That other is not far from you,' said Ailill to the Manes. They arose and looked round. When they sat down again, Cuchulainn struck one of them, so that his head broke. 'It was well that you went for that: your boasting was not fitting,' said Maenen the fool. 'I would have taken his head off.' Cuchulainn threw a stone at him, so that his head broke. It is thus then that these were killed: Orlam in the first place on his hill; the Meic Garach on their ford; Fertedil in his ---; Maenan in his hill. 'I swear by the god by whom my people swear,' said Ailill, 'that man who shall make a mock of Cuchulainn here, I will make two halves of him.' 'Go forth for us both day and night,' said Ailill, 'till we reach Cualnge. That man will kill two-thirds of the host in this way.' It is there that the harpers of the _Cainbili_ [Note: Reference obscure. They were wizards of some sort.] from Ossory came to them to amuse them. They thought it was from the Ulstermen to spy on them. They set to hunting them, till they went before them in the forms of deer into the stones at Liac Mor on the north. For they were wizards with great cunning. _The Death of Lethan_ Lethan came on to his ford on the Nith (?) in Conaille. He waited himself to meet Cuchulainn. It vexed him what Cuchulainn had done. Cuchulainn cuts off his head and left it, hence it is Ath Lethan on the Nith. And their chariots broke in the battle on the ford by him; hence it is Ath Carpat. Mulcha, Lethan's charioteer, fell on the shoulder of the hill that is between them; hence is Gulo Mulchai. While the hosts were going over Mag Breg, he struck(?) their ---- still. [Note: 2 Something apparently missing here. The passage in LL is as follows: 'It is the same day that the Morrigan, daughter of Ernmas, came from the Sid, so that she was on the pillar in Temair Cuailnge, taking a warning to the Dun of Cualnge before the men of Ireland, and she began to speak to him, and "Good, O wretched one, O Dun of Cualnge," said the Morrigan, "keep watch, for the men of Ireland have reached thee, and they will take thee to their camp unless thou keepest watch"; and she began to take a warning to him thus, and uttered her words on high.' (The Rhetoric follows as in LU.)] Yet that was the Morrigan in the form of a bird on the pillar in Temair Cuailnge; and she spoke to the Bull: 'Does the Black know,' etc. [Note: A Rhetoric.] Then the Bull went, and fifty heifers with him, to Sliab Culind; and his keeper, Forgemen by name, went after him. He threw off the three fifties of boys who used always to play on him, and he killed two-thirds of his boys, and dug a trench in Tir Marcceni in Cualnge before he went. _The Death of Lochu_ Cuchulainn killed no one from the Saile ind Orthi (?) in the Conaille territory, until they reached Cualnge. Cuchulainn was then in Cuince; he threatened then that when he saw Medb he would throw a stone at her head. This was not easy to him, for it is thus that Medb went and half the host about her, with their shelter of shields over her head. Then a waiting-woman of Medb's, Lochu by name, went to get water, and a great troop of women with her. Cuchulainn thought it was Medb. He threw two stones from Cuince, so that he slew her in her plain(?). Hence is Ath Rede Locha in Cualnge. From Findabair Cuailnge the hosts divided, and they set the country on fire. They collect all there were of women, and boys, and maidens; and cattle, in Cualnge together, so that they were all in Findabair. 'You have not gone well,' said Medb; 'I do not see the Bull with you.' 'He is not in the province at all,' said every one. Lothar the cowherd is summoned to Medb. 'Where is the Bull?' said she. 'Have you an idea?' 'I have great fear to tell it,' said the herd. 'The night,' said he, 'when the Ulstermen went into their weakness, he went with three twenties of heifers with him, so that he is at the Black Corrie of Glenn Gatt.' 'Go,' said Medb, 'and carry a withe [Note: Ir. _gatt_, a withe.] between each two of you.' They do this: hence this glen is called Glenn Gatt. Then they bring the Bull to Findabair. The place where he saw the herd, Lothar, he attacked him, so that he brought his entrails out on his horns; and he attacked the camp with his three fifties of heifers, so that fifty warriors were killed. And that is the death of Lothar on the Foray. Then the Bull went from them out of the camp, and they knew not where he had gone from them; and they were ashamed. Medb asked the herd if he had an idea where the Bull was. 'I think he would be in the secret places of Sliab Culind.' When they returned thus after ravaging Cualnge, and did not find the Bull there. The river Cronn rose against them to the tops of the trees; and they spent the night by it. And Medb told part of her following to go across. A wonderful warrior went next day, Ualu his name. He took a great stone on his back to go across the water; the stream drove him backwards with the stone on his back. His grave and his stone are on the road at the stream: Lia Ualand is its name. They went round the river Cronn to the source, and they would have gone between the source and the mountain, only that they could not get leave from Medb; she preferred to go across the mountain, that their track might remain there for ever, for an insult to the Ulstermen. They waited there three days and three nights, till they dug the earth in front of them, the Bernas Bo Cuailnge. It is there that Cuchulainn killed Crond and Coemdele and ---- [Note: Obscure.]. A hundred warriors ---- [Note: Obscure.] died with Roan and Roae, the two historians of the Foray. A hundred and forty-four, kings died by him at the same stream. They came then over the Bernas Bo Cuailnge with the cattle and stock of Cualnge, and spent the night in Glenn Dail Imda in Cualnge. Botha is the name of this place, because they made huts over them there. They come next day to Colptha. They try to cross it through heedlessness. It rose against them then, and it carries a hundred charioteers of them to the sea; this is the name of the land in which they were drowned, Cluain Carptech. They go round Colptha then to its source, to Belat Alioin, and spent the night at Liasa Liac; that is the name of this place, because they made sheds over their calves there between Cualnge and Conaille. They came over Glenn Gatlaig, and Glass Gatlaig rose against them. Sechaire was its name before; Glass Gatlaig thenceforth, because it was in withes they brought their calves; and they slept at Druim Fene in Conaille. (Those then are the wanderings from Cualnge to Machaire according to this version.) _This is the Harrying of Cualnge_ (Other authors and books make it that another way was taken on their journeyings from Findabair to Conaille, as follows: Medb said after every one had come with their booty, so that they were all in Findabair Cuailnge: 'Let the host be divided,' said Medb; 'it will be impossible to bring this expedition by one way. Let Ailill go with half the expedition by Midluachair; Fergus and I will go by Bernas Ulad.' [Note: YBL. Bernas Bo n-Ulad.] 'It is not fine,' said Fergus, 'the half of the expedition that has fallen to us. It will be impossible to bring the cattle over the mountain without dividing it.' That was done then, so that it is from that there is Bernas Bo n-Ulad.) It is there then that Ailill said to his charioteer Cuillius: 'Find out for me to-day Medb and Fergus. I know not what has brought them to this union. I shall be pleased that a token should come to me by you.' Cuillius came when they were in Cluichre. The pair remained behind, and the warriors went on. Cuillius came to them, and they heard not the spy. Fergus' sword happened to be beside him. Cuillius drew it out of its sheath, and left the sheath empty. Cuillius came to Ailill. 'So?' said Ailill. 'So indeed,' said Cuillius; 'there is a token for you.' 'It is well,' said Ailill. Each of them smiles at the other. 'As you thought,' said Cuillius, 'it is thus that I found them, in one another's arms.' 'It is right for her,' said Ailill; 'it is for help on the Foray that she has done it. See that the sword is kept in good condition,' said Ailill. 'Put it under your seat in the chariot, and a cloth of linen around it.' Fergus got up for his sword after that. 'Alas!' said he. 'What is the matter with you?' said Medb. 'An ill deed have I done to Ailill,' said he. 'Wait here, while I go into the wood,' said Fergus; 'and do not wonder though it be long till I come.' It happened that Medb knew not the loss of the sword. He goes thence, and takes the sword of his charioteer with him in his hand. He makes a wooden sword in the wood. Hence there is Fid Mor Drualle in Ulster. 'Let us go on after our comrades,' said Fergus. All their hosts meet in the plain. They pitch their tents. Fergus is summoned to Ailill to play chess. When Fergus went to the tent, Ailill began to laugh at him. [Note: Here follows about two columns of rhetoric, consisting of a taunting dialogue between Ailill, Fergus and Medb.] *** Cuchulainn came so that he was at Ath Cruinn before them. 'O friend Loeg,' said he to his charioteer, 'the hosts are at hand to us.' 'I swear by the gods,' said the charioteer, 'I will do a mighty feat before warriors ... on slender steeds with yokes of silver, with golden wheels ...' 'Take heed, O Loeg,' said Cuchulainn; 'hold the reins for great victory of Macha ... I beseech,' said Cuchulainn, 'the waters to help me. I beseech heaven and earth, and the Cronn in particular.' The (river) Cronn takes to fighting against them; it will not let them into Murthemne until the work of heroes be finished in Sliab Tuath Ochaine. Therewith the water rose up till it was in the tops of the trees. Mane, son of Ailill and Medb, went before the rest. Cuchulainn smites them on the ford, and thirty horsemen of Mane's retinue were drowned in the water. Cuchulainn overthrew two sixteens of warriors of them again by the water. They pitch their tents at that ford. Lugaid Mac Nois, descendant of Lomarc Allchomach, came to speak to Cuchulainn, with thirty horsemen. 'Welcome, O Lugaid,' said Cuchulainn. 'If a flock of birds graze upon Mag Murthemne, you shall have a duck with half of another; if fish come to the estuaries, you shall have a salmon with half of another. You shall have the three sprigs, the sprig of watercress, and the sprig of marshwort, and the sprig of seaweed. You shall have a man in the ford in your place.' [Note: This and the following speech are apparently forms of greeting. Cuchulainn offers Lugaid such hospitality as lies in his power. See a similar speech later to Fergus.] 'I believe it,' said Lugaid. 'Excellence of people to the boy whom I desire.' 'Your hosts are fine,' said Cuchulainn. It would not be sad for you alone before them,' said Lugaid. 'Fair-play and valour will support me,' said Cuchulainn. 'O friend Lugaid, do the hosts fear me?' 'I swear by God,' said Lugaid, 'one man nor two dare not go out of the camp, unless it be in twenties or thirties.' 'It will be something extra for them,' said Cuchulainn, 'if I take to throwing from the sling. Fitting for you will be this fellow-vassal, O Lugaid, that you have among the Ulstermen, if there come to me the force of every man. Say what you would have,' said Cuchulainn. 'That I may have a truce with you towards my host.' 'You shall have it, provided there be a token on it. And tell my friend Fergus that there be a token on his host. Tell the physicians, let there be a token on their host. And let them swear preservation of life to me, and let there come to me provision every night from them.' Then Lugaid goes from him. Fergus happened to be in the tent with Ailill. Lugaid called him out, and told him this. Something was heard, namely Ailill. ... [Note: Rhetoric, six lines, the substance of which is, apparently, that Ailill asks protection also.] 'I swear by God I cannot do it,' said Lugaid, 'unless I ask the boy Again.' 'Help me, [Note: Spoken by Fergus?] O Lugaid, go to him to see whether Ailill may come with a cantred into my troop. Take an ox with bacon to him and a jar of wine.' He goes to Cuchulainn then and tells him this. 'I do not mind though he go,' said Cuchulainn. Then their two troops join. They are there till night. Cuchulainn kills thirty men of them with the sling. (Or they would be twenty nights there, as some books say.) 'Your journeyings are bad,' said Fergus. 'The Ulstermen will come to you out of their weakness, and they will grind you to earth and gravel. "The corner of battle" in which we are is bad.' He goes thence to Cul Airthir. It happened that Cuchulainn had gone that night to speak to the Ulstermen [Note: In LL and Y BL this incident occurs later, and the messenger is Sualtaim, not Cuchulainn. LU is clearly wrong here.] 'Have you news?' said Conchobar. 'Women are captured,' said Cuchulainn, 'cattle are driven away, men are slain.' 'Who carries them off? who drives them away? who kills them?' '... Ailill Mac Matae carries them off, and Fergus Mac Roich very bold ...' [Note: Rhetoric.] 'It is not great profit to you,' said Conchobar, 'to-day, our smiting has come to us all the same.' Cuchulainn goes thence from them; he saw the hosts going forth. 'Alas,' said Ailill, 'I see chariots' ..., etc [Note: Rhetoric, five lines.] Cuchulainn kills thirty men of them on Ath Duirn. They could not reach Cul Airthir then till night. He slays thirty of them there, and they pitch their tents there. Ailill's charioteer, Cuillius, was washing the chariot tyres [Note: See previous note on the word _fonnod_; the word used here is _fonnod_.] in the ford in the morning; Cuchulainn struck him with a stone and killed him. Hence is Ath Cuillne in Cul Airthir. They reach Druim Feine in Conaille and spent the night there, as we have said before. Cuchulainn attacked them there; he slays a hundred men of them every night of the three nights that they were there; he took a sling to them from Ochaine near them. 'Our host will be short-lived through Cuchulainn in this way,' said Ailill. 'Let an agreement be carried from us to him: that he shall have the equal of Mag Murthemne from Mag Ai, and the best chariot that is in Ai, and the equipment of twelve men. Offer, if it pleases him better, the plain in which he was brought up, and three sevens of cumals [Note: The _cumal_ (bondmaid) was a standard of value.]; and everything that has been destroyed of his household (?) and cattle shall be made good, and he shall have full compensation (?), and let him go into my service; it is better for him than the service of a sub king.' 'Who shall go for that?' 'Mac Roth yonder.' Mac Roth, the messenger of Ailill and Medb, went on that errand to Delga: it is he who encircles Ireland in one day. It is there that Fergus thought that Cuchulainn was, in Delga. 'I see a man coming towards us,' said Loeg to Cuchulainn. 'He has a yellow head of hair, and a linen emblem round it; a club of fury(?) in his hand, an ivory-hilted sword at his waist; a hooded tunic with red ornamentation on him.' 'Which of the warriors of the king is that?' said Cuchulainn. Mac Roth asked Loeg whose man he was. 'Vassal to the man down yonder,' said Loeg. Cuchulainn was there in the snow up to his two thighs, without anything at all on him, examining his shirt. Then Mac Roth asked Cuchulainn whose man he was. 'Vassal of Conchobar Mac Nessa,' said Cuchulainn. 'Is there no clearer description?' 'That is enough,' said Cuchulainn. 'Where then is Cuchulainn?' said Mac Roth. 'What would you say to him?' said Cuchulainn. Mac Roth tells him then all the message, as we have told it. 'Though Cuchulainn were near, he would not do this; he will not barter the brother of his mother for another king.' He came to him again, and it was said to Cuchulainn that there should be given over to him the noblest of the women and the cows that were without milk, on condition that he should not ply his sling on them at night, even if he should kill them by day. 'I will not do it,' said Cuchulainn; 'if our slavewomen are taken from us, our noble women will be at the querns; and we shall be without milk if our milch-cows are taken from us.' He came to him again, and he was told that he should have the slave-women and the milch-cows. 'I will not do it,' said Cuchulainn; 'the Ulstermen will take their slave-women to their beds, and there will be born to them a servile offspring, and they will use their milch-cows for meat in the winter.' 'Is there anything else then?' said the messenger. 'There is,' said Cuchulainn; 'and I will not tell it you. It shall be agreed to, if any one tell it you.' 'I know it,' said Fergus; 'I know what the man tried to suggest; and it is no advantage to you. And this is the agreement,' said Fergus: 'that the ford on which takes place (?) his battle and combat with one man, the cattle shall not be taken thence a day and a night; if perchance there come to him the help of the Ulstermen. And it is a marvel to me,' said Fergus, 'that it is so long till they come out of their sufferings.' 'It is indeed easier for us,' said Ailill, 'a man every day than a hundred every night.' _The Death of Etarcomol_ Then Fergus went on this errand; Etarcomol, son of Edan [Note: Name uncertain. YBL has Eda, LL Feda.] and Lethrinne, foster-son of Ailill and Medb, followed. 'I do not want you to go,' said Fergus, 'and it is not for hatred of you; but I do not like combat between you and Cuchulainn. Your pride and insolence, and the fierceness and hatred, pride and madness of the other, Cuchulainn: there will be no good from your meeting.' 'Are you not able to protect me from him?' said Etarcomol. 'I can,' said Fergus, 'provided only that you do not treat his, sayings with disrespect.' They go thence in two chariots to Delga. Cuchulainn was then playing chess [Note: _Buanfach_, like _fidchell_, is apparently a game something like chess or draughts.] with Loeg; the back of his head was towards them, and Loeg's face. 'I see two chariots coming towards us,' said Loeg; 'a great dark man in the first chariot, with dark and bushy hair; a purple cloak round him, and a golden pin therein; a hooded tunic with gold embroidery on him; and a round shield with an engraved edge of white metal, and a broad spear-head, with rings from point to haft(?), in his hand. A sword as long as the rudder of a boat on his two thighs.' 'It is empty, this great rudder that is brought by my friend Fergus,' said Cuchulainn; 'for there is no sword in its sheath except a sword of wood. It has been told to me,' said Cuchulainn; 'Ailill got a chance of them as they slept, he and Medb; and he took away his sword from Fergus, and gave it to his charioteer to take care of, and the sword of wood was put into its sheath.' Then Fergus comes up. 'Welcome, O friend Fergus,' said Cuchulainn; 'if a fish comes into the estuary, you shall have it with half of another; if a flock comes into the plain, you shall have a duck with half of another; a spray of cress or seaweed, a spray of marshwort; a drink from the sand; you shall have a going to the ford to meet a man, if it should happen to be your watch, till you have slept.' 'I believe it,' said Fergus; 'it is not your provision that we have come for; we know your housekeeping here.' Then Cuchulainn receives the message from Fergus; anti Fergus goes away. Etarcomol remains looking at Cuchulainn. 'What are you looking at?' said Cuchulainn. 'You,' said Etarcomol. 'The eye soon compasses it indeed,' said Cuchulainn. 'That is what I see,' said Etarcomol. 'I do not know at all why you should be feared by any one. I do not see terror or fearfulness, or overwhelming of a host, in you; you are merely a fair youth with arms of wood, and with fine feats.' 'Though you speak ill of me,' said Cuchulainn, 'I will not kill you for the sake of Fergus. But for your protection, it would have been your entrails drawn (?) and your quarters scattered, that would have gone from me to the camp behind your chariot.' 'Threaten me not thus,' said Etarcomol. 'The wonderful agreement that he has bound, that is, the single combat, it is I who will first meet you of the men of Ireland to-morrow.' Then he goes away. He turned back from Methe and Cethe and said to his charioteer: 'I have boasted,' said he, 'before Fergus combat with Cuchulainn to-morrow. It is not possible for us [Note: YBL reading.] to wait for it; turn the horses back again from the hill.' Loeg sees this and says to Cuchulainn: 'There is the chariot back again, and it has put its left board [Note: An insult.] towards us.' 'It is not a "debt of refusal,"' said Cuchulainn. 'I do not wish,' said Cuchulainn, 'what you demand of me.' 'This is obligatory to you,' said Etarcomol. Cuchulainn strikes the sod under his feet, so that he fell prostrate, and the sod behind him. 'Go from me,' said Cuchulainn. 'I am loath to cleanse my hands in you. I would have divided you into many parts long since but for Fergus.' 'We will not part thus,' said Etarcomol, 'till I have taken your head, or left my head with you.' 'It is that indeed that will be there,' said Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn strikes him with his sword in his two armpits, so that his clothes fell from him, and it did not wound his skin. 'Go then,' said Cuchulainn. 'No,' said Etarcomol. Then Cuchulainn attacked him with the edge of his sword, and took his hair off as if it was shaved with a razor; he did not put even a scratch (?) on the surface. When the churl was troublesome then and stuck to him, he struck him on the hard part of his crown, so that he divided him down to the navel. Fergus saw the chariot go past him, and the one man therein. He turned to quarrel with Cuchulainn. 'Ill done of you, O wild boy!' said he, 'to insult me. You would think my club [Note: Or 'track'?] short,' said he. 'Be not angry with me, O friend Fergus,' said Cuchulainn ... [Note: Rhetoric, five lines.] 'Reproach me not, O friend Fergus.' He stoops down, so that Fergus's chariot went past him thrice. He asked his charioteer: 'Is it I who have caused it?' 'It is not you at all,' said his charioteer. 'He said,' said Cuchulainn, 'he would not go till he took my head, or till he left his head with me. Which would you think easier to bear, O friend Fergus?' said Cuchulainn. 'I think what has been done the easier truly,' said Fergus, 'for it is he who was insolent.' Then Fergus put a spancel-withe through Etarcomol's two heels and took him behind his own chariot to the camp. When they went over rocks, one-half would separate from the other; when it was smooth, they came together again. Medb saw him. 'Not pleasing is that treatment of a tender whelp, O Fergus,' said Medb. 'The dark churl should not have made fight,' said Fergus, 'against the great Hound whom he could not contend with (?).' His grave is dug then and his stone planted; his name is written in ogam; his lament is celebrated. Cuchulainn did not molest them that night with his sling; and the women and maidens and half the cattle are taken to him; and provision continued to be brought to him by day. _The Death of Nadcrantail_ 'What man have you to meet Cuchulainn tomorrow?' said Lugaid. 'They will give it to you to-morrow,' said Mane, son of Ailill. 'We can find no one to meet him,' said Medb. 'Let us have peace with him till a man be sought for him.' They get that then. 'Whither will you send,' said Ailill, 'to seek that man to meet Cuchulainn?' 'There is no one in Ireland who could be got for him,' said Medb, 'unless Curoi Mac Dare can be brought, or Nadcrantail the warrior.' There was one of Curoi's followers in the tent. 'Curoi will not come,' said he; 'he thinks enough of his household has come. Let a message be sent to Nadcrantail.' Mane Andoi goes to him, and they tell their tale to him. 'Come with us for the sake of the honour of Connaught.' 'I will not go,' said he, 'unless Findabair be given to me.' He comes with them then. They bring his armour in a chariot, from the east of Connaught till it was in the camp. 'You shall have Findabair,' said Medb, 'for going against that man yonder.' 'I will do it,' said he. Lugaid comes to Cuchulainn that night. 'Nadcrantail is coming to meet you to-morrow; it is unlucky for you: you will not withstand him.' 'That does not matter,' said Cuchulainn. ... [Note: Corrupt.] Nadcrantail goes next morning from the camp, and he takes nine spits of holly, sharpened and burned. Now Cuchulainn was there catching birds, and his chariot near him. Nadcrantail throws a spear at Cuchulainn; Cuchulainn performed a feat on to the point of that spear, and it did not hinder him from catching the birds. The same with the eight other spears. When he throws the ninth spear, the flock flies from Cuchulainn, and he went after the flock. He goes on the points of the spears like a bird, from each spear to the next, pursuing the birds that they should not escape. It seemed to every one, however, that it was in flight that Cuchulainn went before Nadcrantail. 'Your Cuchulainn yonder,' said he, 'has gone in flight before me.' 'That is of course,' said Medb; 'if good warriors should come to him, the wild boy would not resist ----.' This vexed Fergus and the Ulstermen; Fiacha Mac Fir-Febe comes from them to remonstrate with Cuchulainn. 'Tell him,' said Fergus, 'it was noble to be before the warriors while he did brave deeds. It is more noble for him,' said Fergus, 'to hide himself when he flees before one man, for it were not greater shame to him than to the rest of Ulster.' 'Who has boasted that?' said Cuchulainn. 'Nadcrantail,' said Fiacha. 'Though it were that that he should boast, the feat that I have done before him, it was no more shame to me,' (?) said Cuchulainn. 'He would by no means have boasted it had there been a weapon in his hand. You know full well that I kill no one unarmed. Let him come to-morrow,' said Cuchulainn, 'till he is between Ochaine and the sea, and however early he comes, he will find me there, and I shall not flee before him.' Cuchulainn came then to his appointed meeting-place, and he threw the hem [of his cloak] round him after his night-watch, and he did not perceive the pillar that was near him, of equal size with himself. He embraced it under his cloak, and placed it near him. Therewith Nadcrantail came; his arms were brought with him in a wagon. 'Where is Cuchulainn?' said he. 'There he is yonder,' said Fergus. 'It was not thus he appeared to me yesterday,' said Nadcrantail. 'Are you Cuchulainn?' 'And if I am then?' said Cuchulainn. 'If you are indeed,' said Nadcrantail, 'I cannot bring the head of a little lamb to camp; I will not take the head of a beardless boy.' 'It is not I at all,' said Cuchulainn. 'Go to him round the hill.' Cuchulainn comes to Loeg: 'Smear a false beard on me,' said he; 'I cannot get the warrior to fight me without a beard.' It was done for him. He goes to meet him on the hill. 'I think that more fitting,' said he. 'Take the right way of fighting with me,' said Nadcrantail. 'You shall have it if only we know it,' said Cuchulainn. 'I will throw a cast at you,' said Nadcrantail, 'and do not avoid it.' 'I will not avoid it except on high,' said Cuchulainn. Nadcrantail throws a cast at him; Cuchulainn leaps on high before it. 'You do ill to avoid my cast,' said Nadcrantail. 'Avoid my throw then on high,' said Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn throws the spear at him, but it was on high, so that from above it alighted in his crown, and it went through him to the ground. 'Alas! it is you are the best warrior in Ireland!' said Nadcrantail. 'I have twenty-four sons in the camp. I will go and tell them what hidden treasures I have, and I will come that you may behead me, for I shall die if the spear is taken out of my head.' 'Good,' said Cuchulainn. 'You will come back.' Nadcrantail goes to the camp then. Every one comes to meet him. 'Where is the madman's head?' said every one. 'Wait, O heroes, till I tell my tale to my sons, and go back that I may fight with Cuchulainn.' He goes thence to seek Cuchulainn, and throws his sword at Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn leaps on high, so that it struck the pillar, and the sword broke in two. Then Cuchulainn went mad as he had done against the boys in Emain, and he springs on his shield therewith, and struck his head off. He strikes him again on the neck down to the navel. His four quarters fall to the ground. Then Cuchulainn said this: 'If Nadcrantail has fallen, It will be an increase to the strife. Alas! that I cannot fight at this time With Medb with a third of the host.' HERE IS THE FINDING OF THE BULL ACCORDING TO THIS VERSION: It is then that Medb went with a third of the host with her to Cuib to seek the Bull; and Cuchulainn went after her. Now on the road of Midluachair she had gone to harry Ulster and Cruthne as far as Dun Sobairche. Cuchulainn saw something: Bude Mac Bain from Sliab Culinn with the Bull, and fifteen heifers round him; and his force was sixty men of Ailill's household, with a cloak folded round every man. Cuchulainn comes to them. 'Whence have you brought the cattle?' said Cuchulainn. 'From the mountain yonder,' said the man.' 'Where are their cow-herds?' said Cuchulainn. 'He is as we found him,' said the man. Cuchulainn made three leaps after them to seek speech with them as far as the ford. It is there he said to the leader: 'What is your name?' said he. 'One who fears you not(?) and loves you not; Bude Mac Bain,' said he. 'This spear at Bude!' said Cuchulainn. He hurls at him the javelin, so that it went through his armpits, and one of the livers broke in two before the spear. He kills him on his ford; hence is Ath Bude. The Bull is brought into the camp then. They considered then that it would not be difficult to deal with Cuchulainn, provided his javelin were got from him. _The Death of Redg the Satirist_ It is then that Redg, Ailill's satirist, went to him on an errand to seek the javelin, that is, Cuchulainn's spear. 'Give me your spear,' said the satirist. 'Not so,' said Cuchulainn; 'but I will give you treasure.' 'I will not take it,' said the satirist. Then Cuchulainn wounded the satirist, because he would not accept from him what he offered him, and the satirist said he would take away his honour unless he got the javelin. Then Cuchulainn threw the javelin at him, and it went right through his head. 'This gift is overpowering (?),' said the satirist. Hence is Ath Tolam Set. There was now a ford east of it, where the copper of the javelin rested; Humarrith, then, is the name of that ford. It is there that Cuchulainn killed all those that we have mentioned in Cuib; i.e. Nathcoirpthe at his trees; Cruthen on his ford; the sons of the Herd at their cairn; Marc on his hill; Meille on his hill; Bodb in his tower; Bogaine in his marsh (?). Cuchulainn turned back to Mag Murthemne; he liked better to defend his own home. After he went, he killed the men of Crocen (or Cronech), i.e. Focherd; twenty men of Focherd. He overtook them taking camp: ten cup-bearers and ten fighting-men. Medb turned back from the north when she had remained a fortnight ravaging the province, and when she had fought a battle against Findmor, wife of Celtchar Mac Uthidir. And after taking Dun Sobairche upon her, she brought fifty women into the province of Dalriada. Wherever Medb placed a horse-switch in Cuib its name is Bile Medba [Note: i.e. Tree of Medb]; every ford and every hill by which she slept, its name is Ath Medba and Dindgna Medba. They all meet then at Focherd, both Ailill and Medb and the troop that drove the Bull. But their herd took their Bull from them, and they drove him across into a narrow gap with their spear-shafts on their shields(?). [Note: A very doubtful rendering.] So that the feet of the cattle drove him [Note, i.e. Forgemen.] through the ground. Forgemen was the herd's name. He is there afterwards, so that that is the name of the hill, Forgemen. There was no annoyance to them that night, provided a man were got toward off Cuchulainn on the ford. 'Let a sword-truce be asked by us from Cuchulainn,' said Ailill. 'Let Lugaid go for it,' said every one. Lugaid goes then to speak to him. 'How am I now with the host?' said Cuchulainn. 'Great indeed is the mockery that you asked of them,' said Lugaid, 'that is, your women and your maidens and half your cattle. And they think it heavier than anything to be killed and to provide you with food.' A man fell there by Cuchulainn every day to the end of a week. Fair-play is broken with Cuchulainn: twenty are sent to attack him at one time; and he killed them all. 'Go to him, O Fergus,' said Ailill, 'that he may allow us a change of place.' They go then to Cronech. This is what fell by him in single combat at this place: two Roths, two Luans, two female horse messengers, [Note: Or 'female stealers.' (O'Davoren.)] ten fools, ten cup-bearers, ten Ferguses, six Fedelms, six Fiachras. These then were all killed by him in single combat. When they pitched their tents in Cronech, they considered what they should do against Cuchulainn. 'I know,' said Medb, 'what is good in this case: let a message be sent from us to ask him that we may have a sword-truce from him towards the host, and he shall have half the cattle that are here.' This message is taken to him. 'I will do this,' said Cuchulainn, 'provided the compact is not broken by you.' _The Meeting of Cuchulainn and Findabair_ 'Let an offer go to him,' said Ailill, 'that Findabair will be given to him on condition that he keeps away from the hosts.' Mane Athramail goes to him. He goes first to Loeg. 'Whose man are you?' said he. Loeg does not speak to him. Mane spoke to him thrice in this way. 'Cuchulainn's man,' said he, 'and do not disturb me, lest I strike your head off.' 'This man is fierce,' said Mane, turning from him. He goes then to speak to Cuchulainn. Now Cuchulainn had taken off his tunic, and the snow was round him up to his waist as he sat, and the snow melted round him a cubit for the greatness of the heat of the hero. Mane said to him in the same way thrice, 'whose man was he?' 'Conchobar's man, and do not disturb me. If you disturb me any longer, I will strike your head from you as the head is taken from a blackbird.' 'It is not easy,' said Mane, 'to speak to these two.' Mane goes from them then and tells his tale to Ailill and Medb. 'Let Lugaid go to him,' said Ailill, 'and offer to him the maiden.' Lugaid goes then and tells Cuchulainn that. 'O friend Lugaid,' said Cuchulainn, 'this is a snare.' 'It is the king's word that has said it,' said Lugaid; 'there will be no snare therefrom.' 'Let it be done so,' said Cuchulainn. Lugaid went from him therewith, and tells Ailill and Medb that answer. 'Let the fool go in my form,' said Ailill, 'and a king's crown on his head, and let him stand at a distance from Cuchulainn lest he recognise him, and let the maiden go with him, and let him betroth her to him, and let them depart quickly in this way; and it is likely that you will play a trick on him thus, so that he will not hinder you, till he comes with the Ulstermen to the battle.' Then the fool goes to him, and the maiden also; and it was from a distance he spoke to Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn goes to meet them. It happened that he recognised by the man's speech that he was a fool. He threw a sling stone that was in his hand at him, so that it sprang into his head and brought his brains out. Then he comes to the maiden, cuts her two tresses off, and thrusts a stone through her mantle and through her tunic, and thrusts a stone pillar through the middle of the fool. There are their two pillars there: the pillar of Findabair, and the fool's pillar. Cuchulainn left them thus. A party was sent from Ailill and Medb to seek out their folk, for they thought they were long; they were seen in this position. All this was heard throughout the camp. There was no truce for them with Cuchulainn afterwards. _The Combat of Munremar and Curoi_ When the hosts were there in the evening; they saw that one stone lighted on them from the east, and another from the west to meet it. They met in the air, and kept falling between Fergus's camp, and Ailill's, and Era's. [Note: Or Nera?] This sport and play went on from that hour to the same hour next day; and the hosts were sitting down, and their shields were over their heads to protect them against the masses of stones, till the plain was full of the stones. Hence is Mag Clochair. It happened that Curoi Mac Daire did this; he had come to help his comrades, and he was in Cotal over against Munremar Mac Gerrcind. He had come from Emain Macha to help Cuchulainn, and he was in Ard Roich. Curoi knew that there was no man in the host who could withstand Munremar. So it was these two who had made this sport between them. They were asked by the host to be quiet; then Munremar and Curoi make peace, and Curoi goes to his house and Munremar to Emain Macha. And Munremar did not come till the day of the battle; Curoi did not come till the combat with Fer Diad. 'Speak to Cuchulainn,' said Medb and Ailill, 'that he allow us change of place.' It is granted to them then, and they change the place. The weakness of the Ulstermen was over then. For when they awoke from their suffering, some of them kept coming on the host, that they might take to slaying them again. _The Death of the Boys_ Then the boys of Ulster had consulted in Emain Macha. 'Wretched indeed,' said they, 'for our friend Cuchulainn to be without help.' 'A question indeed,' said Fiachna Fulech Mac Fir-Febe, own brother to Fiacha Fialdama Mac Fir-Febe, 'shall I have a troop among you, and go to take help to him therefrom?' Three fifties of boys go with their playing-clubs, and that was a third of the boys of Ulster. The host saw them coming towards them across the plain. 'A great host is at hand to us over the plain,' said Ailill. Fergus goes to look at them. 'Some of the boys of Ulster that,' said he; 'and they come to Cuchulainn's help.' 'Let a troop go against them,' said Ailill, 'without Cuchulainn's knowledge; for if they meet him, you will not withstand them.' Three fifties of warriors go to meet them. They fell by one another so that no one escaped alive of the abundance(?) of the boys at Lia Toll. Hence it is the Stone of Fiachra Mac Fir-Febe; for it is there he fell. 'Make a plan,' said Ailill. 'Ask Cuchulainn about letting you go out of this place, for you will not come beyond him by force, because his flame of valour has sprung.' For it was customary with him, when his flame of valour sprang in him, that his feet would go round behind him, and his hams before; and the balls of his calves on his shins, and one eye in his head and the other out of his head; a man's head could have gone into his mouth. Every hair on him was as sharp as a thorn of hawthorn, and a drop of blood on each hair. He would not recognise comrades or friends. He would strike alike before and behind. It is from this that the men of Connaught gave Cuchulainn the name Riastartha. _The Woman-fight of Rochad_ Cuchulainn sent his charioteer to Rochad Mac Fatheman of Ulster, that he should come to his help. Now it happened that Findabair loved Rochad, for he was the fairest of the warriors among the Ulstermen at that time. The man goes to Rochad and told him to come to help Cuchulainn if he had come out of his weakness; that they should deceive the host, to get at some of them to slay them. Rochad comes from the north with a hundred men. 'Look at the plain for us to-day,' said Ailill. 'I see a troop coming over the plain,' said the watchman, 'and a warrior of tender years among them; the men only reach up to his shoulders.' 'Who is it yonder, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'Rochad Mac Fatheman,' said he, 'and it is to help Cuchulainn he comes.' 'I know what you had better do with him,' said Fergus. 'Let a hundred men go from you with the maiden yonder to the middle of the plain, and let the maiden go before them; and let a horseman go to speak to him, that he come alone to speak with the maiden, and let hands be laid on him, and this will keep off (?) the attack of his army from us.' This is done then. Rochad goes to meet the horseman. 'I have come from Findabair to meet you, that you come to speak with her.' He goes then to speak with her alone. The host rushes about him from every side. He is taken, and hands are laid on him. His force breaks into flight. He is let go then, and he is bound over not to go against the host till he should come together with all Ulster. It was promised to him that Findabair should be given to him, and he returned from them then. So that that is Rochad's Woman-fight. _The Death of the Princes_ [Note: Or 'royal mercenaries.'] 'Let a sword-truce be asked of Cuchulainn for us,' said Ailill and Medb. Lugaid goes on that errand, and Cuchulainn grants the truce. 'Put a man on the ford for me to-morrow,' said Cuchulainn. There were with Medb six princes, i.e. six king's heirs of the Clanna Dedad, the three Blacks of Imlech, and the three Reds of Sruthair. 'Why should we not go against Cuchulainn?' said they. They go next day, and Cuchulainn slew the six of them. _The Death of Cur_ Then Cur Mac Dalath is besought to go against Cuchulainn. He from whom he shed blood, he is dead before the ninth day. 'If he slay him,' said Medb, 'it is victory; and though it be he who is slain, it is removing a load from the host: for it is not easy to be with him in regard to eating and sleeping.' Then he goes forth. He did not think it good to go against a beardless wild boy. 'Not so(?) indeed,' said he, 'right is the honour (?) that you give us! If I had known that it was against this man that I was sent, I would not have bestirred myself to seek him; it were enough in my opinion for a boy of his own age from my troop to go against him.' 'Not so,' said Cormac Condlongas; 'it were a marvel for us if you yourself were to drive him off.' 'Howbeit,' said he, 'since it is on myself that it is laid you Shall go forth to-morrow morning; it will not delay me to kill the young deer yonder.' He goes then early in the morning to meet him; and he tells the host to get ready to take the road before them, for it was a clear road that he would make by going against Cuchulainn. _This is the Number of the Feats_ He went on that errand then. Cuchulainn was practising feats at that time, i.e. the apple-feat, the edge-feat, the supine-feat, the javelin-feat, the ropefeat, the ---- feat, the cat-feat, the hero's salmon[-leap?], the cast ----, the leap over ----, the noble champion's turn, the _gae bolga_, the ---- of swiftness, the wheel-feat, the ----, the feat on breath, the mouth-rage (?), the champion's shout, the stroke with proper adjustment, the back-stroke, the climbing a javelin with stretching of the body on its point, with the binding (?) of a noble warrior. Cur was plying his weapons against him in a fence(?) of his shield till a third of the day; and not a stroke of the blow reached Cuchulainn for the madness of the feats, and he did not know that a man was trying to strike him, till Fiacha Mac Fir-Febe said to him: 'Beware of the man who is attacking you.' Cuchulainn looked at him; he threw the feat-apple that remained in his hand, so that it went between the rim and the body of the shield, and went back through the head of the churl. It would be in Imslige Glendanach that Cur fell according to another version. Fergus returned to the army. 'If your security hold you,' said he, 'wait here till to-morrow.' 'It would not be there,' said Ailill; 'we shall go back to our camp.' Then Lath Mac Dabro is asked to go against Cuchulainn, as Cur had been asked. He himself fell then also. Fergus returns again to put his security on them. They remained there until there were slain there Cur Mac Dalath, and Lath Mac Dabro, and Foirc, son of the three Swifts, and Srubgaile Mac Eobith. They were all slain there in single combat. _The Death of Ferbaeth_ 'Go to the camp for us, O friend Loeg' [said Cuchulainn], 'and consult Lugaid Mac Nois, descendant of Lomarc, to know who is coming against me tomorrow. Let it be asked diligently, and give him my greeting.' Then Loeg went. 'Welcome,' said Lugaid; 'it is unlucky for Cuchulainn, the trouble in which he is, alone against the men of Ireland. It is a comrade of us both, Ferbaeth (ill-luck to his arms!), who goes against him to morrow. Findabair is given to him for it, and the kingdom of his race.' Loeg turns back to where Cuchulainn is. He is not very joyful over his answer, my friend Loeg,' said Cuchulainn. Loeg tells him all that. Ferbaeth had been summoned into the tent to Ailill and Medb, and he is told to sit by Findabair, and that she should be given to him, for he was her choice for fighting with Cuchulainn. He was the man they thought worthy of them, for they had both learned the same arts with Scathach. Then wine is given to him, till he was intoxicated, and he is told, 'They thought that wine fine, and there had only been brought the load of fifty wagons. And it was the maiden who used to put hand to his portion therefrom.' 'I do not wish it,' said Ferbaeth; 'Cuchulainn is my foster-brother, and a man of perpetual covenant with me. Nevertheless I will go against him to-morrow and cut off his head.' 'It will be you who would do it,' said Medb. Cuchulainn told Loeg to go to meet Lugaid, that he should come and speak with him. Lugaid comes to him. 'So Ferbaeth is coming against me to-morrow,' said Cuchulainn. 'He indeed,' said Lugaid. 'An evil day!' said Cuchulainn; 'I shall not be alive therefrom. Two of equal age we, two of equal deftness, two equal when we meet. O Lugaid, greet him for me; tell him that it is not true valour to come against me; tell him to come to meet me to-night, to speak with me.' Lugaid tells him this. When Ferbaeth did not avoid it, he went that night to renounce his friendship with Cuchulainn, and Fiacha Mac Fir-Febe with him. Cuchulainn appealed to him by his foster-brotherhood, and Scathach, the foster-mother of them both. 'I must,' said Ferbaeth. 'I have promised it' 'Take back (?) your bond of friendship then,' said Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn went from him in anger. A spear of holly was driven into Cuchulainn's foot in the glen, and appeared up by his knee. He draws it out. 'Go not, O Ferbaeth, till you have seen the find that I have found.' 'Throw it,' said Ferbaeth. Cuchulainn threw the spear then after Ferbaeth so that it hit the hollow of his poll, and came out at his mouth in front, so that he fell back into the glen. 'That is a throw indeed,' said Ferbaeth. Hence is Focherd Murthemne. (Or it is Fiacha who had said, 'Your throw is vigorous to-day, O Cuchulainn,' said he; so that Focherd Murthemne is from that.) Ferbaeth died at once in the glen. Hence is Glenn Firbaith. Something was heard: Fergus, who said: 'O Ferbaeth, foolish is thy expedition In the place in which thy grave is. Ruin reached thee ... In Croen Corand. 'The hill is named Fithi (?) for ever; Croenech in Murthemne, From to-day Focherd will be the name Of the place in which thou didst fall, O Ferbaeth. O Ferbaeth,' etc. 'Your comrade has fallen,' said Fergus. 'Say will you pay for this man on the morrow?' 'I will pay indeed,' said Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn sends Loeg again for news, to know how they are in the camp, and whether Ferbaeth lived. Lugaid said: 'Ferbaeth is dead,' and Cuchulainn comes in turn to talk with them. _The Combat of Larine Mac Nois_ 'One of you to-morrow to go readily against the other,' said Lugaid. 'He will not be found at all,' said Ailill, 'unless you practise trickery therein. Any man who comes to you, give him wine, so that his mind may be glad, and it shall be said to him that that is all the wine that has been brought from Cruachan. It grieves us that you should be on water in the camp. And Findabair shall be put at his right hand, and it shall be said: "She shall come to you, if you bring us the head of the Riastartha."' A messenger used to be sent to every hero on his night, and that used to be told to him; he continued to kill every man of them in. turn. No one could be got by them to meet him at last. Larine Mac Nois, brother to Lugaid, King of Munster, was summoned to them the next day. Great was his pride. Wine is given to him, and Findabair is put at his right hand. Medb looked at the two. 'It pleases me, yonder pair,' said she; 'a match between them would be fitting.' 'I will not stand in your way,' said Ailill; 'he shall have her if he brings me the head of the Riastartha.' 'I will bring it,' said Larine. Then Lugaid comes. 'What man have you for the ford to-morrow?' said he. 'Larine goes,' said Ailill. Then Lugaid comes to speak with Cuchulainn. They meet in Glenn Firbaith. Each gives the other welcome. 'It is for this I have come to speak to you,' said Lugaid: 'there is a churl here, a fool and proud,' said he, 'a brother of mine named Larine; he is befooled about the same maiden. On your friendship then, do not kill him, lest you should leave me without a brother. For it is for this that he is being sent to you, so that we two might quarrel. I should be content, however, that you should give him a sound drubbing, for it is in my despite that he comes.' Larine goes next day to meet Cuchulainn, and the maiden near him to encourage him. Cuchulainn attacks him without arms. [Note: This is apparently the sense, but the passage seems corrupt.] He takes Larine's arms from him perforce. He takes him then between his two hands, and grinds and shakes him, ... and threw him till he was between Lugaid's two hands ...; nevertheless, he is the only man who escaped [even] a bad escape from him, of all who met him on the Tain. _The Conversation of the Morrigan with Cuchulainn_ Cuchulainn saw a young woman coming towards him, with a dress of every colour on, and her form very excellent. 'Who are you?' said Cuchulainn. 'Daughter of Buan the king,' said she. 'I have come to you; I have loved you for your reputation, and I have brought my treasures and my cattle with me.' 'The time at which you have come to us is not good. For our condition is evil, through hunger. It is not easy to me to meet a woman, while I am in this strife.' 'I will be a help to you. ... I shall be more troublesome to you,' said she, 'when I come against you when you are in combat against the men. I will come in the form of an eel about your feet in the ford, so that you shall fall.' 'I think that likelier than the daughter of a king. I will take you,' said he, 'between my toes, till your ribs are broken, and you will be in this condition till a doom of blessing comes (?) on you.' 'I will drive the cattle on the ford to you, in the form of a grey she-wolf.' 'I will throw a stone at you from my sling, so that it shall break your eye in your head; and you will be in that state till a doom of blessing comes on you.' 'I will come to you in the form of a hornless red heifer before the cattle. They will rush on you on the plains(?), and on the fords, and on the pools, and you will not see me before you.' 'I will throw a stone at you,' said he, 'so that your leg shall break under you, and you will be in this state till a doom of blessing comes on you.' Therewith she goes from him. So he was a week on Ath Grencha, and a man used to fall every day by him in Ath Grencha, i.e. in Ath Darteisc. _The Death of Loch Mac Emonis_ Then Loch Mac Emonis was asked like the others, and there was promised to him a piece of the arable land of Mag Ai equal in size to Mag Murthemne, and the equipment of twelve warriors and a chariot worth seven cumals [Note: A measure of value.]; and he did not think combat with a youth worthy. He had a brother, Long Mac Emonis himself. The same price was given to him, both maiden and raiment and chariots and land. He goes to meet Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn slays him, and he was brought dead before his brother, Loch. This latter said that if he only knew that it was a bearded man who slew him, he would kill him for it. 'Take a battle-force to him,' said Medb to her household, 'across the ford from the west, that you may go-across; and let fair-play be broken on him.' Then the seven Manes, warriors, go first, so that they saw him on the edge of the ford westward. He puts his feast-dress on that day. It is then that the women kept climbing on the men to look at him. 'I am sorry,' said Medb; 'I cannot see the boy about whom they go there.' 'Your mind will not be the gladder for it,' said Lethrend, Ailill's squire, 'if you could see him.' He comes to the ford then as he was. 'What man is it yonder, O Fergus?' said Medb. 'A boy who wards off,' etc. ... 'if it is Culann's Hound.' [Note: Rhetoric, four lines.] Medb climbed on the men then to look at him. It is then that the women said to Cuchulainn 'that he was laughed at in the camp because he had no beard, and no good warriors would go against him, only wild men; it were easier to make a false beard.' So this is what he did, in order to seek combat with a man; i.e. with Loch. Cuchulainn took a handful of grass, and said a spell over it, so that every one thought he had a beard. 'True,' said the troop of women, 'Cuchulainn has a beard. It is fitting for a warrior to fight with him.' They had done this on urging Loch. 'I will not make combat against him till the end of seven days from to-day,' said Loch. 'It is not fitting for us to have no attack on the man for this space,' said Medb. 'Let us put a hero to hunt(?) him every night, if perchance we may get a chance at him.' This is done then. A hero used to come every night to hunt him, and he used to kill them all. These are the names of the men who fell there: seven Conalls, seven Oenguses, seven Uarguses, seven Celtris, eight Fiacs, ten Ailills, ten Delbaths, ten Tasachs. These are his deeds of this week in Ath Grencha. Medb asked advice, to know what she should do to Cuchulainn, for what had been killed of their hosts by him distressed her greatly. This is the plan she arrived at, to put brave, high-spirited men to attack him all at once when he should come to an appointed meeting to speak with Medb. For she had an appointment the next day with Cuchulainn to make a peace in fraud with him, to get hold of him. She sent messengers forth to seek him that he should come to meet her; and it was thus he should come, and he unarmed: 'for she would come only with her troop of women to meet him.' The messenger, Traigtren, went to the place where Cuchulainn was, and tells him Medb's message. Cuchulainn promised that he would do so. 'In what manner does it please you to go to meet Medb to-morrow, O Cuchulainn?' said Loeg. 'As Medb has asked me,' said Cuchulainn. 'Great are Medb's deeds,' said the charioteer; 'I fear a hand behind the back with her.' 'How is it to be done then?' said he. 'Your sword at your waist,' said the charioteer, 'that you may not be taken at an unfair advantage. For the warrior is not entitled to his honour-price if he is without arms; and it is the coward's law that he deserves in that way.' 'Let it be done so then,' said Cuchulainn. The meeting-place was in Ard Aignech, which is called Fochaird to-day. Now Medb came to the meeting-place and set in ambush fourteen men of her own special following, of those who were of most prowess, ready for him. These are they: two Glassines, the two sons of Bucchridi; two Ardans, the two sons of Licce; two Glasogmas, the two sons of Crund; Drucht and Delt and Dathen; Tea and Tascra and Tualang; Taur and Glese. Then Cuchulainn comes to meet her. The men rise to attack him. Fourteen spears are thrown at him at once. Cuchulainn guards himself so that his skin or his ---- (?) is not touched. Then he turns on them and kills them, the fourteen of them. So that they are the fourteen men of Focherd, and they are the men of Cronech, for it is in Cronech at Focherd that they were killed. Hence Cuchulainn said: 'Good is my feat of heroism,' [Note: _Fo_, 'good'; _cherd_, 'feat.' Twelve lines of rhetoric.] etc. So it is from this that the name Focherd stuck to the place; that is, _focherd_, i.e. 'good is the feat of arms' that happened to Cuchulainn there. So Cuchulainn came, and overtook them taking camp, and there were slain two Daigris and two Anlis and four Dungais of Imlech. Then Medb began to urge Loch there. 'Great is the mockery of you,' said she, 'for the man who has killed your brother to be destroying our host, and you do not go to battle with him! For we deem it certain that the wild man, great and fierce [Note: Literally, 'sharpened.'], the like of him yonder, will not be able to withstand the rage and fury of a hero like you. For it is by one foster-mother and instructress that an art was built up for you both.' Then Loch came against Cuchulainn, to avenge his brother on him, for it was shown to him that Cuchulainn had a beard. 'Come to the upper ford,' said Loch; 'it would not be in the polluted ford that we shall meet, where Long fell.' When he came then to seek the ford, the men drove the cattle across. 'It will be across your water [Note: Irish, _tarteisc_.] here to-day,' said Gabran the poet. Hence is Ath Darteisc, and Tir Mor Darteisc from that time on this place. When the men met then on the ford, and when they began to fight and to strike each other there, and when each of them began to strike the other, the eel threw three folds round Cuchulainn's feet, till he lay on his back athwart the ford. Loch attacked him with the sword, till the ford was blood-red with his blood. 'Ill indeed,' said Fergus, 'is this deed before the enemy. Let each of you taunt the man, O men,' said he to his following, 'that he may not fall for nothing.' Bricriu Poison-tongue Mac Carbatha rose and began inciting Cuchulainn. 'Your strength is gone,' said he, 'when it is a little salmon that overthrows you when the Ulstermen are at hand [coming] to you out of their sickness yonder. Grievous for you to undertake a hero's deed in the presence of the men of Ireland and to ward off a formidable warrior in arms thus!' Therewith Cuchulainn arises and strikes the eel so that its ribs broke in it, and the cattle were driven over the hosts eastwards by force, so that they took the tents on their horns, with the thunder-feat that the two heroes had made in the ford. The she-wolf attacked him, and drove the cattle on him westwards. He throws a stone from his sling, so that her eye broke in her head. She goes in the form of a hornless red heifer; she rushes before the cows upon the pools and fords. It is then he said: 'I cannot see the fords for water.' He throws a stone at the hornless red heifer, so that her leg breaks under her. Then he sang a song: 'I am all alone before flocks; I get them not, I let them not go; I am alone at cold hours (?) Before many peoples. 'Let some one say to Conchobar Though he should come to me it were not too soon; Magu's sons have carried off their kine And divided them among them. 'There may be strife about one head Only that one tree blazes not; If there were two or three Their brands would blaze. [Note: Meaning not clear.] 'The men have almost worn me out By reason of the number of single combats; I cannot work the slaughter (?) of glorious warriors As I am all alone. I am all alone.' *** It is there then that Cuchulainn did to the Morrigan the three things that he had promised her in the _Tain Bo Regamna_ [Note: One of the introductory stories to the _Tain Bo Cuailnge_, printed with translation in _Irische Texte_, 2nd series.]; and he fights Loch in the ford with the gae-bolga, which the charioteer threw him along the stream. He attacked him with it, so that it went into his body's armour, for Loch had a horn-skin in fighting with a man. 'Give way to me,' said Loch. Cuchulainn gave way, so that it was on the other side that Loch fell. Hence is Ath Traiged in Tir Mor. Cuchulainn cut off his head then. Then fair-play was broken with him that day when five men came against him at one time; i.e. two Cruaids, two Calads, Derothor; Cuchulainn killed them by himself. Hence is Coicsius Focherda, and Coicer Oengoirt; or it is fifteen days that Cuchulainn was in Focherd, and hence is Coicsius Focherda in the Foray. Cuchulainn hurled at them from Delga, so that not a living thing, man or beast, could put its head past him southwards between Delga and the sea. _The Healing of the Morrigan_ When Cuchulainn was in this great weariness, the Morrigan met him in the form of an old hag, and she blind and lame, milking a cow with three teats, and he asked her for a drink. She gave him milk from a teat. 'He will be whole who has brought it(?),' said Cuchulainn; 'the blessings of gods and non-gods on you,' said he. (Gods with them were the Mighty Folk [Note: i.e. the dwellers in the Sid. The words in brackets are a gloss incorporated in the text.]; non-gods the people of husbandry.) Then her head was healed so that it was whole. She gave the milk of the second teat, and her eye was whole; and gave the milk of the third teat, and her leg was whole. So that this was what he said about each thing of them, 'A doom of blessing on you,' said he. 'You told me,' said the Morrigan, 'I should not have healing from you for ever.' 'If I had known it was you,' said Cuchulainn, 'I would not have healed you ever.' So that formerly Cuchulainn's throng (?) on Tarthesc was the name of this story in the Foray. It is there that Fergus claimed of his securities that faith should not be broken with Cuchulainn; and it is there that Cuchulainn ... [Note: Corrupt; one and a half lines.] i.e. Delga Murthemne at that time. Then Cuchulainn killed Fota in his field; Bomailce on his ford; Salach in his village (?); Muine in his hill; Luair in Leth-bera; Fer-Toithle in Toithle; these are the names of these lands for ever, every place in which each man of them fell. Cuchulainn killed also Traig and Dornu and Dernu, Col and Mebul and Eraise on this side of Ath Tire Moir, at Methe and Cethe: these were three [Note: MS. 'two.'] druids and their three wives. Then Medb sent a hundred men of her special retinue to kill Cuchulainn. . He killed them all on Ath Ceit-Chule. Then Medb said: 'It is _cuillend_ [Note: Interlinear gloss: 'We deem it a crime.'] to us, the slaying of our people.' Hence is Glass Chrau and Cuillend Cind Duin and Ath Ceit-Chule. Then the four provinces of Ireland took camp and fortified post in the Breslech Mor in Mag Murthemne, and send part of their cattle and booty beyond them to the south into Clithar Bo Ulad. Cuchulainn took his post at the mound in Lerga near them, and his charioteer Loeg Mac Riangabra kindled a fire for him on the evening of that night. He saw the fiery sheen of the bright golden arms over the heads of the four provinces of Ireland at the setting of the clouds of evening. Fury and great rage came over him at sight of the host, at the multitude of his enemies, the abundance of his foes. He took his two spears and his shield and his sword; he shook his shield and brandished his spears and waved his sword; and he uttered his hero's shout from his throat, so that goblins and sprites and spectres of the glen and demons of the air answered, for the terror of the shout which they uttered on high. So that the Nemain produced confusion on the host. The four provinces of Ireland came into a tumult of weapons about the points of their own spears and weapons, so that a hundred warriors of them died of terror and of heart-burst in the middle of the camp and of the position that night. When Loeg was there, he saw something: a single man who came straight across the camp of the men of Ireland from the north-east straight towards him. 'A single man is coming to us now, O Little Hound!' said Loeg. 'What kind of man is there?' said Cuchulainn. 'An easy question: a man fair and tall is he, with hair cut broad, waving yellow hair; a green mantle folded round him; a brooch of white silver in the mantle on his breast; a tunic of royal silk, with red ornamentation of red gold against the white skin, to his knees. A black shield with a hard boss of white metal; a five pointed spear in his hand; a forked (?) javelin beside it. Wonderful is the play and sport and exercise that he makes; but no one attacks him, and he attacks no one, as if no one saw him.' 'It is true, O fosterling,' said he; 'which of my friends from the _síd_ is that who comes to have pity on me, because they know the sore distress in which I am, alone against the four great provinces of Ireland, on the Cattle-Foray of Cualnge at this time?' That was true for Cuchulainn. When the warrior had reached the place where Cuchulainn was, he spoke to him, and had pity on him for it. 'This is manly, O Cuchulainn,' said he. 'It is not much at all,' said Cuchulainn. 'I will help you,' said the man. 'Who are you at all?' said Cuchulainn. 'It is I, your father from the _síd_, Lug Mac Ethlend.' 'My wounds are heavy, it were high time that I should be healed.' 'Sleep a little, O Cuchulainn,' said the warrior; 'your heavy swoon (?) [Note: Conjectural--MS. _tromthortim_.] of sleep at the mound of Lerga till the end of three days and three nights, and I will fight against the hosts for that space.' Then he sings the _ferdord_ to him, and he sleeps from it. Lug looked at each wound that it was clean. Then Lug said: 'Arise, O great son of the Ulstermen, whole of thy wounds. ... Go into thy chariot secure. Arise, arise!' [Note: Rhetoric.] For three days and three nights Cuchulainn was asleep. It were right indeed though his sleep equalled his weariness. From the Monday after the end of summer exactly to the Wednesday after Candlemas, for this space Cuchulainn had not slept, except when he slept a little while against his spear after midday, with his head on his clenched fist, and his clenched fist on his spear, and his spear on his knee; but he was striking and cutting and attacking and slaying the four great provinces of Ireland for that space. It is then that the warrior of the síd cast herbs and grasses of curing and charms of healing into the hurts and wounds and into the injuries and into the many wounds of Cuchulainn, so that Cuchulainn recovered in his sleep without his perceiving it at all. Now it was at this time that the boys came south from Emain Macha: Folloman Mac Conchobair with three fifties of kings' sons of Ulster, and they gave battle thrice to the hosts, so that three times their own number fell, and all the boys fell except Folloman Mac Conchobair. Folloman boasted that he would not go back to Emain for ever and ever, until he should take the head of Ailill with him, with the golden crown that was above it. This was not easy to him; for the two sons of Bethe Mac Bain, the two sons of Ailill's foster-mother and foster-father, came on him, and wounded him so that he fell by them. So that that is the death of the boys of Ulster and of Folloman Mac Conchobair. Cuchulainn for his part was in his deep sleep till the end of three days and three nights at the mound in Lerga. Cuchulainn arose then from his sleep, and put his hand over his face, and made a purple wheelbeam from head to foot, and his mind was strong in him, and he would have gone to an assembly, or a march, or a tryst, or a beer-house, or to one of the chief assemblies of Ireland. 'How long have I been in this sleep now, O warrior?' said Cuchulainn. 'Three days and three nights,' said the warrior. 'Alas for that!' said Cuchulainn. 'What is the matter?' said the warrior. 'The hosts without attack for this space,' said Cuchulainn. 'They are not that at all indeed,' said the warrior. 'Who has come upon them?' said Cuchulainn. 'The boys came from the north from Emain Macha; Folloman Mac Conchobair with three fifties of boys of the kings' sons of Ulster; and they gave three battles to the hosts for the space of the three days and the three nights in which you have been in your sleep now. And three times their own number fell, and the boys fell, except Folloman Mac Conchobair. Folloman boasted that he would take Ailill's head, and that was not easy to him, for he was killed.' 'Pity for that, that I was not in my strength! For if I had been in my strength, the boys would not have fallen as they have fallen, and Folloman Mac Conchobair would not have fallen.' 'Strive further, O Little Hound, it is no reproach to thy honour and no disgrace to thy valour.' 'Stay here for us to-night, O warrior,' said Cuchulainn, 'that we may together avenge the boys on the hosts.' 'I will not stay indeed,' said the warrior, 'for however great the contests of valour and deeds of arms any one does near thee, it is not on him there will be the renown of it or the fame or the reputation, but it is on thee; therefore I will not stay. But ply thy deed of arms thyself alone on the hosts, for not with them is there power over thy life this time.' 'The scythe-chariot, O my friend Loeg!' said Cuchulainn; 'can you yoke it? and is its equipment here? If you can yoke it, and if you have its equipment, yoke it; and if you have not its equipment, do not yoke it at all.' It is then that the charioteer arose, and he put on his hero's dress of charioteering. This was his hero's dress of charioteering that he put on: his soft tunic of skin, light and airy, well-turned [Note: Lit. 'kneaded.'], made of skin, sewn, of deer-skin, so that it did not restrain the movement of his hands outside. He put on his black (?) upper-cloak over it outside: Simon Magus had made it for Darius, King of the Romans, so that Darius gave it to Conchobar, and Conchobar gave it to Cuchulainn, and Cuchulainn gave it to his charioteer. The charioteer took first then his helm, ridged, like a board (?), four-cornered, with much of every colour and every form, over the middle of his shoulders. This was well-measured (?) to him, and it was not an overweight. His hand brought the circlet of red-yellow, as though it were a plate of red-gold, of refined gold smelted over the edge of an anvil, to his brow, as a sign of his charioteering, in distinction to his master. He took the goads (?) of his horses, and his whip (?) inlaid in his right hand. He took the reins to hold back his horses in his left hand. [Note: Gloss incorporated in text: 'i. e. to direct his horses, in his left hand, for the great power of his charioteering.'] Then he put the iron inlaid breastplates on the horses, so that they were covered from forehead to forefoot with spears and points and lances and hard points, so that every motion in this chariot was spear-near, so that every corner and every point and every end and every front of this chariot was a way of tearing. It is then that he cast a spell of covering over his horses and over his companion, so that he was not visible to any one in the camp, and so that every one in the camp was visible to them. It was proper that he should cast this, because there were the three gifts of charioteering on the charioteer that day, the leap over ----, and the straight ----, and the ----. Then the hero and the champion and he who made the fold of the Badb [Note: The Badb (scald-crow) was a war-goddess. This is an expressive term for the piled-up bodies of the slain.] of the men of the earth, Cuchulainn Mac Sualtaim, took his battle-array of battle and contest and strife. This was his battle-array of battle and contest and strife: he put on twenty-seven skin tunics, waxed, like board, equally thick, which used to be under strings and chains and thongs, against his white skin, that he might not lose his mind nor his understanding when his rage should come. He put on his hero's battle-girdle over it outside, of hard-leather, hard, tanned, of the choice of seven ox-hides of a heifer, so that it covered him from the thin part of his sides to the thick part of his arm-pit; it used to be on him to repel spears, and points, and darts, and lances, and arrows. For they were cast from him just as if it was stone or rock or horn that they struck (?). Then he put on his apron, skin like, silken, with its edge of white gold variegated, against the soft lower part of his body. He put on his dark apron of dark leather, well tanned, of the choice of four ox-hides of a heifer, with his battle-girdle of cows' skins (?) about it over his silken skin-like apron. Then the royal hero took his battle-arms of battle and contest and strife. These then were his battle-arms of battle: he took his ivory-hilted, bright-faced weapon, with his eight little swords; he took his five-pointed spear, with his eight little spears [Note: In the margin: 'and his quiver,' probably an interpolation.]; he took his spear of battle, with his eight little darts; he took his javelin with his eight little javelins; his eight shields of feats, with his round shield, dark red, in which a boar that would be shown at a feast would go into the boss (?), with its edge sharp, keen, very sharp, round about it, so that it would cut hairs against the stream for sharpness and keenness and great sharpness; when the warrior did the edge-feat with it, he would cut equally with his shield, and with his spear, and with his sword. Then he put on his head a ridged-helmet of battle and contest and strife, from which there was uttered the shout of a hundred warriors, with along cry from every corner and every angle of it. For there used to cry from it equally goblins and sprites and ghosts of the glen and demons of the air, before and above and around, wherever he used to go before shedding the blood of warriors and enemies. There was cast over him his dress of concealment by the garment of the Land of Promise that was given by his foster-father in wizardry. It is then came the first contortion on Cuchulainn, so that it made him horrible, many-shaped, wonderful, strange. His shanks shook like a tree before the stream, or like a rush against the stream, every limb and every joint and every end and every member, of him from head to foot. He made a ---- of rage of his body inside his skin. His feet and his shins and his knees came so that they were behind him; his heels and his calves and his hams came so that they were in front. The front-sinews of his calves came so that they were on the front of his shins, so that every huge knot of them was as great as a warrior's clenched fist. The temple-sinews of his head were stretched, so that they were on the hollow of his neck, so that every round lump of them, very great, innumerable, not to be equalled (?), measureless, was as great as the head of a month old child. Then he made a red bowl of his face and of his visage on him; he swallowed one of his two eyes into his head, so that from his cheek a wild crane could hardly have reached it [to drag it] from the back of his skull. The other sprang out till it was on his cheek outside. His lips were marvellously contorted. Tie drew the cheek from the jawbone, so that his gullet was visible. His lungs and his lights came so that they were flying in his mouth and in his throat. He struck a blow of the ---- of a lion with his upper palate on the roof of his skull, so that every flake of fire that came into his mouth from his throat was as large as a wether's skin. His heart was heard light-striking (?) against his ribs like the roaring of a bloodhound at its food, or like a lion going through bears. There were seen the palls of the Badb, and the rain-clouds of poison, and the sparks of fire very red in clouds and in vapours over his head with the boiling of fierce rage, that rose over him. His hair curled round his head like the red branches of a thorn in the gap of Atalta (?). Though a royal apple-tree under royal fruit had been shaken about it, hardly would an apple have reached the ground through it, but an apple would have fixed on every single hair there, for the twisting of the rage that rose from his hair above him. The hero's light rose from his forehead, so that it was as long, and as thick, as a warrior's whet-stone, so that it was equally long with the nose, till he went mad in playing with the shields, in pressing on (?) the charioteer, in ---- the hosts. As high, as thick, as strong, as powerful, as long, as the mast of a great ship, was the straight stream of dark blood that rose straight up from the very top of his head, so that it made a dark smoke of wizardry like the smoke of a palace when the king comes to equip himself in the evening of a wintry day. After that contortion wherewith Cuchulainn was contorted, then the hero of valour sprang into his scythed battle-chariot, with its iron points, with its thin edges, with its hooks, and with its hard points, with its sharp points (?) of a hero, with their pricking goads (?), with its nails of sharpness that were on shafts and thongs and cross-pieces and ropes (?) of that chariot. It was thus the chariot was, with its body thin-framed (?), dry-framed (?), feat-high, straight-shouldered (?), of a champion, on which there would have been room for eight weapons fit for a lord, with the speed of swallow or of wind or of deer across the level of the plain. The chariot was placed on two horses, swift, vehement, furious, small-headed, small-round, small-end, pointed, ----, red-breasted, ----, easy to recognise, well-yoked, ... One of these two horses was supple, swift-leaping, great of strength, great of curve, great of foot, great of length, ----. The other horse was flowing-maned, slender-footed, thin-footed, slender-heeled, ----. It is then that he threw the thunder-feat of a hundred, and the thunder-feat of four hundred, and he stopped at the thunder-feat of five hundred, for he did not think it too much for this equal number to fall by him in his first attack, and in his first contest of battle on the four provinces of Ireland; and he came forth in this way to attack his enemies, and he took his chariot in a great circuit about the four great provinces of Ireland, and he put the attack of an enemy among enemies on them. And a heavy course was put on his chariot, and the iron wheels of the chariot went into the ground, so that it was enough for fort and fortress, the way the iron wheels of the chariot went into the ground; for there arose alike turfs and stones and rocks and flagstones and gravel of the ground as high as the iron wheels of the chariot. The reason why he cast the circle of war round about the four great provinces of Ireland, was that they might not flee from him, and that they might not scatter, that he might make sure of them, to avenge the boys on them; and he comes into the battle thus in the middle, and overthrew great fences of his enemies' corpses round about the host thrice, and puts the attack of an enemy among enemies on them, so that they fell sole to sole, and neck to neck; such was the density of the slaughter. He went round again thrice thus, so that he left a layer of six round them in the great circuit; i.e. soles of three to necks of three in the course of a circuit round the camp. So that its name in the Foray is Sesrech Breslige, and it is one of the three not to be numbered in the Foray; i.e. Sesrech Breslige and Imslige Glendamnach and the battle on Garach and Irgarach, except that it was alike dog and horse and man there. This is what others say, that Lug Mac Ethlend fought along with Cuchulainn the Sesrech Breslige. Their number is not known, and it is impossible to count what number fell there of the rabble. But the chief only have been counted. These are the names of the princes and chiefs: two Cruads, two Calads, two Cirs, two Ciars, two Ecells, three Croms, three Caurs, three Combirge, four Feochars, four Furachars, four Cass, four Fotas, five Caurs, five Cermans, five Cobthachs, six Saxans, six Dachs, six Dares, seven Rochads, seven Ronans, seven Rurthechs, eight Roclads, eight Rochtads, eight Rindachs, eight Corpres, eight Mulachs, nine Daigs, nine Dares, nine Damachs, ten Fiachs, ten Fiachas, ten Fedelmids. Ten kings over seven fifties did Cuchulainn slay in Breslech Mor in Mag Murthemne; and an innumerable number besides of dogs and horses and women and boys and people of no consequence and rabble. For there did not escape one man out of three of the men of Ireland without a thigh-bone or half his head or one eye broken, or without being marked for ever. And he came from them after giving them battle without wound or blood-stain on himself or on his servant or on either of his horses. Cuchulainn came next day to survey the host and to show his soft fair form to the women and the troops of women and the girls and the maidens and the poets and the bards, for he did not hold in honour or dignity that haughty form of wizardry that had appeared to them on him the night before. Therefore he came to show his soft fair form that day. Fair indeed the boy who came then to show his form to the hosts, that is, Cuchulainn Mac Sualtaim. The appearance of three heads of hair on him, dark against the skin of his head, blood-red in the middle, a crown gold-yellow which covers them. A fair arrangement of this hair so that it makes three circles round the hollow of the back of his head, so that each hair ----, dishevelled, very golden, excellent, in long curls, distinguished, fair-coloured, over his shoulders, was like gold thread. A hundred ringlets, bright purple, of red-gold, gold-flaming, round his neck; a hundred threads with mixed carbuncle round his head. Four dimples in each of his two cheeks; that is, a yellow dimple, and a green dimple, and a blue dimple, and a purple dimple. Seven gems of brilliance of an eye, in each of his two royal eyes. Seven toes on each of his two feet, seven fingers on each of his two hands, with the grasp of a hawk's claws, with the seizure of a griffin's claws on each of them separately. Then he puts on his feast-dress that day. This was his raiment on him: a fair tunic, proper; bright-purple, with a border with five folds. A white brooch of white silver with adorned gold inlaid over his white breast, as if it was a lantern full of light, that the eyes of men could not look at for its splendour and its brightness. A silken tunic of silk against his skin so that it covered him to the top of his dark apron of dark-red, soldierly, royal, silken. A dark shield; dark red, dark purple, with five chains of gold, with a rim of white metal on it. A sword gold-hilted, inlaid with ivory hilt of red-gold raised high on his girdle. A spear, long, grey-edged, with a spear-head sharp, attacking, with rivets of gold, gold-flaming by him in the chariot. Nine heads in one of his two hands, and ten heads in the other hand. He shook them from him towards the hosts. So that this is the contest of a night to Cuchulainn. Then the women of Connaught raised themselves on the hosts, and the women were climbing on the men to look at Cuchulainn's form. Medb hid her face and dare not show her face, but was under the shield-shelter for fear of Cuchulainn. So that it is hence Dubthach Doeltenga of Ulster said: 'If it is the Riastartha, there will be corpses Of men therefrom,' etc. [Note: Rhetoric, fifty-four lines.] Fiacha Fialdana from Imraith (?) came to speak with the son of his mother's sister, Mane Andoe his name. Docha Mac Magach went with Mane Andoe: Dubthach Doeltenga of Ulster came with Fiacha Fialdana from Imraith (?). Docha threw a spear at Fiacha, so that it went into Dubthach. Then Dubthach threw a spear at Mane, so that it went into Docha. The mothers of Dubthach and Docha were two sisters. Hence is Imroll Belaig Euin. [Note: i.e. the Random Throw of Belach Euin.] (Or Imroll Belaig Euin is from this: the hosts go to Belach Euin, their two troops wait there. Diarmait Mac Conchobair comes from the north from Ulster. 'Let a horseman go from you,' said Diarmait, 'that Mane may come to speak with me with one man, and I will come with one man to meet him.' They meet then. I have come,' said Diarmait, 'from Conchobar, who says to Medb and Ailill, that they let the cows go, and make whole all that they have done there, and bring the Bull [Note: i.e. bring Findbennach to meet the Dun of Cualnge.] from the west hither to the Bull, that they may meet, because Medb has promised it.' 'I will go and tell them,' said Mane. He tells this then to Medb and Ailill. 'This cannot be got of Medb,' said Mane. 'Let us exchange arms then, 'said Diarmait, 'if you think it better.' 'I am content,' said Mane. Each of them throws his spear at the other, so that the two of them die, and so that the name of this place is Imroll Belaig Euin.) Their forces rush at each other: there fall three twenties of them in each of the forces. Hence is Ard-in-Dirma. [Note: The Height of the Troop.] Ailill's folk put his king's crown on Tamun the fool; Ailill dare not have it on himself. Cuchulainn threw a stone at him at Ath Tamuin, so that his head broke thereby. Hence is Ath Tamuin and Tuga-im-Tamun. [Note: i.e., Covering about Tamun.] Then Oengus, son of Oenlam the Fair, a bold warrior of Ulster, turned all the host at Moda Loga (that is the same as Lugmod) as far as Ath Da Ferta: He did not let them go past, and he pelted them with stones, and the learned say ---- before till they should go under the sword at Emain Macha, if it had been in single combat that they had come against him. Fair-play was broken on him, and they slew him in an unequal fight. 'Let some one come from you against me,' said Cuchulainn at Ath Da Ferta. 'It will not be I, it will not be I,' said every one from his place. 'A scapegoat is not owed from my race, and if it were owed, it would not be I whom they would give in his stead for a scapegoat.' Then Fergus Mac Roich was asked to go against him. He refuses to go against his foster-son Cuchulainn. Wine was given to him, and he was greatly intoxicated, and he was asked about going to the combat. He goes forth then since they were urgently imploring him. Then Cuchulainn said: 'It is with my security that you come against me, O friend Fergus,' said he, 'with no sword in its place.' For Ailill had stolen it, as we said before. 'I do not care at all,' said Fergus; 'though there were a sword there, it would not be plied on you. Give way to me, O Cuchulainn,' said Fergus. 'You will give way to me in return then,' said Cuchulainn. 'Even so,' said Fergus. Then Cuchulainn fled back before Fergus as far as Grellach Doluid, that Fergus might give way to him on the day of the battle. Then Cuchulainn sprang in to Grellach Doluid. 'Have you his head, O Fergus?' said every one. 'No,' said Fergus, 'it is not like a tryst. He who is there is too lively for me. Till my turn comes round again, I will not go.' Then they go past him, and take camp at Crich Ross. Then Ferchu, an exile, who was in exile against Ailill, hears them. He comes to meet Cuchulainn. Thirteen men was his number. Cuchulainn kills Ferchu's warriors. Their thirteen stones are there. Medb sent Mand of Muresc, son of Daire, of the Domnandach, to fight Cuchulainn. Own brothers were lie and Fer Diad, and two sons of one father. This Mand was a man fierce and excessive in eating and sleeping, a man ill-tongued, foul-mouthed, like Dubthach Doeltenga of Ulster. He was a man strong, active, with strength of limb like Munremar Mac Gerrcind; a fiery warrior like Triscod Trenfer of Conchobar's house. 'I will go, and I unarmed, and I will grind him between my hands, for I deem it no honour or dignity to ply weapons on a beardless wild boy such as he.' He went then to seek Cuchulainn. He and his charioteer were there on the plain watching the host. 'One man coming towards us,' said Loeg to Cuchulainn. 'What kind of man?' said Cuchulainn. 'A man black, dark, strong, bull-like, and he unarmed.' 'Let him come past you,' said Cuchulainn. He came to them therewith. To fight against you have I come,' said Mand. Then they begin to wrestle for a long time, and Mand overthrows Cuchulainn thrice, so that the charioteer urged him. 'If you had a strife for the hero's portion in Emain,' said he, 'you would be mighty over the warriors of Emain!' His hero's rage comes, and his warrior's fury rises, so that he overthrew Mand against the pillar, so that he falls in pieces. Hence is Mag Mand Achta, that is, Mand Echta, that is, Mand's death there. [From the Yellow Book of Lecan] On the morrow Medb sent twenty-seven men to Cuchulainn's bog. Fuilcarnn is the name of the bog, on this side of Fer Diad's Ford. They threw their twenty-nine spears at him at once; i.e. Gaile-dana with his twenty-seven sons and his sister's son, Glas Mac Delgna. When then they all stretched out their hands to their swords, Fiacha Mac Fir-Febe came after them out of the camp. He gave a leap from his chariot when he saw all their hands against Cuchulainn, and he strikes off the arms of the twenty-nine of them. Then Cuchulainn said: 'What you have done I deem help at the nick of time (?).' 'This little,' said Fiacha, 'is a breach of compact for us Ulstermen. If any of them reaches the camp, we will go with our cantred under the point of the sword.' 'I swear, etc., since I have emitted my breath,' said Cuchulainn, 'not a man of them shall reach it alive.' Cuchulainn slew then the twenty-nine men and the two sons of Ficce with them, two bold warriors of Ulster who came to ply their might on the host. This is that deed on the Foray, when they went to the battle with Cuchulainn. _This is the Combat of Fer Diad and Cuchulainn_ Then they considered what man among them would be fit to ward off Cuchulainn. The four provinces of Ireland spoke, and confirmed, and discussed, whom it would be fitting to send to the ford against Cuchulainn. All said that it was the Horn-skin from Irrus Domnand, the weight that is not supported, the battle-stone of doom, his own dear and ardent foster-brother. For Cuchulainn had not a feat that he did not possess, except it were the Gae Bolga alone; and they thought he could avoid it, and defend himself against it, because of the horn about him, so that neither arms nor many edges pierced it. Medb sent messengers to bring Fer Diad. Fer Diad did not come with those messengers. Medb sent poets and bards and satirists [Note: Ir. _aes glantha gemaidi_, the folk who brought blotches on the cheeks (i.e. by their lampoons).] to him, that they might satirise him and mock him and put him to ridicule, that he might not find a place for his head in the world, until he should come to the tent of Medb and Ailill on the Foray. Fer Diad came with those messengers, for the fear of their bringing shame on him. Findabair, the daughter of Medb and Ailill, was put on one side of him: it is Findabair who put her hand on every goblet and on every cup of Fer Diad; it is she who gave him three kisses at every cup of them; it is she who distributed apples right frequent over the bosom of his tunic. This is what she said: that he, Fer Diad, was her darling and her chosen wooer of the men of the world. When Fer Diad was satisfied and happy and very joyful, Medb said: 'Alé! O Fer Diad, do you know why you have been summoned into this tent?' 'I do not know indeed,' said Fer Diad; 'except that the nobles of the men of Ireland are there. What is there less fitting for me to be there than for any other good warrior?' 'It is not that indeed,' said Medb; 'but to give you a chariot worth three sevens of cumals [See previous note about _cumal_.] and the equipment of twelve men, and the equal of Mag Murthemne from the arable land of Mag Ai; and that you should be in Cruachan always, and wine to be poured for you there; and freedom of your descendants and of your race for ever without tribute or tax; my leaf-shaped brooch of gold to be given to you, in which there are ten score ounces and ten score half-ounces, and ten score _crosach_ and ten score quarters; Findabair, my daughter and Ailill's daughter, for your one wife, and you shall get my love if you need it over and above.' 'He does not need it,' said every, one: 'great are the rewards and gifts.' 'That is true,' said Fer Diad, 'they are great; and though they are great, O Medb, it is with you yourself they will be left, rather than that I should go against my foster-brother to battle.' 'O men,' said she, said Medb (through the right way of division and setting by the ears), 'true is the word that Cuchulainn spoke,' as if she had not heard Fer Diad at all. 'What word is this, O Medb?' said Fer Diad. 'He said indeed,' said she, 'that he would not think it too much that you should fall by him as the first fruits of his prowess in the province to which he should come.' 'To say that was not fitting for him. For it is not weariness or cowardice that he has ever known in me, day nor night. I swear, etc., [Note: The usual oath, 'by the god by whom my people swear,' understood.] that I will be the first man who will come to-morrow morning to the ford of combat.' 'May victory and blessing come to you,' said Medb. 'And I think it better that weariness or cowardice be found with you, because of friendship beyond my own men (?). Why is it more fitting for him to seek the good of Ulster because his mother was of them, than for you to seek the good of the province of Connaught, because you are the son of a king of Connaught?' It is thus they were binding their covenants and their compact, and they made a song there: 'Thou shalt have a reward,' etc. There was a wonderful warrior of Ulster who witnessed that bargaining, and that was Fergus Mac Roich. Fergus came to his tent. 'Woe is me! the deed that is done to-morrow morning!' said Fergus. 'What deed is that?' said the folk in the tent. 'My good fosterling Cuchulainn to be slain.' 'Good lack! who makes that boast?' 'An easy question: his own dear ardent foster-brother, Fer Diad Mac Damain. Why do ye not win my blessing?' said Fergus; 'and let one of you go with a warning and with compassion to Cuchulainn, if perchance he would leave the ford to-morrow morning.' 'On our conscience,' said they, 'though it were you yourself who were on the ford of combat, we would not come as far as [the ford] to seek you.' 'Good, my lad,' said Fergus; 'get our horses for us and yoke the chariot.' The lad arose and got the horses and yoked the chariot. They came forth to the ford of combat where Cuchulainn was. 'One chariot coming hither towards us, O Cuchulainn!' said Loeg. For it is thus the lad was, with his back towards his lord. He used to win every other game of _brandub_ [_Brandub_, the name of a game; probably, like _fidchill_ and _buanfach_, of the nature of chess or draughts.] and of chess-playing from his master: the sentinel and watchman on the four quarters of Ireland over and above that. 'What kind of chariot then?' said Cuchulainn. 'A chariot like a huge royal fort, with its yolcs strong golden, with its great panel(?) of copper, with its shafts of bronze, with its body thin-framed (?), dry-framed (?), feat-high, scythed, sword-fair (?), of a champion, on two horses, swift, stout(?), well-yoked (?), ---- (?). One royal warrior, wide-eyed, was the combatant of the chariot. A beard curly, forked, on him, so that it reached over the soft lower part of his soft shirt, so that it would shelter (?) fifty warriors to be under the heavy ---- of the warrior's beard, on a day of storm and rain. A round shield, white, variegated, many-coloured on him, with three chains ----, so that there would be room from front to back for four troops of ten men behind the leather of the shield which is upon the ---- of the warrior. A sword, long, hard-edged, red-broad in the sheath, woven and twisted of white silver, over the skin of the bold-in-battle. A spear, strong, three-ridged, with a winding and with bands of white silver all white by him across the chariot.' 'Not hard the recognition,' said Cuchulainn; 'my friend Fergus comes there, with a warning and with compassion to me before all the four provinces.' Fergus reached them and sprang from his chariot and Cuchulainn greeted him. 'Welcome your coming, O my friend, O Fergus,' said Cuchulainn. 'I believe your welcome,' said Fergus. 'You may believe it,' said Cuchulainn; 'if a flock of birds come to the plain, you shall have a duck with half of another; if fish come to the estuaries, you shall have a salmon with half of another; a sprig of watercress, and a sprig of marshwort, and a sprig of seaweed, and a drink of cold sandy water after it.' 'That portion is that of an outlaw,' said Fergus. 'That is true, it is an outlaw's portion that I have,' said Cuchulainn, 'for I have been from the Monday after Samain to this time, and I have not gone for a night's entertainment, through strongly obstructing the men of Ireland on the Cattle-Foray of Cualnge at this time.' 'If it were for this we came,' said Fergus, 'we should have thought it the better to leave it; and it is not for this that we have come.' 'Why else have you come to me?' said Cuchulainn. 'To tell you the warrior who comes against you in battle and combat to-morrow morning,' said he. 'Let us find it out and let us hear it from you then,' said Cuchulainn. 'Your own foster-brother, Fer Diad Mac Damain.' 'On our word, we think it not best that it should be he we come to meet,'said Cuchulainn, 'and it is not for fear of him but for the greatness of our love for him.' 'It is fitting to fear him,' said Fergus, 'for he has a skin of horn in battle against a man, so that neither weapon nor edge will pierce it.' 'Do not say that at all,' said Cuchulainn, 'for I swear the oath that my people swear, that every joint and every limb of him will be as pliant as a pliant rush in the midst of a stream under the point of my sword, if he shows himself once to me on the ford.' It is thus they were speaking, and they made a song: 'O Cuchulainn, a bright meeting,' etc. After that, 'Why have you come, O my friend, O Fergus?' said Cuchulainn. 'That is my purpose,' said Fergus. 'Good luck and profit,' said Cuchulainn, 'that no other of the men of Ireland has come for this purpose, unless the four provinces of Ireland all met at one time. I think nothing of a warning before a single warrior.' Then Fergus went to his tent. As regards the charioteer and Cuchulainn: 'What shall you do to-night?' said Loeg. 'What indeed?' said Cuchulainn. 'It is thus that Fer Diad will come to seek you, with new beauty of plaiting and haircutting, and washing and bathing, and the four provinces of Ireland with him to look at the fight. It would please me if you went to the place where you will get the same adorning for yourself, to the place where is Emer of the Beautiful Hair, to Cairthend of Cluan Da Dam in Sliab Fuait.' So Cuchulainn went thither that night, and spent the night with his own wife. His adventures from this time are not discussed here now. As to Fer Diad, he came to his tent; it was gloomy and weary that Fer Diad's tent-servants were that night. They thought it certain that where the two pillars of the battle of the world should meet, that both would fall; or the issue of it would be, that it would be their own lord who would fall there. For it was not easy to fight with Cuchulainn on the Foray. There were great cares on Fer Diad's mind that night, so that they did not let him sleep. One of his great anxieties was that he should let pass from him all the treasures that had been offered to him, and the maiden, by reason of combat with one man. If he did not fight with that one man, he must fight with the six warriors on the morrow. His care that was greater than this was that if he should show himself once on the ford to Cuchulainn, he was certain that he himself would not have power of his head or life thereafter; and Fer Diad arose early on the morrow. 'Good, my lad,' said he, 'get our horses for us, and harness the chariot.' 'On our word,' said the servant, 'we think it not greater praise to go this journey than not to go it.' He was talking with his charioteer, and he made this little song, inciting his charioteer: 'Let us go to this meeting,' etc. The servant got the horses and yoked the chariot, and they went forth from the camp. 'My lad,' said Fer Diad, 'it is not fitting that we make our journey without farewell to the men of Ireland. Turn the horses and the chariot for us towards the men of Ireland.' The servant turned the horses and the chariot thrice towards the men of Ireland. ... 'Does Ailill sleep now?' said Medb. 'Not at all,' said Ailill. 'Do you hear your new son-in-law greeting you?' 'Is that what he is doing?' said Ailill. 'It is indeed,' said Medb, 'and I swear by what my people swear, the man who makes the greeting yonder will not come back to you on the same feet.' 'Nevertheless we have profited by(?) the good marriage connection with him,' said Ailill; 'provided Cuchulainn fell by him, I should not care though they both fell. But we should think it better for Fer Diad to escape.' Fer Diad came to the ford of combat. 'Look, my lad,' said Fer Diad; 'is Cuchulainn on the ford?' 'He is not, indeed,' said the servant. 'Look well for us,' said Fer Diad. 'Cuchulainn is not a little speck in hiding where he would be,' said the lad. 'It is true, O boy, until to-day Cuchulainn has not heard of the coming of a good warrior [Note: Gloss incorporated in the text: 'or a good man.'] against him on the Cattle Foray of Cualnge, and when he has heard of it he has left the ford.' 'A great pity to slander Cuchulainn in his absence! For do you remember how when you gave battle to German Garbglas above the edge-borders of the Tyrrhene Sea, you left your sword with the hosts, and it was Cuchulainn who killed a hundred warriors in reaching it, and he brought it to you; and do you remember where we were that night?' said the lad. 'I do not know it,' said Fer Diad. 'At the house of Scathach's steward,' said the lad, 'and you went ---- and haughtily before us into the house first. The churl gave you a blow with the three-pointed flesh-hook in the small of your back, so that it threw you out over the door like a shot. Cuchulainn came into the house and gave the churl a blow with his sword, so that it made two pieces of him. It was I who was steward for you while you were in that place. If only for that day, you should not say that you are a better warrior than Cuchulainn.' 'What you have done is wrong,' said Fer Diad, 'for I would not have come to seek the combat if you had said it to me at first. Why do you not pull the cushions [Note: LL _fortchai_. YBL has _feirtsi_, 'shafts.'] of the chariot under my side and my skin-cover under my head, so that I might sleep now?' 'Alas!' said the lad, 'it is the sleep of a fey man before deer and hounds here.' 'What, O lad, are you not fit to keep watch and ward for me?' 'I am fit,' said the lad; 'unless men come in clouds or in mist to seek you, they will not come at all from east or west to seek you without warning and observation.' The cushions [Note: LL _fortchai_. YBL has _feirtsi_, 'shafts.'] of his chariot were pulled under his side and the skin under his head. And yet he could not sleep a little. As to Cuchulainn it is set forth: 'Good, O my friend, O Loeg, take the horses and yoke the chariot; if Fer Diad is waiting for us, he is thinking it long.' The boy rose and took the horses and yoked the chariot. Cuchulainn stepped into his chariot and they came on to the ford. As to Fer Diad's servant, he had not long to watch till he heard the creaking of the chariot coming towards them. He took to waking his master, and made a song: 'I hear a chariot,' etc. (This is the description of Cuchulainn's chariot: one of the three chief chariots of the narration on the Cattle Foray of Cualnge.) 'How do you see Cuchulainn?' said he, said Fer Diad, to his charioteer. 'I see,' said he, 'the chariot broad above, fine, of white crystal, with a yoke of gold with ---- (?), with great panels of copper, with shafts of bronze, with tyres of white metal, with its body thin-framed (?) dry-framed (?), feat-high, sword-fair (?), of a champion, on which there would be room for seven arms fit for a lord (?). A fair seat for its lord; so that this chariot, Cuchulainn's chariot, would reach with the speed of a swallow or of a wild deer, over the level land of Mag Slebe. That is the speed and ---- which they attain, for it is towards us they go. This chariot is at hand on two horses small-headed, small-round, small-end, pointed, ----, red-breasted, ----, easy to recognise, well-yoked. ... One of the two horses is supple(?), swift-leaping, great of strength, great of foot, great of length, ----. The other horse is curly-maned, slender-footed, narrow-footed, heeled, ----. Two wheels dark, black. A pole of metal adorned with red enamel, of a fair colour. Two bridles golden, inlaid. There is a man with fair curly hair, broad cut (?), in the front of this chariot. There is round him a blue mantle, red-purple. A spear with wings (?), and it red, furious; in his clenched fist, red-flaming. The appearance of three heads of hair on him, i.e. dark hair against the skin of his head, hair blood-red in the middle, a crown of gold covers the third hair. 'A fair arrangement of the hair so that it makes three circles round about his shoulders down behind. I think it like gold thread, after its colour has been made over the edge of the anvil; or like the yellow of bees on which the sun shines in a summer day, is the shining of each single hair of his hair. Seven toes on each of his feet, and seven fingers on each of his hands, and the shining of a very great fire round his eye, ---- (?) and the hoofs of his horses; a hero's ---- in his hands. 'The charioteer of the chariot is worthy of him in his presence: curly hair very black has he, broad-cut along his head. A cowl-dress is on him open; two very fine golden leaf-shaped switches in his hand, and a light grey mantle round him, and a goad of white silver in his hand, plying the goad on the horses, whichever way the champion of great deeds goes who was at hand in the chariot. 'He is veteran of his land (?): he and his servant think little of Ireland.' 'Go, O fellow,' said he, said Fer Diad; 'you praise too much altogether; and prepare the arms in the ford against his coming.' 'If I turned my face backwards, it seems to me the chariot would come through the back of my neck.' 'O fellow,' said he, 'too greatly do you praise Cuchulainn, for it is not a reward for praising he has given you'; and it is thus he was giving his description, and he said: 'The help is timely,' etc. It is not long afterwards that they met in the middle of the ford, and Fer Diad said to Cuchulainn: 'Whence come you, O Cua?' said he (for [Note: An interpolation.] _cua_ was the name of squinting in old Gaelic; and there were seven pupils in Cuchulainn's royal eye, and two of these pupils were squinting, and the ugliness of it is no greater than its beauty on him; and if there had been a greater blemish on Cuchulainn, it is that with which he reproached him; and he was proclaiming it); and he made a song, and Cuchulainn answered: 'Whence art thou come, O Hound,' etc. Then Cuchulainn said to his charioteer that he was to taunt him when he was overcome, and that he was to praise him when he was victorious, in the combat against Fer Diad. Then the charioteer said to him: 'The man goes over thee as the tail over a cat; he washes thee as foam is washed in water, he squeezes (?) thee as a loving mother her son.' Then they took to the ford-play. Scathach's ---- (?)came to them both. Fer Diad and Cuchulainn performed marvellous feats. Cuchulainn went and leapt into Fer Diad's shield; Fer Diad hurled him from him thrice into the ford; so that the charioteer taunted him again ---- and he swelled like breath in a bag. His size increased till he was greater than Fer Diad. 'Give heed to the _Gae bolga_,' said the charioteer; he sent it to him along the stream. Cuchulainn seized it between his toes, and wielded it on Fer Diad, into his body's armour. It advances like one spear, so that it became twenty-four points. Then Fer Diad turned the shield below. Cuchulainn thrust at him with the spear over the shield, so that it broke the shaft of his ribs and went through Fer Diad's heart. [_Fer Diad_:] 'Strong is the ash from thy right hand! The ---- rib breaks, my heart is blood. Well hast thou given battle! I fall, O Hound.' [_Cuchulainn_:] 'Alas, O golden brooch, O Fer Diad! ----, O fair strong striker! Thy hand was victorious; our dear foster brotherhood, O delight of the eyes! Thy shield with the rim of gold, thy sword was dear. Thy ring of white silver round thy noble arm. Thy chess-playing was worthy of a great man. Thy cheek fair-purple; thy yellow curling hair was great, it was a fair treasure. Thy soft folded girdle which used to be about thy side. That thou shouldst fall at Cuchulainn's hands was sad, O Calf! Thy shield did not suffice which used to be for service. Our combat with thee is not fitting, our horses and our tumult. Fair was the great hero! every host used to be defeated and put under foot. Alas, O golden brooch, O Fer Diad!' *** THIS IS THE LONG WARNING OF SUALTAIM While the things that we have related were done, Suallaith heard from Rath Sualtaim in Mag Murthemne the vexing of his son Cuchulainn against twelve sons of Gaile Dana [Note: LL, 'Twenty-seven sons of Calatin.' In the story as related earlier in YBL it is 'Gaile Dana with his twenty-seven sons.'] and his sister's son. It is then that Sualtaim said: 'Is it heaven that bursts, or the sea over its boundaries, or earth that is destroyed, or the shout of my son against odds?' Then he comes to his son. Cuchulainn was displeased that he should come to him. 'Though he were slain, I should not have strength to avenge him. Go to the Ulstermen,' says Cuchulainn, 'and let them give battle to the warriors at once; if they do not give it, they will not be avenged for ever.' When his father saw him, there was not in his chariot as much as the point of a rush would cover that was not pierced. His left hand which the shield protected, twenty wounds were in it. Sualtaim came over to Emain and shouted to the Ulstermen: 'Men are being slain, women carried off, cows driven away!' His first shout was from the side of the court; his second from the side of the fortress; the third shout was on the mound of the hostages in Emain. No one answered; it was the practice of the Ulstermen that none of them should speak except to Conchobar; and Conchobar did not speak before the three druids. 'Who takes them, who steals them, who carries them off?' said the druid. Ailill Mac Mata carries them off and steals them and takes them, through the guidance of Fergus Mac Roich,' said Sualtaim. 'Your people have been enslaved as far as Dun Sobairce; their cows and their women and their cattle have been taken. Cuchulainn did not let them into Mag Murthemne and into Crich Rois; three months of winter then, bent branches of hazel held together his dress upon him. Dry wisps are on his wounds. He has been wounded so that he has been parted joint from joint.' 'Fitting,' said the druid, 'were the death of the man who has spurred on the king.' 'It is fitting for him,' said Conchobar. 'It is fitting for him,' said the Ulstermen. 'True is what Sualtaim says,' said Conchobar; 'from the Monday night of Samain to the Monday night of Candlemas he has been in this foray.' Sualtaim gave a leap out thereupon. He did not think sufficient the answer that he had. He falls on his shield, so that the engraved edge of the shield cut his head off. His head is brought back into Emain into the house on the shield, and the head says the same word (though some say that he was asleep on the stone, and that he fell thence on to his shield in awaking). 'Too great was this shout,' said Conchobar. 'The sea before them, the heaven over their tops, the earth under their feet. I will bring every cow into its milking-yard, and every woman and every boy from their house, after the victory in battle.' Then Conchobar struck his hand on his son, Findchad Fer m-Bend. Hence he is so called because there were horns of silver on him. THE MUSTER OF THE ULSTERMEN 'Arise, O Findchad, I will send thee to Deda,' etc. [Note: Rhetoric, followed by a long list of names.] It was not, difficult for Findchad to take his message, for they were, the whole province of Conchobar, every chief of them, awaiting Conchobar; every one was then east and north and west of Emain. When they were there, they all came till they were at Emain Macha. When they were there, they Beard the uprising of Conchobar in Emain. They went past Emain southwards after the host. Their first march then was from Emain to Irard Cuillend. 'What are you waiting for here?' said Conchobar. 'Waiting for your sons,' said the host. 'They have gone with thirty with them to Temair to seek Eirc, son of Coirpre Niafer and Fedelm Noicride. Till their two cantreds should come to us, we will not go from this place.' 'I will not remain indeed,' said Conchobar, 'till the men of Ireland know that I have awaked from the sickness in which I was.' Conchobar and Celtchar went with three fifties of chariots, and they brought eight twenties of heads from Ath Airthir Midi; hence is Ath Fene. They were there watching the host. And eight twenties of women, that was their share of the spoil. Their heads were brought there, and Conchobar and Celtchar sent them to the camp. It is there that Celtchar said to Conchobar: [Note: Rhetoric.] (Or it was Cuscraid, the Stammerer of Macha, son of Conchobar, sang this song the night before the battle, after the song which Loegaire Buadach had sung, to wit, 'Arise, kings of Macha,' etc., and it would be in the camp it was sung.) It was in this night that the vision happened to Dubthach Doeltenga of Ulster, when the hosts were on Garach and Irgarach. It is there that he said in his sleep: THE VISION OF DUBTHACH 'A wonder of a morning,' [Note: Rhetoric.] a wonder of a time, when hosts will be confused, kings will be turned, necks will break, the sun will grow red, three hosts will be routed by the track of a host about Conchobar. They will strive for their women, they will chase their flocks in fight on the morning, heroes will be smitten, dogs will be checked (?), horses will be pressed (?), ---- ----, ---- will drip, from the assemblies of great peoples.' Therewith they awoke through their sleep (?). The Nemain threw the host into confusion there; a hundred men of them died. There is silence there then; when they heard Cormac Condlongas again (or it is Ailill Mac Matae in the camp who sang this): 'The time of Ailill. Great his truce, the truce of Cuillend,' etc. [Note: Rhetoric.] THE MARCH OF THE COMPANIES While these things were being done, the Connaughtman determined to send messengers by the counsel of Ailill and Medb and Fergus, to look at the Ulstermen, to see whether they had reached the plain. It is there that Ailill said: 'Go, O Mac Roth,' said Ailill, 'and look for us whether the men are all(?) in the plain of Meath in which we are. If they have not come, I have carried off their spoil and their cows; let them give battle to me, if it suits them. I will not await them here any longer.' Then Mac Roth went to look at and to watch the plain. He came back to Ailill and Medb and Fergus The first time then that Mac Roth looked from the circuit of Sliab Fuait, he saw that all the wild beast came out of the wood, so that they were all in the plain. 'The second time,' said Mac Roth, 'that I surveyed the plain, I saw a heavy mist that filled the glens and the valleys, so that it made the hills between them like islands in lakes. Then there appeared to me sparks of fire out of this great mist: there appeared to me a variegation of every different colour in the world. I saw then lightning and din and thunder and a great wind that almost took my hair from my head, and threw me on my back; and yet the wind of the day was not great.' 'What is it yonder, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'Say what it means.' [Note: Literally, 'is like.'] 'That is not hard; this is what it means,' said Fergus: 'This is the Ulstermen after coming out of their sickness. It is they who have come into the wood. The throng and the greatness and the violence of the heroes, it is that which has shaken the wood; it is before them that the wild beasts have fled into the plain. The heavy mist that you saw, which filled the valleys, was the breath of those warriors, which filled the glens so that it made the hills between them like islands in lakes. The lightning and the sparks of fire and the many colours that you saw, O Mac Roth,' said Fergus, 'are the eyes of the warriors from their heads which have shone to you like sparks of fire. The thunder and the din and the noise(?) that you heard, was the whistling of the swords and of the ivory-hilted weapons, the clatter of arms, the creaking of the chariots, the beating of the hoofs of the horses, the strength of the warriors, the roar of the fighting-men, the noise of the soldiers, the great rage and anger and fierceness of the heroes going in madness to the battle, for the greatness of the rage and of the fury(?). They would think they would not reach it at all,' said Fergus. 'We will await them,' said Ailill; 'we have warriors for them.' 'You will need that,' said Fergus, 'for there will not be found in all Ireland, nor in the west of the world, from Greece and Scythia westward to the Orkneys and to the Pillars of Hercules and to the Tower of Bregon and to the island of Gades, any one who shall endure the Ulstermen in their fury and in their rage,' said Fergus. Then Mac Roth went again to look at the march of the men of Ulster, so that he was in their camp at Slemon Midi, and Fergus; and he told them certain tidings, and Mac Roth said in describing them: 'A great company has come, of great fury, mighty, fierce, to the hill at Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'I think there is a cantred therein; they took off their clothing at once, and dug a mound of sods under their leader's seat. A warrior fair and tall and long and high, beautiful, the fairest of kings his form, in the front of the company. Hair white-yellow has he, and it curly, neat, bushy (?), ridged, reaching to the hollow of his shoulders. A tunic curly, purple, folded round him; a brooch excellent, of red-gold, in his cloak on his breast; eyes very grey, very fair, in his head; a face proper, purple, has he, and it narrow below and broad above: a beard forked, very curly, gold-yellow he has; a shirt white, hooded, with red ornamentation, round about him; a sword gold-hilted on his shoulders; a white shield with rivets(?) of gold; abroad grey spear-head on a slender shaft in his hand. The fairest of the princes of the world his march, both in host and rage and form and dress, both in face and terror and battle and triumph, both in prowess and horror and dignity. 'Another company has come there,' said Mac Roth; 'it is next to the other in number and quarrelling and dress and terror and horror. A fair warrior, heroic, is in the front of this company. A green cloak folded round him; a brooch of gold over his arm; hair curly and yellow: an ivory-hilted sword with a hilt of ivory at his left. A shirt with ---- to his knee; a wound-giving shield with engraved edge; the candle of a palace [Note: i.e. spear.] in his hand; a ring of silver about it, and it runs round along the shaft forward to the point, and again it runs to the grip. And that troop sat down on the left hand of the leader of the first troop, and it is thus they sat down, with their knees to the ground, and the rims of their shields against their chins. And I thought there was stammering in the speech of the great fierce warrior who is the leader of that company. 'Another company has come there,' said Mac Roth; 'its appearance is vaster than a cantred; a man brave, difficult, fair, with broad head, before it. Hair dark and curly on him; a beard long, with slender points, forked, has he; a cloak dark-grey, ----, folded round him; a leaf-shaped brooch of white metal over his breast; a white, hooded shirt to his knees; a hero's shield with rivets on him; a sword of white silver about his waist; a five-pointed spear in his hand. He sat down in front of the leader of the first troop.' 'Who is that, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'I know indeed,' said Fergus, 'those companies. Conchobar, king of a province of Ireland, it is he who has sat down on the mound of sods. Sencha Mac Aililla, the orator of Ulster, it is he who has sat down before him. Cuscraid, the Stammerer of Macha, son of Conchobar, it is he who has sat down at his father's side. It is the custom for the spear that is in his hand in sport yonder before victory ---- before or after. That is a goodly folk for wounding, for essaying every conflict, that has come,' said Fergus. 'They will find men to speak with them here,' said Medb. 'I swear by the god by whom my people swear,' said Fergus, 'there has not been born in Ireland hitherto a man who would check the host of Ulster.' [Note: Conjectural; the line is corrupt in the MS.] 'Another company has come there,' said Mac Roth. 'Greater than a cantred its number. A great warrior, brave, with horror and terror, and he mighty, fiery-faced, before it. Hair dark, greyish on him, and it smooth-thin on his forehead. Around shield with engraved edge on him, a spear five-pointed in his hand, a forked javelin beside him; a hard sword on the back of his head; a purple cloak folded round him; a brooch of gold on his arm; a shirt, white, hooded, to his knee.' 'Who is that, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'He is the putting of a hand on strife; he is a battle champion for fight; he is judgment against enemies who has come there; that is, Eogan Mac Durthacht, King of Fermoy is that,' said Fergus. 'Another company has come, great, fierce, to the hill at Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'They have put their clothing behind them. Truly, it is strong, dark, they have come to the hill; heavy is the terror and great the horror which they have put upon themselves; terrible the clash of arms that they made in marching. A man thick of head, brave, like a champion, before it; and he horrible, hideous; hair light, grey on him; eyes yellow, great, in his head; a cloak yellow, with white ---- round about him. A shield, wound-giving, with engraved edge, on him, without; a broad spear, a javelin with a drop of blood along the shaft; and a spear its match with the blood of enemies along its edge in his hand; a great wound-giving sword on his shoulders.' 'Who is that, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'The man who has so come does not avoid battle or combat or strife: that is, Loegaire the Victorious, Mac Connaid Meic Ilech, from Immail from the north,' said Fergus. 'Another great company has come to Slemon Midi to the hill,' said Mac Roth. 'A warrior thick-necked, fleshy, fair, before that company. Hair black and curly on him, and he purple, blue-faced; eyes grey, shining, in his head; a cloak grey, lordly (?), about him; a brooch of white silver therein; a black shield with a boss of bronze on it; a spear, covered with eyes, with ---- (?), in his hand; a shirt, braided(?), with red ornamentation, about him; a sword with a hilt of ivory over his dress outside.' 'Who is that, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'He is the putting of a hand on a skirmish; he is the wave of a great sea that drowns little streams; he is a man of three shouts; he is the judgment of ---- of enemies, who so comes,' said Fergus; 'that is, Munremar Mac Gerrcind, from Moduirn in the north.' 'Another great company has come there to the hill to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'A company very fair, very beautiful, both in number and strife and raiment. It is fiercely that they make for the hill; the clatter of arms which they raised in going on their course shook the host. A warrior fair, excellent, before the company. Most beautiful of men his form, both in hair and eyes and fear, both in raiment and form and voice and whiteness, both in dignity and size and beauty, both in weapons and knowledge and adornment, both in equipment and armour and fitness, both in honour and wisdom and race.' 'This is his description,' said Fergus; 'he is the brightness of fire, the fair man, Fedlimid, who so comes there; he is fierceness of warriors, he is the wave of a storm that drowns, he is might that is not endured, with triumphs out of other territories after destruction (?) of his foes; that is Fedlimid ---- ---- there.' 'Another company has come there to the hill to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth, 'which is not fewer than a warlike cantred (?). A warrior great, brave, grey, proper, ----, in front of it. Hair black, curly, on him; round eyes, grey(?), very high, in his head. A man bull-like, strong, rough; a grey cloak about him, with a brooch of silver on his arm; a shirt white, hooded, round him; a sword at his side; a red shield with a hard boss of silver on it. A spear with three rivets, broad, in his hand.' 'Who is that, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'He is the fierce glow of wrath, he is a shaft (?) of every battle; he is the victory of every combat, who has so come there, Connad Mac Mornai from Callann,' said Fergus. 'Another company has come to the hill at Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'It is the march of an army for greatness. The leader who is in front of that company, not common is a warrior fairer both in form and attire and equipment. Hair bushy, red-yellow, on him; a face proper, purple, well-proportioned; a face narrow below, broad above; lips red, thin; teeth shining, pearly; a voice clear, ringing; a face fair, purple, shapely; most beautiful of the forms of men; a purple cloak folded round him; a brooch with full adornment of gold, over his white breast; a bent shield with many-coloured rivets, with a boss of silver, at his left; a long spear, grey-edged, with a sharp javelin for attack in his hand; a sword gold-hilted, of gold, on his back; a hooded shirt with red ornamentation about him.' 'Who is that, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'We know, indeed,' said Fergus. 'He is half of a combat truly,' said he, 'who so comes there; he is a fence(?) of battle, he is fierce rage of a bloodhound; Rochad Mac Fathemain from Bridamae, your son-in-law, is that, who wedded your daughter yonder, that is, Findabair.' 'Another company has come to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'A warrior with great calves, stout, with great thighs, big, in front of that company. Each of his limbs is almost as thick as a man. Truly, he is a man down to the ground,' said he. 'Hair black on him; a face full of wounds, purple, has he; an eye parti-coloured, very high, in his head; a man glorious, dexterous, thus, with horror and terror, who has a wonderful apparel, both raiment and weapons and appearance and splendour and dress; he raises himself with the prowess of a warrior, with achievements of ----, with the pride of wilfulness, with a going through battle to rout overwhelming numbers, with wrath upon foes, with a marching on many hostile countries without protection. In truth, mightily have they come on their course into Slemon Midi.' 'He was ---- of valour and of prowess, in sooth,' said Fergus; 'he was of ---- pride(?) and of haughtiness, he was ---- of strength and dignity, ---- then of armies and hosts of my own foster-brother, Fergus Mac Leiti, King of Line, point of battle of the north of Ireland.' 'Another company, great, fierce, has come to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'Strife before it, strange dresses on them. A warrior fair, beautiful, before it; gift of every form, both hair and eye and whiteness, both size and strife and fitness; five chains of gold on him; a green cloak folded about him; a brooch of gold in the cloak over his arm; a shirt white, hooded, about him; the tower of a palace in his hand; a sword gold-hilted on his shoulders.' 'Fiery is the bearing of the champion of combat who has so come there,' said Fergus. 'Amorgene, son of Eccet Salach the smith, from Buais in the north is that.' 'Another company has come there, to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. It is a drowning for size, it is a fire for splendour, it is a pin for sharpness, it is a battalion for number, it is a rock for greatness, it is ---- for might, it is a judgment for its ----, it is thunder for pride. A warrior rough-visaged, terrible, in front of this company, and he great-bellied, large-lipped; rough hair, a grey beard on him; and he great-nosed, red-limbed; a dark cloak about him, an iron spike on his cloak; a round shield with an engraved edge on him; a rough shirt, braided(?), about him; a great grey spear in his hand, and thirty rivets therein; a sword of seven charges of metal on his shoulders. All the host rose before him, and he overthrew multitudes of the battalion about him in going to the hill.' 'He is a head of strife who has so come,' said Fergus; 'he is a half of battle, he is a warrior for valour, he is a wave of a storm which drowns, he is a sea over boundaries; that is, Celtchar Mac Uithechair from Dunlethglaisi in the north.' 'Another company has come there to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'A warrior of one whiteness in front of it, all white, both hair and eyelashes and beard and equipment; a shield with a boss of gold on him, and a sword with a hilt of ivory, and a broad spear with rings in his hand. Very heroic has his march come.' 'Dear is the bear, strong-striking, who has so come,' said Fergus; 'the bear of great deeds against enemies, who breaks men, Feradach Find Fechtnach from the grove of Sliab Fuait in the north is that.' 'Another company has come there to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'A hideous warrior in front of it, and he great-bellied, large-lipped; his lips as big as the lips of a horse; hair dark, curly, on him, and he himself ----, broad-headed, long-handed; a cloak black, hairy, about him; a chain of copper over it, a dark grey buckler over his left hand; a spear with chains in his right hand; a long sword on his shoulders.' 'He is a lion red-handed, fierce of ----, who so comes,' said Fergus. 'He is high of deeds, great in battle, rough; he is a raging on the land who is unendurable, Eirrgi Horse-lipped from Bri Eirge in the north,' said Fergus. 'Another company has come there to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'Two warriors, fair, both alike, in front of it; yellow hair on them; two white shields with rivets of silver; they are of equal age. They lift up their feet and set them down together; it is not their manner for either of them to lift up his feet without the other. Two heroes, two splendid flames, two points of battle, two warriors, two pillars of fight, two dragons, two fires, two battle-soldiers, two champions of combat, two rods (?), two bold ones, two pets of Ulster about the king.' 'Who are those, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'Fiachna and Fiacha, two sons of Conchobar Mac Nessa, two darlings of the north of Ireland,' said Fergus. 'Another company has come to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'Three warriors, fiery, noble, blue-faced, before it. Three heads of hair very yellow have they; three cloaks of one colour in folds about them; three brooches of gold over their arms, three shirts ---- with red ornamentation round about them; three shields alike have they; three swords gold-hilted on their shoulders; three spears, broad-grey, in their right hands. They are of equal age.' 'Three glorious champions of Coba, three of great deeds of Midluachair, three princes of Roth, three veterans of the east of Sliab Fuait,' said Fergus; 'the three sons of Fiachna are these, after the Bull; that is, Rus and Dairi and Imchath,' said Fergus. 'Another company has come there to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'A man lively, fiery, before it; eyes very red, of a champion, in his head; a many-coloured cloak about him; a chain of silver thereon; a grey shield on his left; [a sword] with a hilt of silver at his side; a spear, excellent with a striking of cruelty in his vengeful right hand; a shirt white, hooded, to his knee. A company very red, with wounds, about him, and he himself wounded and bleeding.' 'That,' said Fergus, 'is the bold one, unsparing; that is the tearing; it is the boar [Note: Ir. _rop_, said to be a beast that wounds or gores.] of combat, it is the mad bull; it is the victorious one of Baile; it is the warlike one of the gap; it is the champion of Colptha, the door of war of the north of Ireland: that is, Menn Mac Salchalca from Corann. To avenge his wounds upon you has that man come,' said Fergus. 'Another company has come there to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth, 'and they very heroic, mutually willing. A warrior grey, great, broad, tall, before it. Hair dark, curly, on him; a cloak red, woollen, about him; a shirt excellent; a brooch of gold over his arms in his cloak; a sword, excellent, with hilt of white silver on his left; a red shield has he; a spear-head broad-grey on a fair shaft [Note: Conjecture; the Irish is obscure.] of ash in his hand. 'A man of three strong blows who has so come,' said Fergus; 'a man of three roads, a man of three highways, a man of three gifts, a man of three shouts, who breaks battles on enemies in another province: Fergrae Mac Findchoime from Corann is that.' 'Another company has come there to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'Its appearance is greater than a cantred. A warrior white-breasted, very fair, before it; like to Ailill yonder in size and beauty and equipment and raiment. A crown of gold above his head; a cloak excellent folded about him; a brooch of gold in the cloak on his breast; a shirt with red ornamentation round about him; a shield wound-giving with rims of gold; the pillar of a palace in his hand; a sword gold-hilted on his shoulders.' 'It is a sea over rivers who has so come, truly,' said Fergus; 'it is a fierce glow of fire; his rage towards foes is insupportable: Furbaidi Ferbend is that,' said Fergus. 'Another company has come there to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac Roth. 'Very heroic, innumerable,' said Mac Roth; 'strange garments, various, about them, different from other companies. Famously have they come, both in arms and raiment and dress. A great host and fierce is that company. A lad flame red before it; the most beautiful of the forms of men his form; ... a shield with white boss in his hand, the shield of gold and a rim of gold round it; a spear sharp, light, with in his hand; a cloak purple, fringed, folded about him; a brooch of silver in the cloak, on his breast; a shirt white, hooded, with red ornamentation, about him; a sword gold-hilted over his dress outside.' Therewith Fergus is silent. 'I do not know indeed,' said Fergus, 'the like of this lad in Ulster, except that I think it is the men of Temair about a lad proper, wonderful, noble: with Erc, son of Coirpre Niafer and of Conchobar's daughter. They love not one another; ---- without his father's leave has that man come, to help his grandfather. It is through the combat of that lad,' said Fergus, 'that you will be defeated in the battle. That lad knows not terror nor fear at coming to you among them into the midst of your battalion. It would be like men that the warriors of the men of Ulster will roar in saving the calf their heart, in striking the battle. There will come to them a feeling of kinship at seeing that lad in the great battle, striking the battle before them. There will be heard the rumble of Conchobar's sword like the barking of a watch-dog in saving the lad. He will throw three walls of men about the battle in seeking the lad. It will be with the affection of kinsmen that the warriors of Ulster will attack the countless host,' said Fergus. 'I think it long,' said Mac Roth, 'to be recounting all that I have seen, but I have come meanwhile (?) with tidings to you.' 'You have brought it,' said Fergus. 'Conall Cernach has not come with his great company,' said Mac Roth; 'the three sons of Conchobar with their three cantreds have not come; Cuchulainn too has not come there after his wounding in combat against odds. Unless it is a warrior with one chariot,' said Mac Roth, 'I think it would be he who has come there. Two horses ... under his chariot; they are long-tailed, broad-hoofed, broad above, narrow beneath, high-headed, great of curve, thin-mouthed, with distended nostrils. Two wheels black, ----, with tyres even, smooth-running; the body very high, clattering; the tent ... therein; the pillars carved. The warrior in that chariot four-square, purple-faced; hair cropped short on the top, curly, very black has he, down to his shoulders; ... a cloak red about him; four thirties of feat-poles (?) in each of his two arms. A sword gold-hilted on his left; shield and spear has he, and twenty-four javelins about him on strings and thongs. The charioteer in front of him; the back of the charioteer's head towards the horses, the reins grasped by his toes (?) before him; the chessboard spread between them, half the men of yellow gold, the others of white metal; the _buanfach_ [Note: the name of a game; probably in the nature of chess or draughts.] under their thighs. Nine feats were performed by him on high.' 'Who is that, O Fergus?' said Ailill. 'An easy question,' said Fergus. 'Cuchulainn Mac Sualtaim from the _Sid_, [Note: Cuchulainn was of fairy birth.] and Loeg Mac Riangabra his charioteer. Cuchulainn is that,' said Fergus. 'Many hundreds and thousands,' said Mac Roth, 'have reached the camp of Ulster. Many heroes and champions and fighting-men have come with a race to the assembly. Many companies,' said Mac Roth, 'were reaching the same camp, of those who had not reached or come to the camp when I came; only,' said Mac Roth, 'my eye did not rest on hill or height of all that my eye reached from Fer Diad's Ford to Slemon Midi, but upon horse and man.' 'You saw the household of a man truly,' said Fergus. Then Conchobar went with his hosts and took camp near the others. Conchobar asked for a truce till sunrise on the morrow from Ailill, and Ailill ratified it for the men of Ireland and for the exiles, and Conchobar ratified it for the Ulstermen; and then Conchobar's tents are pitched. The ground between them is a space, ----, bare, and the Ulstermen came to it before sunset. Then said the Morrigan in the twilight between the two camps: [Note: Rhetoric, seven lines] *** Now Cuchulainn was at Fedan Chollna near them. Food was brought to him by the hospitallers that night; and they used to come to speak to him by day. He did not kill any of them to the left of Fer Diad's Ford. 'Here is a small herd from the camp from the west to the camp to the east,' said the charioteer to Cuchulainn. 'Here is a troop of lads to meet them.' 'Those lads shall come,' said Cuchulainn. 'The little herd shall come over the plain. He who will not ---- (?) shall come to help the lads.' This was done then as Cuchulainn had said. 'How do the lads of Ulster fight the battle?' 'Like men,' said the charioteer. 'It would be a vow for them, to fall in rescuing their herds,' said Cuchulainn. 'And now?' 'The beardless striplings are fighting now,' said the charioteer. 'Has a bright cloud come over the sun yet?' 'Not so,' said the charioteer. 'Alas, that I had not strength to go to them!' said Cuchulainn. 'There will be contest without that to-day,' said the charioteer, 'at sunrise; haughty folk fight the battle now,' said the charioteer, 'save that there are not kings there, for they are still asleep.' Then Fachna said when the sun rose (or it is Conchobar who sang in his sleep): 'Arise, Kings of Macha, of mighty deeds, noble household, grind your weapons, fight the battle,' etc. 'Who has sung this?' said every one. 'Conchobar Mac Nessa,' said they; 'or Fachtna sang it,' said they. 'Sleep, sleep, save your sentinels.' Loegaire the Victorious was heard: 'Arise, Kings of Macha,' etc. 'Who has sung that?' said every one. 'Loegaire the Victorious, son of Connad Buide Mac Ilech. Sleep, sleep, except your sentinels.' 'Wait for it still,' said Conchobar, 'till sunrise ... in the glens and heights of Ireland.' When Cuchulainn saw the kings from the east taking their crowns on their heads and marshalling (?) the companies, Cuchulainn said to his charioteer that he should awaken the Ulstermen; and the charioteer said (or it is Amairgen, son of Eccet the poet, who said): 'Arise, Kings of Macha,' etc. 'I have awakened them,' said the charioteer. 'Thus have they come to the battle, quite naked, except for their arms only. He, the door of whose tent is east, has come out through it west.' 'It is a "goodly help of necessity,"' said Cuchulainn. The adventures of the Ulstermen are not followed up here now. As for the men of Ireland, Badb and Net's wife and Nemain [Note: Nemain was the wife of Net, the war-god, according to Cormac.] called upon them that night on Garach and Irgarach, so that a hundred warriors of them died for terror; that was not the most peaceful of nights for them. THE MUSTER OF THE MEN OF IRELAND HERE Ailill Mac Matae sang that night before the battle, and said: 'Arise, arise,' etc [Note: Here follows a list of names.] As for Cuchulainn, this is what is told here now. 'Look for us, O my friend, O Loeg, how the Ulstermen are fighting the battle now.' 'Like men,' said the charioteer. 'Though I were to go with my chariot, and Oen the charioteer of Conall Cernach with his chariot, so that we should go from one wing to the other along the dense mass, neither hoofs nor tyres shall go through it.' 'That is the stuff for a great battle,' said Cuchulainn. 'Nothing must be done in the battle,' said Cuchulainn to his charioteer, 'that we shall not know from you.' 'That will be true, so far as I can,' said the charioteer. 'The place where the warriors are now from the west,' said the charioteer, 'they make a breach in the battle eastwards. Their first defence from the east, they make a breach in the battle westwards.' 'Alas! that I am not whole!' said Cuchulainn; 'my breach would be manifest like the rest.' Then came the men of the bodyguard to the ford of the hosting. Fine the way in which the fightingmen came to the battle on Garach and Irgarach. Then came the nine chariot-men of the champions of Iruath, three before them on foot. Not more slowly did they come than the chariot-men. Medb did not let them into the battle, for dragging Ailill out of the battle if it is him they should defeat, or for killing Conchobar if it is he who should be defeated. Then his charioteer told Cuchulainn that Ailill and Medb were asking Fergus to go into the battle; and they said to him that it was only right for him to do it, for they had done him much kindness on his exile. 'If I had my sword indeed,' said Fergus, 'the heads of men over shields would be more numerous with me than hailstones in the mire to which come the horses of a king after they have broken into the land (?).' Then Fergus made this oath: 'I swear, etc., there would be broken by me cheeks of men from their necks, necks of men with their (lower) arms, arms of men with their elbows, elbows of men with their arms, arms of men with their fists, fists of men with their fingers, fingers of men with their nails, [nails] of men with their skull-roofs, skull-roofs of men with their middle, middle of men with their thighs, thighs of men with their knees, knees of men with their calves, calves of men with their feet, feet of men with their toes, toes of men with their nails. I would make their necks whizz (?) ---- as a bee would move to and fro on a day of beauty (?).' Then Ailill said to his charioteer: 'Let there come to me the sword which destroys skin. I swear by the god by whom my people swear, if you have its bloom worse to-day than on the day on which I gave it to you in the hillside in the boundary of Ulster, though the men of Ireland were protecting you from me, they should not protect you.' Then his sword was brought to Fergus, and Ailill said: 'Take thy sword,' etc. [Note: Rhetoric, twelve lines.] 'A pity for thee to fall on the field of battle, thick [with slain ?],' said Fergus to Ailill. The Badb and Net's wife and the Nemain called on them that night on Garach and Irgarach; so that a hundred warriors of them died for terror. That was not the quietest of nights for them. Then Fergus takes his arms and turns into the battle, and clears a gap of a hundred in the battle with his sword in his two hands. Then Medb took the arms of Fergus (?) and rushed into the battle, and she was victorious thrice, so that she was driven back by force of arms. 'I do not know,' said Conchobar to his retinue who were round him, 'before whom has the battle been broken against us from the north. Do you maintain the fight here, that I may go against him.' 'We will hold the place in which we are,' said the warriors, 'unless the earth bursts beneath us, or the heaven upon us from above, so that we shall break therefrom.' Then Conchobar came against Fergus. He lifts his shield against him, i.e. Conchobar's shield Ochan, with three horns of gold on it, and four ----- of gold over it. Fergus strikes three blows on it, so that even the rim of his shield over his head did not touch him. 'Who of the Ulstermen holds the shield?' said Fergus. 'A man who is better than you,' said Conchobar; 'and he has brought you into exile into the dwellings of wolves and foxes, and he will repel you to-day in combat in the presence of the men of Ireland.' Fergus aimed on him a blow of vengeance with his two hands on Conchobar, so that the point of the sword touched the ground behind him. Cormac Condlongas put his hands upon him, and closed his two hands about his arm. '----, O my friend, O Fergus,' said Cormac. '... Hostile is the friendship; right is your enmity; your compact has been destroyed; evil are the blows that you strike, O friend, O Fergus,' said Cormac. 'Whom shall I smite?' said Fergus. 'Smite the three hills ... in some other direction over them; turn your hand; smite about you on every side, and have no consideration for them. Take thought for the honour of Ulster: what has not been lost shall not be lost, if it be not lost through you to-day (?). 'Go in some other direction, O Conchobar,' said Cormac to his father; 'this man will not put out his rage on the Ulstermen any more here.' Fergus turned away. He slew a hundred warriors of Ulster in the first combat with the sword. He met Conall Cernach. 'Too great rage is that,' said Conall Cernach, 'on people and race, for a wanton.' 'What shall I do, O warriors?' said he. 'Smite the hills across them and the champions (?) round them,' said Conall Cernach. Fergus smote the hills then, so that he struck the three Maela [Note: i.e. flat-topped hills.] of Meath with his three blows. Cuchulainn heard the blows then that Fergus gave on the hills or on the shield of Conchobar himself. 'Who strikes the three strong blows, great and distant?' said Cuchulainn. ... Then Loeg answered and said: 'The choice of men, Fergus Mac Roich the very bold, smites them.' ... Then Cuchulainn said: 'Unloose quickly the hazeltwigs; blood covers men, play of swords will be made, men will be spent therefrom.' Then his dry wisps spring from him on high, as far as ---- goes; and his hazel-twigs spring off, till they were in Mag Tuag in Connaught ... and he smote the head of each of the two handmaidens against the other, so that each of them was grey from the brain of the other. They came from Medb for pretended lamentation over him, that his wounds might burst forth on him; and to say that the Ulstermen had been defeated, and that Fergus had fallen in opposing the battle, since Cuchulainn's coming into the battle had been prevented. The contortion came on him, and twenty-seven skin-tunics were given to him, that used to be about him under strings and thongs when he went into battle; and he takes his chariot on his back with its body and its two tyres, and he made for Fergus round about the battle. 'Turn hither, O friend Fergus,' said Cuchulainn; and he did not answer till the third time. 'I swear by the god by whom the Ulstermen swear,' said he, 'I will wash thee as foam [Note: Reading with L.L.] (?) is washed in a pool, I will go over thee as the tail goes over a cat, I will smite thee as a fond mother smites her son.' 'Which of the men of Ireland speaks thus to me?' said Fergus. 'Cuchulainn Mac Sualtaim, sister's son to Conchobar,' said Cuchulainn; 'and avoid me,' said he. 'I have promised even that,' said Fergus. 'Your promise falls due, then,' said Cuchulainn. 'Good,' said Fergus, '(you avoided me), when you are pierced with wounds.' Then Fergus went away with his cantred; the Leinstermen go and the Munstermen; and they left in the battle nine cantreds of Medb's and Ailill's and their seven sons. In the middle of the day it is that Cuchulainn came into the battle; when the sun came into the leaves of the wood, it is then that he defeated the last company, so that there remained of the chariot only a handful of the ribs about the body, and a handful of the shafts about the wheel. Cuchulainn overtook Medb then when he went into the battle. 'Protect me,' said Medb. 'Though I should slay thee with a slaying, it were lawful for me,' said Cuchulainn. Then he protected her, because he used not to slay women. He convoyed them westward, till they passed Ath Luain. Then he stopped. He struck three blows with his sword on the stone in Ath Luain. Their name is the Maelana [Note: i.e., flat-topped hills] of Ath Luain. When the battle was broken, then said Medb to Fergus: 'Faults and meet here to-day, O Fergus,' said she. 'It is customary,' said Fergus, 'to every herd which a mare precedes; ... after a woman who has ill consulted their interest.' They take away the Bull then in that morning of the battle, so that he met the White-horned at Tarbga in Mag Ai; i.e. Tarbguba or Tarbgleo.[Note: 'Bull-Sorrow or Bull-Fight,' etymological explanation of Tarbga.] The first name of that hill was Roi Dedond. Every one who escaped in the fight was intent on nothing but beholding the two Bulls fighting. Bricriu Poison-tongue was in the west in his sadness after Fergus had broken his head with his draughtmen [Note: This story is told in the _Echtra Nerai_. (See _Revue Celtique_, vol. x. p. 227.)] He came with the rest then to see the combat of the Bulls. The two Bulls went in fighting over Bricriu, so that he died therefrom. That is the Death of Bricriu. The foot of the Dun of Cualnge lighted on the horn of the other. For a day and a night he did not draw his foot towards him, till Fergus incited him and plied a rod along his body. ''Twere no good luck,' said Fergus, 'that this conbative old calf which has been brought here should leave the honour of clan and race; and on both sides men have been left dead through you.' Therewith he drew his foot to him so that his leg (?) was broken, and the horn sprang from the other and was in the mountain by him. It was Sliab n-Adarca [Note: Mountain of the Horn.] afterwards. He carried them then a journey of a day and a night, till he lighted in the loch which is by Cruachan, and he came to Cruachan out of it with the loin and the shoulder-blade and the liver of the other on his horns. Then the hosts came to kill him. Fergus did not allow it, but that he should go where he pleased. He came then to his land and drank a draught in Findlethe on coming. It is there that he left the shoulderblade of the other. Findlethe afterwards was the name of the land. He drank another draught in Ath Luain; he left the loin of the other there: hence is Ath Luain. He gave forth his roar on Iraird Chuillend; it was heard through all the province. He drank a draught in Tromma. There the liver of the other fell from his horns; hence is Tromma. He came to Etan Tairb. [Note: The Bull's Forehead.] He put his forehead against the hill at Ath Da Ferta; hence is Etan Tairb in Mag Murthemne. Then he went on the road of Midluachair in Cuib. There he used to be with the milkless cow of Dairi, and he made a trench there. Hence is Gort Buraig. [Note: The Field of the Trench.] Then he went till he died between Ulster and Iveagh at Druim Tairb. Druim Tairb is the name of that place. Ailill and Medb made peace with the Ulstermen and with Cuchulainn. For seven years after there was no wounding of men between them. Findabair stayed with Cuchulainn, and the Connaughtmen went to their country, and the Ulstermen to Emain Macha with their great triumph. Finit, amen. 
14232	----	A CELTIC PSALTERY Being Mainly Renderings in English Verse from Irish & Welsh Poetry by ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES The F. A. Stokes Company 443-449 Fourth Avenue New York Published in England by The Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge 68 Haymarket, London 1917 DEDICATION TO THE RIGHT HON. DAVID LLOYD GEORGE PRIME MINISTER OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND This Psaltery of Celtic Songs To you by bounden right belongs; For ere War's thunder round us broke, To your content its chord I woke, Where Cymru's Prince in fealty pure Knelt for his Sire's Investiture. Nor less these lays are yours but more, In memory of the Eisteddfod floor You flooded with a choral throng That poured God's praise a whole day long. But most, O Celtic Seer, to you This Song Wreath of our Race is due, Since high o'er hatred and division, You have scaled the Peak and seen the Vision Of Freedom, breaking into birth From out an agonising Earth. PREFACE I have called this volume of verse a Celtic Psaltery because it mainly consists of close and free translations from Irish, Scotch Gaelic, and Welsh Poetry of a religious or serious character. The first half of the book is concerned with Irish poems. The first group of these starts with the dawning of Christianity out of Pagan darkness, and the spiritualising of the Early Irish by the wisdom to be found in the conversations between King Cormac MacArt--the Irish ancestor of our Royal Family--and his son and successor, King Carbery. Here also will be found those pregnant ninth-century utterances known as the "Irish Triads." Next follow poems attributed or relating to some of the Irish saints--Patrick, Columba, Brigit, Moling; Lays of Monk and Hermit, Religious Invocations, Reflections and Charms and Lamentations for the Dead, including a remarkable early Irish poem entitled "The Mothers' Lament at the Slaughter of the Innocents" and a powerful peasant poem, "The Keening of Mary." The Irish section is ended by a set of songs suggested by Irish folk-tunes. Of the early Irish Religious Poetry here translated it may be observed that the originals are not only remarkable for fine metrical form but for their cheerful spirituality, their open-air freshness and their occasional touches of kindly humour. "Irish religious poetry," it has been well said, "ranges from single quatrains to lengthy compositions dealing with all the varied aspects of religious life. Many of them give us a fascinating insight into the peculiar character of the early Irish Church, which differed in so many ways from the Christian world. We see the hermit in his lonely cell, the monk at his devotions or at his work of copying in the scriptorium or under the open sky; or we hear the ascetic who, alone or with twelve chosen companions, has left one of the great monasteries in order to live in greater solitude among the woods or mountains, or on a lonely island. The fact that so many of these poems are fathered upon well-known saints emphasises the friendly attitude of the native clergy towards vernacular poetry."[A] I have endeavoured as far as possible to preserve in my translations both the character of these poems and their metrical form. But the latter attempt can be only a mere approximation owing to the strict rules of early Irish verse both as regards alliteration and vowel consonance. Still the use of the "inlaid rhyme" and other assonantal devices have, it is to be hoped, brought my renderings nearer in vocal effect to the originals than the use of more familiar English verse methods would have done. The same metrical difficulties have met me when translating the Welsh sacred and spiritual poems which form the second division of this volume. But they have been more easy to grapple with--in part because I have had more assistance in dealing with the older Cymric poems from my lamented friend Mr. Sidney Richard John and other Welsh scholars, than I had in the case of the early Irish lyrics--in part because the later Welsh poems which I have rendered into English verse are generally in free, not "strict," metres, and therefore present no great difficulty to the translator. The poems in the Welsh section are, roughly speaking, arranged in chronological order. The early Welsh poets Aneurin and Llywarch Hen are represented by two singular pieces, Llywarch Hen's curious "Tercets" and Aneurin's "Ode to the Months." In both of these, nature poetry and proverbial philosophy are oddly intermingled in a manner reminiscent of the Greek Gnomic Poets. Two examples are given of the serious verse of Dafydd ab Gwilym, a contemporary of Chaucer, who though he did not, like Wordsworth, read nature into human life with that spiritual insight for which he was so remarkable, yet as a poet of fancy, the vivid, delicate, sympathetic fancy of the Celt, still remains unmatched. Amongst Dafydd's contemporaries and successors, Iolo Goch's noble poem, "The Labourer," very appropriate to our breadless days, Lewis Glyn Cothi's touching elegy on his little son John, and Dr. Sion Cent's epigrammatic "The Noble's Grave" have been treated as far as possible in the metres of the originals, and I have gone as near as I could to the measures of Huw Morus' "The Bard's Death-Bed Confession," Elis Win's "Counsel in view of Death," and the Vicar Pritchard's "A Good Wife." A word or two about these famous Welsh writers: Huw Morus (Hugh Morris) was the leading Welsh poet of the seventeenth century and a staunch Royalist, who during the Civil War proved himself the equal if not the superior of Samuel Butler as a writer of anti-Republican satire. He was also an amatory lyrist, but closed his career as the writer of some fine religious verses, notably this "Death-Bed Confession." Elis Win (Ellis Wynne) was not only an excellent writer of verse but one of the masters of Welsh prose. His "Vision of the Sleeping Bard" is, indeed, one of the most beautifully written works in the Welsh language. Though in many respects indebted to "Quevedo's Visions," the matter of Elis Win's book is distinctly original, and most poetically expressed, though he is none the less able to expose and scourge the immoralities of his age. The Vicar Pritchard, otherwise the Rev. Rhys Pritchard, was the author of the famous "Welshmen's Candle," "Cannwyll y Cymry," written in the free metres, first published in 1646--completed in 1672. This consisted of a series of moral verses in the metres of the old folk-songs (Penillion Telyn) and remained dear to the hearts of the Welsh people for two centuries. Next may be mentioned Goronwy Owen, educated by the poet Lewis Morris, grandfather of the author of "Songs of Two Worlds" and "The Epic of Hades." As the Rev. Elvet Lewis writes of him: "Here at once we meet the true artist lost in his art. His humour is as playful as if the hand of a stern fate had never struck him on the face. His muse can laugh and make others laugh, or it can weep and make others weep." A specimen is given of one of his best known poems, "An Ode on the Day of Judgment," reproducing, as far as my powers have permitted, its final and internal rhymes and other metrical effects. We now reach the most individual of the modern Welsh religious and philosophical poets, Islwyn (William Thomas), who took his Bardic title from the hill of Islwyn in his native Monmouthshire. He was greatly influenced by the poetry of Wordsworth, but was in no sense an imitator. Yet whilst, in the words of one of the Triads, he possessed the three things essential to poetic genius, "an eye to see nature, a heart to feel nature: and courage that dares follow nature"--he steadfastly refused to regard poetry as an art and, by declining to use the pruning-knife, allowed the finest fruits of his poetic talents to lie buried beneath immense accumulations of weedy and inferior growth. Yet what his powers were may not be ill judged of, even in translation, by the passage from his blank verse poem, "The Storm," entitled "Behind the Veil," to be found on p. 94. Pantycelyn (the Rev. William Williams) was a co-worker with Howel Harris and Daniel Rowlands in the Methodist revival. Professor W.J. Gruffyd writes of him: "It is not enough to say he was a hymnologist--he was much more. He is the National Poet of Wales. He had certainly the loftiest imagination of all the poets of five centuries, and his influence on the Welsh people can be gauged by the fact that a good deal of his idiom or dialect has fixed itself indelibly in modern literary Welsh." The Hymn, "Marchog Jesu!" which represents him was translated by me at the request of the Committee responsible for the Institution Ceremony of the Prince of Wales at Carnarvon Castle. Of the more modern Welsh poets represented in this volume let it be said that Ceiriog (John Hughes), so called from his birth in the Ceiriog Valley, is the Burns of Welsh Poetry. Against the spirit of gloom that the Welsh Revival cast over the first half of the nineteenth century he threw himself in sharp revolt. But while the joy of life wells up and overflows in his song he was also, like all Welshmen, serious-minded, as the specimens given in my translation from his works go to prove. According to Professor Lewis Jones, no poem in the strict metre is more read than Eben Farrd's "Dinistur Jerusalem" ("The Destruction of Jerusalem"), translated into kindred verse in this volume, unless indeed its popularity is rivalled by Hiraethog's ode on "Heddwch," ("Peace"). Two extracts from the former poem are dealt with, and Hiraethog is represented by a beautiful fancy, "Love Divine," taken from his "Emanuel." Finally, three living poets are represented in the Welsh section--Elvet Lewis by his stirring and touching "High Tide"; Eifion Wyn, upon whom the mantle of Ceiriog has fallen, by two exquisitely simple and pathetic poems, "Ora pro Nobis" and "A Flower-Sunday Lullaby"; and William John Gruffydd, the bright hope of "Y Beirdd Newydd" ("The New Poets"), by his poignant ballad of "The Old Bachelor of Ty'n y Mynydd." There is no need for me to dwell upon the rest of the verse in this volume beyond stating that "The Prodigal's Return" is a free translation from a poem on that theme by an anonymous Scotch Gaelic Bard to be found in Sinton's "The Poetry of Badenoch"; that "Let there be joy!" is rendered from a Gaelic poem in Alexander Carmichael's "Carmina Gadelica," and that, finally, "Wild Wine of Nature" is a pretty close English version of a poem hardly to have been expected from that far from teetotal Scotch Gaelic Bard, Duncan Ban McIntyre. ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES RED BRANCH HOUSE LAURISTON ROAD, WIMBLEDON July 11, 1917 FOOTNOTES: [Footnote A: From "The Ancient Poetry of Ireland," by Professor Kuno Meyer, to whose beautiful prose translations from Irish verse in that volume, and in his "Hail, Brigit!" I am greatly indebted.] CONTENTS I. IRISH POEMS THE ISLE OF THE HAPPY THE WISDOM OF KING CORMAC IRISH TRIADS LAYS OF THE IRISH SAINTS ST. PATRICK'S BLESSING ON MUNSTER THE BREASTPLATE OF ST. PATRICK ST. PATRICK'S EVENSONG ST. COLUMBA'S GREETING TO IRELAND ST. COLUMBA IN IONA HAIL, BRIGIT! THE DEVIL'S TRIBUTE TO MOLING THE HYMN OF ST. PHILIP LAYS OF MONK AND HERMIT THE SCRIBE THE HERMIT'S SONG CRINOG KING AND HERMIT ON ÆNGUS THE CULDEE THE SHAVING OF MURDOCH ON THE FLIGHTINESS OF THOUGHT THE MONK AND HIS WHITE CAT INVOCATIONS AND REFLECTIONS A PRAYER TO THE VIRGIN MAELISU'S HYMN TO THE ARCHANGEL MICHAEL MAELISU'S HYMN TO THE HOLY SPIRIT EVE'S LAMENTATION ALEXANDER THE GREAT THE KINGS WHO CAME TO CHRIST QUATRAINS CHARMS AND INVOCATIONS LAMENTATIONS THE SONG OF CREDE, DAUGHTER OF GUARE THE DESERTED HOME THE MOTHERS' LAMENT AT THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS THE KEENING OF MARY CAOINE SONGS TO MUSIC BATTLE HYMN THE SONG OF THE WOODS THE ENCHANTED VALLEY REMEMBER THE POOR II. WELSH POEMS THE ODES TO THE MONTHS THE TERCETS HAIL, GLORIOUS LORD! MY BURIAL THE LAST CYWYDD THE LABOURER THE ELEGY ON SION GLYN THE NOBLE'S GRAVE THE BARD'S DEATH-BED CONFESSION QUICK, DEATH! COUNSEL IN VIEW OF DEATH FROM "THE LAST JUDGMENT" A GOOD WIFE "MARCHOG JESU!" THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM LOVE DIVINE BEHIND THE VEIL THE REIGN OF LOVE PLAS GOGERDDAN ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT DAVID OF THE WHITE ROCK THE HIGH TIDE "ORA PRO NOBIS" A FLOWER-SUNDAY LULLABY THE BALLAD OF THE OLD BACHELOR OF TY'N Y MYNYDD THE QUEEN'S DREAM THE WELSH FISHERMEN III. OLD AND NEW TESTAMENT STUDIES DAVID'S LAMENT OVER SAUL AND JONATHAN THE FIERY FURNACE RUTH AND NAOMI THE LILIES OF THE FIELD AND THE FOWLS OF THE AIR THE GOOD PHYSICIAN THE SOWER THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN ST. MARY MAGDALEN IV. CHURCH FESTIVALS A CHRISTMAS COMMUNION HYMN A CHRISTMAS CAROL OF THE EPIPHANY A FOURTEENTH-CENTURY CAROL EARTH'S EASTER EASTER DAY, 1915 THE ASCENSION WHITSUNTIDE HARVEST HYMN V. GOOD AND FAITHFUL SERVANTS FATHER O'FLYNN LADY GWENNY OLD DOCTOR MACK TO THE MEMORY OF JOHN OWEN SAINT CUTHBERT ALFRED THE GREAT SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON "MEN, NOT WALLS, MAKE A CITY" FIELD-MARSHAL EARL KITCHENER INSCRIPTION FOR A ROLL OF HONOUR IN A PUBLIC SCHOOL AN EPITAPH AN INTERCESSIONAL ANSWERED VI. PERSONAL AND VARIOUS LET THERE BE JOY! A HOLIDAY HYMN SUMMER MORNING'S WALK SNOW-STAINS REMEMBRANCE SANDS OF GOLD THE MOURNER DE PROFUNDIS IMMORTAL HOPE WE HAD A CHILD BY THE BEDSIDE OF A SICK CHILD HE HAS COME BACK SPRING'S SECRETS THE LORD'S LEISURE SPRING IS NOT DEAD AIM NOT TOO HIGH WILD WINE OF NATURE BRIDAL INVOCATION THE COMING OF SIR GALAHAD AND A VISION OF THE GRAIL ASK WHAT THOU WILT I. IRISH POEMS THE ISLE OF THE HAPPY (From the Early Irish) Once when Bran, son of Feval, was with his warriors in his royal fort, they suddenly saw a woman in strange raiment upon the floor of the house. No one knew whence she had come or how she had entered, for the ramparts were closed. Then she sang these quatrains of Erin, the Isle of the Happy, to Bran while all the host were listening: A branch I bear from Evin's apple-trees Whose shape agrees with Evin's orchard spray; Yet never could her branches best belauded Such crystal-gauded bud and bloom display. There is a distant Isle, deep sunk in shadows, Sea-horses round its meadows flash and flee; Full fair the course, white-swelling waves enfold it, Four pedestals uphold it o'er the sea. White the bronze pillars that this Fairy Curragh,[A] The Centuries thorough, glimmering uphold. Through all the World the fairest land of any Is this whereon the many blooms unfold. And in its midst an Ancient Tree forth flowers, Whence to the Hours beauteous birds outchime; In harmony of song, with fluttering feather, They hail together each new birth of Time. And through the Isle glow all glad shades of colour, No hue of dolour mars its beauty lone. 'Tis Silver Cloud Land that we ever name it, And joy and music claim it for their own. Not here are cruel guile or loud resentment, But calm contentment, fresh and fruitful cheer; Not here loud force or dissonance distressful, But music melting blissful on the ear. No grief, no gloom, no death, no mortal sickness, Nor any weakness our sure strength can bound; These are the signs that grace the race of Evin. Beneath what other heaven are they found? A Hero fair, from out the dawn's bright blooming, Rides forth, illuming level shore and flood; The white and seaward plain he sets in motion, He stirs the ocean into burning blood. A host across the clear blue sea comes rowing, Their prowess showing, till they touch the shore; Thence seek the Shining Stone where Music's measure Prolongs the pleasure of the pulsing oar. It sings a strain to all the host assembled; That strain untired has trembled through all time! It swells with such sweet choruses unnumbered, Decay and Death have slumbered since its chime. Thus happiness with wealth is o'er us stealing, And laughter pealing forth from every hill. Yea! through the Land of Peace at every season Pure Joy and Reason are companions still. Through all the lovely Isle's unchanging hours There showers and showers a stream of silver bright; A pure white cliff that from the breast of Evin Mounts up to Heaven thus assures her light. Long ages hence a Wondrous Child and Holy, Yet in estate most lowly shall have birth; Seed of a Woman, yet whose Mate knows no man To rule the thousand thousands of the earth. His sway is ceaseless; 'twas His love all-seeing That Earth's vast being wrought with perfect skill. All worlds are His; for all His kindness cares; But woe to all gainsayers of His Will. The stainless heavens beneath His Hands unfolded, He moulded Man as free of mortal stain, And even now Earth's sin-struck sons and daughters His Living Waters can make whole again. Not unto all of you is this my message Of marvellous presage at this hour revealed. Let Bran but listen from Earth's concourse crowded Unto the shrouded wisdom there concealed. Upon a couch of languor lie not sunken, Beware lest drunkenness becloud thy speech! Put forth, O Bran, across the far, clear waters. And Evin's daughters haply thou may'st reach. [Footnote A: Plain or tableland such as the Curragh of Kildare.] THE WISDOM OF KING CORMAC (From the Early Irish) THE DEPTHS OF KING CORMAC'S HEART CARBERY "Cormac, Conn's grandson, and son of great Art Declare to me now from the depths of thy heart, With the wise and the foolish, With strangers and friends, The meek and the mulish, The old and the young, With good manners to make God amends-- How I must govern my tongue, And in all things comport myself purely, The good and the wicked among." CORMAC "The answer thereto is not difficult surely. Be not too wise nor too scatter-brained, Not too conceited nor too restrained, Be not too haughty nor yet too meek, Too tattle-tongued or too loth to speak, Neither too hard nor yet too weak. If too wise you appear, folk too much will claim of you, If too foolish, they still will be making fresh game of you, If too conceited, vexatious they'll dub you, If too unselfish, they only will snub you, If too much of a tattler, you ne'er will be heeded, If too silent, your company ne'er will be needed, If overhard, your pride will be broken asunder, If overweak, the folk will trample you under." THE HOUSE OF HOSPITALITY CARBERY "Cormac, grandson of Conn, what dues hath a Chief and an ale-house?" Said Cormac: "Not hard to tell! Good behaviour around a good Chief; Lamps to light for the eye's relief; Exerting ourselves for the Company's sake, Seats assigned with no clownish mistake, Deft and liberal measuring carvers; Attentive and nimble-handed servers; Moderation in music and song; A telling of stories not too long; The Host, to a bright elation stirred, Giving each guest a welcoming word. Silence during the Bard's reciting-- Each chorus in sweet concent uniting." HOW KING CORMAC ORDERED HIS YOUTH CARBERY "O Cormac, grandson of Conn, say sooth, How didst thou order thy days in youth?" CORMAC "Into the woods I went a-listening, I was a gazer when stars were glistening; Blind when secrets were plain to guess; A silent one in the wilderness; I was talkative with the many, Yet, in the mead-hall, milder than any; I was stern amid battle cries; I was gentle towards allies; I was a doctor unto the sick; On the feeble I laid no stick. Not close lest burdensome I should be; Though wise not given to arrogancy. I promised little, though lavish of gift; I was not reckless though I was swift; Young, I never derided the old; And never boasted though I was bold; Of an absent one no ill would I tell; I would not reproach, though I praised full well; I never would ask but ever would give, For a kingly life I craved to live!" THE WORST WAY OF PLEADING CARBERY "O Cormac Mac Art, of Wisdom exceeding, What is the evilest way of pleading?" Said Cormac: "Not hard to tell! Against knowledge contending; Without proofs, pretending; In bad language escaping; A style stiff and scraping; Speech mean and muttering, Hair-splitting and stuttering; Uncertain proofs devising; Authorities despising; Scorning custom's reading; Confusing all your pleading; To madness a mob to be leading; With the shout of a strumpet Blowing one's own trumpet." KING CORMAC'S WORST ENEMY "O Cormac Mac Art, of your enemies' garrison, Who is the worst for your witty comparison?" Said Cormac: "Not hard to tell! A man with a satirist's nameless audacity; A man with a slave-woman's shameless pugnacity; One with a dirty dog's careless up-bound, The conscience thereto of a ravening hound. Like a stately noble he answers all speakers From a memory full as a Chronicle-maker's, With the suave behaviour of Abbot or Prior, Yet the blasphemous tongue of a horse-thief liar And he wise as false in every grey hair, Violent, garrulous, devil-may-care. When he cries, 'The case is settled and over!' Though you were a saint, I swear you would swear!" IRISH TRIADS (By an unknown Author of the ninth century) Three signs whereby to mark a man of vice Are hatred, bitterness, and avarice. Three graceless sisters in the bond of unity Are lightness, flightiness, and importunity. Three clouds, the most obscuring Wisdom's glance, Forgetfulness, half-knowledge, ignorance. Three savage sisters sharpening life's distress, Foul Blasphemy, Foul Strife, Foul-mouthedness. Three services the worst for human hands, A vile Lord's, a vile Lady's, a vile Land's. Three gladnesses that soon give way to griefs, A wooer's, a tale-bearer's, and a thief's. Three signs of ill-bred folk in every nation-- A visit lengthened to a visitation, Staring, and overmuch interrogation. Three arts that constitute a true physician: To cure your malady with expedition. To let no after-consequence remain, And make his diagnosis without pain. Three keys that most unlock our secret thinking Are love and trustfulness and overdrinking. Three nurses of hot blood to man's undoing-- Excess of pride, of drinking, and of wooing. Three the receivers are of stolen goods: A cloak, the cloak of night, the cloak of woods. Three unions, each of peace a proved miscarriage, Confederate feats, joint ploughland, bonds of marriage. Three lawful hand-breadths for mankind about the body be, From shoes to hose, from ear to hair, from tunic unto knee. Three youthful sisters for all eyes to see, Beauty, desire, and generosity. Three excellences of our dress are these-- Elegance, durability, and ease. Three idiots of a bad guest-house are these-- A hobbling beldam with a hoicking wheeze, A brainless tartar of a serving-girl, For serving-boy a swinish lubber-churl. Three slender ones whereon the whole earth swings-- The thin milk stream that in the keeler sings; The thin green blade that from the cornfield springs; That thin grey thread the housewife's shuttle flings. The three worst welcomes that will turn a guest-house For weary wayfarers into a Pest-house-- Within its roof a workman's hammer beat; A bath of scalding water for your feet; With no assuaging draught, salt food to eat. Three finenesses that foulness keep from sight-- Fine manners in the most misfeatured wight; Fine shapes of art by servile fingers moulded; Fine wisdom from a cripple's brain unfolded. Three fewnesses that better are than plenty: A fewness of fine words--but one in twenty; A fewness of milch cows, when grass is shrinking; Fewness of friends when beer is best for drinking. Three worst of snares upon a Chieftain's way: Sloth, treachery, and evil counsel they! Three ruins of a tribe to west or east: A lying Chief, false Brehon, lustful Priest. The rudest three of all the sons of earth: A youngster of an old man making mirth; A strong man at a sick man poking fun; A wise man gibing at a foolish one. Three signs that show a fop: the comb-track on his hair; The track of his nice teeth upon his nibbled fare; His cane-track on the dust, oft as he takes the air. Three sparks that light the fire of love are these-- Glamour of face, and grace, and speech of ease. Three steadinesses of wise womanhood-- steady tongue through evil, as through good; A steady chastity, whoso else shall stray; Steady house service, all and every day. Three sounds of increase: kine that low, When milk unto their calves they owe; The hammer on the anvil's brow, The pleasant swishing of the plough. Three sisters false: I would! I might! I may! Three fearful brothers: Hearken! Hush! and Stay! Three coffers of a depth unknown Are his who occupies the throne, The Church's, and the privileged Poet's own. Three glories of a gathering free from strife-- Swift hound, proud steed, and beautiful young wife. The world's three laughing-stocks (be warned and wiser!)-- An angry man, a jealoused, and a miser. Three powers advantaging a Chieftain most Are Peace and Justice and an Armed Host. Lays of the Irish Saints ST. PATRICK'S BLESSING ON MUNSTER (From the Early Irish) Blessing from the Lord on High Over Munster fall and lie; To her sons and daughters all Choicest blessing still befall; Fruitful blessing on the soil That supports her faithful toil. Blessing full of ruddy health, Blessing full of every wealth That her borders furnish forth, East and west and south and north; Blessing from the Lord on High Over Munster fall and lie! Blessing on her peaks in air, Blessing on her flagstones bare, Blessing from her ridges flow To her grassy glens below! Blessing from the Lord on High Over Munster fall and lie! As the sands upon her shore Underneath her ships, for store, Be her hearths, a twinkling host, Over mountain, plain and coast; Blessings from the Lord on High Over Munster fall and lie! THE BREASTPLATE OF ST. PATRICK Otherwise called "The Deer's Cry." For St. Patrick sang this hymn when the ambuscades were laid against him by King Leary that he might go to Tara to sow the Faith. Then it seemed to those lying in ambush that he and his monks were wild deer with a fawn, even Benen (Benignus) following him. I invoke, upon my path To the King of Ireland's rath, The Almighty Power of the Trinity; Through belief in the Threeness, Through confession of the Oneness Of the Maker's Eternal Divinity. I invoke, on my journey arising, The power of Christ's Birth and Baptizing, The powers of the hours of His dread Crucifixion, Of His Death and Abode in the Tomb, The power of the hour of His glorious Resurrection From out the Gehenna of gloom, The power of the hour when to Heaven He ascended, And the power of the hour when by Angels attended, He returns for the Judgment of Doom! On my perilous way To Tara to-day, I, Patrick, God's servant, Invoke from above The Cherubim's love! Yea! I summon the might of the Company fervent Of Angel obedient, ministrant Archangel To speed and to prosper my Irish Evangel. I go forth on my path in the trust Of the gathering to God of the Just; In the power of the Patriarchs' prayers; The foreknowledge of Prophets and Seers; The Apostles' pure preaching; The Confessors' sure teaching; The virginity blest of God's Dedicate Daughters, And the lives and the deaths of His Saints and His Martyrs! I arise to-day in the strength of the heaven, The glory of the sun, The radiance of the moon, The splendour of fire and the swiftness of the levin, The wind's flying force, The depth of the sea, The earth's steadfast course, The rock's austerity. I arise on my way, With God's Strength for my stay, God's Might to protect me, God's Wisdom to direct me, God's Eye to be my providence, God's Ear to take my evidence, God's Word my words to order, God's Hand to be my warder, God's Way to lie before me, God's Shield and Buckler o'er me, God's Host Unseen to save me, From each ambush of the Devil, From each vice that would enslave me. And from all who wish me evil, Whether far I fare or near. Alone or in a multitude. All these Hierarchies and Powers I invoke to intervene, When the adversary lowers On my path, with purpose keen Of vengeance black and bloody On my soul and my body; I bind these Powers to come Against druid counsel dark, The black craft of Pagandom, And the false heresiarch, The spells of wicked women, And the wizard's arts inhuman, And every knowledge, old and fresh, Corruptive of man's soul and flesh. May Christ, on my way To Tara to-day, Shield me from prison, Shield me from fire, Drowning or wounding By enemy's ire, So that mighty fruition May follow my mission. Christ behind and before me, Christ beneath me and o'er me, Christ within and without me, Christ around and about me, Christ on my left and Christ on my right, Christ with me at morn and Christ with me at night; Christ in each heart that shall ever take thought of me, Christ in each mouth that shall ever speak aught of me; Christ in each eye that shall ever on me fasten, Christ in each ear that shall ever to me listen. I invoke, upon my path To the King of Ireland's rath, The Almighty Power of the Trinity; Through belief in the Threeness, Through confession of the Oneness Of the Maker's Eternal Divinity. ST. PATRICK'S EVENSONG Christ, Thou Son of God most High, May thy Holy Angels keep Watch around us as we lie In our shining beds asleep. Time's hid veil with truth to pierce Let them teach our dreaming eyes, Arch-King of the Universe, High-Priest of the Mysteries. May no demon of the air, May no malice of our foes, Evil dream or haunting care Mar our willing, prompt repose! May our vigils hallowed be By the tasks we undertake! May our sleep be fresh and free, Without let and without break. ST. COLUMBA'S GREETING TO IRELAND (An old Irish poem recounting the Saint's voyage from Erin to Alba (Scotland), from which he but once returned) Delightful to stand on the brow of Ben Edar, Before being a speeder on the white-haired sea! The dashing of the wave in wild disorder On its desolate border delightful to me! Delightful to stand on the brow of Ben Edar, After being a speeder o'er the white-bosomed sea, After rowing and rowing in my little curragh! To the loud shore thorough, O, Och, Ochonee! Great is the speed of my little wherry, As afar from Derry its path it ploughs; Heavy my heart out of Erin steering And nearing Alba of the beetling brows. My foot is fast in my chiming curragh, Tears of sorrow my sad heart fill. Who lean not on God are but feeble-minded, Without His Love we go blinded still. There is a grey eye that tears are thronging, Fixed with longing on Erin's shore, It shall never see o'er the waste of waters The sons and daughters of Erin more. Its glance goes forth o'er the brine wave-broken, Far off from the firm-set, oaken seat; Many the tears from that grey eye streaming, The faint, far gleaming of Erin to meet. For indeed my soul is set upon Erin, And all joys therein from Linnhe to Lene, On each pleasant prospect of proud Ultonia, Mild Momonia and Meath the green. In Alba eastward the lean Scot increases, Frequent the diseases and murrain in her parts, Many in her mountains the scanty-skirted fellows, Many are the hard and the jealous hearts. Many in the West are our Kings and Princes noble, Orchards bend double beneath their fruitage vast; Sloes upon the thorn-bush shine in blue abundance, Oaks in redundance drop the royal mast. Melodious are her clerics, melodious Erin's birds are, Gentle her youths' words are, her seniors discreet; Famed far her chieftains--goodlier are no men-- Very fair her women for espousal sweet. 'Tis within the West sweet Brendan is residing, There Colum MacCriffan is indeed abiding now; And 'tis unto the West ruddy Baithir is repairing And Adamnan shall be faring to perform his vow. Salute them courteously, salute them all and single, After them Comgall, Eternity's true heir, Then to the stately Monarch of fair Navan Up from the haven my greeting greatly bear. My blessing, fair youth, and my full benediction Without one restriction be bearing to-day-- One half above Erin, one half seven times over, And one half above Alba to hover for aye. Carry to Erin that full load of blessing, For sorrow distressing my heart's pulses fail, If Death overtake me, the whole truth be spoken! My heart it was broken by great love for the Gael. "Gael, Gael," at that dear word's repeating, Again with glad beating my heart takes my breast. Beloved is Cummin of the tresses most beauteous, And Cainnech the duteous and Comgall the Blest. Were all of Alba mine now to enter, Mine from the centre and through to the sea; I would rather possess in deep-leaved Derry The home that was very very dear to me. To Derry my love is ever awarded, For her lawns smooth-swarded, her pure clear wells, And the hosts of angels that hover and hover Over and over her oak-set dells. Indeed and indeed for these joys I love her, Pure air is above her, smooth turf below; While evermore over each oak-bough leafy A beautiful bevy of angels go. My Derry, my little oak grove of Erin! My dwelling was therein, my small dear cell. Strike him, O Living God out of Heaven, With Thy red Levin who works them ill. Beloved shall Derry and Durrow endure, Beloved Raphoe of the pure clear well, Beloved Drumhome with its sweet acorn showers, Beloved the towers of Swords and Kells! Beloved too at my heart as any Art thou Drumcliffe on Culcinné's strand, And over Loch Foyle--'tis delight to be gazing-- So shapely are her shores on either hand. Delightful indeed, is the purple sea's glamour, Where sea-gulls clamour in white-winged flight, As you view it afar from Derry belovèd, O the peace of it, the peace and delight! ST. COLUMBA IN IONA (From an Irish Manuscript in the Burgundian Library, Brussels) Delightful would it be to me From a rock pinnacle to trace Continually The Ocean's face: That I might watch the heaving waves Of noble force To God the Father chant their staves Of the earth's course. That I might mark its level strand, To me no lone distress, That I might hark the sea-bird's wondrous band-- Sweet source of happiness. That I might hear the clamorous billows thunder On the rude beach. That by my blessed church side I might ponder Their mighty speech. Or watch surf-flying gulls the dark shoal follow With joyous scream, Or mighty ocean monsters spout and wallow, Wonder supreme! That I might well observe of ebb and flood All cycles therein; And that my mystic name might be for good But "Cul-ri. Erin." That gazing toward her on my heart might fall A full contrition, That I might then bewail my evils all, Though hard the addition; That I might bless the Lord who all things orders For their great good. The countless hierarchies through Heaven's bright borders-- Land, strand, and flood, That I might search all books and from their chart Find my soul's calm; Now kneel before the Heaven of my heart, Now chant a psalm; Now meditate upon the King of Heaven, Chief of the Holy Three; Now ply my work by no compulsion driven. What greater joy could be? Now plucking dulse upon the rocky shore, Now fishing eager on, Now furnishing food unto the famished poor; In hermitage anon: The guidance of the King of Kings Has been vouchsafed unto me; If I keep watch beneath His wings, No evil shall undo me. HAIL, BRIGIT! An old Irish poem on the Hill of Alenn recording the disappearance of the Pagan World of Ireland and the triumph of Christianity by the establishment at Kildare of the convent of Brigit, Saint and Princess. Safe on thy throne, Triumphing Bride, Down Liffey's side, Far to the coast, Rule with the host Under thy care Over the Children of Mighty Cathair. God's hid intents At every time, For pure Erin's clime All telling surpass. Liffey's clear glass Mirrors thy reign, But many proud masters have passed from his plain. When on his banks I cast my eyes thorough The fair, grassy Curragh, Awe enters my mind At each wreck that I find Around me far strown Of lofty kings' palaces gaunt, lichen-grown! Laery was monarch As far as the Main; Vast Ailill's reign! The Curragh's green wonder Still grows the blue under, The old rulers thereon One after other to cold death have gone. Where is Alenn far-famed, How dear in delights! Beneath her what Knights What Princes repose How feared by her foes When Crimthan was Chief-- Crimthan of Conquests--now passes belief! Proudly the triumph-shout Rang from his victor lords, Round their massed shock of swords; While their foes' serried, blue Spears they struck through and through; Blasts of delight Blared from their horns over hundreds in flight. Blithe, on their anvils Even-hued, blent The hammers' concent; From the Brugh the bard's song Brake sweet and strong; Proud beauty graced The field where knights jousted and charioteers raced. There in each household Ran the rich mead; Steed neighed to steed; Chains jingled again Unto Kings among men Under the blades Of their five-edged, long, bitter, blood-letting spear-heads. There, at each hour, Harp music o'erflowed; The wine-galleon rode The violet sea, Whence silver showered free, And gold torques without fail, From the land of the Gaul to the Land of the Gael. To Britain's far coasts The renown of those kings On a meteor's wings O'er the waters had flown. Yea! Alenn's high throne, With its masterful lore, Made sport of the pomp of each palace before. But where, oh, where is mighty Cathair? Before him or since No shapelier Prince Ruled many-hued Erin. Though round the rath, wherein They laid him, you cry, The Champion of Champions can never reply. Where is Feradach's robe, Where his diadem famed, Round which, as it flamed, Plumed ranks deployed? His blue helm is destroyed, His shining cloak dust. Overthrower of kings, in whom now is thy trust? Alenn's worship of auguries Now is as naught! None thereof takes thought. All in vain is each spell The dark future to tell! All is vain, when 'tis probed, And Alenn lies dead of her black arts disrobed. Hail, Brigit! whose lands To-day I behold, Whither monarchs of old Came each in his turn. Thy fame shall outburn Their mightiest glory; Thou art over them all, till this Earth ends its story. Yea! Thy rule with the King Everlasting shall stand, Apart from the land Of thy burial-place. Child of Bresal's proud race, O triumphing Bride,[A] Sit safely enthroned upon Liffey's green side. [Footnote A: Brigit; hence St. Bride's Bay.] THE DEVIL'S TRIBUTE TO MOLING (From the Early Irish) Once, when St. Moling was praying in his church, the Devil visited him in purple raiment and distinguished form. On being challenged by the saint, he declared himself to be the Christ, but on Moling's raising the Gospel to disprove his claim, the Evil One confessed that he was Satan. "Wherefore hast thou come?" asked Moling. "For a blessing," the Devil replied. "Thou shalt not have it," said Moling, "for thou deservest it not." "Well, then," said the Devil, "bestow the full of a curse on me." "What good were that to thee?" asked Moling. "The venom and the hurt of the curse will be on the lips from which it will come." After further parley, the Devil paid this tribute to Moling: He is pure gold, the sky around the sun, A silver chalice brimmed with blessed wine, An Angel shape, a book of lore divine, Whoso obeys in all the Eternal One. He is a foolish bird that fowlers lime, A leaking ship in utmost jeopardy, An empty vessel and a withered tree, Who disobeys the Sovereign Sublime. A fragrant branch with blossoms overrun, A bounteous bowl with honey overflowing, A precious stone, of virtue past all knowing Is he who doth the will of God's dear Son. A nut that only emptiness doth fill, A sink of foulness, a crookt branch is he Upon a blossomless crab-apple tree, Who doeth not his Heavenly Master's will. Whoso obeys the Son of God and Mary-- He is a sunflash lighting up the moor, He is a dais on the Heavenly Floor, A pure and very precious reliquary. A sun heaven-cheering he, in whose warm beam The King of Kings takes ever fresh delight, He is a temple, noble, blessèd, bright, A saintly shrine with gems and gold a-gleam. The altar he, whence bread and wine are told, While countless melodies around are hymned, A chalice cleansed from God's own grapes upbrimmed, Upon Christ's garment's hem the joyful gold. THE HYMN OF ST. PHILIP (From the Early Irish) Philip the Apostle holy At an Aonach[A] once was telling Of the immortal birds and shapely Afar in Inis Eidheand dwelling. East of Africa abiding They perform a labour pleasant; Unto earth there comes no colour That on their pinions is not present. Since the fourth Creation morning When their God from dust outdrew them, Not one plume has from them perished, And not one bird been added to them. Seven fair streams with all their channels Pierce the plains wherethrough they flutter, Round whose banks the birds go feeding, Then soar thanksgiving songs to utter. Midnight is their hour apportioned, When, on magic coursers mounted, Through the starry skies they circle, To chants of angel choirs uncounted. Of the foremost birds the burthen Most melodiously unfolded Tells of all the works of wonder God wrought before the world He moulded. Then a sweet crowd heavenward lifted, When the nocturn bells are pealing, Chants His purposes predestined Until the Day of Doom's revealing. Next a flock whose thoughts are blessed, Under twilight's curls dim sweeping, Hymn God's wondrous words of Judgment When His Court of Doom is keeping. One and forty on a hundred And a thousand, without lying, Was their number, joined to virtue, Put upon each bird-flock flying. Who these faultless birds should hearken, Thus their strains of rapture linking, For the very transport of it, Unto death would straight be sinking. Pray for us, O mighty Mary! When earth's bonds no more are binding, That these birds our souls may solace, In the Land of Philip's finding. [Footnote A: A fair, or open-air assembly.] Lays of Monk and Hermit THE SCRIBE (From the Early Irish) For weariness my hand writes ill, My small sharp quill runs rough and slow; Its slender beak with failing craft Gives forth its draught of dark blue flow. And yet God's blessed wisdom gleams And streams beneath my fair brown palm, The while quick jets of holly ink The letters link of prayer or psalm. So still my dripping pen is fain To cross the plain of parchment white, Unceasing, at some rich man's call, Till wearied all am I to-night. THE HERMIT'S SONG (See _Eriu_, vol. I, p. 39, where the Irish text will be found. It dates from the ninth century) I long, O Son of the living God, Ancient, eternal King, For a hidden hut on the wilds untrod, Where Thy praises I might sing; A little, lithe lark of plumage grey To be singing still beside it, Pure waters to wash my sin away, When Thy Spirit has sanctified it. Hard by it a beautiful, whispering wood Should stretch, upon either hand, To nurse the many-voiced fluttering brood In its shelter green and bland. Southward, for warmth, should my hermitage face, With a runnel across its floor, In a choice land gifted with every grace, And good for all manner of store. A few true comrades I next would seek To mingle with me in prayer, Men of wisdom, submissive, meek; Their number I now declare, Four times three and three times four, For every want expedient, Sixes two within God's Church door, To north and south obedient; Twelve to mingle their voices with mine At prayer, whate'er the weather, To Him Who bids His dear sun shine On the good and ill together. Pleasant the Church with fair Mass cloth, No dwelling for Christ's declining To its crystal candles, of bees-wax both, On the pure, white Scriptures shining. Beside it a hostel for all to frequent, Warm with a welcome for each, Where mouths, free of boasting and ribaldry, vent But modest and innocent speech. These aids to support us my husbandry seeks, I name them now without hiding-- Salmon and trout and hens and leeks, And the honey-bees' sweet providing. Raiment and food enow will be mine From the King of all gifts and all graces; And I to be kneeling, in rain or shine, Praying to God in all places. CRINOG A.D. 900-1000 This poem relates "to one who lived like a sister or spiritual wife with a priest, monk, or hermit, a practice which, while early suppressed and abandoned everywhere else, seems to have survived in the Irish Church till the tenth century." Crinog of melodious song, No longer young, but bashful-eyed, As when we roved Niall's Northern Land, Hand in hand, or side by side. Peerless maid, whose looks ran o'er With the lovely lore of Heaven, By whom I slept in dreamless joy, A gentle boy of summers seven. We dwelt in Banva's broad domain, Without one stain of soul or sense; While still mine eye flashed forth on thee Affection free of all offence. To meet thy counsel quick and just, Our faithful trust responsive springs; Better thy wisdom's searching force Than any smooth discourse with kings. In sinless sisterhood with men, Four times since then, hast thou been bound, Yet not one rumour of ill-fame Against thy name has travelled round. At last, their weary wanderings o'er, To me once more thy footsteps tend; The gloom of age makes dark thy face, Thy life of grace draws near its end. O, faultless one and very dear, Unstinted welcome here is thine. Hell's haunting dread I ne'er shall feel, So thou be kneeling at my side. Thy blessed fame shall ever bide, For far and wide thy feet have trod. Could we their saintly track pursue, We yet should view the Living God. You leave a pattern and bequest To all who rest upon the earth-- A life-long lesson to declare Of earnest prayer the precious worth. God grant us peace and joyful love! And may the countenance of Heaven's King Beam on us when we leave behind Our bodies blind and withering. KING AND HERMIT Marvan, brother of King Guare of Connaught, in the seventh century, had renounced the life of a warrior prince for that of a hermit. The King endeavoured to persuade his brother to return to his Court, when the following colloquy took place between them: GUARE Now Marvan, hermit of the grot, Why sleep'st thou not on quilted feathers? Why on a pitch-pine floor instead At night make head against all weathers? MARVAN I have a shieling in the wood, None save my God has knowledge of it, An ash-tree and a hazelnut Its two sides shut, great oak-boughs roof it. Two heath-clad posts beneath a buckle Of honeysuckle its frame are propping, The woods around its narrow bound Swine-fattening mast are richly dropping. From out my shieling not too small, Familiar all, fair paths invite me; Now, blackbird, from my gable end, Sweet sable friend, thy notes delight me. With joys the stags of Oakridge leap Into their clear and deep-banked river, Far off red Roiny glows with joy, Muckraw, Moinmoy in sunshine quiver. With mighty mane a green-barked yew Upholds the blue; his fortress green An oak uprears against the storms, Tremendous forms, stupendous scene. Mine apple-tree is full of fruit From crown to root--a hostel's store-- My bonny nutful hazel-bush Leans branching lush against my door. A choice, pure spring of cooling draught Is mine. What prince has quaffed a rarer? Around it cresses keen, O King, Invite the famishing wayfarer. Tame swine and wild and goat and deer Assemble here upon its brink, Yea! even the badger's brood draw near And without fear lie down to drink. A peaceful troop of creatures strange, They hither range from wood and height, To meet them slender foxes steal At vesper peal, O my delight! These visitants as to a Court Frequent resort to seek me out, Pure water, Brother Guare, are they The salmon grey, the speckled trout; Red rowans, dusky sloes and mast-- O unsurpassed and God-sent dish-- Blackberries, whortleberries blue, Red strawberries to my taste and wish; Sweet apples, honey of wild bees And after them of eggs a clutch, Haws, berries of the juniper; Who, King, could cast a slur on such? A cup with mead of hazelnut Outside my hut in summer shine, Or ale with herbs from wood and spring Are worth, O King, thy costliest wine. Bright bluebells o'er my board I throw-- A lovely show my feast to spangle-- The rushes' radiance, oaklets grey, Brier-tresses gay, sweet, goodly tangle. When brilliant summer casts once more Her cloak of colour o'er the fields, Sweet-tasting marjoram, pignut, leek, To all who seek, her verdure yields. Her bright red-breasted little men Their lovely music then outpour, The thrush exults, the cuckoos all Around her call and call once more. The bees, earth's small musicians, hum, No longer dumb, in gentle chorus. Like echoes faint of that long plaint The fleeing wild-fowl murmur o'er us. The wren, an active songster now, From off the hazel-bough pipes shrill, Woodpeckers flock in multitudes With beauteous hoods and beating bill. With fair white birds, the crane and gull The fields are full, while cuckoos cry-- No mournful music! Heath-poults dun Through russet heather sunward fly. The heifers now with loud delight, Summer bright, salute thy reign! Smooth delight for toilsome loss 'Tis now to cross the fertile plain. The warblings of the wind that sweep From branchy wood to beaming sky, The river-falls, the swan's far note-- Delicious music floating by. Earth's bravest band because unhired, All day, untired make cheer for me. In Christ's own eyes of endless youth Can this same truth be said of thee? What though in Kingly pleasures now Beyond all riches thou rejoice, Content am I my Saviour good Should on this wood have set my choice. Without one hour of war or strife Through all my life at peace I fare; Where better can I keep my tryst With our Lord Christ, O brother Guare? GUARE My glorious Kingship, yea! and all My Sire's estates that fall to me, My Marvan, I would gladly give, So I might live my life with thee. ON ÆNGUS THE CULDEE Author of the _Felire Ængusa_ or Calendar of Church Festivals. He was a Saint, his appellation Culdee [Céile dé] meaning "Servant of God." He lived at the end of the eighth and beginning of the ninth century. Delightful here at Disert Bethel, By cold, pure Nore at peace to rest, Where noisy raids have never sullied The beechen forest's virgin vest. For here the Angel Host would visit Of yore with Ængus, Oivlen's son, As in his cross-ringed cell he lauded The One in Three, the Three in One. To death he passed upon a Friday, The day they slew our Blessed Lord. Here stands his tomb; unto the Assembly Of Holy Heaven his soul has soared. 'Twas in Cloneagh he had his rearing; 'Tis in Cloneagh he now lies dead, 'Twas in Cloneagh of many crosses That first his psalms he read. THE SHAVING OF MURDOCH (From the Early Irish) (By Muiredach O'Daly, late twelfth century, when he and Cathal More of the Red Hand, King of Connaught, entered the monastic life together.) Murdoch, whet thy razor's edge, Our crowns to pledge to Heaven's Ardrigh! Vow we now our hair fine-tressed To the Blessed Trinity! Now my head I shear to Mary; 'Tis a true heart's very due. Shapely, soft-eyed Chieftain now Shear thy brow to Mary, too! Seldom on thy head, fair Chief, Hath a barbing-knife been plied; Oft the fairest of Princesses Combed her tresses at thy side. Whensoever we did bathe, We found no scathe, yourself and I, With Brian of the well-curled locks, From hidden rocks and currents wry. And most I mind what once befell Beside the well of fair Boru-- I swam a race with Ua Chais The icy flood of Fergus through. When hand to hand the bank we reached, Swift foot to foot we stretched again, Till Duncan Cairbre, Chief of Chiefs, Gave us three knives--not now in vain. No other blades such temper have; Then, Murdoch, shave with easy art! Whet, Cathal of the Wine Red Hand, Thy Victor brand, in peaceful part! Then our shorn heads from weather wild Shield, Daughter mild of Joachim! Preserve us from the sun's fierce power, Mary, soft Flower of Jesse's Stem! ON THE FLIGHTINESS OF THOUGHT (A tenth-century poem. See _Eriu_, vol. iii, p. 13) Shame upon my thoughts, O shame! How they fly in order broken, Therefore much I fear for blame When the Trump of Doom has spoken. At my psalms, they oft are set On a path the Fiend must pave them; Evermore, with fash and fret, In God's sight they misbehave them. Through contending crowds they fleet, Companies of wanton women, Silent wood or strident street, Swifter than the breezes skimming. Now through paths of loveliness, Now through ranks of shameful riot, Onward evermore they press, Fledged with folly and disquiet. O'er the Ocean's sounding deep Now they flash like fiery levin; Now at one vast bound they leap Up from earth into the Heaven. Thus afar and near they roam On their race of idle folly; Till at last to reason's home They return right melancholy. Would you bind them wrist to wrist-- Foot to foot the truants shackle, From your toils away they twist Into air with giddy cackle. Crack of whip or edge of steel Cannot hold them in your keeping; With the wriggle of an eel From your grasp they still go leaping. Never yet was fetter found, Never lock contrived, to hold them; Never dungeon underground, Moor or mountain keep controlled them. Thou whose glance alone makes pure, Searcher of all hearts and Saviour, With Thy Sevenfold Spirit cure My stray thoughts' unblessed behaviour. God of earth, air, fire and flood, Rule me, rule me in such measure, That to my eternal good I may live to love Thy pleasure. Christ's own flock thus may I reach, At the flash of Death's sharp sickle, Just in deed, of steadfast speech, Not, as now, infirm and fickle. THE MONK AND HIS WHITE CAT (After an eighth- or early ninth-century Irish poem. Text and translation in _Thesaurus Palæohibernicus_.) Pangar, my white cat, and I Silent ply our special crafts; Hunting mice his one pursuit, Mine to shoot keen spirit shafts. Rest, I love, all fame beyond, In the bond of some rare book; Yet white Pangar from his play Casts, my way, no jealous look. Thus alone within one cell Safe we dwell--not dull the tale-- Since his ever favourite sport Each to court will never fail. Now a mouse, to swell his spoils, In his toils he spears with skill; Now a meaning deeply thought I have caught with startled thrill. Now his green full-shining gaze Darts its rays against the wall; Now my feebler glances mark Through the dark bright knowledge fall. Leaping up with joyful purr, In mouse fur his sharp claw sticks, Problems difficult and dear, With my spear I, too, transfix. Crossing not each other's will, Diverse still, yet still allied, Following each his own lone ends, Constant friends we here abide. Pangar, master of his art, Plays his part in pranksome youth; While in age sedate I clear Shadows from the sphere of Truth. Invocations and Reflections A PRAYER TO THE VIRGIN (Edited by Strachan in _Eriu_, vol. i, p. 122. Tenth or perhaps ninth century) Gentle Mary, Noble Maiden, Hearken to our suppliant pleas! Shrine God's only Son was laid in! Casket of the Mysteries! Holy Maid, pure Queen of Heaven, Intercession for us make, That each hardened heart's transgression May be pardoned for Thy sake. Bent in loving pity o'er us, Through the Holy Spirit's power, Pray the King of Angels for us In Thy Visitation hour. Branch of Jesse's tree whose blossoms Scent the heavenly hazel wood, Pray for me for full purgation Of my bosom's turpitude. Mary, crown of splendour glowing, Dear destroyer of Eve's ill, Noble torch of Love far-showing, Fruitful stock of God's good will; Heavenly Virgin, Maid transcendent, Yea! He willed that Thou shouldst be His fair Ark of Life Resplendent, His pure Queen of Chastity. Mother of all good, to free me, Interceding at my side, Pray Thy First-Born to redeem me, When the Judgment books are wide; Star of knowledge, rare and noble, Tree of many-blossoming sprays, Lamp to light our night of trouble, Sun to cheer our weary days; Ladder to the Heavenly Highway, Whither every Saint ascends, Be a safeguard still, till my way In Thy glorious Kingdom ends! Covert fair of sweet protection, Chosen for a Monarch's rest, Hostel for nine months' refection Of a Noble Infant Guest; Glorious Heavenly Porch, whereunder, So the day-star sinks his head, God's Own Son--O saving wonder! Jesus was incarnated; For the fair Babe's sake conceivèd In Thy womb and brought to birth, For the Blest Child's sake, receivèd Now as King of Heaven and Earth; For His Rood's sake! starker, steeper Hath no other Cross been set, For His Tomb's sake! darker, deeper There hath been no burial yet; By His Blessed Resurrection, When He triumphed o'er the tomb, By The Church of His affection 'During till the Day of Doom, Safeguard our unblest behaviour, Till behind Death's blinding veil, Face to face, we see our Saviour. This our prayer is: Hail! All Hail! MAELISU'S HYMN TO THE ARCHANGEL MICHAEL (By Maelisu ua Brochain, a writer of religious poetry both in Irish and Latin who died in 1051. Mael-Isu means "the tonsured of Jesus.") Angel and Saint, O Michael of the oracles, O Michael of great miracles, Bear to the Lord my plaint! Hear my request! Ask of the great, forgiving God, To lift this vast and grievous load Of sin from off my breast. Why, Michael, tarry My fervent prayer with upward wing Unto the King, the great High King Of Heaven and Earth, to carry? Unto my soul Bring help, bring comfort, yea bring power To win release, in death's black hour, From sin, distress, and dole. Till, as devoutly My fading eyes seek Heaven's dim height, To meet me with thy myriads bright, Do thou adventure stoutly. Captain of hosts, Against earth's wicked, crooked clan To aid me lead thy battle van And quell their cruel boasts. Archangel glorious, Disdain not now thy suppliant urgent, But over every sin insurgent Set me at last victorious. Thou art my choosing! That with my body, soul, and spirit Eternal life I may inherit, Thine aid be not refusing. In my sore need O thou of Anti-Christ the slayer, Triumphant victor, to my prayer Give heed, O now give heed! MAELISU'S HYMN TO THE HOLY SPIRIT O Holy Spirit, hasten to us! Move round about us, in us, through us! All our deadened souls' desires Inflame anew with heavenly fires! Yea! let each heart become a hostel Of Thy bright Presence Pentecostal, Whose power from pestilence and slaughter Shall shield us still by land and water. From bosom sins, seducing devils, From Hell with all its hundred evils, For Jesus' only sake and merit, Preserve us, Thou Almighty Spirit! EVE'S LAMENTATION (From the Early Irish) I am Eve, great Adam's wife, 'Twas my guilt took Jesus' life. Since of Heaven I robbed my race, On His Cross was my true place. In His Paradise, God placed me, Then a wicked choice disgraced me. At the counsel of the Devil, My pure hand I stained with evil; For I put it forth and plucked, Then the deadly apple sucked. Long as woman looks on day, Shall she walk in folly's way. Winter's withering icy woe, Whelming wave and smothering snow, Hell to fright and death to grieve-- Had been never, but for Eve! ALEXANDER THE GREAT (From the Early Irish) Four Sages stood to chant a stave Above the proud Earth Conqueror's grave; And all their words were words of candour Above the urn of Alexander. The first began: "But yesterday, When all in state the Great King lay, Myriads around him made their moan, To-day he lieth all alone!" "But yesterday," the second sang, "O'er Earth his charger's hoof outrang; To-day its outraged soil instead Is riding heavy o'er his head!" "But yesterday," the third went on, "All Earth was swayed by Philip's son: To-day, to shroud his calcined bones, Seven feet thereof is all he owns!" "But yesterday, so liberal he, Silver and gold he scattered free; To-day," the last outsighed his thought, "His wealth abounds but he is naught!" Thus sentence gave these Sages four, Above the buried Emperor; It was no foolish women's prate That held them thus in high debate. THE KINGS WHO CAME TO CHRIST (From the Early Irish) Three Kings came to the Babe's abode, With faces that like bright moons glowed, From out the learned Eastern world, Where o'er wide plains slow streams are curled. The three sought out the lovely Child, On whom, white-blossomed Bethel smiled, Three, o'er all knowledge granted sway, Three Seers of the Vision they. The Promise of the Great All-wise Was present to their prescient eyes, A Vision beckoning from afar, The Christ Child cradled on a star; A lofty star of lucent ray, It swam before them through the day, And when earth's hues were lost in night, It still led on with loving light. And still the lucky Royal Three Went following it full readily; And still across the firmament An arch of blessed might it went. So rushing radiant, round and soft, Past every star that paced aloft, Right joyously it stayed for them At last o'er blessed Bethlehem. O, then each Monarch of the Three With worship fell upon his knee, And gave, while God he loud extolled, His frankincense and myrrh and gold. They recognised the Babe's bright face And Mary in her Virgin grace. 'Twas thus the Star's Epiphany Showed Christ their King to the Kings three. QUATRAINS HOSPITALITY Whether my house is dark or bright, I close it not on any wight, Lest Thou, hereafter, King of Stars, Against me close Thy Heavenly bars. If from a guest who shares thy board Thy dearest dainty thou shalt hoard, 'Tis not that guest, O never doubt it, But Mary's Son shall do without it. THE BLACKBIRD Ah, Blackbird, that at last art blest Because thy nest is on the bough, No Hermit of the clinking bell, How soft and well thy notes fall now. MOLING SANG THIS With the old when I consort Jest and sport they straight lay by; When with frolic youth I am flung, Maddest of the young am I. THE CHURCH BELL IN THE NIGHT Sweet little bell, sweet little bell, Struck long and well upon the wind, I'd rather tryst with thee to-night Than any maiden light of mind. THE CRUCIFIXION At the first bird's early crying, They began Thy Crucifying, O Thou of face as woeful wan, As the far-flown winter swan. Sore the suffering and the shame Put upon Thy Sacred Frame; Ah! but sorer the heartache For Thy stricken Mother's sake. THE PILGRIM AT ROME Unto Rome wouldst thou attain, Great the toil is, small the gain, If the King thou seekest therein Travel not, with thee, from Erin. ON A DEAD SCHOLAR Dead is Lon Of Kilgarrow, O great sorrow! Dead and gone. Dire the dolour, Erin, here and past thy border, Dire the dolour and disorder, To the schools and to the scholar, Since our Lon Is dead and gone. CHARMS AND INVOCATIONS CHARMS AGAINST SORROW A charm whereunto grief must yield-- The Charm of Michael with the Shield. Charms before which all sorrows fail-- The Palm-branch of Christ and Brigit's Veil. The charm Christ set for Himself, when the Godhead within Him darkened; And when He cried from the Cross that His Father no longer hearkened. When you are bound down by the Cross and night is blackest before you, A charm that shall lift off sorrow's weight and to joyful hope restore you. A charm to be said at sunrise when your hands your heart are crushing, When the eyes are red with weeping and the madness of grief outrushing. A charm with not even a whisper to spare, But only the silent prayer. ON COVERING THE FIRE FOR THE NIGHT Let us preserve this seed of fire as Christ preserves us all, Himself a-watch above the house, Bride at its middle wall, Below the Twelve Apostles of highest heavenly sway, Guarding and defending it until the dawn of day. MORNING WISH O Jesu! in the morning I cry and call thee early, Blest only Son of God on high who purchased us so dearly. O guard me in the shelter of Thy most Holy Cross, All through the courses of the day keep me from sin and loss. A CHARM AGAINST ENEMIES Three powers are of the Evil One to curse mankind; An Evil Eye, an Evil Tongue, an Evil Mind. Three words are God's own breath and Mary's to her Son, For she in heaven had heard them, told them every one. The word of Mercy free, the singing word of Joy, The binding word of Love He gives us to employ. O may the saving might of these three holy words On Erin's men and women light, and keep them still the Lord's. CHARM FOR A PAIN IN THE HEART "God save you my three brothers! God save you! Now how far Have ye on foot to travel, by sun and moon and star?" "To Olivet's own Mount we fare till we have gotten gold, Therefrom a cup to fashion the tears of Christ to hold." "So do! And when those Precious Tears drop down into the bowl Into thy very heart they'll fall and cure thee body and soul." THE SAFE-GUARDING OF MY SOUL My succour from all sinful harms Be Thou, Almighty Father! And Mary, who, within her arms The King of Kings did gather! And Michael, messenger to earth From out the Heavenly City, The Twelve of Apostolic worth, And last the Lord of Pity! That so my soul, encircled by their care, Into Heaven's Golden Halls with joy may fare! THE WHITE PATERNOSTER. On going to sleep, think that it is the sleep of Death and that you may be summoned to the Day of the Mountain of Judgment and say: I lay me down with God; May He rest here also, His Guardian arms around my head, Christ's Cross my limbs below. Where wouldst, thou lay thee down? 'Twixt Mary and her Son-- Brigit and her bright mantle, Colomb and his shield handle, God and His strong Right Hand. At morn where wouldst thou rise? With Patrick to the skies. Lamentations THE SONG OF CREDE, DAUGHTER OF GUARE In the Battle of Aidne, Crede, the daughter of King Guare of Aidne, beheld Dinertach of the HyFidgenti, who had come to the help of Guare with seventeen wounds upon his breast. Then she fell in love with him. He died and was buried in the cemetery of Colman's Church. "These are the arrows that murder sleep," At every hour in the night's black deep; Pangs of Love through the long day ache All for the dead Dinertach's sake. Great love of a hero from Roiny's plain Has pierced me through with immortal pain, Blasted my beauty and left me to blanch, A riven bloom on a restless branch! Never was song like Dinertach's speech, But holy strains that to Heaven's gate reach. A front of flame without boast or pride, Yet a firm, fond mate for a fair maid's side. A growing girl--I was timid of tongue, And never trysted with gallants young, But, since I won on into passionate age, Fierce love-longings my heart engage. I have every bounty that life could hold, With Guare, arch-monarch of Aidne cold, But fallen away from my haughty folk, In Irluachair's field my heart lies broke. There is chanting in glorious Aidne's meadow Under St. Colman's Church's shadow; A hero flame sinks into the tomb-- Dinertach, alas, my love and my doom! Chaste Christ! that unto my life's last breath I trysted with Sorrow and mate with Death; At every hour of the night's black deep, These are the arrows that murder sleep! THE DESERTED HOME (An eleventh-century poem) Keenly cries the blackbird now; From the bough his nest is gone. For his slaughtered mate and young Still his tongue talks on and on. Such, alas! not long ago Was the woe my heart befell; Therefore, wherefore thine so grieves It perceives, O bird, too well! Poor heart burnt with grief within By the sin of that rash band! Little could they guess thy care, Crying there, or understand. From afar at thy clear call Fluttered all thy new-fledged brood. Now thy nest of love lies hid Down amid the nettles rude. In one day the herd-boy crew Careless slew thy fledgelings fine. One the fate to thine and thee, One the fate to me and mine. As thy mate upon the mead Chirruped, feeding at thy side, Taken in their snaring strands, At the herd-boy's hands she died. O Thou Framer of our fates, Not an equal lot have all! Neighbour's wife and child are spared, Ours, as though uncared for, fall. Fairy hosts with blasting death Breathed on mine a breath abhorred; Bloodless though their evil ire, It was direr than the sword. Woe our wife! and woe our young! Sorrow-wrung our hearts complain! Of each fair and faithful one Tidings none or trace remain! THE MOTHERS' LAMENT AT THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS (Probably a poem of the eleventh century. It is written in Rosg metre, and was first published in _The Gaelic Journal_, May 1891.) _Then, as the executioner plucked her son from her breast, one of the women said_: "Why are you tearing Away to his doom The child of my caring, The fruit of my womb. Till nine months were o'er, His burthen I bore, Then his pretty lips pressed The glad milk from my breast, And my whole heart he filled, And my whole life he thrilled. "All my strength dies; My tongue speechless lies; Darkened are my eyes; His breath was the breath of me; His death is the death of me!" _Then another woman said_: "Tis my own son that from me you wring, _I_ deceived not the King. But slay me, even me, And let my boy be. A mother most hapless, My bosom is sapless. Mine eyes one tearful river, My frame one fearful shiver, My husband sonless ever, And I a sonless wife To live a death in life. O, my son! O, God of Truth! O, my unrewarded youth! O, my birthless sicknesses, Until doom without redress! O, my bosom's silent nest! O, the heart broke in my breast!" _Then said another woman_: "Murderers, obeying Herod's wicked willing, One ye would be slaying, Many are ye killing. Infants would ye smother? Ruffians ye have rather Wounded many a father, Slaughtered many a mother. Hell's black jaws your horrid deed is glutting, Heaven's white gate against your black souls shutting. "Ye are guilty of the Great Offence! Ye have spilt the blood of innocence." _And yet another woman said_: "O Lord Christ come to me! Nay, no longer tarry! With my son, home to Thee My soul quickly carry! O Mary great, O Mary mild, Of God's One Son the Mother, What shall I do without my child, For I have now no other. For Thy Son's sake my son they slew, Those murderers inhuman; My sense and soul they slaughtered too, I am but a crazy woman. Yea! after that most piteous slaughter, When my babe's life ran out like water, The heart within my bosom hath become A clot of blood from this day till the Doom!" THE KEENING OF MARY Taken down by Patrick H. Pearse from Mary Clancy of Moycullen, who keened it with great horror in her voice, in a low sobbing recitative. MARY. "O Peter, O Apostle, my bright Love, hast thou found him?" "M'ochon agus m'ochon, O!" PETER. "Even now in the midst of His foemen I found Him." "M'ochon agus m'ochon, O!" MARY. "Come hither, ye two Marys, and my bright love be keening." "M'ochon agus m'ochon, O!" THE TWO MARYS. "If His body be not with us, sure our keene had little meaning." "M'ochon agus m'ochon, O!" MARY. "Who is yonder stately Man on the Tree His passion showing?" "M'ochon agus m'ochon, O!" CHRIST. "O Mother, thine own son, can it be thou art not knowing." "M'ochon agus m'ochon, O!" MARY. "And is that the little son whom nine months I was bearing?" "M'ochon agus m'ochon, O!" "And is that the little son in the stall I was caring? And is that the little son this Mary's breast was draining?" "M'ochon agus m'ochon, O!" CHRIST. "Hush thee, hush thee, Mother, and be not so complaining." MARY. "And is this the very hammer that struck the sharp nails thro' thee?" "M'ochon agus m'ochon, O!" "And this the very spear that thy white side pierced and slew thee?" "M'ochon agus m'ochon, O!" "And is that the crown of thorns that thy beauteous head is caging?" "M'ochon agus m'ochon, O!" CHRIST. "Hush, Mother, for my sake thy sorrow be assuaging." "M'ochon agus m'ochon, O!" "For thy own love's sake thy cruel sorrow smother!" "M'ochon agus m'ochon, O!" "The women of my keening are unborn yet, little Mother!" "M'ochon agus m'ochon, O!" "O woman, why weepest thou my death that leads to pardon?" "M'ochon agus m'ochon, O!" "Happy hundreds, to-day, shall stray through Paradise Garden." "M'ochon agus m'ochon, O!" CAOINE (From the eighteenth-century Irish) Cold, dark, and dumb lies my boy on his bed; Cold, dark, and silent the night dews are shed; Hot, swift, and fierce fall my tears for the dead! His footprints lay light in the dew of the dawn As the straight, slender track of the young mountain fawn; But I'll ne'er again follow them over the lawn. His manly cheek blushed with the sun's rising ray, And he shone in his strength like the sun at midday; But a cloud of black darkness has hid him away. And that black cloud for ever shall cling to the skies: And never, ah, never, I'll see him arise, Lost warmth of my bosom, lost light of my eyes! Songs to Music BATTLE HYMN (Written to an old Irish Air) Above the thunder crashes, Around the lightning flashes: Our heads are heaped with ashes But Thou, God, art nigh! Thou launchest forth the levin, The storm by Thee is driven, Give heed, O Lord, from Heaven, Hear, hear our cry! For lo, the Dane defaces With fire Thy holy places, He hews Thy priests in pieces, Our maids more than die. Up, Lord, with storm and thunder, Pursue him with his plunder, And smite his ships in sunder, Lord God Most High! THE SONG OF THE WOODS (To an Irish Air of the same name) Not only where Thy blessed bells Peal afar for praise and prayer, Or where Thy solemn organ swells, Lord, not only art Thou there. Thy voice of many waters From out the ocean comfort speaks, Thy Presence to a radiant rose Thrills a thousand virgin peaks. And here, where in one wondrous woof-- Aisle on aisle and choir on choir-- To rear Thy rarest temple roof, Pillared oak and pine aspire; Life-weary here we wander, When lo! the Saviour's gleaming stole! 'Tis caught unto our craving lips, Kissed and straightway we are whole. THE ENCHANTED VALLEY (To an Irish Air of the same name) I will go where lilies blow Beside the flow of languid streams, Within that vale of opal glow, Where bright-winged dreams flutter to and fro, Fain am I its magic peace to know. Beware! beware of that valley fair! All dwellers there to phantoms turn, For joys and griefs they have none to share, Tho' ever they yearn life's burdens to bear, Ah! of that valley beware, beware! REMEMBER THE POOR (Founded on an Irish Ballad of the name) Oh! remember the poor when your fortune is sure, And acre to acre you join; Oh! remember the poor, though but slender your store And you ne'er can go gallant and fine. Oh! remember the poor when they cry at your door In the raging rain and blast; Call them in! Cheer them up with the bite and the sup, Till they leave you their blessing at last. The red fox has his lair, and each bird of the air With the night settles warm in his nest, But the King Who laid down His celestial crown For our sakes--He had nowhere to rest. Oh! the poor were forgot till their pitiful lot He bowed Himself to endure; If your souls ye would make, for His Heavenly sake, Oh! remember, remember the poor. II. WELSH POEMS THE ODES TO THE MONTHS (After Aneurin, a sixth-century warrior bard) Month of Janus, the coom is smoke-fuming; Weary the wine-bearer; minstrels far roaming; Lean are the kine; the bees never humming; Milking-folds void; to the kiln no meat coming; Gaunt every steed; no pert sparrows strumming; Long the night till the dawn; but a glimpse is the gloaming. Sapient Cynfelyn, this was thy summing; "Prudence is Man's surest guide, by my dooming." * * * * * Month of Mars; the birds become bolder; Wounding the wind upon the cape's shoulder; Serene skies delay till the young crops are older; Anger burns on, when grief waxes colder; Every man's mind some dread may unsolder; Each bird wins the may that hath long been a scolder; Each seed cleaves the clay, though for long months amoulder, Yet the dead still must stay in the tomb, their strong holder. * * * * * Month of Augustus--the beach is a-spray; Blithesome the bee and the hive full alway; Better work than the bow hath the sickle to-day; Fuller the stack than the House of the Play; The Churl who cares neither to work nor to pray Now why should he cumber the earth with his clay? Justly St. Breda, the sapient, would say "As many to evil as good take the way." * * * * * Month of September--benign planets shiver; Serene round the hamlet are ocean and river; Not easy for men and for steeds is endeavour; Trees full of fruit, as of arrows the quiver. A Princess was born to us, blessed for ever, From slavery's shackles our land's freedom-giver. Saith St. Berned the Saint, ripe Wisdom's mouth ever; "In sleep shall God nod, Who hath sworn to deliver?" Month of October--thin the shade is showing; Yellow are the birch-trees; bothies empty growing; Full of flesh, bird and fish to the market going; Less and less the milk now of cow and goat is flowing, Alas! for him who meriteth disgrace by evil-doing; Death is better far than extravagance's strowing. Three acts should follow crime, to true repentance owing-- Fasting and prayer and of alms abundance glowing. * * * * * Month of December--with mud the shoe bemired; Heavy the land, the sun in heaven tired; Bare all the trees, little force now required; Cheerful the cock; by dark the thief inspired. Whilst the Twelve Months thus trip in dance untired, Round youthful minds Satan still weaves his fetter. Justly spake Yscolan, Wisdom's sage begetter, "Than an evil prophecy God is ever better." THE TERCETS (After Llywarch Hen, a sixth-century prince and poet) Set is the snare, the ash clusters glow, Ducks plash in the pools; breakers whiten below; More strong than a hundred is the heart's hidden woe. Long is the night; resounding the shore, Frequent in crowds a tumultuous roar, The evil and good disagree evermore. Long is the night; the hill full of cries; O'er the tree-tops the wind whistles and sighs, Ill nature deceives not the wit of the wise. The greening birch saplings asway in the air Shall deliver my feet from the enemy's snare. It is ill with a youth thy heart's secrets to share. The saplings of oak in yonder green glade Shall loosen the snare by an enemy laid. It is ill to unbosom thy heart to a maid. The saplings of oak in their full summer pride Shall loosen the snare by the enemy tied. It is ill to a babbler thy heart to confide. The brambles with berries of purple are dressed; In silence the brooding thrush clings to her nest, In silence the liar can never take rest. Rain is without--wet the fern plume; White the sea gravel--fierce the waves spume. There is no lamp like reason man's life to illume. Rain is without, but the shelter is near; Yellow the furze, the cow-parsnip is sere, God in Heaven, how couldst Thou create cowards here! HAIL, GLORIOUS LORD! (From a twelfth-century MS., "The Black Book of Carmarthen") Hail, all glorious Lord! with holy mirth May Church and chancel bless Thy good counsel! Each chancel and church, All plains and mountains, And ye three fountains-- Two above wind, And one above earth! May light and darkness bless Thee! Fine silk, green forest confess Thee! Thus did Abraham father Of faith with joy possess Thee. Bird and bee-song bless Thee, Among the lilies and roses! All the old, all the young Laud thee with joyful tongue, As Thy praise was once sung By Aaron and Moses. Male and female, The days that are seven, The stars of heaven, The air and the ether, Every book and fair letter; Fish in waters fair-flowing, And song and deed glowing! Grey sand and green sward Make your blessing's award! And all such as with good Have satisfied stood! While my own mouth shall bless Thee And my Saviour confess Thee. Hail, glorious Lord! MY BURIAL (After Dafydd ab Gwilym, the most famous Welsh lyrical poet, 1340-1400) When I die, O, bury me Within the free young wild wood; Little birches, o'er me bent, Lamenting as my child would! Let my surplice-shroud be spun Of sparkling summer clover; While the great and stately treen Their rich rood-screen hang over! For my bier-cloth blossomed may Outlay on eight green willows! Sea-gulls white to bear my pall Take flight from all the billows. Summer's cloister be my church Of soft leaf-searching whispers, From whose mossed bench the nightingale To all the vale chants vespers! Mellow-toned, the brake amid, My organ hid be cuckoo! Paters, seemly hours and psalm Bird voices calm re-echo! Mystic masses, sweet addresses, Blackbird, be thou offering; Till God His Bard to Paradise Uplift from sighs and suffering. THE LAST CYWYDD (After Dafydd ab Gwilym) Memories fierce like arrows pierce; Alone I waste and languish, And make my cry to God on high To ease me of mine anguish. If heroic was my youth, In truth its powers are over; With brain dead and force sped, Love sets at naught the lover! The Muse from off my lips is thrust, 'Tis long since song has cheered me; Gone is Ivor, counsellor just, And Nest, whose grace upreared me! Morfydd, all my world and more, Lies low in churchyard gravel; While beneath the burthen frore Of age alone I travel. Mute, mute my song's salute, When summer's beauties thicken; Cuckoo, nightingale, no art Of yours my heart can quicken! Morfydd, not thy haunting kiss Or voice of bliss can save me From the spear of age whose chill Has quenched the thrill love gave me. My ripe grain of heart and brain The sod sadly streweth; Its empty chaff with mocking laugh The wind of death pursueth! Dig my grave! O, dig it deep To hide my sleeping body, So but Christ my spirit keep, Amen! ab Gwilym's ready! THE LABOURER (After Iolo Goch, "Iowerlt the Red," a fourteenth-century bard and son of the Countess of Lincoln) When the folk of all the Earth, For the weighing of their worth, Promised by his Ancient Word, Freely flock before The Lord-- And His Judgment-seat is set High on mighty Olivet, Forthright then shall be the tale Of the Plougher of the Vale, If so be his tithes were given Justly to the King of Heaven; If he freely shared his store With the sick or homeless poor-- When his soul is at God's feet Rich remembrance it shall meet. He who turns and tills the sod Leans by Nature on his God. Save his plough-beam naught he judgeth, None he angereth, or grudgeth, Strives with none, takes none in toils, Crushes none and none despoils; Overbeareth not, though strong, Doth not even a little wrong. "Suffering here," he saith, "is meet, Else were Heaven not half so sweet." Following after goad and plough, With unruffled breast and brow, Is to him an hundred-fold Dearer than, for treasured gold, Even in King Arthur's form, Castles to besiege and storm. If the labourer were sped, Where would be Christ's Wine and Bread? Certes but for his supply, Pope and Emperor must die, Every wine-free King and just, Yea! each mortal turn to dust. Blest indeed is he whose hands Steer the plough o'er stubborn lands. How through far-spread broom and heath Tear his sharp, smooth coulter's teeth-- Old-time relic, heron-bill, Rooting out fresh furrows still, With a noble, skilful grace Smoothing all the wild land's face, Reaching out a stern, stiff neck Each resisting root to wreck. * * * * * Behind his oxen on his path Thus he strides the healthy strath, Chanting many a godly rhyme To the plough-chain's silver chime. All the crafts that ever were With the Ploughman's ill compare. Ploughing, in an artful wise, Earth's subduing signifies, Far as Baptism and Creed, Far as Christendom hath speed. By God, who is man's Master best, And Mary may the plough be blest. THE ELEGY ON SION GLYN, A CHILD OF FIVE YEARS OF AGE (By his Father, Lewis Glyn Cothi, 1425-1486) One wee son, woe worth his sire! My treasure was and heart's desire; But evermore I now must pine, Mourning for that wee son of mine, Sick to the heart, day out and in, Thinking and thinking of Johnny Glynn, My fairy prince for ever fled, Leaving life's Mabinogion dead. A rosy apple, pebbles white, And dicky-birds were his delight, A childish bow with coloured cord, A little brittle wooden sword. From bagpipes or the bogy-man Into his mother's arms he ran, There coaxed from her a ball to throw With his daddy to and fro. His own sweet songs he'd then be singing, Then for a nut with a shout be springing; Holding my hand he'd trot about with me, Coax me now, and now fall out with me, Now, make it up again, lip to lip, For a dainty die or a curling chip. Would God my lovely little lad A second life, like Lazarus, had! St. Beuno raised from death at once St. Winifred and her six nuns; Would to God the Saint could win An eighth from death in Johnny Glynn! Ah, Mary! my merry little knave, Coffined and covered in the grave! To think of him beneath the slab Deals my lone heart a double stab. Bright dream beyond my own life's shore, Proud purpose of my future's store, My hope, my comfort from annoy, My jewel and my glowing joy, My nest of shade from out the sun, My lark, my soaring, singing one, My golden shaft of faithful love Shot at the radiant round above, My intercessor with Heaven's King, My boyhood's second blossoming, My little, laughing, loving John, For you I'm sunk in shadow wan! Good-bye, good-bye, for evermore My little lively squirrel's store, The happy bouncing of his ball, His carol up and down the hall! Adieu, my little dancing one, Adieu, adieu, my son, my son! THE NOBLE'S GRAVE (After Sion Cent, 1386-1420, priest of Kentchurch, in Hereford) Premier Peer but yesterday, Lone within the tomb to-morrow; For his silken garments gay, Grave-clothes in a gravelled furrow. No love-making, homage none; From his mines no golden mintage; No rich traffic in the sun; No more purple-purling vintage. No more usherings out of Hall By obsequious attendant; No more part, however small, In the Pageant's pomp resplendent! Just a perch of churchyard clay All the soil he now possesses; Heavily its burthen grey On his pulseless bosom presses. THE BARD'S DEATH-BED CONFESSION (After Huw Morus, 1622-1709, a Welsh Cavalier poet) Lord, hear my confession of life-long transgression! Weak-willed and too filled with Earth's follies am I To reach by the strait way of faith to Heaven's gateway, If Thou light not thither my late way. From Duty's hard high road by Beauty's soft by-road To Satan's, not Thy road, I wandered away. Thou hast seen, Father tender, Thou seest what a slender Return for Thy Talents I render. Thy pure Eyes pierced through me and probed me and knew me, Not flawless but lawless, when put to the proof. In ease or in cumber, day-doings or slumber, What ills of mine wouldst Thou not number! From Thy Holy Hand's Healing, contrition annealing And Faith's oil of healing grant, Lord, I beseech; These only can cure me and fresh life assure me, These only Thy Peace can procure me! To the blood freely flowing of The Lamb life-bestowing This wonder is owing that washes out sin; Thy Love to us lent Him, Thy Love to death sent Him, That man through Thy Love should repent him. Lord God, Thy Protection, Lord Christ, Thy Affection, Holy Ghost, Thy Direction so govern my heart, That all promptings other than Love's it may smother, As a babe is subdued to its mother. For that treasure of treasures that all price outmeasures, Pure Faith, on whose pleasures life-giving we feed-- Let Kings in their places, let all the earth's races Sing aloud in a crowd of glad faces. Yea! all mouths shall bless Thee, all hearts shall confess Thee The bounteous Fountain of mercy and love; Each gift we inherit of pure, perfect merit, Dear God, overflows from Thy Spirit. QUICK, DEATH! (After Huw Morus) This room an antechamber is: Beyond--the Hall of Very Bliss! Quick, Death! for underneath thy door I see the glimmering of Heaven's floor. COUNSEL IN VIEW OF DEATH (After Elis Wyn, 1671-1734, one of the Welsh Classics) Leave your land, your goods lay down! Life's green tree shall soon grow brown. Pride of birth and pleasure gay Renounce or they shall own you! Manly strength and beauty fair, Dear-bought sense, experience rare, Learning ripe, companions fond Yield, lest their bond ensnare you! Is there then no sure relief, Thou arch-murderer and thief, Death, from thine o'ermastering law-- Thy monstrous maw can none shun? O ye rich, in all your pride Through the ages would ye bide, Wherefore not with Death compound, Ere underground he hide you? Lusty athlete, light of foot, Death, the Bowman's fell pursuit Challenge! O, the laurels won, If thou but shun his shooting! Travellers by sea and land On remotest mount or strand, Have ye found one secret spot Where Death is not commanding? Learned scholar, jurist proud, Lifted god-like o'er the crowd, Can your keenest counsel's aid Dispel Death's shade enshrouding? Fervent faith, profound repentance, Holy hours of stern self-sentence-- These alone can victory bring When Death's dread sting shall wring us. FROM "THE LAST JUDGMENT" (After Goronwy Owen, 1728-1769, next to Dafydd ab Gwilym, the greatest poet who sang in the old Welsh metres) Day of Doom, at thy glooming May Earth be but meet for thee! Day, whose hour of louring Not angels in light foresee! To Christ alone and the Father 'Tis known when thy hosts of might Swift as giants shall gather, Yet stealthy as thieves at night. Then what woe to the froward, What joy to the just and kind! When the Seraph band comes streaming Christ's gleaming banner behind; Heavenly blue shall its hue be To a myriad marvelling eyes; Save where its heart encrimsons The cross of the sacrifice! Rocks in that day's black fury Like leaves shall be whirled in the blast; Hoary-headed Eryri Prone to the plough-lands cast! Then shall be roaring and warring And ferment of sea and firth, Ocean, in turmoil upboiling, Confounding each bound of earth. The flow of the Deluge of Noah Were naught by that fell Flood's girth! Then Heaven's pure self shall offer Her multitudinous eyes, Cruel blinding to suffer, As her sun faints out of the skies; And the bright-faced Moon shall languish And perish in such fierce pain As darkened and shook with anguish All Life, when the Lamb was slain. A GOOD WIFE (After the Vicar Pritchard, 1569-1644) Wise yokel foolish King excelleth; Good name than spikenard sweeter smelleth! What's gold to prudence? Strength to grace? Man's more than goods; God first in place. What though her dowry be but meagre, Far better wise, God-fearing Igir, Than yonder vain and brainless doll, Helpless her fortune to control. A wife that's true and kind and sunny Is better than a mint of money; Better than houses, land and gold Or pearls and gems to have and hold. A ship is she with jewels freighted, Her price beyond all rubies rated, A hundred-virtued amulet To such as her in marriage get. Gold pillar to a silver socket; The weakling's tower of strength, firm-lockèd, The very golden crown of life; Grace upon grace--a virtuous wife. "MARCHOG JESU!" (Hymn sung at the Investiture of the Prince of Wales, the Welsh words by Pantycelyn, the famous eighteenth-century hymn-writer) Lord, ride on in triumph glorious, Gird Thy sword upon Thy Thigh! Earth shall own Thy Might Victorious, Death and Hell confounded lie. Yea! before Thine Eye all-seeing, All Thy foes shall fly aghast; Nature's self, through all her being, Tremble at Thy Trampling Past. Pierce, for Thou alone art able, Pierce our dungeon with Thy day; Shatter all the gates of Babel, Rend her iron bars away! Till, as billows thunder shoreward, All the Ransomed Ones ascend, Into freedom surging forward Without number, without end. Who are these whose praises pealing From beyond the Morning Star Earthward solemnly are stealing Down the distance faint and far? These are they, the Ever Living, All in glistening garments gone, Palm in hand, with proud Thanksgiving Up before the Great White Throne. THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM (After Eben Fardd, 1802-1863, one of the leading Welsh poets of the nineteenth century) RACHEL MOURNING Rachel, ah me! most wretchedly Mourns, meekest, worthiest woman, Her husband dear hurled to his bier By Roman fiends inhuman. Tremulously now murmurs she: "Naught's here but naked horror; Black despond and blind despair, Mad turmoil, murderous terror! Free he rose, his hero blows Gave Rome black cause to rue him; Ten to one, then they run Their poisonous poignards through him. Thus took flight thy tortured sprite, Dear heart, from my fond seeing! Now stars on high in stark dawn die, We too must far be fleeing. Children dear, I thrill with fear To hear your hungry crying! Away, away! one more such day-- And we're too weak for flying." THE BURNING TEMPLE The savage foes of this lost land of ours Conspire to fire Antonius' shapely towers. Ere long the Temple proud, surpassing all Art's fairest gems, shall unto earth be bowed! Lo! through the lurid gloom the lightning's lash! And hark the unnatural thunder crash and boom! Moriah's marvellous fane is leaning low; With cries of woe her rafters rend in twain; For our Imperial One is brought to naught. Yea, even where most cunningly she was wrought, The fire has cleft its way each coign into, For wood and stone searching her bosom through. Astonishingly high she took the blue, Yet weeping molten dross shall meet the ground-- A sight for grief profound to gaze across. Flame follows flame, each like a giant worm, To feast and batten on her beauteous form. Through gold and silver doors they sinuous swarm And crop the carven flowers with gust enorme; Till all is emptiness. Then with hellish shout The embruted Gentiles in exultant rout Into her Holy of Holies profanely press! One streaming flood of steaming blood-- Shudders her sacred pavement! LOVE DIVINE (From "Emanuel." After Gwilym Hiraethog, 1802-1880.) When the angel trumpet sounded. Through the unbounded ether blown, Star on star danced on untiring, Choiring past the Great White Throne; Then as, every globe outglancing, Earth's entrancing orb went by, Love Divine in blushing pleasure Steeped the azure of the sky. Wisdom, when she saw Earth singled From the bright commingled band, Whispered Mercy: "That green wonder Yonder is thy promised land!" Mercy looked and loved Earth straightway, At Heaven's gateway smiling set. Ah! that glance of tender yearning She is turning earthward yet. BEHIND THE VEIL (After Islwyn, 1832-1878, the Welsh Wordsworth) What say ye, can we charge a master soul With error, when beyond all life's experience Between the cradle and the grave, it rises, Whispering of things unutterable, breaks its bond With outward sense and sinks into itself, As fades a star in space? Hath not that soul A history in itself, a refluent tide Of mystery murmuring out of unplumbed deeps, On distant inaccessible strands, whereon Memory lies dead amid the monstrous wreckage Of jarring worlds? Are yonder stars above As spiritually, magnificently bright As Poesy feigns? May not some slumbering sense, A memory dim of those diviner days, When all the Heavens were yet aglow with God, Transfuse them through and through with glimmering grace And glory? Still the Stars within us shine, And Poesy is but a recollection Of Something greater gone, a presage proud Of Something greater yet to be. What soul But sometimes thrills with hauntings of a world For long forgotten, at a glimpse begotten Once more, then gone again? Imaginations? Nay why not memories of a life than ours A thousand times more blest within us buried So deeply, the divine all-searching breath Of Poesy alone can lure it forth. All hail that hour when God's Redeeming Face Shall so illume our past existences, That through them all man's spirit shall see plain, And to his blessed past relink Life's broken chain. THE REIGN OF LOVE (After Ceiriog, to a Welsh Air. Ceiriog, 1832-1887, was the Welsh Burns; his songs to old Welsh Airs are the best of their kind.) Love that invites, love that delights, From hedgerow lush and leafy heights Is flooding all the air; Their forest harps the breezes strum, The happy brooks their burden hum; There's nothing deaf, there's nothing dumb, But music everywhere! Above the airy steep Their lyres of gold the angels sweep, Glad holiday with earth to keep Before the Great White Throne. Then, when Heaven and earth and sea Are joining in Love's jubilee; While morning stars make melody, Shall man be mute alone? Naught that hath birth matches the worth Of Love, in God's own Heaven and Earth, For through His power divine Love opes the golden eye of day, Love guides the pale moon's lonely way, Love lights the glow-worm's glimmering ray Amid the darkling bine. Heavenly hue and form Above, around, are glowing warm, From His right hand Who rides the storm, Yet paints the lily's cheek. Yea! whereso'er man lifts his eyes To wood or wave or sunset skies, A myriad magic shapes arise Eternal Love to speak. PLAS GOGERDDAN (After Ceiriog to a Welsh Air) "Without thy Sire hast thou returned?" In grief the Princess cried! "Go back!--or from my sight be spurned-- To battle by his side. I gave thee birth; but struck to earth I'd sooner see thee lie, Or on thy bier come carried here, Than thus a craven fly! "Seek yonder hall, and pore on all The portraits of thy race; The courage high that fires each eye Canst thou endure to face?" "I'll bring no blame on thy fair name, Or my forefathers slight! But kiss and bless me, mother dear, Ere I return to fight." He fought and fell--his stricken corse They bore to her abode; "My son!" she shrieked, in wild remorse; "Forgive me, O! my God!" Then from the wall old voices fall: "Rejoice for such a son! His deed and thine shall deathless shine, Whilst Gwalia's waters run!" ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT _Ar Hyd y Nos_ (After Ceiriog to this Welsh Air) Fiery day is ever mocking Man's feeble sight; Darkness eve by eve unlocking Heav'n's casket bright; Thence the burdened spirit borrows Strength to meet laborious morrows, Starry peace to soothe his sorrows, All through the night. Planet after planet sparkling, All through the night, Down on Earth, their sister darkling, Shed faithful light. In our mortal day's declining, May our souls, as calmly shining, Cheer the restless and repining, Till lost in sight. DAVID OF THE WHITE ROCK _Dafydd y Garreg Wen_ (After Ceiriog to this Welsh Air) "All my powers wither, Death presses me hard; Bear my harp hither!" Sighed David the Bard. "Thus while life lingers, In one lofty strain O, let my fond fingers Awake it again. "Last night an angel Cried, 'David, come sound Christ's dear Evangel Death's valley around!'" Wife and child harkened His harp's solemn swell; Till his eye darkened, And lifeless he fell. THE HIGH TIDE (After Elvet Lewis, a contemporary Welsh poet) A balmy air blows; the waterflags shiver, On, on the Tide flows, on, on, up the river! To no earth or sky allegiance he oweth; He comes, who knows why? unless the Moon knoweth. The Tide flows and flows; by hill and by hollow, White rose upon rose, the foam flowers follow. He spreads broad and full from margent to margent, The wings of the gull are his bannerets argent. The Tide flows and flows; Atlantic's loud charges Mix in murmurous close with the wash of the barges. With wondering ear the children cease playing; The voice that they hear, what can it be saying? Too well they shall know, when amid the wild brattle Of the waters below, they enter life's battle. The Tide flows apace; the ship that lies idle Trips out with trim grace, like a bride to her bridal. What hath she in store? shall Fate her boon give her? Or must she no more return to the river? The flood has gone past! Ah me! one was late for it, And friends cry aghast: "How long must he wait for it?" Young eyes that to-night are darkened for sorrow Shall hail with delight their dear ship to-morrow. Amid the sea-wrack the barque, tempest battered, At length staggers back, like a prodigal tattered! What if she be scarred or scoffers make light of her? Though blemished and marred, how blest is the sight of her! The Tide flows and flows, far past the grey towers; And whispering goes through the wheat and the flowers. And now his pulse takes the calm heart of the valley And lifts, till it shakes, the low bough of the sally. Slow, and more slow is his flow--he has tarried-- The blue Ocean's pilgrim, outwearied, miscarried! Far, far from home, in wandering error, A dim rocky dome beshrouding his mirror. But hark! a voice thrills the traveller erring; In the heart of the hills its sea-call is stirring: And home, ever home, to its passionate pleading, One whirl of white foam, with the ebb he is speeding. "ORA PRO NOBIS" (After Eifion Win, 1867- . He lies as a poet between Elfed and the "New Bards") A sudden shower lashes The darkening pane; The voice of the tempest Is lifted again. The centuried oaks To their very roots rock; And crying, for shelter Course cattle and flock. Our Father, forget not The nestless bird now; The snow is so near, And so bare is the bough! A great flood is flashing Athwart the wide lee; Like a storm-struck encampment, The clouds rend and flee; At the scourge of the storm My cot quakes with affright; Far better the hearth Than the pavement to-night! Our Father, forget not The homeless outcast; So thin is his raiment, So bitter Thy blast! The foam-flakes are whirling Below on the strand, As white as the pages I turn with my hand; And the curlew afar, From his storm-troubled lair, Laments with the cry Of a soul in despair. Our Father, forget not Our mariners' state; Their ships are so slender, Thy seas are so great. A FLOWER-SUNDAY LULLABY (After Eifion Win, the contemporary Welsh poet) Though the blue slab hides our laddy, Slumber, free of fear! Well we know it, I and daddy, Naught can harm you here. You and all the little sleepers, Their small graves within, Have bright angels for door-keepers. Sleep, Goronwy Wyn! Ah, too well I now remember, Darling, when you slept, How the children from your chamber Jealously I kept. Now how willingly to wake you I would let them in, If their merry noise could make you Move, Goronwy Wyn! Sleep, though mother is not near you, In God's garden green! Flower-Sunday gifts we bear you, Lovely to be seen; Six small primroses to show us Summer-time is ours; Though, alas! locked up below us, Lies our flower of flowers. Sleep! to mother's love what matters Passing time or tide? On my ear your footstep patters, Still my babe you bide. All the others moving, moving, Still disturb my breast; But the dead have done with roving, You alone have rest. Then, beneath the primrose petals, Sleep, our heart's delight! Darkness o'er us deeply settles; We must say "Good night!" Your new cradle needs no shaking On its quiet floor. Sleep, my child! till you are waking In my arms once more. THE BALLAD OF THE OLD BACHELOR OF TY'N Y MYNYDD (After W.J. Gruffydd, 1880- , one of the leading "New Bards") Strongest swept his sickle through the whin-bush, Straightest down the ridge his furrows sped; Early on the mountain ranged his reapers, Above his mattock late he bowed his head. Love's celestial rapture once he tasted, Then a cloud of suffering o'er him crept. Out along the uplands, in the dew-fall, He mourned the maid who in the churchyard slept, With the poor he shared his scanty earnings, To the Lord his laden heart he breathed; On his rustic heart fell two worlds' sunshine, And two worlds' blossoms round his footsteps wreathed. Much he gloried in Young Gwalia's doings, Yet more dearly loved her early lore, Catching ever from her Triple Harpstrings The far, faint echoes of her ancient shore. Yestereven he hung up his sickle, Ne'er again to trudge his grey fields o'er, Ne'er again to plough the stony ridges, To sow the home of thorns, alas! no more. THE QUEEN'S DREAM (To a Welsh Air of the name) From the starving City She turned her couch to seek, With pearls of tender pity On her queenly cheek; There in restless slumber She dreamt that she was one Of that most piteous number By distress undone. In among that sullen brood, In homeless want she glided, While in mock solicitude Her fate they thus derided: "Queen, now bear thee queenly, In destiny's despite! If _thou_ wilt starve serenely, We poor wretches might." But, amid their mocking, "The King, the King!" they cry, And forward they run flocking While He passes by; With the crowd she mixes Her cruel shame to hide; When, O, what wonder fixes The surging human tide? There One stood, with thorn-crown'd head, Hands of supplication, Multiplying mystic bread For her famished nation. "Children thus remember My poor and Me!" He spoke, And in her palace chamber Weeping she awoke. THE WELSH FISHERMEN (To the air of "The Song of the Bottle") Up, up with the anchor, Round, round for the harbour mouth! Wind, boys, and a spanker Racing due south! Where 'ood you be going? How, now can ye hoist your sails? When blossoms be blowing Over Welsh Wales! Dear hearts for the herring, Sure, after the herring, Hot after the herring, Each ship of us sails. Up, up with the anchor, Round, round for the harbour mouth! Wind boys and a spanker, Racing due south. "Men, when you go rocking, Out under the angry gale, Wives' hearts begin knocking, Lasses turn pale. Oh, why start a-fishing Far, far and across the foam? Give way to our wishing; Stay, stay at home!" "Now, but for King Herring, What 'ood you be wearing, How 'ood you be faring How keep ye warm? Lest loaves should be failing, Lest children for want take harm, Men still will go sailing Out into the storm." Then men, since it must be, Then men, since it must be so, Christ, Christ shall our trust be, When the winds blow. Once when He was sleeping, "Save Lord!" the disciples cried, "Wild waters are leaping Over the side!" See He has awoken! Hark, hark, He has spoken, "Peace, peace," and in token Down the storm died. Lord God of the billows, Still succour the fishing smack! Give peace to our pillows, Bring our men back! III. OLD AND NEW TESTAMENT STUDIES DAVID'S LAMENT OVER SAUL AND JONATHAN Israel's beauty is slain Here on Gilboa's high places, How are the mighty fallen And tears upon all our faces. Tell it not now in Gath Or in Askelon's city name it, Lest Philistia's daughters rejoice And with songs of triumph proclaim it. Let there be no more dew, Gilboa, upon thy mountains! Over thy fields of offerings fair, Holden be all heaven's fountains. For there the shield of the mighty, Even Saul's shield, to-day, As though he was ne'er the Anointed of God, Is vilely cast away. Till the foe in his blood lay stricken Or cloven through and through, The bow of Jonathan turned not back, The sword of Saul still slew. Lovely were they in their lives, In death undivided they lay, They were swifter than mountain eagles, Stronger than lions at bay. Weep, ye daughters of Israel, Weep over Saul your King, Who clothed you with scarlet and decked you with gold And filled you with every good thing. How are the mighty fallen, And all their boasts in vain! There on Gilboa's high places, O Jonathan, thou wast slain. Alas! my brother Jonathan, I am sore distressed for thee; For thou hast been very pleasant, Very pleasant to me. Beyond the love of woman Was the love that for me you bore. How are the mighty fallen And perished the weapons of war! THE FIERY FURNACE Bound into the furnace blazing They have cast the Children Three; But oh! miracle amazing, They arise, unscathed and free; While through paths of fire, to guide them, Paths no other foot has trod-- Lo! A Fourth is seen beside them, Shining like the Son of God. Ah! not ours their saintly measure, Yet 'tis still our heart's desire, That Thou wouldst of Thy good pleasure, Teach us, too, to walk the fire-- Living lives of stern denial, Trusty toiler, helpmeet tried, Till grown fit for fiery trial, With our Saviour at our side. RUTH AND NAOMI When Judges ruled the tribes of Israel, A cruel famine on the people fell, Till even Bethlehem, the "House of Bread," For meat and drink at last was sore bestead. Then when they called upon Jehovah's name, This answer to their heart's petition came: "Send forth your strong into the land where Lot The might of Moab and his race begot-- "Your kinsfolk they: there still the streams run quick, Still grass and corn are laughing high and thick." Therefore adventuring forth, the bold and strong Their famished flocks and herds drove each along, Till Moab's high-set plain and warm, wide valleys Wherefrom clear-watered Arnon westward sallies, Rejoiced they reached: there welcome found and there Release from want, of wealth a goodly share. With these Elimelech and his precious ones, His wife Naomi and his two brave sons, Mahlon and Chilion, Jordan's shrunken tide Crossed, and at Hesbon stayed and occupied. And there they prospered for a blessed time Until Elimelech in his lordly prime, Hasting those cattle-spoilers to pursue, The ambuscading sons of Anak slew. Then Chilion and Mahlon, by the voice Of their good mother guided, made their choice Amongst the maids of Moab for their wives: And so, a ten years' space lived joyful lives. Till pestilence o'ertook the brothers; naught Of wives' or mothers' care availed them aught, But, blessing both, their sight was quenched in gloom; Three widows wept o'er their untimely tomb. Then when their days of mourning now were o'er, Fresh tidings came from Jordan's further shore: "Judaea's years of famine now are passed, And joyous plenty crowns her fields at last." Naomi then outspake: "Dear daughters lone, Yea, dearer for their sakes who now are gone Than if indeed ye were my very own Born children, hearken to Naomi's voice Who of all Moabs' maids made you her choice! "Good wives and fond, as ever cherished Husband, were ye unto my two sons dead, Diligent weavers of their household wool, True joy-mates when their cup of bliss was full, Kind comforters in sorrow or in pain. Alloy was none, but one to mar life's golden chain. "No child, dear Orpah, loving Ruth, have ye To suckle or to dance upon your knee, No other sons have I your hearts to woo-- Grandchildren can be none from me to you. Therefore, my daughters, O, consider well Since you are young, and fair and so excel In every homecraft, were it not more wise No longer to refuse to turn your eyes Towards the suitors brave who, now your days Of mourning are accomplished, fix their gaze Upon your goings? Verily now 'twere right That you should each a noble Moabite Espouse, till, with another's love accost, Your childless grief in motherhood be lost. And I, why should I tarry longer here To be a burden on you year by year? Kinsfolk and friends have I at Bethlehem Where plenty reigns; I will go back to them--" Then much they both besought her to remain, And yet her purpose neither could restrain; Therefore her goods to gather she began Against the passing of the caravan. But Ruth and Orpah each prepared also Beside her unto Bethlehem to go. And now the three stand ready, full of tears To quit the haunts of happy married years, The tombs that hid their lost ones. Staunchly then Naomi spoke her purpose once again: "Daughters, turn back, each to her mother's house To take the rest that there her work allows, And in due course a second husband find, Nor be unto the future foolish--blind! Yet take a blessing from the heart of hearts Of your Naomi ere she hence departs." She blessed them, and with voices lifted up In loud lament the dregs of sorrow's cup They drained together. Orpah, weeping, turned And slowly went, but Ruth with eyes that yearned Into Naomi's, cried aloud in pain: "Thus to forsake thee, urge me not again, Nor to return from following after thee! For where thou goest, I will surely go. And where thou lodgest, will I lodge also! Thy people shall be my people evermore, And thy God only will I now adore! And where thou diest, I will buried be! So may Jehovah strike me with his thunder, If aught but only death our lives shall sunder." Ruth's lips have sealed that solemn covenant, Then with Naomi hand in hand she went. But as they slept that night there came to each The selfsame vision, though they ne'er had speech Thereon, till Obed's birth, Ruth's only son And David's grandsire; for they each saw one With Mahlon's aspect seated in the skies, And on his knees a babe with Ruth's own eyes, And by the infant's side one with a face Ruddy and bold, a form of Kingly grace, And in his hand a harp wherefrom he drew Marvellous music while his songs thereto Held hosts of angels hearkening in the blue. Then figures floated o'er him faint and far Up to a Child who rode upon a star, And in the Heavenly wonder of his face, They read the Ransom of the Human Race. THE LILIES OF THE FIELD AND THE FOWLS OF THE AIR "Consider the lilies!" He spake as yet spake no man: "Consider the lilies, the lilies of the leas, They toil not, they spin not, like you, tired man and woman, Yet Solomon in his glory was not robed like one of these. "Consider the lilies! Sure, if your Heavenly Father So clothe the meadow grasses that here flower free of scathe And to-morrow light the oven, now, say, shall he not rather Still of His goodness clothe you, O ye of little faith? "Consider the fowls of the air, behind your harrows; They plough not, they reap not, nor gather grain away, Yet your Heavenly Father cares for them; then, if he feed the sparrows, Shall He not rather feed you, His children, day by day?" THE GOOD PHYSICIAN To find Him they flock, young and old, from their cities, With hearts full of hope: for the tidings had spread: "The proud He rebukes and the poorest He pities, Recovers the leper, upraises the dead." So the shepherd has left his sheep lone on the mountain, The woodman his axe buried fast in the pine, The maiden her pitcher half-filled at the fountain, The housewife her loom and the fisher his line. With their babes on their bosoms, their sick on their shoulders, Toilsomely thronging by footpath and ford, Now resting their burthens among the rude boulders, Still they come climbing in search of the Lord. Until on the Mount, with the morn they have found Him-- Christ, the long sought--they have found Him at length, With their sick and their stricken, in faith they flock round Him, As sighing He looks up to Heaven for strength. He has touched the deaf ears and the blind eyes anointed-- And straightway they hear Him and straightway they see; Laid hands on the lame and they leap, supple-jointed, The devils denounced and affrighted they flee. Yea? for their faith, from each life-long affliction, Yea, for their faith from their sins they are freed, And therefore have earned His divine benediction-- * * * * * Stretch forth Thy hand, for as sore is our need. Lord! we are deaf, we are dumb, lost in blindness, Lepers and lame and by demons possessed! Lord, we are dead! of Thine infinite kindness Restore us, redeem! bear us home on Thy breast. THE SOWER A Sower went forth to sow, But His seed on the wayside showered; A bird-flock out of the air flashed low And the goodly grain devoured. A Sower went forth to sow, O'er hid rocks plying his toil; The seed leaped up at the warm sun's glow, But withered for lack of soil. A Sower went forth to sow, And his seed took steadfast root; But flaming poppies and thorns in row Sprang up and strangled the fruit. A Sower went forth to sow, And at last his joy he found; For his good seed's generous overflow Sank deep into gracious ground. Lord, when we look back on our lives, With penitent sighs and tears, Our evil that with Thee strives and strives In Thy parable's truth appears. As the wayside hard were our hearts, Where Thy good seed lightly lay, For the Devil's flock, as it downward darts, To bruise and to bear away. Thy winged words falling nigher Sprang up in our souls with haste, But they could not endure temptation's fire And withered and went to waste. Within us Thy word once more Thou sowest, but--sore beset With worldly weeds--for Thy threshing floor Shall it ever ripen yet? Yea, Lord, it shall if Thou please, In passionate, patient prayer, To draw the nation upon its knees And fill it with Heavenly care. And so shall we all arise In the joy of a soul's re-birth To hold a communion with the skies That shall bring down Heaven to earth. THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN (From the Scotch Gaelic) Tedious grew the time to me Within the Courts of Blessing; My secure felicity, For folly I forswore; Vain delusion wrought my woe Till now, in want distressing, I go begging to and fro Upon an alien shore. In my dear old home of peace, Around my father's table Many a servant sits at ease And eats and drinks his fill; While within a filthy stall With loathsome swine I stable, Sin-defiled and scorned of all To starve on husk and swill. Ah, how well I mind me Of the happy days gone over! Love was then behind me, Before me, and around; Then, light as air, I leapt, A laughing little rover, Now dull and heavy-stepped I pace this desert ground. Sin with flattering offers came; Against my Sire rebelling I yielded my good name At the Tempter's easy smile; In fields that were not ours, Brighter blooming, richer smelling, I ravished virgin flowers With a heart full of guile. 'Twas thus an open shame In the sight of all the Noble, Yea! a monster I became, Till my gold ceased to flow, And my fine fair-weather friends Turned their backs upon my trouble. Now an outcast to Earth's ends Under misery I go. Yet though bitter my disgrace, Than every ill severer Is the thought of the face Of the Sire for whom I long. I shall see Him no more Though to me he now is dearer Than he ever was, before I wrought him such wrong. And yet ere I die I will journey forth to meet him. Home I will hie, For he yet may be won. For Pardon and Peace My soul will entreat him, "Father, have grace On thy Prodigal Son!" Could I get near enough To send him a message-- I keeping far off-- He would not say me nay. In some little nook He would find me a living And let none be driving His shamed son away. The Penitent arose, His scalding tears blinding him; Hope's ray lit his way As homeward he pressed. Afar off his father's Fond eyes are finding him, And the old man gathers His boy to his breast. ST. MARY MAGDALEN They who have loved the most The most have been forgiven, And with the Devil's host Most mightily have striven. And so it was of old With her, once all unclean, Now of the saints white-stoled-- Mary, the Magdalen. For though in Satan's power She seemed for ever fast, Her Saviour in one hour Seven devils from her cast. O'erburthened by the weight Of her black bosom sin, As Christ with Simon sate At meat, she had stolen in. Toward her Lord she drew; She knelt by Him unchid; The latchet of His shoe Her trembling hands undid. Foot-water none was by Nor towel, as was meet, To comfort and to dry His hot way-weary feet; But with her blinding tears She bathes them now instead, And dries them with the hairs Of her abased head. And so, when Simon looked, And pondered, evil-eyed, No longer Jesus brooked His thought, but thus replied; "Simon, no kiss of peace Thou gav'st me at thy door, No oil, my head to ease, Didst thou upon it pour, Nay, for thy bidden guest So little hast thou cared, His weary feet to rest No bath hadst thou prepared; Yet hath this woman here, By thee with scorn decried, Washed them with many a tear, And with her tresses dried, And given them, from her store Of spikenard, cool relief, And kissed them o'er and o'er In penitential grief. Therefore her joy begins, Her prayer is heard in heaven; Though many are her sins, They all shall be forgiven!" Scant mercy he receives Whose love for God is small; But he whom God forgives The most, loves most of all. IV. CHURCH FESTIVALS A CHRISTMAS COMMUNION HYMN (After the Meditation for Communion on Christmas Day in _Eucharistica_) Welcome, thrice blessed day! thrice blessed hour! To hail you, every heart to Heaven is climbing, The while the snow in softly circling shower Draws down to meet them 'mid the joybell's chiming; Like blessed morsels of that manna bread Wherewith of old the Lord His People fed. Welcome, dear dawn! if now no Angel Song With sudden ravishing acclaim salute thee, Yet everywhere Our Church's white-robed throng Shall to thy first exultancy transmute thee. Peace and Good Will again with holy mirth Proclaiming to the Universal Earth. Then, too, my soul, forth summoning all thy powers, Thyself from worldly schemes and wishes sunder, To worship and admire this hour of hours That is all miracle and the height of wonder; Infinity itself shrinks to a span, Since God, remaining God, becometh Man. Here is a mother with no mortal mate! Here is a son that hath no earthly father! A graft, on Adam's stock incorporate, Who yet therefrom no mortal taint can gather! A Babe to whom a new and glorious Star Earth's Wisest Kings for worship draws from far. All hail! then, sweetest Saviour, thrice all hail! The King of Kings, by David's prophesying; Yet on no royal couch Thy first weak wail Awoke, for in a manger Thou wast lying: Still for that condescension more a King Than having all the whole world's wealth could bring. Thus with Earth's humblest brothering thy estate, Thus to Earth's mightiest giving meek example, The lowly Thou exaltest to be great, The proud thou teachest on their pride to trample. So, turning poor men rich and rich men poor, For each Thou makest his salvation sure. A CHRISTMAS CAROL OF THE EPIPHANY Now who are these who from afar Follow yon solitary star? Whence journey they and what the quest That turns their faces towards the west? Three Kings are they and Mages three, Who in their camel company, With offerings rich, still onward press, Across the wintry wilderness. Nine months agone, Isaiah's page They pondered o'er with questioning sage, When underneath their wondering eyes His words were altered in this wise: "Behold a Virgin hath conceived!" They saw, and marvelled, and believed, And hasted forth upon the morn To greet the King that should be born. Afar they fared by land and flood, The while they saw, with bounding blood, A star that did all stars exceed In wonder still their footsteps lead. Until, amid the falling snow, They found the Highest laid most low; His palace but a cattle shed, A manger for His princely bed. And there they bent with holy joy And hope before the new-born Boy; And opened, at His infant feet, Their royal offerings rich and sweet. A FOURTEENTH-CENTURY CAROL When God came down on Earth to dwell, Great cold befell: Yet Mary on the road hath seen A fig-tree green. Said Joseph: "O Mary, let the fruit hang; For thirty good mile we have still to gang, Lest we be late!" When Mary unto a village door At last did win, She thus bespake the cottager: "Sir, take us in! Since for this young Child's tender sake A pitying heart must surely ache, The night's so cold." "You're welcome all to my ox-stall!" The good man cried. But in the middle of the night He rose and sighed: "Where are ye now, poor hapless ones? That ye're not frozen to the bones, I marvel much." Then back into his house he runs From forth the byre-- "Rouse up, rouse up, my dearest wife, And light a fire, As fine as ever sent up smoke, Whereat these poor and perishing folk May comfort them." Mary with joy into the house The Babe has brought, Joseph her just and faithful spouse, His wallet sought. Therefrom he took a kettle small; Some snow the Child therein let fall, And lo 'tis flour! Thereto the Babe has added ice; 'Tis sugar straight! Now water drops, and, in a trice, 'Tis milk most sweet! The kettle, fast as you could look, They hung upon the kitchen hook A meal to cook. The godly Joseph carved a spoon From out a brand; To ivory it changed full soon And adamant. When Mary gave the Babe the food, He became Jesus, Son of God. Before their eyes. EARTH'S EASTER She the long sought for and sighed for in vain, the enchantress immortal-- Spring, in our very despair, out of inviolate air Charioting summons the Eastern gate; the obedient portal Opes, and a vision blest yields to the wondering West. High on her crystal car she trembles in halycon tissues, Gently with golden curb checking her coursers superb-- All her ethereal beauty elate with Love's infinite issues, Whilst this enchantment slips forth from her sibylline lips: "Herb and tree in your kinds, free lives of the mountain and forest, Shoals of the stream and the flood, flights of the welkin and wood, Herd and flock of the field, and ye, whose need is the sorest, Suffering spirits of men, lo! I am with you again. Fear no more for the tyrant hoar as he rushes to battle Armoured in ice, and darts lance after lance at your hearts, Fear not his flaming bolts as they hurtle with horrible rattle Out of the lurid inane fulminant over the plain. Fear not his wizardry white that circles and circles and settles Stealthily hour by hour, feathery flower upon flower, Over the spell-bound sleeper, till last the pitiless petals Darkly in icy death stifle his labouring breath. "Late upon yon white height the despot his fugitives rallied, Deeming the crest snow-crowned still inaccessibly frowned; Idly, for instant upon him my bright-speared chivalry sallied, Smote and far into the North swept him discomfited forth, Therefore, from root unto hole, from hole into burgeoning branches, Tendril and tassel and cup now let the ichor leap up: Therefore, with flowering drift and with fluttering bloom avalanches, Snowdrop and silver thorn laugh baffled winter to scorn; Primrose, daffodil, cowslip, shine back to my shimmering sandals, Hyacinth host, o'er the green flash your cerulean sheen, Lilac, your perfumed lamps, light, chestnut, your clustering candles, Broom and laburnum, untold torches of tremulous gold! Therefore gold-gather again from the honeyed heath and the bean field, Snatching no instant of ease, bright, multitudinous bees! Therefore, ye butterflies, float and flicker from garden to green field, Flicker and float and stay, settle and sip and away! "Therefore race it and chase it, ye colts, in the emerald meadow! Round your serious dams frisk, ye fantastical lambs! Therefore, bird unto bird, from the woodland's wavering shadow Pipe and 'plain and protest, flutter together and nest. "Therefore, ye skylarks, in shivering circle still higher and higher Soar, and the palpitant blue drench with delirious dew. Therefore, nightingale, lost in the leaves, or lone on the brier, Under the magic moon lift your tumultuous tune. Therefore refresh you, faint hearts, take comfort, ye souls sorrow-stricken, Winning from nature relief, courage and counsel in grief, Judging that He, whose handmaid I am, out of death to requicken Year after year His earth into more exquisite birth, Shadows thereby to your souls through what drear and perilous places Into what Paradise blest beacons His searching behest-- Even the Heaven of Heavens where fond, long-hungered-for faces Into your own shall shine radiant with rapture divine." EASTER DAY, 1915 I The stars die out on Avon's watchful breast, While simple shepherds climb through shadows grey, With beating bosoms up the Wrekin's Crest To see the sun "dance in" an Easter Day Whose dawning consummates three centuries-- Since Shakespeare's death and entrance to the skies-- Resolved the radiant miracle not to miss Reserved alone to earliest opened eyes. We, too, with faces set towards the East, Our joyful orison offerings yielding up Keep with our risen Lord His Pascal feast From Paten Blest and Consecrated Cup, And give Him thanks Who of all realms of Earth Made England richest by her Shakespeare's birth. II "St. George for Merrie England!" let us cry And each a red rose pin upon his breast, Then face the foe with fearless front and eye Through all our frowning leaguer in the West. For not alone his Patron Day it is Wherefrom our noble George hath drawn his name; Three centuries and a half gone by ere this; By Shakespeare's birth it won a second fame. A greater glory is its crown to-day Since at its first and faintest uttered breath A mighty angel rolled the stone away That sealed His tomb Who captive now leads death, And thereby did the great example give. That they who die for others most shall live. THE ASCENSION When Christ their Lord, to Heaven upraised, Was wafted from the Apostles' sight, And upwards wistfully they gazed Into the far, blue Infinite, Behold two men in white apparel dressed Who thus bespake them on the mountain crest: "Why stand ye, men of Galilee, So sadly gazing on the skies? For this same Jesus, whom ye see Caught in the clouds to Paradise, Shall in like manner from the starry height Return again to greet your joyful sight." Would, O Lord Jesus! thus to hear Thy farewell words we too had met, Among Thine own Disciples dear, Upon the brow of Olivet! Yet are we blest, though of that joy bereaved, Who having seen Thee not, have yet believed. O, then in each succeeding year When Thine Ascension Day draws round, With hearts so full of holy fear May we within Thy Church be found, That in the spirit we may see Thee rise And bless us with pierced hands from out the skies! Christ, if our gaze for ever thus Is fixed upon Thy Heavenward way, Death shall but bring to each of us At last his soul's Ascension Day, Till in Thy mercy Thou descend once more And quick and dead to meet Thy coming soar. WHITSUNTIDE When Christ from off the mountain crest Before their marvelling eyes, Whilst His disciples still He blessed, Was caught into the skies-- The Angels, whose harmonious breath Erstwhile proclaimed His birth, Now hailed Him Victor over Death, Redeemer of the Earth; "Lift up your heads, ye Heavenly Gates!" Rang forth their joyful strain; "For lo! the King of Glory waits To enter you again!" Thus, heralded, from Heaven to Heaven Magnifical He goes, Until the last of all the seven To greet His coming glows; While He the Eternal long left lone To meet Him doth upstand, Then sets His Son upon the Throne Once more at His right hand. Whereat with one triumphal hymn Majestically blent The Cherubim and Seraphim The Universe have rent. Last, from the splendrous mercy seat, Of Father and of Son, To Earth, their purpose to complete, Descends the Promised One. Like to a mighty rushing wind He falls, subduing space, To where Christ's chosen with one mind Are gathered in one place. With tongues of flame He lights on each, Whose wonder-working spell Fires them in every human speech Heaven's message forth to tell. The coward brood of doubt and fear And hesitance are fled; Before the quickening Comforter They rise as from the dead. The bolted door is yawning wide, The barred gate backward flung; And forth unarmed and fearless-eyed, They fare their foes among. HARVEST HYMN CAST THY BREAD UPON THE WATERS O ye weeping sons and daughters, Trust the Heavenly Harvest Giver, Cast your bread upon the waters Of His overflowing river; Cast the good seed, nothing doubting That your tears shall turn to praise, Ye shall yet behold it sprouting Heavenward, after many days. Hope and love, long frost-withholden, Into laughing life upleaping, Blade and ear, from green to golden, Yet shall ripen for your reaping; Till some radiant summer morrow, Wheresoe'er your sickle cleaves, Ye, who sow to-day in sorrow, Shout for joy amid your sheaves. O then, learn the inmost meaning Of your harvest's rich redundance, Bid the famished ones come gleaning In the fields of your abundance; So in overrunning measure Shall your thankful fellow-men Give you, of their hearts' hid treasure, All your good gifts back again. Till, ye faithful sons and daughters, God your golden lives deliver, Like the good grain to the waters Of death's overflowing river; Till up-caught amid His sleepers, Heavenly fruit from earthly loam, At the last, His angel reapers On their bosoms bear you home. V. GOOD AND FAITHFUL SERVANTS FATHER O'FLYNN Of priests we can offer a charming variety, Far renowned for larning and piety; Still, I'd advance you, widout impropriety, Father O'Flynn as the flower of them all. _Chorus_: Here's a health to you, Father O'Flynn, Slainté and slainté, and slainté agin; Powerfullest preacher, and Tenderest teacher, and Kindliest creature in ould Donegal. Don't talk of your Provost and Fellows of Trinity, Famous for ever for Greek and Latinity, Dad, and the divels and all at Divinity, Father O'Flynn 'd make hares of them all. Come, I vinture to give you my word, Never the likes of his logic was heard. Down from Mythology Into Thayology, Troth! and Conchology, if he'd the call. _Chorus_: Here's a health to you, etc. Och! Father O'Flynn, you've the wonderful way wid you, All the ould sinners are wishful to pray wid you, All the young childer are wild for to play wid you, You've such a way wid you, Father avick! Still, for all you've so gentle a soul, Gad, you've your flock in the grandest conthroul Checkin' the crazy ones, Coaxin' onaisy ones, Liftin' the lazy ones on wid the stick. _Chorus_: Here's a health to you, etc. And though quite avoidin' all foolish frivolity, Still at all saisons of innocent jollity, Where was the play-boy could claim an equality At comicality, Father, wid you? Once the Bishop looked grave at your jest, Till this remark set him off wid the rest: "Is it lave gaiety All to the laity? Cannot the clargy be Irishmen too?" _Chorus_: Here's a health to you, etc. LADY GWENNY County by county for beauty and bounty Go search! and this pound to a penny, When you've one woman to show us as human And lovely as our Lady Gwenny; For she has the scorn for all scorners, And she has the tear for all mourners, Yet joying with joy, With no crabb'd annoy To pull down her mouth at the corners. Up with the lark in the pasture you'll meet with her, Songs like his own sweetly trilling, Carrying now for some poor folk a treat with her, Small mouths with lollypops filling: And while, as he stands in a puzzle, She strokes the fierce bull on his muzzle, The calves and the lambs Run deserting their dams In her kind hands their noses to nuzzle. Now with her maidens a sweet Cymric cadence She leads, just to lighten their sewing; Now at the farm, her food basket on arm, She has set all the cock'rels a-crowing. The turkey-cock strutting and strumming, His bagpipe puts by at her humming, And even the old gander, The fowl-yard's commander, He winks his sly eye at her coming. Never to wandering minstrel or pondering Poet her castle gate closes: Ever her kindly cheer--ever her praise sincere Falls like the dew on faint roses. And when her Pennillions rhyming She mates to her triple harp's chiming, In her green Gorsedd gown-- The half of the town Up the fences to hear her are climbing. Men in all fashions have pleaded their passions-- The scholar, the saint, and the sinner, Pleaded in vain Lady Gwenny to gain,-- For only a hero shall win her: And to share his strong work and sweet leisure He'll have no keen chaser of pleasure, But a loving young beauty With a soul set on duty, And a heart full of heaven's hid treasure. OLD DOCTOR MACK Ye may tramp the world over from Delhi to Dover, And sail the salt say from Archangel to Arragon; Circumvint back through the whole Zodiack, But to ould Docther Mack ye can't furnish a paragon. Have ye the dropsy, the gout, the autopsy? Fresh livers and limbs instantaneous he'll shape yez; No way infarior in skill, but suparior And lineal postarior to ould Aysculapius. _Chorus_: He and his wig wid the curls so carroty, Aigle eye and complexion clarety; Here's to his health, Honour and wealth, The king of his kind and the cream of all charity. How the rich and the poor, to consult for a cure, Crowd on to his door in their carts and their carriages, Showin' their tongues or unlacin' their lungs, For divel wan sympton the docther disparages, Troth an' he'll tumble for high or for humble From his warm feather-bed wid no cross contrariety; Makin' as light of nursin' all night The beggar in rags as the belle of society. _Chorus_: He and his wig wid the curls, etc. And, as if by a meracle, ailments hysterical, Dad, wid one dose of bread pills he can smother, And quench the love sickness wid comical quickness, Prescribin' the right boys and girls to each other. And the sufferin' childer! Your eyes 'twould bewilder, To see the wee craythurs his coat-tails unravellin'-- Each of them fast on some treasure at last, Well knowin' ould Mack's just a toy-shop out travellin'. _Chorus_: He and his wig wid the curls, etc. Thin, his doctherin' done, in a rollickin' run Wid the rod or the gun he's the foremost to figure; Be Jupiter Ammon! what jack-snipe or salmon E'er rose to backgammon his tail-fly or trigger! And hark that view-holloa! 'Tis Mack in full follow On black "Faugh-a-ballagh" the country-side sailin'! Och, but you'd think 'twas ould Nimrod in pink, Wid his spurs cryin' chink over park wall and palin'. _Chorus_: He and his wig wid the curls so carroty, Aigle eye and complexion clarety. Here's to his health, Honour and wealth, Hip, hip, hooray, wid all hilarity! Hip, hip, hooray! That's the way! All at once widout disparity! One more cheer for our docther dear, The king of his kind and the cream of all charity, Hip, hip, hooray! TO THE MEMORY OF JOHN OWEN HARLECH CHOIRMASTER Who is this they bear along the street In his coffin through the sunshine sweet? Who is this so many comrades crave, Turn by turn, to carry to the grave? Who is this for whom the hillward track Glooms with mounting lines of mourners black? Till the Baptists' green old burial-ground Clasps them all within its quiet bound. Here John Owen we must lay to rest, 'Tis for him our hearts are sore distressed; Since his sister wistfully he eyed, Bowed his head upon her breast and died. Well and truly at his work he wrought; Every Harlech road to order brought; Then through winter evenings dark and long At the chapel gave his heart to song. Till before his gesture of command-- Till before his hushing voice and hand-- Sweeter, fuller strains who could desire Than he charmed from out his Baptist choir. Many a time the passer-by enchained By their rapture to its close remained, And the churches joyfully agreed Their united choirs his skill should lead. So in Handel's choruses sublime He would train them for the Christmas time; Mould their measures for the concert hall, Roll their thunders round the Castle wall. Loving husband, tender father, quick To console the suffering and sick-- Christ to follow was his constant aim, Christ's own deacon ere he bore the name. Widowed wife and children fatherless, Stricken kinsfolk, friends in keen distress-- Sorrow swept them all beneath its wave As his coffin sank into the grave. But his Pastor's fervent voice went forth, Delicately dwelling on his worth, Urging his example, till at last Heavenly comfort o'er our grief he cast. For his lonely ones we bowed in prayer, Sighed one hymn, and left him lying there, Whispering: "Lord, Thy will be done to-day, Thou didst give him, Thou hast taken away." SAINT CUTHBERT When once a winter storm upon the shores of Fife Drave Cuthbert; in despair, one fearful comrade saith: "To land in such a storm is certain loss of life!" "Return," another cried, "by sea is equal death." Then Cuthbert, "Earth and sea against us both are set, But friends, look up, for Heaven lies open to us yet." ALFRED THE GREAT A MILLENARY MEMORIAL "In my life I have striven to live so worthily that at my death I may leave but a memory of good works to those who come after me." Thus Alfred spake, whose days were beads of prayer Upon the rosary of his royal time, Who let "I do" wait not upon "I dare," Yet both with duty kept in golden chime, Who, great in victory, greater in defeat, Greatest in strenuous peace, still suffering, planned From Ashdown's field to Athelney's lone retreat Upward for aye to lift his little land. Therefore the seed of his most fruitful sowing, A thousand years gone by, on earth and sea, From slender strength to stately empire growing Hath given our isle great continents in fee. For which on Alfred's death-day each true heart Goes out in praise of his immortal part. SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON Strong Son of Fergus, with thy latest breath Thou hast lent a joy unto the funeral knell, Welcoming with thy whispered "All is well!" The awful aspect of the Angel Death. As, strong in life, thou couldst not brook to shun The heat and burthen of the fiery day, Fronting defeat with stalwart undismay, And wearing meekly honours stoutly won. Pure lips, pure hands, pure heart were thine, as aye Erin demanded from her bards of old, And, therefore, on thy harpstrings of pure gold Has waked once more her high heroic lay. What shoulders now shall match the mighty fold Of Ossian's mantle? Thou hast passed away. "MEN, NOT WALLS, MAKE A CITY" (On the home-coming of the London Regiments after the Boer War) London Town, hear a ditty, While we crown our comrades true: "Men, not walls, make a City;" Ill befalls when men are few,-- Ill indeed when from his duty Into greed the burgess falls, Every hand on bribe and booty-- How shall stand that City's walls? Never yet upon thine annals Hath been writ such a shame; Never down such crooked channels, London Town, thy commerce came. On the poor no tyrant burden, Debt secure and sacred trust, Honest gain and generous guerdon, These remain thy record just. Therefore still through all thy story Loyal will thy train-bands led Forth to feats of patriot glory, Back through streets with bays o'erspread. Therefore when the trumpet's warning Out again for battle rang, As of old all peril scorning, Forth thy bold young burghers sprang; Faced the fight, endured the prison, Through the night of doubt and gloom, Till the Empire's star new risen Chased afar the clouds of doom. Therefore, when their ranks came marching, Home again with flashing feet, Under bays of triumph arching City ways and City Street; London, lift to God thanksgiving For His Gift that passes all-- For thy heroes, dead and living, Who have made thy City Wall. FIELD-MARSHAL EARL KITCHENER (June 13, 1916) A sheet of foam is our great Soldier's shroud Beside the desolate Orkney's groaning caves; And we are desolate and groan aloud To know his body wandering with the waves Who when the thunder-cloud of battle hate Broke o'er us, through it towered, the while he bore Upon his Titan shoulders a world weight Of doubt and danger none had brooked before. For while incredulous friend and foe denied him Such possible prowess, Honour's blast he blew; And lo! as if from out the earth beside him, Army on army into order grew; Till need at last was none for our retreating, And back to Belgium and the front of France We bore, firm gathered for our foe's defeating Against the sounding of the Great Advance. Few were his friends, yet closely round him clustered, But from five million Britons, who at his call Came uncompelled and round him sternly mustered, The sighs escape, the silent teardrops fall. And not alone the Motherland is weeping Her great dead Captain but, The Seven Seas o'er, Daughter Dominions sorrow's watch are keeping, For he was theirs as her's in peace and war. Yea, strong sage Botha, and that stern Cape Raider Whom first he fought then bound with friendship's bond-- Each now our own victorious Empire aider-- Lament his loss the sounding deeps beyond. And India mourns her mightiest Soldier Warden, Egypt the Sirdar who her desert through Laid iron lines of vengeance for our Gordon Till on the Madhi he swept, and struck and slew. And France, for whom he fought a youthful gallant, From whose proud breast he drew Fashoda's thorn-- France who with England shared his searching talent, France like his second mother stands forlorn. * * * * * A man of men was he, the steadfast glances Of whose steel-grey, indomitable eyes So pierced the mind, behind all countenances, Crushed were the sophist's arts, the coward's lies. A man of men but in his greatness lonely-- Undaunted in defeat, in conquest calm, For God and Country living and dying only, And winner therefore of the deathless palm. * * * * * A truce to tears then. Though his body hath No rest in English earth, his shining soul Still leads his armies up the arduous path He paved for them forthright to Glory's goal. And we the men and women who remain, Let us to be his other Army burn With such pure fires of sacrificial pain As shall reward our warriors' return. But now a sudden heavy silence falls On all our streets, half-mast the standard hangs-- The hearseless funeral passes to St. Paul's, And out of every steeple the death-bell clangs. Now sorrowing King and Queen, as midday booms, The hushed Fane enter, while o'er mourners black, Grey soldier, choral white, quick gleams and glooms Of sun and shadow darkle and sparkle back. The prayers of priest and people to heaven's gate win And a choir as of angels welcoming thither our chief-- Till a thunder of drums the mighty Dead March beats in And the Last Post lingers, lingers and dies on our grief. INSCRIPTION FOR A ROLL OF HONOUR IN A PUBLIC SCHOOL Since to die nobly is Life's act supreme, And since our best and dearest thus have died, Across our cloud of grief a solemn gleam Of joy has struck, and all our tears are dried. For these men to keep pure their country's fame Against great odds fell fighting to the death, God give us grace who here bear on their name To grow more like them with each proud-drawn breath. AN EPITAPH On an Irish Cross in memory of Charles Graves, Bishop of Limerick To God his steadfast soul, his starry mind To Science, a gracious heart to kin and kind, He living gave. Therefore let each fair bloom Of Faith and Hope breathe balsam o'er his tomb. AN INTERCESSIONAL ANSWERED (June 26, 1902) We thought to speed our earthly King Triumphant on his way Unto his solemn Sacreing Before Thy throne to-day; His royal robes were wrought, prepared His sceptre, orb and crown, And all earth's Princes here repaired To heighten his renown; When, hurtling out of bluest Heaven, Thy bolt upon us fell; Our head is pierced, our heart is riven, Struck dumb the Minster bell. Yet flags still flutter far and wide; The league-long garlands glow, Still London wears her gala pride Above a breast of woe. Lord shall these laughing leaves and flowers Their joyful use forget? Nay, on this stricken realm of ours Have Thou compassion yet. Long years ago our Edward lay Thus fighting for his breath, Yet to such prayers as now we pray Thou gavest him back from death. Then o'er the tempest of his pain, His cry of perishing thrill, Let Thy right arm go forth again, Thy saving "Peace! be still!" Until to all his strength restored Thy Spirit lead Him down, In solemn state, Almighty Lord, To take from Thee his crown. VI. PERSONAL AND VARIOUS LET THERE BE JOY! (A Christmas carol from the Scotch Gaelic) This is now the blessed morn, When was born the Virgin's Son, Who from heights of glorious worth, Unto earth His way has won; All the heav'ns grow bright to greet Him, Forth to meet Him, ev'ry one! All hail! let there be joy! All hail! let there be joy! Mountains praise, with purple splendour, Plains, with tender tints, the morn; Shout, ye waves, with prophesying Voices crying, "Christ is born! Christ, the Son of heav'n's High King, Therefore sing no more forlorn!" All hail! let there be joy! All hail! let there be joy! A HOLIDAY HYMN He, unto whom the Heavenly Father Hath in His works Himself revealed, Sees with rapt eyes the glory gather O'er hill and forest, flood and field. He, when the torrent laughs in thunder, Larks soar exulting in the blue, Thrills with the waterfall's glad wonder, Far up to heaven goes singing too; Wanders, a child among the daisies; Ponders, a poet, all things fair; Wreathes with the rose of dawn his praises, Weaves with eve's passion-flowers his prayer; Full sure that He who reared the mountain, Made smooth the valley, plumed the height, Holds in clear air the lark and fountain-- Shall yet uplift him into light. SUMMER MORNING'S WALK 'Tis scarcely four by the village clock, The dew is heavy, the air is cool-- A mist goes up from the glassy pool, Through the dim field ranges a phantom flock: No sound is heard but the magpie's mock. Very low is the sun in the sky, It needeth no eagle now to regard him. Is there not one lark left to reward him With the shivering joy of his long, sweet cry, For sad he seemeth, I know not why. Through the ivied ruins of yonder elm There glides and gazes a sadder face; Spectre Queen of a vanished race-- 'Tis the full moon shrunk to a fleeting film, And she lingers for love of her ancient realm. These are but selfish fancies, I know, Framed to solace a secret grief-- Look again--scorning such false relief-- Dwarf not Nature to match thy woe-- Look again! whence do these fancies flow? What is the moon but a lamp of fire That God shall relume in His season? the Sun, Like a giant, rejoices his race to run With flaming feet that never tire On the azure path of the starry choir. The lark has sung ere I left my bed: And hark! far aloft from those ladders of light Many songs, not one only, the morn delight. Then, sad heart, dream not that Nature is dead, But seek from her strength and comfort instead. SNOW-STAINS The snow had fallen and fallen from heaven, Unnoticed in the night, As o'er the sleeping sons of God Floated the manna white; And still, though small flowers crystalline Blanched all the earth beneath, Angels with busy hands above Renewed the airy wreath; When, white amid the falling flakes, And fairer far than they, Beside her wintry casement hoar A dying woman lay. "More pure than yonder virgin snow From God comes gently down, I left my happy country home," She sighed, "to seek the town, More foul than yonder drift shall turn, Before the sun is high, Downtrodden and defiled of men, More foul," she wept, "am I." "Yet, as in midday might confessed, Thy good sun's face of fire Draws the chaste spirit of the snow To meet him from the mire, Lord, from this leprous life in death Lift me, Thy Magdalene, That rapt into Redeeming Light I may once more be clean." REMEMBRANCE (To music) The fairest blooming flower Before the sun must fade; Each leaf that lights the bower Must fall at last decayed! Like these we too must wither, Like these in earth lie low, None answering whence or whither We come, alas! or go. None answering thee? thou sayest, Nay, mourner, from thy heart, If but in faith thou prayest, The Voice Divine shall start; "I gave and I have taken, If thou wouldst comfort win To cheer thy life forsaken, I knock, O, let me in! "Thy loved ones have but folden Their earthly garments by, And through Heaven's gateway golden Gone gladly up on high. O, if thou wouldst be worthy To share their joy anon, Cast off, cast off the earthy, And put the heavenly on!" SANDS OF GOLD Hope gave into my trembling hands An hour-glass running golden sands, And Love's immortal joys and pains I measured by its glancing grains. But Evil Fortune swooped, alas! Remorseless on the magic glass, And shivered into idle dust The radiant record of my trust. Long I mated with Despair And craved for Death with ceaseless prayer; Till unto my sick-bed side There stole a Presence angel-eyed. "If thou wouldst heal thee of thy wound," Her voice to heavenly harps attuned Bespake me, "Let the sovran tide Within this glass thy future guide." Therewith she gave into my hands No hour-glass running golden sands, Only a horologe forlorn Set against a cross of thorn, And cold and stern the current seemed That through its clouded crystal gleamed. "Immortal one," I cried, "make plain This cure of my consuming pain. Open my eyes to understand, And sift the secrets of this sand, And measure by its joyless grains What yet of life to me remains." "The sand," she said, "that glimmers grey Within this glass, but yesterday Was dust at Dives' bolted door Shaken by God's suffering poor; Then by blasts of heaven upblown Before the Judge upon His throne To swell the ever-gathering cloud Of witnesses against the proud-- The dust of throats that knew no slaking, The dust of brows for ever aching-- Dust unto dust with life's last breath Sighed into the urn of Death." With tears I took that cross of thorn, With tears that horologe forlorn. And all my moments by its dust I measure now with prayerful trust, And though my courage oft turns weak, Fresh comfort from that cross I seek; In wistful hope I yet may wake To find the thorn in blossom break, And from life's shivered glass behold My being's sands ebb forth in gold. THE MOURNER When tears, when heavy tears of sharpest sorrow Bathe the lone pillow of the mourner's bed, Whose grief breaks fresh with every breaking morrow For his beloved one dead, If all be not in vain, his passionate prayer Shall like a vapour mount the inviolate blue, To fall transfigured back on his despair In drops of Heavenly dew; Nor fail him ever but a cloud unceasing Of incense from his soul's hushed altar start, And still return to rise with rich increasing, A well-spring from his heart; Pure fount of peace that freshly overflowing Through other lives shall still run radiant on, Till they, too, reap in joy who wept in sowing, Long after he is gone. DE PROFUNDIS Out of the darkness I call; I stretch forth my hands unto Thee. Loose these fetters that foully enthral; To their lock Thou alone hast the key. Low at Thy footstool I fall, Forgive and Thy servant is free! Folly took hold of my time, On pleasure I perched, to my woe; I was snared in The Evil One's lime And now all his promptings I know. Crimson as blood is my crime. Yet Thou canst wash whiter than snow. Heaven overhead is one frown; About me the black waters rave; To the deep I go dreadfully down; O pluck my feet out of the grave; Lord! I am sinking, I drown, O save, for Thou only canst save. IMMORTAL HOPE Summer hath too short a date Autumn enters, ah! how soon, Scattering with scornful hate All the flowers of June. Nay say not so, Nothing here below But dies To rise Anew with rarer glow. Now, no skylarks singing soar Sunward, now, beneath the moon Love's own nightingale no more Lifts her magic tune! Nay, say not so, But awhile they go; Their strain Again All heaven shall overflow. WE HAD A CHILD We had a child, a little Fairy Prince, Let loose from Elfland for our heart's delight; Ah! was it yesterday or four years since He beamed upon our sight? Four years--and yet it seems but yesterday Since the blue wonder of his baby eyes. Beneath their ebon-fringèd canopies, Subdued us to his sway. Three years--and yet but yestermorn it seems Since first upon his feet he swaying stood, Buoyed bravely up by memory's magic dreams Of elfin hardihood. He stood, the while that long-forgotten lore Lit all his lovely face with frolic glee; And then--O marvel! to his mother's knee Walked the wide nursery floor. Two years gone by--ah, no! but yesterday Our bright-eyed nursling, swift as we could teach, Forsook the low soft croonings of the fay For broken human speech-- Broken, yet to our ears divinelier broken Than sweetest snatches from Heaven's mounting bird-- More eloquent than the poet's passionate word Supremely sung or spoken. But O, our darling in his joyful dance Tottered death-pale beneath the withering north, Into a kinder clime, most blessed chance, We caught him swiftly forth, And there he bloomed again, our fairy boy, Two year-long Aprils through in sun and shower, Wing-footed Mercury of each merry hour, The Genius of our joy. And evermore we shared his shifting mood Of hide-and-seek with April joy and sorrow, Till not one shadow of solicitude Remained to mar our morrow; Yea, every fear had flown, lest, welladay! The headlong heats or winter's piercing power Should light afresh upon our radiant flower And wither him away. * * * * * We had a child, a little fairy child, He kissed us on the lips but yesternight, Yet when he wakened his blue eyes were wild With fevered light. We had a child--what countless ages since, Did he go forth from us with wildered brain, Will he come back and kiss us once again-- Our little Fairy Prince? BY THE BEDSIDE OF A SICK CHILD O Thou by whose eternal plan Ages arise and roll, Who in Thine image madest man To search him to the soul, If e'er in token of the Cross, With infant arms outspread, Thou sawest Thy Beloved toss In anguish on His bed; Or heardest in the childish cry That pierced the cottage room The voice of Christ in agony Breaking from Calvary's gloom, Give ear! and from Thy Throne above With eyes of mercy mild, Look down, of Thine immortal love, Upon our suffering child. Though Earth's physicians all in vain Have urged their utmost skill, Yet to our prayers O make it plain That Thou canst succour still; Yea! through the midnight watches drear, And all the weary day, O be Thy Good Physician near Our stricken one to stay; That evermore as we succeed In service at his side, Each office of our darling's need His heavenly hands may guide; Till o'er his tempest bed of pain, His cry of perishing thrill The Saviour's arm go forth again, The Saviour's "Peace! be still." Too well, O Lord, too well we know How oft upon Thy way Our feet have followed faint and slow, How often turned astray For fleeting pleasures to forsake Thy path of heavenly prayer; We have deserved that Thou shouldst take Our children from our care. Yet, O Good Shepherd, lead us back, Our lamb upon Thy breast, Safely along the narrow track, Across the dangerous crest; Until our aching eyes rejoice At Salem's shining walls, And to our thirsting souls a Voice Of Living Waters calls. HE HAS COME BACK Without the wintry sky is overcast, The floods descend, fierce hail and rushing rain, Whilst ever and anon the angry blast Clutches the casement-pane. Within our darling beats an angrier air With piteous outstretched arms and tossing head, Whilst we, bowed low beside his labouring bed, Pour all our hearts in prayer. Is this the end? The tired little hands Fall by his side, the wild eyes close at last, Breathless he sinks, almost we hear his sands Of being ebbing past; When, O miraculous! he wakes once more, Love glowing in his glance, the while there slips "Mother, dear Mother!" from his trembling lips, "Dear Mother!" o'er and o'er. He has come back, our little Fairy Child, Back from his wanderings in the dreadful dark, Back o'er the furious surge of fever wild, The lost dove of our ark; Back, slowly back o'er the dire flood's decrease The white wings flutter, only our God knows how, Bearing aloft the blessed olive bough Of His compassionate peace. SPRING'S SECRETS As once I paused on poet wing In the green heart of a grove, I met the Spirit of the Spring With her great eyes lit of love. She took me gently by the hand And whispered in my wondering ear Secrets none may understand, Till she make their meaning clear; Why the primrose looks so pale, Why the rose is set with thorns; Why the magic nightingale Through the darkness mourns and mourns; How the angels, as they pass In their vesture pure and white O'er the shadowy garden grass, Touch the lilies into light; How their hidden hands upbear The fledgling throstle in the air, And lift the lowly lark on high, And hold him singing in the sky; What human hearts delight her most; The careless child with roses crowned, The mourner, knowing that his lost Shall in the Eternal Spring be found. THE LORD'S LEISURE Tarry thou the leisure of the Lord! Ever the wise upon Him wait; Early they sorrow, suffer late, Yet at the last have their reward. Shall then the very King sublime Keep thee and me in constant thought, Out of the countless names of naught Swept on the surging stream of time? Ah, but the glorious sun on high, Searching the sea, fold on fold, Gladdens with coronals of gold Each troubled billow heaving by. Though he remove him for a space, Though gloom resume the sleeping sea, Yet of his beams her dreams shall be, Yet shall his face renew her grace. Then when sorrow is outpoured, Pain chokes the channels of thy blood, Think upon the sun and the flood, Tarry thou the leisure of the Lord. SPRING IS NOT DEAD Snow on the earth, though March is wellnigh over; Ice on the flood; Fingers of frost where late the hawthorn cover Burgeoned with bud. Yet in the drift the patient primrose hiding, Yet in the stream the glittering troutlet gliding, Yet from the root the sap still upward springing, Yet overhead one faithful skylark singing, "Spring is not dead!" Brows fringed with snow, the furrowed brows of sorrow, Cheeks pale with care: Pulses of pain that throb from night till morrow; Hearts of despair! O, yet take comfort, still your joy approaches, Dark is the hour that on the dawn encroaches, April's own smile shall yet succeed your sighing, April's own voice set every song-bird crying, "Spring is not dead!" AIM NOT TOO HIGH (To an Old English air) Aim not too high at things beyond thy reach Nor give the rein to reckless thought or speech. Is it not better all thy life to bide Lord of thyself than all the earth beside? Then if high Fortune far from thee take wing, Why shouldst thou envy Counsellor or King? Purple or buckram--wherefore make ado What coat may cover, so the heart be true? But if at last thou gather wealth at will, Thou best shalt succour those that need it still; Since he who best doth poverty endure, Should prove when rich heart's brother to the poor. WILD WINE OF NATURE IN PRAISE OF WATER-DRINKING (After Duncan Ban McIntyre) Wild Wine of Nature, honey tasted, Ever streaming, never wasted, From long and long and long ago In limpid, cool, life-giving flow Up-bubbling with its cordial bland Even from the thirsty desert sand-- O draught to quench man's thirst upon Far sweeter than the cinnamon! Like babes upon their mother's breast, To Earth our craving lips are pressed For her free gift of matchless price, Pure as it poured in Paradise. BRIDAL INVOCATION Jesu, from to-day Guide us on our way, So shall we, no moment wasting, Follow Thee with holy hasting, Led by Thy dear Hand To the Blessed land. Through despondence dread, Still support our tread; Though our heavy burdens bow us, How to bear them bravely, show us! Such adversity Is but the path to Thee. When our bosom's grief Clamours for relief, When we share another's sorrow, May we Thy sweet patience borrow, That to our Heavenly Father's Will We may trust each issue still. Thus our onward way, Order day by day, Though upon rough roads Thou set us, Thy fond care shall ne'er forget us, Till "underneath Death's darkening door; We see the glimmering of Heaven's floor." THE COMING OF SIR GALAHAD AND A VISION OF THE GRAIL At the solemn Feast of Pentecost Arthur the King and his chosen Knights Sat, as we sit, in the Court of Camelot side by side at The Table Round. None made music, none held converse, none knew hunger, none were athirst, Each possessed with the same strange longing, each fulfilled with one awful hope; Each of us fearing even to whisper what he felt to his bosom friend, Lest the spell should be snapped in sunder. Thus we sat awaiting a sign! When, on a sudden, out of the distance blared the bugle that hangs at the gate; Loud the barbican leaped on its hinges; and the hollow porch and the vacant hall And the roof of the long resounding corridor echoed the advent of unknown feet, The feet of a stranger approaching the threshold step by step irresistibly: Till opened yonder door and through it strode to this Table the Virgin Knight-- Strode and stood with uplifted vizor. Fear fell on all, save only the King! Uprose Arthur, unbarred his helmet; shone confessed the countenance chaste. Then, for so the Spirit inspired him, set the youth on the Perilous Seat; Brake as he pressed it a Peal of thunder and paled the firelight, paled the lamps, Such a sudden stream of splendour flooded the Feast with miraculous light; Whilst, O Wonder! round the Table swathed in samite, dazzling bright, Passed the Presence, mystical, shadowy, ghostly gliding--the Holy Grail, Passed, though none could its shape discover, nay, not even the Virgin Knight, Passed, passed with strains seraphic, incense odours, rainbow hues-- Passed, passed, and where it entered, suddenly melted out of sight. ASK WHAT THOU WILT Thy blood was spilt From death to set us free; Ask what Thou wilt, 'Tis consecrate to Thee! Thy hands and feet For us the nails went through. What is most meet, Bid ours for Thee to do. Ask what Thou wilt. All round Thy Brows The Throne of Heavenly thought, Divine Wisdom's house-- For us the thorns were wrought; Therefore, though dust In balance with Thy pains, Take Thou, in trust, The travail of our brains! Ask what Thou wilt. Thy Heart of Love With all its human aches, By the spear's proof, Was broken for our sakes; Our hearts, therefore, And all we love and own Are ours no more, But Thine and Thine alone. Ask what Thou wilt. Though homes be riven, At Thy supreme behest, Yea! the sword driven Through many a mother's breast; Thy blood was spilt From death to set us free; Ask what Thou wilt 'Tis consecrate to Thee. Ask what Thou wilt. Printed at the Complete Press West Norwood London 
28766	----	Transcriber's note: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they are listed at the end of the text. * * * * * * * * * * ELEMENTS OF GAELIC GRAMMAR IN FOUR PARTS I. OF PRONUNCIATION AND ORTHOGRAPHY II. OF THE PARTS OF SPEECH III. OF SYNTAX IV. OF DERIVATION AND COMPOSITION BY ALEXANDER STEWART MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL AT DINGWALL HONORARY MEMBER OF THE HIGHLAND SOCIETY OF SCOTLAND Royal Celtic Society Edition. FOURTH EDITION REVISED. WITH PREFACE BY THE REV. DR McLAUCHLAN EDINBURGH JOHN GRANT, GEORGE IV. BRIDGE 1892 * * * * * {iii} PREFACE. * * * * * For several years the Grammar of the Gaelic language by the Rev. Dr Stewart of Moulin has been out of print. This has been a source of regret to scholars and students of that tongue. Not but that there are other Grammars of real value, which it would be unjust either to ignore or to depreciate, and which have served, and are serving, an excellent purpose in connection with Celtic Literature. But the Grammar of Dr Stewart has peculiar features of its own which give it a permanent value. It is distinguished by its simplicity, conciseness, and philosophical accuracy. No Grammar of any language bears on its pages the marks of real and profound scholarship, in so far as it goes, more than does the Grammar of Dr Stewart. One cannot read a sentence of it without seeing how carefully he had collected his materials, and with what judgment, caution, and sagacity he has compared them and drawn his conclusions. His discussions upon the Article, the Noun, the Verb, and the Preposition, are ample evidence of this. It is no doubt true that a much fuller discussion is, with the more abundant resources of modern scholarship, {iv} competent and desirable, but, so far as he goes, Dr Stewart's treatment of the subject is of a masterly character. That there are defects to be found in the work is very true. On the subject of Syntax his disquisitions are deficient in fulness, and there is a want of grammatical exercises throughout. It was at first thought desirable by the publishers and their advisers to remedy these defects by introducing fuller notices on the subject of Syntax, and a considerable number of grammatical exercises from other sources open to them. But it was finally deemed best in every view of it to give Stewart's work just as he had left it, and that is done here with the exception of a list of subscribers' names in the introduction. Messrs Maclachlan and Stewart are doing the literary community a service in republishing this volume, and thanks are specially due to the Royal Celtic Society of Edinburgh, a society which has done much to foster the interests of education in the Highlands, and which has given substantial aid towards the accomplishment of this undertaking. THOS. MCLAUCHLAN. EDINBURGH, _1st August 1876._ * * * * * {v} CONTENTS. * * * * * PAGE INTRODUCTION. PART I. Of Pronunciation and Orthography, 1 PART II. OF THE PARTS OF SPEECH. CHAP. I.--Of the Article, 37 CHAP. II.--Of Nouns, 37 Of Gender, 38 Of Declension, 43 CHAP. III.--Of Adjectives, 55 Of Numeral Adjectives, 59 CHAP. IV.--Of Pronouns, 61 CHAP. V.--Of Verbs, 65 Formation of the Tenses, 76 Use and import of the Moods and Tenses, 85 Irregular Verbs, 95 Defective Verbs, 99 Reciprocating state of Verbs, 102 Impersonal use of Verbs, 105 Auxiliary Verbs, 107 CHAP. VI.--Of Adverbs, 109 CHAP. VII.--Of Prepositions, 116 Idiomatic phrases, 125 CHAP. VIII.--Of Conjunctions, 134 CHAP. IX.--Of Interjections, 136 {vi} PART III. OF SYNTAX. CHAP. I.--Of Concord, 137 Sect. 1. Of the agreement of the Article with a Noun, 137 Sect. 2. Of the agreement of an Adjective with a Noun, 141 Sect. 3. Of the agreement of a Pronoun with its Antecedent, 146 Sect. 4. Of the agreement of a Verb with its Nominative, 149 Sect. 5. Of the agreement of one Noun with another, 152 CHAP. II.--Of Government, 154 Sect. 1. Of the Government of Nouns, 154 Sect. 2. Of the Government of Adjectives, 159 Sect. 3. Of the Government of Verbs, 159 Sect. 4. Of the Government of Adverbs, 160 Sect. 5. Of the Government of Prepositions, 160 Sect. 6. Of the Government of Conjunctions, 162 PART IV. OF DERIVATION AND COMPOSITION. CHAP. I.--Of Derivation, 164 CHAP. II.--Of Composition, 168 Exercises in Reading, &c., 175 * * * * * {vii} INTRODUCTION. * * * * * The utility of a Grammar of the Scottish Gaelic will be variously appreciated. Some will be disposed to deride the vain endeavour to restore vigour to a decaying superannuated language. Those who reckon the extirpation of the Gaelic a necessary step toward that general extension of the English which they deem essential to the political interest of the Highlands, will condemn every project which seems likely to retard its extinction. Those who consider that there are many parts of the Highlands, where the inhabitants can, at present, receive no useful knowledge whatever except through the channel of their native tongue, will probably be of opinion that the Gaelic ought at least to be tolerated. Yet these too may condemn as useless, if not ultimately detrimental, any attempt to cultivate its powers, or to prolong its existence. Others will entertain a different opinion. They will judge from experience, as well as from the nature of the case, that no measure merely of a literary kind will prevail to hinder the progress of the English language over the Highlands; while general convenience and emolument, not to mention private emulation and vanity, conspire to facilitate its introduction, and prompt the natives to its acquisition. They {viii} will perceive at the same time, that while the Gaelic continues to be the common speech of multitudes,--while the knowledge of many important facts, of many necessary arts, of morals, of religion, and of the laws of the land, can be conveyed to them only by means of this language,--it must be of material service to preserve it in such a state of cultivation and purity, as that it may be fully adequate to these valuable ends; in a word, that while it is a living language, it may answer the purpose of a living language. To those who wish for an uniformity of speech over the whole kingdom, it may not be impertinent to suggest one remark. The more that the human mind is enlightened, the more desirous it becomes of farther acquisitions in knowledge. The only channel through which the rudiments of knowledge can be conveyed to the mind of a remote Highlander is the Gaelic language. By learning to read and to understand what he reads, in his native tongue, an appetite is generated for those stores of science which are accessible to him only through the medium of the English language. Hence an acquaintance with the English is found to be necessary for enabling him to gratify his desire after further attainments. The study of it becomes, of course, an object of importance; it is commenced, and prosecuted with increasing diligence. These premises seem to warrant a conclusion which might at first appear paradoxical, that, by cultivating the Gaelic, you effectually, though indirectly, promote the study and diffuse the knowledge of the English. To public teachers it is of the highest moment that the medium through which their instructions are communicated be properly adapted to that use, and that they be enabled to avail themselves of it in the fittest manner. A language destitute of grammatical regularity can possess neither {ix} perspicuity nor precision, and must therefore be very inadequate to the purpose of conveying one's thoughts. The Gaelic is in manifest danger of falling into this discreditable condition, from the disuse of old idioms and distinctions, and the admission of modern corruptions, unless means be applied to prevent its degenerating. It is obvious that a speaker cannot express himself with precision without a correct knowledge of grammar. When he is conscious of his ignorance in this respect, he must deliver himself sometimes ambiguously or erroneously, always with diffidence and hesitation, whereas one who has an accurate knowledge of the structure and phraseology of the language he speaks, will seldom fail to utter his thoughts with superior confidence, energy, and effect. A competent degree of this knowledge is requisite to the hearer also, to enable him to apprehend the full import and the precise force of the words of the speaker. Among the readers of Gaelic, who are every day becoming more numerous, those only who have studied it grammatically are qualified to understand accurately what they read, and to explain it distinctly to others. Yet it cannot be denied that comparatively few ever arrive at a correct, or even a tolerable knowledge of grammar, without the help of a treatise composed for the purpose. Whoever, therefore, allows that the Gaelic must be employed in communicating to a large body of people the knowledge of revealed Truth and the way of eternal Life, will readily admit the extensive utility of investigating and unfolding its grammatical principles. Impressed with this conviction, I have been induced to offer to the public the following attempt to develop the grammar of the Scottish Gaelic. While I have endeavoured to render this treatise useful to those who wish to improve the knowledge of Gaelic which {x} they already possess, I have also kept in view the gratification of others, who do not understand the Gaelic, but yet may be desirous to examine the structure and properties of this ancient language. To serve both these purposes, I have occasionally introduced such observations on the analogy between the Gaelic idiom and that of some other tongues, particularly the Hebrew, as a moderate knowledge of these enabled me to collect. The Irish dialect of the Gaelic is the nearest cognate of the Scottish Gaelic. An intimate acquaintance with its vocables and structure, both ancient and modern, would have been of considerable use. This I cannot pretend to have acquired. I have not failed, however, to consult, and to derive some advantage from such Irish philologists as were accessible to me, particularly O'Molloy, O'Brien, Vallancey, and Lhuyd. To these very respectable names I have to add that of the Rev. Dr Neilson, author of "An Introduction to the Irish Language," Dublin, 1808, and E. O'C., author of "A Grammar of the Gaelic Language," Dublin, 1808; to the latter of whom I am indebted for some good-humoured strictures, and some flattering compliments, which, however unmerited, it were unhandsome not to acknowledge. I know but one publication professedly on the subject of Gaelic grammar written by a Scotsman[1]. I have consulted it also, but in this quarter I have no obligations to acknowledge. With respect to my literary countrymen who are proficients in the Gaelic, and who may cast an eye on this volume, less with a view to learn than to criticise, while I profess a due deference to their judgment, and declare my anxiety to obtain their favourable suffrage, I must take the liberty to entreat their attention to the following considerations. {xi} The subject of Universal Grammar has been examined in modern times with a truly philosophical spirit, and has been settled on rational and stable principles; yet, in applying these principles to explain the grammar of a particular language, the divisions, the arrangements, and the rules to be given are, in a good measure, mechanical and arbitrary. One set of rules may be equally just with another. For what is it that grammatical rules do? They bring into view the various parts, inflections, or, as they may be termed, the _phenomena_ of a language, and class them together in a certain order. If these _phenomena_ be all brought forward, and stated according as they actually appear in the language, the rules may be said to be both just and complete. Different sets of rules may exhibit the same things in a different order, and yet may all be equally just. The superiority seems, on a comparison, to belong to that system which follows most nearly the order of nature, or the process of the mind in forming the several inflections; or rather, perhaps, to that system which, from its simplicity, or clear and comprehensive arrangement, is most fitted to assist the memory in acquiring and retaining the parts of speech with their several inflections. In distributing the various parts of language into their several classes, and imposing names on them, we ought always to be guided by the nature of that language, and to guard against adopting, with inconsiderate servility, the distributions and technical terms of another. This caution is the more necessary because, in our researches into the grammar of any particular tongue, we are apt to follow implicitly the order of the Latin grammar, on which we have been long accustomed to fix our attention, and which we are ever ready to erect into a model for the grammar of all languages. To force the several parts of speech into moulds formed for the {xii} idioms of the Latin tongue, and to frame them so as to suit a nomenclature adapted to the peculiarities of Latin grammar, must have the effect of disguising or concealing the peculiarities, and confounding the true distinctions, which belong to the language under discussion. Although, in treating of Gaelic grammar, the caution here suggested ought never to be forgotten, yet it is needless to reject indiscriminately all the forms and terms introduced into the grammar of other languages. Where the same classifications which have been employed in the grammar of the Latin, or of any other well-known tongue, will suit the Gaelic also, it is but a convenient kind of courtesy to adopt these, and apply to them the same names which are already familiar to us. In stating the result of my researches into Gaelic grammar, I have endeavoured to conform to these general views. The field of investigation was wide, and almost wholly untrodden. My task was not to fill up or improve the plan of any former writer, but to form a plan for myself. In the several departments of my subject that distribution was adopted which, after various trials, appeared the most eligible. When there were terms already in use in the grammars of other languages that suited tolerably well the divisions which it was found requisite to make, I chose to adopt these, rather than load the treatise with novel or uncommon terms. If their import was not sufficiently obvious already, it was explained, either by particular description, or by reference to the use of these terms in other grammars. In some instances it was found necessary to employ less common terms, but in the choice of these I endeavoured to avoid the affectation of technical nicety. I am far from being persuaded that I am so fortunate as to have hit on the best possible plan. I am certain that it must {xiii} be far from complete. To such charges a first essay must necessarily be found liable. Still there is room to hope that the work may not prove wholly useless or unacceptable. Imperfect as it is, I may be allowed to think I do a service of its kind to my countrymen by frankly offering the fruits of my labour to such as may choose to make use of them. It has been, if I mistake not, the misfortune of Gaelic grammar that its ablest friends have done nothing directly in its support, because they were apprehensive that they could not do everything. I confess that my circumscribed knowledge of the varieties of dialect used in different parts of the Highlands, may have left me unacquainted with some genuine Gaelic idioms which ought to be noticed in a work of this kind. The same cause may have led me to assert some things in too general terms, not being sufficiently informed concerning the exceptions which may be found in use in some particular districts. I respectfully invite, and will thankfully receive, the correction of any person whose more accurate and extensive information enables him to supply my omissions, or to rectify my mistakes. In a few particulars I have differed from some of the highest living authorities,--I mean those gentlemen whose superior abilities are so conspicuous in the masterly translation of the sacred Scriptures with which the Highlands of Scotland are now blessed.[2] Here I have been careful to {xiv} state the grounds on which my judgment was formed. In doing this, I would always be understood to advance my opinion and propose my reasons with the view of suggesting them to the consideration of my countrymen, rather than in the expectation of having my conclusions universally sustained and adopted. Among my grammatical readers, it is probable that some may have formed to themselves arrangements on the subjects different from mine. Of these I have to request that they do not form a hasty judgment of the work from a partial inspection of it, nor condemn it merely because it may differ from their preconceived schemes. Let them indulge me with a patient perusal of the whole, and a candid comparison of the several parts of the system with each other. To a judicious critic, some faults and many defects may appear, and several improvements will occur. On this supposition, I have one request more to make: that he join his efforts with mine in serving a common cause, interesting to our country, and dear to every patriotic Highlander. * * * * * {xv} ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SECOND EDITION. * * * * * In preparing a Second Edition of the following treatise, the author has endeavoured to avail himself of every assistance in his power, from books, observation, and the communications of some literary friends, to whom he is indebted for several judicious remarks. In comparing the opinions of different critics, it was not to be expected that all should be found to agree together. It sometimes happened that one approved what another would have rejected. If the author has not adopted every hint that was offered him, but used the privilege of exercising his own judgment, the responsibility must rest with himself. He hopes those gentlemen who most obligingly favoured him with their remarks will forgive him for mentioning their names, for he is unwilling to withhold from the public the satisfaction of knowing that he has had the best assistance which his country could afford him in compiling and modelling his work. He thankfully acknowledges his obligations to the Rev. Dr Robertson, of Callander; Dr Graham, of Aberfoyle; Dr Stuart, of Luss; Dr Macleod, of Kilmarnock; and Mr Irvine, of Little Dunkeld. From these sources of emendation, omissions have been {xvi} supplied, idiomatic phrases have been collected and inserted, some alterations have been made by simplifying or compressing particular parts, and new examples and illustrations have been introduced throughout, according as the advantages which the author enjoyed enabled him to extend his knowledge of the language, and served to correct, or to confirm, his former judgments. He thought it might be acceptable to Gaelic scholars to have a few lessons subjoined as exercises in translating and analysing. For this purpose he has selected some specimens of original prose composition, extracted from unpublished manuscripts, and from the oldest Gaelic books that are known to be extant. These specimens, short as they are, may suffice to exhibit something of the powers and elegances of the language in its native purity, unmixed with foreign words and idioms, as well as to show the manner in which it was written two or three centuries ago. The present edition owes its existence to the generous patronage of Sir John Macgregor Murray of Lanrick, Bart., to whom the author is happy in avowing his obligations for the unsolicited and liberal encouragement given him in the execution and publication of his work. To the same gentleman he is indebted for the honour of being permitted here to record the names of those patriotic sons of Caledonia who, in concert with the honourable baronet, and at his suggestion, though residing in the remote provinces of India, yet mindful of their country's fame, contributed a liberal sum of money for promoting Celtic literature, more especially for publishing the poems of Ossian in their original language. It is owing, in a principal degree, to their munificent aid, that the anxious expectation of the public has been at last so richly gratified by Sir John Sinclair's elegant and elaborate edition of the poems of that tender and lofty bard. * * * * * {1} ELEMENTS OF GAELIC GRAMMAR. * * * * * PART I. OF PRONUNCIATION AND ORTHOGRAPHY. The Gaelic alphabet consists of eighteen letters: a, b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i, l, m, n, o, p, r, s, t, u. Of these, five are vowels, a, e, i, o, u; the rest consonants. In explaining the powers of the letters, and of their several combinations, such obstacles lie in the way that complete success is not to be expected. In order to explain, in writing, the sounds of a particular language, the only obvious method is to represent them by the letters commonly employed to exhibit similar sounds in some well-known living language. But there are sounds in the Gaelic to which there are none perfectly similar in English, nor perhaps in any modern European tongue. Besides, the same combination of letters does not invariably represent the same sound in one age that it did in a former, or that it may do in the next. And this may be equally true of the letters of the Gaelic alphabet, whose powers are to be taught; and of the letters of any other language, by whose sounds the powers of the former are to be explained. A diversity of pronunciation is very distinguishable also in different districts of the Highlands of Scotland, even in uttering the same words written in the same manner. Though the powers of the letters, then, may be explained to a certain degree of accuracy, yet much will still remain to be learned by the information of the ear alone. {2} Although the chief use of the vowels be to represent the _vocal sounds_ of speech, and that of the consonants to represent its _articulations_, yet, as in many languages, so in Gaelic, the consonants sometimes serve to modify the sound of the vowels with which they are combined; while, on the other hand, the vowels often qualify the sound of the consonants by which they are preceded or followed. It may not appear obvious at first sight how a vowel should be employed, not to represent a vocal sound, but to modify an articulation. Yet examples are to be found in modern languages. Thus, in the English words, George, sergeant, the _e_ has no other effect than to give _g_ its soft sound; and in guest, guide, the _u_ only serves to give _g_ its hard sound. So in the Italian words giorno, giusto, and many others, the _i_ only qualifies the sound of the preceding consonant. The same use of the vowels will be seen to take place frequently in Gaelic orthography. Besides the common division of the letters into Vowels and Consonants, it is found convenient to adopt some further subdivisions. The Vowels are divided into _broad_ and _small_: a, o, u, are called _broad_ vowels; e, i, _small_ vowels. The Consonants are divided into _Mutes_ and _Liquids_: _Mutes_, b, c, d, f, g, m, p, t; _Liquids_, l, n, r, s[3]. They are also divided into _Labials_, _Palatals_, and _Linguals_, so named from the organs employed in pronouncing them: _Labials_, b, f, m, p; _Palatals_, c, g; _Linguals_, d, l, n, r, s, t. The aspirate _h_ is not included in any of these divisions[4]. {3} OF THE SOUNDS OF THE VOWELS[5]. All the vowels are sometimes long, sometimes short. A long vowel is often marked with an accent, especially when the _quantity_ of the vowel determines the meaning of the word; as, bàs _death_, sàil _the heel_, càraid _a pair_, rìs _again_, mò _more_, lòn _a marsh_; which are distinguished by the accent alone from bas _the palm_ of the hand, sail _a beam_, caraid _a friend_, ris _to_, lon _the elk_. All the vowels, but especially the broad ones, have somewhat of a nasal sound when preceded or followed by m, mh, n, nn. No vowels are doubled in the same syllable like _ee_, _oo_, in English. In almost all polysyllables, excepting some words compounded with a preposition, the accent falls on the first syllable[6]. The other syllables are short and unaccented, and the vowels in that situation have in general the same short obscure sound. Hence it happens that the broad vowels in these syllables are often used indiscriminately. There are no quiescent final vowels. A. A has three sounds. 1. The first is both long and short; long, like _a_ in the English words _far_, _star_; as, àr _slaughter_, àth _a ford_, gràdh, {4} _love_, sàruich _oppress_; short, like _a_ in _that_; as, cath _a battle_, alt _a joint_; abuich _ripe_. 2. Both long and short, before _dh_ and _gh_. This sound has none like it in English. Long, as, adhbhar _a cause_, adhradh _worship_; short, as, lagh _a law_, magh _a field_, adharc _a horn_. 3. Short and obscure, like _e_ in _mother_; as, an, a _the_, ar _our_, ma _if_, and in the plural termination a or an. E. _E_ has three sounds. 1. Both long and short: long, like _e_ in _where, there_; as, è, sè _he_, rè _during_. This _e_ is generally marked with a grave accent. Short, like _e_ in _met_; as, le _with_, leth _half_. 2. Long, as, ré _the moon_, cé _the earth_, and dé _yesterday_. This _e_ is commonly marked with an acute accent. 3. Short, like _e_ in _mother_; as, duine _a man_, ceannuichte _bought_. I. _I_ has two sounds. 1. Both long and short, like _ee_ in _seem_: long, as, mìn _smooth_, righ _a king_; short, as, min _meal_, crith _trembling_. 2. Short and obscure, like _i_ in _this_; as, is _am_, _art_, &c. O. _O_ has three sounds. 1. Both long and short: long, somewhat like _o_ in _more_; as, mòr _great_, òr _gold_, dòchas _expectation_; short, like _o_ in _hot_; as, mo _my_, do _thy_, dochann _harm_. 2. Both long and short: long, nearly like _o_ in _old_; as, lom _bare_, toll _a hole_; short, as, lomadh _making bare_, tolladh _boring_. 3. Both long and short, like (2) a[7]: long, as, foghlum _to learn_; short, as, roghuinn _choice_, logh _to forgive_. {5} U. _U_ has one sound, both long and short, like _oo_ in _fool_: long, as, ùr _fresh_, ùraich _to renew_; short, as, ubh _an egg_, urras _a surety_. OF THE DIPHTHONGS. There are thirteen Diphthongs reckoned in Gaelic; ae, ai, ao, ea, ei, eo, eu; ia, io, iu; oi; ua, ui. Of these, ao, eu, ia, ua, are always long; the others are sometimes long, sometimes short. AE. The sound of _ae_ is made up of (1) _a_ long, and (1) _e_ short. This diphthong hardly occurs, except in Gael _a Gaul_ or _Highlander_, and Gaelic the _Gaelic_ language[8]. AI. The sound of _ai_ is either made up of the sounds of both the vowels, or like that of the former. 1. Made up of (1) _a_ and (1) _i_: the _a_ long, the _i_ short; as, fàidh _a prophet_; the _a_ short, the _i_ short; as, claidheamh _a sword_. 2. Made up of (2) _a_ and (1) _i_: the _a_ long, the _i_ short; as, saighde _arrows_. Before a Lingual or a Palatal, not quiescent, the _i_ often loses its sound, and only serves to qualify the sound of the following consonant[9]; hence, 3. Like (1) _a_ alone: long, as, fàisg _squeeze_, fàilte _salutation_; short, as, glaic _a hollow_, tais _soft_. 4. Like (2) _a_ alone: short, as, airm _arms_, gairm _a call_. AO. 1. The sound of _ao_ is like (2) _a_, long: as, caora _a sheep_, faobhar _the edge of a tool_, saothair _labour_. {6} EA. The sound of _ea_ is either made up of the sounds of both the vowels, or like that of one of them. 1. Made up of (2) _e_ and (1) _a_: _e_ very short, _a_ long, as, beann _a summit_, _pinnacle_, feall _deceit_; _a_ short, as, meal _to enjoy_, speal _a scythe_. Before a Lingual or a Palatal, not quiescent, the _a_ frequently loses its sound, and only qualifies that of the following consonant; hence, 2. Like (1) _e_, long: as, dean _do_; short, as, fear _a man_, bean _a woman_. 3. Like (2) _e_, long: as, easlan _sick_; short, as, fead _whistle_. After a Lingual or a Palatal, not quiescent, the _e_ loses its sound, and only qualifies that of the preceding consonant; hence, 4. Like (1) _a_, long: as, cèard _an artificer_; short, as, geal _white_. 5. Like (3) _a_, short: as, itheadh _eating_, coireach _faulty_. EI. The sound of _ei_ is either made up of the sounds of both the vowels, or like that of _e_ alone. 1. Made up of (1) _e_ and (1) _i_: _e_ long, _i_ short, as, sgeimh _beauty_; _e_ short, as, meidh _a balance_. 2. Made up of (2) _e_ and (1) _i_: _e_ long, _i_ short, as, feidh _deer_; _e_ short, as, greigh _a herd_, _stud_. Before a Lingual or a Palatal, not quiescent, the _i_ loses its sound, and only qualifies that of the following consonant; hence, 3. Like (1) _e_ alone: long, as, mèise _of a plate_. 4. Like (2) _e_ alone: long, as, éigin _necessity_; short, as, eich _horses_. EO. The sound of _eo_ is either made up of the sounds of both vowels, or like that of _o_ alone. {7} 1. Made up of (2) _e_ and (1) _o_: _e_ very short, _o_ long, as, beo _alive_, eolas _knowledge_; _o_ short, as, beothail _lively_. After a Lingual or a Palatal, not quiescent, the _e_ loses its sound, and only qualifies that of the preceding consonant; hence, 2. Like (1) _o_: long, as, leomhann _a lion_; short, as, deoch _drink_. EU. The sound of _eu_ is like (2) _e_ alone: long, as, teum _to bite_, gleus _trim, entertainment_. One of the most marked variations of dialect occurs in the pronunciation of the diphthong _eu_, which, instead of being pronounced like long _e_, is over all the North Highlands commonly pronounced like _ia_; as, nial, ian, fiar, for neul, eun, feur. IA. The sound of _ia_ is made up of the sounds of both the vowels. 1. Made up of (1) _i_ and (1) _a_: both of equal length, as, fial _liberal_, iar _west_. 2. Made up of (1) _i_ and (2) _a_: of equal length, as, fiadh _a deer_, ciall _common sense_. In cia _which?_ iad _they_, _ia_ is often found like (1) _è_. IO. The sound of _io_ is either made up of the sounds of both the vowels, or like one of them alone. 1. Made up of (1) _i_ and (3) _o_: _i_ long, _o_ short, as, diol _to pay_, fior _true_; _i_ short, as, iolach _a shout_, ionnsuidh _an attack_. Before a Lingual or Palatal, not quiescent, the _o_ sometimes loses its sound, and only qualifies that of the following consonant; hence, 2. Like (1) _i_: long, as, iodhol _an idol_; short, as, crios _a girdle_, biorach _pointed_. After a Lingual or a Palatal, not quiescent, the _i_ {8} sometimes loses its sound, and only qualifies that of the preceding consonant; hence, 3. Like _u_ in _fun_, short and obscure: as, cionta _guilt_, tiondadh _to turn_. IU. The sound of _iu_ is either made up of the sound of both the vowels, or like _u_ alone. 1. Made up of (1) _i_ and (1) _u_: _i_ short, _u_ long, as, fiù _worthy_; _u_ short, as, iuchair _a key_. After a Lingual or a Palatal, not quiescent, the _i_ loses its sound, and only qualifies that of the preceding consonant; hence, 2. Like (1) _u_: long, as, diù _worst part, refuse_; short, as, tiugh _thick_, giuthas _fir_. OI. The sound of _oi_ is either made up of the sounds of both the vowels, or like that of _o_ alone. 1. Made up of (1) _o_ and (1) _i_: _o_ long, _i_ short, as, òigh _a virgin_; _o_ short, as, troidh _a foot_. 2. Made up of (3) _o_ and (1) _i_: _o_ long, _i_ short, as, oidhche _night_. Before a Lingual or a Palatal, not quiescent, the _i_ loses its sound, and only qualifies that of the following consonant; hence, 3. Like (1) _o_ long: as, mòid _more_; short, as, toic _wealth_. 4. Like (2) _o_ long: as, fòid _a turf_; short, as, fois _rest_. 5. Like (3) _o_ short; as, coileach _a cock_, doire _a wood_. UA. The sound of _ua_ is made up of the sounds of both the vowels. 1. Made up of (1) _u_ and (1) _a_, equally long; as, cuan _the sea_, fuar _cold_. 2. Made up of (1) _u_ and (2) _a_; as, tuadh _a hatchet_, sluagh _people_. {9} UI. The sound of _ui_ is either made up of the sounds of both the vowels, or like that of _u_ alone. 1. Made up of (1) _u_ and (1) _i_: _u_ long, _i_ short, as, suigheag _a rasp-berry_; _u_ short, as, buidheann _a company_. Before a Lingual or a Palatal, not quiescent, the _i_ loses its sound, and only qualifies that of the following consonant; hence, 2. Like (1) _u_ long: as, dùil _expectation_, cùig _five_; short, as, fuil _blood_, muir _the sea_. OF THE TRIPHTHONGS. There are five Triphthongs, in each of which _i_ is the last letter: aoi, eoi, iai, iui, uai. In these the two first vowels have the same sounds and powers as when they form a diphthong. The final _i_ is sounded short; but before a Palatal or a Lingual, not quiescent, it loses its sound, and only qualifies that of the following consonant. AOI. 1. Made up of _ao_ and (1) _i_; as, caoidh _lamentation_, aoibhneas _joy_, laoigh _calves_. 2. Like _ao_; as, caoineadh _wailing_, maoile _baldness_. EOI. 1. Made up of (2) _eo_ and (1) _i_; as, geoigh _geese_. 2. Like (1) _eo_; as, meoir _fingers_. 3. Like (2) _eo_; as, deoir _tears_, treoir _ability_. IAI. 1. Like (1) _ia_; as, fiaire _more awry_. IUI. 1. Like (2) _iu_; as, ciùil _of music_, fliuiche _more wet_. {10} UAI. 1. Made up of (1) _ua_ and (1) _i_; as, luaithe _quicker_. 2. Made up of (2) _ua_ and (1) _i_; as, cruaidh _hard_, fuaim _sound_. 3. Like (1) _ua_; as, uair _time, an hour_, cluaise _of an ear_. OF THE POWERS OF THE CONSONANTS. The simple powers of the consonants differ not much from their powers in English. Those called _mediae_ by the writers on Greek grammar, viz., _b_, _d_, _g_, approach nearer in force to the corresponding _tenues_ _p_, _t_, _c_, than they do in English. In accented syllables, where, if the vocal sound be short, the voice necessarily rests on the subsequent articulation, the consonants, though written single, are pronounced with the same degree of force as when written double in English; as, bradan _a salmon_, cos _a foot_; pronounced braddan, coss. No consonants are written double except _l_, _n_, _r_. A propensity to aspiration is a conspicuous feature in the Gaelic tongue[10]. The aspirating of a consonant has been {11} usually marked, in the Irish dialect, by a dot over the letter aspirated; in the Scottish dialect by writing _h_ after it. All the consonants have their sounds changed by being aspirated, and the effect is different on different consonants. In some cases the articulation is changed, but still formed by the same organ. In others the articulation is formed by a different organ. In others the _h_ alone retains its power. And sometimes both the _h_ and the consonant to which it is subjoined become entirely quiescent. {12} In treating of the consonants separately, it will be convenient to depart a little from the alphabetical order of the letters, and to consider first the _Labials_, next the _Palatals_, and lastly the _Linguals_. LABIALS. P. 1. Plain. Like _p_ in English; as, poll _a pool_, pill _return_. 2. Aspirated. Like _ph_ or _f_ in English; as, a' phuill _of the pool_, phill _returned_[11]. B. 1. Plain. Like _b_ in English; as, baile _a town_, beo _alive_. 2. Aspirated. Like _v_ in English, as, bhuail _struck_. In the end of a syllable the articulation is sometimes feeble, and often passes into the vocal sound of _u_[12]; as in marbh[13] _dead_, garbh _rough_, dabhach _a vat_. M. 1. Plain. Like _m_ in English; as, mac _a son_, cam _crooked_. 2. Aspirated. Somewhat like _v_ in English, but more feeble and nasal; as, mhathair _O mother_, lamh _the hand_. The sound _mh_ has the same relation to that of _bh_, as the sound of _m_ has to that of b. Sometimes, like _bh_, it becomes a vocal sound like a nasal _u_; as, in damh _an ox_, samhradh _summer_: and sometimes the articulation becomes so feeble as not to be perceived; as, comhradh _speech_, domhainn _deep_. {13} F. 1. Plain. Like _f_ in English, as, faigh _to get_, fòid _a turf_. 2. Aspirated. Quiescent; as, fheara _O men_. In fhuair _found_, the aspiration is retained, and the word is pronounced as if written _huair_. It is probable that it was originally written and pronounced fuair[14]; that huair is but a provincial pronunciation[15]; and that to adapt the spelling in some shape to this pronunciation, the word came to be written fhuair. PALATALS AND LINGUALS. In treating of the Diphthongs (ai, ea, ei, &c.) notice has been often taken of the powers of certain vowels in modifying the sound of the adjoining consonants. This refers to a twofold mode of pronouncing the Palatal and Lingual consonants, whether _plain_ or _aspirated_. The difference between these two modes of pronunciation is, in some consonants, abundantly striking; in others it is minute, but sufficiently discernible to an ear accustomed to the Gaelic. The one of these modes of articulation belongs to Palatals and Linguals, chiefly when connected with a _broad vowel_; the other belongs to them when connected with a _small vowel_. Hence, the former may be called the _broad_ sound, the latter the _small_ sound of a _Palatal_ or a _Lingual_. These sounds are not distinguished in writing, but may be known, for the most part, by the relative situation of the letters. C. 1. Plain. _Broad_: like _c_ in _come_, _curb_; as, cùl _the back_, cridhe _the heart_. {14} 2. _Small_: like _c_ in _care_, _cure_; as, taic _support_, circe _of a hen_[16]. 3. Aspirated. _Broad_: like the Greek [chi], as pronounced in Scotland, in [Greek: chôra]; as, croch _to hang_, chaidh _went_. 4. _Small_: like [chi] in [Greek: chiôn]; as, chi _shall see_, eich _horses_. G. 1. Plain. _Broad_: like _g_ in _go_, _rogue_; as, gabh _to take_, glor _speech_, bog _soft_. 2. _Small_: like _g_ in _give_, _fatigue_; as, gin _to produce_, thig _shall come_, tilg _to throw_. 3. Aspirated. _Broad_: has no sound like it in English; ghabh _took_, ghleidh _kept_. 4. _Small_: nearly like _y_ in _young_; as, ghin _produced_. 5. _Gh_ in the end of a syllable is often quiescent; as, righ _a king_, tiugh _thick_, fuigheall _remainder_. T. 1. Plain. _Broad_: nearly like _t_ in _tone_, _bottom_; as, tog _to raise_, trom _heavy_, brat _a covering_. {15} 2. _Small_: like _ch_ in _cheek_, _choose_; as, tinn _sick_, caillte _lost_. 3. Aspirated. Like _h_ in _house_; as, thig _shall come_, throisg _fasted_, maith _good_. 4. _Quiescent_: in the middle of a polysyllable, in the end of a long syllable, and in certain tenses of a few irregular verbs when preceded by _d'_; as, snitheach[17] _watery_, sìth _peace_, an d' thug e? _did he give?_ also in the pronoun thusa _thou_. D. 1. Plain. _Broad_: nearly like _d_ in _done_; as, dol _going_, dlù _near_, _close_, ciod _what_. 2. _Small_: like _j_ in _June_, _jewel_; as, diù _refuse_, maide _a stick_, airde _height_. _D_, after _ch_, is commonly sounded like _c_; as, bochd _poor_, pronounced as if written bochc[18]. {16} 3. Aspirated[19]. _Broad_: like broad _gh_, as, dhruid _did shut_, gradh _love_. 4. _Small_: like small _gh_; as, dhearc _looked_. 5. Quiescent; as, fàidh _a prophet_, cridhe _a heart_, radh _saying_, bualadh _striking_. RULE.--_The consonants c, g, t, d, have their _SMALL_ sound, when, in the same syllable, they are preceded, or immediately followed, by a _SMALL VOWEL_; in all other situations they have their _BROAD_ sound._ S. 1. Plain. _Broad_: like _s_ in _sun_, _this_; as, speal _a scythe_, cas _a foot_, sùil _an eye_, scian _a knife_. 2. _Small_: like _sh_ in _show_, _rash_; as, bris _to break_, sèimh _quiet_, sniomh _to twine_, stéidh _foundation_. 3. Aspirated: like _h_ in _him_; as, shuidh _sat_, shrann _snorted_. Before _l_ and _n_, it is almost, if not altogether, quiescent; as, shlanuich _healed_, shniomh _twisted_. _S_ followed by a _mute_ consonant is never aspirated. RULE.--_S has its _SMALL_ sound, when, in the same syllable, it is preceded or followed by a _SMALL VOWEL_, with or without an intervening Lingual. In all other situations it has its _BROAD_ sound._ EXCEPT. _S_ is _broad_ in is _am_. It is _small_ in so _this_, sud _yon_. It is customary to give _s_ its _broad_ sound in the beginning of a word, when the former word ends with _r_, in which case the _r_ also has its broad sound; as, chuir sinn _we put_, air son _on account_. {17} OF L, N, R. A distinction between a consonant when _plain_, and the same consonant when _aspirated_, has been easily traced thus far. This distinction readily discovers itself, not only in the pronunciation and orthography, but also (as will be seen in its proper place) throughout the system of inflection. It takes place uniformly in those consonants which have been already considered. With respect to the remaining linguals, _l_, _n_, _r_, a corresponding distinction will be found to take place in their pronunciation, and likewise in the changes they suffer by inflection. This close correspondence between the changes incident to _l_, _n_, _r_, and the changes which the other consonants undergo, seems to be a sufficient reason for still using the same discriminative terms in treating of their powers, though these terms may not appear to be so strictly applicable to these three consonants as to the rest. The powers of _l_, _n_, _r_, shall accordingly be explained under the divisions _plain_ and _aspirated_, _broad_ and _small_. L. 1. Plain. _Broad_: has no sound like it in English; lom _bare_, labhair _speak_, mall _slow_, alt _a joint_, ald _a brook_, slat _a rod_, dlù _near_. 2. _Small_: like _ll_ in _million_; as, linn _an age_, lion _fill_, pill _to return_, slighe _a way_. 3. Aspirated. _Broad_: like _l_ in _loom_, _fool_; as, labhair _spoke_, lom feminine of lom _bare_, mol _to praise_, dhlù feminine of dlù _near_. 4. _Small:_ nearly like _l_ in _limb_, _fill_; as, a linn _his age_, lion _filled_, mil _honey_, dligheach _due, lawful_. N. 1. Plain. _Broad_: has no sound like it in English; nuadh _new_, naisg _bind_, lann _a blade_, carn _a heap of stones_. 2. _Small_: like _n_ in the second syllable of _opinion_; as, nigh _wash_, binn _melodious_, cuirn _heaps of stones_. {18} 3. Aspirated. _Broad:_ like _n_ in _no_, _on_; as, nuadh feminine of nuadh _new_, naisg _bound_, shnamh _swam_, sean _old_[20], chon _of dogs_, dàn _a poem_. 4. _Small_: like _n_ in _keen_, _near_; as, nigh _washed_, shniomh _twisted_, coin _dogs_, dàin _poems_. In an when followed by a Palatal, the _n_ is pronounced like _ng_ in English; as, an gille _the lad_, an comhnuidh _always_. _N_, after a mute, is in a few instances pronounced like _r_[21]; as in mnathan _women_, cnatan _a cold_, an t-snàth _of the yarn_; pronounced mrathan, cratan, &c. R. 1. Plain. Nearly like _r_ in _roar_; as, ruadh _reddish_, righ _a king_, ruith _run_, torr _a heap_, ceartas _justice_. 2. Aspirated. _Broad_: nearly like _r_ in _rear_; as, car _a turn_, ruith _ran_, mòr _great_. 3. _Small_: has no sound like it in English; a righ _O king_, seirbhe _satiety_, mòir gen. of mòr _great_. The _plain_, _aspirated_, _broad_, and _small_ sounds of these Linguals are not distinguished in writing; but they may, for the most part, be known from the relative position of the letters. RULE.--L, N, R, _have their _PLAIN_ sound when, in the same syllable, they are immediately preceded by a plain Liquid, or immediately followed by a plain Lingual; also in the beginning of certain cases and tenses; in all other situations, they have their _ASPIRATED_ sound. They have their _SMALL_ sound when, in the same syllable, they are preceded or followed by a small vowel, with or without an intervening Liquid; in other situations, they have their _BROAD_ sound._ {19} H. H is never used as an independent radical letter. When prefixed to a word beginning with a vowel, it is pronounced like h in _how_; as, na h-òighean _the virgins_, na h-oidhche _of the night_. The following scheme exhibits a succinct view of the letters, both singly and in their several combinations. The first column contains the letters whose sound is to be exhibited; the prefixed figures marking the number of different sounds denoted by the same letter. The second column explains the sounds by examples or by references. The third column contains Gaelic words, with their translation, in which the several sounds are exemplified. VOWELS. 1 a {long far star àr _slaughter_, àth _a ford_. {short that ar _to plow_, abuîch _ripe_. 2 a {long adhradh _worship_, adhbhar _reason_. {short adharc _a horn_, adhart _a bolster_. 3 a short similar ma _if_, an _the_, a _his, her_. 1 e {long there è sè _he_, gnè _sort, kind_. {short met le _with_, leth _half_. 2 e long an dé _yesterday_, cé _the earth_. 3 e short mother duine _a man_, briste _broken_. 1 i see {mìn _smooth_, righ _a king_. {min _meal_, crith _a shaking_. 2 i short this is _am, art, is_. 1 o {long more mòr _great_, lòn _food_. {short hot mo _my_, do _thy_, lon _the ouzle_. 2 o {long } old lom _bare_, toll _a hole_. {short} lomadh _making bare_. 3 o {long } (2) a roghnuich _to choose_. {short} roghuinn _choice_. {20} 1 u {long } fool {ùr _fresh_, sùgh _juice_. {short} {ubh _an egg_, tur _quite_. DIPHTHONGS. 1 ae (1) a (2) e laeth _days_. 1 ai (1) a (1) i fàidh _a prophet_, claidheamh _a sword_. 2 ai (2) a (1) i saidhbhir, _rich_. 3 ai (1) a fàisg _squeeze_, tais _soft_. 4 ai (2) a airm _arms_, gairm _to call_. 1 ao (2) a faobhar _edge_ of an instrument. 1 ea (2) e (1) a beann _a pinnacle_, meal _enjoy_. 2 ea (1) e dean _to do, make_, bean _a woman_. 3 ea (2) e easlan _sick_, fead _whistle_. 4 ea (1) a ceard _an artificer_, geal _white_. 5 ea (3) a coireach _faulty_. 1 ei (1) e (1) i sgèimh _beauty_, meidh _a balance_. 2 ei (2) e (1) i feidh _deer_, greigh _a herd_. 3 ei (1) e mèise _of a plate_. 4 ei (2) e éigin _necessity_, eich _horses_. 1 eo (2) e (1) o beo _alive_, beothail _lively_. 2 eo (1) o leomhann _a lion_, deoch _a drink_. 1 eu (2) e teum _to bite_, gleus _trim_. 1 ia (1) i (1) a fial _liberal_, fiar _oblique_. 2 ia (1) i (2) a fiadh _a deer_, biadh _food_. 1 io (1) i (3) o diol _to pay_, iolach _a spout_. 2 io (1) i iodhol _an idol_, crios _a girdle_. 3 io fun cionta _guilt_. 1 iu (1) i u fiù _worth_, iuchair _a key_. 2 iu u diù _refuse_, tiugh _thick_. 1 oi (1) o (1) i òigh _a virgin_, troidh _a foot_. 2 oi (3) o (1) i oidhche _night_. 3 oi (1) o mòid _more_, toic _wealth_. 4 oi (2) o fòid _a turf_, fois _rest_. 5 oi (3) o coileach _a cock_, goirid _short_. 1 ua u (1) a cuan _the sea_, fuath _hatred_. 2 ua u (2) a tuadh _a hatchet_, sluagh _people_. {21} 1 ui u (1) i sùigheah _a raspberry_, buidheann _a company_. 2 ui u dùil _expectation_, fuil _blood_. TRIPHTHONGS. 1 aoi (1) ao (1) i caoidh _lamentation_. 2 aoi (1) ao caoin _mild_, saoil _to think_. 1 eoi (2) eo (1) i geoigh _geese_. 2 eoi (1) eo meoir _fingers_. 3 eoi (2) eo deoir _tears_. 1 iai (1) ia fiaire _more oblique_. 1 iui (2) iu ciùil _of music_. 1 uai (1) ua (1) i luaithe _quicker_. 2 uai (2) ua (1) i cruaidh _hard_, fuaim _sound_. 3 uai (1) ua gluais _to move_, uair _time_. CONSONANTS _Labials._ 1 p part poll _a pool_, streap _to climb_. 2 ph Philip phill _returned_. 1 b boil baile _a town_, breab _to kick_. 2 bh vile bhuail _struck_, gabh _to take_. 1 m my mòr _great_, anam _life, soul_. 2 mh mhothuich _perceived_, damh _an ox_. 1 f feel fill _to fold_. 2 fh _quiescent_ fheara _O men_. _Palatals._ 1 c cock can _to say, sing_, creid _to believe_. 2 c kick ceann _end, head_, reic _to sell_. 3 ch [Greek: chôra] chaidh _went_, rach _go_. 4 ch [Greek: cheimôn] chi _shall see_, crìche _of a boundary_. 1 g go gabh _to take_, rag _stiff_. {22} 2 g give geinne _a wedge_, ruig _to reach_. 3 gh ghabh _took_, ghleidh _kept_. 4 gh you gheibh _will get_. 5 _quiescent_ righ _a king_, sluagh _people_. _Linguals._ 1 t tone tog _to raise_, slat _a rod_. 2 t chin tinn _sick_, àite _a place_. 3 th have thainig _came_. 4 th _quiescent_ maith _good_, fàth _occasion_. 1 d done dol _going_, dragh _trouble_. 2 d join diom _resentment_, maide _a stick_. 3 dh (3) gh dhall _blind_. 4 dh (4) gh dhearc _looked_. 5 dh _quiescent_ radh _saying_, bualadh _threshing_. 1 s so sannt _desire_, sloc _a pit_. 2 s show sèimh _gentle_, so _this_. 3 sh how shuidh _sat_, shaoil _thought_. 1 l lom _bare_, slat _a rod_, moll _chaff_. 2 l million lìnn _an age_, caillte _lost_. 3 l look blàth _blossom_, shlanuich _healed_. 4 l believe leum _leaped_, shleamhnuich _slipped_. 1 n crann _a tree_, naomh _holy_, naisg _bind_. 2 n opinion seinn _to sing_, nigh _wash_. 3 n no fan _to stay_, naisg _bound_. 4 n near coin _dogs_, nigh _washed_. 1 r roar fearr _better_, righ _a king_, ruith _run_. 2 r rear fear _a man_, ruith _ran_. 3 r fir _men_, a righ _O king_, treoir _strength_. There is no doubt that the Gaelic has been for many ages a written language. It is equally certain that its orthography, since it was first committed to writing, has undergone {23} considerable changes. In this respect it has shared the common fate of all written languages. In the first exhibition of the sounds of a living language, by alphabetical characters, it is probable that the principle which regulated the system of orthography was, that every elementary sound should be represented by a corresponding character, either simple or compounded, and that the same sound should be represented by the same character. If different sounds were represented by the same letter; if the same sound were represented by different letters; if more letters were employed then were necessary to exhibit the sound; or if any sound were not represented by a corresponding character; then the _written_ language would not be an adequate representation of the _spoken_. It is hardly to be supposed that, in the first rude attempts at alphabetical writing, the principle above laid down could be strictly and uniformly followed. And though it had, yet, in the course of a few generations, many causes would occur to bring about considerable departures from it. A gradual refinement of ear, and increasing attention to _euphonia_; contractions and elisions brought into vogue by the carelessness or the rapidity of colloquial speech, or by the practice of popular speakers; above all, the mixture of the speech of different nations would introduce numberless varieties into the pronunciation. Still, those who wrote the language might choose to adhere to the original orthography for the sake of retaining the radical parts, and preserving the etymon of vocables undisguised, and for maintaining an uniformity in the mechanism of the inflections. Hence the pronunciation and the orthography would disagree in many instances, till at length it would be found expedient to alter the orthography, and to adapt it to such changes in the speech or spoken language as long use had established, in order to maintain what was most necessary of all, a due correspondence between the mode of speaking and the mode of writing the same language. It will probably be found on inquiry that in all languages when the _speech_ has undergone material and striking changes, {24} the _written language_ also has varied in a considerable degree in conformity to these changes, but that it has not scrupulously kept pace with the spoken language in every smaller variation. The written language of the Greeks suffered many changes between the time that the old Pelasgic was spoken and the days of Demosthenes. The various modes of pronunciation used in the different districts of Greece are marked by a diversity in the orthography of the written language. The writing of the Latin underwent considerable alterations between the era of the _Decemviri_ and the Augustan age, corresponding, no doubt, to the changes which had taken place during that interval in speaking the Latin. English and French books printed within the last century exhibit a mode of orthography very different from what is found in books printed two or three hundred years ago. These instances show the tendency which the written language has to follow the lead of the spoken language, and to maintain a certain degree of conformity to those modes of pronunciation which are from time to time adopted by those who speak it. On the other hand, numberless examples might be adduced from any living language to prove that the written language does not adapt itself, on all occasions and with strict uniformity, to the sounds of speech. Words are written differently which are pronounced alike. The same combinations of letters, in different situations, represent different sounds. Letters are retained in writing, serving to point out the derivations of words, after they have been entirely dropped in speaking. From such facts as these, it appears a just conclusion that _written language_ generally follows the _spoken language_ through its various revolutions, but still at a certain distance,--not dropping so far behind as to lose sight of its precursor, nor following so close as to be led through all its fantastic deviations. Here a question occurs of importance in settling the orthography of any particular tongue: How near ought the _written language_ to correspond to the _spoken_, and where may a disagreement between them be allowed with {25} propriety? The following observations may serve to throw some light on the subject of this question, though by no means sufficient to furnish a complete answer. It is obvious that in speech the _articulations_ (which are represented by consonants in writing) are the least liable to variation. _Vowel sounds_ are continually varying. In this variety chiefly consists that diversity of tone and dialect which is found in the speech of different districts of the same country, where the same words are spoken. The changes, too, which are introduced by time fall with greater effect on the vowel sounds than on the articulations. This circumstance will strike an observer who steps into any deliberative assembly, where the speakers are of different ages. St Jerome makes a remark on the reading of Hebrew, which is applicable, in some measure, to the pronunciation of all languages: "Nec refert utrum _Salem_ aut _Salim_ nominetur; cum vocalibus in medio literis perraro utantur Hebraei; et pro voluntate lectorum, ac _varietate regionum_, eadem verba _diversis sonis_ atque accentibus proferantur." It may be observed that the superior stability of the articulations above the vowel sounds is the natural consequence of the position of the organs of speech in uttering them. The different modifications of the vowel sounds are effected by minute changes in the conformation of the organs; those of the articulations are made by more distinct and operose inflections of the organs. It seems, then, a warrantable conclusion that, of the elementary constituents of speech, viz., articulations and vowel sounds, the _articulations_ are, in their own nature, ESSENTIAL, PERMANENT, and PREDOMINANT; the _vowel sounds_, comparatively considered, are ADJUNCTIVE, FLUCTUATING, and SERVILE. Further, all the vowel sounds that usually occur in speech seem to be uttered with equal ease, in whatever situation they occur, as the same organs are employed for all. In forming the common articulations of speech, as different organs are employed, a degree of difficulty is sometimes felt in making a transition from one articulation to another. {26} Thus a difficulty will occasionally occur in pronouncing certain words, where the general analogy of inflection or of collocation has brought together articulations which do not easily coalesce. Hence a necessity arises of departing in such a case from the general analogy, and altering or displacing some of those discrepant articulations, for the sake of ease and convenience in pronunciation, and to relieve the ear from an offensive discordant sound. Departures are made from the general rules of speech in the case of the vowel sounds also, of which the Greek tongue abounds with examples. These departures, however, seem to have been made from a desire to indulge the ear in certain national predilections or aversions which it had conceived with regard to particular sounds. In examining the anomalies of speech, or those peculiarities which have been reckoned anomalous, it will be found that such of them as affect the articulations have, for the most part, been adopted for the purpose of ease and convenience in pronunciation; while those which affect the vowel sounds have proceeded from the peculiar taste of the speakers. Thus the former spring from a cause urgent and constant in its nature, and uniform in its operation; the latter, from a cause local and temporary in its nature, and variable in its operation. If this theory be just, it ought to follow that, in all polished tongues, an agreement will be found among those irregularities which affect the articulations, that is not so observable in those which affect the vowel sounds. There is reason to believe that, if a full comparison were made between different languages, this would accordingly be found to be the case. Let it be observed, then, that in speech a deference has been usually paid to the articulations which has not been paid to the vowel sounds, inasmuch as the latter have been changed from the state in which the structure of each tongue had at first placed them, frequently and from peculiar taste or humour; the former more rarely, and for the most part from necessity. If this observation be found to be well supported, we shall have the sanction of general practice in favour of the conclusion that was formerly {27} drawn from the nature of articulate sounds, viz., that the articulations are ESSENTIAL, PERMANENT, and PREDOMINANT; the vowel sounds ADJUNCTIVE, FLUCTUATING, and SERVILE. If it appear, then, that the vowel sounds in speech are perpetually varying in the mouths of different speakers, from causes which either elude our search, or, when discovered, are seen to be of small importance, may we not judge that it would be equally vain and improper to attempt to make _Writing_ follow all these minute variations; and that, however it may happen that the same vowel sound may be represented in many instances by different letters, and different vowel sounds by the same letters, yet this disagreement between _Speech_ and _Writing_ must be connived at, for the sake of preserving some degree of uniformity, where alone it can be preserved, in the _written language_? If it appear, again, that the variations from the established analogy which are made on the articulations are less frequent, and proceed from causes obvious and cogent, ought not these variations to be exhibited in writing, for preserving that general correspondence between the written and the spoken language which ought to be preserved, as far as the limited powers of letters will permit, and without which the words I speak and those I write do not belong to the same language? One exception from this principle seems allowable in the case of quiescent consonants. It may be inferred, from the practice of all living languages, that consonants whereof the corresponding articulations have been suppressed in speaking may yet be retained with propriety in writing, when they are requisite to point out the derivation of vocables, or the radical part of declinable words. But this exception ought to be allowed only to a moderate extent, for the reasons already assigned; to which it may be added, that the far greater part of the suppressed articulations can be easily discovered and retraced to their roots, without any index in the _written_ any more than in the _spoken_ language to point them out. {28} These observations being premised, I shall proceed to explain the present state of Gaelic Orthography, and shall endeavour to assist the reader in forming a judgment of its merit, and how far it may admit of improvement. I. It may be laid down as one settled principle in orthography, that each letter or combination of letters in the written language ought always to denote one and the same sound. From the explanation that has been given of the powers of the letters, it may be seen how far this principle has been regarded in the Gaelic. Though almost every one of the letters represents more than one sound, yet there is an evident affinity between the several sounds of the same letter. And it may be readily allowed that less confusion and inconvenience follow from exhibiting a few kindred sounds by the same letter, than would have taken place had the characters been multiplied to such a degree as that a separate one could have been appropriated to each minute variety of sound. It is obvious to remark, as a departure from this principle, that in the case of the consonants _l_, _n_, _r_, the distinction between their _plain_ and their _aspirated_ state is not marked in writing, but that in both states the consonant is written in one way. In the middle and end of words, as has been shown, this distinction may be known from the relative situation of the letters. In the beginning of certain cases and tenses of declinable words, it may often be known from their _grammatical_ connection, but is not marked by any _graphical_ index whatever. The proper reading is to be determined by the sense of the passage, instead of the sense being understood by the proper reading. It is not easy to discover how those who first committed the Gaelic to writing neglected to mark such a material distinction. Inconveniencies and ambiguities not unfrequently arise from this cause, which have been long felt and regretted. Is there room to hope that it is not yet too late to recommend a method of remedying this defect? The method I would suggest is the most simple and obvious of any. It is to annex to the initial _l_, _n_, and _r_, in their aspirated state, the letter _h_, just as has been {29} done to all the other consonants. The analogy of orthography would thus be maintained, the system of inflection would be more justly exhibited, and carried on by an uniform process in _Writing_ as it is in _Speech_, and errors in reading and ambiguities in syntax would be avoided[22]. II. Another principle of authority in regulating orthography is, that each sound ought always to be represented by one and the same letter, or combination of letters. The deviations from this rule in Gaelic are extremely few. The sound of _ao_ is represented sometimes by _a_ alone, sometimes by _o_ alone. The sound of _gh_ is represented also by _dh_; and final _c_ often, though corruptly, represents the same sound with _chd_. III. A third principle in orthography is, that no more letters ought to be employed than are necessary to represent the sound. There are probably few polished languages in which departures from this rule are not found in abundance. Reasons have been already mentioned which render it expedient to retain letters in writing many words, after the corresponding sounds have been dropped in pronouncing the same words. Quiescent letters, both vowels and consonants, are not unfrequent in Gaelic. Though these quiescent letters have no sound themselves, they are not always without effect in pronunciation, as they often determine the sound of other letters. Most, if not all, the quiescent vowels seem to have been introduced for this purpose. They ascertain the _broad_ or the _small_ sound of the adjoining {30} consonants. This has been made sufficiently clear in treating of the vowels and diphthongs separately. A consonant, as has been shown, has its _broad_ sound, both when preceded and when followed by a broad vowel; and in like manner has its _small_ sound, both when preceded and when followed by a small vowel. If a consonant were preceded by a vowel of one quality, and followed by one of a different quality, the reader, it has been thought, might be doubtful whether that consonant ought to be pronounced with its broad or with its small sound. Hence this rule has long obtained in Gaelic orthography, that in polysyllables the last vowel of one syllable and the first vowel of the subsequent syllable must be both of the same quality[23]. To the extensive application and the rigid observance of this rule it is owing that so many diphthongs appear where one vowel is sufficient to express the vocal sound, and that the homogeneous vowels, when used in their quiescent capacity, are often exchanged for each other, or written indiscriminately[24]. From the former of these circumstances, most of the words in the language appear loaded with superfluous vowels; from the latter, the orthography of many words appears, in some respects, arbitrary and unsettled. Even a partial correction of these blemishes must be desirable. It may therefore be worth while to examine this long established canon of Gaelic orthography, with a view to discover whether it has not been extended farther than is necessary, and whether it ought not in many cases to be set aside. We have seen that the Labials _b_, _m_, _f_, _p_, whether aspirated or not, have no distinction of broad and small sound. {31} It cannot, then, be necessary to employ vowels, either prefixed or postfixed, to indicate the sound of these. Thus, abuich _ripe_, gabhaidh _will take_, chromainn _I would bow_, ciomaich _captives_, have been written with a broad vowel in the second syllable, corresponding to the broad vowel in the first syllable; yet the letters abich, gabhidh, chrominn, ciomich, fully exhibit the sound. The prepositive syllable im, when followed by a small vowel, is written im, as in imlich _to lick_, imcheist _perplexity_. But when the first vowel of the following syllable is broad, it has been the practice to insert an _o_ before the _m_, as in iomlan _complete_, iomghaoth _a whirlwind_, iomluasg _agitation_. Yet the inserted _o_ serves no purpose, either in respect of derivation, of inflection, or of pronunciation. The unnecessary application of the rule in question appears most unequivocally in words derived from other languages. From the Latin words _imago_, _templum_, _liber_, are formed in Gaelic iomhaigh, teampull, leabhar. Nothing but a servile regard to the rule under consideration could have suggested the insertion of a broad vowel in the first syllable of these words, where it serves neither to guide the pronunciation, nor to point out the derivation. Another case, in which the observation of this rule seems to be wholly unnecessary, is when two syllables of a word are separated by a quiescent consonant. Thus in gleidheadh _keeping_, itheadh _eating_, buidheann _a company_, dligheach _lawful_, the aspirated consonants in the middle are altogether quiescent. The vocal sound of the second syllable is sufficiently expressed by the last vowel. No good reason, then, appears for writing a small vowel in the second syllable. Thus far it is evident that the rule respecting the correspondence of vowels is wholly impertinent in the case of syllables divided by Labials, or by quiescent consonants. If we examine further into the application of this rule, we shall find more cases in which it may be safely set aside. Many of the inflections of nouns and verbs are formed by adding one or more syllables to the root. The final {32} consonant of the root must always be considered as belonging to the radical part, not to the adjected termination. The sound of that consonant, whether broad or small, falls to be determined by the quality of the vowel which precedes it in the same syllable, not by the quality of that which follows it in the next syllable. It seems, therefore, unnecessary to employ any more vowels in the adjected syllable than what are sufficient to represent its own vocal sound. The rule under consideration has, notwithstanding, been extended to the orthography of the oblique cases and tenses, and a supernumerary vowel has been thrown into the termination, whenever that was requisite to preserve the supposed necessary correspondence with the foregoing syllable. Thus, in forming the nominative and dative plural of many nouns, the syllables _an_ and _ibh_ are added to the singular, which letters fully express the true sound of these terminations. If the last vowel of the nominative singular is broad, _an_ alone is added for the nominative plural; as, lamh-an _hands_, cluas-an _ears_. But if the last vowel be small, an _e_ is thrown into the termination; as, sùil-ean _eyes_, sròin-ean _noses_. Now if it be observed that, in the two last examples, the small sound of the _l_ and _n_ in the root is determined by the preceding small vowel _i_, with which they are necessarily connected in one syllable, and that the letters _an_ fully represent the sound of the termination, it must be evident that the _e_ in the final syllable is altogether superfluous. So in forming the dative plural: if the last vowel of the root be small, _ibh_ is added; as, sùil-ibh, sroin-ibh. But if the last vowel of the root is broad, the termination is written _aibh_; as, lamh-aibh, cluas-aibh, where the _a_, for the reason already assigned, is totally useless. These observations apply with equal justness to the tenses of verbs, as will be seen by comparing the following examples: creid-idh _will believe_, stad-aidh _will stop_; chreid-inn _I would believe_, stad-_a_inn _I would stop_; creid-_e_am _let me believe_, stad-am _let me stop_; creid-ibh _believe ye_, stad-_a_ibh _stop ye_. The same observations may be further applied to derivative words, formed by adding to their primitives the syllables {33} _ach_, _achd_, _ag_, _an_, _ail_, _as_; in all which _e_ has been unnecessarily introduced, when the last vowel of the preceding syllable was small; as, sannt-ach _covetous_, toil-_e_ach _willing_; naomh-achd _holiness_, doimhn-_e_achd _depth_; sruth-an _a rivulet_, cuil-_e_an _a whelp_; cauch-ag _a little cup_, cail-_e_ag _a girl_; fear-ail _manly_, caird-_e_il _friendly_[25]; ceart-as _justice_, caird-_e_as _friendship_. The foregoing observations appear sufficient to establish this general conclusion, that in all cases in which a vowel serves neither to exhibit the vocal sound, nor to modify the articulations of _the syllable to which it belongs_, it may be reckoned nothing better than an useless incumbrance. There seems, therefore, much room for simplifying the present system of Gaelic Orthography, by the rejection of a considerable number of quiescent vowels[26]. {34} Almost the only quiescent consonants which occur in Gaelic are _d_, _f_, _g_, _s_, _t_, in their aspirated state. When these occur in the inflections of declinable words, serving to indicate the Root, or in derivatives, serving to point out the primitive word, the omission of them might, on the whole, be unadvisable. Even when such letters appear in their absolute form, though they have been laid aside in pronunciation, yet it would be rash to discard them in writing, as they often serve to show the affinity of the words in which they are found to others in different languages, or in different dialects of the Celtic. The aspirated form of the consonant in writing sufficiently shows that, in speaking, its articulation is either attenuated or wholly suppressed. The writers of Gaelic seem to have carefully avoided bringing into apposition two vowels which belong to different syllables. For this purpose they have sometimes introduced a quiescent consonant into the middle of compound or of inflected words; as, gneidheil, or rather gnethail _kindly_, made up of gnè and ail; beothail _lively_, made up of beo and ail; diathan _gods_, from the singular dia; lathaibh _days_, from the singular là, &c. It may at least bear a question, whether it would not be better to allow the vowels to denote the sound of the word by their own powers, without the intervention of quiescent consonants, as has been done in {35} mnaibh _women_, déibh _gods_, rather than insert consonants which have nothing to do with either the radical or the superadded articulations of the word. From the want of an established standard in orthography, the writers of Gaelic, in spelling words wherein quiescent consonants occurred, must have been often doubtful which of two or three consonants was the proper one, and may therefore have differed in their manner of spelling the same word. Accordingly we find, in many instances, the same words written by different writers, and even at different times by the same writer, with different quiescent consonants. This variation affects not indeed the pronunciation, or does it in a very slight degree. Hence, however, some who judge of the language only from its appearance in writing, have taken occasion to vilify it, as unfixed and nonsensical[27]. A proper attention to the affinity which the Scottish Gaelic bears to some other languages, particularly to other dialects of the Celtic, might contribute to fix the orthography in some cases where it appears doubtful, or has become variable[28]. IV. The last principle to be mentioned, which ought to regulate orthography, is that every sound ought to be represented by a corresponding character. From this rule there is hardly a single deviation in Gaelic, as there is no sound in the spoken language which is not, in some measure, {36} exhibited in the written language. The fault of the Gaelic orthography is sometimes a redundancy, but never a deficiency of letters. A few observations on the mode of writing some particular words, or particular parts of speech, remain to be brought forward in the sequel of this work, which it would be premature to introduce here. The Scottish writers of Gaelic in general followed the Irish orthography, till after the middle of the last century. However that system may suit the dialect of Ireland, it certainly is not adapted to the Gaelic of this country. In the Gaelic translation of the New Testament, printed in 1767, not only were most of the Irish idioms and inflections which had been admitted into the Scottish Gaelic writings rejected, and the language adapted to the dialect of the Scottish Highlands, but the orthography also was adapted to the language. In later publications, the manner of writing the language was gradually assimilated to that pattern. The Gaelic version of the sacred Scriptures lately published has exhibited a model, both of style and orthography, still more agreeable to the purest Scottish idiom, and has a just title to be acknowledged as the standard in both. Little seems to be now wanting to confer on the orthography of the Scottish Gaelic such a degree of uniformity as may redeem its credit and ensure its stability. This, it is to be hoped, may be attained by a judicious regard to the separate, and especially the relative powers of the letters, to the most common and approved modes of pronunciation, to the affinity of the Scottish Gaelic with other branches of the Celtic tongue, to the analogy of inflection and derivation, and, above all, to the authority of some generally received standard, to which pre-eminence the late Gaelic version of the Scriptures has the only indisputable claim. * * * * * {37} PART II. OF THE PARTS OF SPEECH. The parts of speech in Gaelic may be conveniently divided and arranged as follows:--Article, Noun, Adjective, Pronoun, Verb, Adverb, Preposition, Conjunction, Interjection. Of these, the first five are declinable; the other four are indeclinable. CHAPTER I. OF THE ARTICLE. The Gaelic article an corresponds to the English definite article _the_. There is in Gaelic no indefinite article corresponding to the English _a_ or _an_. The inflections of the article are but few. They depend on the gender, the number, and the case, of the noun to which it is prefixed. Hence the article is declined by gender, number, and case, as follows: Singular. Plural. _Masc._ _Fem._ _Masc. & Fem._ _Nom._ an, am an, a' na _Gen._ an, a' na nan, nam _Dat._ an, a', n' an, a', n' na In the singular, final _n_ of the article is sometimes cut off, and its absence marked by an apostrophe. The same happens to the initial _a_ of the dative singular. CHAPTER II. OF NOUNS. A Noun is the Name of any person, object, or thing whatsoever, that we have occasion to mention. In treating of {38} this Part of Speech, we have to consider the _Gender_ and the _Declension_ of Nouns. OF GENDER. In imposing names on sensible objects, the great and obvious distinction of Sex in the animal world suggested the expediency of inventing names, not only for the particular species of animals, but also for distinguishing their Sex. Such are _vir_, _femina_; _bull_, _cow_; _coileach_, _cearc_, &c. To mark at once identity of species, and diversity of Sex, the same word, with a slight change on its form, was applied to both sexes: as _equus_, _equa_; _lion_, _lioness_; _oglach_, _banoglach_. In most languages, distinction of Sex has been marked, not only thus by the form of the noun, but further by the form of the adjective connected with the noun. Most adjectives were furnished with two forms, the one of which indicated its connection with the name of a male, the other its connection with the name of a female. The one was called by grammarians the _masculine gender_, the other the _feminine gender_ of the adjective. Adjectives possessing thus a two-fold form, must necessarily have appeared under one or other of these forms, with whatever noun they happened to be conjoined. Even nouns significant of inanimate objects came thus to possess one mark of nouns discriminative of Sex, as they happened to be accompanied by an adjective of the masculine or by one of the feminine gender. If any noun was observed to be usually coupled with an adjective of the masculine gender, it was termed by grammarians a _masculine noun_; if it was found usually coupled with an adjective of the feminine gender, it was termed a _feminine noun_. Thus a distinction of nouns into masculine and feminine came to be noted, and this also was called gender. It is observable, then, that gender, in grammar, is taken in two different acceptations. When applied to an adjective, {39} it signifies a certain _form_, by which _bonus_ is distinguished from _bona_. When applied to a noun, it signifies a certain _relation_ of the word to the attributives connected with it, by which _amor_ is distinguished from _cupido_. As Sex is a natural characteristic pertaining to living objects, so gender is a grammatical characteristic pertaining to nouns, the names of objects whether animate or inanimate. The gender of nouns is not, properly speaking, indicated; it is constituted by that of the attributives conjoined with them. If there were no distinction of gender in adjectives, participles, &c. there could be none in nouns. When we say that _amor_ is a noun of the masculine gender, and _cupido_ a noun of the feminine gender, we do not mean to intimate any distinction between the things signified by these nouns; we mean nothing more than to state a grammatical fact, viz., that an adjective connected with _amor_ is always of the same form as when joined to a noun denoting a male, and that an adjective connected with _cupido_ is always of the same form as when joined to a noun denoting a female[29]. {40} When an adjective was to be connected with a noun that denoted an object devoid of Sex, it is not always easy to guess what views might have determined the speaker to use the adjective in one gender rather than in the other. Perhaps Sex was attributed to the object signified by the noun. Perhaps its properties were conceived to bear some resemblance to the qualities characteristic of Sex in living creatures. In many instances, the form of the noun seems to have decided the point. It must be confessed that in this mental process, the judgment has been often swayed by trivial circumstances, and guided by fanciful analogies. At least it cannot be denied that in the Gaelic, where all nouns whatever are ranked under the class of masculines or of feminines, the gender of each has been fixed by a procedure whereof the grounds cannot now be fully investigated or ascertained. Neither the natural nor artificial qualities or uses of the things named, nor the form of the names given them, furnish any invariable rule by which the gender of nouns may be known. It ought to be remembered, however, that the Gaelic is far from being singular in this respect. The oldest language with which we are acquainted, as well as some of the most polished modern tongues, stand in the same predicament. The following observations may serve to give some idea of the analogy of gender in Gaelic nouns; though they do not furnish a complete set of rules sufficient to ascertain the gender of every noun:-- {41} MASCULINES. Nouns signifying males are masculines; as, fear _a man_, righ _a king_, sagart _a priest_, tarbh _a bull_, cu _a dog_. Many nouns, signifying the young of animals of either Sex, are masculine, even when the individual objects they denote are mentioned as being of the female Sex; as, laogh _a calf_, isean _a gosling_, uan _a lamb_, &c.[30]. Diminutives in _an_; as, rothan _a little wheel_, dealgan _a little pin_, &c. Derivatives in _as_, which are, for the most part, abstract nouns; as, cairdeas _friendship_, naimhdeas _enmity_, ciuineas _calmness_, breitheamhnas _judgment_, ceartas _justice_, maitheas _goodness_, &c. Derivatives in _air_, _ach_, _iche_, which are, for the most part, agents; as, cealgair _a deceiver_, sealgair _a huntsman_, dorsair _a door-keeper_, marcach _a rider_, maraiche _a sailor_, coisiche _a foot traveller_, &c. Names of such kinds of trees as are natives of Scotland; as, darach _oak_, giuthas _fir_, uimhseann _ash_. Most polysyllables whereof the last vowel is broad, are masculine. FEMININES. Nouns signifying females are feminine; as, bean _a woman_, mathair _a mother_, bo _a cow_, &c. Except bainionnach or boirionnach _a female_, mart _a cow_, capull _a horse_ or _mare_, but commonly _a mare_, which are masculine, and caileann or cailinn _a damsel_, masculine or feminine.[31] Mark, vi. 28. {42} Some nouns denoting a species are feminine, even when the individual spoken of is characterised as a male; as, gabhar fhirionn, _a he-goat_. Psal. l. 9. Names of countries; as, Albainn _Scotland_, Eirinn _Ireland_. Names of musical instruments; as, clarsach _a harp_, piob, _a pipe_. Names of the heavenly bodies; as, Grian _sun_, Gealach _moon_. Names of diseases; as, teasach _a fever_, a' ghriuthach _the measles_, a' bhreac _the small-pox_, a' bhuidheach _the jaundice_, a' bhuinneach, _a diarrhoea_, &c. Collective names of trees or shrubs are feminine; as, giuthasach _a fir wood_, iugharach _a yew copse_, seileach _a willow copse_, droighneach _a thorny brake_. Diminutives in _ag_ or _og_; as, caileag _a girl_, cuachag _a little cup_. Derivatives in _achd_; as, iomlanachd _fulness_, doillearachd _duskiness_, doimhneachd _depth_, rioghachd _kingdom_, sinnsireachd _ancestry_, &c. Abstract nouns formed from the genitive of adjectives; as, doille _blindness_, gile _whiteness_, leisge _laziness_, buidhre _deafness_, &c. Many monosyllables in _ua_ followed by one or more consonants are feminine; as, bruach _a bank_, cruach _a heap_, cuach _a cup_, cluas _an ear_, gruag _the hair of the head_, sguab _a sheaf_, tuadh _a hatchet_, tuath _peasantry_. Almost all polysyllables, whereof the last vowel is small, except those in _air_ and _iche_, already noticed, are feminine. A few nouns are of either gender; Salm _a Psalm_, creidimh _belief_, are used as masculine nouns in some places, and feminine in others. Cruinne _the globe_, talamb _the earth, land_, are masculine in the nominative; as, an cruinne-cé _the globe of the earth_. Psal. lxxxix. 11., xc. 2.--D. Buchan. 1767. p. 12. 15; an talamh tioram _the dry land_. Psal. xcv. {43} 5. The same nouns are generally feminine in the genitive; as, gu crìch na cruinne _to the extremity of the world_. Psal. xix. 4.; aghaidh na talmhainn _the face of the earth_. Gen. i. 29. Acts xvii. 24. OF DECLENSION. Nouns undergo certain changes significant of Number and of Relation. The forms significant of Number are two: the _Singular_, which denotes one; and the _Plural_, which denotes any number greater than one. The changes expressive of Relation are made on nouns in two ways: 1. On the beginning of the noun; 2. On its termination. The relations denoted by changes on the termination are different from those denoted by changes on the beginning; they have no necessary connection together; the one may take place in absence of the other. It seems proper, therefore, to class the changes on the termination by themselves in one division, and give it a name, and to class the changes on the beginning also by themselves in another division, and give it a different name. As the changes on the termination denote, in general, the same relations which are denoted by the Greek and Latin cases, that seems a sufficient reason for adopting the term case into the Gaelic Grammar, and applying it, as in the Greek and Latin, to signify "the changes made on the _termination_ of nouns or adjectives to mark relation".[32] According to this description of them, there are four cases in Gaelic. These may be {44} named, like the corresponding cases in Latin, the _Nominative_, the _Genitive_, the _Dative_, and the _Vocative_.[33] The Nominative is used when any person or thing is mentioned as the _subject_ of a proposition or question, or as the _object_ of an action or affection. The Genitive corresponds to an English noun preceded by _of_. The Dative is used only after a preposition. The Vocative is employed when a person or thing is addressed. The changes on the beginning of nouns are made by aspirating an initial consonant; that is, writing _h_ after it. This may be called the _Aspirated_ form of the noun. The aspirated form extends to all the cases and numbers. A noun, whereof the initial form is not changed by aspiration, is in the _Primary_ form. The _accidents_ of nouns may be briefly stated thus. A noun is declined by Number, Case, and Initial form. The Numbers are two: _Singular_ and _Plural_. The Cases are four: _Nominative_, _Genitive_, _Dative_, and _Vocative_. The Initial form is twofold: the _Primary form_, and the _Aspirated form_ peculiar to nouns beginning with a consonant. In declining nouns, the formation of the cases is observed to depend more on the last vowel of the nominative than on {45} the final letter. Hence the last vowel of the nominative, or in general of any declinable word, may be called the _characteristic_ vowel. The division of the vowels into _broad_ and _small_ suggests the distribution of nouns into two Declensions, distinguished by the quality of the characteristic vowel. The first Declension comprehends those nouns whereof the _characteristic_ vowel is _broad_; the second Declension comprehends those nouns whereof the _characteristic_ vowel is _small_. The following examples are given of the inflection of nouns of the FIRST DECLENSION. Bard, mas. _a Poet_. _Singular._ _Plural._ _Nom._ Bard Baird _Gen._ Baird Bard _Dat._ Bard Bardaibh _Voc._ Bhaird Bharda Cluas, fem. _an Ear_. _Singular._ _Plural._ _Nom._ Cluas Cluasan _Gen._ Cluaise Cluas _Dat._ Cluais Cluasaibh _Voc._ Chluas Chluasa _Formation of the Cases of Nouns of the First Declension._ _Singular Number._ _General Rule for forming the Genitive._--The Genitive is formed from the Nominative, by inserting _i_ after the characteristic vowel, as, bàs mas. _death_, Gen. sing. bàis; fuaran m. a _fountain_, g. s. fuarain; clarsach f. _a harp_, g. s. clarsaich. Feminine monosyllables likewise add a short _e_ to the Nominative; as, cluas f. _an ear_, g. s. cluaise; làmh _a hand_, g. s. làimhe[34]. {46} _Particular Rules for the Genitive._--1. If the nominative ends in a vowel, the genitive is like the nominative; as, trà m. _a time_ or _season_, g. s. trà; so also beatha f. _life_, cro m. _a sheepfold_, cliu m. _fame_, duine _a man_, Donncha _Duncan_, a man's name, and many others. Except bo f. _a cow_, g. s. boin; cu m. _a dog_, g. s. coin; bru f. _the belly_, g. s. broinn or bronn. 2. Nouns ending in _chd_ or _rr_ have the genitive like the nominative; as, uchd m. _the breast_, sliochd m. _offspring_, feachd m. _a host_, reachd m. _statute_, cleachd m. _habit_, beachd m. _vision_, smachd m. _authority_, fuachd m. _cold_, sprochd m. _gloom_, beannachd m. _a blessing_, naomhachd f. _holiness_, earr m. _the tail_, torr m. _a heap_. Except slochd g. s. sluichd m. _a pit_, unless this word should rather be written sloc, like boc, cnoc, soc. 3. Monosyllables ending in _gh_ or _th_ add _a_ for the genitive; as, lagh m. _law_, g. s. lagha; roth m. _a wheel_, g. s. rotha; sruth m. _a stream_, g. s. srutha. Except àgh m. _felicity_, _grace_, or _charm_, g. s. aigh[35]. 4. Monosyllables characterised by _io_ either drop the _o_ or add _a_ for the genitive; as, siol m. _seed_, g. s. sìl; lion m. _a net_, g. s. lìn; crioch f. _a boundary_, g. s. crìch; cioch f. _the pap_, g. s. cìche; fion m. _wine_, g. s. fiona; crios m. _a girdle_, g. s. criosa; fiodh m. _timber_, g. s. fiodha. Except Criost or Criosd m. _Christ_, which has the gen. like the nominative. 5. Many monosyllables, whose characteristic vowel is _a_ or _o_, change it into _u_ and insert _i_ after it; as, gob m. _the bill of a bird_, g. s. guib; crodh m. _kine_, g. s. cruidh; bolg or balg m. _a bag_, g. s. builg; clog or clag m. _a bell_, g. s. cluig; lorg f. _a staff_, g. s. luirge; long f. _a ship_, g. s. luinge; alt m. _a {47} joint_, g. s. uilt; alld m. _a rivulet_, g. s. uilld; car m. _a turn_, g. s. cuir; carn m. _a heap of stones_, g. s. cuirn. So also ceol m. _music_, g. s. ciuil; seol m. _a sail_, g. s. siuil. Except nouns in _on_ and a few feminines, which follow the general rule; as, bròn m. _sorrow_, g. s. bròin; lòn m. _food_, g. s. lòin; cloch or clach f. _a stone_, g. s. cloiche; cos or cas f. _the foot_, g. s. coise; bròg f. _a shoe_, g. s. bròige. So also clann f. _children_, g. s. cloinne; crann m. _a tree_, g. s. croinn. Mac m. _a son_, has its g. s. mic. 6. Polysyllables characterised by _ea_ change _ea_ into _i_; as, fitheach m. _a raven_, g. s. fithich; cailleach f. _an old woman_, g. s. caillich[36]. These two suffer a syncope, and add _e_; buidheann f. _a company_, g. s. buidhne; sitheann f. _venison_, g. s. sithne. Of monosyllables characterised by _ea_, some throw away _a_ and insert _i_; as, each m. _a horse_, g. s. eich; beann f. _a peak_, g. s. beinne; fearg f. _anger_, g. s. feirge. Some change _ea_ into _i_; as, breac m. _a trout_, g. s. bric; fear m. _a man_, g. s. fir; ceann m. _a head_, _end_, g. s. cinn; preas m. _a bush_, g. s. pris; breac f. _the small-pox_, g. s. brice; cearc f. _a hen_, g. s. circe; leac f. _a flag_, g. s. lice. Gleann m. _a valley_, adds _e_, g. s. glinne. Some add _a_ to the nominative; as, speal m. _a scythe_, g. s. speala. Dream f. _people_, _race_, gean m. _humour_, have their genitive like the nominative. Feall f. _deceit_, g. s. foill or feill. Geagh m. _a goose_, makes g. s. geoigh. {48} 7. Nouns in _eu_ followed by a liquid, change _u_ into _o_ and insert _i_ after it; as, neul m. _a cloud_, g. s. neoil, eun m. _a bird_, g. s. eoin; feur m. _grass_, g. s. feoir; meur m. _a finger_, g. s. meoir; leus m. _a torch_, g. s. leois. Beul m. _the mouth_, g. s. beil or beoil; sgeul. m. _a tale_, g. s. sgeil or sgeoil. Other nouns characterised by _eu_ add _a_ for the gen., as, treud m. _a flock_, g. s. treuda; feum m. _use_, _need_, g. s. feuma; beum m. _a stroke_, g. s. beuma. Meud m. _bulk_, beuc m. _a roar_, freumh f. _a fibre_, _root_, hardly admit of _a_, but have their gen. rather like the nom. 8. Monosyllables characterised by _ia_ change _ia_ into _ei_; as, sliabh m. _a moor_, g. s. sleibh; fiadh m. _a deer_, g. s. feidh; biadh m. _food_, g. s. beidh or bidh; iasg m. _fish_, g. s. eisg; grian f. _the sun_, g. s. greine; sgiath f. _a wing_, g. s. sgeithe. Except Dia m. _God_, g. s. De; sgian f. _a knife_, g. s. sgine. Piuthar f. _a sister_, has g. s. peathar; leanabh m. _a child_, g. s. leinibh; ceathramh m. _a fourth part_, g. s. ceithrimh, leabaidh or leaba f. _a bed_, g. s. leapa; talamh m. _earth_, g. s. talmhainn. The _Dative_ singular of masculine nouns is like the nominative; of feminine nouns, is like the genitive; as, tobar m. _a well_, d. s. tobar; clarsach f. _a harp_, g. s. and d. s. clarsaich; misneach f. _courage_, g. s. and d. s. misnich. _Particular Rules for the Dative of Feminine Nouns._--1. If _e_ was added to the nominative in forming the genitive, it is thrown away in the dative; as, slat f. _a rod_, g. s. slaite--d. s. slait; grian f. _the sun_, g. s. greine, d. s. grein. 2. If the nominative suffered a syncope in forming the genitive, or if the last vowel of the genitive is broad, the dative is like the nominative; as, buidheann f. _a company_, g. s. buidhne, d. s. buidheann; piuthar f. _a sister_, g. s. peathar, d. s. piuthar. The _Vocative_ of masc. nouns is like the genitive; of feminine nouns is like the nominative; as, bàs m. _death_, g. s. bàis, v. s. bhais; cu m. _a dog_, g. s. coin, v. s. choin; grian f. _the sun_, v. s. ghaoth. {49} _Plural Number._ _Nominative._ Masculine nouns which insert _i_ in the gen. sing. have their nom. plur. like the gen. sing.; as, oglach m. _a servant_, g. s. oglaich, n. p. oglaich; fear m. _a man_, g. s. and n. p. fir. Many of these form their nom. plur. also by adding a short _a_ to the nominative singular. Other masculine nouns, and all feminine nouns, have their nom. plural in _a_, to which _n_ is added, _euphoniæ causa_, before an initial vowel[37]. _Particular Rules_ for forming the Nom. Plur. in _a_ or _an_. 1. By adding _a_ to the nom. singular; as, dubhar m. _a shadow_, n. p. dubhara; rioghachd f. _a kingdom_, n. p. rioghachdan. Under this Rule, some nouns suffer a syncope; as, dorus m. _a door_, n. p. dorsa for dorusa. 2. Nouns ending in _l_ or _nn_, often insert _t_ before _a_; as, reul m. _a star_, n. p. reulta; beann f. _a pinnacle_, n. p. beannta. So lòn m. _a marsh_, n. p. lòintean. 3. Some nouns in _ar_ drop the _a_, and add to the nom. sing. the syllable _aich_; and then the final _a_ becomes _e_, to correspond to the preceding small vowel; as, leabhar m. _a book_, n. p. leabhraiche; tobar m. _a well_, n. p. tobraiche; lann. f. _an enclosure_, inserts _d_, n. p. lanndaiche. Piuthar f. _a sister_, from the g. s. peathar, has n. p. peathraiche; so leaba f. _a bed_, g. s. leapa, n. p. leapaiche. Bata m. _a staff_, n. p. batacha; la or latha _a day_, n. p. lathachan or laithean. 4. Some polysyllables in _ach_ add _e_ or _ean_ to the genitive singular; as, mullach m. _summit_, g. s. mullaich, n. p. mullaichean; otrach m. _a dunghill_, n. p. otraichean; clarsach f. _a harp_, n. p. clarsaichean; deudach f. _the jaw_, n. p. deudaichean. So sliabh m. _a moor_, g. s. sleibh, with _t_ {50} inserted, n. p. sleibhte. Sabhul m. _a barn_, g. s. sabhuil, n. p. saibhlean, contracted for sabhuilean. The following Nouns form their Nominative Plural irregularly: Dia m. _God_, n. p. dée or diathan; scian f. _a knife_, n. p. sceana or scinichean; sluagh m. _people_, n. p. sloigh; bo. f. _a cow_, n. p. ba. _Genitive._ 1. Monosyllables, and nouns which form their nominative plural like the genitive singular, have the genitive plural like the nominative singular; as, geug f. _a branch_, g. p. geug; coimhearsnach m. _a neighbour_, g. s. and n. p. coimhearsnach. 2. Polysyllables which have their nominative plural in _a_ or _an_, form the genitive like the nominative; leabhar m. _a book_, n. p. and g. p. 'leabraichean'--When the nominative plural is twofold, the genitive is so too; as 'fear' n. _a man_, n. p. fir, or sometimes feara, g. p. fear or feara. Cu m. _a dog_ has its g. p. con; caora f. _a sheep_, g. p. caorach; sluagh m. _people_, g. p. sluagh or slogh. _Dative._ The dative plural is formed either from the nominative singular or from the nominative plural. If the nominative plural ends in a consonant, the dative plural is formed by adding _ibh_ to the nominative singular; as, crann m. _a tree_, n. p. croinn, d. p. crannaibh; mac m. _a son_, n. p. mic, d. p. macaibh. If the nominative plural ends in a vowel, the final vowel is changed into _ibh_; as, tobar _a well_, n. p. tobraiche, d. p. tobraichibh. 2. Monosyllables ending in an aspirated consonant, which have their nominative plural like the genitive singular, form their dative plural like the nominative plural; as, damh _an ox_, g. s. and n. p. daimh, d. p. daimh, not damhaibh; fiadh m. _a deer_, g. s. and n. p. and d. p. feidh. So sluagh m. _people_, _host_, g. s. sluaigh, n. p. and d. p. sloigh. Nouns ending in _ch_, of three or more syllables, form their dative plural like the nominative plural, rather than in _ibh_; as, coimhearsnach m. _a neighbour_, d. p. coimhearsnaich rather than coimhearsnachaibh; phairiseach m. _a Pharisee_, d. p. phairisich rather than phairiseachaibh. {51} _Vocative._ The vocative plural is like the nominative plural, terminating in _a_, but seldom in _an_; as, fear m. _a man_, n. p. fir or feara, v. p. _fheara_; oglach m. _a servant_, n. p. _oglaich_, v. p. _oglacha_. Except perhaps monosyllables which never form their nominative plural in _a_, nor their dative plural in _ibh_; as, damh m. _an ox_, n. p. daimh, v. p. dhaimh; a shloigh, Rom. xv. 11. The irregular noun Bean f. _a woman_, is declined thus: _Singular._ _Plural._ _Nom._ Bean Mnai, mnathan _Gen._ Mna Ban _Dat._ Mnaoi Mnathaibh _Voc._ Bhean. Mhnathan. SECOND DECLENSION. Cealgair, mas. _a deceiver_. _Singular._ _Plural._ _Nom._ Cealgair Cealgaire _Gen._ Cealgair Cealgair _Dat._ Cealgair Cealgairibh _Voc._ Chealgair. Chealgaire. Clais, fem. _a gully_. _Nom._ Clais Claisean _Gen._ Claise Clais _Dat._ Clais Claisibh _Voc._ Chlais. Chlaise. _Formation of the cases of nouns of the second Declension._ _Singular Number._ _General Rule for the Genitive._ The genitive of polysyllables is like the nominative; of monosyllables is made by adding _e_ to the nominative; as, caraid m. _a friend_, g. s. caraid; aimsir f. _time_, g. s. aimsir; tigh m. _a house_, g. s. tighe; ainm m. _a name,_ g. s. ainme; im m. _butter_, g. s. ime; craig f. _a rock_, g. s. craige. {52} _Particular Rules for the Genitive._ 1. Feminine nouns in _ail_ and _air_ drop the _i_ and add _ach_; if the nominative be a polysyllable, _ai_ is thrown away; as, sail f. _a beam_, g. s. salach; dail f. _a plain_, g. s. dalach; lair f. _a mare_, g. s. làrach; cathair f. _a seat_, g. s. cathrach; nathair f. _a serpent_, g. s. nathrach; lasair f. _a flame_, g. s. lasrach. To these add còir f. _right_, g. s. còrach or còire. 2. Monosyllables characterised by _oi_ drop _i_ and add _a_; as, feoil f. _flesh_, g. s. feola; tòin f. _bottom_, g. s. tòna; sròin f. _the nose_, g. s. sròine or sròna. 3. Monosyllables characterised by _ui_ change _ui_ into _a_ or _o_, and add _a_; as, muir f. _the sea_, g. s. mara; fuil f. _blood_, g. s. fola or fala; druim f. _a ridge_, g. s. droma. Except sùil f. _the eye_, g. s. sùla; cuid f. _a part_, g. s. codach or cuid. 4. A few feminine polysyllables in _eir_ form their genitive like monosyllables; as, inneir f. _dung_, g. s. inneire; suipeir f. _supper_, g. s. suipeire. 5. The following dissyllables seem to have formed their genitive like monosyllables, and then suffered a contraction. Sometimes the characteristic vowel is retained, and sometimes it is thrown away, the final _e_ of the genitive being converted into _a_, when requisite to suit an antecedent broad vowel. Amhainn, f. _a river_, g. s. aimhne, _contracted for_ amhainne Aghainn } Aghann } f. _a pan_, g. s. aighne, aghainne Banais f. _a wedding_, g. s. bainse, banaise Coluinn f. _the body_, g. s. colna, colla coluinne Duthaich f. _a country_, g. s. duthcha, duthaiche Fiacail f. _a tooth_, g. s. fiacla, fiacaile Gamhuinn m. _a steer_, g. s. gamhna, gamhuinne Gualainn f. _the shoulder_, g. s. guaille, gualainne Madainn f. _morning_, g. s. maidne, madainne Obair f. _work_, g. s. oibre, obaire Uilinn f. _the elbow_, g. s. uillne, uilinne {53} 6. The following nouns form their genitive by dropping the characteristic small vowel; athair m. _a father_, g. s. athar; mathair f. _a mother_, g. s. mathar; brathair m. _a brother_, g. s. brathar; namhaid m. _an enemy_, g. s. namhad. Cnaimh m. _a bone_, g. s. cnamha; uaimh f. _a cave_, g. s. uamha. Mil f. _honey_, has g. s. meala. 7. A few monosyllables ending in a vowel have their genitive like the nominative; as, ni m. _a thing_, ti m. _a person_, ré m. _the moon_; to which add righ m. _a king_. _Dative._ The dative singular is like the nominative; as, duine m. _a man_, d. s. duine; madainn f. _morning_, d. s. madainn. _Vocative._ The vocative singular is like the nominative, as, caraid m. _friend_, v. s. charaid; mathair f. _mother_, v. s. mhathair. _Plural Number._ _Nominative.--General Rule._ The nominative plural is formed by adding to the nominative singular _a_ or _an_, written _e_ or _ean_ to correspond to a preceding small vowel; as, piobair m. _a piper_, n. p. piobairean; aimsir f. _time_, _season_, n. p. aimsirean. Some nouns suffer a contraction in the nominative plural; as, caraid m. _a friend_, n. p. càirdean; naimhaid m. _an enemy_, n. p. naimhdean; fiacail f. _a tooth_, n. p. fiaclan. _Particular Rules._ 1. Some nouns, whose last consonant is _l_ or _n_, insert _t_ in the nominative plural; as, tuil f. _a flood_, n. p. tuilte; smuain f. _thought_, n. p. smuaintean; coille f. _a wood_, n. p. coilltean; àithne f. _a command_, n. p. àithnte. The _t_ is aspirated in dail f. _a plain_, n. p. dailthean; sail f. _a beam_, n. p. sailthean. 2. Some nouns in _air_, chiefly such as form their genitive singular in _ach_, retain the same syllable in the nominative plural, and insert _i_ after _a_; as, Cathair, f. _a seat_, g. s. cathrach, n. p. cathraichean. Lasair, f. _a flame_, g. s. lasrach, n. p. lasraichean. Nathair, f. _a serpent_, g. s. nathrach, n. p. nathraichean. {54} So also cuid f. _a part_, from the g. s. codach, has the n. p. codaichean; athair m. _a father_, n. p. aithrichean; mathair f. _a mother_, n. p. maithrichean. To which add amhainn f. _a river_, n. p. aimhnichean; uisge m. _water_, n. p. uisgeachan; cridhe m. _the heart_, n. p. cridheachan. The following nouns form their nominative plural irregularly; duine m. _a man_, n. p. daoine; righ m. _a king_, n. p. righre; ni m. _a thing_, n. p. nithe; cliamhuinn m. _a son-in-law_, or _brother-in-law_, n. p. cleamhna. _Genitive._ The genitive plural of monosyllables and masculine polysyllables is twofold, like the nominative singular, and like the nominative plural; as, righ m. _a king_, g. p. righ or righre. The genitive plural of feminine polysyllables is like the nominative plural only; as, amhainn f. _a river_, g. p. aimhnichean. Suil f. _the eye_, has its g. p. sùl. _Dative._ The dative plural is formed from the nominative plural by changing the final vowel into _ibh_; as, coluinn f. _the body_, n. p. coluinne, d. p. coluinnibh; cridhe m. _the heart_, n. p. cridheacha, d. p. cridheachaibh. _Vocative._ The vocative plural is like the nominative plural; as, duine m. _a man_, n. p. daoine, v. p. dhaoine. Final _a_ or _e_ in all the singular cases of polysyllables is occasionally cut off, especially in verse; as, leab _bed_, teang _tongue_, coill _wood_, cridh _heart_. _Of the Initial form of Nouns._ In nouns beginning with a consonant, all the cases admit of the _aspirated form_. In the vocative singular and plural the aspirated form alone is used, except in nouns beginning with a lingual, which are generally in the primary form, when preceded by a lingual; as, a sheann duine _old man_. Nouns beginning with _s_ followed by a mute consonant have no aspirated form, because _s_ in that situation does not admit of the aspirate. In nouns beginning with _l_, _n_, _r_, a distinction is uniformly observed in pronouncing the initial consonant, corresponding precisely to the distinction of primary and {55} aspirated forms in nouns beginning with other consonants. This distinction has already been fully stated in treating of pronunciation. The general use of the singular and plural numbers has been already mentioned. A remarkable exception occurs in the Gaelic. When the numerals fichead _twenty_, ceud _a hundred_, mile _a thousand_, are prefixed to a noun, the noun is not put in the plural, but in the singular number, and admits no variation of case. The termination of a noun preceded by da _two_, is the same with that of the dative singular, except when the noun is governed in the genitive case, and then it is put in the genitive plural[38]; when preceded by fichead, ceud, &c., the termination is that of the nominative singular; thus da laimh _two hands_, da chluais _two ears_, dà fhear _two men_, fichead làmh _twenty hands_, ceud fear _a hundred men_, mìle caora _a thousand sheep_, deich mìle bliadhna _ten thousand years_[39]. CHAPTER III. OF ADJECTIVES. An adjective is a word used along with a noun, to express some quality of the person or thing signified by the noun. Adjectives undergo changes which mark their relation to other words. These changes are made, like those on nouns, partly on the beginning, and partly on the termination, and may be fitly denominated by the same names. The changes on the beginning are made by aspirating an initial consonant. The numbers and cases, like those of nouns, are distinguished by changes on the termination. The gender is marked partly by the initial form, partly by the termination. Adjectives whereof the characteristic vowel is broad, follow, {56} in most of their inflections, the form of nouns of the first declension, and may be termed Adjectives of the first declension. Those adjectives whereof the characteristic vowel is small, may be called Adjectives of the second declension. _Example of Adjectives of the First Declension._ Mòr, _great_. Singular. Plural _Mas._ _Fem._ _Com. Gend._ _Nom._ Mor, Mhor, Mora. _Gen._ Mhoir, Moire, Mora. _Dat._ Mor, Mhoir, Mora. _Voc._ Mhoir, Mhor, Mora. _Formation of the Cases of Adjectives of the First Declension._ _Singular._ _Nominative._ The feminine gender is, in termination, like the masculine. The other cases, both mas. and fem., are formed from the nominative, according to the rules already given for forming the cases of nouns of the first declension. Take the following examples in adjectives:-- _Genitive._--_General rule._ Marbh _dead_, g. s. m. mhairbh, f. mairbhe; dubh _black_, g. s. m. dhuibh, f. duibhe; fadalach _tedious_, g. s. m. fhadalaich, f. fadalaich. _Particular rules._ 1. Sona _happy_, g. s. m. shona, f. sona; aosda _aged_, g. s. m. and f. aosda; beo _alive_, g. s. m. bheo, f. beo. 2. Bochd _poor_, g. s. m. bhochd, f. bochd; gearr _short_, g. s. m. ghearr, f. gearr. 3. Breagh _fine_, g. s. m. bhreagha, f. breagha. 4. Crion _little_, _diminutive_, g. s. m. chrìn, f. crìne. 5. Donn _brown_, g. s. m. dhuinn, f. duinne; gorm _blue_, g. s. m. ghuirm, f. guirme; lom _bare_, g. s. m. luim, f. luime. {57} But dall _blind_, g. s. m. dhoill, f. doille; mall _slow_, g. s. m. mhoill, f. moille; like the nouns crann, clann. 6. Cinnteach _certain_, g. s. m. chinntich, f. cinntich; maiseach _beautiful_, g. s. m. mhaisich, f. maisich. Tearc _rare_, g. s. m, theirc, f. teirce; dearg _red_, g. s. m. dheirg, f. deirge; deas _ready_, g. s. m. dheis, f. deise. Breac _speckled_, g. s. m, bhric, f. brice; geal _white_, g. s. m. ghil, f. gile. 7. Geur _sharp_, g. s. m. ghéir, f. géire; like the nouns breug, geug. 8. Liath _hoary_, g. s. m. leith, f. léithe; dian _keen_, g. s. m. dhéin, f. déine. Irregulars. Odhar _pale_, g. s. m. and f. uidhir; bodhar _deaf_, g. s. m. bhuidhir, f. buidhir. _Dative._--_General rule._ Uasal _noble_, d. s. m. uasal f. uasail; bodhar _deaf_, d. s. m. bodhar, f. bhuidhir. _Particular rule._ 1. Trom _heavy_, d. s. m. trom, f. thruim. _Vocative._ Beag _small_, v. s. m. bhig, f. bheag. _Plural._ In Monosyllables the plural, through all its cases, is formed by adding _a_ to the nom. sing.; in Polysyllables, it is like the nom. sing.; as, crom _crooked_, pl. croma; tuirseach _melancholy_, pl. tuirseach. A few Dissyllables form their Plural like Monosyllables, and suffer a contraction; as, reamhar _fat_, pl. reamhra, contracted for reamhara. Gen. xli. 20. _Adjectives of the Second Declension._ All the Cases of Adjectives of the Second Declension are formed according to the general rules for nouns of the second declension; that is, Monosyllables add _e_ for the gen. sing. fem. and for the plural cases; Polysyllables are like the nom. sing. throughout. In the Second Declension, as in the First, Dissyllables sometimes suffer a contraction in the plural; as, milis _sweet_, pl. milse contracted for milise. {58} _Of the Initial Form of Adjectives._ Adjectives admit the _aspirated form_ through all the Numbers and Cases. In Adjectives beginning with a Labial or a Palatal, the aspirated form alone is used in the gen. and voc. sing. masc. the nom. dat. and voc. sing. feminine. _Comparison of Adjectives._ There are in Gaelic two forms of Comparison, which may be called the _First_ and the _Second Comparative_. The _First Comparative_ is formed from the gen. sing. mas. by adding _e_; as, geal _white_, g. s. m. gil, comp. gile, ghile; ciontach _guilty_, g. s. m. ciontaich, comp. ciontaiche. Some Adjectives suffer a contraction in the Comparative; as, bodhar _deaf_, comp. buidhre for buidhire; boidheach _pretty_, comp. boidhche for boidhiche. If the last letter of the gen. be _a_, it is changed into _e_, and _i_ inserted before the last consonant; as, fada _long_, g. s. m. fada, comp. faide; tana _thin_, g. s. m. tana, comp. taine. _The Second Comparative_ is formed from the first, by changing final _e_ into _id_; as, trom _heavy_, 1. comp. truime, 2. comp. truimid; tiugh _thick_, 1. comp. tiuighe, 2. comp. tiuighid. Many Adjectives, especially Polysyllables, do not admit of the Second Comparative. Both these forms of Comparison have an _aspirated_ as well as a _primary form_, but are otherwise indeclinable. The following Adjectives are compared irregularly. _Positive._ _1. Comp._ _2. Comp._ Math, maith, _good_, fearr, feaird. Olc, _bad, evil_, miosa, misd. Mòr, _great_, mò, mòid. Beag, _small_, lugha, lughaid. Goirid, gearr, _short_, giorra, giorraid. Duilich, _difficult_, dorra. Teath, _hot_, teoithe, teoithid. Leathan, _broad_, leatha, lèithne. Fogus, _near_, foisge. {59} Càirdeach, _akin_, càra. Furas, _easy_, fhusa, Toigh, _dear_, docha. Ionmhuinn, _beloved_, annsa, ionnsa. To these may be added the nouns-- Moran _a great number_ or _quantity_, and Tuilleadh _more_. The _Superlative_, which is but a particular mode of expressing comparison, is the same in form with the First Comparative. An eminent degree of any quality is expressed by putting one of the particles ro, glé, before the Positive; as, ro ghlic _very wise_, glé gheal _very white_. The same effect is produced by prefixing fior _true_, sàr _exceeding_, &c., which words are, in that case, used adverbially; as, fior mhaiseach _truly beautiful_, sàr mhaith _exceedingly good_. _Cardinal Numbers._ 1 Aon, a h-aon, _one_. 40 Dà fhichead. 2 Dà, a dhà 50 Deich is dà fhichead. 3 Tri. 60 Tri fichead. 4 Ceithir. 100 Ceud. 5 Cuig. 200 Dà cheud. 6 Sè, sia. 300 Tri ceud. 7 Seachd. 400 Ceithir cheud. 8 Ochd. 500 Cuig ceud. 9 Naoi. 1,000 Mìle. 10 Deich. 2,000 Dà mhìle. 11 Aon deug. 3,000 Tri mìle. 12 A dhà dheug. 10,000 Deich mìle. 13 Tri deug. 20,000 Fichead mìle. 20 Fichead. 100,000 Ceud mìle. 21 Aon thar fhichead. 200,000 Dà cheud mìle. 22 Dha 'ar fhichead. 1,000,000 Deich ceud mìle, 23 Tri 'ar fhichead. Mìle de mhìltibh. 30 Deich 'ar fhichead. &c. &c. 31 Aon deug thar fhichead. {60} _Cardinal Numbers joined to a Noun._ Of the mas. gender. Of the fem. gender. 1 Aon fhear, _one man_. Aon chlach, _one stone_. 2 Dà fhear. Dà chloich. 3 Tri fir. Tri clachan. 10 Deich fir. Deich clachan. 11 Aon fhear deug. Aon chlach dheug. 12 Dà fhear dheug. Dà chloich dheug. 13 Tri fir dheug. Tri clachan deug. 20 Fichead fear. Fichead clach. 21 Aon fhear thar fhichead. Aon chlach thar fhichead. 22 Dà fhear thar fhichead. Dà chloich thar fhichead. 23 Tri fir fhichead. Tri clacha fichead. 30 Deich fir fhichead. Deich clacha fichead. 31 Aon fhear deug 'ar fhichead. Aon chlach dheug thar fhichead. 40 Dà fhichead fear. Dà fhichead clach. 41 Fear is dà fhichead. Clach is dà fhichead. 42 Dà fhear is dà fhichead. Dà chloich is da fhichead. 50 Deich is dà fhichead fear. Deich is da fhichead clach. 60 Tri fichead fear. Tri fichead clach. 70 Tri fichead fear agus deich. Tri fichead clach agus deich. 100 Ceud fear. Ceud clach. 101 Ceud fear agus a h-aon. Ceud clach agus a h-aon. 300 Tri cheud fear. Tri cheud clach. 1,000 Mìle fear. Mìle clach. 10,000 Deich mìle fear, &c. Deich mìle clach, &c. _Ordinal Numbers._ 1 An ceud fhear, _the first man_; a' cheud chlach, _the first stone_. 2 An dara fear. 3 An treas fear, an tri-amh fear. 4 An ceathramh fear. 5 An cuigeamh fear. 6 An seathamh fear. 7 An seachdamh fear. 8 An t-ochdamh fear. {61} 9 An naothamh fear. 10 An deicheamh fear. 11 An t-aon fear deug. 12 An dara fear deug. 20 Am ficheadamh fear. 21 An t-aon fhear fichead. 22 An dara fear fichead. 31 An t-aon fhear deug thar fhichead. 40 An dà fhicheadamh fear. 60 An tri ficheadamh fear. 100 An ceudamh fear. 101 An t-aon fhear thar cheud. 120 Am ficheadamh fear thar cheud. 200 An da cheudamh fear. 1000 Am mìleamh fear, &c. The following numeral Nouns are applied only to persons:-- 2. Dithis, _two persons_. 7. Seachdnar. 3. Triuir. 8. Ochdnar. 4. Ceathrar. 9. Naoinar. 5. Cuignear. 10. Deichnar. 6. Sèanar. CHAPTER IV. OF PRONOUNS. The _Pronouns_ are, for the most part, words used instead of nouns. They may be arranged under the following divisions: Personal, Possessive, Relative, Demonstrative, Interrogative, Indefinite, Compound. The _Personal Pronouns_ are those of the 1st, 2d, and 3d persons. They have a Singular and a Plural Number, a Simple and an Emphatic Form. They are declined thus:-- {62} _Singular._ _Plural._ _Simple Form._ _Emphat. F._ _Simple F._ _Emphat._ 1. Mi, mhi, _I_, _me_, Mise, mhise. Sinn, _we_, _us_, Sinne. 2. {Th, thu, _thou_, } Tusa, thusa. Sibh, _ye_, _you_, Sibhse. {Thu, _thee_, } 3. {E, se, _he_, } Esan. {E, _him_, } {I, si, _she_, } Ise. {Iad, siad, _they_} {I, _her_, } {Iad, _them,_ } Iadsan[40] The Pronoun 'sibh' _you_, of the plural number is used almost universally in addressing a single person of superior rank or of greater age; while 'tu' _thou_, of the singular number is used in addressing an inferior or an equal. But the degree of seniority or of superiority, which is understood to entitle a person to this token of respect, varies in different parts of the Highlands[41]. The Supreme Being is always addressed by the pronoun 'tu' _thou_, of the singular number. The _Possessive Pronouns_ correspond to the Personal Pronouns, and, like them, may be called those of the 1st, 2d, and 3d persons singular, and 1st, 2d, and 3d persons plural. They have an Emphatic Form, which is made by connecting the syllable _sa_ with the possessive pronoun of the 1st, 2d, {63} and 3d persons singular, and 2d person plural; _ne_ with that of the 1st person plural, and _san_ with that of the 3d person plural. These syllables are placed immediately after the nouns to which the possessive pronouns are prefixed, and connected by a hyphen. These Pronouns are as follow:-- _Simple._ _Emphatic._ _Simple._ _Emphatic._ _Singular._ _Plural._ 1. Mo, _my_, mo mhac-sa 1. Ar, _our_, ar mac-ne 2. Do, _thy_, do ----sa 2. Bhur, 'ur, _your_, bhur ----sa 3. {A, _his_, a mhac-sa, san} 3. An, am, _their_, an, am ----sa, san {A, _her_, a mac-sa, san } If the noun be followed by an adjective, the emphatic syllable is affixed to the adjective; as, do làmh gheal-sa _thy white hand_. The possessive pronouns mo, do, when followed by a vowel, commonly lose the _o_, whose absence is marked by an apostrophe; as, m' aimn _my name_; d' athair[42] _thy father_. The same pronouns when preceded by the preposition ann _in_, suffer a transposition of their letters, and are written am, ad, one broad vowel being substituted for another, as, ann ad chridhe _in thy heart_, 1 Sam. xiv. 7, ann am aire _in my thoughts_. The possessive pronoun a _his_, is often suppressed altogether after a vowel; as, na sanntaich bean do choimhearsnaich, no oglach, no bhanoglach, no dhamh, no asal, _covet not thy neighbour's wife, or his man-servant, or his maid-servant_, &c., Exod. xx. 17. In these and similar instances, as the tense is but imperfectly expressed (especially when the noun begins with a vowel), and cannot be gathered with certainty from any other part of the sentence, perhaps it might {64} be an improvement to retain the pronoun, even at the expense of cutting off the final vowel of the preceding word; as, n' a oglach, n' a bhanoglaich, &c. In many cases, however, this appears hardly practicable; as, cha bheo athair _his father is not alive_, which could not with any propriety be written cha bheo a athair[43]. The word fein corresponding to the English words _self_, _own_, is subjoined occasionally both to the personal and possessive pronouns: thus mi fein _myself_, mise fein _I myself_, thu fein _thyself_, thusa fein _thou thyself_, or _thy own self_, mo shluagh fein _my own people_. The other Pronouns are as follow:-- _Relative._ _Demonstrative._ _Interrogative._ _N._ A, _who_, _which_, So, _this_, _these_. Co? _who?_ _that_. _G.&D._ An. Sin, _that_, _those_. Cia? _which?_ Nach, _who not_, Sud[44], ud, _yon_. Ciod, creud? _what?_ _which not_, Na, _that which_, _what_[45]. _Indefinite._ _Compound._ Eigin, _some_. E so, _this one_, m. E sud, _yon one_, m. Ge b'e } _whoever_[46]. I so, _this one_, f. I sud, _yon one_, f. Cia b'e } {65} Eile, _other_. Iad so, _these_. Iad sud, _yon_, pl. Gach, } _each_, } E sin, _that one_, m. Cach eile, _the rest_. Cach, } _every_[47]. } Cach, _others, the rest_. Iad sin, _those_. Cach a chéile, Cuid, _some_. _each other_[48]. CHAPTER V. OF VERBS. A word that signifies to be, to do, or to suffer anything, is called a _Verb_. The Verb in Gaelic, as in other languages, is declined by Voices, Moods, Tenses, Numbers, and Persons. The _Voices_ are two: Active and Passive. The _Moods_ are five: the Affirmative or Indicative, the Negative or Interrogative, the Subjunctive, the Imperative, and the Infinitive. Many, but not all, Transitive Verbs have a Passive Participle. The _Tenses_ are three: the Present, the Preterite, and the Future. The _Numbers_ are two: Singular and Plural. The _Persons_ are three: First, Second, and Third. The {66} distinction of number and person takes place only in a few tenses. The inflections of Verbs, like those of nouns, are made by changes at the beginning, and on the termination. The changes on the termination are made according to one model, and by the same rules. But for the sake of stating some diversity in the _initial_ changes, it may be convenient to arrange the verbs in two _conjugations_, whereof the first comprehends those verbs which begin with a consonant, the second, those verbs which begin with a vowel. Verbs beginning with _f_, followed by a vowel, are ranged under the second conjugation, along with verbs beginning with a vowel. The verb Bi _be_, which is used as an auxiliary to other verbs, is declined as follows:-- Bi, _be_. _Affirmative_ or _Indicative Mood_. Present. Preterite. Future. _Sing._ _Sing._ _Sing._ 1. Ta mi, _I am_, Bha mi, _I was_, Bithidh mi, _I will be_, 2. Ta thu, Bha thu, Bithidh tu, 3. Ta e; Bha e; Bithidh se; _Plur._ _Plur._ _Plur._ 1. Ta sinn, Bha sinn, Bithidh sinn, 2. Ta sibh, Bha sibh, Bithidh sibh, 3. Ta iad. Bha iad. Bithidh siad. _Negative_ or _Interrogative Mood_. Present. Preterite. _Sing._ _Sing._ { 1 Bheil mi, _I am not,_ Robh mi, _I was not,_ ni { 2 Bheil thu, Robh thu, cha { 3 Bheil e; Robh e; nach { mur, { _Plur._ _Plur._ &c. { 1 Bheil sinn, Robh sinn, { 2 Bheil sibh, Robh sibh, { 3 Bheil iad. Robh iad. {67} Future. _Sing._ { Bi mi, _I shall not be_, ni { Bi thu, cha { Bi se; nach { mur, { _Plur._ &c. { Bi sinn, { Bi sibh, { Bi siad. _Subjunctive Mood._ Preterite or Imperfect. Future. _Sing._ _Sing._ 1 Bhithinn, _I would be_, Ma bhitheas mi, _If I shall be_, 2 Bhitheadh tu, Bhitheas tu, 3 Bhitheadh e; Bhitheas e; _Plur._ _Plur._ 1 Bhitheadheamaid, Bhitheas sinn, Bhitheadh sinn, 2 Bhitheadh sibh, Bhitheas sibh, 3 Bhitheadh iad. Bhitheas iad. _Imperative Mood._ _Infinitive Mood._ _Sing._ 1 Bitheam, _let me be_, Bith, _being_, 2 Bi, bi thusa, do bhith, } _to be_, 3 Bitheadh e; a bhith, } gu bhith, } _to be_, _Plur._ gu bith, } 1 Bitheamaid, iar bhith,} _after being_, _been_, 2 Bithibh, iar bith, } 3 Bitheadh iad. o bhith, _from being_, &c. _Compound Tenses._ Present. Preterite. Future. _Affirmative Mood._ _Sing._ _Sing._ _Sing._ Ta mi iar bith, Bha mi iar bith, Bithidh mi iar bith, _I have been_, &c. _I had been_, &c. _I shall have been_, &c. {68} _Negative Mood._ _Sing._ _Sing._ _Sing._ ni, {Bheil mi iar bith, Robh mi iar bith, Bi mi air bith, &c. {_I have not been._ _I had not been._ _I shall not have been._ _Subjunctive Mood._ Preterite or Pluperfect. Future. _Sing._ _Sing._ 1 Bhithinn iar bith, Ma bhitheas mi iar bith, _I should have been, &c._ _If I shall have been, &c._ The present affirmative ta is often written tha. This is one of many instances where there appears reason to complain of the propensity remarked in Part I. in those who speak the Gaelic, to attenuate its articulations by aspiration. Another corrupt way of writing ta which has become common, is ata. This has probably taken its rise from uniting the relative to the verb; as, an uair _ata_ mi; instead of an uair _a ta_, &c., mar _a ta_, &c. Or perhaps it may have proceeded from a too compliant regard to a provincial pronunciation. The pret. neg. robh appears to be made up of the verbal participle ro, the same with do, and bha, throwing away the last vowel; ro bha, robh. The verb and pronoun of the 1st per. sing. and 3d per. plur. are frequently incorporated into one word, and written taim _I am_, taid _they are_. The pres. neg. loses the initial _bh_ after the participle cha _not_, mur _if not_, nach _that not_; _n_ is inserted, _euphoniae causa_, betwixt the participle cha and the verb; as, cha n 'eil, mur 'eil, nach 'eil. This Tense is often pronounced beil after the participle am; as, am beil e? _is it?_ In the North Highlands, the pret. neg. often takes the common verbal participle do before it; as, cha do robh mi, or cha d'robh mi, _I was not_. Initial _b_ of the fut. neg. is aspirated after the participle cha _not_; as, cha bhi. Initial _bh_ of the pret. subj. loses the aspiration after the {69} participles ni _not_, mur _if not_, nach _that not_, gu _that_, nam _if_; as, mur bithinn, nam bitheadh tu. The subjunct. and imper. often suffer a contraction, by changing _ithea_ into _io_; as, biodh, biom, bios, &c. Some of the compound tenses of Bi are rarely if ever used. They are here given complete, because they correspond to the analogy of other verbs; and show how accurately the various modifications of time may be expressed by the substantive verb itself. Example of a verb of the First Conjugation. Buail _to strike_. ACTIVE VOICE. Simple Tenses. _Affirmative_ or _Indicative Moods_. Preterite. Future. _Sing._ _Sing._ 1 Do bhuail mi, _I struck_, Buailidh mi, _I will strike_, Bhuail mi, 2 Bhuail thu, Buailidh tu, 3 Bhuail e; Buailidh se; _Plur._ _Plur._ 1 Bhuail sinn, Buailidh sinn, 2 Bhuail sibh, Buailidh sibh, 3 Bhuail iad. Buailidh siad. _Negative_ or _Interrogative Mood._ Preterite. Future. _Sing._ _Sing._ { 1 Do bhuail mi, _I struck not_ Buail mi, _I will not strike_, ni { 2 Do bhuail thu, Buail thu, cha { 3 Do bhuail e; Buail e; nach { mur, { _Plur._ _Plur._ &c. { 1 Do bhuail sinn, Buail sinn, { 2 Do bhuail sibh, Buail sibh, { 3 Do bhuail iad. Buail iad. {70} _Subjunctive Mood._ Preterite. Future. _Sing._ _Sing._ 1 Bhuailinn, _I would strike_, Ma bhuaileas mi, _If I shall strike_, 2 Bhuaileadh tu, Bhuaileas tu, 3 Bhuaileadh e; Bhuaileas e; _Plur._ _Plur._ 1 Bhuaileamaid, Bhuaileas sinn, Bhuaileadh sinn, 2 Bhuaileadh sibh, Bhuaileas sinn, 3 Bhuaileadh iad. Bhuaileas iad. _Imperative Mood._ _Infinitive Mood._ _Sing._ 1 Buaileam, _let me strike_, Bualadh, _striking_, 2 Buail, ag bualadh, _a-striking_, _striking_, 3 Buaileadh e; iar bualadh, _struck_, do bhualadh, } _Plur._ a bhualadh, } _to strike_, 1 Buaileamaid, ri bualadh, _at striking_, 2 Buailibh, le bualadh, _with striking_, 3 Buaileadh iad. o bhualadh, _from striking_, &c. Compound Tenses. _Affirmative Mood._ Present. Preterite. Future. _1. Comp._ _1. Comp._ _1. Comp._ Ta mi ag bualadh, Bha mi ag bualadh, Bithidh mi ag bualadh, _I am striking_, &c. _I was striking_, &c. _I will be striking_, &c. {71} Present. Preterite. Future. _2. Comp._ _2. Comp._ _2. Comp._ Ta mi iar bualadh, Bha mi iar bualadh, Bithidh mi iar bualadh, _I have struck_, &c. _I had struck_, &c. _I will have struck_, &c. _Negative Mood_ Present. Preterite. _1. Comp._ _1. Comp._ { Bheil mi ag bualadh, Robh mi ag bualadh, { _I am not striking_, &c. _I was not striking_, &c. { { Future. { _1. Comp._ { Bi mi ag bualadh, ni { _I will not be striking_, &c. cha { nach { Present. Preterite, mur, { _2. Comp._ _2. Comp._ &c. { Bheil mi iar bualadh, Robh mi iar bualadh, { _I have not struck_,&c. _I had not struck,_ &c. { { Future. { _2. Comp._ { Bi mi iar bualadh, { _I will not have struck,_ &c. _Subjunctive Mood._ Preterite. Future. _1. Comp._ _1. Comp._ Bhithinn ag bualadh, Ma bhitheas mi ag bualadh, _I would be striking_, &c. _If I shall be striking_, &c. _2. Comp._ _2. Comp._ Bhithinn iar bualadh, Ma bhitheas mi iar bualadh, _I would have struck,_ &c. _If I shall have struck_, &c. {72} _Imperative Mood._ _Infinitive Mood._ _1. Comp._ _1. Comp._ Bitheam ag bualadh, Do bhith ag bualadh, _Let me be striking,_ &c. _To be striking,_ &c. Iar bith ag bualadh, _Been striking,_ &c. _2. Comp._ _2. Comp._ Bitheam iar bualadh, Do bhith iar bualadh, _Let me have struck,_ &c. _To have been striking,_ &c. PASSIVE VOICE. _Affirmative Mood._ Simple Tenses. Preterite. Future. _Sing._ _Sing._ 1 Do bhuaileadh mi, _I was struck._ Buailear mi, _I shall be struck._ Bhuaileadh mi, 2 Bhuaileadh thu, Buailear thu, 3 Bhuaileadh e; Buailear e; _Plur._ _Plur._ 1 Bhuaileadh sinn, Buailear sinn, 2 Bhuaileadh sibh, Buailear sibh, Bhuaileadh iad. Buailear iad. _Negative Mood._ Preterite. Future. _Sing._ _Sing._ { 1 Do bhuaileadh mi, Buailear mi, { _I was not struck_, _I shall not be struck_, ni { 2 Do bhuaileadh thu, Buailear thu, cha { 3 Do bhuaileadh e; Buailear e; nach { mur, { _Plur._ _Plur._ &c. { 1 Do bhuaileadh sinn, Buailear sinn, { 2 Do bhuaileadh sibh, Buailear sibh, { 3 Do bhuaileadh iad, Buailear iad. {73} _Subjunctive Mood._ Preterite. Future. _Sing._ _Sing._ 1 Bhuailteadh mi, _ Ma bhuailear mi, _I would be struck,_ _If I shall be struck._ 2 Bhuailteadh thu, Bhuailear thu, 3 Bhuailteadh e; Bhuailear e; _Plur._ _Plur._ 1 Bhuailteadh sinn, Bhuailear sinn, 2 Bhuailteadh sibh, Bhuailear sibh, 3 Bhuailteadh iad. Bhuailear iad. _Imperative Mood._ _Sing._ _Plur._ 1 Buailtear mi, _Let me be struck,_ 1 Buailtear sinn, 2 Buailtear thu, 2 Buailtear sibh, 3 Buailtear e. 3 Buailtear iad. _Participle._ Buailte, _struck._ Compound Tenses _Affirmative Mood._ Present. Preterite. _1. Comp._ _1. Comp._ Ta mi buailte, _I am struck,_ &c. Bha mi buailte, _I was struck,_ &c. Future. _1. Comp._ Bithidh mi buailte, _I shall be struck,_ &c. {74} Present. Preterite. _2. Comp._ _2. Comp._ _Sing._ _Sing._ 1 Ta mi iar mo bhualadh, Bha mi iar mo bhualadh, _I have been struck,_ _I had been struck,_ 2 Ta thu iar do bhualadh, Bha thu iar do bhualadh, 3 Ta se iar a bhualadh; Bha se iar a bhualadh; _Plur._ _Plur._ 1 Ta sinn iar ar bualadh, Bha sinn iar ar bualadh, 2 Ta sibh iar 'ur bualadh, Bha sibh iar 'ur bualadh, 3 Ta siad iar am bualadh. Bha siad iar am bualadh. Future. _2. Comp._ _Sing._ 1 Bithidh mi iar mo bhualadh, _I shall have been struck._ 2 Bithidh tu iar do bhualadh, 3 Bithidh se iar a bhualadh; _Plur._ 1 Bithidh sinn iar ar bualadh, 2 Bithidh sibh iar 'ur bualadh, 3 Bithidh siad iar am bualadh. _Negative Mood._ Present. Preterite. _1. Comp._ _1. Comp._ Ni bheil mi buailte, Ni'n robh mi buailte, _I am not struck,_ &c. _I was not struck,_ &c. Future. _1. Comp._ Ni'm bi mi buailte, _I shall not be struck,_ &c. Present. Preterite. _2. Comp._ _2. Comp._ Ni 'm bheil mi iar mo bhualadh, Ni'n robh mi iar mo bhualadh, _I have not been struck,_ &c. _I had not been struck,_ &c. {75} Future. _2. Comp._ Ni'm bi mi iar mo bhualadh, _I shall not have been struck,_ &c. _Subjunctive Mood._ Preterite. Future. _1. Comp._ _1. Comp._ Bhithinn buailte, Ma bhitheas mi buailte, _I would be struck,_ &c. _If I shall be struck,_ &c. _2. Comp._ _2. Comp._ Bhithinn iar mo bhualadh, Ma bhitheas mi iar mo bhualadh, _I would have been struck,_ &c. _If I shall have been struck,_ &c. _Imperative Mood._ _Infinitive Mood._ _1. Comp._ _1. Comp._ Bitheam buailte, Do bhith buailte, _Let me be struck,_ &c. _To be struck,_ &c. _2. Comp._ _2. Comp._ Bitheam iar mo bhualadh, Do bhith iar mo bhualadh, _Let me have been struck,_ &c. _To have been struck,_ &c. _Examples of Verbs of the Second Conjugation._ Orduich, _to appoint._ ACTIVE VOICE. Simple Tenses Preterite. Future. _Affirmat._ Dh'orduich, Orduichidh, _Negat._ D'orduich, Orduich, _Subjunct._ Dh'orduichinn. Dh'orduicheas. _Imperat._ Orduicheam. _Infinit._ Orduchadh. PASSIVE VOICE. _Affirmat._ Dh'orduicheadh, Orduichear, _Negat._ D'orduicheadh, Orduichear, _Subjunct._ Dh'orduichteadh. Dh'orduicheas. _Imperat._ Orduichear. _Particip._ Orduichte. {76} Folaich, _to hide._ ACTIVE VOICE. Preterite. Future. _Affirmat._ Dh'fholaich, Folaichidh, _Negat._ D'fholaich, Folaich, _Subjunct._ Dh'fholaichinn. Dh'fholaicheas. _Imperat._ Folaicheam. _Infinit._ Folachadh. PASSIVE VOICE. _Affirmat._ Dh'fholaicheadh, Folaichear, _Negat._ D'fholaicheadh, Folaichear, _Subjunct._ Dh'fholaichteadh. Dh'fholaichear. _Imperat._ Folaichtear. _Particip._ Folaichte. The Compound tenses may be easily learned from those of the Verb Buail in the first Conjugation, being formed exactly in the same manner. FORMATION OF THE TENSES. _Of the Initial Form._ An Initial Consonant is aspirated in the Preterite Tense, through all the Moods and Voices, except in the Preterite Subjunctive after the Particles ni, mur, nach, gu, an, am. An initial Consonant is occasionally aspirated in the Future Tense, and in the Infinitive and Participle, indicating their connection with the preceding word. In the first Conjugation, do is prefixed to the Pret. Aff. and Neg. Active and Passive. However, it often is, and always may be, omitted before the Pret. Aff. It is sometimes omitted in the Pret. Neg. in verse, and in common conversation. In the second Conjugation, the same Particle do is prefixed to the Preterite through all the Moods and Voices, and to the Fut. Subj. excepting only the Subjunctive Tenses after ni, mur, nach, gu, an, am. In this {77} Conjugation, do always loses the _o_ to avoid a _hiatus_, and the _d_ is aspirated in the Affirm. and Subjunct. Moods[49]. _Of the Termination._ In all regular Verbs, the Terminations adjected to the Root are, strictly speaking, the same in Verbs characterised by a small vowel. But where the first vowel of the Termination does not correspond in quality to the last vowel of the Root, it has become the constant practice to insert in the Termination a vowel of the requisite quality, in order to produce this correspondence. Thus a variety has been introduced into the Terminations even of regular Verbs, prejudicial to the uniformity of inflection, and of no use to ascertain either the sense or the pronunciation[50]. In the foregoing examples of regular Verbs, the common mode of Orthography has been followed, but in the following rules the simple Terminations only are specified. ACTIVE VOICE. Simple Tenses. The Theme or Root of the Verb is always found in the second Per. sing. of the imperative. The _Preterite_ Affirm. and Negat. is like the Root, and has no distinction of Number or Person. In most of the editions of the Gaelic Psalms, some inflections of the {78} Preterite have been admitted, with good effect, from the Irish Verb; such as, bhuaileas _I struck_, bhuailis _thou didst strike_, bhuaileamar _we struck_, bhuaileadar _they struck_. The Pret. Subj. is formed by adding to the Root _inn_ for the first pers. sing., and _adh_ for the other persons. The first pers. plur. also terminates in _amaid_. The _Future_ Affirm. adds _idh_ to the Root; in the Negat. it is like the Root; and in the Subjunct. it adds _as_. A poetic Future Tense terminating in _ann_ or _onn_, is frequent in the Gaelic Psalms; as, gairionn _will call_, seasfann _will stand_, do bheirionn, _will give_, &c. The Future has no distinction of Number or Person. The Termination of the Future Affirm. and Negat. in many Verbs was formerly _fidh_, like the Irish; of which many examples occur in the earlier editions of the Gaelic Psalms. In later Gaelic publications, the _f_ has been uniformly set aside[51]. The Termination of the first pers. and third pers. plur. is often incorporated with the corresponding Pronoun; as, seinnam cliu _I will sing praise_, Psal. lxi. 8., Ni fuigham bàs, ach mairfam beo, _I shall not die, but shall remain alive_, Ps. cxviii. 17., Ithfid, geillfid, innsid, _they will eat_, _they will submit_, _they will tell_, Ps. xxii, 26, 29, 31. [52]. {79} In the _Imperative_ Mood, the second pers. sing. is the Root of the Verb. The other persons are distinguished by these Terminations; 1st pers. sing. _am_, 3d pers. sing. _adh_, 1st pers. plur. _amaid_, 2d pers. plur. _ibh_, 3d pers. plur. _adh_. The Terminations peculiar to the 1st pers. sing. and plur. of the Pret. Subj. and of the Imperat. supply the place of the Personal Pronouns; as does also the Termination of the 2d pers. plur. of the Imperative. The _Infinitive_ is variously formed. _General Rule._ The Infinitive is formed by adding _adh_ to the Root; as, aom _bow, incline_, Infin. aomadh; ith _eat_, Infin. itheadh. 1. Some Verbs suffer a syncope in the penult syllable, and are commonly used in their contracted form; as, _Imper._ _Infin._ Caomhain, _spare_, Caomhnadh. Coisin, _win_, Coisneadh, Cosnadh. Diobair, _deprive_, Diobradh. Fògair, _remove_, Fògradh. Foghain, _suffice_, Foghnadh. Fosgail, _open_, Fosgladh. Innis, _tell_, Innseadh. Iobair, _sacrifice_, Iobradh. Mosgail, _awake_, Mosgladh. Seachain, _avoid_, Seachnadh. Tionsgain, _begin_, Tionsgnadh. Togair, _desire_, Togradh. Observe that Verbs which thus suffer a syncope in forming {80} the Infinitive, suffer a like syncope in the Preterite Subjunctive, and in the Imperative Mood; as, innis _tell_, Infin. innseadh, Pret. Subj. innsinn, innseadh, innseamaid, Imperat. innseam, innseamaid, innsibh. 2. A considerable number of Verbs have their Infinitive like the Root; as, Caoidh, _lament_. Ol, _drink_. Dearmad, _neglect_. Ruith, _run_. Fàs, _grow_. Snamh, _swim_. Gairm, _call_. Sniomh, _twine_. Meas, _estimate_. 3. Polysyllables in _ch_, whose characteristic Vowel is small, either throw it away, or convert it into a broad Vowel and add _adh_; as, Ceannaich, _buy_, Ceannachadh. Smuainich, _think_, Smuaineachadh. Most Monosyllables in _sg_, and a few others, follow the same Rule; as, _Imper._ _Infin._ _Imper._ _Infin._ Coisg, _check_, Cosgadh. Naisg, _bind_, Nasgadh. Fàisg, _wring_, Fàsgadh. Paisg, _wrap_, Pasgadh. Loisg, _burn_, Losgadh. Blais, _taste_, Blasadh. Luaisg, _rock_, Luasgadh. Buail, _strike_, Bualadh. 4. Many Verbs, whose characteristic Vowel is small, either throw it away, or convert it into a broad Vowel, without adding _adh_; as, _Imper._ _Infin._ _Imper._ _Infin._ Amhairc, _look_, Amharc. Iomain, _drive_, Ioman. Amais, _reach_, Amas. Leighis, _cure_, Leigheas. Caill, _lose_, Call. Sguir, _cease_, Sgur. Ceangail, _bind_, Ceangal. Siubhail, _travel_, Siubhal. Cuir, _put_, Cur. Tachrais, _wind_, Tachras. Coimhid, _keep_, Coimhead. Tiondaidh, _turn_, Tiondadh. Fulaing, _suffer_, Fulang. Toirmisg, _forbid_, Toirmeasg. Fuirich, _stay_, Fuireach. Toinail, _gather_, Toinal. Guil, _weep_, Gul. Tionsgail, _contrive_, Tionsgal. {81} 5. The following Verbs in _air_ add _t_ to the Root:-- _Imper._ _Infin._ Agair, _claim_, Agairt. Bagair, _threaten_, Bagairt. Casgair, _slaughter_, Casgairt. Freagair, _answer_, Freagairt. Iomair, _use_, Iomairt. Labhair, _speak_, Labhairt. Lomair, _shear_, Lomairt. Saltair, _trample_, Saltairt. Tabhair, _give_, Tabhairt. Tachair, _meet_, Tachairt. 6. These Monosyllables add _sinn_ to the Root:-- Beir, _bear_, Beirsinn. Creid, _believe_, Creidsinn. Faic, _see_, Faicsinn. Goir, _crow_, Goirsinn. Mair, _continue_, Mairsinn. Saoil, _think_, Saoilsinn. Tréig, _forsake_, Tréigsinn. Tuig, _understand_, Tuigsinn, or Tuigeil. Ruig, _reach_, Ruigsinn, or Ruigheachd. 7. These Monosyllables add _tuinn_ or _tinn_ to the Root:-- Bean, _touch_, Beantuinn. Buin, _take away_, Buntuinn. Can, _say, sing_, Cantuinn. Cinn, _grow_, Cinntinn. Cluinn, _hear_, Cluinntinn. Fan, _stay_, Fantuinn. Gin, _produce_, Giontuinn, or Gionmhuin. Lean, _follow_, Leantuinn, or Leanmhuin. Meal, _enjoy_, Mealtuinn. Pill, _return_, Pilltinn. Seall, _look_, Sealltuinn. {82} 8. The following Monosyllables add _ail_ to the Root:-- _Imper._ _Infin._ _Imper._ _Infin._ Cum, _hold_, Cumail. Leag, _cast down_, Leagail. Gabh, _take_, Gabhail. Tog, _raise_, Togail. Fàg, _leave_, Fàgail. Tuig, _understand_, Tuigeil. 9. These Monosyllables add _amh_ to the Root:-- _Imper._ _Infin._ Caith, _spend_, Caitheamh. Dean, _do, make_, Deanamh. Feith, _wait_, Feitheamh. Seas, _stand_, Seasamh. 10. The following Verbs form the Infinitive irregularly:-- Beuc, _roar_, Beucaich. Bùir, _bellow_, Bùirich. Geum, _low_, Geumnaich. Glaodh, _cry_, Glaodhaich. Caisd, _listen_, Caisdeachd. Eisd, _hearken_, Eisdeachd. Marcaich, _ride_, Marcachd. Thig, _come_, Teachd, tighinn. Faigh, _find_, Faghail, faotainn. Eirich, _rise_, Eirigh. Iarr, _request_, Iarraidh. Taisg, _lay up_, Tasgaidh. Coidil, _sleep_, Codal. Fuaigh, _sew_, Fuaghal. Gluais, _move_, Gluasad, gluasachd. Tuit, _fall_, Tuiteam. Teirig, _wear out_, Teireachduinn. Teasairg, _deliver_, Teasairgin. _Compound Tenses._ The _compound Tenses of the first order_ are made up of the several simple Tenses of the auxiliary verb Bi _be_, and the Infinitive preceded by the Preposition ag _at_. Between two Consonants, ag commonly loses the _g_, and is written _a'_; as, {83} ta iad a' deanamh _they are doing_. Between two Vowels, the _a_ is dropped, and the _g_ is retained; as, ta mi 'g iarruidh _I am asking_. When preceded by a Consonant, and followed by a Vowel, the Preposition is written entire, as, ta iad ag iarruidh _they are asking_. When preceded by a Vowel, and followed by a Consonant, it is often suppressed altogether; as, ta mi deanamh _I am doing_[53]. The _compound Tenses of the second order_ are made up of the simple Tenses of Bi and the Infinitive preceded by the Preposition iar _after_[54]. PASSIVE VOICE. _Simple Tenses._ The _Preterite_ Affirm. and Negat. is formed from the same Tense in the Active, by adding _adh_. The Preter. Subj. adds _teadh_. The _Future_ is formed from the Fut. Act. by changing the Terminations in the Affirm. and Subj. into _ar_, (more properly _far_, as of old) and adding the same syllable in the Negative. The _Imperative_ is formed from the Imperat. Act. by adding to the second pers. sing. _tar_, _thar_, or _ar_.[55] {84} The _Participle_ is formed by adding _te_ to the Root[56]. There is no distinction of Number or Person in the Tenses of the Passive Voice. Verbs which suffer a syncope in the Infinitive, suffer a like syncope in the Pret. Aff. and Neg. throughout the Future Tense, and in the Imperative. _Compound Tense._ The _compound Tenses of the first order_ are made up of the simple Tenses of the auxiliary Bi and the Passive Participle. {85} The _compound Tenses of the second order_ are made up of the simple Tenses of _Bi_ and the Infinitive preceded by the Preposition _iar_ and the Possessive Pronoun corresponding in Person to the Pronoun, or to the Noun, which is the Nominative to the verb. _Use and Import of the Moods and Tenses._ The _Affirmative_ or _Indicative_ Mood expresses affirmation, and is used in affirmative propositions only, as, Do bhuail mi _I struck_, bha mi ag bualadh _I was striking_. The _Negative_ or _Interrogative_ Mood is used in negative propositions and interrogative clauses, after the Particles ni _not_, cha _not_, nach _which not_, _that not_, _not?_ mur _if not_; also, gu, gur, _that_, an, am, whether used relatively or interrogatively; as, cha d'fholaich mi _I did not hide_, mur buail sinn _if we shall not strike_, nach robh iad _that they were not_, gu robh iad _that they were_; am buail mi? _shall I strike?_ It is used in the Future Tense after ged _although_; as, ged bhuail e mi, _though he strike me_[57]. The _Subjunctive_ Mood is used in the Preterite, either with or without conjunctions; as, bhuailinn _I would strike_, na'm, mur, nach, &c., buailinn _if, unless, &c., I should strike_. In the Future it is used only after the conjunctions ma _if_, o, o'n _since_, and the Relative _a_ expressed or understood; as, ma bhuaileas mi _if I shall strike_, am fear a bhuaileas mi _the man {86} who will strike me_, or _the man whom I shall strike_; an uair a bhuaileas mi, tra bhuaileas mi _the time [in] which I shall strike, i. e., when I shall strike_; c'uin [cia ùine] a bhuaileas mi? _what [is] the time [in] which I shall strike? i. e., when shall I strike?_ The _Imperative_ Mood expresses desire, whether purpose, command, or request; as, buaileam _let me strike_, buailibh _strike ye_. The _Infinitive_[58] is, in all respects, a noun, denoting the action or energy of the verb, and commonly preceded by a Preposition which marks the time of the action; as, ag bualadh _at striking_, am bualadh _the striking, the threshing_. It assumes a regular genitive case, bualadh g. s. bualaidh; as, urlar-bualaidh _a threshing floor_. The Infinitive sometimes loses the termination, and is regularly declined in its abridged form; thus, cruinnich _assemble_, inf. cruinneach-adh per. apocop. cruinneach g. s. cruinnich; hence, àite-cruinnich _a place of meeting_, Acts xix. 29, 31, so, fear-criochnaich, Heb. xii. 2, fear-cuidich, Psalm xxx. 10, liv. 4, ionad-foluich, Psalm xxxii. 7, cxix. 114, litir-dhealaich, Matt. v. 31[59]. There is no part of the Active Voice that can, strictly speaking, be denominated a Participle. The Infinitive preceded by the Preposition ag _at_, corresponds in meaning to the present Participle; and preceded by iar _after_, it corresponds to the participle of the past time; as, ag bualadh _at striking_, or _striking_; iar bualadh _after striking_, or _struck_[60]. {87} Many words, expressing state or action, take the Preposition _ag_ before them, and may be considered as Infinitives of Verbs, whereof the other parts are not in use; as, ag atharrais _mimicking_, ag gàireachdaich _laughing_, a' fanoid, a' magadh _mocking_, _jeering_. {88} The _Participle_ passive is an adjective, denoting the completion of the action or energy expressed by the verb; as, arbhar buailte _threshed corn_. The _Simple Tenses_ which belong to all verbs are the Preterite or Future, besides which the verb Bi to _be_, and the defective verb Is I _am_, have a Present Tense[61]. The _Present_ expresses present existence, state, or energy. The _Preterite Affirmative_ and _Negative_ expresses past time indefinitely. The _Preterite Subjunctive_ corresponds to the English Tenses formed by the auxiliaries _would_, _could_, &c. In general it denotes that the action or energy of the verb takes place eventually or conditionally. The Pret. Aff. or {89} Neg. is used sometimes in this sense, like the English, when the Pret. Subj. occurred in the preceding clause of a sentence, as, na'm biodh tus' an so, cha d' fhuair mo bhrathair bàs, _if thou hadst been here, my brother had not [would not have] died_; mur bitheamaid air deanamh moille bha sinn a nis air pilltinn air ar n-ais, _if we had not lingered, we had [should have] now returned_, Gen. xliii. 10. The _Future_ marks future time indefinitely. This Tense is used in a peculiar sense in Gaelic, to signify that an action or event takes place uniformly, habitually, according to ordinary practice, or the course of nature. Thus; Blessed is he that _considereth_ the poor, expressed according to the Gaelic idiom, would be, Blessed is he that _will consider_, &c. A wise son _maketh_ a glad father, in Gaelic would run, A wise son _will make_, &c. Your patient, I am told, is in a bad way; he neither _enjoys_ rest, nor _takes_ medicine. Nay, his situation is worse than you know of; yesterday, he became delirious, and is now almost unmanageable; he _tosses_ his arms, and _endeavours_ to beat every one within his reach. In Gaelic, _will enjoy--will take--will toss--will endeavour_. In like manner, a great many Gaelic Proverbs express a general truth by means of the Future tense; _e.g._, bithidh dùil ri fear feachd, ach cha bhi dùil ri fear lic, _There _is_ hope that a man may return from war, but there _is_ no hope that a man may return from the grave_; literally, there _will be_ hope--there _will be_ no hope. Teirgidh gach ni r' a chaitheamh, _every thing_ wears _out in the using_; literally,--_will wear_ out[62]. The _Compound Tenses_ mark different modifications of time, {90} which will be easily understood by analysing their component parts. In the _Active Voice_, the compound tenses of the first order denote that the action is going on, but not completed at the time specified by the auxiliary verb, or its adjuncts; as, ta mi ag bualadh, _I am at striking_, i.e., _I am striking_; bha mi ag bualadh an dé, _I was striking yesterday_. Those of the second order denote that the action is newly completed and past, at the time marked by the auxiliary verb; ta mi iar bualadh, _I am after striking_, i.e., _I have struck_, _Je viens de frapper_; Bha mi iar bualadh, _I was striking_, i.e., _I had struck_. In the _Passive Voice_, the compound tenses of the first order denote that the action is _finished_ at the time marked by the auxiliary verb; ta mi buailte, _I am struck_. Those of the second order denote that the action is _newly finished_ at the time marked by the auxiliary[63]; ta mi iar mo bhualadh, _I am after my striking_, or, _I am after the striking of me_, which has always a passive signification; that is, it is always understood, from this form of expression, that _striking_ is the action of some agent different from the person struck. It is equivalent to _I have been struck_, _Je viens d'etre frappé_. A set of Compound Tenses, of a structure similar to these last, having the preposition ag, in place of iar, is sometimes used, and in a passive sense, denoting that the action is _going on_ at the time marked by the auxiliary; as, tha 'n tigh 'g a thogail, _the house is at its building_, i.e., _a-building_; sea bliadhna agus da fhichead bha 'n teampull 'g a thogail, _forty and six years was this temple in building_. John ii. 20, 1 Kings vi. 7. Bha an crodh 'g an leigeadh, _the cows were a-milking_; bidh deudaichean 'g an rusgadh. "Gillies' Collect." p. 82. So {91} in English, the book is a-printing; the deed's a-doing now, "Douglas," Act 1. The following scheme shows the different modifications of time, as expressed by the several Tenses of the Gaelic Verb, brought together into one view, and compared with the corresponding Tenses of the Greek Verb in Moor's Greek Grammar. ACTIVE VOICE. _Indicative or Affirmative Mood._ Present Tense. Ta mi ag bualadh, [Greek: tuptô], I strike, or am striking. Imperfect. Bha mi ag bualadh, [Greek: etupton], I was striking. Future. Buailidh mi } [Greek: tupsô], I will strike, Bithidh mi ag bualadh } or be striking. Aorist or Preterite. Bhuail mi, [Greek: etupsa], I struck. Perfect. Ta mi iar bualadh, [Greek: tetupha], I have struck. Pluperfect. Bha mi iar bualadh, [Greek: etetuphein], I had struck. _Interrogative or Negative Mood._ Present. Am bheil mi ag bualadh? Am I striking? Imperfect. An robh mi ag bualadh? Was I striking? Future. Am buail mi? Shall I strike? {92} Aorist or Preterite. An do bhuail mi? Did I strike? Perfect. Am bheil mi iar bualadh? Have I struck? Pluperfect. An robh mi iar bualadh? Had I struck? _Subjunctive Mood._ Imperfect. Bhuailinn, } [Greek: etupton an], I would strike. Bhithinn ag bualadh, } Future. Ma bhuaileas mi, If I shall strike. Pluperfect. Bhithinn iar bualadh, [Greek: etupsa an], I would have struck. _Imperative Mood._ Buaileam, Let me strike. Buail, [Greek: tupte], Strike. _Infinitive Mood._ Am bualadh, [Greek: to tuptein], The striking. A' bhualaidh, [Greek: tou tuptein], Of the striking. Ag bualadh, [Greek: en tôi tuptein], A-striking. PASSIVE VOICE. _Indicative or Affirmative Mood._ Present. Ta mi 'g am bhualadh, [Greek: tuptomai], I am in striking[64]. Imperfect. Bha mi 'g am bhualadh, [Greek: etuptomên], I was in striking. {93} Future. Buailear mi, } [Greek: tuphthêsomai], I shall be struck. Bithidh mi buailte, } Aorist or Preterite. Bhuaileadh mi, [Greek: etuphthên], I was struck. Perfect. Ta mi buailte, } [Greek: tetummenos eimi], I have been struck. Ta mi iar mo bhualadh } Pluperfect. Bha mi buailte, } [Greek: tetummenos ên], I had been struck. Bha mi iar mo bhualadh} _Interrogative or Negative Mood._ Future. Am buailear mi? Shall I be struck? Aorist or Preterite. An do bhuaileadh mi? Was I struck? Perfect. Am bheil mi buailte? } Have I been struck? Am bheil mi iar mo bhualadh? } Pluperfect. An robh mi buailte? } Had I been struck? An robh mi iar mo bhualadh? } _Subjunctive Mood._ Imperfect. Bhuailteadh mi, [Greek: etuptomên an], I should be struck. Future. Ma bhuailtear mi, If I shall be struck. {94} Pluperfect. Bhithinn buailte, } Bhithinn iar mo } [Greek: etuphthên an], I should have been bhualadh, } struck. _Imperative Mood._ Buailtear mi, Let me be struck. Buailtear thu, [Greek: tuptou], Be thou struck. &c. Participle. Buailte, [Greek: tetummenos] Struck. It will afford satisfaction to the grammatical reader, to see how correctly the various modifications of time, as distinguished and arranged by Mr Harris, are expressed in the Gaelic verb, by the auxiliaries, bi _be_, and dol _going_. See _Hermes B. I. c. 7._ Aorist of the Present. [Greek: Tuptô], I strike, ---- Aorist of the Past. [Greek: Etupsa], I struck, Bhuail mi. Aorist of the Future. [Greek: Tupsô], I shall strike, Buailidh mi. Inceptive Present. [Greek: Mellô tuptein], I am going to strike, Ta mi dol a bhualadh. Middle or extended Present. [Greek: Tunchanô tuptôn], I am striking, Ta mi ag bualadh. Completive Present. [Greek: Tetupha], I have struck, Ta mi iar bualadh. ------ Inceptive Past. [Greek: Emellon tuptein], I was going to strike, Bha mi dol a bhualadh. {95} Middle or extended Past. [Greek: Etupton], I was striking, Bha mi ag bualadh. Completive Past. [Greek: Etetuphein], I had struck, Bha mi iar bualadh. ------ Inceptive future. [Greek: Mellêsô tuptein], I shall be going to Bithidh mi dol a strike, bhualadh. Middle or extended Future. [Greek: Esomai tuptôn], I shall be striking, Bithidh mi ag bualadh. Completive Future. [Greek: Esomai tetuphôs], I shall have struck, Bithidh mi iar bualadh. IRREGULAR VERBS OF THE FIRST CONJUGATION. Beir, _bear._ ACTIVE VOICE. Preterite. Future. _Affirm._ Do rug, Beiridh. _Negat._ D' rug, Beir. _Subjunct._ Bheirinn, Bheireas. _Imperat._ Beiream. _Infin._ Beirsinn, breith. PASSIVE VOICE. _Affirm._ Do rugadh, Beirear. _Negat._ D' rugadh, Beirear. _Subjunct._ Bheirteadh, Bheirear. _Imperat._ Beirthear. {96} Cluinn, _hear._ ACTIVE VOICE. Preterite. Future. _Affirm._ Do chuala, Cluinnidh. _Negat._ Cuala, Cluinn. _Subjunct._ Chluinnin, Chluinneas. _Imperat._ Cluinneam. _Infin._ Cluinntinn. PASSIVE VOICE. _Affirm._ Do Chualadh, Cluinnear. _Negat._ Cualadh, Cluinnear. _Subjunct._ Chluinnteadh, Chluinnear. _Imperat._ Cluinntear. Dean, _do_ or _make._ ACTIVE VOICE. Preterite. Future. _Affirm._ Do rinn, Ni. _Negat._ D' rinn, Dean. _Subjunct._ Dheanainn, Ni. _Imperat._ Deanam. _Infin._ Deanamh. PASSIVE VOICE. _Affirm._ Do rinneadh, Nithear. _Negat._ D' rinneadh, Deanar. _Subjunct._ Dheantadh, Nithear. _Imperat._ Deantar. _Particip._ Deanta. Rach, _go._ ACTIVE VOICE. Preterite. Future. _Affirm._ Do chaidh, Théid. _Negat._ Deachaidh, Téid[65]. _Subjunct._ Rachainn, Théid. _Imperat._ Racham. _Infin._ Dol. {97} Ruig, _reach._ ACTIVE VOICE. Preterite. Future. _Affirm._ Do rainig, Ruigidh. _Negat._ D' rainig, Ruig. _Subjunct._ Ruiginn, Ruigeas. _Imperat._ Ruigeam. _Infin._ Ruigsinn, ruigheachd. Tabhair,[66] _give._ ACTIVE VOICE. Preterite. Future. _Affirm._ Do thug, Bheir. _Negat._ D' thug, Tabhair. _Subjunct._ Bheirinn, tabhairinn, Bheir. _Imperat._ Tabhaiream, thugam. _Infin._ Tabhairt. PASSIVE VOICE. _Affirm._ Do thugadh, Bheirear. _Negat._ D' thugadh, Tabhairear. _Subjunct._ Bheirteadh, tugtadh. Bheirear. _Imperat._ Thugthar. Thig, _come._ ACTIVE VOICE. Preterite. Future. _Affirm._ Do thainig, Thig. _Negat._ D' thainig, Tig[67]. _Subjunct._ Thiginn, Thig. _Imperat._ Thigeam. _Infin._ Tighinn, teachd. {98} IRREGULAR VERBS OF THE SECOND CONJUGATION. Abair,[68] _say._ ACTIVE VOICE. Preterite. Future. _Affirm._ Thubhairt, dubhairt, Their. _Negat._ Dubhairt, Abair. _Subjunct._ Theirinn, abairinn, Their. _Imperat._ Abaiream. _Infin._ Radh. PASSIVE VOICE. _Affirm._ Dubhradh, Theirear. _Negat._ Dubhradh, Abairear. _Subjunct._ Theirteadh, abairteadh, Theirear. _Imperat._ Abairear[69]. Faic, _see._ ACTIVE VOICE. Preterite. Future. _Affirm._ Do chunnaic, Chi. _Negat._ Faca, Faic. _Subjunct._ Chithinn, faicinn, Chi. _Imperat._ Faiceam. _Infin._ Faicsinn. PASSIVE VOICE. _Affirm._ Do chunnacadh, Chithear. _Negat._ Facadh, Faicear. _Subjunct._ Chiteadh, faicteadh, Chithear. _Imperat._ Faicthear. _Infin._ Faicsinn. {99} Faigh, _get._ ACTIVE VOICE. Preterite. Future. _Affirm._ Fhuair, Gheibh. _Negat._ D'fhuair, Faigh. _Subjunct._ Gheibhinn, faighinn, Gheibh. _Imperat._ Faigheam. _Infin._ Faghail, faotainn. PASSIVE VOICE. _Affirm._ Fhuaradh, Gheibhear. _Negat._ D' fhuaradh, Faighear. _Subjunct._ Gheibhteadh, faighteadh, Gheibhear. _Imperat._ Faightear. The verbs Tabhair, Abair, Faic, Faigh, have a double Preterite Subjunctive. The latter form of it, which is derived regularly from the Root, is used after the same particles which are prefixed to the Negative Mood, _viz._ ni, cha, nach, mur, gu, an, am. * * * * * OF DEFECTIVE VERBS. The following defective verbs are in common use. Arsa _said_, _quoth_, indeclinable; used only in the Pret. Aff. through all the persons; arsa Donull, _quoth Donald_. Tiucainn _come along_, tiucainnibh _come ye along_, used only in the 2d pers. sing. and plur. of the Imperative. Theab mi _I was near to, I had almost_; used through all the persons of the Pret. Aff. and Neg.; as, theab iad bhith caillte _they had nearly perished_. Is mi _I am_, used in the Pres. and Pret. Tenses, which are declined as follows:-- {100} _Affirmative Mood._ Present. Preterite. _Sing._ _Sing._ 1 Is mi, _I am, it is I._ Bu mhi, _I was, it was I._ 2 Is tu. Bu tu. 3 Is e. B' e. _Plur._ _Plur._ 1 Is sinn. Bu sinn. 2 Is sibh. Bu sibh. 3 Is iad. B' iad. _Negative Mood._ _Sing._ _Sing._ { 1 mi, _I am not_, &c. Bu mhi, _I was not_, &c. { 2 tu. Bu tu. ni, { 3 e. B' e. cha, { nach,{ _Plur._ _Plur._ &c. { 1 sinn. Bu sinn. { 2 sibh. Bu sibh. { 3 iad. B' iad. _Subjunctive Mood._ _Sing._ _Sing._ 1 Ma 's mi, _If I be, it be I._ Nam bu mhi, _If I were, it were I._ 2 's tu. Bu tu. 3 's e. B' e. _Plur._ _Plur._ 1 's sinn. Bu sinn. 2 's sibh. Bu sibh. 3 's iad. B' iad. The only varieties of form which this Verb admits of, are the two syllables _is_ and _bu_. Each of these syllables {101} commonly loses the vowel when it comes in apposition with another vowel. It is remarkable, that in the Pres. Neg. the Verb disappears altogether, and the preceding Particle, ni, cha, nach, gur, &c., and the subsequent Pronoun, or Noun, are always understood to convey a proposition, or a question, as unequivocally as though a Verb had been expressed; as, cha tu _thou art not_, nach e? _is he not? is it not he?_ am mise e? _is it I?_ cha luchd-brathaidh sinn _we are not spies_, Gen. xlii. 31. Am mò thusa na Abraham? _Art thou greater than Abraham?_ gur còir urnuigh a dheanamh _that it is proper to pray_, Luke xviii. 1[70]. {102} OF THE RECIPROCATING STATE OF VERBS. Any transitive Verb may be so combined with a Pronoun, either Personal or Possessive, that it shall denote the agent to be also the object of the action. This may be called the _reciprocating state_ of the Verb. It is declined as follows:-- Buail thu fein, _strike thyself_. ACTIVE VOICE. Simple Tenses. _Affirmative Mood._ Preterite. Future. _Sing._ _Sing._ 1 Do bhuail mi mi fein, Buailidh mi mi fein, Bhuail mi mi fein, _I will strike myself._ _I struck myself._ 2 Do bhuail thu thu fein, Buailidh tu thu fein. 3 Do bhuail se e fein; Buailidh se e fein. _Plur._ _Plur._ 1 Do bhuail sinn sinn fein, Buailidh sinn sinn fein. 2 Do bhuail sibh sibh fein, Buailidh sibh sibh fein. 3 Do bhuail siad iad fein. Buailidh siad iad fein. _Negative Mood._ Preterite. Future. _Sing._ _Sing._ cha,{ 1 Do bhuail mi mi fein, Bhuail mi mi fein, &c. { _I struck not myself._ _I shall not strike myself._ _Subjunctive Mood._ _Sing._ _Sing._ 1 Bhuailinn mi fein, 1 Bhuaileas mi mi fein, _I would strike myself._ _I shall strike myself._ {103} _Imperative Mood._ _Sing._ _Plur._ 1 Buaileam mi fein, Buaileamaid sinn fein. _Let me strike myself._ 2 Buail thu fein. Buailibh sibh fein. 3 Buaileadh e e fein. Buaileadh iad iad fein. _Infinitive Mood._ 'g am bhualadh fein, _striking myself_. 'g ad bhualadh fein, _striking thyself_. 'g a bhualadh fein, _striking himself_. 'g ar bualadh fein, _striking ourselves_. 'g 'ur bualadh fein, _striking yourselves_. 'g am bualadh fein, _striking themselves_. iar mo bhualadh fein, _after striking myself_, &c. gu mo bhualadh fein, _to strike myself_, &c. Compound Tenses. _Affirmative Mood._ Present. Preterite. _1. Comp._ _1. Comp._ Ta mi 'g am bhualadh fein, Bha mi 'g am bhualadh fein, _I am striking myself._ _I was striking myself._ Future. _1. Comp._ Bidh mi 'g am bhualadh fein, _I will be striking myself._ Present. Preterite. _2. Comp._ _2. Comp._ Ta mi iar mo, &c. Bha mi iar mo, &c. _I have struck myself._ _I had struck myself._ {104} Future. _2. Comp._ Bidh mi iar mo, &c. _I shall have struck_, &c. _Negative Mood._ Present. Preterite. _1. Comp._ _1. Comp._ Ni bheil mi 'g am, &c. Ni robh mi 'g am, &c. _I am not striking myself._ _I was not striking myself._ Future. _1. Comp._ Ni'm bi mi 'g am bhualadh fein. _I shall not be striking myself._ Present. Preterite. _2. Comp._ _2. Comp._ Ni bheil mi iar mo, &c. Ni robh mi iar mo, &c. _I have not struck myself._ _I had not struck myself._ Future. _2. Comp._ Ni'm bi mi iar mo, &c. _I shall not have struck myself._ _Subjunctive Mood._ Preterite. Future. _1. Comp._ _1. Comp._ Bhithinn 'g am, &c. Ma bhitheas mi 'g am, _I would be striking_, &c. _If I shall be striking_, &c. _2. Comp._ _2. Comp._ Bhithinn iar mo, &c. Ma bhitheas mi iar mo, &c. _I would have struck_, &c. _If I shall have struck_, &c. {105} _Imperative Mood._ _Infinitive Mood._ _1. Comp._ Do bhith 'g am bhualadh fein, _To be striking myself._ Bitheam 'g am bhualadh fein, Iar bith 'g am bhualadh fein. _Let me be striking myself._ _To have been striking myself._ From the foregoing example it appears that the Verb, in its reciprocating state, retains its original form throughout its several Moods, Tenses, and Persons. In the _simple Tenses_, the Personal Pronoun immediately following the Verb is the Nominative to the Verb. The same pronoun repeated is to be understood as in the objective state. The word fein, corresponding to the English _self_, accompanies the last Pronoun. In the _compound Tenses_, the auxiliary Verb, as usual, is placed first; then follows the Personal Pronoun as its Nominative, then the Prep. _ag_ abridged to _'g_ in the compound Tenses of the first order, iar in those of the second order; after which follows the Possessive Pronoun, corresponding in Person to that which is the Nominative to the Verb; and lastly the Infinitive, which is the noun to the Possessive Pronoun. Mo and do are here changed, by Metathesis and the substitution of one broad vowel for another, into am and ad. Ta mi 'g am bhualadh fein, rendered literally, is, _I am at my own striking, i.e., I am at the striking of myself_, equivalent to, _I am striking myself_. The reciprocal fein is sometimes omitted in the compound Tenses, but is generally retained in the 3d Persons, to prevent their being mistaken for the same persons when used without reciprocation: ta e 'g a bhualadh, _he is striking him_, ta e 'g a bhualadh fein, _he is striking himself_. OF THE IMPERSONAL USE OF VERBS. Intransitive Verbs, though they do not regularly admit of a Passive Voice, yet are used _impersonally_ in the 3d Pers. Sing. of the Passive Tenses. This impersonal use of the Passive of intransitive Verbs is founded on the same principle with the Latin Impersonals _concurritur_, _pugnatum est_, {106} &c., which are equivalent to _concursus fit_, _pugna facta est_. So in Gælic, gluaisfear leam, _I will move_, Psal. cxvi. 9; gluaisfear leo, _they will move_, Psal. cxix. 3; ghuileadh leinn, _we did weep_, flebatur a nobis, Psal. cxxxvii. 1, Edit. Edinb. 1787; cha bhithear saor o pheacadh, _there wanteth not sin_, Prov. x. 19. To the class of Impersonals ought to be referred a certain part of the Verb which has not yet been mentioned. It resembles in form the Fut. Negat. Passive; buailear, faicear, faighear, &c. In signification, it is Active, Present, and Affirmative. In the course of a narrative, when the speaker wishes to enliven his style by representing the occurrences narrated as present, and passing actually in view, instead of the Preterite Tenses, he adopts the Part of the Verb now described, employing it in an impersonal acceptation, without a Nominative to it expressed. One or two examples will serve to exhibit the use and effect of this anomalous Tense:--Shuidh an òg bhean air sgeir, is a sùil air an lear. Chunnaic i long a' teachd air barraibh nan tonn. Dh' aithnich i aogas a leannain, is chlisg a cridhe 'n a com. Gun mhoille gun tamh, _buailear_ dh' fhios na traighe; agus _faighear_ an laoch, 's a dhaoine m' a thimchioll. In English thus: The young woman sat on a rock, and her eye on the sea. She spied a ship coming on the tops of the waves. She perceived the likeness of her lover, and her heart bounded in her breast. Without delay or stop, she _hastens_ to the shore; and _finds_ the hero, with his men around him. Again: Mar sin chuir sinn an oidhche tharuinn. 'S a' mhadainn dh' imich sinn air ar turus. O bha sinn 'n ar coigrich anns an tir, _gabhar_ suas gu mullach an t-sleibh, _direar_ an tulach gu grad, agus _seallar_ mu 'n cuairt air gach taobh. _Faicear_ thall fa 'r comhair sruth cas ag ruith le gleann cumhann, &c. Thus we passed the night. In the morning we pursued our journey. As we were strangers in the land, we _strike_ up to the top of the moor, _ascend_ the hill with speed, and _look_ around us on every side. We _see_ over against us a rapid stream, rushing down a narrow valley, &c. {107} The scrupulous chastenesss of style maintained in the Gaelic version of the Sacred Scriptures, has totally excluded this form of expression. It is, however, universally known and acknowledged, as an established idiom of the Gaelic, very common in the mouths of those who speak it, and in animated narration almost indispensable[71]. OF AUXILIARY VERBS. It has been already shown how bi _be_, is used as an Auxiliary in the declension of all verbs. There are two other verbs which are occasionally employed in a similar capacity; the one with an Active the other with a Passive effect. These are dean to _do_ or _make_, and rach to _go_. The simple tenses of dean combined with the Infinitive of any verb, correspond to the English auxiliary _do_, _did_. It sometimes adds to the emphasis, but not to the sense. The following are examples of this Auxiliary combined with the Infinitive of an _Intransitive_ verb:--Rinn e seasamh _he made standing_, i.e., _he did stand;_ dean suidhe _make sitting_, i.e., _sit down_; dheanainn gul agus caoidh _I would make weeping {108} and lamentation_, i.e., _I would weep and lament._ The same arrangement takes place when the Auxiliary is combined with the Infinitive of a _Transitive_ verb, accompanied by a possessive pronoun; as, rinn e mo bhualadh _he made my striking_, i.e., _he made [or caused] the striking of me_, or, _he did strike me_; cha dean mi do mholadh, _I will not make your praising_, i.e., _I will not praise you_; dean do gharadh, _make your warming_, dean do gharadh fein, _make your own warming_, i.e., _warm yourself._ The Simple Tenses of rach, combined with the Infinitive of a transitive verb, correspond to the Passive Voice of the verb; as, chaidh mo bhualadh _my striking went_, i.e., _came to pass_, or _happened_, equivalent to _I was struck_; rachadh do mharbhadh _your killing would happen_, i.e., _you would be killed._ In phrases where either of the auxiliaries dean or rach is combined with a transitive verb, as above, the possessive pronoun may be exchanged for the corresponding personal pronoun in the emphatic form, followed by the preposition _do_ before the Infinitive. The preposition in this case is attenuated into _a_, which, before a verb of the second conjugation is dropped altogether. Thus, rinn e mo bhualadh _he struck me_, rinn e mis' a bhualadh _he struck_ ME, chaidh mo bhualadh _I was struck_, chaidh mis' a bhualadh _I myself was struck_. In like manner, a noun, or a demonstrative pronoun, may occupy the place of this personal pronoun; as, chaidh an ceannard a mharbhadh[72], agus na daoine chur san ruaig, _the leader was killed, and the men put to flight_; theid am buachaill a bhualadh, agus an treud a sgapadh, _the shepherd will be smitten, and the sheep scattered_; is math a chaidh sin innseadh dhuit, _that was well told you_. {109} CHAPTER VI. OF ADVERBS. An Adverb, considered as a separate part of speech, is a single indeclinable word, significant of time, place, or any other circumstance or modification of an action or attribute. The number of simple Adverbs in Gaelic is but small. Adverbial phrases, made up of two or more words, are sufficiently numerous. Any adjective may be converted into an adverbial expression, by prefixing to it the preposition gu _to_; as, fìrinneach _true_, gu fìrinneach _[corresponding] to [what is] true_, [Greek: kata to alêthes], i.e., _truly_. Adverbs of this form need not be enumerated. It may be useful, however, to give a list of other adverbs and adverbial phrases, most commonly in use; subjoining, where it can be done, a literal translation of their component parts, and also the English expression which corresponds most nearly to the sense of the Gaelic phrase. _Adverbs of Time._ A cheana; already, truly. A chianamh; a little while ago. A chlisge; quickly, in a trice. A choidhche, } Choidh; } for ever. A nis, } Nise; } now. A rìs, } Rithist; } again. Ainmic, } Ainmeach; } seldom. Air ball; _on [the] spot_, immediately. Air dheireadh; hindmost. Air thoiseach; foremost. Air tùs; in the beginning, at first. Air uairibh; _at times_, sometimes. {110} Am bliadhna; this year. Am feadh; whilst. Am feasd; for ever. Am màireach; to-morrow. An ceart uair; _the very hour_, presently. An comhnuidh; _in continuation_, continually. An dé; yesterday. An deigh laimh; _behind hand_, afterwards. An diugh; _the [present] day_, to-day[73]. An ear-thrath, } An iar-thraith; } _the after time_, the day after to-morrow. An nochd; _the [present] night_, to-night. An raoir, } An reidhr; } yesternight. An sin; _in that [time]_, then. An trath; _the time_, when. An tràth so, } An tràs'; } _this time_, at present. An uair; _the time_, when. An uiridh; last year. Aon uair; _one time_, once. Cia fhada; how long. Cia minic, } Cia tric; } how often. C'uine; _what time_, when. Do la, } A la; } by day[74]. Dh' oidhche; by night[74]. Do ghnàth; _[according] to custom_, always. Fa dheoidh; _at the end_, at last. Fathast, } Fòs; } yet, still. {111} Gu bràth[75], } Gu la bhràth; } _to the general conflagration_, for ever. Gu dìlinn[75]; _to the expiration of time_, or _till the deluge_, for ever. Gu minic; often. Gu siorruidh; _to ever-flowing_, for ever. Gu suthainn; for ever. Gu tric; often. Idir; at all. Mar tha; _as it is_, already. Mu dheireadh; at last. O cheann tamuill; a while ago. O chian; _from far_, of old, long ago. Rè seal, } Rè tamuill; } for a time. Riamh; ever, said of past time only. Roimh làimh; before hand. Uair eigin; some time. _Adverbs of Place._ A bhos, } Bhos; } on this side, here below. A leth taobh; to one side, aside. A mach, } A muigh; } without, out. A mhàn[76]; downwards, down. An aird; _to the height_, upwards, up. A nall, } Nall; } to this side. A nuas; _from above_, down hither. A null, } Null, nunn; } to the other side. {112} A thaobh; aside. Air aghaidh, } Air adhart; } _on [the] face_, forward. Air ais; backwards. Air dheireadh; hindmost. Air thoiseach; foremost. Am fad, } An céin; } afar. An gar; close to. An laimh; in hand, in custody. An sin; _in that [place]_, there. An so; _in this [place]_, here. An sud; _in yon [place]_, yonder. An taice; close adjoining, in contact. Asteach, } Astigh; }[77] within, in. C' àite; _what place_, where. Cia an taobh; _what side_, whither. C' ionadh; _what place_, whither. Fad as; afar off. Fad air astar; far away. Far; where,--relatively. Fogus, } Am fogus; } near. H-uig' agus uaith; to and fro. Iolar, } Ioras; } below there, below yonder. Le leathad; _by a descent_, downwards. Leis; _along with it_, down a stream, declivity, &c. Mu 'n cuairt; _by the circuit_, around. Ri bruthach; _to an ascent_, upwards. Ris; in an exposed state, bare, uncovered. Seachad; past, aside. Sios, a sios; downwards. Suas, a suas; upwards. {113} Shios; below there, below yonder. Shuas; above there, above yonder. Tarsuing; across. Thairis; over. Thall; on the other side. Uthard; above there, above yonder. Deas[78]; south. Gu deas; southward. A deas; from the south. Iar[79], } Siar; } west. Gus an aird an iar; westward. O'n iar; from the west. Tuath; north. Gu tuath; northward. A tuath; from the north. Ear, Oir, Soir; east. Gus an aird an ear; eastward. O'n ear; from the east. _Adverbs of Manner._ Air achd; in a manner. Air a' chuthach, } Air boile; } distracted, mad. Air chall; lost. Air chòir; aright. Air chor; in a manner. Air chor eigin; in some manner, somehow. Air chuairt; sojourning. Air chuimhne; in remembrance. Air éigin; with difficulty, scarcely. Air fogradh; in exile, in a fugitive state. {114} Air ghleus; in trim. Air iomadan; adrift. Air iomroll; astray. Air iunndrain; amissing. Air lagh; trimmed for action, as a bow bent, a firelock cocked, &c. Air leth; apart, separately. Air seacharan; astray. Air sgeul; found, not lost. Amhàin; only. Amhuil, } Amhludh; } like as. Am bidheantas; customarily, habitually. Am feabhas; convalescent, improving. An coinnimh a chinn; headlong. An coinnimh a chùil; backwards. An deidh, } An geall; } desirous, enamoured. An nasgaidh; for nothing, gratis. An tòir; in pursuit. Araon; together. As an aghaidh; _out of the face_, to the face, outright. As a chéile; loosened, disjointed. Car air char; rolling, tumbling over and over. Cia mar; _as how_, how. C' arson; _on account of what_, why, wherefore. C' ionnas; _what manner_, how. Cha, cho; not. Comhla[80], mar chomhla, } Cuideachd; } together, in company. C'uime, for what, why. Do dheoin, a dheoin; spontaneously, intentionally. Dh' aindeoin; against one's will. Do dhìth, a dhìth; a-wanting. Do rìreadh; really, actually, indeed. {115} Fa leth; severally, individually. Gle; very. Gu beachd; _to observation_, evidently, clearly. Gu buileach; _to effect_, thoroughly, wholly. Gu dearbh; _to conviction_, truly, certainly. Gu deimhin; _to assurance_, assuredly, verily. Gu leir; altogether. Gu leor; _to sufficiency_, enough. Gun amharus; _without doubt_, doubtless. Gun chàird; _without rest_, incessantly, without hesitation. Leth mar leth; half and half. Le chéile; _with each other_, together. Maraon; _as one_, together, in concert. Mar an ceudna; in like manner, likewise. Mar sin; _as that_, in that manner. Mar so; _as this_, thus. Mar sud; _as yon_, in yon manner. Mu seach; in return, alternately. Na, Nar; let not,--used optatively, or imperatively. Nach; that not, who not, not? Ni; not. Ni h-eadh[81]; it is not so. Os àird; openly. Os barr; _on top_, besides. Os iosal; secretly, covertly. Ro; very. Roimh a cheile; prematurely, too hastily. Seadh[81]; it is so. Thar a chéile, } Troimh a chéile; } in disorder, in confusion, stirred about. Theagamh; perhaps. Uidh air 'n uidh; _stage by stage_, gradually. {116} CHAPTER VII. OF PREPOSITIONS. The Prepositions, strictly so called, are single words, most of them monosyllables, employed to mark relation. Relation is also expressed by combinations of words which often correspond to simple prepositions in other languages. These combinations are, not improperly, ranked among the prepositions. The following lists contain first the Prepositions properly so called, which are all simple; secondly, improper Prepositions, which, with one or two exceptions, seem all to be made up of a simple Preposition and a Noun. Proper Prepositions. Aig, Ag, _at_. Air, _on_. Ann, _in_. As, A, _out of_. De, _of_. Do, _to_ Eadar, _between_. Fa, _upon_. Fuidh, Fo, _under_. Gu, Gus, _to_. Gun, _without_. Iar, _after_. Le, Leis, _with, by_. Mar, _like to_. Mu, _about_. O, Ua, _from_. Os, _above_. Re, Ri, Ris, _to_. Roimh, _before_. Tar, Thar, _over, across_. Tre, } Troimh, } _through_. Throimh, } Seach, _past, in comparison with_. The Preposition ann is often written double, ann an eolas, _in knowledge_; ann an gliocas, _in wisdom_. The final _n_ or _nn_ is changed into _m_ before a labial; as, am measg, _among_; ann am meadhon, _in midst_. Before the Article or the Relative, this Preposition is written anns; as, anns an toiseach, _in the beginning_, an cor anns am bheil e, _the condition in which he is_; and in this situation the letters _ann_ are often dropped, and the _s_ alone retained, 's an toiseach, _in the beginning_. De, so far as I know, is found in no Scottish publications. The reasons which have induced me to assign it a place among the prepositions will be mentioned in treating of the combinations of the Proper Prepositions with the Personal Pronouns. The Preposition _do_, like the verbal particle, and the Possessive Pronoun of the same sound, loses the _o_ before a vowel, and the consonant is aspirated; thus, dh' Albainn, _to {117} Scotland_. It is also preceded sometimes by the vowel _a_ when it follows a final consonant; as, dol a dh' Eirin, _going to Ireland_. This _a_ seems to be nothing else than the vowel of _do_ transposed; just as the letters of the pronouns mo, do, are in certain situations transposed, and become am, ad. In this situation, perhaps it would be advisible to join the _a_, in writing, to the _dh_ thus, dol adh Eirin. This would rid us of one superfluous _a_ appearing as a separate inexplicable word. The same remarks apply to the prep. _de_; _e.g._, armailt mhòr de dhaoinibh agus _a dh'_ eachaibh, _a great army of men and of horses_, lan do [de] reubainn agus a dh' aingidheachd, _full of ravining and wickedness_, Luke xi. 39. Do, as has been already observed, often loses the _d_ altogether, and is written _a_; as, dol a Dhuneidin, _going to Edinburgh_. When the preposition is thus robbed of its articulation, and only a feeble obscure vowel sound is left, another corruption very naturally follows, and this vowel, as well as the consonant, is discarded, not only in speaking, but even in writing; as, chaidh e Dhuneidin, _he went to Edinburgh_; chaidh e thìr eile, _he went to another land_; where the nouns appear in their aspirated form, without any word to govern them. Fa has been improperly confounded with fuidh or fo. That fa signifies _upon_, is manifest from such phrases as fa 'n bhord, _upon the board_, said of a dead body stretched upon a board; leigeader fa làr, _dropped on the ground_, Carswell: fa 'n adhbhar ud, _on that account_, equivalent to air an adhbhar ud, see Psal. cvi. 42, and xlv. 2, metr. version. The reason for admitting iar _after_, has been already given in treating of the Compound Tenses of Verbs in Chap. V. The manner of combining these prepositions with nouns will be shown in treating of Syntax. The manner of combining them with the personal pronouns must be explained in this place, because in that connection they appear in a form somewhat different from their radical form. A Proper Preposition is joined to a Personal Pronoun by incorporating both into one word, commonly with some change on the Preposition, or on the Pronoun, or on both. The following are the Prepositions which admit of this kind of combination, incorporated with the several Personal Pronouns: {118} Prep. Singular. _1st Pers._ _2d Pers._ _3d Pers._ { m. aige, Aig, } agam, agad, { _at him;_ Ag; } _at_. _at me_, _at thee_. { f. aice, { _at her_. { m. air. { f. oirre. Air; orm, ort, { uirre. { orra. { m. ann. Ann; annam, annad, { f. innte. { m. as. As; asam, asad, { f. aisde. { m. dheth. De; dhiom, dhiot, { f. dh'i. { dhomh, } { m. dha. Do; { dhom, } dhuit, { f. dh'i. Eadar; ... ... ... { m. fodha. Fo, Fuidh; fodham, fodhad, { f. fuidhpe. { m. h-uige. Gu; h-ugam, h-ugad, { f. h-uice. { m. leis. Le; leam, leat, { f. leatha. { m. uime. Mu; umam, umad, { f. uimpe. { m. uaith. O, Ua; uam, uait, { f. uaipe. { m. ris. Re, Ri; rium, riut, { f. rithe. { m. roimhe. Roimh; romham, romhad, { f. roimpe. Thar; tharam, tharad, f. thairte. { m. troimhe. Troimh; tromham, tromhad, { f. troimpe. {119} Plural. _1st Pers._ _2d Pers._ _3d Pers._ Aig, } againn, agaibh, aca, Ag; } _at_. _at us_. _at you_. _at them_. Air; oirnn, oirbh, orra. Ann; annainn, annaibh, annta. As; asainn, asaibh, asda. De; dhinn, dhibh, dhiu. Do; dhuinn, dhuibh, dhoibh. Eadar; eadarainn, eadaraibh, eatorra. Fo, Fuidh; fodhainn, fodhaibh, fodhpa. Gu; h-ugainn, h-ugaibh, h-uca. Le; leinn, leibh, leo. Mu; umainn, umaibh, umpa. O, Ua; uainn, uaibh, uapa. Re, Ri; ruinn, ribh, riu. Roimh; romhainn, romhaibh, rompa. Thar; tharuinn, tharuibh, tharta. Troimh; tromhainn, tromhaibh, trompa. {120} In most of these compound terms, the fragments of the Pronouns which enter into their composition, especially those of the first and second Persons, are very conspicuous[82]. These fragments take after them occasionally the emphatic syllables _sa_, _san_, _ne_, in the same manner as the Personal Pronouns themselves do; as, agamsa _at ME_, aigesan _at HIM_, uainne _from US_. The two prepositions _de_ and _do_ have long been confounded together, both being written _do_. It can hardly be supposed that the composite words dhiom, dhiot, &c. would have been distinguished from dhomh, dhuit, &c., by orthography, pronunciation, and signification, if the Prepositions, as well as the Pronouns, which enter into the composition of these words, had been originally the same. In dhiom, &c., the initial Consonant is always followed by a small vowel. In dhomh, &c., with one exception, it is followed by a broad vowel. Hence it is presumable that the Preposition which is the root of dhiom, &c., must have had a small vowel after _d_, whereas the root of dhomh, &c., has a broad vowel after d. _De_ is a preposition preserved in Latin (a language which has many marks of affinity with the Gaelic), in the same sense which must have belonged to the root of dhiom, &c., in Gaelic. The preposition in question itself occurs in Irish, in the name given to a Colony which is supposed to have settled in Ireland, A.M. 2540, called Tuath de Danann. (See Lh. "Arch. Brit." tit. x. _voc._ Tuath; also Miss Brooke's "Reliques of Irish Poetry," p. 102.) These facts afford more than a presumption that the true root of the Composite dhiom, &c., is _de_, and that it signifies _of_. It has therefore appeared proper to separate it from _do_, and to assign to each its appropriate meaning[83]. {121} Dhiom, dhiot, &c., and dhomh, dhuit, &c., are written with a _plain d_ after a Lingual; diom, domh, &c. Eadar is not incorporated with the pronouns of the singular number, but written separately; eadar mis agus thusa, _between me and thee_. In combining _gu_ and _mu_ with the pronouns, the letters of the Prepositions suffer a transposition, and are written _ug_, _um_. The former of these was long written with _ch_ prefixed, thus chugam, &c. The translators of the Scriptures, observing that _ch_ neither corresponded to the pronunciation, nor made part of the radical Preposition, exchanged it for _th_, and wrote thugam. The _th_, being no more than a simple aspiration, corresponds indeed to the common mode of pronouncing the word. Yet it may well be questioned whether the _t_, even though aspirated, ought to have a place, if _g_ be the only radical consonant belonging to the Preposition. The component parts of the word might be exhibited with less disguise, and the common pronunciation (whether correct or not), also represented, by retaining the _h_ alone, and connecting it with the Preposition by a hyphen, as when written before a Noun, thus h-ugam, h-ugaibh, &c. Improper Prepositions. Air cheann; _at [the] end_, against a certain time. Air feadh, } Air fad; } throughout, during. Air muin; _on the back_, mounted on. Air sgàth; for the sake, on pretence. Air son; on account. Air tòir; in pursuit. Air beulaobh; _on the fore side_, before. Air culaobh; _on the back side_, behind. Am fochair; _in presence_. Am measg; _in the mixture_, amidst, among. {122} An aghaidh; _in the face_, against, in opposition. An ceann; _in the end_, at the expiration. An comhail, } An coinnimh; } _in meeting_, to meet. An cois, } A chois; } _at the foot_, near to, hard by. An dàil; _in the rencounter_, to meet. An diaigh, } An deigh, } probably for } An deaghaidh, } an deireadh; } in the end, after. An déis; } An eiric; in return, in requital. Am fianuis, } An lathair; } in presence. An lorg; _in the track_, in consequence. As eugais, } As easbhuidh; } _in want_, without. As leth; in behalf, for the sake. A los; in order to, with the intention of. Car; during. Do bhrigh, a bhrigh; _by virtue_, because. Do chòir, a chòir; _to the presence_, near, implying motion. Do chum, a chum[84]; to, towards, in order to. Do dhìth, a dhìth, } Dh' easbhuidh; } for want. Dh' fhios; _to the knowledge_, to. Dh' ionnsuidh; _to the approach_, or _onset_, toward. Do réir, a réir; according to. Do thaobh, a thaobh; _on the side_, with respect, concerning. Fa chùis; by reason, because. Fa chomhair; opposite. Mu choinnimh; opposite, over against. Mu thimchoill, timchioll; _by the circuit_, around. O bharr, bharr; _from the top_, off. Os ceann; _on the top_, above, atop. {123} Ré; _duration_, during. Taréis; _after_[85]. Trid; through, by means. It is evident, from inspection, that almost all these improper Prepositions are compounded; and comprehend, as one of their component parts, a Noun, which is preceded by a simple or Proper Preposition; like the English, _on account, with respect_, &c. The words ceann, aghaidh, lorg, barr, taobh, &c., are known to be real Nouns, because they are employed in that capacity in other connections, as well as in the phrases here enumerated. The case is not so clear with regard to son, cum, or cun, reir, which occur only in the above phrases; but it is probable that these are nouns likewise, and that, when combined with simple Prepositions, they constitute phrases of precisely the same structure with the rest of the foregoing list[86]. Comhair is probably comh-aire _mutual attention_. Dàil and còir, in the sense of proximity, are found in their compounds comh-dhail and fochair [fa chòir.] Tòir, in like manner, in its derivative tòireachd, _the act of pursuing_. Dh' fhios, _to the knowledge_, must have been originally applied to persons only. So it is used in many Gaelic songs: beir mo shoiridh le dùrachd dh' fhios na cailinn, &c., _bear my good wishes with cordiality to the knowledge of the maid_, &c., i.e., _present my affectionate regards_, &c. This appropriate meaning and use of the phrase came by degrees to be overlooked; and it was employed, promiscuously with do chum and dh' ionnsuidh, to signify _unto_ in a more general sense. If this analysis of the expression be just, then ghios[87] must be deemed only a different, and a corrupt manner of writing dh' fhios. In the improper preposition os ceann, the noun has almost {124} always been written cionn. Yet in all other situations, the same noun is uniformly written ceann. Whence has arisen this diversity in the orthography of a simple monosyllable? And is it maintained upon just grounds? It must have proceeded either from a persuasion that there are two distinct nouns signifying _top_, one of which is to be written ceann, and the other cionn[88]; or from an opinion that, granting the two words to be the same individual noun, yet it is proper to distinguish its meaning when used in the capacity of a preposition, from its meaning in other situations, by spelling it in different ways. I know of no good argument in support of the former of these two opinions; nor has it probably been ever maintained. The latter opinion, which seems to be the real one, is founded on a principle subversive of the analogy and stability of written language, namely, that the various significations of the same word are to be distinguished in writing, by changing its letters, the constituent elements of the word. The variation in question, instead of serving to point out the meaning of a word or phrase in one place, from its known meaning in another connection, tends directly to disguise it; and to mislead the reader into a belief that the words, which are thus presented to him under different forms, are themselves radically and essentially different. If the same word has been employed to denote several things somewhat different from each other, that does by no means appear a sufficient reason why the writers of the language should make as many words of one[89]. {125} The use of the _proper Prepositions_ has been already shown in the composition of adverbial phrases, and of the _improper Prepositions_. The following examples show the further use of them in connection with Nouns and Verbs, and in some idiomatic expressions which do not always admit of being literally rendered in English. Ag, aig. _At_: aig an dorus, _at the door_; aig an tigh, _at the house, at home_. _By reason of_: aig ro mheud aighir 's a shòlais, _by reason of his great joy and satisfaction_, Smith's _Seann dàna_, p. 9; ag meud a mhiann _through intense desire_, Psal. lxxxiv. 2, metr. vers.; ag lionmhoireachd, Psal. xl. 5. Signifying possession: tha tuill aig na sionnaich, _the foxes have holes_; bha aig duine araidh dithis mhac, _a certain man had two sons_; cha n'eil fhios agam, _I have not the knowledge of it, I do not know it_. Chaidh agam air, _I have prevailed over him_, Psal. xiii. 4, metr. vers. Joined to the Infinitive of Verbs: ag imeachd, _a-walking, walking_. Air. On, upon: air an làr, _on the ground_; air an là sin, _on that day_; air an adhbhar sin, _on that account, for that reason_. {126} Denoting claim of debt: ioc dhomh na bheil agam ort, _pay me what thou owest me_, Matt. xviii. 28; cia meud ata aig mo thighearn ortsa? _how much owest thou unto my lord?_ Luke xvi. 57.[90] Denoting an oath: air m' fhocal, _upon my word_; air làimh d' athar 's do sheanathar, _by the hand of your father and grandfather_. Tha eagal, mulad, sgìos, ocras, &c., air, _he is afraid, sad, fatigued, hungry_, &c. Thig mo bheul air do cheartas, is air do chliù, _my mouth shall speak of thy justice and thy praise_, Psal. xxxv. 28. metr.; thig mo bheul air gliocas, _my mouth shall speak of wisdom_, Psal. xlix. 3, metr. v.; sin cùis air am bheil mi nis a' teachd, _that is the matter of which I am now to treat_. Tog ort, _rouse thyself, bestir thyself_, Psal lxxiv. 22, metr. v. Chaidh agam air, _I prevailed over him_, Psal. xiii. 4.; metr.; 'S ann ormsa chaidh, _it was I that was worsted_. Thug e am monadh air, _he betook himself to the mountain_. _In respect of_: cha 'n fhaca mi an samhuil air olcas, _I never saw their like for badness_, Gen. xli. 19; air a lughad, _however small it be_. _Joined with, accompanied by_: mòran iarruinn air bheag faobhar, _much iron with little edge_, McIntyre's Songs. Oidhche bha mi 'n a theach, air mhòran bìdh 's air bheagan eudaich, _I was a night in his house, with plenty of {127} food, but scanty clothing_; air leth laimh, _having but one hand_. Denoting measure or dimension: dà throidh air àirde, _two feet in height_. Olc air mhath leat e, _whether you take it well or ill_. Ann, ann an, anns. _In.:_ Anns an tigh, _in the house_; anns an oidhche, _in the night_; ann an dòchas, _in hope_; anns a' bharail sin, _of that opinion_. Denoting existence: ta abhainn ann, _there is a river_, Psal. xlvi. 4, metr.; nach bithinn ann ni 's mò, _that I should not be any more_; b' fhearr a bhi marbh na ann, _it were better to be dead than to be alive_; ciod a th' ann? _what is it?_ is mise th' ann, _it is I_; mar gu b' ann, _as it were_; tha e 'n a dhuine ionraic, _he is a just man_; tha i 'n a bantraich, _she is a widow_[91]. Marking emphasis: is ann air eigin a thàr e as, _it was with difficulty he got off_; an àite seasamh is ann a theich iad, _instead of standing (keeping their ground) they fled_; nach freagair thu? fhreagair mi ann, _will you not answer? I have answered_. As. _Out of:_ as an dúthaich, _out of the country_. Denoting extinction: tha an solus, no an teine, air dol as, _the light, or the fire, is gone out_. As an alt, _out of joint_; as a' ghualainn, as a' chruachainn, as an uilinn, &c., _dislocated in the shoulder, hip, elbow-joint_. {128} Chaidh e as, _he escaped_. Cuir as da, _destroy him_, or _it_. Chaidh as da, _he is perished, undone_. Thug e na buinn as, _he scampered off_. Dubh as, _blot out_. De. _Of:_ Armailt mhòr de dhaoinibh agus a dh' eachaibh, _a great army of men and horses_. _Off:_ Bha na geugan air an sgathadh dheth, _the branches were lopped off_; thug iad an ceann deth, _they beheaded him_. Dh' aon rùn, _with one consent, with one purpose_; dh' aon bharail, _with one mind, judgment_. A là agus a dh' oidhche, _i.e._, de là agus de oidhche, _by day and by night_. Lat. _de nocte_, Hor. Saidhbhreas mór d'a mheud, _riches however great_. Psal. cxix. 14, metr. Do. _To:_ Tabhair dhomh, _give to me, give me_; thug sinn a bos mìn do Dhearg, _we gave her soft hand to Dargo_. Dh' eirich sud dha gu h-obann, _that befell him suddenly_. Mar sin duinne gu latha, _so it fared with us till day, so we passed the night_; ma 's olc dhomh, cha n-fhearr dhoibh, _if it goes ill with me, they fare no better_. Latha dhomhsa siubhal bheann, _one day as I travelled the hills_; latha dhuinn air machair Alba, _one day when we were in the lowlands of Scotland; on Scotia's plains_. Eadar. _Between:_ eadar an dorus agus an ursainn, _between the door and the post_. Dh' eirich eadar mi agus mo choimhearsnach, _a quarrel arose betwixt me and my neighbour_. {129} Eadar mhòr agus bheag, _both great and small_, Psal. xlix. 2, metr.; Rev. xix. 5, eadar bhochd agus nochd, _both the poor and the naked_. Fa. _Upon:_ Fa 'n bhòrd, _upon the board_; leigeadar fa làr, _was dropped on the ground, omitted, neglected_. Carswel. Fa 'n adhbhar ud, _on that account_; creud fa 'n abradh iad? _wherefore should they say?_ Fa sheachd, _seven times_, Psal. vii. 6, metr.; fa cheud, _a hundred times_, Psal. lxii. 9, metr. Fuidh, fo. _Under:_ Fuidh 'n bhòrd, _under the board_; fuidh bhlàth _in blossom_; tha an t-arbhar fo dhéis, _the corn is in the ear_; fuidh smuairean, _under concern_; fo ghruaim, _gloomy_; fo mhi-ghean, _in bad humour_; fuidh mhi-chliu, _under bad report_. Denoting intention or purpose: air bhi fuidhe, _it being his purpose_, Acts xx. 7; tha tighinn fodham, _it is my intention or inclination_. Gu, Gus. _To:_ O thigh gu tigh, _from house to house_; gu crìch mo shaoghail fein, _to the end of my life_; gus an crion gu luaithre a' chlach, _until the stone shall crumble to dust_. Sm. Seann dàna. A' bhliadhna gus an àm so, _this time twelvemonth, a year ago_; a sheachduin gus an dé, _yesterday se'ennight_. Mile gu leth, _a mile and a half_; bliadhna gu leth, _a year and a half_. Gun. _Without:_ Gun amharus, _without doubt_; gun bhrogan, _without shoes_; gun fhios, _without knowledge, unwittingly_; gun fhios nach faic thu e, _in case you may see him_, {130} _if perhaps you may see him_; gun fhios am faic thu e, _if perhaps you may not see him_. Gun chomas aig air, _without his being able to prevent it, or avoid it_; _involuntarily_. Gniomh gun chomain, _an unmerited, or unprovoked deed_. Dh' àithn e dha gun sin a dheanamh, _he ordered him not to do that_. Fhuair iad rabhadh gun iad a philltinn, _they were warned not to return_. Iar. _After_: Iar sin, _after that_; iar leughadh an t-Soisgeil, _after the reading of the Gospel_; iar tuiteam sios da aig a chosaibh, _having fallen down at his feet_; bha mi iar mo mhealladh, _I was received_. Le, leis. _With_: Chaidh mi leis a' chuideachd mhòir, _I went with the multitude_. Denoting the instrument: mharbh e Eoin leis a' chlaidheamh, _he killed John with the sword_. Denoting the agent: thomhaiseadh le Diarmid an torc, _the boar was measured by Diarmid_. Denoting possession: is le Donull an leabhar, _the book is Donald's_; cha leis e, _it is not his_. Denoting opinion or feeling: is fada leam an là gu h-oidhche, _I think the day long, or tedious, till night come_; is cruaidh leam do chor, _I think your case a hard one_; is dòcha leam, _I think it probable_; is doilich leam, _I am sorry_; is aithreach leis, _he repents_. _Along_: leis an t-sruth _along the stream_; leis an leathad, _down the declivity_. Leig leam, _let me alone_; leig leis, _let him alone_. Mu. _About_: ag iadhadh mu a cheann, _winding about his head_; labhair e mu Iudas, _he spoke about Judas_; nuair smachduichear duine leat mu 'lochd, _when thou {131} correctest a man for his sin_, Psal. xxxix. 11, metr.; sud am fàth mu'n goir a' chorr, _that is the reason of the heron's cry_. Seann dàna. Sud fàth mu 'n guidheann ort na naoimh, _for this reason will the saints make supplication to Thee_. O. _From_: O bhaile gu baile, _from town to town_; o mhadainn gu feasgar, _from morning to evening_; o 'n là thainig mi dhachaidh, _from the day that I came home_; o 'n là, is often abridged into la; as, la thainig mi dhachaidh, _since I came home_. _Since_, _because_: thugamaid uil' oirnn a' bhanais, o fhuair sinn cuireadh dhol ann, _let us all to the wedding, since we have been bidden to it_. Denoting want in opposition to possession, denoted by _aig_: na tha uainn 's a b' fheairrd sinn againn, _what we want and should be the better for having_. Implying desire: ciod tha uait? _what would you have?_ Tha claidheamh uam, _I want a sword_. Os. _Above_: Mar togam os m' uil' aoibhneas àrd cathair Ierusaleim, _if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy_, Psal. cxxxvii. 6, metr.; os mo cheann, _above me_, _over me_. Ri, ris. _To_: cosmhuil ri mac righ, _like to the son of a king_; chuir iad teine ris an tigh, _they set fire to the house_. Maille ri, _together with_. Laimh ris a' bhalla, _nigh to the wall_. Ri là gaoithe, _on a day of wind_; ri fad mo ré 's mo là, _during all the days of my life_; ri lìnn Righ Uilliam, _in the reign of King William_. Na bi rium, _don't molest me_. Feuch ris, _try it_. Cuir ris, _ply your work_, _exert yourself_; cuirear na {132} nithe so ribh, _these things shall be added unto you_, Matt. vi. 33. Tha an Spiorad ag cur ruinn na saorsa, _the Spirit applieth to us the redemption_, Assemb. Sh. Catech. _Exposed_: tha an craicionn ris, _the skin is exposed, or bare_; leig ris, _expose or make manifest_. Roimh. _Before_: roimh 'n charbad, _before the chariot_; roimh 'n chamhair, _before the dawn_; roimh na h-uile nithibh, _before, in preference to, all things_; chuir mi romham, _I set before me, purposed, intended_. Imich romhad, _go forward_; dh' fhalbh e roimhe, _he went his way_, _he went off_. Seach. _Past_: chaidh e seach an dorus, _he passed by the door_. _In comparison with_: is trom a' chlach seach a' chlòineag, _the stone is heavy compared with the down_. Tar, thar. _Over_, _across_: chaidh e thar an amhainn, thar a' mhonadh, _he went over the river, over the mountain_; tha sin thar m' eolas, thar mo bheachd, &c., _that is beyond my knowledge, beyond my comprehension_, &c. Tre, troimh, throimh. _Through_: tre uisge is tre theine, _through water and through fire_. OF INSEPARABLE PREPOSITIONS. The following initial syllables, used only in composition, are prefixed to nouns, adjectives, or verbs, to modify or alter their signification:-- {133} An[92], Di, Ao, ea, eu, eas, Mi, Neo:--Privative syllables signifying _not_, or serving to change the signification of the words to which they are prefixed into its contrary; as, socair _ease_, anshocair _distress_, _uneasiness_; ciontach _guilty_, dichiontach _innocent_; treabh _to cultivate_, dithreabh _an uncultivated place_, _a desert_; dionach _tight_, _close_, aodionach _leaky_; còir _justice_, eucoir _injustice_; slàn _whole_, _in health_, easlan _sick_; caraid _a friend_, eascaraid _an enemy_; buidheachas _gratitude_, mibhuidheachas _ingratitude_; claon _awry_, neochlaon _unbiassed_, _impartial_; duine _a man_, neodhuine _a worthless unnatural creature_. An, ain, intensitive, denoting an immoderate degree, or faulty excess; as, tighearnas _dominion_, aintighearnas _tyranny_; tromaich _to make heavy_, antromaich _to make very heavy_, _to aggravate_; teas _heat_, ainteas _excessive heat_; miann _desire_, ainmhiann _inordinate desire_, _lust_. Ais, ath, _again_, _back_; as, eirigh _rising_, aiseirigh _resurrection_; beachd _view_, ath-bheachd _retrospect_; fàs _growth_, ath-fhàs _after-growth_. Bith, _continually_; as, bithdheanamh _doing continually_, _busy_; am bithdheantas _incessantly_. Co, com, comh, con, _together_, _equally_, _mutually_; as, gleacadh _fighting_, co-ghleacadh _fighting together_; lion _to fill_, colion _to fulfil_, _accomplish_; ith _to eat_, comith _eating together_; radh _saying_, comhradh _conversation, speech_; trom _weight_, cothrom _equal weight_, _equity_; aois _age_, comhaois _a contemporary_. Im, _about_, _round_, _entire_; as, làn _full_, iomlan _quite complete_; gaoth _wind_, iomghaoth _a whirlwind_; slainte _health_, iom-shlainte _perfect health_. {134} In, or ion, _worthy_: as, ion-mholta _worthy to be praised_: ion-roghnuidh _worthy to be chosen_, Psal. xxv. 12, metr. vers. So, _easily_, _gently_: as, faicsin _seeing_, so-fhaicsin _easily seen_; sion _weather_, soinion [so-shion] _calm weather_; sgeul _a tale_, soisgeul _a good tale_, _gospel_. Do, _with difficulty_, _evil_; as, tuigsin _understanding_, do-thuigsin _difficult to be understood_; doinion _stormy weather_; beart _deed, exploit_. do-bheart _evil deed_. CHAPTER VIII. OF CONJUNCTIONS. Under this class of words, it is proper to enumerate not only those single Particles which are usually denominated Conjunctions; but also the most common phrases which are used as Conjunctions to connect either words or sentences. Ach; but. Agus, is; and. A chionn gu; because that. A chum as gu; in order that. A chum as nach; that not. Air chor as gu; so that. Air eagal gu, } D' eagal gu; } _for fear that_, lest. Air son gu, } Du bhrigh gu; } by reason that Bheil fhios, 'l fhios? _is there knowledge?_ is it known? an expression of curiosity, or desire to know. Co; as. Ged, giodh; although[93]. {135} Ged tha, ge ta; _though it be_, notwithstanding. Gidheadh; yet, nevertheless. Gu, gur; that. Gun fhios; _without knowledge_, it being uncertain whether or not, in case not. Ionnas gu; insomuch that, so that. {136} Ma; if. Mar; as, like as. Mar sud agus; so also. Ma seadh, } Ma ta; } _if so_, _if it be so_, _then_. Mur; if not. Mur bhiodh gu; were it not that. Mus an, mu 'n; before that, lest. Na; than. Nach; that not. Na'n, na'm; if. No; or. O; since, because. Oir; for. Os barr; moreover. Sol, suil; before that. Tuille eile; further. Uime sin; therefore. CHAPTER IX. OF INTERJECTIONS. The syllables or sounds, employed as expressions of various emotions or sensations, are numerous in Gaelic, but for the most part provincial, and arbitrary. Only one or two single vocables, and a few phrases, require to be noticed under this division. Och! Ochan! alas! Ochan nan och! _alas_ and _well-a-day!_ Fire faire! what a pother! Mo thruaighe! _my misery!_ } Mo chreachadh! _my despoiling!_ } woe's me! Mo nàire! _my shame_, for shame! fy! H-ugad, _at you_, take care of yourself, _gardez-vous_. Feuch! behold! lo! * * * * * {137} PART III. OF SYNTAX. Syntax treats of the connection of words with each other in a sentence; and teaches the proper method of expressing their connection by the _Collection_ and the _Form_ of the words. Gaelic Syntax may be conveniently enough explained under the common divisions of Concord and Government. CHAPTER I. OF CONCORD. Under Concord is to be considered the agreement of the Article with its Noun;--of an Adjective with its Noun;--of a Pronoun with its Antecedent;--of a Verb with its Nominative;--and of one Noun with another. SECTION I. OF THE AGREEMENT OF THE ARTICLE WITH A NOUN. _Collocation._ The article is always placed before its Noun, and next to it, unless when an Adjective intervenes. _Form._ The article agrees with its Noun in Gender, Number, and Case. Final _n_ is changed into _m_ before a plain Labial; as, am baile _the town_, am fear _the man_. It is usually cut off before an aspirated Palatal, or Labial, excepting _fh_; as, a' chaora _the sheep_, a' mhuc _the sow_, a' choin _of the dog_. In the Dat. Sing. initial _a_ is cut off after a Preposition ending in a Vowel; as, do 'n chloich _to the stone_[94]. {138} A Noun, when immediately preceded by the Article, suffers some changes in Initial Form:--1. With regard to Nouns beginning with a Consonant, the _aspirated_ form is assumed by a mas. Noun in the gen. and dat. singular; by a fem. noun in the nom. and dat. singular. If the Noun begins with _s_ followed by a vowel or by a Liquid, instead of having the _s_ aspirated, _t_ is inserted between the Article and the Noun, in the foresaid cases; and the _s_ becomes entirely quiescent[95]. 2. With regard to Nouns beginning with a Vowel, _t_ or _h_ is inserted between the Article and the Noun in certain Cases, viz. _t_ in the Nom. sing. of mas. Nouns, _h_ in the gen. sing. of fem. Nouns, and _h_ in the nom. and dat. plur. of Nouns of either gender. Throughout the other sing. and plur. Cases, all Nouns retain their Primary form. The following examples show all the varieties that take place in declining a Noun with the Article. _Nouns beginning with a Labial or a Palatal._ Bard, mas. _a Poet_. _Sing._ _Plur._ _N._ am Bard, na Baird, _G._ a' Bhaird, nam Bard, _D._ a', 'n Bhard[96]. na Bardaibh. Cluas, fem. _an Ear_. _Sing._ _Plur._ _N._ a' Chluas, na Cluasan, _G._ na Cluaise, nan Cluas, _D._ a', 'n Chluais. na Cluasaibh. {139} _Nouns beginning with f._ Fleasgach, m. _a Bachelor._ _Sing._ _Plur._ _N._ am Fleasgach, na Fleasgaich, _G._ an Fhleasgaich, nam Fleasgach, _D._ an, 'n Fhleasgach. na Fleasgaich. Fòid, f. a _Turf._ _Sing._ _Plur._ _N._ an Fhòid, na Foidean, _G._ na Fòide, nam Fòid, _D._ an, 'n Fhòid. na Foidibh. _Nouns beginning with a Lingual._ Dorus, m. _a Door._ _Sing._ _Plur._ _N._ an Dorus, na Dorsan, _G._ an Doruis, nan Dorsa, _D._ an, 'n Dorus, na Dorsaibh. Teasach, f. _a Fever._ _Sing._ _Plur._ _N._ an Teasach, na Teasaichean, _G._ na Teasaich, nan Teasach, _D._ an, 'n Teasaich. na Teasaichibh. _Nouns beginning with s._ Sloc, mas. _a Pit._ _Sing._ _Plur._ _N._ an Sloc, na Sluic, _G._ an t-Sluic, nan Sloc, _D._ an, 'n t-Sloc. na Slocaibh. {140} Sùil, fem. _an Eye._ _Sing._ _Plur._ _N._ an t-Sùil, na Suilean, _G._ na Sùla nan Sùl, _D._ an, 'n t-Sùil. na Suilibh. _Nouns beginning with a Vowel._ Iasg, m. _a Fish._ _Sing._ _Plur._ _N._ an t-Iasg, na h-Iasga, _G._ an Eisg, nan Iasg, _D._ an, 'n Iasg. na h-Iasgaibh. Adharc, f. _a Horn._ _Sing._ _Plur._ _N._ an Adharc, na h-Adhaircean, _G._ na h-Adhairc, nan Adharc, _D._ an, 'n Adhairc. na h-Adhaircibh. The initial Form of Adjectives immediately preceded by the Article, follows the same rules with the initial Form of Nouns. Besides the common use of the Article as a Definitive to ascertain individual objects, it is used in Gaelic-- 1. Before a Noun followed by the Pronouns _so_, _sin_, or _ud_; as, am fear so, _this man_; an tigh ud, _yon house_. 2. Before a Noun preceded by the Verb _is_ and an Adjective; as, is maith an sealgair e, _he is a good huntsman_; bu luath an coisiche e, _he was a swift footman_. 3. Before some names of countries; as, righ na Spainne, _the king of Spain_; chaidh e do 'n Fhrainc, _he went to France_; but righ Bhreatain, _the king of Britain_; chaidh e dh' Eirin, _he went to Ireland_, without the Article. {141} SECTION II. OF THE AGREEMENT OF AN ADJECTIVE WITH A NOUN. _Collocation._ When an Adjective and the Noun which it qualifies are in the same clause or member of a sentence, the Adjective is usually placed after its Noun; as, ceann liath, _a hoary head_; duine ro ghlic, _a very wise man_. If they be in different clauses, or if the one be in the subject, and the other in the predicate of a proposition, this rule does not apply; as, is glic an duine sin, _that is a wise man_; cha truagh leam do chor, _I do not think your case unfortunate_. 1. Numerals, whether Cardinal or Ordinal, to which add, iomadh _many_, gach _every_, are placed before their Nouns; as, tri lathan, _three days_; an treas latha, _the third day_; iomadh duine, _many a man_; gach eun g' a nead, _every bird to its nest_.--Except such instances as the following : Righ Tearlach a h-Aon, _King Charles the First_; Righ Seumas a Cuig, _King James the Fifth_. 2. The possessive pronouns mo, do, &c., are always placed before their nouns; as, mo lamh, _my hand_. The interrogatives co, cia, &c., are placed before their nouns, with the article intervening; as, cia am fear? _which man?_ 3. Some adjectives of one syllable are usually placed before their Nouns; as, deadh dhuine, _a good man_; droch ghniomh, _a bad action_; seann sluagh, _old people_. Such Adjectives, placed before their Nouns, often combine with them, so as to represent one complex idea, rather than two distinct ones; and the adjective and noun, in that situation, may rather be considered as one complex term, than as two distinct words, and written accordingly; as, oigfhear, _a young man_; ogbhean, _a young woman_; garbhchriochan, _rude regions_[97]. {142} _Form._ Though a Gaelic Adjective possesses a variety of Forms, yet its Form is not always determined by the Noun whose signification it modifies. The Form of the Adjective depends on its Noun, when it immediately follows the Noun, or only with the intervention of an intensitive Particle, ro, gle, &c., and when both the Noun and the Adjective are in the Subject, or both in the Predicate, or in the same clause or member of a sentence. In all other situations, the form of the Adjective does in no respect depend on the Noun; or, in other words, the Adjective does not agree with the Noun[98]. To illustrate this rule, let the following examples be attentively considered:--Is beag orm a' ghaoth fhuar, _I dislike the cold wind_; is beag orm fuaim na gaoithe fuaire, _I dislike the sound of the cold wind_; is beag orm seasamh anns a' ghaoith fhuair, _I dislike standing in the cold wind_. In these examples, the Adjective and the Noun are both in the same clause or member of a sentence, and therefore they must agree together. In the following examples the Adjective and the Noun do not necessarily agree together:--Is fuar a' ghaoth á tuath, _cold is the wind from the north_; is tric leis a' ghaoith á tuath bhi fuar, _it is usual for the wind from the north to be cold_. In these examples, the Noun is in the Subject, and the Adjective in the Predicate of the proposition. {143} The grammatical distinction observable in the following examples is agreeable to the strictest philosophical propriety:--Rinn mis an scian gheur, _I made the sharp knife_: here the Adjective agrees with the Noun, for it modifies the Noun, distinguishing that knife from others. Rinn mis an scian geur, _I made the knife sharp_: here the Adjective does not agree with the Noun, for it modifies not the Noun but the Verb. It does not characterize the _object_ on which the operation is performed, hut it combines with the Verb in specifying the _nature of the operation_ performed. The expression is equivalent to gheuraich mi an scian, _I sharpened the knife_. So also, mhothaich mi a' ghaoth fhuar, _I felt the cold wind_; but mhothaich mi a' ghaoth fuar, _I felt the wind cold_. In the former of these examples the Adjective modifies the Noun, and agrees with it; in the latter it does not agree with the Noun, for its use is to modify the Verb, or to specify the nature of the sensation felt. In like manner, dh' fhàg iad an obair criochnaichte, _they left the work finished_; fhuaradh an òigh sìnte, marbh, _the maid was found stretched out dead_. And so in other similar instances. 1. When an Adjective and Noun are so situated and related, that an agreement takes place between them, then the Adjective agrees with its noun in Gender, Number, and Case. A Noun preceded by the Numeral da _two_, though it be in the Singular Number, [see conclusion of Part II. Chap I.] takes an Adjective in the Plural; as, da iasg bheaga, _two small fishes_, John, vi. 9. The Initial Form of the Adjective depends partly on the Gender of the Noun, partly on its Termination, and partly on its being preceded by the Article. The following examples of an Adjective declined along with its Noun, exhibit the varieties in the Initial Form, as well as in the Termination of the Adjective:-- {144} MONOSYLLABLES. Fear mòr, mas. _a Great Man_. _Without the Article._ _Sing._ _Plur._ _N._ Fear mòr, Fir mhòra, _G._ Fir mhòir, Fheara mòra, _D._ Fear mòr, Fearaibh mòra, _V._ Fhir mhòir. Fheara mòra. _With the Article._ _N._ Am Fear mòr, Na Fir mhòra, _G._ An Fhir mhòir, Nam Fear mòra, _D._ An Fhear mhòr. Na Fearaibh mòra. Slat gheal, fem. _a white rod_. _Without the Article._ _N._ Slat gheal, Slatan geala, _G._ Slaite gile, Shlatan geala, _D._ Slait ghil, Slataibh geala, _V._ Shlat gheal. Shlata geala. _With the Article._ _N._ An t-Slat gheal, Na Slatan geala, _G._ Na Slaite gile, Nan Slata geala, _D._ An t-Slait ghil. Na Slataibh geala. POLYSYLLABLES. Oglach dileas, m. _a Faithful Servant_. _Without the Article._ _N._ Oglach dileas, Oglaich dhileas, _G._ Oglaich dhilis, Oglach dileas, _D._ Oglach dileas, Oglachaibh dileas, _V._ Oglaich dhilis. Oglacha dileas. {145} _With the Article._ _N._ An t-Oglach dileas, Na h-Oglaich dhileas. _G._ An Oglaich dhilis, Nan Oglach dileas. _D._ An Oglach dhileas, Na h-Oglachaibh dileas. Clarsach fhonnmhor, f. _a Tuneful Harp._ _Without the Article._ _N._ Clarsach fhonnmhor, Clarsaichean fonnmhor. _G._ Clarsaich fhonnmhoir, Chlarsach fonnmhor. _D._ Clarsaich fhonnmhoir, Clarsaichibh fonnmhor. _V._ Chlarsach fhonnmhor, Chlarsaiche fonnmhor. _With the Article._ _N._ A' Chlarsach fhonnmhor, Na Clarsaichean fonnmhor. _G._ Na Clarsaich fonnmhoir, Nan Clarsach fonnmhor. _D._ A', 'n Chlarsaich fhonnmhoir, Na Clarsaichibh fonnmhor. An Adjective, beginning with a Lingual, and preceded by a Noun terminating in a Lingual, retains its primary Form in all the Singular cases; for the sake, it would seem, of preserving the agreeable sound arising from the coalescence of the two Linguals; as, nighean donn _a brown maid_, instead of nighean dhonn; a' choin duibh _of the black dog_, instead of a' choin dhuibh; air a' chois deis _on his right foot_, instead of air a chois dheis. II. A Noun preceded by an Adjective assumes the aspirated Form; as, ard bheann _a high hill_, cruaidh dheuchainn _a hard trial_. 1. A Noun preceded by a Numeral is in the primary Form; as, tri meoir _three fingers_; to which add iomadh _many_, gach _every_; as, iomadh fear _many a man_; gach craobh _every tree_.--Except aon _one_, da _two_; ceud _first_; as, aon fhear _one man_, da chraoibh _two trees_. 2. A Noun preceded by any of the following Possessive Pronouns, a _her_, ar _our_, bhur _your_, an _their_, is in the primary {146} Form; as, a mathair _her mother_, ar brathair _our brother_. When the Possessive Pronoun a _her_, precedes a Noun or an Adjective beginning with a vowel, _h_ is inserted between them; as, a h-athair, _her father_, a h-aon mhac _her only son_. The Possessive Pronouns ar _our_, bhur _your_, usually take _n_ between them and the following Noun or Adjective beginning with a vowel; as, ar n-athair _our father_, bhur n-aran _your bread_. Perhaps a distinction ought to be made, by inserting _n_ only after ar, and not after bhur[99]. This would serve often to distinguish the one word from the other in speaking, where they are ready to be confounded by bhur being pronounced ur. 3. A Noun beginning with a Lingual, preceded by an Adjective ending in _n_, is in the primary Form; as, aon duine _one man_, seann sluagh _old people_. SECTION III. OF THE AGREEMENT OF A PRONOUN WITH ITS ANTECEDENT. The Personal and Possessive Pronouns follow the _Number_ of their Antecedents, _i.e._ of the Nouns which they represent. Those of the 3d Pers. Sing. follow also the Gender of their antecedent; as, sheas a'bhean aig _a_ chosaibh, agus thoisich _i air am_ fliuchadh leis _a_ deuraibh, agus thiormaich _i iad_ le gruaig _a_ cinn, _the woman stood at his feet, and she began to wet them with her tears, and she wiped them with the hair of her head_, Luke vii. 38. They follow, however, not the Gender of the Antecedent, but the sex of the creature signified by the Antecedent, in those words in which Sex and Gender disagree, as, an gobhlan-gaoithe mar an ceudn' do sholair nead dh'i fein _the swallow too hath provided a nest for herself_, Psal. lxxxiv. 3. Gobhlan-gaoithe _a swallow_, is a mas. Noun, as appears by the mas. Article: but as it is the dam that is spoken of, the reference is made by the Personal Pronoun of the fem. gender. Ta gliocas air a fireanachadh leis a cloinn _Wisdom {147} is justified by her children_, Matt. xi. 19. Gliocas is a mas. noun; but as Wisdom is here personified as a female, the regimen of the Possessive Pronoun is adapted to that idea[100]. See also Prov. ix. 1-3. In this sentence Och nach b' i mhaduinn e, Deut. xxviii. 67, the former pronoun _i_ is correctly put in the fem. gender, as referring to the fem. noun _maduinn_; while the latter pron. _e_ is put in the mas. gend. because referring to no expressed antecedent. If the Antecedent be a sentence, or clause of a sentence, the Pronoun is of the 3d Pers. Sing. masculine; as, dh' ith na bà caola suas na bà reamhra, agus cha n-aithnichteadh orra _e_, _the lean cattle ate up the fat cattle, and could not be known by them_. If the Antecedent be a collective Noun, the Pronoun is of the 3d Pers. Plur. as, thoir àithne do 'n t-sluagh, d' eagal gu m bris _iad_ asteach _charge the people lest they break in_, Exod. xix. 21. An Interrogative combined with a Personal Pronoun, asks a question without the intervention of the Substantive verb; as, co mise? _who [am] I?_ co iad na daoine sin? _who [are] those men?_ cia i a' cheud àithne? _which [is] the first commandment?_ In interrogations of this form, the noun is sometimes preceded by the Personal Pronoun, and sometimes not; as, co e am fear? _who [is] the man?_ co am fear? _what man?_ Co am fear? is evidently an incomplete sentence, like _what man?_ in English. The ellipsis may be supplied thus; co e am fear a ta thu ciallachadh? _who is the man whom you mean?_ This example may be abridged into another common interrogation, in which the Interrogative is immediately followed by the Relative; as, co a ta thu ciallachadh? _who [is he] whom you mean?_ ciod a ta thu faicinn? _what [is it] that you see?_ In an interrogative sentence including a Personal Pronoun and a Noun, as, co e am fear sin? if the Noun be restricted in {148} its signification by some other words connected with it, such as the Article, an Adjective, another Noun in the Genitive, or a relative clause, then the Pronoun usually follows the Gender of the Noun, or the Sex of the object signified by the Noun, if the Gender does not correspond to it; as, co _e_ am fear a theid a suas? _who is the man that shall ascend?_ co _i_ am boirionnach sin? _who is that woman?_ cia _i_ a' cheud àithne? _which is the first commandment?_ If the Noun be not _so restricted_, the Pronoun is of the masculine gender; as, ciod e uchdmhacachd? _what is adoption?_ ciod e urnuigh? _what is prayer?_[101] {149} SECTION IV. OF THE AGREEMENT OF A VERB WITH ITS NOMINATIVE. As the Verb has no variation of _form_ corresponding to the Person or Number of its Nominative, the connection between a Verb and its Nominative can be marked only by its _collocation_. Little variety therefore is allowed in this respect. The Nominative, whether Noun or Pronoun, is ordinarily placed after the Verb; as, ta mi _I am_, rugadh duine-cloinne _a man-child is born_[102]. The Article or an Adjective, is frequently {150} placed between the Verb and its Nominative; as, thainig an uair, _the hour is come_; aithrisear iomadh droch sgeul, _many an evil tale will be told_. Sometimes, but more rarely, circumstances are expressed beween the Verb and its Nominative; as, rugadh dhuinne, an diugh, ann am baile Dhaibhi, an Slanuighear, _there is born to us, this day, in David's town, the Saviour_. The word denoting the object of the verbal action, can never, even in poetry, be placed between the Verb and its Nominative, without altering the sense. Hence the arrangement in the following passages is incorrect:--Ghabh domblas agus fiongeur iad, _they took gall and vinegar_. "Buch. Gael. Poems," Edin. 1767. p. 14. The collocation should have been ghabh iad domblas, &c. Do chual e 'n cruinne-cé, _the world heard it_, id. p. 15, ought to have been, do chual an cruinne-cé e. So also, do ghabh truaighe, Iosa dhoibh, _Jesus took pity {151} on them_. Matt. xx. 34, Irish vers. It ought to have been, do ghabh Iosa truaighe, &c.[103]. The Relatives a _who_, nach _who not_, are always put before the verb; as, am fear a thuit, _the man who fell_; am fear nach dean beud, _the man who will not commit a fault_. In poetry, or poetical style, where inversion is allowed, the Nominative is sometimes placed before the Verb; as doimhneachd na talmhain ta 'n a laimh, _in his hand is the depth of the earth_. Psal. xcv. 4. Oigh cha tig le clàr 'n an comhdhail, _No virgin with harp will come to meet them._ Smith's "Ant. Gal. Poems," p. 285. Gach doire, gach coire, 's gach eas, Bheir a' m' chuimhne cneas mo Ghraidh. _Each grove, each dell, and each water-fall, will bring to my remembrance the form of my love._ Id. p. 30. An la sin cha tigh gu bràth, A bheir dearrsa mo ghraidh gu tuath. _That day shall never come, which shall bring the sun-beam of my love to the North._ Fingal II. 192. Am focail geilleam do Mhorlamh; Mo lann do neach beo cha gheill. _In words I yield to Morla; my sword to no living man shall yield._ Fing. II. 203. This inversion is never admitted into plain discourse or unimpassioned narrative. In those Persons of the Verb in which the terminations supply the place of the Personal Pronouns, no Nominative is expressed along with the Verb. In all the other Persons of the Verb, a Noun or a Pronoun is commonly expressed as its Nominative. In sentences of a poetical structure, the Nominative is sometimes, though rarely, omitted; as, am fear nach {152} gabh 'nuair gheibh, cha 'n fhaigh 'nuair 's aill, _the man who will not take when [he] can get, will not get when [he] wishes_. A Gharna, cuim a sheas? a Ghuill, cuim a thuit? _Garno, why stoodst? Gaul, why didst fall?_ Smith's "Ant. Gal. Poems," p. 153. The Infinitive often takes before it the Nominative of the Agent; in which case the Preposition _do_ is either expressed or understood before the Infinitive; as, feuch, cia meud a mhaith, braithre do bhi 'n an comhnuidh ann sith! _behold how great a good it is, that brethren dwell in peace!_ Psal. cxxxiii, 1. Is e mi dh' fhantuinn 's an fheoil, a 's feumaile dhuibhse, _my abiding in the flesh is more needful for you_, Phil. i. 24, Cha n'eil e iomchuidh sinne dh' fhagail focail Dé, agus a fhrithealadh do bhordaibh, _it is not meet that we should leave the word of God, and serve tables_, Acts vi. 2. The Preposition _do_, being softened as usual into _a_, readily disappears after a Vowel; as, air son mi bhi a rìs a lathàir maille ribh, _by my being again present with you_, Phil. i. 26[104]. SECTION V. OF THE AGREEMENT OF ONE NOUN WITH ANOTHER. When in the same sentence two or more Nouns, applied as names to the same object, stand in the same grammatical relation to other words, it should naturally be expected that their Form, in so far as it depends on that relation, should be the same; in other words, that Nouns denoting the same object, and related alike to the governing word, should agree in Case. This accordingly happens in Greek and Latin. In Gaelic, where a variety of form gives room for the application of the same rule, it has been followed in some instances; as, Doncha mac Chailain mhic Dhonuil, _Duncan the son of {153} Colin the son of Donald_; where the words Chailain and mhic denoting the same person, and being alike related to the preceding Noun mac are on that account both in the same Case. It must be acknowledged, however, that this rule, obvious and natural as it is, has not been uniformly observed by the speakers of Gaelic. For example; instead of mac Ioseiph an t-saoir, _the son of Joseph the carpenter_, many would more readily say, mac Ioseiph an saor; instead of thuit e le laimh Oscair an laoich chruadalaich, _he fell by the hand of Oscar the bold hero_, it would rather be said, thuit e le laimh Oscair an laoch cruadalach. The latter of these two modes of expression may perhaps be defended on the ground of its being elliptical; and the ellipsis may be supplied thus: mac Ioseiph [is e sin] an saor; laimh Oscair [neach is e] an laoch cruadalach. Still it must be allowed, in favour of the rule in question, that the observance of it serves to mark the relation of the Nouns to each other, which would otherwise remain, in many instances, doubtful. Thus in one of the foregoing examples, if we should reject the rule, and write mac Ioseiph an saor; it would be impossible to know, from the form of the words, whether Joseph or his son were the carpenter. The translators of the Scriptures into Gaelic, induced probably by the reasonableness and utility of the rule under consideration, by the example of the most polished Tongues, and by the usage of the Gaelic itself in some phrases, have uniformly adhered to this rule when the leading Noun was in the Genitive; as, do mhacaibh Bharsillai a' Ghileadaich, 1 Kings ii. 7; righ-chathair Dhaibhi athar, 1 Kings ii. 12; do thaobh Bheniamin am brathar, Judg. xxi. 6; ag gabhail nan clar chloiche, eadhon chlar a' cho-cheangail, Deut. ix. 9. The rule seems to have been disregarded when the leading Noun was in the Dative. See 1 Kings i. 25, Ruth iv. 5, Acts xiii. 33. {154} CHAPTER II. OF GOVERNMENT. Under this head is to be explained the Government of Nouns, of Adjectives, of Verbs, of Prepositions, and of Conjunctions. SECTION I. OF THE GOVERNMENT OF NOUNS. One Noun governs another in the Genitive. The Noun governed is always placed after that which governs it; as, ceann tighe, _the head of a house or family_; solus na gréine, _light of the sun_; bainne ghabhar _milk of goats_. The Infinitives of Transitive Verbs, being themselves Nouns, (See Part II. Chap. V. p. 86.) govern in like manner the Genitive of their object; as, ag cur sìl, _sowing seed_; a dh' fhaicinn an t-sluaigh, _to see the people_; iar leughadh an t-soisgeil, _after reading the gospel_[105]. Although no good reason appears why this rule, which is common to the Gaelic with many other languages, should ever be set aside, yet it has been set aside in speaking, and sometimes in writing Gaelic. 1. When the Noun governed does in its turn govern another Noun in the Genitive, the former is often put in the Nominative instead of the Genitive case. The following instances of this anomaly occur in the Gaelic Scriptures:--Guth briathran an t-sluaigh, instead of, bhriathran, _the voice of the words of the people_, Deut. v. 28; do mheas craobhan a' gharaidh, instead of, chraobhan, _of the fruit of the trees of the garden_, {155} Gen. iii. 2; ag itheadh tighean bhantrach, for thighean, _devouring widows' houses_, Matt. xxiii. 14; ag nochdadh obair an lagha, for oibre, _showing the work of the law_, Rom. ii. 15; ag cuimhneachadh gun sgur obair bhur creidimh, agus saothair bhur graidh, for oibre, saoithreach, _remembering without ceasing your work of faith, and labour of love_, 1 Thess. i. 3; trid fuil is fearta Chriost, _through the blood and merits of Christ_, Gael. Paraph. 1787, p. 381, for trid fola Chriost, as in Eph. ii. 13; ag àiteach sliabh Shioin, for sleibh, _inhabiting the hill of Zion_, Psal. ix. 11. metr; air son obair Chriosd, Phil. ii. 30, 1767, according to the usage of the language, but changed to oibre, in Edit. 1796, to suit the Grammatical Rule[106]. For the most part, however, the general rule, even in these circumstances, is followed; as, guth fola do bhrathar, _the voice of thy brother's blood_, Gen. iv. 10; amhainn duthcha cloinne a shluaigh _the river of the land of the children of his people_, Numb. xxii. 5; a' nigheadh chos sheirbhiseach mo thighearna, _to wash the feet of the servants of my lord_, 1 Sam. xxv. 41. 2. Such expressions as the following seem to be exceptions to the rule:--Dithis mac, 2 Sam. xv. 27, 36; ceathrar mac, 1 Chron. xxi. 20; leanabaibh mac, Matt. ii. 16. In the following similar instances, the rule is observed:--Dithis mhac, Gen. xli. 50; dithis fhear, 2 Sam. xii. 1; ceathrar fhear, Acts xxi. 23; ceathrar mhaighdiona, Acts xxi. 9. The same anomaly takes place in the regimen of the infinitive, as in that of other Nouns. Though an Infinitive be in that grammatical relation to a preceding Noun which would require its being put in the Genitive, yet when itself also governs another noun in the Genitive, it often retains the form of the Nominative. The Infinitives naomhachadh, gnathachadh, briseadh, admit of a regular Genitive, naomhachaidh, gnathachaidh, brisidh. In the following examples, {156} these Infinitives, because they govern a subsequent Noun in the Genitive, are themselves in the Nominative, though their relation to the preceding word naturally requires their being put in the Genitive Case. Tha an treas àithne a' toirmeasg mi-naomhach_adh_ no mi-ghnathach_adh_ ni sam bith, &c., _the third commandment forbids the profaning or the abusing of any thing_, &c. Assem. Cat. Gael. Edin. 1792, Answer to Q. 55. Ged fheud luchdbris_eadh_ na h-aithne so dol as, &c., id. Q. 56., _though the transgressors of this commandment may escape_, &c. Cuis crath_adh_ cinn is cas_adh_ béil, Psal. xxii. 7, as it is in the older edition of the Gaelic Psalms. An deigh leugh_adh_ an lagha, _after the reading of the Law_, Acts. xiii. 15; luchd cum_adh_ uilc, Rom. i. 30[107]. The Infinitive is not put in the Genitive, when preceded {157} by a Possessive Pronoun, because it is in the same limited state as if it governed a Noun in the Genitive Case; as, a chum am marbh_a_dh 's na beanntaibh, _to kill them in the mountains_, Exod. xxxii., not marbh_ai_dh, which is the Case regularly governed by chum. Co tha 'g iarraidh do mharbh_a_dh? John vii. 20, not do mharbh_ai_dh. Thug iad leo e chum a cheus_adh_. Matt. xxvii. 31. Chum an cruinneach_adh_ gu cath. Rev. xx. 8[108]. This coincidence in the Regimen of the Infinitive in two similar situations, viz., when limited by a Possessive Pronoun, and when limited by a subsequent Noun, furnishes no slight argument in support of the construction defended above, of putting the Infin. in the Nom. case when itself governs a Noun in the Genitive; for we find the Infin. is invariably put in the Nom. when limited in its signification by a Possess. Pronoun. When one Noun governs another in the Genitive, the Article is never joined to both, even though each be limited in its signification, as, mac an righ, _the son of the king_, not am mac an righ; taobh deas a' bhaile, _the south side of the town_, not an taobh deas a' bhaile[109]. For the most part, the Article is thus joined to the latter Noun. Sometimes it is joined to the former Noun; as, an ceann tighe, _the head of the family_; an ceann iuil, _the pilot_; but in such instances the two Nouns figure as one complex term, like _paterfamilias_, rather than as two terms. The following examples, in which the Article is joined to both Nouns, seem to be totally repugnant to the Gaelic idiom: cuimhneachadh _nan_ cùig aran _nan_ cùig mìle, Matt. xvi. 9; _nan_ seachd aran _nan_ ceithir mìle, Matt. xvi. 10[110]. {158} A Possessive Pronoun joined to the Noun governed excludes, in like manner, the Article from the Noun governing; as, barr-iall a bhròige, _the latchet of his shoe_, not am barr-iall a bhròige; obair bhur lamh, _the work of your hands_, not an obair bhur lamh. The Noun governed is sometimes in the Primary, sometimes in the Aspirated Form. Proper Names of the Masculine Gender are in the Aspirated Form; as, bràthair Dhonuill, _Donald's brother_; uaigh Choluim, _Columba's grave_. Except when a final and an initial Lingual meet; as, clann Donuill, _Donald's descendants_; beinn Deirg _Dargo's hill_. When both Nouns are Appellatives, and no word intervenes between them, the initial Form of the latter Noun follows, for the most part, that of an Adjective agreeing with the former Noun. See p. 144. Thus, d' a ghàradh _f_iona, g' a ghàradh _f_iona, without the Article, Matt, xx. 1, 2, like do dhuine _m_aith; but do 'n ghàradh _fh_iona, with the Article _v._ 4, 7, like do 'n duine _mh_aith. So we should say do 'n ard fhear-_ch_iuil, rather than do 'n ard fhear-_c_iuil, as in the title of many of the Psalms. EXCEPT.--If the latter Noun denote an individual of a species, that is, if it take the Article _a_ before it in English, it is put in the _primary form_, although the former Noun be feminine; as, sùil caraid, _the eye of a friend_, not sùil _ch_araid, like sùil _mh_or, duais _f_àidh, _a prophet's reward_, Matt. x. 4, not duais _fh_àidh, like duais _mh_òr. Chum maitheanais _p_eacaidh, Acts, ii. 38, signifies _for the remission of a sin_; rather chum maitheanais _ph_eacaidh _for the remission of sin_. {159} SECTION II. OF THE GOVERNMENT OF ADJECTIVES. Adjectives of fulness govern the Genitive; as, làn uamhainn _full of dread_, Acts, ix. 6, buidheach beidh, _satisfied with meat_. The first Comparative takes the Particle na _than_, before the following Noun; as, ni 's gile na an sneachdadh, _whiter than the snow_, b' fhaide gach mios na bliadhna, _each month seemed longer than a year_. Smith's "Ant. Poems," p. 9. The second Comparative is construed thus: is feairrd mi so, _I am the better for this_; bu mhisd e am buille sin, _he was the worse for that blow_; cha truimid a' choluinn a ciall, _the body is not the heavier for its understanding_. Superlatives are followed by the Preposition de or dhe _of_; as, am fear a 's àirde dhe 'n triuir, _the man who is tallest of the three_, _the tallest man of the three_. SECTION III. OF THE GOVERNMENT OF VERBS. A Transitive Verb governs its object in the Nominative or Objective Case; as, mharbh iad an righ, _they killed the king_; na buail mi, _do not strike me_. The object is commonly placed after the Verb, but never between the Verb and its Nominative. [See Part III. Chap. I., Sect. IV.] Sometimes the object is placed, by way of emphasis, before the Verb; as, mise chuir e rìs ann am àite, agus esan chroch e, _me he put again in my place, and him he hanged_, Gen. xli. 13. An t-each agus a mharcach thilg e 's an fhairge, _the horse and his rider hath he cast into the sea_, Exod. xv. 1. Many Transitive Verbs require a Preposition before their object; as, iarr air Donull, _desire Donald_; labhair ri Donull, _speak to Donald_; leig le Donull, _let Donald alone_; beannuich do Dhonull, _salute Donald_; fiosraich de Dhonull, _enquire of Donald_. {160} Bu _was_, requires the following initial Consonant to be aspirated; as, bu mhaith dhuit, _it was good for you_; bu chruaidh an gnothuch, _it was a hard case_; except initial _d_, and _t_ which are not aspirated; as, bu dual duit, _it was natural for you_; bu trom an eallach, _the burden was heavy_; bu ghearr a lo, 's bu dubh a sgeul, _short was her course, and sad was her story_. Smith's "Ant. Poems." SECTION IV. OF THE GOVERNMENT OF ADVERBS. The collocation of Adverbs is for the most part arbitrary. The Adverbs ro, gle, _very_, are placed before the Adjectives they modify, and require the following initial Consonant to be aspirated; as, ro bheag, _very little_; gle gheal, _very white_. The Negative cha or cho _not_, when followed by a word beginning with a Labial or Palatal, requires the initial Consonant to be aspirated; as, cha mhòr e, _it is not great_; cha bhuail mi, _I will not strike_; cha chuala mi, _I did not hear_; but an initial Lingual remains unaspirated; as, cha dean mi, _I will not do_; cha tog e, _he will not raise_; cha soirbhich iad, _they will not prosper_. _N_ is inserted between cha and an initial Vowel or an aspirated _f_; as, cha n-e, _it is not_; cha n-éigin, _it is not necessary_; cha n-fhaca mi, _I saw not_. The Negative ni requires _h_ before an initial Vowel; as, ni h-iad, _they are not_; ni h-eudar, _it may not_. SECTION V. OF THE GOVERNMENT OF PREPOSITIONS. The Proper Prepositions aig, air, &c., govern the Dative; as, aig mo chois, _at my foot_; air mo laimh, _on my hand_. They are always placed before the word they govern. The following Prepositions require the Noun governed to be put in the Aspirated Form, viz., de, do, fuidh, fo, fa, gun, mar, mu, o, tre. Air sometimes governs the Noun in the Aspirated Form; as, air bharraibh sgiath na gaoithe, _on the extremities of the {161} wings of the wind_, Psal. xviii. 10. Gun governs either the Nominative or Dative; as, gun chrioch, _without end_, Heb. vii. 16; gun chéill, _without understanding_, Psal. xxxii. 9; gun chloinn, Gen. xv. 2. Mar, and gus or gu, when prefixed to a Noun without the Article, usually govern the Dative case; as, mar nighin, _as a daughter_, 2 Sam. xii. 13; mar amhainn mhòir, _like a great river_, Psal. cv. 41; gu crìch mo shaoghail fein, _to the end of my life-time_, Psal. cxix. 33, xlviii. 10. But if the Article be joined to the Noun, it is governed in the Nominative; as, mar a' ghrian, _like the sun_, Psal. lxxxix. 36, 37; gus an sruth, _to the stream_, Deut. iii. 16; gus a' chrioch, _to the end_, Heb. iii. 6, 14. Eadar governs the Nom.; as, eadar a' chraobh agus a' chlach, _between the tree and the stone_. Eadar, when signifying _between_, requires the Primary Form; as, eadar maighstir agus muinntireach, _between a master and a servant_; when it signifies _both_, it requires the Aspirated Form; as, eadar shean agus òg, _both old and young_; eadar fheara agus mhnai, _both men and women_, Acts viii. 12. The Prepositions as, gus, leis, ris, are used before the Monosyllables an, am, a'. The corresponding Prepositions a, gu, le, ri, often take an _h_ before an initial Vowel; as, a h-Eirin, _out of Ireland_; gu h-ealamh, _readily_; le h-eagal, _with fear_. The Improper Prepositions govern the following Noun in the Genitive; as, air feadh na tìre, _throughout the land_; an aghaidh an t-sluaigh, _against the people_; ré na h-ùine, _during the time_. It is manifest that this Genitive is governed by the Noun feadh, aghaidh, ré, &c., which is always included in the Preposition. See Part II. Chap. VII. Prepositions are often prefixed to a Clause of a sentence; and then they have no regimen; as, gus am bord a ghiulan, _to carry the table_, Exod. xxv. 27; luath chum fuil a dhortadh, _swift to shed blood_, Rom. iii. 15. Edit. 1767; an déigh an obair a chriochnachadh, _after finishing the work_. {162} SECTION VI. OF THE GOVERNMENT OF CONJUNCTIONS. The Conjunctions agus _and_, no _or_, couple the same Cases of Nouns; as, air feadh chreagan agus choilltean, _through rocks and woods_; ag reubadh nam bruach 's nan crann, _tearing the banks and the trees_. When two or more Nouns, coupled by a Conjunction, are governed in the Dative by a Preposition, it is usual to repeat the Preposition before each Noun; as, air fad agus air leud, _in length and in breadth_; 'n an cridhe, 'n an cainnt, agus 'n am beus, _in their heart, in their speech, and in their behaviour_. Co _as_, prefixed to an Adjective, commonly requires the initial consonant of the Adj. to be aspirated; as, co mhaith, _as good_, co ghrinn, _as fine_. But sometimes we find co mòr, _as great_, co buan, _as durable_, &c., without the aspirate. Sometimes the aspirate is transferred from the Adj. to the Conjunct. as, cho beag, _as little_, for co bheag. In the North Highlands, an adjective preceded by co is commonly put in the Comparative form; as, co miosa, _as bad_; co treise, _as strong_. The Conjunctions mur _if not_, gu, gur _that_, are always joined to the Negative Mood; as, mur 'eil mi, _if I be not_; gu robh e, _that he was_. _M_ or _n_ is often inserted, _euphoniæ causa_, between gu and an initial Consonant; viz., _m_ before a Labial, _n_ before a Palatal or Lingual; as, gu-m faca tu, _that you saw_; gu-n dubhairt iad, _that they said_[111]. The Conjunctions ma _if_, o, o'n _because, since_, are joined to the Pres. and Pret. Affirmative, and Fut. Subjunctive; as, ma ta e, _if he be_; o'n tha e, _since he is_; ma bhuail e, _if he struck_; o'n bhuail e, _because he struck_; ma bhuaileas tu, _if you strike_; o bhitheas sinn, _since we shall be_. Na'm, na'n _if_, is joined only to the Pret. Subjunctive. {163} The initial Consonant of the Verb loses its aspiration after this Conjunction; as, na'm bithinn, _if I were_; nan tuiteadh a' chraobh, _if the tree should fall_. Ged _although_, is used before the Present and Preterite Affirmative, the Fut. Negative, and the Pret. Subjunctive; as, ged tha e, _though he be_; ged bha mi, _though I was_; ge do bhuail thu mi, _though you struck me_; ged bhuail thu mi, _though you strike me_; ged bheireadh e dhomh, _though he should give me_[112]. * * * * * {164} PART IV. OF DERIVATION AND COMPOSITION. CHAPTER I. OF DERIVATION. The Parts of Speech which are formed by derivation from other words are Nouns, Adjectives, and Verbs. These are chiefly derived from Nouns and Adjectives, and a few from Verbs. I. NOUNS. Derivative Nouns may be classed as follows, according to the varieties of their termination. 1. Abstract Nouns in _as_, formed from Adjectives or Nouns; as, from ceart _just_, ceartas _justice_; from diomhan _idle, vain_, diomhanas _idleness, vanity_; from caraid _a friend_, cairdeas contracted for caraideas _friendship_; from namhaid _an enemy_, naimhdeas contracted for namhaideas _enmity_. 2. Abstract Nouns in _achd_, formed from Adjectives, and sometimes, though more rarely, from Verbs and Nouns; as, from naomh _holy_, naomhachd _holiness_; from domhain _deep_, doimhneachd contracted for domhaineachd _depth_; from righ _a king_, rioghachd _a kingdom_; coimhid _to keep_, coimheadachd _keeping_; clachair _a mason_, clachaireachd _mason-work_; gobhain _a smith_, goibhneachd contracted for gobhaineachd _iron-work_, or rather _the trade or occupation of a smith_. 3. Abstract Nouns formed from the genitive of Adjectives, by adding _e_; as, from dall gen. doill _blind_, doille _blindness_; from geal gen. gil _white_, gile _whiteness_; from leasg gen. leisg _lazy_, leisge _laziness_; tearc gen. teirc _rare_, teirce _rarity_; trom gen. truim _heavy_, truime _heaviness_; truagh gen. truaigh _unhappy_, truaighe _misery_; uasal gen. {165} uasail _noble_, uasaile contr. uaisle or by metath. uailse _nobility_. 4. Abstract Nouns in _ad_, formed from the Comparative of Adjectives, and used in speaking of the degree of a quality; as, gilead _whiteness_, boidhchead _beauty_, doimhnead _depth_, lughad _smallness_, tainead _thinness_; these are construed with the Prepositions _de_, _air_; as, cha n-fhaca mi a samhuil air bhoidhchead, _I have not seen her match for beauty_; air a lughad or d' a lughad, _however small it be_. 5. Nouns in _air_ or _oir_, _ach_, _iche_, derived, most of them, from nouns, and signifying persons or agents, as, pìobair _a player on the pipe_, from pìob _a pipe_; clàrsair _a player on the harp_, from clàrsach _a harp_; cealgair or cealgoir _a deceiver_, from cealg _deceit_; sealgair or sealgoir _a huntsman_, from sealg _hunting_; marcach _a rider_, from marc _a horse_; athach _a man of terror, a gigantic figure_, from atha _fear_; oibriche _a workman_, from obair _work_; sgeulaiche _a reciter of tales_, from sgeul _a tale_; ceannaiche _a merchant_, from ceannaich _to buy_[113]. 6. Diminutives in _an_, and in _ag_ or _og_, formed from Nouns or Adjectives; as, lochan _a small lake_, from loch _a lake_; from braid _theft_, bradag _a thievish girl_; from ciar _dark-coloured_, ciarag _a little dark-coloured creature_. These Diminutives are often formed from the Genitive of their Primitives; as, from feur gen. feoir _grass_, feoirnean _a pile of grass_; moll gen. muill _chaff_, muillean _a particle of chaff_; folt gen. fuilt _hair_, fuiltean _a single hair_; clag gen. cluig _a bell_, cluigean _a little bell_; gual gen. guail _coal_, guailnean _a cinder_; smùr gen. smùir _dust_, smùirnean _a particle of dust, a mote_; clòimh _plumage_, clòimhneag _a small feather, a flake of snow_. Some Nouns are formed in _an_, which are not Diminutives; as, from lùb _to bend_, lùban _a bow_; from buail _to beat, thresh_, {166} buailtean _a beater_, or _thresher_, applied to that part of the flail which threshes out the grain. 7. Collective Nouns in _ridh_ or _ri_, derived from Nouns or Adjectives; as, from òg _young_, òigridh _youth_, in the collective sense of the word; from mac _a son_, macruidh _sons, young men_, Psal. cxlviii. 12;[114] from laoch _a hero_, laochruidh _a band of heroes_, Psal. xxix. 1. Macfarlan's Paraph. vi. 15, from ceol _music_, ceolraidh _the muses_. A. Macdonald's Songs, p. 7, from cos the _foot_, coisridh _infantry, a party on foot_. McIntyre's Songs, Edin. 1768, p. 110, from gas _a lad_, gasradh _a band of domestic attendants_. O'Brien's Ir. Dict. voc. gas; eachradh, eachruith _cavalry_, Fingal. IV. 299, Carthon, 59.--This termination is probably the Noun ruith _a troop_. See Lhuyd et O'Brien, in voc.[115] 8. Nouns in _ach_, chiefly Patronymics, formed from Proper Names, thus; from Donull _Donald_, is formed Donullach _a man of the name of Macdonald_; from Griogar _Gregor_, Griogarach _a Macgregor_; so Leodach _a Macleod_, Granntach _a Grant_, &c., from Albainn _Scotland_, Albannach _a Scotsman_; from Eirin _Ireland_, Eirineach _an Irishman_. These Nouns form their Plural regularly, Donullaich, Leodaich, Albannaich, Eirinich. So the following _Gentile_ Nouns, which occur in the Gaelic Scriptures, are regularly formed from their respective Primitives, Partuich _Parthians_, Medich _Medes_, Elamuich _Elamites_, Acts ii. 9. Macedonaich _Macedonians_, 2 Cor. ix. 2, 4. See also Gen. xv. 19, 20, 21; Exod. xxiii. 23, 28.[116]. {167} 9. Collective Nouns in _ach_; as, duille _a leaf_, duilleach _foliage_; giuthas _fir_, giuthasach _a fir wood_; iughar _yew_, iugharach _a yew copse_; fiadh _a deer_, fiadhach _deer, a herd of deer_; crion _diminutive, shrunk_, crionach _decayed wood_. II. ADJECTIVES. 1. Adjectives in _ach_, formed generally from Nouns; as, from fìrinn _truth_, fìrinneach _true, faithful_; from sunnt _glee_, sunntach _cheerful_; cràdh _pain_, cràiteach _painful_; togradh _desire_, togarrach _willing, desirous_. 2. Adjectives in _mhor_ or _or_, derived from Nouns; as, from àdh _felicity_, adhmhor _happy, blessed_; from feoil _flesh_, feolmhor _carnal_; from neart _strength_, neartmhor _strong_. 3. Adjectives in _ail_ derived from Nouns; as, from fear _man_, fearail _manful_; from caraid _a friend_, cairdail contr. for caraidail _friendly_; from namhaid _an enemy_, naimhdail contr. for namhaidail _hostile_; from sùrd _alertness_, surdail _alert_[117]. 4. A few Adjectives in _ta_ or _da_, derived from Nouns; as, Gaelta _belonging to the Gael_; Eireanda _Irish_; Romhanta _Roman_; _Kirk._ fìreanta _righteous_, Matt. xxiii. 35. III. VERBS. Verbs in _ich_, for the most part Transitive, and implying causation, derived from Nouns or Adjectives; as, from geal {168} _white_, gealaich _to whiten_; naomh _holy_, naomhaich _to sanctify_; cruinn _round_, cruinnich _to gather together_; lamh _the hand_, laimhsich _to handle_; cuimhne _memory_, cuimhnich _to remember_. A few are Intransitive; as, from crith _tremor_, criothnuich _to tremble_; fann _feeble_, fannuich _to faint_. CHAPTER II. OF COMPOSITION. All compound words in Gaelic consist of two component parts, exclusive of the derivative terminations enumerated in the preceding Chapter. Of these component parts, the former may be conveniently named the Prepositive, the latter the Subjunctive term. It sometimes happens, though rarely, that the Subjunctive term also is a compound word, which must itself be decompounded in order to find out the Root. In compounding words, the usual mode has been, to prefix to the term denoting the principal idea the word denoting the accessory idea or circumstance by which the signification of the principal word is modified. Accordingly we find Nouns, Adjectives, and Verbs modified by prefixing to them a Noun, an Adjective, a Verb, or a Preposition. In forming compound words, a Rule of very general application is, that when the Subjunctive term begins with a Consonant, it is aspirated. From this Rule, however, are to be excepted, 1. Words beginning with _s_ followed by a mute, which never admit the aspirate; 2. Words beginning with a Lingual when the Prepositive term ends in _n_; 3. A few other instances in which there is an euphonic agreement between the Consonants thus brought into apposition, which would be violated if either of them were aspirated. These observations will be found exemplified in the following Compounds:-- {169} I. WORDS COMPOUNDED WITH A NOUN PREFIXED. _Nouns Compounded with a Noun._ Beart _dress, equipage_, ceann _head_--ceann-bheart _head-dress, armour for the head_. Fàinn _a ring_, cluas _the ear_--cluas-fhainn _an ear-ring_. Galar _a distemper_, crith _shaking_--crith-ghalar _distemper attended with shaking, the palsy_. Oglach _a servant_, bean (in composition, ban) _a woman_--banoglach _a female servant_. Fàidh _a prophet_, ban-fhaidh _a prophetess_. Tighearn _a lord_, baintighearn _a lady_. _Adjectives Compounded with a Noun._ Geal _white_, bian the _skin_--biangheal _white-skinned_. Lom _bare_, cas the _foot_--caslom _bare-foot_; ceann the _head_--ceannlom _bare-headed_. Biorach _pointed, sharp_, cluas the _ear_--cluasbhiorach _having pointed ears_. _Verbs Compounded with a Noun._ Luaisg _to rock_ or _toss_, tonn _a wave_--tonn-luaisg _to toss on the waves_. Sleamhnuich _to slide_, cùl the _back_--cùl-sleamhnuich _to back-slide_. Folaich _to hide_, feall _deceit_--feall-fholaich _to lie in wait_. II. WORDS COMPOUNDED WITH AN ADJECTIVE PREFIXED. _Nouns Compounded with an Adjective._ Uisge _water_, fior _true, genuine_--fioruisge _spring-water_. Airgiod _silver_, beo _alive_--beo-airgiod _quick-silver_. Sgolt _a crack_, crion _shrunk, decayed_--crionsgolt _a fissure in wood caused by drought or decay_. Criochan _bounds, regions_, garbh _rough_--garbhchriochan _rude mountainous regions_. {170} _Adjectives Compounded with an Adjective._ Donn _brown_, dubh _black_--dubh-dhonn _dark-brown_. Gorm _blue_, dubh _black_--dubh-ghorm _dark-blue_. Briathrach (not in use) from briathar _a word_, deas _ready_--deas-bhriathrach _of ready speech, eloquent_. Seallach (not in use) from sealladh _sight_, geur _sharp_--geur-sheallach _sharp-sighted_. _Verbs Compounded with an Adjective._ Ruith _to run_, dian _keen, eager_--dian-ruith _to run eagerly_. Lean _to follow_, geur _sharp, severe_--geur-lean _to persecute_. Buail _to strike_, trom _heavy_--trom-buail _to smite sore, discomfit_. Ceangail _to bind_, dlùth _closer_--dlùth-cheangail _to bind fast_. III. WORDS COMPOUNDED WITH A VERB PREFIXED. Art _a stone_, tarruing _to draw_--tarruing-art _load-stone_. Sùil _the eye_, meall _to beguile_--meall-shuil _a leering eye_. IV. WORDS COMPOUNDED WITH A PREPOSITION. Radh _a saying_, roimh _before_--roimh-radh _preface, prologue_. Solus _light_, eadar _between_--eadar-sholus _twilight_. Mìnich _to explain_, eadar-mhìnich _to interpret_. Gearr _to cut_, timchioll _about_--timchioll-ghearr _circumcise_. Lot _to wound_, troimh _through_--troimh-lot _to stab, pierce through_. Examples of words compounded with an inseparable Preposition are already given in Part II. Chap. VII. Compound Nouns retain the gender of the principal Nouns in their simple state. Thus crith-ghalar _palsy_, is masculine, because the principal Noun, Galar _distemper_, is masculine, although the accessary Noun crith, by which galar is qualified, be feminine. So cìs-mhaor is masculine though cìs be a feminine Noun, Luke xviii. 11; cìs-mheasadh ought also to be masculine, Acts v. 37. Except Nouns compounded with {171} Bean _woman_, which are all feminine, though the simple principal Noun be masculine, because the compound word denotes an object of the female sex; as, oglach _a servant_, masculine, but banoglach _a maid-servant_, feminine, caraid _a friend_, masculine, bancharaid _a female friend_, feminine. Compound words are declined in the same manner as if they were uncompounded. In writing compound words, the component parts are sometimes separated by a hyphen, and sometimes not. The use of the hyphen does not seem to be regulated by any uniform practice. In the case of two vowels coming in apposition, the insertion of a hyphen seems indispensable; because, by the analogy of Gaelic orthography, two Vowels, belonging to different syllables, are scarcely ever placed next to each other without some mark of separation[118]. Thus so-aomaidh, _easily induced_, _propense_; so-iomchair, _easily carried_; do-innsidh, _difficult to be told_; and not soamaidh, doinnsidh, &c., without the hyphen. It was formerly remarked, Part I., that almost all Gaelic Polysyllables are accented on the first syllable. When, in pronouncing compound words, the accent is placed on the first syllable, the two terms appear to be completely incorporated into one word. When, on the other hand, the accent is placed, not on the first syllable of the Compound, but on the first syllable of the Subjunctive term, the two terms seem to retain their respective powers, and to produce their effect separately, and instead of being incorporated into one word, to be rather collaterally connected. A rule may then be derived from the pronunciation for the use of the hyphen in writing Compounds, viz., to insert the hyphen between the component parts, when the Prepositive term is not accented. Thus it is proposed to write aineolach _ignorant_, antromaich _to exaggerate_, comhradh _conversation_, dobheart _a bad action_, {172} soisgeul _Gospel_, banoglach _a maidservant_, &c., without a hyphen; but to write an-fhiosrach _unacquainted_, ban-fhiosaiche _a female fortune-teller_, co-fhreagarach _corresponding_, so-fhaicsin _easily seen_, &c., with a hyphen[119]. By this rule, a correspondence is maintained, not only between the writing and the pronunciation, but likewise between the written language and the ideas expressed by it. A complex idea, whose parts are most closely united in the mind, is thus denoted by one undivided word; whereas an idea composed of parts more loosely connected, is expressed by a word, whereof the component parts are distinguished, and exhibited separately to the eye. Thus also the Gaelic scholar would have one uniform direction to follow in reading, viz., to place the accent always on the first syllable of an undivided word, or member of a word. If any exception be allowed, it must be only in the case already stated of two vowels coming in apposition, as beo-airgiod _quicksilver_. Let it be observed that, according to this rule, an Adjective preceding a Noun can never, but in the case just mentioned, be connected with it by a hyphen. For if the accent be wholly transferred from the Noun to the Adjective, then they are to be written as one undivided word; as, garbhchriochan _highlands_; but if the accent be not so transferred, the Adjective and the Noun are to be written as two separate words; as, seann duine _an old man_, deagh chomhairle _good advice_, droch sgeul _a bad tale_. It not unfrequently happens that two Nouns, whereof the one qualifies the meaning of the other, and connected by the common grammatical relation of the one governing the other in the Genitive, come through use to be considered as denoting only one complex object. The two Nouns in this case are sometimes written together in one word, and thus form a Compound of a looser structure than those which have been considered. Such are ceann-cinnidh, _the head of a tribe or {173} clan_; ceann-tighe, _the head of a family_; ceann-feadhna, _the leader of an army_; fear-turnis, _a traveller_; luchd-faire, _watchmen_; iobairt-pheacaidh, _a sin-offering_; urlar-bualaidh, _a threshing-floor_; fear-bainse, _a bridegroom_; crith-thalmhain, _an earth-quake_; crios-guailne, _a shoulder-belt_, &c. In writing Compound Nouns of this description, the two Nouns are never written in one undivided word, but always separated by a hyphen. It comes to be a question, however, in many instances of one Noun governing another in the Genitive, whether such an expression is to be considered as a compound term, and the words to be connected by a hyphen in writing, or whether they are to be written separately, without any such mark of composition. An observation that was made in treating of the Government of Nouns may help us to an answer, and furnish an easy rule in the case in question. It was remarked that when one Noun governed another in the Genitive, the Article was never joined to both; that for the most part, it was joined to the Noun governed, but sometimes to the Noun governing, that in the latter case, the two Nouns seemed to figure as one compound term, denoting one complex idea. If this last remark hold true, it may be laid down as a rule that in every instance of a Noun governing another in the Genitive, where the Article is or may be prefixed to the _governing Noun_, there the two Nouns ought to be connected by a hyphen in writing; otherwise not. Thus we can say, without impropriety, an ceann-feadhna, _the commander_; an luchd-coimhid, _the keepers_; and the Nouns are accordingly considered as Compounds, and written with a hyphen. But it would be contrary to the usage of the language to say, am mullach craige, _the top of a rock_; an t-uachdar talmhain, _the surface of the ground_. Accordingly it would be improper to write a hyphen between the Nouns in these and similar examples. The different effects of these two modes of writing, with or without the hyphen, is very observable in such instances as the following:--Ainm dùthcha, _the name of a country_, as Scotland, Argyle, &c.; ainm-dùthcha, _a country name_, or {174} _patronymic_, as Scotsman, Highlander, &c.; clann Donuill, _Donald's children_; clann-Donuill, _the Macdonalds_. Though few have exerted themselves hitherto in explaining the structure of the Gaelic language, in respect of its inflections, construction, and collocation, this cannot be said to be the case with regard to Etymology. Much has been attempted, and something has been done, toward analysing single vocables, particularly names of places. But this analysis seems to have been too often made rather in a way of random conjecture than by a judicious regard to the analogy of Derivation and Composition. The passion for analysing has even induced some to assert that all true Gaelic Primitives consist of but one syllable, that all Polysyllables are either derived or compounded, and therefore that there is room to search for their etymon. This seems to be carrying theory too far. It appears a fruitless and rather chimerical attempt to propose a system of directions by which all Polysyllables whatever may be resolved into component parts, and traced to a root of one syllable. All I have thought it necessary to do is to methodize and exemplify those general principals of Etymology which are obvious and unquestioned, and which regulate the composition and derivation of those classes of words whereof the analysis may be traced with some probability of success. * * * * * {175} EXERCISES IN READING, EXPLAINING, AND ANALYZING. * * * * * _From an Address to the Soldiers of a Highland Regiment_, by D. SMITH, M.D. Theid an deadh shaighdear gu h-aobhach suilbhear an dàil gach tuiteamais a thig 'n a chrannchur. Ach 's e a's nòs do 'n droch shaighdear a bhi gearan 's a' talach air gach làimh; beadaidh ri lìnn socair, is diombach ann eiric caoimhneis; lag-chridheach ri h-am cruachais, agus dìblidh ri h-uchd feuma. _In English._ The good soldier will advance, with spirit and cheerfulness, to any service that falls in his way. But it is the practice of the bad soldier to be complaining and grumbling on all occasions; saucy in time of ease, and peevish in return for kindness; faint-hearted under hardships, and feeble in encountering exigency. _Analysis._ _Theid._ 3. per. sing. Fut. Affirm, of the irregular Verb _Rach_, go. _An._ Nom. sing. of the Article _an_, the. _Deadh._ An indeclinable Adjective, always placed before its Noun. _Shaighdear._ Nom. sing. of the mas. noun _saighdear_, a soldier, in the aspirated form, because preceded by the Adj. _deadh_. Gram. p. 145. {176} _Gu._ A proper Preposition, to, for. _Aobhach._ An Adject. of the first Declension, joyous, having an _h_ before it, because preceded by the Prep. _gu_. Gram. p. 161. _Gu h-aobhach_, joyfully, cheerfully, an adverbial phrase. Gram. p. 109. _Suilbhear._ An Adject. cheerful. _Gu_ is to be supplied from the former phrase; _gu suilbhear_, cheerfully, an adverbial phrase. _An dàil._ An improper Preposition, to meet, to face, to encounter; made up of the proper Prep. _ann_, in, and the Noun _dàil_, meeting. Gram. p. 121. _Gach._ An indeclinable Adj. Pronoun, each, every. _Tuiteamais._ Gen. sing. of the mas. Noun _tuiteamas_, an occurrence, accident, governed in the Gen. case by the improp. Prep. _an dàil_ (Gram. p. 161), derived from the Verb _tuit_. Infinitive _tuiteam_, to fall, befal. _A._ Nom. sing. Relative Pronoun, who, which. _Thig._ Fut. Affirm. of the irregular Verb _thig_, come. _'N._ Contracted for _ann_, a proper Prep., in. _A._ Possessive Pronoun, his. _Chrannchur._ Mas. Noun, a lot; governed in the Dat. by the Prep. _ann_; in the aspirated form after the adject. Pron. _a_, 'his'--compounded of _crann_, a lot, and _cur_, casting, the Infinitive of the Verb _cuir_, to put, cast. _Ach._ Conjunction, but. Hebr. [Hebrew: AD]. _'S._ for _is_, Pres. Indic. of the Verb _is_, I am. _'S e a 's_ it is [that] which is. _Nòs._ Noun mas., custom, habit. _Do._ Prep. to. _An._ the article, the. _Droch._ indeclinable Adject. bad; always placed before its Noun. _Shaighdear._ mas. Noun, soldier; governed in the Dative by the Prep. _do_; in the aspir. form after the Adject. _droch_. {177} _A bhi._ for _do bhi_ or _do bhith_, Infinit. of the irregular Verb _bi_, to be. _Gearan._ Infin. of the obsolete Verb _gearain_, to complain, _ag_ being understood; _ag gearan_ equivalent to a present Participle, complaining. Gram. p. 86. _'S._ for _agus_, conjunction, and. _A' talach._ for _ag talach_, complaining, repining; Infin. of the obsolete Verb _talaich_, to complain of a thing or person. _Air._ Prep. on. _Gach._ Adject. Pron. indeclin. each, every. _Làimh._ dat. sing. of the fem. Noun _làmh_, a hand; governed in the Dat. by the Prep. _air_, on. _Air gach làimh_, on every hand. _Beadaidh._ Adject. nice, fond of delicacies, saucy, petulant. _Ri._ Prep. to, at. _Lìnn._ Noun fem. an age, period, season. _Ri lìnn_, during the time of any event, or currency of any period; _ri lìnn Fhearghuis_, in the time, or reign of Fergus; _gu faigheamaid sìth r' ar lìnn_, that we may have peace in our time. _Socair._ Noun fem., ease, conveniency; governed in the Gen. by the Noun _lìnn_. _Is._ for _agus_, Conjunct. and. _Diombach_, or _diùmach_. Adject. displeased, indignant; derived from the Noun _diom_ or _diùm_, indignation. _Ann._ Prep. governing the Dat. in. _Eiric._ Noun femin., requital, compensation; governed in the Dat. by the Prep. _ann_. _Caoimhneis._ Gen. sing. of the mas. Noun _caoimhneas_, kindness; governed in the Gen. by the noun _eiric_, derived from the Adject. _caomh_, gentle, kind. _Lag-chridheach._ Adject. faint-hearted; compounded of the Adject. _lag_, weak, and _cridhe_, the heart. _Ri._ Prep. to, at. {178} _Am._ Noun masc., time; governed in the Dat. case by the Prep. _ri_, and preceded by _h_. Gram. p. 161. _Cruachais._ Gen. sing. of the mas. Noun _cruachas_, hardship, strait; governed in the Gen. by the noun _am_; compounded of the Adject. _cruaidh_, hard, and _càs_, danger, extremity. _Agus._ Conjunct., and. _Dìblidh._ Adject., feeble, silly. _Uchd._ Noun mas. breast, chest; hence it signifies an ascent, a steep; in the Dat. case, preceded by _h_, after the Prep. _ri_: _ri h-uchd_, in ascending, breasting, encountering, assailing. _Feuma._ Gen. sing. of the Noun mas. _feum_, necessity, exigency; governed in the Gen. by the Noun _uchd_. * * * * * _Extract from an old Fingalian Tale or Legend._ Dh' imich Garbh mac Stairn agus Dual a dh' fhaicinn Fhinn agus a threun fheara colgach, iomraiteach ann an gniomharaibh arm. Bha Fionn 's an àm sin 'n a thigheadas samhraidh am Buchanti. 'N an turus d'a ionnsuidh, ghabh iad beachd air gach gleann agus faoin mhonadh, air gach allt agas caol choirean. Ghabh iad sgeul de gach coisiche agus gach fear a thachair 'n an còir. Ann an gleann nan cuach agus nan lon, chunnaic bùth taobh sruthain; chaidh a steach, dh' iarr deoch; dh' eirich ribhinn a b' aluinne snuadh a dh' fhàilteachadh an turuis le sìth. Thug i biadh dhoibh r'a itheadh, dibhe ri òl; dh' iarr an sgeul le cainnt thlà. Bhuail gaol o a sùil an Garbh borb, agus dh' innis cia as doibh. "Thainig sinn o thìr nan crann, far an lionor sonn--mac righ Lochlainn mise--m' ainm Garbh na'm b' aill leat--esan Dual, o thìr nam beann, a thuinich ann Albainn o thuath--a ghabhail cairdeis gun sgàth agus aoidheachd o 'n àrd righ Fionn, sud fàth ar turuis a Chiabh na maise--ciod am bealach am buail sinn? seol ar cos gu teach Fhinn, bi dhuinn mar iùl, is gabh duais." "Duais {179} cha do ghabh mi riamh, ars an nighean bu bhlàithe sùil 's bu deirge gruaidh; cha b' e sud àbhaist Theadhaich nam beann éilde, 'g am bu lionor dàimheach 'n a thalla, 'g am bu tric tathaich o thuath--ni mise dhuibh iùl." Gu gleann-sìth tharladh na fir; gleann an tric guth feidh is loin; gleann nan glas charn is nan scor; gleann nan sruth ri uisg is gaoith. Thachair orra buaghar bho, is rinn dhoibh iùl; thug dhoibh sgeul air duthaich nan creag, air fir agus air mnaibh, air fàs shliabh agus charn, air neart feachd, air rian nan arm, air miann sloigh, agus craobhthuinidh nam Fiann. _In English._ Garva the son of Starno and Dual, went to visit Fingal and his brave warriors, renowned for feats of arms. Fingal was at that time in his summer residence at Buchanti. On their journey thither, they took a view of every valley and open hill, every brook and narrow dell. They asked information of every passenger and person that came in their way. In the glen of cuckoos and ouzles they observed a cottage by the side of a rivulet. They entered; asked drink, a lady of elegant appearance arose and kindly bade them welcome. She gave the food to eat, liquor to drink. In mild speech she inquired their purpose. Love from her eye smote the rough Garva, and he told whence they were. "We are come from the land of Pines, where many a hero dwells--the son of Lochlin's king am I--my name is Garva, be pleased to know--my comrade is Dual, from the land of hills, his residence is in the north of Albion. To accept the hospitality and confidential friendship of the mighty prince Fingal, this is the object of our journey, O Lady fair[120]; say, by what pass shall we shape our course? Direct our steps to the mansion of Fingal, be our guide, and accept a reward." "Reward I never took," said the damsel of softest eye and rosiest cheek; "such was not the manner of [my father] Tedaco of the hill of hinds; {180} many were the guests in his hall, frequent his visitors from the North,--I will be your guide." The chiefs reach Glenshee, where is heard the frequent voice of deer and elk; glen of green mounts and cliffs; glen of many streams in time of rain and wind. A keeper of cattle met them, and directed their course. He gave the information concerning the country of rocks; concerning its inhabitants male and female; the produce of moor and mount; the military force, the fashion of the armour; the favourite pursuits of the people; and the pedigree of the Fingalians. * * * * * _Extract from Bishop_ CARSUEL'S _Gaelic translation of the Confession of Faith, Forms of Prayer, &c., used in the Reformed Church of Scotland_; Printed in the year 1567. (_From the Epistle Dedicatory._) Acht ata ni cheana is mor an leathtrom agas anuireasbhuidh ata riamh orainde gaoidhil alban & eireand, tar an gcuid eile don domhan, gan ar gcanamhna gaoidheilge do chur agcló riamh mar ataid agcanamhna & adteangtha féin agcló ag gach uile chinel dhaoine oile sa domhan, & ata uireasbhuidh is mó ina gach uireasbhuidh oraind, gan an Biobla naomhtha do bheith agcló gaoidheilge againd, marta sè agcló laidne agas bherla agas ingach teangaidh eile osin amach, agas fós gan seanchus arsean no ar sindsear do bheith mar an gcedna agcló againd riamh, acht ge tá cuid eigin do tseanchus ghaoidheal alban agas eireand sgriobhtha aleabhruibh lámh, agas adtamhlorgaibh fileadh & ollamhan, agas asleachtaibh suadh. Is mortsaothair sin re sgriobhadh do laimh, ag fechain an neithe buailtear sa chló araibrisge agas ar aithghiorra bhios gach én ni dhá mhed da chriochnughadh leis. Agas is mor an doille agas andorchadas peacaidh agas aineolais agas indtleachda do lucht deachtaidh agas sgriobhtha agas chumhdaigh na gaoidheilge, gurab mó is mian leo agas gurab mó ghnathuidheas siad eachtradha dimhaoineacha buaidheartha bregacha {181} saoghalta do cumadh ar thuathaibh dédhanond agas ar mhacaibh mileadh agas arna curadhaibh agas fhind mhac cumhaill gona fhianaibh agas ar mhóran eile nach airbhim agas nach indisim andso do chumhdach, agas do choimhleasughagh, do chiond luadhuidheachta dimhaonigh an tsaoghail dfhaghail doibhféin, ina briathra disle Dé agas slighthe foirfe na firinde do sgriobhadh, agas dheachtadh, agas do chumhdach. _English Translation._ [_From the_ REPORT _of the Committee of the_ HIGHLAND SOCIETY _of_ SCOTLAND, _appointed to inquire into the nature and authenticity of the Poems of_ OSSIAN.] But there is one great disadvantage which we the Gaeil of Scotland and Ireland labour under, beyond the rest of the world, that our Gaelic language has never yet been printed, as the language of every other race of men has been. And we labour under a disadvantage which is still greater than every other disadvantage, that we have not the Holy Bible printed in Gaelic, as it has been printed in Latin and in English, and in every other language; and also that we have never yet had any account printed of the antiquities of our country, or of our ancestors; for though we have some accounts of the Gaeil of Scotland and Ireland, contained in manuscripts, and in the genealogies of bards and historiographers, yet there is great labour in writing them over with the hand, whereas the work which is printed, be it ever so great, is speedily finished. And great is the blindness and sinful darkness, and ignorance and evil design of such as teach, and write, and cultivate the Gaelic language, that, with the view of obtaining for themselves the vain rewards of this world, they are more desirous, and more accustomed, to compose vain, tempting, lying, worldly histories, concerning the _Tuath de dannan_, and concerning warriors and champions, and _Fingal_ the son of _Cumhal_, with his heroes, and concerning many others which {182} I will not at present enumerate or mention, in order to maintain or reprove, than to write and teach and maintain the faithful words of God, and of the perfect way of truth[121]. * * * * * _From the Preface to a Metrical Version of the Book of Psalms in Gaelic_, by Mr ROBERT KIRK, Minister of the Gospel at Balquhidder; Printed in the year 1684. Ataid na Psalma taitneamhach, tarbhach: beag nach mion-fhlaitheas lán dainglibh, Cill fhonnmhar le ceol naomhtha. Mur abholghort Eden, lionta do chrannaibh brioghmhoire na beatha, & do luibhennibh iocshlainteamhail, amhluidh an leabhar Psalmso Dhaibhioth, ata na liaghais ar uile anshocair na nanma. Ata an saoghal & gach beó chreatuir da bfuil ann, na chlarsigh; an duine, se is Clairseoir & duanaire, chum moladh an mor-Dhia mirbhuileach do sheinn; & ata Daibhidh do ghná mar fhear don chuideachd bhias marso ag caoin-chaint gu ceolmhar ma nard-Rí.... Do ghabhas mar chongnamh don obairsi, dioghlum ughdairidh an uile cháil, ar sheannós, phriomh chreideamh & eachdardha na nGaoidheal, sgriobhta & cló-bhuailte: achd gu ba reula iuil & soluis dhamh, brídh na nSalm fein. Anois maseadh a Chomharbadha ro chaomh, ata mar phlaneidi dhealroidh ag sdiurughadh na ngcorp ioch dardha gan mhonmar, is deaghmhaise dhaoibh an tsaothairse a sgrudadh & a ghnathughadh gu neimhfhiat, gan ghuth ar bheiginmhe & neimhnitheachd an tsaothairigh. Griosam oraibhse a Uaisle, & a Thuatha charthanacha araon, gun {183} bheith mur thacharain ar luaidrean a nunn & a nall go sbailpe breigi; achd le gcroidhibh daingne, dosgartha, deagh-fhreumhaighte, druididh re Firinn, Ceart, & Ceannsachd, mar fhuraileas na psalma: Ata clu & tarbha a nsdriocadh don choir; call & masladh a ntuitim le heugcoir. Imthigh a Dhuilleachain gu dán, Le Dán glan diagha duisg iad thall; Cuir failte ar Fonn fial na bFionn, Ar Gharbh chriocha, 's Indseadh gall. _In English._ The Psalms are pleasant and profitable. A church resounding with sacred melody is almost a little Heaven full of angels. As the Garden of Eden, replenished with trees of life of potent efficacy, and with medicinal plants, so is this Book of the Psalms of David, which contains a remedy for all the diseases of the soul. The world and every living creature it contains are the Harp; man is the Harper and Poet, who sings the praise of the great wonder-working God; and David is ever one of the company who are thus employed in sweetly and tunefully discoursing about the Almighty King.... I was assisted in this work by culling from authors of every kind, who have treated of the ancient manners, the primitive religion, and the history of the Gaels, both in manuscript and in print: but the star and light by which I steered was the sense of the Psalms themselves. Now, then, my very dear colleagues, who as shining luminaries guide the inferior bodies, it becomes you to examine and to use this work candidly, without regarding the meanness and insignificancy of the workman. I beseech you, men of high and of low degree alike, that you be not, like weak silly creatures, tossed to and fro by false conceits; but with firm, resolute, well-established hearts, adhere to Truth, Justice, and Temperance, as these Psalms exhort. There is honour and profit in complying with what is right, loss and disgrace in declining to what is wrong. {184} Little Volume, move boldly on; In pure godly strains awaken yonder people; Salute the hospitable land of the Fingalians, The highland regions, and the Isles of strangers[122]. * * * * * PRINTED BY NEILL AND COMPANY, EDINBURGH. * * * * * Notes * * * * * [1] Analysis of the Gaelic Language, by William Shaw, A.M. [2] A few examples of what I conceived to be deviations from grammatical propriety are given from the Gaelic version of the Bible. As the translation of the Prophetical Books underwent a revision, the exceptionable passages in those Books have been changed in the second edition from what they were as they came out of the hands of the original translator. The criticism on those passages is, however, allowed to remain in this edition of the Grammar, because the first edition of the Gaelic Prophets is still in the hands of many, and because it often happens that "we can best teach what is right by showing what is wrong."--_Lowth._ [3] It will immediately occur to any grammarian that there is a slight difference between this and the common division into _mutes_ and _liquids_, by the letter _m_ being removed from the class of liquids to that of mutes. This is not an oversight, but an intentional arrangement; as the _accidents_ of the letter _m_ are, in Gaelic, the same with those of the mute, not of the liquid consonants. For a like reason, _s_ is included in the class of liquids. [4] Writers, who have touched on this part of Gaelic Grammar, following the Irish grammarians, have divided the consonants further into _mutable_ and _immutable_. The former name has been given to consonants which, in writing, have been occasionally combined with the letter _h_; and the latter name to those consonants which have not, in writing, been combined with _h_. But, in fact, both classes of consonants are alike _mutable_ in their pronunciation; and their _mutation_ ought to have been marked in the orthography, though it has not. This defect in Gaelic orthography has been often observed and regretted, though it has never been corrected. Rather than continue a distinction which has no foundation in the structure of the language, I venture to discard the division of _mutable_ and _immutable_ consonants, as not merely useless, but as tending to mislead the learner. [5] In explaining the sounds of the letters I have availed myself of the very correct and acute remarks on this subject annexed to the Gaelic version of the New Testament, 1767. [6] If it be thought that this renders the language too monotonous, it may be observed, on the other hand, that it prevents ambiguities and obscurities in rapid speaking, as the accent marks the initial syllable of polysyllables. Declaimers, of either sex, have often found their advantage in this circumstance. [7] That is the second sound assigned to a. [8] The plural of la or latha _a day_, is sometimes written laeth; but it is doubtful how far this is a proper mode of writing it. [9] The effect of the vowels in qualifying the sound of the adjoining consonants will be explained in treating of the Palatals and Linguals. [10] This propensity is seen in the aspirating of consonants in Gaelic words, which have an evident affinity to words in other languages, where the same consonants are not so aspirated. The following list will sufficiently illustrate and confirm the truth of this remark:-- _Greek._ _Latin._ _Gælic._ [Greek: Diabolos] Dia_b_olus Diabhol. Scri_b_o* Scriobh, _write_. Fe_b_ris* Fiabhrus, _a fever_. Ba_c_ulum Bacholl, _a staff_. [Greek: Deka] De_c_em Deich, _ten_. Lori_c_a Lùireach, _a coat of mail_. Cleri_c_us Cleireach, _a clerk_. Mo_d_us Modh, _manner_. Gla_d_ius Claidheamh, _a sword_. [Greek: Kardia] } Cor_d_-is Cridhe, _the heart_. [Greek: Kradia] } Me_d_ium Meadhon, _middle_. Lau_d_o Luadh, _mention_. Le_g_o Leugh, _read_. Gre_g_-is Greigh, _a herd_. Re_g_-is Righ, _a king_. Pla_g_a Plaigh, _a plague_. Sa_g_itta Saighead, _an arrow_. Ma_g_ister Maighistir, _master_. Ima_g_o Iomhaigh, _an image_. Pri_m_us Priomh, _chief_. Re_m_us Ràmh, _an oar_. Si_m_ilis Samhuil, _like_. Hu_m_ilis Umhal, _humble_. Ca_p_ra Gabhar, _a goat_. [Greek: Mêtêr] Ma_t_er Mathair, _mother_. Ro_t_a Roth, Rath, _a wheel_. Mu_t_o Mùth, _change_. It is probable that the consonants, thus aspirated, were pronounced without aspiration in the older dialects of the Celtic tongue; for we are told that in the Irish manuscripts of the first class for antiquity, the consonants are for the most part written without any mark of aspiration. See "Lhuyd's Archæol. Brit.," p. 301, col. 1. The tendency to attenuate the articulations shows itself in a progressive state, in a few vocables which are pronounced with an aspiration in some districts, but not universally. Such are deatach or deathach _smoke_, cuntart or cunthart _danger_, ta or tha _am_, _art_, tu or thu _thou_, troimh or throimh _through_, tar or thar _over_, am beil or am bheil _is there?_ dom or domh _to me_, &c. Has not this remission or suppression of the articulations the effect of enfeebling the speech, by mollifying its bones and relaxing its nerves? Ought not therefore the progress of this corruption to be opposed, by retaining unaspirated articulations in those instances where universal practice has not entirely superseded them, and even by restoring them in some instances, where the loss of them has been attended with manifest inconvenience? It is shameful to see how many monosyllables, once distinguished by their articulations, have in process of time, by dropping these articulations, come to be represented by the solitary vowel _a_, to the no small confusion of the language and embarrassment of the reader. The place of the absent consonant is often supplied, indeed, in writing, by an apostrophe. This, however, is at best but an imperfect and precarious expedient. * So in French, from Aprilis, _Avrilis_; habere, _avoir_; Febris, Fièvre: [Greek: episkopos], _evéque_. [11] Ph is found in no Gaelic word which is not inflected, except a few words transplanted from the Greek or the Hebrew, in which _ph_ represents the Greek ­[phi], or the Hebrew [Hebrew: P]. It might perhaps be more proper to represent [Hebrew: P] by _p_ rather than _ph_; and to represent [phi] by _f_, as the Italians have done in _filosofia_, _filologia_, &c., by which some ambiguities and anomalies in declension would be avoided. [12] The affinity between the sounds of _v_ and _u_ is observable in many languages, particularly in the Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. [13] Agreeably to the like pronunciation, the Welsh write this word _marw_, the Manks _marroo_. [14] It is still pronounced fuair in the Northern Highlands, and it is so written in Irish. See Irish Bible, Gen. xxxv. 18, 19; John ii. 14, viii. 62, 53. [15] So fathast _yet_, fein _self_, are in some places pronounced as if they began with an _h_ instead of an _f_. The latter word is, by the Manks, written hene. [16] Over a considerable part of the Highlands that propensity to aspiration, which has been already remarked, has affixed to _c_, in the end of a word, or of an accented syllable, the sound of _chc_; as, mac _a son_, torc _a boar_, acain _moaning_; pronounced often machc, torchc, achcain. There is reason to believe that this compound sound of _chc_ was not known of old, but is a modern corruption. This pronunciation is not universal over the Highlands. In some parts the _c_ retains its proper sound in all situations. If the articulation in question had, from the first, been compounded, it is highly probable that it would have been represented, in writing, by a combination of letters, such as _chc_; especially as we find that the same sound is represented at other times, not by a single consonant, but by a combination, as in the case of _chd_. Why should it be thought that boc _a buck_, and bochd _poor_, were originally pronounced alike, when they are distinguished both in writing and signification? The word [Hebrew: SHQ] _a sack_, has been transplanted from the Hebrew into many languages, among the rest the Gaelic, where it has been always written sac, although now pronounced sachc. In none of the other languages in which the word is used (except the Welsh alone), has the final palatal been aspirated. It would appear therefore that the sound sachc is a departure from the original Gaelic pronunciation. The same change may have happened in the pronunciation of other words, in which the plain _c_ is now aspirated, though it may not have been so originally. [17] Though _th_ be quiescent in the middle of a polysyllable, over the North and Central Highlands, yet it is, with more propriety, pronounced, in the West Highlands, as an aspiration; as, athair _father_, mathanas _pardon_, pronounced a-hair, mahanas. [18] I am informed that this pronunciation of _chd_ is not universal; but that in some districts, particularly the East Highlands, the _d_ has here, as in other places, its proper lingual sounds. In many, if not all the instances in which _chd_ occurs, the ancient Irish wrote _ct_. This spelling corresponds to that of some foreign words that have a manifest affinity to Gaelic words of the same signification; which, it is therefore presumable, were all originally pronounced, as they were written, without an aspiration, such as, _Latin._ _Old French._ _Gaelic._ Noct-u Noct-is, &c. Nuict an nochd, _to night_. Oct-o Huict Ochd, _eight_. Benedict-um Benoict Beannachd, _blessing_. Maledict-um Maudict Mallachd, _cursing_. Ruct-us Bruchd, _evomition_. Intellect-us Intleachd, _contrivance_. Lact-is, -i, &c. Lachd, _milk_. Dict-o, -are, &c. Deachd, _to dictate_. Rego } Rect-um } Reachd, _a law, institution_. From the propensity of the Gaelic to aspiration, the original _c_ was converted into _ch_, and the words were written with _cht_, as in the Irish acht _but_, &c., or with the slight change of _t_ into _d_, as in ochd, &c. This is the opinion of O'Brien, when he says the word lecht is the Celtic root of the Latin _lectio_--the aspirate _h_ is but a late invention.--_O'Br. Ir. Dict. voc. lecht._ In process of time the true sound of _cht_ or _chd_ was confounded with the kindred sound of _chc_, which was commonly, though corruptly, given to final c. [19] It is certain that the natural sound of d aspirated is that of [the Saxon ð] or _th_ in _thou_; as the natural sound of _t_ aspirated is that of _th_ in _think_. This articulation, from whatever cause, has not been admitted into the Gaelic, either Scottish or Irish, although it is used in the kindred dialects of Cornwall and Wales. [20] In sean _old_, the _n_ has its _plain_ sound when the following word begins with a Lingual. Accordingly it is often written in that situation seann; as, seann duine _an old man_, an t-seann tiomnaidh _of the old Testament_. [21] So in Latin, _canmen_ from _cano_ was pronounced, and then written _carmen_; _genmen_ from the obsolete [Greek: genô] passed into _germen_. [22] Another mode, proposed by a learned correspondent, of marking the distinction in the sound of the initial Linguals, is by writing the letter double, thus ll, nn, rr, when its sound is the same with that which is represented by those double letters in the end of a syllable; and when the sound is otherwise, to write the letter single; as, llamh _hand_, llion _fill_, mo lamh _my hand_, lion mi _I filled_. It is perhaps too late, however, to urge now even so slight an alteration as this in the Orthography of the Gaelic, which ought rather to be held as fixed beyond the reach of innovation, by the happy diffusion of the Gaelic Scriptures over the Highlands. [23] _Leathan re Leathan, is Caol re Caol._ Of the many writers who have recorded or taken notice of this rule, I have found none who have attempted to account for its introduction into the Gaelic. They only tell that such a correspondence between the vowels ought to be observed, and that it would be improper to write otherwise. Indeed, none of them seem to have attended to the different effects of a broad and of a small vowel on the sound of an adjacent consonant. From this circumstance, duly considered, I have endeavoured to derive a reason for the rule in question, the only probable one that has yet occurred to me. [24] As deanuibh or deanaibh _do ye_, beannuich or beannaich _bless_. [25] It is worthy of remark that in such words as caird-eil _friendly_, slaint-eil _salutary_, the substitution of _e_ in place of _a_ in the termination, both misrepresents the sound, and disguises the derivation of the syllable. The sound of this termination as in fear-ail _manly_, ban-ail _womanly_, is properly represented by _ail_. This syllable is an abbreviation of amhuil _like_, which is commonly written in its full form by the Irish, as fear-amhuil, &c. It corresponds exactly to the English termination _like_, in _soldier-like_, _officer-like_, which is abridged to _ly_, as _manly_, _friendly_. By writing _eil_ instead of _ail_, we almost lose sight of amhuil altogether. [26] From the extracts of the oldest Irish manuscripts given by Lhuyd, Vallancey, and others, it appears that the rule concerning the correspondence of vowels in contiguous syllables, was by no means so generally observed once as it is now. It was gradually extended by the more modern Irish writers, from whom, it is probable, it has been incautiously adopted by the Scottish writers in its present and unwarrantable latitude. The rule we have been considering has been reprobated in strong terms by some of the most judicious Irish philologers, particularly O'Brien, author of an Irish Dictionary printed at Paris 1768, and Vallancey, author of an Irish Grammar, and of various elaborate disquisitions concerning Irish antiquities, from whom I quote the following passages: "This Rule [of dividing one syllable into two by the insertion of an aspirated consonant] together with that of substituting small or broad vowels in the latter syllables, to correspond with the vowel immediately following the consonant in the preceding syllable, has been very destructive to the original and radical purity of the Irish language." _Vallancey's Ir. Gram. Chap. III. letter A._ "Another [Rule] devised in like manner by our bards and rhymers, I mean that which is called _Caol le caol, agus Leathan le leathan_, has been woefully destructive to the original and radical purity of the Irish language. This latter (much of a more modern invention than the former, for our old manuscripts show no regard to it) imports and prescribes that two vowels, thus forming, or contributing to form, two different syllables, should both be of the same denomination or class of either broad or small vowels, and this without any regard to the primitive elementary structure of the word." _O'Brien's Ir. Dict. Remarks on A._ "The words _biran_ and _biranach_ changed sometimes into _bioran_ and _bioranach_ by the abusive rule of _Leathan le leathan_." _Id. in voc._ Fear. The opinion of Lhuyd on this point, though not decisive, yet may properly be subjoined to those of Vallancey and O'Brien, as his words serve at least to show that this judicious philologer was no advocate for the Rule in question. "As for passing any censure on the rule concerning broad and small vowels, I chose rather to forbear making any remark at all upon them, by reason that old men who formerly wrote arget _silver_, instead of airgiod as we now write it, never used to change a vowel but in declining of words, &c. And I do not know that it was ever done in any other language, unless by some particular persons who, through mistake or ignorance, were guilty of it." _Archæol. Brit. Preface to Ir. Dict. translated in Bp. Nicolson's Irish Historical Library._ [27] Pinkerton's Inquiry into the History of Scotland. [28] _E.g._, troidh _a foot_, has been written troidh or troigh, either of which corresponds to the pronunciation, as the last consonant is quiescent. In Welsh, the articulation of the final consonant has been preserved, and the word is accordingly written troed. This authority seems sufficient to determine the proper orthography in Gaelic to be troidh and not troigh. For a like reason, perhaps, it would be proper to write tràidh _shore_, rather than tràigh, the common way of spelling the word, for we find the Irish formerly wrote tràidh, and the Welsh traeth. Claidheamh _a sword_, since the final articulation was wholly dropped, has been sometimes written claidhe. The mode of writing it still with a final labial, though quiescent, will probably be thought the more proper of the two, when it is considered that claidheamh is the cognate, or rather the same word with the Irish cloidheamh the Welsh cleddyf, and the French glaive. [29] I flatter myself that all my readers, who are acquainted with any of the ancient or the modern languages which have a distinction of gender in their attributives, will readily perceive that the import of the term Gender, in the grammar of those languages, is precisely what I have stated above. The same term has been introduced into the grammar of the English Tongue, rather improperly, because in an acceptation different from what it bears in the grammar of all other languages. In English there is no distinction of gender competent to Articles, Adjectives, or Participles. When a noun is said to be of the masculine gender, the meaning can only be that the object denoted by it is of the male sex. Thus in the English grammars, gender signifies a quality of the _object_ named, while in other grammars it signifies a quality of the _name_ given to the object. The varieties of _who_, _which_, and _he_, _she_, _it_, refer not to what is properly called the _gender_ of the antecedent _noun_, but to the _Sex_ real or attributed, or the _absence of Sex_, of the _object_ signified by the antecedent. This is in effect acknowledged by writers on rhetoric, who affirm that in English the pronouns _who_, _he_, _she_, imply an express personification, or attribution of life, and consequently of Sex, to the objects to which these pronouns refer. The same thing is still more strikingly true of the variations on the termination of nouns, as _prince_, _princess_; _lion_, _lioness_, which are all discriminative of Sex. It seems therefore to be a mis-stated compliment which is usually paid to the English, when it is said that "this is the only language which has adapted the gender of its nouns to the constitution of Nature." The fact is, that it has adapted the _Form_ of some of the most common names of living creatures, and of a few of its pronouns, to the obvious distinction of _male_, and _female_, and _inanimate_, while it has left its nouns without any mark characteristic of _gender_. The same thing must necessarily happen to any language by abolishing the distinction of masculine and feminine in its attributives. If all languages had been constructed on this plan, it may confidently be affirmed that the grammatical term _gender_ would never have come into use. The compliment intended, and due to the English, might have been more correctly expressed, by saying that "it is the only language that has rejected the unphilosophical distinction of gender, by making its attributives, in this respect, all indeclinable." [30] Uan beag bainionn, 2 Sam. xii. 3. Numb. vi. 14. So leomhann boirionn, Ezek. xix. 1. [31] It must appear singularly strange that any nouns which signify females exclusively should be of the masculine gender. The noun bainionnach, is derived from the adjective bainionn, _female_, which is formed from bean, the appropriate term for a _woman_. Yet this noun bainionnach, or boirionnach, _a female_, is masculine, to all grammatical intents and purposes. We say boirionnach còir, _a civil woman_, am boirionnach maiseach, _the handsome woman_. The gender of this Noun seems to have been fixed, not by its signification, but by its determination, for most Derivatives in _ach_ are masculines; as, oganach _a young man_, marcach _a horseman_, Albanach _a Scotsman_, &c. So in Latin, mancipium, scortum, though applied to persons, follow the gender of their termination. [32] It was necessary to be thus explicit in stating the changes at the beginning and those on the termination as unconnected independent _accidents_, which ought to be viewed separately; because many who have happened to turn their thoughts toward the declension of the Gaelic noun have got a habit of conjoining these, and supposing that both contribute their united aid toward the forming the _cases_ of nouns. This is blending together things which are unconnected, and ought to be kept distinct. It has therefore appeared necessary to take a separate view of these two _accidents_ of nouns, and to limit the term _case_ to those changes which are made on the termination, excluding entirely those which take place at the beginning. [33] It is to be observed that these names of the cases are adopted merely because they are already familiar, not because they all denominate correctly the relations expressed by the cases to which they are respectively applied. There is no Accusative or Objective case in Gaelic different from the Nominative; neither is there any Ablative different from the Dative. For this reason, it is not only unnecessary, but erroneous, to reckon up six Cases in Gaelic, distinguished not by the form of the Noun, but by the Prepositions prefixed. This is to depart altogether from the common and proper use of the term _Case_. And if the new use of that term is to be adopted, then the enumeration is still incomplete, for we ought to have as many Cases as there are Prepositions in the language. Thus, besides a Dative do Bhard, and an Ablative o Bhard, we should have an Impositive Case air Bhard, a Concomitative le Bard, an Insertive ann am Bard, a Precursive roimh Bhard, &c. &c. Grammarians have very correctly reckoned only five Cases in Greek, two in English, one in French [See _Moore_, _Murray_, _Buffier_, &c.] because the variations in the form of the Noun extend no further. Surely nothing but an early and inveterate prepossession in favour of the arrangements of Latin Grammar could ever have suggested the idea of Six Cases in Gaelic or in English. [34] It is not improbable that anciently all feminine nouns, except a few irregular ones, added a syllable to the nominative, as _e_ or _a_, in forming the genitive. The translators of the S. S. have sometimes formed the genitive of feminine polysyllables in this manner, as sionagoige from sionagog, Mark v. 36, 38. But it appears more agreeable to the analogy of inflection that such polysyllables should now be written without an _e_ in the genitive. [35] It is probable that this noun should rather be written àdh. See McFarlane's Paraphrases, III. 3. also Lhuyd and O'Brien, _in loco_. [36] Derivatives in _an_, and _ag_ should form their genitive according to the general Rule, _ain_, _aig_; and in pronunciation they do so. When the syllable preceding the termination ends in a small vowel, the Rule of 'Caol re caol' has introduced an _e_ into the final syllable, which is then written _ean_, _eag_. In this case writers have been puzzled how to form the genitive. The terminations _eain_, _eaig_, would evidently contain too many vowels for a short syllable. To reduce this awkward number of vowels they have commonly thrown out the _a_, the only letter which properly expressed the vocal sound of the syllable. Thus from caimean m. a _mote_, they formed the gen. sing. caimein; from cuilean m. a _whelp_, g. s. cuilein; from duileag f. a _leaf_, g. s. duileig; from caileag f. a _girl_, g. s. caileig. Had they not yielded too far to the encroachments of the Rule of 'Caol re caol' they would have written both the nom. and the gen. of these and similar nouns more simply and more justly, thus: caiman, g. s. caimain; cuilan, g. s. cuilain; duilag, g. s. duilaig; cailag, g. s. cailaig. [37] In many instances, the Plural termination _a_ is oftener written with this final _n_ than without it. When the vowel preceding the termination is small, the termination _a_ or _an_ is very needlessly written _e_ or _ean_, to preserve the correspondence of vowels. [38] We are informed by E. O'C. that this is the usual construction in the Irish Dialect, and it appears to be the same in the Scottish. Thus, air son mo dhà shùl, _for my two eyes_.--Judg. xvi. 28. Ir. & Scott. versions. [39] So in Hebrew, we find a noun in the singular number joined with _twenty_, _thirty_, _a hundred_, _a thousand_, &c. [40] The Pronouns tu _thou_, se _he_, si _she_, siad _they_, are not employed, like other nominatives, to denote the object after a transitive verb. Hence the incorrectness of the following expression in most editions of the Gaelic Psalms: Se chrùnas _tu_ le coron graidh, Psal. ciii. 4., which translated literally signifies, _it is he whom thou wilt crown_, &c. To express the true sense, viz., _it is he who will crown thee_, it ought to have been, se chrùnas _thu_ le coron graidh. So is mise an Tighearn a slanuicheas _thu_, _I am the Lord that healeth thee_, Exod. xv. 26; Ma ta e ann a fhreagaireas _thu_, _If there be any that will answer thee_, Job v. 1; Co e a bhrathas thu? _Who is he that will betray thee?_ John xxi. 20., Comp. Gen. xii. 3. and xxvii. 29. [41] This use of the Pronoun of the 2d person plural is probably a modern innovation, for there is nothing like it found in the more ancient Gaelic compositions, nor in the graver poetry even of the present age. As this idiom seems, however, to be employed in conversation with increasing frequency, it will probably lose by degrees its present import, and will come to be used as the common mode of addressing any individual; in the same manner as the corresponding Pronouns are used in English, and other European languages. [42] There seems hardly a sufficient reason for changing the _d_ in this situation into _t_, as has been often done, as t'oglach for d'oglach _thy servant_, &c. The _d_ corresponds sufficiently to the pronunciation, and being the constituent consonant of the pronoun, it ought not to be changed for another. [43] The Irish are not so much at a loss to avoid a _hiatus_, as they often use na for a _his_; which the translators of the Psalms have sometimes judiciously adopted; as, An talamh tioram le na laimh Do chruthaich e 's do dhealbh. Psal. xcv. 5. [44] In the North Highlands this Pronoun is pronounced sid. [45] This Pronoun occurs in such expressions as an deigh na chuala tu _after what you have heard_; their leat na th' agad, or na bheil agad, _bring what you have_. It seems to be contracted for an ni a _the thing which_. [46] There is reason to think that ge b'e is corruptly used for cia b' e. Of the former I find no satisfactory analysis. The latter cia b' e is literally _which it be_, or _which it were_; which is just the French _qui que ce soit_, _qui que ce fût_ expressed in English by one word _whosoever_, _whichsoever_. We find cia used in this sense and connection, Psal. cxxxv. 11. Glasg. 1753. Gach uile rioghachd mar an ceadn' _cia_ h-iomdha bhi siad ann, _All_ _kingdoms likewise, however numerous they be_. See also Gen. xliv. 9, Rom. ii. 1. [47] This pronoun is found written with an initial c in Lhuyd's "Archæol. Brit." Tit. I. page 20. col. 2. ceach; again Tit. X. voc. Bealtine, cecha bliadna _each year_. So also O'Brien, cach _all_, _every_, like the French _chaque_. "Irish Dict." voc. cach. [48] The pronouns _cach eile_ and _cach a chéile_ are hardly known in Perthshire. Instead of the former, they use the single word càch pronounced long, and declined like a noun of the singular number; and instead of the latter, a chéile, as in this example, choinnich iad a chéile; thuit cuid, agus theich càch, _they met each other; some fell, and the rest fled_. Here càch may be considered as a simple pronoun; but the first clause, choinnich iad a cheile, _they met his fellow_, hardly admits of any satisfactory analysis. The phrases, in fact, seem to be elliptical, and to be expressed more fully, according to the practice of other districts, thus: choinnich iad cach a chiéle; thuit, cuid, agus theich cach eile. Now, if cach be nothing else than gach _every_, (a conjecture supported by the short pronunciation of the _a_, as well as by the authorities adduced in the preceding note,) the expressions may be easily analysed: choinnich iad gach [aon] a cheile; thuit cuid, agus theich gach [aon] eile; _they met every [one] his fellow; some fell, and every other [one] fled_, See 1 Thess. v. 11. [49] In the older Irish MSS. the Particle _do_ appears under a variety of forms. In one MS. of high antiquity it is often written _dno_. This seems to be its oldest form. The two consonants were sometimes separated by a vowel, and the _n_ being pronounced and then written _r_, (See Part I. p. 19.) the word was written doro. (See _Astle's Hist. of the Orig. and Progr. of Writing, page 126, Irish Specimen, No. 6._) The Consonants were sometimes transposed, suppressing the latter Vowel, and the Particle became nod (_O Brien's Ir. Dict. voc._ Sasat, Treas,) and rod (_id. voc._ Ascaim, Fial.) Sometimes one of the syllables only was retained; hence no (_O'Br. voc._ No,) ro (_id. voc._ Ro,) and do in common use. Do likewise suffered a transposition of letters, and was written sometimes ad. (O'Br. _voc._ Do.) [50] This correspondence of the Termination with the Root was overlooked in the older editions of the Gaelic Psalms; as pronnfidh, cuirfar, molfidh, innsam, guidham, coimhdar, sinnam, gluaisfar, &c. [51] The disposition in the Gaelic to drop articulations has, in this instance, been rather unfortunate; as the want of the _f_ weakens the sound of the word, and often occasions a _hiatus_. There seems a propriety in retaining the _f_ of the Future, after a Liquid, or an aspirated Mute; as, cuirfidh, mairfidh, molfidh, geillfidh, pronnfidh, brisfidh, &c., for these words lose much in sound and emphasis by being changed into caithidh, mairidh, &c. [52] The incorporation of the Verb with a Personal Pronoun is a manifest improvement, and has gradually taken place in almost all the polished languages. There is incomparably more beauty and force in expressing the energy of the Verb, with its _personal_ relation and concomitant circumstances, in one word, than by a periphrasis of pronouns and auxiliaries. The latter mode may have a slight advantage in point of precision, but the former is greatly superior in elegance and strength. The structure of the Latin and Greek, compared with that of the English Verb, affords a striking illustration of this common and obvious remark. Nothing can be worse managed than the French Verb; which, though it possesses a competent variety of _personal_ inflections, yet loses all the benefit of them by the perpetual enfeebling recurrence of the personal Pronouns. In comparing the Scottish and Irish dialects of the Gaelic, it may be inferred that the former, having less of inflection or _incorporation_, than the latter, differs less from the parent tongue, and is an older branch of the Celtic, than its sister dialect. It were unfair, however, to deny that the Irish have improved the Verb, by giving a greater variety of inflection to its _Numbers_ and _Persons_, as well as by introducing a simple Present Tense. The authors of our metrical version of the Gaelic Psalms were sensible of the advantage possessed by the Irish dialect in these respects, and did not scruple to borrow an idiom which has given grace and dignity to many of their verses. [53] Such at least is the common practice in writing, in compliance with the common mode of colloquial pronunciation. It might perhaps be better to retain the full form of the Preposition, in grave pronunciation, and always in writing. It is an object worthy of attention to preserve radical articulations, especially in writing; and particularly to avoid every unnecessary use of the monosyllable _a_, which, it must be confessed, recurs in too many senses. [54] The Preposition iar has here been improperly confounded with air _on_. I have ventured to restore it, from the Irish Grammarians. Iar is in common use in the Irish dialect, signifying _after_. Thus, iar sin _after that_, iar leaghadh an tshoisgeil _after reading the Gospel_, iar sleachdadh do niomlan _after all have kneeled down_, iar seasamh suas _after standing up_, &c. See "Irish Book of Common Prayer." Air, when applied to time, signifies not _after_, but _at_ or _on_, air an am so, air an uair so _at this time_, air an la sin _on that day_. There is therefore sufficient reason to believe that, in the case in question, iar is the proper word; and that it has been corruptly supplanted by air. [55] The Imperative seems to have been anciently formed by adding _tar_ to the Root. This form is still retained in Ireland, and in some parts of Scotland, chiefly in verbs ending in a Lingual; as, buailtear, deantar. (See the Lord's Prayer in the older editions of the Gaelic Version of the Assembly's Catechism; also, the "Irish N. Test." Matt. vi. 10. Luke xi. 2.) In other verbs, the _t_ seems to have been dropped in pronunciation. It was, however, retained by the Irish in writing, but with an aspiration to indicate its being quiescent; thus, togthar, teilgthear, "Ir. N. T." Matt. xxi. 21, Mark xi. 23, crochthar, Matt. xxvii. 22. So also the "Gaelic N. T." 1767, deanthar. Matt. vi. 10, Luke xi. 2. In the later publications the _t_ has been omitted altogether, with what propriety may be well doubted. [56] To preserve a due correspondence with the pronunciation, the Pass. Part. should always terminate in _te_, for in this part of the verb, the _t_ has always its _small_ sound. Yet in verbs whereof the characteristic vowel is broad, it is usual to write the termination of the Pass. Part. _ta_; as, togta _raised_, crochta _suspended_. This is done in direct opposition to the pronunciation, merely out of regard to the Irish Rule of _Leathan ri leathan_, which in this case, as in many others, has been permitted to mar the genuine orthography. When a verb, whose characteristic vowel is broad, terminates in a Liquid, the final consonant coalesces so closely with the _t_ of the Pass. Part. that the _small_ sound of the latter necessarily occasions the like sound in pronouncing the former. Accordingly the small sound of the Liquid is properly represented in writing, by an _i_ inserted before it. Thus, òl _drink_, Pass. Part. òilte; pronn _pound_, proinnte; crann _bar_, crainnte; sparr _ram_, spairrte; trus _pack_, truiste. But when the verb ends in a mute, whether plain or aspirated, there is no such coalescence between its final consonant and the adjected _t_ of the Participle. The final consonant if it be pronounced retains its broad sound. There is no good reason for maintaining a correspondence of vowels in the Participle, which ought therefore to be written, as it is pronounced, without regard to _Leathan ri leathan_; as, tog _raise_, Pass. Part. togte; croch _hang_, crochte; sàth _thrust_, sàthte; cnamh _chew_, cnamhte. The same observations apply, with equal force, to the Pret. Subj. in which the _t_ of the termination is always pronounced with its _small_ sound, and should therefore be followed by a small vowel in writing; as, thogteadh, chrochteadh, not thogtadh, chrochtadh. [57] In all _regular_ verbs, the difference between the Affirmative and the Negative Moods, though marked but slightly and partially in the Preterite Tense, (only in the initial form of the 2d Conjugation,) yet is strongly marked in the Future Tense. The Fut. Aff. terminates in a feeble vocal sound. In the Fut. Neg. the voice rests on an articulation, or is cut short by a forcible aspiration. Supposing these Tenses to be used by a speaker in reply to a command or a request; by their very structure, the former expresses the softness of compliance; and the latter, the abruptness of a refusal. If a command or a request be expressed by such verbs as these, tog sin, gabh sin, ith sin, the compliant answer is expressed by togaidh, gabhaidh, ithidh; the refusal, by the cha tog, cha ghabh, cha n-ith. May not this peculiar variety of form in the same Tense, when denoting affirmation, and when denoting negation, be reckoned among the characteristic marks of an original language? [58] This part of the verb, being declined and governed like a noun, bears a closer resemblance to the Latin Gerund than to the Infinitive; and might have been properly named the Gerund. But as Lhuyd and all the later Irish Grammarians have already given it the name of Infinitive, I choose to continue the same appellation rather than change it. [59] The Editor of the Gaelic Psalms printed at Glasgow, 1753, judging, as it would seem, that cuidich was too bold a licence for cuideachaidh, restored the gen. of the full form of the Infinitive; but in order to reduce it to two syllables, so as to suit the verse, he threw out the middle syllable, and wrote cuid'idh. [60] I have met with persons of superior knowledge of the Gaelic who contended that such expressions as--ta mi deanamh _I am doing_, ta e bualadh _he is striking_ (see page 83), are complete without any Preposition understood; and that in such situations deanamh, bualadh, are not infinitives or nouns, but real participles of the Present Tense. With much deference to such authorities, I shall here give the reasons which appear to me to support the contrary opinion. 1. The form of the supposed Participle is invariably the same with that of the Infinitive. 2. If the words deanamh, bualadh, in the phrases adduced, were real Participles, then in all similar instances, it would be not only unnecessary, but ungrammatical, to introduce the preposition ag at all. But this is far from being the case. In all verbs beginning with a vowel, the preposition ag or its unequivocal representative _g_ is indispensable; as, ta iad ag iarruidh, ta mi 'g iarruidh. Shall we say, then, that verbs beginning with a consonant have a present participle, while those that begin with a vowel have none? But even this distinction falls to the ground, when it is considered that in many phrases which involve a verb beginning with a consonant, the preposition ag stands forth to view, and can on no account be suppressed; as, ta iad 'g a bhualadh _they are striking him_, ta e 'g ar bualadh _he is striking us_. From these particulars it may be inferred that the preposition ag must always precede the infinitive, in order to complete the phrase which corresponds to the English or Latin pres. participle; and that in those cases where the preposition has been dropped, the omission has been owing to the rapidity or carelessness of colloquial pronunciation. 3. A still stronger argument, in support of the same conclusion, may be derived from the regimen of the phrase in question. The infinitive of a transitive verb, preceded by any preposition, always governs the noun, which is the object of the verbal action, in the genitive. This is an invariable rule of Gaelic Syntax; thus, ta sinn a' dol a dh' iarruidh na spréidhe, _we are going to seek the cattle_; ta iad ag iomain na spréidhe, _they are driving the cattle_; ta iad iar cuairteachadh na spréidhe, _they have gathered the cattle_. This regimen can be accounted for on no other principle, in Gaelic, than that the governing word is a noun, as the infinitive is confessed to be. Now, it happens that the supposed participle has the very same regimen, and governs the genitive as uniformly as the same word would have done, when the presence of a preposition demonstrated it to be a noun; so, ta mi bualadh an doruis, _I am knocking the door_; ta thu deanamh an uilc, _you are doing mischief_. The inference is, that even in these situations, the words--bualadh, deanamh, though accompanied with no preposition, are still genuine nouns, and are nothing else than the infinitives of their respective verbs, with the preposition ag understood before each of them. 4. The practice in other dialects of the Celtic, and the authority of respectable grammarians, affords collateral support to the opinion here defended. Gen. Vallancey, the most copious writer on Irish grammar, though he gives the name of participle to a certain part of the Gaelic verb, because it corresponds, in signification, to a part of the Latin verb which has obtained that name, yet constantly exhibits this participle, not as a single word, but a composite expression; made up of a preposition and that part of the verb which is here called the infinitive. The phrase is fully and justly exhibited, but it is wrong named; unless it be allowed to extend the name of Participle to such phrases as _inter ambulandum_, [Greek: en tôi peripatein].--Lhuyd, in his Cornish Grammar, informs us, with his usual accuracy, that the Infinitive Mood, as in the other dialects of the British, sometimes serves as a Substantive, as in the Latin; and by the help of the participle _a_ [the Gaelic ag] before it, it supplies the room of the participle of the present tense, &c. "Archæol. Brit." page 245, col. 3. This observation is strictly applicable to the Gaelic verb. The infinitive, with the particle _ag_ before it, _supplies the room of the present Participle_. The same judicious writer repeats this observation in his "Introduction to the Irish or Ancient Scottish Language": The Participle of the Present Tense is _supplied_ by the Participle _ag_ before the Infinitive Mood; as, _ag radh_ saying, _ag cainnt_ talking, _ag teagasg_ teaching, _ag dul_ going, &c. "Arch. Brit." page 303, col. 2. [61] It may appear a strange defect in the Gaelic, that its Verbs, excepting the substantive verbs Bi, Is, have no _simple_ Present Tense. Yet this is manifestly the case in the Scottish, Welsh, and Cornish dialects (see "Arch. Brit." page 246, col. 1, and page 247, col. 1.); to which may be added the Manks. Creidim _I believe_, guidheam _I pray_, with perhaps one or two more Present Tenses, now used in Scotland, seem to have been imported from Ireland, for their paucity evinces that they belong not to our dialect. The want of the simple Present Tense is a striking point of resemblance between the Gaelic and the Hebrew verb. I am indebted to a learned and ingenious correspondent for the following important remark; that the want of the simple Present Tense in all the British dialects of the Celtic, in common with the Hebrew, while the Irish has assumed that Tense, furnishes a strong presumption that the Irish is a dialect of later growth; that the British Gaelic is its parent tongue; and consequently that Britain is the mother country of Ireland. [62] From observing the same thing happen repeatedly or habitually it is naturally inferred that it will happen again. When an event is predicted it is supposed that the speaker, if no other cause of his foreknowledge appears, infers the future happening of the event from its having already happened in many instances. Thus the Future Tense, which simply foretells, conveys to the hearer an intimation that the thing foretold has already taken place frequently and habitually. In Hebrew, the Future Tense is used with precisely the same effect. In the law of Jehovah he _will_ meditate; _i.e._, he _does_ meditate habitually. Psal. i, 2. See also Psal. xlii. 1, Job ix. 11, xxiii. 8, 9, &c., _passim_. [63] Though this be the precise import of the Compound Tenses of the second order, yet they are not strictly confined to the point of time stated above; but are often used to denote past time indefinitely. In this way, they supply the place of the Compound Tenses of the first order in those verbs which have no passive participle. [64] See Moor. So tha 'n tigh 'g a thogail, _the house is in building_. [65] Téid the Fut. Negat. of Rach to _go_, has been generally written d'théid; from an opinion, it would seem, that the full form of that Tense is do théid. Yet as the participle _do_ is never found prefixed to the Future Negative of any regular verb, it appears more agreeable to the analogy of conjugation to write this tense in its simplest form téid. See "Gael. New Test." 1767, and 1796, Mat. xiii. 28. xiv. 15. A different mode of writing this tense has been adopted in the edition of the "Gael. Bible," Edin. 1807, where we uniformly find dthéid, dthoir, dthig. [66] Throughout the verb tabhair, the syllables _abhair_ are often contracted into _oir_; as, toir, torinnn, &c. Acts xviii. 10. Sometimes written d'thoir, d'thoirinn; rather improperly. See note 65. [67] Tig rather than d'thig. See note 65. [68] A Pres. Aff. of this Verb, borrowed from the Irish, is often used in the G. SS. Deiream _I say_, deir e _he saith_, deir iad _they say_. [69] Dubhairt, dubhradh, are contracted for do thubhairt, &c. Abairinn, abaiream, abairear, are often contracted into abrainn, abram, abrar. [70] It may appear an odd peculiarity in the Gaelic, that in many of the most common phrases, a proposition or question should thus be expressed without the least trace of a Verb. It can hardly be said that the Substantive Verb is _understood_, for then there would be no impropriety in expressing it. But the fact is, that it would be completely contrary to the idiom and usage of the language, to introduce a Substantive Verb in these phrases. It will diminish our surprise at this peculiarity to observe that in the ancient languages numerous examples occur of sentences, or clauses of sentences, in which the Substantive Verb is omitted, without occasioning any obscurity or ambiguity; and this in Prose as well as in Verse. Thus in Hebrew; Gen. xlii. 11, 13, 14. We [are] all one man's sons--we [are] true men--thy servants [are] twelve brethren--the youngest [is] with his father--ye [are] spies--&c. [Greek: Ouk agathon polukoiraniê.]--_Iliad_, B. 204. [Greek: kaka kerdea is' atêsi.]--_Hes._ [Greek: E. kai Ã�. a]. [Greek: egô de tisou tachupeithês.]--_Theoc. Idyl._ 7. Et mî genus ab Jove summo.--_Virg. Ã�n._ VI. 123. Varium et mutabile semper Femina.--_Ã�n._ IV. 569. Omnia semper suspecta atque sollicita; nullus locus amicitiæ. _Cic. de Amic._ 15.   mira feritas, foeda paupertas; non arma, non equi, non penates; victui herba, vestitui pelles, cubile humus; sola in sagittis spes, &c.--_Tacit. de. mor. Germ. Cap. ult._ In these and the like examples, the Substantive Verb might have been expressed, if with less elegance, yet without grammatical impropriety. What has been frequently done in other languages, seems, in Gaelic, to have been adopted, in certain phrases, as an invariable mode of speech. The omission of the Substantive Verb is not unknown in English; as, "In winter awful thou."--_Thomson._ "A ministering angel thou."--_Scott._ "A cruel sister she."--_Mallet._ [71] The effect of this Tense in narration seems to be very nearly, if not precisely, the same with that of the Present of the Infinitive in Latin; as in these passages: "----misere discedere quaerens, _Ire_ modo ocius; interdum _consistere_; in aurem _Dicere_ nescio quid puero."--_Hor. Sat. 1. 8. v. 9._ "At Danaum proceres, Agamemnoniæque phalanges Ingenti _trepidare_ metu; pars _vertere_ terga, Ceu quondam petiêre rates; pars _tollere_ vocem."--_Ã�neid. VI. 492._ "----nihil illi _tendere_ contra; Sed _celerare_ fugam in sylvas, et _fidere_ nocti.'--_Ã�neid. IX. 378._ "Tarquinius _fateri_ amorem, _orare_, _miscere_ precibus minas, _versare_ in omnes partes muliebrem animum."--_Liv. I. 58._ "Neque post id locorum Jugurthæ dies aut nox ulla quieta fuere: neque loco, neque mortali cuiquam, aut tempori satis _credere_; cives, hostes, juxta _metuere_; _circumspectare_ omnia, et omni strepitu _pavescere_; alio atque alio loco, saepe contra decus regium, noctu _requiescere_; interdum somno excitus, arreptis armis, tumultum _facere_; ita formidine quasi vecordia _exagitari_."--_Sall. Bell. Jugur. 72._ [72] "An ceannard a mharbhadh" may be considered as the nominative to the verb chaidh; and so in similar phrases; much in the same way as we find in Latin, an Infinitive with an accusative before it, become the nominative to a verb; as "_hominem_ hominis incommodo suum _augere_ commodum _est_ contra naturam." _Cic. de. Offic._ III. 5. "Turpe _est eos_ qui bene nati sunt turpiter _vivere_." [73] So in Hebrew, the article prefixed to the nouns _day_, _night_, imports the present day or night. See Exod. xiv. 13. [74] Perhaps the proper Prep. in these phrases is _de_, not _do_--see the Prepositions in the next Chap.--as we find the same Prep. similarly applied in other languages; de nuit _by night_, John iii. 2; de nocte, Hor. Epis. 1. 2, 32; de tertia vigilia, Cæs. B. G. [75] These expressions are affirmed, not without reason, to refer to the supposed destruction of the world by fire, or by water; events which were considered as immeasurably remote. (See Smith's "Gal. Antiq." pp. 59. 60). Another explanation has been given of dilinn, as being compounded of dith, _want, failure_, and linn _an age_; qu. _absumptio sæculi_. [76] Perhaps am fàn, from fàn or fànadh _a descent_. (See Lhuyd's "Arch. Brit." tit. x. _in loco_.) [77] _i.e._ anns an teach, anns an tigh, _in the house_. So in Hebrew, [Hebrew: MBYT] _within_, Gen. vi. 14. [78] Deas, applied to the hand, signifies the _right hand_. So in Hebrew, [Hebrew: YMYN] signifies the _right hand_ and the _South_. [79] Iar, as a Preposition, signifies _after_ or _behind_. In like manner in Hebrew, [Hebrew: ATR] signifies _after_, or the _West_. [80] Probably co luath _equally quick, with equal pace_. [81] The probable analysis of seadh is, is é, _it is_, pronounced in one syllable, 's e. When this syllable was used as a responsive, and not followed by any other word; the voice, resting on the final sound, formed a faint articulation. This was represented in writing by the gentle aspirate _dh_; and so the word came to be written as we find it. In like manner ni h-eadh is probably nothing else than a substitute for ni he, _it is not_. [82] This mode of incorporating the Prepositions with the personal pronouns will remind the Orientalist of the Pronominal Affixes, common in Hebrew and other Eastern languages. The close resemblance between the Gaelic and many of the Asiatic tongues, in this particular, is of itself an almost conclusive proof that the Gaelic bears a much closer affinity to the parent stock than any other living European language. [83] "In corroboration of this (Mr. S.'s) hypothesis, I have frequently met _de_ in old MSS. I have therefore adopted it in its proper place."--E. O'C.'s "Grammar of the Irish Gaelic." Dublin, 1808. [84] In many places, this Prep. is pronounced hun. [85] Tar éis, on the track or footstep. See O'Brien's "Ir. Dict." _voc._ éis. [86] On consulting O'Brien's "Ir. Dict." we find son translated _profit, advantage_, cum _a fight, combat_, réir _will, desire_. From these significations the common meaning of air son, do chum, do réir, may perhaps be derived without much violence. [87] See Gaelic Poems published by Doctor Smith, pp. 8, 9, 178, 291. [88] There is in Gaelic a Noun cion or cionn, signifying _cause_; which occurs in the expressions a chionn gu _because that_, cion-fàth _a reason_ or _ground_. But this word is entirely different from ceann _end_ or _top_. [89] Some confusion has been introduced into the Grammar of the Latin language, by imposing different grammatical names on words, according to the connection in which they stood, while they retained their form and their signification unchanged; as in calling _quod_ at one time a Relative Pronoun, at another time a Conjunction; _post_ in one situation a Preposition, in another, an Adverb. An expedient was thought requisite for distinguishing, in such instances, the one part of speech from the other. Accordingly an accent, or some such mark, was, in writing or printing, placed over the last vowel of the word, when employed in what was reckoned its secondary use; while, in its primary use, it was written without any distinguishing mark. So the conjunction _quòd_ was distinguished from the relative _quod_; and the adverb _post_ from the preposition _pòst_. The distinction was erroneous; but the expedient employed to mark it was, at least, harmless. The word was left unaltered and undisguised; and thus succeeding grammarians had it the more in their power to prove that the relative _quod_ and the conjunction _quòd_ are, and have ever been, in reality, one and the same part of speech. It would have been justly thought a bold and unwarrantable step, had the older grammarians gone so far as to alter the letters of the word, in order to mark a distinction of their own creation. [90] From this use of the preposition _air_ arises the _equivoque_ so humorously turned against Mr James Macpherson by Maccodrum the poet, as related in the Report of the Committee of the Highland Society of Scotland on the authenticity of Osian's Poems, Append. p. 95. Macpherson asked Maccodrum, "Am bheil dad agad air an Fhéinn?" literally, "Have you anything on the Fingalians?" intending to inquire whether the latter had any poems in his possession _on_ the subject of the Fingalian history and exploits. The expression partakes much more of the English than of the Gaelic idiom. Indeed, it can hardly be understood in Gaelic, in the sense that the querist intended. Maccodrum, catching up the expression in its true Gaelic acceptation, answered, with affected surprise, "Bheil dad agam air an Fhéinn? Ma bha dad riamh agam orra, is fad o chaill mi na còirichean." "Have I any claim on the Fingalians? If ever I had, it is long since I lost my voucher." [91] This use of the preposition _ann_ in conjunction with a possessive Pronoun, is nearly akin to that of the Hebrew [Hebrew: l], [for] in such expressions as these: 'He hath made me [for] a father to Pharaoh, and [for] lord of all his house;' _rinn e mi 'n am athair do Pharaoh, agus 'n am thighearn os ceann a thighe uile_, Gen. xlv. 8. 'Thou hast taken the wife of Uriah to be [for] thy wife;' _ghabh thu bean Uriah gu bi 'n a mnaoi dhuit fein._ 2 Sam. xii. 10. [92] This syllable assumes various forms. Before a broad vowel or consonant _an_, as, anshocair; before a small vowel or consonant _ain_, as, aineolach _ignorant_, aindeoin _unwillingness_; before a labial _am_ or _aim_, as, aimbeartach _poor_; sometimes with the _m_ aspirated, as, aimhleas _detriment_, _ruin_, aimh-leathan _narrow_. [93] The conjunction ged loses the _d_ when written before an adjective or a personal pronoun; as, ge binn do ghuth, _though your voice be sweet_; ge h-àrd Jehovah, Psal. cxxxviii. 6. The translators of the Scriptures appear to have erred in supposing ge to be the entire Conjunction, and that _d_ is the verbal particle do. This has led them to write ge d' or ge do in situations in which do alters the sense from what was intended, or is totally inadmissible. Ge do ghluais mi, Deut. xxix. 19, is given as the translation of _though I walk_, i.e. _though I shall walk_, but in reality it signifies _though I did walk_, for do ghluais is past tense. It ought to be ged ghluais mi. So also ge do ghleidh thu mi, Judg. xiii. 16, _though you detain me_, ought rather to be ged ghleidh thu mi. Ge do ghlaodhas iad rium, Jer. xi. 11, _though they cry to me_, is not agreeable to the Gaelic idiom. It ought rather to be ged ghlaodh iad rium, as in Hosea, xi. 7. Ge do dh' fheudainnse muinghin bhi agam, Phil. iii. 4, _though I might have confidence_. Here the verbal particle is doubled unnecessarily, and surely not according to classical precision. Let it be written ged dh' fheudainnse, and the phrase is correct. Ge do 's eigin domh am bas fhulang, Mark xiv. 31, _though I must suffer death_: ge do tha aireamh chloinn Israel, &c., Rom. ix. 27, _though the number of the children of Israel be_, &c. The present tenses is and tha never take the do before them. Ged is eigin, ged tha, is liable to no objection. At other times, when the do appeared indisputably out of place, the _d_ has been dismissed altogether, contrary to usual mode of pronunciation; as, ge nach eil, Acts xvii. 27, 2 Cor. xii. 11, where the common pronunciation requires ged nach eil. So, ge d' nach duin' an t-aodach, &c. ge d' nach biodh ann ach an righ &c. (McIntosh's "Gael Prov." pp. 35, 36), where the _d_ is retained even before nach, because such is the constant way of pronouncing the phrase. These faulty expressions which, without intending to derogate from the high regard due to such respectable authorities, I have thus freely ventured to point out, seemed to have proceeded from mistaking the constituent letters of the conjunction in question. It would appear that _d_ was originally a radical letter of the word; that through time it came, like many other consonants, to be aspirated; and by degrees became, in some situations, quiescent. In Irish it is written giodh. This manner of writing the word is adopted by the translator of Baxter's "Call." One of its compounds is always written gidheadh. In these, the _d_ is preserved, though in its aspirated state. In Scotland it is still pronounced, in most situations, ged, without aspirating the _d_ at all. These circumstances put together seem to prove the final _d_ is a radical constituent letter of this Conjunction. I have the satisfaction to say that the very accurate Author of the Gaelic Translation of the Scriptures has, with great candour, acknowledged the justice of the criticism contained in the foregoing note. It is judged expedient to retain it in this edition of the Grammar, lest the authority of that excellent Translation might perpetuate a form of speech which is confessed to be faulty. [94] To avoid, as far as may be, the too frequent use of _a_ by itself, perhaps it would be better always to write the article full, an or am; and to apply the above rules, about the elision of its letters, only to regulate the pronunciation. Irish books, and our earlier Scottish publications, have the article written almost always full, in situations where, according to the latest mode of Orthography, it is mutilated. [95] The practice of suppressing the sound of an initial consonant in certain situations, and supplying its place by another of a softer sound, is carried to a much greater extent in the Irish dialect. It is termed _eclipsis_ by the Irish grammarians, and is an evidence of a nice attention to _euphonia_. [96] The Dat. case is always preceded by a Preposition, ris a' bhard, do 'n bhard, aig na bardaibh; in declining a Noun with the article, any _Proper Preposition_ may be supplied before the Dative case. [97] So in English, _Grandfather_, _Highlands_, _sometimes_; in Latin, _Respublica_, _Decemviri_; in Italian, _Primavera_; in French, _Bonheur_, _Malheur_, &c. from being an adjective and a noun, came to be considered as a single complex term, or a compound word, and to be written accordingly. A close analogy may be traced between the Gaelic and the French in the collocation of the Adjective. In both languages, the Adjective is ordinarily placed after its Noun. If it be placed before its Noun, it is by a kind of poetical inversion; dorchadas tiugh, _des tenebres epaisses_; by inversion, tiugh dhorchadas, _d' epaisses tenebres_; fear mòr, _un homme grand_; by inversion, in a metaphorical sense, mòr fhear, _un grand homme_. A Numeral Adjective, in both languages, is placed before its Noun; as also iomadh, _plusieurs_; except when joined to a proper name, where the Cardinal is used for the Ordinal; Seumas a Ceithir, _Jaques Quatre_. [98] The same seems to be the case in the Cornish Language. See Lhuyd's "Arch. Brit." p. 243, col. 3. When an Adjective precedes its Noun, it undergoes no change of termination; as, thig an Tighearn a nuas le ard iolaich, _the Lord will descend with a great shout_, 1 Thes. iv. 16; mar ghuth mor shluaigh, _as the voice of a great multitude_, Rev. xix. 6. [99] Thus, bhur inntinn _your mind_, Acts xv. 24. [100] This, however, does not happen invariably. Where the _Sex_, though specified, is overlooked as of small importance, the Personal or Possessive Pronouns follow the _Gender_ of the Antecedent. See 2 Sam. xii. 3. [101] I am aware of the singularity of asserting the grammatical propriety of such expressions as ciod e Uchdmhacachd? ciod e Urnuigh? as, the nouns uchdmhacachd, urnuigh are known to be of the feminine Gender; and as this assertion stands opposed to the respectable authority of the Editor of the Assembly's Catechism in Gaelic, Edin. 1792, where we read, Ciod i urnuigh? &c. The following defence of it is offered to the attentive reader. In every question the words which convey the interrogation must refer to some higher genus or species than the words which express the subject of the query. It is in the choice of the speaker to make that reference to any genus or species he pleases. If I ask 'Who was Alexander?' the Interrogative _who_ refers to the species _man_, of which _Alexander_, the subject of the query, is understood to have been an individual. The question is equivalent to 'What man was Alexander?' If I ask 'What is Man?' the Interrogative _what_ refers to the genus of Existence or Being, of which Man is considered as a subordinate genus or species. The question is the same with 'What Being is Man?' I may also ask 'What was Alexander?' Here the Interrogative _what_ refers to some genus or species of which Alexander is conceived to have been an individual, though the particular genus intended by the querist is left to be gathered from the tenor of the preceding discourse. It would be improper, however, to say 'Who is man?' as the Interrogative refers to no higher genus than that expressed by the word _Man_. It is the same as if one should ask 'What man is Man?' In the question 'What is Prayer?' the object of the querist is to learn the meaning of the term _Prayer_. The Interrogative _what_ refers to the genus of Existence, as in the question 'What is Man?' not to the word _Prayer_, which is the subject of the query. It is equivalent to 'What is [that thing which is named] Prayer?' In those languages where a variety of gender is prevalent, this reference of the Interrogative is more conspicuously marked. A Latin writer would say '_Quid_ est Oratio*?' A Frenchman, 'Qu' est-ce que la Prière?' These questions, in a complete form, would run thus; 'Quid est [id quod dicitur] Oratio?' 'Qu' est-ce que [l'on appelle] la Prière?' On the same principle, and in the same sense, a Gaelic writer must say, 'Ciod e urnuigh?' the Interrogative Ciod e referring not to urnuigh but to some higher genus. The expression, when completed, is 'Ciod e [sin de 'n goirear] urnuigh?' Is there then no case in which the Interrogative may follow the gender of the subject? If the subject of the query be expressed, as it often is, by _a general term, limited in its signification_ by a noun, adjective, relative clause, &c; the reference of the Interrogative is often, though not always not necessarily, made to _that term_ in its general acceptation, and consequently be 'What is the Lord's Prayer?' Here the subject of the query is not _Prayer_, but an individual of that species, denoted by the term _prayer_ limited in its signification by another noun. The Interrogative _what_ may refer, as in the former examples, to the genus of Existence; or it may refer to the species _Prayer_, of which the subject of the query is an individual. That is, I may be understood to ask either 'What is that _thing_ which is called the Lord's Prayer?' or 'What is that _prayer_ which is called the Lord's Prayer?' A Latin writer would say, in the former sense, 'Quid est Oratio Dominica+?' in the latter sense, 'Quaenam est Oratio Dominica?' The former of these expressions is resolvable into 'Quid est [id quod dicitur] Oratio Dominica?' the latter into 'Quaenam [oratio] est Oratio Dominica?' The same diversity of expression would be used in French: 'Qu' est-ce que l'Oraison Dominicale?' and 'Quelle est l'Oraison Dominicale?' The former resolvable into 'Qu' est-ce que [l'on appelle] l'Oraison Dominicale? the latter into 'Quelle [oraison] est l'Oraison Dominicale? So also in Gaelic, 'Ciod e Urnuigh an Tighearna?' equivalent to 'Ciod e [sin de'n goirear] Urnuigh an Tighearna?' or, which will occur oftener, 'Ciod i Urnuigh an Tighearna?' equivalent to 'Ciod i [an urnuigh sin de 'n goirear] Urnuigh an Tighearna?' * See a short Latin Catechism at the end of Mr Ruddiman's Latin Rudiments, where many similar expressions occur; as 'Quid est fides? 'Quid est Lex? Quid est Baptismus? Quid Sacramenta?' &c. + So Ruddiman, 'Quid est Sacra Coena?' [102] The same arrangement obtains pretty uniformly in Hebrew, and seems the natural and ordinary collocation of the Verb and its Noun in that language. When the Noun in Hebrew is placed before the Verb, it will generally be found that the Noun does not immediately connect with the Verb as the Nominative to it, but rather stands in an absolute state; and that it is brought forward in that state by itself to excite attention, and denotes some kind of emphasis, or opposition to another Noun. Take the following examples for illustration: Gen. i. 1, 2. 'In the beginning God created [[Hebrew: BR' 'LHYM] in the natural order] the Heaven and the Earth.' [Hebrew: WH'RTS HYTH]; not and the Earth was, &c., but 'and with respect to the Earth, it was without form,' &c. Thus expressed in Gaelic: 'agus an talamh bha e gun dealbh,' &c. Gen. xviii. 33. 'And the Lord went his way [[Hebrew: WYLK YHWH] in the natural order] as soon as he had left communing with Abraham;' [Hebrew: W'BRHM SHB], not simply 'and Abraham returned,' &c., but 'and Abraham--he too returned to his place.' In Gaelic, 'agus Abraham, phill esan g' aite fein.' See also Num. xxiv. 25.--Gen. iii. 12. 'And the man said, the woman whom thou gavest to be with me, [Hebrew: HW' NTNH LY] _she_ it was that gave me of the tree, and I did eat.' Gen. iii. 13. 'And the woman said, [Hebrew: HNCHSH HSHY'NY], not merely 'the Serpent beguiled me,' but '_the Serpent_ was the cause; it beguiled me, and I did eat.' Exod. xiv. 14. '_Jehovah_--he will fight for you; but as for _you_, ye shall hold your peace.' This kind of emphasis is correctly expressed in the Eng. translation of Psal. lx. 12, 'for he _it is that_ shall tread down our enemies.' Without multiplying examples, I shall only observe that it must be difficult for the English reader to conceive that the Noun denoting the subject of a proposition, when placed after its Verb, should be in the natural order; and when placed before its Verb, should be in an inverted order of the words. To a person well aquainted with the Gaelic, this idiom is familiar; and therefore it is the easier for him to apprehend the effect of such an arrangement in any other language. For want of attending to this peculiarity in the structure of the Hebrew, much of that force and emphasis, which in other languages would be expressed by various particles, but in Hebrew depend on the collocation alone, must pass unobserved and unfelt. [103] I am happy to be put right, in my stricture on the above passage, by E. O'C., author of a Gaelic Grammar, Dublin, 1808, who informs us that _truaighe_ is here the Nominative, and _Iosa_ the Accusative case; and that the meaning is not _Jesus took pity on them_, but _pity seized Jesus for them_. [104] This construction resembles that of the Latin Infinitive preceded by the Accusative of the Agent. ----Mene desistere victam, Nec posse Italia Teucrorum avertere regem?--I. Ã�nid 28. [105] So in English, the Infinitive of a Transitive Verb is sometimes used instead of the Present Participle, and followed by the Preposition _of_; as, 'the woman was there gathering of sticks.' 1 Kings xvii. 10. -------- some sad drops Wept at completing of the mortal sin.--"Parad. Lost." See more examples, Num. xiii, 25, 2 Sam. ii. 21, 2 Chron. xx. 25, xxxv. 14, Ezek. xxxix. 12. [106] On the same principle it is that in some compound words, composed of two Nouns whereof the former governs the latter in the Genitive, the former Noun is seldom itself put in the Genitive case. Thus, ainm bean-na-bainse, _the bride's name_; it would sound extremely harsh to say ainm mna-na-bainse; clach ceann-an-teine, not clach cinn-an-teine, the stone which supports a hearth fire. [107] These examples suggest, and seem to authorise a special use of this idiom of Gaelic Syntax, which, if uniformly observed, might contribute much to the perspicuity and precision of many common expressions. When a compound term occurs, made up of a Noun and an Infinitive governed by that Noun, it often happens that this term itself governs another Noun in the Genitive. Let the two parts of the compound term be viewed separately. If it appear that the subsequent Noun is governed by the _former_ part of the compound word, then the latter part should remain regularly in the Genitive Case. But if the subsequent Noun be governed by the _latter_ part of the compound word, then, agreeably to the construction exemplified in the above passages, that latter part, which is here supposed to be an Infinitive, should fall back into the Nominative Case. Thus tigh-coimh_i_d an Righ, _the King's store house_, where the Noun Righ is governed by tigh, the former term of the compound word; but tigh comh_ea_d an ionmhais, John viii. 20, _the house for keeping the treasure_, where ionmhais is governed by coimhead, which is therefore put in the Nominative instead of the Genitive. So luchd-coimh_i_d, Matt. xxviii. 4, when no other Noun is governed; but fear-coimh_ea_d a' phriosuin, Acts, xvi. 27, 36, where the last Noun is governed in the Genitive by coimh_ea_d, which is therefore put in the Nominative. So also fear-coimh_i_d, Psal. cxxi. 3, but fear-coimh_ea_d Israeil, Psal. cxxi. 4. Edin. 1799. Tigh-bearr_ai_dh nam buachaillean, _the shearing-house belonging to the shepherds_, 2 King, x. 12, but tigh-bearr_a_dh nan caorach, _the house for shearing the sheep_. Luchd-brath_ai_dh an Righ _the King's spies_; but luchd-brath_a_dh an Righ, _the betrayers of the King_. Luchd-mort_ai_dh Heroid, _assassins employed by Herod_; but luchd-mort_a_dh Eoin, _the murderers of John_. I am aware that this distinction has been little regarded by the translators of the Scriptures. It appeared, however, worthy of being suggested, on account of its evident utility in point of precision, and because it is supported by the genius and practice of the Gaelic language. [108] For this reason, there seems to be an impropriety in writing chum a losgaidh, 1 Cor. xiii. 3, instead of chum a losgadh. [109] The same peculiarity in the use of the Article takes place in Hebrew, and constitutes a striking point of analogy in the structure of the two languages. See _Buxt. Thes. Gram. Heb. Lib. II. Cap. V._ [110] This solecism is found in the Irish as well as in the Scottish Gaelic translation. The Manks translation has avoided it. In the Irish version and in the Scottish Gaelic version of 1767, a similar instance occurs in Acts, ii. 20, _an_ la mor agus oirdheirc sin _an_ Tighearna. In the Scottish edition of 1796, the requisite correction is made by omitting the first Article. It is omitted likewise in the Manks N. T. On the other hand, the Article, which had been rightly left out in the Edition of 1767, is improperly introduced in the Edition of 1796, in 1 Cor. xi. 27, an cupan so an Tighearna. It is proper to mention that, in the passage last quoted, the first article _an_ had crept, by mistake, into a part of the impression 1796, but was corrected in the remaining part. [111] The inserted _m_ or _n_ is generally written with an apostrophe before it, thus gu'm, gu'n. This would indicate that some vowel is here suppressed in writing. But if no vowel ever stood in the place of this apostrophe, which seems to be the fact, the apostrophe itself has been needlessly and improperly introduced. [112] I much doubt the propriety of joining the Conjunction ged to the Fut. Affirm.; as, ge do gheibh na h-uile dhaoine oilbheum, _though all men shall be offended_, Matt. xxvi. 33. It should rather have been, ged fhaigh na h-uile dhaoine, &c. The Fut. Subj. seems to be equally improper; as, ge do ghlaodhas iad rium, _though they shall cry to me_, Jer. xi. 21, Edit. 1786. Rather, ged ghlaodh iad rium, as in Hosea, xi. 7. So also, ged eirich dragh, 's ged bhagair bàs, _though trouble shall arise, and though death shall threaten_. Gael. Paraph. xlvii. 7. Edin. 1787. See page 134. Note 93. [113] The terminations _air_, _oir_, seem from their signification as well as form, to be nothing else than fear _man_, in its aspirated form fhear. From these terminations are derived the Latin terminations _or_, orator, doctor, &c., _arius_ sicarius, essedarius, &c.; the French _eur_, vengeur, createur, &c.; _aire_, commissaire, notaire, &c., _ter_, chevalier, charretier, &c.; the English _er_, maker, lover, &c., _ary_, prebendary, antiquary, &c., _eer_, volunteer, &c. [114] Timcheal na macraidhe _beside the young men_, Lhuyd, O'Brien. voc. timcheal. This passage proves macraidh to be a singular Noun of the fem. gender, not, as might be thought, the Plural of mac. So laochruidh, madraidh, &c., may rather be considered as collective Nouns of the singular Number than as plurals. [115] The same termination having the same import, is found in the French words cavalerie, infanterie, and in the English cavalry, infantry, yeomanry. [116] In the Gaelic N. Test, the _Gentile_ Nouns [Greek: Korinthios, Galatai, Ephesioi], are rendered Corintianaich, Galatianaich, Ephesianaich. Would it not be agreeable to the analogy of Gaelic derivation to write Corintich, Galataich, Ephesich, subjoining the Gaelic termination alone to the Primitive, rather than by introducing the syllable _an_, to form a Derivative of a mixed and redundant structure, partly vernacular, partly foreign? The word Samaritanaich, John iv. 40, is remarkably redundant, having no fewer than three _Gentile_ Terminations. From [Greek: Samareia] is formed, agreeably to the Greek mode of derivation, [Greek: Samareitai]. To this the Latins added their own termination, and wrote _Samaritani_; which the Irish lengthened out still further into Samaritanaich. The proper Gaelic derivation would be Samaraich, like Elamaich, Medich, Persich, &c. The Irish Galiléanach is, in the Scottish Translation 1796, properly changed into Galiléach, Acts v. 37. [117] The termination _ail_ is a contraction for amhuil _like_. In Irish this termination is generally written full, fearamhuil, geanamhuil, &c. From the Gaelic termination _ail_, is derived the Latin termination _alis_, fatalis, hospitalis, &c., whence the English _al_, final, conditional, &c. See page 33. Note 25. [118] Two or three exceptions from this rule occur; as the Plurals _dée gods_, mnai _women_, lai _days_. But these are so irregular in their form as well as spelling, that they ought rather to be rejected altogether, and their place supplied by the common Plurals diathan, mnathan, lathan or lathachan. [119] As if we should write in English impious, impotent, without a hyphen; but im-penitent, im-probable, with a hyphen. [120] O beautiful ringlet. [121] The above is the passage so often referred to in the controversy concerning the antiquity of Ossian's Poems. It was natural enough for the zealous Bishop to speak disparagingly of anything which appeared to him to divert the minds of the people from those important religious truths to which he piously wished to direct their most serious attention. But whatever may be thought of his judgment, his testimony is decisive as to the existence of traditional histories concerning Fingal and his people; and proves that the rehearsal of those compositions was a common and favourite entertainment with the people throughout the Highlands at the time when he lived. [122] _i.e._, the Hebrides. * * * * * Corrections made to printed original. page 17, "slat a rod": 'flat ...' in original. page 31, "dligheach lawful,": 'dlighecah' in original. page 34, "beo and ail": 'and and' over line break in original. page 48, "iasg m. _fish_, g. s. eisg;": 'g. s. eifg' in original. page 50, "n. p. and g. p. 'leabraichean'--When the nominative plural is twofold, the genitive is so too; as 'fear' n. a man," these two line missing in the 1892 edition are re-instated from that of 1812. ibid, "rather than phairiseachaibh": 'phairseachaibh' in original (1812 edition: phairlseachaibh). page 53, "mathair f. a mother, g. s. mathar": 'g. s. mathair' in original. page 60, "300 Tri cheud fear.": '309' in original. page 61, "120 Am ficheadamh fear thar cheud.": '200' in original. page 69, "3 Do bhuail e": 'bhuall' in original. page 89, "The Future marks future time": 'makes future time' in original (1812 edition: marks). page 90, "bha mi ag bualadh an dé": 'buailadh' in original. page 116, "Tar, Thar, over, across.": 'accross' in original. page 134, "Bheil fhios, 'l fhios": ''l fhois' in original (1812 edition: fhios). page 145, "D. A', 'n Chlarsaich fhonnmhoir": 'fhonnoir' in original, there is no explanation why the 'mh' should be dropped. page 146, "Perhaps a distinction ought to be made": 'ought to made' in original. page 162, "commonly put in the Comparative form": 'Comparitive' in original. page 176, "Aobhach": 'Aobhachh' in original. page 176, "Extract from Bishop Carsuel's Gaelic translation", etc: this appears in fact to be the Gaelic version of the following English section concerning the Poems of Ossian. Footnote 89: "placed over the last vowel": 'the the' on footnote break across two pages in original. Footnote 93: "an adjective or a personal pronoun": 'of' for 'or' in original (1812 edition: or) Footnote 102: "Gen. i. 1, 2. 'In the beginning ...'": 'Gen. i. 1, 5' in original. Footnote 107: "made up of a Noun and an Infinitive": 'Infinite' in original (1812 edition: Infinitive) Footnote 110: "improperly introduced in the Edition of 1796": 'properly' in original (1812 edition: improperly) 
11168	----	IRISH TEXTS SOCIETY. "COMANN NA SGRIBEANN GAEDILGE." Vol. XVI. [1914.] LIFE OF ST. DECLAN OF ARDMORE, (Edited from MS. in Bibliotheque Royale, Brussels), and LIFE OF ST. MOCHUDA OF LISMORE, (Edited from MS. in the Library of Royal Irish Academy), With Introduction, Translation, and Notes, by Rev. P. Power, M.R.I.A., University College, Cork. 1914. CONTENTS. Preface Introduction - General - St. Declan - St. Mochuda - Map of Ireland Life of Declan Life of Mochuda [Transcriber's Note] PREFACE. It is solely the historical aspect and worth of the two tracts herewith presented that appealed to their edition and first suggested to him their preparation and publication. Had preparation in question depended for its motive merely on considerations of the texts' philologic interest or value it would, to speak frankly, never have been undertaken. The editor, who disclaims qualification as a philologist, regards these Lives as very valuable historical material, publication of which may serve to light up some dark corners of our Celtic ecclesiastical past. He is egotist enough to hope that the present "blazing of the track," inadequate and feeble though it be, may induce other and better equipped explorers to follow. The present editor was studying the Life of Declan for quite another purpose when, some years since, the zealous Hon. Secretary of the Irish Texts Society suggested to him publication of the tract in its present form, and addition of the Life of Carthach [Mochuda]. Whatever credit therefore is due to originating this work is Miss Hull's, and hers alone. The editor's best thanks are due, and are hereby most gratefully tendered, to Rev. M. Sheehan, D.D., D.Ph., Rev. Paul Walsh, Rev. J. MacErlhean, S.J., M.A., as well as to Mr. R. O'Foley, who, at much expense of time and labour, have carefully read the proofs, and, with unselfish prodigality of their scholarly resources, have made many valuable suggestions and corrections. P.P. INTRODUCTION. I.--GENERAL. A most distinctive class of ancient Irish literature, and probably the class that is least popularly familiar, is the hagiographical. It is, the present writer ventures to submit, as valuable as it is distinctive and as well worthy of study as it is neglected. While annals, tales and poetry have found editors the Lives of Irish Saints have remained largely a mine unworked. Into the causes of this strange neglect it is not the purpose of the present introduction to enter. Suffice it to glance in passing at one of the reasons which has been alleged in explanation, scil.:--that the "Lives" are uncritical and romantic, that they abound in wild legends, chronological impossibilities and all sorts of incredible stories, and, finally, that miracles are multiplied till the miraculous becomes the ordinary, and that marvels are magnified till the narrative borders on the ludicrous. The Saint as he is sketched is sometimes a positively repulsive being--arrogant, venomous, and cruel; he demands two eyes or more for one, and, pucklike, fairly revels in mischief! As painted he is in fact more a pagan deity than a Christian man. The foregoing charges may, or must, be admitted partially or in full, but such admission implies no denial of the historical value of the Lives. All archaic literature, be it remembered, is in a greater or less degree uncritical, and it must be read in the light of the writer's times and surroundings. That imagination should sometimes run riot and the pen be carried beyond the boundary line of the strictly literal is perhaps nothing much to be marvelled at in the case of the supernatural minded Celt with religion for his theme. Did the scribe believe what he wrote when he recounted the multiplied marvels of his holy patron's life? Doubtless he did--and why not! To the unsophisticated monastic and mediaeval mind, as to the mind of primitive man, the marvellous and supernatural is almost as real and near as the commonplace and natural. If anyone doubts this let him study the mind of the modern Irish peasant; let him get beneath its surface and inside its guardian ring of shrinking reserve; there he will find the same material exactly as composed the mind of the tenth century biographers of Declan and Mochuda. Dreamers and visionaries were of as frequent occurrence in Erin of ages ago as they are to-day. Then as now the supernatural and marvellous had a wondrous fascination for the Celtic mind. Sometimes the attraction becomes so strong as seemingly to overbalance the faculty of distinguishing fact from fancy. Of St. Bridget we are gravely told that to dry her wet cloak she hung in out on a sunbeam! Another Saint sailed away to a foreign land on a sod from his native hillside! More than once we find a flagstone turned into a raft to bear a missionary band beyond the seas! St. Fursey exchanged diseases with his friend Magnentius, and, stranger still, the exchange was arranged and effected by correspondence! To the saints moreover are ascribed lives of incredible duration--to Mochta, Ibar, Seachnal, and Brendan, for instance, three hundred years each; St. Mochaemog is credited with a life of four hundred and thirteen years, and so on! Clan, or tribe, rivalry was doubtless one of the things which made for the invention and multiplication of miracles. If the patron of the Decies is credited with a miracle, the tribesmen of Ossory must go one better and attribute to their tribal saint a marvel more striking still. The hagiographers of Decies retort for their patron by a claim of yet another miracle and so on. It is to be feared too that occasionally a less worthy motive than tribal honour prompted the imagination of our Irish hagiographers--the desire to exploit the saint and his honour for worldly gain. The "Lives" of the Irish Saints contain an immense quantity of material of first rate importance for the historian of the Celtic church. Underneath the later concoction of fable is a solid substratum of fact which no serious student can ignore. Even where the narrative is otherwise plainly myth or fiction it sheds many a useful sidelight on ancient manners, customs and laws as well as on the curious and often intricate operations of the Celtic mind. By "Lives" are here meant the old MS. biographies which have come down to us from ages before the invention of printing. Sometimes these "Lives" are styled "Acts." Generally we have only one standard "Life" of a saint and of this there are usually several copies, scattered in various libraries and collections. Occasionally a second Life is found differing essentially from the first, but, as a rule, the different copies are only recensions of a single original. Some of the MSS. are parchment but the majority are in paper; some Lives again are merely fragments and no doubt scores if not hundreds of others have been entirely lost. Of many hundreds of our Irish saints we have only the meagre details supplied by the martyrologies, with perhaps occasional reference to them in the Lives of other saints. Again, finally, the memory of hundreds and hundreds of saints additional survives only in place names or is entirely lost. There still survive probably over a hundred "Lives"--possibly one hundred and fifty; this, however, does not imply that therefore we have Lives of one hundred or one hundred and fifty saints, for many of the saints whose Acts survive have really two sets of the latter--one in Latin and the other in Irish; moreover, of a few of the Latin Lives and of a larger number of the Irish Lives we have two or more recensions. There are, for instance, three independent Lives of St. Mochuda and one of these is in two recensions. The surviving Lives naturally divide themselves into two great classes--the Latin Lives and the Irish,--written in Latin and Irish respectively. We have a Latin Life only of some saints, and Irish Life only of others, and of others again we have a Latin Life and an Irish. It may be necessary to add the Acts which have been translated into Latin by Colgan or the Bollandists do not of course rank as Latin Lives. Whether the Latin Lives proper are free translations of the Irish Lives or the Irish Lives translations of Latin originals remains still, to a large extent, an open question. Plummer ("Vitae SSm. Hib.," Introd.) seems to favour the Latin Lives as the originals. His reasoning here however leaves one rather unconvinced. This is not the place to go into the matter at length, but a new bit of evidence which makes against the theory of Latin originals may be quoted; it is furnished by the well known collection of Latin Lives known as the Codex Salmanticensis, to which are appended brief marginal notes in mixed middle Irish and Latin. One such note to the Life of St. Cuangus of Lismore (recte Liathmore) requests a prayer for him who has translated the Life out of the Irish into Latin. If one of the Lives, and this a typical or characteristic Life, be a translation, we may perhaps assume that the others, or most of them, are translations also. In any case we may assume as certain that there were original Irish materials or data from which the formal Lives (Irish or Latin) were compiled. The Latin Lives are contained mainly in four great collections. The first and probably the most important of these is in the Royal Library at Brussels, included chiefly in a large MS. known as 'Codex Salmanticensis' from the fact that it belonged in the seventeenth century to the Irish College of Salamanca. The second collection is in Marsh's Library, Dublin, and the third in Trinity College Library. The two latter may for practical purposes be regarded as one, for they are sister MSS.--copied from the same original. The Marsh's Library collection is almost certainly, teste Plummer, the document referred to by Colgan as Codex Kilkenniensis and it is quite certainly the Codex Ardmachanus of Fleming. The fourth collection (or the third, if we take as one the two last mentioned,) is in the Bodleian at Oxford amongst what are known as the Rawlinson MSS. Of minor importance, for one reason or another, are the collections of the Franciscan Library, Merchants' Quay, Dublin, and in Maynooth College respectively. The first of the enumerated collections was published 'in extenso,' about twenty-five years since, by the Marquis of Bute, while recently the gist of all the Latin collections has been edited with rare scholarship by Rev. Charles Plummer of Oxford. Incidentally may be noted the one defect in Mr. Plummer's great work--its author's almost irritating insistence on pagan origins, nature myths, and heathen survivals. Besides the Marquis of Bute and Plummer, Colgan and the Bollandists have published some Latin Lives, and a few isolated "Lives" have been published from time to time by other more or less competent editors. The Irish Lives, though more numerous than the Latin, are less accessible. The chief repertorium of the former is the Burgundian or Royal Library, Brussels. The MS. collection at Brussels appears to have originally belonged to the Irish Franciscans of Louvain and much of it is in the well-known handwriting of Michael O'Clery. There are also several collections of Irish Lives in Ireland--in the Royal Irish Academy, for instance, and Trinity College Libraries. Finally, there are a few Irish Lives at Oxford and Cambridge, in the British Museum, Marsh's Library, &c., and in addition there are many Lives in private hands. In this connection it can be no harm, and may do some good, to note that an apparently brisk, if unpatriotic, trade in Irish MSS. (including of course "Lives" of Saints) is carried on with the United States. Wealthy, often ignorant, Irish-Americans, who are unable to read them, are making collections of Irish MSS. and rare Irish books, to Ireland's loss. Some Irish MSS. too, including Lives of Saints, have been carried away as mementoes of the old land by departing emigrants. The date or period at which the Lives (Latin and Irish) were written is manifestly, for half a dozen good reasons, a question of the utmost importance to the student of the subject. Alas, that the question has to some extent successfully defied quite satisfactory solution. We can, so far, only conjecture--though the probabilities seem strong and the grounds solid. The probabilities are that the Latin Lives date as a rule from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, when they were put into something like their present form for reading (perhaps in the refectory) in the great religious houses. They were copied and re-copied during the succeeding centuries and the scribes according to their knowledge, devotion or caprice made various additions, subtractions and occasional multiplications. The Irish Lives are almost certainly of a somewhat earlier date than the Latin and are based partly (i.e. as regards the bulk of the miracles) on local tradition, and partly (i.e. as regards the purely historical element) on the authority of written materials. They too were, no doubt, copied and interpolated much as were the Latin Lives. The present copies of Irish Lives date as a rule from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries only, and the fact that the Latin and the Irish Life (where there is this double biography) sometimes agree very perfectly may indicate that the Latin translation or Life is very late. The chief published collections of Irish Saints' Lives may be set down as seven, scil.:--five in Latin and one each in Irish and English. The Latin collections are the Bollandists', Colgan's, Messingham's, Fleming's, and Plummer's; the Irish collection is Stokes' ("Lives of Saints from the Book of Lismore") and the English is of course O'Hanlon's. Most striking, probably, of the characteristics of the "Lives" is their very evident effort to exalt and glorify the saint at any cost. With this end of glorification in view the hagiographer is prepared to swallow everything and record anything. He has, in fact, no critical sense and possibly he would regard possession of such a sense as rather an evil thing and use of it as irreverent. He does not, as a consequence, succeed in presenting us with a very life-like or convincing portrait of either the man or the saint. Indeed the saint, as drawn in the Lives, is, as already hinted, a very unsaintlike individual--almost as ready to curse as to pray and certainly very much more likely to smite the aggressor than to present to him the other cheek. In the text we shall see St. Mochuda, whose Life is a specially sane piece of work, cursing on the same occasion, first, King Blathmac and the Prince of Cluain, then, the rich man Cronan who sympathised with the eviction, next an individual named Dubhsulach who winked insolently at him, and finally the people of St. Columba's holy city of Durrow who had stirred up hostile feeling against him. Even gentle female saints can hurl an imprecation too. St. Laisrech, for instance, condemned the lands of those who refused her tribute, to--nettles, elder shrub, and corncrakes! It is pretty plain that the compilers of the lives had some prerogatives, claims or rights to uphold--hence this frequent insistence on the evil of resisting the Saint and presumably his successors. One characteristic of the Irish ascetics appears very clear through all the exaggeration and all the biographical absurdity; it is their spirit of intense mortification. To understand this we have only to study one of the ancient Irish Monastic Rules or one of the Irish Penitentials as edited by D'Achery ("Spicilegium") or Wasserschleben ("Irische Kanonensamerlung"). Severest fasting, unquestioning obedience and perpetual self renunciation were inculcated by the Rules and we have ample evidence that they were observed with extraordinary fidelity. The Rule of Maelruin absolutely forbade the use of meat or of beer. Such a prohibition a thousand years ago was an immensely more grievous thing than it would sound to-day. Wheaten bread might partially supply the place of meat to-day, but meat was easier to procure than bread in the eighth century. Again, a thousand years ago, tea or coffee there was none and even milk was often difficult or impossible to procure in winter. So severe in fact was the fast that religious sometimes died of it. Bread and water being found insufficient to sustain life and health, gruel was substituted in some monasteries and of this monastic gruel there were three varieties:--(a) "gruel upon water" in which the liquid was so thick that the meal reached the surface, (b) "gruel between two waters" in which the meal, while it did not rise to the surface, did not quite fall to the bottom, and (c) "gruel under water" which was so weak and so badly boiled that he meal easily fell to the bottom. In the case of penitents the first brand of gruel was prescribed for light offences, the second kind for sins of ordinary gravity, and the "gruel under water" for extraordinary crimes (vid. Messrs. Gwynne and Purton on the Rule of Maelruin, &c.) The most implicit, exact and prompt obedience was prescribed and observed. An overseer of Mochuda's monastery at Rahen had occasion to order by name a young monk called Colman to do something which involved his wading into a river. Instantly a dozen Colmans plunged into the water. Instances of extraordinary penance abound, beside which the austerities of Simon Stylites almost pale. The Irish saints' love of solitude was also a very marked characteristic. Desert places and solitary islands of the ocean possessed an apparently wonderful fascination for them. The more inaccessible or forbidding the island the more it was in request as a penitential retreat. There is hardly one of the hundred islands around the Irish coast which, one time or another, did not harbour some saint or solitary upon its rocky bosom. The testimony of the "Lives" to the saints' love and practice of prayer is borne out by the evidence of more trustworthy documents. Besides private prayers, the whole psalter seems to have been recited each day, in three parts of fifty psalms each. In addition, an immense number of Pater Nosters was prescribed. The office and prayers were generally pretty liberally interspersed with genuflexions or prostrations, of which a certain anchorite performed as many as seven hundred daily. Another penitential action which accompanied prayer was the 'cros-figul.' This was an extension of the arms in the shape of a cross; if anyone wants to know how difficult a practice this is let him try it for, say, fifteen minutes. Regarding recitation of the Divine Office it was of counsel, and probably of precept, that is should not be from memory merely, but that the psalms should all be read. For this a good reason was given by Maelruin, i.e. that the recitation might engage the eye as well as the tongue and thought. An Irish homily refers to the mortification of the saints and religious of the time as martyrdom, of which it distinguishes three kinds--red, white, and blue. Red martyrdom was death for the faith; white martyrdom was the discipline of fasting, labour and bodily austerities; while blue martyrdom was abnegation of the will and heartfelt sorrow for sin. One of the puzzles of Irish hagiology is the great age attributed to certain saints--periods of two hundred, three hundred, and even four hundred years. Did the original compilers of the Life intend this? Whatever the full explanation be the writers of the Lives were clearly animated by a desire to make their saint cotemporary and, if possible, a disciple, of one or other of the great monastic founders, or at any rate to prove him a pupil of one of the great schools of Erin. There was special anxiety to connect the saint with Bangor or Clonard. To effect the connection in question it was sometimes necessary to carry the life backwards, at other times to carry it forwards, and occasionally to lengthen it both backwards and forwards. Dr. Chas. O'Connor gives a not very convincing explanation of the three-hundred-year "Lives," scil.:--that the saint lived in three centuries--during the whole of one century and in the end and beginning respectively of the preceding and succeeding centuries. This explanation, even if satisfactory for the three-hundred-year Lives, would not help at all towards the Lives of four hundred years. A common explanation is that the scribe mistook numerals in the MS. before him and wrote the wrong figures. There is no doubt that copying is a fruitful source of error as regards numerals. It is much more easy to make a mistake in a numeral than in a letter; the context will enable one to correct the letter, while it will give him no clue as regards a numeral. On the subject of the alleged longevity of Irish Saints Anscombe has recently been elaborating in 'Eriu' a new and very ingenious theory. Somewhat unfortunately the author happens to be a rather frequent propounder of ingenious theories. His explanation is briefly--the use and confusion of different systems of chronology. He alleges that the original writers used what is called the Diocletian Era or the "Era of the Martyrs" as the 'terminus a quo' of their chronological system and, in support of his position, he adduces the fact that this, which was the most ancient of all ecclesiastical eras, was the era used by the schismatics in Britain and that it was introduced by St. Patrick. As against the contradiction, anachronisms and extravagances of the Lives we have to put the fact that generally speaking the latter corroborate one another, and that they receive extern corroboration from the annals. Such disagreements as occur are only what one would expect to find in documents dealing with times so remote. To the credit side too must go the fact that references to Celtic geography and to local history are all as a rule accurate. Of continental geography and history however the writers of the Lives show much ignorance, but scarcely quite as much as the corresponding ignorance shown by Continental writers about Ireland. The missionary methods of the early Irish Church and its monastic or semi-monastic system are frequently referred to as peculiar, if not unique. A missionary system more or less similar must however have prevailed generally in that age. What other system could have been nearly as successful amongst a pagan people circumstanced as the Irish were? The community system alone afforded the necessary mutual encouragement and protection to the missionaries. Each monastic station became a base of operations. The numerous diminutive dioceses, quasi-dioceses, or tribal churches, were little more than extensive parishes and the missionary bishops were little more in jurisdiction than glorified parish priests. The bishop's 'muintir,' that is the members of his household, were his assistant clergy. Having converted the chieftain or head of the tribe the missionary had but to instruct and baptise the tribesmen and to erect churches for them. Land and materials for the church were provided by the Clan or the Clan's head, and lands for support of the missioner or of the missionary community were allotted just as they had been previously allotted to the pagan priesthood; in fact there can be but little doubt that the lands of the pagan priests became in many cases the endowment of the Christian establishment. It is not necessary, by the way, to assume that the Church in Ireland as Patrick left it, was formally monastic. The clergy lived in community, it is true, but it was under a somewhat elastic rule, which was really rather a series of Christian and Religious counsels. A more formal monasticism had developed by the time of Mochuda; this was evidently influenced by the spread of St. Benedict's Rule, as Patrick's quasi-monasticism, nearly two centuries previously, had been influenced by Pachomius and St. Basil, through Lerins. The real peculiarity in Ireland was that when the community-missionary- system was no longer necessary it was not abandoned as in other lands but was rather developed and emphasised. II.--ST. DECLAN. "If thou hast the right, O Erin, to a champion of battle to aid thee thou hast the head of a hundred thousand, Declan of Ardmore." (Martyrology of Oengus). Five miles or less to the east of Youghal Harbour, on the southern Irish coast, a short, rocky and rather elevated promontory juts, with a south-easterly trend, into the ocean. Maps and admiralty charts call it Ram Head, but the real name is Ceann-a-Rama and popularly it is often styled Ardmore Head. The material of this inhospitable coast is a hard metamorphic schist which bids defiance to time and weather. Landwards the shore curves in clay cliffs to the north-east, leaving, between it and the iron headland beyond, a shallow exposed bay wherein many a proud ship has met her doom. Nestling at the north side of the headland and sheltered by the latter from Atlantic storms stands one of the most remarkable groups of ancient ecclesiastical remains in Ireland--all that has survived of St. Declan's holy city of Ardmore. This embraces a beautiful and perfect round tower, a singularly interesting ruined church commonly called the cathedral, the ruins of a second church beside a holy well, a primitive oratory, a couple of ogham inscribed pillar stones, &c., &c. No Irish saint perhaps has so strong a local hold as Declan or has left so abiding a popular memory. Nevertheless his period is one of the great disputed questions of early Irish history. According to the express testimony of his Life, corroborated by testimony of the Lives of SS. Ailbhe and Ciaran, he preceded St. Patrick in the Irish mission and was a co-temporary of the national apostle. Objection, exception or opposition to the theory of Declan's early period is based less on any inherent improbability in the theory itself than on contradictions and inconsistencies in the Life. Beyond any doubt the Life does actually contradict itself; it makes Declan a cotemporary of Patrick in the fifth century and a cotemporary likewise of St. David a century later. In any attempted solution of the difficulty involved it may be helpful to remember a special motive likely to animate a tribal histrographer, scil.:--the family relationship, if we may so call it, of the two saints; David was bishop of the Deisi colony in Wales as Declan was bishop of their kinsmen of southern Ireland. It was very probably part of the writer's purpose to call attention to the links of kindred which bound the separated Deisi; witness his allusion later to the alleged visit of Declan to his kinsmen of Bregia. Possibly there were several Declans, as there were scores of Colmans, Finians, &c., and hence perhaps the confusion and some of the apparent inconsistencies. There was certainly a second Declan, a disciple of St. Virgilius, to whom the latter committed care of a church in Austria where he died towards close of eighth century. Again we find mention of a St. Declan who was a foster son of Mogue of Ferns, and so on. It is too much, as Delehaye ("Legendes Hagiographiques") remarks, to expect the populace to distinguish between namesakes. Great men are so rare! Is it likely there should have lived two saints of the same name in the same country! The latest commentators on the question of St. Declan's period--and they happen to be amongst the most weighty--argue strongly in favour of the pre-Patrician mission (Cfr. Prof. Kuno Meyer, "Learning Ireland in the Fifth Century"). Discussing the way in which letters first reached our distant island of the west and the causes which led to the proficiency of sixth-century Ireland in classical learning Zimmer and Meyer contend that the seeds of that literary culture, which flourished in Ireland of the sixth century, had been sown therein in the first and second decades of the preceding century by Gaulish scholars who had fled from their own country owing to invasion of the latter by Goths and other barbarians. The fact that these scholars, who were mostly Christians, sought asylum in Ireland indicates that Christianity had already penetrated thither, or at any rate that it was known and tolerated there. Dr. Meyer answers the objection that if so large and so important an invasion of scholars took place we ought have some reference to the fact in the Irish annals. The annals, he replies, are of local origin and they rarely refer in their oldest parts to national events: moreover they are very meagre in their information about the fifth century. One Irish reference to the Gaulish scholars is, however, adduced in corroboration; it occurs in that well known passage in St. Patrick's "Confessio" where the saint cries out against certain "rhetoricians" in Ireland who were hostile to him and pagan,--"You rhetoricians who do not know the Lord, hear and search Who it was that called me up, fool though I be, from the midst of those who think themselves wise and skilled in the law and mighty orators and powerful in everything." Who were these "rhetorici" that have made this passage so difficult for commentators and have caused so various constructions to be put upon it? It is clear, the professor maintains, that the reference is to pagan rhetors from Gaul whose arrogant presumption, founded on their learning, made them regard with disdain the comparatively illiterate apostle of the Scots. Everyone is familiar with the classic passage of Tacitus wherein he alludes to the harbours of Ireland as being more familiar to continental mariners than those of Britain. We have references moreover to refugee Christians who fled to Ireland from the persecutions of Diocletian more than a century before St. Patrick's day; in addition it is abundantly evident that many Irishmen--Christians like Celestius the lieutenant of Pelagius, and possibly Pelagius himself, amongst them--had risen to distinction or notoriety abroad before middle of the fifth century. Possibly the best way to present the question of Declan's age is to put in tabulated form the arguments of the pre-Patrician advocates against the counter contentions of those who claim that Declan's period is later than Patrick's:-- For the Pre-Patrician Mission. I.--Positive statement of Life, corroborated by Lives of SS. Ciaran and Ailbhe. II.--Patrick's apparent avoidance of the Principality of Decies. III.--The peculiar Declan cult and the strong local hold which Declan has maintained. Against Theory of Early Fifth Century period. I.--Contradictions, anachronisms, &c., of Life. II.--Lack of allusion to Declan in the Lives of St. Patrick. III.--Prosper's testimony to the mission of Palladius as first bishop to the believing Scots. IV.--Alleged motives for later invention of Pre-Patrician story. In this matter and at this hour it is hardly worth appealing to the authority of Lanigan and the scholars of the past. Much evidence not available in Lanigan's day is now at the service of scholars. We are to look rather at the reasoning of Colgan, Ussher, and Lanigan than to the mere weight of their names. Referring in order to our tabulated grounds of argument, pro and con, and taking the pro arguments first, we may (I.) discard as evidence for our purpose the Life of St. Ibar which is very fragmentary and otherwise a rather unsatisfactory document. The Lives of Ailbhe, Ciaran, and Declan are however mutually corroborative and consistent. The Roman visit and the alleged tutelage under Hilarius are probably embellishments; they look like inventions to explain something and they may contain more than a kernel of truth. At any rate they are matters requiring further investigation and elucidation. In this connection it may be useful to recall that the Life (Latin) of St. Ciaran has been attributed by Colgan to Evinus the disciple and panegyrist of St. Patrick. Patrick's apparent neglect of the Decies (II.) may have no special significance. At best it is but negative evidence: taken, however, in connection with (I.) and its consectaria it is suggestive. We can hardly help speculating why the apostle--passing as it were by its front door--should have given the go-bye to a region so important as the Munster Decies. Perhaps he sent preachers into it; perhaps there was no special necessity for a formal mission, as the faith had already found entrance. It is a little noteworthy too that we do not find St. Patrick's name surviving in any ecclesiastical connection with the Decies, if we except Patrick's Well, near Clonmel, and this Well is within a mile or so of the territorial frontier. Moreover the southern portion of the present Tipperary County had been ceded by Aengus to the Deisi, only just previous to Patrick's advent, and had hardly yet had sufficient time to become absorbed. The whole story of Declan's alleged relations with Patrick undoubtedly suggests some irregularity in Declan's mission--an irregularity which was capable of rectification through Patrick and which de facto was finally so rectified. (III.) No one in Eastern Munster requires to be told how strong is the cult of St. Declan throughout Decies and the adjacent territory. It is hardly too much to say that the Declan tradition in Waterford and Cork is a spiritual actuality, extraordinary and unique, even in a land which till recently paid special popular honour to its local saints. In traditional popular regard Declan in the Decies has ever stood first, foremost, and pioneer. Carthage, founder of the tribal see, has held and holds in the imagination of the people only a secondary place. Declan, whencesoever or whenever he came, is regarded as the spiritual father to whom the Deisi owe the gift of faith. How far this tradition and the implied belief in Declan's priority and independent mission are derived from circulation of the "Life" throughout Munster in the last few centuries it is difficult to gauge, but the tradition seems to have flourished as vigorously in the days of Colgan as it does to-day. Declan's "pattern" at Ardmore continues to be still the most noted celebration of its kind in Ireland. A few years ago it was participated in by as many as fourteen thousand people from all parts of Waterford, Cork, and Tipperary. The scenes and ceremonies have been so frequently described that it is not necessary to recount them here--suffice it to say that the devotional practices and, in fact, the whole celebration is of a purely popular character receiving no approbation, and but bare toleration, from church or clergy. Even to the present day Declan's name is borne as their praenomen by hundreds of Waterford men, and, before introduction of the modern practice of christening with foolish foreign names, its use was far more common, as the ancient baptismal registers of Ardmore, Old Parish, and Clashmore attest. On the other hand Declan's name is associated with comparatively few places in the Decies. Of these the best known is Relig Deaglain, a disused graveyard and early church site on the townland of Drumroe, near Cappoquin. There was also an ancient church called Killdeglain, near Stradbally. Against the theory of the pre-Patrician or citra-Patrician mission we have first the objection, which really has no weight, and which we shall not stop to discuss, that it is impossible for Christianity at that early date to have found its way to this distant island, beyond the boundary of the world. An argument on a different plane is (I.), the undoubtedly contradictory and inconsistent character of the Life. It is easy however to exaggerate the importance of this point. Modern critical methods were undreamed of in the days of our hagiographer, who wrote, moreover, for edification only in a credulous age. Most of the historical documents of the period are in a greater or less degree uncritical but that does not discredit their testimony however much it may confuse their editors. It can be urged moreover that two mutually incompatible genealogies of the saint are given. The genealogy given by MacFirbisigh seems in fact to disagree in almost every possible detail with the genealogy in 23 M. 50 R.I.A. That however is like an argument that Declan never existed. It really suggests and almost postulates the existence of a second Declan whose Acts and those of our Declan have become mutually confused. (II.) Absence of Declan's name from the Acts of Patrick is a negative argument. It is explicable perhaps by the supposed irregularity of Declan's preaching. Declan was certainly earlier than Mochuda and yet there is no reference to him in the Life of the latter saint. Ailbhe however is referred to in the Tripartite Life of Patrick and the cases of Ailbhe and Declan are "a pari"; the two saints stand or fall together. (IV.) Motives for invention of the pre-Patrician myth are alleged, scil.:--to rebut certain claims to jurisdiction, tribute or visitation advanced by Armagh in after ages. It is hard to see however how resistance to the claims in question could be better justified on the theory of a pre-Patrician Declan, who admittedly acknowledged Patrick's supremacy, than on the admission of a post-Patrician mission. That in Declan we have to deal with a very early Christian teacher of the Decies there can be no doubt. If not anterior to Patrick he must have been the latter's cotemporary. Declan however had failed to convert the chieftain of his race and for this--reading between the lines of the "Life"--we seem to hear Patrick blaming him. The monuments proper of Declan remaining at Ardmore are (a) his oratory near the Cathedral and Round Tower in the graveyard, (b) his stone on the beach, (c) his well on the cliff, and (d) another stone said to have been found in his tomb and preserved at Ardmore for long ages with great reveration. The "Life" refers moreover to the saint's pastoral staff and his bell but these have disappeared for centuries. The "Oratory" is simply a primitive church of the usual sixth century type: it stands 13' 4" x 8' 9" in the clear, and has, or had, the usual high-pitched gables and square-headed west doorway with inclining jambs. Another characteristic feature of the early oratory is seen in the curious antae or prolongation of the side walls. Locally the little building is known as the "beannacan," in allusion, most likely, to its high gables or the finials which once, no doubt, in Irish fashion, adorned its roof. Though somewhat later than Declan's time this primitive building is very intimately connected with the Saint. Popularly it is supposed to be his grave and within it is a hollow space scooped out, wherein it is said his ashes once reposed. It is highly probable that tradition is quite correct as to the saint's grave, over which the little church was erected in the century following Declan's death. The oratory was furnished with a roof of slate by Bishop Mills in 1716. "St. Declan's Stone" is a glacial boulder of very hard conglomerate which lies on a rocky ledge of beach beneath the village of Ardmore. It measures some 8' 6" x 4' 6" x 4' 0" and reposes upon two slightly jutting points of the underlying metamorphic rock. Wonderful virtues are attributed to St. Declan's Stone, which, on the occasion of the patronal feast, is visited by hundreds of devotees who, to participate in its healing efficacy and beneficence, crawl laboriously on face and hands through the narrow space between the boulder and the underlying rock. Near by, at foot of a new storm-wall, are two similar but somewhat smaller boulders which, like their venerated and more famous neighbour, were all wrenched originally by a glacier from their home in the Comeragh Mountains twenty miles away. "St. Declan's Well," beside some remains of a rather large and apparently twelfth century church on the cliff, in the townland of Dysert is diverted into a shallow basin in which pilgrims bathe feet and hands. Set in some comparatively modern masonry over the well are a carved crucifixion and other figures of apparently late mediaeval character. Some malicious interference with this well led, nearly a hundred years since, to much popular indignation and excitement. The second "St. Declan's Stone" was a small, cross-inscribed jet-black piece of slate or marble, approximately--2" or 3" x 1 1/2". Formerly it seems to have had a small silver cross inset and was in great demand locally as an amulet for cattle curing. It disappeared however, some fifty years or so since, but very probably it could still be recovered in Dungarvan. Far the most striking of all the monuments at Ardmore is, of course, the Round Tower which, in an excellent state of preservation, stands with its conical cap of stone nearly a hundred feet high. Two remarkable, if not unique, features of the tower are the series of sculptured corbels which project between the floors on the inside, and the four projecting belts or zones of masonry which divide the tower into storeys externally. The tower's architectural anomalies are paralleled by its history which is correspondingly unique: it stood a regular siege in 1642, when ordnance was brought to bear on it and it was defended by forty confederates against the English under Lords Dungarvan and Broghil. A few yards to north of the Round Tower stands "The Cathedral" illustrating almost every phase of ecclesiastical architecture which flourished in Ireland from St. Patrick to the Reformation--Cyclopean, Celtic-Romanesque, Transitional and Pointed. The chancel arch is possibly the most remarkable and beautiful illustration of the Transitional that we have. An extraordinary feature of the church is the wonderful series of Celtic arcades and panels filled with archaic sculptures in relief which occupy the whole external face of the west gable. St. Declan's foundation at Ardmore seems (teste Moran's Archdall) to have been one of the Irish religious houses which accepted the reform of Pope Innocent at the Lateran Council and to have transformed itself into a Regular Canonry. It would however be possible to hold, on the evidence, that it degenerated into a mere parochial church. We hear indeed of two or three episcopal successors of the saint, scil.:--Ultan who immediately followed him, Eugene who witnessed a charter to the abbey of Cork in 1174, and Moelettrim O Duibhe-rathre who died in 1303 after he had, according to the annals of Inisfallen, "erected and finished the Church" of Ardmore. The "Wars of the Gaedhil and Gall" have reference, circa 824 or 825, to plunder by the Northmen of Disert Tipraite which is almost certainly the church of Dysert by the Holy Well at Ardmore. The same fleet, on the same expedition, plundered Dunderrow (near Kinsale), Inisshannon (Bandon River), Lismore, and Kilmolash. Regarding the age of our "Life" it is difficult with the data at hand to say anything very definite. While dogmatism however is dangerous indefiniteness is unsatisfying. True, we cannot trace the genealogy of the present version beyond middle of the sixteenth century, but its references to ancient monuments existing at date of its compilation show it to be many centuries older. Its language proves little or nothing, for, being a popular work, it would be modernised to date by each successive scribe. Colgan was of opinion it was a composition of the eighth century. Ussher and Ware, who had the Life in very ancient codices, also thought it of great antiquity. Papebrach, the Bollandist, on the other hand, considered the Life could not be older than the twelfth century, but this opinion of his seems to have been based on a misapprehension. In the absence of all diocesan colour or allusion one feels constrained to assign the production to some period previous to Rathbreasail. We should not perhaps be far wrong in assigning the first collection of materials to somewhere in the eighth century or in the century succeeding. The very vigorous ecclesiastical revival of the eleventh century, at conclusion of the Danish wars, must have led to some revision of the country's religious literature. The introduction, a century and-a-half later, of the great religious orders most probably led to translation of the Life into Latin and its casting into shape for reading in refectory or choir. Only three surviving copies of the Irish Life are known to the writer: one in the Royal Library at Brussels, the second in the Royal Irish Academy Collection (M. 23, 50, pp. 109-120), and the third in possession of Professor Hyde. As the second and third enumerated are copies of one imperfect exemplar it has not been thought necessary to collate both with the Brussels MS. which has furnished the text here printed. M. 23, 50 (R.I.A.) has however been so collated and the marginal references initialled B are to that imperfect copy. The latter, by the way, is in the handwriting of John Murphy "na Raheenach," and is dated 1740. It has not been thought necessary to give more than the important variants. The present text is a reproduction of the Brussels MS. plus lengthening of contractions. As regards lengthening in question it is to be noted that the well known contraction for "ea" or "e" has been uniformly transliterated "e." Otherwise orthography of the MS. has been scrupulously followed--even where inconsistent or incorrect. For the division into paragraphs the editor is not responsible; he has merely followed the division originated, or adopted, by the scribe. The Life herewith presented was copied in 1629 by Brother Michael O'Clery of the Four Masters' staff from an older MS. of Eochy O'Heffernan's dated 1582. The MS. of O'Heffernan is referred to by our scribe as "seinleabar," but his reference is rather to the contents than to the copy. Apparently O'Clery did more than transcribe; he re-edited, as was his wont, into the literary Irish of his day. A page of the Brussels MS., reproduced in facsimile as a frontispiece to the present volume, will give the student a good idea of O'Clery's script and style. Occasional notes on Declan in the martyrologies and elsewhere give some further information about our saint. Unfortunately however the alleged facts are not always capable of reconciliation with statements of our "Life," and again the existence of a second, otherwise unknown, Declan is suggested. The introduction of rye is attributed to him in the Calendar of Oengus, as introduction of wheat is credited to St. Finan Camm, and introduction of bees to St. Modomnoc,--"It was the full of his shoe that Declan brought, the full of his shoe likewise Finan, but the full of his bell Modomnoc" (Cal. Oeng., April 7th). More puzzling is the note in the same Calendar which makes Declan a foster son of Mogue of Ferns! This entry illustrates the way in which errors originate. A former scribe inadvertently copied in, after Declan's name, portion of the entry immediately following which relates to Colman Hua Liathain. Successive scribes re-copied the error without discovering it and so it became stereotyped. III.--ST. MOCHUDA. "It was he (Mochuda) that had the famous congregation consisting of seven hundred and ten persons; an angel used to address every third man of them." (Martyrology of Donegal). In some respects the Life of Mochuda here presented is in sharp contrast to the corresponding Life of Declan. The former document is in all essentials a very sober historical narrative--accurate wherever we can test it, credible and harmonious on the whole. Philologically, to be sure, it is of little value,--certainly a much less valuable Life than Declan's; historically, however (and question of the pre-Patrician mission apart) it is immensely the more important document. On one point do we feel inclined to quarrel with its author, scil.: that he has not given us more specifically the motives underlying Mochuda's expulsion from Rahen--one of the three worst counsels ever given in Erin. Reading between his lines we spell, jealousy--'invidia religiosorum.' Another jealousy too is suggested--the mutual distrust of north and south which has been the canker-worm of Irish political life for fifteen hundred years, making intelligible if not justifying the indignation of a certain distinguished Irishman who wanted to know the man's name, in order to curse its owner, who first divided Ireland into two provinces. Three different Lives of Mochuda are known to the present writer. Two of them are contained in a MS. at Brussels (C/r. Bindon, p. 8, 13) and of one of these there is a copy in a MS. of Dineen's in the Royal Irish Academy (Stowe Collection, A. IV, I.) Dineen appears to have been a Cork or Kerry man and to have worked under the patronage of the rather noted Franciscan Father Francis Matthew (O'Mahony), who was put to death at Cork by Inchiquin in 1644. The bald text of Dineen's "Life" was published a few years since, without translation, in the 'Irish Rosary.' The corresponding Brussels copy is in Michael O'Clery's familiar hand. In it occurs the strange pagan-flavoured story of the British Monk Constantine. O'Clery's copy was made in January, 1627, at the Friary of Drouish from the Book of Tadhg O'Ceanan and it is immediately followed by a tract entitled--"Do Macaib Ua Suanac." The bell of Mochuda, by the way, which the saint rang against Blathmac, was called the 'glassan' of Hui Suanaig in later times. The "Life" here printed, which follows the Latin Life so closely that one seems a late translation of the other, is as far as the editor is aware, contained in a single MS. only. This is M. 23, 50, R.I.A., in the handwriting of John Murphy, "na Raheenach." Murphy was a Co. Cork schoolmaster, scribe, and poet, of whom a biographical sketch will be found prefixed by Mr. R. A. Foley to a collection of Murphy's poems that he has edited. The sobriquet, "na Raheenach," is really a kind of tribal designation. The "Life" is very full but is in its present form a comparatively late production; it was transcribed by Murphy between 1740 and 1750. It is much to be regretted that the scribe tells us nothing of his original. Murphy, but the way, seems to have specialised to some extent in saint's Lives and to have imbued his disciples with something of the same taste. One of his pupils was Maurice O'Connor, a scribe and shipwright of Cove, to whom we owe the Life of St. Ciaran of Saighir printed in "Silva Gadelica." The reasons of choice for publication here of the present Life are avowedly non-philological; the motive for preference is that it is the longest of the three Lives and for historical purposes the most important. The Life presents considerable evidence of historical reliability; its geography is detailed and correct; its references to contemporaries of Mochuda are accurate on the whole and there are few inconsistencies or none. Moreover it sheds some new light on that chronic puzzle--organisation of the Celtic Church of Ireland. Mochuda, head of a great monastery at Rahen, is likewise a kind of pluralist Parish Priest with a parish in Kerry, administered in his name by deputed ecclesiastics, and other parishes similarly administered in Kerrycurrihy, Rostellan, West Muskerry, and Spike Island, Co. Cork. When a chief parishioner lies seriously ill in distant Corca Duibhne, Mochuda himself comes all the way from the centre of Ireland to administer the last rites to the dying man, and so on. The relations of the people to the Church and its ministers are in many respects not at all easy to understand. Oblations, for instance, of themselves and their territory, &c., by chieftains are frequent. Oblations of monasteries are made in a similar way. Probably this signifies no more than that the chief region or monastery put itself under the saint's jurisdiction or rule or both. That there were other churches too than the purely monastic appears from offerings to Mochuda of already existing churches, v.g. from the Clanna Ruadhan in Decies, &c. Lismore, the most famous of Mochuda's foundations, became within a century of the saint's death, one of the great monastic schools of Erin, attracting to his halls, or rather to its boothies, students from all Ireland and even--so it is claimed--from lands beyond the seas. King Alfrid [Aldfrith] of Northumbria, for instance, is said to have partaken of Lismore's hospitality, and certainly Cormac of Cashel, Malachy and Celsus of Armagh and many others of the most distinguished of the Scots partook thereof. The roll of Lismore's calendared saints would require, did the matter fall within our immediate province, more than one page to itself. Some interesting reference to Mochuda and his holy city occur in the Life of one of his disciples, St. Colman Maic Luachain, edited for the R.I.A. by Professor Kuno Meyer. There are many indications in the present Life that, at one period, and in the time of Carthach, the western boundary of Decies extended far beyond the line at present recognised. Similar indications are furnished by the martyrologies, &c.; for instance, the martyrology of Donegal under November 28th records of "the three sons of Bochra" that "they are of Archadh Raithin in Ui Mic Caille in Deisi Mumhan" and Ibid, p. xxxvii, it is stated "i ccondae Corcaige ataid na Desi Muman." Not only Imokilly but all Co. Cork, east of Queenstown [Cobh] and north to the Blackwater, seems to have acknowledged Mochuda's jurisdiction. At Rathbreasail accordingly (teste Keating, on the authority of the Book of Cloneneigh) the Diocese of Lismore is made to extend to Cork,--probably over the present baronies of Imokilly, Kinatallon, and Barrymore. That part, at least, of Condons and Clangibbon was likewise included is inferrible from the fact that, as late as the sixteenth century visitations, Kilworth, founded by Colman Maic Luachain, ranked as a parish in the diocese of Lismore. Further evidence pointing in the same direction is furnished by Clondulane, &c., represented in the present Life as within Carthach's jurisdiction. The Rule of St. Carthach is one of the few ancient Irish so-called monastic Rules surviving. It is in reality less a "rule," as the latter is now understood, than a series of Christian and religious counsels drawn up by a spiritual master for his disciples. It must not be understood from this that each religious house did not have it formal regulations. The latter however seem to have depended largely upon the abbot's spirit, will or discretion. The existing "Rules" abound in allusions to forgotten practices and customs and, to add to their obscurity, their language is very difficult--sometimes, like the language of the Brehon Laws, unintelligible. The rule ascribed to Mochuda is certainly a document of great antiquity and may well have emanated from the seventh century and from the author whose name it bears. The tradition of Lismore and indeed of the Irish Church is constant in attributing it to him. Copies of the Rule are found in numerous MSS. but many of them are worthless owing to the incompetence of the scribes to whom the difficult Irish of the text was unintelligible. The text in the Leabhar Breac has been made the basis of his edition of the Rule by Mac Eaglaise, a writer in the 'Irish Ecclesiastical Record' (1910). Mac Eaglaise's edition, though it is not all that could be desired, is far the most satisfactory which has yet appeared. Previous editions of the Rule or part of it comprise one by Dr. Reeves in his tract on the Culdees, one by Kuno Meyer in the 'Gaelic Journal' (Vol. V.) and another in 'Archiv fuer C.L.' (3 Bund. 1905), and another again in 'Eriu' (Vol. 2, p. 172), besides a free translation of the whole rule by O'Curry in the 'I. R. Record' for 1864. The text of the 'Record' edition of 1910 is from Leabhar Breac collated with other MSS. The order in the various copies is not the same and some copies contain material which is wanting in others. The "Rule" commences with the Ten Commandments, then it enumerates the obligations respectively of bishops, abbots, priests, monks, and culdees [anchorites]. Finally there is a section on the order of meals and on the refectory and another on the obligations of a king. The following excerpt on the duties of an abbot ('I. E. Record' translation) will illustrate the style and spirit of the Rule: "Of the Abbot of a Church. 1.--If you be the head man of a Church noble is the power, better for you that you be just who take the heirship of the king. 2.--If you are the head man of a Church noble is the obligation, preservation of the rights of the Church from the small to the great. 3.--What Holy Church commands preach then with diligence; what you order to each one do it yourself. 4.--As you love your own soul love the souls of all. Yours the magnification of every good [and] banishment of every evil. 5.--Be not a candle under a bushel [Luke 11:33]. Your learning without a cloud over it. Yours the healing of every host both strong and weak. 6.--Yours to judge each one according to grade and according to deed; he will advise you at judgment before the king.... 10.--Yours to rebuke the foolish, to punish the hosts, turning disorder into order [restraint] of the stubborn, obstinate, wretched." Reservation of the Coarbship of Mochuda at Lismore in favour of Kerrymen is an extremely curious if not unique provision. How long it continued in force we do not know. Probably it endured to the twelfth century and possibly the rule was not of strict interpretation. Christian O'Connarchy, who was bishop of Lismore in the twelfth century, is regarded as a native of Decies, though the contrary is slightly suggested by his final retirement to Kerry. The alleged prophecy concerning Kerry men and the coarbship points to some rule, regulation or law of Mochuda. MAP OF IRELAND. +-------------------------------------------+ | | | __ __---_ | | ,-~~~ ~\/ ~\ | | ,_/ | | | /,_ / | | _ _/ ~\ | | /~~ ~\/~-_| / | | \ /~ | | \ _ _\/ | | ,' | | | /~ Tara \ | | \ * | | | '~|__- Rahen / | | .- ,/~ * \ | | | / | | / | | | /_,_/~ | | | / Cashel / | | ,--~ * | | | /--- Lismore __|_-_/ | | ,-~ *-,-~ | | \_-~/ \ /~ * | | ,-~/= _/~ Ardmore | | --~/_-_-/~'~ | | | +-------------------------------------------+ LIFE OF ST. DECLAN. "BETHA DECCLAIN." 1. The most blessed Bishop Declan of the most noble race of the kings of Ireland, i.e., the holy bishop who is called Declan was of the most noble royal family of Ireland--a family which held the sceptre and exacted tribute from all Ireland at Tara for ages. Declan was by birth of noble blood as will appear from his origin and genealogy, for it was from Eochaidh Feidhleach, the powerful Ardrigh of Ireland for twelve years, that he sprang. Eochaidh aforesaid, had three sons, scil.:--Breas, Nar, and Lothola, who are called the three Finneavna; there reigned one hundred and seven kings of their race and kindred before and after them, i.e. of the race of Eremon, king of Ireland,--before the introduction of Christianity and since. These three youths lay one day with their own sister Clothra, daughter of the same father, and she conceived of them. The son she brought forth as a consequence of that intercourse was marked by three red wavy lines which indicated his descent from the three youths aforesaid. He was named Lugaidh Sriabhdearg from the three lines [sriabaib] in question, and he was beautiful to behold and of greater bodily strength in infancy than is usual with children of his age. He commenced his reign as king of Ireland the year in which Caius Caesar [Caligula] died and he reigned for twenty-six years. His son was named Criomthan Nianair who reigned but sixteen years. Criomthan's son was named Fearadach Finnfechtnach whose son was Fiacha Finnolaidh whose son again was Tuathal Teachtmhar. This Tuathal had a son Felimidh Reachtmhar who had in turn three sons--Conn Ceadcathach, Eochaidh Finn, and Fiacha Suighde. Conn was king of Ireland for twenty years and the productiveness of crops and soil and of dairies in the time of Conn are worthy of commemoration and of fame to the end of time. Conn was killed in Magh Cobha by the Ulstermen, scil.:--by Tiopruid Tireach and it is principally his seed which has held the kingship of Ireland ever since. Eochaidh Finn was second son to Felimidh Reachtmhar and he migrated to the latter's province of Leinster, and it is in that province his race and progeny have remained since then. They are called Leinstermen, and there are many chieftains and powerful persons of them in Leinster. Fiacha Suighde moreover, although he died before he succeeded to the chief sovereignty, possessed land around Tara. He left three sons--Ross, Oengus, and Eoghan who were renowned for martial deeds--valiant and heroic in battle and in conflict. Of the three, Oengus excelled in all gallant deeds so that he came to be styled Oengus of the poisonous javelin. Cormac Mac Art Mac Conn it was who reigned in Ireland at this time. Cormac had a son named Ceallach who took by force the daughter of Eoghan Mac Fiacha Suighde to dwell with him, i.e. Credhe the daughter of Eoghan. When Oengus Gaebuaibhtheach ("of the poisonous javelin") heard this, viz., that the daughter of his brother had been abducted by Ceallach he was roused to fury and he followed Ceallach to Tara taking with him his foster child, scil.:--Corc Duibhne, the son of Cairbre, son of Conaire, son of Mogha Lamha whom Cormac held as a hostage from the Munstermen, and whom he had given for safe custody to Oengus. When Oengus reached Tara he beheld Ceallach sitting behind Cormac. He thrust his spear at Ceallach and pierced him through from front to back. However as he was withdrawing the spear the handle struck Cormac's eye and knocked it out and then, striking the steward, killed him. He himself (Oengus) with his foster child escaped safely. After a time Cormac, grieving for the loss of his son, his eye and his steward at the hands of Oengus of the poisonous javelin and of his kinsmen, ordered their expulsion from their tribal territory, i.e. from the Decies of Tara, and not alone from these, but from whole northern half of Ireland. However, seven battles were fought in which tremendous loss was inflicted on Cormac and his followers before Oengus and his people, i.e. the three sons of Fiacha Suighde, namely, Ross and Oengus and Eoghan, as we have already said, were eventually defeated, and obliged to fly the country and to suffer exile. Consequent on their banishment as above by the king of Ireland they sought hospitality from the king of Munster, Oilill Olum, because Sadhbh, daughter of Conn Ceadcathach was his wife. They got land from him, scil.: the Decies of Munster, and it is to that race, i.e. the race of Eoghan Mac Fiacha Suighde that the kings and country of the Decies belong ever since. 2. Of this same race of Eoghan was the holy bishop Declan of whom I shall speak later scil.: Declan son of Eirc, son of Trein, son of Lughaidh, son of Miaich, son of Brian, son of Eoghan, son of Art Corp, son of Moscorb, son of Mesgeadra, son of Measfore, son of Cuana Cainbhreathaigh, son of Conaire Cathbuadhaigh, son of Cairbre, son of Eoghan, son of Fiacha Suighde, son of Felimidh Reachtmhar, son of Tuathal Teachtmhar. The father of Declan was therefore Erc Mac Trein. He and his wife Deithin went on a visit to the house of his kinsman Dobhran about the time that Declan's birth was due. The child she bore was Declan, whom she brought forth without sickness, pain or difficulty but in being lifted up afterwards he struck his head against a great stone. Let it be mentioned that Declan showed proofs of sanctification and power of miracle-working in his mother's womb, as the prophet writes:--"De vulva sanctificavi te et prophetam in gentibus dedi te" [Jeremias 1:5] (Before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee and made thee a prophet unto the nations). Thus it is that Declan was sanctified in his mother's womb and was given by God as a prophet to the pagans for the conversion of multitudes of them from heathenism and the misery of unbelief to the worship of Christ and to the Catholic faith, as we shall see later on. The very soft apex of his head struck against a hard stone, as we have said, and where the head came in contact with the stone it made therein a hollow and cavity of its own form and shape, without injury of any kind to him. Great wonder thereupon seized all who witnessed this, for Ireland was at this time without the true faith and it was rarely that any one (therein) had shown heavenly Christian signs. "Declan's Rock" is the name of the stone with which the Saint's head came into contact. The water or rain which falls into the before-mentioned cavity (the place of Declan's head) dispels sickness and infirmity, by the grace of God, as proof of Declan's sanctity. 3. On the night of Declan's birth a wondrous sign was revealed to all, that is to the people who were in the neighbourhood of the birthplace; this was a ball of fire which was seen blazing on summit of the house in which the child lay, until it reached up to heaven and down again, and it was surrounded by a multitude of angels. It assumed the shape of a ladder such as the Patriarch, Jacob saw [Genesis 28:12]. The persons who saw and heard these things wondered at them. They did not know (for the true faith had not yet been preached to them or in this region) that it was God who (thus) manifested His wondrous power (works) in the infant, His chosen child. Upon the foregoing manifestation a certain true Christian, scil.:--Colman, at that time a priest and afterwards a holy bishop, came, rejoicing greatly and filled with the spirit of prophecy, to the place where Declan was; he preached the faith of Christ to the parents and made known to them that the child was full of the grace of God. He moreover revealed to them the height of glory and honour to which the infant should attain before God and men, and it was revealed to him that he (Declan) should spend his life in sanctity and devotion. Through the grace of God, these, i.e. Erc and Deithin, believed in God and Colman, and they delivered the child for baptism to Colman who baptised him thereupon, giving him the name of Declan. When, in the presence of all, he had administered Baptism, Colman spoke this prophecy concerning the infant "Truly, beloved child and lord you will be in heaven and on earth most high and holy, and your good deeds, fame, and sanctity will fill all (the four quarters of) Ireland and you will convert your own nation and the Decies from paganism to Christianity. On that account I bind myself to you by the tie of brotherhood and I commend myself to your sanctity." 4. Colman thereupon returned to his own abode; he commanded that Declan should be brought up with due care, that he should be well trained, and be set to study at the age of seven years if there could be found in his neighbourhood a competent Christian scholar to undertake his tuition. Even at the period of his baptism grace and surpassing charity manifested themselves in the countenance of Declan so that it was understood of all that great should be the goodness and the spiritual charm of his mature age. When Dobhran had heard and seen these things concerning his kinsman Erc he requested the latter and Deithin to give him the child to foster, and with this request Erc complied. The name of the locality was "Dobhran's Place" at that time, but since then it has been "Declan's Place." Dobhran presented the homestead to Declan and removed his own dwelling thence to another place. In after years, when Declan had become a bishop, he erected there a celebrated cell in honour of God, and this is the situation of the cell in question:--In the southern part of the Decies, on the east side of Magh Sgiath and not far from the city of Mochuda i.e. Lismore. For the space of seven years Declan was fostered with great care by Dobhran (his father's brother) and was much loved by him. God wrought many striking miracles through Declan's instrumentality during those years. By aid of the Holy Spirit dwelling in him he (Declan)--discreet Christian man that he was--avoided every fault and every unlawful desire during that time. 5. On the completion of seven years Declan was taken from his parents and friends and fosterers to be sent to study as Colman had ordained. It was to Dioma they sent him, a certain devout man perfect in the faith, who had come at that time by God's design into Ireland having spent a long period abroad in acquiring learning. He (Dioma) built in that place a small cell wherein he might instruct Declan and dwell himself. There was given him also, to instruct, together with Declan, another child, scil., Cairbre Mac Colmain, who became afterwards a holy learned bishop. Both these were for a considerable period pursuing their studies together. 6. There were seven men dwelling in Magh Sgiath, who frequently saw the fiery globe which it has been already told they first beheld at the time of Declan's birth. It happened by the Grace of God that they were the first persons to reveal and describe that lightning. These seven came to the place where Declan abode and took him for their director and master. They made known publicly in the presence of all that, later on, he should be a bishop and they spoke prophetically:--"The day, O beloved child and servant of God, will come when we shall commit ourselves and our lands to thee." And it fell out thus (as they foretold), for, upon believing, they were baptised and became wise, devout (and) attentive and erected seven churches in honour of God around Magh Sgiath. 7. Declan remained a long time with Dioma, the holy man we have named, and acquired science and sanctity and diversity of learning and doctrine, and he was prudent, mild, and capable so that many who knew his nobility of blood came when they had heard of the fullness of his sanctity and grace. Moreover they submitted themselves to him and accepted his religious rule. Declan judged it proper that he should visit Rome to study discipline and ecclesiastical system, to secure for himself esteem and approbation thence, and obtain authority to preach to the (Irish) people and to bring back with him the rules of Rome as these obtained in Rome itself. He set out with his followers and he tarried not till he arrived in Rome where they remained some time. 8. At the same period there was a holy bishop, i.e. Ailbe, who had been in Rome for a number of years before this and was in the household of Pope Hilary by whom he had been made a bishop. When Declan with his disciples arrived in Rome Ailbe received him with great affection and gladness and he bore testimony before the Roman people to his (Declan's) sanctity of life and nobility of blood. He (Declan) therefore received marks of honour and sincere affection from the people and clergy of Rome when they came to understand how worthy he was, for he was comely, of good appearance, humble in act, sweet in speech, prudent in counsel, frank in conversation, virtuous in mien, generous in gifts, holy in life and resplendent in miracles. 9. When Declan had spent a considerable time in Rome he was ordained a bishop by the Pope, who gave him church-books and rules and orders and sent him to Ireland that he might preach there. Having bidden farewell to the Pope and received the latter's blessing Declan commenced his journey to Ireland. Many Romans followed him to Ireland to perform their pilgrimage and to spend their lives there under the yoke and rule of Bishop Declan, and amongst those who accompanied him was Runan, son of the king of Rome; he was dear to Declan. 10. On the road through Italy Bishop Declan and Patrick met. Patrick was not a bishop at that time, though he was (made a bishop) subsequently by Pope Celestinus, who sent him to preach to the Irish. Patrick was truly chief bishop of the Irish island. They bade farewell to one another and they made a league and bond of mutual fraternity and kissed in token of peace. They departed thereupon each on his own journey, scil.:--Declan to Ireland and Patrick to Rome. 11. Declan was beginning mass one day in a church which lay in his road, when there was sent him from heaven a little black bell, (which came) in through the window of the church and remained on the altar before Declan. Declan greatly rejoiced thereat and gave thanks and glory to Christ on account of it, and it filled him with much courage to combat the error and false teaching of heathendom. He gave the bell for safe keeping and carriage, to Runan aforesaid, i.e. son of the king of Rome, and this is its name in Ireland--"The Duibhin Declain," and it is from its colour it derives its name, for its colour is black [dub]. There were manifested, by grace of God and Declan's merits, many miracles through its agency and it is still preserved in Declan's church. 12. When Declan and his holy companions arrived at the Sea of Icht [English Channel] he failed, owing to lack of money, to find a ship, for he did not have the amount demanded, and every ship was refused him on that account. He therefore struck his bell and prayed to God for help in this extremity. In a short time after this they saw coming towards them on the crest of the waves an empty, sailless ship and no man therein. Thereupon Declan said:--"Let us enter the ship in the name of Christ, and He who has sent it to us will direct it skilfully to what harbour soever He wishes we should go." At the word of Declan they entered in, and the ship floated tranquilly and safely until it reached harbour in England. Upon its abandonment by Declan and his disciples the ship turned back and went again to the place from which it had come and the people who saw the miracles and heard of them magnified the name of the Lord and Declan, and the words of the prophet David were verified:--"Mirabilis Deus in Sanctis Suis" [Psalm 67(68):36] (God is wonderful in His Saints). 13. After this Declan came to Ireland. Declan was wise like a serpent and gentle like a dove and industrious like the bee, for as the bee gathers honey and avoids the poisonous herbs so did Declan, for he gathered the sweet sap of grace and Holy Scripture till he was filled therewith. There were in Ireland before Patrick came thither four holy bishops with their followers who evangelized and sowed the word of God there; these are the four:--Ailbe, Bishop Ibar, Declan, and Ciaran. They drew multitudes from error to the faith of Christ, although it was Patrick who sowed the faith throughout Ireland and it is he who turned chiefs and kings of Ireland to the way of baptism, faith and sacrifice and everlasting judgment. 14. These three, scil.:--Declan, Ailbe and Bishop Ibar made a bond of friendship and a league amongst themselves and their spiritual posterity in heaven and on earth for ever and they loved one another. SS. Ailbe and Declan, especially, loved one another as if they were brothers so that, on account of their mutual affection they did not like to be separated from one another--except when their followers threatened to separate them by force if they did not go apart for a very short time. After this Declan returned to his own country--to the Decies of Munster--where he preached, and baptized, in the name of Christ, many whom he turned to the Catholic faith from the power of the devil. He built numerous churches in which he placed many of his own followers to serve and worship God and to draw people to God from the wiles of Satan. 15. Once on a time Declan came on a visit to the place of his birth, where he remained forty days there and established a religious house in which devout men have dwelt ever since. Then came the seven men we have already mentioned as having made their abode around Magh Sgiath and as having prophesied concerning Declan. They now dedicated themselves and their establishment to him as they had promised and these are their names:--Mocellac and Riadan, Colman, Lactain, Finnlaoc, Kevin, &c. [Mobi]. These therefore were under the rule and spiritual sway of bishop Declan thenceforward, and they spent their lives devoutly there and wrought many wonders afterwards. 16. After some time Declan set out to visit Aongus MacNatfrich, king of Cashel, to preach to him and to convert him to the faith of Christ. Declan however had two uterine brothers, sons of Aongus, scil.: Colman and Eoghan. The grace of the Holy Ghost inspiring him Colman went to Ailbe of Emly and received baptism and the religious habit at the latter's hands, and he remained for a space sedulously studying science until he became a saintly and perfect man. Eochaid however remained as he was (at home)--expecting the kingdom of Munster on his father's death, and he besought his father to show due honour to his brother Declan. The king did so and put no obstacle in the way of Declan's preaching but was pleased with Declan's religion and doctrine, although he neither believed nor accepted baptism himself. It is said that refusal (of baptism) was based on this ground: Declan was of the Decies and of Conn's Half, while Aongus himself was of the Eoghanacht of Cashel of Munster--always hostile to the Desii. It was not therefore through ill will to the faith that he believed not, as is proved from this that, when the king heard of the coming to him of Patrick, the archbishop of Ireland, a man who was of British race against which the Irish cherished no hate, not only did he believe but he went from his own city of Cashel to meet him, professed Christianity and was immediately baptised. 17. After this Declan, having sown the word of God and preached to the king (although the latter did not assent to his doctrines), proceeded to his own country and they (the Desii) believed and received baptism except the king alone and the people of his household who were every day promising to believe and be baptised. It however came about through the Devil's agency that they hesitated continually and procrastinated. 18. Other authorities declare that Declan went many times to Rome, but we have no written testimony from the ancient biographers that he went there more than three times. On one of these occasions Declan paid a visit to the holy bishop of the Britons whose name was David at the church which is called Killmuine [Menevia] where the bishop dwelt beside the shore of the sea which divides Ireland from Britain. The bishop received Declan with honour and he remained there forty days, in affection and joy, and they sang Mass each day and they entered into a bond of charity which continued between themselves and their successors for ever afterwards. On the expiration of the forty days Declan took leave of David giving him a kiss in token of peace and set out himself and his followers to the shore of the sea to take ship for Ireland. 19. Now the bell which we have alluded to as sent from heaven to Declan, was, at that time, in the custody of Runan to carry as we have said, for Declan did not wish, on any account, to part with it. On this particular day as they were proceeding towards the ship Runan entrusted it to another member of the company. On reaching the shore however the latter laid the bell on a rock by the shore and forgot it till they were half way across the sea. Then they remembered it and on remembrance they were much distressed. Declan was very sorrowful that the gift sent him by the Lord from heaven should have been forgotten in a place where he never expected to find it again. Thereupon raising his eyes heavenward he prayed to God within his heart and he said to his followers:--"Lay aside your sorrow for it is possible with God who sent that bell in the beginning to send it now again by some marvellous ship." Very fully and wonderfully and beautifully the creature without reason or understanding obeyed its creator, for the very heavy unwieldy rock floated buoyantly and without deviation, so that in a short time they beheld it in their rear with the bell upon it. And when his people saw this wondrous thing it filled them with love for God and reverence for their master. Declan thereupon addressed them prophetically:--"Permit the bell to precede you and follow it exactly and whatsoever haven it will enter into it is there my city and my bishopric will be whence I shall go to paradise and there my resurrection will be." Meantime the bell preceded the ship, and it eased down its great speed remaining slightly in advance of the ship, so that it could be seen from and not overtaken by the latter. The bell directed its course to Ireland until it reached a harbour on the south coast, scil.:--in the Decies of Munster, at an island called, at that time, High Sheep Island [Aird na gCcaorac] and the ship made the same port, as Declan declared. The holy man went ashore and gave thanks and praise to God that he had reached the place of his resurrection. Now, in that island depastured the sheep belonging to the wife of the chieftain of Decies and it is thence that it derives its Irish name--Ard-na- Ccaorac, scil.:--there was in it a high hill and it was a promontory beautiful to behold. One of the party, ascending the summit of the hill, said to Declan:--"How can this little height support your people?" Declan replied:--"Do not call it little hill, beloved son, but 'great height' [ard mor]," and that name has adhered to the city ever since, scil.:--Ardmore-Declain. After this Declan went to the king of the Desii and asked of him the aforesaid island. Whereupon the king gave it to him. 20. Declan next returned to Ait-mBreasail where, in a haven at the north side, were the shipping and boats of the island, plying thither and backwards. The people of the island hid all their boats not willing that Declan should settle there; they dreaded greatly that if Declan came to dwell there they themselves should be expelled. Whereupon his disciples addressed Declan:--"Father," said they, "Many things are required (scil.: from the mainland) and we must often go by boat to this island and there will be (crossing) more frequently when you have gone to heaven and we pray thee to abandon the place or else to obtain from God that the sea recede from the land so that it can be entered dry shod, for Christ has said:--'Whatsoever you shall ask of the Father in my name He will give it to you' [John 15:16]; the place cannot be easily inhabited unless the sea recede from it and on that account you cannot establish your city in it." Declan answered them and said:--"How can I abandon the place ordained by God and in which He has promised that my burial and resurrection shall be? As to the alleged inconvenience of dwelling therein, do you wish me to pray to God (for things) contrary to His will--to deprive the sea of its natural domain? Nevertheless in compliance with your request I shall pray to God and whatever thing be God's will, let it be done." Declan's community thereupon rose up and said:--"Father, take your crosier as Moses took the rod [Exodus 14:16] and strike the sea therewith and God will thus show His will to you." His disciples prayed therefore to him because they were tried and holy men. They put Declan's crosier in his hand and he struck the water in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost and made the sign of the cross over the water and immediately, by command and permission of God, the sea commenced to move out from its accustomed place--so swiftly too that the monsters of the sea were swimming and running and that it was with difficulty they escaped with the sea. However, many fishes were left behind on the dry strand owing to the suddenness of the ebb. Declan, his crosier in his hand, pursued the receding tide and his disciples followed after him. Moreover the sea and the departing monsters made much din and commotion and when Declan arrived at the place where is now the margin of the sea a stripling whose name was Mainchin, frightened at the thunder of the waves and the cry of the unknown monsters with gaping mouths following the (receding) water, exclaimed:--"Father, you have driven out the sea far enough; for I am afraid of those horrid monsters." When Declan heard this and (saw) the sea standing still at the word of the youth it displeased him and turning round he struck him a slight blow on the nose. Three drops of blood flowed from the wound on to the ground in three separate places at the feet of Declan. Thereupon Declan blessed the nose and the blood ceased immediately (to flow). Then Declan declared:--"It was not I who drove out the sea but God in His own great power who expelled it and He would have done still more had you not spoken the words you have said." Three little wells of clear sweet water burst forth in the place where fell the three drops of blood at the feet of Declan, and these wells are there still and the colour of blood is seen in them occasionally as a memorial of this miracle. The shore, rescued from the sea, is a mile in width and is of great length around (the island) and it is good and fertile land for tillage and pasture--lying beneath the monastery of Declan. As to the crosier which was in Declan's hand while he wrought this miracle, this is its name--the Feartach Declain, from the miracles and marvels [fertaib] wrought through it. I shall in another, subsequent, place relate some of these miracles (narrated). 21. After the expulsion of the sea by this famous Saint, scil.: Declan, whose name and renown spread throughout Erin because of his great and diverse miracles, he commenced to build a great monastery by the south side of the stream which flows through the island into the sea. This monastery is illustrious and beautiful and its name is Ardmor Declain, as we have said. After this came many persons to Declan, drawn from the uttermost parts of Ireland, by the fame of his holy living; they devoted themselves, soul and body to God and Declan, binding themselves beneath his yoke and his rule. Moreover he built himself in every place throughout the territory of the Decies, churches and monasteries and not alone in his own territory (did he build) but in other regions of Ireland under tribute to him. Great too were the multitudes (thousands) of men and women who were under his spiritual sway and rule, in the places we have referred to, throughout Ireland, where happily they passed their lives. He ordained some of his disciples bishops and appointed them in these places to sow the seed of faith and religion therein. Gentleness and charity manifested themselves in Declan to such an extent that his disciples preferred to live under his immediate control and under his direction as subjects than to be in authority in another monastery. 22. After this the holy renowned bishop, head of justice and faith in the Gaelic island came into Ireland, i.e. Patrick sent by Celestinus, the Pope. Aongus Mac Nathfrich went to meet him soon as he heard the account of his coming. He conducted him (Patrick) with reverence and great honour to his own royal city--to Cashel. Then Patrick baptised him and blessed himself and his people and his city. Patrick heard that the prince of the Decies had not been baptised and did not believe, that there was a disagreement between the prince and Declan and that the former refused to receive instruction from the latter. Patrick thereupon set out to preach to the prince aforesaid. Next, as to the four bishops we have named who had been in Rome: Except Declan alone they were not in perfect agreement with Patrick. It is true that subsequently to this they did enter into a league of peace and harmonious actions with Patrick and paid him fealty. Ciaran, however, paid him all respect and reverence and was of one mind with him present or absent. Ailbe then, when he saw the kings and rulers of Ireland paying homage to Patrick and going out to meet him, came himself to Cashel, to wait on him and he also paid homage to him (Patrick) and submitted to his jurisdiction, in presence of the king and all others. Bear in mind it was Ailbe whom the other holy bishops had elected their superior. He therefore came first to Patrick, lest the others, on his account, should offer opposition to Patrick, and also that by his example the others might be more easily drawn to his jurisdiction and rule. Bishop Ibar however would on no account consent to be subject to Patrick, for it was displeasing to him that a foreigner should be patron of Ireland. It happened that Patrick in his origin was of the Britons and he was nurtured in Ireland having been sold to bondage in his boyhood. There arose misunderstanding and dissension between Patrick and Bishop Ibar at first, although (eventually), by intervention of the angel of peace, they formed a mutual fellowship and brotherly compact and they remained in agreement for ever after. But Declan did not wish to disagree at all with Patrick for they had formed a mutual bond of friendship on the Italian highway and it is thus the angel commanded him to go to Patrick and obey him:-- 23. The angel of God came to Declan and said to him "Go quickly to Patrick and prevent him cursing your kindred and country, for to-night, in the plain which is called Inneoin, he is fasting against the king, and if he curses your people they shall be accursed for ever." Thereupon Declan set out in haste by direction of the angel to Inneoin, i.e. the place which is in the centre of the plain of Femhin in the northern part of the Decies. He crossed Slieve Gua [Knockmaeldown] and over the Suir and arrived on the following morning at the place where Patrick was. When Patrick and his disciples heard that Declan was there they welcomed him warmly for they had been told he would not come. Moreover Patrick and his people received him with great honour. But Declan made obeisance to Patrick and besought him earnestly that he should not execrate his people and that he should not curse them nor the land in which they dwelt, and he promised to allow Patrick do as he pleased. And Patrick replied:--"On account of your prayer not only shall I not curse them but I shall give them a blessing." Declan went thereupon to the place where was the king of Decies who was a neighbour of his. But he contemned Patrick and he would not believe him even at the request of Declan. Moreover Declan promised rewards to him if he would go to Patrick to receive baptism at his hands and assent to the faith. But he would not assent on any account. When Declan saw this, scil.:--that the king of the Decies, who was named Ledban, was obstinate in his infidelity and in his devilry--through fear lest Patrick should curse his race and country--he (Declan) turned to the assembly and addressed them:--"Separate yourselves from this accursed man lest you become yourselves accursed on his account, for I have myself baptised and blessed you, but come you," said he, "with us, to Patrick, whom God has sent to bless you, for he has been chosen Archbishop and chief Patron of all Erin; moreover, I have a right to my own patrimony and to be king over you as that man (Ledban) has been." At this speech they all arose and followed Declan who brought them into the presence of Patrick and said to the latter:--"See how the whole people of the Deisi have come with me as their Lord to thee and they have left the accursed prince whose subjects they have been, and behold they are ready to reverence you and to obey you for it is from me they have received baptism." At this Patrick rose up with his followers and he blessed the people of the Deisi and not them alone, but their woods and water and land. Whereupon the chiefs and nobles of the Deisi said:--"Who will be King or Lord over us now?" And Declan replied:--"I am your lord and whomsoever I shall appoint offer you as lord, Patrick and all of us will bless, and he shall be king over you all." And he whom Declan appointed was Feargal MacCormac a certain young man of the nation of the Deisi who was a kinsman of Declan himself. He (Declan) set him in the midst of the assembly in the king's place and he was pleasing to all. Whereupon Patrick and Declan blessed him and each of them apart proclaimed him chieftain. Patrick moreover promised the young man that he should be brave and strong in battle, that the land should be fruitful during his reign. Thus have the kings of the Deisi always been. 24. After these things Declan and Feargal Mac Cormac (king of the Deisi) and his people gave a large area of land to Patrick in the neighbourhood of Magh Feimhin and this belongs to his successors ever since and great lordship there. And the place which was given over to him is not far from the Suir. There is a great very clear fountain there which is called "Patrick's Well" and this was dear to Patrick. After this, with blessing, they took leave of one another and Patrick returned to Cashel to Aongus Mac Natfrich and Declan went with him. 25. A miracle was wrought at that time on Declan through the intercession and prayers of Patrick for as Declan was walking carelessly along he trod upon a piece of sharp iron which cut his foot so that blood flowed freely and Declan began to limp. Ailbe of Emly was present at this miracle and Sechnall a bishop of Patrick's and a holy and wise man, and he is said to be the first bishop buried in Ireland. The wound which Declan had received grieved them very much. Patrick was informed of the accident and was grieved thereat. He said:--"Heal, O Master (i.e. God), the foot of your own servant who bears much toil and hardship on your account." Patrick laid his hand on the wounded foot and made over it the sign of the cross when immediately the flow of blood ceased, the lips of the wound united, a cicatrix formed upon it and a cure was effected. Then Declan rose up with his foot healed and joined in praising God. The soldiers and fighting men who were present cried out loudly, blessing God and the saints. 26. As Patrick and the saints were in Cashel, i.e. Ailbe and Declan with their disciples, in the territory of Aongus Mac Nathfrich, they made much progress against paganism and errors in faith and they converted them (the pagans) to Christianity. It was ordained by Patrick and Aongus Mac Natfrich in presence of the assembly, that the Archbishopric of Munster should belong to Ailbe, and to Declan, in like manner, was ordained (committed) his own race, i.e. the Deisi, whom he had converted to be his parish and his episcopate. As the Irish should serve Patrick, so should the Deisi serve Declan as their patron, and Patrick made the "rann":-- "Humble Ailbe the Patrick of Munster, greater than any saying, Declan, Patrick of the Deisi--the Decies to Declan for ever." This is equivalent to saying that Ailbe was a second Patrick and that Declan was a second Patrick of the Decies. After that, when the king had bidden them farewell and they had all taken leave of one another, the saints returned to their respective territories to sow therein the seed of faith. 27. Declan and Ferghal Mac Cormac, king of the Deisi, with his army and followers, met one another at Indeoin and they made still more strong on the people the bond of Christian obligation. The king we have already mentioned, scil.:--Ledban, the recusant to the Christian name, was rejected of all and he came to nothing, leaving no knowledge (memory) of his history, as is written of the enemies of the faith:--"Their memory perisheth like a sound" [Psalm 9:7]. Moreover Declan and Fergal and the chief men of the Deisi decreed this as the place where the king of the Deisi should be inaugurated for ever thenceforward, because it was there Patrick and Declan blessed the king, Fergal; moreover tradition states that it was there the kings were crowned and ruled over the Deisi in pagan times. 28. At that time there broke out a dreadful plague in Munster and it was more deadly in Cashel than elsewhere. Thus it affected those whom it attacked: it first changed their colour to yellow and then killed them. Now Aongus had, in a stone fort called "Rath na nIrlann," on the western side of Cashel, seven noble hostages. It happened that in one and the same night they all died of the plague. The king was much affected thereat and he gave orders to have the fact concealed lest it should bring disgrace or even war upon him, for the hostages were scions of the strongest and most powerful families in Munster. On the morrow however Declan came to Cashel and talked with Aonghus. The king welcomed him heartily and addressing him said to him in presence of persons of his court, "I pray you, Declan, servant of God, that in the name of Christ you would raise to life for me the seven hostages whom I held in bondage from the chieftains of Munster. They have died from the plague of which you hear, and I fear their fathers will raise war and rebellion against me, for they are men of strength and power, and indeed we are ashamed of their death, for they will say that it is we ourselves who killed them." Declan answered the king, saying to him:--"Such a matter as this--to raise one to life from death--belongs to Omnipotence alone--but I shall do whatever is in my power. I go where the bodies lie and pray to God for them and let Him do in their regard what seems best to Him." Next, Declan, with a multitude and his disciples together with the king's councillors, went to the place where the corpses of the young men lay. The king followed after them until he came in sight of the bodies. Declan, full of divine faith, entered the house wherein they lay and he sprinkled holy water over them and prayed for them in the presence of all, saying:--"O Lord Jesus Christ, only Son of the living God, for thine own name's sake wake the dead that they may be strengthened in the Catholic faith through our instrumentality." Thereupon, at Declan's prayer, the group (of corpses) revived and they moved their eyelids and Declan said to them "In the name of Christ, our Saviour, stand up and bless and glorify God." And at his words they rose up immediately and spoke to all. Declan then announced to the king that they were alive and well. When people saw this remarkable miracle they all gave glory and praise to God. The fame of Declan thereupon spread throughout Erin and the king rejoiced for restoration of his hostages. 29. After this the people of Cashel besought Bishop Declan to bless their city and banish the plague from them and to intercede with God for those stricken with sickness who could not escape from its toils. Declan seeing the people's faith prayed to God and signed with the sign of Redemption the four points of the compass. As he concluded, there was verified the saying of Christ to His disciples when leaving them and going to heaven:--"Super aegros imponent manus et bene habebunt" [Mark 16:18] (I shall place my hands on the sick and they shall be healed). Soon as Declan had made the sign of the cross each one who was ill became well and not alone were these restored to health but (all the sick) of the whole region round about in whatsoever place there were persons ailing. Moreover the plague was banished from every place and all rejoiced greatly thereat as well as on account of the resurrection of the dead men we have narrated. The king thereupon ordered tribute and honour to Declan and his successors from himself and from every king who should hold Cashel ever after. Upon this the glorious bishop Declan blessed Aongus together with his city and people and returned back to his own place. 30. One night Declan was a guest at the house of a wealthy man who dwelt in the southern part of Magh Femhin; this is the kind of person his host was, scil.:--a pagan who rejected the true faith, and his name was Dercan. He resolved to amuse himself at the Christians' expense; accordingly he ordered his servants to kill a dog secretly, to cut off its head and feet and to bury them in the earth and then to cook the flesh properly and to set it before Declan and his company as their meal. Moreover he directed that the dog should be so fat that his flesh might pass as mutton. When, in due course, it was cooked, the flesh, together with bread and other food, was laid before Declan and his following. At that moment Declan had fallen asleep but he was aroused by his disciples that he might bless their meal. He observed to them:--"Indeed I see, connected with this meat, the ministry of the devil." Whereupon he questioned the waiters as to the meat--what kind it was and whence procured. They replied: "Our master ordered us to kill a fat ram for you and we have done as he commanded." Declan said, "Our Master is Jesus Christ and may He show us what it is that connects the ministry of Satan with this meat and preserve thy servants from eating forbidden food." As he spoke thus Declan saw in the meat the claw of a dog, for, without intending it, they had boiled one quarter of the dog with its paw adhering; they thought they had buried it (the incriminating limb) with the other paws. Declan exclaimed, "This is not a sheep's but a dog's foot." When the attendants heard this they went at once to their master and related the matter to him. Then Dercan came to Declan, accepted his faith and received Baptism at his hands, giving himself and his posterity to Declan for ever. Moreover he gave his homestead to Declan and his people were baptised. After this Dercan requested that Declan should bless something in his homestead which might remain as a memorial of him (Dercan) for ever. Then Declan blessed a bell which he perceived there and its name is Clog-Dhercain ("Dercan's Bell"); moreover, he declared: "I endow it with this virtue (power) that if the king of Decies march around it when going to battle, against his enemies, or to punish violation of his rights, he shall return safely and with victory." This promise has been frequently fulfilled, but proud (men) undertaking battle or conflict unjustly even if they march around it do not obtain victory but success remains with the enemy. The name of that homestead was Teach-Dhercain ("Dercain's House") and its name now is Coningean, from the claw [con] of the hound or dog aforesaid. To this place came the saintly concourse, scil:--Coman and Ultan, MacErc and Mocoba and Maclaisren, who dedicated themselves to (the service of) God and placed themselves under the spiritual rule and sway of Declan. 31. Thereupon Declan established a monastery in that place, scil.--in Coningin--and he placed there this holy community with a further band of disciples. Ultan however he took away with him to the place whither he went. 32. On another (subsequent) occasion Declan visited Bregia, i.e. the original territory which belonged to his race previous to the expulsion of his ancestors. There he was treated with particular honour by the king of Tara and by the chieftains of Meath by whom he was beloved, since it was from themselves (their tribe and territory) that his forbears had gone out, for that region was the patrimony of his race and within it lies Tara. Declan instituted therein a monastery of Canons, on land which he received from the king, and it is from him the place is named. Moreover he left therein a relic or illuminated book and a famous gospel which he was accustomed to carry always with him. The gospel is still preserved with much honour in the place and miracles are wrought through it. After this again he turned towards Munster. 33. Declan was once travelling through Ossory when he wished to remain for the night in a certain village. But the villagers not only did not receive him but actually drove him forth by force of arms. The saint however prayed to God that it might happen to them what the Sacred Scripture says, "Vengeance is mine I will repay" [Deuteronomy 32:35]. The dwellers in the village, who numbered sixty, died that same night with the exception of two men and ten women to whom the conduct of the others towards the saint had been displeasing. On the morrow these men and women came humbly to the place where Declan was and they told him--what he himself foreknew--how miserably the others had died. They themselves did penance and they bestowed on Declan a suitable site whereon he built a monastery and he got another piece of land and had the dead buried where he built the monastery. The name of that monastery is Cill-Colm-Dearg. This Colm-Dearg was a kind, holy man and a disciple of Declan. He was of East Leinster, i.e. of the Dal Meiscorb, and it is from him that the monastery is named. When he (Declan) had completed that place he came to his own territory again, i.e. to the Decies. 34. On a certain day Declan came to a place called Ait-Breasail and the dwellers therein would not allow him to enter their village; moreover they hid all their boats so that he could not go into his own island, for they hated him very much. In consideration however of the sanctity of his servant, who prayed in patience, God the All-Powerful turned the sea into dry land as you have already heard. Declan passed the night in an empty stable out in the plain and the people of the village did not give him even a fire. Whereupon, appropriately the anger of God fell on them, who had not compassion enough to supply the disciple of God with a fire. There came fire from heaven on them to consume them all [together with their] homestead and village, so that the place has been ever since a wilderness accursed, as the prophet writes: "civitates eorum destruxisti" [Psalm 9:7] (the dwellings of the unmerciful are laid waste). 35. On yet another occasion Declan was in his own region--travelling over Slieve Gua in the Decies, when his horse from some cause got lame so that he could proceed no further. Declan however, seeing a herd of deer roaming the mountain close to him, said to one of his people: "Go, and bring me for my chariot one of these deer to replace my horse and take with you this halter for him." Without any misgiving the disciple went on till he reached the deer which waited quietly for him. He chose the animal which was largest and therefore strongest, and, bringing him back, yoked him to the chariot. The deer thereupon obediently and without effort carried Bishop Declan till he came to Magh Femhin, where, when he reached a house of entertainment, the saint unloosed the stag and bade him to go free as was his nature. Accordingly, at the command of the saintly man and in the presence of all, the stag returned on the same road back (to the mountain). Dormanach is the name of the man aforesaid who brought the stag to Declan and him Declan blessed and gave him a piece of land on the north of Decies close by the Eoghanacht and his posterity live till now in that place. 36. On another occasion, Declan, accompanied, as usual, by a large following, was travelling, when one member of the party fell on the road and broke his shin bone in twain. Declan saw the accident and, pitying the injured man, he directed an individual of the company to bandage the broken limb so that the sufferer might not die through excess of pain and loss of blood. All replied that they could not endure to dress the wound owing to their horror thereof. But there was one of the company, Daluadh by name, who faced the wound boldly and confidently and said: "In the name of Christ and of Declan our patron I shall be surgeon to this foot"; and he said that jestingly. Nevertheless he bandaged the foot carefully and blessed it aright in the name of God and Declan, and in a little while the wound healed and they all gave praise to God. Then Declan said to Daluadh: "You promised to be surgeon to that foot in Christ's name and in mine and God has vouchsafed to heal it at these words: on this account you will be a true physician for ever and your children and your seed after you for ever shall also possess the healing art, and whomsoever they shall practise healing upon in God's name and mine, provided there be no hatred [in their hearts] nor too great covetousness of a physician's fee to him, God and myself shall send relief." This promise of Declan has been fulfilled in the case of that family. 37. On another occasion, as Declan was travelling in the northern part of Magh Femhin beside the Suir, he met there a man who was carrying a little infant to get it baptised. Declan said to the people [his "muinntear," or following]: "Wait here till I baptise yonder child," for it was revealed by the Holy Ghost to him that he [the babe] should serve God. The attendant replied to him that they had neither a vessel nor salt for the baptism. Declan said: "We have a wide vessel, the Suir, and God will send us salt, for this child is destined to become holy and wonderful [in his works]." Thereupon Declan took up a fistful of earth and, making prayer in his heart to God, he signed the clay with the sign of the cross of redemption. It (the handful of earth) became white, dry salt, and all, on seeing it, gave thanks and honour to God and Declan. The infant was baptised there and the name of Ciaran given him. Declan said: "Bring up my spiritual son carefully and send him, at a fitting age, for education to a holy man who is well instructed in the faith for he will become a shining bright pillar in the Church." And it was this child, Ciaran Mac Eochaidh, who founded in after years a famous monastery (from which he migrated to heaven) and another place (monastery) besides. He worked many miracles and holy signs and this is the name of his monastery Tiprut [Tubrid] and this is where it is:--in the western part of the Decies in Ui Faithe between Slieve Grot [Galtee] and Sieve Cua and it is within the bishopric of Declan. 38. On another day there came a woman to Declan's monastery not far from the city where she dwelt. She committed a theft that day in Declan's monastery as she had often done previously, and this is the thing she stole--a "habellum" [possibly an item of tribute]; she departed homewards taking it with her and there met her a group of people on the highway, and the earth, in their presence, swallowed her up, and she cast out the tabellum from her bosom and it was quickly turned into a stone which the wayfarers took and brought with them to Declan. Declan himself had in supernatural vision seen all that happened to the woman in punishment of her theft, and the name of Declan was magnified owing to those marvels so that fear took possession of all-those present and those absent. The stone in question remains still in Declan's graveyard in his own town of Ardmore-Declain, where it stands on an elevated place in memory of this miracle. 39. A rich man named Fintan was childless, for his wife was barren for many years. He himself, with his wife, visited Declan and promised large alms and performance of good works provided he (Declan) would pray that they might have children: they held it as certain that if Declan but prayed for them God would grant them children. Declan therefore, praying to God and blessing the pair, said: "Proceed to your home and through God's bounty you shall have offspring." The couple returned home, with great joy for the blessing and for the promise of the offspring. The following night, Fintan lay with his wife and she conceived and brought forth twin sons, scil.: Fiacha and Aodh, who, together with their children and descendants were under tribute and service to God and Declan. 40. When it was made known to a certain holy man, scil.:--Ailbe of Emly Iubar, chief bishop of Munster, that his last days had come, he said to his disciples: "Beloved brethren, I wish, before I die, to visit my very dear fellow worker, scil.:--Declan." After this Ailbe set out on the journey and an angel of God came to Declan notifying him that Ailbe was on his way to visit him. On the angel's notification Declan ordered his disciples to prepare the house for Ailbe's coming. He himself went to meet Ailbe as far as the place which is called Druim Luctraidh [Luchluachra]. Thence they came home together and Ailbe, treated with great honour by Declan and his people, stayed fourteen pleasant days. After that the aged saint returned home again to his own city, scil.:--to Emly Iubar. Declan came and many of his people, escorting Ailbe, to Druim Luchtradh, and Ailbe bade him return to his own city. The two knew they should not see one another in this world ever again. In taking leave of one another, therefore, they shed plentiful tears of sorrow and they instituted an everlasting compact and league between their successors in that place. Ailbe moreover blessed the city of Declan, his clergy and people and Declan did the same for Ailbe and they kissed one another in token of love and peace and each returned to his own city. 41. On a certain day the Castle of Cinaedh, King of the Deisi, took fire and it burned violently. It happened however that Declan was proceeding towards the castle on some business and he was grieved to see it burning; he flung towards it the staff to which we have referred in connection with the drying up of the sea, and it (the staff) flew hovering in the air with heavenly wings till it reached the midst of the flame and the fire was immediately extinguished of its own accord through the grace of God and virtue of the staff and of Declan to whom it belonged. The place from which Declan cast the staff was a long mile distant from the castle and when the king, i.e. Cinaedh, and all the others witnessed this miracle they were filled with amazement and gave thanks to God and to Declan when they came to know that it was he who wrought it. Now the place where the castle stands is not far from the Suir, i.e. on the south side of it and the place from which Declan cast the staff is beside a ford which is in the Suir or a stream which flows beside the monastery called Mag Laca [Molough] which the holy virgins, daughters of the king of Decies, have built in honour of God. There is a pile of stones and a cross in the place to commemorate this miracle. 42. On another occasion there approached a foreign fleet towards Declan's city and this was their design--to destroy and to plunder it of persons and of cattle, because they (the foreigners) were people hostile to the faith. Many members of the community ran with great haste to tell Declan of the fleet which threatened the town and to request him to beg the assistance of God against the invaders. Declan knew the man amongst his own disciples who was holiest and most abounding in grace, scil., Ultan, already mentioned, and him he ordered to pray to God against the fleet. Ultan had pity on the Christian people and he went instantly, at the command of Declan, in front of the fleet and he held his left hand against it, and, on the spot, the sea swallowed them like sacks full of lead, and the drowned sailors were changed into large rocks which stand not far from the mouth of the haven where they are visible (standing) high out of the sea from that time till now. All Christians who witnessed this rejoiced and were glad and they gave great praise and glory to God and to Declan their own patron who caused the working of this miracle and of many other miracles besides. Next there arose a contention between Ultan and Declan concerning this miracle, for Ultan attributed it to Declan and Declan credited it to Ultan; and it has become a proverb since in Ireland when people hear of danger or jeopardy:--"The left hand of Ultan against you (the danger)." Ultan became, after the death of Declan, a miracle-working abbot of many other holy monks. 43. The holy and glorious archbishop, i.e. Patrick, sent one of his own followers to Declan with power and authority (delegation) from the archbishop. And proceeding through the southern part of Decies he was drowned in a river [the Lickey] there, two miles from the city of Declan. When Declan heard this he was grieved and he said: "Indeed it grieves me that a servant of God and of Patrick who sent him to visit me, having travelled all over Ireland, should be drowned in a river of my own territory. Get my chariot for me that I may go in haste to see his corpse, so that Patrick may come to hear of the worry and the grief I have undergone because of his disciple's death." The body had been recovered before the arrival of Declan by others who were close at hand and it had been placed on a bier to be carried to Ciaran for interment. Declan however met them on the way, when he ordered the body to be laid down on the ground. They supposed he was about to recite the Office for the Dead. He (Declan) advanced to the place where the bier was and lifted the sheet covering the face. It (the face) looked dark and deformed as is usual in the case of the drowned. He prayed to God and shed tears, but no one heard aught of what he said. After this he commanded:--"In the name of the Trinity, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost whose religious yoke I bear myself, arise to us for God has given your life to me." He (the dead man) rose up immediately at the command and he greeted Declan and all the others. Whereupon Declan and his disciples received him with honour. At first he was not completely cured but (was) like one convalescent until (complete) health returned to him by degrees again. He however accompanied Declan and remained some time with him and there was much rejoicing in Declan's city on account of the miracle and his (Declan's) name and fame extended over the country generally. This disciple of Patrick was named Ballin; he returned with great joy and he told him (Patrick) that Declan had raised him from the dead. To many others likewise he related what had happened to him. Patrick, in presence of many persons, hearing of the miracle gave glory and thanks to God and the name of Declan was magnified. 44. With this extraordinary miracle wrought by Declan we wish to conclude our discourse. The number of miracles he wrought, but which are not written here, you are to judge and gather from what we have written. And we wish moreover that you would understand that he healed the infirm, that he gave sight to the eyes of the blind, cleansed lepers, and gave "their walk" to cripples; that he obtained hearing for the deaf, and that he healed many and various diseases in many different places throughout Ireland--(things) which are not written here because of their length and because they are so numerous to record, for fear it should tire readers to hear so much said of one particular person. On that account we shall pass them by. 45. When Declan realised that his last days were at hand and that the time remaining to him was very short he summoned to him his own spiritual son, scil., MacLiag (residing) in the monastery which is on the eastern side of the Decies close to the Leinstermen in order that, at the hour of death, he might receive the Body and Blood of Christ and the Sacraments of the Church from his hands. Thereupon he foretold to his disciples the day of his death and he commanded them to bring him to his own city, for it was not there he dwelt at the time but in a small venerable cell which he had ordered to be built for him between the hill called Ardmore Declain and the ocean--in a narrow place at the brink of the sea by which there flows down from the hill above a small shining stream about which are trees and bushes all around, and it is called Disert Declain. Thence to the city it is a short mile and the reason why Declan used go there was to avoid turmoil and noise so that he might be able to read and pray and fast there. Indeed it was not easy for him to stay even there because of the multitude of disciples and paupers and pilgrims and beggars who followed him thither. Declan was however generous and very sympathetic and on that account it is recorded by tradition that a great following (of poor, &c.), generally accompanied him and that moreover the little cell was very dear to him for the reason we have given, and many devout people have made it their practice to dwell therein. 46. When Declan fell ill and became weak in body, but still strong in hope and faith and love of God, he returned to his own city--his people and disciples and clergy surrounding him. He discoursed to them on the commands of God and he enjoined on them to live holily after his death, to be submissive to authority and to follow as closely as possible the way he had marked out and to preserve his city in a state of piety and under religious rule. And when they had all heard the discourse it grieved them greatly to perceive, from what he had said, he realised that in a short time he would go away to heaven from them. But they were consoled by his gentle words and then there came to him the holy man, to wit, MacLiag, at his own request, already referred to. He [Declan] received the Body and Blood of Christ and the Sacraments of the Church from his [MacLiag's] hand--surrounded by holy men and his disciples, and he blessed his people and his dependents and his poor, and he kissed them in token of love and peace. Thus, having banished images and the sacrifices to idols, having converted multitudes to the true faith, having established monasteries and ecclesiastical orders in various places, having spent his whole life profitably and holily, this glorious bishop went with the angels to heaven on the ninth day of the Kalends of August [July 24] and his body was blessed and honoured with Masses and chanting by holy men and by the people of the Decies and by his own monks and disciples collected from every quarter at the time of his death. He was buried with honour in his own city--in Declan's High-Place--in the tomb which by direction of an angel he had himself indicated--which moreover has wrought wonders and holy signs from that time to now. He departed to the Unity of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost in Saecula Saeculorum; Amen. FINIS. The poor brother, Michael O'Clery originally copied this life of Declan in Cashel, from the book of Eochy O'Heffernan. The date, A.D., at which that ancient book of Eochy was written is 1582. And the same life has now been re-written in the Convent of the Friars at Druiske, the date, A.D., 27th February, 1629. NOTE The Irish text of the "rann" from paragraph 26 reads: Ailbe umal; Patraicc Muman, mo gacrath, Declan, Patraicc na nDeisi: na Deisi ag Declan gan brat. And the Latin rendering: Albeus est humilis dixit Caephurnia proles; Patriciusque esto hinc Ailbee Momonia. Declanus pariter patronus Desius esto; Inter Desenses Patriciusque suos. LIFE OF ST. MOCHUDA. "BEATA MOCUDA." The renowned bishop, Carthach, commonly called Mochuda, was of the territory of Ciarraighe Luachra [North Kerry] and of the race of Fergus Mac Roigh. The illustrious bishop, who is generally known as Mochuda, was of the Ciarraighe Luachra; to be exact--he was of the line of Fergus Mac Roigh, who held the kingship of Ulster, till the time that he gave the kingship to a woman for a year and did not get it back when the year was over. His descendants are now to be found throughout various provinces of Ireland. He fell himself, through the treachery of Oilioll, king of Connaght, and the latter's jealousy of his wife, Meadbh, daughter of Eochaid Feidhleach. Finghen Mac Gnaoi of Ciarraighe Luachra was father of Mochuda, and his mother was Mead, daughter of Finghin, of Corca Duibhne, in the vicinity of the stream called Laune in the western part of Ireland. The forthcoming birth of Mochuda was revealed to St. Comhghall by an angel, announcing--"There will be conceived a child in the western part of Erin, and Carthach will be his baptismal name and he will be beloved of God and men--in heaven and on earth. He will come to you seeking direction as to a proposed pilgrimage to Rome--but you must not permit the journey for the Lord has assigned him to you; but let him remain with you a whole year." All this came to pass, as foretold. In similar manner the future Mochuda was foretold to St. Brendan by an angel who declared: "There will come to you a wonder-working brother who will be the patron of you and your kindred for ever; the region of Ciarraighe will be divided between you and him, and Carthach will be his name; to multitudes his advent will be cause for joy and he will gain multitudes for heaven. His first city will be Raithen [Rahen or Rahan] in the region of Fircheall, territory of Meath and central plain of Ireland; this will become a place revered of men, and revered and famous will be his second city and church, scil.:--Lismore, which shall possess lordship and great pre-eminence." One day when there was a large meeting of people at a certain place in Kerry, the men and women who were present saw descending a fiery globe, which rested on the head of Mochuda's mother, at that time pregnant of the future saint. The ball of fire did no one any injury but disappeared before it did injury to anyone. All those who beheld this marvel wondered thereat and speculated what it could portend. This is what it did mean:--that the graces of the Holy Spirit had visited this woman and her holy child unborn. Mochuda's father was a rich and powerful chieftain owning two strong lioses--one, on the south side of Slieve Mish, and the other, in which Mochuda first saw the light, beside the River Maing [Maine]. Both places were blessed for sake of the Saint, who was conceived in one of them and born in the other; it is even said that no evil disposed or vicious person can live in either. Carthage in due course was sent to be baptised, and, on the way, the servant who bore the infant, meeting a saintly man named Aodhgan, asked him to perform the ceremony. There was however no water in the place, but a beautiful well, which burst forth for the occasion and still remains, yielded a supply. With the water of this well the infant was baptised and Carthach, as the angel had foretold, was the name given him. Nevertheless 'Mochuda' is the name by which he was commonly known, because he was so called, through affection and regard, by his master (St. Carthach Senior). Many scarcely know that he has any other name than Mochuda and it is lawful to write either Mochuda or Carthach. Speaking prophetically Aodhgan said of him:--"This child whom I have baptised will become famous and he will be beloved by God and men." That prophecy has been fulfilled, for Mochuda was graceful of figure and handsome of features as David, he was master of his passions as Daniel, and mild and gentle like Moses. His parents however despised him because he valued not earthly vanities and in his regard were verified the words of David:--"Pater meus et mater mea derliquerunt me, Dominus autem assumpsit me" [Psalm 26(27):10] (For my father and my mother have left me and the Lord hath taken me up). Like David too--who kept the sheep of his father--Mochuda, with other youths, herded his father's swine in his boyhood. On a certain day as Mochuda, with his companion swineherds and their charges, was in the vicinity of the River Maing, he heard that the king of Ciarraighe Luachra was at his residence called Achadh-di; he waited on the king by whom he was kindly and politely received. The king, whose name was Maoltuile and who wished to see Mochuda frequently, invited the youth to come every day to the royal lios and to bring with him his companions, who would be made welcome for his sake. One evening as Mochuda sate in the king's presence Maoltuile gazed so long and so intently at the youth that the queen (Dand, daughter of Maolduin Mac Aodha Beannan, king of Munster) reproved her husband asking why he stared every evening at the boy. "O wife," answered the king, "if you but saw what I see, you would never gaze at anything else, for I behold a wondrous golden chain about his neck and a column of fire reaching from his head to the heavens, and since I first beheld these marvels my affection for the boy has largely increased." "Then," said the queen, "let him sit there beside you." Thenceforth the youth sate as suggested. Sometimes Mochuda herded the swine in the woods and at other times he remained with the king in his court. One day as Mochuda was keeping his herd as usual beside the river already alluded to, he heard the bishop and his clerics pass by, chanting psalms as they went along. The Spirit of God touched the boy's heart and leaving his pigs Mochuda followed the procession as far as the monastery called Tuaim [Druim Fertain] [into which the clerics entered]. And as the bishop and his household sate down to eat, Mochuda, unknown to them, concealed himself--sitting in the shadow of the doorway. Meanwhile the king, Maoltuile, was troubled about the boy, noticing his absence [from the homestead at Achaddi] that evening and not knowing the cause thereof. He immediately sent messengers to seek the youth throughout the country, and one of these found him sitting, as indicated, in the shadow of the doorway of the bishop's house. The messenger took Mochuda with him back to the king. The latter questioned him:--"My child, why have you stayed away in this manner?" Mochuda replied, "Sire, this is why I have stayed away--through attraction of the holy chant of the bishop and clergy; I have never heard anything so beautiful as this; the clerics sang as they went along the whole way before me; they sang until they arrived at their house, and thenceforth they sang till they went to sleep. The bishop however remained by himself far into the night praying by himself when the others had retired. And I wish, O king, that I might learn [their psalms and ritual]." Hearing this the king at once sent a message to the bishop requesting the latter to come to him. About this time Mochuda's father gave a feast in the king's honour and as the company were at supper the king calling Mochuda before him offered him a shield, sword, javelin, and princely robe, saying: "Take these and be henceforth a knight to me as your father has been." But Mochuda declined the offer. "What is it," asked the king, "that you will accept, so that [whatever it be] I may give it to you?" Mochuda answered:--"I do not long for anything of earth--only that I be allowed to learn the psalms of the clerics which I heard them sing." In this answer the king discerned the working of divine grace, whereupon he promised the youth the favour he asked for. Shortly afterwards the bishop, Carthach, whom we have mentioned as sent for by the king, arrived, and to him the latter entrusted Mochuda to be instructed in reading and writing. With great joy the bishop undertook his charge for he saw that his pupil was marked by grace, and under the bishop's guidance and tutelage Mochuda remained till his promotion to the priesthood. Mochuda was very handsome of features with the result that at different times during his youth maidens to the number of thirty were so enamoured of him that they could not conceal their feeling. But Mochuda prayed for them, and obtained for them by his prayers that their carnal love should be turned into a spiritual. They afterwards became consecrated religious and within what to-day is his parish he built them cells and monasteries which the holy virgins placed under his protection and jurisdiction. Finntan Mac Cartan, bringing with him an infant for baptism came to Bishop Carthach. The latter said to him:--"Let the young priest there who was ordained to-day baptise the child." Whereupon Finntan handed the infant to the young priest. Mochuda enquired the name he was to impose, and the father answered--Fodhran. Having administered baptism Mochuda taking the infant's hand prophesied concerning the babe--"This hand will be strong in battle and will win hostages and submission of the Clan Torna whose country lies in mid-Kerry from Sliabh Luachra [Slieve Lougher] to the sea. From his seed, moreover, will spring kings to the end of time, unless indeed they refuse me due allegiance, and if, at any time, they incur displeasure of my successors their kingship and dominion will come to an end." This prophecy has been fulfilled. Sometime afterwards Mochuda with his master, Carthach, visited King Maoltuile, whom they found at a place called Feorainn, near Tralee, from which the lords and kings of Kerry take their name. Said Bishop Carthach:--"Here, Sire, is the youth you gave me to train; he is a good scholar and he has studied the holy writings with much success. I have ordained him a priest and (his) grace is manifest in many ways." "What recompense do you desire for your labour?" asked the king. "Only," replied Carthach, "that you would place yourself and your posterity under the spiritual jurisdiction of this young priest, the servant of God." The king, however, hesitated--because of Mochuda's youth. Soon as Carthach perceived this he himself inclined to Mochuda and bending his knee before him exclaimed:--"I hereby give myself, my parish and monastery to God and to Mochuda for ever." Touched by the bishop's example the king prostrated himself before Mochuda and pledged to God and to him, his soul and body and posterity to the end of time. Then Mochuda placed his foot upon the king's neck and measured the royal body with his foot. Against this proceeding of Mochuda's a member of the king's party protested in abusive and insulting terms--"It is a haughty act of yours, laying your foot upon the king's neck, for be it known to you the body on which you trample is worthy of respect." On hearing this Mochuda ceased to measure the king and declared:--"The neck upon which I have set my heel shall never be decapitated and the body which I have measured with my foot shall not be slain and but for your interference there would not be wanting anything to him or his seed for ever." Addressing (specially) the interrupter, he prophesied:--"You and your posterity will be for ever contemptible among the tribes." Blessing the king he promised him prosperity here and heaven hereafter and assured him:--"If any one of your posterity contemn my successors refusing me my lawful dues he will never reign over the kingdom of Kerry." This prophecy has been fulfilled. Next, Mochuda, at the suggestion of his master, the bishop, and the King Maoltuile, built a famous cell called Kiltulach [Kiltallagh] at a place between Sliabh Mis and the River Maing in the southern part of Kerry. Here his many miracles won him the esteem of all. In that region he found two bishops already settled before him, scil.:--Dibhilin and Domailgig. These became envious of the honour paid him and the fame he acquired, and they treated him evilly. Whereupon he went to Maoltuile and told him the state of affairs. Soon as the king heard the tale he came with Mochuda from the place where he then was on the bank of the Luimnech and stayed not till they reached the summit of Sliabh Mis, when he addressed Mochuda: "Leave this confined region for the present to the envy and jealousy of the bishops and hereafter it will become yours and your coarbs' to the end of time." The advice commended itself to Mochuda and he thanked the king for it. Thereupon he abandoned his cell to the aforesaid bishops and determined to set out alone as a pilgrim to the northern part of Ireland. In the meantime an angel visited Comghall and repeated to him what had been foretold him already--that there should come to him a young priest desirous for Christ's sake of pilgrimage beyond the seas--that Comghall should dissuade him and, instead, retain the stranger with him for a year at Bangor. "And how am I to recognise him?" asked Comghall. The angel answered:--"Whom you shall see going from the church to the guest-house" (for it was Mochuda's custom to visit the church first). [See note 1.] Comghall announced to his household that there was coming to them a distinguished stranger, well-beloved of God, of whose advent an angel had twice foretold him. Some time later Mochuda arrived at Comghall's establishment, and he went first to the monastery and Comghall recognised him and bade him welcome. In that place Mochuda remained a whole year, as the angel had said, and at the end of the year he returned to his own country where he built many cells and churches and worked many wonders, winning many souls to religion and to good works. Many persons moreover placed themselves, their children, and their kindred under his jurisdiction, and the great parishes of their own territory were assigned to him, and finally the episcopate of Kerry became his. Subsequent to this Mochuda, having committed the care of his cell and parish to certain pious and suitable persons, set out himself, accompanied by a few disciples, through the south of Munster to visit the Monastery of Ciaran Mac Fionntan at Rosgiallan [Rostellan]. From Ciaran Mochuda enquired, where--in south Munster (as the angel had mentioned to Comghall)--the chief and most distinguished of these churches should be. Ciaran, who possessed the spirit of prophecy, replied--"You shall go first to Meath where you will found a famous church in the territory of Ibh Neill and there you will remain for forty years. You shall be driven thence into exile and you will return to Munster wherein will be your greatest and most renowned church." Mochuda offered to place himself under the patronage and jurisdiction of Ciaran: "Not so, shall it be," said Ciaran, "but rather do I put myself and my church under you, for ever, reserving only that my son, Fuadhran, be my successor in this place." This Mochuda assented to and Fuadhran governed the monastic city for twenty years as Ciaran's successor in the abbacy. Next, Mochuda entered the territory of the Munster Decies where dwelt the Clanna Ruadhain who placed themselves and all their churches under him, and one Colman Mac Cobhthaigh a wealthy magnate of the region donated extensive lands to Mochuda who placed them under devout persons --to hold for him. Proceeding thence Mochuda took his way across Sliabh Gua looking back from the summit of which he saw by the bank of the Nemh [Blackwater] angels ascending towards heaven and descending thence. And they took up with them to heaven a silver chair with a golden image thereon. This was the place in which long afterwards he founded his famous church and whence he departed himself to glory. Hence Mochuda travelled to Molua Mac Coinche's monastery of Clonfert [Kyle], on the confines of Leinster and Munster. He found Molua in the harvest field in the midst of a 'meitheal' [team] of reapers. Before setting out on this present journey of his Mochuda had, with one exception, dismissed all his disciples to their various homes for he, but with a single companion, did not wish to enter the strange land ostentatiously. The single follower whom Mochuda had retained wishing to remain at Clonfert, said to St. Molua: "Holy father, I should wish to remain here with you." Molua answered:--"I shall permit you, brother, if your pious master consents." Mochuda, having dismissed so many, would not make any difficulty about an individual, and so he gave the monk his freedom. Mochuda thereupon set out alone, which, Molua's monks observing, they remark:--"It were time for that aged man to remain in some monastery, for it is unbecoming such a (senior) monk to wander about alone." They did not know that he, of whom they spoke, was Mochuda, for it was not the custom of the latter to make himself known to many. "Say not so," said Molua (to the censorious brethren), "for the day will come when our community and city will seem but insignificant beside his--though now he goes alone; you do not know that he is Mochuda whom many obey and whom many more will obey in times to come." As Mochuda went on his lonely way he met two monks who asked him whither he was bound. "To Colman Elo," he answered. Then said one of them to him:--"Take us with you as monks and subjects," for they judged him from his countenance to be a holy man. Mochuda accepted the monks and they journeyed on together till they came to Colman's monastery [Lynally]. Mochuda said to Colman: "Father I would remain here with you." "Not so," replied Colman, "but go you to a place called Rahen in this vicinity; that is the place ordained by God for your dwelling and you shall have there a large community in the service of God and from that place you will get your first name--Mochuda of Rahen." Having said farewell to Colman and obtained his blessing Mochuda, with his two monks, set out for the place indicated and there in the beginning he built a small cell and Colman and he often afterwards exchanged visits. Colman had in the beginning--some time previous to Mochuda's advent--contemplated establishing himself at Rahen and he had left there two or three [bundles] of rods remarking to his disciples that another should come after him for whom and not for himself God had destined this place. It was with this material that Mochuda commenced to build his cell as Colman had foretold in the first instance. He erected later a great monastery in which he lived forty years and had eight hundred and eighty seven religious under his guidance and rule. Subsequent to Mochuda's foundation of Rahen his miracles and the marvels he wrought spread his fame far and wide through Ireland and through Britain, and multitudes came to him from various parts of those countries to give themselves to the service of God under his guidance. In the beginning he refused worldly gifts from others although his church was honoured and patronised by neighbouring kings and chieftains who offered him lands and cattle and money and many other things. Mochuda kept his monks employed in hard labour and in ploughing the ground for he wanted them to be always humble. Others, however, of the Saints of Erin did not force their monks to servile labour in this fashion. Mochuda was consecrated bishop by many saints and from time to time he visited his parish in Kerry, but as a rule he remained at Rahen with his monks, for it is monks he had with him not clerics. On a certain day in the (early) springtime there came to tempt him a druid who said to him:--"In the name of your God cause this apple-tree branch to produce foliage." Mochuda knew that it was in contempt for divine power the druid proposed this, and the branch put forth leaves on the instant. The druid demanded "In the name of your God, put blossom on it." Mochuda made the sign of the cross [over the twig] and it blossomed presently. The druid persisted:--"What profits blossom without fruit?" [said the druid]. Mochuda, for the third time, blessed the branch and it produced a quantity of fruit. The druid said:--"Follower of Christ, cause the fruit to ripen." Mochuda blessed the tree and the fruit, fully ripe, fell to the earth. The druid picked up an apple off the ground and examining it he saw it was quite sour, whereupon he objected:--"Such miracles as these are worthless since it leaves the fruit uneatable." Mochuda blessed the apples and they all became sweet as honey, and in punishment of his opposition the magician was deprived for a year of his eyesight. At the end of a year he came to Mochuda and did penance, whereupon he received his sight back again and he returned home rejoicing. On another occasion there came to Mochuda a secular who brought with him his deaf and dumb son whom he besought the saint to heal. Mochuda prayed to God for him and said, "My son, hear and speak." The boy answered immediately and said, "Man of God, I give myself and my inheritance to you for ever," and thenceforth he possessed the use of all his senses and members. Another day a young man who had contracted leprosy came to Mochuda showing him his misery and his wretched condition. The saint prayed for him and he was restored to health. At another time there came to Mochuda a man whose face was deformed. He besought the saint's aid and his face was healed upon the spot. On yet another occasion in the springtime a poor man who dwelt some distance from the monastery of Rahen, came to Mochuda, and asked the loan of two oxen and a ploughman to do a day's ploughing for him. But Mochuda, as we have already said, had no cattle, for it was the monks themselves who dug and tilled the soil. Mochuda summoned one of his labourers named Aodhan whom he ordered to go into the nearest wood to bring back thence a pair of deer with him and go along with them to the poor man to do the spring work for him. Aodhan did dutifully all that Mochuda bade him--he found the two deer, went with the poor man and ploughed for him till the work was completed when the deer returned to their habitat and Aodhan to Mochuda. On another day there came to Mochuda a man troubled by the devil. Mochuda cured him at once, driving the demons from him and the man went his way thanking God and Mochuda. Once, when the brethren were at work in the fields and in the kitchen, Mochuda went to the mill to grind meal for the monk's use, and nine robbers, who hated him, followed with the intention of murdering him. The chief of the band sent each member of the gang to the mill in turn. Not one of them however could enter the mill because of a violent flame of fire which encircled the building round about, through the goodness of God protecting Mochuda from the robbers. The latter, through the mill door, watched Mochuda who slept portion of the time and was awake another portion. And while he slept the mill stopped of itself, and while he was awake it went of its own accord. The gang thereupon returned to the chief and told him all they had seen, which, when he heard, he became enraged. Then he hastened himself to the mill to kill Mochuda. But he experienced the same things as all the others and he was unable to hurt Mochuda. He returned to his followers and said to them--"Let us stay here till he comes out of the mill, for we need not fear that he will call help nor need we fear his arm." Shortly afterwards Mochuda came out carrying his load. The robbers rushed on him, but they were unable to do him any injury for as each man of them tried to draw his weapon his hands became powerless, so he was unable to use them. Mochuda requested them to allow him pass with his burden and he promised them on his credit and his word that he should return to them when he had deposited the sack in safety. They took his word and he went, deposited his bag of meal in the kitchen, and returned meekly to martyrdom. The brethren imagined he had gone to a quiet place for prayer as was his custom. When he returned to the robbers they drew their weapons several times to kill him but they were unable to do so. Seeing this wonder they were moved to repentance and they gave themselves to God and to Mochuda for ever and, till the time of their death, they remained under his guidance and rule and many subsequent edifying and famous acts of theirs are recorded. An angel came to Mochuda at Rahen on another occasion announcing to him the command of God that he should go that same day to Mac Fhiodaig, king of his own region of Kerry Luachra, and administer to him Holy Communion and Confession as he was on the point of death. Mochuda asked the angel how he could reach Kerry that day from Rahen. The angel thereupon (for reply) took him up through the air in a fiery chariot until they arrived at the king's residence. Mochuda administered Holy Communion and Confession and the king having bestowed generous alms upon him departed hence to glory. Mochuda returned that same day to Rahen where he found the community singing vespers. On another occasion Mochuda visited Colman Elo at the latter's monastery of Lynally and requested Colman to come with him to consecrate for him his cemetery at Rahen, for Colman, assisted by angels, was in the habit of consecrating cemeteries and God gave him the privilege that no one should go to hell who was interred in a grave consecrated by him. Colman said to him:--"Return home and on the fifth day from now I shall follow." Mochuda returned home, where he remained till the fifth day, when, seeing that Colman had not arrived he came again to the latter. "Father," said he, "why have you not kept your promise?" To which Colman replied, "I came and an angel with me that day and consecrated your cemetery. Return now and you will find it marked (consecrated) on the south side of your own cell. Lay it out as it is there indicated and think not that its area is too small, because a larger will be consecrated for you later, by the angels, in the southern part of Erin, namely--in Lismore." Mochuda returned and found the cemetery duly marked as Colman had indicated. About the same time clerics came across Slieve Luachra in the territory of Kerry to the church of Ita, honoured [abbess] of Conall Gabhra. They had with them a child upon seeing whom Ita wept bitterly. The clerics demanded why she cried at seeing them. "Blessed," she answered, "is the hour in which that youth in your company was born, for no one shall ever go to hell from the cemetery in which he will be buried, but, alas, for me, that I cannot be buried therein." The clerics asked what cemetery it was in which he should be buried. "In Mochuda's cemetery," said she, "which though it be as yet unconsecrated will be honoured and famous in times to come." This all came to pass, for the youth afterwards became a monk under Mochuda and he is buried in the monastic cemetery of Lismore as Ita had foretold. A child on another occasion fell off the bridge of Rahen into the river and was drowned. The body was a day and a night in the water before it was recovered. Then it was brought to Mochuda who, moved with compassion for the father in his loss of an only son, restored the boy to life. Moreover he himself fostered the child for a considerable time afterwards and when the youth had grown up, he sent him back to his own country of Delbhna. Mochuda's foster son begat sons and daughters and he gave himself and them, as well as his inheritance, to God and Mochuda, and his descendants are to this day servile tenants of the monastery. Once as Mochuda, with large offerings, was returning from Kerry to Rahen he passed through the confines of Delbhna [Lemanaghan?] by the lake called Muincine [Lough Gur?] where he and his party were overtaken by night. They found here before them by the roadside revolving wheels, which an artisan, who was erecting a mill on the stream from the lake, had set up for a joke. As the wheels revolved they made a terrific noise which was heard by the whole neighbourhood. Many of the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages aroused by the noise rushed out, with appeals for help and loud cries, to investigate the matter. Mochuda's people were frightened by the din and their pack and riding horses stampeded and lost their loads and it was not without difficulty that they were caught again. Mochuda knew what caused the noise and he told the workmen who had played this mischievous trick that they should be scattered throughout the different provinces of Ireland, that they should be always worthless and unprofitable, that the mill they were engaged on should never be finished and that their progeny after them should be valueless race of mischief-makers. The latter are called the Hi-Enna [Ui Enna Aine Aulium] to-day. One day Mochuda came to a place called Cluain-Breanainn where apples abounded. His followers asked some apples for him but the orchard owner refused them. Said Mochuda:--"From this day forward no fruit shall grow in you orchard for ever," and that prophecy has been fulfilled. Mochuda had in his monastery twelve exceedingly perfect disciples, scil.:--Caoinche Mac Mellain [Mochua Mac Mellain or Cronan], who was the first monk to enter Rahen; Mucoinog [Mochoemog]; the three sons of Nascainn--Goban, Srafan, and Laisren; Mulua [Molua]; Lugair; Mochomog Eile; Aodhan [Aedhan]; Fachtna Coinceann [Fiachna or Fiochrae]; Fionnlog and Mochomog who became a bishop later. The virtue of these monks surpassed belief and Mochuda wished to mitigate their austerities before their death. He therefore built separate cells for them that they might have some comfort in their old age as a reward for their virtue in youth; moreover he predicted blessings for them. He made [a prophecy] for one of them, mentioned above, scil.:--Mochua Mac Mellain, for whom he had built a comfortable cell at a place called Cluain-Da-Chrann. He said to him: "Your place of resurrection will not be here but in another place which God has given you." That prediction has been verified. To a second disciple, scil.:--Fiachna, Mochuda said:--"Your resurrection will not be in this place though I have made you a cell here; you will have three further abiding places, nevertheless it will be with your own companion, Aodhan, that your remains will rest and your resurrection will be in the territory of Ui Torna, and it is from you that the place will get its name." For this Aodhan alluded to Mochuda likewise built another cell in the land of Ui Torna close by Slieve Luachra, and speaking prophetically he said to him: "The remains of your fellow-disciple, Fiachna, will be carried to you hither and from him will this place be named." That statement has been verified, for the church is now called Cill-Fiachna and it was first called Cill-Aeghain. Concerning other persons, Mochuda prophesied various other things, all of them have come to pass. A child born of secret adultery was abandoned close by the monastery of Rahen and Mochuda fostered the child until he became a bishop, though no one knew his name or his progenitors. Mochuda said:--"This child's name is Dioma and his father is Cormac of the race of Eochaidh Eachach." All thereupon magnified the foreknowledge of Mochuda, which he had from no other than the Holy Spirit. Having consecrated him bishop, Mochuda instructed him: "Go in haste to your own native region of Hy-Eachach in the southern confines of Munster for there will your resurrection be. War and domestic strife shall arise among your race and kinsfolk unless you arrive there soon to prevent it." Dioma set out, accompanied by another bishop, Cuana by name, who was also a disciple of Mochuda's. They travelled into Ibh Eachach and Dioma preached the word of God to his brethren and tribesmen. He made peace between them and they built a monastery for him and he placed himself, his kindred, and parish under his chosen master, Mochuda, and he ended his life (there) in peace. On another occasion Mochuda travelled from Rahen to the provinces of Munster and entered Ciarraighe Corca. It happened that Cairbre Mac Criomhthain, who was king of Munster, was at that time in Magh-Cuirce, the place to which Mochuda came. At the same time there fell a fire ball which destroyed one of the king's residences, killing his wife, many of his people and his son, Aodh Mac Cairbre, who were buried in the falling ruin. There were killed there moreover two good carriage horses of the king's. Cairbre besought Mochuda that he would restore the queen and his son to life, and when the saint saw the king's faith he prayed for him to God and then addressing the dead he said,--"Arise." They arose thereupon and he gave them safe to the king and they all gave glory and thanks to God and Mochuda. The king moreover made large offerings of land and servile tenants to Mochuda. But one of the tenants, through pride and jealousy, refused to obey Mochuda, notwithstanding the king's command. Mochuda said: "Your posterity will die out and their inheritance, for sake of which you (mis)behave towards me, shall become mine for ever; whosoever takes from me that which another has given me shall be deprived of heaven and earth." That man and his posterity soon came to nought. On another occasion Mochuda sent a golden belt to Fergus Mac Criomhthan who suffered from uncleanness of skin arising from kidney disease and upon application of the girdle, by the blessing of Mochuda he recovered. Another time again a king of Munster, Cathal Mac Aodha, in the region of Cuirche, was a sufferer from a combination of complaints--he was deaf, lame, and blind, and when Mochuda came to see him the king and his friends prayed the saint to cure him. Mochuda therefore prayed for him and made the sign of the cross on his eyes and ears and immediately he was healed of all his maladies--he heard and saw perfectly, and Cathal gave extensive lands to God and Mochuda for ever, scil:--Oilean Cathail and Ros-Beg and Ros-Mor and Inis-Pic [Spike Island]. Mochuda placed a religious community in Ros-Beg to build there a church in honour of God. Mochuda himself commenced to build a church on Inis-Pic and he remained there a whole year. [On his departure] Mochuda left there--in the monastery of Inis-Pic--to watch over it, in his stead, and to keep it in perfect order--the three disciples whom we have already named (scil:--the three sons of Nascon, i.e. Goban a bishop, Srafan a priest, and holy Laisren) together with the saintly bishop, Dardomaighen [Domangenum], (who had conferred orders on them in presence of Mochuda) and forty monks. Thereupon Mochuda returned to Rahen. That island we have mentioned, scil.:--Inis-Pic, is a most holy place in which an exceedingly devout community constantly dwell. Mochuda next directed his steps eastward through Munster and he crossed the river then called Nemh, and now named the Abhainn More. As he crossed he saw a large apple floating in the middle of the ford. This he took up and carried away with him in his hand. Hence (that ford is named) Ath-Ubhla in Fermoy [Ballyhooley]. His attendant asked Mochuda for the apple, but the latter refused to give it saying--"God will work a miracle by that apple and through me to-day: we shall meet Cuana Mac Cailcin's daughter whose right hand is powerless so that she cannot move it from her side. But she shall be cured by the power of God through this apple." This was accomplished. Mochuda espied the child playing a game with the other girls in the faithche [lawn] of the Lios. He approached and said to her:--"Take this apple." She, as usual, put forth her left hand for the fruit. "You shall not get it in that hand, but take it in the other." The girl full of faith tried to put out the right hand, and on the instant the hand became full of strength and blood and motion so that she took the apple in it. All rejoiced thereat and were amazed at the wonder wrought. That night Cuana said to his daughter: "Choose yourself which you prefer of the royal youths of Munster and whomsoever your choice be I shall obtain in marriage for you." "The only spouse I shall have," said she, "is the man who cured my hand." "Do you hear what she says O Mochuda?" said the king. "Entrust the child to me," answered Mochuda, "I shall present her as a bride to God who has healed her hand." Whereupon Cuana gave his daughter Flandnait, together with her dowry and lands on the bank of Nemh, to God and to Mochuda for ever. Cuana was almost incredibly generous. Mochuda took the maiden with him to Rahen where she passed her years happily with the religious women there till Mochuda was expelled by the kings of Tara as you may hear. He took Flandnait with him (from Rahen) in his party to her own native region that she might build herself a cell there. She did build a famous cell at Cluain Dallain in Mochuda's own parish. Previous to his expulsion (from Rahen) Mochuda visited the place where (later) he built Lismore and he heard the voice of persons reading at Rahen, wherefore he said to his followers: "I know that this is the place where God will permit us to build our monastery." This prophecy was subsequently verified. On a certain occasion Columcille came to Rahen where Mochuda was and asked him:--"Is this place in which you now are dear to you?" "It is, indeed," answered Mochuda. Columcille said: "Let not what I say to you trouble you--this will not be the place of your resurrection, for the king of Erin and his family will grow jealous of you owing to machinations of some of the Irish clergy, and they shall eventually drive you hence." Mochuda questioned Columcille who had a true prophetic gift--"In what other place then will my resurrection be?" Columcille told him--"The place where from the summit of Slieve Gua you saw the host of angels building a chair of silver with a statue of gold therein on the bank of the Nemh--there will your resurrection be, and the chair of silver is your church in the midst of them [, and you are truly the golden statue in its midst]." Mochuda believing what he heard thanked and glorified God. As Mochuda on another day was at Rahen there came to him a priest and monk of his own community from the northern part of Munster; he made a reverence as was the custom of the monks, in Mochuda's presence and said to him, "Father, I have complied with all your commands and the precepts of God from the day I left Rahen till now--except this--that, without your permission, I have taken my brother from the secular life." "Verily I say to you," answered Mochuda, "if you were to go to the top of a high hill and to shout as loudly as you could and were to bring to me all who heard the cry I should not refuse the habit of religion to one of them." Hearing these words all realised the character and extent of Mochuda's charity and returned thanks to God for it. On a certain day about vesper time, because of the holiness of the hour, Mochuda said to his monks:--"We shall not eat to-day till each one of you has made his confession," for he knew that some one of them had ill will in his heart against another. All the brethren thereupon confessed to him. One of them in the course of his confession stated: "I love not your miller and the cause of my lack of charity towards him is this, that when I come to the mill he will not lift the loads off the horses and he will neither help me to fill the meal sacks nor to load them on the horse when filled. And not this alone but he does everything that is disagreeable to me; moreover I cannot tell, but God knows, why he so acts. Often I have thought of striking him or even beating him to death." Mochuda replied, "Brother dear, the prophet says--'Declina a malo et fac bonum' [Psalm 36(37):27] (Avoid evil and do good). Following this precept let you act kindly towards the miller and that charity of yours will move him to charity towards you and ye shall yet be steadfast friends." Things went on thus for three days--the monk doing all he could to placate the miller. Nevertheless the miller did not cease his persecution, nor the brother his hate of the miller. On the third day Mochuda directed the brother to confess to him again. The brother said: --"This is my confession, Father, I do not yet love the miller." Mochuda observed:--"He will change to-night, and to-morrow he will not break fast till you meet him and you shall sit on the same seat, at the same table, and you shall remain fast friends for the rest of your lives." All this came to pass; for that monk was, through the instruction of Mochuda, filled with the grace of the Divine Spirit. And he glorified and praised Mochuda, for he recognised him as a man favoured by the Holy Ghost. On another occasion two British monks of Mochuda's monastery had a conversation in secret. Mochuda, they said, is very old though there is no immediate appearance of approaching death--and there is no doubt that his equal in virtue or good works will never be found--therefore if he were out of the way one of us might succeed him. Let us then kill him as there is no likelihood of his natural death within a reasonable time. They resolved therefore to drown him in the river towards close of the following night and to conceal all traces so that the crime could never be discovered. They found him subsequently in a lonely place where he was accustomed to pray. They bound him tightly and carried him between them on their shoulders to the water. On their way to the river they met one of the monks who used to walk around the cemetery every night. He said to them: "What is that you carry?" They replied that it was portion of the monastic washing which they were taking to the river. He however, under the insistent suggestion of the Holy Spirit, believed them not. He said: "Put down your load till we examine it." They were constrained to obey and the burden proved to be--Mochuda. The monk who detected [the proposed murder] was the overseer of the homestead. He said mournfully, "My God, it is a dreadful work you are about." Mochuda said gently:--"Son, it were well for me had that been done to me for I should now be numbered among the holy martyrs. And it were bad for them (the two wicked monks) for it is with Judas the betrayer of his Lord they should be tortured for ever, who had desired my death for their own advancement. Neither these wretched men themselves nor anyone of their nation shall be my coarb for ever, but my successors shall be of his race through whom God has rescued me. Moreover my city shall never be without men of the British race who will be butts and laughing-stocks and serve no useful purpose." The person who saved Mochuda was of the Ciarraighe race and it is of that same people that the coarbs and successors of Mochuda have commonly been ever since. [See note 2.] Mochuda refused for a long while, as we have already said, to accept cattle or horses from anyone; it was the monks themselves who dug and cultivated the land and they did all the haulage of the monastery on their own backs. St. Fionan however who was a kinsman of Mochuda and had just returned from Rome, came at this time on a visit to the monastery. He reproached Mochuda saying: "Mochuda, why do you impose the burden of brute beasts upon rational beings? Is it not for use of the latter that all other animals have been created? Of a truth I shall not taste food in this house till you have remedied this grievance." Thenceforth Mochuda--in honour of Fionan--permitted his monks to accept horses and oxen from the people and he freed them from the hardship alluded to. Sometime later the holy abbot, Lachtaoin [St. Lachten], compassionating Mochuda and his monks because of their lack of cattle paid a visit to Rahen bringing with him a gift of thirty cows and a bull, also a couple of cattlemen and two dairymaids. Coming near Rahen he left the cattle in a secluded place, for he did not wish them to be seen. Thereupon he went himself to the monastery and simulating illness requested a drink of milk. The house steward went to Mochuda to tell him that Lachtaoin was ill and required milk. Mochuda ordered the steward to fill a pitcher with water and bring it to him--and this order was executed. Mochuda blessed the water which immediately was changed into sweet new milk apparently of that day's milking. He sent the milk to Lachtaoin but the latter identified it as milk miraculously produced; he in turn blessed it with the result that it was changed back again into water. He complained:--"It is not water but milk I have asked for." The messenger related this fact publicly. Lachtaoin declared:--"Mochuda is a good monk but his successors will not be able to change water to milk," and to the messenger he said--"Go to Mochuda and tell him that I shall not break bread in this house until he accept the alms which I have brought to the community." On Mochuda agreeing to accept them he handed over the cattle and dairymen to the monks of Rahen and the stewards took charge of them. Mochuda said thereupon, that he should not have accepted the cattle but as a compliment to Lachtaoin. Lachtaoin replied:--"From this day forward there will be plenty cattle and worldly substance in your dwelling-place and there will be a multitude of holy people in the other place whence you are to depart to heaven (for you will be exiled from your present home)." After they had mutually blessed and taken leave and pledged friendship Lachtaoin departed. Once, at harvest time, the farm steward came to Mochuda complaining that, though the crop was dead ripe, a sufficient number of harvesters could not be found. Mochuda answered: "Go in peace, dear brother, and God will send you satisfactory reapers." This promise was fulfilled, for a band of angels came to the ripest and largest fields, reaped and bound a great deal quickly, and gathered the crop into one place. The monks marvelled, though they knew it was God's work and they praised and thanked Him and Mochuda. The spirit of obedience amongst Mochuda's monks was such that if any senior member of the community ordered another to lie in the fire he would be obeyed. As an instance of this,--some of the brethren were on one occasion baking bread in an oven when one the monks said to another younger than himself, "The bread is burning: take it out instantly." There was an iron shovel for drawing out the bread but the brother could not find it on the instant. He heeded not the flames which shot out of the oven's mouth but caught the hot bread and shifted it with his hands and suffered no hurt whatever. On another day the monks were engaged in labour beside the river which runs through the monastery. One of the senior monks called upon a young monk named Colman to do a certain piece of work. Immediately, as he had not named any particular Colman, twelve monks of the name rushed into the water. The readiness and exactness of the obedience practised was displayed in this incident. Great moreover was their meekness and patience in sickness or ill-health as appears from the case of the monk out of the wounds of whose body maggots fell as he walked; yet he never complained or told anyone or left his work for two moments although it was plain from his appearance that his health was declining, and he was growing thinner from day to day. The brothers pitied him very much. At length Mochuda questioned him--putting him under obedience to tell the truth--as to the cause of his decline. The monk thereupon showed him his sides which were torn by a twig tied fast around them. Mochuda asked him who had done that barbarous and intolerable thing to him. The monk answered:--"One day while we were drawing logs of timber from the wood my girdle broke from the strain, so that my clothes hung loose. A monk behind me saw this and cutting a twig tied it so tightly around my sides that it has caused my flesh to mortify." Mochuda asked--"And why did you not loosen the twig?" The monk replied--"Because my body in not my own and he who tied it (the withe) has never loosed it." It was a whole year since the withe had been fastened around him. Mochuda said to him:--"Brother, you have suffered great pain; as a reward thereof take now you choice--your restoration to bodily health or spiritual health by immediate departure hence to eternal life." He answered, deciding to go to heaven:--"Why should I desire to remain in this life?" Having received the Sacrament and the Holy Communion he departed hence to glory. There came to Mochuda on another occasion with her husband, a woman named Brigh whose hand lay withered and useless by her side: she besought the saint to cure her hand. Moreover she was pregnant at the time. Mochuda held out an apple in his hand to her as he had done before to Flandnait, the daughter of Cuana, saying--"Alleluia, put forth your nerveless hand to take this apple." She did as she was told and took the apple from his hand and was cured; moreover as she tasted the fruit parturition came on--without pain or inconvenience, after which [the pair] returned to their home rejoicing. In fulfilment of the prophecy of Columcille and other holy men that Mochuda should be expelled from Rahen the king of Tara, Blathmac, the son of Aodh Slaine, and his brother Diarmuid came, together with some clergy of the Cluain Earaird [Clonard] community, to carry out the eviction [in A.D. 635]. They said to him, "Leave this monastery and region and seek a place for yourself elsewhere." Mochuda replied--"In this place I have desired to end my days. Here I have been many years serving God and have almost reached the end of my life. Therefore I shall not depart unless I am dragged hence by the hands against my will, for it is not becoming an old man to abandon easily the place in which he has spent great part of his life." Then the nobles returned to Blathmac and they made various complaints of Mochuda, accusing him falsely of many things; finally they asked the king to undertake the expulsion personally, for they were themselves unequal to the task. The king thereupon came to the place accompanied by a large retinue. Alluding prophetically to the king's coming, previous to that event, Mochuda said, addressing the monks:--"Beloved brothers, get ready and gather your belongings, for violence and eviction are close at hand: the chieftains of this land are about to expel and banish you from your own home." Then the king, with his brothers and many of the chief men, arrived on the scene. They encamped near Rahen and the king sent his brother Diarmuid with some others to expel Mochuda and to put him out by force--which Diarmuid pledged his word he should do. It was in the choir at prayer that Diarmuid found Mochuda. Mochuda, though he knew his mission, asked Diarmuid why he was come and what he sought. Diarmuid replied that he came by order of King Blathmac to take him by the hand and put him out of that establishment and to banish him from Meath. "Do as you please," said Mochuda, "for we are prepared to undergo all things for Christ's sake." "By my word," answered Diarmuid, "I shall never be guilty of such a crime; let him who chooses do it." Mochuda said:--"You shall possess the kingdom of God and you shall reign in your brother's stead and your face which you have turned from me shall never be turned from your enemies. Moreover the reproaches which the king will presently cast upon you for not doing the work he has set you, will be your praise and your pride. At the same time as a penalty for your evil designs toward me and your greater readiness to drive me out, your son shall not succeed you in the sovereignty." Diarmuid returned to the king and told him that he could do no injury to Mochuda. The king retorted [sarcastically and] in anger, "What a valiant man you are, Diarmuid." Diarmuid replied:--"That is just what Mochuda promised --that I should be a warrior of God." He was known as Diarmuid Ruanaidh thenceforth, for the whole assembly cried out with one voice--truly he is Valiant (Ruanaidh). Next, the nobles present cast lots to decide which one of them should go with the king to lay hands on Mochuda and expel him from the monastery. The lot fell upon the Herenach [hereditary steward] of Cluain Earaird. He and the king accompanied by armed men went to the monastery where they found Mochuda and all the brethren in the church. Cronan, a certain rich man in the company, shouted out, "Make haste with the business on which you are come." Mochuda answered him--"You shall die immediately, but on account of the alms which you gave me for the love of Christ and on account of your uniform piety heretofore your progeny shall prosper for ever." That prophecy has been fulfilled. Another man, Dulach by name, winked mockingly with one of his eyes; moreover he laughed and behaved irreverently towards Mochuda. Mochuda said to him: --"Thus shall you be--with one eye closed and a grin on your countenance --to the end of your life; and of your descendants many will be similarly afflicted." Yet another member of the company, one Cailche, scurrilously abused and cursed Mochuda. To him Mochuda said:--"Dysentery will attack you immediately and murrain that will cause your death." The misfortune foretold befell him and indeed woeful misfortune and ill luck pursued many of them for their part in the wrong doing. When the king saw these things he became furious and, advancing--himself and the abbot of Cluain Earaird--they took each a hand of Mochuda and in a disrespectful, uncivil manner, they led him forth out of the monastery while their followers did the same with Mochuda's community. Throughout the city and in the country around there was among both sexes weeping, mourning, and wailing over their humiliating expulsion from their own home and monastery. Even amongst the soldiers of the king were many who were moved to pity and compassion for Mochuda and his people. One of Mochuda's monks had gout in his foot and for him Mochuda besought the king and his following that he, as he was unable to travel, might be allowed to remain in the monastery; the request was, however, refused. Mochuda called the monk to him and, in the name of Christ, he commanded the pain to leave the foot and to betake itself to the foot of Colman [Colman mac hua Telduib, abbot, or perhaps erenach only, of Cluain Earaird], the chieftain who was most unrelenting towards him. That soreness remained in Colman's foot as long as he lived. The monk however rose up and walked and was able to proceed on his way with his master. There was an aged monk who wished to be buried at Rahen; Mochuda granted the request, and he received Holy Communion and sacred rites at the saint's hands. Then he departed to heaven in the presence of all and his body was buried at Rahen as he had himself chosen that it should be. Leaving Rahen Mochuda paid a visit to the monastic cemetery weeping as he looked upon it; he blessed those interred there and prayed for them. By the permission of God it happened that the grave of a long deceased monk opened so that all saw it, and, putting his head out of the grave, the tenant of the tomb cried out in a loud voice: "O holy man and servant of God, bless us that through thy blessing we may rise and go with you whither you go." Mochuda replied:--"So novel a thing I shall not do, for it behoves not to raise so large a number of people before the general resurrection." The monk asked--"Why then father, do you leave us, though we have promised union with you in one place for ever?" Mochuda answered:--"Brother, have you ever heard the proverb--'necessitas movet decretum et consilium' (necessity is its own law)? Remain ye therefore in your resting places and on the day of general resurrection I shall come with all my brethren and we shall all assemble before the great cross called 'Cross of the Angels' at the church door and go together for judgement." When Mochuda had finished, the monk lay back in his grave and the coffin closed. Mochuda, with his following, next visited the cross already mentioned and here, turning to the king, he thus addressed him:--"Behold the heavens above you and the earth below." The king looked at them: then Mochuda continued:--"Heaven may you not possess and even from your earthly principality may you soon be driven and your brother whom you have reproached, because he would not lay hands on me, shall possess it instead of you, and in your lifetime. You shall be despised by all--so much so that in your brother's house they shall forget to supply you with food. Moreover yourself and your children shall come to an evil end and in a little while there shall not be one of your seed remaining." Then Mochuda cursed him and he rang his small bell against him and against his race, whence the bell has since been known as "The Bell of Blathmac's Extinguishing," or "The Bell of Blathmac's Drowning," because it drowned or extinguished Blathmac with his posterity. Blathmac had a large family of sons and daughters but, owing to Mochuda's curse, their race became extinct. Next to the prince of Cluain Earaird who also had seized him by the hand, he said: "You shall be a servant and a bondman ere you die and you shall lose your territory and your race will be a servile one." To another of those who led him by the hand he said:--"What moved you to drag me by the hand from my own monastery?" The other replied:--"It pleased me not that a Munster man should have such honour in Meath." "I wish," said Mochuda, "that the hand you laid on me may be accursed and that the face you turned against me to expel me from my home may be repulsive and scrofulous for the remainder of your life." This curse was effective for the man's eye was thereupon destroyed in his head. Mochuda noticed that some of Columcille's successors and people from Durrow, which was one of Columcille's foundations, had taken part in his eviction. He thus addressed them:--"Contention and quarrelling shall be yours for ever to work evil and schism amongst you--for you have had a prominent part in exciting opposition to me." And so it fell out. The king and his people thereupon compelled Mochuda to proceed on his way. Mochuda did proceed with his disciples, eight hundred and sixty seven in number (and as many more they left buried in Rahen). Moreover, many more living disciples of his who had lived in various parts of Ireland were already dead. All the community abounded in grace: many of its members became bishops and abbots in after years and they erected many churches to the glory of God. Understand, moreover, that great was the charity of the holy bishop, as the following fact will prove:--in a cell without the city of Rahen he maintained in comfort and respectability a multitude of lepers. He frequently visited them and ministered to them himself--entrusting that office to no one else. It was known to all the lepers of Ireland how Mochuda made their fellow-sufferers his special care and family, and the result was that an immense number of lepers from all parts flocked to him and he took charge and care of them. These on his departure from Rahen he took with him to Lismore where he prepared suitable quarters for them and there they have been ever since in comfort and in honour according to Mochuda's command. As Mochuda and his people journeyed along with their vehicles they found the way blocked by a large tree which lay across it. Owing to the density of underwood at either side they were unable to proceed. Some one announced:--"There is a tree across the road before us, so that we cannot advance." Mochuda said: "In the name of Christ I command thee, tree, to rise up and stand again in thy former place." At the command of Mochuda the tree stood erect as it was originally and it still retains its former appearance, and there is a pile of stones there at its base to commemorate the miracle. It was necessary to proceed; the first night after Mochuda's departure from Rahen the place that he came to was a cell called Drum Cuilinn [Drumcullen], on the confines of Munster, Leinster, and Clanna Neill, but actually within Clanna Neill, scil.:--in the territory of Fearceall in which also is Rahen. In Drum Cuilinn dwelt the holy abbot, Barrfhinn, renowned for miracles. On the morrow Mochuda arrived at Saighir Chiarain [Seirkieran] and the following night at the establishment where Cronan is now, scil.:--Roscrea. That night Mochuda remained without entertainment although it was offered to them by Cronan who had prepared supper for him. Mochuda refused however to go to it saying that he would not go out of his way to visit a man who avoids guests and builds his cell in a wild bog far from men and that such a man's proper guests are creatures of the wilderness instead of human beings. When Cronan heard this saying of Mochuda he came to the latter, by whose advice he abandoned his hermitage in the bog and he, with Mochuda, marked out the site of a new monastery and church at Roscrea. There he founded a great establishment and there he is himself buried. Mochuda took leave of Cronan and, travelling through Eile [Ely O'Carroll], came to the royal city named Cashel. On the following day the king, scil.:--Failbhe [Failbhe Flann], came to Mochuda offering him a place whereon to found a church. Mochuda replied:--"It is not permitted us by God to stay our journey anywhere till we come to the place promised to us by the holy men." About the same time there came messengers from the king of Leinster to the king of Munster praying the latter, by virtue of league and alliance, to come to his assistance as Leath-Chuinn and the north were advancing in great force to ravage Leinster. This is how Failbhe was situated at the time: he had lost one of his eyes and he was ashamed to go half-blind into a strange territory. As soon as Mochuda realised the extent of the king's diffidence he blessed the eye making on it the sign of the cross and it was immediately healed in the presence of all. The king and Mochuda took leave of one another and went each his own way. The king and his hosting went to the aid of Leinster in the latter's necessity. Mochuda journeyed on through Muscraige Oirthir the chief of which territory received him with great honour. Aodhan was the chief's name and he bestowed his homestead called Isiol [Athassel] on Mochuda, who blessed him and his seed. Next he came into the Decies. He travelled through Magh Femin where he broke his journey at Ard Breanuinn [Ardfinnan] on the bank of the Suir. There came to him here Maolochtair, king of the Decies, and the other nobles [or one noble, Suibhne] of his nation who were at variance with him concerning land. Mochuda by the grace of God made peace amongst them, and dismissed them in amity. Maolochtair gave that land to Mochuda who marked out a cell there where is now the city of Ardfinnnan, attached to which is a large parish subject to Mochuda and bearing his name. The wife of Maolochtair, scil:--Cuciniceas, daughter of Failbhe Flann, king of Munster, had a vision, viz.:--a flock of very beautiful birds flying above her head and one bird was more beautiful and larger than the rest. The other birds followed this one and it nestled in the king's bosom. Soon as she awoke she related the vision to the king; the king observed: "Woman you have dreamed a good dream and soon it will be realised; the flock of birds you have seen is Mochuda with his monks coming from Rahen and the most distinguished bird is Mochuda himself. And the settling in my bosom means that the place of his resurrection will be in my territory. Many blessings will come to us and our territory through him." That vision of the faithful woman was realised as the faithful king had explained it. Subsequently Mochuda came to Maolochtair requesting from him a place where he might erect a monastery. Maolochtair replied: "So large a community cannot dwell in such a narrow place." Mochuda said: "God, who sent us to you, will show you a place suited to us." The king answered:--"I have a place, convenient for fish and wood, beside Slieve Gua on the bank of the Nemh but I fear it will not be large enough." Mochuda said:--"It will not be narrow; there is a river and fish and that it shall be the place of our resurrection." Thereupon, in the presence of many witnesses, the king handed over the land, scil.:--Lismore, to God and Mochuda and it is in that place Mochuda afterwards founded his famous city. Mochuda blessed the king and his wife as well as the nobles and all the people and taking leave of them and receiving their homage he journeyed across Slieve Gua till he came to the church called Ceall Clochair [Kilcloher]. The saint of that church, scil.:--Mochua Mianain, prepared a supper for Mochuda to the best of his ability, but he had only a single barrel of ale for them all. Although Mochuda with his people remained there three days and three nights and although the holy abbot (Mochua) continued to draw the ale into small vessels to serve the company, according to their needs, the quantity in the barrel grew no less but increased after the manner of the oil blessed by Elias [3 Kings 17:16]. Then one of the monks said to Mochuda, "If you remain in this place till the feast ends your stay will be a long one for it (the entertainment) grows no smaller for all the consumption." "That is true, brother," said Mochuda, "and it is fitting for us to depart now." They started therefore on their way and Mochua Mianain gave himself and his place to God and Mochuda for ever. On Mochuda's departure the ale barrel drained out to the lees. Mochuda proceeded till he reached the river Nemh at a ford called Ath-Mheadhon [Affane] which no one could cross except a swimmer or a very strong person at low water in a dry season of summer heat, for the tide flows against the stream far as Lismore, five miles further up. On this particular occasion it happened to be high tide. The two first of Mochuda's people to reach the ford were the monks Molua and Colman, while Mochuda himself came last. They turned round to him and said that it was not possible to cross the river till the ebb. Mochuda answered: --"Advance through the water before the others in the name of your Lord Jesus Christ for He is the way the truth and the life" [John 14:6]. As soon as they heard this command of Mochuda's Molua said to Colman, "Which of the two will you hold back--the stream above or the sea below?" Colman answered:--"Let each restrain that which is nearest to him"--for Molua was on the upper, or stream, side and Colman on the lower, or sea, side. Molua said to Colman--"Forbid you the sea side to flow naturally and I shall forbid the stream side." Then with great faith they proceeded to cross the river; they signed the river with the sign of Christ's cross and the waters stood on either hand and apart, so that the dry earth appeared between. The side banks of water rose high because there was no passage up or down, so that the ridges were very elevated on both the sea and stream sides. The waters remained thus till such time as all Mochuda's people had crossed. Mochuda himself was the last to pass over and the path across was so level that it offered no obstacle to foot-passengers or chariots but was like a level plain so that they crossed dryshod, as the Jordan fell back for Josue the son of Nun [Josue 3:17]. Soon as Mochuda had crossed over he blessed the waters and commanded them to resume their natural course. On the reuniting again of the waters they made a noise like thunder, and the name of the place is The Place of Benedictions, from the blessings of Mochuda and his people. Next the glorious bishop, Mochuda, proceeded to the place promised to him by God and the prophets, which place is the plain called Magh-Sciath. Mochuda, with the holy men, blessed the place and dedicated there the site of a church in circular form. There came to them a holy woman named Caimell who had a cell there and she asked, "What do you propose doing here, ye servants of God?" "We propose," answered Mochuda, "building here a little 'Lios' [enclosure] around our possession." Caimell observed, "Not a little Lios will it be but a great ['mor'] one (Lis-mor)." "True indeed, virgin," responded Mochuda, "Lismore will be its name for ever." The virgin offered herself and her cell to God and Mochuda for ever, where the convent of women is now established in the city of Lismore. As Colman Elo, alluded to already, promised, Mochuda found his burial place marked out (consecrated?) by angels; there he and a multitude of his disciples are buried and it was made known to him by divine wisdom the number of holy persons that to the end of the world would be buried therein. Lismore is a renowned city, for there is one portion of it which no woman may enter and there are within it many chapels and monasteries, and in which there are always multitudes of devout people not from Ireland alone but from the land of the Saxons and from Britain and from other lands as well. This is its situation--on the south bank of the Avonmore in the Decies territory. On a certain day there came a druid to Mochuda to argue and contend with him. He said:--"If you be a servant of God cause natural fruit to grow on this withered branch." Mochuda knew that it was to throw contempt on the power of God that the druid had come. He blessed the branch and it produced first living skin, then, as the druid had asked--leaves, blossom and fruit in succession. The druid marvelled exceedingly and went his way. A poor man came to Mochuda on another occasion with an ill timed request for milk, and beer along with it. Mochuda was at the time close by the well which is known as "Mochuda's Well" at the present time; this he blessed changing it first into milk then into beer and finally to wine. Then he told the poor man to take away whatever quantity of each of these liquids he required. The well remained thus till at Mochuda's prayer it returned to its original condition again. An angel came from heaven to Mochuda at the time and told him that the well should remain a source of health and virtues and of marvels, and it still, like every well originally blessed by Mochuda, possesses power of healing from every malady. Mochuda, now grown old and of failing powers and strength, was wearied and worried by the incessant clamour of building operations--the dressing of stones and timber--carried on by the multitude of monks and artisans. He therefore by consent and counsel of the brethren retired to a remote, lonely place situated in a glen called "Mochuda's Inch" below the great monastery. He took with him there a few monks and built a resplendent monastery; he remained in that place a year and six months more leading a hermitical life. The brethren and seniors of the community visited him (from time to time) and he gave them sound, sweetly-reasoned advice. He received a vow from each to follow his Rule, for he was the support of the aged, the health-giver to the weak, the consoler of the afflicted, the hope-giver to the hopeless, the faith-giver to the doubting, the moderator and uniter of the young. As soon as Mochuda saw the hardship to the visiting brothers and elders of the descent from Lismore and the ascent thereto again--knowing at the same time that his end was approaching--he ordered himself to be carried up to the monastery so that the monks might be saved the fatigue of the descent to him. Then it pleased God to call to Himself His devoted servant from the troubles of life and to render to him the reward of his good works. He opened the gates of heaven then and sent to him a host of angels, in glory and majesty unspeakable. When Mochuda saw the heavens open above him and the angel band approaching, he ordered that he be set down in the middle of the glen and he related to the seniors the things that he had seen and he asked to receive the Body of Christ and he gave his last instruction to the monks--to observe the Law of God and keep His commands. The place was by the cross called "Crux Migrationis," or the cross from which Mochuda departed to Glory. Having received the Body and Blood of Christ, having taught them divine doctrines, in the midst of holy choirs and of many brethren and monks to whom in turn he gave his blessing and the kiss of peace according to the rule, the glorious and holy bishop departed to heaven accompanied by hosts of angels on the day before the Ides of May [May 14], in his union with the Holy Trinity--Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, for ever and ever. Amen. Finit 7ber [September] 4th, 1741. NOTE 1 One of our scribe's predecessors omitted a word or two from the text here, with disastrous results to the sense. The Latin Life comes to our aid however and enables us to make good the omission; the latter, by the way, puzzles our scribe who is like a man fighting an invisible enemy--correcting a text of which he does not know the defect. Insertion of the words "walking backwards" immediately after "church," in the angel's answer, will enable us to see the original writer's meaning. The text should probably read: The angel answered:--"Whom you shall see going from the church walking backwards to the guest-house" (for it was Mochuda's custom to walk backwards from the door of the church). Comghall announced to his household that there was coming to them a distinguished stranger, well-beloved of God, of whose advent an angel had twice foretold him. Some time later Mochuda arrived at Comghall's establishment, and he went to the monastery first and he did just as the angel foretold of him and Comghall recognised him and bade him welcome. NOTE 2 The obits of Mochuda's successors, down to Christian O'Conarchy, are chronicled as follows:-- A.D. 650. Cuanan, maternal uncle and immediate successor of Mochuda (Lanigan). A.D. 698. Iarnla, surnamed Hierologus (Four Masters). In his time King Alfrid was a student in Lismore. A.D. 702. Colman, son of Finnbhar (Acta Sanctorum). During his reign the abbey of Lismore reached the zenith of its fame. A.D. 716. Cronan Ua Eoan (F. Masters). A.D. 719. Colman O'Liathain (Annals of Inisfallen). A.D. 741. Finghal (F. Masters). A.D. 746. Mac hUige (Ibid). A.D. 747. Ihrichmech (A. of Inisf.) A.D. 748. Maccoigeth (F. M.) A.D. 752. Sinchu (F. M.) A.D. 755. Condath (Ibid). A.D. 756. Fincon (Annals of Ulster). A.D. 761. Aedhan (F. M.) A.D. 763. Ronan (Ware). A.D. 769. Soairleach Ua Concuarain (F. M.) A.D. 771. Eoghan (Ibid). A.D. 776. Orach (Ibid). A.D. 799. Carabran (Ibid). A.D. 801. Aedhan Ua Raichlich (A. of Inisf.) A.D. 823. Flann (F. M.) A.D. 849. Tibrade Ua Baethlanaigh (F. M.) At this period the town was plundered and burned by the Danes who had sailed up thither on the Blackwater. A.D. 849. Daniel (A. of Inisf.) A.D. 854. Suibne Ua Roichlech (F. M. and A. of Ulster). What is probably his gravestone is one of five Irish-inscribed slabs built into the west gable of the Cathedral. A.D. 861. Daniel Ua Liaithidhe (F. M.) A.D. 878. Martin Ua Roichligh (Ibid). Another of the inscribed stones above referred to asks "A prayer for Martan." A.D. 880. Flann Mac Forbasaich (A. I.) A.D. 899. Maelbrighte Mac Maeldomnaich (Ibid). A.D. 918. Cormac Mac Cuilennan (A. I.) He is to be distinguished from his more famous namesake of Cashel. A.D. 936. Ciaran (F. M.) A.D. 951. Diarmuid (Ibid). A.D. 957. Maenach Mac Cormaic (Ibid). A.D. 958. Cathmog (Ibid). He was also bishop of Cork. A.D. 963. Cinaedh (F. M.) A.D. 1025. Omaelsluaig (Cotton's "Fasti"). A.D. 1034. Moriertach O'Selbach, bishop of Lismore (Cotton). A.D. 1064. Mac Airthir, bishop (Cotton). A.D. 1090. Maelduin O'Rebhacain (Ibid). A.D. 1112. Gilla Mochuda O'Rebhacain (A. of I.) A.D. 1113. Nial Macgettigan. His episcopal staff, possibly enclosing the venerable oaken staff of the founder of the abbey, is still preserved at Lismore Castle. [Also known as the 'Lismore Crozier,' in 2004 it is housed in 'The Treasury' exhibit at the National Museum of Ireland, Kildare St., Dublin 2.] A.D. 1134. Malchus. Most probably he is identical with the first bishop of Waterford. During his term both St. Malachy and King Cormac MacCarthy dwelt as fugitives, guests or pilgrims, at Lismore. A.D. 1142. Ua Rebhacain. A.D. 1186. St. Christian. He had however resigned the bishopric. TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE The source for this text includes the Irish text and English translation on facing pages and notes. The notes are quite lengthy and should take longer to transcribe than the English text. Except for a few notes transplanted in brackets to the body of the text I have not transcribed them. Due to inexperience with the Irish language and its script I have decided not to attempt to transcribe the Irish text. Hopefully someone with the appropriate talent and interest will undertake that task some day. I have corrected the errata as indicated in the source and a few obvious printer errors. Please note that this text contains variant spellings of names and words sometimes inconsistently applied. 
20634	----	Transcribed from the 1860 John Murray edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org. Many thanks to Birmingham Library, England, for the generous provision of the material from which this transcription was made. http://www.birmingham.gov.uk/libraries.bcc. THE SLEEPING BARD; OR Visions of the World, Death, and Hell, BY ELIS WYN. TRANSLATED FROM THE CAMBRIAN BRITISH BY GEORGE BORROW, AUTHOR OF "THE BIBLE IN SPAIN," "THE GYPSIES OF SPAIN," ETC. LONDON: JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET. 1860. Preface. The Sleeping Bard was originally written in the Welsh language, and was published about the year 1720. The author of it, Elis Wyn, was a clergyman of the Cambro Anglican Church, and a native of Denbighshire, in which county he passed the greater part of his life, at a place called Y las Ynys. Besides the Sleeping Bard, he wrote and published a book in Welsh, consisting of advice to Christian Professors. The above scanty details comprise all that is known of Elis Wyn. Both his works have enjoyed, and still enjoy, considerable popularity in Wales. The Sleeping Bard, though a highly remarkable, is not exactly entitled to the appellation of an original work. There are in the Spanish language certain pieces by Francisco Quevedo, called "Visions or Discourses;" the principal ones being "The Vision of the Carcases, the Sties of Pluto, and the Inside of the World Disclosed; The Visit of the Gayeties, and the Intermeddler, the Duenna and the Informer." With all these the Visions of Elis Wyn have more or less connection. The idea of the Vision of the World, was clearly taken from the Interior of the World Disclosed; the idea of the Vision of Death, from the Vision of the Carcases; that of the Vision of Hell, from the Sties of Pluto; whilst many characters and scenes in the three parts, into which the work of Elis Wyn is divided, are taken either from the Visit of the Gayeties, the Intermeddler, or others of Quevedo's Visions; for example Rhywun, or Somebody, who in the Vision of Death makes the humorous complaint, that so much of the villainy and scandal of the world is attributed to him, is neither more nor less than Quevedo's Juan de la Encina, or Jack o' the Oak, who in the Visit of the Gayeties, is made to speak somewhat after the following fashion:-- "O ye living people, spawn of Satan that ye are! what is the reason that ye cannot let me be at rest now that I am dead, and all is over with me? What have I done to you? What have I done to cause you to defame me in every thing, who have a hand in nothing, and to blame me for that of which I am entirely ignorant?" "Who are you?" said I with a timorous bow, "for I really do not understand you." "I am," said he, "the unfortunate Juan de la Encina, whom, notwithstanding I have been here many years, ye mix up with all the follies which ye do and say during your lives; for all your lives long, whenever you hear of an absurdity, or commit one, you are in the habit of saying, 'Juan de la Encina could not have acted more like a fool;' or, 'that is one of the follies of Juan de la Encina.' I would have you know that all you men, when you say or do foolish things, are Juan de la Encina; for this appellation of Encina, seems wide enough to cover all the absurdities of the world." Nevertheless, though there is a considerable amount of what is Quevedo's in the Visions of Elis Wyn, there is a vast deal in them which strictly belongs to the Welshman. Upon the whole, the Cambrian work is superior to the Spanish. There is more unity of purpose in it, and it is far less encumbered with useless matter. In reading Quevedo's Visions, it is frequently difficult to guess what the writer is aiming at; not so whilst perusing those of Elis Wyn. It is always clear enough, that the Welshman is either lashing the follies or vices of the world, showing the certainty of death, or endeavouring to keep people from Hell, by conveying to them an idea of the torments to which the guilty are subjected in a future state. Whether Elis Wyn had ever read the Visions of Quevedo in their original language, it is impossible to say; the probability however is, that he was acquainted with them through the medium of an English translation, which was published in London about the beginning of the eighteenth century; of the merits of that translation the present writer can say nothing, as it has never come to his hand: he cannot however help observing, that a person who would translate the Visions of Quevedo, and certain other writings of his, should be something more than a fair Spanish scholar, and a good master of the language into which he would render them, as they abound not only with idiomatic phrases, but terms of cant or Germania, which are as unintelligible as Greek or Arabic to the greater part of the Spaniards themselves. The following translation of the Sleeping Bard has long existed in manuscript. It was made by the writer of these lines in the year 1830, at the request of a little Welsh bookseller of his acquaintance, who resided in the rather unfashionable neighbourhood of Smithfield, and who entertained an opinion that a translation of the work of Elis Wyn, would enjoy a great sale both in England and Wales. On the eve of committing it to the press however, the Cambrian Briton felt his small heart give way within him: "Were I to print it," said he, "I should be ruined; the terrible descriptions of vice and torment, would frighten the genteel part of the English public out of its wits, and I should to a certainty be prosecuted by Sir James Scarlett. I am much obliged to you, for the trouble you have given yourself on my account--but Myn Diawl! I had no idea till I had read him in English, that Elis Wyn had been such a terrible fellow." Yet there is no harm in the book. It is true that the Author is any thing but mincing in his expressions and descriptions, but there is nothing in the Sleeping Bard which can give offence to any but the over fastidious. There is a great deal of squeamish nonsense in the world; let us hope however that there is not so much as there was. Indeed can we doubt that such folly is on the decline, when we find Albemarle Street in '60, willing to publish a harmless but plain speaking book which Smithfield shrank from in '30? The Vision of the Course of the World. One fine evening of warm sunny summer, I took a stroll to the top of one of the mountains of Wales, carrying with me a telescope to assist my feeble sight by bringing distant objects near, and magnifying small ones. Through the thin, clear air, and the calm and luminous heat, I saw many delightful prospects afar across the Irish sea. At length, after feasting my eyes on all the pleasant objects around me, until the sun had reached his goal in the west, I lay down upon the green grass, reflecting, how fair and enchanting, from my own country, the countries appeared whose plains my eyes had glanced over, how delightful it would be to obtain a full view of them, and how happy those were who saw the course of the world in comparison with me: weariness was the result of all this toiling with my eyes and my imagination, and in the shadow of Weariness, _Mr. Sleep_ came stealthily to enthrall me, who with his keys of lead, locked the windows of my eyes, and all my other senses securely. But it was in vain for him to endeavour to lock up the soul, which can live and toil independently of the body, for my spirit escaped out of the locked body upon the wings of Fancy, and the first thing which I saw by the side of me was a dancing ring, and a kind of rabble in green petticoats and red caps dancing away with the most furious eagerness. I stood for a time in perplexity whether I should go to them or not, because in my flurry I feared they were a gang of hungry gipsies, and that they would do nothing less than slaughter me for their supper, and swallow me without salt: but after gazing upon them for some time, I could see that they were better and handsomer than the swarthy, lying Egyptian race. So I ventured to approach them, but very softly, like a hen treading upon hot embers, that I might learn who they were; and at length I took the liberty of addressing them in this guise, with my head and back lowered horizontally: "Fair assembly, as I perceive that you are gentry from distant parts, will you deign to take a Bard along with you, who is desirous of travelling?" At these words the hurly-burly was hushed, and all fixed their eyes upon me: "_Bard_," squeaked one--"_travel_," said another--"_along with us_," said the third. By this time I saw some looking particularly fierce upon me; then they began to whisper in each others ears certain secret words, and to look at me; at length the whispering ceased, and each laying his gripe upon me they raised me upon their shoulders, as we do a knight of the shire, and then away with me they flew like the wind, over houses and fields, cities and kingdoms, seas and mountains; and so quickly did they fly that I could fasten my sight upon nothing, and what was worse, I began to suspect that my companions, by their frowning and knitting their brows at me, wanted me to sing blasphemy against my King and Maker. "Well," said I to myself, "I may now bid farewell to life, these cursed witches will convey me to the pantry or cellar of some nobleman, and there leave me, to pay with my neck for their robberies; or they will abandon me stark naked, to freeze to death upon the sea-brink of old Shire Caer, {3} or some other cold, distant place;" but on reflecting that all the old hags whom I had once known had long been dead and buried, and perceiving that these people took pleasure in holding or waving me over hollow ravines, I conjectured that they were not witches but beings who are called fairies. We made no stop until I found myself by the side of a huge castle, the most beautiful I had ever seen, with a large pool or moat surrounding it: then they began to consult what they should do with me; "shall we go direct to the castle with him?" said one. "No, let us hang him or cast him into the lake, he is not worth being shown to our great prince," said another. "Did he say his prayers before he went to sleep?" said a third. At the mention of prayers, I uttered a confused groan to heaven for pardon and assistance; and as soon as I recollected myself, I saw a light at a vast distance bursting forth, Oh, how glorious! As it drew nigh, my companions were darkening and vanishing, and quickly there came floating towards us a form of light over the castle, whereupon the fairies abandoned their hold of me, but as they departed they turned upon me a hellish scowl, and unless the angel had supported me, I should have been dashed into pieces small enough for a pasty, by the time I reached the ground. "What is your business here?" said the angel. "In verity my lord," I replied, "I do not know what place _here_ is, nor what is my business, nor what I am myself, nor what has become of my other part; I had four limbs and a head, and whether I have left them at home, or whether the fairies, who have certainly not acted fairly with me, have cast me into some abyss, (for I remember to have passed over several horrid ravines,) I cannot tell, sir, though you should cause me to be hung." "Fairly indeed," said he, "they would have acted with you, if I had not come just in time to save you from the clutches of these children of hell." "Since you have such a particular desire to see the course of the _little world_," said he, "I have received commands to give you a sight of it, in order that you may see your error in being discontented with your station, and your own country. Come with me," he added, "for a peregrination," and at the word he snatched me up, just as the dawn was beginning to break, far above the topmost tower of the castle; we rested in the firmament upon the ledge of a light cloud to gaze upon the rising sun; but my heavenly companion, was far more luminous than the sun, but all his splendour was upward, by reason of a veil which was betwixt him and the nether regions. When the light of the sun became stronger, I could see, between the two luminaries, the vast air-encircled world, like a little round bullet, very far beneath us. "Look now," said the angel, giving me a different telescope from that which I had on the mountain. When I peeped through this I saw things in a manner altogether different from that in which I had seen them before, and in a much clearer one. I saw a city of monstrous size, and thousands of cities and kingdoms within it; and the great ocean, like a moat, around it, and other seas, like rivers, intersecting it. By dint of long gazing I could see that it was divided into three exceedingly large streets; each street with a large, magnificent gate at the bottom, and each gate with a fair tower over it. Upon each tower there was a damsel of wonderful beauty, standing in the sight of the whole street; and the three towers appeared to reach up behind the walls to the skirts of the castle afore-mentioned. Crossing these three huge streets I could see another; it was but little and mean in comparison with them, but it was clean and neat, and on a higher foundation than the other streets, proceeding upward towards the east, whilst the three others ran downward towards the north to the great gates. I now ventured to enquire of my companion whether I might be permitted to speak. "Certainly," said the angel, "speak out! but listen attentively to my answers, so that I may not have to say the same thing to you more than once." "I will, my lord," said I. "Now pray, what place is the castle yonder in the north?" "The castle above in the air," said he, "belongs to Belial, prince of the power of the air, and governor of all the great city below: it is called Delusive Castle, for Belial is a great deluder, and by his wiles he keeps under his banner all you see, with the exception of the little street yonder. He is a great prince, with thousands of princes under him--what were Caesar or Alexander the Great compared with him? What are the Turk and old Lewis of France, but his servants? Great, yea, exceeding great, are the power, subtlety, and diligence of the prince Belial; and his armies in the country below are innumerable." "For what purpose," said I, "are the damsels standing yonder, and who are they?" "Softly," said the angel, "one question at once: they are there to be loved and to be adored." "And no wonder indeed," said I, "since they are so amiable; if I possessed feet and hands as formerly, I would go and offer love and adoration to them myself." "Hush, hush," said he, "if you would do so with your members, it is well that you are without them; know, thou foolish spirit, that these three princesses are only three destructive deluders, daughters of the prince Belial, and all their beauty and affability, which are irradiating the streets, are only masks over deformity and cruelty; the three within are like their father, replete with deadly poison." "Woe's me; is it possible," said I, quite sad, and smitten with love of them! "It is but too true, alas," said he. "Thou admirest the radiance with which they shine upon their adorers; but know that there is in that radiance a very wondrous charm; it blinds men from looking back, it deafens them lest they should hear their danger, and it burns them with ceaseless longing for more of it; which longing, is itself a deadly poison, breeding, within those who feel it, diseases not to be got rid of, which no physician can cure, not even death, nor anything, unless the heavenly medicine, which is called repentance, is procured, to cast out the evil in time, before it is imbibed too far, by excessive looking upon them." "But how is it," said I, "that Belial does not wish to have these adorers himself?" "He has them," said the angel; "the old fox is adored in his daughters, because, whilst a man sticks to these, or to one of the three, he is securely under the mark of Belial, and wears his livery." "What are the names," said I, "of those three deceivers?" "The farthest, yonder," said he, "is called _Pride_, the eldest daughter of Belial; the second is _Pleasure_; and _Lucre_ is the next to us: these three are the trinity which the world adores." "Pray, has this great, distracted city," said I, "any better name than _Bedlam the Great_?" "It has," he replied, "it is called _The City of Perdition_." "Woe is me," said I, "are all that are contained therein people of perdition?" "The whole," said he, "except some who may escape out to the most high city above, ruled by the king Emmanuel." "Woe's me and mine," said I, "how shall they escape, ever gazing, as they are, upon the thing which blinds them more and more, and which plunders them in their blindness?" "It would be quite impossible," said he, "for one man to escape from thence, did not Emmanuel send his messengers, early and late, from above, to persuade them to turn to him, their lawful King, from the service of the rebel, and also transmit to some, the present of a precious ointment, called _faith_, to anoint their eyes with; and whosoever obtains this _true_ ointment, (for there is a counterfeit of it, as there is of every thing else, in the city of Perdition,) and anoints himself with it, will see his wounds, and his madness, and will not tarry a minute longer here, though Belial should give him his three daughters, yea, or the fourth, which is the greatest of all, to do so." "What are those great streets called?" said I. "Each is called," he replied, "by the name of the princess who governs it: the first is the street of _Pride_, the middle one the street of _Pleasure_, and the nearest, the street of _Lucre_." "Pray tell me," said I, "who are dwelling in these streets? What is the language which they speak? What are the tenets which they hold; and to what nation do they belong?" "Many," said he, "of every language, faith, and nation under the Sun, are living in each of those vast streets below; and there are many living in each of the three streets alternately, and every one as near as possible to the gate; and they frequently remove, unable to tarry long in the one, from the great love they bear to the princess of some other street; and the old fox looks slyly on, permitting every one to love his choice, or all three if he pleases, for then he is most sure of him." "Come nearer to them," said the angel, and hurried with me downwards, shrouded in his impenetrable veil, through much noxious vapour which was rising from the city; presently we descended in the street of Pride, upon a spacious mansion open at the top, whose windows had been dashed out by dogs and crows, and whose owners had departed to England or France, to seek there for what they could have obtained much easier at home; thus, instead of the good, old, charitable, domestic family of yore, there were none at present but owls, crows, or chequered magpies, whose hooting, cawing and chattering were excellent comments on the practices of the present owners. There were in that street, myriads of such abandoned palaces, which might have been, had it not been for Pride, the resorts of the best, as of yore, places of refuge for the weak, schools of peace and of every kind of goodness; and blessings to thousands of small houses around. From the summit of this ruin, we had scope and leisure enough to observe the whole street on either side. There were fair houses of wondrous height and magnificence--and no wonder, as there were emperors, kings, and hundreds of princes there, and thousands of nobles and gentry, and very many women of every degree. I saw a vain high-topt creature, like a ship at full sail, walking as if in a frame, carrying about her full the amount of a pedlar's pack, and having at her ears, the worth of a good farm, in pearls; and there were not a few of her kind--some were singing, in order that their voices might be praised; some were dancing, to show their figures; others were painting to improve their complexions; others had been trimming themselves before the glass, for three hours, learning to smile, moving pins and making gestures and putting themselves in attitudes. There was many a vain creature there, who did not know how to open her lips to speak, or to eat, nor, from sheer pride, to look under her feet; and many a ragged shrew, who would insist that she was as good a gentlewoman as the best in the street; and many an ambling fop, who could winnow beans with the mere wind of his train. Whilst I was looking, from afar upon these, and a hundred such, behold! there passed by towards us, a bouncing, variegated lady with a lofty look, and with a hundred folks gazing after her; some bent themselves as if to adore her; some few thrust something into her hand. Being unable to imagine who she was, I enquired. "Oh," replied my friend, "she is one who has all her portion in sight, yet you see how many foolish people are seeking her, and the meanest of them in possession of all the attainments she can boast of. _She will not have what she can gain_, _and will never gain what she desires_, and she will speak to no one but her betters, on account of her mother's telling her, 'that a young woman cannot do a worse thing, than be humble in her love.'" Thereupon came out from beneath us a pillar of a man, who had been an alderman, and in many official situations; he came spreading his wings as if to fly, though he could scarcely draw one knee after the other, on account of the gout, and various other genteel disorders: notwithstanding which, you could not obtain from him, but through a very great favour, a glance or a nod, though you should call him by his titles and his offices. From this being I turned my eyes to the other side of the street, where I beheld a lusty young nobleman, with a number of people behind him; he had a sweet smile and a condescending air to every one who met him. "It is strange," said I, "that this young man and yonder personage should belong to the same street." "Oh, the same princess Pride rules them both," answered the angel,--"this young man is only speaking fair on account of the errand he comes upon; he is seeking popularity at present, with the intent to raise himself thereby to the highest office in the kingdom--it is easy for him to lament to the people how much they are wronged by the oppression of bad masters; but his own exaltment, and not the weal of the kingdom, is the heart of the matter." After gazing for a long time, I perceived at the gate of Pride, a fair city upon seven hills, and on the top of its lofty palace there was a triple crown, with swords and keys crossed. "Lo! there is Rome," said I, "and therein dwells the Pope." "Yes, most usually," said the angel; "but he has a palace in each of the other streets." Over against Rome, I could see a city with an exceedingly fair palace, and upon it was mounted on high, a half-moon on a banner of gold, and by that I knew that the Turk was there. Next to the gate after those, was the palace of Lewis XIV., of France, as I understood by his arms, three fleurs-de-lis upon a silver banner hanging aloft. Whilst looking on the height and majesty of these palaces, I perceived that there was much passing and repassing from the one to the other, and I asked what was the cause thereof? "Oh, there is many a dark cause," said the angel, "why those three crafty, powerful heads should communicate; but though they account themselves fully adapted to espouse the three princesses above, their power and subtlety are nothing when compared with these; yes, Belial the Great does not esteem the whole city, (though so numerous be its kings), as equivalent to his daughters. Notwithstanding that he offers them in marriage to everybody, he has still never given one entirely to anybody yet. There has been a rivalry between these three concerning them:--the Turk, who calls himself _God upon earth_, wished for the eldest, Pride, in marriage. 'No,' said the king of France, 'she belongs to me, as I keep all my subjects in her street, and likewise bring many to her from England and other countries.' Spain would have the princess Lucre, in despite of Holland and all the Jews. England would have the princess Pleasure, in despite of the Pagans. But the Pope would have the whole three, and with better reason than all the rest together, therefore Belial has stationed him next to them in the three streets." "And is it on this account that there is this intercourse at present," said I. "No;" he replied, "Belial has arranged the matter between them for some time; but at present he has caused them to lay their heads together, how they may best destroy the cross street yonder, which is the city of Emmanuel, and particularly one great palace which is there, out of sheer venom at perceiving that it is a fairer edifice than exists in all the city of Perdition. Belial moreover has promised to those who shall accomplish its destruction, the half of his kingdom during his life, and the whole when he is dead. But, notwithstanding the greatness of his power and the depth of his wiles; notwithstanding the multitude of crafty emperors, kings, and rulers, who are beneath his banner in the vast city of Perdition; and notwithstanding the bravery of his countless legions on the outer side of the gates in the world below; notwithstanding all this," said the angel, "he shall see that it is a task above his power to perform. Yes; however great Belial may be, he shall find that there is One greater than he, in the little street yonder." I was unable to hear his angelic reasons completely, from the tumbling there was along this slippery street every hour, and I could see some people with ladders scaling the tower, and having reached the highest step fall headlong to the bottom. "To what place are those fools seeking to get?" said I. "To a place high enough," said he; "they are seeking to break into the treasury of the princess." "I will warrant it is full enough," said I. "It is," he replied; "and with every thing which belongs to this street, for the purpose of being distributed amongst the inhabitants. There you will find every species of warlike arms to subdue and to over-run countries; every species of arms of gentility, banners, escutcheons, books of pedigree, stanzas and poems relating to ancestry, with every species of brave garments; admirable stories, lying portraits; all kinds of tints and waters to embellish the countenance; all sorts of high offices and titles; and, to be brief, there is every thing there that is adapted to cause a man to think better of himself, and worse of others than he ought. The chief officers of this treasury are masters of ceremonies, vagabonds, genealogists, bards, orators, flatterers, dancers, tailors, mantua-makers, and the like." From this great street we proceeded to the next, where the princess Lucre reigns; it was a full and prodigiously wealthy street, yet not half so splendid and clean as the street of Pride, nor its people half so bold and lofty looking; for they were skulking mean-looking fellows, for the most part. There were in this street thousands of Spaniards, Hollanders, Venetians, and Jews, and a great many aged, decrepit people were also there. "Pray, sir," said I, "what kind of men are these?" "They have all gain in view," said he. "At the lowest extremity, on one side, you will still see the Pope; also subduers of kingdoms and their soldiers, oppressors, foresters, shutters up of the common foot-paths, justices and their bribers, and the whole race of lawyers down to the catchpole. On the other side," said he, "there are physicians, apothecaries, doctors, misers, merchants, extortioners, usurers, refusers to pay tithes, wages, rents, or alms which were left to schools and charity houses; purveyors and chapmen who keep and raise the market to their own price; shopkeepers (or sharpers) who make money out of the necessity or ignorance of the buyer; stewards of every degree, sturdy beggars, taverners who plunder the families of careless men of their property, and the country of its barley for the bread of the poor. All these are thieves of the first water," said he; "and the rest are petty thieves, for the most part, and keep at the upper end of the street; they consist of highway robbers, tailors, weavers, millers, measurers of wet and dry, and the like." In the midst of this discourse, I heard a prodigious tumult at the lower end of the street, where there was a huge crowd of people thronging towards the gate, with such pushing and disputing as caused me to imagine that there was a general fray on foot, until I demanded of my friend what was the matter. "There is an exceeding great treasure in that tower," said the angel, "and all that concourse is for the purpose of choosing a treasurer to the princess, in lieu of the Pope, who has been turned out of that office." So we went to see the election. The men who were competing for the office were the _Stewards_, the _Usurers_, the _Lawyers_, and the _Merchants_, and the richest of the whole was to obtain it, because the more you have the more you shall crave, is the epidemic curse of the street. The Stewards were rejected at the first offer, lest they should impoverish the whole street, and, as they had raised their palaces on the ruins of their masters, lest they should in the end turn the princess out of her possession; then the dispute arose between the three others; the Merchants had the most silks, the Lawyers most mortgages on lands, and the Usurers the greatest number of full bags, and bills and bonds. "Ha! they will not agree to night," said the angel, "so come away; the Lawyers are richer than the Merchants, the Usurers are richer than the Lawyers, and the Stewards than the Usurers, and Belial than the whole, for he owns them all, and their property too." "For what reason is the princess keeping these thieves about her?" I demanded. "What can be more proper," said he, "when she herself is the arrantest of thieves." I was astonished to hear him call the princess thus, and the greatest potentates thieves of the first water. "Pray, my lord," said I, "how can you call those illustrious people greater thieves than robbers on the highway?" "You are but a dupe," said he; "is not the villain who goes over the world with his sword in his hand and his plunderers behind him, burning and slaying, wresting kingdoms from their right owners, and looking forward to be adored as a conqueror, worse than the rogue who takes a purse upon the highway? What is the tailor who cabbages a piece of cloth, to the great man who takes a piece out of the parish common? Ought not the latter to be called a thief of the first water, or ten times more a rogue than the other?--the tailor merely takes snips of cloth from his customer, whilst the other takes from the poor man the sustenance of his beast, and by so doing the sustenance of himself and his little ones--what is taking a handful of flour at the mill, to keeping a hundred sacksfull to putrify, in order to obtain afterwards a four-fold price?--what is the half-naked soldier who takes your garment away with his sword, to the lawyer, who takes your whole estate from you with a goose's quill, without any claim or bond upon it?--and what is the pickpocket who takes five pounds, to the cogger of dice who will cheat you of a hundred in the third part of a night?--and what is the jockey who tricks you in some old unsound horse, to the apothecary who chouses you of your money, and your life also with some old unwholesome physic?--and yet what are all these thieves to the mistress-thief there, who takes away from the whole all these things, and their hearts and their souls at the end of the fair?" From this dirty, disorderly street we proceeded to the street of the princess Pleasure, in which I beheld a number of Britons, French, Italians, Pagans, &c. She was a princess exceedingly beautiful to the eye, with a cup of drugged wine in the one hand, and a crown and a harp in the other. In her treasury there were numberless pleasures and pretty things to obtain the custom of every body, and to keep them in the service of her father. Yea! there were many who escaped to this charming street, to cast off the melancholy arising from their losses and debts in the other streets. It was a street prodigiously crowded, especially with young people; and the princess was careful to please every body, and to keep an arrow adapted to every mark. If you are thirsty, you can have here your choice of drink; if you love dancing and singing, you can get here your fill. If her comeliness entice you to lust for the body of a female, she has only to lift up her finger to one of the officers of her father, (who surround her at all times, though invisibly), and they will fetch you a lass in a minute, or the _body_ of a harlot newly buried, and will go into her in lieu of a _soul_, rather than you should abandon so good a design. Here there are handsome houses with very pleasant gardens, teeming orchards, and shadowy groves, adapted to all kinds of secret meetings, in which one can hunt birds and a certain fair coney; here there are delightful rivers for fishing, and wide fields hedged around, in which it is pleasant to hunt the hare and fox. All along the street you could see farces being acted, juggling going on, and all kinds of tricks of legerdemain; there was plenty of licentious music, vocal and instrumental, ballad singing, and every species of merriment; there was no lack of male and female beauty, singing and dancing; and there were here many from the street of Pride, who came to receive praise and adoration. In the interior of the houses I could see people on beds of silk and down, wallowing in voluptuousness; some were engaged at billiard- playing, and were occasionally swearing or cursing the table keeper; others were rattling the dice or shuffling the cards. My guide pointed out to me some from the street of Lucre, who had chambers in this street; they had run hither to reckon their money, but they did not tarry long lest some of the innumerable tempting things to be met with here should induce them to part with their pelf, without usury. I could see throngs of individuals feasting, with something of every creature before them; oh, how every one did gorge, swallowing mess after mess of dainties, sufficient to have feasted a moderate man for three weeks, and when they could eat no more, they belched out a thanks for what they had received, and then gave the health of the king and every jolly companion; after which, they drowned the savour of the food, and their cares besides, in an ocean of wine; then they called for tobacco, and began telling stories of their neighbours--and, I observed, that all the stories were well received, whether true or false, provided they were amusing and of late date, above all if they contained plenty of scandal: there they sat, each with his clay pistol puffing forth fire and smoke, and slander to his neighbour. At length I was fain to request my guide to permit me to move on; the floor was impure with saliva and spilt drink, and I was apprehensive that certain heavy hiccups which I heard, might be merely the prelude to something more disagreeable. From thence we went to a place where we heard a terrible noise, a medley of striking, jabbering, crying and laughing, shouting and singing. "Here's Bedlam, doubtless," said I. By the time we entered the den the brawling had ceased. Of the company, one was on the ground insensible; another was in a yet more deplorable condition; another was nodding over a hearthful of battered pots, pieces of pipes, and oozings of ale. And what was all this, upon enquiry, but a carousal of seven thirsty neighbours--a goldsmith, a pilot, a smith, a miner, a chimney-sweeper, a poet, and a parson who had come to preach sobriety, and to exhibit in himself what a disgusting thing drunkenness is. The origin of the last squabble was a dispute which had arisen among them, about which of the seven loved a pipe and flagon best. The poet had carried the day over all the rest, with the exception of the parson, who, out of respect for his cloth, had the most votes, being placed at the head of the jolly companions--the poet singing:-- "Oh, where are there seven beneath the sky, Who with these seven for thirst can vie? But the best for good ale, these seven among, Are the jolly divine, and the son of song." Disgusted with these drunken swine, we went nearer to the gate, to take a peep at the follies of the palace of _Love_, the purblind king; it is a place easy to enter and difficult to escape from, and in it there is a prodigious number of chambers. In the hall opposite to the door was insane Cupid, with his two arrows upon his bow, shooting tormenting poison, which is called _bliss_. Upon the floor I could see many fair damsels, finely dressed, walking about, and behind them a parcel of miserable youths gazing upon their beauty, and each eager to obtain a glance from his mistress, fearing her frown far worse than death. One was bending to the ground and placing a letter in the hands of his goddess; another a piece of music, all in fearful expectation, like school-boys showing their tasks to their master; and the damsels would glance back upon them a smile, to keep up the fervour of their adorers, but nothing more, lest they should lose their desire, become cured of their wound and depart. On going forward to the parlour, I beheld females learning to dance and to sing, and to play on instruments, for the purpose of making their lovers seven times more foolish than they were already: on going to the buttery, I found them taking lessons in delicacy and propriety of eating: on going to the cellar, I saw them making up potent love drinks, from nail-parings and the like: on going to the chambers, we beheld a fellow in a secret apartment, putting himself into all kinds of attitudes, to teach his beloved elegant manners; another learning in a glass to laugh in a becoming manner, without showing to his love too much of his teeth; another we found embellishing his tale before going to her, and repeating the same lesson a hundred times. Tired of this insiped folly, I went to another chamber, where there was a nobleman, who had sent for a bard from the street of Pride, to compose a eulogistic strain on his angel, and a laudatory ode on himself; the bard was haranguing upon his talent--"I can," said he, "compare her to all the red and white under the sun, and say that her hair is a hundredfold more yellow than gold; and as for your ode, I can carry your genealogy through the bowels of an infinity of knights and princes, and through the waters of the deluge, even as high up as Adam." "Lo!" said I, "here is a bard who is a better inventor than myself." "Come away, come away," said the angel, "these people are thinking to bamboozle the woman, but when they go to her, they will be sure to obtain from her as good as they bring." On leaving these people, we caught a glimpse of some cells, where more obscene practices were going on than modesty will suffer me to mention, which caused my companion to snatch me away in wrath, from this palace of whimsicality and wantonness, to the treasury of the princess, (because we went where we pleased, in spite of doors and locks.) There we beheld a multitude of beautiful damsels, all sorts of drink, fruit, and dainties; all kinds of instruments and books of music, harps, pipes, poems, carols, &c.; all kinds of games of chance, draught-boards, dice-boxes, dice, cards, &c.; all kinds of models of banquets and mansions, figures of men, contrivances and amusements; all kinds of waters, perfumes, colors and salves to make the ugly handsome, and the old look young, and to make the harlot and her putrid bones sweet for a time. To be brief, there were here all kinds of _shadows_ of pleasure, all kinds of _seeming_ delight; and to tell the truth, I believe this place would have ensnared me, had not my friend, without ceremony, snatched me far away from the three deceitful towers, to the upper end of the street, and set me down by a castellated palace of prodigious size, and very agreeable at first sight, but vile and terribly revolting on the farthest side, though it was only seen with great difficulty on the side of its deformity; it had a multitude of doors, and all the doors were splendid on the outside, but filthy within. "Pray, my lord," said I, "if it please you, what is this wonderful place?" "This," said he, "is the palace of another daughter of Belial, who is called _Hypocrisy_; she here keeps her school; there is not a youth or damsel within the whole city, that has not been her scholar, and the people in general, have so well imbibed what she has taught, that her lessons have become a second nature, and intertwined with all their thoughts, words and actions, almost since the time of their childhood." After I had inspected for a time the falsehood of every corner of the edifice, a procession passed by with a deal of weeping and groaning, and many men and horses dight in habits of deep mourning. Presently came a wretched widow, closely muffled, in order that she might look no more on this vile world; she was feebly crying, and groaning slowly in the intervals of fainting fits--verily, I could not help weeping myself, out of pity. "Pooh, pooh," said the angel, "keep your tears for something more worthy; these faintings are only a lesson of Hypocrisy, and in her great school these black garments were fashioned. There is not one of these people weeping seriously; the widow, before the body left the house, had wedded another man, in her heart; and if she could get rid of the expense attending the body, she would not care a rush if the soul of her husband were at the bottom of hell; nor would her relations, more than herself; because when his disease was hardest upon him, instead of giving him salutary counsel and praying fervently, for the Lord to have mercy upon him, they only talked to him about his effects, and about his testament, or his pedigree, or what a handsome vigorous man he had been, and the like; so all this lamenting is mere sham--some are mourning in obedience to custom and habit, others for company's sake, and others for hire." Scarcely had this procession passed by, when, lo, another crowd came in sight. A certain nobleman, prodigiously magnificient, and his lady at his side, were going along in state; many respectable men were capping them, and there were a thousand also behind them, shewing them every kind of submission and reverence, and by the _favours_, I perceived that it was a wedding: "He must be a very exalted nobleman," said I, "who merits so much respect from all these people." "If you should consider the whole, you would say something quite different," said my guide; "that nobleman is one from the street of Pleasure; and the female, is a damsel from the street of Pride, and the old man yonder, who is speaking with him, is one from the street of Lucre, who has lent money upon nearly all the land of the nobleman, and is to-day come to settle accounts." We drew nigh to hear the conversation. "Verily, sir," says the usurer, "I would not for all I possess, that you should want any thing that I can offer, in order that you may appear to- day like yourself, especially since you have met with a lady so amiable and illustrious as this." (The subtle old dog knowing perfectly well what she was all the time.) "By the Lord above," said the nobleman, "the next greatest pleasure, to looking at her beauty, is to listen to your obliging discourse; I would rather pay you usury than obtain money gratis from any one else." "Of a surety, my lord," said one of his principal associates, who was called flatterer, "my uncle shows you no respect but what is fully your right; but with your permission, I will assert, that he has not bestowed half the commendation on her ladyship which she deserves. I cannot myself produce, and I will defy any man to produce one lovelier than herself, in the whole street of Pride; nor one more gallant than you, my lord, in the whole street of Pleasure; nor one more courteous than you, dear uncle, in the whole street of Lucre." "Oh, that is only your good opinion," replied the lord, "but I certainly believe that two never came together with more mutual love than we." As they proceeded, the crowd increased, and every one had a fair smile and a low bow for the other, and forward they ran to meet each other with their noses to the ground, like two cocks going to engage. "Know now," said the angel, "that you have not yet seen a _bow_ here, nor heard a _word_, that did not belong to the lessons of Hypocrisy. There is not here one, after all this courtesy, that has a farthing's worth of love for the other; indeed they are for the most part enemies to one another. The nobleman here is only a butt amongst them, and every one has his hit at him. The lady has her mind fixed upon his _grandeur_ and his _nobility_, whereby she hopes to obtain precedence over many of her acquaintances. The miser has his eye upon his _land_, for his own son; and the others, to a man, on the money, which he is to receive as her portion, because they are all his subjects, that is, his merchants, his tailors, his shoemakers, or his other tradesmen, who have arrayed him and maintained him in all this great splendour, without yet obtaining one farthing, nor any thing but fair words, and now and then, threats perhaps. Now observe how many masks, how many twists, Hypocrisy has given to the face of the truth? He is promising grandeur to his love, having already disposed of his land; and she is promising portion and purity, whereas she has no purity, but purity of dress, and as for her portion it will not be long in existence, there being an inveterate cancer in it, even as there is in her own body." "Well, here is a proof," said I, "that one never ought to judge by appearances." "Yes," said he, "but come away, and I will show you something more." Whereupon he transported me up to where stood the churches of the city of Perdition, for every body in it had an appearance of faith, even in the age of Disbelief. First we went to the temple of Heathenism, where I could see some adoring the form of a man, others that of the sun, others that of the moon, and an innumerable quantity of similar other gods, even down to leek and garlick, and a great goddess termed _Delusion_, obtaining general adoration, although you might see something of the remnants of the Christian faith amongst some of these people. Thence we went to a meeting of Dummies, where there was nothing but groaning, and shivering, and beating the breast. "Though there is here," said the angel, "an appearance of repentance and great submission, there is nothing in reality, but opinionativeness and obstinacy, and pride, and thick, thick darkness. Notwithstanding they talk so much about their _internal light_, they have not even the spectacle-glasses of nature which the heathens have, whom you lately saw." From these dumb dogs we chanced to turn to a large church open at the top, with a prodigious number of sandals {23} at the gate, by which I knew that it was the temple of the Turks; these people had only a dim and motley colored spectacle glass, which they called the Koran, yet through this they were always gazing up to the top of the church for their prophet, who, according to the promise which he gave them, ought to have returned to them long ago, but has not yet made his appearance. From there we went to the church of the Jews, people who had failed to find the way of escape from the city of Perdition, although they possessed a pure, clear spectacle glass, on account of a film having come over their eyes from long gazing, for want of having anointed them with the precious ointment, _faith_. We next went to that of the Papists. "Behold," said the angel, "the church which _deceiveth the nations_! Hypocrisy has built this church at her own expense; for the Papists permit, yea enjoin the breaking of any oath made to a heretic, although it were taken upon the sacrament." From the chancel we passed through key-holes to the upper end of a cell which stood apart, full of burning candles at mid-day, where we perceived a priest with his crown shaven, walking about as if he were in expectation of visitors; presently there came a rotund figure of a woman, and a very pretty girl behind her, and they went upon their knees before him to confess their sins. "My spiritual father," said the good woman, "I labour under a burden too heavy to be borne, unless you in your mercy will lighten it; I married a member of the church of England, and"--"What," said the shaven crown, "married a heretic! married an enemy! there is no pardon for you, now or ever." At this word she fainted, and he vociferated curses at her. "Oh, and what is worse," said she when she revived. "I have killed him!" "O, ho! you have killed him, well that is something towards obtaining reconciliation with the church; but I assure you, that unless you had killed him, you would never have got absolution, nor purgatory, but would have gone plump to the devil. But where is your offering to the cloister?" said he, snarling. "Here," she replied, and handed him a pretty big purse of money. "Well," said he, "I will now make your peace, and your penance is to remain a widow as long as you live, lest you should make another bad bargain." As soon as she had departed, the damsel came forward to make her confession. "Your pardon, my father confessor," said she, "I have borne a child and murdered it." "Very fair, in troth," said the confessor, "and who was the father?" "Verily," said she, "it was one of your monastery"--"Hush, hush," said he, "no scandal against the men of the church: but where is your atonement to the church?" "There," said she, handing him a gold coin. "You must repent, and your penance is to watch to night by my bedside," said he, smiling archly upon her. At this moment appeared four other bald-pates, hauling in a lad to the confessor, the poor fellow looking as pleased as if he were going to the gallows. "We have brought you a cub," said one of the four, "that you may award him a proper punishment for revealing the secrets of the catholic church." "What secrets?" said the confessor, looking towards a murky cell which was nigh at hand. "But confess villain, what did you say?" "In truth," said the wretch, "one of my acquaintances asked me, if I had seen the _souls_ shrieking beneath the altar, _on the day of the festival of the dead_? And I said, that I had heard the voice, but that I had seen nothing." "Ah, sir, say the whole," said one of the others. "But I added," said he, "that I had heard that you were only deceiving us ignorant people, and that instead of souls shrieking, there were only sea- crabs crackling beneath the carpet,"--"O son of the fiend! blasphemous monster!" said the confessor; "but proceed caitiff."--"and that it was a wire which turned the image of saint Peter," said the fellow, "and that it was by the wire that the Holy Ghost descended from the gallery of the cross upon the priest." "O heritage of hell!" said the confessor. "So ho here! take him torturers, and cast him into the smoky chimney yonder for telling tales." "Here you see," said the angel, "the church which Hypocrisy desires should be called the Catholic Church, and the members of which she would fain have the world consider, as the only people destined to be saved; it must be owned, indeed, that they had the true spectacle-glass, but they spoiled it by cutting upon the glass numerous images; and they had true faith, but they mingled that precious ointment with their own novel inventions, so that at present they see no more than the heathen." Thence we went to a barn, where stood a pert, conceited fellow preaching with great glibness, frequently repeating the same thing three times. "This man and his hearers," said the angel, "possess the true spectacle-glass, to see the things which pertain to their peace, but they lack now in their old age, a very essential matter which is called perfect love. Various are the causes which drive folks hither; some come out of respect to their forefathers, some out of ignorance, and many for worldly advantage. They will make you believe with their faces that they are being strangled, but they can swallow a toad if necessary; and thus the princess Hypocrisy does not disdain to teach some in barns." "Pray," said I, "where now is the _Church of England_?" "O," said he, "in the city high above, it constitutes a great part of the _Catholic Church_, and in the city here below, there are some probationary churches belonging to it, where the English and Welsh are under probation for a time, in order to become qualified to have their names written in the book of the Catholic Church, and they who become so, _blessed are they for ever_. But alas, there are but very few who are adapting themselves to obtain honour above; because, instead of looking thitherward, too many suffer themselves to be blinded by the three princesses below, and Hypocrisy keeps many with one eye upon the city above, and the other on that below; yea, Hypocrisy has succeeded in enticing many from their path, after they have overcome the three other deceivers. Come in here," said he, "and you will see something more;" whereupon he carried me to the gallery of one of the churches in Wales, the people being in the midst of the service. And lo! some were whispering, talking and laughing; some looking upon the pretty women; others were examining the dress of their neighbours from top to toe; some were pushing themselves forward and snarling at one another about rank; some were dozing; others were busily engaged in their devotions, but many of these were playing a hypocritical part. "You have not seen yet," said the angel, "no, not amongst the infidels, shamelessness as open and barefaced as this: but thus, alas, we see _that the corruption of the best thing is the corruption worst of all_." The congregation then proceeded to take the sacrament, and every one displayed reverential feelings at the altar. However, (through the glass of my companion,) I could see one receiving the bread into his belly, under the figure of a _mastiff_, another under that of a _swine_, another like a _mole_, another like a _winged serpent_, and a few, O how very few, receiving a ray of celestial light with the bread and the wine. "Yonder," said he, "is a roundhead who is about to become sheriff, and because the law enjoins, that every one shall receive the communion in the church before he obtains the office, he has come hither rather than lose it; but though there are many here who rejoice at seeing him, there has been no joy amongst us for his conversion, for he has only turned for the time; and thus you see how bold Hypocrisy must be to present herself at the altar before Emmanuel, who is not to be deceived. But however great she be in the city of Perdition, she can effect nothing in the city of Emmanuel, above the wall yonder." Thereupon we turned our faces from the great city of Perdition, and went up to the other little city. In going along I could see at the upper end of the streets, many turning half-way from the temptations of the _gates of Perdition_, and seeking for the _gate of Life_; but whether it was that they failed to find it, or grew tired upon the way, I could not see that any went through, except one sorrowful faced man, who ran forward resolutely, while thousands on each side of him were calling him fool, some scoffing him, others threatening, him and his friends laying hold upon him, and entreating him not to take a step by which he would lose the whole world at once. "I only lose," said he, "a very small portion of it, and if I should lose the whole, pray what loss is it? For what is there in the world so desirable, unless a man should desire deceit, and violence, and misery, and wretchedness, giddiness and distraction. _Contentment and tranquillity_," said he, "constitute the happiness of man; but in your city there are no such things to be found. Because who is there here content with his station? _Higher_, _higher_, is what every one endeavours to be in the street of _Pride_; give, give us a little more, says every one in the street of _Lucre_; sweet, sweet, pray give me some more of it, is the cry of every one in the street of _Pleasure_. And as for tranquillity, where is it? and who obtains it? If you be a great man, flattery and envy are killing you; if you be poor, every one is trampling upon and despising you; after having become an inventor, if you exalt your head and seek for praise, you will be called a boaster and a coxcomb; if you lead a godly life and resort to the church and the altar, you will be called a hypocrite; if you do not, then you are an infidel or a heretic; if you be merry, you will be called a buffoon; if you are silent, you will be called a morose wretch; if you follow honesty, you are nothing but a simple fool; if you go neat, you are proud, if not, a swine; if you are smooth speaking, then you are false, or a trifler without meaning; if you are rough, you are an arrogant, disagreeable devil. Behold the world that you magnify," said he, "pray take my share of it." Whereupon he shook himself loose from them all, and away he went undauntedly to the narrow gate, and in spite of every obstacle he pushed his way through, we following him; while many men dressed in black upon the walls, on both sides of the gate, kept inviting the man and praising him. "Who," said I, "are the men above dressed in black?" "The watchmen of the king Emmanuel," replied the angel, "who, in the name of their master, are inviting people and assisting them through this gate." By this time we were by the gate; it was very low and narrow, and mean in comparison with the lower gates. On the two sides of the door were the _ten commandments_; upon the first slab on the right side was written, "_love the Lord with thy whole heart_, _&c._," and upon the second slab on the other side, "love thy neighbour as thyself;" and above the whole, "_love not the world nor the things which are therein_." I had not looked long before the watchmen began to cry out to the men of Perdition, "Flee! flee, for your lives!" Only a very few turned towards them once, some of whom asked, "flee from what?" "From the prince of this world, who reigns in the children of disobedience," said the watchman; "flee from the pollutions which are in the world through the lusts of the flesh, the lusts of the eyes, and the vanities of life; flee from the wrath which is coming to overwhelm you!" "What," exclaimed the other watchman, "is your beloved city but a vast glowing roof cast over Hell, and if you were here, you might see the fire on the farther side of your walls kindling, to burn you down into Hell." Some mocked them, others threatened to stone them unless they ceased their unmannerly prate; but some few asked, "whither shall we fly?" "Hither," said the watchman, "fly hither to your lawful king, who yet offers you pardon through us, if you return to your obedience, and abandon the rebel Belial and his deceitful daughters. Though their appearance is so splendid, it is only deception; Belial at home is but a very poor prince, he has only you for fuel, and only you as roast and boiled to gnaw, and you are never sufficient, and there will never be an end to his hunger and your torments. And who would serve such a malicious butcher, in a temporary delirium here, and in eternal torments hereafter, who could obtain a life of happiness under a king merciful and charitable to his subjects, who is ever doing towards them the good offices of a shepherd, and endeavouring to keep them from Belial, in order finally to give to each of them the kingdom in the country of Light? O fools! will ye take the horrible enemy whose throat is burning with thirst for your blood, instead of the compassionate prince who has given his own blood to assist you?" But it did not appear that these reasonings, which were sufficient to soften a rock, proved of much advantage to them, and the principal cause of their being so unsuccessful was, that not many had leisure to hear, the greater part being employed in looking at the gates; and of those who did hear, there were not many who heeded, and of those there were not many who long remembered; some would not believe that it was Belial whom they were serving, others could not conceive that yonder little, untrodden passage was the gate of Life, and would not believe that the three other glittering gates were delusion, the castle preventing them from seeing their destruction till they rushed upon it. At this moment there came a troop of people from the street of Pride, and knocked at the gate with great confidence but they were all so stiffnecked, that they could never go into a place so low, without soiling their perriwigs and their plumes, so they walked back in great ill humour. At the tail of these came a party from the street of Lucre. Said one, "is this the gate of Life?" "Yea," replied the watchmen who were above. "What is to be done," said he, "in order to pass through?" "Read on each side of the door, and you will learn." The miser read the ten commandments. "Who," he cried, "will say, that I have broken one of these?" But on looking aloft and seeing, "_love not the world_, _nor the things that are therein_," he started, and could not swallow that difficult sentence. There was among them an envious pig-tail who turned back on reading, "_love thy neighbour as thyself_;" and a perjurer, and a slanderer turned abruptly back on reading, "_bear not false witness_;" some physicians on reading, "_thou shalt commit no murder_," exclaimed "this is no place for us." To be brief, every one saw there something which troubled him, so they all went back to chew the cud. I may add, that there was not one of these people, but had so many bags and writings stuck about him, that he could never have gone through a place so narrow, even if he had made the attempt. Presently there came a drove from the street of Pleasure walking towards the gate. "Please to inform us," said one to the watchman, "to what place this road is leading?" "This is the road," said the watchman, "which leads to eternal joy and happiness;" whereupon they all strove to get through, but they failed, for some had too much belly for a place so narrow; others were too weak to push, having been enfeebled by women, who impeded them moreover with their foolish whims. "O," said the watchman who was looking upon them, "it is of no use for you to attempt to go through with your vain toys; you must leave your pots, and your dishes, and your harlots, and all your other ware behind you, and then make haste." "How should we live then?" said the fiddler, who would have been through long ago, but for fear of breaking his instrument. "O," said the watchman, "you must take the word of the king, for sending you whatsover things may be for your advantage." "Hey, hey," said one, "_a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush_;" and thereupon they all unanimously turned back. "Come through now," said the angel, and he drew me in, and the first thing I saw in the porch was a large baptismal font, and by the side of it a spring of saline water. "Why is this here at the entrance of the road?" said I. "It is here," said the angel, "because every one must wash himself therein, previous to obtaining honour in the palace of Emmanuel; it is termed the _fountain of repentance_." Above I could see written, "_this is the gate of the Lord_, &c." The porch and also the street expanded, and became less difficult as one went forward. When we had gone a little way up the street I could hear a soft voice behind me saying, "_this is the road_, _walk in it_." The street was up-hill but was very clean and straight, and though the houses were lower here than in the city of _Perdition_, yet they were more pleasant. If there is here less wealth, there is also less strife and care; if there are fewer dishes, there are fewer diseases; if there is less noise, there is also less sadness, and more pure joy. I was surprised at the calmness and the delightful tranquillity that reigned here, so little resembling what I had found below. Instead of swearing and cursing, buffoonery, debauchery, and drunkenness; instead of pride and vanity, torpor in the one corner, and riot in the other; instead of all the loud broiling, and the boasting and bustling, and chattering, which were incessantly stupifying a man yonder; and instead of the numberless constant evils to be found below, you here saw sobriety, affability and cheerfulness, peace and thankfulness, clemency, innocence, and content upon the face of every body. No weeping here, except for the pollutions pervading the city of the enemy; no hatred or anger, except against sin; and that same hatred and anger against sin, always accompanied with a certainty of being able to subdue it; no fear but of incensing the King, who was ever more ready to forgive than be angry with his subjects; and here there was no sound but of psalms of praise to the heavenly guardian. By this time we had come in sight of a building superlatively beautiful. O, how glorious it was! No one in the city of Perdition--neither the Turk nor the Mogul, nor any of the others, possessed any thing equal to it. "Behold the _Catholic Church_!" said the angel. "Is it here that Emmanuel keeps his court?" said I. "Yes," he replied, "this is his only terrestrial palace." "Has he any crowned heads under him?" said I. "A few," was the answer. "There are your good queen Anne, and some princes of Denmark and Germany, and a few of the other small princes." "What are they," said I, "compared with those who are under Belial the Great? He has emperors and kings without number." "Notwithstanding all this;" said the angel, "not one of them can move a finger without the permission of Emmanuel, nor Belial himself either, because Emmanuel is his lawful king; Belial rebelled, and for his rebellion was made a captive, with permission however to visit for a little time the city of Perdition, and delude any one he could into his own rebellion and a share of his punishment. So great is his malice, that he is continually using this permission, though aware that by so doing he will only add to his own misery; and so great is his love of wickedness, that he takes advantage of his half liberty, to seek to destroy this city and this edifice, though he has long known that their guardian is invincible." "Pray, my lord," said I, "may we approach and take a more minute view of this magnificent palace?" for my heart had warmed towards the place at the first sight. "Certainly you may," said the angel, "because there I have my place, charge, and employment." The nearer we went to it, the more I wondered, seeing how lofty, strong, beautiful, pure, and lovely every part of it was; how accurate was the workmanship, and how fair were its materials. A rock wrought with immense labour, and of prodigious strength was the foundation stone; living stones were placed upon this rock, and were cemented in so admirable a manner, that it was impossible for one stone to be so beautiful in another place, as it was in its own. I could see one part of the _church_ which cast out a very fair and remarkable cross, and the angel perceiving me gazing upon it asked me "if I knew that part." I did not know what to answer. "That is the _Church of England_," said he. These words made me observe it with more attention than before, and on looking up I could perceive queen Anne, on the pinnacle of the building, with a sword in each hand. With the one in her left, which is called Justice, she preserves her subjects from the men of the city of Perdition; and with the other in her right, which is the sword of the Spirit, or the word of God, she preserves them from Belial and his spiritual evils. Under the left sword were the _Laws of England_; under the other was a large _Bible_. The sword of the Spirit was fiery and of prodigious length, it would kill at a distance to which the other sword could not reach. I observed the other princes with the same arms, defending their portions of the church; but I could see that the portion of my queen was the fairest, and that her arms were the most bright. By her right hand, I could see a multitude of people in black--archbishops, bishops, and teachers, assisting her in sustaining the sword of the Spirit; and some of the soldiers and civil officers, and a few, very few of the lawyers, supporting, along with her, the other sword. I obtained permission to rest a little by one of the magnificent doors, whither people were coming to obtain the dignity of the _universal church_; a tall angel was keeping the door, and the church within side was so vividly light, that it was useless for _Hypocrisy_ to show her visage there--she sometimes appeared at the door, but never went in. After I had been gazing about a quarter of an hour, there came a _papist_, who imagined that the Pope possessed the catholic church, and he claimed his share of dignity. "What proof of your dignity have you?" said the porter. "I have plenty," said he, "of _traditions of the fathers_, and _acts of the congresses of the church_; but what further assurance do I need, than the word of the Pope, who sits upon the infallible chair?" Then the porter proceeded to open an exceedingly large Bible. "Behold," said he, "the only Statute Book which we use here, prove your claim out of that, or depart;" whereupon he departed. At this moment there came a drove of Quakers, who wanted to go in with their hats upon their heads, but they were turned back for their unmannerly behaviour. After that, some of the children of the barn, who had been there for some time, began to speak. "We have," said they, "no other statute than you, therefore show us our dignity." "Stay," said the glittering porter, looking them fixedly in the face, "and I will show you something. Do you see yonder," said he, "the rent which you made in the church, that you might go out of it, without the slightest cause or reason? and now, what do you want here? Go back to the narrow gate, wash yourselves well in the fountain of repentance, in order to free yourselves from some of the kingly blood, in which you steeped yourselves formerly; bring some of that water to moisten the clay, to close up the rent yonder, and then, and then only, you shall be welcome." But before we had proceeded a rood farther towards the west, we heard a buzz amongst the princes above, and every one, great and small, seized his arms, and proceeded to harness himself as if for battle; and before we had time to espy a place to flee to, the whole air became dark, and the city was more deeply over-shadowed than during an eclipse; the thunder began to roar, and the lightnings to dart forkedly, and a ceaseless shower of mortal arrows, was directed from the gates below, against the catholic church; and unless every one had had a shield in his hand to receive the fiery darts, and unless the foundation stone had been too strong for any thing to make an impression upon it, you would have seen the whole in conflagration. But alas! this was but the prologue, or a foretaste of what was to follow; for the darkness speedily became seven times blacker, and _Belial_ himself appeared upon the densest cloud, and around him were his choicest warriors, both terrestrial and infernal, to receive and execute his will, on their particular sides. He had enjoined the Pope, and the king of France, his other son, to destroy the church of England and its queen; and the Turk and the Muscovite, to break to pieces the other parts of the Church, and to slay the people; the queen and the other princes, were by no means to be spared; and the Bible was to be burned in spite of every thing. The first thing which the queen and the other saints did, was to fall upon their knees, and complain of their wrongs to the King of kings, in these words:--"_The spreading of his wings covereth the extent of thy land_, _O Emmanuel_!" Isaiah 8. iii. This complaint was answered by a voice, which said, "_resist the devil and he will flee from you_;" and then ensued the hardest and most stubborn engagement, which had ever been upon the earth. When the _sword of the Spirit_ began to be waved, Belial and his infernal legions began to retreat, and the Pope to falter. The king of France, it is true, held out; yet even he nearly lost heart, for he saw the queen and her subjects united and prosperous, whilst his own ships were sunk, his soldiers slaughtered, and thousands of his subjects rebelling. The very Turk was becoming as gentle as a lamb; but just at that moment my heavenly associate quitted me, darting up towards the firmament, to myriads of other shining powers, and my dream was at an end. Yes, just as the Pope and the other terrestrial powers, were beginning to sneak away, and to faint, and the potentates of hell to fall by tens of thousands, each making, to my imagination's ear, as much noise as if a huge mountain had been precipitated into the depths of the sea, my companion quitted me, and there was an end of my dream; for what with the noise made by the fiends, and the agitation which I felt at losing my companion, I awoke from my sleep, and returned with the utmost reluctance to my sluggish clod, thinking how noble and delightful it was to be a _free_ spirit, to wander about in angelic company, quite secure, though seemingly in the midst of peril. I had now nothing to console me, save the Muse, and she being half angry, would do nothing more than bleat to me the following strains. The Perishing World. O man, upon this building gaze, The mansion of the human race, The world terrestrial see! Its architect's the King on high, Who ne'er was born and ne'er will die-- The blest Divinity. The world, its wall, its starlights all, Its stores, where'er they lie, Its wondrous brute variety, Its reptiles, fish, and birds that fly, And cannot number'd be, The God above, to show his love, Did give, O man, to thee. For man, for man, whom he did plan, God caus'd arise This edifice, Equal to heaven in all but size, Beneath the sun so fair; Then it he view'd, and that 'twas good For man, he was aware. Man only sought to know at first Evil, and of the thing accursed Obtain a sample small. The sample grew a giantess, 'Tis easy from her size to guess The whole her prey will fall. Cellar and turret high, Through hell's dark treachery, Now reeling, rocking terribly, In swooning pangs appear; The orchards round, are only found Vile sedge and weeds to bear; The roof gives way, more, more each day, The walls too, spite Of all their might, Have frightful cracks, down all their height, Which coming ruin show; The dragons tell, that danger fell, Now lurks the house below. O man! this building fair and proud, From its foundation to the cloud, Is all in dangerous plight; Beneath thee quakes and shakes the ground; 'Tis all, e'en down to hell's profound, A bog that scares the sight. The sin man wrought, the deluge brought, And without fail A fiery gale, Before which every thing shall quail, His deeds shall waken now; Worse evermore, till all is o'er, Thy case, O world, shall grow. There's one place free, yet, man for thee, Where mercies reign, A place to which thou may'st attain, Seek there a residence to gain Lest thou in caverns howl; For save thou there shalt quick repair, Woe to thy wretched soul! Towards yon building turn your face! Too strong by far is yonder place To lose the victory. 'Tis better than the reeling world; For all the ills by hell uphurl'd It has a remedy. Sublime it braves the wildest waves; It is a refuge place Impregnable to Belial's race, With stones, emitting vivid rays, Above its stately porch; Itself, and those therein, compose The universal church. Though slaves of sin we long have been, With faith sincere We shall win pardon there; Then in let's press, O, brethren dear, And claim our dignity! By doing so, we saints below And saints on high shall be. A Vision of Death in his Palace Below. In one of the long, black, chilly nights of winter, when it was much warmer in a kitchen of Glyn-cywarch, than on the summit of Cadair Idris, and much more pleasant to be in a snug chamber, with a warm bed-fellow, than in a shroud in the church yard, I was mussing upon some discourses which had passed between me and a neighbour, upon _the shortness of human life_, and how certain every one is of dying, and how uncertain as to the time. Whilst thus engaged, having but newly laid my head down upon the pillow, and being about half awake, I felt a great weight coming stealthily upon me, from the crown of my head to my heel, so that I could not stir a finger, nor any thing except my tongue, and beheld a lad upon my breast, and a lass mounted upon his back. On looking sharply, I guessed, from the warm smell which came from him, his clammy locks, and his gummy eyes, that the lad must be _master Sleep_. "Pray, sir," said I, squealing, "what have I done to you, that you bring that witch here to suffocate me?" "Hush," said he, "it is only my sister _Nightmare_; we are both going to visit our brother _Death_, and have need of a third, and lest you should resist, we have come upon you without warning, as he himself will sometime; therefore you must come, whether you will or not." "Alas!" said I, "must I die?" "O no," said _Nightmare_; "we will spare you this time." "But with your favour," said I, "your brother Death never spared any one yet who was brought within reach of his dart; the fellow even ventured to fling a fall with the Lord of Life himself, though it is true he gained very little by his daring." At these words _Nightmare_ arose full of wrath and departed. "Hey," said _Sleep_, "come away, and you shall have no cause to repent of your journey." "Well," said I, "may there never be night to _saint Sleep_, and may _Nightmare_ never obtain any other place to crouch upon than the top of an awl, unless you return me to where you found me." Then away he went with me, over woods and precipices, over oceans and valleys, over castles and towers, rivers and crags; and where did we descend, but by one of the gates of the daughters of Belial, on the posterior side of the _city of Perdition_, and I could there perceive, that the three gates of Perdition contracted into one on the hinder side, and opened into the same place--a place foggy, cold, and pestilential, replete with an unwholesome vapour, and clouds, lowering and terrible. "Pray, sir," said I, "what dungeon of a place is this?" "_The chambers of Death_," said _Sleep_. I had scarcely time to enquire, before I heard some people crying, some screaming, some groaning, some talking deliriously, some uttering blasphemies in a feeble tone: others in great agony, as if about to give up the ghost. Here and there one, after a mighty shout would become silent, and then forthwith I could hear a key revolving in a lock; I turned at the sound to look for the door, and by dint of long gazing, I could see tens of thousands of doors, apparently far off though close by my side notwithstanding. "Please to inform me, master Sleep," said I, "to what place these doors open?" "They open," he replied, "into the _land of Oblivion_, a vast country under the rule of my brother Death; and the great wall here, is the limit of the immense eternity." As I looked I could see a little death at each door, all with different arms, and different names, though evidently they were all subjects of the same king. Notwithstanding which, there was much contention between them concerning the sick; for the one wished to snatch the sick through his door, and the other would fain have him through his own. On drawing near, we could see above every door, the name of the death written, who kept it; and likewise by every door, hundreds of various things left scattered about, denoting the haste of those who went through. Over one door I could see _Famine_, though purses and full bags were lying on the ground beside it, and boxes nailed up, standing near. "That," said he, "is the gate of the _misers_." "To whom," said I, "do these rags belong?" "Principally to misers," he replied; "but there are some there belonging to lazy idlers, and to ballad singers, and to others, poor in every thing, but spirit, who preferred starvation to begging." In the next door was the death of the _Ruling Passion_, and parallel with it I could hear many voices, as of men in the extremity of cold. By this door were many books, some pots and flaggons, here and there a staff and a walking stick, some compasses and charts, and shipping tackle. "This is the road by which scholars go," said I. "Some scholars go by it," said he, "solitary, helpless wretches, whose relations have stripped them of their last article of raiment; but people of various other descriptions go by it also. Those," said he, (speaking of the pots,) "are the relics of jolly companions, whose feet are freezing under benches, whilst their heads are boiling with drink and uproar; and the things yonder belong to travellers of snowy mountains, and to traffickers in the North sea." Next at hand was a meagre skeleton of a figure, called the _death of Fear_. Through his exterior you might see that he did not possess any heart; and by his door there were bags, and chests also, and locks and castles. By this gate went usurers, bad governors and tyrants, and some of the murderers, but the plurality of the latter were driven past to the next gate, where there was a death called _Gallows_, with his cord ready for their necks. Next was to be seen the _death of Love_, and by his feet were hundreds of instruments, and books of music, and verses, and love letters, and also ointments and colors to beautify the countenance, and a thousand other embellishing wares, and also some swords. "With some of those swords," said my companion, "bandits have been slain whilst fighting for women, and with others, love-lorn creatures have stabbed themselves." I could perceive that this death was purblind. At the next door, was a death who had the most repulsive figure of all: his entire liver was consumed. He was called the _death of Envy_. "This one," said Sleep, "assaults losing gamesters, slanderers, and many a female rider, who repineth at the law which rendered the wife subject to her husband." "Pray, sir," said I, "what is the meaning of female rider?" "Female rider," said he, "is the term used here, for the woman who would ride her husband, her neighbours, and her country too, if possible, and the end of her long riding will be, that she will ride the Devil, from that door, down to hell." Next stood the door of the _death of Ambition_, and of those who lift their nostrils on high, and break their shins for want of looking beneath their feet. Beside this door were crowns, sceptres, banners, all sorts of patents and commissions, and all kinds of heraldric and warlike arms. But before I could look on any more of these countless doors, I heard a voice commanding me by my name to prepare. At this word, I could feel myself beginning to melt, like a snow ball in the heat of the sun; whereupon my master gave me some soporific drink, so that I fell asleep, but by the time I awoke, he had conveyed me to a considerable distance, on the other side of the wall. I found myself in a valley of pitchy darkness, and as it seemed to me, limitless. At the end of a little time, I could see by a dim light, like that of a dying candle, innumerable human shades--some on foot, and some on horseback, running through one another like the wind, silently and with wonderful solemnity. It was a desert, bare, and blasted country, without grass, or vegetation, or woods, and without animals, with the exception of deadly monsters, and venomous reptiles of every kind; serpents, snakes, lice, toads, maw-worms, locusts, ear-wigs, and the like, which all exist on human corruption. Through myriads of shades, and creeping things, graves, sepulchres, and cemeteries, we proceeded, without interruption, to observe the country. At last I perceived some of the shades turning and looking upon me; and suddenly, notwithstanding the great silence that had prevailed before, there was a whispering from one to the other that there was a _living man_ at hand. "A living man," said one; "a living man," said the other; and they came thronging about me like caterpillars from every corner. "How did you come hither, sirrah?" said a little morkin of a death who was there. "Truly sir," said I, "I know no more than yourself." "What do they call you?" he demanded. "Call me what you please, here in your own country," I replied, "but at home I am called _the Sleeping Bard_." At that word I beheld a crooked old man, with a double head like to a rough-barked thorn tree, raising himself erect, and looking upon me worse than the black devil himself; and lo! without saying a word, he hurled a large human skull at my head--many thanks to a tombstone which shielded me. "Pray be quiet, sir," said I. "I am but a stranger, who was never here before, and you may be sure I will never return, if I can once reach home again." "I will give you cause to remember having been here," said he; and attacked me with a thigh-bone, like a very devil, whilst I avoided his blows as well as I could. "By heavens," said I, "this is a most inhospitable country to strangers. Is there a justice of the peace here?" "Peace!" said he, "what peace do you deserve, who will not let people rest in their graves?" "Pray, sir," said I, "may I be allowed to know your name, because I am not aware of ever having disturbed any one in this country." "Sirrah," said he, "know that not you are the Sleeping Bard, but that I am that person; and I have been allowed to rest here for nine hundred years, by every one but yourself." And he attacked me again. "Forbear, my brother," said Merddyn, who was near at hand, "be not too hot; rather be thankful to him for keeping an honorable remembrance of your name upon earth." "Great honor forsooth," said he, "I shall receive from such a blockhead as this. Sirrah! can you sing in the four-and-twenty measures? Can you carry the pedigree of Gog and Magog, and the genealogy of Brutus ap Sylfius, up to a millenium previous to the fall of Troy? Can you narrate when, and what will be the end of the combats betwixt the lion and the eagle, and betwixt the dragon and the red deer?" "Hey, hey! let me ask him a question," said another, who was seated beside a large cauldron which was boiling, and going, bubble, bubble, over a fire. "Come nearer," said he, "what is the meaning of this?" "I till the judgment day Upon the earth shall stray; None knows for certainty Whether fish or flesh I be." "I will request the favor of your name, sir," said I, "that I may answer you in a suitable manner." "I," said he, "am Taliesin, {49} the prince of the Bards of the West, and that is a piece of my composition." "I know not," said I, "what could be your meaning, unless it was, that the yellow plague {50} which destroyed Maelgwn of Gwynedd, put an end to you on the sea-shore, and that your body was divided amongst the crows and the fishes." "Peace, fool!" said he, "I was alluding to my two callings, of man of the law and poet. Please to tell me, has a lawyer more similitude to a raven, than a poet to a whale? How many a one doth a single lawyer divest of his flesh, to swell out his own craw; and with what indifference does he extract the blood, and leave a man half alive! And as for the poet, where is the fish which is able to swallow like him? he is drinking oceans of liquor at all times, but the briny sea itself would not slack his thirst. And provided a man be a poet and a lawyer, how is it possible to know whether he be fish or flesh, especially if he be a courtier to boot, as I was, and obliged to vary his taste to every ones palate. But tell me," said he, "whether there are at present, any of those fellows upon the earth?" "There's plenty of them," said I; "if one can patch together any nonsensical derry, he is styled a graduate bard. But as for the others; there is such a plague of lawyers, petty attornies, and scribes, that the locusts of Egypt bore light upon the country, in comparison with them. In your time, sir, there were but bargains of tofts and crofts, and a hand's breadth of writing for a farm of a hundred pounds, and a raising of cairns and crosses, as memorials of the purchase and boundaries. There is no longer any such security, but there is far more craft and deceit, and a tombstone's breadth of written parchment to secure the bargain; and for all that, it is a wonder if a flaw be not in it, or said to be at least." "Well then," said Taliesin, "I should not be worth a straw in the world at present. I am better where I am. Truth will never be had where there are many poets, nor fair dealing where there are many lawyers; no, nor health where there are many physicians." At this moment, a little grey-headed hobgoblin, who had heard that a living man was arrived, flung himself at my feet, weeping abundantly. "Dear me," said I, "what are you?" "One who is grievously wronged every day in the world," said he. "May God move your soul to procure justice for me." "What is your name?" said I. "I am called _Somebody_," he replied, "and there is scarcely a piece of pimping, or a calumny, or a lie, or tale, to set people at loggerheads, but must be laid upon me. 'Verily,' says one, 'she is a prodigious fine girl, and she was praising you before somebody, notwithstanding that some very great person is paying his suit to her.' 'I heard somebody,' says another, 'reckoning that this estate was mortgaged nine hundred pounds deep.' 'I saw some one yesterday,' says the beggar, 'with a chequered slop, like a sailor, who had come with a large ship load of corn, to the neighbouring port.' And thus every ragged dog mangles me for his own wicked purposes. Some call me Friend--'I was informed by a friend,' says one, 'that so and so has no intention of leaving a farthing to his wife, and that there is no affection between them.' Some others vilify me yet more, and call me Bird--'A bird whistled in my ear, that there are bad practices going on there,' say they. It is true, some call me by the more respectable name of Old Person; yet, not half the omens, prophecies, and counsels, which are attributed to the Old Person, belong to me. I have never bidden people to follow the old road, provided the new one be better, nor a hundred similar things. But Somebody is my common name," he continued, "him you will most frequently hear, to have been concerned in every atrocious matter. Because, ask a person wherever a vile, slanderous falsehood has been uttered, who it was who said it, and he will reply, 'Truly I don't know who, but somebody in the company said it;' question then every one in the company concerning the fable, and every one will say he heard it from somebody, but no one knows from whom. Is not this a shameful injury?" he demanded. "Be so good as to inform every one whom you may hear naming me, that I have never said any one of these things, nor have ever invented nor uttered a lie to slander any one, nor a story to set relations by the ears; that I do not go near them; that I know nothing of their history, nor of their affairs, nor of their accursed secrets; and that they ought not to fling their wickedness upon me, but on their own corrupt brains." At this moment there came a little death, one of the secretaries of the king, desiring to know my name, and commanding master Sleep, to carry me instantly before the king. I was compelled to go, though utterly against my will, by the power, which, like a whirlwind carried me away, betwixt high and low, thousands of miles back to the left hand, until we came again in sight of the boundary wall, and reached a narrow corner. Here we perceived an immense, frowning, ruinous palace, open at the top, reaching to the wall where were the innumerable doors, all of which led to this huge, terrific court. The walls were constructed with the sculls of men, which grinned horribly with their teeth. The clay was black, and was prepared with tears and sweat; and the mortar on the outside was variegated with phlegm and pus, and on the inside with black-red blood. On the top of each turret, you might see a little death, with a smoking heart stuck on the point of his dart. Around the palace was a wood, consisting of a few poisonous yews and deadly cypresses, and in these, owls, blood crows, vultures and the like were nestling; and croaking continually for flesh, though the whole place was nothing but a stinking shamble. We entered the gate. All the pillars of the hall were made of human thigh bones; the pillars of the parlour were of shank bones; and the floors were one continued layer of every species of offal. It was not long before I came in sight of a vast and frightful altar, where I beheld the king of Terrors swallowing human flesh and blood, and a thousand petty deaths, from every hole, feeding him with fresh, warm flesh. "Behold," said the death who brought me there, addressing himself to the king, "a spark, whom I found in the midst of the land of Oblivion; he came so light footed, that your majesty never tasted a morsel of him." "How can that be?" said the king, and opened his jaws as wide as an earthquake to swallow me. Whereupon I turned all trembling to Sleep. "It was I," said Sleep, "who brought him here." "Well," said the meagre, grizly king, turning to me, "for my brother Sleep's sake, you shall be permitted to return this time, but beware of me the next." After having employed himself for a considerable time in casting carcasses into his insatiable paunch, he caused his subjects to be called together, and moved from the altar to a terrific throne of exceeding height, to pronounce judgment on the prisoners newly arrived. In an instant came innumerable multitudes of the dead, making their obeisance to their king, and taking their stations in remarkable order. And lo! king Death was in his regal vest of flaming scarlet, covered all over with figures of women and children weeping, and men uttering groans; about his head was a black-red three-cornered cap (which his friend Lucifer had sent as a present to him,) and upon its corners were written _misery_, _wailing_, and _woe_. Above his head were thousands of representations of battles on sea and land, towns burning, the earth opening, and the great water of the deluge; and beneath his feet nothing was to be seen but the crowns and sceptres of the kings whom he had overcome from the beginning. On his right hand Fate was sitting, seemingly engaged in reading, with a murky look, a huge volume which was before him; and on his left was an old man called _Time_, licking innumerable threads of gold, and silver, and copper, and very many of iron. Some few of the threads were growing better towards their end, and thousands growing worse. Along the threads were hours, days, and years; and Fate, according as his volume directed him, was continually breaking the threads of life, and opening the doors of the boundary wall, betwixt the two worlds. We had not looked around us long, before we heard four fiddlers, newly dead, summoned to the bar. "How comes it," said the king of Terrors, "that loving merriment as ye do, ye kept not on the other side of the gulf, for there has never been any merriment on this side." "We have never done," said one of the musicians, "harm to any body, but have rendered people joyous, and have taken quietly what they gave us for our pains." Said Death, "did you never keep any one from his work, and cause him to lose his time; or did you never keep people from church? ha!" "O no!" said another, "perhaps now and then on a Sunday, after service, we may have kept some in the public house till the next morning, or during summer tide, may have kept them dancing in the ring on the green all night; for sure enough, we were more liked, and more lucky in obtaining a congregation than the parson." "Away, away with these fellows to the country of Despair!" said the terrific king, "bind the four back to back and cast them to their customers, to dance bare-footed on floors of glowing heat, and to amble to all eternity without either praise or music." The next that came to the bar was a certain king, who had lived very near to Rome. "Hold up your hand, prisoner," said one of the officers. "I hope," said he, "that you have some better manners and favour to show to a king." "Sirrah," said Death, "why did you not keep on the other side of the gulf where all are kings? On this side there is none but myself, and another down below, and you will soon see, that neither he nor I will rate you according to the degree of your majesty, but according to the degree of your wickedness, in order to adapt your punishment to your crimes, therefore answer to the interrogation." "Sir," he replied, "I would have you know, that you have no authority to detain me, nor to interrogate me, as I have a pardon for all my sins under the Pope's own hand. On account of my faithful services, he has given me a warrant to go straight to Paradise, without tarrying one moment in Purgatory." At these words the king and all the haggard train gave a ghastly grin, to escape from laughing outright; but the other full of wrath at their ridicule, commanded them aloud to show him the way. "Peace, thou lost fool!" cried Death, "Purgatory lies behind you, on the other side of the wall, for you ought to purify yourself during your life; and on the right hand, on the other side of that gulf is Paradise. But there is no road by which it is possible for you to escape, either through the gulf to Paradise, or through the boundary wall back to the world; and if you were to give your kingdom, (supposing you could give it,) you would not obtain permission from the keepers of those doors, to take one peep through the key hole. It is called the irrepassable wall, for when once you have come through you may abandon all hope of returning. But since you stand so high on the books of the Pope, you shall go and prepare his bed, beside that of the Pope who was before him, and there you shall kiss his toe for ever, and he the toe of Lucifer." Immediately thereupon, four little deaths raised the poor king up, who was by this time shivering like the leaf of an aspen, and snatched him out of sight like lightning. Next after him came a young fellow and woman. He had been a jolly companion and she a lady of pleasure, or one free of her person; but they were called here by their naked names, drunkard and harlot. "I hope," said the drunkard, "I shall find some favour with you; I have sent to you many a bloated booty in a torrent of good ale; and when I failed to kill others, I came myself, willingly, to feed you." "With the permission of the court," said the harlot, "you have not sent half as much as I, and my offerings were burning sacrifices, rich roast meat ready for the board." "Hey, hey!" said Death, "all this was done for your own accursed passions' sake and not to feed me. Bind the two face to face, as they are old acquaintances, and cast them into the land of Darkness, and let each be a torment to the other, until the day of judgment." They were then snatched away, with their heads downwards. Next to these there came seven recorders. Having been commanded to raise their hands to the bar, they would by no means obey, as the rails were greasy. One began to wrangle boisterously; "we ought to obtain a fair citation to prepare our answer;" said he, "instead of being rushed upon unawares." "But are we bound to give you that same specific citation," answered Death, "since you obtain in every place, and at every period of your life, warning of my coming. How many sermons have you not heard upon the mortality of man? How many books have you not seen? How many graves, how many sculls, how many diseases, how many messages and signs have you not had? What is your Sleep, but my own brother? What are sculls, but my visage? What does your daily food consist of but dead creatures? Seek not to cast your neglect upon me. Speak not of summons, when you have obtained it a hundred times." "Pray," said one red recorder, "what have you to advance against us?" "What?" said Death. "Drinking the sweat and blood of the poor, and levying double your wages." "Here is an honest man," replied the recorder, pointing to a pettifogger behind him, "who knows that we have never done any thing but what was fair; and it is not fair of you to detain us here, without a specific crime to prove against us." "Hey, hey!" said Death, "you shall prove against yourselves. Place these people," said he, "on the verge of the _precipice_ before the tribunal of _Justice_, they shall obtain equity there though they never practiced it." There were still seven other prisoners remaining, and these kept up a prodigious bustle and noise. Some were flattering, others quarrelling, some blustering, some counselling, &c. Scarcely had they been called to the bar, when lo! the entire palace became seven times more horribly dark than before, and there was a shivering and a great agitation about the throne, and Death became paler than ever. Upon enquiring what was the matter, one of the messengers of Lucifer stepped forward with a letter for Death, concerning these seven prisoners, and Fate presently caused the letter to be read publicly, and these were the words, as far as I can remember. "_Lucifer_, _King of the kings of the world_, _prince of Hell_, _and ruler of the Deep_, _to our natural son_, _the most mighty and terrible king Death_, _greeting_, _pre-eminence_, _and eternal spoil_. "For as much as we have been informed by some of our nimble messengers, who are constantly abroad to obtain information, that seven prisoners, of the seven most villainous and dangerous species in the world, have arrived lately at your royal palace, and that it is your intention to hurl them over the cliff into my kingdom. I hereby counsel you to try every possible means, to let them loose back again upon the world; they will do you there more service in sending you food, and sending me better company, for I would rather want than have them; we have had but too much plague with their companions for a long time, and my dominion is still disturbed by them. Therefore turn them back, or keep them with you. For, by the infernal crown, if you send them here, I will undermine the foundations of your kingdom, until it falls down into my own immense dominion. "_From the burning hall of assembly_, _at our royal palace in the pit of Hell_, _in the year of our reign_, 5425." King Death, hereupon, stood for some time with his visage green and pale, in great perplexity of mind. But whilst he was meditating, behold _Fate_, turned upon him such an iron-black scowl, as made him tremble. "Sirrah," said he, "look to what you do. It is not in my power to send any one back, through the boundary of eternity, the irrepassable wall, nor in yours to harbour them here; therefore forward them to their destruction, in spite of the Arch Fiend. He has been able hitherto, in a minute to allot his proper place to every individual, in a drove of a thousand, nay, even of ten thousand captured souls; and what difficulty can he have with seven, however dangerous they may be. But though these seven should turn the infernal government topsy-turvy, do you drive them thither instantly, for fear I should receive commands to annihilate you before your time. As for _his_ threats, they are only lies; for although thy end, and that of the old man yonder, (looking at Time,) are nigh at hand, being written only a few pages further on, in my unerring volume, yet you have no cause to be afraid of sinking to Lucifer; though every one in the abyss would be glad to obtain thee, yet they never, never shall. For the rocks of steel and eternal adamant, which form the roof of Hell, are too strong for anything to crumble them." Whereupon, Death, considerably startled, called to one of his train, to write for him the following answer. "_Death_, _the king of Terror and Conqueror of conquerors_, _to his revered friend and neighbour Lucifer_, _king of Eternal Night_, _sovereign of the Bottomless Pool_, _sends greeting_. "After due reflection on your regal desire, it has appeared to us more advantageous, not only to our own dominion, but likewise to your own extensive kingdom, to send these prisoners, as far as possible from the doors of the irrepassable wall, lest their putrid odour should terrify the whole city of Destruction, so that no man should come to all eternity, to my side of the gate; and neither I obtain any thing to cool my sting, nor you a concourse of customers from earth to hell. Therefore I will leave to you to judge them, and to hurl them into such cells, as you may deem the most proper and secure for them. "_From my nether palace in the great gate of Perdition_, _over Destruction_. _In the year_, _from the renewal of my kingdom_, 1670." At hearing all this, I felt a great curiosity to know who these seven people could be, whom the devils themselves held in so much dread. But ere a minute had elapsed, the clerk of the crown called their names, as follows:--Master Meddler, alias _Finger in Every Dish_; but he was so vehement and busy in advising the others, that he could not get a moment's time to answer for himself, until Death threatened to transfix him with his dart. Then _master Slanderer_ was called, alias _Enemy of Fair Fame_; but there was no answer. "He is too modest to hear his titles," said the third, "and he never can bear his nicknames." "Do you suppose," said the _Slanderer_, "that you yourself have no _titles_. Call for," said he, "_master Coxcomb_, alias _Smooth Gullet_, alias _Poison Smile_." "Ready," said a woman who was there, pointing to the Coxcomb. "O," said he, "_madam Bouncer_! Your humble servant, I am overjoyed at seeing you well. I have never seen a woman look handsomer in breeches. But, oh! to think how miserable the country must be behind you, for want of its admirable she-governor; yet your delightful company will make hell itself something better." "O son of the arch fiend!" said she. "With you there is no need of another hell, you are yourself enough." Then the cryer called _Bouncer_, or _mistress Breeches_. "Ready," said another. But she said not a word, for want of being called madam. Next was called _Contriver of Contrivances_, alias _Jack of all Trades_; but he returned no answer either, for he was busied in devising a way to escape. "Ready, ready," said one behind, "here he is, looking out for an opportunity to break through your palace, and unless you take care, he will have some notable contrivance to baulk you." Said the Contriver, "call him, I beseech you, _master Impeacher of his Brother_, alias _Searcher of Faults_, alias _Framer of Complaints_." "Ready, ready, this is he," said a litigious pettifogger, for every one knew the name of the other, but would not acknowledge his own. "You shall be called," said the Impeacher, "_master Litigious Pettifogger_, alias _the Courts Comprised_." "Bear witness, I pray you all," said the Pettifogger, "as to what the knave called me." "Ho, ho!" said Death, "not by the baptismal font, but by his sins, is every one called in this country; and, with your permission, master Pettifogger, the names of your sins are those which shall stick to you henceforth for ever." "Hey," said the Pettifogger, "I swear by the Devil that I will make you smart for this. Though you are empowered to kill me, you have no authority to bestow nicknames upon me. I will file a complaint against you for defamation, and another for false imprisonment, against you and your friend Lucifer, in the court of Justice." By this time, I beheld the legions of Death, formed in order and armed, with their eyes fixed upon the king, awaiting the word. "There," said the king, standing erect upon his regal throne, "my terrible and invincible hosts, spare neither care nor diligence in removing these prisoners from out of my boundaries, lest they prove the ruin of my country; cast them bound, over the precipice of Despair, with their heads downward. But for the seventh, this Courts Comprised, who threatens me, leave him free over the chasm, beneath the court of _Justice_, and let him try whether he can make his complaint good against me." Then Death reseated himself. And lo! all the deadly legions, after surrounding the prisoners and binding them, led them away to their couch. I also went out, and peeped after them. "Come away," said Sleep, and snatched me up to the top of the highest turret of the palace. Thence I could see the prisoners proceeding to their eternal perdition. Presently a whirlwind arose, and dispersed the pitch-black cloud, which was spread universally over the face of the land of Oblivion, and by the light of a thousand candles, which were burning with a blue flame, at a particular place, I obtained a far distant view of the verge of the _Bottomless Gulf_, a sight exceedingly horrible; and also of a spectacle above, still more appalling, namely _Justice_ upon his _supreme seat_, holding the keys of Hell, at a separate and distinct tribunal over the chasm, to pronounce judgment upon the damned as they came. I could see the prisoners cast headlong down the gulf, and Pettifogger rushing to fling himself over the terrific brink, rather than look once on the court of _Justice_. For oh! there was there a spectacle too severe for a guilty countenance. I merely gazed from _afar_, but I beheld more terrific horror, than I can at present relate, or I could at that time support, for my spirit struggled and fluttered at the awful sight, and wrestled so strenuously, that it burst all the bands of Sleep, and my soul returned to its accustomed functions. And exceedingly overjoyed I was to see myself still amongst the living. I instantly determined upon reforming myself, as a hundred years of affliction in the paths of righteousness, would be less harrowing to me, than another glance on the horrors of this night. Death the Great. Leave land and house we must some day, For human sway not long doth bide; Leave pleasures and festivities, And pedigrees, our boast and pride. Leave strength and loveliness of mien, Wit sharp and keen, experience dear; Leave learning deep, and much lov'd friends, And all that tends our life to cheer. From Death then is there no relief? That ruthless thief and murderer fell, Who to his shambles beareth down All, all we own, and us as well. Ye monied men, ye who would fain Your wealth retain eternally, How brave 'twould be a sum to raise, And the good grace of Death to buy! How brave! ye who with beauty beam, On rank supreme who fix your mind, Should ye your captivations muster, And with their lustre king Death blind. O ye who are at foot most light, Who are in the height now of your spring, Fly, fly, and ye will make us gape, If ye can scape Death's cruel fling. The song and dance afford, I ween, Relief from spleen, and sorrows grave; How very strange there is no dance, Nor tune of France, from Death can save! Ye travellers of sea and land, Who know each strand below the sky; Declare if ye have seen a place, Where Adam's race can Death defy! Ye scholars, and ye lawyer crowds, Who are as gods reputed wise; Can ye from all the lore ye know, 'Gainst Death bestow some good advice? The world, the flesh, and Devil, compose The direst foes of mortals poor; But take good heed of Death the Great, From the Lost Gate, Destruction o'er. 'Tis not worth while of Death to prate, Of his Lost Gate and courts so wide; But O reflect! it much imports, Of the two courts in which ye're tried. It here can little signify If the street high we cross, or low; Each lofty thought doth rise, be sure, The soul to lure to deepest woe. But by the wall that's ne'er re-pass'd, To gripe thee fast when Death prepares, Heed, heed thy steps, for thou mayst mourn The slightest turn for endless years. When opes the door, and swiftly hence To its residence eternal flies The soul, it matters much, which side Of the gulf wide its journey lies. Deep penitence, amended life, A bosom rife of zeal and faith, Can help to man alone impart, Against the smart and sting of Death. These things to thee seem worthless now, But not so low will they appear When thou art come, O thoughtless friend! Just to the end of thy career. Thou'lt deem, when thou hast done with earth, These things of worth unspeakable, Beside the gulf so black and drear, The gulf of Fear, 'twixt Heaven and Hell. A Vision of Hell. One fair morning of genial April, when the earth was green and pregnant, and Britain, like a paradise, was wearing splendid liveries, tokens of the smile of the summer sun, I was walking upon the bank of the Severn, in the midst of the sweet notes of the little songsters of the wood, who appeared to be striving to break through all the measures of music, whilst pouring forth praise to the Creator. I too occasionally raised my voice, and warbled with the feathered choir, though in a manner somewhat more restrained than that in which they sang; and occasionally read a portion of the book of the Practice of Godliness. Nevertheless, my former visions would not depart from my remembrance, but continually troubled me by coming across all other thoughts. And they persisted in doing so, until, by arguing the matter minutely with myself, I reflected that there is no vision but what comes from above, to warn one to be upon one's guard, and that consequently it was my duty to write mine down, that they might serve as a warning to others also. I therefore returned to my home, and whilst overwhelmed with melancholy, I was endeavouring to collect some of my frightful reminiscences, I happened to give a yawn over my paper, and this gave master Sleep an opportunity to glide upon the top of me. Scarcely had Sleep closed my senses, when, behold! a glorious apparition came towards me, in the shape of a young man, tall and exceedingly beautiful; his garments were seven times more white than snow, his countenance was so lustrous that it rendered the very sun obscure, and his curling locks of gold parted in two lovely wreaths upon his head, in the form of a crown. "Come with me, mortal man," said he on coming up. "Who art thou, my lord?" said I. "I am," he replied, "the angel of the countries of the North, the guardian of Britain and its queen. I am one of the princes who are stationed beneath the throne of the Lamb, who receive commands for the protection of the gospel, against all its enemies in Hell and in Rome, in France and Constantinople, in Africa and in India, and wheresoever else they are devising artifices for its destruction. I am the angel who conducted thee below to castle Belial, and who showed thee the vanity and madness of the whole world, the city of Destruction, and the excellence of the city of Emmanuel, and I am come once more by his command, to show thee other things, because thou art seeking to turn to account what thou hast seen already." "How, my lord," said I, "will your illustrious majesty, which superintends kings and kingdoms, condescend to associate with such a poor worm as myself?" "O," said he, "we respect more the virtue of a beggar than the grandeur of a sovereign. What if I be greater than the kings of the earth, and higher than many of the countless potentates of heaven? As my wonderful master deigned to humble himself so inexpressibly as to wear one of your bodies, and to live among you, and to die for your salvation, how should I presume to be dissatisfied with my duty in serving you, and the vilest of the human race, since ye are so high in favour with my master? Come out, spirit, and free thyself from thy clay," said he, with his eyes directed upwards. And with that word, I could feel myself becoming extricated from every part of my body. No sooner was I free, than he snatched me up to the firmament of heaven, through the region of lightning and thunder, and all the glowing armories of the sky, innumerable degrees higher than I had been with him before, whence I could scarcely descry the earth, which looked no wider than a croft. After permitting me to rest a short space, he again lifted me up a million of miles, until I could see the sun far below us; we rushed through the milky way and past the Pleiades, and many other exceedingly large stars, till we caught a distant view of other worlds. At length, by dint of journeying, we reached the confines of the awful eternity, and were in sight of the two palaces of the mighty king Death, which stand one on the right hand and the other on the left, and are at a great distance from each other, as there is an immense void between them. I enquired whether we should go to see the right hand palace, because it did not appear to me to resemble the other which I had seen before. "You will probably see," he replied, "sometime, still more of the difference which is between the one palace and the other; but at present it is necessary for us to sail another course." Whereupon we turned away from the little world, and having arrived over the intervening gap, we let ourselves down to the country of Eternity, between the two palaces, into the horrible void; an enormous country it was, exceedingly deep and dark--without order and without inhabitants--now hot, now cold--sometimes silent, sometimes noisy, with the sound caused by cataracts of water tumbling upon the flames and extinguishing them; which cataracts, however, did not long continue, for presently might be seen a puff of fire bursting out and consuming the water. There was here no course, nor whole, nothing living, nothing shapely; but a giddy discord and an amazing darkness which would have blinded me for ever, if my companion had not again displayed his heavenly garment of splendour. By the light which it cast I could see the country of Oblivion, and the edges of the wilds of Destruction in front, on the left hand; and on the right the lowest skirts apparently of the walls of Glory. "Behold the great gulf between Abraham and Dives," said my guide, "which is termed the place of Chaos. It is the region of the elements which God created first; it is the place wherein are the seeds of every living thing, from which the Almighty word made your world and all that therein is--water, fire, air, earth, animals, fishes and creeping things, winged birds, and human bodies, but not your souls, for they are of an origin and generation higher and more exalted." Through the vast, frightful place of Chaos we at length broke out to the left hand, and before travelling any distance there, where every thing was ever becoming more frightful, I could feel my heart at the top of my throat, and my hair standing like the prickles of the hedge-hog, even before seeing any thing; but when I _did_ see--oh! spectacle too much for tongue to relate, or for the spirit of man to behold. I fainted. Oh, the amazing and monstrous abyss, opening in a horrible manner into the other world! Oh, the continual crackling of the terrible flames, darting over the sides of the accursed precipice, and the flashes of linked lightning rending the black, thick smoke, which the unsightly orifice was casting up! My dear companion, having brought me to myself again, gave me some spiritual water to drink; O how excellent it was in its taste and color! After drinking of the heavenly water, I could feel a wonderful strength diffusing itself through me, bringing with it sense, heart, faith, and various other heavenly virtues. By this time I had approached with him unterrified to the edge of the steep, enveloped in the veil, the flames parting on both sides and avoiding us, not daring to come in contact with the inhabitants of the supreme abodes. Then from the summit of the terrific precipice we darted down, like two stars falling from the firmament of heaven, a thousand million of miles, over many a brimstone crag, and many a furious, ugly cataract and glowing precipice, every thing that we passed looking always frowningly downward; yet every thing noxious avoided us, except once, when having thrust my nose out of the veil, I was struck by such a suffocating, strangling exhalation as would have put an end to me, if my guide had not instantly assisted me with the water of life. By the time that I had recovered, I perceived that we had arrived at a kind of standing place; for in all this loathsome chasm it was impossible to obtain any rest before, owing to the steepness and slipperiness of its sides. There my guide permitted me to take some further rest; and during this respite, it happened that the thunders and the hoarse whirlwinds became silent for a little while, and in spite of the din of the raging cataracts, I heard from afar a sound louder than the whole--a sound of horrible harsh voices, of shouting, bellowing, and strong groans, swearing, cursing, and blaspheming, till I would have consented to part with mine ears, that I might not hear. Ere we moved a foot farther, we could hear a terrible tumbling sound, and if we had not suddenly slipped aside, hundreds of unfortunate men would have fallen upon us, who were coming headlong, in excessive hurry, to take possession of their bad purchase, with a host of devils driving them. "O, sir," said one devil, "take it easy, lest you should ruffle your curling locks. Madam, do you wish for an easy cushion? I am afraid that you will be out of all order by the time you come to your couch," said he to another. The strangers were exceedingly averse to going forward, insisting that they were out of their road; but notwithstanding all they could say, go they did, and we behind them, to a black flood of great magnitude, and through it they went, and we across it, my companion holding the celestial water continually to my nostrils, to strengthen me against the stench of the river, and against the time when I should see some of the inhabitants of the place, for hitherto I had not beheld so much as one devil, though I had heard the voices of many. "Pray, my lord," said I, "what is the name of this putrid river?" "The river of the Fiend," said he, "in which all his subjects are bathed, in order that they may be rendered fit for the country. For this accursed water changes their countenance, and washes away from them every relic of goodness, every semblance of hope and of comfort." And, indeed, on gazing upon the host after it had come through, I could distinguish no difference in deformity between the devils and the damned. Some of the latter would fain have sculked at the bottom of the river, and have lain there to all eternity, in a state of strangulation, lest they should get a worse bed father on; but here the proverb was verified, that "he must needs run whom the Devil drives," for with the devils behind, the damned were compelled to go forward unto the beach, to their eternal damnation; where I at the first glance saw more pains and torments than the heart of man can imagine or the tongue relate; a single one of which was sufficient to make the hair stand erect, the blood to freeze, the flesh to melt, the bones to drop from their places--yea, the spirit to faint. What is empaling or sawing men alive, tearing off the flesh piecemeal with iron pincers, or broiling the flesh with candles, collop fashion, or squeezing heads flat in a vice, and all the most shocking devices which ever were upon earth, compared with one of these? Mere pastime! Here were a hundred thousand shoutings, hoarse sighs, and strong groans; yonder a boisterous wailing and horrible outcry answering them, and the howling of a dog is sweet, delicious music, when compared with these sounds. When we had proceeded a little way onward from the accursed beach, towards the wild place of Damnation, I perceived, by their own light, innumerable men and women here and there; and devils without number and without rest, incessantly employing their strength in tormenting. Yes, there they were, devils and damned, the devils roaring with their own torments, and making the damned roar, by means of the torments which they inflicted upon them. I paid particular observation to the corner which was nearest me. There I beheld the devils with pitch-forks, tossing the damned up into the air, that they might fall headlong on poisoned hatchels or barbed pikes, there to wriggle their bowels out. After a time the wretches would crawl in multitudes, one upon another, to the top of one of the burning crags, there to be broiled like mutton; from there they would be snatched afar, to the top of one of the mountains of eternal frost and snow, where they would be allowed to shiver for a time; thence they would be precipitated into a loathsome pool of boiling brimstone, to wallow there in conflagration, smoke, and the suffocation of horrible stench; from the pool they would be driven to the marsh of Hell that they might embrace and be embraced by its reptiles many times worse than serpents and vipers; after allowing them half an hour's dalliance with these creatures, the devils would seize a bundle of rods of steel, fiery hot from the furnace, and would scourge them till their howlings, caused by the horrible inexpressible pain which they endured, would fill the vast abode of darkness, and when the fiends deemed that they had scourged them enough, they would take hot irons and sear their bloody wounds. There was here no fainting, nor swooning to evade a moment of suffering, but a continual strength to suffer and to feel, though you would have imagined after one horrible cry, that it would be utterly impossible there should be strength remaining to give another cry so frightfully loud; the damned never lowered their key, and the devils kept replying, "behold your welcome for ever and ever." And it almost seemed that the sauciness and bitterness of the devils, in jeering and mocking their victims, were worse to bear than the pain itself. What was worst of all, their conscience was at present utterly aroused, and was tearing them worse than a thousand of the infernal lions. We proceeded farther and farther downward, and the farther we proceeded, the more horrible was the work which was going on; the first place we came to in our progress was a frightful prison, in which were many human beings under the scourge of the devils, shrieking most shockingly. "What place is this?" said I. "That," said the angel, "is the couch of those who cry 'woe is me that I did not--!' Hark to them for a moment!" "Woe is me that I did not purify myself in time from every kind of sin!" says one. "Woe is me that I did not believe and repent before coming here!" says the other. Next to the cell of too late repentance, and of debate after judgment had been passed, was the prison of the procrastinators, who would be every time promising amendment, without ever fulfilling their promise. "When this business is over," says one, "I will turn over another leaf." "When this obstacle is removed, I will become a new man yet," says the other. But when the obstacle is removed, they are not a bit the nearer to reformation, for some other obstacle is always found to prevent them from moving towards the gate of Righteousness, and if they do sometimes move a little, they are sure to turn back. Next to this was the prison of vain confidence, full of those who, on being commanded to abstain from their luxuriousness, drunkenness, or avarice, would say, "God is merciful, and better than his word, and will not damn his creature for ever for so small a matter." But here they were yelping forth blasphemy, and asking where is that mercy, which was boasted to be immeasurable. "Peace, hell- dogs," at length said a great lobster of a devil who was hearing them, "peace! would you have mercy without doing any thing to obtain it? Would you have the Truth render his word false, for the sake of obtaining the company of such filthy dross as you? Too much mercy has been shown to you already. You were given a Saviour, a comforter, and the apostles, with books, sermons, and good examples, and will you never cease to deafen us with bawling about mercy, where mercy has never been?" On going out from this fiery gulf, I could hear one puffing and shouting terribly, "I knew no better, nothing was ever expended in teaching me my duty, and I could never find time to read or pray, because I was obliged to earn bread for myself and my poor family." "Aye," said a little crooked devil who stood by, "and did you never find time to tell pleasant stories?--no leisure for self vaunting during long winter evenings when I was in the chimney corner? Now, why did you not devote some of that time to learning to read and pray? Who on Sundays used to come with me to the tavern, instead of going with the parson to church? Who devoted many a Sunday afternoon to vain prating about worldly things, or to sleep, instead of meditation and prayer? And have ye merely acted according to your knowledge and your opportunities? Peace, sirrah, with your lying nonsense!" "O thou blood of a mad dog!" said the lost man, "it is not long since you were whispering something very different into my ear, if you had said that the other day, I should scarcely have come here." "O," said the devil, "we do not mind telling you the bitter truth here, since we need not fear that you will go back to tell tales." Below this cell I saw a kind of vast pit, and in it what looked like an infinite quantity of loathsome ordure, burning with a green flame, and on drawing near, I was aware, from the horrid howling that proceeded from it, that it was composed of men piled one upon another, the horrible flames crackling meanwhile through them. "This hollow," said the angel, "is the couch of those who say after committing some great sin, 'pooh! I am not the first, I have plenty of companions;' and thus you see, they _do_ get plenty of companions, to verify their words and to increase their agony." Opposite to this horrible place was a large cellar, where I could see men twisted, as tow is twisted, or hemp is spun. "Pray," said I "who are these?" "Panegyrists," said he, "and out of sheer mockery to them, the devils are trying whether it is possible to twist them as flexibly as they twisted their own discourse." A little way below that cell, I could but just descry a sort of prison-pool, very dark, and in it things which had been men, having faces like the heads of wolf-dogs, and up to their jaws in bog, barking blasphemy and lies most furiously, as long as they could get their sting above the mud. At this moment a troop of devils happening to pass by, some of these creatures contrived to bite in the heels, ten or twelve of the devils who had brought them thither. "Woe and destruction to you hell-dogs!" said one of the devils who had been bit, "you shall pay for this;" and forthwith commenced beating the bog, till the wretches were drowned in the stinking abysses. "Who," he then added, "have deserved hell better than you, who have been hunting up and devising gossip, and buzzing lies about from house to house, in order that you might laugh, after having set a whole country at loggerheads. What more could one of ourselves have done?" "That," said the angel, "is the bed of the tale-bearers, the slanderers, and the whisperers, and of all other envious curs, who are continually wounding people behind their backs with their hands or their tongues." From here we passed to a vast dungeon, by far the filthiest that I had seen yet, and the most replete with toads, adders, and stench. "This," said my guide, "is the place of the men who expect to get to heaven because they have no ill intentions, that is, for being neither good nor bad." Next to this pool of ill savour, I beheld a place where a vast crowd were sitting, and without any thing visible to torment them, groaning more piteously than any that I had hitherto heard in Hell. "Mercy upon us," said I, "what causes these people to complain more than the rest, when they have neither torture nor devil near them?" "O," said the angel, "the less torment they have without, the more they have within. These are refractory heretics, atheists, antichristians, worldly- wise ones, abjurers of the faith, persecutors of the church, and an infinity of such like wretches, who are abandoned entirely to the punishment of conscience, more tormenting than flame or devil, which domineers over them ceaselessly and without restraint. 'I will never permit myself any more,' says she, 'to be drowned in ale, nor to be blinded by bribes, nor deafened by music and company, nor lulled nor confounded by careless listlessness; for now I _will_ be listened to, and never shall the clack of the hated truth cease in your ears.' Longing is ever raging within the wretch for the happiness which he has lost; memory is ever reproaching him by saying how easy it was to be obtained, and the understanding showing him the magnitude of his loss, and the certainty that nothing is now to be obtained, but indescribable gnawing for ever and ever. So with these three instruments--namely longing, memory, and understanding--conscience is tearing the lost one, in a manner far worse than all the devils in Hell could tear him with their claws." On coming out of this wonderful nook I heard a confused talking, and after every word such a ghastly laughter, as if five hundred devils were casting their horns with laughing. On approaching to see the cause of such a rarity as laughter in Hell, I discovered that it was only got up to incense two honorable gentlemen, newly arrived, who were insisting on being shown respect suitable to their gentility. One of them was a round bodied squire, having with him a big roll of parchment--namely his map of pedigree--out of which he recited from which of the fifty tribes of North Wales he was sprung, and how many justices of the peace, and how many sheriffs his house had produced. "Come, come," said one of the devils, "we know the merits of the greater part of your ancestry. If you had been like your father or your great grandfather, we should not have ventured to come in contact with you; but you are only the heir of the pit of darkness, you dirty hell-dog! You are scarcely worthy of a night's lodging," added he, "and yet we'll grant you some nook, wherein to await the dawn;" and with that word the goblin with his pitchfork, gave him more than thirty tosses in the fiery air, until he at length cast him into an abyss out of sight. "That may do," said the other, "for a squire of half blood, but I hope you will behave better to a knight, who has had the honor of serving the king in person, and can name twelve earls and fifty baronets belonging to his ancient house." "If your ancestors and your ancient house be all that you can bring in your defence, you may go the same road as he," said one of the devils, "because we can scarcely remember one ancient house, of which some oppressor, murderer, or strong thief did not lay the foundation, and which he did not transmit to people as froward as himself, or to lazy drones, or drunken swine, to maintain whose extravagant magnificence, the vassals and the tenantry must be squeezed to death, whilst every handsome colt or pretty cow in the neighbourhood must be parted with for the pleasure of the mistress, and every lass or married woman, may consider herself fortunate, if she escape the pleasure of the master; the freeholders, meanwhile, being either obliged to follow him like fawning hounds, rob themselves for his benefit, and sell their patrimonies at his pleasure, or be subject to frowns and hatred, and be dragged into every disagreeable and vexatious employment during their lives. "O these little great country folks," continued the devil, "how genteely they swear in order to obtain credit with their mistresses, or with the shop-keepers; and when they have decked themselves out, O how insolently they look upon many of the middling officers of the church and state, and how much worse on the common people! as if they were a species of reptiles in comparison with themselves. Woe is me! is not all blood of the same color? Did you not come all into the world by the same way?" "But, nevertheless, with your permission," said the knight, "there are some who are of much purer birth than others." "Destruction take you!" said the goblin, "there is not one carcass of you all better than the rest; you are all polluted with radical sin from Adam. But, sir," said he, "if your blood be better than other blood, less scum will exude from you when boiling; however, in order to be sure of its quality, it will be as well to search you with fire as well as water." Thereupon a devil in the shape of a chariot of fire received him, and the other in mockery lifted him into it, and away he was hurried like lightning. After a short time the angel caused me to look, and I could see the wretched knight suffering a terrible steeping in a frightful boiling furnace, in company with Cain, Nimrod, Esau, Tarquin, Nero, Caligula, and the others who were the founders of genealogies, and were the first to set up arms of nobility. A little farther on, my guide caused me to look through the hollow of a rock, and there I beheld a number of coquettes briskly at work, doing and repeating all their former follies upon earth. Some were twisting their mouths, some were pulling their front locks with irons, some were painting themselves, some patching their faces with sooty ointments, to make the yellow look more fair; some quite mad at seeing their visages, after all their pains in coloring and variegating, more hideous than those of the very devils, were endeavouring to break the mirrors, or were tearing off with their nails and their teeth the whole artificial blush--the ointments, skin, and flesh coming off all together. The cries which they uttered occasionally were most dismal. "The curse of curses," would one say, "on my father, for making me marry when a girl, an old sapless stump, whose work in raising desires which he could not gratify has driven me hither." "A thousand curses on my parents," would another say, "for sending me to a cloister to learn chastity; they would not have done worse in sending me to a roundhead to learn generosity, or to a quaker to learn manners, than to a papist to learn honor." "Destruction," said another, "seize my mother for her avaricious pride in preventing my obtaining a husband when I wanted one, and thus obliging me to purloin the thing I might have honorably come by." "Hell, and double Hell to the lustful wretch of a gentleman, who first began tempting me," would the third say; "if he had not, betwixt fair and foul, broken the hedge, I had not become a cell open to every body, nor had I come to this cell of devils!" And then they fell to tearing themselves again. I was glad to quit such a pack of female dogs. But before I had passed on many steps, I was surprised to see another shoal of imprisoned wenches, twice more detestable than they. Some had been changed into toads, some into dragons, some into serpents who were swimming and hissing, glavering and butting in a fetid, stagnant pool, much larger than Llyn Tegid. {84} "In the name of wonder," said I, "what sort of creatures may these be?" "There are here," said he, "four sorts of wenches, all notoriously bad. First, there are procuresses, with some of the principal lasses of their respective bevies about them. Second, gossiping ladies with a swarm of their news-bearing hags. Third, bouncing madams, and a pack of sneaking curs on both sides of them, for no man, but for downright fear of them, would ever go nigh them. Fourth, scolds, become a hundred times more horrible than vipers, with their poisonous stings going creak, creak to all eternity." "I had imagined that Lucifer had been a king of too much courtesy, to put a gentlewoman of my rank with such little petty she-devils as these," said one, something like a winged serpent, only that she was much more fierce. "O that he would send here, seven hundred of the worst devils in Hell in exchange for thee, thou poisonous hell-spawn!" said another ugly viper. "O! many thanks to you," said a gigantic devil who overheard them, "we set too much value on our place and merits, to condescend to become mates of yours; and though we are willing to admit that you are fully as competent to torment people as the best of us, we would, nevertheless, not yield up our duties to you." "And yet," said the angel softly, "Lucifer has another reason for keeping such a particular watch over these; he knows well, that if they should break out, they would turn all Hell topsy-turvy." From here we went, still going downward, to a place where I beheld a frightful den, in which was a horrible clamour, the like of which I had never heard, for swearing, cursing, blaspheming, snarling, groaning, and crying. "Who is here?" said I. "This," said he, "is the den of the thieves. Here is a swarm of game-keepers, lawyers, stewards, and the old Judas in the midst of them; they have been excessively annoyed at seeing the tailors and weavers above them, in a more comfortable chamber." Almost before I could turn myself, there came a horse of a devil, bearing a physician and an apothecary, whom he cast down amongst the pedlars and the duffers, for selling bad, rotten ware; but they beginning to fume at being placed in such low company, one of the devils said, "stay, stay! you _do_ deserve a different place," and cast them down amongst the conquerors and the murderers. There was a multitude shut up here, for playing with false dice and concealing cards; but before I could observe much, I heard, close by the door, a terrible rush and rustle, with a hie! hie! get on! ho! yo! hip! I turned to see what it was; but perceiving nothing but horned goblins, I enquired of my guide whether there were cuckolds amongst the devils? "No," said he, "they are in a particular cell. These are drovers who would fain escape to the place of the Sabbath-breakers, and are driven hither against their will." At that word, I looked, and perceived their polls full of the horns of sheep and cattle, and those who drove them, casting them down beneath the feet of the bloodiest robbers. "Crouch there," said one; "though you feared so much of old the thieves on London road, you were yourselves the very worst species of highwaymen, living upon the road and plundering, yes, and murdering poor families. O how many poor creatures did you not keep, with their hungry mouths open, in vain expectation of the money for the sale of the beasts, which they had intrusted to you; and you in the mean time in Ireland, or in the King's Bench laughing at them, or upon the road in the midst of your wine and harlots." On quitting this den of furious heat, I got a sight of a lair, exceeding all the rest I had seen in Hell, but one, in frightful stinking filthiness, where was a herd of accursed drunken swine, disgorging and swallowing, swallowing and disgorging, continually and without rest, the most loathsome snivel. The next pit was the couch of gluttony, where Dives and his companions were upon their bellies, eating dirt and fire alternately, without any liquid ever. A cave or two lower there was an exceedingly spacious kitchen, in which some were in a state of roasting and boiling, others frying and burning in an oven half heated. "Behold the place of the merciless and the unfeeling," said the angel. I then turned a little to the left hand, where there was a cell more light than any one which I had yet seen in Hell, and enquired what place it was? "The abode of the infernal dragons," replied the angel, "who are hissing and snarling, rushing and preying upon one another every minute." I approached; and oh! the look which cannot be described was upon them, the whole light was but the living fire in their eyes. "These are the seed of Adam," said my guide, "morose wretches, and furious savage men; but, yonder," said he, "are some of the old seed of the great dragon Lucifer;" and verily, I could perceive not a whit more amiability in the one sort than in the other. In the next cellar were the misers, in a state of horrible agony with their hearts cleaving to coffers of burning treasure, the rust whereof was ceaselessly cankering them, because those hearts had been ceaselessly bent upon getting money--O the consuming torment, worse than frenzy, that was now going on within them, with care and repentance. Below this there was a hanging ledge, where there were some apothecaries ground to dust, and stuffed into earthen pots amongst album grecum, dung of geese and swine, and many an old stinking ointment. We were now journeying forward, continually descending, along the wilderness of Destruction, through innumerable torments, eternal and not to be described--from cell to cell, from cellar to cellar, and the last always surpassing the others in horror and ghastliness; at last we arrived at a vast porch, more cheerless than any thing we had seen before. It was a very spacious porch, and the pathway through it, which was frightfully steep, led to a kind of dusky nook of incredible ugliness and horror, and there the palace was. At the upper end of the accursed court, among thousands of horrible objects, I could, by means of the radiance of my heavenly companion, perceive amidst the dreary darkness two feet of enormous magnitude, reaching to the roof of the whole infernal firmament. I enquired of my conductor what this horrible thing might be? "Patience," said he, "you shall obtain a more ample view of this monster as you return; but move forward now to see the royal palace." Whilst we were proceeding down the porch of Horror, we heard a noise behind us, as of an immense number of people. Having turned aside to let them pass forward, we beheld four distinct bands, and soon discovered that the four princesses of the city of Destruction, were bringing their subjects as presents to their father. I recognised the princess Pride, not only by her being before the others, but also by her habit of stumbling every moment, for want of looking beneath her feet. She had with her a vast many kings, potentates, courtiers, gentlemen, and pompous people, many quakers, innumerable females of every rank and degree. The princess Lucre was next, with her silly, mean figure, bringing along with her very many of the money loving race--such as usurers, lawyers, extortioners, overseers, game-keepers, harlots, and some ecclesiastics also. Next to these was the amiable princess Pleasure and her daughter Folly, conducting their subjects--consisting of players at dice, cards, draughts, games of legerdemain, and of poets, musicians, tellers of old stories, drunkards, ladies of pleasure, debauches, pretty fellows, with a thousand million of all kinds of baubles, to serve now as instruments of punishment for the lost fools. After these three had gone with their prisoners to the palace, to receive their judgment--behold Hypocrisy, the last of all, conducting a more numerous rout than any of the others, of all nations and ages, of town and country, gentle and simple, males and females. At the tail of the two-faced multitudes we advanced till we came in sight of the palace, through many dragons and horned sprites, and warriors of Hell, the black wardens of the gloomy pandemonium, I all the time crouching very carefully within my veil. We entered the frightful and awful edifice, every corner of which abounded with horror. The walls were immense rocks of glowing adamant, the pavement of an insufferably sharp flint, the roof of burning steel, meeting like an arch of greenish- blue and dusky-red flames, and in its size and its heat, resembling an immense vaulted baking oven. Opposite to the door, on a flaming throne, the Arch-Fiend was seated, his principal lost angels on both sides of him, on thrones of fire terrible to behold--sitting according to their former rank in the regions of light, when they were amiable messengers. It would only be in vain to endeavour to relate how obscene and horrible they were; and the longer I looked at any one of them, seven times more hideous he appeared. In the midst, above the head of Lucifer, was a vast fist, holding a very frightful bolt. The princesses, after making their obeisance, returned to the world to their charges, without making any stay. As soon as they had departed, a gigantic, wide-mouthed devil, by command of the king, uttered a shout louder than a hundred discharges of artillery, as loud if possible as the last trumpet, for the purpose of summoning the infernal parliament. And lo! the rabble of Hell instantly filled the palace and the porch in every shape, after the image and similitude of the principal sin, which each delighted to thrust upon mankind. After commanding silence, Lucifer, with his look directed to the potentates nearest to him, began to speak, very graciously, in the following manner:-- "Ye potentates of Hell! princes of the black abodes of Despair! Though by our confederacy we have lost possession of those thrones, from which we once shone resplendent through the higher regions; our confederacy was, nevertheless, a glorious one, as we aimed at nothing less than the whole. And we have not lost the whole either; for lo! the extensive and profound regions, to the extremest wilds of vast Destruction, are yet beneath our sway. It is true we reign in horrible agony; but spirits of our eminence prefer ruling in torment to serving in ease. And besides this, we are on the eve of obtaining another world, more than three parts of the earth having been beneath my banner for a long time. "And although the Almighty Enemy, sent his own son to die for the beings of that world; yet I, by my baubles, obtain ten souls, for every one which he obtains by his crucified son. And although I have not been able to reach him, who sits in the high places and discharges the invincible thunderbolts, yet revenge of some kind is sweet. Let us complete the destruction of the remnant of human beings, still in the favour of our destroyer. I remember the time, when you caused them to be burnt by multitudes and cities, and even the whole race of the earth, by means of the flood, to be swept down to us in the fire. But at present, though your strength and your natural cruelty are not a whit diminished, yet you are become in some degree inactive; if that had not been the case, we might long since have destroyed the few who are godly, and have caused the earth to be united with this our vast empire. But know, ye black ministers of my displeasure, that unless ye be more resolute and more diligent, and make the most of the short time which yet remains to you for doing evil, ye shall experience the weight of my anger, in torments new and strange to the oldest of you. This I swear by the deepest Hell, and the vast, eternal pit of Darkness." And, thereupon, he frowned, till the palace became seven times more gloomy than before. Moloch now arose, one of the infernal potentates, and after making his obeisance to the king, he said, "O emperor of the Air! mighty ruler of Darkness! no one ever doubted my propensity to malice and cruelty; the sufferings of others have been, and still are, my supreme delight. It is as capital sport to me, to hear the shrieks of infants perishing in the fire as of old, when thousands of sucklings were sacrificed to me outside of Jerusalem. When was I ever slack at my work? Since the return of the crucified Enemy to the supreme abodes, I have employed myself in slaying and burning his subjects. I did all I could, to destroy the Christians from the face of the earth, during the reigns of ten emperors; and many an awful butchery I have made of them in modern times, both in Paris and England, to say nothing of other places: but what are we the nearer to our object for all this? The One above has caused the tree to grow, after its branches have been severed; and all our efforts, are nothing better than showing one's teeth, without the power of biting." "Pshaw!" said Lucifer, "a fig for such heartless legions as ye. I will no longer rely upon you! I will do the work myself, and the glory thereof I will share with no one. I will go to the earth in my own kingly person, and will swallow up the whole; not one man, henceforth, shall be found on the earth to adore the Almighty." Thereupon he gave a furious bound, attempting to set off, in a firmament of living fire; but, behold! the fist above his head shook the terrific bolt till he trembled in the midst of his frenzy, and before he could move far, an invisible hand lugged the old fox back by his chain, in spite of his teeth. Whereupon he became seven times more frantic; his eyes were more terrible than lightnings, black thick smoke burst from his nostrils, and dark green flames from his mouth and entrails: he gnawed his chain in his agony, and hissed forth direful blasphemy, and the most frightful curses. But perceiving how vain it was to seek to break loose, or to struggle with the Almighty, he returned to his place and proceeded with his discourse somewhat more calmly, but with ten times more malice. "The Omnipotent Thunderer has vanquished me, and he alone could have done so. To him I submit. Against him all my fury is in vain; I will, therefore, direct it against nearer and lower objects, and pour it in showers upon those who are yet under my banner, and within the reach of my chain. Arise, ye ministers of Destruction! rulers of the unquenchable fire! and as my wrath and my venom flow forth and my malice boileth out, do ye assiduously spread the whole tide amongst the damned, particularly the Christians. Urge the instruments of torture to the utmost--devise as many more as you can--double the fire and the boiling, until the very cauldrons be overturned; and when they are in the most extreme, inexpressible torture, mock, deride, and upbraid them; and when your whole stock of ironry and bitterness is expended, hasten to me, and you shall obtain more." There had been for some time a comparative silence in Hell, and the more cruel tortures had been suspended; but now the stillness which Lucifer had caused was broken, when the ghastly butchers rushed like wild hungry bears upon their prisoners. O then there arose an oh! oh! oh! a wail, and universal howling, more loud than the sound of cataracts, or the tumult of an earthquake, so that Hell became seven times more frightful. I should have swooned if my dear companion had not rendered me assistance. "Take now," said he, "plenty of the water, that you may obtain strength to see things yet more horrible than these." But scarcely had these words proceeded from his mouth, when, lo! the celestial Justice, who sits above the precipice keeping the gate of Hell, came scourging three men with a rod of fiery scorpions. "Ha! ha!" said Lucifer, "here are three right reverend gentlemen, whom Justice himself has deigned to conduct to my kingdom." "Oh! woe is me," said one of the three, "who asked him to trouble himself?" "Be it known," said Justice, with a glance which made the devils tremble till they knocked one against another, "that it is the will of the Great Creator, that I should myself bring these three accursed murderers to their home. Sirrah," said he to one of the devils, "unbolt for me the prison of the murderers, where are Cain and Nero, Bonner, Bradshaw, Ignatius, and innumerable others of a similar description." "Alas, alas! we never killed any body," said one of the prisoners. "No, because you did not get time and because you were prevented," said Justice. When the den was opened, there came out such a horrible puff of bloody flame, and such a yell as if a thousand dragons were giving their last gasp in their death agony. Into this den Justice hurled his prisoners; {93} and on his way back he breathed obliquely, such a tempest of fiery whirlwinds upon the Arch-Fiend and all his potentates, as he passed by them, that Lucifer, Beelzebub, Satan, Moloch, Abaddon, Asmodeus, Dagon, Apollyon, Belphegor, Mephistophiles, and all the other principal demons were whisked away, and tumbled headlong into a kind of gulf, which was opening and closing in the midst of the palace, and whose aspect was more horrible, and whose steam was more frightful than the aspect and vapour of any gulf which I had previously seen. Before I could enquire of the angel as to what it was, he said, "that is a hole which leads to another vast world." "Pray," said I, "what is the name of that world?" "It is called," said he, "Unknown, or extremest Hell, the habitation of the devils, and the place to which they are at present gone. The vast wilderness, over part of which you have come, is called the country of Despair, a place intended for the lost until the Day of Judgment, when it will fall into extremest, bottomless Hell, and the two will become one. When that has happened one of ourselves will come and close the gate of the whole region of horror upon the devils and the damned, which gate shall never, to all eternity, be opened for them. In the meantime, however, permission is given to the devils to come to these cooler regions, in order to torment the lost souls. Yea, they often obtain permission to go even into the air, and about the earth, to tempt men to the destructive paths, which lead to this dismal prison, from which there is no escape." In the midst of this history, and whilst I was in great surprise at seeing the mouth of Unknown, so much surpassing in horror the jaws of upper Hell, I could hear a prodigious noise of arms, and loud discharges from one side, answered by what seemed to be hoarse thunders from the other; the rocks of Death, meanwhile, rebellowing the tumult. "That is the sound of war," said I. "Is there war then in Hell?" "There is," said the angel; "and it is impossible that there should not be here continual war." Whilst we were moving out, to see what was the matter, I beheld the mouth of Unknown opening, and casting up thousands of candles, burning with a frightful green flame. These were Lucifer and his potentates, who had contrived to subdue the tempest. But when the Arch Fiend heard the noise of war, he became more pale than Death, and began to call and gather together bands of his old experienced soldiers to quell the tumult. At this moment he stumbled against a little puppy of an imp, who had escaped between the feet of the combatants. "What is the matter?" said the king. "Such a matter as will endanger your crown, unless you look to yourself," said the imp. Close behind him came another fiendish courier, bawling hoarsely, "you are plotting disquiet for others, look now to your own repose. Yonder are the Turks, the Papists, and the bloody-handed Roundheads, in three bands, filling all the plains of the dark abodes, committing terrible outrages, and turning every thing topsy-turvy." "How came they out?" said the Arch Fiend, looking worse than Demigorgon. "The Papists," said the messenger, "broke out of their Purgatory, I do not know how; and then on account of an old grudge, they went to attack the back gate of the Paradise of Mahomet, and let all the Turks out of their prison; and afterwards, in the hubbub, the seed of Cromwell found some means to break out of their cells." Then Lucifer turned about and looked under his throne, where were all the lost kings, and caused Cromwell to be kept close in his kennel; and likewise all the emperors of the Turks, under watch and ward. He then hastened with his legions along the black wilds of Darkness, each obtaining light from the fire which was incessantly tormenting his body. Guided by the horrid uproar, the fiends advanced courageously towards the combatants; then silence was enjoined in the name of the king, and Lucifer enquired, "what is the cause of this disturbance in my kingdom?" "Please, your infernal majesty," said Mahomet, "a dispute arose between me and pope Leo, as to whether my Koran or the creed of Rome, had rendered you most service; and whilst we were at it, a pack of Roundheads broke their prison and put in their oar; asserting that their league and covenant, deserved more respect at your hands than either. Thus from disputing we have come to blows, and from words to arms. But at present, as your majesty has returned from Unknown, I will refer the matter to yourself." "Stay, we shall not let you escape thus!" said pope Julius; and to it again they went, tooth and nail, in the most furious manner, till the strokes were like an earthquake. O you should have seen the three armies of the damned, tearing one another to pieces over the expanse of the burning plains; and each individual body that was rent to pieces, becoming joined again serpent fashion. At last Lucifer caused his old soldiers, the champions of Hell, to pull them from each other, and it was no easy matter to do so. When the tumult was hushed, pope Clement began to speak. "O emperor of Horrors! as no throne has ever performed more faithful and universal service to the infernal crown, over a great part of the world, for eleven hundred years, than the papal chair, I hope you will not suffer any one to contend with us for your favour." "Well," said a Scott of Cromwell's army, "though the Koran has done great service for eight hundred years, and the superstition of the Pope for a much longer period, yet has the covenant done more since it came out, than the other two have ever done. Moreover it is notorious that, whilst the votaries of those two are every day rapidly diminishing, the followers of the covenant are increasing in numbers, over the whole face of the world, and particularly in the island of your enemies Britain, whose capital, London, the most noble city under the sun, abounds with them." "Pshaw, pshaw!" said Lucifer, "if I am rightly informed, the covenant itself is under a cloud, and you are no longer what you were. And now I have one thing to tell the whole of you--which is, that, whatever ye may do in other kingdoms, I will not permit you to trouble mine. Therefore rest peaceably, under penalty of worse torments corporeal and spiritual." At those words many of the devils dropped their tails between their hoofs, and all the damned sneaked away to their holes, for fear of a change for the worse. After causing the whole of them to be locked up in their prisons, and the careless wardens to be deprived of their office, for having permitted them to break out, Lucifer and his counsellors returned to the palace, and sat down again, according to their rank, upon their fiery thrones. After silence had been called and the place cleared, a huge, wry-shouldered devil, placed a back-load of fresh prisoners before the bar. "Is this the road to Paradise," said one, (for they all pretended not to know where they were.) "Or if this be Purgatory," said another, "we have with us an authority, under the hand of the Pope, to go straight to Paradise without tarrying any where a minute. Therefore show us the way, or, by the Pope's toe, we will cause him to punish you." Ha! ha! ha!--ho! ho! ho! said eight hundred devils; and Lucifer himself, parted his jaws half a yard in a kind of bitter laugh. The others were confounded at this; but one said, "well, if we have lost our way in the darkness, we would pay any one who would guide us." "Ha! ha!" said Lucifer, "you will pay the last farthing before ye go." Thereupon each fell to searching for his money, but found, to his sorrow, that he had left his breeches behind him. Quoth the Arch Fiend, "you left Paradise on the left hand, above the lofty mountains; and, notwithstanding, it was so easy to come down here, it is next to impossible to go back, owing to the nature of the country, through which the road back lies. For it is a country abounding with mountains of burning iron, immense dismal crags, sheets of eternal ice, and roaring, headlong cataracts; a country, in short, far too difficult for you to travel, unless indeed you have talons of the true devilish length. Come, come," said he to his myrmidons, "take these blockheads to our paradise, to their companions." At this moment I could hear the voice of some people who were coming, swearing and cursing in a frightful manner. "O the Devil! the blood of the Devil! a hundred thousand devils! a thousand million devils take me if I will go farther!" but, nevertheless, they were cast slap down before the judge. "Here you have," said the carrier, "a load of as good fire wood as the best in Hell." "What are they?" said Lucifer. "Masters of the genteel art of cursing and swearing," replied the devil; "men who understand the language of Hell quite as well as ourselves." "You lie in your mouth, by the Devil!" said one of them. "Sirrah! do you take my name in vain?" said the Arch Fiend. "Quick! and hang them by their tongues to the burning precipice yonder, and if they call for the Devil, be ready to serve them; yea, if they call for a thousand, let them be satisfied." When these were gone, lo! a giant of a devil vociferated to have the bar cleared, and flung down a man whom he bore. "What have you brought there?" said Lucifer. "A tavern-keeper," replied the other. "What," said the king, "_one_ tavern-keeper! Why they are in the habit of coming to the tune of five or six thousand. Have you not been out, sirrah, for ten years, and yet you bring us but one? and he one who has done us much more service in the world than yourself, you lazy, stinking dog!" "You are too ready to condemn me, before listening to me," he replied. "This fellow only was given to my charge, and, behold! I am clear of him. But still I have sent to you from his house, many a worthless chap, after guzzling down the maintenance of his family; many a dicer and card-player; many a genteel swearer; many a pleasant, good kind of belly god; and many a careless servant." "Well," said the Arch Fiend, "though the tavern-keeper has merited to be amongst the flatterers below us, take him at present to his brethren, in the cell of the liquid murderers; to the thousands of apothecaries and poisoners, who are there for making drink to kill their customers--boil him well for not having brewed better ale." "With your permission," said the tavern-keeper shivering, "I have deserved no such treatment. Must not every trade live?" "And could you not live," said the Fiend, "without encouraging dissipation and gaming, uncleanness, drunkenness, oaths, quarrels, slander and lies? and would you, hell-hound, live at present better than ourselves! Pray what evil have we here that you had not at home, the punishment solely excepted? And having told you this bitter truth, I will add, that the infernal heat and cold were not unknown to you either. "Did you not see sparks of our fire in the tongues of the swearers and of the scolds, when seeking to get their husbands home? Was there not plenty of the unquenchable fire in the mouth of the drunkard, and in the eyes of the brawler? And could you not perceive something of the infernal cold in the lovingness of the spendthrift, and in your own civility to your customers, whilst any thing remained with them--in the drollery of the buffoons, in the praise of the envious and the backbiter, in the promises of the wanton, or in the shanks of the good companions freezing beneath your tables? Art thou unacquainted with Hell, when the house thou didst keep was Hell? Go, hell-dog, to thy punishment." At this moment appeared ten devils with their burdens, which they cast upon the fiery floor, puffing terribly. "What have you there?" said Lucifer. "We have brought," said one of the fiendish carriers, "five things which were called kings the day before yesterday." (I looked attentively and beheld in one of them old Louis of France.) "Fling them here," said the king; whereupon they were flung to the other crowned heads, under the feet of Lucifer. It was not long before I heard the sound of a brazen trumpet, and a crying of room! room! room! After waiting a little time, what should be coming but a drove of sessions folk, the devils carrying six lumps of justices and a thousand of their fry--consisting of lawyers, attornies, clerks, recorders, bailiffs, catchpoles, and pettifoggers of the courts. I was surprised that none of them attempted to cross-question; but they perceived that the matter was gone against them too far, and so, not one of these learned disputers opened his mouth; only a pettifogger of the courts said, that he would lay a plaint of false imprisonment against Lucifer. "You shall now have cause enough to complain," said the Fiend, "and yet never have an opportunity of seeing a court with your eyes." Then, putting on his red cap, Lucifer, with an arrogant, insufferable look, said, "take the justices to the dungeon of Pontius Pilate and Mr. Bradshaw, who condemned king Charles. Parch the lawyers in company with the murderers of Sir Edmund Bury Godfrey, {100} and their double-tongued brethren, who dispute with one another, for no other purpose than to be the ruin of any one who comes betwixt them. Let them greet that provident lawyer--for they will find him here--who offered on his death bed a thousand pounds for a clear conscience. Let them greet him, and ask, whether he is now willing to give any thing more. Roast them with their own parchment and papers; hang the pettifoggers above them, with their nostrils downwards, in the roasting chimneys, to receive the smoke, and to see whether they can get their belly-full of law. As for the recorders, let them be cast among the forestallers, who detain the corn or buy it up and mix it, and then sell the unsound for double the price of the pure corn; just as the former demand double the fees for _wrong_, which were formerly given for _right_. As for the catchpoles, leave them at liberty to hunt vermin; or send them to the world, among the dingles and brakes, to seize the debtors of the infernal crown--for what devil among you will do the work better than they?" At this moment twenty devils with packs on their shoulders, like Scotchmen, mounted before the throne of Despair, and what had they got, on enquiry, but gipsies. "Ho!" said Lucifer, "how did ye know the fortunes of others so well, without knowing that your own fortune was leading ye to this prison." But the gipsies said not a word in reply, being confounded at beholding faces here more ugly than their own. "Hurl them into our deepest dungeon," said Lucifer, to the fiends, "and don't starve them; we have here neither cats nor rush-lights to give them, but let them have a toad between them, every ten thousand years, provided they are quiet, and do not deafen us with their gibberish and clibberty clabber." Next to these there came, I should imagine, about thirty husbandmen. Every one was surprised to see so many of them, people of their honest calling seldom coming to Hell; but they were not from the same neighbourhood, nor for the same offences. Some were for raising the markets; many for refusing to pay tithes, and cheating the minister of his rights; others for leaving their work, to follow gentry a hunting, and breaking their legs in endeavouring to leap with them; some for working on Sundays; some for carrying their sheep and cattle, in their heads to church, instead of musing on the Word; others for roguish bargains. When Lucifer began to question them, oh! they were all as pure as gold; none was aware of having committed any thing which deserved such a lot. You will not believe what a crafty excuse every one had to conceal his fault, notwithstanding he was in Hell on account of it, and this was only done out of malice, to thwart Lucifer and to endeavour to make the righteous Judge, who had damned them appear unjust. But you would have been yet more surprised at the dexterity with which the Arch Fiend laid bare their crimes, and answered their vain excuses home. But when these were receiving the last infernal sentence, there came forty scholars before the court, mounted on capering devils, more ugly, if possible, than Lucifer himself. And when the scholars heard the husbandmen arguing, they began to excuse themselves the more confidently. But, oh! how ready the old Serpent was at answering them too, notwithstanding their craft, and their learning. But as it was my fortune to hear similar disputations at another tribunal, I will there give the history of the whole, in one mass; and will at present relate to you what I next saw. Scarcely had Lucifer uttered judgment upon these people, and sent them, for the cool impertinence of their reasons, to the vast sheet, in the country of the eternal ice, the teeth of the wretches beginning to chatter before they saw their prison, when Hell began once more, to resound awfully with terrible blows, harsh blustering thunders, and every sound of war. I could see Lucifer turn black, and become like a statue; at this moment, in rushed a little crooked, horned devil, panting and shivering. "What is the matter?" said Lucifer. "The most perilous to you of all matters since Hell has been Hell," said the imp; "all the extremes of the kingdom of Darkness, have broken out against you, and against one another; particularly those who had any old field in common. They are now at it, tooth and nail, so that it is impossible to tear them from each other. "The soldiers are at loggerheads with the physicians, for carrying on their trade of slaughter; there is a swarm of usurers at loggerheads with the lawyers, for seeking to spoil their trade; the jurymen and the duffers are pummelling the gentlemen, for swearing and cursing without necessity; whereas, swearing and cursing formed part of their trade; the harlots, and their associates, and millions of other old friends and acquaintances, have fallen out, and are all in shatters. "But worse than all, is the contest between the old misers and their own children, for dissipating their wealth and their money. 'Our property,' say the pigtails, 'cost us much pain, whilst we were upon the earth, and is causing us immense suffering _here_ for ever, yet ye have flung it all away at ducks and drakes.' And the children, on the other hand, are cursing and tearing the old skin-flints, most furiously, charging their fathers with being the authors of their misery, by leaving them twenty times _too much_, to distract them with pride and dissipation; whereas, a _little_, with a blessing, might have made them happy in both their states of existence." "Well," said Lucifer, "enough! enough! we have more need of arms than words. Sirrah, this hubbub is owing to some great neglect; go back, and pry into every watch, and discover who has been neglectful; and what dangerous characters have been permitted to escape, for there are some evils abroad, that are not known." Away he went, at the word, and in the meanwhile, Lucifer and his potentates arose in terror, and exceeding consternation, and caused the boldest bands of the black angels to be assembled. When these were marshalled, he put himself at the head of his own peculiar band, and marched forth to quell the insurrection, whilst the potentates went other ways with their legions. Before the royal troop had gone any great distance, gleaming like the lightning of the black abodes, (and we behind them,) behold the hubbub advanced to meet them. "Silence, in the name of the king," said a fiendish herald. There was no hearing; it was easier to tear the old crocodile from his prey than one of these. But when the old tried soldiers of Lucifer broke into the midst of them, the buzzing, the butting, and the blows began to slacken. "Silence, in the name of Lucifer," said the hoarse cryer again. "What is the matter?" said the king; "and who are these?" "There is nothing particularly the matter," was the answer; "but the drovers, happening in the general commotion to come in contact with the cuckolds, they went mutually to butting, to try whose horns were hardest; and this butting might have gone on for ever, if your horned champions had not interfered." "Well," said Lucifer, "since you are all so ready with your arms, turn along with me to quell other rioters." But when it was buzzed about among the other rebels, that Lucifer was coming with three horned legions against them, each slunk away to his lair. Thus Lucifer advanced without opposition, along the wildernesses of Destruction, endeavouring to ascertain what was the commencement of the disturbance, but could obtain no information. After a little time, however, one of the spies of the king returned, quite out of breath. "O most noble Lucifer!" said he, "prince Moloch has quieted part of the North and has scattered thousands over the sheets of ice; but three or four terrible evils are still out on the wind." "Who are they?" said Lucifer. "_Slanderer_, and _Meddler_, and _Litigious Pettifogger_," said he, "have broken their prisons and are at liberty." "Then it would be no wonder," said the Arch Fiend, "if there should be yet more disturbance." At this moment there came another, who had been on the look-out towards the South, with the information that the evil had begun to break out there; but that three had been taken, who had previously turned every thing topsy-turvy in the West, and these three were _Madam Bouncer_, _Contriver_, and_ Coxcomb_. "Well," said Satan, who was standing next but one to Lucifer, "since I tempted Adam from his garden, I have never yet seen from his seed, so many evils out upon one piece of business. "Bouncer, Coxcomb, and Contriver on the one side," he added, "and on the other Slanderer, Pettifogger, and Meddler are a compound, enough to make a thousand devils sweat their bowels out." "It is no wonder," said Lucifer, "that they are so detested by every body on earth, when they are able to cause us so much trouble here." A little farther on, a great bouncing lady struck against the king, as she was moving backwards. "Ho! my aunt of the breeches," said a hoarse devil, "good night to you." "Yes, your aunt, indeed! on what side pray?" said she, very wrathful, because she was not called madam. "A pretty king are you, sir Lucifer," said she, "to keep such unmannerly blockheads; it is a sin that so large a kingdom should be under one so incompetent to govern them. O that I were made deputy over it!" At this moment behold the _Coxcomb_, nodding his head in the dark, "Your servant, sir," he would say to one over his shoulder.--"I hope you are quite well," said he to another.--"Is there any service which I can render you," to a third, smiling conceitedly.--"Your beauty ravishes my heart," said he to the bouncing wench. "Oh! oh! away with this hell-dog," said she; whilst every one cried, "away with this new tormentor! Hell upon Hell is he!" "Bind him and her head to tail," said Lucifer. After a little time, behold _Courts Comprised_ held betwixt two devils. "O ho! angel of patience," said Lucifer, "are you come? Hold him fast on your peril," said he to the satellites. Before we had advanced far, there came the _Contriver_ and the _Slanderer_ bound betwixt forty devils, and whispering in each others ears. "O most mighty Lucifer!" said the _Contriver_, "I am exceedingly grieved to see so much disturbance in your dominions, but I will teach you a way to prevent such in future, if you will but grant me a hearing. You only need, under pretence of a general parliament, to summon all the damned to the glowing pandemonium, and then cause the devils to cast them headlong into the throat of _Unknown_, and the gulf to be closed over them, and then, I warrant you, they will give you no more trouble." "See," said Lucifer, frowning very horribly on the _Contriver_, "the universal Meddler is still behind." On returning again to the porch of the infernal palace, who should come with the fairest face imaginable to meet the king but the _Meddler_. "O my liege," said he, "I have a word for you." "Perhaps I have one or two for you," said the Fiend. "I have been," continued the Meddler, "over half _Destruction_, to observe how your affairs are standing. You have many officers in the East doing nothing at all; but sitting still instead of looking to the torments of their prisoners, or keeping guard over them, and this has been the cause of all this great disturbance. Besides," said he, "many of your devils, and your damned too, whom you dispatched to the world to tempt folks, are not returned, though their time is out; and others have arrived in a sculking manner, and not given an account of their errands." Then Lucifer caused the herald to proclaim another parliament; and lo! before you could turn your hand, all the potentates and satellites were met together, to hold the infernal sessions again. The first thing which was done was to change the officers, and to cause a place to be made about the throat of Unknown, for the reception of the Coxcomb, the bouncing lady, and the rest; the two first were tied nose to nose, and the other rioters tail to tail. Then a law was promulgated, that whoever should henceforth neglect his duty, whether imp or lost man, should be cast there among them until the day of judgment. At these words you might see all the goblins--yea, Lucifer himself--tremble and look agitated. The next thing was to call some devils and some damned to reckoning, who had been sent to the world to hunt up recruits: the devils gave a very good account of themselves; but some of the damned were lame in their reckoning, and were sent to the hot school, where they were scourged with twisted fiery serpents, for not learning their lesson better. "Hear my complaint," said a little informing devil. "Here is a pretty woman when trimmed out, who was sent up to the world, to hunt subjects for you by means of their hearts; and to whom did she offer herself, but to a hard-working labourer coming home late from his occupation, who instead of enjoying himself with her, went upon his knees to pray against the Devil and his angels: at another time, she went to a sick man." "Ha!" said Lucifer, "cast her to that lost useless wench, who loved of yore Einion ab Gwalehmai, {108} of Anglesey." "Stay," said the fair one, "this is but the first offence. It is not yet above a year, since the day when I breathed my last, and was damned to your accursed government." "She speaks true, O king of Torments! It is not yet a year by three weeks," said the devil who had brought her there. "Therefore," said she, "how would you have me so well versed as the damned, who have been here for three hundred, or out abroad depredating for five hundred years. If you desire from me better service, let me go into the world another time or two unchastised; and if I do not bring you twenty harlot-mongers, for every year that I am out, inflict upon me whatever punishment you please." But the verdict went against her, and she was condemned to punishment for a hundred long years, that she might remember better the second time. At this moment, behold another devil pushing a fellow forward. "Here you have," said he, "a pretty dog of a messenger. As he was prowling about his old neighbourhood, above stairs, the other night, he saw a thief going to steal a stallion, and could not so much as help him to catch the horse without showing himself, frightening the thief so by his horrible appearance, that he took warning and became an honest man from that time." "With the permission of the court," said the fellow, "if the thief had got the gift from _above_ to see me, could I help it? But at worst this is a single peccadillo," said he; "it is not above a hundred years since the day which terminated my mortal career, yet how many of my friends and neighbours have I not tempted hither after me, during that time? May I be in the deepest pit, if I have not as much inclination for the trade as the best of you; but now and then the craftiest will err." "Here," said Lucifer, "cast him to the school of the fairies, who are yet under the rod for their mischievous conduct of old, in strangling some people and threatening others; startling by such behaviour their neighbours from their heedlessness, upon whom the terror which they caused, had probably more effect than twenty sermons would have had." Next appeared four catchpoles, an informer, and fifteen damned, hauling two _devils_ forward. "See," said the informer, "lest you should lay the blame of all that is mismanaged on the seed of Adam, we bring you two of your old angels, who have spent their time above, quite as badly as the two preceding. Here is a fellow who has been making as great a fool of himself, as the Devil did at Shrewsbury the other day; who, in the midst of the interlude of Doctor Faustus, whilst some, according to the custom on such occasions, were committing adultery with their eyes, some with their hands, others making assignations for the same purpose, and doing various other things profitable to your kingdom, made his appearance to play his own part; by which blunder, he drove every one from taking his pleasure to praying. In like manner did this numskull act; for, whilst journeying over the world, on hearing two wenches talking of walking round the church at night, in order to see their sweethearts, he must needs show himself in the figure he wears at home, to the two fools, who on recovering their senses, which at first they lost from fright, solemnly abjured all frivolity for ever. There's a ninny-hammer for you! Instead of appearing like a devil, he ought to have divided himself and assumed the forms of two dirty, unlicked boors; for the girls would have imagined themselves bound to accept them, and then the filthy goblin might have lived as husband with the two female parties, without troubling a clergyman to perform the marriage. "And here is another," said he, "who went the last dark night, to visit two young maidens in Wales, who were _turning the shift_; and instead of enticing the girls to wantonness in the figure of a handsome youth, he must needs go to one with a _hearse_ to sober her; and to the other with the _sound of war_ in an infernal whirlwind, to drive her farther from her senses than she was before, and there was no need for that. But this is not the whole, for after going into the last girl, he cast her down and tormented her furiously, so that her parents in horror, sent for some of our enemies the clergy, to pray over her and cast him out, which they did. Now, if he had been wise, instead of kicking up such a hubbub, he would have tempted her quietly to despair, and to make away with herself. On another time, wishing to gain some of the conventiclers, he went to preach to them, and revealed the secrets of your kingdom; thus, instead of hindering, assisting their salvation." At the word _salvation_, I could see some emitting living fire for madness. "Capital stories both, I won't deny," said the goblin; "but I hope that Lucifer will not permit one of Adam's race of dirt, to put himself on an equality with me who am an angel, of a species and descent far superior." "Ha!" said Lucifer, "he may be sure of his punishment. But, sirrah, answer to these accusations speedily and clearly, or by hopeless Destruction I will--" "I have brought hither," said the goblin, "many a soul since Satan was in the garden of Eden, and ought to know my trade better than this novice of an informer." "Blood of an infernal fire-brand!" said Lucifer, "did I not command you to answer speedily and clearly." "Do but hear me," said the sprite. "As to preaching, by your own command I have been a hundred times _preaching_, and have forbidden people to follow several of the roads which lead to your territories, and yet silently, in the same breath, have led them hither safe enough, by some other vain paths; as I have done by preaching lately in Germany, and in one of the Faroe isles, and various other places. "Thus through my preaching," he continued, "have come many of the _superstitions_ of the papists, and the _old fables_ first to the world, and the whole under the shape of some goodness. For who ever swallows the hook without some bait? who ever would believe a story if there were not some measure of _truth_ mingled with the falsehood; or some semblance of _good_ to shade the _evil_? Thus if I find an opportunity in preaching, to push in amongst a hundred correct and salutary counsels, one of my own, with this one I will do you, either through _contentiousness_ or _superstition_, more advantage than all the rest of my counsels will do you harm." "Well," said Lucifer, "since you are of such utility in your pulpit, I order you for seven years, to take up your abode in the mouth of one of the barn-preachers, who will be sure to utter the first thing which comes to his tongue's end. Then you will find an opportunity to put in a word now and then, to your own purpose." There were still many more devils and damned who were twisting through one another like lightning, around the throne of Terrors, to give an account of what they had done, and again to receive commissions. But suddenly and unexpectedly, an order was given to all the messengers and the prisoners, to go out of the palace, every one to his hole, and to leave the king and his chief counsellors there alone. "Had we not best depart," said I to my companion, "lest they should find us?" "You need not fear," said the angel "no unclean spirit will ever see through this veil." Thus we continued there invisible, to see what was the matter. Then Lucifer began to speak graciously to his counsellors, in this manner:--"O ye, the chief spiritual evils!--ye, who for subtlety are unequalled in Unknown, I request you in my need, to exert to the uttermost your malicious wiles. No one here is unaware, that Britain and the surrounding isles, constitute the kingdom most dangerous to my authority, and most abounding with my enemies; and what is a hundred times worse, there is at present there a queen, who does not offer to turn once hitherward, either by the road of Rome on the one hand, or the road of Geneva on the other. Notwithstanding, all the service which the Pope has rendered us there for a long time, and Oliver for some years past, how far are we from our object? what shall we do now? I am afraid that we shall lose there our ancient possession, and our market entirely, if we do not pave immediately some new way for its inhabitants to walk in, for they know all the old roads which lead hither too well. And, since yonder invincible fist shortens my chain, and prevents me from going myself to the earth, counsel me, I pray you, as to whom I shall make my deputy, to oppose yonder detestable queen, who is the deputy of our enemy." "O mighty emperor of Darkness!" said Cerberus, the devil of Tobacco, "make a deputy of me, from whom the crown of Britain derives the third part of its revenue. I will go and will send to you a hundred thousand of the souls of your enemies, through the hollow of a pipe." "Well, well," said Lucifer, "you have done me excellent service, by causing the proprietors of tobacco in India to be slaughtered, and those who take it to die of diseases, and sending many to vend it idly from house to house, and making others to steal in order to obtain it, and thousands to love it so far, that they cannot be a day without it in their right senses. "Therefore go and do thy best; but, I tell thee, that thou art little better than nothing in the present exigency." Thereupon Cerberus sat down, and uprose Mammon, devil of Money, and with a morose sinister look said:--"I showed men the first mine from which they got money, and therefore, I am always extolled and worshipped more than God; men undergo for me trouble and danger, and place their whole mind, their delight, and their trust upon me: there is no one easy, because he has not obtained somewhat more of my favour, and the more they obtain the farther are they ever from rest, until at length by seeking _easy circumstances_, they arrive at the country of Eternal Torments. How many a crafty old miser have I not deluded hither, along paths more difficult than those which lead to the kingdom of Happiness? At fair or market, sessions or elections, or any other assemblage of people, who has more subjects? who has more power and authority than I? Cursing, swearing, fighting, litigating, plotting, deceiving, striking, hoarding, murdering and robbing, sabbath breaking and uncharitableness, all proceed from me: and there is no other black mark, which stamps men as belonging to the fold of Lucifer, which I have not a hand in giving, on which account I am called 'the root of all evil.' Therefore if it seem good to your majesty, I will go." And having said that he sat down. Then arose Apollyon. "I do not know," said he, "any thing that will bring the Britons hither, more certainly than what brought yourselves--that is _Pride_: if she ever plant her pole within them and inflate them, there is no reason to fear that they will stoop to lift the cross, or go through the narrow gate. I will go," said he, "with my daughter Pride, and will cause the Welsh, by gazing on the magnificence of the English, and the English, by imitating the frivolities of the French, to tumble into this place before they know where they are." Next arose Asmodeus, devil of Wantonness. "You cannot but be aware," said he, "O most mighty sovereign of the Abyss! and you, ye princes of the country of Despair! how I have crammed the nooks of Hell through debauchery and lasciviousness. What need have I to speak of the time, when I kindled such a flame of lust in the whole world, that it was necessary to send the flood, to clear the earth of its inhabitants, and to sweep them to us in the unquenchable fire; or of Sodom and Gomorrah, fair and pleasant cities, whose people I burnt with wantonness, till their infernal lusts brought down a fiery shower, which drove them hither alive to burn to all eternity; or of the vast army of the Assyrians, which was slain all in one night on account of me? Sarah I disappointed of seven husbands; Solomon, the wisest of men, and many thousand other kings I blinded by means of women. Therefore," said he, "suffer me to go with my _sweet sin_, and I will kindle in Britain the sparks of Hell so universally, that it shall become one with this place of unextinguishable flame; for there is not much chance, that any one will return from following me, to lay hold of the paths of Life." And thereupon he sat down. Then arose Belphegor, prince of _Sloth and Idleness_. "I am," said he, "the great prince of Listlessness and Laziness; great is my power on myriads of men of all ages and degrees. I am the still pool, where 'the root of all evil' is generated; where coagulate the dregs of all destructive corruption and filthiness. What would you be worth, Asmodeus; or you, ye other master spirits of evil, without me who keep the window open for you, without any watch, so that you may go into man by his eyes, by his ears, by his mouth, and by every other orifice which he has, whensoever you please. I will go, and will roll to you all the inhabitants of Britain over the precipice in their sleep." Then arose Satan, the devil of _Deceit_, who sat next to Lucifer on his left hand, and after turning a frightful visage on the king,--"It is unnecessary for me," he said, "to declare my deeds to you, O lost archangel! or to you, black princes of Destruction! because it was I who struck the first blow which man ever received; and a mighty blow it was, causing him to remain _mortal_, from the beginning of the world to its end. Do you imagine that I, who despoiled the whole world, cannot at present give counsel which will serve for a paltry islet? And cannot I, who cheated _Eve_ in _Paradise_, vanquish _Anne_ in _Britain_? If no natural craft will avail, and continued experience for more than five thousand years, my counsel to you is, to dress up your daughter _Hypocrisy_, to deceive Britain and its queen; you have not a daughter in the world, so useful to you as she; she has more extensive authority and more numerous subjects, than all your other daughters. Was it not through _her_ that I cheated the first woman? It was: and ever from that time she has remained and increased exceedingly upon the earth. At present indeed, the whole vast world is but one _Hypocrisy_; and if it were not for the skill of Hypocrisy, how should any one of us do business in any corner of the world? Because if people were to see _sin_ in its own _color_, and under its own _name_, who would ever come in contact with it? The world would no more do so, than it would embrace the Devil in his infernal shape and garb. If Hypocrisy were not able to disguise her _name_, and the _nature_ of every _evil_, under the similitude of some _good_, and were not able to give some evil nickname to all _goodness_, no one would approach, and no one would covet evil at all. Traverse the whole city of Destruction, and you will see her in every corner. Go to the street of _Pride_, and enquire for an _arrogant man_, or for a pennyworth of _coquetry_, mixed up by Pride; 'woe's me,' says Hypocrisy, 'there is no such thing here; nothing at all I assure you in the whole street but grandeur.' Or go to the street of _Lucre_, and enquire for the house of the _Miser_; fie, there is no such person in it: or for the house of the _murderer_ amongst the physicians: or the house of the _arrant thief_ amongst the drovers, and see how you would fare; you would sooner get into prison for enquiring, than get any body to confess his name. Yes, Hypocrisy creeps between man and his own heart, and conceals every _iniquity_ so craftily, under the name and similitude of some virtue, that she has made every body almost unable to recognise himself. _Avarice_ she will call _economy_. In her language _dissipation_ is _innocent diversion_; _pride_ is _gentility_; a _perverse_ _man _is a _fine manly fellow_; _drunkenness_ is _good fellowship_, and _adultery_ is only the _heat of youth_. On the other hand, if _she_ and her disciples are to be believed, the _devout man_ is only a _hypocrite_ or a _blockhead_; the _gentle_ but a _sneaking dog_; the _sober_ a mere _hunks_, and so on. Send her, therefore," he continued, "thither, in her full array, I will warrant that she will deceive every body, and that she will blind the counsellors and the warriors, and all the officers, secular and ecclesiastical, and will draw them hither in multitudes presently, by means of her _mask of changeable hue_." And thereupon he sat down. Then Beelzebub arose, the devil of _Inconsiderateness_, and with a rough, bellowing voice,--"I am," said he, "the mighty prince of _Bewilderment_; to me it pertains to prevent man from reflecting upon and considering his condition. I am the principal of those wicked, infernal _flies_ which craze mankind, by keeping them ever in a kind of continual buzz, about their possessions or their pleasures, without ever leaving them with my consent, a moment's respite, to think about their courses or their end. It ill becomes one of you, to attempt to put himself on an equality with me, for feats useful to the kingdom of Darkness. For what is Tobacco but one of my meanest instruments, to carry bewilderment into the brain? And what is the kingdom of _Mammon_, but a branch of my vast domain? Yea, if I were to recite the ties which I have on the subjects of _Mammon_ and _Pride_--yea, and on the subjects of _Asmodeus_, _Belphegor_, and _Hypocrisy_--no man would tarry a minute longer under the rule of one of them. Therefore," said he, "I am the one to do the work, and let none of you boast again about his merits." Then Lucifer the Great arose himself from his burning throne, and with a would-be complaisant but nevertheless frightful look on both sides,--"Ye master-spirits of eternal Night! ye supreme possessors of the cunning of Despair!" he said, "though the vast black gulf and the wilds of Destruction, are indebted to no one for inhabitants, more than to my own royal majesty since I of yore, failing to drag the Omnipotent from his possession, drew millions of you, my swarthy angels to this place of horrors, and have since drawn millions of men to you; nevertheless, it cannot be denied, that ye too have all done your part, to sustain this vast infernal empire." Then Lucifer began to answer them one by one. "For one of late origin, I will not deny, O _Cerberus_, that thou hast brought to us many a booty from the island of our enemies, by means of tobacco, a weed the cause of much deceit; for how much deceit is practiced in carrying it about, in mixing it, and in weighing it: a weed which entices some people to bib ale; others to curse, swear, and to flatter in order to obtain it, and others to tell lies in denying that they use it: a weed productive of maladies in various bodies, the excess of which is injurious to every man's body, without speaking of his _soul_: a weed, moreover, by which we get multitudes of the poor, whom we should never get, did they not set their love on tobacco, and allow it to master them, and pull the bread from the mouths of their children. "And as for you, my brother _Mammon_, your power is so universal, and likewise so manifest upon the earth, that it has become a proverb that '_any thing can be got for money_.' And undoubtedly," said he, turning to Apollyon, "my beloved daughter _Pride_ is of great utility to us; for what is more capable of injuring a man in his condition, his body, and his soul, than that _proud_, _haughty idea_, which will make him squander a _hundred pounds_ for display, rather than stoop to give a _crown_ for peace. _She_ keeps people so stiff-necked, with their sight so intent on lofty things, that it is a pleasure to see them, by staring and reaching into the air, falling plump into the abysses of Hell. As for you, _Asmodeus_, we all remember your great services of yore; no one keeps his prisoners more firmly under the lock, and no one meets with less rebuke than yourself--the whole rebuke, indeed, consisting in a little laughing, at what is called wanton tricks. Yes, Asmodeus, I admit that your power is very great; though I cannot help reminding you," he added, with a jocular though truly infernal grin, "that you were all but starved, above there, during the last dear years. As for you, my son _Belphegor_, lousy prince of Sloth, nobody has afforded us more pleasure than yourself, so very great is your authority amongst gentle and simple, even down to the beggar. Nevertheless, if it were not for the skill of my daughter _Hypocrisy_, in coloring and disguising, who would ever swallow one of your hooks? And after all, if it were not for the diligent firmness of my brother _Beelzebub_, in keeping men in _inconsiderate bewilderment_, I question whether all of you united would be worth a straw. Now," said he, "let us review the whole. "What would you be worth, Cerberus, with your excessive sucking, if it were not for the assistance of Mammon? What merchant would ever fetch your leaves from India, through so many perils, if it were not for the sake of Mammon? And if it were not for _his_ sake, what king would receive it, in Britain especially? And who, but for the sake of Mammon, would carry it to every corner of the kingdom? But, notwithstanding this, what wouldst thou be worth, Mammon, without Pride to squander thee upon fine houses, magnificent garments, needless litigations, music, horses and costly appurtenances, various dishes, beer and ale in a flood, far above the _means_ and _rank_ of the possessor; for if money were used within the limits of _necessity_ and _propriety_, of what advantage would Mammon be to us? Thus you would be worth nothing without _Pride_; and little would _Pride_ be worth without _Wantonness_, because bastards are the most numerous and the fiercest subjects, which my daughter _Pride_ possesses in the world. "You too, Asmodeus, prince of _Wantonness_, what would you be worth, if it were not for _Sloth and Idleness_; where but for them would you get a night's lodging? You could hardly expect it from a labourer or toiling student. And you, Belphegor of Idleness, who would welcome you a minute, attended as you would be with shame and reproach, if it were not for Hypocrisy, who conceals your ugliness under the name of _internal sickness_, or of a _well meaning person_, or under the shape of _despising riches_ and the like. "And she too, my dear daughter _Hypocrisy_, what is she worth, or what would she ever be worth, skilful and resolute sempstress as she is, if it were not for your help, my eldest brother _Beelzebub_, mighty prince of _Inconsiderateness_. If he would leave people leisure and respite, to seriously consider the nature of things and their difference, how often would they spy holes in the folds of the gold-cloth robe of _Hypocrisy_, and perceive the hooks through the bait? What man, did not Inconsiderateness deprive him of his senses, would chase baubles and pleasures--evanescent, surfeiting, foolish and disgraceful--and prefer them to _peace of conscience_, and glorious _everlasting happiness_? And who would hesitate to suffer martyrdom for his faith, for an hour or a day, or to endure affliction for forty or sixty years, if he would reflect that his neighbours here are suffering in an hour, more than he can ever suffer upon the earth? "_Tobacco_ then is nothing without _money_, nor money without _Pride_; and Pride is but feeble without Wantonness, and Wantonness is nothing without _Idleness_; Idleness without _Hypocrisy_, and Hypocrisy without _Inconsiderateness_. But," said Lucifer, (and he raised his fiendish hoofs on the fore claws,) "to speak my own opinion, however excellent all these may be, I have a _friend_ to send against the she-enemy of Britain, better than the whole." Then I could see all the chief devils, with their ghastly mouths opened towards Lucifer, in anxious expectation of learning what this friend might be, whilst I was as impatient to hear as they. "The one I allude to," said Lucifer, "is called _Ease_; she is one whose merits I have too long disregarded, and whose merit, Satan, you yourself disregarded of yore, when in tempting Job you turned the unpleasant side of life towards him. She is my darling, and her I now constitute deputy, immediately next to myself, in all matters relating to my earthly government; Ease is her name, and _she_ has damned more men than all ye together, and very few would ye catch without _her_. For in _war_, _or danger_, _or hunger_, _or sickness_, who would value _tobacco_, _or money_, or the pomposity of Pride, or would entertain a thought of welcoming either _Wantonness or Sloth_? Or who in such straits, would permit themselves to be distracted either by _Hypocrisy or Inconsiderateness_? No, no! they are too awake then, and not one of the infernal _flies of Bewilderment_, which shows its beak, will buzz, during one of these storms. But _Ease_, smooth Ease, is the nurse of you all: in her calm shadow, and in her teeming bosom ye are all bred, and also every other infernal worm of the conscience, which will come to gnaw its possessor _here_ for ever, without intermission. "As long as _Ease_ lasts, there is no talk but of some species of diversion, of banquets, bargains, pedigrees, stories, news, and the like. There is no mention of _God_, except in idle swearing and cursing; whereas the _poor_ and the _sick_, who know nothing of ease, have God in their mouths and their hearts every minute. "But go ye also in the rear of her, and keep every body in his sleep and his rest, in prosperity and comfort, abundance and carelessness; and then you will see the poor honest man, as soon as he shall drink of the alluring cup of Ease, become a perverse, proud, untractable churl--the industrious labourer change into a careless, waggish rattler--and every other person become just what you would desire him. Because pleasant _Ease_ is what every one seeks and loves; she hears not counsel, fears not punishment--if good, she will not recognise it--if bad, she will foster it of her own accord. _She_ is the prime-temptation; the man who is proof against _her_ tender charms, ye may fling your caps to--for we must bid farewell for ever to his company. _Ease_, then, is my terrestrial _deputy_, follow her to Britain, and be as obedient to her as to our own royal majesty." At this moment the huge bolt was shaken, and Lucifer and his chief counsellors were struck to the vortex of _extremest Hell_; and oh, how horrible it was to see the throat of Unknown opening to receive them! "Well," said the angel "we will now return; but you have not yet seen any thing in comparison with the _whole_, which is within the bounds of _Destruction_, and if you had seen the whole, it is nothing to the inexpressible misery which exists in _Unknown_, for it is not possible to form an idea of the World in extremest Hell." And at that word the celestial messenger snatched me up to the firmament of the accursed kingdom of Darkness, by a way I had not seen, whence I obtained, from the palace along all the firmament of the black and hot _Destruction_, and the whole _land of Forgetfulness_, even to the walls of the _city of Destruction_, a full view of the accursed monster of a _giantess_, whose feet I had seen before--I do not possess words to describe her figure. But I can tell you that she was a _triple-faced giantess_, having one very atrocious countenance turned towards the heavens, barking, snorting and vomiting accursed abomination against the celestial king; another countenance very fair towards the _earth_, to entice men to tarry in her shadow; and another, the most frightful countenance of all, turned towards _Hell_, to torment it to all eternity. She is larger than the entire earth, and is yet daily increasing, and a hundred times more frightful than the whole of Hell. She caused Hell to be made, and it is she who fills it with inhabitants. If _she_ were removed from Hell, Hell would become Paradise; and if she were removed from the earth, the little world would become Heaven; and if she were to go to Heaven, she would change the regions of bliss into utter Hell. There is nothing in all the universe, (except herself,) that God did not create. She is the mother of the four female deceivers of the city of Destruction; she is the mother of _Death_; she is the mother of every _evil_ and _misery_; and she has a fearful hold on every living man--her name is SIN. "_He who escapes from her hook_, _for ever blessed is he_!" said the angel. Thereupon he departed, and I could hear his voice saying, "_write down what thou hast seen_, _and he who shall read it carefully shall never have reason to repent_." The Heavy Heart. Heavy's the heart with wandering below, And with seeing the things in the country of woe; Seeing lost men and the fiendish race, In their very horrible prison place; Seeing that the end of the crooked track Is a flaming lake, Where dragon and snake With rage are swelling. I'd not, o'er a thousand worlds to reign, Behold again, Though safe from pain, The infernal dwelling. Heavy's my heart, whilst so vividly The place is yet in my memory; To see so many, to me well known, Thither unwittingly sinking down. To-day a hell-dog is yesterday's man, And he has no plan, But others to trepan To Hell's dismal revels. When he reach'd the pit he a fiend became, In face and in frame, And in mind the same As the very devils. Heavy's the heart with viewing the bed, Where sin has the meed it has merited; What frightful taunts from forked tongue, On gentle and simple there are flung. The ghastliness of the damned things to state. Or the pains to relate Which will ne'er abate But increase for ever, No power have I, nor others I wot: Words cannot be got; The shapes and the spot Can be pictured never. Heavy's the heart, as none will deny, At losing one's friend or the maid of one's eye; At losing one's freedom, one's land or wealth; At losing one's fame, or alas! one's health; At losing leisure; at losing ease; At losing peace And all things that please The heaven under. At losing memory, beauty and grace, Heart-heaviness For a little space Can cause no wonder. Heavy's the heart of man when first He awakes from his worldly dream accursed, Fain would be freed from his awful load Of sin, and be reconciled with his God; When he feels for pleasures and luxuries Disgust arise, From the agonies Of the ferment unruly, Through which he becomes regenerate, Of Christ the mate, From his sinful state Springing blithe and holy. Heavy's the heart of the best of mankind, Upon the bed of death reclined; In mind and body ill at ease, Betwixt remorse and the disease, Vext by sharp pangs and dreading more. O mortal poor! O dreadful hour! Horrors surround him! To the end of the vain world he has won; And dark and dun The eternal one Beholds beyond him. Heavy's the heart, the pressure below, Of all the griefs I have mentioned now; But were they together all met in a mass, There's one grief still would all surpass; Hope frees from each woe, while we this side Of the wall abide-- At every tide 'Tis an outlet cranny. But there's a grief beyond the bier; Hope will ne'er Its victims cheer, That cheers so many. Heavy's the heart therewith that's fraught; How heavy is mine at merely the thought! Our worldly woes, however hard, Are trifles when with that compared: That woe--which is known not here--that woe The lost ones know, And undergo In the nether regions; How wretched the man who exil'd to Hell, In Hell must dwell, And curse and yell With the Hellish legions! At nought, that may ever betide thee, fret If at Hell thou art not arrived yet; But thither, I rede thee, in mind repair Full oft, and observantly wander there; Musing intense, after reading me, Of the flaming sea, Will speedily thee Convert by appalling. Frequent remembrance of the black deep Thy soul will keep, Thou erring sheep, From thither falling. Footnotes: {3} Probably Cheshire; the North Welsh commonly call Chester Caer. {23} It is the custom of Mahometans, to lay aside their sandals, before entering the Mosque. {49} Taliesin lived in the sixth century; he was a foundling, discovered in his infancy lying in a coracle, on a salmon-weir, in the domain of Elphin, a prince of North Wales, who became his patron. During his life he arrogated to himself a supernatural descent and understanding, and for at least a thousand years after his death he was regarded by the descendants of the Ancient Britons, as a prophet or something more. The poems which he produced procured for him the title of "Bardic King;" they display much that is vigorous and original, but are disfigured by mysticism and extravagant metaphor. The four lines which he is made to quote above are from his Hanes, or History, one of the most spirited of his pieces. When Elis Wynn represents him as sitting by a cauldron in Hades, he alludes to a wild legend concerning him, to the effect, that he imbibed awen or poetical genius whilst employed in watching "the seething pot" of the sorceress Cridwen, which legend has much in common with one of the Irish legends about Fin Macoul, which is itself nearly identical with one in the Edda, describing the manner in which Sigurd Fafnisbane became possessed of supernatural wisdom. {50} A dreadful pestilence, which ravaged Gwynedd or North Wales in 560. Amongst its victims was the king of the country, the celebrated Maelgwn, son of Caswallon Law Hir. {84} Llyn Tegid, or the lake of Beauty, in the neighbourhood of Bala. {93} The reader is left to guess what description of people these prisoners were. They were probably violent fifth monarchy preachers. {100} An active London Magistrate, treacherously murdered by a gang of papist conspirators in the reign of Charles the Second. {108} A celebrated Welsh poet, who flourished in the thirteenth century. A short account of him will be found in Owen's Cambrian Biography. 
32030	----	SELECTIONS FROM ANCIENT IRISH POETRY Selections from Ancient Irish Poetry TRANSLATED BY KUNO MEYER LONDON CONSTABLE & COMPANY LTD 10 ORANGE STREET LEICESTER SQUARE W.C. 1911 TO EDMUND KNOWLES MUSPRATT THE ENLIGHTENED AND GENEROUS PATRON OF CELTIC STUDIES IN THE UNIVERSITY OF LIVERPOOL A SMALL TOKEN OF AFFECTIONATE REGARD AND GRATITUDE INTRODUCTION In offering this collection of translations from early Irish poetry to a wider public I feel that I am expected to give a brief account of the literature from which they are taken--a literature so little known that its very existence has been doubted or denied by some, while others, who had the misfortune to make its acquaintance in ill-chosen or inadequate renderings, have refused to recognise any merit in it. The bias and ignorance of English historians and of many professed students of Irish history, who continue to write without a first-hand knowledge of its sources, have also reacted unfavourably upon the study of Irish literature. Slowly, however, the fact is becoming recognised in ever wider circles that the vernacular literature of ancient Ireland is the most primitive and original among the literatures of Western Europe, and that in its origins and development it affords a most fascinating study. Whatever may be its intrinsic merit, its importance as the earliest voice from the dawn of West European civilisation cannot be denied. Time and again in the course of their history the nations of Western and Northern Europe have had to struggle hard for the preservation of their national life against a powerful denationalising influence proceeding from Rome. Those among them who underwent the Roman conquest lost early, together with their liberty, their most precious national possession, their native language and with it their vernacular literature. Less than a century after the slaughter of Vercingetorix Romanised Gauls were carrying off the palm of Roman eloquence. By the fifth century the Gaulish language was everywhere extinct, without having left behind a single record of its literature. The same fate was shared by all Celtic nationalities of the Continent, and by those numerous Germanic tribes that were conquered by Rome, or came within the sphere of the later Roman civilisation. In Britain, where the Roman occupation was only temporary, its denationalising effect may be gauged by the numerous Latin loan-words preserved to the present day in the Welsh language, by the partial Romanisation of British personal proper names, by the early inscribed stones, which, unlike those of Ireland, are all in Latin, and by the late and slow beginnings of a literature in the vernacular. It was only on the outskirts of the Continental world, and beyond the sway and influence of the Roman Empire, that some vigorous nations preserved their national institutions intact, and among them there are only three whom letters reached early enough to leave behind some record of their pagan civilisation in a vernacular literature. These were the Irish, the Anglo-Saxons, and, comparative latecomers, the Icelanders. Again, when Christianity came with the authority of Rome and in the Latin language, now imbued with an additional sanctity, there ensued in all nations a struggle between the vernacular and the foreign tongue for obtaining the rank of a literary language--a struggle from which the languages of the Continental nations, as well as of Britain, emerged only slowly and late. It is not till the end of the eleventh century that we find the beginnings of a national literature in France and Germany. In Ireland, on the other hand, which had received her Christianity not direct from Rome but from Britain and Gaul, and where the Church, far removed from the centre of Roman influence and cut off from the rest of Christendom, was developing on national lines, vernacular literature received a fresh impulse from the new faith. A flourishing primitive Christian literature arose. The national language was employed not only for the purposes of instruction and devotion, in tombstone or other inscriptions, but also in religious prose and poetry, and, still more remarkable, in learned writings. There can, I think, be little doubt that we should hardly have any early records of Anglo-Saxon literature if the English had not in the first instance received Christianity from the Irish. It had been the influence and example of those Irish missionaries who converted Northumberland that taught the Anglian monk to preserve and cultivate his national literature. Ireland had become the heiress of the classical and theological learning of the Western Empire of the third and fourth centuries, and a period of humanism was thus ushered in which reached its culmination during the sixth and following centuries, the Golden Age of Irish civilisation. The charge that is so often levelled against Irish history, that it has been, as it were, in a backwater, where only the fainter wash of the larger currents reaches, cannot apply to this period. For once, at any rate, Ireland drew upon herself the eyes of the whole world, not, as so often in later times, by her unparalleled sufferings, but as the one haven of rest in a turbulent world overrun by hordes of barbarians, as the great seminary of Christian and classical learning, 'the quiet habitation of sanctity and literature,' as Doctor Johnson called her in a memorable letter written to Charles O'Connor. Her sons, carrying Christianity and a new humanism over Great Britain and the Continent, became the teachers of whole nations, the counsellors of kings and emperors. For once, if but for a century or two, the Celtic spirit dominated a large part of the Western world, and Celtic ideals imparted a new life to a decadent civilisation until they succumbed, not altogether to the benefit of mankind, before a mightier system--that of Rome. It was during this period that the oral literature, handed down by many generations of bards and story-tellers, was first written down in the monasteries. Unfortunately, not a single tale, only two or three poems, have come down to us from these early centuries in contemporary manuscripts. In Ireland nearly all old MSS. were destroyed during the Viking terror which burst upon the island at the end of the eighth century.[1] But, from the eleventh century onward, we have an almost unbroken series of hundreds of MSS. in which all that had escaped destruction was collected and arranged. Many of the tales and poems thus preserved were undoubtedly originally composed in the eighth century; some few perhaps in the seventh; and as Irish scholarship advances, it is not unlikely that fragments of poetry will be found which, from linguistic or internal evidence, may be claimed for the sixth century. The Celtic nations stand almost alone in this, that they did not employ poetry for epical narrative. There are no ancient Irish epics or ballads. So much was prose the natural vehicle of expression for Gaelic narrative, that when in later centuries the Arthurian epics were done into Gaelic, they were all turned from poetry into prose. At the same time, most Irish tales and stories are interspersed with lyrics put into the mouth of the principal heroes, after the manner of the _cante fable_, most familiar to modern readers from the French story of _Aucassin et Nicolete_. My collection begins with a few specimens of such poems. The purely lyrical poetry of ancient Ireland may be roughly divided into two sections--that of the professional bard attached to the court and person of a chief; and that of the unattached poet, whether monk or itinerant bard. From the earliest times we know the names of many famous bards of ancient Ireland and Scotland. Their songs are interwoven with the history of the dynasties and the great houses of the country whose retainers they were, and whose joys and sorrows they shared and expressed. Thus they became the chroniclers of many historical events. Of the oldest bardic poetry very little has as yet been published, and less translated. But many fine examples of a later age will be found in Standish Hayes O'Grady's _Catalogue of Irish Manuscripts in the British Museum_, a book which makes one realise more clearly than any other that the true history of Ireland has never yet been written. My own specimens from the earlier centuries include several laments and a sword-song, a species of bardic composition which the Gaels share with the Norse. Religious poetry ranges from single quatrains to lengthy compositions dealing with all the varied aspects of religious life. Many of them give us a fascinating insight into the peculiar character of the early Irish Church, which differed in so many ways from the rest of the Christian world. We see the hermit in his lonely cell, the monk at his devotions or at his work of copying in the scriptorium or under the open sky; or we hear the ascetic who, alone or with twelve chosen companions, has left one of the great monasteries in order to live in greater solitude among the woods or mountains, or on a lonely island. The fact that so many of these poems are fathered upon well-known saints emphasises the friendly attitude of the native clergy towards vernacular poetry. In Nature poetry the Gaelic muse may vie with that of any other nation. Indeed, these poems occupy a unique position in the literature of the world. To seek out and watch and love Nature, in its tiniest phenomena as in its grandest, was given to no people so early and so fully as to the Celt. Many hundreds of Gaelic and Welsh poems testify to this fact.[2] It is a characteristic of these poems that in none of them do we get an elaborate or sustained description of any scene or scenery, but rather a succession of pictures and images which the poet, like an impressionist, calls up before us by light and skilful touches. Like the Japanese, the Celts were always quick to take an artistic hint; they avoid the obvious and the commonplace; the half-said thing to them is dearest. Of ancient love-songs comparatively little has come down to us. What we have are mostly laments for departed lovers. He who would have further examples of Gaelic love-poetry must turn to modern collections, among which the _Love-Songs of Connaught_, collected and translated by Douglas Hyde, occupy the foremost place. A word on the metrical system of Irish poetry may conclude this rapid sketch. The original type from which the great variety of Irish metres has sprung is the catalectic trochaic tetrameter of Latin poetry, as in the well-known popular song of Cæsar's soldiers:-- 'Caesar Gallias subegit, Nicomedes Caesarem, Ecce Caesar nunc triumphat qui subegit Gallias'; or in St. Hilary's _Hymnus in laudem Christi_, beginning:-- 'Ymnum dicat turba fratrum, ymnum cantus personet, Christo regi concinentes laudem demus debitam.' The commonest stanza is a quatrain consisting of four heptasyllabic lines with the rhyme at the end of the couplet. In my renderings I have made no attempt at either rhythm or rhyme; but I have printed the stanzas so as to show the structure of the poem. For merely practical reasons I have, in some cases, printed them in the form of couplets, in others in that of verse-lines. I must not conclude without recording here also, as I have done elsewhere, my gratitude for the constant help and advice given to me in these translations by my old friend and colleague, Professor J.M. Mackay. K.M. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: The poems referred to have been preserved in Continental manuscripts.] [Footnote 2: See the admirable paper by Professor Lewis Jones on 'The Celt and the Poetry of Nature,' in the _Transactions of the Hon. Society of Cymmrodorion_, Session 1892-93, p. 46 ff.] CONTENTS MYTH AND SAGA-- PAGE THE ISLES OF THE HAPPY 3 THE SEA-GOD'S ADDRESS TO BRAN 7 THE TRYST AFTER DEATH 9 DEIRDRE'S FAREWELL TO SCOTLAND 15 DEIRDRE'S LAMENT 17 THE HOSTS OF FAERY 19 FROM THE VISION OF MAC CONGLINNE 20 RELIGIOUS POETRY-- THE DEER'S CRY 25 AN EVEN-SONG 28 PATRICK'S BLESSING ON MUNSTER 29 THE HERMIT'S SONG 30 A PRAYER TO THE VIRGIN 32 EVE'S LAMENT 34 ON THE FLIGHTINESS OF THOUGHT 35 TO CRINOG 37 THE DEVIL'S TRIBUTE TO MOLING 39 MAELISU'S HYMN TO THE ARCHANGEL MICHAEL 41 THE MOTHERS' LAMENT AT THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS 42 SONGS OF NATURE-- KING AND HERMIT 47 SONG OF THE SEA 51 SUMMER HAS COME 53 SONG OF SUMMER 54 SUMMER IS GONE 56 A SONG OF WINTER 57 ARRAN 59 LOVE POETRY-- THE SONG OF CREDE, DAUGHTER OF GUARE 63 LIADIN AND CURITHIR 65 BARDIC POETRY-- A DIRGE FOR KING NIALL OF THE NINE HOSTAGES 69 THE SONG OF CARROLL'S SWORD 72 EOCHAID'S LAMENT 75 LAMENT ON KING MALACHY II. 77 MISCELLANEOUS-- THE MONK AND HIS PET CAT 81 COLUM CILLE'S GREETING TO IRELAND 83 ON ANGUS THE CULDEE 86 COLUM CILLE THE SCRIBE 87 THE LAMENT OF THE OLD WOMAN OF BEARE 88 THE DESERTED HOME 92 CORMAC MAC CULENNAIN SANG THIS 94 ALEXANDER THE GREAT 95 QUATRAINS-- THE SCRIBE 99 ON A DEAD SCHOLAR 99 THE CRUCIFIXION 99 THE PILGRIM AT ROME 100 HOSPITALITY 100 THE BLACKBIRD 100 MOLING SANG THIS 100 THE CHURCH BELL IN THE NIGHT 101 THE VIKING TERROR 101 FROM THE TRIADS OF IRELAND 102 FROM THE INSTRUCTIONS OF KING CORMAC 105 NOTES 111 MYTH AND SAGA THE ISLES OF THE HAPPY Once when Bran, son of Feval, was with his warriors in his royal fort, they suddenly saw a woman in strange raiment upon the floor of the house. No one knew whence she had come or how she had entered, for the ramparts were closed. Then she sang these quatrains to Bran while all the host were listening. I bring a branch of Evin's[3] apple-tree, In shape alike to those you know: Twigs of white silver are upon it, Buds of crystal with blossoms. There is a distant isle, Around which sea-horses glisten: A fair course against the white-swelling surge-- Four pedestals uphold it. A delight of the eyes, a glorious range Is the plain on which the hosts hold games: Coracle contends against chariot In Silver-white Plain[3] to the south. Pedestals of white bronze underneath Glittering through ages of beauty: Fairest land throughout the world, On which the many blossoms drop. An ancient tree there is in bloom, On which birds call to the Hours: In harmony of song they all are wont To chant together every Hour. Colours of every shade glisten Throughout the gentle-voiced plains: Joy is known, ranked around music, In Silver-cloud Plain[3] to the south. Unknown is wailing or treachery In the homely cultivated land: There is nothing rough or harsh, But sweet music striking on the ear. Without grief, without gloom, without death, Without any sickness or debility-- That is the sign of Evin: Uncommon is the like of such a marvel. A beauty of a wondrous land, Whose aspects are lovely, Whose view is wondrous fair, Incomparable is its haze.[4] Then if Silverland[5] is seen, On which dragon-stones and crystals drop-- The sea washes the wave against the land, A crystal spray drops from its mane. Wealth, treasures of every hue Are in the Land of Peace[5]--a beauty of freshness: There is listening to sweet music, Drinking of the choicest wine. Golden chariots on the plain of the sea Heaving with the tide to the sun: Chariots of silver on the Plain of Sports,[5] And of bronze that has no blemish. Steeds of yellow gold are on the sward there, Other steeds with crimson colour, Others again with a coat upon their backs Of the hue of all-blue heaven. At sunrise there comes A fair man illumining level lands: He rides upon the white sea-washed plain, He stirs the ocean till it is blood. A host comes across the clear sea, They exhibit their rowing to the land: Then they row to the shining stone From which arises music a hundredfold. It sings a strain unto the host Through ages long, it is never weary: Its music swells with choruses of hundreds-- They expect neither decay nor death. Many-shaped Evna by the sea, Whether it be near, whether it be far-- In which are thousands of many-hued women, Which the clear sea encircles. If one has heard the voice of the music, The chorus of little birds from the Land of Peace, A band of women comes from a height To the plain of sport in which he is. There comes happiness with health To the land against which laughter peals: Into the Land of Peace at every season Comes everlasting joy. Through the ever-fair weather Silver is showered on the lands, A pure-white cliff over the range of the sea Receives from the sun its heat. There are thrice fifty distant isles In the ocean to the west of us: Larger than Erin twice Is each of them, or thrice. A wonderful child will be born after ages, Who will not be in lofty places, The son of a woman whose mate is unknown, He will seize the rule of the many thousands. A rule without beginning, without end. He has created the world so that it is perfect: Earth and sea are His-- Woe to him that shall be under His unwill! 'Tis He that made the heavens, Happy he that has a white heart! He will purify multitudes with pure water, 'Tis He that will heal your sicknesses. Not to all of you is my speech, Though its great marvel has been revealed: Let Bran listen from the crowd of the world To the wisdom told to him. Do not sink upon a bed of sloth! Let not intoxication overcome thee! Begin a voyage across the clear sea, If perchance thou mayst reach the Land of Women. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 3: The name of one of the Isles of the Happy.] [Footnote 4: 'Ese vapor transparente y dorado, que solo se ve en los climas meridionales.'] [Footnote 5: The name of one of the Isles of the Happy.] THE SEA-GOD'S ADDRESS TO BRAN Then on the morrow Bran went upon the sea. When he had been at sea two days and two nights, he saw a man in a chariot coming towards him over the sea. It was Manannan, the son of Ler, who sang these quatrains to him. To Bran in his coracle it seems A marvellous beauty across the clear sea: To me in my chariot from afar It is a flowery plain on which he rides. What is a clear sea For the prowed skiff in which Bran is, That to me in my chariot of two wheels Is a delightful plain with a wealth of flowers. Bran sees A mass of waves beating across the clear sea: I see myself in the Plain of Sports Red-headed flowers that have no fault. Sea-horses glisten in summer As far as Bran can stretch his glance: Rivers pour forth a stream of honey In the land of Manannan, son of Ler. The sheen of the main on which thou art, The dazzling white of the sea on which thou rowest about-- Yellow and azure are spread out, It is a light and airy land. Speckled salmon leap from the womb Out of the white sea on which thou lookest: They are calves, they are lambs of fair hue, With truce, without mutual slaughter. Though thou seest but one chariot-rider In the Pleasant Plain of many flowers, There are many steeds on its surface, Though them thou seest not. Large is the plain, numerous is the host, Colours shine with pure glory, A white stream of silver, stairs of gold Afford a welcome with all abundance. An enchanting game, most delicious, They play over the luscious wine, Men and gentle women under a bush, Without sin, without transgression. Along the top of a wood Thy coracle has swum across ridges, There is a wood laden with beautiful fruit Under the prow of thy little skiff. A wood with blossom and with fruit On which is the vine's veritable fragrance, A wood without decay, without defect, On which is a foliage of a golden hue. We are from the beginning of creation Without old age, without consummation of clay, Hence we expect not there might be frailty-- Transgression has not come to us. Steadily then let Bran row! It is not far to the Land of Women: Evna with manifold bounteousness He will reach before the sun is set. THE TRYST AFTER DEATH Fothad Canann, the leader of a Connaught warrior-band, had carried off the wife of Alill of Munster with her consent. The outraged husband pursued them and a fierce battle was fought, in which Fothad and Alill fell by each other's hand. The lovers had engaged to meet in the evening after the battle. Faithful to his word, the spirit of the slain warrior kept the tryst and thus addressed his paramour: Hush, woman, do not speak to me! My thoughts are not with thee. My thoughts are still in the encounter at Feic. My bloody corpse lies by the side of the Slope of two Brinks; My head all unwashed is among warrior-bands in fierce slaughter. It is blindness for any one making a tryst to set aside the tryst with Death: The tryst that we made at Claragh has been kept by me in pale death. It was destined for me,--unhappy journey! at Feic my grave had been marked out; It was ordained for me--O sorrowful fight! to fall by warriors of another land. 'Tis not I alone who in the fulness of desires has gone astray to meet a woman-- No reproach to thee, though it was for thy sake--wretched is our last meeting! Had we known it would be thus, it had not been hard to desist. The noble-faced, grey-horsed warrior-band has not betrayed me. Alas! for the wonderful yew-forest,[6] that they should have gone into the abode of clay! Had they been alive, they would have revenged their lords; Had mighty death not intervened, this warrior-band had not been unavenged by me. To their very end they were brave; they ever strove for victory over their foes; They would still sing a stave--a deep-toned shout,--they sprang from the race of a noble lord. That was a joyous, lithe-limbed band to the very hour when they were slain: The green-leaved forest has received them--it was an all-fierce slaughter. Well-armed Domnall, he of the red draught, he was the Lugh[7] of the well-accoutred hosts: By him in the ford--it was doom of death--Congal the Slender fell. The three Eoghans, the three Flanns, they were renowned outlaws; Four men fell by each of them, it was not a coward's portion. Swiftly Cu-Domna reached us, making for his namesake: On the hill of the encounter the body of Flann the Little will be found. With him where his bloody bed is thou wilt find eight men: Though we thought them feeble, the leavings of the weapon of Mughirne's son. Not feebly fights Falvey the Red; the play of his spear-strings withers the host; Ferchorb of radiant body leapt upon the field and dealt seven murderous blows. Front to front twelve warriors stood against me in mutual fight: Not one of them all remains that I did not leave in slaughter. Then we two exchanged spears, I and Alill, Eoghan's son: We both perished--O the fierceness of those stout thrusts! We fell by each other though it was senseless: it was the encounter of two heroes. Do not await the terror of night on the battle-field among the slain warriors: One should not hold converse with ghosts! betake thee home, carry my spoils with thee! Every one will tell thee that mine was not the raiment of a churl: A crimson cloak and a white tunic, a belt of silver, no paltry work! My five-edged spear, a murderous lance, whose slaughters have been many; A shield with five circles and a boss of bronze, by which they used to swear binding oaths. The white cup of my cup-bearer, a shining gem, will glitter before thee; My golden finger-ring, my bracelets, treasures without a flaw, King Nia Nar had brought them over the sea. Cailte's brooch, a pin with luck, it was one of his marvellous treasures: Two heads of silver round a head of gold, a goodly piece, though small. My draught-board--no mean treasure!--is thine; take it with thee. Noble blood drips on its rim, it lies not far hence. Many a body of the spear-armed host lies here and there around its crimson woof; A dense bush of the ruddy oak-wood conceals it by the side of the grave. As thou carefully searchest for it thou shouldst not speak much: Earth never covered anything so marvellous. One half of its pieces are yellow gold, the other are white bronze; Its woof is of pearls; it is the wonder of smiths how it was wrought. The bag for its pieces,--'tis a marvel of a story--its rim is embroidered with gold; The master-smith has left a lock upon it which no ignorant person can open. A four-cornered casket,--it is but tiny--made of coils of red gold; One hundred ounces of white bronze have been put into it firmly. For it is of a coil of firm red gold, Dinoll the goldsmith brought it over the sea; Even one of its clasps only has been priced at seven slave-women.[8] Memories describe it as one of Turvey's master-works: In the time of Art--he was a luxurious king--'tis then Turvey, lord of many herds, made it. Smiths never made any work comparable with it; Earth never hid a king's jewel so marvellous. If thou be cunning as to its price, I know thy children will never be in want; If thou hoard it, a close treasure, none of thy offspring will ever be destitute. There are around us here and there many spoils of famous luck: Horrible are the huge entrails which the Morrigan[9] washes. She came to us from the edge of a spear, 'tis she that egged us on. Many are the spoils she washes, terrible the hateful laugh she laughs. She has flung her mane over her back--it is a stout heart that will not quail at her: Though she is so near to us, do not let fear overcome thee! In the morning I shall part from all that is human, I shall follow the warrior-band; Go to thy house, stay not here, the end of the night is at hand. Some one will at all times remember this song of Fothad Canann; My discourse with thee shall not be unrenowned, if thou remember my bequest. Since my grave will be frequented, let a conspicuous tomb be raised; Thy trouble for thy love is no loss of labour. My riddled body must now part from thee awhile, my soul to be tortured by the black demon. Save for the worship of Heaven's King, love of this world is folly. I hear the dusky ousel that sends a joyous greeting to all the faithful: My speech, my shape are spectral--hush, woman, do not speak to me! FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 6: A kenning for a band of warriors. 'The flowers of the forest have all wede away.'] [Footnote 7: A famous mythical hero.] [Footnote 8: A slave-woman (rated at three cows) was the standard of value among the ancient Irish.] [Footnote 9: A battle-goddess.] DEIRDRE'S FAREWELL TO SCOTLAND A beloved land is yon land in the east, Alba[10] with its marvels. I would not have come hither[11] out of it, Had I not come with Noisi. Beloved are Dun Fidga and Dun Finn, Beloved is the fortress above them, Beloved is the Isle of the Thorn-bush, And beloved is Dun Sweeny. Caill Cuan! Unto which Ainnle would go, alas! Short we thought the time there, Noisi and I in the land of Alba. Glen Lay! There I used to sleep under a shapely rock. Fish and venison and badger's fat, That was my portion in Glen Lay. Glen Massan! Tall is its wild garlic, white are its stalks: We used to have a broken sleep On the grassy river-mouth of Massan. Glen Etive! There I raised my first house. Delightful its house! when we rose in the morning A sunny cattle-fold was Glen Etive. Glen Urchain! That was the straight, fair-ridged glen! Never was man of his age prouder Than Noisi in Glen Urchain. Glen Da Ruadh! Hail to him who hath it as an heritage! Sweet is the cuckoo's voice on bending branch On the peak above Glen Da Ruadh. Beloved is Draighen over a firm beach! Beloved its water in pure sand! I would never have left it, from the east, Had I not come with my beloved. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 10: _i.e._ Scotland.] [Footnote 11: _i.e._ to Ireland.] DEIRDRE'S LAMENT And Deirdre dishevelled her hair and began kissing Noisi and drinking his blood, and the colour of embers came into her cheeks, and she uttered this lay. Long is the day without Usnagh's Children; It was never mournful to be in their company. A king's sons, by whom exiles were rewarded, Three lions from the Hill of the Cave. Three dragons of Dun Monidh, The three champions from the Red Branch: After them I shall not live-- Three that used to break every onrush. Three darlings of the women of Britain, Three hawks of Slieve Gullion, Sons of a king whom valour served, To whom soldiers would pay homage. Three heroes who were not good at homage, Their fall is cause of sorrow-- Three sons of Cathba's daughter, Three props of the battle-host of Coolney. Three vigorous bears, Three lions out of Liss Una, Three lions who loved their praise, Three pet sons of Ulster. That I should remain after Noisi Let no one in the world suppose! After Ardan and Ainnle My time would not be long. Ulster's high-king, my first husband, I forsook for Noisi's love: Short my life after them, I will perform their funeral game. After them I will not be alive-- Three that would go into every conflict, Three who liked to endure hardships, Three heroes who never refused combat. O man that diggest the tomb, And that puttest my darling from me, Make not the grave too narrow, I shall be beside the noble ones. THE HOSTS OF FAERY White shields they carry in their hands, With emblems of pale silver; With glittering blue swords, With mighty stout horns. In well-devised battle array, Ahead of their fair chieftain They march amid blue spears, Pale-visaged, curly-headed bands. They scatter the battalions of the foe, They ravage every land they attack, Splendidly they march to combat, A swift, distinguished, avenging host! No wonder though their strength be great: Sons of queens and kings are one and all; On their heads are Beautiful golden-yellow manes. With smooth comely bodies, With bright blue-starred eyes, With pure crystal teeth, With thin red lips. Good they are at man-slaying, Melodious in the ale-house, Masterly at making songs, Skilled at playing _fidchell_.[12] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 12: A game like draughts or chess.] FROM THE VISION OF MAC CONGLINNE A vision that appeared to me, An apparition wonderful I tell to all: There was a coracle all of lard Within a port of New-milk Lake Upon the world's smooth sea. We went into that man-of-war, 'Twas warrior-like to take the road O'er ocean's heaving waves. Our oar-strokes then we pulled Across the level of the main, Throwing the sea's harvest up Like honey, the sea-soil. The fort we reached was beautiful, With works of custards thick, Beyond the lake. Fresh butter was the bridge in front, The rubble dyke was fair white wheat, Bacon the palisade. Stately, pleasantly it sat, A compact house and strong. Then I went in: The door of it was hung beef, The threshold was dry bread, Cheese-curds the walls. Smooth pillars of old cheese And sappy bacon props Alternate ranged; Stately beams of mellow cream, White posts of real curds Kept up the house. Behind it was a well of wine, Beer and bragget in streams, Each full pool to the taste. Malt in smooth wavy sea Over a lard-spring's brink Flowed through the floor. A lake of juicy pottage Under a cream of oozy lard Lay 'twixt it and the sea. Hedges of butter fenced it round, Under a crest of white-mantled lard Around the wall outside. A row of fragrant apple-trees, An orchard in its pink-tipped bloom, Between it and the hill. A forest tall of real leeks, Of onions and of carrots, stood Behind the house. Within, a household generous, A welcome of red, firm-fed men, Around the fire: Seven bead-strings and necklets seven Of cheeses and of bits of tripe Round each man's neck. The Chief in cloak of beefy fat Beside his noble wife and fair I then beheld. Below the lofty caldron's spit Then the Dispenser I beheld, His fleshfork on his back. Wheatlet son of Milklet, Son of juicy Bacon, Is mine own name. Honeyed Butter-roll Is the man's name That bears my bag. Haunch of Mutton Is my dog's name, Of lovely leaps. Lard, my wife, Sweetly smiles Across the brose. Cheese-curds, my daughter, Goes round the spit, Fair is her fame. Corned Beef is my son, Who beams over a cloak, Enormous, of fat. Savour of Savours Is the name of my wife's maid: Morning-early Across New-milk Lake she went. Beef-lard, my steed, An excellent stallion That increases studs; A guard against toil Is the saddle of cheese Upon his back. A large necklace of delicious cheese-curds Around his back; His halter and his traces all Of fresh butter. RELIGIOUS POETRY THE DEER'S CRY Patrick sang this hymn when the ambuscades were laid against him by King Loeguire (Leary) that he might not go to Tara to sow the faith. Then it seemed to those lying in ambush that he and his monks were wild deer with a fawn, even Benen, following them. And its name is 'Deer's Cry.' I arise to-day Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, Through belief in the threeness, Through confession of the oneness Of the Creator of Creation. I arise to-day Through the strength of Christ's birth with His baptism, Through the strength of His crucifixion with His burial, Through the strength of His resurrection with His ascension, Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of Doom. I arise to-day Through the strength of the love of Cherubim, In obedience of angels, In the service of archangels, In hope of resurrection to meet with reward, In prayers of patriarchs, In predictions of prophets, In preachings of apostles, In faiths of confessors, In innocence of holy virgins, In deeds of righteous men. I arise to-day Through the strength of heaven: Light of sun, Radiance of moon, Splendour of fire, Speed of lightning, Swiftness of wind, Depth of sea, Stability of earth, Firmness of rock. I arise to day Through God's strength to pilot me: God's might to uphold me, God's wisdom to guide me, God's eye to look before me, God's ear to hear me, God's word to speak for me, God's hand to guard me, God's way to lie before me, God's shield to protect me, God's host to save me From snares of devils, From temptations of vices, From every one who shall wish me ill, Afar and anear, Alone and in a multitude. I summon to-day all these powers between me and those evils, Against every cruel merciless power that may oppose my body and soul, Against incantations of false prophets, Against black laws of pagandom, Against false laws of heretics, Against craft of idolatry, Against spells of women and smiths and wizards, Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul. Christ to shield me to-day Against poison, against burning, Against drowning, against wounding, So that there may come to me abundance of reward. Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ on my right, Christ on my left, Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me, Christ in the mouth of every one who speaks of me, Christ in every eye that sees me, Christ in every ear that hears me. I arise to-day Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, Through belief in the threeness, Through confession of the oneness Of the Creator of Creation. AN EVEN-SONG PATRICK SANG THIS May Thy holy angels, O Christ, son of living God, Guard our sleep, our rest, our shining bed. Let them reveal true visions to us in our sleep, O high-prince of the universe, O great king of the mysteries! May no demons, no ill, no calamity or terrifying dreams Disturb our rest, our willing, prompt repose. May our watch be holy, our work, our task, Our sleep, our rest without let, without break. PATRICK'S BLESSING ON MUNSTER God's blessing upon Munster, Men, women, children! A blessing on the land Which gives them fruit! A blessing on every wealth Which is brought forth on their marches! No one to be in want of help: God's blessing upon Munster! A blessing on their peaks, On their bare flagstones, A blessing on their glens, A blessing on their ridges! Like sand of sea under ships Be the number of their hearths: On slopes, on plains, On mountain-sides, on peaks. THE HERMIT'S SONG I wish, O Son of the living God, O ancient, eternal King, For a hidden little hut in the wilderness that it may be my dwelling. An all-grey lithe little lark to be by its side, A clear pool to wash away sins through the grace of the Holy Spirit. Quite near, a beautiful wood around it on every side, To nurse many-voiced birds, hiding it with its shelter. A southern aspect for warmth, a little brook across its floor, A choice land with many gracious gifts such as be good for every plant. A few men of sense--we will tell their number-- Humble and obedient, to pray to the King:-- Four times three, three times four, fit for every need, Twice six in the church, both north and south:-- Six pairs besides myself, Praying for ever the King who makes the sun shine. A pleasant church and with the linen altar-cloth, a dwelling for God from Heaven; Then, shining candles above the pure white Scriptures. One house for all to go to for the care of the body, Without ribaldry, without boasting, without thought of evil. This is the husbandry I would take, I would choose, and will not hide it: Fragrant leek, hens, salmon, trout, bees. Raiment and food enough for me from the King of fair fame, And I to be sitting for a while praying God in every place. A PRAYER TO THE VIRGIN Gentle Mary, noble maiden, give us help! Shrine of our Lord's body, casket of the mysteries! Queen of queens, pure holy maiden, Pray for us that our wretched transgression be forgiven for Thy sake. Merciful one, forgiving one, with the grace of the Holy Spirit, Pray with us the true-judging King of the goodly ambrosial clan. Branch of Jesse's tree in the beauteous hazel-wood, Pray for me until I obtain forgiveness of my foul sins. Mary, splendid diadem, Thou that hast saved our race, Glorious noble torch, orchard of Kings! Brilliant one, transplendent one, with the deed of pure chastity, Fair golden illumined ark, holy daughter from Heaven! Mother of righteousness, Thou that excellest all else, Pray with me Thy first-born to save me on the day of Doom. Noble rare star, tree under blossom, Powerful choice lamp, sun that warmeth every one. Ladder of the great track by which every saint ascends, Mayst Thou be our safeguard towards the glorious Kingdom. Fair fragrant seat chosen by the King, The noble guest who was in Thy womb three times three months. Glorious royal porch through which He was incarnated, The splendid chosen sun, Jesus, Son of the living God. For the sake of the fair babe that was conceived in Thy womb, For the sake of the holy child that is High-King in every place, For the sake of His cross that is higher than any cross, For the sake of His burial when He was buried in a stone-tomb, For the sake of His resurrection when He arose before every one, For the sake of the holy household from every place to Doom, Be Thou our safeguard in the Kingdom of the good Lord, That we may meet with dear Jesus--that is our prayer--hail! EVE'S LAMENT I am Eve, great Adam's wife, 'Tis I that outraged Jesus of old; 'Tis I that robbed my children of Heaven, By rights 'tis I that should have gone upon the cross. I had a kingly house to please me, Grievous the evil choice that disgraced me, Grievous the wicked advice that withered me! Alas! my hand is not pure. 'Tis I that plucked the apple, Which went across my gullet: So long as they endure in the light of day, So long women will not cease from folly. There would be no ice in any place, There would be no glistening windy winter, There would be no hell, there would be no sorrow, There would be no fear, if it were not for me. ON THE FLIGHTINESS OF THOUGHT Shame to my thoughts, how they stray from me! I fear great danger from it on the day of eternal Doom. During the psalms they wander on a path that is not right: They fash, they fret, they misbehave before the eyes of great God. Through eager crowds, through companies of wanton women, Through woods, through cities--swifter they are than the wind. Now through paths of loveliness, anon of riotous shame! Without a ferry or ever missing a step they go across every sea: Swiftly they leap in one bound from earth to heaven. They run a race of folly anear and afar: After a course of giddiness they return to their home. Though one should try to bind them or put shackles on their feet, They are neither constant nor mindful to take a spell of rest. Neither sword-edge nor crack of whip will keep them down strongly: As slippery as an eel's tail they glide out of my grasp. Neither lock nor firm-vaulted dungeon nor any fetter on earth, Stronghold nor sea nor bleak fastness restrains them from their course. O beloved truly chaste Christ to whom every eye is clear, May the grace of the seven-fold Spirit come to keep them, to check them! Rule this heart of mine, O dread God of the elements, That Thou mayst be my love, that I may do Thy will. That I may reach Christ with His chosen companions, that we may be together! _They_ are neither fickle nor inconstant--not as I am. TO CRINOG Crinog, melodious is your song. Though young no more you are still bashful. We two grew up together in Niall's northern land, When we used to sleep together in tranquil slumber. That was my age when you slept with me, O peerless lady of pleasant wisdom: A pure-hearted youth, lovely without a flaw, A gentle boy of seven sweet years. We lived in the great world of Banva[13] Without sullying soul or body, My flashing eye full of love for you, Like a poor innocent untempted by evil. Your just counsel is ever ready, Wherever we are we seek it: To love your penetrating wisdom is better Than glib discourse with a king. Since then you have slept with four men after me, Without folly or falling away: I know, I hear it on all sides, You are pure, without sin from man. At last, after weary wanderings, You have come to me again, Darkness of age has settled on your face: Sinless your life draws near its end. You are still dear to me, faultless one, You shall have welcome from me without stint; You will not let us be drowned in torment: We will earnestly practise devotion with you. The lasting world is full of your fame, Far and wide you have wandered on every track: If every day we followed your ways, We should come safe into the presence of dread God. You leave an example and a bequest To every one in this world, You have taught us by your life: Earnest prayer to God is no fallacy. Then may God grant us peace and happiness! May the countenance of the King Shine brightly upon us When we leave behind us our withered bodies. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 13: A name for Ireland.] THE DEVIL'S TRIBUTE TO MOLING Once as Moling was praying in his church he saw a man coming in to him. Purple raiment he wore and a distinguished form had he. 'Well met, cleric!' says he. 'Amen!' says Moling. 'Why dost thou not salute me?' says the man. 'Who art thou?' says Moling. 'I am Christ, the Son of God,' he answers. 'I do not know that,' says Moling. 'When Christ used to come to converse with God's servants, 'twas not in purple or with royal pomp he would come, but in the shape of a leper.' 'Then dost thou not believe in me?' says the man. 'Whom dost thou suppose to be here?' 'I suppose,' says Moling, 'that it is the Devil for my hurt.' 'Thy unbelief will be ill for thee,' says the man. 'Well,' says Moling, raising the Gospel, 'here is thy successor, the Gospel of Christ.' 'Raise it not, cleric!' says the Devil; 'it is as thou thinkest: I am the man of tribulations.' 'Wherefore hast thou come?' says Moling. 'That thou mayst bestow a blessing upon me.' 'I will not bestow it,' says Moling, 'for thou dost not deserve it. Besides, what good could it do thee?' 'If,' says the Devil, 'thou shouldst go into a tub of honey and bathe therein with thy raiment on, its odour would remain upon thee unless the raiment were washed.' 'How would that affect thee?' asks Moling. 'Because, though thy blessing do nought else to me, its good luck and its virtue and its blossom will be on me externally.' 'Thou shalt not have it,' says Moling, 'for thou deservest it not.' 'Well,' said the Devil, 'then bestow the full of a curse on me.' 'What good were that to thee?' asks Moling. 'The venom and the hurt of the curse will be on the lips from which it will come.' 'Go,' says Moling; 'thou hast no right to a blessing.' 'Better were it for me that I had. How shall I earn it?' 'By service to God,' says Moling. 'Woe is me!' says the Devil, 'I cannot bring it.' 'Even a trifle of study.' 'Thine own study is not greater, and yet it helps me not.' 'Fasting, then,' says Moling. 'I have been fasting since the beginning of the world, and not the better thereof am I.' 'Making genuflexions,' says Moling. 'I cannot bend forward,' says the Devil, 'for backwards are my knees.' 'Go forth,' says Moling; 'I cannot teach thee nor help thee.' Then the Devil said: He is pure gold, he is the sky around the sun, He is a vessel of silver with wine, He is an angel, he is holy wisdom, Whoso doth the will of the King. He is a bird round which a trap closes, He is a leaky ship in perilous danger, He is an empty vessel, a withered tree, Who doth not the will of the King above. He is a fragrant branch with its blossom, He is a vessel full of honey, He is a precious stone with its virtue, Whoso doth the will of God's Son from Heaven. He is a blind nut in which there is no good, He is a stinking rottenness, a withered tree, He is a branch of a blossomless crab-apple, Whoso doth not the will of the King. Whoso doth the will of God's Son from Heaven Is a brilliant summer-sun, Is a daïs of God of Heaven, Is a pure crystalline vessel. He is a victorious racehorse over a smooth plain, The man that striveth after the Kingdom of great God; He is a chariot that is seen Under a triumphant king. He is a sun that warms holy Heaven, A man with whom the Great King is pleased, He is a temple blessed, noble, He is a holy shrine bedecked with gold. He is an altar on which wine is dealt, Round which a multitude of melodies is sung, He is a cleansed chalice with liquor, He is fair white bronze, he is gold. MAELISU'S HYMN TO THE ARCHANGEL MICHAEL O angel! Bear, O Michael of great miracles, To the Lord my plaint. Hearest thou? Ask of forgiving God Forgiveness of all my vast evil. Delay not! Carry my fervent prayer To the King, to the great King! To my soul Bring help, bring comfort At the hour of its leaving earth. Stoutly To meet my expectant soul Come with many thousand angels! O soldier! Against the crooked, wicked, militant world Come to my help in earnest! Do not Disdain what I say! As long as I live do not desert me! Thee I choose, That thou mayst save my soul, My mind, my sense, my body. O thou of goodly counsels, Victorious, triumphant one, Angelic slayer of Antichrist! THE MOTHERS' LAMENT AT THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS Then, as the executioner plucked her son from her breast, one of the women said: Why do you tear from me my darling son, The fruit of my womb? It was I who bore him, My breast he drank. My womb carried him about, My vitals he sucked, My heart he filled. He was my life, 'Tis death to have him taken from me. My strength has ebbed, My speech is silenced, My eyes are blinded. Then another woman said: It is my son you take from me. I did not do the evil, But kill me--me! Kill not my son! My breasts are sapless, My eyes are wet, My hands shake, My poor body totters. My husband has no son, And I no strength. My life is like death. O my own son, O God! My youth without reward, My birthless sicknesses Without requital until Doom. My breasts are silent, My heart is wrung. Then said another woman: Ye are seeking to kill one, Ye are killing many. Infants ye slay, The fathers ye wound, The mothers ye kill. Hell with your deed is full, Heaven is shut, Ye have spilt the blood of guiltless innocents. And yet another woman said: O Christ, come to me! With my son take my soul quickly! O great Mary, Mother of God's Son, What shall I do without my son? For Thy Son my spirit and sense are killed. I am become a crazy woman for my son. After the piteous slaughter My heart is a clot of blood From this day till Doom. SONGS OF NATURE KING AND HERMIT Marvan, brother of King Guare of Connaught in the seventh century, had renounced the life of a warrior-prince for that of a hermit. The king endeavoured to persuade his brother to return to his court, when the following colloquy took place between them. GUARE Why, hermit Marvan, sleepest thou not Upon a feather quilt? Why rather sleepest thou abroad Upon a pitchpine floor? MARVAN I have a shieling in the wood, None knows it save my God: An ash-tree on the hither side, a hazel-bush beyond, A huge old tree encompasses it. Two heath-clad doorposts for support, And a lintel of honeysuckle: The forest around its narrowness sheds Its mast upon fat swine. The size of my shieling tiny, not too tiny, Many are its familiar paths: From its gable a sweet strain sings A she-bird in her cloak of the ousel's hue. The stags of Oakridge leap Into the river of clear banks: Thence red Roiny can be seen, Glorious Muckraw and Moinmoy.[14] A hiding mane of green-barked yew Supports the sky: Beautiful spot! the large green of an oak Fronting the storm. A tree of apples--great its bounty! Like a hostel, vast! A pretty bush, thick as a fist, of tiny hazel-nuts, A green mass of branches. A choice pure spring and princely water To drink: There spring watercresses, yew-berries, Ivy-bushes thick as a man. Around it tame swine lie down. Goats, pigs, Wild swine, grazing deer, A badger's brood. A peaceful troop, a heavy host of denizens of the soil, A-trysting at my house: To meet them foxes come, How delightful! Fairest princes come to my house, A ready gathering: Pure water, perennial bushes, Salmon, trout. A bush of rowan, black sloes, Dusky blackthorns, Plenty of food, acorns, pure berries, Bare flags. A clutch of eggs, honey, delicious mast, God has sent it: Sweet apples, red whortleberries, And blaeberries. Ale with herbs, a dish of strawberries Of good taste and colour, Haws, berries of the juniper, Sloes, nuts. A cup with mead of hazel-nut, blue-bells, Quick-growing rushes, Dun oaklets, manes of briar, Goodly sweet tangle. When brilliant summer-time spreads its coloured mantle, Sweet-tasting fragrance! Pignuts, wild marjoram, green leeks, Verdant pureness! The music of the bright red-breasted men, A lovely movement! The strain of the thrush, familiar cuckoos Above my house. Swarms of bees and chafers, the little musicians of the world, A gentle chorus: Wild geese and ducks, shortly before summer's end, The music of the dark torrent. An active songster, a lively wren From the hazel-bough, Beautiful hooded birds, woodpeckers, A vast multitude! Fair white birds come, herons, seagulls, The cuckoo sings between-- No mournful music! dun heathpoults Out of the russet heather. The lowing of heifers in summer, Brightest of seasons! Not bitter, toilsome over the fertile plain, Delightful, smooth! The voice of the wind against the branchy wood Upon the deep-blue sky: Falls of the river, the note of the swan, Delicious music! The bravest band make cheer to me, Who have not been hired: In the eyes of Christ the ever-young I am no worse off Than thou art. Though thou rejoicest in thy own pleasures, Greater than any wealth; I am grateful for what is given me From my good Christ. Without an hour of fighting, without the din of strife In my house, Grateful to the Prince who giveth every good To me in my shieling. GUARE I would give my glorious kingship With the share of my father's heritage-- To the hour of my death I would forfeit it To be in thy company, my Marvan. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 14: Names of well-known plains.] SONG OF THE SEA A great tempest rages on the Plain of Ler, bold across its high borders Wind has arisen, fierce winter has slain us; it has come across the sea, It has pierced us like a spear. When the wind sets from the east, the spirit of the wave is roused, It desires to rush past us westward to the land where sets the sun, To the wild and broad green sea. When the wind sets from the north, it urges the dark fierce waves Towards the southern world, surging in strife against the wide sky, Listening to the witching song. When the wind sets from the west across the salt sea of swift currents, It desires to go past us eastward towards the Sun-Tree, Into the broad long-distant sea. When the wind sets from the south across the land of Saxons of mighty shields, The wave strikes the Isle of Scit, it surges up to the summit of Caladnet, And pounds the grey-green mouth of the Shannon. The ocean is in flood, the sea is full, delightful is the home of ships, The wind whirls the sand around the estuary, Swiftly the rudder cleaves the broad sea. With mighty force the wave has tumbled across each broad river-mouth, Wind has come, white winter has slain us, around Cantire, around the land of Alba, Slieve-Dremon pours forth a full stream. Son of the God the Father, with mighty hosts, save me from the horror of fierce tempests! Righteous Lord of the Feast, only save me from the horrid blast, From Hell with furious tempest! SUMMER HAS COME Summer has come, healthy and free, Whence the brown wood is aslope; The slender nimble deer leap, And the path of seals is smooth. The cuckoo sings sweet music, Whence there is smooth restful sleep; Gentle birds leap upon the hill, And swift grey stags. Heat has laid hold of the rest of the deer-- The lovely cry of curly packs! The white extent of the strand smiles, There the swift sea is. A sound of playful breezes in the tops Of a black oakwood is Drum Daill, The noble hornless herd runs, To whom Cuan-wood is a shelter. Green bursts out on every herb, The top of the green oakwood is bushy, Summer has come, winter has gone, Twisted hollies wound the hound. The blackbird sings a loud strain, To him the live wood is a heritage, The sad angry sea is fallen asleep, The speckled salmon leaps. The sun smiles over every land,-- A parting for me from the brood of cares: Hounds bark, stags tryst, Ravens flourish, summer has come! SONG OF SUMMER Summer-time, season supreme! Splendid is colour then. Blackbirds sing a full lay If there be a slender shaft of day. The dust-coloured cuckoo calls aloud: Welcome, splendid summer! The bitterness of bad weather is past, The boughs of the wood are a thicket. Panic startles the heart of the deer, The smooth sea runs apace-- Season when ocean sinks asleep, Blossom covers the world. Bees with puny strength carry A goodly burden, the harvest of blossoms; Up the mountain-side kine take with them mud, The ant makes a rich meal. The harp of the forest sounds music, The sail gathers--perfect peace; Colour has settled on every height, Haze on the lake of full waters. The corncrake, a strenuous bard, discourses, The lofty cold waterfall sings A welcome to the warm pool-- The talk of the rushes has come. Light swallows dart aloft, Loud melody encircles the hill, The soft rich mast buds, The stuttering quagmire prattles. The peat-bog is as the raven's coat, The loud cuckoo bids welcome, The speckled fish leaps-- Strong is the bound of the swift warrior. Man flourishes, the maiden buds In her fair strong pride. Perfect each forest from top to ground, Perfect each great stately plain. Delightful is the season's splendour, Rough winter has gone: Every fruitful wood shines white, A joyous peace is summer. A flock of birds settles In the midst of meadows, The green field rustles, Wherein is a brawling white stream. A wild longing is on you to race horses, The ranked host is ranged around: A bright shaft has been shot into the land, So that the water-flag is gold beneath it. A timorous, tiny, persistent little fellow Sings at the top of his voice, The lark sings clear tidings: Surpassing summer-time of delicate hues! SUMMER IS GONE My tidings for you: the stag bells, Winter snows, summer is gone. Wind high and cold, low the sun, Short his course, sea running high. Deep-red the bracken, its shape all gone-- The wild-goose has raised his wonted cry. Cold has caught the wings of birds; Season of ice--these are my tidings. A SONG OF WINTER Cold, cold! Cold to-night is broad Moylurg, Higher the snow than the mountain-range, The deer cannot get at their food. Cold till Doom! The storm has spread over all: A river is each furrow upon the slope, Each ford a full pool. A great tidal sea is each loch, A full loch is each pool: Horses cannot get over the ford of Ross, No more can two feet get there. The fish of Ireland are a-roaming, There is no strand which the wave does not pound, Not a town there is in the land, Not a bell is heard, no crane talks. The wolves of Cuan-wood get Neither rest nor sleep in their lair, The little wren cannot find Shelter in her nest on the slope of Lon. Keen wind and cold ice Has burst upon the little company of birds, The blackbird cannot get a lee to her liking, Shelter for its side in Cuan-wood. Cosy our pot on its hook, Crazy the hut on the slope of Lon: The snow has crushed the wood here, Toilsome to climb up Ben-bo. Glenn Rye's ancient bird From the bitter wind gets grief; Great her misery and her pain, The ice will get into her mouth. From flock and from down to rise-- Take it to heart!--were folly for thee: Ice in heaps on every ford-- That is why I say 'cold'! ARRAN Arran of the many stags, The sea strikes against its shoulder, Isle in which companies are fed, Ridge on which blue spears are reddened. Skittish deer are on her peaks, Delicious berries on her manes, Cool water in her rivers, Mast upon her dun oaks. Greyhounds are in it and beagles, Blackberries and sloes of the dark blackthorn, Her dwellings close against the woods, Deer scattered about her oak-woods. Gleaning of purple upon her rocks, Faultless grass upon her slopes, Over her fair shapely crags Noise of dappled fawns a-skipping. Smooth is her level land, fat are her swine, Bright are her fields, Her nuts upon the tops of her hazel-wood, Long galleys sailing past her. Delightful it is when the fair season comes, Trout under the brinks of her rivers, Seagulls answer each other round her white cliff, Delightful at all times is Arran! LOVE POETRY THE SONG OF CREDE, DAUGHTER OF GUARE In the battle of Aidne, Crede, the daughter of King Guare of Aidne, beheld Dinertach of the Hy Fidgenti, who had come to the help of Guare, with seventeen wounds upon his breast. Then she fell in love with him. He died, and was buried in the cemetery of Colman's Church. These are arrows that murder sleep At every hour in the bitter-cold night: Pangs of love throughout the day For the company of the man from Roiny. Great love of a man from another land Has come to me beyond all else: It has taken my bloom, no colour is left, It does not let me rest. Sweeter than songs was his speech, Save holy adoration of Heaven's King; He was a glorious flame, no boastful word fell from his lips, A slender mate for a maid's side. When I was a child I was bashful, I was not given to going to trysts: Since I have come to a wayward age, My wantonness has beguiled me. I have every good with Guare, The King of cold Aidne: But my mind has fallen away from my people To the meadow at Irluachair. There is chanting in the meadow of glorious Aidne Around the sides of Colman's Church: Glorious flame, now sunk into the grave-- Dinertach was his name. It wrings my pitiable heart, O chaste Christ, What has fallen to my lot: These are arrows that murder sleep At every hour in the bitter-cold night. LIADIN AND CURITHIR Liadin of Corkaguiney, a poetess, went visiting into the country of Connaught. There Curithir, himself a poet, made an ale-feast for her. 'Why should not we two unite, Liadin?' saith Curithir. 'A son of us two would be famous.' 'Do not let us do so now,' saith she, 'lest my round of visiting be ruined for me. If you will come for me again at my home, I shall go with you.' That fell so. Southward he went, and a single gillie behind him with his poet's dress in a bag upon his back, while Curithir himself was in a poor garb. There were spear-heads in the bag also. He went till he was at the well beside Liadin's court. There he took his crimson dress about him, and the heads were put upon their shafts, and he stood brandishing them. Meanwhile Liadin had made a vow of chastity; but faithful to her word she went with him. They proceed to the monastery of Clonfert, where they put themselves under the spiritual direction of Cummin, son of Fiachna. He first imposes a slight probation upon them, allowing them to converse without seeing each other. Then, challenged by Liadin, he permits them a perilous freedom. In the result he banishes Curithir, who thenceforward renounces love and becomes a pilgrim. When Liadin still seeks him he crosses the sea. She returns to the scene of their penance, and shortly dies. When all is over, Cummin lovingly lays the stone where she had mourned her love, and upon which she died, over the grave of the unhappy maiden. CURITHIR Of late Since I parted from Liadin, Long as a month is every day, Long as a year each month. LIADIN Joyless The bargain I have made! The heart of him I loved I wrung. 'Twas madness Not to do his pleasure, Were there not the fear of Heaven's King. 'Twas a trifle That wrung Curithir's heart against me: To him great was my gentleness. A short while I was In the company of Curithir: Sweet was my intimacy with him. The music of the forest Would sing to me when with Curithir, Together with the voice of the purple sea. Would that Nothing of all I have done Should have wrung his heart against me! Conceal it not! He was my heart's love, Whatever else I might love. A roaring flame Has dissolved this heart of mine-- Without him for certain it cannot live. BARDIC POETRY A DIRGE FOR KING NIALL OF THE NINE HOSTAGES (+ A.D. 405) TUIRN SON OF TORNA When we used to go to the gathering with Echu's[15] son, Yellow as a bright primrose was the hair upon the head of Cairenn's[16] son. TORNA Well hast thou spoken, dear son. A bondmaid should be given thee For the sake of the hair which thou hast likened to the colour of the crown of the primrose. Eyelashes black, delicate, equal in beauty, and dark eyebrows-- The crown of the woad, a bright hyacinth, that was the colour of his pupils. TUIRN SON OF TORNA The colour of his cheeks at all seasons, even and symmetrical: The fox-glove, the blood of a calf--a feast without a flaw! the crown of the forest in May. TORNA His white teeth, his red lips that never reproved in anger-- His shape like a fiery blaze overtopping the warriors of Erin. Like the moon, like the sun, like a fiery beacon was the splendour of Niall: Like a dragon-ship from the wave without a flaw was Niall, Echu's son. TUIRN SON OF TORNA This is a yearnful music, the wail of every mouth in Kerry-- It increases my grief in my house for the death of Muredach's[17] grandson. Saxons will ravage here in the east, noble men of Erin and Alba, After the death of Niall, Echu's noble son--it is a bitter cause of reproach. TORNA Saxons with overwhelming cries of war, hosts of Lombards from the continent, From the hour in which the king fell Gael and Pict are in a sore straight. TUIRN SON OF TORNA Upon Tara's rampart his fair hair shone against his ruddy face: Like unto the colour of his hair is red gold or the yellow iris. TORNA 'Twas great delight, 'twas great peace to be in the company of my dear foster-son,[18] When with Echu's son--it was no small thing--we used to go to the gathering. TUIRN SON OF TORNA Darling hero of the white shoulder! whose tribes are vast, a beloved host: Every man was under protection when we used to go to forgather with him. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 15: Niall's father.] [Footnote 16: Niall's mother.] [Footnote 17: Niall's grandfather.] [Footnote 18: _i.e._ Niall.] THE SONG OF CARROLL'S SWORD (A.D. 909) Hail, sword of Carroll! Oft hast thou been in the great woof of war, Oft giving battle, beheading high princes. Oft hast thou gone a-raiding in the hands of kings of great judgments, Oft hast thou divided the spoil with a good king worthy of thee. Oft where men of Leinster were hast thou been in a white hand, Oft hast thou been among kings, oft among great bands. Many were the kings that wielded thee in fight, Many a shield hast thou cleft in battle, many a head and chest, many a fair skin. Forty years without sorrow Enna of the noble hosts had thee, Never wast thou in a strait, but in the hands of a very fierce king. Enna gave thee--'twas no niggardly gift--to his own son, to Dunling, For thirty years in his possession, at last thou broughtest ruin to him. Many a king upon a noble steed possessed thee unto Dermot the kingly, the fierce: Sixteen years was the time Dermot had thee. At the feast of Allen Dermot the hardy-born bestowed thee, Dermot, the noble king, gave thee to the man of Mairg, to Murigan. Forty years stoutly thou wast in the hand of Allen's high-king, With Murigan of mighty deeds thou never wast a year without battle. In Wexford Murigan, the King of Vikings, gave thee to Carroll: While he was upon the yellow earth Carroll gave thee to none. Thy bright point was a crimson point in the battle of Odba of the Foreigners, When thou leftest Aed Finnliath on his back in the battle of Odba of the noble routs. Crimson was thy edge, it was seen; at Belach Moon thou wast proved, In the valorous battle of Alvy's Plain throughout which the fighting raged. Before thee the goodly host broke on a Thursday at Dun Ochtair, When Aed the fierce and brilliant fell upon the hillside above Leafin. Before thee the host broke on the day when Kelly was slain, Flannagan's son, with numbers of troops, in high lofty great Tara. Before thee they ebbed southwards in the battle of the Boyne of the rough feats, When Cnogva fell, the lance of valour, at seeing thee, for dread of thee. Thou wast furious, thou wast not weak, heroic was thy swift force, When Ailill Frosach of Fál[19] fell in the front of the onset. Thou never hadst a day of defeat with Carroll of the beautiful garths. He swore no lying oath, he went not against his word. Thou never hadst a day of sorrow, many a night thou hadst abroad; Thou hadst awaiting thee many a king with many a battle. O sword of the kings of mighty fires, do not fear to be astray! Thou shalt find thy man of craft, a lord worthy of thee. Who shall henceforth possess thee, or to whom wilt thou deal ruin? From the day that Carroll departed, with whom wilt thou be bedded? Thou shalt not be neglected until thou come to the house of glorious Naas: Where Finn of the feasts is they will hail thee with 'welcome.' FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 19: A name for Ireland.] EOCHAID ON THE DEATH OF KING AED MAC DOMNAILL UA NEILL[20] Aed of Ailech, beloved he was to me, Woe, O God, that he should have died! Seven years with Aed of Ath Í-- One month with Mael na mBó[21] would be longer! Seven years I had with the King of Ross, Delightful was my time with the lord of Slemish, Though I were but one month with the king in the south, I know that it would weary me. Many honours the king gave to me, To pleasure me he brought down stags: A herd of horses he gave to me in my day, The great son of the woman from Magh Ai. Alas, O Comgall, master of harmonies, That the son of Domnaill should be food for worms! Alas that his face should be on the ground! Alas for noble Ailech without Aed! From the day that great Aed was slain Few men on earth but are in want: Since _he_ has died that was another Lugh,[22] It were right to shed tears of blood. Tara is deprived of her benefactor, A blight is upon his kindred, Torture is put upon the rays of the sun, Glorious Erin is without Aed. Fair weather shines not on the mountain-side, Fine-clustering fruit is not enjoyed, The gloom of every night is dark Since earth was put over Aed. Ye folk of great Armagh, With whom the son of the chief lies on his back, Cause of reproach will come of it That your grave is open before Aed. In the battle of Craeb Tholcha in the north I left my fair companions behind! Alas for the fruit of the heavy bloodshed Which severed Eochaid and Aed! FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 20: Who had fallen in the battle of Craeb Tholcha, A.D. 1004.] [Footnote 21: King of South Leinster.] [Footnote 22: A famous mythical hero.] ERARD MAC COISSE ON THE DEATH OF KING MALACHY II.[23] Alas for thy state, O Dun na Sciath![24] Alas that thy lord is not alive! The high-king of Meath of the polished walls, His death has thrown us off our course. Thou without games, without drinking of ale, Thou shining abode of the twisted horns! After Malachy of noble shape Alas for thy state, O Dun na Sciath! I upon the green of thy smooth knolls Like Ronan's son after the Fiana, Or like a hind after her fawn, Alas for thy state, O Dun na Sciath! I got three hundred speckled cups, Three hundred steeds and bridles In this famous fort of noble shape-- Alas for thy state, O Dun na Sciath! After Malachy and sweet Brian,[25] And Murchad[26] that was never weak in hurdled battle, My heart has been left without a leap of vigour, Alas for thy state, O Dun na Sciath! Ochone! I am the wretched phantom, Small are my wages since the three are gone. Greater than my own ruin is my cause of lament, Alas for thy state, O Dun na Sciath! Och! 'tis I that am the body without head, I, Mac Coisse, chief of all poets-- Now that my skill and my vigour are gone, Alas for thy state, O Dun na Sciath! FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 23: King of Ireland. He died in 1022.] [Footnote 24: The Fort of the Shields, on Lough Ennel, Co. Westmeath.] [Footnote 25: _i.e._ Brian Boru, who had fallen in 1014 in the battle of Clontarf.] [Footnote 26: Brian's son, fallen at Clontarf.] MISCELLANEOUS THE MONK AND HIS PET CAT I and my white Pangur Have each his special art: His mind is set on hunting mice, Mine is upon my special craft. I love to rest--better than any fame!-- With close study at my little book: White Pangur does not envy me: He loves his childish play. When in our house we two are all alone-- A tale without tedium! We have--sport never-ending! Something to exercise our wit. At times by feats of derring-do A mouse sticks in his net, While into my net there drops A difficult problem of hard meaning. He points his full shining eye Against the fence of the wall: I point my clear though feeble eye Against the keenness of science. He rejoices with quick leaps When in his sharp claw sticks a mouse: I too rejoice when I have grasped A problem difficult and dearly loved. Though we are thus at all times, Neither hinders the other, Each of us pleased with his own art Amuses himself alone. He is a master of the work Which every day he does: While I am at my own work To bring difficulty to clearness. COLUM CILLE'S GREETING TO IRELAND Delightful to be on the Hill of Howth Before going over the white-haired sea: The dashing of the wave against its face, The bareness of its shores and of its border. Delightful to be on the Hill of Howth After coming over the white-bosomed sea; To be rowing one's little coracle, Ochone! on the wild-waved shore. Great is the speed of my coracle, And its stern turned upon Derry: Grievous is my errand over the main, Travelling to Alba of the beetling brows. My foot in my tuneful coracle, My sad heart tearful: A man without guidance is weak, Blind are all the ignorant. There is a grey eye That will look back upon Erin: It shall never see again The men of Erin nor her women. I stretch my glance across the brine From the firm oaken planks: Many are the tears of my bright soft grey eye As I look back upon Erin. My mind is upon Erin, Upon Loch Lene, upon Linny, Upon the land where Ulstermen are, Upon gentle Munster and upon Meath. Many in the East are lanky chiels, Many diseases there and distempers, Many they with scanty dress, Many the hard and jealous hearts. Plentiful in the West the fruit of the apple-tree, Many kings and princes; Plentiful are luxurious sloes, Plentiful oak-woods of noble mast. Melodious her clerics, melodious her birds, Gentle her youths, wise her elders, Illustrious her men, famous to behold, Illustrious her women for fond espousal. It is in the West sweet Brendan is, And Colum son of Criffan, And in the West fair Baithin shall be, And in the West shall be Adamnan. Carry my greeting after that To Comgall of eternal life: Carry my greeting after that To the stately king of fair Navan. Carry with thee, thou fair youth, My blessing and my benediction, One half upon Erin, sevenfold, And half upon Alba at the same time. Carry my blessing with thee to the West, My heart is broken in my breast: Should sudden death overtake me, It is for my great love of the Gael. Gael! Gael! beloved name! It gladdens the heart to invoke it: Beloved is Cummin of the beauteous hair, Beloved are Cainnech and Comgall. Were all Alba mine From its centre to its border, I would rather have the site of a house In the middle of fair Derry. It is for this I love Derry, For its smoothness, for its purity, And for its crowd of white angels From one end to another. It is for this I love Derry, For its smoothness, for its purity; All full of angels Is every leaf on the oaks of Derry. My Derry, my little oak-grove, My dwelling and my little cell, O living God that art in Heaven above, Woe to him who violates it! Beloved are Durrow and Derry, Beloved is Raphoe with purity, Beloved Drumhome with its sweet acorns, Beloved are Swords and Kells! Beloved also to my heart in the West Drumcliff on Culcinne's strand: To gaze upon fair Loch Foyle-- The shape of its shores is delightful. Delightful it is, The deep-red ocean where the sea-gulls cry, As I come from Derry afar, It is peaceful and it is delightful. ON ANGUS THE CULDEE (+ ca. 830) Delightful to sit here thus By the side of the cold pure Nore: Though it was frequented, it was never a path o raids In glorious Disert Bethech.[27] Disert Bethech, where dwelt the man Whom hosts of angels were wont to visit; A pious cloister behind a circle of crosses, Where Angus son of Oivlen used to be. Angus from the assembly of Heaven, Here are his tomb and his grave: 'Tis hence he went to death, On a Friday, to holy Heaven. 'Tis in Clonenagh he was reared, In Clonenagh he was buried: In Clonenagh of many crosses He first read his psalms. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 27: 'Beechen Hermitage.'] COLUM CILLE THE SCRIBE My hand is weary with writing, My sharp quill is not steady, My slender-beaked pen juts forth A black draught of shining dark-blue ink. A stream of the wisdom of blessed God Springs from my fair-brown shapely hand: On the page it squirts its draught Of ink of the green-skinned holly. My little dripping pen travels Across the plain of shining books, Without ceasing for the wealth of the great-- Whence my hand is weary with writing. THE LAMENT OF THE OLD WOMAN OF BEARE The reason why she was called the Old Woman of Beare was that she had fifty foster-children in Beare. She had seven periods of youth one after another, so that every man who had lived with her came to die of old age, and her grandsons and great-grandsons were tribes and races. For a hundred years she wore the veil which Cummin had blessed upon her head. Thereupon old age and infirmity came to her. 'Tis then she said: Ebb-tide to me as of the sea! Old age causes me reproach. Though I may grieve thereat-- Happiness comes out of fat. I am the Old Woman of Beare, An ever-new smock I used to wear: To-day--such is my mean estate-- I wear not even a cast-off smock. It is riches Ye love, it is not men: In the time when _we_ lived It was men we loved. Swift chariots, And steeds that carried off the prize,-- Their day of plenty has been, A blessing on the King who lent them! My body with bitterness has dropt Towards the abode we know: When the Son of God deems it time Let Him come to deliver His behest. My arms when they are seen Are bony and thin: Once they would fondle, They would be round glorious kings. When my arms are seen, And they bony and thin, They are not fit, I declare, To be uplifted over comely youths. The maidens rejoice When May-day comes to them: For me sorrow is meeter, For I am wretched, I am an old hag. I hold no sweet converse, No wethers are killed for my wedding-feast, My hair is all but grey, The mean veil over it is no pity. I do not deem it ill That a white veil should be on my head: Time was when many cloths of every hue Bedecked my head as we drank the good ale. The Stone of the Kings on Femen, The Chair of Ronan in Bregon, 'Tis long since storms have reached them. The slabs of their tombs are old and decayed. The wave of the great sea talks aloud, Winter has arisen: Fermuid the son of Mugh to-day I do not expect on a visit. I know what they are doing: They row and row across The reeds of the Ford of Alma-- Cold is the dwelling where they sleep. 'Tis 'O my God!' To me to-day, whatever will come of it. I must take my garment even in the sun:[28] The time is at hand that shall renew me. Youth's summer in which we were I have spent with its autumn: Winter-age which overwhelms all men, To me has come its beginning. Amen! Woe is me! Every acorn has to drop. After feasting by shining candles To be in the gloom of a prayer-house! I had my day with kings Drinking mead and wine: To-day I drink whey-water Among shrivelled old hags. I see upon my cloak the hair of old age, My reason has beguiled me: Grey is the hair that grows through my skin-- 'Tis thus I am an old hag. The flood-wave And the second ebb-tide-- They have all reached me, So that I know them well. The flood-wave Will not reach the silence of my kitchen: Though many are my company in darkness, A hand has been laid upon them all. O happy the isle of the great sea Which the flood reaches after the ebb! As for me, I do not expect Flood after ebb to come to me. There is scarce a little place to-day That I can recognise: What was on flood Is all on ebb. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 28: 'Je tremble à present dedans la canicule.'--Molière, _Sganarelle_, scène 2.] THE DESERTED HOME Sadly talks the blackbird here. Well I know the woe he found: No matter who cut down his nest, For its young it was destroyed. I myself not long ago Found the woe he now has found. Well I read thy song, O bird, For the ruin of thy home. Thy heart, O blackbird, burnt within At the deed of reckless man: Thy nest bereft of young and egg The cowherd deems a trifling tale. At thy clear notes they used to come, Thy new-fledged children, from afar; No bird now comes from out thy house, Across its edge the nettle grows. They murdered them, the cowherd lads, All thy children in one day: One the fate to me and thee, My own children live no more. There was feeding by thy side Thy mate, a bird from o'er the sea: Then the snare entangled her, At the cowherds' hands she died. O Thou, the Shaper of the world! Uneven hands Thou layst on us: Our fellows at our side are spared, Their wives and children are alive. A fairy host came as a blast To bring destruction to our house: Though bloodless was their taking off, Yet dire as slaughter by the sword. Woe for our wife, woe for our young! The sadness of our grief is great: No trace of them within, without-- And therefore is my heart so sad. CORMAC MAC CULENNAIN SANG THIS Shall I launch my dusky little coracle On the broad-bosomed glorious ocean? Shall I go, O King of bright Heaven, Of my own will upon the brine? Whether it be roomy or narrow, Whether it be served by crowds of hosts-- O God, wilt Thou stand by me When it comes upon the angry sea? ALEXANDER THE GREAT Four men stood by the grave of a man, The grave of Alexander the Proud; They sang words without falsehood Over the prince from fair Greece. Said the first man of them: 'Yesterday there were around the king The men of the world--a sad gathering! Though to-day he is alone.' 'Yesterday the king of the brown world Rode upon the heavy earth: Though to-day it is the earth That rides upon his neck.' 'Yesterday,' said the third wise author, 'Philip's son owned the whole world: To-day he has nought Save seven feet of earth.' 'Alexander the liberal and great Was wont to bestow silver and gold: To-day,' said the fourth man, 'The gold is here, and it is nought.' Thus truly spoke the wise men Around the grave of the high-king: It was not foolish women's talk What those four sang. QUATRAINS THE SCRIBE A hedge of trees surrounds me, A blackbird's lay sings to me; Above my lined booklet The trilling birds chant to me. In a grey mantle from the top of bushes The cuckoo sings: Verily--may the Lord shield me!-- Well do I write under the greenwood. ON A DEAD SCHOLAR Dead is Lon Of Kilgarrow, O great hurt! To Ireland and beyond her border It is ruin of study and of schools. THE CRUCIFIXION At the cry of the first bird They began to crucify Thee, O cheek like a swan! It were not right ever to cease lamenting-- It was like the parting of day from night. Ah! though sore the suffering Put upon the body of Mary's Son-- Sorer to Him was the grief That was upon her for His sake. THE PILGRIM AT ROME To go to Rome Is much of trouble, little of profit: The King whom thou seekest here, Unless thou bring Him with thee, thou wilt not find. HOSPITALITY O King of stars! Whether my house be dark or bright, Never shall it be closed against any one, Lest Christ close His house against me. If there be a guest in your house And you conceal aught from him, 'Tis not the guest that will be without it, But Jesus, Mary's Son. THE BLACKBIRD Ah, blackbird, thou art satisfied Where thy nest is in the bush: Hermit that clinkest no bell, Sweet, soft, peaceful is thy note. MOLING SANG THIS When I am among my elders I am proof that sport is forbidden: When I am among the mad young folk They think that I am their junior. THE CHURCH BELL IN THE NIGHT Sweet little bell That is struck[29] in the windy night, I liefer go to a tryst with thee Than to a tryst with a foolish woman. THE VIKING TERROR Bitter is the wind to-night, It tosses the ocean's white hair: To-night I fear not the fierce warriors of Norway Coursing on the Irish Sea. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 29: The tongueless Irish bells were struck, not rung.] FROM THE TRIADS OF IRELAND Three slender things that best support the world: the slender stream of milk from the cow's dug into the pail; the slender blade of green corn upon the ground; the slender thread over the hand of a skilled woman. The three worst welcomes: a handicraft in the same house with the inmates; scalding water upon your feet; salt food without a drink. Three rejoicings followed by sorrow: a wooer's, a thief's, a tale-bearer's. Three rude ones of the world: a youngster mocking an old man; a robust person mocking an invalid; a wise man mocking a fool. Three fair things that hide ugliness: good manners in the ill-favoured; skill in a serf; wisdom in the misshapen. Three sparks that kindle love: a face, demeanour, speech. Three glories of a gathering: a beautiful wife, a good horse, a swift hound. Three fewnesses that are better than plenty: a fewness of fine words; a fewness of cows in grass; a fewness of friends around good ale. Three ruins of a tribe: a lying chief, a false judge, a lustful priest. Three laughing-stocks of the world: an angry man, a jealous man, a niggard. Three signs of ill-breeding: a long visit, staring, constant questioning. Three signs of a fop: the track of his comb in his hair; the track of his teeth in his food; the track of his stick behind him. Three idiots of a bad guest-house: an old hag with a chronic cough; a brainless tartar of a girl; a hobgoblin of a gillie. Three things that constitute a physician: a complete cure; leaving no blemish behind; a painless examination. Three things betokening trouble: holding plough-land in common; performing feats together; alliance in marriage. Three nurses of theft: a wood, a cloak, night. Three false sisters: 'perhaps,' 'may be,' 'I dare say.' Three timid brothers: 'hush!' 'stop!' 'listen!' Three sounds of increase: the lowing of a cow in milk; the din of a smithy; the swish of a plough. Three steadinesses of good womanhood: keeping a steady tongue; a steady chastity; a steady housewifery. Three excellences of dress: elegance, comfort, lastingness. Three candles that illume every darkness: truth, nature, knowledge. Three keys that unlock thoughts: drunkenness, trustfulness, love. Three youthful sisters: desire, beauty, generosity. Three aged sisters: groaning, chastity, ugliness. Three nurses of high spirits: pride, wooing, drunkenness. Three coffers whose depth is not known: the coffers of a chieftain, of the Church, of a privileged poet. Three things that ruin wisdom: ignorance, inaccurate knowledge, forgetfulness. Three things that are best for a chief: justice, peace, an army. Three things that are worst for a chief: sloth, treachery, evil counsel. Three services, the worst that a man can serve: serving a bad woman, a bad lord, and bad land. Three lawful handbreadths: a handbreadth between shoes and hose, between ear and hair, and between the fringe of the tunic and the knee. Three angry sisters: blasphemy, strife, foul-mouthedness. Three disrespectful sisters: importunity, frivolity, flightiness. Three signs of a bad man: bitterness, hatred, cowardice. FROM THE INSTRUCTIONS OF KING CORMAC 'O Cormac, grandson of Conn,' said Carbery, 'what are the dues of a chief and of an ale-house?' 'Not hard to tell,' said Cormac. 'Good behaviour around a good chief, Lights to lamps, Exerting oneself for the company, A proper settlement of seats, Liberality of dispensers, A nimble hand at distributing, Attentive service, Music in moderation, Short story-telling, A joyous countenance, Welcome to guests, Silence during recitals, Harmonious choruses.' 'O Cormac, grandson of Conn,' said Carbery, 'what were your habits when you were a lad?' 'Not hard to tell,' said Cormac. 'I was a listener in woods, I was a gazer at stars, I was blind where secrets were concerned, I was silent in a wilderness, I was talkative among many, I was mild in the mead-hall, I was stern in battle, I was gentle towards allies, I was a physician of the sick, I was weak towards the feeble, I was strong towards the powerful, I was not close lest I should be burdensome, I was not arrogant though I was wise, I was not given to promising though I was strong, I was not venturesome though I was swift, I did not deride the old though I was young, I was not boastful though I was a good fighter, I would not speak about any one in his absence, I would not reproach, but I would praise, I would not ask, but I would give,-- for it is through these habits that the young become old and kingly warriors.' 'O Cormac, grandson of Conn,' said Carbery, 'what is the worst thing you have seen?' 'Not hard to tell,' said Cormac. 'Faces of foes in the rout of battle.' 'O Cormac, grandson of Conn,' said Carbery, 'what is the sweetest thing you have heard?' 'Not hard to tell,' said Cormac. 'The shout of triumph after victory, Praise after wages, A lady's invitation to her pillow.' 'O Cormac, grandson of Conn,' said Carbery, 'how do you distinguish women?' 'Not hard to tell,' said Cormac. 'I distinguish them, but I make no difference among them. 'They are crabbed as constant companions, haughty when visited, lewd when neglected, silly counsellors, greedy of increase; they have tell-tale faces, they are quarrelsome in company, steadfast in hate, forgetful of love, anxious for alliance, accustomed to slander, stubborn in a quarrel, not to be trusted with a secret, ever intent on pilfering, boisterous in their jealousy, ever ready for an excuse, on the pursuit of folly, slanderers of worth, scamping their work, stiff when paying a visit, disdainful of good men, gloomy and stubborn, viragoes in strife, sorrowful in an ale-house, tearful during music, lustful in bed, arrogant and disingenuous, abettors of strife, niggardly with food, rejecting wisdom, eager to make appointments, sulky on a journey, troublesome bedfellows, deaf to instruction, blind to good advice, fatuous in society, craving for delicacies, chary in their presents, languid when solicited, exceeding all bounds in keeping others waiting, tedious talkers, close practitioners, dumb on useful matters, eloquent on trifles. Happy he who does not yield to them! They should be dreaded like fire, they should be feared like wild beasts. Woe to him who humours them! Better to beware of them than to trust them, better to trample upon them than to fondle them, better to crush them than to cherish them. They are waves that drown you, they are fire that burns you, they are two-edged weapons that cut you, they are moths for tenacity, they are serpents for cunning, they are darkness in light, they are bad among the good, they are worse among the bad.' 'O Cormac, grandson of Conn,' said Carbery, 'what is the worst for the body of man?' 'Not hard to tell,' said Cormac. 'Sitting too long, lying too long, long standing, lifting heavy things, exerting oneself beyond one's strength, running too much, leaping too much, frequent falls, sleeping with one's leg over the bed-rail, gazing at glowing embers, wax, biestings, new ale, bull-flesh, curdles, dry food, bog-water, rising too early, cold, sun, hunger, drinking too much, eating too much, sleeping too much, sinning too much, grief, running up a height, shouting against the wind, drying oneself by a fire, summer-dew, winter-dew, beating ashes, swimming on a full stomach, sleeping on one's back, foolish romping.' 'O Cormac, grandson of Conn,' said Carbery, 'what is the worst pleading and arguing?' 'Not hard to tell,' said Cormac. 'Contending against knowledge, contending without proofs, taking refuge in bad language, a stiff delivery, a muttering speech, hair-splitting, uncertain proofs, despising books, turning against custom, shifting one's pleading, inciting the mob, blowing one's own trumpet, shouting at the top of one's voice.' 'O Cormac, grandson of Conn,' said Carbery, 'who are the worst for whom you have a comparison?' 'Not hard to tell,' said Cormac. 'A man with the impudence of a satirist, with the pugnacity of a slave-woman, with the carelessness of a dog, with the conscience of a hound, with a robber's hand, with a bull's strength, with the dignity of a judge, with keen ingenious wisdom, with the speech of a stately man, with the memory of an historian, with the behaviour of an abbot, with the swearing of a horse-thief, and he wise, lying, grey-haired, violent, swearing, garrulous, when he says "the matter is settled, I swear, you shall swear."' 'O Cormac, grandson of Conn,' said Carbery, 'I desire to know how I shall behave among the wise and the foolish, among friends and strangers, among the old and the young, among the innocent and the wicked.' 'Not hard to tell,' said Cormac. 'Be not too wise, nor too foolish, be not too conceited, nor too diffident, be not too haughty, nor too humble, be not too talkative, nor too silent, be not too hard, nor too feeble. If you be too wise, one will expect too much of you; if you be too foolish, you will be deceived; if you be too conceited, you will be thought vexatious; if you be too humble, you will be without honour; if you be too talkative, you will not be heeded; if you be too silent, you will not be regarded; if you be too hard, you will be broken; if you be too feeble, you will be crushed.' NOTES 'The Isles of the Happy' and 'The Sea-god's Address to Bran' are poems interspersed in the prose tale called 'The Voyage of Bran son of Febal to the Land of the Living.' For text and translation see my edition (London: D. Nutt, 1895), pp. 4 and 16. The tale was probably first written down early in the eighth, perhaps late in the seventh century. 'The Tryst after Death' (_Reicne Fothaid Canainne_) belongs to the ninth century. For the original text and translation see my 'Fianaigecht, a collection of hitherto inedited Irish poems and tales relating to Finn and his Fiana' (Dublin: Hodges, Figgis and Co., 1910), p. 10 ff. 'Deirdre's Farewell to Scotland' and 'Deirdre's Lament' are taken from the well-known tale called 'The Death of the Children of Usnech.' The text which is here rendered is that of the Middle-Irish version edited and translated by Whitley Stokes (_Irische Texte_, ii., Leipzig, 1884), pp. 127 and 145. My rendering follows in the main that of Stokes. 'The Hosts of Faery.'--From the tale called 'Laegaire mac Crimthainn's Visit to the Fairy Realm of Mag Mell,' the oldest copy of which is found in the Book of Leinster, a MS. of the twelfth century, p. 275 _b_. See S.H. O'Grady's _Silva Gadelica_ (Williams and Norgate, 1892), vol. i. p. 256; vol. ii. p. 290, where, however, the verse is not translated. The two poems from the 'Vision of MacConglinne' are taken from my translation of the twelfth-century burlesque so called (D. Nutt, 1892), pp. 34 and 78. 'A Dirge for King Niall of the Nine Hostages.'--Text and translation in _Festschrift für Whitley Stokes_ (Harrassowitz, Leipzig, 1900), p. 1 ff., and in the _Gaelic Journal_, x.p. 578 ff. Late eighth or early ninth century. 'The Song of Carroll's Sword.'--Edited and translated in _Revue Celtique_, xx. p. 7 ff., and again in the _Gaelic Journal_, x.p. 613. Dallán mac Móre, to whom the poem is ascribed, was chief bard to King Carroll (Cerball) mac Muiregan of Leinster, who reigned from about A.D. 885 to 909. 'Eochaid's Lament.'--Text published in _Archiv für celtische Lexikographie_ (Niemeyer, Halle a. S., 1907), vol. iii. p. 304. 'Lament on King Malachy II.'--_Ibid._, p. 305. 'King and Hermit.'--First published and translated by me under that title with Messrs. D. Nutt, 1901. The language is that of the tenth century. 'Song of the Sea.'--Text and translation in _Otia Merseiana_ (the publication of the Arts Faculty, University College, Liverpool), vol. ii. p. 76 ff. Though the poem is ascribed to the celebrated poet Rumann, who died in 748, its language points to the eleventh century. 'Summer has come.'--Text and translation in my _Four Songs of Summer and Winter_ (D. Nutt, 1903), p. 20 ff. The piece probably dates from the tenth century. 'Song of Summer.'--_Ibid._, p. 8 ff., and _Ériu_, the Journal of the School of Irish Learning, i. p. 186. The date is the ninth century, I think. 'Summer is gone.'--_Ibid._, p. 14. Ninth century. 'A Song of Winter.'--From the story called 'The Hiding of the Hill of Howth,' first printed and translated by me in _Revue Celtique_, xi. p. 125 ff. Probably tenth century. 'Arran.'--Taken from the thirteenth-century prose tale called _Agallamh na Senórach_, edited and translated by S.H. O'Grady in _Silva Gadelica_. The poem refers to the island in the Firth of Clyde. 'The Song of Crede, daughter of Guare.'--See text and translation in _Ériu_, ii. p. 15 ff. Probably tenth century. 'Liadin and Curithir.'--First published and translated by me under that title with Messrs. D. Nutt, 1902. It belongs to the ninth century. 'The Deer's Cry.'--For the text and translation see Stokes and Strachan, _Thesaurus Palaeohibernicus_ (University Press, Cambridge), vol. ii. p. 354. I have adopted the translation there given except in some details. The hymn in the form in which it has come down to us cannot be earlier than the eighth century. 'An Evening Song.'--Printed in my _Selections from Old-Irish Poetry_, p. 1. Though ascribed to Patrick, the piece cannot be older than the tenth century. 'Patrick's Blessing on Munster.'--Taken from the _Tripartite Life of Patrick_, edited by Whitley Stokes (Rolls Series, London, 1887), p. 216. Not earlier than the ninth century. 'The Hermit's Song.'--See _Ériu_, vol. i. p. 39, where the Irish text will be found. The poem dates from the ninth century. 'A Prayer to the Virgin.'--See Strachan's edition of the original in _Ériu_, i. p. 122. There is another copy in the Bodleian MS. Laud 615, p. 91, from which I have taken some better readings. The poem is hardly earlier than the tenth century. 'Eve's Lament.'--See _Ériu_, iii. p. 148. The date is probably the late tenth or early eleventh century. 'On the Flightiness of Thought.'--See _Ériu_, iii. p. 13. Tenth century. 'To Crinog.'--The Irish text was published by me in the _Zeitschrift für celtische Philologie_, vol. vi. p. 257. The date of the poem is the tenth century. Crinog was evidently what is known in the literature of early Christianity as [Greek: iagapêtê], _virgo subintroducta_ ([Greek: syneisaktos]) or _conhospita_, _i.e._ a nun who lived with a priest, monk, or hermit like a sister or 'spiritual wife' (_uxor spiritualis_). This practice, which was early suppressed and abandoned everywhere else, seems to have survived in the Irish Church till the tenth century. See on the whole subject H. Achelis, _Virgines Subintroductae_, ein Beitrag zu i., Kor. vii. (Leipzig, 1902). 'The Devil's Tribute to Moling.'--For text and translation see Whitley Stokes's _Goidelica_, 2nd ed., p. 180, and his edition of _Félire Oingusso_, p. 154 ff. I have in the main followed Stokes's rendering. 'Maelisu's Hymn to the Archangel Michael.'--Text and translation in the _Gaelic Journal_, vol. iv. p. 56. Maelisu ua Brolcháin was a writer of religious poetry both in Irish and Latin, who died in 1056. 'The Mothers' Lament at the Slaughter of the Innocents.'--See text and translation in the _Gaelic Journal_, iv. p. 89. The piece probably belongs to the eleventh century. 'Colum Cille's Greeting to Ireland.'--From Reeves' edition of Adamnan's _Life of St. Columba_, p. 285. The poem, like most of those ascribed to this saint, is late, belonging probably to the twelfth century. 'The Lament of the Old Woman of Beare.'--Text and translation in _Otia Merseiana_, i. p. 119 ff. The language of the poem points to the late tenth century. 'The Deserted Home.'--See _Gaelic Journal_, iv. p. 42. Probably eleventh century. 'Colum Cille the Scribe.'--See _Gaelic Journal_, viii. p. 49. Probably eleventh century. 'The Monk and his Pet Cat.'--Text and translation in _Thesaurus Palaeohibernicus_, ii. p. 293. I have made my own translation. The language is that of the late eighth or early ninth century. 'The Crucifixion.'--From _Leabhar Breac_, p. 262 _marg. sup._ and p. 168 _marg. inf._ 'Pilgrimage to Rome.'--See _Thes. Pal._, ii. p. 296. 'On a Dead Scholar.'--From the notes to the _Félire Oingusso_, ed. Wh. Stokes (Henry Bradshaw Society, vol. xxix.), p. 198. 'Hospitality.'--From the Brussels MS., 5100-4, p. 5, and _Leabhar Breac_, p. 93, _marg. sup._ 'The Scribe.'--See _Thes. Pal._, ii. p. 290. 'Moling sang this.'--From the notes to the _Félire Oingusso_, ed. Wh. Stokes, p. 150. 'The Church Bell.'--See _Irische Texte_, iii. p. 155. 'The Blackbird.'--From _Leabhar Breac_, p. 36, _marg. sup._ The 'Triads of Ireland.' Edited and translated by me in the Todd Lecture Series of the Royal Irish Academy, vol. xiii. (Hodges, Figgis and Co., Dublin, 1906). The collection was made towards the end of the ninth century. The 'Instructions of King Cormac.' Edited and translated by me in the Todd Lecture Series, vol. xv. (Dublin, 1909). Early ninth century. Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press 
19973	----	Transcribed from the 1902 Fisher Unwin edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org THE MABINOGION TRANSLATED FROM THE RED BOOK OF HERGEST BY LADY CHARLOTTE GUEST VOL. II. LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN 11 PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS. MXCII {The salmon of Llyn Llyw. "And they heard a great wailing and lamenting from the dungeon.": p0.jpg} INTRODUCTION. In this second volume, as in the first, I have given Lady Charlotte Guest's translation exactly as she wrote it. It would have been easy to make it a more faithful reproduction of the Welsh by occasionally changing a word, or by making a phrase more simple in diction. But the reader would not have forgiven me for placing before him a translation that was not Lady Charlotte Guest's. I have again ventured, however, after a careful comparison of the translation with the original, to put in the form of footnotes a more accurate or more literal rendering of passages which Lady Charlotte Guest did not read aright, passages which she has omitted, and passages the real meaning of which she seems to me to have failed to grasp. The first two tales in this volume make up, with "The Dream of Rhonabwy," the second volume of the original edition. "The Dream of Rhonabwy" was placed in my first volume, with "The Lady of the Fountain" and "Peredur"--the two tales that form the first volume of the original edition. The oldest of the tales--the Mabinogion proper--will all be included in the third volume. OWEN EDWARDS. LLANUWCHLLYN, _June_ 1902. GERAINT THE SON OF ERBIN. {Picture: p7.jpg} Arthur was accustomed to hold his Court at Caerlleon upon Usk. And there he held it seven Easters, {7a} and five Christmases. And once upon a time he held his Court there at Whitsuntide. For Caerlleon was the place most easy of access in his dominions, both by sea and by land. And there were assembled {7b} nine crowned kings, who were his tributaries, and likewise earls and barons. For they were his invited guests at all the high festivals, unless they were prevented by any great hindrance. And when he was at Caerlleon, holding his Court, thirteen churches were set apart for mass. And thus were they appointed: one church for Arthur, and his kings, and his guests; and the second for Gwenhwyvar and her ladies; and the third for the Steward of the Household and the Suitors; and the fourth for the Franks, and the other officers; and the other nine churches were for the nine Masters of the Household, and chiefly for Gwalchmai; for he, from the eminence of his warlike fame, and from the nobleness of his birth, was the most exalted of the nine. And there was no other arrangement respecting the churches than that which we have mentioned above. Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr was the chief porter; but he did not himself perform the office, except at one of the three high festivals, for he had seven men to serve him; and they divided the year amongst them. They were Grynn, and Pen Pighon, and Llaes Cymyn, and Gogyfwlch, and Gwrdnei with Cat's eyes, who could see as well by night as by day, and Drem the son of Dremhitid, and Clust the son of Clustveinyd; and these were Arthur's guards. And on Whit Tuesday, as the King sat at the banquet, lo! there entered a tall, fair-headed youth, clad in a coat and a surcoat of diapred satin, and a golden-hilted sword about his neck, and low shoes of leather upon his feet. And he came, and stood before Arthur. "Hail to thee, Lord!" said he. "Heaven prosper thee," he answered, "and be thou welcome. Dost thou bring any new tidings?" "I do, Lord," he said. "I know thee not," said Arthur. "It is a marvel to me that thou dost not know me. I am one of thy foresters, Lord, in the Forest of Dean, and my name is Madawc, the son of Twrgadarn." "Tell me thine errand," said Arthur. "I will do so, Lord," said he. "In the Forest I saw a stag, the like of which beheld I never yet." "What is there about him," asked Arthur, "that thou never yet didst see his like?" "He is of pure white, Lord, and he does not herd with any other animal through stateliness and pride, so royal is his bearing. And I come to seek thy counsel, Lord, and to know thy will concerning him." "It seems best to me," said Arthur, "to go and hunt him to-morrow at break of day; and to cause general notice thereof to be given to-night in all quarters of the Court." And Arryfuerys was Arthur's chief huntsman, and Arelivri was his chief page. And all received notice; and thus it was arranged. And they sent the youth before them. Then Gwenhwyvar said to Arthur, "Wilt thou permit me, Lord," said she, "to go to-morrow to see and hear the hunt of the stag of which the young man spoke?" "I will, gladly," said Arthur. "Then will I go," said she. And Gwalchmai said to Arthur, "Lord, if it seem well to thee, permit that into whose hunt soever the stag shall come, that one, be he a knight or one on foot, may cut off his head, and give it to whom he pleases, whether to his own ladylove, or to the lady of his friend." "I grant it gladly," said Arthur, "and let the Steward of the Household be chastised if all are not ready to-morrow for the chase." And they passed the night with songs, and diversions, and discourse, and ample entertainment. And when it was time for them all to go to sleep, they went. And when the next day came, they arose; and Arthur called the attendants, who guarded his couch. And these were four pages, whose names were Cadyrnerth the son of Porthawr Gandwy, and Ambreu the son of Bedwor, and Amhar, the son of Arthur, and Goreu the son of Custennin. And these men came to Arthur, and saluted him, and arrayed him in his garments. And Arthur wondered that Gwenhwyvar did not awake, and did not move in her bed: and the attendants wished to awaken her. "Disturb her not," said Arthur, "for she had rather sleep than go to see the hunting." Then Arthur went forth, and he heard two horns sounding, one from near the lodging of the chief huntsman, and the other from near that of the chief page. And the whole assembly of the multitudes came to Arthur, and they took the road to the Forest. And after Arthur had gone forth from the palace, Gwenhwyvar awoke, and called to her maidens, and apparelled herself. "Maidens," said she, "I had leave last night to go and see the hunt. Go one of you to the stable, and order hither a horse such as a woman may ride." And one of them went, and she found but two horses in the stable, and Gwenhwyvar and one of her maidens mounted them, and went through the Usk, and followed the track of the men and the horses. And as they rode thus, they heard a loud and rushing sound; and they looked behind them, and beheld a knight upon a {10} hunter foal of mighty size; and the rider was a fair haired youth, bare-legged, and of princely mien, and a golden-hilted sword was at his side, and a robe and a surcoat of satin were upon him, and two low shoes of leather upon his feet; and around him was a scarf of blue purple, at each corner of which was a golden apple. And his horse stepped stately, and swift, and proud; and he overtook Gwenhwyvar, and saluted her. "Heaven prosper thee, Geraint," said she, "I knew thee when first I saw thee just now. And the welcome of heaven be unto thee. And why didst thou not go with thy Lord to hunt?" "Because I knew not when he went," said he. "I marvel too," said she, "how he could go unknown to me." "Indeed, lady," said he. "I was fast asleep, and knew not when he went; but thou, O young man, art the most agreeable companion I could have in the whole kingdom; and it may be that I shall be more amused with the hunting than they; {11} for we shall hear the horns when they sound, and we shall hear the dogs when they are let loose, and begin to cry." So they went to the edge of the Forest, and there they stood. "From this place," said she, "we shall hear when the dogs are let loose." And thereupon they heard a loud noise, and they looked towards the spot whence it came, and they beheld a dwarf riding upon a horse, stately, and foaming, and prancing, and strong, and spirited. And in the hand of the dwarf was a whip. And near the dwarf they saw a lady upon a beautiful white horse, of steady and stately pace; and she was clothed in a garment of gold brocade. And near her was a knight upon a war-horse of large size, with heavy and bright armour both upon himself and upon his horse. And truly they never before saw a knight, or a horse, or armour, of such remarkable size. And they were all near to each other. "Geraint," said Gwenhwyvar, "knowest thou the name of that tall knight yonder?" "I know him not," said he, "and the strange armour that he wears prevents my either seeing his face or his features." "Go, maiden," said Gwenhwyvar, "and ask the dwarf who that knight is." Then the maiden went up to the dwarf; and the dwarf waited for the maiden, when he saw her coming towards him. And the maiden enquired of the dwarf who the knight was. "I will not tell thee," he answered. "Since thou art so churlish as not to tell me," said she, "I will ask him himself." "Thou shall not ask him, by my faith," said he. "Wherefore?" said she. "Because thou art not of honour sufficient to befit thee to speak to my Lord." Then the maiden turned her horse's head towards the knight, upon which the dwarf struck her with the whip that was in his hand across the face and the eyes, until the blood flowed forth. And the maiden, through the hurt she received from the blow, returned to Gwenhwyvar, complaining of the pain. "Very rudely has the dwarf treated thee," said Geraint. "I will go myself to know who the knight is." "Go," said Gwenhwyvar. And Geraint went up to the dwarf. "Who is yonder knight?" said Geraint. "I will not tell thee," said the dwarf. "Then will I ask him himself," said he. "That wilt thou not, by my faith," said the dwarf; "thou art not honourable enough to speak with my Lord." Said Geraint, "I have spoken with men of equal rank with him." And he turned his horse's head towards the knight, but the dwarf overtook him and struck him as he had done the maiden, so that the blood coloured the scarf that Geraint wore. Then Geraint put his hand upon the hilt of his sword, but he took counsel with himself, and considered that it would be no vengeance for him to slay the dwarf, and to be attacked unarmed by the armed knight, so he returned to where Gwenhwyvar was. "Thou hast acted wisely and discreetly," said she. "Lady," said he, "I will follow him yet, with thy permission; and at last he will come to some inhabited place, where I may have arms either as a loan or for a pledge, so that I may encounter the knight." "Go," said she, "and do not attack him until thou hast good arms, and I shall be very anxious concerning thee, until I hear tidings of thee." "If I am alive," said he, "thou shall hear tidings of me by to-morrow afternoon;" and with that he departed. And the road they took was below the palace of Caerlleon, and across the ford of the Usk; and they went along a fair, and even, and lofty ridge of ground, until they came to a town, and at the extremity of the town they saw a Fortress and a Castle. And they came to the extremity of the town. And as the knight passed through it, all the people arose, and saluted him, and bade him welcome. And when Geraint came into the town, he looked at every house, to see if he knew any of those whom he saw. But he knew none, and none knew him to do him the kindness to let him have arms either as a loan or for a pledge. And every house he saw was full of men, and arms, and horses. And they were polishing shields, and burnishing swords, and washing armour, and shoeing horses. And the knight, and the lady, and the dwarf, rode up to the Castle that was in the town, and every one was glad in the Castle. And from the battlements and the gates they risked their necks, through their eagerness to greet them, and to show their joy. Geraint stood there to see whether the knight would remain in the Castle; and when he was certain that he would do so, he looked around him; and at a little distance from the town he saw an old palace in ruins, wherein was a hall that was falling to decay. And as he knew not any one in the town, he went towards the old palace; and when he came near to the palace, he saw but one chamber, and a bridge of marble-stone leading to it. And upon the bridge he saw sitting a hoary-headed man, upon whom were tattered garments. And Geraint gazed steadfastly upon him for a long time. Then the hoary-headed man spoke to him. "Young man," he said, "wherefore art thou thoughtful?" "I am thoughtful," said he, "because I know not where to go to-night." "Wilt thou come forward this way, chieftain?" said he, "and thou shalt have of the best that can be procured for thee." So Geraint went forward. And the hoary-headed man preceded him into the hall. And in the hall he dismounted, and he left there his horse. Then he went on to the upper chamber with the hoary- headed man. And in the chamber he beheld an old decrepit woman, sitting on a cushion, with old tattered garments of satin upon her; and it seemed to him that he had never seen a woman fairer than she must have been when in the fulness of youth. And beside her was a maiden, upon whom were a vest and a veil, that were old, and beginning to be worn out. And truly he never saw a maiden more full of comeliness, and grace, and beauty, than she. And the hoary-headed man said to the maiden, "There is no attendant for the horse of this youth but thyself." "I will render the best service I am able," said she, "both to him and to his horse." And the maiden disarrayed the youth, and then she furnished his horse with straw and with corn. And she went to the hall as before, and then she returned to the chamber. And the hoary-headed man said to the maiden, "Go to the town," said he, "and bring hither the best that thou canst find both of food and of liquor." "I will, gladly, Lord," said she. And to the town went the maiden. And they conversed together, while the maiden was at the town. And, behold! the maiden came back, and a youth with her, bearing on his back a costrel full of good purchased mead and a quarter of a young bullock. And in the hands of the maiden was a quantity of white bread, and she had some manchet bread in her veil, and she came into the chamber. "I could not obtain better than this," said she, "nor with better should I have been trusted." "It is good enough," said Geraint. And they caused the meat to be boiled; and when their food was ready, they sat down. And it was in this wise; Geraint sat between the hoary-headed man and his wife, and the maiden served them. And they ate and drank. And when they had finished eating, Geraint talked with the hoary-headed man, and he asked him in the first place, to whom belonged the Palace that he was in. "Truly," said he, "it was I that built it, and to me also belonged the city and the castle which thou sawest." "Alas!" said Geraint, "how is it that thou hast lost them now?" "I lost a great Earldom as well as these," said he, "and this is how I lost them. I had a nephew, the son of my brother, and I took his possessions to myself; and when he came to his strength, he demanded of me his property, but I withheld it from him. So he made war upon me, and wrested from me all that I possessed." "Good, Sir," {15} said Geraint, "wilt thou tell me wherefore came the knight, and the lady, and the dwarf, just now into the town, and what is the preparation which I saw, and the putting of arms in order." "I will do so," said he. "The preparations are for the game that is to be held to-morrow by the young Earl, which will be on this wise. In the midst of a meadow which is here, two forks will be set up, and upon the two forks a silver rod, and upon the silver rod a Sparrow- Hawk, and for the Sparrow-Hawk there will be a tournament. And to the tournament will go all the array thou didst see in the city, of men, and of horses, and of arms. And with each man will go the lady he loves best; and no man can joust for the Sparrow-Hawk, except the lady he loves best be with him. And the knight that thou sawest has gained the Sparrow- Hawk these two years; and if he gains it the third year, they will, from that time, send it every year to him, and he himself will come here no more. And he will be called the knight of the Sparrow-Hawk from that time forth." "Sir," said Geraint, "what is thy counsel to me concerning this knight, on account of the insult which I received from the dwarf, and that which was received by the maiden of Gwenhwyvar, the wife of Arthur?" And Geraint told the hoary-headed man what the insult was that he had received. "It is not easy to counsel thee, inasmuch as thou hast neither dame nor maiden belonging to thee, for whom thou canst joust. Yet, I have arms here, which thou couldest have; and there is my horse also, if he seem to thee better than thine own." "Ah! Sir," said he, "Heaven reward thee. But my own horse, to which I am accustomed, together with thine arms, will suffice me. And if, when the appointed time shall come to-morrow, thou wilt permit me, Sir, to challenge for yonder maiden that is thy daughter, I will engage, if I escape from the tournament, to love the maiden as long as I live, and if I do not escape, she will remain unsullied as before." "Gladly will I permit thee," said the hoary-headed man, "and since thou dost thus resolve, it is necessary that thy horse and arms should be ready to-morrow at break of day. For then, the knight of the Sparrow-Hawk will make proclamation, and ask the lady he loves best to take the Sparrow-Hawk. 'For,' will he say to her, 'thou art the fairest of women, and thou didst possess it last year, and the year previous; and if any deny it thee to-day, by force will I defend it for thee.' And therefore," said the hoary-headed man, "it is needful for thee to be there at daybreak; and we three will be with thee," and thus was it settled. And at night, lo! {17} they went to sleep; and before the dawn they arose, and arrayed themselves; and by the time that it was day, they were all four in the meadow. And there was the knight of the Sparrow-Hawk making the proclamation, and asking his ladylove to fetch the Sparrow- Hawk. "Fetch it not," said Geraint, "for there is here a maiden, who is fairer, and more noble, and more comely, and who has a better claim to it than thou." "If thou maintainest the Sparrow-Hawk to be due to her, come forward, and do battle with me." And Geraint went forward to the top of the meadow, having upon himself and upon his horse armour which was heavy, and rusty, and worthless, and of uncouth shape. Then they encountered each other, and they broke a set of lances, and they broke a second set, and a third. And thus they did at every onset, and they broke as many lances as were brought to them. And when the Earl and his company saw the knight of the Sparrow-Hawk gaining the mastery, there was shouting, and joy, and mirth amongst them. And the hoary-headed man, and his wife, and his daughter, were sorrowful. And the hoary-headed man served Geraint lances as often as he broke them, and the dwarf served the knight of the Sparrow-Hawk. Then the hoary-headed man came to Geraint. "Oh! chieftain," said he, "since no other will hold with thee, behold, here is the lance which was in my hand on the day when I received the honour of knighthood; and from that time to this I never broke it. And it has an excellent point." Then Geraint took the lance, thanking the hoary-headed man. And thereupon the dwarf also brought a lance to his lord. "Behold here is a lance for thee, not less good than his," said the dwarf. "And bethink thee, that no knight ever withstood thee before so long as this one has done." "I declare to Heaven," said Geraint, "that unless death takes me quickly hence, he shall fare never the better for thy service." And Geraint pricked his horse towards him from afar, and warning him, he rushed upon him, and gave him a blow so severe, and furious, and fierce, upon the face of his shield, that he cleft it in two, and broke his armour, and burst his girths, so that both he and his saddle were borne to the ground over the horse's crupper. And Geraint dismounted quickly. And he was wroth, and he drew his sword, and rushed fiercely upon him. Then the knight also arose, and drew his sword against Geraint. And they fought on foot with their swords until their aims struck sparks of fire like stars from one another; and thus they continued fighting until the blood and sweat obscured the light from their eyes. And when Geraint prevailed, the hoary-headed man, and his wife, and his daughter were glad; and when the knight prevailed, it rejoiced the Earl and his party. Then the hoary-headed man saw Geraint receive a severe stroke, and he went up to him quickly, and said to him, "Oh, chieftain, remember the treatment which thou hadst from the dwarf; and wilt thou not seek vengeance for the insult to thyself, and for the insult to Gwenhwyvar the wife of Arthur!" And Geraint was roused by what he said to him, {19} and he called to him all his strength, and lifted up his sword, and struck the knight upon the crown of his head, so that he broke all his head armour, and cut through all the flesh and the skin, even to the skull, until he wounded the bone. {Picture: p18.jpg} Then the knight fell upon his knees, and cast his sword from his hand, and besought mercy of Geraint. "Of a truth," said he, "I relinquish my overdaring and my pride in craving thy mercy; and unless I have time to commit myself to Heaven for my sins, and to talk with a priest, thy mercy will avail me little." "I will grant thee grace upon this condition," said Geraint, "that thou wilt go to Gwenhwyvar, the wife of Arthur, to do her satisfaction for the insult which her maiden received from thy dwarf. As to myself, for the insult which I received from thee and thy dwarf, I am content with that which I have done unto thee. Dismount not from the time thou goest hence until thou comest into the presence of Gwenhwyvar, to make her what atonement shall be adjudged at the Court of Arthur." "This will I do gladly. And who art thou?" said he. "I am Geraint the son of Erbin. And declare thou also who thou art." "I am Edeyrn the son of Nudd." Then he threw himself upon his horse, and went forward to Arthur's Court, and the lady he loved best went before him and the dwarf, with much lamentation. And thus far this story up to that time. * * * * * Then came the little Earl and his hosts to Geraint, and saluted him, and bade him to his castle. "I may not go," said Geraint, "but where I was last night, there will I be to-night also." "Since thou wilt none of my inviting, thou shall have abundance of all that I can command for thee, in the place thou wast last night. And I will order ointment for thee, to recover thee from thy fatigues, and from the weariness that is upon thee." "Heaven reward thee," said Geraint, "and I will go to my lodging." And thus went Geraint, and Earl Ynywl, and his wife, and his daughter. And when they reached the chamber, the household servants and attendants of the young Earl had arrived at the Court, and they arranged all the houses, dressing them with straw and with fire; and in a short time the ointment was ready, and Geraint came there, and they washed his head. Then came the young Earl, with forty honourable knights from among his attendants, and those who were bidden to the tournament. And Geraint came from the anointing. And the Earl asked him to go to the hall to eat. "Where is the Earl Ynywl," said Geraint, "and his wife, and his daughter?" "They are in the chamber yonder," said the Earl's chamberlain, "arraying themselves in garments which the Earl has caused to be brought for them." "Let not the damsel array herself," said he, "except in her vest and her veil, until she come to the Court of Arthur, to be clad by Gwenhwyvar, in such garments as she may choose." So the maiden did not array herself. Then they all entered the hall, and they washed, and went, and sat down to meat. And thus were they seated. On one side of Geraint sat the young Earl, and Earl Ynywl beyond him; and on the other side of Geraint was the maiden and her mother. And after these all sat according to their precedence in honour. And they ate. And they were served abundantly, and they received a profusion of divers kind of gifts. Then they conversed together. And the young Earl invited Geraint to visit him next day. "I will not, by Heaven," said Geraint. "To the Court of Arthur will I go with this maiden to-morrow. And it is enough for me, as long as Earl Ynywl is in poverty and trouble; and I go chiefly to seek to add to his maintenance." "Ah, chieftain," said the young Earl, "it is not by my fault that Earl Ynywl is without his possessions." "By my faith," said Geraint, "he shall not remain without them, unless death quickly takes me hence." "Oh, chieftain," said he, "with regard to the disagreement between me and Ynywl, I will gladly abide by thy counsel, and agree to what thou mayest judge right between us." {22} "I but ask thee," said Geraint, "to restore to him what is his, and what he should have received from the time he lost his possessions, even until this day." "That will I do gladly, for thee," answered he. "Then," said Geraint, "whosoever is here who owes homage to Ynywl, let him come forward, and perform it on the spot." And all the men did so. And by that treaty they abided. And his castle, and his town, and all his possessions, were restored to Ynywl. And he received back all that he had lost, even to the smallest jewel. Then spoke Earl Ynywl to Geraint. "Chieftain," said he "behold the maiden for whom thou didst challenge at the tournament, I bestow her upon thee." "She shall go with me," said Geraint, "to the Court of Arthur; and Arthur and Gwenhwyvar, they shall dispose of her as they will." And the next day they proceeded to Arthur's Court. So far concerning Geraint. * * * * * Now, this is how Arthur hunted the stag. The men and the dogs were divided into hunting parties, and the dogs were let loose upon the stag. And the last dog that was let loose was the favourite dog of Arthur. Cavall was his name. And he left all the other dogs behind him, and turned the stag. And at the second turn, the stag came towards the hunting party of Arthur. And Arthur set upon him. And before he could be slain by any other, Arthur cut off his head. Then they sounded the death horn for slaying, and they all gathered round. Then came Kadyrieith to Arthur, and spoke to him. "Lord," said he, "behold yonder is Gwenhwyvar, and none with her save only one maiden." "Command Gildas the son of Caw, and all the scholars of the Court," said Arthur, "to attend Gwenhwyvar to the palace." And they did so. Then they all set forth, holding converse together concerning the head of the stag, to whom it should be given. One wished that it should be given to the lady best beloved by him, and another to the lady whom he loved best. And all they of the household and the knights disputed sharply concerning the head. And with that they came to the palace. And when Arthur and Gwenhwyvar heard them disputing about the head of the stag, Gwenhwyvar said to Arthur, "My lord, this is my counsel concerning the stag's head; let it not be given away until Geraint the son of Erbin shall return from the errand he is upon." And Gwenhwyvar told Arthur what that errand was. "Right gladly shall it be so," said Arthur. And thus it was settled. And the next day Gwenhwyvar caused a watch to be set upon the ramparts for Geraint's coming. And after mid-day they beheld an unshapely little man upon a horse, and after him, as they supposed, a dame or a damsel, also on horseback, and after her a knight of large stature, bowed down, and hanging his head low and sorrowfully, and clad in broken and worthless armour. And before they came near to the gate, one of the watch went to Gwenhwyvar, and told her what kind of people they saw, and what aspect they bore. "I know not who they are," said he. "But I know," said Gwenhwyvar, "this is the knight whom Geraint pursued, and methinks that he comes not here by his own free will. But Geraint has overtaken him, and avenged the insult to the maiden to the uttermost." And thereupon, behold a porter came to the spot where Gwenhwyvar was. "Lady," said he, "at the gate there is a knight, and I saw never a man of so pitiful an aspect to look upon as he. Miserable and broken is the armour that he wears, and the hue of blood is more conspicuous upon it than its own colour." "Knowest thou his name?" said she. "I do," said he, "he tells me that he is Edeyrn the son of Nudd." Then she replied, "I know him not." So Gwenhwyvar went to the gate to meet him, and he entered. And Gwenhwyvar was sorry when she saw the condition he was in, even though he was accompanied by the churlish dwarf. Then Edeyrn saluted Gwenhwyvar. "Heaven protect thee," said she. "Lady," said he, "Geraint the son of Erbin, thy best and most valiant servant, greets thee." "Did he meet with thee?" she asked. "Yes," said he, "and it was not to my advantage; and that was not his fault, but mine, Lady. And Geraint greets thee well; and in greeting thee he compelled me to come hither to do thy pleasure for the insult which thy maiden received from the dwarf. He forgives the insult to himself, in consideration of his having put me in peril of my life. And he imposed on me a condition, manly, and honourable, and warrior-like, which was to do thee justice, Lady." "Now, where did he overtake thee?" "At the place where we were jousting, and contending for the Sparrow-Hawk, in the town which is now called Cardiff. And there were none with him, save three persons, of a mean and tattered condition. And these were an aged, hoary-headed man and a woman advanced in years, and a fair young maiden, clad in worn-out garments. And it was for the avouchment of the love of that maiden that Geraint jousted for the Sparrow-Hawk at the tournament; for he said that that maiden was better entitled to the Sparrow-Hawk than this maiden who was with me. And thereupon we encountered each other, and he left me, Lady, as thou seest." "Sir," said she, "when thinkest thou that Geraint will be here?" "To-morrow, Lady, I think he will be here with the maiden." Then Arthur came to him, and he saluted Arthur, and Arthur gazed a long time upon him, and was amazed to see him thus. And thinking that he knew him, he enquired of him, "Art thou Edeyrn the son of Nudd?" "I am, Lord," said he, "and I have met with much trouble, and received wounds unsupportable." Then he told Arthur all his adventure. "Well," said Arthur, "from what I hear, it behoves Gwenhwyvar to be merciful towards thee." "The mercy which thou desirest, Lord," said she, "will I grant to him, since it is as insulting to thee that an insult should be offered to me as to thyself." "Thus will it be best to do," said Arthur, "let this man have medical care until it be known whether he may live. And if he live, he shall do such satisfaction as shall be judged best by the men of the Court; and take thou sureties to that effect. And it he die, too much will be the death of such a youth as Edeyrn for an insult to a maiden." "This pleases me," said Gwenhwyvar. And Arthur became surety for Edeyrn, and Caradawc the son of Llyr, Gwallawg the son of Llenawg, and Owain the son of Nudd, and Gwalchmai, and many others with them. And Arthur caused Morgan Tud to be called to him. He was the chief physician. "Take with thee Edeyrn the son of Nudd, and cause a chamber to be prepared for him, and let him have the aid of medicine as thou wouldest do unto myself if I were wounded, and let none into his chamber to molest him, but thyself and thy disciples, to administer to him remedies." "I will do so, gladly, Lord," said Morgan Tud. Then said the steward of the household, "Whither is it right, Lord, to order the maiden?" "To Gwenhwyvar and her and maidens," said he. And the Steward of the Household so ordered her. Thus far concerning them. * * * * * The next day came Geraint towards the Court, and there was a watch set on the ramparts by Gwenhwyvar, lest he should arrive unawares. And one of the watch came to the place where Gwenhwyvar was. "Lady," said he, "methinks that I see Geraint, and the maiden with him. He is on horseback, but he has his walking gear upon him, and the maiden appears to be in white, seeming to be clad in a garment of linen." "Assemble all the women," said Gwenhwyvar, "and come to meet Geraint, to welcome him, and wish him joy." And Gwenhwyvar went to meet Geraint and the maiden. And when Geraint came to the place where Gwenhwyvar was, he saluted her. "Heaven prosper thee," said she, "and welcome to thee. And thy career has been successful, and fortunate, and resistless, and glorious. And Heaven reward thee, that thou hast so proudly caused me to have retribution." "Lady," said he, "I earnestly desired to obtain thee satisfaction according to thy will; and, behold, here is the maiden through whom thou hadst thy revenge." "Verily," said Gwenhwyvar, "the welcome of Heaven be unto her; and it is fitting that we should receive her joyfully." Then they went in, and dismounted. And Geraint came to where Arthur was, and saluted him. "Heaven protect thee," said Arthur, "and the welcome of Heaven be unto thee. And since {27} Edeyrn the son of Nudd has received his overthrow and wounds from thy hands, thou hadst had a prosperous career." "Not upon me be the blame," said Geraint, "it was through the arrogance of Edeyrn the son of Nudd himself that we were not friends. I would not quit him until I knew who he was, and until the one had vanquished the other." "Now," said Arthur, "where is the maiden for whom I heard thou didst give challenge?" "She is gone with Gwenhwyvar to her chamber." Then went Arthur to see the maiden. And Arthur, and all his companions, and his whole Court, were glad concerning the maiden. And certain were they all, that had her array been suitable to her beauty, they had never seen a maid fairer than she. And Arthur gave away the maiden to Geraint. And the usual bond made between two persons was made between Geraint and the maiden, and the choicest of all Gwenhwyvar's apparel was given to the maiden; and thus arrayed, she appeared comely and graceful to all who beheld her. And that day and that night were spent in abundance of minstrelsy, and ample gifts of liquor, and a multitude of games. And when it was time for them to go to sleep, they went. And in the chamber where the couch of Arthur and Gwenhwyvar was, the couch of Geraint and Enid was prepared. And from that time she became his bride. And the next day Arthur satisfied all the claimants upon Geraint with bountiful gifts. And the maiden took up her abode in the palace, and she had many companions, both men and women, and there was no maiden more esteemed than she in the Island of Britain. Then spake Gwenhwyvar. "Rightly did I judge," said she, "concerning the head of the stag, that it should not be given to any until Geraint's return; and, behold, here is a fit occasion for bestowing it. Let it be given to Enid, the daughter of Ynywl, the most illustrious maiden. And I do not believe that any will begrudge it her, for between her and every one here there exists nothing but love and friendship." Much applauded was this by them all, and by Arthur also. And the head of the stag was given to Enid. And thereupon her fame increased, and her friends thenceforward became more in number than before. And Geraint from that time forth loved the stag, and the tournament, and hard encounters; and he came victorious from them all. And a year, and a second, and a third, he proceeded thus, until his fame had flown over the face of the kingdom. And once upon a time, Arthur was holding his Court at Caerlleon upon Usk, at Whitsuntide. And, behold, there came to him ambassadors, wise and prudent, full of knowledge, and eloquent of speech, and they saluted Arthur. "Heaven prosper you," said Arthur, "and the welcome of Heaven be unto you. And whence do you come?" "We come, Lord," said they, "from Cornwall; and we are ambassadors from Erbin the son of Custennin, thy uncle, and our mission is unto thee. And he greets thee well, as an uncle should greet his nephew, and as a vassal should greet his lord. And he represents unto thee that he waxes heavy and feeble, and is advancing in years. And the neighbouring chiefs knowing this, grow insolent towards him, and covet his land and possessions. And he earnestly beseeches thee, Lord, to permit Geraint his son to return to him, to protect his possessions, and to become acquainted with his boundaries. And unto him he represents that it were better for him to spend the flower of his youth, and the prime of his age, in preserving his own boundaries, than in tournaments, which are productive of no profit, although he obtains glory in them." "Well," said Arthur, "go, and divest yourselves of your accoutrements, and take food, and refresh yourselves after your fatigues; and before you go forth hence you shall have an answer." And they went to eat. And Arthur considered that it would go hard with him to let Geraint depart from him and from his Court; neither did he think it fair that his cousin should be restrained from going to protect his dominions and his boundaries, seeing that his father was unable to do so. No less was the grief and regret of Gwenhwyvar, and all her women, and all her damsels, through fear that the maiden would leave them. And that day and that night were spent in abundance of feasting. And Arthur showed Geraint the cause of the mission, and of the coming of the ambassadors to him out of Cornwall. "Truly," said Geraint, "be it to my advantage or disadvantage, Lord, I will do according to thy will concerning this embassy." "Behold," said Arthur, "though it grieves me to part with thee, it is my counsel that thou go to dwell in thine own dominions, and to defend thy boundaries, and to take with thee to accompany thee as many as thou wilt of those thou lovest best among my faithful ones, and among thy friends, and among thy companions in arms." "Heaven reward thee; and this will I do," said Geraint. "What discourse," said Gwenhwyvar, "do I hear between you? Is it of those who are to conduct Geraint to his country?" "It is," said Arthur. "Then is it needful for me to consider," said she, "concerning companions and a provision for the lady that is with me?" "Thou wilt do well," said Arthur. And that night they went to sleep. And the next day the ambassadors were permitted to depart, and they were told that Geraint should follow them. And on the third day Geraint set forth, and many went with him. Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, and Riogonedd the son of the king of Ireland, and Ondyaw the son of the duke of Burgandy, Gwilim the son of the ruler of the Franks, Howel the son of Emyr of Brittany, Elivry, and Nawkyrd, Gwynn the son of Tringad, Goreu the son of Custennin, Gweir Gwrhyd Vawr, Garannaw the son of Golithmer, Peredur the son of Evrawc, Gwynnllogell, Gwyr a judge in the Court of Arthur, Dyvyr the son of Alun of Dyved, Gwrei Gwalstawd Ieithoedd, Bedwyr the son of Bedrawd, Hadwry the son of Gwryon, Kai the son of Kynyr, Odyar the Frank, the Steward of Arthur's Court, and Edeyrn the son of Nudd. Said Geraint, "I think that I shall have enough of knighthood with me." "Yes," said Arthur, "but it will not be fitting for thee to take Edeyrn with thee, although he is well, until peace shall be made between him and Gwenhwyvar." "Gwenhwyvar can permit him to go with me, if he gives sureties." "If she please, she can let him go without sureties, for enough of pain and affliction has he suffered for the insult which the maiden received from the dwarf." "Truly," said Gwenhwyvar, "since it seems well to thee and to Geraint, I will do this gladly, Lord." Then she permitted Edeyrn freely to depart. And many there were who accompanied Geraint, and they set forth; and never was there seen a fairer host journeying towards the Severn. And on the other side of the Severn were the nobles of Erbin the son of Custennin, and his foster father at their head, to welcome Geraint with gladness; and many of the women of the Court, with his mother, came to receive Enid the daughter of Ynywl, his wife. And there was great rejoicing and gladness throughout the whole Court, and throughout all the country, concerning Geraint, because of the greatness of their love towards him, and of the greatness of the fame which he had gained since he went from amongst them, and because he was come to take possession of his dominions, and to preserve his boundaries. And they came to the Court. And in the Court they had ample entertainment, and a multitude of gifts, and abundance of liquor, and a sufficiency of service, and a variety of minstrelsy and of games. And to do honour to Geraint, all the chief men of the country were invited that night to visit him. And they passed that day and that night in the utmost enjoyment. And at dawn next day Erbin arose, and summoned to him Geraint, and the noble persons who had borne him company. And he said to Geraint, "I am a feeble and an aged man, and whilst I was able to maintain the dominion for thee and for myself, I did so. But thou art young, and in the flower of thy vigour and of thy youth: henceforth do thou preserve thy possessions." "Truly," said Geraint, "with my consent thou shalt not give the power over thy dominions at this time into my hands, and thou shall not take me from Arthur's Court." "Into thy hands will I give them," said Erbin, "and this day also shalt thou receive the homage of thy subjects." Then said Gwalchmai, "It were better for thee to satisfy those who have boons to ask, to-day, and to-morrow thou canst receive the homage of thy dominions." So all that had boons to ask were summoned into one place. And Kadyrieith came to them, to know what were their requests. And every one asked that which he desired. And the followers of Arthur began to make gifts and immediately the men of Cornwall came, and gave also. And they were not long in giving, so eager was every one to bestow gifts. And of those who came to ask gifts, none departed unsatisfied. And that day and that night were spent in the utmost enjoyment. And the next day, at dawn, Erbin desired Geraint to send messengers to the men, to ask them whether it was displeasing to them that he should come to receive their homage, and whether they had anything to object to him. Then Geraint sent ambassadors to the men of Cornwall, to ask them this. And they all said that it would be the fulness of joy and honour to them for Geraint to come and receive their homage. So he received the homage of such as were there. And they remained with him till the third night. And the day after the followers of Arthur intended to go away. "It is too soon for you to go away yet," said he, "stay with me until I have finished receiving the homage of my chief men, who have agreed to come to me." And they remained with him until he had done so. Then they set forth towards the Court of Arthur; and Geraint went to bear them company, and Enid also, as far as Diganhwy: there they parted. Then Ondyaw the son of the duke of Burgundy said to Geraint, "Go first of all, and visit the uttermost parts of thy dominions, and see well to the boundaries of thy territories; and if thou hast any trouble respecting them, send unto thy companions." "Heaven reward thee," said Geraint, "and this will I do." And Geraint journeyed to the uttermost part of his dominions. And experienced guides, and the chief men of his country, went with him. And the furthermost point that they showed him he kept possession of. And, as he had been used to do when he was at Arthur's Court, he frequented tournaments. And he became acquainted with valiant and mighty men, until he had gained as much fame there as he had formerly done elsewhere. And he enriched his Court, and his companions, and his nobles, with the best horses, and the best arms, and with the best and most valuable jewels, and he ceased not until his fame had flown over the face of the whole kingdom. And when he knew that it was thus, he began to love ease and pleasure, for there was no one who was worth his opposing. And he loved his wife, and liked to continue in the palace, with minstrelsy and diversions. And for a long time he abode at home. And after that he began to shut himself up in the chamber of his wife, and he took no delight in anything besides, insomuch that he gave up the friendship of his nobles, together with his hunting and his amusements, and lost the hearts of all the host in his Court; and there was murmuring and scoffing concerning him among the inhabitants of the palace, on account of his relinquishing so completely their companionship for the love of his wife. And these tidings came to Erbin. And when Erbin had heard these things, he spoke unto Enid, and enquired of her whether it was she that had caused Geraint to act thus, and to forsake his people and his hosts. "Not I, by my confession unto Heaven," said she; "there is nothing more hateful to me than this." And she knew not what she should do, for, although it was hard for her to own this to Geraint, yet was it not more easy for her to listen to what she heard without warning Geraint concerning it. And she was very sorrowful. And one morning in the summer time, they were upon their couch, and Geraint lay upon the edge of it. And Enid was without sleep in the apartment, which had windows of glass. And the sun shone upon the couch. And the clothes had slipped from off his arms and his breast, and he was asleep. Then she gazed upon the marvellous beauty of his appearance, and she said, "Alas, and am I the cause that these arms and this breast have lost their glory and the warlike fame which they once so richly enjoyed!" And as she said this, the tears dropped from her eyes, and they fell upon his breast. And the tears she shed, and the words she had spoken, awoke him; and another thing contributed to awaken him, and that was the idea that it was not in thinking of him that she spoke thus, but that it was because she loved some other man more than him, and that she wished for other society, and thereupon Geraint was troubled in his mind, and he called his squire; and when he came to him, "Go quickly," said he, "and prepare my horse and my arms, and make them ready. And do thou arise," said he to Enid, "and apparel thyself; and cause thy horse to be accoutred, and clothe thee in the worst riding dress that thou hast in thy possession. And evil betide me," said he, "if thou returnest here until thou knowest whether I have lost my strength so completely as thou didst say. And if it be so, it will then be easy for thee to seek the society thou didst wish for of him of whom thou wast thinking." So she arose, and clothed herself in her meanest garments. "I know nothing, Lord," said she, "of thy meaning." "Neither wilt thou know at this time," said he. Then Geraint went to see Erbin. "Sir," said he, "I am going upon a quest, and I am not certain when I may come back. Take heed, therefore, unto thy possessions, until my return." "I will do so," said he, "but it is strange to me that thou shouldst go so suddenly. And who will proceed with thee, since thou art not strong enough to traverse the land of Lloegyr alone." "But one person only will go with me." "Heaven counsel thee, my son," said Erbin, "and may many attach themselves to thee in Lloegyr." Then went Geraint to the place where his horse was, and it was equipped with foreign armour, heavy and shining. And he desired Enid to mount her horse, and to ride forward, and to keep a long way before him. "And whatever thou mayest see, and whatever thou mayest hear, concerning me," said he, "do thou not turn back. And unless I speak unto thee, say not thou one word either." And they set forward. And he did not choose the pleasantest and most frequented road, but that which was the wildest and most beset by thieves, and robbers, and venomous animals. And they came to a high road, which they followed till they saw a vast forest, and they went towards it, and they saw four armed horsemen come forth from the forest. When they had beheld them, one of them said to the other, "Behold, here is a good occasion for us to capture two horses and armour, and a lady likewise; for this we shall have no difficulty in doing against yonder single knight, who hangs his head so pensively and heavily." And Enid heard this discourse, and she knew not what she should do through fear of Geraint, who had told her to be silent. "The vengeance of Heaven be upon me," she said, "if I would not rather receive my death from his hand than from the hand of any other; and though he should slay me, yet will I speak to him, lest I should have the misery to witness his death." {36a} So she waited for Geraint until he came near to her. "Lord," said she, "didst thou hear the words of those men concerning thee?" Then he lifted up his eyes, and looked at her angrily. "Thou hadst only," said he, "to hold thy peace as I bade thee. I wish but for silence and not for warning. {36b} And though thou shouldst desire to see my defeat and my death by the hands of those men, yet do I feel no dread." Then the foremost of them couched his lance, and rushed upon Geraint. And he received him, and that not feebly. But he let the thrust go by him, while he struck the horseman upon the centre of his shield in such a manner, that his shield was split, and his armour broken, and so that a cubit's length of the shaft of Geraint's lance passed through his body, and sent him to the earth the length of the lance over his horse's crupper. Then the second horseman attacked him furiously, being wroth at the death of his companion. But with one thrust Geraint overthrew him also, and killed him as he had done the other. Then the third set upon him, and he killed him in like manner. And thus also he slew the fourth. Sad and sorrowful was the maiden as she saw all this. Geraint dismounted his horse, and took the arms of the men he had slain, and placed them upon their saddles, and tied together the reins of their horses, and he mounted his horse again. "Behold what thou must do," said he, "take the four horses, and drive them before thee, and proceed forward, as I bade thee just now. And say not one word unto me, unless I speak first unto thee. And I declare unto Heaven," said he, "if thou doest not thus, it will be to thy cost." "I will do, as far as I can, Lord," said she, "according to thy desire." Then they went forward through the forest; and when they left the forest, they came to a vast plain, in the centre of which was a group of thickly tangled copse-wood; and from out thereof they beheld three horsemen coming towards them, well equipped with armour, both they and their horses. Then the maiden looked steadfastly upon them; and when they had come near, she heard them say one to another, "Behold, here is a good arrival for us, here are coming for us four horses and four suits of armour. We shall easily obtain them spite of yonder dolorous knight, and the maiden also will fall into our power." "This is but too true," said she to herself, "for my husband is tired with his former combat. The vengeance of Heaven will be upon me, unless I warn him of this." So the maiden waited until Geraint came up to her. "Lord," said she, "dost thou not hear the discourse of yonder men concerning thee?" "What was it?" asked he. "They say to one another, that they will easily obtain all this spoil." "I declare to Heaven," he answered, "that their words are less grievous to me than that thou wilt not be silent, and abide by my counsel." "My Lord," said she, "I feared lest they should surprise thee unawares." "Hold thy peace then," said he, "do not I desire silence?" {38} And thereupon one of the horsemen couched his lance, and attacked Geraint. And he made a thrust at him, which he thought would be very effective; but Geraint received it carelessly, and struck it aside, and then he rushed upon him, and aimed at the centre of his person, and from the shock of man and horse, the quantity of his armour did not avail him, and the head of the lance and part of the shaft passed through him, so that he was carried to the ground an arm and a spear's length over the crupper of his horse. And both the other horsemen came forward in their turn, but their onset was not more successful than that of their companion. And the maiden stood by, looking at all this; and on the one hand she was in trouble lest Geraint should be wounded in his encounter with the men, and on the other hand she was joyful to see him victorious. Then Geraint dismounted, and bound the three suits of armour upon the three saddles, and he fastened the reins of all the horses together, so that he had seven horses with him. And he mounted his own horse, and commanded the maiden to drive forward the others. "It is no more use for me to speak to thee than to refrain, for thou wilt not attend to my advice." "I will do so, as far I am able, Lord," said she; "but I cannot conceal from thee the fierce and threatening words which I may hear against thee, Lord, from such strange people as those that haunt this wilderness." "I declare to Heaven," said he, "that I desire nought but silence; therefore, hold thy peace." {39} "I will, Lord, while I can." And the maiden went on with the horses before her, and she pursued her way straight onwards. And from the copse-wood already mentioned, they journeyed over a vast and dreary open plain. And at a great distance from them they beheld a wood, and they could see neither end nor boundary to the wood, except on that side that was nearest to them, and they went towards it. Then there came from out the wood five horsemen, eager, and bold, and mighty, and strong, mounted upon chargers that were powerful, and large of bone, and high-mettled, and proudly snorting, and both the men and the horses were well equipped with arms. And when they drew near to them, Enid heard them say, "Behold, here is a fine booty coming to us, which we shall obtain easily and without labour, for we shall have no trouble in taking all those horses and arms, and the lady also, from yonder single knight, so doleful and sad." Sorely grieved was the maiden upon hearing this discourse, so that she knew not in the world what she should do. At last, however, she determined to warn Geraint; so she turned her horse's head towards him. "Lord," said she, "if thou hadst heard as I did what yonder horsemen said concerning thee, thy heaviness would be greater than it is." Angrily and bitterly did Geraint smile upon her, and he said, "Thee do I hear doing everything that I forbade thee; but it may be that thou wilt repent this yet." And immediately, behold, the men met them, and victoriously and gallantly did Geraint overcome them all five. And he placed the five suits of armour upon the five saddles, and tied together the reins of the twelve horses, and gave them in charge to Enid. "I know not," said he, "what good it is for me to order thee; but this time I charge thee in an especial manner." So the maiden went forward towards the wood, keeping in advance of Geraint, as he had desired her; and it grieved him as much as his wrath would permit, to see a maiden so illustrious as she having so much trouble with the care of the horses. Then they reached the wood, and it was both deep and vast; and in the wood night overtook them. "Ah, maiden," said he, "it is vain to attempt proceeding forward!" "Well, Lord," said she, "whatsoever thou wishest, we will do." "It will be best for us," he answered, "to turn out of the wood, and to rest, and wait for the day, in order to pursue our journey." "That will we, gladly," said she. And they did so. Having dismounted himself, he took her down from her horse. "I cannot, by any means, refrain from sleep, through weariness," said he. "Do thou, therefore, watch the horses, and sleep not." "I will, Lord," said she. Then he went to sleep in his armour, and thus passed the night, which was not long at that season. And when she saw the dawn of day appear, she looked around her, to see if he were waking, and thereupon he woke. "My Lord," she said, "I have desired to awake thee for some time." But he spake nothing to her about fatigue, {40} as he had desired her to be silent. Then he arose, and said unto her, "Take the horses, and ride on; and keep straight on before thee as thou didst yesterday." And early in the day they left the wood, and they came to an open country, with meadows on one hand, and mowers mowing the meadows. And there was a river before them, and the horses bent down, and drank the water. And they went up out of the river by a lofty steep; and there they met a slender stripling, with a satchel about his neck, and they saw that there was something in the satchel, but they knew not what it was. And he had a small blue pitcher in his hand, and a bowl on the mouth of the pitcher. And the youth saluted Geraint. "Heaven prosper thee," said Geraint, "and whence dost thou come?" "I come," said he, "from the city that lies before thee. My Lord," he added, "will it be displeasing to thee, if I ask whence thou comest also?" "By no means--through yonder wood did I come." "Thou camest not through the wood to-day." "No," he replied, "we were in the wood last night." "I warrant," said the youth, "that thy condition there last night was not the most pleasant, and that thou hadst neither meat nor drink." "No, by my faith," said he. "Wilt thou follow my counsel," said the youth, "and take thy meal from me?" "What sort of meal?" he enquired. "The breakfast which is sent for yonder mowers, nothing less than bread and meat, and wine; and if thou wilt, Sir, they shall have none of it." "I will," said he, "and Heaven reward thee for it." So Geraint alighted, and the youth took the maiden from off her horse. Then they washed, and took their repast. And the youth cut the bread in slices, and gave them drink, and served them withal. And when they had finished, the youth arose, and said to Geraint, "My Lord, with thy permission I will now go and fetch some food for the mowers." "Go, first, to the town," said Geraint, "and take a lodging for me in the best place that thou knowest, and the most commodious one for the horses, and take thou whichever horse and arms thou choosest in payment for thy service and thy gift." "Heaven reward thee, Lord," said the youth, "and this would be ample to repay services much greater than those I rendered unto thee." And to the town went the youth, and he took the best and the most pleasant lodgings that he knew; and after that he went to the palace, having the horse and armour with him, and proceeded to the place where the Earl was, and told him all his adventure. "I go now, Lord," said he, "to meet the young man, and to conduct him to his lodging." "Go gladly," said the Earl, "and right joyfully shall he be received here, if he so come." And the youth went to meet Geraint, and told him that he would be received gladly by the Earl in his own palace; but he would go only to his lodgings. And he had a goodly chamber, in which was plenty of straw, and draperies, and a spacious and commodious place he had for the horses, and the youth prepared for them plenty of provender. And after they had disarrayed themselves, Geraint spoke thus to Enid: "Go," said he, "to the other side of the chamber, and come not to this side of the house; and thou mayest call to thee the woman of the house, if thou wilt." "I will do, Lord," said she, "as thou sayest." And thereupon the man of the house came to Geraint, and welcomed him. "Oh, chieftain," he said, "hast thou taken thy meal?" "I have," said he. Then the youth spoke to him, and enquired if he would not drink something before he met the Earl. "Truly, I will," said he. So the youth went into the town, and brought them drink. And they drank. "I must needs sleep," said Geraint. "Well," said the youth, "and whilst thou sleepest, I will go to see the Earl." "Go, gladly," he said, "and come here again when I require thee." And Geraint went to sleep, and so did Enid also. And the youth came to the place where the Earl was, and the Earl asked him where the lodgings of the knight were, and he told him. "I must go," said the youth, "to wait on him in the evening." "Go," answered the Earl, "and greet him well from me, and tell him that in the evening I will go to see him." "This will I do," said the youth. So he came when it was time for them to awake. And they arose, and went forth. And when it was time for them to take their food they took it. And the youth served them. And Geraint enquired of the man of the house, whether there were any of his companions that he wished to invite to him, and he said that there were. "Bring them hither, and entertain them at my cost with the best thou canst buy in the town." And the man of the house brought there those whom he chose, and feasted them at Geraint's expense. Thereupon, behold, the Earl came to visit Geraint, and his twelve honourable knights with him. And Geraint rose up, and welcomed him. "Heaven preserve thee," said the Earl. Then they all sat down according to their precedence in honour. And the Earl conversed with Geraint and enquired of him the object of his journey. "I have none," he replied, "but to seek adventures, and to follow my own inclination." Then the Earl cast his eye upon Enid, and he looked at her steadfastly. And he thought he had never seen a maiden fairer or more comely than she. And he set all his thoughts and his affections upon her. Then he asked of Geraint, "Have I thy permission to go and converse with yonder maiden, for I see that she is apart from thee?" "Thou hast it, gladly," said he. So the Earl went to the place where the maiden was, and spake with her. "Ah, maiden," said he, "it cannot be pleasant to thee to journey thus with yonder man!" "It is not unpleasant to me," said she, "to journey the same road that he journeys." "Thou hast neither youths nor maidens to serve thee," said he. "Truly," she replied, "it is more pleasant for me to follow yonder man than to be served by youths and maidens." "I will give thee good counsel," said he. "All my Earldom will I place in thy possession, if thou wilt dwell with me." "That will I not, by Heaven," she said, "yonder man was the first to whom my faith was ever pledged; and shall I prove inconstant to him?" "Thou art in the wrong," said the Earl; "if I slay the man yonder, I can keep thee with me as long as I choose; and when thou no longer pleasest me, I can turn thee away. But if thou goest with me by thy own good will, I protest that our union shall continue eternal and undivided as long as I remain alive." Then she pondered these words of his, and she considered that it was advisable to encourage him in his request. "Behold, then, chieftain, this is most expedient for thee to do to save me any needless imputation; come here to-morrow, and take me away as though I knew nothing thereof." "I will do so," said he. So he arose, and took his leave, and went forth with his attendants. And she told not then to Geraint any of the conversation which she had had with the Earl, lest it should rouse his anger, and cause him uneasiness and care. And at the usual hour they went to sleep. And at the beginning of the night Enid slept a little; and at midnight she arose, and placed all Geraint's armour together, so that it might be ready to put on. And although fearful of her errand, she came to the side of Geraint's bed; and she spoke to him softly and gently, saying, "My Lord, arise, and clothe thyself, for these were the words of the Earl to me, and his intention concerning me." So she told Geraint all that had passed. And although he was wroth with her, he took warning, and clothed himself. And she lighted a candle, that he might have light to do so. "Leave there the candle," said he, "and desire the man of the house to come here." Then she went, and the man of the house came to him. "Dost thou know how much I owe thee?" asked Geraint. "I think thou owest but little." "Take the eleven horses and the eleven suits of armour." "Heaven reward thee, Lord," said he, "but I spent not the value of one suit of armour upon thee." "For that reason," said he, "thou wilt be the richer. And now wilt thou come to guide me out of the town?" "I will, gladly," said he, "and in which direction dost thou intend to go?" "I wish to leave the town by a different way from that by which I entered it." So the man of the lodgings accompanied him as far as he desired. Then he bade the maiden to go on before him; and she did so, and went straight forward, and his host returned home. And he had only just reached his house, when, behold, the greatest tumult approached that was ever heard. And when he looked out he saw fourscore knights in complete armour around the house, with the Earl Dwrm at their head. "Where is the knight that was here?" said the Earl. "By thy hand," said he, "he went hence some time ago." "Wherefore, villain," said he, "didst thou let him go without informing me?" "My Lord, thou didst not command me to do so, else would I not have allowed him to depart." "What way dost thou think that he took?" "I know not, except that he went along the high road." And they turned their horses' heads that way, and seeing the tracks of the horses upon the high road, they followed. And when the maiden beheld the dawning of the day, she looked behind her, and saw vast clouds of dust coming nearer and nearer to her. And thereupon she became uneasy, and she thought that it was the Earl and his host coming after them. And thereupon she beheld a knight appearing through the mist. "By my faith," said she, "though he should slay me, it were better for me to receive my death at his hands, than to see him killed without warning him." "My Lord," she said to him, "seest thou yonder man hastening after thee, and many others with him?" "I do see him," said he, "and in despite of all my orders, I see that thou wilt never keep silence." Then he turned upon the knight, and with the first thrust he threw him down under his horse's feet. And as long as there remained one of the fourscore knights, he overthrew every one of them at the first onset. And from the weakest to the strongest, they all attacked him one after the other, except the Earl: and last of all the Earl came against him also. And he broke his lance, and then he broke a second. But Geraint turned upon him, and struck him with his lance upon the centre of his shield, so that by that single thrust the shield was split, and all his armour broken, and he himself was brought over his horse's crupper to the ground, and was in peril of his life. And Geraint drew near to him; and at the noise of the trampling of his horse the Earl revived. "Mercy, Lord," said he to Geraint. And Geraint granted him mercy. But through the hardness of the ground where they had fallen, and the violence of the stroke which they had received, there was not a single knight amongst them that escaped without receiving a fall, mortally severe, and grievously painful, and desperately wounding, from the hand of Geraint. {Picture: p48.jpg} And Geraint journeyed along the high road that was before him, and the maiden went on first; and near them they beheld a valley which was the fairest ever seen, and which had a large river running through it; and there was a bridge over the river, and the high road led to the bridge. And above the bridge, upon the opposite side of the river, they beheld a fortified town, the fairest ever seen. And as they approached the bridge, Geraint saw coming towards him from a thick copse a man mounted upon a large and lofty steed, even of pace and spirited though tractable. "Ah, knight," said Geraint, "whence comest thou?" "I come," said he "from the valley below us." "Canst thou tell me," said Geraint, "who is the owner of this fair valley and yonder walled town?" "I will tell thee, willingly," said he, "Gwiffert Petit he is called by the Franks, but the Welsh call him the Little King." "Can I go by yonder bridge," said Geraint, "and by the lower highway that is beneath the town?" Said the knight, "Thou canst not go by his tower {47a} on the other side of the bridge, unless thou dost intend to combat him; because it is his custom to encounter every knight that comes upon his lands." "I declare to Heaven," said Geraint, "that I will, nevertheless, pursue my journey that way." {47b} "If thou dost so," said the knight, "thou wilt probably meet with shame and disgrace in reward for thy daring." {48a} Then Geraint proceeded along the road that led to the town, and the road brought him to a ground that was hard, and rugged, and high, and ridgy. {48b} And as he journeyed thus, he beheld a knight following him upon a war-horse, strong, and large, and proudly-stepping, and wide-hoofed, and broad-chested. And he never saw a man of smaller stature than he who was upon the horse. And both he and his horse were completely armed. When he had overtaken Geraint he said to him, "Tell me, chieftain, whether it is through ignorance or through presumption that thou seekest to insult my dignity, and to infringe my rules?" "Nay," answered Geraint, "I knew not that this road was forbid to any." "Thou didst know it," said the other; "come with me to my Court, to do me satisfaction." "That will I not, by my faith," said Geraint; "I would not go even to thy Lord's Court, excepting Arthur were thy Lord." "By the hand of Arthur himself," said the knight, "I will have satisfaction of thee, or receive my overthrow at thy hands." And immediately they charged one another. And a squire of his came to serve him with lances as he broke them. And they gave each other such hard and severe strokes, that their shields lost all their colour. But it was very difficult for Geraint to fight with him on account of his small size, for he was hardly able to get a full aim at him with all the efforts he could make. {49} And they fought thus until their horses were brought down upon their knees; and at length Geraint threw the knight headlong to the ground; and then they fought on foot, and they gave one another blows so boldly fierce, so frequent, and so severely powerful, that their helmets were pierced, and their skullcaps were broken, and their arms were shattered, and the light of their eyes was darkened by sweat and blood. At the last Geraint became enraged, and he called to him all his strength; and boldly angry, and swiftly resolute, and furiously determined, he lifted up his sword, and struck him on the crown of his head a blow so mortally painful, so violent, so fierce, and so penetrating, that it cut through all his head armour, and his skin, and his flesh, until it wounded the very bone, and the sword flew out of the hand of the Little King to the furthest end of the plain, and he besought Geraint that he would have mercy and compassion upon him. "Though thou hast been neither courteous nor just," said Geraint, "thou shalt have mercy, upon condition that thou wilt become my ally, and engage never to fight against me again, but to come to my assistance whenever thou hearest of my being in trouble." "This will I do, gladly, Lord," said he. So he pledged him his faith thereof. "And now, Lord, come with me," said he, "to my Court yonder, to recover from thy weariness and fatigue." "That will I not, by Heaven," said he. Then Gwiffert Petit beheld Enid where she stood, and it grieved him to see one of her noble mien appear so deeply afflicted. And he said to Geraint, "My Lord, thou doest wrong not to take repose, and refresh thyself awhile; for, if thou meetest with any difficulty in thy present condition, it will not be easy for thee to surmount it." But Geraint would do no other than proceed on his journey, and he mounted his horse in pain, and all covered with blood. And the maiden went on first, and they proceeded towards the wood which they saw before them. And the heat of the sun was very great, and through the blood and sweat, Geraint's armour cleaved to his flesh; and when they came into the wood, he stood under a tree, to avoid the sun's heat; and his wounds pained him more than they had done at the time when he received them. And the maiden stood under another tree. And, lo! they heard the sound of horns, and a tumultuous noise, and the occasion of it was, that Arthur and his company had come down to the wood. And while Geraint was considering which way he should go to avoid them, behold, he was espied by a foot page, who was an attendant on the Steward of the Household, and he went to the steward, and told him what kind of man he had seen in the wood. Then the steward caused his horse to be saddled, and he took his lance and his shield, and went to the place where Geraint was. "Ah, knight!" said he, "what dost thou here?" "I am standing under a shady tree, to avoid the heat and the rays of the sun." "Wherefore is thy journey, and who art thou?" "I seek adventures, and go where I list." "Indeed," said Kai, "then come with me to see Arthur, who is here hard by." "That will I not, by Heaven," said Geraint. "Thou must needs come," said Kai. Then Geraint knew who he was, but Kai did not know Geraint. And Kai attacked Geraint as best as he could. And Geraint became wroth, and he struck him with the shaft of his lance, so that he rolled headlong to the ground. But chastisement worse than this would he not inflict on him. Scared and wildly Kai arose, and he mounted his horse, and went back to his lodging. And thence he proceeded to Gwalchmai's tent. "Oh, Sir," said he to Gwalchmai, "I was told by one of the attendants, that he saw in the wood above a wounded knight, having on battered armour, and if thou dost right, thou wilt go and see if this be true." "I care not if I do so," said Gwalchmai. "Take, then, thy horse, and some of thy armour," said Kai, "for I hear that he is not over-courteous to those who approach him." So Gwalchmai took his spear and his shield, and mounted his horse, and came to the spot where Geraint was. "Sir Knight," said he, "wherefore is thy journey?" "I journey for my own pleasure, and to seek the adventures of the world." "Wilt thou tell me who thou art, or wilt thou come and visit Arthur, who is near at hand?" "I will make no alliance with thee, nor will I go and visit Arthur," said he. And he knew that it was Gwalchmai, but Gwalchmai knew him not. "I purpose not to leave thee," said Gwalchmai, "till I know who thou art." And he charged him with his lance, and struck him on his shield, so that the shaft was shivered into splinters, and their horses were front to front. Then Gwalchmai gazed fixedly upon him, and he knew him. "Ah, Geraint," said he, "is it thou that art here?" "I am not Geraint," said he. "Geraint thou art, by Heaven," he replied, "and a wretched and insane expedition is this." Then he looked around, and beheld Enid, and he welcomed her gladly. "Geraint," said Gwalchmai, "come thou, and see Arthur; he is thy lord and thy cousin." "I will not," said he, "for I am not in a fit state to go and see any one." Thereupon, behold, one of the pages came after Gwalchmai, to speak to him. So he sent him to apprise Arthur that Geraint was there wounded, and that he would not go to visit him, and that it was pitiable to see the plight that he was in. And this he did without Geraint's knowledge, inasmuch as he spoke in a whisper to the page. "Entreat Arthur," said he, "to have his tent brought near to the road, for he will not meet him willingly, and it is not easy to compel him in the mood he is in." So the page came to Arthur, and told him this. And he caused his tent to be removed unto the side of the road. And the maiden rejoiced in her heart. And Gwalchmai led Geraint onwards along the road, till they came to the place where Arthur was encamped, and the pages were pitching his tent by the road-side. "Lord," said Geraint, "all hail unto thee." "Heaven prosper thee; and who art thou?" said Arthur. "It is Geraint," said Gwalchmai, "and of his own free will would he not come to meet thee." "Verily," said Arthur, "he is bereft of his reason." Then came Enid, and saluted Arthur. "Heaven protect thee," said he. And thereupon he caused one of the pages to take her from her horse. "Alas! Enid," said Arthur, "what expedition is this?" "I know not, Lord," said she, "save that it behoves me to journey by the same road that he journeys." "My Lord," said Geraint, "with thy permission we will depart." "Whither wilt thou go?" said Arthur. "Thou canst not proceed now, unless it be unto thy death." {53} "He will not suffer himself to be invited by me," said Gwalchmai. "But by me he will," said Arthur; "and, moreover, he does not go from here until he is healed." "I had rather, Lord," said Geraint, "that thou wouldest let me go forth." "That will I not, I declare to Heaven," said he. Then he caused a maiden to be sent for to conduct Enid to the tent where Gwenhwyvar's chamber was. And Gwenhwyvar and all her women were joyful at her coming, and they took off her riding dress, and placed other garments upon her. Arthur also called Kadyrieith, and ordered him to pitch a tent for Geraint, and the physicians, and he enjoined him to provide him with abundance of all that might be requisite for him. And Kadyrieith did as he had commanded him. And Morgan Tud and his disciples were brought to Geraint. And Arthur and his hosts remained there nearly a month, whilst Geraint was being healed. And when he was fully recovered, Geraint came to Arthur, and asked his permission to depart. "I know not if thou art quite well." "In truth I am, Lord," said Geraint. "I shall not believe thee concerning that, but the physicians that were with thee." So Arthur caused the physicians to be summoned to him, and asked them if it were true. "It is true, Lord," said Morgan Tud. So the next day Arthur permitted him to go forth, and he pursued his journey. And on the same day Arthur removed thence. And Geraint desired Enid to go on, and to keep before him, as she had formerly done. And she went forward along the high road. And as they journeyed thus, they heard an exceeding loud wailing near to them. "Stay thou here," said he, "and I will go and see what is the cause of this wailing." "I will," said she. Then he went forward into an open glade that was near the road. And in the glade he saw two horses, one having a man's saddle, and the other a woman's saddle upon it. And, behold, there was a knight lying dead in his armour, and a young damsel in a riding dress standing over him, lamenting. "Ah! Lady," said Geraint, "what hath befallen thee?" "Behold," she answered, "I journeyed here with my beloved husband, when, lo! three giants came upon us, and without any cause in the world, they slew him." "Which way went they hence?" said Geraint. "Yonder by the high road," she replied. So he returned to Enid. "Go," said he, "to the lady that is below yonder, and await me there till I come." She was sad when he ordered her to do thus, but nevertheless she went to the damsel, whom it was ruth to hear, and she felt certain that Geraint would never return. Meanwhile Geraint followed the giants, and overtook them. And each of them was greater of stature than three other men, and a huge club was on the shoulder of each. Then he rushed upon one of them, and thrust his lance through his body. And having drawn it forth again, he pierced another of them through likewise. But the third turned upon him, and struck him with his club, so that he split his shield, and crushed his shoulder, and opened his wounds anew, and all his blood began to flow from him. But Geraint drew his sword, and attacked the giant, and gave him a blow on the crown of his head so severe, and fierce, and violent, that his head and his neck were split down to his shoulders, and he fell dead. So Geraint left him thus, and returned to Enid. And when he saw her, he fell down lifeless from his horse. Piercing, and loud, and thrilling was the cry that Enid uttered. And she came and stood over him where he had fallen. And at the sound of her cries came the Earl of Limours, and the host that journeyed with him, whom her lamentations brought out of their road. And the Earl said to Enid, "Alas, Lady, what hath befallen thee?" "Ah! good Sir," said she, "the only man I have loved, or ever shall love, is slain." Then he said to the other, "And what is the cause of thy grief?" "They have slain my beloved husband also," said she. "And who was it that slew them?" "Some giants," she answered, "slew my best beloved, and the other knight went in pursuit of them, and came back in the state thou seest, his blood flowing excessively; but it appears to me that he did not leave the giants without killing some of them, if not all." The Earl caused the knight that was dead to be buried, but he thought that there still remained some life in Geraint; and to see if he yet would live, he had him carried with him in the hollow of his shield, and upon a bier. And the two damsels went to the court; and when they arrived there, Geraint was placed upon a litter-couch in front of the table that was in the hall. Then they all took off their travelling gear, and the Earl besought Enid to do the same, and to clothe herself in other garments. "I will not, by Heaven," said she. "Ah! Lady," said he, "be not so sorrowful for this matter." "It were hard to persuade me to be otherwise," said she. "I will act towards thee in such wise, that thou needest not be sorrowful, whether yonder knight live or die. Behold, a good Earldom, together with myself, will I bestow on thee; be, therefore, happy and joyful." "I declare to Heaven," said she, "that henceforth I shall never be joyful while I live." "Come, then," said he, "and eat." "No, by Heaven, I will not," she answered. "But by Heaven thou shalt," said he. So he took her with him to the table against her will, and many times desired her to eat. "I call Heaven to witness," said she, "that I will not eat until the man that is upon yonder bier shall eat likewise." "Thou canst not fulfil that," said the Earl, "yonder man is dead already." "I will prove that I can," said she. Then he offered her a goblet of liquor. "Drink this goblet," he said, "and it will cause thee to change thy mind." "Evil betide me," she answered, "if I drink aught until he drink also." "Truly," said the Earl, "it is of no more avail for me to be gentle with thee than ungentle." And he gave her a box in the ear. Thereupon she raised a loud and piercing shriek, and her lamentations were much greater than they had been before, for she considered in her mind that had Geraint been alive, he durst not have struck her thus. But, behold, at the sound of her cry Geraint revived from his swoon, and he sat up on the bier, and finding his sword in the hollow of his shield, he rushed to the place where the Earl was, and struck him a fiercely-wounding, severely-venomous, and sternly-smiting blow upon the crown of his head, so that he clove him in twain, until his sword was stayed by the table. Then all left the board and fled away. And this was not so much through fear of the living as through the dread they felt at seeing the dead man rise up to slay them. And Geraint looked upon Enid, and he was grieved for two causes; one was, to see that Enid had lost her colour and her wonted aspect; and the other, to know that she was in the right. "Lady," said he, "knowest thou where our horses are?" "I know, Lord, where thy horse is," she replied, "but I know not where is the other. Thy horse is in the house yonder." So he went to the house, and brought forth his horse, and mounted him, and took up Enid from the ground, and placed her upon the horse with him. And he rode forward. And their road lay between two hedges. And the night was gaining on the day. And, lo! they saw behind them the shafts of spears betwixt them and the sky, and they heard the trampling of horses, and the noise of a host approaching. "I hear something following us," said he, "and I will put thee on the other side of the hedge." And thus he did. And thereupon, behold, a knight pricked towards him, and couched his lance. When Enid saw this, she cried out, saying, "Oh! chieftain, whoever thou art, what renown wilt thou gain by slaying a dead man?" "Oh! Heaven," said he, "is it Geraint?" "Yes, in truth," said she. "And who art thou?" "I am the Little King," he answered, "coming to thy assistance, for I heard that thou wast in trouble. And if thou hadst followed my advice, none of these hardships would have befallen thee." "Nothing can happen," said Geraint, "without the will of Heaven, though much good results from counsel." "Yes," said the Little King, "and I know good counsel for thee now. Come with me to the court of a son-in- law of my sister, which is near here, and thou shalt have the best medical assistance in the kingdom." "I will do so, gladly," said Geraint. And Enid was placed upon the horse of one of the Little King's squires, and they went forward to the Baron's palace. And they were received there with gladness, and they met with hospitality and attention. And the next morning they went to seek physicians; and it was not long before they came, and they attended Geraint until he was perfectly well. And while Geraint was under medical care, the Little King caused his armour to be repaired, until it was as good as it had ever been. And they remained there a fortnight and a month. Then the Little King said to Geraint, "Now will we go towards my own Court, to take rest and amuse ourselves." "Not so," said Geraint, "we will first journey for one day more, and return again." "With all my heart," said the Little King, "do thou go then." And early in the day they set forth. And more gladly and more joyfully did Enid journey with them that day than she had ever done. And they came to the main road. And when they reached a place where the road divided in two, they beheld a man on foot coming towards them along one of these roads, and Gwiffert asked the man whence he came. "I come," said he, "from an errand in the country." "Tell me," said Geraint, "which is the best for me to follow of these two roads?" "That is the best for thee to follow," answered he, "for if thou goest by this one, thou wilt never return. Below us," said he, "there is a hedge of mist, and within it are enchanted games, and no one who has gone there has ever returned. And the Court of the Earl Owain is there, and he permits no one to go to lodge in the town except he will go to his Court." "I declare to Heaven," said Geraint, "that we will take the lower road." And they went along it until they came to the town. And they took the fairest and pleasantest place in the town for their lodging. And while they were thus, behold, a young man came to them, and greeted them. "Heaven be propitious to thee," said they. "Good Sirs," said he, "what preparations are you making here?" "We are taking up our lodging," said they, "to pass the night." "It is not the custom with him who owns the town," he answered, "to permit any of gentle birth, unless they come to stay in his Court, to abide here; therefore, come you to the Court." "We will come, gladly," said Geraint. And they went with the page, and they were joyfully received. And the Earl came to the hall to meet them, and he commanded the tables to be laid. And they washed, and sat down. And this is the order in which they sat, Geraint on one side of the Earl, and Enid on the other side, and next to Enid the Little King, and then the Countess next to Geraint, and all after that as became their rank. Then Geraint recollected the games, and thought that he should not go to them; and on that account he did not eat. Then the Earl looked upon Geraint, and considered, and he bethought him that his not eating was because of the games, and it grieved him that he had ever established those games, were it only on account of losing such a youth as Geraint. And if Geraint had asked him to abolish the games, he would gladly have done so. Then the Earl said to Geraint, "What thought occupies thy mind, that thou dost not eat? If thou hesitatest about going to the games, thou shall not go, and no other of thy rank shall ever go either." "Heaven reward thee," said Geraint, "but I wish nothing better than to go to the games, and to be shown the way thither." "If that is what thou dost prefer, thou shalt obtain it willingly." "I do prefer it, indeed," said he. Then they ate, and they were amply served, and they had a variety of gifts, and abundance of liquor. And when they had finished eating, they arose. And Geraint called for his horse and his armour, and he accoutred both himself and his horse. And all the hosts went forth until they came to the side of the hedge, and the hedge was so lofty, that it reached as high as they could see in the air, and upon every stake in the hedge, except two, there was the head of a man, and the number of stakes throughout the hedge was very great. Then said the Little King, "May no one go in with the chieftain?" "No one may," said Earl Owain. "Which way can I enter?" enquired Geraint. "I know not," said Owain, "but enter by the way that thou wilt, and that seemeth easiest to thee." Then fearlessly and unhesitatingly Geraint dashed forward into the mist. And on leaving the mist he came to a large orchard, and in the orchard he saw an open space, wherein was a tent of red satin, and the door of the tent was open, and an apple-tree stood in front of the door of the tent, and on a branch of the apple-tree hung a huge hunting horn. Then he dismounted, and went into the tent, and there was no one in the tent save one maiden sitting in a golden chair, and another chair was opposite to her, empty. And Geraint went to the empty chair, and sat down therein. "Ah! chieftain," said the maiden, "I would not counsel thee to sit in that chair." "Wherefore?" said Geraint. "The man to whom that chair belongs has never suffered another to sit in it." "I care not," said Geraint, "though it displease him that I sit in the chair." And thereupon they heard a mighty tumult around the tent. And Geraint looked to see what was the cause of the tumult. And he beheld without a knight mounted upon a war-horse, proudly-snorting, high-mettled, and large of bone, and a robe of honour in two parts was upon him and upon his horse, and beneath it was plenty of armour. "Tell me, chieftain," said he to Geraint, "who it was that bade thee sit there?" "Myself," answered he. "It was wrong of thee to do me this shame and disgrace. Arise, and do me satisfaction for thine insolence." Then Geraint arose, and they encountered immediately, and they broke a set of lances; and a second set; and a third; and they gave each other fierce and frequent strokes; and at last Geraint became enraged, and he urged on his horse, and rushed upon him, and gave him a thrust on the centre of his shield, so that it was split, and so that the head of his lance went through his armour, and his girths were broken, and he himself was borne headlong to the ground the length of Geraint's lance and arm, over his horse's crupper. "Oh, my Lord!" said he, "thy mercy, and thou shalt have what thou wilt." "I only desire," said Geraint, "that this game shall no longer exist here, nor the hedge of mist, nor magic, nor enchantment." "Thou shalt have this gladly, Lord," he replied. "Cause then the mist to disappear from this place," said Geraint. "Sound yonder horn," said he, "and when thou soundest it, the mist will vanish; but it will not go hence unless the horn be blown by the knight by whom I am vanquished." And sad and sorrowful was Enid where she remained, through anxiety concerning Geraint. Then Geraint went and sounded the horn. And at the first blast he gave, the mist vanished. And all the hosts came together, and they all became reconciled to each other. And the Earl invited Geraint and the Little King to stay with him that night. And the next morning they separated. And Geraint went towards his own dominions; and thenceforth he reigned prosperously, and his warlike fame and splendour lasted with renown and honour both to him and to Enid from that time forward. {Picture: p62.jpg} KILHWCH AND OLWEN OR THE TWRCH TRWYTH {Picture: p63.jpg} Kilydd, the son of Prince Kelyddon desired a wife as a helpmate, and the wife that he chose was Goleuddydd, the daughter of Prince Anlawdd. And after their union the people put up prayers that they might have an heir. And they had a son through the prayers of the people. From the time of her pregnancy Goleuddydd became wild, and wandered about, without habitation; but when her delivery was at hand, her reason came back to her. Then she went to a mountain where there was a swineherd, keeping a herd of swine. And through fear of the swine the queen was delivered. And the swineherd took the boy, and brought him to the palace; and he was christened, and they called him Kilhwch, because he had been found in a swine's burrow. Nevertheless the boy was of gentle lineage, and cousin unto Arthur; and they put him out to nurse. After this the boy's mother, Goleuddydd, the daughter of Prince Anlawdd, fell sick. Then she called her husband unto her, and said to him, "Of this sickness I shall die, and thou wilt take another wife. Now wives are the gift of the Lord, but it would be wrong for thee to harm thy son. Therefore I charge thee that thou take not a wife until thou see a briar with two blossoms upon my grave." And this he promised her. Then she besought him to dress her grave every year, that nothing might grow thereon. {64} So the queen died. Now the king sent an attendant every morning to see if anything were growing upon the grave. And at the end of the seventh year the master neglected that which he had promised to the queen. One day the king went to hunt, and he rode to the place of burial, to see the grave, and to know if it were time that he should take a wife; and the king saw the briar. And when he saw it, the king took counsel where he should find a wife. Said one of his counsellors, "I know a wife that will suit thee well, and she is the wife of King Doged." And they resolved to go to seek her; and they slew the king, and brought away his wife and one daughter that she had along with her. And they conquered the king's lands. On a certain day as the lady walked abroad, she came to the house of an old crone that dwelt in the town, and that had no tooth in her head. And the queen said to her, "Old woman, tell me that which I shall ask thee, for the love of Heaven. Where are the children of the man who has carried me away by violence?" Said the crone, "He has not children." Said the queen, "Woe is me, that I should have come to one who is childless!" Then said the hag, "Thou needest not lament on account of that, for there is a prediction that he shall have an heir by thee, and by none other. Moreover, be not sorrowful, for he has one son." The lady returned home with joy, and she asked her consort, "Wherefore hast thou concealed thy children from me?" The king said, "I will do so no longer." And he sent messengers for his son, and he was brought to the Court. His stepmother said unto him, "It were well for thee to have a wife, and I have a daughter who is sought of every man of renown in the world." "I am not yet of an age to wed," answered the youth. Then said she unto him, "I declare to thee, that it is thy destiny not to be suited with a wife until thou obtain Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr." And the youth blushed, and the love of the maiden diffused itself through all his frame, although he had never seen her. And his father enquired of him, "What has come over thee, my son, and what aileth thee?" "My stepmother has declared to me, that I shall never have a wife until I obtain Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr." "That will be easy for thee," answered his father. "Arthur is thy cousin. Go, therefore, unto Arthur, to cut thy hair, and ask this of him as a boon." {Picture: p66.jpg} And the youth pricked forth upon a steed with head dappled grey, of four winters old, firm of limb, with shell-formed hoofs, having a bridle of linked gold on his head, and upon him a saddle of costly gold. And in the youth's hand were two spears of silver, sharp, well-tempered, headed with steel, three ells in length, of an edge to wound the wind, and cause blood to flow, and swifter than the fall {66} of the dew-drop from the blade of reed grass upon the earth, when the dew of June is at the heaviest. A gold-hilted sword was upon his thigh, the blade of which was of gold, bearing a cross of inlaid gold of the hue of the lightning of heaven: his war-horn was of ivory. Before him were two brindled white- breasted greyhounds, having strong collars of rubies about their necks, reaching from the shoulder to the ear. And the one that was on the left side bounded across to the right side, and the one on the right to the left, and like two sea swallows sported around him. And his courser cast up four sods with his four hoofs, like four swallows in the air, about his head, now above, now below. About him was a four-cornered cloth of purple, and an apple of gold was at each corner; and every one of the apples was of the value of an hundred kine. And there was precious gold of the value of three hundred kine upon his shoes, and upon his stirrups, from his knee to the tip of his toe. And the blade of grass bent not beneath him, so light was his courser's tread as he journeyed towards the gate of Arthur's palace. Spoke the youth, "Is there a porter?" "There is; and if thou holdest not thy peace, small will be thy welcome. {67} I am Arthur's porter every first day of January. And during every other part of the year but this the office is filled by Huandaw, and Gogigwc, and Llaeskenym, and Pennpingyon, who goes upon his head to save his feet, neither towards the sky nor towards the earth, but like a rolling stone upon the floor of the Court." "Open the portal." "I will not open it." "Wherefore not?" "The knife is in the meat, and the drink is in the horn, and there is revelry in Arthur's hall, and none may enter therein but the son of a king of a privileged country, or a craftsman bringing his craft. But there will be refreshment for thy dogs, and for thy horses; and for thee there will be collops cooked and peppered, and luscious wine and mirthful songs, and food for fifty men shall be brought unto thee in the guest chamber, where the stranger and the sons of other countries eat, who come not unto the precincts of the Palace of Arthur. Thou wilt fare no worse there than thou wouldest with Arthur in the Court. A lady shall smooth thy couch, and shall lull thee with songs; and early to-morrow morning, when the gate is open for the multitude that came hither to-day, for thee shall it be opened first, and thou mayest sit in the place that thou shall choose in Arthur's Hall, from the upper end to the lower." Said the youth, "That will I not do. If thou openest the gate, it is well. If thou dost not open it, I will bring disgrace upon thy Lord, and evil report upon thee. And I will set up three shouts at this very gate, than which none were ever more deadly, from the top of Pengwaed in Cornwall to the bottom of Dinsol, in the North, and to Esgair Oervel, in Ireland. And all the women in this Palace that are pregnant shall lose their offspring; and such as are not pregnant, their hearts shall be turned by illness, so that they shall never bear children from this day forward." "What clamour soever thou mayest make," said Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr, "against the laws of Arthur's Palace, shalt thou not enter therein, until I first go and speak with Arthur." Then Glewlwyd went into the Hall. And Arthur said to him, "Hast thou news from the gate?"--"Half of my life is past, and half of thine. I was heretofore in Kaer Se and Asse, in Sach and Salach, in Lotor and Fotor; and I have been heretofore in India the Great and India the Lesser; and I was in the battle of Dau Ynyr, when the twelve hostages were brought from Llychlyn. And I have also been in Europe, and in Africa, and in the Islands of Corsica, and in Caer Brythwch, and Brythach, and Verthach; and I was present when formerly thou didst slay the family of Clis the son of Merin, and when thou didst slay Mil Du, the son of Ducum, and when thou didst conquer Greece in the East. And I have been in Caer Oeth and Annoeth, and in Caer Nevenhyr; nine supreme sovereigns, handsome men, saw we there, but never did I behold a man of equal dignity with him who is now at the door of the portal." Then said Arthur, "If walking thou didst enter in here, return thou running. And every one that beholds the light, and every one that opens and shuts the eye, let him show him respect, and serve him, some with gold-mounted drinking horns, others with collops cooked and peppered, until food and drink can be prepared for him. It is unbecoming to keep such a man as thou sayest he is in the wind and the rain." Said Kai, "By the hand of my friend, if thou wouldest follow my counsel, thou wouldest not break through the laws of the Court because of him." "Not so, blessed Kai, it is an honour to us to be resorted to, and the greater our courtesy, the greater will be our renown, and our fame, and our glory." And Glewlwyd came to the gate, and opened the gate before him; and although all dismounted upon the horse-block at the gate, yet did he not dismount, but he rode in upon his charger. Then said Kilhwch, "Greeting be unto thee, Sovereign Ruler of this Island; and be this greeting no less unto the lowest than unto the highest, and be it equally unto thy guests, and thy warriors, and thy chieftains--let all partake of it as completely as thyself. And complete be thy favour, and thy fame, and thy glory, throughout all this Island." "Greeting unto thee also," said Arthur, "sit thou between two of my warriors, and thou shalt have minstrels before thee, and thou shalt enjoy the privileges of a king born to a throne, as long as thou remainest here. And when I dispense my presents to the visitors and strangers in this Court, they shall be in thy hand at my commencing." Said the youth, "I came not here to consume meat and drink; but if I obtain the boon that I seek, I will requite it thee, and extol thee; and if I have it not, I will bear forth thy dispraise to the four quarters of the world, as far as thy renown has extended." Then said Arthur, "Since thou wilt not remain here, chieftain, thou shalt receive the boon whatsoever thy tongue may name, as far as the wind dries and the rain moistens, and the sun revolves, and the sea encircles, and the earth extends; save only my ship; and my mantle; and Caledvwlch, my sword, and Rhongomyant, my lance; and Wynebgwrthucher, my shield; and Carnwenhau, {70a} my dagger; and Gwenhwyvar, my wife. By the truth of Heaven, thou shalt have it cheerfully, name what thou wilt." "I would that thou bless {70b} my hair." "That shalt be granted thee." And Arthur took a golden comb, and scissors, whereof the loops were of silver, and he combed his hair. And Arthur enquired of him who he was. "For my heart warms unto thee, and I know that thou art come of my blood. Tell me, therefore, who thou art." "I will tell thee," said the youth, "I am Kilhwch, the son of Kilydd, the son of Prince Kelyddon, by Goleuddydd, my mother, the daughter of Prince Anlawdd." "That is true," said Arthur. "Thou art my cousin. Whatsoever boon thou mayest ask, thou shalt receive, be it what it may that thy tongue shall name." "Pledge the truth of Heaven and the faith of thy kingdom thereof." "I pledge it thee, gladly." "I crave of thee then, that thou obtain for me Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr, and this boon I likewise seek at the hands of thy warriors. I seek it from Kai, and Bedwyr, and Greidawl Galldonyd, {71a} and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl, and Greid the son of Eri, and Kynddelig Kyvarwydd, and Tathal Twyll Goleu, and Maelwys the son of Baeddan, and Crychwr {71b} the son of Nes, and Cubert the son of Daere, and Percos the son of Poch, and Lluber Beuthach, and Corvil Bervach, and Gwynn the son of Nudd, and Edeyrn the son of Nudd, and Gadwy {71c} the son of Geraint, and Prince Fflewddur Fflam, and Ruawn Pebyr the son of Dorath, and Bradwen the son of Moren Mynawc, and Moren Mynawc himself, and Dalldav the son of Kimin Cov, and the son of Alun Dyved, and the son of Saidi, and the son of Gwryon, and Uchtryd Ardywad Kad, and Kynwas Curvagyl, and Gwrhyr Gwarthegvras, and Isperyr Ewingath, and Gallcoyt Govynynat, and Duach, and Grathach, and Nerthach, the sons of Gwawrddur Kyrvach, (these men came forth from the confines of Hell), and Kilydd Canhastyr, and Canastyr Kanllaw, and Cors Cant-Ewin, and Esgeir Gulhwch Govynkawn, and Drustwrn Hayarn, and Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr, and Lloch Llawwynnyawc, and Aunwas {71d} Adeiniawc, and Sinnoch the son of Seithved, and Gwennwynwyn the son of Naw, and Bedyw the son of Seithved, and Gobrwy the son of Echel Vorddwyttwll, and Echel Vorddwyttwll himself, and Mael the son of Roycol, and Dadweir Dallpenn, and Garwyli the son of Gwythawc Gwyr, and Gwythawc Gwyr himself, and Gormant the son of Ricca, and Menw the son of Teirgwaedd, and Digon the son of Alar, and Selyf the son of Smoit, {71e} and Gusg the son of Atheu, and Nerth the son of Kedarn, and Drudwas the son of Tryffin, and Twrch the son of Perif, and Twrch the son of Annwas, and Iona king of France, and Sel the son of Selgi, and Teregud the son of Iaen, and Sulyen the son of Iaen, and Bradwen the son of Iaen, and Moren the son of Iaen, and Siawn the son of Iaen, and Cradawc the son of Iaen. (They were men of Caerdathal, of Arthur's kindred on his father's side.) Dirmyg the son of Kaw, and Justic the son of Kaw, and Etmic the son of Kaw, and Anghawd the son of Kaw, and Ovan the son of Kaw, and Kelin the son of Kaw, and Connyn the son of Kaw, and Mabsant the son of Kaw, and Gwyngad the son of Kaw, and Llwybyr the son of Kaw, and Coth the son of Kaw, and Meilic the son of Kaw, and Kynwas the son of Kaw, and Ardwyad the son of Kaw, and Ergyryad the son of Kaw, and Neb the son of Kaw, and Gilda the son of Kaw, and Calcas the son of Kaw, and Hueil the son of Kaw, (he never yet made a request at the hand of any Lord). And Samson Vinsych, and Taliesin the chief of the bards, and Mamawyddan the son of Llyr, and Llary the son of Prince Kasnar, and Ysperni {72a} the son of Fflergant king of Armorica, and Saranhon the son of Glythwyr, and Llawr Eilerw, and Annyanniawc the son of Menw the son of Teirgwaedd, and Gwynn the son of Nwyvre, and Fflam the son of Nwyvre, and Geraint the son of Erbin, and Ermid {72b} the son of Erbin, and Dyvel the son of Erbin, and Gwynn the son of Ermid, and Kyndrwyn the son of Ermid, and Hyveidd Unllenn, and Eiddon Vawr Vrydic, and Reidwn Arwy, and Gormant the son of Ricca (Arthur's brother by his mother's side; the Penhynev of Cornwall was his father), and Llawnrodded Varvawc, and Nodawl Varyf Twrch, and Berth the son of Kado, and Rheidwn the son of Beli, and Iscovan Hael, and Iscawin the son of Panon, and Morvran the son of Tegid (no one struck him in the battle of Camlan by reason of his ugliness; all thought he was an auxiliary devil. Hair had he upon him like the hair of a stag). And Sandde Bryd Angel (no one touched him with a spear in the battle of Camlan because of his beauty; all thought he was a ministering angel). And Kynwyl Sant, the third man that escaped from the battle of Camlan, (and he was the last who parted from Arthur on Hengroen his horse). And Uchtryd the son of Erim, and Eus the son of Erim, and Henwas Adeinawg the son of Erim, and Henbedestyr the son of Erim, and Sgilti Yscawndroed son of Erim. (Unto these three men belonged these three qualities,--with Henbedestyr there was not any one who could keep pace, either on horseback or on foot; with Henwas Adeinawg, no four-footed beast could run the distance of an acre, much less could it go beyond it; and as to Sgilti Yscawndroed, when he intended to go upon a message for his Lord, he never sought to find a path, but knowing whither he was to go, if his way lay through a wood he went along the tops of the trees. During his whole life, a blade of reed grass bent not beneath his feet, much less did one ever break, so lightly did he tread.) Teithi Hen the son of Gwynhan, (his dominions were swallowed up by the sea and he himself hardly escaped, and he came to Arthur; and his knife had this peculiarity, that from the time that he came there, no haft would ever remain upon it, and owing to this a sickness came over him, and he pined away during the remainder of his life, and of this he died). And Carneddyr the son of Govynyon Hen, and Gwenwynwyn the son of Nav Gyssevin, Arthur's champion, and Llysgadrudd Emys, and Gwrbothu Hen, (uncles unto Arthur were they, his mother's brothers). Kulvanawyd the son of Goryon, and Llenlleawg {74a} Wyddel from the headland of Ganion, and Dyvynwal Moel, and Dunard king of the North, Teirnon Twryf Bliant, and Tegvan Gloff, and Tegyr Talgellawg, Gwrdinal {74b} the son of Ebrei, and Morgant Hael, Gwystyl the son of Rhun the son of Nwython, and Llwyddeu, the son of Nwython, and Gwydre the son of Llwyddeu, (Gwenabwy the daughter of [Kaw] was his mother, Hueil his uncle stabbed him, and hatred was between Hueil and Arthur because of the wound). Drem the son of Dremidyd, (when the gnat arose in the morning with the sun, he could see it from Gelli Wic in Cornwall, as far off as Pen Blathaon in North Britain). And Eidyol the son of Ner, and Glwyddyn Saer, (who constructed Ehangwen, Arthur's Hall). Kynyr Keinvarvawc, (when he was told he had a son born, {74c} he said to his wife, 'Damsel, if thy son be mine, his heart will be always cold, and there will be no warmth in his hands; and he will have another peculiarity, if he is my son he will always be stubborn; and he will have another peculiarity, when he carries a burden, whether it be large or small, no one will be able to see it, either before him or at his back; and he will have another peculiarity, no one will be able to resist water and fire so well as he will; and he will have another peculiarity, there will never be a servant or an officer equal to him'). Henwas, and Henwyneb, (an old companion to Arthur). Gwallgoyc, (another; when he came to a town, though there were three hundred houses in it, if he wanted any thing, he would not let sleep come to the eyes of any one whilst he remained there). Berwyn the son of Gerenhir, and Paris king of France, {75a} and Osla Gyllellvawr, (who bore a short broad dagger. When Arthur and his hosts came before a torrent, they would seek for a narrow place where they might pass the water, and would lay the sheathed dagger across the torrent, and it would form a bridge sufficient for the armies of the three Islands of Britain, and of the three Islands adjacent, with their spoil). Gwyddawg the son of Menestyr, (who slew Kai, and whom Arthur slew together with his brothers, to revenge Kai). Garanwyn the son of Kai, and Amren the son of Bedwyr, and Ely Amyr, and Rheu Rhwyd Dyrys, and Rhun Rhudwern, and Eli, and Trachmyr, (Arthur's chief huntsmen). And Llwyddeu the son of Kelcoed, and Hunabwy the son of Gwryon, and Gwynn Godyvron, and Gweir Datharwenniddawg, and Gweir the son of Cadell the son of Talaryant, {75b} and Gweir Gwrhyd Ennwir, and Gweir Paladyr Hir, (the uncles of Arthur, the brothers of his mother). The sons of Llwch Llawwynnyawg, (from beyond the raging sea). Llenlleawg Wyddel, and Ardderchawg Prydain. Cas the son of Saidi, Gwrvan Gwallt Avwyn, and Gwyllennhin the king of France, and Gwittart the son of Oedd king of Ireland, Garselit Wyddel, Panawr Pen Bagad, and Ffleudor the son of Nav, Gwynnhyvar mayor of Cornwall and Devon, (the ninth man that rallied the battle of Camlan). Keli and Kueli, and Gilla Coes Hydd, (he would clear three hundred acres at one bound. The chief leaper of Ireland was he). Sol, and Gwadyn Ossol and Gwadyn Odyeith. (Sol could stand all day upon one foot. Gwadyn Ossol, if he stood upon the top of the highest mountain in the world, it would become a level plain under his feet. Gwadyn Odyeith, the soles of his feet emitted sparks of fire when they struck upon things hard, like the heated mass when drawn out of the forge. He cleared the way for Arthur when he came to any stoppage.) Hirerwm and Hiratrwm. (The day they went on a visit three Cantrevs provided for their entertainment, and they feasted until noon and drank until night, when they went to sleep. And then they devoured the heads of the vermin through hunger, as if they had never eaten anything. When they made a visit, they left neither the fat nor the lean, neither the hot nor the cold, the sour nor the sweet, the fresh nor the salt, the boiled nor the raw.) Huarwar the son of Aflawn, (who asked Arthur such a boon as would satisfy him. It was the third great plague of Cornwall when he received it. None could get a smile from him but when he was satisfied). Gware Gwallt Euryn. The two cubs of Gast Rhymi, Gwyddrud and Gwyddneu Astrus. Sugyn the son of Sugnedydd, (who would suck up the sea on which were three hundred ships, so as to leave nothing but a dry strand. He was broad-chested). {76a} Rhacymwri, the attendant of Arthur; (whatever barn he was shown, were there the produce of thirty ploughs within it, he would strike it with an iron flail until the rafters, the beams, and the boards, were no better than the small oats in the mow upon the floor of the barn). Dygyflwng, and Anoeth Veidawg. And Hir Eiddyl, and Hir Amreu, (they were two attendants of Arthur). And Gwevyl the son of Gwestad, (on the day that he was sad, he would let one of his lips drop below his waist, while he turned up the other like a cap upon his head). Uchtryd Varyf Draws, (who spread his red untrimmed beard over the eight-and-forty rafters which were in Arthur's Hall). Elidyr Gyvarwydd, Yskyrdav, and Yscudydd, (two attendants of Gwenhwyvar were they. Their feet were swift as their thoughts when bearing a message). Brys the son of Bryssethach, (from the Hill of the Black Fernbrake in North Britain). And Grudlwyn Gorr. Bwlch, and Kyfwlch, and Sefwlch, the sons of Cleddyf Kyfwlch, the grandsons of Cleddyf Difwlch. (Their three shields were three gleaming glitterers; their three spears were three pointed piercers; their three swords were three griding gashers; Glas, Glessic, and Gleisad. Their three dogs, Call, Cuall, and Cavall. Their three horses, Hwyrdyddwd, and Drwgdyddwd, and Llwyrdyddwg. {77a} Their three wives, Och, and Garym, and Diaspad. Their three grand-children, Lluched, and Neved, and Eissiwed. Their three daughters, Drwg, and Gwaeth, and Gwaethav Oll. Their three handmaids, Eheubryd the daughter of Kyfwlch, Gorascwrn the daughter of Nerth, Ewaedan the daughter of Kynvelyn Keudawd Pwyll the half man.) Dwnn Diessic Unbenn, Eiladyr the son of Pen Llarcau, Kynedyr Wyllt the son of Hettwn Talaryant, Sawyl, Ben Uchel, Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, Gwalhaved the son of Gwyar, Gwrhyr Gwastawd Ieithoedd, (to whom all tongues were known,) and Kethcrwn {77b} the Priest. Clust the son of Clustveinad, (though he were buried seven cubits beneath the earth, he would hear the ant, fifty miles off, rise from her nest in the morning). Medyr the son of Methredydd, (from Gelli Wic he could, in a twinkling, shoot the wren through the two legs upon Esgeir Oervel in Ireland). Gwiawn Llygad Cath, (who would cut a haw from the eye of the gnat without hurting him). Ol the son of Olwydd; (seven years before he was born his father's swine were carried off, and when he grew up a man, he tracked the swine, and brought them back in seven herds). Bedwini the Bishop, (who blessed Arthur's meat and drink). For the sake of the golden-chained daughters of this island. For the sake of Gwenhwyvar, its chief lady, and Gwennhwyach her sister, and Rathtyeu the only daughter of Clemenhill, and Rhelemon the daughter of Kai, and Tannwen the daughter of Gweir Datharweniddawg. {78a} Gwenn Alarch, the daughter of Kynwyl Canbwch. {78b} Eurneid the daughter of Clydno Eiddin. Eneuawc the daughter of Bedwyr. Enrydreg the daughter of Tudvathar. Gwennwledyr the daughter of Gwaledyr Kyrvach. Erddudnid the daughter of Tryffin. Eurolwen the daughter of Gwdolwyn Gorr. Teleri the daughter of Peul. Indeg the daughter of Garwy {78c} Hir. Morvudd the daughter of Urien Rheged. Gwenllian Deg the majestic maiden. Creiddylad the daughter of Llud Llaw Ereint. (She was the most splendid maiden in the three Islands of the mighty, and in the three Islands adjacent, and for her Gwythyr the son of Greidawl and Gwynn the son of Nudd fight every first of May until the day of doom.) Ellylw the daughter of Neol Kynn- Crog. (She lived three ages.) Essyllt Vinwen, and Essyllt Vingul." And all these did Kilhwch son of Kilydd adjure to obtain his boon. Then said Arthur, "Oh! Chieftain, I have never heard of the maiden of whom thou speakest, nor of her kindred, but I will gladly send messengers in search of her. Give me time to seek her." And the youth said, "I will willingly grant from this night to that at the end of the year to do so." Then Arthur sent messengers to every land within his dominions, to seek for the maiden, and at the end of the year Arthur's messengers returned without having gained any knowledge or intelligence concerning Olwen, more than on the first day. Then said Kilhwch, "Every one has received his boon, and I yet lack mine. I will depart and bear away thy honour with me." Then said Kai, "Rash chieftain! dost thou reproach Arthur? Go with us, and we will not part until thou dost either confess that the maiden exists not in the world, or until we obtain her." Thereupon Kai rose up. Kai had this peculiarity, that his breath lasted nine nights and nine days under water, and he could exist nine nights and nine days without sleep. A wound from Kai's sword no physician could heal. Very subtle was Kai. When it pleased him he could render himself as tall as the highest tree in the forest. And he had another peculiarity,--so great was the heat of his nature, that when it rained hardest, whatever he carried remained dry for a handbreadth above and a handbreadth below his hand; and when his companions were coldest, it was to them as fuel with which to light their fire. And Arthur called Bedwyr, who never shrank from any enterprise upon which Kai was bound. None were equal to him in swiftness throughout this Island except Arthur and Drych Ail Kibddar. And although he was one-handed, three warriors could not shed blood faster than he on the field of battle. Another property he had, his lance would produce a wound equal to those of nine opposing lances. And Arthur called to Kynddelig the Guide, "Go thou upon this expedition with the chieftain." For as good a guide was he in a land which he had never seen as he was in his own. He called Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd, because he knew all tongues. He called Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, because he never returned home without achieving the adventure of which he went in quest. He was the best of footmen and the best of knights. He was nephew to Arthur, the son of his sister, and his cousin. And Arthur called Menw the son of Teirgwaedd, in order that if they went into a savage country, he might cast a charm and an illusion over them, so that none might see them, whilst they could see every one. They journeyed until they came to a vast open plain, wherein they saw a great castle, which was the fairest of the castles of the world. And they journeyed that day until the evening, and when they thought they were nigh to the castle, they were no nearer to it than they had been in the morning. And the second and the third day they journeyed, and even then scarcely could they reach so far. And when they came before the castle, they beheld a vast flock of sheep, which was boundless, and without an end. And upon the top of a mound there was a herdsman, keeping the sheep. And a rug made of skins was upon him; and by his side was a shaggy mastiff, larger than a steed nine winters old. Never had he lost even a lamb from his flock, much less a large sheep. He let no occasion ever pass without doing some hurt and harm. All the dead trees and bushes in the plain he burnt with his breath down to the very ground. Then said Kai, "Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd, go thou and salute yonder man." "Kai," said he, "I engaged not to go further than thou thyself." "Let us go then together," answered Kai. {81a} Said Menw the son of Teirgwaedd, "Fear not to go thither, for I will cast a spell upon the dog, so that he shall injure no one." And they went up to the mound whereon the herdsman was, and they said to him, "How dost thou fare? O herdsman!" "No less fair be it to you than to me." "Truly, art thou the chief?" "There is no hurt to injure me but my own." {81b} "Whose are the sheep that thou dost keep, and to whom does yonder castle belong?" "Stupid are ye, truly! Through the whole world is it known that this is the castle of Yspaddaden Penkawr." "And who art thou?" "I am called Custennin the son of Dyfnedig, and my brother Yspaddaden Penkawr oppressed me because of my possession. And ye also, who are ye?" "We are an embassy from Arthur, come to seek Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr." "Oh men! the mercy of Heaven be upon you, do not that for all the world. None who ever came hither on this quest has returned alive." And the herdsman rose up. And as he arose, Kilhwch gave unto him a ring of gold. And he sought to put on the ring, but it was too small for him, so he placed it in the finger of his glove. And he went home, and gave the glove to his spouse to keep. And she took the ring from the glove when it was given her, and she said, "Whence came this ring, for thou art not wont to have good fortune?" "I went," said he, "to the sea to seek for fish, and lo, I saw a corpse borne by the waves. And a fairer corpse than it did I never behold. And from its finger did I take this ring." "Oh man! does the sea permit its dead to wear jewels? Show me then this body." "Oh wife, him to whom this ring belonged thou shalt see herein the evening." {82} "And who is he?" asked the woman. "Kilhwch the son of Kilydd, the son of Prince Kelyddon, by Goleuddydd the daughter of Prince Anlawdd, his mother, who is come to seek Olwen as his wife." And when she heard that, her feelings were divided between the joy that she had that her nephew, the son of her sister, was coming to her, and sorrow because she had never known any one depart alive who had come on that quest. And they went forward to the gate of Custennin the herdsman's dwelling. And when she heard their footsteps approaching, she ran out with joy to meet them. And Kai snatched a billet out of the pile. And when she met them she sought to throw her arms about their necks. And Kai placed the log between her two hands, and she squeezed it so that it became a twisted coil. "Oh woman," said Kai, "if thou hadst squeezed me thus, none could ever again have set their affections on me. Evil love were this." They entered into the house, and were served; and soon after they all went forth to amuse themselves. Then the woman opened a stone chest that was before the chimney corner, and out of it arose a youth with yellow curling hair. Said Gwrhyr, "It is a pity to hide this youth. I know that it is not his own crime that is thus visited upon him." "This is but a remnant," said the woman. "Three and twenty of my sons has Yspaddaden Penkawr slain, and I have no more hope of this one than of the others." Then said Kai, "Let him come and be a companion with me, and he shall not be slain unless I also am slain with him." And they ate. And the woman asked them, "Upon what errand come you here?" "We come to seek Olwen for this youth." Then said the woman, "In the name of Heaven, since no one from the castle hath yet seen you, return again whence you came." "Heaven is our witness, that we will not return until we have seen the maiden." Said Kai, "Does she ever come hither, so that she may be seen?" "She comes here every Saturday to wash her head, and in the vessel where she washes, she leaves all her rings, and she never either comes herself or sends any messengers to fetch them." "Will she come here if she is sent to?" "Heaven knows that I will not destroy my soul, nor will I betray those that trust me; unless you will pledge me your faith that you will not harm her, I will not send to her." "We pledge it," said they. So a message was sent, and she came. The maiden was clothed in a robe of flame-coloured silk, and about her neck was a collar of ruddy gold, on which were precious emeralds and rubies. More yellow was her head than the flower of the broom, and her skin was whiter than the foam of the wave, and fairer were her hands and her fingers than the blossoms of the wood anemone amidst the spray of the meadow fountain. The eye of the trained hawk, the glance of the three- mewed falcon, was not brighter than hers. Her bosom was more snowy than the breast of the white swan, her cheek was redder than the reddest roses. Whoso beheld her was filled with her love. Four white trefoils sprung up wherever she trod. And therefore was she called Olwen. She entered the house, and sat beside Kilhwch upon the foremost bench; and as soon as he saw her he knew her. And Kilhwch said unto her, "Ah! maiden, thou art she whom I have loved; come away with me lest they speak evil of thee and of me. Many a day have I loved thee." "I cannot do this, for I have pledged my faith to my father not to go without his counsel, for his life will last only until the time of my espousals. Whatever is, must be. But I will give thee advice if thou wilt take it. Go, ask me of my father, and that which he shall require of thee, grant it, and thou wilt obtain me; but if thou deny him anything, thou wilt not obtain me, and it will be well for thee if thou escape with thy life." "I promise all this, if occasion offer," said he. {84a} She returned to her chamber, and they all rose up and followed her to the castle. And they slew the nine porters that were at the nine gates in silence. And they slew the nine watch-dogs without one of them barking. And they went forward to the hall. "The greeting of Heaven and of man be unto thee, Yspaddaden Penkawr," said they. "And you, wherefore come you?" "We come to ask thy daughter Olwen, for Kilhwch the son of Kilydd, the son of Prince Kelyddon." "Where are my pages and my servants? {84b} Raise up the forks beneath my two eyebrows which have fallen over my eyes, that I may see the fashion of my son-in-law." And they did so. "Come hither to-morrow, and you shall have an answer." They rose to go forth, and Yspaddaden Penkawr seized one of the three poisoned darts that lay beside him, and threw it after them. And Bedwyr caught it, and flung it, and pierced Yspaddaden Penkawr grievously with it through the knee. {85a} Then he said, "A cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly. I shall ever walk the worse for his rudeness, and shall ever be without a cure. This poisoned iron pains me like the bite of a gad-fly. Cursed be the smith who forged it, and the anvil whereon it was wrought! So sharp is it!" That night also they took up their abode in the house of Custennin the herdsman. The next day with the dawn, they arrayed themselves in haste, and proceeded to the castle, and entered the hall, and they said, "Yspaddaden Penkawr, give us thy daughter in consideration of her dower and her maiden fee, which we will pay to thee and to her two kinswomen likewise. And unless thou wilt do so, thou shall meet with thy death on her account." Then he said, "Her four great-grandmothers, and her four great-grandsires are yet alive, it is needful that I take counsel of them." "Be it so," answered they, "we will go to meat." As they rose up; he took the second dart that was beside him, and cast it after them. And Menw the son of Gwaedd caught it, and flung it back at him, and wounded him in the centre of the breast, so that it came out at the small of his back. "A cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly," said he, "the hard iron pains me like the bite of a horse-leech. Cursed be the hearth whereon it was heated, and the smith who formed it! So sharp is it! Henceforth, whenever I go up a hill, I shall have a scant in my breath, and a pain in my chest, and I shall often loathe my food." And they went to meat. And the third day they returned to the palace. And Yspaddaden Penkawr said to them, "Shoot not at me again unless you desire death. Where are my attendants? Lift up the forks of my eyebrows which have fallen over my eyeballs, that I may see the fashion of my son-in-law." Then they arose, and, as they did so, Yspaddaden Penkawr took the third poisoned dart, and cast it at them. And Kilhwch caught it, and threw it vigorously, and wounded him through the eyeball, so that the dart came out at the back of his head. "A cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly! As long as I remain alive, my eyesight will be the worse. Whenever I go against the wind, my eyes will water; and peradventure my head will burn, and I shall have a giddiness every new moon. Cursed be the fire in which it was forged. Like the bite of a mad dog is the stroke of this poisoned iron." And they went to meat. And the next day they came again to the palace, and they said, "Shoot not at us any more, unless thou desirest such hurt, and harm, and torture as thou now hast, and even more. Give me thy daughter; and if thou wilt not give her, thou shall receive thy death because of her." "Where is he that seeks my daughter? Come hither where I may see thee." And they placed him a chair face to face with him. Said Yspaddaden Penkawr, "Is it thou that seekest my daughter?" "It is I," answered Kilhwch. "I must have thy pledge that thou wilt not do towards me otherwise than is just, and, when I have gotten that which I shall name, my daughter thou shalt have." "I promise thee that willingly," said Kilhwch; "name what thou wilt." "I will do so," said he. "Seest thou yonder vast hill?" "I see it." "I require that it be rooted up, and that the grubbings be burned for manure on the face of the land, and that it be ploughed and sown in one day, and in one day that the grain ripen. And of that wheat I intend to make food and liquor fit for the wedding of thee and my daughter. And all this I require to be done in one day." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though this be easy for thee, there is yet that which will not be so. No husbandman can till or prepare this land, so wild is it, except Amaethon the son of Don, and he will not come with thee by his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Govannon the son of Don to come to the headland to rid the iron, he will do no work of his own good will except for a lawful king, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get; the two dun oxen of Gwlwlyd, {87} both yoked together, to plough the wild land yonder stoutly. He will not give them of his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get; the yellow and the brindled bull yoked together do I require." "It will be easy for me to compass this." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get; the two horned oxen, one of which is beyond, and the other this side of the peaked mountain, yoked together in the same plough. And these are Nynniaw and Peibaw, whom God turned into oxen on account of their sins." "It will be easy for me to compass this." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Seest thou yonder red tilled ground?" "I see it." "When first I met the mother of this maiden, nine bushels of flax were sown therein, and none has yet sprung up, neither white nor black; and I have the measure by me still. I require to have the flax to sow in the new land yonder, that when it grows up it may make a white wimple, for my daughter's head on the day of thy wedding." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Honey that is nine times sweeter than the honey of the virgin swarm, without scum and bees, do I require to make bragget for the feast." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "The vessel of Llwyr the son of Llwyryon, which is of the utmost value. There is no other vessel in the world that can hold this drink. Of his free will thou wilt not get it, and thou canst not compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The basket of Gwyddneu Garanhir, if the whole world should come together, thrice nine men at a time, the meat that each of them desired would be found within it. I require to eat therefrom on the night that my daughter becomes thy bride. He will give it to no one of his own free will, and thou canst not compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The horn of Gwlgawd Gododin to serve us with liquor that night. He will not give it of his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The harp of Teirtu to play to us that night. {89} When a man desires that it should play, it does so of itself, and when he desires that it should cease, it ceases. And this he will not give of his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The cauldron of Diwrnach Wyddel, the steward of Odgar the son of Aedd, king of Ireland, to boil the meat for thy marriage feast." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. It is needful for me to wash my head, and shave my beard, and I require the tusk of Yskithyrwyn Benbaedd to shave myself withal, neither shall I profit by its use if it be not plucked alive out of his head." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. There is no one in the world that can pluck it out of his head except Odgar the son of Aedd, king of Ireland." "It will be easy for me to compass this." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. I will not trust any one to keep the tusk except Gado of North Britain. Now the threescore Cantrevs of North Britain are under his sway, and of his own free will he will not come out of his kingdom, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it wilt not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. I must spread out my hair in order to shave it, and it will never be spread out unless I have the blood of the jet black sorceress, the daughter of the pure white sorceress, from Pen Nant Govid, on the confines of Hell." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. I will not have the blood unless I have it warm, and no vessels will keep warm the liquid that is put therein except the bottles of Gwyddolwyn Gorr, which preserve the heat of the liquor that is put into them in the east, until they arrive at the west. And he will not give them of his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Some will desire fresh milk, and it will not be possible to have fresh milk for all, unless we have the bottles of Rhinnon Rhin Barnawd, wherein no liquor ever turns sour. And he will not give them of his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Throughout the world there is not a comb or scissors with which I can arrange my hair, on account of its rankness, except the comb and scissors that are between the two ears of Twrch Trwyth, the son of Prince Tared. He will not give them of his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. It will not be possible to hunt Twrch Trwyth without Drudwyn, the whelp of Greid, the son of Eri." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Throughout the world there is not a leash that can hold him, except the leash of Cwrs Cant Ewin." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Throughout the world there is no collar that wilt hold the leash except the collar of Canhastyr Canllaw." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The chain of Kilydd Canhastyr to fasten the collar to the leash." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Throughout the world there is not a huntsman who can hunt with this dog, except Mabon the son of Modron. He was taken from his mother when three nights old, and it is not known where he now is, nor whether he is living or dead." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Gwynn Mygdwn, the horse of Gweddw that is as swift as the wave, to carry Mabon the son of Modron to hunt the Boar Trwyth. He will not give him of his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Thou wilt not get Mabon, for it is not known where he is, unless thou find Eidoel, his kinsman in blood, the son of Aer. For it would be useless to seek for him. He is his cousin." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Garselit the Gwyddelian {92} is the chief huntsman of Ireland; the Twrch Trwyth can never be hunted without him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. A leash made from the beard of Dissull Varvawc, for that is the only one that can hold those two cubs. And the leash will be of no avail unless it be plucked from his beard while he is alive, and twitched out with wooden tweezers. While he lives he will not suffer this to be done to him, and the leash will be of no use should he be dead, because it will be brittle." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Throughout the world there is no huntsman that can hold those two whelps, except Kynedyr Wyllt, the son of Hettwn Glafyrawc; he is nine times more wild than the wildest beast upon the mountains. Him wilt thou never get, neither wilt thou ever get my daughter." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. It is not possible to hunt the Boar Trwyth without Gwynn the son of Nudd, whom God has placed over the brood of devils in Annwn, lest they should destroy the present race. He will never be spared thence." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. There is not a horse in the world that can carry Gwynn to hunt the Twrch Trwyth, except Du, the horse of Mor of Oerveddawg." {93} "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Until Gilennhin the king of France shall come, the Twrch Trwyth cannot be hunted. It will be unseemly for him to leave his kingdom for thy sake, and he will never come hither." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The Twrch Trwyth can never be hunted without the son of Alun Dyved; he is well skilled in letting loose the dogs." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The Twrch Trwyth cannot be hunted unless thou get Aned and Aethlem. They are as swift as the gale of wind, and they were never let loose upon a beast that they did not kill him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get; Arthur and his companions to hunt the Twrch Trwyth. He is a mighty man, and he will not come for thee, neither wilt thou be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The Twrch Trwyth cannot be hunted unless thou get Bwlch, and Kyfwlch, [and Sefwlch,] the grandsons of Cleddyf Difwlch. Their three shields are three gleaming glitterers. Their three spears are three pointed piercers. Their three swords are three griding gashers, Glas, Glessic, and Clersag. Their three dogs, Call, Cuall, and Cavall, Their three horses, Hwyrdydwg, and Drwgdydwg, and Llwyrdydwg. Their three wives, Och, and Geram, and Diaspad. Their three grandchildren, Lluched, and Vyned, and Eissiwed. Their three daughters, Drwg, and Gwaeth, and Gwaethav Oil. Their three handmaids, [Eheubryd, the daughter of Kyfwlch; Gorasgwrn, the daughter of Nerth; and Gwaedan, the daughter of Kynvelyn.] These three men shall sound the horn, and all the others shall shout, so that all will think that the sky is falling to the earth." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. The sword of Gwrnach the Giant; he will never be slain except therewith. Of his own free will he will not give it, either for a price or as a gift, and thou wilt never be able to compel him." "It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that it will not be easy." "Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. Difficulties shall thou meet with, and nights without sleep, in seeking this, and if thou obtain it not, neither shalt thou obtain my daughter." "Horses shall I have, and chivalry; and my lord and kinsman Arthur will obtain for me all these things. And I shall gain thy daughter, and thou shalt lose thy life." "Go forward. And thou shalt not be chargeable for food or raiment for my daughter while thou art seeking these things; and when thou hast compassed all these marvels, thou shalt have my daughter for thy wife." * * * * * All that day they journeyed until the evening, and then they beheld a vast castle, which was the largest in the world. And lo, a black man, huger than three of the men of this world, came out from the castle. And they spoke unto him, "Whence comest them, O man?" "From the castle which you see yonder." "Whose castle is that?" asked they. "Stupid are ye truly, O men. There is no one in the world that does not know to whom this castle belongs. It is the castle of Gwrnach the Giant." "What treatment is there for guests and strangers that alight in that castle?" "Oh! chieftain, Heaven protect thee. No guest ever returned thence alive, and no one may enter therein unless he brings with him his craft." Then they proceeded towards the gate. Said Gwrhyr Gwalstawd Ieithoedd, "Is there a porter?" "There is. And thou, if thy tongue be not mute in thy head, wherefore dost thou call?" "Open the gate." "I will not open it." "Wherefore wilt thou not?" "The knife is in the meat, and the drink is in the horn, and there is revelry in the hall of Gwrnach the Giant, and except for a craftsman who brings his craft, the gate will not be opened to-night." "Verily, porter," then said Kai, "my craft bring I with me." "What is thy craft?" "The best burnisher of swords am I in the world." "I will go and tell this unto Gwrnach the Giant, and I will bring thee an answer." So the porter went in, and Gwrnach said to him, "Hast thou any news from the gate?" "I have. There is a party at the door of the gate who desire to come in." "Didst thou enquire of them if they possessed any art?" "I did enquire," said he, "and one told me that he was well skilled in the burnishing of swords." "We have need of him then. For some time have I sought for some one to polish my sword, and could find no one. Let this man enter, since he brings with him his craft." The porter thereupon returned, and opened the gate. And Kai went in by himself, and he saluted Gwrnach the Giant. And a chair was placed for him opposite to Gwrnach. And Gwrnach said to him, "Oh man! is it true that is reported of thee that thou knowest how to burnish swords?" "I know full well how to do so," answered Kai. Then was the sword of Gwrnach brought to him. And Kai took a blue whetstone from under his arm, and asked him whether he would have it burnished white or blue. "Do with it as it seems good to thee, and as thou wouldest if it were thine own." Then Kai polished one half of the blade and put it in his hand. "Will this please thee?" asked he. "I would rather than all that is in my dominions that the whole of it were like unto this. It is a marvel to me that such a man as thou should be without a companion." "Oh! noble sir, I have a companion, albeit he is not skilled in this art." "Who may he be?" "Let the porter go forth, and I will tell him whereby he may know him. The head of his lance will leave its shaft, and draw blood from the wind, and will descend upon its shaft again." Then the gate was opened, and Bedwyr entered. And Kai said, "Bedwyr is very skilful, although he knows not this art." And there was much discourse among those who were without, because that Kai and Bedwyr had gone in. And a young man who was with them, the only son of Custennin the herdsman, got in also. And he caused all his companions to keep close to him as he passed the three wards, and until he came into the midst of the castle. {98a} And his companions said unto the son of Custennin, "Thou hast done this! Thou art the best of all men." And thenceforth he was called Goreu, the son of Custennin. Then they dispersed to their lodgings, that they might slay those who lodged therein, unknown to the Giant. The sword was now polished, and Kai gave it unto the hand of Gwrnach the Giant, to see if he were pleased with his work. And the Giant said, "The work is good, I am content therewith." Said Kai, "It is thy scabbard that hath rusted thy sword; give it to me that I may take out the wooden sides of it, and put in new ones." And he took the scabbard from him, and the sword in the other hand. And he came and stood over against the Giant, as if he would have put the sword into the scabbard; and with it he struck at the head of the Giant, and cut off his head at one blow. Then they despoiled the castle, and took from it what goods and jewels they would. And again on the same day, at the beginning of the year, they came to Arthur's Court, bearing with them the sword of Gwrnach the Giant. Now when they had told Arthur how they had sped, Arthur said, "Which of these marvels will it be best for us to seek first?" "It will be best," said they, "to seek Mabon the son of Modron; and he will not be found unless we first find Eidoel, the son of Aer, his kinsman." Then Arthur rose up, and the warriors of the Islands of Britain with him, to seek for Eidoel; and they proceeded until they came before the Castle of Glivi, {98b} where Eidoel was imprisoned. Glivi {99a} stood on the summit of his Castle, and he said, "Arthur, what requirest thou of me, since nothing remains to me in this fortress, and I have neither joy nor pleasure in it; neither wheat nor oats? Seek not therefore to do me harm." Said Arthur, "Not to injure thee came I hither, but to seek for the prisoner that is with thee." "I will give thee my prisoner, though I had not thought to give him up to any one; and therewith shall thou have my support and my aid." His followers said unto Arthur, "Lord, go thou home, thou canst not proceed with thy host in quest of such small adventures as these." Then said Arthur, "It were well for thee, Gwrhyr Gwalstawd Iethoedd, to go upon this quest, for thou knowest all languages, and art familiar with {99b} those of the birds and the beasts. Thou Eidoel oughtest likewise to go with my men in search of thy cousin. And as for you, Kai and Bedwyr, I have hope of whatever adventure ye are in quest of, that ye will achieve it. Achieve ye this adventure for me." They went forward until they came to the Ousel of Cilgwri. And Gwrhyr adjured her for the sake of Heaven, saying, "Tell me if thou knowest aught of Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken when three nights old from between his mother and the wall." And the Ousel answered, "When I first came here, there was a smith's anvil in this place, and I was then a young bird; and from that time no work has been done upon it, save the pecking of my beak every evening, and now there is not so much as the size of a nut remaining thereof; yet the vengeance of Heaven be upon me, if during all that time I have ever heard of the man for whom you enquire. Nevertheless I will do that which is right, and that which it is fitting that I should do for an embassy from Arthur. There is a race of animals who were formed before me, and I will be your guide to them." So they proceeded to the place where was the Stag of Redynvre. "Stag of Redynvre, behold we are come to thee, an embassy from Arthur, for we have not heard of any animal older than thou. Say, knowest thou aught of Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken from his mother when three nights old?" The Stag said, "When first I came hither, there was a plain all around me, without any trees save one oak sapling, {100} which grew up to be an oak with an hundred branches. And that oak has since perished, so that now nothing remains of it but the withered stump; and from that day to this I have been here, yet have I never heard of the man for whom you enquire. Nevertheless, being an embassy from Arthur, I will be your guide to the place where there is an animal which was formed before I was." So they proceeded to the place where was the Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd. "Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd, here is an embassy from Arthur; knowest thou aught of Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken after three nights from his mother?" "If I knew I would tell you. When first I came hither, the wide valley you see was a wooded glen. And a race of men came and rooted it up. And there grew there a second wood; and this wood is the third. My wings, are they not withered stumps? Yet all this time, even until to-day, I have never heard of the man for whom you enquire. Nevertheless, I will be the guide of Arthur's embassy until you come to the place where is the oldest animal in this world, and the one that has travelled most, the Eagle of Gwern Abwy." Gwrhyr said, "Eagle of Gwern Abwy, we have come to thee an embassy from Arthur, to ask thee if thou knowest aught of Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken from his mother when he was three nights old." The Eagle said, "I have been here for a great space of time, and when I first came hither there was a rock here, from the top of which I pecked at the stars every evening; and now it is not so much as a span high. From that day to this I have been here, and I have never heard of the man for whom you enquire, except once when I went in search of food as far as Llyn Llyw. And when I came there, I struck my talons into a salmon, thinking he would serve me as food for a long time. But he drew me into the deep, and I was scarcely able to escape from him. After that I went with my whole kindred to attack him, and to try to destroy him, but he sent messengers, and made peace with me; and came and besought me to take fifty fish spears out of his back. Unless he know something of him whom you seek, I cannot tell who may. However, I will guide you to the place where he is." So they went thither; and the Eagle said, "Salmon of Llyn Llyw, I have come to thee with an embassy from Arthur, to ask thee if thou knowest aught concerning Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken away at three nights old from his mother." "As much as I know I will tell thee. With every tide I go along the river upwards, until I come near to the walls of Gloucester, and there have I found such wrong as I never found elsewhere; and to the end that ye may give credence thereto, let one of you go thither upon each of my two shoulders." So Kai and Gwrhyr Gwalstawd Ieithoedd went upon the two shoulders of the salmon, and they proceeded until they came unto the wall of the prison, and they heard a great wailing and lamenting from the dungeon. {102} Said Gwrhyr, "Who is it that laments in this house of stone?" "Alas, there is reason enough for whoever is here to lament. It is Mabon the son of Modron who is here imprisoned, and no imprisonment was ever so grievous as mine, neither that of Lludd Llaw Ereint, nor that of Greid the son of Eri." "Hast thou hope of being released for gold, or for silver, or for any gifts of wealth, or through battle and fighting?" "By fighting will whatever I may gain be obtained." {Picture: p102.jpg} Then they went thence, and returned to Arthur, and they told him where Mabon the son of Modron was imprisoned. And Arthur summoned the warriors of the Island, and they journeyed as far as Gloucester, to the place where Mabon was in prison. Kai and Bedwyr went upon the shoulders of the fish, whilst the warriors of Arthur attacked the castle. And Kai broke through the wall into the dungeon, and brought away the prisoner upon his back, whilst the fight was going on between the warriors. And Arthur returned home, and Mabon with him at liberty. * * * * * Said Arthur, "Which of the marvels will it be best for us now to seek first?" "It will be best to seek for the two cubs of Gast Rhymhi." "Is it known," said Arthur, "where she is?" "She is in Aber Deu Gleddyf," said one. Then Arthur went to the house of Tringad, in Aber Cleddyf, and he enquired of him whether he had heard of her there. "In what form may she be?" "She is in the form of a she wolf," said he, "and with her there are two cubs." "She has often slain my herds, and she is there below in a cave in Aber Cleddyf." So Arthur went in his ship Prydwen by sea, and the others went by land, to hunt her. And they surrounded her and her two cubs, and God did change them again for Arthur into their own form. And the host of Arthur dispersed themselves into parties of one and two. * * * * * On a certain day, as Gwythyr the son of Greidawl was walking over a mountain, he heard a wailing and a grievous cry. And when he heard it, {103} he sprung forward, and went towards it. And when he came there, he drew his sword, and smote off an ant-hill close to the earth, whereby it escaped being burned in the fire. And the ants said to him, "Receive from us the blessing of Heaven, and that which no man can give we will give thee." Then they fetched the nine bushels of flax-seed which Yspaddaden Penkawr had required of Kilhwch, and they brought the full measure, without lacking any, except one flax-seed, and that the lame pismire brought in before night. * * * * * As Kai and Bedwyr sat on a beacon carn on the summit of Plinlimmon, in the highest wind that ever was in the world, they looked around them, and saw a great smoke towards the south, afar off, which did not bend with the wind. Then said Kai, "By the hand of my friend, behold, yonder is the fire of a robber!" Then they hastened towards the smoke, and they came so near to it, that they could see Dillus Varvawc scorching a wild Boar. "Behold, yonder is the greatest robber that ever fled from Arthur," said Bedwyr unto Kai. "Dost thou know him?" "I do know him," answered Kai, "he is Dillus Varvawc, and no leash in the world will be able to hold Drudwyn, the cub of Greid the son of Eri, save a leash made from the beard of him thou seest yonder. And that even will be useless, unless his beard be plucked alive with wooden tweezers; for if dead, it will be brittle." "What thinkest thou that we should do concerning this?" said Bedwyr. "Let us suffer him," said Kai, "to eat as much as he will of the meat, and after that he will fall asleep." And during that time they employed themselves in making the wooden tweezers. And when Kai knew certainly that he was asleep, he made a pit under his feet, the largest in the world, and he struck him a violent blow, and squeezed him into the pit. And there they twitched out his beard completely with the wooden tweezers; and after that they slew him altogether. And from thence they both went to Gelli Wic, in Cornwall, and took the leash made of Dillus Varvawc's beard with them, and they gave it unto Arthur's hand. Then Arthur composed this Englyn, Kai made a leash Of Dillus son of Eurei's beard. Were he alive, thy death he'd be. And thereupon Kai was wroth, so that the warriors of the Island could scarcely make peace between Kai and Arthur. And thenceforth, neither in Arthur's troubles, nor for the slaying of his men, would Kai come forward to his aid for ever after. * * * * * Said Arthur, "Which of the marvels is it best for us now to seek?" "It is best for us to seek Drudwyn, the cub of Greid, the son of Eri." A little while before this, Creiddylad, the daughter of Lludd Llaw Ereint, and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl, were betrothed. And before she had become his bride, Gwyn ap Nudd came, and carried her away by force; and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl gathered his host together, and went to fight with Gwyn ap Nudd. But Gwyn overcame him, and captured Greid the son of Eri, and Glinneu the son of Taran and Gwrgwst Ledlwm, and Dynvarth {105} his son. And he captured Penn the son of Nethawg, and Nwython, and Kyledyr Wyllt his son. And they slew Nwython, and took out his heart, and constrained Kyledyr to eat the heart of his father. And therefrom Kyledyr became mad. When Arthur heard of this, he went to the North, and summoned Gwyn ap Nudd before him, and set free the nobles whom he had put in prison, and made peace between Gwyn ap Nudd and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl. And this was the peace that was made: that the maiden should remain in her father's house, without advantage to either of them, and that Gwyn ap Nudd and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl should fight for her every first of May, from thenceforth until the day of doom, and that whichever of them should then be conqueror should have the maiden. And when Arthur had thus reconciled these chieftains, he obtained Mygdwn, Gweddw's horse, and the leash of Cwrs Cant Ewin. And after that Arthur went into Armorica, and with him Mabon the son of Mellt, and Gware Gwallt Euryn, to seek the two dogs of Glythmyr Ledewic. And when he had got them, he went to the West of Ireland, in search of Gwrgi Severi; and Odgar the son of Aedd, king of Ireland, went with him. And thence went Arthur into the North, and captured Kyledyr Wyllt; and he went after Yskithyrwyn Penbaedd. And Mabon the son of Mellt came with the two dogs of Glythmyr Ledewic in his hand, and Drudwyn, the cub of Greid the son of Eri. And Arthur went himself to the chase, leading his own dog Cavall. And Kaw, of North Britain, mounted Arthur's mare Llamrei, and was first in the attack. Then Kaw, of North Britain, wielded a mighty axe, and absolutely daring he came valiantly up to the Boar, and clave his head in twain. And Kaw took away the tusk. Now the Boar was not slain by the dogs that Yspaddaden had mentioned, but by Cavall, Arthur's own dog. And after Yskithyrwyn Penbaedd was killed, Arthur and his host departed to Gelli Wic in Cornwall. And thence he sent Menw the son of Teirgwaedd to see if the precious things were between the two ears of Twrch Trwyth, since it were useless to encounter him if they were not there. Albeit it was certain where he was, for he had laid waste the third part of Ireland. And Menw went to seek for him, and he met with him in Ireland, in Esgeir Oervel. And Menw took the form of a bird; and he descended upon the top of his lair, and strove to snatch away one of the precious things from him, but he carried away nothing but one of his bristles. And the boar rose up angrily and shook himself so that some of his venom fell upon Menw, and he was never well from that day forward. After this Arthur sent an embassy to Odgar, the son of Aedd, king of Ireland, to ask for the Cauldron of Diwrnach Wyddel, his purveyor. And Odgar commanded him to give it. But Diwrnach said, "Heaven is my witness, if it would avail him anything even to look at it, he should not do so." And the embassy of Arthur returned from Ireland with this denial. And Arthur set forward with a small retinue, and entered into Prydwen, his ship, and went over to Ireland. And they proceeded into the house of Diwrnach Wyddel. And the hosts of Odgar saw their strength. When they had eaten and drank as much as they desired, Arthur demanded to have the cauldron. And he answered, "If I would have given it to any one, I would have given it at the word of Odgar, king of Ireland." When he had given them this denial, Bedwyr arose and seized hold of the cauldron, and placed it upon the back of Hygwyd, Arthur's servant, who was brother, by the mother's side, to Arthur's servant, Cachamwri. His office was always to carry Arthur's cauldron, and to place fire under it. And Llenlleawg Wyddel seized Caledvwlch, and brandished it. And they slew Diwrnach Wyddel and his company. Then came the Irish, {108a} and fought with them. And when he had put them to flight, Arthur with his men went forward to the ship, carrying away the cauldron full of Irish money. {108b} And he disembarked at the house of Llwydden {108c} the son of Kelcoed, at Forth Kerddin in Dyved. And there is the measure of the cauldron. Then Arthur summoned unto him all the warriors that were in the three Islands of Britain, and in the three Islands adjacent, and all that were in France and in Armorica, in Normandy and in the Summer Country, and all that were chosen footmen and valiant horsemen. And with all these, he went into Ireland. And in Ireland there was great fear and terror concerning him. And when Arthur had landed in the country, there came unto him the saints of Ireland and besought his protection. And he granted his protection unto them, and they gave him their blessing. Then the men of Ireland came unto Arthur, and brought him provisions. And Arthur went as far as Esgeir Oervel in Ireland, to the place where the Boar Trwyth was with his seven young pigs. And the dogs were let loose upon him from all sides. That day until evening, the Irish fought with him, nevertheless he laid waste the fifth part of Ireland. And on the day following the household of Arthur fought with him, and they were worsted by him, and got no advantage. And the third day Arthur himself encountered him, and he fought with him nine nights and nine days without so much as killing even one little pig. {109} The warriors enquired of Arthur, what was the origin of that swine; and he told them that he was once a king, and that God had transformed him into a swine for his sins. Then Arthur sent Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd, to endeavour to speak with him. And Gwrhyr assumed the form of a bird, and alighted upon the top of the lair, where he was with the seven young pigs. And Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd asked him, "By him who turned you into this form, if you can speak, let some one of you, I beseech you, come and talk with Arthur." Grugyn Gwrych Ereint made answer to him. (Now his bristles were like silver wire, and whether he went through the wood or through the plain, he was to be traced by the glittering of his bristles.) And this was the answer that Grugyn made, "By him who turned us into this form we will not do so, and we will not speak with Arthur. That we have been transformed thus is enough for us to suffer, without your coming here to fight with us." "I will tell you. Arthur comes but to fight for the comb, and the razor, and the scissors, which are between the two ears of Twrch Trwyth." Said Grugyn, "Except he first take his life, he will never have those precious things. And to-morrow morning we will rise up hence, and we will go into Arthur's country, and there will we do all the mischief that we can." So they set forth through the sea towards Wales. And Arthur and his hosts, and his horses and his dogs, entered Prydwen, that they might encounter them without delay. Twrch Trwyth landed in Porth Cleis in Dyved, and the {110} came to Mynyw. The next day it was told to Arthur, that they had gone by, and he overtook them, as they were killing the cattle of Kynnwas Kwrr y Vagyl, having slain all that were at Aber Gleddyf, of man and beast, before the coming of Arthur. Now when Arthur approached, Twrch Trwyth went on as far as Preseleu, and Arthur and his hosts followed him thither, and Arthur sent men to hunt him; Eli and Trachmyr, leading Drutwyn the whelp of Greid, the son of Eri, and Gwarthegyd the son of Kaw, in another quarter, with the two dogs of Glythmyr Ledewig, and Bedwyr leading Cavall, Arthur's own dog. And all the warriors ranged themselves around the Nyver. And there came there the three sons of Cleddyf Divwlch, men who had gained much fame at the slaying of Yskithyrwyn Penbaedd; and they went on from Glyn Nyver, and came to Cwm Kerwyn. And there Twrch Trwyth made a stand, and slew four of Arthur's champions, Gwarthegyd the son of Kaw, and Tarawc of Allt Clwyd, and Rheidwn the son of Eli Atver, and Iscovan Hael. And after he had slain these men, he made a second stand in the same place. And there he slew Gwydre the son of Arthur, and Garselit Wyddel, and Glew the son of Ysgawd, and Iscawn the son of Panon; and there he himself was wounded. And the next morning before it was day, some of the men came up with him. And he slew Huandaw, and Gogigwr, and Penpingon, three attendants upon Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr, so that Heaven knows he had not an attendant remaining, excepting only Llaesgevyn, a man from whom no one ever derived any good. And together with these, he slew many of the men of that country, and Gwlydyn Saer, Arthur's chief Architect. Then Arthur overtook him at Pelumyawc, and there he slew Madawc the son of Teithyon, and Gwyn the son of Tringad, the son of Neved, and Eiryawn Penllorau. Thence he went to Aberteivi, {111a} where he made another stand, and where he slew Kyflas {111b} the son of Kynan, and Gwilenhin king of France. Then he went as far as Glyn Ystu, and there the men and the dogs lost him. Then Arthur summoned unto him Gwyn ab Nudd, and he asked him if he knew aught of Twrch Trwyth. And he said that he did not. And all the huntsmen went to hunt the swine as far as Dyffryn Llychwr. And Grugyn Gwallt Ereint, and Llwydawg Govynnyad closed with them and killed all the huntsmen, so that there escaped but one man only. And Arthur and his hosts came to the place where Grugyn and Llwydawg were. And there he let loose the whole of the dogs upon them, and with the shout and barking that was set up, Twrch Trwyth came to their assistance. And from the time that they came across the Irish sea, Arthur had never got sight of him until then. {111c} So he set men and dogs upon him, and thereupon he started off and went to Mynydd Amanw. And there one of his young pigs was killed. {112a} Then they set upon him life for life, and Twrch Llawin was slain, and then there was slain another of the swine, Gwys was his name. After that he went on to Dyffryn Amanw, and there Banw and Bennwig were killed. {112b} Of all his pigs there went with him alive from that place none save Grugyn Gwallt Ereint, and Llwydawg Govynnyad. Thence he went on to Llwch Ewin, and Arthur overtook him there, and he made a stand. And there he slew Echel Forddwytwll, and Garwyli the son of Gwyddawg Gwyr, and many men and dogs likewise. And thence they went to Llwch Tawy. Grugyn Gwrych Ereint parted from them there, and went to Din Tywi. And thence he proceeded to Ceredigiawn, and Eli and Trachmyr with him, and a multitude likewise. Then he came to Garth Gregyn, and there Llwydawg Govynnyad fought in the midst of them, and slew Rhudvyw Rhys and many others with him. Then Llwydawg went thence to Ystrad Yw, and there the men of Armorica met him, and there he slew Hirpeissawg, the king of Armorica, and Llygatrudd Emys, and Gwrbothu, Arthur's uncles, his mother's brothers, and there was he himself slain. Twrch Trwyth went from there to between Tawy and Euyas, and Arthur summoned all Cornwall and Devon unto him, to the estuary of the Severn, and he said to the warriors of this Island, "Twrch Trwyth has slain many of my men, but, by the valour of warriors, while I live he shall not go into Cornwall. And I will not follow him any longer, but I will oppose him life to life. Do ye as ye will." And he resolved that he would send a body of knights, with the dogs of the Island, as far as Euyas, who should return thence to the Severn, and that tried warriors should traverse the Island, and force him into the Severn. And Mabon the son of Modron came up with him at the Severn, upon Gwynn Mygddon, the horse of Gweddw, and Goreu the son of Custennin, and Menw the son of Teirgwaedd; this was betwixt Llyn Lliwan and Aber Gwy. And Arthur fell upon him together with the champions of Britain. And Osla Kyllellvawr drew near, and Manawyddan the son of Llyr, and Kacmwri the servant of Arthur, and Gwyngelli, and they seized hold of him, catching him first by his feet, and plunged him in the Severn, so that it overwhelmed him. On the one side, Mabon the son of Modron spurred his steed and snatched his razor from him, and Kyledyr Wyllt came up with him on the other side, upon another steed, in the Severn, and took from him the scissors. But before they could obtain the comb, he had regained the ground with his feet, and from the moment that he reached the shore, neither dog, nor man, nor horse could overtake him until he came to Cornwall. If they had had trouble in getting the jewels from him, much more had they in seeking to save the two men from being drowned. Kacmwri, as they drew him forth, was dragged by two millstones into the deep. And as Osla Kyllellvawr was running after the Boar his knife had dropped out of the sheath, and he had lost it, and after that the sheath became full of water, and its weight drew him down into the deep, as they were drawing him forth. Then Arthur and his hosts proceeded until they overtook the Boar in Cornwall, and the trouble which they had met with before was mere play to what they encountered in seeking the comb. But from one difficulty to another, the comb was at length obtained. And then he was hunted from Cornwall, and driven straight forward into the deep sea. And thenceforth it was never known whither he went; and Aned and Aethlem with him. Then went Arthur to Gelliwic, in Cornwall, to anoint himself, and to rest from his fatigues. * * * * * Said Arthur, "Is there any one of the marvels yet unobtained?" Said one of his men, "There is--the blood of the witch Orddu, the daughter of the witch Orwen, of Penn Nant Govid, on the confines of Hell." Arthur set forth towards the North, and came to the place where was the witch's cave. And Gwyn ab Nudd, and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl, counselled him to send Kacmwri, and Hygwyd his brother to fight with the witch. And as they entered the cave, the witch seized upon them, and she caught Hygwyd by the hair of his head, and threw him on the floor beneath her. And Kacmwri caught her by the hair of her head, and dragged her to the earth from off Hygwyd, but she turned again upon them both, {114} and drove them both out with kicks and with cuffs. And Arthur was wroth at seeing his two attendants almost slain, and he sought to enter the cave; but Gwyn and Gwythyr said unto him, "It would not be fitting or seemly for us to see thee squabbling with a hag. Let Hiramren, and Hireidil go to the cave." So they went. But if great was the trouble of the two first that went, much greater was that of these two. And Heaven knows that not one of the four could move from the spot, until they placed them all upon Llamrei, Arthur's mare. And then Arthur rushed to the door of the cave, and at the door, he struck at the witch, with Carnwennan his dagger, and clove her in twain, so that she fell in two parts. And Kaw, of North Britain, took the blood of the witch and kept it. Then Kilhwch set forward, and Goreu, the son of Custennin, with him, and as many as wished ill to Yspaddaden Penkawr. And they took the marvels with them to his Court. And Kaw of North Britain came and shaved his beard, skin and flesh, clean off to the very bone from ear to ear. "Art thou shaved, man?" said Kilhwch. "I am shaved," answered he. "Is thy daughter mine now?" "She is thine," said he, "but therefore needest thou not thank me, but Arthur who hath accomplished this for thee. By my free will thou shouldest never have had her, for with her I lose my life." Then Goreu the son of Custennin, seized him by the hair of his head, and dragged him after him to the keep, and cut off his head, and placed it on a stake on the citadel. Then they took possession of his castle, and of his treasures. {Picture: p115.jpg} And that night Olwen became Kilhwch's bride, and she continued to be his wife as long as she lived. And the hosts of Arthur dispersed themselves, each man to his own country. And thus did Kilhwch obtain Olwen the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr. THE DREAM OF MAXEN WLEDIG. {Picture: p116.jpg} Maxen Wledig was emperor of Rome, and he was a comelier man, and a better and a wiser than any emperor that had been before him. {116} And one day he held a council of Kings, and he said to his friends, "I desire to go to-morrow to hunt." And the next day in the morning he set forth with his retinue, and came to the valley of the river that flowed towards Rome. And he hunted through the valley until mid-day. And with him also were two and thirty crowned kings, that were his vassals; not for the delight of hunting went the emperor with them, but to put himself on equal terms with those kings. {117} And the sun was high in the sky over their heads, and the heat was great. And sleep came upon Maxen Wledig. And his attendants stood and set up their shields around him upon the shafts of their spears to protect him from the sun, and they placed a gold enamelled shield under his head, and so Maxen slept. And he saw a dream. And this is the dream that he saw. He was journeying along the valley of the river towards its source; and he came to the highest mountain in the world. And he thought that the mountain was as high as the sky; and when he came over the mountain, it seemed to him that he went through the fairest and most level regions that man ever yet beheld, on the other side of the mountain. And he saw large and mighty rivers descending from the mountain to the sea, and towards the mouths of the rivers he proceeded. And as he journeyed thus, he came to the mouth of the largest river ever seen. And he beheld a great city at the entrance of the river, and a vast castle in the city, and he saw many high towers of various colours in the castle. And he saw a fleet at the mouth of the river, the largest ever seen. And he saw one ship among the fleet; larger was it by far, and fairer than all the others. Of such part of the ship as he could see above the water, one plank was gilded and the other silvered over. He saw a bridge of the bone of the whale from the ship to the land, and he thought that he went along the bridge and came into the ship. And a sail was hoisted on the ship, and along the sea and the ocean was it borne. Then it seemed that he came to the fairest island in the whole world, and he traversed the island from sea to sea, even to the farthest shore of the island. Valleys he saw, and steeps, and rocks of wondrous height, and rugged precipices. {118a} Never yet saw he the like. And thence he beheld an island in the sea, facing this rugged {118b} land. And between him and this island was a country of which the plain was as large as the sea, the mountain as vast as the wood. And from the mountain he saw a river that flowed through the land and fell into the sea. And at the mouth of the river, he beheld a castle, the fairest that man ever saw, and the gate of the castle was open, and he went into the castle. And in the castle he saw a fair hall of which the roof seemed to be all gold, the walls of the hall seemed to be entirely of glittering precious gems, the doors all seemed to be of gold. Golden seats he saw in the hall, and silver tables. And on a seat opposite to him, he beheld two auburn-haired youths playing at chess. He saw a silver board for the chess, and golden pieces thereon. The garments of the youths were of jet black satin, and chaplets of ruddy gold bound their hair, whereon were sparkling jewels of great price, {119} rubies, and gems, alternately with imperial stones. Buskins of new cordovan leather on their feet, fastened by slides of red gold. {Picture: p118.jpg} And beside a pillar in the hall he saw a hoary-headed man, in a chair of ivory, with the figures of two eagles of ruddy gold thereon. Bracelets of gold were upon his arms, and many rings upon his hands, and a golden torquis about his neck; and his hair was bound with a golden diadem. He was of powerful aspect. A chessboard of gold was before him, and a rod of gold, and a steel file in his hand. And he was carving out chessmen. And he saw a maiden sitting before him in a chair of ruddy gold. Not more easy than to gaze upon the sun when brightest, was it to look upon her by reason of her beauty. A vest of white silk was upon the maiden, with clasps of red gold at the breast; and a surcoat of gold tissue was upon her, and a frontlet of red gold upon her head, and rubies and gems were in the frontlet, alternating with pearls and imperial stones. And a girdle of ruddy gold was around her. She was the fairest sight that man ever beheld. The maiden arose from her chair before him, and he threw his arms about the neck of the maiden, and they two sat down together in the chair of gold: and the chair was not less roomy for them both, than for the maiden alone. And as he had his arms about the maiden's neck, and his cheek by her cheek, behold, through the chafing of the dogs at their leashing, and the clashing of the shields as they struck against each other, and the beating together of the shafts of the spears, and the neighing of the horses and their prancing, the emperor awoke. And when he awoke, nor spirit nor existence was left him, because of the maiden whom he had seen in his sleep, for the love of the maiden pervaded his whole frame. {120} Then his household spake unto him. "Lord," said they "is it not past the time for thee to take thy food?" Thereupon the emperor mounted his palfrey, the saddest man that mortal ever saw, and went forth towards Rome. And thus he was during the space of a week. When they of the household went to drink wine and mead out of golden vessels, he went not with any of them. When they went to listen to songs and tales, he went not with them there; neither could he be persuaded to do anything but sleep. And as often as he slept, he beheld in his dreams the maiden he loved best; but except when he slept he saw nothing of her, for he knew not where in the world she was. One day the page of the chamber spake unto him; now, although he was page of the chamber, he was king of the Romans. "Lord," said he, "all thy people revile thee." "Wherefore do they revile me?" asked the emperor. "Because they can get neither message nor answer from thee, as men should have from their lord. This is the cause why thou art spoken evil of." "Youth," said the emperor, "do thou bring unto me the wise men of Rome, and I will tell them wherefore I am sorrowful." Then the wise men of Rome were brought to the emperor, and he spake to them. "Sages of Rome," said he, "I have seen a dream. And in the dream I beheld a maiden, and because of the maiden is there neither life, nor spirit, nor existence within me." "Lord," they answered, "since thou judgest us worthy to counsel thee, we will give thee counsel. And this is our counsel; that thou send messengers for three years to the three parts of the world, to seek for thy dream. And as thou knowest not what day or what night good news may come to thee, the hope thereof will support thee." So the messengers journeyed for the space of a year wandering about the world, and seeking tidings concerning his dream. But when they came back at the end of the year they knew not one word more than they did the day they set forth. And then was the emperor exceeding sorrowful, for he thought that he should never have tidings of her whom best he loved. Then spoke the king of the Romans unto the emperor. "Lord," said he, "go forth to hunt by the way that thou didst seem to go, whither it were to the east or to the west." So the emperor went forth to hunt, and he came to the bank of the river. "Behold," said he, "this is where I was when I saw the dream, and I went towards the source of the river westward." And thereupon thirteen messengers of the emperor's set forth, and before them they saw a high mountain, which seemed to them to touch the sky. Now this was the guise in which the messengers journeyed; one sleeve was on the cap of each of them in front; as a sign that they were messengers, in order that through what hostile land soever they might pass no harm might be done them. And when they were come over this mountain they beheld vast plains, and large rivers flowing therethrough. "Behold," said they, "the land which our master saw." And they went along the mouths of the rivers, until they came to the mighty river which they saw flowing to the sea, and the vast city, and the many-coloured high towers in the castle. They saw the largest fleet in the world, in the harbour of the river, and one ship that was larger than any of the others. "Behold again," said they, "the dream that our master saw." And in the great ship they crossed the sea, and came to the Island of Britain. And they traversed the island until they came to Snowdon. "Behold," said they, "the rugged {122} land that our master saw." And they went forward until they saw Anglesey before them, and until they saw Arvon likewise. "Behold," said they, "the land our master saw in his sleep." And they saw Aber Sain, and a castle at the mouth of the river. The portal of the castle saw they open, and into the castle they went, and they saw a hall in the castle. Then said they, "Behold the hall which he saw in his sleep." They went into the hall, and they beheld two youths playing at chess on the golden bench. And they beheld the hoary-headed man beside the pillar, in the ivory chair, carving chessmen. And they beheld the maiden sitting on a chair of ruddy gold. The messengers bent down upon their knees. "Empress of Rome, all hail!" "Ha, gentles," said the maiden, "ye bear the seeming of honourable men, and the badge of envoys, what mockery is this ye do to me?" "We mock thee not, lady, but the emperor of Rome hath seen thee in his sleep, and he has neither life nor spirit left because of thee. Thou shall have of us therefore the choice, lady, whether thou wilt go with us and be made empress of Rome, or that the emperor come hither and take thee for his wife?" "Ha, lords," said the maiden, "I will not deny what you say, neither will I believe it too well. If the emperor love me, let him come here to seek me." And by day and night the messengers hied them back. And when their horses failed, they bought other fresh ones. And when they came to Rome they saluted the emperor, and asked their boon, which was given to them according as they named it. "We will be thy guides, lord," said they, "over sea and over land, to the place where is the woman whom best thou lovest, for we know her name, and her kindred, and her race." {Picture: p123.jpg} And immediately the emperor set forth with his army. And these men were his guides. Towards the Island of Britain they went over the sea and the deep. And he conquered the Island from Beli the son of Manogan, and his sons, and drove them to the sea, and went forward even unto Arvon. And the emperor knew the land when he saw it. And when he beheld the castle of Aber Sain, "Look yonder," said he, "there is the castle wherein I saw the damsel whom I best love." And he went forward into the castle and into the hall, and there he saw Kynan the son of Eudav, and Adeon the son of Eudav, playing at chess. And he saw Eudav the son of Caradawc, sitting on a chair of ivory carving chessmen. And the maiden whom he had beheld in his sleep, he saw sitting on a chair of gold. "Empress of Rome," said he, "all hail!" And the emperor threw his arms about her neck; and that night she became his bride. And the next day in the morning, the damsel asked her maiden portion. And he told her to name what she would, and she asked to have the Island of Britain for her father, from the Channel to the Irish Sea, together with the three adjacent islands to hold under the empress of Rome; and to have three chief castles made for her, in whatever places she might choose in the Island of Britain. And she chose to have the highest castle made at Arvon. And they brought thither earth from Rome that it might be more healthful for the emperor to sleep, and sit, and walk upon. After that the two other castles were made for her, which were Caerlleon and Caermarthen. And one day, the emperor went to hunt at Caermarthen, and he came so far as the top of Brevi Vawr, and there the emperor pitched his tent. And that encamping place is called Cadeir Maxen, even to this day. And because that he built the castle with a myriad of men, he called it Caervyrddin. Then Helen bethought her to make high roads from one castle to another throughout the Island of Britain. And the roads were made. And for this cause are they called the roads of Helen Luyddawc, {124} that she was sprung from a native of this island, and the men of the Island of Britain would not have made these great roads {125} for any save for her. Seven years did the emperor tarry in this Island. Now, at that time, the men of Rome had a custom that whatsoever emperor should remain in other lands more than seven years, should remain to his own overthrow, and should never return to Rome again. So they made a new emperor. And this one wrote a letter of threat to Maxen. There was nought in the letter but only this, "If thou comest, and if thou ever comest to Rome." And even unto Caerlleon came this letter to Maxen, and these tidings. Then sent he a letter to the man who styled himself emperor in Rome. There was nought in that letter also but only this, "If I come to Rome, and if I come." And thereupon Maxen set forth towards Rome with his army, and vanquished France and Burgundy, and every land on the way, and sat down before the city of Rome. A year was the emperor before the city, and he was no nearer taking it than the first day. And after him there came the brothers of Helen Luyddawc from the Island of Britain, and a small host with them, and better warriors were in that small host than twice as many Romans. And the emperor was told that a host was seen, halting close to his army and encamping, and no man ever saw a fairer or better appointed host for its size, nor more handsome standards. And Helen went to see the hosts, and she knew the standards of her brothers. Then came Kynan the son of Eudav, and Adeon the son of Eudav, to meet the emperor. And the emperor was glad because of them, and embraced them. Then they looked at the Romans as they attacked the city. Said Kynan to his brother, "We will try to attack the city more expertly than this." So they measured by night the height of the wall, and they sent their carpenters to the wood, and a ladder was made for every four men of their number. Now when these were ready, every day at mid-day the emperors went to meat, and they ceased to fight on both sides till all had finished eating. And in the morning the men of Britain took their food, and they drank until they were invigorated. And while the two emperors were at meat, the Britons came to the city, {126a} and placed their ladders against it, and forthwith they came in through the city. The new emperor had not time to arm himself when they fell upon him, and slew him and many others with him. And three nights and three days were they subduing the men that were in the city and taking the castle. And others of them kept the city, lest any of the host of Maxen should come therein, until they had subjected all to their will. Then spake Maxen to Helen Luyddawc, "I marvel, lady," said he, "that thy brothers have not conquered this city for me." {126b} "Lord, emperor," she answered, "the wisest youths in the world are my brothers. Go thou thither and ask the city of them, and if it be in their possession thou shalt have it gladly." So the emperor and Helen went and demanded the city. And they told the emperor that none had taken the city, and that none could give it him, but the men of the Island of Britain. Then the gates of the city of Rome were opened, and the emperor sat on the throne and all the men of Rome submitted themselves unto him. The emperor then said unto Kynan and Adeon, "Lords," said he, "I have now had possession of the whole of my empire. This host give I unto you to vanquish whatever region ye may desire in the world." So they set forth and conquered lands, and castles and cities. And they slew all the men, but the women they kept alive. And thus they continued until the young men that had come with them were grown grey headed, from the length of time they were upon this conquest. {Picture: p127.jpg} Then spoke Kynan unto Adeon his brother, "Whether wilt thou rather," said he, "tarry in this land, or go back into the land whence thou didst come forth?" Now he chose to go back to his own land and many with him. But Kynan tarried there with the other part, and dwelt there. And they took counsel and cut out the tongues of the women, lest they should corrupt their speech. And because of the silence of the women from their own speech, the men of Armorica are called Britons. From that time there came frequently, and still comes, that language from the Island of Britain. And this tale is called the Dream of Maxen Wledig, emperor of Rome. And here it ends. Footnotes: {7a} Add "successively." {7b} And he summoned to him. {10} Add "bespattered." {11} And it may be that I shall have as much entertainment on account of the hunting as they. {15} Good Sir. {17} There. {19} And his words reached Geraint. {22} As thou art impartial concerning the question of right between us. {27} More probably "though." The ambiguity of the original would be best expressed by "while." {36a} "Lest he should be overtaken by a piteous death." {36b} "Thine I do not consider a protection, nor thy warning a warning." {38} "Wilt thou not at last be silent? Thy protection do I not consider such." {39} "I declare to Heaven," said he, "that thy protection I do not regard as such. Hold thy peace, at last." {40} He spoke not a word, being angry. {47a} "Do thou not go to his land beyond the bridge." {47b} "I will go my way in spite of the one thou speakest of." {48a} In a very rough and bitter manner. {48b} Gereint took the road that he had meant to take; it was not the road that led to the town from the bridge that he took, but the road that led to the ground that was hard, and rugged, and high, and ridgy. {49} But it was unfair for Gereint to have to fight him, so small was he, and so difficult to take aim at, and so hard were the blows he gave. And they did not end that part of their fight until their horses fell down on their knees. {53} "To complete thy death." {64} And what she did was to call her tutor to her, and she commanded him to dress her grave every year in such a way that nothing would grow on it. {66} And there were two silver spears, sharpened, in his hand. A prince's glaive was in his hand, a cubit from hilt to edge, that would draw blood from the wind; swifter was it than. {67} Yes. And as for thee, thy head is not under thy control; curt is thy greeting. {70a} Carnwenhan. {70b} Dress. {71a} Galldovydd. {71b} Cnychwr. {71c} And Adwy. {71d} Annwas. {71e} Sinoit. {72a} Ysperin. {72b} Erinit. {74a} Llenuleawc. {74b} Gwrdival. {74c} Kai was said to be his son. {75a} Add, "And from him is Paris named." {75b} Gweir, son of Cadellin Talaryant (Cadellin of the silver brow). {76a} His flat breast was ruddy. {77a} Hwyrdyddwc, Drwgdyddwc, and Llwyrdyddwc. {77b} Cethtrwm. {78a} Gweirdathar Wenidawc. {78b} Canhwch. {78c} Arwy. {81a} "We all of us will come there," said Kai. {81b} This dialogue consists of a series of repartees, with a play upon words which it is impossible to follow in the translation. {82} "Oh man, since the sea does not allow a beautiful dead man in it, show me that dead body." "Oh woman, the one to whom the dead body belongs thou wilt see here this evening." {84a} "I promise all this, and will obtain it," said he. {84b} "Where are my bad servants and my knaves?" {85a} Knee-pan. {87} The two oxen of Gwlwlwyd Wineu. {89} The harp of Teirtu to console me that night. {92} Garselit Wyddel. {93} Moro Oerveddawc. {98a} And what he and his companions with him did was this--they crossed the three wards until he was within the fortress. {98b} Glini. {99a} Glini. {99b} Add "some of." {100} There was but one horn on each side of my head, and there were no trees here except one oak sapling. {102} And they proceeded until they came to the wall opposite to where the prisoner was, where they heard lamentations and groaning on the other side of the wall. {103} And it was piteous to hear them. And he hastened to the place. {105} Dyvnarth. {108a} Hosts of Ireland. {108b} And when all the hosts had fled, Arthur and his men went to their ship in their sight, carrying with them the cauldron full of Irish money. {108c} Llwyddeu. {109} And he only killed one of his young pigs. {110} Add "same night Arthur." {111a} Aber Tywi. {111b} Kynlas. {111c} And ever since they had crossed the Irish Sea, he had not appeared to them until then. {112a} And there was killed a young boar from among his pigs. {112b} And there was killed a young boar and a young sow. {114} But she turned again upon Kacmwri; she beat both men soundly, disarmed them, and drove them out. {116} Maxen Wledig was an emperor at Rome. And the comeliest man was he, and the wisest, and the one that was most fit to be an emperor, of all that had been before him. {117} Not for the delight of hunting went the emperor so far as that, but to make himself such a man that he would be lord over those kings. {118a} Valleys he saw, and precipices, and wondrous high rocks, and a rugged, waterless land. {118b} Barren. {119} Sparkling jewels laboriously wrought. {120} There was no joint of his bones, or cavity of his nails, not to speak of anything larger than these, that was not full of the maiden's love. {122} Waterless. {124} Helen of the Legions. {125} Legions. {126a} Over the wall into the city. {126b} That it was not for me that thy brothers conquered the city. 
46917	----	THE POEM-BOOK OF THE GAEL The Poem Book of the Gael by Eleanor Hull. 1913 Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. at Paul's Work, Edinburgh [Illustration: Opening passage of the "Saltair na Rann." from the MS. in the Bodleian Library.] THE POEM-BOOK OF THE GAEL Translations from Irish Gaelic Poetry into English Prose and Verse SELECTED AND EDITED BY ELEANOR HULL AUTHOR OF "THE CUCHULLIN SAGA IN IRISH LITERATURE," "A TEXT-BOOK OF IRISH LITERATURE," ETC. [Illustration: Decoration] WITH A FRONTISPIECE LONDON CHATTO & WINDUS 1913 A NEW IMPRESSION _All rights reserved_ CONTENTS (_Where not otherwise indicated, the translation or poetic setting is by the author._) PAGE INTRODUCTION XV THE SALTAIR NA RANN, OR PSALTER OF THE VERSES I. The Creation of the Universe 3 II. The Heavenly Kingdom 11 III. The Forbidden Fruit 20 IV. The Fall and Expulsion from Paradise 22 V. The Penance of Adam and Eve 31 VI. The Death of Adam 43 ANCIENT PAGAN POEMS The Source of Poetic Inspiration (founded on translation by _Whitley Stokes_) 53 Amorgen's Song (founded on translation by _John MacNeill_) 57 The Song of Childbirth 59 Greeting to the New-born Babe 61 What is Love? 62 Summons to Cuchulain 63 Laegh's Description of Fairy-land 65 The Lamentation of Fand when she is about to leave Cuchulain 69 Mider's Call to Fairy-land 71 The Song of the Fairies _A. H. Leahy_ 73 The great Lamentation of Deirdre for the Sons of Usna 74 OSSIANIC POETRY First Winter-Song _Alfred Percival Graves_ 81 Second Winter-Song 82 In Praise of May _T. W. Rolleston_ 83 The Isle of Arran 85 The Parting of Goll from his Wife 87 Youth and Age 91 Chill Winter 92 The Sleep-song of Grainne over Dermuid 94 The Slaying of Conbeg 97 The Fairies' Lullaby 98 Song of the Forest Trees _Standish Hayes O'Grady_ 99 EARLY CHRISTIAN POEMS St. Patrick's Breastplate _Kuno Meyer_ 105 Patrick's Blessing on Munster _Alfred Perceval Graves_ 107 Columcille's Farewell to Aran _Douglas Hyde_ 109 St. Columba in Iona _Eugene O'Curry_ 111 Hymn to the Dawn 113 The Song of Manchan the Hermit 117 A Prayer 119 The Loves of Liadan and Curithir 121 The Lay of Prince Marvan 125 The Song of Crede, daughter of Guare _Alfred Perceval Graves_ 130 The Student and his Cat _Robin Flower_ 132 The Song of the Seven Archangels _Ernest Rhys_ 134 The Féilire of Adamnan _P. J. McCall_ 136 The Feathered Hermit 138 An Aphorism 138 The Blackbird 139 Deus Meus _George Sigerson_ 140 The Soul's Desire 142 Tempest on the Sea _Robin Flower_ 144 The Old Woman of Beare 147 Gormliath's Lament for Nial Black-knee 151 The Mother's Lament at the Slaughter of the Innocents _Alfred Perceval Graves_ 153 Consecration 156 Teach me, O Trinity 157 The Shaving of Murdoch _Standish Hayes O'Grady_ 159 Eileen Aroon 161 POEMS OF THE DARK DAYS The Downfall of the Gael _Sir Samuel Ferguson_ 165 Address to Brian O'Rourke "of the Bulwarks" to arouse him against the English 169 O'Hussey's Ode to the Maguire _James Clarence Mangan_ 172 A Lament for the Princes of Tyrone and Tyrconnell _James Clarence Mangan_ 176 The County of Mayo _George Fox_ 182 The Outlaw of Loch Lene _Jeremiah Joseph Callanan_ 184 The Flower of Nut-brown Maids 186 Roisín Dubh 188 My Dark Rosaleen _James Clarence Mangan_ 190 The Fair Hills of Éire _George Sigerson_ 194 Shule Aroon _(Traditional)_ 196 Love's Despair _George Sigerson_ 198 The Cruiskeen Lawn _George Sigerson_ 200 Eamonn an Chnuic, or "Ned of the Hill" _P. H. Pearse_ 202 O Druimin donn dilish 204 Do you Remember that Night? _Eugene O'Curry_ 206 The Exile's Song 208 The Fisherman's Keen (_Anonymous_) 210 Boatman's Hymn _Sir Samuel Ferguson_ 213 Dirge on the Death of Art O'Leary 215 The Midnight Court (_Prologue_) 224 RELIGIOUS POEMS OF THE PEOPLE Hymn to the Virgin Mary 229 Christmas Hymn _Douglas Hyde_ 231 O Mary of Graces _Douglas Hyde_ 232 The Cattle-shed 233 Hail to Thee, O Mary 234 O Mary, O blessed Mother 235 I rest with Thee, O Jesus 236 Thanksgiving after Food 236 The Sacred Trinity 237 O King of the Wounds 237 Prayer before going to Sleep 238 I lie down with God 239 The White Paternoster 240 Another Version 241 A Night Prayer 243 Mary's Vision 243 The Safe-guarding of my Soul be Thine 244 Another Version 244 The Straying Sheep 246 Before Communion 246 May the sweet Name of Jesus 247 O Blessed Jesus 248 Another Version 248 Morning Wish 249 On Covering the Fire for the Night 249 The Man who Stands Stiff _Douglas Hyde_ 250 Charm against Enemies _Lady Wilde_ 252 Charm for a Pain in the Side _Lady Wilde_ 252 Charm against Sorrow _Lady Wilde_ 253 The Keening of Mary _P. H. Pearse_ 254 LOVE-SONGS AND POPULAR POETRY Cushla ma Chree _Edward Walsh_ 259 The Blackthorn 260 Pastheen Finn _Sir Samuel Ferguson_ 263 She 265 Hopeless Love 266 The Girl I Love _Jeremiah Joseph Callanan_ 267 Would God I were _Katharine Tynan-Hinkson_ 268 Branch of the Sweet and Early Rose _William Drennan_ 269 Is truagh gan mise I Sasana _Thomas MacDonagh_ 270 The Yellow Bittern _Thomas MacDonagh_ 271 Have you been at Carrack? _Edward Walsh_ 273 Cashel of Munster _Sir Samuel Ferguson_ 275 The Snowy-breasted Pearl _George Petrie_ 277 The Dark Maid of the Valley _P. J. McCall_ 279 The Coolun _Sir Samuel Ferguson_ 281 Ceann dubh dhileas _Sir Samuel Ferguson_ 283 Ringleted Youth of my Love _Douglas Hyde_ 284 I shall not Die for You _Padraic Colum_ 286 Donall Oge 288 The Grief of a Girl's Heart 291 Death the Comrade 294 Muirneen of the Fair Hair _Robin Flower_ 296 The Red Man's Wife _Douglas Hyde_ 298 Another Version 299 My Grief on the Sea _Douglas Hyde_ 302 Oró Mhór, a Mhóirín _P. J. McCall_ 304 The little Yellow Road _Seosamh Mac Cathmhaoil_ 306 Reproach to the Pipe 308 Lament of Morian Shehone for Miss Mary Bourke _(Anonymous)_ 311 Modereen Rue _Katherine Tynan-Hinkson_ 314 The Stars Stand Up 316 The Love-smart 318 Well for Thee 319 I am Raftery _Douglas Hyde_ 320 Dust hath Closed Helen's Eye _Lady Gregory_ 321 The Shining Posy 324 Love is a Mortal Disease 326 I am Watching my Young Calves Sucking 328 The Narrow Road 329 Forsaken 332 I Follow a Star _Seosamh Mac Cathmhaoil_ 334 LULLABIES AND WORKING SONGS Nurse's Song (_Traditional_) 337 A Sleep Song _P. H. Pearse_ 339 The Cradle of Gold _Alfred Perceval Graves_ 340 Rural Song 341 Ploughing Song 342 A Spinning-wheel Ditty 344 NOTES 349 INTRODUCTION "An air is more lasting than the voice of the birds, A word is more lasting than the riches of the world." The truth of this Irish proverb strikes us forcibly as we glance through any such collection of Gaelic poetry as this, and consider how these lays, the dates of whose composition extend from the eighth to the present century, have been preserved to us. On the border of some grave manuscript, such as a Latin copy of St. Paul's Epistles or a transcript of Priscian, a stray quatrain may be found jotted down by the tired scribe, recording in impromptu verse his delight at the note of a blackbird whose song has penetrated his cell, his amusement at the gambols of his cat watching a mouse, or his reflections on a piece of news brought to him by some wandering monk, about the terror of the viking raids, or a change of dynasty "at home in Ireland." Several of our Ossianic poems are taken from a manuscript of lays collected in 1626-27 in and about the Glens of Antrim, and sent out to while away the tedium of camp life to an Irish officer serving in the Low Countries, who wearied for the poems and stories of his youth. The religious hymns of Murdoch O'Daly (Muredach Albanach), called "the Scot" on account of his affection for his adopted country, though he was born in Connaught, are preserved in a collection of poems gathered in the Western Highlands, many Irish poems, even from so great a distance as Munster, being found in it. The Saltair na Rann or "Psalter of the Verses," the most important religious poem of ancient Ireland, is preserved in one copy only. It seems as though a miracle had sometimes intervened to guard for later generations some single version of a valuable tract at home or abroad; but it is a miracle which we could have wished to have taken place more often, when we reflect upon the large number of manuscripts forever lost to us. Many of the most beautiful of the ancient poems, as well as of the popular songs, are anonymous; they are frequently found mixed up with material of the most arid description, genealogies, annals, or miscellaneous matter. It is easier to guess from the tone of the poems under what mood of mind they were composed than to tell exactly who wrote them. Even when they come down to us adorned with the name of some well-known saint or poet, we have an uncertain feeling about the accuracy of the ascription, when we find a poem whose language cannot be earlier than the tenth or eleventh century confidently connected with a writer who lived two or three centuries earlier. In some cases, no doubt, the versions we possess, though modernised in language and rhythm, are in reality old; in others the ascription probably bears witness to the desire of the author or his public to win esteem for his work by adorning it with some famous name. Some of these poems, of which only one copy has come down to us, were, however, well known in an earlier day, and are quoted in old tracts on Irish metric as examples of the metres used in the bardic schools. It is evident that though standards of taste may change, the recognition of what is really beautiful in poetry remains as a settled instinct in man's nature. Many of those poems which now appeal most strongly to ourselves took rank as verses of acknowledged merit nearer to the time of their composition. This we can deduce from their use as examples worthy of imitation in these mediaeval Irish text-books, where the names of songs we still admire are quoted as specimens of good poetry. It is remarkable that a very large proportion of fine poetry comes to us from the period of the Norse invasions, a time which we are accustomed to think of as one continuous series of wars, raids, and burnings; but which, if we may judge by what has come down to us of its verse, shows us that the Irish gentleman of that day had ideas of refinement that raise him far above the mere fighting clansman; his critical view of literature was a severe one. The fine freedom shown in many of these poems is surprising, both as regards the sentiments and the metres. They possess a mastery of form that argues a high cultivation, not only of the special art of poetry, but of the whole intellectual faculties of the writers. Some of these poems are strangely modern, even _fin de siècle_ in their tone. The poem of the "Old Woman of Beare" has often been compared to Villon's "Regrets de la Belle Heaulmière ja parvenue à viellesse," or to Béranger's "Grand'mère." But the Irish poem is far more artistically wrought than either of these comparatively modern poems. For in the ancient verses, the old woman is set, a lonely and forsaken figure, against the background of the ebbing tide, and the slow throbs of her heart, worn with age and sin, beat in unison with the retreating motion of the wave. There is also a further significance in the poem which we must not miss. It is the earliest of the long series of allegorical songs in which Ireland is depicted under the form of a woman; though, unlike her successors of a later day, she is here represented, not as a fair maiden, a Grainne Mhaol, or Kathleen ni Houlahan, or Little Mary Cuillenan, but as an aged joyless hag, forlorn and censorious, bemoaning the loss of bygone pleasures, and the gravity of her nun's veil. The "Cailleach Bheara," the "Hag" or "Nun of Beare" is known in many place-names in Ireland. It is on Slieve na Callighe, or the "Hill of the Hag" or "Nun," in Co. Meath that the great cairns and tumuli of Lough Crew are found; it was evidently, like the neighbourhood of the Boyne, a place of pagan sanctity; and such names as Tober na Callighe Bheara, the "Well of the Hag of Beare," are found in different parts of the country. The "Hag of Beare" seems to be symbolic of pagan Ireland, regretting the stricter regime of Christianity, and the changes that time had brought about. The curious legend which prefaces the poem suggests the same idea. She is said to have seen seven periods of youth, and to have outlived tribes and races descended from her. For a hundred years of old age she wore the veil of a nun. "Thereupon old age and infirmity came upon her." We catch the same note of regret for the days of paganism through many legends and poems. It is mystical and veiled in such stories as that of "King Murtough and the Witch-woman"; it is fierce, but also often touched by the grotesque, in the innumerable colloquies between Patrick and Oisín (Ossian), the last of the ancient pagan heroes. But in all this there is a note of apology. It is not so outspoken in its revolt against the new system of life and thought as are the Norse chronicles and the Icelandic Sagas. After all, Christianity was an accomplished thing; quietly but persistently it took its place, sweeping into its fold chiefs and common folk alike. No resistance could stop this universal progress. And the literary man or the peasant, dwelling on his early legends, the outcome of a state of thought passed or passing away, dared only half-heartedly bemoan the former days, when wars and raids, the "Creach" and the "Táin" were the highest way of life for a brave man, and no Christian doctrine of forgiveness of enemies and charity to foes had come in to perplex his thoughts and confuse their issues. The Raid remained, it was an essential part of actual life; and burnings and wars went on as before, but they were no longer, theoretically, at least, matters to win praise and honour, they were condemned beforehand by the Christian ethic. A chief, to hold his own, must still throw open doors of hospitality to his tribe, must dispense largesse to all-comers, must gather about his board the neighbours and dependents in riotous assemblies and festivals. But all this the Christian monk and priest looked upon with suspicion; they bade him fill his thoughts with a future Kingdom, rather than with the earthly one to which he had been born, and to keep his soul in humble readiness by prayers and fastings, by seclusion and self-sacrifice. The great disjointure is everywhere apparent; chiefs are seen flying from their plain duties to their clans in order to win a heavenly chiefdom, not of this world; kings retire into hermitages, and whole villages take on the aspect and system of life of the monastery. To escape a network of religious service so closely spread throughout the country was impossible; all that the half-convinced could do was to relieve his soul in legend and song and jest. Hence the large amount of this literature of protest, coming to us curiously side by side with poems breathing the very spirit of religious devotion, the work of peaceful recluse or retired monk. For the movement had its other aspect. If the warrior or chief resigned much in becoming a Christian monk, there is no doubt that he gained as well. Contemporaneous religious poetry in the Middle Ages is elsewhere overshadowed by the cast of theologic thought. The "world" from which the saint must flee is no mere symbol, denoting the perils of evil courses; it is the actual visible earth, its hills and trees and flowers, and the beauty of its human inhabitants that are in themselves a danger and a snare. St. Bernard walking round the Lake of Geneva, unconscious of its presence and blind to its loveliness, is a fit symbol of the tendency of the religious mind in the Middle Ages. Sin and repentance, the fall and redemption, hell and heaven, occupied the religious man's every thought; beside such weighty themes the outward life became almost negligible. If he dared to turn his mind towards it at all, it was in order to extract from it some warning of peril, or some allegory of things divine. In essence, the "world" was nothing else than a peril to be renounced and if possible entirely abandoned. But the Irish monk showed no such inclination, suffered no such terrors. His joy in nature grew with his loving association with her moods. He refused to mingle the idea of evil with what God had made so good. If he sought for symbols, he found only symbols of purity and holiness. The pool beside his hut, the rill that flowed across his green, became to his watchful eye the manifestation of a divine spirit washing away sin; if the birds sang sweetly above his door, they were the choristers of God; if the wild beasts gathered to their nightly tryst, were they not the congregation of intelligent beings whom God Himself would most desire? The friendly badgers or foxes of the wood that came forth, undismayed by the white or brown-robed figure who seemed to have taken up his lasting abode amongst them, became to his mind fellow-monks, authorised members of his strange community. Amongst his feathered and furred associates, he read his Psalms and Hours in peace; sang his periodic hymn to St. Hilary or St. Brigit, and performed his innumerable genuflexions and "cross-vigils." Here, from time to time, he poured forth in spontaneous song his joy in the life that he had elected as his own. When King Guaire of Connaught stands at the door of the hermitage in which his brother Marvan had taken refuge from the bustle of court life, and asks him why he had sacrificed so much, Marvan bursts forth into a poem in praise of his hermit life, and the King is fain to confess that the choice of the recluse was the wiser one; when St. Cellach of Killala is dragged into the forest by his comrades and threatened with death, not even the sight of the four murderers lying at his feet with swords ready drawn in their hands to slay him can prevent him from greeting the Dawn in a beautiful song. The saint who, like St. Finan, lived shut up within his cell, in many cases lost his mental balance, and degenerated into a mere Fakir, winning heaven by the miseries of his self-imposed mortifications; but the monk who trusted himself to untrammelled intercourse with nature, preserved his underlying sanity. For whether or no the hundreds of daily genuflexions were performed, the patch of ground around the solitary's cell must be ploughed or sown or reaped; the apples must be gathered or the honeysuckles twined. The salmon or herring must be netted or angled for. Thus nature and its needs kept the hermit on the straight and simple paths of physical and mental healthfulness, however he might try to escape into a wilderness of his own imaginings. The early poetry, we feel, is on the whole joyous; whether pagan or Christian in tone, it arises from a happy heart. The pagan is more robust, more vigorous; the Christian gentler and more reflective; but alike they are free from the mournful note of despair that throws a settled gloom over much of the later literature. The Ossianic poems have quite a distinctive tone; in them we catch the abounding energy belonging to the days of the hunt of the wild native boar or stag, when all the country was one open hunting-ground, fit for men whose ideal was that of the sportsman and the warrior. Besides romantic tales, we have a whole body of poetry, loosely strung together under the covering name of Oisín, or Ossian, and usually ascribed to him or to Fionn mac Cumhall, his father and chief, dealing with the themes of war and of the chase. They are often in the nature of the protest of the fighting and hunting-man against the claims of religion. He is perpetually proclaiming that the sounds and sights of the forest and seashore are more dear to him than any others, and when he is called upon to give the first place to the duties of religion, placed before him, as it usually is, in its most enfeebling aspect, he raises the stout protest that the hunting-horn has greater attractions for him than the tinkling bell which calls to prayer. "I have heard music sweeter far Than hymns and psalms of clerics are; The blackbird's pipe on Letterlea, The Dord Finn's wailing melody. "The thrush's song of Glenna-Scál, The hound's deep bay at twilight's fall, The barque's sharp grating on the shore, Than cleric's chants delight me more." There is the ring of the obstinate pagan about such verses; and many poems are wholly occupied by an unholy wrangling between the representative of the old order, Oisín, and the representative of the new, St. Patrick. The poems themselves probably date from a far later period than either. More healthy are the true hunting songs. Many of these are in praise of the Isle of Arran, in the Clyde, a favourite resort during the sporting-season both for the Scottish and Irish huntsman. In the poem we have called "The Isle of Arran," from the "Colloquy of the Ancient Men," the charm of the Isle is well described. We have in it the same pure joy in natural scenery that we find in the poems of the religious hermits, but the tone is manlier and more emphatic. Occasionally a fiercer note creeps into the hunter's mood. The chase of the boar and deer was not without its dangers. Winter, and the unfriendly clan hard by, or the lean prowling wolf at night, were real terrors to the small companies encamped on the open hill-side or in the forest. Though the warrior in peaceful times loved the chase of swine and stag, his hand had done and was always ready to do sterner work when opportunity offered. The poem "Chill Winter" has a note of almost savage exultation; the old fighter turns from his present perils and discomforts to remember the warrior onslaughts which had left the glen below him silent, and its once happy inhabitants cold in death; colder, as he gladly reflects, than even he himself feels on this chill winter's night. It is the voice of the ancient warrior, who thought no shame of slaying, but thanked God when he had knocked down his fellow. Whether he, in his turn, were the undermost man, or whether he escaped, he cared not at all. Two difficulties face the modern reader in coming for the first time upon genuine Irish literature, whether poetry or prose. The first is the curious feeling that we are hung between two worlds, the seen and the unseen; that we are not quite among actualities, or rather that we do not know where the actual begins or where it ends. Even in dealing with history we may find ourselves suddenly wafted away into some illusory spirit-world with which the historian seems to deal with the same sober exactness as in detailing any fact of ordinary life. The faculty of discerning between the actual and the imaginary is absent, as it is absent in imaginative children; often, indeed, the illusory quite overpowers the real, as it does in the life of the Irish peasant to-day. There is, in most literatures, a meeting-place where the Mythological and the Historic stand in close conjunction, the one dying out as the other takes its place. Only in Ireland we never seem to reach this point; we can never anywhere say, "Here ends legend, here begins history." In all Irish writing we find poetry and fact, dreams and realities, exact detail and wild imagination, linked closely hand in hand. This is the Gael as revealed in his literature. At first we are inclined to doubt the accuracy of any part of the story; but, as we continue our examination, we are surprised at the substantial correctness of the ancient records, so far as we are able to test them, whether on the historical or on the social side. The poet is never wholly poet, he is also practical man; and the historian is never wholly chronicler and annalist, he is also at the back of his mind folklorist, lover of nature, dreamer. It is the puzzle and the charm of Ireland. A good example of this is the very beautiful anonymous Irish poem, rich in poetic imagery, addressed to Ragnall or Reginald, son of Somerled, lord of the Isles from 1164-1204. This poem, written for an historical prince, begins with a description of the joys of the fairy palace, "Emain of the Apples," whence this favoured prince is supposed by the poet to have issued forth: "Many, in white grass-fresh Emain, Of men on whom a noble eye gazes (The rider of a bay steed impetuously) Through a countenance of foxglove hue, Shapely, branch-fresh. "Many, in Emain of the pastures, From which its noble feast has not parted, Are the fields ploughed in autumn For the pure corn of the Lord's Body." The poet's mind wanders from the ancient Emain, capital of Ulster, to the allegorical Emain, the dwelling of the gods or fairy-hosts, who were thought of as inhabiting the great tumuli on the Boyne; again, he transplants his fairy-land to the home of Ragnall, and seems to place it in Mull or the Isle of Man, which was indeed the especial abode of Manannan, the Ocean-god and Ruler of Fairy-land. "What God from Brugh of the Boyne, Thou son of noble Sabia, Thou beauteous apple-rod Created thee with her in secret? "O Man of the white steed, O Man of the black swan, Of the fierce band and the gentle sorrow, Of the sharp blade and the lasting fame. "Thy fair side thou hast bathed, The grey branch of thy eyes like summer showers, Over thy locks, O descendant of Fergus, The wind of Paradise has breathed."[1] We recognise that this is fine poetry, but we feel also that it needs a specialised education thoroughly to understand it. The world from which it hails is not our world, and to comprehend it we must do more than translate, we must add notes and glossary at every line; but no poetry, especially poetry under the initial disadvantage of a translation, could retain its qualities under such treatment. In all the ancient verse we meet with these obstacles. Even much of the most imaginative Ossianic poetry becomes too difficult from this point of view for the untrained reader. Take the fine poem detailing the history of the Shield of Fionn. Poetic addresses to noted weapons are common enough, and are not confined to Irish literature; but the adventures of this shield pass beyond the ordinary uses of human battles, and enter the realm of mythology. The very name given to it, the "Dripping Ancient Hazel," carries us into a world of poetic imagination. "Scarce is there on the firm earth, whether it be man or woman, one that can tell why thy name abroad is known as the Dripping Ancient Hazel. "'Twas Balor that besought Lugh before his beheading: 'Set my head above thy own comely head and earn my blessing.' "That blessing Lugh Longarm did not earn; he set up the head above a wave of the east in a fork of hazel before him. "A poisonous milk drips down out of that hardened tree; through the baneful drip, it was not slight, the tree split right in two. "For full fifty years the hazel stood, but ever it was a cause of tears, the abode of vultures and ravens. "Manannan of the round eye went into the wilderness of the Mount of White-Hazel; there he saw a shadeless tree among the trees that vied in beauty. "Manannan sets workmen without delay to dig it out of the firm earth. Mighty was the deed! "From the root of that tree arises a poisonous vapour; there were killed by it (perilous the consequence) nine of the working folk. "Now I say to you, and let the prophecy be sought out: Around the mighty hazel without reproach was found the cause of many a woe." * * * * * "It was from that shield that Eitheor of the smooth brown face was called 'Son of Hazel,'--for this was the hazel that he worshipped."[2] Or take again the strange mythological poem of the "Crane-bag," made out of the skin of a wandering haunted crane, which had once been a woman; condemned for "two hundred white years" to dwell in "the house of Manannan," _i.e._ in the wastes of the ocean, ever seeking and never finding land. When the wanderings came to an end, and the unhappy Crane-woman died, Manannan (the Ocean-god) made of her skin a bag into which he put "every precious thing he had; the shirt of Manannan and his knife, the girdle of Goibniu (the Vulcan of Irish legend); the king of Scotland's shears, the king of Lochlann's helmet, and the bones of the swine of Asal--these were the treasures that the Crane-bag held.... When the sea was full, its treasures were seen in its midst; when the fierce sea was on ebb, the Crane-bag was empty." The story has the impress of great age, and manifold changes; it belongs to the period when the gods were not yet transformed into human beings, but were still primaeval elemental powers, impersonations of fire and light and water, and the wisdom that is above mankind. But the link is lost, and the story remains a suggestion only, vague and indistinct. As an image of the hollow ocean, holding the treasures of the Sea-god, the idea is, however, full of force and beauty.[3] The second difficulty, which is closely connected with the first, lies in the retention of the ancient and unfamiliar nomenclature; the old geographical and family names, which have dropped out of actual use, being everywhere found in the poetry. Scotland is still Alba in Irish, as it was in the sixth century; Éire (gen. Érinn) is the ordinary name for Ireland, not only in poetry, as is commonly supposed, but in the living language of the country. But it has besides an abundance of specially poetic names, such as Inisfáil, "the island of Destiny," Banba, Fodla, &c., connected with early legends, and these, if we are to understand the poetry, we must accustom ourselves to. England is still to-day the land of the Saxons to the Gael, and its inhabitants are the "Sassenachs"; the Irishman persists in disregarding the coming of the Angles. We may talk of the extinction of the Gaelic tongue, but in his poetry, as in every place-name of stream or hill or townland all over the country, it is about us still. In the poetry we are back in Gaelic Ireland; the old tribal distinctions, the old clan names, meet us on every page. What does the modern man know of Leth Cuinn or Leth Mogha, the ancient divisions of the North and South, or of the stories which gave them birth? What of Magh Breagh or Magh Murtheimne? What of Emain Macha and Kincora? Who, again, are the Clann Fiachrach or the Eoghanacht, or the Children of Ir or Eiber? Even before the much later titles of Thomond and Desmond, of Tyrconnell and Tyrowen he is somewhat at a loss. But to the bard the past is always present, the ancient nomenclature is never extinct. The legend which caused the River Boyne to be called "The forearm of Nuada's wife," or the tumuli on its banks to be thought of as the "Elfmounds of the wife of Nechtan," are familiar to him; and to enter into the spirit of the mythological poetry we must know something of Irish folklore and tradition. Many of these expressions have a high imaginative significance, as when the sea is called the "Plain of Ler" (the elder Irish Sea-god), or its waves are "the tresses of Manannan's wife" or the "Steeds of Manannan." Of the large body of bardic poetry we have been unable to give an adequate representation, partly from considerations of space, but also because we are not yet, until a larger quantity of this poetry has been published, able to estimate its actual poetic value. Much fine poetry by the historic bards undoubtedly exists, but we have as yet only a few published fragments to choose from. The first specimen we give, Teigue Dall O'Higgin's appeal to O'Rourke of the Bulwarks (_na murtha_), must stand as an example of much similar poetry in and about his own day. The call to union against England or against some local enemy sounds loud and constant in the bardic poems. There is much anti-English poetry; poetry which has for its object the endeavour to unite for a single purpose the chiefs who had split up the provinces into small divisions under separate leaders, each fighting for his own hand. To stir up the lagging or too peaceful chief was one of the prime duties of the bard; to address to him congratulations on his accession, or to bewail him when he died, was his official function; and to judge by the quantity of paper covered with these laudatory effusions and elegies, he performed his task with punctilious care. It was likely that he would do so, for the fees for a poem that gave satisfaction were substantial. We miss the family bard in these days; there is no one at hand to praise indifferently all that we do. The bardic poetry attracted the genius of Mangan, and his "Farewell to Patrick Sarsfield" and O'Hussey's "Ode to the Maguire," are not only fine poetry, but excellent representations of two of the finest of the bardic poems. Elsewhere in his poems, we have usually too much Mangan to feel that the tone of the original is faithfully conveyed. His soaring poem, "The Dark Rosaleen," can hardly be said to represent the Irish "Roisín Dubh," of which, for purposes of comparison, we give a literal rendering; beautiful as Mangan's poem is, it has to our mind lost something of the exquisite grace of the original. It may be well to indicate here the relations between Mangan's version and the original in the poem in which he keeps most strictly to the words of the bard. "O'Hussey's Ode to the Maguire," that fine address of the Northern bard, O'Hussey, to his young chief, whose warlike foray into Munster in the depth of winter filled his mind with anxiety and distress. A literal translation of the opening passage reads as follows: "Too cold for Hugh I deem this night, the drops so heavily downpouring are a cause for sadness; biting is this night's cold--woe is me that such is our companion's lot. In the clouds' bosoms the water-gates of heaven are flung wide; small pools are turned by it to seas, all its destructiveness hath the firmament spewed out. A pain to me that Hugh Maguire to-night lies in a stranger's land, 'neath lurid glow of lightning-bolts and angry armed clouds' clamour; A woe to us that in the province of Clann Daire (Southwest Munster) our well-beloved is couched, betwixt a coarse cold-wet and grass-clad ditch and the impetuous fury of the heavens."[4] But it is not, after all, the verses of the bards, even of the best of them, that will survive. It is the tender religious songs, the passionate love-songs, the exquisite addresses to nature; those poems which touch in us the common ground of deep human feeling. Whether it came to us from the sixth century or from the sixteenth, the song of Crede for the dead man, whom she had grown to love only when he was dying, would equally move us; the passionate cry of Liadan after Curithir would wring our hearts whatever century produced it. The voice of love is alike in every age. It has no date. Having written so far, we begin to wonder whether it was wise or necessary to set so much prose between the reader and the poems which, as we hope, he wishes to read. In an ordinary anthology, the interruption of a long preface is a mistake and an intrusion, for, more than any other good art, good poetry must explain itself. The mood in which a poem touches us acutely may be recorded, but it cannot be reproduced in or for the reader. He must find his own moment. For the most part, these Irish poems need no introduction. We need no one to explain to us the beauty of the lines in the "Flower of Nut-brown Maids": "I saw her coming towards me o'er the face of the mountain, Like a star glimmering through the mist"; or to remind us of the depth of Cuchulain's sorrow when over the dead body of his son he called aloud: "The end is come, indeed, for me; I am a man without son, without wife; I am the father who slew his own child; I am a broken, rudderless bark Tossed from wave to wave in the tempest wild; An apple blown loose from the garden-wall, I am over-ripe, and about to fall;" or to tell us that the "Blackthorn," or "Donall Oge," or "Eileen Aroon," are exquisite in their pathos and tenderness. But there are, besides these enchanting things, which we are prepared to expect from Irish verse, also things for which we are not prepared; unfamiliar themes, treated in a new manner; and to judge of these, some help from outside may be useful. The reader who does not know Ireland or know Gaelic, is ready to accept softness, the almost endless iteration of expressions conveying the sense of woman's beauty and of man's affection, in phrases that differ but little from each other; what he is not prepared for is the sudden break into matter-of-fact, the curt tone that cuts across much Irish poetry, revealing an unexpected side of life and character. Even the modern Irishman is tripped up by the swift intrusion of the grotesque; the cold, cynical note that exists side by side with the most fervent religious devotion, especially in the popular poetry, displeases him. He resents it, as he resents the tone of the "Playboy of the Western World"; yet it is the direct modern representative of the tone of mind that produced the Ossianic lays. We find it in all the popular poetry; as an example take the argument of the old woman who warns a young man that if he persists in his evil ways, there will be no place in heaven for such as he. The youth replies: "If no sinner ever goes to Paradise, But only he who is blessed, there will be wide empty places in it. If all who follow my way are condemned Hell must have been full twenty years and a year ago, And they could not take me in for want of space." The same chill, almost harsh tone is heard in the colloquy between Ailill of Munster and the woman whom he has trysted on the night after his death,[5] or in the poem, "I shall not die for you" (p. 286), or in the verses on the fairy-hosts, published by Dr. Kuno Meyer, where, instead of praise of their ethereal loveliness, we are told: "Good are they at man-slaying, Melodious in the ale-house, Masterly at making songs, Skilled at playing chess."[6] Could anything be more matter-of-fact than the clever chess-playing of the shee-folk and their pride in it? A collection of translations must always have some sense of disproportion. It is natural that translators should, as a rule, have been attracted, not only to the poems that most readily give themselves to an English translation, but to those which are most easily accessible. The love-songs, such as those collected by Hardiman and Dr. Douglas Hyde, have been attempted with more or less success by many translators, while much good poetry, not so easily brought to hand, has been overlooked. Dr. Kuno Meyer's fine translations of a number of older pieces, which came out originally either in separate publications,[7] or in the transactions of the Arts Faculty of University College, Liverpool, have now been rendered more accessible in a separate collection; but the English ear is wedded to rhyme, and a prose translation, however careful and choice, often misses its mark with the general reader. Long ago, Miss Brooke (in her _Reliques of Irish Poetry_) and Furlong (in Hardiman's _Irish Minstrelsy_) essayed the translation of a number of the longer "bardic remains"; and these earlier collectors and translators will ever retain the gratitude of their countrymen for rescuing and printing, at a time when little value was placed upon such things, these stores of Irish song. But the translations suited better the taste of their own day than of ours; we cannot read them now, nor do they in the slightest way represent the verse they are intended to reproduce. Naturally, too, it is easier to give the spirit and language of a serious poem than that of a humorous one in another tongue, so that the more playful verse has been neglected. It may be thought that this book is overweighted by religious and love poems; but in a collection essentially lyrical, religion and love must ever be the two chief themes. In Ireland, the inner spirit of the national genius ever spoke, and still speaks, through them. Among the people of the quiet places where few strangers come, and where night passes into day and day again to night with little change of thought or outward emotion, simple sorrows and simple pleasures have still time to ripen into poetry. The grief that came to-day will not pass away with a new grief to-morrow; it will impress its groove, straight and deep, upon the heart that feels it, lying there without hope of a summer growth to hide its furrow. The long monotonous days, the dark unbroken evenings are the nurseries of sorrow; the white open roads are the highways of hope or the paths for the wayfaring thoughts of despair. The stranger who came one day comes again no more, though we watch the long white track never so earnestly; the boy or girl who went that way to foreign lands has not thrown his or her shadow across the road again. Where the turf fire rises curling and blue into the air, where the young girl stands waiting by the winding "boreen," where the old woman croons over the hearth, there we shall surely find, if we know how to draw it forth, that a well of poetry has been sunk, and that half-unconsciously the thought of the heart has expressed itself in simple verse, or in rhythmic prose almost more beautiful than verse. The minds that produced the touching melodies that wail and croon and sing to us out of Ireland, have not the less expressed themselves in melodious poetry. Here, if anywhere, we may look to find a style unspoiled by imitation, and a sentiment moving because it is perfectly sincere. It is thus that such poems as "Donall Oge" or the "Roísin Dubh" or "My Grief on the Sea" come into existence. Where the outward distractions of life are few, the grave monotony of sea and moor and bog-land, the swirl of cloud and mist, and the loneliness of waste places sink more deeply into the mind. The visible is less felt than the invisible, and life is surrounded by a network of fears and dreams to which the town-dweller is a stranger. To-day, in the Western Isles of Ireland and Scotland, the huntsman going out to hunt, the fisherman to fish or lay his nets, the agriculturist to sow or reap his harvest, and the weaver or spinner to wind his yarn, go forth to their work with some familiar charm-prayer or charm-hymn, often beautifully called "the Blessings," on their lips. The milkmaid calling her cows or churning her butter, the young girl fearful of the evil-eye, and the cottager sweeping up her hearth in the evening, laying herself down to sleep at night, or rising up in the morning, soothe their fears or smooth their way by some whispered _paider_ or _ortha_, a prayer or a verse or a blessing. The deep religious feeling of the Celtic mind, with its far-stretching hands groping towards the mysterious and the infinite, comes out in these spontaneous and simple ejaculations; I have therefore endeavoured to bring together a few others to add to the groups gathered by Dr. Hyde in the west of Ireland and by Dr. Carmichael in the Western Hebrides; but in their original Gaelic they are the fruit of others' collections, not of my own.[8] They are the thoughts of such humble people as the poor farm-servant who "had so many things to do from dark to dark" that she had no time for long prayers, and knew only a little prayer taught her by her mother, which laid "our caring and our keeping and our saving on the Sacred Trinity." I desire to inscribe here my sincere gratitude to the living authors and authoresses who have kindly given me permission to use their work, and my gratitude to those authors who have gone, that they have left us so much good work to use. Especially I desire to thank my friends, Mr. Alfred Perceval Graves and Mr. Ernest Rhys, for permitting the use of unpublished poems. Many friends have given a ready helping hand in elucidating difficult words and phrases, and it is a pleasant task to thank them here. Dr. D. Hyde, Rev. Michael Sheehan, Rev. P. S. Dinneen, Mr. Tadhg O'Donoghue, Mr. R. Flower, Miss Hayes, especially, have always readily come to my assistance; to Miss Eleanor Knott I am indebted for valuable help in the translation of the "Saltair na Rann," and to Dr. R. Thurneysen for suggesting some readings in this difficult poem. I gratefully acknowledge permission accorded to me by the following publishing houses to include poems or extracts from books published by them:-- Messrs. Constable & Co., _Ancient Irish Poetry_, by Professor Kuno Meyer. T. Fisher Unwin, _Bards of the Gael and Gall_, by Dr. George Sigerson, F.N.U.I. Maunsel & Co., _Irish Poems_, by Alfred Perceval Graves; _Sea-Spray_, by T. W. Rolleston; _The Gilly of Christ_, by Seosamh mac Cathmhaoil. David Nutt, _Heroic Romances of Ireland_, by A. H. Leahy. Herbert & Daniel, _Eyes of Youth_, for a poem by Padraic Colum. Sealy, Bryers and Walker, _Lays of the Western Gael_, by Sir Samuel Ferguson; _Irish Nóinins_, by P. J. McCall. H. M. Gill & Son, _Irish Fireside Songs_ and _Pulse of the Bards_, by P. J. McCall. Williams & Norgate, _Silva Gadelica_, by Standish Hayes O'Grady. Chatto & Windus, _Legends, Charms, and Cures of Ireland_, by Lady Wilde. I also desire to acknowledge the courtesy of His Majesty's Stationery Department in permitting the use of drawings taken from initial letters in Sir John T. Gilbert's _Facsimiles of Irish National MSS_. Others of the initial letters used in the book are drawn from the _Book of Lindisfarne_ and other Celtic manuscripts in the British Museum. I have to thank the Librarian of the Bodleian Library for permitting the reproduction of the photograph of the initial lines from the "Saltair na Rann" as a frontispiece to the book. FOOTNOTES: [1] Printed in Skene's _Celtic Scotland_, iii. Appen. 2, p. 410, from a seventeenth century copy belonging to William Hennessy, compared with the copy in the _Book of Fermoy_. [2] _Duanaire Finn_, edited by John MacNeill, pp. 34, 134 (Irish Texts Society, 1904). [3] For this poem see _Duanaire Finn_, edited by John MacNeill (Irish Texts Society, 1904), pp. 21, 118. [4] O'Grady's _Catalogue of Irish Manuscripts in the British Museum_, p. 451. [5] Dr. Kuno Meyer's _Ancient Irish Poetry_ (Constable, 1911), p. 9. [6] _Ancient Irish Poetry_, p. 19. [7] _King and Hermit_ (1901); _Liadan and Curithir_ (1902); _Four Songs of Summer and Winter_ (1903); all published by D. Nutt. [8] Chiefly of Dr. Michael Sheehan's collections in Co. Waterford, and those made by Mr. Fionan M'Collum and others in West Kerry (see Notes). THE SALTAIR NA RANN, OR PSALTER OF THE VERSES THE SALTAIR NA RANN, or Psalter of the Verses, so-called because it is divided into 150 poems in imitation of the Psalms of David, is undoubtedly the most important religious poem of early Ireland. It may justly be regarded as the Irish _Paradise Lost_ and _Paradise Regained_, for it opens with an account of the Creation of the Universe, the founding of Heaven and Hell, the fall of Lucifer, the creation of the Earthly Paradise and of man, the temptation and fall and the penance of Adam and Eve. After this it sketches the Old Testament History, leading up to the birth and life of Christ and closing with His death and resurrection. Though in general it follows the Bible narrative, it is peculiarly Irish in tone, and its additions and variations are of the greatest interest to students of mediaeval religious literature. The conception of the universe in the first poem, with its ideas of the seven heavens, the coloured and fettered winds, and the sun passing through the opening windows of the twelve divisions of the heavens, is curious; the earth, enclosed in the surrounding firmament, "like a shell around an egg," being regarded as the centre of the universe. In the portions which relate the life of Adam and Eve, the author evidently had before him the Latin version of the widely known _Vita Adae et Euae_, which he follows closely, introducing from it several Latin words into his text; but even here the colouring is purely Irish. The poem is ascribed to Oengus the Culdee, who lived early in the ninth century; but its language is later, probably the end of the tenth century. In 1883 Dr. Whitley Stokes published[9] the text from the only existing complete copy, that contained in the Bodleian MS. Rawl. B. 502, but no part of it has hitherto been published in English. The present translation of the sections dealing with the Creation and with the life of Adam and Eve is purely tentative; the poem presents great difficulties, and we suffer from the lack of a second copy with which to compare it.[10] Miss Eleanor Knott has read the translations and has helped me with many difficulties; and I had the advantage of reading parts of the poem in class with Dr. Kuno Meyer. For the errors which the translation must undoubtedly contain, I am myself, however, alone responsible. FOOTNOTES: [9] In _Anecdota Oxoniensia_ (Med. and Mod. Series), vol. i. part iii. [10] The Lebar Brecc gives poem x., and a prose version of portions of poems ii., iv., vi., viii., ix., xi. THE SALTAIR NA RANN, OR PSALTER OF THE VERSES _Attributed to Oengus the Culdee, ninth century; but the date is probably the close of the tenth century._ I. THE CREATION OF THE UNIVERSE My own King, King of the pure heavens, without pride, without contention, who didst create the folded[11] world, my King ever-living, ever victorious. King above the elements, surpassing the sun, King above the ocean depths, King in the South and North, in the West and East, with whom no contention can be made. King of the Mysteries, who wast and art, before the elements, before the ages, King yet eternal, comely His aspect, King without beginning, without end. King who created lustrous heaven, who is not arrogant, not overweening, and the earth, with its multitudinous delights, strong, powerful, stable. King who didst make the noble brightness, and the darkness, with its gloom; the one, the perfect day, the other, the very perfect night. King who fashioned the vast deeps out of the primary stuff of the elements, who ... the wondrous formless mass. King who formed out of it each element, who confirmed them without restriction, a lovely mystery, both tempestuous and serene, both animate and inanimate. King who hewed, gloriously, with energy, out of the very shapely primal stuff, the heavy, round earth, with foundations, ... length and breadth.[12] King who shaped within no narrow limits in the circle of the firmament the globe, fashioned like a goodly apple, truly round. King who formed after that with fixity the fresh masses about the earth; the very smooth currents above the world of the chill watery air. King who didst sift the cold excellent water on the earth-mass of the noble cliffs into rills, with the reservoirs[13] of the streams, according to their measures, with moderation. CREATION OF THE WINDS WITH THEIR COLOURS King who ordained the eight winds advancing without uncertainty, full of beauty, the four prime winds He holds back, the four fierce under-winds. There are four other under-winds, as learned authors say, this should be the number, without any error, of the winds, twelve winds. King who fashioned the colours of the winds, who fixed them in safe courses, after their manner, in well-ordered disposition, with the varieties of each manifold hue. The white, the clear purple, the blue, the very strong green, the yellow, the red, sure the knowledge, in their gentle meetings wrath did not seize them. The black, the grey, the speckled, the dark and the deep brown, the dun, darksome hues, they are not light, easily controlled. King who ordained them over every void, the eight wild under-winds; who laid down without defect the bounds of the four prime winds. From the East, the smiling purple, from the South, the pure white, wondrous, from the North, the black blustering moaning wind, from the West, the babbling dun breeze. The red, and the yellow along with it, both white and purple; the green, the blue, it is brave, both dun and the pure white. The grey, the dark brown, hateful their harshness, both dun and deep black; the dark, the speckled easterly wind both black and purple. Rightly ordered their form, their disposition was ordained; with wise adjustments,[14] openly, according to their position and their fixed places. The twelve winds, Easterly and Westerly, Northerly and Southerly, the King who adjusted them, He holds them back, He fettered them with seven curbs. King who bestowed them according to their posts, around the world with many adjustments, each two winds of them about a separate curb, and one curb for the whole of them. King who arranged them in habitual harmony, according to their ways, without over-passing their limits; at one time, peaceful was the space, at another time, tempestuous. MEASUREMENTS OF THE UNIVERSE King who didst make clear the measure of the slope[15] from the earth to the firmament, estimating it, clear the amount, along with the thickness of the earth-mass. He set the course of the seven Stars[16] from the firmament to the earth, Saturn, Jupiter, Mercury, Mars, Sol, Venus, the very great moon. King who numbered, kingly the space, from the earth to the moon; twenty-six miles with a hundred miles, they measure them in full amount. This is that cold air circulating in its aerial series(?) which is called ... with certainty the pleasant, delightful heaven. The distance from the moon to the sun King who measured clearly, with absolute certainty, two hundred miles, great the sway, with twelve and forty miles. This is that upper ethereal region, without breeze, without greatly moving air,[17] which is called, without incoherence, the heaven of the wondrous ether. Three times as much, the difference is not clear(?) between the firmament and the sun, He has given to calculators;[18] my King star-mighty! most true is this! This is the perfect Olympus, motionless, immovable, (according to the opinion of the ancient sages) which is called the Third Holy Heaven. Twelve miles, bright boundary, with ten times five hundred miles, splendid the star-run course, separately from the firmament to the earth. The measure of the space from the earth to the firmament, it is the measure of the difference from the firmament to heaven. Twenty-four miles with thirty hundred miles is the distance to heaven, besides the firmament. The measure of the whole space from the earth to the Kingly abode, is equal to that from the rigid earth down to the depths of hell. King of each Sovereign lord, vehement, ardent, who of His own force set going the firmament as it seemed secure to Him over every space, He shaped them from the formless mass. The poem goes on to speak of the division of the universe into five zones, a torrid, two temperate, and two frigid zones, and of the earth revolving in the centre of the universe, with the firmament about it, "like a shell encircling an egg." The passage of the sun through the constellations is then described, each of the twelve divisions through which it passes being provided with six windows, with close-fitting shutters, and strong coverings, which open to shed light by day. The constellations are then named, and the first section of the poem ends as follows:-- For each day five items of knowledge are required of every intelligent person, from every one, without appearance of censure,[19] who is in ecclesiastical orders. The day of the solar month, the age of the moon, the sea-tide, without error, the day of the week, the festivals of the perfect saints, after just clearness, with their variations. FOOTNOTES: [11] Whitley Stokes gives "lawful." [12] Comp. the parallel passage in Senchus mòr, _Ancient Laws of Ireland_, vol. i. intro. p. 26. [13] This is Dr. Whitley Stokes' reading. Dr. R. Thurneysen reads "sextarii." [14] It is not clear what the word _glés_, _gléssib_, which occurs frequently in the following passage, means. In mod. Irish, _gléas_, in one meaning, is a means or instrument for doing a thing. The verb _gléasaim_ = "to harness." It seems to have some such meaning here. The winds were apparently harnessed, curbed, or fettered two and two, the whole being held together in one fetter. In another sense _gléas_ means "harmony." [15] Or "track." [16] _i.e._ the Planets. [17] Or "impure air"? [18] _Cf._ the parallel passage in the Senchus mòr astronomical tract, _Anc. Laws of Ireland_, vol. i., Introduction, p. 28. [19] Perhaps "boasting." II. THE HEAVENLY KINGDOM [Sidenote: l. 337] King who formed the pure Heaven, with its boundaries, according to His pleasure, a habitation choice, songful, safe, for the wondrous host of Archangels. Heaven with its multitude of hosts, noble, durable, exceeding spacious, a strong mighty city with a hundred graces, a tenth of it the measure of the world. Therein are three ramparts undecaying, fixedly they surround heaven, a rampart of emerald crystal, a rampart of gold, a rampart of amethyst.[20] A wall of emerald, without obscurity, outside, a wall of gold next to the city, between the two, with bright fair glory, a mighty rampart of stainless purple. There, with a strong-flowing sea (?) is a spacious, perfect city, in it, with the light of peace,[21] is the eternal way of the four chief doors. The measure of each door severally of the four chief doorways, (placed) side by side, by calculation, is a mile across each single door. In each doorway a cross of gold before the eyes of the ever-shining host; the King wrought them without effort, they are massive, very lofty. Overhead, on each cross, a bird of red gold, full-voiced, not unsteady; in every cross a great gem of precious stone. Every day an archangel with his host from Heaven's king, with harmony, with pure melody, (gather) around each several cross. Before each doorway is a lawn, fair ..., of sure estimation, I liken each one of them in extent[22] to the earth together with its seas. The circuit of each single lawn with its silvern soil,[23] with its swards, covered with goodly blossom, with its beauteous plants. Vast though you may deem the extent of the spacious lawns, a rampart of silver, undecaying, has been formed about each several lawn. The portals of the walls without around the fortress on every side, with its dwellings soundly placed, affording abodes (?) for many thousands. Eight portals in a series so that they come together around the city, I have not, in the way of knowledge,[24] a simile for the extent of each portico. Each portal abounding in plants, with their bronze foundations, a rampart of fair clay has been established strongly about each portal. Twelve ramparts--perfect the boundary (?) of the portals, of the lawns, without counting the three ramparts that are outside around the chief city. There are forty gateways in the heavenly habitation with its kingly thrones; three to each tranquil lawn, and three to each portal. [Sidenote: l. 409] Gratings (or doors) of silver, fair in aspect, to each gateway of that lawn, gracious bronze doors to the gateways of the portals. The corresponding walls from the fortress outwards of all the portals are comparable in height[25] (to the distance) from the earth to the moon. The ramparts of the lawns, as is meet, wrought of white bronze, their height--mighty in brilliance-- is as that from the earth to the pure sun. The measure of comparison of the three ramparts which surround the chief city, their height shows (a distance equal to that) from the earth to the firmament. [Sidenote: l. 465] The entrance bridges[26] of the perfect gates, a fair way, shining with red gold, they are irradiated--pure the gathering-- each step ascending above the other. From step to step--brave the progress, pleasant the ascent into the high city; fair is that host, on the path of attainment (?) many thousands, a hundred of hundreds. In the circuit of the ramparts--great its strength (?)-- in the interior of the chief city, bright glossy galleries, firm red-gold bridges. Therein are flowering lands ever fresh in all seasons, with the produce of each well-loved fruit with their thousand fragrances. [Sidenote: l. 553] The nine grades of heaven, around the King of all causation, without loss of glory, with vigour of strength, without pride, without envy. In abundant profusion (?) under the lawful King this their exact number, seventy-two excellent hosts in each grade of the grades. The number of each host, unmeasured gladness, there is none that could know it, except the King should know it who created them out of nothing. A majestic King over them all, King of flowery heaven, a goodly, righteous, steadfast King, King of royal generosity in His regal dwelling. King very youthful, King aged long ago,[27] King who fashioned the heavens about the pure sun, King of all the gracious saints, a King gentle, comely, shapely. The King who created the pure heavenly house for the angels without transgression, land of holy ones, of the sons of life,[28] a plain fair, long, spacious. He arranged a noble, peaceful[29] abode, stable, under the regal courses, a comely, clear, perfect, bright circuit, for the wondrous folk of penitence. My King from the beginning over the host, "sanctus Dominus Sabaoth," to whom is chanted upon the heights, with loving guidance, (?) the melody of the four-and-twenty white-robed saints. The King who ordained the perfect choir of the four-and-twenty holy ones, sweetly they chant the chant to the host "sanctus Deus Sabaoth." King steadfast, bountiful, goodly, noble, abode of peace, ... (?) with whom is the flock of lambs around the Pure Spotless Lamb. Bright King, who appointed the Lamb to move forward upon the Mount (of Sion)[30] four thousand youths following Him, (with) a hundred and forty (thousand) in a pure progress, A perfect choir, with glories of form, of the stainless virgins, chants pure music along with them following after the shining Lamb. Equal in beauty, in swiftness, in brightness, across the Mount surrounding the Lamb; the name inscribed on their countenances, with grace, is the name of the Father. The King who ordained the voice of the heavenly ones by inspiration, full, strong-swelling, as the mighty wave of many waters; Or like the voice of sound-loving harps they sing, without fault, full tenderly, (like) multitudinous great floods over every land, or like the mighty sound of thunder.[31] King of the flowering tree of life, a way for the ranks of the noble grades; its top, its droppings, on every side, have spread across the broad plain of heaven. On which sits the splendid bird-flock sustaining a perfect melody of pure grace, without decay, with gracious increase of fruit or of foliage. Beauteous the bird-flock which sustains it, (_i.e._ the melody) each choice bird with a hundred wings; they chant without guile, in bright joyousness, a hundred melodies for every wing. King who created many splendid dwellings,[32] many comely, just, perfect works, through (the care of) my rich King,[33] over every sphere, no lack is felt by any of the vast array. His are the seven heavens, perfect in might, without prohibition, without evil, whitely moving around the earth, great the wonder (?) with the names of each heaven. Air, ether, over all Olympus, the firmament, heaven of water, heaven of the perfect angels, the heaven where is the fair-splendid Lord. [Sidenote: l. 649] The amount of good which our dear God, has for His saints in their holy dwelling, according to the skill of the wise(?) there is none who can relate a hundredth part of it. The Lord, the head of each pure grade, who gathered (?) the host to everlasting life, may He save me after my going out of the body of battles, the King who formed Heaven. King who formed the pure Heaven. FOOTNOTES: [20] Lit. "green," "gold," and "purple," but they seem to imply special stones. [21] Or peaceful light. [22] This is the L. B. reading; the text gives "excellence" or "fertility," which does not make good sense. [23] The L. B. reading is _fond d'argut futhib_, which seems to point to some such meaning as "base," "foundation." [24] Reading uncertain. [25] This is the L. B. reading; our text seems to mean "in renown." [26] Or "thresholds." [27] Perhaps Ancient of Days. [28] _Mac bethad_ may mean "a sinless man," as _mac ódis_, "son of death," means a sinful man. [29] We take _síd_ to be an adjective; it might also mean "a fairy mound," but this is hardly applicable here. [30] Rev. xiv. i. [31] "I heard a voice from heaven, as the voice of many waters, and as the voice of a great thunder; and I heard the voice of harpers harping with their harps" (Rev. xiv. 2). [32] "In my Father's house are many mansions" (John xiv. 3). [33] _Rogmar_ (mod. Ir. _roghmhar_) means "bulky" or "fortunate" or "fat"; here it refers to God as possessor of all. III. THE FORBIDDEN FRUIT. (vii.) [Sidenote: l. 1081] Prince who gave a clear admonition to Eve and to Adam, that they should eat of the produce of Paradise according to God's command: "Eat ye of them freely, of the fruits of Paradise--sweet the fragrance-- many, all of them (a festival to be shared)[34] are lawful for you save one tree. "In order that you may know that you are under authority, without sorrow, without strife, without anxiety, without long labour, without age, evil, or blemish; "Without decay, without heavy sickness; with everlasting life, in everlasting triumph on your going to heaven (joyous the festival) at the choice age of thirty years." A thousand years and six hours of the hours, without guile, without danger, it has been heard, Adam was in Paradise.[35] O God our help, whom champions prove, who fashioned all with perfect justice, not bright the matter of our theme (?)[36] the King who spake an admonition with them. Prince who gave a clear admonition. (The figures in brackets after the title of the chapters are the numbers of the poems or cantos in the text.) FOOTNOTES: [34] Lit. "share of a festival"; this is one of those chevilles which are frequent in this poem, often introduced without much sense to fill out a line, or to give a rhyming word. We have omitted a few of them in the translation. [35] There seems to be some error here. According to Gen. v. 3, Adam lived altogether nine hundred and thirty years, as the poet states further on (p. 43). [36] The meaning of this line is not clear. The above is conjectural. IV. THE FALL AND EXPULSION FROM PARADISE. (viii.) [Sidenote: l. 1105] The Devil was jealous thereat with Adam and his children, their being here, without evil, in their perfect bodies (on their passage) to heaven. All the living creatures in the flesh my Holy King has created them, outside Paradise without strife Adam it is who used to order them. At the time when out of every quarter the hosts of the seven heavens used to gather round my High King, every fair corporeal creature used to come together to Adam. Each of them out of this place cheerfully,[37] at his call to adore him; to Adam, joyous the custom, they used to come to delight him. From heaven God ruled all the living things that they should come out of every district without fierceness[38] till they arrived before (the gate of) Paradise. Then they would return right-hand-wise without seed of pride or any murmuring, each of them to its very pure abode after taking leave of Adam. The very fierce, double-headed beast, was subtle and watchful, with (his) twenty hosts, how under heaven he shall find a way to bring about the destruction of Adam. Lucifer, many his clear questions,[39] went amongst the animals, amongst the herds outside Paradise until he found the serpent. "Is it not useless (_i.e._ unworthy of you) thy being outside?" said the Devil to the serpent; "with thy dexterous cunning, with thy cleverness, with thy subtlety? "Great was the danger and the wickedness that Adam should have been ordained over thee; the downfall[40] of him, the youngest of created things, and his destruction, would be no crime to us. "Since thou art more renowned in warfare, first of the twain thou wast created, thou art more cunning, more agreeable in every way (?) do not submit to the younger! "Take my advice without shrinking,[41] let us make an alliance and friendship; listen to my clear reasoning: do not go forth to Adam. "Give me a place in thy body, with my own laws, with my own intellect, so that we both may go from the plain unexpectedly[42] to Eve. "Let us together urge upon her the fruit of the forbidden tree, that she afterwards may clearly press the food upon Adam. "Provided that they go together beyond the commandment of his Lord, God will not love them here, they will leave Paradise in evil plight."[43] "What reward is there for me above every great one?" said the serpent to the devil; "on my welcoming thee into my fair body, without evil, as my fellow-inhabitant? "For guiding thee on that road to destroy Eve and Adam, for going with thee truly to the attack whatever act thou mayest undertake?"[44] (LUCIFER _replies_) "What greater reward shall I give to thee according to the measure of our great crime (than that) our union in our habits, in our wrath, shall be for ever spoken of?" When he found a place for the betrayal in the likeness of the serpent's shape, slowly he went tarrying[45] directly to the gate of Paradise. The serpent called outside, "dost thou hear me, O wife of Adam? come and converse with me, O Eve of the fair form, beyond[46] every other." "I have no time to talk with anyone," said Eve to the serpent; "I am going out to feed the senseless animals." "If you are the Eve whose fame was heard with honour in Paradise, wife of Adam, beautiful, wide-minded, in her I desire[47] my full satisfaction."[48] (EVE _speaks_) "Whenever Adam is not here, I am guardian of Paradise, without weariness, O smooth, pale creature, I attend to the needs of the animals." (_The_ SERPENT _speaks_) "How long does Adam go from thee, on which side does he make his fair circuit, when at any time he is not here feeding the herds in Paradise?" "He leaves it to me, bright jewel; I feed the animals, while he goes with pure unmeasured renown to adore the Lord." "I desire to ask a thing of thee," said the slender, very affable serpent, "because bright and dear is thy clear reasoning, O Eve, O bride of Adam!" "Whatever it be that you contemplate saying, it will not vex me, O noble creature; certainly there will be no obscurity here, I will narrate it to thee truthfully." "Tell me, O glorious Eve, since it chances that we are discoursing together, in your judgment, is the life in Paradise, with your lordship here, pleasant?" (EVE _replies_) "Until we go faultless in our turn, (or "ranks") in our bodies to heaven, we do not ask here greater lordship than what there is of good in Paradise. "Every good thing,[49] as it was heard, that God created in Paradise, save one tree, all without reserve, is thus under our control.[50] "It is He, the dear God, who committed to us, O pale, bashful creature, Paradise as a solace[51] for His people (?) except the fruit of the one tree. "'Let alone the very pure tree,' He cautioned myself and Adam, 'the fruit of the rough tree, if thou eatest of it against my command, thou shalt die.'" (_The_ Serpent _speaks_) "Though on the plain[52] you be equal, yourself and Adam, O Eve, you are not more intelligent, O gentle, pure one, than any of the beasts. "However great be the host under you outside it is lamentable that you are without minds, like to any of the ignorant animals; thus you are under one law (with them).[53] "Except as regards possessions only, your lordship has not been complete; since nothing of evil has been sent to you, the worse is your understanding. "Great is the lack of wisdom; God is deceiving you: because it is of the one tree of good and evil, that you are not permitted to eat. "For this purpose the brave tree was invented, in order that it should not be allowed you; that you should not have the intelligence to distinguish between good and evil. "Do not hesitate, go to the tree, to test it as regards one apple; the discernment between good and evil will be as the High Prince instructed you." (EVE _speaks_) "How good soever thy intelligence, however favourable[54] and gracious thy counsel, to go to the tree I dare not, lest we die. "Go thou thyself to the tree, O serpent, and bring from it one apple; but if that apple come to me I shall share it between myself and Adam. "Before all the multitudes we shall be endowed with knowledge, if we but eat the apple, (this is) thy tale without mockery; perchance what thou sayest is true." (_The_ SERPENT _speaks_) "O Eve, untrammelled light, open before me the gate of Paradise; provided I arrive without misfortune yonder I will bring from the tree the apple." (EVE _speaks_) "Though I open before thee that thou mayest go yonder, though from the tree you bring me an apple, there will be no delay on thee here, (by) thy lingering in Paradise?" (SATAN _speaks_) "If I bring the apple to thee, that thou mayest discern good and evil without any fail I will go out, unless bondage or fetters befall me." Eve opened secretly the door before the serpent, without difficulty[55] it went (it was not obsequious), on its course to the one tree. Eve took the perfect apple from the apple-tree (most woeful the tale), Eve carried off the half, it was not well, she left the other half for Adam. King who drave from Thee the host of hell, who hast made them fast in equal wretchedness under trembling service, He (God) wounded in battle, though it was laborious, the keen wolf who was jealous. The Devil was jealous thereat. FOOTNOTES: [37] Lit. "prosperously." [38] Lit. "without attack." [39] This seems to be a cheville; lit. "number of clear questions." [40] Lit. "his consuming." [41] Lit. "without grief" or "sorrow." [42] Lit. "under attack." [43] Lit. "without bloom"? [44] Lit. "rise to." [45] Or "steadily." [46] Or perhaps "apart from" every other. [47] Or "I beseech." [48] Or "need." [49] This is the L. B. reading; the text has _fia._ Is it _fiadh_, of which one meaning is "meat," or "food"? [50] Or "it is thus according to rule," _i.e._ laid down for us. [51] _Donad_ seems to be used in the same way as _didnad_, "solace" or "consolation," _v.n._ of _didonaim_, "I console." [52] _i.e._ outside in the fields among the animals. [53] _i.e._ on the same level with the beasts. [54] Or "full of grace." [55] _Cith_ means a "shower" (metaph. "of tears"); also "hardship." V. THE PENANCE OF ADAM AND EVE. (xi.) [Sidenote: l. 1469] King who bestowed the pleasurable earth upon Adam after the fall, he had no (reason for) displeasure towards God, save that he should perish after a time.[56] Adam was a week yet after his expulsion out of Paradise, weary, without fire, without dwelling, without drink or food or clothing. Because they were impoverished they went into the midst of the field, great was the mutual reproach perpetually between Eve and Adam. "O Eve of the just fair form, sorrowful are we through thy impenitence; (?) through thy misdeeds, through thy transgression, alas! we have been cast out of Paradise. "Much did we relinquish of good when we vexed our High Prince; Paradise was ours under perfect command[57] with every reverence. "Youth[58] and joy, by us it has been heard, health, playfulness, delight, bordered[59] lands, most perfect of form, wondrous plants, harmonies. "Noble satisfaction, singular wholesome peace, a festival of holiness for souls, ...[60] many the habitations, frequent intercourse with angels. "Lasting life, continually at God's right hand, for ever in the brughs of Paradise, in which, under fair aspect, God's creatures were doing us reverence. "All the living things under heaven which my faithful dear God created, under (our) control over every high place, we it was who used to order them. "Fire would not burn us, water would not drown us, nor sharp edge ...[61] nor (was there) pestilence nor consuming disease. "There was not among the elements of dear God, one that would come, in heaven or earth, against our will, to destroy us, save only the wicked Lucifer. "Even Lucifer could not harm us, while we were under law (in a) perfect course according to mandate, according to command. "Because we wronged dear God who gave us everything, on every height, all creatures together, are (now) in opposition to us. "It is not God who has been evil towards us, O Eve, ruddy, gentle fair one; it is we who have wronged the Prince, though He provided us with lasting good." Eve spake, for she was in distress,[62] in sorrow, after the fall; "O Adam, marvellous over every wild, why do you not kill me for my sins? "It is I who transgressed the law, it is I who committed the transgression, it would then be right that thou should'st slay me, O my Lord, O Adam! "Provided that I fall (just the measure) for my sins, for my transgression, clearly the greater mercy will thy God shew towards thee." "Greatly have we offended the King," said he, said Adam, without contempt, "O Wife, I will not commit murder on thee, though I be famished, though I be naked. "I will not lift my hand upon my own blood, my own flesh; how great soever thy crime, it is from my body thou art. "It is not fitting for us in any way to outrage Him again; so that the true Prince, O wife, may not cut us off and utterly destroy us. "That we go not from Him a distant journey with demons into the abyss of torment, nor that God give us back into the power of Lucifer." "There is no good in our life,[63] O Adam," said she, said Eve; "without clothing, without warm dwelling, without food, we shall perish of hunger. "We had food, we had garments, as long as we were without sin; since our fall and our going astray, we have neither clothing nor good food. "O Husband, make a circuit without fail by a pleasant path on every hand, to learn if thou canst get as a feast (?) of food for us something that we would eat." Adam went on a well-marked course near by, and far away; he did not find, after all, any wholesome food but herbs of the ground. Herbs of the soil, green their colour, food of the senseless animals; they are not tender for us as a meal, after the pleasant food of Paradise. (ADAM _speaks_) "O Eve, let us with sincerity make lasting penance and repentance, that we might cleanse away before the King of Justice something of our sins, of our transgressions." (EVE _replies_) "Give me instruction about that, O my Lord, O Adam, because I know not before the great world[64] how one should do penance. "Instruct me clearly, according to thy understanding, according to thy clear sense, that I do not exceed, neither that I fall short in any way." (ADAM _speaks_) "Let us adore the Lord together in silence, without intercourse; thou into the strong river Tigris, and I will go into the River Jordan. "Thirty-three days thou should'st be in the River Tigris, myself in Jordan under correction forty-seven clear days. "Take with thee a firm flag of stone, (place it) under thy sitting, under thy gentle feet, and I shall take with me another stone equal to it, resembling it exactly. "Dispose the stone in the river, bathe thyself on it; thou wilt be chosen as thou hast strength to endure until the water rises to thy throat. "Thy locks spread luxuriantly on every hand, upon the stream on every side; be thou silent with grief and special sadness, thy keen eyes towards the heavenly ones. "Lift thy two hands every canonical hour[65] towards the heavenly Lord of the nine grades; pray ..., even at the beginning, forgiveness for thy transgression. "We are not pure to converse with God, since (our) transgression, since (our) impurity, for our false, polluted mouths are not clean, stainless, bright. "Let us beseech the whole of the creatures formed by God through His pure mysteries, that they implore with us to the King of Justice that our transgression be forgiven. "Perform in this manner thy good work, and beseech the true Prince; until He determine clearly do not stir thyself, do not move." Forty and seven days without woe was Adam in the River Jordan; thirty and three days was gentle Eve in the stream of the River Tigris. Angels of God each day from heaven from God to succour Adam, instructing him, as was permitted, to the end of nineteen days. Then Adam sought a mighty boon upon the River Jordan; that it would "fast" with him upon dear God, with its multitude of creatures. The stream stood still in its course, in its onward motion; the kingly stream paused from its flow that He might give forgiveness to Adam. Then the stream gathered together every living creature that was in its womb, until the whole number of the living creatures were around Adam. All of them prayed, Adam, the stream, and the multitude of animals; mournfully they poured forth their noble lamentation to the perfect host of the nine holy grades. That all the grades, openly, might beseech their Lord on their behalf that God should give full forgiveness, and should not destroy Adam.[66] The nine grades with their array prayed to God who controls them for forgiveness now for Adam for his peril, for his sin. God gave to His grades full pardon for the sin of Adam, and the habitation of the earth at all times with heaven, holily noble, all-pure. And He pardoned after that their descendants and their peoples, save him alone who acts unrighteously and transgresses the will of God unlawfully. When the black Devil heard that forgiveness had been bestowed on Adam, (he said) "I will go in a distinguished brilliant form to Eve again. "That I may bring her out of the stream through weakness, that I may put her on a course of death; so that I may drown (_i.e._ destroy) something of her work and disturb her devotion." Lucifer went with joyful speed, the fierce, astute wolf, like a swan, in the shape of a white angel, to Eve in the River Tigris. The angel who destroyed them spake with her, in pity for her, as it seemed to her, "O modest Eve of the bright form, long hast thou tarried in the River Tigris. "Ah Woman, though bright was thy beauty, thou hast grown pale[67] in the rough stream; without vigour ..., it is evident thou hast slain thyself, thou hast destroyed thyself. "O Woman, come out for the sake of thy God, remain no longer in the cruel river; thy valiant King sent me journeying, from Him have I come to show pity to thee." Then comes Eve out of the river, and was on the shore, drying herself; a cloud (_i.e._ a faintness) fell on her then, so that she was almost dead without life. Bright Eve did not recognise Lucifer with his manifold snares; the matchless woman was perplexed,[68] her mind was in doubt. * * * * * (LUCIFER _speaks_) "O Eve, what has come to thee? greatly art thou considering; clearly I came to thee from heaven, at the command of the steadfast God. "Let us go hence to Adam. O Woman! do not be wavering; we have all prayed to dear God to pardon you for your sins." Then they went vigorously as far as the River Jordan, to Adam, chief of tribes; noble Eve and Lucifer. When Adam perceived from the river Eve and Lucifer, trembling took hold upon him, (though) he was courageous, horror of the Devil's countenance filled him. "My grief! O wandering Eve, thy guide is betraying thee; the man who comes journeying with thee here, it is he who deceived thee in Paradise. "Ah, sad Eve, without dear form,[69] what brought thee from the River Tigris without the warrant of the King of Justice, without a pure accompanying angel?" When Eve heard that, the reproaches of Adam, she fell to the ground, she came near to speedy death. (A long conversation follows between Adam and the Devil; Adam demands why the Devil pursues them with such perpetual hatred and, in reply, Lucifer recounts his fall from heaven, which he says was caused by his refusal to obey the command of God that he should worship Adam. This command he refused, because he, as the first-created, felt it unworthy of him to adore Adam, the youngest-born of created things. He details his present miseries, and his determination to take revenge on Adam and Eve. The poem or canto ends with the coming of Adam out of the river, and the history of their children, Seth, Cain, and Abel.) FOOTNOTES: [56] _i.e._ instead of passing in his body direct to heaven, without dying, his days henceforth were numbered. [57] Lit. "summons." [58] The word is _óetiu_, probably _óitiu_ = "youth"; L. B. has _áitte aille ocus slanti cen galar_, "beautiful places and health without sickness." [59] _Balthai_ (?). There is a word _baltadh_, "a border" (O'R); L. B. has _blathi_, "blooming" or "prosperous." [60] _Aithbi derrit_? [61] _Fédim_? [62] Or possibly "famished." [63] Lit. "gatherings" or "proceedings." [64] Lit. "before every quarter" (_i.e._ of the world). [65] Like the mention of "cross-vigil" later on, the mention of canonical hours is a quaint anachronism in the history of Adam and Eve. [66] Or possibly "without stint to Adam"; but the reading above seems better to bear out the meaning. [67] Lit. "thou hast changed thy complexion in the rough stream." [68] Lit. "it was difficult to the matchless woman." [69] _i.e._ "whose form has been changed by her sojourn in the river." VI. THE DEATH OF ADAM. (xii.) [Sidenote: l. 2021] Adam's lifetime was not short; that ye may know, without risk (of error), thirty years had he, it was exactly proven, with nine hundred years.[70] Then came a complete sickness to Adam, such as comes to everyone, his wife Eve with every goodness was receiving his last bequests. Adam knew his destiny, he spake to splendid Eve: "I have parted from thee and from thy children; of this sickness I die." "It is hard of God," said she, said Eve, to Adam, "that thou art not sojourning here,(?) that it is not I who go first. "My grief! that thou should'st change," said she, said Eve to Adam; "that I should be here sorrowful without strength, that thou should'st go first." "O Eve of the pure clear form, understand clearly in thy mind; thou wilt not be any length, it is clear, here in pain after my departure. "Short was the time, though it be without deception, between thy creation and mine, thou wilt not be in danger of attack,[71] bright is the outlook, but nine months after me." "Tell me without error, O Husband, what I shall do with thy fair dear body? since thou deemest thy death is certain, O my Lord, O Adam!" "Let not foot or hand touch me, let not any interfere with me, till one is sent from God from heaven to arrange my fair dear body. "Leave my body (fair the fashion), in its bonds without disturbance; I am certain that the noble Artificer who formed me will provide for the needs of my body. "Arise, O Eve, cheerfully, and begin a 'cross-vigil';[72] send thou from thee, O Wife, to God's right hand my pure soul to holy heaven. "The soul that God created in me, it is He who recalled it in its uncleanliness; let it go to him perfectly to His dwelling with the accompanying of angel-hosts. "O Wife, I am not bold, in truth, concerning the actions of my good King; the wrath that He showed (pure His sway), was an act of affection and mercy." (Eve kneels and prays to God. A heavenly messenger is sent to her, to tell her that the soul of Adam is parted from the body, and that it is safe in the charge of the hosts of the archangel Michael.) [Sidenote: l. 2105] Then Eve went quickly towards Adam; until she found Adam (great the love)-- no longer inhaling breath. When she heard not the voice of Adam speaking to her with fair beauty, her senses out of measure overpowered her, with long lamentations, with lasting sorrow. (_The heavenly messenger speaks_) "O Eve, lift up thine eyes, and suffer us to instruct thee; set thy keen pure glance upwards clearly to the heavenly ones. "O Woman, raise thy pure face, to behold the soul of Adam, as it is uplifted brightly between hosts of archangels." On that Eve turned to behold the soul of Adam, and she saw the beautiful peaceful soul of Adam in the company of Michael. While Eve was thus recognising the soul of Adam, she beheld coming towards it along the ways hosts of angels chorus-singing. Eve beheld a Seraph moving nobly in front of the host on three golden wings; fair was the beloved thing[73] which he bore. Then Eve beheld three white shining birds (which) across the sky from holy heaven had arrived (?) in their lustre. While she was watching the birds, Eve herself without great trouble, as with a flash of the full sun, she became unable to look at them. Up unto cloudy heaven was heard the choir of the holy angels around Michael; they spread their pleasant ranks then circling about the altar of Adam. The angels sustained a fitting harmony round about the altar; before all the host they burned a herb which is called "ornamentum." The strong smoke[74] spread directly through the air; the doors of the firmament opened without any force (?)[75] God came in holiness from heaven to the service of Adam's soul; the Soverain King over every sphere sat down on His royal throne. There went before the pure King a noble angel of the angels; he sounded melodiously a clear, shrill note, its beautiful report was heard throughout the seven heavens.[76] Towards the sound of the trumpet, purely splendid, went the host of the nine holy grades; truly strong were their clear numbers, before the royal throne of the Creator! (The hosts unite in praising the Lord for His mercy to Adam) [Sidenote: l. 2177] Then the King of Wisdom[77] sent from Him quickly a Seraph across the slopes of the great mass of the hosts with wings of red gold. Until they took the soul of Adam without pain, so that it was bathed in the unpassable (?) river of the ever-living host[78] "indatinum ciriasu." So that he brought with him Adam's pure, clear soul thus out of the stream, then he placed himself as at the first before the presence of the Creator. Then the King laid His hand, without any consuming (?) upon the soul of Adam. He commended it to Michael, fair is the tale! "Be thou not harsh, O Michael, towards its great bliss, place thou the soul of Adam here in Paradise. "Bear the bright pure soul of splendid Adam with his accompanying bands, place it ... in the third kingly division of Paradise." "'In the third heaven,' said God, 'which is called Ficconicia; let it be there without sign of pain till the time of the Resurrection.'" All the grades in every sphere both of angels and archangels, sweet was their pure chorus praising the Creator; For the remission to the soul of Adam from its sins, from its vices; that it should be brought again to Paradise. Let the oil of mercy and the herb "ornamentum" be bestowed about the body of Adam to cleanse it from its vileness. Around the body of Adam let three wholesome linen cloths, of special honour, be arranged; and let it be buried exactly at the side of Abel's sepulchre. The body of our fore-father Adam, according to writings of manifold genius, from afar, under the heavy, sorrowful bonds of death, was buried in Hebron. It was there under a strong, firm tower[79] till the coming of the wave-strength of the flood, the body of Adam, with honours in its sepulchre, under assemblies of the strong. The flood of the deluge over every land, many countries did it upturn, it carried his head from Adam and brought it to Jerusalem. There the head remained before Jerusalem;[80] without grief the cross of Christ afterwards was planted in the flesh[81] of Adam. * * * * * [Sidenote: l. 2385] High King of the Sun, clearly hath it been heard, He it was who created Paradise; He who is better than all kings, royal His form, there is no limit to His existence. FOOTNOTES: [70] _i.e._ 930 years; see Gen. v. 3. [71] _Fogrís_ means "under attack" or "under warmth," "ardour," "heat"; could it mean "under the warmth of the sun," _i.e._ "alive"? [72] A cross-vigil was a prayer uttered with the arms extended in the form of a cross, or sometimes with the body flat on the ground in the same position; such prayers were common in the ancient Irish Church. [73] "Pet," or "champion." [74] Or "incense." [75] Without guardians or keepers? [76] See p. 18. God is frequently called the "King of the Seven Heavens," _cf._ p. 120. [77] Or "King of Victories." [78] In the _Vision of Adamnan_ the river is of fire. In Dante's _Purgatorio_ (Canto xxxi.) the soul is bathed in the river of Lethe. [79] _Tromthur_, in l. 906 of the poem, seems to refer to waves. [80] Lit. "before the gate of Jerusalem," but see _Rev. Celt._, vi. p. 104. [81] _i.e._ in his skull; this is a curious tradition. ANCIENT PAGAN POEMS "One day the young poet Nede fared forth till he stood on the margin of the sea, for the poets believed the brink of water to be the place of poetic revelation. He heard a sound in the wave, even a chant of wailing and sadness, and he marvelled thereat. "So the youth cast a spell upon the wave, that it might reveal to him the cause of its moaning."--_Book of Leinster_, 186a. THE SOURCE OF POETIC INSPIRATION _A Colloquy between the Old Poet and the Young Poet. Time: The beginning of the Christian era._ The old poet spake to the young poet:-- "Who is this sage around whom is wrapped the robe of splendour? and whence comes he?" The young poet answered: "I spring from the heel of a wise man, From the meeting-place of wisdom I come forth; From the place where goodness dwells serene. From the red sunrise of the dawn I come, Where grow the nine hazels of poetic art. From the wide circuits of splendour Out of which, according to their judgment, truth is weighed. There is a land where righteousness is instilled, And where falsehood wanes into twilight. There is a land of varied colours[82] Where poems are bathed anew. And thou, O well-spring of Knowledge, whence comest thou?" "Well can the answer be given: I move along the columns of age, Along the streams of inspiration, Along the elf-mound of Nechtan's wife, Along the forearm of the wife of Nuada,[83] Along the fair land of knowledge The bright country of the sun; Along the hidden land which by day the moon inhabits; Along the first beginnings of life. I demand of thee, O wise youth, what it is that lies before thee?" "That I can answer thee. I travel towards the plain of age, Through the mountain-heights of youth. I go forward to the hunting-grounds of old age, Into the sunny dwelling of a king (death?), Into the abode of the tomb; Between burial and judgment, Between battles and their horrors Among Tethra's mighty men.[84] And thou, O master of Wisdom, what lies before thee?" "I pass into the lofty heights of honour, Into the community of knowledge, Into the fair country inhabited of noble sages, Into the haven of prosperities, Into the assembly of the king's son. Into contempt of upstarts, Into the slopes of death where great honour lies. O Son of Instructions, whose son art thou?" "I am the son of Poetry, Poetry son of investigation, Investigation son of meditation, Meditation son of lore, Lore son of research, Research son of enquiry, Enquiry son of wide knowledge, Knowledge son of good sense, Good sense son of understanding, Understanding son of wisdom, Wisdom son of the three gods of Poetry. O Fount of Wisdom, of whom art thou the son?" "I am the son of the man who has lived, but has never been born; Of him who was buried in the womb of his own mother;[85] Of him who was baptized after his death.[86] He of all living, was first betrothed to death, His is the first name uttered by the living, His the name lamented by all the dead: Adam, the High One, is his name."[87] FOOTNOTES: [82] The colours denote the qualities of the inhabitants. [83] Two poetic names for the River Boyne; Nuada was the deified ancestor of the Kings of Leinster. In the Boyne dwelt the "salmon of knowledge," which the poet must consume, and at its source grew the hazels of poetic inspiration. Its tumuli were believed to be the haunts of gods or fairies. [84] Tethra was god of the assemblies of the dead. [85] Explained in the gloss to mean "the Earth." [86] _i.e._ "in the Passion of Christ." [87] The above translation is founded on Dr. Whitley Stokes edition of the Colloquy (see note, p. 349). AMORGEN'S SONG Amorgen _sang_: I am the wind on the sea (for depth); I am a wave of the deep (for weight); I am the sound of the sea (for horror); I am a stag of seven points (? for strength); I am a hawk on a cliff (for deftness); I am a tear of the sun (for clearness); I am the fairest of herbs; I am a boar for valour; I am a salmon in a pool (_i.e._ the pools of knowledge); I am a lake on a plain (for extent); I am a hill of Poetry (and knowledge); I am a battle-waging spear with trophies (for spoiling or hewing); I am a god, who fashions smoke from magic fire for a head (to slay therewith); (Who, but I, will make clear every question?) Who, but myself, knows the assemblies of the stone-house[88] on the mountain of Slieve Mis? Who (but the Poet) knows in what place the sun goes down? Who seven times sought the fairy-mounds without fear? Who declares them, the ages of the moon? Who brings his kine from Tethra's house?[89] Who segregated Tethra's kine? (For whom will the fish of the laughing sea be making welcome, but for me?) Who shapeth weapons from hill to hill (wave to wave, letter to letter, point to point)? Invoke, O people of the waves,[90] invoke the satirist, that he may make an incantation for thee! I, the druid, who set out letters in Ogham; I, who part combatants; I, who approach the fairy-mounds to seek a cunning satirist, that he may compose chants with me. I am the wind on the sea. FOOTNOTES: [88] Or dolmen? Professor John MacNeill, on whose readings the above is founded, notes that a dolmen near Slieve Mis in Co. Antrim is called Ticloy (_toigh cloiche_), and in the local Scotch dialect "the stane-hoose." [89] See note, p. 349. [90] _i.e._ the fish, here also called "Tethra's kine"; this poem is generally followed by an incantation for good fishing, to which these phrases doubtless refer. THE SONG OF CHILDBIRTH O Ness, let all men stand, The hour of thy peril is at hand; Pale daughter of old Eochad Buidhe the mild We rise to greet thy child! Wife of the ruddy palms Let not thy mind be filled with terror's qualms; The head of hosts, the one Whom thousands shall extol, shall be thy son. In the same timely hour upon this earth He and the King of the World have their birth; Through the long ages' gloom Now and to the day of doom Praises shall echo through the realm of life. Heroes, at sight of him, cease their strife; Hostages they twain shall never be The Christ and he. On the plain of Inisfáil he shall come forth, On the flagstone of the meadow to the North. Hostages every battle-chief to him will send, Through the great world his glory will extend; The king of grace is he, The Hound of Ulster he; But and if he falls, Darkness and woe descend on Erin's halls. Conchobhar, son of Ness "ungentle," is his name; Raids and red routs his valour will proclaim. There he will find his death Where the expiring breath Of the suffering God his vengeful sword demands, In the dark hour upon the Holy Lands;[91] Shining his red sword's track, Over the sloping plain of Liam's back. FOOTNOTES: [91] King Conchobhar was believed to be born in the same year as Jesus Christ, and to have met his death in endeavouring to avenge the death of Christ. GREETING TO THE NEW-BORN BABE Welcome, little stranger, Born in pain and danger, He will be our gracious Lord, Son of gentle Cathva. Son of gentle Cathva, From the fort of Brug na Brat; Son of valorous Ness the Young, My son, and my grandson. My son, and my grandson, Of the world the shining One, He of old Rath Line the king, Poet-prince, my offspring. Poet-prince, my offspring, Overseas thy hosts thou wilt fling; Little songster from the Brug, Little kid, we welcome you. WHAT IS LOVE? From the "Wooing of Etain." A love much-enduring through a year is my love, It is grief close-hidden,[92] It is stretching of strength beyond its bounds, It is (fills?) the four quarters of the world; It is the highest height of heaven; It is breaking of the neck, It is battle with a spectre, It is drowning with water, It is a race against heaven, It is champion-feats beneath the sea, It is wooing the echo; So is my love, and my passion, and my devotion to her to whom I gave them. FOOTNOTES: [92] Lit. "beneath the skin." SUMMONS TO CUCHULAIN From the "Sickbed of Cuchulain." Arise, O Champion of Ulster! In joyous health mayest thou awake; Look thou on Macha's King, beloved, Thy heavy slumber likes him not. Behold his shoulder full of brightness, Behold his horns for battle-array,[93] Behold his chariots sweeping the glens, Behold the movement of his chess-warriors.[94] Behold his champions in their might, Behold his maiden-troop, tall and gentle, Behold his kings--a storm of war-- Behold his honourable queens. Look forth! the winter has begun! Note thou each wonder in its turn, Behold, for it avails thee well, Its cold, its length, its want of colour! This heavy slumber is decay, it is not good; Exhaustion from unequal strife; Repose too lengthened is "a drop when one is filled,"[95] Weakness like this is next to death.[96] Awake from sleep, the peace which drinkers seek, With mighty ardour throw it off; Many smooth speeches woo thee here, Arise, O Champion of Ulster! FOOTNOTES: [93] Or "his drinking-horns filled with ale" according to another reading. [94] Lit. "chess-Fians." [95] This seems to be a proverb or saw. [96] _Tanaisi d'éc_, lit. "second to death." The "tanist" stood next to the chief, and was his successor. LAEGH'S DESCRIPTION OF FAIRY-LAND From the "Sickbed of Cuchulain." I came with joyous sprightly steps, --Wondrous the place, though its fame was known,-- Till I reached the cairn where, 'mid scores of bands, I found Labra of the flowing hair. I found him seated at the cairn, Ringed round by thousands of weaponed men, Yellow the hair on him, beauteous its hue, A ball of ruddy gold enclosing it. After a time he recognised me, In the purple, five-folded mantle, He spake to me, "Wilt thou come with me To the house wherein is Failbe Fand?" Two kings are in the house, Failbe Fand and Labra, Three fifties surround each one of them, That the full sum of the one house. Fifty beds on the right side, With fifty nobles (?) in them, Fifty beds on the left side, With fifty in them also. Copper are the borders of the beds, White the pillars overlaid with gold; This the candle in their midst, A lustrous precious stone. At the door westward In the place where sets the sun, Stand a herd of grey palfreys, dappled their manes, And another herd purple-brown. There stand at the Eastern door Three ancient trees of purple pure, From them the sweet, everlasting birds Call to the lads of the kingly rath. At the door of the liss there is a tree, Out of which there sounds sweet harmony, A tree of silver with the shining of the sun upon it, Its lustrous splendour like to gold. Three twenties of trees are there, Their crests swing together but do not clash, From each of those trees three hundred are fed With fruits many-tasted, that have cast their rind. There is a well in the noble (?) sídh; There are thrice fifty mantles of various hue, And a clasp of gold, all lustrous, Holds the corner[97] of each coloured cloak. A vat there is of heady mead Being dispensed to the household; Still it lasts, in unchanged wise, Full to the brim, everlastingly. There is a maiden in the noble (?) house Surpassing the women of Éire, She steps forward, with yellow hair, Beautiful, many-gifted she. Her discourse with each in turn Is beauteous, is marvellous, The heart of each one breaks With longing and love for her. The noble maiden said: "Who is that youth whom we do not know? If thou be he, come hither awhile-- The gillie of the Man from Murthemne."[98] I went to her slowly, slowly, Fear for my honour seized me, She asked me, "Comes he hither, The famous son of Dechtire?" (LAEGH _addresses_ CUCHULAIN) Alas, that he[99] went not long ago, And every person asking it, That he might see, as it is, The mighty house that I have seen. If all Éire were mine, And the kingdom of Magh Breg of gold, I would give it (no small test) Could I frequent the place where I have been! FOOTNOTES: [97] Lit. "ear." [98] _i.e._ Cuchulain, whose home-lands lay in the Plain of Murthemne, in the district of Co. Louth; Laegh was Cuchulain's charioteer. [99] _i.e._ Cuchulain himself. THE LAMENTATION OF FAND WHEN SHE IS ABOUT TO LEAVE CUCHULAIN From the "Sickbed of Cuchulain." It is I who must go on this journey, Ou great necessity were best for me; Though another should have an equal fame Happier for me could I remain. Happier it were for me to be here, Subject to thee without reproach, Than to go,--though strange it may seem to thee,-- To the royal seat of Aed Abrat. The man is thine, O Emer, He has broken from me, O noble wife, No less, the thing that my hand cannot reach, I am fated to desire it. Many men were seeking me Both in shelters and in secret places; My tryst was never made with them, Because I myself was high-minded. Joyless she who gives love to one Who does not heed her love; It were better for her to be destroyed If she be not loved as she loves. With fifty women hast thou come hither, Noble Emer, of the yellow locks, To overthrow Fand, it were not well To kill her in her misery. Three times fifty have I there, --Beautiful, marriageable women,-- Together with me in the fort: They will not abandon me. MIDER'S CALL TO FAIRY-LAND From the "Wooing of Etain." O Befind, wilt thou come with me, To the wondrous land of melody? The crown of their head like the primrose hair, Their bodies below as the colour of snow. There in that land is no "mine" or "thine," White the teeth there, eyebrows black, Brilliant the eyes--great is the host-- And each cheek the hue of the foxglove. How heady soever the ale of Inis Fál More intoxicating is the ale of the Great Land; A marvel among lands the land of which I speak, No young man there enters on old age. Like the purple of the plains each neck, Like the ousel's egg the colour of the eye; Though fair to the sight are the Plains of Fál They are a desert to him who has known the Great Plain. Warm, sweet streams across the country, Choice of mead and wine, Distinguished beings who know no stain, Conception without sin, without lust. We behold everyone on every side, And none beholds us; The gloom of Adam's transgression it is Conceals us from their reckoning. O Woman, if thou come among my strong people, A golden top will crown thy head; Fresh swine-flesh, new milk and ale for drink Thou shalt have with me, O woman fair! THE SONG OF THE FAIRIES _When they made the road across the bog of Lamrach for Mider, their King_. Pile on the soil; thrust on the soil: Red are the oxen around who toil: Heavy the troops that my words obey; Heavy they seem, and yet men are they. Strongly, as piles, are the tree-trunks placed: Red are the wattles above them laced: Tired are your hands, and your glances slant; One woman's winning this toil may grant! Oxen ye are, but revenge shall see; Men who are white shall your servants be; Rushes from Teffa are cleared away; Grief is the price that the man shall pay: Stones have been cleared from the rough Meath ground; Where shall the gain or the harm be found? Thrust it in hand! Force it in hand! Nobles this night, as an ox-troop, stand; Hard is the task that is asked, and who From the bridging of Lamrach shall gain, or rue? A. H. LEAHY. THE GREAT LAMENTATION OF DEIRDRE FOR THE SONS OF USNA "As to Deirdre, she was a year in the household of Conchobar, after the death of the Sons of Usna. And though it might be a little thing to raise her head or to bring a smile over her lip, never once did she do it through all that space of time.... She took not sufficiency of food or sleep, nor lifted her head from her knee. When people of amusement were sent to her, she would break out into lamentation:-- Splendid in your eyes may be the impetuous champions Who resort to Emain after a foray; More brilliant yet was the return Of Usna's heroes to their home! Noisi bearing pleasant mead of hazel-nuts; I myself bathed him at the fire; Ardan bore an ox or boar of goodly size, Ainle, a load of faggots on his stately back. Sweet though the excellent mead be found Drunk by the son of Ness of mighty conflicts; I have shared ere now, from a chase on the borders, Abundant provender more delicious! When for the cooking-hearth noble Noisi Unbound the faggots on the forest hero-board, More pleasant than honey was each food, Better than all other the spoil brought in by Usna's sons. How melodious soever at every time May be the sound of pipes and horns, Here to-day I make my confession, I have heard music sweeter far! Here with Conchobar the king Sweet the sound of pipes and horns; More melodious to me the music, Famous and entrancing, of Usna's sons. The sound of the wave was the voice of Noisi, Melodious music that wearied not ever; Mellow the rich-toned notes of Ardan, Or the deep chant of Ainle through the hunting-booth. They have laid Noisi in the grave; Woeful to me was that convey,[100] The company whose act poured out for them The venomed draught from which they died. Loved one of the well-trimmed beard! most fair is thy renown! Shapely one, though thy renown be fair! Alas! to-day I rise not up To greet the coming of Usna's sons. Beloved thy firm and upright mind! Beloved, high champion, modest-hearted, After our wandering through the forests of Fál,[101] Gentle the caress of midnight. Dear the grey eye, a woman's love; Though stern of aspect to the foe! As we passed through the trees to the simple tryst, Delightful thy deep notes across the sombre woods! I sleep no more! No more I stain my finger-nails with red; No greeting comes to me who watch-- The sons of Usna return no more. I sleep not! Through half the wakeful night My mind is wandering out amongst the hosts; Yet more than that, I neither eat nor smile. For me to-day no instant of deep joy, Nor noble house, nor rich adornments please; In Emain's gatherings of her mighty men I find no peace, nor pleasure, nor repose. Splendid as in your eyes may be the impetuous champions Who resort to Emain after a foray; More brilliant yet was the return Of Usna's heroes to their home!" When King Conchobar sought to soothe her, she would answer: "What, O Conchobar, of thee? To me nought but tears and lamentation hast thou meted out; This is my life, so long as life shall last; Thy love for me is as a flame put out.[102] He who to me was fairest under heaven, He who was most beloved, Thou hast torn him from me, great was the injury, I see him not until I die. The secret of my grief, that it is gone, The form of Usna's son revealed to me; A pile I see dark-black above a corpse, Bright and well known to me beyond all else. * * * * * Break not, my heart, to-day! I sink ere long into an early grave; Like to the strong sea-wave The grief that binds me, if thou but knowest, O King! What, O Conchobar, of thee? To me nought but tears and lamentation hast thou meted out; This is my life, so long as life shall last; Thy love, methinks, is as a flame put out." FOOTNOTES: [100] _i.e._ Fergus mac Roy and his sons, who induced the sons of Usna to return with them to Ireland, where they were slain by King Conchobar. [101] _Fál_ is a poetic name for Ireland; _Inisfáil_ means "the Island of destiny" or of "knowledge." [102] Lit. "is not lasting." OSSIANIC POETRY "Were but the brown leaf which the wood sheds from it gold--were but the white billow silver--Fionn would have given it all away."--_The Colloquy with the Ancients._ FIRST WINTER-SONG Take my tidings! Stags contend; Snows descend-- Summer's end! A chill wind raging; The sun low keeping, Swift to set O'er seas high sweeping. Dull red the fern; Shapes are shadows: Wild geese mourn O'er misty meadows. Keen cold limes Each weaker wing. Icy times-- Such I sing! Take my tidings! ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES. SECOND WINTER-SONG Cold till Doom! Glowers more fearfully the gloom! Each gleaming furrow is a river, A loch in each ford's room. Each pool is deepened to a perilous pit, A standing-stone each plain, a wood each moor; The clamouring flight of birds no shelter finds, White snow winds towards the door. Like to a spectral host each sharp slim shape, Each leaping lake swelled to a mighty main; Wide as a wether's skin each falling flake, Shield-broad, each drop of rain. Swift frost again hath fastened all the ways, It strove and struggled upwards o'er the wold, About Colt's standing-stone the tempest sways, Shuddering, men cry, "'Tis cold!" IN PRAISE OF MAY Ascribed to Fionn mac Cumhaill. May-day! delightful day! Bright colours play the vale along. Now wakes at morning's slender ray Wild and gay the blackbird's song. Now comes the bird of dusty hue, The loud cuckoo, the summer-lover; Branchy trees are thick with leaves; The bitter, evil time is over. Swift horses gather nigh Where half dry the river goes; Tufted heather clothes the height; Weak and white the bogdown blows. Corncrake sings from eve to morn, Deep in corn, a strenuous bard! Sings the virgin waterfall, White and tall, her one sweet word. Loaded bees with puny power Goodly flower-harvest win; Cattle roam with muddy flanks; Busy ants go out and in. Through the wild harp of the wood Making music roars the gale-- Now it settles without motion, On the ocean sleeps the sail. Men grow mighty in the May, Proud and gay the maidens grow; Fair is every wooded height; Fair and bright the plain below. A bright shaft has smit the streams, With gold gleams the water-flag; Leaps the fish, and on the hills Ardour thrills the leaping stag. Loudly carols the lark on high, Small and shy, his tireless lay, Singing in wildest, merriest mood, Delicate-hued, delightful May. T. W. ROLLESTON. THE ISLE OF ARRAN Arran of many stags! Her very shoulders washed by ocean's foam; Of companies of hardy men the home, Whose blue spears reddened oft along her crags Where the quick-leaping deer doth roam. Beneath her russet oaks the acorns fall, Cool water in her streams, and, scattered all, Dark berries lurk, like down-dropped hidden tears, Beneath her slowly-moving grasses tall. Greyhounds there were in her, and beagles brown; And, when the winding horn her stillness shocks, From out the friendly shelter of her rocks The startled stag leaps down. Around her noble crags, in thickening flocks, To one another wheeling sea-mews cry; Yet, all unmoved, the fawns feed silently, Unconscious of the storm-cloud's gathering frown That spreads across the leaden autumn sky. Smooth were her level lands and sleek her swine, Cheerful her fields (true is the tale I tell) The heavy hazel-boughs remembered well, The purple crop, where bramble-trails entwine. Above the nestling homesteads of the dell. Her whispering streams, her clear deep pools I miss, Where brown trout browse beneath the fairy liss; Pleasant thine isle, Arran of bounding stags, On such a sultry summer's day as this. THE PARTING OF GOLL FROM HIS WIFE _When they are shut up by Fionn on a sea-girt rock, without chance of escape_. A DIALOGUE (GOLL _speaks_) The end is come; upon this narrow rock To-morrow I must die; Wife of the ruddy cheeks and hair of flame, Leave me to-night and fly. Seek out the camp of Fionn and of his men Upon the westward side; Take there, in time to come, another mate. Here I abide. (GOLL'S _wife replies_) Which way, O Goll, is my way, and thou perished? Alas! few friends have I! Small praise that woman hath whose lord is gone And no protector nigh! What man should I wed? I whom great Goll cherished And made his wife? Where in the East or West should one be sought To mend my broken life? Shall I take Oísin, son of Fionn the Wise? Or Carroll of the blood-stained hand? Shall I make Angus, son of Hugh, my prize? Or swift-foot Corr, chief of the fighting-band? I am as good as they; aye, good and better, Daughter of Conall, Monarch of the West, Fostered was I with Conn the Hundred-Fighter, Best among all the best. Thee out of all I loved, thee my first master, Gentlest and bravest thou; Seven years we lived and loved, through calm and tumult, And shall I leave thee now? From that night till to-night I found thee never Of harsh and churlish mind; And here I vow, no other man shall touch me, Kind or unkind. Here on this narrow crag, foodless and sleepless, Thou takest thy last stand; A hundred heroes, Goll, lie rotting round thee, Slain by thy dauntless hand. In the wide ocean near us, life is teeming; Yet on this barren rock I sink from hunger, and the wild briny waters My thirst-pangs mock. Fierce is our hunger, fierce are the five battalions Sent here to conquer thee; But fiercer yet the drought that steals my beauty Midst this surrounding sea. Though all my dear loved brothers by one caitiff Lay slaughtered in my sight, That man I'd call my friend, yea, I would love him, Could my thirst ease to-night. Eat, Son of Morna, batten on these dead bodies, This is my last behest; Feast well, gaunt Goll, then quench thy awful craving Here at my breast. Nought is there more to fear, nought to be hoped for, Of life and all bereft High on this crag, abandoned and forsaken, Nor hope nor shame is left. (GOLL _speaks_) King Conall's daughter, cease this mad entreaty, Cease thou, I pray; Never have I a woman's counsel asked for, Far less to-day. Oh! pitiful how this thing hath befallen, Little red mouth! Lips that of old made speech and happy music, Now dry and harsh with drouth. Ever I feared this end; my haunting terror By wave and land Was to be caught by Fionn and his battalions On some stark, foodless strand. Depart not yet; upon this barren islet, Beneath this brazen sky, Sweet lips and gentle heart, we sit together Until we die. YOUTH AND AGE From the "Poem-book of Fionn." Once I was yellow-haired, and ringlets fell, In clusters round my brow; Grizzled and sparse to-night my short grey crop, No lustre in it now. Better to me the shining locks of youth, Or raven's dusky hue, Than drear old age, which chilly wisdom brings, If what they say be true. I only know that as I pass the road, No woman looks my way; They think my head and heart alike are cold-- Yet I have had my day. CHILL WINTER Nipping this winter's night, the snow drifts by, Below the hill the boisterous billows roar; 'Tis bitter cold to-night the mountain o'er, Yet still the ungovernable stag bells forth his cry. To-night laid not his side upon the ground The deer of Slievecarn of the hundred fights; He, with the stag of Echtge's frozen heights, Caught the wolves' snarl, and quivered at the sound. I, Caoilte, wakeful lie, and Dermot Donn, We, with keen Oscar of the footsteps fleet, Watch the slow hours of moving night retreat, Whilst the dread pack of hungry wolves comes on. Well rests the ruddy deer in dawn's dim light, Deep breathing near the covering earthen mound, Hidden from sight, as 'twere beneath the ground, All in the latter end of chilly night. I sit to-night amongst the ancient race, And of the younger men but few I know, Though, in the ice-bound mornings long ago, From my firm grasp the javelin flew apace. I thank Heaven's King, I thank sweet Mary's Son, My hand it was that silenced countless men; They lie stretched out beneath us in the glen, Colder than we, death-cold, lies many and many an one. THE SLEEP-SONG OF GRAINNE OVER DERMUID _When fleeing from Fionn_ From the "Poem-book of Fionn." Sleep a little, a little little, thou needest feel no fear or dread, Youth to whom my love is given, I am watching near thy head. Sleep a little, with my blessing, Dermuid of the lightsome eye, I will guard thee as thou dreamest, none shall harm while I am by. Sleep, O little lamb, whose homeland was the country of the lakes, In whose bosom torrents tremble, from whose sides the river breaks. Sleep as slept the ancient poet, Dedach, minstrel of the South, When he snatched from Conall Cernach Eithne of the laughing mouth. Sleep as slept the comely Finncha 'neath the falls of Assaroe, Who, when stately Slaine sought him, laid the Hardhead Failbe low. Sleep in joy, as slept fair Aine, Gailan's daughter of the west, Where, amid the flaming torches, she and Duvach found their rest. Sleep as Degha, who in triumph, ere the sun sank o'er the land, Stole the maiden he had craved for, plucked her from fierce Deacall's hand. Fold of Valour, sleep a little, Glory of the Western world; I am wondering at thy beauty, marvelling how thy locks are curled. Like the parting of two children, bred together in one home, Like the breaking of two spirits, if I did not see you come. Swirl the leaves before the tempest, moans the nightwind o'er the lea, Down its stony bed the streamlet hurries onward to the sea. In the swaying boughs the linnet twitters in the darkling light, On the upland wastes of heather wings the grouse its heavy flight. In the marshland by the river sulks the otter in his den; While the piping of the peeweet sounds across the distant fen. On the stormy mere the wild-duck pushes outward from the brake, With her downy brood beside her seeks the centre of the lake. In the east the restless roe-deer bellows to his frightened hind; On thy track the wolf-hounds gather, sniffing up against the wind. Yet, O Dermuid, sleep a little, this one night our fear hath fled, Youth to whom my love is given, see, I watch beside thy bed. THE SLAYING OF CONBEG _A beloved hound of Fionn's which Goll mac Morna drowned in despite of Fionn_. CAOILTE _sang this_: Mournful to me the slaying of Conbeg,[103] Little hound, great was his brightness; Never was one more deft of paw Seen in the chase of swine or deer. Tribulation to me the slaying of Conbeg, Little hound, of the baying voice; Never was one more deft of paw Found in the running down of the deer. Tribulation to me the drowning of Conbeg Upon the mighty grey-green seas; His cruel loss, it brought contention,[104] A "fill of sorrow" was his death. FOOTNOTES: [103] Conbeg means "little hound." [104] _i.e._ between Fionn and Goll; Goll was leader of the Connacht Fians and the deadly enemy of Fionn. THE FAIRIES' LULLABY My mirth and merriment, soft and sweet art thou, Child of the race of Conn art thou; My mirth and merriment, soft and sweet art thou, Of the race of Coll and Conn art thou. My smooth green rush, my laughter sweet, My little plant in the rocky cleft, Were it not for the spell on thy tiny feet Thou wouldst not here be left, Not thou. Of the race of Coll and Conn art thou, My laughter, sweet and low art thou; As you crow on my knee, I would lift you with me, Were it not for the mark that is on your feet I would lift you away, and away, with me. SONG OF THE FOREST TREES O man that for Fergus of the feasts dost kindle fire, Whether afloat or ashore burn not the king of woods. Monarch of Innisfail's forests the woodbine is, whom none may hold captive; No feeble sovereign's effort is it to hug all tough trees in his embrace. The pliant woodbine if thou burn, wailings for misfortune will abound, Dire extremity at weapons' points or drowning in great waves will follow. Burn not the precious apple-tree of spreading and low-sweeping bough; Tree ever decked in bloom of white, against whose fair head all men put forth the hand. The surly blackthorn is a wanderer, a wood that the artificer burns not; Throughout his body, though it be scanty, birds in their flocks warble. The noble willow burn not, a tree sacred to poems; Within his bloom bees are a-sucking, all love the little cage. The graceful tree with the berries, the wizard's tree, the rowan, burn; But spare the limber tree; burn not the slender hazel. Dark is the colour of the ash; timber that makes the wheels to go; Rods he furnishes for horsemen's hands, his form turns battle into flight. Tenterhook among woods the spiteful briar is, burn him that is so keen and green; He cuts, he flays the foot, him that would advance he forcibly drags backward. Fiercest heat-giver of all timber is green oak, from him none may escape unhurt; By partiality for him the head is set on aching, and by his acrid embers the eye is made sore. Alder, very battle-witch of all woods, tree that is hottest in the fight-- Undoubtedly burn at thy discretion both the alder and whitethorn. Holly, burn it green; holly, burn it dry; Of all trees whatsoever the critically best is holly. Elder that hath tough bark, tree that in truth hurts sore; Him that furnishes horses to the armies from the _sídh_ burn so that he be charred. The birch as well, if he be laid low, promises abiding fortune; Burn up most sure and certainly the stalks that bear the constant pods. Suffer, if it so please thee, the russet aspen to come headlong down; Burn, be it late or early, the tree with the palsied branch. Patriarch of long-lasting woods is the yew, sacred to feasts, as is well-known; Of him now build ye dark-red vats of goodly size. Ferdedh, thou faithful one, wouldst thou but do my behest: To thy soul as to thy body, O man, 'twould work advantage. STANDISH HAYES O'GRADY. EARLY CHRISTIAN POEMS ST. PATRICK'S BREASTPLATE I arise to-day Through the strength of heaven: Light of sun, Radiance of moon, Splendour of fire, Speed of lightning, Swiftness of wind, Depth of sea, Stability of earth, Firmness of rock. I arise to-day Through God's strength to pilot me: God's might to uphold me, God's wisdom to guide me, God's eye to look before me, God's ear to hear me, God's word to speak for me, God's hand to guard me, God's way to lie before me, God's shield to protect me, God's host to save me From snares of devils, From temptations of vices, From every one who shall wish me ill, Afar and anear, Alone and in a multitude. Christ to shield me to-day Against poison, against burning, Against drowning, against wounding, So that there may come to me abundance of reward. Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ on my right, Christ on my left, Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me, Christ in the mouth of every one who speaks of me, Christ in every eye that sees me, Christ in every ear that hears me. I arise to-day Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, Through belief in the threeness, Through confession of the oneness Of the Creator of Creation. KUNO MEYER. PATRICK'S BLESSING ON MUNSTER Blessing from the Lord on High Over Munster fall and lie; To her sons and daughters all Choicest blessings still befall; Fruitful blessing on the soil That supports her faithful toil! Blessing full of ruddy health, Blessing full of every wealth That her borders furnish forth, East and west and south and north; Blessings from the Lord on high Over Munster fall and lie! Blessing on her peaks in air, Blessing on her flag-stones bare; Blessing from her ridges flow To her grassy glens below; Blessings from the Lord on High Over Munster fall and lie! As the sands upon her shore Underneath her ships, for store, Be her hearths, a twinkling host Over mountain, plain and coast! Blessing from the Lord on High Over Munster fall and lie! ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES. COLUMCILLE'S FAREWELL TO ARAN OF THE SAINTS St. Columcille, or Columba, was born 521, died 597 A.D. Farewell from me to Ara's Isle, Her smile is at my heart no more, No more to me the boon is given With hosts of heaven to walk her shore. How far, alas! How far, alas! Have I to pass from Ara's view, To mix with men from Mona's fen, With men from Alba's mountains blue. O Ara, darling of the West, Ne'er be he blest who loves not thee! O God, cut short her foeman's breath, Let hell and death his portion be. O Ara, darling of the West, Ne'er be he blest who loves not thee, Herdless and childless may he go, In endless woe his doom to dree. O Ara, darling of the West, Ne'er be he blest who loves thee not, When angels wing from heaven on high, And leave the sky for this dear spot. DOUGLAS HYDE. ST. COLUMBA IN IONA From an Irish MS. in the Burgundian Library, Brussels. Delightful would it be to me On a pinnacle of rock, That I might often see The face of the ocean; That I might watch its heaving waves Over the wide sea When they chant music to their Father Upon the world's course; That I might see its level sparkling strand, It would be no cause of sorrow; That I might hear the song of the wonderful birds, Source of happiness; That I might hear the thunder of the clamorous waves Upon the rocks; That I might hear the roar by the side of the church Of the surrounding sea; That I might watch its noble bird-flocks Flying over the watery surf; That I might see the ocean-monsters, Greatest of all wonders; That I might observe its ebb and flood In their cycles; That my mystical name might be, i'faith, "Cul ri Erin." That on my heart contrition might fall On looking upon her; That I might bewail my evils all, Though it were not easy to number them; That I might bless the Lord Who orders all; Heaven with its countless bright orders Land, strand and flood; That I might search in all the books That which would help my soul; At times kneeling to the Heaven of my heart, At times singing psalms; At times meditating on the King of Heaven, Chief of the Holy Ones; At times at work without compulsion This would be delightful. At times plucking duilisc from the rocks; At other times fishing; At times distributing food to the poor, At times in a hermitage; The best guidance from the presence of God Has been vouchsafed to me; The King whom I serve will keep from me All things that would deceive me. EUGENE O'CURRY. HYMN TO THE DAWN Ascribed to St. Cellach of Killala, when imprisoned in a hollow oak on the morning before his murder by his old comrades, _circa_ 540. Hail to the morning fair, that falls as a flame on the greensward; Hail, too, unto Him who bestows her, the morn ever fruitful in blessings. Robed in her pride she comes, the brilliant sun's little sister, Hail to thee, Dawn, thrice hail! that lightest my book of the hours. Thou searchest the secret dwelling, on clansman and kindred thou shinest; White-necked, beautiful, hail! who makest thine uprising golden! The chequered page of my booklet tells me my life was erring; Melcroin, 'tis thee whom I fear, 'tis from thee that shall come my undoing. Scallcrow, thou paltry fowl, sharp-beaked, grey-coated and cruel, Full well do I guess thy desire, no friendship hast thou unto Cellach. Raven, O Raven, that croakest, from the top of the rath thou art watching, Wait but awhile, bird of death, and most surely my flesh will suffice thee. Fiercely the kite of Cluain Eo will take his part in the scramble, His talons filled with my flesh, flying off to his haunt in the yew-tree. Swift through the darkling woodland the foxes will scent out my slaughter, They on the confines trackless my flesh and my blood will devour. The mighty wolf from his lair 'neath the rath on the East of Drumm Dara, To the banquet of bones will betake him, prime chief of the curs he will boast him. Wednesday night past I saw visions, the wild dogs troubled my slumbers, Hither and thither they dragged me through russet ferns of the coppice. 'Twas in a dream I saw it; to the lonely green glen men bore me; Five men were we who went thither, I saw only four returning.[105] 'Twas in a dream I saw it; to their dwelling my comrades allured me; They poured out the cup of old friendship, they quaffed to my luck and long living. Scant is thy tail, tiny wren; thy doleful pipe is prophetic; Perhaps it is thou art the traitor; thou, and not they, my destroyer. For why should Mac Deora deceive me? His father and mine were brothers; Oh! monstrous deed and unholy, that he should desire to harm me! Or why should Meldalua hurt me? my cousin, is he by his mother; Twin sisters his mother and mine, yet in truth it was he who betrayed me. What ill can I get from Melsenig? For a pure man's son I have held him; Melsenig, the son of Melibar, 'tis he who hath plotted my downfall. Melcroin, my playfellow Melcroin, the crime of thy act is yet deeper; For ten thousand ingots of gold would not Cellach have stooped to betray thee. Vain pelf hath allured thee, O Melcroin, the love of this world's fleeting pleasures, For the guerdon of hell hast thou sold me, hast sold me, thy friend and thy brother! All precious things that I had, my treasures, my sleek-coated horses, Would I have given to Melcroin, to win him away from this treason! Yet in high heaven above me, the great Son of Mary is speaking; "Thou art forsaken on earth; but a welcome awaits thee in heaven." FOOTNOTES: [105] Compare "So the two brothers and their murdered man rode past fair Florence," in Keats' _Isabella or the Pot of Basil_, Stanza xxvii. THE SONG OF MANCHAN THE HERMIT Abbot of Liath Manchan, now Lemanaghan, in King's Co. Died 665 A.D. I wish, O Son of the Living God, O Ancient Eternal King, For a hidden hut in the wilderness, a simple secluded thing. The all-blithe lithe little lark in his place, chanting his lightsome lay; The calm, clear pool of the Spirit's grace, washing my sins away. A wide, wild woodland on every side, its shades the nursery Of glad-voiced songsters, who at day-dawn chant their sweet psalm for me. A southern aspect to catch the sun, a brook across the floor, A choice land, rich with gracious gifts, down-stretching from my door. Few men and wise, these I would prize, men of content and power, To raise Thy praise throughout the days at each canonical hour. Four times three, three times four, fitted for every need, To the King of the Sun praying each one, this were a grace, indeed. Twelve in the church to chant the hours, kneeling there twain and twain; And I before, near the chancel door, listening their low refrain. A pleasant church with an Altar-cloth, where Christ sits at the board, And a shining candle shedding its ray on the white words of the Lord. Brief meals between, when prayer is done, our modest needs supply; No greed in our share of the simple fare, no boasting or ribaldry. This is the husbandry I choose, laborious, simple, free, The fragrant leek about my door, the hen and the humble bee. Rough raiment of tweed, enough for my need, this will my King allow; And I to be sitting praying to God under every leafy bough. A PRAYER Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart, Naught is all else to me, save that Thou art. Thou my best thought by day and by night, Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light. Be Thou my Wisdom, Thou my true Word; I ever with Thee, Thou with me, Lord. Thou my great Father, I thy dear son; Thou in me dwelling, I with Thee one. Be Thou my battle-shield, sword for the fight, Be Thou my dignity, Thou my delight. Thou my soul's shelter, Thou my high tower; Raise Thou me heavenward, Power of my power. Riches I heed not or man's empty praise, Thou mine inheritance now and always. Thou, and Thou only, first in my heart, High King of Heaven, my treasure Thou art. King of the seven heavens, grant me for dole, Thy love in my heart, Thy light in my soul. Thy light from my soul, Thy love from my heart, King of the seven heavens, may they never depart. With the High King of heaven, after victory won, May I reach heaven's joys, O Bright heaven's Sun! Heart of my own heart, whatever befall, Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all. THE LOVES OF LIADAN AND CURITHIR St. Cummine, in whose days the lovers lived, died 661. The language is of the ninth century. A young poet and poetess of Connaught were betrothed; but during the year's interval preceding their marriage, Liadan, for some unexplained reason, took the veil. When Curithir returned to fetch her to his home, he found that by her vows she had for ever separated herself from him. In his despair he determined to follow her example and become a monk. The lovers placed themselves together under the direction of St. Cummine, a severe and hard man, who permitted them to meet, with the object of accusing them of wrong-doing. Finally, he gave Curithir the choice of seeing Liadan without speaking to her, or speaking to her without seeing. He chooses the latter, and henceforth they wander round each other's cells, speaking together through the wattled walls, but never looking on each other's faces. The time comes when this can be no longer borne, and Curithir sails away to strange lands on pilgrimage, so that Liadan saw him no more. She died upon the flagstone on which Curithir was wont to pray, and was buried beneath it. The poem is in the form of a dialogue. (LIADAN _speaks_) Curithir, maker of sweet song, By me beloved, you do me wrong! Dear master of the two Grey Feet,[106] Is it like this we meet? (CURITHIR _speaks_) Of late, Since I and Liadan understood our fate, Each day hath been a month of fasting days, Each month a year of doubting of God's ways. I had my choice To see her gentle form, or hear her voice; "Some comfort yet may reach her from my speech," I said; "we have been ever looking each at each." (LIADAN _speaks_) His voice comes up to me again, Is it in blame, or is it pain? I catch its accents strained and deep, And cannot sleep. The flagstone where he bent the knee, Beside the wattled oratory, 'Tis there, at eve, each lonely day, I go to pray. Never for him dear hearth or wife, Homestead, or innocent baby life; No mate at his right hand Will ever stand. Cummine accuses her of wrong and she turns on him: Cleric, thy thought is ill; Not with my will you link my name with his, From Loch Seng's borderland he comes, I wis, I from Iar-Conchin's Cill. We met, you say; But sure, no honeyed pastures of the flock Where lover's arms in lover's arms enlock, Was ours that May. If Curithir is gone to-day To teach the little scholars of the school, Small help he'll get who does not know his rule; Curithir's thoughts are very far away. At length the news is brought to her that Curithir is gone for ever, and she breaks out into a passionate lament. _The Cry of_ LIADAN _after_ CURITHIR 'Tis done! Joyless the victory I have won, The tender heart of him I loved I wrung! He called me near A little space to please him, but the fear Of God in heaven withheld me, and I would not hear. Great gain To us the way love pointed plain, To win the gates of Paradise through pain. Reckless and vain The whim that caused my lover's love to dim; Great ever was my gentleness to him. Liadan am I, And Curithir I loved; it is no lie, He would not doubt me now if he were by. Short while were we Together in the closest intimacy, Sweet was the time to him, and sweet to me. The music of the lightly waving tree, When Curithir was here, would sing to me, With the deep voice of the empurpled sea. Surely to-day No whim of mine would turn his heart away, No senseless act or speech, do what I may. And to myself I say, My love to him was given, my heart, unshriven, At his dear feet I lay. My heart is flame, A tempest heat no ice on earth can tame, I cry "I was to blame! I was to blame!" FOOTNOTES: [106] A play on Curithir's patronymic, Mac Doborchon, _i.e._ "Son of the Otter." THE LAY OF PRINCE MARVAN _In praise of his hermit life. A reply to his brother, King Guaire, of Connaught, when asked by him why he did not dwell in the Palace._ King Guaire died 662; but the poem, as we have it, is of the tenth century. There is a shieling hidden in the wood Unknown to all save God; An ancient ash-tree and a hazel-bush Their sheltering shade afford. Around the doorway's heather-laden porch Wild honeysuckles twine; Prolific oaks, within the forest's gloom, Shed mast upon fat swine. Many a sweet familiar woodland path Comes winding to my door; Lowly and humble is my hermitage, Poor, and yet not too poor. From the high gable-end my lady's throat Her trilling chant outpours, Her sombre mantle, like the ousel's coat, Shows dark above my doors. From the high oakridge where the roe-deer leaps The river-banks between, Renowned Mucraime and Red Roigne's plains Lie wrapped in robes of green. Here in the silence, where no care intrudes, I dwell at peace with God; What gift like this hast thou to give, Prince Guaire, Were I to roam abroad? The heavy branches of the green-barked yew That seem to bear the sky; The spreading oak, that shields me from the storm, When winds rise high. Like a great hostel, welcoming to all, My laden apple-tree; Low in the hedge, the modest hazel-bush Drops ripest nuts for me. Round the pure spring, that rises crystal clear, Straight from the rock, Wild goats and swine, red fox, and grazing deer, At sundown flock. The host of forest-dwellers of the soil Trysting at night; To meet them foxes come, a peaceful troop, For my delight. Like exiled princes, flocking to their home, They gather round; Beneath the river bank great salmon leap, And trout abound. Rich rowan clusters, and the dusky sloe, The bitter, dark blackthorn, Ripe whortle-berries, nuts of amber hue, The cup-enclosed acorn. A clutch of eggs, sweet honey, mead and ale, God's goodness still bestows; Red apples, and the fruitage of the heath, His constant mercy shows. The goodly tangle of the briar-trail Climbs over all the hedge; Far out of sight, the trembling waters wail Through rustling rush and sedge. Luxuriant summer spreads its coloured cloak And covers all the land; Bright blue-bells, sunk in woods of russet oak, Their blooms expand. The movements of the bright red-breasted men, A lovely melody! Above my house, the thrush and cuckoo's strain A chorus wakes for me. The little music-makers of the world Chafers and bees, Drone answer to the tumbling torrent's roar Beneath the trees. From gable-ends, from every branch and stem, Sounds sweetest music now; Unseen, in restless flight, the lively wren Flits 'neath the hazel-bough. Deep in the firmament the sea-gulls fly, One widely-circling wreath; The cheerful cuckoo's call, the poult's reply, Sound o'er the distant heath. The lowing of the calves in summer-time, Best season of the year! Across the fertile plain, pleasant the sound, Their call I hear. Voice of the wind against the branchy wood Upon the deep blue sky; Most musical the ceaseless waterfall, The swan's shrill cry. No hired chorus, trained to praise its chief, Comes welling up for me; The music made for Christ the Ever-young, Sounds forth without a fee. Though great thy wealth, Prince Guaire, happier live Those who can boast no hoard; Who take at Christ's hand that which He doth give As their award. Far from life's tumult and the din of strife I dwell with Him in peace, Content and grateful, for Thy gifts, High Prince, Daily increase. (GUAIRE _replies_) Wisely thou choosest, Marvan; I a king Would lay my kingdom by, With Colman's glorious heritage I'd part To bear thee company! THE SONG OF CREDE, DAUGHTER OF GUARE (In the battle of Aidne, Crede, the daughter of King Guare of Aidne, beheld Dinertach of the HyFidgenti, who had come to the help of Guare, with seventeen wounds upon his breast. Then she fell in love with him. He died and was buried in the cemetery of Colman's Church.) These are the arrows that murder sleep At every hour in the night's black deep; Pangs of Love through the long day ache, All for the dead Dinertach's sake. Great love of a hero from Roiny's plain Has pierced me through with immortal pain, Blasted my beauty and left me to blanch A riven bloom on a restless branch. Never was song like Dinertach's speech But holy strains that to Heaven's gate reach; A front of flame without boast or pride, Yet a firm, fond mate for a fair maid's side. A growing girl--I was timid of tongue, And never trysted with gallants young, But since I have won into passionate age, Fierce love-longings my heart engage. I have every bounty that life could hold, With Guare, arch-monarch of Aidne cold, But, fallen away from my haughty folk, In Irluachair's field my heart lies broke. There is chanting in glorious Aidne's meadow, Under St. Colman's Church's shadow; A hero flame sinks into the tomb-- Dinertach, alas my love and my doom! Chaste Christ! that now at my life's last breath I should tryst with Sorrow and mate with Death! At every hour of the night's black deep, These are the arrows that murder sleep. ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES. THE STUDENT AND HIS CAT The Irish of this playful poem was written by a student of the Monastery of Carinthia on a copy of St. Paul's Epistles about the close of the eighth century. I and Pangur Bán, my cat, 'Tis a like task we are at; Hunting mice is his delight, Hunting words I sit all night. Better far than praise of men 'Tis to sit with book and pen; Pangur bears me no ill-will, He, too, plies his simple skill. 'Tis a merry thing to see At our tasks how glad are we, When at home we sit and find Entertainment to our mind. Oftentimes a mouse will stray In the hero Pangur's way; Oftentimes my keen thought set Takes a meaning in its net. 'Gainst the wall he sets his eye Full and fierce and sharp and sly; 'Gainst the wall of knowledge I All my little wisdom try. When a mouse darts from its den, O! how glad is Pangur then; O! what gladness do I prove When I solve the doubts I love. So in peace our task we ply, Pangur Bán, my cat, and I; In our arts we find our bliss, I have mine, and he has his. Practice every day has made Pangur perfect in his trade; I get wisdom day and night, Turning darkness into light. ROBIN FLOWER. THE SONG OF THE SEVEN ARCHANGELS Now, Gabriel, be with my heart On this first day of seven, He, first of the Archangels; And Thou, High King of Heaven. Michael be mine, if Monday dawn, Michael I call upon, There is none like thee, Michael, None but Jesu, Mary's Son. And oh if Tuesday sorrow bring, Let Raphael help it forth, One of the seven that hears us weep, Sad women of this earth. And Uriel hear, if Wednesday wake, In his nobility, And heal our wounds and care for us And calm this wind-torn sea. And Sariel, should Thursday come With wilder wind and seas, On Sariel I cry aloud For that solace which is his. For sorrow's fast on Friday, Out of my need I cry On Rumiel, my heart's near friend, Though Heaven I know is nigh. And Saturday, on Panchel, While this yellow world is mine, I call on him while shake the leaves And the yellow sun doth shine. The Trinity protect me still-- Oh blessed Trinity, And be my stay in danger's hour; Protect and prosper me. ERNEST RHYS. THE FÉILIRE OF ADAMNAN _Ancient Irish Litany_ Though ascribed to St. Adamnan, Abbot of Iona (died 704), the biographer of St. Columba, the piece, judging by its language, is later. Saints of Four Seasons! Saints of the Year! Loving, I pray to you; longing, I say to you: Save me from angers, dreeings, and dangers! Saints of Four Seasons! Saints of the Year! Saints of Green Springtime! Saints of the Year! Patraic and Grighair, Brighid be near! My last breath gather with God's Foster Father! Saints of Green Springtime! Saints of the Year! Saints of Gold Summer! Saints of the Year! (Poesy wingeth me! Fancy far bringeth me!) Guide ye me on to Mary's Sweet Son! Saints of Gold Summer! Saints of the Year! Saints of Red Autumn! Saints of the Year! Lo! I am cheery! Michil and Mary Open wide Heaven to my soul bereaven! Saints of Red Autumn! Saints of the Year! Saints of Grey Winter Saints of the Year! Outside God's Palace fiends wait in malice-- Let them not win my soul going in! Saints of Grey Winter! Saints of the Year! Saints of Four Seasons! Saints of the Year! Waking or sleeping, to my grave creeping, Life in its Night, hold me God's light! Saints of Four Seasons! Saints of the Year! P. J. MCCALL. THE FEATHERED HERMIT Blackbird, who pourest praise, Deep hidden 'neath the bough, No bell to call the Hours Thou needest, thou; Each hour, O hermit, from thy throat, Wells thy sweet, soft, peaceful note. AN APHORISM Time was, I was not here; Short the time for me, I fear! Death comes, that is clear; It is not clear when death is near. THE BLACKBIRD High trees close me round Far from the ground the blackbird sings, Trilling, it chants its lay Above my well-lined book to-day. In its soft veil of grey The wayward cuckoo calls aloud; Within my wall of green, My God shrouds me, all unseen. DEUS MEUS By Mael-Isu ("Servant of Jesus"), of Derry, _obit._ 1038. _Deus meus adiuva me_, Give me thy love, O Christ, I pray, Give me thy love, O Christ, I pray, _Deus meus adiuva me_. _In meum cor ut sanum sit_, Pour, loving King, Thy love in it, Pour, loving King, Thy love in it, _In meum cor ut sanum sit_. _Domine, da ut peto a te_, O, pure bright sun, give, give to-day, O, pure bright sun, give, give to-day, _Domine, da ut peto a te_. _Hanc spero rem et quaero quam_ Thy love to have where'er I am, Thy love to have where'er I am, _Hanc spero rem et quaero quam_. _Tuum amorem sicut uis_, Give to me swiftly, strongly, this, Give to me swiftly, strongly, this, _Tuum amorem sicut uis_. _Quaero, postulo, peto a te_, That I in heaven, dear Christ, may stay, That I in heaven, dear Christ, may stay, _Quaero, postulo, peto a te_. _Domine, Domine, exaudi me_, Fill my soul, Lord, with Thy love's ray, Fill my soul, Lord, with Thy love's ray, _Domine, Domine, exaudi me_. _Deus meus adiuva me_, _Deus meus adiuva me_. GEORGE SIGERSON. THE SOUL'S DESIRE (Author and date unknown.) It were my soul's desire To see the face of God; It were my soul's desire To rest in His abode. It were my soul's desire To study zealously; This, too, my soul's desire, A clear rule set for me. It were my soul's desire A spirit free from gloom; It were my soul's desire New life beyond the Doom. It were my soul's desire To shun the chills of hell; Yet more my soul's desire Within His house to dwell. It were my soul's desire To imitate my King, It were my soul's desire His ceaseless praise to sing. It were my soul's desire When heaven's gate is won To find my soul's desire Clear shining like the sun. Grant, Lord, my soul's desire, Deep waves of cleansing sighs; Grant, Lord, my soul's desire From earthly cares to rise. This still my soul's desire Whatever life afford,-- To gain my soul's desire And see Thy face, O Lord. TEMPEST ON THE SEA The original of the following poem was ascribed to Ruman mac Colmáin, an Irish poet of the seventh century, whom the _Book of Leinster_ generously styles "the Homer and Virgil of Ireland." It has been edited and exquisitely translated in prose by Professor Kuno Meyer in vol. ii. of _Otia Merseiana_. He attributes it to the eleventh century. The old prose account says that it was made by Ruman, when challenged by the Danes of Dublin to sing of the sea. Tempest on the great sea-borders, Hear my tale, ye viking sworders! Winter smites us, wild winds crying Set the salty billows flying, Wind and winter, fierce marauders. Lir's vast host of shouting water Comes against us, charged with slaughter, None can tell the dread and wonder Speaking in the ocean thunder And the tempest, thunder's daughter. With the wind of east at morning All the waves' wild hearts are yearning Westward over wastes of ocean, Till they stay their eager motion Where the setting sun is burning. When the northern wind comes flying, All the press of dark waves crying, Southward surge and clamour, driven To the shining southern heaven, Wave to wave in song replying. When the western wind is blowing O'er the currents wildly flowing, Eastward sets its mighty longing And the waves go eastward thronging Far to find the sun-tree growing. When the southern wind comes raining Over shielded Saxons straining, Waves round Skiddy isle go pouring, On Caladnet's beaches roaring, In grey Shannon's mouth complaining. Full the sea and fierce the surges, Lovely are the ocean verges, On the showery waters whirling, Sandy winds are swiftly swirling, Rudders cleave the surf that urges. Hard round Éire's cliffs and nesses, Hard the strife, not soft the stresses, Like swan-feathers softly sifting, Snow o'er Milidh's folk is drifting, Manann's wife shakes angry tresses. At the mouth of each dark river Breaking waters surge and shiver, Wind and winter met together Trouble Alba with wild weather, Countless falls on Dremon quiver. Son of God, great Lord of wonder, Save me from the ravening thunder, By the feast before Thy dying, Save me from the tempest crying And from Hell, tempestuous under. ROBIN FLOWER. THE OLD WOMAN OF BEARE Eleventh century (?) Ebbtide to me! My life drifts downward with the drifting sea; Old age has caught and compassed me about, The tides of time run out. The "Hag of Beare!" 'Tis thus I hear the young girls jeer and mock; Yet I, who in these cast-off clouts appear, Once donned a queenly smock. Ye love but self, Ye churls! to-day ye worship pelf! But in the days I lived we sought for men, We loved our lovers then! Ah! swiftly when Their splendid chariots coursed upon the plain, I checked their pace, for me they flew amain, Held in by curb and rein. I envy not the old, Whom gold adorns, whom richest robes enfold, But ah! the girls, who pass my cell at morn, While I am shorn! On sweet May-morn Their ringing laughter on the breeze is borne, While I, who shake with ague and with age, In Litanies engage. Amen! and woe is me! I lie here rotting like a broken tree; Each acorn has its day and needs must fall, Time makes an end of all! I had my day with kings! We drank the brimming mead, the ruddy wine, Where now I drink whey-water; for company more fine Than shrivelled hags, hag though I am, I pine. The flood-tide thine! Mine but the low down-curling ebb-tide's flow, My youth, my hope, are carried from my hand, Thy flood-tide foams to land. My body drops Slowly but sure towards the abode we know; When God's High Son takes from me all my props It will be time to go! Bony my arms and bare Could you but see them 'neath the mantle's flap, Wizened and worn, that once were round and fair, When kings lay in my lap. 'Tis, "O my God" with me, Many prayers said, yet more prayers left undone; If I could spread my garment in the sun I'd say them, every one. The sea-wave talks, Athwart the frozen earth grim winter stalks; Young Fermod, son of Mugh, ne'er said me nay, Yet he comes not to-day. How still they row, Oar dipped by oar the wavering reeds among, To Alma's shore they press, a ghostly throng, Deeply they sleep and long. No lightsome laugh Disturbs my fireside's stillness; shadows fall, And quiet forms are gathering round my hearth, Yet lies the hand of silence on them all. I do not deem it ill That a nun's veil should rest upon my head; But finer far my feast-robe's various hue To me, when all is said. My very cloak grows old; Grey is its tint, its woof is frayed and thin; I seem to feel grey hairs within its fold, Or are they on my skin? O happy Isle of Ocean, Thy flood-tide leaps to meet the eddying wave Lifting it up and onward. Till the grave The sea-wave comes not after ebb for me. I find them not Those sunny sands I knew so well of yore; Only the surf's sad roar sounds up to me, My tide will turn no more. GORMLIATH'S LAMENT FOR NIAL BLACK-KNEE "A.D. 946. Gormliath, daughter of Fiann, Queen of Nial Glundubh, or "Black-knee," died after intense penance for her sins and transgressions."--_Annals of the Four Masters_. Move, O Monk, thy foot away! Lift it from the grave of Nial! All too high thou heap'st the pile; All too deep thou diggest the clay. Brown-haired Monk, most gentle friend, Press not with thy foot the soil Nial to cover, heavy toil, Of thy labours make an end. Mournful priest, thy prayers delay, Close not yet the prince's tomb, Make an opening, for I come; Move, O Monk, thy foot away! Not my will that brought thee bound, Black-kneed Nial, with heart of gold! When mine arms his form enfold, Raise his stone, and smooth his mound. Gormliath I, a Queen commands, Daughter of King Flann the brave; Press not then upon his grave; Move, O Monk, thy foot away! THE MOTHER'S LAMENT AT THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS Then, as the executioner plucked her son from her breast, one of the women said: "Why are you tearing Away to his doom, The child of my caring, The fruit of my womb. Till nine months were o'er His burden I bore, Then his pretty lips pressed The glad milk from my breast, And my whole heart he filled, And my whole life he thrilled. All my strength dies, My tongue speechless lies, Darkened are my eyes! His breath was the breath of me; His death is the death of me." Then another woman said: "'Tis my own son that from me you wring, I deceived not the King. But slay me, even me, And let my boy be. A mother most hapless, My bosom is sapless, Mine eyes one tearful river, My frame one fearful, shiver, My husband sonless ever, And I a sonless wife To live a death in life. O my son! O God of Truth! O my unrewarded youth, O my birthless sicknesses Until doom without redress. O my bosom's silent nest, O the heart broke in my breast." Then said another woman: "Murderers, obeying Herod's wicked willing, One ye would be slaying, Many are ye killing. Infants would ye smother? Ruffian, ye have rather Wounded many a father, Slaughtered many a mother. Hell's black jaws your horrid deed is glutting, Heaven's white gate against your black souls shutting. Ye are guilty of the Great Offence! Ye have spilled the blood of Innocence." And yet another woman said: "O Lord Christ, come to me! Nay, no longer tarry! With my son home to Thee My soul quickly carry. O Mary great, O Mary mild, Of God's One Son the Mother, What shall I do without my child? For I have now no other. For Thy Son's sake my son they slew, Those murderers inhuman; My sense and soul they slaughtered too, I am but a crazy woman. Yea, after that most piteous slaughter, When my babe's life ran out like water, The heart within my bosom hath become A clot of blood from this day till the Doom!" ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES. CONSECRATION By Murdoch O'Daly, called Murdoch "the Scotchman" (Muredach Albanach), on account of his affection for that country; born in Connaught towards the close of the twelfth century. How great the tale, that there should be, In God's Son's heart, a place for me! That on a sinner's lips like mine, The cross of Jesus Christ should shine! Christ Jesus, bend me to Thy will, My feet to urge, my griefs to still; That even my flesh and blood may be A temple sanctified to Thee. No rest, no calm, my soul may win, Because my body craves to sin, Till Thou, dear Lord, Thyself impart Peace to my head, light to my heart. May consecration come from far, Soft shining like the evening star! My toilsome path make plain to me, Until I come to rest in Thee. TEACH ME, O TRINITY By the same Poet. Teach me, O Trinity, All men sing praise to Thee, Let me not backward be, Teach me, O Trinity. Come Thou and dwell with me, Lord of the holy race; Make here thy resting-place, Hear me, O Trinity. That I Thy love may prove, Teach Thou my heart and hand, Ever at Thy command Swiftly to move. Like to a rotting tree Is this vile heart of me; Let me Thy healing see, Help me, O Trinity. Sinful, beholding Thee; Yet clean from theft and blood My hands; O Son of God, For Mary's love, answer me. In my adversity No great man stooped to me, No good man pitied me, God ope'd His heart to me. Lied I, as others lie, They deceived, so have I, On others' lie I built my lie-- Will my God pass this by? Truth art Thou, truth I crave, If on a lie I rest, I'm lost; My vow demands my uttermost; Save, Trinity, O save! THE SHAVING OF MURDOCH _When he and Cathal of the Red Hand, King of Connaught, entered the monastic life together_. Murdoch, whet thy knife, that we may shave our crowns to the Great King, Let us sweetly give our vow, and the hair of both our heads to the Trinity. I will shave mine to Mary, this is the doing of a true heart, To Mary shave thou these locks, well-formed, soft-eyed man. Seldom hast thou had, handsome man, a knife on thy hair to shave it, Oftener has a sweet, soft queen, comb'd her hair beside thee. Whenever it was that we did bathe, with Brian of the well-curled locks, And once on a time that I did bathe, at the well of the fair-haired Boroimhe, I strove in swimming with Ua Chais, on the cold waters of the Fergus. When he came ashore from the stream, Ua Chais and I strove in a race. These two knives, one to each, were given us by Duncan Cairbreach, No knives of knives were better; shave gently then, Murdoch. Whet your sword, Cathal, which wins the fertile Banva, Ne'er was thy wrath heard without fighting, brave, red-handed Cathal, Preserve our shaved heads from cold and from heat, gentle daughter of Joachim, Preserve us in the land of heat, softest branch, Mary. STANDISH HAYES O'GRADY. EILEEN AROON Carol O'Daly, early thirteenth century. "Come, love, and dwell with me, Eileen aroon; I'll roam the world with thee, Eileen aroon! Down to Terawley free, From this sad house we'll flee, If thou wilt wed with me, Eileen aroon! "We'll seek a home of peace, Eileen aroon; All fear and doubt shall cease, Eileen aroon. If thou wilt seek my side, If thou wilt be my bride, All matters not beside, Eileen aroon. "Then, wilt thou fly or stay, Eileen aroon? Ah! do not say me nay, Come to me soon." "I come, I come to thee, Life of the world to me, Nought holds me, for I flee Thus to thy home." "Welcome thy steps before, Eileen aroon. Fling wide our cottage door, Eileen aroon. Oh! welcome evermore, My darling and my store, Thou shalt go out no more, Eileen aroon!" POEMS OF THE DARK DAYS "I do not know of anything under the sky That is friendly or favourable to the Gael, But only the sea that our need brings us to, Or the wind that blows to the harbour The ship that is bearing us away from Ireland; And there is reason that these are reconciled with us, For we increase the sea with our tears, And the wandering wind with our sighs." LADY GREGORY. THE DOWNFALL OF THE GAEL By O'Gnive, bard of Shane O'Neill, _circa_ 1560. My heart is in woe, And my soul deep in trouble,-- For the mighty are low, And abased are the noble. The Sons of the Gael Are in exile and mourning, Worn, weary, and pale, As spent pilgrims returning; Or men who, in flight From the field of disaster, Beseech the black night On their flight to fall faster; Or seamen aghast When their planks gape asunder, And the waves fierce and fast Tumble through in hoarse thunder; Or men whom we see That have got their death-omen-- Such wretches are we In the chains of our foemen! Our courage is fear, Our nobility vileness, Our hope is despair, And our comeliness foulness. There is mist on our heads, And a cloud chill and hoary Of black sorrow sheds An eclipse on our glory. From Boyne to the Linn Has the mandate been given, That the children of Finn From their country be driven. That the sons of the king-- Oh, the treason and malice!-- Shall no more ride the ring In their own native valleys; No more shall repair Where the hill foxes tarry, Nor forth to the air Fling the hawk at her quarry; For the plain shall be broke By the share of the stranger, And the stone-mason's stroke Tell the woods of their danger; The green hills and shore Be with white keeps disfigured, And the Moat of Rathmore Be the Saxon churl's haggard! The land of the lakes Shall no more know the prospect Of valleys and brakes-- So transform'd is her aspect! The Gael cannot tell, In the uprooted wild-wood And red ridgy dell, The old nurse of his childhood; The nurse of his youth Is in doubt as she views him, If the wan wretch, in truth, Be the child of her bosom. We starve by the board, And we thirst amid wassail-- For the guest is the lord, And the host is the vassal! Through the woods let us roam, Through the wastes wild and barren; We are strangers at home! We are exiles in Erin! And Erin's a bark O'er the wide waters driven! And the tempest howls dark, And her side planks are riven! And in billows of might Swell the Saxon before her,-- Unite, oh, unite! Or the billows burst o'er her! SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON. ADDRESS TO BRIAN O'ROURKE "OF THE BULWARKS" TO AROUSE HIM AGAINST THE ENGLISH[107] By his bard, Teig Dall O'Higgin, about 1566. "And first for Owryrke: I found hym the proudest man that ever I delt with in Irelande." (Sir Henry Sydney to the Privy Council, from Dublin, 1576.) "The man of war is he who dwells in safety," A well-worn adage that shall never cease, Save only when it girdeth on its armour May many-wooded Banba hope for peace. Why sit ye still? the Clans of valorous Eoghan, The Clans of Conn and Conor round you stand; Do ye not hear the troops of Saxon England March o'er your plains and trample down your land? Let Brian, son of Brian, out of Brefney, Beware the sweetness of their honeyed tongue, Their greed and need, their indigence and riches, Two-handed spoil from Ireland's sons have wrung. Let Brian, son of Brian, son of Eoghan, Ponder if one man ever came away,-- Who put his trust in England's perjured honour,-- Unscathed by guile, unharmed by treachery? As waters rising 'neath the snows of winter, As hamlets flaming from one secret spark, So shall the chiefs of Erinn rally round him, When Brian's star arises on the dark. Then shall wild creatures find their surest covert Among the broken homesteads of the Pale; The wolves' deep snarl be heard beside her mansions, On grass-green Tara's slopes the children's wail. Where once arose their lightsome lime-washed dwellings, Where once were precious things of price displayed, Be thenceforth whispered, in affrighted accents, That such things had been, ere O'Rourke's fierce raid. By him be felled their rich fruit-bearing orchards, Each open highway clothed with ragged weeds; Long ere the harvest-hour their crops be scattered By his and Connaught's sons' death-dealing deeds. Leave hungry famine in Boyne's fertile borders, Bir of the spreading-boughs bend 'neath his smart, So that a mother on Meath's richest pastures Shall munch the morsel of her first child's heart. Right up to Taillte's very walls and towers Their villages be levelled with the earth; Their mills and kilns and haggarts swept before them; Where wealth and plenty reigns, dread want and dearth. Smooth into desert wastes fair Usna's mountains, Pile into hills each widespread pleasant plain; So that a wandering man may seek her cities, So he may search her high cross-roads in vain. By such and such an one let this be treasured (A tale of wonder for the passing guest) That on the plain was heard a heifer lowing, A tinkling cow-bell from the headland's crest. Shrink not, O desperate band, from weapon-wounding, Stand as one body, man by brother man; Had but the clans of Erinn cleaved together Your land and you had not been under ban. Arouse thee, valiant Brian of the Bulwarks! And God be with the champions of the Gael! The children of the seed of Conn and Eoghan Stand round thee;--canst thou fail? FOOTNOTES: [107] O'Rourke, Prince of Brefney, was a man whom Elizabeth and her representatives in Ireland found it hard to tackle. His handsome presence, his dignity and pride, gave rise to stories of his ascendency over Elizabeth herself. When lying prisoner in the Tower of London, he is said to have sent to ask Elizabeth the favour of being hung, if hang he must, with a gad or withe, after his country's fashion, a request which Cox, who relates the story, says was doubtless willingly granted him. He was executed in 1597. (Cox's _Hibernia Anglicana_, ed. 1689, p. 399; _cf._ Bacon's reference to the story in his essay "Of Custom and Education.") O'HUSSEY'S ODE TO THE MAGUIRE Eochadh O'Hosey or Hussey was bard of the Maguires of Fermanagh. The campaign of Hugh Maguire, celebrated in this poem, was undertaken in 1599-1600 into Munster. Where is my chief, my master, this bleak night, mavrone? O cold, cold, miserably cold is this bleak night for Hugh! Its showery, arrowy, speary sleet pierceth one thro' and thro', Pierceth one to the very bone. Rolls real thunder? Or was that red vivid light Only a meteor? I scarce know; but through the midnight dim The pitiless ice-wind streams. Except the hate that persecutes him, Nothing hath crueler venomy might. An awful, a tremendous night is this, meseems! The flood-gates of the rivers of heaven, I think, have been burst wide; Down from the overcharged clouds, like to headlong ocean's tide, Descends grey rain in roaring streams. Tho' he were even a wolf ranging the round green woods, Tho' he were even a pleasant salmon in the unchainable sea, Tho' he were a wild mountain eagle, he could scarce bear, he, This sharp sore sleet, these howling floods. O mournful is my soul this night for Hugh Maguire! Darkly as in a dream he strays. Before him and behind Triumphs the tyrannous anger of the wounding wind, The wounding wind that burns as fire. It is my bitter grief, it cuts me to the heart That in the country of Clan Barry this should be his fate! O woe is me, where is he? Wandering, houseless, desolate, Alone, without or guide or chart! Medreams I see just now his face, the strawberry-bright, Uplifted to the blackened heavens, while the tempestuous winds Blow fiercely over and round him, and the smiting sleet-shower blinds The hero of Galang to-night! Large, large affliction unto me and mine it is That one of his majestic bearing, his fair stately form, Should thus be tortured and o'erborne; that this unsparing storm Should wreak its wrath on head like his! That his great hand, so oft the avenger of the oppressed, Should this chill churlish night, perchance, be paralysed by frost; While through some icicle-hung thicket, as one lorn and lost, He walks and wanders without rest. The tempest-driven torrent deluges the mead, It overflows the low banks of the rivulets and ponds; The lawns and pasture-grounds lie locked in icy bonds, So that the cattle cannot feed. The pale-bright margins of the streams are seen by none; Rushes and sweeps along the untamable flood on every side; It penetrates and fills the cottagers' dwellings far and wide; Water and land are blent in one. Through some dark woods, 'mid bones of monsters, Hugh now strays, As he confronts the storm with anguished heart, but manly brow, O what a sword-wound to that tender heart of his, were now A backward glance at peaceful days! But other thoughts are his, thoughts that can still inspire With joy and onward-bounding hope the bosom of MacNee; Thoughts of his warriors charging like bright billows of the sea, Borne on the wind's wings, flashing fire! And tho' frost glaze to-night the clear dew of his eyes, And white ice-gauntlets glove his noble fine fair fingers o'er, A warm dress is to him that lightening-garb he ever wore, The lightening of his soul, not skies. _Avran._ Hugh marched forth to fight: I grieved to see him so depart. And lo! to-night he wanders frozen, rain-drenched, sad betrayed; But the memory of the lime-white mansions his right hand hath laid In ashes, warms the hero's heart! JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN. A LAMENT FOR THE PRINCES OF TYRONE AND TYRCONNEL _Buried in San Pietro Montorio at Rome_ Addressed to Nuala, the O'Donnell's sister, by Owen Roe mac an Bhaird (or Ward), the family Bard, in 1608-9. O woman of the piercing wail, Who mournest o'er yon mound of clay With sigh and groan, Would God thou wert among the Gael! Thou would'st not then from day to day Weep thus alone. 'Twere long before around a grave In green Tyrconnel, one could find This loneliness; Near where Beann-Boirche's banners wave, Such grief as thine could ne'er have pined Companionless. Beside the wave in Donegal, In Antrim's glens, or fair Dromore, Or Killilee, Or where the sunny waters fall At Assaroe, near Erna shore, This could not be. On Derry's plains, in rich Drumcliff, Throughout Armagh the Great, renowned In olden years, No day could pass but woman's grief Would rain upon the burial-ground Fresh floods of tears! O no!--From Shannon, Boyne, and Suir, From high Dunluce's castle-walls, From Lissadill, Would flock alike both rich and poor: One wail would rise from Cruachan's halls To Tara hill; And some would come from Barrow-side, And many a maid would leave her home On Leitrim's plains, And by melodious Banna's tide, And by the Mourne and Erne, to come And swell thy strains! Oh, horses' hoofs would trample down The mount whereon the martyr-saint Was crucified; From glen and hill, from plain and town, One loud lament, one thrilling plaint, Would echo wide. There would not soon be found, I ween, One foot of ground among those bands For museful thought, So many shriekers of the keen Would cry aloud, and clap their hands, All woe-distraught! Two princes of the line of Conn Sleep in their cells of clay beside O'Donnell Roe: Three royal youths, alas! are gone, Who lived for Erin's weal, but died For Erin's woe. Ah, could the men of Ireland read The names those noteless burial-stones Display to view, Their wounded hearts afresh would bleed, Their tears gush forth again, their groans Resound anew! The youths whose relics moulder here Were sprung from Hugh, high prince and lord Of Aileach's lands; Thy noble brothers, justly dear, Thy nephew, long to be deplored By Ulster's bands. Theirs were not souls wherein dull time Could domicile decay, or house Decrepitude! They passed from earth ere manhood's prime, Ere years had power to dim their brows, Or chill their blood. And who can marvel o'er thy grief, Or who can blame thy flowing tears, Who knows their source? O'Donnell, Dunnasava's chief, Cut off amid his vernal years, Lies here a corse Beside his brother Cathbar, whom Tyrconnell of the Helmets mourns In deep despair: For valour, truth, and comely bloom, For all that greatens and adorns, A peerless pair. Oh, had these twain, and he, the third, The Lord of Mourne, O'Niall's son (Their mate in death, A prince in look, in deed, and word), Had these three heroes yielded on The field their breath, Oh, had they fallen on Criffan's plain, There would not be a town or clan From shore to sea, But would with shrieks bewail the slain, Or chant aloud the exulting rann Of jubilee! * * * * * What do I say? Ah, woe is me! Already we bewail in vain Their fatal fall! And Erin, once the great and free, Now vainly mourns her breakless chain, And iron thrall. Then, daughter of O'Donnell, dry Thine overflowing eyes, and turn Thy heart aside, For Adam's race is born to die, And sternly the sepulchral urn Mocks human pride. Look not, nor sigh, for earthly throne, Nor place thy trust in arm of clay, But on thy knees Uplift thy soul to God alone, For all things go their destined way As He decrees. Embrace the faithful crucifix, And seek the path of pain and prayer Thy Saviour trod; Nor let thy spirit intermix With earthly hope, with worldly care, Its groans to God![108] And Thou, O mighty Lord! whose ways Are far above our feeble minds To understand, Sustain us in these doleful days, And render light the chain that binds Our fallen land! Look down upon our dreary state, And thro' the ages that may still Roll sadly on, Watch Thou o'er hapless Erin's fate, And shield at least from darker ill The blood of Conn! JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN. FOOTNOTES: [108] The literal translation of this stanza runs as follows:-- "For God's sake, thy weighty sorrow banish away, O daughter of O'Donnell! Short time till thou in self-same guise must tread the way; the same path's weariness awaits thee. In hand of clay put not thy trust.... Think on the cross that stands beside thee, and, in lieu of thy vain sorrowing, from off the sepulchre lift up thine arm and bid thy grief begone." O'Grady's Cat. of MSS. in the Brit. Mus., pp. 372-73. THE COUNTY OF MAYO _Or the "Lament of Thomas Flavell, or Lavell," c. 1660._ On the deck of Patrick Lynch's boat I sat in woeful plight, Through my sighing all the weary day, and weeping all the night, Were it not that full of sorrow from my people forth I go, By the blessed sun! 'tis royally I'd sing thy praise, Mayo! When I dwelt at home in plenty, and my gold did much abound, In the company of fair young maids the Spanish ale went round-- 'Tis a bitter change from those gay days that now I'm forced to go, And must leave my bones in Santa Cruz, far from my own Mayo. They are altered girls in Irrul now; 'tis proud they're grown and high, With their hair-bags and their top-knots--for I pass their buckles by; But it's little now I heed their airs, for God will have it so, That I must depart for foreign lands, and leave my sweet Mayo. 'Tis my grief that Patrick Loughlin is not Earl of Irrul still, And that Brian Duff no longer rules as Lord upon the hill; And that Colonel Hugh MacGrady should be lying dead and low, And I sailing, sailing swiftly from the county of Mayo. GEORGE FOX.[109] FOOTNOTES: [109] Lady Ferguson, in her Life of her husband, says that he was the true author of this poem, but that as Fox had a hand in it, he allowed it to be attributed to him. Sir Samuel dedicated his poems to Fox in 1880. THE OUTLAW OF LOCH LENE Oh, many a day have I made good ale in the glen, That came not of stream or malt--like the brewing of men. My bed was the ground; my roof, the greenwood above, And the wealth that I sought, one far kind glance from my love. Alas! on that night when the horses I drove from the field, That I was not near from terror my angel to shield. She stretched forth her arms--her mantle she flung to the wind, And swam o'er Loch Lene her outlawed lover to find. Oh would that a freezing, sleet-winged tempest did sweep, And I and my love were alone, far off on the deep! I'd ask not a ship, or a bark, or pinnace, to save,-- With her hand round my waist I'd fear not the wind or the wave. 'Tis down by the lake where the wild-tree fringes its sides The maid of my heart, my fair one of Heaven resides; I think as at eve she wanders its mazes along, The birds go to sleep by the sweet, wild twist of her song. JEREMIAH JOSEPH CALLANAN. THE FLOWER OF NUT-BROWN MAIDS Seventeenth century. If thou wilt come with me to the County of Leitrim, Flower of Nut-brown Maids-- Honey of bees and mead to the beaker's brim I'll offer thee, Nut-brown Maid. Where the pure air floats o'er the swinging boats of the strand, Under the white-topped wave that laves the edge of the sand, There without fear we will wander together, hand clasped in hand, Flower of Nut-brown Maids. * * * * * My heart never gave you liking or love, Said the Flower of Nut-brown Maids; Though sweet are your words, there's black famine above, Said the Flower of Nut-brown Maids; Will gentle words feed me when need and grim hunger come by? Better be free than with thee to the woodlands to fly; What gain to us both if together we famish and die? Wept the Flower of Nut-brown Maids. * * * * * I saw her coming towards me o'er the face of the mountain Like a star glimmering through the mist; In the field of furze where the slow cows were browsing In pledge of our love we kissed; In the bend of the hedge where the tall trees play with the sun, I wrote her the lines that should bind us for ever in one; Had you a right to deny me the dues I had won, O Flower of Nut-brown Maids? My grief and my torment that thou art not here with me now, Flower of Nut-brown Maids! Alone, all alone, it matters not where or how, O Flower of Nut-brown Maids; On a slender bed, O little black head, strained close to thee, Or a heap of hay, until break of day, it were one to me, Laughing in gladness and glee together, with none to see, My Flower of Nut-brown Maids. ROISÍN DUBH There's black grief on the plains, and a mist on the hills; There is fury on the mountains, and that is no wonder; I would empty the wild ocean with the shell of an egg, If I could be at peace with thee, my Ros geal dubh. Long is the course I travelled from yesterday to to-day, Without, on the edge of the hill, lightly bounding, as I know, I leapt Loch Erne to find her, though wide was the flood, With no light of the sun to guide my path, but the Ros geal dubh. If thou shouldst go to the Aonach to sell thy kine and stock, If you go, see that you stay not out in the darkness of the night; Put bolts upon your doors, and a heavy reliable lock, Or, in faith, the priest will be down on you, on my Ros geal dubh! O little Rose, sorrow not, nor be lamenting now, There is pardon from the Pope for thee, sent straight home from Rome, The friars are coming overseas, across the heaving wave, And Spanish wine will then be thine, my Ros geal dubh. There is true love in my heart for thee for the passing of a year, Love tormenting, love lamenting, heavy love that wearies me, Love that left me without health, without a path, gone all astray, And for ever, ever, I did not get my Ros geal dubh! I would walk Munster with thee and the winding ways of the hills, In hope I would get your secret and a share of your love; O fragrant Branch, I have known it, that thou hast love for me, The flower-blossom of wise women is my Ros geal dubh. The sea will be red floods, and the skies like blood, Blood-red in war the world will show on the ridges of the hills; The mountain glens through Erinn and the brown bogs will be quaking Before the day she sinks in death, my Ros geal dubh![110] FOOTNOTES: [110] _Ros geal dubh_ means the "Fair-dark Rose," here used as a love-title for Ireland; _Roisín Dubh_ means "Little black or dark Rose." The above is a literal translation of the Irish poem upon which Mangan's "Dark Rosaleen" was formed. The opening quatrain is found in Petrie's _Ancient Music of Ireland_, but not in O'Daly's collection. MY DARK ROSALEEN O my dark Rosaleen, Do not sigh, do not weep! The priests are on the ocean green, They march along the deep. There's wine from the royal Pope Upon the ocean green; And Spanish ale shall give you hope, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope, Shall give you health, and help, and hope, My Dark Rosaleen! Over hills and thro' dales, Have I roamed for your sake; All yesterday I sailed with sails On river and on lake. The Erne at its highest flood I dashed across unseen, For there was lightning in my blood, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! O there was lightning in my blood, Red lightning lightened thro' my blood, My Dark Rosaleen! All day long, in unrest, To and fro, do I move. The very soul within my breast Is wasted for you, love! The heart in my bosom faints To think of you, my queen, My life of life, my saint of saints, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! To hear your sweet and sad complaints, My life, my love, my saint of saints, My Dark Rosaleen! Woe and pain, pain and woe, Are my lot, night and noon, To see your bright face clouded so, Like to the mournful moon. But yet will I rear your throne Again in golden sheen; 'Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! 'Tis you shall have the golden throne, 'Tis you shall reign, and reign alone, My Dark Rosaleen! Over dews, over sands, Will I fly for your weal: Your holy delicate white hands Shall girdle me with steel. At home in your emerald bowers, From morning's dawn till e'en, You'll pray for me, my flower of flowers, My Dark Rosaleen! My fond Rosaleen! You'll think of me thro' daylight hours, My virgin flower, my flower of flowers, My Dark Rosaleen! I could scale the blue air, I could plough the high hills, O I could kneel all night in prayer, To heal your many ills! And one beamy smile from you Would float like light between My toils and me, my own, my true, My Dark Rosaleen! My fond Rosaleen! Would give me life and soul anew, A second life, a soul anew, My Dark Rosaleen! O the Erne shall run red With redundance of blood, The earth shall rock beneath our tread, And flames wrap hill and wood, And gun-peal and slogan-cry Wake many a glen serene, Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! The Judgment Hour must first be nigh, Ere you can fade, ere you can die, My Dark Rosaleen! JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN. THE FAIR HILLS OF EIRE Donnchad Ruadh MacNamara, about 1730. Take my heart's blessing over to dear Éire's strand-- Fair Hills of Éire O! To the Remnant that love her--our Forefathers' land! Fair Hills of Éire O! How sweet sing the birds, o'er mount there and vale, Like soft sounding chords, that lament for the Gael,-- And I, o'er the surge, far, far away must wail The Fair Hills of Éire O! How fair are the flow'rs on the dear daring peaks, Fair Hills of Éire O! Far o'er foreign bowers I love her barest reeks, Fair Hills of Éire O! Triumphant her trees, that rise on ev'ry height, Bloom-kissed, the breeze comes odorous and bright, The love of my heart!--O my very soul's delight! The Fair Hills of Éire O! Still numerous and noble her sons who survive, Fair Hills of Éire O! The true hearts in trouble, the strong hands to strive-- Fair Hills of Éire O! Ah, 'tis this makes my grief, my wounding and my woe, To think that each chief is now a vassal low, And my Country divided amongst the Foreign Foe-- The Fair Hills of Éire O! In purple they gleam, like our High Kings of yore, The Fair Hills of Éire O! With honey and cream are her plains flowing o'er, Fair Hills of Éire O! Once more I will come, or my very life shall fail, To the heart-haunted home of the ever-faithful Gael, Than King's boon more welcome the swift swelling sail For the Fair Hills of Éire O! The dewdrops sparkle, like diamonds on the corn, Fair Hills of Éire O! Where green boughs darkle the bright apples burn Fair Hills of Éire O! Behold, in the valley, cress and berries bland, Where streams love to dally, in that Wondrous Land, Where the great River-voices roll in music grand Round the Fair Hills of Éire O! O, 'tis welcoming, wide-hearted, that dear land of love! Fair Hills of Éire O! New life unto the martyred is the pure breeze above The Fair Hills of Éire O! More sweet than tune flowing o'er the chords of gold Comes the kine's soft lowing from the mountain fold,-- O, the Splendour of the Sunshine on them all, Young and Old, 'Mid the Fair Hills of Éire O! GEORGE SIGERSON. SHULE AROON _A Brigade Ballad_ Sir Charles Gavan Duffy says that the date of this ballad is not positively known, but it appears to be early in the eighteenth century, when the flower of the Catholic youth of Ireland were drawn away to recruit the ranks of the Irish Brigade abroad. It is accompanied by an air of deep sentiment and touching simplicity.--_Ballad Poetry of Ireland._ I would I were on yonder hill, 'Tis there I'd sit and cry my fill, And every tear would turn a mill, _Is go d-teidh tu, a mhurnin, slan! Siubhail, siubhail, siubhail, a ruin! Siubhail go socair, agus siubhail go ciuin, Siubhail go d-ti an doras agus eulaigh liom, Is go d-teidh tu, a mhurnin, slan!_[111] I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel, I'll sell my only spinning-wheel, To buy for my love a sword of steel, _Is go d-teidh tu, a mhurnin, slan! Siubhail, siubhail, siubhail a ruin!_ &c. I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them red, And round the world I'll beg my bread, Until my parents shall wish me dead, _Is go d-teidh tu, a mhurnin, slan! Siubhail, siubhail, siubhail, a ruin!_ &c. I wish, I wish, I wish in vain, I wish I had my heart again, And vainly think I'd not complain, _Is go d-teidh tu, a mhurnin, slan! Siubhail, siubhail, siubhail, a ruin!_ &c. But now my love has gone to France, To try his fortune to advance; If he e'er come back, 'tis but a chance, _Is go d-teidh tu, a mhurnin, slan! Siubhail, siubhail, siubhail, a ruin! Siubhail go socair, agus siubhail go ciuin, Siubhail go d-ti an doras agus culaigh liom, Is go d-teidh tu, a mhurnin, slan!_ FOOTNOTES: [111] Dr. Sigerson renders the chorus in English verse, as follows:-- "Come, come, come, O Love! Quickly come to me, softly move; Come to the door, and away we'll flee, And safe for aye may my darling be!" LOVE'S DESPAIR Dermot O'Curnan, born 1740. I am desolate, Bereft by bitter fate; No cure beneath the skies can save me, No cure on sea or strand, Nor in any human hand-- But hers, this paining wound who gave me. I know not night from day, Nor thrush from cuckoo gray, Nor cloud from the sun that shines above thee-- Nor freezing cold from heat, Nor friend--if friend I meet-- I but know--heart's love!--I love thee. Love that my Life began, Love, that will close life's span, Love that grows ever by love-giving: Love, from the first to last, Love, till all life be passed, Love that loves on after living! This love I gave to thee, For pain love has given me, Love that can fail or falter never-- But, spite of earth above, Guards thee, my Flower of love, Thou marvel-maid of life for ever. Bear all things evidence, Thou art my very sense, My past, my present, and my morrow! All else on earth is crossed, All in the world is lost-- Lost all--but the great love-gift of sorrow. My life not life, but death; My voice not voice--a breath; No sleep, no quiet--thinking ever On thy fair phantom face, Queen eyes and royal grace, Lost loveliness that leaves me never. I pray thee grant but this-- From thy dear mouth one kiss, That the pang of death-despair pass over: Or bid make ready nigh The place where I shall lie, For aye, thy leal and silent lover. GEORGE SIGERSON. THE CRUISKEEN LAWN O sons of noble Erinn, I've tidings of high daring To brighten now your faces pale and wan: Then hearken, gather nearer, In Gaelic ringing clearer, We'll pledge them in a cruiskeen lán, lán, lán, We'll pledge them in a cruiskeen lán! Olfameed an cruiskeen, Sláinte gal mo vuirneen![112] In motion, over ocean, slán, slán, slán! In exile dark and dreary, Wandering far and weary, With friends that never failed, I have gone, The trusted and true-hearted, Would God we'd never parted, Our brothers, boys, a cruiskeen lán, lán, lán! Our heroes in a cruiskeen lán. Heav'n speed them over ocean, With breeze of rapid motion, The ships that King Charles sails upon; With troops the frank and fearless, To win our Freedom peerless, Our Freedom, boys, a cruiskeen lán, lán, lán! Our Freedom, in a cruiskeen lán! Young men who now are sharing The toast we raise to Erinn, With hope that the King is coming on, Grasp your guns and lances For swift his host advances, We'll toast them in a cruiskeen lán, lán, lán! We'll toast them in a cruiskeen lán! The tribe who would destroy all Our rightful princes royal Shall hence end their rule and begone; The Gael shall live in gladness, And banished be all sadness. To that time, then, a cruiskeen lán, lán, lán! That time, boys, a cruiskeen lán! Olfameed an cruiskeen, Sláinte gal mo vuirneen, In motion, over ocean, slán, slán, slán! GEORGE SIGERSON. FOOTNOTES: [112] _i.e._ "Let us drink the cruiskeen ('little jug'); fair health to my darling!" EAMONN AN CHNUIC, OR "NED OF THE HILL" _The Outlaw's Song_ "Who is that without With voice like a sword, That batters my bolted door?" "I am Eamonn an Chnuic, Cold, weary, and wet From long walking mountains and glens." "O dear and bright love, What would I do for you But cover you with a skirt of my dress. For shots full thick Are raining on you, And together we may be slaughtered!" "Long am I out Under snow, under frost, Without comradeship with any; My team unyoked, My fallow unsown, And they lost to me entirely; Friend I have none (I am heavy for that) That would harbour me late or early; And so I must go East over the sea, Since 'tis there I have no kindred!" P. H. PEARSE. O DRUIMIN DONN DILISH "O Druimin donn dilish,[113] True Flower of the Kine, Say, where art thou hiding, Sad Mother of mine?" "I lurk in the wild wood, No human ear hears (Save my brave lads around me) My fast-falling tears. "Gone my broad lands and homesteads, My music and wine, No chieftains attend me No hostings are mine. Stale bread and cold water The whole of my hoard, While the warm wine flows freely Round the enemy's board." "Could we utter our minds To those smart English rogues, We would beat them as soundly As we beat our old brogues! We would whip them through thorns On a damp, foggy day, O'er the cliffs, my Donn dilish, We would chase them away!" FOOTNOTES: [113] A poetic name for Ireland; _druimshionn donn dileas_, lit. "the beloved white-backed dun cow." DO YOU REMEMBER THAT NIGHT? Do you remember that night When you were at the window, With neither hat nor gloves Nor coat to shelter you? I reached out my hand to you, And you ardently grasped it, I remained to converse with you Until the lark began to sing. Do you remember that night That you and I were At the foot of the rowan-tree, And the night drifting snow? Your head on my breast, And your pipe sweetly playing? Little thought I that night That our love ties would loosen! Beloved of my inmost heart, Come some night, and soon, When my people are at rest, That we may talk together. My arms shall encircle you While I relate my sad tale, That your soft, pleasant converse Hath deprived me of heaven. The fire is unraked, The light unextinguished, The key under the door, Do you softly draw it. My mother is asleep, But I am wide awake; My fortune in my hand, I am ready to go with you. _Written down by O'Curry for Dr. George Petrie._ THE EXILE'S SONG Composed by an emigrant named MacAmbrois. Oh! were I again on my native bay, By the curving hills that are far away, I scarcely would wander for half a day From the Cuckoo's Glen of a Sunday! For, och, och, Éire, O! Lone is the exile from Éire, O! 'Tis my heart that is heavy and weary! O many a Christmas in Ireland, I would race with the boys on the pleasant strand, With my hurling-stick in my baby hand, And but little sense to guide me! And, och, och, Éire, O! Sad is the exile from Éire, O! 'Tis my heart that is heavy and weary! Lonely and drear is this foreign plain, Where I hear but my own voice back again, No call of the corncrake, cuckoo, or crane, Now awakens me on a Sunday! Then, och, och, Éire, O! Lost is the exile from Éire, O! 'Tis my heart that is heavy and weary! O, had I a boat and a single oar, With the help of God I'd reach Erin's shore, Nay, the very tide might drift me o'er, To die at home in Erin! Now, och, och, Éire, O! Would I were back in Éire, O! 'Tis my heart that is heavy and weary! THE FISHERMAN'S KEEN _Or the lamentation of O'Donoghue of Affadown ("Roaring Water"), in the west of Co. Cork, for his three sons and his son-in-law, who were drowned_. O loudly wailed the winter wind, the driving sleet fell fast, The ocean billow wildly heaved beneath the bitter blast; My three fair sons, ere break of day, to fish had left the shore, The tempest came forth in its wrath--they ne'er returned more. Cormac, 'neath whose unerring aim the wild duck fell in flight, The plover of the lonesome hills, the curlew swift as light! My firstborn child! the flower of youth! the dearest and the best! O would that thou wert spared to me, though I had lost the rest! And thou, my handsome Felix! in whose eye so dark and bright The soul of courage and of wit looked forth in laughing light! And Daniel, too, my fair-haired boy, the gentle and the brave, All, all my stately sons were 'whelmed beneath the foaming wave. Upon the shore, in wild despair, your aged father stood, And gazed upon his Daniel's corse, too late snatched from the flood! I saw him pale and lifeless lie, no more to see the light-- And cold, and dumb, and motionless, my heart grew at the sight! My children, my loved children! do you view my bitter grief? Look down upon your poor old sire, whose woe knows no relief! The sunshine of mine eyes is gone, the comfort of my heart; My life of life, my soul of soul, I've seen from earth depart! What am I now? an aged man, to earth by sorrow bowed, I weep within a stranger's home; lone, even in a crowd; There is no sorrow like to mine, no grief like mine appears, My once blithe Christmas is weighed down with anguish and with tears. My sons! my sons! abandoned to the fury of the waves! Would I could reach the two who lie in ocean's darksome caves; 'Twould bring some comfort to my heart in earth to see them laid, And hear in Affadown the wild lamentings for them made. O would that like the gay "Wild Geese" my sons had left this land, From their poor father in his age, to seek a foreign strand; Then might I hope the Lord of Heaven in mercy would restore, My brave and good and stately sons in time to me once more! ANONYMOUS. BOATMAN'S HYMN Bark that bare me through foam and squall, You in the storm are my castle wall: Though the sea should redden from bottom to top, From tiller to mast she takes no drop; On the tide-top, the tide-top, Wherry aroon, my land and store! On the tide-top, the tide-top, She is the boat can sail go leor. She dresses herself, and goes gliding on, Like a dame in her robes of the Indian lawn; For God has bless'd her, gunnel and whale, And oh! if you saw her stretch out to the gale, On the tide-top, the tide-top, &c. Whillan, ahoy! old heart of stone, Stooping so black o'er the beach alone, Answer me well--on the bursting brine Saw you ever a bark like mine? On the tide-top, the tide-top, &c. Says Whillan--"Since first I was made of stone, I have looked abroad o'er the beach alone-- But till to-day, on the bursting brine, Saw I never a bark like thine," On the tide-top, the tide-top, &c. "God of the air!" the seamen shout, When they see us tossing the brine about: "Give us the shelter of strand or rock, Or through and through us she goes with a shock!" On the tide-top, the tide-top, Wherry aroon, my land and store! On the tide-top, the tide-top, She is the boat can sail go leor! SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON. DIRGE ON THE DEATH OF ART O'LEARY _Shot at Carraganime, Co. Cork, May 4, 1773_ By Dark Eileen, his wife. I My closest and dearest! From the first day I saw you From the top of the market-house, My eyes gave heed to you, My heart gave affection to you, I fled from my friends with you, Far from my home with you, No lasting sorrow this to me. II Thou didst bring me to fair chambers, Rooms you had adorned for me; Ovens were reddened for me, Fresh trout were caught for me, Roast flesh was carved for me From beef that was felled for me; On beds of down I lay Till the coming of the milking-time, Or so long as was pleasing to me. III Rider of the white palm! With the silver-hilted sword! Well your beaver hat became you With its band of graceful gold; Your suit of solid homespun yarn Wrapped close around your form; Slender shoes of foreign fashion, And a pin of brightest silver Fastened in your shirt. As you rode in stately wise On your slender steed, white-faced, After coming over seas, Even the Saxons bowed before you Bowed down to the very ground; Not because they loved you well But from deadly hate; For it was by them you fell, Darling of my soul. IV My friend and my little calf! Offspring of the Lords of Antrim, And the chiefs of Immokely! Never had I thought you dead, Until there came to me your mare Her bridle dragged beside her to the ground; Upon her brow your heart-blood splashed, Even to the carven saddle flowing down Where you were wont to sit or stand. I did not stay to cleanse it-- I gave a quick leap with my hands Upon the wooden stretcher of the bed; A second leap was to the gate, And the third leap upon thy mare. V In haste I clapped my hands together, I followed on your tracks As well as I could, Till I found you laid before me dead At the foot of a lowly bush of furze; Without pope, without bishop, Without cleric or priest To read a psalm for thee; But only an old bent wasted crone Who flung over thee the corner of her cloak. VI My dear and beloved one! When it will come to me to reach our home, Little Conor, of our love, And Fiac, his toddling baby-brother, Will be asking of me quickly Where I left their dearest father? I shall answer them with sorrow That I left him in Kill Martyr; They will call upon their father; He will not be there to answer. VII My love and my chosen one! When you were going forward from the gate, You turned quickly back again! You kissed your two children, You threw a kiss to me. You said, "Eileen, arise now, be stirring, And set your house in order, Be swiftly moving. I am leaving our home, It is likely that I may not come again." I took it only for a jest You used often to be jesting thus before. VIII My friend and my heart's love! Arise up, my Art, Leap on thy steed, Arise out to Macroom And to Inchegeela after that; A bottle of wine in thy grasp, As was ever in the time of thy ancestors. Arise up, my Art, Rider of the shining sword; Put on your garments, Your fair noble clothes; Don your black beaver, Draw on your gloves; See, here hangs your whip, Your good mare waits without; Strike eastward on the narrow road, For the bushes will bare themselves before you, For the streams will narrow on your path, For men and women will bow themselves before you If their own good manners are upon them yet, But I am much a-feared they are not now. IX Destruction to you and woe, O Morris, hideous the treachery That took from me the man of the house, The father of my babes; Two of them running about the house, The third beneath my breast, It is likely that I shall not give it birth. X My long wound, my bitter sorrow, That I was not beside thee When the shot was fired; That I might have got it in my soft body Or in the skirt of my gown; Till I would give you freedom to escape, O Rider of the grey eye, Because it is you would best have followed after them. XI My dear and my heart's love! Terrible to me the way I see thee, To be putting our hero, Our rider so true of heart, In a little cap in a coffin! Thou who used to be fishing along the streams, Thou who didst drink within wide halls Among the gentle women white of breast; It is my thousand afflictions That I have lost your companionship! My love and my darling, Could my shouts but reach thee West in mighty Derrynane, And in Carhen of the yellow apples after that; Many a light-hearted young horseman, And woman with white spotless kerchief Would swiftly be with us here, To wail above thy head Art O'Leary of the joyous laugh! O women of the soft wet eyes, Stay now your weeping, Till Art O'Leary drinks his drink Before his going back to school; Not to learn reading or music does he go there now, But to carry clay and stones. XII My love and my secret thou. Thy corn-stacks are piled, And thy golden kine are milking, But it is upon my own heart is the grief! There is no healing in the Province of Munster, Nor in the Island smithy of the Fians, Till Art O'Leary will come back to me; But all as if it were a lock upon a trunk And the key of it gone straying; Or till rust will come upon the screw. XIII My friend and my best one! Art O'Leary, son of Conor, Son of Cadach, son of Lewis, Eastward from wet wooded glens, Westward from the slender hill Where the rowan-berries grow, And the yellow nuts are ripe upon the branches; Apples trailing, as it was in my day. Little wonder to myself If fires were lighted in O'Leary's country, And at the mouth of Ballingeary, Or at holy Gougane Barra of the cells, After the rider of the smooth grip, After the huntsman unwearied When, heavy breathing with the chase, Even thy lithe deerhounds lagged behind. O horseman of the enticing eyes, What happened thee last night? For I myself thought That the whole world could not kill you When I bought for you that shirt of mail. XIV My friend and my darling! A cloudy vision through the darkness Came to me last night, At Cork lately And I alone upon my bed! I saw the wood glen withered, I saw our lime-washed court fallen; No sound of speech came from thy hunting-dogs Nor sound of singing from the birds When you were found fallen On the side of the hill without; When you were found in the clay, Art O'Leary; With your drop of blood oozing out Through the breast of your shirt. XV It is known to Jesus Christ, I will put no cap upon my head, Nor body-linen on my side, Nor shoes upon my feet, Nor gear throughout the house; Even on the brown mare will be no bridle, But I shall spend all in taking the law. I will go across the seas To speak with the king; But if they will give no heed to me, It is I that will come back again To seek the villain of the black blood Who cut off my treasure from me. O Morrison, who killed my hero, Was there not one man in Erin Would put a bullet through you? XVI The affection of this heart to you, O white women of the mill, For the edged poetry that you have shed Over the horseman of the brown mare. It is I who am the lonely one In Inse Carriganane. THE MIDNIGHT COURT _Prologue_ Brian Merriman, died in Limerick, 1808. Full often I strolled by the brink of the river, On the greensward soaked by the heavy dew, Skirting the woods in the bays of the mountains, No care in my heart, while the day was new. My soul would light up when I saw Loch Gréine Lie blue on the breast of the landscape green, The heaven's expanse o'er the ring of the mountains, Peak beckoning to peak o'er the ridges between. Ah, well might the weakling, the sport of misfortune, Spent of his vigour, embittered with pain, His birthright wasted, his pockets empty, Gaze long on that scene and take heart again. On its mistless bosom the wild duck settled, Two followed by two rode the stately swan, In wanton gladness the perch leaped upward, Ruddy their scales when the bright sun shone! Peaceful the scene, as the azure waters In ripples swept circling in to the shore; Strange is its change in the winter quarter, Its thunderous crash, its hollow roar. Bright birds in the trees make a melody mirthful, The doe bounds down, the hunt flashes by, I hear the shrill horns, they are close upon me! Brave Reynard in front, and the hounds in full cry! RELIGIOUS POEMS OF THE PEOPLE HYMN TO THE VIRGIN MARY Conor O'Riordan, about 1750. Queen of all Queens, oh! Wonder of the loveliness of women, Heart which hath held in check for us the righteous wrath of God; Strong Staff of Light, and Fosterer of the Bright Child of heaven, Pray thou for us as we now pray that we may be forgiven. She of the King of Stars beloved, stainless, undefiled, Christ chose as His Mother-nurse, to Him, the stainless Child; Within her breast, as in a nest, the Paraclete reposes, Lily among fairest flowers, Rose amid red roses. She, the bright unsheathèd sword to guard our souls in anguish, She, the flawless limber-branch, to cover those that languish; Where her healing mantle flows, may I find my hiding, 'Neath the fringes of her robe constantly abiding. Hostile camps upon the plain, sharp swords clashed together, Stricken fleets across the main stressed by wintry weather; Weary sickness on my heart, sinful thoughts alluring, All the fever of my soul clings to her for curing. She the Maid the careful king of the wide wet world chooses, In her speech forgiveness lies, no suppliant she refuses; White Star of our troubled sea, on thy name I'm crying, That Christ may draw in His spread net the living and the dying. CHRISTMAS HYMN Hail to thee, thou holy Babe, In the manger now so poor, Yet so rich Thou art, I ween, High within the highest door. Little Babe who art so great, Child so young who art so old, In the manger small His room Whom not heaven itself could hold. Motherless, with mother here, Fatherless, a tiny span, Ever God in heaven's height, First to-night becoming man. Father--not more old than thou? Mother--younger, can it be! Older, younger is the Son, Younger, older, she than He. DOUGLAS HYDE O MARY OF GRACES O Mary of Graces And Mother of God, May I tread in the paths That the righteous have trod. And mayest thou save me From evil's control, And mayest thou save me In body and soul. And mayest thou save me By land and by sea, And mayest thou save me From tortures to be. May the guard of the angels Above me abide, May God be before me And God at my side. DOUGLAS HYDE. THE CATTLE-SHED O Trinity of the glorious saints, I marvel that the White Prince of the Kingdom did descend as a child into the pure womb of Mary. Nine months the Master of the Angels stayed in humility and in great lowliness with her, lighting a furnace of love within her. He came down to earth, the White Lamb, our loosener from sin. O Mother, who found not a dwelling in the city, till thou didst come to the stable to seek a bed; there wast thou lying in poverty, without wine, without flesh, or one taste in thy mouth; on the mean barley chaff in the cattle-shed, she brought forth the only Son of God of the Apostles. Cold and misery you complained not of as your portion, and was it not the holy sight in the manger of the ass? HAIL TO THEE, O MARY Hail to thee, O Mary, Full of holy graces, Thou our loving Mother Whom the child embraces. Hail to thee, O Mary, Where are our alarms? Is the little Child not blessed, Lying in thine arms? TWO PRAYERS A low prayer, a high prayer, I send through space. Arrange them Thyself, O Thou King of Grace. O MARY, O BLESSED MOTHER O Mary, O blessed Mother, praise from my heart I sing, it is thou didst bear our Saviour, our Lord and our King. In the stable of Bethlehem's city, at the hour of middle-night, was not sweet the brave song of the angels for the King who was born that night? O King of Kings, a thousand glories to Thee, it is Thou who didst bear the cross out to Calvary's hill, and Thou wounded in every spot. We will take courage from the pouring of the blood, and we will follow our Saviour, our Lord and our King, to the city of Glory, along with the throng, Saints, Apostles, and Angels, to the dwelling of God's Son. I REST WITH THEE, O JESUS I rest with Thee, O Jesus, And do Thou rest with me. The oil of Christ on my poor soul, The creed of the Twelve to make me whole, Above my head I see. O Father, who created me, O Son, who purchased me, O Spirit Blest, who blessest me, Rest ye with me. THANKSGIVING AFTER FOOD Great Giver of the open hand, We stand to thank Thee for our meat, A hundred praises, Christ, 'tis meet, For all we drink, for all we eat. THE SACRED TRINITY Three folds of the cloth, yet one only napkin is there, Three joints in the finger, but still only one finger fair; Three leaves of the shamrock, yet no more than one shamrock to wear. Frost, snow-flakes and ice, all in water their origin share, Three Persons in God; to one God alone we make prayer. O KING OF THE WOUNDS O King of the Wounds! who found death on the top of the tree, By the hand of the blind was Thy heart's blood riven from Thee; By the blood from Thy wounds flowing down in a pool on the field, O bear us to Paradise, Thou, 'neath the shade of Thy shield. PRAYER BEFORE GOING TO SLEEP The cross of the angels On the bed where I lie; The robe of the kingdom, May it come very nigh; O Glorious Virgin, My thousand loves thou, My helpful supporter, My affection thou. My woman-physician, Ill or well, thou, My firm faithful helper In the Kingdom of graces, thou. O gentle Jesus, O Jesus, most gentle, O Jesus Christ, have mercy upon us; O glorious Virgin, pray thou also for us; O Mother of God, O Bright Star of Knowledge, O Queen of Paradise, watch thou and ward us, The light of glory obtain from thy Child for us, A sight of thy house, by thy great power's might, for us The Light of all lights, and a sight of the Trinity, And the grace of long patience in days of adversity. I LIE DOWN WITH GOD I lie down with God, and may God lie down with me; The right hand of God under my head, The two hands of Mary round about me, The cross of the nine white angels, From the back of my head To the sole of my feet. May I not lie with evil, And may evil not lie with me. Anna, mother of Mary, Mary, mother of Christ, Elizabeth, mother of John Baptist, I myself beseech these three To keep the couch free from sickness. The tree on which Christ suffered Be between me and the heavy-lying (nightmare), And any other thing that seeks my harm. With the will of God and the aid of the glorious Virgin. THE WHITE PATERNOSTER On going to sleep, think that it is the sleep of death, and that you may be summoned to the Day of the Mountain (_i.e._ the Day of Judgment), and say:-- I myself lie down with God, May God lie down with me! The protection of God above my head, And the cross of the angels beneath my body. Where wilt thou lie down to-night? Between Mary and her Son, Between Brigit and her mantle, Between Columcille and his shield, Between God and His right hand. Where wilt thou arise on the morrow? I will arise with Patrick. Who are they in front of us? Two hundred angels. Who are they behind us? As many again of the people of God. Shut the forts of hell, And open the gates of the kingdom of God. Let the mighty radiance out, And lead the sorrowful soul within. O God, have mercy upon us! O Son of the Virgin, may our souls be found by thee! Glory to the Father, glory to the Son, glory to the Holy Ghost of power; as it was in the beginning, so it is now, and shall be for ages of ages. Glory to thee, O Lord. ANOTHER VERSION I Welcome to thee, O White Paternoster! And welcome to thyself! Where didst thou sleep last night? As He slept, the King of Light. Where wilt thou sleep again? As the poor will sleep, in want and pain. And the night after that, where wilt thou sleep? At the feet of St. Patrick my rest shall be deep. II Who are they out before thee I see? Twelve fair angels defending me. Who are they behind thee west? The twelve apostles ever blest. What may that at thy right hand be? Holy water that Mary gave me, That it might lead me, with guidance wise, From this door to the door of Paradise. III The key of Paradise, that I need; The vat of gold stands there, indeed, With its cover above it, golden-bright; Yonder where candles blaze alight; Candles that cannot be removed Till the full of my two hands shall be The flowing fulness of stream and sea. IV O Men of the World who are shedding tears, I put Mary with her Son between you and your fears, Brigit with her mantle, Michael with his shield, And the two long white hands of God from behind folding us all, Between you and each grief All the years, From this night till a year from to-night, And this night itself, with God. A NIGHT PRAYER May the will of God be done by us, May the death of the saints be won by us, And the light of the kingdom begun in us; May Jesus, the Child, be beside my bed, May the Lamb of mercy uplift my head, May the Virgin her heavenly brightness shed, And Michael be steward of my soul! MARY'S VISION "Are you asleep, Mother?" "I am not, indeed, my son." "How is that, Mother?" "Because of a vision I have of thee." "What vision is that, Mother?" "There came a slim dark man on a slender black steed, A sharp lance in his left hand, Which pierced thy right side, Letting thy sacred blood pour down upon thee." "True is that vision, Mother." THE SAFE-GUARDING OF MY SOUL The safe-guarding of my soul be Thine, O Father Ever-mighty; O Blessed Mary, Nurse of the King of Glory; Michael the angel, Their peaceful messenger, The twelve apostles, and The Lord of Mercy, So that they may be Safe-guarding my soul Unto the city of Glory. ANOTHER VERSION I lie on this bed As I lie in the tomb. Firmly, O Jesus, I make my confession to Thee. Through deeds of my flesh, Through thoughts of my heart, Through sight of my eyes, Through hearing of my ears, Through speech of my lips, Through movements of my feet, Through everything spoken Which was not true; Through each thing promised And not fulfilled; Each thing that I did against Thy law, Or against Thy sacred will, I ask forgiveness from Thee, O King of Glory. THE STRAYING SHEEP Fair Jesu, guide Thy straying sheep Along the fragrant valleys, And where the meadow-grass grows deep, Guard from the wild wolf's sallies; No sickness unto death be theirs, But sickness unto healing, Our sickness be for love to Thee O King of all the living. BEFORE COMMUNION O Saviour, who lightest the sun's blessed ray, Remit my offences, this day and alway, Above my deserving, or all I could pay; Then with joy I receive my Redeemer to-day. MAY THE SWEET NAME OF JESUS May the sweet name of Jesus Be lovingly graven In my heart's inmost haven. O Mary, Blest Mother, Be Jesus my Brother, And I Jesu's lover. A binding of love That no distance can sever, Be between us for ever. Yea, O my Saviour, For ever and ever. O BLESSED JESUS O Blessed Jesus, and O Nurse of the fair white Lamb, In the dread hour of death it is under your shelter I am; Saints and angels about me in every time, in all places, Leading my soul to the home of the King of the Graces. ANOTHER VERSION O Jesus, and Mary who fostered the King of Grace, Be ye the friends of my soul, in every time and place, Cold as a stone lies my soul, unheeding the things above, Smooth Thou my path in Thy time, Lord of my love. MORNING WISH O Jesu, in the morning, I cry and call on Thee, Blessed only Son who hast purchased us dearly; Safeguard my soul under the protection of Thy holy cross, May sin and loss be kept from me through the course of this day. ON "COVERING" THE FIRE FOR THE NIGHT[114] Let us preserve this fire, as Christ preserves all, Christ at the top of this house and Brigit in the midst; The twelve apostles of greatest power in the heavens Guarding and preserving this house till day. FOOTNOTES: [114] It is the custom in the West of Ireland and in the Hebrides to place a piece of peat on the fire before going to bed, to preserve the "seed" of the fire till morning; this act is accompanied with the recital of some fragment of prayer or verse. There are many of these "covering" or "sparing" ranns in existence. THE MAN WHO STANDS STIFF The man who stands stiff in a short-lived world He knows not how long is the lease of his clod. With Death he must reckon, when Death shall beckon The soul must knock at the door of God. Then Christ shall come and shall ask of the soul, "O Soul, say how hast thou spent thy day? I gave to thee power and self-control, Thou fool, hast thou given thyself away?" (_The Sinner answers_) "I thought I had time before me still, And space to return beneath Thy shield, But Death came first, and against my will, Ere I knew it, to Death I was forced to yield." To the Trinity's presence the soul must mount, To the judgment it comes, and its sins it bears, And nought that it pleads for itself shall count Save fasting, and giving of alms, and prayers. If you gave but a glass of the water cold (The simplest drink on the green earth's sod), Your reward is before you, a thousand-fold, If the thing has been done for the sake of God. Three things there be, the reward of man For offending God--'tis a risk to run-- Misfortune's fall, and a shortened span, And the pains of hell when all is done. DOUGLAS HYDE. CHARM AGAINST ENEMIES Three things are of the Evil One-- An evil eye, An evil tongue, An evil mind; Three things are of God, and these three are what Mary told to her Son, for she heard them in heaven-- The merciful word, The singing word, And the good word. May the power of these three holy things be on all the men and women of Erin for evermore. LADY WILDE. CHARM FOR A PAIN IN THE SIDE "God save you, my three brothers, God save you! And how far have ye to go, my three brothers?" "To the Mount of Olivet, to bring back gold for a cup to hold the tears of Christ." "Go then, gather the gold, and may the tears of Christ fall on it, and thou wilt be cured both body and soul." LADY WILDE. CHARM AGAINST SORROW A Charm set by Mary for her Son, before the fair man and the turbulent woman laid Him in the grave. The charm of Michael with the shield, Of the palm-branch of Christ, Of Brigit with her veil. The charm which God set for Himself when the divinity within Him was darkened. A charm to be said by the cross when the night is black and the soul is heavy with sorrow. A charm to be said at sunrise, with the hands on the breast, when the eyes are red with weeping, and the madness of grief is strong. A charm that has no words, only the silent prayer. LADY WILDE. THE KEENING OF MARY "O Peter, O Apostle, hast thou seen my bright love?" _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "I saw Him even now in the midst of His foemen," _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "Come hither, two Marys, till ye keen my bright love." _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "What have we to keen if we keen not His bones?" _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "Who is that stately man on the tree of the Passion?" _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "Dost thou not know thy Son, O Mother?" _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "And is that the little Son I carried nine months? _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "And is that the little Son that was born in the stable? _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "And is that the little Son that was nursed at Mary's breast?" _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "Hush, O Mother, and be not sorrowful." _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "And is that the hammer that struck home nails through Thee? _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "And is that the spear that went through Thy white side? _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "And is that the crown of thorns that crowned Thy beauteous head?" _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "Hush, O Mother, be not sorrowful. _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "Hush, O Mother, and be not sorrowful, _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "The women of my keening are yet unborn, little Mother." _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "O woman, who weepest by this My death, _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ "There will be hundreds to-day in the Garden of Paradise!" _M'óchón agus m'óchón, Ó!_ P. H. PEARSE. Taken down from Mary Clancy of Moycullen, who keened it with great horror in her voice, in a low sobbing recitative. LOVE SONGS AND POPULAR POETRY CUSHLA MA CHREE Before the sun rose at yesterdawn, I met a fair maiden adown the lawn; The berry and snow To her cheek gave its glow, And her bosom was fair as the sailing swan; Then, Pulse of my heart! what gloom is thine? Her beautiful voice more hearts hath won Than Orpheus' lyre of old hath done; Her ripe eyes of blue Were crystals of dew On the grass of the lawn before the sun; And, Pulse of my heart! what gloom is thine? EDWARD WALSH. THE BLACKTHORN There is never a merrier lad in the town or a wilder lad on the fells, Till I fall to dreaming and thinking of the place where my lost love dwells, Winter snow on Slieve na m-Ban, and it evermore drifting above The small blossom of the blackthorn who is my own true love. Were I but down below in a boat I would float out over the sea, And many and many a line of love I would waft o'er the wave to thee; My lasting sorrow, wound of my heart, that we are not together found In the mountain glens at sunrise when the dew lies on the ground. I myself leave you my thousand farewells in the townland of the trees, And in every place I have travelled going up and down from the seas; There is many a weary miry road and crooked damp boreen, Parting me from the cabin of my own Storeen. Oh! Paddy, would you think ill of me if you saw that I was crying? And oh! Paddy, would you think ill of me if you knew me to be dying? Oh! Paddy of the bound black hair, your mouth and your words were sweet, But I knew not the hundred twists in your heart, nor the thousand turns on your feet. Deep down in my pocket is lying the ribbon you wound in my hair, The men of Erin together could not tear it away from there; All, all is over between us, you and I have said our say, And I'll soon be lying quiet in the cold damp clay. He is the foolish man, indeed, who would spring at the ditch that is steep, If close at his hand lay the fence of furze he could take at a single leap; Though the rowan-berry swings high, it is bitterest out of the top, While thick from the lowliest shrubs the ripe rasps and the blackberries drop. O Virgin beloved! I am lost if his face should be now turned away; What knowledge have I how to reach his house and his kinsfolk this day? My mother bent double with age, and my father long laid in the tomb, And mad anger on my people towards me, and my love fled home. Are you going from me for ever, honey mouth, hair of flame? If you come not back, avourneen, you leave me blind, dumb, and lame; No skiff have I to bring you back, I am broken life and limb; The raging ocean rolls between us and I have no strength to swim! PASTHEEN FINN A Connaught song. Oh, my fair Pastheen is my heart's delight, Her gay heart laughs in her blue eye bright; Like the apple blossom her bosom white, And her neck like the swan's, on a March morn bright! Then, Oro, come with me! come with me! come with me! Oro, come with me! brown girl, sweet! And oh! I would go through snow and sleet, If you would come with me, brown girl, sweet! Love of my heart, my fair Pastheen! Her cheeks are red as the rose's sheen, But my lips have tasted no more, I ween, Than the glass I drank to the health of my queen! Then, Oro, come with me! come with me! come with me! Oro, come with me! brown girl, sweet! And oh! I would go through snow and sleet, If you would come with me, brown girl, sweet! Were I in the town, where's mirth and glee, Or 'twixt two barrels of barley bree, With my Pastheen upon my knee, 'Tis I would drink to her pleasantly! Then, Oro, come with me! come with me! come with me! Oro, come with me! brown girl, sweet! And oh! I would go through snow and sleet, If you would come with me, brown girl, sweet! Nine nights I lay in longing and pain Betwixt two bushes, beneath the rain, Thinking to see you, love, once again; But whistle and call were all in vain! Then, Oro, come with me! come with me! come with me! Oro, come with me! brown girl, sweet! And oh! I would go through snow and sleet, If you would come with me, brown girl, sweet! I'll leave my people, both friend and foe; From all the girls in the world I'll go; But from you, sweetheart, oh, never! oh, no! Till I lie in the coffin, stretch'd cold and low! Then, Oro, come with me! come with me! come with me! Oro, come with me! brown girl, sweet! And oh! I would go through snow and sleet, If you would come with me, brown girl, sweet! SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON. SHE The white bloom of the blackthorn, she, The small sweet raspberry-blossom, she; More fair the shy, rare glance of her eye, Than the wealth of the world to me. My heart's pulse, my secret, she, The flower of the fragrant apple, she; A summer glow o'er the winter's snow, 'Twixt Christmas and Easter, she. HOPELESS LOVE Since I know Hopeless of thy love I go, Since from me each dear delight takes flight: Ere we end Ways we might together wend, Ere the light from out mine eyes dies: Give some sign One regretful thought is thine, Lest I count my story told, overbold. For I hold, Time may yet some joy unfold, Joy such as the lifelong blind find; If entwined In the fabric of the mind, Dwells the memory of thy tear, dear! THE GIRL I LOVE The girl I love is comely, straight, and tall; Down her white neck her auburn tresses fall; Her dress is neat, her carriage light and free-- Here's a health to that charming maid, whoe'er she be! The rose's blush but fades beside her cheek; Her eyes are blue, her forehead pale and meek; Her lips, like cherries on a summer tree-- Here's a health to the charming maid, whoe'er she be! When I go to the field no youth can lighter bound, And I freely pay when the cheerful jug goes round; The barrel is full; but its heart we soon shall see-- Come! here's to that charming maid, whoe'er she be! Had I the wealth that props the Saxon's reign, Or the diamond crown that decks the King of Spain, I'd yield them all if she kindly smiled on me-- Here's a health to the maid I love, whoe'er she be! Five pounds of gold for each lock of her hair I'd pay, And five times five, for my love one hour each day, Her voice is more sweet than the thrush on its own green tree-- Then, my dear, may I drink a fond, deep health to thee! JEREMIAH JOSEPH CALLANAN. WOULD GOD I WERE Would God I were the tender apple-blossom That floats and falls from off the twisted bough, To lie and faint within your silken bosom, As that does now. Or would I were a little burnished apple, For you to pluck me, gliding by so cold, While sun and shade your robe of lawn will dapple, And your hair's spun gold. Yea, would to God I were among the roses That lean to kiss you as you float between, While on the lowest branch a bud uncloses To touch you, queen. Nay, since you will not love, would I were growing, A happy daisy, in the garden path, That so your silver foot might press me going, Even unto death. KATHARINE TYNAN-HINKSON. BRANCH OF THE SWEET AND EARLY ROSE Branch of the sweet and early rose That in the purest beauty flows, So passing sweet to smell and sight, On whom shalt thou bestow delight? Who in the dewy evening walk Shall pluck thee from the tender stalk? Whose temples blushing shalt thou twine, And who inhale thy breath divine? DR. DRENNAN. IS TRUAGH GAN MISE I SASANA 'Tis a pity I'm not in England, Or with one from Erin thither bound, Out in the midst of the ocean, Where the thousands of ships are drowned. From wave to wave of the ocean To be guided on with the wind and the rain-- And, O King! that Thou might'st guide me Back to my love again! THOMAS MACDONAGH. THE YELLOW BITTERN The yellow bittern that never broke out In a drinking-bout, might well have drunk; His bones are thrown on a naked stone Where he lived alone like a hermit monk. O yellow bittern! I pity your lot, Though they say that a sot like myself is curst-- I was sober a while, but I'll drink and be wise For fear I should die in the end of thirst. It's not for the common birds that I'd mourn, The blackbird, the corncrake or the crane, But for the bittern that's shy and apart And drinks in the marsh from the lone bog-drain. Oh! if I had known you were near your death, While my breath held out I'd have run to you, Till a splash from the Lake of the Son of the Bird Your soul would have stirred and waked anew. My darling told me to drink no more Or my life would be o'er in a little short while; But I told her 'tis drink gives me health and strength, And will lengthen my road by many a mile. You see how the bird of the long smooth neck, Could get his death from the thirst at last-- Come, son of my soul, and drain your cup, You'll get no sup when your life is past. In a wintering island by Constantine's halls, A bittern calls from a wineless place, And tells me that hither he cannot come Till the summer is here and the sunny days. When he crosses the stream there and wings o'er the sea, Then a fear comes to me he may fail in his flight-- Well, the milk and the ale are drunk every drop, And a dram won't stop our thirst this night. THOMAS MACDONAGH. HAVE YOU BEEN AT CARRACK? Have you been at Carrack, and saw you my true-love there? And saw you her features, all beautiful, bright, and fair? Saw you the most fragrant, flowering, sweet apple-tree? O! saw you my lov'd one, and pines she in grief like me? I have been at Carrack, and saw thy own true-love there; And saw, too, her features, all beautiful, bright, and fair; And saw the most fragrant, flowering, sweet apple-tree-- I saw thy lov'd one--she pines not in grief, like thee! Five guineas would price every tress of her golden hair-- Then think what a treasure her pillow at night to share, These tresses thick-clustering and curling around her brow-- O, Ringlet of Fairness! I'll drink to thy beauty now! When seeking to slumber, my bosom is rent with sighs-- I toss on my pillow till morning's blest beams arise; No aid, bright Beloved! can reach me save God above, For a blood-lake is formed of the light of my eyes with love! Until yellow Autumn shall usher the Paschal day, And Patrick's gay festival come in its train alway-- Until through my coffin the blossoming boughs shall grow, My love on another I'll never in life bestow! Lo! yonder the maiden illustrious, queen-like, high, With long-flowing tresses adown to her sandal-tie-- Swan, fair as the lily, descended of high degree, A myriad of welcomes, dear maid of my heart, to thee! EDWARD WALSH. CASHEL OF MUNSTER (Air: "Clár bog déil") I'd wed you without herds, without money, or rich array, And I'd wed you on a dewy morning at day-dawn grey; My bitter woe it is, love, that we are not far away In Cashel town, though the bare deal board were our marriage-bed this day. Oh, fair maid, remember the green hill side, Remember how I hunted about the valleys wide; Time now has worn me; my locks are turned to grey, The year is scarce and I am poor, but send me not, love, away! Oh, deem not my birth is of base strain, my girl, Oh, deem not my birth was as the birth of a churl; Marry me, and prove me, and say soon you will, That noble blood is written on my right side still! My purse holds no red gold, no coin of the silver white, No herds are mine to drive through the long twilight! But the pretty girl that would take me, all bare though I be and lone, Oh, I'd take her with me kindly to the county Tyrone. Oh, my girl, I can see 'tis in trouble you are, And, oh, my girl, I see 'tis your people's reproach you bear; "I am a girl in trouble for his sake with whom I fly, And, oh, may no other maiden know such reproach as I!" SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON. THE SNOWY-BREASTED PEARL There's a colleen fair as May, For a year and for a day I've sought by every way her heart to gain. There's no art of tongue or eye Fond youths with maidens try But I've tried with ceaseless sigh, yet tried in vain. If to France or far-off Spain She'd cross the watery main, To see her face again the sea I'd brave. And if 'tis heaven's decree That mine she may not be May the son of Mary me in mercy save! O thou blooming milk-white dove, To whom I've given true love, Do not ever thus reprove my constancy. There are maidens would be mine, With wealth in hand and kine, If my heart would but incline to turn from thee. But a kiss with welcome bland, And a touch of thy dear hand, Are all that I demand, would'st thou not spurn; For if not mine, dear girl, O Snowy-Breasted Pearl! May I never from the fair with life return! GEORGE PETRIE. THE DARK MAID OF THE VALLEY (Bean dubh an Gleanna) Oh, have you seen or have you heard, my treasure of bright faces, Some dark glen roving, while in gloom I pine here day and night? Far from her voice, far from her eyes, my cloud of woe increases-- My blessing on that glen and her, for aye and aye alight. 'Tis many's the time they've put in print, to beauty doing homage, Her figure tall, her eyebrows small, her thin-lipped mouth of truth, Her snowy hands, as fair and fine as silk on wild bird's plumage-- My bitter sigh to think that I am here, a lonely youth! One little glance, once at her face, a flame lit in my bosom, Oh, snowy-hearted, white-toothed one, whose ringlets are of gold, More dear art thou than Deirdre, leaving lovers mourning woesome, Or Blanaid, meshing thousands with her winning eyes of old! Oh, bloom of women! spurn me not for this rich suitor hoary-- This boorish, noisy, songless man, who comes between us twain; It's I would sweetly sing beneath the harvest moon's gold glory, For thee full many a Fenian lay and bold Milesian strain! P. J. MCCALL. THE COOLUN Oh, had you seen the Coolun, walking down by the cuckoo's street, With the dew of the meadow shining on her milk-white twinkling feet, My love she is, and my _coleen oge_, and she dwells in Bal'nagar; And she bears the palm of beauty bright, from the fairest that in Erin are. In Bal'nagar is the Coolun, like the berry on the bough her cheek; Bright beauty dwells for ever on her fair neck and ringlets sleek; Oh, sweeter is her mouth's soft music, than the lark or thrush at dawn, Or the blackbird in the greenwood singing farewell to the setting sun. Rise up, my boy! make ready my horse, for I forth would ride, To follow the modest damsel, where she walks on the green hill side; For, ever since our youth were we plighted, in faith, troth, and wedlock true-- She is sweeter to me nine times over than organ or cuckoo! For, ever since my childhood I loved the fair and darling child; But our people came between us, and with lucre our pure love defiled; Oh, my woe it is, and my bitter pain, and I weep it night and day, That the _coleen bawn_ of my early love is torn from my heart away. Sweetheart and faithful treasure, be constant still, and true; Nor for want of herds and houses leave one who would ne'er leave you: I'll pledge you the blessed Bible, without and eke within, That the faithful God will provide for us, without thanks to kith and kin. Oh, love, do you remember when we lay all night alone, Beneath the ash in the winter-storm, when the oak wood round did groan? No shelter then from the blast had we, the bitter blast and sleet, But your gown to wrap about our heads, and my coat around our feet. SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON. CEANN DUBH DHILEAS[115] Put your head, darling, darling, darling, Your darling black head my heart above; Oh, mouth of honey, with the thyme for fragrance, Who, with heart in breast, could deny you love? Oh, many and many a young girl for me is pining, Letting her locks of gold to the cold wind free, For me, the foremost of our gay young fellows; But I'd leave a hundred, pure love, for thee! Then put your head, darling, darling, darling, Your darling black head my heart above; Oh, mouth of honey, with the thyme for fragrance, Who, with heart in breast, could deny you love? SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON. FOOTNOTES: [115] "Beloved Dark Head." RINGLETED YOUTH OF MY LOVE Ringleted youth of my love, With thy locks bound loosely behind thee, You passed by the road above, But you never came in to find me; Where were the harm for you If you came for a little to see me, Your kiss is a wakening dew Were I ever so ill or so dreamy. If I had golden store I would make a nice little boreen To lead straight up to his door, The door of the house of my storeen; Hoping to God not to miss The sound of his footfall in it, I have waited so long for his kiss That for days I have slept not a minute. I thought, O my love! you were so-- As the moon is, or sun on a fountain, And I thought after that you were snow, The cold snow on top of the mountain; And I thought after that, you were more Like God's lamp shining to find me, Or the bright star of knowledge before, And the star of knowledge behind me. You promised me high-heeled shoes, And satin and silk, my storeen, And to follow me, never to lose, Though the ocean were round us roaring; Like a bush in a gap in a wall I am now left lonely without thee, And this house I grow dead of, is all That I see around or about me. DOUGLAS HYDE. I SHALL NOT DIE FOR YOU O woman, shapely as the swan, On your account I shall not die, The men you've slain--a trivial clan-- Were less than I. I ask me shall I die for these, For blossom-teeth and scarlet lips? And shall that delicate swan-shape Bring me eclipse? Well shaped the breasts and smooth the skin, The cheeks are fair, the tresses free; And yet I shall not suffer death, God over me! Those even brows, that hair like gold, Those languorous tones, that virgin way; The flowing limbs, the rounded heel Slight men betray. Thy spirit keen through radiant mien, Thy shining throat and smiling eye, Thy little palm, thy side like foam-- I cannot die! O woman, shapely as the swan, In a cunning house hard-reared was I; O bosom white, O well-shaped palm, I shall not die. PADRAIC COLUM DONALL OGE Were I to go to the West, from the West I would come not again, The hill that is highest I would climb, at the cord that is toughest I would strain; The branch I would soonest pluck is far out of my reach in the hollow, And the track of my lover's feet is the track that my heart would follow. My heart is as dark as the sloe in a crack of the mountain gorge; Or a burnt-out cinder fallen down at the back of the blazing forge; As the stain of a miry shoe on the marble steps of a palace, As the stain of a drowning fly in the wine of the Holy chalice.[116] My heart is a cluster of nuts with every kernel dropped, My heart is the ice on the pond above, where the mill has stopped; A mournful sadness is breaking over my running laughter Like the mirth of a maid at her marriage and the heavy sorrow after. You have taken the East from me and you have taken the West, You have taken the path before me and the path that is behind; The moon is gone from me by night and the sun is gone by day, Alas! I greatly dread you have stolen my God away! By the Well of Loneliness I sit and make my moan; I hear no sound in the depths below from the fall of the dropping stone; I see the cold wide world, but my lad I do not see, Your shadow no longer lying between God and me. The colour of the blackberry is my old lover's colour; Or the colour of the raspberry on a bright day of summer; Or the colour of the heathberry where the bog-grass is rarest-- Ah! the blackest head is often on the form that's fairest. I heard the dog speak of you last night and the sun gone down, I heard the snipe calling aloud from the marshlands brown; It is you are the lonely bird flitting from tree to tree-- May you never find your mate if you find not me! It is time for me to leave this cruel town behind, The stones are sharp in it, the very mould unkind; The voice of blame is heard like the muttering of the sea-- The heavy hand of the band of men backbiting me. I denounce love; she who gave it to him is now all undone; Little he understood, yon black mother's son. That my heart is turned to stone, what mattered that to you? What were you caring for, but to get a cow or two? FOOTNOTES: [116] This line is not in the original. THE GRIEF OF A GIRL'S HEART Some of the verses in this poem are identical with those found in "Donall Oge," and also with the poem called "Breed Astore" in Dr. Hyde's _Love Songs of Connaught_. I have omitted those which occur in the former poem and added one quatrain from the latter, which it would be a pity to leave out. They seem to have been all parts of the same long poem. Here again we have Donall Oge or "Young Donall" as the lover. O Donall Oge, if you will go across the sea, Bring myself with you, and do not forget it; There will be a "faring" for thee on fine days and market-days, And the daughter of the King of Greece as your bedfellow at night. If you go over seas, there is a token I have of you, Your bright top-knot and your two grey eyes, Twelve ringlets on your yellow curling head, Like the cowslip or the rose-leaf in the garden. You promised me, but you spoke a lie to me, That you would be before me at the fold of the sheep; I let a whistle out and three hundred shouts for you, But I found nothing in it but a lamb a-bleating. You promised me, a thing that was hard for you, A ship of gold under a mast of silver, Twelve great towns of the world's market-towns, And a fine white court beside the sea. You promised me, a thing that was not possible, You would give me gloves of fishes' skin, You would give me shoes of the feathers of birds, And gowns of silk the richest in Erinn. O Donall Oge, it were better for thee I to be with thee, Than a high-born, arrogant, wasteful lady; I would milk your cows and I would churn for you, And if it went hard with you, I would strike a blow with you. Och, ochone, it is not the hunger, Nor want of food and drink, nor want of sleep, That has left me wasting and weary; The love of a young man it is that has sickened me. Early in the morning I saw the young man On the back of his horse going along the road; He did not move over to me nor take any heed of me, And on my coming home, it is I who wept my fill. When I myself go to the Well of Loneliness I sit down and I go through my trouble, When I see the world and I see not my lad; There was the shadow of amber upon his hair. It was a Sunday that I gave my love to you, The Sunday before Easter Sunday exactly; I myself on my knees a-reading the Passion, My two eyes giving love to you ever after. Oye, little mother, give myself to him, And give him what is yours of goods entirely, Out with yourself a-begging alms And do not be going East and West seeking me. My little mother said to me not to speak with you To-day or to-morrow or on Sunday, It is in the bad hour she gave me that choice, It is "shutting the door after the theft." And you passed me by, dark and late, And you passed me by, and the light of the day in it; If you would come in yourself and see me Never a word at all would I have with you.[117] FOOTNOTES: [117] This last stanza is from Dr. Hyde's "Breed Astore" (_Love Songs_, p. 77), where the third stanza is also found. DEATH THE COMRADE When I rose up in the morning early On a sunny day in the burst of spring, My step was lithe, and my form was burly, I felt as blithe as a bird on the wing; As I was going out my way Who should stand in the path but Death; I knew he was strong, and would not be said nay, So I wished him "Good-morrow,"--but I caught my breath, _When, "Hurry on, Shawn, for I'm wanting you to come with me," he saith_. Oh, then, Maura, is it parting I am from you, My thousand loves for ever on earth? I who would plant the potatoes for you, I whom you needed to cut the turf! I who would buy you the young milch cow, I who would croon you to sleep with a rann, I who at eve would lie down with your leave-- What ever would you do without your man? _O Maura, keep me with you a little, little longer, if you can_! "There's many an old man down in the town, And no manner of use or abuse in him more; There's little Dominic, wizened and brown, Begging his scraps from door to door; And his wife and children famished with cold Trying to find him his bit of bread; O Death, 'tis your right to take the old-- And they say that Dominic's wrong in his head-- _O Death, take Dominic with you, for 'tis badly I'm wanted here," I said_. "It's a fine man you are, but you stand in my way, I'd be thankful you'd let me get on to my fields;" He raised his arm, it was cold as clay, And strong as the flail the thresher wields. I tried to push him out of my road, But his bony fingers clutched me tight; "I am your comrade henceforth," he said, "Another man tends your sheep to-night; _Hurry home, Shawn, I call for you again before the morning's light_." MUIRNEEN OF THE FAIR HAIR For a year my love lies down, In a little western town, And the sun upon the corn is not so sweet; At the chill time of the year, On the hills where roams my dear, There is honey in the traces of her feet. If my longing I could get, I would take her in a net, And would ease my aching sorrow for a while; And though all men say me nay I shall wed her on a day, She my darling of the sweet and sunny smile. I have finished with the plough, And must sow my seedlands now, I must labour in the face of wind and weather; But in rain and frost and snow, Always as I come and go, I am thinking she and I should be together. O love my heart finds fair! It is little that you care Though I perish in the blackness of my grief; But may you never tread God's Heaven overhead, If you scorn me and refuse my love relief. I would count them little worth, All the women of the earth, And myself alone to have the choice among them; For in books I read it clear, That the beauty of my dear, It has wrestled with their beauties and has flung them. ROBIN FLOWER. THE RED MAN'S WIFE 'Tis what they say, Thy little heel fits in a shoe. 'Tis what they say, Thy little mouth kisses well, too. 'Tis what they say, Thousand loves that you leave me to rue; That the tailor went the way That the wife of the Red man knew. Nine months did I spend In a prison closed tightly and bound; Bolts on my smalls And a thousand locks frowning around; But o'er the tide I would leap with the leap of a swan, Could I once set my side By the bride of the Red-haired man. I thought, O my life, That one house between us, love, would be; And I thought I would find You once coaxing my child on your knee; But now the curse of the High One On him let it be, And on all of the band of the liars Who put silence between you and me. There grows a tree in the garden With blossoms that tremble and shake, I lay my hand on its bark And I feel that my heart must break. On one wish alone My soul through the long months ran, One little kiss From the wife of the Red-haired man. But the Day of Doom shall come, And hills and harbours be rent; A mist shall fall on the sun From the dark clouds heavily sent; The sea shall be dry, And earth under mourning and ban; Then loud shall he cry For the wife of the Red-haired man. DOUGLAS HYDE. ANOTHER VERSION Salutation to thee, O Seagull, who flew to my bosom, As the Maid of the West Winged her way o'er the waves of the sea;[118] In wrath I will ravage the country Right up to the ridge of Roscuain; But when I turn home again, Back to my bird again, 'Tis I who am conquered then, Conquered by thee. Whiter thy neck, thousand loves, Than the swan that floats out on the billow; Redder thy cheek Than the rose-blossom dropped from the tree; Softer thy voice Than the cuckoo's low call from the willow, And smoother than silk, The fine silk of the silkworm, The silkworm in spinning, The fair locks of thee. Maid without spot, matchless maiden, How lovely the bloom of thy forehead! Where is the fortunate youth I would care to betroth to thee? Why should I hide or conceal it? The gloom of my soul I reveal it; The mists round me thicken, With death I am stricken, 'Twas the Red Man who smote When he stole thee from me. Blossom of beauty, my blossom, Ten thousand blessings before thee, Sick to the death is my heart For sorrowful lack of thee. If I could coax thee and tell thee How lonely I am and weary, Thy wild eyes would soften, Would soften in sorrow, At the pain of my loss, By the Red Man and thee. Though in a gaol I were fast, There below in the old Down quarter, Bolts on my wrist, and my waist Fastened tight under lock and key; Swift as the flight of the falcon Or the swan swooping down on the harbour, I'd find thee and bind thee, In my arms I'd entwine thee, Ere the Red Man could part us, Could part thee from me. FOOTNOTES: [118] _i.e._ Deirdre, who fled with the sons of Usnach to Scotland. MY GRIEF ON THE SEA My grief on the sea, How the waves of it roll! How they heave between me And the love of my soul! Abandoned, forsaken, To grief and to care, Will the sea ever waken Relief from despair? My grief, and my trouble! Would he and I were In the province of Leinster, Or county of Clare. Were I and my darling-- Oh, heart-bitter wound!-- On board of the ship For America bound. On a green bed of rushes All last night I lay, And I flung it abroad With the heat of the day. And my love came behind me-- He came from the South; His breast to my bosom, His mouth to my mouth. DOUGLAS HYDE. ORÓ MHÓR, A MHÓIRÍN O dear is Paudheen, blithe and gay, Upon a fair or market day; But far more dear a March morn clear, As in his boat he singeth gay! Oró wore, a-woreen! Oró wore, love, will you go, Oró wore, a-woreen! Golden hair, out for a row? He said and said--what did he say?-- He said he'd come on Brigid's Day! But shirt and sock were in the crock; And so he couldn't speed away! Oró wore, &c. He said and said--what did he say?-- He said he'd come on Patrick's Day! But coat and stock were under lock; And so he couldn't steal away! Oró wore, &c. He said and said--what did he say?-- He said he'd come on Sheela's Day![119] But Borna Rock fell with a shock Upon him, so he stayed away! Oró wore, &c. He said and said--what did he say?-- He said he'd come on Easter Day! But at the knock he met a flock Of geese, that frightened him away! Oró wore, &c. He said and said--what did he say?-- He said he'd come this very day! If he should mock, I pray some rock May wreck his corrach on the way! Oró wore, a-woreen! Oró wore, love, will you go, Oró wore, a-woreen! Golden hair, out for a row? P. J. MCCALL. FOOTNOTES: [119] The day after St. Patrick's Day. THE LITTLE YELLOW ROAD Taken down in Co. Mayo from Michael Mac Rudhraighe. I am sick, sick, No part of me sound; The heart in my middle Dies of its wound, Pining the time When she did stand With me shoulder to shoulder And hand in hand. I travelled west By the little yellow road In the hope I might see Where my Secret abode. White were her two breasts, Red her hair, Guiding the cow And the weaned calf, her care. Until wind flows From this stream west, Until a green plain spreads On the withered crest, And white fields grow The heather above, My heart will not find Kindness from my love. There's a flood in the river Will not ebb till day, And dread on me That my love is away. Can I live a month With my heart's pain Unless she will come And see me again? I drink a measure And I drink to you, I pay, I pay, And I pay for two. Copper for ale And silver for beer-- And do you like coming Or staying here? SEOSAMH MAC CATHMHAOIL. REPROACH TO THE PIPE Taken down from a man named William O'Ryan, of Newcastle, Upper Galway. I've a story to tell you, My little Duideen, As ugly a story As ever was seen; The days are gone by When I held my head high, And that this is your doing, You cannot deny. It is you, without doubt, Stole my means and my wealth, My name and my fortune, My friends and my health; But if only I were In new lands far from Clare, I'd be scraping and saving With the best of them there! While you are well-filled, Cleaned up, and kept trim, There's no bread on my plate And no strength in my limb; Were I hung as a scarecrow, In the fields over-night, Sure, not only the birds But my friends would take flight! I might buy a laced hat For your handsome young head, That would pass with O'Hara, When all's done and said; But to you 'tis no odds Though I fast day and night, Your mouth is wide open Still asking its light. When I go out to Mass My best coat is in slashes, And quite half my food Has been burnt in the ashes; My heels may go cold, 'Tis for you, I allege, The tobacconist's shop Has my breeches in pledge! The time that poor Nora Thought me down at the loom, Throwing the shuttle Or doing a turn; I'd be lighting my pipe About old Joseph's door; Discoursing and drinking An hour or more. O, my little duideen, My little duideen, You're the cunningest rogue That ever was seen! But I'm done with you quite, Off, out of my sight! With O'Kelly the weaver I'm away at daylight! LAMENT OF MORIAN SHEHONE FOR MISS MARY BOURKE From an Irish Keen. "There's darkness in thy dwelling-place and silence reigns above, And Mary's voice is heard no more, like the soft voice of love. Yes! thou art gone, my Mary dear! And Morian Shehone Is left to sing his song of woe, and wail for thee alone. Oh! snow-white were thy virtues!--the beautiful, the young, The old with pleasure bent to hear the music of thy tongue; The young with rapture gazed on thee, and their hearts in love were bound, For thou wast brighter than the sun that sheds its light around. My soul is dark, O Mary dear! thy sun of beauty's set; The sorrowful are dumb for thee--the grieved their tears forget; And I am left to pour my woe above thy grave alone; For dear wert thou to the fond heart of Morian Shehone. "Fast-flowing tears above the grave of the rich man are shed, But they are dried when the cold stone shuts in his narrow bed; Not so with my heart's faithful love--the dark grave cannot hide From Morian's eyes thy form of grace, of loveliness, and pride. Thou didst not fall like the sere leaf, when autumn's chill winds blow-- 'Twas a tempest and a storm-blast that has laid my Mary low. Hadst thou not friends that loved thee well? hadst thou not garments rare? Wast thou not happy, Mary? wast thou not young and fair? Then why should the dread spoiler come, my heart's peace to destroy, Or the grim tyrant tear from me my all of earthly joy? Oh! am I left to pour my woes above thy grave alone? Thou idol of the faithful heart of Morian Shehone! "Sweet were thy looks and sweet thy smiles, and kind wast thou to all; The withering scowl of envy on thy fortunes dared not fall; For thee thy friends lament and mourn, and never cease to weep-- Oh! that their lamentations could awake thee from thy sleep! Oh! that thy peerless form again could meet my loving clasp! Oh! that the cold damp hand of Death could loose his iron grasp! Yet, when the valley's daughters meet beneath the tall elm tree, And talk of Mary as a dream that never more shall be, Then may thy spirit float around, like music in the air, And pour upon their virgin souls a blessing and a prayer. Oh! am I left to pour my wail above thy grave alone?" Thus sinks in silence the lament of Morian Shehone. ANONYMOUS. MODEREEN RUE; OR, THE LITTLE RED ROGUE[120] Och, Modereen Rue, you little red rover, By the glint of the moon you stole out of your cover, And now there is never an egg to be got, Nor a handsome fat chicken to put in the pot. Och, Modereen Rue! With your nose to the earth and your ear on the listen, You slunk through the stubble with frost-drops aglisten, With my lovely fat drake in your teeth as you went, That your red roguish children should breakfast content. Och, Modereen Rue! Och, Modereen Rue, hear the horn for a warning, They are looking for red roguish foxes this morning; But let them come my way, you little red rogue, 'Tis I will betray you to huntsman and dog. Och, Modereen Rue! The little red rogue, he's the colour of bracken, O'er mountains, o'er valleys, his pace will not slacken, Tantara! Tantara! he is off now, and, faith! 'Tis a race 'twixt the little red rogue and his death. Och, Modereen Rue! Och, Modereen Rue, I've no cause to be grieving For the little red rogues with their tricks and their thieving. The hounds they give tongue, and the quarry's in sight, The hens on the roost may sleep easy to-night. Och, Modereen Rue! But my blessing be on him. He made the hounds follow Through the woods, through the dales, over hill, over hollow, It was Modereen Rue led them fast, led them far, From the glint of the morning till eve's silver star. Och, Modereen Rue! But he saved his red brush for his own future wearing, He slipped into a drain, and he left the hounds swearing. Good luck, my fine fellow, and long may you show Such a clean pair of heels to the hounds as they go. Och, Modereen Rue! KATHERINE TYNAN-HINKSON. FOOTNOTES: [120] The fox. THE STARS STAND UP The stars stand up in the air, The sun and the moon are set, The sea that ebbed dry of its tide Leaves no single pebble wet; The cuckoo keeps saying each hour That she, my Storeen, is fled,-- O Girl of the brave, free tresses, Far better had you struck me dead! Three things have I learned through love, Sorrow, and death, and pain, My mind reminding me daily I never shall see you again; You left me no cure for my sickness, Yet I pray, though my night be long,-- My sharp grief! and my heart is broken,-- That God may forgive your wrong. She was sweeter than fiddle and lute, Or the shining of grass through the dew, She was soft as the blackbird's flute When the light of the day is new; From her feet on the lone hill-top I have heard the honey dropping; Why, Girl, did you come to my door? Or why could you not be stopping? THE LOVE SMART This weariness, this gnawing pain, Are moving greatly through my brain; The tears down-dropping from my eyes, The full of my two shoes with sighs. I think the Sunday long, and pray You may come stepping down my way; Twice over I my lover lack,-- When he departs--till he come back. My thousand treasures and my love, At break of summer let us rove, And watch the flickering twilight dwell Above the windings of the dell. I claim no gift of cows and sheep; But if I ask of thee to keep My hand within thy circling arm, Where were the harm? where were the harm? Farewell! Farewell! the fading light, Would that last night were still to-night! Would that my darling, with his smile, Would coax me to his knee awhile! Bend down and hear, my tale I'll tell, Could you but keep my secret well: I fear my lover's gone from me; O God and Mary, can this be? WELL FOR THEE Well for thee, unsighted bard, Not half so hard thy plight as mine; Hadst thou seen her for whom I pine, Sickness like mine were thy reward. O would to God I had been blind Or e'er her twined locks caught my eye, Her backward glance as she passed by-- Then had my fate been less unkind. Till my grief outgrew all griefs, I had pitied sightless men; Now hold I them happy and envy them-- In the snare of her smile ensnared I lie. Oh! woe that ever her face was seen! And woe that I see her not every day! Woe to him who is knotted to her alway, Woe to him who is loosed from the knot, I ween. Woe to him when she comes, woe to him when she goes, To the lover who wins her, his love is but pain; To the lover she flies who would call her again, To him and to me, it is woe of all woes! I AM RAFTERY Anthony Raftery died at Craughwell, Co. Galway, October 1835 I am Raftery the Poet Full of hope and love, With eyes that have no light, With gentleness that has no misery. Going west upon my pilgrimage By the light of my heart, Feeble and tired To the end of my road. Behold me now, And my face to the wall, A-playing music Unto empty pockets. DOUGLAS HYDE. DUST HATH CLOSED HELEN'S EYE Anthony Raftery. Going to Mass, by the will of God The day came wet and the wind rose; I met Mary Haynes at the cross of Kiltartan And I fell in love with her then and there. I spoke to her kind and mannerly As by report was her own way; And she said, "Raftery, my mind is easy, You may come to-day to Baile-laoi." When I heard her offer I did not linger, When her talk went to my heart my heart rose. We had only to go across the three fields, We had daylight with us to Baile-laoi. The table was laid with glasses and a quart measure; She had fair hair and she sitting beside me, And she said, "Drink, Raftery, and a hundred welcomes, There is a strong cellar in Baile-laoi." O star of light, and O sun in harvest, O amber hair, O my share of the world, Will you come with me upon Sunday Till we agree together before all the people? I would not grudge you a song every Sunday evening, Punch on the table or wine if you would drink it, But, O King of Glory, dry the roads before me, Till I find the way to Baile-laoi. There is a sweet air on the side of the hill When you are looking down upon Baile-laoi; When you are walking in the valley picking nuts and blackberries There is music of the birds in it and music of the sidhe. What is the worth of greatness till you have the light Of the flower of the branch that is by your side? There is no good to deny it or to try to hide it, She is the sun in the heavens who wounded my heart. There is no part of Ireland I did not travel From the rivers to the tops of the mountains, To the edge of Loch Gréine whose mouth is hidden, And I saw no beauty that was behind hers. Her hair was shining and her brows were shining, too; Her face was like herself, her mouth pleasant and sweet. She is my pride, and I give her the branch, She is the shining flower of Baile-laoi. It is Mary Haynes, the calm and easy woman, Her beauty in her mind and in her face. If a hundred clerks were gathered together, They could not write down a half of her ways. LADY GREGORY. The title is added by Mr. W. B. Yeats to an article written by him on this poem in _The Dome_ (New Series, vol. iv.). Lady Gregory informs me that Mr. Yeats has slightly worked over her translation. THE SHINING POSY Anthony Raftery. There is a bright posy on the edge of the quay And she far beyond Deirdre with her pleasant ways Or if I would say Helen, the queen of the Greeks, On whose account hundreds have fallen at Troy. The flame and the white in her mingled together, And sweeter her mouth than cuckoo on the bough, And the way she has with her, where will you find them Since died the pearl that was in Ballylaoi? If you were to see the sky-maiden decked out On a fine sunny day in the street, and she walking, The light shining out from her snow-white bosom Would give sight of the eyes to a sightless man. The love of hundreds is on her brow, The sight of her as the gleam of the Star of Doom; If she had been there in the time of the gods It is not to Venus the apple would have gone. Her hair falling with her down to her knees, Twining and curling to the mouth of her shoe; Her parted locks, with the grey of the dew on them, And her curls sweeping after her on the road; She is the coolun is brightest and most mannerly Of all who ever opened eye or who lived in life; And if the country of Lord Lucan were given me, By the strength of my cause, the jewel should be mine. Her form slender, chalk-white, her cheeks like roses, And her breasts rounded over against her heart; Her neck and her brow and her auburn hair, She stands before us like the dew of harvest. Virgil, Cicero, nor the power of Homer, Would not bring any to compare with her bloom and gentle ways; O Blossom of Youth, I am guilty with desire of you, And unless you come to me I shall not live a month. Walking or dancing, if you were to see the fair shoot, It is to the Flower of the Branches you would give your love, Her face alight, and her heart without sorrow, And were it not pleasant to be in her company? The greatness of Samson or Alexander I would not covet, surely, in place of my desire; And if I do not get leave to talk to Mary Staunton I am in doubt that short will be my life. She bade me "Good-morrow" early, with kindness, She set a stool for me, and not in the corner, She drank a drink with me, she was the heart of hospitality, At the time that I rose up to go on my way. I fell to talking and discoursing with her, It was mannerly she looked at me, the apple-blossom, And here is my word of mouth to you, without falsehood, That I have left the branch with her from Mary Brown. LOVE IS A MORTAL DISEASE My grief and my pain! a mortal disease is love, Woe, woe unto him who must prove it a month or even a day, It hath broken my heart, and my bosom is burdened with sighs, From dreaming of her gentle sleep hath forsaken mine eyes. I met with the fairy host at the liss beside Ballyfinnane; I asked them had they a herb for the curing of love's cruel pain. They answered me softly and mildly, with many a pitying tone, "When this torment comes into the heart it never goes out again." It seems to me long till the tide washes up on the strand; It seems to me long till the night shall fade into day; It seems to me long till the cocks crow on every hand; And rather than the world were I close beside my love. Do not marry the grey old man, but marry the young man, dear; Marry the lad who loves you, my grief, though he live not out the year; Youthful you are, and kind, but your mind is not yet come to sense, And if you live longer, the lads will be following you. My woe and my plight! where to-night is the snowdrift and frost? Or even I and my love together breasting the waves of the sea; Without bark, without boat, without any vessel with me, But I to be swimming, and my arm to be circling her waist! I AM WATCHING MY YOUNG CALVES SUCKING Douglas Hyde. I am watching my young calves sucking; Who are you that would put me out of my luck? Can I not be walking, can I not be walking, Can I not be walking on my own farm-lands? I will not for ever go back before you, If I must needs be submissive to thee, great is my grief; If I cannot be walking, if I cannot be walking, If I cannot be walking on my own farm-lands. Little heed I pay, and 'tis little my desire, Thy fine blue cloak and thy bright bird's plumes, If I cannot be walking, if I cannot be walking, If I cannot be walking on my own farm-lands! There is a day coming, it is plain to my eyes, When there will not be amongst us the mean likes of you; But each will be walking, each will be walking, Wherever he will on his own farm-lands. THE NARROW ROAD Douglas Hyde. Once I was happy, And joyous with that, Now I am sorrowful Weary and sick. Thinking on the colleen By night and by day, Hurt by the colleen, Wounded with love. The sight of her eyes, The sweetness of her voice, It is these that have stricken me And left me without guidance. A colleen like she is Is not in this life, And she herself has left Myself without sense. A colleen like she is Is not in this world; Vein of my own heart Whom I have chosen. Little hand of my love-- It is whiter than snow; She hath left us with wounds And with wandering of the mind. Three long months Almost, am I lying; I am pierced with her arrows And my heart in torment. O God of Graces, Listen to my prayer, Give death to me Or give me her. Look on my lamentations, Look on my tears; Were not my thoughts on thee, Storeen, All these years? Look on my lamentations, Listen to me, Aroon, I am as a sheep, A sheep without its lamb! Wilt thou be hard, Colleen, as thou art tender? Wilt thou be without pity On us for ever? Listen to me, Noireen, Listen, Aroon; Put some word of healing From thy quiet mouth. I am in the pathway That is dark and narrow, The little path that has guided Thousands to slumber. FORSAKEN Douglas Hyde. Oh, if there were in this wide world One little place at all, To be my own, my own alone, My own over all; Great were the joy, the comfort great, And me so lone, With no place in the world to say "This is my own." Sad it is to be knowing this, For any man, and woe, That there is not in life for him Liking or love below; That there is not in the world for him A hand or a head That would be doing a turn for him Alive or dead. Sharp it is and sorrowful, And bitter is the grief, Sad it is and sorrowful Past all belief. 'Tis all the same how you are To the passer-by, 'Tis all the same to you, at last, To live or die. I FOLLOW A STAR Seosamh mac Cathmhaoil. I follow a star Burning deep in the blue, A sign on the hills Lit for me and for you! Moon-red is the star, Halo-winged like a rood, Christ's heart in its heart set, Streaming with blood. Follow the gilly Beyond to the west; He leads where the Christ lies On Mary's white breast. King, priest, and prophet-- A child, and no more-- Adonai the Maker! Come, let us adore. _Translation by the author._ LULLABIES AND WORKING SONGS NURSE'S SONG Traditional. Sleep, my child, my darling child, my lovely child, sleep! The sea sleepeth on the green fields, The moon sleepeth on the blue waters, Sleep, my child, my darling child, my lovely child, sleep! Sleep, my child! The morning sleepeth upon a bed of roses, The evening sleepeth on the tops of the dark hills; Sleep, my child, my darling child, child of my heart's love, sleep! Sleep, my child! The winds sleep in the rocky caverns, The stars sleep on their pillow of clouds, Sleep, my child, my darling child, my little child, sleep! Sleep, my child! The mist sleepeth on the bosom of the valley, The broad lake beneath the shade of the trees, Sleep, my child, my darling child, my tender child, sleep! Sleep, my child! The flower sleeps, while the night-dew falls, The wild birds sleep upon the mountains; Sleep, my child, my darling child, my blessed child, sleep! Sleep, my child! The burning tear sleepeth upon the cheek of sorrow But thy sleep is not the sleep of tears, Sleep, my child, my darling child, child of my bosom, sleep! Sleep, my child! Sleep in quiet, sleep in joy, my darling, May thy sleep be never the sleep of sorrow! Sleep, my child, my darling child, my lovely child, sleep! A SLEEP SONG Traditional. Deirín dé, Deirín dé! The brown bittern speaks in the bog; Deirín dé, Deirín dé! The night-jar is abroad on the heath. Deirín dé, Deirín dé! Kine will go west at dawn of day; Deirín dé, Deirín dé! And my child will go to the pasture to mind them. Deirín dé, Deirín dé! Moon will rise and sun will set; Deirín dé, Deirín dé! Kine will come east at end of day. Deirín dé, Deirín dé! I will let my child go gathering blackberries, Deirín dé, Deirín dé! If he sleep softly till the ring of day! P. H. PEARSE. THE CRADLE OF GOLD I'd rock my own sweet childie to rest In a cradle of gold on the bough of the willow, To the shoheen ho! of the Wind of the West And the lulla lo! of the blue sea billow. Sleep, baby dear! Sleep without fear! Mother is here beside your pillow. I'd put my own sweet childie to float In a silver boat on the beautiful river, Where a shoheen! whisper the white cascades And a lulla lo! the green flags shiver. Sleep, baby dear! Sleep without fear! Mother is here with you for ever! Shoheen ho! to the rise and fall Of mother's bosom, 'tis sleep has bound you! And oh, my child, what cosier nest For rosier rest could love have found you? Sleep, baby dear! Sleep without fear! Mother's two arms are close around you! ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES. RURAL SONG I wish the shepherd's pet were mine, I wish the shepherd's pet were mine, I wish the shepherd's pet were mine, The pretty white lamb in the clover. And oh! I hail, I hail thee, And oh! I hail, I hail thee, The love of my heart for ever thou art, Thou little pet of thy mother. I wish that scores of kine were mine, I wish that scores of kine were mine, I wish that scores of kine were mine, And Kathleen, the love of her mother. And oh! I hail, I hail thee, And oh! I hail, I hail thee, The love of my heart for ever thou art, Thou little pet of thy mother. PLOUGHING SONG TAILSMAN. Goad her, and whip her, and drive, The old woman's little brown mare, Stand up on the plough, look alive, And see if our dinner is there. HEADSMAN. The corn is a-reaping, Goad her and whip her and drive. The stooks are a-heaping, Goad her and whip her and drive. The corn is a-binding, Goad her and whip her and drive. In the mill it is grinding, Goad her and whip her and drive. We soon shall be feeding, Goad her and whip her and drive. For the flour is a-kneading, Goad her and whip her and drive. The bread is a-baking, Goad her and whip her and drive. Our dinner we are taking,-- She's the best little mare alive! TAILSMAN. Whistle and shout with zest! The little brown mare is good! Unyoke her, and give her a rest, While we're stretching and getting our food. A SPINNING-WHEEL DITTY These verses, improvised to the hum of the wheel, are flung from girl to girl as they sit spinning. The references are purely personal, and the refrain, which is sung by all the spinners, has no special meaning. FIRST GIRL. Mallo lero, and eambo nero, I crossed the wood as the day was dawning; Mallo lero, and eambo nero. SECOND GIRL. Mallo lero, and eambo nero, No doubt John O'Connell had had good warning! Mallo lero, and eambo nero. FIRST GIRL. Mallo lero, and eambo nero, Oh! John may go hang, it's not me he will catch! Mallo lero, and eambo nero. SECOND GIRL. Mallo lero, and eambo nero, You mannerless girl, he'll be more than your match! Mallo lero, and eambo nero. FIRST GIRL. Mallo lero, and eambo nero, Come, come now, leave off, or get me my own man! Mallo lero, and eambo nero. SECOND GIRL. Mallo lero, and eambo nero, Well, what do you think of Thomas O'Madigan? Mallo lero, and eambo nero. FIRST GIRL. Mallo lero, and eambo nero, I hail him, and claim him, may we never be parted! Mallo lero, and eambo nero. SECOND GIRL. Mallo lero, and eambo nero, Go east or go west, may you still be true-hearted! Mallo lero, and eambo nero. THIRD GIRL. Mallo lero, and eambo nero, Go east and go west, and find me my love, too! Mallo lero, and eambo nero. FOURTH GIRL. Mallo lero, and eambo nero, There's Donall O'Flaherty, but I doubt will he take you! Mallo lero, and eambo nero. FIFTH GIRL. Mallo lero, and eambo nero, The man is too good, he'll be courting elsewhere! Mallo lero, and eambo nero. THIRD GIRL. Mallo lero, and eambo nero, There's no tree in the wood, but its equal is there! Mallo lero, and eambo nero. NOTES NOTES "The Colloquy of the Two Sages," edited by Dr. Whitley Stokes from the _Book of Leinster_, p. 186a, is one of the most archaic pieces in tone that have come down to us. It represents the discussion between an aged poet and a young aspirant as to the sources of poetic inspiration, and shows us that the gifts of the bard were highly regarded as the direct endowment of the gods. Original in _Rev. Celtique_, No. xxviii. As in the following poem, I have made use of the scribal glosses or explanations wherever they seemed to throw light upon the original. "Amorgen sang." Professor John MacNeill has most kindly made a fresh collation of the manuscripts containing this obscure poem for my use. Parts, especially from line 20 onward, are doubtful. I have incorporated with the text such of the glosses as appear to make the meaning more intelligible, but the glosses themselves are mere scribes' guesses, often bad ones, at the sense of a text they did not understand. This poem, though ascribed to the earliest traditional poet of Ireland, is, Prof. MacNeill considers, rather pseudo-archaic, than of really great antiquity. The allusion to "Tetra's kine," which is explained in the gloss to mean "the fish of the sea," alludes to Tetra as Ruler of the Ocean; in the "Colloquy" we found him ruling in the assemblies of the dead. The connection between the ocean and the invisible world is constant in Irish tradition. The poem appears to be an assertion of the Druid's powers, preparatory to the incantation for good fishing which follows immediately in most manuscripts. The final lines are an inquiry into the origin of created things, matter on which the bard or Druid claimed superior enlightenment. "The Song of Childbirth" and the succeeding "Greeting to the New-born Babe" are taken from the piece known as "The Birth of Conchobhar" (_Compert Conchobhar_), edited from Stowe MS. 992, by Prof. Kuno Meyer in _Rev. Celt._ vi. pp. 173-182. "What is Love?" From the story called the "Wooing of Etain" (_Tochmarc Etaine_). Original in _Irische Texte_, i. p. 124. "Summons to Cuchulain." From the "Sickbed of Cuchulain" (_Serglige Conculaind_). Original, _ibid._, p. 216. Overcome with fairy spells, the hero lies fast bound in heavy slumber; the song is an appeal to him to throw off the charm and to arise. "Laegh's Description of Fairy-land." From the same story, _ibid._, p. 218. Laegh is Cuchulain's charioteer, who went into fairy-land instead of his master, and returns to extol its beauty. "The Lamentation of Fand when she is about to leave Cuchulain." From the dramatic incident in the same story, in which Fand, Queen of Fairy-land, and Emer, Cuchulain's mortal wife, struggle for the affection of the hero, after Cuchulain's return from fairy-land. Each woman fully recognises the nobility of the other; and Fand's parting song, in which she restores him to Emer, is one of lofty renunciation. "Midir's Call to Fairy-land." From the story called the "Wooing of Etain" (_Tochmarc Etaine_), _ibid._, p. 132. "Song of the Fairies." From A. H. Leahy's _Heroic Romances of Ireland_ (D. Nutt, 1905), p. 29, taken from the same tale. Etain was wife of Eochad (pron. Yochee), King of Ireland, but Mider, King of Fairy-land, fell in love with her. He won an entry into the palace by playing chess with her husband, who demanded from Mider as the stake for which they played that the fairy hosts should clear away the rocks and stones from the plains of Meath, remove the rushes which made the land barren, build a causeway across the bog of Lamrach, and perform other services useful to his realm. The song is sung by the fairies while they are performing this heavy task. The final stake is won by Mider, who asks Etain as his prize. "The Lamentation of Deirdre," when her husband and two sons had been slain by King Conchobhar. She recalls the happy days spent with her husband in Alba or Scotland, on Lough Etive, and compares it to her present misery in the house of the King. Original, _Irische Texte_, i. pp. 77-81. In all the above poems there are many difficult and obscure passages. "Take my Tidings." A ninth century poem, edited and translated by Dr. Kuno Meyer in his _Four Songs of Summer and Winter_ (D. Nutt, 1903), and by Dr. Whitley Stokes in _Rev. Celt._ xx. p. 258. It is ascribed to Fionn in the commentary on the "Amra Coluim Cille." Mr. Graves' poem will be found in his _Irish Poems_, i. p. 1 (Maunsel & Co., Dublin). "Second Winter Song." Text and translation in Dr. Kuno Meyer's _Four Songs of Summer and Winter_. A longer poem on similar lines is to be found in the tale called the "Hiding of the Hill of Howth," _Rev. Celt._ xi. p. 125, reprinted in his _Ancient Irish Poetry_ (Constable), p. 57; but in the former version the complaint of the lazy servant-lad is answered by a fine song in which Fionn praises the signs of coming spring in earth and air. "In Praise of May." Original and translation published by Dr. K. Meyer from the tale called "The Boyish Exploits of Finn" in _Rev. Celt._ v. p. 195. It is said to have been composed by Fionn after he received inspiration by eating the "Salmon of Knowledge" at the River Boyne. Mr. Rolleston's poem is to be found in his _Sea-Spray_ (Maunsel, 1909). "The Isle of Arran." The Arran here spoken of is the Scottish island of that name. The Fianna were accustomed to spend part of the autumn and winter hunting in that island. The poem occurs in the long Ossianic tract called "The Colloquy of the Ancients," published by Standish Hayes O'Grady in _Silva Gadelica_ (Williams and Norgate, 1892). Text, p. 102; translation, p. 109. "The Parting of Goll with his Wife." From _Duanaire Finn_, edited by Prof. John MacNeill (Irish Texts Soc, vii., 1908), pp. 23 and 121. Goll was leader of the Connaught Fians and was opposed to Fionn, the chief of the Leinster warriors. He is described as a man of lofty disposition and great valour. In this poem he is standing, driven to bay by his enemies, on a bare rocky promontory, his wife only beside him, cut off from all hope of escape. Few poems relating to Goll remain in Ireland, but a good many survive in the Western Highlands of Scotland. "Youth and Age." _Ibid._, pp. 80 and 194. It is Oisín (Ossian) who here laments his departed youth. "Chill Winter." From the "Colloquy of the Ancients," _Silva Gadelica_, text, p. 172; translation, p. 192. "The Sleep-song of Grainne." From _Duanaire Finn_, pp. 85 and 198. Dermot, who has carried off Grainne, the wife of Fionn, is lying down to rest in the forest, when Grainne hears the approach of their pursuers. She sings over him this passionate lullaby, in which the restless activities and foreboding terrors of the animal world are aptly used to heighten the sense of their own danger. "The slaying of Conbeg, Fionn's beloved hound." Original in _Gaelic Journal_, ix. No. 104, Feb. 1899, p. 328; the poem occurs in the "Colloquy of the Ancients," where the readings are slightly different (_Silva Gadelica_, text, p. 143). "The Fairies' Lullaby." Original in _Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition_, Argyleshire Series, No. iv. (David Nutt, 1891). It was collected in Argyleshire by John Gregorson Campbell. "The Lay of the Forest Trees." Original in _Silva Gadelica_, i. p. 245; trans., ii. p. 278. This curious poem, which contains much folklore regarding forest-trees, arose out of the gathering of wood for a fire in the open air, by a servant or "Man of Smoke," as he is called. He accidentally threw upon it a block around which woodbine had twined. This called forth a protest from the onlookers, who declared that the burning of the woodbine would certainly bring ill-luck. "St. Patrick's Breastplate." See Dr. Kuno Meyer's _Ancient Irish Poetry_ (Constable), pp. 25-7. Original in Stokes' and Strachan's _Thesaurus Palaeohibernicus_, ii. p. 354. Probably eighth century. "Patrick's Blessing on Munster," ninth century. Original in Dr. Whitley Stokes' _Tripartite Life of St. Patrick_, p. 216; literal translation in Dr. Kuno Meyer's _Ancient Irish Poetry_, p. 29. The present poetic rendering, kindly contributed to my book by Mr. A. P. Graves, has not hitherto been published. "Columcille's Farewell to Aran." See Dr. Douglas Hyde's _Three Sorrows of Story-telling_ (T. Fisher Unwin, 1895), pp. 146-8. "Columba in Iona." Printed in William Skene's _Celtic Scotland_, ii. p. 92, from an Irish manuscript in the Burgundian Library, Brussels. It bears the ascription "Columcille fecit," and was transcribed and translated by O'Curry for Dr. Todd. Many poems are ascribed to the Saint, but the language of most of them is later than his time. "Hymn to the Dawn." From _Silva Gadelica_, by Standish Hayes O'Grady (Williams & Norgate); original, vol. i. p. 56; literal trans., ii. p. 59. The hymn was composed by St. Cellach on the morning on which he was slain by his old friends and fellow-students, who had been bought over to destroy him. "The Song of Manchan the Hermit." Original in _Ériu_, i. p. 39. A ninth century poem, with translation by Dr. Kuno Meyer. "A Prayer." Original and literal translation by Miss Mary E. Byrne in _Ériu_, ii., Part i. p. 89. "The Loves of Liadan and Curithir." This touching poem illustrates the tyrannical use sometimes made of their authority by the monks of the ancient Irish Church. St. Cummine, who was the confessor or "soul-friend" of the lovers, seems to have been a hard and censorious man. He lived in the first half of the seventh century. The poem, as we have it, is of the ninth century. Edited with translation by Dr. Kuno Meyer (D. Nutt, 1902). The love song has been reprinted in his _Ancient Irish Poetry_. "The Lay of Prince Marvan." This song takes the form of a colloquy between Marvan, who had left his royal station to adopt a hermit life, and his brother King Guaire of Connaught (_d._ 662). Guaire, visiting him in his retirement, inquires why he prefers to sleep in a hut rather than in the comfort of a kingly palace; in reply Marvan bursts forth into a song in praise of his retired woodland life. Original in _King and Hermit_, edited by Dr. Kuno Meyer (D. Nutt, 1901); translation reprinted in _Ancient Irish Poetry_, p. 47. "The Song of Crede." Text and translation in _Ériu_, ii. p. 15; its editor, Dr. Kuno Meyer, ascribes it to the tenth century. I have to thank Mr. A. P. Graves for most kindly giving me permission to use his unpublished poem. "The Student and his Cat," eighth or ninth century. Written on the margin of a codex of St. Paul's Epistles, in the monastery of Carinthia. Original and translation in Stokes' and Strachan's _Thesaurus Palaeohibernicus_, ii. p. 293. "Song of the Seven Archangels." Original in _Ériu_, ii., Part i. pp. 92-4, with literal translation by Thomas P. O'Nowlan. Mr. Ernest Rhys' poetical version, kindly contributed by him to this book, has not hitherto been published. "Saints of Four Seasons." Original in _Ériu_, i., Part ii. pp. 226-7, with translation by Miss Mary E. Byrne. Mr. P. J. McCall's poetical version is printed in his _Irish Fireside Songs_ (M. H. Gill, Dublin, 1911). "The Feathered Hermit." Original printed by Dr. K. Meyer in _Gaelic Journal_, iv., No. 40, February 1892, from a marginal note on Harl. MS. 5280 (Brit. Mus.). "An Aphorism." _Ibid._; also from a marginal note. "The Blackbird." Marginal note from a copy of Priscian in the monastery of St. Gall in Switzerland. Original in Stokes' and Strachan's _Thesaurus Palaeohibernicus_, p. 290. "Deus Meus." Printed by Dr. Whitley Stokes in the _Calendar of Aengus_, clxxxv. It is found written on the margin of the _Leabhar Breac_, facs., p. 101, and is there ascribed to Maelisu ua Brolcan (_d._ 1086). Dr. George Sigerson's poetical rendering will be found in his _Bards of the Gael and Gall_ (T. Fisher Unwin, 1897), p. 193. "The Soul's Desire." Original and literal translation by Dr. Kuno Meyer in the _Gaelic Journal_, vol. v., No. 6, 1894, p. 95. Though printed from comparatively late copies, the hymn gives the impression of being ancient. "Song of the Sea." Original and literal translation by Dr. Kuno Meyer in _Otia Merseiana_ (Liverpool), ii. p. 76. It is ascribed to the poet Ruman, who died 707, but the editor believes it to be of the eleventh century. "Lament of the Old Woman of Beare." From Dr. Kuno Meyer's text and translation in _Otia Merseiana_, i. p. 119 ff. It has since been reprinted in the author's _Selections from Early Irish Poetry_, pp. 88-91. The editor would put the poem down to the late tenth century. "Gormliath's Lament for Nial Black-knee." From the Scottish _Book of the Dean of Lismore_, edited by Rev. Thos. M'Lauchlan. "The Mother's Lament." First printed by Rev. Edmund Hogan in his _Latin Lives of the Irish Saints_ (Todd Lectures, V., 1894); see also _Gaelic Journal_, iv. p. 89, and Kuno Meyer's _Ancient Irish Poetry_, p. 42. Eleventh century? Mr. Graves has kindly given me permission to use his excellent unpublished version. "Consecration." Original from the _Book of the Dean of Lismore_, a collection of poems made in the Western Islands about 1512 by Sir James McGregor, Dean of Lismore, Argyleshire, p. 121. It contains many Irish poems. This and the two following poems are ascribed to Murdoch O'Daly, called "Muredach Albanach," or Murdoch the Scot, on account of his long residence in that country. He is styled "Bard of Erin and Alba." He was a Connaught poet, who ended a stormy career by retiring to the Irish monastery of Knockmoy. It is probable that these religious poems, if not actually written by him, were composed about his period. "Teach me, O Trinity," _ibid._, p. 123. "The Shaving of Murdoch," _ibid._, p. 158 _note_, from a translation made by Standish H. O'Grady. This curious poem refers to the tonsuring of the bard and his contemporary Connaught chieftain, Cathal of the Red Hand, when they entered the monastery of Knockmoy together. In Scotland Murdoch is remembered as the first of the Macvurrachs, bards to the Macdonalds of Clanranald. He lived 1180-1225, and Cathal of the Red Hand, 1184-1225. "Eileen Aroon." Original in Hardimen, i. p. 264; it should be compared with the version, _ibid_., p. 211. The present is the oldest form. Carol O'Daly, who composed it, was an accomplished Connaught gentleman, whose desire to marry Eileen Kavanagh was frustrated by her friends. He fled the country, but returned, disguised as a harper, on the eve of her marriage to another suitor, and entered the guest-chamber. He poured out this impassioned appeal with such good effect, that Eileen fled with him that night. The last lines are a welcome to her in response to her avowal of love. The air is very ancient; in Scotland it is known as "Robin Adair." * * * * * "The Downfall of the Gael." Original in Hardiman's _Irish Minstrelsy_, ii. p. 102. O'Gnive, bard of the O'Neills of Clandaboy, accompanied Shane O'Neill to London in 1562, on the occasion of that chief's visit to Queen Elizabeth. The poem is a lament over the condition of Ireland and the inaction of the chiefs. Sir Samuel Ferguson's rendering will be found in _Lays of the Western Gael_ (Sealy, Bryers & Walker, 1888), p. 136. * * * * * "Address to Brian O'Rourke of the Bulwarks" (_na murtha_), a poem of seventy quatrains from Egerton MS. iii., art. 85. Dr. Standish Hayes O'Grady has given specimens of this poem in his valuable _Catalogue of Irish MSS. in the British Museum_, pp. 412-20. Another poem addressed to the same chief will be found in Hardiman, ii. pp. 266-305, by John mac Torna O'Mulchonaire. The writer of the present poem, Teigue O'Higgin, called Teigue "Dall," _i.e._ the Blind, on account of his blindness, is one of the best of all the tribal poets of Ireland. He was poet to the chiefs of Co. Sligo, but he came to an untimely end on account of a satire made by him on the O'Haras, who had ill-used him, some time before 1617. In the poem we give, he endeavours to arouse Brian to action, and calls on him to unite the clans against England, a challenge which O'Rourke did not fail to obey. It is a good sample of much bardic poetry of the period. * * * * * "Ode to the Maguire," by Eochadh O'Hosey or Hussey, the last bard of the Maguires, whose strongly fortified castle still frowns upon the waters of the Upper and Lower Lochs Erne, at Enniskillen, Co. Fermanagh. His young chief, Hugh Maguire, had marched into Munster in the depth of the winter of 1599-1600, with 2500 foot and 200 horse on a warlike foray; the bard, sitting at home in Fermanagh, bewails the hardships which he feels sure the chief and his followers are enduring in the open camps during the winter's weather. A fine copy of this poem is found in the O'Gara manuscript in the Royal Irish Academy, Dublin, of which Egerton III is a copy (and see O'Grady's _Catalogue_, p. 451). * * * * * "A Lament for the Princes of Tyrone and Tyrconnel," by the family bard, Red Owen Mac Ward, in the form of an address of comfort to O'Donnell's sister, Nuala, who is supposed to be weeping over her brother's grave in Rome, where he had taken refuge after his flight from Ireland. He lies buried, beside Hugh O'Neill, in the Church of San Pietro Montario, on the Janiculum. The bard imagines the clans of the North of Ireland gathering to bewail the dead and share Nuala's grief. Though Mangan's broken metre imparts a fervour and fire to the original, he adds nothing to its slow monotonous impressiveness. For original see Egerton III, Art. 48 (Brit. Mus.), and translation of extracts in O'Grady's _Catalogue_, pp. 371-3. Mangan's version has been often reprinted. * * * * * "Co. Mayo." There are many versions of this favourite song. That given here is said to have been composed by a bard named Thomas Flavell, a native of Bophin on the Western Seaboard. Hardiman gives the Irish of this song, i. p. 337; and also another version by David O'Murchadh, or Murphy, _ibid._, pp. 229-33. Flavell was a poor dependent on the fourth Earl of Mayo, and lived about the middle of the seventeenth century. For a different song of the same name, see Dr. Hyde's _Poems of Raftery_, p. 96. * * * * * "The Flower of Nut-brown Maids" is the oldest of the numerous songs written to the air "Uileacán Dubh O." This poem dates from the seventeenth century, and it is said to be an invitation addressed by one of the unfortunate landowners, driven out of Ulster during the plantation of James I, to his lady, to follow him to Leitrim. It seems to refer to a time of famine, and is, like many other love-songs, in the form of a colloquy. Original in Hardiman, i. p. 258. * * * * * "Roisín Dubh," from the original in O'Daly's _Poets and Poetry of Munster_, where two versions are given. It is the poem on which Mangan founded his "Dark Rosaleen." The poem is an address to Ireland, veiled as a woman. Hardiman gives some quatrains in vol. i. pp. 254-61. * * * * * "The Fair Hills of Éire" is one of several sets of words attached to the tender old air "Uileacán Dubh O," or "Oh, the heavy lamentation." One, rendered familiar in Dr. Samuel Ferguson's version, beginning, "A plenteous place is Ireland for hospitable cheer," is said to have been written by an Irish student in one of the colleges of France probably early in the seventeenth century, when most of the promising Irish youths went abroad for their education. The version here given in Dr. Sigerson's fine rendering was written by Donnchad Ruadh MacNamara about 1730. It has also been rendered into English by Mangan. For the original, see _Poems by Donnchadh Ruadh MacNamara_, edited by Tomás O'Flanngháile (1897). Dr. George Sigerson's poem will be found in his _Bards of the Gael and Gall_ (T. Fisher Unwin, 1897), p. 245. * * * * * "Love's Despair" (_ibid._, p. 339). This touching poem was written by a young farmer of Cork who, near the time of his marriage, had gone into the city to buy the wedding-dress for his betrothed. On his way back he heard that she had been married to another man. In despair he flung his presents into the fire. His reason gave way, and he roamed the country henceforth, ever singing the cruelty of Mary and his own misfortunes. His story was well known in Co. Waterford, where he lived a great part of his life. Original in _Gaelic Journal_, vol. iii., 1887, p. 22. The literal translation of the second stanza runs as follows:-- "No one knows my case, or how I may find life, But only the woman who has made me ill; My cure is not on sea or shore, nor in herb or skill of hand, My cure is only in the Flower of Youth. I know not hen from cuckoo, I know not heat from cold, At no time do I know my friends; I know not night from day,--but my heart would know its love, Should she come in time to save me." * * * * * "The Cruiskeen Lawn." Dr. Sigerson's version (_ibid._, p. 258), here reproduced, shows that this popular air, better known in connection with O'Keeffe's rollicking drinking song, was also used as a Jacobite political poem. The chorus and name of the air, _i.e._ "The little full jug," show that its true intent is bacchanalian. We find this chorus, like many others, attached to songs of different significance. Petrie, in his collection of _Ancient Irish Music_, p. 37, attaches it to a verse of a lullaby:-- "My love is upon the river, And he rocking from wave to wave; A tree without foliage over his head-- And what does my Love want a-straying there?" (see also _Gaelic Journal_, viii., 1898, p. 224). * * * * * "Eamonn an Chnuic" or "Ned of the Hill" is founded on the history of a famous outlaw named Edmund O'Ryan, born in Shanbohy, Co. Tipperary, late in the seventeenth century. His father possessed considerable property in his native county, but his wild career led to his outlawry. The piercing note of the words and of the air of the same name is typical of much of the poetry of the period. "Ned of the Hill" lies buried near Fáill an Chluig in the barony of Kilnemanagh, Co. Tipperary. Some versions give several other verses, of a different character. It is a love-song as given by Hardiman, "A chúil áluinn deas," i. p. 268, and by Mangan in his _Poets and Poetry of Munster_, p. 264. The literal translation here printed is from Mr. P. H. Pearse's contributions in the _Irish Review_, Dublin (November 1911), p. 437. Mr. Pearse says, "'Eamonn an Chnuic' is commonly looked upon as a love-song, but I feel sure that to its shaper and to those who first heard it, the figure of the outlaw, driven by rain-storm and bullet-storm and beating against the closed door, mystically symbolised the lonely cause of Ireland." * * * * * "O Druimin donn dileas," an early Jacobite song, sometimes supposed to apply to Prince James Charles Edward, but more probably to Ireland itself under the symbolic name of the "Beloved white-backed dun cow." Original in Hardiman, ii. p. 145. See also in Petrie's _Ancient Music of Ireland_, p. 116, a translation by O'Curry. * * * * * "Do you remember that night?" Original in Petrie's _Ancient Music of Ireland_, p. 142. He says it was written down for him by O'Curry. The account given by him of its origin does not seem to suit the words. * * * * * "The Exile's Song." Original in _Gaelic Journal_, vol. vi., No. 7, 1895, p. 108. Composed by an emigrant named M'Ambrois (Mac Cambridge), and taken down from James M'Auley of Glengariff and James M'Naughten of Cushendall. * * * * * "The Fisherman's Keen." From Crofton Croker's _The Keen in the South of Ireland_ (Percy Society, 1844), p. 77. It was communicated to Mr. Croker by Mr. Maurice O'Connell. A literal translation, taken down from the lips of Mrs. Harrington, a professional "keener" of Co. Cork, is given in the same author's _Researches in the South of Ireland_. Unfortunately the original Irish is not preserved by him, nor is the name of the lady given who, he tells us, wrote the poetical rendering. * * * * * "The Boatman's Hymn." Taken from Sir Samuel Ferguson's _Lays of the Western Gael_, 1888, pp. 162-3. Original in Hardiman, ii. p. 383. "Keen on Art O'Leary" by his wife. Original published in Mrs. Morgan J. O'Connell's _The Last Colonel of the Irish Brigade_ (Kegan Paul, 1892), vol. ii., Appendix A., and reprinted with some corrections in the _Gaelic Journal_ (vol. vii., Old Series, No. 74, May 1896), p. 18. Some corrections and additions are made in the following number (June 1896). Crofton Croker, in his _Keens of the South of Ireland_, tells us that he endeavoured to recover this dirge but without success. It is a true example of the spontaneous "keen," with its short broken lines, containing in quick, natural succession, appeals, reminiscences, laments; moving backwards and forwards as the irregular promptings of grief and affection dictate without form or premeditation. It is, however, lifted into the sphere of fine poetry by its exceeding simplicity, and by the passion of grief expressed in its lines. The circumstances in which the poem had its origin are particularly tragic. Art O'Leary had been an officer in the Hungarian service, but he returned to Ireland, where he had a considerable property in Co. Cork, and where his handsome person and distinguished manners made him very popular. He married, against the wish of her parents, Eileen of the Raven Locks, as she was called from her dark hair, a daughter of Daniel O'Connell of Derrynane, grandfather of "the Liberator." The popularity of Art O'Leary excited the jealousy of a neighbour, a Mr. Morris, whose horse had been beaten in a race by O'Leary's beautiful mare. Taking advantage of the Penal Laws, which did not permit a Catholic to possess a horse valued at more than £5, he demanded the mare from Capt. O'Leary for this sum. O'Leary refused, saying that he "would surrender his mare only with his life." A local magistrate immediately proclaimed him an outlaw; soldiers were sent to lie in wait for him as he was returning home at night, and he was shot through the heart near Carrig-a-nimmy, in May 1773. His wife was informed of her husband's death by the return of the mare without its rider. It was many years before his body was even allowed to be buried in consecrated ground. Morris was tried for the murder, but acquitted; he was soon after shot in his house by Arthur's brother. Art O'Leary's grave is to be seen in the nave of Kilcrea Abbey, Co. Cork; the inscription states that he was only twenty-six years of age when he died. * * * * * "Prologue to 'The Midnight Court'" (_Cuirt an Mheadhon Oidhche_), by Bryan Merryman. The long satire of which we give the Prologue has been published by Mr. Richard Foley (Riscard O Foghludha) (Hodges, Figgis & Co.). * * * * * "Hymn to the Virgin Mary." Original in _The Poems of Egan O'Rahilly_ (1st ed., Irish Texts Society, vol. iii., 1900), p. 290. The author, Conchubhar or Conor O'Riordan was a native of Co. Cork, where he taught the classics and other subjects to the youths of his district. He wrote, about the same time as Gray, a "Meditation in a Country Churchyard," to which this very beautiful address to the Virgin forms the Epilogue or "Binding" (_ceangal_ as it is called in Irish). The whole poem is included in the appendix to Rev. P. S. Dinneen's edition of O'Rahilly's poems. * * * * * "Christmas Hymn." Original in Dr. Douglas Hyde's _Religious Songs of Connacht_ (T. Fisher Unwin, 1906), vol. ii. pp. 224-6; from an old North of Ireland manuscript. * * * * * "O Mary of Graces." _Ibid._, p. 161. Taken down by Miss Agnes O'Farrelly from a lad in the Aran Islands, Co. Galway. * * * * * "The Cattle-shed." Original in _Timthirid Chroidhe neamhtha Iosa_ or _The Messenger_ (published by Gill & Son, Dublin), p. 90. The following nine poems and fragments are from the same publication, vol. i., Parts 1-4. * * * * * "The White Paternoster." _Ibid._, p. 58. The two versions of this favourite charm here given, of which the second is translated from the original in a Kerry journal, _An Lochran_ (October 1900), should be compared with the copies printed by Dr. D. Hyde in his _Religious Songs_, vol. i. pp. 362-70. "A Night Prayer." This fragment and the eleven succeeding prayers were taken down in Irish among the Decies of Co. Waterford by Rev. M. Sheenan, D.Ph., and have been published by him in his _Cnó Cóilleadh Craobhaighe_ (Gill & Son, Dublin, 1907). * * * * * "The Man who Stands Stiff." From Dr. D. Hyde's _Religious Songs of Connacht_, vol. i. p. 101, taken down from the mouth of Martin Rua O'Gillarna (in English, Red Martin Forde) of Lisaniska, Co. Galway. He spoke no English. This poem is a sample of much of the popular religious poetry dealing with the approach of death and the danger of continuing in evil courses. * * * * * "Charm for a Sprain." This and the succeeding charms are taken from Lady Wilde's _Legends, Charms, and Cures of Ireland_ (Chatto & Windus). It is unfortunate that Lady Wilde does not give either her originals or her authorities. * * * * * "Before the sun rose at yesterdawn." Original in Walsh's _Irish Popular Songs_, 2nd ed. (Gill & Son, Dublin), p. 146. Edward Walsh, who translated into English verse a great number of Irish popular songs, lived between the years 1805-50. * * * * * "The Blackthorn." One of those favourite old songs of which there are many versions, and verses in one that are not in another. Like many another Irish song, it seems to be a colloquy between a maid and her lover, and it is often difficult to tell if it is the lad or the girl who is speaking. My version is the one printed in Miss Borthwick's _Ceól Sidhe_, ii. p. 18 (an excellent collection of old Irish songs), with two verses added from the version in Dr. D. Hyde's _Love-Songs of Connacht_ (T. Fisher Unwin, 1893), p. 30. The poem is sad and troubled. Dr. Hyde says, "There was an old woman in it, long ago, who used to sing it to me, and she never came to the verse-- 'Although the rowen-berry tree is high, &c.,' that she used not to shed tears from her eye." We can well believe it. Hardiman (i. p. 234) has published a different version, and Miss Brooke another in her _Reliques_ (1816), p. 306. * * * * * "Pastheen Finn," or "Fair little Child." Original in Hardiman's _Irish Minstrelsy_, i. p. 217. Dr. Hyde gives a quite different version in his _Love-Songs_, p. 65. We find the _curfa_ or chorus attached to different songs. Sir Samuel Ferguson's version will be found in his _Lays of the Western Gael_ (Sealy, Bryers, Dublin, 1888), p. 152. Hardiman considers that it is an address to the son of James II, under a secret name. * * * * * "She." Original in Miss Brooke's _Reliques of Irish Poetry_, p. 232. * * * * * "Hopeless Love." Given as an example of an old Irish metre called _Dibide baise fri toin_, but this poem was not actually written in this metre. * * * * * "Would God I were." Original in Hardiman, i. p. 344. Mrs. Hinkson's setting of the Irish words will be found in her _Irish Love-Songs_ (T. Fisher Unwin, Cameo Series, 1892). * * * * * "Branch of the sweet and early rose." William Drennan, M.D. (_b._ 1754), died in Belfast in 1820. * * * * * "'Tis a Pity." Original in _Cláirseach na n-Gaedhil_, Part ii., 1902 (Gaelic League Publications). _Ceól-sídhe_ (p. 92) gives a different version. There are several other verses. * * * * * "The Yellow Bittern" (_An bunán buidhe_). Original in _Cláirseach na n-Gaedhil_, Part v., and _Ceól-sídhe_, p. 12. This translation appeared in the _Irish Review_, Dublin, November 1911. * * * * * "Have you been at Carrack?" Original in Mangan's _Poets and Poetry of Munster_ (J. Duffy), p. 344. Walsh thinks it is a song from the South of Ireland. * * * * * "Cashel of Munster." There are various versions of this popular song, set to its air "Clár bog déil." One used by Walsh was, he tells us, given to him by a lady of Co. Clare. Ferguson's version is taken from Hardiman, i. p. 238. * * * * * "The Snowy-breasted Pearl." Original in Petrie's _Ancient Music of Ireland_, p. 11. Petrie was born in Dublin in 1789 and died in 1866. * * * * * "The Dark Maid of the Valley" (_Bean dubh an Gleanna_). There are two versions and airs of this name. The original of Mr. P. J. McCall's poem is to be found in Miss Brooke's _Reliques_, p. 319. His own rendering was published in his _Irish Nóinins_ (Sealy, Bryers & Walker, 1894), p. 59. * * * * * "The Coolun." Original in Hardiman, i. p. 250. Two other versions will be found in Dr. Hyde's _Love-Songs of Connacht_ (1893), pp. 71-3. One of these beginning, "A honey mist on a day of frost, in a dark oak wood" is very tender and sweet. Its air is among the most beautiful that Ireland has produced. The "Coolun" was a lock of hair which, having been forbidden by statute, it became a mark of national sentiment to adopt. It was usually worn by youths, but in these poems the address is to a woman. * * * * * "Ceann dubh dileas," or the "Beloved Dark Head." Original in Hardiman, i. p. 262. Dr. Hyde gives an additional verse in his _Love-Songs_. Burns claimed the air for Scotland, and Corri published it under the name of "Oran Gaoil," but it is undoubtedly Irish. * * * * * "Ringleted Youth of my Love." From Dr. Hyde's _Love-Songs of Connacht_ (T. Fisher Unwin, 1893), p. 40. * * * * * "I shall not die for you." Original, _ibid._. p. 138. * * * * * "Donall Oge." This pathetic song and the one following it, "The Grief of a Girl's Heart," seem to be portions of one long song, to the original nucleus of which quatrains have been added from time to time. Six stanzas were published by Dr. Hyde in his _Love-Songs_ (pp. 4-6) under the title, "If I were to go West"; it would seem that his "Breed Astore" (p. 76) may also be a portion of the same poem. Mr. P. H. Pearse, who published several other stanzas under the title of "Donall Oge," or "Young Donall," in the _Irish Review_ of August 1911, tells us that he wrote it down from the words of Denis Dorgan of Carrignavar, Co. Cork. The Irish will be found printed in his and Mr. Tadhg O'Donoghue's _An t-Aithriseóir_ (Gaelic League, 1902), p. 7. In all these versions there are some stanzas alike and some different to the others. We have printed nearly the whole of them here under the two titles of "Donall Oge" and "The Grief of a Girl's Heart." Both are full of the most heartrending expression of loss and loneliness. Lady Gregory, in her _Poets and Dreamers_, published a literal translation of the latter poem. * * * * * "Death the Comrade." Original in Dr. Hyde's _Religious Songs_, ii. pp. 288-90. * * * * * "Muirneen of the Fair Hair." Original in Dr. Hyde's _Love-Songs_, pp. 10-12. _Cf._ another Munster version on p. 16, and one given by Hardiman, i. p. 354. * * * * * "The Red Man's Wife." A popular theme on which there are many variations. We give two, the originals of both being taken from Dr. Hyde's _Love-Songs_, pp. 92 and 94. The first is a Galway version, the second from Co. Meath. The latter was first printed in the _Oban Times_. Yet another version is given in Dr. Hyde's edition of _Raftery's Poems_, p. 210. * * * * * "My Grief on the Sea." Original in Dr. Hyde's _Love-Songs_. It was taken down by him from an old woman named Biddy Cusruaidh or Crummy, living in the midst of a bog in Co. Roscommon. * * * * * "Oró Mhór, a Mhóirín." Original in Petrie's _Ancient Music of Ireland_, p. 120. It was obtained by him from Teigue MacMahon, a peasant of Co. Clare. Mr. P. J. McCall's poem was printed in his _Pulse of the Bards_ (Gill & Son, 1904), p. 50. * * * * * "The Little Yellow Road." Original taken down by Prof. John MacNeill in Co. Mayo in July 1894, and printed by him in the _Gaelic Journal_ for that year (vol. v., No. 6), p. 91. There are several versions of _An Bóithrín buidhe_; see for another, Petrie's _Ancient Music_, p. 24. Mr. Campbell's translation, kindly contributed to this collection, has not been published before. * * * * * "Reproach to the Pipe" (_Másladh an Phíopa_). The original, taken down in Galway, will be found in the _Gaelic Journal_ (vol. vi., No. 5), p. 73. * * * * * "Modereen Rue." Mrs. Tynan-Hinkson's poem is not a direct translation, but a spirited free version of the favourite Gaelic song of this name; it was published in _The Wind in the Trees_ (Grant Richards, 1898), p. 98. * * * * * "The Stars Stand Up" (_Táid na realta 'n-a seasadh ar an aer_). Original in _Ceól-sídhe_, Part iv., p. 50, among other places. I have altered the last four lines. * * * * * "The Love Smart." Original in Dr. Hyde's _Love-Songs_, p. 22. * * * * * "Well for Thee." Original, _ibid._, p. 130. * * * * * "I am Raftery the Poet." From Dr. Hyde's edition of _Raftery's Poems_ (H. M. Gill & Son, Dublin, 1903), p. 40. * * * * * "Dust hath closed Helen's eye." Original, _ibid._, p. 330. Mr. W. B. Yeats has slightly worked over Lady Gregory's rendering. Mary Hynes, who "died of fever before the famine," has left a tradition of beauty behind her in her own country. "She was the finest thing that was ever shaped," said an old fiddler who remembered her well. Baoile laoi (Ballylee) is a little village of some half-dozen houses in the barony of Kiltartan. Lady Gregory's beautiful rendering was published in an article by Mr. W. B. Yeats in _The Dome_, New Series, vol. iv. p. 161. "The Shining Posy" or "Mary Stanton," _ibid._, p. 320. We must remember that poor Raftery, who praises so warmly the beauty of women, saw them only with the eyes of his imagination, for he was blind. His verses seem to have been impromptu compositions. The classical allusions are very characteristic of the wandering bards, who liked to show off their acquaintance with the heroes of bygone ages. * * * * * "Love is a Mortal Disease" (_Is claoidhte an galar an grádh_). Original in _Smoílín na Rann_, a collection of Connaught songs made by Mr. Fionan McCollum, "Finghin na Leamhna" (Gaelic League, 1908). * * * * * "I am watching my young calves sucking." This and the two following poems, "The Narrow Road" and "Forsaken," are translated from Dr. Douglas Hyde's little collection of original Irish songs called _Ubhla de'n Chraoibh_, or _Apples of the Bough_ (Gill & Son, Dublin). * * * * * "I Follow a Star." Translated by Seosamh mac Cathmhaoil (James Campbell) from his own Irish poem, and published by him in _The Gilly of Christ_ (Maunsell & Co., Dublin). * * * * * "Nurse's Song." Published by Mr. Alfred M. Williams in his _The Poets and Poetry of Ireland_ (Houghton, Mifflin and Co., Boston and New York). The song is traditional, and its author is unknown. * * * * * "A Sleep Song." Original in _Gaelic Journal_, May 1911, p. 141. The song was partly taken down from Mr. McAuley Lynch in West Cork, and partly recollected from childhood by Mr. P. H. Pearse, the translator. * * * * * "The Cradle of Gold." From Mr. Alfred P. Graves' _Irish Poems_, ii. p. 117 (Maunsel & Co.). Original in Petrie's _Ancient Music of Ireland_, p. 146. "Rural Song." Original in Petrie's _Ancient Music of Ireland_, p. 43. Joyce's _Irish Music_ gives some extra stanzas. * * * * * "Ploughing Song." Original, _ibid._, p. 30. * * * * * "A Spinning-wheel Ditty." _Ibid._, p. 85. THE END Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. at Paul's Work, Edinburgh [Illustration: Decoration] Transcriber's notes: Inconsistent use of accents across text, titles and poems in the original has been retained. 
19959	----	Transcribed from the 1902 T. Fisher Unwin edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org THE MABINOGION TRANSLATED FROM THE RED BOOK OF HERGEST BY LADY CHARLOTTE GUEST VOL. I. LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN 11 PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS. MXCII INTRODUCTION. More than half a century ago Lady Charlotte Guest gave _The Mabinogion_ to English readers in the form which, probably, will ever most delight them. Her transcript of the Red Book of Hergest was not perfect, she found the meaning of many a Welsh phrase obscure, but her rendering is generally very accurate; and the Celtic tales retain in their new dress much of the charm, which so often evades the translator, of a perfect style formed by generations of narrating. The Red Book of Hergest, from which _The Mabinogion_ are taken, is a collection of tales and poems written during the fourteenth century. Some of the Mabinogion in it have been reconstructed in Norman and Crusading times, but they contain reminiscences of a more distant period, often but half understood by the later story-teller. Among these are "The Dream of Rhonabwy," "The Lady of the Fountain," and "Peredur the son of Evrawc"--the three which happen to come first in the Red Book. These are Christian, but with distant glimpses of Celtic heathenism. The adventures are all grouped around Arthur and his knights; and a kind of connection is given to the three tales by the presence of Owen and his mysterious ravens. Others, especially the four Mabinogion properly so called and the Tale of Lludd and Llevelys, are far older; they are older than Christianity, and older than Arthur. In this new edition of Lady Guest's translation I have put, in the form of footnotes, what appears to me to be a more correct or a more literal rendering of some of the passages of the Welsh. This course makes it unnecessary to tamper with the charming translation that has become a classic of the English language. I am very grateful to the Principal and Fellows of Jesus College for access to the Red Book, to Dr J. Gwenogvryn Evans for permission to use his edition and to Lord Wimborne (the Ivor of Lady Guest's dedication) for information kindly given. OWEN EDWARDS. LINCOLN COLLEGE, OXFORD, 1_st_ _March_ 1902. TO IVOR AND MERTHYR MY DEAR CHILDREN, Infants as you yet are, I feel that I cannot dedicate more fitly than to you these venerable relics of ancient lore, and I do so in the hope of inciting you to cultivate the Literature of "Gwyllt Walia," in whose beautiful language you are being initiated, and amongst whose free mountains you were born. May you become early imbued with the chivalric and exalted sense of honour, and the fervent patriotism for which its sons have ever been celebrated. May you learn to emulate the noble qualities of Ivor Hael, and the firm attachment to your Native Country, which distinguished that Ivor Bach, after whom the elder of you was named. I am, Your affectionate Mother, C. E. GUEST. DOWLAIS, 29_th_ _August_ 1838. THE LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN. King Arthur {15} was at Caerlleon upon Usk; and one day he sat in his chamber; and with him were Owain the son of Urien, and Kynon the son of Clydno, and Kai the son of Kyner; and Gwenhwyvar and her hand-maidens at needlework by the window. And if it should be said that there was a porter at Arthur's palace, there was none. Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr was there, acting as porter, to welcome guests and strangers, and to receive them with honour, and to inform them of the manners and customs of the Court; and to direct those who came to the Hall or to the presence chamber, and those who came to take up their lodging. {16} In the centre of the chamber king Arthur sat, upon a seat of green rushes, over which was spread a covering of flame-coloured satin; and a cushion of red satin was under his elbow. Then Arthur spoke, "If I thought you would not disparage me," said he, "I would sleep while I wait for my repast; and you can entertain one another with relating tales, and can obtain a flagon of mead and some meat from Kai." And the King went to sleep. And Kynon the son of Clydno asked Kai for that which Arthur had promised them. "I too will have the good tale which he promised to me," said Kai. "Nay," answered Kynon, "fairer will it be for thee to fulfil Arthur's behest in the first place, and then we will tell thee the best tale that we know." So Kai went to the kitchen and to the mead-cellar, and returned, bearing a flagon of mead, and a golden goblet, and a handful of skewers upon which were broiled collops of meat. Then they ate the collops and began to drink the mead. "Now" said Kai, "it is time for you to give me my story." "Kynon," said Owain, "do thou pay to Kai the tale that is his due." "Truly," said Kynon, "thou art older, and are a better teller of tales, and hast seen more marvellous things than I; do thou therefore pay Kai his tale." "Begin thyself," quoth Owain, "with the best that thou knowest." "I will do so," answered Kynon. "I was the only son of my mother and father; and I was exceedingly aspiring, and my daring was very great. I thought there was no enterprise in the world too mighty for me, and after I had achieved all the adventures that were in my own country, {17a} I equipped myself, and set forth to journey through deserts, and distant regions. And at length it chanced that I came to the fairest valley in the world, wherein were trees of equal growth; and a river ran through the valley, and a path was by the side of the river. And I followed the path until mid-day, and continued my journey along the remainder of the valley until the evening; and at the extremity of a plain I came to a large and lustrous Castle, at the foot of which was a torrent. And I approached the Castle, and there I beheld two youths, with yellow curling hair, each with a frontlet of gold upon his head, and clad in a garment of yellow satin; and they had gold clasps upon their insteps. In the hand of each of them was an ivory bow, strung with the sinews of the stag; and their arrows had their shafts of the bone of the whale, and were winged with peacock's feathers. The shafts also had golden heads. And they had daggers with blades of gold, and with hilts of the bone of the whale. And they were shooting their daggers. "And a little way from them, I saw a man {17b} in the prime of life, with his beard newly shorn, clad in a robe and a mantle of yellow satin; and round the top of his mantle was a band of gold lace. On his feet were shoes of variegated leather, fastened by two bosses of gold. When I saw him, I went towards him and saluted him; and such was his courtesy, that he no sooner received my greeting than he returned it. {18a} And he went with me towards the Castle. Now there were no dwellers in the Castle, except those who were in one hall. And there I saw four and twenty damsels, embroidering satin, at a window. And this I tell thee, Kai, that {18b} the least fair of them was fairer than the fairest maid thou didst ever behold, in the Island of Britain; and the least lovely of them was more lovely than Gwenhwyvar, the wife of Arthur, when she appeared loveliest at the Offering, on the day of the Nativity, or at the feast of Easter. {18c} They rose up at my coming, and six of them took my horse, and divested me of my armour; and six others took my arms, and washed them in a vessel, until they were perfectly bright. And the third six spread cloths upon the tables, and prepared meat. And the fourth six took off my soiled garments, and placed others upon me; namely, an under vest and a doublet of fine linen, and a robe, and a surcoat, and a mantle of yellow satin, and a broad gold band upon the mantle. And they placed cushions both beneath and around me, with coverings of red linen. And I sat down. Now the six maidens who had taken my horse, unharnessed him, as well as if they had been the best Squires in the Island of Britain. Then, behold, they brought bowls of silver wherein was water to wash; and towels of linen, some green and some white; and I washed. And in a little while the man sat down to the table. {19a} And I sat next to him, and below me sat all the maidens, except those who waited on us. And the table was of silver; and the cloths upon the table were of linen. And no vessel was served upon the table that was not either of gold, or of silver, or of buffalo horn. And our meat was brought to us. And verily, Kai, I saw there every sort of meat, and every sort of liquor, that I ever saw elsewhere; but the meat and the liquors were better served there, than I ever saw them in any other place. "Until the repast was half over, neither the man nor any one of the damsels spoke a single word to me; but when the man perceived that it would be more agreeable to me to converse than to eat any more, he began to enquire of me who I was. I said I was glad to find that there was some one who would discourse with me, and that it was not considered so great a crime at that Court, for people to hold converse together. 'Chieftain,' said the man, 'we would have talked to thee sooner, but we feared to disturb thee during thy repast. Now, however, we will discourse.' Then I told the man who I was, and what was the cause of my journey. And said that I was seeking whether any one was superior to me, or whether I could gain the mastery over all. The man looked upon me, and he smiled, and said, 'If I did not fear to distress thee too much, {19b} I would shew thee that which thou seekest.' Upon this I became anxious and sorrowful; and when the man perceived it, he said, 'If thou wouldst rather that I should shew thee thy disadvantage, than thine advantage, I will do so. Sleep here to-night, and in the morning, arise early, and take the road upwards through the valley, until thou reachest the wood, through which thou camest hither. A little way within the wood, thou wilt meet with a road, branching off to the right; by which thou must proceed, until thou comest to a large sheltered glade, with a mound in the centre. And thou wilt see a black man of great stature, on the top of the mound; he is not smaller in size than two of the men of this world. He has but one foot, and one eye, in the middle of his forehead. And he has a club of iron, and it is certain that there are no two men in the world, who would not find their burden in that club. And he is not a comely man, but on the contrary he is exceedingly ill favoured; and he is the woodward of that wood. And thou wilt see a thousand wild animals, grazing around him. Enquire of him the way out of the glade, and he will reply to thee briefly, {20} and will point out the road, by which thou shalt find that which thou art in quest of.' "And long seemed the night to me. And the next morning I arose, and equipped myself, and mounted my horse, and proceeded straight through the valley, to the wood, and I followed the crossroad which the man had pointed out to me, till at length I arrived at the glade. And there was I three times more astonished at the number of wild animals that I beheld, than the man had said I should be. And the black man was there, sitting upon the top of the mound. Huge of stature as the man had told me that he was, I found him to exceed by far the description he had given me of him. As for the iron club, which the man had told me was a burden for two men, I am certain, Kai, that it would be a heavy weight for four warriors to lift. And this was in the black man's hand. And he only spoke to me in answer to my questions. {21a} Then I asked him what power he held over those animals. 'I will shew thee, little man,' said he. And he took his club in his hand, and with it he struck a stag a great blow, so that he brayed vehemently, and at his braying, the animals came together, as numerous as the stars in the sky, so that it was difficult for me to find room in the glade, to stand among them. There were serpents, and dragons, and divers sorts of animals. And he looked at them, and bade them go and feed. And they bowed their heads, and did him homage, as vassals to their lord. "Then the black man said to me, 'Seest thou now, little man, what power I hold over these animals?' Then I enquired of him the way; and he became very rough in his manner to me; however he asked me whither I would go. And when I had told him who I was, and what I sought, he directed me. 'Take,' said he, 'that path that leads towards the head of the glade, and ascend the wooded steep, until thou comest to its summit; and there thou wilt find an open space, like to a large valley, and in the midst of it a tall tree, whose branches are greener than the greenest pine trees. Under this tree is a fountain, and by the side of the fountain, a marble slab, and on the marble slab a silver bowl, attached by a chain of silver, so that it may not be carried away. {21b} Take the bowl, and throw a bowlful of water upon the slab, and thou wilt hear a mighty peal of thunder; so that thou wilt think that heaven and earth are trembling with its fury. With the thunder there will come a shower so severe, that it will be scarcely possible for thee to endure it and live. And the shower will be of hailstones. And after the shower, the weather will become fair; but every leaf that was upon the tree will have been carried away by the shower. Then a flight of birds will come and alight upon the tree; and in thine own country thou didst never hear a strain so sweet, as that which they will sing. And at the moment thou art most delighted with the song of the birds, thou wilt hear a murmuring and complaining coming towards thee along the valley. And thou wilt see a knight upon a coal black horse, clothed in black velvet, and with a pennon of black linen upon his lance, and he will ride unto thee to encounter thee, with the utmost speed. If thou fleest from him he will overtake thee, and if thou abidest there, as sure as thou art a mounted knight, he will leave thee on foot. And if thou dost not find trouble in that adventure, thou needst not seek it during the rest of thy life.' "So I journeyed on, until I reached the summit of the steep. And there I found every thing, as the black man had described it to me. And I went up to the tree, and beneath it I saw the fountain, and by its side the marble slab; and the silver bowl, fastened by the chain. Then I took the bowl, and cast a bowlful of water upon the slab; and thereupon behold the thunder came, much more violent than the black man had led me to expect; and after the thunder came the shower; and of a truth I tell thee, Kai, that there is neither man nor beast that could endure that shower and live. For not one of those hailstones would be stopped either by the flesh, or by the skin, until it had reached the bone. I turned my horse's flanks towards the shower, and placed the beak of my shield over his head and neck, while I held the upper part of it over my own head. And thus I withstood the shower. When I looked on the tree, there was not a single leaf upon it, and then the sky became clear; and with that, behold the birds lighted upon the tree, and sang. And truly, Kai, I never heard any melody equal to that, either before or since. And when I was most charmed with listening to the birds, lo, a murmuring voice was heard through the valley, approaching me, and saying, 'Oh, Knight, what has brought thee hither? What evil have I done to thee, that thou shouldest act towards me and my possessions, as thou hast this day? Dost thou not know that the shower to-day has left in my dominions neither man nor beast alive, that was exposed to it?' And thereupon, behold a Knight on a black horse appeared, clothed in jet black velvet, and with a tabard of black linen about him. And we charged each other; and as the onset was furious, it was not long before I was overthrown. Then the Knight passed the shaft of his lance through the bridle rein of my horse, and rode off with the two horses; leaving me where I was. And he did not even bestow so much notice upon me, as to imprison me, nor did he despoil me of my arms. So I returned along the road by which I had come. And when I reached the glade where the black man was, I confess to thee, Kai, it is a marvel that I did not melt down into a liquid pool, through the shame that I felt at the black man's derision. And that night I came to the same Castle, where I had spent the night preceding. And I was more agreeably entertained that night, than I had been the night before; and I was better feasted, and I conversed freely with the inmates of the Castle; and none of them alluded to my expedition to the fountain, neither did I mention it to any. And I remained there that night. When I arose on the morrow, I found ready saddled a dark-bay palfrey, with nostrils as red as scarlet. And after putting on my armour, and leaving there my blessing, I returned to my own Court. And that horse I still possess, and he is in the stable yonder. And I declare that I would not part with him for the best palfrey in the Island of Britain. "Now of a truth, Kai, no man ever before confessed to an adventure so much to his own discredit; and verily it seems strange to me, that neither before nor since have I heard of any person, besides myself, who knew of this adventure, and that the subject of it should exist within King Arthur's dominions, without any other person lighting upon it." "Now," quoth Owain, "would it not be well to go and endeavour to discover that place?" "By the hand of my friend," said Kai, "often dost thou utter that with thy tongue, which thou wouldest not make good with thy deeds." "In very truth," said Gwenhwyvar, "it were better thou wert hanged, Kai, than to use such uncourteous speech towards a man like Owain." "By the hand of my friend, good Lady," said Kai, "thy praise of Owain is not greater than mine." With that Arthur awoke, and asked if he had not been sleeping a little. "Yes, Lord," answered Owain, "thou hast slept awhile." "Is it time for us to go to meat?" "It is, Lord," said Owain. Then the horn for washing was sounded, and the King and all his household sat down to eat. And when the meal was ended, Owain withdrew to his lodging, and made ready his horse and his arms. On the morrow, with the dawn of day, he put on his armour, and mounted his charger, and travelled through distant lands, and over desert mountains. And at length he arrived at the valley which Kynon had described to him; and he was certain that it was the same that he sought. And journeying along the valley, by the side of the river, he followed its course till he came to the plain, and within sight of the Castle. When he approached the Castle, he saw the youths shooting their daggers, in the place where Kynon had seen them; and the yellow man, to whom the Castle belonged, standing hard by. And no sooner had Owain saluted the yellow man, than he was saluted by him in return. And he went forward towards the Castle, and there he saw the chamber; and when he had entered the chamber, he beheld the maidens working at satin embroidery, in chairs of gold. And their beauty, and their comeliness seemed to Owain far greater than Kynon had represented to him. And they arose to wait upon Owain, as they had done to Kynon. And the meal which they set before him, gave more satisfaction to Owain than it had done to Kynon. About the middle of the repast the yellow man asked Owain the object of his journey. And Owain made it known to him, and said, "I am in quest of the Knight who guards the fountain." Upon this, the yellow man smiled, and said that he was as loth to point out that adventure to Owain as he had been to Kynon. However he described the whole to Owain, and they retired to rest. The next morning Owain found his horse made ready for him by the damsels, and he set forward and came to the glade where the black man was. And the stature of the black man seemed more wonderful to Owain, than it had done to Kynon, and Owain asked of him his road, and he showed it to him. And Owain followed the road, as Kynon had done, till he came to the green tree; and he beheld the fountain, and the slab beside the fountain with the bowl upon it. And Owain took the bowl, and threw a bowlful of water upon the slab. And lo, the thunder was heard, and after the thunder came the shower, much more violent than Kynon had described, and after the shower, the sky became bright. And when Owain looked at the tree, there was not one leaf upon it. And immediately the birds came, and settled upon the tree, and sang. And when their song was most pleasing to Owain, he beheld a Knight coming towards him through the valley, and he prepared to receive him; and encountered him violently. Having broken both their lances, they drew their swords, and fought blade to blade. Then Owain struck the Knight a blow through his helmet, head piece and visor, and through the skin, and the flesh, and the bone, until it wounded the very brain. Then the black Knight felt that he had received a mortal wound, upon which he turned his horse's head, and fled. And Owain pursued him, and followed close upon him, although he was not near enough to strike him with his sword. Thereupon Owain descried a vast and resplendent Castle. And they came to the Castle gate. And the black Knight was allowed to enter, and the portcullis was let fall upon Owain; and it struck his horse behind the saddle, and cut him in two, and carried away the rowels of the spurs that were upon Owain's heels. And the portcullis descended to the floor. And the rowels of the spurs and part of the horse were without, and Owain, with the other part of the horse remained between the two gates, and the inner gate was closed, so that Owain could not go thence; and Owain was in a perplexing situation. And while he was in this state, he could see through an aperture in the gate, a street facing him, with a row of houses on each side. And he beheld a maiden, with yellow curling hair, and a frontlet of gold upon her head; and she was clad in a dress of yellow satin, and on her feet were shoes of variegated leather. And she approached the gate, and desired that it should be opened. "Heaven knows, Lady," said Owain, "it is no more possible for me to open to thee from hence, than it is for thee to set me free." "Truly," said the damsel, "it is very sad that thou canst not be released, and every woman ought to succour thee, for I never saw one more faithful in the service of ladies than thou. As a friend thou art the most sincere, and as a lover the most devoted. Therefore," quoth she, "whatever is in my power to do for thy release, I will do it. Take this ring and put it on thy finger, with the stone inside thy hand; and close thy hand upon the stone. And as long as thou concealest it, it will conceal thee. When they have consulted together, they will come forth to fetch thee, in order to put thee to death; {27} and they will be much grieved that they cannot find thee. And I will await thee on the horseblock yonder; and thou wilt be able to see me, though I cannot see thee; therefore come and place thy hand upon my shoulder, that I may know that thou art near me. And by the way that I go hence, do thou accompany me." Then she went away from Owain, and he did all that the maiden had told him. And the people of the Castle came to seek Owain, to put him to death, and when they found nothing but the half of his horse, they were sorely grieved. And Owain vanished from among them, and went to the maiden, and placed his hand upon her shoulder, whereupon she set off, and Owain followed her, until they came to the door of a large and beautiful chamber, and the maiden opened it, and they went in, and closed the door. And Owain looked around the chamber, and behold there was not even a single nail in it, that was not painted with gorgeous colours; and there was not a single panel, that had not sundry images {28} in gold portrayed upon it. The maiden kindled a fire, and took water in a silver bowl, and put a towel of white linen on her shoulder, and gave Owain water to wash. Then she placed before him a silver table, inlaid with gold; upon which was a cloth of yellow linen; and she brought him food. And of a truth, Owain never saw any kind of meat that was not there in abundance, but it was better cooked there, than he ever found it in any other place. Nor did he ever see so excellent a display of meat and drink as there. And there was not one vessel from which he was served, that was not of gold, or of silver. And Owain ate and drank, until late in the afternoon, when lo, they heard a mighty clamour in the Castle; and Owain asked the maiden what that outcry was. "They are administering extreme unction," said she, "to the Nobleman who owns the Castle." And Owain went to sleep. The couch which the maiden had prepared for him was meet for Arthur himself; it was of scarlet, and fur, and satin, and sendall, and fine linen. In the middle of the night they heard a woeful outcry. "What outcry again is this?" said Owain. "The Nobleman who owned the Castle is now dead," said the maiden. And a little after daybreak, they heard an exceeding loud clamour and wailing. And Owain asked the maiden what was the cause of it. "They are bearing to the church, the body of the Nobleman who owned the Castle." And Owain rose up, and clothed himself, and opened a window of the chamber, and looked towards the Castle; and he could see neither the bounds, nor the extent of the hosts that filled the streets. And they were fully armed; and a vast number of women were with them, both on horseback, and on foot; and all the ecclesiastics in the city, singing. And it seemed to Owain that the sky resounded with the vehemence of their cries, and with the noise of the trumpets, and with the singing of the ecclesiastics. {29a} In the midst of the throng, he beheld the bier, over which was a veil of white linen; and wax tapers were burning beside, and around it, and none that supported the bier was lower in rank than a powerful {29b} Baron. Never did Owain see an assemblage so gorgeous with satin, and silk, and sendall. And following the train, he beheld a lady with yellow hair falling over her shoulders, and stained with blood; and about her a dress of yellow satin, which was torn. Upon her feet were shoes of variegated leather. And it was a marvel that the ends of her fingers were not bruised, from the violence with which she smote her hands together. Truly she would have been the fairest lady Owain ever saw, had she been in her usual guise. And her cry was louder than the shout of the men, or the clamour of the trumpets. {30} No sooner had he beheld the lady, than he became inflamed with her love, so that it took entire possession of him. Then he enquired of the maiden who the lady was. "Heaven knows," replied the maiden, "she may be said to be the fairest, and the most chaste, and the most liberal, and the wisest, and the most noble of women. And she is my mistress; and she is called the Countess of the Fountain, the wife of him whom thou didst slay yesterday." "Verily," said Owain, "she is the woman that I love best." "Verily," said the maiden, "she shall also love thee not a little." And with that the maid arose, and kindled a fire, and filled a pot with water, and placed it to warm; and she brought a towel of white linen, and placed it around Owain's neck; and she took a goblet of ivory, and a silver basin, and filled them with warm water, wherewith she washed Owain's head. Then she opened a wooden casket, and drew forth a razor, whose haft was of ivory, and upon which were two rivets of gold. And she shaved his beard, and she dried his head, and his throat, with the towel. Then she rose up from before Owain, and brought him to eat. And truly Owain had never so good a meal, nor was he ever so well served. When he had finished his repast, the maiden arranged his couch. "Come here," said she, "and sleep, and I will go and woo for thee." And Owain went to sleep, and the maiden shut the door of the chamber after her, and went towards the Castle. When she came there, she found nothing but mourning, and sorrow; and the Countess in her chamber could not bear the sight of any one through grief. Luned came and saluted her, but the Countess answered her not. And the maiden bent down towards her, and said, "What aileth thee, that thou answerest no one to-day?" "Luned," said the Countess, "what change hath befallen thee, that thou hast not come to visit me in my grief? It was wrong in thee, and I having made thee rich; it was wrong in thee that thou didst not come to see me in my distress. That was wrong in thee." "Truly," said Luned, "I thought thy good sense was greater than I find it to be. Is it well for thee to mourn after that good man, or for anything else, that thou canst not have?" "I declare to heaven," said the Countess, "that in the whole world there is not a man equal to him." "Not so," said Luned, "for an ugly man would be as good as, or better than he." {31} "I declare to heaven," said the Countess, "that were it not repugnant to me to cause to be put to death one whom I have brought up, I would have thee executed, for making such a comparison to me. As it is, I will banish thee." "I am glad," said Luned, "that thou hast no other cause to do so, than that I would have been of service to thee when thou didst not know what was to thine advantage. And henceforth evil betide whichever of us shall make the first advance towards reconciliation to the other; whether I should seek an invitation from thee, or thou of thine own accord shouldest seek to invite me." With that Luned went forth; and the Countess arose and followed her to the door of the chamber, and began coughing loudly. And when Luned looked back, the Countess beckoned to her; and she returned to the Countess. "In truth," said the Countess, "evil is thy disposition; but if thou knowest what is to my advantage, declare it to me." "I will do so," quoth she. "Thou knowest that except by warfare and arms it is impossible for thee to preserve thy possessions; delay not, therefore, to seek some one who can defend them." "And how can I do that?" said the Countess. "I will tell thee," said Luned, "unless thou canst defend the fountain, thou canst not maintain thy dominions; and no one can defend the fountain, except it be a knight of Arthur's household; and I will go to Arthur's court, and ill betide me, if I return thence without a warrior who can guard the fountain, as well as, or even better than, he who defended it formerly." "That will be hard to perform," said the Countess. "Go, however, and make proof of that which thou hast promised." Luned set out, under the pretence of going to Arthur's court; but she went back to the chamber where she had left Owain; and she tarried there with him as long as it might have taken her to have travelled to the Court of King Arthur. And at the end of that time, she apparelled herself, and went to visit the Countess. And the Countess was much rejoiced when she saw her, and enquired what news she brought from the Court. "I bring thee the best of news," said Luned, "for I have compassed the object of my mission. When wilt thou, that I should present to thee the chieftain who has come with me hither?" "Bring him here to visit me to-morrow, at mid-day," said the Countess, "and I will cause the town to be assembled by that time." And Luned returned home. And the next day, at noon, Owain arrayed himself in a coat, and a surcoat, and a mantle of yellow satin, upon which was a broad band of gold lace; and on his feet were high shoes of variegated leather, which were fastened by golden clasps, in the form of lions. And they proceeded to the chamber of the Countess. Right glad was the Countess of their coming. And she gazed steadfastly upon Owain, and said, "Luned, this knight has not the look of a traveller." "What harm is there in that, Lady?" said Luned. "I am certain," said the Countess, "that no other man than this, chased the soul from the body of my lord." "So much the better for thee, Lady," said Luned, "for had he not been stronger than thy lord, he could not have deprived him of life. There is no remedy for that which is past, be it as it may." "Go back to thine abode," said the Countess, "and I will take counsel." The next day, the Countess caused all her subjects to assemble, and shewed them that her Earldom was left defenceless, and that it could not be protected but with horse and arms, and military skill. "Therefore," said she, "this is what I offer for your choice: either let one of you take me, or give your consent for me to take a husband from elsewhere, to defend my dominions." So they came to the determination, that it was better that she should have permission to marry some one from elsewhere; and thereupon she sent for the Bishops and Archbishops, to celebrate her nuptials with Owain. And the men of the Earldom did Owain homage. And Owain defended the Fountain with lance and sword. And this is the manner in which he defended it. Whensoever a knight came there, he overthrew him, and sold him for his full worth. And what he thus gained, he divided among his Barons, and his Knights; and no man in the whole world could be more beloved than he was by his subjects. And it was thus for the space of three years. It befell that as Gwalchmai went forth one day with King Arthur, he perceived him to be very sad and sorrowful. And Gwalchmai was much grieved to see Arthur in this state; and he questioned him, saying, "Oh my Lord! what has befallen thee?" "In sooth, Gwalchmai," said Arthur, "I am grieved concerning Owain, whom I have lost these three years; and I shall certainly die, if the fourth year passes without my seeing him. Now I am sure, that it is through the tale which Kynon the son of Clydno related, that I have lost Owain." "There is no need for thee," said Gwalchmai, "to summon to arms thy whole dominions, on that account; for thou thyself, and the men of thy household, will be able to avenge Owain, if he be slain; or to set him free, if he be in prison; and if alive, to bring him back with thee." And it was settled, according to what Gwalchmai had said. Then Arthur and the men of his household prepared to go and seek Owain; and their number was three thousand, beside their attendants. And Kynon the son of Clydno acted as their guide. And Arthur came to the Castle, where Kynon had been before. And when he came there the youths were shooting in the same place, and the yellow man was standing hard by. When the yellow man saw Arthur, he greeted him, and invited him to the Castle. And Arthur accepted his invitation, and they entered the Castle together. And great as was the number of his retinue, their presence was scarcely observed in the Castle, so vast was its extent. And the maidens rose up to wait on them. And the service of the maidens appeared to them all to excel any attendance they had ever met with; and even the pages who had charge of the horses, were no worse served, that night, than Arthur himself would have been, in his own Palace. The next morning, Arthur set out thence, with Kynon for his guide, and came to the place where the black man was. And the stature of the black man was more surprising to Arthur, than it had been represented to him. And they came to the top of the wooded steep, and traversed the valley, till they reached the green tree; where they saw the fountain, and the bowl and the slab. And upon that, Kai came to Arthur, and spoke to him. "My Lord," said he, "I know the meaning of all this, and my request is, that thou wilt permit me to throw the water on the slab, and to receive the first advantage that may befall." And Arthur gave him leave. Then Kai threw a bowlful of water upon the slab, and immediately there came the thunder, and after the thunder the shower. And such a thunderstorm they had never known before. And many of the attendants who were in Arthur's train were killed by the shower. After the shower had ceased, the sky became clear. And on looking at the tree, they beheld it completely leafless. Then the birds descended upon the tree. And the song of the birds was far sweeter than any strain they had ever heard before. Then they beheld a Knight, on a coal-black horse, clothed in black satin, coming rapidly towards them. And Kai met him and encountered him, and it was not long before Kai was overthrown. And the Knight withdrew. {36} And Arthur and his host encamped for the night. And when they arose in the morning, they perceived the signal of combat upon the lance of the Knight; and Kai came to Arthur, and spoke to him. "My Lord," said he, "though I was overthrown yesterday, if it seem good to thee, I would gladly meet the Knight again to-day." "Thou mayst do so," said Arthur. And Kai went towards the Knight. And on the spot he overthrew Kai, {37a} and struck him with the head of his lance in the forehead, so that it broke his helmet and the headpiece, and pierced the skin, and the flesh, the breadth of the spearhead, even to the bone. And Kai returned to his companions. After this, all the household of Arthur went forth, one after the other, to combat the Knight, until there was not one that was not overthrown by him, except Arthur and Gwalchmai. And Arthur armed himself to encounter the Knight. "Oh, my lord," said Gwalchmai, "permit me to fight with him first." And Arthur permitted him. And he went forth to meet the Knight, having over himself and his horse, a satin robe of honour which had been sent him by the daughter of the Earl of Rhangyw, and in this dress he was not known by any of the host. And they charged each other, and fought all that day until the evening. And neither of them was able to unhorse the other. The next day they fought with strong lances; and neither of them could obtain the mastery. And the third day they fought with exceeding strong lances. And they were increased with rage, and fought furiously, even until noon. And they gave each other such a shock, that the girths of their horses were broken, so that they fell over their horses' cruppers to the ground. And they rose up speedily, and drew their swords, and resumed the combat. {37b} And the multitude that witnessed the encounter felt assured that they had never before seen two men so valiant, or so powerful. And had it been midnight, it would have been light from the fire that flashed from their weapons. And the Knight gave Gwalchmai a blow that turned his helmet from off his face, so that the Knight knew that it was Gwalchmai. Then Owain said, "My lord Gwalchmai, I did not know thee for my cousin, owing to the robe of honour, that enveloped thee; take my sword and my arms." Said Gwalchmai, "Thou, Owain, art the victor; take thou my sword." And with that Arthur saw that they were conversing, and advanced towards them. "My lord Arthur," said Gwalchmai, "here is Owain, who has vanquished me, and will not take my arms." "My lord," said Owain, "it is he that has vanquished me, and he will not take my sword." "Give me your swords," said Arthur, "and then neither of you has vanquished the other." Then Owain put his arms around Arthur's neck, and they embraced. And all the host hurried forward to see Owain, and to embrace him. And there was nigh being a loss of life, so great was the press. And they retired that night, and the next day Arthur prepared to depart. "My lord," said Owain, "this is not well of thee. For I have been absent from thee these three years, {38} and during all that time, up to this very day, I have been preparing a banquet for thee, knowing that thou wouldest come to seek me. Tarry with me therefore, until thou and thy attendants have recovered the fatigues of the journey, and have been anointed." And they all proceeded to the Castle of the Countess of the Fountain, and the banquet which had been three years preparing was consumed in three months. Never had they a more delicious or agreeable banquet. And Arthur prepared to depart. Then he sent an embassy to the Countess, to beseech her to permit Owain to go with him, for the space of three months, that he might shew him to the nobles, and the fair dames of the Island of Britain. And the Countess gave her consent, although it was very painful to her. So Owain came with Arthur to the Island of Britain. And when he was once more amongst his kindred and friends, he remained three years, instead of three months, with them. * * * * * And as Owain one day sat at meat, in the City of Caerlleon upon Usk, behold a damsel entered, upon a bay horse, with a curling mane, and covered with foam; and the bridle, and as much as was seen of the saddle, were of gold. And the damsel was arrayed in a dress of yellow satin. And she went up to Owain, and took the ring from off his hand. "Thus," said she, "shall be treated the deceiver, the traitor, the faithless, the disgraced, and the beardless." {39} And she turned her horse's head, and departed. Then his adventure came to Owain's remembrance, and he was sorrowful. And having finished eating, he went to his own abode, and made preparations that night. And the next day he arose, but did not go to the Court, but wandered to the distant parts of the earth, and to uncultivated mountains. And he remained there until all his apparel was worn out, and his body was wasted away, and his hair was grown long. And he went about with the wild beasts, and fed with them, until they became familiar with him. But at length he grew so weak, that he could no longer bear them company. Then he descended from the mountains to the valley, and came to a park, that was the fairest in the world, and belonged to a widowed Countess. One day the Countess and her maidens went forth to walk by a lake, that was in the middle of the park. And they saw the form of a man. And they were terrified. Nevertheless they went near him, and touched him, and looked at him. And they saw that there was life in him, though he was exhausted by the heat of the sun. And the Countess returned to the Castle, and took a flask full of precious ointment, and gave it to one of her maidens. "Go with this," said she, "and take with thee yonder horse, and clothing, and place them near the man we saw just now. And anoint him with this balsam, near his heart; and if there is life in him, he will arise, through the efficacy of this balsam. Then watch what he will do." And the maiden departed from her, and poured the whole of the balsam upon Owain, and left the horse and the garments hard by, and went a little way off, and hid herself, to watch him. In a short time she saw him begin to move his arms; and he arose up, and looked at his person, and became ashamed of the unseemliness of his appearance. Then he perceived the horse and the garments, that were near him. And he crept forward till he was able to draw the garments to him from off the saddle. And he clothed himself, and with difficulty mounted the horse. Then the damsel discovered herself to him, and saluted him. And he was rejoiced when he saw her, and enquired of her, what land and what territory that was. "Truly," said the maiden, "a widowed Countess owns yonder Castle; at the death of her husband, he left her two Earldoms, but at this day she has but this one dwelling that has not been wrested from her, by a young Earl, who is her neighbour, because she refused to become his wife." "That is pity," said Owain. And he and the maiden proceeded to the Castle; and he alighted there, and the maiden conducted him to a pleasant chamber, and kindled a fire, and left him. And the maiden came to the Countess, and gave the flask into her hand. "Ha! maiden," said the Countess, "where is all the balsam?" "Have I not used it all?" said she. "Oh, maiden," said the Countess, "I cannot easily forgive thee this; it is sad for me to have wasted seven-score pounds' worth of precious ointment, upon a stranger whom I know not. However, maiden, wait thou upon him, until he is quite recovered." And the maiden did so, and furnished him with meat and drink, and fire, and lodging, and medicaments, until he was well again. And in three months he was restored to his former guise, and became even more comely, than he had ever been before. One day Owain heard a great tumult, and a sound of arms in the Castle, and he enquired of the maiden the cause thereof. "The Earl," said she, "whom I mentioned to thee, has come before the Castle, with a numerous army, to subdue the Countess." And Owain enquired of her whether the Countess had a horse and arms, in her possession. "She has the best in the world," said the maiden. "Wilt thou go and request the loan of a horse and arms for me," said Owain, "that I may go and look at this army?" "I will," said the maiden. And she came to the Countess, and told her what Owain had said. And the Countess laughed. "Truly," said she, "I will even give him a horse and arms, for ever; such a horse and such arms, had he never yet, and I am glad that they should be taken by him to-day, lest my enemies should have them against my will to-morrow. Yet I know not what he would do with them." The Countess bade them bring out a beautiful black steed, upon which was a beechen saddle, and a suit of armour, for man and horse. And Owain armed himself, and mounted the horse, and went forth, attended by two pages completely equipped, with horses and arms. And when they came near to the Earl's army, they could see neither its extent, nor its extremity. And Owain asked the pages in which troop the Earl was. "In yonder troop," said they, "in which are four yellow standards. Two of them are before, and two behind him." "Now," said Owain, "do you return and await me near the portal of the Castle." So they returned, and Owain pressed forward, until he met the Earl. And Owain drew him completely out of his saddle, and turned his horse's head towards the Castle, and, though it was with difficulty, he brought the Earl to the portal, where the pages awaited him. And in they came. And Owain presented the Earl as a gift to the Countess. And said to her, "Behold a requittal to thee for thy blessed balsam." The army encamped around the Castle. And the Earl restored to the Countess the two Earldoms, he had taken from her, as a ransom for his life; and for his freedom, he gave her the half of his own dominions, and all his gold, and his silver, and his jewels, besides hostages. And Owain took his departure. And the Countess and all her subjects besought him to remain, but Owain chose rather to wander through distant lands and deserts. And as he journeyed, he heard a loud yelling in a wood. And it was repeated a second and a third time. And Owain went towards the spot, and behold a huge craggy mound, in the middle of the wood; on the side of which was a grey rock. And there was a cleft in the rock, and a serpent was within the cleft. And near the rock, stood a black lion, and every time the lion sought to go thence, the serpent darted towards him to attack him. And Owain unsheathed his sword, and drew near to the rock; and as the serpent sprung out, he struck him with his sword, and cut him in two. And he dried his sword, and went on his way, as before. But behold the lion followed him, and played about him, as though it had been a greyhound, that he had reared. They proceeded thus throughout the day, until the evening. And when it was time for Owain to take his rest, he dismounted, and turned his horse loose in a flat and wooded meadow. And he struck fire, and when the fire was kindled, the lion brought him fuel enough to last for three nights. And the lion disappeared. And presently the lion returned, bearing a fine large roebuck. And he threw it down before Owain, who went towards the fire with it. And Owain took the roebuck, and skinned it, and placed collops of its flesh upon skewers, around the fire. The rest of the buck he gave to the lion to devour. While he was doing this, he heard a deep sigh near him, and a second, and a third. And Owain called out to know whether the sigh he heard proceeded from a mortal; and he received answer, that it did. "Who art thou?" said Owain. "Truly," said the voice, "I am Luned, the hand-maiden of the Countess of the Fountain." "And what dost thou here?" said Owain. "I am imprisoned," said she, "on account of the knight who came from Arthur's Court, and married the Countess. And he staid a short time with her, but he afterwards departed for the Court of Arthur, and he has not returned since. And he was the friend I loved best in the world. And two of the pages of the Countess's chamber, traduced him, and called him a deceiver. And I told them that they two were not a match for him alone. So they imprisoned me in the stone vault, and said that I should be put to death, unless he came himself, to deliver me, by a certain day; and that is no further off, than the day after to-morrow. And I have no one to send to seek him for me. And his name is Owain the son of Urien." "And art thou certain, that if that knight knew all this, he would come to thy rescue?" "I am most certain of it," said she. When the collops were cooked, Owain divided them into two parts, between himself and the maiden; and after they had eaten, they talked together until the day dawned. And the next morning Owain enquired of the damsel, if there was any place where he could get food and entertainment for that night. "There is, lord," said she; "cross over yonder, and go along the side of the river, and in a short time, thou wilt see a great Castle, in which are many towers. And the Earl who owns that Castle, is the most hospitable man in the world. There thou mayest spend the night." Never did sentinel keep stricter watch over his lord, than the lion that night over Owain. And Owain accoutred his horse, and passed across by the ford, and came in the sight of the Castle. And he entered it, and was honourably received. And his horse was well cared for, and plenty of fodder was placed before him. Then the lion went and laid down in the horse's manger; so that none of the people of the Castle dared to approach him. The treatment which Owain met with there, was such as he had never known elsewhere, for every one was as sorrowful, as though death had been upon him. {45} And they went to meat. And the Earl sat upon one side of Owain; and on the other side his only daughter. And Owain had never seen any more lovely than she. Then the lion came and placed himself between Owain's feet, and he fed him with every kind of food, that he took himself. And he never saw any thing equal to the sadness of the people. In the middle of the repast, the Earl began to bid Owain welcome. "Then," said Owain, "behold it is time for thee to be cheerful." "Heaven knows," said the Earl, "that it is not thy coming that makes us sorrowful, but we have cause enough for sadness and care." "What is that?" said Owain. "I have two sons," replied the Earl, "and yesterday they went to the mountains to hunt. Now there is on the mountain a monster, who kills men and devours them. And he seized my sons. And to-morrow is the time he has fixed to be here, and he threatens that he will then slay my sons before my eyes, unless I will deliver into his hands this my daughter. {46a} He has the form of a man, but in stature he is no less than a giant." "Truly," said Owain, "that is lamentable. And which wilt thou do?" "Heaven knows," said the Earl, "it will be better that my sons should be slain, against my will, than I should voluntarily give up my daughter to him to ill-treat and destroy." Then they talked about other things, and Owain staid there that night. The next morning, they heard an exceeding great clamour, which was caused by the coming of the giant, with the two youths. And the Earl was anxious both to protect his Castle, and to release his two sons. {46b} Then Owain put on his armour, and went forth to encounter the giant; and the lion followed him. And when the giant saw that Owain was armed, he rushed towards him, and attacked him. And the lion fought with the giant, much more fiercely than Owain did. "Truly," said the giant, "I should find no difficulty in fighting with thee, were it not for the animal that is with thee." Upon that Owain took the lion back to the Castle, and shut the gate upon him. And then he returned to fight the giant, as before. And the lion roared very loud, for he heard that it went hard with Owain. And he climbed up, till he reached the top of the Earl's Hall; and thence he got to the top of the Castle, and he sprang down from the walls, and went and joined Owain. And the lion gave the giant a stroke with his paw, which tore him from his shoulder to his hip, and his heart was laid bare. And the giant fell down dead. Then Owain restored the two youths to their father. The Earl besought Owain to remain with him, and he would not, but set forward towards the meadow, where Luned was. And when he came there, he saw a great fire kindled, and two youths with beautiful curling auburn hair, were leading the maiden to cast her into the fire. And Owain asked them what charge they had against her. And they told him of the compact {47} that was between them; as the maiden had done the night before. "And," said they, "Owain has failed her, therefore we are taking her to be burnt." "Truly," said Owain, "he is a good knight, and if he knew that the maiden was in such peril, I marvel that he came not to her rescue. But if you will accept me in his stead, I will do battle with you." "We will," said the youths, "by him who made us." And they attacked Owain, and he was hard beset by them. And with that the lion came to Owain's assistance; and they two got the better of the young men. And they said to him, "Chieftain, it was not agreed that we should fight, save with thyself alone, and it is harder for us to contend with yonder animal, than with thee." And Owain put the lion in the place where the maiden had been imprisoned, and blocked up the door with stones. And he went to fight with the young men as before. But Owain had not his usual strength, {48} and the two youths pressed hard upon him. And the lion roared incessantly at seeing Owain in trouble. And he burst through the wall, until he found a way out, and rushed upon the young men, and instantly slew them. So Luned was saved from being burned. Then Owain returned with Luned, to the dominions of the Countess of the Fountain. And when he went thence, he took the Countess with him to Arthur's Court, and she was his wife as long as she lived. And they took the road that led to the Court of the savage black man. And Owain fought with him, and the lion did not quit Owain, until he had vanquished him. And when he reached the Court of the savage black man, he entered the hall: and beheld four and twenty ladies, the fairest that could be seen. And the garments which they had on, were not worth four and twenty pence. And they were as sorrowful as death. And Owain asked them the cause of their sadness. And they said, "We are the daughters of Earls, and we all came here, with our husbands, whom we dearly loved. And we were received with honour and rejoicing. And we were thrown into a state of stupor, and while we were thus, the demon who owns this Castle, slew all our husbands, and took from us our horses, and our raiment, and our gold, and our silver. And the corpses of our husbands are still in this house, and many others with them. And this, Chieftain, is the cause of our grief, and we are sorry that thou art come hither, lest harm should befall thee." And Owain was grieved, when he heard this. And he went forth from the Castle, and he beheld a Knight approaching him, who saluted him, in a friendly and cheerful manner, as if he had been a brother. And this was the savage black man. "In very sooth," said Owain, "it is not to seek thy friendship that I am here." "In sooth," said he, "thou shalt not find it then." And with that they charged each other, and fought furiously. And Owain overcame him, and bound his hands behind his back. Then the black savage besought Owain to spare his life, and spoke thus, "My lord Owain," said he, "it was foretold, that thou shouldst come hither and vanquish me, and thou hast done so. I was a robber here, and my house was a house of spoil. But grant me my life, and I will become the keeper of an Hospice, and I will maintain this house as an Hospice for weak and for strong, as long as I live, for the good of thy soul." And Owain accepted the proposal of him, and remained there that night. And the next day he took the four and twenty ladies, and their horses, and their raiment, and what they possessed of goods, and jewels, and proceeded with them to Arthur's Court. And if Arthur was rejoiced when he saw him, after he had lost him the first time, his joy was now much greater. And of those ladies, such as wished to remain in Arthur's Court, remained there; and such as wished to depart, departed. And thenceforward Owain dwelt at Arthur's Court, greatly beloved as the head of his household, until he went away with his followers; and those were the army of three hundred ravens which Kenverchyn had left him. And wherever Owain went with these, he was victorious. And this is the tale of THE LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN. PEREDUR THE SON OF EVRAWC. Earl Evrawc owned the Earldom of the North. And he had seven sons. And Evrawc maintained himself not so much by his own possessions as by attending tournaments, and wars, and combats. And, as it often befalls those who join in encounters and wars, he was slain, and six of his sons likewise. Now the name of his seventh son was Peredur, and he was the youngest of them. And he was not of an age to go to wars and encounters, otherwise he might have been slain as his father and brothers. His mother was a scheming and thoughtful woman, and she was very solicitous concerning this her only son and his {52} possessions. So she took counsel with herself to leave the inhabited country, and to flee to the deserts and unfrequented wildernesses. And she permitted none to bear her company thither but women and boys, and spiritless men, who were both unaccustomed and unequal to war and fighting. And none dared to bring either horses or arms where her son was, lest he should set his mind upon them. And the youth went daily to divert himself in the forest, by flinging sticks and staves. And one day he saw his mother's flock of goats, and near the goats two hinds were standing. And he marvelled greatly that these two should be without horns, while the others had them. And he thought they had long run wild and on that account they had lost their horns. And by activity and swiftness of foot, he drove the hinds and the goats together into the house which there was for the goats at the extremity of the forest. Then Peredur returned to his mother. "Ah, mother," said he, "a marvellous thing have I seen in the wood; two of thy goats have run wild, and lost their horns; through their having been so long missing in the wood. And no man had ever more trouble than I had to drive them in." Then they all arose and went to see. And when they beheld the hinds, they were greatly astonished. And one day they saw three knights coming along the horse-road on the borders of the forest. And the three knights were Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, and Geneir Gwystyl, and Owain the son of Urien. And Owain kept on the track of the knight who had divided the apples in Arthur's Court, whom they were in pursuit of. "Mother," said Peredur, "what are those yonder?" "They are angels, my son," said she. "By my faith," said Peredur, "I will go and become an angel with them." And Peredur went to the road, and met them. "Tell me, good soul," said Owain, "sawest thou a knight pass this way, either to-day or yesterday?" "I know not," answered he, "what a knight is." "Such an one as I am," said Owain. "If thou wilt tell me what I ask thee, I will tell thee that which thou askest me." "Gladly will I do so," replied Owain. "What is this?" demanded Peredur, concerning the saddle. "It is a saddle," said Owain. Then he asked about all the accoutrements which he saw upon the men, and the horses, and the arms, and what they were for, and how they were used. And Owain shewed him all these things fully, and told him what use was made of them. "Go forward," said Peredur, "for I saw such an one as thou enquirest for, and I will follow thee." Then Peredur returned to his mother and her company, and he said to her, "Mother, those were not angels, but honourable knights." Then his mother swooned away. And Peredur went to the place where they kept the horses that carried firewood, and that brought meat and drink from the inhabited country to the desert. And he took a bony piebald horse, which seemed to him the strongest of them. And he pressed a pack into the form of a saddle, and with twisted twigs he imitated the trappings which he had seen upon the horses. And when Peredur came again to his mother, the Countess had recovered from her swoon. "My son," said she, "desirest thou to ride forth?" "Yes, with thy leave," said he. "Wait then, that I may counsel thee before thou goest." "Willingly," he answered, "speak quickly." "Go forward," then she said, "to the Court of Arthur, where there are the best, and the boldest, and the most bountiful of men. And wherever thou seest a church, repeat there thy Paternoster unto it. And if thou see meat and drink, and hast need of them, and none have the kindness or the courtesy to give them to thee, take them thyself. If thou hear an outcry, proceed towards it, especially if it be the outcry of a woman. If thou see a fair jewel, possess thyself of it, and give it to another, for thus thou shalt obtain praise. If thou see a fair woman, pay thy court to her, whether she will or no; for thus thou wilt render thyself a better and more esteemed man than thou wast before." After this discourse, Peredur mounted the horse, and taking a handful of sharp pointed forks in his hand, he rode forth. And he journeyed two days and two nights in the woody wildernesses, and in desert places, without food and without drink. And then he came to a vast wild wood, and far within the wood he saw a fair even glade, and in the glade he saw a tent, and seeming to him to be a church, he repeated his Paternoster to the tent. And he went towards it, and the door of the tent was open. And a golden chair was near the door. And on the chair sat a lovely auburn- haired maiden, with a golden frontlet on her forehead, and sparkling stones in the frontlet, and with a large gold ring on her hand. And Peredur dismounted, and entered the tent. And the maiden was glad at his coming, and bade him welcome. At the entrance of the tent he saw food, and two flasks full of wine, and two loaves of fine wheaten flour, and collops of the flesh of the wild boar. "My mother told me," said Peredur, "wheresoever I saw meat and drink, to take it." "Take the meat and welcome, chieftain," said she. So Peredur took half of the meat and of the liquor himself, and left the rest to the maiden. And when Peredur had finished eating, he bent upon his knee before the maiden. "My mother," said he, "told me, wheresoever I saw a fair jewel, to take it." "Do so, my soul," said she. So Peredur took the ring. And he mounted his horse, and proceeded on his journey. After this, behold the knight came, to whom the tent belonged; and he was the Lord of the Glade. And he saw the track of the horse, and he said to the maiden, "Tell me who has been here since I departed." "A man," said she, "of wonderful demeanour." And she described to him what Peredur's appearance and conduct had been. "Tell me," said he, "did he offer thee any wrong?" "No," answered the maiden, "by my faith, he harmed me not." "By my faith, I do not believe thee; and until I can meet with him, and revenge the insult he has done me, and wreak my vengeance upon him, thou shalt not remain two nights in the same house." And the knight arose, and set forth to seek Peredur. Meanwhile Peredur journeyed on towards Arthur's Court. And before he reached it, another knight had been there, who gave a ring of thick gold at the door of the gate for holding his horse, and went into the Hall where Arthur and his household, and Gwenhwyvar and her maidens, were assembled. And the page of the chamber was serving Gwenhwyvar with a golden goblet. Then the knight dashed the liquor that was therein upon her face, and upon her stomacher, and gave her a violent blow on the face, and said, "If any have the boldness to dispute this goblet with me, and to avenge the insult to Gwenhwyvar, let him follow me to the meadow, and there I will await him." So the knight took his horse, and rode to the meadow. And all the household hung down their heads, lest any of them should be requested to go and avenge the insult to Gwenhwyvar. For it seemed to them, that no one would have ventured on so daring an outrage, unless he possessed such powers, through magic or charms, that none could be able to take vengeance upon him. Then, behold Peredur entered the Hall, upon the bony piebald horse, with the uncouth trappings upon it; and in this way he traversed the whole length of the Hall. {56} In the centre of the Hall stood Kai. "Tell me, tall man," said Peredur, "is that Arthur, yonder?" "What wouldest thou with Arthur?" asked Kai. "My mother told me to go to Arthur, and receive the honour of knighthood." "By my faith," said he, "thou art all too meanly equipped with horse and with arms." Thereupon he was perceived by all the household, and they threw sticks at him. Then, behold, a dwarf came forward. He had already been a year at Arthur's Court, both he and a female dwarf. They had craved harbourage of Arthur, and had obtained it; and during the whole year, neither of them had spoken a single word to any one. When the dwarf beheld Peredur, "Ha ha!" said he, "the welcome of Heaven be unto thee, goodly Peredur, son of Evrawc, the chief of warriors, and flower of knighthood." "Truly," said Kai, "thou art ill- taught to remain a year mute at Arthur's Court, with choice of society; and now, before the face of Arthur and all his household, to call out, and declare such a man as this the chief of warriors, and the flower of knighthood." And he gave him such a box on the ear, that he fell senseless to the ground. Then exclaimed the female dwarf, "Ha ha! goodly Peredur, son of Evrawc; the welcome of Heaven be unto thee, flower of knights, and light of chivalry." "Of a truth, maiden," said Kai, "thou art ill-bred to remain mute for a year at the Court of Arthur and then to speak as thou dost of such a man as this." And Kai kicked her with his foot, so that she fell to the ground senseless. "Tall man," said Peredur, "show me which is Arthur." "Hold thy peace," said Kai, "and go after the knight who went hence to the meadow, and take from him the goblet, and overthrow him, and possess thyself of his horse and arms, and then thou shalt receive the order of knighthood." "I will do so, tall man," said Peredur. So he turned his horse's head towards the meadow. And when he came there, the knight was riding up and down, proud of his strength, and valour, and noble mien. "Tell me," said the knight, "didst thou see any one coming after me from the Court?" "The tall man that was there," said he, "desired me to come, and overthrow thee, and to take from thee the goblet, and thy horse and thy armour for myself." "Silence," said the knight; "go back to the Court, and tell Arthur, from me, either to come himself, or to send some other to fight with me; and unless he do so quickly, I will not wait for him." "By my faith," said Peredur, "choose thou whether it shall be willingly or unwillingly, but I will have the horse, and the arms, and the goblet." And upon this the knight ran at him furiously, and struck him a violent blow {58} with the shaft of his spear, between the neck and the shoulder. "Ha ha! lad," said Peredur, "my mother's servants were not used to play with me in this wise; therefore, thus will I play with thee." And thereupon he struck him with a sharp pointed fork, and it hit him in the eye, and came out at the back of his neck, so that he instantly fell down lifeless. "Verily," said Owain the son of Urien to Kai, "thou wert ill advised, when thou didst send that madman after the knight, for one of two things must befall him. He must either be overthrown, or slain. If he is overthrown by the knight, he will be counted by him to be an honourable person of the Court, and an eternal disgrace will it be to Arthur and his warriors. And if he is slain, the disgrace will be the same, and moreover, his sin will be upon him; therefore will I go to see what has befallen him." So Owain went to the meadow, and he found Peredur dragging the man about. "What art thou doing thus?" said Owain. "This iron coat," said Peredur, "will never come from off him; not by my efforts, at any rate." {59a} And Owain unfastened his armour and his clothes. "Here, my good soul," said he, "is a horse and armour better than thine. Take them joyfully, and come with me to Arthur, to receive the order of knighthood, for thou dost merit it." "May I never shew my face again, if I go," said Peredur, "but take thou the goblet to Gwenhwyvar, and tell Arthur, that wherever I am, I will be his vassal, and will do him what profit and service I am able. And say that I will not come to his Court, until I have encountered the tall man that is there, to avenge the injury he did to the dwarf and dwarfess." And Owain went back to the Court, and related all these things to Arthur and Gwenhwyvar, and to all the household. {59b} And Peredur rode forward. And as he proceeded, behold a knight met him. "Whence comest thou?" said the knight. "I come from Arthur's Court," said Peredur. "Art thou one of his men?" asked he. "Yes, by my faith," he answered. "A good service, truly, is that of Arthur." "Wherefore sayest thou so?" said Peredur. "I will tell thee," said he, "I have always been Arthur's enemy, and all such of his men as I have ever encountered, I have slain." And without further parlance, they fought, and it was not long before Peredur brought him to the ground, over his horse's crupper. Then the knight besought his mercy. "Mercy thou shalt have," said Peredur, "if thou wilt make oath to me, that thou wilt go to Arthur's Court, and tell him that it was I that overthrew thee, for the honour of his service; and say that I will never come to the Court, until I have avenged the insult offered to the dwarf and dwarfess." The knight pledged him his faith of this, and proceeded to the Court of Arthur, and said as he had promised, and conveyed the threat to Kai. And Peredur rode forward. And within that week he encountered sixteen knights, and overthrew them all shamefully. And they all went to Arthur's Court, taking with them the same message which the first knight had conveyed from Peredur, and the same threat which he had sent to Kai. And thereupon Kai was reproved by Arthur; and Kai was greatly grieved thereat. And Peredur rode forward. And he came to a vast and desert wood, on the confines of which was a lake. And on the other side was a fair castle. And on the border of the lake he saw a venerable hoary-headed man sitting upon a velvet cushion, and having a garment of velvet upon him. And his attendants were fishing in the lake. When the hoary-headed man beheld Peredur approaching, he arose, and went towards the castle. And the old man was lame. Peredur rode to the palace, and the door was open, and he entered the hall. And there was the hoary-headed man sitting on a cushion, and a large blazing fire burning before him. And the household and the company arose to meet Peredur, and disarrayed him. And the man asked the youth to sit on the cushion; and they sat down, and conversed together. When it was time, the tables were laid, and they went to meat. And when they had finished their meal, the man enquired of Peredur, if he knew well how to fight with the sword. "I know not," said Peredur, "but were I to be taught, doubtless I should." "Whoever can play well with the cudgel and shield, will also be able to fight with a sword." And the man had two sons; the one had yellow hair, and the other auburn. "Arise, youth," said he, "and play with the cudgel and the shield." And so did they. "Tell me, my soul," said the man, "which of the youths thinkest thou plays best?" "I think," said Peredur, "that the yellow-haired youth could draw blood from the other, if he chose." "Arise thou, my life, and take the cudgel and the shield from the hand of the youth with the auburn hair, and draw blood from the yellow-haired youth, if thou canst." So Peredur arose, and went to play with the yellow-haired youth; and he lifted up his arm, and struck him such a mighty blow, that his brow fell over his eye, and the blood flowed forth. "Ah, my life," said the man, "come now, and sit down, for thou wilt become the best fighter with the sword of any in this island; and I am thy uncle, thy mother's brother. And with me shalt thou remain a space, in order to learn the manners and customs of different countries, and courtesy, and gentleness, and noble bearing. Leave, then, the habits and the discourse of thy mother, and I will be thy teacher; and I will raise thee to the rank of knight from this time forward. And thus do thou. If thou seest aught to cause thee wonder, ask not the meaning of it; if no one has the courtesy to inform thee, the reproach will not fall upon thee, but upon me that am thy teacher." And they had abundance of honour and service. And when it was time, they went to sleep. At the break of day, Peredur arose, and took his horse, and with his uncle's permission, he rode forth. And he came to a vast desert wood, and at the further end of the wood was a meadow, and on the other side of the meadow he saw a large castle. And thitherward Peredur bent his way, and he found the gate open, and he proceeded to the hall. And he beheld a stately hoary-headed man sitting on one side of the hall, and many pages around him, who arose to receive and to honour Peredur. And they placed him by the side of the owner of the palace. Then they discoursed together; and when it was time to eat, they caused Peredur to sit beside the nobleman during the repast. And when they had eaten and drank as much as they desired, the nobleman asked Peredur, whether he could fight with a sword? "Were I to receive instruction," said Peredur, "I think I could." Now, there was on the floor of the hall a huge staple, as large as a warrior could grasp. "Take yonder sword," said the man to Peredur, "and strike the iron staple." So Peredur arose, and struck the staple, so that he cut it in two; and the sword broke into two parts also. "Place the two parts together, and reunite them," and Peredur placed them together, and they became entire as they were before. And a second time he struck upon the staple, so that both it and the sword broke in two, and as before they reunited. And the third time he gave a like blow, and placed the broken parts together, and neither the staple nor the sword would unite, as before. "Youth," said the nobleman, "come now, and sit down, and my blessing be upon thee. Thou fightest best with the sword of any man in the kingdom. Thou hast arrived at two-thirds of thy strength, and the other third thou hast not yet obtained; and when thou attainest to thy full power, none will be able to contend with thee. I am thy uncle, thy mother's brother, and I am brother {62} to the man in whose house thou wast last night." Then Peredur and his uncle discoursed together, and he beheld two youths enter the hall, and proceed up to the chamber, bearing a spear of mighty size, with three streams of blood flowing from the point to the ground. And when all the company saw this, they began wailing and lamenting. But for all that, the man did not break off his discourse with Peredur. And as he did not tell Peredur the meaning of what he saw, he forebore to ask him concerning it. And when the clamour had a little subsided, behold two maidens entered, with a large salver between them, in which was a man's head, surrounded by a profusion of blood. And thereupon the company of the court made so great an outcry, that it was irksome to be in the same hall with them. But at length they were silent. And when time was that they should sleep, Peredur was brought into a fair chamber. And the next day, with his uncle's permission, he rode forth. And he came to a wood, and far within the wood he heard a loud cry, and he saw a beautiful woman with auburn hair, and a horse with a saddle upon it, standing near her, and a corpse by her side. And as she strove to place the corpse upon the horse, it fell to the ground, and thereupon she made a great lamentation. "Tell me, sister," said Peredur, "wherefore art thou bewailing?" "Oh! accursed Peredur, little pity has my ill fortune ever met with from thee." "Wherefore," said Peredur, "am I accursed?" "Because thou wast the cause of thy mother's death; for when thou didst ride forth against her will, anguish seized upon her heart, so that she died; and therefore art thou accursed. And the dwarf and the dwarfess that thou sawest at Arthur's Court, were the dwarfs of thy father and mother; and I am thy foster-sister, and this was my wedded husband, and he was slain by the knight that is in the glade in the wood; and do not thou go near him, lest thou shouldest be slain by him likewise." "My sister, thou dost reproach me wrongfully; through my having so long remained amongst you, I shall scarcely vanquish him; and had I continued longer it would, indeed, be difficult for me to succeed. Cease, therefore, thy lamenting, for it is of no avail, and I will bury the body, and then I will go in quest of the knight, and see if I can do vengeance upon him." And when he had buried the body, they went to the place where the knight was, and found him riding proudly along the glade; and he enquired of Peredur whence he came. "I come from Arthur's Court." "And art thou one of Arthur's men?" "Yes, by my faith." "A profitable alliance, truly, is that of Arthur." And without further parlance, they encountered one another, and immediately Peredur overthrew the knight, and he besought mercy of Peredur. "Mercy shall thou have," said he, "upon these terms, that thou take this woman in marriage, and do her all the honour and reverence in thy power, seeing thou hast, without cause, slain her wedded husband; and that thou go to Arthur's Court, and shew him that it was I that overthrew thee, to do him honour and service; and that thou tell him that I will never come to his Court again until I have met with the tall man that is there, to take vengeance upon him for his insult to the dwarf and the dwarfess." And he took the knight's assurance, that he would perform all this. Then the knight provided the lady with a horse and garments that were suitable for her, and took her with him to Arthur's Court. And he told Arthur all that had occurred, and gave the defiance to Kai. And Arthur and all his household reproved Kai, for having driven such a youth as Peredur from his Court. Said Owain the son of Urien, "This youth will never come into the Court until Kai has gone forth from it." "By my faith," said Arthur, "I will search all the deserts in the island of Britain, until I find Peredur, and then let him and his adversary do their utmost to each other." Then Peredur rode forward. And he came to a desert wood, where he saw not the track either of men or animals, and where there was nothing but bushes and weeds. And at the upper end of the wood he saw a vast castle, wherein were many strong towers; and when he came near the gate, he found the weeds taller than he had done elsewhere. And he struck the gate with the shaft of his lance, and thereupon behold a lean auburn-haired youth came to an opening in the battlements. "Choose thou, chieftain," said he. "Whether shall I open the gate unto thee, or shall I announce unto those that are chief, that thou art at the gateway?" "Say that I am here," said Peredur, "and if it is desired that I should enter, I will go in." And the youth came back, and opened the gate for Peredur. And when he went into the hall, he beheld eighteen youths, lean and red-headed, of the same height and of the same aspect, and of the same dress, and of the same age as the one who had opened the gate for him. And they were well skilled in courtesy and in service. And they disarrayed him. Then they sat down to discourse. Thereupon, behold five maidens came from the chamber into the hall. And Peredur was certain that he had never seen another of so fair an aspect as the chief of the maidens. And she had an old garment of satin upon her, which had once been handsome, but was then so tattered, that her skin could be seen through it. And whiter was her skin than the bloom of crystal, and her hair and her two eyebrows were blacker than jet, and on her cheeks were two red spots, redder than whatever is reddest. And the maiden welcomed Peredur, and put her arms about his neck, and made him sit down beside her. Not long after this he saw two nuns enter and a flask full of wine was borne by one, and six loaves of white bread by the other. "Lady," said they, "Heaven is witness, that there is not so much of food and liquor as this left in yonder Convent this night." Then they went to meat, and Peredur observed that the maiden wished to give more of the food and of the liquor to him than to any of the others. "My sister," said Peredur, "I will share out the food and the liquor." "Not so, my soul," said she. "By my faith, but I will." So Peredur took the bread, and he gave an equal portion of it to each alike, as well as a cup full of the liquor. And when it was time for them to sleep, a chamber was prepared for Peredur, and he went to rest. "Behold, sister," said the youths to the fairest and most exalted of the maidens, "we have counsel for thee." "What may it be?" she enquired. "Go to the youth that is in the upper chamber, and offer to become his wife, or the lady of his love, if it seem well to him." "That were indeed unfitting," said she. "Hitherto I have not been the lady love of any knight, and to make him such an offer before I am wooed by him, that, truly, can I not do." "By our confession to Heaven, unless thou actest thus, we will leave thee here to thy enemies, to do as they will with thee." And through fear of this, the maiden went forth; and shedding tears, she proceeded to the chamber. And with the noise of the door opening, Peredur awoke; and the maiden was weeping and lamenting. "Tell me, my sister," said Peredur, "wherefore dost thou weep?" "I will tell thee, lord," said she, "my father possessed these dominions as their chief, and this palace was his, and with it he held the best earldom in the kingdom; then the son of another earl sought me of my father, and I was not willing to be given unto him, and my father would not give me against my will, either to him or any earl in the world. And my father had no child except myself. And after my father's death, these dominions came into my own hands, and then was I less willing to accept him than before. So he made war upon me, and conquered all my possessions except this one house. And through the valour of the men whom thou hast seen, who are my foster brothers, and the strength of the house, it can never be taken while food and drink remain. And now our provisions are exhausted; but as thou hast seen, we have been fed by the nuns, to whom the country is free. And at length they also are without supply of food or liquor. And at no later date than to-morrow, the earl will come against this place with all his forces; and if I fall into his power, my fate will be no better than to be given over to the grooms of his horses. Therefore, lord, I am come to offer to place myself in thy hands, that thou mayest succour me, either by taking me hence, or by defending me here, whichever may seem best unto thee." "Go, my sister," said he, "and sleep; nor will I depart from thee until I do that which thou requirest, or prove whether I can assist thee or not." The maiden went again to rest; and the next morning she came to Peredur, and saluted him. "Heaven prosper thee, my soul, and what tidings dost thou bring?" "None other, than that the earl and all his forces have alighted at the gate, and I never beheld any place so covered with tents, and thronged with knights challenging others to the combat." "Truly," said Peredur, "let my horse be made ready." So his horse was accoutred, and he arose, and sallied forth to the meadow. And there was a knight riding proudly along the meadow, having raised the signal for battle. And they encountered, and Peredur threw the knight over his horse's crupper to the ground. And at the close of the day, one of the chief knights came to fight with him, and he overthrew him also, so that he besought his mercy. "Who art thou?" said Peredur. "Verily," said he, "I am Master of the Household to the earl." "And how much of the Countess's possessions is there in thy power?" "The third part, verily," answered he. "Then," said Peredur, "restore to her the third of her possessions in full, and all the profit thou hast made by them, and bring meat and drink for a hundred men, with their horses and arms, to her court this night. And thou shalt remain her captive, unless she wish to take thy life." And this he did forthwith. And that night the maiden was right joyful, and they fared plenteously. And the next day Peredur rode forth to the meadow; and that day he vanquished a multitude of the host. And at the close of the day, there came a proud and stately knight, and Peredur overthrew him, and he besought his mercy. "Who art thou?" said Peredur. "I am Steward of the Palace," said he. "And how much of the maiden's possessions are under thy control?" "One third part," answered he. "Verily," said Peredur, "thou shalt fully restore to the maiden her possessions, and, moreover, thou shalt give her meat and drink for two hundred men, and their horses and their arms. And for thyself, thou shalt be her captive." And immediately it was so done. And the third day Peredur rode forth to the meadow; and he vanquished more that day than on either of the preceding. And at the close of the day, an earl came to encounter him, and he overthrew him, and he besought his mercy. "Who art thou?" said Peredur. "I am the earl," said he. "I will not conceal it from thee." "Verily," said Peredur, "thou shalt restore the whole of the maiden's earldom, and shalt give her thine own earldom in addition thereto, and meat and drink for three hundred men, and their horses and arms, and thou thyself shalt remain in her power." And thus it was fulfilled. And Peredur tarried three weeks in the country, causing tribute and obedience to be paid to the maiden, and the government to be placed in her hands. "With thy leave," said Peredur, "I will go hence." "Verily, my brother, desirest thou this?" "Yes, by my faith; and had it not been for love of thee, I should not have been here thus long." "My soul," said she, "who art thou?" "I am Peredur the son of Evrawc from the North; and if ever thou art in trouble or in danger, acquaint me therewith, and if I can, I will protect thee." So Peredur rode forth. And far thence there met him a lady, mounted on a horse that was lean, and covered with sweat; and she saluted the youth. "Whence comest thou, my sister?" Then she told him the cause of her journey. Now she was the wife of the Lord of the Glade. "Behold," said he, "I am the knight through whom thou art in trouble, and he shall repent it, who has treated thee thus." Thereupon, behold a knight rode up, and he enquired of Peredur, if he had seen a knight such as he was seeking. "Hold thy peace," said Peredur, "I am he whom thou seekest; and by my faith, thou deservest ill of thy household for thy treatment of the maiden, for she is innocent concerning me." So they encountered, and they were not long in combat ere Peredur overthrew the knight, and he besought his mercy. "Mercy thou shalt have," said Peredur, "so thou wilt return by the way thou camest, and declare that thou holdest the maiden innocent, and so that thou wilt acknowledge unto her the reverse thou hast sustained at my hands." And the knight plighted him his faith thereto. Then Peredur rode forward. And above him he beheld a castle, and thitherward he went. And he struck upon the gate with his lance, and then, behold a comely auburn-haired youth opened the gate, and he had the stature of a warrior, and the years of a boy. And when Peredur came into the hall, there was a tall and stately lady sitting in a chair, and many handmaidens around her; and the lady rejoiced at his coming. And when it was time, they went to meat. And after their repast was finished, "It were well for thee, chieftain," said she, "to go elsewhere to sleep." "Wherefore can I not sleep here?" said Peredur. "Nine sorceresses are here, my soul, of the sorceresses of Gloucester, and their father and their mother are with them; and unless we can make our escape before daybreak, we shall be slain; and already they have conquered and laid waste all the country, except this one dwelling." "Behold," said Peredur, "I will remain here to-night, and if you are in trouble, I will do you what service I can; but harm shall you not receive from me." So they went to rest. And with the break of day, Peredur heard a dreadful outcry. And he hastily arose, and went forth in his vest and his doublet, with his sword about his neck, and he saw a sorceress overtake one of the watch, who cried out violently. Peredur attacked the sorceress, and struck her upon the head with his sword, so that he flattened her helmet and her headpiece like a dish upon her head. "Thy mercy, goodly Peredur, son of Evrawc, and the mercy of Heaven." "How knowest thou, hag, that I am Peredur?" "By destiny, and the foreknowledge that I should suffer harm from thee. And thou shalt take a horse and armour of me; and with me thou shalt go to learn chivalry and the use of thy arms." Said Peredur, "Thou shalt have mercy, if thou pledge thy faith thou wilt never more injure the dominions of the Countess." And Peredur took surety of this, and with permission of the Countess, he set forth with the sorceress to the palace of the sorceresses. And there he remained for three weeks, and then he made choice of a horse and arms, and went his way. And in the evening he entered a valley, and at the head of the valley he came to a hermit's cell, and the hermit welcomed him gladly, and there he spent the night. And in the morning he arose, and when he went forth, behold a shower of snow had fallen the night before, and a hawk had killed a wild fowl in front of the cell. And the noise of the horse scared the hawk away, and a raven alighted upon the bird. And Peredur stood, and compared the blackness of the raven, and whiteness of the snow, and the redness of the blood, to the hair of the lady that best he loved, which was blacker than jet, and to her skin which was whiter than the snow, and to the two red spots upon her cheeks, which were redder than the blood upon the snow appeared to be. Now Arthur and his household were in search of Peredur. "Know ye," said Arthur, "who is the knight with the long spear that stands by the brook {72} up yonder?" "Lord," said one of them, "I will go and learn who he is." So the youth came to the place where Peredur was, and asked him what he did thus, and who he was. And from the intensity with which he thought upon the lady whom best he loved, he gave him no answer. Then the youth thrust at Peredur with his lance, and Peredur turned upon him, and struck him over his horse's crupper to the ground. And after this, four and twenty youths came to him, and he did not answer one more than another, but gave the same reception to all, bringing them with one single thrust to the ground. And then came Kai, and spoke to Peredur rudely and angrily; and Peredur took him with his lance under the jaw, and cast him from him with a thrust, so that he broke his arm and his shoulder blade, and he rode over him one and twenty times. And while he lay thus, stunned with the violence of the pain that he had suffered, his horse returned back at a wild and prancing pace. And when the household saw the horse come back without his rider, they rode forth in haste to the place where the encounter had been. And when they first came there, they thought that Kai was slain; but they found that if he had a skilful physician, he yet might live. And Peredur moved not from his meditation, on seeing the concourse that was around Kai. And Kai was brought to Arthur's tent, and Arthur caused skilful physicians to come to him. And Arthur was grieved that Kai had met with this reverse, for he loved him greatly. "Then," said Gwalchmai, "it is not fitting that any should disturb an honourable knight from his thought unadvisedly; for either he is pondering some damage that he has sustained, or he is thinking of the lady whom best he loves. And through such ill-advised proceeding, perchance this misadventure has befallen him who last met with him. And if it seem well to thee, lord, I will go and see if this knight has changed from his thought; and if he has, I will ask him courteously to come and visit thee." Then Kai was wrath, and he spoke angry and spiteful words. "Gwalchmai," said he, "I know that thou wilt bring him because he is fatigued. Little praise and honour, nevertheless, wilt thou have from vanquishing a weary knight, who is tired with fighting. Yet, thus hast thou gained the advantage over many. And while thy speech and thy soft words last, a coat of thin linen were armour sufficient for thee, and thou wilt not need to break either lance or sword in fighting with the knight in the state he is in." Then said Gwalchmai to Kai, "Thou mightest use more pleasant words, wert thou so minded; and it behoves thee not upon me to wreak thy wrath and thy displeasure. Methinks I shall bring the knight hither with me without breaking either my arm or my shoulder." Then said Arthur to Gwalchmai, "Thou speakest like a wise and a prudent man; go and take enough of armour about thee, and choose thy horse." And Gwalchmai accoutred himself, and rode forward hastily to the place where Peredur was. And Peredur was resting on the shaft of his spear, pondering the same thought, and Gwalchmai came to him without any signs of hostility, and said to him, "If I thought that it would be as agreeable to thee as it would be to me, I would converse with thee. I have also a message from Arthur unto thee, to pray thee to come and visit him. And two men have been before on this errand." "That is true," said Peredur, "and uncourteously they came. They attacked me, and I was annoyed thereat, for it was not pleasing to me to be drawn from the thought that I was in, for I was thinking of the lady whom best I love; and thus was she brought to my mind,--I was looking upon the snow, and upon the raven, and upon the drops of the blood of the bird that the hawk had killed upon the snow. And I bethought me that her whiteness was like that of the snow, and that the blackness of her hair and her eyebrows was like that of the raven, and that the two red spots upon her cheeks were like the two drops of blood." Said Gwalchmai, "This was not an ungentle thought, and I should marvel if it were pleasant to thee to be drawn from it." "Tell me," said Peredur, "is Kai in Arthur's Court?" "He is," said he, "and behold he is the knight that fought with thee last; and it would have been better for him had he not come, for his arm and his shoulder blade were broken with the fall which he had from thy spear." "Verily," said Peredur, "I am not sorry to have thus begun to avenge the insult to the dwarf and dwarfess." Then Gwalchmai marvelled to hear him speak of the dwarf and the dwarfess; and he approached him, and threw his arms around his neck, and asked him what was his name. "Peredur the son of Evrawc am I called," said he, "and thou? Who art thou?" "I am called Gwalchmai," he replied. "I am right glad to meet with thee," said Peredur, "for in every country where I have been, I have heard of thy fame for prowess and uprightness, and I solicit thy fellowship." "Thou shall have it, by my faith, and grant me thine," said he. "Gladly will I do so," answered Peredur. So they rode forth together joyfully towards the place where Arthur was; and when Kai saw them coming, he said, "I knew that Gwalchmai needed not to fight the knight. And it is no wonder that he should gain fame; more can he do by his fair words, than I by the strength of my arm." And Peredur went with Gwalchmai to his tent, and they took off their armour. And Peredur put on garments like those that Gwalchmai wore; and they went together unto Arthur, and saluted him. "Behold, lord," said Gwalchmai, "him whom thou hast sought so long." "Welcome unto thee, chieftain," said Arthur. "With me thou shalt remain; and had I known thy valour {76} had been such, thou shouldst not have left me as thou didst. Nevertheless, this was predicted of thee by the dwarf and the dwarfess, whom Kai ill treated, and whom thou hast avenged." And hereupon, behold there came the Queen and her handmaidens, and Peredur saluted them. And they were rejoiced to see him, and bade him welcome. And Arthur did him great honour and respect, and they returned towards Caerlleon. And the first night, Peredur came to Caerlleon, to Arthur's Court, and as he walked in the city after his repast, behold, there met him Angharad Law Eurawc. "By my faith, sister," said Peredur, "thou art a beauteous and lovely maiden; and were it pleasing to thee, I could love thee above all women." "I pledge my faith," said she, "that I do not love thee, nor will I ever do so." "I also pledge my faith," said Peredur, "that I will never speak a word to any Christian again, until thou come to love me above all men." The next day, Peredur went forth by the high road, along a mountain ridge, and he saw a valley of a circular form, the confines of which were rocky and wooded. And the flat part of the valley was in meadows, and there were fields betwixt the meadows and the wood. And in the bosom of the wood he saw large black houses, of uncouth workmanship. And he dismounted, and led his horse towards the wood. And a little way within the wood he saw a rocky ledge, along which the road lay. And upon the ledge was a lion bound by a chain, and sleeping. And beneath the lion he saw a deep pit, of immense size, full of the bones of men and animals. And Peredur drew his sword, and struck the lion, so that he fell into the mouth of the pit, and hung there by the chain; and with a second blow he struck the chain, and broke it, and the lion fell into the pit, and Peredur led his horse over the rocky ledge, until he came into the valley. And in the centre of the valley he saw a fair castle, and he went towards it. And in the meadow by the Castle he beheld a huge grey man sitting, who was larger than any man he had ever before seen. And two young pages were shooting the hilts of their daggers, of the bone of the sea horse. And one of the pages had red hair, and the other auburn. And they went before him to the place where the grey man was. And Peredur saluted him. And the grey man said, "Disgrace to the beard of my porter." Then Peredur understood that the porter was the lion. And the grey man and the pages went together into the Castle, and Peredur accompanied them; and he found it a fair and noble place. And they proceeded to the hall, and the tables were already laid, and upon them was abundance of food and liquor. And thereupon he saw an aged woman and a young woman come from the chamber; and they were the most stately women he had ever seen. Then they washed, and went to meat, and the grey man sat in the upper seat at the head of the table, and the aged woman next to him. And Peredur and the maiden were placed together; and the two young pages served them. And the maiden gazed sorrowfully upon Peredur, and Peredur asked the maiden wherefore she was sad. "For thee, my soul; for, from when I first beheld thee, I have loved thee above all men. And it pains me to know that so gentle a youth as thou should have such a doom as awaits thee to-morrow. Sawest thou the numerous black houses in the bosom of the wood. All these belong to the vassals of the grey man yonder, who is my father. And they are all giants. And to-morrow they will rise up against thee, and will slay thee. And the Round Valley is this valley called." "Listen, fair maiden, wilt thou contrive that my horse and arms be in the same lodging with me to-night." "Gladly will I cause it so to be, by Heaven, if I can." And when it was time for them to sleep rather than to carouse, they went to rest. And the maiden caused Peredur's horse and arms to be in the same lodging with him. And the next morning Peredur heard a great tumult of men and horses around the Castle. And Peredur arose, and armed himself and his horse, and went to the meadow. Then the aged woman and the maiden came to the grey man, "Lord," said they, "take the word of the youth, that he will never disclose what he has seen in this place, and we will be his sureties that he keep it." "I will not do so, by my faith," said the grey man. So Peredur fought with the host; and towards evening, he had slain the one-third of them without receiving any hurt himself. Then said the aged woman, "Behold, many of thy host have been slain by the youth. Do thou, therefore, grant him mercy." "I will not grant it, by my faith," said he. And the aged woman and the fair maiden were upon the battlements of the Castle, looking forth. And at that juncture, Peredur encountered the yellow-haired youth, and slew him. "Lord," said the maiden, "grant the young man mercy." "That will I not do, by Heaven," he replied; and thereupon Peredur attacked the auburn-haired youth, and slew him likewise. "It were better thou hadst accorded mercy to the youth, before he had slain thy two sons; for now scarcely wilt thou thyself escape from him." "Go, maiden, and beseech the youth to grant mercy unto us, for we yield ourselves into his hands." So the maiden came to the place where Peredur was, and besought mercy for her father, and for all such of his vassals as had escaped alive. "Thou shalt have it, on condition that thy father, and all that are under him, go and render homage to Arthur, and tell him that it was his vassal Peredur that did him this service." "This will we do willingly, by Heaven." "And you shall also receive baptism; and I will send to Arthur, and beseech him to bestow this valley upon thee, and upon thy heirs after thee for ever." Then they went in, and the grey man and the tall woman saluted Peredur. And the grey man said unto him, "Since I have possessed this valley, I have not seen any Christian depart with his life, save thyself. And we will go to do homage to Arthur, and to embrace the faith, and be baptized." Then said Peredur, "To Heaven I render thanks that I have not broken my vow to the lady that best I love, which was, that I would not speak one word unto any Christian." That night they tarried there. And the next day, in the morning, the grey man, with his company, set forth to Arthur's Court; and they did homage unto Arthur, and he caused them to be baptized. And the grey man told Arthur, that it was Peredur that had vanquished them. And Arthur gave the valley to the grey man and his company, to hold it of him as Peredur had besought. And with Arthur's permission, the grey man went back to the Round Valley. Peredur rode forward next day, and he traversed a vast tract of desert, in which no dwellings were. And at length he came to a habitation, mean and small. And there he heard that there was a serpent that lay upon a gold ring, and suffered none to inhabit the country for seven miles around. And Peredur came to the place where he heard the serpent was. And angrily, furiously, and desperately, fought he with the serpent; and at the last he killed it, and took away the ring. And thus he was for a long time without speaking a word to any Christian. And therefrom he lost his colour and his aspect, through extreme longing after the Court of Arthur, and the society of the lady whom best he loved, and of his companions. Then he proceeded forward to Arthur's Court, and on the road there met him Arthur's household, going on a particular errand, with Kai at their head. And Peredur knew them all, but none of the household recognised him. "Whence comest thou, chieftain?" said Kai. And this he asked him twice, and three times, and he answered him not. And Kai thrust him through the thigh with his lance. And lest he should be compelled to speak, and to break his vow, he went on without stopping. "Then," said Gwalchmai, "I declare to Heaven, Kai, that thou hast acted ill in committing such an outrage on a youth like this, who cannot speak." And Gwalchmai returned back to Arthur's Court. "Lady," said he to Gwenhwyvar, "seest thou how wicked an outrage Kai has committed upon this youth who cannot speak; for Heaven's sake, and for mine, cause him to have medical care before I come back, and I will repay thee the charge." And before the men returned from their errand, a knight came to the meadow beside Arthur's Palace, to dare some one to the encounter. And his challenge was accepted; and Peredur fought with him, and overthrew him. And for a week he overthrew one knight every day. And one day, Arthur and his household were going to Church, and they beheld a knight who had raised the signal for combat. "Verily," said Arthur, "by the valour of men, I will not go hence until I have my horse and my arms to overthrow yonder boor." Then went the attendants to fetch Arthur's horse and arms. And Peredur met the attendants as they were going back, and he took the horse and arms from them, and proceeded to the meadow; and all those who saw him arise and go to do battle with the knight, went upon the tops of the houses, and the mounds, and the high places, to behold the combat. And Peredur beckoned with his hand to the knight to commence the fight. And the knight thrust at him, but he was not thereby moved from where he stood. And Peredur spurred his horse, and ran at him wrathfully, furiously, fiercely, desperately, and with mighty rage, and he gave him a thrust, deadly-wounding, severe, furious, adroit and strong, under his jaw, and raised him out of his saddle, and cast him a long way from him. And Peredur went back, and left the horse and the arms with the attendant as before, and he went on foot to the Palace. Then Peredur went by the name of the Dumb Youth. And behold, Angharad Law Eurawc met him. "I declare to Heaven, chieftain," said she, "woeful is it that thou canst not speak; for couldst thou speak, I would love thee best of all men; and, by my faith, although thou canst not, I do love thee above all." "Heaven reward thee, my sister," said Peredur, "by my faith, I also do love thee." Thereupon it was known that he was Peredur. And then he held fellowship with Gwalchmai, and Owain the son of Urien, and all the household, and he remained in Arthur's Court. Arthur was in Caerlleon upon Usk; and he went to hunt, and Peredur went with him. And Peredur let loose his dog upon a hart, and the dog killed the hart in a desert place. And a short space from him he saw signs of a dwelling, and towards the dwelling he went, and he beheld a hall, and at the door of the hall he found bald swarthy youths playing at chess. And when he entered, he beheld three maidens sitting on a bench, and they were all clothed alike, as became persons of high rank. And he came, and sat by them upon the bench; and one of the maidens looked steadfastly upon Peredur, and wept. And Peredur asked her wherefore she was weeping. "Through grief, that I should see so fair a youth as thou art, slain." "Who will slay me?" enquired Peredur. "If thou art so daring as to remain here to-night, I will tell thee." "How great soever my danger may be from remaining here, I will listen unto thee." "This Palace is owned by him who is my father," said the maiden, "and he slays every one who comes hither without his leave." "What sort of a man is thy father, that he is able to slay every one thus?" "A man who does violence and wrong unto his neighbours, and who renders justice unto none." And hereupon he saw the youths arise and clear the chessmen from the board. And he heard a great tumult; and after the tumult there came in a huge black one-eyed man, and the maidens arose to meet him. And they disarrayed him, and he went and sat down; and after he had rested and pondered awhile, he looked at Peredur, and asked who the knight was. "Lord," said one of the maidens, "he is the fairest and gentlest youth that ever thou didst see. And for the sake of Heaven, and of thine own dignity, have patience with him." "For thy sake I will have patience, and I will grant him his life this night." Then Peredur came towards them to the fire, and partook of food and liquor, and entered into discourse with the ladies. And being elated with the liquor, he said to the black man, "It is a marvel to me, so mighty as thou sayest thou art, who could have put out thine eye?" "It is one of my habits," said the black man, "that whosoever puts to me the question which thou hast asked, shall not escape with his life, either as a free gift, or for a price." "Lord," said the maiden, "whatsoever he may say to thee in jest, and through the excitement of liquor, make good that which thou saidest and didst promise me just now." "I will do so, gladly, for thy sake," said he. "Willingly will I grant him his life this night." And that night thus they remained. And the next day the black man got up, and put on his armour, and said to Peredur, "Arise, man, and suffer death." And Peredur said unto him, "Do one of two things, black man; if thou wilt fight with me, either throw off thy own armour, or give arms to me, that I may encounter thee." "Ha! man," said he, "couldst thou fight, if thou hadst arms? Take, then, what arms thou dost choose." And thereupon the maiden came to Peredur with such arms as pleased him; and he fought with the black man, and forced him to crave his mercy. "Black man, thou shalt have mercy, provided thou tell me who thou art, and who put out thine eye." "Lord, I will tell thee, I lost it in fighting with the Black Serpent of the Carn. There is a mound, which is called the Mound of Mourning; and on the mound there is a earn, and in the earn there is a serpent, and on the tail of the serpent there is a stone, and the virtues of the stone are such, that whosoever should hold it in one hand, in the other he will have as much gold as he may desire. And in fighting with this serpent was it that I lost my eye. And the Black Oppressor am I called. And for this reason I am called the Black Oppressor, that there is not a single man around me whom I have not oppressed, and justice have I done unto none." "Tell me" said Peredur, "how far is it hence?" "The same day that thou settest forth, thou wilt come to the Palace of the Sons of the King of the Tortures." "Wherefore are they called thus?" "The Addanc of the Lake slays them once every day. When thou goest thence, thou wilt come to the Court of the Countess of the Achievements." "What achievements are there?" asked Peredur. "Three hundred men there are in her household, and unto every stranger that comes to the Court, the achievements of her household are related. And this is the manner of it,--the three hundred men of the household sit next unto the Lady; and that not through disrespect unto the guests, but that they may relate the achievements of the household. And the day that thou goest thence, thou wilt reach the Mound of Mourning, and round about the mound there are the owners of three hundred tents guarding the serpent." "Since thou hast, indeed, been an oppressor so long," said Peredur, "I will cause that thou continue so no longer." So he slew him. Then the maiden spoke, and began to converse with him. "If thou wast poor when thou camest here, henceforth thou wilt be rich through the treasure of the black man whom thou hast slain. Thou seest the many lovely maidens that there are in this Court, thou shalt have her whom thou best likest for the lady of thy love." "Lady, I came not hither from my country to woo; but match yourselves as it liketh you with the comely youths I see here; and none of your goods do I desire, for I need them not." Then Peredur rode forward, and he came to the Palace of the Sons of the King of the Tortures; and when he entered the Palace, he saw none but women; and they rose up, and were joyful at his coming; and as they began to discourse with him, he beheld a charger arrive, with a saddle upon it, and a corpse in the saddle. And one of the women arose, and took the corpse from the saddle, and anointed it in a vessel of warm water, which was below the door, and placed precious balsam upon it; and the man rose up alive, and came to the place where Peredur was, and greeted him, and was joyful to see him. And two other men came in upon their saddles, and the maiden treated these two in the same manner as she had done the first. Then Peredur asked the chieftain wherefore it was thus. And they told him, that there was an Addanc in a cave, which slew them once every day. And thus they remained that night. And next morning the youths arose to sally forth, and Peredur besought them, for the sake of the ladies of their love, to permit him to go with them; but they refused him, saying, "If thou shouldst be slain there, thou hast none to bring thee back to life again." And they rode forward, and Peredur followed after them; and after they had disappeared out of his sight, he came to a mound, whereon sat the fairest lady he had ever beheld. "I know thy quest," said she, "thou art going to encounter the Addanc, and he will slay thee, and that not by courage, but by craft. He has a cave, and at the entrance of the cave there is a stone pillar, and he sees every one that enters, and none see him; and from behind the pillar he slays every one with a poisonous dart. And if thou wouldst pledge me thy faith, to love me above all women, I would give thee a stone, by which thou shouldst see him when thou goest in, and he should not see thee." "I will, by my troth," said Peredur, "for when first I beheld thee, I loved thee; and where shall I seek thee?" "When thou seekest me, seek towards India." And the maiden vanished, after placing the stone in Peredur's hand. And he came towards a valley, through which ran a river; and the borders of the valley were wooded, and on each side of the river were level meadows. And on one side of the river he saw a flock of white sheep, and on the other a flock of black sheep. And whenever one of the white sheep bleated, one of the black sheep would cross over, and become white; and when one of the black sheep bleated, one of the white sheep would cross over, and become black. And he saw a tall tree by the side of the river, one half of which was in flames from the root to the top, and the other half was green and in full leaf. And nigh thereto he saw a youth sitting upon a mound, and two greyhounds, white-breasted, and spotted, in leashes, lying by his side. And certain was he, that he had never seen a youth of so royal a bearing as he. And in the wood opposite he heard hounds raising a herd of deer. And Peredur saluted the youth, and the youth greeted him in return. And there were three roads leading from the mound; two of them were wide roads, and the third was more narrow. And Peredur enquired where the three roads went. "One of them goes to my palace," said the youth, "and one of two things I counsel thee to do, either to proceed to my palace, which is before thee, and where thou wilt find my wife, or else to remain here to see the hounds chasing the roused deer from the wood to the plain. And thou shall see the best greyhounds thou didst ever behold, and the boldest in the chase, kill them by the water beside us; and when it is time to go to meat, my page will come with my horse to meet me, and thou shalt rest in my palace to-night." "Heaven reward thee; but I cannot tarry, for onward must I go." "The other road leads to the town, which is near here, and wherein food and liquor may be bought; and the road which is narrower than the others goes towards the cave of the Addanc." "With thy permission, young man, I will go that way." And Peredur went towards the cave. And he took the stone in his left hand, and his lance in his right. And as he went in, he perceived the Addanc, and he pierced him through with his lance, and cut off his head. And as he came from the cave, behold the three companions were at the entrance; and they saluted Peredur, and told him that there was a prediction that he should slay that monster. And Peredur gave the head to the young men, and they offered him in marriage whichever of the three sisters he might choose, and half their kingdom with her. "I came not hither to woo," said Peredur, "but if peradventure I took a wife, I should prefer your sister to all others." And Peredur rode forward, and he heard a noise behind him. And he looked back, and saw a man upon a red horse, with red armour upon him; and the man rode up by his side, and saluted him, and wished him the favour of Heaven and of man. And Peredur greeted the youth kindly. "Lord, I come to make a request unto thee." "What wouldest thou?" "That thou shouldest take me as thine attendant." "Who then should I take as my attendant, if I did so?" "I will not conceal from thee what kindred I am of. Etlym Gleddyv Coch am I called, an Earl from the East Country." "I marvel that thou shouldest offer to become attendant to a man whose possessions are no greater than thine own; for I have but an earldom like thyself. But since thou desirest to be my attendant, I will take thee joyfully." And they went forward to the Court of the Countess, and all they of the Court were glad at their coming; and they were told it was not through disrespect they were placed below the household, but that such was the usage of the Court. For, whoever should overthrow the three hundred men of her household, would sit next the Countess, and she would love him above all men. And Peredur having overthrown the three hundred men of her household, sat down beside her, and the Countess said, "I thank Heaven that I have a youth so fair and so valiant as thou, since I have not obtained the man whom best I love." "Who is he whom best thou lovest?" "By my faith, Etlym Gleddyv Coch is the man whom I love best, and I have never seen him." "Of a truth, Etlym is my companion; and behold here he is, and for his sake did I come to joust with thy household. And he could have done so better than I, had it pleased him. And I do give thee unto him." "Heaven reward thee, fair youth, and I will take the man whom I love above all others." And the Countess became Etlym's bride from that moment. And the next day Peredur set forth towards the Mound of Mourning. "By thy hand, lord, but I will go with thee," said Etlym. Then they went forwards till they came in sight of the mound and the tents. "Go unto yonder men," said Peredur to Etlym, "and desire them to come and do me homage." So Etlym went unto them, and said unto them thus--"Come and do homage to my lord." "Who is thy lord?" said they. "Peredur with the long lance is my lord," said Etlym. "Were it permitted to slay a messenger, thou shouldest not go back to thy lord alive, for making unto Kings, and Earls, and Barons, so arrogant a demand as to go and do him homage." Peredur desired him to go back to them, and to give them their choice, either to do him homage or to do battle with him. And they chose rather to do battle. And that day Peredur overthrew the owners of a hundred tents. And the next day he overthrew the owners of a hundred more; and the third day the remaining hundred took counsel to do homage to Peredur. And Peredur enquired of them, wherefore they were there. And they told him they were guarding the serpent until he should die. "For then should we fight for the stone among ourselves, and whoever should be conqueror among us would have the stone." "Await here," said Peredur, "and I will go to encounter the serpent." "Not so, lord," said they, "we will go altogether to encounter the serpent." "Verily," said Peredur, "that will I not permit; for if the serpent be slain, I shall derive no more fame therefrom than one of you." Then he went to the place where the serpent was, and slew it, and came back to them, and said, "Reckon up what you have spent since you have been here, and I will repay you to the full." And he paid to each what he said was his claim. And he required of them only that they should acknowledge themselves his vassals. And he said to Etlym, "Go back unto her whom thou lovest best, and I will go forwards, and I will reward thee for having been my attendant." And he gave Etlym the stone. "Heaven repay thee and prosper thee," said Etlym. And Peredur rode thence, and he came to the fairest valley he had ever seen, through which ran a river; and there he beheld many tents of various colours. And he marvelled still more at the number of water-mills and of wind-mills that he saw. And there rode up with him a tall auburn-haired man, in a workman's garb, and Peredur enquired of him who he was. "I am the chief miller," said he, "of all the mills yonder." "Wilt thou give me lodging?" said Peredur. "I will, gladly," he answered. And Peredur came to the miller's house, and the miller had a fair and pleasant dwelling. And Peredur asked money as a loan from the miller, that he might buy meat and liquor for himself, and for the household, and he promised that he would pay him again ere he went thence. And he enquired of the miller, wherefore such a multitude were there assembled. Said the miller to Peredur, "One thing is certain; either thou art a man from afar, or thou art beside thyself. The Empress of Cristinobyl the Great is here; and she will have no one but the man who is most valiant; for riches does she not require. And it was impossible to bring food for so many thousands as are here, therefore were all these mills constructed." And that night they took their rest. And the next day Peredur arose, and he equipped himself and his horse for the tournament. And among the other tents, he beheld one, which was the fairest he had ever seen. And he saw a beauteous maiden leaning her head out of a window of the tent, and he had never seen a maiden more lovely than she. And upon her was a garment of satin. And he gazed fixedly on the maiden, and began to love her greatly. And he remained there, gazing upon the maiden from morning until mid-day, and from mid-day until evening; and then the tournament was ended; and he went to his lodging, and drew off his armour. Then he asked money of the miller as a loan, and the miller's wife was wroth with Peredur; nevertheless, the miller lent him the money. And the next day he did in like manner as he had done the day before. And at night he came to his lodging, and took money as a loan from the miller. And the third day, as he was in the same place, gazing upon the maiden, he felt a hard blow between the neck and the shoulder, from the edge of an axe. And when he looked behind him, he saw that it was the miller; and the miller said to him, "Do one of two things: either turn thy head from hence, or go to the tournament." And Peredur smiled on the miller, and went to the tournament; and all that encountered him that day, he overthrew. And as many as he vanquished, he sent as a gift to the Empress, and their horses and arms he sent as a gift to the wife of the miller, in payment of the borrowed money. Peredur attended the tournament until all were overthrown, and he sent all the men to the prison of the Empress, and the horses and arms to the wife of the miller, in payment of the borrowed money. And the Empress sent to the Knight of the Mill, to ask him to come and visit her. And Peredur went not for the first nor for the second message. And the third time she sent an hundred knights to bring him against his will, and they went to him, and told him their mission from the Empress. And Peredur fought well with them, and caused them to be bound like stags, and thrown into the mill dyke. And the Empress sought advice of a wise man, who was in her counsel; and he said to her, "With thy permission, I will go to him myself." So he came to Peredur, and saluted him, and besought him, for the sake of the lady of his love, to come and visit the Empress. And they went, together with the miller. And Peredur went and sat down in the outer chamber of the tent, and she came and placed herself by his side. And there was but little discourse between them. And Peredur took his leave, and went to his lodging. And the next day he came to visit her, and when he came into the tent, there was no one chamber less decorated than the others. And they knew not where he would sit. And Peredur went and sat beside the Empress, and discoursed with her courteously. And while they were thus, they beheld a black man enter with a goblet full of wine in his hand. And he dropped upon his knee before the Empress, and besought her to give it to no one who would not fight with him for it. And she looked upon Peredur. "Lady," said he, "bestow on me the goblet." And Peredur drank the wine, and gave the goblet to the miller's wife. And while they were thus, behold there entered a black man, of larger stature than the other, with a wild beast's claw in his hand, wrought into the form of a goblet, and filled with wine. And he presented it to the Empress, and besought her to give it to no one but the man who would fight with him. "Lady," said Peredur, "bestow it on me." And she gave it to him. And Peredur drank the wine, and sent the goblet to the wife of the miller. And while they were thus, behold a rough-looking crisp-haired man, taller than either of the others, came in with a bowl in his hand full of wine; and he bent upon his knee, and gave it into the hands of the Empress, and he besought her to give it to none but him who would fight with him for it; and she gave it to Peredur, and he sent it to the miller's wife. And that night Peredur returned to his lodging; and the next day he accoutred himself and his horse, and went to the meadow, and slew the three men. Then Peredur proceeded to the tent, and the Empress said to him, "Goodly Peredur, remember the faith thou didst pledge me when I gave thee the stone, and thou didst kill the Addanc." "Lady," answered he, "thou sayest truth, I do remember it." And Peredur was entertained by the Empress fourteen years, as the story relates. * * * * * Arthur was at Caerlleon upon Usk, his principal palace; and in the centre of the floor of the hall were four men sitting on a carpet of velvet, Owain the son of Urien, and Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, and Howel the son of Emyr Llydaw, and Peredur of the long lance. And thereupon they saw a black curly-headed maiden enter, riding upon a yellow mule, with jagged thongs in her hand, to urge it on; and having a rough and hideous aspect. Blacker were her face and her two hands than the blackest iron covered with pitch; and her hue was not more frightful than her form. High cheeks had she, and a face lengthened downwards, and a short nose with distended nostrils. And one eye was of a piercing mottled grey, and the other was as black as jet, deep sunk in her head. And her teeth were long and yellow, more yellow were they than the flower of the broom. And her stomach rose from the breast bone, higher than her chin. And her back was in the shape of a crook, and her legs were large and bony. And her figure was very thin and spare, except her feet and her legs, which were of huge size. And she greeted Arthur and all his household, except Peredur. And to Peredur she spoke harsh and angry words. "Peredur, I greet thee not, seeing that thou dost not merit it. Blind was fate in giving thee fame and favour. When thou wast in the Court of the Lame King, and didst see there the youth bearing the streaming spear, from the points of which were drops of blood flowing in streams, even to the hand of the youth, and many other wonders likewise, thou didst not enquire their meaning nor their cause. Hadst thou done so, the King would have been restored to health, and his dominions to peace. Whereas, from henceforth, he will have to endure battles and conflicts, and his knights will perish, and wives will be widowed, and maidens will be left portionless, and all this is because of thee." Then said she unto Arthur, "May it please thee, lord, my dwelling is far hence, in the stately castle of which thou hast heard, and therein are five hundred and sixty-six knights of the order of Chivalry, and the lady whom best he loves with each; and whoever would acquire fame in arms, and encounters, and conflicts, he will gain it there, if he deserve it. And whoso would reach the summit of fame and of honour, I know where he may find it. There is a Castle on a lofty mountain, and there is a maiden therein, and she is detained a prisoner there, and whoever shall set her free will attain the summit of the fame of the world." And thereupon she rode away. Said Gwalchmai, "By my faith, I will not rest tranquilly until I have proved if I can release the maiden." And many of Arthur's household joined themselves with him. Then, likewise said Peredur, "By my faith, I will not rest tranquilly until I know the story and meaning of the lance whereof the black maiden spoke." And while they were equipping themselves, behold a knight came to the gate. And he had the size and the strength of a warrior, and was equipped with arms and habiliments. And he went forward, and saluted Arthur and all his household, except Gwalchmai. And the knight had upon his shoulder a shield, ingrained with gold, with a fesse of azure blue upon it, and his whole armour was of the same hue. And he said to Gwalchmai, "Thou didst slay my lord, by thy treachery and deceit, and that will I prove upon thee." Then Gwalchmai rose up. "Behold," said he, "here is my gage against thee, to maintain either in this place, or wherever else thou wilt, that I am not a traitor or deceiver." "Before the King whom I obey, will I that my encounter with thee take place," said the knight. "Willingly," said Gwalchmai, "go forward, and I will follow thee." So the knight went forth, and Gwalchmai accoutred himself, and there was offered unto him abundance of armour, but he would take none but his own. And when Gwalchmai and Peredur were equipped, they set forth to follow him, by reason of their fellowship, and of the great friendship that was between them. And they did not go after him in company together, but each went his own way. At the dawn of day, Gwalchmai came to a valley, and in the valley he saw a fortress, and within the fortress a vast palace, and lofty towers around it. And he beheld a knight coming out to hunt from the other side, mounted on a spirited black snorting palfrey, that advanced at a prancing pace, proudly stepping, and nimbly bounding, and sure of foot; and this was the man to whom the palace belonged. And Gwalchmai saluted him, "Heaven prosper thee, chieftain," said he, "and whence comest thou?" "I come," answered he, "from the Court of Arthur." "And art thou Arthur's vassal?" "Yes, by my faith," said Gwalchmai. "I will give thee good counsel," said the knight. "I see that thou art tired and weary, go unto my palace, if it may please thee, and tarry there to-night." "Willingly, lord," said he, "and Heaven reward thee." "Take this ring as a token to the porter, and go forward to yonder tower, and therein thou wilt find my sister." And Gwalchmai went to the gate, and shewed the ring, and proceeded to the tower. And on entering, he beheld a large blazing fire, burning without smoke, and with a bright and lofty flame, and a beauteous and stately maiden was sitting on a chair by the fire. And the maiden was glad at his coming, and welcomed him, and advanced to meet him. And he went and sat beside the maiden, and they took their repast. And when their repast was over, they discoursed pleasantly together. And while they were thus, behold there entered a venerable hoary-headed man. "Ah! base girl," said he, "if thou didst think that it was right for thee to entertain and to sit by yonder man; thou wouldest not do so." And he withdrew his head, and went forth, "Ha! chieftain," said the maiden, "if thou wilt do as I counsel thee, thou wilt shut the door, lest the man should have a plot against thee." Upon that Gwalchmai arose, and when he came near unto the door, the man, with sixty others, fully armed, were ascending the tower. And Gwalchmai defended the door with a chessboard, that none might enter until the man should return from the chase. And thereupon, behold the earl arrived. "What is all this?" asked he. "It is a sad thing," said the hoary-headed man, "the young girl yonder has been sitting and eating with him who slew your father. He is Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar." "Hold thy peace, then," said the earl, "I will go in." And the earl was joyful concerning Gwalchmai. "Ha! chieftain," said he, "it was wrong of thee to come to my Court, when thou knewest that thou didst slay my father; and though we cannot avenge him, Heaven will avenge him upon thee." "My soul," said Gwalchmai, "thus it is; I came not here either to acknowledge or to deny having slain thy father; but I am on a message from Arthur, and therefore do I crave the space of a year until I shall return from my embassy, and then, upon my faith, I will come back unto this palace, and do one of two things, either acknowledge it, or deny it." And the time was granted him willingly; and he remained there that night. And the next morning he rode forth. And the story relates nothing further of Gwalchmai respecting this adventure. And Peredur rode forward. And he wandered over the whole island, seeking tidings of the black maiden, and he could meet with none. And he came to an unknown land, in the centre of a valley, watered by a river. And as he traversed the valley, he beheld a horseman coming towards him, and wearing the garments of a priest, and he besought his blessing. "Wretched man," said he, "thou meritest no blessing, and thou wouldst not be profited by one, seeing that thou art clad in armour on such a day as this." "And what day is to-day?" said Peredur. "To-day is Good Friday," he answered. "Chide me not, that I knew not this, seeing that it is a year to-day since I journeyed forth from my country." Then he dismounted, and led his horse in his hand. And he had not proceeded far along the high road before he came to a cross road, and the cross road traversed a wood. And on the other side of the wood he saw an unfortified castle, which appeared to be inhabited. And at the gate of the castle there met him the priest whom he had seen before, and he asked his blessing. "The blessing of Heaven be unto thee," said he, "it is more fitting to travel in thy present guise, than as thou wast erewhile; and this night thou shalt tarry with me." So he remained there that night. And the next day Peredur sought to go forth. "To-day may no one journey. Thou shalt remain with me to-day and to-morrow, and the day following, and I will direct thee as best I may to the place which thou art seeking." And the fourth day Peredur sought to go forth, and he entreated the priest to tell him how he should find the Castle of Wonders. "What I know thereof, I will tell thee," he replied. "Go over yonder mountain, and on the other side of the mountain thou wilt come to a river, and in the valley wherein the river runs is a King's Palace, wherein the King sojourned during Easter. And if thou mayest have tidings anywhere of the Castle of Wonders, thou wilt have them there." Then Peredur rode forward. And he came to the valley in which was the river, and there met him a number of men going to hunt, and in the midst of them was a man of exalted rank, and Peredur saluted him. "Choose, chieftain," said the man, "whether thou wilt go with me to the chase, or wilt proceed to my Palace, and I will despatch one of my household to commend thee to my daughter, who is there, and who will entertain thee with food and liquor until I return from hunting; and whatever may be thine errand, such as I can obtain for thee, thou shalt gladly have." And the King sent a little yellow page with him as an attendant; and when they came to the palace, the lady had arisen, and was about to wash before meat. Peredur went forward, and she saluted him joyfully, and placed him by her side. And they took their repast. And whatsoever Peredur said unto her, she laughed loudly, so that all in the palace could hear. Then spoke the yellow page to the lady. "By my faith," said he, "this youth is already thy husband; or if he be not, thy mind and thy thoughts are set upon him." And the little yellow page went unto the King, and told him that it seemed to him that the youth whom he had met with was his daughter's husband, or if he were not so already, that he would shortly become so, unless he were cautious. "What is thy counsel in this matter, youth?" said the King. "My counsel is," he replied, "that thou set strong men upon him, to seize him, until thou hast ascertained the truth respecting this." So he set strong men upon Peredur, who seized him, and cast him into prison. And the maiden went before her father, and asked him, wherefore he had caused the youth from Arthur's Court to be imprisoned. "In truth," he answered, "he shall not be free to-night, nor to-morrow, nor the day following, and he shall not come from where he is." She replied not to what the king had said, but she went to the youth. "Is it unpleasant to thee to be here?" said she. "I should not care, if I were not," he replied. "Thy couch and thy treatment shall be in no wise inferior to that of the King himself, and thou shalt have the best entertainment that the palace affords. And if it were more pleasing to thee that my couch should be here, that I might discourse with thee, it should be so, cheerfully." "This can I not refuse," said Peredur. And he remained in prison that night. And the maiden provided all that she had promised him. And the next day Peredur heard a tumult in the town. "Tell me, fair maiden, what is that tumult?" said Peredur. "All the King's hosts and his forces have come to the town to-day." "And what seek they here?" he enquired. "There is an Earl near this place, who possesses two Earldoms, and is as powerful as a king; and an engagement will take place between them to-day." "I beseech thee," said Peredur, "to cause a horse and arms to be brought, that I may view the encounter, and I promise to come back to my prison again." "Gladly," said she, "will I provide thee with horse and arms." So she gave him a horse and arms, and a bright scarlet robe of honour over his armour, and a yellow shield upon his shoulder. And he went to the combat; and as many of the Earl's men as encountered him that day, he overthrew; and he returned to his prison. And the maiden asked tidings of Peredur, and he answered her not a word. And she went and asked tidings of her father, and enquired who had acquitted himself best of the household. And he said that he knew not, but that it was a man with a scarlet robe of honour over his armour, and a yellow shield upon his shoulder. Then she smiled, and returned to where Peredur was, and did him great honour that night. And for three days did Peredur slay the Earl's men; and before any one could know who he was, he returned to his prison. And the fourth day Peredur slew the Earl himself. And the maiden went unto her father, and enquired of him the news. "I have good news for thee," said the King, "the Earl is slain, and I am the owner of his two Earldoms." "Knowest thou, lord, who slew him?" "I do not know," said the King. "It was the knight with the scarlet robe of honour, and the yellow shield." "Lord," said she, "I know who that is." "By Heaven," he exclaimed, "who is he?" "Lord," she replied, "he is the knight whom thou hast imprisoned." Then he went unto Peredur, and saluted him, and told him that he would reward the service he had done him, in any way he might desire. And when they went to meat, Peredur was placed beside the King, and the maiden on the other side of Peredur, "I will give thee," said the King, "my daughter in marriage, and half my kingdom with her, and the two Earldoms as a gift." "Heaven reward thee, lord," said Peredur, "but I came not here to woo." "What seekest thou, then, chieftain?" "I am seeking tidings of the Castle of Wonders." "Thy enterprise is greater, chieftain, than thou wilt wish to pursue," said the maiden, "nevertheless, tidings shalt thou have of the Castle, and thou shalt have a guide through my father's dominions, and a sufficiency of provisions for thy journey, for thou art, O chieftain, the man whom best I love." Then she said to him, "Go over yonder mountain, and thou wilt find a Lake, and in the middle of the Lake there is a Castle, and that is the Castle that is called the Castle of Wonders; and we know not what wonders are therein, but thus is it called." And Peredur proceeded towards the Castle, and the gate of the Castle was open. And when he came to the hall, the door was open, and he entered. And he beheld a chessboard in the hall, and the chessmen were playing against each other, by themselves. And the side that he favoured lost the game, {102} and thereupon the others set up a shout, as though they had been living men. And Peredur was wroth, and took the chessmen in his lap, and cast the chessboard into the lake. And when he had done thus, behold the black maiden came in, and she said to him, "The welcome of Heaven be not unto thee. Thou hadst rather do evil than good." "What complaint hast thou against me, maiden?" said Peredur. "That thou hast occasioned unto the Empress the loss of her chessboard, which she would not have lost for all her empire. And the way in which thou mayest recover the chessboard is, to repair to the Castle of Ysbidinongyl, where is a black man, who lays waste the dominions of the Empress; and if thou canst slay him, thou wilt recover the chessboard. But if thou goest there, thou wilt not return alive." "Wilt thou direct me thither?" said Peredur. "I will show thee the way," she replied. So he went to the Castle of Ysbidinongyl, and he fought with the black man. And the black man besought mercy of Peredur. "Mercy will I grant thee," said he, "on condition that thou cause the chessboard to be restored to the place where it was when I entered the hall." Then the maiden came to him and said, "The malediction of Heaven attend thee for thy work, since thou hast left that monster alive, who lays waste all the possessions of the Empress." "I granted him his life," said Peredur, "that he might cause the chessboard to be restored." "The chessboard is not in the place where thou didst find it; go back, therefore, and slay him," answered she. So Peredur went back, and slew the black man. And when he returned to the palace, he found the black maiden there. "Ah! maiden," said Peredur, "where is the Empress?" "I declare to Heaven that thou wilt not see her now, unless thou dost slay the monster that is in yonder forest." "What monster is there?" "It is a stag that is as swift as the swiftest bird; and he has one horn in his forehead, as long as the shaft of a spear and as sharp as whatever is sharpest. And he destroys the branches of the best trees in the forest and he kills every animal that he meets with therein; and those that he does not slay perish of hunger. And what is worse than that, he comes every night, and drinks up the fish pond, and leaves the fishes exposed, so that for the most part they die before the water returns again." "Maiden," said Peredur, "wilt thou come and show me this animal?" "Not so," said the maiden, "for he has not permitted any mortal to enter the forest for above a twelvemonth. Behold, here is a little dog belonging to the Empress, which will rouse the stag, and will chase him towards thee, and the stag will attack thee." Then the little dog went as a guide to Peredur, and roused the stag, and brought him towards the place where Peredur was. And the stag attacked Peredur, and he let him pass by him, and as he did so, he smote off his head with his sword. And while he was looking at the head of the stag, he saw a lady on horseback coming towards him. And she took the little dog in the lappet of her cap, and the head and the body of the stag lay before her. And around the stag's neck was a golden collar. "Ha! chieftain," said she, "uncourteously hast thou acted in slaying the fairest jewel that was in my dominions." "I was intreated so to do; and is there any way by which I can obtain thy friendship?" "There is," she replied. "Go thou forward unto yonder mountain, and there thou wilt find a grove; and in the grove there is a cromlech, do thou there challenge a man three times to fight, and thou shalt have my friendship." So Peredur proceeded onward, and came to the side of the grove, and challenged any man to fight. And a black man arose from beneath the cromlech, mounted upon a bony horse, and both he and his horse were clad in huge rusty armour. And they fought. And as often as Peredur cast the black man to the earth, he would jump again into his saddle. And Peredur dismounted, and drew his sword; and thereupon the black man disappeared with Peredur's horse and his own, so that he could not gain sight of him a second time. And Peredur went along the mountain, and on the other side of the mountain he beheld a castle in the valley, wherein was a river. And he went to the castle; and as he entered it, he saw a hall, and the door of the hall was open, and he went in. And there he saw a lame grey-headed man, sitting on one side of the hall, with Gwalchmai beside him. And Peredur beheld his horse, which the black man had taken, in the same stall with that of Gwalchmai. And they were glad concerning Peredur. And he went and seated himself on the other side of the hoary- headed man. Then, behold a yellow-haired youth came, and bent upon the knee before Peredur, and besought his friendship. "Lord," said the youth, "it was I that came in the form of the black maiden to Arthur's Court, and when thou didst throw down the chessboard, and when thou didst slay the black man of Ysbidinongyl, and when thou didst slay the stag, and when thou didst go to fight the black man of the cromlech. And I came with the bloody head in the salver, and with the lance that streamed with blood from the point to the hand, all along the shaft; and the head was thy cousin's, and he was killed by the sorceresses of Gloucester, who also lamed thine uncle; and I am thy cousin. And there is a prediction that thou art to avenge these things." Then Peredur and Gwalchmai took counsel, and sent to Arthur and his household, to beseech them to come against the sorceresses. And they began to fight with them, and one of the sorceresses slew one of Arthur's men before Peredur's face, and Peredur bade her forbear. And the sorceress slew a man before Peredur's face a second time, and a second time he forbade her. And the third time the sorceress slew a man before the face of Peredur, and then Peredur drew his sword, and smote the sorceress on the helmet, and all her head armour was split in two parts. And she set up a cry, and desired the other sorceresses to flee, and told them that this was Peredur, the man who had learnt Chivalry with them, and by whom they were destined to be slain. Then Arthur and his household fell upon the sorceresses, and slew the sorceresses of Gloucester every one And thus is it related concerning the Castle of Wonders. THE DREAM OF RHONABWY. Madawc the son of Maredudd possessed Powys within its boundaries, from Porfoed to Gwauan in the uplands of Arwystli. And at that time he had a brother, Iorwerth the son of Maredudd, in rank not equal to himself. And Iorwerth had great sorrow and heaviness because of the honour and power that his brother enjoyed, which he shared not. And he sought his fellows and his foster-brothers, and took counsel with them what he should do in this matter. And they resolved to despatch some of their number to go and seek a maintenance for him. Then Madawc offered him to become Master of the Household and to have horses, and arms, and honour, and to fare like as himself. But Iorwerth refused this. And Iorwerth made an inroad into England, slaying the inhabitants, and burning houses, and carrying away prisoners. And Madawc took counsel with the men of Powys, and they determined to place an hundred men in each of the three Commots of Powys to seek for him. And thus did they in the plains of Powys from Aber Ceirawc, and in Allictwn Ver, and in Rhyd Wilure, on the Vyrnwy, the three best Commots of Powys. So he was none the better, he nor his household, in Powys, nor in the plains thereof. {108} And they spread these men over the plains as far as Nillystwn Trevan. Now one of the men who was upon this quest was called Rhonabwy. And Rhonabwy and Kynwrig Vrychgoch, a man of Mawddwy, and Cadwgan Vras, a man of Moelvre in Kynlleith, came together to the house of Heilyn Goch the son of Cadwgan the son of Iddon. And when they near to the house, they saw an old hall, very black and having an upright gable, whence issued a great smoke; and on entering, they found the floor full of puddles and mounds; and it was difficult to stand thereon, so slippery was it with the mire of cattle. And where the puddles were a man might go up to his ankles in water and dirt. And there were boughs of holly spread over the floor whereof the cattle had browsed the sprigs. When they came to the hall of the house, they beheld cells full of dust, and very gloomy, {109} and on one side an old hag making a fire. And whenever she felt cold, she cast a lapful of chaff upon the fire, and raised such a smoke, that it was scarcely to be borne, as it rose up the nostrils. And on the other side was a yellow calf skin on the floor, a main privilege was it to any one who should get upon that hide. And when they had sat down, they asked the hag where were the people of the house. And the hag spoke not but muttered. Thereupon behold the people of the house entered; a ruddy, clownish curly-headed man, with a burthen of fagots on his back, and a pale slender woman, also carrying a bundle under her arm. And they barely welcomed the men, and kindled a fire with the boughs. And the woman cooked something and gave them to eat, barley bread, and cheese, and milk and water. And there arose a storm of wind and rain, so that it was hardly possible to go forth with safety. And being weary with their journey, they laid themselves down and sought to sleep. And when they looked at the couch, it seemed to be made but of a little coarse straw full of dust and vermin, with the stems of boughs sticking up therethrough, for the cattle had eaten all the straw that was placed at the head and the foot. And upon it was stretched an old russet-coloured rug, threadbare and ragged; and a coarse sheet, full of slits was upon the rug, and an ill-stuffed pillow, and a worn-out cover upon the sheet. And after much suffering from the vermin, and from the discomfort of their couch, a heavy sleep fell on Rhonabwy's companions. But Rhonabwy, not being able either to sleep or to rest, thought he should suffer less if he went to lie upon the yellow calfskin that was stretched out on the floor. And there he slept. As soon as sleep had come upon his eyes, it seemed to him that he was journeying with his companions across the plain of Argyngroeg, and he thought that he went towards Rhyd y Groes on the Severn. As he journeyed, he heard a mighty noise, the like whereof heard he never before; and looking behind him, he beheld a youth with yellow curling hair, and with his beard newly trimmed, mounted on a chesnut horse, whereof the legs were grey from the top of the forelegs, and from the bend of the hindlegs downwards. And the rider wore a coat of yellow satin sewn with green silk, and on his thigh was a gold-hilted sword, with a scabbard of new leather of Cordova, belted with the skin of the deer, and clasped with gold. And over this was a scarf of yellow satin wrought with green silk, the borders whereof were likewise green. And the green of the caparison of the horse, and of his rider, was as green as the leaves of the fir tree, and the yellow was as yellow as the blossom of the broom. So fierce was the aspect of the knight, that fear seized upon them, and they began to flee. And the knight pursued them. And when the horse breathed forth, the men became distant from him, and when he drew in his breath, they were drawn near to him, even to the horse's chest. And when he had overtaken them, they besought his mercy. "You have it gladly!" said he, "fear nought." "Ha, chieftain, since thou hast mercy upon me, tell me also who thou art," said Rhonabwy. "I will not conceal my lineage from thee. I am Iddawc the son of Mynyo, yet not by my name, but by my nickname am I best known." "And wilt thou tell us what thy nickname is?" "I will tell you; it is Iddawc Cordd Prydain." "Ha, chieftain," said Rhonabwy, "why art thou called thus?" "I will tell thee. I was one of the messengers between Arthur and Medrawd his nephew, at the battle of Camlan; and I was then a reckless youth, and through my desire for battle, I kindled strife between them, and stirred up wrath, when I was sent by Arthur the Emperor to reason with Medrawd, and to shew him, that he was his foster-father and his uncle, and to seek for peace, lest the sons of the Kings of the Island of Britain, and of the nobles, should be slain. And whereas Arthur charged me with the fairest sayings he could think of, I uttered unto Medrawd the harshest I could devise. And therefore am I called Iddawc Cordd Prydain, for from this did the battle of Camlan ensue. And three nights before the end of the battle of Camlan I left them, and went to the Llech Las in North Britain to do penance. And there I remained doing penance seven years, and after that I gained pardon." Then lo! they heard a mighty sound which was much louder than that which they had heard before, and when they looked round towards the sound; behold a ruddy youth, without beard or whiskers, {111} noble of mien, and mounted on a stately courser. And from the shoulders and the front of the knees downwards the horse was bay. And upon the man was a dress of red satin wrought with yellow silk, and yellow were the borders of his scarf. And such parts of his apparel and of the trappings of his horse as were yellow, as yellow were they as the blossom of the broom, and such as were red, were as ruddy as the ruddiest blood in the world. Then behold the horseman overtook them, and he asked of Iddawc a share of the little men that were with him. "That which is fitting for me to grant I will grant, and thou shalt be a companion to them as I have been." And the horseman went away. "Iddawc," enquired Rhonabwy, "who was that horseman?" "Rhuvawn Pebyr, the son of Prince Deorthach." And they journeyed over the plain of Argyngroeg as far as the ford of Rhyd y Groes on the Severn. And for a mile around the ford on both sides of the road, they saw tents and encampments, and there was the clamour of a mighty host. And they came to the edge of the ford, and there they beheld Arthur sitting on a flat island below the ford, having Bedwini {112} the Bishop on one side of him, and Gwarthegyd the son of Kaw on the other. And a tall auburn-haired youth stood before him, with his sheathed sword in his hand, and clad in a coat and a cap of jet black satin. And his face was white as ivory, and his eyebrows black as jet, and such part of his wrist as could be seen between his glove and his sleeve was whiter than the lily, and thicker than a warrior's ankle. Then came Iddawc and they that were with him, and stood before Arthur, and saluted him. "Heaven grant thee good," said Arthur. "And where, Iddawc, didst thou find these little men?" "I found them, lord, up yonder on the road." Then the Emperor smiled. "Lord," said Iddawc, "wherefore dost thou laugh?" "Iddawc," replied Arthur, "I laugh nor; but it pitieth me that men of such stature as these should have this Island in their keeping, after the men that guarded it of yore." Then said Iddawc, "Rhonabwy, dost thou see the ring with a stone set in it, that is upon the Emperor's hand?" "I see it," he answered. "It is one of the properties of that stone, to enable thee to remember that thou seest here to-night, and hadst thou not seen the stone, thou wouldest never have been able to remember aught thereof." After this they saw a troop coming towards the ford. "Iddawc," enquired Rhonabwy, "to whom does yonder troop belong?" "They are the fellows of Rhuvawn Pebyr the son of Prince Deorthach. And these men are honourably served with mead and bragget, and are freely beloved by the daughters of the kings of the Island of Britain. And this they merit, for they were ever in the front and the rear in every peril." And he saw but one hue upon the men and the horses of this troop, for they were all as red as blood. And when one of the knights rode forth from the troop, he looked like a pillar of fire glancing athwart the sky. And this troop encamped above the ford. Then they beheld another troop coming towards the ford, and these from their horses' chests upwards were whiter than the lily, and below blacker than jet. And they saw one of these knights go before the rest, and spur his horse into the ford in such a manner that the water dashed over Arthur and the Bishop, and those holding counsel with them, so that they were as wet as if they had been drenched in the river. And as he turned the head of his horse, the youth who stood before Arthur struck the horse over the nostrils with his sheathed sword, so that had it been with the bare blade it would have been a marvel if the bone had not been wounded as well as the flesh. And the knight drew his sword half out of the scabbard, and asked of him, "Wherefore didst thou strike my horse? Whether was it in insult or in counsel unto me?" "Thou dost indeed lack counsel. What madness caused thee to ride so furiously as to dash the water of the ford over Arthur, and the consecrated Bishop, and their counsellors, so that they were as wet as if they had been dragged out of the river?" "As counsel then will I take it." So he turned his horse's head round towards his army. "Iddawc," said Rhonabwy, "who was yonder knight?" "The most eloquent and the wisest youth that is in this Island; Adaon the son of Taliesin." "Who was the man that struck his horse?" "A youth of froward nature; Elphin the son of Gwyddno." Then spake a tall and stately man, of noble and flowing speech, saying that it was a marvel that so vast a host should be assembled in so narrow a space, and that it was a still greater marvel that those should be there at that time who had promised to be by mid-day in the battle of Badon, fighting with Osla Gyllellvawr. "Whether thou mayest choose to proceed or not, I will proceed." "Thou sayest well," said Arthur, "and we will go all together." "Iddawc," said Rhonabwy, "who was the man who spoke so marvellously unto Arthur erewhile?" "A man who may speak as boldly as he listeth, Caradawc Vreichvras, the son of Llyr Marini, his chief counsellor and his cousin." Then Iddawc took Rhonabwy behind him on his horse, and that mighty host moved forward, each troop in its order, towards Cevndigoll. And when they came to the middle of the ford of the Severn, Iddawc turned his horse's head, and Rhonabwy looked along the valley of the Severn. And he beheld two fair troops coming towards the ford. One troop there came of brilliant white, whereof every one of the men had a scarf of white satin with jet black borders. And the knees and the tops of the shoulders of their horses were jet black, though they were of a pure white in every other part. And their banners were pure white, with black points to them all. "Iddawc," said Rhonabwy, "who are yonder pure white troop?" "They are the men of Norway, and March the son of Meirchion is their prince. And he is cousin unto Arthur." And further on he saw a troop, whereof each man wore garments of jet black, with borders of pure white to every scarf; and the tops of the shoulders and the knees of their horses were pure white. And their banners were jet black with pure white at the point of each. "Iddawc," said Rhonabwy, "who are the jet black troop yonder?" "They are the men of Denmark, and Edeyrn the son of Nudd is their prince." And when they had overtaken the host, Arthur and his army of mighty ones dismounted below Caer Badon, and he perceived that he and Iddawc journeyed the same road as Arthur. And after they had dismounted he heard a great tumult and confusion amongst the host, and such as were then at the flanks, turned to the centre, and such as had been in the centre moved to the flanks. And then, behold, he saw a knight coming, clad, both he and his horse, in mail, of which the rings were whiter than the whitest lily, and the rivets redder than the ruddies blood. And he rode amongst the host. "Iddawc," said Rhonabwy, "will yonder host flee?" "King Arthur never fled, and if this discourse of thine were heard, thou wert a lost man. But as to the knight whom thou seest yonder, it is Kai. The fairest horseman is Kai in all Arthur's Court; and the men who are at the front of the army hasten to the rear to see Kai ride, and the men who are in the centre, flee to the side from the shock of his horse. {116a} And this is the cause of the confusion of the host." Thereupon they heard a call made for Kadwr, Earl of Cornwall, and behold he arose with the sword of Arthur in his hand. And the similitude of two serpents was upon the sword in gold. And when the sword was drawn from its scabbard, it seemed as if two flames of fire burst forth from the jaws of the serpents, and then, so wonderful was the sword, that it was hard for any one to look upon it. And the host became still, and the tumult ceased, and the Earl returned to the tent. "Iddawc," said Rhonabwy, "who is the man who bore the sword of Arthur?" "Kadwr, the Earl of Cornwall, whose duty is to arm the King on the days of battle and warfare." And they heard a call made for Eirynwych Amheibyn, Arthur's servant, a red, rough, ill-favoured man, having red whiskers {116b} with bristly hairs. And behold he came upon a tall red horse, with the mane parted on each side, and he brought with him a large and beautiful sumpter pack. And the huge red youth dismounted before Arthur, and he drew a golden chair out of the pack, and a carpet of diapered satin. And he spread the carpet before Arthur, and there was an apple of ruddy gold at each corner thereof, and he placed the chair upon the carpet. And so large was the chair that three armed warriors might have sat therein. Gwenn was the name of the carpet, and it was one of its properties, that whoever was upon it no one could see him, and he could see every one. And it would retain no colour but its own. And Arthur sat within the carpet, and Owain the son of Urien was standing before him. "Owain," said Arthur, "wilt thou play chess?" "I will, Lord," said Owain. And the red youth brought the chess for Arthur and Owain; golden pieces and a board of silver. And they began to play. And while they were thus, and when they were best amused with their game, behold they saw a white tent with a red canopy, and the figure of a jet black serpent on the top of the tent, and red glaring venomous eyes in the head of the serpent, and a red flaming tongue. And there came a young page with yellow curling hair, and blue eyes, and a newly springing beard, wearing a coat and a surcoat of yellow satin, and hose of thin greenish yellow cloth upon his feet, and over his hose shoes of parti- coloured leather, fastened at the insteps with golden clasps. And he bore a heavy three-edged sword with a golden hilt, in a scabbard of black leather tipped with fine gold. And he came to the place where the Emperor and Owain were playing at chess. And the youth saluted Owain. And Owain marvelled that the youth should salute him and should not have saluted the Emperor Arthur. And Arthur knew what was in Owain's thought. And he said to Owain, "Marvel not that the youth salutes thee now, for he saluted me erewhile; and it is unto thee that his errand is." Then said the youth unto Owain, "Lord, is it with thy leave that the young pages and attendants of the Emperor harass and torment and worry the Ravens? And if it be not with thy leave, cause the Emperor to forbid them." "Lord," said Owain, "thou hearest what the youth says; if it seem good to thee, forbid them from my Ravens." "Play thy game," said he. Then the youth returned to the tent. That game did they finish, and another they began, and when they were in the midst of the game, behold, a ruddy young man with auburn curling hair, and large eyes, well grown, and having his beard new shorn, came forth from a bright yellow tent, upon the summit of which was the figure of a bright red lion. And he was clad in a coat of yellow satin, falling as low as the small of his leg, and embroidered with threads of red silk. And on his feet were hose of fine white buckram, and buskins of black leather were over his hose, whereon were golden clasps. And in his hand a huge, heavy, three-edged sword, with a scabbard of red-deer hide, tipped with gold. And he came to the place where Arthur and Owain were playing at chess. And he saluted him. And Owain was troubled at his salutation, but Arthur minded it no more than before. And the youth said unto Owain, "Is it not against thy will that the attendants of the Emperor harass thy Ravens, killing some and worrying others? If against thy will it be, beseech him to forbid them." "Lord," said Owain, "forbid thy men if it seem good to thee." "Play thy game," said the Emperor. And the youth returned to the tent. And that game was ended, and another begun. And as they were beginning the first move of the game, they beheld at a small distance from them a tent speckled yellow, the largest ever seen, and the figure of an eagle of gold upon it, and a precious stone on the eagle's head. And coming out of the tent, they saw a youth with thick yellow hair upon his head, fair and comely, and a scarf of blue satin upon him, and a brooch of gold in the scarf upon his right shoulder as large as a warrior's middle finger. And upon his feet were hose of fine Totness, and shoes of parti- coloured leather, clasped with gold, and the youth was of noble bearing, fair of face, with ruddy cheeks and large hawk's eyes. In the hand of the youth was a mighty lance, speckled yellow, with a newly sharpened head; and upon the lance a banner displayed. Fiercely angry, and with rapid pace, came the youth to the place where Arthur was playing at chess with Owain. And they perceived that he was wroth. And thereupon he saluted Owain, and told him that his Ravens had been killed, the chief part of them, and that such of them as were not slain were so wounded and bruised that not one of them could raise its wings a single fathom above the earth. "Lord," said Owain, "forbid thy men." "Play," said he "if it please thee." Then said Owain to the youth, "Go back, and wherever thou findest the strife at the thickest, there lift up the banner, and let come what pleases Heaven." So the youth returned back to the place where the strife bore hardest upon the Ravens, and he lifted up the banner; and as he did so they all rose up in the air, wrathful and fierce and high of spirit, clapping their wings in the wind, and shaking off the weariness that was upon them. And recovering their energy and courage, furiously and with exultation did they, with one sweep, descend upon the heads of the men, who had erewhile caused them anger and pain and damage, and they seized some by the heads and others by the eyes, and some by the ears, and others by the arms, and carried them up into the air; and in the air there was a mighty tumult with the flapping of the wings of the triumphant Ravens, and with their croaking; and there was another mighty tumult with the groaning of the men, that were being torn and wounded, and some of whom were slain. And Arthur and Owain marvelled at the tumult as they played at chess; and, looking, they perceived a knight upon a dun-coloured horse coming towards them. And marvellous was the hue of the dun horse. Bright red was his right shoulder, and from the top of his legs to the centre of his hoof was bright yellow. Both the knight and his horse were fully equipped with heavy foreign armour. The clothing of the horse from the front opening upwards was of bright red sendal, and from thence opening downwards was of bright yellow sendal. A large gold-hilted one-edged sword had the youth upon his thigh, in a scabbard of light blue, and tipped with Spanish laton. The belt of the sword was of dark green leather with golden slides and a clasp of ivory upon it, and a buckle of jet black upon the clasp. A helmet of gold was on the head of the knight, set with precious stones of great virtue, and at the top of the helmet was the image of a flame-coloured leopard with two ruby-red stones in its head, so that it was astounding for a warrior, however stout his heart, to look at the face of the leopard, much more at the face of the knight. He had in his hand a blue-shafted lance, but from the haft to the point it was stained crimson-red, with the blood of the Ravens and their plumage. The knight came to the place where Arthur and Owain were seated at chess. And they perceived that he was harassed and vexed and weary as he came towards them. And the youth saluted Arthur, and told him, that the Ravens of Owain were slaying his young men and attendants. And Arthur looked at Owain and said, "Forbid thy Ravens." "Lord," answered Owain, "play thy game." And they played. And the knight returned back towards the strife, and the Ravens were not forbade any more than before. And when they had played awhile, they heard a mighty tumult, and a wailing of men, and a croaking of Ravens, as they carried the men in their strength into the air, and, tearing them betwixt them, let them fall piecemeal to the earth. And during the tumult they saw a knight coming towards them on a light grey horse, and the left foreleg of the horse was jet black to the centre of his hoof. And the knight and the horse were fully accoutred with huge heavy blue armour. And a robe of honour of yellow diapered satin was upon the knight, and the borders of the robe were blue. And the housings of the horse were jet black, with borders of bright yellow. And on the thigh of the youth was a sword, long, and three-edged, and heavy. And the scabbard was of red cut leather, and the belt of new red deerskin, having upon it many golden slides and a buckle of the bone of the sea horse, the tongue of which was jet black. A golden helmet was upon the head of the knight, wherein were set sapphire stones of great virtue. And at the top of the helmet was the figure of a flame-coloured lion, with a fiery-red tongue, issuing above a foot from his mouth, and with venomous eyes, crimson-red, in his head. And the knight came, bearing in his hand a thick ashen lance, the head whereof, which had been newly steeped in blood, was overlaid with silver. And the youth saluted the Emperor: "Lord," said he, "carest thou not for the slaying of thy pages, and thy young men, and the sons of the nobles of the Island of Britain, whereby it will be difficult to defend this Island from henceforward for ever?" "Owain," said Arthur, "forbid thy Ravens." "Play this game, Lord," said Owain. So they finished the game, and began another; and as they were finishing that game, lo, they heard a great tumult and a clamour of armed men, and a croaking of Ravens, and a flapping of wings in the air, as they flung down the armour entire to the ground, and the men and the horses piecemeal. Then they saw coming a knight on a lofty-headed piebald horse. And the left shoulder of the horse was of bright red, and its right leg from the chest to the hollow of the hoof was pure white. And the knight and horse were equipped with arms of speckled yellow, variegated with Spanish laton. And there was a robe of honour upon him, and upon his horse, divided in two parts, white and black, and the borders of the robe of honour were of golden purple. And above the robe he wore a sword three-edged and bright, with a golden hilt. And the belt of the sword was of yellow goldwork, having a clasp upon it of the eyelid of a black sea horse, and a tongue of yellow gold to the clasp. Upon the head of the knight was a bright helmet of yellow laton, with sparkling stones of crystal in it, and at the crest of the helmet was the figure of a griffin, with a stone of many virtues in its head. And he had an ashen spear in his hand, with a round shaft, coloured with azure blue. And the head of the spear was newly stained with blood, and was overlaid with fine silver. Wrathfully came the knight to the place where Arthur was, and he told him that the Ravens had slain his household and the sons of the chief men of this Island, and he besought him to cause Owain to forbid his Ravens. And Arthur besought Owain to forbid them. Then Arthur took the golden chessmen that were upon the board, and crushed them until they became as dust. Then Owain ordered Gwres the son of Rheged to lower his banner. So it was lowered, and all was peace. Then Rhonabwy enquired of Iddawc, who were the first three men that came to Owain, to tell him his Ravens were being slain. Said Iddawc, "They were men who grieved that Owain should suffer loss, his fellow-chieftains and companions, Selyv the son of Kynan Garwyn of Powys, and Gwgawn Gleddyvrudd, and Gwres the son of Rheged, he who bears the banner in the day of battle and strife." "Who," said Rhonabwy, "were the last three men who came to Arthur, and told him that the Ravens were slaughtering his men?" "The best of men," said Iddawc, "and the bravest, and who would grieve exceedingly that Arthur should have damage in aught; Blathaon, the son of Mawrheth, {124a} and Rhuvawn Pebyr the son of Prince Deorthach, and Hyveidd Unllenn." And with that behold four and twenty knights came from Osla Gyllellvawr, to crave a truce of Arthur for a fortnight and a month. And Arthur arose and went to take counsel. And he came to where a tall auburn curly-headed man was a little way off, and there he assembled his counsellors. Bedwini, {124b} the Bishop, and Gwarthegyd the son of Kaw, and March the son of Meirchawn, and Caradawc Vreichvras, and Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, and Edeyrn the son of Nudd, and Rhuvawn Pebyr the son of Prince Deorthach, and Rhiogan the son of the King of Ireland, and Gwenwynwyn the son of Nav, Howel the son of Emyr Llydaw, Gwilym the son of Rhwyf Freinc, and Daned the son of Ath, {124c} and Goreu Custennin, and Mabon the son of Modron, and Peredur Paladyr Hir, and Hyveidd {125a} Unllenn, and Twrch the son of Perif, and Nerth the son of Kadarn, and Gobrwy the son of Echel Vorddwyttwll, Gwair the son of Gwestyl, and Gadwy {125b} the son of Geraint, Trystan {125c} the son of Tallwch, Moryen Manawc, Granwen the son of Llyr, and Llacheu the son of Arthur, and Llawvrodedd Varvawc, and Kadwr Earl of Cornwall, Morvran the son of Tegid, and Rhyawd the son of Morgant, and Dyvyr the son of Alun Dyved, Gwrhyr Gwalstawd Ieithoedd, Adaon the son of Taliesin, Llary {125d} the son of Kasnar {125e} Wledig, and Fflewddur Fflam, and Greidawl Galldovydd, Gilbert the son of Kadgyffro, Menw the son of Teirgwaedd, Gwrthmwl Wledig, Cawrdav the son of Caradawc Vreichvras, Gildas the son of Kaw, Kadyriaith the son of Saidi, and many of the men of Norway, and Denmark, and many of the men of Greece, and a crowd of the men of the host came to that counsel. "Iddawc," said Rhonabwy, "who was the auburn haired man to whom they came just now?" "Rhun the son of Maelgwn Gwynedd, a man of whose prerogative it is, that he may join in counsel with all." {125f} "And wherefore did they admit into counsel with men of such dignity as are yonder a stripling so young as Kadyriaith the son of Saidi?" "Because there is not throughout Britain a man better skilled in counsel than he." Thereupon, behold, bards came and recited verses before Arthur, and no man understood those verses, but Kadyriaith only, save that they were in Arthur's praise. And, lo, there came four and twenty asses with their burdens of gold and of silver, and a tired wayworn man with each of them, bringing tribute to Arthur from the Islands of Greece. Then Kadyriaith the son of Saidi besought that a truce might be granted to Osla Gyllellvawr for the space of a fortnight and a month, and that the asses and the burdens they carried might be given to the bards, to be to them as the reward for their stay and that their verse might be recompensed, during the time of the truce. And thus it was settled. "Rhonabwy," said Iddawc, "would it not be wrong to forbid a youth who can give counsel so liberal as this from coming to the councils of his Lord?" Then Kai arose, and he said, "Whosoever will follow Arthur, let him be with him to-night in Cornwall, and whosoever will not, let him be opposed to Arthur even during the truce." And through the greatness of the tumult that ensued, Rhonabwy awoke. And when he awoke he was upon the yellow calfskin, having slept three nights and three days. And this tale is called The Dream of Rhonabwy. And this is the reason that no one knows the dream without a book, neither bard nor gifted seer; because of the various colours that were upon the horses, and the many wondrous colours of the arms and of the panoply, and of the precious scarfs, and of the virtue-bearing stones. Footnotes: {15} "The Emperor Arthur" all through the tale. {16} To begin to honour them, to inform them of the manners and the customs of the Court, those he was told were to go to the hall or the presence chamber, and those he was told were to get lodging. {17a} And I did not think there was in the world a wrong too mighty for me to set right. And when I had set right all the wrongs that were in my own country. {17b} Add "with fair curly hair." {18a} And such was his courtesy that he greeted me before I could greet him. {18b} Add, "I ween that." {18c} When she was ever loveliest, at Christmas, or at Easter tide mass. {19a} And the man I had seen erstwhile sat down to the table. {19b} Did I not think that too much trouble would befall thee. {20} With querulous roughness. {21a} And he would but bandy words with me. {21b} So that they cannot be separated. {27} Add "On account of the knight." {28} An image of a different kind. {29a} Monks. {29b} Land-owning. {30} Louder was her cry than any trumpet blast that arose from among the multitude. {31} "Truly," said Luned, "I thought thy good sense was greater than I find it to be. Is it better to grieve because thou canst not get _that_ good man, than it is to grieve for anything else thou canst never get?" "I declare to heaven," said the Countess, "that I could never get my lord in any other man, be he the best in the world." "Oh yes," said Luned, "thou couldst marry a husband that would be as good as he, or better than he." {36} Encamped. {37a} Add "and looked at him." {37b} And belaboured each other. {38} Add "and this is my abode." {39} To the disgrace of thy beard. {45} Owen was certain he had never seen better service, but every one was as sorrowful as if death had been upon him. {46a} And to-morrow is the appointed day for me to meet him, to deliver to him yonder maiden, otherwise he will kill my sons before my eyes. {46b} And the Earl determined to hold the castle against him, abandoning his two sons to their fate. {47} And they told him their tale. {48} But Owen's strength had not yet returned. {52} Her. {56} And very unmeet for so honourable a Court. {58} Add "causing a grievous wound." {59a} "This iron coat will never come off him," said Peredur. "I doubt whether it is not part of himself, born with him." {59b} Add "and the threat against Kai." {62} We are brother and sister. {72} In the dingle. {76} Progress. {102} And the side that he would favour would lose the game. {108} And they reckoned that the corn land of Powys, from Aber Ceirawc in Allictun Ver to Rhyd Wilure on the Vyrnwy, was as good as the three best commots in Powys; and that, if there was not sustenance for him and his followers in that corn land, there would be none in Powys. {109} Scantly draped, poverty-stricken. {111} Moustache. {112} Bedwin. {116a} For fear of being crushed by his horse. {116b} A red moustache. {124a} Murheth. {124b} Bedwin. {124c} Oth. {125a} Heneidd. {125b} Adwy. {125c} Dyrstan. {125d} Llara. {125e} Kasnat. {125f} It is his privilege that everyone should come to have counsel with him. Printed at The Edinburgh Press 9 & 11 Young Street 
31672	----	[Transcriber's note: Linenotes and Footnotes moved as close as possible to their applicable entry to facilitate readability.] ROYAL IRISH ACADEMY TODD LECTURE SERIES VOLUME XIII. KUNO MEYER, PH.D. THE TRIADS OF IRELAND [Illustration] DUBLIN HODGES, FIGGIS, & CO., LTD. LONDON: WILLIAMS & NORGATE 1906 _Printed by_ PONSONBY & GIBBS, _Dublin University Press_ CONTENTS PAGE PREFACE, v-xv TEXT AND TRANSLATION, 1-35 GLOSSES AND NOTES, 36-43 INDEX LOCORUM, 45-46 INDEX NOMINUM, 46 GLOSSARY, 47-54 PREFACE The collection of Irish Triads, which is here edited and translated for the first time, has come down to us in the following nine manuscripts, dating from the fourteenth to the nineteenth century:-- =L=, _i.e._ the Yellow Book of Lecan, a vellum of the end of the fourteenth century, pp. 414_b_--418_a_, a complete copy. =B=, _i.e._ the Book of Ballymote, a vellum of the end of the fourteenth century, pp. 65_b_-66_b_ (ends imperfectly). =M=, _i.e._ the Book of Húi Maine, a vellum of the fourteenth century, fo. 190_a_[1]-fo. 191_a_[2]. A complete copy beginning: 'Ceand Erenn Ardmacha,' and ending: 'tri hurgairt bidh a caitheam díescaidheadh (_sic_) a chaitheam iarna coir a caitheam gan altughudh.' Then follow proverbial sayings from the 'colloquy of Cormac and Cairpre,' such as: 'Dedhe ara ndligh gach maith domelar ithe [et] altugud. Anas deach gacha fleidhe a cainaltughudh [et] a mochdingbail. Caidhe deach samtha. Ni _hansa_. Gal gan forran. Deasgaidh codulta frislige,' &c., ending: 'deasgaidh aineolais imreasain. Ni d'agallaim Cormaic [et] Cairpre coruici sin.' =Lec=, _i.e._ the Book of Lecan, a vellum of the fifteenth century. The leaves on which the Triads are found are now bound up with the codex H. 2. 17 belonging to Trinity College. It is a complete copy beginning on p. 183_b_: 'Ceand _erenn_ Ardmacha,' and ending on p. 184_b_: 'ceitheora aipgitri baisi baig connailbi gell imreasain.'[1] =N=, _i.e._ 23. N. 10, a paper MS. written in the year 1575,[2] pp. 98-101. A complete copy, the gap between pp. 100 and 106 being made up by pp. 7_a_-10_b_ of the vellum portion of the manuscript. [1] By an oversight I have referred to this MS. sometimes by Lec and sometimes by H. In some cases both Lec and H will be found quoted in the variants. The same MS. is always meant. [2] As appears from the following colophon on p. 101: 'Oraoit uaim ar do lebor a hOedh in c_éd_luan iar n-aurtach Johannes. Baile Tibhaird ar bla maige mo mendad scribne hi farrad Se(a)ain hi Maoilconari. Mese (Dubthach) do scrib in ball soin da derpiris [et] rlæ. Anno domini 1575. Guroiuh maith ag_a_t. =H=[Prime], _i.e._ H. 1. 15, pp. 946-957. This is a paper manuscript written by Tadhg Tiorthach O Neachtain in 1745. It is a complete copy, with copious glosses in Modern Irish, the more important of which are printed below on pp. 36-43. At the end O Neachtain has added the following:--'Trí subhailce diadha: creidhemh, dothchus agus grádh. Trí a n-aon: athair, mac, spiorad naomh, da raibh gloir, mola[dh] [et] umhlacht tre bith sior tug ré don bhochtan bocht so. Aniu an 15 do bhealltuine 1745. Tadhg O Nechtuin mac Seain a n-aois ceithre bliadhna déag et trí fithchit roscriob na trithibh [.s]uas.' These manuscripts have, on the whole, an identical text, though they all occasionally omit a triad or two; and the order of the single triads varies in all of them. They have all been used in constructing a critical text, the most important variants being given in the foot-notes. The order followed is in the main that of the Yellow Book of Lecan. There are at least three other manuscripts containing copies of the Triads. One of them I discovered in the Stowe collection after the text had been printed off. It is a paper quarto now marked 23. N. 27, containing on fo. 1_a_-7_b_ a copy of the Triads, followed on fo. 7_b_-19_a_ by a glossed copy of the _Tecosca Cormaic_. It was written in 1714 by Domnall (or Daniel) O Duind mac Eimuinn. Its readings agree closely with those of N. In § 237, it alone, of all manuscripts, gives an intelligible reading of a corrupt passage. For _cia fochertar im-muir, cia berthair hi tech fo glass dodeime a tiprait oca mbí_, it reads: _cia focearta im-muir, cia beirthear hi tech fo glass no do theine, dogeibther occan tiprait_, 'though it be thrown into the sea, though it be put into a house under lock, or into fire, it will be found at the well.' In § 121 for _cerdai_ it reads _cerd_; in § 139 it has _rotioc_ and _rotocht_; in § 143 for _grúss_ its reading is _grís_; in §153 it has _aibeuloit_ for _eplet_; in § 217 _tar a n-éisi_ for _dia n-éisi_; in § 218 _lomradh_(twice) for _lobra_ and _indlighidh_ for _i n-indligud_; in § 219 it has the correct reading _éiric_, and for _dithechte_ it reads _ditheacht_; in § 220 it reads _fri aroile_ for _fria céile_; in § 223 after _ile_ it adds _imchiana_; in § 224 it reads _grís brond .i. galar_; in § 229 for _meraichne_ it has _mearaigheacht_; in § 235 it has _mhamus_ for _mám_; in § 236 _Maig Hi_ for _Maig Lii_; and for _co ndeirgenai in dam de_ it reads _co nderna in dam fria_. Another copy, written in 1836 by Peter O'Longan, formerly in the possession of the Earls of Crawford, now belongs to the Rylands Library, Manchester, where it was found by Professor Strachan, who kindly copied a page or two for me. It is evidently a very corrupt copy which I have not thought worth the trouble of collating. Lastly, there is in the Advocates' Library a copy in a vellum manuscript marked Kilbride III. It begins on fo. 9_b_^2 as follows:--'Treching breath annso. Ceann Eirind Ardmacha.' I hope to collate it before long, and give some account of it in the next number of this series. In all these manuscripts the Triads either follow upon, or precede, or are incorporated in the collections of maxims and proverbial sayings known as _Tecosca Cormaic_, _Auraicept Morainn_, and _Senbríathra Fíthil_, the whole forming a body of early Irish gnomic literature which deserves editing in its entirety. It is clear, however, that the Triads do not originally belong to any of these texts. They had a separate origin, and form a collection by themselves. This is also shown by the fact that the Book of Leinster, the oldest manuscript containing the _Tecosca Cormaic_ (pp. 343_a_-345_b_), the _Senbríathra Fíthail_ (pp. 345_b_-346_a_), and the _Bríathra Moraind_ (pp. 346_a_-_b_), does not include them. It is but a small portion of the large number of triads scattered throughout early Irish literature that has been brought together in our collection under the title of _Trecheng breth Féne_, i.e., literally 'a triadic arrangement of the sayings of Irishmen.' I first drew attention to the existence of Irish triads in a note on Irish proverbs in my addition of the _Battle of Ventry_, p. 85, where a few will be found quoted. A complete collection of them would fill a small volume, especially if it were to include those still current among the people of Ireland, both among Gaelic and English speakers. I must content myself here with giving a few specimens taken at random from my own collections:-- Three kinds of martyrdom that are counted as a cross to man, _i.e._ white martyrdom, green martyrdom, and red martyrdom.--The Cambray Homily (_Thesaurus Palæohibernicus_, II., p. 246). Three enemies of the soul: the world, the devil, and an impious teacher.--Colman maccu Beognae's Alphabet of Piety (_Zeitschrift für celtische Philologie_, III., p. 452). Three things whereby the devil shows himself in man: by his face, by his gait, by his speech.--_Ib._, p. 453. Three profitable labours in the day: praying, working, reading.--Regula Choluimb Cille (_Zeitschr._, III., p. 29). Three laymen of Ireland who became monks: Beccan son of Cula, Mochu son of Lonan, and Enda of Arann.--Notes on the Félire of Oengus (Henry Bradshaw Society, vol. xxix., p. 112). Three chief artisans of Ireland: Tassach with Patrick, Conlaed with Brigit, and Daig with Ciaran.--_Ib._, p. 186. Three poets of the world: Homer of the Greeks, Vergil of the Latins, Ruman of the Gaels.--Book of Leinster, p. 354_b_. The three worst counsels that have been acted on in Ireland through the advice of saints: the cutting short of Ciaran's life, the banishment of Colum Cille, the expulsion of Mochuta from Rathen.--Notes on the Félire of Oengus, p. 204, and Tripartite Life, p. 557.[3] [3] Where for 'wrong stories' read 'wrong counsels' (_sanasa sáeba_). This triad is thus versified in the Brussels MS. 5100:-- Teora saoba sanasa Leithe Cuind roc[h]aras-[s]a: Mochuda cona clamhra[i]d d'ionnarba a Rathain roghlain, cur Coluim Cille tar sal, timdibhe saeghail Ciaráin. Three things there are for which the Son of living God is not grateful: haughty piety, harsh reproof, reviling a person if it is not certain.[4] [4] LB., p. 225 marg. inf., and Brussels MS. 5100, fo. 86_a_: Fuil trí ní (a trí Br.) doná (danach Br.) buidech mac Dé bí: crábud úallach, coisced (coiccsed Br.) serb, écnach duine mad inderb. Three things there are for which the King of the sun is grateful: union of brethren, upright conversation, serving at the altar of God.[5] [5] Edinburgh MS. xl, p. 28, and Brussels MS. 5100, fo. 86_a_: Fuil tréide dianab buidech rí gréine: óenta bráthar, comrád (fodail Ed.) cert, altóir Dé do thimthirecht. Woe to the three folk in horrid hell of great blasts: folk who practise poetry, folk who violate their orders, mercenaries.[6] [6] LB., p. 236, marg. inf.: Mairg na trí lucht a n-iffirn úathmar anside: óes dogní dán, óes choilles grád, óes amsaine. Three things there are which do not behove the poor of living God: ingratitude for his life whatever it be, grumbling, and flattery.[7] [7] LB., p. 238, marg. inf.: Fuil trí ní ná dlegair do bocht Dé bí: dimmda da bethaid cipé, cesacht ocus aibéle. The following modern triads I owe to a communication from Dr. P.W. Joyce, who heard them in his youth among the people of Limerick:-- Three things to be distrusted: a cow's horn, a dog's tooth, and a horse's hoof. Three disagreeable things at home: a scolding wife, a squalling child, and a smoky chimney. The three finest sights in the world: a field of ripe wheat, a ship in full sail, and the wife of a Mac Donnell with child.[8] [8] This triad comes from the Glynns of Antrim, the Mac Donnells' district. In our collection an arrangement of the Triads in certain groups, according to their contents, is discernible. Thus, the first sixty-one--of which, however, the opening thirty-one are no Triads at all--are all topographical; and among the rest, those dealing with legal matters stand out clearly (§§ 149-172). When the collection was made we have no means of ascertaining, except from internal evidence, such as the age of the language, and a few allusions to events, the date of which we can approximately fix. The language of the Triads may be described as late Old-Irish. Their verbal system indeed is on the whole that of the Continental glosses,[9] and would forbid us to put them later than the year 900. On the other hand, the following peculiarities in declension, in which all the manuscripts agree, make it impossible for us to put them much earlier than the second half of the ninth century. [9] I may mention particularly the relative forms _téite_ 167, _bíte_ 127, _ata_ 75, 76, 224, &c., _berta_ (O. Ir. _berte_) 109, 110, _fíchte_ (145), _coillte_ (166), _téite_ (167), _aragellat_ (sic leg. with N) 171; the deponent _neimthigedar_ 116, &c.; _ató_, 'I am' (104), and the use of the perfective _ad-_ in _conaittig_ 77, 78. The genitive singular of _i-_ and _u-_stems no longer shows the ending _-o_, which has been replaced throughout by _-a_.[10] Now, in the Annals of Ulster, which are a sure guide in these matters and allow us to follow the development of the language from century to century, this genitive in _-o_ is found for the last time in A.D. 816 (_rátho, Ailello_). Thence onward the ending _-a_ is always found. [10] _rátha_ 56, _foglada_ 92, _flatha_ 151, 248, 253; _dara_ 4, 34; _Ela_ 31, 35, 44 (cf. _Lainne Ela_, AU. 816); _átha_ 50, _betha_ 82, 83, 249. The place-name _Lusca_, 'Lusk,' is originally an _n-_stem making its genitive _Luscan_. This is the regular form in the Annals of Ulster till the year 880, from which date onward it is always _Lusca_ (A.D. 916, 928, &c.). In our text (§ 46) all the manuscripts read _Lusca_. In slender _io-_stems the dative singular in Old-Irish ends in _-iu_. I find this form in the Annals of Ulster for the last time in A.D. 816 (_Gertidiu_). Thence onward it is always _-i_, as in our text (_hi Cúailgni_ 43, _d'uisci_ 64). The nasal stem _léimm_ makes its nom. plur. _léimmen_ in Old-Irish. In § 32 we find instead (_tair-_)_leme_. So also _foimrimm_ makes its nom. plural _foimrimme_ in § 163. The word _dorus_ is neuter in Old-Irish, making its nom. acc. plural either _dorus_ or _doirsea_. In our text (§§ 173, 174) the word is masculine, and makes its nom. plural _doruis_. _Druimm_ is an _i-_stem in Old-Irish, but in the later language passes into an _n-_stem. In § 51 we find the nom. pl. _drommanna_. The neuter _grád_ in § 166 makes its nom. plur. _grúda_ for O. Ir. _grád_.[11] [11] The infinitive _bith_ for O. Ir. _buith_ (91), the dative _cinn_ for O. Ir. _ciunn_ (98, 135), the nom. pl. _sligthi_ for O. Ir. _sligid_ (which I have restored in § 49), the confusion between _do_ and _di_ (e.g. 83), and other details are probably due to the Middle-and Modern-Irish transcribers. On linguistic grounds, then, I should say that our collection was made some time during the second half of the ninth century. That it cannot be dated earlier is also apparent from another consideration. Professor Zimmer has taught us to search in every ancient Irish text for indications of its having been composed either before or after the Viking period. I find no words from the Norse language in the Triads, or, if there are any, they have escaped me; but there are two distinct references to the Viking age. In § 232, a Viking in his hauberk (_Gall ina lúirig_) is mentioned as one of three that are hardest to talk to; and, in § 44, Bangor in Co. Down is called unlucky or unfortunate, no doubt, as the gloss says, because of the repeated plunderings and destruction of its monastery by the Norse during the early part of the ninth century (A.D. 823, 824). In endeavouring to trace the origin of the Triad as a form of literary composition among the Irish, one must remember that it is but one of several similar enumerative sayings common in Irish literature. Thus the collection here printed contains three duads (124. 133. 134), seven tetrads (223. 230. 234. 244. 248. 251. 252), and one heptad (235). A whole Irish law-book is composed in the form of heptads;[12] while triads, tetrads, &c., occur in every part of the Laws.[13] Such schematic arrangements were of course a great aid to memory. [12] See _Ancient Laws of Ireland_, vol, v., pp. 118-373. [13] Thus in the first volume of the Laws we find duads on p. 228, 15; 294, 27; triads on p. 50, 9. 27; 230, 4; 264, 20; 288, 28; tetrads 40, 21; 54, 7; 64, 1; 240, 24; 256, 4, &c.; 272, 25; 274, 3, &c.; pentads 30, 21; 50, 32; 90, 29; 102, 6; hexads 68, 11; 248, 7: a heptad 134, 9; an ennead 16, 20. If the Triad stood alone, the idea that it owes its origin to the effect of the doctrine of the Trinity upon the Celtic imagination might reasonably be entertained. The fact that this doctrine has led to many peculiar phenomena in Irish folklore, literature, and art has frequently been pointed out. Nor would I deny that the sacred character of the number three, together with the greater facility of composition, may have contributed to the popularity of the Triad, which is certainly the most common among the various numerical sayings as well as the only one that has survived to the present day. However that may be, I believe that the model upon which the Irish triads, tetrads, pentads, &c., were formed is to be sought in those enumerative sayings--_Zahlensprüche_, as the German technical term is--of Hebrew poetry to be found in several books of the Old Testament. I am indebted to my friend the Rev. Carl Grüneisen for the following list of such sayings, which I quote in the Vulgate version. DUADS AND TRIADS. Ecclus. 23: 21, Duo genera abundant in peccatis, et tertium adducit iram et perditionem, &c. _Ib._ 26: 25, In duobus contristatum est cor meum, et in tertio iracundia mihi advenit: 26 vir bellator deficiens per inopiam, et vir sensatus contemptus, 27 et qui transgreditur a iustitia ad peccatum, Deus paravit eum ad romphaeam. _Ib._ 26: 28, Duae species difficiles et periculosae mihi apparuerunt: difficile exuitur negotians a neglegentia, et non iustificabitur caupo a peccatis labiorum. TRIADS AND TETRADS. Proverb. 30: 15, Tria sunt insaturabilia, et quartum quod nunquam dicit: sufficit. 16 Inferuns, et os vulvae, et terra quae non satiatur aqua; ignis vero nunquam dicit: sufficit. _Ib._ 30: 18, Tria sunt difficilia mihi, et quartum penitus ignoro: 19 viam aquilae in caelo, viam colubri super petram, viam navis in medio mari, et viam viri in adolescentia. _Ib._ 30: 21, Per tria movetur terra, et quartum non potest sustinere: 22 per servum cum regnaverit: per stultum cum saturatus fuerit cibo, 23 per odiosam mulierem cum in matrimonio fuerit assumpta, et per ancillam cum fuerit heres dominae suae. _Ib._ 30: 29, Tria sunt quae bene gradiuntur, et quartum quod incedit feliciter: 30 leo fortissimus bestiarum, ad nullius pavebit occursum, 31 gallus succinctus lumbos, et aries, nec est rex qui resistat ei. Ecclus. 26: 5, A tribus timuit cor meum, et in quarto facies mea metuit: 6 delaturam civitatis, et collectionem populi, 7 calumniam mendacem, super montem, omnia gravia, 8 dolor cordis et luctus mulier zelotypa. A TETRAD. Proverb. 30, 24: Quattuor sunt minima terrae, et ipsa sunt sapientiora sapientibus: 25 formicae, populus infirmus qui praeparat in messe cibum sibi, 26 lepusculus, plebs invalida qui collocat in petra cubile suum. A HEXAD AND HEPTAD. Proverb. 6. 16 Sex sunt quae odit Dominus, et septimum detestatur anima eius: 17 oculos sublimes, linguam mendacem, manus effundentes innoxium sanguinem, 18 cor machinans cogitationes pessimas, pedes veloces ad currendum in malum, 19 proferentem mendacia testem fallacem, et eum qui seminat intra fratres discordias. AN ENNEAD. Ecclus. 25, 9: Novem insuspicabilia cordis magnificavi, et decimum dicam in lingua hominibus, &c. The question arises whether these biblical sayings were the direct source from which the Irish imitations are derived, or whether the Irish became acquainted with the numerical Proverb through the medium of Greek and Latin literature. As the Irish clerics ever since the days of St. Patrick were diligent students of the Bible, there would be nothing strange in the former assumption. But there exists at least one early document which renders the latter equally possible. Under the title of _Proverbia Grecorum_ we possess a collection of sayings translated by some Irish scholar in Ireland from the Greek into Latin before the seventh century.[14] Among them we find three triads,[15] two pentads,[16] three heptads,[17] and two octads.[18] [14] This is the opinion of S. Hellmann, their latest editor. See his _Sedulius Scottus_, p. 135, in Traube's _Quellen und Untersuchungen zur lateinischen Philologie des Mittelalters_, vol. i.: München, 1906. [15] A. 39, 41. B. 5. [16] A. 52. [17] A. 54. B. 3, 7. [18] B. 1, 2. As examples I select the following two triads:-- Tres bacheriosi(?) sunt: terribilis bellator armatus promptusque ad praelium, leo de spelunca quando praedam devorat, aper ferus de silva quando furore in aliquem irruit. Tres sunt imperfecti qui numquam ad perfectionem vitae disciplinae pervenire possunt; tunc enim a vitiis recedunt, quando mala facere non possunt. Antiquus nauta qui multis annis seductis onmibus emere et vendere poterat; senex auriga qui in curribus et in equis Deo derelicto vana cura atque conversatione meditatur atque utitur; vetula ancilla quae dominae suae subdole in omnibus rebus quae cottidiano ministerio perficiuntur male retribuit. Triads occur sporadically in the literature of most other nations, and have occasionally been collected. But I am not aware that this kind of composition has ever attained the same popularity elsewhere as in Wales and Ireland, where the manufacture of triads seems at times almost to have become a sport. The wittiest triads are undoubtedly those in which the third item contains an anticlimax. Two perfect examples of this kind were composed by Heine when he tells the foreigner visiting Germany that he need but know three words of the language: _Brot_, _Kuss_, _Ehre_; and in his often quoted witticism: _Der Franzose liebt die Freiheit wie seine Braut, der Engländer wie seine Frau, der Deutsche wie seine alte Grossmutter._ K.M. THE TRIADS OF IRELAND TRECHENG BRETH FÉNI INSO SÍS[1] 1. Cenn Hérenn Ardmacha. [Note 1: _om._ BMHNLec] 2. Ordan Hérenn Clúain Maic Nóis. 3. Ana Hérenn Clúain Iraird. 4. Cride Hérenn Cell Dara. 5. Sruithe Hérenn Bendchor. 6. Cóemna Hérenn Lusca. 7. Áinius Hérenn Cenannus. 8. Dí [.s]úil Hérenn Tamlachta [et] Findglais. [Note 8: dá súil L Finnglaisi N Findglais Lec] 9. Tech commairce Hérenn Tech Cairnig for sligid Assail. [Note 9: _om._ L] 10. Idna Hérenn Inis Cathaig. 11. Reclés Hérenn Glenn Dá Locha. 12. Féinechas Hérenn Clúain Húama. 13. Tech Foichle Hérenn Fernæ. 14. Litánacht Hérenn Less Mór. 15. Senchas Hérenn Imblech Ibair. 16. Bérla Féine Hérenn Corcach. 17. Légend Hérenn Ross Ailithre. [Note 17: Ailaicre B Elichre M] 18. Téite Hérenn Tír Dá Glas. [Note 18: téde N teide BM] 19. Anmchairde Hérenn Clúain Ferta Brénainn. [Note 19: ancairde BLec Brenainde N] 20. Escaine Hérenn Lothra. [Note 20: hescoemna L] 21. Brethemnas Hérenn Sláine. 22. Dúire chrábaid Hérenn Fobur Féichín. [Note 22: dire BM Féichín _om._ BM Fabair Feithin N] 23. Áibne Hérenn Ard mBreccáin. 24. Diúite Hérenn Ross Commáin. [Note 24: diuidus BM diuitecht L] 25. Fáilte Hérenn Ráith mBoth nó Druimm Lethan. 26. De[.s]erc Hérenn Dún Dá Lethglas. [Note 26: desearc L deeirc B deirc M] THE TRIADS OF IRELAND 1. The Head of Ireland--Armagh. 2. The Dignity of Ireland--Clonmacnois. 3. The Wealth of Ireland--Clonard. 4. The Heart of Ireland--Kildare. 5. The Seniority of Ireland--Bangor. 6. The Comfort[19] of Ireland--Lusk. [19] Or, perhaps, 'good cheer.' 7. The Sport of Ireland--Kells. 8. The Two Eyes of Ireland--Tallaght and Finglas. 9. The Sanctuary of Ireland--the House of Cairnech upon the Road of Asal.[20] [20] A road running from Tara westward into Westmeath. 10. The Purity of Ireland--Scattery Island. 11. The Abbey-church of Ireland--Glendalough. 12. The Jurisprudence of Ireland--Cloyne. 13. The House of Wages[21] of Ireland--Ferns. [21] Or 'hire.' 14. The Singing the Litany of Ireland--Lismore. 15. The Lore of Ireland--Emly. 16. The Legal Speech of Ireland--Cork. 17. The Learning of Ireland--Roscarbery. 18. The Wantonness of Ireland--Terryglas. 19. The Spiritual Guidance of Ireland--Clonfert. 20. The Curse of Ireland--Lorrha. 21. The Judgment of Ireland--Slane. 22. The Severity of Piety of Ireland--Fore. 23. The Delight of Ireland--Ardbrackan. 24. The Simplicity[22] of Ireland--Roscommon. [22] Or 'uprightness.' 25. The Welcome of Ireland--Raphoe or Drumlane. 26. The Charity of Ireland--Downpatrick. 27. Trichtach Hérenn Dairchaill. [Note 27: _om._ BM techtach E Durcaill N Darachill L] 28. Fossugud Hérenn Mag mBile. [Note 28: Mag Mile L] 29. Martra Hérenn Tulen. [Note 29: _om._ L] 30. Ailbéimm Hérenn Cell Rúaid. [Note 30: aulbeimnech L Ruadh N Ruadain L] 31. Genas Hérenn Lann Ela. 32. Trí tairleme Érenn: Daire Calgaig [et] Tech Munna [et] Cell Maignenn. [Note 32: _om._ HBM] 33. Tri aithechpuirt Hérenn: Clúain Iraird, Glenn Dá Locha, Lugbad. [Note 33: aithich Lec heathachbuirg M Lugmag NBM] 34. Trí clochraid Hérenn: Ard Macha, Clúain Maic Nóis, Cell Dara. [Note 34: clothraige BM clot_hr_ai N clochraid L clochraidi Lec] 35. Trí háenaig Hérenn: áenach Tailten, áenach Crúachan, áenach Colmáin Ela. [Note 35: haenaigi L Colman MSS] 36. Trí dúine Hérenn: Dún Sobairche, Dún Cermna, Cathair Chonrúi. [Note 36: duin NBM] 37. Trí slébe Hérenn: Slíab Cúa, Slíab Mis, Slíab Cúalann. [Note 37: sleibte BM] 38. Trí haird Hérenn: Crúachán Aigli, Ae Chúalann, Benn mBoirchi. [Note 38: hard N cích Cualann L benna LN] 39. Trí locha Hérenn: Loch nEchach, Loch Rí, Loch nErni. [Note 39: Rib BM Rig N] 40. Trí srotha Hérenn: Sinann, Bóand, Banda. 41. Trí machaire Hérenn: Mag Midi, Mag Line, Mag Lifi. [Note 41: maige HBM] 42. Trí dorcha Hérenn: úam Chnogba, úam Slángæ, dercc Ferna. [Note 42: doirchi L uaim Chruachan NL uaim Condba B uaim Cnodba HM Slaingai BM Slaine N Slaine [et] uaim Chruachan nó dearc Fearna _add._ H] 43. Trí díthruib Hérenn: Fid Mór hi Cúailgni, Fid Déicsen hi Tuirtri, Fid Moithre hi Connachtaib. [Note 43: dithreba BM Fid Dexin N] 44. Trí dotcaid Hérenn: abbdaine Bendchuir, [A] abbdaine Lainne Ela, ríge Mugdorn Maigen. [Note 44: dotchaid LHLec [A] .i. ar imad argain air L abdaine Sláne nó Colmain Ela BM Laind Ela BM] 27. The ... of Ireland--Dairchaill. 28. The Stability of Ireland--Moville. 29. The Martyrdom of Ireland--Dulane. 30. The Reproach of Ireland--Cell Ruaid (Ruad's Church).[23] [23] 'Ruadan's Church,' L. 31. The Chastity of Ireland--Lynally. 32. The three places of Ireland to alight at: Derry, Taghmon, Kilmainham. 33. The three rent-paying places of Ireland: Clonard, Glendalough, Louth. 34. The three stone-buildings of Ireland: Armagh, Clonmacnois, Kildare. 35. The three fairs of Ireland: the fair of Teltown, the fair of Croghan, the fair of Colman Elo. 36. The three forts of Ireland: Dunseverick, Dun Cermna,[24] Cathir Conree. [24] On the Old Head of Kinsale. 37. The three mountains of Ireland: Slieve Gua,[25] Slieve Mis, Slieve Cualann.[26] [25] _i.e._ the Knockmealdown mountains. [26] The Wicklow mountains. 38. The three heights of Ireland: Croagh Patrick, Ae Chualann,[27] Benn Boirche.[28] [27] 'The Liver ('Pap,' L.) of Cualu,' either the Great Sugarloaf or Lugnaquilla. [28] _i.e._ Slieve Donard. 39. The three lakes of Ireland: Lough Neagh, Lough Ree, Lough Erne. 40. The three rivers of Ireland: the Shannon, the Boyne, the Bann. 41. The three plains of Ireland: the plain of Meath, Moylinny, Moy-Liffey.[29] [29] _i.e._ the plain of Kildare. 42. The three dark places of Ireland: the cave of Knowth, the cave of Slaney, the cave of Ferns. 43. The three desert places of Ireland: Fid Mór (Great Wood) in Coolney, Fid Déicsen (Spy-wood) in Tuirtri,[30] the Wood of Moher in Connaught. [30] The Húi Tuirtri were settled in the four baronies of Upper and Lower Antrim, and Upper and Lower Toome in county Antrim. 44. The three unlucky places of Ireland: the abbotship of Bangor, the abbotship of Lynally, the kingship of Mugdorn Maigen.[31] [31] Now Cremorne barony, county Monaghan. 45. Trí huilc Hérenn: Crecraigi, Glasraigi, Benntraigi. [Note 45: Grecraigi HBM] 46. Trí cáemnai Hérenn: abbdaine Lusca, ríge trí Cualann, secnabbóite Arda Macha. [Note 46: ríge fer Cúalann NL sechnap L segnab-i nArdmachai N] 47. Trí trága Hérenn: Tráig Ruis Airgit, Tráig Ruis Téiti, Tráig Baili. [Note 47: trachtai L] 48. Trí hátha Hérenn: Áth Clíath, Áth Lúain, Áth Caille. 49. Trí sligid Hérenn: slige Dála, slige Asail, slige Midlúachra. [Note 49: sligthi MSS] 50. Trí belaige Hérenn: Belach Conglais, Belach Luimnig, Belach Duiblinne .i. Átha Clíath. [Note 50: belaig L Conglaisi N Luimne N .i. Átha Clíath _om_. N] 51. Trí drommanna Hérenn: Druimm Fingin, Druimm nDrobeoil, Druimm Leithe. [Note 52: _om._ HBM] 52. Trí maige Hérenn: Mag mBreg, Mag Crúachan, Mac Liphi. 53. Trí clúana Hérenn: Clúain Maic Nóis, Clúain Eois, Clúain Iraird. 54. Trí tellaige Hérenn: tellach Temrach, tellach Caisil, tellach Crúachan. [Note 54: Temair Crúachu Caisel HBM] 55. Trí hessa Hérenn: Ess Rúaid, Ess Danainne, Ess Maige. 56. Trí fothirbi Hérenn: Tír Rátha Laidcniáin, Slíab Commáin, Slíab Mancháin. [Note 56: _om._ HBM fothairbe N] 57. Trí tiprata Hérenn: Tipra na nDési, Tipra Húarbeoil, Tipra Úaráin Garaid. [Note 57: tiubrai N tipra Cuirp N nDési HBM tipra Uarainn Garaid HBM t. Uaran nGarad N Breifene N tipra Braithcleasan Brigdi H Braichleasan Brigde BM] 58. Trí haimréide Hérenn: Breifne, Bairenn, Bérre[A]. [Note 58: haimreid L Boirind M [A] Beandtraigi H] 59. Trí hinbera Hérenn: Inber na mBárc, Inber Féile, Inber Túaige. 60. Trí hairderca Hérenn: Léimm Conculaind, Dún Cáin, Srub Brain. [Note 60: hirrdraici H oirrdirc M] 45. The three evil ones of Ireland: the Crecraige,[32] the Glasraige, the Benntraige.[33] [32] A tribe settled in the barony of Coolavin, county Sligo, and in the adjacent part of county Roscommon. [33] Either Bantry in county Cork, or Bantry in county Wexford. 46. The three comfortable places of Ireland: the abbotship of Lusk, the kingship of the three Cualu,[34] the vice-abbotship of Armagh. [34] 'Of the men of Cualu,' NL. 47. The three strands of Ireland: the strand of Ross Airgit,[35] the strand of Ross Teiti, the strand of Baile.[36] [35] A territory in the barony of Upper Ormond, county Tipperary. [36] Now Dundalk. 48. The three fords of Ireland: Ath Cliath (Hurdle-ford), Athlone (the Ford of Luan), Ath Caille (Wood-ford).[37] [37] Perhaps Áth Caille Rúaide on the Shannon. 49. The three highroads of Ireland: Slige Dala,[38] Slige Asail, Slige Luachra.[39] [38] The great south-western road from Tara into Ossory. [39] A road running northward from Tara. 50. The three mountain-passes of Ireland: Baltinglass, the Pass of Limerick, the Pass of Dublin. 51. The three ridges of Ireland: Druim Fingin, Druim nDrobeoil, Druim Leithe.[40] [40] In Breffny. 52. The three plains of Ireland: Moy Bray, Moy Croghan, Moy Liffey. 53. The three meadows of Ireland: Clonmacnois, Clones, Clonard. 54. The three households of Ireland: the household of Tara, the household of Cashel, the household of Croghan. 55. The three waterfalls of Ireland: Assaroe, Eas Danainne,[41] Eas Maige. [41] On the Shannon opposite Dunass, co. Clare. 56. The three fields (?) of Ireland: the land of Rathlynan, Slieve Comman, Slieve Manchain. 57. The three wells of Ireland: the Well of the Desi, the Well of Uarbel,[42] the Well of Uaran Garaid. [42] Probably near _Sescenn Uarbéoil_ in Leinster (Mountseskenn?). 58. The three uneven places of Ireland: Breffny, the Burren, Beare. 59. The three estuaries of Ireland: Inver na mBarc,[43] Inver Feile,[44] Inver Tuaige.[45] [43] _Dún na mBárc_ is in Bantry Bay. [44] The estuary of the Feale. [45] 'The axe-shaped estuary,' _i.e._ the mouth of the Bann. 60. The three conspicuous places of Ireland: Cuchulinn's Leap,[46] Dunquinn, Sruve Brain.[47] [46] _i.e._ Loop Head. [47] In the west of Kerry (i n-iarthar Hérenn, YBL. 123^b31). 61. Trí gnátha Hérenn: Tráig Lí, Lúachair Dedad, Slíab Fúait. [Note 61: gnath N gnáith HM Líí N] 62. Trí hamrai la Táin Bó Cúailnge: .i. in cuilmen dara héisi i nÉrinn; in marb dia haisnéis don bíu .i. Fergus mac Róig dia hinnisin do Ninníne éicius i n-aimsir Corbmaic maic Fáeláin; intí dia n-aisnéth_er_, coimge bliadna dó. [Note 62: _om._ HBMLec coimde N] 63. Trí meinistri fer Féne: .i. cích, grúad, glún. 64. Trí dotcaid duine: deog therc d'uisci, ítu i cormthig, suide cumang for achad. [Note 64: dotchaid L dodcaid BM luige dige BM luige re dig H] 65. Trí dotcaid threbtha: gort salach, iarmur cléithe, tech drithlennach. [Note 65: dotchaid L dodcaid B iarmor B] 66. Trí hairgarta ecalse: caillech fri clocc, athláech i n-apdaine, banna for altóir. [Note 66: hairgairt L hairgair H hurgoirt B ina habdaine B bainne NM bæ[=n] for a haltoir B] 67. Trí fáilti co n-íarduibi: fer tochmairc, fer gaite, fer aisnéise. [Note 67: fochmairc NHBMLec aisneidsi N] 68. Trí bróin ata ferr fáilti: brón treóit oc ithe messa, brón guirt apaig, brón feda fo mess. [Note 68: is ferr H ita ferr L at ferr N broin MB ac aipgiudud BM ig messrugud H] 69. Trí fáilti ata messu brón: fáilti fir íar ndiupairt, fáilti fir íar luga eithig, fáilti fir íar fingail. [Note 69: measum B iar ndiubairt N iar mbreith diubarta BM iar mbreith a dibirta H failte fir luga eithig B fir _om._ BM failte fir iar marbad a bráthar a[c] cosnom a [.f]eraind fris BM] 70. Trí fiada co n-an[.f]iad: gréss i n-óentig fri muintir, uisce rothé dar cosa, bíad goirt cen dig. [Note 70: fiad L anbfiad N tri fiaidaichi ad mesa H greasa BM for cosaib HM dar cosaib NB biad goirt doib B] 71. Trí dotcaid maic athaig: clemnas fri hócthigern, gabáil for tascor ríg, commaid fri meirlechu. [Note 71: dotchaid L dodca d B hoigthigearna MN tarscur BM tascor (nó tarcor) N tairrseach (!) L] 72. Trí dotcaid threbairi: tarcud do drochmnái, fognam do droch[.f]laith, cóemchlód fri droch[.f]erann. [Note 72: dodchaidh B targad BM drochlaith M drochlaech H claechlud H caemclodh M drochírind B] 73. Trí búada trebairi: tarcud do degmnái, fognam do deg[.f]laith, cóemchlód fri dag[.f]erann. [Note 73: trebtha N targad B deadlaech H claechmod H deigferand HM degthigern (!) B] 61. The three familiar places[48] of Ireland: Tralee, Logher, the Fews. [48] Or, perhaps, 'places of common resort.' 62. Three wonders concerning the Táin Bó Cúailnge; that the _cuilmen_ came to Ireland in its stead; the dead relating it to the living, viz. Fergus mac Róig reciting it to Ninníne the poet in the time of Cormac mac Fáeláin; one year's protection to him to whom it is recited. 63. The three halidoms of the men of Ireland: breast, cheek, knee. 64. Three unfortunate things for a man: a scant drink of water, thirst in an ale-house, a narrow seat upon a field. 65. Three unfortunate things of husbandry: a dirty field, leavings of the hurdle, a house full of sparks. 66. Three forbidden things of a church: a nun as bellringer, a veteran in the abbotship, a drop upon the altar. 67. Three rejoicings followed by sorrow: a wooer's, a thief's, a tale-bearer's. 68. Three sorrows that are better than joy: the heaviness of a herd feeding on mast, the heaviness of a ripe field,[49] the heaviness of a wood under mast. [49] 'Of a ripening field,' BM. 69. Three rejoicings that are worse than sorrow: the joy of a man who has defrauded another, the joy of a man who has perjured himself, the joy of a man who has committed parricide.[50] [50] 'Of a man who has slain his brother in contesting his land,' BM. 70. The three worst welcomes: a handicraft in the same house with the inmates, scalding water upon the feet, salt food without a drink. 71. Three unfortunate things for the son of a peasant: marrying into the family of a franklin, attaching himself to the retinue of a king, consorting with thieves. 72. Three unfortunate things for a householder: proposing to a bad woman, serving a bad chief, exchanging for bad land. 73. Three excellent things for a householder: proposing to a good woman, serving a good chief, exchanging for good land. 74. Trí hóenaig eserte: célide hi tig gobann, célide hi tig [.s]áir, dul do chennuch cen áirche. [Note 74: hænaigi nasearta B neiseirti H haonaige neserte N esertai Lec airrdhe N] 75. Trí cóil ata ferr folongat in mbith: cóil srithide hi folldeirb, cóil foichne for tuinn, cóil snáithe dar dorn dagmná. [Note 75: foloingead imbith B is ferr isin mbith N sreibe LLec srithide B srithide foildeirb N] 76. Trí duirn ata dech for bith: dorn deg[.s]áir, dorn degmná, dorn deggobann. [Note 76: for doman BM dorn sair dorn gabonn dorn daim N degdaim BM] 77. Tréde conaittig fírinne: mess, tomus, cubus. [Note 77: tri conaitig B] 78. Tréde conaittig brethemnas: gáis, féige, fiss. [Note 78: a tri conaitig B] 79. Trí túarascbála étraid: osnad, cluiche, céilide. [Note 79: osnaid N miad LBM] 80. Tréde ara carthar escara: máin, cruth, innraccus. [Note 80: a tri BM treidi H gnás alaig erlabra HM airdearcus B] 81. Tréde ara miscnigther cara: fogal, dognas, dímainche. [Note 81: treidi H a tri M tri L fogail H dimainecht HM] 82. Trí buirb in betha: óc contibi sen, slán contibi galarach, gáeth contibi báeth. [Note 82: contib BM contibe N gallrach BM gallrai N bæth contib gæth BM] 83. Trí buidir in betha: robud do throich, airchisecht fri faigdech, cosc mná báithe do drúis. [Note 83: urchuidme ria foidhech N ærcuidmed fri foigeaeh B mná druithi B] 84. Trí cáin docelat éitchi: sobés la anricht, áne la dóer, ecna la dodelb. [Note 84: doceilead eitig B handracht B dodealb B dodeilb N] 85. Trí héitich docelat cáin: bó binnech cen as, ech án amlúath, sodelb cen tothucht. [Note 85: doceiled BM beinnech N] 86. Trí óible adannat seirc: gnúis, alaig, erlabra. [Note 86: haibne adannaid searc B adanta serce N alaid N] 87. Trí haithne co fomailt: aithne mná, aithne eich, aithne [.s]alainn. [Note 87: haithneada Lec tomailt B salainn L] 88. Trí búada téiti: ben cháem, ech maith, cú lúath. [Note 88: teite N buadnasa tétnai HBMLec] 89. Trí ségainni Hérenn: fáthrann, adbann a cruit, berrad aigthe. [Note 89: segaind M tri comartha segainn N segraind B Hérenn _om._ MB fatraind B fadbann N fadhbond MB aigthe _om._ BM a cruit _om._ MN] 74. Three holidays[51] of a landless man[52]: visiting in the house of a blacksmith, visiting in the house of a carpenter, buying without bonds. [51] Or, perhaps, 'fairs, foregatherings.' [52] Or 'vagrant.' 75. Three slender things that best support the world: the slender stream of milk from the cow's dug into the pail, the slender blade of green corn upon the ground, the slender thread over the hand of a skilled woman. 76. Three hands that are best in the world: the hand of a good carpenter, the hand of a skilled woman, the hand of a good smith. 77. Three things which justice demands: judgment, measure, conscience. 78. Three things which judgment demands: wisdom, penetration, knowledge. 79. Three characteristics of concupiscence: sighing, playfulness,[53] visiting. [53] Or 'dalliance.' 80. Three things for which an enemy is loved: wealth, beauty, worth.[54] [54] 'distinction,' B. 'familiarity, fame (leg. allad), speech,' H. 81. Three things for which a friend is hated: trespassing,[55] keeping aloof,[56] fecklessness. [55] Or 'encroaching.' [56] Literally, 'unfamiliarity.' 82. Three rude ones of the world: a youngster mocking an old man, a healthy person mocking an invalid, a wise man mocking a fool. 83. Three deaf ones of the world: warning to a doomed man, mocking[57] a beggar, keeping a loose woman from lust. [57] 'pitying,' L. 84. Three fair things that hide ugliness: good manners in the ill-favoured, skill in a serf, wisdom in the misshapen. 85. Three ugly things that hide fairness: a sweet-lowing cow without milk, a fine horse without speed, a fine person without substance. 86. Three sparks that kindle love: a face, demeanour, speech. 87. Three deposits with usufruct: depositing a woman, a horse, salt. 88. Three glories of a gathering: a beautiful wife, a good horse, a swift hound. 89. Three accomplishments of Ireland: a witty stave, a tune on the harp,[58] shaving a face. [58] Literally, 'out of a harp.' 90. Trí comartha clúanaigi: búaidriud scél, cluiche tenn, abucht co n-imdergad. [Note 90: tri comartha cluanaide N clu ænaigh M cluænaige B teinn L tind BM abocht HLec abhacht M co n-imnead nó imdergad HLec co n-uaithiss L co n-aitis N] 91. Trí gena ata messu brón: gen snechta oc legad, gen do mná frit íar mbith [.f]ir aili lé, gen chon [.f]oilmnich. [Note 91: ad meassam HMB mesom L drochmna LN frit _om._ L iar fes le fer n-aili H iar mbeith fri araile BM foleimnighe N foilmig dot letrad H foleimnigh (foilmnig B) agud rochtain dott ithe MB] 92. Trí báis ata ferr bethaid: bás iach, bás muicce méithe, bás foglada. [Note 92: ad HBM beatha H iaich L bás iaich bás muici meithi bás fodhladlu L fogladai N fodalada B bás bithbenaig B luifenaich Lec] 93. Trí húathaid ata ferr sochaidi: úathad dagbríathar, úathad bó hi feór, úathad carat im chuirm. [Note 93: uath ada N ad M is H deagbriathar H degflaith MB] 94. Trí brónaig choirmthige: fer dogní fleid, fer dia ndéntar, fer ibes menip sáithech [Note 94: fleid _om._ B fer nostairbir H fer teid dia tairtiud minab saitheach M] 95. Trí cuitbidi in domain: fer lonn, fer étaid, fer díbech. [Note 95: cuidmidi H] 96. Trí cuil túaithe: flaith brécach, breithem gúach, sacart colach. [Note 96: flaitheamh BM sacart tuisledach N sagart diultach B diultadhach M] 97. Trí fuiric thige degduni: cuirm, fothrucud, tene mór. [Note 97: fuiric .i. fleadh nó féasta B daghduine N] 98. Trí fuiric thige drochduni: debuid ar do chinn, athchosan frit, a chú dot gabáil. [Note 98: achmusan NBM a cu dod ledrad N do congabail M drochscel lat immach L] 99. Trí gretha tige degláich: grith fodla, grith suide, grith coméirge. [Note 99: tri grith L tri gartha M fogla L suigidhe BM] 100. Trí dorchæ ná dlegat mná do imthecht: dorcha cíach, dorcha aidche, dorcha feda. [Note 100: nach dleguid N narfacad do mnai imteact B d'imtecht NM] 101. Trí sailge boccachta: imgellad, immarbág, imreson. [Note 101: soilge BM imgellad bag L imarbaid imreasain BM imarbaigh imressain N imreason nó imraichni L] 102. Trí airisena boccachta: sírchéilide, sírdécsain, síriarfaige. [Note 102: hærsenna BM hairisin N sirfiarfaighe M sirfiarfaigid N] 90. Three ungentlemanly things: interrupting stories, a mischievous game, jesting so as to raise a blush. 91. Three smiles that are worse than sorrow: the smile of the snow as it melts, the smile of your wife[59] on you after another man has been with her,[60] the grin of a hound ready to leap at you.[61] [59] 'Of a bad woman,' LN. [60] 'After sleeping with another man,' H. [61] 'To tear you to pieces,' H. 'Coming up to devour you,' MB. 92. Three deaths that are better than life: the death of a salmon, the death of a fat pig, the death of a robber.[62] [62] 'Of a criminal,' B. 93. Three fewnesses that are better than plenty: a fewness of fine words, a fewness of cows in grass, a fewness of friends around ale.[63] [63] 'good ale,' MB. 94. Three sorrowful ones of an alehouse: the man who gives the feast, the man to whom it is given, the man who drinks without being satiated.[64] [64] 'Who goes to it unsatiated,' M. _i.e._ who drinks on an empty stomach. 95. Three laughing-stocks of the world: an angry man, a jealous man, a niggard. 96. Three ruins of a tribe: a lying chief, a false judge, a lustful[65] priest. [65] 'Stumbling, offending,' N. 'Fond of refusing,' B. 97. Three preparations of a good man's house: ale, a bath, a large fire. 98. Three preparations of a bad man's house: strife before you, complaining to you, his hound taking hold of you.[66] [66] 'Tearing you,' N. 'A bad story to speed you on your way,' L. 99. Three shouts of a good warrior's house: the shout of distribution, the shout of sitting down, the shout of rising up. 100. Three darknesses into which women should not go: the darkness of mist, the darkness of night, the darkness of a wood. 101. Three props of obstinacy[67]: pledging oneself, contending, wrangling. 102. Three characteristics of obstinacy[67]: long visits, staring, constant questioning. [67] Literally, 'buckishness.' 103. Trí comartha meraigi: slicht a chíre ina [.f]olt, slicht a [.f]íacal ina chuit, slicht a luirge ina diaid. [Note 103: comarthadha M meraigthe N 'na cend BM 'na cuit BM inandiaig B na diaidh M] 104. Trí máidme clúanaigi: ató ar do scáth, rosaltrus fort, rotflinch_us_ com étach. [Note 104: cluainige BM ato BM atu L rodsaltar M rosaltrur ort L rosflinch_us_ com edach N rofliuchus com ediuch BM comh edach L] 105. Trí bí focherdat marbdili: oss foceird a congna, fid foceird a duille, cethra focerdat a mbrén[.f]inda. [Note 105: _om._ BMHLec] 106. Trí scenb Hérenn: Tulach na nEpscop, Ached Déo, Duma mBúirig. [Note 106: _om._ BMHLec achad N] 107. Trí hingnad Hérenn: lige inn abaic, lige nEothuili, allabair i foccus. [Note 107: _om._ BMHLec hinganta N allubuir a fogus N] 108. Trí daurthige Hérenn: daurthech Birra, daurthech Clúana Eidnech, daurthech Leithglinde. [Note 108: _om._ BMHLec] 109. Trí hingena berta miscais do míthocod: labra, lesca, anidna. [Note 109: do mitocuid N do togud BM lesce N anidna N nemidna BM .i. esinrucas _add._ H] 110. Trí hingena berta seirc do cháintocud: túa, éscuss, idnæ. [Note 110: beres L berta seircce de caintogud BM serc N caintocaid N tri hadbair serci Lec tóa esces idna N esca BMLec] 111. Trí túa ata ferr labra: túa fri forcital, túa fri hairfitiud, túa fri procept. [Note 111: labrai N sproicept B sproicepht M fri aithfrend N] 112. Trí labra ata ferr túa: ochán rig do chath, sreth immais, molad iar lúag. [Note 112: uchan N ocon_n_ BM hairfidiud _nó_ fís BM luadh B] 113. Trí hailgesa étúalaing .i. éirg cen co dechais, tuc cenitbé, déna ceni derna. [Note 113: haisgeadha edualaing B erg gen cotis H tuc gen gud beirg (?) gen go gaemais dena gen go heda B tuca gen cobe N gen gudbe M gen [go] dernais N gen go feta HM] 114. Trí hamaite bít[e] i ndrochthig óiged .i. sentrichem senchaillige, roschaullach ingine móile, sirite gillai. [Note 114: hamaide drochtoighe BM sentriche caillige BM sentrichim N rosc cailleach ingine siridhe gillai BM siride N sirithe L] 115. Trí hairig na ndúalche: sant, cráes, étrad. 103. Three signs of a fop: the track of his comb in his hair, the track of his teeth in his food, the track of his stick[68] behind him. [68] Or 'cudgel.' 104. Three ungentlemanly boasts: I am on your track, I have trampled on you, I have wet you with my dress. 105. Three live ones that put away dead things: a deer shedding its horn, a wood shedding its leaves, cattle shedding their coat.[69] [69] Literally, 'stinking hair.' 106. Three places of Ireland to make you start: Tulach na n-Escop,[70] Achad Deo,[71] Duma mBuirig. [70] A hill near Kildare. See Thesaurus Palæo-hibernicus ii.. p. 335. [71] At Tara. See Todd's _Irish Nennius_, p. 200. 107. Three wonders of Ireland: the grave of the dwarf,[72] the grave of Trawohelly,[73] an echo near.[74] [72] Somewhere in the west (i n-iarthar Erenn, Fél., p. clvii). [73] See Todd's _Irish Nennius_, p. 199, and Zeitschrift für Celt. Phil, v., p. 23. [74] Nothing is known to me about this wonder. 108. Three oratories of Ireland: the oratory of Birr, the oratory of Clonenagh, the oratory of Leighlin. 109. Three maidens that bring hatred upon misfortune: talking, laziness, insincerity. 110. Three maidens that bring love to good fortune: silence, diligence, sincerity. 111. Three silences that are better than speech: silence during instruction, silence during music, silence during preaching. 112. Three speeches that are better than silence: inciting a king to battle, spreading knowledge (?),[75] praise after reward.[76] [75] _Sreth immais_, which I have tentatively translated by 'spreading knowledge,' is used as a technical term in poetry for connecting all the words of a verse-line by alliteration, as e.g. _slatt_, _sacc_, _socc_, _simend_, _saland_. See Ir. Texte iii., p. 30. [76] _Cf._ LL. 344_a_: Carpre asks Cormac what are the sweetest things he has heard, and Cormac answers: 'A shout of triumph after victory, praise after reward, the invitation of a fair woman to her pillow.' 113. Three impossible demands: go! though you cannot go, bring what you have not got, do what you cannot do. 114. Three idiots that are in a bad guest-house: the chronic cough of an old hag, a brainless tartar of a girl, a hobgoblin of a gillie. 115. The three chief sins: avarice, gluttony, lust. 116. Tréde neimthigedar crossán: rige óile, rige théighe, rige bronn. 117. Tréde neimthigedar círmaire: coimrith fri coin hi[c] cosnum chnáma, adarc reithi do dírgud dia anáil cen tenid, dichetal for ochtraig co rathochra a mbí ina íchtur for a úachtar do cho[.n]gna [et] cnámaib [et] adarcaib. [Note 117: _om._ BMHLec dirge N otrach N corotochra N a mbid na hichtar N huachtar N congnaim N] 118. Tréde nemthigedar sáer: dlúthud cen fomus, cen fescred, lúd lúadrinna, béimm fo chommus. [Note 118: _om._ BMHLec tri ara neimit_er_ N dluthugud N feiscre N ludh luaithreand N] 119. Tréde neimthigedar liaig: dígallræ, díainme, comchissi ce_n_ ainchiss. [Note 119: _om._ BMHLec ara neimit_er_ liagh N coimcisin gin ainces N] 120. Tréde neimthigedar gobainn: bir Neithin, fulacht na Morrígna, inneóin in Dagda. [Note 120: _om._ BMHLec ara neimit_er_ gobaind N bir ndechin N] 121. Tréde neimthigedar cerdai: fige ronn, cær comraic, plett for fæbur. [Note 121: _om._ BMHLec cerd N flet N] 122. Tréde neimthigedar cruitire: golltraige, gentraige, súantraige. [Note 122-123: _om._ BMHLec] 123. Tréde neimthigedar filid: immas forosna, teinm læda, dichetal di chennaib. 124. Dá mígairm míthocaid: commáidem do chétguine, do ben la fer n-aile. [Note 124: atte dá ní igairm (!) do neoch .i. maidem a c_hét_guine [et] a bean do beith fri fer n-aill BM mitocaid N a cedgona N a ben la fer n-aile N] 125. Teora airi[se]na iarnduba: comar, cocless, clemnas. [Note 125: tri hairnadmand BMN iardubha M coicless LM coicle M] 126. Trí bainne cétmuintire: bainne fola, bainne dér, bainne aillse. [Note 126: banda NBM] 127. Trí coiri bíte in cach dúini: coire érma, coire goriath, coire áiged. [Note 127: core B duini L duine B goiriat N aitiu N notead B notheadh M] 116. Three things that constitute a buffoon: blowing out his cheek, blowing out his satchel, blowing out his belly. 117. Three things that constitute a comb-maker: racing a hound in contending for a bone; straightening a ram's horn by his breath, without fire; chanting upon a dunghill so that all antlers and bones and horns that are below come to the top. 118. Three things that constitute a carpenter: joining together without calculating (?), without warping (?); agility with the compass; a well-measured stroke. 119. Three things that constitute a physician: a complete cure, leaving no blemish behind, a painless examination. 120. Three things that constitute a blacksmith: Nethin's spit, the cooking-hearth of the Morrigan, the Dagda's anvil.[77] [77] For a description and pictures of these appliances, see YBL., p. 419_a_, and Egerton, 1782, fo. 46_a_. 121. Three things that constitute an artificer: weaving chains, a mosaic ball,[78] an edge upon a blade. [78] O'Curry, Manners and Customs, ii., p. 253, thought that a _caer comraic_ was 'a ball of convergent ribs or lines,' perhaps such a bead or ball of mosaic glass as is depicted in Joyce's _Social History of Ancient Ireland_, vol. ii., p. 32, fig. 171. _A cáer comraic_ of eight different colours is mentioned in LB. 108_b_ 20. 122. Three things that constitute a harper: a tune to make you cry, a tune to make you laugh, a tune to put you to sleep.[79] [79] _Cf._ H. 3. 18, p. 87: tréide nemtighther cruit; goltraiges, gentraiges, suantraiges. 123. Three things that constitute a poet: 'knowledge that illumines,' '_teinm laeda_,'[80] improvisation. [80] The names of various kinds of incantations. See Cormac's Glossary and Ancient Laws, s.v. 124. Two ominous cries of ill-luck: boasting of your first slaughter, and of your wife being with another man. 125. Three things betokening trouble: holding a plough-land in common, performing feats together, alliance in marriage. 126. Three drops of a wedded woman: a drop of blood, a tear-drop, a drop of sweat. 127. Three caldrons that are in every fort: the caldron of running, the caldron _goriath_,[81] the caldron of guests. [81] Quite obscure to me. There is a heavily glossed poem in H. 3. 18, beginning _Coire goriath_. In H. 2. 15, p. 117^b, after the colophon to Dúil Laithne (Goid.,^2 p. 79), there are some further glosses, among which I find: goiriath .i. gardhamh in gach iath, erma .i. uasal-iompú no iar-iompa. But _érma_ seems the genitive of _érim_, 'a course.' 128. Trí comartha láthraig bendachtan: clocc, salm, senad. [Note 128: lathrach bennachtan H bendacht L senad NBMH ocsenad L] 129. Trí comartha láthraig mallachtan: tromm, tradna, nenaid. [Note 129: mallachtan HM neanad B neanntoch M tradnai BM tradna H] 130. Teora muimmecha táide: caill, coim, adaig. [Note 130: tri muime BM tri buime gaiti H coill HM] 131. Teora ranna sluinte fri cáintocad: trumma, toicthiu, talchaire. [Note 131: sloindti caintocaid N toicte N] 132. Teora ranna sluinte dotcaid: tlás, áes, airbire. [Note 132: dotcaid N tlass ois oirbire N] 133. Dí derb[.s]iair: tlás [et] trúaige. [Note 133: siair L tlas [et] trousca N truaighe BMH] 134. Dá derbráthair: tocad [et] brugaide. [Note 134: brathair M toice [et] blailaige N togud B tacad H] 135. Trí fuidb dotcadaig: ráthaiges, etargaire, fiadnaise. Dotoing dia fiadnaisi, íccaid dia ráthaiges, doberar béimm n-etaigaire ina chinn. [Note 135: foidb dothcadaigh M toindid a fiadnaisi BM iccaid a rathaigecht beiridh builleadha etargaire ina cind BM.] 136. Trí sethraeha góa: béss, dóig, toimtiu. [Note 136: toimdi L] 137. Trí bráthair uamain: sta! sit! coiste! [Note 137: braitri N omain BM ist sta [et] coisde BM sta sit coist N] 138. Trí mairb fortgellat for bíu: med, airmed, forrach. [Note 138: forgellait H for fiu BM meid armeid BM forach H] 139. Trí brothcáin rátha: rothicc, rosiacht, rotochtaig. [Note 139: brothcain ratha N raithi L rodícc rosiacht roto_n_cai N] 140. Trí dubthrebtha: tuga co fúatchai, imme co for[.n]gaire, tírad co n-aurgorad. [Note 140: doidbtrebtai tugai co fodaib imed co forrngaire N tuighe go foidibh M co foitib Lec tiriudh M] 141. Trí hiarnduba: fer tochmairc, fer gaite meirle, fer hic aisnéis. [Note 141: fear fochairc Lec fer aisneisi N] 142. Trí maic beres drús do lonnus: tuilféth, fidchell, dulsaine. [Note 142: lundus N tulfeith N dullsaine L] 143. Trí maic beres féile do ainmnit: grúss, rúss, rucca. [Note 143: ainmned N grús rús rucad N] 144. Trí maic beres neóit do deinmnait: crith, dochell, grith. [Note 144: deinmnet N grith crith doicell N] 145. Trí húar fíchte: tipra, muir, núæ corma. [Note 145: huara N] 146. Trí fúammann móaigthe: fúam bó mblecht, fúam cerdchæ, fúam aratbair. [Note 146: fuamandu moaigti N moigthi L fuaim bo mblicht N] 128. Three tokens of a blessed site: a bell, psalm-singing, a synod (of elders). 129. Three tokens of a cursed site: elder, a corncrake, nettles.[82] [82] See my edition of _Cáin Adamnáin_, p. 13, note 3, and p. 38. 130. Three nurses of theft: a wood, a cloak, night. 131. Three qualities[83] that bespeak good fortune: self-importance, ..., self-will. [83] Literally, 'parts.' 132. Three qualities[84] that bespeak misfortune: weariness, (premature) old age, reproachfulness. [84] Literally, 'heaviness, weight.' 133. Two sisters: weariness and wretchedness. 134. Two brothers: prosperity and husbandry. 135. Three unlucky...:[85] guaranteeing, mediating, witnessing. The witness has to swear to his evidence, the guarantor has to pay for his security, the mediator gets a blow on his head.[86] [85] The usual meanings of _fodb_, 'accoutrement, equipment, arms,' do not seem to suit here. [86] Literally, 'the blow of mediation is dealt on his head.' 136. Three false sisters: 'perhaps,' 'may be,' 'I dare say.' 137. Three timid brothers: 'hush!' 'stop!' 'listen!' 138. Three dead things that give evidence on live things: a pair of scales, a bushel, a measuring-rod. 139. Three pottages of guaranteeing....[87] [87] Obscure and probably corrupt. Cf. § 219. 140. Three black husbandries: thatching with stolen things,[88] putting up a fence with a proclamation of trespass, kiln-drying with scorching. [88] 'with sods,' NML, perperam. 141. Three after-sorrows: a wooer's, a thief's, a tale-bearer's. 142. Three sons whom folly bears to anger: frowning, ... ,[89] mockery (?). [89] _fidchell_, the well-known game, gives no sense here. 143. Three sons whom generosity bears to patience: ... , blushing, shame. 144. Three sons whom churlishness bears to impatience: trembling, niggardliness, vociferation. 145. Three cold things that seethe: a well, the sea, new ale. 146. Three sounds of increase: the lowing of a cow in milk, the din of a smithy, the swish of a plough. 147. Trí hana antreinn: tipra i sléib, tene a liic, ana la fer calad. [Note 147: luc MSS. anai la fear calaid N] 148. Trí aithgine in domuin: brú mná, uth bó, ness gobann. [Note 148: haitgine N aithgeinit L corathgen B coratgen M bru birite BM meas(!) BMLec] 149. Trí diubarta forsná íada dílse: tinnscra mná, imthomailt lánamna, iarraid maicc. [Note 149: hiad N imtomailt N iarr_aid_ menicc(!) L] 150. Trí cuir tintaiter do réir britheman: cor mná [et] micc [et] bothaich. [Note 150: tinntaigter N] 151. Trí nata[t] túalaing sainchuir: mac beo-athar, ben aurnadma, dóer flatha. [Note 151: nad N] 152. Trí maic nad rannat orbai: mac muini [et] aurlai [et] ingine fo thrilis. [Note 152: erlai N] 153. Trí ái nad eplet faill: ái dochuind, [et] dochraite, [et] anfis. [Note 153: dochainn N docraite N] 154. Trí fuile ná dlegat frecor: fuil catha, [et] eóit, [et] etargaire. [Note 154: nad N etargaire N] 155. Trí fuchachta nad increnat slabrai: a gabáil ar écin, a sleith tri mescai, a turtugud do ríg. [Note 155: fúíchechta N slaibri N] 156. Trí ná dlegat turbaidi: athchor maic, aicdi cherdai, gíallaigecht. [Note 156: nad dlegait turbaid N aige cerda N] 157. Trí aithne ná dlegat taisec: aithne n-écuind, [et] ardneimid [et] aithne fuirmeda. [Note 157: haitne nad dlegait taisec N ecoind N fuirmidai L] 158. Trí mairb direnaiter beoaib: aball, coll, fidnemed. [Note 158: dorenatar beo N] 159. Trí[ar] ná ditoing ná fortongar: ben, angar, amlabar. [Note 159: dotoing na fortoing_er_ L amlobar N] 160. Trí ná dlegat athchommus: mac [et] a athair, ben [et] a céile, dóer [et] a thigerna. [Note 160: na dlegait N] 161. Trí nát fuigletar cia beith ar a ngáes: fer adgair [et] adgairther [et] focrenar fri breith. [Note 161: nat fuigletar cia beit N fer adgair [et] adgair (sic) [et] adgairter [et] rocrenar N] 162. Trí fors ná tuit aititiu 'na ré: bás, anfis, anfaitches. [Note 162: anfuichc_h_es L anbaitces N] 147. Three wealths in barren places: a well in a mountain, fire out of a stone, wealth in the possession of a hard man. 148. Three renovators of the world: the womb of woman, a cow's udder, a smith's moulding-block. 149. Three concealments upon which forfeiture does not close: a wife's dowry, the food of a married couple, a boy's foster-fee. 150. Three contracts that are reversed by the decision of a judge: the contracts of a woman, of a son, of a cottar. 151. Three that are incapable of special contracts[90]: a son whose father is alive, a betrothed woman, the serf of a chief. [90] Or, 'of contracts on their own behalf.' 152. Three sons that do not share inheritance: a son begotten in a brake,[91] the son of a slave, the son of a girl still wearing tresses. [91] Cf. the expression _meirdrech muine_, 'a bush-strumpet,' Laws v. 176, 4. 153. Three causes that do not die with neglect: the causes of an imbecile, and of oppression, and of ignorance. 154. Three bloodsheds that need not be impugned: the bloodshed of battle, of jealousy, of mediating. 155. Three cohabitations[92] that do not pay a marriage-portion: taking her by force, outraging her without her knowledge through drunkenness, her being violated by a king. [92] _fuchacht_, or _fuichecht_, usually means 'cuckoldry,' a meaning which does not seem to suit here. 156. Three that are not entitled to exemption: restoring a son, the tools of an artificer, hostageship. 157. Three deposits that need not be returned: the deposits of an imbecile,[93] and of a high dignitary, and a fixed deposit.[94] [93] _i.e._ a deposit made by an imbecile. _Cf._ Plato, Republic: "But surely you would never give back to a mad friend a sword which he had lent you?" [94] But in the Heptads (Laws v. 196, 3) _aithne fuirmida_, there rendered by 'a deposited charge,' is enumerated as one of those to be restored even if there are no bonds to that effect. 158. Three dead ones that are paid for with living things: an apple-tree, a hazle-bush, a sacred grove.[95] [95] there is nothing in the laws to explain this. 159. Three that neither swear nor are sworn: a woman, a son who does not support his father, a dumb person. 160. Three that are not entitled to renunciation of authority: a son and his father, a wife and her husband, a serf and his lord. 161. Three who do not adjudicate though they are possessed of wisdom: a man who sues, a man who is being sued, a man who is bribed to give judgment. 162. Three on whom acknowledgment does not fall in its time: death, ignorance, carelessness. 163. Trí foimrimme ná dlegad díre: homan, robud, toxal. [Note 163: foimrime N foimrenn L na dlegaid N robad N] 164. Trí duilgine conrannat gníaid: duilgine coiri, duilgine muilinn, duilgine tige. [Note 164: duilcinne N conrenad gnia N] 165. Trí nóill doná dlegar frithnóill: nóill mná fri húaitni, nóill fir mairb, nóill díthir. [Note 165: naill nad dlegad fritnáill luige mna N luide N luige ditire N] 166. Trí gráda coillte túath ina ngói: gói ríg, gói [.s]enchada, gói bretheman. [Note 166-220: _om._ HBMLec inango N go N] 167. Trí sóir dogníat dóeru díb féin: tigerna renas a déiss, rígan téite co haithech, mac filed léces a cheird. [Note 167: daoir dib fein N des N deissi L teid N treiges a cerd N] 168. Trí ruip conberat duinechinaid: cú áraig, reithe lonn, ech daintech. [Note 168: araid N reithid N daindtech N] 169. Trí ruip ara tíagat cinta: cú foilm[n]ech, sleg caille, slissén chomneibi. 170. Trí imuserenat: saill, imm, iarn, fechemnas toisc leimmid eicsi. [Note 170: imus crenait saill N sall L iaronn N feitemnus toisc leine im eiccsi N] 171. Trí comartha aragella i tig britheman: ecna, aisnéis, intlecht. [Note 171: comardda L aragellat a tig bretheman N taig L aisnesen intliuchtach L] 172. Trí dlegat aurfocrai: aél coire, fidba cen [.s]eim, ord cen dimosc. [Note 172: dlegait urfogræ N fidbaigh can tseim ord gan dimosc N dinsem L] 173. Trí doruis gúa: tacra fergach, fotha n-utmall n-eolais, aisnéis cen chuimni. [Note 173: fothad utmall N eolus aisena oca_n_ coimni N] 174. Trí doruis a n-aichnither fír: frecra n-ainmnetach, ái fossad, sóud fri fíadnu. [Note 174: an aithnit_er_ fiorinne N freaccra n-ainmnedach N ainmeta L ai fosaid sodad N] 175. Trí búada airechta: brithem cen fúasnad, etirchert cen écnach, coma cen diupairt. [Note 175: fuasna L] 176. Trí tonna cen gáissi: tacra calad, breth cen eolas, airecht labar. [Note 176: ton_n_a gaisi N donnadgaissi L tonna gan gaoise H. 1. 11 brethem N] 177. Trí búada insci: fosta, gáis, gairde. [Note 177: buadad innsce N gois N] 178. Trí cumtaig gáisse: immed n-eolais, lín fássach, dagaigni do airbirt. [Note 178: lion fasaid N] 163. Three usucaptions that are not entitled to a fine: fear, warning, asportation. 164. Three wages that labourers share: the wages of a caldron,[96] the wages of a mill, the wages of a house. [96] _i.e._ of making a caldron, &c. 165. Three oaths that do not require fulfilment[97]: the oath of a woman in birth-pangs, the oath of a dead man, the oath of a landless man. [97] Literally, 'a counter-oath, a second oath.' 166. Three ranks that ruin tribes in their falsehood: the falsehood of a king, of a historian, of a judge. 167. Three free ones that make slaves of themselves: a lord who sells his land, a queen who goes to a boor, a poet's son who abandons his (father's) craft. 168. Three brutes whose trespasses count as human crimes: a chained hound, a ferocious ram, a biting horse. 169. Three brutish things that atone for crimes: a leashed hound, a spike in a wood, a lath....[98] [98] _comneibi_ is a [Greek: hapax legomenon] to me. 170. Three things that ... salt-meat, butter, iron....[99] 171. Three signs that ... [99] in a judge's house: wisdom, information, intellect. 172. Three things that should be proclaimed: the flesh-fork of a caldron, a bill-hook without a rivet, a sledge-hammer without....[99] [99] Obscure and probably corrupt. 173. Three doors of falsehood: an angry pleading, a shifting foundation of knowledge, giving information without memory. 174. Three doors through which truth is recognised: a patient answer, a firm pleading, appealing to witnesses. 175. Three glories of a gathering: a judge without perturbation, a decision without reviling, terms (agreed upon) without fraud. 176. Three waves without wisdom: hard pleading, judgment without knowledge, a talkative gathering. 177. Three glories of speech: steadiness, wisdom, brevity. 178. Three ornaments of wisdom: abundance of knowledge, a number of precedents, to employ a good counsel. 179. Trí miscena indsci: rigne, dlúithe, dulbaire. [Note 179: miscne indsce N raighni L] 180. Trí fostai dagbanais: fosta thengad [et] gensa [et] airnb_ern_tais. [Note 180: fosta N fostadh tengad N airb_er_tais N] 181. Trí fóindil drochbanais: fóindil scél [et] ataid [et] airberntais. [Note 181: _om._ N] 182. Trí búada étaig: maisse, clithcha, suthaine. [Note 182: buadhad N cliche N] 183. Trí ná dlegat othras: fer aslúi flaith [et] fini [et] fili. [Note 183: nad d_leg_ait dire fer doslaig flaith [et] file [et] fine N feili L] 184. Trí tharsuinn archuillet othras: echmuir, mil, saillti. [Note 184: tharsunn L tarsuind aircaillti othiais N] 185. Trí mná ná dlegat díri: ben lasma cuma cipé las fái, ben gatach, ben aupthach. [Note 185: nat d_leg_ait N cia las f(a)oi N optach N] 186. Trí dofortat cach flaith: góu, forsnaidm, fingal. [Note 186: dofortad gach fl_ath_a N] 187. Trí túarascbait cach ngenmnaide: fosta, féile, sobraide. [Note 187: tuarascb_ál_a genmnaid fostad N] 188. Trí ara n-aichnider cach fergach: ír, crith, imbánad. [Note 188: tri aichnider L aranaithnent_ur_ N hir L] 189. Trí thúarascbait cach n-ainmnetach: sámtha, túa, imderead. [Note 189: tuarascbalai gach nainmnedaigh samtad N tuai L] 19O. Trí thúarascbait cach n-úallach: mórthu, maisse, máine. [Note 190: tuaruscbalai cach ndubalcai mortha N] 191. Trí forindet cach n-umal: bochtatu, dínnime, humallóit. [Note 191: forinded N bochtai N] 192. Trí airdi gáisse: ainmne, faiscsiu, fáthaige. [Note 192: hairdhe N faicsi fathaidhi N] 193. Trí airdi drúisse: bág, imresain, condailbe. [Note 193: _om._ N] 194. Tréde immifoilnge gáis do báeth: ecna, fosta, sochoisce. [Note 194: imfuilnge N] 195. Tréde immifoilnge báis do gáeth: fúasnad, ferg, mesca. [Note 195: imfailnge baoth N] 196. Tréde faillsiges cach ndag[.f]eras: dán, gaisced, crésine. [Note 196: cach degfer_us_ N cresenai N] 197. Tréde faillsigedar cach ndroch[.f]eras: serba, miscais, midlachas. [Note 197: faillsigh_us_ cach drochferus N] 198. Trí foglúaiset fóenledchu: ingreim, dolud, dommatu. [Note 198: fainnelca N dolai N] 179. Three hateful things in speech: stiffness,[100] obscurity, a bad delivery. [100] In Mod. Ir. _righneas labhartha_ means 'an impediment in speech.' See Dinneen's Dictionary, s.v. 180. Three steadinesses of good womanhood: keeping a steady tongue, a steady chastity, and a steady housewifery. 181. Three strayings of bad womanhood: letting her tongue,[101] and ... and her housewifery go astray. [101] Literally, 'stories.' 182. Three excellences of dress: elegance, comfort, lastingness. 183. Three that are not entitled to sick-maintenance: a man who absconds from his chief, from his family, from a poet. 184. Three sauces that spoil a sick-bed: ...,[102] honey, salt food. [102] I believe _echmuir_ to be the name of a plant: but I cannot find the reference. 185. Three women that are not entitled to a fine: a woman who does not care with whom she sleeps, a thievish woman, a sorceress. 186. Three things that ruin every chief: falsehood, overreaching, parricide.[103] [103] Or rather 'murder of relations.' 187. Three things that characterise every chaste person: steadiness, modesty, sobriety. 188. Three things by which every angry person is known: an outburst of passion, trembling, growing pale. 189. Three things that characterise every patient person: repose, silence, blushing. 190. Three things that characterise every haughty person: pompousness, elegance, (display of) wealth. 191. Three things that tell every humble person: poverty, homeliness, servility. 192. Three signs of wisdom: patience, closeness, the gift of prophecy. 193. Three signs of folly: contention, wrangling, attachment (to everybody). 194. Three things that make a fool wise: learning, steadiness, docility.[104] [104] _Cf._ dán ecna dogni ríg do bocht, dogni gáeth do báeth, &c., LL. 346^a35. 195. Three things that make a wise man foolish: quarrelling, anger, drunkenness. 196. Three things that show every good man: a special gift,[105] valour, piety. [105] Such as art, poetry, &c. 197. Three things that show a bad man: bitterness, hatred, cowardice. 198. Three things that set waifs a-wandering: persecution, loss, poverty. 199. Trí slabrada hi cumregar clóine: cotach, ríagail, rechtge. [Note 199: racht N] 200. Trí all frisa timargar béscna: mainister, flaith, fine. [Note 200: tri frisa N mineistir N flatha N] 201. Trí caindle forosnat cach ndorcha: fír, aicned, ecna. 202. Tréde neimthigedar ríg: fonaidm ruirech, feis Temrach, roimse inna [.f]laith. [Note 202: tri aran_em_it_er_ rí N] 203. Trí glais foríadat rúine: náire, túa, dochta. [Note 203: ruini L] 204. Trí heochracha aroslicet imráitiu: mescca, tairisiu, serc. [Note 204: oslaice imraite N] 205. Trí orbai rannaiter fiad chomarbaib: orba drúith [et] orba dásachtaig [et] orba sin. [Note 205: rannait fia comarbaoibh (_sic_) N] 206. Trí seithir óited: tol, áilde, féile. [Note 206: aide toil N] 207. Trí seithir sentad: cnet, genas, éitche. 208. Trí seithir sognáise: feidle, soithnges, cuinnmíne. [Note 208: feili soingtes connamno N soithgnes L] 209. Trí seithir dognáise: luinne, cétludche, tairismige. [Note 209: cetluithche N] 210. Trí seithir sotcaid: sognas, sochell, súarcus. [Note 210: sottch N sothchaidh L sognais L] 211. Trí seithir sochlatad: léire, trebaire, rathmaire. 212. Trí seithir dochlatad: laxa, díbe, prapchaillte. [Note 212: doclata N] 213. Trí seithir ferge: écnach, augra, doithnges. [Note 213: doingteas N] 214. Trí seithir deirmiten: tromdatu, espatu, utmaille. 215. Trí seithir airmiten: torbatu, airétrumma, fosta. 216. Trí banlæ: lúan, mairt, cétáin. Mná co firu innib, bid mó a serc la firu indá serc a fer leo-som [et] beit a mná tar éis na fer sin. [Note 216: bandla N at mna beit tara n-eiseiu N] 217. Trí ferlæ: .i. dardáin, áine, domnach. Mná co firu intib, beitit na mná sin fo dígrad [et] beitit a fir dia n-éisi. Satharn im_morro_ is laithe coitchenn. Is comlíth dóib. Lúan sáer do dul fri cach les. [Note 217: aoine satharn _nó_ domnach N innib N beidis N] 218. Trí gníma rátha: fosta, féile, lobra. Fosta i n-árus, féile, arná ebra góe, lobra hícce .i. lécud a lomartha i n-indligud dar a [.f]echimain. [Note 218: om. ratha L lubrai N anarus N heibre gói N lubrai ice .i. leacadh lomartha anindli_ged_ dar cenn feichi_man_ N] 199. Three chains by which evil propensity is bound: a covenant, a (monastic) rule, law. 200. Three rocks to which lawful behaviour is tied: a monastery,[106] a chieftain, the family. [106] 'The credence-table,' N., perperam. 201. Three candles that illumine every darkness: truth, nature, knowledge. 202. Three things that constitute a king: a contract with (other) kings, the feast of Tara, abundance during his reign. 203. Three locks that lock up secrets: shame, silence, closeness. 204. Three keys that unlock thoughts: drunkenness, trustfulness, love. 205. Three inheritances that are divided in the presence of heirs: the inheritance of a jester, of a madman, and of an old man. 206. Three youthful sisters: desire, beauty, generosity. 207. Three aged sisters: groaning, chastity, ugliness. 208. Three well-bred sisters: constancy, well-spokenness, kindliness. 209. Three ill-bred sisters: fierceness, lustfulness, obduracy. 210. Three sisters of good fortune: good breeding, liberality, mirth. 211. Three sisters of good repute: diligence, prudence, bountifulness. 212. Three sisters of ill repute: inertness, grudging, closefistedness. 213. Three angry sisters: blasphemy, strife, foulmouthedness. 214. Three irreverent sisters: importunity, frivolity, flightiness. 215. Three reverent sisters: usefulness, an easy bearing, firmness. 216. Three woman-days: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. If women go to men on those days, the men will love them better than they the men, and the women will survive the men. 217. Three man-days: Thursday, Friday, Sunday. If women go to men on those days, they will not be loved, and their husbands will survive them. Saturday, however, is a common day. It is equally lucky to them. Monday is a free day to undertake any business. 218. Three duties of guarantorship: staying (at home), honesty, suffering (?); staying in one's residence, honesty lest he utter falsehood, suffering (?) payment, viz. letting oneself be stripped for an illegal action instead of the debtor. 219. Trí brothcháin rátha: éir[i]c nó thogním fecheman no díthechte. [Note 219: brocain N _no_ no thognim L ditechta N dithechdi L] 220. Trí húais rátha [et] aitiri [et] nadma .i. dul fri dénam dúine ríg [et] daurthaige [et] choiri. Ar is úais do fir fine do thabairt fria céili. [Note 220: eit_er_i N nadmadh fri N] 221. Trí as anergnaid do neoch: slaide a eich ríana thigerna co salaig a étach, dul ina chocar cen gairm, a sírdéicsiu ina agaid oc caithem neich. [Note 221: is ainergna N tri saineargnaidh M slaige BN rena BMN sirdeicsin N sirdegsain BM caithium BM aeaitniem a coda N] 222. Trí bassa téchtai: bass etir a assa [et] a ochrai, bass etir a ó [et] a berrad, bass etir chorthair a léined [et] a glún. [Note 222: corrthair M] 223. Cia mesam hi trebod? Maic mná méile, fleda menci, clemna ile, immat meda scéo fína: notchrínat, ní thormaiget. [Note 223: cidh is messa do treb_ad_ ni _hansa_ N mic B imad fianna nodcrinaid [et] nítoirmuigid BM imchiana (!) N nitormaigett N] 224. Trí galair ata ferr sláinti: seola mná for mac, gríss bronn-galair glanas broinn, gríss timgaire olc dia maith. [Note 224: seol N sceola(!) for fermac BM galar timargur olc do maith N timgaire B di maith B do maith M] 225. Trí fáilti coirmthige: immed [et] dúthracht [et] elathó. [Note 225: ealathaoi N ealado do neoch carthar BM] 226. Trí fognama ata messam dogní duine: fognam do drochmnái [et] do drochthigerna [et] do drochgobainn. [Note 226: mesa N drochflaith B drochf_er_ann N] 227. Trí ata ferr i tig: daim, fir, béla. [Note 227: dam N] 228. Trí ata messum i tig: m_ai_c, mná, méile. [Note 228: measum bite a taig mic BM] 229. Trí comartha tirdachta .i. immargal [et] immarbág [et] meraichne. [Note 229: im_ur_cal im_ur_baid imraithne N imabad LBM] 230. Cenéle amus: salanaig buale [et] buicc brodnai [et] eóin erchoille [et] seiche corad. [Note 230: cenela BM buale _om._ BM earcaille M córadh M] 231. Cenéle dáileman: mórmenmnach meda, bolcsrónach brocóiti, itfa eserni, cúacroessach, donndabach, bolcra paitte, abartach escrai, geir grainne, cranndretel cuirn. [Note 231: cenela BM metha H bolgsronach BM itfa eserne BM cuachroeasach BM cuachrochesach H baite BM haiti H abarthach easgraidh M gearr grandai B grenn graindi H crand rebartach H treiteal cuirnd M cuirnn L] 219. The pottages of guarantorship: wer-geld or a debtor's ... or non-possession (?)[107] [107] Obscure and probably corrupt. Cp. § 139. 220. Three things hard to guarantee and to become a hostage and to make a contract for: to go security for constructing the fort of a king, an oratory, and a caldron. For it is hard for a man of a family to be given with (?) his fellow.[108] [108] I cannot make out the meaning of _doberim fri_. 221. Three things that are undignified for everyone: driving one's horse before one's lord so as to soil his dress, going to speak to him without being summoned, staring in his face as he is eating his food. 222. Three lawful handbreadths: a handbreadth between shoes and hose, a handbreadth between ear and hair, a handbreadth between the fringe of the tunic and the knee. 223. What is worst in a household? Sons of a bawd, frequent feasts, numerous alliances in marriages, abundance of mead and wine. They waste you and do not profit. 224. Three illnesses that are better than health: the lying-in of a woman with a male child, the fever of an abdominal disease that clears the bowels, a feverish passion to check evil by its good (?). 225. Three welcomes of an ale-house: plenty and kindliness and art. 226. Three services the worst that a man can serve: serving a bad woman, a bad lord, and a bad smith.[109] [109] 'bad land,' N. 227. Three things that are best in a house: oxen,[110] men, axes. [110] 'an ox,' N. 228. Three that are worst in a house: boys, women, lewdness.[111] [111] 'Or, perhaps, as in § 223, 'sons of a lewd woman,' only in that case we have no triad. 229. Three signs of boorishness: strife, and contention, and mistaking a person for another (?)[112] [112] Or, perhaps, 'slight or superficial knowledge.' 230. Various kinds of mercenaries: ....[113] 231. Various kinds of dispensers: ....[113] [113] As I could only offer unsatisfactory guess-work as a translation of these passages, I omit them altogether. 232. Trí as anso bís do accallaim .i. rí imma gabáil [et] Gall ina lúirig [et] athech do muin commairchi. [Note 232: annsom (andso H) do agallaim bís BHM rig M cumairce N a chumairci H] 233. Trí as mó menma bís .i. scolóc íar légad a [.s]alm [et] gilla íar lécud a erraid úad [et] ingen íar ndénam mná dí. [Note 233: trede BMHN scol_aigi_ N scolaidi H íar lecun a eri uada H íar leccad a arad uad N] 234. Cetharda forná bí cosc nó ríagail .i. gilla sacairt [et] cú muilleórach [et] mac bantrebthaige [et] gamain gamnaige. [Note 234: fornach bi BM ná BM gamnaidhe M] 235. Tri húais dóib: dul ar ríg nó úasal nemid, ar is lethiu enech ríg aidbriud; dul fri cath, ar ní túalaing nech glinni fri cath acht ríg lasmbíat secht túatha foa mám; dul fri cimmidecht acht nech lasa mbí mug dóer. Secht n-aurgarta dóib: dul ar deoraid, ar drúth [et] ar dásachtach, ar díaraig, ar angar, ar éconn, ar essconn. Imnedach da_no_ cach ráth, ar is écen dí díanapud im cach ngell dob_eir_, aill riam, aill íarum. [Note 235: n_em_i N it lethai L lethe N aidbriu N tulaing N glinde N acht nech laisimbiad N fo mam_m_i N cimbidheacht acht nech lasambiad mogh daor dil_es_ N dasachtaig N imnedach do_no_ cech raith N imni da_no_ L dianapad N dobeir N] 236. Trí hamra Glinne Dalláin i tír Eogain: torcc Dromma Leithe, is ass rochin [et] is dó-side for[.f]éimid Finn ní, co torchair im Maig Lii la aithech búi hic tírad, ut dixit Finn: Ní mad biadsam ar cono. ní mad ríadsam ar n-echa tan is aithechán átha. romarb torcc Dromma Letha. Míl Leittreach Dalláin, cenn duine fair, dénam builc gobann olchena .i. ech usci robói isind loch i tóeb na cille, is hé dochúaid ar ingín in t[.s]acairt co ndergene in míl frie. Dam Dili in tres ingnad. Asind loch cétna táinic a athair co ndechaid for boin do búaib in brugad robói i fail na cille, co ndeirgenai in dam de. [Note 236: as as rocin N forfeimdi N Muig Hi N Muig Hith H. 1.15 ma biasam N ma riadsim ar n-eacha N ricsam andechi L L_et_hæ N Leithi L ase docoid N fria N isin N co nderrna an dam fria N] 232. Three that are most difficult to talk to: a king about his booty, a viking in his hauberk, a boor who is under patronage. 233. Three whose spirits are highest: a young scholar after having read his psalms, a youngster who has put on man's attire,[114] a maiden who has been made a woman. [114] Literally, 'who has doffed his (boy's) clothes.' 234. Four on whom there is neither restraint nor rule: the servant of a priest, a miller's hound, a widow's son, and a stripper's calf. 235. Three hard things[115]: to go security on behalf of a king or highly privileged person, for a king's honour is wider than any claim; to go security for battle, for no one is capable of any security for a battle save a king under whose yoke are seven tribes; to go security for captivity, except one who owns a serf. Seven prohibitions: to go security for an outlaw, for a jester and for a madman, for a person without bonds, for an unfilial person, for an imbecile, for one excommunicated. Troublesome moreover is every security, for it is necessary for it to give sudden notice as regards every pledge which he gives, now beforehand, now afterwards. [115] I do not understand the force of _dóib_, 'to them,' either here or below after _secht n-aurgarta_. 236. Three wonders of Glenn Dallan[116] in Tirowen: the boar of Druim Leithe. It was born there, and Finn was unable to do aught against it, until it fell in Mag Li[117] by a peasant who was kiln-drying. Whence Finn said: [116] Now Glencar, six miles to the north of the town of Sligo. [117] The territory of the Tir Lí, west of the river Bann. "Not well have we fed our hounds, Not well have we driven our horses, Since a little boor from a kiln Has killed the boar of Druim Leithe." The Beast of Lettir Dallan. It has a human head and otherwise the shape of a smith's bellows. The water-horse which lived in the lake by the side of the church cohabited with the daughter of the priest and begot the beast upon her. The Ox of Dil[118] is the third wonder. Its father came out of the same lake, and went upon one of the cows of the landholder who lived near the church, and begot the ox upon her. [118] The oxen of Dil, daughter of Míl or Legmannair, are mentioned in the Dindsenchas, No. 44 and 111 (Rev. Celt. xv.). 237. Trí hamra Connacht: lige nÉothaili 'na thrácht. Comard hé frisin trácht. Intan atraig in muir, comard hé fria lán. Dirna (.i. cloch) in Dagdai, cia fochertar im-muir, cia berthair hi tech fo glass, dodeime a tiprait oca mbí. In dá chorr i n-Inis Cathaig, nocha légat corra aili leo inna n-insi [et] téit in banchorr isin fairrgi síar do duth, co tóet cona heisínib essi [et] nocon fagbat curaig eolus cia airm in doithi. [Note 237: comaird i frisin lan N focerda a muir no cia bert_ar_ N _no_ do deime _no_ dogeibt_er_ a tibr_aid_ oca mbid N do _nó_ todeime L corr N chuirr L Ceitig N leigitt N do doich N heisenaib eisib [et] nochan fagbuid N eolus _om._ L hairm in doich N] 238. Trí luchra ata mesa: luchra tuinde, luchra mná bóithe, luchra con foléimnige. [Note 238: _om._ LHBM luchra duine H^1 foleimnigh N] 239. Cisne trí ana soitcedach? Ní handsa són. Immarchor erlam, cuirm cen árus, cummairce for sét. [Note 239: a tri N] 240. Trí maic beres genas do gáis: gal, gart, gaire. 241. Trí airfite dála: drúth, fuirsire, oirce. [Note 241: druith H^1] 242. Trí ata ferr do [.f]laith: fír, síth, slóg. [Note 242: adda H^1] 243. Trí ata mesa do [.f]laith: lén, brath, míairle. [Note 243: adda H^1 ada N] 244. Ceithre báis breithe: a breith i ngó, a breith cen dilse, a breith cen ailig, a breith cen forus. [Note 244: disle H^1 disliu N] 245. Trí adcoillet gáis: anfis, doas, díchuimne. [Note 245: a tri N ainbh[.f]es H^1 duas H^1] 246. Trí muime ordain: delb cháin, cuimne maith, creisine. [Note 246: ordan H^1 chaoin H^1] 247. Trí muime menman: sotla, suirge, mesce. [Note 247: socla .i. sochlú H^1] 248. Cetheora miscne flatha: .i. fer báeth utmall, fer dóer dímáin. fer gúach esindraic, fer labor dísceoil; ar ní tabair labrai acht do chethrur: .i. fer cerda fri háir [et] molad, fer coimgni cuimnech fri haisnéis [et] scélugud, brethem fri bretha, sencha fri senchas. 249. Trí dorcha in betha: aithne, ráthaiges, altrom. 237. Three wonders of Connaught: the grave of Eothaile[119] on its strand. It is as high as the strand. When the sea rises, it is as high as the tide. The stone of the Dagda. Though it be thrown into the sea, though it be put into a house under lock, ... out of the well at which it is. The two herons in Scattery island. They let no other herons to them into the island, and the she-heron goes on the ocean westwards to hatch and returns thence with her young ones. And coracles have not discovered the place of hatching. [119] _Cf._ § 197. 238. Three worst smiles: the smile of a wave, the smile of a lewd woman, the grin of a dog ready to leap.[120] [120] _Cf._ § 91. 239. What are the three wealths of fortunate people? Not hard to tell. A ready conveyance(?), ale without a habitation(?), a safeguard upon the road. 240. Three sons whom chastity bears to wisdom: valour, generosity, laughter (filial piety?). 241. Three entertainers of a gathering: a jester, a juggler, a lap-dog. 242. Three things that are best for a chief: justice, peace, an army. 243. Three things that are worst for a chief: sloth, treachery, evil counsel. 244. The four deaths of judgment: to give it in falsehood, to give it without forfeiture, to give it without precedent, to give it without knowledge. 245. Three things that ruin wisdom: ignorance, inaccurate knowledge, forgetfulness. 246. Three nurses of dignity: a fine figure, a good memory, piety. 247. Three nurses of high spirits: pride, wooing, drunkenness. 248. Four hatreds of a chief: a silly flighty man, a slavish useless man, a lying dishonourable man, a talkative man who has no story to tell.[121] For a chief does not grant speech save to four: a poet for satire and praise, a chronicler of good memory for narration and story-telling, a judge for giving judgments, an historian for ancient lore.[122] [121] _i.e._, who has nothing worth hearing to say. [122] See a similar passage in Ancient Laws i., p. 18, and in the tale called, 'The Conversion of Loegaire to the Faith' (Rev. Celt. iv., p. 165). 249. Three dark[123] things of the world: giving a thing into keeping, guaranteeing, fostering. [123] _i.e._, uncertain what will come of them. 250. Trí urgarta bíd: a chaithem cen altugud, a chaithem d'éis óiged, a chaithem réna thrath cóir. [Note 250: haurgartho N^1 hurgairt HM hurghairrthe H^2 d'aithli aidead H cóir om. NH^2 iarna coir M] 251. Cetheora aipgitre gáise: ainmne, sonmathe, sobraid[e], sothnges; ar is gáeth cach ainmnetach [et] sái cach somnath, fairsing cach sobraid, sochoisc cach sothengtha. [Note 251: somna sobraicch H^2 sobés N soingthes H^2 somnoigh H^2 farsigh [_leg._ farsing] .i. sgaoiltech H^2] 252. Cetheora aipgitre báise: báithe, condailbe, imresan, doingthe. 253. Teora sírechta flatha: cuirmthech cen aisnéis, buiden cen erdonail, dírim cen chona. [Note 253: airdanail N erdanail N^1] 254. Trí indchoisc ordain do duine: .i. sodelb, sáire, sulbaire. [Note 254: a tri ina coisceadh ordan M suirbire H] 255. Trí gúala doná fess fudomain: gúala flatha, gúala ecalse, gúala nemid filed. [Note 255: dana H fodhomain M] 256. Trí féich nach dlegar faill: féich thíre, duilgine achaid, argius aiste. [Note 256: nat eple faill M aichid M argui_us_ H] 250. Three prohibitions of food: to eat it without giving thanks, to eat it before its proper time, to eat it after a guest. 251. Four elements[124] of wisdom: patience, docility, sobriety, well-spokenness; for every patient person is wise, and every docile person is a sage, every sober person is generous, every well-spoken person is tractable. 252. Four elements[124] of folly: silliness, bias, wrangling, foulmouthedness. [124] Literally, 'alphabets.' 253. Three tabus of a chief: an ale-house without story-telling, a troop without a herald, a great company without wolfhounds.[125] [125] This triad has been wrongly read (fais_cre_ instead of fais_n_e_is_) and rendered by O'Grady in his Catalogue of Ir. mss. in the British Museum, p. 91. 254. Three indications of dignity in a person: a fine figure, a free bearing, eloquence. 255. Three coffers whose depth is not known: the coffer of a chieftain, of the Church,[126] of a privileged poet. [126] "Die Kirche hat einen guten Magen," Goethe, Faust. 256. Three debts which must not be neglected:[127] debts of land, payment of a field, instruction (?) of poetry. [127] 'Which do not die by neglect,' M. GLOSSES AND NOTES 1. Gloss in H. 1. 15: oir gurab innte do bhí suidhe príomhaigh Éirenn. 2. .i. ordaighecht nó ord uaisle nó airechas .i. arduaislighecht tre adhluicedh na ríogh inte [et] na naoimh. 4. .i. serc Éirenn ó annsacht cháich uirre tre Muire na nGaodhal .i. Brighid. 5. .i. naomthacht tre naomaibh, nó foghluim sruth .i. saoi-raith. 7. .i. feronn buird riogh Éirenn. 11. .i. tre cáich innte nó tre n-iomad taisi innte. 13. .i. eircille ar grádhuibh dar ndóigh fa tuarasdul giolla foic[h]le, nó tuarastail. 14. .i. liodáin do gnáth. 15. .i. ealadhna mór ann [et] senchaoi [.f]esa na sen. 16. .i. a n-iomat breithemhuin, nó cúirt, nó sgol féinechuis ann. 17. .i. ó iomad scol innte. 18. .i. aoibnes nó conách nó er tír fo sliocht Éireann. 19. .i. ag guidhe ar gach duine. 20. .i. tre leigen Temhrach. This refers to the curse pronounced by Ruadan, the founder of Lorrha, against King Diarmait and Tara. 22. .i. cairedh inte. St. Feichin, the founder of Fore, was famous for the austerity of his devotion. 'He used to set his wretched rib against the hard cell without raiment,' says Cuimmine in his poem on the Saints of Ireland (_Zeitschr._, I., p. 63). 24. .i. diamharracht nó aon ar anacht nó gloine. 25. .i. luathghaire a mBreifne. 26. .i. grádh Dé. 28. .i. áit comhnuidhe. 30. .i. cill as mesa do cheallaibh nó béim aithesach nó ceall dáir. 31. .i. genmnacht. 32. .i. léime tara do tugsat. 33. .i. bailte bodaich. 34. trí clothra .i. coimhthineoil cluacha nó uirdherca. 36. Dún Sobairchi and Dún Cermna are, according to tradition, the oldest stone forts in Ireland, having been built by Sobairche and Cermna, who divided Ireland between them, about 1500 B.C., the former placing his dún in the extreme north, the latter in the extreme south on the Old Head of Kinsale. 37. Slíab Cua (or, by eclipse after the neuter _slíab_, Gúa), 'the hollow mountain,' or 'mountain of hollows' (_cúa_ = Lat. _cavus_), the native name for the Knockmealdown mountains on the borders of Tipperary and Waterford. 42. Dercc Ferna was demolished by the Norse in 930. Hennessy, in a note on the entry in the AU., says that it is supposed to be the cave of Dunmore, not far from the city of Kilkenny, but adds "apparently on insufficient evidence." 44. i. ionadha dona no nemhchonáig. Here we get the only gloss in L. Bangor is said to be unlucky, "because of its having been destroyed so often." It was frequently plundered by the Norse during the ninth century. As to the kingship of Mugdorn Maigen (now Cremorne barony, Co. Monaghan), it certainly was an ill-fated dynasty. Of the sixteen kings of this tribe who are mentioned in the Annals of Ulster, ten were put to death, of whom one (Suibne) was slain by his own brothers, while two brothers, Gilla Ciaráin and Máelmúaid, were slain within the same year (1020), the latter after having been king for but one day. 45. Beyond the fact that the three tribes here mentioned belonged to the _aithech-thuatha_ or rent-paying tribes, I know nothing to throw light on the triad. 51. In Harl. 5280, p. 75a, marg. inf., Druimm nDrobeoil is said to derive its name from a horse called Drobel. (Ech Dedad. i. Drobel a ainm diatá Druim nDrob_eoil_.) 56. Here H. has the absurd etymological gloss futhairbhe .i. fothirbhe .i. tír mhaith na mbeo, nó ferann maith. 60. Léim Congcoluinn i gcondae in Chláir. 64. .i. miodhchonách duine. Suighe cumhang .i. deireoil. 65. iarmar cléithe .i. salchar na cléithe d'fágbhail a bferann. drithlennach .i. ferthain anuas nó linn thríd. 66. The first two items occur also in the list of proverbial sayings addressed by the Wizard Doctor to Mac Conglinne (_Aisl. Maic C._, p. 73), with the significant variation that 'a veteran in the abbotship' has become 'a veteran in the bishop's chair,' showing that the 'Vision of Mac Conglinne' was composed at a time when the diocese had superseded the old monastic constitution. As to the 'drop upon the altar,' though O'Neachtain's gloss explains it as 'rain' (bainne .i. fer[th]uinn anuas), the Rev. Mr. O'Sullivan has furnished me with a much more likely explanation. He thinks it refers to the spilling of the consecrated wine from the chalice, which is considered a most unfortunate accident. No one but a priest is allowed to touch or remove it. 71. .i. tri donais mhic bodaigh. re óigthigerna .i. re duine uasal. for thascar rígh .i. céimionnadh móra do ghlacadh air (!) .i. do thabhairt uaidhe do striopach (!) .i. do thocaidhibh nó ar son gatuigechtadh. 72. targha .i. tineol no cruinnugadh .i. malairt [.f]erainn mhaith ar dhrochferonn. 74. haonaighe nesairte .i. eisert .i. bochtain lag. gan airdhe .i. gan comhartha nó arra aige le gcennocha ní. 75. caol srithide a foilleirb .i. an sreab bainne da chrú .i. soidech. .i. fochan an gheamhair. for tuinn .i. faoi an cennar chroichin .i. ag denamh druithnechuis. 76. dorn daimh .i. cos ag treabhath. 77. mes .i. ó laimh. tomharas .i. ó [.s]úil. cubhus .i. óna coimhesa .i. coimhfiosa. 79. eadruidh .i. adhaltraigh. cluithe .i. clesuighes. céilighe .i. cuairt. 80. maoin .i. tabhartus d'faghail uaide. 81. dognas .i. nemhghnas. diomaoinche .i. díth maoine .i. do chuid do bhuain dhiod. 83. troich .i. do gerr[.s]aoghul. Cp. _Aisl. Maic Conglinne_, p. 71, 20. 84. áine la daor .i. saidhbrios ag daor neimhnidh .i. aithioch nó fer gan senchus. doidheilbh .i. duine grán[n]amh. 85. bó bennach gan eas .i. sreibh nó bainne. tothacht .i. gan tábhacht faoithe .i. tochus. 86. áibhle .i. splangca lasta grádha. aladh .i. hésa maith. 87. .i. trí ní curthar a ttaisge ara ccurtar caithemh. mná .i. taisge. 88. teidhe (_sic_) .i. aonaigh. 89. Seghaine .i. caomha nó séimhe. fáthrann .i. rann fáthach. adhbhann tri ciuil do [.s]einimh duine eile. berradh .i. eolus berr[th]a nó do bherrath go des. These three accomplishments were united in the person of Mac Díchóeme, the barber of King Eochaid with horse's ears (_Otia Merseiana_, III., p. 47), and in Donnbó (_Three Fragments_, p. 34, and Rev. Celt. 24, p. 44). 90. cluiche tenn .i. súgradh ten[n]. abhacht go n-aithis .i. súgradh le masla do thabairt. 91. .i. iar n-ealó óna fer féin. foileimnighe .i. chum do gerrtha .i. iar leigion sealga uaithe. 92. foghladha .i. gadaighe. 93. .i. trí haonarain is ferr ioná iomad. .i. begán do chaint mhaith. .i. ag ól fleadha nó sec[h]na imresain. 94 bróna .i. hamghaire. .i. deglaoch nach sáiseocha cách. .i. ga nderna ina ainim munath sásaigh[th]e é. 95. .i. faoi ndéntar magaid. lonn .i. fergach. éataigh .i. eudmhar. díbhach .i. doichleach. 99. gretha .i. garrtha. .i. gáir ag fodhail a mbídh. grith suidhe .i. chuman[n] bhídh. .i. ag éirghe ón mbiadh. 101. .i. postaidhe fir boigechta .i. boiggniomh. imgellad .i. síor-c[h]ur geallta. iomarbhaigh .i. comórtas. imresain .i. conspóidedha. 103. luirge .i. a bhata nó a mhná (lorg .i. ben, abhall, laoch, leo, arg). 104. da maoidhemh air féin gan nech da chur cuige. 105. os focherd a congan .i. fiadh chuires de a benna. 106. sceinbh .i. ionadha baoghlacha dochum sceinm do chur i neach nó ionada sccunamhla. 107. allabair .i. mac-alla nó iollabhar is gnáth a bhfod ó neach. 109. labra .i. iomad cainte. aimhiodhna .i. nemhgloine. 110. toa .i. bailbhe .i. éistecht. eiscis .i. escuidhecht. iodhna .i. glaine. 112. moladh iar luag .i. cennach tabhairt ar moladh. 113. .i. imthecht gion nach bh[.f]édann tú imthecht. .i. ní do thabhairt uaid na mbia agat. .i. gen go bfédann tú a dhénamh. 114. .i. senchaillioch triudhach casachtach ar aondhacht ann. .i. amhail cullach le buille ar choin, ar chat, ar mhada. .i. gach gránna siobharrtha 'na ghiolla. 116. .i. a n-onoruighther nó uaislighther. .i. pluice ag síneadh a beoil. righe a bhronn .i. a bhuilg. 117. círmaire .i. 'fer dénta na gcíor. dichetal for otrach .i. adhbhal-cantainn le rosg nó orrtha. go rothochra .i. go docuiredh. 118. dlughughadh .i. cnesughadh. freiscre .i. frisearadh gan sergadh. lúth tar luaitbrenn .i. for a tighibh nó templuibh .i. rennaigheacht do cuiredh sa luaith. béim fo chumas .i. buille a coimhmheiseamnuighe féin. 119. dighalra .i. leighios iomlán na ngalar. diainmhe .i. gan ainiomh d' fágail iar genedhuibh. .i. coimh[.f]écsin nó fíoradharc. 120. .i. bior dobheir sásadh as gach ní rachad fair. 121. caer comraic .i. raed cruinn go ccomhtharrachtain d'iomat dath ann. fleath for faobhar .i. faobhar for faobhar. 122. cruitire .i. cláirseoir. 125. comar .i. docum treabtha nó coimhghélsine. 131. truime .i. tromdhacht. toice .i. saidhbhres. talchaire .i. toil charthanach ag gach duine do. 132. .i. tri neithe aisnéisi an doconáigh. 133. tlás [.i.] doní an trosgadh an duine tláit[h]. 135. .i. cnapáin mísénamhla nó nemhconáigh. 139. trí brothc[h]áin rátha .i. trí neithe breithemhnuighther nó caoinbherthar ar antí théid a ráithiges nó a n-urrughas. roitioc .i. íocaidh na fiacha. rosiacht .i. éigion do nech do leanamhuin. rotho_cht_ .i. [et] mionnughadh 'sa gcúis. 140. tugha go bh[.f]óidibh .i. fóide os toighe ar tech. imme go bfoighnagare (sic) .i. fál [et] fíoriongaire maille ris. .i. go ngoradh gér cloch a ndiaigh gortath na hátha. 141. trí fáilte go n-iarnduibhe. fer gaide .i. an tan bhíos da chrochadh. .i. doní faisnéis. 142. tulfeaith (_sic_) .i. drúis .i. toil féithe. dulsaine .i. cáinedh no cáinseoireacht. 143. grís .i. imdhergadh. rus .i. roifios. ruccaidh .i. ancroidhe. 145. nua corma .i. braitlis. 146. moaighthe .i. médaighthe sochair do neoch. 147. teine a lucc (!) .i. [a] tteallach. næ la fer calaigh (!) .i. naomhóg, coite, bád, long, do dhuine le purt. 148. aithgionta .i. neithe dobheir aithghin tarais no aithgini uatha. nes gabhann .i. mála cré. 149. .i. neithe ann a ttabhair neach iomarcaith naith [et] nach iadhann dísle orrtha ó nech dar ben iad. iarraid mic .i. luach oileamhna. 151. aurnadhma .i. pósta. 153. .i. trí cúisi nach básaighenn d'faill do dhénamh umpa iad eibiulait .i. básaighenn. dochraidhe .i. duine díochairdigh. 155. slabhra .i. imdhergtha .i. pecughadh le mnái neich gan coibhche do dhíol ionnta, nach gcennuighther le airnéis nó éiric do díol ionnta. .i. coimhéigniughadh do rígh. 156. turbhadh .i. cairde d'iarraigh da ccur amach .i. da ttabhairt amach. .i. da athair tar éis altroma. .i. tar éis anbhaill do dhénamh a thabhairt da sealbhaightheoir. .i. braighe do tabhairt as láimh le comhall síotha. 157. .i. taisce do fúigfidhe ag égciallaidh. .i. do fuigfidhe ag duine mór. aithne formeda .i. do fuigfidhe gan aithne do thabhairt go cinnte i ccumhdach acht go héccinte air. 158. dorenathar bí .i. nech eirnighther no híocthar le beo do thabhairt da gcenn. fidnemed .i. coill ar a bhfuil neimh[.s]enchus nó atá da gcumhdach la huasal. 159. Trí ná dotoing ná fortongar. angar .i. mac ionghar nach bhfoghann da senoir do réir a dhualgais. 160. athchumas .i. do ghlacadh orra na athchomhasan (no do thabhairt daibh) (.i. ar a ceile). 161. .i. nach teighther faoi a bhfuigheall .i. a mbreitheamnuis. .i. cia do bheithdaois glic. fer adgair (.i. cu rios fios ort) agas adghairther (.i. an fer ar a gcuirther fios) agas ro crenair ria breith (.i. agas cennuighther mar breithemh le bríb le haghaidh breithe). 162. aitide .i. aonta. ainbhfaitches. 163. Trí fo imrime ná dleagaid (.i. imthechta amhuil ar marcuigheght) dire (.i. dire enecluise). toxal .i. tóccbhail agus ag dénamh athghabála. 164. duilchinn. 165. Trí naoill .i. luighe nó mionna nach cóir mhionnughadh 'na n-aghaidh. fir mairb .i. do bheith le bás go cinnte. ditire .i. do thréig a thír .i. do chur cúram an t[.s]aoighil de. 166. .i. céimionna mhilleas an tuaith le bréig. 167. renus a dheis .i. a dhúthaigh nó a feronn .i. bodach é [et] ní bh[.f]uil ced sencuis air. 168. For _comberat_ H^1 has _conrannat_. dainntech .i. gremannach nó buailtech. 170. feichemhnas .i. lucht tagartha nó oificc na bh[.f]eithemhan. toisc. leimim. eicsi .i. muna foghluma. 171. aradgeallad. breithemhuin .i. fuasglais neach. 172. urfogradh .i. air ar coir miothaithnemh. ael coire .i. ag tógbhail feola coiri. fiodhbhaigh gan tseinm .i. meileg gan semann no thairn[g]e da chengal. ord ghabhan[n] gan dinesc gan tairn[g]e annsa bpoll .i. díon ina eis. 173. fotha utmhall gan eolus .i. bunadhas gan forus acht haimhnech, utmhall .i. roluath. 174. soadh fri fiadnaib .i. iompodh a n-aghaidh na bhfiadhan do haondaighe. 175. breithemh gan [.f]uasna .i. techt 'na aghaidh. eidirchert gan éaccnach .i. breithemhnas gan idhiomradh 'na dhiaigh. comha gan diubhairt .i. gan bhreith do bhreith le caomhmha nó gan leatrom aonroinn. 176. Trí tonna gan gaoise .i. do chuires anfa ar ghaois .i. gliocas. 177. fostadh .i. foisdinecht. gairde .i. athchumairecht. 179. .i. cúisi far cóir mioscuis don urlabhra. dlúithe .i. ar muin a chéile. 180. fostadh .i. na tengan 'na sost. airnbertais .i. ag dénamh [et] ag ordughadh gach neithe mar as dú. 182. maise .i. bregha. clithighe .i. bheith clithar. 183. trí ná dleaghaidh dire .i. truaighe nó comairce. .i. ealaighes ó flaith. agas file .i. ó eglais (!). 184. .i. trí hanlain[n] chrosta don othar. each .i. feoil eich. muir .i. míl mhoir .i. cointinn ar coinntinn. 186. Instead of _forsnaidm_, H. 1. 15 has forran .i. fírbrised. 187. sobhraidhe .i. brígh maith nó láidir. 188. ír .i. fer[g]. 189. sam (_sic_) .i. anmhuin go socair. tua .i. socht nó éistecht. imdhergadh .i. gríosadh nó náire. 190. mórt[h]a .i. mórthacht. maise .i. maisech lais féin. maoine .i. a mhes gurab maoineach é. 191. forindet .i. doní faisnéis ar in umhal. dinmhe .i. dith inmbe. 192. faicse (sic) .i. meabair maith. fáthaidhe .i. bheith foghluma fáith-chialluigh. 195. fuasnadh .i. imresan. 196. cach ndagferas .i. guch feidhm nó gníomh iomlán nó feramhuil. 197. serbha .i. goid. 198. .i. docuires chum siubhail iad fainealca. ingreim .i. do [.s]lad nó da gcrechadh. dola .i. da ngremughadh. domata .i. boichtecht. 200. fine .i. iomad fine nó móirmhes an fine. 202. fornaidm ruirioch .i. ríogha eile congbhail faoi. roimhse .i. roimhes nó torad mór ina [.f]laith. 203. tua .i. bailbhe. dochta .i. éistecht (!). 204. tairisamh .i. coimhniughadh alfaire neich. 205. .i. i bh[.f]iadhnuise na gcomharcadh. .i. daoine gan chéill .i. daoine ag imthecht le gaoith. 207. éitche .i. gráinche. 208. soingthes .i. urlabhradh mhaith. connamhna .i. coma degmhana nó de[g]mianadh. 209. luinne .i. fergaighe. cétludche .i. cédluath ghaire. tairismidhe .i. iomarcraidh griaidh da chur a gcéill .i. tairismidhe. 210. sognas .i. goma maith le a ghnáthugadh. soicheall .i. goma soichellach nó luathghairech. 211. .i. trí 'ga mbíonn clú maith. trebaire .i. gliocas. rathmaire .i. rath mór do techt air nó bhfás fair. 212. dochlatad .i. miochluid. laxa .i. faillidhe. prapcaillte .i. a bheith cruaidh [et] luath .i. bheith caillte anna chuid go luath. 213. ecnach .i. ithiomradh. doingthes .i. droichtengadh. 214. deirmiten .i. athairmhidin. easpata .i. diomhaoines. 216. .i. trí laithe as sona do mhnáibh pósta. mná go fiora .i. mná do thabhairt chum pósta. .i. biadh na mná beo 'na ndiaidh. 217. fri gach leas .i. gach neithe bhus leas dó. 218. rátha .i. urradha. fostadh .i. comhnuidhe. féile .i. náire. lomradh .i. ag lomairt ag díol fiachadh. fostodha a n-arus .i. comhnuidhe a bpriosún lomradh íce .i. da lomairt féin ag díol fiachadh nó fulang é féin do lomradh do réir dlighe .i. leigen lomartha an dlighe dar cenn feichemhan. 219. eiric no toghniomh feichemhan (.i. an t-íoc do dhénamh darcenn a bhiodhbha) no dithecht. 220. .i. trí neithe as anfæ (leg. ansa) nó as doiligh dhaibh. .i. dol a n-urrudhas dún righ do dhénamh, decair sin. coire .i. coire longan. .i. do thabhairt an urrudhas re cechtar doibh sin aroile do dhénamh. 221. trí as ainer[g]na (.i. neimhealadhanta) do neach. .i. no go salaighenn a eudach do scarduibh. 222. ochradh .i. alt. berradh .i. mullach a chinn. 223. mic .i. iomad mac. mná .i. iomad ban. méile .i. amadan. cleamhna ile imchiana .i. iomad clemhnas a gcéin. notcrionad (.i. dibrid) agus ní thormaighid (.i. ní mhédaighid a tighes). 224. seol mná for mac .i. luighe seola. gris bronn .i. tesuighecht. galar tiomargar olc .i. togbhus an t-olc [et] [.f]ágbhus an mhaith 'na háit féin. 225. .i. gar cóir fáilte rompa, no dobheir an [.f]áilte a ttigh fleadha im duthracht [et] ealatha .i. ealadha do thaisbeana[dh]. 227. daimh. bealai .i. tuadh, biail. 229. tiordhachta .i. tuathamhlacht no bodamhlacht. iomargal .i. ime ro mheraighe focal. iomarbhaidh .i. comartus gníomh. meraigecht .i. mire. 230-231. omitted in H. 2. 15. 232. rí ima gabhail .i. im geall nó chreich. aithech do mhuin coimeirce .i. bodach ar a mbeith dhó ar coimeirce, nó tenn ar chúl aige. 233. .i. scolaire iar gcriochnughadh a leighen .i. iar leagha nó egluisech iar ndénamh ornaidhe. iar leaccad a araidhechta uadh .i. iar ccriochnughadh a term a nó aimsire. 235. trí huais doibh .i. gar doilge doibh. .i. a n-urrdhas ar righ, ar esbog do bhrigh a leithe eneaclann an righ, nó inté atá na cronughadh ann. dul fri cath .i. dul a n-urrughas le cur catha. fri cimidh .i. dul a n-urrughas le brughaidh nó le siothcain. .i. secht neithe crosta donté rachadh a n-urrughas orra. dol ar dheoruighe .i. dol a n-urrughas. ar dhiaraigh .i. gan árus no coimhnaidhe aige. ar druith .i. duine gan céill, ar dhiaraigh .i. nach feidir árach air. ar angar .i. mac iongar. ar esccong (!) .i. senoir iar ndul a chéille uaidh. imnedhach dona gacha ráth (im[.s]níomhach go fírinnech gach urrughas díobh sin), .i. fulang dianbhás no dianollmhughadh no urfogra fa gach gealla dobheir aill ria n-aill iaromh .i. mionna a n-aghaidh mionn an [.f]ir oile .i. nach decha sé a n-urrudhas no le díola. 236. ag tioradh .i. ag goradh arbha. 238. luchra .i. gaire nó genamh. 239. .i. cia hiat na trí sonais dogheibh an duine sonadh? Ní handsa son .i. ní hainbh[.f]esach misi ar sin. iomarchor .i. iomchar. cuirm gan ára .i. deoch gan tech aige. .i. ar an tslighe go teghmaisech. 240. gaire .i. gaire maith. 241. .i. do ní oirfide nó comhluadar i gcomhdáil. druith .i. amatán. foirsire abhlóir nó ursoire. oircc (_sic_) .i. mesan nó cú beg. 243. léan .i. amhgar. brath .i. ar comarsan. 244. a breith a ngó .i. gúbreith brégach. gan disle .i. faoi omhan gan árach. gan ailic .i. gan hailche 'na timchioll .i. rosg [et] fasach. 246. duas .i. droich[.f]ios. 247. socla (_sic_) .i. sochlú. suirge .i. le mnáibh. 248. .i. ceitheora da ttugann flaith mioscais nó nemhdhúil. baoth .i. leamh. uttmhall .i. roluath. fer labhar disceoil .i. labharrach cainntech gan sceol aige. fer coimhghne cuimhnech .i. go caoimhegna [et] cuimhne senchusa. 251. somna .i. so-omhnach .i. so-eglach (!). sobraicch .i. sobríoghach. 252. condailbhe .i. bághach nó leathtaobhach. doingthe .i. doitenguighe. 253. trí sirrechta flatha .i. suthainghesa nó neithe bhíos toirmisc ar uasal. .i. fleadha gan ealadha da [.f]aisnéis. .i. cuitechta gan donail píobaire 'na tosach. INDEX LOCORUM Ached Déo, 106. Ae Chúalann, 38. Ardmacha _Armagh_, 1, 34, 46. Ard mBreccáin _Ardbrackan_, 23. Ath Caille, 48. Ath Clíath Duiblinne, 48, 50. Ath Lúain _Athlone_, 48. Bairenn _the Burren_, 58. Banna _the Bann_, 40. Belach Conglais _Baltinglass_, 50. Belach Duiblinne, 50. Belach Luimnig, 50. Bennchor _Bangor_, 5, 44. Benn mBoirchi _Slieve Donard_, 38. Benntraige _Bantry_, 45. Bérre _Beare_, 58. Birra _Birr_, 108. Bóand _the Boyne_, 40. Braichlesan Brigde, 57. Breifne, 58. Caisel _Cashel_, 54. Cathair Chonrúi, 36. Cell Dara _Kildare_, 4, 34. Cell Maignenn _Kilmainham_, 32. Cell Rúaid, 30. Cenannus _Kells_, 7. Clúain Eidnech _Clonenagh_, 108. Clúain Eois _Clones_, 53. Clúain Ferta Brénainn _Clonfert_, 19. Clúain Iraird _Clonard_, 3, 33, 53. Clúain Maic Nóis _Clonmacnois_, 2, 34, 53. Clúain Úama _Cloyne_, 12. Connacht, 43, 237. Corcach _Cork_, 16. Crecraige, 43.[TN 45] Crúachán Aigli _Croagh Patrick_, 38. Crúachu _Croghan_, 35, 54. Cúailgne _Coolney_, 43, 62. Cúalu, 46. Dairchaill, 27. Daire Calgaig _Derry_, 32. Derc Ferna, 42. Druimm Fingin, 51. In Munster, famous for its fertility. See LL. 15^a 11. Druimm Lethan _Drumlane_, 25. Druimm nDrobeóil, 51. Druimm Leithe, 51, 236. Dublinn _Dublin_, 50. Duma mBúrig, 106. Dún Cáin _Dunquin_, 60. Dún Cermna, 36. Dún Dá Lethglas _Downpatrick_, 26. Dún Sobairche _Dunseverick_, 36. Ess Danainne, 55. Ess Maige, 55. Ess Rúaid _Assaroe_, 55. Fid Déicsen i Tuirtri, 43. Fid Moithre i Connachtaib, 43. Fid Mór i Cúailgni, 43. Findglais _Finglas_, 8. Fobur Féichín _Fore_, 22. Glasraige, 45. Glenn Dá Locha _Glendalough_, 11, 33. Glenn Dalláin _Glencar_, 236. Imblech Ibair _Emly_, 15. Inber Féile, 59. Inber na mBárc, 59. Inber Túaige, 59. Inis Cathaig _Scattery Island_, 10, 237. Lann Ela _Lynally_, 31, 44. Léimm Conculainn _Loop Head_, 60. Leithglend _Leighlin_, 108. Less Mór _Lismore_, 14. Lettir Dalláin, 236. Loch nEchach _Lough Neagh_, 39. Loch nErni _Lough Erne_, 39. Loch Rí _Lough Ree_, 39. Lothra _Lorrha_, 20. Lúachair Dedad _Logher_, 61. Lugbad _Louth_, 33. Luimnech _Limerick_, 50. Lusca _Lusk_, 6, 46. Mag Crúachan, 52. Mag mBile _Moville_, 28. Mag mBreg, 52. Mag Lí, 236. Mag Lifi, 41, 52. Mag Line, 41. Mag Midi, 41. Mugdorn Maigen _Cremorne barony_, 44. Ráith mBoth _Raphoe_, 25. Ráith Laidcniáin _Rathlynan_, 56. Ross Ailithre _Roscarbery_, 17. Ross Commáin _Roscommon_, 24. Sinann _the Shannon_, 40. Sláine _Slane_, 21. Slíab Commáin, 56. Slíab Cúa, 37. Slíab Cúalann, 37. Slíab Fúait _the Fews_, 61. Slíab Mancháin, 56. Slíab Mis, 37. Slige Assail, 9, 49. Slige Dála, 49. Slige Midlúachra, 49. Srub Brain, 60. Tailtiu _Teltown_, 35. Tamlachta _Tallaght_, 8. Tech Cairnig, 9. Tech Munna _Taghmon_, 32. Temair _Tara_; gen. Temrach 54, 202. Tipra Cuirp, 57. See Tog. Br. Dá Derga § 154, YBL. Tipra na nDési, 57. Tipra Uaráin Garaid, 57. Tipra Uarbeóil, 57. Tír Dá Glas _Terryglas_, 18. Tír Eogain _Tirowen_, 236. Tráig Baili, 47. Tráig Lí _Tralee_, 61. Tráig Ruis Airgit, 47. Tráig Ruis Téiti, 47. Tuirtri, 43. Tulach na nEpscop, 106. Tulen _Dulane_, 29. Uam Chnogba _Knowth_, 42. Uam Slángæ _Slaney_, 42. INDEX NOMINUM Colmán Ela, 35. Corbmac mac Fáeláin, 62. in Dagda 120, 237. Dil, 236. Eothaile, 107, 237. Fergus mac Róich, 62. Finn, 236. Morrígan, 120. Neithin, 120. Ninníne éces, 62. GLOSSARY abartach, from abairt, _practice_, _feat_, a. escrai 231. abucht (abocht, abacht) _a joke_, _jest_ 90. adbann _a strain of music_ 89. With prothetic f., fadbann, ib. N. ad-coillim _I destroy_, _ruin_ 245. ái _a cause_, n. pl. ái 153, 174. áibne f. _delightfulness_ 23. aigne m. _a pleader_, _counsel_, dag-a. 178. ailbéimm n. _a reproach_ 30. áilde f. _beauty_ 206. aill .. aill _once_ ... _again_, _now_ ... _now_ 235. ainchess _bodily pain_, acc. cen ainchiss 119 (ainces N). ainmne f. _patience_ 192, 251, dat. ainmnit 143 (ainmnet N). ainmnetach _patient_ 174, 189. airberntas (airnbertas) m. (?) 180, 181. airbert _a using_, _employing_ 178. air-gorad _a scorching_ 140. airisiu _a narration_, _tale_, cétna airisiu, Cóir Amn. 80. n. pl. airisena 102, 125. airmed _a certain dry measure_ 138. Corm. Tr. 68. eirmed, .i. tomus, 4, 3, 18, 70^a. dorat do Patraic in n-airmid mini, Trip. 186, 9. aithech-borg m., aithech-port m. _a rent-paying town_ 33. aithne n. (later f.) _a deposit_ 87, 157, 249; aithne [.s]alainn 87 L. alaig _behaviour_, _demeanour_ 86. all n. _a rock_, n. pl. trí all 200. allabair _an echo_ 107; O'Dav. 144. ana _wealth_ 147, 239. áne f. _agility_, _deftness_, _skill_ 84. an-ergnaid _undignified_ 221. an-faitches m. _carelessness_ 162. an-fiad _a bad welcome_ 70. an-gar _unfilial_, _impious_ 159, 235. an-idna f. _impurity_ 109. an-richt m. _a misshapen person_ 84. antrenn _rough ground_, gen. antreinn 147. apaig _ripe_ 68. ar-cuillim _I destroy_, _ruin_ 184; verb-noun, gen. aircaillti, ib. (N). ard-nemed m. _a high dignitary_ 157. árech (árach) (1) _a tie_, _fetter_, gen. cú áraig 168; (2) _a bond_, _surety_, acc. pl. cen áirche 74; cin gealladh, cin airge, Laws II. 78, 4. argius _instruction_ (?), a. aiste 256. Cf. felmac fri ré na argaisi, Laws V. 364, 17. aroslicim _I open_, aroslicet 204. árus _residence_, _habitation_ 218, 239. ata _which are_ 68, 69, 75, 76, &c. ataid (?) 181. ath-chommus m. _renunciation of control or authority_ 160. athchosan, better athchomsan (later achmusan) _a complaining_ 98; tossach augrai athchosan, LL. 345^b18. augra _strife_ 213. aupthach _veneficus_ 185. aurla (1) _a long lock of hair_, .i. ciab, Corm. Tr. 166; (2) _a person wearing_ aurla, _a serf_ (?); mac aurlai (erlai) 152. báithe _foolishness_ 252. banas m. _womanhood_, gen. dag-banais 180; droch-banais 181. ban-chorr f. _a she-heron_ 237. ban-lá _a lucky day for women_ 216. belach n. _a mountain-pass_, n. pl. belaige 50. beó-athair m. _a live father_ 151. Compare the following extract from H. 3, 18, p. 19_b_: _Cest._ Cid diatá "ní nais ná torbais"? Ar atáit nadmanna naisce ni na torbongat, ar ni rochat a nadmann naisce .i. mac beoathar for a athair, céile for a flaith, manach for a airchindech, hulach for inn ail_e_, ar ní tobongat díb ar comrac, acht atá folaith gaibthi friu. béss _perhaps_ 136. binnech _melodious_, bó b. 85. birit, f. _a sow_, gen. birite, 148 BM. bithbenach m. _a criminal_ 92 B. bocc m. _a buck_, _he-goat_, n. pl. buicc 230. boccacht f. _buckishness_, _obstinacy_ 101, 102. bolcra (?) 231. Cf. bolcaire m. _a hector_, O'Gr. Cat. 584, 4. bolc-srónach _having distended nostrils_ 231. bothach m. _a hut-dweller_, _cottar_ 150. brén-[.f]inn _stinking or rotten hair_, acc. pl. -a 105. brodna (?) gen. brodnai 230. bronn-galar m. _a disease of the abdomen_ 224. brugaide f. _keeping a hostel_, _hospitality_ 134. búadnas _a triumph_, _excellence_, n. pl. -a 88 H. cáer comraic 121 note. cáin-thocad m. _fair fortune_, dat. cáin-thocud 110. calad _hard_ 176; fer c. 147. cetludche f. _lustfulness_ 209. círmaire m. _a comb-maker_ 117. cisne _what are?_ 239. clithcha f. _comfort_ (of dress) 182. clochrad (clochrach?) _a stone building_(?) (from clochur?), n. pl. trí clochraid 34. clúanaige m. _a rogue_ 90, 104. co-cless _performing feats together_ 125. cóemna _comfort_, _good cheer_ 6, 46. coim (coimm) _a cloak_ 130. coimgne (com-ecne) _synchronistic knowledge_; fer coimgni 248 = fer cumocni, Rev. Celt. vi. 165, 11. coire _a caldron_ 220. c. érma, c. goriath, c. áiged 127. com-ar (W. cyf-ar) _holding ploughland in common_ 125. com-chissiu _an examination_ 119. com-líth _equally lucky_ 217. comneibe (?) 169. com-rith (fri) _a racing together_ 117. con-beraim _I bear liabilities_ 168. condailbe f. _attachment_, _bias_ 193, 252. congna (collective) _horns_ 105, 117. con-rannaim _I share_ 164. con-tibim _I mock_ 82. córad-gein _a champion birth_ 148 BM. crann-dretel (?) 231. crésine f. _piety_ 196. crossán m. _a buffoon_ 116. cúacróessach (?) 231. cuilmen _a volume_, _tome_ 62. cuinnmíne f. _kindliness_ 208. daintech _biting_ 168; gl. dentatus Sg. 159^{b}2. debuid f. _strife_ 98. déicsiu _a seeing_, _spying_, gen. déicsen 43. deinmne _impatience_, dat. deinmnait 144. deirmitiu _irreverence_, gen. deirmiten 214. derc _a hole_, _cave_ 42; dat. i nderc a oxaille, LU. 70^{a}45; resiu dorattar isin deirc, Lism. fo. 43^{b}1. déss f. _land_, acc. déiss 167 (dés N); acc. pl. déissi, ib. L. See Cáin Adamnáin, p. 46. dí-ainme f. _an unblemished state_ 119. dían-apud _a sudden notice_ 235. dí-araig _a person without bonds_ (árach) 235. díbe _a refusing_, _denying_ 212, LL 117^{a}43, 121^{b}9, 188^{a}2, 188^{b}33. díbech _refusing_, _denying_ 95; .i. diultadach, C. 1, 2. dí-chuimne f. _lack of memory_ 245; ar dermat nó díchumni, LL. 74^{a}30. dí-galrae f. _sicklessness_ 119. dí-grad n. _hatred_ 217. dímainche f. _uselessness_ 81. dímainecht f. _uselessness_ 81 H. dímosc (?) 172. dínnime f. _meanness_, _lowliness_ 191; ferr trumma dínnimi, LL. 345^{c}30. Cf. dín[n]imus, Alex. 996. dirna _a stone_ 237. dí-sceóil _taleless_ 248. díthechte f. _non-possession_ 219. díthir _a landless person_, gen. díthir (díthire N) 165. díthrub m. _a desert_, _uninhabited place_, n. pl. díthruib 43. In the later language it is inflected like _treb_ (n.p. díthreba 43 BM). diúite f. _simplicity_ 24; LL. 294^{a}38. d. cridi, Lism. Lives 4543: Diúide ingen Slánchridi, Rawl. B. 512, 112^{2}b2. diultadach (diultach) _fond of refusing_ 96 MB. dlúithe f. _compactness_, _obscurity_ (?) (of speech) 179. doas m. _ignorance_ 245. do-celaim _I hide_ 84, 85. dochell _niggardliness_ 144; Dochall [et] Díbe [et] Do[th]chernas, Rawl. B. 512, 112^{b}1. dochlatu m. _ill repute_. gen. dochlatad 212. do-chond m. _an imbecile_, gen. dochuind 153. dochraite f. _oppression_ 153. Alex. 367, atchota daidbre d., LL. 345^{c}3. dodeime (?) 237 (todeime L). dochta f. _closeness_ 203. do-delb _a misshapen person_, acc. la dodelb (dodeilb B) 84. dofortaim _I pour out_, _spill_, _spoil_, _ruin_, dofortat 186; dofortatar .i. dotodsat, MI. 124^{d}12. do-gnás f. _ill-breeding_ 81; gen. dognáise 209. doingthe f. _foulmouthedness_ 252; for do-thengthe. doingthes m. _id._ 213. dolud _loss_, _damage_ 198; gen. mét tar ndolaid, LL. 172^{b}33; in cach níth ba dáel dolaid, 157^{b}14. dommatu m. _poverty_ 198, Alex. 847. dorenaim _I pay a fine_ (díre) 158. dotcad m. _misfortune_, n. pl. dotcaid 44, 64, 65, 71. dotcadach _unfortunate_ 135. doth _a hatching_, cach d. toirthech, LL. 293^{b}48; gen. in doithe 237; dat. do duth, ib.; gen. pl. cerce trí ndoth, O'Dav. 1375. do-tongim _I swear_, ná dítoing 159. drithlennach _full of sparks_ 65. drús f. _folly_; gen. drúise 193. duine-chin m. _human crime_ 168. dul in the phrases, dul ar _to go security on behalf of_ 235; dul fri _to go security for_ 235. See Glossary to Laws s.v. dul. dulbaire f. _lack of eloquence_, _bad delivery_ 179. dulsaine f. _mockery_ 142; in cerd mac húi Dulsine, Corm. 37. Cf. dulaige, O'Dav. 622. dúthracht f. _good will_, _kindliness_ 225. ech usci _a water-horse_ 236. echmuir(?) 184. eisíne _a young bird_ 237. eó m. _a salmon_: gen. iach 92; n. pl., iaich, LL. 297^{a}34. eochair _a key_ n. pl. eochracha 204. erchoille (?) 230. erdonal f. _a trumpeter_, _piper_; eardanal .i. stucaire no píobaire, BB. 65 m.s. acc. cen erdonail 253. érim n. _a course_, _running_, gen. érma 127. Later fem., ar tressa na hérma, LL. 110^{a}13. erlam _ready_ 239. errad n. _dress_, _attire_: gen. erraid 233. escaine _a curse_ 20. esconn _excommunicated_ 235. escra _a cup for drawing wine_ 231. éscus (é-scíss) m. _unweariedness_ 110 (esces N). daurnaisce .i. aurlattu nó greschae nó escas, H. 3, 18, 80^a. eserni (?) 231. eserte f. _landlessness_, _vagrancy_ 74. espatu m. _frivolity_ 214. étach (verb-n. of in-tugur, O'Mulc. 462) n. _a dress_; gen. étaig 182. étaid _jealous_ 95. etargaire _a separating_, _interposing_, _mediating_, 135, 154; LL. 31^{b}15; dligid ugra e. 345^{d}10. etir-chert _a decision_ 175. faigdech (foigdech.) m. _a beggar_ 83, Aisl. M. 71, 21. faiscsiu _closeness_ (?) 192 (faicsi N). fássach _a precedent_ 178; brithemnacht ar roscadaib [et] fasaigib, LU. 118^b. fáthaige f. _the gift of prophecy_ 192. fáth-rann m. _a witty quatrain_ 89; do fáthrannaib espa [et] airchetail, Otia Mers. III., p. 47, § 2. fechemnas m. _debtorship_ 170. féige f. _sharpness_, _sagacity_ 78. feras m. _manhood_, _man's estate_, gen. dag-ferais 196; droch-ferais 197. Cf. feras léiginn _lectorship_ AU. fer-lá n. _a lucky day for men_ 217. fescred (feiscre N.) 118 = feascradh '_shrivelling_, _decaying_,' O'R. Cf. feasgor .i. dealugud, Lec. Voc. 403: dligid cach forcradach féscred, LL. 294^{a}9. fiad _a welcome_. n. pl. fiada (fiad L) 70. fidchell (?) 142. fid-nemed n. _a sacred grove_, _sanctuary_;[TN 158] '_lucus_,' BB. 469^{a}46, O'Mulc. 830, n. pl. fidnemeda fírdorchra [et] cráeb-chaill comdígainn, C. Cath. flett see plett. fliuchaim _I wet_, rotfliuchus, 104. fodb m. _accoutrement_, n. pl. fuidb 135. fo-crenaim (verb-n. fochraic) _I bribe_ 261.[TN Yes, printed as 261] foglaid m. _a robber_, gen. foglada 92. fo-glúaisim _I move_ (trans.) 198. foichell f. _hire_, _wages_, gen. foichle 13. foichne _a blade of green corn_ 75: ith-[.f]oichne .i. foichne in etha, O'Dav. 1080. 1. foilmnech _roped_, _leashed_, cú f. 169. 2. foilmnech (fo-lémnech) _ready to leap_ 91, 238. foimrimm _a using_, _usucaption_, gen. foille foimrimme, LL. 344^{c}55; n. pl. -e 163, Laws. fóindledach m. _a waif_ 198. foll-derb f. _a milk-pail_, dat. hi foll-deirb 75, Laws. fóindel m. _a straying_, n. pl. fóindil 181. fomailt (verb-n. of fo-melim) f. _usufruct_ 87. fomus (verb-n. of fo-midiur) m. _calculation_ (?) 118; béim co fomus, LU. 73^{a}1. béim co fommus, LL. 74^{a}26. roláosa, ol sé, fomus forsaní sin, LU. 58 24. fo-naidm n. _a contract_ 202. for-íadaim _I close upon_ 203. for-ind-fedaim _I relate_. forindet 191: O'Dav. 511. forngaire _a proclaiming_ 140. forrach _a measuring-rod_ 138, O'Don. Suppl. for-[.s]naidm (= for-naidm, with epenthetic _s_) n. _an overreaching_ (?) 186: co fornadmaim níad náir, LU. 73^{a}7. fortgellaim _I give evidence_, _bear witness_ 138. for-tongim _I swear_, fortoinger (fortongar) 158. fossad _steady_, _firm_ 174 (fossaid N). fossugud _stability_ 28. fosta f. _staidness_, _steadiness_ 180, 187, 194, 215, 218. fotha n. _foundation_, f. n-utmall 173. Cf. ní cóir in fotha utmall, Sg. 4^b. fothirbe _a field_ (?) 56, Trip. 82, 2; 168, 26. freccor (verb-n. of fris-curim) _opposition_, _objection_ 154, ML 131^{a}8. frecra (verb-n. of fris-garim) n. _an answer_ 174. frith-nóill _a counter-oath_ 165. fúaimm n. _a din_, _noise_ 146, f. nglan, LL. 150^{b}4; f. in churaig risin tracht, YBL 89^b; n. pl. fúammann 146. fúatche f. _a snatching_, _carrying off_ 140. fuchacht (fuichecht) f. _copulation_, _cohabitation_ 155. fuigliur _I pronounce judgment_, fuigletar 161. fuirec (verb-n. of foricim) m. _preparation_, n. pl. fuiric 97, 98. fuirmed _a sitting_, _placing_, gen. aithne fuirmeda, 157. fuirsire m. _a juggler_ 241. gáir _a cry_, _shout_, n. pl. gártha 99 M. gáis f. _wisdom_ 177, gen. gáisse 178, 192, 251. gáisse f. _wisdom_, acc. cen gáissi 176. gait (verb-noun of gataim) f. _a taking away_, _carrying off_, gen. fer gaite meirle 141. gamnach f. _a stripper_, gen. gamnaige 234. gart _generosity_ 240. gatach _thievish_ 185. geir (?) 231. gen f. _a smile_ 91, n. pl. gena, _ib._ genmnaide _chaste_ 187, genmnaide ben aenfir, H. 3, 18, 79^b. glass m. _a lock_, n. pl. glais 203. goirt _salted_, bíad g. 70. goriath (?) 127. grainne (?) 231. gréss _handicraft_ 70, ferr g. soos, LL. 345^{c}51. gríss _heat_, _fever_, _ardour_, _fervour_ 224; colum co crábud, co ngrís, LL. 35^{a}48. grith _a cry_, _shout_ 99, n. pl. gretha, _ib._ grúss (?) 143. gúala _a large vessel_, _vat_ 255; n. pl. gúala, _ib._ Cf. iern-gúala. íach (a late nom. formed from the oblique cases of eó) m. _a salmon_, gen. iaich 92, L. íarduibe f. _after-grief_ 67. Cf. íarnduba. íarmur f. _remnant_, _leavings_ 65. íarnduba f. _after-grief_ 125, 141. íarraid _foster-fee_ 149. im-bánad _a growing pale_ 188. im-gellad _a pledging oneself_ 101. immarchor _a conveying about or across_ 239. immed n. _plenty_ 178, 225. imreson, O. Ir. imbressan (verb-n. of im-fresnaim) f. _a wrangling_ 101, 252, acc. pro nom. imresain 193. imraichne _a mistake_ 101, imraithne 229 N. im-thomailt f. _food_ 149. im-crenaim _pay or buy mutually_, imuscrenat 170. ind-chosc m. _an indication_, n. pl. ind-choisc 254. in-crenaim _I pay_, _buy_ 155. Enclitic: ní écriae. Ériu 1., p. 199, §21. ír f. _wrath_ 188. O'Dav. 1103. itfa (?) 231. Cf. itfaide toile, LL. 344^{c}36. labor _talkative_ 248; bat l. fri labra, bat tó fri tó, LL. 346^{a}12. lán _the full-tide_ 237. laxa f. _inertness_ 212. lén _sloth_ 243; tossach lubra lén, LL. 345^{b}33. lethiu _broader_, _wider_ 235. lia m. _a stone_, dat. liic 147. litánacht f. _singing the litany_, 14. lobra = lomrad _a stripping_ 218; gen. lomartha, _ib._ luaithrind _a pair of compasses_, gen. lúd -e 118; fo chosmailius luaithrinde, Corm. 13, s.v. Coire Brecáin. luchra _a smile_ 238. lúd = lúth _agility_, _quick motion_ 118. Wi. nimtha lúd hi cois nó il-láim, LU. 16^{a}5. mad _well_, ní mad bíadsam, ní mad ríadsam 236. máil _blunt_; _simple-minded_, _witless_, ingen m. 114. méile f. _lewdness_ 228; ben méile 223. marb-dil _dead chattel_, Laws. acc. pl. marbdili 105. med _a balance_, _scales_ 138. meirle f. _theft_ 141. mer-aichne _a mistake_ 229. meraige m. _a fool_, _fop_ 103. mí-airle _evil counsel_ 243; tossach míarli malartcha, LL. 345^{b}37. midlachas m. _cowardice_ 197. mí-gairm n. _an evil cry_, nom. du. dá m. 124. miscne, miscena (n. pl.) _hatreds_ 179, 248. mí-thocad m. _misfortune_, _ill-luck_, gen. míthocaid 124; dat. míthocod 109. mblecht (mblicht) _in milk_ 146. móaigim _I increase_, verb-n. gen. móaigthe 146. muilleóir m. _a miller_, gen. muilleórach 234. muimme f. _a nurse_, n. pl. muime 246, 247, muimmecha 130. muin _neck_, _back_, in the phrase do m. 232 = de mhuin _because of_, _in consequence of_, Dinneen. nemed, m. _a privileged person_, gen. nemid filed 255. nem-idna f. _impurity_ 109 BM. nemthigur _I constitute_, neimthigedar 116-123, 202: Corm. s.v. níth: rofogluim sium in tréide nemthigius filid, Megn. Finn 19. neóit _churlishness_, _niggardliness_ 144. ness (1) .i. aurnise criad _a clay furnace_, H. 3, 18, 73b; gen. fri derc a neis, Corm. 33, 2; (2) _the wooden mould or block in which the furnace of moist, soft clay, was formed_;[128] bói crann ina láim .i. neas a ainm [et] is uime dogníther an urnise criad, Corm. 32 s. v. nescoit; (3) .i. mála cré _a bag of (moulding) clay_ H. 1, 15. [128] I owe this explanation to Dr. P.W. Joyce. nóill _an oath_ 165 (náill N); n. pl. nóill, ib. ochán _an urging_, _egging on_ 112. Cf. achain, Boroma 122. ochtrach (later otrach) f. _a dunghill_, ML 129^{c}2; dat. for ochtraig 117 (otrach N). óc-thigern m. _a franklin_ 71. óil f. _a cheek_, gen. óile 116. oirce _a lap-dog_ 241. ordan _dignity_, gen. ordain 246, 254. With Triad 246, compare the following extract from H. 3, 18, p. 9_b_: Secht rann fichet (xx .i. MS) triasa (friasa MS) toet feab [et] ordan (ordain MS) do duine: tria gaireui, tria ainmnit, tria [.f]ostai, tria thói, tria f_or_sadi, tria fogluim, tri domestai, tri étsecht fírindi, tri chocad fri clóine, tri indarb_a_ anfis, tri thochur[i]ud fis, tri trebairei, tri coitsecht fri forrsaidi, tri frecmorc fíren, tri filidhecht téchtai, tri ailge auscuichthi, tri airmitin sen, tri denam sinsire, tri ermitin flatha, tri airmidin ecnai, tri honoi[r] fithidre, tri timorgain cuibsi _nó_ gnúisi, tri idhnai lámai, tri congain cuibsi, tri imrád bá[i]s, tria imrád _nó_ décsin i nDia na ndúla. paitt f. _a leather bottle_, p. meda, LL. 117^{a}50; LU. 54^{b}22; gen. paitte 231; na paitte, LL. 117^{b}2; du. n. dá phait [.f]ína, LB. 129^{a}. plett (flett) f. _an edge_ 121; plet .i. nomen rinda dogníat cerda, H. 3, 18, p. 73: flét, O'R. prap-chaillte (literally 'sudden hardness') f. _closefistedness_ 212. ráth f. _security_, _surety_ 235; gen. rátha 139. ráthaiges m. _guarantorship_ 135, 248. rathmaire f. _bountifulness_ 211. reclés _an abbey-church_ 11. reithe m. _a ram_ 117, 168. rige _a stretching_, _extending_ 116. rigne (raigne) f. _stiffness_ 179: LL. 212^{b}15; rigne labartha, 345^{d}10. roimse _abundance_ 202. ronn _a chain_ 121. rop m. _a brute_, n. pl. ruip, 168, 169. With Triad 168 compare the following extract from H. 3, 18, p. 8^{b}: Rofesar rupu tria fóindel caich laithiu dosliat fiachui dóine do cethrai .i. each cen cuibrich cech tráthai, cú cen cuibrech _nó_ cen lomain laithe, muiccai cen mucalaig ndorcha. ros-chullach m. _a stallion_ 114. ro-thé very hot, _scalding_ 70; Aisl. M. rucca f. _shame_ 143. ruire m. _a king_, gen. pl. ruirech 202. rúss _a blushing_ 143; O'Dav. 1336, 1343, rús .i. grúaid, ut dicitur: co nach romna rús richt. Rús dono imdergad [et] gach nderg, H. 3, 18, 73^c. sail _a beam_, _prop_, n. pl. sailge 101. saill f. _fat_, _bacon_ 170; gen. cia tiget na saille, LB. 260^{b}20; n pl. saillti 184. sain-chor m. _a special contract_, gen. -chuir 151. salánach _dirty_, _filthy_, n. pl. salanaig 230. saltraim _I trample_, rosaltrus 104. sámtha _repose_ 189. sant f. _avarice_ 115. scenb _a startling_ (?) n. pl. scenb 106. scéo _and_ 223. scolóc _a young student_ 233. secnabbóite f. _vice-abbotship_ 46. seche _a hide_, _skin_ 230. ségainn _accomplished_; _an accomplished person_, n. pl. ségainni, 89 (ségaind M ségainn N); ní rabha i nEirinn uile budh griabhdha nó bud segaine inás, Three Fragm. 34. seim _a rivet_ 172. seol (seola) _child-bed_ 224. sírecht f. _a tabu_, .i. geis, O'Dav. 1482, who quotes triad 253. sirite m. _a wild man_, _sprite_ 114. sit _hush_! 137; sit sit! Hib. Min. 78, 23. sleith f. _cohabiting with a woman without her knowledge_ 155; Aisl. M. O'Dav. 97. slissén _a chip_, _lath_ 169. snáth f. _a thread_, gen. snáithe 75. so-bés m. _good manners_ 84. sobraid _sober_ 251; sobraig, LL. 343^{d}3; sobraig cách co haltram, LL. 345^{d}45. sobraide f. _sobriety_ 187, 251. sochell _liberality_ 210; LL. 345^{b}39. sochlatu m. _good repute_, gen. sochlatad 211. sochoisc _docile_ 251; n. pl. -e, CZ. III. 451, 28. sochoisce f. _docility_ 194; tossach suthi s., LL. 345^{b}23. so-delb f. _a fine figure_ 85. so-gnás f. _good breeding_ 210; gen. sognáise 208. soithnges m. _wellspokenness_ 208, 251. soitcedach _fortunate_ 239. somnath (^{x}so-múnad) _easily taught_, _docile_ 251. Cf. O'Dav. 1481. somnathe f. _docility_ 251. són _that_ 239. sotcad m. _good fortune_, gen. sotcaid 210. sotla f. _pride_ 247. so-thengtha _well-spoken_ 251. sproicept _a preaching_ 111 B. sproicepht M. sreb f. 'the stream of milk drawn from a cow's teats at each tug,' Dinneen; gen. sreibe, 75 L. sreb immais 112 note. srithid f. '_the passage of milk from the breast_.' O'R.: gen. srithide 75. sruithe f. _seniority_ 5. sta _hush!_ 137; Bodl. Corm. stata, Hib. Min. 78, 1. súarcus m. _mirth_ 210. suirge f. _a courting_, _wooing_, 247. suthaine f. _lastingness_, 182. tacra _a pleading_, t. fergach 173 = LL. 345^{d}23. tairisiu m. _trustfulness_ 204. tairismige f. _obduracy_ 209. tair-leimm n. _an alighting_, _a place of alighting_; geis dí tochim cen tairlim, LL. 201^{a}11: n. pl. tairleme, 32. taisec _restitution_, _restoration_ 157. Laws, Aisl. M. tal-chaire f. _self-will_, _obstinacy_ 131. tarcud _a proposing_ 72, 73; t. do drochmnái, Aisl. M. 73, 26. tarsunn m. _a sauce_; tarsand, O'Mulc. 612: n. pl. tarsuinn 184 (tarsunn L): torsnu, Aisl. M. 99, 7. tascor _a retinue_, t. ríg 71, t. ríg nó espuic, O'Dav. 1501. 1. téite f. _wantonness_ 18. 2. téite _a fair_, _gathering_ 88. tenn (teinn, tinn) _sore_, _hurting_, cluiche t. 90. Cf. mían leisan laoch lúaiter linn | cluiche ó nách biad duine tinn _a game by which no one is hurt_, Bruss. MS. 2569, fo. 65^a. tirdacht f. _boorishness_ 229. tlás f. _weariness_ 132, 133. togním. m. (?) 219. toicthiu (?) 131. toimtiu f. _opinion_ 136. Cf. mac toimten '_son of conjecture_,' O'Dav. 1596. tothucht _substance_ 85. BB. 19^{b}14. tradna _a corncrake_ 129. trecheng _a triad_. For O.-Ir. trethenc, Wb. 29^{c}5 (Thes. I. 691). trichem _a fit of coughing_; sen-t. 114. mod. tritheamh. trichtach _example_, _pattern_ (?) 27. is é did_iu_ in fer sin ropo trichtach do Chorinntib ara techtatis an indmus am_al_ ná techtatis, LB. 146^{a}32; ropo trichtach tra don eclais dílgedaig fo chosmailius ingen n-óg ná tabrat olc ar olc, acbt logud, _ib_. tromdatu m. _importunity_ 214. tromm m. _the elder-tree_ 129; gen. connud truimm, RC. VII., 298, 3. trú _a doomed person_, dat. robud do throich 83 = Aisl. M. 71, 20. trumma f. _weightiness_, _self-importance_ 131. trusca f. _leprosy_ 133 N.; clam-trusca AU. 950. tuilféth _a frown_ 142. tuisledach _stumbling_, _offending_ 96 N. turtugud _a compelling_, _forcing_, _violating_ 155: is tar turtugud nDé [et] Patraic cach gell [et] cach aitire, Cáin Domn.; LU. 74^{a}19, 123^{a}17; turtugud breth, LL. 344^{b}; turrtugad .i. timpud, H. 3, 18, 539^{b}; a turtad .i. per uim, O'Dav. 1151; turtad .i. coméicniugud, O'Mulc. H. 3, 18, 74^{b}, 866. uais _hard_, _difficult_ 220, 235; coruice uais nó angbocht, .i. is é iu t-uais ní ná raibe aice féin, O'Dav. 112. 
6656	----	THE KILTARTAN POETRY BOOK PROSE TRANSLATIONS FROM THE IRISH BY LADY GREGORY _Introduction_ I If in my childhood I had been asked to give the name of an Irish poem, I should certainly have said "Let Erin remember the days of old," or "Rich and rare were the gems she wore"; for although among the ornamental books that lay on the round drawingroom table, the only one of Moore's was _Lalla Rookh_, some guest would now and then sing one of his melodies at the piano; and I can remember vexing or trying to vex my governess by triumphant mention of Malachi's collar of gold, she no doubt as well as I believing the "proud invader" it was torn from to have been, like herself, an English one. A little later I came to know other verses, ballads nearer to the tradition of the country than Moore's faint sentiment. For a romantic love of country had awakened in me, perhaps through the wide beauty of my home, from whose hillsides I could see the mountain of Burren and Iar Connacht, and at sunset the silver western sea; or it maybe through the half revealed sympathy of my old nurse for the rebels whose cheering she remembered when the French landed at Killala in '98; or perhaps but through the natural breaking of a younger child of the house from the conservatism of her elders. So when we were taken sometimes as a treat the five mile drive to our market town, Loughrea, I would, on tiptoe at the counter, hold up the six pence earned by saying without a mistake my Bible lesson on the Sunday, and the old stationer, looking down through his spectacles would give me what I wanted saying that I was his best customer for Fenian books; and one of my sisters, rather doubtfully consenting to my choice of _The Spirit of the Nation_ for a birthday present, qualified the gift by copying into it "Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel." I have some of them by me yet, the little books in gay paper or in green cloth, and some verses in them seem to me no less moving than in those early days, such as Davis's lament. We thought you would not die, we were sure you would not go And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell's cruel blow; Sheep without a shepherd when the snow shuts out the sky, O why did you leave us Owen? Why did you die? And if some others are little more than a catalogue, unmusical, as:-- Now to begin to name them I'll continue in a direct line, There's John Mitchell, Thomas Francis Meagher and also William Smith O'Brien; John Martin and O'Donoghue, Erin sorely feels their loss, And to complete their number I will include O'Donovan Ross-- yet there is in them a certain dignity, an intensity born of continuity of purpose; they are roughly hammered links in a chain of unequal workmanship, but stretching back through the centuries to the Munster poets of the days of Elizabeth, advised by Spenser to harry them out of Ireland. The names change from age to age, that is all. The verses of the seventeenth century hallow those of MacCarthys and Fitzgeralds who fought for the Stuarts or "knocked obedience out of the Gall"; the eighteenth ended with the rebels of '98; the nineteenth had Emmet and Mitchell and its Manchester martyrs. Already in these early days of the twentieth the street singers cry out: Mac Dermott, Mallin, Hanrahan, Daly, Colbert and Mac Bride All men who for our country's cause have nobly bled and died. Even Yeats, falling into the tradition, has put in a lyric the names of some of those who died in Easter week, and through whose death "a terrible beauty is born." II I am glad to remember that through the twelve years of our married life, 1880-92, my husband and his people were able to keep their liking and respect for each other. For those were the years of the land war, tenant struggling to gain a lasting possession for his children, landlord to keep that which had been given in trust to him for his; each ready in his anger to turn the heritage of the other to desolation; while the vision of some went yet farther, through breaking to the rebuilding of a nation. The passion, the imagination of Ireland were thrown into the fight. I often thought to find some poem putting such passion into fiery or memorable lines. But the first I thought worth the keeping,--I have it yet, was Katherine Tynan's lament for Parnell, written two years after his death. In tearing it from the corner of some newspaper I had unwittingly taken note of almost the moment of a new impulse in literature, in poetry. For with that death, the loss of that dominant personality, and in the quarrel that followed, came the disbanding of an army, the unloosing of forces, the setting free of the imagination of Ireland. III Once in my childhood I had been eager to learn Irish; I thought to get leave to take lessons from an old Scripture-reader who spent a part of his time in the parish of Killinane, teaching such scholars as he could find to read their own language in the hope that they might turn to the only book then being printed in Irish, the Bible. But my asking, timid with the fear of mockery, was unheeded. Yet I missed but by a little an opportunity that might have made me a real Irish scholar, and not as I am, imperfect, stumbling. For a kinsman learned in the language, the translator of the wonderful _Silva Gaedelica_ had been sometimes a guest in the house, and would still have been welcomed there but that my mother, who had a great dislike to the marriage of cousins had fancied he was taking a liking to one of my elder sisters; and with that suspicion the "winged nymph, Opportunity" had passed from my reach. After my marriage I bought a grammar and worked at it for a while with the help of a gardener. But it was difficult and my teacher was languid, suspecting it may be some hidden mockery, for those were the days before Irish became the fashion. It was not till a dozen or more years later, and after my husband's death, that my son, having won the classical entrance scholarship at Harrow, took a fancy to learn a nearer language, and rode over to Tillyra before breakfast one morning to ask our neighbour Edward Martyn to help him to a teacher. He came back without what he had sought, but with the gift of a fine old Irish Bible, which became a help in our early lessons. For we set to work together, and I found the task a light one in comparison with those first attempts. For that young priest, Father Eugene O'Growney, sent from Ireland to look for health in California, had used the short space of life left to him in writing simple lessons in Irish grammar, that made at least the first steps easy. And another thing had happened. Dr. Douglas Hyde, _An Craoibhin,_ had founded the Gaelic League, and through it country people were gathered together in the Irish speaking places to give the songs and poems, old and new, kept in their memory. This discovery, this disclosure of the folk learning, the folk poetry, the ancient tradition, was the small beginning of a weighty change. It was an upsetting of the table of values, an astonishing excitement. The imagination of Ireland had found a new homing place. IV My own imagination was aroused. I was becoming conscious of a world close to me and that I had been ignorant of. It was not now in the corners of newspapers I looked for poetic emotion, nor even to the singers in the streets. It was among farmers and potato diggers and old men in workhouses and beggars at my own door that I found what was beyond these and yet farther beyond that drawingroom poet of my childhood in the expression of love, and grief, and the pain of parting, that are the disclosure of the individual soul. An Aran man, repeating to me _The Grief of a Girl's Heart_ in Irish told me it was with that song his mother had often sung him to sleep as a child. It was from an old woman who had known Mary Hynes and who said of her "The sun and the moon never shone upon anything so handsome" that I first heard Raftery's song of praise of her, "The pearl that was at Ballylee," a song "that has gone around the world & as far as America." It was in a stonecutter's house where I went to have a headstone made for Raftery's grave that I found a manuscript book of his poems, written out in the clear beautiful Irish characters. It was to a working farmer's house I walked on many a moonlit evening with the manuscript that his greater knowledge helped me to understand and by his hearth that I read for the first time the _Vision of Death_ and the _Lament for O'Daly._ After that I met with many old people who had in the days before the Famine seen or talked with the wandering poet who was in the succession of those who had made and recited their lyrics on the Irish roads before Chaucer wrote. V And so I came by the road nearest me to the old legends, the old heroic poems. It was a man of a hundred years who told me the story of Cuchulain's fight with his own son, the son of Aoife, and how the young man as he lay dying had reproached him and said "Did you not see how I threw every spear fair and easy at you, and you threw your spear hard and wicked at me? And I did not come out to tell my name to one or to two but if I had told it to anyone in the whole world, I would soonest tell it to your pale face." Deirdre's beauty "that brought the Sons of Usnach to their death" comes into many of the country songs. Grania of the yet earlier poems is not so well thought of. An old basket-maker said scornfully "Many would tell you she slept under the cromlechs but I don't believe that, and she a king's daughter. And I don't believe she was handsome, either. If she was, why would she have run away?" And another said "Finn had more wisdom than all the men of the world, but he wasn't wise enough to put a bar on Grania." I was told in many places of Osgar's bravery and Goll's strength and Conan's bitter tongue, and the arguments of Oisin and Patrick. And I have often been given the story of Oisin's journey to Tir-nan-Og, the Country of the Young, that is, as I am told, "a fine place and everything that is good is in it. And if anyone is sent there for a minute he will want to stop in it, and twenty years will seem to him like one half hour;" and "they say Tir-nan-Og is there yet, and so it may be in any place." VI In the ancient times the poets told of this Country of the Young, with its trees bearing fruit and blossom at the one time; its golden apples that gave lasting life; its armies "that go out in good order, ahead of their beautiful king, marching among blue spears scattering their enemies, an army with high looks, rushing, avenging;" before news had come to Ireland, of the Evangelist's vision of the Tree of Life and of the "white horse, and he that sat on him had a bow, and a crown was given to him, and he went forth conquering and to conquer." They had told of the place "where delight is common, and music" before saintly Columcille on the night of the Sabbath of rest "reached to the troops of the archangels and the plain where music has not to be born." But in later days religion, while offering abundant pictures of an after world of punishment, "the flagstone of pain," "the cauldron that is boiling for ever," the fire the least flame of which is "bigger than fifteen hundred of turf," so that Oisin listening to St. Patrick demands a familiar weapon, an iron flail, to beat down such familiar terrors, has left Heaven itself far off, mysterious, intangible, without earthly similes or foreshadowings. I think it is perhaps because of this that the country poets of to-day and yesterday have put their dream, their vision of the Delectable Mountains, of the Land of Promise, into exaggerated praise of places dear to them. Raftery sees something beyond the barren Mayo bogs when he tells of that "fine place without fog falling, a blessed place that the sun shines on, and the wind does not rise there or anything of the sort," and where as he says in another poem "logwood and mahogany" grow in company with its wind twisted beech and storm bent sycamore. Even my own home "sweet Coole demesne" has been transfigured in songs of the neighbourhood; and a while ago an old woman asking alms at the door while speaking of a monastery near Athenry broke into a chant of praise that has in it perhaps some memory of the Well of Healing at the world's end that helped the gods to new strength in their great battle at Moytura. "Three barrels there are with water, and to see the first barrel boiling it is certain you will get a cure. Water there does be rushing down; you to stop you could hear it talking; to go there you would get cured of anything unless it might be the stroke of the Fool." VII In translating these poems I have chosen to do so in the speech of the thatched houses where I have heard and gathered them. _An Craoibhin_ had already used this Gaelic construction, these Elizabethan phrases, in translating the _Love Songs of Connacht_, as I have used it even in my creative work. Synge had not yet used it when he found in my _Cuchulain of Muirthemne_ "the dialect he had been trying to master," and of which he afterwards made such splendid use. Most of the translations in this book have already been printed in _Cuchulain of Muirthemne_, _Gods and Fighting Men_, _Saints and Wonders_, and _Poets and Dreamers_. When in the first month of the new year I began to choose from among them, it seemed strange to me that the laments so far outnumbered any songs of joy. But before that month was out news was brought to me that made the keening of women for the brave and of those who are left lonely after the young seem to be but the natural outcome and expression of human life. AUGUSTA GREGORY. COOLE, May, 1918. _CONTENTS_ The Grief of a Girl's Heart A Lament for Fair-Haired Donough that Was Hanged in Galway Raftery's Praise of Mary Hynes His Lament for O'Daly His Praise of the Little Hill and the Plains of Mayo His Lament for O'Kelly His Vision of Death His Repentance His Answer when Some Stranger Aske Who He Was A Blessing on Patrick Sarsfield An Aran Maid's Wedding A Poem Written in Time of Trouble by an Irish Priest Who Had Taken Orders in France The Heart of the Wood An Croaibhin Complain Because He Is a Poet He Cries Out Against Love He Meditates on the Life of a Rich Man Forgaill's Praise of Columcille The Deer's Cry The Hymn of Molling's Guest, the Man Full of Trouble The Hag of Beare The Seven Heavens The Journey of the Sun The Nature of the Stars The Call to Bran The Army of the Sidhe Credhe's Complaint at the Battle of the White Strand A Sleepy Song that Grania Used to Be Singing Over Diarmuid the Time They Were Wandering and Hiding From Finn Her Song to Rouse Him from Sleep Her Lament for His Death The Parting of Goll and His Wife The Death of Osgar Oisin's Vision His Praise of Finn Oisin after the Fenians The Foretelling of Cathbad the Druid At Deidre's Birth Deirdre's Lament for the Sons of Usnach Emer's Lament for Cuchulain THE KILTARTAN POETRY BOOK _The Grief of a Girl's Heart_ O Donall og, if you go across the sea, bring myself with you and do not forget it; and you will have a sweetheart for fair days and market days, and the daughter of the King of Greece beside you at night. It is late last night the dog was speaking of you; the snipe was speaking of you in her deep marsh. It is you are the lonely bird through the woods; and that you may be without a mate until you find me. You promised me, and you said a lie to me, that you would be before me where the sheep are flocked; I gave a whistle and three hundred cries to you, and I found nothing there but a bleating lamb. You promised me a thing that was hard for you, a ship of gold under a silver mast; twelve towns with a market in all of them, and a fine white court by the side of the sea. You promised me a thing that is not possible, that you would give me gloves of the skin of a fish; that you would give me shoes of the skin of a bird, and a suit of the dearest silk in Ireland. O Donall og, it is I would be better to you than a high, proud, spendthrift lady: I would milk the cow; I would bring help to you; and if you were hard pressed, I would strike a blow for you. O, ochone, and it's not with hunger or with wanting food, or drink, or sleep, that I am growing thin, and my life is shortened; but it is the love of a young man has withered me away. It is early in the morning that I saw him coming, going along the road on the back of a horse; he did not come to me; he made nothing of me; and it is on my way home that I cried my fill. When I go by myself to the Well of Loneliness, I sit down and I go through my trouble; when I see the world and do not see my boy, he that has an amber shade in his hair. It was on that Sunday I gave my love to you; the Sunday that is last before Easter Sunday. And myself on my knees reading the Passion; and my two eyes giving love to you for ever. O, aya! my mother, give myself to him; and give him all that you have in the world; get out yourself to ask for alms, and do not come back and forward looking for me. My mother said to me not to be talking with you to-day, or to-morrow, or on the Sunday; it was a bad time she took for telling me that; it was shutting the door after the house was robbed. My heart is as black as the blackness of the sloe, or as the black coal that is on the smith's forge; or as the sole of a shoe left in white halls; it was you put that darkness over my life. You have taken the east from me; you have taken the west from me; you have taken what is before me and what is behind me; you have taken the moon, you have taken the sun from me; and my fear is great that you have taken God from me! _A Lament for Fair-Haired Donough that Was Hanged in Galway_ It was bound fast here you saw him, and wondered to see him, Our fair-haired Donough, and he after being condemned; There was a little white cap on him in place of a hat, And a hempen rope in the place of a neck-cloth. I am after walking here all through the night, Like a young lamb in a great flock of sheep; My breast open, my hair loosened out, And how did I find my brother but stretched before me! The first place I cried my fill was at the top of the lake; The second place was at the foot of the gallows; The third place was at the head of your dead body Among the Gall, and my own head as if cut in two. If you were with me in the place you had a right to be, Down in Sligo or down in Ballinrobe, It is the gallows would be broken, it is the rope would be cut And fair-haired Donough going home by the path. O fair-haired Donough, it is not the gallows was fit for you; But to be going to the barn, to be threshing out the straw; To be turning the plough to the right hand and to the left, To be putting the red side of the soil uppermost. O fair-haired Donough, O dear brother, It is well I know who it was took you away from me; Drinking from the cup, putting a light to the pipe, And walking in the dew in the cover of the night. O Michael Malley, O scourge of misfortune! My brother was no calf of a vagabond cow; But a well-shaped boy on a height or a hillside, To knock a low pleasant sound out of a hurling-stick. And fair-haired Donough, is not that the pity, You that would carry well a spur or a boot; I would put clothes in the fashion on you from cloth that would be lasting; I would send you out like a gentleman's son. O Michael Malley, may your sons never be in one another's company; May your daughters never ask a marriage portion of you; The two ends of the table are empty, the house is filled, And fair-haired Donough, my brother, is stretched out. There is a marriage portion coming home for Donough, But it is not cattle or sheep or horses; But tobacco and pipes and white candles, And it will not be begrudged to them that will use it. _Raftery's Praise of Mary Hynes_ Going to Mass by the will of God, the day came wet and the wind rose; I met Mary Hynes at the cross of Kiltartan, and I fell in love with her there and then. I spoke to her kind and mannerly, as by report was her own way; and she said "Raftery my mind is easy; you may come to-day to Ballylee." When I heard her offer I did not linger; when her talk went to my heart my heart rose. We had only to go across the three fields; we had daylight with us to Ballylee. The table was laid with glasses and a quart measure; she had fair hair and she sitting beside me; and she said, "Drink, Raftery, and a hundred welcomes; there is a strong cellar in Ballylee." O star of light and O sun in harvest; O amber hair, O my share of the world! Will you come with me on the Sunday, till we agree together before all the people? I would not begrudge you a song every Sunday evening; punch on the table or wine if you would drink it. But O King of Glory, dry the roads before me till I find the way to Ballylee. There is sweet air on the side of the hill, when you are looking down upon Ballylee; when you are walking in the valley picking nuts and blackberries, there is music of the birds in it and music of the Sidhe. What is the worth of greatness till you have the light of the flower of the branch that is by your side? There is no good to deny it or to try and hide it; she is the sun in the heavens who wounded my heart. There was no part in Ireland I did not travel, from the rivers to the tops of the mountains; to the edge of Lough Greine whose mouth is hidden, and I saw no beauty but was behind hers. Her hair was shining and her brows were shining too; her face was like herself, her mouth pleasant and sweet; She is the pride and I give her the branch; she is the shining flower of Ballylee. It is Mary Hynes, the calm and easy woman, has beauty in her mind and in her face. If a hundred clerks were gathered together, they could not write down a half of her ways. _His Lament for O'Daly_ It was Thomas O'Daly that roused up young people and scattered them, and since death played on him, may God give him grace. The country is all sorrowful, always talking, since their man of sport died that would win the goal in all parts with his music. The swans on the water are nine times blacker than a blackberry since the man died from us that had pleasantness on the top of his fingers. His two grey eyes were like the dew of the morning that lies on the grass. And since he was laid in the grave, the cold is getting the upper hand. If you travel the five provinces, you would not find his equal for countenance or behaviour, for his equal never walked on land or grass. High King of Nature, you who have all powers in yourself, he that wasn't narrow-hearted, give him shelter in heaven for it! He was the beautiful branch. In every quarter that he ever knew he would scatter his fill and not gather. He would spend the estate of the Dalys, their beer and their wine. And that he may be sitting in the chair of grace, in the middle of Paradise! A sorrowful story on death, it's he is the ugly chief that did treachery, that didn't give him credit, O strong God, for a little time. There are young women, and not without reason, sorry and heart-broken and withered, since he was left at the church. Their hair thrown down and hanging, turned grey on their head. No flower in any garden, and the leaves of the trees have leave to cry, and they falling on the ground. There is no green flower on the tops of the tufts, since there did a boarded coffin go on Daly. There is sorrow on the men of mirth, a clouding over the day, and no trout swim in the river. Orpheus on the harp, he lifted up everyone out of their habits; and he that stole what Argus was watching the time he took away Io; Apollo, as we read, gave them teaching, and Daly was better than all these musicians. A hundred wouldn't be able to put together his actions and his deeds and his many good works. And Raftery says this much for Daly, because he liked him. _His Praise of the Little Hill and the Plains of Mayo_ After the Christmas, with the help of Christ, I will never stop if I am alive; I will go to the sharp-edged little hill; for it is a fine place without fog falling; a blessed place that the sun shines on, and the wind doesn't rise there or anything of the sort. And if you were a year there you would get no rest, only sitting up at night and forever drinking. The lamb and the sheep are there; the cow and the calf are there, fine lands are there without heath and without bog. Ploughing & seed-sowing in the right month, plough and harrow prepared and ready; the rent that is called for there, they have means to pay it. There is oats and flax & large eared barley. There are beautiful valleys with good growth in them and hay. Rods grow there, and bushes and tufts, white fields are there and respect for trees; shade and shelter from wind and rain; priests and friars reading their book; spending and getting is there, and nothing scarce. I leave it in my will that my heart rises as the wind rises, and as the fog scatters, when I think upon Carra and the two towns below it, on the two-mile bush and on the plains of Mayo. And if I were standing in the middle of my people, age would go from me and I would be young again. _His Lament for O'Kelly_ There's no dew or grass on Cluan Leathan. The cuckoo is not to be seen on the furze; the leaves are withering and the trees complaining of the cold. There is no sun or moon in the air or in the sky, or no light in the stars coming down, with the stretching of O'Kelly in the grave. My grief to tell it! he to be laid low; the man that did not bring grief or trouble on any heart, that would give help to those that were down. No light on the day like there was; the fruits not growing; no children on the breast; there's no return in the grain; the plants don't blossom as they used since O'Kelly with the fair hair went away; he that used to forgive us a great share of the rent. Since the children of Usnach and Deirdre went to the grave, and Cuchulain, who as the stories tell us, would gain victory in every step he would take; since he died, such a story never came of sorrow or defeat; since the Gael were sold at Aughrim, and since Owen Roe died, the Branch. _His Vision of Death_ I had a vision in my sleep last night between sleeping and waking. A figure standing beside me, thin, miserable, sad and sorrowful; the shadow of night upon his face, the tracks of the tears down his cheeks. His ribs were bending like the bottom of a riddle; his nose thin that it would go through a cambric needle; his shoulders hard and sharp that they would cut tobacco; his head dark and bushy like the top of a hill; and there is nothing I can liken his fingers to. His poor bones without any kind of covering; a withered rod in his hand, and he looking in my face.... Death is a robber who heaps together kings, high princes and country lords; he brings with him the great, the young, and the wise, gripping them by the throat before all the people. Look at him who was yesterday swift & strong, who would leap stone wall, ditch and gap. Who was in the evening walking the street, and is going under the clay on the morrow. It is a pity for him that is tempted with the temptations of the world; and the store that will go with him is so weak, and his lease of life no better if he were to live for a thousand years than just as if he had slipped over on a visit and back again. When you are going to lie down don't be dumb. Bare your knee and bruise the ground. Think of all the deeds that you put by you, and that you are travelling towards the meadow of the dead. _His Repentance_ O King who art in Heaven, I scream to Thee again and aloud, for it is Thy grace I am hoping for. I am in age and my shape is withered; many a day I have been going astray. When I was young my deeds were evil; I delighted greatly in quarrels and rows. I liked much better to be playing or drinking on a Sunday morning than to be going to Mass. I was given to great oaths, and I did not let lust or drunkenness pass me by. The day has stolen away and I have not raised the hedge, until the crop in which Thou didst take delight is destroyed. I am a worthless stake in the corner of a hedge, or I am like a boat that has lost its rudder, that would be broken against a rock in the sea, and that would be drowned in the cold waves. _His Answer When Some Stranger Asked Who He Was_ I am Raftery the poet, full of hope and love; my eyes without light, my gentleness without misery. Going west on my journey with the light of my heart; weak and tired to the end of my road. I am now, and my back to a wall, playing music to empty pockets. _A Blessing on Patrick Sarsfield_ O Patrick Sarsfield, health be to you, since you went to France and your camps were loosened; making your sighs along with the king, and you left poor Ireland and the Gael defeated--Och ochone! O Patrick Sarsfield, it is a man with God you are; and blessed is the earth you ever walked on. The blessing of the bright sun and the moon upon you, since you took the day from the hands of King William--Och ochone! O Patrick Sarsfield, the prayer of every person with you; my own prayer and the prayer of the Son of Mary with you, since you took the narrow ford going through Biorra, and since at Cuilenn O'Cuanac you won Limerick--Och ochone! I will go up on the mountain alone; and I will come hither from it again. It is there I saw the camp of the Gael, the poor troop thinned, not keeping with one another--Och ochone! My five hundred healths to you, halls of Limerick, and to the beautiful troop was in our company; it is bonefires we used to have and playing-cards, and the word of God was often with us--Och ochone! There were many soldiers glad and happy, that were going the way through seven weeks; but now they are stretched down in Aughrim--Och ochone! They put the first breaking on us at the bridge of the Boyne; the second breaking on the bridge of Slaine; the third breaking in Aughrim of O'Kelly; and O sweet Ireland, my five hundred healths to you--Och ochone! O'Kelly has manuring for his land, that is not sand or dung, but ready soldiers doing bravery with pikes, that were left in Aughrim stretched in ridges--Och ochone! Who is that beyond on the hill, Ben Edair? I a poor soldier with King James. I was last year in arms and in dress, but this year I am asking alms--Och ochone! _An Aran Maid's Wedding_ I am widow and maid, and I very young; did you hear my great grief, that my treasure was drowned? If I had been in the boat that day, and my hand on the rope, my word to you, O'Reilly, it is I would have saved you sorrow. Do you remember the day the street was full of riders, and of priests and brothers, and all talking of the wedding feast? The fiddle was there in the middle, and the harp answering to it; and twelve mannerly women to bring my love to his bed. But you were of those three that went across to Kilcomin, ferrying Father Peter, who was three-and-eighty years old; if you came back within a month itself, I would be well content; but is it not a pity I to be lonely, and my first love in the waves? I would not begrudge you, O'Reilly, to be kinsman to a king, white bright courts around you, and you lying at your ease; a quiet, well-learned lady to be settling out your pillow; but it is a great thing you to die from me when I had given you my love entirely. It is no wonder a broken heart to be with your father and your mother; the white-breasted mother that crooned you, and you a baby; your wedded wife, O thousand treasures, that never set out your bed; and the day you went to Trabawn, how well it failed you to come home. Your eyes are with the eels, and your lips with the crabs; and your two white hands under the sharp rule of the salmon. Five pounds I would give to him that would find my true love. Ochone! it is you are a sharp grief to young Mary ni-Curtain! _A Poem Written in Time of Trouble by an Irish Priest Who Had Taken Orders in France_ My thoughts, my grief! are without strength My spirit is journeying towards death My eyes are as a frozen sea My tears my daily food; There is nothing in life but only misery. My poor heart is torn And my thoughts are sharp wounds within me, Mourning the miserable state of Ireland. Misfortune has come upon us all together The poor, the rich, the weak and the strong The great lord by whom hundreds were maintained The powerful strong man, and the man that holds the plough; And the cross laid on the bare shoulder of every man. Our feasts are without any voice of priests And none at them but women lamenting Tearing their hair with troubled minds Keening miserably after the Fenians. The pipes of our organs are broken Our harps have lost their strings that were tuned That might have made the great lamentations of Ireland. Until the strong men come back across the sea There is no help for us but bitter crying, Screams, and beating of hands, and calling out. I do not know of anything under the sky That is friendly or favourable to the Gael But only the sea that our need brings us to, Or the wind that blows to the harbour The ship that is bearing us away from Ireland; And there is reason that these are reconciled with us, For we increase the sea with our tears And the wandering wind with our sighs. _The Heart of the Wood_ My hope and my love, we will go for a while into the wood, scattering the dew, where we will see the trout, we will see the blackbird on its nest; the deer and the buck calling, the little bird that is sweetest singing on the branches; the cuckoo on the top of the fresh green; and death will never come near us for ever in the sweet wood. _An Craoibhin Complains Because He Is a Poet_ It's my grief that I am not a little white duck, And I'd swim over the sea to France or to Spain; I would not stay in Ireland for one week only, To be without eating, without drinking, without a full jug. Without a full jug, without eating, without drinking, Without a feast to get, without wine, without meat, Without high dances, without a big name, without music; There is hunger on me, and I astray this long time. It's my grief that I am not an old crow, I would sit for awhile up on the old branch, I could satisfy my hunger, and I not as I am With a grain of oats or a white potato It's my grief that I am not a red fox, Leaping strong and swift on the mountains, Eating cocks and hens without pity, Taking ducks and geese as a conquerer. It's my grief that I am not a bright salmon, Going through the strong full water, Catching the mayflies by my craft, Swimming at my choice, and swimming with the stream It's my grief that I am of the race of the poets; It would be better for me to be a high rock, Or a stone or a tree or an herb or a flower Or anything at all but the thing that I am! _He Cries Out Against Love_ There are three fine devils eating my heart-- They left me, my grief! without a thing; Sickness wrought, and Love wrought, And an empty pocket, my ruin and my woe. Poverty left me without a shirt, Barefooted, barelegged, without any covering; Sickness left me with my head weak And my body miserable, an ugly thing. Love left me like a coal upon the floor, Like a half-burned sod that is never put out. Worse than the cough, worse than the fever itself, Worse than any curse at all under the sun, Worse than the great poverty Is the devil that is called "Love" by the people. And if I were in my young youth again I would not take, or give, or ask for a kiss! _He Meditates on the Life of a Rich Man_ A golden cradle under you, and you young; A right mother and a strong kiss. A lively horse, and you a boy; A school and learning and close companions. A beautiful wife, and you a man; A wide house and everything that is good. A fine wife, children, substance; Cattle, means, herds and flocks. A place to sit, a place to lie down; Plenty of food and plenty of drink. After that, an old man among old men; Respect on you and honour on you. Head of the court, of the jury, of the meeting, And the counsellors not the worse for having you. At the end of your days death, and then Hiding away; the boards and the church. What are you better after to-night Than Ned the beggar or Seaghan the fool? _Forgaill's Praise of Columcille_ This now is the poem of praise and of lamentation that was made for Columcille, Speckled Salmon of the Boyne, High Saint of the Gael, by Forgaill that was afterwards called Blind Forgaill, Chief Poet of Ireland: It is not a little story this is; it is not a story about a fool it is; it is not one district that is keening but every district, with a great sound that is not to be borne, hearing the story of Columcille, without life, without a church. It is not the trouble of one house, or the grief of one harp-string; all the plains are heavy, hearing the word that is a wound. What way will a simple man tell of him? Even Nera from the Sidhe could not do it; he is not made much of now; our learned one is not the light of our life, now he is hidden away from us. He that used to keep us living is dead; he that was our rightful head has died from us; he has died from us that was God's messenger. The knowledgeable man that used to put fear from us is not here; the teller of words does not return to us; the teacher is gone from us that taught silence to the people. The whole world was his; it is a harp without its strings; it is a church without its abbot. Colum rose very high the time God's companies rose to meet him; it is bright the angels were, attending on him. It is short his life was, it is little used to satisfy him; when the wind blew the sheet against him on the sand, the shape of his ribs could be seen through it. He was the head of every gathering; he was a dun of the book of the law; he put a flame in the district of the north, he lightened the district of the west; the east was his along with it; he did not open his heart to every company. Good his death; he went with God's angels that came to meet him. He has reached to Axal of his help and to the troops of the archangels; he has reached to a place where night is not seen; he has reached to a plain where music has not to be born; where no one listens to oppression. The King of priests has done away with his troubles. He knew the way he was going; he gave kindness for hatred; he learned psalms; he broke the battle against hunger. He knew seasons and storms; he read the secrets of the great wisdom; he knew the course of the moon; he took notice of its race with the branching sun. He was skilful in the course of the sea; to tell every high thing we have heard from Colum, would be to count the stars of heaven. A healer of the heart of the wise; a full satisfier of guests; our crowned one who spoke with Axal; a shelter to the naked; a comforter to the poor; he was eager, he was noble, it is high his death was. We hope great honour will be given to him on the head of these deeds. And when Forgaill had made that lament he said, "It is a great shaping and a great finish I have given to these words, and I cannot make a praise beyond this, for my eyes have been taken from me." It was Aodh, King of Ireland gave seven cumhals for his name to be given in the praising of Columcille; and Aodh laid it down to Forgaill that this song should be above every other song. But it was after death the reward and the praise were given to blind Forgaill for it was Heaven that was given to him as the price of the praising of the King. _The Deer's Cry_ Blessed Patrick made this hymn one time he was going to preach the Faith at Teamhuir, and his enemies lay in hiding to make an attack on him as he passed. But all they could see passing as he himself and Benen his servant went by, was a wild deer and a fawn. And the Deer's Cry is the name of the hymn to this day. I bind myself to-day to a strong strength, to a calling on the Trinity. I believe in a Threeness with confession of a Oneness in the Creator of the World. I bind myself to-day to the strength of Christ's birth and His baptism; to the strength of His crucifixion with His burial; to the strength of His resurrection with His ascension; In stability of earth, in steadfastness of rock, I bind to myself to-day God's strength to pilot me; God's power to uphold me; God's wisdom to guide me; God's eye to look before me; God's ear to hear me; God's word to speak for me; God's hand to guard me; God's path to lie before me; God's shield to protect me; God's host to save me; Against snares of demons; against the begging of sins; against the asking of nature; against all my ill-wishers near me and far from me; alone and in a crowd. So I have called on all these strengths to come between me and every fierce and merciless strength that may come between my body and my soul; Against incantations of false prophets; against black laws of heathens; against false laws of heretics; against craft of idolatry; against spells of women & smiths and druids; against every knowledge forbidden to the souls of men. Christ for my protection to-day against poison, against burning, against drowning, against wounding; that a multitude of rewards may come to me. Christ with me, Christ before me; Christ behind me, Christ in me; Christ under me, Christ over me; Christ to the right of me, Christ to the left of me; Christ in lying down, Christ in sitting, Christ in rising up; Christ in the heart of everyone that thinks of me; Christ in the mouth of everyone that speaks to me; Christ in every eye that sees me; Christ in every ear that hears me. I bind to myself to-day a strong strength to a calling upon the Trinity; I believe in a Threeness with confession of a Oneness in the Creator of the World. _The Hymn of Molling's Guest, the Man Full of Trouble_ He is clean gold, he is Heaven about the sun, he is a silver vessel having wine in it; he is an angel, he is the wisdom of saints; everyone that is doing the will of the King. He is a bird with a trap closing about him; he is a broken ship in great danger; he is an empty vessel, he is a withered tree; he that is not doing the will of the King. He is a sweet-smelling branch with its blossoms; he is a vessel that is full of honey; he is a shining stone of good luck; he who does the will of the Son of God of Heaven. He is a blind nut without profit; he is ill-smelling rottenness, he is a withered tree; he is a wild apple branch without blossom; he that is not doing the will of the King. If he does the will of the Son of God of Heaven, he is a bright sun with summer about it; he is the image of the God of Heaven; he is a vessel of clear glass. He is a racehorse over a smooth plain, the man that is striving for the kingdom of the great God; he is a chariot that is seen under a king, that wins the victory with golden bridles. He is a sun that warms high heaven; the king to whom the great King is thankful; he is a church, joyful, noble; he is a shrine having gold about it. He is an altar having wine poured upon it; having many quires singing around; he is a clean chalice with ale in it; he is bronze, white, shining, he is gold. _The Hag of Beare_ It is of Corca Dubhne she was, and she had her youth seven times over, and every man that had lived with her died of old age, and her grandsons and great-grandsons were tribes and races. And through a hundred years she wore upon her head the veil Cuimire had blessed. Then age and weakness came upon her and it is what she said: Ebb-tide to me as to the sea; old age brings me reproach; I used to wear a shift that was always new; to-day, I have not even a cast one. It is riches you are loving, it is not men; it was men we loved in the time we were living. There were dear men on whose plains we used to be driving; it is good the time we passed with them; it is little we were broken afterwards. When my arms are seen it is long and thin they are; once they used to be fondling, they used to be around great kings. The young girls give a welcome to Beltaine when it comes to them; sorrow is more fitting for me; an old pitiful hag. I have no pleasant talk; no sheep are killed for my wedding; it is little but my hair is grey; it is many colours I had over it when I used to be drinking good ale. I have no envy against the old, but only against women; I myself am spent with old age, while women's heads are still yellow. The stone of the kings on Feman; the chair of Ronan in Bregia; it is long since storms have wrecked them, they are old mouldering gravestones. The wave of the great sea is speaking; the winter is striking us with it; I do not look to welcome to-day Fermuid son of Mugh. I know what they are doing; they are rowing through the reeds of the ford of Alma; it is cold is the place where they sleep. The summer of youth where we were has been spent along with its harvest; winter age that drowns everyone, its beginning has come upon me. It is beautiful was my green cloak, my king liked to see it on me; it is noble was the man that stirred it, he put wool on it when it was bare. Amen, great is the pity; every acorn has to drop. After feasting with shining candles, to be in the darkness of a prayer-house. I was once living with kings, drinking mead and wine; to-day I am drinking whey-water among withered old women. There are three floods that come up to the dun of Ard-Ruide: a flood of fighting-men, a flood of horses, a flood of the hounds of Lugaidh's son. The flood-wave and the two swift ebb-tides; what the flood-wave brings you in, the ebb-wave sweeps out of your hand. The flood-wave and the second ebb-tide; they have all come as far as me, the way that I know them well. The flood-tide will not reach to the silence of my kitchen; though many are my company in the darkness, a hand has been laid upon them all. My flood-tide! It is well I have kept my knowledge. It is Jesus Son of Mary keeps me happy at the ebb-tide. It is far is the island of the great sea where the flood reaches after the ebb: I do not look for floods to reach to me after the ebb-tide. There is hardly a little place I can know again when I see it; what used to be on the flood-tide is all on the ebb to-day! _Some of the Wonders Told at the Great in the East of the World by the Voice of Philip the Apostle, that Was Like the Laughter of an Army, and With that No Louder than the Talk of Friend in the Ear of Friend;_ _I. The Seven Heavens_ As to the Seven Heavens that are around the earth, the first of them is the bright cloudy heaven that is the nearest and that has shining out of it the moon and the scattering of stars. Beyond that are two flaming heavens, angels are in them and the breaking loose of winds. Beyond those an ice-cold heaven, bluer than any blue, seven times colder than any snow, and it is out of that comes the shining of the sun. Two heavens there are above that again, bright like flame, and it is out of them shine the fiery stars that put fruitfulness in the clouds and in the sea. A high heaven, high and fiery, there is above all the rest; highest of all it is, having within it the rolling of the skies, and the labour of music, and quires of angels. In the belts, now, of the seven heavens are hidden the twelve shaking beasts that have fiery heads upon their heavenly bodies and that are blowing twelve winds about the world. In the same belts are sleeping the dragons with fiery breath, tower-headed, blemished, that give out the crash of the thunders and blow lightnings out of their eyes. _II. The Journey of the Sun_ God made on the fourth day the two and seventy kinds of the wandering stars of heaven, and the fiery course of the sun that warms the world with the sense and the splendour of angels. Twelve plains there are under the body of the earth he lightens every night; the fiery sea laughs against his journey; ranks of angels come together, welcoming his visit after the brightness of the night. The first place he brightens is the stream beyond the seas, with news of the eastern waters. Then he lightens the ocean of fire and the seas of sulphur-fire that are round about the red countries. Then he shines upon the troops of boys in the pleasant fields, who send out their cry to heaven through dread of the beast that kills thousands of armies under the waves of the south. Then he shines upon the mountains that have streams of fire, on the hosts that protect them in the plains. Then the ribs of the great beast shine, and the four and twenty champions rise up in the valley of pain. He shines over against the terrible many-thronged fence in the north that has closed around the people of hell. He shines on the dark valleys having sorrowful streams over their faces. He brightens the ribs of the beast that sends out the many seas around the earth; that sucks in again the many seas till the sands on every side are dry. He shines upon the many beasts that sleep their sleep of tears in the valley of flowers from the first beginning of the world; and on the sorrowful tearful plain, with the dragons that were set under the mist. He shines then upon the bird-flocks singing their many tunes in the flower-valleys; upon the shining plains with the wine-flowers that lighten the valley; he shines at the last against Adam's Paradise till he rises up in the morning from the east. There would be many stories now for the sun to tell upon his journey, if he had but a tongue to give them out. _III. The Nature of the Stars_ The stars now differ in their nature from one another. As to the ten stars of Gaburn, trembling takes hold of them, and fiery manes are put over their faces, to foretell a plague or a death of the people. Other stars there are that bring great heat or great cold or great mists upon the earth, others there are that run to encourage the dragons that blow lightnings on the world; others of them run to the end of fifty years and then ask their time for sleeping. To the end of seven years they sleep till they awake at the shout of the blessed angels, and the voices of the dragons of the valley. Other runs through the six days and the six nights till the coming of the Sunday; at its beginning they begin their many kinds of music, and they fall asleep again till the coming again from heaven of God's Sunday, and with that they follow the same round. _The Call to Bran_ One time Bran, son of Febal, was out by himself near his dun, and he heard music behind him. And it kept always after him, and at last he fell asleep with the sweetness of the sound. And when he awoke from his sleep he saw beside him a branch of silver, and it having white blossoms, and the whiteness of the silver was the same as the whiteness of the blossoms. And he brought the branch in his hand into the royal house, and when all his people were with him they saw a woman with strange clothing standing in the house. And she began to make a song for Bran, and all the people were looking at her and listening to her, and it is what she said: I bring a branch of the apple-tree from Emhain, from the far island around which are the shining horses of the Son of Lir. A delight of the eyes is the plain where the hosts hold their games: curragh racing against chariot in the Silver-White Plain to the south. There are feet of white bronze under it, shining through life and time; a comely level land through the length of the world's age, and many blossoms falling on it. There is an old tree there with blossoms, and birds calling from among them; every colour is shining there. Delight is common, and music in the Gentle Voiced Plain, in the Silver Cloud Plain to the south. There is nothing hard or rough, but sweet music striking on the ear; keening is not used, or treachery, in the tilled familiar land. To be without grief, without sorrow, without death, without any sickness, without weakness; that is the sign of Emhain; it is not a common wonder that is. There is nothing to liken its mists to, the sea washes the wave against the land; brightness falls from its hair. Golden chariots in the Plain of the Sea, rising up to the sun with the tide; silver chariots and bronze chariots on the Plain of Sports. It is a day of lasting weather, silver is dropping on the land; a pure white cliff on the edge of the sea, getting its warmth from the sun. The host race over the Plain of Sports; it is beautiful and not weak their game is; death or the ebbing of the tide will not come to them in the Many-coloured Land. There will come at sunrise a fair man, lighting up the level lands; he rides upon the plain that is beaten by the waves, he stirs the sea till it is like blood. An army will come over the clear sea, rowing to the stone that is in sight, that has a hundred sounds of music. It sings a song to the army; it is not sad through the length of time; it increases music with hundreds singing together; they do not look for death or the ebb-tide. _The Army of the Sidhe_ Laegaire, son of the king of Connacht, was out one day with the king his father near Loch na-n Ean, the Lake of Birds, and the men of Connacht with them, and they saw a man coming to them through the mist. Long golden-yellow hair he had, and at his belt a gold-hilted sword, and in his hand two five-barbed darts; a gold-rimmed shield on his back, a five-folded crimson cloak about his shoulders, and it is what he said: The most beautiful of plains is the Plain of the Two Mists; it is not far from this; the men of its army in good order go out ahead of their beautiful king; they march among blue spears, white troops of fighters with curled hair. They scatter the troops of their enemies, they destroy every country they make an attack on; they are beautiful in battle, a host with high looks, rushing, avenging. It is no wonder they to have such strength every one of them is the son of a king and a queen; manes of hair they have of the colour of gold. Their bodies smooth and comely; their eyes blue and far-seeing; their teeth bright like crystal within their thin red lips. White shields they have in their hands, with patterns on them of white silver; blue shining swords, red horns set with gold. They are good at killing men in battle; good at song-making, good at chess-playing. The most beautiful of plains is the Plain of the Two Mists; it is not far from this place. _Credhe's Complaint at the Battle of the White Strand_ And Credhe came to where her man was, and she keened him and cried over him, and she made this complaint: The Harbour roars, O the harbour roars over the rushing race of the Headland of the Two Storms, the drowning of the hero of the Lake of the Two Dogs, that is what the waves are keening on the strand. Sweet-voiced is the crane, O sweet-voiced is the crane in the marshes of the Ridge of the Two Strong Men; it is she cannot save her nestlings, the wild dog of two colours is taking her little ones. Pitiful the cry, pitiful the cry the thrush is making in the Pleasant Ridge; sorrowful is the cry of the blackbird in Leiter Laeig. Sorrowful the call, O sorrowful the call of the deer in the Ridge of Two Lights; the doe is lying dead in Druim Silenn, the mighty stag cries after her. Sorrowful to me, O sorrowful to me the death of the hero that lay beside me; the son of the woman of the Wood of the Two Thickets, to be with a bunch of grass under his head. Sore to me, O sore to me Cael to be a dead man beside me, the waves to have gone over his white body; it is his pleasantness that has put my wits astray. A woeful shout, O a woeful shout the waves are making on the strand; they that took hold of comely Cael, a pity it is he went to meet them. A woeful crash, O a woeful crash the waves are making on the strand to the north; breaking against the smooth rock, crying after Cael now he is gone. A sorrowful fight, O a sorrowful fight, the sea is making with the strand to the north; my beauty is lessened; the end of my life is measured. A song of grief, O a song of grief is made by the waves of Tulcha Leis; all I had is gone since this story came to me. Since the son of Crimthann is drowned I will love no one after him for ever; many a king fell by his hand; his shield never cried out in the battle. After she had made that complaint Credhe laid herself down beside Cael and died for grief after him. And they were put in the one grave, and it was Caoilte raised the stone over them. _A Sleepy Song that Grania Used to Be Singing over Diarmuid the Time They Were Wandering and Hiding from Finn_ Sleep a little, a little little, for there is nothing at all to fear, Diarmuid grandson of Duibhne; sleep here soundly, Diarmuid to whom I have given my love. It is I will keep watch for you, grandchild of shapely Duibhne; sleep a little, a blessing on you, beside the well of the strong field; my lamb from above the lake, from the banks of the strong streams. Let your sleep be like the sleep in the North of fair comely Fionnchadh of Ess Ruadh, the time he took Slaine with bravery as we think, in spite of Failbhe of the Hard Head. Let your sleep be like the sleep in the West of Aine daughter of Galian, the time she went on a journey in the night with Dubhthach from Dorinis, by the light of torches. Let your sleep be like the sleep in the East of Deaghadh the proud, the brave fighter, the time he took Coincheann, daughter of Binn, in spite of fierce Decheall of Duibhreann. O heart of the valour of the world to the west of Greece, my heart will go near to breaking if I do not see you every day. The parting of us two will be the parting of two children of the one house; it will be the parting of life from the body, Diarmuid. _Her Song to Rouse Him from Sleep_ The stag to the east is not asleep, he does not stop from bellowing; though he is in the woods of the blackbirds, sleep is not in his mind; the hornless doe is not asleep, crying after her speckled fawn; she is going over the bushes, she does not sleep in her home. The cuckoo is not asleep, the thrush is not asleep, the tops of the trees are a noisy place; the duck is not asleep, she is made ready for good swimming; the bog-lark is not asleep tonight on the high stormy bogs; the sound of her clear voice is sweet; she is not sleeping between the streams. _Her Lament for His Death_ Then when Grania was certain of Diarmuid's death she gave out a long very pitiful cry that was heard through the whole place, and her women and her people came to her, and asked what ailed her to give a cry like that. And she told them how Diarmuid had come to his death by the Boar of Beinn Gulbain in the hunt Finn had made. When her people heard that, they gave three great heavy cries in the same way, that were heard in the clouds and the waste places of the sky. And then Grania bade the five hundred that she had for household to go to Beinn Gulbain for the body of Diarmuid, and when they were bringing it back, she went out to meet them, and they put down the body of Diarmuid, and it is what she said: I am your wife, beautiful Diarmuid, the man I would do no hurt to; it is sorrowful I am after you to-night. I am looking at the hawk and the hound my secret love used to be hunting with; she that loved the three, let her be put in the grave with Diarmuid. Let us be glad to-night, let us make all welcome to-night, let us be open-handed to-night, since we are sitting by the body of a king. And O Diarmuid, she said, it is a hard bed Finn has given you, to be lying on the stones and to be wet with the rain. Ochone! she said, your blue eyes to be without sight, you that were friendly and generous and pursuing. O love! O Diarmuid! it is a pity it is he sent you to your death. You were a champion of the men of Ireland, their prop in the middle of the fight; you were the head of every battle; your ways were glad and pleasant. It is sorrowful I am, without mirth, without light, but only sadness and grief and long dying; your harp used to be sweet to me, it wakened my heart to gladness. Now my courage is fallen down, I not to hear you but to be always remembering your ways. Och! my grief is going through me. A thousand curses on the day when Grania gave you her love, that put Finn of the princes from his wits; it is a sorrowful story your death is to-day. You were the man was best of the Fenians, beautiful Diarmuid, that women loved. It is dark your dwelling-place is under the sod, it is mournful and cold your bed is; it is pleasant your laugh was to-day; you were my happiness, Diarmuid. _The Parting of Goll and His Wife_ And when Goll knew Finn to be watching for his life he made no attempt to escape but stopped where he was, without food, without drink, and he blinded with the sand that was blowing into his eyes. And his wife came to a rock where she could speak with him, and she called to him to come to her. "Come over to me," she said; "and it is a pity you to be blinded where you are, on the rocks of the waste sea, with no drink but the salt water, a man that was first in every fight. And come now to be sleeping beside me," she said; "and in place of the hard sea-water I will nourish you from my own breast, and it is I will do your healing," she said; "for it is seven years since you wedded with me, and from that night to this night I never got a hard word from you. And the gold of your hair is my desire for ever," she said, "and do not stop withering there like an herb in the winter-time, and my heart black with grief within me." But Goll would not leave the spot where he was for all she could say. "It is best as it is," he said, "and I never took the advice of a woman east or west, and I never will take it. And O sweet-voiced queen," he said, "what ails you to be fretting after me; and remember now your silver and your gold, and your silks and stuffs, and remember the seven hounds I gave you at Cruadh Ceirrge, and every one of them without slackness till he has killed the deer. And do not be crying tears after me, queen with the white hands," he said; "but remember your constant lover, Aodh, the son of the best woman of the world, that came out from Spain asking for you, and that I fought at Corcar-an-Deirg. And go to him now," he said, "for it is bad when a woman is in want of a good man." And he lay down on the rocks, and at the end of twelve days he died. And his wife keened him there, and made a great lamentation for her husband that had such a great name, and that was the second best of the Fenians of Ireland. _The Death of Osgar_ And after a while, at noonday, they saw Finn coming towards them, and what was left of the Sun-banner raised on a spear-shaft. All of them saluted Finn then, but he made no answer, and he came up to the hill where Osgar was. And when Osgar saw him coming he saluted him, and he said, "I have got my desire in death, Finn of the sharp arms." And Finn said, "It is worse the way you were, my son, on the day of the battle at Ben Edair, when the wild geese could swim on your breast, and it was my hand that gave you healing." "There can no healing be done for me now for ever," said Osgar, "since the King of Ireland put the spear of seven spells through my body." And Finn said, "it is a pity it was not I myself fell in sunny scarce Gabhra, and you going east and west at the head of the Fenians." "And if it was yourself fell in the battle," said Osgar, "you would not hear me keening after you; for no man ever knew any heart in me," he said, "but a heart of twisted horn, and it covered with iron. But the howling of the dogs beside me," he said, "and the keening of the old fighting men and the crying of the women one after another, those are the things that are vexing me." And Finn said: "child of my child, calf of my calf, white and slender, it is a pity the way you are. And my heart is starting like a deer," he said, "and I am weak after you and after the Fenians of Ireland. And misfortune has followed us," he said, "and farewell now to battles and to a great name, and farewell to taking tributes; for every good thing I ever had is gone from me now," he said. And when Osgar heard those words he stretched out his hands, and his eyelids closed. And Finn turned away from the rest, and he cried tears down; and he never shed a tear through the whole length of his lifetime but only for Osgar and for Bran. _Oisin's Vision_ I saw the household of Finn; it was not the household of a soft race; I had a vision of that man yesterday. I saw the household of the High King, he with the brown sweet-voiced son; I never saw a better man. I saw the household of Finn; no one saw it as I saw it; I saw Finn with the sword, Mac an Luin. Och! it was sorrowful to see it. I cannot tell out every harm that is on my head; free us from our trouble for ever; I have seen the household of Finn. _His Praise of Finn_ It is a week from yesterday I last saw Finn; I never saw a braver man. A king of heavy blows; my law, my adviser, my sense and my wisdom, prince and poet, braver than kings, King of the Fenians, brave in all countries; golden salmon of the sea, clean hawk of the air, rightly taught, avoiding lies; strong in his doings, a right judge, ready in courage, a high messenger in bravery and in music. His skin lime-white, his hair golden; ready to work, gentle to women; his great green vessels full of rough sharp wine. It is rich the king was, the head of his people. Seven sides Finn's house had, and seven score shields on every side. Fifty fighting men he had about him having woollen cloaks; ten bright drinking-cups in his hall, ten blue vessels, ten golden horns. It is a good household Finn had, without grudging, without lust, without vain boasting, without chattering, without any slur on any one of the Fenians. Finn never refused any man: he never put away any one that came to his house. If the brown leaves falling in the woods were gold, if the white waves were silver, Finn would have given away the whole of it. _Oisin after the Fenians_ Now my strength is gone from me, I that was adviser to the Fenians, my whole body is tired to-night, my hands, my feet, and my head; tired, tired, tired. It is bad the way I am after Finn of the Fenians; since he is gone away, every good is behind me. Without great people, without mannerly ways; it is sorrowful I am after our king that is gone. I am a shaking tree, my leaves gone from me; an empty nut, a horse without a bridle; a people without a dwelling-place, I Oisin, son of Finn. It is long the clouds are over me to-night! it is long last night was; although this day is long, yesterday was longer again to me; every day that comes is long to me. That is not the way I used to be, without fighting, without battles, without learning feats, without young girls, without music, without harps, without bruising bones, without great deeds; without increase of learning, without generosity, without drinking at feasts, without courting, without hunting, the two trades I was used to; without going out to battle. Ochone! the want of them is sorrowful to me. No hunting of deer or stag, it is not like that I would wish to be; no leashes for our hounds, no hounds; it is long the clouds are over me to-night! Without rising up to do bravery as we were used, without playing as we had a mind; without swimming of our fighting men in the lake; it is long the clouds are over me to-night! There is no one at all in the world the way I am; it is a pity the way I am; an old man dragging stones. It is long the clouds are over me to-night! I am the last of the Fenians, great Oisin, son of Finn, listening to the voice of bells; it is long the clouds are over me to-night! _The Foretelling of Cathbad the Druid at Deirdre's Birth_ Let Deirdre be her name: harm will come through her. She will be fair, comely, bright-haired: heroes will fight for her, and kings go seeking for her. O Deirdre, on whose account many shall weep, on whose account many women shall be envious, there will be trouble on Ulster for your sake, O fair daughter of Fedlimid. Many will be jealous of your face, O flame of beauty; for your sake heroes shall go to exile. For your sake deeds of anger shall be done in Emain; there is harm in your face, for it will bring banishment and death on the sons of kings. In your fate, O beautiful child, are wounds and ill-doings and shedding of blood. You will have a little grave apart to yourself; you will be a tale of wonder for ever, Deirdre. _Deirdre's Lament for the Sons of Usnach_ As for Deirdre, she cried pitifully, wearily, and tore her fair hair, and she was talking of the sons of Usnach, and of Alban, and it is what she said: A blessing eastward to Alban from me; good is the sight of her bays and valleys, pleasant was it to sit on the slopes of her hills, where the sons of Usnach used to be hunting. One day, when the nobles of Alban were drinking with the sons of Usnach, Naoise gave a kiss secretly to the daughter of the lord of Duntreon. He sent her a frightened deer, wild, and a fawn at its foot; and he went to visit her coming home from the troops of Inverness. When myself heard that, my head filled full of jealousy; I put my boat on the waves, it was the same to me to live or to die. They followed me swimming, Ainnle and Ardan, that never said a lie; they turned me back again, two that would give battle to a hundred. Naoise gave me his true word, he swore three times with his arms as witness, he would never put vexation on me again, until he would go from me to the armies of the dead. Och! if she knew to-night, Naoise to be under a covering of clay, it is she would cry her fill, and it is I would cry along with her! After that Deirdre lay down by the grave, and they were digging earth from it, and she made this lament after the sons of Usnach: Long is the day without the sons of Usnach; it was never wearisome to be in their company; sons of a king that entertained exiles; three lions of the Hill of the Cave. Three darlings of the women of Britain; three hawks of Slieve Cuilenn; sons of a king served by valour, to whom warriors did obedience. Three heroes not good at homage; their fall is a cause of sorrow; three sons of the sister of a king; three props of the army of Cuailgne. The High King of Ulster, my first betrothed, I forsook for love of Naoise; short my life will be after him; I will make keening at their burial. That I would live after Naoise let no one think on the earth; I will not go on living after Ainnle and after Ardan. After them I myself will not live; three that would leap through the midst of battle; since my beloved is gone from me I will cry my fill over his grave. O, young man, digging the new grave, do not make the grave narrow; I will be along with them in the grave, making lamentations and ochones! Many the hardship I met with along with the three heroes; I suffered want of home, want of fire, it is myself that used not to be troubled. Their three shields and their spears made a bed for me often. O, young man, put their three swords close over their grave! Their three hounds, their three hawks, will be from this time without huntsmen; three aids of every battle; three pupils of Conall Cearnach. The three leashes of those three hounds have brought a sigh from my heart: it is I had the care of them, the sight of them is a cause of grief. I was never one day alone to the day of the making of this grave, though it is often that myself and yourselves were in loneliness. My sight is gone from me with looking at the grave of Naoise; it is short till my life will leave me, and those who would have keened me do not live. Since it is through me they were betrayed I will be tired out with sorrow; it is a pity I was not in the earth before the sons of Usnach were killed. Sorrowful was my journey with Fergus, betraying me to the Red Branch; we were deceived all together with his sweet, flowery words. I left the delights of Ulster for the three heroes that were bravest; my life will not be long, I myself am alone after them. I am Deirdre without gladness, and I at the end of my life; since it is grief to be without them, I myself will not be long after them! _Emer's Lament for Cuchulain_ And Emer took the head of Cuchulain in her hands, and she washed it clean, and put a silk cloth about it, and she held it to her breast, and she began to cry heavily over it, and she made this complaint: Och, head! Ochone, O head! you gave death to great heroes, to many hundreds; my head will lie in the same grave, the one stone will be made for both of us. Och, hand! Ochone, hand, that was once gentle. It is often it was put under my head; it is dear that hand was to me. Dear mouth! Ochone, kind mouth that was sweet-voiced telling stories; since the time love first came on your face, you never refused either weak or strong. Dear the man, dear the man, that would kill the whole of a great army; dear his cold bright hair, and dear his bright cheeks! Dear the king, dear the king, that never gave a refusal to any; thirty days it is to-night since my body lay beside your body. Och, two spears! Ochone, two spears! Och, shield! Och, deadly sword! Let them be given, to Conall of the battles; there was never any wage given the like of that. I am glad, I am glad, Cuchulain of Muirthemne, I never brought red shame on your face, for any unfaithfulness against you. Happy are they, happy are they, who will never hear the cuckoo again for ever, now that the Hound has died from us. I am carried away like a branch on the stream; I will not bind up my hair to-day. From this day I have nothing to say that is better than Ochone! "And oh! my love," she said, "we were often in one another's company, and it was happy for us; for if the world had been searched from the rising of the sun to sunset, the like would never have been found in one place, of the Black Sainglain and the Grey of Macha, and Laeg the chariot-driver, and myself and Cuchulain. And it is breaking my heart is in my body, to be listening to the pity and the sorrowing of women and men, and the harsh crying of the young men of Ulster keening Cuchulain." And after that Emer bade Conall to make a wide, very deep grave for Cuchulain; and she laid herself down beside her gentle comrade, and she put her mouth to his mouth, and she said: "Love of my life, my friend, my sweetheart, my one choice of the men of the earth, many is the woman, wed or unwed, envied me till to-day; and now I will not stay living after you." 
19976	----	Transcribed from the 1912 T. Fisher Unwin edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org THE MABINOGION TRANSLATED FROM THE RED BOOK OF HERGEST BY LADY CHARLOTTE GUEST VOL. III. LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN 11 PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS MXCII {The finding of Taliesin: p0.jpg} INTRODUCTION. {Picture: p11.jpg} This third volume completes the series of Mabinogion and tales translated by Lady Charlotte Guest. As in the two preceding volumes, I have compared Lady Guest's transcript with the original text in the Red Book of Hergest, and with Dr Gwenogvryn Evans' scrupulously accurate diplomatic edition. I have, as before, revised the translation as carefully as I could. I have not altered Lady Guest's version in the slightest degree; but I have again put in the form of foot-notes what seems to me to be a better or a more literal translation. The mistranslations are fairly few in number; but some of them are quite important, such as the references to pagan baptism or to the Irish Channel. At the end of my revision I may say that I have been struck by the comparative accuracy of the transcript of the Red Book which Lady Guest used, and by the accurate thoroughness with which she translated every one of the tales. This volume contains the oldest of the Mabinogion--the four branches of the Mabinogion proper--and the kindred tale of Lludd and Llevelys. In all these we are in a perfectly pagan atmosphere, neither the introduction of Christianity nor the growth of chivalry having affected them to any extent. The Story of Taliesin is the only one in the series that is not found in the Red Book of Hergest. It is taken from very much later manuscripts, and its Welsh is much more modern. Its subject, however, is akin to that of the Mabinogion proper; if, indeed, the contest between Elphin and the bards is an echo of the contest between decaying Paganism and growing Christianity. OWEN EDWARDS. LLANUWCHLLYN, 13_th_ _September_ 1902. PWYLL PRINCE OF DYVED. Pwyll, prince of Dyved, was lord of the seven Cantrevs of Dyved; and once upon a time he was at Narberth his chief palace, and he was minded to go and hunt, and the part of his dominions in which it pleased him to hunt was Glyn Cuch. So he set forth from Narberth that night, and went as far as Llwyn Diarwyd. {11a} And that night he tarried there, and early {11b} on the morrow he rose and came to Glyn Cuch; when he let loose the dogs in the wood, and sounded the horn, and began the chace. And as he followed the dogs, he lost his companions; and whilst he listened to the hounds, he heard the cry of other hounds, a cry different from his own, and coming in the opposite direction. And he beheld a glade in the wood forming a level plain, and as his dogs came to the edge of the glade, he saw a stag before the other dogs. And lo, as it reached the middle of the glade, the dogs that followed the stag overtook it, and brought it down. Then looked he at the colour of the dogs, staying not to look at the stag, and of all the hounds that he had seen in the world, he had never seen any that were like unto those. For their hair was of a brilliant shining white, and their ears were red; and as the whiteness of their bodies shone, so did the redness of their ears glisten. And he came towards the dogs, and drove away those that had brought down the stag, and set his own dogs upon it. {Picture: p13.jpg} And as he was setting on his dogs, he saw a horseman coming towards him upon a large light grey steed, with a hunting horn about his neck, and clad in garments of grey woollen in the fashion of a hunting garb. And the horseman drew near and spoke unto him thus. "Chieftain," said he, "I know who thou art, and I greet thee not." "Peradventure," said Pwyll, "thou art of such dignity that thou shouldest not do so." "Verily," answered he, "it is not my dignity that prevents me." "What is it then, O chieftain?" asked he. "By Heaven, it is by reason of thine own ignorance and want of courtesy." "What discourtesy, Chieftain, hast thou seen in me?" "Greater discourtesy saw I never in man," said he, "than to drive away the dogs that were killing the stag, and to set upon it thine own. This was discourteous, and though I may not be revenged upon thee, yet I declare to Heaven that I will do thee more dishonour than the value of an hundred stags." "O chieftain," he replied, "if I have done ill I will redeem thy friendship." "How wilt thou redeem it?" "According as thy dignity may be, but I know not who thou art?" "A crowned King am I in the land whence I come." "Lord," said he, "may the day prosper with thee, and from what land comest thou?" "From Annwvyn," answered he; "Arawn, a King of Annwvyn, {13} am I." "Lord," said he, "how may I gain thy friendship?" "After this manner mayest thou," he said. "There is a man whose dominions are opposite to mine, who is ever warring against me, and he is Havgan, a King of Annwvyn, and by ridding me of this oppression which thou canst easily do shalt thou gain my friendship." "Gladly will I do this," said he, "show me how I may." "I will show thee. Behold thus it is thou mayest. I will make firm friendship with thee; and this will I do, I will send thee to Annwvyn in my stead, and I will give thee the fairest lady thou didst ever behold, to be thy companion, and I will put my form and semblance upon thee, so that not a page of the chamber, nor an officer, nor any other man that has always followed me shall know that it is not I. And this shall be for the space of a year from to-morrow, and then will we meet in this place." "Yes," said he; "but when I shall have been there for the space of a year, by what means shall I discover him of whom thou speakest?" "One year from this night," he answered, "is the time fixed between him and me, that we should meet at the Ford; be thou there in my likeness, and with one stroke that thou givest him, he shall no longer live. And if he ask thee to give him another, give it not, how much soever he may entreat thee, for when I did so, he fought with me next day as well as ever before." "Verily," said Pwyll, "what shall I do concerning my kingdom?" Said Arawn, "I will cause that no one in all thy dominions, neither man, nor woman, shall know that I am not thou, and I will go there in thy stead." "Gladly then," said Pwyll, "will I set forward." "Clear shall be thy path and nothing shall detain thee, until thou come into my dominions, and I myself will be thy guide!" So he conducted him until he came in sight of the palace and its dwellings. "Behold," said he, "the Court and the kingdom in thy power. Enter the Court, there is no one there who will know thee, and when thou seest {15} what service is done there, thou wilt know the customs of the Court." So he went forward to the Court, and when he came there, he beheld sleeping rooms, and halls, and chambers, and the most beautiful buildings ever seen. And he went into the hall to disarray, and there came youths and pages and disarrayed him, and all as they entered saluted him. And two knights came and drew his hunting dress from about him, and clothed him in a vesture of silk and gold. And the hall was prepared, and behold he saw the household and the host enter in, and the host was the most comely and the best equipped that he had ever seen. And with them came in likewise the Queen, who was the fairest woman that he ever yet beheld. And she had on a yellow robe of shining satin; and they washed and went to the table, and they sat, the Queen upon one side of him, and one who seemed to be an Earl on the other side. And he began to speak with the Queen, and he thought from her speech, that she was the seemliest, and most noble lady of converse and of cheer that ever was. And they partook of meat, and drink, with songs, and with feasting; and of all the Courts upon the earth, behold this was the best supplied with food and drink, and vessels of gold and royal jewels. * * * * * And the year he spent in hunting, and minstrelsy, and feasting, and diversions, and discourse with his companions, until the night that was fixed for the conflict. And when that night came, it was remembered even by those who lived in the farthest part of his dominions, and he went to the meeting, and the nobles of the kingdom with him. And when he came to the Ford, a knight arose and spake thus, "Lords," said he, "listen well. It is between two Kings that this meeting is, and between them only. Each claimeth of the other his land and territory, and do all of you stand aside and leave the fight to be between them." {Picture: p16.jpg} Thereupon the two Kings approached each other in the middle of the Ford, and encountered, and at the first thrust, the man who was in the stead of Arawn struck Havgan on the centre of the boss of his shield, so that it was cloven in twain, and his armour was broken, and Havgan himself was borne to the ground an arm's and a spear's length over the crupper of his horse, and he received a deadly blow. "O Chieftain," said Havgan, "what right hast thou to cause my death? I was not injuring thee in any thing, and I know not wherefore thou wouldest slay me. But for the love of Heaven, since thou hast begun to slay me, complete thy work." "Ah, Chieftain," he replied, "I may yet repent doing that unto thee. Slay thee who may, I will not do so." {17} "My trusty Lords," said Havgan, "bear me hence. My death has come. I shall be no more able to uphold you." "My Nobles," also said he who was in the semblance of Arawn, "take counsel and know who ought to be my subjects." "Lord," said the Nobles, "all should be, for there is no King over the whole of Annwvyn but thee." "Yes," he replied, "it is right that he who comes humbly should be received graciously, but he that doth not come with obedience, shall be compelled by the force of swords." And thereupon he received the homage of the men, and he began to conquer the country; and the next day by noon the two kingdoms were in his power. And thereupon he went to keep his tryst, and came to Glyn Cuch. And when he came there, the king of Annwvyn was there to meet him, and each of them was rejoiced to see the other. "Verily," said Arawn, "may Heaven reward thee for thy friendship towards me, I have heard of it. When thou comest thyself to thy dominions," said he, "thou wilt see that which I have done for thee." "Whatever thou hast done for me, may Heaven repay it thee." Then Arawn gave to Pwyll Prince of Dyved his proper form and semblance, and he himself took his own; and Arawn set forth towards the Court of Annwvyn; and he was rejoiced when he beheld his hosts, and his household, whom he had not seen so long; but they had not known of his absence, and wondered no more at his coming than usual. And that day was spent in joy and merriment; and he sat and conversed with his wife and his nobles. And when it was time for them rather to sleep than to carouse, they went to rest. * * * * * Pwyll, Prince of Dyved, came likewise to his country and dominions, and began to enquire of the nobles of the land, how his rule had been during the past year, compared with what it had been before. "Lord," said they, "thy wisdom was never so great, and thou wert never so kind nor so free in bestowing thy gifts, and thy justice was never more worthily seen than in this year." "By Heaven," said he, "for all the good you have enjoyed, you should thank him who hath been with you; for behold, thus hath this matter been." And thereupon Pwyll related the whole unto them. "Verily, Lord," said they, "render thanks unto Heaven that thou hast such a fellowship, and withhold not from us the rule which we have enjoyed for this year past." "I take Heaven to witness that I will not withhold it," answered Pwyll. And thenceforth they made strong the friendship that was between them, and each sent unto the other horses, and greyhounds, and hawks, and all such jewels as they thought would be pleasing to each other. And by reason of his having dwelt that year in Annwvyn, and having ruled there so prosperously, and united the two kingdoms in one day by his valour and prowess, he lost the name of Pwyll Prince of Dyved, and was called Pwyll Chief of Annwvyn from that time forward. * * * * * Once upon a time, Pwyll was at Narberth his chief palace, where a feast had been prepared for him, and with him was a great host of men. And after the first meal, Pwyll arose to walk, and he went to the top of a mound that was above the palace, and was called Gorsedd Arberth. "Lord," said one of the Court, "it is peculiar to the mound that whosoever sits upon it cannot go thence, without either receiving wounds or blows, or else seeing a wonder." "I fear not to receive wounds and blows in the midst of such a host as this, but as to the wonder, gladly would I see it. I will go therefore and sit upon the mound." And upon the mound he sat. And while he sat there, they saw a lady, on a pure white horse of large size, with a garment of shining gold around her, coming along the high way that led from the mound; and the horse seemed to move at a slow and even pace, and to be coming up towards the mound. "My men," said Pwyll, "is there any among you who knows yonder lady?" "There is not, Lord," said they. "Go one of you and meet her, that we may know who she is." And one of them arose, and as he came upon the road to meet her, she passed by, and he followed as fast as he could, being on foot; and the greater was his speed, the further was she from him. And when he saw that it profited him nothing to follow her, he returned to Pwyll, and said unto him, "Lord, it is idle for any one in the world to follow her on foot." "Verily," said Pwyll, "go unto the palace, and take the fleetest horse that thou seest, and go after her." And he took a horse and went forward. And he came to an open level plain, and put spurs to his horse; and the more he urged his horse, the further was she from him. Yet she held the same pace as at first. And his horse began to fail; and when his horse's feet failed him, he returned to the place where Pwyll was. "Lord," said he, "it will avail nothing for any one to follow yonder lady. I know of no horse in these realms swifter than this, and it availed me not to pursue her." "Of a truth," said Pwyll, "there must be some illusion here. Let us go towards the palace." So to the palace they went, and they spent that day. And the next day they arose, and that also they spent until it was time to go to meat. And after the first meal, "Verily," said Pwyll, "we will go the same party as yesterday to the top of the mound. And do thou," said he to one of his young men, "take the swiftest horse that thou knowest in the field." And thus did the young man. And they went towards the mound, taking the horse with them. And as they were sitting down they beheld the lady on the same horse, and in the same apparel, coming along the same road. "Behold," said Pwyll, "here is the lady of yesterday. Make ready, youth, to learn who she is." "My Lord," said he, "that will I gladly do." And thereupon the lady came opposite to them. So the youth mounted his horse; and before he had settled himself in his saddle, she passed by, and there was a clear space between them. But her speed was no greater than it had been the day before. Then he put his horse into an amble, and thought that notwithstanding the gentle pace at which his horse went, he should soon overtake her. But this availed him not; so he gave his horse the reins. And still he came no nearer to her than when he went at a foot's pace. And the more he urged his horse, the further was she from him. Yet she rode not faster than before. When he saw that it availed not to follow her, he returned to the place where Pwyll was. "Lord," said he, "the horse can no more than thou hast seen." "I see indeed that it avails not that any one should follow her. And by Heaven," said he, "she must needs have an errand to some one in this plain, if her haste would allow her to declare it. Let us go back to the palace." And to the palace they went, and they spent that night in songs and feasting, as it pleased them. And the next day they amused themselves until it was time to go to meat. And when meat was ended, Pwyll said, "Where are the hosts that went yesterday and the day before to the top of the mound?" "Behold, Lord, we are here," said they. "Let us go," said he, "to the mound, to sit there. And do thou," said he to the page who tended his horse, "saddle my horse well, and hasten with him to the road, and bring also my spurs with thee." And the youth did thus. And they went and sat upon the mound; and ere they had been there but a short time, they beheld the lady coming by the same road, and in the same manner, and at the same pace. "Young man," said Pwyll, "I see the lady coming; give me my horse." And no sooner had he mounted his horse than she passed him. And he turned after her and followed her. And he let his horse go bounding playfully, and thought that at the second step or the third he should come up with her. But he came no nearer to her than at first. Then he urged his horse to his utmost speed, yet he found that it availed nothing to follow her. Then said Pwyll, "O maiden, for the sake of him whom thou best lovest, stay for me." "I will stay gladly," said she, "and it were better for thy horse hadst thou asked it long since." So the maiden stopped, and she threw back that part of her head dress which covered her face. And she fixed her eyes upon him, and began to talk with him. "Lady," asked he, "whence comest thou, and whereunto dost thou journey?" "I journey on mine own errand," said she, "and right glad am I to see thee." "My greeting be unto thee," said he. Then he thought that the beauty of all the maidens, and all the ladies that he had ever seen, was as nothing compared to her beauty. "Lady," he said, "wilt thou tell me aught concerning thy purpose?" "I will tell thee," said she. "My chief quest was to seek thee." "Behold," said Pwyll, "this is to me the most pleasing quest on which thou couldst have come; and wilt thou tell me who thou art?" "I will tell thee, Lord," said she, "I am Rhiannon, the daughter of Heveydd Hen, and they sought to give me to a husband against my will. But no husband would I have, and that because of my love for thee, neither will I yet have one unless thou reject me. And hither have I come to hear thy answer." "By Heaven," said Pwyll, "behold this is my answer. If I might choose among all the ladies and damsels in the world, thee would I choose." "Verily," said she, "If thou art thus minded, make a pledge to meet me ere I am given to another." "The sooner I may do so, the more pleasing will it be unto me," said Pwyll, "and wheresoever thou wilt, there will I meet with thee." "I will that thou meet me this day twelvemonth at the palace of Heveydd. And I will cause a feast to be prepared, so that it be ready against thou come." "Gladly," said he, "will I keep this tryst." "Lord," said she, "remain in health, and be mindful that thou keep thy promise; and now will I go hence." So they parted, and he went back to his hosts and to them of his household. And whatsoever questions they asked him respecting the damsel, he always turned the discourse upon other matters. And when a year from that time was gone, he caused a hundred knights to equip themselves and to go with him to the palace of Heveydd Hen. And he came to the palace, and there was great joy concerning him, with much concourse of people and great rejoicing, and vast preparations for his coming. And the whole court was placed under his orders. And the hall was garnished and they went to meat, and thus did they sit; Heveydd Hen was on one side of Pwyll, and Rhiannon on the other. And all the rest according to their rank. And they eat and feasted and talked one with another, and at the beginning of the carousal after the meat, there entered a tall auburn-haired youth, of royal bearing, clothed in a garment of satin. And when he came into the hall, he saluted Pwyll and his companions. "The greeting of Heaven be unto thee, my soul," said Pwyll, "come thou and sit down." "Nay," said he, "a suitor am I, and I will do mine errand." "Do so willingly," said Pwyll. "Lord," said he, "my errand is unto thee, and it is to crave a boon of thee that I come." "What boon soever thou mayest ask of me, as far as I am able, thou shall have." "Ah," said Rhiannon, "Wherefore didst thou give that answer?" "Has he not given it before the presence of these nobles?" asked the youth. "My soul," said Pwyll, "what is the boon thou askest?" "The lady whom best I love is to be thy bride this night; I come to ask her of thee, with the feast and the banquet that are in this place." And Pwyll was silent because of the answer which he had given. "Be silent as long as thou wilt," said Rhiannon. "Never did man make worse use of his wits than thou hast done." "Lady," said he, "I knew not who he was." "Behold, this is the man to whom they would have given me against my will," said she. "And he is Gwawl the son of Clud, a man of great power and wealth, and because of the word thou hast spoken, bestow me upon him lest shame befall thee." "Lady," said he, "I understand not thine answer. Never can I do as thou sayest." "Bestow me upon him," said she, "and I will cause that I shall never be his." "By what means will that be?" asked Pwyll. "In thy hand will I give thee a small bag," said she. "See that thou keep it well, and he will ask of thee the banquet, and the feast, and the preparations which are not in thy power. Unto the hosts and the household will I give the feast. And such will be thy answer respecting this. And as concerns myself, I will engage to become his bride this night twelvemonth. And at the end of the year be thou here," said she, "and bring this bag with thee, and let thy hundred knights be in the orchard up yonder. And when he is in the midst of joy and feasting, come thou in by thyself, clad in ragged garments, and holding thy bag in thy hand, and ask nothing but a bagfull of food, and I will cause that if all the meat and liquor that are in these seven Cantrevs were put into it, it would be no fuller than before. And after a great deal has been put therein, he will ask thee, whether thy bag will ever be full. Say thou then that it never will, until a man of noble birth and of great wealth arise and press the food in the bag, with both his feet saying, 'Enough has been put therein;' and I will cause him to go and tread down the food in the bag, and when he does so, turn thou the bag, so that he shall be up over his head in it, and then slip a knot upon the thongs of the bag. Let there be also a good bugle horn about thy neck, and as soon as thou hast bound him in the bag, wind thy horn, and let it be a signal between thee and thy knights. And when they hear the sound of the horn, let them come down upon the palace." "Lord," said Gwawl, "it is meet that I have an answer to my request." "As much of that thou hast asked as it is in my power to give, thou shalt have," replied Pwyll. "My soul," said Rhiannon unto him, "as for the feast and the banquet that are here, I have bestowed them upon the men of Dyved, and the household, and the warriors that are with us. These can I not suffer to be given to any. In a year from to-night a banquet shall be prepared for thee in this palace, that I may become thy bride." So Gwawl went forth to his possessions, and Pwyll went also back to Dyved. And they both spent that year until it was the time for the feast at the palace of Heveydd Hen. Then Gwawl the son of Clud set out to the feast that was prepared for him, and he came to the palace, and was received there with rejoicing. Pwyll, also, the chief of Annwn came to the orchard with his hundred knights, as Rhiannon had commanded him, having the bag with him. And Pwyll was clad in coarse and ragged garments, and wore large clumsy old shoes upon his feet. And when he knew that the carousal after the meat had begun, he went towards the hall, and when he came into the hall, he saluted Gwawl the son of Clud, and his company, both men and women. "Heaven prosper thee," said Gwawl, "and the greeting of Heaven be unto thee." "Lord," said he, "May Heaven reward thee, I have an errand unto thee." "Welcome be thine errand, and if thou ask of me that which is just, thou shalt have it gladly." "It is fitting," answered he. {26} "I crave but from want, and the boon that I ask is to have this small bag that thou seest filled with meat." "A request within reason is this," said he, "and gladly shalt thou have it. Bring him food." A great number of attendants arose and begun to fill the bag, but for all that they put into it, it was no fuller than at first. "My soul," said Gwawl, "will thy bag be ever full?" "It will not, I declare to Heaven," said he, "for all that may be put into it, unless one possessed of lands, and domains, and treasure, shall arise and tread down with both his feet the food that is within the bag, and shall say, 'Enough has been put herein.'" Then said Rhiannon unto Gwawl the son of Clud, "Rise up quickly." "I will willingly arise," said he. So he rose up, and put his two feet into the bag. And Pwyll turned up the sides of the bag, so that Gwawl was over his head in it. And he shut it up quickly and slipped a knot upon the thongs, and blew his horn. And thereupon behold his household came down upon the palace. And they seized all the host that had come with Gwawl, and cast them into his own prison. And Pwyll threw off his rags, and his old shoes, and his tattered array; and as they came in, every one of Pwyll's knights struck a blow upon the bag, and asked, "What is here?" "A Badger," said they. And in this manner they played, each of them striking the bag, either with his foot or with a staff. And thus played they with the bag. Every one as he came in asked, "What game are you playing at thus?" "The game of Badger in the Bag," said they. And then was the game of Badger in the Bag first played. "Lord," said the man in the bag, "If thou wouldest but hear me, I merit not to be slain in a bag." Said Heveydd Hen, "Lord, he speaks truth. It were fitting that thou listen to him, for he deserves not this." "Verily," said Pwyll, "I will do thy counsel concerning him." "Behold this is my counsel then," said Rhiannon; "Thou art now in a position in which it behoves thee to satisfy suitors and minstrels, let him give unto them in thy stead, and take a pledge from him that he will never seek to revenge that which has been done to him. And this will be punishment enough." "I will do this gladly," said the man in the bag. "And gladly will I accept it," said Pwyll, "since it is the counsel of Heveydd and Rhiannon." "Such then is our counsel," answered they. "I accept it," said Pwyll. "Seek thyself sureties." "We will be for him," said Heveydd, "until his men be free to answer for him." And upon this he was let out of the bag, and his liegemen were liberated. "Demand now of Gwawl his sureties," said Heveydd, "we know which should be taken for him." And Heveydd numbered the sureties. Said Gwawl, "Do thou thyself draw up the covenant." "It will suffice me that it be as Rhiannon said," answered Pwyll. So unto that covenant were the sureties pledged. "Verily, Lord," said Gwawl, "I am greatly hurt, and I have many bruises. I have need to be anointed, with thy leave I will go forth. I will leave nobles in my stead, to answer for me in all that thou shall require." "Willingly," said Pwyll, "mayest thou do thus." So Gwawl went towards his own possessions. And the hall was set in order for Pwyll and the men of his host, and for them also of the palace, and they went to the tables and sat down. And as they had sat that time twelvemonth, so sat they that night. And they eat, and feasted, and spent the night in mirth and tranquillity. And the time came that they should sleep, and Pwyll and Rhiannon went to their chamber. And next morning at the break of day, "My Lord," said Rhiannon, "arise and begin to give thy gifts unto the minstrels. Refuse no one to-day that may claim thy bounty." "Thus shall it be gladly," said Pwyll, "both to-day and every day while the feast shall last." So Pwyll arose, and he caused silence to be proclaimed, and desired all the suitors and the minstrels to show and to point out what gifts were to their wish and desire. {28} And this being done the feast went on, and he denied no one while it lasted. And when the feast was ended, Pwyll said unto Heveydd, "My Lord, with thy permission I will set out for Dyved to-morrow." "Certainly," said Heveydd, "may Heaven prosper thee. Fix also a time when Rhiannon may follow thee." "By Heaven," said Pwyll, "we will go hence together." "Wiliest thou this, Lord?" said Heveydd. "Yes, by Heaven," answered Pwyll. And the next day, they set forward towards Dyved, and journeyed to the palace of Narberth, where a feast was made ready for them. And there came to them great numbers of the chief men and the most noble ladies of the land, and of these there were none to whom Rhiannon did not give some rich gift, either a bracelet, or a ring, or a precious stone. And they ruled the land prosperously both that year and the next. And in the third year the nobles of the land began to be sorrowful at seeing a man whom they loved so much, and who was moreover their lord and their foster-brother, without an heir. And they came to him. {29} And the place where they met was Preseleu, in Dyved. "Lord," said they, "we know that thou art not so young as some of the men of this country, and we fear that thou mayest not have an heir of the wife whom thou hast taken. Take therefore another wife of whom thou mayest have heirs. Thou canst not always continue with us, and though thou desire to remain as thou art, we will not suffer thee." "Truly," said Pwyll, "we have not long been joined together, and many things may yet befall. Grant me a year from this time, and for the space of a year we will abide together, and after that I will do according to your wishes." So they granted it. And before the end of a year a son was born unto him. And in Narberth was he born; and on the night that he was born, women were brought to watch the mother and the boy. And the women slept, as did also Rhiannon, the mother of the boy. And the number of the women that were brought into the chamber, was six. And they watched for a good portion of the night, and before midnight every one of them fell asleep, and towards break of day they awoke; and when they awoke, they looked where they had put the boy, and behold he was not there. "Oh," said one of the women, "the boy is lost!" "Yes," said another, "and it will be small vengeance if we are burnt or put to death because of the child." Said one of the women, "Is there any counsel for us in the world in this matter?" "There is," answered another, "I offer you good counsel." "What is that?" asked they. "There is here a stag-hound bitch, and she has a litter of whelps. Let us kill some of the cubs, and rub the blood on the face and hands of Rhiannon, and lay the bones before her, and assert that she herself had devoured her son, and she alone will not be able to gainsay us six." And according to this counsel it wast settled. And towards morning Rhiannon awoke, and she said, "Women, where is my son?" "Lady," said they, "ask us not concerning thy son, we have nought but the blows and the bruises we got by struggling with thee, and of a truth we never saw any woman so violent as thou, for it was of no avail to contend with thee. Hast thou not thyself devoured thy son? Claim him not therefore of us." "For pity's sake," said Rhiannon; "The Lord God knows all things. Charge me not falsely. {30} If you tell me this from fear, I assert before Heaven that I will defend you." "Truly," said they, "we would not bring evil on ourselves for any one in the world." "For pity's sake," said Rhiannon; "you will receive no evil by telling the truth." But for all her words, whether fair or harsh, {31a} she received but the same answer from the women. And Pwyll the chief of Annwvyn arose, and his household, and his hosts. And this occurrence could not be concealed, but the story went forth throughout the land, and all the nobles heard it. Then the nobles came to Pwyll, and besought him to put away his wife, because of the great {31b} crime which she had done. But Pwyll answered them, that they had no cause wherefore they might ask him to put away his wife, save for her having no children. "But children has she now had, therefore will I not put her away, if she has done wrong, let her do penance for it." So Rhiannon sent for the teachers and the wise men, and as she preferred doing penance to contending with the women, she took upon her a penance. And the penance that was imposed upon her was, that she should remain in that palace of Narberth until the end of seven years, and that she should sit every day near unto a horse-block that was without the gate. And that she should relate the story to all who should come there, whom she might suppose not to know it already; and that she should offer the guests and strangers, if they would permit her, to carry them upon her back into the palace. But it rarely happened that any would permit. And thus did she spend part of the year. Now at that time Teirnyon Twryv Vliant was Lord of Gwent Is Coed, and he was the best man in the world. And unto his house there belonged a mare, than which neither mare nor horse in the kingdom was more beautiful. And on the night of every first of May she foaled, and no one ever knew what became of the colt. And one night Teirnyon talked with his wife; "Wife," said he, "it is very simple of us that our mare should foal every year, and that we should have none of her colts." "What can be done in the matter?" said she. "This is the night of the first of May," said he. "The vengeance of Heaven be upon me, if I learn not what it is that takes away the colts." So he caused the mare to be brought into a house, and he armed himself, and began to watch that night. And in the beginning of the night, the mare foaled a large and beautiful colt. And it was standing up in the place. And Teirnyon rose up and looked at the size of the colt, and as he did so he heard a great tumult, and after the tumult behold a claw came through the window into the house, and it seized the colt by the mane. Then Teirnyon drew his sword, and struck off the arm at the elbow, so that portion of the arm together with the colt was in the house with him. And then did he hear a tumult and wailing, both at once. And he opened the door, and rushed out in the direction of the noise, and he could not see the cause of the tumult, because of the darkness of the night; but he rushed after it and followed it. Then he remembered that he had left the door open, and he returned. And at the door behold there was an infant boy in swaddling clothes, wrapped around in a mantle of satin. And he took up the boy, and behold he was very strong for the age that he was of. Then he shut the door, and went unto the chamber where his wife was. "Lady," said he, "art thou sleeping?" "No, Lord," said she, "I was asleep, but as thou camest in I did awake." "Behold here is a boy for thee if thou wilt," said he, "since thou hast never had one." "My Lord," said she, "What adventure is this?" "It was thus," said Teirnyon; and he told her how it all befell. "Verily, Lord," said she, "What sort of garments are there upon the boy?" "A mantle of satin," said he. "He is then a boy of gentle lineage," she replied. "My Lord," she said, "if thou wilt, I shall have great diversion and mirth. I will call my women unto me, and tell them that I have been pregnant." "I will readily grant thee to do this," he answered. And thus did they, and they caused the boy to be baptized, and the ceremony was performed there; {33} and the name which they gave unto him, was Gwri Wallt Euryn, because what hair was upon his head was as yellow as gold. And they had the boy nursed in the court until he was a year old. And before the year was over, he could walk stoutly. And he was larger than a boy of three years old, even one of great growth and size. And the boy was nursed the second year, and then he was as large as a child six years old. And before the end of the fourth year, he would bribe the grooms to allow him to take the horses to water. "My Lord," said his wife unto Teirnyon, "Where is the colt which thou didst save on the night that thou foundest the boy?" "I have commanded the grooms of the horses," said he, "that they take care of him." "Would it not be well, Lord," said she, "if thou wert to cause him to be broken in, and given to the boy, seeing that on the same night that thou didst find the boy, the colt was foaled and thou didst save him." "I will not oppose thee in this matter," said Teirnyon. "I will allow thee to give him the colt." "Lord," said she, "may Heaven reward thee; I will give it him." So the horse was given to the boy. Then she went to the grooms and those who tended the horses, and commanded them to be careful of the horse, so that he might be broken in by the time that the boy could ride him. And while these things were going forward, they heard tidings of Rhiannon and her punishment. And Teirnyon Twryv Vliant, by reason of the pity that he felt on hearing this story of Rhiannon, and her punishment, enquired closely concerning it, until he had heard from many of those who came to his court. Then did Teirnyon, often lamenting the sad history, ponder within himself, and he looked steadfastly on the boy, and as he looked upon him, it seemed to him that he had never beheld so great a likeness between father and son, as between the boy and Pwyll, the chief of Annwvyn. Now the semblance of Pwyll was well known to him, for he had of yore been one of his followers. And thereupon he became grieved for the wrong that he did, in keeping with him a boy whom he knew to be the son of another man. And the first time that he was alone with his wife, he told her, that it was not right that they should keep the boy with them, and suffer so excellent a lady as Rhiannon to be punished so greatly on his account, whereas the boy was the son of Pwyll, the chief of Annwvyn. And Teirnyon's wife agreed with him, that they should send the boy to Pwyll. "And three things, Lord," said she, "shall we gain thereby. Thanks and gifts for releasing Rhiannon from her punishment; and thanks from Pwyll, for nursing his son, and restoring him unto him; and thirdly, if the boy is of gentle nature, he will be our foster-son, and he will do for us all the good in his power." So it was settled according to this counsel. And no later than the next day was Teirnyon equipped, and two other knights with him. And the boy, as a fourth in their company, went with them upon the horse which Teirnyon had given him. And they journeyed towards Narberth, and it was not long before they reached that place. And as they drew near to the palace, they beheld Rhiannon sitting beside the horse block. And when they were opposite to her. "Chieftain," said she, "go not further thus, I will bear every one of you into the palace, and this is my penance for slaying my own son and devouring him." "Oh fair lady," said Teirnyon, "think not that I will be one to be carried upon thy back." "Neither will I," said the boy. "Truly, my soul," said Teirnyon, "we will not go." {35} So they went forward to the palace, and there was great joy at their coming. And at the palace a feast was prepared, because Pwyll was come back from the confines of Dyved. And they went into the hall and washed, and Pwyll rejoiced to see Teirnyon. And in this order they sat. Teirnyon between Pwyll and Rhiannon, and Teirnyon's two companions on the other side of Pwyll, with the boy between them. And after meat they began to carouse and to discourse. And Teirnyon's discourse was concerning the adventure of the mare and the boy, and how he and his wife had nursed and reared the child as their own. "And behold here is thy son, lady," said Teirnyon. "And whosoever told that lie concerning thee, has done wrong. And when I heard of thy sorrow, I was troubled and grieved. And I believe that there is none of this host, who will not perceive that the boy is the son of Pwyll," said Teirnyon. "There is none," said they all, "who is not certain thereof." "I declare to Heaven," said Rhiannon, "that if this be true, there indeed is an end to my trouble." {36a} "Lady," said Pendaran Dyved, "well hast thou named thy son Pryderi, and well becomes him the name of Pryderi, son of Pwyll, chief of Annwvyn." "Look you," said Rhiannon, "will not his own name become him better?" "What name has he?" asked Pendaran Dyved. "Gwri Wallt Euryn, is the name that we gave him." "Pryderi," said Pendaran, "shall his name be." "It were more proper," said Pwyll, "that the boy should take his name from the word his mother spoke when she received the joyful tidings of him." And thus was it arranged. "Teirnyon," said Pwyll, "Heaven reward thee that thou hast reared the boy up to this time, and, being of gentle lineage, {36b} it were fitting that he repay thee for it." "My Lord," said Teirnyon, "It was my wife who nursed him, and there is no one in the world so afflicted as she at parting with him. It were well that he should bear in mind what I and my wife have done for him." "I call Heaven to witness," said Pwyll, "that while I live I will support thee and thy possessions, as long as I am able to preserve my own. And when he shall have power, he will more fitly maintain them than I. {37a} And if this counsel be pleasing unto thee, and to my nobles, it shall be that, as thou hast reared him up to the present time, I will give him to be brought up by Pendaran Dyved, from henceforth. And you shall be companions and shall both be foster- fathers unto him." "This is good counsel," said they all. So the boy was given to Pendaran Dyved, and the nobles of the land were sent with him. And Teirnyon Twryv Vliant, and his companions, set out for his country, and his possessions, with love and gladness. And he went not without being offered the fairest jewels and the fairest horses and the choicest dogs; but he would take none of them. Thereupon they all remained in their own dominions. And Pryderi, the son of Pwyll the chief of Annwvyn, was brought up carefully as was fit, so that he became the fairest youth, and the most comely, and the best skilled in all good games, of any in the kingdom. And thus passed years and years, until the end of Pwyll the chief of Annwvyn's life came, and he died. And Pryderi ruled the seven Cantrevs of Dyved prosperously, and he was beloved by his people, and by all around him. And at length {37b} he added unto them the three Cantrevs of Ystrad Tywi and the four Cantrevs of Cardigan; and these were called the Seven Cantrevs of Seissyllwch. And when he made this addition, Pryderi the son of Pwyll the chief of Annwvyn, desired to take a wife. And the wife he chose was Kicva, the daughter of Gwynn Gohoyw, the son of Gloyw Wlallt {38} Lydan, the son of Prince Casnar, one of the nobles of this island. And thus ends this portion of the Mabinogion. {Picture: p38.jpg} BRANWEN THE DAUGHTER OF LLYR. {Picture: p39.jpg} Bendigeid Vran, the son of Llyr was the crowned king of this Island, and he was exalted from the crown of London. {39a} And one afternoon he was at Harlech in Ardudwy, at his court, and he sat upon the rock of Harlech, looking over the sea. {39b} And with him were his brother Manawyddan the son of Llyr, and his brothers by the mother's side, Nissyen and Evnissyen, and many nobles likewise, as was fitting to see around a king. His two brothers by the mother's side were the sons of Eurosswydd, by his mother, Penardun, {40} the daughter of Beli son of Manogan. And one of these youths was a good youth and of gentle nature, and would make peace between his kindred and cause his family to be friends when their wrath was at the highest; and this one was Nissyen; but the other would cause strife between his two brothers when they were most at peace. And as they sat thus, they beheld thirteen ships coming from the South of Ireland, and making towards them, and they came with a swift motion, the wind being behind them, and they neared them rapidly. "I see ships afar," said the king, "coming swiftly towards the land. Command the men of the court that they equip themselves, and go and learn their intent." So the men equipped themselves and went down towards them. And when they saw the ships near, certain were they that they had never seen ships better furnished. Beautiful flags of satin were upon them. And behold one of the ships outstripped the others, and they saw a shield lifted up above the side of the ship, and the point of the shield was upwards, in token of peace. And the men drew near that they might hold converse. Then they put out boats and came towards the land. And they saluted the king. Now the king could hear them from the place where he was, upon the rock above their heads. "Heaven prosper you," said he, "and be ye welcome. To whom do these ships belong and who is the chief amongst you?" "Lord," said they, "Matholwch king of Ireland is here and these ships belong to him." "Wherefore comes he?" asked the king, "and will he come to the land?" "He is a suitor unto thee, lord," said they, "and he will not land unless he have his boon." "And what may that be?" enquired the king. "He desires to ally himself with thee, lord," said they, "and he comes to ask Branwen the daughter of Llyr, that, if it seem well to thee, the Island of the Mighty may be leagued with Ireland and both become more powerful." "Verily," said he, "let him come to land, and we will take counsel thereupon." And this answer was brought to Matholwch. "I will go willingly," said he. So he landed, and they received him joyfully; and great was the throng in the palace that night, between his hosts and those of the court; and next day they took counsel, and they resolved to bestow Branwen upon Matholwch. Now she was one of the three chief ladies of this Island, and she was the fairest damsel in the world. And they fixed upon Aberffraw, as the place where she should become his bride. And they went thence, and towards Aberffraw the hosts proceeded; Matholwch and his host in their ships; Bendigeid Vran and his host by land, until they came to Aberffraw. And at Aberffraw they began the feast and sat down. And thus sat they. The King of the Island of the Mighty and Manawyddan the son of Llyr, on one side, and Matholwch on the other side, and Branwen the daughter of Llyr beside him. And they were not within a house, but under tents. No house could ever contain Bendigeid Vran. And they began the banquet and caroused and discoursed. And when it was more pleasing to them to sleep than to carouse they went to rest, and that night Branwen became Matholwch's bride. And next day they arose, and all they of the court, and the officers began to equip and to range the horses and the attendants, and they ranged them in order as far as the sea. And behold one day, Evnissyen, the quarrelsome man of whom it is spoken above, came by chance into the place, where the horses of Matholwch were, and asked whose horses they might be. "They are the horses of Matholwch king of Ireland, who is married to Branwen, thy sister; his horses are they." "And is it thus they have done with a maiden such as she, and moreover my sister, bestowing her without my consent? They could have offered no greater insult to me than this," said he. And thereupon he rushed under the horses and cut off their lips at the teeth, and their ears close to their heads, and their tails {42} close to their backs, and wherever he could clutch their eyelids, he cut them to the very bone, and he disfigured the horses and rendered them useless. And they came with these tidings unto Matholwch, saying that the horses were disfigured, and injured so that not one of them could ever be of any use again. "Verily, lord," said one, "it was an insult unto thee, and as such was it meant." "Of a truth, it is a marvel to me, that if they desire to insult me, they should have given me a maiden of such high rank and so much beloved of her kindred, as they have done." "Lord," said another, "thou seest that thus it is, and there is nothing for thee to do but to go to thy ships." And thereupon towards his ships he set out. And tidings came to Bendigeid Vran that Matholwch was quitting the court without asking leave, and messengers were sent to enquire of him wherefore he did so. And the messengers that went, were Iddic the son of Anarawd, and Heveydd Hir. And these overtook him and asked of him what he designed to do, and wherefore he went forth. "Of a truth," said he, "if I had known I had not come hither. I have been altogether insulted, no one had ever worse treatment than I have had here. But one thing surprises me above all." "What is that?" asked they. "That Branwen the daughter of Llyr, one of the three chief ladies of this Island, and the daughter of the King of the Island of the Mighty, should have been given me as my bride, and that after that I should have been insulted; and I marvel that the insult was not done me before they had bestowed upon me a maiden so exalted as she." "Truly, lord, it was not the will of any that are of the court," said they, "nor of any that are of the council that thou shouldest have received this insult, and as thou hast been insulted, the dishonour is greater unto Bendigeid Vran than unto thee." "Verily," said he, "I think so. Nevertheless he cannot recall the insult." These men returned with that answer to the place where Bendigeid Vran was, and they told him what reply Matholwch had given them. "Truly," said he, "there are no means by which we may prevent his going away at enmity with us, that we will not take." "Well, lord," said they, "send after him another embassy." "I will do so," said he. "Arise Manawyddan son of Llyr, and Heveydd Hir, and Unic Glew Ysgwyd, and go after him, and tell him that he shall have a sound horse for every one that has been injured. And beside that, as an atonement for the insult, he shall have a staff of silver, as large and as tall as himself, and a plate of gold of the breadth of his face. And show unto him who it was that did this, and that it was done against my will; but that he who did it is my brother, by the mother's side, and therefore it would be hard for me to put him to death. And let him come and meet me," said he, "and we will make peace in any way he may desire." The embassy went after Matholwch, and told him all these sayings in a friendly manner, and he listened thereunto. "Men," said he, "I will take counsel." So to the council he went. And in the council they considered that if they should refuse this, they were likely to have more shame rather than to obtain so great an atonement. They resolved therefore to accept it, and they returned to the court in peace. Then the pavilions and the tents were set in order after the fashion of a hall; and they went to meat, and as they had sat at the beginning of the feast, so sat they there. And Matholwch and Bendigeid Vran began to discourse; and behold it seemed to Bendigeid Vran, while they talked, that Matholwch was not so cheerful as he had been before. And he thought that the chieftain might be sad because of the smallness of the atonement which he had, for the wrong that had been done him. "Oh man," said Bendigeid Vran, "thou dost not discourse to-night so cheerfully as thou wert wont. And if it be because of the smallness of the atonement, thou shalt add thereunto whatsoever thou mayest choose, and to-morrow I will pay thee the horses." "Lord," said he, "Heaven reward thee." "And I will enhance the atonement," said Bendigeid Vran, "for I will give unto thee a cauldron, the property of which is, that if one of thy men be slain to-day, and be cast therein, to-morrow he will be as well as ever he was at the best, except that he will not regain his speech." And thereupon he gave him great thanks, and very joyful was he for that cause. And the next morning they paid Matholwch the horses as long as the trained horses lasted. And then they journeyed into another commot, where they paid him with colts until the whole had been paid, and from thenceforth that commot was called Talebolion. {Picture: p46.jpg} And a second night sat they together. "My lord," said Matholwch, "whence hadst thou the cauldron which thou hast given me?" "I had it of a man who had been in thy land," said he, "and I would not give it except to one from there." {45} "Who was it?" asked he. "Llassar Llaesgyvnewid; he came here from Ireland, with Kymideu Kymeinvoll, his wife, who escaped from the Iron House in Ireland, when it was made red hot around them, and fled hither. And it is a marvel to me that thou shouldst know nothing concerning the matter." "Something I do know," said he, "and as much as I know I will tell thee. One day I was hunting in Ireland, and I came to the mound at the head of the lake, which is called the Lake of the Cauldron. And I beheld a huge yellow-haired man coming from the lake with a cauldron upon his back. And he was a man of vast size, and of horrid aspect, and a woman followed after him. And if the man was tall, twice as large as he was the woman, and they came towards me and greeted me. 'Verily,' asked I, 'wherefore are you journeying?' 'Behold this,' said he to me, 'is the cause that we journey. At the end of a month and a fortnight this woman will have a son; and the child that will be born at the end of the month and the fortnight will be a warrior fully armed.' So I took them with me, and maintained them. And they were with me for a year. And that year I had them with me not grudgingly. But thenceforth was there murmuring, because that they were with me. For from the beginning of the fourth month they had begun to make themselves hated and to be disorderly in the land; committing outrages, and molesting and harassing the nobles and ladies; and thenceforward my people rose up and besought me to part with them, and they bade me to choose between them and my dominions. And I applied to the council of my country to know what should be done concerning them; for of their own free will they would not go, neither could they be compelled against their will, through fighting. And [the people of the country,] being in this strait, they caused a chamber to be made all of iron. Now when the chamber was ready, there came there every smith that was in Ireland, and every one who owned tongs and hammer. And they caused coals to be piled up as high as the top of the chamber. And they had the man, and the woman, and the children, served with plenty of meat and drink; but when it was known that they were drunk, they began to put fire to the coals about the chamber, and they blew it with bellows until the house was red hot all around them. Then was there a council held in the centre of the floor of the chamber. And the man tarried until the plates of iron were all of a white heat; and then, by reason of the great heat, the man dashed against the plates with his shoulder and struck them out, and his wife followed him; but except him and his wife none escaped thence. And then I suppose, lord," said Matholwch unto Bendigeid Vran, "that he came over unto thee." "Doubtless he came here," said he, "and gave unto me the cauldron." "In what manner didst thou receive them?" "I dispersed them through every part of my dominions, and they have become numerous and are prospering everywhere, and they fortify the places where they are with men and arms, of the best that were ever seen." That night they continued to discourse as much as they would, and had minstrelsy and carousing, and when it was more pleasant to them to sleep than to sit longer, they went to rest. And thus was the banquet carried on with joyousness; and when it was finished, Matholwch journeyed towards Ireland, and Branwen with him, and they went from Aber Menei, with thirteen ships and came to Ireland. And in Ireland was there great joy because of their coming. And not one great man or noble lady visited Branwen unto whom she gave not either a clasp, or a ring, or a royal jewel to keep, such as it was honourable to be seen departing with. And in these things she spent that year in much renown, and she passed her time pleasant, enjoying honour and friendship. And in the meanwhile, it chanced that she became pregnant, and in due time a son was born unto her, and the name that they gave him was Gwern the son of Matholwch, and they put the boy out to be foster-nursed, in a place where were the best men of Ireland. And behold in the second year a tumult arose in Ireland, on account of the insult which Matholwch had received in Wales, and the payment made him for his horses. And his foster-brothers, and such as were nearest unto him, blamed him openly {48a} for that matter. And he might have no peace by reason of the tumult until they should revenge upon him this disgrace. And the vengeance which they took was to drive away Branwen from the same chamber with him, and to make her cook {48b} for the court; and they caused the butcher, after he had cut up the meat, to come to her and give her every day a blow on the ear, and such they made her punishment. "Verily, lord," said his men to Matholwch, "forbid now the ships and the ferry boats and the coracles, that they go not into Wales, and such as come over from Wales hither, imprison them that they go not back for this thing to be known there." And they did so; and it was thus for no less than three years. {Picture: p49.jpg} And Branwen reared a starling in the cover of the kneading trough, and she taught it to speak, and she taught the bird what manner of man her brother was. And she wrote a letter of her woes, and the despite with which she was treated, and she bound the letter to the root of the bird's wing, and sent it towards Wales. And the bird came to this Island, and one day it found Bendigeid Vran at Caer Seiont in Arvon, conferring there, and it alighted upon his shoulder and ruffled its feathers, so that the letter was seen, and they knew that the bird had been reared in a domestic manner. Then Bendigeid Vran took the letter and looked upon it. And when he had read the letter, he grieved exceedingly at the tidings of Branwen's woes. And immediately he began sending messengers to summon the Island together. And he caused seven score and four countries to come unto him, and he complained to them himself of the grief that his sister endured. So they took counsel. And in the counsel they resolved to go to Ireland, and to leave seven men as princes here. And Caradawc the son of Bran, as the chief of them, and their seven knights. In Edeyrnion, were these men left. And for this reason were the seven knights placed in the town. {50a} Now the names of these seven were Caradawc the son of Bran, and Heveydd Hir, and Unic Glew Ysgwyd, and Iddic the son of Anarawc Gwalltgrwn, and Fodor the son of Ervyll, and Gwlch Minascwrn, and Llassar the son of Llaesar Llaesgygwyd, and Pendaran Dyved as a young page with them. And these abode as seven ministers to take charge of this Island; and Caradawc the son of Bran was the chief amongst them. Bendigeid Vran, with the hosts of which we spoke, sailed towards Ireland, and it was not far across the sea, and he came to shoal water. It was but by two rivers; the Lli and the Archan were they called; and the nations covered the sea. {50b} Then he proceeded with what provisions he had on his own back, and approached the shore of Ireland. Now the swineherds of Matholwch were upon the sea shore, and they came to Matholwch. "Lord," said they, "greeting be unto thee." "Heaven protect you," said he, "have you any news?" "Lord," said they, "we have marvellous news; a wood have we seen upon the sea, in a place where we never yet saw a single tree." "This is indeed a marvel," said he; "saw you aught else?" "We saw, lord," said they, "a vast mountain beside the wood, which moved, and there was a lofty ridge on the top of the mountain, and a lake on each side of the ridge. And the wood, and the mountain, and all these things moved." "Verily," said he, "there is none who can know aught concerning this, unless it be Branwen." Messengers then went unto Branwen. "Lady," said they, "What thinkest thou that this is?" "The men of the Island of the Mighty, who have come hither on hearing of my ill treatment and my woes." "What is the forest that is seen upon the sea?" asked they. "The yards and the masts of ships," she answered. "Alas," said they, "what is the mountain that is seen by the side of the ships?" "Bendigeid Vran, my brother," she replied, "coming to shoal water; there is no ship that can contain him in it." "What is the lofty ridge with the lake on each side thereof?" "On looking towards this Island he is wroth, and his two eyes on each side of his nose are the two lakes on each side of the ridge." The warriors and chief men of Ireland were brought together in haste, and they took counsel. "Lord," said the nobles unto Matholwch, "there is no other counsel than to retreat over the Linon, (a river which is {52a} in Ireland,) and to keep the river between thee and him, and to break down the bridge that is across the river, for there is a load-stone at the bottom of the river that neither ship nor vessel can pass over." So they retreated across the river, and broke down the bridge. Bendigeid Vran came to land, and the fleet with him by the bank of the river. "Lord," said his chieftains, "knowest thou the nature of this river, that nothing can go across it, and there is no bridge over it?" "What," said they, "is thy counsel concerning a bridge?" "There is none," said he, "except that he who will be chief let him be a bridge. I will be so," said he. And then was that saying first uttered, and it is still used as a proverb. And when he had lain down across the river, hurdles were placed upon him, and the host passed over thereby. And as he rose up, behold the messengers of Matholwch came to him, and saluted him, and gave him greeting in the name of Matholwch, his kinsman, and showed how that of his good will he had merited of him nothing but good. "For Matholwch has given the kingdom of Ireland to Gwern the son of Matholwch, thy nephew and thy sister's son. And this he places before thee, as a compensation for the wrong and despite that has been done unto Branwen. And Matholwch shall be maintained wheresoever thou wilt, either here or in the Island of the Mighty." Said Bendigeid Vran, "Shall not I myself have the kingdom? {52b} Then peradventure I may take counsel concerning your message. From this time until then no other answer will you get from me." "Verily," said they, "the best message that we receive for thee, we will convey it unto thee, and do thou await our message unto him." "I will wait," answered he, "and do you return quickly." The messengers set forth and came to Matholwch. "Lord," said they, "prepare a better message for Bendigeid Vran. He would not listen at all to the message that we bore him." "My friends," said Matholwch, "what may be your counsel?" "Lord," said they, "there is no other counsel than this alone. He was never known to be within a house, make therefore a house that will contain him and the men of the Island of the Mighty on the one side, and thyself and thy host on the other; and give over thy kingdom to his will, and do him homage. So by reason of the honour thou doest him in making him a house, whereas he never before had a house to contain him, he will make peace with thee." So the messengers went back to Bendigeid Vran, bearing him this message. And he took counsel, and in the council it was resolved that he should accept this, and this was all done by the advice of Branwen, and lest the country should be destroyed. And this peace was made, and the house was built both vast and strong. But the Irish planned a crafty device, and the craft was that they should put brackets on each side of the hundred pillars that were in the house, and should place a leathern bag on each bracket, and an armed man in every one of them. Then Evnissyen came in before the host of the Island of the Mighty, and scanned the house with fierce and savage looks, and descried the leathern bags which were around the pillars. "What is in this bag?" asked he of one of the Irish. "Meal, good soul," said he. And Evnissyen felt about it until he came to the man's head, and he squeezed the head until he felt his fingers meet together in the brain through the bone. And he left that one and put his hand upon another, and asked what was therein? "Meal," said the Irishman. So he did the like unto every one of them, until he had not left alive of all the two hundred men save one only; and when he came to him, he asked what was there? "Meal, good soul," said the Irishman. And he felt about until he felt the head, and he squeezed that head as he had done the others. And albeit he found that the head of this one was armed, he left him not until he had killed him. And then he sang an Englyn,-- "There is in this bag a different sort of meal, The ready combatant, when the assault is made By his fellow warriors, prepared for battle." Thereupon came the hosts unto the house. The men of the Island of Ireland entered the house on the one side, and the men of the Island of the Mighty on the other. And as soon as they had sat down, there was concord between them; and the sovereignty was conferred upon the boy. When the peace was concluded, Bendigeid Vran called the boy unto him, and from Bendigeid Vran the boy went unto Manawyddan, and he was beloved by all that beheld him. And from Manawyddan the boy was called by Nissyen the son of Eurosswydd, and the boy went unto him lovingly. "Wherefore," said Evnissyen, "comes not my nephew the son of my sister unto me? Though he were not king of Ireland, yet willingly would I fondle the boy." "Cheerfully let him go to thee," said Bendigeid Vran, and the boy went unto him cheerfully. "By my confession to Heaven," said Evnissyen in his heart, "unthought of by the household is the slaughter that I will this instant commit." Then he arose and took up the boy by the feet, and before any one in the house could seize hold of him, he thrust the boy headlong into the blazing fire. And when Branwen saw her son burning in the fire, she strove to leap into the fire also, from the place where she sat between her two brothers. But Bendigeid Vran grasped her with one hand, and his shield with the other. Then they all hurried about the house, and never was there made so great a tumult by any host in one house as was made by them, as each man armed himself. Then said Morddwydtyllyon, "The gad- flies of Morddwydtyllyon's Cow!" And while they all sought their arms, Bendigeid Vran supported Branwen between his shield and his shoulder. Then the Irish kindled a fire under the cauldron of renovation, and they cast the dead bodies into the cauldron until it was full, and the next day they came forth fighting men as good as before, except that they were not able to speak. Then when Evnissyen saw the dead bodies of the men of the Island of the Mighty nowhere resuscitated, he said in his heart, "Alas! woe is me, that I should have been the cause of bringing the men of the Island of the Mighty into so great a strait. Evil betide me if I find not a deliverance therefrom." And he cast himself among the dead bodies of the Irish, and two unshod Irishmen came to him, and, taking him to be one of the Irish, flung him into the cauldron. And he stretched himself out in the cauldron, so that he rent the cauldron into four pieces, and burst his own heart also. In consequence of that, the men of the Island of the Mighty obtained such success as they had; but they were not victorious, for only seven men of them all escaped, and Bendigeid Vran himself was wounded in the foot with a poisoned dart. Now the seven men that escaped were Pryderi, Manawyddan, Gluneu {56a} Eil Taran, Taliesin, Ynawc, Grudyen {56b} the son of Muryel, and Heilyn the son of Gwynn Hen. And Bendigeid Vran commanded them that they should cut off his head. "And take you my head," said he, "and bear it even unto the White Mount, in London, and bury it there, with the face towards France. And a long time will you be upon the road. In Harlech you will be feasting seven years, the birds of Rhiannon singing unto you the while. And all that time the head will be to you as pleasant company as it ever was when on my body. And at Gwales in Penvro you will be fourscore years, and you may remain there, and the head with you uncorrupted, until you open the door that looks towards Aber Henvelen, and towards Cornwall. And after you have opened that door, there you may no longer tarry, set forth then to London to bury the head and go straight forward." So they cut off his head, and these seven went forward therewith. And Branwen was the eighth with them, and they came to land at Aber Alaw, in Talebolyon, and they sat down to rest. And Branwen looked towards Ireland and towards the Island of the Mighty, to see if she could descry them. "Alas," said she, "woe is me that I was ever born; two Islands have been destroyed because of me!" Then she uttered a loud groan and there broke her heart. And they made her a four-sided grave and buried her upon the banks of the Alaw. Then the seven men journeyed forward towards Harlech, bearing the head with them; and as they went behold there met them a multitude of men and of women. "Have you any tidings?" asked Manawyddan. "We have none," said they, "save that Caswallawn, the son of Beli, has conquered the Island of the Mighty, and is crowned King in London." "What has become," said they, "of Caradawc the son of Bran, and the seven men who were left with him in this Island?" "Caswallawn came upon them, and slew six of the men, and Caradawc's heart broke for grief thereof; for he could see the sword that slew the men, but knew not who it was that wielded it. Caswallawn had flung upon him the Veil of Illusion, so that no one could see him slay the men, but the sword only could they see. And it liked him not to slay Caradawc, because he was his nephew the son of his cousin. And now he was the third whose heart had broke through grief. Pendaran Dyved, who had remained as a young page with these men, escaped into the wood," said they. Then they went on to Harlech, and there stopped to rest, and they provided meat and liquor, and sat down to eat and to drink. And there came three birds, and began singing unto them a certain song, and all the songs they had ever heard were unpleasant compared thereto; and the birds seemed to them to be at a great distance from them over the sea, yet they appeared as distinct as if they were close by; and at this repast they continued seven years. And at the close of the seventh year, they went forth to Gwales in Penvro. And there they found a fair and regal spot overlooking the ocean; and a spacious hall was therein. And they went into the hall, and two of its doors were open, but the third door was closed, that which looked towards Cornwall. "See, yonder," said Manawyddan, "is the door that we may not open." And that night they regaled themselves and were joyful. And of all they had seen of food laid before them, and of all they had heard of, they remembered nothing; neither of that, nor of any sorrow whatsoever. And there they remained fourscore years, unconscious of having ever spent a time more joyous and mirthful. And they were not more weary than when first they came, neither did they, any of them, know the time they had been there. And it was not more irksome to them having the head with them, than if Bendigeid Vran had been with them himself. And because of these fourscore years, it was called the entertaining of the noble head. The entertaining of Branwen and Matholwch was in the time that they went to Ireland. One day said Heilyn the son of Gwynn, "Evil betide me, if I do not open the door to know if that is true which is said concerning it." So he opened the door and looked towards Cornwall and Aber Henvelen. And when they had looked, they were as conscious of all the evils they had ever sustained, and of all the friends and companions they had lost, and of all the misery that had befallen them, as if all had happened in that very spot; {59a} and especially of the fate of their lord. And because of their perturbation they could not rest, {59b} but journeyed forth with the head towards London. And they buried the head in the White Mount, and when it was buried, this was the third goodly concealment; and it was the third ill-fated disclosure when it was disinterred, inasmuch as no invasion from across the sea came to this Island, while the head was in that concealment. And thus is the story related of those who journeyed over from Ireland. In Ireland none were left alive, except five pregnant women in a cave in the Irish wilderness; and to these five women in the same night were born five sons, whom they nursed until they became grown up youths. And they thought about wives, and they at the same time desired to possess them, and each took a wife of the mothers of their companions, and they governed the country and peopled it. And these five divided it amongst them, and because of this partition are the five divisions of Ireland still so termed. And they examined the land where the battles had taken place, and they found gold and silver until they became wealthy. And thus ends this portion of the Mabinogi, concerning the blow given to Branwen, which was the third unhappy blow of this Island; and concerning the entertainment of Bran, when the hosts of sevenscore countries and ten went over to Ireland, to revenge the blow given to Branwen; and concerning the seven years' banquet in Harlech, and the singing of the birds of Rhiannon, and the sojourning of the head for the space of fourscore years. {Picture: p60.jpg} MANAWYDDAN THE SON OF LLYR. {Picture: p61.jpg} When the seven men of whom we spoke above, had buried the head of Bendigeid Vran, in the White Mount in London, with its face towards France, Manawyddan gazed upon the town of London, and upon his companions, and heaved a great sigh, and much grief and heaviness came upon him. "Alas, Almighty Heaven, woe is me," he exclaimed, "there is none save myself without a resting place this night." "Lord," said Pryderi, "be not so sorrowful. Thy cousin is king of the Island of the Mighty, and though he should do thee wrong, thou hast never been a claimant of land or possessions. Thou art the third disinherited {62a} prince." "Yea," answered he, "but although this man is my cousin, it grieveth me to see any one in the place of my brother Bendigeid Vran, neither can I be happy in the same dwelling with him." "Wilt thou follow the counsel of another?" {62b} said Pryderi. "I stand in need of counsel," he answered, "and what may that counsel be?" "Seven Cantrevs remain unto me," said Pryderi, "wherein Rhiannon my mother dwells, I will bestow her upon thee and the seven Cantrevs with her, and though thou hadst no possessions but those Cantrevs only, thou couldst not have seven Cantrevs fairer than they. Kicva, the daughter of Gwynn Gloyw, is my wife, and since the inheritance of the Cantrevs belongs to me, do thou and Rhiannon enjoy them, and if thou ever desire any possessions thou wilt take these." "I do not, chieftain," said he; "Heaven reward thee for thy friendship." "I would show thee the best friendship in the world if thou wouldst let me." "I will, my friend," said he, "and Heaven reward thee. I will go with thee to seek Rhiannon and to look at thy possessions." "Thou wilt do well," he answered. "And I believe that thou didst never hear a lady discourse better than she, and when she was in her prime none was ever fairer. Even now her aspect is not uncomely." {62c} They set forth, and, however long the journey, they came at length to Dyved, and a feast was prepared for them against their coming to Narberth, which Rhiannon and Kicva had provided. Then began Manawyddan and Rhiannon to sit and to talk together, and from their discourse his mind and his thoughts became warmed towards her, and he thought in his heart he had never beheld any lady more fulfilled of grace and beauty than she. "Pryderi," said he, "I will that it be as thou didst say." "What saying was that?" asked Rhiannon. "Lady," said Pryderi, "I did offer thee as a wife to Manawyddan the son of Llyr." "By that will I gladly abide," said Rhiannon. "Right glad am I also," said Manawyddan, "May Heaven reward him who hath shewn unto me friendship so perfect as this." And before the feast was over she became his bride. Said Pwyll, "Tarry ye here the rest of the feast, and I will go into England to tender my homage unto Caswallawn the son of Beli." "Lord," said Rhiannon, "Caswallawn is in Kent, thou mayest therefore tarry at the feast, and wait until he shall be nearer." "We will wait," he answered. So they finished the feast. And they began to make the circuit of Dyved and to hunt, and to take their pleasure. And as they went through the country, they had never seen lands more pleasant to live in, nor better hunting grounds, nor greater plenty of honey and fish. And such was the friendship between those four, that they would not be parted from each other by night nor by day. And in the midst of all this he went to Caswallawn at Oxford, and tendered his homage; and honourable was his reception there, and highly was he praised for offering his homage. And after his return, Pryderi and Manawyddan feasted and took their ease and pleasure. And they began a feast at Narberth, for it was the chief palace; and there originated all honour. And when they had ended the first meal that night, while those who served them eat, they arose and went forth, and proceeded all four to the Gorsedd of Narberth, and their retinue with them. And as they sat thus, behold a peal of thunder, and with the violence of the thunderstorm, lo there came a fall of mist, so thick that not one of them could see the other. And after the mist it became light all around. And when they looked towards the place where they were wont to see cattle, and herds, and dwellings, they saw nothing now, neither house, nor beast, nor smoke, nor fire, nor man, nor dwelling; but the houses of the court empty, and desert, and uninhabited, without either man, or beast within them. And truly all their companions were lost to them, without their knowing aught of what had befallen them, save those four only. "In the name of Heaven," cried Manawyddan, "where are they of the court, and all my host beside these? Let us go and see." So they came into the hall, and there was no man; and they went on to the castle, and to the sleeping-place, and they saw none; and in the mead-cellar and in the kitchen there was nought but desolation. So they four feasted, and hunted, and took their pleasure. Then they began to go through the land and all the possessions that they had, and they visited the houses and dwellings, and found nothing but wild beasts. And when they had consumed their feast and all their provisions, they fed upon the prey they killed in hunting, {65} and the honey of the wild swarms. And thus they passed the first year pleasantly, and the second; but at the last they began to be weary. "Verily," said Manawyddan, "we must not bide thus. Let us go into England, and seek some craft whereby we may gain our support." So they went into England, and came as far as Hereford. And they betook themselves to making saddles. And Manawyddan began to make housings, and he gilded and coloured them with blue enamel, in the manner that he had seen it done by Llasar Llaesgywydd. And he made the blue enamel as it was made by the other man. And therefore is it still called Calch Lassar, [blue enamel,] because Llassar Llaesgywydd had wrought it. {Picture: p65.jpg} And as long as that workmanship could be had of Manawyddan, neither saddle nor housing was bought of a saddler throughout all Hereford; till at length every one of the saddlers perceived that they were losing much of their gain, and that no man bought of them, but he who could not get what he sought from Manawyddan. Then they assembled together, and agreed to slay him and his companions. Now they received warning of this, and took counsel whether they should leave the city. "By Heaven," said Pryderi, "it is not my counsel that we should quit the town, but that we should slay these boors." "Not so," said Manawyddan, "for if we fight with them, we shall have evil fame, and shall be put in prison. It were better for us to go to another town to maintain ourselves." So they four went to another city. "What craft shall we take?" said Pryderi. "We will make shields," said Manawyddan. "Do we know anything about that craft?" said Pryderi. "We will try," answered he. There they began to make shields, and fashioned them after the shape of the good shields they had seen; and they enamelled them, as they had done the saddles. And they prospered in that place, so that not a shield was asked for in the whole town, but such as was had of them. Rapid therefore was their work, and numberless were the shields they made. But at last they were marked by the craftsmen, who came together in haste, and their fellow-townsmen with them, and agreed that they should seek to slay them. But they received warning, and heard how the men had resolved on their destruction. "Pryderi," said Manawyddan, "these men desire to slay us." "Let us not endure this from these boors, but let us rather fall upon them and slay them." "Not so," he answered, "Caswallawn and his men will hear of it, and we shall be undone. Let us go to another town." So to another town they went. "What craft shall we take?" said Manawyddan. "Whatsoever thou wilt that we know," said Pryderi. "Not so," he replied, "but let us take to making shoes, for there is not courage among cordwainers either to fight with us or to molest us." "I know nothing thereof," said Pryderi. "But I know," answered Manawyddan; "and I will teach thee to stitch. We will not attempt to dress the leather, but we will buy it ready dressed and will make the shoes from it." So he began by buying the best cordwal that could be had in the town, and none other would he buy except the leather for the soles; and he associated himself with the best goldsmith in the town, and caused him to make clasps for the shoes, and to gild the clasps, and he marked how it was done until he learned the method. And therefore was he called one of the three makers of Gold Shoes; and, when they could be had from him, not a shoe nor hose was bought of any of the cordwainers in the town. But when the cordwainers perceived that their gains were failing, (for as Manawyddan shaped the work, so Pryderi stitched it,) they came together and took counsel, and agreed that they would slay them. "Pryderi," said Manawyddan, "these men are minded to slay us." "Wherefore should we bear this from the boorish thieves?" said Pryderi. "Rather let us slay them all." "Not so," said Manawyddan, "we will not slay them, neither will we remain in England any longer. Let us set forth to Dyved and go to see it." So they journeyed along until they came to Dyved, and they went forward to Narberth. And there they kindled a fire and supported themselves by hunting. And thus they spent a month. And they gathered their dogs around them, and tarried there one year. {Picture: p68.jpg} And one morning Pryderi and Manawyddan rose up to hunt, and they ranged their dogs and went forth from the palace. And some of the dogs ran before them and came to a small bush which was near at hand; but as soon as they were come to the bush, they hastily drew back and returned to the men, their hair bristling up greatly. "Let us go near to the bush," said Pryderi, "and see what is in it." And as they came near, behold, a wild boar of a pure white colour rose up from the bush. Then the dogs being set on by the men, rushed towards him, but he left the bush and fell back a little way from the men, and made a stand against the dogs without retreating from them, until the men had come near. And when the men came up, he fell back a second time, and betook him to flight. Then they pursued the boar until they beheld a vast and lofty castle, all newly built, in a place where they had never before seen either stone or building. And the boar ran swiftly into the castle and the dogs after him. Now when the boar and the dogs had gone into the castle, they began to wonder at finding a castle in a place where they had never before then seen any building whatsoever. And from the top of the Gorsedd they looked and listened for the dogs. But so long as they were there they heard not one of the dogs nor aught concerning them. "Lord," said Pryderi, "I will go into the castle to get tidings of the dogs." "Truly," he replied, "thou wouldst be unwise to go into this castle, which thou hast never seen till now. If thou wouldst follow my counsel, thou wouldst not enter therein. Whosoever has cast a spell over this land, has caused this castle to be here." "Of a truth," answered Pryderi, "I cannot thus give up my dogs." And for all the counsel that Manawyddan gave him, yet to the castle he went. When he came within the castle, neither man nor beast, nor boar nor dogs, nor house nor dwelling saw he within it. But in the centre of the castle floor he beheld a fountain with marble work around it, and on the margin of the fountain a golden bowl upon a marble slab, and chains hanging from the air, to which he saw no end. And he was greatly pleased with the beauty of the gold, and with the rich workmanship of the bowl, and he went up to the bowl and laid hold of it. And when he had taken hold of it his hands stuck to the bowl, and his feet to the slab on which the bowl was placed, and all his joyousness forsook him, so that he could not utter a word. And thus he stood. And Manawyddan waited for him till near the close of the day. And late in the evening, being certain that he should have no tidings of Pryderi or of the dogs, he went back to the palace. And as he entered, Rhiannon looked at him, "Where," said she, "are thy companion and thy dogs?" "Behold," he answered, "the adventure that has befallen me." And he related it all unto her. "An evil companion hast thou been," said Rhiannon, "and a good companion hast thou lost." And with that word she went out, and proceeded towards the castle according to the direction which he gave her. The gate of the castle she found open. She was nothing daunted, and she went in. And as she went in, she perceived Pryderi laying hold of the bowl, and she went towards him. "Oh my lord," said she, "what dost thou here?" And she took hold of the bowl with him; and as she did so, her hands also became fast to the bowl, and her feet to the slab, and she was not able to utter a word. And with that, as it became night, lo there came thunder upon them, and a fall of mist, and thereupon the castle vanished, and they with it. When Kicva the daughter of Gwynn Gloew saw that there was no one in the palace but herself and Manawyddan, she sorrowed so that she cared not whether she lived or died. And Manawyddan saw this. "Thou art in the wrong," said he, "if through fear of me thou grievest thus. I call Heaven to witness that thou hast never seen friendship more pure than that which I will bear thee, as long as Heaven will that thou shouldst be thus. I declare to thee that were I in the dawn of youth I would keep my faith unto Pryderi, and unto thee also will I keep it. Be there no fear upon thee, therefore," said he, "for Heaven is my witness that thou shall meet with all the friendship thou canst wish, and that it is in my power to show thee, as long as it shall please Heaven to continue us in this grief and woe." "Heaven reward thee," she said, "and that is what I deemed of thee." And the damsel thereupon took courage and was glad. "Truly, lady," said Manawyddan, "it is not fitting for us to stay here, we have lost our dogs, and we cannot get food. Let us go into England; it is easiest for us to find support there." "Gladly, lord," said she, "we will do so." And they set forth together to England. "Lord," said she, "What craft wilt thou follow? Take up one that is seemly." "None other will I take," answered he, "save that of making shoes, as I did formerly." "Lord," said she, "such a craft becomes not a man so nobly born as thou." "By that however will I abide," said he. So he began his craft, and he made all his work of the finest leather he could get in the town, and, as he had done at the other place, he caused gilded clasps to be made for the shoes. {71} And except himself all the cordwainers in the town were idle, and without work. For as long as they could be had from him, neither shoes nor hose were bought elsewhere. And thus they tarried there a year, until the cordwainers became envious, and took counsel concerning him. And he had warning thereof, and it was told him how the cordwainers had agreed together to slay him. "Lord," said Kicva, "Wherefore should this be borne from these boors?" "Nay," said he, "we will go back unto Dyved." So towards Dyved they set forth. Now Manawyddan, when he set out to return to Dyved, took with him a burden of wheat. And he proceeded towards Narberth, and there he dwelt. And never was he better pleased than when he saw Narberth again, and the lands where he had been wont to hunt with Pryderi and with Rhiannon. And he accustomed himself to fish, and to hunt the deer in their covert. And then he began to prepare some ground and he sowed a croft, and a second, and a third. And no wheat in the world ever sprung up better. And the three crofts prospered with perfect growth, and no man ever saw fairer wheat than it. And thus passed the seasons of the year until the harvest came. And he went to look at one of his crofts, and behold it was ripe. "I will reap this to-morrow," said he. And that night he went back to Narberth, and on the morrow in the grey dawn he went to reap the croft, and when he came there he found nothing but the bare straw. Every one of the ears of the wheat was cut from off the stalk, and all the ears carried entirely away, and nothing but the straw left. And at this he marvelled greatly. Then he went to look at another croft, and behold that also was ripe. "Verily," said he, "this will I reap to-morrow." And on the morrow he came with the intent to reap it, and when he came there he found nothing but the bare straw. "Oh gracious Heaven," he exclaimed, "I know that whosoever has begun my ruin is completing it, and has also destroyed the country with me." Then he went to look at the third croft, and when he came there, finer wheat had there never been seen, and this also was ripe. "Evil betide me," said he, "if I watch not here to-night. Whoever carried off the other corn will come in like manner to take this. And I will know who it is." So he took his arms, and began to watch the croft. And he told Kicva all that had befallen. "Verily," said she, "what thinkest thou to do?" "I will watch the croft to-night," said he. And he went to watch the croft. And at midnight, lo! there arose the loudest tumult in the world. And he looked, and behold the mightiest host of mice in the world, which could neither be numbered nor measured. And he knew not what it was until the mice had made their way into the croft, and each of them climbing up the straw and bending it down with its weight, and had cut off one of the ears of wheat, and had carried it away, leaving there the stalk, and he saw not a single straw there that had not a mouse to it. And they all took their way, carrying the ears with them. In wrath and anger did he rush upon the mice, but he could no more come up with them than if they had been gnats, or birds in the air, except one only, which though it was but sluggish, went so fast that a man on foot could scarce overtake it. {73} And after this one he went, and he caught it and put it in his glove, and tied up the opening of the glove with a string, and kept it with him, and returned to the palace. Then he came to the hall where Kicva was, and he lighted a fire, and hung the glove by the string upon a peg. "What hast thou there, lord?" said Kicva. "A thief," said he, "that I found robbing me." "What kind of thief may it be, lord, that thou couldst put into thy glove?" said she. "Behold I will tell thee," he answered. Then he showed her how his fields had been wasted and destroyed, and how the mice came to the last of the fields in his sight. "And one of them was less nimble than the rest, and is now in my glove; to-morrow I will hang it, and before Heaven, if I had them, I would hang them all." "My lord," said she, "this is marvellous; but yet it would be unseemly for a man of dignity like thee to be hanging such a reptile as this. And if thou doest right, thou wilt not meddle with the creature, but wilt let it go." "Woe betide me," said he, "if I would not hang them all could I catch them, and such as I have I will hang." "Verily, lord," said she, "there is no reason that I should succour this reptile, except to prevent discredit unto thee. Do therefore, lord, as thou wilt." "If I knew of any cause in the world wherefore thou shouldst succour it, I would take thy counsel concerning it," said Manawyddan, "but as I know of none, lady, I am minded to destroy it." "Do so willingly then," said she. And then he went to the Gorsedd of Narberth, taking the mouse with him. And he set up two forks on the highest part of the Gorsedd. And while he was doing this, behold he saw a scholar coming towards him, in old and poor and tattered garments. And it was now seven years since he had seen in that place either man or beast, except those four persons who had remained together until two of them were lost. "My lord," said the scholar, "good day to thee." "Heaven prosper thee, and my greeting be unto thee. And whence dost thou come, scholar?" asked he. "I come, lord, from singing in England; and wherefore dost thou enquire?" "Because for the last seven years," answered he, "I have seen no man here save four secluded persons, and thyself this moment." "Truly, lord," said he, "I go through this land unto mine own. And what work art thou upon, lord?" "I am hanging a thief that I caught robbing me," said he. "What manner of thief is that?" asked the scholar. "I see a creature in thy hand like unto a mouse, and ill does it become a man of rank equal to thine, to touch a reptile such as this. Let it go forth free." "I will not let it go free, by Heaven," said he; "I caught it robbing me, and the doom of a thief will I inflict upon it and I will hang it." "Lord," said he, "rather than see a man of rank equal to thine at such a work as this, I would give thee a pound which I have received as alms, to let the reptile go forth free." "I will not let it go free," said he, "by Heaven, neither will I sell it." "As thou wilt, lord," he answered, "except that I would not see a man of rank equal to thine touching such a reptile, I care nought." And the scholar went his way. And as he was placing the cross-beam upon the two forks, behold a priest came towards him upon a horse covered with trappings. "Good day to thee, lord," said he. "Heaven prosper thee," said Manawyddan; "thy blessing." "The blessing of Heaven be upon thee. And what, lord, art thou doing?" "I am hanging a thief that I caught robbing me," said he. "What manner of thief, lord?" asked he. "A creature," he answered, "in form of a mouse. It has been robbing me, and I am inflicting upon it the doom of a thief." "Lord," said he, "rather than see thee touch this reptile, I would purchase its freedom." "By my confession to Heaven, neither will I sell it nor set it free." "It is true, lord, that it is worth nothing to buy; but rather than see thee defile thyself by touching such a reptile as this, I will give thee three pounds to let it go." "I will not, by Heaven," said he, "take any price for it. As it ought, so shall it be hanged." "Willingly, lord, do thy good pleasure." And the priest went his way. Then he noosed the string around the mouse's neck, and as he was about to draw it up, behold, he saw a bishop's retinue, with his sumpter-horses, and his attendants. And the bishop himself came towards him. And he stayed his work. "Lord bishop," said he, "thy blessing." "Heaven's blessing be unto thee," said he, "What work art thou upon?" "Hanging a thief that I caught robbing me," said he. "Is not that a mouse that I see in thy hand?" "Yes," answered he. "And she has robbed me." "Aye," said he, "since I have come at the doom of this reptile I will ransom it of thee. I will give thee seven pounds for it, and that rather than see a man of rank equal to thine destroying so vile a reptile as this. Let it loose and thou shall have the money." "I declare to Heaven that I will not set it loose." "If thou wilt not loose it for this, I will give thee four and twenty pounds of ready money to set it free." "I will not set it free, by Heaven, for as much again," said he. "If thou wilt not set it free for this, I will give thee all the horses that thou seest in this plain, and the seven loads of baggage, and the seven horses that they are upon." "By Heaven, I will not," he replied. "Since for this thou wilt not, do so at what price soever thou wilt." "I will do so," said he. "I will that Rhiannon and Pryderi be free," said he. "That thou shall have," he answered. "Not yet will I loose the mouse, by Heaven." "What then wouldst thou?" "That the charm and the illusion be removed from the seven Cantrevs of Dyved." "This shall thou have also, set therefore the mouse free." "I will not set it free, by Heaven," said he. "I will know who the mouse may be." "She is my wife." "Even though she be, I will not set her free. Wherefore came she to me?" "To despoil thee," he answered. "I am Llwyd the son of Kilcoed, and I cast the charm over the seven Cantrevs of Dyved. And it was to avenge Gwawl the son of Clud, from the friendship I had towards him, that I cast the charm. And upon Pryderi did I revenge Gwawl the son of Clud, for the game of Badger in the Bag, that Pwyll Pen Annwn played upon him, which he did unadvisedly in the court of Heveydd Hen. And when it was known that thou wast come to dwell in the land, my household came and besought me to transform them into mice, that they might destroy thy corn. And it was my own household that went the first night. And the second night also they went, and they destroyed thy two crofts. And the third night came unto me my wife and the ladies of the court, and besought me to transform them. And I transformed them. Now she is pregnant. And had she not been pregnant thou wouldst not have been able to overtake her, but since this has taken place and she has been caught, I will restore thee Pryderi and Rhiannon; and I will take the charm and illusion from off Dyved. I have now told thee who she is. Set her therefore free." "I will not set her free, by Heaven," said he. "What wilt thou more?" he asked. "I will that there be no more charm upon the seven Cantrevs of Dyved, and that none shall be put upon it henceforth." "This thou shalt have," said he. "Now set her free." "I will not by my faith," he answered. "What wilt thou furthermore," asked he. "Behold," said he, "this will I have; that vengeance be never taken for this, either upon Pryderi or Rhiannon, or upon me." "All this shalt thou have. And truly thou hast done wisely in asking this. Upon thy head would have lit all this trouble." "Yea," said he, "for fear thereof was it, that I required this." "Set now my wife at liberty." "I will not, by Heaven," said he, "until I see Pryderi and Rhiannon with me free." "Behold, here they come," he answered. And thereupon behold Pryderi and Rhiannon. And he rose up to meet them, and greeted them, and sat down beside them. "Ah chieftain, set now my wife at liberty," said the bishop. "Hast thou not received all thou didst ask?" "I will release her gladly," said he. And thereupon he set her free. Then he struck her with a magic wand, and she was changed back into a young woman, the fairest ever seen. "Look around upon thy land," said he, "and then thou wilt see it all tilled and peopled, as it was in its best state." And he rose up and looked forth. And when he looked he saw all the lands tilled, and full of herds and dwellings. "What bondage," he enquired, "has there been upon Pryderi and Rhiannon?" "Pryderi has had the knockers of the gate of my palace about his neck, and Rhiannon has had the collars of the asses, after they have been carrying hay, about her neck." And such had been their bondage. And by reason of this bondage is this story called the Mabinogi of Mynnweir and Mynord. {79} And thus ends this portion of the Mabinogi. {Picture: p79.jpg} MATH THE SON OF MATHONWY. {Picture: p80.jpg} Math the son of Mathonwy was lord over Gwynedd, and Pryderi the son of Pwyll was lord over the one and twenty Cantrevs of the South; and these were the seven Cantrevs of Dyved, and the seven Cantrevs of Morganwc, the four Cantrevs of Ceredigiawn, and the three of Ystrad Tywi. At that time, Math the son of Mathonwy could not exist unless his feet were in the lap of a maiden, except only when he was prevented by the tumult of war. Now the maiden who was with him was Goewin, the daughter of Pebin of Dol Pebin, in Arvon, and she was the fairest maiden of her time who was known there. And Math dwelt always at Caer Dathyl, in Arvon, and was not able to go the circuit of the land, but Gilvaethwy the son of Don, and Eneyd {81} the son of Don, his nephews, the sons of his sister, with his household, went the circuit of the land in his stead. Now the maiden was with Math continually, and Gilvaethwy the son of Don set his affections upon her, and loved her so that he knew not what he should do because of her, and therefrom behold his hue, and his aspect, and his spirits changed for love of her, so that it was not easy to know him. One day his brother Gwydion gazed steadfastly upon him. "Youth," said he, "what aileth thee?" "Why," replied he, "what seest thou in me?" "I see," said he, "that thou hast lost thy aspect and thy hue; what, therefore, aileth thee?" "My lord, brother," he answered, "that which aileth me, it will not profit me that I should own to any." "What may it be, my soul?" said he. "Thou knowest," he said, "that Math the son of Mathonwy has this property, that if men whisper together, in a tone how low soever, if the wind meet it, it becomes known unto him." "Yes," said Gwydyon, "hold now thy peace, I know thy intent, thou lovest Goewin." When he found that his brother knew his intent, he gave the heaviest sigh in the world. "Be silent, my soul, and sigh not," he said. "It is not thereby that thou wilt succeed. I will cause," said he, "if it cannot be otherwise, the rising of Gwynedd, and Powys, and Deheubarth, to seek the maiden. Be thou of glad cheer therefore, and I will compass it." So they went unto Math the son of Mathonwy. "Lord," said Gwydion, "I have heard that there have come to the South some beasts, such as were never known in this island before." "What are they called?" he asked. "Pigs, lord." "And what kind of animals are they?" "They are small animals, and their flesh is better than the flesh of oxen." "They are small then?" "And they change their names. Swine are they now called." "Who owneth them?" "Pryderi the son of Pwyll; they were sent him from Annwn, by Arawn the king of Annwn, and still they keep that name, half hog, half pig." "Verily," asked he, "and by what means may they be obtained from him?" "I will go, lord, as one of twelve in the guise of bards, to seek the swine." "But it may be that he will refuse you," said he. "My journey will not be evil, lord," said he, "I will not come back without the swine." "Gladly," said he, "go thou forward." So he and Gilvaethwy went, and ten other men with them. And they came into Ceredigiawn, to the place that is now called Rhuddlan Teivi, where the palace of Pryderi was. In the guise of bards they came in, and they were received joyfully, and Gwydion was placed beside Pryderi that night. "Of a truth," said Pryderi, "gladly would I have a tale from some of your men yonder." "Lord," said Gwydion, "we have a custom that the first night that we come to the court of a great man, the chief of song recites. Gladly will I relate a tale." Now Gwydion was the best teller of tales in the world, and he diverted all the court that night with pleasant discourse and with tales, so that he charmed every one in the court, and it pleased Pryderi to talk with him. And after this, "Lord," said he unto Pryderi, "were it more pleasing to thee, that another should discharge my errand unto thee, than that I should tell thee myself what it is?" "No," he answered, "ample speech hast thou." "Behold, then, lord," said he, "my errand. It is to crave from thee the animals that were sent thee from Annwn." "Verily," he replied, "that were the easiest thing in the world to grant, were there not a covenant between me and my land concerning them. And the covenant is that they shall not go from me, until they have produced double their number in the land." "Lord," said he, "I can set thee free from these words, and this is the way I can do so; give me not the swine to-night, neither refuse them unto me, and to-morrow I will show thee an exchange for them." And that night he and his fellows went unto their lodging, and they took counsel. "Ah, my men," said he, "we shall not have the swine for the asking." "Well," said they, "how may they be obtained?" "I will cause them to be obtained," said Gwydion. Then he betook himself to his arts, and began to work a charm. And he caused twelve chargers to appear, and twelve black greyhounds, each of them white breasted, and having upon them twelve collars and twelve leashes, such as no one that saw them could know to be other than gold. And upon the horses twelve saddles, and every part which should have been of iron was entirely of gold, and the bridles were of the same workmanship. And with the horses and the dogs he came to Pryderi. {Picture: p84.jpg} "Good day unto thee, lord," said he. "Heaven prosper thee," said the other, "and greetings be unto thee." "Lord," said he, "behold here is a release for thee from the word which thou spakest last evening concerning the swine; that thou wouldest neither give nor sell them. Thou mayest exchange them for that which is better. And I will give these twelve horses, all caparisoned as they are, with their saddles and their bridles, and these twelve greyhounds, with their collars and their leashes as thou seest, and the twelve gilded shields that thou beholdest yonder." Now these he had formed of fungus. "Well," said he, "we will take counsel." And they consulted together, and determined to give the swine to Gwydion, and to take his horses and his dogs and his shields. Then Gwydion and his men took their leave, and began to journey forth with the pigs. "Ah, my comrades," said Gwydion, "it is needful that we journey with speed. The illusion will not last but from the one hour to the same to-morrow." And that night they journeyed as far as the upper part of Ceredigiawn, to the place which, from that cause, is called Mochdrev still. And the next day they took their course through Melenydd, and came that night to the town which is likewise for that reason called Mochdrev, between Keri and Arwystli. And thence they journeyed forward; and that night they came as far as that Commot in Powys, which also upon account thereof is called Mochnant, and there tarried they that night. And they journeyed thence to the Cantrev of Rhos, and the place where they were that night is still called Mochdrev. "My men," said Gwydion, "we must push forward to the fastnesses of Gwynedd with these animals, for there is a gathering of hosts in pursuit of us." So they journeyed on to the highest town of Arllechwedd, and there they made a sty for the swine, and therefore was the name of Creuwyryon given to that town. And after they had made the sty for the swine, they proceeded to Math the son of Mathonwy, at Caerdathyl. And when they came there, the country was rising. "What news is there here?" asked Gwydion. "Pryderi is assembling one and twenty Cantrevs to pursue after you," answered they. "It is marvellous that you should have journeyed so slowly." "Where are the animals whereof you went in quest?" said Math. "They have had a sty made for them in the other Cantrev below," said Gwydion. Thereupon, lo! they heard the trumpets and the host in the land, and they arrayed themselves and set forward and came to Penardd in Arvon. And at night Gwydion the son of Don, and Gilvaethwy his brother, returned to Caerdathyl; and Gilvaethwy took Math the son of Mathonwy's couch. And while he turned out the other damsels from the room discourteously, he made Goewin unwillingly remain. And when they saw the day on the morrow, they went back unto the place where Math the son of Mathonwy was with his host; and when they came there, the warriors were taking counsel in what district they should await the coming of Pryderi, and the men of the South. So they went in to the council. And it was resolved to wait in the strongholds of Gwynedd, in Arvon. So within the two Maenors they took their stand, Maenor Penardd and Maenor Coed Alun. And there Pryderi attacked them, and there the combat took place. And great was the slaughter on both sides; but the men of the South were forced to flee. And they fled unto the place which is still called Nantcall. And thither did they follow them, and they made a vast slaughter of them there, so that they fled again as far as the place called Dol Pen Maen, and there they halted and sought to make peace. And that he might have peace, Pryderi gave hostages, Gwrgi Gwastra gave he and three and twenty others, sons of nobles. And after this they journeyed in peace even unto Traeth Mawr; but as they went on together towards Melenryd, the men on foot could not be restrained from shooting. Pryderi despatched unto Math an embassy to pray him to forbid his people, and to leave it between him and Gwydion the son of Don, for that he had caused all this. And the messengers came to Math. "Of a truth," said Math, "I call Heaven to witness, if it be pleasing unto Gwydion the son of Don, I will so leave it gladly. Never will I compel any to go to fight, but that we ourselves should do our utmost." "Verily," said the messengers, "Pryderi saith that it were more fair that the man who did him this wrong should oppose his own body to his, and let his people remain unscathed." "I declare to Heaven, I will not ask the men of Gwynedd to fight because of me. If I am allowed to fight Pryderi myself, gladly will I oppose my body to his." And this answer they took back to Pryderi. "Truly," said Pryderi, "I shall require no one to demand my rights but myself." Then these two came forth and armed themselves, and they fought. And by force of strength, and fierceness, and by the magic and charms of Gwydion, Pryderi was slain. And at Maen Tyriawc, {87} above Melenryd, was he buried, and there is his grave. And the men of the South set forth in sorrow towards their own land; nor is it a marvel that they should grieve, seeing that they had lost their lord, and many of their best warriors, and for the most part, their horses and their arms. The men of Gwynedd went back joyful and in triumph. "Lord," said Gwydion unto Math, "would it not be right for us to release the hostages of the men of the South, which they pledged unto us for peace? for we ought not to put them in prison." "Let them then be set free," said Math. So that youth, and the other hostages that were with him, were set free to follow the men of the South. Math himself went forward to Caerdathyl. Gilvaethwy the son of Don, and they of the household that were with him went to make the circuit of Gwynedd as they were wont, without coming to the court. Math went into his chamber, and caused a place to be prepared for him whereon to recline, so that he might put his feet in the maiden's lap. "Lord," said Goewin, "seek now another {88} to hold thy feet, for I am now a wife." "What meaneth this?" said he. "An attack, lord, was made unawares upon me; but I held not my peace, and there was no one in the court who knew not of it. Now the attack was made by thy nephews, lord, the sons of thy sister, Gwydion the son of Don, and Gilvaethwy the son of Don; unto me they did wrong, and unto thee dishonour." "Verily," he exclaimed, "I will do to the utmost of my power concerning this matter. But first I will cause thee to have compensation, and then will I have amends made unto myself. As for thee, I will take thee to be my wife, and the possession of my dominions will I give unto thy hands." And Gwydion and Gilvaethwy came not near the court, but stayed in the confines of the land until it was forbidden to give them meat and drink. At first they came not near unto Math, but at last they came. "Lord," said they, "Good day to thee." "Well," said he, "is it to make me compensation that ye are come?" "Lord," they said, "we are at thy will." "By my will I would not have lost my warriors, and so many arms as I have done. You cannot compensate me my shame, setting aside the death of Pryderi. But since ye come hither to be at my will, I shall begin your punishment forthwith." Then he took his magic wand, and struck Gilvaethwy, so that he became a deer, and he seized upon the other hastily lest he should escape from him. And he struck him with the same magic wand, and he became a deer also. "Since now ye are in bonds, I will that ye go forth together and be companions, and possess the nature of the animals whose form ye bear. And this day twelvemonth come hither unto me." At the end of a year from that day, lo there was a loud noise under the chamber wall, and the barking of the dogs of the palace together with the noise. "Look," said he, "what is without." "Lord," said one, "I have looked; there are there two deer, and a fawn with them." Then he arose and went out. And when he came he beheld the three animals. And he lifted up his wand. "As ye were deer last year, be ye wild hogs each and either of you, for the year that is to come." And thereupon he struck them with the magic wand. "The young one will I take and cause to be baptized." Now the name that he gave him was Hydwn. "Go ye and be wild swine, each and either of you, and be ye of the nature of wild swine. And this day twelvemonth be ye here under the wall." At the end of the year the barking of dogs was heard under the wall of the chamber. And the court assembled, and thereupon he arose and went forth, and when he came forth he beheld three beasts. Now these were the beasts that he saw; two wild hogs of the woods, and a well-grown young one with them. And he was very large for his age. "Truly," said Math, "this one will I take and cause to be baptized." And he struck him with his magic wand, and he became a fine fair auburn haired youth, and the name that he gave him was Hychdwn. "Now as for you, as ye were wild hogs last year, be ye wolves each and either of you for the year that is to come." Thereupon he struck them with his magic wand, and they became wolves. "And be ye of like nature with the animals whose semblance ye bear, and return here this day twelvemonth beneath this wall." And the same day at the end of the year, he heard a clamour and a barking of dogs under the wall of the chamber. And he rose and went forth. And when he came, behold he saw two wolves, and a strong cub with them. "This one will I take," said Math, "and I will cause him to be baptized; there is a name prepared for him, and that is Bleiddwn. Now these three, such are they; "The three sons of Gilvaethwy the false, The three faithful combatants, Bleiddwn, Hydwn, and Hychdwn the Tall." Then he struck the two with his magic wand, and they resumed their own nature. "Oh men," said he, "for the wrong that ye did unto me, sufficient has been your punishment and your dishonour. Prepare now precious ointment for these men, and wash their heads, and equip them." And this was done. And after they were equipped, they came unto him. "Oh men," said he, "you have obtained peace, and you shall likewise have friendship. Give your counsel unto me, what maiden I shall seek." "Lord," said Gwydion the son of Don, "it is easy to give thee counsel; seek Arianrod, {91a} the daughter of Don, thy niece, thy sister's daughter." And they brought her unto him, and the maiden came in. "Ha damsel," said he, "art thou the maiden?" "I know not, Lord, other than that I am." Then he took up his magic wand, and bent it. "Step over this," said he, "and I shall know if thou art the maiden." Then stepped she over the magic wand, and there appeared forthwith a fine chubby yellow haired boy. And at the crying out of the boy, she went towards the door. And thereupon some small form was seen; but before any one could get a second glimpse of it, Gwydion had taken it, and had flung a scarf of velvet around it and hidden it. Now the place where he hid it was the bottom of a chest at the foot of his bed. "Verily," said Math the son of Mathonwy, concerning the fine yellow haired boy, "I will cause this one to be baptized, and Dylan is the name I will give him." So they had the boy baptized, and as they baptized him he plunged into the sea. And immediately when he was in the sea, he took its nature, and swam as well as the best fish that was therein. And for that reason was he called Dylan, the son of the Wave. Beneath him no wave ever broke. And the blow whereby he came to his death, was struck by his uncle Govannion. The third fatal {91b} blow was it called. As Gwydion lay one morning on his bed awake, he heard a cry in the chest at his feet; and though it was not loud, it was such that he could hear it. Then he arose in haste, and opened the chest; and when he opened it, he beheld an infant boy stretching out his arms from the folds of the scarf, and casting it aside. And he took up the boy in his arms, and carried him to a place where he knew there was a woman that could nurse him. And he agreed with the woman that she should take charge of the boy. And that year he was nursed. And at the end of the year, he seemed by his size as though he were two years old. And the second year he was a big child, and able to go to the court by himself. And when he came to the court, Gwydion noticed him, and the boy became familiar with him, and loved him better than any one else. Then was the boy reared at the court until he was four years old, when he was as big as though he had been eight. And one day Gwydion walked forth, and the boy followed him, and he went to the Castle of Arianrod, having the boy with him; and when he came into the court, Arianrod arose to meet him, and greeted him and bade him welcome. "Heaven prosper thee," said he. "Who is the boy that followeth thee?" she asked. "This youth, he is thy son," he answered. "Alas," said she, "what has come unto thee that thou shouldest shame me thus, wherefore dost thou seek my dishonour, and retain it so long as this?" "Unless thou suffer dishonour greater than that of my bringing up such a boy as this, small will be thy disgrace." "What is the name of the boy?" said she. "Verily," he replied, "he has not yet a name." "Well," she said, "I lay this destiny upon him, that he shall never have a name until he receives one from me." "Heaven bears me witness," answered he, "that thou art a wicked woman. But the boy shall have a name how displeasing soever it may be unto thee. As for thee, that which afflicts thee is that thou art no longer called a damsel." And thereupon he went forth in wrath, and returned to Caer Dathyl, and there he tarried that night. And the next day he arose and took the boy with him, and went to walk on the sea shore between that place and Aber Menei. And there he saw some sedges and sea weed, and he turned them into a boat. And out of dry sticks {93} and sedges he made some Cordovan leather, and a great deal thereof, and he coloured it in such a manner that no one ever saw leather more beautiful than it. Then he made a sail to the boat, and he and the boy went in it to the Port of the Castle of Arianrod. And he began forming shoes and stitching them, until he was observed from the castle. And when he knew that they of the castle were observing him, he disguised his aspect, and put another semblance upon himself, and upon the boy, so that they might not be known. "What men are those in yonder boat?" said Arianrod. "They are cordwainers," answered they. "Go and see what kind of leather they have, and what kind of work they can do." So they came unto them. And when they came he was colouring some Cordovan leather, and gilding it. And the messengers came and told her this. "Well," said she, "take the measure of my foot, and desire the cordwainer to make shoes for me." So he made the shoes for her, yet not according to the measure, but larger. The shoes then were brought unto her, and behold they were too large. "These are too large," said she, "but he shall receive their value. Let him also make some that are smaller than they." Then he made her others that were much smaller than her foot, and sent them unto her. "Tell him that these will not go on my feet," said she. And they told him this. "Verily," said he, "I will not make her any shoes, unless I see her foot." And this was told unto her. "Truly," she answered, "I will go unto him." So she went down to the boat, and when she came there, he was shaping shoes and the boy stitching them. "Ah, lady," said he, "good day to thee." "Heaven prosper thee," said she. "I marvel that thou canst not manage to make shoes according to a measure." "I could not," he replied, "but now I shall be able." Thereupon behold a wren stood upon the deck of the boat, and the boy shot at it, and hit it in the leg between the sinew and the bone. Then she smiled. "Verily," said she, "with a steady hand did the lion aim at it." "Heaven reward thee not, but now has he got a name. And a good enough name it is. Llew Llaw Gyffes be he called henceforth." Then the work disappeared in sea weed and sedges, and he went on with it no further. And for that reason was he called the third Gold-shoemaker. "Of a truth," said she, "thou wilt not thrive the better for doing evil unto me." "I have done thee no evil yet," said he. Then he restored the boy to his own form. "Well," said she, "I will lay a destiny upon this boy, that he shall never have arms and armour until I invest him with them." "By Heaven," said he, "let thy malice be what it may, he shall have arms." Then they went towards Dinas Dinllev, and there he brought up Llew Llaw Gyffes, until he could manage any horse, and he was perfect in features, and strength, and stature. And then Gwydion saw that he languished through the want of horses, and arms. And he called him unto him. "Ah, youth," said he, "we will go to-morrow on an errand together. Be therefore more cheerful than thou art." "That I will," said the youth. Next morning, at the dawn of day, they arose. And they took their way along the sea coast, up towards Bryn Aryen. And at the top of Cevn Clydno they equipped themselves with horses, and went towards the Castle of Arianrod. And they changed their form, and pricked towards the gate in the semblance of two youths, but the aspect of Gwydion was more staid than that of the other. "Porter," said he, "go thou in and say that there are here bards from Glamorgan." And the porter went in. "The welcome of Heaven be unto them, let them in," said Arianrod. With great joy were they greeted. And the hall was arranged, and they went to meat. When meat was ended, Arianrod discoursed with Gwydion of tales and stories. Now Gwydion was an excellent teller of tales. And when it was time to leave off feasting, a chamber was prepared for them, and they went to rest. In the early twilight Gwydion arose, and he called unto him his magic and his power. And by the time that the day dawned, there resounded through the land uproar, and trumpets, and shouts. When it was now day, they heard a knocking at the door of the chamber, and therewith Arianrod asking that it might be opened. Up rose the youth and opened unto her, and she entered and a maiden with her. "Ah, good men," she said, "in evil plight are we." "Yes truly," said Gwydion, "we have heard trumpets, and shouts; what thinkest thou that they may mean?" "Verily," said she, "we cannot see the colour of the ocean by reason of all the ships, side by side. And they are making for the land with all the speed they can. And what can we do?" said she. "Lady," said Gwydion, "there is none other counsel than to close the castle upon us, and to defend it as best we may." "Truly," said she, "may Heaven reward you. And do you defend it. And here you may have plenty of arms." And thereupon went she forth for the arms, and behold she returned, and two maidens, and suits of armour for two men, with her. "Lady," said he, "do thou accoutre this stripling, and I will arm myself with the help of thy maidens. Lo, I hear the tumult of the men approaching." "I will do so, gladly." So she armed him fully, and that right cheerfully. "Hast thou finished arming the youth," said he. "I have finished," she answered. "I likewise have finished," said Gwydion. "Let us now take off our arms, we have no need of them." "Wherefore?" said she. "Here is the army around the house." "Oh, lady, there is here no army." "Oh," cried she, "Whence then was this tumult?" "The tumult was but to break thy prophecy {96} and to obtain arms for thy son. And now has he got arms without any thanks unto thee." "By Heaven," said Arianrod, "thou art a wicked man. Many a youth might have lost his life, through the uproar thou hast caused in this Cantrev to-day. Now will I lay a destiny upon this youth," she said, "that he shall never have a wife of the race that now inhabits this earth." "Verily," said he, "thou wast ever a malicious woman, and no one ought to support thee. A wife shall he have notwithstanding." {Picture: p97.jpg} They went thereupon unto Math the son of Mathonwy, and complained unto him most bitterly of Arianrod. Gwydion showed him also how he had procured arms for the youth. "Well," said Math, "we will seek, I and thou, by charms and illusion, to form a wife for him out of flowers. He has now come to man's stature, and he is the comeliest youth that was ever beheld." So they took the blossoms of the oak, and the blossoms of the broom, and the blossoms of the meadow-sweet, and produced from them a maiden, the fairest and most graceful that man ever saw. And they baptized her, {98a} and gave her the name of Blodeuwedd. After she had become his bride, and they had feasted, said Gwydion, "It is not easy for a man to maintain himself without possessions." "Of a truth," said Math, "I will give the young man the best Cantrev to hold." {98b} "Lord," said he, "what Cantrev is that?" "The Cantrev of Dinodig," he answered. Now it is called at this day Eivionydd and Ardudwy. And the place in the Cantrev where he dwelt, was a palace of his in a spot called Mur y Castell, on the confines of Ardudwy. There dwelt he and reigned, and both he and his sway were beloved by all. One day he went forth to Caer Dathyl, to visit Math the son of Mathonwy. And on the day that he set out for Caer Dathyl, Blodeuwedd walked in the court. And she heard the sound of a horn. And after the sound of the horn, behold, a tired stag went by, with dogs and huntsmen following it. And after the dogs and the huntsmen there came a crowd of men on foot. "Send a youth," said she, "to ask who yonder host may be." So a youth went, and enquired who they were. "Gronw Pebyr is this, the lord of Penllynn," said they. And thus the youth told her. Gronw Pebyr pursued the stag, and by the river Cynvael he overtook the stag and killed it. And what, with flaying the stag and baiting his dogs, he was there until the night began to close in upon him. And as the day departed and the night drew near, he came to the gate of the court. "Verily," said Blodeuwedd, "the chieftain will speak ill of us, if we let him at this hour depart to another land without inviting him in." "Yes, truly, lady," said they, "it will be most fitting to invite him." Then went messengers to meet him and bid him in. And he accepted her bidding gladly, and came to the court, and Blodeuwedd went to meet him and greeted him, and bade him welcome. "Lady," said he, "Heaven repay thee thy kindness." When they had disaccoutred themselves, they went to sit down. And Blodeuwedd looked upon him, and from the moment that she looked on him she became filled with his love. And he gazed on her, and the same thought came unto him as unto her, so that he could not conceal from her that he loved her, but he declared unto her that he did so. Thereupon she was very joyful. And all their discourse that night was concerning the affection and love which they felt one for the other, and which in no longer space than one evening had arisen. And that evening passed they in each other's company. The next day he sought to depart. But she said, "I pray thee go not from me to-day." And that night he tarried also. And that night they consulted by what means they might always be together. "There is none other counsel," said he, "but that thou strive to learn from Llew Llaw Gyffes in what manner he will meet his death. And this must thou do under the semblance of solicitude concerning him." The next day Gronw sought to depart. "Verily," said she, "I would counsel thee not to go from me to-day." "At thy instance, will I not go," said he, "albeit, I must say, there is danger, that the chief who owns the palace may return home." "To-morrow," answered she, "will I indeed permit thee to go forth." The next day he sought to go, and she hindered him not. "Be mindful," said Gronw, "of what I have said unto thee, and converse with him fully, and that under the guise of the dalliance of love, and find out by what means he may come to his death." That night Llew Llaw Gyffes returned to his home. And the day they spent in discourse, and minstrelsy, and feasting. And at night they went to rest, and he spoke to Blodeuwedd once, and he spoke to her a second time. But, for all this, he could not get from her one word. "What aileth thee," said he, "art thou well?" "I was thinking," said she, "of that which thou didst never think of concerning me; for I was sorrowful as to thy death, lest thou shouldest go sooner than I." "Heaven reward thy care for me," said he, "but until Heaven take me I shall not easily be slain." "For the sake of Heaven, and for mine, show me how thou mightest be slain. My memory in guarding is better than thine." "I will tell thee gladly," said he. "Not easily can I be slain, except by a wound. {100} And the spear wherewith I am struck must be a year in the forming. And nothing must be done towards it except during the sacrifice on Sundays." "Is this certain?" asked she. "It is in truth," he answered. "And I cannot be slain within a house, nor without. I cannot be slain on horseback nor on foot." "Verily," said she, "in what manner then canst thou be slain?" "I will tell thee," said he. "By making a bath for me by the side of a river, and by putting a roof over the cauldron, and thatching it well and tightly, and bringing a buck, and putting it beside the cauldron. Then if I place one foot on the buck's back, and the other on the edge of the cauldron, whosoever strikes me thus will cause my death." "Well," said she, "I thank Heaven that it will be easy to avoid this." No sooner had she held this discourse than she sent to Gronw Pebyr. Gronw toiled at making the spear, and that day twelvemonth it was ready. And that very day he caused her to be informed thereof. "Lord," said Blodeuwedd unto Llew, "I have been thinking how it is possible that what thou didst tell me formerly can be true; wilt thou show me in what manner thou couldst stand at once upon the edge of a cauldron and upon a buck, if I prepare the bath for thee?" "I will show thee," said he. Then she sent unto Gronw, and bade him be in ambush on the hill which is now called Bryn Kyvergyr, on the bank of the river Cynvael. She caused also to be collected all the goats that were in the Cantrev, and had them brought to the other side of the river, opposite Bryn Kyvergyr. And the next day she spoke thus. "Lord," said she, "I have caused the roof and the bath to be prepared, and lo! they are ready." "Well," said Llew, "we will go gladly to look at them." The day after they came and looked at the bath. "Wilt thou go into the bath, lord?" said she. "Willingly will I go in," he answered. So into the bath he went, and he anointed himself. "Lord," said she, "behold the animals which thou didst speak of as being called bucks." "Well," said he, "cause one of them to be caught and brought here." And the buck was brought. Then Llew rose out of the bath, and put on his trowsers, and he placed one foot on the edge of the bath and the other on the buck's back. Thereupon Gronw rose up from the hill which is called Bryn Cyvergyr, and he rested on one knee, and flung the poisoned dart and struck him on the side, so that the shaft started out, but the head of the dart remained in. Then he flew up in the form of an eagle, and gave a fearful scream. And thenceforth was he no more seen. As soon as he departed Gronw and Blodeuwedd went together unto the palace that night. And the next day Gronw arose and took possession of Ardudwy. And after he had overcome the land, he ruled over it, so that Ardudwy and Penllyn were both under his sway. Then these tidings reached Math the son of Mathonwy. And heaviness and grief came upon Math, and much more upon Gwydion than upon him. "Lord," said Gwydion, "I shall never rest until I have tidings of my nephew." "Verily," said Math, "may Heaven be thy strength." Then Gwydion set forth and began to go forward. And he went through Gwynedd and Powys to the confines. And when he had done so, he went into Arvon, and came to the house of a vassal, in Maenawr Penardd. And he alighted at the house, and stayed there that night. The man of the house and his household came in, and last of all came there the swineherd. Said the man of the house to the swineherd, "Well, youth, hath thy sow come in to-night?" "She hath," said he, "and is this instant returned to the pigs." "Where doth this sow go to?" said Gwydion. "Every day, when the sty is opened, she goeth forth and none can catch sight of her, neither is it known whither she goeth more than if she sank into the earth." "Wilt thou grant unto me," said Gwydion, "not to open the sty until I am beside the sty with thee." "This will I do, right gladly," he answered. That night they went to rest; and as soon as the swineherd saw the light of day, he awoke Gwydion. And Gwydion arose and dressed himself, and went with the swineherd, and stood beside the sty. Then the swineherd opened the sty. And as soon as he opened it, behold, she leaped forth, and set off with great speed. And Gwydion followed her, and she went against the course of a river, and made for a brook, which is now called Nant y Llew. And there she halted and began feeding. And Gwydion came under the tree, and looked what it might be that the sow was feeding on. And he saw that she was eating putrid flesh and vermin. Then looked he up to the top of the tree, and as he looked he beheld on the top of the tree an eagle, and when the eagle shook itself, there fell vermin and putrid flesh from off it, and these the sow devoured. And it seemed to him that the eagle was Llew. And he sang an Englyn. "Oak that grows between the two banks; Darkened is the sky and hill! Shall I not tell him by his wounds, That this is Llew?" Upon this the eagle came down until he reached the centre of the tree. And Gwydion sang another Englyn. "Oak that grows in upland ground, Is it not wetted by the rain? Has it not been drenched By nine score tempests? It bears in its branches Llew Llaw Gyffes!" Then the eagle came down until he was on the lowest branch of the tree, and thereupon this Englyn did Gwydion sing. "Oak that grows beneath the steep; Stately and majestic is its aspect! Shall I not speak it? That Llew will come to my lap?" And the eagle came down upon Gwydion's knee. And Gwydion struck him with his magic wand, so that he returned to his own form. No one ever saw a more piteous sight, for he was nothing but skin and bone. Then he went unto Caer Dathyl, and there were brought unto him good physicians that were in Gwynedd, and before the end of the year he was quite healed. "Lord," said he unto Math the son of Mathonwy, "it is full time now that I have retribution of him by whom I have suffered all this woe." "Truly," said Math, "he will never be able to maintain himself in the possession of that which is thy right." "Well," said Llew, "the sooner I have my right, the better shall I be pleased." Then they called together the whole of Gwynedd, and set forth to Ardudwy. And Gwydion went on before and proceeded to Mur y Castell. And when Blodeuwedd heard that he was coming, she took her maidens with her, and fled to the mountain. And they passed through the river Cynvael, and went towards a court that there was upon the mountain, and through fear they could not proceed except with their faces looking backwards, so that unawares they fell into the lake. And they were all drowned except Blodeuwedd herself, and her Gwydion overtook. And he said unto her, "I will not slay thee, but I will do unto thee worse than that. For I will turn thee into a bird; and because of the shame thou hast done unto Llew Llaw Gyffes, thou shall never show thy face in the light of day henceforth; and that through fear of all the other birds. For it shall be their nature to attack thee, and to chase thee from wheresoever they may find thee. And thou shalt not lose thy name, but shalt be always called Blodeuwedd." Now Blodeuwedd is an owl in the language of this present time, and for this reason is the owl hateful unto all birds. And even now the owl is called Blodeuwedd. Then Gronw Pebyr withdrew unto Penllyn, and he despatched thence an embassy. And the messengers he sent, asked Llew Llaw Gyffes, if he would take land, or domain, or gold, or silver, for the injury he had received. "I will not, by my confession to Heaven," said he. "Behold this is the least that I will accept from him; that he come to the spot where I was when he wounded me with the dart, and that I stand where he did, and that with a dart I take my aim at him. And this is the very least that I will accept." And this was told unto Gronw Pebyr. "Verily," said he, "is it needful for me to do thus? My faithful warriors, and my household, and my foster- brothers, is there not one among you who will stand the blow in my stead?" "There is not, verily," answered they. And because of their refusal to suffer one stroke for their lord, they are called the third disloyal tribe even unto this day. "Well," said he, "I will meet it." {Picture: p106.jpg} Then they two went forth to the banks of the river Cynvael, and Gronw stood in the place where Llew Llaw Gyffes was when he struck him, and Llew in the place where Gronw was. Then said Gronw Pebyr unto Llew, "Since it was through the wiles of a woman that I did unto thee as I have done, I adjure thee by Heaven to let me place between me and the blow, the slab thou seest yonder on the river's bank." "Verily," said Llew, "I will not refuse thee this." "Ah," said he, "may Heaven reward thee." So Gronw took the slab and placed it between him and the blow. Then Llew flung the dart at him, and it pierced the slab and went through Gronw likewise, so that it pierced through his back. And thus was Gronw Pebyr slain. And there is still the slab on the bank of the river Cynvael, in Ardudwy, having the hole through it. And therefore it is even now called Llech Gronw. A second time did Llew Llaw Gyffes take possession of the land, and prosperously did he govern it. And as the story relates, he was lord after this over Gwynedd. And thus ends this portion of the Mabinogi. HERE IS THE STORY OF LLUDD AND LLEVELYS. {Picture: p108.jpg} Beli the Great, son of Manogan, had three sons, Lludd, and Caswallawn, and Nynyaw; and according to the story he had a fourth son called Llevelys. And after the death of Beli, the kingdom of the Island of Britain fell into the hands of Lludd his eldest son; and Lludd ruled prosperously, and rebuilt the walls of London, and encompassed it about with numberless towers. And after that he bade the citizens build houses therein, such as no houses in the kingdom could equal. And moreover he was a mighty warrior, and generous and liberal in giving meat and drink to all that sought them. And though he had many castles and cities, this one loved he more than any. And he dwelt therein most part of the year, and therefore was it called Caer Ludd, and at last Caer London. And after the stranger-race came there, it was called London, or Lwndrys. Lludd loved Llevelys best of all his brothers, because he was a wise and a discreet man. Having heard that the king of France had died, leaving no heir, except a daughter, and that he had left all his possessions in her hands, he came to Lludd his brother, to beseech his counsel and aid. And that not so much for his own welfare, as to seek to add to the glory and honour and dignity of his kindred, if he might go to France to woo the maiden for his wife. And forthwith his brother conferred with him, and this counsel was pleasing unto him. So he prepared ships and filled them with armed knights, and set forth towards France. And as soon as they had landed, they sent messengers to show the nobles of France the cause of the embassy. And by the joint counsel of the nobles of France and of the princes, the maiden was given to Llevelys, and the crown of the kingdom with her. And thenceforth he ruled the land discreetly, and wisely, and happily, as long as his life lasted. After a space of time had passed, three plagues fell on the Island of Britain, such as none in the Islands had ever seen the like. The first was a certain race that came, and was called the Coranians; and so great was their knowledge, that there was no discourse upon the face of the Island, however low it might be spoken, but what, if the wind met it, it was known to them. And through this they could not be injured. The second plague was a shriek which came on every May eve, over every hearth in the Island of Britain. And this went through people's hearts, and so scared them, that the men lost their hue and their strength, and the women their children, and the young men, and the maidens lost their senses, and all the animals and trees and the earth and the waters, were left barren. The third plague was, that however much of provisions and food might be prepared in the king's courts, were there even so much as a year's provision of meat and drink, none of it could ever be found, except what was consumed in the first night. And two of these plagues, no one ever knew their cause, therefore was there better hope of being freed from the first than from the second and third. And thereupon King Lludd felt great sorrow and care, because that he knew not how he might be freed from these plagues. And he called to him all the nobles of his kingdom, and asked counsel of them what they should do against these afflictions. And by the common counsel of the nobles, Lludd the son of Beli, went to Llevelys his brother, king of France, for he was a man great of counsel and wisdom, to seek his advice. And they made ready a fleet, and that in secret and in silence, lest that race should know the cause of their errand, or any besides the king and his counsellors. And when they were made ready, they went into their ships, Lludd and those whom he chose with him. And they began to cleave the seas towards France. And when these tidings came to Llevelys, seeing that he knew not the cause of his brother's ships, he came on the other side to meet him, and with him was a fleet vast of size. And when Lludd saw this, he left all the ships out upon the sea except one only; and in that one he came to meet his brother, and he likewise with a single ship came to meet him. And when they were come together, each put his arms about the other's neck, and they welcomed each other with brotherly love. After that Lludd had shewn his brother the cause of his errand, Llevelys said that he himself knew the cause of the coming to those lands. And they took counsel together to discourse {111} on the matter otherwise than thus, in order that the wind might not catch their words, nor the Coranians know what they might say. Then Llevelys caused a long horn to be made of brass, and through this horn they discoursed. But whatsoever words they spoke through this horn, one to the other, neither of them could hear any other but harsh and hostile words. And when Llevelys saw this, and that there was a demon thwarting them and disturbing through this horn, he caused wine to be put therein to wash it. And through the virtue of the wine the demon was driven out of the horn. And when their discourse was unobstructed, Llevelys told his brother that he would give him some insects, whereof he should keep some to breed, lest by chance the like affliction might come a second time. And other of these insects he should take and bruise in water. And he assured him that it would have power to destroy the race of the Coranians. That is to say, that when he came home to his kingdom he should call together all the people both of his own race and of the race of the Coranians for a conference, as though with the intent of making peace between them; and that when they were all together, he should take this charmed water, and cast it over all alike. And he assured him that the water would poison the race of the Coranians, but that it would not slay or harm those of his own race. {Picture: p112.jpg} "And the second plague," said he, "that is in thy dominion, behold it is a dragon. And another dragon of a foreign race is fighting with it, and striving to overcome it. And therefore does your dragon make a fearful outcry. And on this wise mayest thou come to know this. After thou hast returned home, cause the Island to be measured in its length and breadth, and in the place where thou dost find the exact central point, there cause a pit to be dug, and cause a cauldron, full of the best mead that can be made, to be put in the pit, with a covering of satin over the face of the cauldron. And then, in thine own person do thou remain there watching, and thou wilt see the dragons fighting in the form of terrific animals. And at length they will take the form of dragons in the air. And last of all, after wearying themselves with fierce and furious fighting, they will fall in the form of two pigs upon the covering, and they will sink in, and the covering with them, and they will draw it down to the very bottom of the cauldron. And they will drink up the whole of the mead; and after that they will sleep. Thereupon do thou immediately fold the covering around them, and bury them in a kistvaen, in the strongest place thou hast in thy dominions, and hide them in the earth. And as long as they shall bide in that strong place, no plague shall come to the Island of Britain from elsewhere. "The cause of the third plague," said he, "is a mighty man of magic, who takes thy meat and thy drink and thy store. And he through illusions and charms causes every one to sleep. Therefore it is needful for thee in thy own person to watch thy food and thy provisions. And lest he should overcome thee with sleep, be there a cauldron of cold water by thy side, and when thou art oppressed with sleep, plunge into the cauldron." Then Lludd returned back unto his land. And immediately he summoned to him the whole of his own race and of the Coranians. And as Llevelys had taught him, he bruised the insects in water, the which he cast over them all together, and forthwith it destroyed the whole tribe of the Coranians, without hurt to any of the Britons. And some time after this Lludd caused the Island to be measured in its length and in its breadth. And in Oxford he found the central point, and in that place he caused the earth to be dug, and in that pit a cauldron to be set, full of the best mead that could be made, and a covering of satin over the face of it. And he himself watched that night. And while he was there, he beheld the dragons fighting. And when they were weary they fell, and came down upon the top of the satin, and drew it with them to the bottom of the cauldron. And when they had drunk the mead they slept. And in their sleep, Lludd folded the covering around them, and in the securest place he had in Snowdon, he hid them in a kistvaen. Now after that this spot was called Dinas Emreis, but before that, Dinas Ffaraon. And thus the fierce outcry ceased in his dominions. And when this was ended, King Lludd caused an exceeding great banquet to be prepared. And when it was ready, he placed a vessel of cold water by his side, and he in his own proper person watched it. And as he abode thus clad with arms, about the third watch of the night, lo! he heard many surpassing fascinations and various songs. And drowsiness urged him to sleep. Upon this, lest he should be hindered from his purpose and be overcome by sleep, he went often into the water. And at last, behold, a man of vast size, clad in strong, heavy armour, came in, bearing a hamper. And, as he was wont, he put all the food and provisions of meat and drink into the hamper, and proceeded to go with it forth. And nothing was ever more wonderful to Lludd, than that the hamper should hold so much. And thereupon King Lludd went after him and spoke unto him thus. "Stop, stop," said he, "though thou hast done many insults and much spoil erewhile, thou shalt not do so any more, unless thy skill in arms and thy prowess be greater than mine." {Picture: p115.jpg} Then he instantly put down the hamper on the floor, and awaited him. And a fierce encounter was between them, so that the glittering fire flew out from their arms. And at the last Lludd grappled with him, and fate bestowed the victory on Lludd. And he threw the plague to the earth. And after he had overcome him by strength and might, he besought his mercy. "How can I grant thee mercy," said the king, "after all the many injuries and wrongs that thou hast done me?" "All the losses that ever I have caused thee," said he, "I will make thee atonement for, equal to what I have taken. And I will never do the like from this time forth. But thy faithful vassal will I be." And the king accepted this from him. And thus Lludd freed the Island of Britain from the three plagues. And from thenceforth until the end of his life, in prosperous peace did Lludd the son of Beli rule the Island of Britain. And this Tale is called the Story of Lludd and Llevelys. And thus it ends. {Picture: p116.jpg} TALIESIN. {Picture: p117.jpg} In times past there lived in Penllyn a man of gentle lineage, named Tegid Voel, and his dwelling was in the midst of the Lake Tegid, and his wife was called Caridwen. And there was born to him of his wife a son named Morvran ab Tegid, and also a daughter named Creirwy, the fairest maiden in the world was she; and they had a brother the most ill-favoured man in the world, Avagddu. Now Caridwen his mother thought that he was not likely to be admitted among men of noble birth, by reason of his ugliness, unless he had some exalted merits or knowledge. For it was in the beginning of Arthur's time and of the Round Table. So she resolved, according to the arts of the books of the Fferyllt, {118a} to boil a cauldron of Inspiration and Science for her son, that his reception might be honourable because of his knowledge of the mysteries of the future state of the world. Then she began to boil the cauldron, which from the beginning of its boiling might not cease to boil for a year and a day, until three blessed drops were obtained of the grace of inspiration. And she put Gwion Bach the son of Gwreang of Llanfair in Caereinion, in Powys, to stir the cauldron, and a blind man named Morda to kindle the fire beneath it, and she charged them that they should not suffer it to cease boiling for the space of a year and a day. And she herself, according to the books of the astronomers, and in planetary hours, gathered every day of all charm-bearing herbs. And one day, towards the end of the year, as Caridwen was culling plants and making incantations, it chanced that three drops of the charmed liquor flew out of the cauldron and fell upon the finger of Gwion Bach. And by reason of their great heat he put his finger to his mouth, {118b} and the instant he put those marvel-working drops into his mouth, he foresaw everything that was to come, and perceived that his chief care must be to guard against the wiles of Caridwen, for vast was her skill. And in very great fear he fled towards his own land. And the cauldron burst in two, because all the liquor within it except the three charm-bearing drops was poisonous, so that the horses of Gwyddno Garanhir were poisoned by the water of the stream into which the liquor of the cauldron ran, and the confluence of that stream was called the Poison of the Horses of Gwyddno from that time forth. {Picture: p119.jpg} Thereupon came in Caridwen and saw all the toil of the whole year lost. And she seized a billet of wood and struck the blind Morda on the head until one of his eyes fell out upon his cheek. And he said, "Wrongfully hast thou disfigured me, for I am innocent. Thy loss was not because of me." "Thou speakest truth," said Caridwen, "it was Gwion Bach who robbed me." And she went forth after him, running. And he saw her, and changed himself into a hare and fled. But she changed herself into a greyhound and turned him. And he ran towards a river, and became a fish. And she in the form of an otter-bitch chased him under the water, until he was fain to turn himself into a bird of the air. Then she, as a hawk, followed him and gave him no rest in the sky. And just as she was about to stoop upon him, and he was in fear of death, he espied a heap of winnowed wheat on the floor of a barn, and he dropped amongst the wheat, and turned himself into one of the grains. Then she transformed herself into a high-crested black hen, and went to the wheat and scratched it with her feet, and found him out and swallowed him. And, as the story says, she bore him nine months, and when she was delivered of him, she could not find it in her heart to kill him, by reason of his beauty. So she wrapped him in a leathern bag, and cast him into the sea to the mercy of God, on the twenty-ninth day of April. And at that time the weir of Gwyddno was on the strand between Dyvi and Aberystwyth, near to his own castle, and the value of an hundred pounds was taken in that weir every May eve. And in those days Gwyddno had an only son named Elphin, the most hapless of youths, and the most needy. And it grieved his father sore, for he thought that he was born in an evil hour. And by the advice of his council, his father had granted him the drawing of the weir that year, to see if good luck would ever befall him, and to give him something wherewith to begin the world. {Picture: p121.jpg} And the next day, when Elphin went to look, there was nothing in the weir. But as he turned back he perceived the leathern bag upon a pole of the weir. Then said one of the weir-ward unto Elphin, "Thou wast never unlucky until to-night, and now thou hast destroyed the virtues of the weir, which always yielded the value of an hundred pounds every May eve, and to-night there is nothing but this leathern skin within it." "How now," said Elphin, "there may be therein the value of an hundred pounds." Well! they took up the leathern bag, and he who opened it saw the forehead of the boy, and said to Elphin, "Behold a radiant brow!" {121} "Taliesin be he called," said Elphin. And he lifted the boy in his arms, and lamenting his mischance, he placed him sorrowfully behind him. And he made his horse amble gently, that before had been trotting, and he carried him as softly as if he had been sitting in the easiest chair in the world. And presently the boy made a Consolation and praise to Elphin, and foretold honour to Elphin; and the Consolation was as you may see, "Fair Elphin cease to lament! Let no one be dissatisfied with his own, To despair will bring no advantage. No man sees what supports him; The prayer of Cynllo will not be in vain; God will not violate his promise. Never in Gwyddno's weir Was there such good luck as this night. Fair Elphin, dry thy cheeks! Being too sad will not avail, Although thou thinkest thou hast no gain, Too much grief will bring thee no good; Nor doubt the miracles of the Almighty: Although I am but little, I am highly gifted. From seas, and from mountains, And from the depths of rivers, God brings wealth to the fortunate man. Elphin of lively qualities, Thy resolution is unmanly; Thou must not be over sorrowful: Better to trust in God than to forbode ill. Weak and small as I am, On the foaming beach of the ocean, In the day of trouble, I shall be Of more service to thee than 300 salmon. Elphin of notable qualities, Be not displeased at thy misfortune; Although reclined thus weak in my bag, There lies a virtue in my tongue. While I continue thy protector Thou hast not much to fear; Remembering the names of the Trinity, None shall be able to harm thee." And this was the first poem that Taliesin ever sang, being to console Elphin in his grief for that the produce of the weir was lost, and, what was worse, that all the world would consider that it was through his fault and ill-luck. And then Gwyddno Garanhir {123} asked him what he was, whether man or spirit. Whereupon he sang this tale, and said, "First, I have been formed a comely person, In the court of Ceridwen I have done penance; Though little I was seen, placidly received, I was great on the floor of the place to where I was led; I have been a prized defence, the sweet muse the cause, And by law without speech I have been liberated By a smiling black old hag, when irritated Dreadful her claim when pursued: I have fled with vigour, I have fled as a frog, I have fled in the semblance of a crow, scarcely finding rest; I have fled vehemently, I have fled as a chain, I have fled as a roe into an entangled thicket; I have fled as a wolf cub, I have fled as a wolf in a wilderness, I have fled as a thrush of portending language; I have fled as a fox, used to concurrent bounds of quirks; I have fled as a martin, which did not avail: I have fled as a squirrel, that vainly hides, I have fled as a stag's antler, of ruddy course, I have fled as iron in a glowing fire, I have fled as a spear-head, of woe to such as has a wish for it; I have fled as a fierce bull bitterly fighting, I have fled as a bristly boar seen in a ravine, I have fled as a white grain of pure wheat, On the skirt of a hempen sheet entangled, That seemed of the size of a mare's foal, That is filling like a ship on the waters; Into a dark leathern bag I was thrown, And on a boundless sea I was sent adrift; Which was to me an omen of being tenderly nursed, And the Lord God then set me at liberty." Then came Elphin to the house or court of Gwyddno his father, and Taliesin with him. And Gwyddno asked him if he had had a good haul at the weir, and he told him that he had got that which was better than fish. "What was that?" said Gwyddno. "A Bard," answered Elphin. Then said Gwyddno, "Alas, what will he profit thee?" And Taliesin himself replied and said, "He will profit him more than the weir ever profited thee." Asked Gwyddno, "Art thou able to speak, and thou so little?" And Taliesin answered him, "I am better able to speak than thou to question me." "Let me hear what thou canst say," quoth Gwyddno. Then Taliesin sang,-- "In water there is a quality endowed with a blessing; On God it is most just to meditate aright; To God it is proper to supplicate with seriousness, Since no obstacle can there be to obtain a reward from him. Three times have I been born, I know by meditation; It were miserable for a person not to come and obtain All the sciences of the world, collected together in my breast, For I know what has been, what in future will occur. I will supplicate my Lord that I get refuge in him, A regard I may obtain in his grace; The Son of Mary is my trust, great in Him is my delight, For in Him is the world continually upholden. God has been to instruct me and to raise my expectation, The true Creator of heaven, who affords me protection; It is rightly intended that the saints should daily pray, For God, the renovator, will bring them to him. * * * * * And forthwith Elphin gave his haul to his wife, and she nursed him tenderly and lovingly. Thenceforward Elphin increased in riches more and more day after day, and in love and favour with the king, and there abode Taliesin until he was thirteen years old, when Elphin son of Gwyddno went by a Christmas invitation to his uncle, Maelgwn Gwynedd, who sometime after this held open court at Christmas-tide in the castle of Dyganwy, for all the number of his lords of both degrees, both spiritual and temporal, with a vast and thronged host of knights and squires. And amongst them there arose a discourse and discussion. And thus was it said. "Is there in the whole world a king so great as Maelgwn, or one on whom Heaven has bestowed so many spiritual gifts as upon him? First, form, and beauty, and meekness, and strength, besides all the powers of the soul?" And together with these they said that Heaven had given one gift that exceeded all the others, which was the beauty, and comeliness, and grace, and wisdom, and modesty of his queen; whose virtues surpassed those of all the ladies and noble maidens throughout the whole kingdom. And with this they put questions one to another amongst themselves, Who had braver men? Who had fairer or swifter horses or greyhounds? Who had more skilful or wiser bards--than Maelgwn? Now at that time the bards were in great favour with the exalted of the kingdom; and then none performed the office of those who are now called heralds, unless they were learned men, not only expert in the service of kings and princes, but studious and well versed in the lineage, and arms, and exploits of princes and kings, and in discussions concerning foreign kingdoms, and the ancient things of this kingdom, and chiefly in the annals of the first nobles; and also were prepared always with their answers in various languages, Latin, French, Welsh, and English. And together with this they were great chroniclers, and recorders, and skilful in framing verses, and ready in making englyns in every one of these languages. Now of these there were at that feast within the palace of Maelgwn as many as four and twenty, and chief of them all, was one named Heinin Vardd. When they had all made an end of thus praising the king and his gifts, it befell that Elphin spoke on this wise. "Of a truth none but a king may vie with a king; but were he not a king, I would say that my wife was as virtuous as any lady in the kingdom, and also that I have a bard who is more skilful than all the king's bards." In a short space some of his fellows showed the king all the boastings of Elphin; and the king ordered him to be thrown into a strong prison, until he might know the truth as to the virtues of his wife, and the wisdom of his bard. Now when Elphin had been put in a tower of the castle, with a thick chain about his feet, (it is said that it was a silver chain, because he was of royal blood;) the king, as the story relates, sent his son Rhun to enquire into the demeanour of Elphin's wife. Now Rhun was the most graceless man in the world, and there was neither wife nor maiden with whom he had held converse, but was evil spoken of. While Rhun went in haste towards Elphin's dwelling, being fully minded to bring disgrace upon his wife, Taliesin told his mistress how that the king had placed his master in durance in prison, and how that Rhun was coming in haste to strive to bring disgrace upon her. Wherefore he caused his mistress to array one of the maids of her kitchen in her apparel; which the noble lady gladly did; and she loaded her hands with the best rings that she and her husband possessed. In this guise Taliesin caused his mistress to put the maiden to sit at the board in her room at supper, and he made her to seem as her mistress, and the mistress to seem as the maid. And when they were in due time seated at their supper in the manner that has been said, Rhun suddenly arrived at Elphin's dwelling, and was received with joy, for all the servants knew him plainly; and they brought him in haste to the room of their mistress, in the semblance of whom the maid rose up from supper and welcomed him gladly. And afterwards she sat down to supper again the second time, and Rhun with her. Then Rhun began jesting with the maid, who still kept the semblance of her mistress. And verily this story shows that the maiden became so intoxicated, that she fell asleep; and the story relates that it was a powder that Rhun put into the drink, that made her sleep so soundly that she never felt it when he cut from off her hand her little finger, whereon was the signet ring of Elphin, which he had sent to his wife as a token, a short time before. And Rhun returned to the king with the finger and the ring as a proof, to show that he had cut it from off her hand, without her awaking from her sleep of intemperance. The king rejoiced greatly at these tidings, and he sent for his councillors, to whom he told the whole story from the beginning. And he caused Elphin to be brought out of his prison, and he chided him because of his boast. And he spake unto Elphin on this wise. "Elphin, be it known to thee beyond a doubt that it is but folly for a man to trust in the virtues of his wife further than he can see her; and that thou mayest be certain of thy wife's vileness, behold her finger, with thy signet ring upon it, which was cut from her hand last night, while she slept the sleep of intoxication." Then thus spake Elphin. "With thy leave, mighty king, I cannot deny my ring, for it is known of many; but verily I assert strongly that the finger around which it is, was never attached to the hand of my wife, for in truth and certainty there are three notable things pertaining to it, none of which ever belonged to any of my wife's fingers. The first of the three is, that it is certain, by your grace's leave, that wheresoever my wife is at this present hour, whether sitting, or standing, or lying down, this ring would never remain upon her thumb, whereas you can plainly see that it was hard to draw it over the joint of the little finger of the hand whence this was cut; the second thing is, that my wife has never let pass one Saturday since I have known her without paring her nails before going to bed, and you can see fully that the nail of this little finger has not been pared for a month. The third is, truly, that the hand whence this finger came was kneading rye dough within three days before the finger was cut therefrom, and I can assure your goodness that my wife has never kneaded rye dough since my wife she has been." Then the king was mightily wrath with Elphin for so stoutly withstanding him, respecting the goodness of his wife, wherefore he ordered him to his prison a second time, saying that he should not be loosed thence until he had proved the truth of his boast, as well concerning the wisdom of his bard as the virtues of his wife. In the meantime his wife and Taliesin remained joyful at Elphin's dwelling. And Taliesin shewed his mistress how that Elphin was in prison because of them, but he bade her be glad for that he would go to Maelgwn's court to free his master. Then she asked him in what manner he would set him free. And he answered her,-- "A journey will I perform, And to the gate I will come; The hall I will enter, And my song I will sing; My speech I will pronounce To silence royal bards. In presence of their chief, I will greet to deride, Upon them I will break And Elphin I will free. Should contention arise, In presence of the prince, With summons to the bards For the sweet flowing song, And wizards' posing lore And wisdom of Druids. In the court of the sons of the distributor Some are who did appear Intent on wily schemes, By craft and tricking means, In pangs of affliction To wrong the innocent, Let the fools be silent, As erst in Badon's fight,-- With Arthur of liberal ones The head, with long red blades; Through feats of testy men, And a chief with his foes. Woe be to them, the fools, When revenge comes on them. I Taliesin, chief of bards, With a sapient druid's words, Will set kind Elphin free From haughty tyrant's bonds. To their fell and chilling cry, By the act of a surprising steed, From the far distant North, There soon shall be an end. Let neither grace nor health Be to Maelgwn Gwynedd, For this force and this wrong; And be extremes of ills And an avenged end To Rhun and all his race: Short be his course of life, Be all his lands laid waste; And long exile be assigned To Maelgwn Gwynedd!" After this he took leave of his mistress, and came at last to the court of Maelgwn, who was going to sit in his hall and dine in his royal state, as it was the custom in those days for kings and princes to do at every chief feast. And as soon as Taliesin entered the hall, he placed himself in a quiet corner, near the place where the bards and the minstrels were wont to come to in doing their service and duty to the king, as is the custom at the high festivals when the bounty is proclaimed. And so, when the bards and the heralds came to cry largess and to proclaim the power of the king and his strength, at the moment that they passed by the corner wherein he was crouching, Taliesin pouted out his lips after them, and played "Blerwm, blerwm," with his finger upon his lips. Neither took they much notice of him as they went by, but proceeded forward till they came before the king, unto whom they made their obeisance with their bodies, as they were wont, without speaking a single word, but pouting out their lips, and making mouths at the king, playing "Blerwm, blerwm," upon their lips with their fingers, as they had seen the boy do elsewhere. This sight caused the king to wonder and to deem within himself that they were drunk with many liquors. Wherefore he commanded one of his lords, who served at the board, to go to them and desire them to collect their wits, and to consider where they stood, and what it was fitting for them to do. And this lord did so gladly. But they ceased not from their folly any more than before. Whereupon he sent to them a second time, and a third, desiring them to go forth from the hall. At the last the king ordered one of his squires to give a blow to the chief of them named Heinin Vardd; and the squire took a broom, and struck him on the head, so that he fell back in his seat. Then he arose and went on his knees, and besought leave of the king's grace to show that this their fault was not through want of knowledge, neither through drunkenness, but by the influence of some spirit that was in the hall. And after this Heinin spoke on this wise. "Oh honourable king, be it known to your grace, that not from the strength of drink, or of too much liquor, are we dumb, without power of speech like drunken men, but through the influence of a spirit that sits in the corner yonder in the form of a child." Forthwith the king commanded the squire to fetch him; and he went to the nook where Taliesin sat, and brought him before the king, who asked him what he was, and whence he came. And he answered the king in verse. "Primary chief bard am I to Elphin, And my original country is the region of the summer stars; Idno and Heinin called me Merddin, At length every king will call me Taliesin. I was with my Lord in the highest sphere, On the fall of Lucifer into the depth of hell: I have borne a banner before Alexander; I know the names of the stars from north to south; I have been on the galaxy at the throne of the Distributor; I was in Canaan when Absalom was slain; I conveyed the divine Spirit to the level of the vale of Hebron; I was in the court of Don before the birth of Gwydion. I was instructor to Eli and Enoc; I have been winged by the genius of the splendid crosier; I have been loquacious prior to being gifted with speech; I was at the place of the crucifixion of the merciful Son of God; I have been three periods in the prison of Arianrod; I have been the chief director of the work of the tower of Nimrod; I am a wonder whose origin is not known. I have been in Asia with Noah in the ark, I have seen the destruction of Sodom and Gomorra; I have been in India when Roma was built, I am now come here to the remnant of Troia. I have been with my Lord in the manger of the ass; I strengthened Moses through the water of Jordan; I have been in the firmament with Mary Magdalene; I have obtained the muse from the cauldron of Ceridwen; I have been bard of the harp to Lleon of Lochlin. I have been on the White Hill, in the court of Cynvelyn, For a day and a year in stocks and fetters, I have suffered hunger for the Son of the Virgin. I have been fostered in the land of the Deity, I have been teacher to all intelligences, I am able to instruct the whole universe. I shall be until the day of doom on the face of the earth; And it is not known whether my body is flesh or fish. Then I was for nine months In the womb of the hag Ceridwen; I was originally little Gwion, And at length I am Taliesin." And when the king and his nobles had heard the song, they wondered much, for they had never heard the like from a boy so young as he. And when the king knew that he was the bard of Elphin, he bade Heinin, his first and wisest bard, to answer Taliesin and to strive with him. But when he came, he could do no other, but play "blerwm" on his lips; and when he sent for the others of the four and twenty bards, they all did likewise, and could do no other. And Maelgwn asked the boy Taliesin what was his errand, and he answered him in song. "Puny bards, I am trying To secure the prize, if I can; By a gentle prophetic strain I am endeavouring to retrieve The loss I may have suffered; Complete the attempt, I hope, Since Elphin endures trouble In the fortress of Teganwy, On him may there not be laid Too many chains and fetters; The Chair of the fortress of Teganwy Will I again seek; Strengthened by my muse I am powerful; Mighty on my part is what I seek, For three hundred songs and more Are combined in the spell I sing. There ought not to stand where I am Neither stone, neither ring; And there ought not to be about me Any bard who may not know That Elphin the son of Gwyddno Is in the land of Artro, Secured by thirteen locks, For praising his instructor; And then I Taliesin, Chief of the bards of the west, Shall loosen Elphin Out of a golden fetter." * * * * * "If you be primary bards To the master of sciences, Declare ye mysteries That relate to the inhabitants of the world; There is a noxious creature, From the rampart of Satanas, Which has overcome all Between the deep and the shallow; Equally wide are his jaws As the mountains of the Alps; Him death will not subdue, Nor hand or blades; There is the load of nine hundred waggons In the hair of his two paws; There is in his head an eye Green as the limpid sheet of icicle; Three springs arise In the nape of his neck; Sea-roughs thereon Swim through it; There was the dissolution of the oxen Of Deivrdonwy the water-gifted. The names of the three springs From the midst of the ocean; One generated brine Which is from the Corina, To replenish the flood Over seas disappearing; The second, without injury It will fall on us, When there is rain abroad. Through the whelming sky; The third will appear Through the mountain veins, Like a flinty banquet. The work of the King of kings. You are blundering bards, In too much solicitude; You cannot celebrate The kingdom of the Britons; And I am Taliesin, Chief of the bards of the west, Who will loosen Elphin Out of the golden fetter." * * * * * "Be silent, then, ye unlucky rhyming bards, For you cannot judge between truth and falsehood. If you be primary bards formed by Heaven, Tell your king what his fate will be. It is I who am a diviner and a leading bard, And know every passage in the country of your king; I shall liberate Elphin from the belly of the stony tower; And will tell your king what will befall him. A most strange creature will come from the sea marsh of Rhianedd As a punishment of iniquity on Maelgwn Gwynedd; His hair, his teeth, and his eyes being as gold, And this will bring destruction upon Maelgwn Gwynedd." * * * * * "Discover thou what is The strong creature from before the flood, Without flesh, without bone, Without vein, without blood, Without head, without feet; It will neither be older nor younger Than at the beginning; For fear of a denial, There are no rude wants With creatures. Great God! how the sea whitens When first it come! Great are its gusts When it comes from the south; Great are its evaporations When it strikes on coasts. It is in the field, it is in the wood, Without hand and without foot, Without signs of old age, Though it be co-eval With the five ages or periods; And older still, Though they be numberless years. It is also so wide As the surface of the earth; And it was not born, Nor was it seen. It will cause consternation Wherever God willeth. On sea, and on land, It neither sees, nor is seen. Its course is devious, And will not come when desired. On land and on sea, It is indispensible. It is without an equal, It is four-sided; It is not confined, It is incomparable; It comes from four quarters It will not be advised, It will not be without advice. It commences its journey Above the marble rock. {136} It is sonorous, it is dumb, It is mild, It is strong, it is bold, When it glances over the land. It is silent, it is vocal, It is clamorous, It is the most noisy On the face of the earth. It is good, it is bad, It is extremely injurious. It is concealed, Because sight cannot perceive it. It is noxious, it is beneficial; It is yonder, it is here; It will discompose, But will not repair the injury; It will not suffer for its doings, Seeing it is blameless. It is wet, it is dry, It frequently comes, Proceeding from the heat of the sun, And the coldness of the moon. The moon is less beneficial, Inasmuch as her heat is less. One Being has prepared it, Out of all creatures, By a tremendous blast, To wreak vengeance On Maelgwn Gwynedd." And while he was thus singing his verse near the door there arose a mighty storm of wind, so that the king and all his nobles thought that the castle would fall upon their heads. And the king caused them to fetch Elphin in haste from his dungeon, and placed him before Taliesin. And it is said that immediately he sang a verse, so that the chains opened from about his feet. "I adore the Supreme, Lord of all animation,-- Him that supports the heaven, Ruler of every extreme, Him that made the water good for all, Him who has bestowed each gift, and blesses it;-- May abundance of mead be given Maelgwn of Anglesey, who supplies us, From his foaming meadhorns, with the choicest pure liquor. Since bees collect, and do not enjoy, We have sparkling distilled mead, which is universally praised. The multitude of creatures which the earth nourishes, God made for man, with a view to enrich him;-- Some are violent, some are mute, he enjoys them, Some are wild, some are tame; the Lord makes them;-- Part of their produce becomes clothing; For food and beverage till doom will they continue. I entreat the Supreme, Sovereign of the region of peace, To liberate Elphin from banishment, The man who gave me wine, and ale, and mead, With large princely steeds, of beautiful appearance; May he yet give me; and at the end, May God of His good will grant me, in honour, A succession of numberless ages, in the retreat of tranquillity.-- Elphin, knight of mead, late be thy dissolution!" And afterwards he sang the ode which is called "The Excellence of the Bards." "What was the first man Made by the God of heaven; What the fairest flattering speech That was prepared by Ieuav; What meat, what drink, What roof his shelter; What the first impression Of his primary thinking; What became his clothing; Who carried on a disguise, Owing to the wiles of the country, In the beginning? Wherefore should a stone be hard; Why should a thorn be sharp-pointed; Who is hard like a flint; Who is salt like brine; Who sweet like honey; Who rides on the gale; Why ridged should be the nose; Why should a wheel be round; Why should the tongue be gifted with speech Rather than another member? If thy bards, Heinin, be competent, Let them reply to me, Taliesin." And after that he sang the address which is called "The Reproof of the Bards." "If thou art a bard completely imbued With genius not to be controlled, Be thou not untractable Within the court of thy king; Until thy rigmarole shall be known, Be thou silent Heinin As to the name of thy verse, And the name of thy vaunting; And as to the name of thy grandsire Prior to his being baptized. And the name of the sphere, And the name of the element, And the name of thy language, And the name of thy region. Avaunt, ye bards above, Avaunt, ye bards below! My beloved is below, In the fetter of Arianrod. It is certain you know not How to understand the song I utter, Nor clearly how to discriminate Between the truth and what is false; Puny bards, crows of the district, Why do you not take to flight? A bard that will not silence me, Silence may he not obtain, Till he goes to be covered Under gravel and pebbles; Such as shall listen to me, May God listen to him." Then sang he the piece called "The Spite of the Bards." "Minstrels persevere in their false custom, Immoral ditties are their delight; Vain and tasteless praise they recite; Falsehood at all times do they utter; The innocent persons they ridicule; Married women they destroy, Innocent virgins of Mary they corrupt; As they pass their lives away in vanity; Poor innocent persons they ridicule; At night they get drunk, they sleep the day; In idleness without work they feed themselves; The Church they hate, and the tavern they frequent; With thieves and perjured fellows they associate; At courts they inquire after feasts; Every senseless word they bring forward; Every deadly sin they praise; Every vile course of life they lead; Through every village, town, and country they stroll; Concerning the gripe of death they think not; Neither lodging nor charity do they give; Indulging in victuals to excess. Psalms or prayers they do not use, Tithes or offerings to God they do not pay, On holidays or Sundays they do not worship; Vigils or festivals they do not heed. The birds do fly, the fish do swim, The bees collect honey, worms do crawl, Every thing travails to obtain its food, Except minstrels and lazy useless thieves. I deride neither song nor minstrelsy, For they are given by God to lighten thought; But him who abuses them, For blaspheming Jesus and his service." Taliesin having set his master free from prison, and having protected the innocence of his wife, and silenced the Bards so that not one of them dared to say a word, now brought Elphin's wife before them, and shewed that she had not one finger wanting. Right glad was Elphin, right glad was Taliesin. Then he bade Elphin wager the king, that he had a horse both better and swifter than the king's horses. And this Elphin did, and the day, and the time, and the place were fixed, and the place was that which at this day is called Morva Rhiannedd; and thither the king went with all his people, and four and twenty of the swiftest horses he possessed. And after a long process the course was marked, and the horses were placed for running. Then came Taliesin with four and twenty twigs of holly, which he had burnt black, and he caused the youth who was to ride his master's horse to place them in his belt, and he gave him orders to let all the king's horses get before him, and as he should overtake one horse after the other, to take one of the twigs and strike the horse with it over the crupper, and then let that twig fall; and after that to take another twig, and do in like manner to every one of the horses, as he should overtake them, enjoining the horseman strictly to watch when his own horse should stumble, and to throw down his cap on the spot. All these things did the youth fulfil, giving a blow to every one of the king's horses, and throwing down his cap on the spot where his horse stumbled. And to this spot Taliesin brought his master after his horse had won the race. And he caused Elphin to put workmen to dig a hole there; and when they had dug the ground deep enough, they found a large cauldron full of gold. And then said Taliesin, "Elphin, behold a payment and reward unto thee, for having taken me out of the weir, and for having reared me from that time until now." And on this spot stands a pool of water, which is to this time called Pwllbair. After all this, the king caused Taliesin to be brought before him, and he asked him to recite concerning the creation of man from the beginning; and thereupon he made the poem which is now called "One of the Four Pillars of Song." "The Almighty made, Down the Hebron vale, With his plastic hands, Adam's fair form; And five hundred years, Void of any help, There he remained and lay Without a soul. He again did form, In calm paradise, From a left-side rib, Bliss-throbbing Eve. Seven hours they were The orchard keeping, Till Satan brought strife, With wiles from hell. Thence were they driven, Cold and shivering, To gain their living, Into this world. To bring forth with pain Their sons and daughters, To have possession Of Asia's land. Twice five, ten and eight, She was self-bearing, The mixed burden Of man-woman. And once, not hidden, She brought forth Abel, And Cain the forlorn, The homicide. To him and his mate Was given a spade, To break up the soil, Thus to get bread. The wheat pure and white, Summer tilth to sow, Every man to feed, Till great yule feast. An angelic hand From the high Father, Brought seed for growing That Eve might sow; But she then did hide Of the gift a tenth, And all did not sow Of what was dug. Black rye then was found, And not pure wheat grain, To show the mischief Thus of thieving. For this thievish act, It is requisite, That all men should pay Tithe unto God. Of the ruddy wine, Planted on sunny days, And on new moon nights; And the white wine. The wheat rich in grain And red flowing wine Christ's pure body make, Son of Alpha. The wafer is flesh, The wine is spilt blood, The Trinity's words Sanctify them. The concealed books From Emmanuel's hand Were brought by Raphael As Adam's gift. When in his old age, To his chin immersed In Jordan's water, Keeping a fast, Moses did obtain, In Jordan's water, The aid of the three Most special rods. Solomon did obtain, In Babel's tower, All the sciences In Asia land. So did I obtain, In my bardic books, All the sciences Of Europe and Africa. Their course, their bearing Their permitted way, And their fate I know, Unto the end. Oh! what misery, Through extreme of woe, Prophecy will show On Troia's race! A coiling serpent, Proud and merciless, On her golden wings, From Germany. She will overrun England and Scotland, From Lychlyn sea-shore To the Severn. Then will the Brython Be as prisoners, By strangers swayed, From Saxony. Their Lord they will praise, Their speech they will keep, Their land they will lose, Except wild Walia. Till some change shall come, After long penance, When equally rife The two crimes come. Britons then shall have Their land and their crown, And the strangers swarm Shall disappear. All the angel's words, As to peace and war, Will be fulfilled To Britain's race. He further told the king various prophecies of things that should be in the world, in songs, as follows. * * * * * {Picture: p143.jpg} Footnotes: {11a} Diarwya. {11b} While the day was still young. {13} Arawn, king of Annwvyn. {15} And as thou seest. {17} "It may be that I shall repent for what I have done unto thee. Seek whom thou wiliest to slay thee, I shall not slay thee." {26} "If thou wilt ask for a reasonable gift, thou shalt have it gladly." "A reasonable one, lord," answered he. {28} Pwyll rose, and caused silence to be proclaimed, to command all suitors and minstrels to show what they desired, and to tell them that every one of them would be satisfied according to his wish and desire. {29} And they summoned him to them. {30} "Wretched women," said Rhiannon, "for the sake of the God who knows everything, charge me not falsely. The God who knows everything knows that that is false." {31a} Whether she persuaded or pleaded. {31b} Unbeseeming. {33} According to the kind of baptism that was then made. {35} "Oh fair lady," said Teirnon, "it is not very likely to me that any of these will be carried on thy back." "Let who will do so," said the son, "I shall not." "Truly, my soul," said Teirnon, "neither shall we go." {36a} The Welsh is _vy'm pryder i_ (= my trouble). {36b} If he will be of gentle bearing. {37a} And if he is in power, it will be more right for him to maintain thee than it was even for me. {37b} After that. {38} Wallt. {39a} And splendid wearer of the crown of London. {39b} Over-looking the sea. {40} Penordim. {42} Mane. {45} And I am not sure it was not there he got it. {48a} Taunted him openly. {48b} Bake. {50a} On the township. {50b} There were but two rivers, Lli and Archan were they called. After that the ocean separated the kingdoms. {52a} Was. {52b} "Yes," said Bendigeid Vran, "unless I myself can get the kingship." {56a} Glivieri. {56b} Grodyeu. {59a} At that very moment. {59b} And from that hour they could not rest. {62a} Meek. {62b} Wilt thou follow another counsel? {62c} And even now thou wilt not be disappointed with her appearance. {65} Add "and fish." {71} He furnished gilded clasps for the shoes. {73} And then, half in guile and half in anger, he rushed into the midst of the mice. But he could no more keep one of them within sight than he could gnats or birds in the air, except one, which he saw was heavy with young, and which he thought could not run. {79} Knockers and Collars. {81} Eveyd. {87} Tyviawc. {88} A maiden. {91a} Aranrod _throughout_. {91b} Infamous. {93} Sea-weed. {96} Destiny. {98a} Add "according to the rite of baptism they then performed." {98b} "I will give him that one Cantrev that is best for a young man to have." {100} Blow. {111} Add "henceforth." {118a} Of the books of the magician. [Vergil = Fferyllt = magician or chemist.] {118b} Head. {121} Taliesin {123} This should be Elphin son of Gwyddno. {136} Possibly an allusion to the Cave of AEolus. 
5678	----	This eBook was produced by John B. Hare and Carrie Lorenz. HEROIC ROMANCES OF IRELAND TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH PROSE AND VERSE, WITH PREFACE, SPECIAL INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES BY A. H. LEAHY IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. I PREFACE At a time like the present, when in the opinion of many the great literatures of Greece and Rome are ceasing to hold the influence that they have so long exerted upon human thought, and when the study of the greatest works of the ancient world is derided as "useless," it may be too sanguine to hope that any attention can be paid to a literature that is quite as useless as the Greek; which deals with a time, which, if not actually as far removed from ours as are classical times, is yet further removed in ideas; a literature which is known to few and has yet to win its way to favour, while the far superior literature of Greece finds it hard to defend the position that it long ago won. It may be that reasons like these have weighed with those scholars who have opened up for us the long-hidden treasures of Celtic literature; despairing of the effort to obtain for that literature its rightful crown, and the homage due to it from those who can appreciate literary work for itself, they have been contented to ask for the support of that smaller body who from philological, antiquarian, or, strange as it may appear, from political reasons, are prepared to take a modified interest in what should be universally regarded as in its way one of the most interesting literatures of the world. The literary aspect of the ancient literature of Ireland has not indeed been altogether neglected. It has been used to furnish themes on which modern poems can be written; ancient authority has been found in it for what is essentially modern thought: modern English and Irish poets have claimed the old Irish romances as inspirers, but the romances themselves have been left to the scholars and the antiquarians. This is not the position that Irish literature ought to fill. It does undoubtedly tell us much of the most ancient legends of modern Europe which could not have been known without it; but this is not its sole, or even its chief claim to be heard. It is itself the connecting-link between the Old World and the New, written, so far as can be ascertained, at the time when the literary energies of the ancient world were dead, when the literatures of modern Europe had not been born,[FN#1] in a country that had no share in the ancient civilisation of Rome, among a people which still retained many legends and possibly a rudimentary literature drawn from ancient Celtic sources, and was producing the men who were the earliest classical scholars of the modern world. [FN#1] The only possible exceptions to this, assuming the latest possible date for the Irish work, and the earliest date for others, are the kindred Welsh literature and that of the Anglo-Saxon invaders of Britain. The exact extent of the direct influence of Irish literature upon the development of other nations is hard to trace, chiefly because the influence of Ireland upon the Continent was at its height at the time when none of the languages of modern Europe except Welsh and Anglo-Saxon had reached a stage at which they might be used for literary purposes, and a Continental literature on which the Irish one might have influence simply did not exist. Its subsequent influence, in the tenth and eleventh centuries, upon Welsh, and through Welsh upon the early Breton literature (now lost) appears to be established; it is usually supposed that its action upon the earliest French compositions was only through the medium of these languages, but it is at least possible that its influence in this case also was more direct. In Merovingian and early Carlovingian times, when French songs were composed, which are now lost but must have preceded the extant chansons de geste, the Irish schools were attracting scholars from the neighbouring countries of Europe; Ireland was sending out a steady stream of "learned men" to France, Germany, and Italy; and it is at least possible that some who knew the Irish teachers realized the merit of the literary works with which some of these teachers must have been familiar. The form of the twelfth-century French romance, "Aucassin and Nicolete," is that of the chief Irish romances, and may well have been suggested by them; whilst the variety of the rhythm and the elaborate laws of the earliest French poetry, which, both in its Northern and Southern form, dates from the first half of the twelfth century, almost imply a pre-existing model; and such a model is more easily traced in Irish than in any other vernacular literature that was then available. It is indeed nearly as hard to suppose that the beautiful literature of Ireland had absolutely no influence upon nations known to be in contact with it, as it would be to hold to the belief that the ancient Cretan civilisation had no effect upon the liter ary development that culminated in the poems of Homer. Before speaking of what the Irish literature was, it may be well to say what it was not. The incidents related in it date back, according to the "antiquaries" of the ninth to the twelfth centuries, some to the Christian era, some to a period long anterior to it; but occasional allusions to events that were unknown in Ireland before the introduction of Christianity, and a few to classical personages, show that the form of the present romances can hardly be pre-Christian, or even close translations into Old or Middle Irish of Druidic tales. It has therefore been the fashion to speak of the romances as inaccurate survivals of pre-Christian works, which have been added to by successive generations of "bards," a mode of viewing our versions of the romances which of course puts them out of the category of original literature and hands them over to the antiquarians; but before they suffer this fate, it is reasonable to ask that their own literary merit should be considered in a more serious manner than has yet been attempted. The idea that our versions of the romances are inaccurate reproductions of Druidic tales is not at all borne out by a study of the romances themselves; for each of these, except for a few very manifestly late insertions, has a style and character of its own. There were, undoubtedly, old traditions, known to the men who in the sixth and seventh centuries may have written the tales that we have, known even to men who in the tenth and eleventh centuries copied them and commented upon them; but the romances as they now stand do not look like pieces of patchwork, but like the works of men who had ideas to convey; and to me at least they seem to bear approximately the same relation to the Druid legends as the works of the Attic tragedians bear to the archaic Greek legends on which their tragedies were based. In more than one case, as in the "Courtship of Etain," which is more fully discussed below, there are two versions of the same tale, the framework being the same in both, while the treatment of the incidents and the view of the characters of the actors is essentially different; and when the story is treated from the antiquarian point of view, that which regards both versions as resting upon a common prehistoric model, the question arises, which of the two more nearly represents the "true" version? There is, I would submit, in such cases, no true version. The old Druidic story, if it could be found, would in all probability contain only a very small part of either of our two versions; it would be bald, half-savage in tone, like one of the more ancient Greek myths, and producing no literary effect; the literary effect of both the versions that we have, being added by men who lived in Christian times, were influenced by Christian ideals, and probably were, like many of their contemporaries, familiar with the literary bequests of the ancient world.[FN#2] [FN#2] It seems to be uncertain whether or not the writers of the Irish romances shared in the classical learning for which Ireland was noted in their time. The course of study at the schools established for the training of the fili in the tenth and eleventh centuries was certainly, as has been pointed out, very different from that of the ecclesiastical schools (see Joyce, vol. i. p. 430). No classical instruction was included in this training, but it is not certain that this separation of studies was so complete before what is called the "antiquarian age" set in. Cormac mac Cuninan, for example, was a classical scholar, and at the same time skilled in the learning of the fili. It should also be observed that the course at the ecclesiastical schools, as handed down to us, hardly seems to be classical enough to have produced a Columbanus or an Erigena; the studies that produced these men must have been of a different kind, and the lay schools as originally established by Sanchan Torpest may have included much that afterwards gave place to a more purely Irish training. The tale of Troy seems to have been known to the fili, and there are in their works allusions to Greek heroes, to Hercules and Hector, but it has been pointed out by Mr. Nutt that there is little if any evidence of influence produced by Latin or Greek literature on the actual matter or thought of the older Irish work. On this point reference may be made to a note on "Mae Datho's Boar" in this volume (p. 173), but even if this absence of classical influence is established (and it is hard to say what will not be found in Irish literature), it is just possible that the same literary feeling which made Irish writers of comparatively late tales keep the bronze weapons and chariots of an earlier date in their accounts of ancient wars, while they described arms of the period when speaking of battles of their own time, affected them in this instance also; and that they had enough restraint to refrain from introducing classical and Christian ideas when speaking of times in which they knew these ideas would have been unfamiliar. It may be, and often is, assumed that the appearance of grotesque or savage passages in a romance is an indication of high antiquity, and that these passages at least are faithful reproductions of Druidic originals, but this does not seem to be quite certain. Some of these passages, especially in the case of romances preserved in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri (The Book of the Dun Cow), look like insertions made by scribes of an antiquarian turn of mind,[FN#3] and are probably of very ancient date; in other cases, as for example in the "Boar of Mac Datho," where Conall dashes Anluan's head into Ket's face, the savagery is quite in 'keeping with the character of the story, and way have been deliberately invented by an author living in Christian times, to add a flavour to his tale, although in doing so he probably imitated a similar incident in some other legend. To take a classical parallel, the barbarity shown by Aeneas in Aeneid x. 518-520, in sacrificing four youths on the funeral pyre of Pallas, an act which would have been regarded with horror in Virgil's own day, does not prove that there was any ancient tale of the death of Pallas in which these victims were sacrificed, nor even that such victims were sacrificed in ancient Latium in Pallas' day; but it does show that Virgil was familiar with the fact that such victims used in some places to be sacrificed on funeral pyres; for, in a sense, he could not have actually invented the incident. [FN#3] See the exhibition of the tips of tongues in the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," page 57. Thus the appearance of an archaic element in an Irish romance is in itself no proof of the Druidic origin of that form of the romance, nor even of the existence of that element in the romance's earliest form: upon such a principle the archaic character of the motif of the "Oedipus Coloneus" would prove it to be the oldest of the Greek tragedies, while as a matter of fact it seems to be doubtful whether the introduction of this motif into the story of Oedipus was not due to Sophocles himself, although of course he drew the idea of it, if not from the original legend of Oedipus, from some other early legend. The most satisfactory test of the authorship of an Irish romance, and one of the most satisfactory tests of its date, is its literary character; and if we look at the literary character of the best of the Irish romances, there is one point that is immediately apparent, the blending of prose and verse. One, the most common, explanation of this, is that the verse was added to the original tale, another that the verse is the older part, the prose being added to make a framework for the verse, but a general view of some of the original romances appears to lead to a very different conclusion. It seems much more probable that the Irish authors deliberately chose a method of making their work at once literary and suited to please a popular audience; they told their stories in plain prose, adding to them verse, possibly chanted by the reciters of the stories, so that while the prose told the story in simple language, the emotions of pity, martial ardour, and the like were awakened by the verse. They did not use the epic form, although their knowledge of classical literature must have made them familiar with it; the Irish epic form is Romance. They had, besides the prose and what may be called the "regular" verse, a third form, that of rose, or as it is sometimes called rhetoric, which is a very irregular form of verse. Sometimes it rhymes, but more often not; the lines are of varying lengths, and to scan them is often very difficult, an alliteration taking the place of scansion in many cases. The rhetoric does not in general develop the story nor take the form of description, it usually consists of songs of triumph, challenges, prophecies, and exhortations, though it is sometimes used for other purposes. It does not conform to strict grammatical rules like the more regular verse and the prose, and many of the literal translations which Irish scholars have made for us of the romances omit this rhetoric entirely, owing to the difficulty in rendering it accurately, and because it does not develop the plots of the stories. Notable examples of such omissions are in Miss Faraday's translation of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of the "Great Tain," and in Whitley Stokes' translation of the "Destruction of Da Derga's Hostel." With all respect to these scholars, and with the full consciousness of the difficulty of the task that has naturally been felt by one who has vainly attempted to make sense of what their greater skill has omitted, it may be suggested that the total omission of such passages injures the literary effect of a romance in a manner similar to the effect of omitting all the choric pieces in a Greek tragedy: the rhetoric indeed, on account of its irregularity, its occasional strophic correspondence, its general independence of the action of the tale, and its difficulty as compared with the other passages, may be compared very closely to a Greek "chorus." Few of the romances written in prose and verse are entirely without rhetoric; but some contain very little of it; all the six romances of this character given in the present volume (counting as two the two versions of "Etain") contain some rhetoric, but there are only twenty-one such passages in the collection altogether, ten of which are in one romance, the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain." The present collection is an attempt to give to English readers some of the oldest romances in English literary forms that seem to correspond to the literary forms which were used in Irish to produce the same effect, and has been divided into two parts. The first part contains five separate stories, all of which are told in the characteristic form of prose and verse: they are the "Courtship of Etain," the "Boar of Mac Datho," the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," the "Death of the Sons of Usnach" (Book of Leinster version), and the "Combat at the Ford" out of the Book of Leinster version of the "Tain bo Cuailnge." Two versions are given of the "Courtship of Etain "; and the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," as is pointed out in the special preface prefixed to it, really consists of two independent versions. It was at first intended to add the better-known version of the "Death of the Sons of Usnach" known as that of the Glenn Masain MS., but the full translation of this has been omitted, partly to avoid making the volume too bulky, partly because this version is readily attainable in a literal form; an extract from it has, however, been added to the Book of Leinster version for the purpose of comparison. In the renderings given of these romances the translation of the prose is nearly literal, but no attempt has been made to follow the Irish idiom where this idiom sounds harsh in English; actives have been altered to passive forms and the reverse, adjectives are sometimes replaced by short sentences which give the image better in English, pronouns, in which Irish is very rich, are often replaced by the persons or things indicated, and common words, like iarom, iarsin, iartain, immorro, and the like (meaning thereafter, moreover, &c.), have been replaced by short sentences that refer back to the events indicated by the words. Nothing has been added to the Irish, except in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of "Etain," where there is a lacuna to be filled up, and there are no omissions. The translations of the verse and of the rhetoric are, so far as is possible, made upon similar lines; it was at first intended to add literal renderings of all the verse passages, but it was found that to do so would make the volume of an unmanageable size for its purpose. Literal renderings of all the verse passages in "Etain," the first of the tales in volume i., are given in the notes to that story; the literal renderings of Deirdre's lament in the "Sons of Usnach," and of two poems in "The Combat at the Ford," are also given in full as specimens, but in the case of most of the poems reference is made to easily available literal translations either in English or German: where the literal rendering adopted differs from that referred to, or where the poem in question has not before been translated, the literal rendering has been given in the notes. These examples will, it is believed, give a fair indication of the relation between my verse translations and the originals, the deviations from which have been made as small as possible. The form of four-line verse divided into stanzas has generally been used to render the passages in four-lined verse in the Irish, the only exception to this rule being in the verses at the end of the "Boar of Mac Datho": these are in the nature of a ballad version of the whole story, and have been rendered in a ballad metre that does not conform to the arrangement in verses of the original. The metre of all the Irish four-lined verses in this volume is, except in two short pieces, a seven-syllabled line, the first two lines usually rhyming with each other, and the last two similarly rhyming,[FN#4] in a few cases in the "Boar of Mac Datho" these rhymes are alternate, and in the extract from the Glenn Masain version of the "Sons of Usnach" there is a more complicated rhyme system. It has not been thought necessary to reproduce this metre in all cases, as to do so would sound too monotonous in English; the metre is, however, reproduced once at least in each tale except in that of the "Death of the Sons of Usnach." The eight-lined metre that occurs in five of the verse passages in the "Combat at the Ford" has in one case been reproduced exactly, and in another case nearly exactly, but with one syllable added to each line; the two passages in this romance that are in five-syllabled lines have been reproduced exactly in the Irish metre, in one case with the rhyme-system of the original. With the rhetoric greater liberty has been used; sometimes the original metre has been followed, but more often not; and an occasional attempt has been made to bring out the strophic correspondence in the Irish. [FN#4] An example of this metre is as follows:-- All the elves of Troom seem dead, All their mighty deeds are fled; For their Hound, who hounds surpassed, Elves have bound in slumber fast. In the first volume of the collection the presentation has then been made as near as may be to the form and matter of the Irish; in the second volume, called "Versified Romances," there is a considerable divergence from the Irish form but not from its sense. This part includes the five "Tains" or Cattle-Forays of Fraech, Dartaid, Regamon, Flidais, and Regamna; which in the originals differ from the five tales in volume i, in that they include no verse, except for a few lines in Regamna, most of which are untranslatable. The last four of these are short pieces written in a prose extremely rapid in its action, and crowded with incident. They are all expressly named as "fore-tales," remscela, or preludes to the story of the great war of Cualnge, which is the central event in the Ulster heroic cycle, and appear suited for rapid prose recitations, which were apparently as much a feature in ancient as they are in modern Irish. Such pieces can hardly be reproduced in English prose so as to bring out their character; they are represented in English by the narrative ballad, and they have been here rendered in this way. Literal translations in prose are printed upon the opposite page to the verse, these translations being much more exact than the translations in the first volume, as the object in this case is to show the literal Irish form, not its literal English equivalent, which is in this case the verse. The "Tain bo Fraich" is also, in a sense, a "fore-tale" to the Great Raid, but is of a different character to the others. It consists of two parts, the second of which is not unlike the four that have just been mentioned, but the first part is of a much higher order, containing brilliant descriptions, and at least one highly poetic passage although its Irish form is prose. Fraech has been treated like the other fore-tales, and rendered in verse with literal prose opposite to the verse for the purpose of comparison. The notes to all the five Tana in the second volume accompany the text; in the first volume all the notes to the different romances are collected together, and placed at the end of the volume. The second volume also includes a transcript from the facsimile of that part of the Irish text of the tale of Etain which has not before been published, together with an interlinear literal translation. It is hoped that this arrangement may assist some who are not Middle Irish scholars to realise what the original romances are. The manuscript authorities for the eleven different romances (counting as two the two versions of "Etain") are all old; seven are either in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, an eleventh-century manuscript, or in the Book of Leinster, a twelfth-century one; three of the others are in the fourteenth-century Yellow Book of Lecan, which is often, in the case of texts preserved both in it and the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, regarded as the better authority of the two; and the remaining one, the second version of "Etain," is in the fifteenth-century manuscript known as Egerton, 1782, which gives in an accurate form so many texts preserved in the older manuscripts that it is very nearly as good an authority as they. The sources used in making the translations are also stated in the special introductions, but it may be mentioned as a summary that the four "Preludes," the Tana of Dartaid, Regamon, Flidais, and Regamna, are taken from the text printed with accompanying German translations by Windisch in Irische Texte, vol. ii.; Windisch's renderings being followed in those portions of the text that he translates; for the "Tain bo Fraich" and the "Combat at the Ford" the Irish as given by O'Beirne Crowe and by O'Curry, with not very trustworthy English translations, has been followed; in the case of the fragment of the Glenn Masain version of "Deirdre" little reference has been made to the Irish, the literal translation followed being that given by Whitley Stokes. The remaining five romances, the "Boar of Mac Datho," the Leinster version of "Deirdre," the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," the Egerton version of "Etain," and the greater part of the Leabbar na h-Uidhri version of the same, are taken from the Irish text printed without translation in Irische Texte, vol. i., the end of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version omitted by Windisch being taken from the facsimile of the manuscript published by the Royal Irish Academy. I have to acknowledge with gratitude many corrections to O'Beirne Crowe's translation of the "Tain bo Fraich" kindly given me by Professor Kuno Meyer; in the case of O'Curry's translation of the "Combat at the Ford," similar help kindly given me by Mr. E. J. Quiggin; and in the case of the two versions of "Etain," more especially for the part taken direct from the facsimile, I have to express gratitude for the kind and ready help given to me by Professor Strachan. Professor Strachan has not only revised my transcript from the facsimile, and supplied me with translations of the many difficult passages in this of which I could make no sense, but has revised all the translation which was made by the help of Windisch's glossary to the Irische Texte of both the versions of "Etain," so that the translations given of these two romances should be especially reliable, although of course I may have made some errors which have escaped Professor Strachan's notice. The three other romances which have been translated from the Irish in Irische Texte have not been similarly revised, but all passages about which there appeared to be doubt have been referred to in the notes to the individual romances. It remains to add some remarks upon the general character of the tales, which, as may be seen after a very cursory examination, are very different both in tone and merit, as might indeed be expected if we remember that we are probably dealing with the works of men who were separated from each other by a gap of hundreds of years. Those who have read the actual works of the ancient writers of the Irish romances will not readily indulge in the generalisations about them used by those to whom the romances are only known by abstracts or a compilation. Perhaps the least meritorious of those in this collection are the "Tains" of Dartaid, Regamon, and Flidais, but the tones of these three stories are very different. Dartaid is a tale of fairy vengeance for a breach of faith; Flidais is a direct and simple story of a raid like a Border raid, reminding us of the "riding ballads" of the Scottish Border, and does not seem to trouble itself much about questions of right or wrong; Regamon is a merry tale of a foray by boys and girls; it troubles itself with the rights of the matter even less than Flidais if possible, and is an example of an Irish tale with what is called in modern times a "good ending." It may be noted that these last two tales have no trace of the supernatural element which some suppose that the Irish writers were unable to dispense with. The "Tain bo Regamna," the shortest piece in the collection, is a grotesque presentation of the supernatural, and is more closely associated with the Great Tain than any of the other fore-tales to it, the series of prophecies with which it closes exactly following the action of the part of the Tain, to which it refers. Some of the grotesque character of Regamna appears in the "Boar of Mac Datho," which, however, like Regamon and Flidais, has no supernatural element; its whole tone is archaic and savage, relieved by touches of humour, but the style of the composition is much superior to that of the first three stories. A romance far superior to "Mae Datho" is the Leinster version of the well-known Deirdre story, the "Death of the Sons of Usnach." The opening of the story is savage, the subsequent action of the prose is very rapid, while the splendid lament at the end, one of the best sustained laments in the language, and the restraint shown in its account of the tragic death of Deirdre, place this version of the story in a high position. As has been already mentioned, parts of the fifteenth-century version of the story have been added to this version for purposes of comparison: the character of the Deirdre of the Leinster version would not have been in keeping with the sentiment of the lament given to her in the later account. The remaining five romances (treating as two the two versions of "Etain") all show great beauty in different ways. Three of the four tales given in them have "good endings," and the feeling expressed in them is less primitive than that shown in the other stories, although it is an open question whether any of them rises quite so high as Deirdre's lament. "Fraech" has, as has been mentioned before, two quite separate parts; the second part is of inferior quality, showing, however, an unusual amount of knowledge of countries lying outside Celtdom, but the first is a most graceful romance; although the hero is a demi-god, and the fairies play a considerable part in it, the interest is essentially human; and the plot is more involved than is the case in most of the romances. It abounds in brilliant descriptions; the description of the Connaught palace is of antiquarian interest; and one of the most beautiful pieces of Celtic mythology, the parentage of the three fairy harpers, is included in it. The "Sick-bed of Cuchulain" and the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of the "Courtship of Etain" seem to have had their literary effect injured by the personality of the compiler of the manuscript from which the Leabhar na h-Uidhri was copied. Seemingly an antiquarian, interested in the remains of the old Celtic religion and in old ceremonies, he has inserted pieces of antiquarian information into several of the romances that he has preserved for us, and though these are often of great interest in themselves, they spoil the literary effect of the romances in which they appear. It is possible that both the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of "Etain" and the "Sick-bed" might be improved by a little judicious editing; they have, however, been left just as they stand in the manuscript. The "Sick-bed," as is pointed out in the special introduction to it, consists of two separate versions; the first has plainly some of the compiler's comments added to it, but the second and longer part seems not to have been meddled with; and, although a fragment, it makes a stately romance, full of human interest although dealing with supernatural beings; and its conclusion is especially remarkable in early literature on account of the importance of the action of the two women who are the heroines of this part of the tale. The action of Fand in resigning her lover to the weaker mortal woman who has a better claim upon him is quite modern in its tone. The nearest parallel to the longer version of the "Sick-bed" is the Egerton version of "Etain," which is a complete one, and makes a stately romance. It is full of human interest, love being its keynote; it keeps the supernatural element which is an essential to the original legend in the background, and is of quite a different character to the earlier Leabhar na h-Uidhri version, although there is no reason to assume that the latter is really the more ancient in date. In the Leabbar na h-Uidhri version of "Etain," all that relates to the love-story is told in the baldest manner, the part which deals with the supernatural being highly descriptive and poetic. I am inclined to believe that the antiquarian compiler of the manuscript did here what he certainly did in the case of the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," and pieced together two romances founded upon the same legend by different authors. The opening of the story in Fairyland and the concluding part where Mider again appears are alike both in style and feeling, while the part that comes between is a highly condensed version of the love-story of the Egerton manuscript, and suggests the idea of an abstract of the Egerton version inserted into the story as originally composed, the effect being similar to that which would be produced upon us if we had got Aeschylus' "Choaphorae" handed down to us with a condensed version of the dialogue between Electra and Chrysothemis out of Sophocles' "Electra" inserted by a conscientious antiquarian who thought that some mention of Chrysothemis was necessary. This version of the legend, however, with its strong supernatural flavour, its insistence on the idea of re-birth, its observation of nature, and especially the fine poem in which Mider invites Etain to Fairyland, is a most valuable addition to the literature, and we have to lament the gap in it owing to the loss of a column in that part of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri manuscript which has been preserved. The last piece to be mentioned is the extract from the "Tain be Cuailnge" known as the "Combat at the Ford." This seems to me the finest specimen of old Irish work that has been preserved for us; the brilliance of its descriptions, the appropriate changes in its metres, the chivalry of its sentiments, and the rapidity of its action should, even if there were nothing to stand beside it in Irish literature, give that literature a claim to be heard: as an account of a struggle between two friends, it is probably the finest in any literature. It has been stated recently, no doubt upon sound authority, that the grammatical forms of this episode show it to be late, possibly dating only to the eleventh century. The manuscript in which it appears, however, is of the earlier part of the twelfth century; no literary modem work other than Irish can precede it in time; and if it is the work of an eleventh-century author, it does seem strange that his name or the name of some one of that date who could have written it has not been recorded, as MacLiag's name has been as the traditional author of the eleventh-century "Wars of the Gaedhill and the Gaill," for the names of several Irish authors of that period axe well known, and the Early Middle Irish texts of that period are markedly of inferior quality. Compare for example the Boromaean Tribute which Stokes considers to take high rank among texts of that period (Revue Celtique, xiii. p. 32). One would certainly like to believe that this episode of the "Combat at the Ford" belongs to the best literary period, with which upon literary grounds it seems to be most closely connected. But, whether this comparative lateness of the "Combat at the Ford" be true or not, it, together with all the varied work contained in this collection, with the possible exception of the short extract from the Glenn Masain "Deirdre," is in the actual form that we have it, older than the Norman Conquest of Ireland, older than the Norse Sagas. Its manuscript authority is older than that of the Volsunga Saga; its present form precedes the birth of Chretien de Troyes, the first considerable name in French literature, and, in a form not much unlike that in which we have it, it is probably centuries older than its actual manuscript date. The whole thing stands at the very beginning of the literature of Modern Europe, and compares by no means unfavourably with that which came after, and may, in part, have been inspired by it. Surely it deserves to be raised from its present position as a study known only to a few specialists, and to form part of the mental equipment of every man who is for its own sake interested in and a lover of literature. INTRODUCTION IN VERSE 'Tis hard an audience now to win For lore that Ireland's tales can teach; And faintly, 'mid the modern din, Is heard the old heroic speech. For long the tales in silence slept; The ancient tomes by few were read; E'en those who still its knowledge kept Have thought the living music dead. And some, to save the lore from death, With modern arts each tale would deck, Inflate its rhymes with magic breath, As if to buoy a sinking wreck. They graft new morbid magic dreams On tales where beating life is felt: In each romance find mystic gleams, And traces of the "moody Celt." Yet, though with awe the grassy mound That fairies haunt, is marked to-day; And though in ancient tales are found Dim forms of gods, long passed away; Though later men to magic turned, Inserting many a Druid spell; And ill the masters' craft had learned Who told the tales, and told them well; No tale should need a magic dress Or modern art, its life to give: Each for itself, or great, or less, Should speak, if it deserves to live. Think not a dull, a scribal pen Dead legends wrote, half-known, and feared: In lettered lands to poet men Romance, who lives to-day, appeared. For when, in fear of warrior bands, Had Learning fled the western world, And, raised once more by Irish hands, Her banner stood again unfurled; 'Twas there, where men her laws revered, That Learning aided Art's advance; And Ireland bore, and Ireland reared These Eldest Children of Romance. Her poets knew the Druid creeds; Yet not on these their thoughts would rest: They sang of love, of heroes' deeds, Of kingly pomp, of cheerful jest. Not as in Greece aspired their thought, They joyed in battles wild and stern; Yet pity once to men they taught From whom a fiercer age could learn. Their frequent theme was war: they sang The praise of chiefs of courage high; Yet, from their harps the accents rang That taught to knighthood chivalry. Their heroes praise a conquered foe, Oppose their friends for honour's sake, To weaker chieftains mercy show, And strength of cruel tyrants break. Their nobles, loving fame, rejoice In glory, got from bards, to shine; Yet thus ascends Cuchulain's voice: "No skill indeed to boast is mine!" They sang, to please a warlike age, Of wars, and women's wild lament, Yet oft, restraining warriors' rage, Their harps to other themes were bent. They loved on peaceful pomp to dwell, Rejoiced in music's magic strains,. All Nature's smiling face loved well, And "glowing hues of flowery plains." Though oft of Fairy Land they spoke, No eerie beings dwelled therein, 'Twas filled throughout with joyous folk Like men, though freed from death and sin. And sure those bards were truest knights Whose thoughts of women high were set, Nor deemed them prizes, won in fights, But minds like men's, and women yet. With skilful touch they paint us each, Etain, whose beauty's type for all; Scathach, whose warriors skill could teach Emer, whose words in wisdom fall; Deirdre the seer, by love made keen; Flidais, whose bounty armies feeds The prudent Mugain, Conor's queen; Crund's wife, more swift than Conor's steeds; Finnabar, death for love who dared; Revengeful Ferb, who died of grief Fand, who a vanquished rival spared; Queen Maev, who Connaught led, its chief. Not for the creeds their lines preserve Should Ireland's hero tales be known Their pictured pages praise deserve From all, not learned men alone. Their works are here; though flawed by time, To all the living verses speak Of men who taught to Europe rhyme, Who knew no masters, save the Greek. In forms like those men loved of old, Naught added, nothing torn away, The ancient tales again are told, Can none their own true magic sway? PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES The following list of suggested pronunciations does not claim to be complete or to be necessarily correct in all cases. Some words like Ferdia and Conchobar (Conor) have an established English pronunciation that is strictly speaking wrong; some, like Murthemne are doubtful; the suggestions given here are those adopted by the editor for such information as is at his disposal. It seems to be unnecessary to give all the names, as the list would be too long; this list contains those names in the first volume as are of frequent occurrence; names that occur less commonly, and some of those in the following list, have a pronunciation indicated in foot-notes. The most important names are in small capitals. LIST OF NAMES Aife (Ee-fa), pp. 117, 129, 1342 141, 148, an instructress of Cuchulain, Ferdia, and others in the art of war. Cathbad (Cah-ba), pp. 91, 92, 93, 95, a Druid. Cualgne (Kell-ny), mentioned in the Preface, Introductions, the "Combat" and elsewhere; a district corresponding to County Louth. Cuchulain (Cu-hoo-lin), the hero of the "Sick-bed" and the "Combat," and of the Ulster Heroic cycle in general. Deirdre (Dire-dree), the heroine of the "Exile of the Sons of Usnach." Dubhtach (Doov-ta), pp. 48, 97, 98, 107, an Ulster hero. Eochaid Airem (Yeo-hay Arrem), the king in the "Courtship of Etain." Eochaid Juil (Yeo-hay Yool), pp. 63, 70, 76, 79, a fairy king killed by Cuchulain. Eogan mac Durthacht (Yeogan mac Door-ha), pp. 43, 48, 93, 97, 101, 107; an Ulster hero, the slayer of the sons of Usnach. Etain (Et-oyn), the heroine of the "Courtship of Etain." Ferdia (Fer-dee-a), Cuchulain's opponent in the "Combat at the Ford." The true pronunciation is probably Fer-deed. Fuamnach (Foom-na), pp. 79 9, 10, 19, 26, a sorceress. Laeg (Layg), son of Riangabra (Reen-gabra), the charioteer and friend of Cuchulain, frequently mentioned in the "Sick-bed" and the "Combat at the Ford." Laegaire (Leary), pp. 42, 46, 67, an Ulster hero. Leabhar na h-Uidhri (Lyow-er na hoorie), frequently mentioned, the oldest Irish manuscript of romance. It means the "Book of the Dun Cow," sometimes referred to as L.U. Mac Datho (Mac Da-ho), king of Leinster in the "Boar of Mac Datho," the word means "son of two mutes." Murthemne (Moor-temmy), pp. 57, 59, 61, 73, 77, 78, a district in Ulster, with which Cuchulain is connected in the "Sick-bed" (in the "Combat" he is "Cuchulain of Cualgne"). Naisi (Nay-see), the hero of the "Exile of the Sons of Usnach." Scathach (Ska-ha), pp. 117, 129) 131, 134, 141, 149, 151 a sorceress in the Isle of Skye, instructress of Cuchulain in war. Uathach (Oo-ha), pp. 117, 129, 134; 141) 149, daughter of Scathach. Other prominent characters, in the pronunciation of whose names as given in the text no special assistance is required, are: Ailill mac Mata (Al-ill), king of Connaught. Ailill Anglonnach, lover of Etain, in the "Courtship of Etain." Conall Cernach, Conall the Victorious, second champion of Ulster after Cuchulain. Conor (properly spelt Conchobar and pronounced Con-ower), king of Ulster. Emer, wife of Cuchulain, appears often in the "Sick-bed." This name is by some pronounced A-vair, probably from a different spelling. Fand, the fairy princess, in love with Cuchulain, in the "Sick-bed." Fergus, son of Rog, prominent in the "Exile of the Sons of Usnach," and in "Combat"; step-father to King Conor, he appears in most of the romances. Ket (spelt Cet), son of Mata, the Connaught champion, appears in the "Boar of Mac Datho." Maev (spelt Medb), the great Queen of Connaught. Mider, Etain's fairy lover, in the "Courtship of Etain." CONTENTS THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN MAC DATHO'S BOAR THE SICK-BED OF CUCHULAIN THE EXILE OF THE SONS OF USNACH THE COMBAT AT THE FORD SPECIAL NOTE ON THE COMBAT AT THE FORD GENERAL NOTES THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN INTRODUCTION The date which tradition assigns to the events related in the tale of the "Courtship of Etain" is about B.C. 100, two or, according to some accounts, three generations before the king Conaire Mor, or Conary, whose death is told in the tale called the "Destruction of Da Derga's Hostel." This king is generally spoken of as a contemporary of the chief personages of what is called more especially the "Heroic Age" of Ireland; and the two versions of the "Courtship of Etain" given in this volume at once introduce a difficulty; for the sub-kings who were tributary to Eochaid, Etain's husband, are in both versions stated to be Conor, Ailill mac Mata, Mesgegra, and Curoi, all of whom are well-known figures in the tales of the Heroic Age. As Conary is related to have ruled sixty years, and several of the characters of the Heroic Age survived him, according to the tale that describes his death, the appearance of the names of Conor and Ailill in a tale about his grandfather (or according to the Egerton version his great-grandfather) introduces an obvious discrepancy. It appears to be quite impossible to reconcile the dates given to the actors in the tales of the Heroic and preceding age. They seem to have been given in the "antiquarian age" of the tenth and eleventh centuries; not only do they differ according to different chronologers by upwards of a hundred years, but the succession of kings in the accounts given by the same chronologer is often impossible in view of their mutual relationships. The real state of things appears to be that the "Courtship of Etain," together with the story of Conary, the lost tale of the destruction of the Fairy Hill of Nennta,[FN#5] and the tale of the Bull-Feast and election of Lugaid Red-Stripes as king of Ireland, forms a short cycle of romance based upon ancient legends that had originally no connection at all with those on which the romances of the Heroic Age were built. The whole government of the country is essentially different in the two cycles; in the Etain cycle the idea is that of a land practically governed by one king, the vassal kings being of quite small importance; in the tales of the Heroic Age proper, the picture we get is of two, if not of four, practically independent kingdoms, the allusions to any over-king being very few, and in great part late. But when the stories of Etain and of Conary assumed their present forms, when the writers of our romances formed them out of the traditions which descended to them from pro-Christian sources, both cycles of tradition were pretty well known; and there was a natural tendency to introduce personages from one cycle into the other, although these personages occupy a subordinate position in the cycle to which they do not properly belong. Even Conall Cernach, who is a fairly prominent figure in the tale of the death of Conary, has little importance given to him compared with the people who really belong to the cycle, and the other warriors of the Heroic Age mentioned in the tale are little but lay figures compared with Conary, Ingcel, and Mac Cecht. A wish to connect the two cycles probably accounts for the connection of Lugaid Red-Stripes with Cuchulain, the introduction of Conor and Ailill into the story of Etain may be due to the same cause, and there is no need to suppose that the authors of our versions felt themselves bound by what other men had introduced into the tale of Conary. The practice of introducing heroes from one cycle into another was by no means uncommon, or confined to Ireland; Greek heroes' names sometimes appear in the Irish tales; Cuchulain, in much later times, comes into the tales of Finn; and in Greece itself, characters who really belong to the time of the Trojan War appear in tales of the Argonauts. [FN#5] A short account of this is in the story of King Dathi (O'Curry Lectures, p. 286). The tale seems to be alluded to in the quatrain on p. 10 of this volume. There are very few corresponding allusions to personages from the small Etain cycle found in the great cycle of romances that belong to the Heroic Age, but MacCecht's name appears in a fifteenth-century manuscript which gives a version of the tale of Flidais; and I suspect an allusion to the Etain story in a verse in the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain" (see note, p. 184). It may be observed that the introduction of Conor and his contemporaries into the story of Conary's grandparents is an additional piece of evidence that our form of the story of Etain precedes the "antiquarian age"; for at that time the version which we have of the story of Conary must have been classical and the connection of Conor's warriors with Conary well-known. A keen eye was at that time kept on departures from the recognised historical order (compare a note by Mr. Nutt in the "Voyage of Bran," vol. ii. p. 61); and the introduction of Conor into our version of the tale of Etain must have been at an earlier date. The two versions of the "Courtship of Etain," the Egerton one, and that in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, have been compared in the general preface to the volume, and little more need be said on this point; it may, however, be noted that eight pages of the Egerton version (pp. 11 to 18) are compressed into two pages in L.U. (pp. 23 and 24). References to the Etain story are found in different copies of the "Dindshenchas," under the headings of Rath Esa, Rath Croghan, and Bri Leith; the principal manuscript authorities, besides the two translated here, are the Yellow Book of Lecan, pp. 91 to 104, and the Book of Leinster, 163b (facsimile). These do not add much to our versions; there are, however, one or two new points in a hitherto untranslated manuscript source mentioned by O'Curry ("Manners and Customs," vol. ii. p 192 to 194). The Leabhar na h-Uidhri version is defective both at the beginning and at the end; there is also a complete column torn from the manuscript, making the description of the chess match defective. These three gaps have been filled up by short passages enclosed in square brackets, at the commencement of the Prologue, on p. 28, and at the end of the L.U. version. The two first of these insertions contain no matter that cannot be found by allusions in the version itself; the conclusion of the tale is drawn, partly from the "Dindshenchas" of Rath Esa, partly from the passage in O'Curry's "Manners and Customs." The only alteration that has been made is that, following a suggestion in Windisch (Irische Texte, i. p. 132), the poem on page 26 has been placed four pages earlier than the point at which it occurs in the manuscript. Three very difficult lines (Leabhar na h-Uidhri, 132a, lines 12 to 14) have not been attempted; there are no other omissions, and no insertions except the three noted above. The Prologue out of the L.U. version has been placed first, as it is essential to the understanding of any version, then follows the Egerton version as the longer of the two, then the L.U. version of the Courtship, properly so called. PROLOGUE IN FAIRYLAND FROM THE LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRI Etain of the Horses, the daughter of Ailill, was the wife of Mider, the Fairy Dweller in Bri Leith.[FN#6] Now Mider had also another wife named Fuamnach[FN#7] who was filled with jealousy against Etain, and sought to drive her from her husband's house. And Fuamnach sought out Bressal Etarlam the Druid and besought his aid; and by the spells of the Druid, and the sorcery of Fuamnach, Etain was changed into the shape of a butterfly that finds its delight among flowers. And when Etain was in this shape she was seized by a great wind that was raised by Fuamnach's spells; and she was borne from her husband's house by that wind for seven years till she came to the palace of Angus Mac O'c who was son to the Dagda, the chief god of the men of ancient Erin. Mac O'c had been fostered by Mider, but he was at enmity with his foster-father, and he recognised Etain, although in her transformed shape, as she was borne towards him by the force] of the wind. And he made a bower for Etain with clear windows for it through which she might pass, and a veil of purple was laid upon her; and that bower was carried about by Mac O'c wherever he went. And there each night she slept beside him by a means that he devised, so that she became well-nourished and fair of form; for that bower was filled with marvellously sweet-scented shrubs, and it was upon these that she thrived, upon the odour and blossom of the best of precious herbs. [FN#6] Pronounced Bree Lay. [FN#7] Pronounced Foom-na. Now to Fuamnach came tidings of the love and the worship that Etain had from Mac O'c, and she came to Mider, and "Let thy foster-son," said she, "be summoned to visit thee, that I may make peace between you two, and may then go to seek for news of Etain." And the messenger from Mider went to Mac O'c, and Mac O'c went to Mider to greet him; but Fuamnach for a long time wandered from land to land till she was in that very mansion where Etain was; and then she blew beneath her with the same blast as aforetime, so that the blast carried her out of her bower, and she was blown before it, as she had been before for seven years through all the land of Erin, and she was driven by the wind of that blast to weakness and woe. And the wind carried her over the roof of a house where the men of Ulster sat at their ale, so that she fell through the roof into a cup of gold that stood near the wife of Etar the Warrior, whose dwelling-place was near to the Bay of Cichmany in the province that was ruled over by Conor. And the woman swallowed Etain together with the milk that was in the cup, and she bare her in her womb, till the time came that she was born thereafter as in earthly maid, and the name of Etain, the daughter of Etar, was given to her. And it was one thousand and twelve years since the time of the first begetting of Etain by Ailill to the time when she was born the second time as the daughter of Etar. Now Etain was nurtured at Inver Cichmany in the house of Etar, with fifty maidens about her of the daughters of the chiefs of the land; and it was Etar himself who still nurtured and clothed them, that they might be companions to his daughter Etain. And upon a certain day, when those maidens were all at the river-mouth to bathe there, they saw a horseman on the plain who came to the water towards them. A horse he rode that was brown, curvetting, and prancing, with a broad forehead and a curly mane and tail. Green, long, and flowing was the cloak that was about him, his shirt was embroidered with embroidery of red gold, and a great brooch of gold in his cloak reached to his shoulder on either side. Upon the back of that man was a silver shield with a golden rim; the handle for the shield was silver, and a golden boss was in the midst of the shield: he held in his hand a five-pointed spear with rings of gold about it from the haft to the head. The hair that was above his forehead was yellow and fair; and upon his brow was a circlet of gold, which confined the hair so that it fell not about his face. He stood for a while upon the shore of the bay; and he gazed upon the maidens, who were all filled with love for him, and then he sang this song: West of Alba, near the Mound[FN#8] Where the Fair-Haired Women play, There, 'mid little children found, Etain dwells, by Cichmain's Bay. She hath healed a monarch's eye By the well of Loch-da-lee; Yea, and Etar's wife, when dry, Drank her: heavy draught was she! Chased by king for Etain's sake, Birds their flight from Teffa wing: 'Tis for her Da-Arbre's lake Drowns the coursers of the king. Echaid, who in Meath shall reign, Many a war for thee shall wage; He shall bring on fairies bane, Thousands rouse to battle's rage. Etain here to harm was brought, Etain's form is Beauty's test; Etain's king in love she sought: Etain with our folk shall rest! [FN#8] The metre of these verses is that of the Irish. And after that he had spoken thus, the young warrior went away from the place where the maidens were; and they knew not whence it was that he had come, nor whither he departed afterwards. Moreover it is told of Mac O'c, that after the disappearance of Etain he came to the meeting appointed between him and Mider; and when he found that Fuamnach was away: "'Tis deceit," said Mider, "that this woman hath practised upon us; and if Etain shall be seen by her to be in Ireland, she will work evil upon Etain." "And indeed," said Mac O'c, "it seemeth to me that thy guess may be true. For Etain hath long since been in my own house, even in the palace where I dwell; moreover she is now in that shape into which that woman transformed her; and 'tis most likely that it is upon her that Fuamnach hath rushed." Then Mac O'c went back to his palace, and he found his bower of glass empty, for Etain was not there. And Mac O'c turned him, and he went upon the track of Fuamnach, and he overtook her at Oenach Bodbgnai, in the house of Bressal Etarlam the Druid. And Mac O'c attacked her, and he struck off her head, and he carried the head with him till he came to within his own borders. Yet a different tale hath been told of the end of Fuamnach, for it hath been said that by the aid of Manannan both Fuamnach and Mider were slain in Bri Leith, and it is of that slaying that men have told when they said: Think on Sigmall, and Bri with its forest: Little wit silly Fuamnach had learned; Mider's wife found her need was the sorest, When Bri Leith by Manannan was burned. THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN EGERTON VERSION Once there was a glorious and stately king who held the supreme lordship over all the land of Ireland. The name of the king was Eochaid Airemm, and he was the son of Finn, who was the son of Finntan; who was the son of Rogan the Red; who was the son of Essamain; who was the son of Blathecht; who was the son of Beothecht; who was the son of Labraid the Tracker; who was the son of Enna the Swift; who was the son of Angus of Tara, called the Shamefaced; who was the son of Eochaid the Broad-jointed; who was the son of Ailill of the Twisted Teeth; who was the son of Connla the Fair; who was the son of Irer; who was the son of Melghe the Praiseworthy; who was the son of Cobhtach the Slender from the plain of Breg; who was the son of Ugaine the Great; who was the son of Eochaid the Victorious. Now all the five provinces of Ireland were obedient to the rule of Eochaid Airemm: for Conor the son of Ness, the king of Ulster, was vassal to Eochaid; and Messgegra the king of Leinster was his vassal; and so was Curoi, the son of Dare, king of the land of Munster; and so were Ailill and Maev, who ruled over the land of Connaught. Two great strongholds were in the hands of Eochaid: they were the strongholds of Fremain in Meath, and of Fremain in Tethba; and the stronghold that he had in Tethba was more pleasing to him than any of those that he possessed. Less than a year had passed since Eochaid first assumed the sovereignty over Erin, when the news was proclaimed at once throughout all the land that the Festival of Tara should be held, that all the men of Ireland should come into the presence of their king, and that he desired full knowledge of the tributes due from, and the customs proper to each. And the one answer that all of the men of Ireland made to his call was: "That they would not attend the Festival of Tara during such time, whether it be long or short, that the king of Ireland remained without a wife that was worthy of him;" for there is no noble who is a wifeless man among the men of Ireland; nor can there be any king without a queen; nor does any man go to the Festival of Tara without his wife; nor does any wife go thither without her husband. Thereupon Eochaid sent out from him his horsemen, and his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and his couriers of the boundaries throughout all Ireland; and they searched all Ireland as they sought for a wife that should be worthy of the king, in her form, and her grace, and her countenance, and her birth. And in addition to all this there yet remained one condition: that the king would take as his wife none who had been before as a wife to any other man before him. And after that they had received these commands, his horsemen, and his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries went out; and they searched all Ireland south and north; and near to the Bay of Cichmany they found a wife worthy of the king; and her name was Etain the daughter of Etar, who was the king of Echrad. And his messengers returned to Eochaid, and they told him of the maiden, of her form, and her grace, and her countenance. And Eochaid came to that place to take the maiden thence, and this was the way that he took; for as he crossed over the ground where men hold the assembly of Bri Leith, he saw the maiden at the brink of the spring. A clear comb of silver was held in her hand, the comb was adorned with gold; and near her, as for washing, was a bason of silver whereon four birds had been chased, and there were little bright gems of carbuncle on the rims of the bason. A bright purple mantle waved round her; and beneath it was another mantle, ornamented with silver fringes: the outer mantle was clasped over her bosom with a golden brooch. A tunic she wore, with a long hood that might cover her head attached to it; it was stiff and glossy with green silk beneath red embroidery of gold, and was clasped over her breasts with marvellously wrought clasps of silver and gold; so that men saw the bright gold and the green silk flashing against the sun. On her head were two tresses of golden hair, and each tress had been plaited into four strands; at the end of each strand was a little ball of gold. And there was that maiden, undoing her hair that she might wash it, her two arms out through the armholes of her smock. Each of her two arms was as white as the snow of a single night, and each of her cheeks was as rosy as the foxglove. Even and small were the teeth in her head, and they shone like pearls. Her eyes were as blue as a hyacinth, her lips delicate and crimson; very high, soft, and white were her shoulders. Tender, polished, and white were her wrists; her fingers long, and of great whiteness; her nails were beautiful and pink. White as the snow, or as the foam of the wave, was her side; long was it, slender, and as soft as silk. Smooth and white were her thighs; her knees were round and firm and white; her ankles were as straight as the rule of a carpenter. Her feet were slim, and as white as the ocean's foam; evenly set were her eyes; her eyebrows were of a bluish black, such as ye see upon the shell of a beetle. Never a maid fairer than she, or more worthy of love, was till then seen by the eyes of men; and it seemed to them that she must be one of those who have come from the fairy mounds: it is of this maiden that men have spoken when it hath been said: "All that's graceful must be tested by Etain; all that's lovely by the standard of Etain." Grace with Etain's grace compare! Etain's face shall test what's fair! And desire of her seized upon the king; and he sent a man of his people in front of him to go to her kindred, in order that she might abide to await his coming. And afterwards the king came to the maiden, and he sought speech from her: "Whence art thou sprung, O maiden?" says Eochaid, "and whence is it that thou hast come?" "It is easy to answer thee," said the maiden: "Etain is my name, the daughter of the king of Echrad; 'out of the fairy mound' am I" "Shall an hour of dalliance with thee be granted to me?" said Eochaid. "'Tis for that I have come hither under thy safeguard," said she. "And indeed twenty years have I lived in this place, ever since I was born in the mound where the fairies dwell, and the men who dwell in the elf-mounds, their kings and their nobles, have been a-wooing me: yet to never a one of them was granted sleep with me, for I have loved thee, and have set my love and affection upon thee; and that ever since I was a little child, and had first the gift of speech. It was for the high tales of thee, and of thy splendour, that I have loved thee thus; and though I have never seen thee before, I knew thee at once by reason of the report of thee that I had heard; it is thou, I know, to whom we have attained." "It is no evil-minded lover who now inviteth thee," says Eochaid. "Thou shalt be welcomed by me, and I will leave all women for thy sake, and thine alone will I be so long as it is pleasing to thee." "Let the bride-price that befits me be paid," said the maiden, "and after that let my desire be fulfilled." "It shall be as thou hast said," the king answered her; and he gave the value of seven cumals to be her brideprice; and after that he brought her to Tara, whereon a fair and hearty welcome was made to her. Now there were three brothers of the one blood, all sons of Finn, namely, Eochaid Airem, and Eochaid, and Ailill Anglonnach, or Ailill of the Single Stain, because the only stain that was upon him was the love that he had for his brother's wife. And at that time came all the men of Ireland to hold the festival of Tara; they were there for fourteen days before Samhain, the day when the summer endeth, and for fourteen days after that day. It was at the feast of Tara that love for Etain the daughter of Etar came upon Ailill Anglonnach; and ever so long as they were at the Tara Feast, so long he gazed upon the maid. And it was there that the wife of Ailill spoke to him; she who was the daughter of Luchta of the Red Hand, who came from the province of Leinster: "Ailill," said she, "why dost thou gaze at her from afar? for long gazing is a token of love." And Ailill gave blame to himself for this thing, and after that he looked not upon the maid. Now it followed that after that the Feast of Tara had been consumed, the men of Ireland parted from one another, and then it was that Ailill became filled with the pangs of envy and of desire; and he brought upon himself the choking misery of a sore sickness, and was borne to the stronghold of Fremain in Tethba after that he had fallen into that woe. There also, until a whole year had ended, sickness long brooded over Ailill, and for long was he in distress, yet he allowed none to know of his sickness. And there Eochaid came to learn of his brother's state, and he came near to his brother, and laid his hand upon his chest; and Ailill heaved a sigh. "Why," said Eochaid, "surely this sickness of thine is not such as to cause thee to lament; how fares it with thee?" "By my word," said Ailill, "'tis no easier that I grow; but it is worse each day, and each night." "Why, what ails thee?" said Eochaid, "By my word of truth," said Ailill, "I know not." "Bring one of my folk hither," said Eochaid, "one who can find out the cause of this illness." Then Fachtna, the chief physician of Eochaid, was summoned to give aid to Ailill, and he laid his hand upon his chest, and Ailill heaved a sigh. "Ah," said Fachtna, "there is no need for lament in this matter, for I know the cause of thy sickness; one or other of these two evils oppresseth thee, the pangs of envy, or the pangs of love: nor hast thou been aided to escape from them until now." And Ailill was full of shame, and he refused to confess to Fachtna the cause of his illness, and the physician left him. Now, after all this, king Eochaid went in person to make a royal progress throughout the realm of Ireland, and he left Etain behind him in his fortress; and "Lady," said he, "deal thou gently with Ailill so long as he is yet alive; and, should he die," said he, "do thou see that his burial mound be heaped for him; and that a standing-stone be set up in memory of him; and let his name be written upon it in letters of Ogham." Then the king went away for the space of a year, to make his royal progress throughout the realm of Ireland, and Ailill was left behind, in the stronghold of Fremain of Tethba; there to pass away and to die. Now upon a certain day that followed, the lady Etain came to the house where Ailill lay in his sickness, and thus she spoke to him: "What is it," she said, "that ails thee? thy sickness is great, and if we but knew anything that would content thee, thou shouldest have it." It was thus that at that time she spoke, and she sang a verse of a song, and Ailill in song made answer to her: Etain Young man, of the strong step and splendid, What hath bound thee? what ill dost thou bear? Thou hast long been on sick-bed extended, Though around thee the sunshine was fair. Ailill There is reason indeed for my sighing, I joy naught at my harp's pleasant sound; Milk untasted beside me is lying; And by this in disease am I bound. Etain Tell me all, thou poor man, of thine ailing; For a maiden am I that is wise; Is there naught, that to heal thee availing, Thou couldst win by mine aid, and arise Ailill If I told thee, thou beautiful maiden, My words, as I formed them, would choke, For with fire can eyes' curtains be laden: Woman-secrets are evil, if woke. Etain It is ill woman-secrets to waken; Yet with Love, its remembrance is long; And its part by itself may be taken, Nor a thought shall remain of the wrong. Ailill I adore thee, white lady, as grateful; Yet thy bounty deserve I but ill: To my soul is my longing but hateful, For my body doth strive with me still. Eocho Fedlech,[FN#9] his bride to him taking, Made thee queen; and from thence is my woe: For my head and my body are aching, And all Ireland my weakness must know. Etain If, among the white women who near me abide, There is one who is vexing, whose love thou dost hide; To thy side will I bring her, if thus I may please; And in love thou shalt win her, thy sickness to ease. Ah lady! said Ailill, "easily could the cure of my sickness be wrought by the aid of thee, and great gain should there come from the deed, but thus it is with me until that be accomplished: Long ago did my passion begin, A full year it exceeds in its length; And it holds me, more near than my skin, And it rules over wrath in its strength. And the earth into four it can shake, Can reach up to the heights of the sky And a neck with its might it can break, Nor from fight with a spectre would fly. In vain race up to heaven 'tis urged; It is chilled, as with water, and drowned: 'Tis a weapon, in ocean submerged; 'Tis desire for an echo, a sound. 'Tis thus my love, my passion seem; 'tis thus I strive in vain To win the heart of her whose love I long so much to gain. [FN#9] Pronounced Yeo-ho Fayllya, see note, p. 166. And the lady stood there in that place, and she looked upon Ailill, and the sickness in which he lay was perceived by her; and she was grieved on account of it: so that upon a certain day came the lady to Ailill, and "Young man," she said, "arouse thyself quickly, for in very truth thou shalt have all that thou desirest; and thereon did she make this lay: Now arouse thyself, Ailill the royal: Let thy heart, and thy courage rise high; Every longing thou hast shall be sated, For before thee, to heal thee, am I. Is my neck and its beauty so pleasing? 'Tis around it thine arms thou shalt place; And 'tis known as a courtship's beginning When a man and a woman embrace. And if this cometh not to content thee, O thou man, that art son to a king! I will dare to do crime for thy healing, And my body to please thee will bring. There were steeds, with their bridles, one hundred, When the price for my wedding was told; And one hundred of gay-coloured garments, And of cattle, and ounces of gold. Of each beast that men know, came one hundred; And king Eocho to grant them was swift: When a king gave such dowry to gain me, Is't not wondrous to win me, as gift? Now each day the lady came to Ailill to tend him, and to divide for him the portion of food that was allotted to him; and she wrought a great healing upon him: for it grieved her that he should perish for her sake. And one day the lady spoke to Ailill: "Come thou to-morrow," said she, "to tryst with me at the break of day, in the house which lieth outside, and is beyond the fort, and there shalt thou have granted thy request and thy desire." On that night Ailill lay without sleep until the coming of the morning; and when the time had come that was appointed for his tryst, his sleep lay heavily upon him; so that till the hour of his rising he lay deep in his sleep. And Etain went to the tryst, nor had she long to wait ere she saw a man coming towards her in the likeness of Ailill, weary and feeble; but she knew that he was not Ailill, and she continued there waiting for Ailill. And the lady came back from her tryst, and Ailill awoke, and thought that he would rather die than live; and he went in great sadness and grief. And the lady came to speak with him, and when he told her what had befallen him: "Thou shalt come," said she, "to the same place, to meet with me upon the morrow." And upon the morrow it was the same as upon the first day; each day came that man to her tryst. And she came again upon the last day that was appointed for the tryst, and the same man met her. "'Tis not with thee that I trysted," said she, "why dost thou come to meet me? and for him whom I would have met here; neither from desire of his love nor for fear of danger from him had I appointed to meet him, but only to heal him, and to cure him from the sickness which had come upon him for his love of me." "It were more fitting for thee to come to tryst with me," says the man, "for when thou wast Etain of the Horses, and when thou wast the daughter of Ailill, I myself was thy husband. "Why," said she, "what name hast thou in the land? that is what I would demand of thee." "It is not hard to answer thee," he said; "Mider of Bri Leith is my name." "And what made thee to part from me, if we were as thou sayest?" said Etain. "Easy again is the answer," said Mider; "it was the sorcery of Fuamnach and the spells of Bressal Etarlam that put us apart." And Mider said to Etain: "Wilt thou come with me?" "Nay," answered Etain, "I will not exchange the king of all Ireland for thee; for a man whose kindred and whose lineage is unknown." "It was I myself indeed," said Mider, "who filled all the mind of Ailill with love for thee: it was I also who prevented his coming to the tryst with thee, and allowed him not thine honour to spoil it." After all this the lady went back to her house, and she came to speech with Ailill, and she greeted him. "It hath happened well for us both," said Ailill, "that the man met thee there: for I am cured for ever from my illness, thou also art unhurt in thine honour, and may a blessing rest upon thee!" "Thanks be to our gods," said Etain, "that both of us do indeed deem that all this hath chanced so well." And after that Eochaid came back from his royal progress, and he asked at once for his brother; and the tale was told to him from the beginning to the end, and the king was grateful to Etain, in that she had been gracious to Ailill; and, "What hath been related in this tale," said Eochaid, "is well-pleasing to ourselves." And, for the after history of Eochaid and Etain, it is told that once when Eochaid was in Fremain, at such time as the people had prepared for themselves a great gathering and certain horse-races; thither also to that assembly came Etain, that she might see the sight. Thither also came Mider, and he searched through that assembly to find out where Etain might be; and he found Etain, and her women around her, and he bore her away with him, also one of her handmaidens, called Crochen the Ruddy: hideous was the form in which Mider approached them. And the wives of the men of Ireland raised cries of woe, as the queen was carried off from among them; and the horses of Ireland were loosed to pursue Mider, for they knew not whether it was into the air or into the earth he had gone. But, as for Mider, the course that he had taken was the road to the west, even to the plain of Croghan; and as he came thither, "How shall it profit us," said Crochen the Ruddy, "this journey of ours to this plain?" "For evermore," said Mider, "shall thy name be over all this plain:" and hence cometh the name of the plain of Croghan, and of the Fort of Croghan. Then Mider came to the Fairy Mound of Croghan; for the dwellers in that mound were allied to him, and his friends; and for nine days they lingered there, banqueting and feasting; so that "Is this the place where thou makest thy home?" said Crochen to Mider. "Eastwards from this is my dwelling," Mider answered her; "nearer to the rising-place of the sun;" and Mider, taking Etain with him, departed, and came to Bri Leith, where the son of Celthar had his palace. Now just at the time when they came to this palace, king Eochaid sent out from him the horsemen of Ireland, also his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries, that they might search through Ireland, and find out where his wife might be; and Eochaid himself wandered throughout Ireland to seek for his wife; and for a year from that day until the same day upon the year that followed he searched, and he found nothing to profit him. Then, at the last, king Eochaid sent for his Druid, and he set to him the task to seek for Etain; now the name of the Druid was Dalan. And Dalan came before him upon that day; and he went westwards, until he came to the mountain that was after that known as Slieve Dalan; and he remained there upon that night. And the Druid deemed it a grievous thing that Etain should be hidden from him for the space of one year, and thereupon he made three wands of yew; and upon the wands he wrote an ogham; and by the keys of wisdom that he had, and by the ogham, it was revealed to him that Etain was in the fairy mound of Bri Leith, and that Mider had borne her thither. Then Dalan the Druid turned him, and went back to the east; and he came to the stronghold of Fremain, even to the place where the king of Ireland was; and Eochaid asked from the Druid his news. Thither also came the horsemen, and the wizards, and the officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries, to the king of Ireland, and he asked them what tidings they had, and whether they had found news of Mider and Etain. And they said that they had found nothing at all; until at the last said his Druid to him: "A great evil hath smitten thee, also shame, and misfortune, on account of the loss of thy wife. Do thou assemble the warriors of Ireland, and depart to Bri Leith, where is the palace of the son of Celthar; let that palace be destroyed by thy hand, and there thou shalt find thy wife: by persuasion or by force do thou take her thence." Then Eochaid and the men of Ireland marched to Bri Leith, and they set themselves to destroy that fairy dwelling, and to demand that Etain be brought to them, and they brought her not. Then they ruined that fairy dwelling, and they brought Etain out from it; and she returned to Fremain, and there she had all the worship that a king of Ireland can bestow, fair wedded love and affection, such as was her due from Eochaid Airemm. This is that Eochaid who ruled over Ireland for twelve years, until the fire burned him in Fremain; and this tale is known by the name of the "Sick-bed of Ailill," also as "The Courtship of Etain." Etain bore no children to Eochaid Airemm, save one daughter only; and the name of her mother was given to her, and she is known by the name of Etain, the daughter of Eochaid Airemm. And it was her daughter Messbuachalla who was the mother of king Conary the Great, the son of Eterscel, and it was for this cause that the fairy host of Mag Breg and Mider of Bri Leith violated the tabus of king Conary, and devastated the plain of Breg, and out off Conary's life; on account of the capture of that fairy dwelling, and on account of the recovery of Etain, when she was carried away by violence, even by the might of Eochaid Airemm. THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRI VERSION Eochaid Airemon took the sovereignty over Erin, and the five provinces of Ireland were obedient to him, for the king of each province was his vassal. Now these were they who were the kings of the provinces at that time, even Conor the son of Ness, and Messgegra, and Tigernach Tetbannach, and Curoi, and Ailill the son of Mata of Muresc. And the royal forts that belonged to Eochaid were the stronghold of Fremain in Meath, and the stronghold of Fremain in Tethba; moreover the stronghold of Fremain in Tethba was more pleasing to him than any other of the forts of Erin. Now a year after that Eochaid had obtained the sovereignty, he sent out his commands to the men of Ireland that they should come to Tara to hold festival therein, in order that there should be adjusted the taxes and the imposts that should be set upon them, so that these might be settled for a period of five years. And the one answer that the men of Ireland made to Eochaid was that they would not make for the king that assembly which is the Festival of Tara until he found for himself a queen, for there was no queen to stand by the king's side when Eochaid first assumed the kingdom. Then Eochaid sent out the messengers of each of the five provinces to go through the land of Ireland to seek for that woman or girl who was the fairest to be found in Erin; and he bade them to note that no woman should be to him as a wife, unless she had never before been as a wife to any one of the men of the land. And at the Bay of Cichmany a wife was found for him, and her name was Etain, the daughter of Etar; and Eochaid brought her thereafter to his palace, for she was a wife meet for him, by reason of her form, and her beauty, and her descent, and her brilliancy, and her youth, and her renown. Now Finn the son of Findloga had three sons, all sons of a queen, even Eochaid Fedlech, and Eochaid Airemm, and Ailill Anguba. And Ailill Anguba was seized with love for Etain at the Festival of Tara, after that she had been wedded to Eochaid; since he for a long time gazed upon her, and, since such gazing is a token of love, Ailill gave much blame to himself for the deed that he was doing, yet it helped him not. For his longing was too strong for his endurance, and for this cause he fell into a sickness; and, that there might be no stain upon his honour, his sickness was concealed by him from all, neither did he speak of it to the lady herself. Then Fachtna, the chief physician of Eochaid, was brought to look upon Ailill, when it was understood that his death might be near, and thus the physician spoke to him: "One of the two pangs that slay a man, and for which there is no healing by leechcraft, is upon thee; either the pangs of envy or the pangs of love. And Ailill refused to confess the cause of his illness to the physician, for he was withheld by shame and he was left behind in Fremain of Tethba to die; and Eochaid went upon his royal progress throughout all Erin, and he left Etain behind him to be near Ailill, in order that the last rites of Ailill might be done by her; that she might cause his grave to be dug, and that the keen might be raised for him, and that his cattle should be slain for him as victims. And to the house where Ailill lay in his sickness went Etain each day to converse with him, and his sickness was eased by her presence; and, so long as Etain was in that place where he was, so long was he accustomed to gaze at her. Now Etain observed all this, and she bent her mind to discover the cause, and one day when they were in the house together, Etain asked of Ailill what was the cause of his sickness. "My sickness," said Ailill, "comes from my love for thee." "'Tis pity," said she, "that thou hast so long kept silence, for thou couldest have been healed long since, had we but known of its cause." "And even now could I be healed," said Ailill, "did I but find favour in thy sight." "Thou shalt find favour," she said. Each day after they had spoken thus with each other, she came to him for the fomenting of his head, and for the giving of the portion of food that was required by him, and for the pouring of water over his hands; and three weeks after that, Ailill was whole. Then he said to Etain: "Yet is the completion of my cure at thy hands lacking to me; when may it be that I shall have it?" "'Tis to-morrow it shall be," she answered him, "but it shall not be in the abode of the lawful monarch of the land that this felony shall be done. Thou shalt come," she said, "on the morrow to yonder hill that riseth beyond the fort: there shall be the tryst that thou desirest." Now Ailill lay awake all that night, and he fell into a sleep at the hour when he should have kept his tryst, and he woke not from his sleep until the third hour of the day. And Etain went to her tryst, and she saw a man before her; like was his form to the form of Ailill, he lamented the weakness that his sickness had caused him, and he gave to her such answers as it was fitting that Ailill should give. But at the third hour of the day, Ailill himself awoke: and he had for a long time remained in sorrow when Etain came into the house where he was; and as she approached him, "What maketh thee so sorrowful?" said Etain. "'Tis because thou wert sent to tryst with me," said Ailill, "and I came not to thy presence, and sleep fell upon me, so that I have but now awakened from it; and surely my chance of being healed hath now gone from me." "Not so, indeed," answered Etain, "for there is a morrow to follow to-day." And upon that night he took his watch with a great fire before him, and with water beside him to put upon his eyes. At the hour that was appointed for the tryst, Etain came for her meeting with Ailill; and she saw the same man, like unto Ailill, whom she had seen before; and Etain went to the house, and saw Ailill still lamenting. And Etain came three times, and yet Ailill kept not his tryst, and she found that same man there every time. "'Tis not for thee," she said, "that I came to this tryst: why comest thou to meet me? And as for him whom I would have met, it was for no sin or evil desire that I came to meet him; but it was fitting for the wife of the king of Ireland to rescue the man from the sickness under which he hath so long been oppressed." "It were more fitting for thee to tryst with me myself," said the man, "for when thou wert Etain of the Horses, the daughter of Ailill, it was I who was thy husband. And when thou camest to be wife to me, thou didst leave a great price behind thee; even a marriage price of the chief plains and waters of Ireland, and as much of gold and of silver as might match thee in value." "Why," said she, "what is thy name?" "'Tis easy to say," he answered; "Mider of Bri Leith is my name." "Truly," said she; "and what was the cause that parted us?" "That also is easy," he said; "it was the sorcery of Fuamnach, and the spells of Bressal Etarlam. And then Mider said to Etain: Wilt thou come to my home, fair-haired lady? to dwell In the marvellous land of the musical spell, Where the crowns of all heads are, as primroses, bright, And from head to the heel all men's bodies snow-white. In that land of no "mine" nor of "thine" is there speech, But there teeth flashing white and dark eyebrows hath each; In all eyes shine our hosts, as reflected they swarm, And each cheek with the pink of the foxglove is warm. With the heather's rich tint every blushing neck glows, In our eyes are all shapes that the blackbird's egg shows; And the plains of thine Erin, though pleasing to see, When the Great Plain is sighted, as deserts shall be. Though ye think the ale strong in this Island of Fate, Yet they drink it more strong in the Land of the Great; Of a country where marvel abounds have I told, Where no young man in rashness thrusts backward the old. There are streams smooth and luscious that flow through that land, And of mead and of wine is the best at each hand; And of crime there is naught the whole country within, There are men without blemish, and love without sin. Through the world of mankind, seeing all, can we float, And yet none, though we see them, their see-ers can note; For the sin of their sire is a mist on them flung, None may count up our host who from Adam is sprung. Lady, come to that folk; to that strong folk of mine; And with gold on thy head thy fair tresses shall shine: 'Tis on pork the most dainty that then thou shalt feed, And for drink have thy choice of new milk and of mead. "I will not come with thee," answered Etain, "I will not give up the king of Ireland for thee, a man who knows not his own clan nor his kindred." "It was indeed myself," said Mider, "who long ago put beneath the mind of Ailill the love that he hath felt for thee, so that his blood ceased to run, and his flesh fell away from him: it was I also who have taken away his desire, so that there might be no hurt to thine honour. But wilt thou come with me to my land," said Mider, "in case Eochaid should ask it of thee?" "I would come in such case," answered to him Etain. After all this Etain departed to the house. "It hath indeed been good, this our tryst," said Ailill, "for I have been cured of my sickness; moreover, in no way has thine honour been stained." "'Tis glorious that it hath fallen out so," answered Etain. And afterwards Eochaid came back from his royal progress, and he was grateful for that his brother's life had been preserved, and he gave all thanks to Etain for the great deed she had done while he was away from his palace. Now upon another time it chanced that Eochaid Airemm, the king of Tara, arose upon a certain fair day in the time of summer; and he ascended the high ground of Tara to behold the plain of Breg; beautiful was the colour of that plain, and there was upon it excellent blossom, glowing with all hues that are known. And, as the aforesaid Eochaid looked about and around him, he saw a young strange warrior upon the high ground at his side. The tunic that the warrior wore was purple in colour, his hair was of a golden yellow, and of such length that it reached to the edge of his shoulders. The eyes of the young warrior were lustrous and grey; in the one hand he held a five-pointed spear, in the other a shield with a white central boss, and with gems of gold upon it. And Eochaid held his peace, for he knew that none such had been in Tara on the night before, and the gate that led into the Liss had not at that hour been thrown open. The warrior came, and placed himself under the protection of Eochaid; and "Welcome do I give," said Eochaid, "to the hero who is yet unknown." "Thy reception is such as I expected when I came," said the warrior. "We know thee not," answered Eochaid. "Yet thee in truth I know well!" he replied. "What is the name by which thou art called?" said Eochaid. "My name is not known to renown," said the warrior; "I am Mider of Bri Leith." "And for what purpose art thou come?" said Eochaid. "I have come that I may play a game at the chess with thee," answered Mider. "Truly," said Eochaid, "I myself am skilful at the chess-play." "Let us test that skill! said Mider. "Nay," said Eochaid, the queen is even now in her sleep; and hers is the palace in which the chessboard lies." "I have here with me," said Mider, "a chessboard which is not inferior to thine." It was even as he said, for that chessboard was silver, and the men to play with were gold; and upon that board were costly stones, casting their light on every side, and the bag that held the men was of woven chains of brass. Mider then set out the chessboard, and he called upon Eochaid to play. "I will not play," said Eochaid, "unless we play for a stake." "What stake shall we have upon the game then?" said Mider. "It is indifferent to me," said Eochaid. "Then," said Mider, "if thou dost obtain the forfeit of my stake, I will bestow on thee fifty steeds of a dark grey, their heads of a blood-red colour, but dappled; their ears pricked high, and their chests broad; their nostrils wide, and their hoofs slender; great is their strength, and they are keen like a whetted edge; eager are they, high-standing, and spirited, yet easily stopped in their course." [Many games were played between Eochaid and Mider; and, since Mider did not put forth his whole strength, the victory on all occasions rested with Eochaid. But instead of the gifts which Mider had offered, Eochaid demanded that Mider and his folk should perform for him services which should be of benefit to his realm; that he should clear away the rocks and stones from the plains of Meath, should remove the rushes which made the land barren around his favourite fort of Tethba, should cut down the forest of Breg, and finally should build a causeway across the moor or bog of Lamrach that men might pass freely across it. All these things Mider agreed to do, and Eochaid sent his steward to see how that work was done. And when it came to the time after sunset, the steward looked, and he saw that Mider and his fairy host, together with fairy oxen, were labouring at the causeway over the bog;] and thereupon much of earth and of gravel and of stones was poured into it. Now it had, before that time, always been the custom of the men of Ireland to harness their oxen with a strap over their foreheads, so that the pull might be against the foreheads of the oxen; and this custom lasted up to that very night, when it was seen that the fairy-folk had placed the yoke upon the shoulders of the oxen, so that the pull might be there; and in this way were the yokes of the oxen afterwards placed by Eochaid, and thence cometh the name by which he is known; even Eochaid Airemm, or Eochaid the Ploughman, for he was the first of all the men of Ireland to put the yokes on the necks of the oxen, and thus it became the custom for all the land of Ireland. And this is the song that the host of the fairies sang, as they laboured at the making of the road: Thrust it in hand! force it in hand! Nobles this night, as an ox-troop, stand: Hard is the task that is asked, and who From the bridging of Lamrach shall gain, or rue? Not in all the world could a road have been found that should be better than the road that they made, had it not been that the fairy folk were observed as they worked upon it; but for that cause a breach hath been made in that causeway. And the steward of Eochaid thereafter came to him; and he described to him that great labouring band that had come before his eyes, and he said that there was not over the chariot-pole of life a power that could withstand its might. And, as they spake thus with each other, they saw Mider standing before them; high was he girt, and ill-favoured was the face that he showed; and Eochaid arose, and he gave welcome to him. "Thy welcome is such as I expected when I came," said Mider. "Cruel and senseless hast thou been in thy treatment of me, and much of hardship and suffering hast thou given me. All things that seemed good in thy sight have I got for thee, but now anger against thee hath filled my mind!" "I return not anger for anger," answered Eochaid; "what thou wishest shall be done." "Let it be as thou wishest," said Mider; "shall we play at the chess?" said he. "What stake shall we set upon the game?" said Eochaid. "Even such stake as the winner of it shall demand," said Mider. And in that very place Eochaid was defeated, and he forfeited his stake. "My stake is forfeit to thee," said Eochaid. "Had I wished it, it had been forfeit long ago," said Mider. "What is it that thou desirest me to grant?" said Eochaid. "That I may hold Etain in my arms, and obtain a kiss from her!" answered Mider. Eochaid was silent for a while and then he said: "One month from this day thou shalt come, and the very thing that thou hast asked for shall be given to thee." Now for a year before that Mider first came to Eochaid for the chess-play, had he been at the wooing of Etain, and he obtained her not; and the name which he gave to Etain was Befind, or Fair-haired Woman, so it was that he said: Wilt thou come to my home, fair-haired lady? as has before been recited. And it was at that time that Etain said: "If thou obtainest me from him who is the master of my house, I will go; but if thou art not able to obtain me from him, then I will not go." And thereon Mider came to Eochaid, and allowed him at the first to win the victory over him, in order that Eochaid should stand in his debt; and therefore it was that he paid the great stakes to which he had agreed; and therefore also was it that he had demanded of him that he should play that game in ignorance of what was staked. And when Mider and his folk were paying those agreed-on stakes, which were paid upon that night; to wit, the making of the road, and the clearing of the stones from Meath, the rushes from around Tethba, and of the forest that is over Breg, it was thus that he spoke, as it is written in the Book of Drom Snechta: Pile on the soil; thrust on the soil: Red are the oxen around who toil: Heavy the troops that my words obey; Heavy they seem, and yet men are they. Strongly, as piles, are the tree-trunks placed Red are the wattles above them laced: Tired are your hands, and your glances slant; One woman's winning this toil may grant! Oxen ye are, but revenge shall see; Men who are white shall your servants be: Rushes from Teffa are cleared away: Grief is the price that the man shall pay: Stones have been cleared from the rough Meath ground; Whose shall the gain or the harm be found? Now Mider appointed a day at the end of the month when he was to meet Eochaid, and Eochaid called the armies of the heroes of Ireland together, so that they came to Tara; and all the best of the champions of Ireland, ring within ring, were about Tara, and they were in the midst of Tara itself, and they guarded it, both without and within; and the king and the queen were in the midst of the palace, and the outer court thereof was shut and locked, for they knew that the great might of men would come upon them. And upon the appointed night Etain was dispensing the banquet to the kings, for it was her duty to pour out the wine, when in the midst of their talk they saw Mider standing before them in the centre of the palace. He was always fair, yet fairer than he ever was seemed Mider to be upon that night. And he brought to amazement all the hosts on which he gazed, and all thereon were silent, and the king gave a welcome to him. "Thy reception is such as I expected when I came," said Mider; "let that now be given to me that hath been promised. 'Tis a debt that is due when a promise hath been made; and I for my part have given to thee all that was promised by me." "I have not yet considered the matter," said Eochaid. "Thou hast promised Etain's very self to me," said Mider; "that is what hath come from thee." Etain blushed for shame when she heard that word. "Blush not," said Mider to Etain, "for in nowise hath thy wedding-feast been disgraced. I have been seeking thee for a year with the fairest jewels and treasures that can be found in Ireland, and I have not taken thee until the time came when Eochaid might permit it. 'Tis not through any will of thine that I have won thee." "I myself told thee," said Etain, "that until Eochaid should resign me to thee I would grant thee nothing. Take me then for my part, if Eochaid is willing to resign me to thee." "But I will not resign thee!" said Eochaid; "nevertheless he shall take thee in his arms upon the floor of this house as thou art." "It shall be done!" said Mider. He took his weapons into his left hand and the woman beneath his right shoulder; and he carried her off through the skylight of the house. And the hosts rose up around the king, for they felt that they had been disgraced, and they saw two swans circling round Tara, and the way that they took was the way to the elf-mound of Femun. And Eochaid with an army of the men of Ireland went to the elf-mound of Femun, which men call the mound of the Fair-haired-Women. And he followed the counsel of the men of Ireland, and he dug up each of the elf-mounds that he might take his wife from thence. [And Mider and his host opposed them and the war between them was long: again and again the trenches made by Eochaid were destroyed, for nine years as some say lasted the strife of the men of Ireland to enter into the fairy palace. And when at last the armies of Eochaid came by digging to the borders of the fairy mansion, Mider sent to the side of the palace sixty women all in the shape of Etain, and so like to her that none could tell which was the queen. And Eochaid himself was deceived, and he chose, instead of Etain, her daughter Messbuachalla (or as some say Esa.) But when he found that he had been deceived, he returned again to sack Bri Leith, and this time Etain made herself known to Eochaid, by proofs that he could not mistake, and he bore her away in triumph to Tara, and there she abode with the king.] MAC DATHO'S BOAR INTRODUCTION The tale of "Mac Datho's Boar" seems to deal with events that precede the principal events of the Heroic Period; most of the characters named in it appear as the chief actors in other romances; Conor and Ailill are as usual the leaders of Ulster and Connaught, but the king of Leinster is Mesroda Mac Datho, not his brother Mesgegra, who appears in the "Siege of Howth" (see Hull, Cuchullin Saga, p. 87), and the Ulster champion is not Cuchulain, but his elder comrade, Conall Cernach. The text followed is that of the Book of Leinster as printed by Windisch in Irische Texte, vol. i.; the later Harleian manuscript's readings given by Windisch have been taken in a few cases where the Leinster text seems untranslatable. There is a slightly different version, given by Kuno Meyer in the Anecdota Oxoniensia, taken from Rawlinson, B. 512, a fifteenth-century manuscript, but the text is substantially that of the Leinster version, and does not give, as in the case of the tale of Etain, a different view of the story. The verse passages differ in the two versions; two verse passages on pages 37 and 46 have been inserted from the Rawlinson manuscript, otherwise the rendering follows the Leinster text. The style of the tale is more barbaric than that of the other romances, but is relieved by touches of humour; the only supernatural touch occurs in one of the variations of the Rawlinson manuscript. Some of the chief variations en in this manuscript are pointed out in the notes; the respectful men on of Curoi mac Dari, who seems to have been a Munster hero, overshadowed in the accepted versions by the superior glory of Ulster, may be noted; also the remark that Ferloga did not get his cepoc, which seems to have been inserted by a later band of a critic who disapproved of the frivolity of the original author, or was jealous for the honour of the Ulster ladies. MAC DATHO'S BOAR FROM THE BOOK OF LEINSTER (TWELFTH-CENTURY MS.) With some Additions from Rawlinson, B. 512, written about 1560 A glorious king once hold rule over the men of Leinster; his name was Mesroda Mac Datho. Now Mac Datho had among his possessions a hound which was the guardian of all Leinster; the name of the hound was Ailbe, and all of the land of Leinster was filled with reports of the fame of it, and of that hound hath it been sung: Mesroda, son of Datho, Was he the boar who reared; And his the hound called Ailbe; No lie the tale appeared! The splendid hound of wisdom, The hound that far is famed, The hound from whom Moynalvy For evermore is named. By King Ailill and Queen Maev were sent folk to the son of Datho to demand that hound, and at that very hour came heralds from Conor the son of Ness to demand him; and to all of these a welcome was bid by the people of Mac Datho, and they were brought to speak with Mac Datho in his palace. At the time that we speak of, this palace was a hostelry that was the sixth of the hostelries of Ireland.; there were beside it the hostelry of Da Derga in the land of Cualan in Leinster; also the hostelry of Forgall the Wily, which is beside Lusk; and the hostelry of Da Reo in Breffny; and the hostelry of Da Choca in the west of Meath; and the hostelry of the landholder Blai in the country of the men of Ulster. There were seven doors to that palace, and seven passages ran through it; also there stood within it seven cauldrons, and in every one of the cauldrons was seething the flesh of oxen and the salted flesh of swine. Every traveller who came into the house after a journey would thrust a fork into a cauldron, and whatsoever he brought out at the first thrust, that had he to eat: if he got nothing at the first thrust, no second attempt was allowed him. They brought the heralds before Mac Datho as he sat upon his throne, that he might learn of their requests before they made their meal, and in this manner they made known their message. "We have come," said the men who were sent from Connaught, "that we might ask for thy hound; 'tis by Ailill and Maev we are sent. Thou shalt have in payment for him six thousand milch cows, also a two-horsed chariot with its horses, the best to be had in Connaught, and at the end of a year as much again shall be thine." "We also," said the heralds from Ulster, "have come to ask for thy hound; we have been sent by Conor, and Conor is a friend who is of no less value than these. He also will give to thee treasures and cattle, and the same amount at the end of a year, and he will be a stout friend to thee." Now after he had received this message Mac Datho sank into a deep silence, he ate nothing, neither did he sleep, but tossed about from one side to another, and then said his wife to him: "For a long time hast thou fasted; food is before thee, yet thou eatest not; what is it that ails thee? and Mac Datho made her no answer, whereupon she said: The Wife[FN#10] Gone is King Mac Datho's sleep, Restless cares his home invade; Though his thoughts from all he keep, Problems deep his mind hath weighed. He, my sight avoiding, turns Towards the wall, that hero grim; Well his prudent wife discerns Sleep hath passed away from him. [FN#10] The Irish metre is followed in the first four verses. Mac Datho Crimthann saith, Nar's sister's son, "Secrets none to women tell. Woman's secret soon is won; Never thrall kept jewel well." The Wife Why against a woman speak Till ye test, and find she fails? When thy mind to plan is weak, Oft another's wit avails. Mac Datho At ill season indeed came those heralds Who his hound from Mac Datho would take; In more wars than by thought can be counted Fair-haired champions shall fall for its sake. If to Conor I dare to deny him, He shall deem it the deed of a churl Nor shall cattle or country be left me By the hosts he against me can hurl. If refusal to Ailill I venture, With all Ireland my folk shall he sack; From our kingdom Mac Mata shall drive us, And our ashes may tell of his track. The Wife Here a counsel I find to deliver, And in woe shall our land have no share; Of that hound to them both be thou giver, And who dies for it little we care. Mac Datho Ah! the grief that I had is all ended, I have joy for this speech from thy tongue Surely Ailbe from heaven descended, There is none who can say whence he sprung. After these words the son of Datho rose up, and he shook himself, and May this fall out well for us," said he, "and well for our guests who come here to seek for him." His guests abode three days and three nights in his house, and when that time was ended, he bade that the heralds from Connaught be called to confer with him apart, and he spoke thus: "I have been," he said, "in great vexation of spirit, and for long have I hesitated before I made a decision what to do. But now have I decided to give the hound to Ailill and Maev, let them come with splendour to bear it away. They shall have plenty both to eat and to drink, and they shall have the hound to hold, and welcome shall they be." And the messengers from Connaught were well pleased with this answer that they had. Then he went to where the heralds from Ulster were, and thus he addressed them: "After long hesitation," said he, "I have awarded the hound to Conor, and a proud man should he be. Let the armies of the nobles of Ulster come to bear him away; they shall have presents, and I will make them welcome;" and with this the messengers from Ulster were content. Now Mac Datho had so planned it that both those armies, that from the East and that from the West, should arrive at his palace upon the selfsame day. Nor did they fail to keep their tryst; upon the same day those two provinces of Ireland came to Mac Datho's palace, and Mac Datho himself went outside and greeted them: "For two armies at the same time we were not prepared; yet I bid welcome to you, ye men. Enter into the court of the house." Then they went all of them into the palace; one half of the house received the Ulstermen, and the other half received the men of Connaught. For the house was no small one: it had seven doors and fifty couches between each two doors; and it was no meeting of friends that was then seen in that house, but the hosts that filled it were enemies to each other, for during the whole time of the three hundred years that preceded the birth of Christ there was war between Ulster and Connaught. Then they slaughtered for them Mac Datho's Boar; for seven years had that boar been nurtured upon the milk of fifty cows, but surely venom must have entered into its nourishment, so many of the men of Ireland did it cause to die. They brought in the boar, and forty oxen as side-dishes to it, besides other kind of food; the son of Datho himself was steward to their feast: "Be ye welcome!" said he; "this beast before you hath not its match; and a goodly store of beeves and of swine may be found with the men of Leinster! And, if there be aught lacking to you, more shall be slain for you in the morning." "It is a mighty Boar," said Conor. "'Tis a mighty one indeed," said Ailill. "How shall it be divided, O Conor?" said he. "How?" cried down Bricriu,[FN#11] the son of Carbad, from above; "in the place where the warriors of Ireland are gathered together, there can be but the one test for the division of it, even the part that each man hath taken in warlike deeds and strife: surely each man of you hath struck the other a buffet on the nose ere now!" "Thus then shall it be," said Ailill. "'Tis a fair test," said Conor in assent; "we have here a plenty of lads in this house who have done battle on the borders." "Thou shalt lose thy lads to-night, Conor," said Senlaech the charioteer, who came from rushy Conalad in the West; "often have they left a fat steer for me to harry, as they sprawled on their backs upon the road that leadeth to the rushes of Dedah." "Fatter was the steer that thou hadst to leave to us," said Munremur,[FN#12] the son of Gerrcind; "even thine own brother, Cruachniu, son of Ruadlam; and it was from Conalad of Cruachan that he came." "He was no better," cried Lugaid the son of Curoi of Munster, "than Loth the Great, the son of Fergus Mac Lete; and Echbel the son of Dedad left him lying in Tara Luachra."[FN#13] [FN#11] Pronounced Brik-roo. [FN#12] Pronounced Moon-raymer. [FN#13] Pronounced Looch-ra. "What sort of a man was he whom ye boast of?" cried Celtchar of Ulster. "I myself slew that horny-skinned son of Dedad, I cut the head from his shoulders." At the last it fell out that one man raised himself above all the men of Ireland; he was Ket, the son of Mata, he came from the land of Connaught. He hung up his weapons at a greater height than the weapons of any one else who was there, he took a knife in his hand, and he placed himself at the side of the Boar. "Find ye now," said he, "one man among the men of Ireland who can equal my renown, or else leave the division of the Boar to me." All of the Ulstermen were thrown into amazement. "Seest thou that, O Laegaire?"[FN#14] said Conor. [FN#14] Pronounced Leary. "Never shall it be," said Laegaire the Triumphant, "that Ket should have the division of this Boar in the face of us all." "Softly now, O Laegaire!" said Ket; "let me hold speech with thee. With you men of Ulster it hath for long been a custom that each lad among you who takes the arms of a warrior should play first with us the game of war: thou, O Laegaire, like to the others didst come to the border, and we rode against one another. And thou didst leave thy charioteer, and thy chariot and thy horses behind thee, and thou didst fly pierced through with a spear. Not with such a record as that shalt thou obtain the Boar;" and Laegaire sat himself down. "It shall never come to pass," said a great fair-haired warrior, stepping forward from the bench whereon he had sat, "that the division of the Boar shall be left to Ket before our very eyes." "To whom then appertains it?" asked Ket. "To one who is a better warrior than thou," he said, "even to Angus, the son of Lama Gabaid (Hand-in-danger) of the men of Ulster." "Why namest thou thy father 'Hand-in-danger?" said Ket. "Why indeed, I know not," he said. "Ah! but I know it!" said Ket. "Long ago I went upon a journey in the east, a war-cry was raised against me, all men attacked me, and Lama Gabaid was among them. He made a cast of a great spear against me, I hurled the same spear back upon him, and the spear cut his hand from him so that it lay upon the ground. How dares the son of that man to measure his renown with mine?" and Angus went back to his place. "Come, and claim a renown to match mine," said Ket; "else let me divide this Boar." "It shall never be thy part to be the first to divide it," said a great fair-haired warrior of the men of Ulster. "Who then is this?" said Ket. "'Tis Eogan, son of Durthacht,"[FN#15] said they all; "Eogan, the lord of Fernmay." "I have seen him upon an earlier day," said Ket. "Where hast thou seen me?" said Eogan. "It was before thine own house," said Ket. "As I was driving away thy cattle, a cry of war was raised in the lands about me; and thou didst come out at that cry. Thou didst hurl thy spear against me, and it was fixed in my shield; but I hurled the same spear back against thee, and it tore out one of thy two eyes. All the men of Ireland can see that thou art one-eyed; here is the man that struck thine other eye out of thy head," and he also sat down. "Make ye ready again for the strife for renown, O ye men of Ulster!" cried Ket. "Thou hast not yet gained the right to divide the Boar," said Munremur, Gerrcind's son. "Is that Munremur?" cried Ket; "I have but one short word for thee, O Munremur! Not yet hath the third day passed since I smote the heads off three warriors who came from your lands, and the midmost of the three was the head of thy firstborn son!" and Munremur also sat down. "Come to the strife for renown!" cried Ket. "That strife will I give to thee," said Mend the son of Salcholcam (the Sword-heeled). "Who is this?" asked Ket. "'Tis Mend," said all who were there. "Hey there!" cried Ket. "The son of the man with the nickname comes to measure his renown with mine! Why, Mend, it was by me that the nickname of thy father came; 'twas I who cut the heel from him with my sword so that he hopped away from me upon one leg! How shall the son of that one-legged man measure his renown with mine?" and he also sat down. [FN#15] Pronounced Yeogan, son of Doorha. "Come to the strife for renown!" cried Ket. "That warfare shalt thou have from me!" said an Ulster warrior, tall, grey, and more terrible than the rest. "Who is this?" asked Ket. "'Tis Celtchar, the son of Uitechar," cried all. "Pause thou a little, Celtchar," said Ket, "unless it be in thy mind to crush me in an instant. Once did I come to thy dwelling, O Celtchar, a cry was raised about me, and all men hurried up at that cry, and thou also camest beside them. It was in a ravine that the combat between us was held; thou didst hurl thy spear against me, and against thee I also hurled my spear; and my spear pierced thee through the leg and through the groin, so that from that hour thou hast been diseased, nor hath son or daughter been born to thee. How canst thou strive in renown with me?" and he also sat down. "Come to the strife for renown!" cried Ket. "That strife shalt thou have," said Cuscrid the Stammerer, of Macha, king Conor's son. "Who is this?" said Ket. "'Tis Cuscrid," said all; "he hath a form which is as the form of a king." "Nor hath he aught to thank thee for," said the youth. "Good!" said Ket. "It was against me that thou didst come on the day when thou didst first make trial of thy weapons, my lad: 'twas in the borderland that we met. And there thou didst leave the third part of thy folk behind thee, and thou didst fly with a spear-thrust through thy throat so that thou canst speak no word plainly, for the spear cut in sunder the sinews of thy neck; and from that hour thou hast been called Cuscrid the Stammerer." And in this fashion did Ket put to shame all the warriors of the province of Ulster. But as he was exulting near to the Boar, with his knife in his hand, all saw Conall, the Victorious enter the palace; and Conall sprang into the midst of the house, and the men of Ulster hailed him with a shout; and Conor himself took his helmet from his head, and swung it on high to greet him. "'Tis well that I wait for the portion that befalls me!" said Conall. Who is he who is the divider of the Boar for ye?" "That office must be given to the man who stands there," said Conor, "even to Ket, the son of Mata." "Is this true, O Ket?" said Conall. "Art thou the man to allot this Boar?" And then sang Ket: Conall, all hail! Hard stony spleen Wild glowing flame! Ice-glitter keen! Blood in thy breast Rageth and boils; Oft didst thou wrest Victory's spoils: Thou scarred son of Finuchoem,[FN#16] thou truly canst claim To stand rival to me, and to match me in fame! And Conall replied to him: Hail to thee, Ket! Well are we met! Heart icy-cold, Home for the bold! Ender of grief! Car-riding chief! Sea's stormy wave! Bull, fair and brave! Ket! first of the children of Matach! The proof shall be found when to combat we dart, The proof shall be found when from combat we part; He shall tell of that battle who guardeth the stirks, He shall tell of that battle at handcraft who works; And the heroes shall stride to the wild lion-fight, For by men shall fall men in this palace to-night: Welcome, Ket![FN#17] [FN#16] Pronounced Finn-hoom. [FN#17] The short lines of this rhetoric have the metre of the original Irish. "Rise thou, and depart from this Boar," said Conall. "What claim wilt thou bring why I should do this?" said Ket. "'Tis true indeed," said Conall, "thou art contending in renown with me. I will give thee one claim only, O Ket! I swear by the oath of my tribe that since the day that I first received a spear into my hand I have seldom slept without the head of a slain man of Connaught as my pillow; and I have not let pass a day or a night in which a man of Connaught hath not fallen by my hand." "'Tis true indeed," said Ket, "thou art a better warrior than I. Were but Anluan here, he could battle with thee in another fashion; shame upon us that he is not in this house!" "Aye, but Anluan is here! "cried Conall, and therewith he plucked Anluan's head from his belt. And he threw the head towards Ket, so that it smote him upon the chest, and a gulp of the blood was dashed over his lips. And Ket came away from the Boar, and Conall placed himself beside it. "Now let men come to contend for renown with me!" cried Conall. But among the men of Connaught there was none who would challenge him, and they raised a wall of shields, like a great vat around him, for in that house was evil wrangling, and men in their malice would make cowardly casts at him. And Conall turned to divide the Boar, and he took the end of the tail in his mouth. And although the tail was so great that it was a full load for nine men, yet he sucked it all into his mouth so that nothing of it was left; and of this hath been said: Strong hands on a cart thrust him forward; His great tail, though for nine men a load, Was devoured by the brave Conall Cernach, As the joints he so gaily bestowed. Now to the men of Connaught Conall gave nothing except the two fore-legs of the Boar, and this share seemed to be but small to the men of Connaught, and thereon they sprang up, and the men of Ulster also sprang up, and they rushed at each other. They buffeted each other so that the heap of bodies inside the house rose as high as the side-walls of it; and streams of blood flowed under the doors. The hosts brake out through the doors into the outer court, and great was the din that uprose; the blood upon the floor of the house might have driven a mill, so mightily did each man strike out at his fellow. And at that time Fergus plucked up by the roots a great oak-tree that stood in the outer court in the midst of it; and they all burst out of the court, and the battle went on outside. Then came out Mac Datho, leading the hound by a leash in his hand, that he might let him loose between the two armies, to see to which side the sense of the hound would turn. And the hound joined himself with the men of Ulster, and he rushed on the defeated Connaughtmen, for these were in flight. And it is told that in the plain of Ailbe, the hound seized hold of the poles of the chariot in which Ailill and Maev rode: and there Fer-loga, charioteer to Ailill and Maev, fell upon him, so that he cast his body to one side, and his head was left upon the poles of the chariot. And they say that it is for that reason that the plain of Ailbe is so named, for from the hound Ailbe the name hath come. The rout went on northwards, over Ballaghmoon, past Rurin Hill, over the Midbine Ford near to Mullaghmast, over Drum Criach Ridge which is opposite to what is Kildare to-day, over Rath Ingan which is in the forest of Gabla, then by Mac Lugna's Ford over the ridge of the two plains till they came to the Bridge of Carpre that is over the Boyne. And at the ford which is known as the Ford of the Hound's Head, which standeth in the west of Meath, the hound's head fell from the chariot. And, as they went over the heather of Meath, Ferloga the charioteer of Ailill fell into the heather, and he sprang behind Conor who followed after them in his chariot, and he seized Conor by the head. "I claim a boon from thee if I give thee thy life, O Conor!" said he. "I choose freely to grant that boon," said Conor. "'Tis no great matter," said Ferloga. "Take me with thee to Emain Macha, and at each ninth hour let the widows and the growing maidens of Ulster serenade me[FN#18] with the song: 'Ferloga is my darling.'" [FN#18] Literally, "sing me a cepoc," or a choral song. And the women were forced to do it; for they dared not to deny him, fearing the wrath of Conor; and at the end of a year Ferloga crossed byAthlone into Connaught, and he took with him two of Conor's horses bridled with golden reins. And concerning all this hath it been sung: Hear truth, ye lads of Connaught; No lies your griefs shall fill, A youth the Boar divided; The share you had was ill. Of men thrice fifty fifties Would win the Ailbe Hound; In pride of war they struggled, Small cause for strife they found. Yet there came conquering Conor, And Ailill's hosts, and Ket; No law Cuchulain granted, And brooding Bodb[FN#19] was met. Dark Durthacht's son, great Eogan, Shall find that journey hard; From east came Congal Aidni, And Fiaman,[FN#20] sailor bard; Three sons of Nera, famous For countless warlike fields; Three lofty sons of Usnach, With hard-set cruel shields. From high Conalad Croghan Wise Senlaech[FN#21] drave his car; And Dubhtach[FN#22] came from Emain, His fame is known afar; And Illan came, whom glorious For many a field they hail: Loch Sail's grim chief, Munremur; Berb Baither, smooth of tale; [FN#19] Pronounced Bobe, with sound of 'robe.' [FN#20] Pronounced Feeman. [FN#21] Pronounced Senlay, with the light final ch. [FN#22] Pronounced Doov-ta. And Celtchar, lord in Ulster; And Conall's valour wild; And Marcan came; and Lugaid Of three great hounds the child. Fergus, awaiting the glorious hound, Spreadeth a cloak o'er his mighty shield, Shaketh an oak he hath plucked from ground, Red was the woe the red cloak concealed. Yonder stood Cethern,[FN#23] of Finntan son, Holding them back; till six hours had flown Connaughtmen's slaughter his hand hath done, Pass of the ford he hath held alone. Armies with Feidlim[FN#24] the war sustain, Laegaire the Triumpher rides on east, Aed, son of Morna, ye hear complain, Little his thought is to mourn that beast. High are the nobles, their deeds show might, Housefellows fair, and yet hard in fight; Champions of strength upon clans bring doom, Great are the captives, and vast the tomb. [FN#23] Pronounced Kay-hern. [FN#24] Pronounced Fay-lim. THE SICK-BED OF CUCHULAIN INTRODUCTION The romance called the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," the latter part of which is also known as the "Jealousy of Emer," is preserved in two manuscripts, one of which is the eleventh-century Leabhar na h-Uidhri, the other a fifteenth century manuscript in the Trinity College Library. These two manuscripts give substantially the same account, and are obviously taken from the same source, but the later of the two is not a copy of the older manuscript, and sometimes preserves a better reading. The eleventh-century manuscript definitely gives a yet older book, the Yellow Book of Slane, now lost, as its authority, and this may be the ultimate authority for the tale as we have it. But, although there is only one original version of the text, it is quite plain from internal evidence that the compiler of the Yellow Book of Slane, or of an earlier book, had two quite different forms of the story to draw from, and combined them in the version that we have. The first, which may be called the "Antiquarian" form, relates the cause of Cuchulain's illness, tells in detail of the journey of his servant Laeg to Fairyland, in order to test the truth of a message sent to Cuchulain that he can be healed by fairy help, and then breaks off. In both the Leabhar na h-Uidhri and in the fifteenth-century manuscript, follows a long passage which has absolutely nothing to do with the story, consisting of an account how Lugaid Red-Stripes was elected to be king over Ireland, and of the Bull Feast at which the coming of Lugaid is prophesied. Both manuscripts then give the counsel given by Cuchulain to Lugaid on his election (this passage being the only justification for the insertion, as Cuchulain is supposed to be on his sick-bed when the exhortation is given); and both then continue the story in a quite different form, which may be called the "Literary" form. The cause of the sickness is not given in the Literary form, which commences with the rousing of Cuchulain from his sick-bed, this rousing being due to different agency from that related in the Antiquarian form, for in the latter Cuchulain is roused by a son of the fairy king, in the former b his wife Emer. The journey of Laeg to Fairyland is then told in the literary form with different detail to that given in the Antiquarian one, and the full conclusion is then supplied in this form alone; so that we have, although in the same manuscript version, two quite distinct forms of the original legend, the first defective at the end of the story, the other at its beginning. Not only are the incidents of the two forms of the story different in many respects, but the styles are so absolutely different that it would seem impossible to attribute them to the same author. The first is a mere compilation by an antiquarian; it is difficult to imagine that it was ever recited in a royal court, although the author may have had access to a better version than his own. He inserts passages which do not develop the interest of the story; hints at incidents (the temporary absence of Fergus and Conall) which are not developed or alluded to afterwards, and is a notable early example of the way in which Irish literature can be spoiled by combining several different independent stories into one. There is only one gem, strictly so called, and that not of a high order; the only poetic touches occur in the rhetoric, and, although in this there is a weird supernatural flavour, that may have marked the original used by the compiler of this form ' the human interest seems to be exceptionally weak. The second or Literary form is as different from the other as it is possible for two compositions on the same theme to be. The first few words strike the human note in Cuchulain's message to his wife: "Tell her that it goeth better with me from hour to hour;" the poems are many, long, and of high quality; the rhetoric shows a strophic correspondence; the Greek principle of letting the messenger tell the story instead of relating the facts, in a narrative of events (the method followed in the Antiquarian version) is made full use of; the modest account given by Cuchulain of his own deeds contrasts well with the prose account of the same deeds; and the final relation of the voluntary action of the fairy lady who gives up her lover to her rival, and her motives, is a piece of literary work centuries in advance of any other literature of modern Europe. Some modern accounts of this romance have combined the two forms, and have omitted the irrelevant incidents in the Antiquarian version; there are literary advantages in this course, for the disconnected character of the Antiquarian opening, which must stand first, as it alone gives the beginning of the story, affords little indication of the high quality of the better work of the Literary form that follows; but, in order to heighten the contrast, the two forms are given just as they occur in the manuscripts, the only omissions being the account of the election of Lugaid, and the exhortation of Cuchulain to the new king. Thurneysen, in his Sagen aus dem Alten Irland, places the second description of Fairyland by Laeg with the Antiquarian form, and this may be justified not only by the allusion to Ethne, who does not appear elsewhere in the Literary form, but from the fact that there is a touch of rough humour in this poem, which appears in the Antiquarian form, but not elsewhere in the Literary one, where the manuscripts place this poem. But on the other hand the poetry of this second description, and its vividness, come much closer to the Literary form, and it has been left in the place that the manuscript gives to it. The whole has been translated direct from the Irish in Irische Texte, vol. i., with occasional reference to the facsimile of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri; the words marked as doubtful by Windisch in his glossary, which are rather numerous, being indicated by marks of interrogation in the notes, and, where Windisch goes not indicate a probable meaning, a special note is made on the word, unless it has been given in dictionaries subsequent to that of Windisch. Thurneysen's translation has sometimes been made use of, when there is no other guide; but he omits some passages, and Windisch has been followed in the rendering given in his glossary in cases where there would seem to be a difference, as Thurneysen often translates freely. THE SICK-BED OF CUCHULAIN Transcribed from the Lost Yellow Book of Slane By Maelmuiri mac Ceileachair into the Leabhar na h-Uidhri in the Eleventh Century Every year the men of Ulster were accustomed to hold festival together; and the time when they held it was for three days before Samhain, the Summer-End, and for three days after that day, and upon Samhain itself. And the time that is spoken of is that when the men of Ulster were in the Plain of Murthemne, and there they used to keep that festival every year; nor was there an thing in the world that they would do at that time except sports, and marketings, and splendours, and pomps, and feasting and eating; and it is from that custom of theirs that the Festival of the Samhain has descended, that is now held throughout the whole of Ireland. Now once upon a time the men of Ulster held festival upon the Murthemne Plain, and the reason that this festival was held was that every man of them should then give account of the combats he had made and of his valour every Summer-End. It was their custom to hold that festival in order to give account of these combats, and the manner in which they gave that account was this: Each man used to cut off the tip of the tongue of a foe whom he had killed, and he bore it with him in a pouch. Moreover, in order to make more great the numbers of their contests, some used to bring with them the tips of the tongues of beasts, and each man publicly declared the fights he had fought, one man of them after the other. And they did this also--they laid their swords over their thighs when they declared the strifes, and their own swords used to turn against them when the strife that they declared was false; nor was this to be wondered at, for at that time it was customary for demon beings to scream from the weapons of men, so that for this cause their weapons might be the more able to guard them. To that festival then came all the men of Ulster except two alone, and these two were Fergus the son of Rog, and Conall the Victorious. "Let the festival be held!" cried the men of Ulster. "Nay," said Cuchulain, "it shall not be held until Conall and Fergus come," and this he said because Fergus was the foster-father of Cuchulain, and Conall was his comrade. Then said Sencha: "Let us for the present engage in games of chess; and let the Druids sing, and let the jugglers play their feats;" and it was done as he had said. Now while they were thus employed a flock of birds came down and hovered over the lake; never was seen in Ireland more beautiful birds than these. And a longing that these birds should be given to them seized upon the women who were there; and each of them began to boast of the prowess of her husband at bird-catching. "How I wish," said Ethne Aitencaithrech, Conor's wife, "that I could have two of those birds, one of them upon each of my two shoulders." "It is what we all long for," said the women; and "If any should have this boon, I should be the first one to have it," said Ethne Inguba, the wife of Cuchulain. "What are we to do now?" said the women. "'Tis easy to answer you," said Leborcham, the daughter of Oa and Adarc; "I will go now with a message from you, and will seek for Cuchulain." She then went to Cuchulain, and "The women of Ulster would be well pleased," she said, "if yonder birds were given to them by thy hand." And Cuchulain made for his sword to unsheathe it against her: "Cannot the lasses of Ulster find any other but us," he said, "to give them their bird-hunt to-day?" "'Tis not seemly for thee to rage thus against them," said Leborcham, "for it is on thy account that the women of Ulster have assumed one of their three blemishes, even the blemish of blindness." For there were three blemishes that the women of Ulster assumed, that of crookedness of gait, and that of a stammering in their speech, and that of blindness. Each of the women who loved Conall the Victorious had assumed a crookedness of gait; each woman who loved Cuscraid Mend, the Stammerer of Macha, Conor's son, stammered in her speech; each woman in like manner who loved Cuchulain had assumed a blindness of her eyes, in order to resemble Cuchulain; for he, when his mind was angry within him, was accustomed to draw in the one of his eyes so far that a crane could not reach it in his head, and would thrust out the other so that it was great as a cauldron in which a calf is cooked. "Yoke for us the chariot, O Laeg!" said Cuchulain. And Laeg yoked the chariot at that, and Cuchulain went into the chariot, and he cast his sword at the birds with a cast like the cast of a boomerang, so that they with their claws and wings flapped against the water. And they seized upon all the birds, and they gave them and distributed them among the women; nor was there any one of the women, except Ethne alone, who had not a pair of those birds. Then Cuchulain returned to his wife; and "Thou art enraged," said he to her. "I am in no way enraged," answered Ethne, "for I deem it as being by me that the distribution was made. And thou hast done what was fitting," she said, "for there is not one of these woman but loves thee; none in whom thou hast no share; but for myself none hath any share in me except thou alone." "Be not angry," said Cuchulain, "if in the future any birds come to the Plain of Murthemne or to the Boyne, the two birds that are the most beautiful among those that come shall be thine." A little while after this they saw two birds flying over the lake, linked together by a chain of red gold. They sang a gentle song, and a sleep fell upon all the men who were there; and Cuchulain rose up to pursue the birds. "If thou wilt hearken to me," said Laeg, and so also said Ethne, "thou shalt not go against them; behind those birds is some especial power. Other birds may be taken by thee at some future day." "Is it possible that such claim as this should be made upon me?" said Cuchulain. "Place a stone in my sling, O Laeg!" Laeg thereon took a stone, and he placed it in the sling, and Cuchulain launched the stone at the birds, but the cast missed. "Alas!" said he. He took another stone, and he launched this also at the birds, but the stone flew past them. "Wretched that I am," he cried, "since the very first day that I assumed arms, I have never missed a cast until this day!" And he cast his spear at them, and the spear went through the shield of the wing of one of the birds, and the birds flew away, and went beneath the lake. After this Cuchulain departed, and he rested his back against a stone pillar, and his soul was angry within him, and a sleep fell upon him. Then saw he two women come to him; the one of them had a green mantle upon her, and upon the other was a purple mantle folded in five folds. And the woman in the green mantle approached him, and she laughed a laugh at him, and she gave him a stroke with a horsewhip. And then the other approached him, and she also laughed at him, and she struck him in the like manner; and for a long time were they thus, each of them in turn coming to him and striking him until he was all but dead; and then they departed from him. Now the men of Ulster perceived the state in which Cuchulain was in; and they cried out that he should be awakened; but "Nay," said Fergus, "ye shall not move him, for he seeth a vision;" and a little after that Cuchulain came from his sleep. "What hath happened to thee?" said the men of Ulster; but he had no power to bid greeting to them. "Let me be carried," he said, "to the sick-bed that is in Tete Brecc; neither to Dun Imrith, nor yet to Dun Delga." "Wilt thou not be carried to Dun Delga to seek for Emer?" said Laeg. "Nay," said he, "my word is for Tete Brecc;" and thereon they bore him from that place, and he was in Tete Brecc until the end of one year, and during all that time he had speech with no one. Now upon a certain day before the next Summer-End, at the end of a year, when the men of Ulster were in the house where Cuchulain was, Fergus being at the side-wall, and Conall Cernach at his head, and Lugaid Red-Stripes at his pillow, and Ethne Inguba at his feet; when they were there in this manner, a man came to them, and he seated himself near the entrance of the chamber in which Cuchulain lay. "What hath brought thee here?" said Conall the Victorious. "No hard question to answer," said the man. "If the man who lies yonder were in health, he would be a good protection to all of Ulster; in the weakness and the sickness in which he now is, so much the more great is the protection that they have from him. I have no fear of any of you," he said, "for it is to give to this man a greeting that I come." "Welcome to thee, then, and fear nothing," said the men of Ulster; and the man rose to his feet, and he sang them these staves: Ah! Cuchulain, who art under sickness still, Not long thou its cure shouldst need; Soon would Aed Abra's daughters, to heal thine ill, To thee, at thy bidding, speed. Liban, she at swift Labra's right hand who sits, Stood up on Cruach's[FN#25] Plain, and cried: "'Tis the wish of Fand's heart, she the tale permits, To sleep at Cuchulain's side. [FN#25] Pronounced something like Croogh. "'If Cuchulain would come to me,' Fand thus told, 'How goodly that day would shine! Then on high would our silver be heaped, and gold, Our revellers pour the wine. "'And if now in my land, as my friend, had been Cuchulain, of Sualtam[FN#26] son, The things that in visions he late hath seen In peace would he safe have won. "'In the Plains of Murthemne, to south that spread, Shall Liban my word fulfil: She shall seek him on Samhain, he naught need dread, By her shall be cured his ill.'" [FN#26] Pronounced Sooltam. "Who art thou, then, thyself?" said the men of Ulster. "I am Angus, the son of Aed Abra," he answered; and the man then left them, nor did any of them know whence it was he had come, nor whither he went. Then Cuchulain sat up, and he spoke to them. "Fortunate indeed is this!" said the men of Ulster; "tell us what it is that hath happened to thee." "Upon Samhain night last year," he said, "I indeed saw a vision;" and he told them of all he had seen. "What should now be done, Father Conor?" said Cuchulain. "This hast thou to do," answered Conor, "rise, and go until thou comest to the pillar where thou wert before." Then Cuchulain went forth until he came to the pillar, and then saw he the woman in the green mantle come to him. "This is good, O Cuchulain!" said she. "'Tis no good thing in my thought," said Cuchulain. "Wherefore camest thou to me last year?" he said. "It was indeed to do no injury to thee that we came," said the woman, "but to seek for thy friendship. I have come to greet thee," she said, "from Fand, the daughter of Aed Abra; her husband, Manannan the Son of the Sea, hath released her, and she hath thereon set her love on thee. My own name is Liban, and I have brought to thee a message from my spouse, Labraid the Swift, the Sword-Wielder, that he will give thee the woman in exchange for one day's service to him in battle against Senach the Unearthly, and against Eochaid Juil,[FN#27] and against Yeogan the Stream." "I am in no fit state," he said, "to contend with men to-day." "That will last but a little while," she said; "thou shalt be whole, and all that thou hast lost of thy strength shall be increased to thee. Labraid shall bestow on thee that boon, for he is the best of all warriors that are in the world." [FN#27] Pronounced, nearly, Yeo-hay Yool. "Where is it that Labraid dwelleth?" asked Cuchulain. "In Mag Mell,[FN#28] the Plain of Delight," said Liban; "and now I desire to go to another land," said she. [FN#28] Pronounced Maw Mel. "Let Laeg go with thee," said Cuchulain, "that he may learn of the land from which thou hast come." "Let him come, then," said Liban. They departed after that, and they went forward until they came to a place where Fand was. And Liban turned to seek for Laeg, and she set him upon her shoulder. "Thou wouldest never go hence, O Laeg!" said Liban, "wert thou not under a woman's protection." "'Tis not a thing that I have most been accustomed to up to this time," said Laeg, "to be under a woman's guard." "Shame, and everlasting shame," said Liban, "that Cuchulain is not where thou art." "It were well for me," answered Laeg, "if it were indeed he who is here." They passed on then, and went forward until they came opposite to the shore of an island, and there they saw a skiff of bronze lying upon the lake before them. They entered into the skiff, and they crossed over to the island, and came to the palace door, and there they saw the man, and he came towards them. And thus spoke Liban to the man whom they saw there: Say where He, the Hand-on-Sword, Labra swift, abideth? He who, of the triumphs lord, In strong chariot rideth. When victorious troops are led, Labra hath the leading; He it is, when spears are red, Sets the points a-bleeding. And the man replied to her, and spoke thus: Labra, who of speed is son, Comes, and comes not slowly; Crowded hosts together run, Bent on warfare wholly. Soon upon the Forest Plain Shall be set the killing; For the hour when men are slain Fidga's[FN#29] Fields are filling![FN#30] [FN#29] Pronounced, nearly, Feega. [FN#30] Irish metre approximately imitated in these stanzas. They entered then into the palace, and they saw there thrice fifty couches within the palace, and three times fifty women upon the couches, and the women all bade Laeg welcome, and it was in these words that they addressed him: Hail! for the guide, Laeg! of thy quest: Laeg we beside Hail, as our guest! "What wilt thou do now?" said Liban; "wilt thou go on without a delay, and hold speech with Fand?" "I will go," he answered, "if I may know the place where she is." "That is no hard matter to tell thee," she answered; "she is in her chamber apart." They went therein, and they greeted Fand, and she welcomed Laeg in the same fashion as the others had done. Fand is the daughter of Aed Abra; Aed means fire, and he is the fire of the eye: that is, of the eye's pupil: Fand moreover is the name of the tear that runs from the eye; it was on account of the clearness of her beauty that she was so named, for there is nothing else in the world except a tear to which her beauty could be likened. Now, while they were thus in that place, they heard the rattle of Labraid's chariot as he approached the island. "The spirit of Labraid is gloomy to-day," said Liban, "I will go and greet him." And she went out, and she bade welcome to Labraid, and she spoke as follows: Hail! the man who holdeth sword, the swift in fight! Heir of little armies, armed with javelins light; Spears he drives in splinters; bucklers bursts in twain; Limbs of men are wounded; nobles by him slain. He for error searcheth, streweth gifts not small, Hosts of men destroyeth; fairer he than all! Heroes whom he findeth feel his fierce attack; Labra! swiftest Sword-Hand! welcome to us back! Labraid made no reply to her, and the lady spoke again thus: Welcome! swift Labra, Hand to sword set! All win thy bounty, Praise thou shalt get; Warfare thou seekest, Wounds seam thy side; Wisely thou speakest, Law canst decide; Kindly thou rulest, Wars fightest well; Wrong-doers schoolest, Hosts shalt repel. Labraid still made no answer, and she sang another lay thus: Labra! all hail! Sword-wielder, swift: War can he wage, Warriors can sift; Valiant is he, Fighters excels; More than in sea Pride in him swells; Down in the dust Strength doth he beat; They who him trust Rise to their feet Weak ones he'll raise, Humble the strong; Labra! thy praise Peals loud and long! "Thou speakest not rightly, O lady," said Labraid; and he then spoke to her thus: O my wife! naught of boasting or pride is in me; No renown would I claim, and no falsehood shall be: Lamentation alone stirs my mind, for hard spears Rise in numbers against me: dread contest appears: The right arms of their heroes red broadswords shall swing; Many hosts Eochaid Juil holds to heart as their king: Let no pride then be ours; no high words let there be; Pride and arrogance far should be, lady, from me! "Let now thy mind be appeased," said the lady Liban to him. "Laeg, the charioteer of Cuchulain, is here; and Cuchulain hath sent word to thee that he will come to join thy hosts." Then Labraid bade welcome to Laeg, and he said to him: "Welcome, O Laeg! for the sake of the lady with whom thou comest, and for the sake of him from whom thou hast come. Do thou now go to thine own land, O Laeg!" said Labraid, "and Liban shall accompany thee." Then Laeg returned to Emain, and he gave news of what he had seen to Cuchulain, and to all others beside; and Cuchulain rose up, and he passed his hand over his face, and he greeted Laeg brightly, and his mind was strengthened within him for the news that the lad had brought him. [At this point occurs the break in the story indicated in the preface, and the description of the Bull-Feast at which Lugaid Red-Stripes is elected king over all Ireland; also the exhortation that Cuchulain, supposed to be lying on his sick-bed, gives to Lugaid as to the duties of a king. After this insertion, which has no real connection with the story, the story itself proceeds, but from another point, for the thread is taken up at the place where Cuchulain has indeed awaked from his trance, but is still on his sick-bed; the message of Angus appears to have been given, but Cuchulain does not seem to have met Liban for the second time, nor to have sent Laeg to inquire. Ethne has disappeared as an actor from the scene; her place is taken by Emer, Cuchulain's real wife; and the whole style of the romance so alters for the better that, even if it were not for the want of agreement of the two versions, we could see that we have here two tales founded upon the same legend but by two different hands, the end of the first and the beginning of the second alike missing, and the gap filled in by the story of the election of Lugaid. Now as to Cuchulain it has to be related thus: He called upon Laeg to come to him; and "Do thou go, O Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "to the place where Emer is; and say to her that women of the fairies have come upon me, and that they have destroyed my strength; and say also to her that it goeth better with me from hour to hour, and bid her to come and seek me;" and the young man Laeg then spoke these words in order to hearten the mind of Cuchulain: It fits not heroes lying On sick-bed in a sickly sleep to dream: Witches before thee flying Of Trogach's fiery Plain the dwellers seem: They have beat down thy strength, Made thee captive at length, And in womanish folly away have they driven thee far. Arise! no more be sickly! Shake off the weakness by those fairies sent: For from thee parteth quickly Thy strength that for the chariot-chiefs was meant: Thou crouchest, like a youth! Art thou subdued, in truth? Have they shaken thy prowess and deeds that were meet for the war Yet Labra's power hath sent his message plain: Rise, thou that crouchest: and be great again. And Laeg, after that heartening, departed; and he went on until he came to the place where Emer was; and he told her of the state of Cuchulain: "Ill hath it been what thou hast done, O youth!" she said; "for although thou art known as one who dost wander in the lands where the fairies dwell; yet no virtue of healing hast thou found there and brought for the cure of thy lord. Shame upon the men of Ulster!" she said, "for they have not sought to do a great deed, and to heal him. Yet, had Conor thus been fettered; had it been Fergus who had lost his sleep, had it been Conall the Victorious to whom wounds had been dealt, Cuchulain would have saved them." And she then sang a song, and in this fashion she sang it: Laeg! who oft the fairy hill[FN#31] Searchest, slack I find thee still; Lovely Dechtire's son shouldst thou By thy zeal have healed ere now. Ulster, though for bounties famed, Foster-sire and friends are shamed: None hath deemed Cuchulain worth One full journey through the earth. Yet, if sleep on Fergus fell, Such that magic arts dispel, Dechtire's son had restless rode Till a Druid raised that load. Aye, had Conall come from wars, Weak with wounds and recent scars; All the world our Hound would scour Till he found a healing power. Were it Laegaire[FN#32] war had pressed, Erin's meads would know no rest, Till, made whole from wounds, he won Mach's grandchild, Conna's son. Had thus crafty Celthar slept, Long, like him, by sickness kept; Through the elf-mounds, night and day, Would our Hound, to heal him, stray. Furbaid, girt by heroes strong, Were it he had lain thus long; Ah! our Hound would rescue bear Though through solid earth he fare. [FN#31] The metre of these verses is that of the Irish. [FN#32] Pronounced Leary. All the elves of Troom[FN#33] seem dead; All their mighty deeds have fled; For their Hound, who hounds surpassed, Elves have bound in slumber fast. Ah! on me thy sickness swerves, Hound of Smith who Conor serves! Sore my heart, my flesh must be: May thy cure be wrought by me. Ah! 'tis blood my heart that stains, Sick for him who rode the plains: Though his land be decked for feast, He to seek its plain hath ceased. He in Emain still delays; 'Tis those Shapes the bar that raise: Weak my voice is, dead its tone, He in evil form is shown. Month-long, year-long watch I keep; Seasons pass, I know not sleep: Men's sweet speech strikes not mine ear; Naught, Riangabra's[FN#34] son, I hear. [FN#33] Spelt Truim. [FN#34] Pronounced Reen-gabra. And, after that she had sung that song, Emer went forward to Emain that she might seek for Cuchulain; and she seated herself in the chamber where Cuchulain was, and thus she addressed him: "Shame upon thee!" she said, "to lie thus prostrate for a woman's love! well may this long sickbed of thine cause thee to ail!" And it was in this fashion that she addressed him, and she chanted this lay: Stand up, O thou hero of Ulster! Wake from sleep! rise up, joyful and sound! Look on Conor the king! on my beauty, Will that loose not those slumbers profound? See the Ulstermen's clear shining shoulders! Hear their trumpets that call to the fight! See their war-cars that sweep through the valleys, As in hero-chess, leaping each knight. See their chiefs, and the strength that adorns them, Their tall maidens, so stately with grace; The swift kings, springing on to the battle, The great queens of the Ulstermen's race! The clear winter but now is beginning; Lo! the wonder of cold that hangs there! 'Tis a sight that should warn thee; how chilly! Of what length I yet of colour how bare! This long slumber is ill; it decays thee: 'Tis like "milk for the full" the saw saith Hard is war with fatigue; deadly weakness Is a Prince who stands second to Death. Wake! 'tis joy for the sodden, this slumber; Throw it off with a great glowing heat: Sweet-voiced friends for thee wait in great number: Ulster's champion! stand up on thy feet! And Cuchulain at her word stood up; and he passed his hand over his face, and he cast all his heaviness and his weariness away from him, and then he arose, and went on his way before him until he came to the enclosure that he sought; and in that enclosure Liban appeared to him. And Liban spoke to him, and she strove to lead him into the fairy hill; but "What place is that in which Labraid dwelleth?" said Cuchulain. It is easy for me to tell thee!" she said: Labra's home's a pure lake, whither Troops of women come and go; Easy paths shall lead thee thither, Where thou shalt swift Labra know. Hundreds his skilled arm repelleth; Wise be they his deeds who speak: Look where rosy beauty dwelleth; Like to that think Labra's cheek. Head of wolf, for gore that thirsteth, Near his thin red falchion shakes; Shields that cloak the chiefs he bursteth, Arms of foolish foes he breaks. Trust of friend he aye requiteth, Scarred his skin, like bloodshot eye; First of fairy men he fighteth; Thousands, by him smitten, die. Chiefs at Echaid[FN#35] Juil's name tremble; Yet his land-strange tale-he sought, He whose locks gold threads resemble, With whose breath wine-scents are brought. More than all strife-seekers noted, Fiercely to far lands he rides; Steeds have trampled, skiffs have floated Near the isle where he abides. Labra, swift Sword-Wielder, gaineth Fame for actions over sea; Sleep for all his watch sustaineth! Sure no coward hound is he. The chains on the necks of the coursers he rides, And their bridles are ruddy with gold: He hath columns of crystal and silver besides, The roof of his house to uphold. [FN#35] Pronounced, apparently, Ech-ay, the ch like the sound in "loch." "I will not go thither at a woman's call," said Cuchulain. "Let Laeg then go," said the lady, "and let him bring to thee tidings of all that is there." "Let him depart, then," said Cuchulain; and Laeg rose up and departed with Liban, and they came to the Plain of Speech, and to the Tree of Triumphs, and over the festal plain of Emain, and over the festal plain of Fidga, and in that place was Aed Abra, and with him his daughters. Then Fand bade welcome to Laeg, and "How is it," said she, "that Cuchulain hath not come with thee?" "It pleased him not," said Laeg, "to come at a woman's call; moreover, he desired to know whether it was indeed from thee that had come the message, and to have full knowledge of everything." "It was indeed from me that the message was sent," she said; "and let now Cuchulain come swiftly to seek us, for it is for to-day that the strife is set." Then Laeg went back to the place where he had left Cuchulain, and Liban with him; and "How appeareth this quest to thee, O Laeg?" said Cuchulain. And Laeg answering said, "In a happy hour shalt thou go," said he, "for the battle is set for to-day;" and it was in this manner that he spake, and he recited thus: I went gaily through regions, Though strange, seen before: By his cairn found I Labra, A cairn for a score. There sat yellow-haired Labra, His spears round him rolled; His long bright locks well gathered Round apple of gold. On my five-folded purple His glance at length fell, And he said, "Come and enter Where Failbe doth dwell." In one house dwells white Failbe, With Labra, his friend; And retainers thrice fifty Each monarch attend. On the right, couches fifty, Where fifty men rest; On the left, fifty couches By men's weight oppressed. For each couch copper frontings, Posts golden, and white; And a rich flashing jewel As torch, gives them light. Near that house, to the westward, Where sunlight sinks down, Stand grey steeds, with manes dappled And steeds purple-brown. On its east side are standing Three bright purple trees Whence the birds' songs, oft ringing The king's children please. From a tree in the fore-court Sweet harmony streams; It stands silver, yet sunlit With gold's glitter gleams. Sixty trees' swaying summits Now meet, now swing wide; Rindless food for thrice hundred Each drops at its side. Near a well by that palace Gay cloaks spread out lie, Each with splendid gold fastening Well hooked through its eye. They who dwell there, find flowing A vat of glad ale: 'Tis ordained that for ever That vat shall not fail. From the hall steps a lady Well gifted, and fair: None is like her in Erin; Like gold is her hair. And so sweet, and so wondrous Her words from her fall, That with love and with longing She breaks hearts of all. "Who art thou?" said that lady, "For strange thou art here; But if Him of Murthemne Thou servest, draw near." Slowly, slowly I neared her; I feared for my fame: And she said, "Comes he hither, Of Dechtire who came?" Ah! long since, for thy healing, Thou there shouldst have gone, And have viewed that great palace Before me that shone. Though I ruled all of Erin And yellow Breg's hill, I'd give all, no small trial, To know that land still. "The quest then is a good one?" said Cuchulain. "It is goodly indeed," said Laeg, "and it is right that thou shouldest go to attain it, and all things in that land are good." And thus further also spoke Laeg, as he told of the loveliness of the fairy dwelling: I saw a land of noble form and splendid, Where dwells naught evil; none can speak a lie: There stands the king, by all his hosts attended, Brown Labra, swift to sword his hand can fly. We crossed the Plain of Speech, our steps arrested Near to that Tree, whose branches triumphs bear; At length upon the hill-crowned plain we rested, And saw the Double-Headed Serpent's lair. Then Liban said, as we that mount sat under: "Would I could see--'twould be a marvel strange-- Yet, if I saw it, dear would be that wonder, if to Cuchulain's form thy form could change." Great is the beauty of Aed Abra's daughters, Unfettered men before them conquered fall; Fand's beauty stuns, like sound of rushing waters, Before her splendour kings and queens seem small. Though I confess, as from the wise ones hearing, That Adam's race was once unstained by sin; - Yet did I swear, when Fand was there appearing, None in past ages could such beauty win. I saw the champions stand with arms for slaying, Right splendid was the garb those heroes bore; Gay coloured garments, meet for their arraying, 'Twas not the vesture of rude churls they wore. Women of music at the feast were sitting, A brilliant maiden bevy near them stood; And forms of noble youths were upwards flitting Through the recesses of the mountain wood. I saw the folk of song; their strains rang sweetly, As for the lady in that house they played; Had I not I fled away from thence, and fleetly, Hurt by that music, I had weak been made. I know the hill where Ethne took her station, And Ethne Inguba's a lovely maid; But none can drive from sense a warlike nation Save she alone, in beauty then displayed. And Cuchulain, when he had heard that report, went on with Liban to that land, and he took his chariot with him. And they came to the Island of Labraid, and there Labraid and all the women that were there bade them welcome; and Fand gave an especial welcome to Cuchulain. "What is there now set for us to do?" said Cuchulain. "No hard matter to answer," said Labraid; "we must go forth and make a circuit about the army." They went out then, and they came to the army, and they let their eyes wander over it; and the host seemed to them to be innumerable. "Do thou arise, and go hence for the present," said Cuchulain to Labraid; and Labraid departed, and Cuchulain remained confronting the army. And there were two ravens there, who spake, and revealed Druid secrets, but the armies who heard them laughed. "It must surely be the madman from Ireland who is there," said the army; "it is he whom the ravens would make known to us;" and the armies chased them away so that they found no resting-place in that land. Now at early morn Eochaid Juil went out in order to bathe his hands in the spring, and Cuchulain saw his shoulder through the hood of his tunic, and he hurled his spear at him, and he pierced him. And he by himself slew thirty-and-three of them, and then Senach the Unearthly assailed him, and a great fight was fought between them, and Cuchulain slew him; and after that Labraid approached, and he brake before him those armies. Then Labraid entreated Cuchulain to stay his hand from the slaying; and "I fear now," said Laeg, "that the man will turn his wrath upon us; for he hath not found a war to suffice him. Go now," said Laeg, "and let there be brought three vats of cold water to cool his heat. The first vat into which he goeth shall boil over; after he hath gone into the second vat, none shall be able to bear the heat of it: after he hath gone into the third vat, its water shall have but a moderate heat." And when the women saw Cuchulain's return, Fand sang thus: Fidga's[FN#36] plain, where the feast assembles, Shakes this eve, as his car he guides; All the land at the trampling trembles; Young and beardless, in state he rides. Blood-red canopies o'er him swinging Chant, but not as the fairies cry; Deeper bass from the car is singing, Deeply droning, its wheels reply. Steeds are bounding beneath the traces, None to match them my thought can find; Wait a while! I would note their graces: On they sweep, like the spring's swift wind. High in air, in his breath suspended, Float a fifty of golden balls; Kings may grace in their sports have blended, None his equal my mind recalls. [FN#36] Pronounced, nearly, Fee-ga. Dimples four on each cheek are glowing, One seems green, one is tinged with blue, One dyed red, as if blood were flowing, One is purple, of lightest hue. Sevenfold light from his eyeballs flashes, None may speak him as blind, in scorn; Proud his glances, and dark eyelashes Black as beetle, his eyes adorn. Well his excellence fame confesses, All through Erin his praise is sung; Three the hues of his high-piled tresses; Beardless yet, and a stripling young. Red his blade, it hath late been blooded; Shines above it its silver hilt; Golden bosses his shield have studded, Round its rim the white bronze is spilt. O'er the slain in each slaughter striding, War he seeketh, at risk would snatch: Heroes keen in your ranks are riding, None of these is Cuchulain's match. From Murthemne he comes, we greet him, Young Cuchulain, the champion strong; We, compelled from afar to meet him, Daughters all of Aed Abra, throng. Every tree, as a lordly token, Stands all stained with the red blood rain War that demons might wage is woken, Wails peal high as he raves again. Liban moreover bade a welcome to Cuchulain, and she chanted as follows: Hail to Cuchulain! Lord, who canst aid; Murthemne ruling, Mind undismayed; Hero-like, glorious, Heart great and still Battle-victorious, Firm rock of skill; Redly he rageth, Foemen would face; Battle he wageth Meet for his race! Brilliant his splendour, like maidens' eyes, Praises we render: praise shall arise! "Tell us now of the deeds thou hast done, O Cuchulain! cried Liban, and Cuchulain in this manner replied to her: From my hand flew a dart, as I made my cast, Through the host of Stream-Yeogan the javelin passed; Not at all did I know, though great fame was won, Who my victim had been, or what deed was done. Whether greater or less was his might than mine I have found not at all, nor can right divine; In a mist was he hid whom my spear would slay, Yet I know that he went not with life away. A great host on me closed, and on every side Rose around me in hordes the red steeds they ride; From Manannan, the Son of the Sea, came foes, From Stream-Yeogan to call them a roar arose. And I went to the battle with all at length, When my weakness had passed, and I gat full strength; And alone with three thousands the fight I fought, Till death to the foes whom I faced was brought. I heard Echaid Juil's groan, as he neared his end, The sound came to mine ears as from lips of friend; Yet, if truth must be told, 'twas no valiant deed, That cast that I threw, if 'twas thrown indeed. Now, after all these things had passed, Cuchulain slept with the lady, and he abode for a month in her company, and at the end of the month he came to bid her farewell. "Tell me," she said, "to what place I may go for our tryst, and I will be there;" and they made tryst at the strand that is known as the Strand of the Yew-Tree's Head. Now word was brought to Emer of that tryst, and knives were whetted by Emer to slay the lady; and she came to the place of the tryst, and fifty women were with her. And there she found, Cuchulain and Laeg, and they were engaged in the chess-play, so that they perceived not the women's approach. But Fand marked it, and she cried out to Laeg: "Look now, O Laeg!" she said, "and mark that sight that I see." "What sight is that of which thou speakest?" said Laeg, and he looked and saw it, and thus it was that the lady, even Fand, addressed him: Laeg! look behind thee! Close to thine ear Wise, well-ranked women Press on us near; Bright on each bosom Shines the gold clasp; Knives, with green edges Whetted, they grasp: As for the slaughter chariot chiefs race, Comes Forgall's daughter; changed is her face. "Have no fear," said Cuchulain, "no foe shalt thou meet; Enter thou my strong car, with its sunny bright seat: I will set thee before me, will guard thee from harm Against women, from Ulster's four quarters that swarm: Though the daughter of Forgall the war with thee vows, Though her dear foster-sisters against thee she rouse, No deed of destruction bold Emer will dare, Though she rageth against thee, for I will be there." Moreover to Emer he said: I avoid thee, O lady, as heroes Avoid to meet friends in a strife; The hard spear thy hand shakes cannot injure, Nor the blade of thy thin gleaming knife; For the wrath pent within thee that rageth Is but weak, nor can cause mine affright: It were hard if the war my might wageth Must be quenched by a weak woman's might! "Speak! and tell me, Cuchulain," cried Emer, "Why this shame on my head thou wouldst lay? Before women of Ulster dishonoured I stand, And all women who dwell in the wide Irish land, And all folk who love honour beside: Though I came on thee, secretly creeping, Though oppressed by thy might I remain, And though great is thy pride in the battle, If thou leavest me, naught is thy gain: Why, dear youth, such attempt dost thou make? "Speak thou, Emer, and say," said Cuchulain, "Should I not with this lady delay? For this lady is fair, pare and bright, and well skilled, A fit mate for a monarch, in beauty fulfilled, And the billows of ocean can ride: She is lovely in countenance, lofty in race, And with handicraft skilled can fine needlework trace, Hath a mind that with firmness can guide: And in steeds hath she wealth, and much cattle Doth she own; there is naught under sky A dear wife for a spouse should be keeping But that gift with this lady have I: Though the vow that I made thee I break, Thou shalt ne'er find champion Rich, like me, in scars; Ne'er such worth, such brilliance, None who wins my wars." "In good sooth," answered Emer, "the lady to whom thou dost cling is in no way better than am I myself! Yet fair seems all that's red; seems white what's new alone; and bright what's set o'erhead; and sour are things well known! Men worship what they lack; and what they have seems weak; in truth thou hast all the wisdom of the time! O youth!" she said, "once we dwelled in honour together, and we would so dwell again, if only I could find favour in thy sight!" and her grief weighed heavily upon her. "By my word," said Cuchulain, "thou dost find favour, and thou shalt find it so long as I am in life." "Desert me, then!" cried Fand. "Nay," said Emer, "it is more fitting that I should be the deserted one." "Not so, indeed," said Fand. "It is I who must go, and danger rusheth upon me from afar." And an eagerness for lamentation seized upon Fand, and her soul was great within her, for it was shame to her to be deserted and straightway to return to her home; moreover the mighty love that she bare to Cuchulain was tumultuous in her, and in this fashion she lamented, and lamenting sang this song: Mighty need compels me, I must go my way; Fame for others waiteth, Would I here could stay! Sweeter were it resting Guarded by thy power, Than to find the marvels In Aed Abra's bower. Emer! noble lady! Take thy man to thee: Though my arms resign him, Longing lives in me. Oft in shelters hidden Men to seek me came; None could win my trysting, I myself was flame. Ah! no maid her longing On a man should set Till a love full equal To her own she get. Fifty women hither, Emer! thou hast brought Thou wouldst Fand make captive, Hast on murder thought. Till the day I need them Waits, my home within; Thrice thy host! fair virgins, These my war shall win. Now upon this it was discerned by Manannan that Fand the daughter of Aed Abra was engaged in unequal warfare with the women of Ulster, and that she was like to be left by Cuchulain. And thereon Manannan came from the east to seek for the lady, and he was perceived by her, nor was there any other conscious of his presence saving Fand alone. And, when she saw Manannan, the lady was seized by great bitterness of mind and by grief, and being thus, she made this song: Lo! the Son of the Sea-Folk from plains draws near Whence Yeogan, the Stream, is poured; 'Tis Manannan, of old he to me was dear, And above the fair world we soared. Yet to-day, although excellent sounds his cry, No love fills my noble heart, For the pathways of love may be bent awry, Its knowledge in vain depart. When I dwelt in the bower of the Yeogan Stream, At the Son of the Ocean's side, Of a life there unending was then our dream, Naught seemed could our love divide. When the comely Manannan to wed me came, To me, as a spouse, full meet; Not in shame was I sold, in no chessmen's game The price of a foe's defeat. When the comely Manannan my lord was made, When I was his equal spouse, This armlet of gold that I bear he paid As price for my marriage vows. Through the heather came bride-maids, in garments brave Of all colours, two score and ten; And beside all the maidens my bounty gave To my husband a fifty men. Four times fifty our host; for no frenzied strife In our palace was pent that throng, Where a hundred strong men led a gladsome life, One hundred fair dames and strong. Manannan draws near: over ocean he speeds, From all notice of fools is he free; As a horseman he comes, for no vessel he needs Who rides the maned waves of the sea. He hath passed near us now, though his visage to view Is to all, save to fairies, forbid; Every troop of mankind his keen sight searcheth through, Though small, and in secret though hid. But for me, this resolve in my spirit shall dwell, Since weak, being woman's, my mind; Since from him whom so dearly I loved, and so well, Only danger and insult I find. I will go! in mine honour unsullied depart, Fair Cuchulain! I bid thee good-bye; I have gained not the wish that was dear to my heart, High justice compels me to fly. It is flight, this alone that befitteth my state, Though to some shall this parting be hard: O thou son of Riangabra! the insult was great: Not by Laeg shall my going be barred. I depart to my spouse; ne'er to strife with a foe Shall Manannan his consort expose; And, that none may complain that in secret I go, Behold him! his form I disclose! Then that lady rose behind Manannan as he passed, and Manannan greeted her: "O lady!" he said, "which wilt thou do? wilt thou depart with me, or abide here until Cuchulain comes to thee?" "By my troth," answered Fand, "either of the two of ye were a fitting spouse to adhere to; and neither of you two is better than the other; yet, Manannan, it is with thee that I go, nor will I wait for Cuchulain, for he hath betrayed me; and there is another matter, moreover, that weigheth with me, O thou noble prince!" said she, "and that is that thou hast no consort who is of worth equal to thine, but such a one hath Cuchulain already." And Cuchulain saw the lady as she went from him to Manannan, and he cried out to Laeg: "What meaneth this that I see?" "'Tis no hard matter to answer thee," said Laeg. "Fand goeth away with Manannan the Son of the Sea, since she hath not been pleasing in thy sight!" Then Cuchulain bounded three times high into the air, and he made three great leaps towards the south, and thus he came to Tara Luachra,[FN#37] and there he abode for a long time, having no meat and no drink, dwelling upon the mountains, and sleeping upon the high-road that runneth through the midst of Luachra. Then Emer went on to Emain, and there she sought out king Conor, and she told Conor of Cuchulain's state, and Conor sent out his learned men and the people of skill, and the Druids of Ulster, that they might seek for Cuchulain, and might bind him fast, and bring him with them to Emain. And Cuchulain strove to slay the people of skill, but they chanted wizard and fairy songs against him, and they bound fast his feet and his hands until he came a little to his senses. Then he begged for a drink at their hands, and the Druids gave him a drink of forgetfulness, so that afterwards he had no more remembrance of Fand nor of anything else that he had then done; and they also gave a drink of forgetfulness to Emer that she might forget her jealousy, for her state was in no way better than the state of Cuchulain. And Manannan shook his cloak between Cuchulain and Fand, so that they might never meet together again throughout eternity. [FN#37] Pronounced Looch-ra: Tara Luachra is on the borders of Limerick and Kerry. THE EXILE OF THE SONS' OF USNACH INTRODUCTION The version given in the following pages of the well-known tale of Deirdre has been translated from the Irish text of the Book of Leinster version as printed by Windisch in Irische Texte, vol. i. Readings from the two parallel texts of the Book of Lecan, and Egerton, 1782, have been used where the Leinster text is deficient or doubtful, but the older MS. has in the main been followed, the chief alterations being indicated in the notes. The only English translation hitherto given of this version is the unreliable one in Atlantis, vol. iii. There is a German translation in Thurneysen's Sagen aus dem alten Irland which may be consulted for literal renderings of most of the verse portions, which, however, are sometimes nearer the original than Thurneysen's renderings. It was at first intended to place beside this version the much better known version of the tale given by the Glenn Masain manuscript and its variants; but, as this version is otherwise available in English,[FN#38] it has been thought better to omit most of it: a verse translation of Deirdre's final lament in this version has, however, been added for the purpose of comparing it with the corresponding lament in the Leinster text. These two poems are nearly of the same length, but have no other point in common; the lament in the Leinster version strikes the more personal note, and it has been suggested that it shows internal evidence that it must have been written by a woman. The idea of Deirdre as a seer, which is so prominent in the Glenn Masain version of the tale, does not appear in the older Leinster text; the supernatural Druidic mist, which even in the Glenn Masain version only appears in the late manuscript which continues the story after the fifteenth-century manuscript breaks off, does not appear in the Book of Leinster; and the later version introduces several literary artifices that do not appear in the earlier one. That portion of the Glenn Masain version immediately following after Deirdre's lament is given as an instance of one of these, the common artifice of increase of horror at a catastrophe by the introduction of irrelevant matter, the tragedy of Deirdre's death being immediately followed by a cheerful account of the relationships of the chief heroes of the Heroic Period; a still better example of this practice in the old Irish literature is the almost comic relief that is introduced at the most tragic part of the tale of the murder of the son of Ronan. [FN#38] See Irische Texte, vol. ii., and the Celtic Review, vol. i. 1904-1905. THE EXILE OF THE SONS OF USNACH BOOK OF LEINSTER VERSION In the house of Feidlimid,[FN#39] the son of Dall, even he who was the narrator of stories to Conor the king, the men of Ulster sat at their ale; and before the men, in order to attend upon them, stood the wife of Feidlimid, and she was great with child. Round about the board went drinking-horns, and portions of food; and the revellers shouted in their drunken mirth. And when the men desired to lay themselves down to sleep, the woman also went to her couch; and, as she passed through the midst of the house, the child cried out in her womb, so that its shriek was heard throughout the whole house, and throughout the outer court that lay about it. And upon that shriek, all the men sprang up; and, head closely packed by head, they thronged together in the house, whereupon Sencha, the son of Ailill, rebuked them: "Let none of you stir!" cried he, "and let the woman be brought before us, that we may learn what is the meaning of that cry." Then they brought the woman before them, and thus spoke to her Feidlimid, her spouse: What is that, of all cries far the fiercest, In thy womb raging loudly and long? Through all ears with that clamour thou piercest; With that scream, from Bides swollen and strong: Of great woe, for that cry, is foreboding my heart; That is torn through with terror, and sore with the smart. [FN#39] Pronounced Feylimid. Then the woman turned her, and she approached Cathbad[FN#40] the Druid, for he was a man of knowledge, and thus she spoke to him: [FN#40] Pronounced Cah-ba. Give thou ear to me, Cathbad, thou fair one of face, Thou great crown of our honour, and royal in race; Let the man so exalted still higher be set, Let the Druid draw knowledge, that Druids can get. For I want words of wisdom, and none can I fetch; Nor to Felim a torch of sure knowledge can stretch: As no wit of a woman can wot what she bears, I know naught of that cry from within me that tears. And then said Cathbad: 'Tis a maid who screamed wildly so lately, Fair and curling shall locks round her flow, And her eyes be blue-centred and stately; And her cheeks, like the foxglove, shall glow. For the tint of her skin, we commend her, In its whiteness, like snow newly shed; And her teeth are all faultless in splendour And her lips, like to coral, are red: A fair woman is she, for whom heroes, that fight In their chariots for Ulster, to death shall be dight. 'Tis a woman that shriek who hath given, Golden-haired, with long tresses, and tall; For whose love many chiefs shall have striven, And great kings for her favours shall call. To the west she shall hasten, beguiling A great host, that from Ulster shall steal: Red as coral, her lips shall be smiling, As her teeth, white as pearls, they reveal: Aye, that woman is fair, and great queens shall be fain Of her form, that is faultless, unflawed by a stain. Then Cathbad laid his hand upon the body of the woman; and the little child moved beneath his hand: "Aye, indeed," he said, "it is a woman child who is here: Deirdre shall be her name, and evil woe shall be upon her." Now some days after that came the girl child into the world; and then thus sang Cathbad: O Deirdre! of ruin great cause thou art; Though famous, and fair, and pale: Ere that Felim's hid daughter from life shall part, All Ulster her deeds shall wail. Aye, mischief shall come, in the after-time, Thou fair shining maid, for thee; Hear ye this: Usna's sons, the three chiefs sublime, To banishment forced shall be. While thou art in life, shall a fierce wild deed In Emain, though late, be done: Later yet, it shall mourn it refused to heed The guard of Rog's powerful son. O lady of worth! It is to thee we owe That Fergus to exile flies; That a son of king Conor we hail in woe, When Fiachna[FN#41] is hurt, and dies. O lady of worth! It is all thine the guilt! Gerrc, Illadan's son, is slain; And when Eogan mac Doorha's great life is spilt, Not less shall be found our pain. Grim deed shalt thou do, and in wrath shalt rave Against glorious Ulster's king: In that spot shall men dig thee thy tiny grave; Of Deirdre they long shall sing. [FN#41] Pronounced Feena. "Let that maiden be slain!" cried out the young men of Ulster; but "Not so!" said Conor; "she shall in the morning be brought to me, and shall be reared according to my will, and she shall be my wife, and in my companionship shall she dwell." The men of Ulster were not so hardy as to turn him from his purpose, and thus it was done. The maiden was reared in a house that belonged to Conor, and she grew up to be the fairest maid in all Ireland. She was brought up at a distance from the king's court; so that none of the men of Ulster might see her till the time came when she was to share the royal couch: none of mankind was permitted to enter the house where she was reared, save only her foster-father, and her foster-mother; and in addition to these Levorcham, to whom naught could any refuse, for she was a witch. Now once it chanced upon a certain day in the time of winter that the foster-father of Deirdre had employed himself in skinning a calf upon the snow, in order to prepare a roast for her, and the blood of the calf lay upon the snow, and she saw a black raven who came down to drink it. And "Levorcham," said Deirdre, "that man only will I love, who hath the three colours that I see here, his hair as black as the raven, his cheeks red like the blood, and his body as white as the snow." "Dignity and good fortune to thee!" said Levorcham; "that man is not far away. Yonder is he in the burg which is nigh; and the name of him is Naisi, the son of Usnach." "I shall never be in good health again," said Deirdre, "until the time come when I may see him." It befell that Naisi was upon a certain day alone upon the rampart of the burg of Emain, and he sent his warrior-cry with music abroad: well did the musical cry ring out that was raised by the sons of Usnach. Each cow and every beast that heard them, gave of milk two-thirds more than its wont; and each man by whom that cry was heard deemed it to be fully joyous, and a dear pleasure to him. Goodly moreover was the play that these men made with their weapons; if the whole province of Ulster had been assembled together against them in one place, and they three only had been able to set their backs against one another, the men of Ulster would not have borne away victory from those three: so well were they skilled in parry and defence. And they were swift of foot when they hunted the game, and with them it was the custom to chase the quarry to its death. Now when this Naisi found himself alone on the plain, Deirdre also soon escaped outside her house to him, and she ran past him, and at first he know not who she might be. "Fair is the young heifer that springs past me!" he cried. "Well may the young heifers be great," she said, "in a place where none may find a bull." "Thou hast, as thy bull," said he, "the bull of the whole province of Ulster, even Conor the king of Ulster." "I would choose between you two," she said, "and I would take for myself a younger bull, even such as thou art." "Not so indeed," said Naisi, "for I fear the prophecy of Cathbad." "Sayest thou this, as meaning to refuse me?" said she. "Yea indeed," he said; and she sprang upon him, and she seized him by his two ears. "Two ears of shame and of mockery shalt thou have," she cried, "if thou take me not with thee." "Release me, O my wife!" said he. "That will I." Then Naisi raised his musical warrior-cry, and the men of Ulster heard it, and each of them one after another sprang up: and the sons of Usnach hurried out in order to hold back their brother. "What is it," they said, "that thou dost? let it not be by any fault of thine that war is stirred up between us and the men of Ulster." Then he told them all that had been done; and "There shall evil come on thee from this," said they; "moreover thou shalt lie under the reproach of shame so long as thou dost live; and we will go with her into another land, for there is no king in all Ireland who will refuse us welcome if we come to him." Then they took counsel together, and that same night they departed, three times fifty warriors, and the same number of women, and dogs, and servants, and Deirdre went with them. And for a long time they wandered about Ireland, in homage to this man or that; and often Conor sought to slay them, either by ambuscade or by treachery; from round about Assaroe, near to Ballyshannon in the west, they journeyed, and they turned them back to Benn Etar, in the north-east, which men to-day call the Mountain of Howth. Nevertheless the men of Ulster drave them from the land, and they came to the land of Alba, and in its wildernesses they dwelled. And when the chase of the wild beasts of the mountains failed them, they made foray upon the cattle of the men of Alba, and took them for themselves; and the men of Alba gathered themselves together with intent to destroy them. Then they took shelter with the king of Alba, and the king took them into his following, and they served him in war. And they made for themselves houses of their own in the meadows by the king's burg: it was on account of Deirdre that these houses were made, for they feared that men might see her, and that on her account they might be slain. Now one day the high-steward of the king went out in the early morning, and he made a cast about Naisi's house, and saw those two sleeping therein, and he hurried back to the king, and awaked him: "We have," said he, "up to this day found no wife for thee of like dignity to thyself. Naisi the son of Usnach hath a wife of worth sufficient for the emperor of the western world! Let Naisi be slain, and let his wife share thy couch." "Not so!" said the king, "but do thou prepare thyself to go each day to her house, and woo her for me secretly." Thus was it done; but Deirdre, whatsoever the steward told her, was accustomed straightway to recount it each even to her spouse; and since nothing was obtained from her, the sons of Usnach were sent into dangers, and into wars, and into strifes that thereby they might be overcome. Nevertheless they showed themselves to be stout in every strife, so that no advantage did the king gain from them by such attempts as these. The men of Alba were gathered together to destroy the sons of Usnach, and this also was told to Deirdre. And she told her news to Naisi: "Depart hence!" said she, "for if ye depart not this night, upon the morrow ye shall he slain!" And they marched away that night, and they betook themselves to an island of the sea. Now the news of what had passed was brought to the men of Ulster. "'Tis pity, O Conor!" said they, "that the sons of Usnach should die in the land of foes, for the sake of an evil woman. It is better that they should come under thy protection,[FN#42] and that the (fated) slaying should be done here, and that they should come into their own land, rather than that they should fall at the hands of foes." "Let them come to us then," said Conor, "and let men go as securities to them." The news was brought to them. [FN#42] Literally, "It is better their protection, and their slaying, and coming for them to their own land, &c." If this reading is right (and three MSS. agree), the extended words of the text seem to give the intention: it is, however, possible that the reading should be, "It is better their protection than their slaying" (oldaas for ocus), which would make sense at once. The idea of the text seems to be that the sons of Usnach were, owing to Cathbad's prophecy, thought of as fated men; and it was only a question where they should be put to death. "This is welcome news for us," they said; "we will indeed come, and let Fergus come as our surety, and Dubhtach, and Cormac the son of Conor." These then went to them, and they moved them to pass over the sea. But at the contrivance of Conor, Fergus was pressed to join in an ale-feast, while the sons of Usnach were pledged to eat no food in Erin, until they had eaten the food of Conor. So Fergus tarried behind with Dubhtach and Cormac; and the sons of Usnach went on, accompanied by Fiacha, Fergus' son; until they came to the meadows around Emain. Now at that time Eogan the son of Durthacht had come to Emain to make his peace with Conor, for they had for a long time been at enmity; and to him, and to the warmen of Conor, the charge was given that they should slay the sons of Usnach, in order that they should not come before the king. The sons of Usnach stood upon the level part of. the meadows, and the women sat upon the ramparts of Emain. And Eogan came with his warriors across the meadow, and the son of Fergus took his place by Naisi's side. And Eogan greeted them with a mighty thrust of his spear, and the spear brake Naisi's back in sunder, and passed through it. The son of Fergus made a spring, and he threw both arms around Naisi, and he brought him beneath himself to shelter him, while he threw himself down above him; and it was thus that Naisi was slain, through the body of the son of Fergus. Then there began a murder throughout the meadow, so that none escaped who did not fall by the points of the spears, or the edge of the sword, and Deirdre was brought to Conor to be in his power, and her arms were bound behind her back. Now the sureties who had remained behind, heard what had been done, even Fergus and Dubhtach, and Cormac. And thereon they hastened forward, and they forthwith performed great deeds. Dubhtach slew, with the one thrust of his spear, Mane a son of Conor, and Fiachna the son of Feidelm, Conor's daughter; and Fergus struck down Traigthren, the son of Traiglethan, and his brother. And Conor was wrath at this, and he came to the fight with them; so that upon that day three hundred of the men of Ulster fell and Dubhtach slew the women of Ulster; and, ere the day dawned, Fergus set Emain on fire. Then they went away into exile, and betook them to the land of Connaught to find shelter with Ailill and Maev, for they knew that that royal pair would give them good entertainment. To the men of Ulster the exiles showed no love: three thousand stout men went with them; and for sixteen years never did they allow cries of lamentation and of fear among the Ulstermen to cease: each night their vengeful forays caused men to quake, and to wail. Deirdre lived on for a year in the household of Conor; and during all that time she smiled no smile of laughter; she satisfied not herself with food or with sleep, and she raised not her head from her knee. And if any one brought before her people of mirth, she used to speak thus: Though eager troops, and fair to see,[FN#43] May home return, though these ye wait: When Usna's sons came home to me, They came with more heroic state. With hazel mead, my Naisi stood: And near our fire his bath I'd pour; On Aindle's stately back the wood; On Ardan's ox, or goodly boar. Though sweet that goodly mead ye think That warlike Conor drinks in hall, I oft have known a sweeter drink, Where leaps in foam the waterfall: Our board was spread beneath the tree, And Naisi raised the cooking flame: More sweet than honey-sauced to me Was meat, prepared from Naisi's game. [FN#43] A literal rendering of this poem will be found in the notes, p. 187. Though well your horns may music blow, Though sweet each month your pipes may sound, I fearless say, that well I know A sweeter strain I oft have found. Though horns and pipes be sounding clear, Though Conor's mind in these rejoice, More magic strain, more sweet, more dear Was Usna's Children's noble voice. Like sound of wave, rolled Naisi's bass; We'd hear him long, so sweet he sang: And Ardan's voice took middle place; And clearly Aindle's tenor rang. Now Naisi lies within his tomb: A sorry guard his friends supplied; His kindred poured his cup of doom, That poisoned cup, by which he died. Ah! Berthan dear! thy lands are fair; Thy men are proud, though hills be stern: Alas! to-day I rise not there To wait for Usna's sons' return. That firm, just mind, so loved, alas! The dear shy youth, with touch of scorn, I loved with him through woods to pass, And girding in the early morn. When bent on foes, they boded ill, Those dear grey eyes, that maids adored; When, spent with toil, his troops lay still, Through Irish woods his tenor soared. For this it is, no more I sleep; No more my nails with pink I stain: No joy can break the watch I keep; For Usna's sons come not again. For half the night no sleep I find; No couch can me to rest beguile: 'Mid crowds of thoughts still strays my mind; I find no time to eat or smile. In eastern Emain's proud array No time to joy is left for me; For gorgeous house, and garments gay, Nor peace, nor joy, nor rest can be. And when Conor sought to soothe her; thus Deirdre would answer him: Ah Conor! what of thee! I naught can do! Lament and sorrow on my life have passed: The ill you fashioned lives my whole life through; A little time your love for me would last. The man to me most fair beneath the sky, The man I loved, in death away you tore: The crime you did was great; for, till I die, That face I loved I never shall see more. That he is gone is all my sorrow still; Before me looms the shape of Usna's son; Though o'er his body white is yon dark hill, There's much I'd lavish, if but him I won. I see his cheeks, with meadow's blush they glow; Black as a beetle, runs his eyebrows' line; His lips are red; and, white as noble snow I see his teeth, like pearls they seem to shine. Well have I known the splendid garb he bears, Oft among Alba's warriors seen of old: A crimson mantle, such as courtier wears, And edged with border wrought of ruddy gold. Of silk his tunic; great its costly price; For full one hundred pearls thereon are sewn; Stitched with findruine,[FN#44] bright with strange device, Full fifty ounces weighed those threads alone. Gold-hilted in his hand I see his sword; Two spears he holds, with spear-heads grim and green; Around his shield the yellow gold is poured, And in its midst a silver boss is seen. Fair Fergus ruin on us all hath brought! We crossed the ocean, and to him gave heed: His honour by a cup of ale was bought; From him hath passed the fame of each high deed. If Ulster on this plain were gathered here Before king Conor; and those troops he'd give, I'd lose them all, nor think the bargain dear, If I with Naisi, Usna's son, could live. Break not, O king, my heart to-day in me; For soon, though young, I come my grave unto: My grief is stronger than the strength of sea; Thou, Conor, knowest well my word is true. "Whom dost thou hate the most," said Conor, "of these whom thou now seest?" "Thee thyself," she answered, "and with thee Eogan the son of Durthacht." [FN#44] Pronounced find-roony; usually translated "white bronze." "Then," said Conor, "thou shalt dwell with Eogan for a year;" and he gave Deirdre over into Eogan's hand. Now upon the morrow they went away over the festal plain of Macha, and Deirdre sat behind Eogan in the chariot; and the two who were with her were the two men whom she would never willingly have seen together upon the earth, and as she looked upon them, "Ha, Deirdre," said Conor, "it is the same glance that a ewe gives when between two rams that thou sharest now between me and Eogan!" Now there was a great rock of stone in front of them, and Deirdre struck her head upon that stone, and she shattered her head, and so she died. This then is the tale of the exile of the sons of Usnach, and of the Exile of Fergus, and of the death of Deirdre. THE LAMENT OF DEIRDRE OVER THE SONS OF USNACH ACCORDING TO THE GLENN MASAIN VERSION ALSO THE CONCLUSION OF THE TALE FROM THE SAME VERSION I grieved not, Usna's sons beside; But long, without them, lags the day: Their royal sire no guest denied; Three lions from Cave Hill were they. Three dragons bred in Mona's fort Are dead: to them from life I go; Three chiefs who graced the Red Branch Court, Three rocks, who broke the rush of foe. O loved by many a British maid! O swift as hawks round Gullion's peak! True sons of king, who warriors swayed, To whom bent chiefs in homage meek. No vassal look those champions wore; Full grief is mine that such should die! Those sons, whom Cathbad's daughter bore; Those props, who Cualgne's[FN#45] war held high. [FN#45] Pronounced Kell-ny. Three bears of might, to war they came; From Oona's walls, like lions, burst; Three hero-chiefs, who loved their fame; Three sons, on Ulster's bosom nursed. Twas Aife[FN#46] reared them; 'neath her yoke A kingdom bowed, and tribute brought; They propped the war, when armies broke, Those foster-sons, whom Scathach[FN#47] taught. The Three, who once from Bohvan's skill All feats have learned that heroes know; King Usna's glorious sons! 'tis ill That these afar from me should go. That I should live, with Naisi dead, Let none such shame believe of me; When Ardan's life, when Ainnle's fled, But short my life I knew would be. Great Ulster's king my hand had won; I left him, Naisi's love to find; Till Naisi's funeral rites be done, I wait a little while behind. This widowed life no more I'll bear; The Three rejoiced, when toil they faced; Where'er 'twas found, the war they'd dare, And proffered fight with joy embraced. A curse on Cathbad's wizard spell! 'Twas Naisi's death! and I the cause! None came to aid that king, who well To all the world might grant his laws. [FN#46] Pronounced Eefa. [FN#47] Pronounced Ska-ha. O man, who diggest low the grave, And from my sight my love would hide, Make wide the tomb; its room I crave, I come to seek my hero's side. Great load of hardship I'd endure with joy, If yet those heroes my companions were; No lack of house or fire could then annoy, No gloom I'd know with them, nor aught of care. Ah! many a time each shield and guardian spear To make my couch have piled those noble Three: O labouring man, their grave who diggest here, Their hardened swords above well set should be. The hounds of all the Three their masters lack, Their hawks no quarry leave, nor hear their call; The three are dead, who battle's line held back Who learned their skill in Conall Cernach's hall! Their hounds I view; from out my heart that sight Hath struck a groan; behind their leashes trail, 'Twas mine to hold them once, and keep them tight;, Now slack they lie, and cause me thus to wail. Oft in the desert I and they have strayed, Yet never lonely was that desert known For all the Three a grave to-day is made, And here I sit, and feel indeed alone. I gazed on Naisi's grave, and now am blind, For naught remains to see; the worst is spent; My soul must leave me soon, no help I find, And they are gone, the folk of my lament. 'Twas guile that crushed them: they would save my life And died therefor; themselves three billows strong: Ere Usna's children fell in cruel strife, Would I had died, and earth had held me long! To Red-Branch Hall we made our mournful way; Deceitful Fergus led; our lives he stole; A soft sweet speech indeed he'd learned to say, For me, for them was ruin near that goal. All Ulster's pleasures now are nothing worth I shun them all, each chief, each ancient friend; Alone I sit, as left behind on earth, And soon my lonely life in death shall end. I am Deirdre, the joyless, For short time alive, Though to end life be evil, 'Tis worse to survive. And, after she had made this lament, Deirdre seated herself in the tomb, and she gave three kisses to Naisi before that he was laid in his grave; and with heaviness and grief Cuchulain went on to Dun Delga. And Cathbad the Druid laid a curse upon Emain Macha to take vengeance for that great evil, and he said that, since that treachery had been done, neither king Conor nor any other of his race should hold that burg. And as for Fergus, the son of Rossa the Red, he came to Emain Macha on the morrow after the sons of Usnach had been slain. And, when he found that they had been slain, and that his pledge had been dishonoured, he himself, and Cormac the Partner of Exile, king Conor's own son, also Dubhtach, the Beetle of Ulster, and the armies they had with them, gave battle to the household of Conor; and they slew Maine the son of Conor, and three hundred of Conor's people besides. And Emain Macha was destroyed, and burned by them, and Conor's women were slain, and they collected their adherents on every side; the number of their host was three thousand warriors. And they went away to the land of Connaught, even to Ailill the Great, who was the king of Connaught at that time, and to Maev of Croghan, and with them they found a welcome and support. Moreover Fergus and Cormac the Partner of Exile and their warriors, after that they had come to the land of Connaught, never let pass one single night wherein reavers went not forth from them to harry and burn the land of Ulster, so that the district which men to-day call the land of Cualgne was subdued by them; and from that in the after-time came between the two kingdoms much of trouble and theft; and in this fashion they spent seven years, or, as some say, ten years; nor was there any truce between them, no, not for one single hour. And while those deeds were doing, Deirdre abode by Conor in his household for a whole year after the sons of Usnach had been slain. And, though it might have seemed but a small thing for her to raise her head, or to let laughter flow over her lips, yet she never did these things during all that time. And when Conor saw that neither sport nor kindness could hold her; and that neither jesting nor pleasing honour could raise her spirits, he sent word to Eogan the son of Durthacht, the lord of Fernmay;[FN#48] as some tell the story, it was this Eogan who had slain Naisi in Emain Macha. And after that Eogan had come to the place where Conor was, Conor gave command to Deirdre that, since he himself had failed to turn her heart from her grief, she must depart to Eogan, and spend another space of time with him. And with that she was placed behind Eogan in his chariot, and Conor went also in the chariot in order to deliver Deirdre into Eogan's hand. And as they went on their way, she cast a fierce glance at Eogan in front of her, and another at Conor behind her; for there was nothing in all the world that she hated more than those two men. And when Conor saw this, as he looked at her and at Eogan, he said: "Ah Deirdre! it is the glance of a ewe when set between two rams that thou castest on me and on Eogan!" And when Deirdre heard that, she sprang up, and she made a leap out of the chariot, and she struck her head against the stony rocks that were in front of her, and she shattered her head so that the brains leapt out, and thus came to Deirdre her death. [FN#48] The Irish is Fernmag; written Fearnmhuidh in the late manuscript of this part of the tale. This is the Tree of their race, and an account of the kinships of some of the Champions of the Red Branch, which is given here before we proceed to speak of the Deeds of Cuchulain: 'Twas Cathbad first won Magach's love, and arms around her threw; From Maelchro's loins, the Battle Chief, his princely source he drew; Two, more in love she knew, of these the wrath was long and dread, Fierce Rossa, named the Ruddy-Faced, and Carbre, thatched with red. To all the three were children born, and all with beauty graced, To Cathbad, and to Carbre Red, and Rossa Ruddy-faced; A gracious three indeed were they to whom she gave her love, Fair Magach, brown the lashes were that slept her eyes above. Three sons to Rossa Ruddy-faced as children Magach bore; To Carbre sons again she gave, the count of these was four; And three white shoots of grace were hers, on these no shame shall fall; To Cathbad children three she bare, and these were daughters all. To Cathbad, who in wizard lore and all its arts had might, Three daughters lovely Magach bore, each clothed in beauty white; All maids who then for grace were famed in grace those maids surpassed, And Finuchoem,[FN#49] Ailbhe twain he named, and Deithchim named the last. [FN#49] Pronounced Finn-hoom, Ail-vy, and Die-himm. To Finnchoem, wizard Cathbad's child, was born a glorious son, And well she nursed him, Conall wild, who every field hath won; And Ailbhe glorious children bare in whom no fear had place, These Ardan, Ainnle, Naisi were, who came of Usnach's race. A son to Deithchim fair was born, a bright-cheeked mother she; She bore but one: Cuchulain of Dun Delga's hold was he: Of those whom Cathbad's daughters reared the names full well ye know, And none of these a wound hath feared, or therefore shunned a foe. The sons of Usnach, who like shields their friends protected well, By might of hosts on battle-field to death were borne, and fell; And each was white of skin, and each his friends in love would hold, Now naught remains for song to teach, the Third of Griefs is told. THE COMBAT AT THE FORD INTRODUCTION This version of the "Combat at the Ford," the best-known episode of the Irish romance or romantic epic, the "War of Cualnge," will hardly be, by Irish scholars, considered to want a reference. It is given in the Book of Leinster, which cannot have been written later than 1150 A.D., and differs in many respects from the version in the fourteenth-century Book of Lecan, which is, for the purposes of this text, at least equal in authority to the Leabbar na h-Uidhri, which must have been written before 1100 A.D. Mr. Alfred Nutt has kindly contributed a note on the comparison of the two versions, which has been placed as a special note at the end of the translation of the "Combat." To this note may be added the remark that the whole of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of the "War of Cualnge" seems, to be subject to the same criticisms that have to be passed on the "Sickbed" and the "Courtship of Etain" in the same volume, viz. that it is a compilation from two or three different versions of the same story, and is not a connected and consistent romance, which the version in the Book of Leinster appears to be. As an illustration of this, the appearance of Conall Cernach as on the side of Connaught in the early part of the L.U. version may be mentioned; he is never so represented in other versions of the "War." In the description of the array of Ulster at the end of L.U., he is noted as being expected to be with the Ulster army but as absent (following in this the Book of Leinster, but not a later manuscript which agrees with the Book of Leinster in the main); then at the end of the L.U. version Conall again appears in the Connaught army and saves Conor from Fergus, taking the place of Cormac in the Book of Leinster version. Miss Faraday, in her version of the "War" as given in L.U., notes the change of style at page 82 of her book. Several difficulties similar to that of the position of Conall could be mentioned; and on the whole it seems as if the compiler of the manuscript from which both the Leabhar na h-Uidhri and the Yellow Book of Lecan were copied, combined into one several different descriptions of the "War," one of which is represented by the Book of Leinster version. This version shows no signs of patchwork, at any rate in the story of the "Combat at the Ford;" which has, ever since it was reintroduced to the world by O'Curry, been renowned for the chivalry of its action. It forms one of the books of Aubrey de Vere's "Foray of Queen Meave," and is there well reproduced, although with several additions; perhaps sufficient attention has not. been paid to the lofty position of the character, as distinguished from the prowess, that this version gives to Cuchulain. The first verse, put in Cuchulain's mouth, strikes a new note, contrasting alike with the muddle-headed bargaining of Ferdia and Maev, and the somewhat fussy anxiety of Fergus. The contrast between the way in which Cuchulain receives Fergus's report of the valour of Ferdia, and that in which Ferdia receives the praises of Cuchulain from his charioteer, is well worked out; Cuchulain, conscious of his own strength, accepts all Fergus's praises of his opponent and adds to them; Ferdia cannot bear to hear of Cuchulain's valour, and charges his servant with taking a bribe from his enemy in order to frighten him. Ferdia boasts loudly of what he will do, Cuchulain apologises for his own confidence in the issue of the combat, and gently banters Fergus, who is a bit of a boaster himself, on the care he had taken to choose the time for the war when king Conor was away, with a modest implication that he himself was a poor substitute for the king. Cuchulain's first two stanzas in the opening dialogue between himself and Ferdia show a spirit quite as truculent as that of his opponent; the reason of this being, as indicated in the first of these stanzas and more explicitly stated in the preceding prose, that his anxiety for his country is outweighing his feeling for his friend; but in the third stanza he resumes the attitude of conscious strength that marks all his answers to Fergus; and this, added to a feeling of pity for his friend's inevitable fate, is maintained up to the end of the tale. In the fourth stanza, which is an answer to a most insulting speech from Ferdia, he makes the first of those appeals to his former friend to abandon his purpose that come from him throughout the first three days of the fight; even in the fatal battle of the fourth day, he will not at first put forward all his strength, and only uses the irresistible Gae-Bulg when driven to it by his foe. The number of Cuchulain's laments after the battle--there are five of these (one in prose), besides his answers to Laeg--has been adversely criticised; and it is just possible that one or more of these come from some other version, and have been incorporated by a later hand than that of the author; but the only one that seems to me not to develop the interest is the "brooch of gold," which it may be noticed is very like the only lament which is preserved in the Book of Lecan text of the L.U. version. Cuchulain's allusion to Aife's only son in the first verse lament is especially noticeable (see note, p. 196). Ferdia's character, although everywhere inferior to that of his victor, is also a heroic one; he is represented at the commencement of the episode as undertaking the fight for fear of disgrace if he refused; and this does appear to be represented throughout as the true reason; his early boasts and taunts are obviously intended to conquer a secret uneasiness, and the motif of a passion for Finnabar with which Cuchulain charges him hardly appears outside Cuchulain's speeches, and has not the importance given to it in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version. The motif of resentment against Cuchulain for a fancied insult, invented by Maev, which is given in the L.U. version as the determining cause, does not appear in the Leinster version at all; and that of race enmity of the Firbolg against the Celt, given to him by Aubrey de Vere, is quite a modern idea and is in none of the old versions. His dialogue with Maev suggests that, as stated in the text, he was then slightly intoxicated; his savage language to his servant gives the idea of a man who feels himself in the wrong and makes himself out to be worse than he is by attributing to himself the worst motives, the hope of pay; but as the battle proceeds he shows himself equal to Cuchulain in generosity, and in the dialogue at the beginning of the third day's fight his higher character comes out, for while his old boastfulness appears in one passage of it, and is immediately repressed, the language of both heroes in this dialogue is noticeable for a true spirit of chivalry. The mutual compliments, "thy kingly might," "fair graceful Hound" "gently ruling Hound" recall the French "Beausire"; it may be also noted that these compliments are paid even when Ferdia is protesting against Cuchulain's reproaches; similar language is used elsewhere, as "much thine arms excel" (page 122), and "Cuchulain for beautiful feats renowned" (page 134). It may be considered that these passages are an indication that the episode is late, but it should be noticed that the very latest date that can possibly be assigned to it, the eleventh century, precedes that of all other known romances of chivalry by at least a hundred years. To this later attitude of Ferdia, and to that maintained by Cuchulain throughout the whole episode, nothing in French or Welsh romance of approximately so early a date can be compared. Is it not possible that the chivalric tone of the later Welsh romances, like the "Lady of the Fountain," which is generally supposed to have come from France, really came from an Irish model? and that this tone, together with the Arthurian Saga, passed to the Continent? A great contrast to both the two heroes is afforded by the introduction of Laeg with his cries of exultation, which come between the dying groans of Ferdia and the fine prose lament of Cuchulain, increasing the effect of both. Laeg seems quite unable to see his master's point of view, and he serves as a foil for Ferdia, just as the latter's inferiority increases the character of Cuchulain. The consistency of the whole, and the way in which our sympathy is awakened for Ferdia contrast with the somewhat disconnected character of the L.U. version, which as it stands gives a poor idea of the defeated champion; although, as Mr. Nutt suggests, the lost part may have improved this idea, and the version has beauties of its own. For the convenience of those readers who may be unacquainted with the story of the war, the following short introduction is given:-- At a time given by the oldest Irish annalists as A.D. 29, the War of Cualnge was undertaken by Maev, queen of Connaught, against the kingdom or province of Ulster. Gathering together men from all the other four provinces of Ireland, Maev marched against Ulster, the leaders of her army being herself, her husband Ailill, and Fergus the son of Rog, an exile from Ulster, and formerly, according to one account, king of that province. Not only had Maev great superiority in force, but the time she Ed chosen for the war was when Conor, king of Ulster, and with him nearly all his principal warriors, were on their sick-bed in accordance with a curse that had fallen on them in return for a cruel deed that he and his people had done. One hero however, Cuchulain, the greatest of the Ulster heroes, was unaffected by this curse; and he, with only a few followers, but with supernatural aid from demi-gods of whose race he came, had caused much loss to the queen and her army, so that Maev finally made this compact: she was each day to provide a champion to oppose Cuchulain, and was to be permitted to advance so long as that combat lasted; if her champion was killed, she was to halt her army until the next morning. Before the Combat at the Ford between Cuchulain and Ferdia, Cuchulain had killed many of Maev's champions in duel, and the epic romance of the "War of Cualnge" gives the full story of these combats and of the end of the war. The episode given in the following pages commences at the camp of Queen Maev, where her chiefs are discussing who is to be their champion against Cuchulain on the following day. THE COMBAT AT THE FORD AN EPISODE OF THE CATTLE SPOIL OF CUALNGE IN THE BOOK OF LEINSTER VERSION At that time debate was held among the men of Ireland who should be the man to go early in the morning of the following day to make combat and fight with Cuchulain. And all agreed that Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dire, was the man who should go; even the great and valiant champion of the men of Irross Donnand, for the manner in which he fought and did battle was like to the manner of Cuchulain. They had got their skill in arms, and valour, and bravery from the same teachers, from Scathach, from Uathach, and from Aife[FN#50]; nor had either of them advantage over the other except that Cuchulain alone could perform the feat of the Gae-bulg. Yet Ferdia was fenced by a horny skin-protecting armour, and this should guard him when he faced a hero in battle and combat at the Ford. So to Ferdia were sent messengers and heralds; but Ferdia denied the heralds, and he refused to depart with them, for well he knew why it was he was called; even to fight against his own friend, his comrade and fellow-pupil Cuchulain; and for that cause he came not with the heralds who were sent. [FN#50] Pronounced Scaha, Ooha, and Eefa: Scaha and Ooha end with a slight guttural like the ch in the Scotch lock, difficult to express in English. And then did Maev send to Ferdia Druids, and satirists and revilers, in order that against him should be made three crushing reproaches, and three satires; that the stains of shame, and of blemish, and of disgrace should be raised on his face; so that even if he died not at once, death should be his within the space of nine days if he went with them not. And for the sake of his honour, Ferdia came at their call; for to him it was better to fall before the shafts of valour, of bravery, and of daring than by the stings of satire, of abuse, and of reproach. And he, when he arrived, was received with all worship and service, and was served with pleasant, sweet intoxicating liquor, so that his brain reeled, and he became gently merry. And these were the great rewards that were promised to him if he consented to make that combat and fight: a chariot of the value of four times seven cumals, and the equipment of twelve men with garments of all colours, and the length and breadth of his own territory on the choice part of the plains of Maw Ay; free of tribute, without purchase, free from the incidents of attendance at courts and of military service, that therein his son, and his grandson, and all his descendants might dwell in safety to the end of life and time; also Finnabar the daughter of Maev as his wedded wife, and the golden brooch which was in the cloak of Queen Maev in addition to all this. And thus ran the speech of Maev, and she spake these words, and thus did Ferdia reply: Maev Of rings great treasure sending,[FN#51] Wide plains and woodlands bending I grant: till time hath ending I free thy tribe and kin. O thou who oft o'ercamest! 'Tis thine what gift thou namest! Why hold'st thou back, nor claimest A boon that all would win? [FN#51] The metre of this dialogue and rhyme-system are taken from the Irish but one syllable has been added to each line. The exact Irish metre is that given on page 129. Ferdia A bond must hold thee tightly, No force I lend thee lightly; Dread strife 'twill be; for rightly He bears that name of "Hound." For sharp spear-combat breaketh That morn; hard toil it waketh The war Cuchulain maketh Shall fearless war be found. Maev Our chiefs, with oaths the gravest, Shall give the pledge thou cravest; For thee, of all men bravest, Brave bridled steeds shall stand. From tax my word hath freed thee, To hostings none shall lead thee, As bosom friend I need thee, As first in all the land. Ferdia Mere words are naught availing If oaths to bind be failing; That wondrous Ford-Fight hailing, All time its tale shall greet: Though sun, moon, sea for ever And earth from me I sever; Though death I win--yet never, Unpledged, that war I'll meet. Maev These kings and chiefs behind me Their oaths shall pledge to bind me: With boundless wealth thou'lt find me, With wealth too great to pay. 'Tis thou who oaths delayest; 'Tis done whate'er thou sayest; For well I know thou slayest The foe who comes to slay. Ferdia Ere thou to slaughter lure me, Six champions' oaths procure me; Till these rewards assure me I meet, for thee, no foe: If six thou grant as gages, I'll face the war he wages, And where Cuchulain rages, A lesser chief, I go. Maev In chariots Donnal raceth, Fierce strife wild Neeman faceth, Their halls the bards' song graceth, Yet these in troth I bind. Firm pledge Morand is making, None Carpri Min knew breaking His troth: thine oath he's taking; Two sons to pledge I find. Ferdia Much poison, Maev, inflameth Thy heart; no smile thee tameth But well the land thee nameth Proud queen of Croghan's hold; Thy power no man can measure; 'Tis I will do thy pleasure; Now send thy silken treasure, Thy silver gifts, and gold. Maev This brooch, as champion's token, I give of troth unbroken; All words my lips have spoken Performed shall Sunday see. Thou glorious chief, who darest This fight, I give thee rarest Of gifts on earth, and fairest, Yea greater meed shall be. For Findabar my daughter; All Elgga's chiefs have sought her; When thou that Hound shalt slaughter, I give in love to thee. And then did Maev bind Ferdia in an easy task; that on the next day he was to come to combat and fight with six of her champions, or to make duel against Cuchulain; whichever of the two he should think the easier. And Ferdia on his side bound her by a condition that seemed to him easy for her to fulfil: even that she should lay it upon those same six champions to see to it that all those things she had promised to him should be fulfilled, in case Cuchulain should meet death at Ferdia's hand. Thereupon Fergus caused men to harness for him his horses, and his chariot was yoked, and he went to that place where Cuchulain was that he might tell him what had passed, and Cuchulain bade him welcome. I am rejoiced at your coming, O my good friend Fergus," said Cuchulain. And I gladly accept thy welcome, O my pupil," said Fergus. But I have now come hither in order to tell thee who that man is who comes to combat and fight with thee early on the morning of the day which is at hand." "We shall give all heed to thy words," said Cuchulain. "'Tis thine own friend," said Fergus, "thy companion, and thy fellow pupil; thine equal in feats and in deeds and in valour: even Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dare, the great and valiant champion of the men of Irross Donnan." "Truly," said Cuchulain, "I make mine oath to thee that I am sorry that my friend should come to such a duel." "Therefore," said Fergus, "it behoves thee to be wary and prepared, for unlike to all those men who have come to combat and fight with thee upon the Tain be Cuailgne is Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dare." "I have stood here," said Cuchulain, "detaining and delaying the men of the four great provinces of Ireland since the first Monday in Samhain (November) till the beginning of the spring, and not one foot have I gone back before any one man during all that time, nor shall I, as I trust, yield before him." And in this manner did Fergus continue to put him on his guard, and these were the words that he spoke, and thus did Cuchulain reply: Fergus Rise, Cuchulain! foes are near,[FN#52] All their covenant is clear; Daman's ruddy son in rage Comes the war with thee to wage. [FN#52] The metre is that of the Irish; a literal rendering of the whole dialogue is given in the notes, p. 191. Cuchulain Here I stand, whose valiant toil Erin's bands held back from spoil; Never a foot of ground they won, Never a foe they found me shun. Fergus Fierce is he in rage; his trust In his blade's deep searching thrust: Plates of horn protect his side, Pierced by none his strength who tried. Cuchulain Fergus, much thine arms excel; Cease, this tale no longer tell Land is none, nor battle-field Where to his my strength must yield. Fergus He is fierce, with scores can fight, Spear nor sword can on him bite; From that strength, a hundred's match, Hard 'twill be the prize to snatch. Cuchulain Yea! Ferdia's power I know; How from foughten field we go; How was fought our piercing war, Bards shall tell to ages far. Fergus Loss of much I'd little mourn Could I hear how, eastward borne, Great Cuchulain's bloody blade Proud Ferdia's spoils displayed. Cuchulain Though in boasts I count me weak, Hear me now as braggart speak: Daman's son, of Darry's race, Soon shall I, his victor, face. Fergus Brought by me, hosts eastward came, Ulster sought to hurt my fame; Here have come, to ease my grief, Many a champion, many a chief. Cuchulain Sickness Conor's might withheld, Else his sight thy host had quelled; Less the shouts of joy had been, Raised by Maev, Maw Scayl's high queen. Fergus Greater deeds than done by me O Cuchulain! thine shall be: Daman's son thy battle nears; Hear thy friend! keep hard thy spears. Then Fergus returned to where the army was encamped: Ferdia, also went from Maev and came to his own tent; and there he found his followers, and he told them how he had been bound to Maev as in an easy task, that he was on the morrow to combat and fight with six of her champions, or to make duel with Cuchulain, whichever of the two he might think the easier. Also he told them how she had been bound by a condition that was easy for her to grant: that she should lay it on these same six champions to see that her promises to him of rewards should be fulfilled in case Cuchulain met his death at Ferdia's hand. There was no cheerfulness, or happiness, or even melancholy pleasure among the inmates of Ferdia's camp that night: they were all cheerless, and sorrowful, and low in spirit; for they knew that whenever those two champions, those two slayers of hundreds met, one of the two must fall in that place, or that both of them should fall: and if one only was to fall they were sure that that one would be their own master; for it was not easy for any man to combat and fight with Cuchulain on the Tain bo Cuailnge. Now the first part of that night Ferdia slept very heavily, and when the middle of the night had come his sleep had left him, and the dizziness of his brain has passed away, and care for the combat and the fight pressed heavily upon him. Then he called for his charioteer to harness his horses, and to yoke his chariot; and the charioteer began to rebuke him, if haply he might turn him from his purpose. "It would be better for thee to stay!" said the charioteer. "Be thou silent, O my servant!" said Ferdia, and he then spoke the words that follow, and thus did his servant reply to him:-- Ferdia 'Tis a challenge provoking To war, and I go Where the ravens' hoarse croaking Shall rise for my foe: With Cuchulain still seeking The strife at yon ford; Till his strong body, reeking, Be pierced by my sword! Servant Nay, thy threats show no meekness; Yet here thou should'st stay; For on thee shall come weakness, Woe waits on thy way: For by Ulster's Rock broken This battle may be, And it long shall be spoken How ill 'twas to thee. Ferdia An ill word art thou saying; It fits not our race That a champion, delaying From fight, should thee grace. Then thy speech, my friend, fetter, No foe will we fear; But, since valour is better, His challenge we near. Then Ferdia's horses were harnessed for him, and his chariot was yoked, and he came forward to the ford of battle; but when he had come there he found that the full light of the day had not yet dawned, and "O my servant!" said Ferdia, "spread out for me the cushions and skins that are upon my chariot, that I may rest upon them till I take the deep repose of refreshing sleep, for during the latter part of this night have I taken no rest, on account of the care that I had for this combat and fight." And the servant unharnessed his horses, and he placed together the cushions and the skins that were upon the chariot, so that Ferdia might rest upon them, and he sank into the deep repose of refreshing sleep. Now in this place I will tell of the acts of Cuchulain. He rose not at all from his couch until the full light of the day; and this he did in order that the men of Ireland should not be able to say that it was from fear or from dread that he rose, if it had been early that he had arisen. And when the full daylight had come, he commanded his charioteer to harness for him his horses, and to yoke his chariot: "O my servant!" said Cuchulain, "harness for us our horses, and put the yoke to our chariot, for early rises the champion who cometh to meet us this day: even Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dare." "The horses are harnessed," said the charioteer, "and the chariot is yoked; step thou into it, for it will bring no shame on thy valour." Then did Cuchulain, the fighter of battles, the skilful in feats, the winner of victory, that red-sworded hero, the son of Sualtam, leap into his chariot. All around him screamed the Bocanachs, and the Bananachs, and the wild people of the glens, and the demons of the air; for it was the custom of the people of the wizard race of Danu to raise their cries about him in every battle, on every stricken field, in every duel, and in every fight to which he went, that thereby in such fight the hatred, and the fear, and the avoidance, and the terror that men felt for him should be increased. In no short time the charioteer of Ferdia heard the roar of Cuchulain's approach; the clamour, and the hissing, and the tramp; and the thunder, and the clatter, and the buzz: for he heard the shields that were used as missiles clank together as they touched; and he heard the spears hiss, and the swords clash, and the helmet tinkle, and the armour ring; and the arms sawed one against the other, and the javelins swung, and the ropes strained, and the wheels of the chariot clattered, and the chariot creaked, and the hoofs of the horses trampled on the ground as that warrior and champion came forward in triumph to the ford, and approached him. Then that servant of Ferdia arose, and he placed his hand upon his lord: "Arise now, O Ferdia!" said the servant, "for here they come towards thee, even to the Ford;" and this was the speech of the driver of the chariot of Ferdia as he stood before him: Lo! a chariot yoked with silver, creaking loud, draws nigh;[FN#53] O'er the chariot-wheels a man his perfect form rears high: The warlike car Rolls on from far Braeg Ross, from Braina's bounds; Past that burg they ride whose wooded side the roadway rounds; For its triumphs high in triumph cry its song resounds. [FN#53] For a literal translation of the above poem and another rendering, see the notes. Urged by hero-Hound, and yoked by charioteer's hand true, Flies the war-car southward ever; nobler hawk ne'er flew Than he who speeds His rushing steeds, That chief of stubborn might; Soon the blood to flow from slaughtered foe shall meet his sight; Sure for us 'tis ill, for soon with skill he gives us fight. Woe to him who here on hillock stands, that Hound to wait; Emain Macha's perfect Hound is he, foretold by fate: Last year I cried That him I spied Who guards his land from foe: That battle-Hound, on whom are found all hues to glow: 'Twas then from far I heard that car: its sound I know. "O my servant!" said Ferdia, "wherefore is it: that thou hast continued in thy praise of this man ever since the time that I left my tent? surely it must be a reward that thou seekest at his hand, so greatly dost thou extol him; yet Ailill and Maev have foretold that it is by me he shall fall. Certain it is that for sake of the fee I shall gain he shall be slain quickly; and 'tis full time that the relief that we wait for should come." Thus then it was that in that place he spoke these words, and thus did his servant reply: Ferdia 'Tis time that I grant my assistance! Be still: let thy praise of him sink: Peer not, like a seer, at the distance; Wilt fail me on battle-field's brink? Though Cualgne's proud champion, displaying His gambols and pride thou dost see; Full soon shalt thou witness his slaying For price to be paid down to me. Servant If he who this glory is showing Be champion of Cualgne indeed; 'Tis not in retreat he is going; To meet us he cometh with speed: He comes, nor 'tis slowly he blunders, Like wind his swift journey he makes; As stream, from the cliff-top that thunders; As bolt, from the storm-cloud that breaks. Ferdia 'Tis pay at his hand thou hast taken, So loudly resoundeth thy praise; Else why, since our tent was forsaken, Hast sung with such frequence thy lays? Men, like thou, who, when foes are appearing, Would to chant the foe's praises begin, Will attack not, when battle is nearing, But the name of base cowards shall win. Now the charioteer of Ferdia was not long in that place before he saw a marvellous sight; for before his eyes came the beautiful five-pointed, four-peaked chariot, skilfully driven with swiftness and power. A canopy of green overspread it; thin and well-seasoned was the body of it; lofty and long were the spears that adorned it; well was it fashioned for war. Under the yokes of that chariot sped forward with great bounds two great-eared, savage, and prancing steeds; bellies had they like whales, broad were their chests, and quick-panting their hearts; their flanks were high, and their hoofs wide; their pasterns fine, their loins broad, and their spirits untamable. The horse under one of the yokes was grey, with a long mane and with broad hind quarters; swiftly he galloped, and his leaps were great; the horse beneath the other yoke was black, his mane was in tufts, his back was broad, and eager was his pace. As a hawk, on a day when the wind bloweth hard, darts up from the furrow; as the gusts of the wind in spring sweep forward over a smooth plain upon a day in March; swift as a going stag at the beginning of the chase, after he hath been roused by the cry of the hounds; such was the pace of the two steeds that bore forward Cuchulain and his chariot, touching upon the soil as rapidly as if the stones that they trod on were hot with the fire, so that the whole earth trembled and shook at the violence of their going. And Cuchulain reached the ford, and Ferdia awaited him on the south side of it, and Cuchulain halted his horses upon the north. Then did Ferdia bid welcome to Cuchulain: "O Cuchulain!" said Ferdia, I rejoice to see thine approach." "Thy welcome would have been received by me upon an earlier day," said Cuchulain, "but this day I cannot receive it as one from a friend. And Ferdia," said he, "it were more suitable that it was I who bade welcome to thee rather than that thou shouldest welcome me; for out in flight before thee are my women, and my children; my youths, and my steeds, and my mares; my flocks, and my herds, and my cattle." "Ah, Cuchulain!" said Ferdia, "how hast thou been persuaded to come to this fight and this battle at all? For when we were with Scathach, with Uathach, and with Aife, thou wert mine attendant; thine was the office to whet my spears, and to make ready my couch." "'Tis true indeed," said Cuchulain, "but it was then as thy younger in years and in standing that it was my custom to perform this office for thee; and that is not my quality to-day; for now there is not in all the world any champion with whom I would refuse to fight." And then each of them reproached the other bitterly with breach of friendship, and there Ferdia spoke the words which here follow, and thus did Cuchulain reply: Ferdia Hound! why hither faring,[FN#54] Strife with strong ones daring? As if home were flaring, Woe shall come on thee! Blood from out thee draining Shall thy steeds be staining; Thou, thy home if gaining, Wounded sore shalt be. [FN#54] The metre is that of the Irish. Cuchulain Hot with indignation, Take I battle-station, Face yon warrior nation, Round their warlike king: They shall see me meet thee, Count the strifes that greet thee, Watch, as down I beat thee, Drowning, suffering. Ferdia Here is one to shame thee; How 'twas I o'ercame thee, They who champion name thee Long the tale shall tell. Ulster, near thee lying, Soon shall see thee dying; All shall say, with sighing, Theirs the chief who fell. Cuchulain Thine shall be the choosing; Say, what warfare using Hosts shall see thee losing At the Ford this fight? Swords dost choose, hard-clashing Cars, in conflict crashing? Spears, thy life-blood splashing? 'Tis thy death in sight. Ferdia Ere the twilight gleameth, Red thy life-blood streameth: Small thy stature seemeth, Like a cliff thy foe. Ulster's hosts who prated, And thy pride inflated; Through them feel thy hated Spectre sadly go. Cuchulain Down a chasm appalling Thou to death art falling; One thy foe: yet galling Weapons press thee sore. Proud thou wert but lately, Strife shall change thee greatly, Thee as champion stately Earth shall know no more. Ferdia Cease this endless vaunting, Speech for ever flaunting, Thou a chief! a taunting, Giggling child thou art. None would pay, or fee thee, I as coward see thee; Strength hast none to free thee, Caged bird! quaking heart! Cuchulain Ah! in bygone story We, as peers in glory, Sports and combats gory Shared when Scaha taught: Thou, of all who nearest To my soul appearest! Clansman! kinsman dearest! Woe thy fate hath brought! Ferdia Naught this strife avails thee, Glory fades, and fails thee; Cock-crow loudly hails thee, High on stake thy head! Cualgne's[FN#55] Hound, Cuchulain! Faults thy soul bear rule in: Thee to bitter schooling Frantic grief hath led. [FN#55] Pronounced Kell-ny. "O my friend Ferdia!" said Cuchulain, "it was not right for thee to have come to the combat and the fight with me, at the instigation and the meddling of Ailill and Maev: none of those who came before thee have gained for themselves victory or success, and they all fell at my hand; neither shalt thou win victory or success from this battle, by me shalt thou fall." And it was in this manner that he was speaking, and he recited these words, and Ferdia hearkened to him: Come not near, thou powerful man![FN#56] O Ferdia mac Daman: Worst of woe on thee is hurled, Though thy fate shall grieve the world. [FN#56] The metre is that of the Irish. Come not near, nor right forget In my hand thy fate is set: Those recall, whom late I fought, Hath their fall no wisdom taught? Thou for gifts wert passed in sale, Purple sash, firm coat of mail; Never maid, O Daman's son! In this war of thine is won. Findabar, Maev's lovely child, With her form thy sense beguiled: Brightly though her beauty glows, She no love on thee bestows. Wouldst thou win the prize they bring, Findabar, the child of king? Many ere now that maid could cheat Here, like thee, their wounds to meet. Thou hast sworn, and plighted. troth, Ne'er to fight me: keep thine oath: Friendship's tie thee firm should hold, Come not nigh me, champion bold. Fifty chiefs, who sought that maid, Fought me, fell, in earth are laid; Well I know that tempting bait, All have found, and earned their fate. Ferbay fell, though bold his boast, Him obeyed a valiant host; Quickly here his rage I stilled; Cast my spear but once, and killed. Cruel fate Srub Darry slew, Tales of hundred dames he knew; Great his fame in days of yore; Silver none, 'twas gold he wore. Though that maid, whom Erin's best Hope to gain, my heart would charm; South and north, and east and west I would keep thee safe from harm. "And, O my friend Ferdia!" said Cuchulain "this is the cause why it was not thy part to come here to the combat and the fight with me. It is because that when with Scathach, with Uathach, and with Aife we abode, it was the custom with us that together we should go to every battle, and to every field of battle; to every fight and to every skirmish; to every forest and to all wildernesses; to all things dark and difficult." These were the words of his speech, and it was in that place that he recited these staves: Tuned our hearts were beating, We, where chiefs were meeting, Brotherly went: when slumbering One was our couch: we sought Fierce fights, and fought. Oft in woods that are far away Joined we stood in our skilful play; Scathach our feats had taught. And Ferdia replied to him thus: O Cuchulain! for beautiful feats renowned, Though together we learned our skill; Though thou tellest of friendship that once we found, From me shall come first thine ill; Ah, recall not the time of our friendship's day: It shall profit thee nothing, O Hound, I say. "For too long now have we thus waited," said Ferdia; "tell me now O Cuchulain! to what weapons shall we resort?" "Thou hast the choice of the weapons till the night," said Cuchulain, "because thou wert the first to reach the Ford." "Hast thou any remembrance," said Ferdia, "of the weapons for casting, that we were accustomed to practise the use of when we were with Scathach, with Uathach, and with Aife?" "I do indeed remember them," said Cuchulain." "If thou rememberest them, let us resort to them now," said Ferdia. Then they resorted to their weapons used for the casting. They took up two shields for defence, with devices emblazoned upon them, and their eight shields with sharp edges such that they could hurl, and their eight javelins, and their eight ivory-hilted dirks, and their eight little darts for the fight. To and fro from one to the other, like bees upon a sunny day, flew the weapons, and there was no cast that they threw that did not hit. Each of them then continued to shoot at the other with their weapons for casting, from the dawn of the morning to the full middle of the day, until all of their weapons had been blunted against the faces and the bosses of their shields; and although their casting was most excellent, yet so good was the defence that neither of them wounded the other nor drew the other's blood during all that time. "Cease now from these feats, O Cuchulain!" said Ferdia, "for it is not by means of these that the struggle between us shall come." "Let us cease indeed," said Cuchulain, "if the time for ceasing hath arrived." And they ceased from their casting, and they threw the weapons they had used for it into the hands of their charioteers. "To what weapons shall we next resort, O Cuchulain?" said Ferdia. "Thou hast the choice of weapons until the night," said Cuchulain, "because thou wert the first to reach the Ford." "Then," said Ferdia, "let us turn to our straight, well-trimmed, hard, and polished casting-spears with tough cords of flax upon them." "Let us do so indeed," said Cuchulain. Then they took two stout shields of defence, and they turned to their straight, well-trimmed, hard, and polished casting-spears with the tough cords of flax upon them, and each of them continued to hurl his spears at the other from the middle of midday until the ninth hour of the evening: and though the defence was most excellent that each of them made, yet so good was the casting of the spears that each of them wounded the other at that time, and drew red blood from him. "Let us desist from this now, O Cuchulain!" said Ferdia. "Let us desist indeed," said Cuchulain, "if the time has come." They ceased, and they threw away their weapons into their charioteers' hands; and each of them at the end of that fight sought the other, and each threw his arms about the other's neck, and gave him three kisses. Their horses were in the same paddock that night, the men who had driven their chariots sat by the same fire, moreover the charioteers of both those warriors spread couches of fresh rushes for the two, and supplied them with such pillows as are needed by wounded men. And such folk as can heal and cure came to heal and to cure them, and they applied soothing and salving herbs and plants to their bruises, and their cuts, and their gashes, and to all their many wounds. And of every soothing and salving herb and plant that was brought for the bruises, the cuts, and the gashes, and all the wounds of Cuchulain, he used to send an equal portion westward across the ford to Ferdia, so that in case Ferdia fell at his hand the men of Ireland should not be able to say that it was owing to superiority in leech-craft that he had done it. And of each kind of food, and of pleasant, palatable, intoxicating drink that the men of Ireland brought to Ferdia, he would send a fair half northward across the ford to Cuchulain; for the men who provided food for Ferdia were more in number than they who provided food for Cuchulain. All the army of the men of Ireland helped to provide Ferdia with food, because he was their champion to defend them against Cuchulain; yet to Cuchulain also food was brought by the people who dwell in the Breg. And it was the custom with these that they came to converse with him at the dusk of each night. Thus they remained that night, but early in the morning they arose, and repaired to the Ford of Combat. "What weapons shall we turn to to-day, O Ferdia?" said Cuchulain. "Thou hast the choice of weapons until the night," answered Ferdia, "because it is I who had my choice of them in the day that is past." "Let us then," said Cuchulain, "resort to our great, broad-bladed, heavy spears this day, for nearer shall we be to our battle by the thrusting of our spears this day than we were by the throwing weapons of yesterday: let our horses be harnessed for us, and our chariots yoked, that upon this day from our chariots and our horses we may fight." "Let us turn to these indeed," said Ferdia. They then took to them two exceedingly stout, broad shields, and they resorted to their great, broad-bladed, heavy spears that day. And each of them continued to thrust at, and to pierce through, and to redden, and to tear the body of the other from the dawn of the morning until the ninth hour of the evening; and if it were the custom for birds in their flight to pass through the bodies of men, they could have passed through the bodies of those warriors that day, carrying with them pieces of their flesh from their wounds into the clouds and to the sky around them. So when the ninth hour of the evening was come, the horses were weary, and the charioteers were weak; and they themselves, champions and heroes of valour as they were, had themselves become weary; and "Let us cease now from this, O Ferdia!" said Cuchulain, "for our horses are weary, and our charioteers are weak; and now that these are weary, why should not we be weary too?" and then it was that he sang this stave: Not like Fomorians, men of the sea, Stubborn, unending our struggle should be; Now that the clamour of combat must cease, Quarrels forget, and between us be peace. Let us cease now indeed," said Ferdia, "if the time for it hath come." They ceased, and they threw away their weapons into their charioteers' hands, and each of them at the end of that fight sought the other, and each threw his arms about the other's neck, and gave him three kisses. Their horses were in the same paddock that night, the men who had driven their chariots sat by the same fire, moreover the charioteers of both those warriors spread couches of fresh rushes for the two, and supplied them with such pillows as are needed by wounded men. And such folk as can heal and cure came to examine into their wounds and to tend them that night, for they could do nothing more for them, so severe and so deadly were the stabs and the thrusts, and the gashes of the many wounds that they had, than to apply to them spells and incantations and charms, in order to staunch their blood, and their bleeding mortal wounds. And for every spell and incantation and charm that was applied to the stabs and the wounds of Cuchulain, he sent a full half westward across the ford to Ferdia; and of each kind of food, and of pleasant, palatable, intoxicating drink that the men of Ireland brought to Ferdia, he sent a half across the ford to Cuchulain, in the north. For the men who brought food to Ferdia were more in number than they who brought food to Cuchulain, for all the army of the men of Ireland helped to provide Ferdia with food, because he was their champion to defend them against Cuchulain; yet to Cuchulain also food was brought by the people who dwell in the Breg. And it was the custom with these that they came to converse with him at the dusk of each night. Thus they rested that night: but early in the morning they arose, and repaired to the Ford of Combat; and Cuchulain saw that an evil look and a lowering cloud was on the face of Ferdia that day. "Ill dost thou appear to me to-day, O Ferdia!" said Cuchulain. "Thy hair hath been darkened to-day, and thine eye hath been dimmed, and the form and the features and the visage that thou art wont to have are gone from thee." "'Tis from no fear or from terror of thee that I am what I am to-day," said Ferdia, "for there is not in Ireland to-day a champion that I am not able to subdue." And Cuchulain complained and lamented, and he spoke the words that follow, and thus did Ferdia reply: Cuchulain Is't indeed Ferdia's face?[FN#57] Sure his meed is dire disgrace; He, to war by woman led, Comes his comrade's blood to shed. [FN#57] The metre is that of the Irish. Ferdia Thou who warrior art indeed, Champion tried! who wounds dost breed, I am forced the sod to see Where my final grave shall be. Cuchulain Maev her daughter, Findabar, Who all maids excelleth far, Gave thee, not at love's behest, She thy kingly might would test. Ferdia Gently ruling Hound, I know That was tested long ago; None so great is known to fame, None, till now, to match it came. Cuchulain All that's chanced from thee hath sprung, Darry's grandchild, Daman's son; Woman's hest hath brought thee here Swords to test with comrade dear. Ferdia Comrade! had I fled, nor found Fight with thee, fair graceful Hound, Maev my word could broken call; Croghan hold my fame but small. Cuchulain None put meat his lips between, None to king or stainless queen Yet was born, whose praise I'd gain, None whose scorn would win thy pain. Ferdia Thou who deep in wars dost wade, 'Twas not thou, 'twas Maev betrayed: Back with conquest shalt thou ride, Fault hast none thy fame to hide. Cuchulain Clots of blood my faithful heart Choke; my soul is like to part: 'Tis with little force my arm Strikes, to do Ferdia harm! "Greatly although thou makest complaint against me to-day," said Ferdia, "tell me to what arms shall we resort?" Thine is the choice of weapons until the night," said Cuchulain, "because it was I who had the choice in the day that is past." "Then," said Ferdia, "let us this day take to our heavy hard-smiting swords; for sooner shall we attain to the end of our strife by the edge of the sword this day than we did by the thrusts of our spears in the day that is gone." "Let us do so indeed," said Cuchulain. That day they took upon them two long and exceedingly great shields, and they resorted to their heavy and hard-striking swords. And each of them began to hew, and to cut, and to slaughter, and to destroy till larger than the head of a month-old child were the masses and the gobbets of flesh which each of them cut from the shoulders and the thighs and the shoulder-blades of his foe. After this fashion did each of them hew at each other from the dawn of the day until the ninth hour of the even, and then Ferdia said, "Let us desist from this now, O Cuchulain!" "Let us cease indeed," said Cuchulain, "if the time has come." They ceased from their strife, and they threw from them their arms into the hands of their charioteers. Pleasant and cheerful and joyous was the meeting of the two: mournfully, and sorrowfully, and unhappily did they part from each other that night. Their horses were not in the same paddock, their charioteers were not at the same fire, and there they stayed for that night. It was early in the morning when Ferdia arose, and he advanced alone towards the Ford of Combat. Well did he know that the battle and the conflict would be decided that day; that upon that day and in that place one of the two would fall or that both would fall. And then, before Cuchulain could come, Ferdia put on the armour that he was to use for that battle in the conflict and fight. And this was the battle armour that he used for that conflict and fight; he put a kilt of striped silk, bordered with spangles of gold, next to his white skin, and over that he put his well-sewn apron of brown leather to protect the lower part of his body. Upon his belly he put a great stone as large as a millstone, and over that great stone as large as a millstone he put his firm deep apron of purified iron, on account of the fear and the dread that he had of the Gae-Bulg that day. And his crested helmet that he used for battle and conflict and fight he put upon his head: there were upon it four jewels of carbuncle, each one of them fit to adorn it: also it was studded with enamels, with crystals, with carbuncles, and with blazing rubies that had come from the East. Into his right hand he took his death-dealing sharp-pointed strong spear; upon his left side he hung his curved sword of battle with its golden hilt and its pommels of red gold: upon the slope of his back he took his great and magnificent shield with great bosses upon it: fifty was the number of the bosses, and upon each of them could be supported a full-grown hog: moreover in the centre of the shield was a great boss of red gold. Upon that day Ferdia displayed many noble, rapidly changing, wonderful feats of arms on high; feats which he had never learned from any other, either from his nurse or his tutor, or from Scathach, or from Uathach, or from Aife, but which he himself invented that day for his battle with Cuchulain. And Cuchulain approached the ford, and he saw the many, rapidly changing, wonderful feats that Ferdia displayed on high; and "O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "I mark those noble, rapidly changing, wonderful feats which Ferdia displays, and I know that all of those feats will in turn be tried upon me; and for this reason if it be I who begin to go backwards this day, let it be thy part to rouse me by reproaches, and by evil speech, so that my rage and my wrath may be kindled, and increase. And if it be I that shall prevail, then do thou give to me praise and approval; and speak good words tome, that my courage may be the greater." "This indeed will I do, O Cuchulain!" said Laeg. Then did Cuchulain put on his battle armour that he used for the combat and fight. And that day he displayed noble, many-changing, wonderful, and many feats that he had learned from none: neither from Scathach, from Uathach, or from Aife. And Ferdia marked those feats, and he know that each in turn would be tried upon him. "O Ferdia!" said Cuchulain, "tell me to what arms we shall resort? "Thine is the choice of weapons until the night," said Ferdia. "Then," said Cuchulain, "let us try the Feat of the Ford."[FN#58] "Let us do so indeed," said Ferdia; but although he thus spoke, it was with sorrow that he consented, for he knew that Cuchulain had ever destroyed every hero and champion who had contended with him at the Feat of the Ford. [FN#58] i.e. in which all weapons were allowed. Mighty were the deeds that were done upon that day at the ford by those two heroes, the champions of the west of Europe; by those two hands which in the north-west of the world were those that best bestowed bounty, and pay, and reward; those twin loved pillars of valour of the Gael; those two keys of the bravery of the Gaels, brought to fight from afar, owing to the urging and the intermeddling of Ailill and Maev. From the dawn till the middle of the day, each began to shoot at the other with his massive weapons; and when midday had come, the wrath of the two men became more furious, and each drew nearer to the other. And then upon a time Cuchulain sprang from the shore of the ford, and he lit upon the boss of the shield of Ferdia the son of Daman, the son of Dare, to strike at his head from above, over the rim of his shield. And then it was that Ferdia gave the shield a blow of his left elbow, and he cast Cuchulain from him like a bird, till he came down again, upon the shore of the ford. And again Cuchulain sprang from the shore of the ford, till he lit upon the boss of the shield of Ferdia the son of Daman, the son of Dare, to strike his head from above, over the rim of the shield. And Ferdia, gave the shield a stroke of his left knee, and he cast Cuchulain from him like a little child, till he came down on the shore of the ford. Laeg saw what had been done. "Ah!" said Laeg, "the warrior who is against thee, casts thee away as a loose woman casts her child; he flings thee as high as the river flings its foam; he grinds thee even as a mill would grind fresh malt; pierces thee as the axe would pierce the oak that it fells; binds thee as the woodbine binds the tree; darts upon thee even as the hawk darts upon little birds, so that never until time and life shall end, shalt thou have a call, or right, or claim for prowess or for valour: thou little fairy phantom!" said Laeg. Up sprang Cuchulain, swift as the wind; quick as the swallow; fiery as the dragon; powerful as the lion; and he bounded into the air for the third time into the troubled clouds of it, until he lit upon the boss of the shield of Ferdia, the son of Daman, striving to strike his head from above, over the rim of the shield. And the warrior shook his shield, and he threw Cuchulain from him, into the middle of the ford, just as if he had never been cast off at all. And then for the first time the countenance of Cuchulain was changed, and he rose in his full might, as if the air had entered into him, till he towered as a terrible and wonderful giant, with the hero-light playing about his head; rising as a wild man of the sea; that great and valiant champion, till he overtopped Ferdia. And now so closely were they locked in the fight, that their heads met above them, and their feet below them; and in their middles met their arms over the rims and the bosses of their shields. So closely were they locked in the fight, that they turned and bent, and shivered their spears from the points to the hafts; and cleft and loosened their shields from the centres to the rims. So closely were they locked, that the Bocanachs, and the Bananachs, and the wild people of the glens, and the demons of the air screamed from the rims of their shields, and from the hilts of their swords, and from the hafts of their spears. And so closely did they fight, that they cast the river from its bed and its course, so that there might have been a couch fit for a king and a queen to he in, there in the midst of the ford, for there was no drop of water left in it, except such as fell therein from off those two heroes and champions, as they trampled and hewed at each other in the midst of the ford. And so fierce was their fight, that the horses of the Gaels, in fear and in terror, rushed away wildly and madly, bursting their chains, and their yokes, and their tethers, and their traces; and the women, and the common folk, and the followers of the camp, fled south-westwards out of the camp. All this time they fought with the edges of their swords. And then it was that Ferdia found Cuchulain for a moment off his guard, and he struck him with the straight edge of his sword, so that it sank into his body, till the blood streamed to his girdle, and the soil of the ford was crimson with the blood that fell from the body of that warrior so valiant in fight. And Cuchulain's endurance was at an end, for Ferdia continually struck at him, not attempting to guard, and his downright blows, and quick thrusts, and crushing strokes fell constantly upon him, till Cuchulain demanded of Laeg the son of Riangabra to deliver to him the Gae-Bulg. Now the manner of using the Gae-Bulg was this: it was set with its end pointing down a stream, and was cast from beneath the toes of the foot: it made the wound of one spear on entering a person's body; but it had thirty barbs to open behind, and it could not be drawn out from a man's body until he was cut open. And when Ferdia heard mention of the Gae-Bulg, he made a stroke of his shield downwards to guard the lower part of his body. And Cuchulain thrust his unerring thorny spear off the centre of his palm over the rim of the shield, and through his breast covered by horny defensive plates of armour, so that its further half was visible behind him after piercing the heart in his chest. Ferdia gave an upward stroke of his shield to guard the upper part of his body, though too late came that help, when the danger was past. And the servant set the Gae-Bulg down the stream, and Cuchulain caught it between the toes of his foot, and he threw it with an unerring cast against Ferdia, and it broke through the firm deep apron of wrought iron, and it burst the great stone that was as large as a millstone into three parts, and it passed through the protection of his body into him, so that every crevice and cavity in him was filled with its barbs. "'Tis enough now," said Ferdia. "I have my death of that; and I have but breath enough to say that thou hast done an ill deed against me. It was not right that thy hand should be that by which I should fall." And thus did he cry, as he gasped out these words: Hound, of feats so fair![FN#59] Death from thee is ill: Thou the blame must bear, Thou my blood dost spill. Help no wretch hath found Down this chasm of woe: Sick mine accents sound, As a ghost, I go. Torn my ribs, and burst, Gore my heart hath filled: This of fights is worst, Hound! thou hast me killed. [FN#59] The metre is that of the Irish. And after those words, Cuchulain ran towards him, and with his arms and armour about him, carried him northwards across the ford, in order that the slain man might be on the north side of the ford, and not upon the western side together with the men of Erin. Then Cuchulain laid Ferdia down, and there it was that a trance and a faint and a weakness came upon Cuchulain when he saw the body of Ferdia, Laeg saw his weakness, and the men of Ireland all arose to come upon him. "Rise up now, O Cuchulain!" said Laeg, "for the men of Erin are coming towards us, and no single combat will they give to us, since Ferdia the son of Daman, the son of Dare, has fallen by thy hand." "How shall I be the better for arising, O my servant!" said he, "now that he who lieth here hath fallen by me?" And it was in this manner that his servant spoke to him, and he recited these words, and thus did Cuchulain reply: Laeg Now arise, Battle-Hound of Emania! It is joy and not grief should be sought; For the leader of armies, Ferdia, Thou hast slain, and hard battle hast fought. Cuchulain What availeth me triumph or boasting? For, frantic with grief for my deed, I am driven to mourn for that body That my sword made so sorely to bleed. Laeg 'Tis not thou shouldst lament for his dying, Rejoicing should spring to thy tongue; For in malice, sharp javelins, flying For thy wounding and bleeding he flung. Cuchulain I would mourn, if my leg he had severed, Had he hewn through this arm that remains, That he mounts not his steeds; and for ever In life, immortality gains. Laeg To the dames of Red Branch thou art giving More pleasure that thus he should fall: They will mourn for him dead, for thee living, Nor shall count of thy victims be small. Great Queen Maev thou hast chased, and hast fought her Since the day when first Cualgne was left; She shall mourn for her folk, and their slaughter, By thy hand of her champions bereft. Neither sleep nor repose hast thou taken, But thy herd, her great plunder, hast chased, Though by all but a remnant forsaken, Oft at dawn to the fight thou didst haste. Now it was in that place that Cuchulain commenced his lament and his moan for Ferdia, and thus it was that he spoke: "O my friend Ferdia! unhappy was it for thee that thou didst make no inquiry from any of the heroes who knew of the valorous deeds I had done before thou camest to meet me in that battle that was too hard for thee! Unhappy was it for thee that thou didst not inquire from Laeg, the son of Riangabra[FN#60] about what was due from thee to a comrade. Unhappy was it for thee that thou didst not ask for the honest and sincere counsel of Fergus. Unhappy it was for thee that thou hast not sought counsel from the comely, the fresh-coloured, the cheery, the victorious Conall about what was due from thee to a comrade. Well do these men know, that never, till life and time come to an end, shall be born in the land of Connaught one who shall do deeds equal to those which have been done by thee. And if thou hadst made inquiry from these men concerning the habitations, the gatherings, the promises, and the broken faith of the fair-haired ladies of Connaught; hadst thou asked them concerning spear-play and sword-play; concerning skill in backgammon and chess; concerning feats with horses, and chariots of war; they would have said that never had been found the arm of a champion who could wound a hero's flesh like the arm of Ferdia; he whose colour matched the tints of the clouds: none who like thee could excite the croak of the bloody-mouthed vulture, as she calls her friends to the feast of the many-coloured flocks; none who shall fight for Croghan or be the equal of thee to the end of life and time, O thou ruddy-cheeked son of Daman!" said Cuchulain. And then Cuchulain stood over Ferdia. "Ah! Ferdia," said Cuchulain, "great was the treachery and desertion that the men of Ireland had wrought upon thee, when they brought thee to combat and fight with me. For it was no light matter to combat and fight with me on the occasion of the Tain bo Cuailnge." And thus it was that he spoke, and he then recited these words: [FN#60] Pronounced Reen-gabra. 'Twas guile to woe that brought thee; 'Tis I that moan thy fate; For aye thy doom hath caught thee, And here, alone, I wait. To Scathach, glorious mother, Our words, when boys, we passed; No harm for each from other Should come while time should last. Alas! I loved thee dearly, Thy speech; thy ruddy face; Thy gray-blue eyes, so clearly That shone; thy faultless grace. In wrath for strife advances No chief; none shield can rear To piercing storm of lances Of Daman's son the peer. Since he whom Aife[FN#61] bore me By me was slain in fight, No champion stood before me Who matched Ferdia's might. He came to fight, thus trusting Might Findabar be won; Such hopes have madmen, thrusting With spears at sand or sun. [FN#61] Pronounced Eefa. See note on this line. Still Cuchulain continued to gaze upon Ferdia. And now, O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "strip for me the body of Ferdia, and take from him his armour and his garments, that I may see the brooch for the sake of which he undertook this combat and fight." Then Laeg arose, and he stripped Ferdia; he took his armour and his garments from him, and Cuchulain saw the brooch, and he began to lament and to mourn for him, and he spake these words: Ah! that brooch of gold![FN#62] Bards Ferdia knew: Valiantly on foes With hard blows he flew. Curling golden hair, Fair as gems it shone; Leaflike sash, on side Tied, till life had gone. [FN#62] The metre and the rhyme-system is that of the Irish. See notes, p. 196. Comrade, dear esteemed! Bright thy glances beamed: Chess play thine, worth gold: Gold from shield rim gleamed. None of friend had deemed Could such tale be told! Cruel end it seemed: Ah! that brooch of gold! "And now, O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "open the body of Ferdia, and take the Gae-Bulg out of him, for I cannot afford to be without my weapon." Laeg came, and he opened Ferdia's body, and he drew the Gae-Bulg out of him, and Cuchulain saw his weapon all bloody and red by the side of Ferdia, and then he spake these words: Ferdia, I mourn for thy dying, Thou art pale, although purple with gore: Unwashed is my weapon still lying, And the blood-streams from out of thee pour. Our friends in the East who have seen us, When with Uathach and Scathach[FN#63] we dwelled, Can bear witness, no quarrel between us Or with words or with weapons was held. Scathach came; and to conflict inciting Were her accents that smote on mine ear; "Go ye all, where a swift battle fighting, German wields his green terrible spear! To Ferdia, I flew with the story, To the son of fair Baitan I sped, And to Lugaid, whose gifts win him glory, "Come ye all to fight German," I said. [FN#63] Pronounced Ooha and Scaha. Where the land by Loch Formay lies hollowed Had we come, fit for fight was the place; And beside us four hundred men followed; From the Athisech Isles was their race. As beside me Ferdia contended Against German, at door of his dun; I slew Rind, who from Niul[FN#64] was descended, I slew Rood, of Finnool was he son. [FN#64] Pronounced Nyool. 'Twas Ferdia slew Bla by the water, Son of Cathbad red-sworded was he: And from Lugaid Mugarne gat slaughter, The grim lord of the Torrian sea. Four times fifty men, stubborn in battle, By my hand in that gateway were slain; To Ferdia, of grim mountain cattle Fell a bull, and a bull from the plain. Then his hold to the plunderers giving, Over ocean waves spangled with foam, Did we German the wily, still living, To the broad-shielded Scathach bring home. There an oath our great mistress devising, Both our valours with friendship she bound; That no anger betwixt us uprising Should 'mid Erin's fair nations be found. Much of woe with that Tuesday was dawning, When Ferdia's great might met its end; Though red blood-drink I served him that morning: Yet I loved, though I slew him, my friend. If afar thou hadst perished when striving With the bravest of heroes of Greece, 'Tis not I would thy loss be surviving; With thy death should the life of me cease. Ah! that deed which we wrought won us sorrow, Who, as pupils, by Scathach were trained: Thou wilt drive not thy chariot to-morrow; I am weak, with red blood from me drained. Ah! that deed which we wrought won us anguish, Who, as pupils, by Scathach were taught: Rough with gore, and all wounded, I languish; Thou to death altogether art brought. Ah! that deed that we wrought there was cruel For us pupils, from Scathach who learned: I am strong; thou art slain in the duel, In that conflict, with anger we burned. "Come now, Cuchulain," said Laeg, "and let us quit this ford, for too long have we been here." "Now indeed will we depart, O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "but every other combat and fight that I have made hath been only a game and a light matter to me compared with this combat and fight with Ferdia." Thus it was that he spoke; and in this fashion he recited: Wars were gay, and but light was fray[FN#65] Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Like had we both been taught, Both one kind mistress swayed; Like the rewards we sought, Like was the praise she paid. [FN#65] Metre and rhyme-system of the Irish imitated, but not exactly reproduced. Wars were gay, and but light was fray Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Like were our fights, oft fought, Like were our haunts in play; Scathach to each of us brought A shield one day. Wars were gay, and but light was fray Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Pillar of gold, loved well, Low at the Ford's side laid; He, when on troops he fell, Valour unmatched displayed. Wars were gay, and but light was fray Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Lionlike, on he sped; High, in his wrath, he blazed; Rose, as a wave of dread; Ruin his onset raised. Wars were gay, and but light was fray Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Never, till hour of doom, Ferdia's form shall fade; High as a cliff it loomed, Now is but left his shade. Three great armies went this Raid,[FN#66] All the price of death have paid; Choicest cattle, men, and steeds Lie in heaps, to tell my deeds. [FN#66] The metre is that of the Irish. Widely spread their battle-line, Less than half their host was mine; Though to war stout Croghan came, All I slew, for me a game! None the battle neared like thee, None of all whom Banba nursed Passed thy fame; on land, on sea, Thou, of sons of kings, art first! SPECIAL NOTE ON THE "COMBAT AT THE FORD" The episode translated in the foregoing pages is not only one of the famous examples on which Irish literature can fairly rest its claim to universal recognition, but it also affords an excellent instance of the problems involved when it comes to be studied critically. These problems, upon the solution of which must to some extent depend our estimate of the place of Irish in the general development of European literature) axe briefly dealt with in Mr. Leahy's Preface, as well as in his special Introduction (supra, pp. 114, 115), but may perhaps be thought worthy of somewhat more detailed examination. The existence of two markedly different versions of the "Tain bo Cuailnge," one, obviously older, represented by the eleventh-century MS. Leabhar na h-Uidhri (L.U.), and the fourteenth-century MS. Yellow Book of Lecan (Y.B.L.); the other, obviously younger, by the twelfth-century Book of Leinster (L.L.), was pointed out by Professor Heinrich Zimmer twenty-seven years ago in his study of the L.U. heroic saga texts (Keltische Studien V.: Zeitschrift für vergleichende Sprachforschung, vol. xxviii.). The conclusion that he drew from the fact, as also from the peculiarities disclosed by his analysis of the L.U. texts, is substantially that stated by Mr. Leahy: "On the whole it seems as if the compiler of the manuscript from which both the Leabhar na h-Uidhri and the Yellow Book of Lecan were copied, combined into one several different descriptions of the 'War,' one of which is represented by the Book of Leinster version." He furthermore emphasised a particular aspect of this compiler's activity to which Mr. Leahy also draws repeated attention; he (the compiler) was a man interested in the historical and antiquarian rather than in the literary side of the texts he harmonised and arranged: hence his preference for versions that retain archaic and emphasise mythical elements; hence his frequent interpolation of scraps of historical and antiquarian learning; hence his indifference to consistency in the conduct of the story, and to its artistic finish. Professor Zimmer urged that the "compiler" was no other than Flann, Abbot of Monasterboice, who died in 1047, and was regarded as the most famous representative of Irish learning in his day. There has come down to us under his name a considerable mass of chronological and historical writing, partly in prose, partly in verse, and it seems certain that he was one of the chief artisans in framing that pragmatic redaction of Irish myth, heroic legend, and historical tradition most fully represented by the two great compilations of the seventeenth century: the Annals of the Four Masters, emphasising its antiquarian, historical side; Keating's History, emphasising its romantic, legendary side. Whilst Professor Zimmer's conclusion as to the personality of the L.U. compiler has been challenged, his main thesis has remained unshaken. On the whole, it can be asserted positively that the common source of L.U. and Y.B.L. goes back to the early eleventh century; on the whole, that this common source itself utilised texts similar to those contained in the Book of Leinster. Moreover, the progress of linguistic analysis during the past quarter-century has strengthened the contention that some of the elements used by Flann (or another) in compiling his eleventh-century harmony are as old, in point of language, as any existing remains of Irish outside the Ogham inscriptions; in other words, being as old as the earliest glosses, they may date back to the eighth or even seventh century. In particular the L.U.-Y.B.L. version of the "Tain bo Cuailnge" contains a large proportion of such elements and may, in the main, be treated as an eighth-century text. It must, however, be pointed out, and for this reason I have italicised the qualifying "on the whole," "in the main," that this conclusion does not enable us to declare dogmatically (1) that all portions of the L.U.-Y.B.L. version must go back to the eighth century; (2) that all portions of the Book of Leinster version must precede the compilation of the common source of L.U. and Y.B.L. For as regards (1), not only must the definitely ascertained activity of the eleventh-century compiler be taken into account, but also the possible activity of later scribes. If we possessed the complete text of the L.U.-Y.B.L. redaction in both MSS., we could at least be sure concerning the possible variations introduced during the two centuries that elapsed between the writing of the Yellow Book (early fourteenth century) and that of L.U. (late eleventh century). But most unfortunately both MSS. are imperfect, the Yellow Book at the opening, L.U. at the close of our tale. Thus of the special episode under consideration, the "Combat at the Ford," the older redaction is only extant in the fourteenth-century MS., and it is always open to impugners of its archaic character to say that it has been introduced there from the rival Leinster version. Again, as regards (2), whilst it is practically certain that the great mass of the Leinster version was in existence before the time of the source whence both L.U. and Y.B.L. are derived, and must therefore date back to the early eleventh century, it is by no means certain that this version was not considerably altered and enlarged before it came to be written down in the Book of Leinster some time before 1154. The older version of the "Tain bo Cuailnge" has been translated by Miss Winifred Faraday (Grimm Library, No. xvi. 1904). In her Introduction (p. xvii.) Miss Faraday argues against the assumption "that L.L. preserves an old version of the episode," and questions "whether the whole Fer Diad[FN#67] episode may not be late." The truth of this one contention would by no means involve that of the other; and again, both might be true without invalidating any of the conclusions drawn by Mr. Leahy (supra, p. 115). If the episode as we have it first took shape in the tenth century, it would be late as compared with much of the rest of the "Tain," and yet it would be the earliest example in post-classic European literature of the sentiments and emotions to which it gives such fine and sympathetic expression. In comparing the two versions, the following fact is at once noticeable. The Y.B.L. text occupies pp. 100-112 of Miss Faraday's translation, in round figures, 320 lines of 8 words to the line, or some 2600 words; the Leinster version, omitting the verse, fills some 500 lines of 14 words, or 7000 words. Up to a certain point, however, the actual meeting of the two champions, there is no difference between the versions in length; the prose of both runs to about 2200 words. But the whole of the actual fight (supra, pp. 129-153 in the Leinster version) is compressed into a page and a half in the older redaction, some 800 words as against over 4000. Obviously this cannot represent the original state of things; it would be psychologically impossible for any story-teller to carry on his narrative up to a given stage with the dramatic vigour, point, and artistically chosen detail displayed in the first portion of the Y.B.L. version of the combat, and then to treat the culmination of the tale in such a huddled, hasty, scamped manner. The most likely explanation is that the original from which the Y.B.L. scribe was copying was imperfect, and that the lacuna was supplied from memory, and from a very faulty memory. No conclusion can thus, I think, be drawn from the fact that the details of the actual combat are so bald and meagre in the only extant text of the older redaction. [FN#67] This is the spelling in Y. B. L. In L.L. the name appears as one word, "Ferdiad"; usually scanned as a dissyllable--though occasionally as a trisyllable. The spelling Ferdia is the conventional one sanctioned by the usage of Ferguson, Aubrey de Vere, and others; the scansion of the word as a trisyllable is on the same authority. If the two versions be compared where they are really comparable, i.e. in that portion which both narrate at approximately the same length, the older redaction will be found fuller of incident, the characters drawn with a bolder, more realistic touch, the presentment more vigorous and dramatic. Ferdiad is unwilling to go against Cuchulain not, apparently, solely for prudential reasons, and he has to be goaded and taunted into action by Medb, who displays to the full her wonted magnificently resourceful unscrupulousness, regardless of any and every consideration, so long as she can achieve her purpose. The action of Fergus is far more fully dwelt upon, and the scones between him and his charioteer, as also between him and Cuchulain, are given with far greater spirit. The hero is indignant that Fergus should think it necessary to warn him against a single opponent, and says roundly that it is lucky no one else came on such an errand. The tone of the older redaction is as a whole rough, animated, individualistic as compared with the smoother, more generalised, less accentuated presentment of the Leinster version. But to conclude from this fact that the older redaction of the actual combat, if we had it in its original fulness instead of in a bald and fragmentary summary, would not have dwelt upon the details of the fighting, would not have insisted upon the courteous and chivalrous bearing of the two champions, would not have emphasised the inherent pathos of the situation, seems to me altogether unwarranted. On the contrary the older redaction, by touches of strong, vivid, archaic beauty lacking in the Leinster version leads up to and prepares for just such a situation as the latter describes so finely. One of these touches must be quoted. Cuchulain's charioteer asks him what he will do the night before the struggle, and then continues, "It is thus Fer Diad will come to seek you, with new beauty of plaiting and haircutting and washing and bathing.... It would please me if you went to the place where you will got the same adorning for yourself, to the place where is Emer of the Beautiful Hair.... So Cuchulain went thither that night, and spent the night with his own wife." There is indeed the old Irish hero faring forth to battle as a lover to the love tryst! How natural, how inevitable with warriors of such absurd and magnificent susceptibility, such boyish love of swagger, how natural, I say, the free and generous emotion combined with an overmastering sense of personal honour, and a determination to win at all costs, which are so prominent in the Leinster version of the fight.[FN#68] [FN#68] The trait must not be put down as a piece of story-teller's fancy. In another text of the Ulster cycle, Cath ruis na Rig, Conchobor's warriors adorn and beautify themselves in this way before the battle. The Aryan Celt behaved as did the Aryan Hellene. All readers of Herodotus will recall how the comrades of Leonidas prepared for battle by engaging in games and combing out their hair, and how Demaretus, the counsellor of Xerxes, explained to the king "that it is a custom with these men that when they shall prepare to imperil their lives; that is the time when they adorn their heads" (Herodotus vii. 209.) The contention that the older redaction, if we had it complete, would resemble the younger one in its insistence upon the chivalrous bearing of the two opponents, may also be urged on historical grounds. The sentiment which gives reality and power to the situation is based upon the strength of the tie of blood-brotherhood; so strong is this that it almost balances the most potent element in the ideal of old Irish heroism--the sense of personal honour and pre-eminence in all that befits a warrior. The tie itself and the sentiment based upon it certainly belong to pre-Christian times, and must have been losing rather than gaining in strength during the historic period, say from the fourth century onwards. The episode of Cuchulain's combat with Ferdiad must have existed in the older redaction of the "Tain" for the simple reason that a tenth and eleventh century story-teller would have found nothing in the feelings, customs, or literary conventions of his own day to suggest to him such a situation and such a manner of working it out. But--and this consideration may afford a ground of conciliation with Miss Faraday and the scholars who hold by the lateness of the episode--the intrinsic beauty and pathos of the situation, the fact of its constituting an artistic climax, would naturally tempt the more gifted of the story-telling class. There would be a tendency to elaborate, to adorn in the newest fashion, hence to modernise, and it is not only conceivable but most probable that the original form should be farther departed from than in the case of much else in the epic. ALFRED NUTT. GENERAL NOTES THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN The translation of both versions of this romance has been revised by Professor Strachan, and the linguistic notes are due to him, unless otherwise stated. The rendering given in the text is noted as "doubtful," in cases where Professor Strachan does not assent. PAGE 7 @@both line 17? Line 17. "By a means that he devised," do airec memman, lit. "by a device of mind." Compare airecc memman aith (Meyer, Hib. Minora, p. 28). Line 17. "So that she became well-nourished, &c.," lit. "till there came to her fatness and form;" sult probably means "fatness," and feth "form." PAGE 8 Line 25. "Curvetting and prancing," tuagmar, foran. These are guesses by O'Curry: curvetting may be right, but there is little authority for rendering foran as "prancing "; this word is doubtful. "With a broad forehead," forlethan, lit. "broad above," O'Curry renders "broad-rumped." Line 34. "Upon the shore of the bay," forsin purt. Windisch's rendering of port is "bank, harbour"; but it is doubtful whether the word means more than "place." PAGE 9 The literal rendering adopted for the poem runs thus: Etain is here thus at the elf-mound of the Fair-Haired Women west of Alba among little children to her on the shore of the Bay of Cichmaine. It is she who cured the eye of the king from the Well of Loch da lig, it is she who was drunk in a draught by the wife of Etar in a heavy draught. Through war for her the king will chase the birds from Tethba, and will drown his two horses in the lake da Airbrech. There shall be abundant and many wars through the war for thee on Echaid of Meath, destruction shall be on the elf-mounds, and war upon many thousands. It is she who was hurt in the land (?), it is she who strove to win the king, it is she as compared to whom men men speak of fair women, it is she, our Etain afterwards. Line 2. "West of Alba" is literally "behind Alba," iar n-Albai: iar is, however, also used in the sense of "west of." Line 14 is given by Windisch "through the war over Meath rich in horses"; this is impossible. The translation of line 17 is not quite certain; the literal translation of the MS. seems to be "it is she who was hurt and the land." Da Airbrech in line 12 may mean "of two chariots." PAGE 10 Literal translation of the quatrain: Ignorant was Fuamnach, the wife of Mider, Sigmall and Bri with its trees in Bri Leth: it was a full trial were burned by means of Manannan. PAGE 11 Line 5. "Labraid the Tracker." This is a very doubtful rendering, the text gives Labradae Luircc. Line 25. "That he desired full knowledge of." There seems to be something with the Irish here; the word is co fessta which could only be third singular subj. pass. "that it might be known," which does not make grammar. It should be co fessed or co festais, "that he (or they) might know." PAGE 12 Line 9. "His officers who had the care of the roads." A very doubtful rendering; the Irish is tarraluing sligeth. Line 29. "A bright purple mantle waved round her," lit. "a bright purple curling (?) mantle," but the sense of caslechta as "curling" is not certain. Line 30. "Another mantle." The word for mantle here is folai, in the former line it was brat. PAGE 13 Line 3. "As white as the snow." ba gilighuir mechto: not "whiter than the snow," as Windisch's Dict. gives it. Line 17. "All that's graceful, &c.," cach cruth co hEtain, coem cach co hEtain. Compare conid chucum bagthir cach n-delb. (L.U., 124b, 17, "Courtship of Emer "), and Ir. Text., iii. p. 356, 1. 4, from which it may be seen that the meaning is that Etain is the test to which all beauty must be compared. PAGE 14 Line 19. "So long as they were," not "so long as he was." The Irish is cein ropas, and ropas is the impersonal preterite passive. Line 29. "The choking misery, &c.," lit. "he let come to him the slaodan of a heavy sickness:" slaodan is the cough of consumption. PAGE 15 Line 2. Lit. "worse and worse," messa a cach. Line 18. "His burial mound," a fert fodbuigh. Compare Zimmer, Kuhn's Zeitschrift, xxx. 9, for fotbuig. Literal rendering of the dialogue: B. What hath happened to thee, O young man? long is thy bed of sickness, prostrate is thy full and splendid pace, however fair the weather may be. A. There is cause for my sighs; the music of my harp contents me not; neither does any milk please me, it is this that brings me into a pitiful state. E. Tell me what ails thee, O man, for I am a maiden who is wise; tell me of anything which may be of benefit to thee that thy healing may be wrought by me. A. To speak of it is not possible for me (lit. "finds not room in me"), O maiden, lovely is thy form, there is fire of some one behind her eyes (?) nor are the secrets of women good. B. Though the secrets of women are bad, yet, if it is love, the remembrance remains for long; from the time when the matter is taken into hand this thing is not deserving of its (?) recognition. A. A blessing on thee, O white maiden, I am not worthy of this speech to me; neither am I grateful to my own mind, my body is in opposition to me. Wretched indeed is this, O wife of the King, Eochaid Fedlech in very truth, my body and my head are sick, it is reported in Ireland. E. If there is among the troops of white women any one who is vexing thee, she shall come here, if it is pleasing to thee, there shall be made by my help her courtship. In verse 3, line 2, inniss dam gach dal, dal means no more than thing it is not an accusative from dal, a meeting. Verse 4, line 3. Meaning doubtful. Verse 7, line 2. The confusion between Eochaid Airemm, the king in this story, and his brother Eochaid Fedlech is obvious. It may, as Windisch thinks, be an indication that the poem is not part of the romance as originally composed, but other explanations are possible. Line 4. "It is reported." Not quite certain; Irish is issed berair. PAGE 17 Line 11. "And great gain, &c." Text defective, and meaning uncertain. Line 13. Rhetoric; the literal translation seems to be as follows, but some words are uncertain: It is love that was longer enduring (?) than a year my love, it is like being under the skin, it is the kingdom of strength over destruction. It is the dividing into quarters of the earth, it is summit (7) of heaven, it is breaking of the neck, it is a battle against a spectre. It is drowning with cold (or ? water), it is a race up heaven, it is a weapon under the ocean, it is affection for an echo; (so is) my affection and my love and my desire of the one on whom I have set (my love). PAGE 18 Line 2. The translation given is Windisch's, "it is sorrow under the skin is Strachan's rendering. Line 5. Translation uncertain. Irish is dichend nime. Line 8. Is combath fri huacht (I read husce). Literal rendering of the poem: Arise, O glorious Ailill, great bravery is more proper to thee than anything; since thou shalt find here what was wished by thee, thy healing shall be done by me. If it should please thee in thy wise mind, place hand about my neck; a beginning of courtship, beautiful its colour, woman and man kissing each other. But, if this is not enough for thee, O good man, O son of a king, O royal prince, I will give for thy healing, O glorious crime, from my knee to my navel. A hundred cows, a hundred ounces of gold, a hundred bridled horses were collecting, a hundred garments of each variegated colour, these were brought as a price for me. A hundred of each other beast came hither, the drove was great; these to me quickly, till the sum was complete, gave Eochaid at the one time. Line 14. Of poem. "Were collecting," ratinol. This is the rendering in Windisch's Dictionary, but is a doubtful one. Line 18. Imerge means "drove," not "journey," as in Windisch. Line 27 of text. "Wrought a great healing, &c." Irish, ro lessaig, "healed him" (Windisch); "waited upon him" (Strachan). PAGE 19 Line 17. "For fear of danger." Baegal, "danger," has sometimes the sense of "chance," "risk." Line 23. "That is what I would demand of thee." Translation not quite certain Irish, cid rotiarfaiged. PAGE 20 Line 2. "That both of us do indeed deem, &c." lit. "it is so indeed well to us both." Line 22. For the incident compare Bodleian Dinnshenchas (Nutt, p. 27): the introduction of Crochen is a human touch which seems to be characteristic of the author of this version. The Dinnshenchas account seems to be taken from the romance, but it gives the name of Sinech as Mider's entertainer at Mag Cruachan. Line 25. "The Fairy Mound of Croghan." Irish, co sith sínighe Cruachan; for sínighe read Maighe, "to the sid of Mag C." PAGE 21 Line 2. Until the same day upon the year, &c.," on lo cu cele, "from that day to its fellow," i.e. "till the same day next year." Line 10. "Three wands of yew." This looks like an early case of a divining-rod. Line 21. "Hath smitten thee," rotirmass for ro-t-ormaiss, "hath hit thee." Line 29. "They ruined," "docuas ar," an idiomatic phrase; "they overcame," an idiomatic phrase. Compare Annals of Ulster under years 1175, 1315, 1516. PAGE 22 Line 2. "Messbuachalla." This makes Etain the great-grandmother of Conary, the usual account makes her the grandmother, so that there is here an extra generation inserted. Yet in the opening she and Eochaid Airem are contemporary with kings who survived Conary! Line 4. "The fairy host, &c." The order of the words in the original is misleading and difficult sithchaire and Mider are the subjects to ro choillsiut and to doronsat. PAGE 23 Line 12. That there should be adjusted)" fri commus, lit. "for valuation," but commus has also the sense of "adjusting." PAGE 24 Line 4. "Since he for a long time, &c.," fodaig dognith abairt dia sirsellad. See Meyer's Contributions, s.v. abairt. Line 23. "To gaze at her." Up to this point the L.U. version (exclusive of the Prologue) bears the character of an abstract, afterwards the style improves. PAGE 25 Line 2. "But it shall not be in the abode, &c." Windisch seems to have mimed the point here, he considers these lines to be an interpolation. PAGE 26 Line 5. Following Windisch's suggestion, this poem has been placed here instead of the later place where it occurs in the text. This famous poem has been often translated; but as there appear to be points in it that have been missed, a complete literal rendering is appended: O fair-haired woman, will you come with me into a marvellous land wherein is music (?); the top of the head there is hair of primrose, the body up to the head is colour of snow. In that country is no "mine" and no "thine"; white are teeth there, black are eyebrows, the colour of the eyes is the number of our hosts, each cheek there the hue of the foxglove. The purple of the plain is (on) each neck, the colour of the eyes is (colour of) eggs of blackbird; though pleasant to the sight are the plains of Fal (Ireland), they are a wilderness (7) for a man who has known the Great Plain. Though intoxicating to ye the ale of the island of Fal, the ale of the Great Country is more intoxicating a wonder of a land is the land I speak of, a young man there goes not before an old man. Stream smooth and sweet flow through the land, there is choice of mead and wine; men handsome (?) without blemish, conception without sin, without crime. We see all on every side, and yet no one seeth us, the cloud of the sin of Adam it is that encompasses us from the reckoning. O woman, if thou wilt come to my strong people, it is top of head of gold shall be on thy head, unsalted pork, new milk and mead for drink shalt thou have with me there, O fair-haired woman. Line 2. Hi fil rind. The meaning of rind (?) music) is uncertain. Line 3. Is barr sobarche folt and. This line is often translated as "hair is wreathed with primrose": the image would be better, but it is not the Irish. Barr is "top of head," and folt is "hair." Line 4. Is and nad bi mui na tai. Muisse is in old Irish the possessive of the first sing when followed by a noun it becomes mo, when not so followed it is mui; tai is also found for do. O'Curry gave this line as "there is no sorrow nor care." Lines 7 and 10. Is li sula lin ar sluag and is li sula ugai luin are so similar that is li sula must mean the same in both, and cannot mean "splendour of eyes" in the first case unless it does so in the second. The idea in the first case seems to be that the hosts are reflected in the eyes; it is so rendered in the verse translation. A blackbird's egg has a blue ground, but is so thickly powdered with brown spots of all shapes that it looks brown at a distance. At first I was inclined to take the idea to be "hazel" eyes, but comparing line 7, it seems more likely that the idea is that all sorts of shapes appear in the pupil. Line 12. The translation of annam as a "wilderness" is very doubtful, it more probably is "seldom"; and the line should be "seldom will it be so after knowledge of, &c." Line 16. This has always been rendered "no youth there grows to old age." But the Irish is ni thecht oac and re siun, and re siun can only mean "before an old (man)." The sense possibly is, that as men do not become feeble with advancing years, the younger man has not the same advantage over his elders in the eyes of women that he has in this world. Line 17. Teith millsi, "smooth and honey-sweet" (Meyer, MacCongl., p. 196). Line 24. Compare a story of some magical pigs that could not be counted accurately (Revue Celtique, vol. xiii. p. 449). Line 31. Muc ur, "unsalted pork"; see Glossary to Laws, p. 770; also MacConglinne (Kuno Meyer), p, 99. PAGE 27 Line 23. "He ascended." Fosrocaib for sosta: fosrocaib is an unknown compound (=fo-sro-od-gaib). Perhaps frisocaib for sosta, "mounted on the heights." Line 29. Co brainni a da imdae, "to the edges of his two shoulders"; see braine, in Meyer's Contributions. PAGE 28. Line 19. "Casting their light on every side," cacha air di = cacha airidi, "in every direction." Line 25. "If thou dost obtain the forfeit of my stake," mad tu beras mo thocell. For tocell see Zimmer, Kuhn's Zeitsch., xxx. 80. Line 29. "Eager" (?), femendae. See Bruiden da Derga (Stokes), 50, 51. Line 30. "Easily stopped," so-ataidi suggested for sostaidi in the text: cf. Bruiden da Derga. The conjecture has not Strachan's authority. PAGE 29 Line 19. Literal translation of rhetoric: "Put it in hand, place it close in hand, noble are oxen for hours after sunset, heavy is the request, it is unknown to whom the gain, to whom the loss from the causeway." Line 28. "Over the chariot-pole of life" seems to be a literal rendering of for fertas in betha. Strachan renders "on the face of the world," which is of course the meaning of the simile. Line 30. "High was he girt," ard chustal. The meaning of custal is not known; it was used of some arrangement of the dress. See Ir. Text., iii. 226; also L.U. 79a, 35, L.L. 97a, 40; 98a, 51; 253a, 30. Line 31. "Eochaid arose," Atrigestar Eochaid. Strachan thinks it much more likely that this is "Eochaid feared him," the verb coming from atagur. It is, however, just possible that the word might be a deponent form from atregaim, "I arise." Eochaid does not elsewhere show any fear of Mider, the meaning given agrees better with the tone of the story, and is grammatically possible. PAGE 30 Line 1. "All things that seemed good, &c.," lit. "I have been accustomed to get what seemed good to thee," adethaind ni bad maith. Line 3. "Anger for anger," bara fri bure. Compare the word bura in Meyer's Contributions. Line 25. "In order that Eochaid should stand in his debt," lit. "that there might be cause of reproach for him to Eochaid." Line 32. "Forest that is over Breg." MS. fid dar bre, with mark of abbreviation. This is read to be dar Breg. Professor Rhys (Arthurian Legend, p. 28) renders "to cover Darbrech with trees." Line 33. "As it is written in the book of Drom Snechta. "This is a conjecture by Mrs. Hutton as a restoration of the words in L.U., which is torn just here: the words appear to be amal atbert lebor drums. PAGE 31 Line 1. This rhetoric is very obscure; much of it cannot be translated. The text seems to be as follows, according to Strachan: Cuisthe illand tochre illand airderg damrad trom inchoibden clunithar fír ferdi buidni balc-thruim crandchuir forderg saire fedar sechuib slimprib snithib scítha lama indrosc cloina fo bíth oen mna. Duib in dígail duib in trom daim tairthim flatho fer ban fomnis fomnis in fer mbranie cerpiae fomnis diad dergae fer arfeid soluig fria iss esslind fer bron for-tí ertechta in de lamnado luachair for di Thethbi dílecud (? diclochud) Midi in dracht coich les coich amles ? thocur ? dar c? moin. Apparent rendering: "Place on the land, place close on the land, very red oxen, heavy troop which hears, truly manlike ? troops, strong heavy placing of trees, very red . . . is led past them with twisted wattles, weary hands, the eye slants aside (squints) because of one woman. To you the vengeance, to you the heavy ? oxen ? splendour of sovereignty over white men, . . . man sorrow on thee . . . of childbirth, rushes over Tethba, clearing of stones from Meath . . . where the benefit where the evil, causeway over . . . moor." It seems that the oxen were transformed people of Mider's race; this appears from fír-ferdi, which is taken to mean "really men"; and duib in digail duib in trom-daim, which is taken to mean "to you the vengeance, to you heavy oxen." Professor Strachan disagrees with this, as daim, to be "oxen," should not have the accent, he makes trom-daim "heavy companies." He also renders clunithar fír ferdi buindi, as "which hears truth, manly troops." The rest of the translation he agrees to, most of it is his own. The passage from fomnis fomnis to lamnado seems untranslatable. PAGE 32 Line 1. Lit. "no evil wedding feast (banais, text banas) for thee? MAC DATHO'S BOAR PAGE 37 Line 3. The Rawlinson version gives, instead of "who was the guardian of all Leinster," the variant "who would run round Leinster in a day." This semi-supernatural power of the hound is the only supernatural touch in either version of the tale. Line 6. The verse "Mesroda son of Datho" is from the Rawlinson MS. The literal version of it is in Anecdota Oxoniensia, Mediaeval Series, part viii. p. 57. (This reference will in future be given as A.O., p. 57.) Line 20. The list of the hostelries or guest-houses of Ireland includes the scene of the famous Togail Da Derga, in the sack of which Conaire, king of Ireland, was killed. Forgall the Wily was the father of Emer, Cuchulain's wife. The tale of the plunder of da Choca is in the MS. classed as H. 3, 18 in the Trinity College, Dublin, Library. PAGE 38 The literal version of the dialogue between Mac Datho and his wife is given in A.O., p. 58, following the Leinster text (there are only two lines of it given in the Rawlinson MS.); but I note a few divergencies in the literal version from which the verse translation was made. Verse 3, line 1. Asbert Crimthann Nia Nair, "Crimthann Nia Nair has said" (A.O.). Nia is "sister's son," and has been so rendered. Nia is a champion, and this is the meaning given in the Coir Anmann; but nia has no accent in either the Leinster or Harleian manuscripts of the text. The Coir Anmann (Ir. Tex., iii. 333) says that Nar was a witch. Verse 4, lines 1, 2. Cid fri mnai atbertha-su Mani thesbad ní aire, "Why wouldest thou talk to a woman if something were not amiss?" (A.O.). "Why dost thou speak against a woman unless something fails on that account" seems as good a translation, and fits the sense better. Verse 7, line 2. Leis falmag dar sin tuaith, "By him Ireland (shall be roused) over the people." The omitted verb is apparently "to be," as above. Line 4 of the same verse is left untranslated in A.O., it is ata neblai luim luaith. It seems to mean "There is nothing on the plain for bareness (luim) of ashes," more literally, "There is a no-plain for, &c." Verse 9, lines 2, 3. Isi ním dení cutal. Ailbe do roid dia. "It does not make sorrow for me; as for Ailbe, "God sent him" seems to be the sense; but the meaning of cutal is obscure. PAGE 41 Line 8. "Forty oxen as side-dishes," lit. "forty oxen crosswise to it" (dia tarsnu). The Rawlinson MS. gives "sixty oxen to drag it" (dia tarraing). Line 33. "The son of Dedad." Clan Dedad was the Munster hero clan, having their fortress in Tara Luachra; they correspond to the more famous Clan Rury of Ulster, whose stronghold was Emain Macha. Curoi of Munster seems to have been a rival hero to Cuchulain. PAGE 42 Line 20. "Pierced through with a spear." The different ways in which Ket claims to have conquered his rivals or their relations may be noted; the variety of them recalls the detailed descriptions of wounds and methods of killing so common in Homer. There are seven victories claimed, and in no two is the wound the same, a point that distinguishes several of the old Irish romances from the less elaborate folk-tales of other nations. Arthur's knights in Malory "strike down" each other, very occasionally they "pierce through the breast" or "strike off a head," but there is seldom if ever more detail. In the Volsunga Saga men "fall," or are "slain," in a few cases of the more important deaths they are "pierced," or "cut in half," but except in the later Niebelungenlied version where Siegfried is pierced through the cross embroidered on his back, a touch which is essential to the plot, none of the Homeric detail as to the wounds appears. The same remark applies to the saga of Dietrich and indeed to most others; the only cases that I have noticed which resemble the Irish in detail are in the Icelandic Sagas (the Laxdale Saga and others), and even there the feature is not at all so prominent as here, in the "Tain be Cuailnge," and several other Irish romances, though it is by no means common to all of them. It may be noted that the Irish version of the "Tale of Troy" shows this feature, and although it is possible that the peculiarity is due to the great clearness and sharpness of detail that characterises much of the early Irish work, it may be that this is a case of an introduction into Irish descriptions of Homeric methods. It may be also noted that six of Ket's seven rivals are named among the eighteen Ulster chiefs in the great gathering of Ulster on the Hill of Slane before the final battle of the Tain, Angus being the only one named here who is not in the Hill of Slane list. Two others in the Hill of Slane list, Fergus mac Lets and Feidlimid, are mentioned elsewhere in this tale. Several of these are prominent in other tales: Laegaire (Leary) is a third with Cuchulain and Conall in the Feast of Bricriu, and again in the "Courtship of Emer;" Cuscrid makes a third with the same two principal champions in the early part of the "Sick-bed;" Eogan mac Durthacht is the slayer of the sow of Usnach in the old version of that tale; and Celtchar mac Uitechar is the Master of the Magic Spear in the "Bruiden da Derga," and has minor romances personal to himself. PAGE 45 The literal translation of the rhetoric seems to be: Ket. "Welcome, Conall! heart of stone: wild glowing fire: sparkle of ice: wrathfully boiling blood in hero breast: the scarred winner of victory: thou, son of Finnchoem, canst measure thyself with me!" Conall. "Welcome, Ket! first-born of Mata! a dwelling place for heroes thy heart of ice: end of danger (7); chariot chief of the fight: stormy ocean: fair raging bull: Ket, Magach's son! That will be proved if we are in combat: that will be proved if we are separated: the goader of oxen (?) shall tell of it: the handcraftsman (?) shall testify of it: heroes shall stride to wild lion-strife: man overturns man to-night in this house." PAGE 46 The literal translation of the quatrain is in A.O., p. 63. The quatrain does not occur in the Leinster version. PAGE 47 Line 4. "A great oak-tree." After the plucking up of the oak-tree by Fergus, the Rawlinson MS. adds: "Others say that it was Curoi mac Dari who took the oak to them, and it was then that he came to them, for there was no man of Munster there (before) except Lugaid the son of Curoi and Cetin Pauci. When Curoi had come to them, he carried off all alone one half of the Boar from all the northern half of Ireland." This exploit attributed to Curoi is an example of the survival of the Munster account of the Heroic Age, part of which may be preserved in the tales of Finn mac Cumhail. PAGE 48 The Rawlinson manuscript adds, after mentioning the rewards given to Ferloga But he did not get the serenade (cepoca), though he got the horses." Literal translation of the final poem: O lads of Connaught, I will not fill your heaviness with a lying tale; a lad, small your portion, divided the Boar of Mac Datho. Three fifties of fifty men are gone with troops of heroes; combat of pride for that Ailbe, small the fault in the matter of the dog. Victorious Conor came (?), Ailill of the hosts, and Ket; Bodb over the slaughters after the fight, Cuchulain conceded no right. Congal Aidni there from the east, Fiamain the man of harmony from the sea, (he who) suffered in journeys after that Eogan the son of dark Durthacht. three sons of Nera (famous) for numbers of battle-fields, three sons of Usnach, fierce shields: Senlaech the charioteer, he was not foolish, (came) from high Conalad Cruachan; Dubhtach of Emain, high his dignity; Berba Baither of the gentle word; Illan glorious for the multitude of his deeds; fierce Munremur of Loch Sail; Conall Cernach, hard his valour; Marcan . . . Celtchar the Ulsterman, man over man; Lugaid of Munster, son of three dogs. Fergus waits great Ailbe, shakes for them the . . . oak, took hero's cloak over very strong shield; red sorrow over red shield. By Cethern the son of Finntan they were smitten, single his number at the ford (i.& he was alone); the men of Connaught's host he released not for the time of six hours. Feidlimid with multitude of troops, Loegaire the Triumphant eastwards, was half of complaint about the dog with Aed son of Morna not great. Great nobles, mighty (?) deeds, hard heroes, fair companions in a house, great champions, destruction of clans, great hostages, great sepulchres. @@line x2? In this poem may be noted the reference to Cuchulain in line x2 in close connection with that to Bodb the Goddess of War, as indicating the original divine nature of Cuchulain as a war-god also the epithet of Lugaid, "son of three dogs." Two of the dogs are elsewhere stated to be Cu-roi and Cu-chulain, the third seems uncertain. Line 26, describing Marcan, seems untranslatable; the Irish is Marcan sinna set rod son. The epithet of the oak in line 32 is also obscure, the Irish is dairbre n-dall. THE SICK-BED OF CUCHULAIN PAGE 57 Line 2. "Samhain." Samhain was held on November 1st, and on its eve, "Hallow-e'en". The exhibition of tips of tongues, on the principle of Indian scalps, has nothing at all to do with the story, and is not mentioned in the usual descriptions of the romance. It is a piece of antiquarian information, possibly correct, and should serve to remind us that the original form of these legends was probably of a barbaric kind, before they were taken in hand by the literary men who gave to the best forms of the romances the character they now have. Line 23. For the demons screaming from the weapons of warriors compare the Book of Leinster version of the "Combat at the Ford": pages 126, 143 in this volume. PAGE 58 Line 4. The delay of Conall and Fergus leads to nothing, it is perhaps an introduction from some third form of the story. Line 19. Leborcham is, in the story of Deirdre, Deirdre's nurse and confidant. Line 26. "Their three blemishes." This disfigurement of the women of Ulster in honour of their chosen heroes seems to point to a worship of these heroes as gods in the original legend. It may, however, be a sort of rough humour intentionally introduced by the author of the form of the story that we call the Antiquarian form; there are other instances of such humour in this form of the story. PAGE 59 Line 2. "Like the cast of a boomerang." This is an attempt to translate the word taithbeim, return-stroke, used elsewhere (L.U., 63a., 4) for Cuchulain's method of capturing birds. Line 8. "I deem it as being by me that the distribution was made." The words "I deem it" are inserted, they are not in the text. It appears that what Ethne meant was that the distribution by Cuchulain was regarded by her as done by her through her husband. PAGE 60 Line 9. "Dun Imrith nor yet to Dun Delga." Dun Imrith is the castle in which Cuchulain was when he met the War-Goddess in the "Apparition of the Morrigan," otherwise called the "Tain bo Regamna." Dun Delga or Dundalk is the residence usually associated with Cuchulain. The mention of Emer here is noticeable; the usual statement about the romance is that Ethne is represented as Cuchulain's mistress, and Emer as his wife; the mention here of Emer in the Antiquarian form may support this; but this form seems to be drawn from so many sources, that it is quite possible that Ethne was the name of Cuchulain's wife in the mind of the author of the form which in the main is followed. There is no opposition between Emer and Ethne elsewhere hinted at. Line 15. The appearance of Lugaid Red-Stripes gives a reason for his subsequent introduction in the link between the two forms of the story. Line 18. "Near the entrance of the chamber in which Cuchulain lay." It does not yet seem certain whether imda was a room or a couch, and it would seem to have both meanings in the Antiquarian form of this story. The expression forsind airiniuch na imdai which occurs here might be rendered "at the head of the bed"; but if we compare i n-airniuch ind rigthige which occurs twice in "Bricriu's Feast," and plainly means "at the entrance of the palace," it seems possible that airinech is here used in the same sense, in which case imda would mean "room," as Whitley Stokes takes it in the "Bruiden da Derga." On the other hand, the word imda translated on page 63, line 11, certainly means "couches." Line 27. "Ah Cuchulain, &c." Reference may be made for most of the verses in this romance to Thurneysen's translation of the greater part of it in Sagen aus dem alten Irland but, as some of his renderings are not as close as the verse translations in the text, they require to be supplemented. The poem on pp. 60, 61 is translated by Thurneysen, pp. 84 and 85; but the first two lines should run:-- Ah Cuchulain, under thy sickness not long would have been the remaining. And lines 7 and 8 should be: Dear would be the day if truly Cuchulain would come to my land. The epithet "fair" given to Aed Abra's daughters in line 4 by Thurneysen is not in the Irish, the rest of his translation is very close. Line 32. "Plain of Cruach." Cromm Cruach is the name of the idol traditionally destroyed by St. Patrick in the "Lives." Cromm Cruach is also described In the Book of Leinster (L.L. 213b) as an idol to whom human sacrifices were offered. The name of this plain is probably connected with this god. PAGE 61 Line 30. "Hath released her," Irish ros leci. These words are usually taken to mean that Manannan had deserted Fand, and that she had then turned to Cuchulain, but to "desert" is not the only meaning of lecim. In the second form of the story, Fand seems to have left Manannan, and though of course the two forms are so different that it is not surprising to find a contradiction between the two, there does not seem to be any need to find one here; and the expression may simply mean that Manannan left Fand at liberty to pursue her own course, which divine husbands often did in other mythologies. Manannan is, of course, the Sea God, the Celtic Poseidon. PAGE 62 Line 3. Eogan Inbir (Yeogan the Stream) occurs in the Book of Leinster version of the Book of Invasions as one of the opponents of the Tuatha De Danaan, the Folk of the Gods (L.L. 9b, 45, and elsewhere). Line 15. "Said Liban." The text gives "said Fand." This seems to be a scribal slip: there is a similar error corrected on page 79, line 21, where the word "Fand" is written "Emer" in the text. Line 16. "A woman's protection." The "perilous passage," passed only by a woman's help, occurs elsewhere both in Irish and in other early literatures. See Maelduin, para. 17; Ivain (Chretien de Troyes), vv. 907 sqq.; and Mabinogion, "Lady of the Fountain" (Nutt's edition, p. 177). Line 28. "Labra." Labraid's usual title, as given to him by Liban in both forms of the romance and once by Laeg in the second description of Fairyland, is Labraid Luath lamar-claideb, the title being as closely connected with him as {Greek boh`n a?gaðo`s Mene'laos}with Menelaus in Homer. It is usually translated as "Labraid quick-hand-on-sword," but the Luath need not be joined to lam, it is not in any of the places in the facsimile closely joined to it, and others than Liban give to Labraid the title of Luath or "swift," without the addition. The literal translation of the short pieces of rhetoric on pages 62, 63 are, "Where is Labraid the swift hand-on-sword, who is the head of troops of victory? (who) triumphs from the strong frame of his chariot, who reddens red spear-points." "Labraid the son of swiftness is there, he is not slow, abundant shall be the assembly of war, slaughter is set when the plain of Fidga shall be full." "Welcome to thee, O Laeg! for the sake of her with whom thou hast come; and since thou hast come, welcome to thee for thyself!" The metre of the first two pieces is spirited and unusual. The second one runs: Ata Labraid luithe cland, ni ba mall bid immda tinol catha, cuirther ar, día ba Ian Mag Fidgae. PAGE 63 Line 24. "Fand." The derivations of the names of Fand and of Aed Abra are quite in keeping with the character of the Antiquarian form, and would be out of place in the other form of the romance. It may perhaps be mentioned that the proper meaning of Abra is "an eyelash," but the rendering "Aed Abra of the Fiery Eyebrows," which has been employed in accounts of this romance, would convey a meaning that does not seem to have been in the mind of the authors of either of the two forms. For the literal translations of the three invocations to Labraid, on pp. 63, 66, Thurneysen (p. 87) may be referred to; but there would be a few alterations. In the first, line 2 should be "heir of a little host, equipped with light spears," if Windisch's Dictionary is to be followed; line 5 would seem to begin "he seeketh out trespasses" (oirgniu); and line 7 should begin, "attacker of heroes," not "an attacking troop," which hardly makes sense. In the second invocation the first line should alter Labraid's title to "Labraid the swift hand-on-sword-of-battle;" line 3 should end with "wounded his side." In line 6 and again in the third line of the third invocation, Thurneysen translates gus as "wrath": Windisch gives the word to mean "strength." Line 4 of the third invocation is rendered "he pierceth through men" by Thurneysen; the Irish is criathraid ocu. Criathraim is given by O'Reilly as meaning "to sift": "he sifteth warriors" seems a satisfactory meaning, if O'Reilly is to be relied on. PAGE 65 Labraid's answer to the three invocations seems to run thus, but the translation is doubtful, many words are marked unknown by Windisch: "I have no pride or arrogance, O lady, nor renown, it is not error, for lamentation is stirred our judgment" (reading na ardarc nid mell, chai mescthair with the second MS.), "we shall come to a fight of very many and very hard spears, of plying of red swords in right fists, for many peoples to the one heart of Echaid Juil (?), (let be) no anbi of thine nor pride, there is no pride or arrogance in me, O lady." I can make nothing of Anbi. PAGE 66 Thurneysen does not translate the rhetoric; the translation seems to run thus: Great unprofitableness for a hero to lie in the sleep of a sick-bed; for unearthly women show themselves, women of the people of the fiery plain of Trogach, and they have subdued thee, and they have imprisoned thee, and they have chased thee away (?) amid great womanish folly. Rouse thyself from the contest of distress (Gloss, "the sickness sent by the fairy women") for all is gone of thy vigour among heroes who ride in chariots, and thou sittest (?) in the place of the young and thou art conquered (? condit chellti if connected with tochell), and thou art disturbed (?) in thy mighty deeds, for that which Labraid's power has indicated rise up, O man who sittest (?) that thou mayest be great. "Chased thee away" in line 7, for condot ellat, perhaps connected with do-ellaim (?). PAGE 67 Thurneysen's translation (p. 91) of Emer's lament may be referred to, but he misses some strong points. Among these are: Line 5. "Woe to Ulster where hospitality abounds." Line 12. "Till he found a Druid to lift the weight." Line 25. "Were it Furbaide of the heroes." Line 27. "The hound would search through the solid earth." Line 29. "The hosts of the Sid of Train are dead." Line 30. "For the hound of the Smith of Conor." Line 34. "Sick for the horseman of the plains." Note the familiarity with the land of the fairies which Laeg is asserted to have in the first verse of the poem: this familiarity appears more than once in the Literary form of the story. Laeg speaks of the land of Labraid as "known to him" in his- first description of that land, again in the same description Laeg is recognised by Labraid by his five-folded purple mantle, which seems to have been a characteristic fairy gift. Also, Laeg seems at the end of the tale to be the only one to recognise Manannan. There is no indication of any familiarity of Laeg with the fairy country in the Antiquarian form. The different Ulster heroes alluded to are mostly well-known; all except Furbaide are in "Mae Datho's Boar." Furbaide was a son of Conor; be is one of the eighteen leaders who assemble on the Hill of Slane in the "Tain bo Cuailgne." The Smith of Conor is of course Culann, from whom Cuchulain got his name. PAGES 68, 69 A translation of Emer's "Awakening of Cuchulain" may be found in Thurneysen, p. 92 but there are one or two points that seem to be noted as differing from the rendering there given. Lines 3 and 4 seem to mean: "Look on the king of Macha, on my beauty / does not that release thee from deep sleep?" Thurneysen gives "Look on the king of Macha, my heart! thy sleep pleases him not." Mo crath can hardly mean "my heart." Line 6 is in the Irish deca a churnu co comraim! "see their horns for the contest!" Instead of comraim Thurneysen seems to prefer the reading of the second MS., co cormaim, and translates "their horns full of beer." Churnu may mean trumpets as well as drinking-horns, and Emer would hardly call on Cuchulain to throw off a drunken sleep (line 21) and then take to beer! The following translation of lines 17 to 20 seems preferable to Thurneysen's: "Heavy sleep is decay, and no good thing; it is fatigue against a heavy war; it is 'milk for the satiated,' the sleep that is on thee; death-weakness is the tanist of death." The last line is tanaisi d'ec ecomnart. The tanist was the prince who stood next to the king; the image seems too good a one to be lost; Thurneysen translates "weakness is sister to death." Line 14 seems to mean "see each wonder wrought by the cold"; Emer calls Cuchulain's attention to the icicles which she thinks he is in danger of resembling. PAGE 69 For the literal translation of Liban's invitation see Thurneysen, p. 93. Line 14 should run: "Colour of eyes his skin in the fight;" the allusion is, apparently, to a bloodshot eye. PAGE 71 Line 4. The Plain of Speech (Mag Luada) and the Tree of Triumphs (Bile Buada) are apparently part of the Irish mythology; they appear again in Laeg's second description of Fairyland, which is an additional reason for keeping this poem where it is in the second version, and not following Thurneysen in transferring it to the first. Mag Luada is sometimes translated as "moving plain," apparently deriving the word from luath, "swift." Laeg's two descriptions of the Fairyland are (if we except the voyage of Bran) the two most definite descriptions of that country in Irish literature. There is very little extravagance in these descriptions; the marvellously fruitful trees, the ever-flowing vat of mead, and the silver-branched tree may be noted. Perhaps the trees of "purple glass" may be added, but for these, see note on line 30. The verse translation has been made to follow the original as closely as possible; for a literal translation Thurneysen's versions (pp. 94 and 88) may be referred to, but some alterations may be made. The first description seems to begin thus: I went with noble sportiveness to a land wonderful, yet well-known; until I came to a cairn for twenty of troops where I found Labraid the Long-haired. There I found him on that hill sitting among a thousand weapons, yellow hair on him with beautiful colour, an apple of gold for the confining of it. And it ends thus: Alas I that he went not long ago, and each cure (should come) at his searching, that he might see how it is the great palace that I saw. Though all Erin were mine and the kingship of yellow Bregia, I would resign it; no slight trial; for knowledge of the place to which I came. The following points should also be noted: Line 30 of this first description is tri bile do chorcor glain. This undoubtedly means "three trees of purple glass"; but do chorcor glan would mean "of bright purple"; and this last rendering, which is quite a common expression (see Etain, p. 12), has been adopted in the verse translation. The order of the words in the expression in the text is unusual, and the adoption of them would give an air of artificiality to the description which is otherwise quite absent from it. Lines 37 and 38 run thus: There are there thrice twenty trees, their tops meet, and meet not. Lines 43, 44, rendering: "Each with splendid gold fastening well hooked through its eye," are literally "and a brooch of gold with its splendour in the 'ear' of each cloak." The ears of a cloak, usually described as made of the peculiar white bronze, occur elsewhere in the tales, and there are different speculations as to their use and meaning. The most probable explanation is that they were bronze rings shaped like ears, and sewn into the cloak; a brooch to fasten the cloak being passed through the rings. This explanation has been suggested by Professor Ridgeway, and seems to fit admirably the passages in which these "ears" occur. Compare Fraech, line 33, in the second volume; also the "Courtship of Ferb" (Nutt), p. 6. There are also a few corrections necessary to Thurneysen's translation of the second description. Lines 13 to 20 should run thus: A beautiful band of women;--victory without fetters;-- are the daughters of Aed Abra; the beauty of Fand is a rushing sound with splendour, exceeding the beauty of a queen or king. (The last line is more literally, "not excepting a queen or, &c.") I will say, since it hath been heard by me, that the seed of Adam was sinless; but the beauty of Fand up to my time hath not found its equal. For the allusion to Adams sin, compare Etain, p. 26. Allusions like these show that the tales were composed in Christian times. There seems no reason to suppose them to be insertions, especially in cases like this one, where they come in quite naturally. Line 21 is literally "with their arms for slaying"; not "who warred on each other with weapons" as in Thurneysen. PAGE 76 For the cooling of Cuchulain's battle-frenzy with water compare the similar treatment in the account of his first foray (L.U., 63a; Miss Faraday's translation, p. 34). For a literal translation of Faud's triumph song over Cuchulain's return see Thurneysen's translation on page 97 Of the work already referred to. Thurneysen's translation is very close; perhaps the last verse should run: "Long rain of red blood at the side of the trees, a token of this proud and masterful, high with wailing is the sorrow for his fiend-like frenzy." The description of Cuchulain's appearance in verses 5 and 6 seems to point to a conception of him as the sun-god. Compare the "sunlike" seat of his chariot on page 79. PAGE 78 The literal translation of Liban's rhetoric in welcome to Cuchulain seems to be, "Hail to Cuchulain! King who brings help, great prince of Murthemne! great his mind; pomp of heroes; battle-triumphing; heart of a hero; strong rock of skill; blood-redness of wrath; ready for true foes of the hero who has the valour of Ulster (?); bright his splendour; splendour of the eyes of maidens; Hail to Cuchulain!" Torc in the second line is glossed in the MS. by "that is, a king." Cuchulain's account of his own battle is omitted by Thurneysen, possibly because the account that he gives differs from that in the text, as is pointed out by Windisch, Ir. Text., vol. i. p. 201). But it is quite in keeping with the hero's character that he should try to lessen his own glory; and the omission of this account destroys one of the features of the tale. The literal rendering is: I threw a cast with my light spear into the host of Eogan the Stream; not at all do I know, though renowned the price, the victory that I have done, or the deed. Whether he was better or inferior to my strength hitherto I chanced not on for my decision, a throw, ignorance of the man in the mist, certainly he came not away a living man. A white army, very red for multitudes of horses, they followed after me on every side (?), people of Manannan Mac Lir, Eogan the Stream called them. I set out in each manner when my full strength had come to me; one man to their thirty, hundreds, until I brought them to death. I heard the groan of Echaid Juil, lips speak in friendship, if it is really true, certainly it was not a fight (?), that cast, if it was thrown. The idea of a battle with the waves of the sea underlies the third verse of this description. PAGE 79 Five pieces of rhetoric follow, all of which are translated by Thurneysen. A few alterations may be made, but all of them would be small ones. The verse translations given are, it is believed, a little closer to the text than Thurneysen's. The metres of the first three pieces are discussed by Professor Rhys in Y Cymmrodor for 1905 (pages 166, 167). Professor Rhys reduces the second of these to a hexameter followed by three pentameters, then a hexameter followed by a pentameter. The other two reduce to hexameters mixed with curtailed hexameters and pentameters. The last two pieces of the five, not mentioned by Professor Rhys, show a strophic correspondence, which has been brought out in the verse translation; note especially their openings, and the last line of Emer's speech, cia no triallta, as balancing the last line but four of Cuchulain's speech, cia no comgellta. The last of these five pieces shows the greatest differences between the verse and literal translations. A literal translation of this would run: "Wherefore now, O Emer!" said Cuchulain, "should I not be permitted to delay with this lady? for first this lady here is bright, pure, and clear, a worthy mate for a king; of many forms of beauty is the lady, she can pass over waves of mighty seas, is of a goodly shape and countenance and of a noble race, with embroidery and skill, and with handiwork, with understanding, and sense, and firmness; with plenty of horses and many cattle, so that there is nothing under heaven, no wish for a dear spouse that she doth not. And though it hath been promised (?), Emer," he said, "thou never shalt find a hero so beautiful, so scarred with wounds, so battle-triumphing, (so worthy) as I myself am worthy." PAGE 81 Line 11. "Fair seems all that's red, &c.," is literally "fair is each red, white is each new, beautiful each lofty, sour is each known, revered is each thing absent, failure is each thing accustomed." For a translation of the poem in which Fand resigns Cuchulain reference may be made to Thurneysen (p. 101). A more accurate translation of the first verse seems to run thus: I am she who will go on a journey which is best for me on account of strong compulsion; though there is to another abundance of her fame, (and) it were dearer to me to remain. Line 16 of poem, translated by Thurneysen "I was true and held my word," is in the original daig is misi rop iran. Iran is a doubtful word, if we take it as a form of aur-an, aur being the intensitive prefix, a better translation may be, "I myself was greatly glowing." PAGE 82 Line 26. "The lady was seized by great bitterness of mind," Irish ro gab etere moir. The translation of etere is doubtful. PAGE 83 For the final poem, in which Fand returns to Manannan, reference may as before be made to Thurneysen's translation; but a few changes may be noted: Line 1 should be, "See the son of the hero people of the Sea." Line 5 seems to be, "Although" (lit. "if") "it is to-day that his cry is excellent." Line 7 is a difficult one. Thurneysen gives, "That indeed is the course of love," apparently reading rot, a road, in place of ret; but he leaves eraise untranslated; the Irish is is eraise in ret in t-serc. Might not eraise be "turning back," connected with eraim, and the line run: "It is turning back of the road of love"? Lines 13 to 16 are omitted by Thurneysen. They seem to mean: When the comely Manannan took me, he was to me a fitting spouse; nor did he at all gain me before that time, an additional stake (?) at a game at the chess. The last line, cluchi erail (lit. "excess") ar fidchill, is a difficult allusion. Perhaps the allusion is to the capture of Etain by Mider as prize at chess from her husband. Fand may be claiming superiority over a rival fairy beauty. Lines 17 and 18 repeat lines 13 and 14. Lines 46 and 47 are translated by Thurneysen, "Too hard have I been offended; Laeg, son of Riangabra, farewell," but there is no "farewell" in the Irish. The lines seem to be: "Indeed the offence was great, O Laeg, O thou son of Riangabra," and the words are an answer to Laeg, who may be supposed to try to stop her flight. PAGE 85 Line 24. "That she might forget her jealousy," lit. "a drink of forgetfulness of her jealousy," deoga dermait a heta. The translation seems to be an accepted one, and certainly gives sense, but it is doubtful whether or not eta can be regarded as a genitive of et, "jealousy "; the genitive elsewhere is eoit. There is a conclusion to this romance which is plainly added by the compiler: it is reproduced here, to show the difference between its style and the style of the original author: "This then was a token given to Cuchulain that he should be destroyed by the People of the Mound, for the power of the demons was great before the advent of the Faith; so great was that power that the demons warred against men in bodily form, and they showed delights and secret things to them; and that those demons were co-eternal was believed by them. So that from the signs that they showed, men called them the Ignorant Folk of the Mounds, the People of the Sid." THE EXILE OF THE SONS OF USNACH PAGE 91 The four pieces of rhetoric, at the beginning of this text are translated by Thurneysen, Sagen aus dem alten Irland, pp. 11 and 12. In the first, third, and fourth of those, the only difference of any importance between the text adopted and Thurneysen's versions is the third line of the third piece, which perhaps should run: "With stately eyes with blue pupils," segdaib suilib sellglassaib, taking the text of the Yellow Book of Lecan. The second piece appears to run as follows: Let Cathbad hear, the fair one, with face that all love, the prince, the royal diadem, let he who is extolled be increased by druid arts of the Druid: because I have no words of wisdom to oppose (?) to Feidlimid, the light of knowledge; for the nature of woman knows not what is under her body, (or) what in the hollow of my womb cries out. These rhetorics are remarkable for the great number of the alliterations in the original. PAGE 93 Thurneysen omits a verse of Cathbad's poem. A translation of the whole seems to run thus: Deirdre, great cause of destruction, though thou art fair of face, famous, pale, Ulster shall sorrow in thy time, thou hidden (?) daughter of Feidlimid. Windisch's Dict. gives "modest daughter" in the last line; the original is ingen fial. But the word might be more closely connected with fial, "a veil." "Modest" is not exactly the epithet that one would naturally apply to the Deirdre of the Leinster version, and the epithet of "veiled" or "hidden" would suit her much better, the reference being to her long concealment by Conor. There shall be mischief yet afterwards on thy account, O brightly shining woman, hear thou this! at that time shall be the exile of the three lofty sons of Usnach. It is in thy time that a violent deed shall be done thereupon in Emain, yet afterwards shall it repent the violation of the safeguard of the mighty son of Rog. Do foesam is read in the last verse, combining the Leinster and the Egerton texts. It is through thee, O woman with excellence, (is) the exile of Fergus from the Ulstermen, and a deed from which weeping will come, the wound of Fiachna, the son of Conor. Fiachna. is grandson to Conor in the Book of Leinster account of the battle. Fiacha is Conor's son in the Glenn Masain version. It is thy fault, O woman with excellence, the wound of Gerrc son of Illadan, and a deed of no smaller importance, the slaying of Eogan mac Durthacht. There is no account of the slaying of Eogan in the Book of Leinster version; and Eogan appears on the Hill of Slane in the Ulster army in the War of Cualgne. The sequel to the Glenn Masain version, however, describes Eogan's death at the hand of Fergus (Celtic Review, Jan. 1905, p. 227). Thou shalt do a deed that is wild and hateful for wrath against the king of noble Ulster; thy little grave shall be in that place, thy tale shall be renowned, O Deirdre. PAGE 95 Line 13. "Release me, O my wife!" eirgg uaim a ben. It is suggested that the vocative ben is "wife," not "woman." It occurs in seven other places besides this in Windisch's Dictionary, and in six of these it means wife (Emer is addressed as wife of Cuchulain in a deig-ben, in "Sick-bed," 44). In the remaining case ("Fled Bricrend," 31) the word is abbreviated, and stands b in the text, which might be for be, "O lady," though we should have then expected the accent. I suggest that Naisi, by giving to Deirdre the name of "wife," accepts her offer, for no other sign of acceptance is indicated, and the subsequent action shows that she is regarded as his wife afterwards. Line 30. "Near to Ballyshannon," and "which men to-day call the Mountain of Howth," are inserted as the modern names of the places. The words correspond to nothing in the Irish. PAGE 97 Line 13. "Fiacha." Fiacha, the son of Fergus, corresponds to Illan in the better known version. There is no one in this version who corresponds to the traitor son, Buinne. PAGE 98 The "Lament of Deirdre," one of the finest of the older Irish poems, has been rendered by Thurneysen and by others, among which should be specially mentioned Miss Hull, in the Cuchullin Saga, pp. 50-51. O'Curry's and O'Flanagan's versions seem to be very far from correct, and it will be more convenient to give that literal translation which seems nearest to the original, instead of indicating divergencies. The literal translation adopted runs as follows: Though fair to you seems the keen band of heroes who march into Emain that they lately left (lit "after departing"), more stately was the return to their home of the three heroic sons of Usnach. Naisi, with mead of delicious hazel-nuts (came), to be bathed by me at the fire, Ardan, with an ox or boar of excellence, Aindle, a faggot on his stately back. Though sweet be the excellent mead to you which is drunk by the son of Ness, the rich in strife, there has been known to me, ere now, leaping over a bank, frequent sustenance which was sweeter. Line 3 of the above stanza seems to be baithium riam reim for bra, taking reim from the Egerton text. The allusion is to a cascade. When the noble Naisi spread out a cooking-hearth on hero-board of tree, sweeter than any food dressed under honey[FN#69] was what was captured by the son of Usnach. [FN#69] For "food dressed under honey" compare Fraech, line 544, in the second volume. Though melodious to you each month (are the) pipers and horn-blowers, it is my open statement to you to-day I have heard melody sweeter far than these. For Conor, the king, is melody pipers and blowers of horns, more melodious to me, renowned, enchanting the voice given out by the sons of Usnach. Like the sound of the wave the voice of Naisi, it was a melodious sound, one to hearken to for ever, Ardan was a good barytone, the tenor of Aindle rang through the dwelling-place. Naisi is laid in his tomb, sad was the protection that he got; the nation by which he was reared poured out the cup of poison by which he died. Dear is Berthan, beautiful its lands, stately the men, though hilly the land, it is sorrowful that to-day I rise not to await the sons of Usnach. Dear the mind, firm, upright, dear the youth, lofty, modest, after going with him through the dark wood dear the girding (?) at early morning. Dear his gray eye, which women loved, it was evil-looking against enemies, after circuit of the wood (was) a noble assembly, dear the tenor through the dark wood. I sleep not therefor, and I stain not my nails with red, joy comes not to my wakefulness, for the sons of Usnach return not. The last line is the Egerton reading. I sleep not for half the night on my bed, my mind wanders amidst clouds of thoughts, I eat not, nor smile. There is no leisure or joy for me in the assemblies of eastern Emain; there is no peace, nor pleasure, nor repose in beholding fine houses or splendid ornaments. What, O Conor, of thee? for me only sorrow under lamentation hast thou prepared, such will be my life so long as it remains to me, thy love for me will not last. The man who under heaven was fairest to me, the man who was so dear thou hast torn from me; great was the crime; so that I shall not see him until I die. His absence is the cause of grief to me, the shape of the son of Usnach shows itself to me, a dark hill is above his white body which was desired before many things by me. His ruddy cheeks, more beautiful than meadows (?), red lips, eyebrows of the colour of the chafer, his teeth shining like pearls, like noble colour of snow. Well have I known his splendid garb among the warrior men of Alba; mantle of crimson, meet for an assembly, with a border of red gold. His tunic of satin of costly price, on it a hundred pearls could be counted, goodly the number (lit. "a smooth number" ? a round number), for its embroidery had been used, it was bright, fifty ounces of findruine (i.e. white bronze). A gold-hilted sword in his hand, two green spears with terrible points (?), a shield with border of yellow gold, and a boss of silver upon it. Fair Fergus brought injury upon us when inducing us to cross the sea; he has sold his honour for ale, the glory of his high deeds is departed. If there were upon this plain the warriors of Ulster in the presence of Conor, all of them would I give up without a struggle for the companionship of Naisi, the son of Usnach. Break not to-day my heart (O Conor!), soon shall I reach my early grave, stronger than the sea is my grief, dost thou not know it, O Conor? PAGE 103 For the literal translations of the poems in the Glenn Masain version see Whitley Stokes in Irische Texte, ii. 2, 172 sqq. Stanzas 13 to 16 are not in LVI. (the manuscript which is the second authority used by Stokes for this version, and is the chief authority for this part of the version). They are in the manuscript that Stokes calls II. (the version used by O'Flanagan), which, like LVI., agrees pretty closely with the Glenn Masain text so far as the latter manuscript extends. Stanza 22 is also from O'Flanagan's manuscript. This verse is not translated by Stokes, but it seems worth inserting. The literal translation of it is: I am Deirdre without joy, it is for me the end of my life; since to remain behind them is the worst thing, not long life to myself. PAGE 107 Line 21. Two passages, one describing Fergus' sons born in Connaught, the other summing up his deeds, are omitted, as it is not intended to reproduce this version in full. THE COMBAT AT THE FORD The well-known translation by O'Curry of this part of the Book of Leinster version of the "Tain bo Cuailgne" is given in the third volume of his "Manners and Customs," pp. 414-463. There are, as has often been pointed out, many inaccuracies in the translation, and the present version does not claim to correct all or even the greater part of them; for the complete version of the Great Tain by Windisch which has so long eagerly been expected should give us a trustworthy text, and the present translation is in the main founded on O'Curry; to whose version reference may be made for literal translations for such parts of the verse passages as are not noted below. A few more obvious corrections have been made; most of those in the prose will appear by comparing the rendering with O'Curry's; some of the corrections in the literal versions adopted for the poems are briefly indicated. Two poems have been literally translated in full: in these the renderings which have no authority other than O'Curry's are followed by a query, in order to give an indication of the extent to which the translation as given may for the present be regarded as uncertain. For all the more valuable of the corrections made to O'Curry's translation I am indebted to the kindness of Mr. E. J. Quiggin, Fellow of Caius College, Cambridge. PAGE 118 Line 7 Of the first stanza. O'Curry gives this as "Thou hast come out of every strife," which seems to be an impossible rendering; "Take whatever is thy will" seems to be nearer the sense of the passage, and has been adopted. Lines 5 to 8 of the fourth stanza are very uncertain; and the translation given, which is in part based upon O'Curry, is very doubtful; a more trustworthy one has not, however, been arrived at. Line 4 of the fifth stanza in O'Curry's rendering means "Here is what thou wilt not earn," i.e. "We can pay more than a full reward for thy services." Lines 5 and 6 of the sixth stanza should be, "If my request be granted me I will advance, though I am not his match." Line 2 Of the eighth stanza, "Not thine a pleasant smile for a consort." Brachail in the next line is "guardian." Line 10 of the last stanza. Elgga is one of the names of Ireland. PAGE 121 Line 1. Maeth n-araig, "in an easy task," the force of which O'Curry seems to miss, translating it "as he thought." There are several changes to make in O'Curry's rendering of the dialogue between Fergus and Cuchulain. It should run thus: F. O Cuchulain, manifest is the bargain, I see that rising is timely for thee; here comes to thee in anger Ferdiad, son of Daman, of the ruddy face. C. I am here, it is no light task valiantly delaying the men of Erin; I have not yielded a foot in retreat to shun the combat of any one man. F. Fierce is the man in his excited (?) rage because of his blood-red sword: a horny skin is about Ferdiad of the troops, against it prevails not battle or combat. C. Be silent, urge not thy story, O Fergus of the powerful weapons! on any field, on any ground, there is no unequal fight for me. F. Fierce is the man, a war for twenties, it is not easy to vanquish him, the strength of a hundred in his body, valiant his deed (?), spears pierce him not, swords cut him not. C. Should we happen to meet at a ford (i.e. a field of battle), I and Ferdiad of well-known valour, the separation shall not be without history, fierce shall be our edge-combat. F. Better would it be to me than reward, O Cuchulain of the blood-stained sword, that it was thou who carried eastward the spoils (coscur, not corcur) of the proud Ferdiad. C. I give thee my word with boasting, though I am not good at bragging, that it is I who shall gain the victory over the son of Daman, the son of Dare. F. It is I who gathered the forces eastwards in revenge for my dishonour by the men of Ulster; with me they have come from their lands, their champions and their battle warriors. C. If Conor had not been in his sickness hard would have been his nearness to thee; Medb of Magh in Scail had not made an expedition of so loud boastings. F. A greater deed awaits thy hand, battle with Ferdiad son of Daman, hardened bloody weapons, friendly is my speech, do thou have with thee, O Cuchulain! PAGE 124 Line 7 of O'Curry's rendering of the first stanza should run: "So that he may take the point of a weapon through him." Stanza 2 of the poem should run thus: It would be better for thee to stay, thy threats will not be gentle, there will be some one who shall have sickness on that account, distressful will be thy departure to encounter the Rock of Ulster; and ill may this venture turn out; long will be the remembrance of it, woe shall be to him who goeth that journey. Line 4 of the next stanza, "I will not keep back to please you." PAGE 126 The literal rendering of the poem seems to be: I hear the creaking of a chariot with a beautiful silver yoke, the figure of a man with perfection (rises) from the wheels of the stout chariot; over Breg Row, over Braine they come (?), over the highway beside the lower part of the Burg of the Trees; it (the chariot?) is triumphant for its victories. It is a heroic (?) hound who drives it, it is a trusty charioteer who yokes it, it is a noble hawk who scourges his horses to the south: he is a stubborn hero, he is certain (to cause) heavy slaughter, it is well-known that not with indexterity (?) is the bringing of the battle to us. Woe for him who shall be upon the hillock waiting for the hound who is fitly framed (lit. in harmony"); I myself declared last year that there would come, though it be from somewhere, a hound the Hound of Emain Macha, the Hound with a form on which are hues of all colours, the Hound of a territory, the Hound of battle; I hear, we have heard. As a second rendering of the above in a metre a little closer to the original than that given in the text, the following may be suggested: Shrieks from war-car wake my hearing, Silver yokes are nigh appearing; High his perfect form is rearing, He those wheels who guides! Braina, Braeg Ross past it boundeth, Triumph song for conquests soundeth, Lo! the roadway's course it roundeth, Skirting wooded sides. Hero Hound the scourge hard plieth, Trusty servant yoke-strap tieth, Swift as noble hawk, he flieth, Southward urging steeds! Hardy chief is he, and story Soon must speak his conquests gory, Great for skilful war his glory; We shall know his deeds! Thou on hill, the fierce Hound scorning, Waitest; woe for thee is dawning; Fitly framed he comes, my warning Spoke him thus last year: "Emain's Hound towards us raceth, Guards his land, the fight he faceth, Every hue his body graceth:" Whom I heard, I hear. PAGE 127 In O'Curry's rendering of the dialogue between Ferdia and his servant, line 3 should be, "That it be not a deed of prophecy," not "a deferred deed"; and line 6, With his proud sport." Last stanza of the poem: It seems thou art not without rewards, so greatly hast thou praised him; why else hast thou extolled him ever since I left my house? they who now extol the man when he is in their sight come not to attack him, but are cowardly churls. PAGE 128 Line 34. "As a hawk darts up from the furrow." O'Curry gives "from the top of a cliff." The word in the Irish is claiss. PAGE 129 The metre of this poem, which is also the metre of all the preceeding poems except the second in this romance, but does not occur elsewhere in the collection, may be illustrated by quoting the original of the fifth verse, which runs as follows: Re funiud, re n-aidchi Madit eicen airrthe, Comrac dait re bairche, Ni ba ban in gleo: Ulaid acot gairmsiu, Ra n-gabartar aillsiu, Bud olc doib in taidbsiu Rachthair thairsiu is treo. Literal translation of the first two stanzas: What has brought thee here, O Hound, to fight with a strong champion? crimson-red shall flow thy blood over the breaths of thy steeds; woe is thy journey: it shall be a kindling of fuel against a house, need shalt thou have of healing if thou reach thy home (alive). I have come before warriors who gather round a mighty host-possessing prince, before battalions, before hundreds, to put thee under the water, in anger with thee, and to slay thee in a combat of hundreds of paths of battle, so that thine shall the injury as thou protectest thy head. Line 2 of the fifth stanza, "Good is thy need of height." Line 8 of the seventh stanza, "Without valour, without strength." PAGE 133 Line 3. Literally: "Whatever be the excellence of her beauty." A similar literal translation for page 138, line 10, of the dialogue; the same line occurs in verse 3 on page 148, but is not rendered in the verse translation. PAGE 134 Line 18. "O Cuchulain! for beautiful feats renowned." O'Curry gives this as prose, but it is clearly verse in the original. PAGE 138 Lines 5, 6 of dialogue. "O Cuchulain! who art a breeder of wounds" (lit. "pregnant with wounds"); "O true warrior! O true" (?accent probably omitted) "champion!" Lines 7, 8. "There is need for some one" (i.e. himself) "to go to the sod where his final resting-place shall be." The Irish of line 7 is is eicen do neoch a thecht, which O'Curry translates "a man is constrained to come," and he is followed by Douglas Hyde, who renders the two lines: Fate constrains each one to stir, Moving towards his sepulchre. But do neoch cannot possibly mean "every man," it means "some man;" usually the person in question is obvious. Compare page 125 of this romance, line 3, which is literally: "There will be some one who shall have sickness on that account," biaid nech diamba galar, meaning, as here, Ferdia. The line is an explanation of Ferdia's appearance, and is not a moral reflection. Line 29. "O Cuchulain! with floods of deeds of valour," or "brimming over with deeds, &c." PAGE 141 Line 9. "Four jewels of carbuncle." This is the reading of H. 2, 17; T.C.D; which O'Curry quotes as an alternative to "forty" of the Book of Leinster. "Each one of them fit to adorn it" is by O'Curry translated "in each compartment." The Irish is a cach aen chumtach: apparently "for each one adornment." PAGE 144 Line 8 of poem. "Alas for the departing of my ghost." PAGE 146 Lines 1, 2. "Though he had struck off the half of my leg that is sound, though he had smitten off half my arm." PAGE 148 Line 5. "Since he whom Aife bore me," literally "Never until now have I met, since I slew Aife's only son, thy like in deeds of battle, never have I found it, O Ferdia." This is O'Curry's rendering; if it is correct, and it seems to be so substantially, the passage raises a difficulty. Aife's only son is, according to other records, Conlaoch, son of Cuchulain and Aife, killed by his father, who did not at the time know who Conlaoch was. This battle is usually represented as having taken place at the end of Cuchulain's life; but here it is represented as preceding the War of Cualgne, in which Cuchulain himself is represented to be a youth. The allusion certainly indicates an early date for the fight with Conlaoch, and if we are to lay stress on the age of Cuchulain at the time of the War, as recorded in the Book of Leinster, of whose version this incident is a part, the "Son of Aife" would not have been a son of Cuchulain at all in the mind of the writer of this verse. It is possible that there was an early legend of a fight with the son of Aife which was developed afterwards by making him the son of Cuchulain; the oldest version of this incident, that in the Yellow Book of Lecan, reconciles the difficulty by making Conlaoch only seven years old when he took up arms; this could hardly have been the original version. Line 23 of poem is literally: "It is like thrusting a spear into sand or against the sun." The metre of the poem "Ah that brooch of gold," and of that on page 144, commencing "Hound, of feats so fair," are unique in this collection, and so far as I know do not occur elsewhere. Both have been reproduced in the original metre, and the rather complicated rhyme-system has also been followed in that on page 148. The first verse of the Irish of this is Dursan, a eo oir a Fhirdiad na n-dam a belc bemnig buain ba buadach do lamh. The last syllable of the third line has no rhyme beyond the echo in the second syllable of the next line; oir, "gold," has no rhyme till the word is repeated in the third line of the third verse, rhymed in the second line of the fourth, and finally repeated at the end. The second verse has two final words echoed, brass and maeth; it runs thus Do barr bude brass ba cass, ba cain set; do chriss duillech maeth immut taeb gu t-ec. The rhymes in the last two verses are exactly those of the reproduction, they are cain sair, main, laim, chain, the other three end rhymes being oir, choir, and oir. Line 3 of this poem is "O hero of strong-striking blows." Line 4. "Triumphant was thine arm." PAGE 149 Lines 11 and 12 of the poem. "Go ye all to the swift battle that shall come to you from German the green-terrible" (? of the terrible green spear). PAGE 150 Line 12. The Torrian Sea is the Mediterranean. PAGE 151 Line 15. Literally: "Thou in death, I alive and nimble." Line 23. "Wars were gay, &c." Cluchi cach, gaine cach, "Each was a game, each was little," taking gaine as gainne, the known derivative of gand, "scanty." O'Curry gives the meaning as "sport," and has been followed by subsequent translators, but there does not seem any confirmation of this rendering. PAGE 153 Line 10. Banba is one of the names of Ireland. END OF VOL. I. 
8109	----	EARLY BARDIC LITERATURE, IRELAND. By Standish O'Grady 11 Lower Fitzwilliam Street, Dublin Scattered over the surface of every country in Europe may be found sepulchral monuments, the remains of pre-historic times and nations, and of a phase of life will civilisation which has long since passed away. No country in Europe is without its cromlechs and dolmens, huge earthen tumuli, great flagged sepulchres, and enclosures of tall pillar-stones. The men by whom these works were made, so interesting in themselves, and so different from anything of the kind erected since, were not strangers and aliens, but our own ancestors, and out of their rude civilisation our own has slowly grown. Of that elder phase of European civilisation no record or tradition has been anywhere bequeathed to us. Of its nature, and the ideas and sentiments whereby it was sustained, nought may now be learned save by an examination of those tombs themselves, and of the dumb remnants, from time to time exhumed out of their soil--rude instruments of clay, flint, brass, and gold, and by speculations and reasonings founded upon these archaeological gleanings, meagre and sapless. For after the explorer has broken up, certainly desecrated, and perhaps destroyed, those noble sepulchral raths; after he has disinterred the bones laid there once by pious hands, and the urn with its unrecognisable ashes of king or warrior, and by the industrious labour of years hoarded his fruitless treasure of stone celt and arrow-head, of brazen sword and gold fibula and torque; and after the savant has rammed many skulls with sawdust, measuring their capacity, and has adorned them with some obscure label, and has tabulated and arranged the implements and decorations of flint and metal in the glazed cases of the cold gaunt museum, the imagination, unsatisfied and revolted, shrinks back from all that he has done. Still we continue to inquire, receiving from him no adequate response, Who were those ancient chieftains and warriors for whom an affectionate people raised those strange tombs? What life did they lead? What deeds perform? How did their personality affect the minds of their people and posterity? How did our ancestors look upon those great tombs, certainly not reared to be forgotten, and how did they--those huge monumental pebbles and swelling raths--enter into and affect the civilisation or religion of the times? We see the cromlech with its massive slab and immense supporting pillars, but we vainly endeavour to imagine for whom it was first erected, and how that greater than cyclopean house affected the minds of those who made it, or those who were reared in its neighbourhood or within reach of its influence. We see the stone cist with its great smooth flags, the rocky cairn, and huge barrow and massive walled cathair, but the interest which they invariably excite is only aroused to subside again unsatisfied. From this department of European antiquities the historian retires baffled, and the dry savant is alone master of the field, but a field which, as cultivated by him alone, remains barren or fertile only in things the reverse of exhilarating. An antiquarian museum is more melancholy than a tomb. But there is one country in Europe in which, by virtue of a marvellous strength and tenacity of the historical intellect, and of filial devotedness to the memory of their ancestors, there have been preserved down into the early phases of mediaeval civilisation, and then committed to the sure guardianship of manuscript, the hymns, ballads, stories, and chronicles, the names, pedigrees, achievements, and even characters, of those ancient kings and warriors over whom those massive cromlechs were erected and great cairns piled. There is not a conspicuous sepulchral monument in Ireland, the traditional history of which is not recorded in our ancient literature, and of the heroes in whose honour they were raised. In the rest of Europe there is not a single barrow, dolmen, or cist of which the ancient traditional history is recorded; in Ireland there is hardly one of which it is not. And these histories are in many cases as rich and circumstantial as that of men of the greatest eminence who have lived in modern times. Granted that the imagination which for centuries followed with eager interest the lives of these heroes, beheld as gigantic what was not so, as romantic and heroic what was neither one nor the other, still the great fact remains, that it was beside and in connection with the mounds and cairns that this history was elaborated, and elaborated concerning them and concerning the heroes to whom they were sacred. On the plain of Tara, beside the little stream Nemanna, itself famous as that which first turned a mill-wheel in Ireland, there lies a barrow, not itself very conspicuous in the midst of others, all named and illustrious in the ancient literature of the country. The ancient hero there interred is to the student of the Irish bardic literature a figure as familiar and clearly seen as any personage in the Biographia Britannica. We know the name he bore as a boy and the name he bore as a man. We know the names of his father and his grandfather, and of the father of his grandfather, of his mother, and the father and mother of his mother, and the pedigrees and histories of each of these. We know the name of his nurse, and of his children, and of his wife, and the character of his wife, and of the father and mother of his wife, and where they lived and were buried. We know all the striking events of his boyhood and manhood, the names of his horses and his weapons, his own character and his friends, male and female. We know his battles, and the names of those whom he slew in battle, and how he was himself slain, and by whose hands. We know his physical and spiritual characteristics, the device upon his shield, and how that was originated, carved, and painted, by whom. We know the colour of his hair, the date of his birth and of his death, and his relations, in time and otherwise, with the remainder of the princes and warriors with whom, in that mound-raising period of our history, he was connected, in hostility or friendship; and all this enshrined in ancient song, the transmitted traditions of the people who raised that barrow, and who laid within it sorrowing their brave ruler and, defender. That mound is the tomb of Cuculain, once king of the district in which Dundalk stands to-day, and the ruins of whose earthen fortification may still be seen two miles from that town. This is a single instance, and used merely as an example, but one out of a multitude almost as striking. There is not a king of Ireland, described as such in the ancient annals, whose barrow is not mentioned in these or other compositions, and every one of which may at the present day be identified where the ignorant plebeian or the ignorant patrician has not destroyed them. The early History of Ireland clings around and grows out of the Irish barrows until, with almost the universality of that primeval forest from which Ireland took one of its ancient names, the whole isle and all within it was clothed with a nobler raiment, invisible, but not the less real, of a full and luxuriant history, from whose presence, all-embracing, no part was free. Of the many poetical and rhetorical titles lavished upon this country, none is truer than that which calls her the Isle of Song. Her ancient history passed unceasingly into the realm of artistic representation; the history of one generation became the poetry of the next, until the whole island was illuminated and coloured by the poetry of the bards. Productions of mere fancy and imagination these songs are not, though fancy and imagination may have coloured and shaped all their subject-matter, but the names are names of men and women who once lived and died in Ireland, and over whom their people raised the swelling rath and reared the rocky cromlech. In the sepulchral monuments their names were preserved, and in the performance of sacred rites, and the holding of games, fairs, and assemblies in their honour, the memory of their achievements kept fresh, till the traditions that clung around these places were inshrined in tales which were finally incorporated in the Leabhar na Huidhré and the Book of Leinster. Pre-historic narrative is of two kinds--in one the imagination is at work consciously, in the other unconsciously. Legends of the former class are the product of a lettered and learned age. The story floats loosely in a world of imagination. The other sort of pre-historic narrative clings close to the soil, and to visible and tangible objects. It may be legend, but it is legend believed in as history never consciously invented, and growing out of certain spots of the earth's surface, and supported by and drawing its life from the soil like a natural growth. Such are the early Irish tales that cling around the mounds and cromlechs as that by which they are sustained, which was originally their source, and sustained them afterwards in a strong enduring life. It is evident that these cannot be classed with stories that float vaguely in an ideal world, which may happen in one place as well as another, and in which the names might be disarrayed without changing the character and consistency of the tale, and its relations, in time or otherwise, with other tales. Foreigners are surprised to find the Irish claim for their own country an antiquity and a history prior to that of the neighbouring countries. Herein lie the proof and the explanation. The traditions and history of the mound-raising period have in other countries passed away. Foreign conquest, or less intrinsic force of imagination, and pious sentiment have suffered them to fall into oblivion; but in Ireland they have been all preserved in their original fulness and vigour, hardly a hue has faded, hardly a minute circumstance or articulation been suffered to decay. The enthusiasm with which the Irish intellect seized upon the grand moral life of Christianity, and ideals so different from, and so hostile to, those of the heroic age, did not consume the traditions or destroy the pious and reverent spirit in which men still looked back upon those monuments of their own pagan teachers and kings, and the deep spirit of patriotism and affection with which the mind still clung to the old heroic age, whose types were warlike prowess, physical beauty, generosity, hospitality, love of family and nation, and all those noble attributes which constituted the heroic character as distinguished from the saintly. The Danish conquest, with its profound modification of Irish society, and consequent disruption of old habits and conditions of life, did not dissipate it; nor the more dangerous conquest of the Normans, with their own innate nobility of character, chivalrous daring, and continental grace and civilisation; nor the Elizabethan convulsions and systematic repression and destruction of all native phases of thought and feeling. Through all these storms, which successively assailed the heroic literature of ancient Ireland, it still held itself undestroyed. There were still found generous minds to shelter and shield the old tales and ballads, to feel the nobleness of that life of which they were the outcome, and to resolve that the soil of Ireland should not, so far as they had the power to prevent it, be denuded of its raiment of history and historic romance, or reduced again to primeval nakedness. The fruit of this persistency and unquenched love of country and its ancient traditions, is left to be enjoyed by us. There is not through the length and breadth of the country a conspicuous rath or barrow of which we cannot find the traditional history preserved in this ancient literature. The mounds of Tara, the great barrows along the shores of the Boyne, the raths of Slieve Mish, and Rathcrogan, and Teltown, the stone caiseals of Aran and Innishowen, and those that alone or in smaller groups stud the country over, are all, or nearly all, mentioned in this ancient literature, with the names and traditional histories of those over whom they were raised. There is one thing to be learned from all this, which is, that we, at least, should not suffer these ancient monuments to be destroyed, whose history has been thus so astonishingly preserved. The English farmer may tear down the barrow which is unfortunate enough to be situated within his bounds. Neither he nor his neighbours know or can tell anything about its ancient history; the removed earth will help to make his cattle fatter and improve his crops, the stones will be useful to pave his roads and build his fences, and the savant can enjoy the rest; but the Irish farmer and landlord should not do or suffer this. The instinctive reverence of the peasantry has hitherto been a great preservative; but the spread of education has to a considerable extent impaired this kindly sentiment, and the progress of scientific farming, and the anxiety of the Royal Irish Academy to collect antiquarian trifles, have already led to the reckless destruction of too many. I think that no one who reads the first two volumes of this history would greatly care to bear a hand in the destruction of that tomb at Tara, in which long since his people laid the bones of Cuculain; and I think, too, that they would not like to destroy any other monument of the same age, when they know that the history of its occupant and its own name are preserved in the ancient literature, and that they may one day learn all that is to be known concerning it. I am sure that if the case were put fairly to the Irish landlords and country gentlemen, they would neither inflict nor permit this outrage upon the antiquities of their country. The Irish country gentleman prides himself on his love of trees, and entertains a very wholesome contempt for the mercantile boor who, on purchasing an old place, chops down the best timber for the market. And yet a tree, though cut down, may be replaced. One elm tree is as good as another, and the thinned wood, by proper treatment, will be as dense as ever; but the ancient mound, once carted away, can never be replaced any more. When the study of the Irish literary records is revived, as it certainly will be revived, the old history of each of these raths and cromlechs will be brought again into the light, and one new interest of a beautiful and edifying nature attached to the landscape, and affecting wholly for good the minds of our people. Irishmen are often taunted with the fact that their history is yet unwritten, but that the Irish, as a nation, have been careless of their past is refuted by the facts which I have mentioned. A people who alone in Europe preserved, not in dry chronicles alone, but illuminated and adorned with all that fancy could suggest in ballad, and tale, and rude epic, the history of the mound-raising period, are not justly liable to this taunt. Until very modern times, history was the one absorbing pursuit of the Irish secular intellect, the delight of the noble, and the solace of the vile. At present, indeed, the apathy on this subject is, I believe, without parallel in the world. It would seem as if the Irish, extreme in all things, at one time thought of nothing but their history, and, at another, thought of everything but it. Unlike those who write on other subjects, the author of a work on Irish history has to labour simultaneously at a two-fold task--he has to create the interest to which he intends to address himself. The pre-Christian period of Irish history presents difficulties from which the corresponding period in the histories of other countries is free. The surrounding nations escape the difficulty by having nothing to record. The Irish historian is immersed in perplexity on account of the mass of material ready to his hand. The English have lost utterly all record of those centuries before which the Irish historian stands with dismay and hesitation, not through deficiency of materials, but through their excess. Had nought but the chronicles been preserved the task would have been simple. We would then have had merely to determine approximately the date of the introduction of letters, and allowing a margin on account of the bardic system and the commission of family and national history to the keeping of rhymed and alliterated verse, fix upon some reasonable point, and set down in order, the old successions of kings and the battles and other remarkable events. But in Irish history there remains, demanding treatment, that other immense mass of literature of an imaginative nature, illuminating with anecdote and tale the events and personages mentioned simply and without comment by the chronicler. It is this poetic literature which constitutes the stumbling-block, as it constitutes also the glory, of early Irish history, for it cannot be rejected and it cannot be retained. It cannot be rejected, because it contains historical matter which is consonant with and illuminates the dry lists of the chronologist, and it cannot be retained, for popular poetry is not history; and the task of distinguishing In such literature the fact from the fiction--where there is certainly fact and certainly fiction--is one of the most difficult to which the intellect can apply itself. That this difficulty has not been hitherto surmounted by Irish writers is no just reproach. For the last century, intellects of the highest attainments, trained and educated to the last degree, have been vainly endeavouring to solve a similar question in the far less copious and less varied heroic literature of Greece. Yet the labours of Wolfe, Grote, Mahaffy, Geddes, and Gladstone, have not been sufficient to set at rest the small question, whether it was one man or two or many who composed the Iliad and Odyssey, while the reality of the achievements of Achilles and even his existence might be denied or asserted by a scholar without general reproach. When this is the case with regard to the great heroes of the Iliad, I fancy it will be some time before the same problem will have been solved for the minor characters, and as it affects Thersites, or that eminent artist who dwelt at home in Hyla, being by far the most excellent of leather cutters. When, therefore, Greek still meets Greek in an interminable and apparently bloodless contest over the disputed body of the Iliad, and still no end appears, surely it would be madness for any one to sit down and gaily distinguish true from false in the immense and complex mass of the Irish bardic literature, having in his ears this century-lasting struggle over a single Greek poem and a single small phase of the pre-historic life of Hellas. In the Irish heroic literature, the presence or absence of the marvellous supplies _no test whatsoever_ as to the general truth or falsehood of the tale in which they appear. The marvellous is supplied with greater abundance in the account of the battle of Clontarf, and the wars of the O'Briens with the Normans, than in the tale in which is described the foundation of Emain Macha by Kimbay. Exact-thinking, scientific France has not hesitated to paint the battles of Louis XIV. with similar hues; and England, though by no means fertile in angelic interpositions, delights to adorn the barren tracts of her more popular histories with apocryphal anecdotes. How then should this heroic literature of Ireland be treated in connection with the history of the country? The true method would certainly be to print it exactly as it is without excision or condensation. Immense it is, and immense it must remain. No men living, and no men to live, will ever so exhaust the meaning of any single tale as to render its publication unnecessary for the study of others. The order adopted should be that which the bards themselves deter mined, any other would be premature, and I think no other will ever take its place. At the commencement should stand the passage from the Book of Invasions, describing the occupation of the isle by Queen Keasair and her companions, and along with it every discoverable tale or poem dealing with this event and those characters. After that, all that remains of the cycle of which Partholan was the protagonist. Thirdly, all that relates to Nemeth and his sons, their wars with curt Kical the bow-legged, and all that relates to the Fomoroh of the Nemedian epoch, then first moving dimly in the forefront of our history. After that, the great Fir-bolgic cycle, a cycle janus-faced, looking on one side to the mythological period and the wars of the gods, and on the other, to the heroic, and more particularly to the Ultonian cycle. In the next place, the immense mass of bardic literature which treats of the Irish gods who, having conquered the Fir-bolgs, like the Greek gods of the age of gold dwelt visibly in the island until the coming of the Clan Milith, out of Spain. In the sixth, the Milesian invasion, and every accessible statement concerning the sons and kindred of Milesius. In the seventh, the disconnected tales dealing with those local heroes whose history is not connected with the great cycles, but who in the _fasti_ fill the spaces between the divine period and the heroic. In the eighth, the heroic cycles, the Ultonian, the Temairian, and the Fenian, and after these the historic tales that, without forming cycles, accompany the course of history down to the extinction of Irish independence, and the transference to aliens of all the great sources of authority in the island. This great work when completed will be of that kind of which no other European nation can supply an example. Every public library in the world will find it necessary to procure a copy. The chronicles will then cease to be so closely and exclusively studied. Every history of ancient Ireland will consist of more or less intelligent comments upon and theories formed in connection with this great series--theories which, in general, will only be formed in order to be destroyed. What the present age demands upon the subject of antique Irish history--an exact and scientific treatment of the facts supplied by our native authorities--will be demanded for ever. It will never be supplied. The history of Ireland will be contained in this huge publication. In it the poet will find endless themes of song, the philosopher strange workings of the human mind, the archeologist a mass of information, marvellous in amount and quality, with regard to primitive ideas and habits of life, and the rationalist materials for framing a scientific history of Ireland, which will be acceptable in proportion to the readableness of his style, and the mode in which his views may harmonize with the prevailing humour and complexion of his contemporaries. Such a work it is evident could not be effected by a single individual. It must be a public and national undertaking, carried out under the supervision of the Royal Irish Academy, at the expense of the country. The publication of the Irish bardic remains in the way that I have mentioned, is the only true and valuable method of presenting the history of Ireland to the notice of the world. The mode which I have myself adopted, that other being out of the question, is open to many obvious objections; but in the existing state of the Irish mind on the subject, no other is possible to an individual writer. I desire to make this heroic period once again a portion of the imagination of the country, and its chief characters as familiar in the minds of our people as they once were. As mere history, and treated in the method in which history is generally written at the present day, a work dealing with the early Irish kings and heroes would certainly not secure an audience. Those who demand such a treatment forget that there is not in the country an interest on the subject to which to appeal. A work treating of early Irish kings, in the same way in which the historians of neighbouring countries treat of their own early kings, would be, to the Irish public generally, unreadable. It might enjoy the reputation of being well written, and as such receive an honourable place in half-a-dozen public libraries, but it would be otherwise left severely alone. It would never make its way through that frozen zone which, on this subject, surrounds the Irish mind. On the other hand, Irishmen are as ready as others to feel an interest in a human character, having themselves the ordinary instincts, passions, and curiosities of human nature. If I can awake an interest in the career of even a single ancient Irish king, I shall establish a train of thoughts, which will advance easily from thence to the state of society in which he lived, and the kings and heroes who surrounded, preceded, or followed him. Attention and interest once fully aroused, concerning even one feature of this landscape of ancient history, could be easily widened and extended in its scope. Now, if nothing remained of early Irish history save the dry _fasti_ of the chronicles and the Brehon laws, this would, I think, be a perfectly legitimate object of ambition, and would be consonant with my ideal of what the perfect flower of historical literature should be, to illuminate a tale embodying the former by hues derived from the Senchus Mor. But in Irish literature there has been preserved, along with the _fasti_ and the laws, this immense mass of ancient ballad, tale, and epic, whose origin is lost in the mists of extreme antiquity, and in which have been preserved the characters, relationships, adventures, and achievements of the vast majority of the personages whose names, in a gaunt nakedness, fill the books of the chroniclers. Around each of the greater heroes there groups itself a mass of bardic literature, varying in tone and statement, but preserving a substantial unity as to the general character and the more important achievements of the hero, and also, a fact upon which their general historical accuracy may be based with confidence, exhibiting a knowledge of that same prior and subsequent history recorded in the _fasti_. The literature which groups itself around a hero exhibits not only an unity with itself, but an acquaintance with the general course of the history of the country, and with preceding and succeeding kings. The students of Irish literature do not require to be told this; for those who are not, I would give a single instance as an illustration. In the battle of Gabra, fought in the third century, and in which Oscar, perhaps the greatest of all the Irish heroes heading the Fianna Eireen, contended against Cairbry of the Liffey, King of Ireland, and his troops, Cairbry on his side announces to his warriors that he would rather perish in this battle than suffer one of the Fianna to survive; but while he spoke-- "Barran suddenly exclaimed-- 'Remember Mall Mucreema, remember Art. "'Our ancestors fell there By force of the treachery of the Fians; Remember the hard tributes, Remember the extraordinary pride.'" Here the poet, singing only of the events of the battle of Gabra, shows that he was well-acquainted with all the relations subsisting for a long time between the Fians and the Royal family. The battle of Mucreema was fought by Cairbry's grandfather, Art, against Lewy Mac Conn and the Fianna Eireen. Again, in the tale of the battle of Moy Leana, in which Conn of the Hundred Battles, the father of this same Art, is the principal character, the author of the tale mentions many times circumstances relating to his father, Felimy Rectmar, and his grandfather, Tuhall Tectmar. Such is the whole of the Irish literature, not vague, nebulous, and shifting, but following the course of the _fasti_, and regulated and determined by them. This argument has been used by Mr. Gladstone with great confidence, in order to show the substantial historical truthfulness of the Iliad, and that it is in fact a portion of a continuous historic sequence. Now this being admitted, that the course of Irish history, as laid down by the chroniclers, was familiar to the authors of the tales and heroic ballads, one of two things must be admitted, either that the events and kings did succeed one another in the order mentioned by the chroniclers, or that what the chroniclers laid down was then taken as the theme of song by the bards, and illuminated and adorned according to their wont. The second of these suppositions is one which I think few will adopt. Can we believe it possible that the bards, who actually supported themselves by the amount of pleasure which they gave their audiences, would have forsaken those subjects which were already popular, and those kings and heroes whose splendour and achievements must have affected, profoundly, the popular imagination, in order to invent stories to illuminate fabricated names. The thing is quite impossible. A practice which we can trace to the edge of that period whose historical character may be proved to demonstration, we may conclude to have extended on into the period immediately preceding that. When bards illuminated with stories and marvellous circumstances the battle of Clontarf and the battle of Moyrath, we may believe their predecessors to have done the same for the earlier centuries. The absence of an imaginative literature other than historical shows also that the literature must have followed, regularly, the course of the history, and was not an archaeological attempt to create an interest in names and events which were found in the chronicles. It is, therefore, a reasonable conclusion that the bardic literature, where it reveals a clear sequence in the order of events, and where there is no antecedent improbability, supplies a trustworthy guide to the general course of our history. So far as the clear light of history reaches, so far may these tales be proved to be historical. It is, therefore, reasonable to suppose that the same consonance between them and the actual course of events which subsisted during the period which lies in clear light, marked also that other preceding period of which the light is no longer dry. The earliest manuscript of these tales is the Leabhar [Note: Leabar na Heera.] na Huidhré, a work of the eleventh century, so that we may feel sure that we have them in a condition unimpaired by the revival of learning, or any archaeological restoration or improvement. Now, of some of these there have been preserved copies in other later MSS., which differ very little from the copies preserved in the Leabhar na Huidhré, from which we may conclude that these tales had arrived at a fixed state, and a point at which it was considered wrong to interfere with the text. The feast of Bricrind is one of the tales preserved in this manuscript. The author of the tale in its present form, whenever he lived, composed it, having before him original books which he collated, using his judgment at times upon the materials to his hand. At one stage he observes that the books are at variance on a certain point, namely, that at which Cuculain, Conal the Victorious, and Laery Buada go to the lake of Uath in order to be judged by him. Some of the books, according to the author, stated that on this occasion the two latter behaved unfairly, but he agreed with those books which did not state this. We have, therefore, a tale penned in the eleventh century, composed at some time prior to this, and itself collected, not from oral tradition, but from books. These considerations would, therefore, render it extremely probable that the tales of the Ultonian period, with which the Leabhar na Huidhré is principally concerned, were committed to writing at a very early period. To strengthen still further the general historic credibility of these tales, and to show how close to the events and heroes described must have been the bards who originally composed them, I would urge the following considerations. With the advent of Christianity the mound-raising period passed away. The Irish heroic tales have their source in, and draw their interest from, the mounds and those laid in them. It would, therefore, be extremely improbable that the bards of the Christian period, when the days of rath and cairn had departed, would modify, to any considerable extent, the literature produced in conditions of society which had passed away. Again, with the advent of Christianity, and the hold which the new faith took upon the finest and boldest minds in the country, it is plain that the golden age of bardic composition ended. The loss to the bards was direct, by the withdrawal of so much intellect from their ranks, and indirect, by the general substitution of other ideas for those whose ministers they themselves were. It is, therefore, probable that the age of production and creation, with regard to the ethnic history, ceased about the fifth and sixth centuries, and that, about that time, men began to gather up into a collected form the floating literature connected with the pagan period. The general current of mediaeval opinion attributes the collection of tales and ballads now known as the Tân-Bo-Cooalney to St. Ciaran, the great founder of the monastery of Clonmacnoise. But if this be the case, we are enabled to take another step in the history of this most valuable literature. The tales of the Leabhar na Huidhré are in prose, but prose whose source and original is poetry. The author, from time to time, as if quoting an authority, breaks out with verse; and I think there is no Irish tale in existence without these rudimentary traces of a prior metrical cycle. The style and language are quite different, and indicate two distinct epochs. The prose tale is founded upon a metrical original, and composed in the meretricious style then in fashion, while the old metrical excerpts are pure and simple. This is sufficient, in a country like Ireland in those primitive times, to necessitate a considerable step into the past, if we desire to get at the originals upon which the prose tales were founded. For in ancient Ireland the conservatism of the people was very great. It is the case in all primitive societies. Individual, initiative, personal enterprise are content to work within a very small sphere. In agriculture, laws, customs, and modes of literary composition, primitive and simple societies are very adverse to change. When we see how closely the Christian compilers followed the early authorities, we can well believe that in the ethnic times no mind would have been sufficiently daring or sacrilegious to alter or pervert those epics which were in their eyes at the same time true and sacred. In the perusal of the Irish literature, we see that the strength of this conservative instinct has been of the greatest service in the preservation of the early monuments in their purity. So much is this the case, that in many tales the most flagrant contradictions appear, the author or scribe being unwilling to depart at all from that which he found handed down. For instance, in the "Great Breach of Murthemney," we find Laeg at one moment killed, and in the next riding black Shanglan off the field. From this conservatism and careful following of authority, and the _littera scripta_, or word once spoken, I conclude that the distance in time between the prose tale and the metrical originals was very great, and, unless under such exceptional circumstances as the revolution caused by the introduction of Christianity, could not have been brought about within hundreds of years. Moreover, this same conservatism would have caused the tales concerning heroes to grow very slowly once they were actually formed. All the noteworthy events of the hero's life and his characteristics must have formed the original of the tales concerning him, which would have been composed during his life, or not long after his death. I have not met a single tale, whether in verse or prose, in which it is not clearly seen that the author was not following authorities before him. Such traces of invention or decoration as may be met with are not suffered to interfere with the conduct of the tale and the statement of facts. They fill empty niches and adorn vacant places. For instance, if a king is represented as crossing the sea, we find that the causes leading to this, the place whence he set out, his companions, &c., are derived from the authorities, but the bard, at the same time, permits himself to give what seems to him to be an eloquent or beautiful description of the sea, and the appearance presented by the many-oared galleys. And yet the last transcription or recension of the majority of the tales was effected in Christian times, and in an age characterised by considerable classical attainments--a time when the imagination might have been expected to shake itself loose from old restraints, and freely invent. _A fortiori_, the more ancient bards, those of the ruder ethnic times, would have clung still closer to authority, deriving all their imaginative representations from preceding minstrels. There was no conscious invention at any time. Each cycle and tale grew from historic roots, and was developed from actual fact. So much may indeed be said for the more ancient tales, but the Ultonian cycle deals with events well within the historic period. The era of Concobar Mac Nessa and the Red Branch knights of Ulster was long subsequent to the floruerunt of the Irish gods and their Titan-like opponents of this latter period, the names alone can be fairly held to be historic. What swells out the Irish chronicles to such portentous dimensions is the history of the gods and giants rationalised by mediaeval historians. Unable to ignore or excide what filled so much of the imagination of the country, and unable, as Christians, to believe in the divinity of the Tuátha De Danan and their predecessors, they rationalised all the pre-Milesian record. But the disappearance of the gods does not yet bring us within the penumbra of history. After the death of the sons of Milesius we find a long roll of kings. These were all topical heroes, founders of nations, and believed, by the tribes and tribal confederacies which they founded, to have been in their day the chief kings of Ireland. The point fixed upon by the accurate and sceptical Tiherna as the starting-point of trustworthy Irish history, was one long subsequent to the floruerunt of the gods; and the age of Concobar Mac Nessa and his knights was more than two centuries later than that of Kimbay and the foundation of Emain Macha. The floruit of Cuculain, therefore, falls completely within the historical penumbra, and the more carefully the enormous, and in the main mutually consistent and self-supporting, historical remains dealing with this period are studied, the more will this be believed. The minuteness, accuracy, extent, and verisimilitude of the literature, chronicles, pedigrees, &c., relating to this period, will cause the student to wonder more and more as he examines and collates, seeing the marvellous self-consistency and consentaneity of such a mass of varied recorded matter. The age, indeed, breathes sublimity, and abounds with the marvellous, the romantic, and the grotesque. But as I have already stated, the presence or absence of these qualities has no crucial significance. Love and reverence and the poetic imagination always effect such changes in the object of their passion. They are the essential condition of the transference of the real into the world of art. AEval, of Carriglea, the fairy queen of Munster, is one of the most important characters in the history of the battle of Clontarf, the character of which, and of the events that preceded and followed its occurrence, and the chieftains and warriors who fought on one side and the other, are identical, whether described by the bard singing, or by the monkish chronicler jotting down in plain prose the fasti for the year. The reader of these volumes can make such deductions as he pleases, on this account, from the bardic history of the Red Branch, and clip the wings of the tale, so that it may with him travel pedestrian. I know there are others, like myself, who will not hesitate for once to let the fancy roam and luxuriate in the larger spaces and freer airs of ancient song, nor fear that their sanity will be imperilled by the shouting of semi-divine heroes, and the sight of Cuculain entering battles with the Tuátha De Danan around him. I hope on some future occasion to examine more minutely the character and place in literature of the Irish bardic remains, and put forward here these general considerations, from which the reader may presume that the Ultonian cycle, dealing as it does with Cuculain and his contemporaries, is in the main true to the facts of the time, and that his history, and that of the other heroes who figure in these volumes, is, on the whole, and omitting the marvellous, sufficiently reliable. I would ask the reader, who may be inclined to think that the principal character is too chivalrous and refined for the age, to peruse for himself the tale named the "Great Breach of Murthemney." He will there, and in many other tales and poems besides, see that the noble and pathetic interest which attaches to his character is substantially the same as I have represented in these volumes. But unless the student has read the whole of the Ultonian cycle, he should be cautious in condemning a departure in my work from any particular version of an event which he may have himself met. Of many minor events there are more than one version, and many scenes and assertions which he may think of importance would yet, by being related, cause inconsistency and contradiction. Of the nature of the work in which all should be introduced I have already given my opinion. For the rest, I have related one or two great events in the life of Cuculain in such a way as to give a description as clear and correct as possible of his own character and history as related by the bards, of those celebrated men and women who were his contemporaries and of his relations with them, of the gods and supernatural powers in whom the people then believed, and of the state of civilisation which then prevailed. If I have done my task well, the reader will have been supplied, without any intensity of application on his part--a condition of the public mind upon which no historian of this country should count--with some knowledge of ancient Irish history, and with an interest in the subject which may lead him to peruse for himself that ancient literature, and to read works of a more strictly scientific nature upon the subject than those which I have yet written. But until such an interest is aroused, it is useless to swell the mass of valuable critical matter, which everyone at present is very well content to leave unread. In the first volume, however, I have committed this error, that I did not permit it to be seen with sufficient clearness that the characters and chief events of the tale are absolutely historic; and that much of the colouring, inasmuch as its source must have been the centuries immediately succeeding the floruerunt of those characters, is also reliable as history, while the remainder is true to the times and the state of society which then obtained. The story seems to progress too much in the air, too little in time and space, and seems to be more of the nature of legend and romance than of actual historic fact seen through an imaginative medium. Such is the history of Concobar Mac Nessa and his knights--historic fact seen through the eyes of a loving wonder. Indeed, I must confess that the blaze of bardic light which illuminates those centuries at first so dazzled the eye and disturbed the judgment, that I saw only the literature, only the epic and dramatic interest, and did not see as I should the distinctly historical character of the age around which that literature revolves, wrongly deeming that a literature so noble, and dealing with events so remote, must have originated mainly or altogether in the imagination. All the borders of the epic representation at which, in the first volume, I have aimed, seem to melt, and wander away vaguely on every side into space and time. I have now taken care to remedy that defect, supplying to the unset picture the clear historical frame to which it is entitled. I will also request the reader, when the two volumes may diverge in tone or statement, to attach greater importance to the second, as the result of wider and more careful reading and more matured reflection. A great English poet, himself a severe student, pronounced the early history of his own country to be a mere scuffling of kites and crows, as indeed are all wars which lack the sacred bard, and the sacred bard is absent where the kites and crows pick out his eyes. That the Irish kings and heroes should succeed one another, surrounded by a blaze of bardic light, in which both themselves and all those who were contemporaneous with them are seen clearly and distinctly, was natural in a country where in each little realm or sub-kingdom the ard-ollav was equal in dignity to the king, which is proved by the equivalence of their cries. The dawn of English history is in the seventh century--a late dawn, dark and sombre, without a ray of cheerful sunshine; that of Ireland dates reliably from a point before the commencement of the Christian era luminous with that light which never was on sea or land--thronged with heroic forms of men and women--terrible with the presence of the supernatural and its over-arching power. Educated Irishmen are ignorant of, and indifferent to, their history; yet from the hold of that history they cannot shake themselves free. It still haunts the imagination, like Mordecai at Haman's gate, a cause of continual annoyance and vexation. An Irishman can no more release himself from his history than he can absolve himself from social and domestic duties. He may outrage it, but he cannot placidly ignore. Hence the uneasy, impatient feeling with which the subject is generally regarded. I think that I do not exaggerate when I say that the majority of educated Irishmen would feel grateful to the man who informed them that the history of their country was valueless and unworthy of study, that the pre-Christian history was a myth, the post-Christian mere annals, the mediaeval a scuffling of kites and crows, and the modern alone deserving of some slight consideration. That writer will be in Ireland most praised who sets latest the commencement of our history. Without study he will be pronounced sober and rational before the critic opens the book. So anxious is the Irish mind to see that effaced which it is conscious of having neglected. There are two compositions which affect an interest comparable to that which Ireland claims for her bardic literature, One is the Ossian of MacPherson, the other the Nibelungen Lied. If we are to suppose Macpherson faithfully to have written down, printed, and published the floating disconnected poems which he found lingering in the Scotch highlands, how small, comparatively, would be their value as indications of antique thought and feeling, reduced then for the first time to writing, sixteen hundred years after the time of Ossian and his heroes, in a country not the home of those heroes, and destitute of the regular bardic organisation. The Ossianic tales and poems still told and sung by the Irish peasantry at the present day in the country of Ossian and Oscar, would be, if collected even now, quite as valuable, if not more so. Truer to the antique these latter are, for in them the cycles are not blended. The Red Branch heroes are not confused with Ossian's Fianna. But MacPherson's Ossian is not a translation. In the publications of the Irish Ossianic poetry we see what that poetry really was--rude, homely, plain-spoken, leagues removed from the nebulous sublimity of MacPherson. With regard to the other, the Germans, who naturally desire to refer its composition to as remote a date as possible, and who arguing from no scientific data, but only style, ascribe the authorship of the Nibelungen to a poet living in the latter part of the twelfth century. Be it remembered, that the poem does not purport to be a collection of the scattered fragments of a cycle, but an original composition, then actually imagined and written. It does not even purport to deal with the ethnic times. _Its heroes are Christian heroes. They attend Mass._ The poem is not true, even to the leading features of the late period of history in which it is placed, if it have any habitat in the world of history at all. Attila, who died A.D. 450, and Theodoric, who did not die until the succeeding century, meet as coevals. Turn we now from the sole boast of Germany to one out of a hundred in the Irish bardic literature. The Tân-bo-Cooalney was transcribed into the Leabhar na Huidhré in the eleventh century a manuscript whose date has been established by the consentaneity of Irish, French, and German scholarship. Mark, it was transcribed, not composed. The scribe records the fact:-- "Ego qui scripsi hanc historian aut vero fabulam, quibusdam fidem in hac historiâ aut fabulâ non commodo." The Tân-bo-Cooalney was therefore _transcribed_ by an ancient penman to the parchment of a still existing manuscript, in the century before that in which the German epic is presumed, from style only, and in the opinion of Germans, to have been _composed_. The same scribe adds this comment with regard to its contents:-- "Qaedam autem poetica figmenta, quaedam ad delectationem stultorum." Such scorn could not have been felt by one living in an age of bardic production. That independence and originality of thought, which caused Milton to despise the poets of the Restoration, are impossible in the simple stages of civilisation. The scribe who appended this very interesting comment to the subject of his own handiwork must have been removed by centuries from the date of its compilation. That the tale was, in his time, an ancient one, is therefore rendered extremely probable, the scribe himself indicating how completely out of sympathy he is with this form of literature, its antiquity and peculiar archaeological interest being, doubtless, the cause of the transcription. Again, a close study of its contents, as of the contents of all the Irish historic tales, proves that in its present form, whenever that form was superadded, it is but a representation in prose of a pre-existing metrical original. Under this head I have already made some remarks, which, I shall request the reader to re-peruse [Note: Pages 23 to 27] Once more, it deals with a particular event in Irish history, and with distinct and definite kings, heroes, and bards, who flourished in the epoch of which it treats. In the synchronisms of Tiherna, in the metrical chronology of Flann, in all the various historical compositions produced in various parts of the country, the main features and leading characters of the Tân-bo-Cooalney suffer no material change, while the minor divergencies show that the chronology of the annals and annalistic poems were not drawn from the tale, but owe their origin to other sources. Moreover, this epic is but a portion of the great Ultonian or Red Branch cycle, all the parts of which pre-suppose and support one another; and that cycle is itself a portion of the history of Ireland, and pre-supposes other preceding and succeeding cyles, preceding and succeeding kings. The event of which this epic treats occurred at the time of the Incarnation, and its characters are the leading Irish kings and warriors of that date. Such is the Tân-bo-Cooalney. This being so, how have the English literary classes recognised, or how treated, our claim to the possession of an antique literature of peculiar historical interest, and by reason of that antiquity, a matter of concern to all Aryan nations? The conquest has not more constituted the English Parliament guardian and trustee of Ireland, for purposes of legislation and government, than it has vested the welfare and fame of our literature and antiquities in the hands of English scholarship. London is the headquarters of the intellectualism and of the literary and historical culture of the Empire. It is the sole dispenser of fame. It alone influences the mind of the country and guides thought and sentiment. It can make and mar reputations. What it scorns or ignores, the world, too, ignores and scorns. How then has the native literature of Ireland been treated by the representatives of English scholarship and literary culture? Mr. Carlyle is the first man of letters of the day, his the highest name as a critic upon, and historian of, the past life of Europe. Let us hear him upon this subject, admittedly of European importance. Miscellaneous Essays, Vol. III., page 136. "Not only as the oldest Tradition of Modern Europe does it--the Nibelungen--possess a high antiquarian interest, but farther, and even in the shape we now see it under, unless the epics of the son of Fingal had some sort of authenticity, it is our oldest poem also." Poor Ireland, with her hundred ancient epics, standing at the door of the temple of fame, or, indeed, quite behind the vestibule out of the way! To see the Swabian enter in, crowned, to a flourish of somewhat barbarous music, was indeed bad enough, but Mr. MacPherson! They manage these things rather better in France, _vide passim_ "La Révue Celtique." Of the literary value of the bardic literature I fear to write at all, lest I should not know how to make an end. Rude indeed it is, but great. Like the central chamber of that huge tumulus [Note: New Grange anciently Cnobgha, and now also Knowth.] on the Boyne, overarched with massive unhewn rocks, its very ruggedness strikes an awe which the orderly arrangement of smaller and more reasonable thoughts, cut smooth by instruments inherited from classic times, fails so often to inspire. The labour of the Attic chisel may be seen since its invention in every other literary workshop of Europe, and seen in every other laboratory of thought the transmitted divine fire of the Hebrew. The bardic literature of Erin stands alone, as distinctively and genuinely Irish as the race itself, or the natural aspects of the island. Rude indeed it is, but like the hills which its authors tenanted with gods, holding dells [Note: Those sacred hills will generally be found to have this character.] of the most perfect beauty, springs of the most touching pathos. On page 33, Vol. I., will be seen a poem [Note: Publications of Ossianic Society, page 303, Vol. IV.] by Fionn upon the spring-time, made, as the old unknown historian says, to prove his poetic powers--a poem whose antique language relegates it to a period long prior to the tales of the Leabhar na Huidhré, one which, if we were to meet side by side with the "Ode to Night," by Alcman, in the Greek anthology, we would not be surprised; or those lines on page 203, Vol. I., the song of Cuculain, forsaken by his people, watching the frontier of his country-- "Alone in defence of the Ultonians, Solitary keeping ward over the province" or the death [Note: Publications of Ossianic Society, Vol. I.] of Oscar, on pages 34 and 35, Vol. I., an excerpt condensed from the Battle of Gabra. Innumerable such tender and thrilling passages. To all great nations their history presents itself under the aspect of poetry; a drama exciting pity and terror; an epic with unbroken continuity, and a wide range of thought, when the intellect is satisfied with coherence and unity, and the imagination by extent and diversity. Such is the bardic history of Ireland, but with this literary defect. A perfect epic is only possible when the critical spirit begins to be in the ascendant, for with the critical spirit comes that distrust and apathy towards the spontaneous literature of early times, which permit some great poet so to shape and alter the old materials as to construct a harmonious and internally consistent tale, observing throughout a sense of proportion and a due relation of the parts. Such a clipping and alteration of the authorities would have seemed sacrilege to earlier bards. In mediaeval Ireland there was, indeed, a subtle spirit of criticism; but under its influence, being as it was of scholastic origin, no great singing men appeared, re-fashioning the old rude epics; and yet, the very shortcomings of the Irish tales, from a literary point of view, increase their importance from a historical. Of poetry, as distinguised from metrical composition, these ancient bards knew little. The bardic literature, profoundly poetic though it be, in the eyes of our ancestors was history, and never was anything else. As history it was originally composed, and as history bound in the chains of metre, that it might not be lost or dissipated passing through the minds of men, and as history it was translated into prose and committed to parchment. Accordingly, no tale is without its defects as poetry, possessing therefore necessarily, a corresponding value as history. But that there was in the country, in very early times, a high and rare poetic culture of the lyric kind, native in its character, ethnic in origin, unaffected by scholastic culture which, as we know, took a different direction; that one exquisite poem, in which the father of Ossian praises the beauty of the springtime in anapaestic [Note: Cettemain | cain ree! | ro sair | an cuct | "He, Fionn MacCool, learned the three compositions which distinguish the poets, the TEINM LAEGHA, the IMUS OF OSNA, and the DICEDUE DICCENAIB, and it was then Fionn composed this poem to prove his poetry." In which of these three forms of metre the Ode to the spring-time is written I know not. Its form throughout is distinctly anapaestic.--S. O'G.] verse, would, even though it stood alone, both by the fact of its composition and the fact of its preservation, fully prove. Much and careful study, indeed, it requires, if we would compel these ancient epics to yield up their greatness or their beauty, or even their logical coherence and imaginative unity--broken, scattered portions as they all are of that one enormous epic, the bardic history of Ireland. At the best we read without the key. The magic of the names is gone, or can only be partially recovered by the most tender and sympathetic study. Indeed, without reading all or many, we will not understand the superficial meaning of even one. For instance, in one of the many histories of Cuculain's many battles, we read this-- "It was said that Lu Mac AEthleen was assisting him." This at first seems meaningless, the bard seeing no necessity for throwing further light on the subject; but, as we wander through the bardic literature, gradually the conception of this Lu grows upon the mind--the destroyer of the sons of Turann--the implacably filial--the expulsor of the Fomoroh--the source of all the sciences--the god of the Tuátha De Danan--the protector and guardian of Cuculain--Lu Lamfáda, son of Cian, son of Diancéct, son of Esric, son of Dela, son of Ned the war-god, whose tomb or temple, Aula Neid, may still be seen beside the Foyle. This enormous and seemingly chaotic mass of literature is found at all times to possess an inner harmony, a consistency and logical unity, to be apprehended only by careful study. So read, the sublimity strikes through the rude representation. Astonished at himself, the student, who at first thinks that he has chanced upon a crowd of barbarians, ere long finds himself in the august presence of demi-gods and heroes. A noble moral tone pervades the whole. Courage, affection, and truth are native to all who live in this world. Under the dramatic image of Ossian wrangling with the Talkend, [Note: St. Patrick, on account of the tonsured crown.] the bards, themselves vainly fighting against the Christian life, a hundred times repeat through the lips of Ossian like a refrain-- "We, the Fianna of Erin, never uttered falsehood, Lying was never attributed to us; By courage and the strength of our hands We used to come out of every difficulty." Again: Fergus, the bard, inciting Oscar to his last battle--in that poem called the Rosc Catha of Oscar:-- "Place thy hand on thy gentle forehead Oscar, who never lied." [Note: Publications of Ossianic Society, p. 159; vol. i.] And again, elsewhere in the Ossianic poetry:-- "Oscar, who never wronged bard or woman." Strange to say, too, they inculcated chastity (see p. 257; vol. i.), an allusion taken from the "youthful adventures of Cuculain," Leabhar na Huidhré. The following ancient rann contains the four qualifications of a bard:-- "Purity of hand, bright, without wounding, Purity of mouth, without poisonous satire, Purity of learning, without reproach, Purity, as a husband, in wedlock." Moreover, through all this literature sounds a high clear note of chivalry, in this contrasting favourably with the Iliad, where no man foregoes an advantage. Cuculain having slain the sons of Neara, "thought it unworthy of him to take possession of their chariot and horses." [Note: P. 155; vol. i.] Goll Mac Morna, in the Fenian or Ossianic cycle, declares to Conn Cedcathah [Note: Conn of the hundred battles.] that from his youth up he never attacked an enemy by night or under any disadvantage, and many times we read of heroes preferring to die rather than outrage their geisa. [Note: Certain vows taken with their arms on being knighted.] A noble literature indeed it is, having too this strange interest, that though mainly characterised by a great plainness and simplicity of thought, and, in the earlier stages, of expression, we feel, oftentimes, a sudden weirdness, a strange glamour shoots across the poem when the tale seems to open for a moment into mysterious depths, druidic secrets veiled by time, unsunned caves of thought, indicating a still deeper range of feeling, a still lower and wider reach of imagination. A youth came once to the Fianna Eireen encamped at Locha Lein [Note: The Lakes of Killarney.], leading a hound dazzling white, like snow. It was the same, the bard simply states, that was once a yew tree, flourishing fifty summers in the woods of Ioroway. Elsewhere, he is said to have been more terrible than the sun upon his flaming wheels. What meant this yew tree and the hound? Stray allusions I have met, but no history. The spirit of Coelté, visiting one far removed in time from the great captain of the Fianna, with a different name and different history, cries:-- "I was with thee, with Finn"-- giving no explanation. To MacPherson, however, I will do this justice, that he had the merit to perceive, even in the debased and floating ballads of the highlands, traces of some past greatness and sublimity of thought, and to understand, he, for the first time, how much more they meant than what met the ear. But he saw, too, that the historical origin of the ballads, and the position in time and place of the heroes whom they praised, had been lost in that colony removed since the time of St. Columba from its old connection with the mother country. Thus released from the curb of history, he gave free rein to the imagination, and in the conventional literary language of sublimity, gave full expression to the feelings that arose within him, as to him, pondering over those ballads, their gigantesque element developed into a greatness and solemnity, and their vagueness and indeterminateness into that misty immensity and weird obscurity which, as constituent factors in a poem, not as back-ground, form one of the elements of the false sublime. Either not seeing the literary necessity of definiteness, or having no such abundant and ordered literature as we possess, upon which to draw for details, and being too conscientious to invent facts, however he might invent language, he published his epics of Ossian--false indeed to the original, but true to himself, and to the feelings excited by meditation upon them. This done, he had not sufficient courage to publish also the rude, homely, and often vulgar ballads--a step which, in that hard critical age, would have been to expose himself and his country to swift contempt. The thought of the great lexicographer riding rough-shod over the poor mountain songs which he loved, and the fame which he had already acquired, deterred and dissuaded him, if he had ever any such intention, until the opportunity was past. MacPherson feared English public opinion, and fearing lied. He declared that to be a translation which was original work, thus relegating himself for ever to a dubious renown, and depriving his country of the honest fame of having preserved through centuries, by mere oral transmission, a portion, at least, of the antique Irish literature. To the magnanimity of his own heroes he could not attain:-- "Oscar, Oscar, who feared not armies-- Oscar, who never lied." Of some such error as MacPherson's I have myself, with less excuse, been guilty, in chapters xi. and xii., Vol. I., where I attempt to give some conception of the character of the Ossianic cycle. The age and the heroes around whom that cycle revolves have, in the history of Ireland, a definite position in time; their battles, characters, several achievements, relationships, and pedigrees; their Dûns, and trysting-places, and tombs; their wives, musicians, and bards; their tributes, and sufferings, and triumphs; their internecine and other wars--are all fully and clearly described in the Ossianic cycle. They still remain demanding adequate treatment, when we arrive at the age of Conn [Note: See page 20.], Art, and Cormac, kings of Tara in the second and third centuries of the Christian era. All have been forgotten for the sake of a vague representation of the more sublime aspects of the cycle, and the meretricious seductions of a form of composition easy to write and easy to read, and to which the unwary or unwise often award praise to which it has no claim. On the other hand, chapter xi. purports only to be a representation of the feelings excited by this literature, and for every assertion there is authority in the cycle. Chapter xii., however, is a translation from the original. Every idea which it contains, except one, has been taken from different parts of the Ossianic poems, and all together expressthe graver attitude of the mind of Ossian towards the new faith. That idea, occurring in a separate paragraph in the middle of the page, though prevalent as a sentiment throughout all the conversations of Ossian with St. Patrick, has been, as it stands, taken from a meditation on life by St. Columbanus, one of the early Irish Saints--a meditation which, for subtle thought, for musical resigned sadness, tender brooding reflection, and exquisite Latin, is one of the masterpieces of mediaeval composition. To the casual reader of the bardic literature the preservation of an ordered historical sequence, amidst that riotous wealth of imaginative energy, may appear an impossibility. Can we believe that forestine luxuriance not to have overgrown all highways, that flood of superabundant song not have submerged all landmarks? Be the cause what it may, the fact remains that they did not. The landmarks of history stand clear and fixed, each in its own place unremoved; and through that forest-growth the highways of history run on beneath over-arching, not interfering, boughs. The age of the predominance of Ulster does not clash with the age of the predominance of Tara; the Temairian kings are not mixed with the contemporary Fians. The chaos of the Nibelungen is not found here, nor the confusion of the Scotch ballads blending all the ages into one. It is not imaginative strength that produces confusion, but imaginative weakness. The strong imagination which perceives definitely and realises vividly will not tolerate that obscurity so dear to all those who worship the eidola of the cave. Of each of these ages, the primary impressions were made in the bardic mind during the life-time of the heroes who gave to the epoch its character; and a strong impression made in such a mind could not have been easily dissipated or obscured. For it must be remembered, that the bardic literature of Ireland was committed to the custody of guardians whose character we ought not to forget. The bards were not the people, but a class. They were not so much a class as an organisation and fraternity acknowledging the authority of one elected chief. They were not loose wanderers, but a power in the State, having duties and privileges. The ard-ollav ranked next to the king, and his eric was kingly. Thus there was an educated body of public opinion entrusted with the preservation of the literature and history of the country, and capable of repressing the aberrations of individuals. But the question arises, Did they so repress such perversions of history as their wandering undisciplined members might commit? Too much, of course, must not reasonably be expected. It was an age of creative thought, and such thought is difficult to control; but that one of the prime objects and prime works of the bards, as an organisation, was to preserve a record of a certain class of historical facts is certain. The succession of the kings and of the great princely families was one of these. The tribal system, with the necessity of affinity as a ground of citizenship, demanded such a preservation of pedigrees in every family, and particularly in the kingly houses. One of the chief objects of the triennial feis of Tara was the revision of such records by the general assembly of the bards, under the presidency of the Ard-Ollav of Ireland. In the more ancient times, such records were rhymed and alliterated, and committed to memory--a practice which, we may believe on the authority of Caesar, treating of the Gauls, continued long after the introduction of letters. Even at those local assemblies also, which corresponded to great central and national feis of Tara, the bards were accustomed to meet for that purpose. In a poem [Note: O'Curry's Manners and Customs, Vol. I., page 543.], descriptive of the fair [Note: On the full meaning of this word "fair," see Chap. xiii., Vol. I.] of Garman, we see this-- "Feasts with the great feasts of Temair, Fairs with the fairs of Emania, Annals there are verified." In the existing literature we see two great divisions. On the one hand the epical, a realm of the most riotous activity of thought; on the other, the annalistic and genealogical, bald and bare to the last degree, a mere skeleton. They represent the two great hemispheres of the bardic mind, the latter controlling the former. Hence the orderly sequence of the cyclic literature; hence the strong confining banks between which the torrent of song rolls down through those centuries in which the bardic imagination reached its height. The consentaneity of the annals and the literature furnishes a trustworthy guide to the general course of history, until its guidance is barred by _a priori_ considerations of a weightier nature, or by the statements of writers, having sources of information not open to us. For instance, the stream of Irish history must, for philosophical reasons, be no further traceable than to that point at which it issues from the enchanted land of the Tuátha De Danan. At the limit at which the gods appear, men and history must disappear; while on the other hand, the statement of Tiherna, that the foundation of Emain Alacha by Kimbay is the first certain date in Irish history, renders it undesirable to attach more historical reality of characters, adorning the ages prior to B.C. 299, than we could to such characters as Romulus in Roman, or Theseus in Athenian history. I desire here to record my complete and emphatic dissent from the opinions advanced by a writer in Hermathena on the subject of the Ogham inscriptions, and the introduction into this country of the art of writing. A cypher, i.e., an alphabet derived from a pre-existing alphabet, the Ogham may or may not have been. I advance no opinion upon that, but an invention of the Christian time it most assuredly was not. No sympathetic and careful student of the Irish bardic literature can possibly come to such a conclusion. The bardic poems relating to the heroes of the ethnic times are filled with allusions to Ogham inscriptions on stone, and contain some references to books of timber; but in my own reading I have not met with a single passage in that literature alluding to books of parchment and to rounded letters. If the Ogham was derived from the Roman characters introduced by Christian missionaries, then these characters would be the more ancient, and Ogham the more modern; books and Roman characters would be the more poetical, and inscriptions on stone and timber in the Ogham characters the more prosaic. The bards relating the lives and deeds of the ancient heroes, would have ascribed to their times parchment books and the Roman characters, not stone and wood, and the Ogham. In these compositions, whenever they were reduced to the form in which we find them to-day, the ethnic character of the times and the ethnic character of the heroes are clearly and universally observed. The ancient, the remote, the archaic clings to this literature. As Homer does not allude to writing, though all scholars agree that he lived in a lettered age, so the old bards do not allude to parchment and Roman characters, though the Irish epics, as distinguished from their component parts, reached their fixed state and their final development in times subsequent to the introduction of Christianity. When and how a knowledge of letters reached this island we know not. From the analogy of Gaul, we may conclude that they were known for some time prior to their use by the bards. Caesar tells us that the Gaulish bards and druids did not employ letters for the preservation of their lore, but trusted to memory, assisted, doubtless, as in this country, by the mechanical and musical aid of verse. Whether the Ogham was a native alphabet or a derivative from another, it was at first employed only to a limited extent. Its chief use was to preserve the name of buried kings and heroes in the stone that was set above their tombs. It was, perhaps, invented, and certainly became fashionable on this account, straight strokes being more easily cut in stone than rounded or uncial characters. For the same reason it was generally employed by those who inscribed timber tablets, which formed the primitive book, ere they discovered or learned how to use pen, ink, and parchment. The use of Ogham was partially practised in the Christian period for sepultural purposes, being venerable and sacred from time. Hence the discovery of Ogham-inscribed stones in Christian cemeteries. On the other hand, the fact that the majority of these stones are discovered in raths and forts, i.e., the tombs of our Pagan ancestors, corroborates the fact implied in all the bardic literature, that the characters employed in the ethnic times were Oghamic, and affords another proof of the close conservative spirit of the bards in their transcription, compilation, or reformation of the old epics. The full force of the concurrent authority of the bardic literature to the above effect can only be felt by one who has read that literature with care. He will find in all the epics no trace of original invention, but always a studied and conscientious following of authority. This being so, he will conclude that the universal ascription of Ogham, and Ogham only, to the ethnic times, arises solely from the fact that such was the alphabet then employed. If letters were unknown in those times, the example of Homer shows how unlikely the later poets would have been to outrage so violently the whole spirit of the heroic literature. If rounded letters were then used, why the universal ascription of the late invented Ogham which, as we know from the cemeteries and other sources, was unpopular in the Christian age. Cryptic, too, it was not. The very passages quoted in Hermathena to support this opinion, so far from doing so prove actually the reverse. When Cuculain came down into Meath on his first [Note: Vol. I., page 155.] foray, he found, on the lawn of the Dûn of the sons of Nectan, a pillar stone with this inscription in Ogham--"Let no one pass without an offer of a challenge of single combat." The inscription was, of course, intended for all to read. Should there be any bardic passage in which Ogham inscriptions are alluded to as if an obscure form of writing, the natural explanation is, that this kind of writing was passing or had passed into desuetude at the time that particular passage was composed; but I have never met with any such. The ancient bard, who, in the Tân-bo-Cooalney, describes the slaughter of Cailitin and his sons by Cuculain, states that there was an inscription to that effect, written in Ogham, upon the stone over their tomb, beginning thus--"Take notice"--evidently intended for all to read. The tomb, by the way, was a rath--again showing the ethnic character of the alphabet. In the Annals of the Four Masters, at the date 1499 B.C., we read these words:-- "THE FLEET OF THE SONS OF MILITH CAME TO IRELAND TO TAKE IT FROM THE TUÁTHA DE DANAN," i.e., the gods of the ethnic Irish. Without pausing to enquire into the reasonableness of the date, it will suffice now to state that at this point the bardic history of Ireland cleaves asunder into two great divisions--the mythological or divine on the one hand, and the historical or heroic-historical on the other. The first is an enchanted land--the world of the Tuátha De Danan--the country of the gods. There we see Mananan with his mountain-sundering sword, the Fray-garta; there Lu Lamfada, the deliverer, pondering over his mysteries; there Bove Derg and his fatal [Note: Every feast to which he came ended in blood. He was present at the death of Conairey Mor, Chap. xxxiii., Vol. I.] swine-herd, Lir and his ill-starred children, Mac Mánar and his harp shedding death from its stricken wires, Angus Og, the beautiful, and he who was called the mighty father, Eochaidht [Note: Ay-o-chee, written Yeoha in Vol. I.] Mac Elathan, a land populous with those who had partaken of the feast of Goibneen, and whom, therefore, weapons could not slay, who had eaten [Note: In early Greek literature the province of history has been already separated from that of poetry. The ancient bardic lore and primaeval traditions were refined to suit the new and sensitive poetic taste. No commentator has been able to explain the nature of ambrosia. In the genuine bardic times, no such vague euphuism would have been tolerated as that of Homer on this subject. The nature of Olympian ambrosia would have been told in language as clear as that in which Homer describes the preparation of that Pramnian bowl for which Nestor and Machaon waited while Hecamede was grating over it the goat's milk cheese, or that in which the Irish bards described the ambrosia of the Tuátha De Danan, which, indeed, was no more poetic and awe-inspiring than plain bacon prepared by Mananan from his herd of enchanted pigs, living invisible like himself in the plains of Tir-na-n-Og, the land of the ever-young. On the other hand, there is a vagueness about the Feed Fia which would seem to indicate the growth of a more awe-stricken mood in describing things supernatural. The Faed Fia of the Greek gods has been refined by Homer into "much darkness," which, from an artistic point of view, one can hardly help imagining that Homer nodded as he wrote.] at the the table of Mananan, and would never grow old, who had invented for themselves the Faed Fia, and might not be seen of the gross eyes of men; there steeds like Anvarr crossing the wet sea like a firm plain; there ships whose rudder was the will, and whose sails and oars the wish, of those they bore [Note: Cf. The barks of the Phoenicians in the Odyssey.]; there hounds like that one of Ioroway, and spears like fiery flying serpents. These are the Tuátha De Danan [Note: A mystery still hangs over this three-formed name. The full expression, Tuátha De Danan, is that generally employed, less frequently Tuátha De, and sometimes, but not often, Tuátha. Tuátha also means people. In mediaeval times the name lost its sublime meaning, and came to mean merely "fairy," no greater significance, indeed, attaching to the invisible people of the island after Christianity had destroyed their godhood.], fairy princes, Tuátha; gods, De; of Dana, Danan, otherwise Ana and the Moreega, or great queen; mater [Note: Cormac's Glossary] deorum Hibernensium--"well she used to cherish [Note: Scholiast noting same Glossary.] the gods." Limitless, this divine population, dwelling in all the seas and estuaries, river and lakes, mountains and fairy dells, in that enchanted Erin which was theirs. But they have not started into existence suddenly, like the gods of Rome, nor is their genealogy confined to a single generation like those of Greece. Behind them extends a long line of ancestors, and a history reaching into the remotest depths of the past. As the Greek gods dethroned the Titans, so the Irish gods drove out or subjected the giants of the Fir-bolgs; but in the Irish mythology, we find both gods and giants descended from other ancient races of deities, called the Clanna Nemedh and the Fomoroh, and these a branch of a divine cycle; yet more ancient the race of Partholan, while Partholan himself is not the eldest. The history of the Italian gods is completely lost. For all that the early Roman literature tells us of their origin, they may have been either self-created or eternal. Rome was a seedling shaken from some old perished civilisation. The Romans created their own empire, but they inherited their gods. They supply no example of an Aryan nation evolving its own mythology and religion. Regal Rome, as we know from Niebuhr, was not the root from which our Rome sprang, but an old imperial city, from whose ashes sprang that Rome we all know so well. The mythology of the Latin writers came to them full-grown. The gods of Greece were a creation of the Greek mind, indeed; but of their ancestry, i.e., of their development from more ancient divine tribes, we know little. Like Pallas, they all but start into existence suddenly full-grown. Between the huge physical entities of the Greek theogonists and the Olympian gods, there intervenes but a single generation. For this loss of the Grecian mythology, and this substitution of Nox and Chaos for the remote ancestors of the Olympians, we have to thank the early Greek philosophers, and the general diffusion of a rude scientific knowledge, imparting a physical complexion to the mythological memory of the Greeks. In the theogony of the ancient inhabitants of this country, we have an example of a slowly-growing, slowly-changing mythology, such as no other nation in the world can supply. The ancestry of the Irish gods is not bounded by a single generation or by twenty. The Tuátha De Danan of the ancient Irish are the final outcome and last development of a mythology which we can see advancing step by step, one divine tribe pushing out another, one family of gods swallowing up another, or perishing under the hands of time and change, to make room for another. From Angus Og, the god of youth and love and beauty, whose fit home was the woody slopes of the Boyne, where it winds around Rosnaree, we count fourteen generations to Nemedh and four to Partholan, and Partholan is not the earliest. As the bards recorded with a zeal and minuteness, so far as I can see, without parallel, the histories of the families to which they were adscript, so also they recorded with equal patience and care the far-extending pedigrees of those other families--invisible indeed, but to them more real and more awe-inspiring--who dwelt by the sacred lakes and rivers, and in the folds of the fairy hills, and the great raths and cairns reared for them by pious hands. The extent, diversity, and populousness of the Irish mythological cycles, the history of the Irish gods, and the gradual growth of that mythology of which the Tuátha De Danan, i.e., the gods of the historic period, were the final development, can only be rightly apprehended by one who reads the bardic literature as it deals with this subject. That literature, however, so far from having been printed and published, has not even been translated, but still moulders in the public libraries of Europe, those who, like myself, are not professed Irish scholars, being obliged to collect their information piece-meal from quotations and allusions of those who have written upon the subject in the English or Latin language. For to read the originals aright needs many years of labour, the Irish tongue presenting at different epochs the characteristics of distinct languages, while the peculiarities of ancient caligraphy, in the defaced and illegible manuscripts, form of themselves quite a large department of study. Stated succinctly, the mythological record of the bards, with its chronological decorations, runs thus:-- AGE OF KEASAIR. 2379 B.C. the gods of the KEASAIRIAN cycle, Bith, Lara, and Fintann, and their wives, KEASAIR, Barran and Balba; their sacred places, Carn Keshra, Keasair's tomb or temple, on the banks of the Boyle, Ard Laran on the Wexford Coast, Fert Fintann on the shores of Lough Derg. About the same time Lot Luaimenich, Lot of the Lower Shannon, an ancient sylvan deity. AGE OF PARTHOLAN AND THE EARLIEST FOMORIAN GODS. 2057 B.C. a new spiritual dynasty, of which PARTHOLAN was father and king. Though their worship was extended over Ireland, which is shown by the many different places connected with their history, yet the hill of Tallaght, ten miles from Dublin, was where they were chiefly adored. Here to the present day are the mounds and barrows raised in honour of the deified heroes of this cycle, PARTHOLAN himself, his wife Delgna, his sons, Rury, Slaney, and Laighlinni, and among others, the father of Irish hospitality, bearing the expressive name of Beer. Now first appear the Fomoroh giant princes, under the leadership of curt Kical, son of Niul, son of Garf, son of U-Mor--a divine cycle intervening between KEASAIR and PARTHOLAN, but not of sufficient importance to secure a separate chapter and distinct place in the annals. Battles now between the Clan Partholan and the Fomoroh, on the plain of Ith, beside the river Finn, Co. Donegal, so called from Ith [Note: See Vol. I, p. 60], son of Brogan, the most ancient of the heroes, slain here by the Tuátha De Danan, but more anciently known by some lost Fomorian name; also at Iorrus Domnan, now Erris, Co. Mayo, where Kical and his Fomorians first reached Ireland. These battles are a parable--objective representations of a fact in the mental history of the ancient Irish--typifying the invisible war waged between Partholanian and Fomorian deities for the spiritual sovereignty of the Gael. AGE OF THE NEMEDIAN GODS AND SECOND CYCLE OF THE FOMORIANS. 1700 B.C. age of the NEMEDIAN divinities, a later branch of the PARTHOLANIAN _vide post_ NEMEDIAN pedigree. NEMEDH, his wife Maca (first appearance of Macha, the war goddess, who gave her name to Armagh, i.e., Ard Macha, the Height of Macha), Iarbanel; Fergus, the Red-sided, and Starn, sons of Nemedh; Beothah, son of Iarbanel; Erglann, son of Beoan, son of Starn; Siméon Brac, son of Starn; Ibath, son of Beothach; Britan Mael, son of Fergus. This must be remembered, that not one of the almost countless names that figure in the Irish mythology is of fanciful origin. They all represent antique heroes and heroines, their names being preserved in connection with those monuments which were raised for purposes of sepulture or cult. Wars now between the Clanna Nemedh and the second cycle of the Fomoroh, led this time by Faebar and More, sons of Dela, and Coning, son of Faebar; battles at Ros Freachan, now Rosreahan, barony of Murresk, Co. Mayo, at Slieve Blahma [Note: Slieve Blahma, now Slieve Bloom, a mountain range famous in our mythology; one of the peaks, Ard Erin, sacred to Eiré, a goddess of the Tuátha De Danan, who has given her name to the island. The sites of all these mythological battles, where they are not placed in the haunted mountains, will be found to be a place of raths and cromlechs.] and Murbolg, in Dalaradia (Murbolg, i.e., the stronghold of the giants,) also at Tor Coning, now Tory Island. FIRBOLGS AND THIRD CYCLE OF THE FOMOROH. 1525 B.C. Age of the FIRBOLGS and third cycle of the Fomorians, once gods, but expulsed from their sovereignty by the Tuátha De Danan, after which they loom through the heroic literature as giants of the elder time, overthrown by the gods. From the FIRBOLGS were descended, or claimed to have descended, the Connaught warriors who fought with Queen Meave against Cuculain, also the Clan Humor, appearing in the Second Volume, also the heroes of Ossian, the Fianna Eireen. Even in the time of Keating, Irish families traced thither their pedigrees. The great chiefs of the FIR-BOLGIC dynasty were the five sons of Dela, Gann, Genann, Sengann, Rury, and Slaney, with their wives Fuad, Edain, Anust, Cnucha, and Libra; also their last and most potent king, EOCAIDH MAC ERC, son of Ragnal, son of Genann, whose tomb or temple may be seen to-day at Ballysadare, Co. Sligo, on the edge of the sea. The Fomorians of this age were ruled over by Baler Beimenna and his wife Kethlenn. Their grandson was Lu Lamáda, one of the noblest of the Irish gods. The last of the mythological cycles is that of the Tuátha De Danan, whose character, attributes, and history will, I hope, be rendered interesting and intelligible in my account of Cuculain and the Red Branch of Ulster. Irish history has suffered from rationalism almost more than from neglect and ignorance. The conjectures of the present century are founded upon mediaeval attempts to reduce to verisimilitude and historical probability what was by its nature quite incapable of such treatment. The mythology of the Irish nation, being relieved of the marvellous and sublime, was set down with circumstantial dates as a portion of the country's history by the literary men of the middle ages. Unable to excide from the national narrative those mythological beings who filled so great a place in the imagination of the times, and unable, as Christians, to describe them in their true character as gods, or, as patriots, in the character which they believed them to possess, namely, demons, they rationalized the whole of the mythological period with names, dates, and ordered generations, putting men for gods, flesh and blood for that invisible might, till the page bristled with names and dates, thus formulating, as annals, what was really the theogony and mythology of their country. The error of the mediaeval historians is shared by the not wiser moderns. In the generations of the gods we seem to see prehistoric racial divisions and large branches of the Aryan family, an error which results from a neglect of the bardic literature, and a consequently misdirected study of the annals. As history, the pre-Milesian record contains but a limited supply of objective truths; but as theogony, and the history of the Irish gods, these much abused chronicles are as true as the roll of the kings of England. These divine nations, with their many successive generations and dynasties, constitute a single family; they are all inter-connected and spring from common sources, and where the literature permits us to see more clearly, the earlier races exhibit a common character. Like a human clan, the elements of this divine family grew and died, and shed forth seedlings which, in time, over-grew and killed the parent stock. Great names became obscure and passed away, and new ones grew and became great. Gods, worshipped by the whole nation, declined and became topical, and minor deities expanding, became national. Gods lost their immortality, and were remembered as giants of the old time--mighty men, which were of yore, men of renown. "The gods which were of old time rest in their tombs," sang the Egyptians, consciously ascribing mortality even to gods. Such was Mac Ere, King of Fir-bolgs. His temple [Note: Strand near Ballysadare, Co. Sligo], beside the sea at Iorrus Domnan [Note: Keating--evidently quoting a bardic historian], became his tomb. Daily the salt tide embraces the feet of the great tumulus, regal amongst its smaller comrades, where the last king of Fir-bolgs was worshipped by his people. "Good [Note: Temple--vide post.] were the years of the sovereignty of Mac Ere. There was no wet or tempestuous weather in Ireland, nor was there any unfruitful year." Such were all the predecessors of the children of Dana--gods which were of old times, that rest in their tombs; and the days, too, of the Tuátha De Danan were numbered. They, too, smitten by a more celestial light, vanished from their hills, like Ossian lamenting over his own heroes; those others still mightier, might say:-- "Once every step which we took might be heard throughout the firmament. Now, all have gone, they have melted into the air." But that divine tree, though it had its branches in fairy-land, had its roots in the soil of Erin. An unceasing translation of heroes into Tir-na-n-og went on through time, the fairy-world of the bards, receiving every century new inhabitants, whose humbler human origin being forgotten, were supplied there with both wives and children. The apotheosis of great men went forward, tirelessly; the hero of one epoch becoming the god of the next, until the formation of the Tuátha De Danan, who represent the gods of the historic ages. Had the advent of exact genealogy been delayed, and the creative imagination of the bards suffered to work on for a couple of centuries longer, unchecked by the historical conscience, Cuculain's human origin would, perhaps, have been forgotten, and he would have been numbered amongst the Tuátha De Danan, probably, as the son of Lu Lamfáda and the Moreega, his patron deities. It was, indeed, a favourite fancy of the bards that not Sualtam, but Lu Lamfáda himself, was his father; this, however, in a spiritual or supernatural sense, for his age was far removed from that of the Tuátha De Danan, and falling well within the scope of the historic period. Even as late as the time of Alexander, the Greeks could believe a great contemporary warrior to be of divine origin, and the son of Zeus. When the Irish bards began to elaborate a general history of their country, they naturally commenced with the enumeration of the elder gods. I at one time suspected that the long pedigrees running between those several divisions of the mythological period were the invention of mediaeval historians, anxious to spin out the national record, that it might reach to Shinar and the dispersion. Not only, however, was such fabrication completely foreign to the genius of the literature, but in the fragments of those early divine cycles, we see that each of these personages was at one time the centre of a literature, and holds a definite place as regards those who went before and came after. These pedigrees, as I said before, have no historical meaning, being pre-Milesian, and therefore absolutely prehistoric; but as the genealogy of the gods, and as representing the successive generations of that invisible family, whose history not one or ten bards, but the whole bardic and druidic organisation of the island, delighted to record, collate, and verify--those pedigrees are as reliable as that of any of the regal clans. They represent accurately the mythological panorama, as it unrolled itself slowly through the centuries before the imagination and spirit of our ancestors accurately that divine drama, millennium--lasting, with its exits and entrances of gods. Millennium-lasting, and more so, for it is plain that one divine generation represents on the average a much greater space of time than a generation of mortal men. The former probably represents the period which would elapse before a hero would become so divine, that is, so consecrated in the imagination of the country, as to be received into the family of the gods. Cuculain died in the era of the Incarnation, three hundred years, if not more, before the country even began to be Christianised, yet he is never spoken of as anything but a great hero, from which one of two things would follow, either that the apotheosis of heroes needed the lapse of centuries, or that, during the first, second, third, and fourth centuries, the historical conscience was so enlightened, and a positive definite knowledge of the past so universal, that the translation of heroes into the divine clans could no longer take place. The latter is indeed the more correct view; but the reader will, I think, agree with me that the divine generations, taken generally, represent more than the average space of man's life. To what remote unimagined distances of time those earlier cycles extend has been shown by an examination of the tombs of the lower Moy Tura. The ancient heroes there interred were those who, as Fir-bolgs, preceded the reign of the Tuáth De Danan, coming long after the Clanna Nemedh in the divine cycle, who were themselves preceded by the children of Partholan, who were subsequent to the Queen Keasair. Such then being the position in the divine cycle of the Fir-bolgs, an examination of the Firbolgic raths on Moy Tura has revealed only implements of stone, proving demonstratively that the early divine cycles originated before the bronze age in Ireland, whenever that commenced. Those heroes who, as Fir-bolgs, received divine honours, lived in the age of stone. So far is it from being the case, that the mythological record has been extended and unduly stretched, to enable the monkish historians to connect the Irish pedigrees with those of the Mosaic record, that it has, I believe, been contracted for this purpose. The reader will be now prepared to peruse with some interest and understanding one or two of the mythological pedigrees. To these I have at times appended the dates, as given in the chronicles, to show how the early historians rationalised the pre-historic record. Angus Og, the Beautiful, represents the Greek Eros. He was surnamed Og, or young; Mac-an-Og, or the son of youth; Mac-an-Dagda, son of the Dagda. He was represented with a harp, and attended by bright birds, his own transformed kisses, at whose singing love arose in the hearts of youths and maidens. To him and to his father the great tumulus of New Grange, upon the Boyne, was sacred. "I visited the Royal Brugh that stands By the dark-rolling waters of the Boyne, Where Angus Og magnificently dwells." He was the patron god of Diarmid, the Paris of Ossian's Fianna, and removed him into Tir-na-n-Og, when he died, having been ripped by the tusks of the wild boar on the peaks of Slieve Gulban. Lu Lamfáda was the patron god of Cuculain. He was surnamed Ioldana, as the source of the sciences, and represented the Greek Apollo. The latter was argurgurotoxos [Transcriber's Note: Greek in the original], but Lu was a sling bearing god. Of Fomorian descent on the mother's side, he joined his father's people, the Tuátha De Danan, in the great war against the Fomoroh. He is principally celebrated for his oppression of the sons of Turann, in vengeance for the murder of his father. ANGUS OG, (circa 1500 B.C.) LU LAMFADA, (circa 1500 B.C.) son of son of THE DAGDA, (Zeus) Cian, son of son of Elathan, Diancéct, (god the healer) son of son of Dela, Esric, son of son of Ned, Dela, son of son of Indaei, Ned, son of son of Indaei, son of ALLDAEI. Amongst other Irish gods was Bove Derg, who dwelt invisible in the Galtee mountains, and in the hills above Lough Derg. The transformed children alluded to in Vol. I. were his grand-children. It was his goldsmith Len, who gave its ancient name to the Lakes of Killarney, Locha Lein. Here by the lake he worked, surrounded by rainbows and showers of fiery dew. Mananan was the god of the sea, of winds and storms, and most skilled in magic lore. He was friendly to Cuculain, and was invoked by seafaring men. He was called the Far Shee of the promontories. BOVE DERG (circa 1500 B.C.) MANANAN (circa 1500 B.C.) son of son of Eocaidh Garf, Alloid, son of son of Duach Temen, Elathan, son of son of Bras, Dela, son of son of Dela, Ned, son of son of Ned, Indaei, son of son of Indaei, son of ALLDAEI. The Tuátha De Danan maybe counted literally by the hundred, each with a distinct history, and all descended from Alldaei. From Alldaei the pedigree runs back thus:-- Alldaei son of Tath, son of Tabarn, son of Enna, son of Baath, son of Ebat, son of Betah, son of Iarbanel, son of NEMEDH (circa 1700 B.C.) Nemedh, as I have said, forms one of the great epochs in the mythological record. As will be seen, he and the earlier Partholan have a common source:-- NEMEDH son of Sera, son of Pamp, son of Tath, PARTHOLAN (2000 B.C.) son of son of Sera, son of Sru, son of Esru, son of Pramant. The connection between Keasair, the earliest of the Irish gods, and the rest of the cycle, I have not discovered, but am confident of its existence. How this divine cycle can be expunged from the history of Ireland I am at a loss to see. The account which a nation renders of itself must, and always does, stand at the head of every history. How different is this from the history and genealogy of the Greek gods which runs thus:-- The Olympian gods, Titans, Physical entities, Nox, Chaos, &c. The Greek gods, undoubtedly, had a long ancestry extending into the depths of the past, but the sudden advent of civilisation broke up the bardic system before the historians could become philosophical, or philosophers interested in antiquities. But the Irish history corrects our view with regard to other matters connected with the gods of the Aryan nations of Europe also. All the nations of Europe lived at one time under the bardic and druidic system, and under that system imagined their gods and elaborated their various theogonies, yet, in no country in Europe has a bardic literature been preserved except in Ireland, for no thinking man can believe Homer to have been a product of that rude type of civilisation of which he sings. This being the case, modern philosophy, accounting for the origin of the classical deities by guesses and _a priori_ reasonings, has almost universally adopted that explanation which I have, elsewhere, called Wordsworthian, and which derives them directly from the imagination personifying the aspects of nature. "In that fair clime, the lonely herdsman, stretched On the soft grass through half a summer's day, With music lulled his indolent repose, And in some fit of weariness if he, When his own breath was silent, chanced to hear A distant strain far sweeter than the sounds Which his poor skill could make, his fancy fetched, Even from the blazing chariot of the sun, A beardless youth who touched a golden lute And filled the illumined groves with ravishment-- *** "Sunbeams upon distant hills, Gliding apace with shadows in their train, Might, with small help from fancy, be transformed Into fleet oreads, sporting visibly." This is pretty, but untrue. In all the ancient Irish literature we find the connection of the gods, both those who survived into the historic times, and those whom they had dethroned, with the raths and cairns perpetually and almost universally insisted upon. The scene of the destruction of the Firbolgs will be found to be a place of tombs, the metropolis of the Fomorians a place of tombs, and a place of tombs the sacred home of the Tuátha along the shores of the Boyne. Doubtless, they are represented also as dwelling in the hills, lakes, and rivers, but still the connection between the great raths and cairns and the gods is never really forgotten. When the floruit of a god has expired, he is assigned a tomb in one of the great tumuli. No one can peruse this ancient literature without seeing clearly the genesis of the Irish gods, _videlicet_ heroes, passing, through the imagination and through the region of poetic representation, into the world of the supernatural. When a king died, his people raised his ferta, set up his stone, and engraved upon it, at least in later times, his name in ogham. They celebrated his death with funeral lamentations and funeral games, and listened to the bards chanting his prowess, his liberality, and his beauty. In the case of great warriors, these games and lamentations became periodical. It is distinctly recorded in many places, for instance in connection with Taylti, who gave her name to Taylteen and Garman, who gave her name to Loch Garman, now Wexford, and with Lu Lamfáda, whose annual worship gave its name to the Kalends of August. Gradually, as his actual achievements became more remote, and the imagination of the bards, proportionately, more unrestrained, he would pass into the world of the supernatural. Even in the case of a hero so surrounded with historic light as Cuculain we find a halo, as of godhood, often settling around him. His gray warsteed had already passed into the realm of mythical representation, as a second avatar of the Liath Macha, the grey war-horse of the war-goddess Macha. This could be believed, even in the days when the imagination was controlled by the annalists and tribal heralds. The gods of the Irish were their deified ancestors. They were not the offspring of the poetic imagination, personifying the various aspects of nature. Traces, indeed, we find of their influence over the operations of nature, but they are, upon the whole, slight and unimportant. From nature they extract her secrets by their necromantic and magical labours, but nature is as yet too great to be governed and impelled by them. The Irish Apollo had not yet entered into the sun. Like every country upon which imperial Rome did not leave the impress of her genius, Ireland, in these ethnic times, attained only a partial unity. The chief king indeed presided at Tara, and enjoyed the reputation and emoluments flowing to him on that account, but, upon the whole, no Irish king exercised more than a local sovereignty; they were all reguli, petty kings, and their direct authority was small. This being the case, it would appear to me that in the more ancient times the death of a king would not be an event which would disturb a very extensive district, and that, though his tomb might be considerable, it would not be gigantic. Now on the banks of the Boyne, opposite Rosnaree, there stands a tumulus, said to be the greatest in Europe. It covers acres of ground, being of proportionate height. The earth is confined by a compact stone wall about twelve feet high. The central chamber, made of huge irregular pebbles, is about twenty feet from ground to roof, communicating with the outer air by a flagged passage. Immense pebbles, drawn from the County of Antrim, stand around it, each of which, even to move at all, would require the labour of many men, assisted with mechanical appliances. It is, of course, impossible to make an accurate estimate of the expenditure of labour necessary for the construction of such a work, but it would seem to me to require thousands of men working for years. Can we imagine that a petty king of those times could, after his death, when probably his successor had enough to do to sustain his new authority, command such labour merely to provide for himself a tomb. If this tomb were raised to the hero whose name it bears immediately after his death, and in his mundane character, he must have been such a king as never existed in Ireland, even in the late Christian times. Even Brian of the Tributes himself, could not have commanded such a sepulture, or anything like it, living though he did, probably, two thousand years later than that Eocaidh Mac Elathan, whenever he did live. There is a _nodus_ here needing a god to solve it. Returning now to what would most likely take place after the interment of a hero, we may well imagine that the size of his tomb would be in proportion to the love which he inspired, where no accidental causes would interfere with the gratification of that feeling. Of one of his heroes, Ossian, sings-- "We made his cairn great and high Like a king's." After that there would be periodical meetings in his honour, the celebration of games, solemn recitations by bards, singing his aristeia [Transcriber's Note: Greek in the original]. Gradually the new wine would burst the old bottles. The ever-active, eager-loving imagination would behold the champion grown to heroic proportions, the favourite of the gods, the performer of superhuman feats. The tomb, which was once commensurate with the love and reverence which he inspired, would seem so now no longer. The tribal bards, wandering or attending the great fairs and assemblies, would disperse among strangers and neighbours a knowledge of his renown. In the same cemetery or neighbourhood their might be other tombs of heroes now forgotten, while he, whose fame was in every bardic mouth in all that region, was honoured only with a tomb no greater than theirs. The mere king or champion, grown into a topical hero, would need a greater tomb. Ere long again, owing to the bardic fraternity, who, though coming from Innishowen or Cape Clear, formed a single community, the topical hero would, in some cases, where his character was such as would excite deeper reverence and greater fame, grow into a national hero, and a still nobler tomb be required, in order that the visible memorial might prove commensurate with the imaginative conception. Now all this time the periodic celebrations, the games, and lamentations, and songs would be assuming a more solemn character. Awe would more and more mingle with the other feelings inspired by his name. Certain rites and a certain ritual would attend those annual games and lamentations, which would formerly not have been suitable, and eventually, when the hero, slowly drawing nearer through generations, if not centuries, at last reached Tir-na-n-Og, and was received into the family of the gods, a religious feeling of a different nature would mingle with the more secular celebration of his memory, and his rath or cairn would assume in their eyes a new character. To an ardent imaginative people the complete extinction by death of a much-loved hero would even at first be hardly possible. That the tomb which held his ashes should be looked upon as the house of the hero must have been, even shortly after his interment, a prevailing sentiment, whether expressed or not. Also, the feeling must have been present, that the hero in whose honour they performed the annual games, and periodically chanted the remembrance of whose achievements, saw and heard those things that were done in his honour. But as the celebration became greater and more solemn, this feeling would become more strong, and as the tomb, from a small heap of stones or low mound, grew into an enormous and imposing rath, the belief that this was the hero's house, in which he invisibly dwelt, could not be avoided, even before they ceased to regard him as a disembodied hero; and after the hero had mingled with the divine clans, and was numbered amongst the gods, the idea that the rath was a tomb could not logically be entertained. As a god, was he not one of those who had eaten of the food provided by Mananan, and therefore never died. The rath would then become his house or temple. As matter of fact, the bardic writings teem with this idea. From reason and probability, we would with some certainty conclude that the great tumulus of New Grange was the temple of some Irish god; but that it was so, we know as a fact. The father and king of the gods is alluded to as dwelling there, going out from thence, and returning again, and there holding his invisible court. "Behold the _Sid_ before your eyes, It is manifest to you that it is a king's mansion." [Note: O'Curry's Manuscript Materials of Irish History, page 505.] "Bove Derg went to visit the Dagda at the Brugh of Mac-An-Og." [Note: "Dream of Angus," Révue Celtique, Vol. III., page 349.] Here also dwelt Angus Og, the son of the Dagda. In this, his spiritual court or temple, he is represented as having entertained Oscar and the Ossianic heroes, and thither he conducted [Note: Publications of Ossianic Society, Vol. III., page 201.] the spirit of Diarmid, that he might have him for ever there. In the etymology also we see the origin of the Irish gods. A grave in Irish is Sid, the disembodied spirit is Sidhe, and this latter word glosses Tuátha De Danan. The fact that the grave of a hero developed slowly into the temple of a god, explains certain obscurities in the annals and literature. As a hero was exalted into a god, so in turn a god sank into a hero, or rather into the race of the giants. The elder gods, conquered and destroyed by the younger, could no longer be regarded as really divine, for were they not proved to be mortal? The development of the temple from the tomb was not forgotten, the whole country being filled with such tombs and incipient temples, from the great Brugh on the Boyne to the smallest mound in any of the cemeteries. Thus, when the elder gods lost their spiritual sovereignty, and their destruction at the hands of the younger took the form of great battles, then as the god was forced to become a giant, so his temple was remembered to be a tomb. Doubtless, in his own territory, divine honours were still paid him; but in the national imagination and in the classical literature and received history, he was a giant of the olden time, slain by the gods, and interred in the rath which bore his name. Such was the great Mac Erc, King of Fir-bolgs. Again, when the mediaeval Christians ceased to regard the Tuátha De Danan as devils, and proceeded to rationalise the divine record as the ethnic bards had rationalised the history of the early gods; the Tuátha De Danan, shorn of immortality, became ancient heroes who had lived their day and died, and the greater raths, no longer the houses of the gods, figure in that literature irrationally rational, as their tombs. Thus we are gravely informed [Note: Annals of Four Masters.] that "the Dagda Mor, after the second battle of Moy Tura, retired to the Brugh on the Boyne, where he died from the venom of the wounds inflicted on him by Kethlenn"--the Fomorian amazon--"and was there interred." Even in this passage the writer seems to have been unable to dispossess his mind quite of the traditional belief that the Brugh was the Dagda's house. The peculiarity of this mound, in addition to its size, is the spaciousness of the central chamber. This was that germ which, but for the overthrow of the bardic religion, would have developed into a temple in the classic sense of the word. A two-fold motive would have impelled the growing civilisation in this direction. A desire to make the house of the god as spacious within as it was great without, and a desire to transfer his worship, or the more esoteric and solemn part of it, from without to within. Either the absence of architectural knowledge, or the force of conservatism, or the advent of the Christian missionaries, checked any further development on these lines. Elsewhere the tomb, instead of developing as a tumulus or barrow, produced the effect of greatness by huge circumvallations of earth, and massive walls of stone. Such is the temple of Ned the war-god, called Aula Neid, the court or palace of Ned, near the Foyle in the North. Had the ethnic civilisation of Ireland been suffered to develop according to its own laws, it is probable that, as the roofed central chamber of the cairn would have grown until it filled the space occupied by the mound, so the open-walled temple would have developed into a covered building, by the elevation of the walls, and their gradual inclination to the centre. The bee-hive houses of the monks, the early churches, and the round towers are a development of that architecture which constructed the central chambers of the raths. In this fact lies, too, the explanation of the cyclopean style of building which characterizes our most ancient buildings. The cromlech alone, formed in very ancient times the central chamber of the cairn; it is found in the centre of the raths on Moy Tura, belonging to the stone age and that of the Firbolgs. When the cromlech fell into disuse, the arched chamber above the ashes of the hero was constructed with enormous stones, as a substitute for the majestic appearance presented by the massive slab and supporting pillars of the more ancient cromlech, and the early stone buildings preserved the same characteristic to a certain extent. The same sentiment which caused the mediaeval Christians to disinter and enshrine the bones of their saints, and subsequently to re-enshrine them with greater art and more precious materials, caused the ethnic worshippers of heroes to erect nobler tombs over the inurned relics of those whom they revered, as the meanness of the tomb was seen to misrepresent and humiliate the sublimity of the conception. But the Christians could never have imagined their saints to have been anything but men--a fact which caused the retention and preservation of the relics. When the Gentiles exalted their hero into a god, the charred bones were forgotten or ascribed to another. The hero then became immortal in his own right; he had feasted with Mananan and eaten his life-giving food, and would not know death. When the mortal character of the hero was forgotten, his house or temple might be erected anywhere. The great Raths of the Boyne--a place grown sacred from causes which we may not now learn--represented, probably, heroes and heroines, who died and were interred in many different parts of the country. To recapitulate, the Dagda Mor was a divine title given to a hero named Eocaidh, who lived many centuries before the birth of Christ, and in the depths of the pre-historic ages. He was the mortal scion or ward of an elder god, Elathan, and was interred in some unknown grave--marked, perhaps, by a plain pillar stone, or small insignificant cairn. The great tumulus of New Grange was the temple of the divine or supernatural period of his spiritual or imagined career after death, and was a development by steps from that small unremembered grave where once his warriors hid the inurned ashes of the hero. What is true of one branch of the Aryan family is true of all. Sentiments of such universality and depth must have been common to all. If this be so, the Olympian Zeus himself was once some rude chieftain dwelling in Thrace or Macedonia, and his sublime temple of Doric architecture traceable to some insignificant cairn or flagged cist in Greece, or some earlier home of the Hellenic race, and his name not Zeus, but another; and Kronos, that god whom he, as a living wight, adored, and under whose protection and favour he prospered. 
45910	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 45910-h.htm or 45910-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/45910/45910-h/45910-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/45910/45910-h.zip) Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Diacritical marks are shown as follows: breve [)o] and macron[=o]. [Illustration: ST. PATRICK AND CROM DUBH] LEGENDS OF SAINTS & SINNERS Collected and Translated from the Irish by DOUGLAS HYDE, LL.D., D.LITT. [Illustration: (logo) The Irish Library] With Illustrations by Noel L. Nisbet The Gresham Publishing Company Ltd. London Dublin and Belfast CONTENTS. PAGE INTRODUCTION vii ST. PATRICK AND CROM DUBH 1 MARY'S WELL 12 HOW COVETOUSNESS CAME INTO THE CHURCH 22 KNOCK MULRUANA 26 THE STONE OF TRUTH 34 THE ADVENTURES OF LEITHIN 40 THE COMPARISON AS TO AGES 56 THE DEATH OF BEARACHAN 63 STORY OF SOLOMON 66 CHRISTMAS ALMS 70 THE BURIAL OF JESUS 76 SAINT PETER 80 LEGENDS OF ST. DEGLAN 87 ST. PAUL'S VISION 95 OSCAR OF THE FLAIL 110 OISIN IN ELPHIN 114 THE PRIEST WHO WENT TO DO PENANCE 116 THE FRIARS OF URLAUR 125 DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO OLD WOMEN 136 THE MINISTER AND THE GOSSOON 142 THE KEENING OF THE THREE MARYS 145 THE FARMER'S SON AND THE BISHOP 148 SHAUN THE TINKER 154 MARY AND ST. JOSEPH AND THE CHERRY TREE 163 THE STUDENT WHO LEFT COLLEGE 166 THE HELP OF GOD IN THE ROAD 173 THE MINISTER'S SON 178 THE OLD WOMAN OF BEARE 188 THE OLD HAG OF DINGLE 192 THE POEM OF THE TOR 195 COLUMCILLE AND HIS BROTHER DOBHRAN 198 BRUADAR AND SMITH AND GLINN 206 FRIAR BRIAN 210 HOW THE FIRST CAT WAS CREATED 214 GOD SPARE YOU YOUR HEALTH 217 TEIG O'KANE AND THE CORPSE 219 TOMAUS O'CAHAN AND THE GHOST 238 PRAYER AFTER TOBACCO 243 THE BUIDEACH, THE TINKER, AND THE BLACK DONKEY 247 THE GREAT WORM OF THE SHANNON 258 THE POOR WIDOW AND GRANIA OÏ 264 THE GAMBLER OF THE BRANCH 273 THE BEETLE, THE DHARDHEEL, AND THE PRUMPOLAUN 276 THE LADY OF THE ALMS 280 ST. PATRICK AND HIS GARRON 283 HOW SAINT MOLING GOT HIS NAME 292 INTRODUCTION. I have called the present volume "Legends of Saints and Sinners," which to a certain extent it is; but I mean it for a book of Irish Christian folk-lore. My idea in compiling it has been to give for the first time a collection of genuine Irish folk-lore which might be called "Christian." By this I mean folk-stories and folk-poems which are either entirely founded upon Christian conceptions, or else are so far coloured by them, that they could never have been told--at least in their present shape--had not Christianity established itself in Ireland. Every one of these stories conforms fairly to this standard, except one or two, which I give as necessary corollaries. They are all translations from the Irish. I have found hardly any such stories in English. They were mostly collected by myself from the mouths of native speakers, but three or four of them I have taken from Irish MSS. in my own possession, and a few more were given me by my friends. Not one of these stories was ever translated into English before, with the exception of those which I have taken from my own "Religious Songs of Connacht."[1] Many of these I decided to republish here, as they were practically lost amongst the heterogeneous mass of poems, prayers, charms, etc., in which they were embedded; and, as the Religious Songs are little known, these stories which I have excerpted from them will be new to nineteen-twentieths of my readers. Several of these pieces have never been printed even in Irish, but I hope to shortly publish the original text of these, especially the Adventures of Léithin, which seems to belong to a strange and weird cycle of beast and bird-lore, now lost or almost lost, but of which we find hints here and there though we know nothing certain. [1] And "Teig O'Kane," which I translated for Mr. Yeats nearly twenty years ago. Most of these pieces may be said to be in a true sense "folk-lore," seeing that they have almost all lingered more or less vividly in the memory of people who for the most part could neither read nor write. Some of them obviously come from Continental sources, though how they first found their way into Ireland is obscure, and the derivation of some of them cannot now be traced; others, however, are of a purely native invention; while a third class engrafts native traits and ideas upon foreign subject matter. The stories in this collection cover a good deal of ground and present many various aspects of folk tradition and folk belief. Of native Saints we find legends concerning Patrick, Columcille, Deglan, Moling and Ciaran; of foreign Saints we find legends of St. Peter, St. Paul and St. Martin; of unknown or mythical characters we find tales of Grainne Oïgh, Friar Brian, The Old Woman of Beare, and Mulruana. Of other well-known names, Oisín and Oscar and Solomon appear. Curiously enough I have not chanced upon any folk-tale told about Saint Brigit, the "Mary of the Gael." There is, for some reason or other, a distinct predominance of Petrine stories among these legends. * * * * * When we consider the collection as a whole, we find that its purely Irish aspect is apparent in many ways, and in none more than in the very characteristic dovetailing of what is Pagan into what is Christian. But its omissions are even more distinctly Irish than its inclusions. In most countries, for instance, the Devil is the great outstanding anthropomorphic conception added to the folk-lore of Europe by the introduction of Christianity; and later the belief in Witches, who trafficked directly or indirectly with the Evil One, became extraordinary prevalent and powerful. Now the most striking fact about our collection is that the Devil personified rarely appears in it at all, and Witches never. The belief in Witches, and in Witches' Sabbaths, with which other nations were positively obsessed, and which gave rise to such hecatombs of unhappy victims in almost all the Protestant and in some of the Catholic countries in Europe, as well as in America, never found its way into native Ireland at all, or disturbed Gaelic sanity, although a few isolated instances occurred amongst the English settlers. The Highland Gaels, to whom the idea of witches was more familiar owing to their proximity to the Scottish Lowlands, which was one of the most witch-ridden Countries in Europe, simply borrowed the English Word for witch under the form "buitseach," and from that they coined the word "buitseachas" for witchcraft. The Irish, however, did not borrow even the name--they had never heard of the thing itself, and had naturally no name for a class of creatures with whom they had no acquaintance. It is true that the Evil Eye was known in Ireland, and I have found one or two prayers or charms against it;[2] but so far as I have collected, I have not been able to find it made the basis of any story. [2] See "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. II., p. 52. In ancient times, however, there were creatures known in Ireland who appear to have had some of the characteristics of the Christian witches, but their conception is purely Pagan and owes nothing to Christianity. Their Irish name was _amait_, and it was applicable to both sexes. In the old translation of the "Cath catharda" (the Irish version of Lucan's Pharsalia), Medea is called the chief _amait_ or witch of the world. In the "Agallamh na Senorach" or Dialogue between St. Patrick on one side, and Oisín and Caoilte[3] on the other, we read of nine women _amaits_ who were engaged in "amaidecht," and who used never allow a man or woman to escape them. "And they were not long there," says the thirteenth (?) century text, "until they saw the nine black gloomy witches (_amaits_) coming to meet them; and if the dead ever arose out of the ground the yells which they used to utter round them on all sides would have brought them forth [from their tombs]. And Patrick takes the holy water and sprinkles it on the _amaits_, and they fled away from him until they reached Inis Guil, which is called the island of the shrine or the White Lake of Ceara.[4] And it was there they heard the last cry from them. And the people seated themselves on the sodded sward, and the King of Connacht spake then, 'that is the chasing of a good-cleric that thou hast given to the demons,' said he.'" [3] Pronounce Ussheen and Cweeltia. Oisín is better known as Ossian in Scotland. [4] Now Loch Carra, in Co. Mayo. The bottom of this lake consists of white marl, which gives the water an extraordinary light green appearance; hence it is called in old Irish documents Fionnloch Ceara, or the "white lake of Carra." The metrical Dinnsenchus, however, calmly ignoring this obvious physiological reason, evident to anyone who had ever examined the lake, gives a fantastic account of the white wings of angels, from which it says the water derived its name. This word _amait_, though lost in folk-speech, and never now used in the sense of witch, has nevertheless perpetuated itself in an extraordinary tradition in parts of Connacht. The appellation for the Fairy Palace, where the Good People or Tuatha De Danann dwell, is _bruidhean_ (pronounced Breean with the b broad), and there is a belief that there is a denizen of the bruidhean called "amadán na bruidhne," which seems to mean the "fool of the palace" whose lightest touch is death. From the other creatures of the bruidhean one may escape scatheless, but never from the "amadán." This "amadán" I take to be a folk perversion or a diminutive of _amait_, and to have nothing at all to say to the word "amadán," "a fool." The _amait_ owes nothing to Christianity, but her equivalent in modern folk-lore would rather be found in the Story of "Conn among the goats," where the woman whom all thought dead comes back from the grave, and kills her husband, or in the story of the Priest and Bishop, where the hanged woman comes back as a malevolent spirit to claim the priest; or in some of the stories that Curtin collected around Dingle. It is quite true that there are many current tales or beliefs concerning more or less malignant old women who steal butter from their neighbours' churns by charms or exorcisms, who turn themselves into hares and suck the cows, and who are supposed to possess certain more or less supernatural powers. These old women, however, seldom or never figure in regular stories, nor have they given rise to a type or even to a common appellation. They are just known as "cailleacha" or hags. There is absolutely nothing in Irish folk-lore, so far as I am acquainted with it, to suggest the disgusting and obscene orgies of the witches' sabbaths, as we find them in other countries, or of incubi or succubi, or of intercourse with the devil, or of riding on broomsticks to keep appointments with the Evil One, or of conjuring up the dead, or even of producing wasting diseases in enemies, or making, waxen or clay images of those whom they wished to injure.[5] [5] I am not quite so certain about this last having never been practised in Ireland, but I have certainly never been told any story about it, nor seen it mentioned in MSS. The Devil, too, in so far as he comes into Irish folk-lore, is a much less grotesque figure than the usual mediaeval conception of him, such as we see with horns and hooves in Albrecht Dürer's pictures. He is usually designated as the "Old Devil" or the Aidhbherseoir, often contracted to Airseoir from the Latin Adversarius. He does not generally appear as roaming through the world seeking whom he may devour, but mostly keeps to his own abode in the Infernal Regions, where he must be sought. We meet him in both forms, as a wandering person and as king of the Lower Regions in my late friend's, Mr. Larminie's, very curious and interesting story of the woman who went to hell. He is not the popular or common character in our folk-lore that he is in Teutonic legend. He does not construct bridges, nor hold high festival on hill tops, and few or none of the curious freaks of nature as seen in rocks, chasms, and the like are attributed to him. The Devil's Bit and the Devil's Punch Bowl, so common in Anglo-Irish nomenclature, do not always correspond to the original Irish appellation. * * * * * When the survivors of the old Fianna, Oisín (or Ossian), Caoilte and the rest, were told about Hell and the Devil by St. Patrick and his clergy, they could not, according to the Ossianic legends, comprehend it in the least, and the misunderstandings which the doctrine gave rise to were taken full advantage of by the composers of the Ossianic ballads. The idea of bringing the last great figure of Paganism, the warrior and poet Ossian, into contact with the first great Christian figure in Ireland, St. Patrick, was a brilliant one, and it gave birth to whole volumes of badinage and semi-comic wrangling in the popular ballads which told of the warrior and the cleric. These ballads used to be in great vogue at one time, and any seanchuidhe worthy of the name used to be able to repeat by heart many hundreds of lines of the dialogue between Patrick and Oisín. This is now nearly a thing of the past, but the poems exist in numberless manuscripts, and are not yet forgotten by the older Irish speakers, though the only specimen I have given in this volume is the Baptism of Oisín, and it is in prose. St. Patrick displays in places an excess of priestly rigour, but this is always done to set off the naïveté of Oisín's answers. [uncial: I n-ifreann na bpian ar lóiámh Atá an fear sáimh do Bhronnadh an t-ór, Imtheóchaidh tusa mar d'imthigh an fhiann, Agus tráchtamaois ar Dhia go fóil.][6] [6] I wrote down this from the recitation of an old man near Monivea, Co. Galway. I have not seen it in MS. Literally, "In hell of the pains in bondage is the gentle man (Fionn) who used to bestow the gold. You will go as the Fianna have gone, and let us talk about God yet awhile." But Oisín could not understand how Patrick's God could get the better of his Fianna, or why He should try to put them in hell at all. Were God and my son Oscar seen On Knocknaveen in combat long, And I saw my Oscar on the sod, It's then I'd say that God was strong. How is your God a better man (Or all your clan of clerics there) Than Finn, our Fenian chief, so great, So straight, so generous, so fair? The spirit of banter in which St. Patrick and the Church are treated, and which just stops short of irreverence, is, of course, a mediaeval and not a primitive trait. My friend, the late Mr. Nutt, thought that it is a trait more characteristic of the twelfth than of any succeeding century. It would be exceedingly easy to fill volumes with stories from the lives of Saints which exist either in old vellum or in paper MSS., but this has not been my aim. I have kept to actual folk survivals, and have drawn upon MSS. of Saints' lives only for the elucidation of the folk-tale. * * * * * Finally, I should say that after having collected Irish folk-lore for a quarter of a century, the amount of folk-stories which are wholly conditioned by Christianity or largely based upon Christian conceptions would be, in my opinion, about one story in four, or one story in five. There still remains the fascinating problem of their sources. If foreign, what was their origin and who brought them here; if native, who invented them, and when, and with what purpose? I have prefixed a few notes to each of the following stories which possibly may not be wholly uninteresting to the reader who has an eye for these problems. LEGENDS OF SAINTS AND SINNERS. [_FROM THE IRISH._] ST. PATRICK AND CROM DUBH. PREFACE. This legend, told by Michael Mac Ruaidhri of Ballycastle, Co. Mayo, is evidently a confused reminiscence of Crom Cruach, the great pagan idol which was overthrown by St. Patrick.[7] Though Crom appears as a man in this story, yet the remark that the people thought he was the lord of light and darkness and of the seasons is evidently due to his once supposed Godhead. The fire, too, which he is said to have kept burning may be the reminiscence of a sacrificial fire. [7] See my "Literary History of Ireland," pp. 84-88. Also Stokes edition of the "Tripartite Life," p. 92. From a letter written to Sir Samuel Ferguson[8] by the late Brian O'Looney, concerning Mount Callan in the Co. Clare, we see that this legend of Crom was widely circulated. "Domnach Lunasa or Lammas Sunday," says O'Looney, "the first Sunday of the month of August was the first fruits' day, and a great day on Buaile-na-greine. On Lammas Sunday, called Domnach Crom Dubh, and anglicised Garland Sunday, every householder was supposed to feast his family and household on the first fruits, and the farmer who failed to provide his people with new potatoes, new bacon and white cabbage on that day was called a _felemuir gaoithe_, or wind farmer; and if a man dug new potatoes before Crom Dubh's day he was considered a needy man.... The assemblage of this day was called _comthineol Chruim Dhuibh_, or the congregation or gathering of Crom Dubh, and the day is called from him _Domnach Chrom Dubh_, or Crom Dubh's Sunday, now called Garland Sunday by the English-speaking portion of the people of the surrounding districts. This name is supposed to have been derived from the practise of strewing garlands of flowers on the festive mound [or Mount Callan] on this day, as homage to Crom Dubh--hence the name Garland Sunday. [8] See the paper read by Sir Samuel before the Royal Irish Academy, April 28, 1873. "Assuredly I saw blossoms and flowers deposited upon it on the first Sunday of August, 1844, and put some upon it myself, as I saw done by those who were with me. * * * * * "If you ask me who Crom Dubh was, I can only tell you I asked the question myself on the spot. I was told that Crom was a god and that Dubh or Dua meant _a sacrifice_, which in combination made Crom Dubh, or Crom Dua, that is, Crom's Sacrifice; and this Sunday was set apart for the feast and commemoration of this Crom Dubh, whoever he may have been." It is interesting to find O'Looney's old-time experiences in Co. Clare so far borne out by this legend from North Mayo. The name Téideach given to Crom's son, is, as Mr. Lloyd acutely points out, founded upon a misunderstanding of the name of the hole which must have been "poll an t séidte," the puffing or blowing hole. Downpatrick, where these events are supposed to have taken place, is at the extreme northern extremity of Tyrawley, Co. Mayo, and all the other places are in its neighbourhood. For the _leannán sidhe_, or fairy sweetheart (often supposed to be the muse of the poets), see O'Kearney's "Feis tighe Chonáin." Oss. Soc. Publ. vol. II., pp. 80-103. For the Irish of this story, see "Lúb na Caillighe." p. 33. THE STORY Before St. Patrick came to Ireland there lived a chieftain in the Lower Country[9] in Co. Mayo, and his name was Crom Dubh. Crom Dubh lived beside the sea in a place which they now call Dún Patrick, or Downpatrick, and the name which the site of his house is called by is Dún Briste, or Broken Fort. My story will tell why it was called Dún Briste. [9] Lower means "northern." It means round the Lagan, Creevagh and Ballycastle. It was well and it was not ill, brother of my heart! Crom Dubh was one of the worst men that could be found, but as he was a chieftain over the people of that country he had everything his own way; and that was the bad way, for he was an evil-intentioned, virulent, cynical,[10] obstinate man, with desire to be avenged on every one who did not please him. He had two sons, Téideach and Clonnach, and there is a big hollow going in under the road at Gleann Lasaire, and the name of this hollow in Poll a' Téidigh or Téideach's hole, for it got its name from Crom Dubh's son, and the name of this hole is on the mouth of [_i.e._, used by] English-speaking people, though they do not know the meaning of it. Nobody knows how far this hole is going back under the glen, but it is said by the old Irish speakers that Téideach used to go every day in his little floating curragh into this hole under the glen, and that this is the reason it was called Téideach's Hole. [10] Literally "doggish." The meaning is rather "snarling" or "fierce" than cynical. It was well, my dear. To continue the story, Crom Dubh's two sons were worse than himself, and that leaves them bad enough! Crom Dubh had two hounds of dogs and their names were Coinn Iotair and Saidhthe Suaraighe,[11] and if ever there were [wicked] mastiffs these two dogs were they. He had them tied to the two jaws of the door, in order to loose them and set them to attack people according as they might come that way; and, to go further, he had a big fire kindled on the brink of the cliff so that any one who might escape from the hounds he might throw into the fire; and to make a long story short, the fame of Crom Dubh and his two sons, and his two mastiffs, went far and wide, for their evil-doing; and the people were so terrified at his name, not to speak of himself, that they used to hide their faces in their bosoms when they used to hear it mentioned in their ears, and the people were so much afraid of him that if they heard the bark of a dog they would go hiding in the dwellings that they had underground, to take refuge in, to defend themselves from Crom Dubh and his mastiffs. [11] Pronounced like "Cunn eetir" and "sy-ha soory"--hound of rage and bitch of wickedness? It is said that there was a linnaun shee[12] or fairy sweetheart walking with Crom Dubh, and giving him knowledge according as he used to require it. In place of his inclining to what was good as he was growing in age, the way he went on was to be growing in badness every day, and the wind was not quicker than he, for he was as nimble as a March hare. When he used to go out about the country he used to send his two sons and his two mastiffs before him, and they announcing to the people according as they proceeded, that Crom Dubh was coming to collect his standing rent, and bidding them to have it ready for him. Crom Dubh used to come after them, and his trickster (?) along with him, and he drawing after him a sort of yoke like a wheelless sliding car, and according as he used to get his standing rent it used to be thrown into the car, and every one had to pay according to his ability. Anyone who would refuse, he used to be brought next day before Crom Dubh, as he sat beside the fire, and Crom used to pass judgment upon him, and after the judgment the man used to be thrown into the fire. Many a plan and scheme were hatched against Crom Dubh to put him out of the world, but he overcame them all, for he had too much wizardry from the [fairy] sweetheart. [12] Linnaun shee, a fairy sweetheart; in Irish spelt "leannán sidhe." Crom Dubh was continuing his evil deeds for many years, and according as the story about him remains living and told from person to person, they say that he was a native of hell in the skin of a biped, and through the horror that the people of the country had for him they would have given all that ever they saw if only Crom Dubh and his company could have been put-an-end-to; but there was no help for them in that, since he and his company had the power, and they had to endure bitter persecution for years, and for many years, and every year it was getting worse; and they without any hope of relief because they had no knowledge of God or Mary or of anything else which concerned heaven. For that reason they could not put trust in any person beyond Crom Dubh, because they thought, bad as he was, that it was he who was giving them the light of the day, the darkness of the night, and the change of seasons. It was well, brother of my heart. During this time St. Patrick was going throughout Ireland, working diligently and baptizing many people. On he went until he came to Fo-choill or Foghill; and at that time and for long afterwards there were nothing but woods that grew in that place, but there is neither branch nor tree there now. However, to pursue the story, St. Patrick began explaining to the Pagans about the light and glory of the heavens. Some of them gave ear to him, but the most of them paid him no attention. After he had taken all those who listened to him to the place which was called the Well of the Branch to baptize them, and when he had them baptized, the people called the well Tobar Phadraig, or Patrick's Well, and that is there ever since. When these Pagans got the seal of Christ on their forehead, and knowledge of the Holy Trinity, they began telling St. Patrick about the doings of Crom Dubh and his evil ways, and they besought him if he had any power from the All-mighty Father to chastise Crom Dubh, rightly or wrongly, or to give him the Christian faith if it were possible. It was well, brother, St. Patrick passed on over through Tráigh Leacan, up Béal Trághadh, down Craobhach, and down under the Logán, the name that was on Crom Dubh's place before St. Patrick came. When St. Patrick reached the Logán, which is near the present Ballycastle, he was within a quarter of a mile of Crom Dubh's house, and at the same time Crom Dubh and Téideach his son were trying a bout of wrestling with one another, while Saidhthe Suaraighe was stretched out on the ground from ear to tail. With the squeezing they were giving one another they never observed St. Patrick making for them until Saidhthe Suaraighe put a howling bark out of her, and with that the pair looked behind them and they saw St. Patrick and his defensive company with him, making for them; and in the twinkling of an eye the two rushed forward, clapping their hands and setting Saidhthe Suaraighe at them and encouraging her. With that Téideach put his fore finger into his mouth and let a whistle calling for Coinn Iotair, for she was at that same time hunting with Clonnach on the top of Glen Lasaire, and Glen Lasaire is nearly two miles from Dun Phadraig, but she was not as long as while you'd be saying De' raisias [Deo Gratias] coming from Glen Lasaire when she heard the sound of the whistle. They urged the two bitches against St. Patrick, and at the same time they did not know what sort of man St. Patrick was or where he came from. The two bitches made for him and coals of fire out of their mouths, and a blue venemous light burning in their eyes, with the dint of venom and wickedness, but just as they were going to seize St. Patrick he cut [marked] a ring round about him with the crozier which he had in his hand, and before the dogs reached the verge of the ring St. Patrick spoke as follows:-- A lock on thy claws, a lock on thy tooth, A lock on Coinn Iotair of the fury. A lock on the son and on the daughter of Saidhthe Suaraighe. A lock quickly, quickly on you. Before St. Patrick began to utter these words there was a froth of foam round their mouths, and their hair was standing up as strong as harrow-pins with their fury, but after this as they came nearer to St. Patrick they began to lay down their ears and wag their tails. And when Crom Dubh saw that, he had like to faint, because he knew when they laid down their ears that they would not do any hurt to him they were attacking. The moment they reached St. Patrick they began jumping up upon him and making friendly with him. They licked both his feet from the top of his great toe[13] to the butt of his ankle, and that affection [thus manifesting itself] is amongst dogs from that day to this. St. Patrick began to stroke them with his hand and he went on making towards Crom Dubh, with the dogs walking at his heels. Crom Dubh ran until he came to the fire and he stood up beside the fire, so that he might throw St. Patrick into it when he should come as far as it. But as St. Patrick knew the strength of the fire beforehand he lifted a stone in his hand, signed the sign of the cross on the stone, and flung the stone so as to throw it into the middle of the flames, and on the moment the fire went down to the lowest depths of the ground, in such a way that the hole is there yet to be seen, from that day to this, and it is called Poll na Sean-tuine, the hole of the old fire (?), and when the tide fills, the water comes in to the bottom of the hole, and it would draw "deaf cows out of woods"--the noise that comes out of the hole when the tide is coming in. [13] Rather "the space between the toes." It was well, company[14] of the world; when Crom Dubh saw that the fire had departed out of sight, and that the dogs had failed him and given him no help (a thing they had never done before), he himself and Téideach struck out like a blast of March wind until they reached the house, and St. Patrick came after them. They had not far to go, for the fire was near the house. When St. Patrick approached it he began to talk aloud with Crom Dubh, and he did his best to change him to a good state of grace, but it failed him to put the seal of Christ on his forehead, for he would not give any ear to St. Patrick's words. [14] A variant of "it was well, my dear." Now there was no trick of deviltry, druidism, witchcraft, or black art in his heart, which he did not work for all he was able, trying to gain the victory over St. Patrick, but it was all no use for him, for the words of God were more powerful than the deviltry of the fairy sweetheart. With the dint of the fury that was on Crom Dubh and on Téideach his son, they began snapping and grinding their teeth, and so outrageous was their fury that St. Patrick gave a blow of his crozier to the cliff under the base of the gable of the house, and he separated that much of the cliff from the cliffs on the mainland, and that is to be seen there to-day just as well as the first day, and that is the cliff that is called Dún Briste or Broken Fort. To pursue the story. All that much of the cliff is a good many yards out in the sea from the cliff on the mainland, so Crom Dubh and his son had to remain there until the midges and the scaldcrows had eaten the flesh off their bones. And that is the death that Crom Dubh got, and that is the second man that midges ate,[15] and our ancient shanachies say that the first man that midges ate was Judas after he had hanged himself; and that is the cause why the bite of the midges is so sharp as it is. [15] See the story of Mary's Well, p. 17. To pursue the story still further. When Clonnach saw what had happened to his father he took fright, and he was terrified of St. Patrick, and he began burning the mountain until he had all that side of the land set on fire. So violently did the mountains take fire on each side of him that himself could not escape, and they say that he himself was burned to a lump amongst them. St. Patrick returned back to Fochoill and round through Baile na Pairce, the Town of the Field, and Bein Buidhe, the Yellow Ben, and back to Clochar. The people gathered in multitudes from every side doing honourable homage to St. Patrick, and the pride of the world on them that an end had been made of Crom Dubh. There was a well near and handy, and he brought the great multitude round about the well, and he never left mother's son or man's daughter without setting on their faces the wave of baptism and the seal of Christ on their foreheads. They washed and scoured the walls of the well, and all round about it, and they got forked branches and limbs of trees and bound white and blue ribbons on them, and set them round about the well, and every one of them bowed down on his knees saying their prayers of thankfulness to God, and as an entertainment for St. Patrick on account of his having put an end to the sway of Crom Dubh. After making an end of offering up their prayers every man of them drank three sups of water out of the well, and there is not a year from that out that the people used not to make a _turus_ or pilgrimage to the well, on the anniversary of that day; and that day is the last Sunday of the seventh month, and the name the Irish speakers call the month by in that place is the month of Lughnas [August] and the name of the Sunday is Crom Dubh's Sunday, but, the name that the English speakers call the Sunday by, is Garland Sunday. There is never a year from that to this that there does not be a meeting in Cill Chuimin, for that is the place where the well is. They come far and near to make a pilgrimage to the well; and a number of other people go there too, to amuse themselves and drink and spend. And I believe that the most of that rakish lot go there making a mock of the Christian Irish-speakers who are offering up their prayers to their holy patron Patrick, high head of their religion. Cuimin's well is the name of this well, for its name was changed during the time of Saint Cuimin on account of all the miraculous things he did there, and he is buried within a perch of the well in Cill Chuimin. There does be a gathering on the same Sunday at Dún Padraig or Downpatrick at the well which is called Tobar Brighde or Briget's Well beside Cill Brighde, and close to Dún Briste; but, love of my heart, since the English jargon began a short time ago in that place the old Christian custom of the Christians is almost utterly gone off. There now ye have it as I got it, and if ye don't like it add to it your complaints.[16] [16] Apparently tell it with your complaint added to it. MARY'S WELL. PREFACE. The following story I got from Proinsias O'Conchubhait when he was in Athlone about fifteen years ago, and he heard it from a woman who herself came from Ballintubber, Co. Mayo. This Ballintubber is not to be confounded with the Roscommon place of the same name, which is called in Irish Baile-an-tobair Ui Chonchubhair, or O'Conor's Ballintubber. The Mayo Ballintubber is celebrated for its splendid Abbey, founded by one of the Stauntons, a tribe who took the name of Mac a mhilidh (Mac-a-Veely or Mac Evilly) in Irish. The prophesy is current in Mayo that when the abbey is re-roofed Ireland will be free. My friend, Colonel Maurice Moore, told me that when he was a young boy he often wondered why the people did not roof the abbey, and so free Ireland without any more trouble. The tomb of the notorious Shaun na Sagart, the priest-hunter, which is not far away from it, is still pointed out by the people. It is probably he who is the "spy" in the following story, although his name is not mentioned. He belonged to a class who appear to have made it their business to track down priests and friars, which is alluded to in the following lines: It is no use for me to be saying it, Seeing your kinship with Donough-of-the-priest And with Owen-of-the-cards his father, With the people who used to cut off heads To put them into leather bags, To bring them down with them to the city, And to bring home the gold they got for them, For sustenance for wives and children. It will be noticed that it was Mary Mother who put the curing of the Blind into this well, and Owen O Duffy, the poet, says of her that she is A woman who put a hedge round every country. A woman to whom right inclines. A woman greatest in strength and power, A woman softest (_i.e._, most generous) about red gold. A woman by whom is quenched the anger of the king. A woman who gives sight to the blind. For the Irish text of this story, see "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. I., p. 111. The abbey where the holy well broke out was, according to some, founded by Cathal O Conor in 1216, for the Augustinians, and was dedicated to the Holy Trinity. THE STORY. Long ago there was a blessed well in Ballintubber (_i.e._, town of the well), in the county Mayo. There was once a monastery in the place where the well is now, and it was on the spot where stood the altar of the monastery that the well broke out. The monastery was on the side of a hill, but when Cromwell and his band of destroyers came to this country, they overthrew the monastery, and never left stone on top of stone in the altar that they did not throw down. A year from the day that they threw down the altar--that was Lady Day in spring--the well broke out on the site of the altar, and it is a wonderful thing to say, that there was not one drop of water in the stream that was at the foot of the hill from the day that the well broke out. There was a poor friar going the road the same day, and he went out of his way to say a prayer upon the site of the blessed altar, and there was great wonder on him when he saw a fine well in its place. He fell on his knees and began to say his paternoster, when he heard a voice saying: "Put off your brogues, you are upon blessed ground, you are on the brink of Mary's Well, and there is the curing of thousands of blind in it; there shall be a person cured by the water of that well for every person who heard mass in front of the altar that was in the place where the well is now, if they be dipped three times in it, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit." When the friar had his prayers said, he looked up and saw a large white dove upon a fir tree near him. It was the dove who was speaking. The friar was dressed in false clothes, because there was a price on his head, as great as would be on the head of a wild-dog [wolf]. At any rate, he proclaimed the story to the people of the little village, and it was not long till it went out through the country. It was a poor place, and the people in it had nothing [to live in] but huts, and these filled with smoke. On that account there were a great many weak-eyed people amongst them. With the dawn, on the next day, there were above forty people at Mary's Well, and there was never man nor woman of them but came back with good sight. The fame of Mary's Well went through the country, and it was not long till there were pilgrims from every county coming to it, and nobody went back without being cured; and at the end of a little time even people from other countries used to be coming to it. There was an unbeliever living near Mary's Well. It was a gentleman he was, and he did not believe in the cure. He said there was nothing in it but pishtrogues (charms), and to make a mock of the people he brought a blind ass, that he had, to the well, and he dipped its head under the water. The ass got its sight, but the scoffer was brought home as blind as the sole of your shoe. At the end of a year it so happened that there was a priest working as a gardener with the gentleman who was blind. The priest was dressed like a workman, and nobody at all knew that it was a priest who was in it. One day the gentleman was sickly, and he asked his servant to take him out into the garden. When he came to the place where the priest was working he sat down. "Isn't it a great pity," says he, "that I cannot see my fine garden?" The gardener took compassion on him, and said, "I know where there is a man who would cure you, but there is a price on his head on account of his religion." "I give my word that I'll do no spying on him, and I'll pay him well for his trouble," said the gentleman. "But perhaps you would not like to go through the mode of curing that he has," says the gardener. "I don't care what mode he has, if he gives me my sight," said the gentleman. Now, the gentleman had an evil character, because he betrayed a number of priests before that. Bingham was the name that was on him. However, the priest took courage and said, "Let your coach be ready on to-morrow morning, and I will drive you to the place of the cure; neither coachman nor anyone else may be present but myself, and do not tell to anyone at all where you are going, or give anyone a knowledge of what is your business." On the morning of the next day Bingham's coach was ready, and he himself got into it, with the gardener driving him. "Do you remain at home this time," says he to the coachman, "and the gardener will drive me." The coachman was a villain, and there was jealousy on him. He conceived the idea of watching the coach to see what way they were to go. His blessed vestments were on the priest, inside of his other clothes. When they came to Mary's Well the priest said to him, "I am going to get back your sight for you in the place where you lost it." Then he dipped him three times in the well, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and his sight came to him as well as ever it was. "I'll give you a hundred pounds," said Bingham, "as soon as I go home." The coachman was watching, and as soon as he saw the priest in his blessed vestments, he went to the people of the law, and betrayed the priest. He was taken and hanged, without judge, without judgment. The man who was after getting back his sight could have saved the priest, but he did not speak a word in his behalf. * * * * * About a month after this another priest came to Bingham, and he dressed like a gardener, and he asked work of Bingham, and got it from him; but he was not long in his service until an evil thing happened to Bingham. He went out one day walking through his fields, and there met him a good-looking girl, the daughter of a poor man, and he assaulted her and left her half dead. The girl had three brothers, and they took an oath that they would kill him as soon as they could get hold of him. They had not long to wait. They caught him in the same place where he assaulted the girl, and hanged him on a tree, and left him there hanging. On the morning of the next day millions of flies were gathered like a great hill round about the tree, and nobody could go near it on account of the foul smell that was round the place, and anyone who would go near it the midges would blind them. Bingham's wife and son offered a hundred pounds to anyone who would bring out the body. A good many people made an effort to do that, but they were not able. They got dust to shake on the flies, and boughs of trees to beat them with, but they were not able to scatter them, nor to go as far as the tree. The foul smell was getting worse, and the neighbours were afraid that the flies and noisome corpse would bring a plague upon them. The second priest was at this time a gardener with Bingham, but the people of the house did not know that it was a priest who was in it, for if the people of the law or the spies knew, they would take and hang him. The Catholics went to Bingham's wife and told her that they knew a man who would banish the flies. "Bring him to me," said she, "and if he is able to banish the flies, that is not the reward he'll get, but seven times as much." "But," said they, "if the people of the law knew, they would take him and hang him, as they hung the man who got back the sight of his eyes for him before." "But," said she, "could not he banish the flies without the knowledge of the people of the law?" "We don't know," said they, "until we take counsel with him." That night they took counsel with the priest and told him what Bingham's wife said. "I have only an earthly life to lose," said the priest, "and I shall give it up for the sake of the poor people, for there will be a plague in the country unless I banish the flies. On to-morrow morning I shall make an attempt to banish them in the name of God, and I have hope and confidence in God that he will save me from my enemies. Go to the lady now, and tell her that I shall be near the tree at sunrise to-morrow morning, and tell her to have men ready to put the corpse in the grave." They went to the lady and told her all the priest said. "If it succeeds with him," said she, "I shall have the reward ready for him, and I shall order seven men to be present." The priest spent that night in prayer, and half an hour before sunrise he went to the place where his blessed vestments were hidden; he put these on, and with a cross in one hand, and with holy-water in the other, he went to the place where were the flies. He then began reading out of his book and scattering holy-water on the flies, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. The hill of flies rose, and flew up into the air, and made the heaven as dark as night. The people did not know where they went, but at the end of half an hour there was not one of them to be seen. There was great joy on the people, but it was not long till they saw the spy coming, and they called to the priest to run away as quick as it was in him to run. The priest gave to the butts (took to his heels), and the spy followed him, and a knife in each hand with him. When he was not able to come up with the priest he flung the knife after him. As the knife was flying out past the priest's shoulder he put up his left hand and caught it, and without ever looking behind him he flung it back. It struck the man and went through his heart, so that he fell dead and the priest went free. The people got the body of Bingham and buried it in the grave, but when they went to bury the body of the spy they found thousands of rats round about it, and there was not a morsel of flesh on his bones that they had not eaten. They would not stir from the body, and the people were not able to rout them away, so that they had to leave the bones over-ground. The priest hid away his blessed vestments and was working in the garden when Bingham's wife sent for him, and told him to take the reward that was for banishing the flies, and to give it to the man who banished them, if he knew him. "I do know him, and he told me to bring him the reward to-night, because he has the intention of leaving the country before the law-people hang him." "Here it is for you," said she, as she handed him a purse of gold. On the morning of the next day the priest went to the brink of the sea, and found a ship that was going to France. He went on board, and as soon as he had left the harbour he put his priest's-clothes on him, and gave thanks to God for bringing him safe. We do not know what happened to him from that out. * * * * * After that, blind and sore-eyed people used to be coming to Mary's Well, and not a person of them ever returned without being cured. But there never yet was anything good in this country that was not spoilt by somebody, and the well was spoilt in this way. There was a girl in Ballintubber and she was about to be married, when there came a half-blind old woman to her asking alms in the honour of God and Mary. "I've nothing to give to an old blind-thing of a hag, it's bothered with them I am," said the girl. "That the marriage ring may never go on you until you're as blind as myself," says the old woman. Next day, in the morning, the young girl's eyes were sore, and the morning after that she was nearly blind, and the neighbours said to her that she ought to go to Mary's Well. In the morning, early, she rose up and went to the well, but what should she see at it but the old woman who asked the alms of her, sitting on the brink, combing her head over the blessed well. "Destruction on you, you nasty hag, is it dirtying Mary's Well you are?" said the girl. "Get out of that or I'll break your neck." "You have no honour nor regard for God or Mary, you refused to give alms in honour of them, and for that reason you shall not dip yourself in the well." The girl caught a hold of the hag trying to pull her from the well, and with the dragging that was between them, the two of them fell into the well and were drowned. From that day to this there has been no cure in the well. HOW COVETOUSNESS CAME INTO THE CHURCH. PREFACE. I heard this story from a workman of the late Mr. Redington Roche, of Rye Hill (in Irish, Druim an tseagail) near Monivea, Co. Galway. It was in Irish prose, but it reminded me so strongly of those strange semi-comic mediæval moralities common at an early date to most European languages--such pieces as Goethe has imitated in his poem of "St. Peter and the Horse Shoe"--that I could not resist the temptation to turn it into rhyme. I have heard a story something like this in the County Tipperary, only that it was told in English. This story is the reason (I think the narrator added) of the well-known proverbial rann: Four clerks who are not covetous Four Frenchmen who are not yellow, Four shoemakers who are not liars, Those are a dozen who are not in the country. More than one piece of both English and French literature founded upon the same motif as this story will occur to the reader. The original will be found at p. 161 of "The Religious Songs of Connacht," vol I. THE STORY As once our Saviour and St. Peter Were walking over the hills together, In a lonesome place that was by the sea, Beside the border of Galilee, Just as the sun to set began Whom should they meet but a poor old man! His coat was ragged, his hat was torn, He seemed most wretched and forlorn, Penury stared in his haggard eye And he asked an alms as they passed him by. Peter had only a copper or two, So he looked to see what the Lord would do. The man was trembling--it seemed to him-- With hunger and cold in every limb. But, nevertheless, our Lord looked grave, He turned away and he nothing gave. And Peter was vexed awhile at that And wondered what our Lord was at, Because he had thought him much too good To ever refuse a man for food. But though he wondered he nothing said, Nor asked the cause, for he was afraid. It happened that the following day They both returned that very way, And whom should they meet where the man had been But a highway robber gaunt and lean! And in his belt a naked sword-- For an alms he, too, besought the Lord. "He's a fool," thought Peter, "to cross us thus, He won't get anything from us." But Peter was seized with such surprise He scarcely could believe his eyes, When he saw the Master, without a word, Give to the man who had the sword. After the man was gone again His wonder Peter could not restrain But turning to our Saviour said: "Master, the man who asked for bread, The poor old man of yesterday, Why did you turn from him away? But to this robber, this shameless thief, Give, when he asked you for relief. I thought it most strange for _you_ to do; We needn't have feared him, we were two. I have a sword here, as you see, And could have used it as well as he; And I am taller by a span, For he was only a little man." "Peter," said the Lord, "you see Things but as they _seem_ to be. Look within and see behind, Know the heart and read the mind, 'Tis not long before you know Why it was I acted so." After this it chanced one day Our Lord and Peter went astray. Wandering on a mountain wide. Nothing but waste on every side. Worn with hunger, faint with thirst, Peter followed, the Lord went first. Then began a heavy rain, Lightning gleamed and gleamed again, Another deluge poured from heaven, The slanting hail swept tempest-driven. Then when fainting, frozen, spent, A man came towards them through the bent. And Peter trembled with cold and fright, When he knew again the robber wight. But the robber brought them to his cave, And what he had he freely gave. He brought them wine, he gave them bread, He strewed them rushes for a bed. He lent them both a clean attire And dried their clothes before the fire, And when they rose the following day He gave them victuals for the way, And never left them till he showed And put them on the straightest road. "The Master was right," thought Peter then, "The robber is better than better men. There's many an honest man," thought he, "Who never did as much for me." They had not left the robber's ground Above an hour, when, lo, they found A man upon the mountain track Lying dead upon his back. And Peter soon, with much surprise, The beggarman did recognize. "Ochone!" thought Peter, "we had no right To refuse him alms the other night. He's dead from the cold and want of food, And we're partly guilty of his blood." "Peter," said our Lord, "go now Feel his pockets and let us know What he has within his coat." Peter turned them inside out, And found within the lining plenty Of silver coins, and of gold ones twenty. "My Lord," said Peter, "now I know Why it was you acted so. Whatever you say or do with men, I never will think you wrong again." "Peter," said our Saviour, "take And throw those coins in yonder lake, That none may fish them up again, For money is often the curse of men." Peter gathered the coins together. And crossed to the lake through bog and heather. But he thought in his mind "It's a real sin To be flinging this lovely money in. We're often hungry, we're often cold, And money is money--I'll keep the gold To spend on the Master, he needs the pelf, For he's very neglectful of himself." Then down with a splash does Peter throw The _silver_ coins to the lake below, And hopes our Lord from the splash would think He had thrown the whole from off the brink. And then before our Lord he stood And looked as innocent as he could. Our Lord said: "Peter, regard your soul; Are you sure you have now thrown in the whole?" "Yes, all," said Peter, "is gone below, But a few gold pieces I wouldn't throw, Since I thought we might find them very good For a sup to drink, or a bite of food. Because our own are nearly out, And they're inconvenient to do without. But, if you wish it, of course I'll go And fling the rest of the lot below." "Ah, Peter, Peter," said our Lord, "You should have obeyed me at my word. For a greedy man you are I see, And a greedy man you will ever be; A covetous man you are of gain, And a covetous man you will remain." So that's the reason, as I've been told, All clergy are since so fond of gold. KNOCK MULRUANA. PREFACE. This story was told by my friend, Mr. Peter McGinley, who printed it in 1897 in the "Gaelic Journal" of that year. He told me that though the story came from the Irish speaking part of the country it was in English it was first repeated to him when he was a young boy, and he retold it in Irish, without any change in the story itself. He says that he feels sure it is just as he heard it. The story comes from Gleann Domhain, which is near Gartan, in Donegal, celebrated as the birthplace of Colmcille, and Cnoc Mhaoilruandha is near at hand, and the lake is a little below it. The proverb, "as I have burned the candle I'll burn the inch," does not, he says, always signify impenitence, but means rather to hold out in any course, good or evil, until the last. The name Maolruanadha, which I have shortened into Mulruana, is variously anglicised Mulroney and Moroney. This story may remind the reader a little of Lewis's "Monk." THE STORY. On this side of Glen Domhain, there is a little hill whose name is Mulroney's Hill, and this is the reason why it was given that name. In old times there was a man living in a little house on the side of the hill, and Mulruana was his name. He was a pious holy man, and hated the world's vanities so much that he became a hermit, and he was always alone in that house, without anyone in his neighbourhood. He used to be always praying and subduing himself. He used to drink nothing but water, and used to eat nothing but berries and the wild roots which he used to get in the mountains and throughout the glens. His fame and reputation were going through the country for the holy earnest life that he was living. However, great jealousy seized the Adversary at the piety of this man, and he sent many evil spirits to put temptations on him. But on account of all his prayers and piety it failed those evil-spirits to get the victory over him, so that they all returned back to hell with the report of the steadfastness and loyalty of Mulruana in the service of God. Then great anger seized Satan, so that he sent further demons, each more powerful than the other, to put temptation on Mulruana. Not one of them succeeded in even coming near the hut of the holy man. Nor did it fare any better with them whenever he came outside, for he used always to be attentive to his prayers and ever musing on holy things. Then every evil-spirit of them used to go back to hell and used to tell the devil that there was no use contending with Mulruana, for that God himself and His angels were keeping him and giving him help. That account made Satan mad entirely, so that he determined at last to go himself, hoping to destroy Mulruana, and to draw him out of the proper path. Accordingly he came one evening at nightfall, in the guise of a young woman, and asked the good man for lodging. Mulruana rudely refused the pretended woman, and banished her away from his door, although he felt a compassion for her because the night was wet and stormy, and he thought that the girl was without house and shelter from the rain and cold. But what the woman did was to go round to the back of the house and play music, and it was the sweetest and most melancholy music that man ever heard. Because Mulruana had had a pity for the poor girl at the first, he listened now to her music, and took great delight in it, and had much joy of it, but he did not allow her into his hut. At the hour of midnight the devil went back to hell, but he had a shrewd notion that he had won the game and that he had caught the holy man. Mulruana had quiet during the remainder of the night, but instead of continuing at his prayers, as was his custom, he spent the end of the night, almost till the dawn of day, thinking of the beauty of the girl and of the sweetness of her music. The day after that the devil came at the fall of night in the same likeness, and again asked lodging of Mulruana. Mulruana refused that, although he did not like to do it, but he remembered the vow he had made never to let a woman or a girl into his hut. The pretended woman went round to the back of the house, and she was playing music that was like fairy music until it was twelve o'clock, when she had to go away with herself to hell. The man inside was listening to the playing and taking great delight in it, and when she ceased there came over him melancholy and trouble of mind. He never slept a wink that night, and he never said a word of his prayers either, but eagerly thinking[17] of the young woman, and his heart going astray with the beauty of her form and the sweetness of her voice. [17] This idiom, borrowed from the Irish, is very common in Anglo-Irish. It is not governed by the rules of English grammar. On the morning of the next day Mulruana rose from his bed, and it is likely that it was the whisper of an angel he heard, because he remembered that it was not right for him to pay such heed to a girl and to forget his prayers. He bowed his knees and began to pray strongly and earnestly, and made a firm resolve that he would not think more about the girl, and that he would not listen to her music. But, after all, he did not succeed in obtaining a complete victory over his thoughts concerning the young woman, and consequently he was between two notions until the evening came. When the night was well dark the Adversary came again in the shape of the girl, and she even more beautiful and more lovely than she was before, and asked the man for a night's lodging. He remembered his vow and the resolve he had made that day in the morning, and he refused her, and threatened her that she should not come again to trouble him, and he drove her away with rough sharp words, and with a stern, churlish countenance, as though there were a great anger on him. He went into his hut and the girl remained near the hut outside, and she weeping and lamenting and shedding tears. When Mulruana saw the girl weeping and keening piteously he conceived a great pity for her, and compassion for her came to him, and desire, and he did not free his heart from those evil inclinations, since he had not made his prayers on that day with a heart as pure as had been his wont, and he listened willingly and gladly. It was not long until he came out, himself, in spite of his vow and his good resolutions, and invited the pretended woman to come into his hut. Small delay she made in going in! It was then the King of Grace took pity at this man being lost without giving him time to amend himself, since he had ever been truly pious, diligent, humane, well disposed and of good works, until this great temptation came over him. For that reason God sent an angel to him with a message to ask him to repent. The angel came to Mulruana's house and went inside. Then the devil leapt to his feet, uttered a fearful screech, changed his colour, his shape, and his appearance. His own devilish form and demoniac appearance came upon him. He turned away from the angel like a person blinded with a great shining or blaze of light, and went out of the hut. His senses nearly departed from Mulruana with the terror that overcame him. When he came to himself again the angel made clear to him how great was the sin to which he had given way, and how God had sent him to him to ask him to repent. But Mulruana never believed a word he said. He knew that it was the devil who had been in his company in the guise of a young woman. He remembered the sin to which he had consented, so that he considered himself to be so guilty that it would be impossible for him ever to obtain forgiveness from God. He thought that it was deceiving him the angel was, when he spoke of repentance and forgiveness. The angel was patient with him and spoke gently. He told him of the love and friendship of God and how He would never refuse forgiveness to the truly penitent, no matter how heavy his share of sins. Mulruana did not listen to him, but a drowning-man's-cry issued out of his mouth always, that he was lost, and he ever-cursing God, the devil and himself. The angel never ceased, but entreating and beseeching him to turn to God and make repentance--but it was no use for him. Mulruana was as hard and as stubborn as he was before, all the time taking great oaths and blaspheming God. All the time the angel was speaking he had the appearance of a burning candle in his hand. At long last, when the candle was burnt all but about an inch, a gloom fell over the countenance of the angel and he stood out from Mulruana, and threatened him, and told him that his term of grace was almost expired, and, said he, unless you make repentance before this inch of candle is burnt away, God will grant you no more respite, and you will be damned for ever. Then there came silence on Mulruana for a while, as though he were about to follow the advice of the angel. But then on the spot he thought of the sin that he had done. On that, despair seized him, and the answer he gave the angel was, "as I have burned the candle I'll burn the inch." Then the angel spoke to him with a loud and terrible voice, announcing to him that he was now indeed accursed of God, and, said he, "thou shalt die to-morrow of thirst." Mulruana answered him with no submission, and said, "O lying angel, I know now that you are deceiving me. It is impossible that I should die of thirst in this place, and so much water round about me. There is, outside there, a well of spring water that was never dry, and there is a stream beside the gable of the house which would turn the wheel of a great mill no matter how dry the summer day, and down there is Loch Beithe on which a fleet of ships might float. It is a great folly for you to say that anybody could die of thirst in this place." But the angel departed from him without an answer. Mulruana went to lie down after that, but, if he did, he never slept a wink through great trouble of spirit. Next morning, on his rising early, the sharpest thirst that man ever felt came upon him. He leapt out of his bed and went to the stoap [pail] for water, but there was not a drop in it. Out with him then to the well, but he did not find a drop there either. He turned on his foot towards the stream that was beside the house, but it was dry before him down to the gravel. The banks and the pebbles in the middle of it were as dry as though they had never seen a drop of water for a year. Mulruana remembered then the prophecy of the angel and he started. A quaking of terror came upon him, and his thirst was growing every moment. He went running at full speed to Loch Beithe, but when he came to the brink of the lake he uttered one awful cry and fell in a heap on the ground. Loch Beithe too was dry before him. That is how a cowherd found him the next day, lying on the brink of the lake, his eyes starting out of his head, his tongue stretched out of his throat, and a lump of white froth round his mouth. His awful appearance was such that fear would not let the people go near him to bury him, and his body was left there until birds of prey and wild dogs took it away with them. That is how it happened Mulruana as a consequence of his sin, his impenitence, and his despair, and that is the reason why it is not right for any one to use the old saying, "As I've burnt the candle I'll burn the inch," and yonder is "Cnoc Mhaoilruanadha," Mulruana's Hill, as a witness to the truth of this story. THE STONE OF TRUTH OR THE MERCHANT OF THE SEVEN BAGS. PREFACE. The Stone of Truth is as old as the times of the Druids. The celebrated Lia Fail was a stone of truth. Certain stones were oracles in old times. There was a stone in Oriel, and a celebrated stone called Cloeh Labhrais in the south which were oracular. A man who suspected his wife made her stand upon the southern stone to swear that she had not wronged him. She spied a man she knew too well far away upon the mountain, and swore she had never done anything she ought not to have done--no more than with that man on the skyline. The heart of the stone was broken with this equivocation, and it burst asunder exclaiming [uncial: bionn an firinne fein searbh], "even truth itself is bitter." The idea is Pagan, but this story is motivated in a Christian manner, by alleging that the stone derived its miraculous power from St. Patrick's having knelt on it in prayer. I got this story from Francis O'Conor. For the original Irish, see "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. II., p. 230. THE STORY. There was a man in it, hundreds and hundreds of years ago, whose name was Páidin[18] O Ciarbháin [Keerwaun, or Kerwin] and he was living close to Cong in West Connacht. Páidin was a strange man; he did not believe in God or in anything about him. It's often the priest thought to bring him to Mass, but it was no use for him, for Páidin would not take the advice of priest or bishop. He believed that man was like the beast, and he believed that when man died there was no more about him. [18] Pronounced "Paudyeen." Páidin lived an evil life; he used to be going from house to house by day, and stealing in the night. Now, at the time that St. Patrick was in West Connacht seeking to make Christians of the Pagans, he went down one day upon his knees, on a great flag stone, to utter prayers, and he left after him a great virtue in the same stone, for anybody who might speak above that stone, it was necessary for him to tell the clear truth, he could not tell a lie, and for that reason the people gave the name to that flag of the Stone of Truth. Páidin used always to have a great fear of this stone, and it's often he intended to steal it. One night when he found an opportunity he hoisted the stone on his back, took it away with him, and threw it down into a great valley between two hills, seven miles from the place where it used to be, and the rogue thought that he was all right; but the stone was back in its old place that same night without his knowing. Another night after that he stole the geese of the parish priest, and as the people doubted him, they said that they would bring him to the Stone of Truth. Páidin was laughing in his own mind, for he knew that he had the stone stolen; but great was the surprise that was on him when he saw the stone before him in its own place. When he was put above the stone he was obliged to tell that he had stolen the geese, and he got a great beating from the priest. He made a firm resolution then that if he got an opportunity at the stone again, he would put it in a place that it would never come out of. A couple of nights after that he got his opportunity again, and stole the stone a second time. He threw it down into a great deep hole, and he went home rejoicing in himself. But he did not go a quarter of a mile from the place until he heard a great noise coming after him. He looked behind him and he saw a lot of little people, and they dressed in clothes as white as snow. There came such fear over Páidin that he was not able to walk one step, until the little people came up with him, and they carrying the Stone of Truth with them. A man of them spoke to him and said: "O accursed Páidin, carry this stone back to the place where you got it, or you shall pay dearly for it." "I will and welcome," said Páidin. They put the stone upon his back and they returned the road on which they had come. But as the devil was putting temptation upon Páidin, he went and threw the stone into a hole that was deeper than the first hole, a hole which the people made to go hiding in when the war would be coming. The stone remained in that hole for more than seven years, and no one knew where it was but Páidin only. At the end of that time Páidin was going by the side of the churchyard, when he looked up at a cross that was standing there, and he fell into a faint. When he came to himself, there was a man before him and he clothed as white as the snow. He spoke to him and said: "O accursed Páidin, you are guilty of the seven deadly sins, and unless you do penance you shall go to hell. I am an angel from God, and I will put a penance on you. I will put seven bags upon you and you must carry them for one and twenty years. After that time go before the great cross that shall be in the town of Cong, and say three times, 'My soul to God and Mary,' spend a pious life until then, and you will go to heaven. Go to the priest now, if you are obedient (and ready) to receive my counsel." "I am obedient," said Páidin, "but the people will be making a mock of me." "Never mind the mock, it won't last long," said the angel. After this conversation a deep sleep fell upon Páidin, and when he awoke there were seven bags upon him, and the angel was gone away. There were two bags on his right side, two bags on his left side, and three others on his back, and they were stuck so fast upon him that he thought that it was growing on him they were. They were the colour of his own skin, and there was skin on them. Next day when Páidin went among the people he put wonder on them, and they called him the Merchant of the Seven Bags, and that name stuck to him until he died. Páidin began a new life now. He went to the priest, and he showed him the seven bags that were on him, and he told him the reason that they were put on him. The priest gave him good advice and a great coat to cover the seven bags with; and after that Páidin used to be going from house to house and from village to village asking alms, and there used never be a Sunday or holiday that he would not be at Mass, and there used to be a welcome before him in every place. About seven years after that Páidin was going by the side of the hole into which he had thrown the Stone of Truth. He came to the brink of the hole, went down on his two knees and asked God to send him up the stone. When his prayer was ended he saw the stone coming up, and hundreds of white doves round about it. The stone was rising and ever rising until it came into Páidin's presence on the ground, and then the doves went back again. The next day he went to the priest and told him everything about the Stone of Truth, and the way it came up out of the hole. "I will go with you," said the priest, "until I see this great wonder." The priest went with him to the hole and he saw the Stone of Truth. And he saw another thing which put great wonder on him; thousands and thousands of doves flying round about the mouth of the hole, going down into it and coming up again. The priest called the place Poll na gColum or the Dove's Hole, and that name is on it until the present day. The blessed stone was brought into Cong, and it was not long until a grand cross was erected over it, and from that day to this people come from every place to look at the Dove's Hole, and the old people believed that they were St. Patrick's angels who were in those doves. The Stone of Truth was for years after that in Cong, and it is certain that it did great good, for it kept many people from committing crimes. But it was stolen at last, and there is no account of it from that out. Páidin lived until he was four score years of age, and bore his share of penance piously. When the one and twenty years that the angel gave him were finished, and he carrying the seven bags throughout that time, there came a messenger in a dream to say to him that his life in this world was finished, and that he must go the next day before the Cross of Cong and give himself up to God and Mary. Early in the morning he went to the priest and told him the summons he had got in the night. People say that the priest did not believe him, but at all events he told Páidin to do as the messenger had bidden him. Páidin departed, and left his blessing with his neighbours and relations, and when the clock was striking twelve, and the people saying the Angelical Salutation, Páidin came before the cross and said three times, "My soul to God and to Mary," and on the spot he fell dead. That cross was in the town of Cong for years. A bishop, one of the O'Duffy's, went to Rome, and he got a bit of the true Cross and put it into the Cross of Cong. It was there until the foreigners came and threw it to the ground. The Cross of Cong is still in Ireland, and the people have an idea that it will yet be raised up in the town of Cong with the help of God. THE ADVENTURES OF LÉITHIN PREFACE. The following interesting story, which, so far as I know, has never been noted, has come down to us in a late Middle Irish text from which I now translate it for the first time. My attention was first called to it years ago by my friend, Dr. Nicholas O'Donnell of Melbourne, an Australian born and bred, but a good Irish scholar, who made a transcript of the story for me from an Irish MS. which he picked up in Australia. It may well have been taken from a vellum, for the initial letter is omitted and a great space left for the scribe to insert it in colours later on. I have carefully compared the copy of the Australian text with four other copies which I find in the Royal Irish Academy, the oldest of which however only dates from 1788, but I found virtually no difference between them, and it is evident that they are all drawn from the same original. There seems to be no variant known. There is an ancient poem of great interest bearing on this story, called the Colloquy between Fintan and the Hawk of Achill. It is in Egerton, 1782, and the text was published in "Anecdota from Irish MSS." vol. I., p. 24, but has never been translated. Fintan, who survived the flood, holds colloquy with the bird, which asked him about his life, and Fintan asks the bird's age. "O hawk from cold Achill take a benison and a victory, from the time you were born of an egg, tell the number of [the years of] your life." "I am of the same age as thou, O Fintan, son of Bochra." The Bird asks Fintan "since he was a poet and a prophet" to tell him the greatest evils he had ever experienced. We learn from the answer that the ancient salmon in our story was really a rebirth of Fintan himself, and it is exceedingly interesting to find the wily old crow[19] who ate Léithin's young ones, appear upon the scene again, as a leading personage in another drama. Fintan tells how the Creator placed him in the cold streams in the shape of a salmon, how he frequented the Boyne, the Bush, the Bann, the Suck, the Suir, the Shannon, the Slaney, the Liffey, etc., etc. At last he came to Assaroe. [19] The word "préachan," though it usually means crow, is applied to the seabhac or hawk in this poem. In Co. Roscommon I always heard the Marsh Harrier (or Kite as they called him in English), termed "préachan gcearc" in Irish. "A night I was on the wave in the north and I at seal-frequented Assaroe. I never experienced a night like that from the beginning to the end of my time.[20] [20] Literally "of the world." "I could not remain in the waterfall. I give a leap--it was no luck for me--the ice comes like blue glass between me and the pool of the son of Modharn. "There comes a crow out of cold Achill, above the inver of Assaroe, I shall not hide it, though it is a thing to keep as a secret. He swept away with him one of my eyes. "The Goll or Blind One of Assaroe has clung to me [as a name] from that night. Rough the deed. I am ever since without my eye. No wonder for me to be aged." THE BIRD. "It was I who swallowed thy eye, O Fintan. I am the grey Hawk, who be's alone in the waist of Achill." Fintan demands eric [recompense] for his eye, but the implacable old crow answers: "Little eric would I give thee, O Fintan, son of Bochra the soft, but that one remaining eye in the withered head quickly would I swallow it of one morsel." The bird goes on to tell Fintan about the various battles it had seen in Ireland. As for the battle of Moytura in Cong: "It was there thy twelve sons fell; to see them, awsome was the blow, and I gnawed off each fresh body[21] either a hand or one foot or one eye." [21] Literally "limb." The old crow it was who carried off the hand of Nuadh covered with rings, which had been lopped off in the slaughter, and which was replaced later on by a silver hand, whence the King of the Tuatha De Danann received the cognomen of Nuadh of the silver hand, but his real hand was the plaything of the crows' young for seven years. He recounts all the eyes he had picked out of heroes' heads after famous fights. It was he too who perched upon Cuchulainn's shoulder, when, dying, he had bound himself to the standing stone,[22] but though his life had almost departed from him the hero pierced him with his _cletin curad_ or hero's little quill. "I came above the hero as his countenance was darkening in death to eat his eyes, it was not an errand of luck, I stoop my head. He feels me on his face, he raises up his weakening hand, he puts his hero's little quill through my body at the first effort (?) I take a troubled flight to Innis Geidh across the valleyed sea and draw forth from myself, rough the task, the hard tough shaft of the dartlet. The head remains in my body. It tortured my heart sorely: sound I am not since that day, and I conceal it not since I am old. It was I who slew, great the tidings, the solitary crane that was in Moy Leana and the eagle of Druim Breac, who fell by me at the famous ford. [22] See my "Literary History of Ireland," p. 351. It was I who slew, pleasant the supper, the solitary crane of blue Innis Géidh. IT WAS I WHO CHEWED BENEATH MY COMB THE TWO FULL-FAT BIRDS OF LEITHIN. It was I who slew, royal the rout, THE SLENDER BLACKFOOT of Slieve Fuaid; the BLACKBIRD of Drum Seghsa of the streams died in the talons of my daughter." It is plain then that this ancient poem, found in Egerton 1782, and in the Book of Fermoy, actually presupposes our story, and has a close connection with it. THE STORY. A gentle, noble, renowned patron there was of a time in the land of Ireland, whose exact name was Ciaran of Cluan.[23] A good faith had he in the mighty Lord. [23] _i.e._, Clonmacnoise. One day Ciaran bade his clerics to go look for thatch for his church, on a Saturday of all days,[24] and those to whom he spake were Sailmin, son of Beogan, and Maolan, son of Naoi, for men submissive to God were they twain, so far as their utmost diligence went, and many miracles were performed for Maolan, as Ciaran said in the stanza, [24] Literally "especially." Maolan, son of Naoi the cleric, His right hand be for our benison If the son of Naoi desired it To work miracles like every saint. And, moreover, Sailmin, son of Beogan, he was the same man of whom, for wisdom, for piety, and for religion, Ciaran spake the stanza, Sailmin melodious, son of Beogan. A faith godlike and firm. No blemish is in his body. His soul is an angel. He was the seventh son of the sons of Beogan of Burren,[25] and those men were the seven psalmists of Ciaran, so that from them are the "Youth's Cross" on the Shannon, and the [other] "Youth's Cross" on the high road to Clonmacnoise [named]. [25] In West Clare. Howsoever the clerics fared forth alongside the Shannon, until they reached Cluain Doimh. There they cut the full of their little curragh of white-bottomed green-topped rushes. But [before they had done] they heard the voice of the clerics' bell at the time of vespers on Sunday, so they said that they would not leave that place until the day should rise on them on Monday, and they spake the lay as follows: The voice of a bell I heard in Cluan[26] On Sunday night defeating us, I shall not depart since that has been heard, Until Monday, after the Sunday. On Sunday did God shape-out Heaven, On that day was the King of the apostles born; On Sunday was born Mary Mother of the King of Mercy. On Sunday, I say it, Was born victorious John Baptist. By the hand of God in the stream in the East Was he baptised on Sunday. On Sunday, moreover, it is a true thing, The Son of God took the captivity out of hell. On a Sunday after the battle ...? Shall God deliver the judgment of the last day. On a Sunday night, we think it melodious, The voice of the cleric I hear, The voice I hear of a bell On Drum Diobraid above the pool. The voice of the bell I hear Making me to postpone return ...? The voice of the bell I hear Bringing me to Cluan. By thy hand O youth, And by the King who created thee, My heart thinks it delightful The bell and the voice. [26] _i.e._, Clonmacnoise. Howbeit the clerics abode that night [where they were] for the love of the King of Sunday. Now there occurred, that night, a frost and a prolonged snow and a rigour of cold, and there arose wind and tempest in the elements for their skaith, without as much as a bothy or a lean-to of a bed or a fire for them, and surely were it not for the mercy of God protecting them round about, it was not in the mind of either of them that he should be alive on the morrow after that night, with all they experienced of oppression and terror from the great tempest of that wild-weather, so that they never remembered their acts of piety or to say or sing a prayer (?) Nor could they sleep or rest, for their senses were turned to foolishness, for they had never seen the like or the equal of that storm, and of the bad weather of that night, for the venom of its cold and moreover for the bitterness of the morning [which followed it]. And as they were there on the morning of the next day they heard a gentle, low, lamentable, woe-begone conversation of grief above their heads on high, on a tall, wide-extended cliff. And [the meaning] was revealed to them through the virtue of their holiness, and although much evil and anxiety had they suffered, [still] they paid attention to the conversation and observed it. And they between whom the conversation was, were these, namely an eagle who was called Léithin[27] and a bird of her birds[28] in dialogue with her, piteously and complainingly lamenting their cold-state, pitifully, sadly, grievously; and said the bird to the eagle: [27] Apparently "the little grey one," from "liath"-grey; pronounced "Lay-heen." I have made her feminine and called her "she" in the translation, but the Irish makes her masculine. [28] _i.e._, one of its own young eagles, or nestlings. "Léithin," said he, "do you ever remember the like of this morning or of last night to have come within thy knowledge before?" "I do not remember," said Léithin, "that I ever heard or saw the like or the equal of them, since the world was created, and do you yourself remember, or did you ever hear of such [weather]?" said the eagle to the bird. "There are people who do remember," said the bird. "Who are they?" said the eagle. "Dubhchosach, the Black-footed one of Binn Gulban,[29] that is the vast-sized stag of the deluge,[30] who is at Binn Gulban; and he is the hero of oldest memory of all those of his generation (?) in Ireland. [29] Now Ben Bulben in Co. Sligo. [30] _i.e._, "As old as the deluge." "Confusion on thee and skaith! surely thou knowest not that; and now although that stag be far away from me I shall go to see him, to find if I may get any knowledge from him!" Therewith Léithin went off lightly, yet was she scarcely able to rise up on high with the strength of the bad weather, and no more could she go low with the cold of the ...? and with the great abundance of the water, and, though it was difficult for her, she progressed lightly and low-flying, and no one living could reveal or make known all that she met of evil and of misery going to Ben Gulban looking for the Blackfoot. And she found the small-headed swift-footed stag scratching himself against a bare oak rampike. And Léithin descended on a corner of the rampike beside him. And she saluted the stag in his own language and asks him was he the Blackfoot. The stag said that he was, and Léithin spoke the lay: Well for you O Blackfoot, On Ben Gulban high, Many moors and marshes, Leap you lightly by. Hounds no more shall hunt you Since the Fenians fell, Feeding now untroubled On from glen to glen. Tell me stag high-headed, Saw you ever fall Such a night and morning? You remember all. [THE STAG ANSWERS.] I will give you answer Léithin wise and gray, Such a night and morning Never came my way. "Tell me, Blackfoot," said Léithin, "what is thy age?" "I shall tell thee," said the Blackfoot. "I remember this oak here when it was a little sapling, and I was born at the foot of the oak sapling, and I was reared upon that couch [of moss at its foot] until I was a mighty-great stag, and I loved this abode [ever], through my having been reared here. And the oak grew after that till it was a giant oak (?) and I used to come and constantly scratch myself against it every evening after my journeyings and goings [during the day] and I used [always] to remain beside it in such wise till the next morning, and if I had to make a journey or were hotly hunted I used to reach the same tree, so that we grew up with one another, until I became a mighty-great stag, and this tree became the bare withered rampike which you see, so that it is now only a big ruined shapeless-stump without blossom or fruit or foliage to-day, its period and life being spent. Now I have let a long period of years[31] go by me, yet I never saw and never heard tell-of, in all that time, the like of last night." [31] Or, "a cargo of five hundred years." Léithin departs [to return] to his birds after that, and on his reaching home the other[32] bird spoke to him, "have you found out what you went to inquire about?" [32] Literally "second." "I have not," said Léithin, and she began to revile the bird for all the cold and hardships she had endured, but at last she said, "who do you think again would know this thing for me?" said Léithin. "I know that," said the bird, "Dubhgoire the Black caller of Clonfert[33] of Berachan." [33] Perhaps "Cluansost." There is no Berachan in Clonfert in the martyrologies. See "The Death of Bearachan," p. 63. "Well then I shall go seek him." And although that was far away from her, yet she proceeded until she reached Clonfert of St. Berachan, and she was observing the birds until they had finished their feeding [and were returning home], and then Léithin saw one splendid bird beautifully-topped, victorious-looking, of the size of a blackbird, but of the brightness of a swan, and as soon as it came into its presence Léithin asks it whether it were Dubhgoire. It said that it was. It was a marvel [to Léithin] when it said that it was, namely that the blackbird should be white, and Léithin spake the lay. "How is that O Dubhgoire, sweet is thy warbling, often hast thou paid thy calls throughout the blue-leaved forest. "In Clonfert of the bright streams and by the full plain of the Liffey, and from the plain of the Liffey coming from the east to Kildare behind it. "From that thou departest to thy nest in the Cill which Brigit blessed. Short was it for thee to overleap every hedge till thou camest to the townland in which Berachan was. "O Dubhgoire tell to me--and to count up all thy life--the like of yesterday morning, didst thou ever experience it, O Dubhgoire?" [DUBHGOIRE ANSWERS.] "To me my full life was three hundred years before Berachan, the lifetime of Berachan I spent [added thereto], I was enduring in lasting happiness. "Since the time that Lughaidh of the Blades was for a while in the sovereignty of all Ireland I never experienced by sea or by land such weather as that which Léithin mentions in his lay."[34] [34] Literally, "I never got on sea or land a knowledge of that lay of Leithin's." "Well, then, my own errand to thee," said Léithin, "is to enquire if thou didst ever experience, or remember to have seen or [to have heard] that there ever came such a morning as yesterday for badness." "I do not remember that I ever saw such," said Dubhgoire, "or anything like it." As for Léithin, she was sad and sorrowful, for those tidings did not help (?) her, and she proceeded on her way till she reached her nest and birds. "What have you to tell us to-day?" said the bird. "May you never have luck nor fortune," said Léithin. "I have no more news for you than I had when departing, except all my weariness from all the journeyings and wanderings which you contrive to get me to take, without my getting any profit or advantage out of you," and with that she gave a greedy venemous drive of her beak at the bird, so that she had like to have made a prey and flesh-torn spoil of it, with vexation at all the evil and misery she had experienced going to Kildare, so that the bird screeched out loudly and pitifully and miserably. [A while] after that Léithin said, "It's a pity and a grief to me if any one in Ireland knows [that there ever came a night worse than that night] that I myself do not know of it." "Well, then, indeed, there is one who knows," says the bird, "Goll of Easruaidh (_i.e._, the Blind One of Assaroe) and another name of him is the Éigne[35] of Ath-Seannaigh (_i.e._, the salmon of Ballyshannon), and it is certain that he knows about that, if any one in the world knows about it." [35] This is an old poetic word for a salmon. "It is hard for me to go the way you tell me," said Léithin, "yet should I like exceeding well to know about this thing." Howsoever she set out, and she never came down until she reached Assaroe of Mac Modhuirn, and she began observing and scrutinizing Assaroe until she saw the salmon feeding near the ford, and she saluted him and said, "Delightful is that O Goll, it is not with thee as with me, for our woes are not the same," and she spake the lay: [LÉITHIN SPEAKS.] "Pleasant is that [life of thine] O Goll with success (?) many is the stream which thou hast adventured, not the same for thee and for us, if we were to relate our wanderings. "It is to thee that I have come from my house, O Blind one of Assaroe, how far doth thy memory go back, or how far is thy age to be reckoned?" [THE SALMON ANSWERS.] "As for my memory, that is a long one. It is not easy to reckon it. There is not on land or in bush a person like me--none like me but myself alone! "I remember, it is not a clear-cut remembrance, the displacing showers of the Deluge, four women and four men, who remained after it in the world. "I remember Patrick of the pens coming into the land of Ireland, and the Fir Bolg, manful the assembly, coming from Greece to take possession of it. "Truly do I mind me of Fintan's coming into the country close to me. Four men were the crew of his ship, and an equal number of females. "I remember gentle Partholan's taking the kingship over Ulster. I remember, a while before that, Glas, son of Aimbithe in Emania. "I chanced to be one morning that was fair, on this river, O Léithin, I never experienced a morning like that, either before it or after it. "I gave a leap into the air under the brow of my hard rock [here], and before I came down into my house [of water] this pool was one flag of ice. "The bird of prey[36] seized me above the land with a furious ungentle onslaught, and bore away my clear blue eye. To me it was not a pleasant world." [36] Literally "eagle," but this is a mistake, it was not an eagle. * * * * * "Well now, my own object in coming to thee," said Léithin, "was to enquire of thee whether thou dost ever remember such a morning as was yesterday?" "Indeed saw I such a morning," quoth Goll. "I remember the coming of the deluge, and I remember the coming of Partholan and of Fintan and the children of Neimhidh and the Fir Bolg and the Tuatha De Danann, and the Fomorians and the sons of Milesius and Patrick son of Alprunn, and I remember how Ireland threw off from her those troops, and I remember a morning that was worse than that morning, another morning not speaking of the great showers out of which the deluge fell. And the deluge left only four men and four women, namely, Noe, son of Laimhfhiadh and his wife, and Sem, Cam and Japhet, and their three wives, for in truth that was the crew of the ark, and neither [church] man nor canon reckon that God left undestroyed in the world but those four. However, wise men truly recount that God left another four keeping knowledge and tribal-descent and preserving universal genealogies, for God did not wish the histories of the people to fade, and so he left Fintan son of Laimhfhiadh towards the setting of the sun, south, keeping an account of the west of the world, and, moreover, Friomsa Fhurdhachta keeping the lordship of the north, and the prophet and the Easba? duly ordering [the history of the] south. And those are they who were alive outside of the ark, and I remember all those people. And Léithin," said Goll, "I never saw the like of that morning for vemon except one other morning that was worse than the morning that you speak of, and worse than any morning that ever came before it. It was thus. One day I was in this pool and I saw a beautifully coloured butterfly with purple spots in the air over my head. I leapt to catch it, and before I came down the whole pool had become one flag of ice behind me, so that [when I fell back] it bore me up. And then there came the bird of prey[37] to me, on his seeing me [in that condition], and he gave a greedy venemous assault on me and plucked the eye out of my head, and only for my weight he would have lifted me, and he threw the eye into the pool, and we both wrestled together until we broke the ice with the violence of the struggle, and with the [heat of the] great amount of crimson-red blood that was pouring from my eye, so that the ice was broken by that, so that with difficulty I got down into the pool [again], and that is how I lost my eye. And it is certain O Léithin," said Goll, "that that was by far the worst morning that I ever saw, and worse than this morning that thou speakest of." [37] Literally "eagle." MSS. reads "fiolar"--"the eagle," which is evidently a mistake. * * * * * Now as for the clerics, they took council with one another, and determined to await [the eagle's return] that they might know what she had to relate. However they experienced such hardships and anguish from the cold and misery of the night, and they could not [despite their resolution] endure to abide [the eagle's return]. So Maolan, the cleric, said, "I myself beseech the powerful Lord, and the chosen Trinity, that the eagle, Léithin, may come with the knowledge she receives to Clonmacnoise and tell it to Ciaran," [and therewith they themselves departed.] Now as for Goll [the salmon], he asked Léithin, after that, who was it that sent her in pursuit of that knowledge. "It was the second bird of my own birds." "That is sad," said Goll, "for that bird is much older than thou or than I either, and that is the bird that picked my eye out of me, and if he had desired to make thee wise in these things it would have been easy for him. That bird," said he, "is the old Crow of Achill. And its talons have got blunted with old age, and since its vigour and energy and power of providing for itself have departed from it, its way of getting food is to go from one nest to another, smothering and killing every bird's young, and eating them, and so thou shalt never overtake thy own birds alive. And O beloved friend, best friend that I ever saw, if thou only succeedest in catching him alive on thy return, remember all the tricks he has played thee, and avenge thy birds and thy journeyings and thy wanderings upon him, and then too mind thee to avenge my eye." Léithin bade farewell to Goll, and off she went the self-same way she had come, in a mighty swift course, for she felt certain [now] that she would not overtake her birds alive in her nest. And good cause had she for that dread, for she only found the place of the nest, wanting its birds, they having been eaten by the Crow of Achill. So that all Léithin got as the result of her errand was the loss of her birds. But the old Crow of Achill had departed after its despoiling [the nest], so that Léithin did not come upon it, neither did she know what way it had gone. Another thing, too, Léithin had to go every Monday, owing to the cleric's prayer, to Clonmacnoise. There the eagle perched upon the great pinnacle of the round tower[38] of Clonmacnoise, and revealed herself to the holy patron, namely Ciaran. And Ciaran asked her for her news. And Léithin said she was [not?] more grieved at her wanderings and her loss than at that. Thereupon Ciaran said that he would give her the price and reward of her storytelling; namely, every time that her adventures should be told, if it were stormy or excessive rain that was in it at the time of telling, it should be changed into fine sky and good weather. [38] Literally "Bell-house." And Léithin said that it was understood by her [all along] that it was not her birds or her nest she would receive from him; and since that might not be, she was pleased that her journeyings and wanderings should not go for nothing. And [thereupon] Léithin related her goings from the beginning to the end, just as we have told them above. So those are the adventures of Léithin. Thus far. THE COMPARISON AS TO AGE BETWEEN THE FOUR ELDERS; NAMELY, THE CROW OF ACHILL, THE GREAT EAGLE OF LEAC NA BHFAOL, THE BLIND TROUT OF ASSAROE, AND THE HAG OF BEARE. PREFACE. This is the folk-lore version of the last story, and it is very interesting because it lends strength to the assumption that the story may be a piece of pre-Christian folk-lore, and probably very much older than any documents. I think it is pretty obvious that St. Ciaran and his clerics were brought into the written version simply to insure the tale against any clerical hostility which might be displayed by well-intentioned friars or others who would say--"those are only foolish tales, let them be." But the presence of St. Ciaran and his two clerics would be sure to disarm hostility, if any such were attempted. The whole of mediaeval Irish literature is full of examples of such forethought. This story was told by Joyce or Seoigtheach, of Poll na bracha, in Co. Galway, some years ago, for the Oireachtas. There are a great number of stories in Irish with regard to old age. A common saying which I have often heard, but with variants, is the following, which purports to tell the life of those things in the universe which will last longest: Tri cuaille fáil, cú. Tri cú, each. Tri eich, duine. Tri daoine, iolar. Tri iolair, bradán. Tri bradáin, iubhair (pronounced "úr.") Tri iubhair, eitre, Tri eitreacha o thús an domhain go deireadh an domhain _i.e._, "Three wattles (such as are placed in a hedge to fill a gap) = a hound's life, three hounds a steed, three steeds a man, three men an eagle, three eagles a salmon, three salmon a yew tree, three yew trees a ridge, three ridges from the beginning to the end of the world." "Eitre" has been explained to me as the old very wide ridges that used to be used in ancient times which left an almost indelible track in the ground. But my friend Mr. Hodgson took down a different explanation from Mathias O'Conor, and a different version, after "tri ur, eitre," came "tri eitre, 'eye-ar'." and 'eitre' he explained as the mark of a plough on land, and 'aidhear' or "eye-ar" as the mark of a spade. The Crow of Achill is a bird that every Irish speaker in the West has heard of, but Raftery curiously made him a "raven." In one of his poems he says of a place in his beloved Mayo where birds delighted to resort: Ta an fiach dubh as Acaill ann Ta an seabhac as Loch Erne ann, Ta an t-iolrach o'n nGreig ann Agus an eala on Roimh. _i.e._, the Raven out of Achill is there, the Hawk from Lough Erne is there, the Eagle out of Greece and the Swan from Rome! THE STORY. In the Island of Achill the Crow lived. He never frequented wood, tree or bush, but an ancient forge in which he spent his time every evening throughout the year, and every year of his lifetime, lying on the anvil. And as it is the custom of birds usually to rub their beaks to the thing that is nearest to them, the Crow used to give an odd rub, now and again, to the horn of the anvil. At long last, in the end, the horn grew to be as thin and worn away as a knitting needle, by the continuous rubbing. One night there happened to be a great storm. There came frost, snow and wind, very violent. The roofing was swept away off the forge, and along with it went the plumage and feathers of the crow, and the poor crow was left in the morning after that dreadful night, and he without a feather or any plumage on his body, but just as much as if he had been scalded with boiling water. When the sun rose after that in the morning there came a rest and a calm, but the poor crow was afraid to go out, and [_i.e._, after] the flaying that had been done upon him during the night. "Oh," said he, "it's a long time I'm in this world, and I never felt a single other night of such bad weather as the night last night. It is my own opinion that there is not a single living creature in the entire world older than myself, unless it be the great Eagle of Leac-na-bhfaol,[39] and I'm in doubt but that the eagle is the older. I'll go to himself now until I get knowledge from him if he ever felt a night as cold and as venemous as the night we had last night." [39] Pronounce L'ock-na-weel. When the light of day came and the heat of the sun was right, my crow slipped off with the intention of journeying to the eagle. He was going and ever-going as well as he was able, seeing he was without feathers, until he came in the end, at long last, as far as the nest of the Eagle. "Aroo!" says the Eagle; "O Crow of my heart, what has happened to you, or where have your plumage and your feathers gone?" "Oh, don't ask me that," said the Crow, "didn't yourself feel the cold and ill weather of last night?" "Well, indeed," said the Eagle, "I didn't notice one jot of the wild weather that you're talking of." "Heavy was your slumber then," said the Crow. "I never experienced any night myself that was one half as venemous as it was--and signs on me! I am come now to you to find out from you did there ever come any night in your time that was colder than it; because I was laying out in my own mind that you are older than I am." "I have no right-certainty as to my own age," said the Eagle; "but even if I had, I know that there is another creature who is still alive in the world and who is very much older than I am." "Who is that?" said the Crow. "He is the Blind Trout of Assaroe," said the Eagle. "Go you, now, to that Trout, and perhaps you might get the solving of your question from him." The Crow went off and he never stopped nor stayed until he came as far as Assaroe, and he found out the Trout. He told his story then to the Trout, and told him that he came to find out from him if there had ever come a night in the world that was as cold as last night. "There did, and a thousand times colder," said the Trout. "I'd scarcely believe you,"[40] said the Crow. [40] Literally "it's badly I'd believe you." "Why, then," said the Trout, "if you don't believe me, you can go to an older authority than I." "And who is that authority?" said the Crow. "The Old Woman of Beare," said the Trout. "I'll go right away to her this moment,"[41] said the Crow. [41] Literally "now itself." "Wait yet," said the Trout, "until I tell you my own story. I was swimming on the surface of this pool one fine calm evening, as calm and as fine as any evening that ever I saw. There were thousands of flies above the pool. I sprang upward to catch the full of my mouth of them, and before I reached back again into the water there was ice on the [surface of the] water, and I was jumping and floundering on the flag of ice until the raven[42] came and picked the eyes out of my head. My share of blood began running fast[43] out of me, and I was there until the heat of the blood melted the flag of ice that was on the water, down through it, and let me down into the water again. That was the coldest night that I ever felt myself, and that is the way I lost my sight. I was christened the Blind Trout of Assaroe ever since, but some of the people call me the Old Trout of Assaroe. Alas, my bitter misfortune! I am ever since without sight." [42] Notice the use of the definite article. [43] Literally "thickly." The Crow heard him out, but he would not be easy or satisfied in his own mind until he should go on a visit to the Old Woman of Beare. "Farewell, Trout," said he, "I must go to the Old Woman now until I hear her own story." "May your journey succeed with you Crow, you will have neither loss nor hurt in the house of the Old Woman," said the Trout. The Crow went off then, and he never stopped nor stayed until he came to the Old Woman's house. "Welcome, O Crow out of Achill," said she. "What is this has happened to you, or where are your plumage and feathers?" "They are gone with the big wind," said he; and with that he told his story to the Old Woman from beginning to end, and he put the same question to her that he had put before that to the Eagle and to the Trout--Did she ever feel any night that was as sore and venemous as last night? "That's true for you," said she; "I did feel a little stroke of cold at the beginning of the night, but I drew a wool pack over my head then, and I never felt anything but moonogues[44] of perspiration running off me again until morning." [44] Literally "little bog-berries" "Are you very old?" said the Crow; "or what age are you?" "I have no certain date with regard to my age," said the Old Woman--"only this much. My father used to kill a beef every year, on the day I was born, in honour of my birthday, as long as he lived, and I followed the same custom, from that day to this. All the horns [of the beeves I killed] are on the loft in the barn and do you remain in my house until to-morrow, and if you like I'll send the servant boy to count them and you yourself can keep account of them" [as he numbers them aloud.][45] [45] See the story of "The Old Woman of Beare." On the morrow with the rise of day the servant went up to count the horns, and he spent one full year, and a day over, at that work, and after all that there was only one corner of the loft emptied. And during all that time the Crow was taking his ease, and there was neither thirst nor hunger on him [so well was he treated] and his plumage and his feathers grew on him again. But even so, he got tired of keeping count. "I give you the branch" [palm of victory] said he to the Old Woman; "you are as old as the old grandmother long ago, who ate the apples," and he sped forth from the Old Woman and went home. THE DEATH OF BEARACHAN PREFACE. The following little story, taken down in Irish by my friend Father Kelleher from the dictation of Mary Sweeney, aged 82, of Coolea, Ballyvourney, Co. Cork, and sent me by Miss G. Schoepperle, who published the text in the revue Celtique in 1911, is of great interest, because it is almost unique as showing a point of contact--one of the exceedingly few points of contact--between Breton and Irish folk-lore. "Il n'est, que je sache, d'autre example en Irlande d'un messager surnaturel, tel que l'enfant mystérieux qui parait dans le conte qui suit," says Miss Schoepperle, truly, but in Brittany, she goes on to say, the "buguel (Irish, [uncial: buachaill]) noz," _i.e._, the boy or herdsman of the night, is well known. It is generally described as a little child with its head too large for its body, which only seldom appears, but which is heard to cry and lament in fields or on deserted roads. Its apparition is a presage of death. Lebraz in his Légende de la Mort has more than one story of its appearance. The salient points in the following story which seem to connect it with the Breton legend are: (1) The gradual growth in size of the being which was at first small; (2) the lamentations and cries which it utters, and (3)--most remarkable of all--that it described itself as a herdsman, and was a presage of death. The Bearchan of this story must have been the bishop of [uncial: Cluain-sosta] in [uncial: Ui Failghe] (King's County) about the year 690. He was of the race of the [uncial: Dalriada] or Scoto-Irish, and was 21st in descent from [uncial: Cairbre Riada] who fought in the battle of [uncial: Ceann Feadrat] in 186 A.D. I have seen his pedigree in MS. There are about six other St. Bearchans, but so far as I know the only one who would have been at all likely to have attracted a body of legend to himself was this Bearchan of [uncial: Cluain-sosta], who was esteemed as a prophet and poet. Besides I find this very curious note in the Martyrology of Donegal compiled by Brother Michael O'Clery from the old books of Ireland in 1630: [uncial: Dodhach Bercháin da friot go nuaide in Uíb Fáilgi i bhferonn ó Ui Berchain, an maidi fós timchiol an uisge. Ann sin atá cluainsosta agus ann sin atá tempall Bercháin acus do bhi,] i.e., "Berchan's vat has been found new in Ui Failgi in the territory of the Ui Berchain. The timber was still round the water [_i.e._, was still good enough to hold water.] It is there Cluainsosta is, and there Berchan's church is and was." So, then, there must have been some well-known story connected with Berchan's vat. The list of the great Earl of Kildare's library, which was drawn up in 1518, contained a "St. Berchan's Book." Poems ascribed to him are found in the "Wars of the Gael and Gall." For other references to him, see my "Literary History of Ireland," 210-11[46] "Bearachán" is the modern pronunciation of the older Berchán. [46] See also O'Curry MS. Materials p. 412-418 and 432. Fer-da-lethe, or the "man of two halves," was another name for him, "because he spent half of his life in the world and half on pilgrimage ut ferunt periti." An old rann runs: [uncial: Cheithri fáidhe Gasdhel n-glan feirdi an tir a dtanganar, Colum cille Moling lán Brenainn Biorra agus Berchan.] _i.e._, "Four prophets of the clean Gael. The country from which they sprang was the better for them. Columbcille, full Moling, Brendan of Birr and Berchan." THE STORY. Bearachan of Glen Flesk[47] had a dream or vision that there was no danger of his ever dying until three kings should come to his house without asking or invitation. On a certain night they did pay him a visit. He told them that there would not be a bit of him alive in the morning. They passed a good part of the night eating and drinking away, and they making a jest of him [saying] that so long as they themselves were in the house there would be no danger of [anything happening] him. [47] Near Killarney in Co. Kerry. But, as I have shown, he was probably Bearchan of Cluainsosta. There is no Berchan of Glenflesk in any of the Irish martyrologies. [Illustration: THE THREE KINGS ADMIT THE "POOR LITTLE CREATURE"] They got hold of a big dabhach or vat, and [they put] Bearachan in under the mouth of the vat [to protect him] and they three were round about it. He had not been long placed there by them when they heard a very clear little voice outside, and it crying; and there was snow outside, and cold. They asked it, "what was outside and what it wanted." It said that it was a cow-herd and that it was perished. They left him outside for a good space of time. At last they let him in. He came in and sat down beside the fire, a poor little creature, and he shaking with the cold. They gave him food and drink, but he told them that he was too much frightened, and that he would not eat it. They had a fine red-hot fire, and he was warming himself at the fire. He was a very short time there till he began swelling with the [heat of the] fire and growing big. He drew a little musical instrument out of his pocket and started to play on it. And according as the music was a-playing by him the others were inclining to weaken and fall asleep, until they [all, at last] fell softly in a dead sleep. And when they awoke in the morning, they had no music and no Bearachan--nothing but his bones left bare and naked underneath the vat. STORY OF SOLOMON. PREFACE. How Solomon comes into Irish folk-lore is hard to say, but I have heard at least three stories about him, of which the present is the most interesting. I wrote it down, word for word, from the mouth of Michael Mac Ruaidhri, in 1896. There is an undoubtedly Eastern flavour about it, but how it came to the County Mayo I cannot imagine, for I have not been able to trace it to any known source. Solomon's name was better known in the middle ages in connection with the conjuration of spirits. "Für solche halbe Hexenblut 1st Salomonis Schlüssel gut," says Faust in the study scene, when threatened by the demon dog. Josephus mentions Solomon's power over ghosts, and a book of conjurations in Hebrew which was ascribed to Solomon was translated into Latin, French, Italian, German and Spanish. The best known German edition according to Zerfi (one of Faust's editors) is called "clavicula Salomonis et theosophia pneumatica." THE STORY. When Solomon's mother was sick, Solomon used to send a man from the village in which he was, to watch her every night; and every man who used to be watching her had to come before sunrise next morning with word to Solomon of how his mother was, and the first man who would say that his mother was dead, his head was to be whipt off him, and hung upon a spear that was above the Great Door. And they used to go, man after man, each night in their turn, and five pounds was the reward for their work, which they used to get each night. It was well, and it was not ill, until it came to the turn of a widow's son to go to watch the mother of Solomon; and the night that he was going to watch her she was very weak and overcome, and given up for death. When the account came to the widow's son to go and watch Solomon's mother, there came the weakness and the sweat of death upon him, and his mother began to keene for him, because she had no one but him. And as he was going home from the day's work that he had, that evening, he was weeping and troubled; and there met him a half-fool, and he asked the widow's son for what cause was he weeping, and the widow's son told him as I am telling it to you. "What is the reward that you will get?" said the half-fool to the widow's son. "Five pounds," says he to him. "My soul to God of the graces," says the half-fool, "but I'll go in your place to night, if you give me the five pounds." "I'll give you five pounds, and something over," says the widow's son, "if you go there." True was the story. The half-fool went to watch Solomon's mother that night, and she was in the last agony when he went into the room, and he was watching her until after the hour of twelve at night; and he heard a noise at the big door, and he rose upon his feet and walked to the big door, and there was a man at the big door, and he watching, looking in on a window that was in the big door. And the man who was in it was a body-servant of Solomon; and Solomon had a great regard for this man, and he used to send this man every night to bring him word privately--to tell him if the man who was taking care of his mother was doing his business right. Now, there was none of the men who were watching his mother for a year so keenly-watchful as the half-fool who was watching her that night. No man of them heard the man who was at the big door any night except him. The half-fool opened the big door then, and there was an old sword hung up over the big door. When the big door was opened the body-servant thought to come in, but the half-fool drew the sword, and threw the head off him. He left him there and went to the sleeping-room where Solomon's mother was, and he was not long in it until Solomon's mother died. * * * * * Solomon was getting very uneasy about his servant as to what was the reason that he was not coming to him with tidings, as he used to come every other night. But, howsoever, Solomon did not leave the house till morning, and he did not go to look for him. [He waited], but he did not come. And when the day came, the widow's son was not with Solomon before the rising of the sun, as the other men had been. Solomon did not go to rest, but he ever looking out through the window, and at long last he saw the widow's son--for he thought it was he was in it--coming to the palace. And when he came in to Solomon they saluted one another. And says the half-fool--it was he was in it--to Solomon, "I am asking pardon of you, O king and prince." "Why say you that?" said Solomon. "I knocked the hat off your body-servant yesterday," said the half-fool. "You have your pardon got," said Solomon. "But, O thou best of the kings," said the half-fool, "the head was with the hat." And as Solomon was after giving him his pardon, he could not go back of his word. "Have you any other tidings with you?" said Solomon. "I have," said he. "Tell them," said Solomon. "God's brightness is on the earth," said he. "The sun is risen," said Solomon. "It is," said the half-fool. "The stones that were above yesterday," said he, "they are going below now." "The plough is ploughing, then," said Solomon. "It is," said he, "and the first house in which you were reared, it is overthrown." "Then my mother is dead," said Solomon "She is," said the half-fool. "I shall have your head on the spear," said Solomon. "You shall not, O honest noble king," said the half-fool, "you yourself were the first man who said it." "By my honour," said Solomon, "it was I." Ye see now, that, as wise as Solomon was, the half-fool got the victory over him in wisdom. "There be's luck on a fool."[48] [48] A common proverb. CHRISTMAS ALMS. PREFACE. There are many rhyming petitions and prayers amongst the "Askers of Alms" to be recited at the door of those from whom they crave assistance. One of the virtues most insisted upon in prayers and didactic poems is almsgiving. The following story was probably invented with a deliberately didactic purpose. It was told by Mary Gowlan, Cathair-na-Mart (Westport), some twenty years ago. The Dardeels, or Dharadeels which came out of the mouth of the dying woman are the most loathsome insects known to the Irish peasant. They are black beetles with cocked tails. See the "Legend of the Dardeel, the Keerogue and the Prumpolaun." THE STORY. In the old time there was a married couple living near Cauher-na-Mart,[49] in the County Mayo. They had seven of a family, but God sent them worldly means, and they wanted for nothing but the love of God. [49] Westport. The man was a pious and generous person, and was good to the poor, but the wife was a hard miser without mercy, who would not give alms to man or stranger, and after refusing the poor man she used not to be satisfied with that, but she used to give him abuse also. If a person able to do work were to come looking for alms from her, she would say, "Unless you were a lazy vagabone you would not be here now looking for alms and bothering my head with your talk;" but if an old man or an old woman who could do no work would come to her, it is what she would say to them that they ought to be dead long before that. One Christmas night there was frost and snow on the ground. There was a good fire in Patrick Kerwan's house--that was the man's name--and the table was laid. Patrick, his wife and his family were sitting down at the table, and they ready to go in face of a good supper when they heard a knock at the door. Up rose the wife and opened it. There was a poor man outside, and she asked him what he was looking for. "I'm looking for alms in the honour of Jesus Christ, who was born on this festival night, and who died on the Cross of passion for the human race." "Begone, you lazy guzzler," she said, "if you were one half as good at working as you are at saying your prayers, you would not be looking for alms to-night, nor troubling honest people," and with that she struck the door to, in the face of the poor man, and sat down again at the table. Patrick heard a bit of the talk she gave the poor man, and he asked who was at the door. "A lazy good-for-nothing, that was looking for alms," said she, "and if it wasn't that it was a lazy vagabone that was in it, he would not come looking for alms from people who are earning their share of food hardly, but he would sooner be saying his old prayers than working for meat." Patrick rose. "Bad was the thing you did," said he, "to refuse anyone for a morsel of meat, and especially to refuse him on Christmas night. Isn't it God that sent us everything that we have; there is more on this table than will be eaten to-night; how do you know whether we shall be alive to-morrow?" "Sit down," says she, "and don't be making a fool of yourself; we want no sermons." "May God change your heart," says Patrick, and with that he got the full of his two hands of bread and food, and out with him, following the poor man, going on the track of his feet in the snow as quick as he could, till he came up with him. He handed him the food then, and told him he was sorry for his wife's refusing him. "But," says he, "I'm sure there was anger on her." "Thank you for your food," said the poor man. He handed the food back again to him, and said "[there], you have your food and your thanks, [both]. I am an angel from heaven who was sent to your wife in the form of a poor man, to ask alms of her in the honour of Jesus Christ, who was born this night, and who suffered the passion of the Cross for the human race. She was not satisfied with refusing me, but she abused me also. You shall receive a great reward for your alms, but as for your wife she shall not be long until she is standing in the presence of Jesus Christ to give Him an account of the way in which she spent her life on this world." The angel departed, and Patrick returned home. He sat down, but he could neither eat nor drink. "What's on you?" says the wife, "did that stroller do anything to you?" "My grief! it was no stroller was in it, but an angel from heaven who was sent to you in the shape of a man to ask alms of you, in honour of Jesus Christ, and you were not satisfied with refusing him, but you must abuse him with bad names. Now, your life on this world is not long, and in the name of God, I beseech you, make a good use of it." "Hold your tongue," she said, "I think that you saw a ghost, or that you lost your senses, and may God never relieve you, nor anyone else who would leave a good fire, and a good supper, running out in the snow after a lazy rap; but the devil a much sense was in you ever." "If you don't take my advice, you'll repent when you'll be too late," said Patrick; but it was no use for him to be talking. When Little Christmas [New Year's Day] came, the woman was not able to get dinner ready; she was deaf and blind. On the Twelfth Night she was not able to leave her bed, but she was raving and crying, "give them alms, alms, alms, give them everything in the house in the name of Jesus Christ." She remained for a while like that, between the death and the life, and she without sense. The priest came often, but he could do nothing with her. The seventh day the priest came to her, and he brought the last oil to anoint her with. The candles were lit, but they were quenched upon the spot. They tried to light them again, but all the coals that were in the county Mayo would not light them. Then he thought to put the oil on her without a candle, but on the spot the place was filled with a great smoke, and it was little but the priest was smothered. Patrick came to the door of the room, but he could go no further. He could hear the woman crying, "a drink, a drink, in the name of Christ!" She remained like this for two days, and she alive, and they used to hear her from time to time crying out, "a drink, a drink," but they could not go near her. Word was sent for the Bishop O'Duffy, and he came at last, and two old friars along with him. He was carrying a cross in his right hand. When they got near Patrick's house, there came down on them with one swoop a multitude of kites, and it was little but they plucked the eyes out of the three. They came then to Patrick's door and they lit the candles. The bishop opened a book and said to the friars, "When I shall begin reading the prayers do ye give the responses." Then he said, "Depart, O Christian soul----" "She is not a Christian soul," said a voice, but they saw no one. The Bishop began again, "Depart, O Christian soul, out of this world, in the name of the all-powerful Father who created you." Before he could say more there came great thunder and lightning. They were deafened with the thunder; the house was filled with smoke. The lightning struck the gable of the house and threw it down. The deluge came down so that the people thought it was the end of the world that was in it. The Bishop and the two friars fell to their prayers again. "O Lord, according to the abundance of Thy mercy, look mercifully upon her," said the Bishop. "Amen," said the friars. There came a little calm and the Bishop went over to the bed. Poor Patrick came to the other side of the bed, and it was not long until the woman opened her mouth and there came a host of dardeels out of it. Patrick let a screech and ran for fire to put on them. When he came back the woman was dead, and the dardeels gone. The Bishop said prayers over her, and then he himself went away and the two friars, and Patrick went out to get women to wash the corpse, but when he came back the body was not to be found either up or down. There was a purse of gold round its neck, and the purse went with the body, and there is no account of either of them from that out. Many was the story and version that the neighbours had about Patrick Kerwan's wife. Some of them say that the devil took her with him. Others said that the good people carried her away. At all events there is no account of her since. At the end of a month after that the speckled disease (smallpox) broke out amongst the children and they all died. There was very great grief on Patrick. He was alone, by himself, without wife, without children, but he said: "Welcome be the will of God." A short time after that, he sold all that he had and went into a monastery. He spent his life piously and died a happy death. May God grant us a good death and the life that is enduring. THE BURIAL OF JESUS. PREFACE. The first time I heard this poem was at the Galway Feis many years ago. A poor old man, called the Cean-nuidhe Cóir (Canny Core) or Honest Merchant--I don't know what his real name was--recited it. I took him aside in the interval during the competitions and wrote the most of it down from his recitation. My friend, Eoghan O Neachtain, wrote the rest of it down for me from the old man's mouth later on, but with the greatest difficulty as he had lost his teeth and pronounced very badly. Neither of us ever heard the poem before, and it is obviously only a fragment of a long piece, now, I fear, hopelessly lost, in common with many others, once popular. Indeed, I have seen a copy of this poem written down by a man called Hessian some eighty years ago, who called it the Assire [=Aiseirghe], but it is hopelessly undecipherable. This curious piece refers to a story once so commonly known in Ireland that it may almost be said to have formed part of the regular account of the crucifixion. It is celebrated even more in Irish art than in Irish story and song. When examining a few years ago the remains of the beautiful abbey which gives to Ennis its Irish name of Mainistir na h-Innse, I saw where a portion of the stone carving had recently been laid bare, and there, as plain as though it had been carved yesterday, was a very spirited picture of the cock rising up out of the pot and getting ready to crow. This was included with the other symbols of the crucifixion. I have seen the same thing on old wooden crucifixes, and elsewhere. There seems to have been a body of legend in some way or other connecting the cock with the history of the Passion. A Coptic legend tells us that on the day of the betrayal a roasted cock had been served up to our Lord, who bade it rise up and follow Judas, who was then upon his way to make his bargain with the chief priests. The cock rose up and did what it was ordered, and brought back word to our Lord that the arch-traitor had sold Him, "and for this that cock shall enter Paradise." Thevonet Voyages II. 75, quoted in Journal for Apocrypha. It is more likely, however, that the legend as we know it came from the second Greek form of the Gospel of Nicodemus, certain MSS. of which contain the following passage: "And when the Jews refused to receive again from Judas the thirty pieces of silver for which he had betrayed his Master, he threw them in their midst and went away. And he came home to make a halter out of a cord to hang himself with. There he found his wife sitting and roasting a cock upon the coals. And he said unto her: 'Rise wife and get a rope ready for me because I mean to hang myself as I deserve.' But his wife said unto him, 'Why speakest thou like that?' And Judas replied, 'Know then that I have unjustly betrayed my master, Jesus, to the evil-doers who have taken him before Pilate to put Him to death; but He will rise again on the third day, and then woe to us.' But his wife said unto him, 'Speak not so, and believe it not. For it is just as likely that this cock roasting on the coals will crow as that Jesus will rise, as thou sayest.' And while she was thus speaking the cock flapped his wings and crew thrice. Then was Judas yet the more convicted, etc." (Tischendorff, p. 289). The legend found its way into Scotland also. It is told in a bald version in Scotch Gaelic of only four verses, recovered by Carmichael ("Carmina Gadelica," vol. II., p. 176): "That cock which you have in the pot pounded as fine as cabbage, the liar shall not leave the tomb until it crows upon the beam." For the original and literal translation, see "Religious Songs of Connacht." THE STORY. Virgin gentle, courteous, gracious, Whose goodness, which my soul embraces, A shaft of light through time and space is To lead it into heavenly places. Thy Holy Son, the King of Angels, Suffered passion, wounds, estrangement, In satisfaction for the ailments Of the sins which here assail us. * * * * * He was laid in the tomb at the will of the King, He died with pains unstinted, The blood of His heart on the point of the dart, And death on His cold face printed. At the door of the tomb was a stone of gloom, Not a hundred men could heave it, But an angel came from heaven like flame To raise it and to leave it. The Magdalen came, and she came in her haste To wash His wounds in a minute, She searched through the gloom of the rock-hewn tomb,-- No trace of the Lord was in it. She saw by the wall the grave clothes all Lying empty there, and started, And timidly asked of the soldier guard, "Where has our Lord departed." "I was here," said the guard, "I kept watch and kept ward, Why seek ye the truth to smother? I've a nice little cock who boils here in my pot-- And the one is as dead as the other." "I've a nice little cock who boils here in my pot, While the camp looks on and sees us, And until the cock rises out of the pot, He never shall rise, your Jesus." With that the dead cock flew out of the pot, And clapped with his wings loud crowing, "Ochone"! cried the man, and his features grew wan, "Then Jesus is up and doing." [SPAKE THE VIRGIN.] "I sicken, I sigh, with longing I die, If ye show me not where to find Him, To put balm in the cuts and the stabs and the wounds, Wherewith in His side they signed Him." He is gone where are gone the Apostles, and soon In Galilee thou shalt find him. [SPAKE CHRIST.] By Peter my Church has been holily built With flame of faithful endeavour, Though the body be stricken the soul hath no guilt,-- Confess ye My name for ever. Here is another melodious little piece about the two Marys which I got from my friend Miss Agnes O'Farrelly, who got it from a young gossoon in Inismaan, or in Aranmore, I do not know which. UPROSE THE TWO MARYS. Uprose the two Marys, Two hours ere day, And they went to the temple To keene and to pray. There came in the angel With candle so bright, "All hail to thee, Mary," Said God full of light. "And dost thou forget it, Thy passion and pain, And dost thou forget it, Thy slaying by men? "And dost thou forget it, The spear and the threat, Which no children of Adam Could ever forget?" * * * * * Remember me, children Of Adam and Eve, And the heavens of God Ye shall surely receive. SAINT PETER. PREFACE. An old woman named Bridget Casey, from near Baile-'dir-dhá-abhainn or Riverstown, Co. Sligo, told this story to F. O'Conor in Athlone, from whom I got it. For the original see "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. 1, p. 192. THE STORY. At the time that St. Peter and our Saviour were walking the country, many was the marvel that his Master showed him, and if it had been another person who was in it and who had seen half as much, no doubt his confidence in his Master would have been stronger than that of Peter. One day they were entering a town, and there was a musician sitting half-drunk on the side of the road and he asking for alms. Our Saviour gave him a piece of money, going by of him. There came wonder on Peter at that, for he said to himself, "many's the poor man in great want that my Master refused, but now He has given alms to this drunken musician; but perhaps," says he to himself, "perhaps He likes music." Our Saviour knew what was in Peter's mind, but he did not speak a word about it. On the next day they were journeying again, and a poor friar (_sic_) met them, and he bowed down with age and almost naked. He asked our Saviour for alms, but He took no notice of him, and did not answer his request. "There's another thing that's not right," said Peter in his own mind. He was afraid to speak to his Master about it, but he was losing his confidence in Him every day. The same evening they were approaching another village when a blind man met them and he asking alms. Our Saviour talked with him and said, "What do you want?" "The price of a night's lodging, the price of something to eat, and as much as I shall want to-morrow: if you can give it to me you shall get great recompense, and recompense that is not to be found in this sorrowful world." "Good is your talk," said the Lord, "but you are only seeking to deceive me, you are in no want of the price of a lodging or of anything to eat, you have gold and silver in your pocket, and you ought to give thanks to God for your having enough to do you till [next] day." The blind man did not know that it was our Saviour who was talking to him, and he said to him, "It is not sermons but alms I'm asking for, I am certain that if you did know that there was gold or silver about me you would take it from me. Get off now, I don't want your talk." "Indeed you are a senseless man," said the Lord, "you will not have gold or silver long," and with that He left him. St. Peter was listening to the discourse, and he had a wish to tell the blind man that it was our Saviour who was talking to him, but he got no opportunity. But there was another man listening when our Saviour said that the blind man had gold and silver. It was a wicked plunderer who was in it, but he knew that our Saviour never told a lie. As soon as He and St. Peter were gone, the robber came to the blind man and said to him, "give me your gold and silver or I'll put a knife through your heart." "I have no gold or silver," said the blind man, "if I had, I wouldn't be looking for alms." But, with that, the robber caught hold of him, put him under him, and took from him all he had. The blind man shouted and screamed as loud as he was able, and our Saviour and Peter heard him. "There's wrong being done to the blind man," said Peter. "Get treacherously and it will go the same way," said our Saviour, "not to speak of the Day of Judgment." "I understand you, there is nothing hid from you, Master," said Peter. * * * * * The day after that they were journeying by a desert, and a greedy lion came out. "Now, Peter," said our Saviour, "you often said that you would lose your life for me, go now and give yourself to the lion, and I shall escape safe." Peter thought to himself and said, "I would sooner meet any other death than let a lion eat me; we are swift-footed, and we can run from him, but if I see him coming up with us I'll remain behind, and you can escape safe." "Let it be so," said our Saviour. The lion gave a roar, and off and away with him after them, and it was not long till he was gaining on them and close up to them. "Remain behind, Peter," said our Saviour, but Peter let on that he never heard a word, and went running out before his Master. The Lord turned round and said to the lion, "go back to the desert," and so he did. Peter looked behind him, and when he saw the lion going back, he stood till our Saviour came up with him. "Peter," said He, "you left me in danger, and--what was worse than that--you told lies." "I did that," said Peter, "because I knew that you have power over everything, not alone over the lion of the wilderness." "Silence your mouth, and do not be telling lies; you did _not_ know, and if you were to see me in danger to-morrow you would forsake me again. I know the thoughts of your heart." "I never thought that you did anything that was not right," said Peter. "That is another lie," said our Saviour. "Do you not remember the day that I gave alms to the musician who was half drunk, there was wonder on you, and you said to yourself that many's the poor man in great want, whom I refused, and yet that I gave alms to a drunken man because I liked music. The day after that I refused the old friar, and you said that that was not right; and the same evening you remember what happened about the blind man. I will explain to you now why I acted like that. That musician did more good than twenty friars of his sort since ever they were born. He saved a girl's soul from the pains of hell. She wanted a piece of money, and was going to commit a deadly sin to get it, but the musician prevented her and gave her the piece of money, though he himself was in want of a drink at the same time. As for the friar, he was not in want at all; although he had the name of friar he was a limb of the devil, and that was why I paid him no heed. As for the blind man, his God was in his pocket, for the old word is true, 'where your store is your heart will be with it.'" A short time after that Peter said, "Master, you have a knowledge of the most lonesome thoughts in the heart of man, and from this moment out I submit to you in everything." * * * * * About a week after that they were travelling through hills and mountains, and they lost their way. With the fall of the night there came lightning, thunder, and heavy rain. The night was so dark they could not see a sheep's path. Peter fell against a rock and hurt his foot so badly that he was not able to walk a step. Our Saviour saw a little light under the foot of a hill, and he said to Peter, "remain where you are, and I will go for help to carry you." "There is no help to be found in this wild place," said Peter, "and don't leave me here in danger by myself." "Be it so," said our Saviour, and with that he gave a whistle, and there came four men; and who was captain of them but the person who robbed the blind man a while before that! He recognized our Saviour and Peter, and told his men to carry Peter carefully to the dwelling-place they had among the hills. "These two put gold and silver in my way a short time ago," said he. They carried Peter into a chamber under the ground. There was a fine fire in it, and they put the wounded man near it, and gave him a drink. He fell asleep, and our Saviour made the sign of the cross with his finger above the wound, and when he awoke he was able to walk as well as ever. There was wonder on him when he awoke, and he asked "what happened to him." Our Saviour told him each thing and how it occurred. "I thought," said Peter, "that I was dead, and that I was up at the gate of heaven, but I could not get in, for the door was shut, and there was no doorkeeper to be found." "It was a vision you had," said our Saviour, "but it is true. Heaven is shut and is not to be opened until I die for the sin of the human race who put anger on My Father. It is not a common but a shameful death I shall get, but I shall rise again gloriously and open the heaven that was shut, and you shall be doorkeeper." "Ora! Master," said Peter, "it cannot be that you would get a shameful death. Would you not allow me to die for you? I am ready and willing." "You think that," said our Saviour. * * * * * The time came when our Saviour was to get death. The evening before that He Himself and His twelve disciples were at supper, when He said, "There is a man of you going to betray Me." There was great trouble on them, and each one of them said, "Am I he?" But He said, "He who dips with his hand in the dish with Me, he is the man who shall betray Me." Peter said then, "If the whole world were against you," said he, "I will not be against you." But our Saviour said to him, "Before the cock crows to-night you will reneague (deny) Me three times." "I would die before I would reneague you," said Peter; "indeed I shall not reneague you." When death-judgment was passed upon our Saviour, His enemies were beating Him and spitting on Him. Peter was outside in the court, when there came a servant-girl to him and said to him, "You were with Jesus." "I don't know," says Peter, "what you are saying." Then when he was going out the gate another girl said, "There's a man who was with Jesus," but he took his oath that he had no knowledge at all of Him. Then some of the people who were listening said, "There is no doubt at all but you were with Him; we know it by your talk." He took the great oaths, then, that he was not with Him. And on the spot the cock crew, and then he remembered the words our Saviour said, and he wept the tears of repentance, and he found forgiveness from Him whom he denied. He has the keys of heaven now, and if we shed the tears of repentance for our faults, as he shed them, we shall find forgiveness as he found it, and he will welcome us with a hundred thousand welcomes when we go to the door of heaven. LEGENDS OF ST. DEGLAN. PREFACE I wrote down the following legend of St. Deglan, word for word, in Irish, from the telling of my friend, Padraig O'Dalaigh, who comes himself from the Decies. THE STORY When Deglan was leaving Rome he held his bell in his hand, but as he was going into the ship he left the bell upon a rock that was by the harbour, and forgot to bring it with him. The ship put out to sea, with the bell left on the rock behind it. When Deglan was coming near Ireland he remembered the bell, and knew that he had left it on the rock behind him in Rome. Old people say that long ago there used not to be much good in "a cleric without a bell."[50] Deglan knew that he would want the bell when he would land in Ireland, and he prayed God to send it to him. [50] "A cleric without a bell," and "the forgetting his bell by the cleric," are common proverbs in Irish. At the end of a little time what should be seen swimming behind the ship but the rock and the bell on it, just as Deglan had left it at Rome. And when the vessel came to land, then the stone came into the harbour at Ardmore, and the stone comes up on the shore, and it is there yet. The stone is set high up on the top of two smaller stones, and room between the two for a man to pass out under them. If you were to see the hole you would feel certain that even a cat could not pass out through it, and yet a big man can pass through. Every Deglan's Day, the 24th of July, and the Sunday nearest to it, thousands of people come from all over the Decies, from twenty miles away, to the "pattern," and anyone who has anything the matter with him, either disease or pain or sickness, goes in under that stone, and believes firmly in his mind that he will be healed. Hundreds do that yet, up to the present day. About fifteen years ago the "pattern" was growing small and dying out, but a feis, the second feis in Ireland [in modern times] was held on Deglan's Sunday, and thousands and thousands of people came to it, and there had not been such a "pattern" for fifty years. I myself have often seen people passing under the stones. Every second person in the "seana-phoball," and in the parish of Ardmore also, is called Deglan down to the present day. Scarcely a month passes that a child is not christened Deglan. The explanation that the people give of the name of the parish called "Seana-phoball," or Old Parish, is that Deglan had made a parish of it and that there were Christians there before there was a parish, or before there were Christians in any other place in Ireland, and "old phoball" is the same as "old paróiste" or parish. [The above story is the folk version of part of the following, which is here translated for the first time from an Irish MS. in my own possession. St. Deglan's church is spoken of in the MS. as still standing, and his miraculous stone as being still preserved there when the account was written. This throws back the account many hundreds of years. I collated my MS. carefully with one written in 1758 [23 M 50], preserved in R.I.A. It has never been printed, but I believe my friend, Father Power, will soon publish the entire life of St. Deglan.] ST. DEGLAN. OF HOW TRAMORE GOT ITS NAME. And the people of the island concealed the ship so that Deglan could not embark on it, for they disliked it greatly that Deglan should inhabit it, for fear they themselves might be banished out of it. His disciples then said to Deglan, "Father, thou often requirest to come to this place. We pray thee to avoid it, and mayest thou receive from God that the sea should ebb away from the land so that people may go into it with dry feet, for Christ has said that whatever shall be asked of My Father in My name He shall give it you, for it is not easy for thou to inhabit this place or to protect it." And Deglan said, "This place which was promised me by God and where my burial was promised, how shall I be able to avoid it? But concerning this thing which ye desire me to do, namely, to inhabit it, I like not to pray against the will of God concerning the taking away from the sea its own natural movement; howsoever, at your entreaty I shall direct my petition to God, and whatsoever pleases God, let it be done." Deglan's disciples arose, and they said, "take thy staff as Moses did with the rod, and smite the sea with it, and God shall make manifest His own will to thee in that wise," and his disciples besought him to do that, for they were faithful people. His staff was [accordingly] given into Deglan's hand, and he smote the water with it in the name of the Trinity, and he made the sign of the cross of crucifixion with it on the water, and quickly the sea began to move out of his own place--so quickly that it was scarcely the swift monsters[51] of the sea could keep pace with it by swimming, and it left many of them on the shore high and dry, who were not able to depart with the sea on account of the rapidity with which it moved. And Deglan followed the sea with his crozier in his hand, and his disciples followed him, and there was a cry and a great sounding from the sea and from the monsters departing. And when Deglan reached the place where Tarmuin-na-mara is now, a young child of Deglan's disciples by the name of Mainchin spake, he being terrified at the noises of the sea and at the roaring of the unknown monsters with their mouths open, following the water. "Father," said he, "thou hast displaced the sea enough, for I am afraid of yonder awful monsters." At the word of the child the sea stopped. And Deglan did not like that, and he struck a light blow on his nose, and three drops of blood dropped from him to the ground under Deglan's feet in three places. And Deglan blessed the nose, and the blood ceased suddenly. And Deglan said, "it is not I who have removed the sea but the power of God, and it would have removed it further had it not been for the words thou spakest." And in the place where those drops of blood fell, three little wells of sweet shining water burst forth from them under the feet of Deglan. And those wells are still there. And they are seldom [without?] that colour of blood upon them as a remembrance of those miracles. And there is a mile in length and in breadth around them, and the name of it is "the tramore," or "great shore," and good and profitable is the land of Tramore, and there was [built] Deglan's monastery. And the crozier that Deglan had in his hand, when performing that miracle, its name was "Feardhacht Deglan." We shall say something more about its miracles in another place. [51] Biastaide luathe na mara. OF HOW ARDMORE GOT ITS NAME, AND OF ST. DEGLAN'S STONE. Deglan proceeded to say mass in a church that lay before him in his way, and a small black stone was sent from heaven through the window of the church to him, and it remained on the altar in his presence. Great joy seized Deglan at beholding it, and he gave praise and glory to God for it. Now his mind was firmly set against ill ways and the unreason of the heathen after the possession of the stone, and he gave that stone to Lunan, son of the King of the Romans, who was in his company, to keep and to carry for him. And the name of that stone was Bobhur in Ireland,[52] namely Deglan's "Duibhin" (or little black thing) and it was from its colour it received that name, for by its colour it was black, and it revealed [things] by the grace of God, and Deglan performed many miracles [by it], and it remains to this day in Deglan's church.... * * * * * ... and on one of these occasions (a visit to Rome) he went to a holy bishop of the Britons named David, to the church which is called Cillmhin [Killveen], which is beside the shore of the sea which divides Britain from Ireland. And the bishop received him with honour, and he was for forty days in his society, with love and joy, and he used to say mass each day there, and they knit themselves together with bonds of brotherhood and partnership, and [they bound] the people of the place after them. And on his completing forty days there, they parted with salutation, and he said farewell to David and gave him a kiss in token of peace. And he himself and his disciples went to the shore of the sea to go into the ship to go to Ireland. And that stone I spake of, which was sent to Deglan from heaven, a monk was carrying it at the time; for Deglan was unwilling ever to part with it, and it used always to be in his company. And when they came from the shore into the ship the monk had forgotten it, [and left it] on a rock which was on the shore. And until they had gone about half way over the sea they never remembered it. And when they did remember it Deglan was melancholy, and so was every one else, after the gift, which had come down from heaven to Deglan, being forgotten in a place from which they never thought to get it back. Deglan looked above his head to heaven, and clearly prayed to God in his mind. And then he said to his disciples, "lay aside your melancholy, for God who made a gift of that stone from heaven at the first can now send it to us in an unusual ship." Wonderful and splendid it was that the rock without understanding or reason submitted to the Creator contrary to nature, for it swam directly after the ship, with the stone on it, and it was not long until Deglan and his disciples saw the rock after them, and the stone upon it. And when Deglan's people beheld that miracle, they were filled with the love of God and with honour for their master, Deglan. And Deglan spake prophetically: "Let the stone go on in front of you, and follow ye it, for whatsoever harbour it shall arrive at, it is near it that my city shall be, and my house and bishoprick,[53] and it is from that place I shall go to God's heaven, and it is there that my resurrection shall be." And the stone went out past the ship, and ceased the great pace at which it had proceeded up to then, and remained a little in advance of the ship, so that it could be seen from on board the ship, yet in such wise that the ship might not overtake it. And the rock steered for Ireland so that it took harbour in the south, in the Decies, at an island that was at that time called Ard-Innis Caerach, or High Island of the Sheep, and the ship took the same harbour, as Deglan had told them. [52] This passage about Bobhur is not in the R.I.A. copy only the part about the Duibhin. [53] Mo chathair si agus mo thigheas easbogoidheacht in my MS. "Mo theaghdhais easbogoideachta" 23 M 50. 1758. Deglan, that holy man, went on shore, and he gave praise and glory and thanks to God because that he had reached the place of his resurrection on that island, where the sheep of the king of the Déise used to be kept usually and herded. And there was a pleasant high hill on it. And one of his disciples said to Deglan on going to the top of that hill "how shall this Ard beag (Little Height) support thy people." "Beloved son," said Deglan, "say not so. This is no Little Height, but an Ard Mór (Great Height)," and the name has clung to it ever since, namely Ardmore of Deglan. [Illustration: THE LANDING OF ST. DEGLAN AT ARDMORE] ST. PAUL'S VISION; OR, THE LAST END OF THE MAN WHO LEADS A BAD LIFE. PREFACE. I took the following very curious account from an Irish MS. a couple of hundred years old, which had been thrown away on a loft in a farm house in the County Meath before I secured it. There are other copies of this story in the Royal Irish Academy, and a fragment in the library of University College, Dublin, but mine is the best copy I have met. There is no other version, so far as I know, of St. Paul's Vision that is at all like this. The Vision was at one time well known in Europe. It was at first, according to Tischendorf, probably composed in Greek, and there is a version of it in Syrian and another in Latin. The story is also found in old High German, in Danish, French and Slavonic. The best and longest Latin version is to be found in the Bibliotheque Nationale at Paris, but there is not a word in it, nor in the Greek, nor in the Syrian, of the driving of the soul out of the body, or of the angel Michael's guiding St. Paul to the bedside of the dying man. As it is unlikely that some Irish Gael composed all this out of his own head, I can only surmise that it is a translation of a Latin or Greek original now lost, and that the story now survives through its translation into Irish alone. We know that the Irish have saved for us several pieces of an apocryphal or mystic character, whose originals are now lost, such as the extraordinary piece called the "Ever-new Tongue," and the "Vision of Tundal." This story contains a close resemblance to the "Debate between the Body and the Soul," which is usually known as the "Visio Philaberti," ascribed to Walter Mapes, or Map, or else to Walter Grosseteste, bishop of Lincoln, and of which a kind of middle Irish version exists in the "Leabhar Breac" and was published by Atkinson in his "Passions and Homilies." Another imperfect version was published by Dottin in the "Revue Celtique," 1903. My MS. from which I have taken this Vision of St. Paul's contains an excellent copy of it also. Almost all the Irish copies ascribe it to Grosseteste. The longest Latin version of this Vision contains 51 chapters or sections, and deals with St. Paul's account of Paradise and his other wanderings, as well as with the infernal regions. There is a "Passion of St. Paul" in the Leabhar Breac, or Speckled Book, but there is not a word about this Vision in it. I found an account of St. Paul in another Irish MS., probably taken from some lost source. "A small, miserable-looking person was the apostle Paul. Broad shoulders he had; a white face with a sedate demeanour. His head small. Pleasant bright eyes he had. Long brows, a projecting (?) nose and a long beard with a little grey hair." The horrid description of the soul leaving the body with such reluctance has a curious Pagan parallel in an exactly reverse sense in Lucan's Pharsalia, Book vi., 721, in the dreadful account of the sorceress conjuring back a soul into the dead body, and its reluctance to enter it. "Adspicit adstantem projecti corporis umbram Exanimes artus, invisaque claustra timentem, Carceris antiqui: pavet ire in pectus apertum, Visceraque, et ruptas letali vulnere fibras. Ah miser extremum qui mortis munus iniquae, Eripitur non posse mori, etc." The mediæval Irish translator of the Pharsalia revelled in this sorceress episode. For the original of the following piece, see "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. II. THE STORY The Apostle Paul, upon a certain time, chanced to be in a city of the name of Smyrna, in the land of Syria. And this is how Paul was, namely, making intercession with God, the all-powerful, to reveal to him something of the pains of hell, so that all the more for receiving that revelation, he might perform the will of God, and give instruction to the congregations. And, as he was beseeching God in this wise, there cometh unto him a youth, and he asketh Paul to go with him, to confirm in his faith a man who was at the point of death. Paul departed along with the youth to the place where was the sick man, and him they found before them struggling with the Death. Now this is the manner wherein the soul parteth from the body--as saith St. Bernard, one of the arch-doctors of the Trinity. He saith that the Death cometh in a cold, unrecognisable, insufferable shape, stabbing the body with spits and arrows. And first it cometh into the outer members, namely the centre of the soles of the feet, and of the palms of the hands, in the veins, and in every other member of the body, until it hunt the noble soul before it out of every member of the body, even as the fisherman routeth the fish under the hollows of the banks (?) to the weedy-place (?) in which the net is set to catch them. Even so doth the Death, routing before it the soul into the heart--the first member of a person to be alive, and the last member to die. But, howsoever, upon the coming of Paul and of the messenger to the sick man, they perceived how he himself and the Death were struggling with one another, and that the Death was after taking possession of all the body, except that the soul was in the lower chamber of the heart, striving to conceal itself from the Death. But that was in vain for it, for when Death came to the heart, he began ploughing and boring the heart, for he felt certain that it was there the soul was. But when the soul felt its enemy and adversary the Death close to it, it thought to leave the body and to come forth out of the mouth, since it found no dwelling place nor shelter in the body. But it is what it finds before itself there, a frightful fearsome host of black, ugly-coloured devils, and fiery flames full of stench, and a loathsome, insufferable, evil smell coming forth out of their mouths, and each one of them watching with fierceness for the soul to come forth out of the mouth and out of the body, for it was in a state of damnation, without repentance, that this sinner was dying. And when the poor soul beheld this devilish guard in front of it, the soul returned fearful (?) and quaking and cometh into the passage of the nose and thought to come out there. But it beholds the same host before it. It returneth full of weariness and misery and goeth to the eyes, but it is what it findeth there before it--many black, ugly-coloured devils with fiery flames out of their mouths and gullets, and each of them saying, "What is this delay of Death's that he routeth not out to us this damned soul forth from the greedy body in which it is, till we bear it with us to its own abode--a place where there is darkness and eternal pain for ever and ever as its evil deeds have deserved [that were wrought] during the time that it was its own master?" And on the poor soul's hearing these words it screamed and cried feebly, and wept tearfully, sorrowfully, and with bitter weariness, for it recognised then that it was parted from the eternal life for ever and ever, and it turns back again to the hollows of the ears, where it thought to find a way out, but it is what it finds there before it many loathly worms and evil-shaped terrific serpents of various kinds. When the soul saw that, it returned back to the heart, for it desired to go, as it seemed to it, into hiding, but it found Death before it there, ploughing and boring the heart. Then the soul considered that it had no escape on any side. It despaired of God and of the whole angelic court, and it went aloft to the crown of the head. It goes out and leaves the body and settles on the top of the head. It looks down at that tomb where it had been--namely, the body--and said, "Oh! all-powerful God! is it possible that this is the body wherein I was for a brief [space of] happiness; and if it is, where has gone the blue clear-seeing eye, or the crimson cheek? 'Tis what I behold in place of the eyes--hollow dry cavities sucked back into the hollow of the skull; the ruddy handsome cheek now dark and beetle-hued; the mouth that was to-day red and shapely now closed, not to be opened, livid, hideous, without talk, without speech; and oh! all-powerful God! alas for him who was deceived by the companion at the raising (?) of the body's strength, power, pride, and spirit, which was begotten and which was alive, and whose share of gold and treasures was great; but I do not see one thing of all that in his possession now, nor advantaging nor comforting him at all; but I see that it is ill he spent the gifts that God gave him, and that on account of this he has damned me for ever." The body spake, and said: "If it were not for thee these devilish furious hosts would not come to claim me now. For this is how thou wast when thou wast bound to me; thou wast an active, most powerful spirit, full of understanding and of feeling, and of clear intellect, of nobility and of honour; thou didst recognise between evil and good; whilst I was nothing but a fistful of clay, without beauty or strength, or feeling, or sense, or understanding, or power, or guidance, or movement, or sight, or hearing, until thou wast bound to me, and for that reason it is thou who art guilty and not I." "Thou greedy, carnal, unsubduable worm, all thou sayest is not true, for I was a clean, glorious spirit," said the soul, "who had no necessity for food or clothing or for anything at all, of all that is on the earth, but the joy of holy life, until I was bound to thee. And this is why I was bound to thee, for thee to spend the activity of thy feet, the labour of thy hands, the sight of thy eyes, the hearing of thy ears, the speech of thy mouth, the thoughts of thy heart, and every other gift that God gave thee, so as to do ministering, to make submission, and to perform every other service to glorious God throughout thy period on this world, so that after that I and thou might find the fruit of those good deeds in the enjoyment of eternal glory in the company of God and of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and of all the angelic heavenly court, where cometh everyone who has done good deeds, such as fasting, alms-giving, prayers, acts of friendship to a neighbour, listening willingly to the words of God, and acting accordingly; and who used not to refuse to relieve the necessity of the poor, and the like. But those are not the things that thou didst, but spending the gifts God gave with gluttony, drunkenness, adultery, pride, arrogance, greed; with the ruin of thy neighbour's portion; with lies, noisiness (?) anger, quarrelling, back-biting, folly, pitilessness, injustice, wrath, sloth, envy, lechery, with the spoil of the poor, and with every other sort of sin that the human body thought pleasant; and lo! what fruit hast thou for those misdeeds. Dead and feeble are thy limbs which were once active and strong; closed is the mouth wherewith thou didst use to hold unlawful discourse; weak is the tongue wherewith thou wast wont to utter obscene barbarous words, giving ill-fame, reproach, disrespect, shame, contempt, displeasure, and every other sort [of evil] that thy thoughts and intellect could bring to mind. Deaf is the ear that used to listen with pleasure to murmurings, to scandal, to the back-biting of neighbours. Blind and hollow is the eye that used to look with greed, partiality, and malice. There is no fairness nor beauty in the hand on whose fingers the gems used to be. I see them not on thee now. And, moreover, I see not the gold nor the silver nor the various other goods which thou didst get by defrauding, which thou didst rob, which thou gottest from the weak, from the orphan, and from the miserable, with deceptions and ill-will. They are now in the possession of other people, and not one thing of them doing good to thee, but [doing] every evil that is possible to reckon. And, therefore, O greedy, lustful body, most unsubduable worm that God ever created, it is thou art most guilty and not I," said the soul. After the soul uttering those words miserably and wearily, an evil spirit of that damned host that was waiting to get the soul into its own possession spake, and said: "It is a wonder how long Death is without routing this damned soul to us forth out of the body." Another devil answered him and spake: "It is not possible for us to possess it or to take it until Jesus Christ pass judgment upon it first, according to its actions, bad and good. However, its possession for ever is ours; for ever, because it was to us it did service and ministry whilst it was living, and ours is the possession of soul and body from the day of the last judgment for ever." After the devils speaking these words, a shining, happy host of the angels of heaven lowered themselves, with singing of music, round about the body, and in their midst a Youth more glorious than the sun. Many awful, wide-opened wounds in His skin, and they dripping blood. The Youth spake to the dead, and asked him how he had spent the life that he got, or the gifts that God gave him. The body answered and said: "O Jesus Christ, O Lamb, Son of God, I am not able to deny it, that it was ill I spent my time and the gifts that I got; that Thou didst suffer passion-pains and death on my behalf, and that I paid no regard to that, and therefore I am myself admitting that Thou hast no power (from the true right of Thy divinity, and from the plentifulness of my evil deeds, since I did not make repentance of them either early or late) not to pass judgment damning me now. And alas! now I see the wrong, the loss, and the harm, of the neglect I was guilty of, in putting off repentance, until Thy messenger, the Death, came to me, and, my grief! I was not prepared for him, and, moreover, I got no respite when he came, until he destroyed me--and that is my account of my life, and indeed it is more evil than it is good." "Well, then," said the Youth on whom were the wounds, "all that thou hast committed of faults and of evil deeds throughout thy life, if thou wert to make true repentance from thy heart of them, I would make thee as clean as the sun, and I would place thee in the company of the angels and of the saints, enjoying everlasting glory, and the devilish host which is waiting for thee would have no power nor might over thee. But since thou hast not done that, it is necessary to pass judgment upon thee according to thy deeds, bad and good." Then there came each one of the demon host that was waiting for the poor soul, and a roll of dark black parchment in the hand of each of them, in which was written all that the dead man had done in the service of the devil. On the Saviour Jesus Christ perceiving that, it was what He said, "Take with you this damned soul to hell, to pain it till the day of the general judgment, and from that out ye shall have the body as well as the soul, enduring eternal pains." Then came the devilish host that was waiting for the soul. They drew the poor soul with fiery crooks, and they made of it a lump of fire, and they were hunting it before them to hell, and it calling and crying out faintly and fearfully. Paul the Apostle was observing each thing of those, because it was God who had sent His messenger to him, so that he might get a view of the person who led a bad life, at the point of death, according to the prayer he had made. Then, upon the departure of the accursed host and of the soul out of sight, Paul cried aloud, weeping and lamenting, to get a sight of the end that was being brought upon the soul. Then the messenger asked Paul did he desire to get a sight of the pains of that soul and of the other damned souls. "I should so desire," said Paul, "if it were God's will." "Well, then," said the messenger, "I will give thee a sight of them, for I am not a man of this earth, but an angel that God has sent to thee to show thee these things, and I am Michael the Arch-Angel," said he. After these words the angel brought him to the brink of a valley that was stupendous for depth and fearfulness. Paul beheld, amongst the first things there, a great, dark, frightful river. Blacker than coal was its appearance, and jet black the bubbling terrible water that was in it, so that one puff alone of the venemous wind that used to come out of it would kill all the men and women of the world--were it not for the Spirit of God succouring them it would split stones and trees--and he beheld many loathly worms and snakes, and devils of divers shapes in it, raging, beating, gnawing (?), and bone-cutting one another; cursing the day in which they were born or were created. And on the other opposite side of the river there was a dark cave in which were many damned souls screaming(?); being bound (?) and lashed. And some of them were in this wise, sitting on the fiery hearth of pains; many black, ugly-shaped devils serving and administering the insufferable pains to them, such as fiery flames, sharp and hurting (?), and the devils tossing them and turning them (?) with sharp-pointed spits in those flames. And there was a resting-lake (?) of very cold ice, full of venom, into which the damned souls used to leap, seeking cooling and comfort from the sharp goading of the fire. However, no sooner would they go to the lake than they would leap out of it again into the fire, by reason of its cold, and of the sharp venom that was in the water, and here are the words some of them would say:--"O all-powerful God, is there any redemption or help in store for us, or shall we be for ever in these pains, or in what place is Death that he cometh not unto us to put us into nothingness, so that we might find a sleep, on our being dead?" Another spirit of them answered and said: "O accursed, devilish, damned spirits," said he, "there is no help nor redemption laid out for you for ever and ever, because this is the end your misdeeds deserved whilst ye were in life, with pride, with haughtiness, with gluttony, with inordinate desire, and with every other sort of sin. Ye have spent the gifts that God gave you, namely feeling, beauty, strength, airiness (?), happiness, the sight of the eyes, the hearing of the ears, the speaking of the mouth, the movement of the limbs, and all those [given] to do the service of God. However, what ye have done was to spend them in the service of the devil, and it is he who shall give you your wages in pains, without help or relief, for ever and ever." "Knowest thou, O Paul," said the angel, "who they are who are pained like this?" "I know not," said Paul, "but it is on them are the hardships impossible to count-up or to show-forth." "There," said the angel, "are the people of haughtiness and pride, who used to be bruising-to-pieces the poor, who gave themselves up to drinking and the evil desires of the world. Yon devils are beating them, and ministering to them eternal pains, and they shall be so for ever and ever, in eric for their misdeeds." * * * * * Paul beheld another band upon the fiery hearth of pains, many loathsome beetle-worms and serpents gnawing and bone-cutting each member of them; some of the worms going into their mouths and their necks and coming out on their ears, and the spirits themselves collecting and drawing those devils and those loathsome reptiles to themselves. "Knowest thou, O Paul," said the angel, "what people are pained like this?" "I know not," said Paul. "Those," said the angel, "are the people of adultery and disgusting lust; and in eric for the fair-coloured, gaudy clothes that they used to put upon themselves, both men and women, deceiving one another, those devils are for ever gnawing, overthrowing, and bone-cutting them." * * * * * Paul beheld another lot upon the fiery hearth of hell. Great mountains of fire on every side of them, many ill-shaped devils throwing down those mountains upon the very top of them, bruising them together and bitter-urging them for ever. "Knowest thou, O Paul," said the angel, "what people are pained like this?" "I know not," said Paul. "Those," said the angel, "are the people of greed, the lot who store and gather their neighbours' portion unlawfully, who used not to show mercy or give alms or act with humanity to the poor, and who used to oppress the feeble." Paul saw another lot of people on the fiery hearth of pains, ever-hideous devils, their eyes straying in their heads, being pained and bitter-tortured, and being tightened with fiery chains. "Knowest thou, O Paul," said the angel, "what people are pained like this?" "I know not," said Paul. "Those are the people of envy, the lot who used to be tortured and burnt with envy and with jealousy when they used to see their neighbours' goods or possessions, and who would not be satisfied with the gifts that God would give themselves--and in eric for that they shall be tortured in this way for ever." * * * * * Paul beheld another band upon the hearth of fiery pains, up to their chins in cold frosty water of the colour of coal. More stinking was that water than a dead carcase after corruption. Many reptiles, swimming before them in that water, they being tortured with famine and with thirst, their mouths opened, crying for food and drink, it set before them, without its being in their power to taste it, for as often as they would make an attempt it used to remove farther from them. "Knowest thou, O Paul," said the angel, "what people are pained like this?" "I know not," said Paul. "Those are the people of gluttony, the people who never fasted nor abstained nor gave alms nor said prayers, who used to be eating and drinking forbidden food and drink, who used to give to the body its own satisfaction, with drunkenness, gluttony and lust, and never checked the want of the poor." * * * * * Paul beheld another band upon the hearth of fiery pains, and this is how that lot were, with fiery flames out of their mouths and gullets. An evil disgusting, insufferable smell upon that flame. Their eyes ghastly wandering, straying in their heads; they pulling one another and beating one another like fully famished lions. "Knowest thou, O Paul," said the angel, "what people are pained like that?" "I know not," said Paul. "Those are the people of anger, of disobedience and of despair. They shall be thus for ever and ever." * * * * * Paul beheld another lot very cold and dark, upon the hearth of pains, bound with chains upon their narrow beds, bruised and tortured and tightened in bondage by those chains, full of foulness and of evil disgusting smell, and every pain that it is possible to think of. "What people are those?" said Paul. "Those," said the angel, "are the people of sloth who used to remain away from Mass, from sermons, and from the service of God. Through sloth they used to neglect and disregard good deeds, and alas for him who is journeying towards that kingdom," said the angel, "for that is the habitation of the fiery pains and of the misery, the lake of cold, the prison of gall, the cave of darkness, the congregation of curses, the hearth of anger, the ford of snow, the captivity of sloth, the abode of misery, the dungeon of venom, the court of dispute, the war of the damned devils, the lake and the sea that is filled with wrath, with want, with envy, with covetous desire, with jealousy, and with all evil. _Uch hone, uch!_ Alas for him who is journeying to it." Howsoever, the angel showed Paul, at full length and completely, the pains of hell. And, on Paul's beholding all that, with the grace of God, and with the help of the angel, he gave thanks to God for receiving that vision, and he fell to thinking bitterly about the numbers of people on the world who were journeying to those pains. Then the angel led Paul from the clouds of hell until he gave him a sight of the glory of the heaven of God. And, on Paul's beholding that sight, no sorrow of all he had had in his life oppressed him. He beheld the entire glory of the heavenly palace. He beheld our Saviour Jesus Christ in the midst of the angels on His throne, and the Lord gave Paul a gentle, friendly welcome, and told him that it was a short time until he should come to eternal glory. Then the angel took Paul with him from the sight of the glory [of heaven], and left him in the place where he had found him at first, bade him farewell, and departed to heaven. * * * * * Paul was throughout his life teaching and preaching to the congregations and to the Gentiles about the glory of the heavens and the pains of hell. Glory be to the living God! OSCAR OF THE FLAIL. PREFACE. I wrote down the following story from the mouth of John Cunningham of Ballinphuill, Co. Roscommon, on the high road between Frenchpark and Ballaghaderreen, about twenty years ago. Oscar's flail is well known in Irish tradition. The poet O'Kelly, in his series of English curses on Doneraile, alludes to it-- May Oscar with his fiery flail To pieces dash all Doneraile. Mr. Stephen Gwynn, M.P., found a variant of this story in Donegal and has given a spirited poetic version of it. The story is also known in Waterford. It is probably spread all over the lands occupied by the Gael, and contains elements that are exceedingly old. The very verses about "the humming gnat or the scintilla of a beam of the sun" which I wrote down from the mouth of old John Cunningham in the Co. Roscommon, had been already jotted down in phonetics by Magregor, the Dean of Lismore, in Argyllshire in the year 1512. I printed the whole story with a French translation and introduction in the "Revue Celtique," vol. 13, p. 425, showing how in the Tripartite life of St. Patrick the story of piercing a penitent's foot is told of a son of the King of Munster. But, as his name was doubtless soon forgotten, the story got fathered upon Oisín. The story had its rise, no doubt, in the sorrow felt by the people when the clerics told them that their beloved Fenians and Oisín and Finn were damned, and the story was probably invented by some clever person to save them from perdition. There are scores of MSS. which contain disputes between St. Patrick and Oisín, or Ossian as the Scotch call him, on this very subject. See "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. I., p. 209. For the allusion to Elphin, see the poem which follows. THE STORY Saint Patrick came to Ireland, and Oisín met him in Elphin and he carrying stones. And whatever time it might be that he got the food, It would be long again till he would get the drink. "Oisín," says he, "let me baptize you." "Oh, what good would that do me?" says Oisín. "Oisín," says St. Patrick, "unless you let me baptize you, you will go to hell where the rest of the Fenians are." "If," says Oisín, "Diarmaid and Goll were alive for us, and the king that was over the Fenians, if they were to go to hell they would bring the devil and his forge up out of it on their back." "Listen, O gray and senseless Oisín, think upon God, and bow your knee, and let me baptize you." "Patrick," says Oisín, "for what did God damn all that of people?" "For eating the apple of commandment," says St. Patrick. "If I had known that your God was so narrow-sighted that he damned all that of people for one apple, we would have sent three horses and a mule carrying apples to God's heaven to Him." "Listen, O gray and senseless Oisín, think upon God, and bow your knee, and let me baptize you." Oisín fell into a faint, and the clergy thought that he had died. When he woke up out of it, "O Patrick, baptize me," says he--he saw something in his faint, he saw the thing that was before him. The spear was in St. Patrick's hand, and he thrust it into Oisín's foot purposely; and the ground was red with his share of blood. "Oh," says St. Patrick to Oisín, "you are greatly cut." "Oh, isn't that for my baptism?" says Oisín. "I hope in God that you are saved," says St. Patrick, "you have undergone baptism and ...?" "Patrick," says Oisín, "would you not be able to take the Fenians out of hell"--he saw them there when he was in his sleep. "I could not," says St. Patrick, "and any one who is in hell, it is impossible to bring him out of it." "Patrick," says Oisín, "are you able to take me to the place where Finn and the Fenians of Erin are?" "I cannot," says St. Patrick. As much as the humming gnat Or a scintilla of the beam of the sun, Unknown to the great powerful king Shall not pass in beneath my shield. "Can you give them relief from the pain?" says Oisín. * * * * * St. Patrick then asked it as a petition from God to give them a relief from their pain, and he said to Oisín that they had found relief. This is the relief they got from God. Oscar got a flail, and he requested a fresh thong to be put into the flail, and there went a green rush as a thong into it, and he got the full of his palm of green sand, and he shook the sand on the ground, and as far as the sand reached the devils were not able to follow; but if they were to come beyond the place where the sand was strewn, Oscar was able to follow _them_, and to beat them with the flail. Oscar and all the Fenians are on this side of the sand, and the devils are on the other side, for St. Patrick got it as a request from God that they should not be able to follow them where the sand was shaken,--and the thong that was in the flail never broke since! OISIN IN ELPHIN. PREFACE. In the story which I have just given it is said that St. Patrick met Oisin when he was carrying stones in Elphin, a small village in the County Roscommon, which was once a great ecclesiastical centre founded by St. Patrick. I had often heard other people in Roscommon tell about Oisín's carrying those stones in Elphin, and of St. Patrick meeting him there, but I always imagined that they had localised the story because they themselves belonged to the place. That this is not so, however, and that the story of the ancient warriors being forced to carry stones in his old age is old and genuine is proved by Magregor in Argyllshire jotting down a verse 400 years ago in which Ossian tells how Finn had prophesied to him that he would yet be carrying stones for the "Tailgin." Bea tou schell a tarraing clooch, Ma in deyt how in weit wronyth. i.e., [uncial: Béidh tú seal ag tarraing cloch, Man [rul] dtéld tu ón bhith bhrónach] and the very poem (which I give here, taken from a Belfast MS.) was written in phonetics by Magregor in far-away Argyll. Magregor's first line as read by McLaughlin (Skene's Book of Lismore) runs "is fadda noch ni nelli fiym," but Dr. Cameron later on gave a more correct reading "is fadda not ni nelli finni." It is not to be translated as McLaughlan does, "long are the clouds this night above me," but "long is to-night in Elphin," ni nelli finni being evidently to be transliterated as "i n-Ailfinne." This poem may almost be looked upon as a pendant to the last piece. See my "Religious Songs of Connacht." COLD ELPHIN. Long was last night in cold Elphin, More long is to-night on its weary way, Though yesterday seemed to me long and ill, Yet longer still was this dreary day. And long, for me, is each hour new-born, I fall forlorn to grinding grief For the hunting lands, and the Fenian bands, And the long-haired generous Fenian Chief. I make no music, I find no feast, I slay no beast from a bounding steed, I give no gold, I am poor and old, I am cursed and cold without wine or mead. No more I court, and I hunt no more, These were before my strong delight, I have ceased to slay, and I take no prey, --Weary the day and long the night. No heroes come in their war array, No game I play, and no gold I win; I swim no stream with my men of might, --Long is to-night in cold Elphin. Would I were gone from this evil earth, I am wan with dearth, I am old and thin, Carrying stones in my own despite, --Long is to-night in cold Elphin. Ask, O Patrick, of God, for grace, And tell me what place he will hold me in, And save my soul from the Ill One's might --For long is to-night in cold Elphin. THE PRIEST WHO WENT TO DO PENANCE. PREFACE. This story I wrote down most carefully, word for word, from the telling of Mairtin Ruadh O Giollarnath, near Monivea, Co. Galway. He knew no English. I printed it in my "Sgeuluidhe Gaedhealach," published in Rennes. I know no variant of this story. THE STORY. There arose some little difference between three sons. A farmer's sons they were. One man of them said that he would leave home and go to an island (_i.e._, emigrate). Another man of them became a priest, and the eldest brother remained at home. The young priest never stopped until he went to Athlone to the college there, and he remained there for five years until his term had expired, and he was turned out a professed priest. He got himself ready, then, in the college, and said that he would go home to visit his father and mother. He bound his books together in his bag, and then he faced for home. There was no mode of conveyance at that time; he had to walk. He walked all through the day until night was coming on. He saw a light at a distance from him. He went to it and found a gentleman's big house. He came into the yard and asked for lodgings until the morning. He got that from the gentleman and welcome, and the gentleman did not know what he would do for him, with the regard he had for him. The priest was a fine handsome man, and the daughter of the gentleman took, as you would say, a fancy to him, when she was bringing his supper--and a fine supper it was he got. When they went to sleep then the young woman went into the room where the priest was. She began entreating him to give up the church and to marry herself. The gentleman had no daughter but herself, and she was to have the house and place, all of it, and she told that to the priest. Says the priest, "don't tell me your mind," says he; "it's no good. I am wed already to Mary Mother, and I shall never have any other wife," says he. She gave him up then when she saw that it was no good for her, and she went away. There was a piece of gold plate in the house, and when the young priest fell asleep she came back again into his room, and she put the gold plate unbeknownst to him into his bag, and out she went again. When he rose then, in the morning, he was getting himself ready to be going off again. It was a Friday, a fast day, that was in it, but she got a piece of meat and put it into his pocket, unbeknownst to him. Now he had both the meat and the gold plate in his bag, and off my poor man went, without any meal in the morning. When he had gone a couple of miles on his road, up she rose and told her father that the man that he had last night with him, "it was a bad man he was, that he stole the gold plate, and that he had meat in his pocket, going away of him, that she herself saw him eating it as he went the road that morning." Then the father got ready a horse and pursued him, and came up with him and got him taken and brought back again to his own house, and sent for the peelers. "I thought," said he, "that it was an honest man you were, and it's a rogue you are," said he. He was taken out then and given to the jury to be tried, and he was found guilty. The father took the gold plate out of the bag and showed it to the whole jury. He was sentenced to be hanged then. They said that any man who did a thing of that sort, he deserved nothing but to put his head in the noose[54] and hang him. [54] Literally, "in the gallows." He was up on the stage then going to be hanged, when he asked leave to speak in the presence of the people. That was given him. He stood up, then, and he told all the people who he himself was, and where he was going and what he had done; how he was going home to his father and mother, and how he came into the gentleman's house. "I don't know that I did anything bad," said he, "but the daughter that this gentleman had, she came in to me, into the room, where I was asleep, and she asked me to leave the church and to marry herself, and I would not marry her, and no doubt it was she who put the gold plate and the fish into my bag," and he went down on his two knees then, and put up a petition to God to send them all light that it was not himself who was guilty. "Oh, it was not fish that was in your bag at all but meat," said the daughter. "It was meat perhaps that _you_ put in it, but it was fish that I found in it," says the priest. When the people heard that, they desired to bring the bag before them, and they found that it was fish in the place of meat that was in it. They gave judgment then to hang the young woman instead of the priest. She was put up then in place of him to be hanged, and when she was up on the stage, going to be hanged, "Well, you devil," said she, "I'll have you, in heaven or on earth," and with that she was hanged. * * * * * The priest went away after that, drawing on home. When he came home he got, after a while, a chapel and a parish, and he was quiet and satisfied, and everybody in the place had a great respect for him, for he was a fine priest in the parish. He was like this for a good while, until a day came when he went to visit a great gentleman who was in that place; just as yourself might come into this garden,[55] or like that, and they were walking outside in the garden, the gentleman and himself. When he was going up a walk in this garden a lady met him, and when she was passing the priest on the walk, she struck a light little blow of her hand on his cheek. It was that lady who had been hanged who was in it, but the priest did not recognise her, [seemingly] alive, and thought she was some other fine lady who was there. [55] This story was told to me in the garden of Mr. Reddington Roche, at Rye Hill. She went then into a summer house, and the priest went in after her, and had a little conversation with her, and it is likely that she beguiled him with melodious conversation and talk before she went out. When she herself and he himself were ready to depart, and when they were separating from one another, she turned to him and said, "you ought to recognize me," said she, "I am the woman that you hanged; I told you that day that I would have you yet, and I shall. I came to you now to damn you." With that she vanished out of his sight. He gave himself up then; he said that he was damned for ever. He was getting no rest, either by day or by night, with the fear that was on him at her having met him again. He said that it was not in his power either to go back or forward--that he was to be damned for ever. That thought was preying on him day and night. He went away then, and he went to the Bishop, and he told him the whole story and made his confession to him, and told him how she met him and tempted him. Then the bishop told him that he was damned for ever, and that there was nothing in the world to save him or able to save him. "I have no hope at all, so?" said the priest. The bishop said to him, "you have no hope at all, till you get a small load of cambrick needles,"--the finest needles at all--"and get a ship, and go out to sea, and according as you go every hundred yards on the sea you must throw away a needle from you out of the ship. Be going then," says he, "for ever," says he, "until you have thrown away the last of them. Unless you are able to gather them up out of the sea and to bring them all to me back again here, you will be lost for ever." "Well that's a thing that I never shall do; it fails me to do that," said the priest. He got the ship and the needles and went out to sea, according as he used to go a piece he used to throw a needle from him. He was going until he was very far away from land, and until he had thrown out the last needle. By the time he had thrown away the last needle, his own food was used up, and he had not a thing to eat. He spent three days then, on end, without bite or sup or drink, or means to come by them. Then on the third day he saw dry land over from him at a distance. "I shall go," said he, "to yon dry land over there, and perhaps we may get something there that we can eat." The man was on the road to be lost. He drew towards the place and walked out upon the dry land. He spent from twelve o'clock in the day walking until it was eight o'clock at night. Then when the night had fallen black, he found himself in a great wood, and he saw a light at a distance from him in the wood, and he drew towards it. There were twelve little girls there before him and they had a good fire, and he asked of them a morsel to eat for God's sake. Something to eat was got ready for him. After that he got a good supper, and when he had the supper eaten he began to talk to them, telling them how he had left home and what it was he had done out of the way, and the penance that had been put on him by the bishop, and how he had to go out to sea and throw the needles from him. "God help you, poor man," said one of the women, "it was a hard penance that was put upon you." Says he, "I am afraid that I shall never go home. I have no hope of it. Have you any idea at all for me down from heaven as to where I shall get a man who will tell me whether I shall save myself from the sins that I have committed?" "I don't know," said a little girl of them, "but we have mass in this house every day in the year at twelve o'clock. A priest comes here to read mass for us, and unless that priest is able to tell it to you there is no use in your going back for ever." The poor man was tired then and he went to sleep. Well now, he was that tired that he never felt to get up, and never heard the priest in the house reading mass until the mass was read and priest gone. He awoke then and asked one of the women had the priest come yet. She told him that he had and that he had read mass and was gone again. He was greatly troubled and sorry then after the priest. Now with fear lest he might not awake next day, he brought in a harrow and he lay down on the harrow in such a way that he would have no means, as he thought, of getting any repose. But in spite of all that the sleep preyed on him so much that he never felt to get up until mass was read and the priest gone the second day. Now he had two days lost, and the girls told him that unless he got the priest the third day he would have to go away from themselves. He went out then and brought in a bed of briars on which were thorns to wound his skin, and he lay down on them without his shirt in the corner, and with all sorts of torture that he was putting on himself he kept himself awake throughout the night until the priest came. The priest read mass, and when he had it read and he going away, my poor man went up to him and asked him to remain, that he had a story to tell him, and he told him then the way in which he was, and the penance that was on him, and how he had left home, and how he had thrown the needles behind him into the sea, and all that he had gone through of every kind. It was a saint who was in the priest who read mass, and when he heard all that the other priest had to tell him, "to-morrow," says the saint to him, "go up to such and such a street that was in the town in that country; there is a woman there," says he, "selling fish, and the first fish you take hold of bring it with you. Fourpence the woman will want from you for the fish, and here is the fourpence to give her. And when you have the fish bought, open it up, and there is never a needle of all you threw into the sea that is not inside in its stomach. Leave the fish there behind you, everything you want is in its stomach; bring the needles with you, but leave the fish." The saint went away from him then. The priest went to that street where the woman was selling fish, as the saint had ordered, and he brought the first fish he took hold of, and opened it up and took out the thing which was in its stomach, and he found the needles there as the saint had said to him. He brought them with him and he left the fish behind him. He turned back until he came to the house again. He spent the night there until morning. He rose next day, and when he had his meal eaten he left his blessing to the women and faced for his own home. He was travelling then until he came to his own home. When the bishop who had put the penance on him heard that he had come back he went to visit him. "You have come home?" said the bishop. "I have," said he. "And the needles with you?" said the bishop. "Yes," says the priest, "here they are." "Why then, the sins that are on me," said the bishop, "are greater than those on you." * * * * * The bishop had no rest then until he went to the Pope, and he told him that he had put this penance on the priest, "and I had no expectation that he would come back for ever until he was drowned," said he. "That same penance that you put upon the priest you must put it on yourself now," said the Pope, "and you must make the same journey. The man is holy," said he. The bishop went away, and embarked upon the same journey, and never came back since. THE FRIARS OF URLAUR. PREFACE. There is scarcely another country in Europe, outside perhaps of a part of Switzerland and the Tyrol, in which there is the same veneration for purity and female chastity as in the Irish-speaking provinces of Ireland. In the pathetic and well-known song which begins "tá mé sínte ar do thuamba," "I am stretched upon thy tomb," the man who was in love with the maiden who had died says: The priests and the friars Wear faces of gloom At me loving a maiden And she cold in her tomb. I would lie on your grave-sod To shield you from rain, This the thought of you there, love, Has numbed me with pain. When my people are thinking That I am asleep, It is on your cold grave, love, My vigil I keep. With desire I pine And my bosom is torn, You were mine, you were mine, From your childhood my storeen. But the mourner is not left entirely without comfort when he remembers the purity of her who had died: You remember the night 'Neath the thorn on the wold. When the heavens were freezing And all things were cold. Now thanks be to Jesus, No tempter came o'er you, And your maidenhood's crown Is a beacon before you. In the story about St. Peter we saw how our Lord is made to say that the old drunkard who had kept a woman from evil had done more good than the friars themselves. The following story seems to contain the same moral. It shows how it was not in the power of anything except virginity itself to banish the foul and evil spirit which had invaded the peace of the friars. There is a certain humour in the way in which the laziness, drunkenness and carelessness of the piper are portrayed, for by this is thrown into better relief the excellence of the only good deed he had performed. The monastery of the friars is on the brink of the lake called Urlaur (floor), Orlar on the map. Àr-làr (slaughter-site) suggested in the text, is only folk-etymology. The remains are still to be seen, just inside the borders of the County Roscommon, and on the brink of the Co. Mayo. The monastery was built by Edward Costello and his wife Finuala, a daughter of the O'Conor Donn for the Dominican Friars, and was dedicated to St. Thomas. The Dominicans settled in it about the year 1430. On the dissolution of the monasteries it was granted to Lord Dillon, and it has now, with the rest of his enormous property, been bought by the Congested Districts Board and distributed amongst the tenants. We are told that there was once a town there, but there is now no trace of it. The monastery, being in such a retired spot, was set aside for the reception of novices throughout Connacht. The "pattern" here spoken of, _i.e._, the gathering held in honour of the "patron" saint, used to take place on the 4th of August, St. Dominick's day. The place is four or five miles from the town of Kilkelly, and Tavran or Towrann, where the piper came from, is a townland between Ballaghaderreen and Lough Errit, not very far from Urlaur. For the original, see "Religious Songs of Connacht." THE STORY. In times long ago there was a House of Friars on the brink of Loch Urlaur but there is nothing in it now except the old walls, with the water of the lake beating up against them every day in the year that the wind be's blowing from the south. Whilst the friars were living in that house there was happiness in Ireland, and many is the youth who got good instructions from the friars in that house, who is now a saint in heaven. It was the custom of the people of the villages to gather one day in the year to a "pattern," in the place where there used to be fighting and great slaughter when the Firbolgs were in Ireland, but the friars used to be amongst the young people to give them a good example and to keep them from fighting and quarrelling. There used to be pipers, fiddlers, harpers and bards at the pattern, along with trump-players and music-horns; young and old used to be gathered there, and there used to be songs, music, dancing and sport amongst them. But there was a change to come and it came heavy. Some evil spirit found out its way to Loch Urlaur. It came at first in the shape of a black boar, with tusks on it as long as a pike, and as sharp as the point of a needle. One day the friars went out to walk on the brink of the lake. There was a chair cut out of the rock about twenty feet from the brink, and what should they see seated in the chair but the big black boar. They did not know what was in it. Some of them said that it was a great water-dog that was in it, but they were not long in doubt about it, for it let a screech out of it that was heard seven miles on each side of it; it rose up then on its hind feet and was there screeching and dancing for a couple of hours. Then it leaped into the water, and no sooner did it do that than there rose an awful storm which swept the roof off the friar's house, and off every other house within seven miles of the place. Furious waves rose upon the lake which sent the water twenty feet up into the air. Then came the lightning and the thunder, and everybody thought that it was the end of the world that was in it. There was such a great darkness that a person could not see his own hand if he were to put it out before him. The friars went in and fell to saying prayers, but it was not long till they had company. The great black boar came in, opened its mouth, and cast out of it a litter of bonhams. These began on the instant running backwards and forwards and screeching as loud as if there were the seven deaths on them with the hunger. There was fear and astonishment on the friars, and they did not know what they ought to do. The abbot came forward and desired them to bring him holy water. They did so, and as soon as he sprinkled a drop of it on the boar and on the bonhams they went out in a blaze of fire, sweeping part of the side-wall with them into the lake. "A thousand thanks to God," said the Father Abbot, "the devil is gone from us." But my grief! he did not go far. When the darkness departed they went to the brink of the lake, and they saw the black boar sitting in the stone chair that was cut out in the rock. "Get me my curragh," said the Father Abbot, "and I'll banish the thief." They got him the curragh and holy water, and two of them went into the curragh with him, but as soon as they came near to the black boar he leaped into the water, the storm rose, and the furious waves, and the curragh and the three who were in it were thrown high up upon the land with broken bones. They sent for a doctor and for the bishop, and when they told the story to the bishop he said, "There is a limb of the devil in the shape of a friar amongst you, but I'll find him out without delay." Then he ordered them all to come forward, and when they came he called out the name of every friar, and according as each answered he was put on one side. But when he called out the name of Friar Lucas he was not to be found. He sent a messenger for him, but could get no account of him. At last the friar they were seeking for came to the door, flung down a cross that he had round his neck, smote his foot on it, and burst into a great laugh, turned on his heel, and into the lake. When he came as far as the chair on the rock he sat on it, whipped off his friar's clothes and flung them out into the water. When he stripped himself they saw that there was hair on him from the sole of his foot to the top of his head, as long as a goat's beard. He was not long alone, the black boar came to him from the bottom of the lake, and they began romping and dancing on the rock. Then the bishop enquired what place did the rogue come from, and the (father) Superior said that he came a month ago from the north, and that he had a friar's dress on him when he came, and that he asked no account from him of what brought him to this place. "You are too blind to be a Superior," said the bishop, "since you do not recognise a devil from a friar." While the bishop was talking the eyes of everyone present were on him, and they did not feel till the black boar came behind them and the rogue that had been a friar riding on him. "Seize the villain, seize him," says the bishop. "You didn't seize me yourself," says the villain, "when I was your pet hound, and when you were giving me the meat that you would not give to the poor people who were weak with the hunger; I thank you for it, and I'll have a hot corner for you when you leave this world." Some of them were afraid, but more of them made an attempt to catch the black boar and its rider, but they went into the lake, sat on the rock, and began screaming so loud that they made the bishop and the friars deaf, so that they could not hear one word from one another, and they remained so during their life, and that is the reason they were called the "Deaf Friars," and from that day (to this) the old saying is in the mouth of the people, "You're as deaf as a friar of Urlaur." The black boar gave no rest to the friars either by night or day: he himself, and the rogue of a companion that he had, were persecuting them in many a way, and neither they themselves nor the bishop were able to destroy or banish them. At last they were determining on giving up the place altogether, but the bishop said to them to have patience till he would take counsel with Saint Gerald, the patron saint of Mayo. The bishop went to the saint and told him the story from beginning to end. "That sorrowful occurrence did not take place in my county," said the saint, "and I do not wish to have any hand in it." At this time Saint Gerald was only a higher priest in Tirerrill (?) but anything he took in hand succeeded with him, for he was a saint on earth from his youth. He told the bishop that he would be in Urlaur, at the end of a week, and that he would make an attempt to banish the evil spirit. The bishop returned and told the friars what Gerald had said, and that message gave them great courage. They spent that week saying prayers, but the end of the week came, and another week went by, and Saint Gerald did not come, for "not as is thought does it happen." Gerald was struck with illness as it was fated for him, and he could not come. One night the friars had a dream, and it was not one man alone who had it, but every man in the house. In the dream each man saw a woman clothed in white linen, and she said to them that it was not in the power of any man living to banish the evil spirit except of a piper named Donagh O'Grady who is living at Tavraun, a man who did more good, says she, on this world than all the priests and friars in the country. On the morning of the next day, after the matin prayers, the Superior said, "I was dreaming, friars, last night about the evil spirit of the lake, and there was a ghost or an angel present who said to me that it was not in the power of any man living to banish the evil spirit except of a piper whose name was Donagh O'Grady who is living at Tavraun, a man who did more good in this world than all the priests and friars in the country." "I had the same dream too," says every man of them. "It is against our faith to believe in dreams," says the Superior, "but this was more than a dream, I saw an angel beside my bed clothed in white linen." "Indeed I saw the same thing," says every man of them. "It was a messenger from God who was in it," said the Superior, and with that he desired two friars to go for the piper. They went to Tavraun to look for him and they found him in a drinking-house half drunk. They asked him to come with them to the Superior of the friars at Urlaur. "I'll not go one foot out of this place till I get my pay," says the piper. "I was at a wedding last night and I was not paid yet." "Take our word that you will be paid," said the friars. "I won't take any man's word; money down, or I'll stop where I am." There was no use in talk or flattery, they had to return home again without the piper. They told their story to the Superior, and he gave them money to go back for the piper. They went to Tavraun again, gave the money to the piper and asked him to come with them. "Wait till I drink another naggin; I can't play hearty music till I have my enough drunk?" "We won't ask you to play music, it's another business we have for you." O'Grady drank a couple of naggins, put the pipes under his oxter (arm-pit) and said, "I'm ready to go with ye now." "Leave the pipes behind you," said the friars, "you won't want them." "I wouldn't leave my pipes behind me if it was to Heaven I was going," says the piper. When the piper came into the presence of the Superior, the Superior began examining him about the good works he had done during his life. "I never did any good work during my life that I have any remembrance of," said the piper. "Did you give away any alms during your life?" said the Superior. "Indeed, I remember now, that I did give a tenpenny piece to a daughter of Mary O'Donnell's one night. She was in great want of the tenpenny piece, and she was going to sell herself to get it, when I gave it to her. After a little while she thought about the mortal sin she was going to commit, she gave up the world and its temptations and went into a convent, and people say that she passed a pious life. She died about seven years ago, and I heard that there were angels playing melodious music in the room when she was dying, and it's a pity I wasn't listening to them, for I'd have the tune now!" "Well," said the Superior, "there's an evil spirit in the lake outside that's persecuting us day and night, and we had a revelation from an angel who came to us in a dream, that there was not a man alive able to banish the evil spirit but you." "A male angel or female?" says the piper. "It was a woman we saw," says the Superior, "she was dressed in white linen." "Then I'll bet you five tenpenny pieces that it was Mary O'Donnell's daughter was in it," says the piper. "It is not lawful for us to bet," says the Superior, "but if you banish the evil spirit of the lake you will get twenty tenpenny pieces." "Give me a couple of naggins of good whiskey to give me courage," says the piper. "There is not a drop of spirits in the house," says the Superior, "you know that we don't taste it at all." "Unless you give me a drop to drink," says the piper, "go and do the work yourself." They had to send for a couple of naggins, and when the piper drank it he said that he was ready, and asked them to show him the evil spirit. They went to the brink of the lake, and they told him that the evil spirit used to come on to the rock every time that they struck the bell to announce the "Angel's Welcome" [Angelical Salutation]. "Go and strike it now," says the piper. The friars went, and began to strike the bell, and it was not long till the black boar and its rider came swimming to the rock. When they got up on the rock the boar let a loud screech, and the rogue began dancing. The piper looked at them and said, "wait till I give ye music." With that he squeezed on his pipes, and began playing, and on the moment the black boar and its rider leapt into the lake and made for the piper. He was thinking of running away, when a great white dove came out of the sky over the boar and its rider, shot lightning down on top of them and killed them. The waves threw them up on the brink of the lake, and the piper went and told the Superior and the friars that the evil spirit of the lake and its rider were dead on the shore. They all came out, and when they saw that their enemies were dead they uttered three shouts for excess of joy. They did not know then what they would do with the corpses. They gave forty tenpenny pieces to the piper and told him to throw the bodies into a hole far from the house. The piper got a lot of tinkers who were going the way and gave them ten tenpenny pieces to throw the corpse into a deep hole in a shaking-scraw a mile from the house of the friars. They took up the corpses, the piper walked out before them playing music, and they never stopped till they cast the bodies into the hole, and the shaking-scraw closed over them and nobody ever saw them since. The "Hole of the Black Boar" is to be seen still. The piper and the tinkers went to the public house, and they were drinking till they were drunk, then they began fighting, and you may be certain that the piper did not come out of Urlaur with a whole skin. The friars built up the walls and the roof of the house and passed prosperous years in it, until the accursed foreigners came who banished the friars and threw down the greater part of the house to the ground. The piper died a happy death, and it was the opinion of the people that he went to Heaven, and that it may be so with us all! DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO OLD WOMEN PREFACE. This story of the two women I got from Francis O'Connor. He said he heard it from one Mary Casey, a Co. Galway woman, but I don't know from what part of Galway. It is I who am responsible for the dialogue form of it, which I have used instead of putting in an occasional bald "said Mary," "said Sheela"; but it really was told more in a dramatic then a narrative form, the reciter's voice showing who was speaking. The words I have not interfered with. I once heard a dialogue not unlike this between two Melicete Indians in Canada who fell to discussing Theology over the camp-fire at night after hunting. One was a Catholic and the other a close replica of Maurya in our dialogue. The story of Páidin Críona seems familiar to me, but I cannot think where or in what literature I have met it before. THE STORY. MAURYA. A hundred welcomes Sheela, it's a cure for sore eyes to see you; sit down and rest and tell us your news. SHEELA. Musha! I have no news. It is not news that's troubling me. MAURYA. Arrah! and what's troubling you? sure you're not ill! SHEELA. I'm not ill, thanks be to God and to His blessed mother, but I do be thinking of the four last ends--the Death and the Judgment, and Hell and Heaven, for I know I shan't be much longer in this sorrowful world, and I wouldn't mind if I were leaving it to-morrow. MAURYA. No nonsense at all of that sort ever comes into _my_ head, and I'm older than you. I'm not tired of this world yet. I have knowledge of this world, and I have no knowledge at all of the other world. Nobody ever came back to tell me about it. I'll be time enough thinking of Death when he comes. And, another thing,--I don't believe that God created anyone to burn him in hell eternally. SHEELA. You're going astray Maurya; were you at mass last Sunday? MAURYA. Indeed and I was not! I was doing a thing more profitable. It was taking care of my hens I was, to keep them from laying abroad, or I wouldn't have the price of a grain of tea or sneesheen throughout the week. That _bolgán-béiceach_ Father Brian wouldn't give me a penny if it was to keep me from being hanged. He's only a miserable greedy _sanntachán_. I had a little sturk of a pig last Christmas and he asked me to sell it to give him a shilling on Christmas Day, and as I didn't do that, he called out my name the Sunday after, in the chapel. He's not satisfied with good food, and oats for his horse, and gold and silver in his pocket. As I said often, I don't see any trade as good as a priest's trade; see the fine working clothes they wear, and poor people earning it hard for them. SHEELA. I wonder greatly at your talk. Your unbelief is great. I wonder that you speak so unmannerly about Father Brian, when if you were dying to-morrow, who would give you absolution but the same father? MAURYA. Arrah! Sheela, hold your tongue. Father Brian wouldn't turn on his heel, either for you or for me, without pay, even if he knew that it would keep us out of hell. SHEELA. The cross of Christ on us! I never thought that it was that sort of a woman you were. Did you ever go to confession? MAURYA. I went the day I was married, but I never bowed my knee under him before or since. SHEELA. You have not much to do now, and you ought to think about your poor soul. MAURYA. That wouldn't keep the hens from laying abroad on me, and if I were to go to confess to Father Brian, instead of absolution it's a barging I'd get from him, unless I had a half-crown on the top of my fingers to give him. SHEELA. Father Brian isn't half as bad as you say; I'm to go to his house this evening with fresh eggs and a pint of butter. I'll speak to him about you if you give me leave. MAURYA. Don't trouble yourself about me, for I'm not going near Father Brian: when I'll be on my death-bed _he'll_ come to _me_. SHEELA. And how do you know that it's not a sudden death you'd get, and what would happen to you if you were to get a "death without priest?" MAURYA. And wouldn't I be as well off as the thousands who got death without e'er a priest. I haven't much trust in the priests. It's sinners that's in them all; they're like ourselves, exactly. My own notion is that there's nothing in religion but talk. Did you ever hear mention of Páidín Críona[56] [wise Patsy]. [56] Pronounced "Paudyeen Creeöna." SHEELA. I did, often. MAURYA. Very well; did you ever hear his opinion about religion? SHEELA. Indeed, I never did, but tell it to me if you please. MAURYA. Musha, then, I will. There were three officers living in one house and Paudyeen Críona [Cree-on-a] was servant to them. There were no two of them of the same religion, and there used often to be a dispute amongst them--and every man of them saying that it was his own religion was the best religion. One day a man of them said, "We'll leave it to Wise Paudyeen as to which of us has the best religion." "We're satisfied," said the other two. They called in Paudyeen and a man of them said to him, "Paudyeen, I'm a Catholic, and what will happen to me after my death?" "I'll tell you that," says Paudyeen. "You'll be put down into the grave, and you'll rise again and go up to the gate of heaven. Peter will come out and will ask you, 'what religion are you of.' You'll tell him, and he'll say, 'Go and sit in that corner amongst the Catholics.'" "I'm a Protestant," said the second man, "and what'll happen to me after my death?" "Exactly as the other man. You will be put sitting in the corner of the Protestants!" "I'm a Hebrew," says the third man, "and what will happen to me after my death?" "Exactly as the other two; you will be put sitting amongst the Hebrews." Now there was no one of them better off than the other, as Paudyeen left them, and so the Catholic asked Paudyeen, "Paudyeen, what's your own religion?" "I have no religion at all," says he. "And what'll happen to you after your death?" "I'll tell you that. I shall be put down into the hole, I shall rise again and go up to the gate of heaven. Peter will come and ask me, 'of what religion are you?' I will say that I have no religion at all, and Peter will say then, 'come in, and sit down, or walk about in any place that you have a wish for.'" Now, Sheela, don't you see that he who had no religion at all was better off than the people who had a religion! Every one of them was bound to the corner of his own creed, but Paudyeen was able to go in his choice place, and I'll be so too. SHEELA. God help you Maurya; I'm afraid there's a long time before your poor soul in Purgatory. MAURYA. Have sense Sheela; I'll go through Purgatory as quickly as lightning through a gooseberry bush. SHEELA. There's no use talking to you or giving you advice. I'll leave you. When Sheela was going out, Maurya let a screech out of her which was heard for a mile on every side of her. Sheela turned round and she saw Maurya in the midst of a flame of fire. Sheela ran as fast as was in her to Father Brian's house, and returned with him running to Maurya's house. But, my grief! the house was burned to the ground, and Maurya was burnt with it; and I am afraid that the [her] poor soul was lost. THE MINISTER AND THE GOSSOON. PREFACE. This curious little piece is another dialogue in the same form as the last. These are the only two stories, if one may call them stories, which I have found couched in this form, so partly for that reason I give it here. THE STORY One day there was a poor little gossoon on the side of the road, and he taking care of an old sow of a pig, and a litter of bonhams along with her. A minister came the way, and he riding upon a fine horse, and he said to the gossoon, "Where does this road bring you?" GOSSOON. I'm here for a fortnight, and it never brought me anywhere yet. MINISTER. Now, isn't it the wise little boy you are! Whose are the little pigs? GOSSOON. They're the old sow's. MINISTER. I know that, but I'm asking you who is the master of the bonhams. GOSSOON. That little black-and-white devil that you see rooting, he's able to beat the whole of them. MINISTER. That's not what I'm asking you at all, but who is your own master? GOSSOON. My mistress's husband, a man as good as you'd get from here to himself. MINISTER. You don't understand me yet. Who is your mistress--perhaps you understand that? GOSSOON. I understand you well. She is my master's wife. Everyone knows that. MINISTER. You're a wise little boy; and it's as good for me to let you be, but tell me do you know where Patrick O'Donnell is living? GOSSOON. Yes, indeed. Follow this road until you come to a boreen on the side of your thumb-hand. Then follow your nose, and if you go astray break the guide. MINISTER. Indeed, and you're a ripe (precocious) little lad! What trade will you have when you'll be older? GOSSOON. Herding a pig. Don't you see that I'm putting in my term. What is your own trade? MINISTER. A good trade. I am showing the people what is the way to heaven. GOSSOON. Oh, what a liar! _You_ can't show the way to any place. You don't know the way to Patrick O'Donnell's, a man that everybody--big and little--in this country knows, and I'm certain sure you have no knowledge of the road to heaven. MINISTER. I'm beaten. Here's half a crown for you for your cleverness, and when I come again you'll get another. GOSSOON. Thank you. It's a pity that a fool like you doesn't come the way every day. THE KEENING OF THE THREE MARYS. PREFACE. I got the following poem from a schoolmaster called O'Kearney, near Belmullet, in West Mayo, who told me that he had taken it down from the recitation of an old man in the neighbourhood. I got another version of it afterwards from Michael Mac Ruaidhri of Ballycastle, Co. Mayo, with quite a different "cur-fa" or refrain, namely _[)o]ch [=o]ch agus [)o]ch [=u]ch [=a]n_ after the first two lines, and _[)o]ch [)o]ch agus [=o]ch [)o]n [=o]_ after the next two. Spelt phonetically in English and giving _gh_ the guttural value of _ch_ in German, and _oa_ the same sound as in English _roach_ and _oo_ the sound of oo in _pool_, it would run---- Let us go to the mountain All early on the morrow, Ugh oagh agus ugh oogh awn. Hast thou seen my bright darling, O Peter, good apostle, Ugh ugh agus oagh on ó. The agus "and" is pronounced nearly as "oggus." The story I have not traced, but it may have come from an Irish version of one of the apocryphal gospels. THE STORY Let us go to the mountain All early on the morrow, (Ochone! agus ochone, O!) "Hast thou seen my bright darling, O Peter, good apostle?" (Ochone! agus ochone, O!) "Aye! truly O Mother Have I seen him lately, (Ochone agus ochone, O!) Caught by his foemen, They had bound him straitly," (Ochone agus ochone, O!) "Judas, as in friendship, Shook hands, to disarm him," (Ochone agus ochone, O!) Oh, Judas! vile Judas! My love did never harm him. (Ochone agus ochone, O!) No child has he injured, Not the babe in the cradle, (Ochone agus ochone, O!) Nor angered his mother Since his birth in the stable. (Ochone agus ochone, O!) When the demons discovered That she was his mother, (Ochone agus ochone, O!) They raised her on their shoulders The one with the other; (Ochone agus ochone, O!) And they cast her down fiercely On the stones all forlorn, (Ochone agus ochone, O!) And she lay and she fainted With her knees cut and torn, (Ochone agus ochone, O!) "For myself, ye may beat me, But, oh, touch not my mother," (Ochone agus ochone, O!) "Yourself,--we shall beat you, But we'll slaughter your mother." (Ochone agus ochone, O!) They dragged him off captive, And they left her tears flowing, (Ochone agus ochone, O!) But the Virgin pursued them Through the wilderness going, (Ochone agus ochone, O!) "Oh, who is yon woman? Through the waste comes another," (Ochone agus ochone, O!) "If there comes any woman It is surely my mother," (Ochone agus ochone, O!) "Oh John, care her, keep her, Who comes in this fashion," (Ochone agus ochone, O!) "But Oh, hold her from me Till I finish this passion," (Ochone agus ochone, O!) When the Virgin had heard him And his sorrowful saying, (Ochone agus ochone, O!) She sprang past his keepers To the tree of his slaying, (Ochone agus ochone, O!) "What fine man hangs there In the dust and the smother?" (Ochone agus ochone, O!) "And do you not know him, He is _your_ son, O Mother." (Ochone agus ochone, O!) "Oh, is that the child whom I bore in this bosom, (Ochone agus ochone, O!) Or is that the child who Was Mary's fresh blossom" (Ochone agus ochone, O!) They cast him down from them A mass of limbs bleeding, (Ochone agus ochone, O!) "There now he is for you, Now go and be keening." (Ochone agus ochone, O!) Go call the three Marys Till we keene him forlorn, (Ochone agus ochone, O!) O Mother thy keeners Are yet to be born, (Ochone agus ochone, O!) Thyself shall come with me Into Paradise garden, (Ochone agus ochone, O!) To a fair place in heaven At the side of thy darling, (Ochone agus ochone, O!) THE FARMER'S SON AND THE BISHOP. PREFACE. The following story is an extract from a much longer piece in prose and verse, which I take from a manuscript in my own possession made by Patrick O Prunty (grand-uncle, I think of Charlotte Brontë), in 1764. It is called "the Counsel of Mac Lava from Aughanamullin to Red Archy, that is Red Shane, son of Bradach, son of Donal the gloomy, son of Shane, son of Torlogh, etc." In a manuscript in the Royal Irish Academy I find it entitled "The Counsel of Mac Lavy from Aughanamullin to his cousin Red Archy Litis on his forsaking his wife to take the yoke of piety on him, that is of Priestifying; or, the 'Priest of the Stick' by Laurence Faneen." In another MS. of mine, written by the well-known scribe Labhrás O Fuartháin from Portlaw in Co. Waterford, in 1786, it is called "The Counsel of Mac Clava from Aughanamullin to Red Archy Mac a Brady." The poem is entirely satirical, and the gist of it is that the writer advises Archy not to be working like a poor man in dirt and misery, but from himself to earn the reputation of having a little Latin, and to become a _bullaire_, a comic word for bull-promulgator or priest. Any kind of Latin he tells him will do with an uneducated congregation, such as "Parva nec invideo" or "Hanc tua Penelope," or "Tuba mirum spargens sonum" or "ego te teneo, Amen!" The poet tells his victim that when he is reading he can twist and stifle his voice "like a melodious droning and partly a humming (?) through the nose, and partly the smothering of a cough, and then the wealthy full-ignorant laity amongst the congregation shall say that it is a great pity the shortness of breath, the pressure on the chest, and the tightness round the breast that strikes the blessed, loud-voiced, big-worded priest at the time of service." He then proceeds to tell him the following story, in the style of the Irish romances common in the eighteenth century. For the original Irish and the poem and notes, see vol. I., p. 180, "Religious Songs of Connacht." THE STORY. O, Cousin Archy, I must now tell you a little allegory which has a bearing upon your own present case, about a greedy, fat-boned, stoop-headed, bashful fellow of a son, that a long-bearded, broad-sided, cow-herd-ful, large-flock-having Farmer had, who was once on a time residing by the side of the island and the illustrious Church of Clonmacnois. And this aforesaid Farmer was accustomed to double his alms to a godly-blessed hermit who was living close by him, [giving] with excess of diligence beyond [the rest of] the congregation, in order that he might have the aid of this hermit in putting forward that blockhead (?) of a son towards the priesthood. At last, on the priest of that parish in which they were, dying, the Farmer promulgates and lays bare to the hermit the secret conception and intention which he had stored up for a long time before that, and it was what he said to him, that he considered, himself, that there was no person at all who would better suit that congregation as a parish priest than this son of his own, from the love of the priesthood which he had. The Farmer beseeches and begs him--giving him large offerings on the head of it--to go with his son to the presence of the Bishop of Clonmacnois. They set forth all three, side by side, on that journey, the farmer, the hermit, and the farmer's son, together with a great congregation of their friends and cousins, and of the Farmer's acquaintance accompanying him to the strand and harbour of that island of Clonmacnois. It was then a gentleman who was in the assembly asked the Farmer with prophesying truly-wise words whether he knew if his lad of a son were wise [educated] enough to receive the grade of priesthood on that occasion. He answered that he knew, himself, that he was, without any doubt, because he had been for seven years clerk of salt and water [_i.e._, acolyte] to the blessed godly Father who departed to heaven from us but now, and moreover, that he was plentiful with his Amens at time of mass or marriage, and that in this respect he had generally too much rather than too little. "Oh, I am satisfied," said the gentleman, turning his back on him, bursting into a fit of laughing. However, upon the Farmer thus satisfying the gentleman's question, they were all silent, until the hermit's lad the "Shouting Attendant" (?) gave a shout at the beach, asking for a curach and means of transport to row to the island. After that comes to them a broad-wombed, long-timbered boat, with eight loutish, big-biting, lumpish (?), dawdling (?), raw-nosed (?), great-sleeping spalpeens of the parish on the left hand of the Farmer's son. They enjoin on the Farmer with his people to wait on the beach of the harbour until they themselves should come back. This they do. In the meantime, on the above-mentioned couple going into the bishop's presence, the hermit discloses the reason and meaning of his journey. The bishop consents, at the request of the hermit, to confer the degrees of priesthood on the Farmer's son, and makes some of the clergy who were along with him put scholarly questions to the youth, so that they might have some knowledge of the amount of his learning to give the bishop. However, they found nothing either great or small of any kind of learning whatsoever in him. After that they report to the bishop about the youth's ability. The bishop is angry at the clergy on hearing their report, and 'twas what he said that it was shame or fright (?) they put on the youth, and he himself calls him with him far apart, to the brink and very margin of the lake, in solitude, so that they came within the view of the Farmer and his people on the opposite side, and he addresses him in Latin with courteous truly-friendly words, and 'twas what he said-- _Quid est sacramentum in nomine Domini?_ _Qui fecit coelum et terram_, says the fellow. _Numquam accedes ad altare Dei_, says the bishop. _Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam_, says the lad. _Non fies sacerdos per me in sæcula sæculorum_, says the bishop. _Amen_, says he. Then was the bishop excessively enraged against the Farmer's son, and raised his arm with a thick-butted apple-knotted * * * *? cudgel of a stick, that he had in his right hand, and begins lacing and leathering and whaling the Farmer's son without sparing, so that his blood and inwards ran down to the very ground. "Ow! but that's sad, my son's case now," says the Farmer, "and I think myself that every comfort and satisfaction (?) and roasted hen and every bottle that he shall get like a prolute (prelate?) sitting in his coverlet with kindness from this out, is not to be begrudged him; for it's hard and pitiably, it's patiently, gently, meekly and humbly my child takes the religious yoke and the grade of priesthood on him this night, and it's not easily it will be forgotten by him to the termination of his career and his life, for it's diligently, piously, firmly, and soundly, the blessed bishop drives it into his memory with swift hand-blows of the large stick." However, on the bishop's parting from the Farmer's son, the aforesaid spalpeens came up to the young priest and asked his blessing. He lifted up his hands cleric-like and piously above their heads, and gave them general absolution, saying _Asperges me Domine hysoppo et mundabor, lavabis me et super nivem dealbabor_. They carried him with them to the curach after that, and leapt into it, flowingly and high-spiritedly, until they reached land on the other side, and all that were in the island harbour made the same reverence to the Farmer's son, and they asked him where was his bull or charter of priesthood. He said he had no charter but the bull of the race of stoop-headed Conor Mac Lopus of Cavan to the Vicarage of Leargan,--the will of the people. They swore by the God of the elements that he never could have a better charter than that, and they bound themselves by the sun and the moon to defend that parish for him to the end of his term and his life. And they did so. * * * * * And now Archy, the story which does not concern a smotàn (?) is good, for it is you that the application of this story concerns, and it is the good advice to you to take the same grade of priesthood, and if blows of a stick be struck on you, it is small damage compared with every comfort and ease that you will get on the head of it, and in addition to every other advice I have given you, here are a couple of little ranns for you which shall be in your memory continually, so that they may be a good help in every pinch that is before you. * * * * * * SHAUN THE TINKER. PREFACE. I wrote down this story carefully from the mouth of Mártain Ruadh O Giollarnáth from near Monivea, Co. Galway. He had no English. The story is a well-known one. It is the basis of Father O'Leary's delightful book "Séadna." It has been examined at great length with much learning and perspicacity by Carl Marstrander in the Miscellany presented to Kuno Meyer, pp. 386 ff., to which I refer the reader. According to a Donegal story, called "Domhnall O Dochartaigh," taken down and given me by the late Mr. Larminie, Death is the being who is tricked. But, according to a Galway story which I heard, the Tinker had a son whose godfather was Death. He became a doctor and cured everybody at whose feet he saw Death standing. Death gave him leave to do this. Attracted one day by a huge bribe he turned round the bed where the patient lay so that Death, who had been at the patient's head with intent that he should die, was now at the patient's foot, who consequently recovered. After this Death is tricked in much the same way as the Devil in our story. THE STORY. They were poor, both of them, the man and his wife. The man had no other means in the world except his day's pay, going here and going there, and earning his day's wages from place to place. The beginning of the harvest was come now, and he went in to the wife and said to her--Elleesh was the wife's name--"Elleesh," says he, "stand up," says he, "and make ready my meal for me until I go to Kildare to-morrow." Elleesh got ready the meal for him as well as ever she was able, and she washed him and tidied him up and put good clean trousers on him, and himself got ready to be going. And the poor man did go, off he went. He had no provisions going away then, only four shillings to pay his way. He was going then and journeying until he came to the top of a bridge, and there he met with a stumble and was thrown on one knee. "Oh, musha," says he, "the devil break my neck when I'll pass this way again." He went on then and he never stopped until he came into Kildare, and he settled with a farmer there and spent four years with him without coming home at all. He never took one penny from the farmer in the course of the four years except as much as put clothing on him. Now at the end of the four years he took it into his head to be going home again. And this was what he was getting in the year--five pounds. And likely enough, when he took it into his head to be going, that he said to the farmer and to the farmer's wife that he was to be departing in the morning. They gave him his share of money then. Then he made for home, and fifteen pounds was what he had coming home of him. He never spent but five pounds on his clothes all the time he was with the farmer. He was coming and ever-coming along the road until he came to a corner where four roads met. A poor man met him and asked alms of him. "God salute you," says he. "God and Mary salute you," says Shaun. "In Kildare you were," says he. "Well, yes," says Shaun. "You have money so," says he, "and I am asking my alms of you in honour of God and of Mary." He gave him alms then--five pounds he gave him. "Now Shaun," says the poor man, when he was going away from him. "I don't like you to go away without giving you [your] earned reward for your five pounds. What is the thing that you most wish for?" "Anything that I desire," says Shaun, "me to have lots of money for it in my pocket. And anything that would be putting trouble on me, me to have leave to shut it up in this bottle which I have in my hand." "You'll get that," says he. He was going along then until he came to the corner of four other roads and another poor man met him. "God salute you," says the poor man. "God and Mary salute you." "You were in Kildare," said the poor man. "That's the place I was," says Shaun. "If you are coming back out of Kildare you're not without money, and I am asking my alms of you in honour of God and Mary." "It's short till I have my money spent," says Shaun. "But here," says he, putting the hand in his pocket, "here's five pounds for you." When he gave it to him, the poor man said, "I don't like you to go away without giving you a reward for your five pounds. What sort of a thing is it that you'd like best to have?" "Any person that would be doing anything at all out of the way with me [me to be able] to put him into my budget and him to remain there until myself would give him leave to go away, or until myself would let him out." "You'll have that to get," says he. He went away, then, and he was travelling until he went where four other roads met. There was another poor man before him there. "This is the third man," says Shaun. "God salute you, Tinker Shaun," says he as soon as Shaun came up with him. "God and Mary salute you." "You're coming out of Kildare, Shaun," says he. "I am, indeed," says Shaun. But he said to himself, "Isn't it well how every man recognises me and without me recognising them." "I am asking my alms of you in honour of God and of Mary if you have any money with you coming from Kildare." "Oh, musha, I'll give you that and my blessing. I met another pair before this and I gave five pounds to each man of them, and here's five pounds for you." "I don't like you to go away Shaun without your reward, and what is the thing you'd have most desire for?" "Well, then," says Shaun, "when I was at home I had an apple tree in the garden at the back of the house, and I used to be troubled with gossoons coming there and stealing the apples. I should like, since I am going home again now, that every person except myself who shall lay his hand on that tree that his hand should stick to it, and that he should have no power of himself to go away without leave from me." "You'll get that Shaun," says he. He was travelling then until he came to the bridge where he had stumbled as he was going to Kildare the time he was thrown on one knee. Who should be standing on the bridge before him but the Devil. "Who are you?" says Tinker Shaun. "I am the Devil," says he. "And what sent you here?" says Shaun. "Well," says he, "when you went this way before didn't you say that if you were to go this way again might the Devil break your neck?" "I said that," says Shaun. "Well, I've come before you now that I may break your neck." "Try if you can," said Shaun. The Devil moved over towards him and was going to kill him, when Shaun said, "In with you into my bag this moment and don't be troubling me." The Devil had to go into the bag because Shaun had that power. Shaun was going along then, and the Devil in the bag slung over his back. When he came to the next bridge he stood to take a rest and there were two women washing there. "I'll give ye five pounds and give my bag a good dressing with the beetles." They began beating it. "The bag is harder than the Devil himself," say they. "It is the Devil himself that's in it," says Shaun, "and lay on him." They beat it really then until they gave him enough. He threw it up over his back then and off he went until he came to a forge. He went into the forge. "I'll give you five pounds," says he to the smith, "and strike a good spell on this bag." There were two smiths there and they began leathering the bag. "Why, then," says one of the smiths, "your bag is harder than the Devil himself." "It is the Devil himself that's in it," says Shaun, "and lay on him, ye, and beat him." One of the men put a hole in the bag with the blow he gave it and he looked in on the hole and he saw the Devil's eye at the hole. The poker was in the fire and it red hot. The smith stuck it into the hole in such a way that he put it into the Devil's eye, and that's the thing which has left the old Devil half blind ever since. He raised the bag on his back then, and he was going away when the Devil rose up and burst the bag and departed from him. Shaun came home. At the end of a quarter of a year when Shaun was at home with the wife the Devil came to him again "You must come with me, Shaun," says he; "make your soul," says he, "I'll give you death without respite." "I'll go with you," says Shaun; "but give me respite until to-morrow until I have everything ready, and I'll go with you then and welcome." "I won't give you any respite at all; neither a day nor an hour, you thief." "I won't ask you for any respite," says Shaun, "only as long as I would be eating a single apple off that tree. Pull me one yourself, and I'll be with you." The old Devil moved over to the tree, and took hold of a branch to pluck an apple off it and he stuck to the branch, and was not able to loose himself. He remained there on the branch during seven years. One day that Shaun was in the garden again by himself he was not thinking, but he went gathering a bundle of kippeens for Elleesh, to make a fire for her, and what was the branch it should fall to him to cut for Elleesh but the branch in which the Devil was. The Devil gave a leap into the air. "Now Shaun," says he, "be ready; you will never go either forward nor back. You must come with me on the spot." "Well I'll go," says Shaun; "I'll go with you," says he; "but it's a long time we are at odds with one another, and we ought to have a drink together. Elleesh has a good bottle and come in till we drink a drop of it before we go." "Why, then, I'll go with you," says the Devil, as there was the Devil's thirst on him after his being up in the tree so long. They drank their enough then inside in Elleesh's hovel, and when the Devil had the bottle empty he rose up standing, that he might get a grip of Shaun's throat to choke him. "In with you into the bottle," says Shaun. "In with you this moment," says he. "Did you think that you would play on me," says he. The Devil had to go into the bottle, and he spent seven years inside the bottle, with Shaun, without being let out. Now it fell out that Elleesh had a young son, and there was a bottle wanting to go for stuff for Elleesh. What was the bottle they should bring with them but the bottle in which the Devil was down, and when they took the cork out of it the Devil went off with himself. Shaun was gone away looking for gossips for his son. The Son of God met him. "God salute you, Shaun," says he. "God and Mary salute you." "Where were you going now, Shaun?" says he. "I was hunting for gossips for my son," says Shaun. "Would you give him to me, and I'll stand for him?" "Who are you?" says Tinker Shaun. "I am the Son of God," says he. "Well, then, indeed, I won't give him to you," says Shaun, "you give seven times their enough to some people, and you don't give their half enough to other people." The Son of God departed. The King of Sunday met him then and they saluted one another. "Where were you going?" says the King of Sunday. "Well, then, I was going hunting for a gossip for my son." "Will you give him to me?" says the King of Sunday. "Who are you?" says Shaun. "I am the King of Sunday." "Indeed, then, I won't give him," says Shaun. "You have only a single day in the week and you're not able to do much good that day itself." In this way he refused him, and the King of Sunday departed from him. Who should meet him then and he coming home but the Death. [The Devil was afraid to go near him again, but he sent the Death to meet him.] "Make your soul now Shaun," says he, "I have you." "Oh, you wouldn't give me death now," says Shaun, "until I baptise my son." "All right, baptise him," said the Death. "Who will you put to stand for him?" "I don't see any person," says Shaun, "better than yourself. It's you who will leave him longest alive," says he. When he got the son baptised he gave death to Shaun. He would not allow him to be humbugging him. MARY AND ST. JOSEPH AND THE CHERRY TREE. PREFACE. I wrote down this poem from the mouth of Michael Mac Ruaidhri or Rogers, from near Ballycastle, in the Co. Mayo. The last five verses of it, which he had not got, I obtained from Martin O'Callaly (or Caldwell in English) in Erris, in the same county. There is a cherry tree carol in English, and an excellent one in German. The original legend was probably told of a date tree. A fifteenth century Dutch carol retains the date tree. In a legendary life of the Blessed Virgin, quoted by Jewitt in his book "The Nativity in Art and Song," we are told that the Blessed Virgin, during the flight into Egypt, resting in the heat of the noon day, saw a palm loaded with dates and desired them, but they were high up out of reach. Then the child Jesus, who was yet in the arms of Mary and had never spoken, lifted up his voice and said to the palm tree, "bend thy branches O tree, bow down and offer thy fruits to My mother," and immediately the tree bent down its top even to the feet of Mary, and all were nourished with the fruits it bore. And the palm tree remained bent to the earth awaiting that He whom it had obeyed should bid it again to rise. And Jesus said, "Arise, O palm tree; thou shalt be the companion of the trees which grow in the paradise of my father." And while He was yet speaking behold an angel of the Lord appeared, and taking a branch from the tree he flew through the midst of heaven holding the palm in his hand. The story has found its way into art. In "A Flight into Egypt," by Martin Schongaur, angels bow the palm tree and St. Joseph gathers the dates. In a work of Andrea Solario (Milanese School) St. Joseph is seen giving the fruit with one hand to the Virgin, and with the other to her Divine Son. This poem was at one time known in the Highlands as well as Ireland, for Carmichael recovered a very poor and imperfect version of eight verses, which he printed in his monumental work "Carmina Gadelica," vol. II., p. 162. A very pretty anonymous sixteenth century German Christmas hymn appears to allude to our story in the first verse, which runs as follows:-- Als Gott der Herr geboren war Da war es kalt, Was sieht Maria am Wege stehn Ein Feigenbaum. Maria lass du die Feigen noch stehn Wir haben noch dreissig Meilen zu gehn. Es wird uns spat. The word "Als" must here be taken as equivalent to "Ehe." THE STORY. Holy was good St. Joseph When marrying Mary Mother, Surely his lot was happy, Happy beyond all other. Refusing red gold laid down, And the crown by David worn, With Mary to be abiding And guiding her steps forlorn. One day when the twain were talking, And walking through gardens early, Where cherries were redly growing, And blossoms were blowing rarely, Mary the fruit desired, For faint and tired she panted, At the scent on the breezes' wing Of the fruit that the King had planted. Then spake to Joseph, the Virgin, All weary and faint and low, O pull me yon smiling cherries That fair on the tree do grow, "For feeble I am, and weary, And my steps are but faint and slow, And the works of the King of the graces I feel within me grow." Then out spake the good St. Joseph, And stoutly indeed spake he, "I shall not pluck thee one cherry, Who art unfaithful to me. "Let him come fetch thee the cherries, Who is dearer than I to thee," Then Jesus, hearing St. Joseph, Thus spake to the stately tree. "Bend low in her gracious presence, Stoop down to herself, O tree, That My mother herself may pluck thee, And take thy burden from thee." Then the great tree lowered her branches At hearing the high command, And she plucked the fruit that it offered, Herself with her gentle hand. Loud shouted the good St. Joseph, He cast himself on the ground, "Go home and forgive me, Mary, To Jerusalem I am bound; I must go to the holy city, And confess my sin profound." Then out spake the gentle Mary, She spake with a gentle voice, "I shall not go home, O Joseph, But I bid thee at heart rejoice, For the King of Heaven shall pardon The sin that was not of choice." THE STUDENT WHO LEFT COLLEGE. PREFACE. The following curious story has parallels in many countries. It is probably founded upon the verse in II. Peter iii. 8. "Quia unus dies apud Dominum sicut mille anni et mille anni sicut unus dies"--"for a thousand years are with the Lord as one day, and one day as a thousand years." It need not, however, be founded upon any Christian conception, for the purely Pagan story of Oisín or Ossian in the "Land of the Ever-Young" was known all over Ireland. Oisín thought he had spent only a short time in the Happy Other-World, but when he returned to Ireland he found he had been away for 300 years, and every one he knew had died. The reciter had forgotten what the name of the monastery was, but I believe it to have been the ancient abbey and school at Killarney, now in ruins. I have heard that the things told in this story, or one similar to it, were supposed to have happened there. The river with water as red as blood reminds us of Thomas of Ercildoune's experience when rapt away into faërie by the queen. O, they rode on, and farther on And they waded through rivers above the knee, And they saw neither sun or moon But they heard the roaring of the sea. It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae stern light And they waded through red blude to the knee, For a' the blude that's shed on earth Runs through the springs of that country. Hence it was small wonder that the student thought that the musicians belonged to the Fairy-Host. The fact that while in the other world he ate nothing, is pure Pagan tradition, for as is well known from many stories, classical and other, whoso eats or drinks of other-world food is precluded from returning to this life. Proserpine would not eat in Pluto's realm or she must have remained there. The six pomegranate seeds she swallowed cost her six months' stay there. For the text of this story, see "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. II., p. 122. THE STORY. There came a number of young people from the County of Galway, to a great college, to learn and gain instruction, so as to become priests. I often heard the name of this college from my mother, but I do not remember it. It was not Maynooth. There was a man of these of the name of Patrick O'Flynn. He was the son of a rich farmer. His father and his mother desired to make a priest of him. He was a nice, gentle lad. He used not to go dancing with the other boys in the evening, but it was his habit to go out with the grey-light of day, and he used to be walking by himself up and down under the shadow of the great trees that were round about the college, and he used to remain there thinking and meditating by himself, until some person would come to bring him into his room. One evening, in the month of May, he went out, as was his custom, and he was taking his walk under the trees when he heard a melodious music. There came a darkness or a sort of blindness over his eyes, and when he found his sight again he beheld a great high wall on every side of him, and out in front of him a shining road. The musicians were on the road, and they playing melodiously, and he heard a voice saying, "_Come with us to the land of delight and rest_." He looked back and beheld a great high wall behind him and on each side of him, and he was not able to return back again across the wall, although he desired to return. He went forward then after the music. He did not know how long he walked, but the great high wall kept ever on each side of him and behind him. He was going and ever-going, until they came to a great river, and water in it as red as blood. Wonder came upon him then, and great fear. But the musicians walked across the river without wetting their feet, and Patrick O'Flynn followed them without wetting his own. He thought at first that the musicians belonged to the Fairy-Host, and next he thought that he had died and that it was a group of angels that were in it, taking him to heaven. The walls fell away from them then, on each side, and they came to a great wide plain. They were going then, and ever-going, until they came to a fine castle that was in the midst of the plain. The musicians went in, but Patrick O'Flynn remained outside. It was not long until the chief of the musicians came out to him and brought him into a handsome chamber. He spoke not a word, and Patrick O'Flynn never heard one word spoken so long as he remained there. There was no night in that place, but the light of day throughout. He never ate and he never drank a single thing there, and he never saw anyone eating or drinking, and the music never ceased. Every half-hour, as he thought, he used to hear a bell, as it were a church-bell, being rung, but he never beheld the bell, and he was unable to see it in any place. When the musicians used to go out upon the plain before the castle, there used to come a tribe of every sort of bird in the heavens, playing the most melodious music that ear ever heard. It was often Patrick O'Flynn said to himself, "It is certain that I am in heaven, but is it not curious that I have no remembrance of sickness, nor of death, nor of judgment, and that I have not seen God nor His Blessed Mother, as is promised to us?" Patrick O'Flynn did not know how long he was in that delightful place. He thought that he had been in it only for a short little time, but he was in it for a hundred years and one. One day the musicians were out in the field and he was listening to them, when the chief came to him. He brought him out and put him behind the musicians. They departed on their way, and they made neither stop nor stay until they came to the river that was as red as blood. They went across that, without wetting their foot-soles, and went forward until they came to the field near the college where they found him at the first. Then they departed out of his sight like a mist. He looked round him, and recognised the college, but he thought that the trees were higher and that there was some change in the college itself. He went in, then, but he did not recognise a single person whom he met, and not a person recognised him. The principal of the college came to him, and said to him, "Where are you from, son, or what is your name?" "I am Patrick O'Flynn from the County of Galway," said he. "How long are you here?" said the principal. "I am here since the first day of March," said he. "I think that you are out of your senses," said the principal, "there is no person of your name in the college, and there has not been for twenty years, for I am more than twenty years here." "Though you were in it since you were born, yet I am here since last March, and I can show you my room and my books." With that he went up the stairs, and the principal after him. He went into his room and looked round him, and said, "This is my room, but that is not my furniture, and those are not my books that are in it." He saw an old bible upon the table and he opened it, and said: "This is my bible, my mother gave it to me when I was coming here; and, see, my name is written in it." The principal looked at the bible, and there, as sure as God is in heaven, was the name of Patrick O'Flynn written in it, and the day of the month that he left home. Now there was great trouble of mind on the principal, and he did not know what he should do. He sent for the masters and the professors and told them the story. "By my word," said an old priest that was in it, "I heard talk when I was young, of a student who went away out of this college, and there was no account of him since, whether living or dead. The people searched the river and the bog holes, but there was no account to be had of him, and they never got the body." The principal called to them then and bade them bring him a great book in which the name of every person was written who had come to that college since it was founded. He looked through the book, and see! Patrick O'Flynn's name was in it, and the day of the month that he came, and this [note] was written opposite to his name, that the same Patrick O'Flynn had departed on such a day, and that nobody knew what had become of him. Now it was exactly one hundred and one years from the day he went until the day he came back in that fashion. "This is a wonderful, and a very wonderful story," said the principal, "but, do you wait here quietly my son," said he, "and I shall write to the bishop." He did that, and he got an account from the bishop to keep the man until he should come himself. At the end of a week after that the bishop came and sent for Patrick O'Flynn. There was nobody present except the two. "Now, son," said the bishop, "go on your knees and make a confession." Then he made an act of contrition, and the bishop gave him absolution. Immediately there came a fainting and a heavy sleep over him, and he was, as it were, for three days and three nights a dead person. When he came to himself the bishop and priests were round about him. He rose up, shook himself, and told them his story, as I have it told, and he put excessive wonder upon every man of them. "Now," said he, "here I am alive and safe, and do as ye please." The bishop and the priests took counsel together. "It is a saintly man you are," said the bishop then, "and we shall give you holy orders on the spot." They made a priest of him then, and no sooner were holy orders given him than he fell dead upon the altar, and they all heard at the same time the most melodious music that ear ever listened to, above them in the sky, and they all said that it was the angels who were in it, carrying the soul of Father O'Flynn up to heaven with them. THE HELP OF GOD IN THE ROAD. PREFACE. This story was written down by my friend, C. M. Hodgson, from the mouth of one of his brother tenants, James Mac Donough, near Oughterard, in Connemara. Mac Donough called it "Conal, King of the Cats." In a Kerry version of this story it is a poor scholar and a thief who make the bet as to whether honesty or roguery is the best for a man to follow. The people they meet give it in favour of the thief. The poor scholar loses everything, eventually his two eyes. His going under the tombstone is properly motivated by saying that he meant to die there and would then be buried and have a tombstone. The rest of the story is pretty much the same as ours. My friend, the late Patrick O'Leary, found a story called the "Three Crows," something like this, where the crows talk as the cats do in our story, and where they end by picking out the two bad men's eyes, but there is no bet made, the man is simply robbed and blinded for no particular reason. THE STORY There were two merchants travelling along the road. One of them said to the other that the help of God was in the road. The other said it was not. "How shall we find that out?" "We'll leave it to the judgment of the first man we will meet." It was short they went till they met a man. They asked him was the help of God in the road. He told them that it was not. Whatever the bet was that they had made about it, he [_i.e._, the man who said that the help of God was in the road] had to pay. Well, they walked along for another while, and this man said that he would not give it up [or admit], that the help of God was not in the road. "What bet will you make now?" says the other man. "I've nothing left now except my eye, but I'll bet it with you," says he. "Well, leave the decision to the first man who shall meet us." The next man they met said the same as the first man, that the help of God was not in the road. The other man did nothing but put his finger into the eye and pluck it out. [Yet the man said] "I'll bet the other eye with you that the help of God is in the road, and let it be left to the judgment of the next man who shall meet us." It was short they went [had gone] when a man met them. They asked him was the help of God in the road. The man said that it was not. He plucked the other eye out of him then. "Now," said he [the blind man], "take me with you and leave me in the church." He took him with him and left him in under a flagstone in the church. At that time the cats used to be collecting in gatherings. [They collected in that same church that night]. When they were all gathered together, Conall, the king of the cats, said that himself would tell a story if it were not that he was afraid that some one would be listening. "Let us get up and search," said some of the cats. They searched through the churchyard and they found no one. "It is a year from to-night that I went in to the king's daughter. I rubbed my tale to her mouth, and her father is perished looking for a cure [for her]. There are twelve cats in her stomach." "Is there anything at all to cure her?" says one of the cats. "There is," said Conall; "if she were to get a drop of the water that is in the well here, it would cure her. If one of those [twelve cats inside her] were to get away they could kill all the kingdom." "Is there anything else of cure in the well?" "There is," said Conall; "if any one were blind, and he to put a drop of that water on his eyes he would get his sight." When they had gone away then in the morning, and were departed, the man that was listening to them rose up from [under] the flag. There was a herd or shepherd going by. He came to this man who was blind and spoke to him. "Well, now," says the blind man, "is there any well here?" "There is," says the herd. "Leave me at the brink of the well." He left him there. He just put down his hand and splashed a drop of the water in on his two eyes; and he had his sight then as well as ever he had. "Well now," says he to the herd, "would you be so kind as to give me a bottle?" "I will," says the herd. He filled the bottle with the water of the well and off he went. He was travelling until he came to the king's house. He asked to let him in. The man who was on guard said that he would not let him in, that the king's daughter was sick and ill. He sent for the king. He told him [by the messenger] that there was a man at the gate who would cure his daughter. The king came out, and told the gate keeper to let in the man. When he came in the king took him back into the chamber where his daughter was. When he looked at her [he saw that] she was as big as a horse. "Now," said he to the king, "send for your men at arms, bring them in here." When the men at arms were inside, he closed the door outside. He told them, anything that she should throw out, they must cut the head off it. He gave her a drop of the water that was in the bottle to drink. The moment she drank it she threw from her a live cat out of her stomach. The head was cut off it before it reached the ground. They did the same with the twelve cats that she threw out of her stomach. She rose up then as sound and as well as ever she was. The merchant was about to go away then, but the king would not allow him to depart. He said that he must marry his daughter. [They were married and happy.] They were one day going in their coach, and they saw the merchant who had made the bet that the help of God was not in the road. He spoke to him, and the merchant asked him where did he get all his riches. "I got it in the place where you left me, in the church." He [the other merchant] went away then at night, and he went in under the same flag, and it happened to the cats that they came together that night. When they were all assembled together. "Tell a story, O Conall, king of the cats," said one of them. "I would tell a story," said he, "but I told one this very night last year, and a man was listening to me, and he cured the king's daughter with a bottle of the water that was in the well." "We'll rise up [and look]" said the cat; "there won't be anyone listening to you to-night." They rose up and they searched until they came to the place where the man was under the flag. They pulled him out and tore him asunder. That is how it happened to him on account of the bet he had made that the help of God was not in the road. THE MINISTER'S SON. PREFACE. Perhaps no people ever gave such free rein to the imagination with regard to the infernal regions as did the Irish. It began with St. Fursa, whose story was known to Christendom through Bede, and Adamnan's Vision [he died about 704] is known over Europe. The last to let himself go in this way was Keating. See the amazing alliterative description in his "Three Shafts of Death," Leabhar III. alt 10. It is curious to find a Mayo peasant reproducing a little of this racial characteristic in the present poem. I often heard of this piece and made many attempts to get it, interviewing several people who I was told had got it, but I failed to get more than a few lines. My friend, John Mac Neill, wrote down for me the present version word for word from the recitation of Michael Mac Ruaidhri, but it is obviously only fragmentary. It is full (in the original, both prose and verse) of curious words and forms, and the periphrasis the "Virgin's Garb" for the scapular is curious. For the original, see "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. II., p. 134. THE STORY. There was a Roman Catholic girl at service in a minister's house, and she was wearing the Virgin Mary's garb (_i.e._, a scapular). She once was getting ready to go to Mass, and when she was washing herself she took the garb off her, and laid it on one side. The minister's son came in, and he began rummaging (?) backwards and forwards through the room, and he met the garb. He caught it up in his hand and observed it closely. He put it round his neck, and when the girl turned about she saw the garb on the minister's son, and she got very furious. She gave a step forward and she tore the garb off his neck. She began railing at him and abusing him. She told him that it was not right nor fitting for a man of his religion to lay hold of that garb in his hand, seeing that he had a hatred and a loathing of the glorious Virgin, "and," says she to him, "since it has happened that you have laid hold of the blessed garb, unless you fast next Friday in eric for your sin, one sight of the country of the heavens you shall never see." Grief and great unhappiness came over the minister's son at the abuse the girl gave him, and he told her that he would fast the Friday. It was well, and it was not ill. When the minister's son went to sleep that night he got a fit of sickness, and he was very bad in the morning, and he told his mother that he would not let anyone next nor near him except the servant girl, and that he hoped that he would not be long in the fit of sickness. There was nobody attending him but the girl, because he had a full determination to fast through the Friday. He knew very well that if his mother were coming into the room he would have to eat some food from her, and that is the reason he would not let his mother in. When the Friday came he never tasted bit nor sup throughout the day. On the morning of Saturday his mother asked the girl how he was getting on. The girl said that he was going on nicely [literally, "coming to land"]. But when the girl went in at the hour of twelve o'clock in the day he was a corpse, and there came a great dispiritedness [literally, "much-drowning"] over the girl, and she began crying. She went out and told his mother that he was dead. The story went from mouth to mouth, and one person said to another that it was the girl who had killed him; and they did not know what awful death they would give her. There was a heap of turf over against the kitchen, and they tied the girl with a chain, fastened in an iron staple that was at the gable of the house, and as soon as ever they would have the body buried they were to put oil and grease on the turf, and give it fire, to burn and to roast the girl. On Monday morning when they went into the room to put the corpse into the coffin, the minister's son was there alive and alert, in his bed; and he told them the vision that he had seen. He saw, he said, the fires of Purgatory, the mastiffs of Hell, and the great Devil, Judas, and he told them that it was the glorious Virgin who saved him, and who got him his pardon. She asked it of a request of her One-Son to put him into the world again to teach the people, and she got that request for him; and if it had not been that he had worn the garb of the Virgin [though] only for a moment, when he was on earth, he would not have seen one sight of the country of the heavens for ever; but it was that which saved him from the lowest depths of hell. He spent [after that] seven years in the world teaching people, and telling them the right religion, and all his family turned Catholics, and it was the minister's son who composed the dán or poem. THE DÁN OF THE MINISTER'S SON. The body, it lies in the sleep of the dead, And the candles above it are burning red; The old women sit, all silent and dreaming, But the young woman's cheeks with tears are streaming. Oh, listen, listen, and hear the story Of what are the sins that shut out from glory. Promises, lies, penurious hoarding, How troubled, how cursed, how damned the story! But it was there that I saw the wonder! Three great piles of fire, And the least fire it rose in a spire Like fifteen tons of turf on fire, Or a burning mountain, higher and higher. It was not long until I saw The three great mastiffs, Their gullets opened, And their a-burning Like great wax candles In a mountain hollow, Waiting for my poor soul To tear and to swallow, To bring down to hell's foulness In anguish to wallow. I was taken to the gates of hell, And the hair was burnt off my forehead, And a sieve of holes was put through my middle; It was then it stood to me, that night I fasted, And wore the garb of the Blessed Virgin, Or my flesh and my blood had been burned to a puff of ashes. It was then the jury of the twelve sat on me, Their evil will than their good will was stronger, And all that I did since my days of childhood Was writ upon paper in black and white there; One paper in my hand, on the ground another, To conceal a crime I had no power. On turning round of me towards the right-hand side, I beheld the noble, blessed Justice Beneath his bright mantle, And he asked of me, with soft, blessed words, "Where was I living when I was on the earth, And whether I were not the poor soul who had to go to the bar." On turning round of me, towards the left-hand side, I beheld the Great Devil that got the bribe, Going to fall upon me from above [_literally, "on the top of my branches or limbs_,"] And it was then that the thirst grew upon my poor soul! And, oh! God! oh! it was no wonder! I looked up and beheld the Blessed Virgin, I asked a request of her----to save me from the foul devils. She lowered herself down actively, quickly, She laid herself upon her polished smooth knee And asked a request of her One-Son and her child, To put me in the top of the branches, or in the fold of a stone, Or under the ground where the weasel goes, Or on the north side where the snow blows, Or in the same body again to teach the people, --And the blessing of God to the mouth that tells it. THE OLD WOMAN OF BEARE PREFACE. The Old Woman of Beare may, perhaps, have been an historical personage. Kuno Meyer has printed a touching poem (of the 11th century as he thinks) ascribed to her. "It is the lament of an old hetaira who contrasts the privations and sufferings of her old age with the pleasures of her youth when she had been the delight of kings." The ancient prose preface runs, "The Old Woman of Beare, Digdi was her name. Of Corcaguiny she was, _i.e._, of the Ui Maic Iair-chonchinn. Of them also was Brigit, daughter of Iustan, and Liadain, the wife of Cuirither,[57] and Uallach, daughter of Muinegan.[58] Saint Finan had left them a charter that they should never be without an illustrious woman of their race.... She had seven periods of youth, one after another, so that every man who had lived with her came to die of old age, so that her grandsons and great-grandsons were tribes and races." Legends about her are common all over Ireland, and even verses are ascribed to her. There is another story about her in O Fotharta's "Siamsa an Gheimhridh," p. 116. She was either a real character, an early Ninon de l'Enclos, or else a mythic personage euphemized by the romancists. [57] A poetess and the heroine of the tale, "The Meeting of Liadain and Cuirither," published by Kuno Meyer. [58] A poetess who died in 932. There is a short legend about her under the title of Mór ní Odhrain, written down in County Donegal by, I think, Mr. Lloyd, in which O'Donnell comes to visit her, and counts the bones of 500 beeves, one of which she had killed every year. Mr. Timony found the same story in Blacksod Bay, only she was there called "Aine an chnuic." She is said in one version to have resided in "Teach Mor," "the house furthest west in Ireland," which Mr. Lloyd identified with Tivore on the Dingle promontory, and in a southern version which I also give she is called The Old Woman of Dingle. The vision told here as having been seen by the Old Woman is extremely like a story in the "Dialogus Miraculorum of Caesarius of Heisterbach," Dist. xii., cap. 20, quoted by Landau in his "Quellen des Dekameron," and again by Lee in "The Decameron, its Sources and Analogues." It runs as follows:-- "The leman of a priest before her death had made for herself shoes with thick soles, saying 'bury me in them for I shall want them.' The night of her death a knight was riding down the street in the bright moonlight, accompanied by his attendants, when they heard a woman screaming for help. It was this woman in her shift, and with the new shoes on her feet, fleeing from a hunter. One could hear the terrible sound of his horn and the yelping of his hounds. The knight seized the woman by her hanging tresses, wound them round his left arm, and drew his sword to protect her. The woman, however, cried out, "Let me go, let me go, he is coming." As the knight, however, would not let her go, she tore herself away from him, and in so doing left her locks wound round his arm; the hunter then caught her up, threw her across his horse and rode away with her. On the knight returning home he related what he had seen and was not believed until they opened the woman's grave and found that her hair was missing." This is obviously the same story as that in our text, with the incidents of the knight and the hair omitted. It contains, however, (1) the woman and her particular sin; (2) the fleeing before the hounds; (3) the pursuing huntsman; though in peculiarly Irish fashion, it is mercifully left uncertain as to whether she was overtaken or not. The 8th novel of the 5th day of the Decameron seems to have been drawn from some cognate source. The hero perceives "correndo verso il luogo dove egli era una bellissima giovane ignuda--piaguendo e gridando forte mercè. E oltre a questo le vide a fianchi due grandissimi e fieri mastini." This is the soul of a dead woman with hell-hounds pursuing her. The very word "mastini" being the same as in the Irish story. In the second incident that happened to the Cailleach there appears to be a reminiscence of Sindbad the sailor. But the story of the four herds who lifted the bier which all the men at the funeral had been unable to move, is told somewhat differently at p. 36 of Michael Timony's "Sgéalta gearra so-léighte an iarthair." It is there put into the mouth of "Aine an chnuic," Aine of the hill; who may be the same as the "Old Woman of Beare," and the four herds, the coffin--and a rider on a black horse who accompanied them--all disappeared in the side of a rock which opened to receive them and closed after them. "Aine" of "Cnoc Aine," or "Aine's hill," was the queen of the Limerick Fairies, but I hardly think that it is she who has got into the Mayo folk tale. There is a proverb in Connacht which says, speaking of the oldest lives in the world, "the life of the yew tree, the life of the eagle,[59] and the life of the Old Woman of Beare." [59] See the story "The Adventures of Leithin." See Kuno Meyer's edition of the song of the Old Woman of Beare in "Otia Merseiana" and "O Fotharta's Siamsa an Gheimhridh," p. 116, see also "The Vision of Mac Conglinne," p. 132, and my "Sgeuluidhe Gaedhealach." The following story I wrote down very carefully word for word, about fifteen years ago, from the telling of Michael Mac Ruaidhri, of Ballycastle, Co. Mayo. THE STORY. There was an old woman in it, and long ago it was, and if we had been there that time we would not be here now; we would have a new story or an old story, and that would not be more likely than to be without any story at all. The hag was very old, and she herself did not know her own age, nor did anybody else. There was a friar and his boy journeying one day, and they came in to the house of the Old Woman of Beare. "God save you," said the friar. "The same man save yourself," said the hag; "you're welcome,[60] sit down at the fire and warm yourself." [60] Literally, "He (_i.e._, God) is your life"; the equivalent of "hail!" "welcome." The friar sat down, and when he had well finished warming himself he began to talk and discourse with the old hag. "If it's no harm of me to ask it of you, I'd like to know your age, because I know you are very old" [said the friar]. "It is no harm at all to ask me," said the hag; "I'll answer you as well as I can. There is never a year since I came to age that I used not to kill a beef, and throw the bones of the beef up on the loft which is above your head. If you wish to know my age you can send your boy up on the loft and count the bones." True was the tale. The friar sent the boy up on the loft and the boy began counting the bones, and with all the bones that were on the loft he had no room on the loft itself to count them, and he told the friar that he would have to throw the bones down on the floor--that there was no room on the loft. "Down with them," said the friar, "and I'll keep count of them from below." The boy began throwing them down from above and the friar began writing down [the number], until he was about tired out, and he asked the boy had he them nearly counted, and the boy answered the friar down from the loft that he had not even one corner of the loft emptied yet. "If that's the way of it, come down out of the loft and throw the bones up again," said the friar. The boy came down, and he threw up the bones, and [so] the friar was [just] as wise coming in as he was going out. "Though I don't know your age," said the friar to the hag, "I know that you haven't lived up to this time without seeing marvellous things in the course of your life, and the greatest marvel that you ever saw--tell it to me, if you please." "I saw one marvel which made me wonder greatly," said the hag. "Recount it to me," said the Friar, "if you please." "I myself and my girl were out one day, milking the cows, and it was a fine, lovely day, and I was just after milking one of the cows, and when I raised my head I looked round towards my left hand, and I saw a great blackness coming over my head in the air. "Make haste," says myself to the girl, "until we milk the cows smartly, or we'll be wet and drowned before we reach home, with the rain." I was on the pinch[61] of my life and so was my girl, to have the cows milked before we'd get the shower, for I thought myself that it was a shower that was coming, but on my raising my head again I looked round me and beheld a woman coming as white as the swan that is on the brink of the waves. She went past me like a blast of wind, and the wind that was before her she was overtaking it, and the wind that was behind her, it could not come up with her. It was not long till I saw after the woman two mastiffs, and two yards of their tongue twisted round their necks, and balls of fire out of their mouths, and I wondered greatly at that. And after the dogs I beheld a black coach and a team of horses drawing it, and there were balls of fire on every side out of the coach, and as the coach was going past me the beasts stood and something that was in the coach uttered from it an unmeaning sound, and I was terrified, and faintness came over me, and when I came back out of the faint I heard the voice in the coach again, asking me had I seen anything going past me since I came there; and I told him as I am telling you, and I asked him who he was himself, or what was the meaning of the woman and the mastiffs which went by me. [61] Literally, "the boiling of the angles-between-the-fingers was on me." "I am the Devil, and those are two mastiffs which I sent after that soul." "And is it any harm for me to ask," says I, "what is the crime the woman did when she was in the world?" "That is a woman," said the Devil, "who brought scandal upon a priest, and she died in a state of deadly sin, and she did not repent of it, and unless the mastiffs come up with her before she comes to the gates of Heaven the glorious Virgin will come and will ask a request of her only Son to grant the woman forgiveness for her sins, and the Virgin will obtain pardon for her, and I'll be out of her. But if the mastiffs come up with her before she goes to Heaven she is mine." The great Devil drove on his beasts, and went out of my sight, and myself and my girl came home, and I was heavy, and tired and sad at remembering the vision which I saw, and I was greatly astonished at that wonder, and I lay in my bed for three days, and the fourth day I arose very done up and feeble, and not without cause, since any woman who would see the wonder that I saw, she would be grey a hundred years before her term of life[62] was expired. [62] Literally, "before her age being spent." "Did you ever see any other marvel in your time?" says the friar to the hag. "A week after leaving my bed I got a letter telling me that one of my friends was dead, and that I would have to go to the funeral. I proceeded to the funeral, and on my going into the corpse-house the body was in the coffin, and the coffin was laid down on the bier, and four men went under the bier that they might carry the coffin, and they weren't able to even stir[63] the bier off the ground. And another four men came, and they were not able to move it off the ground. They were coming, man after man, until twelve came, and went under the bier, and they weren't able to lift it. [63] Literally, "give it wind." "I spoke myself, and I asked the people who were at the funeral what sort of trade had this man when he was in the world, and it was told me that it was a herd he was. And I asked of the people who were there was there any other herd at the funeral. Then there came four men that nobody at all who was at the funeral had any knowledge or recognition of, and they told me that they were four herds, and they went under the bier and they lifted it as you would lift a handful of chaff, and off they went as quick and sharp as ever they could lift a foot. Good powers of walking they had, and a fine long step I had myself, and I cut out after them, and not a mother's son knew what the place was to which they were departing with the body, and we were going and ever going until the night and the day were parting from one another, until the night was coming black dark dreadful, until the grey horse was going under the shadow of the docking and until the docking was going fleeing before him.[64] [64] The fairies ride their little grey horses, and stable them at night under the leaves of the copóg or dock-leaf, or docking. But if they arrive too late and night has fallen, then the copóg has folded her leaves and will not shelter them. The roots going under the ground, The leaves going into the air, The grey horse a-fleeing apace, And I left lonely there. "On looking round me, there wasn't one of all the funeral behind me, except two others. The other people were done up, and they were not able to come half way, some of them fainted and some of them died. Going forward two steps more in front of me I was within in a dark wood wet and cold, and the ground opened, and I was swallowed down into a black dark hole without a mother's son or a father's daughter[65] next nor near me, without a man to be had to keen me or to lay me out; so that I threw myself on my two knees, and I was there throughout four days sending my prayer up to God to take me out of that speedily and quickly. And with the fourth day there came a little hole like the eye of a needle on one corner of the abode where I was; and I was a-praying always and the hole was a-growing in size day by day, and on the seventh day it increased to such a size that I got out through it. I took to my heels[66] then when I got my feet with me on the outside (of the hole) going home. The distance which I walked in one single day following the coffin, I spent five weeks coming back the same road, and don't you see yourself now that I got cause to be withered, old, aged, grey, and my life to be shortening through those two perils in which I was." [65] Literally, "man's daughter." [66] Literally, "I gave to the soles." Many people still say in speaking English, "I gave to the butts." The Irish word means butt as well as sole. "You're a fine, hardy old woman all the time," said the friar. THE OLD HAG OF DINGLE. PREFACE. It is quite obvious that this story from south-west Kerry represents in a feebler manner the same tradition as the story which we have just given from north Mayo, about the Old Woman of Beare. Note that in the Mayo story the appearance of the woman was also prefaced by the blackness of a shower. It is to the Old Woman of Beare that the answer is ascribed in Connacht in which she gives the reason for her longevity, only it is differently worded there. I never carried the dirt of one puddle beyond another (?) I never ate food, but when I would be hungry. I never went to sleep but when I would be sleepy. I never threw out the dirty water until I had taken in the clean. This Kerry version of the story was written down by Séamus Shean Ua Connaill, of Sgoil Chill Roilig, and published in "The Lochrann, Mi Eanair agus Feabhra," 1911. In Donegal the reasons given are:-- I never ate a morsel till I'd be hungry. I never drank a drop till I'd be thirsty. I never sat at the fire without being working. If I had not work of my own to do I got it from somebody else. THE STORY. There was a woman in Dingle long ago. She lived 300 years and more. Her name was the Old Hag of Dingle. The story spread throughout Ireland that she had lived for 300 years, and many people used to come to see her. The Emperor of France and the Earl of Kerry and many other kings and princes came journeying to her, and they asked her what age she was. She told them that she was 300 years and more. They asked her what it was in her opinion which gave her so long a life, beyond any one else. She told them that she did not know that, except that her little finger and the palm of her hand never saw the air, and that she never remained in her bed but as long as she would be sleepy, and that she never ate meat except when she would be hungry. She would not herself give any other account of the reason for her long life except that. They said to her that they were sure that she had seen many a marvel, seeing that she had lived all that time. She said that she never saw anything that she could marvel at particularly, except one day [said she] that gentlemen were here and wanted to go out to the Skelligs, and they got a crew. There was a young priest who was here along with them. They went off and a boat with them. A very fine day it was. She told them that when they were half way to the Skelligs, the men saw the shower[67] coming along the sea from the north-west, and the weather growing cold. Fear came upon them and they said to face the boat for the land, but the priest told them to keep up their courage, and that there would be no land now, and that perhaps with the help of God there was no danger of them. The shower was coming on, and the priest said that he himself saw a woman in the shower, and a very great fear came upon them then; but when the shower was coming [down] on them they all saw her, and her face in the shower, against the wind. When she was making for them the priest moved over to the stern of the boat, he took to him his stole and put it round his neck. He said: [67] Note the Irish idiom--the definite for the indefinite article. "What have you done that has damned you?" "I killed an unbaptized child," said she. "That did not damn you," said the priest. "I killed two," said she. "That also did not damn you," said he. "I killed three," said she. "Ah! that damned you," said he. He drew to him his book. He did a little reading on her. She turned her back then. He gave her that much advantage. They went off then and the weather cleared for them, and they went on their way to the Skelligs. They went all over the Skelligs and they came home. "I saw that, and that was the greatest wonder I ever saw," said she. THE POEM OF THE TOR. PREFACE. I have heard more than one poem in which occurs a dialogue between a living person and the soul of a dead man. I got the following from Mr. John Kearney, a schoolmaster, at Belmullet, Co. Mayo. The poem is well known round Belmullet, but I have a suspicion that this version of it is not complete. I have not been able, however, to secure a fuller one. It is locally known as the Dan or Poem of the Tor. This Tor is a rock in the sea some twelve miles from land. There is a lighthouse upon it now, but of course that was not so when the poem took shape, and no more lonesome place than it for a soul dreeing its weird could be conceived. The soul was put to do penance on this solitary rock. With the verse about the soul parting from the body under rain under wind, compare the fine North of England wake-dirge with the refrain-- Fire and sleet and candle light, And Christ receive thy saule. I have come across other allusions in Irish unpublished literature, prayers, etc., to the South being the side of the good angels and the North the side of the bad ones. On the side of the north black walls of fire, On the side of the south the people of Christ. The "geilt" which the interlocutor supposes that the ghost may be, is a person who goes wild in madness, and such a one was supposed to have the power of levitation, and to be able to raise himself in the air and fly. See the extraordinary story of Suibhne Geilt, vol. xii. of the Irish Texts Society. See my "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. i., p. 270. THE STORY. [THE MAN.] O fellow yonder on the mountain Who art being tortured at the Tor, [I put] a question on thee in the name of Jesus, Art thou a man of this world or a _geilt_? [THE SOUL.] Since the question is put in the name of Jesus, Indeed I shall answer it for thee: I am not a person of this world, nor a _geilt_, But a poor soul who has left this world, And who never went to God's heaven since. [THE MAN.] [I put] a question to thee again Without doing thee harm: How long since thou didst leave this world, Or art thou there ever since? [THE SOUL.] Twenty years last Sunday The soul parted with the [evil]-inclined body, Under rain, under wind; And if it were not for the blessing of the poor on the world, I would be hundreds of years more there. When I was upon the world I was happy and airy, And I desired to draw profit to myself, But I am [now] in great tribulation, paying for that. When I used to go to Sunday Mass It was not mercy I used to ask for my soul, But jesting and joking with young men, And the body of my Christ before me. When I would arrive home again It was not of the voice of the priest I would be thinking, But of the fine great possessions I left behind me at home. Good was my haggard and my large house; And my brightness (?) to go out to the gathering, Riding on a young steed, Banquet and feast before me. I set no store by my soul, Until I saw the prowess of Death assembling: On the side of the north, black walls of fire On the side of the south the people of Christ Gathering amongst the angels, The Glorious Virgin hastening them. "I do not know," says Peter, "Does Christ recognize him?" "I do not know," said Christ, "Bitter alas! I do not recognize him." Then spake the Glorious Virgin, And lowered herself on her white knees, "O my son, was it not for thee were prepared The heaps of embers To burn thy noble body?" O Mother, helpful, glorious, If it be thy will to take him to heaven, I let him with thee, And surely one thousand years at the Tor were better for you Than one single hour in foul hell. COLUMCILLE AND HIS BROTHER DOBHRAN. PREFACE. This very interesting story of Columcille's brother, Dobhran, is common amongst Highlanders, but I have found no trace of it in Ireland, nor any mention of a Dobhran. This particular version was written down by the late Rev. Father Allan MacDonald, of Eriskay, who collected a great deal of the folk-lore of that island. The same story was told to me, but somewhat differently, by a Canadian priest from Sydney, Nova Scotia, one of the Clan MacAdam (really Mac Eudhmoinn) and the sixth in descent from the first refugee of his name who fled to Canada after Culloden. He said he had often heard the story, and that Dobhran when he climbed to the edge of the grave uttered three sentences, but two of them he had forgotten, the third was "cha n'eil an iorron chomh dona agus a tháthar ag rádh," (_sic._) _i.e._, "Hell is not as bad as people say." It was then Columcille cried out, "úir, úir air Dobhran." "Clay, clay on Dobhran's mouth before he says any more!"[68] [68] See Celtic Review, vol. V., p. 107. Here follow some stories from Irish sources about Columcille himself. His life was written at considerable length by Adamnan, one of his successors in the Abbacy of Iona, who was born only twenty-seven years after Columcille's death, and has come down to us in the actual manuscript written by a man who died in 713; to that we know a good deal about the saint. There exist five other lives of him. According to the Leabhar Breac he died of self-imposed abstinence. COLUMCILLE'S FASTING. Colum's angel, whose name was Axal (a name derived from "Auxilium") requested him to "take virginity around him," but he refused "unless a reward therefor" be given to him. "What reward seekest thou," said the angel. "I declare," said Columcille, "it is not one reward but four." "Mention them," said the angel. "I will," said Columcille, "namely, A death in Repentance, A death from Hunger, and death in Youth[69]--for hideous are bodies through old age." "Even more shall be given thee," said the angel, "for thou shalt be chief prophet of heaven and earth." [69] See Stokes' Calendar of Oengus, p. xcix. The fourth request is not mentioned, nor yet in O'Donnell's Life, where the story is much better told. See "Zeitschrift für Celt. Philologie," vol. IV. p. 278. And that was fulfilled. He went into pilgrimage, and he was young when he died, and of hunger he perished, but it was wilful hunger. And this is the cause of that hunger of his. Once it came to pass as he was going round the graveyard in Iona that he saw an old woman cutting nettles to make pottage thereof. "Why art thou doing that, poor woman?" said Columcille. "O dear father," quoth she, "I have one cow and she has not calved yet, and I am expecting it, and this is what has served me for a long time back." Columcille then determines that pottage of nettles should be the thing that should most serve him thenceforth for ever, and said, "Since it is because of her expecting the one uncertain cow that she is in this great hunger, meet were [the same] for us though great be the hunger wherein we shall abide expecting God. For better and certain is what we expect, the eternal kingdom." And he said to his servant, "Pottage of nettles give thou to me every night without butter, without a sip therewith." "It shall be done," said the cook. And he bores the mixing stick of the pottage so that it became a pipe, and he used to pour the milk into that pipe and mix it all through the pottage. Then the church folk notice this, namely, the cleric's goodly shape, and they talk of it among themselves. This is made known to Columcille, and then he said, "May they who take your place be always murmuring!" "Well!" quoth he to the servant, "what do you put for me into the pottage every day?" "Thou thyself are witness" said the man, "but unless it comes out of the stick with which the pottage is mixed, I know of nothing else therein save pottage only." Then the secret is revealed to the cleric and he said, "Prosperity and good-deed for ever to thy successor," said he. And this is fulfilled. It was then, too, that Boethine told him the remarkable vision he had, namely, three chairs seen by him in heaven; to wit, a chair of gold, and a chair of silver, and a chair of glass. "[The meaning of] that is manifest," said Columcille, "the chair of gold is Ciaran[70] son of the carpenter, for his generosity and hospitality; the chair of silver is thou thyself, O Boethine, because of the purity and lustre of thy devotion; the chair of glass is I myself, for, though my devotion is delightful, I am fleshly and I am often frail!" As a certain poet said-- Colum, fair formed, powerful, Face red, broad, radiant, Body white, fame without deceit, Hair curling, eye grey, luminous. [70] For Ciaran, see the story of the Eagle Léithin. St. Patrick prophesied the coming of Columcille, according to the great Life of Columcille, written by Manus O'Donnell, at Lifford, in the year 1532, of which more than one contemporary vellum copy exists.[71] [71] The Bodleian copy consists of 120 pages of vellum, each leaf measuring 17 by 11½ inches. ST. PATRICK PROPHESIES CONCERNING COLUMCILLE.[72] [72] See Zeitschrift für Celt. Phil. vol. III. p. 534, translated by Dr. Henebry. Once upon a time, as Patrick was finding labour and great inconvenience in converting the men of Ireland and their women to the faith, he was sorry that he did not know how they would be off for faith and for piety after his own time, or how would God prosper them, seeing all the labour he was getting from them. And he used to pray to God earnestly to give him knowledge of that. Then an angel came to him and addressed him, saying that it was according to the vision to be revealed to him in his sleep the coming night, that Ireland would be, as regards the faith during his own life, and after him for evermore. And this is the vision that was given him [the next night]. He saw all Ireland red on fire, and the flame which rose from it went up into the further aerial spaces, and afterwards he saw that fire being quenched, only big hills remained on fire, far apart from one another; and then again he saw how even the hills went out, except something like lamps or candles which remained alight in the place of each hill. He saw again even those go out, and only embers or sparks with a gloom upon them remaining; however, these smouldered in a few places far scattered throughout Ireland. The same angel came to him and told him that those were the conditions through which Ireland should pass after him. Upon hearing that, Patrick wept bitterly, and spoke with a great voice and said: "O God of all power, dost Thou desire to damn and to withdraw Thy mercy from the people to whom Thou didst send me to bring a knowledge of Thyself. Though I am unworthy that Thou shouldst hear me, O Lord, calm Thy anger in their regard, and receive the people of this island of Ireland into Thy own mercy." And on his finishing these words, the angel spoke in a pacifying tone, and said, "Look to the north of thee," said he, "and thou shalt behold the change of God's right hand." Patrick did as the angel bade him, for he looked to the north, and he beheld a light arising there, not great at first, then waxing and tearing the darkness asunder, so that all Ireland was lighted by it as by the first flame, and he saw it go through the same stages afterwards. And the angel explained the meaning of that vision to Patrick, saying that Ireland would be alight with faith and piety during his own time, but that darkness would come over that light at his death. However, there would be good people here and there in Ireland after him, as were the far-sundered hills on fire; but when those good people died there would come people not so good in their stead, like the lamps and candles of which we have spoken already, and that the faith would be sustained by them only as the embers that were in gloom and mist, until the son of eternal light should come, namely Columcille. And although little at first, in coming into the world, nevertheless he would sow and preach the word of God and increase the faith, so that Ireland should blaze up in his time as it did in the time of Patrick; and that it would never blaze in the same way again, although there would be good pious people after him. And that the Church of Ireland would go into decay at the end of time after that, so that there would be, there, of faith and piety, only a semblance of the embers, or little sparks covered with gloom and darkness of which we have spoken already. THE STORY. Columcille began to build on Iona. He gathered together a great host of people. But all that he used to build in the day, it used to be thrown down at night. That drove him to set people to keep a watch on Iona. Every morning those men [whom he had set to watch] used to be dead at the foot of Iona. He did not continue long to set people to watch there, but since he himself was a holy man he went and remained watching Iona to try if he could see or find out what was going wrong with it. He was keeping to it and from it, and they were saying that it was on the scaur of the crag near the sea that she was, I did not see her. He saw a _Biast_ coming off the shore and one half of it was a fish and the other half in the likeness of a woman. She was old, with scales. When she shook herself she set Iona and the land a-quaking. There went from her a tinkling sound as it were earthenware pigs (jars) a-shaking. Columcille went down to meet her and spoke to her, and asked her did she know what was killing the people whom he was setting to watch Iona in the night. She said she did. "What was happening to them?" said he. She said, "Nothing but the fear that seized them at her appearance; that when she was a-coming to land the heart was leaping out of its cockles[73] with them." [73] The "cockles of the heart" is a common expression in Anglo-Irish. It is taken from the Irish, cochall, meaning really a cowl. "Do you know," said he, "what is throwing down Iona that I am building?" "I do," said she, "Iona will be for ever falling so, O holy Columcille. It is not I who am throwing it down, but still it is being thrown down."[74] [74] Thather ag a leagadh. The autonomous form in Scotch Gaelic. "Do you know now any means by which I can make Iona go forward?" "I do," said she. "O holy Columcille, to-morrow you shall question all the people that you have at work to find out what man will consent to offer himself alive [to be buried] under the ground, and his soul shall be saved if he consents to do that, and people shall never see me here afterwards. Iona shall go forward without any doubt." On the morrow he put the question to the great host of people, "Was there any one of them at all who would consent to offer himself alive on condition that his soul should be saved in heaven?" There was not one man of them willing to go into the grave although he was told that his soul would be saved by the decree of God. She [the _Biast_] had told him too that the grave had to be seven times as deep as the man's length. Poor Dobhran, his brother, was on the outskirts of the crowd. He came over and stood behind his brother, Columcille, and said that he was quite willing to be offered up alive under the ground on condition that Iona might be built up by his holy brother Columcille, and he gave credence to Columcille that his soul would be saved by the decree of God. Said Columcille, "Although I have no other brother but poor Dobhran, I am pleased that he has offered himself to go to the grave, and that the _Biast_ shall not be seen coming any more to the shore for ever." The grave was made seven times the height of the man in depth. When Dobhran saw the grave he turned to Columcille and asked him as a favour to put a roof over the grave and to leave him there standing so long as it might please God to leave him alive. He got his request--to be put down alive into the grave. He was left there. Columcille came and began to work at Iona [again], and he was twenty days working, and Iona was going forward wondrously. He was pleased that his work was succeeding. At the end of twenty days when everything was conjectured to be going on well, he said it were right to look what end had come to poor Dobhran, and [bade] open the grave. Dobhran was walking on the floor of the grave [when the roof was taken off]. When Dobhran saw that the grave was opened and when he heard all the world round it, he gave an expert leap out of it to the mouth of the grave and he put up his two hands on high on the mouth of the grave. He supported himself on the [edge of the] grave [by his hands.] There was a big smooth meadow going up from Iona and much rushes on it. All the rushes that Dobhran's eyes lit upon grew red, and that little red top is on the rushes ever. Columcille cried out and he on the far side, "Clay! clay on Dobhran's eyes! before he see any more of the world and of sin!" They threw in the clay upon him then and returned to their work. And nothing any more went against Columcille until he had Iona finished. BRUADAR AND SMITH AND GLINN. A CURSE PREFACE. This extraordinary piece of cursing cannot properly be called folk-lore. It is purely pagan in spirit, though the poet has called upon the Deity under all the appellations by which he was known to the Gaels, as King of Sunday (see the story of Shaun the Tinker), the One Son, the King of the Angels, the King of Luan (Monday or Judgment day), the King of Brightness, the Son of the Virgin, etc. I know nothing certain about the circumstances which gave rise to this amazing effusion. It cannot be very old, however, since the last verse mentions the "black peeler." Possibly it was composed not more than seventy years ago. The poet has cleverly interwoven the names of his three enemies in all sorts of different collocations. I give the piece as of interest though not actual folk-lore. It was first published in Iris-leabhar na Gaedhilge by Father Dinneen. For the original and other curses of the same nature, see "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. II., p. 274. THE STORY. Bruadar and Smith and Glinn, Amen, dear God, I pray, May they lie low in waves of woe, And tortures slow each day! Amen! Bruadar and Smith and Glinn Helpless and cold, I pray, Amen! I pray, O King, To see them pine away. Amen! Bruadar and Smith and Glinn May flails of sorrow flay! Cause for lamenting, snares and cares Be theirs by night and day! Amen! Blindness come down on Smith, Palsy on Bruadar come, Amen, O King of Brightness! Smite Glinn in his members numb, Amen! Smith in the pangs of pain, Stumbling on Bruadar's path, King of the Elements, Oh, Amen! Let loose on Glinn Thy wrath. Amen! For Bruadar gape the grave, Up-shovel for Smith the mould, Amen, O King of the Sunday! Leave Glinn in the devil's hold. Amen! Terrors on Bruadar rain, And pain upon pain on Glinn, Amen, O King of the Stars! and Smith May the devil be linking him. Amen! Glinn in a shaking ague, Cancer on Bruadar's tongue, Amen, O King of the Heavens! and Smith For ever stricken dumb. Amen! Thirst but no drink for Glinn, Smith in a cloud of grief, Amen! O King of the Saints! and rout Bruadar without relief. Amen! Smith without child or heir, And Bruadar bare of store, Amen, O King of the Friday! Tear For Glinn his black heart's core. Amen! Bruadar with nerveless limbs, Hemp strangling Glinn's last breath, Amen, O King of the World's Light! And Smith in grips with death. Amen! Glinn stiffening for the tomb, Smith wasting to decay, Amen, O King of the Thunder's gloom! And Bruadar sick alway. Amen! Smith like a sieve of holes, Bruadar with throat decay, Amen, O King of the Orders! Glinn A buck-show every day. Amen! Hell-hounds to hunt for Smith, Glinn led to hang on high, Amen, O King of the Judgment Day! And Bruadar rotting by. Amen! Curses on Glinn, I cry, My curse on Bruadar be, Amen, O King of the Heaven's high! Let Smith in bondage be. Amen! Showers of want and blame, Reproach, and shame of face, Smite them all three, and smite again, Amen, O King of Grace! Amen! Melt, may the three, away, Bruadar and Smith and Glinn, Fall in a swift and sure decay And lose, but never win. Amen! May pangs pass through thee Smith, (Let the wind not take my prayer), May I see before the year is out Thy heart's blood flowing there. Amen! Leave Smith no place nor land, Let Bruadar wander wide, May the Devil stand at Glinn's right hand, And Glinn to him be tied. Amen! All ill from every airt Come down upon the three, And blast them ere the year be out In rout and misery. Amen! Glinn let misfortune bruise, Bruadar lose blood and brains, Amen, O Jesus! hear my voice, Let Smith be bent in chains. Amen! I accuse both Glinn and Bruadar, And Smith I accuse to God, May a breach and a gap be upon the three, And the Lord's avenging rod. Amen! Each one of the wicked three Who raised against me their hand, May fire from heaven come down and slay This day their perjured band, Amen! May none of their race survive, May God destroy them all, Each curse of the psalms in the holy books Of the prophets upon them fall! Amen! Blight skull, and ear, and skin, And hearing, and voice, and sight, Amen! before the year be out, Blight, Son of the Virgin, blight! Amen! May my curses hot and red And all I have said this day, Strike the Black Peeler too, Amen, dear God, I pray! Amen! FRIAR BRIAN. PREFACE. This story was written down, word for word, and given me by my friend Mr. C. M. Hodgson, from the telling of James Mac Donagh, one of his brother tenants, near Oughterard, Co. Galway. It is obvious that the story is only a fragment, and very obscure, but it is worth preserving if only for the sake of Friar Brian's striking answer to the Devil, which would come home with particular force to all who have ever bought or sold at an Irish fair; the acceptance of "earnest" money is the clinching of the bargain, behind which you cannot go. If you receive "earnest" in the morning you may not sell again, no matter how much higher a price may have been offered you before evening. I have heard another story about Friar Brian. THE STORY There was a young man in it long ago, and long ago it was, and he had a great love for card-playing and drinking whiskey. He came short [at last] of money, and he did not know what he would do without money. A man met him, and he going home in the night. "I often see you going home this road," said the man to him. "There's no help for it now," says he; "I have no money." "Now," says the man, "I'll give you money every time you'll want it, if you will give to me written with your own blood [a writing to say] that you are mine such and such a year, at the end of one and twenty years." It was the Devil who was in it in the shape of a man. He gave it to him written with his share of blood that he would be his at the end of one and twenty years. He had money then every time ever he wanted it until the one and twenty years were almost out, and then fear began coming on him. He went to the priest and he told it [all] to him. "I could not do any good for you," says the priest. "You must go to such and such a man who is going into Ellasthrum (?) He has so much of the Devil's influence (?) that he does be able to change round the castle door any time the wind is blowing [too hard] on it." He went to this man and he told him his story. "I wouldn't be able to do you any good," says he, "you must go to Friar Brian." He went to Friar Brian and told him his story. The one and twenty years were all but up by this time. "Here is a stick for you," said Friar Brian, "and cut a ring [with the stick] round about the place where you'll stand. He [the Devil] won't be able to come inside the place which you'll cut out with this stick. And do you be arguing with him, and I'll be watching you both," says he. "Tell him that there must be some judgment [passed] on the case before you depart [to go away] with him." "Very well," says the man. When the appointed hour came the man was standing in the place he said. The Devil came to him. He told the man that the time was up and that he had to come along. The man began to say that the time was not up. He cut a ring round about himself with the stick which Friar Brian had given him. "Well, then," says the man, says he [at last], "we'll leave it to the judgment of the first person who shall come past us." "I am satisfied," says the Diabhac.[75] [75] Diabhac, pronounced in Connaught, d'youc; a homonym for the more direct diabhal--devil, as "deil" in English. Friar Brian came to the place where they were. "What is it all about from the beginning?" says Friar Brian. The Diabhac told him that he had this man bought for one and twenty years, and that he had to come with him to-day; "it is left to you to judge the case." "Now," says Friar Brian, says he, "if you were to go to a fair to buy a cow or a horse, and if you gave earnest money for it, wouldn't you say that it was more just for you to have it than for the man who would come in the evening and who would buy it without paying any earnest money for it?" "I say," says the Diabhac, "that the man who paid earnest money for it first, ought to get it." "And now," says Friar Brian, "the Son of God paid earnest for this man before you bought him." The Diabhac had to go away then. * * * * * Friar Brian asked then what would be done to him now when he had not got the man. "I shall be put into the chamber which is for Friar Brian," said the Diabhac.[76] [76] The meaning seems to be, that the devil who lost his quarry would suffer the same punishment as was reserved for Friar Brian. "And now," said Friar Brian to the man whom he had saved, "I saved you now," says he, "and do you save me." "What will I be able to do for you to save you?" "Get the axe," says Friar Brian to him, "take the head off me," says he, "and cut me up then as fine as tobacco."[77] [77] Compare the story of the Tobacco Prayer, p. 244. He did that, and Friar Brian repented then, and he was saved. He suffered himself to be cut as fine as tobacco on account of all he had ever done out of the way. There now, that was the end of Friar Brian. HOW THE FIRST CAT WAS CREATED. PREFACE. I got the following story from my friend Dr. Conor Maguire, of Claremorris. It explains how the first cat and first mouse were created. I heard many such stories explaining the origin of this thing or the other from the Red Indians in Canada, but, of course, none of them had anything to say to Christianity. It is impossible to tell the age of this legend, but it may be taken for granted that such themes were common in Pagan times just as they are amongst the Red Men to-day, and it may well be that this story in its origin is older than Christianity itself, and that a saint may have taken the place of an enchanter when the people became Christians. I think it is pretty certain that this story originally concerned only the flour--the food of man--and the mice--the enemy of the flour--and the cat--the enemy of the mice; and that the mention of the sow and her litter is a late and stupid interpolation. THE STORY. One day Mary and her Son were travelling the road, and they heavy and tired, and it chanced that they went past the door of a house in which there was a lock of wheat being winnowed. The Blessed Virgin went in, and she asked an alms of wheat, and the woman of the house refused her. "Go in again to her," said the Son, "and ask her for it in the name of God." She went, and the woman refused her again. "Go in to her again," said He, "and ask her to give you leave to put your hand into the pail of water, and to thrust it down into the heap of wheat, and to take away with you all that shall cling to your hand." She went, and the woman gave her leave to do that. When she came out to our Saviour, He said to her, "Do not let one grain of that go astray, for it is worth much and much." When they had gone a bit from the house they looked back, and saw a flock of demons coming towards the house, and the Virgin Mary was frightened lest they might do harm to the woman. "Let there be no anxiety on you," said Jesus to her; "since it has chanced that she has given you all that of alms, they shall get no victory over her." They travelled on, then, until they reached as far as a place where a man named Martin had a mill. "Go in," said our Saviour to His mother, "since it has chanced that the mill is working, and ask them to grind that little grain-_een_ for you." She went. "O musha, it's not worth while for me," said the boy who was attending the querns, "to put that little _lockeen_ a-grinding for you." Martin heard them talking and said to the lout, "Oh, then, do it for the creature, perhaps she wants it badly," said he. He did it, and he gave her all the flour that came from it. They travelled on then, and they were not gone any distance until the mill was full of flour as white as snow. When Martin perceived this great miracle he understood well that it was the Son of God and His Mother who chanced that way. He ran out and followed them, at his best, and he made across the fields until he came up with them, and there was that much haste on him in going through a scunce of hawthorns that a spike of the hawthorn met his breast and wounded him greatly. There was that much zeal in him that he did not feel the pain, but clapt his hand over it, and never stopped until he came up with them. When our Saviour beheld the wound upon poor Martin, He laid His hand upon it, and it was closed, and healed upon the spot. He said to Martin then that he was a fitting man in the presence of God; "and go home now," said He, "and place a fistful of the flour under a dish, and do not stir it until morning." When Martin went home he did that, and he put the dish, mouth under, and the fistful of flour beneath it. The servant girl was watching him, and thought that maybe it would be a good thing if she were to set a dish for herself in the same way, and signs on her, she set it. On the morning of the next day Martin lifted his dish, and what should run out from under it but a fine sow and a big litter of bonhams with her. The girl lifted her own dish, and there ran out a big mouse and a clutch of young mouselets with her. They ran here and there, and Martin at once thought that they were not good, and he plucked a big mitten off his hand and flung it at the young mice, but as soon as it touched the ground it changed into a cat, and the cat began to kill the young mice. That was the beginning of cats. Martin was a saint from that time forward, but I do not know which of the saints he was of all who were called Martin. GOD SPARE YOU YOUR HEALTH. PREFACE. There is an Anglo-Irish proverb to the effect that "fine words butter no parsnips," and an Irish one runs "Ní bheathuigheann na briathra na bráithre," "words don't feed friars." This story is also told in other parts of the country about a cobbler. I have translated this version of it from the Lochrann "Márta agus Abrán, 1912," written down by "Giolla na lice." THE STORY. There was a smith in Skibbereen long ago, long before the foreigners nested there, and people used to be coming to him who did not please him too well. When he would do some little turn of work for them in the forge they used only have a "God spare you your health" for him. It's a very nice prayer, "God spare you your health," but when the smith used to go out to buy bread he used not to get it without money. Prayers, no matter how good, would not do the business for him. He used often to be half mad with them, but he used not to say anything. He was so vexed with that work one day that he took a hound he had from his house into his forge, and he tied it there with a wisp of hay under it. "Yes," said he, "we will soon see whether the prayers of these poor people will feed my hound." The first person who came and had nothing but a "God spare you the health" in place of payment. "Right," said the smith, "let my hound have that." Other people came to the forge, and they without any payment for the poor smith but that same fine prayer, and according as the smith used to get the prayers he used to bestow them on the hound. He used to give it no other food or drink. The prayers were the hound's food, but they made poor meat for him, for the smith found him dead in the morning after his being dependent on the feeding of the prayers. A man came to the forge that day and he had a couple of hinges and a couple of reaping hooks, that were not too strong, to be fixed. The smith did the work, and the man was thinking of going, "God spare you the health," said he. Instead of the answer "Amen! Lord! and you likewise"; what the smith did was to take the man by the shoulder. "Look over in the corner," said he; "my hound is dead, and if prayers could feed it, it ought to be fat and strong. I have given every prayer I got this while back to that hound there, but they have not done the business for it. And it's harder to feed a man than a hound. Do you understand, my good man?" He did apparently, for he put his hand in his pocket. "What's the cost?" said he. It was short until all the neighbours heard talk of the death of that hound of the smith's, and much oftener from that out used their tune to be, "What's the cost, Dermot?" than "God spare you your health." TEIG O'KANE (TADHG O CÁTHÁIN) AND THE CORPSE. PREFACE. This story of Teig (in the ballad "Tomaus" O'Cahan or O'Kane) and the corpse, was told to me nearly thirty years ago by an old man from near Fenagh in the County Leitrim, whom I met paying his rent to a relative of mine in the town of Mohill. He must have been one of the last Irish speakers in that district. There does not appear to be a trace of Irish left there now. I did not write down the story from his lips, but wrote it out afterwards from memory. I took down the ballad, however, from his recitation so far as he had it; and I afterwards came across a written version of it in the handwriting of Nicholas O'Kearney, of the County Louth. The ballad as written by him coincides pretty closely with my version, but breaks off apparently in the middle, as though O'Kearney had not time to finish the rest of it. The first twenty-three verses are from O'Kearney's version, the rest are from mine. O'Kearney remarks in English at the top of the page: "The following fragment is one of our wild fairy adventures versified ... the fragment is preserved on account of the singular wildness of the air." The only other Irish poem nearly in the same metre which I know of is a poem by Cormac Dall, or Cormac Common, which my friend Dr. Maguire, of Claremorris, took down the other day from the recitation of an old man. It is on Halloweve night that one is especially liable to adventures like those of Tomaus O'Cahan, but it is well known that all gamblers coming home at night are exposed to such perils. THE STORY. There was once a grown-up lad in the County Leitrim, and he was strong and lively, and the son of a rich farmer. His father had plenty of money, and he did not spare it on the son. Accordingly, when the boy grew up he liked sport better than work, and, as his father had no other children, he loved this one so much that he allowed him to do in everything just as it pleased himself. He was very extravagant, and he used to scatter the gold money as another person would scatter the white. He was seldom to be found at home, but if there was a fair, or a race, or a gathering within ten miles of him, you were dead certain to find him there. And he seldom spent a night in his father's house, but he used to be always out rambling, and, like Shawn Bwee long ago, there was "grádh gach cailín i mbrollach a léine," "the love of every girl in the breast of his shirt," and it's many's the kiss he got and he gave, for he was very handsome, and there wasn't a girl in the country but would fall in love with him, only for him to fasten his two eyes on her, and it was for that someone made this rann on him-- "Feuch an rógaire 'g iarraidh póige, Ni h-iongantas mór é a bheith mar atá Ag leanamhaint a gcómhnuidhe d'arnán na graineoige Anuas 's aníos 's nna chodladh 'sa lá." _i.e._--"Look at the rogue, it's for kisses he's rambling, It isn't much wonder, for that was his way; He's like an old hedgehog, at night he'll be scrambling From this place to that, but he'll sleep in the day." At last he became very wild and unruly. He wasn't to be seen day nor night in his father's house, but always rambling or going on his kailee (night-visit) from place to place and from house to house, so that the old people used to shake their heads and say to one another, "it's easy seen what will happen to the land when the old man dies; his son will run through it in a year, and it won't stand him that long itself." He used to be always gambling and card-playing and drinking, but his father never minded his bad habits, and never punished him. But it happened one day that the old man was told that the son had ruined the character of a girl in the neighbourhood, and he was greatly angry, and he called the son to him, and said to him, quietly and sensibly--"Avic," says he, "you know I loved you greatly up to this, and I never stopped you from doing your choice thing whatever it was, and I kept plenty of money with you, and I always hoped to leave you the house and land and all I had, after myself would be gone; but I heard a story of you to-day that has disgusted me with you. I cannot tell you the grief that I felt when I heard such a thing of you, and I tell you now plainly that unless you marry that girl I'll leave house and land and everything to my brother's son. I never could leave it to anyone who would make so bad a use of it as you do yourself, deceiving women and coaxing girls. Settle with yourself now whether you'll marry that girl and get my land as a fortune with her, or refuse to marry her and give up all that was coming to you; and tell me in the morning which of the two things you have chosen." "Och! murdher sheery! father, you wouldn't say that to me, and I such a good son as I am. Who told you I wouldn't marry the girl?" says he. But the father was gone, and the lad knew well enough that he would keep his word too; and he was greatly troubled in his mind, for as quiet and as kind as the father was, he never went back of a word that he had once said, and there wasn't another man in the country who was harder to bend that he was. The boy did not know rightly what to do. He was in love with the girl indeed, and he hoped to marry her some time or other, but he would much sooner have remained another while as he was, and follow on at his old tricks--drinking, sporting, and playing cards; and, along with that, he was angry that his father should order him to marry and should threaten him if he did not do it. "Isn't my father a great fool," says he to himself. "I was ready enough, and only too anxious, to marry Mary; and now since he threatened me, faith I've a great mind to let it go another while." His mind was so much excited that he remained between two notions as to what he should do. He walked out into the night at last to cool his heated blood, and went on to the road. He lit a pipe, and as the night was fine he walked and walked on, until the quick pace made him begin to forget his trouble. The night was bright and the moon half full. There was not a breath of wind blowing, and the air was calm and mild. He walked on for nearly three hours, when he suddenly remembered that it was late in the night, and time for him to turn. "Musha! I think I forgot myself," says he; "it must be near twelve o'clock now." The word was hardly out of his mouth when he heard the sound of many voices and the trampling of feet on the road before him. "I don't know who can be out so late at night as this, and on such a lonely road," said he to himself. He stood listening and he heard the voices of many people talking through other, but he could not understand what they were saying. "Oh, wirra!" says he, "I'm afraid. It's not Irish or English they have; it can't be they're Frenchmen!" He went on a couple of yards further, and he saw well enough by the light of the moon a band of little people coming towards him, and they were carrying something big and heavy with them. "Oh, murdher!" says he to himself, "sure it can't be that they're the good people that's in it!" Every rib of hair that was on his head stood up, and there fell a shaking on his bones, for he saw that they were coming to him fast. He looked at them again, and perceived that there were about twenty little men in it, and there was not a man at all of them higher than about three feet or three feet and a half, and some of them were grey, and seemed very old. He looked again, but he could not make out what was the heavy thing they were carrying until they came up to him, and then they all stood round about him. They threw the heavy thing down on the road, and he saw on the spot that it was a dead body. He became as cold as the Death, and there was not a drop of blood running in his veins when an old little grey man_een_ came up to him and said, "Isn't it lucky we met you, Teig O'Kane?" Poor Teig could not bring out a word at all, nor open his lips, if he were to get the world for it, and so he gave no answer. "Teig O'Kane," said the little grey man again, "isn't it timely you met us?" Teig could not answer him. "Teig O'Kane," says he, "the third time, isn't it lucky and timely that we met you?" But Teig remained silent, for he was afraid to return an answer, and his tongue was as if it was tied to the roof of his mouth. The little grey man turned to his companions, and there was joy in his bright little eye. "And now," says he, "Teig O'Kane hasn't a word, we can do with him what we please. Teig, Teig," says he, "you're living a bad life, and we can make a slave of you now, and you cannot withstand us, for there's no use in trying to go against us. Lift that corpse." Teig was so frightened that he was only able to utter the two words, "I won't;" for as frightened as he was, he was obstinate and stiff, the same as ever. "Teig O'Kane won't lift the corpse," said the little man_een_, with a wicked little laugh, for all the world like the breaking of a lock of dry kippeens, and with a little harsh voice like the striking of a cracked bell. "Teig O'Kane won't lift the corpse--make him lift it;" and before the word was out of his mouth they had all gathered round poor Teig, and they all talking and laughing through other. Teig tried to run from them, but they followed him, and a man of them stretched out his foot before him as he ran, so that Teig was thrown in a heap on the road. Then before he could rise up, the fairies caught him, some by the hands and some by the feet, and they held him tight, in a way that he could not stir, with his face against the ground. Six or seven of them raised the body then, and pulled it over to him, and left it down on his back. The breast of the corpse was squeezed against Teig's back and shoulders, and the arms of the corpse were thrown around Teig's neck. Then they stood back from him a couple of yards, and let him get up. He rose, foaming at the mouth and cursing, and he shook himself, thinking to throw the corpse off his back. But his fear and his wonder were great when he found that the two arms had a tight hold round his own neck, and that the two legs were squeezing his hips firmly, and that, however strongly he tried, he could not throw it off, any more than a horse can throw off its saddle. He was terribly frightened then, and he thought he was lost. "Ochone! for ever," said he to himself, "it's the bad life I'm leading that has given the good people this power over me. I promise to God and Mary, Peter and Paul, Patrick and Bridget, that I'll mend my ways for as long as I have to live, if I come clear out of this danger--and I'll marry the girl." The little grey man came up to him again, and said he to him, "Now, Teig_een_," says he, "you didn't lift the body when I told you to lift it, and see how you were made to lift it; perhaps when I tell you to bury it you won't bury it until you're made to bury it!" "Anything at all that I can do for your honour," said Teig, "I'll do it," for he was getting sense already, and if it had not been for the great fear that was on him, he never would have let that civil word slip out of his mouth. The little man laughed a sort of laugh again. "You're getting quiet now, Teig," says he. "I'll go bail but you'll be quiet enough before I'm done with you. Listen to me now, Teig O'Kane, and if you don't obey me in all I'm telling you to do, you'll repent it. You must carry with you this corpse that is on your back to Teampoll-Démuis, and you must bring it into the church with you, and make a grave for it in the very middle of the church, and you must raise up the flags and put them down again the very same way, and you must carry the clay out of the church and leave the place as it was when you came, so that no one could know that there had been anything changed. But that's not all. Maybe that the body won't be allowed to be buried in that church; perhaps some other man has the bed, and, if so, it's likely he won't share it with this one. If you don't get leave to bury it in Teampoll-Démuis, you must carry it to Carrick-fhad-vic-Oruis, and bury it in the churchyard there; and if you don't get it into that place, take it with you to Teampoll-Ronáin; and if that churchyard is closed on you, take it to Imlogue-Fhada; and if you're not able to bury it there, you've no more to do than to take it to Kill-Breedya, and you can bury it there without hindrance. I cannot tell you what one of those churches is the one where you will have leave to bury that corpse under the clay, but I know that it will be allowed you to bury him at some church or other of them. If you do this work rightly, we will be thankful to you, and you will have no cause to grieve; but if you are slow or lazy, believe me we shall take satisfaction of you." When the grey little man had done speaking, his comrades laughed and clapped their hands together. "Glic! Glic! Hwee! Hwee!" they all cried; "go on, go on, you have eight hours before you till daybreak, and if you haven't this man buried before the sun rises, you're lost." They struck a fist and a foot behind on him, and drove him on in the road. He was obliged to walk, and to walk fast, for they gave him no rest. He thought himself that there was not a wet path, or a dirty boreen, or a crooked contrary road in the whole county that he had not walked that night. The night was at times very dark, and whenever there would come a cloud across the moon he could see nothing, and then he used often to fall. Sometimes he was hurt, and sometimes he escaped, but he was obliged always to rise on the moment and to hurry on. Sometimes the moon would break out clearly, and then he would look behind him and see the little people following at his back. And he heard them speaking amongst themselves, talking and crying out, and screaming like a flock of sea-gulls; and if he was to save his soul he never understood as much as one word of what they were saying. He did not know how far he had walked, when at last one of them cried out to him, "Stop here!" He stood, and they all gathered round him. "Do you see those withered trees over there?" says the old boy to him again. "Teampoll-Démuis is among those trees, and you must go in there by yourself, for we cannot follow you or go with you. We must remain here. Go on boldly." Teig looked from him, and he saw a high wall that was in places half broken down, and an old grey church on the inside of the wall, and about a dozen withered old trees scattered here and there round it. There was neither leaf nor twig on any of them, but their bare crooked branches were stretched out like the arms of an angry man when he threatens. He had no help for it, but was obliged to go forward. He was a couple of hundred yards from the church, but he walked on, and never looked behind him until he came to the gate of the churchyard. The old gate was thrown down, and he had no difficulty in entering. He turned then to see if any of the little people were following him, but there came a cloud over the moon, and the night became so dark that he could see nothing. He went into the churchyard, and he walked up the old grassy pathway leading to the church. When he reached the door, he found it locked. The door was large and strong, and he did not know what to do. At last he drew out his knife with difficulty, and stuck it in the wood to try if it were not rotten, but it was not. "Now," said he to himself, "I have no more to do; the door is shut, and I can't open it." Before the words were rightly shaped in his own mind, a voice in his ear said to him, "Search for the key on the top of the door, or on the wall." He started. "Who is that speaking to me?" he cried, turning round; but he saw no one. The voice said in his ear again, "Search for the key on the top of the door, or on the wall." "What's that?" said he, and the sweat running from his forehead; "who spoke to me?" "It's I, the corpse, that spoke to you!" said the voice. "Can you talk?" said Teig. "Now and again," said the corpse. Teig searched for the key, and he found it on the top of the wall. He was too much frightened to say any more, but he opened the door wide, and as quickly as he could, and he went in, with the corpse on his back. It was as dark as pitch inside, and poor Teig began to shake and tremble. "Light the candle," said the corpse. Teig put his hand in his pocket, as well as he was able, and drew out a flint and steel. He struck a spark out of it, and lit a burnt rag he had in his pocket. He blew it until it made a flame, and he looked round him. The church was very ancient, and part of the wall was broken down. The windows were blown in or cracked, and the timber of the seats was rotten. There were six or seven old iron candlesticks left there still, and in one of these candlesticks Teig found the stump of an old candle, and he lit it. He was still looking round him on the strange and horrid place in which he found himself, when the cold corpse whispered in his ear, "Bury me now, bury me now; there is a spade and turn the ground." Teig looked from him, and he saw a spade lying beside the altar. He took it up, and he placed the blade under a flag that was in the middle of the aisle, and leaning all his weight on the handle of the spade, he raised it. When the first flag was raised it was not hard to raise the others near it, and he moved three or four of them out of their places. The clay that was under them was soft and easy to dig, but he had not thrown up more than three or four shovelfuls, when he felt the iron touch something soft like flesh. He threw up three or four more shovelfuls from around it, and then he saw that it was another body that was buried in the same place. "I am afraid I'll never be allowed to bury the two bodies in the same hole," said Teig, in his own mind. "You corpse, there on my back," says he, "will you be satisfied if I bury you down here?" But the corpse never answered him a word. "That's a good sign," said Teig to himself. "Maybe he's getting quiet," and he thrust the spade down in the earth again. Perhaps he hurt the flesh of the other body, for the dead man that was buried there stood up in the grave, and shouted an awful shout. "Hoo! hoo!! hoo!!! Go! go!! go!!! or you're a dead, dead, dead man!" And then he fell back in the grave again. Teig said afterwards, that of all the wonderful things he saw that night, that was the most awful to him. His hair stood upright on his head like the bristles of a pig, the cold sweat ran off his face, and then came a tremor over all his bones, until he thought that he must fall. But after a while he became bolder, when he saw that the second corpse remained lying quietly there, and he threw in the clay on it again, and he smoothed it overhead, and he laid down the flags carefully as they had been before. "It can't be that he'll rise up any more," said he. He went down the aisle a little further, and drew near to the door, and began raising the flags again, looking for another bed for the corpse on his back. He took up three or four flags and put them aside, and then he dug the clay. He was not long digging until he laid bare an old woman without a thread upon her but her shirt. She was more lively than the first corpse, for he had scarcely taken any of the clay away from about her, when she sat up and began to cry, "Ho, you bodach (clown)! Ha, you bodach! Where has he been that he got no bed?" Poor Teig drew back, and when she found that she was getting no answer, she closed her eyes gently, lost her vigour, and fell back quietly and slowly under the clay. Teig did to her as he had done to the man--he threw the clay back on her, and left the flags down overhead. He began digging again near the door, but before he had thrown up more than a couple of shovelfuls, he noticed a man's hand laid bare by the spade. "By my soul, I'll go no further, then," said he to himself; "what use is it for me?" And he threw the clay in again on it, and settled the flags as they had been before. He left the church then, and his heart was heavy enough, but he shut the door and locked it, and left the key where he found it. He sat down on a tombstone that was near the door, and began thinking. He was in great doubt what he should do. He laid his face between his two hands, and cried for grief and fatigue, since he was dead certain at this time that he never would come home alive. He made another attempt to loosen the hands of the corpse that were squeezed round his neck, but they were as tight as if they were clamped; and the more he tried to loosen them, the tighter they squeezed him. He was going to sit down once more, when the cold, horrid lips of the dead man said to him, "Carrick-fhad-vic-Oruis," and he remembered the command of the good people to bring the corpse with him to that place if he should be unable to bury it where he had been. He rose up and looked about him. "I don't know the way," he said. As soon as he had uttered the words, the corpse stretched out suddenly its left hand that had been tightened round his neck, and kept it pointing out, showing him the road he ought to follow. Teig went in the direction that the fingers were stretched, and passed out of the churchyard. He found himself on an old rutty, stony road, and he stood still again, not knowing where to turn. The corpse stretched out its bony hand a second time, and pointed out to him another road--not the road by which he had come when approaching the old church. Teig followed that road, and whenever he came to a path or road meeting it, the corpse always stretched out its hand and pointed with its fingers, showing him the way he was to take. Many was the cross-road he turned down, and many was the crooked boreen he walked, until he saw from him an old burying-ground at last, beside the road, but there was neither church nor chapel nor any other building in it. The corpse squeezed him tightly, and he stood. "Bury me, bury me in the burying-ground," said the voice. Teig drew over towards the old burying-place, and he was not more than about twenty yards from it, when, raising his eyes, he saw hundreds and hundreds of ghosts--men, women, and children--sitting on the top of the wall round about, or standing on the inside of it, or running backwards and forwards, and pointing at him, while he could see their mouths opening and shutting as if they were speaking, though he heard no word, nor any sound amongst them at all. He was afraid to go forward, so he stood where he was, and the moment he stood, all the ghosts became quiet, and ceased moving. Then Teig understood that it was trying to keep him from going in that they were. He walked a couple of yards forwards, and immediately the whole crowd rushed together towards the spot to which he was moving, and they stood so thickly together that it seemed to him that he never could break through them, even though he had a mind to try. But he had no mind to try it. He went back broken and disspirited, and when he had gone a couple of hundred yards from the burying-ground, he stood again, for he did not know what way he was to go. He heard the voice of the corpse in his ear, saying "Teampoll-Ronáin," and the skinny hand was stretched out again, pointing him out the road. As tired as he was, he had to walk, and the road was neither short nor even. The night was darker than ever, and it was difficult to make his way. Many was the toss he got, and many a bruise they left on his body. At last he saw Teampoll-Ronáin from him in the distance, standing in the middle of the burying-ground. He moved over towards it, and thought he was all right and safe, when he saw no ghosts nor anything else on the wall, and he thought he would never be hindered now from leaving his load off him at last. He moved over to the gate, but as he was passing in, he tripped on the threshold. Before he could recover himself, something that he could not see seized him by the neck, by the hands, and by the feet, and bruised him, and shook him up, and choked him, until he was nearly dead; and at last he was lifted up, and carried more than a hundred yards from that place, and then thrown down in an old dyke, with the corpse still clinging to him. He rose up, bruised and sore, but feared to go near the place again, for he had seen nothing the time he was thrown down and carried away. "You, corpse up on my back," said he, "shall I go over again to the churchyard?"--but the corpse never answered him. "That's a sign you don't wish me to try it again," said Teig. He was now in great doubt as to what he ought to do, when the corpse spoke in his ear, and said "Imlogue-Fhada." "Oh, murder!" said Teig, "must I bring you there? If you keep me long walking like this, I tell you I'll fall under you." He went on, however, in the direction the corpse pointed out to him. He could not have told, himself, how long he had been going, when the dead man behind suddenly squeezed him, and said, "There!" Teig looked from him, and he saw a little low wall, that was so broken down in places that it was no wall at all. It was in a great wide field, in from the road; and only for three or four great stones at the corners, that were more like rocks than stones, there was nothing to show that there was either graveyard or burying-ground there. "Is this Imlogue-Fhada? Shall I bury you here?" said Teig. "Yes," said the voice. "But I see no grave or gravestone, only this pile of stones," said Teig. The corpse did not answer, but stretched out its long fleshless hand, to show Teig the direction in which he was to go. Teig went on accordingly, but he was greatly terrified, for he remembered what had happened to him at the last place. He went on, "with his heart in his mouth," as he said himself afterwards; but when he came to within fifteen or twenty yards of the little low square wall, there broke out a flash of lightning, bright yellow and red, with blue streaks in it, and went round about the wall in one course, and it swept by as fast as the swallow in the clouds, and the longer Teig remained looking at it the faster it went, till at last it became like a bright ring of flame round the old graveyard, which no one could pass without being burnt by it. Teig never saw, from the time he was born, and never saw afterwards, so wonderful or so splendid a sight as that was. Round went the flame, white and yellow and blue sparks leaping out from it as it went, and although at first it had been no more than a thin, narrow line, it increased slowly until it was at last a great broad band, and it was continually getting broader and higher, and throwing out more brilliant sparks, till there was never a colour on the ridge of the earth that was not to be seen in that fire; and lightning never shone and flame never flamed that was so shining and so bright as that. Teig was amazed; he was half dead with fatigue, and he had no courage left to approach the wall. There fell a mist over his eyes, and there came a soorawn in his head, and he was obliged to sit down upon a great stone to recover himself. He could see nothing but the light, and he could hear nothing but the whirr of it as it shot round the paddock faster than a flash of lightning. As he sat there on the stone, the voice whispered once more in his ear, "Kill-Breedya"; and the dead man squeezed him so tightly that he cried out. He rose again, sick, tired, and trembling, and went forwards as he was directed. The wind was cold, and the road was bad, and the load upon his back was heavy, and the night was dark, and he himself was nearly worn out, and if he had had very much farther to go he must have fallen dead under his burden. At last the corpse stretched out its hand, and said to him, "Bury me there." "This is the last burying-place," said Teig in his own mind; "and the little grey man said I'd be allowed to bury him in some of them, so it must be this; it can't be but they'll let him in here." The first faint streak of the ring of day was appearing in the east, and the clouds were beginning to catch fire, but it was darker than ever, for the moon was set, and there were no stars. "Make haste, make haste!" said the corpse; and Teig hurried forward as well as he could to the graveyard, which was a little place on a bare hill, with only a few graves in it. He walked boldly in through the open gate, and nothing touched him, nor did he either hear or see anything. He came to the middle of the ground, and then stood up and looked round him for a spade or shovel to make a grave. As he was turning round and searching, he suddenly perceived what startled him greatly--a newly-dug grave right before him. He moved over to it, and looked down, and there at the bottom he saw a black coffin. He clambered down into the hole and lifted the lid, and found that (as he thought it would be) the coffin was empty. He had hardly mounted up out of the hole, and was standing on the brink, when the corpse, which had clung to him for more than eight hours, suddenly relaxed its hold of his neck, and loosened its shins from round his hips, and sank down with a plop into the open coffin. Teig fell down on his two knees at the brink of the grave, and gave thanks to God. He made no delay then, but pressed down the coffin lid in its place, and threw in the clay over it with his two hands; and when the grave was filled up, he stamped and leaped on it with his feet, until it was firm and hard, and then he left the place. The sun was fast rising as he finished his work, and the first thing he did was to return to the road, and look out for a house to rest himself in. He found an inn at last, and lay down upon a bed there, and slept till night. Then he rose up and ate a little, and fell asleep again till morning. When he awoke in the morning he hired a horse and rode home. He was more than twenty-six miles from home where he was, and he had come all that way with the dead body on his back in one night. All the people at his own home thought that he must have left the country, and they rejoiced greatly when they saw him come back. Everyone began asking him where he had been, but he would not tell anyone except his father. He was a changed man from that day. He never drank too much; he never lost his money over cards; and especially he would not take the world and be out late by himself of a dark night. He was not a fortnight at home until he married Mary, the girl he had been in love with; and it's at their wedding the sport was, and it's he was the happy man from that day forward, and it's all I wish that we may be as happy as he was. TOMAUS O CAHAN AND THE GHOST. Come hear my walking, my midnight walking, A cause of dread, and a cause of dread, With that corpse of faierie could get no stretching Amongst the dead men, amongst the dead. [THE CORPSE SPEAKS.] "Raise my dead body with no rejoicing And a beef I'll give thee, a beef I'll give," [TOMAUS ANSWERS.] "If I should settle on that condition Where is the beef, and where is the beef?" [THE CORPSE SPEAKS.] "It's old Shaun Bingham and Shaun Oge Bingham My sureties be, my sureties be, In the crooked letter I wrote a ticket To Bél-in-Assan beside the sea." "You will get a heaplet beneath the midden So green and gloomy, green and gloomy, Then take it with thee for thy provision Beneath thy armpit--against thy journey." The corpse was raised on Tomaus his back, In the ways of night, in the ways of night, Through roads that were narrow and hard and crooked, By the pale moonlight, by the pale moonlight. And long was the route, and the cross-track journey, Through miry bogs and through dripping glooms, Westward to Lugh-moy-more-na-mrauher[78] Of the grass green tombs, of the grass green tombs. [78] = great Louth of the Friars. [THE CORPSE SPEAKS.] "At thy right hand is a spade for digging, Behind the door post it will be found, With a strong thrust, thrust; with a thrust not timid, And turn the ground, and turn the ground." [TOMAUS SPEAKS.] "At my right hand did I find the spade, 'Twas behind the door there, behind the door, And a strong thrust downward I quickly made Through the earthen floor, through the earthen floor." "I struck it strongly, I drove it down, Through the upper earth, through the upper earth, Till I broke the thigh of the English clown, Who was sleeping there in his clay cold berth." "'A thousand pililloos,' cries the trooper, 'Where is my pistol that I may slay?' Cries Mary O'Reilly, Lord Guido's wife, 'Come clear the way there, come clear the way!'" [THE CORPSE SPEAKS.] "Oro! oh Tomaus! oro! oh Tomaus! Do not leave me here I beseech of thee, I've a mother's relative's son in Craggan And it's buried there I shall have to be." On Tomaus his back was the body hoisted, In the ways of night, in the ways of night, Through roads that were crooked and rough and narrow By the pale moonlight, by the pale moonlight. "Going down of a race and in great disorder, To the Craggan More, to the Craggan More, I found a spade at my right hand lying Behind the door there, behind the door." "I found a spade at my right hand laid, Behind the door there, behind the door, Two thrusts that were heavy and strong I made Through the earthen floor, through the earthen floor." "'Til I broke the hip bone of Watson Harford Was beneath the ground and he raised a clamour, 'Hubbubboo,' cried the Gowa Dhu 'Where is my hammer, where is my hammer.'" [THE CORPSE SPEAKS.] "Oro! oh Tomaus; uch, uch, uch, oh! Do not leave me here I beseech of thee, For my father's brother's son is in Derry And it's buried there I shall have to be." "On reaching the place all spent and lonely And I despairing, and I despairing, The gates were all strongly barred before me But I smote upon them with sudden daring." "Said the Mayor of the place, in his grave clothes rising, In his winding sheet from his clay bed taken, 'Why knock so hard, each to his part; Come dead awaken, come dead awaken.'" "Bodies and coffins came pouring upwards From the ground beneath in the pale moonlight, And they ranged themselves in a raging rabble On the bare wall's height, on the bare wall's height." "'A hundred pililloos!' cried they all, 'What is the matter, where are we hurried?'" [TOMAUS ANSWERS.] "It is one of your friends who has died and here Is the place where he says that he must be buried. For his kindred are here and it's well they are, Then take him from me, and good's my riddance." [THE GHOST ASKS.] "Who of his people is buried here To claim admittance, claim admittance?" [TOMAUS ANSWERS.] "I know not myself of what tribe my man is On the ridge of earth if I'm not a liar, There's a stir and a voice in him, ask himself, Of himself inquire, himself inquire." The corpse was raised on Tomaus his back, Than a gad more tight, than a gad more tight, Till he took a skreep to the Teampoll-Démuis, And he found it fastened that weary night. [THE CORPSE SPEAKS.] "Search for the key, you will find it lying Behind the door, or upon the wall." He searched for the key and he found and opened And wide and silent and dark was all. [THE CORPSE SPEAKS AGAIN.] "Oro, oh, Tomaus! Oro, oh, Tomaus! Oh, bury me quick out of sight and sound, See yonder the spade forenenst you lying, And turn the ground, and turn the ground." He took the spade in his hand, and quickly He turned the ground so black and bare, Till he broke the bones of an English bodach Who had long been there, who had long been there. "Blood and owns, you broke my bones," That man kept crying with teeth that chatter, And then spoke Smiler, the wife of Simon, "What is the matter? What is the matter?" "Where was he, or where did he pass his life, That he's got no bed where he now may go?" [TOMAUS ANSWERS.] "He's there before you who knows it best. You must ask him yourself, for I do not know." Then Feeny arose and he took some snuff And he seized an alpeen and gripped it tight, And there was the slashing and noise and smashing Till the morning light, till the morning light. The Corpse was raised on Tomaus his back, Like a tightened gad, like a tightened gad, And he brought it up, and he brought it down, And the way was long and the way was bad. To Carrick-vic-oruis and Teampoll-Ronáin And Imlogue-Fhada the corpse was hurried, But in Kill-Vreedya the skreep was over The corpse was buried, the corpse was buried. A STICK AND A STONE ON IT, AND BAD LUCK ON IT! PRAYER AFTER TOBACCO. PREFACE. There is at times a certain connection between the use of tobacco and the solemn presence of the dead. Both snuff and tobacco for smoking are handed round at wakes. Pipes and tobacco are, in fact, the principal portion of the equipment of the corp-house. To the present moment when one accepts a pinch of snuff it is customary to say in Irish, "the blessing of God be with the souls of your dead." I have heard this a hundred times. But I never heard the tobacco prayer except once or twice from very old people; and, in spite of this story, I don't believe that it was ever in any way usual to say a prayer over tobacco except perhaps in some isolated parts of the country. All I can say is that I have never heard it said spontaneously. This story was written down word for word for me by my friend Mr. John Mac Neill from the recitation of Michael Mac Rury or Rogers, from Ballycastle, in the County Mayo. The tobacco prayer[79] translated, runs as follows:-- [79] For the original, see my "Religious Songs of Connacht," vol. II. p. 66. Eighteen fulls of the churchyard of Patrick, of the mantle[80] of Brigit, of the tomb of Christ, of the palace of Rome, of the church of God, be with thy soul (and with the soul of him above whose head was this tobacco),[81] and with the souls of the dead in Purgatory all together. May not more numerous be The grains of sand by the sea, Or the blades of grass on the lea, Or the drops of dew on the tree, Than the blessings upon thy soul And the souls of the dead with thee, And my soul when the life shall flee. It is for God to give shelter, light, and the glory of the heavens to the souls of the dead of Purgatory. [80] The Mantle of Brigit is a common expression. Even in Scotland "St. Bride and her brat [mantle]" is a well-known saying. [81] This obviously shows that the prayer was intended to be said at wakes. The story was evidently invented with the didactic intention of encouraging the use of prayer, and of inculcating the truth that just as we ought to be thankful to God for our meals, so ought we to be thankful to Him for our tobacco, and for all the good things of life. THE STORY. There was a woman in it long ago, and she had an only son. When he came to age she sent him to college, and made a priest of him. After his coming from the college he was a short little while at home; and he was one day walking out in the garden when there came a saint [in the air] over his head, and spoke down to him, and told the priest that he himself and all who belonged to him were damned on account of his mother. The priest asked him what was the crime his mother had committed, and the saint told him that she was smoking tobacco for twelve years and had never said the tobacco prayer all that time. "Bad enough!" says the priest, "is there anything at all down from heaven to set that right?" says the priest. "There's nothing but one thing alone," says he, "and this is it. When you go in to your mother tell her as I have told it to you. And unless she shall be prepared to suffer the death that I'll tell you, not a sight of the country of heaven will your mother or anyone of her family see for ever." "What death is it?" said the priest to him. "She must let you," says he, "carve every bit off her body as fine as sneeshin." The priest went into the house and a heavy load on his heart. He sat upon a chair and there was a great grief to be seen in his face. His mother asked him what was on him, and what had happened to him since he went out. "Ah, there's nothing on me but a little weariness," says he, "kindle the pipe for me mother," says he, "I'd like to get a blast of tobacco." "I'll kindle it and welcome," says she, "I thought avourneen," says she, "that you were not using tobacco." "Ah, maybe a whiff would take this weariness off me," said he. True was the story. She put a coal in the pipe, and after smoking enough of the pipe herself she handed it to the priest, but she never said the prayer. And that was the reason the priest had told her to kindle the pipe, hoping that she would say the prayer, but she did not. "Poor enough!" said the priest in his own mind. The priest told her then as the saint had told him, and she threw herself on her two knees praying God and shedding tears, and, said she, "a hundred welcomes to the graces of God, and if it is the death that God has promised me, I am satisfied to suffer it; go out now my son," says she, "and when I'll be ready for you to get to your work I'll call you in." The priest went out, fervently reading and praying to God. The mother washed and cleaned herself. She got sheets and sharp knives ready for the work, and when she had everything prepared she called the priest to come in. And as the priest turned round on his foot, the brightness came over his head again, and it said to him that all his family had found forgiveness for their sins, on account of the earnest repentance that his mother was after making, and the awful death that she was fully satisfied to suffer. The priest came into the house, and a great joy in his heart, and his mother was stretched on the length of her back on the table, and sheets under her and over her, and her two hands stretched out from her, and she praying to God, and two sharp knives by her side; and, says the priest to her, "Rise up, mother," says he, "I have got forgiveness from the King of the graces, for our sins, and I beseech you now from this day out, do not forget to diligently offer up the tobacco prayer every time you use it." And true was the story. There was never a time from that day till the day that the priest's mother went into the clay that she did not earnestly offer up the prayer to God and to the glorious Virgin. And the old people throughout the country [added the reciter, talking of West Mayo] are offering up that same prayer daily, and they shall do so as long as a word of our Irish language shall remain alive on the green island of the saints. THE BUÍDEACH, THE TINKER, AND THE BLACK DONKEY. PREFACE. I got this story from O'Connor, who himself got it from a man of the name of Peter Srehane, who lived near Castlebar, Co. Mayo. It is a melange of many curious beliefs, metempsychosis, "St. Patrick's Purgatory" (so well known over Europe in the middle ages), the purse of Fortunatus, fairy gold changing to pebbles, etc. I printed this story with a French translation in my "Sgeuluidhe Gaedhealach." It is the 23rd story in that volume. THE STORY. In times long ago there was a poor widow living near Castlebar, in the County Mayo. She had an only son, and he never grew one inch from the time he was five years old, and the people called him Buídeach[82] as a nick-name. [82] Or better, Buighdeach, pronounced Bweed-yach, _i.e._, Bweed-ya with a guttural _ch_ (as in lo_ch_) at the end. One day when the Buídeach was about fifteen years of age his mother went to Castlebar. She was not gone more than an hour when there came a big Tinker, and a Black Donkey with him, to the door, and "Are you in, woman of the house?" said the tinker. "She is not," said the Buideach, "and she told me not to let anyone in until she'd come home herself." The Tinker walked in, and when he looked at the Buideach he said, "Indeed you're a nice boy to keep anyone at all out, you could not keep out a turkey cock." The Buideach rose of a leap and gave the big Tinker a fist between the two eyes and pitched him out on the top of his head, under the feet of the Black Donkey. The Tinker rose up in a rage and made an attempt to get hold of the Buideach, but he gave him another fist at the butt of the ear and threw him out again under the feet of the Black Donkey. The donkey began to bray pitifully, and when the Buideach went out to see [why], the Tinker was dead. "You have killed my master," said the Black Donkey, "and indeed I am not sorry for it, he often gave me a heavy beating without cause." The Buideach was astonished when he heard the Black Donkey speaking, and he said, "You are not a proper donkey." "Indeed, I have only been an ass for seven years. My story is a pitiful one. I was the son of a gentleman." "Musha, then, I would like to hear your story," said the Buideach. "Come in, then, to the end of the house. Cover up the Tinker in the dunghill, and I will tell you my story." The Buideach drew the dead man over to the dunghill and covered him up. The Black Donkey walked into the house and said, "I was the son of a gentleman, but I was a bad son, and I died under a heavy load of deadly sins on my poor soul; and I would be burning in hell now were it not for the Virgin Mary. I used to say a little prayer in honour of her every night, and when I went into the presence of the Great Judge I was sentenced to hell until His mother spoke to the Judge and He changed his sentence, and there was made of me a Black Donkey, and I was given to the Tinker for the space of seven years, until he should die a worldly [or corporeal] death. The Tinker was a limb of the devil, and it was I who gave you strength to kill him; but you are not done with him yet. He will come to life again at the end of seven days, and if you are there before him he will kill you as sure as you are alive." "I never left this townland since I was born," said the Buideach, "and I would not like to desert my mother." "Would it not be better for you to leave your mother than to lose your life in a state of mortal sin and be for ever burning in hell?" "I don't know any place where I could go into hiding," said the Buideach; "but since it has turned out that it was you who put strength into my hand to kill the Tinker, perhaps you would direct me to some place where I could be safe from him." "Did you ever hear talk of Lough Derg?" "Indeed, I did," said the Buideach; "my grandmother was once on a pilgrimage there, but I don't know where it is." "I will bring you there to-morrow night. There is a monastery underground on the island, and an old friar in it who sees the Virgin Mary every Saturday. Tell him your case and take his advice in every single thing. He will put you to penance, but penance on this world is better than the pains of hell for ever. You know where the little dún[83] is, which is at the back of the old castle. If you are in the dún about three hours after nightfall I shall be there before you and bring you to Lough Derg." [83] Literally, "fort," pronounced like "dhoon." Usually a half-levelled earthen rampart. "I shall be there if I'm alive," said the Buideach; "but is there any fear of me that the Tinker will get up before that time?" "There is no fear," said the Black Donkey, "unless you tell somebody that you killed him. If you tell anything about him he will get up and he will slay yourself and your mother." "By my soul, then, I'll be silent about him," said the Buideach. That evening when the Buideach's mother came home she asked him did anybody come to the house since she went away. "I did not see anyone," said he, "but an old pedlar with a bag, and he got nothing from me." "I see the track of the shoe of a horse or a donkey outside the door, and it was not there in the morning when I was going out," said she. "It was Páidin Éamoinn the fool, who was riding Big Mary O'Brien's ass," said the Buideach. The Buideach never slept a wink all that night but thinking of the Tinker and the Black Donkey. The next day he was in great anxiety. His mother observed that and asked him what was on him. "There's not a feather on me," says he. That night when the mother was asleep the Buideach stole out and never stopped until he came to the little dún; the Black Donkey was there before him and said, "Are you ready?" "I am," said the Buideach, "but I am grieved that I did not get my mother's blessing; she will be very anxious until I come back again." "Indeed she will not be anxious at all, because there is another Buideach at your mother's side at home, so like you that she won't know that it is not yourself that's in it; but I'll bring him away with me before you come back." "I am very much obliged to you and I am ready to go with you now," said he. "Leap up on my back; there is a long journey before us," said the Donkey. The Buideach leapt on his back, and the moment he did so he heard thunder and saw great lightning. There came down a big cloud which closed around the black ass and its rider. The Buideach lost the sight of his eyes, and a heavy sleep fell upon him, and when he awoke he was on an island in Lough Derg, standing in the presence of the ancient friar. The friar began to talk to him, and said, "What brought you here, my son?" "Well, then, indeed, I don't rightly know," said the Buideach. "I will know soon," said the friar; "come with me." He followed the old friar down under the earth, until they came to a little chamber that was cut in the rock. "Now," said the friar, "go down on your knees and make your confession and do not conceal any crime." The Buideach went down on his knees and told everything that happened to him concerning the Tinker and the Black Donkey. The friar then put him under penance for seven days and seven nights, without food or drink, walking on his bare knees amongst the rocks and sharp stones. He went through the penance, and by the seventh day there was not a morsel of skin or flesh on his knees, and he was like a shadow with the hunger. When he had the penance finished the old friar came and said, "It's time for you to be going home." "I have no knowledge of the way or of how to go back," said the Buideach. "Your friend the Black Donkey will bring you back," said the friar. "He will be here to-night; and when you go home spend your life piously and do not tell to anyone except to your father-confessor that you were here." "Tell me, father, is there any danger of me from the Tinker?" "There is not," said the friar; "he is an ass [himself now] with a tinker from the province of Munster, and he will be in that shape for one and twenty years, and after that he will go to eternal rest. Depart now to your chamber. You will hear a little bell after the darkness of night [has fallen], and as soon as you shall hear it, go up on to the island, and the Black Donkey will be there before you, and he will bring you home; my blessing with you." The Buideach went to his room, and as soon as he heard the bell he went up to the island and his friend the Black Donkey was waiting for him. "Jump up on my back, Buideach, I have not a moment to lose," said the donkey. He did so, and on the spot he heard the thunder and saw the lightning. A great cloud came down and enveloped the Black Donkey and its rider. Heavy sleep fell upon the Buideach, and when he awoke he found himself in the little dún at home standing in the presence of the Black Donkey. "Go home now to your mother. The other Buideach is gone from her side; she is in deep sleep and she won't feel you going in." "Is there any fear of me from the Tinker?" said he. "Did not the blessed friar tell you that there is not," said the Black Donkey. "I will protect you. Put your hand in my left ear, and you will get there a purse which will never be empty during your life. Be good to poor people and to widows and to orphans, and you will have a long life and a happy death, and heaven at the end." The Buideach went home and went to sleep, and the mother never had had a notion that the other Buideach was not her own son. * * * * * At the end of a week after this the Buideach said to his mother, "Is not this a fair day in Castlebar?" "Yes, indeed," said she. "Well then, you ought to go there and buy a cow," says he. "Don't be humbugging your mother or you'll have no luck," says she. "Upon my word I am not humbugging," said he. "God sent a purse my way, and there is more than the price of a cow in it." "Perhaps you did not get it honestly; tell me where did you find it?" "I'll tell you nothing about it, except that I found it honestly, and if you have any doubt about my word, let the thing be." Women are nearly always given to covetousness, and she was not free from it. "Give me the price of the cow." He handed her twenty pieces of gold. "You'll get a good cow for all that money," said he. "I will," said she, "but I'd like to have the price of a pig." "Do not be greedy, mother," said he; "you won't get any more this time." The mother went to the fair and she bought a milch cow, and some clothes for the Buideach, and when he got her gone he went to the parish priest and said that he would like to make confession. He told the priest then everything that happened to him from the time he met the Tinker and the Black Donkey. "Indeed, you are a good boy," said the priest, "give me some of the gold." The Buideach gave him twenty pieces, but he was not satisfied with that, and he asked for the price of a horse. "I did not think that a priest would be covetous," said he, "but I see now that they are as covetous as women. Here are twenty more pieces for you; are you satisfied now?" "I am, and I am not," said the priest. "Since you have a purse which will never be empty as long as you live, you should be able to give me as much as would set up a fine church in place of the miserable one which we have in the parish now." "Get workmen and masons, and begin the church, and I'll give you the workmen's wages from week to week," said the Buideach. "I'd sooner have it now," said the priest. "A thousand pieces will do the work, and if you give them to me now I'll put up the church." The Buideach gave him one thousand pieces of gold out of the purse, and the purse was none the lighter for it. The Buideach came home and his mother was there before him, with a fine milch cow and new clothes for himself. "Indeed, that's a good cow," said he; "we can give the poor people some milk every morning." "Indeed they must wait until I churn, and I'll give them the buttermilk--until I buy a pig." "It's the new milk you'll give the poor people," said the Buideach, "we can buy butter." "I think you have lost your senses," says the mother. "You'll want the little share of riches which God sent you before I'm a year in the grave." "How do you know but that I might not be in the grave before you?" said he; "but at all events God will send me my enough." When they were talking there came a poor woman, and three children to the door and asked for alms in the honour of God and Mary. "I have nothing for ye this time," said the widow. "Don't say that, mother," said the Buideach. "I have alms to give in the name of God and His mother Mary." With that he went out and gave a gold piece to the poor woman, and said to his mother, "Milk the cow and give those poor children a drink." "I will not," said the mother. "Then I'll do it myself," said he. He got the vessel, milked the cow, and gave lots of new milk to the poor children and to the woman. When they were gone away the mother said to him, "Your purse will be soon empty." "I have no fear of that," said he; "it's God who sent it to me, and I'll make a good use of it," says he. "Have your own way,"[84] said she; "but you'll be sorry for it yet." [84] Literally, "do you our will." The next day lots of people came to the Buideach asking for alms, and he never let them go away from him empty-[handed]. The name and fame of the Buideach went through the country like lightning and men said that he was in partnership with the good people [_i.e._ fairies]. But others said that it was the devil who was giving him the gold, and they made a complaint against him to the parish priest. But the priest said that the Buideach was a decent good boy, and that it was God who gave him the means, and that he was making good use of them. The Buideach went on well now, and he began growing until he was almost six feet high. His mother died and he fell in love with a pretty girl, and he was not long until they were married. * * * * * He had not a day's luck from that time forward. His wife got to know that he had a wonderful purse and nothing could satisfy her but she must get it. He refused her often, but she was giving him no rest, day or night, until she got the purse from him at last. Then, when she got it, she had no respect for it. She went to Castlebar to buy silks and satins, but when she opened the purse in place of gold pieces being in it there was nothing but pieces of pebbles. She came back and great anger on her; and said, "Isn't it a nice fool you made of me giving me a purse filled with little stones instead of the purse with the gold in it." "I gave you the right purse," said he; "I have no second one." He seized the purse and opened it, and as sure as I'm telling it to you, there was nothing in it but little bits of pebbles. There was an awful grief upon the Buideach, and it was not long until he was mad, tearing his hair, and beating his head against the wall. The priest was sent for but he could get neither sense nor reason out of the Buideach. He tore off his clothes and went naked and mad through the country. About a week after that the neighbours found the poor Buideach dead at the foot of a bush in the little dún. That old bush is growing in the dún yet, and the people call it the "Buideach's Bush," but [as for himself] it is certain that he went to heaven. THE GREAT WORM OF THE SHANNON PREFACE. This curious conception of the greatest river in Ireland owing its origin to the struggles of a great worm or serpent is new to me. I got it from Pronisias O'Conor, who was in the workhouse in Athlone at the time, and he got it himself from a man called George Curtin from near Urlaur[85] on the borders of Mayo and Roscommon, who had also been in the workhouse. Unfortunately, after writing it down, I lost the first half of the story, which was the most interesting, and I have had to supply a brief summary of it in brackets, so far as my very imperfect recollection of it goes. I have quite forgotten the incidents which led up to the druids' prophecy and the Worm's hearing about it. [85] For this place, see the story of the "Friars of Urlaur." THE STORY. [The druid foretold that a man was coming to Ireland who would banish all the snakes, dragons and serpents. The great Ollpheist, or worm, or serpent, was at this time in the pool near the Arigna mountains, from which the Shannon partly takes its rise. It heard of this prophecy and was greatly concerned about its future. It determined to leave Ireland and make his way to the sea before the man came who should have the power to kill or banish serpents. The man the druid had prophesied about was Saint Patrick.] The story describes the desperate efforts of the great worm to make a waterway for itself by cutting away the hole in which it was enclosed. It was its efforts to escape which made the river Shannon. At every prominent part of the Shannon its adventures are related. As it went on its way, working a channel for itself by which to swim out to the sea, it used to commit the most terrible depredations on cattle and sheep, and destroy the country wherever it happened to be. The adventures of the worm at Jamestown, Athleague, Lanesborough and other places are described. Near Athleague the people, led by a drunken piper called O'Rourke, made head against it, but it swallowed the piper at one gulp. The noise of the pipes was too much for it and it threw him up again, after a time, but it lost several days work at the river. After getting rid of the piper who had so troubled its inside it began to work hard to make up for the time it had lost[86] for it was greatly afraid of the good and powerful man who was to come. [86] Here begins the half which I did not lose. After a week or so O'Rourke was blind drunk again, and he faced for the place where the Great Worm had been before, but by this time it had worked its passage far away from that place. The piper, however, walked into the river, and everyone thought that he was drowned, but one of the enchanted eels was left in the hole and the eel put O'Rourke under enchantment too, and it was not long until they heard him playing music in the hole. But he never came up on land since. Only every morning and evening they used to be listening to him playing music in the hole, and from that day to this there is no other name on that same spot but the Piper's Hole. And everybody in Athlone knows the Piper's Hole as well to-day as the people who were alive a thousand years ago knew it. The Great Worm went on very well until it came to the place which is now Lough Ree. There was a great tribe of venemous serpents there and they attacked it. Some went in front of it, others came behind it, others came on each side of it. They fought for seven nights [87] and seven days; they made the hard ground soft and the soft ground hard. They sent stones and great rocks flying more than half a mile up in the air. Floods of blood were running as plentiful as the water itself, and indeed people thought that it was the end of the world that was in it. The battle went on for a month without any signs of victory on one side or the other, and the people of the villages round about were in great fear; but as the old saying puts it, every battle has an end. When the most of the serpents were dead they asked the Great Worm for peace. He granted that and both sides were rejoiced. The Great Worm was wounded and bruised and in much pain. [87] The night is usually put before the day in Irish. After that great battle, the Worm had to take a rest, and that gave great ease to the people of the villages, because it ate neither cow nor sheep nor pig for the space of three months, but it ate up all the serpents that it had killed in the fighting. It never left so much as a bit of bone behind it, and the people began to think that it would never claim its food off them any more. But so soon as it set to work again they had to supply it with cows, sheep, and pigs once more, because it thought that this was its [lawful] wages for cutting out the river for them. And everyone knows that the river did much good for the country on each side of it; and only for the Great Worm there would have been no river. The Worm worked hard and went on well until it came to the place which is now Lough Derg. The venemous serpents were collected before it in that place and they gave it battle. If hundreds attacked it in Lough Ree thousands attacked it in Lough Derg, and the first battle was only sport in comparison to this one. They attacked before, behind, and on every side, and some of them made holes under its belly so that they might be able to thrust it through in that place, and such a cutting and scalping and tearing and killing there had never been in the world before, and it's likely that there won't be again. They made the dry earth wet, the wet earth dry, and they sent stones and great rocks flying into the air quick as lightning, and God help the man one of them would fall on, it was a warrant of death for him. They fought for a month without appearance of victory on either side, and during all that time the lake was red (dearg) with blood, and the old people say that this is the reason it was called Loch Dearg or Derg. After a month of fighting the Worm gained the battle. It rose of one leap in the air, and came down on top of the serpents, making a mash of them, and those that were not killed went off over the country. The Worm was torn and wounded and in great pain after this hard battle, and had to take a long rest. But it never went in pursuit of food from the people of the villages, because it ate its enough of the serpents every day until the last of them was eaten by it. As soon as its wounds were closed and it had rested, it began working again, and nothing wonderful happened to it until it came to the place where the city of Limerick is to-day. In that place there was a great troop of enchanted heroes near the spot where the Treaty Stone is now. The warriors threatened it and told it not to come any further, but it challenged them to battle. They attacked it with battle-axes and great clubs, and they were cutting it and beating it throughout the day until they thought it was dead. Then they went away. But as soon as the sun went down it came to itself again and it was as strong as it was at the commencement of the battle. It came up on land and went to the castle of the enchanted warriors. They were asleep, and it threw down the castle on top of them and killed every mother's son of them. Then it returned to go in face of its work. It went on well after leaving Limerick, for there was nothing to hinder it. For that reason it made the river wider in that place than in any other. But as soon as it got out into the sea a great whale met it and it had to fight a hard battle, and was nearly beaten, when a sea-maiden came and helped it and they killed the whale. The sea-maiden and the Great Worm went on side by side until they came to a village on the coast, where there were about three score of men in boats fishing. The Great Worm was very hungry and began swallowing them down greedily, men and boats and all, until the sea-maiden spoke and said that it was a shame. That angered it and it attacked her, but she was too clever for it. She drew out a golden comb with venom in it, and thrust it into the Worm's eye and blinded it out and out. Then said the Worm to her, "I would sooner be dead than alive; put a hole in my stomach with your scissors." She did that and it died in a moment. The water was ebbing, and when it had gone out the Great Worm was left dead on the sand. The people of the villages round about came; they opened the worm, and every mother's son that he had swallowed they found alive and in a heavy sleep at the bottom of their boats. The bones of the Great Worm remained on the shore of Bantry Bay until the fishermen made oars out of them. If my story is not true, there is no water in the sea and no river Shannon in Ireland. THE POOR WIDOW AND GRANIA OÏ. PREFACE. This story I got from Pronisias O'Conor when he was in the workhouse in Athlone, and he had it from one Rose Grennan or in Irish, Róise nic Ghrianain, from a parish near Athlone. This story is chiefly remarkable for the introduction of Grainne Oigh, which seems to mean Grania the virgin. But who was Grainne? My narrator could tell me nothing about her. She occurs in the story of "William of the Tree" in my "Beside the Fire," and Alfred Nutt has an interesting note on her at p. 194, but it throws no light upon the subject. There, as here, she appears as a beneficent being, very pious, powerful and mysterious, and able to work miracles. The town of Moate, in Co. Westmeath, is called in Irish the Moat of Grainne Óg, who is said to have been a Munster princess, very good and very wise, and there seems to have been some body of legend connected with her, alluded to by Caesar Otway in his "Tour in Connaught," p. 55. See also Joyce's "Names of Places," vol. I, p. 270. Whether Grainne Óg and Grainne Oigh are the same person seems doubtful, but I should think it very probable, and the appellation of "Oigh" may have tended to some confusion with Muire Oigh. Except in these two stories, one from O'Conor and the other from a man named Blake, near Ballinrobe, I have never met or heard or read of any allusion to this being. But the town of Athlone, being half in Westmeath, the county with which Grainne Óg is associated, and the very old woman who told this story being from the borders of that county, would suggest that there was some connection between the mysterious being and the princess from whom Moate is said to have got its name. THE STORY. Long, long ago there was a poor Widow living in the County Clare, and she had seven children, and the eldest was only ten years old. It was a Christmas night that was in it, and she had not a morsel to give them to eat, and since she hadn't, she prayed God to take them to Himself. It was not long after her prayer until the door opened and Grania Oï[88] walked in and two young women after her, carrying a big dish filled with fine food. They were all clad in raiment as white as mountain snow. The Widow welcomed the ladies, and she said, "Perhaps ye would give some relief to a poor family that is fasting all the day." [88] In Irish "Grainne Oigh," pronounced like "Grania O-ee." "God has sent us in answer to your prayer to give you relief at the present time, and to ask if you are ready and submissive to part with the whole of your family." "I am not," said the Widow. "Did you not pray to God to take them to Himself a short while ago?" "Indeed, I don't know," said she, "I was half mad at seeing them fasting, but if God has a place for myself along with my family I am obedient and ready to go." Then Grania Oï laid down the dish upon the table and said to the Widow, "Eat that, yourself and your family, and when it's eaten I'll come again." Then they went out and it was not long till the Widow and her family began eating, and when they were satisfied, still the food on the dish was no less than when they began to take from it. They were eating at that dish and it never emptied until the evening before Good Friday. That evening the Widow and her family were without bite or sup and they were hoping for Grania Oï and the two young women. But when the darkness of the night was falling a tall thin man walked in. He was dressed in a gentleman's garb. The Widow gave him a chair, and asked him to sit down and take a rest. "I have no time to sit down," said he, "I have lots of business to do. You yourself and your family are without bite or sup." "We are," said she, "but I hope for succour soon." "Have no hope in the promise of a woman of beauty or you will be deceived. The woman who gave you the dish is participator with the fairies, she is trying to get your family from you; but pay her no attention." There was great fear on the poor Widow, and she said, "It was a messenger from God who brought us the dish." "Believe me they were fairies who brought you the dish and that it was fairy food that was in it," said the thin man, "and if you accept another dish from her, yourself and your family will be in Knock Ma[89] amongst the fairies; have you ever heard of that place?" [89] Cnoc Meadha, generally called in English "Castlehacket," a hill to the west of Tuam, Co. Galway, reputed to be the headquarters of all the Tuatha de Danann and shee-folk of Connacht. There dwell Finvara and Nuala, king and queen of the fairies of that province. Many stories are told about it. "Indeed I have," said she; "but we shall have no more to do with the fairies. I and my family would sooner die of the hunger than accept a bite or sup from her again." "But don't you know that she has power over you on account of all the fairy food you yourself and your family have eaten this four months, and now unless ye take my advice ye shall be lost." "Thank you," said the Widow, "it is a friend who would give me good advice." Now it was the Devil who was talking to the Widow; He had come to put temptation on her. "Well," said he, "you have holy water in the house." "I have," said she. "I can tell you that it is fairy water, and that there is no virtue in it. Go now and throw it in the fire." The woman did so. But no sooner did she do so than there arose a blue flame, and the house was filled with smoke of the same colour. When the smoke cleared away he said, "Well, one part of the fairies' power is gone. You have a cross, throw it in the fire, and they will have no power over you at all. And then as soon as you are free from them I will give yourself and your family a means of livelihood, and, better than that, yourself and your family shall have great riches if you do as I shall tell you." "I don't like to burn my cross, it was my mother who gave it to me," said the Widow. Then he pulled out a purse filled with gold and silver, and said, "I had this purse to give you if you had accepted my advice, and not that alone, but yourself and your family would have had a long life." Great greed for riches came upon the poor Widow, and she said. "I ask your pardon, noble sir, I am submissive to you in every thing. I myself and my family are under your control." At that he handed her the purse and said: "Throw the cross into the fire." She did so, but instead of its burning there began a stream of blood to come from it. "Ha! ha!" said he, "look at the fairy blood. Here! put your name to this paper. I must give my master an account that I have given you the purse and that you are freed from the Shee-folk, and under my control." The poor woman put her hand to the pen and made her mark, because she did not know how to write or read, and she did not know what was in the paper. He held the paper on the moment to the fire till it was dry, and he went out leaving the cross in the fire and blood running from it. As soon as he was gone the Widow took up the cross. The blood ceased and there was no sign of burning upon it. She was greatly astonished and did not know what she would do. While she was thinking of the wonderful things that had happened she heard a voice calling her. When she went to the door she saw Grania Oï and two maidens carrying a great dish filled with food. "We don't want any fairy food," said the Widow. "We have plenty of gold and silver. Go to Knock Ma, and don't come near us any more." Grania Oï thought that the Widow had lost her senses, and she said: "In God's name have sense, and in Christ's name come here till I talk with you." She did not wish to come, but some power drew her forward until she stood in front of Grania Oï, and she shaking from head to foot. "What happened to you since I was here before, and where did you get the gold and the silver?" "A princely [a generous] man came to me this evening, and said that you were a fairy woman, and that you were giving myself and my family fairy food in order to get us into your power. He told me to throw the holy water into the fire, and when I did that there rose a blue flame out of it, and the house was filled with smoke of the same colour. When the smoke cleared away he said, 'One part of the fairies' power is gone. You have a cross, throw it into the fire and they won't have any power at all over you; and when you're freed from them I'll give yourself and your family a means of livelihood, and better than that, you and your family will have great riches.' I told him that I did not like to burn my cross, that it was my mother who gave it to me, but he said, 'I had this purse for you if you had taken my advice, and not only that, but that I and my family would have a long life.' Greed for riches came over me, and I begged his pardon, saying that I would be submissive to him in everything, and that I and my family were under his control. With that he handed me the purse and said, 'Throw the cross into the fire.' I did so, but in place of burning, a stream of blood began to flow out of it. He laughed and said that it was fairy blood that was in it. Then he gave me a paper to put my name to, because he had an account to give his master that he had given me the purse--and that I was free from the Shee.[90] I cannot write or read, but I made a mark with the pen. When he went away I took up the cross and it was not burnt." [90] This is the Irish word translated by "fairy," in Irish "_sidhe_": a common diminutive is _sidheóg_ "shee-ogue." "I put the cross of Christ between myself and you, accursed woman. You have sold your soul and the souls of your family to the devil for the sake of gold and silver, and now you are lost for ever, and you have shed the blood of Christ before the day of His crucifixion. Go to your parish priest as soon as you can and tell him everything, and how it happened, and tell him that it was Grania Oï who sent you to him. If you yourself are lost your family is not lost for there is no deadly sin upon them." The Widow went into the house and took out the purse, and asked, "What shall I do with this gold and silver?" "Throw it into the fire and say at the same time, 'I renounce the devil and all his works.'" As soon as she threw the purse into the fire and said the words, the Devil came into her presence and said, "You cannot renounce me. You are mine in spite of priest, bishop, or pope. I have the bargain under your [own] hand." "In the name of Jesus go away from me," said the Widow; and when he heard that name he was obliged to go. * * * * * The Widow went to the priest and told him the story. "I am afraid," said he, "that you are lost; but at all events I'll write to the bishop about you. Go home now and begin doing penance. I'll send for you when I get an answer from the bishop." When she came home she found the family eating out of a great dish which Grania Oï had left with them; but the eldest of them said to her not to put her hand in the dish, that this was the lady's order, but that when she should be in want of food they would give it to her. At the end of a week the priest sent for her, and said that he had got an answer from the bishop to say that he would not be able to have any hand in the case until he would get an order from the Pope; but he bade her to make repentance day and night. At the end of a month after this the priest sent for her again, and said, "I have a letter from the Pope to say that there is only one way to save you. Put off your shoes and go on a pilgrimage to Lough Derg. Don't sleep the second night in any house, and only eat one meal in the twenty-four hours, make the journey of the cross seven times in the day and seven times in the night for seven days. Take no bread with you, and neither gold nor silver, but ask alms in the name of God, and when you come back again I shall tell you what it is proper for you to do. Here is a piece of the true cross to keep the Devil from you. Go now in the name of God." When the widow came home Grania Oï was before her at the door, and asked what the priest had said to her. She told her everything that she had to do. "Go without delay," said Grania Oi, "and I'll take care of your family until you come back." The Widow went away. She endured thirst and hunger, cold and bitter hardship. But she did everything as the Pope had ordered. At the end of three months she came back and it was scarcely her own family recognised her, she was so withered and thin. It was not long until the priest came and said, "You have a pilgrimage to make to Croagh Patrick, and you must walk on your knees from the foot to the top of the Reek,[91] and no doubt you will see a messenger from God on the top of the Reek, and you will obtain knowledge from him. Go, now, or perhaps you would be late." The Widow departed, although her feet were cut and the blood coming from them. She went on her knees at the foot of the Reek, and she was two days and two nights going to the top of it. When she sat down a faintness came over her and she fell into a sleep. [91] Croagh Patrick or Reek Patrick is one of the highest mountains in Connacht. It is 2,510 feet high and difficult to climb. St Patrick is reputed to have driven all the serpents in Ireland into the sea down its slopes. It has always been a noted pilgrimage. When she awoke Grania Oï was by her side. She handed her a paper and said, "Look! is that the paper you put your hand to when you sold yourself and your family?" "I see that it is," said the poor Widow. "I give a thousand thanks and laudations to God that I am saved." When she came home the priest came and said Mass in the house. The Widow went to confession. She herself and her seven children received the body of Christ from the priest, and at the end of half an hour she herself and her family were dead, and there is no doubt but that they all went to heaven, and that we may go to the same place! THE GAMBLER OF THE BRANCH. PREFACE. This is a story which used to be common in West Roscommon and East Mayo. I often heard it when I was young. The following version was written down and given me by my friend Mr. John Rogers [Seághan O Ruaidhri] about five miles away from the place where I used to be told the same story. He published it in 1900 in "Irishleabhar na Gaedhilge." There is another story also about a gambler who played cards with the devil. THE STORY. Long ago there used to be a king over every kind of trade and special society and it was the "Gambler of the Branch"[92] who was king over all the gamblers and players, and he was so skilful that nobody on the face of the earth could win a match against him in playing cards or any other game. [92] "To bear alway the branch," is the Irish expression for having first place, or in English, carrying off the palm. At last, and on account of this, he grew lonesome and dissatisfied, and he said that since he was not able to get a game with a man of this world that he would go to try it in the other world. He went off, walking away, and he never stopped of that journey until he came to the great doors of hell, and knocked stoutly at them. "Who is there?" said the porter. "I am; I the Gambler of the Branch from the upper world," said he, "and I am seeking to play a game of cards with the Arch-demon." The Arch-demon came, and he said, "What stake have you to play for with me, for I only play for people's souls?" "I'll play my own soul against one of these that you have in bondage in this place." "I'll bet it," says the Demon. The Gambler won the first game, and so he did most of the others, until he had gained every soul in the place but one, and the Devil would not stake that one no matter how hard the Gambler urged him. He gathered them together then, but when the poor soul that was left behind saw them departing it let a screech out of it that would split a stone, but there was no help for it. He drove them before him then, like a flock of sheep, and said, "What will be done with ye[93] now?" [93] Anglo-Irish very sensibly uses "ye" for the plural of thou in all cases, "you" having become ambiguous. "O friend, take us to heaven, take us to heaven," said they. "It's as good for me, since ye are here," says he, and he drove them away with him until he came to the great white gates of heaven. The gates opened and they were welcomed, and the souls went in. And the porter-saint said to the Gambler, "Won't yourself come in?" "If I get leave to bring in the cards, I'll go," said the Gambler; "but if I don't, I won't." "You won't get that permission," said the saint, "but leave them on the wall here outside the gate, and go in, till you see those souls counted in their place. And you can come out after a while for the cards if you wish." The Gambler did that. He went in, and has forgotten ever since to come out for them. That is the way the Gambler of the Branch went to heaven, and that is the reason that when a slow messenger delays in the house he has been sent to with a message, people say, "You forgot to return as the Gambler of the Branch did." THE BEETLE, THE DHARDHEEL, AND THE PRUMPOLAUN. PREFACE. I have often heard versions of the following story. This particular one was written down in Irish by my friend Domhnall O Fotharta of Connemara, who printed it in his "Siamsa an gheimhridh" in 1892. My friend the O'Cathain tells me that the reason the dardaol (pronounced in Mid-Connacht dhardheel) is burnt, is because if you stamp on it with your foot, or kill it with a stone or a stick, then the next time your foot or the stick or the stone strikes a person or an animal it will give rise to a mortal injury. That is the reason the dardaol is taken up on a shovel and put in the fire, or else destroyed by a hot coal. The scientific name of the dardaol is "ocypus olens," in English he is sometimes called the "devil's coach-horse." He is really a useful creature and very voracious. He preys on most insects injurious to farm crops. He is very fearless and assumes an attitude of attack when interfered with, opening his jaws and turning his long tail over his back as if to sting. This looks very formidable and intimidating, but the fact is that, in common with the rest of the beetle tribe, he has no sting. I had the good fortune to twice see a dardaol kill a worm. On each occasion the creature sprang into the air in a manner I could not have conceived possible, and came down on the uphappy worm. It never loosed its hold, but held on for nearly ten minutes, the worm struggling and swelling all the time, until it finally appeared to be dead. One of these dardaols was quite small, not much over three-quarters of an inch, but the other one was very large, an inch and a half or so, and the worm it killed might have been 3¼ or 4 inches long. The ciaróg or keerogue is one of the common species of ground beetles or "carabus," probably "violaceus." He is a large active insect, usually called a "clock" in Anglo-Irish. "One keerogue knows another," is a common Irish proverb. He is about an inch in length. The Prumpolaun [priompollán] is the large common dung beetle, "geotrupes stercorarius." It is the heavy, slow-flying beetle, which at dusk flies about searching for dirty places to deposit its eggs, and as its weight and short body render it difficult for it to steer, it is apt to strike the wayfarer in the face. It is the "shard-born beetle" of the poet. In the south of Ireland the dardaol is generally known as dearg-a-daol, and in the Anglo-Irish of Connacht he is called a "crocodile." There are other allusions to this intimidating insect in this book. Its dull black colour and threatening movements have made the little creature an object of unmerited hatred and superstition in many other countries besides Ireland. THE STORY. At the time that Jesus was flying from those who were betraying Him it chanced that He passed through a field in which was a sower who was sowing wheat-seed. His disciples said to the sower that if any man were to ask him "if Jesus out of Nazareth had passed that way," he was to give them this answer: "He passed through this field the time we were sowing the seed in it [but not since.]" The next day the farmer went out to look at his field for fear the birds of the air might be doing any damage [to the grain he had sowed the day before]. But astonishment seized him when he beheld the wheat [he had sowed the day before] ripe and yellow and of the colour of gold, and fit to be reaped. The farmer called on his mêhill [troop of workmen] to bring sickles with them and cut the wheat. And while they were cutting it it chanced that the spies came through it. They asked the man whose the field was, whether he had seen Jesus out of Nazareth going that way. The farmer answered them and told them what he had been bidden to tell: "He went through this field when we were sowing the wheat that we are reaping to-day." The keerogue put his head out of a hole and said "iné, iné,[94] yesterday! yesterday!" to let them know that Jesus had gone past the day before. [94] Pronounce in-yaé. As they were talking with the keerogue, the dhardheel put his head out of another hole and said, "gér! gér! gér!" "sharp! sharp, sharp," three times over, to make them feel that if they followed Jesus sharply they would lay hold of Him. "O vo, vo! boiling and burning and fire on you," said the prumpolaun, for he was afraid that the spies might understand the words that were said to them, and that they might follow Jesus sharply to lay hold of Him. It is a fashion still amongst the people of West Connacht when a dhardheel comes into any house to run for the tongs, take a red coal and blow it, and lay it on the dhardheel to burn it, saying at the same time, "the sins of the day, of my life, and of my seven ancestors on you." When they get hold of a keerogue the head is cut off it and they say the same words that it said itself, "iné! iné"! while cutting the head off it. But nothing bad is done to the prumpolaun on account of the pity it had for our Saviour when He was flying from the Jews. THE LADY OF THE ALMS. PREFACE. This was a story told by Michael S. Seoidhigh or Joyce from Turlogh More, Co. Galway, for the Oireachtas many years ago. The form of the story is obviously corrupt and confused. Why should the woman tell her experiences to the voice above her head. There can be little doubt that it was the voice who directed her and that when she had come home, chastened and enlightened, she then told the story as it is here. Either that, or it is the fragment of a longer story in which both a strange man and the supernatural voice each played a part. THE STORY. There was once a lady, and there never was such an almsgiver as she was. When her master used to be at home she would go upstairs, and when she had no other way of giving she would take the inside garment off her own body and hand it out to the poor people. She had three sons and one of them died. He was one and twenty years old when he died. After that she was greatly angered with the Son of God. It was not long after that until another son went, who was twenty-two years old. And a great trouble fell upon her after their both dying. Two years after that the third son died on her. She went away then [half crazed]. She got a bag and began asking alms [like any beggar]. She spent the day going [on her quest] until night came on, and she never found house or wattled-shelter, under which she might put her head. She heard a voice above her, and she wondered. "What has sent you here?" said the voice, "methinks you had no cause to take up with misery were it not your own senselessness." "I had not," said she, "but I think I never did anything against the Son of God, and He has taken from me a son who was twenty-one years old, a son as nice as there was in the parish. Well I did not half mind that--the Son of God's taking him from me--until a year from that day He took the second son from me. Two years from that day the third son was taken from me, and then I went and took a bag with me and said that I would never again do another day's service to God. I was [always] so good to the Son of God and the glorious Virgin that I never thought that He would put such punishment upon me. But He put such punishment on me that I went looking for alms. Away [from my home] I went and proceeded to look for alms, and I never met house or wattled-shelter. A man came to me before you [came] and he said to-me, 'What has brought you here?' I told him that the Son of God had taken my three children from me. 'Go in,' said he, 'into yonder house in which you see the light?' I went in, and what should I see there but a corpse and three lighted candles. I remained there watching the body and plenty of grief and fear on me. At the hour of midnight a slumber of sleeping fell upon me, for I was hungry and troubled. When I awoke out of the sleep I found food and drink and everything I desired laid out before me. I ate and drank my enough. After that I fell asleep, and when I awoke there was nothing there but a bare field, and my bag laid under my head. I arose and stood up and threw the bag over my shoulders and turned back again, and the same man met me a second time. 'Where did you spend the night?' said he. 'I spent it watching a corpse,' said I. 'Did you get your enough to eat and drink?' 'I did,' said I. 'Why did you take up with misery?' 'Well I did take up with misery,' said I, 'I had a son who was twenty-one years old and he was taken from me. A year from that day the second son was taken from me, and two years from that day the third son was taken. I went off then and I said that I would not do one morsel of God's rules any more.' 'Go home, now,' said the man, 'God was so good to you that He did not desire you to find shame or scandal. That first son that you had--he was to have been hanged [if he had lived] for slaying a man. And the second son, he was to have been banished far away to an island in the sea for stealing cattle [had he lived]. And the third son--a woman was to have sworn against him that he was the father of her child, although he never had anything, good or bad, to do with her. Go home now and mind your own business. God had so much consideration for you that He did not wish such pain to come down on you or your children, since you were yourself so good to the poor. Those [three sons] shall be three candles before you, and the three don't know which of them will arrange your bed under you in the Heaven of God.'" According to what authors say, there are no other four who [now] enjoy greater pleasure and happiness than they! ST. PATRICK AND HIS GARRON. PREFACE. This story of St. Patrick I got from Pronisias O'Conor. It seems to have a certain affinity with the story of Crom Dubh (which see). St. Patrick does not play a very desirable part in this tale. He uses his private knowledge of his garron's capacity as a weight-bearer to the detriment of his neighbour, the story-teller drawing no distinction between what was legal and what was morally equitable! The story of the serpent's candle must be old and well-known, for it is alluded to in the widely-circulated poem the "Dirge of Ireland," by O'Connell, said to have been a Bishop of Kerry. Talking of St. Patrick's exploits he says it was he who "[uncial: mhúch coinneal na carraige le na rmérdeadh,]" "who quenched the candle of the Rock by his nod." THE STORY. When Saint Patrick came to Ireland to kindle the light of Grace in this island, many troubles were coming upon him. The island was filled with snakes, north, south, east and west, but it was God's will that Patrick should put them under foot. When he came to West Connacht he had a servant whose name was Fintan, a pious and faithful man. One lay when he was drawing towards the Reek, and the demons running away before him in fear, it chanced that Fintan was travelling in front of the saint, and the serpents came round him and killed him. When the saint came he found Fintan dead on the road. He was grieved, but he went on his knees and prayed to God to bring his servant to life again. No sooner had he his prayers finished than Fintan rose up as well as ever he was. Patrick gave thanks to God, and said, "In God's name we will set up a church here as a sign of the great power of God, and we will call it Achaidh Cobhair."[95] [95] _i.e._, Field of Help. This is folk etymology. Now Aughagower, in Mayo. The saint bought a garron or nag for carrying stones, and he blessed it; for no burden had ever been laid upon it that it was not able to carry. Then he got workmen, masons and carpenters, and began to found the church. After a while the men began clamouring that they had nothing to eat. There was great famine and scarcity in the country that year. Meal was so scarce that few people had any to spare, or to sell, either for gold or silver. There was a man named Black Cormac living near the place. He had the full of a barn of bags of meal. The saint took the men and the garron with him one morning to the house of Black Cormac, and he inquired how much would he be asking for as much meal as the garron would be able to carry on his back. Cormac looked at the garron and said "so much"--naming his price. "It's a bargain," said the saint, handing him money down. The men went into the barn and brought out a great bag and set it on the garron's back. Cormac said that it would break the creature's back. "Never mind," said the saint, "keep packing bags on him until I tell you to stop." They put bag after bag on him until they had a pile as big as a small house. "Drive on now," says the saint. The garron went off as readily and quickly as though it had only one bag. There was great anger on Black Cormac, and he said, "My share of trouble on ye, ye have me destroyed out and out." There was amazement upon every person who saw the garron and the load that was on him. A short time after this the workmen asked the saint for meat, for they were working very hard. Some of them said that they heard that Black Cormac had a bull to sell cheap. The saint sent for Cormac, and asked him how much would he be wanting for the bull. Now it was a savage bull who had killed many people, and since Connac hated the saint with a great hatred he hoped the bull would kill him, and he told him, "You can have the bull for nothing if you go yourself for him." "I'm very thankful to you," said the saint, "I'll go for him in the evening when I'll have my work done." That evening the saint went to Black Cormac's house and asked him to show him the field where the black bull was. He was greatly delighted and said, "Follow me; the walk is not a long one." He brought the saint down to a boreen, and showed him the bull in the field and said to him, "Take him with you now if you can." The saint went into the field, and when the bull saw him it raised its head and tail in the air and came towards him in anger. He raised his crozier and made the sign of Christ between himself and the bull. The beast lowered his head and his tail and followed the saint as quietly as a lamb. When the saint came home he killed the bull and told the men, "Take the flesh with ye, but leave the skin and the bones." They took the flesh with them and ate it. A week after that Black Cormac came to the saint and said, "I hear people saying that you are an honest man, but I know that you have done me a great wrong." "How so?" said the saint. "About my meal and my bull," said he. "I gave you your own bargain for the meal, and as for your bull, you can have it back if you wish it." "How could I get it back, and it eaten by you and your workmen?" said Black Cormac. The saint called for Fintan and told him, "Bring me the skin and bones of the bull." He brought them to him and he prayed over them, and in a moment the bull leapt up as well as ever he was. "Now," said the saint, "take your bull home with you." Black Cormac was greatly surprised, and when he went home he told the neighbours that it was an enchanter the saint was, and that his own bull was a blessed bull, and that it was proper that the people should worship it. They believed that, and they said that they would come on Sunday morning. [Illustration: ST. PATRICK PRAYS OVER THE SKIN OF THE BULL] The saint heard what Cormac had done, and he threatened him saying not to lead the people astray from the true faith that he himself was teaching them; but Black Cormac would not listen to him. On Sunday morning some of the people gathered along with him to worship the bull, and Black Cormac was the first to go into the field to set an example, and he went to prostrate himself in presence of the bull, but the beast came and put his two horns under him behind, and tossed him up in the air so high that when he came to the ground he was dead. The people remember that, still, in West Connacht, as Cormac Dubh's Sunday. When Saint Patrick finished his church he said Mass in it, and after that he faced for the Reek, for many of the serpents had gone up that hill out of fear of the saint. For that reason he followed them and found that they were up on the top of the Reek. When he came to the bottom he dug a great hole, and he went up on the Reek and drove the serpents down. They fell into the hole and were all drowned but two. Those two escaped from him. One of them went into a hole in a great rock near the Mouth of the Ford[96] in Tirawley, and wrought great havoc amongst the people. [96] Ballina, Co. Mayo. Every night when the sun would be going down this serpent used to light a candle, and anybody who would see the light used to fall dead. The people called this serpent Sercín, and the rock is to be seen to this day, and it is called Carrig-Sercín. The saint followed this serpent. He and his servant, Fintan, came to a little village near Carrig-Sercín, and the saint asked a widow for lodgings for himself and his servant. "I'll give you that," said she, "but I must close my door before set of sun." "Why so?" said the saint. "There is a serpent in a hole of a rock out in the sea; he lights a candle every evening before sunset, and anybody who sees that light falls dead. He has great destruction made amongst the people." "Have you a candle in the house?" said the saint. "Indeed I have not," said she. "Have you the makings of a candle," said the saint. "No," said she; "but I have dry rushes." Then the saint drew out a knife and opened Fintan's stomach and took a bit of lard out of it, and gave it to the woman of the house, and told her to make a candle. She did as he had directed, and when the candle was made the saint lit it and stood in the mouth of the door. It was not long until the serpent lit his candle, but no sooner was it lit than it fell dead. The people thanked the saint greatly, and he explained to them the mighty power and the love of God, and baptized them all. When the other serpent escaped St. Patrick, it never stopped until it went in on a little island that was in the north of the country. The name of this serpent was Bolán Mór, or Big Bolaun. He was as big as a round tower. St. Patrick pursued Bolán; but when he came as far as the lake he had no boat to take him to the island. He stripped off his clothes, and with his crozier in his hand he leapt into the water and began swimming to the island. When the serpent saw the saint coming to him he took to the water, and when he came as far as the saint he opened his mouth, and, as sure as I'm telling it, he swallowed the saint. Bolán Mór had a great wide stomach, and when the saint found himself shut up there he began striking on every side with his crozier, and Bolán Mór began to throw a flood of blood out of his mouth, until the water of the lake was red (dearg), and there is no name on the lake from that day to this but Loch Dearg. The saint was beating Bolán Mór with the crozier until he killed him. Then he made a hole in his side and came out, and drew Bolán Mór's body to land after him. There was wonder and great joy on the people of the villages round about, because neither man, beast, nor bird had come to the lake since Bolán came there but he had swallowed down into his big stomach, and it was great good for them he to be dead. The next day the saint got a boat, and he and Fintan and a number of the people from the villages went to the island. St. Patrick blessed the little island, and it was not long until a number of pious men came and cut out [the site of] a monastery on the island, and from that time to the present, good people go on a pilgrimage to that blessed island.[97] [97] _i.e._, Lough Derg. St. Patrick remained for a time amongst the people near Loch Derg teaching and baptising them. And as soon as some of them were able to teach the others he returned to Aughagower. While the saint had been away from them some of them had fallen into unbelief, but so soon as he came back they returned to the true faith of St. Patrick and never lost it more. Many people also came to the saint seeking to buy the little garron from him; but he would not sell it. One day the king who was over Connacht at that time came and said, "I hear you have a wonderful garron, and that he is able to carry a heavy load." "He is a good garron," said the saint, "no load has failed him since I bought him, and I wouldn't like to part with him." "I'll give you as much gold as he will be able to carry on his back in one load in one day from rise of sun until it sets. It is thirty miles from my castle to this place and he must do the journey in one day." "Perhaps you have not as much gold in the house as the garron can carry," said the saint. "If I haven't," said the king, "I'll give you as much as will found three churches for you, and you'll have your garron, too." "It's a bargain," said the saint. The king had a coach, a tent and servants, and he said, "I'll wait here till morning and you can come to my castle with me, and the morning after you can go home with your load." "Very well, let it be so," said the saint. On the morning of the next day they all departed, the saint riding on the garron, and the king and his servants in the coach. The king drove his horses as fast as they were able to run, to see would the garron be able to keep up with them. But if they had to go seven times as quick the garron was able for them. St. Patrick remained that night at the king's castle and next morning before sunrise the king brought himself and his garron to his treasury. The treasurer was there with his men. They filled a great bag with gold and put it on the garron's back. "Will he be able to carry it home?" said the king. "He will, and twenty times as much," said the saint. He filled another bag and put it on him, and another bag after that. "Isn't there his enough of a load on him now?" said the king. "There isn't a half or a quarter of a load yet on him," said the saint. They were putting [bags] on him until every ounce in the treasury was on him. Then the saint said, "To show that there isn't half a load on him yet, put two or three tons of iron on top of the gold." They did that, and the garron walked out as lightly as though there had been nothing in it but a bag of oats. "Now," said the saint, "you see that my garron-_een_ hasn't half a load on him yet." "I see he has not," said the king. "There is more power in your garron than in all the horses of the Ard-ri.[98] Take your garron home again, and begin and set up those churches, and I'll pay the cost." [98] _i.e._, The High King. The saint rode on his garron and came home. He soon began to put up the three churches, and the king paid the costs. But the garron carried every stone that went to the building. The people have the old saying still when they want to praise anyone, "May you have the strength of Patrick's garron!" When the three churches were finished he bestowed his garron on the brethren, and he himself went northward, lighting a coal of faith throughout Ireland which was never quenched, and never shall be quenched. When the great judgment shall come it is St. Patrick who will judge the children of the Gael. HOW SAINT MOLING GOT HIS NAME. PREFACE. There is hardly any Irish saint of whom more legends are related, at least in our literature, than of Saint Moling. He was both a poet and a prophet. Some stories bring him into contact with Gobán Saor, the great builder. He figures largely in the extraordinary tale of "Suibhne Geilt." See also the story of the "Death of Bearchán." The following legend was printed by my friend, Seán Tóibín, in the "Lochrann" a couple of years ago. I was sure it was taken from oral sources, but he has just told me to my surprise, that he was only retelling what he had read in Irish, not what he had HEARD or taken down orally. However, as the story had been set up in print, and as I have here no other story about St. Moling it may stay, only the reader must understand that it is not actual surviving folk-lore, but a retelling from an Irish MS. THE STORY. [He was first called Taircheal, and he was pupil to a cleric.] Taircheal went out one day, and he had two bags, one on his back and one in front of him. He took his master's stick, in his hand and off he set in this guise. He went round Luachair on pilgrimage, and he was there reciting his rosary when he saw coming towards him the Fuath[99] and his people; a black, dark, truly ugly band were they, and they had the form of demons. And they used never give quarter to anyone. And this was the number of those who were there, namely the Fuath himself, his wife, his gillie, his hound, and nine others. [99] Pronounced "Foo-a." A weird shape, phantom, or spectre. Says the Fuath to his people, "Wait ye there and I'll go talk to yon man who is alone, and since I took up with a life of plundering and stealing I never felt a desire to protect any man except that one only." He gripped his sword and went over to meet Taircheal. He said to Taircheal, "Whence have you come from, you eater of beastings?" "Whence have you come from yourself, you black burnt gruagach[100]?" said the young man. [100] Literally, "long-haired one." It is a term for a wizard or warlock. "I'll take your bags off you, and your head too, unless you listen to me," said the Fuath. "By my father's hand you won't unless I wish it myself," said Taircheal. "By the hand of him who taught me, but I'll ply my weapon on you," said the Fuath. "I'd think it easier to put you down than boiled meat," said Taircheal. "Listen or I'll stick this point in through the middle of your heart," said the Fuath. "I swear," said the young man, "that I'll strike you on the head with this stick, it is the crozier of my master and tutor, and he promised that it should never be broken in single combat." Then fear possessed the Fuath, and he called to his people to come and help him. The other Fuaths came. Then it was plain to Taircheal that he had no way of escape or of withdrawing. "We'll kill you now, brown Taircheal," said the Fuath's hag, "I'll thrust you through with my knife, and you'll get death and violent dissolution." "I ask a request of ye," said Taircheal. "What is it?" said the Fuaths. "Let me go to the other side of that ditch, and give three steps in the path of the King of Heaven and Earth," said he. The Fuaths laughed. "That's all you want?" said they. "That's all," said he. "Have it then," said the hag, "for you won't go from us, for we are as swift as the deer of the hill, and this hound of ours is as swift as the wind." Then Taircheal walked to the ditch, and gave his three leaps. He went so far, of the first leap, that they thought he was no bigger [when he landed] than a crow on top of the hill. The second leap he gave they did not see him at all, and they did not see whether it was to heaven or earth he had gone. Of the third leap he landed upon the wall of his tutor's church. "That way he's gone," said the Fuath's hag. Then they rose up and ran, both hound and person, so that their cry and yell was heard a mile overhead in the upper air. The hounds and populace of the village came out each one of them to protect the youth, for it was plain to them that he was being pursued by the Fuaths. But he leapt down off the wall and ran into the church, and began returning thanks to God in presence of his tutor. "What angry madness is on you, son?" said the tutor. "Nothing much, my tutor," said Taircheal, "it was the Fuaths who were hunting me;" and he told him the story how he had leaped [ling] from Luachair in his three leaps. "Great is your leap [ling] my pupil," said the priest, "and it was for you that the angel Victor made the prophecy, and Moling [=my leap] of Luachair shall be your name henceforth from the leaps that you have leapt." [uncial: CROICH] APPENDIX. NOTE ON THE DEATH OF MULRUANA, p. 33. This proverb, "as I've burnt the candle I'll burn the inch," must be old, and appears to have been well-known, for Maolmuire Ua hUiginn, Archbishop of Tuam, used it over 300 years ago, in a poem beginning "Slán uaim don da aodhaire," of which I have a manuscript copy. [uncial: Tig raoirse andiaidh ró-bhruroe, Tar éir dubhuig tig roinieann, Fuilnge feadh an órlaigh-si, Mar do caitheadh an choineall.] _i.e._, freedom comes after hard-captivity, after darkness comes fine weather, it is to be endured for the space of this inch, since the [rest of the] candle has been burnt. NOTE ON THE DEATH OF BEARACHAN, p. 63. I have found another version of the very curious story of the Death of Bearachan. It was sent in many years ago in a collection by some unknown collector competing for a prize in folk lore at the Oireachtas, under the [uncial: ainm-bréige] of [uncial: Seághan Crón]. In this version Bearachan is not a saint but a druid, and the three kings are Finn Mac Cumhaill king of the Fian, one of the provincial kings, and the hound Bran, the king of all hounds. The thing that wailed so piteously outside the door is called an "iarmhar," pronounced Eervar or Eerwar--there is no such creature known to me. The word is used by Keating as meaning a "remnant." He talks of the Iarmhar or Remnant of the Fir Bolg. I have never met the word in any other sense. There is nothing said in this version about its growing large when it got the heat, and the relationship to the Breton Buguel Noz is not so apparent as in the other story. [uncial: DÁS BHEARACHÁIN NA RÁRDHTE GCLISDE.. Bhí sean-draoi ann, fad ó, gur bh'é ainm a bhí air ná Bearachàn, agus táinig Fionn Mac Cúmhaill agus righ eile d'á fhiosrughadh, oidhche airíghthe. Do bhíodar ag caitheamh na h-oidhche leó féin ann--ag déanamh gach aon chaitheamh-aimsire o' fhéadadar dóibh féin. I gcaitheamh na h-oidhche dhóibh d'iarr Fionn de Bhearachán an fada an saoghal a bhi gearrtha amach dó nó an raibh aon fhios aige air. Dubhairt Bearachàn d'a fhreagairt go raibh, go maith--go mairfeadh sé go bráth chun go dtiucfadh tri rigthe gan cuireadh chum a thighe i gcómhair na h-oidhche,--ar an oidhche sin go dtiucfad mac tíre chuige do mhar'ochadh é. "Béan t'anam, mar sin." arsa Fionn, "mar tá trí righthe gan cuireadh ann so anocht." "Cionnar a bhéadh"? arsa Bearachán, "agus gan ann acht beirt agaibh." "Tá," arsa Fionn, "mise righ na Féinne, agur é seo lem' chois righ cúigeadh is eadh é, agus Bhran atá 'na righ ar ghadharaibh an domhain." "O! Dia le m'anam"! arsa Bearachán, "tá mo ghnó déanta mar sin." "Ni baoghal duit anocht pé sgéal é," arsa Fionn, "no teipfidh sé orrainn-ne." Sé rud do dheineadar, ná é do chur fa bhéal tobáin, agus an bheirt eile bheit ag imirt fithchille ar thóin an tobáin ar eagla go dtuitfeadh riad 'na geodladh an fhard do bheior ag faire ar Bhearachán. Do dhiodar as imirt leó. Budh ghairid dóibh gur airigheadar an t-iarmhar a' ladhairt amuigh, agus d'iarr sé ortha go h-iairmhéileach é do leogaint isteach. Dubhrodar leis go doithcheallach, i mbasa, á leogfaidis. Do lean sé orra, fharo gach n-fhario, agus é niosa truarghmhéilighe gach uair 'ná a chéile. Dubhairt Fionn fé dheireadh thair thall gur chóir gur chuireadar diobh cathanna ba chruardhe 'na pé iarmhar a bhí amuigh do smachtughadh go maidhin. D'osgladar an dorus agus do sgaoileadar isteach é, agus do shuidh sé sa' chúinne agus do leog (leig) sé air do dheith dá leigheadh (leaghadh) ag an bhfuacht. Is gearr gun tharraihg sé chuige píob, agus do thornaigh sé ar an gceól do spreagadh do b'uaibhrighe agus d'airigh aon neach riamh. Agus da ghearr 'na dhiardh sin gur thuit duine aca na chodladh thall agus duine eile, abhos, agus ap maidin nuair dhúisigheadar ni raibh fe bhéal an tobáin acht cairnin cnámh. Sin é bár Bhearacháin agaibh.] * * * * * Transcriber's note: Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained except in obvious cases of typographical error. Diacritical marks are shown as follows breve [)o] and macron[=o]. Italics are shown thus _italic_. 
14749	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original lovely illustrations. See 14749-h.htm or 14749-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/4/7/4/14749/14749-h/14749-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/4/7/4/14749/14749-h.zip) THE HIGH DEEDS OF FINN AND OTHER BARDIC ROMANCES OF ANCIENT IRELAND by T. W. ROLLESTON With an Introduction by Stopford A. Brooke, M.A. LL.D. And with Sixteen Illustrations by Stephen Reid New York Thomas Y. Crowell & Company Publishers AR CRAOIBH CONNARTHA NA GAEDHILGE I NGLEANN FHAIDHLE BRONNAIM AN LEABHAR SEO: BEANNACHT AGUS BUAIDH LIBHSE GO DEO Preface The romantic tales here retold for the English reader belong neither to the category of folk-lore nor of myth, although most of them contain elements of both. They belong, like the tales of Cuchulain, which have been similarly presented by Miss Hull,[1] to the bardic literature of ancient Ireland, a literature written with an artistic purpose by men who possessed in the highest degree the native culture of their land and time. The aim with which these men wrote is also that which has been adopted by their present interpreter. I have not tried, in this volume, to offer to the scholar materials for the study of Celtic myth or folk-lore. My aim, however I may have fulfilled it, has been artistic, not scientific. I have tried, while carefully preserving the main outline of each story, to treat it exactly as the ancient bard treated his own material, or as Tennyson treated the stories of the MORT D'ARTHUR, that is to say, to present it as a fresh work of poetic imagination. In some cases, as in the story of the Children of Lir, or that of mac Datho's Boar, or the enchanting tale of King Iubdan and King Fergus, I have done little more than retell the bardic legend with merely a little compression; but in others a certain amount of reshaping has seemed desirable. The object in all cases has been the same, to bring out as clearly as possible for modern readers the beauty and interest which are either manifest or implicit in the Gaelic original. [1] CUCHULAIN, THE HOUND OF ULSTER. By Eleanor Hull. For stories which are only found in MSS. written in the older forms of the language, I have been largely indebted to the translations published by various scholars. Chief among these (so far as the present work is concerned) must be named Mr Standish Hayes O'Grady--whose wonderful treasure-house of Gaelic legend, SILVA GADELICA, can never be mentioned by the student of these matters without an expression of admiration and of gratitude; Mr A.H. Leahy, author of HEROIC ROMANCES OF IRELAND; Dr Whitly Stokes, Professor Kuno Meyer, and M. d'Arbois de Jubainville, whose invaluable CYCLE MYTHOLOGIQUE IRLANDAIS has been much in my hands, both in the original and in the excellent English translation of Mr R.I. Best. Particulars of the source of each story will be found in the Notes on the Sources at the end of this volume. In the same place will also be found a pronouncing-index of proper names. I have endeavoured, in the text, to avoid or to modify any names which in their original form would baffle the English reader, but there remain some on the pronunciation of which he may be glad to have a little light. The two most conspicuous figures in ancient Irish legend are Cuchulain, who lived--if he has any historical reality--in the reign of Conor mac Nessa immediately before the Christian era, and Finn son of Cumhal, who appears in literature as the captain of a kind of military order devoted to the service of the High King of Ireland during the third century A.D. Miss Hull's volume has been named after Cuchulain, and it is appropriate that mine should bear the name of Finn, as it is mainly devoted to his period; though, as will be seen, several stories belonging to other cycles of legend, which did not fall within the scope of Miss Hull's work, have been included here.[2] All the tales have been arranged roughly in chronological order. This does not mean according to the date of their composition, which in most cases is quite indiscoverable, and still less, according to the dates of the MSS. in which they are contained. The order is given by the position, in real or mythical history, of the events they deal with. Of course it is not practicable to dovetail them into one another with perfect accuracy. Where a story, like that of the Children of Lir, extends over nearly a thousand years, beginning with the mythical People of Dana and ending in the period of Christian monasticism, one can only decide on its place by considering where it will throw most light on those which come nearest to it. In this, as in the selection and treatment of the tales, there is of course room for much difference of opinion. I can only ask the critic to believe that nothing has been done in the framing of this collection of Gaelic romances without the consideration and care which the value of the material demands and which the writer's love of it has inspired. T.W. ROLLESTON [2] There is one important tale of the Finn cycle, the _Pursuit of Dermot and Grania_, which I have not included. I have omitted it, partly because it presents the character of Finn in a light inconsistent with what is said of him elsewhere, and partly because it has in it a certain sinister and depressing element which renders it unsuitable for a collection intended largely for the young. CONTENTS INTRODUCTION COIS NA TEINEADH BARDIC ROMANCES I. THE STORY OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR II. THE QUEST OF THE SONS OF TURENN III. THE SECRET OF LABRA IV. KING IUBDAN AND KING FERGUS V. THE CARVING OF MAC DATHO'S BOAR VI. THE VENGEANCE OF MESGEDRA VII. THE STORY OF ETAIN AND MIDIR VIII. HOW ETHNE QUITTED FAIRYLAND THE HIGH DEEDS OF FINN IX. THE BOYHOOD OF FINN MAC CUMHAL X. THE COMING OF FINN XI. FINN'S CHIEF MEN XII. THE TALE OF VIVIONN THE GIANTESS XIII. THE CHASE OF THE GILLA DACAR XIV. THE BIRTH OF OISÍN XV. OISÍN IN THE LAND OF YOUTH THE HISTORY OF KING CORMAC XVI. 1. THE BIRTH OF CORMAC 2. THE JUDGMENT OF CORMAC 3. THE MARRIAGE OF KING CORMAC 4. THE INSTRUCTIONS OF THE KING 5. CORMAC SETS UP THE FIRST MILL IN ERINN 6. A PLEASANT STORY OF CORMAC'S BREHON 7. THE JUDGMENT CONCERNING CORMAC'S SWORD 8. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF CORMAC 9. DESCRIPTION OF CORMAC 10. DEATH AND BURIAL OF CORMAC NOTES ON THE SOURCES PRONOUNCING INDEX ILLUSTRATIONS "FINN HEARD FAR OFF THE FIRST NOTES OF THE FAIRY HARP" (Frontispiece) "THERE SAT THE THREE MAIDENS WITH THE QUEEN" "THEY MADE AN ENCAMPMENT AND THE SWANS SANG TO THEM" "BEAR US SWIFTLY, BOAT OF MANANAN, TO THE GARDEN OF THE HESPERIDES" "THERE DWELT THE RED-HAIRED OCEAN-NYMPHS" "THEY ALL TROOPED OUT, LORDS AND LADIES, TO VIEW THE WEE MAN" "FERGUS GOES DOWN INTO THE LAKE" "A MIGHTY SHOUT OF EXULTATION AROSE FROM THE ULSTERMEN" "THEY ROSE UP IN THE AIR" "SHE HEARD HER OWN NAME CALLED AGAIN AND AGAIN" "AND THAT NIGHT THERE WAS FEASTING AND JOY IN THE LONELY HUT" "THEY RAN HIM BY HILL AND PLAIN" "DERMOT TOOK THE HORN AND WOULD HAVE FILLED IT" "'FOLLOW ME NOW TO THE HILL OF ALLEN'" "THEY RODE UP TO A STATELY PALACE" "THE WHITE STEED HAD VANISHED FROM THEIR EYES LIKE A WREATH OF MIST" Introduction Many years have passed by since, delivering the Inaugural Lecture of the Irish Literary Society in London, I advocated as one of its chief aims the recasting into modern form and in literary English of the old Irish legends, preserving the atmosphere of the original tales as much as possible, but clearing them from repetitions, redundant expressions, idioms interesting in Irish but repellent in English, and, above all, from absurdities, such as the sensational fancy of the later editors and bards added to the simplicities of the original tales. Long before I spoke of this, it had been done by P.W. Joyce in his OLD CELTIC ROMANCES, and by Standish O'Grady for the whole story of Cuchulain, but in this case with so large an imitation of the Homeric manner that the Celtic spirit of the story was in danger of being lost. This was the fault I had to find with that inspiring book,[3] but it was a fault which had its own attraction. [3] I gave this book--_The History of Ireland_ (HEROIC PERIOD)--to Burne-Jones in order to interest him in Irish myth and legend. "I'll try and read it," he said. A week afterwards he came and said--"It is a new world of thought and pleasure you have opened to me. I knew nothing of this, and life is quite enlarged. But now, I want to see all the originals. Where can I get them?" I have only spoken of prose writing above. But in poetry (and in Poetry well fitted to the tales), this work had already been done nobly, and with a fine Celtic splendour of feeling and expression, by Sir Samuel Ferguson. Since then, a number of writers have translated into literary English a host of the Irish tales, and have done this with a just reverence for their originals. Being, in nearly every case, Irish themselves, they have tried, with varying success, to make their readers realize the wild scenery of Ireland, her vital union with the sea and the great ocean to the West, those changing dramatic skies, that mystic weather, the wizard woods and streams which form the constant background of these stories; nor have they failed to allure their listeners to breathe the spiritual air of Ireland, to feel its pathetic, heroic, imaginative thrill. They have largely succeeded in their effort. The Irish bardic tales have now become a part of English literature and belong not only to grown up persons interested in early poetry, in mythology and folk-customs, but to the children of Ireland and England. Our new imaginative stories are now told in nurseries, listened to at evening when the children assemble in the fire-light to hear tales from their parents, and eagerly read by boys at school. A fresh world of story-telling has been opened to the imagination of the young. This could not have been done in the right way if it had not been for the previous work of Celtic scholars in Ireland, and particularly on the Continent, in France and Germany. Having mastered medieval Irish, they have translated with careful accuracy many of the ancient tales, omitting and changing nothing; they have edited them critically, collating and comparing them with one another, and with other forms of the same stories. We have now in English, French, and German the exact representation of the originals with exhaustive commentaries. When this necessary work was finished--and it was absolutely necessary--it had two important results on all work of the kind Mr Rolleston has performed in this book--on the imaginative recasting and modernizing of the ancient tales. First, it made it lawful and easy for the modern artist--in sculpture, painting, poetry, or imaginative prose--to use the stories as he pleased in order to give pleasure to the modern world. It made it lawful because he could reply to those who objected that what he produced was not the real thing--"The real thing exists; you will find it, when you wish to see it, accurately and closely translated by critical and competent scholars. I refer you to the originals in the notes to this book. I have found the materials of my stories in these originals; and it is quite lawful for me, now that they have been reverently preserved, to use them as I please for the purpose of giving pleasure to the modern world--to make out of them fresh imaginative work, as the medieval writers did out of the original stories of Arthur and his men." This is the defence any re-caster of the ancient tales might make of the _lawfulness_ of his work, and it is a just defence; having, above all, this use--that it leaves the imagination of the modern artist free, yet within recognized and ruling limits, to play in and around his subject. One of those limits is the preservation, in any remodelling of the tales, of the Celtic atmosphere. To tell the Irish stories in the manner of Homer or Apuleius, in the manner of the Norse sagas, or in the manner of Malory, would be to lose their very nature, their soul, their nationality. We should no longer understand the men and women who fought and loved in Ireland, and whose characters were moulded by Irish surroundings, customs, thoughts, and passions. We should not see or feel the landscape of Ireland or its skies, the streams, the woods, the animals and birds, the mountain solitudes, as we feel and see them in the original tales. We should not hear, as we hear in their first form, the stormy seas between Scotland and Antrim, or the great waves which roar on the western isles, and beat on cliffs which still belong to another world than ours. The genius of Ireland would desert our work. And it would be a vast pity to lose the Irish atmosphere in the telling of the Irish tales, because it is unique; not only distinct from that of the stories of other races, but from that of the other branches of the Celtic race. It differs from the atmosphere of the stories of Wales, of Brittany, of the Highlands and islands of Scotland. It is more purely Celtic, less mixed than any of them. A hundred touches in feeling, in ways of thought, in sensitiveness to beauty, in war and voyaging, and in ideals of life, separate it from that of the other Celtic races. It is owing to the careful, accurate, and critical work of continental and Irish scholars on the manuscript materials of Irish Law, History, Bardic Tales, and Poetry; on customs, dress, furniture, architecture, ornament, on hunting and sailing; on the manners of men and women in war and peace, that the modern re-teller of the Irish tales is enabled to conserve the Irish atmosphere. And this conservation of the special Irish atmosphere is the second result which the work of the critical scholars has established. If the re-writer of the tales does not use the immense materials made ready to his hand for illustration, expansion, ornament and description in such a way that Ireland, and only Ireland, lives in his work from line to line, he is greatly to be blamed. Mr Rolleston has fulfilled these conditions with the skill and the feeling of an artist. He has clung closely to his originals with an affectionate regard for their ancientry, their ardour and their distinction, and yet has, within this limit, used and modified them with a pleasant freedom. His love of Ireland has instilled into his representation of these tales a passion akin to that which gave them birth. We feel, as we read, how deep his sympathy has been with their intensity, their love of wild nature, their desire for beauty, their interest in humanity and in character, their savagery and their tenderness, their fairy magic and strange imaginations that suddenly surprise and charm. Whenever anything lovely emerges in the tale, he does not draw attention to it, but touches it with so artistic a pencil that its loveliness is enhanced. And he has put into English verse the Irish poems scattered through the tales with the skill and the temper of a poet. I hope his book will win what it deserves--the glad appreciation of old and young in England, and the gratitude of Ireland. The stories told in this book belong to three distinct cycles of Irish story-telling. The first are mythological, and are concerned with the early races that are fabled to have dwelt and fought in Ireland Among these the Tuatha De Danaan were the final conquerors, and held the land for two hundred years They were, it is supposed, of the Celtic stock, but they were not the ancestors of the present Irish. These were the Milesians (Irish, Scots or Gaelic who, conquering the Tuatha De Danaan, ruled Ireland till they were overcome by the English.) The stories which have to do with the Tuatha De Danaan are mythical and of a great antiquity concerning men and women, the wisest and the best of whom became gods, and who appear as divine beings in the cycle of tales which follow after them They were always at war with a fierce and savage people called Fomorians, whom they finally defeated and the strife between them may mythically represent the ancient war between the good and evil principles in the world. In the next cycle we draw nearer to history, and are in the world not of myth but of legend. It is possible that some true history may be hidden underneath its sagas, that some of its personages may be historical, but we cannot tell. The events are supposed to occur about the time of the birth of Christ, and seventeen hundred years after those of the mythical period. This is the cycle which collects its wars and sorrows and splendours around the dominating figure of Cuchulain, and is called the Heroic or the Red Branch or the Ultonian cycle. Several sagas tell of the birth, the life, and the death of Cuchulain, and among them is the longest and the most important--the Táin--the _Cattle Raid of Cooley_. Others are concerned with the great King Conor mac Nessa, and the most known and beautiful of these is the sorrowful tale of Deirdré. There are many others of the various heroes and noble women who belonged to the courts of Conor and of his enemy Queen Maev of Connaght. The _Carving of mac Datho's Boar_, the story of _Etain and Midir_, and the _Vengeance of Mesgedra_, contained in this book belong to these miscellaneous tales unconnected with the main saga of Cuchulain. The second cycle is linked to the first, not by history or race, but by the fact that the great personages in the first have now become the gods who intervene in the affairs of the wars and heroes of the second. They take part in them as the gods do in the Iliad and the Odyssey. Lugh, the Long-Handed, the great Counsellor of the Tuatha De Danaan, is now a god, and is the real father of Cuchulain, heals him of his wounds in the Battle of the Ford, warns him of his coming death, and receives him into the immortal land. The Morrigan, who descends from the first cycle, is now the goddess of war, and is at first the enemy and afterwards the lover of Cuchulain. Angus, The Dagda, Mananan the sea-god, enter not only into the sagas of the second cycle, but into those of the third, of the cycle of Finn. And all along to the very end of the stories, and down indeed to the present day, the Tuatha De Danaan appear in various forms, slowly lessening in dignity and power, until they end in the fairy folk in whom the Irish peasants still believe. They are alive and still powerful in the third--the Fenian--cycle of stories, some of which are contained and adorned in this book. In their continued presence is the only connexion which exists between the three cycles. No personages of the first save these of the gods appear in the Heroic cycle, none of the Heroic cycle appears in the Fenian cycle. Seventeen hundred years, according to Irish annalists, separate the first from the second, more than two hundred years separate the second from the beginning of the third. The third cycle is called Fenian because its legends tell, for the most part, of the great deeds of the Féni or Fianna, who were the militia employed by the High King to support his supremacy, to keep Ireland in order, to defend the country from foreign invasion. They were, it seems, finally organized by Cormac mac Art, 227 A.D.(?) the grandson of Conn the Hundred Fighter. But they had loosely existed before in the time of Conn and his son Art, and like all mercenary bodies of this kind were sometimes at war with the kings who employed them. Finally, at the battle of Gowra, they and their power were quite destroyed. Long before this destruction, they were led in the reign of Cormac by Finn the son of Cumhal, and it is around Finn and Oisín the son of Finn, that most of the romances of the Fenian cycle are gathered. Others which tell of the battles and deeds of Conn and Art and Cormac and Cairbre of the Liffey, Cormac's son, are more or less linked on to the Fenians. On the whole, Finn and his warriors, each of a distinct character, warlike skill and renown, are the main personages of the cycle, and though Finn is not the greatest warrior, he is their head and master because he is the wisest; and this masterdom by knowledge is for the first time an element in Irish stories. If the tales of the first cycle are mythological and of the second heroic, these are romantic. The gods have lost their dreadful, even their savage character, and have become the Fairies, full often of gentleness, grace, and humour. The mysterious dwelling places of the gods in the sea, in unknown lands, in the wandering air, are now in palaces under the green hills of Ireland, or by the banks of swift clear rivers, like the palace of Angus near the Boyne, or across the seas in Tir-na-n-Óg, the land of immortal youth, whither Niam brings Oisín to live with her in love, as Morgan le Fay brought Ogier the Dane to her fairyland. The land of the Immortals in the heroic cycle, to which, in the story of _Etain and Midir_ in this book, Midir brings back Etain after she has sojourned for a time on earth, is quite different in conception from the Land of Youth over the far seas where delightfulness of life and love is perfect. This, in its conception of an unknown world where is immortal youth, where stormless skies, happy hunting, strange adventure, gentle manners dwell, where love is free and time is unmarked, is pure romance. So are the adventures of Finn against enchanters, as in the story of the _Birth of Oisín_, of _Dermot in the Country under the Seas_, in the story of the _Pursuit of the Gilla Dacar_, of the wild love-tale of _Dermot and Grania_, flying for many years over all Ireland from the wrath of Finn, and of a host of other tales of enchantments and battle, and love, and hunting, and feasts, and discoveries, and journeys, invasions, courtships, and solemn mournings. No doubt the romantic atmosphere has been deepened in these tales by additions made to them by successive generations of bardic singers and storytellers, but for all that the original elements in the stories are romantic as they are not in the previous cycles. Again, these Fenian tales are more popular than the others. Douglas Hyde has dwelt on this distinction. "For 1200 years at least, they have been," he says, "intimately bound up with the thought and feelings of the whole Gaelic race in Ireland and Scotland." Even at the present day new forms are given to the tales in the cottage homes of Ireland. And it is no wonder. The mysterious giant forms of the mythological period, removed by divinity from the sympathy of men; the vast heroic figures of Cuchulain and his fellows and foes, their close relation to supernatural beings and their doings, are far apart from the more natural humanity of Cormac and Finn, of Dermot and Goll, of Oisín and Oscar, of Keelta, and last of Conan, the coward, boaster and venomous tongue, whom all the Fenians mocked and yet endured. They are a very human band of fighting men, and though many of them, like Oisín and Finn and Dermot, have adventures in fairyland, they preserve in these their ordinary human nature. The Connacht peasant has no difficulty in following Finn into the cave of Slieve Cullinn, where the witch turned him into a withered old man, for the village where he lives has traditions of the same kind; the love affairs of Finn, of Dermot and Grania, and of many others, are quite in harmony with a hundred stories, and with the temper, of Irish lovers. A closer, a simpler humanity than that of the other cycles pervades the Fenian cycle, a greater chivalry, a greater courtesy, and a greater tenderness. We have left the primeval savagery behind, the multitudinous slaughtering, the crude passions of the earlier men and women; we are nearer to civilization, nearer to the common temper and character of the Irish people. No one can doubt this who will compare the _Vengeance of Mesgedra_ with the _Chase of the Gilla Dacar_. The elaborate courtesy with which Finn and his chief warriors receive all comers, as in the story of Vivionn the giantess, is quite new, even medieval in its chivalry; so is the elaborate code of honour; so also is, on the whole, the treatment of women and their relation to men. How far this resemblance to medieval romance has been intruded into the stories--(there are some in which there is not a trace of it)--by the after editors and re-editors of the tales, I cannot tell, but however that may be, their presence in the Fenian cycle is plain; and this brings the stories into a kindlier and more pleasurable atmosphere for modern readers than that which broods in thunderous skies and fierce light over dreadful passions and battles thick and bloody in the previous cycles. We are in a gentler world. Another more modern romantic element in the Fenian legends is the delight in hunting, and that more affectionate relation of men to animals which always marks an advance in civilization. Hunting, as in medieval romance, is one of the chief pleasures of the Fenians. Six months of the year they passed in the open, getting to know every part of the country they had to defend, and hunting through the great woods and over the hills for their daily food and their daily delight. The story of the _Chase of the Gilla Dacar_ tells, at its beginning, of a great hunting and of Finn's men listening with joy to the cries of the hunters and the loud chiding of the dogs; and many tales celebrate the following of the stag and the wild boar from early dawn to the evening. Then Finn's two great hounds, Bran and Sceolaun, are loved by Finn and his men as if they were dear friends; and they, when their master is in danger or under enchantment wail like human beings for his loss or pain. It is true Cuchulain's horses weep tears of blood when he goes forth to his last battle, foreknowing his death; but they are immortal steeds and have divine knowledge of fate. The dogs of Finn are only dogs, and the relation between him and them is a natural relation, quite unlike the relation between Cuchulain and the horses which draw his chariot. Yet Finn's dogs are not quite as other dogs. They have something of a human soul in them. They know that in the milk-white fawn they pursue there is an enchanted maiden, and they defend her from the other hounds till Finn arrives. And it is told of them that sometimes, when the moon is high, they rise from their graves and meet and hunt together, and speak of ancient days. The supernatural has lessened since the heroic cycle. But it is still there in the Fenian. Again, the Fenian cycle of tales is more influenced by Christianity than the others are. The mythological cycle is not only fully pagan, it is primeval. It has the vastness, the savagery, the relentlessness of nature-myths, and what beauty there is in it is akin to terror. Gentleness is unknown. There is only one exception to this, so far as I know, and that is in the story of _The Children of Lir_. It is plain, however, that the Christian ending of that sorrowful story is a later addition to it. It is remarkably well done, and most tenderly. I believe that the artist who did it imported into the rest of the tale the exquisite tenderness which fills it, and yet with so much reverence for his original that he did not make the body of the story Christian. He kept the definite Christian element to the very end, but he filled the whole with its tender atmosphere. No Christianity and very little gentleness intrude into the heroic cycle. The story of Christ once touches it, but he who put it in did not lose the pagan atmosphere, or the wild fierceness of the manners of the time. How it was done may be read in this book at the end of the story of the _Vengeance of Mesgedra_. Very late in the redaction of these stories a Christian tag was also added to the tale of the death of Cuchulain, but it was very badly done. When we come to the Fenian cycle there is a well-defined borderland between them and Christianity. The bulk of the stories is plainly pagan; their originals were frankly so. But the temper of their composers is more civilized than that of those who conceived the tales of the previous cycles; the manners, as I have already said, of their personages are gentler, more chivalrous; and their atmosphere is so much nearer to that of Christianity, that the new Christian elements would find themselves more at home in them than in the terrible vengeance of Lugh, the savage brutality of Conor to Deirdré, or the raging slaughterings of Cuchulain. So much was this the case that a story was skilfully invented which linked in imagination the Fenian cycle to a Christianized Ireland. This story--_Oisín in the Land of Youth_--is contained in this book. Oisín, or Ossian, the son of Finn, in an enchanted story, lives for 300 years, always young, with his love in Tir-na-n-Óg, and finds on his return, when he becomes a withered old man, St Patrick and Christianity in Ireland. He tells to Patrick many tales of the Fenian wars and loves and glories, and in the course of them paganism and Christianity are contrasted and intermingled. A certain sympathy with the pagan ideas of honour and courage and love enters into the talk of Patrick and the monks, and softens their pious austerity. On the other hand, the Fenian legends are gentled and influenced by the Christian elements, in spite of the scorn with which Oisín treats the rigid condemnation of his companions and of Finn to the Christian hell, and the ascetic and unwarlike life of the monks.[4] There was evidently in the Fenian cycle of story-telling a transition period in which the bards ran Christianity and paganism in and out of one another, and mingled the atmosphere of both, and to that period the last editing of the story of _Lir and his Children_ may be referred. A lovely story in this book, put into fine form by Mr Rolleston, is as it were an image of this transition time--the story or _How Ethne quitted Fairyland_. It takes us back to the most ancient cycle, for it tells of the great gods Angus and Mananan, and then of how they became, after their conquest by the race who live in the second cycle, the invisible dwellers in a Fairy country of their own during the Fenian period, and, afterwards, when Patrick and the monks had overcome paganism. Thus it mingles together elements from all the periods. The mention of the great caldron and the swine which always renew their food is purely mythological. The cows which come from the Holy Land are Christian. Ethne herself is born in the house of a pagan god who has become a Fairy King, but loses her fairy nature and becomes human; and the reason given for this is an interesting piece of psychology which would never have occurred to a pagan world. She herself is a transition maiden, and, suddenly finding herself outside the fairy world and lost, happens on a monastery and dies on the breast of St Patrick. But she dies because of the wild wailing for her loss of the fairy-host, whom she can hear but cannot see, calling to her out of the darkened sky to come back to her home. And in her sorrow and the battle in her between the love of Christ and of Faerie, she dies. That is a symbol, not intended as such by its conceiver, but all the more significant, of the transition time. Short as it is, few tales, perhaps, are more deeply charged with spiritual meaning. [4] I speak here of the better known of the two versions of this encounter of the pagan with the Christian spirit. There are others in which the reconciliation is carried still further. One example is to be found in the _Colloquy of the Ancients_ (SILVA GADELICA). Here Finn and his companions are explicitly pronounced to be saved by their natural virtues, and the relations of the Church and the Fenian warriors are most friendly. Independent of these three cycles, but often touching them here and there, and borrowing from them, there are a number of miscellaneous tales which range from the earliest times till the coming of the Danes. The most celebrated of these are the _Storming of the Hostel_ with the death of Conary the High King of Ireland, and the story of the Boru tribute. Two examples of these miscellaneous tales of a high antiquity are contained in this book--_King Iubdan and King Fergus_ and _Etain and Midir_. Both of them have great charm and delightfulness. Finally, the manner in which these tales grew into form must be remembered when we read them. At first, they were not written down, but recited in hall and with a harp's accompaniment by the various bardic story-tellers who were attached to the court of the chieftain, or wandered singing and reciting from court to court. Each bard, if he was a creator, filled up the original framework of the tale with ornaments of his own, or added new events or personages to the tale, or mixed it up with other related tales, or made new tales altogether attached to the main personages of the original tale--episodes in their lives into which the bardic fancy wandered. If these new forms of the tales or episodes were imaginatively true to the characters round which they were conceived and to the atmosphere of the time, they were taken up by other bards and became often separate tales, or if a great number attached themselves to one hero, they finally formed themselves into one heroic story, such as that which is gathered round Cuchulain, which, as it stands, is only narrative, but might in time have become epical. Indeed, the Tàin approaches, though at some distance, an epic. In this way that mingling of elements out of the three cycles into a single Saga took place. Then when Christianity came, the Irish who always, Christians or not, loved their race and its stories, would not let them go. They took them and suffused them with a Christian tenderness, even a Christian forgiveness. Or they inserted Christian endings, while they left the rest of the stories as pagan as before. Later on, while the stories were still learned by the bards and recited, they were written down, and somewhat spoiled by a luxurious use of ornamental adjectives, and by the weak, roving and uninventive fancy of men and monks aspiring to literature but incapable of reaching it. However, in spite of all this intermingling and of the different forms of the same story, it is possible for an intelligent and sensitive criticism, well informed in comparative mythology and folklore, to isolate what is very old in these tales from that which is less old, and that in turn from that which is still less old, and that from what is partly historical, medieval or modern. This has been done, with endless controversy, by those excellent German, French, and Irish scholars who have, with a thirsty pleasure, recreated the ancient literature of Ireland, and given her once more a literary name among the nations--a name which, having risen again, will not lose but increase its brightness. * * * * * As to the stories themselves, they have certain well-marked characteristics, and in dwelling on these, I shall chiefly refer, for illustration, to the stories in this book. Some of these characteristic elements belong to almost all mythological tales, and arise from human imagination, in separated lands, working in the same or in a similar way on the doings of Nature, and impersonating them. The form, however, in which these original ideas are cast is, in each people, modified and varied by the animal life, the climate, the configuration of the country, the nearness of mountain ranges and of the sea, the existence of wide forests or vast plains, of swift rivers and great inland waters. The earliest tales of Ireland are crowded with the sea that wrapt the island in its arms; and on the west and north the sea was the mighty and mysterious Ocean, in whose far infinities lay for the Irish the land of Immortal Youth. Between its shining shores and Ireland, strange islands--dwelt in by dreadful or by fair and gracious creatures, whose wonders Maeldun and Brendan visited--lay like jewels on the green and sapphire waters. Out of this vast ocean emerged also their fiercest enemies. Thither, beyond these islands into the Unknown, over the waves on a fairy steed, went Oisín with Niam; thither, in after years, sailed St Brendan, till it seemed he touched America. In the ocean depths were fair cities and well-grassed lands and cattle, which voyagers saw through water thin and clear. There, too, Brian, one of the sons of Turenn, descended in his water-dress and his crystal helmet, and found high-bosomed maidens weaving in a shining hall. Into the land beneath the wave, Mananan, the proud god of the sea brought Dermot and Finn and the Fianna to help him in his wars, as is told in the story of the _Gilla Dacar_. On these western seas, near the land, Lir's daughters, singing and floating, passed three hundred years. On other seas, in the storm and in the freezing sleet that trouble the dark waves of Moyle, between Antrim and the Scottish isles, they spent another three centuries. Half the story of the Sons of Usnach has to do with the crossing of seas and with the coast. Even Cuchulain, who is a land hero, in one of the versions of his death, dies fighting the sea-waves. The sound, the restlessness, the calm, the savour and the infinite of the sea, live in a host of these stories; and to cap all, the sea itself and Mananan its god sympathise with the fates of Erin. When great trouble threatens Ireland, or one of her heroes is near death, there are three huge waves which, at three different points, rise, roaring, out of the ocean, and roll, flooding every creek and bay and cave and river round the whole coast with tidings of sorrow and doom. Later on, in the Fenian tales, the sea is not so prominent. Finn and his clan are more concerned with the land. Their work, their hunting and adventures carry them over the mountains and plains, through the forests, and by the lakes and rivers. In the stories there is scarcely any part of Ireland which is not linked, almost geographically, with its scenery. Even the ancient gods have retired from the coast to live in the pleasant green hills or by the wooded shores of the great lakes or in hearing of the soft murmur of the rivers. This business of the sea, this varied aspect of the land, crept into the imagination of the Irish, and were used by them to embroider and adorn their poems and tales. They do not care as much for the doings of the sky. There does not seem to be any supreme god of the heaven in their mythology. Neither the sun nor the moon are specially worshipped. There are sun-heroes like Lugh, but no isolated sun-god. The great beauty of the cloud-tragedies of storm, the gorgeous sunrises and sunsets, so dramatic in Ireland, or the magnificence of the starry heavens, are scarcely celebrated. But the Irish folk have heard the sound of the wind in the tree-tops and marked its cold swiftness over the moor, and watched with fear or love the mists of ocean and the bewilderment of the storm-driven snow and the sweet falling of the dew. These are fully celebrated. These great and small aspects of Nature are not only celebrated, they are loved. One cannot read the stories in this book without feeling that the people who conceived and made them observed Nature and her ways with a careful affection, which seems to be more developed in the Celtic folk than elsewhere in modern Europe. There is nothing which resembles it in Teutonic story-telling. In the story of _The Children of Lir_, though there is no set description of scenery, we feel the spirit of the landscape by the lake where Lir listened for three hundred years to the sweet songs of his children. And, as we read of their future fate, we are filled with the solitude and mystery, the ruthlessness and beauty of the ocean. Even its gentleness on quiet days enters from the tale into our imagination. Then, too, the mountain-glory and the mountain-gloom are again and again imaginatively described and loved. The windings and recesses, the darkness and brightness of the woods and the glades therein, enchant the Fenians even when they are in mortal danger. And the waters of the great lakes, the deep pools of the rivers, the rippling shallows, the green banks, the brown rushing of the torrents, are all alive in the prose and song of Ireland. How deep was the Irish love of these delightful things is plain from their belief that "the place of the revealing of poetry was always by the margin of water." And the Salmon of Knowledge, the eating of which gave Finn his pre-eminence, swam in a green pool, still and deep, over which hung a rowan tree that shed its red berries on the stream. Lovely were the places whence Art and Knowledge came. Then, as to all good landscape lovers, the beasts, birds, and insects of Nature were dear to these ancient people. One of the things Finn most cared for was not only his hounds, but the "blackbird singing on Letterlee"; and his song, on page 114, in the praise of May, tells us how keen was his observant eye for animal life and how much it delighted him. The same minute realisation of natural objects is illustrated in this book when King Iubdan explains to the servant the different characteristics of the trees of the forest, and the mystic elements that abide in them. It was a habit, even of Teutonic poets, to tell of the various trees and their uses in verse, and Spenser and Drayton have both done it in later times. But few of them have added, as the Irish story does, a spiritual element to their description, and made us think of malign or beneficent elements attached to them. The woodbine, and this is a strange fancy, is the king of the woods. The rowan is the tree of the magicians, and its berries are for poets. The bramble is inimical to man, the alder is full of witchcraft, and the elder is the wood of the horses of the fairies. Into every tree a spiritual power is infused; and the good lords of the forest are loved of men and birds and bees. Thus the Irish love of nature led them to spiritualise, in another way than mythical, certain things in nature, and afterwards to humanise, up to a certain point, the noble implements wrought by human skill out of natural materials. And this is another element in all these stories, as it is in the folk-lore also of other lands. In the tale of the Sons of Turenn, the stones of the wayside tell to Lugh the story of the death of his father Kian, and the boat of Mananan, indwelt by a spirit, flies hither and thither over the seas, obeying the commands, even the thought, of its steersman. The soul of some famed spears is so hot for slaughter that, when it is not being used in battle, its point must stand in a bath of blood or of drowsy herbs, lest it should slay the host. The swords murmur and hiss and cry out for the battle; the shield of the hero hums louder and louder, vibrating for the encouragement of the warrior. Even the wheels of Cuchulain's chariot roar as they whirl into the fight. This partial life given to the weapons of war is not specially Celtic. Indeed, it is more common in Teutonic than in Celtic legend, and it seems probable that it was owing to the Norsemen that it was established in the Hero tales of Ireland. This addition of life, or of some of the powers of life, to tree and well and boulder-stone, to river and lake and hill, and sword and spear, is common to all mythologies, but the special character of each nation or tribe modifies the form of the life-imputing stories. In Ireland the tree, the stream were not dwelt in by a separate living being, as in Grecian story; the half-living powers they had were given to them from without, by the gods, the demons, the fairies; and in the case of the weapons, the powers they had of act or sound arose from the impassioned thoughts and fierce emotions of their forger or their wielder, which, being intense, were magically transferred to them. The Celtic nature is too fond of reality, too impatient of illusion, to believe in an actual living spirit in inanimate things. At least, that is the case in the stories of the Hero and the Fenian Cycles.[5] [5] Everything, on the contrary, in the Mythological Cycle is gifted with life, all the doings and things of nature are represented as the work of living creatures; but it is quite possible that those in Ireland who made these myths were not Celts at all. What the Irish of the Heroic, and still more of the Fenian Cycle, did make in their imagination was a world, outside of themselves, of living spiritual beings, in whose actuality they fully believed, and in whom a great number of them still believe. A nation, if I may use this term, dwelt under the sea. Another dwelt in the far island of the ocean, the Isle of the Ever-Young. Another dwelt in the land, in the green hills and by the streams of Ireland; and these were the ancient gods who had now lost their dominion over the country, but lived on, with all their courtiers and warriors and beautiful women in a country underground. As time went on, their powers were dwarfed, and they became small of size, less beautiful, and in our modern times are less inclined to enter into the lives of men and women. But the Irish peasant still sees them flitting by his path in the evening light, or dancing on the meadow round the grassy mound, singing and playing strange melodies; or mourns for the child they have carried away to live with them and forget her people, or watches with fear his dreaming daughter who has been touched by them, and is never again quite a child of this earth, or quite of the common race of man. These were the invisible lands and peoples of the Irish imagination; and they live in and out of many of the stories. Cuchulain is lured into a fairy-land, and lives for more than a year in love with Fand, Mananan's wife. Into another fairy-land, through zones of mist, Cormac, as is told here, was lured by Mananan, who now has left the sea to play on the land. Oisín, as I have already said, flies with Niam over the sea to the island of Eternal Youth. Etain, out of the immortal land, is born into an Irish girl and reclaimed and carried back to her native shore by Midir, a prince of the Fairy Host. Ethne, whose story also is here, has lived for all her youth in the court of Angus, deep in the hill beside the rushing of the Boyne. These stories are but a few out of a great number of the loves and wars between the men and women of the human and the fairy races. Curiously enough, as the stories become less ancient, the relations between men and the fairies are more real, more close, even more affectionate. Finn and the Fianna seem to be almost in daily companionship with the fairy host--much nearer to them than the men of the Heroic Cycle are to the gods. They interchange love and music and battle and adventure with one another. They are, for the most part, excellent friends; and their intercourse suffers from no doubt. It is as real as the intercourse between Welsh and English on the Borderland. There was nothing illusive, nothing merely imaginary, in these fairy worlds for the Irish hero or the Irish people. They believed the lands to be as real as their own, and the indwellers of fairyland to have like passions with themselves. Finn is not a bit surprised when Vivionn the giantess sits beside him on the hill, or Fergus when King Iubdan stands on his hand; or St Patrick when Ethne, out of fairyland, dies on his breast, or when he sees, at his spell, Cuchulain, dead some nine hundred years, come forth out of the dark gates of Sheol, high in his chariot, grasping his deadly spear, driven as of old by his well-loved charioteer, drawn by the immortal steeds through the mist, and finally talking of his deeds and claiming a place in the Christian heaven--a place that Patrick yields to him. The invisible worlds lived, loved, and thought around this visible world, and were, it seems, closer and more real to the Celtic than to other races. But it was not only these agreeable and lovely folk in pleasant habitations whom the Irish made, but also spirits of another sort, of lesser powers and those chiefly malignant, having no fixed dwelling-place, homeless in the air and drifting with it, embodying the venomous and deadly elements of the earth and the angers and cruelty of the sea, and the hypocrisy of them all--demons, some of whom, like the stepmother of the children of Lir, have been changed from men or women because of wicked doings, but the most part born of the evil in Nature herself. They do what harm they can to innocent folk; they enter into, support, and direct--like Macbeth's witches--the evil thoughts of men; they rejoice in the battle, in the wounds and pain and death of men; they shriek and scream and laugh around the head of the hero when he goes forth, like Cuchulain, to an unwearied slaughter of men. They make the blight, the deadly mist, the cruel tempest. To deceive is their pleasure; to discourage, to baffle, to ruin the hero is their happiness. Some of them are monsters of terrific aspect who abide in lakes or in desolate rocks, as the terrible tri-formed horse whom Fergus mac Leda conquered and by whom he died. Naturally, as a link between these supernatural worlds and the natural world, there arose a body of men and women in Irish legend who, by years of study, gained a knowledge of, and power over, the supernatural beings, and used these powers for hurt to the enemies of their kingdom, or for help to their own people. Some were wise, learned, and statesmanlike, and used their powers for good. These were the high Druids, and every king had a band of them at his court and in his wars. They practiced what the Middle Ages called white magic. Others were wizards, magicians, witches, who, like the children of Cailitin, the foes of Cuchulain, or the three mutilated women whom Maev educated in evil craft to do evil to her foes, or the dread band that deceived Cuchulain into his last ride of death, practised black magic--evil, and the ministers of evil. Magic, and the doing of it, runs through the whole of Irish story-telling, and not only into pagan but also into Christian legend; for it was easy to change the old gods into devils, to keep the demonic creatures as demons, to replace the wise Druids by the priests and saints, and the wizards by the heretics who gave themselves to sorcery. Thus the ancient supernaturalism of the Irish has continued, with modern modifications, to the present day. The body of thought is much the same as it was in the days of Conor and Finn; the clothing is a bit different. Another characteristic of the stories, especially in the mythological period, is the barbaric brutality which appears in them. Curiously mingled with this, in direct contrast, is their tenderness. These extreme contrasts are common in the Celtic nature. A Gael, whether of Ireland or the Western Isles, will pass in a short time from the wildest spirits, dancing and singing and drinking, into deep and grim depression--the child of the present, whether in love or war; and in the tales of Ireland there is a similar contrast between their brutality and their tenderness. The sudden fierce jealousy and the pitiless cruelty of their stepmother to the children of Lir is set over against the exquisite tenderness of Fionnuala, which pervades the story like an air from heaven. The noble tenderness of Deirdre, of Naisi and his brothers, in life and death, to one another, is lovelier in contrast with the savage and treacherous revenge of Conor. The great pitifulness of Cuchulain's fight with his dear friend Ferdia, whom he is compelled to slay; the crowning tenderness of Emer's recollective love in song before she dies on Cuchulain's dead body, are in full contrast with the savage hard-heartedness and cruelties of Maev, and with the ruthless slaughters Cuchulain made of his foes, out of which he seems often to pass, as it were, in a moment, into tenderness and gracious speech. Even Finn, false for once to his constant courtesy, revenges himself on Dermot so pitilessly that both his son and grandson cry shame upon him. Of course this barbaric cruelty is common to all early periods in every nation; and, whenever fierce passion is aroused, to civilised nations also. What is remarkable in the Irish tales is the contemporary tenderness. The Vikings were as savage as the Irish, but the savagery is not mingled with the Irish tenderness. At last, when we pass from the Hero Cycle into the Cycle of Finn, there is scarcely any of the ancient brutality to be found in the host of romantic stories which gather round the chivalry of the Fenians. There are other characteristics of these old tales on which I must dwell. The first is the extra-ordinary love of colour. This is not a characteristic of the early German, English or Scandinavian poems and tales. Its remarkable presence in Scottish poetry, at a time when it is scarcely to be found in English literature, I have traced elsewhere to the large admixture of Celtic blood in the Lowlands of Scotland. In early Irish work it is to be found everywhere. In descriptions of Nature, which chiefly appear in the Fenian Cycle and in Christian times, colour is not as much dwelt on as we should expect, for nowhere that I have seen is it more delicate and varied than under the Irish atmosphere. Yet, again and again, the amber colour of the streams as they come from the boglands, and the crimson and gold of the sunsetting, and the changing green of the trees, and the blue as it varies and settles down on the mountains when they go to their rest, and the green crystal of the sea in calm and the dark purple of it in storm, and the white foam of the waves when they grow black in the squall, and the brown of the moors, and the yellow and rose and crimson of the flowers, and many another interchanging of colour, are seen and spoken of as if it were a common thing always to dwell on colour. This literary custom I do not find in any other Western literature. It is even more remarkable in the descriptions of the dress and weapons of the warriors and kings. They blaze with colour; and as gold was plentiful in Ireland in those far-off days, yellow and red are continually flashing in and out of the blue and green and rich purple of their dress. The women are dressed in as rich colours as the men. When Eochy met Etain by the spring of pure water, as told in this book, she must have flashed in the sunlight like a great jewel. Then, the halls where they met and the houses of the kings are represented as glorious with colour, painted in rich patterns, hung with woven cloths dyed deep with crimson and blue and green and yellow. The common things in use, eating and drinking implements, the bags they carry, the bed-clothing, the chess-men, the tables, are embroidered or chased or set with red carbuncles or white stones or with interlacing of gold. Colour is everywhere and everywhere loved. And where colour is loved the arts flourish, as the decorative arts flourished in Ireland. Lastly, on this matter, the Irish tale-tellers, even to the present day, dwell with persistence on the colour of the human body as a special loveliness, and with as much love of it as any Venetian when he painted it. And they did this with a comparison of its colour to the colours they observed in Nature, so that the colour of one was harmonised with the colour of the other. I might quote many such descriptions of the appearance of the warriors--they are multitudinous--but the picture of Etain is enough to illustrate what I say--"Her hair before she loosed it was done in two long tresses, yellow like the flower of the waterflag in summer or like red gold. Her hands were white as the snow of a single night, and her eyes as blue as the dark hyacinth, and her lips red as the berries of the rowan-tree, and her body as white as the foam of the sea-waves. The radiance of the moon was in her face and the light of wooing in her eyes." So much for the Irish love of colour.[6] [6] I give one example of the way colour was laid on to animals just for the pleasure of it. "And the eagle and cranes were red with green heads, and their eggs were pure crimson and blue"; and deep in the wood the travellers found "strange birds with white bodies and purple heads and golden beaks," and afterwards three great birds, "one blue and his head crimson, and another crimson and his head green, and another speckled and his head gold." Their love of music was equally great; and was also connected with Nature. "The sound of the flowing of streams," said one of their bardic clan, "is sweeter than any music of men." "The harp of the woods is playing music," said another. In Finn's Song to May, the waterfall is singing a welcome to the pool below, the loudness of music is around the hill, and in the green fields the stream is singing. The blackbird, the cuckoo, the heron and the lark are the musicians of the world. When Finn asks his men what music they thought the best, each says his say, but Oisín answers, "The music of the woods is sweetest to me, the sound of the wind and of the blackbird, and the cuckoo and the soft silence of the heron." And Finn himself, when asked what was his most beloved music, said first that it was "the sharp whistling of the wind as it went through the uplifted spears of the seven battalions of the Fianna," and this was fitting for a hero to say. But when the poet in him spoke, he said his music was the crying of the sea-gull, and the noise of the waves, and the voice of the cuckoo when summer was at hand, and the washing of the sea against the shore, and of the tide when it met the river of the White Trout, and of the wind rushing through the cloud. And many other sayings of the same kind this charming and poetic folk has said concerning those sweet, strong sounds in Nature out of which the music of men was born. Again, there is not much music in the Mythological Tales. Lugh, it is true, is a great harper, and the harp of the Dagda, into which he has bound his music, plays a music at whose sound all men laugh, and another so that all men weep, and another so enthralling that all fall asleep; and these three kinds of music are heard through all the Cycles of Tales. Yet when the old gods of the mythology became the Sidhe,[7] the Fairy Host, they--having left their barbaric life behind--became great musicians. In every green hill where the tribes of fairy-land lived, sweet, wonderful music was heard all day--such music that no man could hear but he would leave all other music to listen to it, which "had in it sorrows that man has never felt, and joys for which man has no name, and it seemed as if he who heard it might break from time into eternity and be one of the immortals." And when Finn and his people lived, they, being in great harmony and union with the Sidhe, heard in many adventures with them their lovely music, and it became their own. Indeed, Finn, who had twelve musicians, had as their chief one of the Fairy Host who came to dwell with him, a little man who played airs so divine that all weariness and sorrow fled away. And from him Finn's musicians learnt a more enchanted art than they had known before. And so it came to pass that as in every fairy dwelling there was this divine art, so in every palace and chieftain's hall, and in every farm, there were harpers harping on their harps, and all the land was full of sweet sounds and airs--shaping in music, imaginative war, and sorrows, and joys, and aspiration. Nor has their music failed. Still in the west and south of Ireland, the peasant, returning home, hears, as the evening falls from the haunted hills, airs unknown before, or at midnight a wild triumphant song from the Fairy Host rushing by, or wakes with a dream melody in his heart. And these are played and sung next day to the folk sitting round the fire. Many who heard these mystic sounds became themselves the makers of melodies, and went about the land singing and making and playing from village to village and cabin to cabin, till the unwritten songs of Ireland were as numerous as they were various. Moore collected a hundred and twenty of them, but of late more than five hundred he knew not of have been secured from the people and from manuscripts for the pleasure of the world. And in them lives on the spirit of the Fianna, and the mystery of the Fairy Host, and the long sorrow and the fleeting joy of the wild weather in the heart of the Irish race. [7] This word is pronounced Shee, and means "the folk of the fairy mounds." As to the poetry of Ireland, that other Art which is illustrated in this book, so fully has it been dwelt on by many scholars and critics that it needs not be touched here other than lightly and briefly. The honour and dignity of the art of poetry goes back in Irish mythology to a dim antiquity. The ancient myth said that the nine hazels of wisdom grew round a deep spring beneath the sea, and the hazels were the hazels of inspiration and of poetry--so early in Ireland were inspiration and poetry made identical with wisdom. Seven streams of wisdom flowed from that fountain-head, and when they had fed the world returned to it again. And all the art-makers of mankind, and of all arts, have drunk of their waters. Five salmon in the spring ate of the hazel nuts, and some haunted the rivers of Ireland; and whosoever, like Finn, tasted the flesh of these immortal fish, was possessed of the wisdom which is inspiration and poetry. Such was the ancient Irish conception of the art of poetry. It is always an art which grows slowly into any excellence, and it needs for such growth a quieter life than the Irish lived for many centuries. Poems appear but rarely in the mythological or heroic cycles, and are loosely scattered among the prose of the bardic tales. A few are of war, but they are chiefly dirges like the Song of Emer over the dead body of Cuchulain, or that of Deirdre over Naisi--pathetic wailings for lost love. There is an abrupt and pitiful pain in the brief songs of Fionnuala, but I fancy these were made and inserted in Christian times. Poetry was more at home among the Fianna. The conditions of life were easier; there was more leisure and more romance. And the other arts, which stimulate poetry, were more widely practised than in the earlier ages. Finn's Song to May, here translated, is of a good type, frank and observant, with a fresh air in it, and a fresh pleasure in its writing. I have no doubt that at this time began the lyric poetry of Ireland, and it reached, under Christian influences, a level of good, I can scarcely say excellent, work, at a time when no other lyrical poetry in any vernacular existed in Europe or the Islands. It was religious, mystic, and chiefly pathetic--prayers, hymns, dirges, regrets in exile, occasional stories of the saints whose legendary acts were mixed with pagan elements, and most of these were adorned with illustrations drawn from natural beauty or from the doings of birds and beasts--a great affection for whom is prominent in the Celtic nature. The Irish poets sent this lyric impulse into Iceland, Wales, and Scotland, and from Scotland into England; and the rise of English vernacular poetry instead of Latin in the seventh and eighth centuries is due to the impulse given by the Irish monasteries at Whitby and elsewhere in Northumbria. The first rude lyric songs of Cædmon were probably modelled on the hymns of Colman. One would think that poetry, which arose so early in a nation's life, would have developed fully. But this was not the case in Ireland. No narrative, dramatic, didactic, or epic poetry of any importance arose, and many questions and answers might be made concerning this curious restriction of development. The most probable solution of this problem is that there was never enough peace in Ireland or continuity of national existence or unity, to allow of a continuous development of any one of the arts into all its forms. Irish poetry never advanced beyond the lyric. In that form it lasted all through the centuries; it lasts still at the present day, and Douglas Hyde has proved how much charm belongs to it in his book on the _Love Songs of Connacht_. It has had a long, long history; it has passed through many phases; it has sung of love and sorrow, of national wars and hopes, of Ireland herself as the Queen of Sorrow, of exile regrets from alien shores, of rebellion, of hatred of England, of political strife, in ballads sung in the streets, of a thousand issues of daily life and death--but of world-wide affairs, of great passions and duties and fates evolving in epic or clashing in drama, of continuous human lives in narrative (except in prose), of the social life of cities or of philosophic thought enshrined in stately verse, it has not sung. What it may do in the future, if Irish again becomes a tongue of literature in lofty poetry, lies on the knees of the gods. I wish it well, but such a development seems now too late. The Irish genius, if it is to speak in drama, in narrative poetry or in an epic, must speak, if it is to influence or to charm the world beyond the Irish shore, in a world-language like English, and of international as well as of Irish humanity. These elements on which I have dwelt seem to me the most distinctive, the most Irish, in the Tales in this book. There are many others on which a more minute analysis might exercise itself, phases of feeling concerning war or love or friendship or honour or the passions, but these are not specially Irish. They belong to common human nature, and have their close analogies in other mythologies, in other Folk-tales, in other Sagas. I need not touch them here. But there is one element in all the Irish tales which I have not yet mentioned, and it brings all the others within its own circumference, and suffuses them with its own atmosphere. It is the love of Ireland, of the land itself for its own sake--a mystic, spiritual imaginative passion which in the soul of the dweller in the country is a constant joy, and in the heart of the exile is a sick yearning for return. There are not many direct expressions of this in the stories; but it underlies the whole of them, and it is also in the air they breathe. But now and again it does find clear expression, and in each of the cycles we have discussed. When the sons of Turenn are returning, wounded to death, from the Hill of Mochaen, they felt but one desire. "Let us but see," said Iuchar and Iucharba to their brother Brian, "the land of Erin again, the hills round Telltown, and the dewy plain of Bregia and the quiet waters of the Boyne and our father's Dún thereby, and healing will come to us; or if death come, we can endure it after that." Then Brian raised them up; and they saw that they were now near by under Ben Edar; and at the strand of the Bull they came to land. That is from the Mythological Cycle. In the Heroic Cycle it appears in the longing cry for return to Ireland of Naisi and his brothers, which drives them out of Alba to their death; but otherwise it is rarely expressed. In the Fenian Cycle it exists, not in any clear words, but in a general delight in the rivers, lakes, woods, valleys, plains, and mountains of Ireland. Every description of them, and of life among them, is done with a loving, observant touch; and moreover, the veil of magic charm is thrown over all the land by the creation in it of the life and indwelling of the fairy host. The Fianna loved their country well. When Christianity came, this deep-set sentiment did not lessen. It grew even stronger, and in exile it became a passion. It is illustrated by the songs of deep regret and affection Columba made in Iona, from whose rocky shores he looked day after day towards the west while the mists rose over Ireland. One little story of great beauty enshrines his passion. One morning he called to his side one of his monks, and said, "Go to the margin of the sea on the western side of our isle; and there, coming from the north of Ireland, you will see a voyaging crane, very weary and beaten by the storms, and it will fall at your feet on the beach. Lift it up with pity and carry it to the hut, nourish it for three days, and when it is refreshed and strong again it will care no more to stay with us in exile, but to fly back to sweet Ireland, the dear country where it was born. I charge you thus, for it comes from the land where I was born myself." And when his servant returned, having done as he was ordered, Columba said, "May God bless you, my son. Since you have well cared for our exiled guest, you will see it return to its own land in three days." And so it was. It rose, sought its path for a moment through the sky, and took flight on a steady wing for Ireland. The spirit of that story has never died in the soul of the Irish and in their poetry up to the present day. Lastly, as we read these stories, even in a modern dress, an impression of great ancientry is made upon us, so much so that some scholars have tried to turn Finn into a mythical hero--but if he be as old as that implies, of how great an age must be the clearly mythic tales which gather round the Tuatha de Danaan? However this may be, the impression of ancientry is deep and agreeable. All myths in any nation are, of course, of a high antiquity, but as they treat of the beginning of things, they mingle an impression of youth with one of age. This is very pleasant to the imagination, and especially so if the myths, as in Ireland, have some poetic beauty or strangeness, as in the myth I have referred to--of the deep spring of clear water and the nine hazels of wisdom that encompass it. This mingling of the beauty of youth and the honour of ancientry runs through all the Irish tales. Youth and the love of it, of its beauty and strength, adorn and vitalize their grey antiquity. But where, in their narrative, the hero's youth is over and the sword weak in his hand, and the passion less in his and his sweetheart's blood, life is represented as scarcely worth the living. The famed men and women die young--the sons of Turenn, Cuchulain, Conall, Dermot, Emer, Deirdre, Naisi, Oscar. Oisín has three hundred years of youth in that far land in the invention of which the Irish embodied their admiration of love and youth. His old age, when sudden feebleness overwhelms him, is made by the bardic clan as miserable, as desolate as his youth was joyous. Again, Finn lives to be an old man, but the immortal was in him, and either he has been born again in several re-incarnations (for the Irish held from time to time the doctrine of the transmigration of souls), or he sleeps, like Barbarossa, in a secret cavern, with all his men around him, and beside him the mighty horn of the Fianna, which, when the day of fate and freedom comes, will awaken with three loud blasts the heroes and send them forth to victory. Old as she is, Ireland does not grow old, for she has never reached her maturity. Her full existence is before her, not behind her. And when she reaches it her ancientry and all its tales will be dearer to her than they have been in the past. They will be an inspiring national asset. In them and in their strange admixture of different and successive periods of customs, thoughts and emotions (caused by the continuous editing and re-editing of them, first in oral recitation and then at the hands of scribes), Ireland will see the record of her history, not the history of external facts, but of her soul as it grew into consciousness of personality; as it established in itself love of law, of moral right, of religion, of chivalry, of courtesy in war and daily life; as it rejoiced, and above all, as it suffered and was constant, in suffering and oppression, to its national ideals. It seems as if, once at least, this aspect of the tales of Ireland was seen by men of old, for there is a story which tells that heaven itself desired their remembrance, and that we should be diverted and inspired by them. In itself it is a record of the gentleness of Irish Christianity to Irish heathendom, and of its love of the heroic past. For one day when Patrick and his clerks were singing the Mass at the Rath of the Red Ridge, where Finn was wont to be, he saw Keelta, a chief of the Fianna, draw near with his companions, and Keelta's huge hounds were with him. They were men so tall and great that fear fell on the clerks, but Patrick met with and asked their chieftain's name. "I am Keelta," he answered, "son of Ronan of the Fianna." "Was it not a good lord you were with," said Patrick, "Finn, son of Cumhal?" And Keelta said, "If the brown leaves falling in the wood were gold, if the waves of the sea were silver, Finn would have given them all away." "What was it kept you through your lifetime?" said Patrick. "Truth that was in our hearts, and strength in our hands, and fulfilment in our tongues," said Keelta. Then Patrick gave them food and drink and good treatment, and talked with them. And in the morning the two angels who guarded him came to him, and he asked them if it were any harm before God, King of heaven and earth, that he should listen to the stories of the Fianna. And the angels answered, "Holy Clerk, these old fighting men do not remember more than a third of their tales by reason of the forgetfulness of age, but whatever they tell write it down on the boards of the poets and in the words of the poets, for it will be a diversion to the companies and the high people of the latter times to listen to them."[8] So spoke the angels, and Patrick did as he bade them, and the stories are in the world to this day. [8] This is quoted with a few omissions, from Lady Gregory's delightful version, in her _Book of Saints and Wonders_, of an episode in _The Colloquy of the Ancients_ (Silva Gadelica). STOPFORD A. BROOKE ST PATRICK'S DAY, 1910 COIS NA TEINEADH (_By the Fireside._) Where glows the Irish hearth with peat There lives a subtle spell-- The faint blue smoke, the gentle heat, The moorland odours, tell Of long roads running through a red Untamed unfurrowed land, With curlews keening overhead, And streams on either hand; Black turf-banks crowned with whispering sedge, And black bog-pools below; While dry stone wall or ragged hedge Leads on, to meet the glow From cottage doors, that lure us in From rainy Western skies, To seek the friendly warmth within, The simple talk and wise; Or tales of magic, love and arms From days when princes met To listen to the lay that charms The Connacht peasant yet. There Honour shines through passions dire, There beauty blends with mirth-- Wild hearts, ye never did aspire Wholly for things of earth! Cold, cold this thousand years--yet still On many a time-stained page Your pride, your truth, your dauntless will, Burn on from age to age. And still around the fires of peat Live on the ancient days; There still do living lips repeat The old and deathless lays. And when the wavering wreaths ascend, Blue in the evening air, The soul of Ireland seems to bend Above her children there. BARDIC ROMANCES CHAPTER I The Story of the Children of Lir Long ago there dwelt in Ireland the race called by the name of De Danaan, or People of the Goddess Dana. They were a folk who delighted in beauty and gaiety, and in fighting and feasting, and loved to go gloriously apparelled, and to have their weapons and household vessels adorned with jewels and gold. They were also skilled in magic arts, and their harpers could make music so enchanting that a man who heard it would fight, or love, or sleep, or forget all earthly things, as they who touched the strings might will him to do. In later times the Danaans had to dispute the sovranty of Ireland with another race, the Children of Miled, whom men call the Milesians, and after much fighting they were vanquished. Then, by their sorceries and enchantments, when they could not prevail against the invaders, they made themselves invisible, and they have dwelt ever since in the Fairy Mounds and raths of Ireland, where their shining palaces are hidden from mortal eyes. They are now called the Shee, or Fairy Folk of Erinn, and the faint strains of unearthly music that may be heard at times by those who wander at night near to their haunts come from the harpers and pipers who play for the People of Dana at their revels in the bright world underground. At the time when the tale begins, the People of Dana were still the lords of Ireland, for the Milesians had not yet come. They were divided it is said, into many families and clans; and it seemed good to them that their chiefs should assemble together, and choose one to be king and ruler over the whole people. So they met in a great assembly for this purpose, and found that five of the greatest lords all desired the sovranty of Erin. These five were Bóv the Red, and Ilbrech of Assaroe, and Lir from the Hill of the White Field, which is on Slieve Fuad in Armagh; and Midir the Proud, who dwelt at Slieve Callary in Longford; and Angus of Brugh na Boyna, which is now Newgrange on the river Boyne, where his mighty mound is still to be seen. All the Danaan lords saving these five went into council together, and their decision was to give the sovranty to Bóv the Red, partly because he was the eldest, partly because his father was the Dagda, mightiest of the Danaans, and partly because he was himself the most deserving of the five. All were content with this, save only Lir, who thought himself the fittest for royal rule; so he went away from the assembly in anger, taking leave of no one. When this became known, the Danaan lords would have pursued Lir, to burn his palace and inflict punishment and wounding on himself for refusing obedience and fealty to him whom the assembly had chosen to reign over them. But Bóv the Red forbade them, for he would not have war among the Danaans; and he said, "I am none the less King of the People of Dana because this man will not do homage to me." Thus it went on for a long time. But at last a great misfortune befell Lir, for his wife fell ill, and after three nights she died. Sorely did Lir grieve for this, and he fell into a great dejection of spirit, for his wife was very dear to him and was much thought of by all folk, so that her death was counted one of the great events of that time. Now Bóv the Red came ere long to hear of it, and he said, "If Lir would choose to have my help and friendship now, I can serve him well, for his wife is no longer living, and I have three maidens, daughters of a friend, in fosterage with me, namely, Eva and Aoife[9] and Elva, and there are none fairer and of better name in Erin; one of these he might take to wife." And the lords of the Danaans heard what he said, and answered that it was true and well bethought. So messengers were sent to Lir, to say that if he were willing to yield the sovranty to Bóv the Red, he might make alliance with him and wed one of his foster-children. To Lir, having been thus gently entreated, it seemed good to end the feud, and he agreed to the marriage. So the following day he set out with a train of fifty chariots from the Hill of the White Field and journeyed straight for the palace of Bóv the Red, which was by Lough Derg on the river Shannon. [9] Pronounced Eefa. Arriving there, he found about him nothing but joy and glad faces, for the renewal of amity and concord; and his people were welcomed, and well entreated, and handsomely entertained for the night. [Illustration: "There sat the three maidens with the Queen"] And there sat the three maidens on the same couch with the Danaan Queen, and Bóv the Red bade Lir choose which one he would have to wife. "The maidens are all fair and noble," said Lir, "but the eldest is first in consideration and honour, and it is she that I will take, if she be willing." "The eldest is Eva," said Bóv the Red, "and she will wed thee if it be pleasing to thee." "It is pleasing," said Lir, and the pair were wedded the same night. Lir abode for fourteen days in the palace of Bóv the Red, and then departed with his bride, to make a great wedding-feast among his own people. In due time after this Eva, wife of Lir, bore him two fair children at a birth, a daughter and a son. The daughter's name was called Fionnuala of the Fair Shoulder, and the son's name was Hugh. And again she bore him two sons, Fiachra and Conn; and at their birth she died. At this Lir was sorely grieved and afflicted, and but for the great love he bore to his four children he would gladly have died too. When the folk at the palace of Bóv the Red heard that, they also were sorely grieved at the death of their foster-child, and they lamented her with keening and with weeping. Bóv the Red said, "We grieve for this maiden on account of the good man we gave her to, and for his friendship and fellowship; howbeit our friendship shall not be sundered, for we shall give him to wife her sister, namely Aoife." Word of this was brought to Lir, and he went once more to Lough Derg to the palace of Bóv the Red and there he took to wife Aoife, the fair and wise, and brought her to his own home. And Aoife held the children of Lir and of her sister in honour and affection; for indeed no one could behold these four children without giving them the love of his soul. For love of them, too, came Bóv the Red often to the house of Lir, and he would take them to his own house at times and let them spend a while there, and then to their own home again. All of the People of Dana who came visiting and feasting to Lir had joy and delight in the children, for their beauty and gentleness; and the love of their father for them was exceeding great, so that he would rise very early every morning to lie down among them and play with them. Only, alas! a fire of jealousy began to burn at last in the breast of Aoife, and hatred and bitter ill-will grew in her mind towards the children of Lir. And she feigned an illness, and lay under it for the most of a year, meditating a black and evil deed. At last she said that a journey from home might recover her, and she bade her chariot be yoked and set out, taking with her the four children. Fionnuala was sorely unwilling to go with her on that journey, for she had a misgiving, and a prevision of treachery and of kin-slaying against her in the mind of Aoife. Yet she was not able to avoid the mischief that was destined for her. So Aoife journeyed away from the Hill of the White Field, and when she had come some way she spoke to her people and said, "Kill me, I pray ye, the four children of Lir, who have taken the love of their father from me, and ye may ask of me what reward ye will." "Not so," said they, "by us they shall never be killed; it is an evil deed that you have thought of, and evil it is but to have spoken of it." When they would not consent to her will, she drew a sword and would have slain the children herself, but her womanhood overcame her and she could not. So they journeyed on westward till they came to the shores of Loch Derryvaragh, and there they made a halt and the horses were outspanned. Aoife bade the children bathe and swim in the lake, and they did so. Then Aoife by Druid spells and witchcraft put upon each of the children the form of a pure white swan, and she cried to them:-- "Out on the lake with you, children of Lir! Cry with the water-fowl over the mere! Breed and seed of you ne'er shall I see; Woeful the tale to your friends shall be." Then the four swans turned their faces towards the woman, and Fionnuala spoke to her and said, "Evil is thy deed, Aoife, to destroy us thus without a cause, and think not that thou shalt escape punishment for it. Assign us even some period to the ruin and destruction that thou hast brought upon us." "I shall do that," said Aoife, "and it is this: in your present forms shall ye abide, and none shall release you till the woman of the South be mated with the man of the North. Three hundred years shall ye be upon the waters of Derryvaragh, and three hundred upon the Straits of Moyle between Erinn and Alba,[10] and three hundred in the seas by Erris and Inishglory, and then shall the enchantment have an end." [10] Scotland. Inishglory is an island in the Bay of Erris, on the Mayo coast. Upon this, Aoife was smitten with repentance, and she said, "Since I may not henceforth undo what has been done, I give you this, that ye shall keep your human speech, and ye shall sing a sad music such as no music in the world can equal, and ye shall have your reason and your human will, that the bird-shape may not wholly destroy you." Then she became as one possessed, and cried wildly like a prophetess in her trance:-- "Ye with the white faces! Ye with the stammering Gaelic on your tongues! Soft was your nurture in the King's house-- Now shall ye know the buffeting wind! Nine hundred years upon the tide. "The heart of Lir shall bleed! None of his victories shall stead him now! Woe to me that I shall hear his groan, Woe that I have deserved his wrath!" Then they caught and yoked her horses, and Aoife went on her way till she reached the palace of Bóv the Red. Here she and her folk were welcomed and entertained, and Bóv the Red inquired of her why she had not brought with her the children of Lir. "I brought them not," she replied, "because Lir loves thee not, and he fears that if he sends his children to thee, thou wouldst capture them and hold them for hostages." "That is strange," said Bóv the Red, "for I love those children as if they were my own." And his mind misgave him that some treachery had been wrought; and he sent messengers privily northwards to the Hill of the White Field. "For what have ye come?" asked Lir. "Even to bring your children to Bóv the Red," said they. "Did they not reach you with Aoife?" said Lir. "Nay," said the messengers, "but Aoife said you would not permit them to go with her." Then fear and trouble came upon Lir, for he surmised that Aoife had wrought evil upon the children. So his horses were yoked and he set out upon his road south-westward, until he reached the shores of Loch Derryvaragh. But as he passed by that water, Fionnuala saw the train of horsemen and chariots, and she cried to her brothers to come near to the shore, "for," said she, "these can only be the company of our father who have come to follow and seek for us." Lir, by the margin of the lake, saw the four swans and heard them talking with human voices, and he halted and spoke to them. Then said Fionnuala: "Know, O Lir, that we are thy four children, and that she who has wrought this ruin upon us is thy wife and our mother's sister, through the bitterness of her jealousy." Lir was glad to know that they were at least living, and he said, "Is it possible to put your own forms upon you again?" "It is not possible," said Fionnuala, "for all the men on earth could not release us until the woman of the South be mated with the man of the North." Then Lir and his people cried aloud in grief and lamentation, and Lir entreated the swans to come on land and abide with him since they had their human reason and speech. But Fionnuala said, "That may not be, for we may not company with men any longer, but abide on the waters of Erinn nine hundred years. But we have still our Gaelic speech, and moreover we have the gift of uttering sad music, so that no man who hears it thinks aught worth in the world save to listen to that music for ever. Do you abide by the shore for this night and we shall sing to you." So Lir and his people listened all night to the singing of the swans, nor could they move nor speak till morning, for all the high sorrows of the world were in that music, and it plunged them in dreams that could not be uttered. Next day Lir took leave of his children and went on to the palace of Bóv the Red. Bóv reproached him that he had not brought with him his children. "Woe is me," said Lir, "it was not I that would not bring them; but Aoife there, your own foster-child and their mother's sister, put upon them the forms of four snow-white swans, and there they are on the Loch of Derryvaragh for all men to see; but they have kept still their reason and their human voice and their Gaelic." Bóv the Red started when he heard this, and he knew that what Lir had said was true. Fiercely he turned to Aoife, and said, "This treachery will be worse, Aoife, for you than for them, for they shall be released in the end of time, but thy punishment shall be for ever." Then he smote her with a druid wand and she became a Demon of the Air, and flew shrieking from the hall, and in that form she abides to this day. [Illustration: "They made an encampment and the swans sang to them"] As for Bóv the Red, he came with his nobles and attendants to the shores of Loch Derryvaragh, and there they made an encampment, and the swans conversed with them and sang to them. And as the thing became known, other tribes and clans of the People of Dana would also come from every part of Erinn and stay awhile to listen to the swans and depart again to their homes; and most of all came their own friends and fellow-pupils from the Hill of the White Field. No such music as theirs, say the historians of ancient times, ever was heard in Erinn, for foes who heard it were at peace, and men stricken with pain or sickness felt their ills no more; and the memory of it remained with them when they went away, so that a great peace and sweetness and gentleness was in the land of Erinn for those three hundred years that the swans abode in the waters of Derryvaragh. But one day Fionnuala said to her brethren, "Do ye know, my dear ones, that the end of our time here is come, all but this night only?" Then great sorrow and distress overcame them, for in the converse with their father and kinsfolk and friends they had half forgotten that they were no longer men, and they loved their home on Loch Derryvaragh, and feared the angry waves of the cold northern sea. But early next day they came to the lough-side to speak with Bóv the Red and with their father, and to bid them farewell, and Fionnuala sang to them her last lament. Then the four swans rose in the air and flew northward till they were seen no more, and great was the grief among those they left behind; and Bóv the Red let it be proclaimed throughout the length and breadth of Erin that no man should henceforth presume to kill a swan, lest it might chance to be one of the children of Lir. Far different was the dwelling-place which the swans now came to, from that which they had known on Loch Derryvaragh. On either side of them, to north and south, stretched a wide coast far as the eye could see, beset with black rocks and great precipices, and by it ran fiercely the salt, bitter tides of an ever-angry sea, cold, grey, and misty; and their hearts sank to behold it and to think that there they must abide for three hundred years. Ere long, one night, there came a thick murky tempest upon them, and Fionnuala said, "In this black and violent night, my brothers, we may be driven apart from each other; let us therefore appoint a meeting-place where we may come together again when the tempest is overpast." And they settled to meet at the Seal Rock, for this rock they had now all learned to know. By midnight the hurricane descended upon the Straits of Moyle, and the waves roared upon the coast with a deafening noise, and thunder bellowed from the sky, and lightning was all the light they had. The swans were driven apart by the violence of the storm, and when at last the wind fell and the seas grew calm once more, Fionnuala found herself alone upon the ocean-tide not far from the Seal Rock. And thus she made her lament:-- "Woe is me to be yet alive! My wings are frozen to my sides. Wellnigh has the tempest shattered my heart, And my comely Hugh parted from me! "O my beloved ones, my Three, Who slept under the shelter of my feathers, Shall you and I ever meet again Until the dead rise to life? "Where is Fiachra, where is Hugh? Where is my fair Conn? Shall I henceforth bear my part alone? Woe is me for this disastrous night!" Fionnuala remained upon the Seal Rock until the morrow morn, watching the tossing waters in all directions around her, until at last she saw Conn coming towards her, and his head drooping and feathers drenched and disarrayed. Joyfully did the sister welcome him; and ere long, behold, Fiachra also approaching them, cold and wet and faint, and the speech was frozen in him that not a word he spake could be understood. So Fionnuala put her wings about him, and said, "If but Hugh came now, how happy should we be!" In no long time after that they saw Hugh also approaching them across the sea, and his head was dry and his feathers fair and unruffled, for he had found shelter from the gale. Fionnuala put him under her breast, and Conn under her right wing and Fiachra under her left, and covered them wholly with her feathers. "O children," she said to them, "evil though ye think this night to have been, many such a one shall we know from this time forward." So there the swans continued, suffering cold and misery upon the tides of Moyle; and one while they would be upon the coast of Alba and another upon the coast of Erinn, but the waters they might not leave. At length there came upon them a night of bitter cold and snow such as they had never felt before, and Fionnuala sang this lament:-- "Evil is this life. The cold of this night, The thickness of the snow, The sharpness of the wind-- "How long have they lain together, Under my soft wings, The waves beating upon us, Conn and Hugh and Fiachra? "Aoife has doomed us, Us, the four of us, To-night to this misery-- Evil is this life." Thus for a long time they suffered, till at length there came upon the Straits of Moyle a night of January so piercing cold that the like of it had never been felt. And the swans were gathered together upon the Seal Rock. The waters froze into ice around them, and each of them became frozen in his place, so that their feet and feathers clung to the rock; and when the day came and they strove to leave the place, the skin of their feet and the feathers of their breasts clove to the rock, they came naked and wounded away. "Woe is me, O children of Lir," said Fionnuala, "we are now indeed in evil case, for we cannot endure the salt water, yet we may not be away from it; and if the salt water gets into our sores we shall perish of it." And thus she sang:-- "To-night we are full of keening; No plumage to cover our bodies; And cold to our tender feet Are the rough rocks all awash. "Cruel to us was Aoife, Who played her magic upon us, And drove us out to the ocean, Four wonderful, snow-white swans. "Our bath is the frothing brine In the bay by red rocks guarded, For mead at our father's table We drink of the salt blue sea. "Three sons and a single daughter-- In clefts of the cold rocks dwelling, The hard rocks, cruel to mortals. --We are full of keening to-night." So they went forth again upon the Straits of Moyle, and the brine was grievously sharp and bitter to them, but they could not escape it nor shelter themselves from it. Thus they were, till at last their feathers grew again and their sores were healed. On one day it happened that they came to the mouth of the river Bann in the north of Erinn, and there they perceived a fair host of horsemen riding on white steeds and coming steadily onward from the south-west "Do ye know who yon riders are, children of Lir?" asked Fionnuala. "We know not," said they, "but it is like they are some party of the People of Dana." Then they moved to the margin of the land, and the company they had seen came down to meet them; and behold, it was Hugh and Fergus, the two sons of Bóv the Red, and their nobles and attendants with them, who had long been seeking for the swans along the coast of the Straits of Moyle. Most lovingly and joyfully did they greet each other and the swans inquired concerning their father Lir, and Bóv the Red, and the rest of their kinsfolk. "They are well," said the Danaans; "and at this time they are all assembled together in the palace of your father at the Hill of the White Field, where they are holding the Festival of the Age of Youth.[11] They are happy and gay and have no weariness or trouble, save that you are not among them, and that they have not known where you were since you left them at Lough Derryvaragh." [11] A magic banquet which had the effect of preserving for ever the youth of the People of Dana. "That is not the tale of our lives," said Fionnuala. After that the company of the Danaans departed and brought word of the swans to Bóv the Red and to Lir, who were rejoiced to hear that they were living, "for," said they, "the children shall obtain relief in the end of time." And the swans went back to the tides of Moyle and abode there till their time to be in that place had expired. When that day had come, Fionnuala declared it to them, and they rose up wheeling in the air, and flew westward across Ireland till they came to the Bay of Erris, and there they abode as was ordained. Here it happened that among those of mortal MEN whose dwellings bordered on the bay was a young man of gentle blood, by name Evric, who having heard the singing of the swans came down to speak with them, and became their friend. After that he would often come to hear their music, for it was very sweet to him; and he loved them greatly, and they him. All their story they told him, and he it was who set it down in order, even as it is here narrated. Much hardship did they suffer from cold and tempest in the waters of the Western Sea, yet not so much as they had to bear by the coasts of the ever-stormy Moyle, and they knew that the day of redemption was now drawing near. In the end of the time Fionnuala said, "Brothers, let us fly to the Hill of the White Field, and see how Lir our father and his household are faring." So they arose and set forward on their airy journey until they reached the Hill of the White Field, and thus it was that they found the place: namely, desolate and thorny before them, with nought but green mounds where once were the palaces and homes of their kin, and forests of nettles growing over them, and never a house nor a hearth. And the four drew closely together and lamented aloud at that sight, for they knew that old times and things had passed away in Erinn, and they were lonely in a land of strangers, where no man lived who could recognise them when they came to their human shapes again. They knew not that Lir and their kin of the People of Dana yet dwelt invisible in the bright world within the Fairy Mounds, for their eyes were holden that they should not see, since other things were destined for them than to join the Danaan folk and be of the company of the immortal Shee. So they went back again to the Western Sea until the holy Patrick came into Ireland and preached the Faith of the One God and of the Christ. But a man of Patrick's men, namely the Saint Mochaovóg,[12] came to the Island of Inishglory in Erris Bay, and there built himself a little church of stone, and spent his life in preaching to the folk and in prayer. The first night he came to the island the swans heard the sound of his bell ringing at matins on the following morn, and they leaped in terror, and the three brethren left Fionnuala and fled away. Fionnuala cried to them, "What ails you, beloved brothers?" "We know not," said they, "but we have heard a thin and dreadful voice, and we cannot tell what it is." "That is the voice of the bell of Mochaovóg," said Fionnuala, "and it is that bell which shall deliver us and drive away our pains, according to the will of God." [12] Pronounced Mo-chweev-ogue. Then the brethren came back and hearkened to the chanting of the cleric until matins were performed. "Let us chant our music now," said Fionnuala. So they began, and chanted a solemn, slow, sweet, fairy song in adoration of the High King of Heaven and of Earth. Mochaovóg heard that, and wondered, and when he saw the swans he spoke to them and inquired them. They told him they were the children of Lir. "Praised be God for that," said Mochaovóg. "Surely it is for your sakes that I have come to this island above every other island that is in Erinn. Come to land now, and trust in me that your salvation and release are at hand." So they came to land, and dwelt with Mochaovóg in his own house, and there they kept the canonical hours with him and heard mass. And Mochaovóg caused a good craftsman to make chains of silver for the swans, and put one chain between Fionnuala and Hugh and another between Conn and Fiachra; and they were a joy and solace of mind to the Saint, and their own woe and pain seemed to them dim and far off as a dream. Now at this time it happened that the King of Connacht was Lairgnen, son of Colman, and he was betrothed to Deoca, daughter of the King of Munster. And so it was that when Deoca came northward to be wedded to Lairgnen she heard the tale of the swans and of their singing, and she prayed the king that he would obtain them for her, for she longed to possess them. But Lairgnen would not ask them of Mochaovóg. Then Deoca set out homeward again, and vowed that she would never return to Lairgnen till she had the swans; and she came as far as the church of Dalua, which is now called Kildaloe, in Clare. Then Lairgnen sent messengers for the birds to Mochaovóg, but he would not give them up. At this Lairgnen was very wroth, and he went himself to Mochaovóg, and he found the cleric and the four birds at the altar. But Lairgnen seized upon the birds by their silver chains, two in each hand dragged them away to the place where Deoca was; and Mochaovóg followed them. But when they came to Deoca and she had laid her hands upon the birds, behold, their covering of feathers fell off and in their places were three shrunken and feeble old men and one lean and withered old woman, fleshless and bloodless from extreme old age. And Lairgnen was struck with amazement and fear, and went out from that place. Then Fionnuala said to Mochaovóg, "Come now and baptize us quickly, for our end is near. And if you are grieved at parting from us, know that also to us it is a grief. Do thou make our grave when we are dead, and place Conn at my right side and Fiachra at my left, and Hugh before my face, for thus they were wont to be when I sheltered them on many a winter night by the tides of Moyle." So Mochaovóg baptized the three brethren and their sister; and shortly afterwards they found peace and death, and they were buried even as Fionnuala had said. And over their tomb a stone was raised, and their names and lineage graved on it in branching Ogham[13]; and lamentation and prayers were made for them, and their souls won to heaven. [13] See p. 133, _note_. But Mochaovóg was sorrowful, and grieved after them so long as he lived on earth. CHAPTER II The Quest of the Sons of Turenn Long ago, when the people of Dana yet held lordship in Erinn, they were sorely afflicted by hordes of sea-rovers named Fomorians who used to harry the country and carry off youths and maidens into captivity. They also imposed cruel and extortionate taxes upon the people, for every kneading trough, and every quern for grinding corn, and every flagstone for baking bread had to pay its tax. And an ounce of gold was paid as a poll-tax for every man, and if any man would not or could not pay, his nose was cut off. Under this tyranny the whole country groaned, but they had none who was able to band them together and to lead them in battle against their oppressors. Now before this it happened that one of the lords of the Danaans named Kian had married with Ethlinn, daughter of Balor, a princess of the Fomorians. They had a son named Lugh Lamfada, or Lugh of the Long Arm, who grew up into a youth of surpassing beauty and strength. And if his body was noble and mighty, no less so was his mind, for lordship and authority grew to him by the gift of the Immortals, and whatever he purposed that would he perform, whatever it might cost in time or toil, in tears or in blood. Now this Lugh was not brought up in Erinn but in a far-off isle of the western sea, where the sea-god Mananan and the other Immortals nurtured and taught him, and made him fit alike for warfare or for sovranty, when his day should come to work their will on earth. Hither in due time came the report of the grievous and dishonouring oppression wrought by the Fomorians upon the people of Dana, and that report was heard by Lugh. Then Lugh said to his tutors "It were a worthy deed to rescue my father and the people of Erinn from this tyranny; let me go thither and attempt it." And they said to him, "Go, and blessing and victory be with thee." So Lugh armed himself and mounted his fairy steed, and called his friends and foster-brothers about him, and across the bright and heaving surface of the waters they rode like the wind, until they took land in Erinn. Now the chiefs of the Danaan folk were assembled upon the Hill of Usnach, which is upon the western side of Tara in Meath, in order to meet there the stewards of the Fomorians and to pay them their tribute. As they awaited the arrival of the Fomorians they became aware of a company on horseback, coming from the west, before whom rode a young man who seemed to command them all, and whose countenance was as radiant as the sun upon a dry summer's day, so that the Danaans could scarcely gaze upon it. He rode upon a white horse and was armed with a sword, and on his head was a helmet set with precious stones. The Danaan folk welcomed him as he came among them, and asked him of his name and his business among them. As they were thus talking another band drew near, numbering nine times nine persons, who were the stewards of the Fomorians coming to demand their tribute. They were men of a fierce and swarthy countenance, and as they came haughtily and arrogantly forward, the Danaans all rose up to do them honour. Then Lugh said: "Why do ye rise up before that grim and ill-looking band and not before us?" Said the King of Erinn, "We needs must do so, for if they saw but a child of a month old sitting down when they came near they would hold it cause enough to attack and slay us." "I am greatly minded to slay them," said Lugh; and he repeated it, "very greatly minded." "That would be bad for us," said the King, "for our death and destruction would surely follow." "Ye are too long under oppression," said Lugh, and gave the word for onset. So he and his comrades rushed upon the Fomorians, and in a moment the hillside rang with blows and with the shouting of warriors. In no long time all of the Fomorians were slain save nine men, and these were taken alive and brought before Lugh. "Ye also should be slain," said Lugh, "but that I am minded to send you as ambassadors to your King. Tell him that he may seek homage and tribute where he will henceforth, but Ireland will pay him none for ever." Then the Fomorians went northwards away, and the people of Dana made them ready for war, and made Lugh their captain and war-lord, for the sight of his face heartened them, and made them strong, and they marvelled that they had endured their slavery so long. In the meantime word was brought to Balor of the Mighty Blows, King of the Fomorians, and to his queen Kethlinn of the Twisted Teeth, of the shame and destruction that had been done to their stewards, and they assembled a great host of the sea-rovers and manned their war-ships, and the Northern Sea was white with the foam of their oarblades as they swept down upon the shores of Erinn. And Balor commanded them, saying, "When ye have utterly destroyed and subdued the people of Dana, then make fast your ships with cables to the land of Erinn, and tow it here to the north of us into the region of ice and snow, and it shall trouble us no longer." So the host of Balor took land by the Falls of Dara[14] and began plundering and devastating the province of Connacht. [14] Ballysodare = the Town of the Falls of Dara, in Co. Sligo. Then Lugh sent messengers abroad to bring his host together, and among them was his own father, Kian, son of Canta. And as Kian went northwards on his errand to rouse the Ulster men, and was now come to the plain of Murthemny near by Dundealga,[15] he saw three warriors armed and riding across the plain. Now these three were the sons of Turenn, by name Brian and Iuchar and Iucharba. And there was an ancient blood-feud between the house of Canta and the house of Turenn, so that they never met without bloodshed. [15] Dundalk. Then Kian thought to himself, "If my brothers Cu and Kethan were here there might be a pretty fight, but as they are three to one I would do better to fly." Now there was a herd of wild swine near by; and Kian changed himself by druidic sorceries into a wild pig and fell to rooting up the earth along with the others. When the sons of Turenn came up to the herd, Brian said, "Brothers, did ye see the warrior wh' just now was journeying across the plain?" "We saw him," said they. "What is become of him?" said Brian. "Truly, we cannot tell," said the brothers. "It is good watch ye keep in time of war!" said Brian; "but I know what has taken him out of our sight, for he struck himself with a magic wand, and changed himself into the form of one of yonder swine, and he is rooting the earth among them now. Wherefore," said Brian, "I deem that he is no friend to us." "If so, we have no help for it," said they, "for the herd belongs to some man of the Danaans; and even if we set to and begin to kill the swine, the pig of druidism might be the very one to escape." "Have ye learned so little in your place of studies," said Brian, "that ye cannot distinguish a druidic beast from a natural beast?" And with that he smote his two brothers with a magic wand, and changed them into two slender, fleet hounds, and they darted in among the herd. Then all the herd scattered and fled, but the hounds separated the druidic pig and chased it towards a wood where Brian awaited it. As it passed, Brian flung his spear, and it pierced the chest of the pig and brought it down. The pig screamed, "Evil have you done to cast at me." Brian said, "That hath the sound of human speech!" "I am in truth a man," said the pig, "and I am Kian, son of Canta, and I pray you show me mercy." "That will we," said Iuchar and Iucharba, "and sorry are we for what has happened." "Nay," said Brian, "but I swear by the Wind and the Sun that if thou hadst seven lives I would take them all." "Grant me a favour then," said Kian. "We shall grant it," said Brian. "Let me," said Kian, "return into my own form that I may die in the shape of a man." "I had liefer kill a man than a pig," said Brian. Then Kian became a man again and stood before them, the blood trickling from his breast. "I have outwitted you now," cried he, "for if ye had killed a pig ye would have paid a pig's eric,[16] but now ye shall pay the eric of a man. Never was greater eric in the land of Erinn than that which ye shall pay; and I swear that the very weapons with which ye slay me shall tell the tale to the avenger of blood." [16] Blood-fine. "Then you shall be slain with no weapons at all," said Brian; and they picked up the stones on the Plain of Murthemny and rained them upon him till he was all one wound, and he died. So they buried him as deep as the height of a man, and went their way to join the host of Lugh. When the host was assembled, Lugh led them into Connacht and smote the Fomorians and drove them to their ships, but of this the tale tells not here. But when the fight was done, Lugh asked of his comrades if they had seen his father in the fight and how it fared with him. They said they had not seen him. Then Lugh made search among the dead, and they found not Kian there. "Were Kian alive he would be here," said Lugh, "and I swear by the Wind and the Sun that I will not eat or drink till I know what has befallen him." On their return the Danaan host passed by the Plain of Murthemny, and when they came near the place of the murder the stones cried aloud to Lugh. And Lugh listened, and they told him of the deed of the sons of Turenn. Then Lugh searched for the place of a new grave, and when he had found it he caused it to be dug, and the body of his father was raised up, and Lugh saw that it was but a litter of wounds. And he cried out: "O wicked and horrible deed!" and he kissed his father and said, "I am sick from this sight, my eyes are blind from it, my ears are deaf from it, my heart stands still from it. Ye gods that I adore, why was I not here when this crime was done? a man of the children of Dana slain by his fellows." And he lamented long and bitterly. Then Kian was again laid in his grave, and a mound was heaped over it and a pillar-stone set thereon and his name written in Ogham, and a dirge was sung for him. After that Lugh departed to Tara, to the Court of the High King, and he charged his people to say nothing of what had happened until he himself had made it known. When he reached Tara with his victorious host the King placed Lugh at his own right hand before all the princes and lords of the Danaan folk. Lugh looked round about him, and saw the sons of Turenn sitting among the assembly; and they were among the best and strongest and the handsomest of those who were present at that time; nor had any borne themselves better in the fight with the sea-rovers. Then Lugh asked of the King that the chain of silence might be shaken; and the assembly heard it, and gave their attention to Lugh. And Lugh said: "O King, and ye princes of the People of Dana, I ask what vengeance would each of you exact upon a man who had foully murdered your father?" Then they were all astonished, and the King answered and said: "Surely it is not the father of Lugh Lamfada who has thus been slain?" "Thou hast said it," said Lugh, "and those who did the deed are listening to me now, and know it better than I." The King said, "Not in one day would I slay the murderer of my father, but I would tear from him a limb day by day till he were dead." And so spake all the lords of the Danaans, and the Sons of Turenn among the rest. "They have sentenced themselves, the murderers of my father," said Lugh. "Nevertheless I shall accept an eric from them, and if they will pay it, it shall be well; but if not, I shall not break the peace of the King's Assembly and of his sanctuary, but let them beware how they leave the Hall Tara until they have made me satisfaction." "Had I slain your father," said the High King, "glad should I be to have an eric accepted for his blood." Then the Sons of Turenn whispered among themselves. "It is to us that Lugh is speaking," said Iuchar and Iucharba, "let us confess and have the eric assessed upon us, for he has got knowledge of our deed." "Nay," said Brian, "but he may be seeking for an open confession, and then perchance he would not accept an eric." But the two brethren said to Brian, "Do thou confess because thou art the eldest, or if thou do not, then we shall." So Brian, son of Turenn, rose up and said to Lugh: "It is to us thou hast spoken, Lugh, since thou knowest there is enmity of old time between our houses; and if thou wilt have it that we have slain thy father, then declare our eric and we shall pay it." "I will take an eric from you," said Lugh, "and if it seem too great, I will remit a portion of it." "Declare it, then," said the Sons of Turenn. "This it is," said Lugh. "Three apples. "The skin of a pig. "A spear. "Two steeds and a chariot. "Seven swine. "A whelp of a dog. "A cooking spit. "Three shouts on a hill." "We would not consider heavy hundreds or thousands of these things," said the Sons of Turenn, "but we misdoubt thou hast some secret purpose against us." "I deem it no small eric," said Lugh, "and I call to witness the High King and lords of the Danaans that I shall ask no more; and do ye on your side give me guarantees for the fulfilment of it." So the High King and the lords of the Danaans entered into bonds with Lugh and with the Sons of Turenn that the eric should be paid and should wipe out the blood of Kian. "Now," said Lugh, "it is better forme to give you fuller knowledge of the eric. The three apples that I have demanded of you are the apples that grow in the garden of the Hesperides, in the east of the world, and none but these will do. Thus it is with them: they are the colour of bright gold, and as large as the head of a month-old child; the taste of them is like honey; if he who eats them has any running sore or evil disease it is healed by them; they may be eaten and eaten and never be less. I doubt, O young heroes, if ye will get these apples, for those who guard them know well an ancient prophecy that one day three knights from the western world would come to attempt them. "As for the skin of the pig, that is a treasure of Tuish, the King of Greece. If it be laid upon a wounded man it will make him whole and well, if only it overtake the breath of life in him. And do ye know what is the spear that I demanded?" "We do not," said they. "It is the poisoned spear of Peisear, the King of Persia, and so fierce is the spirit of war in it that it must be kept in a pot of soporific herbs or it would fly out raging for death. And do ye know what are the two horses and the chariot ye must get?" "We do not know," said they. "The steeds and the chariot belong to Dobar, King of Sicily. They are magic steeds and can go indifferently over land and sea, nor can they be killed by any weapon unless they be torn in pieces and their bones cannot be found. And the seven pigs are the swine of Asal, King of the Golden Pillars, which may be slain and eaten every night and the next morning they are alive again. "And the hound-whelp I asked of you is the whelp of the King of Iorroway, that can catch and slay any beast in the world; hard it is to get possession of that whelp. "The cooking spit is one of the spits that the fairy women of the Island of Finchory have in their kitchen. "And the hill on which ye must give three shouts is the hill where dwells Mochaen in the north of Lochlann. Now Mochaen and his sons have it as a sacred ordinance that they permit not any man to raise a shout upon their hill. With him it was that my father was trained to arms, and if I forgave ye his death, yet would Mochaen not forgive it. "And now ye know the eric which ye have to pay for the slaying of Kian, son of Canta." Astonishment and despair overcame the Sons of Turenn when they learned the meaning of the eric of Lugh, and they went home to tell the tidings to their father. "This is an evil tale," said Turenn; "I doubt but death and doom shall come from your seeking of that eric, and it is but right they should. Yet it may be that ye shall obtain the eric if Lugh or Mananan will help you to it. Go now to Lugh, and ask him for the loan of the fairy steed of Mananan, which was given him to ride over the sea into Erinn. He will refuse you, for he will say that the steed is but lent to him and he may not make a loan of a loan. Then ask him for the loan of Ocean Sweeper, which is the magic boat of Mananan, and that he must give, for it is a sacred ordinance with Lugh not to refuse a second petition." So they went to Lugh, and it all fell out as Turenn had told them, and they went back to Turenn. "Ye have done something towards the eric," said Turenn, "but not much. Yet Lugh would be well pleased that ye brought him whatever might serve him when the Fomorians come to the battle again, and well pleased would he be that ye might get your death in bringing it. Go now, my sons, and blessing and victory be with you." Then the Sons of Turenn went down to the harbour on the Boyne river where the Boat of Mananan was, and Ethne their sister with them. And when they reached the place, Ethne broke into lamentations and weeping; but Brian said, "Weep not, dear sister, but let us go forth gaily to great deeds. Better a hundred deaths in the quest of honour than to live and die as cowards and sluggards." But Ethne said, "ye are banished from Erinn--never was there a sadder deed." Then they put forth from the river-mouth of the Boyne and soon the fair coasts of Erinn faded out of sight. "And now," said they among themselves, "what course shall we steer?" [Illustration: "'Bear us swiftly, Boat of Mananan, to the Garden of the Hesperides'"] "No need to steer the Boat of Mananan," said Brian; and he whispered to the Boat, "Bear us swiftly, Boat of Mananan, to the Garden of the Hesperides"; and the spirit of the Boat heard him and it leaped eagerly forward, lifting and dipping over the rollers and throwing up an arch of spray each side of its bows wherein sat a rainbow when the sun shone upon it; and so in no long time they drew nigh to the coast where was the far-famed garden of the Golden Apples. "And now, how shall we set about the capture of the apples?" said Brian. "Draw sword and fight for them," said Iuchar and Iucharba, "and if we are the stronger, we shall win them, and if not, we shall fall, as fall we surely must ere the eric for Kian be paid." "Nay," said Brian, "but whether we live or die, let not men say of us that we went blind and headlong to our tasks, but rather that we made the head help the hand, and that we deserved to win even though we lost. Now my counsel is that we approach the garden in the shape of three hawks, strong of wing, and that we hover about until the Wardens of the Tree have spent all their darts and javelins in casting at us, and then let us swoop down suddenly and bear off each of us an apple if we may." So it was agreed; and Brian struck himself and each of the brothers with a druid wand, and they became three beautiful, fierce, and strong-winged hawks. When the Wardens perceived them, they shouted and threw showers of arrows and darts at them, but the hawks evaded all of these until the missiles were spent, and then seized each an apple in his talons. But Brian seized two, for he took one in his beak as well. Then they flew as swiftly as they might to the shore where they had left their boat. Now the King of that garden had three fair daughters, to whom the apples and the garden were very dear, and he transformed the maidens into three griffins, who pursued the hawks. And the griffins threw darts of fire, as it were lightning, at the hawks. "Brian!" then cried Iuchar and his brother, "we are being burnt by these darts--we are lost unless we can escape them." On this, Brian changed himself and his brethren into three swans, and they plunged into the sea, and the burning darts were quenched. Then the griffins gave over the chase, and the Sons of Turenn made for their boat, and they embarked with the four apples. Thus their first quest was ended. After that they resolved to seek the pigskin from the King of Greece, and they debated how they should come before him. "Let us," said Brian, "assume the character and garb of poets and men of learning, for such are wont to come from Ireland and to travel foreign lands, and in that character shall the Greeks receive us best, for such men have honour among them." "It is well said," replied the brothers, "yet we have no poems in our heads, and how to compose one we know not." Howbeit they dressed their hair in the fashion of the poets of Erinn, and went up to the palace of Tuish the King. The doorkeeper asked of them who they were, and what was their business. "We are bards from Ireland," they said, "and we have come with a poem to the King." "Let them be admitted," said the King, when the doorkeeper brought him that tale; "they have doubtless come thus far to seek a powerful patron." So Brian and Iuchar and Iucharba came in and were made welcome, and were entertained, and then the minstrels of the King of Greece chanted the lays of that country before them. After that came the turn of the stranger bards, and Brian asked his brethren if they had anything to recite. "We have not," said they; "we know but one art--to take what we want by the strong hand if we may, and if we may not, to die fighting." "That is a difficult art too," said Brian; "let us see how we thrive with the poetry." So he rose up and recited this lay:-- "Mighty is thy fame, O King, Towering like a giant oak; For my song I ask no thing Save a pigskin for a cloak. "When a neighbour with his friend Quarrels, they are ear to ear; Who on us their store shall spend Shall be richer than they were. "Armies of the storming wind-- Raging seas, the sword's fell stroke-- Thou hast nothing to my mind Save thy pigskin for a cloak." "That is a very good poem," said the King, "but one word of its meaning I do not understand." "I will interpret it for you," said Brian:-- "Mighty is thy fame, O King, Towering like a giant oak." "That is to say, as the oak surpasses all the other trees of the forest, so do you surpass all the kings of the world in goodness, in nobleness, and in liberality. "A pigskin for a cloak." "That is the skin of the pig of Tuish which I would fain receive as the reward for my lay." "When a neighbour with his friend Quarrels, they are ear to ear." "That is to signify that you and I shall be about each other's ears over the skin, unless you are willing to give it to me. Such is the sense of my poem," said Brian, son of Turenn. "I would praise your poem more," said the King, "if there were not so much about my pigskin in it. Little sense have you, O man of poetry, to make that request of me, for not to all the poets, scholars, and lords of the world would I give that skin of my own free will. But what I will do is this--I will give the full of that skin of red gold thrice over in reward for your poem." "Thanks be to you," said Brian, "for that. I knew that I asked too much, but I knew also thou wouldst redeem the skin amply and generously. And now let the gold be duly measured out in it, for greedy am I, and I will not abate an ounce of it." The servants of the King were then sent with Brian and his brothers to the King's treasure-chamber to measure out the gold. As they did so, Brian suddenly snatched the skin from the hands of him who held it, and swiftly wrapped it round his body. Then the three brothers drew sword and made for the door, and a great fight arose in the King's palace. But they hewed and thrust manfully on every side of them, and though sorely wounded they fought their way through and escaped to the shore, and drove their boat out to sea, when the skin of the magic pig quickly made them whole and sound again. And thus the second quest of the Sons of Turenn had its end. "Let us now," said Brian, "go to seek the spear of the King of Persia." "In what manner of guise shall we go before the King of Persia?" said his brothers. "As we did before the King of Greece," said Brian. "That guise served us well with the King of Greece," replied they; "nevertheless, O Brian, this business of professing to be poets, when we are but swordsmen, is painful to us." However, they dressed their hair in the manner of poets and went up boldly to the palace of King Peisear of Persia, saying, as before, that they were wandering bards from Ireland who had a poem to recite before the King; and as they passed through the courtyard they marked the spear drowsing in its pot of sleepy herbs. They were made welcome, and after listening to the lays of the King's minstrel, Brian rose and sang:-- "'Tis little Peisear cares for spears, Since armies, when his face they see, All overcome with panic fears Without a wound they turn and flee. "The Yew is monarch of the wood, No other tree disputes its claim. The shining shaft in venom stewed Flies fiercely forth to kill and maim." "'Tis a very good poem," said the King, "but, O bard from Erinn, I do not understand your reference to my spear." "It is merely this," replied Brian, "that I would like your spear as a reward for my poem." Then the King stared at Brian, and his beard bristled with anger, and he said, "Never was a greater reward paid for any poem than not to adjudge you guilty of instant death for your request." Then Brian flung at the king the fourth golden apple which he had taken from the Garden of the Hesperides, and it dashed out his brains. Immediately the brothers all drew sword and made for the courtyard. Here they seized the magic spear, and with it and with their swords they fought their way clear, not without many wounds, and escaped to their boat. And thus ended the third quest of the Sons of Turenn. Now having come safely and victoriously through so many straits and perils, they began to be merry and hoped that all the eric might yet be paid. So they sailed away with high hearts to the Island of Sicily, to get the two horses and the chariot of the King, and the Boat of Mananan bore them swiftly and well. Having arrived here, they debated among themselves as to how they should proceed; and they agreed to present themselves as Irish mercenary soldiers--for such were wont in those days to take service with foreign kings--until they should learn where the horses and the chariot were kept, and how they should come at them. Then they went forward, and found the King and his lords in the palace garden taking the air. The Sons of Turenn then paid homage to him, and he asked them of their business. "We are Irish mercenary soldiers," they said, "seeking our wages from the kings of the world." "Are ye willing to take service with me?" said the King. "We are," said they, "and to that end are we come." Then their contract of military service was made, and they remained at the King's court for a month and a fortnight, and did not in all that time come to see the steeds or the chariot. At last Brian said, "Things are going ill with us, my brethren, in that we know no more at this day of the steeds or of the chariot than when we first arrived at this place." "What shall we do, then?" said they. "Let us do this," said Brian. "Let us gird on our arms and all our marching array, and tell the King that we shall quit his service unless he show us the chariot." And so they did; and the King said, "To-morrow shall be a gathering and parade of all my host, and the chariot shall be there, and ye shall see it if ye have a mind." So the next day the steeds were yoked and the chariot was driven round a great plain before the King and his lords. Now these steeds could run as well on sea as on dry land, and they were swifter than the winds of March. As the chariot came round the second time, Brian and his brothers seized the horses' heads, and Brian took the charioteer by the foot and flung him out over the rail, and they all leaped into the chariot and drove away. Such was the swiftness of their driving that they were out of sight ere the King and his men knew rightly what had befallen. And thus ended the fourth quest of the Sons of Turenn. Next they betook themselves to the court of Asal, King of the Golden Pillars, to get the seven swine which might be eaten every night and they would be whole and well on the morrow morn. But it had now been noised about every country that three young heroes from Erinn were plundering the kings of the world of their treasures in payment of a mighty eric; and when they arrived at the Land of the Golden Pillars they found the harbour guarded and a strait watch kept, that no one who might resemble the Sons of Turenn should enter. But Asal the King came to the harbour-mouth and spoke with the heroes, for he was desirous to see those who had done the great deeds that he had heard of. He asked them if it were true that they had done such things, and why. Then Brian told him the story of the mighty eric which had been laid upon them, and what they had done and suffered in fulfilling it. "Why," said King Asal, "have ye now come to my country?" "For the seven swine," said Brian, "to take them with us as a part of that eric." "How do you mean to get them?" asked the King. "With your goodwill," replied Brian, "if so it may be, and to pay you therefore with all the wealth we now have, which is thanks and love, and to stand by your side hereafter in any strait or quarrel you may enter into. But if you will not grant us the swine, and we may not be quit of our eric without them, we shall even take them as we may, and as we have beforetime taken mighty treasures from mighty kings." Then King Asal went into counsel with his lords, and he advised that the swine be given to the Sons of Turenn, partly for that he was moved with their desperate plight and the hardihood they had shown, and partly that they might get them whether or no. To this they all agreed, and the Sons of Turenn were invited to come ashore, where they were courteously and hospitably entertained in the King's palace. On the morrow the pigs were given to them, and great was their gladness, for never before had they won a treasure without toil and blood. And they vowed that, if they should live, the name of Asal should be made by them a great and shining name, for his compassion and generosity which he had shown them. This, then, was the fifth quest of the Sons of Turenn. "And whither do ye voyage now?" said Asal to them. "We go," said they, "to Iorroway for the hound's whelp which is there." "Take me with you, then," said Asal, "for the King of Iorroway is husband to my daughter, and I may prevail upon him to grant you the hound without combat." So the King's ship was manned and provisioned, and the Sons of Turenn laid up their treasures in the Boat of Mananan, and they all sailed joyfully forth to the pleasant kingdom of Iorroway. But here, too, they found all the coasts and harbours guarded, and entrance was forbidden them. Then Asal declared who he was, and him they allowed to land, and he journeyed to where his son-in-law, the King of Iorroway, was. To him Asal related the whole story of the sons of Turenn, and why they were come to that kingdom. "Thou wert a fool," said the King of Iorroway, "to have come on such a mission. There are no three heroes in the world to whom the Immortals have granted such grace that they should get my hound either by favour or by fight." "That is not a good word," said Asal, "for the treasures they now possess have made them yet stronger than they were, and these they won in the teeth of kings as strong as thou." And much more he said to him to persuade him to yield up the hound, but in vain. So Asal took his way back to the haven where the Sons of Turenn lay, and told them his tidings. Then the Sons of Turenn seized the magic spear, and the pigskin, and with a rush like that of three eagles descending from a high cliff upon a lamb-fold they burst upon the guards of the King of Iorroway. Fierce and fell was the combat that ensued, and many times the brothers were driven apart, and all but overborne by the throng of their foes. But at last Brian perceived where the King of Iorroway was directing the fight, and he cut his way to him, and having smitten him to the ground, he bound him and carried him out of the press to the haven-side where Asal was. "There," he said, "is your son-in-law for you Asal, and I swear by my sword that I had more easily killed him thrice than once to bring him thus bound to you." "That is very like," said Asal; "but now hold him to ransom." So the people of Iorroway gave the hound to the Sons of Turenn as a ransom for their King, and the King was released, and friendship and alliance were made between them. And with joyful hearts the Sons of Turenn bade farewell to the King of Iorroway and to Asal, and departed on their way. Thus was the sixth of their quests fulfilled. Now Lugh Lamfada desired to know how the Sons of Turenn had fared, and whether they had got any portion of the great eric that might be serviceable to him when the Fomorians should return for one more struggle. And by sorcery and divination it was revealed to him how they had thriven, and that nought remained to be won save the cooking-spit of the sea-nymphs, and to give the three shouts upon the hill. Lugh then by druidic art caused a spell of oblivion and forgetfulness to descend upon the Sons of Turenn, and put into their hearts withal a yearning and passion to return to their native land of Erinn. They forgot, therefore, that a portion of the eric was still to win, and they bade the Boat of Mananan bear them home with their treasures, for they deemed that they should now quit them of all their debt for the blood of Kian and live free in their father's home, having done such things and won such fame as no three brothers had ever done since the world began. At the Brugh of Boyne, where they had started on their quest, their boat came ashore again, and as they landed they wept for joy, and falling on their knees they kissed the green sod of Erinn. Then they took up their treasures and journeyed to Ben Edar,[17] where the High King of Ireland, and Lugh with him, were holding an Assembly of the People of Dana. But when Lugh heard that they were on their way he put on his cloak of invisibility and withdrew privily to Tara. [17] The Hill of Howth. When the brethren arrived at Ben Edar, the High King of the lords of the Danaans gave them welcome and applause, for all were rejoiced that the stain of ancient feud and bloodshed should be wiped out, and that the Children of Dana should be at peace within their borders. Then they sought for Lugh to deliver over the eric, but he was not to be found. And Brian said, "He has gone to Tara to avoid us, having heard that we were coming with our treasures and weapons of war." Word was then sent to Lugh at Tara that the Sons of Turenn were at Ben Edar, and the eric with them. "Let them pay it over to the High King," said Lugh. So it was done; and when Lugh had tidings that the High King had the eric, he returned to Ben Edar. Then the eric was laid before him, and Brian said, "Is the debt paid, O Lugh, son of Kian?" Lugh said, "Truly there is here the price of any man's death; but it is not lawful to give a quittance for an eric that is not complete. Where is the cooking-spit from the Island of Finchory? and have ye given the three shouts upon the Hill of Mochaen?" At this word Brian and Iuchar and Iucharba fell prone upon the ground, and were speechless awhile from grief and dismay. After a while they left the Assembly like broken men, with hanging heads and with heavy steps, and betook themselves to Dún Turenn, where they found their father, and they told him all that had befallen them since they had parted with him and set forth on the Quest. Thus they passed the night in gloom and evil forebodings, and on the morrow they went down once more to the place where the Boat of Mananan was moored. And Ethne their sister accompanied them, wailing and lamenting, but no words of cheer had they now to say to her, for now they began to comprehend that a mightier and a craftier mind had caught them in the net of fate. And whereas they had deemed themselves heroes and victors in the most glorious quest whereof the earth had record, they now knew that they were but as arrows in the hands of a laughing archer, who shoots one at a stag and one at the heart of a foe, and one, it may be, in sheer wantonness, and to try his bow, over a cliff edge into the sea. [Illustration: "There dwelt the red-haired ocean-nymphs"] However, they put forth in their magic boat, but in no wise could they direct it to the Isle of Finchory, and a quarter of a year they traversed the seaways and never could get tidings of that island. At last Brian fashioned for himself by magic art a water-dress, with a helmet of crystal, and into the depths of the sea he plunged. Here, the story tells, he searched hither and thither for a fortnight, till at last he found that island, which was an island indeed with the sea over it and around it and beneath it. There dwelt the red-haired ocean-nymphs in glittering palaces among the sea-flowers, and they wrought fair embroidery with gold and jewels, and sang, as they wrought, a fairy music like the chiming of silver bells. Three fifties of them sat or played in their great hall as Brian entered, and they gazed on him but spoke no word. Then Brian strode to the wide hearth, and without a word he seized from it a spit that was made of beaten gold, and turned again to go. But at that the laughter of the sea-maidens rippled through the hall and one of them said: "Thou art a bold man, Brian, and bolder than thou knowest; for if thy two brothers were here, the weakest of us could vanquish all the three. Nevertheless, take the spit for thy daring; we had never granted it for thy prayers." So Brian thanked them and bade farewell, and he rose to the surface of the water. Ere long his brethren perceived him as he shouldered the waves on the bosom of the deep, and they sailed to where he was and took him on board. And thus ended the quest for the seventh portion of the eric of Kian. After that their hopes revived a little, and they set sail for the land of Lochlann, in which was the Hill of Mochaen. When they had arrived at the hill Mochaen came out to meet them with his three sons, Corc and Conn and Hugh; nor did the Sons of Turenn ever behold a band of grimmer and mightier warriors than those four. "What seek ye here?" asked Mochaen of them They told him that it had been laid upon them to give three shouts upon the hill. "It hath been laid upon me," said Mochaen, "to prevent this thing." Then Brian and Mochaen drew sword and fell furiously upon each other, and their fighting was like that of two hungry lions or two wild bulls, until at last Brian drove his sword into the throat of Mochaen, and he died. With that the Sons of Mochaen and the Sons of Turenn rushed fiercely upon each other. Long and sore was the strife that they had, and the blood that fell made red the grassy place wherein they fought. Not one of them but received wounds that pierced him through and through, and that heroes of less hardihood had died of a score of times. But in the end the sons of Mochaen fell, and Brian, Iuchar, and Iucharba lay over them in a swoon like death. After a while Brian's senses came back to him, and he said, "Do ye live, dear brothers, or how is it with you?" "We are as good as dead," said they; "let us be." "Arise," then said Brian, "for truly I feel death coming swiftly upon us, and we have yet to give the three shouts upon the hill." "We cannot stir," said Iuchar and Iucharba. Then Brian rose to his knees and to his feet, and he lifted up his two brothers while the blood of all three streamed down to their feet, and they raised their voices as best they might, and gave three hoarse cries upon the Hill of Mochaen. And thus was the last of the epic fulfilled. Then they bound up their wounds, and Brian placed himself between the two brothers, and slowly and painfully they made their way to the boat, and put out to sea for Ireland. And as they lay in the stupor of faintness in the boat, one murmured to himself, "I see the Cape of Ben Edar and the coast of Turenn, and Tara of the Kings." Then Iuchar and Iucharba entreated Brian to lift their heads upon his breast. "Let us but see the land of Erinn again," said they, "the hills around Tailtin, and the dewy plain of Bregia, and the quiet waters of the Boyne and our father's Dún thereby, and healing will come to us; or if death come we can endure it after that." Then Brian raised them up; and they saw that they were now near by under Ben Edar; and at the Strand of the Bull[18] they took land. They were then conveyed to the Dún of Turenn, and life was still in them when they were laid in their father's hall. [18] Cluan Tarbh, Clontarf; so called from the roaring of the waves on the strand. And Brian said to Turenn, "Go now, dear father, with all speed to Lugh at Tara. Give him the cooking-spit, and tell how thou hast found us after giving our three shouts upon the Hill of Mochaen. Then beseech him that he yield thee the loan of the pigskin of the King of Greece, for if it be laid upon us while the life is yet in us, we shall recover. We have won the eric, and it may be that he will not pursue us to our death." Turenn went to Lugh and gave him the spit of the sea-nymphs, and besought him for the lives of his sons. Lugh was silent for a while, but his countenance did not change, and he said, "Thou, old man, seest nought but the cloud of sorrow wherein thou art encompassed. But I hear from above it the singing of the Immortal Ones, who tell to one another the story of this land. Thy sons must die; yet have I shown to them more mercy than they showed to Kian. I have forgiven them; nor shall they live to slay their own immortality, but the royal bards of Erinn and the old men in the chimney corners shall tell of their glory and their fate as long as the land shall endure." Then Turenn bowed his white head and went sorrowfully back to Dún Turenn; and he told his sons of the words that Lugh had said. And with that the sons of Turenn kissed each other, and the breath of life departed from them, and they died. And Turenn died also, for his heart was broken in him; and Ethne his daughter buried them in one grave. Thus, then, ends the tale of the Quest of the Eric and the Fate of the Sons of Turenn. CHAPTER III The Secret of Labra In very ancient days there was a King in Ireland named Labra, who was called Labra the Sailor for a certain voyage that he made. Now Labra was never seen save by one man, once a year, without a hood that covered his head and ears. But once a year it was his habit to let his hair be cropped, and the person to do this was chosen by lot, for the King was accustomed to put to death instantly the man who had cropped him. And so it happened that on a certain year the lot fell on a young man who was the only son of a poor widow, who dwelt near by the palace of the King. When she heard that her son had been chosen she fell on her knees before the King and besought him, with tears, that her son, who was her only support and all she had in the world, might not suffer death as was customary. The King was moved by her grief and her entreaties, and at last he consented that the young man should not be slain provided that he vowed to keep secret to the day of his death what he should see. The youth agreed to this and he vowed by the Sun and the Wind that he would never, so long as he lived, reveal to man what he should learn when he cropped the King's hair. So he did what was appointed for him and went home. But when he did so he had no peace for the wonder of the secret that he had learned preyed upon his mind so that he could not rest for thinking of it and longing to reveal it, and at last he fell into a wasting sickness from it, and was near to die. Then there was brought to see him a wise druid, who was skilled in all maladies of the mind and body, and after he had talked with the youth he said to his mother, "Thy son is dying of the burden of a secret which he may not reveal to any man, but until he reveals it he will have no ease. Let him, therefore, walk along the high way till he comes to a place where four roads meet. Let him then turn to the right, and the first tree that he shall meet on the roadside let him tell the secret to it, and so it may be he shall be relieved, and his vow will not be broken." The mother told her son of the druid's advice, and next day he went upon his way till he came to four cross roads, and he took the road upon the right, and the first tree he found was a great willow-tree. So the young man laid his cheek against the bark, and he whispered the secret to the tree, and as he turned back homeward he felt lightened of his burden, and he leaped and sang, and ere many days were past he was as well and light hearted as ever he had been in his life. Some while after that it happened that the King's harper, namely Craftiny, broke the straining-post of his harp and went out to seek for a piece of wood wherewith to mend it. And the first timber he found that would fit the purpose was the willow-tree by the cross roads. He cut it down, therefore, and took as much as would give him a new straining-post, and he bore it home with him and mended his harp with it. That night he played after meat before the King and his lords as he was wont, but whatever he played and sang the folk that listened to him seemed to hear only one thing, "Two horse's ears hath Labra the Sailor." Then the King plucked off his hood, and after that he made no secret of his ears and none suffered on account of them thenceforward. CHAPTER IV King Iubdan and King Fergus It happened on a day when Fergus son of Leda was King of Ulster, that Iubdan, King of the Leprecauns or Wee Folk, of the land of Faylinn, held a great banquet and assembly of the lords and princes of the Wee Folk. And all their captains and men of war came thither, to show their feats before the King, among whom was the strong man, namely Glowar, whose might was such that with his battle-axe he could hew down a thistle at one stroke. Thither also came the King's heir-apparent. Tiny, son of Tot, and the Queen Bebo with her maidens; and there were also the King's harpers and singing-men, and the chief poet of the court, who was called Eisirt. All these sat down to the feast in due order and precedence, with Bebo on the King's right hand and the poet on his left, and Glowar kept the door. Soon the wine began to flow from the vats of dark-red yew-wood, and the carvers carved busily at great haunches of roast hares and ribs of field-mice; and they all ate and drank, and loudly the hall rang with gay talk and laughter, and the drinking of toasts, and clashing of silver goblets. At last when they had put away desire of eating and drinking, Iubdan rose up, having in his hand the royal goblet of gold inlaid with precious many-coloured jewels, and the heir-apparent rose at the other end of the table, and they drank prosperity and victory to Faylinn. Then Iubdan's heart swelled with pride, and he asked of the company, "Come now, have any of you ever seen a king more glorious and powerful than I am?" "Never, in truth," cried they all. "Have ye ever seen a stronger man than my giant, Glowar?" "Never, O King," said they. "Or battle-steeds and men-at-arms better than mine?" "By our words," they cried, "we never have." "Truly," went on Iubdan, "I deem that he who would assail our kingdom of Faylinn, and carry away captives and hostages from us, would have his work cut out for him, so fierce and mighty are our warriors; yea, any one of them hath the stuff of kingship in him." On hearing this, Eisirt, in whom the heady wine and ale had done their work, burst out laughing; and the King turned to him, saying, "Eisirt, what hath moved thee to this laughter?" "I know a province in Erinn," replied Eisirt, "one man of whom would harry Faylinn in the teeth of all four battalions of the Wee Folk." "Seize him," cried the King to his attendants; "Eisirt shall pay dearly in chains and in prison for that scornful speech against our glory." Then Eisirt was put in bonds, and he repented him of his brag; but ere they dragged him away he said, "Grant me, O mighty King, but three days' respite, that I may travel to Erinn to the court of Fergus mac Leda, and if I bring not back some clear token that I have uttered nought but the truth, then do with me as thou wilt." So Iubdan bade them release him, and he fared away to Erinn oversea. [Illustration: "They all trooped out, lords and ladies, to view the wee man"] After this, one day, as Fergus and his lords sat at the feast, the gatekeeper of the palace of Fergus in Emania heard outside a sound of ringing; he opened the gate, and there stood a wee man holding in his hand a rod of white bronze hung with little silver bells, by which poets are wont to procure silence for their recitations. Most noble and comely was the little man to look on, though the short grass of the lawn reached as high as to his knee. His hair was twisted in four-ply strands after the manner of poets and he wore a gold-embroidered tunic of silk and an ample scarlet cloak with a fringe of gold. On his feet he wore shoes of white bronze ornamented with gold, and a silken hood was on his head. The gatekeeper wondered at the sight of the wee man, and went to report the matter to King Fergus. "Is he less," asked Fergus, "than my dwarf and poet Æda?" "Verily," said the gatekeeper, "he could stand upon the palm of Æda's hand and have room to spare." Then with much laughter and wonder they all trooped out, lords and ladies, to the great gate to view the wee man and to speak with him. But Eisirt, when he saw them, waved them back in alarm, crying, "Avaunt, huge men; bring not your heavy breath so near me; but let yon man that is least among you approach me and bear me in." So the dwarf Æda put Eisirt on his palm and bore him into the banqueting hall. Then they set him on the table, and Eisirt declared his name and calling. The King ordered that meat and drink should be given him, but Eisirt said, "I will neither eat of your meat nor drink of ale." "By our word," said Fergus, "'tis a haughty wight; he ought to be dropped into a goblet that he might at least drink all round him." The cupbearer seized Eisirt and put him into a tankard of ale, and he swam on the surface of it. "Ye wise men of Ulster," he cried, "there is much knowledge and wisdom ye might get from me, yet ye will let me be drowned!" "What, then?" cried they. Then Eisirt, beginning with the King, set out to tell every hidden sin that each man or woman had done, and ere he had gone far they with much laughter and chiding fetched him out of the ale-pot and dried him with fair satin napkins. "Now ye have confessed that I know somewhat to the purpose," said Eisirt, "and I will even eat of your food, but do ye give heed to my words, and do ill no more." Fergus then said, "If thou art a poet, Eisirt, give us now a taste of thy delightful art." "That will I," said Eisirt, "and the poem that I shall recite to you shall be an ode in praise of my king, Iubdan the Great." Then he recited this lay:-- "A monarch of might Is Iubdan my king. His brow is snow-white, His hair black as night; As a red copper bowl When smitten will sing, So ringeth the voice Of Iubdan the king. His eyen, they roll Majestic and bland On the lords of his land Arrayed for the fight, A spectacle grand! Like a torrent they rush With a waving of swords And the bridles all ringing And cheeks all aflush, And the battle-steeds springing, A beautiful, terrible, death-dealing band. Like pines, straight and tall, Where Iubdan is king, Are the men one and all. The maidens are fair-- Bright gold is their hair. From silver we quaff The dark, heady ale That never shall fail; We love and we laugh. Gold frontlets we wear; And aye through the air Sweet music doth ring-- O Fergus, men say That in all Inisfail There is not a maiden so proud or so wise But would give her two eyes Thy kisses to win-- But I tell thee, that there Thou canst never compare With the haughty, magnificent King of Faylinn!" At this they all applauded, and Fergus said, "O youth and blameless bard, let us be friends henceforth." And they all heaped before him, as a poet's reward, gifts of rings and jewels and gold cups and weapons, as high as a tall man standing. Then Eisirt said, "Truly a generous and a worthy reward have ye given me, O men of Ulster; yet take back these precious things I pray you, for every man in my king's household hath an abundance of them." But the Ulster lords said, "Nothing that we have given may we take back." Eisirt then bade two-thirds of his reward be given to the bards and learned men of Ulster, and one-third to the horse-boys and jesters; and so it was done. Three days and nights did Eisirt abide in Emania, and all the King's court loved him and made much of him. Then he wished them blessing and victory, and prepared to depart to his own country. Now Æda, the King's dwarf and minstrel, begged Eisirt to take him with him on a visit to the land of Faylinn; and Eisirt said, "I shall not bid thee come, for then if kindness and hospitality be shown thee, thou wilt say it is only what I had undertaken; but if thou come of thine own motion, thou wilt perchance be grateful." So they went off together; but Eisirt could not keep up with Æda, and Æda said, "I perceive that Eisirt is but a poor walker." At this Eisirt ran off like a flash and was soon an arrow flight in front of Æda. When the latter at last came up with him, he said, "The right thing, Eisirt, is not too fast and not too slow." "Since I have been in Ulster," Eisirt replied, "I have never before heard ye measure out the right." By and by they reached the margin of the sea. "And what are we to do now?" asked Æda. "Be not troubled, Æda," said Eisirt, "the horse of Iubdan will bear us easily over this." They waited awhile on the beach, and ere long they saw it coming toward them skimming over the surface of the waves. "Save and protect us!" cried Æda at that sight; and Eisirt asked him what he saw. "A red-maned hare," answered Æda. "Nay, but that is Iubdan's horse," said Eisirt, and with that the creature came prancing to land with flashing eyes and waving tail and a long russet-coloured mane; a bridle beset with gold it had. Eisirt mounted and bade Æda come up behind him. "Thy boat is little enough for thee alone," said Æda. "Cease fault-finding and grumbling," then said Eisirt, "for the weight of wisdom that is in thee will not bear him down." So Æda and Eisirt mounted on the fairy horse and away they sped over the tops of the waves and the deeps of the ocean till at last they reached the Kingdom of Faylinn, and there were a great concourse of the Wee Folk awaiting them. "Eisirt is coming! Eisirt is coming!" cried they all, "and a Fomorian giant along with him." Then Iubdan went forth to meet Eisirt, and he kissed him, and said, "Why hast thou brought this Fomorian with thee to slay us?" "He is no Fomor," said Eisirt, "but a learned man and a poet from Ulster. He is moreover the King of Ulster's dwarf, and in all that realm he is the smallest man. He can lie in their great men's bosoms and stand upon their hands as though he were a child; yet for all that you would do well to be careful how you behave to him." "What is his name?" said they then. "He is the poet Æda," said Eisirt. "Uch," said they, "what a giant thou hast brought us!" "And now, O King," said Eisirt to Iubdan, "I challenge thee to go and see for thyself the region from which we have come, and make trial of the royal porridge which is made for Fergus King of Ulster this very night." At this Iubdan was much dismayed, and he betook himself to Bebo his wife and told her how he was laid under bonds of chivalry by Eisirt to go to the land of the giants; and he bade her prepare to accompany him. "I will go," said she, "but you did an ill deed when you condemned Eisirt to prison." So they mounted, both of them, on the fairy steed, and in no long time they reached Emania, and it was now past midnight. And they were greatly afraid, and said Bebo, "Let us search for that porridge and taste it, as we were bound, and make off again ere the folk awake." They made their way into the palace of Fergus, and soon they found a great porridge pot, but the rim was too high to be reached from the ground. "Get thee up upon thy horse," said Bebo, "and from thence to the rim of this cauldron." And thus he did, but having gained the rim of the pot his arm was too short to reach the silver ladle that was in it. In straining downward to do so, however, he slipped and in he fell, and up to his middle in the thick porridge he stuck fast. And when Bebo heard what a plight he was in, she wept, and said, "Rash and hasty wert thou, Iubdan, to have got into this evil case, but surely there is no man under the sun that can make thee hear reason." And he said, "Rash indeed it was, but thou canst not help me, Bebo, now, and it is but folly to stay; take the horse and flee away ere the day break." "Say not so," replied Bebo, "for surely I will not go till I see how things fall out with thee." At last the folk in the palace began to be stirring, and ere long they found Iubdan in the porridge pot. So they picked him out with great laughter bore him off to Fergus. "By my conscience," said Fergus, "but this is not the little fellow that was here before, for he had yellow hair, but this one hath a shock of the blackest; who art thou at all, wee man?" "I am of the Wee Folk," said Iubdan, "and am indeed king over them, and this woman is my wife and queen, Bebo." "Take him away," then said Fergus to his varlets, "and guard him well"; for he misdoubted some mischief of Faery was on foot. "Nay, nay," cried Iubdan, "but let me not be with these coarse fellows. I pledge thee my word that I will not quit this place till thou and Ulster give me leave." "Could I believe that," said Fergus, "I would not put thee in bonds." "I have never broken my word," said Iubdan, "and I never will." Then Fergus set him free and allotted him a fair chamber for himself, and a trusty servingman to wait upon him. Soon there came in a gillie whose business it was to see to the fires, and he kindled the fire for Iubdan, throwing on it a woodbine together with divers other sorts of timber. Then Iubdan said, "Man of smoke, burn not the king of the trees, for it is not meet to burn him. Wouldst thou but take counsel from me thou mightest go safely by sea or land." Iubdan then chanted to him the following recital of the duties of his office:-- "O fire-gillie of Fergus of the Feasts, never by land or sea burn the King of the woods, High King of the forests of Inisfail, whom none may bind, but who like a strong monarch holds all the other trees in hard bondage. If thou burn the twining one, misfortune will come of it, peril at the point of spear, or drowning in the waves. "Burn not the sweet apple-tree of drooping branches, of the white blossoms, to whose gracious head each man puts forth his hand. "The stubborn blackthorn wanders far and wide, the good craftsman burns not this timber; little though its bushes be, yet flocks of birds warble in them. "Burn not the noble willow, the unfailing ornament of poems; bees drink from its blossoms, all delight in the graceful tent. "The delicate, airy tree of the druids, the rowan with its berries, this burn; but avoid the weak tree, burn not the slender hazel. "The ash-tree of the black buds burn not--timber that speeds the wheel, that yields the rider his switch; the ashen spear is the scale-beam of battle. "The tangled, bitter bramble, burn him, the sharp and green; he flays and cuts the foot; he snares you and drags you back. "Hottest of timber is the green oak; he will give you a pain in the head if you use him overmuch, a pain in the eyes will come from his biting fumes. "Full-charged with witchcraft is the alder, the hottest tree in the fight; burn assuredly both the alder and the whitehorn at your will. "Holly, burn it in the green and in the dry; of all trees in the world, holly is absolutely the best. "The elder-tree of the rough brown bark, burn him to cinders, the steed of the Fairy Folk. "The drooping birch, by all means burn him too, the tree of long-lasting bloom. "And lay low, if it pleases you, the russet aspen; late or early, burn the tree with the quaking plumage. "The yew is the venerable ancestor of the wood as the companion of feasts he is known; of him make goodly brown vats for ale and wine. "Follow my counsel, O man of the smoke, and it shall go well with you, body and soul." So Iubdan continued in Emania free to go and come as he pleased; and all the Ulstermen delighted to watch him and to hear his conversation. One day it chanced that he was in the chamber of the Queen, and saw her putting on her feet a very dainty and richly embroidered pair of shoes. At this Iubdan gave a laugh. "Why dost thou laugh?" said Fergus. "Meseems the healing is applied very far from the hurt," replied Iubdan. "What meanest thou by that?" said Fergus. "Because the Queen is making her feet fine in order, O Fergus, that she may attract thee to her lips," said Iubdan. Another time it chanced that Iubdan overheard one of the King's soldiers complaining of a pair of new brogues that had been served out to him, and grumbling that the soles were too thin. At this Iubdan laughed again, and being asked why, he said, "I must need laugh to hear yon fellow grumbling about his brogues, for the soles of these brogues, thin as they are, he will never wear out." And this was a true prophecy, for the same night this and another of the King's men had a quarrel, and fought, and killed each the other. At last the Wee Folk determined to go in search of their king, and seven battalions of them marched upon Emania and encamped upon the lawn over against the King's Dún. Fergus and his nobles went out to confer with them. "Give us back our king," said the Wee Folk, "and we shall redeem him with a great ransom." "What ransom, then?" asked Fergus. "We shall," said they, "cause this great plain to stand thick with corn for you every year, and that without ploughing or sowing." "I will not give up Iubdan for that," said Fergus. "Then we shall do you a mischief," said the Wee Folk. That night every calf in the Province of Ulster got access to its dam, and in the morn there was no milk to be had for man or child, for the cows were sucked dry. Then said the Wee Folk to Fergus, "This night, unless we get Iubdan, we shall defile every well and lake and river in Ulster." "That is a trifle," said Fergus, "and ye shall not get Iubdan." The Wee Folk carried out this threat, and once more they came and demanded Iubdan, saying, "To-night we shall burn with fire the shaft of every mill in Ulster." "Yet not so shall ye get Iubdan," said Fergus. This being done, they came again, saying, "We shall have vengeance unless Iubdan be delivered to us." "What vengeance?" said Fergus. "We shall snip off every ear of corn in thy kingdom," said they. "Even so," replied Fergus, "I shall not deliver Iubdan." So the Wee Folk snipped off every ear of standing corn in Ulster, and once more they returned and demanded Iubdan. "What will ye do next?" asked Fergus. "We shall shave the hair of every man and every woman in Ulster," said they, "so that ye shall be shamed and disgraced for ever among the people of Erinn." "By my word," said Fergus, "if ye do that I shall slay Iubdan." Then Iubdan said, "I have a better counsel than that, O King; let me have liberty to go and speak with them, and I shall bid them make good what mischief they have done, and they shall return home forthwith." Fergus granted that; and when the Wee Folk saw Iubdan approaching them, they set up a shout of triumph that a man might have heard a bowshot off, for they believed they had prevailed and that Iubdan was released to them. But Iubdan said, "My faithful people, you must now begone, and I may not go with you; make good also all the mischief that ye have done, and know that if ye do any more I must die." Then the Wee Folk departed, very downcast and sorrowful, but they did as Iubdan had bidden them. Iubdan, however, went to Fergus and said, "Take, O King, the choicest of my treasures, and let me go." "What is thy choicest treasure?" said Fergus. Iubdan then began to recite to Fergus the list of his possessions, such as druidic weapons, and love-charms, and instruments of music that played without touch of human hand, and vats of ale that could never be emptied; and he named among other noble treasures a pair of shoes, wearing which a man could go over or under the sea as readily as on dry land. At the same time Æda, the dwarf and poet of Ulster, returned hale and well from the land of Faylinn, and much did he entertain the King and all the court with tales of the smallness of the Wee Folk, and their marvel at his own size, and their bravery and beauty, and their marble palaces and matchless minstrelsy. So the King, Fergus mac Leda, was well content to take a ransom, namely the magic shoes, which he desired above all the treasures of Faylinn, and to let Iubdan go. And he gave him rich gifts, as did also the nobles of Ulster, and wished him blessing and victory; and Iubdan he departed, with Bebo his wife, having first bestowed upon Fergus the magical shoes. And of him the tale hath now no more to say. But Fergus never tired of donning the shoes of Iubdan and traversing the secret depths of the lakes and rivers of Ulster. Thereby, too, in the end he got his death, for as the wise say that the gifts of Faery may not be enjoyed without peril by mortal men, so in this case too it proved. For, one day as Fergus was exploring the depths of Loch Rury he met the monster, namely the river-horse, which inhabited that lake. Horrible of form it was, swelling and contracting like a blacksmith's bellows, and with eyes like torches, and glittering tusks, and a mane of coarse hair on its crest and neck. When it saw Fergus it laid back its ears, and its neck arched like a rainbow over his head, and the vast mouth gaped to devour him. Then Fergus rose quickly to the surface and made for the land, and the beast after him, driving before it a huge wave of foam. Barely did he escape with his life; but with the horror of the sight his features were distorted and his mouth was twisted around to the side of his head, so that he was called Fergus Wry-mouth from that day forth. And the gillie that was with him told the tale of the adventure. Now there was a law in Ireland that no man might be king who was disfigured by any bodily blemish. His people, therefore, loving Fergus, kept from him all knowledge of his condition, and the Queen let all mirrors that were in the palace be put away. But one day it chanced that a bondmaid was negligent in preparing the bath, and Fergus being impatient, gave her a stroke with a switch which he had in his hand. The maid in anger turned upon him, and cried, "It would better become thee to avenge thyself on the riverhorse that hath twisted thy mouth, than to do brave deeds on women." Fergus then bade a mirror be fetched, and when he saw his face in it, he said, "The woman spake truth; the riverhorse of Loch Rury has done this thing." [Illustration: "Fergus goes down into the lake"] The next day Fergus put on the shoes of Iubdan and went forth to Loch Rury, and with him went the lords of Ulster. And when he reached the margin of the lake he drew his sword and went down into it, and soon the waters covered him. After a while those that watched upon the bank saw a bubbling and a mighty commotion in the waters, now here, now there, and waves of bloody froth broke at their feet. At last, as they strained their eyes upon the tossing water, they saw Fergus rise to his middle from it, pale and bloody. In his right hand he waved aloft his sword, his left was twisted in the coarse hair of the monster's head, and they saw that his countenance was fair and kingly as of old. "Ulstermen, I have conquered," he cried; and as he did so he sank down again, dead with his dead foe, into their red grave in Loch Rury. And the Ulster lords went back to Emania, sorrowful yet proud, for they knew that a seed of honour had been sown that day in their land from which should spring a breed of high-hearted fighting men for many a generation to come. CHAPTER V The Carving of mac Datho's Boar Once upon a time there dwelt in the province of Leinster a wealthy hospitable lord named Mesroda, son of Datho. Two possessions had he; namely, a hound which could outrun every other hound and every wild beast in Erinn, and a boar which was the finest and greatest in size that man had ever beheld. Now the fame of this hound was noised all about the land, and many were the princes and lords who longed to possess it. And it came to pass that Conor, King of Ulster, and Maev, Queen of Connacht, sent messengers to mac Datho to ask him to sell them the hound for a price, and both the messengers arrived at the Dún of mac Datho on the same day. Said the Connacht messenger, "We will give thee in exchange for the hound six hundred milch cows, and a chariot with two horses, the best that are to be found in Connacht, and at the end of a year thou shalt have as much again." And the messenger of King Conor said, "We will give no less than Connacht, and the friendship and alliance of Ulster, and that will be better for thee than the friendship of Connacht." Then Mesroda mac Datho fell silent, and for three days he would not eat nor drink, nor could he sleep o' nights, but tossed restlessly on his bed. His wife observed his condition, and said to him, "Thy fast hath been long, Mesroda, though good food is by thee in plenty; and at night thou turnest thy face to the wall, and well I know thou dost not sleep. What is the cause of thy trouble?" "There is a saying," replied mac Datho, "'Trust not a thrall with money, nor a woman with a secret.'" "When should a man talk to a woman," said his wife, "but when something were amiss? What thy mind cannot solve perchance another's may." Then mac Datho told his wife of the request for his hound both from Ulster and from Connacht at one and the same time, "and whichever of them I deny," he said, "they will harry my cattle and slay my people." "Then hear my counsel," said the woman. "Give it to both of them, and bid them come and fetch it; and if there be any harrying to be done, let them even harry each other; but in no way mayest thou keep the hound." On that, mac Datho rose up and shook himself, and called for food and drink, and made merry with himself and his guests. Then he sent privately for the messenger of Queen Maev, and said to him, "Long have I doubted what to do, but now I am resolved to give the hound to Connacht. Let ye send for it on such a day with a train of your nobles or warriors and bear him forth nobly and proudly, for he is worth it; and ye shall all have drink and food and royal entertainment in my Dún." So the messenger departed, well pleased. To the Ulster messenger mac Datho said, "After much perplexity I have resolved to give my hound to Conor. Let the best of the Ulstermen come to fetch him, and they shall be welcomed and entertained as is fitting." And for these he named the same day as he had done for the embassy from Connacht. When the appointed day came round, the flower of the fighting men of two provinces of Ireland were assembled before the Dún of the son of Datho, and there were also Conor, King of Ulster, and Ailill, the husband of Maev, Queen of Connacht. Mac Datho went forth to meet them. "Welcome, warriors," he said to them, "albeit for two armies at once we were not prepared." Then he bade them into the Dún, and in the great hall they sat down. Now in this hall there were seven doors, and between every two doors were benches for fifty men. Not as friends bidden to a feast did the men of Ulster and of Connacht look upon one another, since for three hundred years the provinces had ever been at war. "Let the great boar be killed," said mac Datho, and it was done. For seven years had that boar been nourished on the milk of fifty cows; yet rather on venom should it have been nourished, such was the mischief that was to come from the carving of it. When the boar was roasted it was brought in, and many other kinds of food as side dishes, "and if more be wanting to the feast," said mac Datho, "it shall be slain for you before the morning." "The boar is good," said Conor. "It is a fine boar," said Ailill; "and now, O mac Datho, how shall it be divided among us?" There was among the Ulster company one Bricru, son of Carbad, whose delight was in biting speeches and in fomenting strife, though he himself was never known to draw sword in any quarrel. He now spoke from his couch in answer to Ailill: "How should the boar be divided, O son of Datho, except by appointing to carve it him who is best in deeds of arms? Here be all the valiant men of Ireland assembled; have none of us hit each other a blow on the nose ere now?" "Good," said Ailill, "so let it be done." "We also agree," said Conor; "there are plenty of our lads in the house that have many a time gone round the border of the Provinces." "You will want them to-night, Conor," said an old warrior from Conlad in the West. "They have often been seen on their backs on the roads of rushy Dedah, and many a fat steer have they left with me." "It was a fat bullock thou didst have with thee once upon a day," replied Moonremar of Ulster, "even thine own brother, and by the rushy road of Conlad he came and went not back." "'Twas a better man than he, even Irloth, son of Fergus mac Leda, who fell by the hand of Echbael in Tara Luachra," replied Lugad of Munster. "Echbael?" cried Keltchar, son of Uthecar Hornskin of Ulster. "Is it of him ye boast, whom I myself slew and cut off his head?" And thus the heroes bandied about the tales and taunts of their victories, until at length Ket, son of Maga of the Connachtmen, arose and stood over the boar and took the knife into his hand. "Now," he cried, "let one man in Ulster match his deeds with mine, or else hold ye your peace and let me carve the boar!" For a while there was silence, and then Conor King of Ulster, said to Logary the Triumphant, "Stay that for me." So Logary arose and said, "Ket shall never carve the boar for all of us." "Not so fast, Logary," said Ket. "It is the custom among you Ulstermen that when a youth first takes arms he comes to prove himself on us. So didst thou, Logary, and we met thee at the border. From that meeting I have thy chariot and horses, and thou hadst a spear through thy ribs Not thus wilt thou get the boar from me." Then Logary sat down on his bench. "Ket shall never divide that pig," spake then a tall fair-haired warrior from Ulster, coming down the hall. "Whom have we here?" asked Ket. "A better man than thou," shouted the Ulstermen, "even Angus, son of Lama Gabad." "Indeed?" said Ket, "and why is his father called Lama Gabad [wanting a hand]?" "We know not," said they. "But I know it," said Ket. "Once I went on a foray to the East, and was attacked by a troop, Lama Gabad among them. He flung a lance at me. I seized the same lance and flung it back, and it shore off his hand, and it lay there on the field before him. Shall that man's son measure himself with me?" And Angus went to his bench and sat down. "Keep up the contest," then cried Ket tauntingly, "or let me divide the boar." "That thou shalt not," cried another Ulster warrior of great stature. "And who is this?" said Ket. "Owen Mór, King of Fermag," said the Ulstermen. "I have seen him ere now," said Ket. "I took a drove of cattle from him before his own house. He put a spear through my shield and I flung it back and it tore out one of his eyes, and one-eyed he is to this day." Then Owen Mór sat down. "Have ye any more to contest the pig with me?" then said Ket. "Thou hast not won it yet," said Moonremar, son of Gerrkind, rising up. "Is that Moonremar?" said Ket, "It is," they cried. "It is but three days," said Ket, "since I was the last man who won renown of thee. Three heads of thy fighting men did I carry off from Dún Moonremar, and one of the three was the head of thy eldest son." Moonremar then sat down. "Still the contest," said Ket, "or I shall carve the boar." "Contest thou shalt have," said Mend, son of Sword-heel. "Who is this?" said Ket. "'Tis Mend," cried all the Ulstermen. "Shall the sons of fellows with nicknames come here to contend with me?" cried Ket. "I was the priest who christened thy father that name. 'Twas I who cut the heel off him, so that off he went with only one. What brings the son of that man to contend with me?" Mend then sat down in his seat. "Come to the contest," said Ket, "or I shall begin to carve." Then arose from the Ulstermen a huge grey and terrible warrior. "Who is this?" asked Ket. '"Tis Keltcar, son of Uthecar," cried they all. "Wait awhile, Keltcar," said Ket, "do not pound me to pieces just yet. Once, O Keltcar, I made a foray on thee and came in front of Dún. All thy folk attacked me, and thou amongst them. In a narrow pass we fought, and thou didst fling a spear at me and I at thee, but my spear went through thy loins and thou hast never been the better of it since." Then Keltcar sat down in his seat. "Who else comes to the contest," cried Ket "or shall I at last divide the pig?" Up rose then the son of King Conor, named Cuscrid the Stammerer "Whom have we here?" said Ket. "'Tis Cuscrid son of Conor," cried they all. "He has the stuff of a king in him," said Ket. "No thanks to thee for that," said the youth. "Well, then," said Ket, "thou madest thy first foray against us Connachtmen, and on the border of the Provinces we met thee. A third of thy people, thou didst leave behind thee, and came away with my spear through thy throat, so that thou canst not speak rightly ever since, for the sinews of thy throat were severed. And hence is Cuscrid the Stammerer thy byname ever since." So thus Ket laid shame and defeat on the whole Province of Ulster, nor was there any other warrior in the hall found to contend with him. [Illustration: "A mighty shout of exultation arose from the Ulstermen"] Then Ket stood up triumphing, and took the knife in his hand and prepared to carve the boar when a noise and trampling were heard at the great door of the hall, and a mighty shout of exultation arose from the Ulstermen. When the press parted, Ket saw coming up the centre of the hall Conall of the Victories, and Conor the King dashed the helmet from his head and sprang up for joy. "Glad we are," cried Conall, "that all is ready for feast; and who is carving the boar for us?" "Ket, son of Maga," replied they, "for none could contest the place of honour with him." "Is that so, Ket?" says Conall Cearnach. "Even so," replied Ket. "And now welcome to thee, O Conall, thou of the iron heart and fiery blood; keen as the glitter of ice, ever-victorious chieftain; hail mighty son of Finnchoom!" And Conall said, "Hail to thee, Ket, flower of heroes, lord of chariots, a raging sea in battle; a strong, majestic bull; hail, son of Maga!" "And now," went on Conall, "rise up from the boar and give me place." "Why so?" replied Ket. "Dost thou seek a contest from me?" said Conall; "verily thou shalt have it. By the gods of my nation I swear that since I first took weapons in my hand I have never passed one day that I did not slay a Connachtman, nor one night that I did not make a foray on them, nor have I ever slept but I had the head of a Connachtman under my knee." "I confess," then, said Ket, "that thou art a better man than I, and I yield thee the boar. But if Anluan my brother were here, he would match thee deed for deed, and sorrow and shame it is that he is not." "Anluan is here," shouted Conall, and with that he drew from his girdle the head of Anluan and dashed it in the face of Ket. Then all sprang to their feet and a wild shouting and tumult arose, and the swords flew out of themselves, and battle raged in the hall of mac Datho. Soon the hosts burst out through the doors of the Dún and smote and slew each other in the open field, until the Connacht host were put to flight. The hound of mac Datho pursued them along with the Ulstermen, and it came up with the chariot in which King Ailill was driving, and seized the pole of the chariot, but the charioteer dealt it a blow that cut off its head. When Ailill drew rein they found the hound's head still clinging to the pole, whence that place is called Ibar Cinn Chon, or the Yew Tree of the Hound's Head. Now when Conor pursued hard upon King Ailill, Ferloga, the charioteer of Ailill, lighted down and hid himself in the heather; and as Conor drove past, Ferloga leaped up behind him in the chariot and gripped him by the throat. "What will thou have of me?" said Conor. "Give over the pursuit," said Ferloga, "and take me with thee to Emania,[19] and let the maidens of Emania so long as I am there sing a serenade before my dwelling every night." [19] The ancient royal residence of Ulster, near to the present town of Armagh. "Granted," said Conor. So he took Ferloga with him to Emania, and at the end of a year sent him back to Connacht, escorting him as far as to Athlone; and Ferloga had from the King of Ulster two noble horses with golden bridles, but the serenade from the maidens of Ulster he did not get, though he got the horses instead. And thus ends the tale of the contention between Ulster and Connacht over the Carving of mac Datho's Boar. CHAPTER VI The Vengeance of Mesgedra Atharna the Bard, surnamed the Extortionate, was the chief poet and satirist of Ulster in the reign of Conor mac Nessa. Greed and arrogance were in his heart and poison on his tongue, and the kings and lords of whom he asked rewards for his poems dared not refuse him aught, partly because of the poisonous satires and lampoons which he would otherwise make upon them for their niggardliness, and partly for that in Ireland at that day it was deemed shameful to refuse to a bard whatsoever he might ask. Once it was said that he asked of a sub-king, namely Eochy mac Luchta, who was famed for hospitality and generosity, the single thing that Eochy would have been grieved to give, namely his eye, and Eochy had but one eye. But the King plucked it out by the roots and gave it to him; and Atharna went away disappointed, for he had looked that Eochy would ransom his eye at a great price. Now Conor mac Nessa, King of Ulster, and all the Ulster lords, having grown very powerful and haughty, became ill neighbours to all the other kingdoms in Ireland. On fertile Leinster above all they fixed their eyes, and sought for an opportunity to attack and plunder the province. Conor resolved at last to move Atharna to go to the King of Leinster, in the hope that he himself might be rid of Atharna, by the King of Leinster killing him for his insolence and his exactions, and that he might avenge the death of his bard by the invasion of Leinster. Atharna therefore set out for Leinster accompanied by his train of poets and harpers and gillies and arrived at the great Dún of Mesgedra the King, at Naas in Kildare. Here he dwelt for twelve months wasting the substance of the Leinstermen and in the end when he was minded to return to Ulster he went before the King Mesgedra and the lords of Leinster and demanded his poet's fee. "What is thy demand, Atharna?" asked Mesgedra. "So many cattle and so many sheep," answered Atharna, "and store of gold and raiment, and of the fairest dames and maidens of Leinster forty-five, to grind at my querns in Dún Atharna." "It shall be granted thee," said the King. Then Atharna feared some mischief, for the King and the nobles of Leinster had not seemed like men on whom shameful conditions are laid, nor had they offered to ransom their women. Atharna therefore judged that the Leinstermen might fall upon him to recover their booty when he was once beyond the border, for within their own borders they might not affront a guest. He sent, therefore, a swift messenger to Conor mac Nessa, bidding him come with a strong escort as quickly as he might, to meet Atharna's band on the marches of Leinster, and convey him safely home. Atharna then departed from Naas with a great herd of sheep and cattle and other spoils, and with thrice fifteen of the noble women of Leinster. He went leisurely, meaning to strike the highroad to Emania from Dublin; but when he came thither the Liffey was swollen with rain, and the ford at Dublin might not be crossed. He caused, therefore, many great hurdles to be made, and these were set in the river, and over them a causeway of boughs was laid, so that his cattle and spoils came safely across. Hence is the town of that place called to this day in Gaelic the City of the Hurdle Ford. On the next day Conor and the Ulstermen met him, but a great force of the men of Leinster was also marching from Naas to the border, to recover their womenfolk, even as Atharna had expected. The Leinstermen then broke the battle on the company from Ulster, and defeated them, driving them with the cows of Atharna on to the sea cape of Ben Edar (Howth), but they recovered the women. On Ben Edar did King Conor with the remnant of his troop then fortify themselves, making a great fosse across the neck of land by which Ben Edar is joined to the mainland, and here they were besieged, with hard fighting by day and night, expecting that help should come to them from Ulster, whither they had sent messengers to tell of their distress. Now Conall of the Victories was left behind to rule in Emania when Conor set forth to Leinster, and he now, on hearing how the King was beset, assembled a great host and marched down to Ben Edar. Here he attacked the host of Leinster, and a great battle was fought, many being slain on both sides, and the King of Leinster, Mesgedra, lost his left hand in the fight. In the end the men of Leinster were routed, and fled, and Mesgedra drove in his chariot past the City of the Hurdle Ford and Naas to the fords of Liffey at Clane. Here there was a sacred oak tree where druid rites and worship were performed, and that oak tree was sanctuary, so that within its shadow, guarded by mighty spells, no man might be slain by his enemy. Now Conall Cearnach had followed hard on the track of Mesgedra, and when he found him beneath the oak, he drove his chariot round and round the circuit of the sanctuary, bidding Mesgedra come forth and do battle with him, or be counted a dastard among the kings of Erinn. But Mesgedra said, "Is it the fashion of the champions of Ulster to challenge one-armed men to battle?" Then Conall let his charioteer bind one of his arms to his side, and again he taunted Mesgedra and bade him come forth. Mesgedra then drew sword, and between him and Conall there was a fierce fight until the Liffey was reddened with their blood. At last, by a chance blow of the sword of Mesgedra, the bonds of Conall's left arm were severed. "On thy head be it," said Conall, "if thou release me again." Then he caused his arm to be bound up once more, and again they met, sword to sword, and again in the fury of the fight Mesgedra cut the thongs that bound Conall's arm. "The gods themselves have doomed thee," shouted Conall then, and he rushed upon Mesgedra and in no long time he wounded him to death. "Take my head," said Mesgedra then, "and add my glory to thy glory, but be well assured this wrong shall yet be avenged by me upon Ulster," and he died. Then Conall cut off the head of Mesgedra and put it in his chariot, and took also the chariot of Mesgedra and fared northwards. Ere long he met a chariot and fifty women accompanying it. In it was Buan the Queen, wife of Mesgedra, returning from a visit to Meath. "Who art thou, woman?" said Conall. "I am Buan, wife of Mesgedra the King." "Thou art to come with me," then said Conall. "Who hath commanded this?" said Buan. "Mesgedra the King," said Conall. "By what token dost thou lay these commands upon me?" "Behold his chariot and his horses," said Conall. "He gives rich gifts to many a man," answered the Queen. Then Conall showed her the head of her husband. "This is my token," said he. "It is enough," said Buan. "But give me leave to bewail him ere I go into captivity." Then Buan rose up in her chariot and raised for Mesgedra a keen of sorrow so loud and piercing that her heart broke with it, and she fell backwards on the road and died. Conall Cearnach then buried her there, and laid the head of her husband by her side; and the fair hazel tree that grew from her grave by the fords of Clane was called Coll Buana, or the Hazel Tree of Buan. But ere Conall buried the head of Mesgedra he caused the brain to be taken out and mixed with lime to make a bullet for a sling, for so it was customary to do when a great warrior had been killed; and the brain-balls thus made were accounted to be the deadliest of missiles. So when Leinster had been harried and plundered and its king and queen thus slain, the Ulstermen drew northward again, and the brain-ball was laid up in the Dún of King Conor at Emania. Years afterwards it happened that the Wolf of Connacht, namely Ket, son of Maga, came disguised within the borders of Ulster in search of prey, and he entered the palace precincts of Conor in Emania. There he saw two jesters of the King, who had gotten the brain-ball from the shelf where it lay, and were rolling it about the courtyard. Ket knew it for what it was, and put it out of sight of the jesters and took it away with him while they made search for it. Thenceforth Ket carried it ever about with him in his girdle, hoping that he might yet use it to destroy some great warrior among the Ulstermen. One day thereafter Ket made a foray on the men of Ross, and carried away a spoil of cattle. The host of Ulster and King Conor with them overtook him as he went homeward. The men of Connacht had also mustered to the help of Ket, and both sides made them ready for battle. Now a river, namely Brosna, ran between them, and on a hill at one side of this were assembled a number of the noble women of Connacht, who desired greatly to look on the far-famed Ultonian warriors, and above all on Conor the King, whose presence was said to be royal and stately beyond any man that was then living in Erinn. Among the bushes, close to the women, Ket hid himself, and lay still but watchful. Now Conor, seeing none but womenfolk close to him at this point, and being willing to show them his splendour, drew near to the bank on his side of the stream. Then Ket leaped up, whirling his sling, and the bullet hummed across the river and smote King Conor on the temple. And his men carried him off for dead, and the men of Connacht broke the battle on the Ulstermen, slaying many, and driving the rest of them back to their own place. This battle was thenceforth called the Battle of the Ford of the Sling-cast, or Athnurchar; and so the place is called to this day. When Conor was brought home to Emania his chief physician, Fingen, found the ball half buried in his temple. "If the ball be taken out," said Fingen, "he will die; if it remain he will live, but he will bear the blemish of it." "Let him bear the blemish," said the Ulster lords, "that is a small matter compared with the death of Conor." Then Fingen stitched the wound over with a thread of gold, for Conor had curling golden hair, and bade him keep himself from all violent movements and from all vehement passions, and not to ride on horseback, and he would do well. After that Conor lived for seven years, and he went not to war during that time, and all cause of passion was kept far from him. Then one day at broad noon the sky darkened, and the gloom of night seemed to spread over the world, and all the people feared, and looked for some calamity. Conor called to him his chief druid, namely Bacarach, and inquired of him as to the cause of the gloom. The druid then went with Conor into a sacred grove of oaks and performed the rites of divination, and in a trance he spoke to Conor, saying, "I see a hill near a great city, and three high crosses on it. To one of them is nailed the form of a young man who is like unto one of the Immortals. Round him stand soldiers with tall spears, and a great crowd waiting to see him die." "Is he, then, a malefactor?" "Nay," said the druid, "but holiness, innocence, and truth have come to earth in him, and for this cause have the druids of his land doomed him to die, for his teaching was not as theirs. And the heavens are darkened for wrath and sorrow at the sight." Then Conor leaped up in a fury, crying, "They shall not slay him, they shall not slay him! Would I were there with the host of Ulster, and thus would I scatter his foes"; and with that he snatched his sword and began striking at the trees that stood thickly about him in the druid grove. Then with the heat of his passion the sling-ball burst from his head, and he fell to the ground and died. Thus was fulfilled the vengeance of Mesgedra upon Conor mac Nessa, King of Ulster. CHAPTER VII The Story of Etain and Midir Once upon a time there was a High King of the Milesian race in Ireland named Eochy Airem, whose power and splendour were very great, and all the sub-Kings, namely, Conor of Ulster, and Mesgedra of Leinster, and Curoi of Munster, and Ailill and Maev of Connacht, were obedient to him. But he was without a wife; and for this reason the sub-Kings and Princes of Ireland would not come to his festivals at Tara, "for," said they, "there is no noble in Ireland who is a wifeless man, and a King is no king without a queen." And they would not bring their own wives to Tara without a queen there to welcome them, nor would they come themselves and leave their womenfolk at home. So Eochy bade search be made through all the boundaries of Ireland for a maiden meet to be wife of the High King. And in time his messengers came back and said that they had found in Ulster, by the Bay of Cichmany, the fairest and most accomplished maiden in Ireland, and her name was Etain, daughter of Etar, lord of the territory called Echrad. So Eochy, when he had heard their report, went forth to woo the maiden. When he drew near his journey's end he passed by a certain spring of pure water where it chanced that Etain and her maids had come down that she might wash her hair. She held in her hand a comb of silver inlaid with gold, and before her was a bason of silver chased with figures of birds, and around the rim of it red carbuncles were set. Her mantle was purple with a fringe of silver, and it was fastened with a broad golden brooch. She wore also a tunic of green silk, stiff with embroidery of gold that glittered in the sun. Her hair before she loosed it was done in two mighty tresses, yellow like the flower of the waterflag, each tress being plaited in four strands, and at the end of each strand a little golden ball. When she laid aside her mantle her arms came through the armholes of her tunic, white as the snow of a single night, and her cheeks were ruddy as the foxglove. Even and small were her teeth, as if a shower of pearls had fallen in her mouth. Her eyes were hyacinth-blue, her lips scarlet as the rowan-berry, her shoulders round and white, her fingers were long and her nails smooth and pink. Her feet also were slim, and white as sea-foam. The radiance of the moon was in her face, pride in her brows, the light of wooing in her eyes. Of her it was said that there was no beauty among women compared with Etain's beauty, no sweetness compared with the sweetness of Etain. When the King saw her his heart burned with love for her, and when he had speech with her he besought her to be his bride. And she consented to that, and said, "Many have wooed me, O King, but I would none of them, for since I was a little child I have loved thee, for the high tales that I heard of thee and of thy glory." And Eochy said, "Thine alone will I be if thou wilt have me." So the King paid a great bride-price for her, and bore her away to Tara, and there they were wedded, and all men welcomed and honoured the Queen. Nor had she dwelt long in Tara before the enchantment of her beauty and her grace had worked upon the hearts of all about her, so that the man to whom she spoke grew pale at the womanly sweetness of her voice, and felt himself a king for that day. All fair things and bright she loved, such as racing steeds and shining raiment, and the sight of Eochy's warriors with their silken banners and shields decorated with rich ornament in red and blue. And she would have all about her happy and joyous, and she gave freely of her treasure, and of her smiles and loving words, if she might see the light of joy on the faces of men, but from pain or sadness that might not be cured she would turn away. In one thing only was sadness endurable to her and that was in her music, for when she sang or touched the harp all hearts were pierced with longing for they knew not what, and all eyes shed tears save hers alone, who looked as though she beheld, far from earth, some land more fair than words of man can tell; and all the wonder of that land and all its immeasurable distance were in her song. Now Eochy the King had a brother whose name was Ailill Anglounach, or Ailill of the Single Stain, for one dark spot only was on his life, and it is of this that the story now shall tell. One day, when he had come from his own Dún to the yearly Assembly in the great Hall of Tara, he ate not at the banquet but gazed as it were at something afar off, and his wife said to him, "Why dost thou gaze so, Ailill; so do men look who are smitten with love?" Ailill was wroth with himself and turned his eyes away, but he said nothing, for that on which he gazed was the face of Etain. After that Assembly was over Ailill knew that the torment of love had seized him for his brother's wife, and he was sorely shamed and wrathful, and the secret strife in his mind between his honour and the fierce and pitiless love that possessed him brought him into a sore sickness. And he went home to his Dún in Tethba and there lay ill for a year. Then Eochy the King went to see him, and came near him and laid his hand on his breast, and Ailill heaved a bitter sigh. Eochy asked, "Why art thou not better of this sickness, how goes it with thee now?" "By my word," said Ailill, "no better, but worse each day and night." "What ails thee, then?" asked Eochy. Ailill said, "Verily, I know not." Then Eochy bade summon his chief physician, who might discover the cause of his brother's malady, for Ailill was wasting to death. So Fachtna the chief physician came and he laid his hand upon Ailill, and Ailill sighed. Then Fachtna said, "This is no bodily disease, but either Ailill suffers from the pangs of envy or from the torment of love." But Ailill was full of shame and he would not tell what ailed him, and Fachtna went away. After this the time came that Eochy the High King should make a royal progress throughout his realm of Ireland, but Etain he left behind at Tara. Before he departed he charged her saying, "Do thou be gentle and kind to my brother Ailill while he lives, and should he die, let his burial mound be heaped over him, and a pillar stone set up above it, and his name written thereon in letters of Ogham." Then the King took leave of Ailill and looked to see him again on earth no more. After a while Etain bethought her and said, "Let us go to see how it fares with Ailill." So she went to where he lay in his Dún at Tethba. And seeing him wasted and pale she was moved with pity and distress and said, "What ails thee, young man? Long thou hast lain prostrate, in fair weather and in foul, thou who wert wont to be so swift and strong?" And Ailill said, "Truly, I have a cause for my suffering; and I cannot eat, nor listen to the music makers; my affliction is very sore." Then said Etain, "Though I am a woman I am wise in many a thing; tell me what ails thee and thy healing shall be done." Ailill replied, "Blessing be with thee, O fair one; I am not worthy of thy speech; I am torn by the contention of body and of soul." Then Etain deemed that she knew somewhat of his trouble, and she said, "If thy heart is set on any of the white maidens that are my handmaids, tell me of it, and I shall court her for thee and she shall come to thee," and then Ailill cried out, "Love indeed, O Queen, hath brought me low. It is a plague nearer than the skin, it overwhelms my soul as an earthquake, it is farther than the height of the sky, and harder to win than the treasures of the Fairy Folk. If I contend with it, it is like a combat with a spectre; if I fly to the ends of the earth from it, it is there; if I seek to seize it, it is a passion for an echo. It is thou, O my love, who hast brought me to this, and thou alone canst heal me, or I shall never rise again." Then Etain went away and left him. But still in her palace in Tara she was haunted by his passion and his misery, and, though she loved him not, she could not endure his pain, nor the triumph of grim death over his youth and beauty. So at last she went to him again and said, "If it lies with me, Ailill, to heal thee of thy sickness, I may not let thee die." And she made a tryst to meet him on the morrow at a house of Ailill's between Dún Tethba and Tara, "but be it not at Tara," she said, "for that is the palace of the High King." All that night Ailill lay awake with the thought of his tryst with Etain. But on the morrow morn a heaviness came upon his eyelids, and a druid sleep overcame him, and there all day he lay buried in slumbers from which none could wake him, until the time of his meeting with Etain was overpast. But Etain, when she had come to the place of the tryst, looked out, and behold, a youth having the appearance and the garb of Ailill was approaching from Tethba. He entered the bower where she was; but no lover did she there meet, but only a sick and sorrowful man who spake coldly to her and lamented the sufferings of his malady, and after a short time he went away. Next day Etain went to see Ailill and to hear how he did. And Ailill entreated her forgiveness that he had not kept his tryst, "for," said he, "a druid slumber descended upon me, and I lay as one dead from morn till eve. And morever," he added, "it seems as if the strange passion that has befallen me were washed away in that slumber, for now, Etain, I love thee no more but as my Queen and my sister, and I am recovered as if from an evil dream." Then Etain knew that powers not of earth were mingling in her fate, and she pondered much of these things, and grew less lighthearted than of old. And when the King came back, he rejoiced to find his brother whole and sound and merry, as Ailill had ever been, and he praised Etain for her gentleness and care. Now after a time as Etain was by herself in her sunny bower she was aware of a man standing by her, whom she had never seen before. Young he was, and grey-eyed, with curling golden hair, and in his hand he bore two spears. His mantle was of crimson silk, his tunic of saffron, and a golden helmet was on his head. And as she gazed upon him, "Etain," he said, "the time is come for thee to return; we have missed thee and sorrowed for thee long enough in the Land of Youth." Etain said, "Of what land dost thou speak?" Then he chanted to her a song:-- "Come with me, Etain, O come away, To that oversea land of mine! Where music haunts the happy day, And rivers run with wine; Where folk are careless, and young, and gay, And none saith 'mine' or 'thine.' "Golden curls on the proud young head, And pearls in the tender mouth; Manhood, womanhood, white and red, And love that grows not loth When all the world's desires are dead, And all the dreams of youth. "Away from the cloud of Adam's sin! Away from grief and care! This flowery land thou dwellest in Seems rude to us, and bare; For the naked strand of the Happy Land Is twenty times as fair." When Etain heard this she stood motionless and as one that dreams awake, for it seemed to her as if she must follow that music whithersoever it went on earth or beyond the earth. But at last remembrance came upon her and she said to the stranger, "Who art thou, that I, the High King's wife, should follow a nameless man and betray my troth?" And he said, "Thy troth was due to me before it was due to him, and, moreover, were it not for me thou hadst broken it already. I am Midir the Proud, a prince among the people of Dana, and thy husband, Etain. Thus it was, that when I took thee to wife in the Land of Youth, the jealousy of thy rival, Fuamnach, was awakened; and having decoyed me from home by a false report, she changed thee by magical arts into a butterfly, and then contrived a mighty tempest that drove thee abroad. Seven years wast thou borne hither and thither on the blast till chance blew thee into the fairy palace of Angus my kinsman, by the waters of the Boyne. But Angus knew thee, for the Fairy Folk may not disguise themselves from each other, and he built for thee a magical sunny bower with open windows, through which thou mightest pass, and about it were all manner of blossoming herbs and shrubs, and on the odour and honey of these thou didst live and grow fair and well nourished. But in the end Fuamnach got tidings of thee, and again the druid tempest descended and blew thee forth for another seven years of wandering and woe. Then it chanced that thou wert blown through the roof-window of the Dún of Etar by the Bay of Cichmany, and fell into the goblet from which his wife was drinking, and thee she drank down with that draught of ale. And in due time thou wast born again in the guise of a mortal maid and daughter to Etar the Warrior. But thou art no mortal, nor of mortal kin, for it is one thousand and twelve years from the time when thou wast born in Fairy Land till Etar's wife bore thee as a child on earth." Then Etain was bewildered, and her mind ran back on many a half-forgotten thing and she gazed as into a gulf of visions, full of dim shapes, strange and glorious. And Midir as she looked at him again seemed transfigured, taller and mightier than before, and a light flame flickered from his helmet's crest and moved like wings about his shoulders. But at last she said, "I know not what thou sayest if it be truth or not, but this I know, that I am the wife of the High King and I will not break my troth." "It were broken already," said Midir, "but for me, for I it was who laid a druidic sleep on Ailill, and it was I who came to thee in his shape that thy honour might not be stained." Etain said, "I learned then that honour is more than life." "But if Eochy the High King consent to let thee go," said Midir, "wilt thou then come with me to my land and thine?" "In that case," said Etain "I will go." And the time went by, and Etain abode in Tara, and the High King did justice and made war and held the great Assembly as he was used. But one day in summer Eochy arose very early to breathe the morning air, and he stood by himself leaning on the rampart of his great Dún, and looking over the flowery plain of Bregia. And as he thus gazed he was aware of a young warrior standing by his side. Grey-eyed the youth was, and golden-haired, and he was splendidly armed and apparelled as beseemed the lord of a great clan of the Gael. Eochy bade him welcome courteously, and asked him of the cause of his coming. "I am come," he said, "to play a game of chess with thee, O King, for thou art renowned for thy skill in that game, and to test that skill am I come. And my name is Midir, of the People of Dana, whom they have called The Proud." "Willingly," said the King; "but I have here no chessboard, and mine is in the chamber where the Queen is sleeping." "That is easily remedied," said Midir, and he drew from his cloak a folding chessboard whose squares were alternate gold and silver. From a men-bag made of brazen chainwork he drew out a set of men adorned with flashing jewels, and he set them in array. "I will not play," then said Eochy, "unless we play for a stake." "For what stake shall we play, then?" said Midir. "I care not," said Eochy; "but do thou perform tasks for me if I win and I shall bestow of my treasures upon thee if I lose." So they played a game, and Eochy won. Then Eochy bade Midir clear the plains of Meath about Tara from rocks and stones, and Midir brought at night a great host of the Fairy Folk, and it was done. And again he played with Eochy, and again he lost, and this time he cut down the forest of Breg. The third time Midir lost again, and his task was to build a causeway across the moor of Lamrach. Now at night, while Midir and the fairy host were labouring at the causeway and their oxen drawing to it innumerable loads of earth and gravel, the steward of Eochy stole out and hid himself to watch them, for it was a prohibition to see them at work. And he observed that the fairy oxen were not harnessed with a thong across their foreheads, that the pull might be upon their brows and necks, as was the manner with the Gael, but with yokes upon their shoulders. This he reported to Eochy, who found it good; and he ordered that henceforth the children of the Gael should harness their plough-oxen with the yoke upon their shoulders; and so it was done from that day forth. Hence Eochy got his name of _Airem_, or "The Ploughman," for he was the first of the Gael to put the yoke upon the shoulder of the ox. But it was said that because the Fairy Folk were watched as they made that noble causeway, there came a breach in it at one place which none could ever rightly mend. When all their works were accomplished, Midir came again to Eochy, and this time he bore a dark and fierce countenance and was high girt as for war. And the King welcomed him, and Midir said, "Thou hast treated me hardly and put slavish tasks upon me. All that seemed good to thee have I done, but now I am moved with anger against thee." "I return not anger for anger," said Eochy; "say what satisfaction I can make thee." "Let us once more play at chess," said Midir. "Good," said Eochy, "and what stake wilt thou have now?" "The stake to be whatever the winner shall demand," said Midir. Then they played for the fourth time and Eochy lost. "Thou hast won the game," said he. "I had won long ago had I chosen," said Midir. "What dost thou demand of me?" said Eochy. "To hold Etain in my arms and obtain a kiss from her," replied Midir. The King was silent for a while and after that he said, "Come back in one month from this day and the stake which I have lost shall be paid." But Eochy summoned together all the host of the heroes of the Gael, and they surrounded Tara, ring within ring; and the King himself and Etain were in the palace, with the outer court of it shut and locked. For they looked that Midir should come with a great host of the Danaan folk to carry off the Queen. And on the appointed day, as the kings sat at meat, Etain and her handmaids were dispensing the wine to them as was wont. Then suddenly as they feasted and talked, behold, Midir, stood in the midst of them. If he was fair and noble to look on as he had appeared before to the King and to Etain, he was fairer now, for the splendour of the Immortals clothed him, and his jewels flamed as he moved like eyes of living light. And all the kings and lords and champions who were present gazed on him in amazement and were silent, as the King arose and gave him welcome. "Thou hast received me as I expected to be received," said Midir, "and now let thy debt be paid, since I for my part faithfully performed all that I undertook." "I must consider the matter yet longer," said Eochy. "Thou hast promised Etain's very self to me," said Midir; "that is what hath come from thee." And when she heard that word Etain blushed for shame. "Blush not," said Midir, "for all the treasures of the Land of Youth have not availed to win thee from Eochy, and it is not of thine own will that thou art won, but because the time is come to return to thy kin." Then said Eochy, "I have not promised Etain's self to thee, but to take her in thine arms and kiss her, and now do so if thou wilt." [Illustration: "They rose up in the air"] Then Midir took his weapons in his left hand and placed his right around Etain, and when he did so they rose up in the air over the heads of the host, and passed through a roof-window in the palace. Then all rose up, tumultuous and angry, and rushed out of doors, but nothing could they see save two white swans that circled high in air around the Hill of Tara, and then flew southwards and away towards the fairy mountain of Slievenamon. And thus Etain the immortal rejoined the Immortals; but a daughter of Etain and of Eochy, who was another Etain in name and in beauty, became in due time a wife, and mother of kings. CHAPTER VIII How Ethne Quitted Fairyland By the banks of the River Boyne, where rises the great Fairy Mound now called Newgrange, there stood long ago the shining Palace of a prince of the People of Dana, named Angus. Of him it is that the lines are written-- "By the dark rolling waters of the Boyne Where Angus Óg magnificently dwells." When the Milesian race invaded Ireland, and after long fighting subdued the Danaans in spite of all their enchantments and all their valour, the Danaans wrought for themselves certain charms by which they and all their possessions became invisible to mortals, and thus they continued to lead their old joyous life in the holy places of the land, and their palaces and dancing-places and folk-motes seem to the human eye to be merely a green mound or rath, or a lonely hillside, or a ruined shrine with nettles and foxgloves growing up among its broken masonry. Now, after Angus and his folk had thus retreated behind the veil of invisibility, it happened that the steward of his palace had a daughter born to him whose name was Ethne. On the same day Fand, the wife of Mananan the Sea God, bore him a daughter, and since Angus was a friend of Mananan and much beloved by him, the child of the Sea God was sent to Brugh na Boyna, the noble dwelling-place of Angus, to be fostered and brought up, as the custom was. And Ethne became the handmaid of the young princess of the sea. In time Ethne grew into a fair and stately maiden Now in the Brugh of Angus there were two magical treasures, namely, an ale-vat which could never be emptied, and two swine whereof one was ever roasted and ready to be eaten while the other lived, and thus they were, day and day about. There was therefore always a store of food of faery, charged with magical spells, by eating of which one could never grow old or die. It came to be noticed that after Ethne had grown up she never ate or drank of the fairy food, or of any other, yet she continued to seem healthy and well-nourished. This was reported to Angus, and by him to Mananan, and Mananan by his wisdom discovered the cause of it. One of the lords of the Danaans, happening to be on a visit with Angus, was rendered distraught by the maiden's beauty, and one day he laid hands upon her and strove to carry her away to his own dwelling. Ethne escaped from him, but the blaze of resentment at the insult that lit up in her soul consumed in her the fairy nature, that knows not of good or evil, and the nature of the children of Adam took its place. Thenceforth she ate not of the fairy food, which is prohibited to man, and she was nourished miraculously by the will of the One God. But after a time it chanced that Mananan and Angus brought from the Holy Land two cows whose milk could never run dry. In this milk there was nothing of the fairy spell, and Ethne lived upon it many long years, milking the cows herself, nor did her youth and beauty suffer any change. Now it happened that on one very hot day the daughter of Mananan went down to bathe in the waters of the Boyne, and Ethne and her other maidens along with her. After they had refreshed themselves in the cool, amber-coloured water, they arrayed themselves in their silken robes and trooped back to the Brugh again; but ere they entered it, they discovered that Ethne was not among them. So they went back, scattering themselves along the bank and searching in every quiet pool of the river and in every dark recess among the great trees that bordered it, for Ethne was dearly loved by all of them; but neither trace nor tidings of her could they find, and they went sorrowfully home without her, to tell the tale to Angus and to her father. What had befallen Ethne was this. In taking off her garments by the riverside she had mislaid her fairy charm, and was become as a mortal maid. Nothing could she now see of her companions, and all around was strange to her. The fairy track that had led to the riverside was overgrown with briars, the palace of Angus was but a wooded hill. She knew not where she was, and pierced with sudden terror she fled wildly away, seeking for the familiar places that she had known in the fairy life, but which were now behind the Veil. At length she came to a high wall wherein was a wicket gate, and through it she saw a garden full of sweet herbs and flowers, which surrounded a steep-roofed building of stone. In the garden she saw a man in a long brown robe tied about his waist with a cord. He smiled at her and beckoned her to come in without fear. He was a monk of the holy Patrick, and the house was a convent church. When the monk had heard her tale, he marvelled greatly and brought her to St Patrick himself, who instructed her in the Faith, and she believed and was baptized. [Illustration: "She heard her own name called again and again"] But not long thereafter, as she was praying in the church by the Boyne, the sky darkened and she heard a sound without like the rushing of a great wind, and mingled in it were cries and lamentations, and her own name called again and again in a multitude of voices, thin and faint as the crying of curlews upon the moor. She sprang up and gazed around, calling in return, but nothing could she see, and at last the storm of cries died away, and everything was still again around the church except the singing voice of Boyne and the humming of the garden bees. Then Ethne sank down swooning, and the monks bore her out into the air, and it was long until her heart beat and her eyes unclosed again. In that hour she fell into a sickness from which she never recovered. In no long time she died with her head upon the breast of the holy Patrick, and she was buried in the church where she had first been received by the monk; and the church was called Killethne, or the Church of Ethne, from that day forward until now. THE HIGH DEEDS OF FINN CHAPTER IX The Boyhood of Finn mac Cumhal In Ireland long ago, centuries before the English appeared in that country, there were kings and chiefs, lawyers and merchants, men of the sword and men of the book, men who tilled their own ground and men who tilled the ground of others, just as there are now. But there was also, as ancient poets and historians tell us, a great company or brotherhood of men who were bound to no fixed calling, unless it was to fight for the High King of Ireland whenever foes threatened him from within the kingdom or without it. This company was called the Fianna of Erinn. They were mighty hunters and warriors, and though they had great possessions in land, and rich robes, and gold ornaments, and weapons wrought with beautiful chasing and with coloured enamels, they lived mostly a free out-door life in the light hunting-booths which they made in the woods where the deer and the wolf ranged. There were then vast forests in Ireland, which are all gone now, and there were also, as there still are, many great and beautiful lakes and rivers, swarming with fish and water-fowl. In the forests and on the mountain sides roamed the wild boar and the wolf, and great herds of deer, some of giant size, whose enormous antlers are sometimes found when bogs are being drained. The Fianna chased these and the wolves with great dogs, whose courage and strength and beauty were famous throughout Europe, and which they prized and loved above all things. To the present day in Ireland there still remain some of this breed of Irish hounds, but the giant deer and the wolf are gone, and the Fianna of Erinn live only in the ancient books that were written of them, and in the tales that are still told of them in the winter evenings by the Irish peasant's fireside. The Fianna were under the rule of one great captain or chief, and at the time I tell of his name was Cumhal, son of Trenmor. Now a tribe or family of the Fianna named the Clan Morna, or Sons of Morna, rose in rebellion against Cumhal, for they were jealous and greedy of his power and glory, and sought to have the captaincy for themselves. They defeated and slew him at the battle of Cnucha, which is now called Castleknock, near the City of the Hurdle Ford, which is the name that Dublin still bears in the Irish tongue. Goll, son of Morna, slew Cumhal, and they spoiled him of the Treasure Bag of the Fianna, which was a bag made of a crane's skin and having in it jewels of great price, and magic weapons, and strange things that had come down from far-off days when the Fairy Folk and mortal men battled for the lordship of Ireland. The Bag with its treasures was given to Lia, the chief of Luachar in Connacht, who had the keeping of it before, for he was the treasurer of Cumhal, and he was the first man who had wounded Cumhal in the battle when he fell. Cumhal's wife was named Murna, and she bore him two sons. The elder was named Tulcha, and he fled from the country for fear of Goll and took service with the King of Scotland. The younger was born after Cumhal's death, and his name was called Demna. And because his mother feared that the sons of Morna would find him out and kill him, she gave him to a Druidess and another wise woman of Cumhal's household, and bade them take him away and rear him as best they could. So they took him into the wild woods on the Slieve Bloom Mountains, and there they trained him to hunt and fish and to throw the spear, and he grew strong, and as beautiful as a child of the Fairy Folk. If he were in the same field with a hare he could run so that the hare could never leave the field, for Demna was always before it. He could run down and slay a stag with no dogs to help him, and he could kill a wild duck on the wing with a stone from his sling. And the Druidess taught him the learning of the time, and also the story of his race and nation, and told him of his right to be captain of the Fianna of Erinn when his day of destiny should come. One day, while still a boy, he was roaming through the woods when he came to the mansion of a great lord, where many boys, sons of the chief men of Ireland, were being trained in manly arts and exercises. He found them playing at hurling, and they invited him to join them. He did so, but the side he was on won too easily, so they divided again, and yet again, giving fewer and fewer to Demna's side, till at last he alone drove the ball to the goal through them all, flashing among them as a salmon among a shoal of minnows. And then their anger and jealousy rose and grew bitter against the stranger, and instead of honouring him as gallant lads of gentle blood should have done they fell upon him with their hurling clubs and sought to kill him. But Demna felled seven of them to the ground and put the rest to flight, and then went his way home. When the boys told what had happened the chief asked them who it was that had defeated and routed them single-handed. They said, "It was a tall shapely lad, and very fair (_finn_)." So the name of Finn, the Fair One, clung to him thenceforth, and by that name he is known to this day. By and by Finn gathered round him a band of youths who loved him for his strength and valour and for his generous heart, and with them he went hunting in the forests. And Goll, and the sons of Morna, who were now captains of the Fianna under the High King, began to hear tales of him and his exploits, and they sent trackers to inquire about him, for they had an inkling of who this wonderful fair-haired youth might be. Finn's foster mothers heard of this. "You must leave this place," they said to him, "and see our faces no more, for if Goll's men find you here they will slay you. We have cherished the blood of Cumhal," they said, "and now our work is done. Go, and may blessing and victory go with you." So Finn departed with naught but his weapons and his hunting gear, very sorrowful at leaving the wise and loving friends who had fostered his childhood; but deep in his heart was a wild and fierce delight at the thought of the trackless ways he would travel, and the wonders he would see; and all the future looked to him as beautiful and dim as the mists that fill a mountain glen under the morning sun. Now after the death of Cumhal, his brother Crimmal and a few others of the aged warriors of the Fianna, who had not fallen in the fight at Cnucha, fled away into Connacht, and lived there in the deepest recesses of a great forest, where they hoped the conquerors might never find them. Here they built themselves a poor dwelling of tree branches, plastered with mud and roofed with reeds from the lake, and here they lived on what game they could kill or snare in the wild wood; and harder and harder it grew, as age and feebleness crept on them, to find enough to eat, or to hew wood for their fire. In this retreat, never having seen the friendly face of man, they were one day startled to hear voices and the baying of hounds approaching them through the wood, and they thought that the sons of Morna were upon them at last, and that their hour of doom was at hand. Soon they perceived a company of youths coming towards their hut, with one in front who seemed to be their leader. Taller he was by a head than the rest, broad shouldered, and with masses of bright hair clustering round his forehead, and he carried in his hand a large bag made of some delicate skin and stained in patterns of red and blue. The old men thought when they saw him of a saying there was about the mighty Lugh, who was brother to the wife of Cumhal, that when he came among his army as they mustered for battle, men felt as though they beheld the rising of the sun. As they came near, the young men halted and looked upon the elders with pity, for their clothing of skins was ragged and the weapons they strove to hold were rusted and blunt, and except for their proud bearing and the fire in their old eyes they looked more like aged and worthless slaves in the household of a niggardly lord than men who had once been the flower of the fighting men of Erinn. But the tall youth stepped in front of his band and cried aloud-- "Which of ye is Crimmal, son of Trenmor?" And one of the elders said, "I am Crimmal." Then tears filled the eyes of the youth, and he knelt down before the old man and put his hands in his. "My lord and chief," he said, "I am Finn, son of Cumhal, and the day of deliverance is come." [Illustration: "And that night there was feasting and joy in the lonely hut"] So the youths brought in the spoils of their hunting, and yet other spoils than these; and that night there was feasting and joy in the lonely hut. And Crimmal said-- "It was foretold to us that one day the blood of Cumhal should be avenged, and the race of Cumhal should rule the Fianna again. This was the sign that the coming champion should give of his birth and destiny; he was to bear with him the Treasure Bag of Cumhal and the sacred things that were therein." Finn said, "Ye know the Bag and its treasures, tell us if these be they." And he laid his skin bag on the knees of Crimmal. Crimmal opened it, and he took out the jewels of sovranty the magic spear-head made by the smiths of the Fairy Folk, and he said, "These be the treasures of Cumhal; truly the ripeness of the time is come." And Finn then told the story of how he had won these things. "But yesterday morning," he said, "we met on our way a woman of noble aspect, and she knelt over the body of a slain youth. When she lifted her head as we drew near, tears of blood ran down her cheeks, and she cried to me, 'Whoever thou art, I bind thee by the bonds of the sacred ordinances of the Gael that thou avenge my wrong. This was my son Glonda,' she said, 'my only son, and he was slain to-day wantonly by the Lord of Luachar and his men.' So we went, my company and I, to the Dún of the Lord of Luachar, and found an earthen rampart with a fosse before it, and on the top of the rampart was a fence of oaken posts interlaced with wattles, and over this we saw the many-coloured thatch of a great dwelling-house, and its white walls painted with bright colours under the broad eaves. So I stood forth and called to the Lord of Luachar and bade him make ready to pay an eric to the mother of Glonda, whatsoever she should demand. But he laughed at us and cursed us and bade us begone. Then we withdrew into the forest, but returned with a great pile of dry brushwood, and while some of us shot stones and arrows at whoever should appear above the palisade, others rushed up with bundles of brushwood and laid it against the palisade and set it on fire, and the Immortal Ones sent a blast of wind that set the brushwood and palisade quickly in a blaze, and through that fiery gap we charged in shouting. And half of the men of Luachar we killed and the rest fled, and the Lord of Luachar I slew in the doorway of his palace. We took a great spoil then, O Crimmal--these vessels of bronze and silver, and spears and bows, smoked bacon and skins of Greek wine; and in a great chest of yewwood we found this bag. All these things shall now remain with you, and my company shall also remain to hunt for you and protect you, for ye shall know want and fear no longer while ye live." And Finn said, "I would fain know if my mother Murna still lives, or if she died by the sons of Morna." Crimmal said, "After thy father's death, Finn, she was wedded to Gleor, Lord of Lamrigh, in the south, and she still lives in honour with him, and the sons of Morna have let her be. Didst thou never see her since she gave thee, an infant, to the wise women on the day of Cnucha?" "I remember," said Finn, "when I was, as they tell me, but six years old, there came one day to our shieling in the woods of Slieve Bloom a chariot with bronze-shod wheels and a bronze wolf's head at the end of the pole, and two horsemen riding with it, besides him who drove. A lady was in it, with a gold frontlet on her brow and her cloak was fastened with a broad golden brooch. She came into our hut and spoke long with my foster-mothers, and me she clasped in her arms and kissed many times, and I felt her tears on my face. And they told me afterwards that this was Murna of the White Neck, and my mother. If she have suffered no harm at the hands of the sons of Morna, so much the less is the debt that they shall one day pay." Now it is to be told what happened to Finn at the house of Finegas the Bard. Finn did not deem that the time had come for him to seize the captaincy of the Fianna until he had perfected himself in wisdom and learning. So on leaving the shelter of the old men in the wood he went to learn wisdom and the art of poetry from Finegas, who dwelt by the River Boyne, near to where is now the village of Slane. It was a belief among the poets of Ireland that the place of the revealing of poetry is always by the margin of water. But Finegas had another reason for the place where he made his dwelling, for there was an old prophecy that whoever should first eat of the Salmon of Knowledge that lived in the River Boyne, should become the wisest of men. Now this salmon was called Finntan in ancient times and was one of the Immortals, and he might be eaten and yet live. But in the time of Finegas he was called the Salmon of the Pool of Fec, which is the place where the fair river broadens out into a great still pool, with green banks softly sloping upward from the clear brown water. Seven years was Finegas watching the pool, but not until after Finn had come to be his disciple was the salmon caught. Then Finegas gave it to Finn to cook, and bade him eat none of it. But when Finegas saw him coming with the fish, he knew that something had chanced to the lad, for he had been used to have the eye of a young man but now he had the eye of a sage. Finegas said, "Hast thou eaten of the salmon?" "Nay," said Finn, "but it burnt me as I turned it upon the spit and I put my thumb in my mouth" And Finegas smote his hands together and was silent for a while. Then he said to the lad who stood by obediently, "Take the salmon and eat it, Finn, son of Cumhal, for to thee the prophecy is come. And now go hence, for I can teach thee no more, and blessing and victory be thine." With Finegas, Finn learned the three things that make a poet, and they are Fire of Song, and Light of Knowledge, and the Art of Extempore Recitation. Before he departed he made this lay to prove his art, and it is called "The Song of Finn in Praise of May":-- May Day! delightful day! Bright colours play the vales along. Now wakes at morning's slender ray, Wild and gay, the blackbird's song. Now comes the bird of dusty hue, The loud cuckoo, the summer-lover; Branching trees are thick with leaves; The bitter, evil time is over. Swift horses gather nigh Where half dry the river goes; Tufted heather crowns the height; Weak and white the bogdown blows. Corncrake sings from eve till morn, Deep in corn, a strenuous bard! Sings the virgin waterfall, White and tall, her one sweet word. Loaded bees of little power Goodly flower-harvest win; Cattle roam with muddy flanks; Busy ants go out and in. Through, the wild harp of the wood Making music roars the gale-- Now it slumbers without motion, On the ocean sleeps the sail. Men grow mighty in the May, Proud and gay the maidens grow; Fair is every wooded height; Fair and bright the plain below. A bright shaft has smit the streams, With gold gleams the water-flag; Leaps the fish, and on the hills Ardour thrills the flying stag. Carols loud the lark on high, Small and shy, his tireless lay, Singing in wildest, merriest mood Of delicate-hued, delightful May.[20] [20] I am much indebted to the beautiful prose translation of this song, published by Dr Kuno Meyer in _Ériu_ (the Journal of the School of Irish Learning), Vol. I. Part II. In my poetic version an attempt has been made to render the riming and metrical effect of the original, which is believed to date from about the ninth century. CHAPTER X The Coming of Finn And now we tell how Finn came to the captaincy of the Fianna of Erinn. At this time Ireland was ruled by one of the mightiest of her native kings, Conn, son of Felimy, who was surnamed Conn of the Hundred Battles. And Conn sat in his great banqueting hall at Tara, while the yearly Assembly of the lords and princes of the Gael went forward, during which it was the inviolable law that no quarrel should be raised and no weapon drawn, so that every man who had a right to come to that Assembly might come there and sit next his deadliest foe in peace. Below him sat at meat the provincial kings and the chiefs of clans, and the High King's officers and fighting-men of the Fianna, with Goll and the sons of Morna at their head. And there, too, sat modestly a strange youth, tall and fair, whom no one had seen in that place before. Conn marked him with the eye of a king that is accustomed to mark men, and by and by he sent him a horn full of wine from his own table and bade the youth declare his name and lineage. "I am Finn, son of Cumhal," said the youth, standing among them, tall as a warriors spear, and a start and a low murmur ran through the Assembly while the captains of the Fianna stared upon him like men who see a vision of the dead. "What seek you here?" said Conn, and Finn replied, "To be your man, O King, and to do you service in war as my father did." "It is well," said the King. "Thou art a friend's son and the son of man of trust." So Finn put his hand in the Kind's and swore fealty and service to him, and Conn set him beside his own son Art, and all fell to talking again and wondering what new things that day would bring forth, and the feasting went merrily forward. Now at this time the people of the royal burg of Tara were sorely afflicted by a goblin of the Fairy Folk, who was wont to approach the place at night-fall, there to work what harm to man, or beast, or dwelling that he found in his evil mind to do. And he could not be resisted, for as he came he played on a magic harp a strain so keen and sweet, that each man who heard it must needs stand entranced and motionless until the fairy music had passed away. The King proclaimed a mighty reward to any man who would save Tara from the goblin, and Finn thought in his heart, "I am the man to do that." So he said to the King, "Shall I have my rightful heritage as captain of the Fianna of Erin if I slay the goblin?" Conn said, "I promise thee that," and he bound himself by the sureties of all the provincial Kings of Ireland and of the Druid Kithro and his magicians. Now there was among the following of Conn a man named Fiacha, who had been as a youth a trusty friend and follower of Cumhal. He came to Finn and brought with him a spear having a head of dark bronze with glittering edges, and fastened with thirty rivets of Arabian gold, and the spear-head was laced up within a leathern case. "By this weapon of enchantment," said Fiacha, "you shall overcome the enchanter," and he taught Finn what to do with it when the hour of need should come. So Finn took the spear, and left the strings of the case loose, and he paced with it towards night-fall around the ramparts of royal Tara. And when he had once made the circuit of the rampart, and the light had now almost quite faded from the summer sky, and the wide low plains around the Hill of Tara were a sea of white mist, he heard far off in the deepening gloom the first notes of the fairy harp. Never such music was made by mortal hand, for it had in it sorrows that man has never felt, and joys for which man has no name, and it seemed as if a man listening to that music might burst from time into eternity and be as one of the Immortals for evermore. And Finn listened, amazed and rapt, till at last as the triumphant melody grew nearer and louder he saw dimly a Shadow Shape playing as it were on a harp, and coming swiftly towards him. Then with a mighty effort he roused himself from dreams, and tore the cover from the spear-head and laid the metal to his brow. And the demoniac energy that had been beaten into the blade by the hammers of unearthly craftsmen in ancient days thrilled through him and made him fighting-mad, and he rushed forward shouting his battle-cry, and swinging the spear aloft. But the Shadow turned and fled before him, and Finn chased it northward to the Fairy Mound of Slieve Fuad, and there he drove the spear through its back. And what it was that fell there in the night, and what it was that passed like the shadow of a shadow into the Fairy Mound, none can tell, but Finn bore back with him next day a pale, sorrowful head on the point of Fiacha's spear, and the goblin troubled the folk of royal Tara no more. But Conn of the Hundred Battles called the Fianna together, and he set Finn at his right hand and said, "Here is your Captain by birth-right and by sword-right. Let who will now obey him hence-forward, and who will not, let him go in peace and serve Arthur of Britain or Arist of Alba, or whatsoever King he will." And Goll, son of Morna, said, "For my part I will be Finn's man under thee, O King," and he swore obedience and loyalty to Finn before them all. Nor was it hard for any man to step where Goll had gone before, so they all took their oaths of Fian service to Finn mac Cumhal. And thus it was that Finn came to the captaincy of the Fianna of Erinn, and he ruled the Fianna many a year till he died in battle with the Clan Urgrenn at Brea upon the Boyne. CHAPTER XI Finn's Chief Men With the coming of Finn did the Fianna of Erinn come to their glory, and with his life their glory passed away. For he ruled them as no other captain ever did, both strongly and wisely, and never bore a grudge against any, but freely forgave a man all offences save disloyalty to his lord. Thus it is told that Conan, son of the Lord of Luachar, him who had the Treasure Bag and whom Finn slew at Rath Luachar, was for seven years an outlaw and marauder, harrying the Fians, and killing here a man and there a hound, and firing their dwellings, and raiding their cattle. At last they ran him to a corner at Cam Lewy in Munster, and when he saw that he could escape no more he stole upon Finn as he sat down after a chase, and flung his arms round him from behind, holding him fast and motionless. Finn knew who held him thus and said, "What wilt thou Conan?" Conan said, "To make a covenant of service and fealty with thee, for I may no longer evade thy wrath." So Finn laughed and said, "Be it so, Conan, and if thou prove faithful and valiant, I also will keep faith." And Conan served him for thirty years, and no man of all the Fianna was keener and hardier in fight. There was also another Conan, namely, mac Morna, who was big and bald, and unwieldy in manly exercises, but whose tongue was bitter and scurrilous; no high brave thing was done that Conan the Bald did not mock and belittle. It is said that when he was stripped he showed down his back and buttocks a black sheep's fleece instead of a man's skin, and this is the way it came about. One day when Conan and certain others of the Fianna were hunting in the forest they came to a stately Dún, white-walled, with coloured thatching on the roof, and they entered it to seek hospitality. But when they were within they found! no man, but a great empty hall with pillars of cedar wood and silken hangings about it, like the hall of a wealthy lord. In the midst there was a table set forth with a sumptuous feast of boar's flesh and venison, and a great vat of yew wood full of red wine, and cups of gold and silver. So they set themselves gaily to eat and drink, for they were hungry from the chase, and talk and laughter were loud around the board. But one of them ere long started to his feet with a cry of fear and wonder, and they all looked round, and saw before their eyes the tapestried walls changing to rough wooden balks and the ceiling to foul sooty thatch like that of a herdsman's hut. So they knew they were being entrapped by some enchantment of the Fairy Folk, and all sprang to their feet and made for the doorway, that was no longer high and stately but was shrinking to the size of a fox earth,--all but Conan the Bald, who was gluttonously devouring the good things on the table, and heeded nothing else. Then they shouted to him, and as the last of them went out he strove to rise and follow, but found himself limed to the chair so that he could not stir. So two of the Fianna, seeing his plight, rushed back and seized his arms and tugged with all their might, and if they dragged him away, they left the most part of his raiment and his skin sticking to the chair. Then, not knowing what else to do with him in his sore plight they clapped upon his back the nearest thing they could find, which was the skin of a black sheep that they took from a peasant's flock hard by, and it grew there, and Conan wore it till his death. Though Conan was a coward and rarely adventured himself in battle with the Fianna, it is told that once a good man fell by his hand. This was on the day of the great battle with the pirate horde on the Hill of Slaughter in Kerry.[21] For Liagan, one of the invaders, stood out before the hosts and challenged the bravest of the Fians to single combat, and the Fians, in mockery, thrust Conan forth to the fight. When he appeared, Liagan laughed, for he had more strength than wit, and he said, "Silly is thy visit, thou bald old man." And as Conan still approached, Liagan lifted his hand fiercely, and Conan said, "Truly thou art in more peril from the man behind than from the man in front." Liagan looked round; and in that instant Conan swept off his head and then threw down his sword and ran for shelter to the ranks of the laughing Fians. But Finn was very wroth because he had won the victory by a trick. [21] The hill still bears the name, Knockanar. And one of the chiefest of the friends of Finn was Dermot of the Love Spot. He was so fair and noble to look on that no woman could refuse him love, and it was said that he never knew weariness, but his step was as light at the end of the longest day of battle or the chase as it was at the beginning. Between him and Finn there was great love until the day when Finn, then an old man, was to wed Grania, daughter of Cormac the High King; but Grania bound Dermot by the sacred ordinances of the Fian chivalry to fly with her on her wedding night, which thing, sorely against his will, he did, and thereby got his death. But Grania went back to Finn, and when the Fianna saw her they laughed through all the camp in bitter mockery, for they would not have given one of the dead man's fingers for twenty such as Grania. Others of the chief men that Finn had were Keelta mac Ronan, who was one of his house-stewards and a strong warrior as well as a golden-tongued reciter of tales and poems. And there was Oisín, the son of Finn, the greatest poet of the Gael, of whom more shall be told hereafter. And Oisín had a son Oscar, who was the fiercest fighter in battle among all the Fians. He slew in his maiden battle three kings, and in his fury he also slew by mischance his own friend and condisciple Linne. His wife was the fair Aideen, who died of grief after Oscar's death in the battle of Gowra, and Oisín buried her on Ben Edar (Howth), and raised over her the great cromlech which is there to this day. Another good man that Finn had was Geena, the son of Luga; his mother was the warrior-daughter of Finn, and his father was a near kinsman of hers. He was nurtured by a woman that bore the name of Fair Mane, who had brought up many of the Fianna to manhood. When his time to take arms was come he stood before Finn and made his covenant of fealty, and Finn gave him the captaincy of a band. But mac Luga proved slothful and selfish, for ever vaunting himself and his weapon-skill and never training his men to the chase of deer or boar, and he used to beat his hounds and his serving-men. At last the Fians under him came with their whole company to Finn at Loch Lena in Killarney, and there they laid their complaint against mac Luga, and said, "Choose now, O Finn, whether you will have us, or the son of Luga by himself." Then Finn sent to mac Luga and questioned him, but mac Luga could say nothing to the point as to why the Fianna would none of him. Then Finn taught him the things befitting a youth of noble birth and a captain of men, and they were these:-- "Son of Luga, if armed service be thy design, in a great man's household be quiet, be surly in the narrow pass." "Without a fault of his beat not thy hound; until thou ascertain her guilt, bring not a charge against thy wife." "In battle, meddle not with a buffoon, for, O mac Luga, he is but a fool." "Censure not any if he be of grave repute; stand not up to take part in a brawl; have nought to do with a madman or a wicked one." "Two-thirds of thy gentleness be shown to women and to those that creep on the floor (little children) and to poets, and be not violent to the common people." "Utter not swaggering speech, nor say thou wilt not yield what is right; it is a shameful thing to speak too stiffly unless that it be feasible to carry out thy words." "So long as thou shalt live, thy lord forsake not; neither for gold nor for other reward in the world abandon one whom thou art pledged to protect." "To a chief do not abuse his people, for that is no work for a gentleman." "Be no talebearer, nor utterer of falsehoods; be not talkative nor rashly censorious. Stir not up strife against thee, however good a man thou be." "Be no frequenter of the drinking-house, nor given to carping at the old; meddle not with a man of mean estate." "Dispense thy meat freely, have no niggard for thy familiar." "Force not thyself upon a chief, nor give him cause to speak ill of thee." "Stick to thy gear, hold fast to thy arms till the stern fight with its weapon-glitter be well ended." "Be more apt to give than to deny, and follow after gentleness, O son of Luga."[22] [22] I have in the main borrowed Standish Hayes O'Grady's vivid and racy translation of these adages of the Fianna. (SILVA GADELICA, Engl. transl., p. 115.) And the son of Luga, it is written, heeded these counsels and gave up his bad ways, and he became one of the best of Finn's men. Such-like things also Finn taught to all his followers, and the best of them became like himself in valour and gentleness and generosity. Each of them loved the repute of his comrades more than his own, and each would say that for all noble qualities there was no man in the breadth of the world worthy to be thought of beside Finn. It was said of him that "he gave away gold as if it were the leaves of the woodland, and silver as if it were the foam of the sea," and that whatever he had bestowed upon any man, if he fell out with him afterwards, he was never known to bring it against him. Sang the poet Oisín of him once to St Patrick:-- "These are the things that were dear to Finn-- The din of battle, the banquet's glee, The bay of his hounds through the rough glen ringing. And the blackbird singing in Letter Lee, "The shingle grinding along the shore When they dragged his war-boats down to sea, The dawn-wind whistling his spears among, And the magic song of his minstrels three." In the time of Finn no one was ever admitted to be one of the Fianna of Erinn unless he could pass through many severe tests of his worthiness. He must be versed in the Twelve Books of Poetry and must himself be skilled to make verse in the rime and metre of the masters of Gaelic poesy. Then he was buried to his middle in the earth, and must, with a shield and a hazel stick, there defend himself against nine warriors casting spears at him, and if he were wounded he was not accepted. Then his hair was woven into braids and he was chased through the forest by the Fians. If he were overtaken, or if a braid of his hair were disturbed, or if a dry stick cracked under his foot, he was not accepted. He must be able to leap over a lath level with his brow and to run at full speed under level with his knee, and he must be able while running to draw out a thorn from his foot and never slacken speed. He must take no dowry with a wife. It was said that one of the Fians, namely Keelta, lived on to a great age, and saw St Patrick, by whom he was baptized into the faith of the Christ, and to whom he told many tales of Finn and his men, which Patrick's scribe wrote down. And once Patrick asked him how it was that the Fianna became so mighty and so glorious that all Ireland sang of their deeds, as Ireland has done ever since. Keelta answered, "Truth was in our hearts and strength in our arms, and what we said, that we fulfilled." This was also told of Keelta after he had seen St Patrick and received the Faith. He chanced to be one day by Leyney in Connacht, where the Fairy Folk of the Mound of Duma were wont to be sorely harassed and spoiled every year by pirates from oversea. They called Keelta to their aid, and by his counsel and valour the invaders were overcome and driven home, but Keelta was sorely wounded. Then Keelta asked that Owen the seer of the Fairy Folk might foretell him how long he had to live, for he was already a very aged man. Owen said, "It will be seventeen years, O Keelta of fair fame, till thou fall by the pool of Tara, and grievous that will be to all the King's household." "Even so did my chief and lord, my guardian and loving Protector, Finn, foretell to me," said Keelta. "And now what fee will ye give me for my rescue of you from the worst affliction that ever befell you?" "A great reward," said the Fairy Folk, "even youth; for by our art we shall change you into young man again with all the strength and activity of your prime." "Nay, God forbid," said Keelta "that I should take upon me a shape of sorcery, or any other than that which my Maker, the true and glorious God, hath bestowed upon me." And the Fairy Folk said, "It is the word of a true warrior and hero, and the thing that thou sayest is good." So they healed his wounds, and every bodily evil that he had, and he wished them blessing and victory, and went his way. CHAPTER XII The Tale of Vivionn the Giantess One day Finn and Goll, Keelta and Oscar, and others of the Fianna, were resting after the hunt on a certain hill now called the Ridge of the Dead Woman, and their meal was being got ready, when a girl of the kin of the giants came striding up and sat down among them. "Didst thou ever see a woman so tall?" asked Finn of Goll. "By my troth," said Goll, "never have I or any other seen a woman so big." She took her hand out of her bosom and on her long slender fingers there were three gold rings each as thick as an ox's yoke. "Let us question her," said Goll, and Finn said, "If we stood up, perchance she might hear us." So they all rose to their feet, but the giantess, on that, rose up too. "Maiden," said Finn, "if thou have aught to say to us or to hear from us, sit down and lean thine elbow on the hill-side." So she lay down and Finn bade her say whence she came and what was her will with them. "Out of the World Oversea where the sun sets am I come," she said, "to seek thy protection, O mighty Finn." "And what is thy name?" "My name is Vivionn of the Fair Hair, and my father Treon is called King of the Land of Lasses, for he has but three sons and nine and seven score daughters, and near him is a King who hath one daughter and eight score sons. To one of these, Æda, was I given in marriage sorely against my will. Three times now have I fled from him. And this time it was fishermen whom the wind blew to us from off this land who told us of a mighty lord here, named Finn, son of Cumhal, who would let none be wronged or oppressed, but he would be their friend and champion. And if thou be he, to thee am I come." Then she laid her hand in Finn's, and he bade her do the same with Goll mac Morna, who was second in the Fian leadership, and she did so. Then the maiden took from her head a jewelled golden helmet, and immediately her hair flowed out in seven score tresses, fair, curly and golden, at the abundance of which all stood amazed; and Finn said, "By the Immortals that we adore, but King Cormac and the poetess Ethne and the fair women-folk of the Fianna would deem it a marvel to see this girl. Tell us now, maiden, what portion wilt thou have of meat and drink? will that of a hundred of us suffice thee?" The girl then saw Cnu, the dwarf harper of Finn, who had just been playing to them, and she said, "Whatever thou givest to yon little man that bears the harp, be it much or little, the same, O Finn, will suffice for me." Then she begged a drink from them, and Finn called his gillie, Saltran, and bade him fetch the full of a certain great goblet with water from the ford; now this goblet was of wood, and it held as much as nine of the Fianna could drink. The maiden poured some of the water into her right hand and drank three sips of it, and scattered the rest over the Fianna, and she and they burst out laughing. Finn said, "On thy conscience, girl, what ailed thee not to drink out of the goblet?" "Never," she replied, "have I drunk out of any vessel but there was a rim of gold to it, or at least of silver." And now Keelta looking up perceived a tall youth coming swiftly towards them, who, when he approached, seemed even bigger than was the maiden. He wore a rough hairy cape over his shoulder and beneath that a green cloak fastened by a golden brooch; his tunic was of royal satin, and he bore a red shield slung over his shoulders, and a spear with a shaft as thick as a man's leg was in his hand; a gold-hilted sword hung by his side. And his face, which was smooth-shaven, was comelier than that of any of the sons of men. When he came near, seeing among the Fians a stir of alarm at this apparition, Finn said, "Keep every one of you his place, let neither warrior nor gillie address him. Know any of you this champion?" "I know him," said the maiden; "that is even he to escape from whom I am come to thee, O Finn." And she sat down between Finn and Goll. But the stranger drew near, and spake never a word, but before any one could tell what he would be at he thrust fiercely and suddenly with his spear at the girl, and the shaft stood out a hand's breadth at her back. And she fell gasping, but the young man drew his weapon out and passed rapidly through the crowd and away. [Illustration: "They ran him by hill and plain"] Then Finn cried, red with wrath, "Ye have seen! Avenge this wicked deed, or none of you aspire to Fianship again." And the whole company sprang to their feet and gave chase to that murderer, save only Finn and Goll, who stayed by the dying maiden. And they ran him by hill and plain to the great Bay of Tralee and down to the Tribute Point, where the traders from oversea were wont to pay their dues, and there he set his face to the West and took the water. By this time four of the Fianna had outstripped the rest, namely, Keelta, and Dermot, and Glas, and Oscar, son of Oisín. Of these Keelta was first, and just as the giant was mid-leg in the waves he hurled his spear and it severed the thong of the giant's shield so that it fell off in the water. And as the giant paused, Keelta seized his spear and tore it from him. But the giant waded on, and soon the Fians were floundering in deep water while the huge form, thigh deep, was seen striding towards the setting sun. And a great ship seemed to draw near, and it received him, and then departed into the light, but the Fians returned in the grey evening, bearing the spear and the great shield to Finn. There they found the maiden at point of death, and they laid the weapons before her. "Goodly indeed are these arms," she said, "for that is the Thunder Spear of the King Oversea and the shield is the Red Branch Shield," for it was covered with red arabesques. Then she bestowed her bracelets on Finn's three harpers, the dwarf Cnu, and Blanit his wife, and the harper Daira. And she bade Finn care for her burial, that it should be done becomingly, "for under thy honour and protection I got my death, and it was to thee I came into Ireland." So they buried her and lamented her, and made a great far-seen mound over her grave, which is called the Ridge of the Dead Woman, and set up a pillar stone upon it with her name and lineage carved in Ogham-crave.[23] [23] Ogham-craobh = "branching Ogham," so called because the letters resembled the branching of twigs from a stem. The Ogham alphabet was in use in Ireland in pre-Christian times, and many sepulchral inscriptions in it still remain. CHAPTER XIII The Chase of the Gilla Dacar In the reign of Cormac mac Art, grandson of Conn of the Hundred Battles, the order of precedence and dignity in the court of the High King at Tara was as follows: First came great Cormac, the kingly, the hospitable, warrior and poet, and he was supreme over all. Next in order came the five kings of the five Provinces of Ireland, namely, Ulster, Munster, Connacht, Leinster, and Mid-Erinn. After these ranked the captains of the royal host, of whom Finn, son of Cumhal, was the chief. Now the privileges of the Fianna of Erinn were many and great; to wit, in every county in Ireland one townland, and in every townland a cartron of land, and in the house of every gentleman the right to have a young deer-hound or a beagle kept at nurse from November to May, together with many other taxes and royalties not to be recounted here. But if they had these many and great privileges, yet greater than these were the toils and hardships which they had to endure, in guarding the coasts of all Ireland from oversea invaders and marauders, and in keeping down all robbers and outlaws and evil folk within the kingdom, for this was the duty laid upon them by their bond of service to the King. Now the summer half of the year was wont to be ended by a great hunting in one of the forests of Ireland, and so it was that one All-hallowtide, when the great banquet of Finn in his Dún on the Hill of Allen was going forward, and the hall resounded with cheerful talk and laughter and with the music of tympan and of harp, Finn asked of the assembled captains in what part of Erinn they should proceed to beat up game on the morrow. And it was agreed among them to repair to the territory of Thomond and Desmond in Munster; and from Allen they set out accordingly and came to the Hill of Knockany. Thence they threw out the hunt and sent their bands of beaters through many a gloomy ravine and by many a rugged hill-pass and many a fair open plain. Desmond's high hills, called now Slievelogher, they beat, and the smooth, swelling hills of Slievenamuck, and the green slopes of grassy Slievenamon, and the towering rough crags of the Decies, and thence on to the dark woods of Belachgowran. While the great hunt was going forward Finn with certain of his chief captains sat on a high mound to overlook it. There, with Finn, were Goll and Art mac Morna, and Liagan the swift runner, and Dermot of the Love Spot, and Keelta, son of Ronan, and there also was Conan the Bald, the man of scurrilous tongue, and a score or so more. Sweet it was to Finn and his companions to hear from the woods and wildernesses around them the many-tongued baying of the hounds and the cries and whistling of the beaters, the shouting of the strong men and the notes of the Fian hunting-horn. When they had sat there awhile one of Finn's men came running quickly towards him and said-- "A stranger is approaching us from the westward, O Finn, and I much mislike his aspect." With that all the Fians looked up and beheld upon the hillside a huge man, looking like some Fomorian marauder, black-visaged and ugly, with a sour countenance and ungainly limbs. On his back hung a dingy black shield, on his misshapen left thigh he wore a sharp broad-bladed sword; projecting over his shoulder were two long lances with broad rusty heads. He wore garments that looked as if they had been buried in a cinder heap, and a loose ragged mantle. Behind him there shambled a sulky, ill-shapen mare with a bony carcase and bowed knees, and on her neck a clumsy iron halter. With a rope her master hauled her along, with violent jerks that seemed as if they would wrench her head from her scraggy neck, and ever and anon the mare would stand and jib, when the man laid on her ribs such blows from a strong ironshod cudgel that they sounded like the surges of the sea beating on a rocky coast. Short as was the distance from where the man and his horse were first perceived to where Finn was standing, it was long ere they traversed it. At last, however, he came into the presence of Finn and louted before him, doing obeisance. Finn lifted his hand over him and bade him speak, and declare his business and his name and rank. "I know not," said the fellow, "of what blood I am, gentle or simple, but only this, that I am a wight from oversea looking for service and wages. And as I have heard of thee, O Finn, that thou art not wont to refuse any man, I came to take service with thee if thou wilt have me." "Neither shall I refuse thee," said Finn; "but what brings thee here with a horse and no horseboy?" "Good enough reason," said the stranger. "I have much ado to get meat for my own belly, seeing that I eat for a hundred men; and I will not have any horseboy meddling with my ration." "And what name dost thou bear?" "I am called the Gilla Dacar (the Hard Gillie)," replied he. "Why was that name given thee?" asked Finn. "Good enough reason for that also," spake the stranger, "for of all the lads in the world there is none harder than I am for a lord to get any service and obedience from." Then turning to Conan the Bald he said, "Whether among the Fianna is a horseman's pay or a footman's the highest?" "A horseman's surely," said Conan, "seeing that he gets twice the pay of a footman." "Then I am a horseman in thy service, Finn," said the gillie. "I call thee to observe that I have here a horse, and moreover that as a horseman I came among the Fianna. Have I thy authority," he went on, "to turn out my steed among thine?" "Turn her out," quoth Finn. Then the big man flung his mare the rope and immediately she galloped off to where the Fian horses were grazing. Here she fell to biting and kicking them, knocking out the eye of one and snapping off another's ear and breaking the leg of another with a kick. "Take away thy mare, big man," cried Conan then, "or by Heaven and Earth were it not that Finn told thee to let her loose I would let loose her brains. Many a bad bargain has Finn made but never a worse than thou." "By Heaven and Earth," said the gillie, "that I never will, for I have no horseboy, and I will do no horseboy's work." Then Conan mac Morna took the iron halter and laid it on the stranger's horse and brought the beast back to Finn and held it there. Said Finn to Conan, "I have never seen thee do horseboy's service even to far better men than this gillie. How now if thou wert to leap on the brute's back and gallop her to death over hill and dale in payment for the mischief she hath wrought among our steeds?" At this word Conan clambered up on the back of the big man's mare, and with all his might he smote his two heels into her, but the mare never stirred. "I perceive what ails her," said Finn. "She will never stir till she has a weight of men on her equal to that of her own rider." Then thirteen men of the Fianna scrambled up laughing behind Conan, and the mare lay down under them, and then got up again, they still clinging to her. At this the big man said, "It appears that you are making a sport and mockery of my mare, and that even I myself do not escape from it. It is well for me that I have not spent the rest of the year in your company, seeing what a jest ye have made of me the very first day; and I perceive, O Finn, that thou art very unlike the report that is made of thee. And now I bid thee farewell, for of thy service I have had enough." So with downcast head and despondent looks the big gillie shambled slowly away until he had passed out of view of the Fianna, behind the shoulder of the hill. Having arrived here he tucked up his coat to his waist, and fast though be the flight of the swallow, and fast that of the roe-deer, and fast the rush of a roaring wind over a mountain top in mid-March, no faster are these than the bounding speed and furious flight of the big man down the hillside toward the West. No sooner did the mare see that her master had departed than she too dashed uncontrollably forward and flew down the hillside after him. And as the Fians saw Conan the Bald and his thirteen companions thus carried off, willy nilly, they broke into a roar of laughter and ran alongside mocking them. But Conan, seeing that they were being carried off in the wake of the big man of evil aspect, of whom none knew whence or who he was, he was terrified and began reviling and cursing, and shouted to Finn, "A palsy seize thee, Finn; may some rascally churl, that is if possible of worse blood than thyself, have thy head, unless thou follow and rescue us wheresoever this monster shall bring us." So Finn and the Fianna ran, and the mare ran, over bare hills and by deep glens, till at last they came to Corcaguiny in Kerry, where the gillie set his face to the blue ocean, and the mare dashed in after him. But ere he did so, Liagan the Swift got two hands on the tail of the mare, though further he could not win, and he was towed in, still clinging to his hold, and over the rolling billows away they went, the fourteen Fians on the wild mare's back, and Liagan haled along by her tail. "What is to be done now?" said Oisín to Finn when they had arrived at the beach. "Our men are to be rescued," said Finn, "for to that we are bound by the honour of the Fianna. Whithersoever they are gone, thither must we follow and win them back by fair means or foul; but to that end we must first fit out a galley." So in the end it was agreed that Finn and fourteen men of his bravest and best champions should sail oversea in search of the Gilla Dacar and his captives, while Oisín remained in Erinn and exercised rule over the Fianna in the place of his father. After a while, then, a swift galley was made ready by Finn and stored with victual, and with arms, and also with gold and raiment to make gifts withal if need should be. And into the ship came the fifteen valiant men, and gripped their oars, while Finn steered; and soon the sea whitened around their oarblades, and over the restless, rolling masses of the many-hued and voiceful billows, the ship clove her way to the West. And the Fians, who were wont to be wakened by the twittering of birds over their hunting booths in the greenwood, now delighted to hear, day after day as they roused themselves at morn, the lapping of the wide waters of the world against their vessel's bows, or the thunder of pounding surges when the wind blew hard. At length after many days the sharpest-eyed of the men of Finn saw far-off what seemed a mountain rising from the sea, and to it they shaped their course. When they had come to that land they found themselves under the shadow of a great grey cliff, and beneath it slippery rocks covered with seaweed. Then Dermot, who was the most active of the company, was bidden to mount the cliff and to procure means of drawing up the rest of the party, but of what land might lie on the top of that wall of rock none of them could discover anything. Dermot, descending from the ship, then climbed with difficulty up the face of the cliff, while the others made fast their ship among the rocks. But Dermot having arrived at the top saw no habitation of man, and could compass no way of helping his companions to mount. He went therefore boldly forward into the unknown land, hoping to obtain some help, if any friendly and hospitable folk could there be found. [Illustration: "Dermot took the horn and would have filled it"] Before he had gone far he came into a wild wood, thick and tangled, and full of the noise of streams, and the sough of winds, and twittering of birds, and hum of bees. After he had traversed this wilderness for a while he came to a mighty tree with densely interwoven branches, and beneath it a pile of rocks, having on its summit a pointed drinking horn wreathed with rich ornament, and at its foot a well of pure bright water. Dermot, being now thirsty, took the horn and would have filled it at the well, but as he stooped down to do so he heard a loud, threatening murmur which seemed to rise from it. "I perceive," he said to himself, "that I am forbidden to drink from this well" Nevertheless thirst compelled him, and he drank his fill. In no long time thereafter he saw an armed warrior of hostile aspect coming towards him through the wood. No courteous greeting did he give to Dermot, but began to revile him for roaming in his wood and wilderness, and for drinking his water. Thereupon they fought, and for the rest of the afternoon they took and gave hard blows neither subduing the other, till at last as darkness began to fall the warrior suddenly dived into the well and was seen no more. Dermot, vexed at this ending of the combat, then made him ready to spend the night in that place, but first he slew a deer in the wood, and made a fire, whereat he roasted pieces of the deer's flesh on spits of white hazel, and drank abundantly of the well-water, and then slept soundly through the night. Next morning when he awakened and went to the well he found the Champion of the Well standing there and awaiting him. "It is not enough, Dermot," said he angrily, "for thee to traverse my woods at will and to drink my water, but thou must even also slay my deer." Then they closed in combat again, and dealt each other blow for blow and wound for wound till evening parted them, and the champion dived into the well as before. On the third day it went even so; but as evening came on Dermot, watching closely, rushed at the champion just as he was about to plunge into the well, and gripped him in his arms. But none the less the Champion of the Well made his dive, and took down Dermot with him. And a darkness and faintness came over Dermot, but when he awoke, he found himself in a wide, open country, flowery and fair, and before him the walls and towers of a royal city. Thither the champion, sorely wounded, was now borne off, while a crowd of his people came round Dermot, and beat and wounded him, leaving him on the ground for dead. After night had fallen, when all the people of the city in the Land Undersea had departed, a stalwart champion, well-armed and of bold appearance, came upon Dermot and stirred him with his foot. Dermot thereon awoke from his swoon and, warrior-like, reached out his hand for his arms. But the champion said, "Wait awhile, my son, I have not come to do thee hurt or harm. Thou hast chosen an ill place to rest and slumber in, before the city of thine enemy. Rise and follow me, and I shall bestow thee far better than that." Dermot then rose and followed the champion, and long and far they journeyed until they came to a high-towered fortress, wherein were thrice fifty valiant men-at-arms and fair women; and the daughter of that champion, a white-toothed, rosy-cheeked, smooth-handed, and black-eyebrowed maid, received Dermot, kindly and welcomefully, and applied healing herbs to his wounds, and in no long time he was made as good a man as ever. And thus he remained, and was entertained most royally with the best of viands and of liquors. The first part of every night those in that Dún were wont to spend in feasting, and the second in recreation and entertainment of the mind, with music and with poetry and bardic tales, and the third part in sound and healthful slumber, till the sun in his fiery journey rose over the heavy-clodded earth on the morrow morn. And the King of that country, who was the champion that had aroused Dermot, told him this was the land of Sorca, and that he had showed this kindness to Dermot for that he himself had once been on wage and service with Finn, son of Cumhal "and a better master," said he, "man never had." Now the story turns to tell of what befell Finn and the remainder of his companions when Dermot left them in the ship. After a while, seeing that he did not return, and being assured that some mischief or hindrance must have befallen him, they made an attempt to climb the cliff after him, having noted which way he went. With much toil and peril they accomplished this, and then journeying forward and following on Dermot's track, they came at last to the well in the wild wood, and saw near by the remains of the deer, and the ashes of the fire that Dermot had kindled to cook it. But from this place they could discover no track of his going. While they were debating on what should next be done, they saw riding towards them a tall warrior on a dark grey horse with a golden bridle, who greeted them courteously. From him they enquired as to whether he had seen aught of their companion, Dermot, in the wilderness. "Follow me," said the warrior, "and you shall shortly have tidings of him." Then they followed the strange horseman into the forest by many dark and winding ways, until at last they came into a rocky ravine, where they found the mouth of a great cavern opening into the hillside. Into this they went, and the way led them downward until it seemed as if they were going into the bowels of the earth, until at last the light began to shine round them, and they came out into a lovely land of flowery plains and green woods and singing streams. In no long time thereafter they came to a great royal Dún, where he who led them was hailed as king and lord, and here, to their joy, they found their comrade, Dermot of the Love Spot, who told them of all his adventures and heard from them of theirs. This ended, and when they had been entertained and refreshed, the lord of that place spoke to Finn and said:-- "I have now, O Finn, within my fortress the fifteen stoutest heroes that the world holds. To this end have I brought you here, that ye might make war with me upon mine enemy the Champion of the Well, who is king of the land bordering on mine, and who ceases not to persecute and to harry my people because, in his arrogance, he would have all the Under World country subject to himself alone. Say now if ye will embrace this enterprise and help me to defend my own: and if not I shall set you again upon the land of Erinn." Finn said, "What of my fifteen men that were carried away on the wild mare's back oversea?" "They are guarding the marches of my kingdom," said the King of Sorca, "and all is well with them and shall be well." Then Finn agreed to take service with the King of Sorca, and next day they arrayed themselves for fight and went out at the head of the host. Ere long they came upon the army of the King of the Well, and with him was the King of the Greeks and a band of fierce mercenaries, and also the daughter of the Greek King, by name Tasha of the White Side, a maiden who in beauty and grace surpassed all other women of the world, as the Shannon surpasses all rivers of Erinn and the eagle surpasses all birds of the air. Now the stories of Finn and his generosity and great deeds had reached her since she was a child, and she had set her love on him, though she had never seen his face till now. When the hosts were met, the King of the Greeks said, "Who of my men will stand forth and challenge the best of these men of Erinn to single combat that their metal may be proved, for to us it is unknown what manner of men they be." The son of the King of the Greeks said, "I will go." So on the side of Finn, Oscar, son of Oisín, was chosen to match the son of the Greek King, and the two hosts sat down peacefully together to watch the weapon-play. And Tasha the princess sat by Finn, son of Cumhal. Then Oscar and the King's son stepped into their fighting place, and fierce was the combat that arose between them, as when two roaring surges of the sea dash against each other in a fissure of the rocks, and the spray-cloud bursts from them high into the air. Long they fought, and many red wounds did each of them give and receive, till at last Oscar beat the Greek prince to the earth and smote off his head. Then one host groaned for woe and discouragement, while the other shouted for joy of victory, and so they parted for the night, each to their own camp. And in the camp of the folk of Sorca they found Conan the Bald and the fourteen men that had gone with him on the mare's back. But when night had fallen, Tasha stole from the wizard of the Greek King his branch of silver bells that when shaken would lay asleep a host of men, and with the aid of this she passed from the camp of the Greeks, and through the sentinels, and came to the tent of Finn. On the morrow morn the King of the Greeks found that his daughter had fled to be the wife of Finn, son of Cumhal, and he offered a mighty reward to whosoever would slay Finn and bring Tasha back. But when the two armies closed in combat the Fians and the host of the King of Sorca charged so fiercely home, that they drove their foes before them as a winter gale drives before it a cloud of madly whirling leaves, and those that were not slain in the fight and the pursuit went to their own lands and abode there in peace; and thus was the war ended of the King of Sorca and the Lord of the Well. Then the King of Sorca had Finn and his comrades before him and gave them praise and thanks for their valour. "And what reward," he said, "will ye that I make you for the saving of the kingdom of Sorca?" "Thou wert in my service awhile," said Finn, "and I mind not that I paid thee any wage for it. Let that service even go against this, and so we are quits." "Nay, then," cried Conan the Bald, "but what shall I have for my ride on the mare of the Gilla Dacar?" "What wilt thou have?" said the King of Sorca. "This," said Conan, "and nothing else will I accept. Let fourteen of the fairest women of the land of Sorca be put on that same mare, and thy wife, O King, clinging to its tail, and let them be thus haled across the sea until they come to Corcaguiny in the land of Erinn. I will have none of thy gold and silver, but the indignity that has been put upon me doth demand an honourable satisfaction." Then the King of Sorca smiled, and he said, "Behold thy men, Finn." [Illustration: "'Follow me now to the Hill of Allen'"] Finn turned his head to look round, and as he did so the plain and the encampment of the Fairy Host vanished from his sight, and he saw himself standing on the shingly strand of a little bay, with rocky heights to right and left, crowned with yellow whin bushes whose perfume mingled with the salt sea wind. It was the spot where he had seen the Gilla Dacar and his mare take water on the coast of Kerry. Finn stared over the sea, to discover, if he might, by what means he had come thither, but nothing could he see there save the sunlit water, and nothing hear but what seemed a low laughter from the twinkling ripples that broke at his feet. Then he looked for his men, who stood there, dazed like himself and rubbing their eyes; and there too stood the Princess Tasha, who stretched out her white arms to him. Finn went over and took her hands. "Shoulder your spears, good lads!" he called to his men. "Follow me now to the Hill of Allen, and to the wedding feast of Tasha and of Finn mac Cumhal." CHAPTER XIV The Birth of Oisín One day as Finn and his companions and dogs were returning from the chase to their Dún on the Hill of Allen, a beautiful fawn started up on their path and the chase swept after her, she taking the way which led to their home. Soon, all the pursuers were left far behind save only Finn himself and his two hounds Bran and Sceolaun. Now these hounds were of strange breed, for Tyren, sister to Murna, the mother of Finn, had been changed into a hound by the enchantment of a woman of the Fairy Folk, who loved Tyren's husband Ullan; and the two hounds of Finn were the children of Tyren, born to her in that shape. Of all hounds in Ireland they were the best, and Finn loved them much, so that it was said he wept but twice in his life, and once was for the death of Bran. At last, as the chase went on down a valley side, Finn saw the fawn stop and lie down, while the two hounds began to play round her and to lick her face and limbs. So he gave commandment that none should hurt her, and she followed them to the Dún of Allen, playing with the hounds as she went. The same night Finn awoke and saw standing by his bed the fairest woman his eyes had ever beheld. "I am Saba, O Finn," she said, "and I was the fawn ye chased to-day. Because I would not give my love to the Druid of the Fairy Folk, who is named the Dark, he put that shape upon me by his sorceries, and I have borne it these three years. But a slave of his, pitying me, once revealed to me that if I could win to thy great Dún of Allen, O Finn, I should be safe from all enchantments and my natural shape would come to me again. But I feared to be torn in pieces by thy dogs, or wounded by thy hunters, till at last I let myself be overtaken by thee alone and by Bran and Sceolaun, who have the nature of man and would do me no hurt." "Have no fear, maiden," said Finn, "we the Fianna, are free and our guest-friends are free; there is none who shall put compulsion on you here." So Saba dwelt with Finn, and he made her his wife; and so deep was his love for her that neither the battle nor the chase had any delight for him, and for months he never left her side. She also loved him as deeply, and their joy in each other was like that of the Immortals in the Land of Youth. But at last word came to Finn that the warships of the Northmen were in the bay of Dublin, and he summoned his heroes to the fight, "for," said he to Saba, "the men of Erinn give us tribute and hospitality to defend them from the foreigner, and it were shame to take it from them and not to give that to which we, on our side, are pledged." And he called to mind that great saying of Goll mac Morna when they were once sore bested by a mighty host--"a man," said Goll, "lives after his life but not after his honour." Seven days was Finn absent, and he drove the Northmen from the shores of Erinn. But on the eighth day he returned, and when he entered his Dún he saw trouble in the eyes of his men and of their fair womenfolk, and Saba was not on the rampart expecting his return. So he bade them tell him what had chanced, and they said-- "Whilst thou, our father and lord, wert afar off smiting the foreigner, and Saba looking ever down the pass for thy return, we saw one day as it were the likeness of thee approaching, and Bran and Sceolaun at thy heels. And we seemed also to hear the notes of the Fian hunting call blown on the wind. Then Saba hastened to the great gate, and we could not stay her, so eager was she to rush to the phantom. But when she came near, she halted and gave a loud and bitter cry, and the shape of thee smote her with a hazel wand, and lo, there was no woman there any more, but a deer. Then those hounds chased it, and ever as it strove to reach again the gate of the Dún they turned it back. We all now seized what arms we could and ran out to drive away the enchanter, but when we reached the place there was nothing to be seen, only still we heard the rushing of flying feet and the baying of dogs, and one thought it came from here, and another from there, till at last the uproar died away and all was still. What we could do, O Finn, we did; Saba is gone." Finn then struck his hand on his breast but spoke no word, and he went to his own chamber. No man saw him for the rest of that day, nor for the day after. Then he came forth, and ordered the matters of the Fianna as of old, but for seven years thereafter he went searching for Saba through every remote glen and dark forest and cavern of Ireland, and he would take no hounds with him save Bran and Sceolaun. But at last he renounced all hope of finding her again, and went hunting as of old. One day as he was following the chase on Ben Gulban in Sligo, he heard the musical bay of the dogs change of a sudden to a fierce growling and yelping as though they were in combat with some beast, and running hastily up he and his men beheld, under a great tree, a naked boy with long hair, and around him the hounds struggling to seize him, but Bran and Sceolaun fighting with them and keeping them off. And the lad was tall and shapely, and as the heroes gathered round he gazed undauntedly on them, never heeding the rout of dogs at his feet. The Fians beat off the dogs and brought the lad home with them, and Finn was very silent and continually searched the lad's countenance with his eyes. In time, the use of speech came to him, and the story that he told was this:-- He had known no father, and no mother save a gentle hind with whom he lived in a most green and pleasant valley shut in on every side by towering cliffs that could not be scaled, or by deep chasms in the earth. In the summer he lived on fruits and such-like, and in the winter, store of provisions was laid for him in a cave. And there came to them sometimes a tall dark-visaged man, who spoke to his mother, now tenderly, and now in loud menace, but she always shrunk away in fear, and the man departed in anger. At last there came a day when the Dark Man spoke very long with his mother in all tones of entreaty and of tenderness and of rage, but she would still keep aloof and give no sign save of fear and abhorrence. Then at length the Dark Man drew near and smote her with a hazel wand; and with that he turned and went his way, but she, this time, followed him, still looking back at her son and piteously complaining. And he, when he strove to follow, found himself unable to move a limb; and crying out with rage and desolation he fell to the earth and his senses left him. When he came to himself he was on the mountain side, on Ben Gulban, where he remained some days, searching for that green and hidden valley, which he never found again. And after a while the dogs found him; but of the hind his mother and of the Dark Druid, there is no man knows the end. Finn called his name Oisín, and he became a warrior of fame, but far more famous for the songs and tales that he made; so that of all things to this day that are told of the Fianna of Erinn, men are wont to say, "So sang the bard, Oisín, son of Finn." CHAPTER XV Oisín in the Land of Youth It happened that on a misty summer morning as Finn and Oisín with many companions were hunting on the shores of Loch Lena they saw coming towards them a maiden, beautiful exceedingly, riding on a snow-white steed. She wore the garb of a queen; a crown of gold was on her head, and a dark brown mantle of silk, set with stars of red gold, fell around her and trailed on the ground. Silver shoes were on her horse's hoofs, and a crest of gold nodded on his head. When she came near she said to Finn, "From very far away I have come, and now at last I have found thee, Finn, son of Cumhal." Then Finn said, "What is thy land and race, maiden, and what dost thou seek from me?" "My name," she said, "is Niam of the Golden Hair. I am the daughter of the King of the Land of Youth, and that which has brought me here is the love of thy son Oisín." Then she turned to Oisín and she spoke to him in the voice of one who has never asked anything but it was granted to her, "Wilt thou go with me, Oisín, to my father's land?" And Oisín said, "That will I, and to the world's end"; for the fairy spell had so wrought upon his heart that he cared no more for any earthly thing but to have the love of Niam of the Head of Gold. Then the maiden spoke of the Land Oversea to which she had summoned her lover, and as she spoke a dreamy stillness fell on all things, nor did a horse shake his bit nor a hound bay, nor the least breath of wind stir in the forest trees till she had made an end. And what she said seemed sweeter and more wonderful as she spoke it than anything they could afterwards remember to have heard, but so far as they could remember it, it was this:-- "Delightful is the land beyond all dreams, Fairer than aught thine eyes have ever seen. There all the year the fruit is on the tree, And all the year the bloom is on the flower. "There with wild honey drip the forest trees; The stores of wine and mead shall never fail. Nor pain nor sickness knows the dweller there, Death and decay come near him never more. "The feast shall cloy not, nor the chase shall tire, Nor music cease for ever through the hall; The gold and jewels of the Land of Youth Outshine all splendours ever dreamed by man. "Thou shalt have horses of the fairy breed, Thou shalt have hounds that can outrun the wind; A hundred chiefs shall follow thee in war, A hundred maidens sing thee to thy sleep. "A crown of sovranty thy brow shall wear, And by thy side a magic blade shall hang. Thou shalt be lord of all the Land of Youth, And lord of Niam of the Head of Gold." As the magic song ended, the Fians beheld Oisín mount the fairy steed and hold the maiden in his arms, and ere they could stir or speak she turned her horse's head and shook the ringing bridle and down the forest glade they fled, as a beam of light flies over the land when clouds drive across the sun; and never did the Fianna behold Oisín, son of Finn, on earth again. Yet what befell him afterwards is known. As his birth was strange so was his end, for he saw the wonders of the Land of Youth with mortal eyes and lived to tell them with mortal lips. When the white horse with its riders reached the sea it ran lightly over the waves and soon the green woods and headlands of Erinn faded out of sight. And now the sun shone fiercely down, and the riders passed into a golden haze in which Oisín lost all knowledge of where he was or if sea or dry land were beneath his horse's hoofs. But strange sights sometimes appeared to them in the mist, for towers and palace gateways loomed up and disappeared, and once a hornless doe bounded by them chased by a white hound with one red ear, and again they saw a young maid ride by on a brown steed, bearing a golden apple in her hand, and close behind her followed a young horseman on a white steed, a purple cloak floating at his back and a gold-hilted sword in his hand. And Oisín would have asked the princess who and what these apparitions were, but Niam bade him ask nothing nor seem to notice any phantom they might see until they were come to the Land of Youth. [Illustration: "They rode up to a stately palace"] At last the sky gloomed above them, and Niam urged their steed faster. The wind lashed them with pelting rain, thunder roared across the sea and lightning blazed, but they held on their way till at length they came once more into a region of calm and sunshine. And now Oisín saw before him a shore of yellow sand, lapped by the ripples of a summer sea. Inland, there rose before his eye wooded hills amid which he could discern the roofs and towers of a noble city. The white horse bore them swiftly to the shore and Oisín and the maiden lighted down. And Oisín marvelled at everything around him, for never was water so blue or trees so stately as those he saw, and the forest was alive with the hum of bees and the song of birds, and the creatures that are wild in other lands, the deer and the red squirrel and the wood-dove, came, without fear, to be caressed. Soon, as they went forward, the walls of a city came in sight, and folk began to meet them on the road, some riding, some afoot, all of whom were either youths or maidens, all looking as joyous as if the morning of happy life had just begun for them, and no old or feeble person was to be seen. Niam led her companion through a towered gateway built of white and red marble, and there they were met by a glittering company of a hundred riders on black steeds and a hundred on white, and Oisín mounted a black horse and Niam her white, and they rode up to a stately palace where the King of the Land of Youth had his dwelling. And there he received them, saying in a loud voice that all the folk could hear, "Welcome, Oisín, son of Finn. Thou art come to the Land of Youth, where sorrow and weariness and death shall never touch thee. This thou hast won by thy faithfulness and valour and by the songs that thou hast made for the men of Erinn, whereof the fame is come to us, for we have here indeed all things that are delightful and joyous, but poesy alone we had not. But now we have the chief poet of the race of men to live with us, immortal among immortals, and the fair and cloudless life that we lead here shall be praised in verses as fair; even as thou, Oisín, did'st praise and adorn the short and toilsome and chequered life that men live in the world thou hast left forever. And Niam my daughter shall be thy bride, and thou shalt be in all things even as myself in the Land of Youth." Then the heart of Oisín was filled with glory and joy, and he turned to Niam and saw her eyes burn with love as she gazed upon him. And they were wedded the same day, and the joy they had in each other grew sweeter and deeper with every day that passed. All that Niam had promised in her magic song in the wild wood when first they met, seemed faint beside the splendour and beauty of the life in the Land of Youth. In the great palace they trod on silken carpets and ate off plates of gold; the marble walls and doorways were wrought with carved work, or hung with tapestries, where forest glades, and still lakes, and flying deer were done in colours of unfading glow. Sunshine bathed that palace always, and cool winds wandered through its dim corridors, and in its courts there played fountains of bright water set about with flowers. When Oisín wished to ride, a steed of fiery but gentle temper bore him wherever he would through the pleasant land; when he longed to hear music, there came upon his thought, as though borne on the wind, crystal notes such as no hand ever struck from the strings of any harp on earth. But Oisín's hand now never touched the harp, and the desire of singing and of making poetry never waked in him, for no one thing seemed so much better than the rest, where all perfection bloomed and glowed around him, as to make him long to praise it and to set it apart. When seven days had passed, he said to Niam, "I would fain go a-hunting." Niam said, "So be it, dear love; to-morrow we shall take order for that." Oisín lay long awake that night, thinking of the sound of Finn's hunting-horn, and of the smell of green boughs when they kindled them to roast the deer-flesh in Fian ovens in the wildwood. So next day Oisín and Niam fared forth on horseback, with their company of knights and maidens, and dogs leaping and barking with eagerness for the chase. Anon they came to the forest, and the hunters with the hounds made a wide circuit on this side and on that, till at last the loud clamour of the hounds told that a stag was on foot, and Oisín saw them streaming down an open glen, the stag with its great antlers laid back and flying like the wind. So he shouted the Fian hunting-cry and rode furiously on their track. All day long they chased the stag through the echoing forest, and the fairy steed bore him unfaltering over rough ground and smooth, till at last as darkness began to fall the quarry was pulled down, and Oisín cut its throat with his hunting-knife. Long it seemed to him since he had felt glad and weary as he felt now, and since the woodland air with its odours of pine and mint and wild garlic had tasted so sweet in his mouth; and truly it was longer than he knew. But when he bade make ready the wood-oven for their meal, and build a bothy of boughs for their repose, Niam led him seven steps apart and seven to the left hand, and yet seven back to the place where they had killed the deer, and lo, there rose before him a stately Dún with litten windows and smoke drifting above its roof. When they entered, there was a table spread for a great company, and cooks and serving-men busy about a wide hearth where roast and boiled meats of every sort were being prepared. Casks of Greek wine stood open around the walls, and cups of gold were on the board. So they all ate and drank their sufficiency, and all night Oisín and Niam slept on a bed softer than swans-down in a chamber no less fair than that which they had in the City of the Land of Youth. Next day, at the first light of dawn, they were on foot; and soon again the forest rang to the baying of hounds and the music of the hunting-horn. Oisín's steed bore him all day, tireless and swift as before, and again the quarry fell at night's approach, and again a palace rose in the wilderness for their night's entertainment, and all things in it even more abundant and more sumptuous than before. And so for seven days they fared in that forest, and seven stags were slain. Then Oisín grew wearied of hunting, and as he plunged his sharp black hunting-knife into the throat of the last stag, he thought of the sword of magic temper that hung idle by his side in the City of Youth, or rested from its golden nail in his bed-chamber, and he said to Niam, "Has thy father never a foe to tame, never a wrong to avenge? Surely the peasant is no man whose hand forgets the plough, nor the warrior whose hand forgets the sword hilt." Niam looked on him strangely for a while and as if she did not understand his words, or sought some meaning in them which yet she feared to find. But at last she said, "If deeds of arms be thy desire, Oisín, thou shalt have thy sufficiency ere long." And so they rode home, and slept that night in the palace of the City of Youth. At daybreak on the following morn Niam roused Oisín, and she buckled on him his golden-hilted sword and his corselet of blue steel inlaid with gold. Then he put on his head a steel and gold helmet with dragon crest, and slung on his back a shield of bronze wrought all over with cunning hammer-work of serpentine lines that swelled and sank upon the surface, and coiled in mazy knots, or flowed in long sweeping curves like waves of the sea when they gather might and volume for their leap upon the sounding shore. In the glimmering dawn, through the empty streets of the fair city, they rode forth alone and took their way through fields of corn and by apple orchards where red fruit hung down to their hands. But by noontide their way began to mount upwards among blue hills that they had marked from the city walls toward the west, and of man's husbandry they saw no more, but tall red-stemmed pine trees bordered the way on either side, and silence and loneliness increased. At length they reached a broad table-land deep in the heart of the mountains, where nothing grew but long coarse grass, drooping by pools of black and motionless water, and where great boulders, bleached white or stained with slimy lichens of livid red, lay scattered far and wide about the plain. Against the sky the mountain line now showed like a threat of bared and angry teeth, and as they rode towards it Oisín perceived a huge fortress lying in the throat of a wide glen or mountain pass. White as death was the stone of which it was built, save where it was streaked with black or green from the foulness of wet mosses that clung to its cornices and battlements, and none seemed stirring about the place nor did any banner blow from its towers. Then said Niam, "This, O Oisín, is the Dún of the giant Fovor of the Mighty Blows. In it he keeps prisoner a princess of the Fairy Folk whom he would fain make his bride, but he may not do so, nor may she escape, until Fovor has met in battle a champion who will undertake her cause. Approach, then, to the gate, if thou art fain to undertake this adventure, and blow the horn which hangs thereby, and then look to thy weapons, for soon indeed will the battle be broken upon thee." Then Oisín rode to the gate and thrice he blew on the great horn which hung by it, and the clangour of it groaned drearily back from the cliffs that overhung the glen. Not thus indeed sounded the _Dord_ of Finn as its call blew lust of fighting and scorn of death into the hearts of the Fianna amid the stress of battle. At the third blast the rusty gates opened, grinding on their hinges, and Oisín rode into a wide courtyard where servitors of evil aspect took his horse and Niam's, and led them into the hall of Fovor. Dark it was and low, with mouldering arras on its walls, and foul and withered rushes on the floor, where dogs gnawed the bones thrown to them at the last meal, and spilt ale and hacked fragments of flesh littered the bare oaken table. And here rose languidly to greet them a maiden bound with seven chains, to whom Niam spoke lovingly, saying that her champion was come and that her long captivity should end. And the maiden looked upon Oisín, whose proud bearing and jewelled armour made the mean place seem meaner still, and a light of hope and of joy seemed to glimmer upon her brow. So she gave them refreshment as she could, and afterwards they betook them once more to the courtyard, where the place of battle was set. Here, at the further side, stood a huge man clad in rusty armour, who when he saw Oisín rushed upon him, silent and furious, and swinging a great battleaxe in his hand. But doubt and langour weighed upon Oisín's heart, and it seemed to him as if he were in an evil dream, which he knew was but a dream, and would be less than nothing when the hour of awakening should come. Yet he raised his shield and gripped the fairy sword, striving to shout the Fian battle-cry as he closed with Fovor. But soon a heavy blow smote him to the ground, and his armour clanged harshly on the stones. Then a cloud seemed to pass from his spirit, and he leaped to his feet quicker than an arrow flies from the string, and thrusting fiercely at the giant his sword-point gashed the under side of Fovor's arm when it was raised to strike, and Oisín saw his enemy's blood. Then the fight raged hither and thither about the wide courtyard, with trampling of feet and clash of steel and ringing of armour and shouts of onset as the heroes closed; Oisín, agile as a wild stag, evading the sweep of the mighty axe and rushing in with flickering blade at every unguarded moment, his whole soul bent on one fierce thought, to drive his point into some gap at shoulder or neck in Fovor's coat of mail. At length, when both were weary and wounded men, with hacked and battered armour, Oisín's blade cut the thong of Fovor's headpiece and it fell clattering to the ground. Another blow laid the giant prostrate, and Oisín leaned, dizzy and panting, upon his sword, while Fovor's serving-men took off their master in a litter, and Niam came to aid her lord. Then Oisín stripped off his armour in the great hall, and Niam tended to his wounds, healing them with magic herbs and murmured incantations, and they saw that one of the seven rusty chains that had bound the princess hung loose from its iron staple in the wall. All night long Oisín lay in deep and healing slumber, and next day he arose, whole and strong, and hot to renew the fray. And the giant was likewise healed and his might and fierceness returned to him. So they fought till they were breathless and weary, and then to it again, and again, till in the end Oisín drove his sword to the hilt in the giant's shoulder where it joins the collar bone, and he fell aswoon, and was borne away as before. And another chain of the seven fell from the girdle of the captive maiden. Thus for seven days went on the combat, and Oisín had seven nights of healing and rest, with the tenderness and beauty of Niam about his couch; and on the seventh day the maiden was free, and her folk brought her away, rejoicing, with banners and with music that made a brightness for a while in that forlorn and evil place. But Oisín's heart was high with pride and victory, and a longing uprose in his heart with a rush like a springtide for the days when some great deed had been done among the Fianna, and the victors were hailed and lauded by the home-folk in the Dún of Allen, men and women leaving their toil or their pleasure to crowd round the heroes, and to question again and again, and to learn each thing that had passed; and the bards noting all to weave it into a glorious tale for after days; and more than all the smile and the look of Finn as he learned how his children had borne themselves in the face of death. And so Oisín said to Niam, "Let me, for a short while, return to the land of Erinn, that I may see there my friends and kin and tell them of the glory and joy that are mine in the Land of Youth." But Niam wept and laid her white arms about his neck, entreating him to think no more of the sad world where all men live and move under a canopy of death, and where summer is slain by winter, and youth by old age, and where love itself, if it die not by falsehood and wrong, perishes many a time of too complete a joy. But Oisín said, "The world of men compared with thy world is like this dreary waste compared with the city of thy father; yet in that city, Niam, none is better or worse than another, and I hunger to tell my tale to ignorant and feeble folk that my words can move, as words of mine have done of old, to wonder and delight. Then I shall return to thee, Niam, and to thy fair and blissful land; and having brought over to mortal men a tale that never man has told before, I shall be happy and at peace for ever in the Land of Youth." So they fared back to the golden city, and next day Niam brought to Oisín the white steed that had borne them from Erinn, and bade him farewell. "This our steed," she said, "will carry thee across the sea to the land where I found thee, and whithersoever thou wilt, and what folk are there thou shalt see, and what tale thou hast to tell can be told. But never for even a moment must thou alight from his back, for if thy foot once touch again the soil of earth, thou shalt never win to me and to the Land of Youth again. And sorely do I fear some evil chance. Was not the love of Niam of the Head of Gold enough to fill a mortal's heart? But if thou must go, then go, and blessing and victory be thine." Then Oisín held her long in his arms and kissed her, and vowed to make no long stay and never to alight from the fairy steed. And then he shook the golden reins and the horse threw its head aloft and snorted and bore him away in a pace like that of flowing water for speed and smoothness. Anon they came to the margin of the blue sea, and still the white steed galloped on, brushing the crests of the waves into glittering spray. The sun glared upon the sea and Oisín's head swam with the heat and motion, and in mist and dreams he rode where no day was, nor night, nor any thought of time, till at last his horse's hoofs ploughed through wet, yellow sands, and he saw black rocks rising up at each side of a little bay, and inland were fields green or brown, and white cottages thatched with reeds, and men and women, toil-worn and clad in earth-coloured garments, went to and fro about their tasks or stopped gazing at the rider in his crimson cloak and at the golden trappings of his horse. But among the cottages was a small house of stone such as Oisín had never seen in the land of Erinn; stone was its roof as well as the walls, very steep and high, and near-by from a rude frame of timber there hung a bell of bronze. Into this house there passed one whom from his shaven crown Oisín guessed to be a druid, and behind him two lads in white apparel. The druid having seen the horseman turned his eyes again to the ground and passed on, regarding him not, and the lads did likewise. And Oisín rode on, eager to reach the Dún upon the Hill of Allen and to see the faces of his kin and his friends. [Illustration: "The white steed had vanished from their eyes like a wreath of mist"] At length, coming from the forest path into the great clearing where the Hill of Allen was wont to rise broad and green, with its rampart enclosing many white-walled dwellings, and the great hall towering high in the midst, he saw but grassy mounds overgrown with rank weeds and whin bushes, and among them pastured a peasant's kine. Then a strange horror fell upon him, and he thought some enchantment from the land of Faery held his eyes and mocked him with false visions. He threw his arms abroad and shouted the names of Finn and Oscar, but none replied, and he thought that perchance the hounds might hear him, and he cried upon Bran and Sceolaun, and strained his ears if they might catch the faintest rustle or whisper of the world from the sight of which his eyes were holden, but he heard only the sigh of the wind in the whins. Then he rode in terror from that place, setting his face towards the eastern sea, for he meant to traverse Ireland from side to side and end to end in the search of some escape from his enchantment. But when he came near to the eastern sea and was now in the place which is called the Valley of the Thrushes,[24] he saw in a field upon the hillside a crowd of men striving to roll aside a great boulder from their tilled land, and an overseer directing them. Towards them he rode, meaning to ask them concerning Finn and the Fianna. As he came near, they all stopped their work to gaze upon him, for to them he appeared like a messenger of the Fairy Folk or an angel from heaven. Taller and mightier he was than the men-folk they knew, with sword-blue eyes and brown ruddy cheeks; in his mouth, as it were, a shower of pearls, and bright hair clustered beneath the rim of his helmet. And as Oisín looked upon their puny forms, marred by toil and care, and at the stone which they feebly strove to heave from its bed, he was filled with pity, and thought to himself, "not such were even the churls of Erinn when I left them for the Land of Youth," and he stooped from his saddle to help them. His hand he set to the boulder, and with a mighty heave he lifted it from where it lay and set it rolling down the hill. And the men raised a shout of wonder and applause, but their shouting changed in a moment into cries of terror and dismay, and they fled, jostling and overthrowing each other to escape from the place of fear; for a marvel horrible to see had taken place. For Oisín's saddle-girth had burst as he heaved the stone, and he fell headlong to the ground. In an instant the white steed had vanished from their eyes like a wreath of mist, and that which rose, feeble and staggering, from the ground was no youthful warrior but a man stricken with extreme old age, white-bearded and withered, who stretched out groping hands and moaned with feeble and bitter cries. And his crimson cloak and yellow silken tunic were now but coarse homespun stuff tied with a hempen girdle, and the gold-hilted sword was a rough oaken staff such as a beggar carries who wanders the roads from farmer's house to house. [24] Glanismole, near Dublin. When the people saw that the doom that had been wrought was not for them they returned, and found the old man prone on the ground with his face hidden in his arms. So they lifted him up and asked who he was and what had befallen him. Oisín gazed round on them with dim eyes, and at last he said, "I was Oisín the son of Finn, and I pray ye tell me where he now dwells, for his Dún on the Hill of Allen is now a desolation, and I have neither seen him nor heard his hunting horn from the Western to the Eastern Sea." Then the men gazed strangely on each other and on Oisín, and the overseer asked, "Of what Finn dost thou speak, for there be many of that name in Erinn?" Oisín said, "Surely of Finn mac Cumhal mac Trenmor, captain of the Fianna of Erinn." Then the overseer said, "Thou art daft, old man, and thou hast made us daft to take thee for a youth as we did a while agone. But we at least have now our wits again, and we know that Finn son of Cumhal and all his generation have been dead these three hundred years. At the battle of Gowra fell Oscar, son of Oisín, and Finn at the battle of Brea, as the historians tell us; and the lays of Oisín, whose death no man knows the manner of, are sung by our harpers at great men's feasts. But now the Talkenn,[25] Patrick, has come into Ireland and has preached to us the One God and Christ His Son, by whose might these old days and ways are done away with, and Finn and his Fianna, with their feasting and hunting and songs of war and of love, have no such reverence among us as the monks and virgins of holy Patrick, and the psalms and prayers that go up daily to cleanse us from sin and to save us from the fire of judgment." But Oisín replied, half hearing and still less comprehending what was said to him, "If thy God have slain Finn and Oscar, I would say that God is a strong man." Then they all cried out upon him, and some picked up stones, but the overseer bade them let him be until the Talkenn had spoken with him, and till he should order what was to be done. [25] Talkenn or "Adze-head" was a name given to St Patrick by the Irish. Probably it referred to the shape of his tonsure. So they brought him to Patrick, who entreated him gently and hospitably, and to Patrick he told the story of all that had befallen him. But Patrick bade his scribes write all carefully down, that the memory of the heroes whom Oisín had known, and of the joyous and free life they had led in the woods and glens and wild places of Erinn, should never be forgotten among men. And Oisín, during the short span of life that yet remained to him, told to Patrick many tales of the Fianna and their deeds, but of the three hundred years that he had spent with Niam in the Land of Youth he rarely spoke, for they seemed to him but as a vision or a dream of the night, set between a sunny and a rainy day. THE HISTORY OF KING CORMAC CHAPTER XVI I THE BIRTH OF CORMAC Of all the kings that ruled over Ireland, none had a better and more loyal servant than was Finn mac Cumhal, and of all the captains and counsellors of kings none ever served a more glorious and a nobler monarch than did Finn, for the time that he served Cormac, son of Art, son of Conn of the Hundred Battles. At the time at which this monarch lived and reigned, the mist of sixteen centuries hangs between us and the history of Ireland, but through this mist there shine a few great and sunlike figures whose glory cannot be altogether hidden, and of these figures Cormac is the greatest and the brightest. Much that is told about him may be true, and much is certainly fable, but the fables themselves are a witness to his greatness; they are like forms seen in the mist when a great light is shining behind it, and we cannot always say when we are looking at the true light and when at the reflected glory. The birth of Cormac was on this wise. His father, as we have said, was Art, son of Conn, and his mother was named Achta, being the daughter of a famous smith or ironworker of Connacht. Now before the birth of Cormac, Achta had a strange dream, namely, that her head was struck off from her body and that out of her neck there grew a great tree which extended its branches over all Ireland and flourished exceedingly, but a huge wave of the sea burst upon it and laid it low. Then from the roots of this tree there grew up another, but it did not attain the splendour of the first, and a blast of wind came from the West and overthrew it. On this the woman started from her sleep, and she woke her husband, Art, and told him her vision. "It is a true dream," said Art. "I am thy head, and this portends that I shall be violently taken from thee. But thou shalt bear me a son who shall be King of all Ireland, and shall rule with great power and glory until some disaster from the sea overtake him. But from him shall come yet another king, my grandson and thine, who shall also be cut down, and I think that the cause of his fall shall be the armies of the Fian host, who are swift and keen as the wind." Not long thereafter Art, son of Conn, fell in battle with the Picts and Britons at the Plain of the Swine, which is between Athenry and Galway in Connacht. Now the leader of the invaders then was mac Con, a nephew to Art, who had been banished out of Ireland for rising against the High King; and when he had slain Art he seized the sovranty of Ireland and reigned there unlawfully for many years. But before the battle, Art had counselled his wife: "If things go ill with us in the fight, and I am slain, seek out my faithful friend Luna who dwells in Corann in Connacht, and he will protect thee till thy son be born." So Achta, with one maid, fled in her chariot before the host of mac Con and sought to go to the Dún of Luna. On her way thither, however, the hour came when her child should be born, and the maid turned the chariot aside into the wild wood at the place called Creevagh (the Place of the Twigs), and there, on a couch of twigs and leaves, she gave birth to a noble son. Then Achta, when she had cherished her boy and rejoiced over him, bade her handmaid keep watch over both of them, and they fell asleep. But the maid's eyes were heavy with weariness and long travelling, and ere long she, too, was overpowered by slumber, and all three slept a deep sleep while the horses wandered away grazing through the wood. By and by there came a she-wolf roaming through the wood in search of prey for her whelps, and it came upon the sleeping woman and the little child. It did not wake the woman, but very softly it picked up the infant and bore it off to the stony cave that is hard by to Creevagh in the hill that was afterwards called Mount Cormac. After a while the mother waked up and found her child gone. Then she uttered a lamentable cry, and woke her handmaid, and both the women searched hither and thither, but no trace of the child could they find; and thus Luna found them; for he had heard news of the battle and the death of his King, and he had come to succour Achta as he had pledged his word to do. Luna and his men also made search for the infant, but in vain; and at last he conveyed the two sorrowing women to his palace; but Achta was somewhat comforted by her prophetic dream. Luna then proclaimed that whoever should discover the King's son, if he were yet alive, might claim of him what reward he would. And so the time passed, till one day a man named Grec, a clansman of Luna the lord of Corann, as he ranged the woods hunting, came on a stony cavern in the side of a hill, and before it he saw wolf-cubs at play, and among them a naked child on all fours gambolling with them, and a great she-wolf that mothered them all. "Right," cried Grec, and off he goes to Luna his lord. "What wilt thou give me for the King's son?" said he. "What wilt thou have?" said Luna. So Grec asked for certain lands, and Luna bound himself to give them to him and to his posterity, and there lived and flourished the Clan Gregor for many a generation to come. So Luna, guided by Grec, went to the cave on Mount Cormac, and took the child and the wolf-cubs all together and brought them home. And the child they called Cormac, or the Chariot-Child. Now the lad grew up very comely and strong, and he abode with Luna in Connacht, and no one told him of his descent. II THE JUDGMENT OF CORMAC Once upon a time it happened that Cormac was at play with the two sons of Luna, and the lads grew angry in their play and came to blows, and Cormac struck one of them to the ground. "Sorrow on it," cried the lad, "here I have been beaten by one that knows not his clan or kindred, save that he is a fellow without a father." When Cormac heard that he was troubled and ashamed, and he went to Luna and told him what had been said. And Luna seeing the trouble of the youth, and also that he was strong and noble to look on, and wise and eloquent in speech, held that the time was now come to reveal to him his descent. "Thou hadst indeed a clan and kindred," he said, "and a father of the noblest, for thou art the son of Art, the High King of Ireland, who was slain and dispossessed by mac Con. But it is foretold that thou shalt yet come to thy father's place, and the land pines for thee even now, for there is no good yield from earth or sea under the unlawful rule of him who now sits on the throne of Art." "If that be so," said Cormac, "let us go to Tara, and bide our time there in my father's house." So the two of them set out for Tara on the morrow morn. And this was the retinue they had with them: a body-guard of outlawed men that had revolted against mac Con and other lords and had gathered themselves together at Corann under Luna, and four wolves that had been cubs with Cormac when the she-wolf suckled him. When they came to Tara, the folk there wondered at the fierce-eyed warriors and the grey beasts that played like dogs around Cormac, and the lad was adopted as a pupil by the King, to be taught arms and poetry and law. Much talk there was of his coming, and of his strange companions that are not wont to be the friends of man, and as the lad grew in comeliness and in knowledge the eyes of all were turned to him more and more, because the rule of mac Con was not good. So the time wore on, till one day a case came for judgment before the King, in which the Queen sued a certain wealthy woman and an owner of herds named Benna, for that the sheep of Benna had strayed into the Queen's fields and had eaten to the ground a crop of woad[26] that was growing there. The King gave judgment, that the sheep which had eaten the woad were to be given to the Queen in compensation for what they had destroyed. Then Cormac rose up before the people and said, "Nay, but let the wool of the sheep, when they are next shorn, be given to the Queen, for the woad will grow again and so shall the wool." "A true judgment, a true judgment," cried all the folk that were present in the place; "a very king's son is he that hath pronounced it." And they murmured so loudly against mac Con that his druids counselled him to quit Tara lest a worse thing befall him. So he gave up the sovranty to Cormac and went southward into Munster to rally his friends there and recover the kingdom, and there he was slain by Cormac's men as he was distributing great largesse of gold and silver to his followers, in the place called The Field of the Gold. [26] Woad is a cruciferous plant, _Isatis tinctoria_, used for dyeing. So Cormac, son of Art, ruled in Tara and was High King of all Ireland. And the land, it is said, knew its rightful lord, and yielded harvests such as never were known, while the forest trees dripped with the abundance of honey and the lakes and rivers were alive with fish. So much game was there, too, that the folk could have lived on that alone and never put a ploughshare in the soil. In Cormac's time the autumn was not vexed with rain, nor the spring with icy winds, nor the summer with parching heat, nor the winter with whelming snows. His rule in Erinn, it is said, was like a wand of gold laid on a dish of silver. Also he rebuilt the ramparts of Tara and made it strong, and he enlarged the great banqueting hall and made pillars of cedar in it ornamented with plates of bronze, and painted its lime-white walls in patterns of red and blue. Palaces for the women he also made there, and store-houses, and halls for the fighting men--never was Tara so populous or so glorious before or since. And for his wisdom and righteousness knowledge was given to him that none other in Ireland had as yet, for it was revealed to him that the Immortal Ones whom the Gael worshipped were but the names of One whom none can name, and that his message should ere long come to Ireland from over the eastern sea, calling the people to a sweeter and diviner faith. And to the end of his life it was his way to have wolves about him, for he knew their speech and they his, and they were friendly and tame with him and his folk, since they were foster-brothers together in the wild wood. III THE MARRIAGE OF KING CORMAC It happened that in Cormac's time there was a very wealthy farmer named Buicad[27] who dwelt in Leinster, and had vast herds of cattle and sheep and horses. This Buicad and his wife had no children, but they adopted a foster-child named Ethne, daughter of one Dunlang. Now Buicad was the most hospitable of men, and never refused aught to anyone, but he kept open house for all the nobles of Leinster who came with their following and feasted there as they would, day after day; and if any man fancied any of the cattle or other goods of Buicad, he might take them home with him, and none said him nay. Thus Buicad lived in great splendour, and his Dún was ever full to profusion with store of food and clothing and rich weapons, until in time it was all wasted away in boundless hospitality and generosity, and so many had had a share in his goods that they could never be recovered nor could it be said of any man that he was the cause of Buicad's undoing. But undone he was at last, and when there remained to him but one bull and seven cows he departed by night with his wife and Ethne from Dún Buicad, leaving his mansion desolate. And he travelled till he came to a place where there was a grove of oak trees by a little stream in the county of Meath, near where Cormac had a summer palace, and there he built himself a little hut and tended his few cattle, and Ethne waited as a maid-servant upon him and his wife. [27] Pronounced Bweé-cad. His name is said to be preserved in the townland of Dunboyke, near Blessington, Co. Wicklow. Now on a certain day it happened that King Cormac rode out on horseback from his Dún in Meath, and in the course of his ride he came upon the little herd of Buicad towards evening, and he saw Ethne milking the cows. And this was the way she milked them: first she milked a portion of each cow's milk into a certain vessel, then she took a second vessel and milked into it the remaining portion, in which was the richest cream, and these two vessels she kept apart. Cormac watched all this. She then bore the vessels of milk into the hut, and came out again with two other vessels and a small cup. These she bore down to the river-side; and one of the vessels she filled by means of the cup from the water at the brink of the stream, but the other vessel she bore out into the middle of the stream and there filled it from the deepest of the running water. After this she took a sickle and began cutting rushes by the river-side, and Cormac saw that when she cut a wisp of long rushes she would put it on one side, and the short rushes on the other, and she bore them separately into the house. But Cormac stopped her and saluted her, and said: "For whom, maiden, art thou making this careful choice of the milk and the rushes and the water?" "I am making it," said she, "for one who is worthy that I should do far more than that for him, if I could." "What is his name?" "Buicad, the farmer," said Ethne. "Is it that Buicad, who was the rich farmer in Leinster that all Ireland has heard of?" asked the King. "It is even so." "Then thou art his foster-child, Ethne the daughter of Dunlang?" said Cormac. "I am," said Ethne. "Wilt thou be my wife and Queen of Erinn?" then said Cormac. "If it please my foster-father to give me to thee, O King, I am willing," replied Ethne. Then Cormac took Ethne by the hand and they went before Buicad, and he consented to give her to Cormac to wife. And Buicad was given rich lands and great store of cattle in the district of Odran close by Tara, and Ethne the Queen loved him and visited him so long as his life endured. IV THE INSTRUCTIONS OF THE KING Ethne bore to Cormac a son, her firstborn, named Cairbry, who was King of Ireland after Cormac. It was during the lifetime of Cormac that Cairbry came to the throne, for it happened that ere he died Cormac was wounded by a chance cast of a spear and lost one of his eyes, and it was forbidden that any man having a blemish should be a king in Ireland. Cormac therefore gave up the kingdom into the hands of Cairbry, but before he did so he told his son all the wisdom that he had in the governing of men, and this was written down in a book which is called _The Instructions of Cormac_.[28] These are among the things which are found in it, of the wisdom of Cormac:-- [28] _The Instructions of Cormac_ (Tecosa Cormaic) have been edited with a translation by Dr. Kuno Meyer in the Todd Lecture Series of the Royal Irish Academy, vol. xv., April 1909. "Let him (the king) restrain the great, Let him exalt the good, Let him establish peace, Let him plant law, Let him protect the just, Let him bind the unjust, Let his warriors be many and his counsellors few, Let him shine in company and be the sun of the mead-hall, Let him punish with a full fine wrong done knowingly, and with a half-fine wrong done in ignorance." Cairbry said, "What are good customs for a tribe to pursue?" "They are as follows," replied Cormac:-- "To have frequent assemblies, To be ever enquiring, to question the wise men, To keep order in assemblies, To follow ancient lore, Not to crush the miserable, To keep faith in treaties, To consolidate kinship, Fighting-men not to be arrogant, To keep contracts faithfully, To guard the frontiers against every ill." "Tell me, O Cormac," said Cairbry, "what are good customs for the giver of a feast?" and Cormac said:-- "To have lighted lamps, To be active in entertaining the company, To be liberal in dispensing ale, To tell stories briefly, To be of joyous countenance, To keep silence during recitals." "Tell me, O Cormac," said his son once, "what were thy habits when thou wert a lad?" And Cormac said:-- "I was a listener in woods, I was a gazer at stars, I pried into no man's secrets, I was mild in the hall, I was fierce in the fray, I was not given to making promises, I reverenced the aged, I spoke ill of no man in his absence, I was fonder of giving than of asking." "If you listen to my teaching," said Cormac:-- "Do not deride any old person though you be young Nor any poor man though you be rich, Nor any naked though you be well-clad, Nor any lame though you be swift, Nor any blind though you be keen-sighted, Nor any invalid though you be robust, Nor any dull though you be clever, Nor any fool though you be wise. "Yet be not slothful, nor fierce, nor sleepy, nor niggardly, nor feckless nor envious, for all these are hateful before God and men. "Do not join in blasphemy, nor be the butt of an assembly; be not moody in an alehouse, and never forget a tryst." "What are the most lasting things on earth?" asked Cairbry. "Not hard to tell," said Cormac; "they are grass, copper, and a yew-tree." "If you will listen to me," said Cormac, "this is my instruction for the management of your household and your realm:-- "Let not a man with many friends be your steward, Nor a woman with sons and foster-sons your housekeeper, Nor a greedy man your butler, Nor a man of much delay your miller, Nor a violent, foul-mouthed man your messenger, Nor a grumbling sluggard your servant, Nor a talkative man your counsellor, Nor a tippler your cup-bearer, Nor a short-sighted man your watchman, Nor a bitter, haughty man your doorkeeper, Nor a tender-hearted man your judge, Nor an ignorant man your leader, Nor an unlucky man your counsellor." Such were the counsels that Cormac mac Art gave to his son Cairbry. And Cairbry became King after his father's abdication, and reigned seven and twenty years, till he and Oscar, son of Oisín, slew one another at the battle of Gowra. V CORMAC SETS UP THE FIRST MILL IN ERINN During the reign of Cormac it happened that some of the lords of Ulster made a raid upon the Picts in Alba[29] and brought home many captives. Among them was a Pictish maiden named Kiernit, daughter of a king of that nation, who was strangely beautiful, and for that the Ulstermen sent her as a gift to King Cormac. And Cormac gave her as a household slave to his wife Ethne, who set her to grinding corn with a hand-quern, as women in Erinn were used to do. One day as Cormac was in the palace of the Queen he saw Kiernit labouring at her task and weeping as she wrought, for the toil was heavy and she was unused to it. Then Cormac was moved with compassion for the women that ground corn throughout Ireland, and he sent to Alba for artificers to come over and set up a mill, for up to then there were no mills in Ireland. Now there was in Tara, as there is to this day, a well of water called _The Pearly_, for the purity and brightness of the water that sprang from it, and it ran in a stream down the hillside, as it still runs, but now only in a slender trickle. Over this stream Cormac bade them build the first mill that was in Ireland, and the bright water turned the wheel merrily round, and the women in Tara toiled at the quern no more. [29] Scotland. VI A PLEASANT STORY OF CORMAC'S BREHON Among other affairs which Cormac regulated for himself and all kings who should come after him was the number and quality of the officers who should be in constant attendance on the King. Of these he ordained that there should be ten, to wit one lord, one brehon, one druid, one physician, one bard, one historian, one musician and three stewards. The function of the brehon, or judge, was to know the ancient customs and the laws of Ireland, and to declare them to the King whenever any matter relating to them came before him. Now Cormac's chief brehon was at first one Fithel. But Fithel's time came to die, and his son Flahari,[30] a wise and learned man, trained by his father in all the laws of the Gael, was to be brehon to the High King in his father's stead. Fithel then called his son to his bedside and said:-- [30] Pronounced Fla'-haree--accent on the first syllable. "Thou art well acquainted, my son, with all the laws and customs of the Gael, and worthy to be the chief brehon of King Cormac. But wisdom of life thou hast not yet obtained, for it is written in no law-book. This thou must learn for thyself, from life itself; yet somewhat of it I can impart unto thee, and it will keep thee in the path of safety, which is not easily trodden by those who are in the counsels of great kings. Mark now these four precepts, and obey them, and thou wilt avoid many of the pit-falls in thy way:-- "Take not a king's son in fosterage,[31] Impart no dangerous secret to thy wife, Raise not the son of a serf to a high position, Commit not thy purse or treasure to a sister's keeping." [31] The institution of fosterage, by which the children of kings and lords were given to trusted persons among their friends or followers to bring up and educate, was a marked feature of social life in ancient Ireland, and the bonds of affection and loyalty between such foster-parents and their children were held peculiarly sacred. Having said this Fithel died, and Flahari became chief brehon in his stead. After a time Flahari thought to himself, "I am minded to test my father's wisdom of life and to see if it be true wisdom or but wise-seeming babble. For knowledge is no knowledge until it be tried by life." So he went before the King and said, "If thou art willing, Cormac, I would gladly have one of thy sons in fosterage." At this Cormac was well pleased, and a young child of the sons of Cormac was given to Flahari to bring up, and Flahari took the child to his own Dún, and there began to nurture and to train him as it was fitting. After a time, however, Flahari one day took the child by the hand and went with him into the deep recesses of the forest where dwelt one of the swine-herds who minded the swine of Flahari. To him Flahari handed over the child and bade him guard him as the apple of his eye, and to be ready deliver him up again when he was required. The Flahari went home, and for some days went about like a man weighed down by gloomy and bitter thoughts. His wife marked that, and sought to know the reason, but Flahari put her off. At last when she continually pressed him to reveal the cause of his trouble, he said "If them must needs learn what ails me, and if thou canst keep a secret full of danger to me and thee, know that I am gloomy and distraught because I have killed the son of Cormac." At this the woman cried out, "Murderer parricide, hast thou spilled the King's blood, and shall Cormac not know it, and do justice on thee?" And she sent word to Cormac that he should come and seize her husband for that crime. But before the officers came, Flahari took a young man, the son of his butler, and placed him in charge of his lands to manage them, while Flahari was away for his trial at Tara. And he also gave to his sister a treasure of gold and silver to keep for him, lest it should be made a spoil of while he was absent. Then he went with the officers to Tara, denying his offence and his confession, but when Cormac had heard all, and the child could not be found, he sentenced him to be put to death. Flahari then sent a messenger to his sister, begging her to send him at once a portion of the treasure he had left with her, that he might use it to make himself friends among the folk at court, and perchance obtain a remission of his sentence; but she sent the messenger back again empty, saying she knew not of what he spoke. On this Flahari deemed that the time was come to reveal the truth, so he obtained permission from the King to send a message to his swineherd before he died, and to hear the man's reply. And the message was this, that Murtach the herd should come without delay to Tara and bring with him the child that Flahari had committed to him. Howbeit this messenger also came back empty, and reported that on reaching Dún Flahari he had been met by the butler's son that was over the estate, who had questioned him of his errand, and had then said, "Murtach the serf has run away as soon as he heard of his lord's downfall, and if he had any child in his care he has taken it away with him, and he cannot be found." This he said because, on hearing of the child, he guessed what this might mean, and he had been the bitterest of all in urging Flahari's death, hoping to be rewarded with a share of his lands. Then Flahari said to himself, "Truly the proving of my father's wisdom of life has brought me very near to death." So he sent for the King and entreated him that he might be suffered to go himself to the dwelling of Murtach the herd, promising that the King's son should be then restored to him, "or if not," said he, "let me then be slain there without more ado." With great difficulty Cormac was moved to consent to this, for he believed it was but a subterfuge of Flahari's to put off the evil day or perchance to find a way of escape. But next day Flahari was straitly bound and set in a chariot, and, with a guard of spearmen about him and Cormac himself riding behind, they set out for Dún Flahari. Then Flahari guided them through the wild wood till at last they came to the clearing where stood the dwelling of Murtach the swineherd, and lo! there was the son of Cormac playing merrily before the door. And the child ran to his foster-father to kiss him, but when he saw Flahari in bonds he burst out weeping and would not be at peace until he was set free. Then Murtach slew one of the boars of his herd and made an oven in the earth after the manner of the Fianna, and made over it a fire of boughs that he had drying in a shed. And when the boar was baked he set it before the company with ale and mead in methers of beechwood, and they all feasted and were glad of heart. Cormac then asked of Flahari why he had suffered himself to be brought into this trouble. "I did so," said Flahari, "to prove the four counsels which my father gave them ere he died, and I have proved them and found them to be wise. In the first place, it is not wise for any man that is not a king to take the fosterage of a king's son, for if aught shall happen to the lad, his own life is in the king's hands and with his life he shall answer for it. Secondly, the keeping of a secret, said my father, is not in the nature of women in general, therefore no dangerous secret should be entrusted to them. The third counsel my father gave me was not to raise up or enrich the son of a serf, for such persons are apt to forget benefits conferred on them, and moreover it irks them that he who raised them up should know the poor estate from which they sprang. And good, too, is the fourth counsel my father gave me, not to entrust my treasure to my sister, for it is the nature of most women to regard as spoil any valuables that are entrusted to them to keep for others." VII THE JUDGMENT CONCERNING CORMAC'S SWORD When Cormac, son of Art, son of Conn of the Hundred Battles, was High King in Erinn, great was the peace and splendour of his reign, and no provincial king or chief in any part of the country lifted up his head against Cormac. At his court in Tara were many noble youths, who were trained up there in all matters befitting their rank and station. One of these youths was named Socht, son of Fithel. Socht had a wonderful sword, named "The Hard-headed Steeling," which was said to have been long ago the sword of Cuchulain. It had a hilt of gold and a belt of silver, and its point was double-edged. At night it shone like a candle. If its point were bent back to the hilt it would fly back again and be as straight as before. If it was held in running water and a hair were floated down against the edge, it would sever the hair. It was a saying that this sword would make two halves of a man, and for a while he would not perceive what had befallen him. This sword was held by Socht for a tribal possession from father and grandfather. There was at this time a famous steward to the High King in Tara whose name was Dubdrenn. This man asked Socht to sell him the sword. He promised to Socht such a ration as he, Dubdrenn, had every night, and four men's food for the family of Socht, and, after that, Socht to have the full value of the sword at his own appraisement. "No," said Socht. "I may not sell my father's treasures while he is alive." And thus they went on, Dubdrenn's mind ever running on the sword. At last he bade Socht to a drinking-bout, and plied him so with wine and mead that Socht became drunken, and knew not where he was, and finally fell asleep. Then the steward takes the sword and goes to the King's brazier, by name Connu. "Art thou able," says Dubdrenn, "to open the hilt of this sword?" "I am that," says the brazier. Then the brazier took apart the hilt, and within, upon the tang of the blade, he wrote the steward's name, even Dubdrenn, and the steward laid the sword again by the side of Socht. So it was for three months after that, and the steward continued to ask Socht to sell him the sword, but he could not get it from him. Then the steward brought a suit for the sword before the High King, and he claimed that it was his own and that it had been taken from him. But Socht declared that the sword was his by long possession and by equity, and he would not give it up. Then Socht went to his father, Fithel the brehon, and begged him to take part in the action and to defend his claim. But Fithel said, "Nay, thou art too apt to blame the pleadings of other men; plead for thyself." So the court was set, and Socht was called upon to prove that the sword was his. He swore that it was a family treasure, and thus it had come down to him. The steward said, "Well, O Cormac, the oath that Socht has uttered is a lie." "What proof hast thou of that?" asked Cormac. "Not hard to declare," replied the steward. "If the sword be mine, my name stands graved therein, concealed within the hilt of the sword." "That will soon be known," says Cormac, and therewith he had the brazier summoned. The brazier comes and breaks open the hilt and the name of Dubdrenn stands written within it. Thus a dead thing testified in law against a living man. Then Socht said, "Hear ye, O men of Erinn and Cormac the King! I acknowledge that this man is the owner of the sword." And to Dubdrenn he said, "The property therein and all the obligations of it pass from me to thee." Dubdrenn said, "I acknowledge property in the sword and all its obligations." Then said Socht, "This sword was found in the neck of my grandfather Angus, and till this day it never was known who had done that murder. Do justice, O King, for this crime." Said the King to Dubdrenn, "Thou art liable for more than the sword is worth." So he awarded to Socht the price of seven bondwomen as blood-fine for the slaying of Angus, and restitution of the sword to Socht. Then the steward confessed the story of the sword, and Cormac levied seven other cumals from the brazier. But Cormac said, "This is in truth the sword of Cuchulain, and by it was slain my grandfather, even Conn of the Hundred Battles, at the hands of the King of Ulster, of whom it is written:-- "With a host, with a valiant band Well did he go into Connacht. Alas, that he saw the blood of Conn On the side of Cuchulain's sword!" Then Cormac and Fithel agreed that the sword be given to Cormac as blood-fine for the death of Conn, and his it was; and it was the third best of the royal treasures that were in Erin: namely, Cormac's Cup, that broke if a falsehood were spoken over it and became whole if a truth were spoken; and the Bell Branch that he got in Fairyland, whose music when it was shaken would put to sleep wounded men, and women in travail; and the Sword of Cuchulain, against which, and against the man that held it in his hand, no victory could ever be won. VIII THE DISAPPEARANCE OF CORMAC In the chronicle of the Kings of Ireland that was written by Tierna the Historian in the eleventh century after Christ's coming, there is noted down in the annals of the year 248, "Disappearance of Cormac, grandson of Conn, for seven months." That which happened to Cormac during these seven months is told in one of the bardic stories of Ireland, being the Story of Cormac's Journey to Fairyland, and this was the manner of it. One day Cormac, son of Art, was looking over the ramparts of his royal Dún of Tara, when he saw a young man, glorious to look on in his person and his apparel, coming towards him across the plain of Bregia. The young man bore in his hand, as it were, a branch, from which hung nine golden bells formed like apples. When he shook the branch the nine apples beat against each other and made music so sweet that there was no pain or sorrow in the world that a man would not forget while he hearkened to it. "Does this branch belong to thee?" asked Cormac of the youth. "Truly it does," replied the youth. "Wilt thou sell it to me?" said Cormac. "I never had aught that I would not sell for a price," said the young man. "What is thy price?" asked Cormac. "The price shall be what I will," said the young man. "I will give thee whatever thou desirest of all that is mine," said Cormac, for he coveted the branch exceedingly, and the enchantment was heavy upon him. So the youth gave him the bell-branch, and then said, "My price is thy wife and thy son and thy daughter." Then they went together into the palace and found there Cormac's wife and his children. "That is a wonderful jewel thou hast in thy hand, Cormac," said Ethne. "It is," said Cormac, "and great is the price I have paid for it." "What is that price?" said Ethne. "Even thou and thy children twain," said the King. "Never hast thou done such a thing," cried Ethne, "as to prefer any treasure in the world before us three!" And they all three lamented and implored, but Cormac shook the branch and immediately their sorrow was forgotten, and they went away willingly with the young man across the plain of Bregia until a mist hid them from the eyes of Cormac. And when the people murmured and complained against Cormac, for Ethne and her children were much beloved of them, Cormac shook the bell-branch and their grief was turned into joy. A year went by after this, and then Cormac longed for his wife and children again, nor could the bell-branch any longer bring him forgetfulness of them. So one morning he took the branch and went out alone from Tara over the plain, taking the direction in which they had passed away a year agone; and ere long little wreathes of mist began to curl about his feet, and then to flit by him like long trailing robes, and he knew no more where he was. After a time, however, he came out again into sunshine and clear sky, and found himself in a country of flowery meadows and of woods filled with singing-birds where he had never journeyed before. He walked on, till at last he came to a great and stately mansion with a crowd of builders at work upon it, and they were roofing it with a thatch made of the wings of strange birds. But when they had half covered the house, their supply of feathers ran short, and they rode off in haste to seek for more. While they were gone, however, a wind arose and whirled away the feathers already laid on, so that the rafters were left bare as before. And this happened again and again, as Cormac gazed on them for he knew not how long. At last his patience left him and he said, "I see with that ye have been doing this since the beginning of the world, and that ye will still be doing it in the end thereof," and with that he went on his way. And many other strange things he saw, but of them we say nothing now, till he came to the gateway of a great and lofty Dún, where he entered in and asked hospitality. Then there came to him a tall man clad in a cloak of blue that changed into silver or to purple as its folds waved in the light, and with him was a woman more beautiful than the daughters of men, even she of whom it was said her beauty was as that of a tear when it drops from the eyelid, so crystal-pure it was and bright.[32] They greeted Cormac courteously and begged him to stay with them for the night. [32] See Miss Hull's CUCHULAIN, THE HOUND OF ULSTER, p. 175. The pair were Mananan, god of the sea, and Fand his wife, of whom a tale of great interest is told in the Cuchulain Cycle of legends. The sea-cloak of Mananan is the subject of a magnificent piece of descriptive poetry in Ferguson's CONGAL. Cormac then entered a great hall with pillars of cedar and many-coloured silken hangings on the walls. In the midst of it was a fire-place whereon the host threw a huge log, and shortly afterwards brought in a young pig which Cormac cut up to roast before the fire. He first put one quarter of the pig to roast, and then his host said to him, "Tell us a tale, stranger, and if it be a true one the quarter will be done as soon as the tale is told." "Do thou begin," said Cormac, "and then thy wife, and after that my turn will come." "Good," said the host. "This is my tale. I have seven of these swine, and with their flesh the whole world could be fed. When one of them is killed and eaten, I need but put its bones into the pig-trough and on the morrow it is alive and well again." They looked at the fireplace, and behold, the first quarter of the pig was done and ready to be served. Then Cormac put on the second quarter, and the woman took up her tale. "I have seven white cows," she said, "and seven pails are filled with the milk of them each day. Though all the folk in the world were gathered together to drink of this milk, there would be enough and to spare for all." As soon as she had said that, they saw that the second quarter of the pig was roasted. Then Cormac said: "I know you now, who you are; for it is Mananan that owns the seven swine of Faery, and it is out of the Land of Promise that he fetched Fand his wife and her seven cows." Then immediately the third quarter of the pig was done. "Tell us now," said Mananan, "who thou art and why thou art come hither." Cormac then told his story, of the branch with its nine golden apples and how he had bartered for it his wife and his children, and he was now-seeking them through the world. And when he had made an end, the last quarter of the pig was done. "Come, let us set to the feast," then said Mananan; but Cormac said, "Never have I sat down to meat in a company of two only." "Nay," said Mananan, "but there are more to come." With that he opened a door in the hall and in it appeared Queen Ethne and her two children. And when they had embraced and rejoiced in each other Mananan said, "It was I who took them from thee, Cormac, and who gave thee the bell-branch, for I wished to bring thee hither to be my guest for the sake of thy nobleness and thy wisdom." Then they all sat down to table and feasted and made merry, and when they had satisfied themselves with meat and drink, Mananan showed the wonders of his household to King Cormac. And he took up a golden cup which stood on the table, and said: "This cup hath a magical property, for if a lie be spoken over it, it will immediately break in pieces, and if a truth be spoken it will be made whole again." "Prove this to me," said Cormac. "That is easily done," said Mananan. "Thy wife hath had a new husband since I carried her off from thee." Straightway the cup fell apart into four pieces. "My husband has lied to thee, Cormac," said Fand, and immediately the cup became whole again. Cormac then began to question Mananan as to the things he had seen on his way thither, and he told him of the house that was being thatched with the wings of birds, and of the men that kept returning ever and again to their work as the wind destroyed it. And Mananan said, "These, O Cormac, are the men of art, who seek to gather together much money and gear of all kinds by the exercise of their craft, but as fast as they get it, so they spend it, or faster and the result is that they will never be rich." But when he had said this it is related that the golden cup broke into pieces where it stood. Then Cormac said, "The explanation thou hast given of this mystery is not true." Mananan smiled, and said, "Nevertheless it must suffice thee, O King, for the truth of this matter may not be known, lest the men of art give over the roofing of the house and it be covered with common thatch." So when they had talked their fill, Cormac and his wife and children were brought to a chamber where they lay down to sleep. But when they woke up on the morrow morn, they found themselves in the Queen's chamber in the royal palace of Tara, and by Cormac's side were found the bell-branch and the magical cup and the cloth of gold that had covered the table where they sat in the palace of Mananan. Seven months it was since Cormac had gone out from Tara to search for his wife and children, but it seemed to him that he had been absent but for the space of a single day and night. IX DESCRIPTION OF CORMAC[33] [33] The original from the BOOK OF BALLYMOTE (14th century) is given in O'Curry's MS. MATERIALS OF IRISH HISTORY, Appendix xxvi. I have in the main followed O'Curry's translation. "A noble and illustrious king assumed the sovranty and rule of Erinn, namely Cormac, grandson of Conn of the Hundred Battles. The world was full of all goodness in his time; there were fruit and fatness of the land, and abundant produce of the sea, with peace and ease and happiness. There were no killings or plunderings in his time, but everyone occupied his land in happiness. "The nobles of Ireland assembled to drink the Banquet of Tara with Cormac at a certain time.... Magnificently did Cormac come to this great Assembly; for no man, his equal in beauty, had preceded him, excepting Conary Mór or Conor son of Caffa, or Angus Óg son of the Dagda.[34] Splendid, indeed, was Cormac's appearance in that Assembly. His hair was slightly curled, and of golden colour; a scarlet shield he had, with engraved devices, and golden bosses and ridges of silver. A wide-folding purple cloak was on him with a gem-set gold brooch over his breast; a golden torque round his neck; a white-collared shirt embroidered with gold was on him; a girdle with golden buckles and studded with precious stones was around him; two golden net-work sandals with golden buckles upon his feet; two spears with golden sockets and many red bronze rivets in his hand; while he stood in the full glow of beauty, without defect or blemish. You would think it was a shower of pearls that was set in his mouth, his lips were rubies, his symmetrical body was as white as snow, his cheek was ruddy as the berry of the mountain-ash, his eyes were like the sloe, his brows and eye-lashes were like the sheen of a blue-black lance." [34] Angus Óg was really a deity or fairy king. He appears also in the story of Midir and Etain. _q.v._ X THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF CORMAC Strange was the birth and childhood of Cormac strange his life and strange the manner of his death and burial, as we now have to narrate. Cormac, it is said, was the third man in Ireland who heard of the Christian Faith before the coming of Patrick. One was Conor mac Nessa, King of Ulster, whose druid told him of the crucifixion of Christ and who died of that knowledge.[35] The second was the wise judge, Morann, and the third Cormac, son of Art. This knowledge was revealed to him by divine illumination, and thenceforth he refused to consult the druids or to worship the images which they made as emblems of the Immortal Ones. [35] See the conclusion of the _Vengeance of Mesgedra_. One day it happened that Cormac after he had laid down the kingship of Ireland, was present when the druids and a concourse of people were worshipping the great golden image which was set up in the plain called Moy Slaught. When the ceremony was done, the chief druid, whose name was Moylann, spoke to Cormac and said: "Why, O Cormac, didst thou not bow down and adore the golden image of the god like the rest of the people?" And Cormac said: "Never will I worship a stock[36] that my own carpenter has made. Rather would I worship the man that made it, for he is nobler than the work of his hands." [36] The image was doubtless of wood overlaid with gold. Then it is told that Moylann by magic art caused the image to move and leap before the eyes of Cormac. "Seest thou that?" said Moylann. "Although I see," said Cormac, "I will do no worship save to the God of Heaven and Earth and Hell." Then Cormac went to his own home at Sletty on the Boyne, for there he lived after he had given up the kingdom to his son Cairbry. But the druids of Erinn came together and consulted over this matter, and they determined solemnly to curse Cormac and invoke the vengeance of their gods upon him lest the people should think that any man could despise and reject their gods, and suffer no ill for it. So they cursed Cormac in his flesh and bones, in his waking and sleeping, in his down sitting and his uprising, and each day they turned over the Wishing Stone upon the altar of their god,[37] and wove mighty spells against his life. And whether it was that these took effect, or that the druids prevailed upon some traitorous servant of Cormac's to work their will, so it was that he died not long thereafter; and some say that he was choked by a fish bone as he sat at meat in his house at Sletty on the Boyne. [37] There are still Wishing Stones, which are used in connexion with petitions for good or ill, on the ancient altars of Inishmurray and of Caher Island, and possibly other places on the west coast of Ireland. But when he felt his end approaching, and had still the power to speak, he said to those that gathered round his bed:--"When I am gone I charge you that ye bury me not at Brugh of the Boyne where is the royal cemetery of the Kings of Erinn.[38] For all these kings paid adoration to gods of wood or stone, or to the Sun and the Elements, whose signs are carved on the walls of their tombs, but I have learned to know the One God, immortal, invisible, by whom the earth and heavens were made. Soon there will come into Erinn one from the East who will declare Him unto us, and then wooden gods and cursing priests shall plague us no longer in this land. Bury me then not at Brugh-na-Boyna, but on the hither-side of Boyne, at Ross-na-ree, where there is a sunny, eastward-sloping hill, there would I await the coming of the sun of truth." [38] This famous cemetery of the kings of pagan Ireland lies on the north bank of the Boyne and consists of a number of sepulchral mounds, sometimes of great extent, containing, in their interior, stone walled chambers decorated with symbolic and ornamental carvings. The chief of these mounds, now known as Newgrange, has been explored and described by Mr George Coffey in his valuable work NEWGRANGE, published by the Royal Irish Academy. _Brugh_=mansion. So spake Cormac, and he died, and there was a very great mourning for him in the land. But when the time came for his burial, the princes and lords of the Gael vowed that he should lie in Brugh with Art, his father, and Conn of the Hundred Battles, and many another king, in the great stone chambers of the royal dead. For Ross-na-ree, they said, is but a green hill of no note; and Cormac's expectation of the message of the new God they took to be but the wanderings of a dying man. Now Brugh-na-Boyna lay at the farther side of the Boyne from Sletty, and near by was a shallow ford where the river could be crossed. But when the funeral train came down to the ford, bearing aloft the body of the King, lo! the river had risen as though a tempest had burst upon it at its far-off sources in the hills, and between them and the farther bank was now a broad and foaming flood, and the stakes that marked the ford were washed clean away. Even so they made trial of the ford, and thrice the bearers waded in and thrice they were forced to turn back lest the flood should sweep them down. At length six of the tallest and mightiest of the warriors of the High King took up the bier upon their shoulders, and strode in. And first the watchers on the bank saw the brown water swirl about their knees, and then they sank thigh-deep, and at last it foamed against their shoulders, yet still they braced themselves against the current, moving forward very slowly as they found foothold among the slippery rocks in the river-bed. But when they had almost reached the mid-stream it seemed as if a great surge overwhelmed them, and caught the bier from their shoulders as they plunged and clutched around it, and they must needs make back for the shore as best they could, while Boyne swept down the body of Cormac to the sea. On the following morning, however, shepherds driving their flocks to pasture on the hillside of Ross-na-ree found cast upon the shore the body of an aged man of noble countenance, half wrapped in a silken pall; and knowing not who this might be they dug a grave in the grassy hill, and there laid the stranger, and laid the green sods over him again. There still sleeps Cormac the King, and neither Ogham-lettered stone nor sculptured cross marks his solitary grave. But he lies in the place where he would be, of which a poet of the Gael in our day has written:-- "A tranquil spot: a hopeful sound Comes from the ever-youthful stream, And still on daisied mead and mound The dawn delays with tenderer beam. "Round Cormac, spring renews her buds: In march perpetual by his side Down come the earth-fresh April floods, And up the sea-fresh salmon glide; "And life and time rejoicing run From age to age their wonted way; But still he waits the risen sun, For still 'tis only dawning day."[39] [39] These lines are taken from Sir S. Ferguson's noble poem, _The Burial of King Cormac_, from which I have also borrowed some of the details of the foregoing narrative. * * * * * Notes on the Sources _The Story of the Children of Lir_ and _The Quest of the Sons of Turenn_ are two of the three famous and popular tales entitled "The Three Sorrows of Storytelling." The third is the _Tragedy of the Sons of Usna_, rendered by Miss Eleanor Hull in her volume CUCHULAIN. I have taken the two stories which are given here from the versions in modern Irish published by the Society for the Preservation of the Irish Language, with notes and translation. Neither of them is found in any very early MS., but their subject-matter certainly goes back to very primitive times. _The Secret of Labra_ is taken from Keating's FORUS FEASA AR EIRINN, edited with translation by the Rev. P.S. Dineen for the Irish Texts Society, vol. i. p. 172. _The Carving of mac Datho's Boar_. This is a clean, fierce, fighting story, notable both for its intensely dramatic _dénouement_, and for the complete absence from it of the magical or supernatural element which is so common a feature in Gaelic tales. It has been edited and translated from one MS. by Dr Kuno Meyer, in _Hibernica Minora_ (ANECDOTA OXONIENSIA), 1894, and translated from THE BOOK OF LEINSTER (twelfth century) in Leahy's HEROIC ROMANCES. _The Vengeance of Mesgedra_. This story, as I have given it, is a combination of two tales, _The Siege of Howth_ and _The Death of King Conor_. The second really completes the first, though they are not found united in Irish literature. Both pieces are given in O'Curry's MS. MATERIALS OF IRISH HISTORY, and Miss Hull has printed translations of them in her CUCHULLIN SAGA, the translation of the _Siege_ being by Dr Whitly Stokes and that of the _Death of Conor_ by O'Curry. These are very ancient tales and contain a strong barbaric element. Versions of both of them are found in the great MS. collection known as the BOOK OF LEINSTER (twelfth century). _King Iubdan and King Fergus_ is a brilliant piece of fairy literature. The imaginative grace, the humour, and, at the close, the tragic dignity of this tale make it worthy of being much more widely known than it has yet become. The original, taken from one of the Egerton MSS. in the British Museum, will be found with a translation in O'Grady's SILVA GADELICA. For the conclusion, I have in the main followed another version (containing the death of Fergus only), given in the SEANCUS MOR and finely versified by Sir Samuel Ferguson in his POEMS, 1880. _The Story of Etain and Midir_. This beautiful and very ancient romance is extant in two distinct versions, both of which are translated by Mr A.H. Leahy in his HEROIC ROMANCES. The tale is found in several MSS., among others, in the twelfth century BOOK OF THE DUN COW (LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRE). It has been recently made the subject of a dramatic poem by "Fiona Macleod." _How Ethne quitted Fairyland_ is taken from D'Arbois de Jubainville's CYCLE MYTHOLOGIQUE IRLANDAIS, ch. xii. 4. The original is to be found in the fifteenth century MS., entitled THE BOOK OF FERMOY. _The Boyhood of Finn_ is based chiefly on the MACGNIOMHARTHA FHINN, published in 1856, with a translation, in the _TRANSACTIONS OF THE OSSIANIC SOCIETY_, vol. iv. I am also indebted, particularly for the translation of the difficult _Song of Finn in Praise of May_, to Dr Kuno Meyer's translation published in _Ériu_ (the Journal of the School of Irish Learning), vol. i. pt. 2. _The Coming of Finn_, _Finns Chief Men_, the _Tale of Vivionn_ and _The Chase of the Gilla Dacar_, are all handfuls from that rich mine of Gaelic literature, Mr Standish Hayes O'Grady's SILVA GADELICA. In the _Gilla Dacar_ I have modified the second half of the story rather freely. It appears to have been originally an example of a well-known class of folk-tales dealing with the subject of the Rescue of Fairyland. The same motive occurs in the famous tale called _The Sickbed of Cuchulain_. The idea is that some fairy potentate, whose realm is invaded and oppressed, entices a mortal champion to come to his aid and rewards him with magical gifts. But the eighteenth century narrator whose MS. was edited by Mr S.H. O'Grady, apparently had not the clue to the real meaning of his material, and after going on brilliantly up to the point where Dermot plunges into the magic well, he becomes incoherent, and the rest of the tale is merely a string of episodes having no particular connexion with each other or with the central theme. The latter I have here endeavoured to restore to view. The _Gilla Dacar_ is given from another Gaelic version by Dr P.W. Joyce in his invaluable book, OLD CELTIC ROMANCES. _The Birth of Oisín_ I have found in Patrick Kennedy's LEGENDARY FICTIONS OF THE IRISH CELTS. I do not know the Gaelic original. _Oisín in the Land of Youth_ is based, as regards the outlines of this remarkable story, on the LAOI OISÍN AR TIR NA N-ÓG, written by Michael Comyn about 1750, and edited with a translation by Thomas Flannery in 1896 (Gill & Son, Dublin). Comyn's poem was almost certainly based on earlier traditional sources, either oral or written or both, but these have not hitherto been discovered. _The History of King Cormac_. The story of the birth of Cormac and his coming into his kingdom is to be found in SILVA GADELICA, where it is edited from THE BOOK OF BALLYMOTE, an MS. dating from about the year 1400. The charming tale, of his marriage with Ethne ni Dunlaing is taken from Keating's FORUS FEASA. From this source also I have taken the tales of the Brehon Flahari, of Kiernit and the mill, and of Cormac's death and burial. The _Instructions of Cormac_ have been edited and translated by Dr Kuno Meyer in the Todd Lecture Series of the Royal Irish Academy, xiv., April 1909. They are found in numerous MSS., and their date is fixed by Dr Meyer about the ninth century. With some other Irish matter of the same description they constitute, says Mr Alfred Nutt, "the oldest body of gnomic wisdom" extant in any European vernacular. (_FOLK-LORE_, Sept. 30, 1909.) The story of Cormac's adventures in Fairyland has been published with a translation by Standish Hayes O'Grady in the _TRANSACTIONS OF THE OSSIANIC SOCIETY_, vol. iii., and is also given very fully by d'Arbois de Jubainvilie in his CYCLE MYTHOLOGIQUE IRLANDAIS. The tale is found, among other MSS., in the BOOK OF BALLYMOTE, but is known to have been extant at least as early as the tenth century, since in that year it figures in a list of Gaelic tales drawn up by the historian Tierna. The ingenious story of the _Judgment concerning Cormac's Sword_ is found in the BOOK OF BALLYMOTE, and is printed with a translation by Dr Whitly Stokes in _IRISCHE TEXTE_, iii. Serie, 7 Heft, 1891. Pronouncing Index The correct pronunciation of Gaelic proper names can only be learned from the living voice. It cannot be accurately represented by any combination of letters from the English alphabet. I have spared the reader as much trouble as possible on this score by simplifying, as far as I could, the forms of the names occurring in the text, and if the reader will note the following general rules, he will get quite as near to the pronunciation intended as there is any necessity for him to do. A few names which might present some unusual difficulty are given with their approximate English pronunciations in the Index. The chief rule to observe is that vowels are pronounced as in the Continental languages, not according to the custom peculiar to England. Thus _a_ is like _a_ in _father_, never like _a_ in _fate, I_(when long) is like _ee_, _u_ like _oo_, or like _u_ in _put_ (never like _u_ in _tune_). An accent implies length, thus _Dún_, a fortress or mansion, is pronounced _Doon_. The letters _ch_ are never to be pronounced with a _t_ sound, as in the word _chip_, but like a rough _h_ or a softened _k_, rather as in German. _Gh_ is silent as in English, and _g_ is always hard, as in _give_. _C_ is always as _k_, never as _s_. In the following Index an accent placed after a syllable indicates that the stress is to be laid on that syllable. Only those words are given, the pronunciation of which is not easily ascertainable by attention to the foregoing rules. INDEX Æda is to be pronounced Ee'-da. Ailill " Al'-yill. Anluan " An'-looan. Aoife " Ee'-fa. Bacarach " Bac'-ara_h_. Belachgowran " Bel'-a_h_-gow'-ran. Cearnach " Kar'-na_h_. Cuchulain " Coo-_h_oo'-lin. Cumhal " Coo'wal, Cool. Dacar " Dak'-ker. Derryvaragh " Derry-var'-a. Eisirt " Eye'sert. Eochy " Yeo'_h_ee. Fiachra " Fee'-a_k_ra. Fianna " Fee'-anna. Finegas " Fin'-egas. Fionnuala " Fee-on-oo'-ala, shortened in modern Irish into Fino'-la. Flahari " Fla'-haree. Iorroway " Yor'-oway. Iubdan " Youb'-dan. Iuchar " You'-_h_ar. Iucharba " You-_h_ar'-ba. Liagan " Lee'-agan. Lir " Leer. Logary " Lo'-garee. Maev " rhyming to _wave_. Mananan " Man'-anan. Mesgedra " Mes-ged'-ra. Midir " Mid'-eer. Mochaen " Mo-_hain'. Mochaovóg " Mo-_h_wee'-vogue. Moonremur " Moon'-ray-mur. Oisín " Ush'-een (Ossian). Peisear " Pye'-sar. Sceolaun " Ske-o'-lawn (the _e_ very short). Slievenamuck " Sleeve-na-muck'. Slievenamon " Sleeve-na-mon'. Tuish " Too'-ish. 
5679	----	This eBook was produced by John B. Hare and Carrie Lorenz. HEROIC ROMANCES OF IRELAND TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH PROSE AND VERSE, WITH PREFACE, SPECIAL INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES BY A. H. LEAHY IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. II @@{Redactors Note: In the original book the 'Literal Translation' is printed on facing pages to the poetic translation. In this etext the literal translation portions have been collated after the poetic translation, for the sake of readability. Hence the page numbers are not sequential--JBH} PREFACE TO VOL. II It seems to have been customary in ancient Ireland to precede by shorter stories the recital of the Great Tain, the central story of the Irish Heroic Age. A list of fourteen of these "lesser Tains," three of which are lost, is given in Miss Hull's "Cuchullin Saga"; those preserved are the Tain bo Aingen, Dartada, Flidais, Fraich, Munad, Regamon, Regamna, Ros, Ruanadh, Sailin, and Ere. Of these, five only have been edited, viz. the Tain bo Dartada, Flidais, Fraich, Regamon, and Regamna; all these five are given in this volume. The last four tales are all short, and perhaps are more truly "preludes" (remscela) than the Tain bo Fraich, which has indeed enough of interest in itself to make it an independent tale, and is as long as the four put together. All the five tales have been rendered into verse, with a prose literal translation opposite to the verse rendering, for reasons already given in the preface to the first volume. A short introduction, describing the manuscript authority, is prefixed to each; they all seem to go back in date to the best literary period, but appear to have been at any rate put into their present form later than the Great Tain, in order to lead up to it. A possible exception to this may be found at the end of the Tain bo Flidais, which seems to give a different account of the end of the war of Cualgne, and to claim that Cuchulain was defeated, and that Connaught gained his land for its allies. It may be mentioned that the last four tales are expressly stated in the text to be "remscela" to the Great Tain. INTRODUCTION IN VERSE When to an Irish court of old Came men, who flocked from near and far To hear the ancient tale that told Cuchulain's deeds in Cualgne's War; Oft, ere that famous tale began, Before their chiefest bard they hail, Amid the throng some lesser man Arose, to tell a lighter tale; He'd fell how Maev and Ailill planned Their mighty hosts might best be fed, When they towards the Cualgne land All Irelands swarming armies led; How Maev the youthful princes sent To harry warlike Regamon, How they, who trembling, from her went, His daughters and his cattle won; How Ailill's guile gained Darla's cows, How vengeful fairies marked that deed; How Fergus won his royal spouse Whose kine all Ireland's hosts could feed; How, in a form grotesque and weird, Cuchulain found a Power Divine; Or how in shapes of beasts appeared The Magic Men, who kept the Swine; Or how the rowan's guardian snake Was roused by order of the king; Or how, from out the water, Fraech To Finnabar restored her ring. And though, in greater tales, they chose Speech mired with song, men's hearts to sway, Such themes as these they told in prose, Like speakers at the "Feis" to-day. To men who spake the Irish tongue That form of Prose was pleasing well, While other lands in ballads sung Such tales as these have loved to tell: So we, who now in English dress These Irish tales would fain And seek their spirit to express, Have set them down in ballad verse; And, though to Celts the form be strange, Seek not too much the change to blame; 'Tis but the form alone we change; The sense, the spirit rest the same. CONTENTS THE PRELUDES TO THE RAID OF CUALGNE TAIN BO FRAICH - Page 1 THE RAID FOR DARTAID'S CATTLE - Page 69 THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF REGAMON - Page 83 THE DRIVING OF THE CATTLE OF FLIDAIS - Page 101 THE APPARITION OF THE GREAT QUEEN TO CUCHULAIN - Page 127 APPENDIX IRISH TEXT AND LITERAL TRANSLATION OF PART OF THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN - Page 143 TAIN BO FRAICH INTRODUCTION The Tain bo Fraich, the Driving of the Cattle of Fraech, has apparently only one version; the different manuscripts which contain it differing in very small points; most of which seem to be due to scribal errors. Practically the tale consists of two quite separate parts. The first, the longer portion, gives the adventures of Fraech at the court of Ailill and Maev of Connaught, his courtship of their daughter, Finnabar, and closes with a promised betrothal. The second part is an account of an expedition undertaken by Fraech to the Alps "in the north of the land of the Long Beards," to recover stolen cattle, as well as his wife," who is stated by O'Beirne Crowe, on the authority of the "Courtship of Trebland" in the Book of Fermoy, to have been Trebland, a semi-deity, like Fraech himself. Except that Fraech is the chief actor in both parts, and that there is one short reference at the end of the second part to the fact that Fraech did, as he had promised in the first part, join Ailill and Maev upon the War of Cualnge, there is no connection between the two stories. But the difference between the two parts is not only in the subject-matter; the difference in the style is even yet more apparent. The first part has, I think, the most complicated plot of any Irish romance, it abounds in brilliant descriptions, and, although the original is in prose, it is, in feeling, highly poetic. The second part resembles in its simplicity and rapid action the other "fore tales" or preludes to the War of Cualnge contained in this volume, and is of a style represented in English by the narrative ballad. In spite of the various characters of the two parts, the story seems to have been regarded as one in all the manuscripts which contain it; and the question how these two romances came to be regarded as one story becomes interesting. The natural hypothesis would be that the last part was the original version, which was in its earlier part re-written by a man of genius, possibly drawing his plot from some brief statement that Finnabar was promised to Fraech in return for the help that he and his recovered cattle could give in the Great War; but a difficulty, which prevents us from regarding the second part as an original legend, at once comes in. The second part of the story happens to contain so many references to nations outside Ireland that its date can be pretty well fixed. Fraech and his companions go, over the sea from Ulster, i.e. to Scotland; then through "north Saxon-land" to the sea of Icht (i.e. the sea of Wight or the English Channel); then to the Alps in the north of the land of the Long-Beards, or Lombards. The Long-Beards do not appear in Italy until the end of the sixth century; the suggestion of North Saxon-Land reaching down to the sea of Wight suggests that there was then a South Saxon-Land, familiar to an Irish writer, dating this part of the story as before the end of the eighth century, when both Saxons and Long-Beards were overcome by Charlemagne. The second part of the story is, then, no original legend, but belongs to the seventh or eighth century, or the classical period; and it looks as if there were two writers, one of whom, like the author of the Egerton version of Etain, embellished the love-story part of the original legend, leaving the end alone, while another author wrote an account of the legendary journey of the demi-god Fraech in search for his stolen cattle, adding the geographical and historical knowledge of his time. The whole was then put together, like the two parts of the Etain story; the difference between the two stories in the matter of the wife does not seem to have troubled the compilers. The oldest manuscript authority for the Tain bo Fraich is the Book of Leinster, written before 1150. There are at least two other manuscript authorities, one; in Egerton, 1782 (published by Professor Kuno Meyer in the Zeitschrift für Celt. Philologie, 1902); the other is in MS. XL., Advocates' Library, Edinburgh (published in the Revue Celtique, Vol. XXIV.). Professor Meyer has kindly allowed me to copy his comparison of these manuscripts and his revision of O'Beirne Crowe's translation of the Book of Leinster text. The text of the literal translation given here follows, however, in the main O'Beirne Crowe's translation, which is in the Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy for 1870; a few insertions are made from the other MSS.; when so made the insertion is indicated by a note. For those who may be interested in the subsequent history of Fraech, it may be mentioned that he was one of the first of the Connaught champions to be slain by Cuchulain in the war of Cualnge; see Miss Faraday's translation (Grimm Library, page 35). PERSONS IN THE STORY MORTALS Ailill, King of Connaught. Medb (or Maev), Queen of Connaught. Findbar (or Finnabar), their daughter. Froech (or Fraech), (pronounced Fraych); son of a Connaught man and a fairy mother. Conall Cernach (Conall the Victorious), champion of Ulster. Two Irish women, in captivity in the Alps, north of Lombardy. Lothar (or Lothur), a follower of Fraech. Bicne, a follower of Conall. IMMORTALS Befind, Fraech's fairy mother. Boand (pronounced like "owned"), sister to Befind; Queen of the Fairies. Three fairy harpers. TAIN BO FRAICH THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF FRAECH Now the news of the love of that maid to Fraech, at his home where he dwelt, was brought, And he called his folk, and with all he spoke, and for speech with the maid he sought: And they counselled him thus: "Let a message from thee be sent to thy fairy kin To entreat their aid when we seek that maid; a boon we may chance to win: For the wondrous robes of the fairy land, and for gifts from the fairies plead; And sure thy mother's sister's hand will give to thee all thy need." To Mag Breg,[FN#1] where his mother's sister dwelt, to Boand he away hath gone, And she gave to him mantles of dark black-blue, like a beetle's back they shone: Four dark-grey rings in each cloak she gave were sewn, and a brooch shone, bright With the good red gold in each mantle's fold; she gave tunics pale and white, And the tunics were bordered with golden loops, that forms as of beasts displayed; And a fifty she added of well-rimmed shields, that of silver white were made. [FN#1] Pronounced Maw Brayg. Then away they rode, in each hero's hand was a torch for a kingly hall, For studs of bronze, and of well-burned gold, shone bright on the spears of all; On carbuncle sockets the spears were set, their points with jewels blazed; And they lit the night, as with fair sunlight, as men on their glory gazed. By each of the fifty heroes' side was a sword with a hilt of gold; And a soft-grey mare was for each to ride, with a golden curb controlled; At each horse's throat was a silver plate, and in front of that plate was swung, With a tinkling sound to the horse's tread, a bell with a golden tongue. on each steed was a housing of purple hide, with threads of silver laced, And with spiral stitch of the silver threads the heads of beasts were traced, And each housing was buckled with silver and gold: of findruine[FN#2] was made the whip For each rider to hold, with a crook of gold where it came to the horse man's grip. [FN#2] Pronounced "find-roony," the unknown "white-bronze" metal. By their sides, seven chase-hounds were springing At leashes of silver they strained, And each couple a gold apple, swinging On the fetter that linked them, sustained: And their feet with bronze sheaths had been guarded, As if greaves for defence they had worn, Every hue man hath seen, or hath fancied, By those chase-hounds in brilliance was borne. Seven trumpeters strode on the road before, with colour their cloaks were bright, And their coats, that shone with the gauds they wore, flashed back as they met the light; On trumpets of silver and gold they blew, and sweet was the trumpets' sound, And their hair, soft and yellow, like fairy threads, shone golden their shoulders round. Three jesters marched in the van, their-crowns were of silver, by gilt concealed, And emblems they. carried of quaint device, engraved on each jester's shield; They had staves which with crests were adorned, and ribs down their edges in red bronze ran; Three harp-players moved by the jesters' sides, and each was a kingly man. All these were the gifts that the fairy gave, and gaily they made their start, And to Croghan's[FN#3] hold, in that guise so brave, away did the host depart. [FN#3] Pronounced Crow-han. On the fort stands a watchman to view them, And thus news down to Croghan he calls: "From yon plain comes, in fulness of numbers, A great army to Croghan's high walls; And, since Ailill the throne first ascended, Since the day we hailed Maev as our Queen, Never army so fair nor so splendid Yet hath come, nor its like shall be seen." "'Tis strange," said he," as dipped in wine, So swims, so reels my head, As o'er me steals the breath divine Of perfume from them shed." "A fair youth," said he, "forth with them goeth, And the grace of such frolicsome play, And such lightness in leap as he showeth Have I seen not on earth till to-day: For his spear a full shot's length he flingeth, Yet the spear never reacheth to ground, For his silver-chained hounds follow after, In their jaws is the spear ever found!" The Connaught hosts without the fort To see that glory rushed: Sixteen within, of baser sort, Who gazed, to death were crushed. To the fort came the youths, from their steeds they leapt, for the steeds and the stabling cared, And they loosed the hounds that in leash they kept, for the hunt were the hounds prepared; Seven deer, seven foxes and hares, they chased to the dun on Croghan's plain, Seven boars they drave, on the lawn in haste the game by the youths was slain: With a bound they dashed into Bree, whose flood by the lawns of Croghan flows; Seven otters they caught in its stream, and brought to a hill where the gateway rose. 'Twas there that Fraech and the princes sat at the castle-gate to rest, And the steward of Croghan with Fraech would speak, for such was the king's behest: Of his birth it was asked, and the men he led all truth to the herald spake: "It is Idath's son who is here," they said, and they gave him the name of Fraech. To Ailill and Maev went the steward back of the stranger's name to tell; "Give him welcome," said they: "Of a noble race is that youth, and I know it well; Let him enter the court of our house," said the king, the gateway they opened wide; And the fourth of the palace they gave to Fraech, that there might his youths abide. Fair was the palace that there they found, Seven great chambers were ranged it round; Right to the walls of the house they spread, Facing the hall, where the fire glowed red: Red yew planks, that had felt the plane, Dappled the walls with their tangled grain: Rails of bronze at the side-walls stood, Plates of bronze had made firm the wood, Seven brass bolts to the roof-tree good Firmly the vaulting tied. All that house had of pine been made, Planks, as shingles, above were laid; Sixteen windows the light let pass, Each in a frame of the shining brass: High through the roof was the sky seen bright; Girder of brass made that opening tight, Under the gap it was stretched, and light Fell on its gleaming side. All those chambers in splendour excelling, The midmost of all in the ring, Rose a room, set apart as the dwelling Of Queen Maev, and of Ailill the king. Four brass columns the awning supported For their couch, there was bronze on the wall; And two rails, formed of silver, and gilded, In that chamber encircled it all: In the front, to mid-rafters attaining, Rose in silver a wand from the floor; And with rooms was that palace engirdled, For they stretched from the door to the door. 'Twas there they went to take repose, On high their arms were hung; And down they sank, and welcome rose, Acclaimed by every tongue. By the queen and the king they were welcome made, the strangers they turned to greet; And their courtesy graciously Fraech repaid: "'Twas thus we had hoped to meet." "Not for boasting to-day are ye come!" said Maev; the men for the chess she set: And a lord of the court in the chess-man sport by Fraech in a match was met. 'Twas a marvellous board of findruine fair was prepared, when they played that game, Four handles, and edges of gold it had, nor needed they candles' flame; For the jewels that blazed at the chess-board's side, a light, as from lamps, would yield; And of silver and gold were the soldiers made, who engaged on that mimic field. "Get ye food for the chiefs!" said the king; said Maev, "Not yet, 'tis my will to stay, To sit with the strangers, and here with Fraech in a match at the chess to play!" "Let thy game be played!" said Ailill then, "for it pleaseth me none the less:" And Queen Maev and Fraech at the chess-board sate, and they played at the game of chess. Now his men, as they played, the wild beasts late caught were cooking, they thought to feed; And said Ailill to Fraech, "Shall thy harpmen play?" "Let them play," said Fraech, "indeed:" Now those harpers were wondrous men, by their sides they had sacks of the otter's skin, And about their bodies the sacks were tied, and they carried their harps within, With stitches of silver and golden thread each case for a harp was sewed; And, beneath the embroidery gleaming red, the shimmer of rubies showed! The skin of a roe about them in the middle, it was as white as snow; black-grey eyes in their centre. Cloaks of linen as white as the tunic of a swan around these ties.[FN#4] Harps of gold and silver and bronze, with figures of serpents and birds, and hounds of gold and silver: as they moved those strings those figures used to run about the men all round. [FN#4] This is the Egerton version, which is clearly right here. The Book of Leinster gives: "These figures accordingly used to run," &c., leaving out all the first part of the sentence, which is required to make the meaning plain. They play for them then so that twelve of the people[FN#5] of Ailill and Medb die with weeping and sadness. [FN#5] The Book of Leinster omits "of Ailill and Medb." Gentle and melodious were the triad, and they were the Chants of Uaithne[FN#6] (Child-birth). The illustrious triad are three brothers, namely Gol-traiges (Sorrow-strain), and Gen-traiges (Joy-strain), and Suan-traiges (Sleep-strain). Boand from the fairies is the mother of the triad: [FN#6] Pronounced something like Yew-ny. At every one of the harpers' waists was girded the hide of a roe, And black-grey spots in its midst were placed, but the hide was as white as snow; And round each of the three of them waved a cloak, as white as the wild swan's wings: Gold, silver, and bronze were the harps they woke; and still, as they touched the strings, The serpents, the birds, and the hounds on the harps took life at the harps' sweet sound, And those figures of gold round the harpmen rose, and floated in music round. Then they played, sweet and sad was the playing, Twelve of Ailill's men died, as they heard; It was Boand[FN#7] who foretold them that slaying, And right well was accomplished her word. [FN#7] Pronounced with sound of "owned." 'Tis the three Chants of Child-Birth Give names to those Three; Of the Harp of the Dagda[FN#8] The children they be. [FN#8] The Dagda seems to have been the chief god of the old Celtic mythology. To those harpers a fairy Is mother, of yore To that Harp, men call Child-Birth, Queen Boand the three bore. They are three noble brothers, And well are they known; They are kindly and gentle, And tuneful of tone. One is Joy-Song, one Sorrow's, One, "Song that gives Sleep," And the Harp's strains, their father's, Remembered they keep. For when Boand was at bearing, Came Sorrow the first, From the Harp, its strings tearing With cry, Sorrow burst. Then there came to her pleasure For birth of a boy; And a sweet smiling measure The Harp played, 'twas Joy. And she swooned in her anguish, For hard the third birth: From the Harp, her pains soothing, Sleep's strain came on earth. Then from Boand passed her slumber, And, "Uaithne,"[FN#9] she cried, Thy three sons, thou sharp Child-Birth, I take to my side. [FN#9] Pronounced something like Yew-ny. Cows and women by Ailill And Maev shall be slain; For on these cometh Sorrow, And Joy, and Sleep's strain: Yea, and men, who these harpers, Thy children, shall hear, By their art to death stricken, Shall perish in fear." Then the strains died away in the palace, The last notes seemed to sink, and to cease: "It was stately," said Fergus, "that music." And on all came a silence, and peace. Said Fraech, "The food divide ye! Come, bring ye here the meat!" And down to earth sank Lothar, On floor he set his feet; He crouched, on haunches sitting, The joints with sword he split; On bones it fell unerring, No dainty part he hit! Though long with sword he hewed, and long Was meat by men supplied, His hand struck true; for never wrong Would Lothar meat divide. Three days at the chess had they played; three nights, as they sat at the game, had gone: And they knew not the night for the sparkling light from the jewels of Fraech that shone; But to Maev turned Fraech, and he joyously cried, "I have conquered thee well at the chess! Yet I claim not the stake at the chess-board's side, lest thy palace's wealth be less." "For no lengthier day have I sat in such play," said Maev, "since I here first came." "And well may the day have seemed long," said Fraech, "for three days and three nights was the game!" Then up started Maev, and in shame she blushed that the chiefs she had failed to feed; To her husband, King Ailill, in wrath she rushed: "We have both done a goodly deed! For none from our stores hath a banquet brought for the youths who are strangers here!" And said Ailill, "In truth for the play was thy thought, and to thee was the chess more dear." "We knew not that darkness had come," said Maev, "'tis not chess thou should'st thus condemn; Though the day had gone, yet the daylight shone from the heart of each sparkling gem; Though the game we played, all could meal have made, had men brought of the night advice, But the hours sped away, and the night and the day have approached and have fled from us thrice!" "Give command," said the king, "that those wailing chants, till we give them their food, be stilled." And food to the hands of each they gave, and all with the meat were filled; And all things merrily went, for long the men with a feast were fed, For, as feasting they sat, thrice rose the day, thrice night above earth was spread. They brought Fraech, when that banquet was ended, To the House of Debate, which was near, And they asked of his errand: "In friendship, For a visit," said Fraech, "am I here!" "And 'twas joy that we felt, when receiving This your host," said the king, "ye have brought Much of pleasure to all, and with grieving, When ye go, shall your presence be sought!" "Then," said Fraech, "for a week we abide here." For two weeks in that dun they abode: And the Connaught men pressed round to view them, As each eve home from hunting they rode. Yet Fraech was sad, with Findabar A word he sought in vain; Though he in truth from home so far Had come that word to gain. Fraech, as night was ending, Sprang from out his bed; Sought the brook, intending There to lave his head. There King Ailill's daughter Stood, and there her maid: They that hour from water Sought the cleansing aid. "Stay," he cried, and speaking Caught the maiden's hand; "Thee alone as seeking, I have reached this land: Here am I who sought thee, Stay, and hear me woo!" "Ah! thy speech hath brought me Joy," she said, "most true; Yet, thy side if nearing, What for thee can I?" "Maid!" he cried, "art fearing Hence with me to fly?" "Flight I hold disloyal," Answered she in scorn; "I from mother royal, I to king was born; What should stay our wedding? None so mean or poor Thou hast seemed, nor dreading Kin of mine; be sure: I will go! 'tis spoken, Thou beloved shalt be! Take this ring as token, Lent by Maev to me! 'Twas my mother who bid me to save it, For the ring she in secret would hide; 'Tis as pledge of our love that I gave it, As its pledge it with thee should abide. Till that ring we can freely be showing I will tell them I put it astray!" And, the love of each other thus knowing, Fraech and Finnabar went on their way. "I have fear," said the king, "that with Fraech yon maid to his home as his wife would fly; Yet her hand he may win, if he rides on the Raid with his kine when the time draws nigh." Then Fraech to the Hall of Debate returned, and he cried: "Through Some secret chink Hath a whisper passed?" and the king replied, "Thou would'st fit in that space, I think!" "Will ye give me your daughter?" said Fraech: said the king, "In sight of our hosts she goes; If, as gift to suffice for her marriage price, thy hand what I ask bestows." "I will give thee what price thou dost name," said Fraech, "and now let its sum be told!"' "Then a sixty steeds do I claim," said the king, "dark-grey, and with bits of gold; And twelve milch-cows, from their udders shall come the milk in a copious stream, And by each of the cows a white calf shall run; bright red on its ears shall gleam; And thou, with thy harpers and men, shalt ride by my side on the Cualgne[FN#10] Raid, And when all thy kine driven here shall stand, shall the price of her hand be paid!" [FN#10] Pronounced Kell-ny. Now I swear by the edge of my sword," said Fraech, "I swear by my arms and shield, I would give no such pledge, even Maev to take, were it her thou wert fain to yield!" And he went from the House of Debate, but Maev with Ailill bent low in plot: All around us our foes," said the king, "shall close, if Finnabar stays here not; Many kings of Erin, who seek that maid, shall hear of her borne away, And in wrath they will rush on our land; 'twere best that Fraech we devise to slay; Ere that ruin he bring, let us make our spring, and the ill yet unwrought arrest." "It were pity such deed should be done," said Maev, "and to slay in our house our guest! 'Twill bring shame on us ever." "No shame to our house," said King Ailill, "that death shall breed!" (And he spake the words twice)--"but now hear my advice, how I plan we should do this deed." All the plot had been planned; to their house at last King Ailill and Maev through the doorway passed; And the voice of the king uprose: "'Tis now that the hounds should their prey pursue, Come away to the hunt who the hounds would view; For noon shall that hunting close." So forth went they all, on the chase intent, And they followed till strength of the hounds was spent, And the hunters were warm; and to bathe they went Where the river of Croghan flows. And, "'Tis told me," said Ailill, "that Fraech hath won A great fame for the feats he in floods hath done: Wilt thou enter these streams by our side that run? We are longing to see thee swim!" And said Fraech: "Is it good then indeed thy stream? And said Ailill: "Of danger no need to dream, For many a youth from the Connaught Court In its current hath bathed, and hath swum it in sport, Nor of any who tried have we heard report That ill hath been found by him!" Then Fraech from his body his garments stripped, And he sprang down the bank, and he swiftly slipped In the stream: and the king's glance fell On a belt, left by Fraech on the bank; the king Bent low; in the purse saw his daughter's ring, And the shape of the ring could tell. "Come hither, O Maev," Ailill softly cried; And Queen Maev came up close to her husband's side "Dost thou know of that ring?" in the purse she spied The ring, and she knew it well. Then Ailill the ring from the purse withdrew, And away from the bank the fair gem he threw; And the ring, flashing bright, through the air far flew, To be lost in the flood's swift swell. And Fraech saw the gem as it brightly flashed, And a salmon rose high, at the light it dashed, And, as back in the stream with the ring he splashed, At the fish went Fraech with a spring: By its jole was the salmon secured, and thrown To a nook in the bank, that by few was known; And unnoticed he threw it, to none was it shown As it fell to the earth, with the ring. And now Fraech from the stream would be going: But, "Come not," said the king, "to us yet: Bring a branch from yon rowan-tree, showing Its fair berries, with water-drops wet." Then Fraech, swimming away through the water, Brake a branch from the dread rowan-tree, And a sigh came from Ailill's fair daughter; "Ah! how lovely he seemeth," said she. Fair she found him, swimming Through that pool so black Brightly gleamed the berries, Bound athwart his back. White and smooth his body, Bright his glorious hair; Eyes of perfect greyness, Face of men most fair: Soft his skin, no blemish, Fault, nor spot it flawed; Small his chin, and steady, Brave his brow, and broad. Straight he seemed, and stainless; Twixt his throat and chin Straying scarlet berries Touched with red his skin. Oft, that sight recalling, Findabar would cry: "Ne'er was half such beauty, Naught its third came nigh!" To the bank he swam, and to Ailill was thrown, with its berries, the tree's torn limb: "Ah! how heavy and fair have those clusters grown; bring us more," and he turned to swim; The mid-current was reached, but the dragon was roused that was guard to that rowan-tree; And it rose from the river, on Fraech it rushed: "Throw a sword from the bank!" cried he. And no man on the bank gave the sword: they were kept by their fear of the queen and the king; But her clothes from her Finnabar stripped, and she leapt in the river his sword to bring. And the king from above hurled his five-barbed spear; the full length of a shot it sped: At his daughter it flew, and its edge shore through two tresses that crowned her head: And Fraech in his hand caught the spear as it fell, and backward its point he turned. And again to the land was the spear launched well: 'twas a feat from the champions learned. Though the beast bit his side as that spear was cast, yet fiercely the dart was flung, Through the purple robe of the king it passed, through the tunic that next him clung! Then up sprang the youths of the court, their lord in danger they well might deem, But the strong hand of Fraech had closed firm on the sword, and Finnabar rose from the stream. Now with sword in his hand, at the monster's head hewed Fraech, on its side it sank, And he came from the river with blade stained red, and the monster he dragged to the bank. Twas then Bree's Dub-lind in the Connaught land the Dark Water of Fraech was named, From that fight was it called, but the queen and the king went back to their dun, ashamed! "It is noble, this deed we have done!" said Maev: "'Tis pitiful," Ailill cried: "For the hurt of the man I repent, but to her, our daughter, shall woe betide! On the morrow her lips shall be pale, and none shall be found to aver that her guilt, When the sword for his succour to Fraech she gave, was the cause why her life was spilt! Now see that a bath of fresh bacon broth be prepared that shall heal this prince, And bid them with adze and with axe the flesh of a heifer full small to mince: Let the meat be all thrown in the bath, and there for healing let Fraech be laid!" And all that he ordered was done with care; the queen his command obeyed. Then arose from Fraech's trumpets complaining, As his men travelled back to the dun; Their soft notes lamentation sustaining, And a many their deaths from them won; And he well knew its meaning; And, "Lift me, my folk," He cried, "surely that keening From Boand's women broke: My mother, the Fairy, is nigh." Then they raised him, and bore him Where wild rose the sound; To his kin they restored him; His women pressed round: And he passed from their sight out of Croghan; For that night from earth was he freed, And he dwelt with his kin, the Sid-Dwellers In the caverns of Croghan's deep Sid.[FN#11] [FN#11] Pronounced Sheed; Sid is the fairy mound. All at nine, next morrow, Gazed, for back he came, Round their darling pressing Many a fairy dame: Brave he seemed, for healing All his wounds had got; None could find a blemish, None a sear or spot. Fifty fairies round him, Like in age and grace; Like each form and bearing; Like each lovely face. All in fairy garments, All alike were dressed; None was found unequal; None surpassed the rest. And the men who stood round, as they neared them, Were struck with a marvellous awe; They were moved at the sight, and they feared them, And hardly their breath they could draw. At the Liss all the fairies departed, But on Fraech, as they vanished, they cried: And the sound floated in of their wailing, And it thrilled through the men, and they sighed. Then first that mournful measure, "The Ban-Shee[FN#12] Wail," was heard; All hearts with grief and pleasure That air, when harped, hath stirred. [FN#12] Spelt "Ban Side," the fairy women. To the dun came Fraech, and the hosts arose, and welcome by all was shown: For it seemed as if then was his birth among men, from a world to the earth unknown! Up rose for him Maev and King Ailill, their fault they confessed, and for grace they prayed, And a penance they did, and for all that assault they were pardoned, and peace was made. And now free from all dread, they the banquet spread, the banqueting straight began: But a thought came to Fraech, and from out of his folk he called to his side a man. "Now hie thee," he said, "to the river bank, a salmon thou there shalt find; For nigh to the spot where in stream I sank, it was hurled, and 'twas left behind; To Finnabar take it, and bid her from me that the salmon with skill she broil: In the midst of the fish is the ring: and none but herself at the task must toil; And to-night, as I think, for her ring they call ": then he turned to the feast again, And the wine was drunk, and the revellers sunk, for the fumes of it seized their brain, And music and much of delights they had; but the king had his plans laid deep, "Bring ye all of my jewels," he cried-on the board they were poured in a dazzling heap. "They are wonderful, wonderful!" cried they all: "Call Finnabar!" said the king; And his daughter obeyed, and her fifty maids stood round in a lovely ring. My daughter," said Ailill, "a ring last year I gave thee, is't here with thee yet? Bring it hither to show to the chiefs, and anon in thy hand shall the gem be set." "That jewel is lost," said the maid, "nor aught of the fate of the ring I know!" Then find it," said Ailill, "the ring must be brought, or thy soul from thy limbs must go!" "Now, nay!" said they all, "it were cruel That such fate for such fault should be found: Thou hast many a fair-flashing jewel In these heaps that lie scattered around!" And said Fraech: "Of my jewels here glowing Take thy fill, if the maid be but freed; 'Tis to her that my life I am owing, For she brought me the sword in my need." "There is none of thy gems that can aid her," Said Ailill, "nor aught thou canst give; There is one thing alone that shall save her; If the ring be restored, she shall live! Said Finnabar; "Thy treasure To yield no power is mine: Do thou thy cruel pleasure, For strength, I know, is thine." "By the god whom our Connaught land haileth, I swear," answered Ailill the king, "That the life on thy lips glowing faileth, If thou place in my hand not the ring!" And that hard," he laughed softly, "the winning Of that jewel shall be, know I well; They who died since the world had beginning Shall come back to the spot where they fell Ere that ring she can find, and can bear it To my hand from the spot where 'twas tossed, And as knowing this well, have I dared her To restore what for aye hath been lost!" "No ring for treasure thus despised," She said, "exchanged should be; Yet since the king its worth hath prized, I'll find the gem for thee!" Not thus shalt thou fly," said the king, "to thy maid let the quest of the ring be bid!" And his daughter obeyed, and to one whom she sent she told where the ring was hid: "But," Finnabar cried, "by my country's god I swear that from out this hour, Will I leave this land, and my father's hand shall no more on my life have power, And no feasting shall tempt me to stay, no draughts of wine my resolve shall shake!" "No reproach would I bring, if as spouse," said the king, "thou a groom from my stalls would'st take! But that ring must be found ere thou goest! "Then back came her maid, and a dish she bore: And there lay a salmon well broiled, as sauce with honey 'twas garnished o'er: By the daughter of Ailill herself with skill had the honey-sweet sauce been made. And high on the breast of the fish, the ring of gold that they sought was laid. King Ailill and Maev at the ring gazed hard; Fraech looked, in his purse he felt: Now it seemeth," he said, "'twas to prove my host that I left on the bank my belt, And Ailill now I challenge All truth, as king to tell; What deed his cunning fashioned, And what that ring befell." "There is naught to be hidden," said Ailill; "It was mine, in thy purse though it lay And my daughter I knew as its giver: So to river I hurled it away. Now Fraech in turn I challenge By life and honour's claim: Say how from yon dark water That ring to draw ye came." "There is naught to be hidden," he answered, "The first day that I came, on the earth, Near the court round thy house, was that jewel; And I saw all its beauty and worth: In my purse then I hid it; thy daughter, Who had lost it, with care for it sought; And the day that I went to that water Was the news of her search to me brought: And I asked what reward she would give me, If the gem in her hand should be placed; And she answered that I, if I found it, For a year by her love should be graced. But not then could the ring be delivered: For afar in my chamber it lay: Till she gave me the sword in the river, We met not again on that day. 'Twas then I saw thee open My purse, and take the ring: I watched, and towards the water That gem I saw thee fling: I saw the salmon leaping, The ring it caught, and sank: I came behind, and seized it; And brought the fish to bank. Then I wrapped it up close in my mantle; And 'twas hid from inquisitive eyes; And in Finnabar's hand have I placed it: And now there on the platter it lies!" Now all who this or that would know To ask, and praise began: Said Finnabar, "I'll never throw My thoughts on other man!" Now hear her word," her parents cried, "And plight to her thy troth, And when for Cualgne's[FN#13] kine we ride Do thou redeem thine oath. [FN#13] Pronounced Kell-ny. And when with kine from out the east Ye reach our western land; That night shall be thy marriage feast; And thine our daughter's hand." "Now that oath will I take," answered back to them Fraech, "and the task ye have asked will do!" So he tarried that night till the morning's light; and they feasted the whole night through; And then homewards bound, with his comrades round, rode Fraech when the night was spent, And to Ailill and Maev an adieu he gave, and away to their land they went. TAIN BO FRAICH Part I LITERAL TRANSLATION FRAECH, son of Idath of the men of Connaught, a son he to Befind from the Side: a sister she to Boand. He is the hero who is the most beautiful that was of the men of Eriu and of Alba, but he was not long-lived. His mother gave him twelve cows out of the Sid (the fairy mound), they are white-eared. He had a good housekeeping till the end of eight years without the taking of a wife. Fifty sons of kings, this was the number of his household, co-aged, co-similar to him all between form and instruction. Findabair, daughter of Ailill and Medb, loves him for the great stories about him. It is declared to him at his house. Eriu and Alba were full of his renown and the stories about him. To Fraech[FN#14] was Idath[FN#15] father, A Connaught man was he: And well we know his mother Who dwells among the Shee;[FN#16] Befind they call her, sister To Boand,[FN#17] the Fairy Queen; And Alba ne'er, nor Erin, Such grace as Fraech's hath seen. Yet wondrous though that hero's grace, His fairy lineage high, For years but few his lovely face Was seen by human eye. [FN#14] Pronounced Fraych. [FN#15] Pronounced Eeda. [FN#16] The Fairies. [FN#17] Pronounced with the sound of "owned." Fraech had twelve of white-eared fairy-cattle, 'Twas his mother those cattle who gave: For eight years in his home he dwelt wifeless, And the state of his household was brave; Fifty princes, whose age, and whose rearing, And whose forms were as his, with him played; And his glory filled Alba and Erin Till it came to the ears of a maid: For Maev and Ailill's[FN#18] lovely child, Fair Findabar, 'twas said, By tales of Fraech to love beguiled, With Fraech in love would wed. [FN#18] Pronounced Al-ill. After this going to a dialogue with the maiden occurred to him; he discussed that matter with his people. "Let there be a message then sent to thy mother's sister, so that a portion of wondrous robing and of gifts from the Side (fairy folk) be given thee from her." He goes accordingly to the sister, that is to Boand, till he was in Mag Breg, and he carried away fifty dark-blue cloaks, and each of them was like the back of a black chafer,[FN#19] and four black-grey, rings on each cloak, and a brooch of red gold on each cloak, and pale white tunics with loop-animals of gold around them. And fifty silver shields with edges, and a candle of a king's-house in the hand of them (the men), and fifty studs of findruine[FN#20] on each of them (the lances), fifty knobs of thoroughly burned gold on each of them; points (i.e. butt-ends) of carbuncle under them beneath, and their point of precious stones. They used to light the night as if they were the sun's rays. [FN#19] The Book of Leinster gives "fifty blue cloaks, each like findruine of art." [FN#20] Pronounced "find-roony," the unknown "white-bronze" metal. And there were fifty gold-hilted swords with them, and a soft-grey mare under the seat of each man, and bits of gold to them; a plate of silver with a little bell of gold around the neck of each horse. Fifty caparisons[FN#21] of purple with threads of silver out of them, with buckles of gold and silver and with head-animals (i.e. spiral ornaments). Fifty whips of findruine, with a golden hook on the end of each of them. And seven chase-hounds in chains of silver, and an apple of gold between each of them. Greaves of bronze about them, by no means was there any colour which was not on the hounds. [FN#21] The word for caparisons is "acrann," the usual word for a shoe. It is suggested that here it may be a caparison of leather: "shoes" seem out of place here. See Irische Texts, iii. Seven trumpeters with them with golden and silver trumpets with many coloured garments, with golden fairy-yellow heads of hair, with shining tunics. There were three jesters before them with silver diadems under gilding. Shields with engraved emblems (or marks of distinction) with each of them; with crested staves, with ribs of bronze (copper-bronze) along their sides. Three harp-players with a king's appearance about each of them opposite to these.[FN#22] They depart for Cruachan with that appearance on them. [FN#22] The word for caparisons is "acrann," the usual word for a shoe. It is suggested that here it may be a caparison of leather: "shoes" seem out of place here. See Irische Texts, iii. 2. p. 531. The watchman sees them from the dun when they had come into the plain of Cruachan. "A multitude I see," he says, "(come) towards the dun in their numbers. Since Ailill and Maev assumed sovereignty there came not to them before, and there shall not come to them, a multitude, which is more beautiful, or which is more splendid. It is the same with me that it were in a vat of wine my head should be, with the breeze that goes over them. "The manipulation and play that the young hero who is in it makes--I have not before seen its likeness. He shoots his pole a shot's discharge from him; before it reaches to earth the seven chase-hounds with their seven silver chains catch it." At this the hosts come from the dun of Cruachan to view them. The people in the dun smother one another, so that sixteen men die while viewing them. They alight in front of the dun. They tent their steeds, and they loose the chase-hounds. They (the hounds) chase the seven deer to Rath-Cruachan, and seven foxes, and seven hares, and seven wild boars, until the youths kill them in the lawn of the dun. After that the chase-hounds dart a leap into Brei; they catch seven otters. They brought them to the elevation in front of the chief rath. They (Fraech and his suite) sit down there. A message comes from the king for a parley with them. It is asked whence they came, they name themselves according to their true names, "Fraech, son of Idath this," say they. The steward tells it to the king and queen. "Welcome to them," say Ailill and Maev; "It is a noble youth who is there," says Ailill, "let him come into the Liss (outer court)." The fourth of the house is allotted to them. This was the array of the house, a seven fold order in it; seven apartments from fire to side-wall in the house all round. A rail (or front) of bronze to each apartment; a partitioning of red yew under variegated planing all. Three plates of bronze in the skirting of each apartment. Seven plates of brass from the ceiling (?) to the roof-tree in the house. Of pine the house was made; it is a covering of shingle it had externally. There were sixteen windows in the house, and a frame of brass, to each of them; a tie of brass across the roof-light. Four beams of brass on the apartment of Ailill and Medb, adorned all with bronze, and it in the exact centre of the house. Two rails of silver around it under gilding. In the front a wand of silver that reached the middle rafters of the house. The house was encircled all round from the door to the other.[FN#23] [FN#23] It should be noted that it is not certain whether the word "imdai," translated apartments, really means "apartments" or "benches." The weight of opinion seems at present to take it as above. They hang up their arms in that house, and they sit, and welcome is made to them. "Welcome to you," say Ailill and Medb. "It is that we have come for," says Fraech. "It shall not be a journey for boasting[FN#24] this," says Medb, and Ailill and Medb arrange the chess-board after that. Fraech then takes to the playing of chess with a man of their (?) people. [FN#24] This is the rendering in the Yellow Book of Lecan, considered by Meyer to be the true reading. The Book of Leinster text gives "aig-baig," a word of doubtful meaning. The Eg. MS. has also a doubtful word. It was a beauty of a chess-board. A board of findruine in it with four ears[FN#25] and edges of gold. A candle of precious stones at illuminating for them. Gold and silver the figures that were upon the table. "Prepare ye food for the warriors," said Ailill. "Not it is my desire," said Medb, but to go to the chess yonder against Fraech." "Get to it, I am pleased," said Ailill, and they play the chess then, and Fraech. [FN#25] The "ears" were apparently handles shaped like ears. The same word is used for the rings in the cloaks, line 33 above. His people were meanwhile at cooking the wild animals. "Let thy harpers play for us," says Ailill to Fraech. "Let them play indeed!" says Fraech. A harp-bag[FN#26] of the skins of otters about them with their adornment of ruby (or coral), beneath their adornment of gold and silver. [FN#26] Meyer translates this: "the concave part of the harp." It is from the music which Uaithne, the Dagda's harp, played that the three are named. The time the woman was at the bearing of children it had a cry of sorrow with the soreness of the pangs at first: it was smile and joy it played in the middle for the pleasure of bringing forth the two sons: it was a sleep of soothingness played the last son, on account of the heaviness of the birth, so that it is from him that the third of the music has been named. Boand awoke afterwards out of the sleep. "I accept," she says, "thy three sons O Uaithne of full ardour, since there is Suan-traide and Gen-traide, and Gol-traide on cows and women who shall fall by Medb and Ailill, men who shall perish by the hearing of art from them." They cease from playing after that in the palace: "It is stately it has come," says Fergus. "Divide ye to us," says Fraech to his people, "the food, bring ye it into the house." Lothur went on the floor of the house: he divides to them the food. On his haunches he used to divide each joint with his sword, and he used not to touch the food part: since he commenced dividing, he never hacked the meat beneath his hand. They were three days and three nights at the playing of the chess on account of the abundance of the precious stones in the household of Fraech. After that Fraech addressed Medb. "It is well I have played against thee (i.e. have beaten thee)," he says, "I take not away thy stake from the chess-board that there be not a decay of hospitality for thee in it." "Since I have been in this dun this is the day which I deem longest in it ever," says Medb. "This is reasonable," says Fraech, "they are three days and three nights in it." At this Medb starts up. It was a shame with her that the warriors were without food. She goes to Ailill: she tells it to him. "A great deed we have done," said she, "the stranger men who have come to us to be without food." "Dearer to thee is playing of the chess," says Ailill. "It hinders not the distribution to his suite throughout the house. They have been three days and three nights in it but that we perceived not the night with the white light of the precious stones in the house." "Tell them," says Ailill, "to cease from the lamenting until distribution is made to them." Distribution is then made to them, and things were pleasing to them, and they stayed three days and three nights in it after that over the feasting. It is after that Fraech was called into the house of conversation, and it is asked of him what brought him. "A visit with you," said he, "is pleasing to me." "Your company is indeed not displeasing with the household," said Ailill, "your addition is better than your diminution." "We shall stay here then," says Fraech, "another week." They stay after that till the end of a fortnight in the dun, and they have a hunt every single day towards the dun. The men of Connaught used to come to view them. It was a trouble with Fraech not to have a conversation with the daughter: for that was the profit that had brought him. A certain day he starts up at the end of night for washing to the stream. It is the time she had gone and her maid for washing. He takes her hand. "Stay for my conversing," he says; "it is thou I have come for." "I am delighted truly," says the daughter; "if I were to come, I could do nothing for thee." "Query, wouldst thou elope with me?" he says. "I will not elope," says she, "for I am the daughter of a king and a queen. There is nothing of thy poverty that you should not get me (i.e. thy poverty is not so great that thou art not able to get me) from my family; and it shall be my choice accordingly to go to thee, it is thou whom I have loved. And take thou with thee this ring," says the daughter, "and it shall be between us for a token. My mother gave it to me to put by, and I shall say that I put it astray." Each of them accordingly goes apart after that. "I fear," says Ailill, "the eloping of yon daughter with Fraech, though she would be given to him on solemn pledge that he would come towards us with his cattle for aid at the Spoil." Fraech goes to them to the house of conversation. "Is it a secret (cocur, translated "a whisper" by Crowe) ye have?" says Fraech. "Thou wouldest fit in it," says Ailill. "Will ye give me your daughter?" says Fraech. "The hosts will clearly see she shall be given," says Ailill, "if thou wouldest give a dowry as shall be named." "Thou shalt have it," says Fraech. "Sixty black-grey steeds to me, with their bits of gold to them, and twelve milch cows, so that there be milked liquor of milk from each of them, and an ear-red, white calf with each of them; and thou to come with me with all thy force and with thy musicians for bringing of the cows from Cualgne; and my daughter to be given thee provided thou dost come" (or as soon as[FN#27] thou shalt come). "I swear by my shield, and by my sword, and by my accoutrement, I would not give that in dowry even of Medb." He went from them out of the house then. Ailill and Medb hold a conversation. "It shall drive at us several of the kings of Erin around us if he should carry off the daughter. What is good is, let us dash after him, and let us slay him forthwith, before he may inflict destruction upon us." "It is a pity this," says Medb, "and it is a decay of hospitality for us." "It shall not be a decay of hospitality for us, it shall not be a decay of hospitality for us, the way I shall prepare it." [FN#27] This is Thurneysen's rendering ("Sagen aus dem alten Irland," p. 121). Ailill and Medb go into the palace. "Let us go away," says Ailill, that we may see the chase-hounds at hunting till the middle of the day, and until they are tired." They all go off afterwards to the river to bathe themselves. "It is declared to me," says Ailill, "that thou art good in water. Come into this flood, that we may see thy swimming." "What is the quality of this flood?" he says. "We know not anything dangerous in it," says Ailill, "and bathing in it is frequent." He strips his clothes off him then, and he goes into it, and he leaves his girdle above. Ailill then opens his purse behind him, and the ring was in it. Ailill recognises it then. "Come here, O Medb," says Ailill. Medb goes then. "Dost thou recognise that?" says Ailill. "I do recognise," she says. Ailill flings it into the river down. Fraech perceived that matter. He sees something, the salmon leaped to meet it, and caught it in his mouth. He (Fraech) gives a bound to it, and he catches its jole, and he goes to land, and he brings it to a lonely[FN#28] spot on the brink of the river. He proceeds to come out of the water then. "Do not come," says Ailill, "until thou shalt bring me a branch of the rowan-tree yonder, which is on the brink of the river: beautiful I deem its berries." He then goes away, and breaks a branch off the trees and brings it on his back over the water. The remark of Find-abair was: "Is it not beautiful he looks?" Exceedingly beautiful she thought it to see Fraech over a black pool: the body of great whiteness, and the hair of great loveliness, the face of great beauty, the eye of great greyness; and he a soft youth without fault, without blemish, with a below-narrow, above-broad face; and he straight, blemishless; the branch with the red berries between the throat and the white face. It is what Find-abair used to say, that by no means had she seen anything that could come up to him half or third for beauty. [FN#28]"Hidden spot" (Windisch After that he throws the branches to them out of the water. "The berries are stately and beautiful, bring us an addition of them." He goes off again until he was in the middle of the water. The serpent catches him out of the water. "Let a sword come to me from you," he says; and there was not on the land a man who would dare to give it to him through fear of Ailill and Medb. After that Find-abair strips off her clothes, and gives a leap into the water with the sword. Her father lets fly a five-pronged spear at her from above, a shot's throw, so that it passes through her two tresses, and that Fraech caught the spear in his hand. He shoots the spear into the land up, and the monster in his side. He lets it fly with a charge of the methods of playing of championship, so that it goes through the purple robe and through the tunic (? shirt) that was about Ailill. At this the youths who were about Ailill rise to him. Find-abair goes out of the water and leaves the sword in Fraech's hand, and he cuts the head off the monster, so that it was on its side, and he brought the monster with him to land. It is from it is Dub-lind Fraech in Brei, in the lands of the men of Connaught. Ailill and Medb go to their dun afterwards. "A great deed is what we have done," says Medb. "We repent," says Ailill, "of what we have done to the man; the daughter however," he says, "her lips shall perish [common metaphor for death] to-morrow at once, and it shall not be the guilt of bringing of the sword that shall be for her. Let a bath be made by you for this man, namely, broth of fresh bacon and the flesh of a heifer to be minced in it under adze and axe, and he to be brought into the bath." All that thing was done as he said. His trumpeters then before him to the dun. They play then until thirty of the special friends of Ailill die at the long-drawn (or plaintive) music. He goes then into the dun, and he goes into the bath. The female company rise around him at the vat for rubbing, and for washing his head. He was brought out of it then, and a bed was made. They heard something, the lament-cry on Cruachan. There were seen the three times fifty women with crimson tunics, with green head-dresses, with brooches of silver on their wrists. A messenger is sent to them to learn what they had bewailed. "Fraech, son of Idath," says the woman, "boy-pet of the king of the Side of Erin." At this Fraech heard their lament-cry. Thirty men whom King Ailill loved dearly By that music were smitten to die; And his men carried Fraech, and they laid him In that bath, for his healing to lie. Around the vat stood ladies, They bathed his limbs and head; From out the bath they raised him, And soft they made his bed. Then they heard a strange music; The wild Croghan "keen"; And of women thrice fifty On Croghan were seen. They had tunics of purple, With green were they crowned; On their wrists glistened silver, Where brooches were bound. And there neared them a herald To learn why they wailed; "'Tis for Fraech," was their answer, "By sickness assailed; 'Tis for Fraech, son of Idath,[FN#29] Boy-darling is he Of our lord, who in Erin Is king of the Shee!"[FN#30] And Fraech heard the wail in their cry; [FN#29] Pronounced Eeda. [FN#30] The Fairies. "Lift me out of it," he says to his people; "this is the cry of my mother and of the women of Boand." He is lifted out at this, and he is brought to them. The women come around him, and bring him from them to the Sid of Cruachan (i.e. the deep caverns, used for burial at Cruachan). They saw something, at the ninth hour on the morrow he comes, and fifty women around him, and he quite whole, without stain and without blemish; of equal age (the women), of equal form, of equal beauty, of equal fairness, of equal symmetry, of equal stature, with the dress of women of the fairies about them so that there was no means of knowing of one beyond the other of them. Little but men were suffocated around them. They separate in front of the Liss.[FN#31] They give forth their lament on going from him, so that they troubled[FN#32] the men who were in the Liss excessively. It is from it is the Lament-cry of the Women of the Fairies with the musicians of Erin. [FN#31] The Liss is the outer court of the palace. [FN#32] "Oo corastar tar cend," "so that they upset, or put beside themselves." Meyer takes literally, "so that they fell on their backs" (?) He then goes into the dun. All the hosts rise before him, and bid welcome to him, as if it were from another world he were coming. Ailill and Medb arise, and do penance to him for the attack they had made at him, and they make peace. Feasting commenced with them then at once. Fraech calls a servant of his suite: "Go off," he says, "to the spot at which I went into the water. A salmon I left there--bring it to Find-abair, and let herself take charge over it; and let the salmon be well broiled by her, and the ring is in the centre of the salmon. I expect it will be asked of her to-night." Inebriety seizes them, and music and amusement delight them. Ailill then said: "Bring ye all my gems to me." They were brought to him then, so that the were before him. "Wonderful, wonderful," says every one. "Call ye Find-abair to me," he says. Find-abair goes to him, and fifty maidens around her. "O daughter," says Ailill, "the ring I gave to thee last year, does it remain with thee? Bring it to me that the warriors may see it. Thou shalt have it afterwards." "I do not know," she says, "what has been done about it." "Ascertain then," says Ailill, "it must be sought, or thy soul must depart from thy body." "It is by no means worth," say the warriors, "there is much of value there, without that." "There is naught of my jewels that will not go for the maid," says Fraech, "because she brought me the sword for pledge of my soul." "There is not with thee anything of gems that should aid her unless she returns the ring from her," says Ailill. "I have by no means the power to give it," says the daughter, "what thou mayest like do it in regard to me." "I swear to the god to whom my people swear, thy lips shall be pale (literally, shall perish) unless thou returnest it from thee," says Ailill. "It is why it is asked of thee, because it is impossible; for I know that until the people who have died from the beginning of the world. Come, it comes not out of the spot in which it was flung." "It shall not come for a treasure which is not appreciated,"[FN#33] says the daughter, "the ring that is asked for here, I go that I may bring it to thee, since it is keenly it is asked." "Thou shalt not go," says Ailill; "but let one go from thee to bring it." [FN#33] This is Windisch's rendering (Irische Texte, I. p. 677: s.v. main). The daughter sends her maid to bring it. "I swear to the god to whom my territories swear, if it shall be found, I shall by no means be under thy power any longer though I should be at great drinking continually." (?)[FN#34] "I shall by no means prevent you from doing that, namely even if it were to the groom thou shouldst go if the ring is found," says Ailill. The maid then brought the dish into the palace, and the broiled salmon on it, and it dressed under honey which was well made by the daughter; and the ring of gold was on the salmon from above. [FN#34] "dian dumroib for sar-ol mogreis." Meyer gives "if there is any one to protect me." The above is Crowe's rendering. Ailill and Medb view it. After that Fraech looks at it, and looks at his purse. "It seems to me it was for proof that I left my girdle," says Fraech. "On the truth of the sovereignty," says Fraech, "say what thou did'st about the ring." "This shall not be concealed from thee," says Ailill; "mine is the ring which was in thy purse, and I knew it is Find-abair gave it to thee. It is therefore I flung it into the Dark Pool. On the truth of thine honour and of thy soul, O Fraech, declare thou what way the bringing of it out happened." "It shall not be concealed on thee," says Fraech. "The first day I found the ring in front of the outer court, and I knew it was a lovely gem. It is for that reason I put it up industriously in my purse. I heard, the day I went to the water, the maiden who had lost it a-looking for it. I said to her: 'What reward shall I have at thy hands for the finding of it?' She said to me that she would give a year's love to me. "It happened I did not leave it about me; I had left it in the house behind me. We met not until we met at the giving of the sword into my hand in the river. After that I saw the time thou open'st the purse and flungest the ring into the water: I saw the salmon which leaped for it, so that it took it into its mouth. I then caught the salmon, took it up in the cloak, put it into the hand of the daughter. It is that salmon accordingly which is on the dish." The criticising and the wondering at these stories begin in the house hold. "I shall not throw my mind on another youth in Erin after thee," says Find-abair. "Bind thyself for that," say Ailill and Medb, "and come thou to us with thy cows to the Spoil of the Cows from Cualnge; and when thou shalt come with thy cows from the East back, ye shall wed here that night at once and Find-abair." "I shall do that thing," says Fraech. They are in it then until the morning. Fraech sets about him self with his suite. He then bids farewell to Ailill and Medb. They depart to their own territories then. TAIN BO FRAICH PART II Unto Fraech it hath chanced, as he roved from his lands That his cattle were stolen by wandering bands: And there met him his mother, and cried, "On thy way Thou hast tarried, and hard for thy slackness shalt pay! In the Alps of the south, the wild mountains amid, Have thy children, thy wife, and thy cattle been hid: And a three of thy kine have the Picts carried forth, And in Alba they pasture, but far to the north!" "Now, alack!" answered Fraech, "what is best to be done?" "Rest at home," said his mother, "nor seek them my son; For to thee neither cattle, nor children, nor wife Can avail, if in seeking thou losest thy life; And though cattle be lacking, the task shall be mine To replace what is lost, and to grant thee the kine." "Nay, not so," answered Fraech, "by my soul I am sworn, That when cattle from Cualgne by force shall be torn To King Ailill and Maev on my faith as their guest I must ride with those cattle for war to the west!" "Now but vainly," she said, "is this toil on thee cast; Thou shalt lose what thou seekest", and from him she passed. Three times nine of his men for that foray were chosen, and marched by his side, And a hawk flew before, and for hunting, was a hound with a hunting-leash tied; To Ben Barchi they went, for the border of Ulster their faces were set: And there, of its marches the warder, the conquering Conall they met. Fraech hailed him, the conquering Conall, and told him the tale of his spoil; "'Tis ill luck that awaits thee," said Conall, "thy quest shall be followed with toil! "'Twill be long ere the goal thou art reaching, though thy heart in the seeking may be." "Conall Cernach,[FN#35] hear thou my beseeching said Fraech, "let thine aid be to me; I had hoped for this meeting with Conall, that his aid in the quest might be lent." "I will go with thee truly," said Conall: with Fraech and his comrades he went. [FN#35] Pronounced Cayr-nach. Three times nine, Fraech and Conall before them, Over ocean from Ireland have passed; Through the Land of North Saxony bore them, And the South Sea they sighted at last. And again on the sea billows speeding, They went south, over Ichtian foam; And marched on: southward still was their leading: To the land where the Long-Beards have home: But when Lombardy's bounds they were nearing They made stand; for above and around Were the high peaks of Alpa appearing, And the goal that they sought had been found. On the Alps was a woman seen straying, and herding the flocks of the sheep, "Let our warriors behind be delaying," said Conall, "and south let us keep: 'Twere well we should speak with yon woman, perchance she hath wisdom to teach!" And with Conall went Fraech at that counsel; they neared her, and held with her speech. "Whence have come you?" she said: "Out of Ireland are we," Answered Conall: "Ill luck shall for Irishmen be In this country," she cried, "yet thy help I would win; From thy land was my mother; thou art to me kin!" "Of this land we know naught, nor where next we should turn," Answered Conall.; "its nature from thee we would learn." "'Tis a grim land and hateful," the woman replied, "And the warriors are restless who forth from it ride; For full often of captives, of women and herd Of fair kine by them taken is brought to me word." "Canst thou say what latest spoil," said Fraech, "they won?" "Ay," she said, "they harried Fraech, of Idath[FN#36] son He in Erin dwelleth, near the western sea; Kine from him they carried, wife, and children three Here his wife abideth, there where dwells the king, Turn, and see his cattle, yonder pasturing." [FN#36] Pronounced Eeda. Out spoke Conall Cernach;[FN#37] "Aid us thou" he cried: "Strength I lack," she answered, "I can only guide." "Here is Fraech," said Conall, "yon his stolen cows": "Fraech!" she asked him, "tell me, canst thou trust thy spouse?" "Why," said Fraech, "though trusty, doubtless, when she went; Now, since here she bideth, truth may well be spent." "See ye now yon woman?" said she, "with your herd, Tell to her your errand, let her hear your word; Trust in her, as Irish-sprung ye well may place; More if ye would ask me, Ulster reared her race." [FN#37] Pronounced Cayr-nach. To that woman they went, nor their names from her hid; And they greeted her; welcome in kindness she bid: "What hath moved you," she said, "from your country to go?" "On this journey," said Conall, "our guide hath been woe: All the cattle that feed in these pastures are ours, And from us went the lady that's kept in yon towers." "'Tis ill-luck," said the woman, "that waits on your way, All the men of this hold doth that lady obey; Ye shall find, amid dangers, your danger most great In the serpent who guardeth the Liss at the gate." "For that lady," said Fraech, "she is none of my She is fickle, no trust from me yet did she win: But on thee we rely, thou art trusty, we know; Never yet to an Ulsterman Ulster was foe." "Is it men out of Ulster," she said, "I have met?" "And is Conall," said Fraech, "thus unknown to you yet? Of all heroes from Ulster the battle who faced Conall Cernach is foremost." His neck she embraced, And she cried, with her arms around Conall: "Of old Of the conquering Conall our prophets have told; And 'tis ruin and doom to this hold that you bring; For that Conall shall sack it, all prophecies sing." "Hear my rede," she told him: "When at fall of day Come the kine for milking, I abroad will stay; I the castle portal every eve should close: Ye shall find it opened, free for tread of foes: I will say the weakling calves awhile I keep; 'Tis for milk, I'll tell them: come then while they sleep; Come, their castle enter, all its wealth to spoil; Only rests that serpent, he our plans may foil: Him it rests to vanquish, he will try you most; Surely from that serpent swarms a serpent host!" "Trust us well," answered Conall, "that raid will we do! And the castle they sought, and the snake at them flew: For it darted on Conall, and twined round his waist; Yet the whole of that castle they plundered in haste, And the woman was freed, and her sons with her three And away from her prison she went with them free: And of all of the jewels amassed in that dun The most costly and beauteous the conquerors won. Then the serpent from Conall was loosed, from his belt It crept safely, no harm from that serpent he felt: And they travelled back north to the Pictish domains, And a three of their cattle they found on the plains; And, where Olla Mae Briuin[FN#38] his hold had of yore, By Dunolly their cattle they drove to the shore. [FN#38] Pronounced "Brewin." It chanced at Ard Uan Echach,[FN#39] where foam is hurled on high, That doom on Bicne falling, his death he came to die: 'Twas while the cows were driven that Bicne's life was lost: By trampling hooves of cattle crushed down to death, or tossed; To him was Loegaire[FN#40] father, and Conall Cernach chief And Inver-Bicne's title still marks his comrades' grief. [FN#39] Pronounced "Ard Oon Ay-ha," [FN#40] Pronounced "Leary." Across the Stream of Bicne the cows of Fraech have passed, And near they came to Benchor, and there their horns they cast: 'Tis thence the strand of Bangor for aye is named, 'tis said: The Strand of Horns men call it; those horns his cattle shed. To his home travelled Fraech, with his children, and And his cattle, and there with them lived out his life, Till the summons of Ailill and Maev he obeyed; And when Cualgne was harried, he rode on the Raid. TAIN BO FRAICH PART II LITERAL TRANSLATION It happened that his cows had been in the meanwhile stolen. His mother came to him. "Not active (or "lucky") of journey hast thou gone; it shall cause much of trouble to thee," she says. "Thy cows have been stolen, and thy three sons, and thy wife, so that they are in the mountain of Elpa. Three cows of them are in Alba of the North with the Cruthnechi (the Picts)." "Query, what shall I do?" he says to his mother. "Thou shalt do a non-going for seeking them; thou wouldest not give thy life for them," she says. "Thou shalt have cows at my hands besides them." "Not so this," he says: "I have pledged my hospitality and my soul to go to Ailill and to Medb with my cows to the Spoil of the Cows from Cualnge." "What thou seekest shall not be obtained," says his mother. At this she goes off from him then. He then sets out with three nines, and a wood-cuckoo (hawk), and a hound of tie with them, until he goes to the territory of the Ulstermen, so that he meets with Conall Cernach (Conall the Victorious) at Benna Bairchi (a mountain on the Ulster border). He tells his quest to him. "What awaits thee," says the latter, "shall not be lucky for thee. Much of trouble awaits thee," he says, "though in it the mind should be." "It will come to me," says Fraech to Connall, "that thou wouldest help me any time we should meet." (?) "I shall go truly," says Conall Cernach. They set of the three (i.e. the three nines) over sea, over Saxony of the North, over the Sea of Icht (the sea between England and France), to the north of the Long-bards (the dwellers of Lombardy), until they reached the mountains of Elpa. They saw a herd-girl at tending of the sheep before them. "Let us go south," says Conall, "O Fraech, that we may address the woman yonder, and let our youths stay here." They went then to a conversation. She said, "Whence are ye?" "Of the men of Erin," says Conall. "It shall not be lucky for the men of Erin truly, the coming to this country. From the men of Erin too is my mother. Aid thou me on account of relationship." "Tell us something about our movements. What is the quality of the land we have to come to?" "A grim hateful land with troublesome warriors, who go on every side for carrying off cows and women as captives," she says. "What is the latest thing they have carried off?" says Fraech. "The cows of Fraech, son of Idath, from the west of Erin, and his wife, and his three sons. Here is his wife here in the house of the king, here are his cows in the country in front of you." "Let thy aid come to us," says Conall. Little is my power, save guidance only." "This is Fraech," says Conall, and they are his cows that have been carried off." "Is the woman constant in your estimation?" she says. "Though constant in our estimation when she went, perchance she is not constant after coming." "The woman who frequents the cows, go ye to her; tell ye of your errand; of the men of Ireland her race; of the men of Ulster exactly." They come to her; they receive her, and they name themselves to her, and she bids welcome to them. "What hath led you forth?" she says. "Trouble hath led us forth," says Conall; "ours are the cows and the woman that is in the Liss." "It shall not be lucky for you truly," she says, "the going up to the multitude of the woman; more troublesome to you than everything," she says, "is the serpent which is at guarding of the Liss." "She is not my country-name(?)," says Fraech, "she is not constant in my estimation; thou art constant in my estimation; we know thou wilt not lead us astray, since it is from the men of Ulster thou art." "Whence are ye from the men of Ulster?" she says. "This is Conall Cernach here, the bravest hero with the men of Ulster," says Fraech. She flings two hands around the throat of Conall Cernach. "The destruction has come in this expedition," she says, "since he has come to us; for it is to him the destruction of this dun has been prophesied. I shall go out to my house,"[FN#41] she says, "I shall not be at the milking of the cows. I shall leave the Liss opened; it is I who close it every night.[FN#42] I shall say it is for drink the calves were sucking. Come thou into the dun, when they are sleeping; only trouble. some to you is the serpent which is at the dun; several tribes are let loose from it." [FN#41] "To my house" is in the Egerton MS. only. [FN#42] "Every night" is in the Egerton MS. only. "We will go truly," says Conall. They attack the Liss; the serpent darts leap into the girdle of Conall Cernach, and they plunder the dun at once. They save off then the woman and the three sons, and they carry away whatever was the best of the gems of the dun, and Conall lets the serpent out of his girdle, and neither of them did harm to the other. And they came to the territory of the people of the Picts, until they saw three cows of their cows in it. They drove off to the Fort of Ollach mac Briuin (now Dunolly near Oban) with them, until they were at Ard Uan Echach (high-foaming Echach). It is there the gillie of Conall met his death at the driving of the cows, that is Bicne son of Loegaire; it is from this is (the name of) Inver Bicne (the Bicne estuary) at Benchor. They brought their cows over it thither. It is there they flung their horns from them, so that it is thence is (the name of) Tracht Benchoir (the Strand of Horn casting, perhaps the modern Bangor?). Fraech goes away then to his territory after, and his wife, and his sons, and his cows with him, until he goes with Ailill and Medb for the Spoil of the Cows from Cualnge. THE RAID FOR DARTAID'S CATTLE INTRODUCTION This tale is given by Windisch (Irische Texte, II. pp. 185-205), from two versions; one, whose translation he gives in full, except for one doubtful passage, is from the manuscript in the British Museum, known as Egerton, 1782 (dated 1414); the other is from the Yellow Book of Lecan (fourteenth century), in the library of Trinity College, Dublin. The version in the Yellow Book is sometimes hard to read, which seems to be the reason why Windisch prefers to translate the younger authority, but though in some places the Egerton version is the fuller, the Yellow Book version (Y.B.L.) often adds passages, some of which Windisch has given in notes; some he has left untranslated. In the following prose version as much of Y.B.L. as adds anything to the Egerton text has been translated, with marks of interrogation where the attempted rendering is not certain: variants from the text adopted are placed below the prose version as footnotes. The insertions from Y.B.L. are indicated by brackets; but no note is taken of cases where the Egerton version is fuller than Y.B.L. The opening of the story (the first five lines in the verse rendering) is in the eleventh century Book of the Dun Cow: the fragment agrees closely with the two later texts, differing in fact from Y.B.L. in one word only. All three texts are given in the original by Windisch. The story is simple and straightforward, but is a good example of fairy vengeance, the description of the appearance of the troop recalls similar descriptions in the Tain bo Fraich, and in the Courtship of Ferb. The tale is further noticeable from its connection with the province of Munster: most of the heroic tales are connected with the other three provinces only. Orlam, the hero of the end of the tale, was one of Cuchulain's earliest victims in the Tain bo Cualgne. THE RAID FOR DARTAID'S CATTLE FROM THE EGERTON MS. 1782 (EARLY FIFTEENTH-CENTURY), AND THE YELLOW BOOK OF LECAN (FOURTEENTH-CENTURY) EOCHO BEC,[FN#43] the son of Corpre, reigning in the land of Clew,[FN#44] Dwelt in Coolny's[FN#45] fort; and fostered sons of princes not a few: Forty kine who grazed his pastures gave him milk to rear his wards; Royal blood his charges boasted, sprung from Munster's noblest lords. Maev and Ailill sought to meet him: heralds calling him they sent: "Seven days hence I come" said Eocho; and the heralds from him went. Now, as Eocho lay in slumber, in the night a vision came; By a youthful squire attended, rose to view a fairy dame: "Welcome be my greeting to you!" said the king: "Canst thou discern Who we are?" the fairy answered, "how didst thou our fashion learn?" "Surely," said the king, "aforetime near to me hath been thy place!" "Very near thee have we hovered, yet thou hast not seen my face." "Where do ye abide?" said Eocho. "Yonder dwell we, with the Shee:[FN#46] "In the Fairy Mound of Coolny!" "Wherefore come ye hereto me?" "We have come," she said, "a counsel as a gift to thee to bring!" "Speak! and tell me of the counsel ye have brought me," said the king. "Noble gifts," she said, "we offer that renown for thee shall gain When in foreign lands thou ridest; worship in thine own domain; For a troop shall circle round thee, riding close beside thy hand: Stately it shall be, with goodly horses from a foreign land!" "Tell me of that troop," said Eocho, "in what numbers should we ride? " Fifty horsemen is the number that befits thee," she replied: [FN#43] Pronounced Yeo-ho Bayc. [FN#44] Cliu, a district in Munster. [FN#45] Spelt Cuillne, in Y.B.L. it is Cuille. [FN#46] The Fairies, spelt Sidh. "Fifty horses, black in colour; gold and silver reins and bits; Fifty sets of gay equipment, such as fairies well befits; These at early dawn to-morrow shall my care for thee provide: Let thy foster-children with thee on the road thou makest ride! Rightly do we come to help thee, who so valiantly in fray Guardest for us soil and country!" And the fairy passed away. Eocho's folk at dawn have risen; fifty steeds they all behold: Black the horses seemed; the bridles, stiff with silver and with gold, Firmly to the gate were fastened; fifty silver breeches there Heaped together shone, encrusted all with gold the brooches were: There were fifty knightly vestments, bordered fair with golden thread: Fifty horses, white, and glowing on their ears with deepest red, Nigh them stood; of reddish purple were the sweeping tails and manes; Silver were the bits; their pasterns chained in front with brazen chains: And, of fair findruine[FN#47] fashioned, was for every horse a whip, Furnished with a golden handle, wherewithal the goad to grip. [FN#47] Pronounced "findroony." Then King Eocho rose, and ready made him; in that fair array Forth they rode, nor did they tarry till they came to Croghan[FN#48] Ay. Scarcely could the men of Connaught bear to see that sight, amazed At the dignity and splendour of the host on which they gazed; For that troop was great; in serried ranks the fifty riders rode, Splendid with the state recounted; pride on all their faces glowed. "Name the man who comes!" said Ailill; "Easy answer!" all replied, Eocho Bee, in Clew who ruleth, hither to thy court would ride": Court and royal house were opened; in with welcome came they all; Three long days and nights they lingered, feasting in King Ailill's hall. Then to Ailill, king of Connaught, Eocho spake: "From out my land {50} Wherefore hast thou called me hither?" "Gifts are needed from thy hand," Ailill said; "a heavy burden is that task upon me laid, To maintain the men of Ireland when for Cualgne's kine we raid." [FN#48] Pronounced Crow-han. Eocho spoke: "What gift requirest thou from me?" "For milking-kine," Ailill said, "I ask"; and Eocho, "Few of these indeed are mine! Forty sons of Munster's princes have I in my halls to rear; These, my foster-sons, beside me m my troop have journeyed here; Fifty herdsmen guard the cattle, forty cows my wards to feed, Seven times twenty graze beside them, to supply my people's need." "If, for every man who follows thee as liege, and owns a farm, Thou a cow wilt yield," said Ailill, "then from foes with power to harm I will guard thee in the battle!" "Keep then faithfully thy vows," Eocho said, "this day as tribute shall to Croghan come the cows." Thrice the sun hath set and risen while they feasting there abide, Maev and Ailill's bounty tasting, homeward then they quickly ride: But the sons of Glaschu met them, who from western Donnan came; Donnan, from the seas that bound it, Irross Donnan hath for name; Seven times twenty men attacked them, and to battle they were brought, At the isle of O'Canàda, fiercely either party fought; With his foster children round him, Eocho Bec in fight was killed, All the forty princes perished, with that news the land was filled; All through Ireland lamentation rose for every youthful chief; Four times twenty Munster princes, weeping for them, died of grief. Now a vision came to Ailill, as in sleep he lay awhile, or a youth and dame approached him, fairer none in Erin's Isle: "Who are ye?" said Ailill; "Conquest," said the fairy, "and Defeat "Though Defeat I shun," said Ailill, "Conquest joyfully I meet." "Conquest thou shalt have!" she answered: "Of the future I would ask, Canst thou read my fate?" said Ailill: "Light indeed for me the task," Said the dame: "the kine of Dartaid, Eocho's daughter, may be won: Forty cows she owns; to gain them send to her thy princely son, Orlam, whom that maiden loveth: let thy son to start prepare, Forty youths from Connaught with him, each of them a prince's heir: Choose thou warriors stout and stately; I will give them garments bright, Even those that decked the princes who so lately fell in fight: Bridles, brooches, all I give thee; ere the morning sun be high Thou shalt count that fairy treasure: to our country now we fly." Swiftly to the son of Tassa sped they thence, to Corp the Gray: On the northern bank of Naymon was his hold, and there he lay; And before the men of Munster, as their champion did he stand: He hath wrought-so runs the proverb-evil, longer than his hand. As to Corp appeared the vision: "Say," he cried, "what names ye boast!" "Ruin, one is called," they answered; "one, The Gathering of the Host!" An assembled host I welcome," answered them the gray Corp Lee; "Ruin I abhor": "And ruin," they replied, "is far from thee; Thou shalt bring on sons of nobles, and of kings a ruin great": "Fairy," said Corp Lee, the Gray one, "tell me of that future fate." "Easy is the task," she answered, "youths of every royal race That in Connaught's land hath dwelling, come to-morrow to this place; Munster's kine they hope to harry, for the Munster princes fell Yesterday with Connaught fighting; and the hour I plainly ten: At the ninth hour of the morning shall they come: the band is small: Have thou valiant men to meet them, and upon the raiders fall! Munster's honour hath been tarnished! clear it by a glorious deed! Thou shalt purge the shame if only in the foray thou succeed." "What should be my force?" he asked her: "Take of heroes seven score For that fight," she said, "and with them seven times twenty warriors more: Far from thee we now are flying; but shall meet thee with thy power When to-morrow's sun is shining; at the ninth, the fated hour." At the dawn, the time appointed, all those steeds and garments gay Were in Connaught, and they found them at the gate of Croghan Ay; All was there the fay had promised, all the gifts of which we told: All the splendour that had lately decked the princes they behold. Doubtful were the men of Connaught; some desired the risk to face; Some to go refused: said Ailill, "It should bring us to disgrace If we spurned such offered bounty": Orlam his reproaches felt; Sprang to horse; and towards the country rode, where Eocho's daughter dwelt: And where flows the Shannon river, near that water's southern shore, Found her home; for as they halted, moated Clew[FN#49] rose high before. [FN#49] Spelt Cliu. Dartaid met them ere they halted, joyful there the prince to see: All the kine are not assembled, of their count is lacking three!" "Tarry not for search," said Orlam, "yet provision must we take On our steeds, for hostile Munster rings us round. Wilt home forsake, Maiden? wilt thou ride beside us?" "I will go indeed," she said. Then, with all thy gathered cattle, come with us; with me to wed! So they marched, and in the centre of their troop the kine were set, And the maiden rode beside them: but Corp Lee, the Gray, they met; Seven times twenty heroes with him; and to battle they must go, And the Connaught nobles perished, fighting bravely with the foe: All the sons of Connaught's princes, all the warriors with them died: Orlam's self escaped the slaughter, he and eight who rode beside: Yet he drave the cows to Croghan; ay, and fifty heifers too! But, when first the foe made onset, they the maid in battle slew. Near a lake, did Eocho's[FN#50] daughter, Dartaid, in the battle fall, From that lake, and her who perished, hath been named that region all: Emly Darta is that country; Tain bo Dartae is the tale: And, as prelude, 'tis recited, till the Cualgne[FN#51] Raid they hail. [FN#50] Pronounced Yeo-ho. [FN#51] Pronounced Kell-ny. THE RAID FOR DARTAID'S CATTLE LITERAL TRANSLATION The Passages that occur only in the Yellow Book (Y.B.L.) are indicated by being placed in square brackets. EOCHO BEC, the son of Corpre, king of Cliu, dwelt in the Dun of Cuillne,[FN#52] and with him were forty fosterlings, all sons of the kings of Munster; he had also forty milch-cows for their sustenance. By Ailill and Medb messengers were sent, asking him to come to a conference. "[In a week,"][FN#53] said Eocho, "I will go to that conference;" and the messengers departed from him. [FN#52] The eleventh century MS., the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, which gives the first four lines of this tale as a fragment, adds here as a note: "this is in the land of the O'Cuanach": apparently the O'Briens of Cuanach. [FN#53] At Samhuin day (Egerton). One night Eocho lay there in his sleep, when he saw something approach him; a woman, and a young man in her attendance. "Ye are welcome!" said Eocho. ["Knowest thou us?"] said she, "Where hast thou learned to know us?" "It seems to me as if I had been near to you." "I think that we have been very near to one another, though we have not seen each other face to face!" "In what place do ye dwell?" said Eocho. "Yonder in Sid Cuillne (the fairy mound of Cuillne)," said she. "And, wherefore have ye come?" "In order to give thee counsel," said she. For what purpose is the counsel," said he, "that thou givest me?" "Something," she said, "that will bring thee honour and renown on thy journey at home and abroad. A stately troop shall be round thee, and goodly foreign horses shall be under thee."[FN#54] "With how many shall I go?" said Eocho. "Fifty horsemen is the number that is suitable for thee," she answered. [FN#54] Y.B.L. adds a passage that Windisch does not translate: it seems to run thus: "Unknown to thee is the half of what thou hast met: it seems to us that foreign may be thy splendour"(?) "To-morrow in the morning fifty black horses, furnished with bridles of gold and silver, shall come to thee from me; and with them fifty sets of equipment of the equipment of the Side; and all of thy foster-children shall go with thee; well it becomes us to help thee, because thou art valiant in the defence of our country and our soil." Then the woman left him. Early in the morning they arise, there they see something: the fifty black horses, furnished with bridles of gold and silver tied fast to the gate of the castle, also fifty breeches of silver with embellishment of gold; and fifty youths' garments with their edges of spun gold, and fifty white horses with red ears and long tails, purple-red were all their tails and their manes, with silver bits (?)[FN#55] and foot-chains of brass upon each horse; there were also fifty whips of white bronze (findruine), with end pieces of gold that thereby they might be taken into hands.[FN#56] [FN#55] co m-belgib (?) Windisch translates "bridles," the same as cona srianaib above. [FN#56] Y.B.L. adds, "Through wizardry was all that thing: it was recited (?) how great a thing had appeared, and he told his dream to his people." Then King Eocho arises, and prepares himself (for the journey): they depart with this equipment to Cruachan Ai:[FN#57] and the people were well-nigh overcome with their consequence and appearance: their troop was great, goodly, splendid, compact: [fifty heroes, all with that appearance that has just been related. "How is that man named?" said Ailill. "Not hard, Eocho Bec, the king of Cliu." They entered the Liss (outer court), and the royal house; welcome was given to them, he remained there three days and three nights at the feasting.] [FN#57] Egerton here gives "Ailill and Medb made them welcome;" it omits the long passage in square brackets. "Wherefore have I have been invited to come?" said Eocho to Ailill: "To learn if I can obtain a gift from thee," said Ailill; "for a heavy need weighs upon me, even the sustenance of the men of Ireland for the bringing of the cattle from Cualgne." "What manner of gift is it that thou desirest?" said Eocho. "Nothing less than a gift of milking-kine," said Ailill. "There is no superfluity of these in my land," said Eocho; "I have forty fosterlings, sons of the kings of Munster, to bring them up (to manhood); they are here in my company, there are forty cows to supply the needs of these, to supply my own needs are seven times twenty milch-cows [there are fifty men for this cause watching over them]. "Let me have from thee," said Ailill, "one cow from each farmer who is under thy lordship as my share; moreover I will yield thee assistance if at any time thou art oppressed by superior might." "Thus let it be as thou sayest," said Eocho; "moreover, they shall come to thee this very day." For three days and three nights they were hospitably entertained by Ailill and Medb, and then they departed homewards, till they met the sons of Glaschu, who came from Irross Donnan (the peninsula of Donnan, now Mayo); the number of those who met them was seven times twenty men, and they set themselves to attack each other, and to strive with each other in combat, and [at the island of O'Conchada (Inse Ua Conchada)] they fought together. In that place fell the forty sons of kings round Eocho Bec, and that news was spread abroad over all the land of Ireland, so that four times twenty kings' sons, of the youths of Munster, died, sorrowing for the deaths of these princes. On another night, as Ailill lay in his sleep, upon his bed, he saw some thing, a young man and a woman, the fairest that could be found in Ireland. "Who are ye?" said Ailill. "Victory and Defeat are our names," she said. "Victory indeed is welcome to me, but not so Defeat," said Ailill. "Victory shall be thine in each form!" said she. ["What is the next thing after this that awaits us?" said Ailill. "Not hard to tell thee," said she] "let men march out from thy palace in the morning, that thou mayest win for thyself the cattle of Dartaid, the daughter of Eocho. Forty is the number of her milch-cows, it is thine own son, Orlam mac Ailill, whom she loves. Let Orlam prepare for his journey with a stately troop of valiant men, also forty sons of those kings who dwell in the land of Connaught; and by me shall be given to them the same equipment that the other youths had who fell in yon fight, bridles and garments and brooches; [early in the morning shall count of the treasure be made, and now we go to our own land," said she]. Then they depart from him, and forthwith they go to [Corp[FN#58] Liath (the Gray),] who was the son of Tassach. His castle was on the bank of the river Nemain, upon the northern side, he was a champion of renown for the guarding of the men of Munster; longer than his hand is the evil he hath wrought. To this man also they appeared, and "What are your names?" said he: "Tecmall and Coscrad (Gathering of Hosts, and Destruction)," said they. "Gathering of Hosts is indeed good," said Corp Liath, "an evil thing is destruction": "There will be no destruction for thee, and thou shalt destroy the sons of kings and nobles": "And what," said Corp Liath, "is the next thing to be done?" [FN#58] The Egerton MS. gives the name, Corb Cliach. "That is easy to say," they said;[FN#59] "each son of a king and a queen, and each heir of a king that is in Connaught, is now coming upon you to bear off cows from your country, for that the sons of your kings and queens have fallen by the hand of the men of Connaught. To-morrow morning, at the ninth hour they will come, and small is their troop; so if valiant warriors go thither to meet them, the honour of Munster shall be preserved; if indeed thine adventure shall meet with success." [FN#59] Y.B.L. gives the passage thus: "Assemble with you the sons of kings, and heirs of kings, that you may destroy the sons of kings and heirs of kings." "Who are they?" said Corp Liath. "A noble youth it is from Connaught: he comes to yon to drive your cows before him, after that your young men were yesterday destroyed by him, at the ninth hour of the morning they will come to take away the cows of Darta, the daughter of Eocho." "With what number should I go?" he said. "Seven times twenty heroes thou shouldest take with thee," she replied, ["and seven times twenty warriors besides"]: "And now" said the woman, "we depart to meet thee to-morrow at the ninth hour." At the time (appointed), when morning had come, the men of Connaught saw the horses and the raiment of which we have spoken, at the gate of the fort of Croghan, [even as she (the fairy) had foretold, and as we have told, so that at that gate was all she had promised, and all that had been seen on the sons of kings aforetime], and there was a doubt among the people whether they should go on that quest or not. "It is shame," said Ailill, "to refuse a thing that is good"; and upon that Orlam departed [till[FN#60] he came to the house of Dartaid, the daughter of Eocho, in Cliu Classach (Cliu the Moated), on the Shannon upon the south (bank). [FN#60] Egerton Version has only "towards Chu till he came to the home of Dartaid, the daughter of Eocho: the maiden rejoiced," &c. From this point to the end the version in the Yellow Book is much fuller. [There they halted], and the maiden rejoiced at their coming: "Three of the kine are missing." "We cannot wait for these; let the men take provision on their horses, [for rightly should we be afraid in the midst of Munster. Wilt thou depart with me, O maiden?" said he. "I will indeed go with thee," said she]. "Come then thou," said he, "and with thee all of thy cows." [Then the young men go away with the cows in the midst, and the maiden was with them; but Corp Liath, the son of Tassach, met them with seven times twenty warriors to oppose their march. A battle was fought], and in that place fell the sons of the kings of Connaught, together with the warriors who had gone with them, all except Orlam and eight others,[FN#61] who carried away with them the kine, even the forty milch-cows, and fifty heifers, [so that they came into the land of Connaught]; but the maiden fell at the beginning of the fight. [FN#61] Y.B.L. inserts Dartaid's death at this point: "and Dartaid fell at the beginning of the fight, together with the stately sons of Connaught." Hence is that place called Imlech Dartaid, (the Lake Shore of Darta), in the land of Cliu, [where Dartaid, the daughter of Eocho, the son of Corpre, fell: and for this reason this story is called the Tain bo Dartae, it is one of the preludes to the Tain bo Cualnge]. THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF REGAMON INTRODUCTION The two versions of this tale, given by Windisch in the Irische Texte, II. pp. 224-238, are from the same manuscripts as the two versions of the Raid of the Cattle of Dartaid; namely the Yellow Book of Lecan, and the Egerton MS. 1782. In the case of this tale, the Yellow Book version is more legible, and, being not only the older, but a little more full than the other version, Windisch has translated this text alone: the prose version, as given here, follows this manuscript, nearly as given by Windisch, with only one addition from the Egerton MS.; the omissions in the Egerton MS. are not mentioned, but one or two changes in words adopted from this MS. are mentioned in the foot-notes to the prose rendering. The whole tone of the tale is very unlike the tragic character of those romances, which have been sometimes supposed to represent the general character of old Irish literature: there is not even a hint of the super-natural; the story contains no slaughter; the youthful raiders seem to be regarded as quite irresponsible persons, and the whole is an excellent example of an old Celtic: romance with what is to-day called a "good ending." THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF REGAMON FROM THE YELLOW BOOK OF LECAN (A MANUSCRIPT OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY) When Ailill and Maev in the Connaught land abode, and the lordship held, A chief who many a field possessed in the land of Connaught dwelled: A great, and a fair, and a goodly herd of kine had the chieftain won: And his fame in the fight was in all men's word; his name was Regamon. Now seven daughters had Regamon; they dwelt at home with their sire: Yet the seven sons of King Ailill and Maev their beauty with love could fire: All those seven sons were as Mani[FN#62] known; the first was as Morgor hailed, For his love was great: it was Mingar's fate that in filial love he failed: The face was seen of the mother-queen on the third; and his father's face Did the fourth son show: they the fifth who know cannot speak all his strength and grace: The sixth son spoke, from his lips the words like drops of honey fell: And last came one who all gifts possessed that the tongue of a man can tell; For his father's face that Mani had, in him was his mother seen; And in him abode every grace bestowed on the king of the land or the queen. [FN#62] Pronounced Mah-nee. Of the daughters of Regamon now we speak: two names those maidens bore: For as Dunnan three ever known shall be; Dunlaith[FN#63] was the name for four: And in Breffny's land is the Ford Dunlaith, and the fame of the four recalls; The three ye know where the Dunnan's flow in western Connaught falls. With Fergus, Ailill and Maev were met: as at council all conferred; "It were well for our folk," thus Ailill spoke, "if the lord of that cattle-herd, That strays in the fields of Regamon, would tribute to us pay: And to gain that end, let us heralds send, to his burg who may make their way, And bear to our court that tribute back; for greatly we soon shall need Such kine when we in the time of war our hosts shall have to feed; And all who share in our counsels know that a burden will soon be mine, When the men must be fed of Ireland, led on the Raid for the Cuailgne[FN#64] Kine!" Thus Ailill spoke; and Queen Maev replied, "The men to perform that task Right well I know; for our sons will go, if we for their aid but ask! The seven daughters of Regamon do the Mani in love now seek: If those maidens' hands they can gain by the deed, they will heed the words we speak." To his side King Ailill has called his sons, his mind to the youth he shows. "Best son," says Maev, "and grateful he, from filial love who goes!" And Morgor said, "For the love that we owe, we go at our sire's behest:" "Yet a greater reward," thus Mingar spake, "must be ours, if we go on this quest! For naught have we of hero-craft; and small shall be found our might; And of valiant breed are the men," said he, "with whom we shall have to fight. [FN#63] Pronounced Dun-lay. [FN#64] Pronounced Kell-ny. As men from the shelter of roof who go, and must rest in the open field, So thy sons shall stand, if they come to a land where a foe might be found concealed! We have dwelt till now in our father's halls, too tenderly cared for far: Nor hath any yet thought, that to us should be taught the arts that belong to war!" Queen Maev and Ailill their sons have sped, away on the quest they went, With seven score men for the fight, whom the queen for help of her sons had sent: To the south of the Connaught realm they reached, the burg that they sought was plain For to Ninnus land they had come, and were nigh to the Corcomroe domain. "From our band," said Mani Morgor, "some must go, of that burg to learn How entrance we may attain to win, and back with the news return We must test the strength of the maidens' love!" On Mingar the task was set, And with two beside him, he searched the land, till three of the maids they met: By springs of water they found the maids, drew swords, and against them leapt! "O grant our lives!" was the maiden's cry, "and your lives shall be safely kept!" "For your lives," he said, "will ye grant a boon, set forth in three words of speech?" "At our hands," said she, "shall granted be, whatever thy tongue shall teach; Yet ask not cattle; those kine have we no power to bestow, I fear": "Why, 'tis for the sake of the kine," he said, "that all of us now are here!" "Who art thou then?" from her faltering broke: "Mani Mingar am I," he replied; I am son to King Ailill and Maev: And to me thou art welcome," the maiden cried; "But why have ye come to this land?" said she: For kine and for brides," he said, Have we come to seek: And 'tis right," said she, such demands in a speech to wed: Yet the boon that you ask will our folk refuse, and hard will your task be found; For a valiant breed shall you meet, I fear, in the men who guard this ground!" "Give your aid," he said, "then as friends: But time," said she, "we must have for thought; For a plan must be made, e'er thy word be obeyed, and the kine to thy hands be brought: Have ye journeyed here with a force of men? how great is the strength of your band?" "Seven score are there here for the fight," he said, "the warriors are near at hand!" "Wait here," said she; "to my sisters four I go of the news to tell: "And with thee we side!" all the maidens cried, "and we trust we shall aid thee well," Away from the princes the maidens sped, they came to their sisters four, And thus they spoke: "From the Connaught land come men, who are here at your door; The sons of Ailill and Maev have come; your own true loves are they!" "And why have they come to this land?" they said; "For kine and for brides, they say, Have they come to seek:" "And with zeal their wish would we joyfully now fulfil If but powers to aid were but ours," they said, "which would match with our right good will: But I fear the youths in this burg who dwell, the plans that we make may foil; or far from the land may chase that band, and drive them away from their spoil!" "Will ye follow us now, with the prince to speak?" They willingly gave consent, And together away to the water-springs the seven maidens went. They greeted Mani; "Now come!" said he, "and bring with you out your herds: And a goodly meed shall reward your deed, if you but obey my words; For our honour with sheltering arms is nigh, and shall all of you safely keep, Ye seven daughters of Regamon!" The cattle, the swine, and sheep Together the maidens drove; none saw them fly, nor to stay them sought, Till safe to the place where the Mani stood, the herd by the maids was brought. The maidens greeted the sons of Maev, and each by her lover stood; And then Morgor spoke: "Into twain this herd of kine to divide were good, At the Briuin[FN#65] Ford should the hosts unite; too strait hath the path been made For so vast a herd": and to Morgor's word they gave heed, and his speech obeyed. Now it chanced that Regamon, the king, was far from his home that day, For he to the Corco Baiscinn land had gone, for a while to stay; [FN#65] Pronounced Brewin. With the Firbolg[FN#66] clans, in debate, he sat; and a cry as the raiders rode, Was behind him raised: to the king came men, who the news of that plunder showed: Then the king arose, and behind his foes he rode, and o'ertook their flight, And on Mani Morgor his host pressed hard, and they conquered his men in the fight. "To unite our band," thus Morgor cried, "fly hence, and our comrades find! Call the warriors back from the cattle here, and leave the maids behind; Bid the maidens drive to our home the herd as far as the Croghan Fort, And to Ailill and Maev of our perilous plight let the maidens bear report." The maidens went to the Croghan Fort, to Maev with their news they pressed: "Thy sons, O Maev, at the Briuin Ford are pent, and are sore distressed, And they pray thee to aid them with speed": and Maev her host for the war prepared, With Ailill the warriors of Connaught came; and Fergus beside them fared, And the exiles came, who the Ulster name still bore, and towards that Ford All that host made speed, that their friends in need might escape from the vengeful sword. [FN#66] Pronounced Feer-bol. Now Ailill's sons, in the pass of that Ford, had hurdles strongly set: And Regamon failed through the ford to win, ere Ailill's troops were met: Of white-thorn and of black-thorn boughs were the hurdles roughly framed, And thence the name of the ford first came, that the Hurdle Ford is named; For, where the O'Feara[FN#67] Aidne folk now dwell, can ye plainly see In the land of Beara[FN#68] the Less, that Ford, yet called Ath[FN#69] Clee Maaree, In the north doth it stand; and the Connaught land divideth from Corcomroe; And thither, with Regamon's troops to fight, did Ailill's army go. [FN#67] Pronounced O'Fayra Ain-ye. [FN#68] Pronounced Bayra. [FN#69] Spelt Ath Cliath Medraidi. Ath is pronounced like Ah. Then a truce they made; to the youths, that Raid who designed, they gave back their lives; And the maidens fair all pardoned were, who had fled with the youths, as wives, Who had gone with the herd, by the maids conferred on the men who the kine had gained: But the kine, restored to their rightful lord, in Regamon's hands remained; The maiden band in the Connaught land remained with the sons of Maev; And a score of cows to each maiden's spouse the maidens' father gave: As his daughters' dower, did their father's power his right in the cows resign, That the men might be fed of Ireland, led on the Raid for the Cualgne[FN#70] Kine. This tale, as the Tain bo Regamon, is known in the Irish tongue; And this lay they make, when the harp they wake, ere the Cualgne Raid be sung. [FN#70] Pronounced Kell-ny. THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF REGAMON LITERAL TRANSLATION In the time of Ailill and Medb, a glorious warrior and holder of land dwelt in the land of Connaught, and his name was Regamon. He had many herds of cattle, all of them fair and well-shaped: he had also seven daughters with him. Now the seven sons of Ailill and Medb loved these (daughters): namely the seven Maine, these were Maine Morgor (Maine with great filial love), Maine Mingar (Maine with less filial love), Maine Aithremail (Maine like his father), Maine Mathremail (Maine like his mother), Maine Milbel (Maine with the mouth of honey),[FN#71] Maine Moepert (Maine too great to be described), Maine Condageb-uile (Maine who combined all qualities): now this one had the form both of father and mother, and had all the glory that belonged to both parents. [FN#71] The name of Maine Annai, making an eighth son, is given in Y.B.L., but not in the Egerton MS. The seven daughters of Regamon were the three Dunann, and the four Dunlaith;[FN#72] from the names of these is the estuary of Dunann in western Connaught, and the Ford of Dunlaith in Breffny. [FN#72] So Egerton, which Windisch follows here; the reading of Y.B.L. is Dunmed for the daughters, and Dumed for the corresponding ford. Now at a certain time, Ailill and Medb and Fergus held counsel together. "Some one from us," said Ailill, "should go to Regamon, that a present of cattle may be brought to us from him; to meet the need that there is on us for feeding the men of Ireland, when the kine are raided from Cualgne." "I know," said Medb, "who would be good to go thither, if we ask it of them; even the Maine; on account of their love for the daughters." His sons were called to Ailill, and he spoke with them. "Grateful is he, and a better journey does he go," said Maev, "who goes for the sake of his filial love." "Truly it shall be that it is owing to filial love that we go," said Mani Morgor. "But the reward should (also) for this be the better," said Mani Mingar; "it stands ill with our heroism, ill with our strength. It is like going from a house into the fields, (going) into the domains or the land of foes. Too tenderly have we been brought up; none hath let us learn of wars; moreover the warriors are valiant towards whom we go!" They took leave of Ailill and Medb, and betook themselves to the quest. They set out, seven times twenty heroes was the number, till they were in the south of Connaught, in the neighbourhood of the domain of Corcomroe[FN#73] in the land of Ninnus, near to the burg. "Some of you," said Mani Morgor, "should go to find out how to enter into the burg; and to test the love of maidens." Mani Mingar, with two others, went until he came upon three of the maidens at the water-springs, and at once he and his comrades drew their swords against them. "Give life for life!" said the maiden. "Grant to me then my three full words!" said Mani Mingar. "Whatever thy tongue sets forth shall be done," said the maiden, "only let it not be cows,[FN#74] for these have we no power to give thee." "For these indeed," said Mani, "is all that now we do."[FN#75] [FN#73] Properly "Coremodruad," the descendants of Modh Ruadh, third son of Fergus by Maev; now Corcomroe in County Clare. [FN#74]"Only let it not be cows" is in the Egerton MS. alone. [FN#75] "That we do" is Egerton MS. (cich indingnem), Y.B.L. has "cechi m-bem." "Who art thou?" said she: "Mani Mingar, son of Ailill and Medb," said he: "Welcome then," she said, "but what hath brought with you here?" "To take with us cattle and maidens," he said: "'Tis right," she said, "to take these together; (but) I fear that what has been demanded will not be granted, the men are valiant to whom you have come." "Let your entreaties be our aid!" he said. "We would desire," she said, "that it should be after that counsel hath been taken that we obey you." "What is your number?" said she: "Seven times twenty heroes," he said, "are with us." "Remain here," she said, "that we may speak with the other maidens": "We shall assist you," said the maidens, "as well as we can." They went from them, and came to the other maidens, and they said to them: "Young heroes from the lands of Connaught are come to you, your own true loves, the seven sons of Ailill and Medb." "Wherefore are they come?" "To take back with them cattle and wives." "That would we gladly have, if only we could; (but) I fear that the warriors will hinder them or drive them away," said she. "Go ye out, that ye may speak with the man." "We will speak with him," they said. The seven maidens went to the well, and they greeted Mani. "Come ye away," he said, "and bring your cattle with you. That will be a good deed. We shall assist you with our honour and our protection, O ye daughters of Regamon," said he.[FN#76] The maidens drove together their cows and their swine, and their sheep, so that none observed them; and they secretly passed on till they came to the camp of their comrades. The maidens greeted the sons of Ailill and Medb, and they remained there standing together. "The herd must be divided in two parts," said Mani Merger, "also the host must divide, for it is too great to travel by the one way; and we shall meet again at Ath Briuin (the Ford of Briuin)." So it was done. [FN#76] Windisch conjectures this instead of "said the warriors," which is in the text of Y.B.L. King Regamon was not there on that day. He was in the domain of Corco Baiscinn,[FN#77] to hold a conference with the Firbolgs. His people raised a cry behind him, message was brought to Regamon, and he went in pursuit with his army. The whole of the pursuing host overtook Mani Morgor, and brought defeat upon him. [FN#77] In the south-west of Clare. "We all," said Mani, "must go to one place, and some of you shall be sent to the cattle to summon the young men hither, and the maidens shall drive the cattle over the ford to Cruachan, and shall give Ailill and Medb tidings of the plight in which we are here." The maidens went to Cruachan, and told all the tale. "Thy sons are at Ath Briuin in distress, and have said that help should be brought to them." The men of Connaught with Ailill, and Medb, and Fergus, and the banished men of Ulster went to Ath Briuin to help their people. The sons of Ailill had for the moment made hurdles of white-thorn and black-thorn in the gut[FN#78] of the ford, as defence against Regamon and his people, so that they were unable to pass through the ford ere Ailill and his army came; so thence cometh the name Ath Cliath Medraidi[FN#79] (the Hurdle Ford of Medraide), in the country of Little Bethra in the northern part of the O'Fiachrach Aidne between Connaught and Corcomroe. There they met together with all their hosts. [FN#78] Literally "mouth." [FN#79] Ath Cliath oc Medraige, now Maaree, in Ballycourty parish, Co. Galway (Stokes, Bodleian Dinnshenchus, 26). It may be mentioned that in the Dinnshenchus, the cattle are said to have been taken "from Dartaid, the daughter of Regamon in Munster," thus confusing the Raids of Regamon and Dartaid, which may account for O'Curry's incorrect statement in the preface to Leabhar na h-Uidhri, p. xv. A treaty was then made between them on account of the fair young men who had carried off the cattle, and on account of the fair maidens who had gone with them, by whose means the herd escaped. Restitution of the herd was awarded to Regamon, and the maidens abode with the sons of Ailill and Medb; and seven times twenty milch-cows were given up, as a dowry for the maidens, and for the maintenance of the men of Ireland on the occasion of the assembly for the Tain bo Cualnge; so that this tale is called the Tain bo Regamon, and it is a prelude to the tale of the Tain bo Cualnge. Finit, amen. THE DRIVING OF THE CATTLE OF FLIDAIS INTRODUCTION The Tain bo Flidais, the Driving of the Cows of Flidais, does not, like the other three Preludes to the Tain bo Cualnge, occur in the Yellow Book of Lecan; but its manuscript age is far the oldest of the four, as it occurs in both the two oldest collections of Old Irish romance, the Leabbar na h-Uidhri (abbreviated to L.U.), and the Book of Leinster (abbreviated to L.L.), besides the fifteenth century Egerton MS., that contains the other three preludes. The text of all three, together with a translation of the L.U. text, is given by Windisch in Irische Texte, II. pp. 206-223; the first part of the story is missing in L.U. and is supplied from the Book of Leinster (L.L.) version. The prose translation given here follows Windisch's translation pretty closely, with insertions occasionally from L.L. The Egerton version agrees closely with L.L., and adds little to it beyond variations in spelling, which have occasionally been taken in the case of proper names. The Leabhar na h-Uidhri version is not only the oldest, but has the most details of the three; a few passages have, however, been supplied from the other manuscripts which agree with L.U. in the main. The whole tale is much more like an old Border riding ballad than are the other three Preludes; it resembles the tone of Regamon, but differs from it in having a good deal of slaughter to relate, though it can hardly be called tragic, like Deirdre and Ferb, the killing being taken as a matter of course. There is nothing at all supernatural about the story as contained in the old manuscripts, but a quite different' version of the story given in the Glenn Masain Manuscript, a fifteenth century manuscript now in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh, gives another complexion to the tale. The translation of this manuscript is at present being made in the Celtic Review by Professor Mackinnon; the version it gives of the story is much longer and fuller than that in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, and its accompanying manuscripts. The translation as printed in the Celtic Review is not as yet (July 1905) completed, but, through Professor Mackinnon's kindness, an abstract of the general features of the end of the story may be given here. The Glenn Masain version makes Bricriu, who is a subordinate character in the older version, one of the principal actors, and explains many of the allusions which are difficult to understand in the shorter version; but it is not possible to regard the older version as an abridgment of that preserved in the Glenn Masain MS., for the end of the story in this manuscript is absolutely different from that in the older ones, and the romance appears to be unique in Irish in that it has versions which give two quite different endings, like the two versions of Kipling's The Light that Failed. The Glenn Masain version commences with a feast held at Cruachan, when Fergus and his exiles had joined their forces with Connaught as a result of the murder of the Sons of Usnach, as told in the earlier part of the manuscript. At this feast Bricriu. engages in conversation with Fergus, reproaching him for his broken promises to the Ulstermen who had joined him, and for his dalliance with Queen Maev. Bricriu, who in other romances is a mere buffoon, here appears as a distinguished poet, and a chief ollave; his satire remains bitter, but by no means scurrilous, and the verses put into his mouth, although far beneath the standard of the verses given to Deirdre in the earlier part of the manuscript, show a certain amount of dignity and poetic power. As an example, the following satire on Fergus's inability to keep his promises may be cited:-- Fergus, hear thy friend lamenting! Blunted is thy lofty mind; Thou, for hire, to Maev consenting, Hast thy valour's pride resigned. Ere another year's arriving, Should thy comrades, thou didst vow, Three-score chariots fair be driving, Shields and weapons have enow! When thy ladies, bent on pleasure, Crowd towards the banquet-hall, Thou of gold a goodly measure Promised hast to grant to all! Ill to-night thy friends are faring, Naught hath Fergus to bestow; He a poor man's look is wearing, Never yet was greater woe! After the dialogue with Fergus, Bricriu, with the poets that attend him, undertakes a journey to Ailill the Fair, to obtain from him the bounty that Fergus had promised but was unable to grant. He makes a fairly heavy demand upon Ailill's bounty, but is received hospitably, and gets all he had asked for, as well as honour for his poetic talents. He then asks about Ailill's wife Flidais, and is told about her marvellous cow, which was able to supply milk to more than three hundred men at one night's milking. Flidais returns from a journey, is welcomed by Bricriu, who produces a poem in honour of her and her cow, and is suitably recompensed. A long conversation is then recorded between Flidais and Bricriu in which Bricriu extols the great deeds of Fergus, supplying thereby a commentary on the short statement at the beginning of the older version, that Flidais' love to Fergus was on account of the great deeds which had been told her that he had done. Flidais declares to Bricriu her love for Fergus, and Bricriu, after a vain attempt to dissuade the queen from her purpose, consents to bring a message to Fergus that Flidais and her cow will come to him if he comes to her husband's castle to seek her. He then returns to Connaught laden with gifts. The story now proceeds somewhat upon the lines of the older version. Bricriu approaches Fergus on his return, and induces him to go in the guise of an ambassador to Ailill the Fair, with the secret intention of carrying off Flidais. Fergus receives the sanction of Maev and her husband for his errand, and departs, but not as in the older version with a few followers; all the Ulster exiles are with him. Dubhtach, by killing a servant of Maev, embroils Fergus with the queen of Connaught; and the expedition reaches Ailill the Fair's castle. Fergus sends Bricriu, who has most unwillingly accompanied him, to ask for hospitality; he is hospitably received by Ailill, and when under the influence of wine reveals to Ailill the plot. Ailill does not, as in the older version, refuse to receive Fergus, but seats him beside himself at a feast, and after reproaching him with his purpose challenges him to a duel in the morning. The result of the duel, and of the subsequent attack on the castle by Fergus' friends, is much as stated in the older version, but the two stories end quite differently. The L.U. version makes Flidais assist in the War of Cualgne by feeding the army of Ailill each seventh day with the produce of her cows; she dies after the war as wife of Fergus; the Glenn Masain version, in the "Pursuit of the Cattle of Flidais," makes the Gamanrad clan, the hero-clan of the West of Ireland, pursue Maev and Fergus, and rescue Flidais and her cow; Flidais then returns to the west with Muiretach Menn, the son of her murdered husband, Ailill the Fair. The comparison of these two versions, from the literary point of view, is most interesting. The stress laid on the supernatural cow is peculiar to the version in the later manuscript, the only analogy in the eleventh century version is the semi-supernatural feeding of the army of Ireland, but in this it is a herd (buar), not a single animal, that is credited with the feat, and there is really nothing supernatural about the matter; it is only the other version that enables us to see the true bearing of the incident. The version in the Glenn Masain Manuscript looks much more ancient in idea than that in the older texts, and is plainly capable of a mythic interpretation. It is not of course suggested that the Glenn Masain version is ancient as it stands: there are indeed enough obvious allusions in the text to comparatively late works to negative such a supposition, independently of linguistic evidence, but it does look as if the author of the eleventh century text had a super natural tale to work upon, some of whose incidents are preserved in the Glenn Masain version, and that he succeeded in making out of the traditional account a story that practically contains no supernatural element at all, so that it requires a knowledge of the other version to discover the slight trace of the supernatural that he did keep, viz. the feeding of the army of Ireland by the herd (not the cow) of Flidais. It is possible that the common origin of the two versions is preserved for us in another place, the Coir Annam, which, though it as it stands is a Middle Irish work, probably keeps ancient tradition better than the more finished romances. In this we find, following Stokes' translation, given in Irische Texte, III. P. 295, the following entries:-- "Adammair Flidaise Foltchain, that is Flidais the Queen, one of the tribe of the god-folk (the Tuatha de Danaan), she was wife of Adammair, the son of Fer Cuirp, and from her cometh the name Buar Flidaise, the Cattle of Flidais. "Nia Segamain, that is seg (deer) are a main (his treasure), for in his time cows and does were milked in the same way every day, so that he had great wealth in these things beyond that of all other kings. The Flidais spoken of above was the mother of Nia Segamain, Adammair's son, for two kinds of cattle, cows and does, were milked in the days of Nia Segamain, and by his mother was that fairy power given to him." It seems, then, not impossible that the original legend was much as stated in the Coir Annam, viz. that Flidais was a supernatural being, milking wild deer like cows, and that she was taken into the Ulster Cycle and made part of the tale of Fergus. This adoption was done by an author who made a text which may be regarded as the common original of the two versions; in his tale the supernatural character of Flidais was retained. The author of the L.U. version cut out the supernatural part, and perhaps the original embassy of Bricriu; it may, however, be noted that the opening of the older version comes from the L.L. text, which is throughout shorter than that in L.U., and the lost opening of L.U. may have been fuller. The author of the Glenn Masain version kept nearer to the old story, adding, however, more modern touches. Where the new character of Bricriu comes from is a moot point; I incline to the belief that the idea of Bricriu as a mere buffoon is a later development. But in neither version is the story, as we have it, a pre-Christian one. The original pre-Christian idea of Flidais was, as in the Coir Annam, that of a being outside the Ulster Cycle altogether. THE DRIVING OF THE CATTLE OF FLIDAIS FROM THE LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRI (ELEVENTH-CENTURY MS.), THE BEGINNING AND A FEW ADDITIONS FROM THE BOOK OF LEINSTER (TWELFTH CENTURY) A land in West Roscommon, as Kerry known of old, Was ruled by Ailill Fair-haired; of him a tale is told: How Flidais,[FN#80] Ailill's[FN#81] consort, each week, and near its end, To Ro's great son, to Fergus, her herald still would send; 'Twas Fergus' love she sought for; the deeds by Fergus done, In glorious tales recited, had Flidais' fancy won. [FN#80] Pronounced Flid-das. [FN#81] Pronounced Al-ill. When Fergus fled from Ulster, and Connaught's land he sought, To Ailill, king of Connaught, this tale of love he brought: "Now give me rede," said Fergus, "how best we here should act, That Connaught's fame and honour by none may stand attacked; Say, how can I approach them, and strip thy kingdom bare, And yet the fame of Ailill, that country's monarch, spare?" "'Tis hard indeed to teach thee," cried Ailill, sore perplexed; "Let Maev come nigh with counsel what course to follow next!" "Send thou to Ailill Fair-haired to ask for aid!" said Maev, "He well may meet a herald, who comes his help to crave Let Fergus go to crave it: no harm can there be seen; And better gifts from Ailill shall Fergus win, I ween!" So forth to Ailill Fair-haired went Fergus, son of Ro; And thirty, Dubhtach[FN#82] leading, he chose with him to go; And yet another Fergus his aid to Fergus brought; Mac Oonlama[FN#83] men called him; his sire one-handed fought. [FN#82] Pronounced Doov-ta. [FN#83] Spelt Mac Oenlama, son of the one-handed one. Beside the Ford of Fenna, in Kerry's north they came, They neared the hold, and from it rang welcome's loud acclaim: "What quest," said Ailill Fair-haired, "hath brought these warriors here?" "Of Ailill, son of Magach, we stand," they said, "in fear; A feud we hold against him; with thee would fain abide!" "For each of these," said Ailill, "who Fergus march beside, If they were foes to Connaught, for long they here might stay, And ne'er till peace was granted, I'd drive these men away: For Fergus, naught I grant him a tale of him men tell That Fergus 'tis whom Flidais, my wife, doth love too well!" "It is kine that I ask for," said Fergus, "and hard is the task on me set: For the men who have marched here beside me, the means to win life I must get." "I will give no such present," said Ailill," thou comest not here as my guest: Men will say, 'twas from fear that I gave it, lest my wife from my arms thou should'st wrest: Yet an ox of my herds, and some bacon, if thou wilt, shall my hand to thee give; That the men who have marched here beside thee on that meat may be stayed, and may live!" "I eat no bread thus thrown me!" fierce Fergus straight replied: "I asked a gift of honour; that gift thine hand denied." "Avoid my house," said Ailill in wrath, "now get thee hence! "We go indeed," said Fergus; "no siege we now commence: Yet here," he cried, "for duel beside yon ford I wait, If thou canst find a champion to meet me at thy gate." Then up and answered Ailill: "'Tis mine this strife must be And none shall hurt mine honour, or take this task from me: None hold me back from battle!"--the ford for fight he sought: "Now Dubhtach, say," said Fergus, "to whom this war is brought! Or thou or I must meet him." And Dubhtach said, "I go; For I am younger, Fergus, and bolder far with foe." To the ford for the battle with Ailill he hies, And he thrust at him fiercely, and pierced through his thighs; But a javelin by Ailill at Dubhtach was cast, And right through his body the shaft of it passed: And a shield over Dubhtach, laid low in the dust, Spread Fergus; and Ailill his spear at him thrust; And through Fergus' shield had the spear made its way, When Fergus Mae Oonlama joined in the fray, And his shield he uplifted, his namesake to guard; But at Fergus Mac Oonlama Ailill thrust hard, And he brake through the fence of Mac Oonlama's shield; And he leaped in his pain; as they lay on the field, On his comrades he fell: Flidais forth to them flew, And her cloak on the warriors to shield them she threw. Then against all the comrades of Fergus turned Ailill the Fair-haired to fight, And he chased them away from his castle, and slew as they scattered in flight; A twenty he reached, and he slew them: they fell, on that field to remain; And but seven there were of that thirty who fled, and their safety could gain: They came to the palace of Croghan, they entered the gates of that hold, And to Maev and to Ailill of Connaught the tale of the slaughter they told. Then roused himself King Ailill, of Connaught's land the king, With Maev to march to battle, their aid to friends to bring: And forth from Connaught's kingdom went many a lord of worth, Beside them marched the exiles who gat from Ulster birth: So forward went that army, and reached to Kerry's land, And near the Ford of Fenna they came, and there made stand. While this was done, the wounded three Within the hold lay still, And Flidais cared for all, for she To heal their wounds had skill. To Ailill Fair-Haired's castle the Connaught host was led, And toward the foeman's ramparts the Connaught herald sped; He called on Ailill Fair-haired to come without the gate, And there to meet King Ailill, and with him hold debate. "I come to no such meeting," the angry chief replied; "Yon man is far too haughty: too grossly swells his pride!" Yet 'twas peaceful meeting, So the old men say, Ailill willed; whose greeting Heralds bore that day. Fergus, ere he perished, First he sought to aid He that thought who cherished Friendship's claims obeyed: Then his foe he vainly Hoped in truce to bind: Peace, 'tis said, was plainly Dear to Connaught's mind! The wounded men, on litters laid, Without the walls they bore To friendly hands, with skill to aid, And fainting health restore. At the castle of Ailill the Fair-Haired the Connaught-men rushed in attack, And to win it they failed: from his ramparts in defeat were his foes driven back: For long in that contest they struggled, yet naught in the fight they prevailed - For a week were the walls of the castle of Ailill the Fair-Haired assailed, Seven score of the nobles of Connaught, and all of them warriors of might, For the castle of Ailill contended, and fell as they strove in the fight. "'Tis sure that with omen of evil this castle was sought by our folk!" Thus Bricroo,[FN#84] the Poisonous Scoffer, in mockery, jeering them, spoke: "The taunt," answered Ailill Mae Mata, "is true, and with grief I confess That the fame of the heroes of Ulster hereafter is like to be less, For a three of the Ulstermen's champions in stress of the fight have been quelled; And the vengeance we wait for from Ulster hath long been by Ulster withheld; As a pillar of warfare each hero, 'twas claimed, could a battle sustain; Yet by none of the three in this battle hath a foeman been conquered, or slain! In the future for all of these champions shall scorn and much mocking befall: One man hath come forth from yon castle; alone he hath wounded them all-- Such disgrace for such heroes of valour no times that are past ever saw, For three lords of the battle lie conquered by mannikins, fashioned of straw!" [FN#84] Spelt Bricriu. The usual epithet of Bricriu, "Bricriu of the Poison Tongue," is indicated in the verse rendering. "Ah! woe is me," said Bricroo, "how long, thus stretched on ground, The length of Father Fergus hath here by all been found! But one he sought to conquer; a single fight essayed, And here he met his victor, and low on land is laid." Then rose the men of Ulster a hardy war to wage, And forward rushed, though naked, in strong and stubborn rage: Against the castle gateway in wrathful might they dashed, And down the shattered portal within the castle crashed. Then close by Ulster's champions was Connaught's battle formed; And Connaught's troops with Ulster by might the castle stormed; But fitly framed for battle were men whom there they met, Wild war, where none showed pity between the hosts was set: And well they struck; each hero commenced with mighty blows To crush and slay, destruction was heaped by foe on foes. Of the wounding at length and the slaughter all weary the champions had grown, And the men who the castle of Ailill had held were at length over thrown: Of those who were found in that castle, and its walls had defended so well, Seven hundred by warriors of Ulster were smitten to death, and they fell: And there in his castle fell Ailill the Fair-haired, and fighting he died, And a thirty of sons stood about him, and all met their death by his side. The chief of those who perished, by Ailill's side who stood Within his hold, were Noodoo;[FN#85] and Awley[FN#86] named the Good; And Feeho[FN#87] called the Broad-backed; and Corpre Cromm the Bent; An Ailill, he from Breffny to help of Ailill went; A three whose name was Angus-fierce was each warrior's face; Three Eochaid, sea-girt Donnan[FN#88] had cradled erst their race; And there fell seven Breslen, from plains of Ay[FN#89] who came; And fifty fell beside them who all had Donnell's name. [FN#85] Spelt Nuado. [FN#86] Spelt Amalgaid. [FN#87] Spelt Fiacho. [FN#88] Irross Donnan, the promontory of Donnan (now Mayo). [FN#89] Mag Ai, a plain in Roscommon. For to Ailill the Fair-Haired for warfare had marched all the Gamanra[FN#90] clan, And his friends from the sea-girded Donnan had sent to his aid every man; All these had with Ailill been leaguered, their help to him freely they brought, And that aid from them Ailill. took gladly, he knew that his hold would be sought; He knew that the exiles of Ulster his captives from prison would save, And would come, their surrender demanding; that Ailill mac Mata and Maev Would bring all Connaught's troops to the rescue: for Fergus that aid they would lend, And Fergus the succour of Connaught could claim, and with right, as a friend. [FN#90] Spelt Gamanrad. Hero clans in Erin three of old were found; One in Irross Donnan, oceans Donnan bound, Thence came Clan Gamanra; Deda's warlike clan Nursed in Tara Loochra[FN#91] many a fighting man. Deda sprang from Munster; far in Ulster's north Oft from Emain Macha Rury's[FN#92] clan went forth: Vainly all with Rury strove to fight, the twain Rury's clan hath vanquished; Rury all hath slain! [FN#91] Temair Luachra, an ancient palace near Abbeyfeale, on the borders of the counties of Limerick and Kerry. "Tara," as is well known, is a corruption of Temair, but is now established. [FN#92] Spelt Rudraige. Then rose up the warriors of Ulster, the hold they had conquered to sack; And the folk of Queen Maev and King Ailill followed close on the Ulstermen's track: And they took with them captives; for Flidais away from her castle they tore; And the women who dwelt in the castle away to captivity bore: And all things therein that were precious they seized on as booty; the gold And the silver they seized, and the treasures amassed by the men of that hold: The horns, and the goblets for drinking, the vats for the ale, and the keys, The gay robes with all hues that were glowing lay there for the raiders to seize: And much cattle they took; in that castle were one hundred of milk giving kine; And beside them a seven score oxen; three thousand of sheep and of swine. Then Flidais went with Fergus, his wedded wife to be; For thus had Maev and Ailill pronounced their high decree: They bade that when from Cualgne to drive the kine they went, From those who then were wedded should aid for war be sent. And thus it fell thereafter: when Ireland went that Raid, By milk from cows of Flidais, the lives of all were stayed; Each seventh day she sent it; and thus fulfilled her vows, And thus the tale is ended, men tell of Flidais' Cows. Then, all that Raid accomplished, with Fergus Flidais dwell And he of Ulster's kingdom a part in lordship held: He ruled in Mag I Murthemne[FN#92], yea, more than that, he won The land where once was ruler Cuchulain, Sualtam's son: And by the shore of Bali thereafter Flidais died, And naught of good for Fergus did Flidais' death betide: For worse was all his household; if Fergus aught desired, From Flidais' wealth and bounty came all his soul required. In the days that followed, when his wife was dead, Fergus went to Connaught; there his blood was shed: There with Maev and Ailill he a while would stay; Men had made a story, he would learn the lay! There he went to cheer him, hearing converse fair: Kine beside were promised; home he these would bear: So he went to Croghan, 'twas a deadly quest, There he found his slaughter, death within the west: Slain by jealous Ailill, Fergus low was laid: Flidais' tale is ended: now comes Cualgne's Raid! [FN#92] Pronounced Maw Moortemmy THE DRIVING OF THE CATTLE OF FLIDAIS LITERAL TRANSLATION Flidais was the wife of Ailill Finn (the Fair-haired) in the district of Kerry.[FN#93] She loved Fergus the son of Rog on account of the glorious tales about him; and always there went messengers from her to him at the end of each week. [FN#93] Kerry is the district now called Castlereagh, in the west of the present county of Roscommon. So, when he came to Connaught, he brought this matter before[FN#94] Ailill: "What[FN#95] shall I do next in this matter?" said Fergus: "it is hard for me to lay bare your land, without there being loss to thee of honour and renown therewith." "Yes, what shall we do next in the matter?" said Ailill; "we will consider this in counsel with Maev." "Let one of us go to Ailill Finn," (said Maev), "that he may help us, and as this involves a meeting of some one with him, there is no reason why it should not be thyself who goest to him: the gift will be all the better for that!" [FN#94] i.e. Ailill of Connaught. [FN#95] This sentence to the end is taken from the Egerton version, which seems the clearer; the Book of Leinster gives: "What shall I do next, that there be no loss of honour or renown to thee in the matter?" Then Fergus set out thereon, in number thirty men; the two Ferguses (i.e. Fergus mac Rog, and Fergus mac Oen-lama) and Dubhtach; till they were at the Ford of Fenna in the north of the land of Kerry. They go to the burg, and welcome is brought to them.[FN#96] "What brings you here?" said Ailill Finn. "We had the intention of staying with you on a visit, for we have a quarrel with Ailill the son of Magach." [FN#96] The Book of the Dun Cow (Leabhar na h-Uidhri) version begins at this point. "If it were one of thy people who had the quarrel, he should stay with me until he had made his peace. But thou shalt not stay," said Ailill Finn, "it has been told me that my wife loves thee!" "We must have a gift of cows then," said Fergus, "for a great need lies on us, even the sustenance of the troop who have gone with me into exile." "Thou shalt carry off no such present from me," he said, "because thou art not remaining with me on a visit. Men will say that it is to keep my wife that I gave thee what thou hast required. I[FN#97] will give to your company one ox and some bacon to help them, if such is your pleasure." "I will eat not thy bread although offered (lit. however)," said Fergus, "because I can get no present of honour from thee!" [FN#97] L.L. and Egerton make the end of this speech part of the story: "There was given to them one ox with bacon, with as much as they wished of beer, as a feast for them." "Out of my house with you all, then!" said Ailill. "That shall be," said Fergus; "we shall not begin to lay siege to thee and they betake themselves outside. "Let a man come at once to fight me beside a ford at the gate of this castle!" said Fergus. "That[FN#98] will not for the sake of my honour be refused," said Ailill; "I will not hand it (the strife) over to another: I will go myself," said he. He went to a ford against him. "Which of us," said Fergus, "O Dubhtach, shall encounter this man?" "I will go," said Dubhtach; "I am younger and keener than thou art!" Dubhtach went against Ailill. Dubhtach thrust a spear through Ailill so that it went through his two thighs. He (Ailill) hurled a javelin at Dubhtach, so that he drove the spear right through him, (so that it came out) on the other side. [FN#98] The end of the speech is from L.L.: the L.U. text gives the whole speech thus: "For my honour's sake, I could not draw back in this matter." Fergus threw his shield over Dubhtach. The former (Ailill) thrust his spear at the shield of Fergus so that he even drove the shaft right through it. Fergus mac Oen-laimi comes by. Fergus mac Oen-laimi holds a shield in front of him (the other Fergus). Ailill struck his spear upon this so that it was forced right through it. He leaped so that he lay there on the top of his companions. Flidais comes by from the castle, and throws her cloak over the three. Fergus' people took to flight; Ailill pursues them. There remain (slain) by him twenty men of them. Seven of them escape to Cruachan Ai, and tell there the whole story to Ailill and Medb. Then Ailill and Medb arise, and the nobles of Connaught and the exiles from Ulster: they march into the district of Kerry Ai with their troops as far as: the Ford of Fenna. Meanwhile the wounded men were being cared for by Flidais in the castle, and their healing was undertaken by her. Then the troops come to the castle. Ailill Finn is summoned to Ailill mac Mata to come to a conference with him outside the castle. "I will not go," he said; "the pride and arrogance of that man there is great." It was,[FN#99] however, for a peaceful meeting that Ailill mac Mata had come to Ailill the Fair-haired, both that he might save Fergus, as it was right he should, and that he might afterwards make peace with him (Ailill Fair haired), according to the will of the lords of Connaught. [FN#99] This passage is sometimes considered to be an interpolation by a scribe or narrator whose sympathies were with Connaught. The passage does not occur in the Book of Leinster, nor in the Egerton MS. Then the wounded men were brought out of the castle, on hand-barrows, that they might be cared for by their own people. Then the men attack him (Ailill Finn): while they are storming the castle, and they could get no hold on him, a full week long went it thus with them. Seven times twenty heroes from among the nobles of Connaught fell during the time that they (endeavoured) to storm the castle of Ailill the Fair-haired. "It was with no good omen that with which you went to this castle," said Bricriu. "True indeed is the word that is spoken," said Ailill mac Mata. "The expedition is bad for the honour of the Ulstermen, in that their three heroes fall, and they take not vengeance for them. Each one (of the three) was a pillar of war, yet not a single man has fallen at the hands of one of the three! Truly these heroes are great to be under such wisps of straw as axe the men of this castle! Most worthy is it of scorn that one man has wounded you three!" "O woe is me," said Bricriu, "long is the length upon the ground of my Papa Fergus, since one man in single combat laid him low!" Then the champions of Ulster arise, naked as they were, and make a strong and obstinate attack in their rage and in the might of their violence, so that they forced in the outer gateway till it was in the midst of the castle, and the men of Connaught go beside them. They storm the castle with great might against the valiant warriors who were there. A wild pitiless battle is fought between them, and each man begins to strike out against the other, and to destroy him. Then, after they had wearied of wounding and overcoming one another, the people of the castle were overthrown, and the Ulstermen slay seven hundred warriors there in the castle with Ailill the Fair-Haired and thirty of his sons; and Amalgaid the Good;[FN#100] and Nuado; and Fiacho Muinmethan (Fiacho the Broad-backed); and Corpre Cromm (the Bent or Crooked); and Ailill from Brefne; and the three Oengus Bodbgnai (the Faces of Danger); and the three Eochaid of Irross (i.e. Irross Donnan); and the seven Breslene from Ai; and the fifty Domnall. [FN#100] "The Good" is in the Book of Leinster and the Egerton text, not in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri: the two later texts omit Nuado. For the assembly of the Gamanrad were with Ailill, and each of the men of Domnan who had bidden himself to come to him to aid him: they were in the same place assembled in his castle; for he knew that the exiles from Ulster and Ailill and Medb with their army would come to him to demand the surrender of Fergus, for Fergus was under their protection. This was the third race of heroes in Ireland, namely the Clan Gamanrad of Irross Donnan (the peninsula of Donnan), and (the other two were) the Clan Dedad in Temair Lochra, and the Clan Rudraige in Emain Macha. But both the other clans were destroyed by the Clan Rudraige. But the men of Ulster arise, and with them the people of Medb and of Ailill; and they laid waste the castle, and take Flidais out of the castle with them, and carry off the women of the castle into captivity; and they take with them all the costly things and the treasures that were there, gold and silver, and horns, and drinking cups, and keys, and vats; and they take what there was of garments of every colour, and they take what there was of kine, even a hundred milch-cows, and a hundred and forty oxen, and thirty hundred of little cattle. And after these things had been done, Flidais went to Fergus mac Rog according to the decree of Ailill and Medb, that they might thence have sustenance (lit. that their sustenance might be) on the occasion of the Raid of the Cows of Cualgne. As[FN#101] a result of this, Flidais was accustomed each seventh day from the produce of her cows to support the men of Ireland, in order that during the Raid she might provide them with the means of life. This then was the Herd of Flidais. [FN#101] L.L. and Egerton give "For him used every seventh day," &c. In consequence[FN#102] of all this Flidais went with Fergus to his home, and he received the lordship of a part of Ulster, even Mag Murthemni (the plain of Murthemne), together with that which had been in the hands of Cuchulain, the son of Sualtam. So Flidais died after some time at Trag Bàli (the shore of Bali), and the state of Fergus' household was none the better for that. For she used to supply all Fergus' needs whatsoever they might be (lit. she used to provide for Fergus every outfit that he desired for himself). Fergus died after some time in the land of Connaught, after the death of his wife, after he had gone there to obtain knowledge of a story. For, in order to cheer himself, and to fetch home a grant of cows from Ailill and Medb, he had gone westwards to Cruachan, so that it was in consequence of this journey that he found his death in the west, through the jealousy of Ailill. [FN#102] L.L. and Egerton give "thereafter," adopted in verse translation. This, then, is the story of the Tain bo Flidais; it[FN#103] is among the preludes of the Tain bo Cualnge. [FN#103] This sentence does not occur in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri. It is given as in the Egerton version: the Book of Leinster gives "it is among the preludes of the Tain." THE APPARITION OF THE GREAT QUEEN TO CUCHULAIN (TAIN BO REGAMNA) INTRODUCTION This tale is given by the same two manuscripts that give the Tain bo Dartada and the Tain bo Regamon; namely the Yellow Book of Lecan, and Egerton 1782. The text of both is given by Windisch, Irische Texte, II. pp. 239-254; he gives a translation of the version in the Yellow Book, with a few insertions from the Egerton MS., where the version in Y.B.L. is apparently corrupt: Miss Hull gives an English translation of Windisch's rendering, in the Cuchullin Saga, pages 103 to 107. The prose version given here is a little closer to the Irish than Miss Hull's, and differs very little from that of Windisch. The song sung by the Morrigan to Cuchulain is given in the Irish of both versions by Windisch; he gives no rendering, as it is difficult and corrupt: I can make nothing of it, except that it is a jeering account of the War of Cualgne. The title Tain bo Regamna is not connected with anything in the tale, as given; Windisch conjectures "Tain bo Morrigna," the Driving of the Cow of the Great Queen (Morrigan); as the woman is called at the end of the Egerton version. The Morrigan, one of the three goddesses of war, was the chief of them: they were Morrigan, Badb, and Macha. She is also the wife of the Dagda, the chief god of the pagan Irish. The Yellow Book version calls her Badb in this tale, but the account in the Tain bo Cualnge (Leabhar na h-Uidhri facsimile, pp. 74 and 77), where the prophecies are fulfilled, agrees with the Egerton version in calling the woman of this tale the Morrigan or the Great Queen. THE APPARITION OF THE GREAT QUEEN TO CUCHULAIN (ALSO CALLED "TAIN BO REGAMNA") FROM THE YELLOW BOOK OF LECAN (FOURTEENTH CENTURY) AT Dun Imrid lay Cuchulain,[FN#104] and slept, when a cry rang out; And in fear he heard from the north-land come ringing that terrible shout: He fell, as he woke from his slumber, with the thud of a weight, to the ground, From his couch on that side of the castle that the rising sun first found. He left his arms in the castle, as the lawns round its walls he sought, But his wife, who followed behind him, apparel and arms to him brought: Then he saw his harnessed chariot, and Laeg,[FN#105] his charioteer, From Ferta Laig who drave it: from the north the car drew near: "What bringeth thee here?" said Cuchulain: said Laeg, "By a cry I was stirred, That across the plain came sounding." "And whence was the cry thou hast heard?" "From the north-west quarter it travelled, it crossed the great Cayll[FN#106] Cooen road!" "Follow on, on that track," said Cuchulain, "till we know what that clamour may bode!" [FN#104] Pronounced Cu-hoolin. [FN#105] Pronounced Layg. [FN#106] Spelt Caill Cuan. At the ford of the Double Wonder, at Ah[FN#107] Fayrta, the car made stand For a chariot rattled toward them, from the clay-soiled Coolgarry[FN#108] land And before them came that chariot; and strange was the sight they saw: For a one-legged chestnut charger was harnessed the car to draw; And right through the horse's body the pole of the car had passed, To a halter across his forehead was the pole with a wedge made fast: A red woman sat in the chariot, bright red were her eyebrows twain A crimson cloak was round her: the folds of it touched the plain: Two poles were behind her chariot: between them her mantle flowed; And close by the side of that woman a mighty giant strode; On his back was a staff of hazel, two-forked, and the garb he wore Was red, and a cow he goaded, that shambled on before. [FN#107] Spelt Ath Ferta, or more fully Ath da Ferta, the ford of the two marvels. [FN#108] Spelt Culgaire. To that woman and man cried Cuchulain, "Ye who drive that cow do wrong, For against her will do ye drive her!" "Not to thee doth that cow belong," Said the woman; "no byre of thy comrades or thy friends hath that cow yet barred." "The kine of the land of Ulster," said Cuchulain, "are mine to guard!" "Dost thou sit on the seat of judgment?" said the dame, "and a sage decree On this cow would'st thou give, Cuchulain?--too great is that task for thee!" Said the hero, "Why speaketh this woman? hath the man with her never a word?" "'Twas not him you addressed," was her answer, "when first your reproaches we heard." "Nay, to him did I speak," said Cuchulain, "though 'tis thou to reply who would'st claim!" 'Ooer-gay-skyeo-loo-ehar-skyeo[FN#109] is the name that he bears," said the dame. [FN#109] Spelt Uar-gaeth-sceo-luachair-sceo "'Tis a marvellous name!" said Cuchulain, "if from thee all my answer must come, Let it be as thou wishest; thy comrade, this man, as it seemeth, is dumb. Tell me now of thine own name, O woman." "Faebor-bayg-byeo-ill,"[FN#110] said the man. "Coom-diewr-folt-skayv-garry-skyeo-ooa is her name, if pronounce it you can!" Then Cuchulain sprang at the chariot: "Would ye make me a fool with your jest?" He cried, as he leapt at the woman; his feet on her shoulders he pressed, And he set on her head his spear-point: "Now cease from thy sharp weapon-play!" Cried the woman. Cuchulain made answer: Thy name to me truth fully say!" "Then remove thyself from me!" she answered: I am skilled in satirical spells; The man is called Darry I mac Feena[FN#111]: in the country of Cualgne[FN#112] he dwells; I of late made a marvellous poem; and as fee for the poem this cow Do I drive to my home." "Let its verses," said Cuchulain," be sung to me now!" "Then away from me stand!" said the woman: "though above me thou shakest thy spear, It will naught avail thee to move me." Then he left her, but lingered near, Between the poles of her chariot: the woman her song then sang; And the song was a song of insult. Again at the car he sprang, But nothing he found before him: as soon as the car he had neared, The woman, the horse, and the chariot, the cow, and the man disappeared. [FN#110] Spelt Faebor-begbeoil-cuimdiuir-folt-seenb-gairit-sceo-uath. [FN#111] Spelt Daire mac Fiachna: he is the owner of the Dun of Cualgne in the Great Tain. [FN#112] Pronounced Kell-ny. At a bird on a bough, as they vanished, a glance by Cuchulain was cast, And he knew to that bird's black body the shape of the woman had passed: As a woman of danger I know you," he cried, "and as powerful in spell!" From to-day and for ever," she chanted, "this tale in yon clay-land shall dwell!" And her word was accomplished; that region to-day is the Grella Dolloo,[FN#113] The Clay-land of Evil: its name from the deeds of that woman it drew. [FN#113] Spelt Grellach Dolluid. "Had I known it was you," said Cuchulain, "not thus had you passed from my sight!" And she sang, "For thy deed it is fated that evil shall soon be thy plight!" Thou canst. do naught against me," he answered. "Yea, evil in sooth can I send; Of thy Bringer of Death I am guardian, shall guard it till cometh thine end: From the Under-world Country of Croghan this cow have I driven, to breed By the Dun Bull of Darry[FN#114] Mae Feena, the Bull that in Cualgne doth feed. So long as her calf be a yearling, for that time thy life shall endure; But, that then shall the Raid have beginning, the dread Raid of Cualgne, be sure." [FN#114] Spelt Daire mac Fiachna. "Nay, clearer my fame shall be ringing," the hero replied," for the Raid: All bards, who my deeds shall be singing, must tell of the stand that I made, Each warrior in fight shall be stricken, who dares with my valour to strive: Thou shalt see me, though battle-fields thicken, from the Tain Bo returning alive!" "How canst thou that strife be surviving?" the woman replied to his song, "For, when thou with a hero art striving, as fearful as thou, and as strong, Who like thee in his wars is victorious, who all of thy feats can perform, As brave, and as great, and as glorious, as tireless as thou in a storm, Then, in shape of an eel round thee coiling, thy feet at the Ford I will bind, And thou, in such contest when toiling, a battle unequal shalt find." "By my god now I swear, by the token that Ulstermen swear by," he cried; "On a green stone by me shall be broken that eel, to the Ford if it glide: From woe it shall ne'er be escaping, till it loose me, and pass on its way!" And she said: "As a wolf myself shaping, I will spring on thee, eager to slay, I will tear thee; the flesh shall be rended from thy chest by the wolf's savage bite, Till a strip be torn from thee, extended from the arm on thy left to thy right! With blows that my spear-shaft shall deal thee," he said, "I will force thee to fly Till thou quit me; my skill shall not heal thee, though bursts from thy head either eye!" I will come then," she cried, "as a heifer, white-skinned, but with ears that are red, At what time thou in fight shalt endeavour the blood of a hero to shed, Whose skill is full match for thy cunning; by the ford in a lake I will be, And a hundred white cows shall come running, with red ears, in like fashion to me: As the hooves of the cows on thee trample, thou shalt test 'truth of men in the fight': And the proof thou shalt have shall be ample, for from thee thy head they shall smite!" Said Cuchulain: "Aside from thee springing, a stone for a cast will I take, And that stone at thee furiously slinging, thy right or thy left leg will break: Till thou quit me, no help will I grant thee." Morreegan,[FN#115] the great Battle Queen, With her cow to Rath Croghan departed, and no more by Cuchulain was seen. For she went to her Under-World Country: Cuchulain returned to his place. The tale of the Great Raid of Cualgne this lay, as a prelude, may grace. [FN#115] Spelt Morrigan. THE APPARITION OF THE GREAT QUEEN TO CUCHULAIN LITERAL TRANSLATION When Cuchulain lay in his sleep at Dun Imrid, there he heard a cry from the north; it came straight towards him; the cry was dire, and most terrifying to him. And he awaked in the midst of his sleep, so that he fell, with the fall of a heavy load, out of his couch,[FN#116] to the ground on the eastern side of his house. He went out thereupon without his weapons, so that he was on the lawns before his house, but his wife brought out, as she followed behind him, his arms and his clothing. Then he saw Laeg in his harnessed chariot, coming from Ferta Laig, from the north; and "What brings thee here?" said Cuchulain. "A cry," said Laeg, "that I heard sounding over the plains. "On what side was it?" said Cuchulain. "From the north-west it seemed," said Laeg, "that is, across the great road of Caill Cuan."[FN#117] "Let us follow after to know of it (lit. after it, to it for us)," said Cuchulain. [FN#116] Or "out of his room." The word is imda, sometimes rendered "bed," as here by Windisch sometimes also "room," as in the Bruidne da Derga by Whitley Stokes. [FN#117] Lough Cuan was the old name for Strangford Lough. They went out thereupon till they came to Ath da Ferta. When they were there, straightway they heard the rattle of a chariot from the quarter of the loamy district of Culgaire. Then they saw the chariot come before them, and one chestnut (lit. red) horse in it. The horse was one footed, and the pole of the chariot passed through the body of the horse, till a wedge went through it, to make it fast on its forehead. A red[FN#118] woman was in the chariot, and a red mantle about her, she had two red eye-brows, and the mantle fell between the two ferta[FN#119] of her chariot behind till it struck upon the ground behind her. A great man was beside her chariot, a red[FN#120] cloak was upon him, and a forked staff of hazel at his back, he drove a cow in front of him. [FN#118] The above is the Egerton text: the text of Y.B.L. gives "A red woman there, with her two eyebrows red, and her cloak and her raiment: the cloak fell," &c. [FN#119] It is not known certainly what the ferta were: Windisch translates "wheels," but does not give this meaning in his Dictionary: the ferta were behind the car, and could be removed to sound the depth of a ford. It is suggested that they were poles, projecting behind to balance the chariot; and perhaps could be adjusted so as to project less or farther. [FN#120] This is the Egerton text; the Y.B.L. text gives "a tunic forptha on him the meaning of forptha is unknown. "That cow is not joyful at being driven by you!" said Cuchulain. "The cow does not belong to you," said the woman, "she is not the cow of any friend or acquaintance of yours." "The cows of Ulster," said Cuchulain, "are my proper (care)." "Dost thou give a decision about the cow?" said the woman; "the task is too great to which thy hand is set, O Cuchulain." "Why is it the woman who answers me?" said Cuchulain, "why was it not the man?" "It was not the man whom you addressed," said the woman. "Ay," said Cuchulain, "(I did address him), though thyself hath answered for him:" "h-Uar-gaeth-sceo-luachair-sceo[FN#121] is his name," said she. [FN#121] Cold-wind-and-much-rushes. "Alas! his name is a wondrous one," said Cuchulain. "Let it be thyself who answers,[FN#122] since the man answers not. What is thine own name?" said Cuchulain. "The woman to whom thou speakest," said the man, "is Faebor-begbeoil-cuimdiuir-folt-scenbgairit-sceo-uath."[FN#123] "Do ye make a fool of me?" cried Cuchulain, and on that Cuchulain sprang into her chariot: he set his two feet on her two shoulders thereupon, and his spear on the top of her head. "Play not sharp weapons on me!" "Name thyself then by thy true name!" said Cuchulain. "Depart then from me!" said she: "I am a female satirist in truth," she said, "and he is Daire mac Fiachna from Cualnge: I have brought the cow as fee for a master-poem." "Let me hear the poem then," said Cuchulain. "Only remove thyself from me," said the woman; "it is none[FN#124] the better for thee that thou shakest it over my head." Thereon he left her until he was between the two poles (ferta) of her chariot, and she sang to him[FN#125] . . . . . . Cuchulain threw a spring at her chariot, and he saw not the horse, nor the woman, nor the chariot, nor the man, nor the cow. [FN#122] Y.B.L. corrupt; Egerton version adopted here. [FN#123] Little-mouthed-edge-equally-small-hair-short-splinter-much-clamour. [FN#124] Not is it better for thee that" is in Egerton alone. [FN#125] See the introduction for the omission of the poem. Then he saw that she had become a black bird upon a branch near to him. "A dangerous[FN#126] (or magical) woman thou art," said Cuchulain: "Henceforward," said the woman, "this clay-land shall be called dolluid (of evil,)" and it has been the Grellach Dolluid ever since. "If only I had known it was you," said Cuchulain, "not thus should we have separated." "What thou hast done," said she, "shall be evil to thee from it." "Thou hast no power against me," said Cuchulain. "I have power indeed," said the woman; "it is at the guarding of thy death that I am; and I shall be," said she. "I brought this cow out of the fairy-mound of Cruachan, that she might breed by the Black Bull[FN#127] of Cualnge, that is the Bull of Daire Mae Fiachna. It is up to that time that thou art in life, so long as the calf which is in this cow's body is a yearling; and it is this that shall lead to the Tain bo Cualnge." "I shall myself be all the more glorious for that Tain," said Cuchulain: "I shall slay their warriors: I shall break their great hosts: I shall be survivor of the Tain." [FN#126] Windisch is doubtful about the meaning of this word. He gives it as "dangerous" in his translation; it may also mean "magical," though he thinks not. In a note he says that the meaning "dangerous" is not certain. [FN#127] In Egerton "the Dun of Cualnge." "In what way canst thou do this?" said the woman, "for when thou art in combat against a man of equal strength (to thee), equally rich in victories, thine equal in feats, equally fierce, equally untiring, equally noble, equally brave, equally great with thee, I will be an eel, and I will draw a noose about thy feet in the ford, so that it will be a great unequal war for thee." "I swear to the god that the Ulstermen swear by," said Cuchulain, "I will break thee against a green stone of the ford; and thou shalt have no healing from me, if thou leavest me not." "I will in truth be a grey wolf against thee," said she, "and I will strip a stripe[FN#128] from thee, from thy right (hand) till it extends to thy left." [FN#128] This word is left doubtful in Windisch's translation. The word is breth in Y.B.L. and breit in Egerton. Breit may be a strip of woollen material, or a strip of land; so the meaning of a strip of flesh seems possible. "I will beat thee from me," said he, "with the spear, till thy left or thy right eye bursts from thy head, and thou shalt never have healing from me, if thou leavest me not." "I shall in truth," she said, "be for thee as a white heifer with red ears, and I will go into a lake near to the ford in which thou art in combat against a man who is thine equal in feats, and one hundred white, red-eared cows shall be behind me and 'truth of men' shall on that day be tested; and they shall take thy head from thee." "I will cast at thee with a cast of my sling," said Cuchulain, "so as to break either thy left or thy right leg from under thee; and thou shalt have no help from me if thou leavest me not." They[FN#129] separated, and Cuchulain went back again to Dun Imrid, and the Morrigan with her cow to the fairy mound of Cruachan; so that this tale is a prelude to the Tain bo Cualnge. [FN#129] All this sentence up to "so that this tale" is from the Egerton version. The Yellow Book of Lecan gives "The Badb thereon went from him, and Cuchulain went to his own house, so that," &c. TEXT OF LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRI GIVING THE CONCLUSION OF THE "COURTSHIP OF ETAIN" INTRODUCTION The following pages give, with an interlinear word for word[FN#130] translation, the text of Leabhar na h-Uidhri, page 130 b. line 19 to the end of page 132 a. of the facsimile. The text corresponds to the end of the tale of the Court ship of Etain in vol. i., from page 27, line 21, to the end of the story; it also contains the poem which is in that volume placed on page 26, but occurs in the manuscript at the place where the first line of it is quoted on page 30 of vol. i. [FN#130] The Irish idiom of putting the adjective after the noun is not always followed in the translation. It is hoped that the text may be found to be convenient by scholars: special care has been taken to make it accurate, and it has not, with the exception of the poem just referred to, been published before except in the facsimile; the remainder of the text of the L.U. version of the Courtship of Etain, together with the poem, has been given by Windisch in the first volume of the Irische Texte. The immediate object of the publication of this text, with its interlinear translation, is however somewhat different; it was desired to give any who may have become interested in the subject, from the romances contained in the two volumes of this collection, some idea of their exact form in the original, and of the Irish constructions and metres, as no Irish scholarship is needed to follow the text, when supplemented by the interlinear translation. The translation may be relied on, except for a few words indicated by a mark of interrogation. The passage is especially well suited to give an idea of the style of Irish composition, as it contains all the three forms used in the romances, rhetoric, regular verse, and prose: the prose also is varied in character, for it includes narrative, rapid dialogue, an antiquarian insertion, and two descriptive passages. The piece of antiquarian information and the resume of the old legend immediately preceding the second rhetoric can be seen to be of a different character to the flowing form of the narrative proper; the inserted passage being full of explanatory words, conid, issairi, is aice, &c., and containing no imagery. The two descriptions, though short, are good examples of two styles of description which occur in some other romances; neither of these styles is universal, nor are they the only styles; the favour shown to one or the other in a romance may be regarded as a characteristic of its author. The first style, exemplified by the description of Mider's appearance, consists of a succession of images presented in short sentences, sometimes, as in this case, with no verb, sometimes with the verb batar or a similar verb repeated in each sentence, but in all cases giving a brilliant word-picture, absolutely clear and definite, of what it is intended to convey. The second style, exemplified here by the description of the horses that Mider offers to Eochaid, consists of a series of epithets or of substantives, and is often imitated in modern Irish. These passages are usually difficult to translate, as many words appear to be coined for the purpose of the descriptions; but, in the best writings, the epithets are by no means arbitrary; they are placed so as to contrast sharply with each other, and in many cases suggest brilliant metaphors; the style being in this respect more like Latin than English. Absolutely literal translations quite fail to bring out the effect of such passages; for not only is the string of adjectives a distinctively Irish feature, but both in English and in Greek such metaphors are generally expressed more definitely and by short sentences. There is also a third style of description which does not appear in the prose of any of the romances in this collection, but appears often in other romances, as in the Bruidne da Derga, Bricriu's Feast, and the Great Tain; it resembles the first style, but the sentences are longer, yet it does not give clear descriptions, only leaving a vague impression. This style is often used for descriptions of the supernatural; it may be regarded as actual reproductions of the oldest pre-Christian work, but it is also possible that it is the result of legends, dimly known to the authors of the tales, and represented by them in the half-understood way in which they were apprehended by them: the Druidic forms may have been much more clear. Such passages are those which describe Cuchulain's distortions; the only passage of the character in this collection is in the verse of the Sick-bed, vol. i. page 77. Five of the romances in the present collection have no descriptive passages in the prose; the Combat at the Ford and the Tain bo Fraich show examples of both the first and the second form, but more often the first; the Tain bo Regamna, though a very short piece, also shows one example of each; for the description of the goblins met by Cuchulain is quite clear, and cannot be regarded as belonging to the third form. There is also one case of the second form in the Tain bo Dartada, and two other cases of the first in the Court ship of Etain-one in the Egerton, one in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version. The best example of the first style is in the Egerton version of Etain (vol. i. page 12); the best example of the second is the description of Cuchulain's horses (vol. i. page 128); a still better example of contrasts in such a description is in the Courtship of Ferb (Nutt, page 23). The piece of regular verse contained in the extract should give a fair idea of the style of this form of composition. Description is common in the verse, and it is in this case a prominent feature. It may be noted that lines 8, 16, 23, 26 will not scan unless the present diphthongs are divided, also that the poem has fewer internal rhymes than is usual in this regular verse. The two passages in rhetoric, for so I take them to be, are good examples of the style. An attempt has been made to divide them into lines, but this division is open to criticism, especially as some lines in one of the two passages cannot be translated, and the translation of some other lines is doubtful: the division suggested does, however, appear to me to give a rough metre and occasional rhymes. It is possible that, if attention is called to those lines which are at present untranslatable, something may be done for them. The verse translations given in vol. i. pages 27 and 29, give the meaning that I take the Irish to bear where I can get any meaning at all. As to the text, the usual abbreviation for n has in general not been italicized, nor has that for fri; all other abbreviations, including acht, final n in the symbol for con, and that for or in the recognized symbol for for, have been italicized. In the rhetorics, owing to their difficulty, the abbreviation for n has been italicized throughout; the symbol for ocus is not italicised. A few conjectures have been inserted, the text being given as a foot-note; a conjectured letter supposed to be missing has been inserted in brackets, and a restoration by Professor Strachan of a few letters where the MS. is torn are similarly placed in brackets. The rest of the text is carefully copied from the facsimile, including the glosses, which are inserted above the words in the same places that they occupy in the manuscript. TEXT WITH INTERLINEAR TRANSLATION Fecht n-aile asraracht Eochaid Airem ri Temrach la n-alaind Another time arose Eochaid Airem. king of Tara on a beautiful day i n-amsir samrata frisocaib[FN#131] for sosta na Temrach do imcaisiu maigi Breg, in time of summer, mounted on heights of Tara for viewing of plain of Breg, [FN#131] A conjecture: MS. fosrocaib= fo-s-ro-od-gaib, an unknown compound. boi fo a li ocus fo bluth cach datha. Am-imracacha inti was good its colour, and good blossom of every hue. When looked about the aforesaid Eochaid imbi, co acca inn oclaech n-ingnad for sin sossad[FN#132] inna Eoebaid around him, he saw the young warrior unknown on the height beside [FN#132] A conjecture: MS. tossad. chomairi. Fuan corcair imbi, ocus mong or-budi fair co brainni him. Tunic purple about him, and hair gold-yellow on him to edges a da imdae. Rosc cainlech glas ina chind. Sleg coicrind ina laim. of his two shoulders. Eye lustrous gray in his head. Spear five-pointed in his hand. Sciath taulgel ina laim con gemaib oir forri. Sochtais Eochaid, ar ni Shield white-bossed in his hand with gems of gold on it. Was silent Eochaid, for not fitir a bith isin Temraig inn aidehi riam, ocus ni orslaiethe ind lis he knew of his being in the Tara the night before, and not was opened the Liss in trath sin. Tolluid ar inchaib Eochoda iarsain asbert Eochaid iarom, at that hour. He came under protection of Eochaid thereon; said Eochaid then, fochen dond laech nad athgenmar. Is ed doroehtmar or in welcome to the hero whom we know not. It is for that we have come, said the t-oclaech. Ni tathgenmar or Eochaid. Atotgensa chetus ol in (young) warrior. We know thee not, said Eochaid. I know thee indeed, said the t-oclaech. Cia th'ainm seo? ol Eochaid. Ni airdairc son, ol se, warrior. What (is) thy own name? said Eochaid. Not illustrious that, said he, Mider Breg Leith. Cid dotroacht ol Eochaid. Do imbert fidcille Mider of Bri Leith. What brought thee? said Eochaid. To play at chess frit-su ol se. Am maith se em, ol Eochaid for fithchill. A fromad with thee, said he. I am good myself truly, said Eochaid, at chess-play. Its essaying dun ol Mider. Ata ol Eochaid, ind rigan ina cotlud, is le in tech to us! said Mider. Is, said Eochaid, the queen in her sleep, it is hers the house ata ind fithchell. Ata sund chenae, ol Mider, fidchell nad where is the chessboard. There is here yet, said Mider, a chessboard which is not messo. Ba fir on, clar n-argit ocus fir oir, ocus fursunnud cacha worse. Was true that, a board of silver and men of gold, and shining in every hairidi for sin clar di liic logmair, ocus fer-bolg di figi rond credumae. direction on that board of costly stones, and a men-bag of woven chains of brass. Ecraid Mider in fidchill iarsin. Imbir ol Mider. Ni immer acht Set out Mider the chessboard thereupon. Play! said Mider. Not will I play, except di giull ol Eochaid. Cid gell bias and? ol Mider. Cumma lim ol for a stake, said Eochaid. What stake shall be here? said Mider. Equal to me, said Eochaid. Rot-bia lim-sa ol Mider mad tu beras mo thochell, Eochaid. Thou shalt have from me, said Mider, if thou carry off my stake, L. gabur n-dub-glas ite cend-brecca, croderga, biruich, 50 horses of dark-gray, and they with dappled heads, blood-red, with ears pricked high, bruin-lethain, bolg(s)roin, coss choela, comrassa, faeborda,[FN#133] femendae,[FN#133] chests broad, nostrils distended, feet thin, strong, keen, ? vehement, aurarda, aignecha, so-(a)staidi,[FN#133] so very high, spirited, easily stopped, [FN#133] See Bruidne da Derga (Stokes), 50, 51, faeborda, lit. with an edge on them; femendae? = Lat. vehemens; soaistidi is the form adopted by Stokes in his edition of the Bruidne; Egerton MS. gives soastaide. There is a gap here, a complete column being torn from the manuscript. The lost part obviously describes the issue of the chess game or games, and the penalties demanded by Bochaid: what these penalties were is plain from the succeeding story. The work of Mider and his folk in paying these penalties must also have been described: the next column (Leabhar na h- Uidhri, 131 b. of the facsimile) opens thus: iarsin doberar uir ocus grian ocus clocha for sin monai. Fri etna thereupon is, placed earth and gravel and stones on the bog. Over foreheads dam dano-batar fedmand la firu h-Erind cosind n-aidchi sin, co of oxen then were yokes among men of Ireland till that very night, when n-aicces la lucht in t-side for a formnaib. Dognith it was seen (tbLat they were) among people of the Mounds on their shoulders. It was done samlaid la Eochaid, conid de ata do som. Echaid Airem, ar so by Eochaid, so that hence is to himself (the name of) Echaid Airem, for is aice toisech tucad cuing for muinelaib dam do ferand h-Erind. Is it is by him first was put yoke on necks of oxen for land of Ireland. This ed dino and food ro boi im belaib in t-sluaig oc denam in tocuir: is then there word which was on lips of the host at making of the causeway: Rhetoric-- Cuire illaim, Put into hand tochra illaim, place (it) into hand aurdairc damrad trathaib iar fuin noble (are) oxen for hours after sunset for trom ailges very heavy request ni fes cuich les it is not known to whom (is) gain cuich amles de thochur dar moin Lamraige. to whom harm from the causeway over moor of Lamrach. Ni biad isin bith tochur bad ferr mani bethe oca There would not be in the world a causeway which is better, if not (men) had been at n-descin Forracbad de bochtae and iartain. Iarsin dolluid the seeing them. Was left on that account a breach there thenceforth. Thereupon came in rechtaire co Echaid ocus adfet scela in mor fedma, atconnaire the steward to Echaid, and made known tales of the great serving band, that he saw fiadai, ocus asbert nad rabi for fertas in betha cumachta before him, and said that there was not on the chariot pole of life a power dodrosce de. Am batar for a m-briathraib co n-accatar Mider that excelled it. When they were at their talking they saw Mider (come) chucu. Ard chustal ocus droch gne fair. Atrigestar Eochaid, to them. High ? girt (he was), and evil face (was) on him.? Rose ?[FN#134] Eochaid, [FN#134] This is a possible rendering, taking the word as a deponent form of atregaim. It would be more natural to take the word as from adagur; being equivalent to ad-d-raigestar, and to mean "feared him," but this does not agree with Eoebaid's general attitude. ocus ferais faelti fri. Is ed dorochtmar ol Mider. Is toreda ocus is and gave welcome to him. It is for that we have come, said Mider. It is cruel and is di-cheill no tai frim, mor decrai ocus mor aingcessa do thabairt form senseless thou art to me, great hardship and great suffering thy bestowing on me adethaind ni bad maith lat chena acht is bairnech mo menma frit. I used to get what seemed good to thee still but is angry my mind against thee. Ni bara fri bure dait-siu on do-gignestar do menma for Eochaid. Not anger against anger: to thyself the thing that shall choose thy mind, said Eochaid. Gebthar dano, ol Mider. Inn imberam fidchill? for Mider. Cid gell It shall be done then, said Mider. Shall we play at chess? said Mider. What stake bias and? for Eochaid. Gell adcobra cechtar da lina for shall be there? said Eochaid. The stake that wishes each of the two parties, said Mider. Berar tochell n-Echdach alla sin. Rucais mo Mider. Is carried off stake of Echaid in that very place. Thou hast carried off my thocell, for Eebaid. Mad ail dam no-beraind o chianaib, stake, said Echaid. If wish to me (had been) I could have carried it off long since, for Mider. Cacht cid adcobrai form-sa? for Echaid. Di laim im said Mider. Question what wishest thou from myself? said Echaid. Two arms about etain, ocus poc di ol Mider. Sochtais Echaid la, sodain, ocus asbert, Etain, and a kiss from her, said Mider. Was silent Echaid thereon, and said, tis dia mis on diu, doberthar dait ani sin. In thou shalt come in a month from to-day, (and) shall be given to thee that very thing. The bliadain ria tuidecht do Mider co Echaid do imbert na fidehille boi oc year before the coming of Mider to Echaid for playing of the chess was he at tochmarc etaine, ocus nis n-etad leis. Is ed ainm dobered Mider wooing of Etain, and nothing was found by him. This is the name used to give Mider di: befind conide asbert: to her: fair-haired lady, so that thence he said: a be find in raga lim O fair-haired lady, wilt thou come with me i tir n-ingnad hi fil rind into a land marvellous, that is music? Is barr sobarche folt and (thus) is the top of the head, of primrose the hair there, is dath snechta corp co ind: is colour of snow the body to the head: Is and nad bi mui na tai, It is there not will be 'mine' or 'thine,' gela det and, dubai brai, white teeth there, black eyebrows, Is li sula lin ar sluag,[FN#135] is colour of eyes number of our hosts, [FN#135] A conjecture by Windisch. Text gives sluaig the genitive singular, which does not rhyme. [FN#136]no is brece is dath sion and cech gruad: or is many-coloured is hue of foxglove there each cheek: [FN#136] The three glosses are interesting. It may be noted that the last two certainly follow the word (above the line in which it occurs) that they seem to gloss: it is therefore probable that the first does so too; the two lines of a couplet are on the same line in the manuscript. It {footnote p. 156} seems then possible that the gloss "it is many-coloured" refers, not to the foxglove, but to the preceding line, "the colour of eyes is number of our hosts," and that the writer of this gloss gave the same meaning to the rather hard description of the colour of the eyes as is given in the verse translation (vol. i. p. 26), i.e. that the eyes had changing lights and shapes. We must hope, for the credit of his taste, that he did not think of the cheeks as many-coloured or freckled, but his gloss of lossa does not seem happy. The meaning "growth" is taken from O'Reilly's Dictionary. no lossa Is corcair maige cach muin,[FN#137] or growth? is purple of a plain each neck, [FN#137] A conjecture (Str.), main, treasure, is in the text: this does not rhyme, nor give good sense; note, however, that muin has no accent-the text gives one. no is dath is li sula ugai luin: or is hue is colour of eyes (that of) eggs of a blackbird: cid cain deicsiu maigi Fail though pleasant (is) seeing plains of Fal (isle of Destiny) annam iar gnais maige mair. a wilderness[FN#138] after knowledge of the Great Plain. [FN#138] This meaning for annam is doubtful; the sense of "seldom" is established for the word; the line possibly means "it will seldom be so after," &c. Cid mesc lib coirm inse Fail, Though intoxicating to you (is) ale of the island Fal, is mescu coirm tire mair, is more intoxicating the ale of the country great, amra tire tir asbiur, a wonder of a land the land I mention, ni theit oac and re siun. not goes a young man there before an old man. Srotha teith millsi tar tir, Streams warm (and) sweet through the land, rogu de mid ocus fin, choice of mead and wine, doini delgnaidi, cen on, men ? handsome, without blemish, combart cen pecead, cen col. conception without sin without crime. Atchiam cach for each leth, We see all on every side, ocus ni-conn acci nech; and yet not sees us anyone temel imorbais adaim the cloud of the sin of Adam do-don-archeil[FN#139] ar araim encompasses us from reckoning [FN#139] From tairchellaim. A ben dia ris mo thuaith tind, O woman, if thou wilt come to my people strong, is barr oir bias fort chind, it is top of head of gold shall be on thy head, inue ur, laith, lemnacht la lind pork unsalted, ale, new milk for drink rot bia lim and, a be find, a be find. shall be to thee with me there, O woman fair-haired. [a gap, 9 letters lost] i atumchotaise om aithech tige rag-sa, [a gap, thou obtainest me from my master of the house I will go, [9 letters lost] fetai, ni rag. Is iarsin dolluid Mider (L.U. 130 a.) co canst, not will I go. It is thereon came Mider to Echaid, ocus damair a thochell fochetoir co m-beth fôlo acai Echaid, and yields his stake immediately that may be (cause) of reproach for him do Echaid, is airi roic na comada mora, ocus issairi is to Echaid, it is therefore he paid the great stakes, and on that account it is (that) fo anfis con atig a gell. Conid iarsin giull adrubrad in tan tra under ignorance that he asked his wager. So that after that wager it was said when now ro boi Mider cona muinter oc ic comad na aidehi, i. in tochor, ocus was Mider and his folk at paying the stake of the night, that is, the causeway, and di-chlochad Midi, ocus luachair Tetbai, ocus fid dar Breg: isse[FN#140] seo clearing stones off Meath, and rushes of Tethba and forest over Breg: it is he this [FN#140] Grammar not clear: perhaps the Irish is corrupt (Str.). an no foclad boi oca muinter amal atbert lebor drom snechta: what used to say was with his folk as says Book of Drom-snechta: Rhetoric-- Cuirthe illand: Put on the field: tochre illand: Put close on the field airderg dararad: very red oxen: trom in choibden: heavy the troop clunithar fir ferdi. Which hears ?really-manly buidni balc-thruim crand-chuir troops for strong heavy setting of trees forderg saire fedar of very red ?oaks[FN#141] are led [FN#141] Reading daire for saire. sechuib slimprib snithib past them on twisted wattles: scitha lama: weary are hands, ind rosc cloina: the eye ?slants aside? fobith oen mna because of one woman Duib in digail: To you the revenge, duib in trom-daim:[FN#142] to you the heavy ?oxen [FN#142] A conjecture. MS. gives trom-daim. tairthim flatho fer ban: splendour of sovereignty over white men: fomnis, fomnis, in fer m-braine cerpae fomnis diad dergæ ? ? ? fer arfeid solaig ? fri aiss esslind ? fer bron for-ti ? sorrow shall, come on the man? i. more ertechta inde ? lamnado luachair rushes for di Thethbi over?two Tethbas di-chlochad[FN#143] Midi clearing stones from Meath [FN#143] A conjecture. MS. gives dilecad (Str.) indracht ? coich les, coich amles to whom the benefit, to whom the harm thocur dar clochach? moin.[FN#144] causeway over stony moor. [FN#144] The last line in the Ms. is t d c m. Dalis Mider dia mis Fochiallastar (i. rotinoil). Echaid formna Mider appointed a meeting for the end of a month. Echaid assembled (i.e. collected)troops. laech la-erend com batar hi Temrach, ocus an ro po dech do fiannaib of heroes of Ireland so that they were in Tara, and what was best of champions h-Erind, cach cuaird imm araile im Temrach immedon ocus a nechtair, of Ireland, each ring about another, around Tara im the middle, and outside it ocus is-tig. Ocus in ri ocus in rigan immedon in taigi, ocus ind lis and within. And the king and the queen in the middle of the house, and its Liss iatai fo glassaib, ar ro fetatar do t-icfad fer in mar cumacht. Etain shut under locks, for they knew that would comie of insen the great might. Etain boi ocon dail ind aidehi sin forsna flathi, ar ba sain dana disi dal. was dispensing that night to the princes, for it was meet then for her pouring (of the wine) Am batar iarom fora. m-briathraib, co accatar Mider chucu for When they were thereon at their talking they saw Mider (come) to them on lar ind rigthige. Ba cain som dogres ba caini dana inn aidehi sin. the floor of the royal palace. He was fair always, was fairer then on that night. Tosbert im mod na slûag ateonnairc. Sochsit uli iarom ocus He brought to amazement the hosts that he saw.[FN#145] Were silent all thereon, and [FN#145] Reading atcondairc (Str.). ferais in ri faelti fris. Is ed dorochtmar ol Mider. An ro gella the king gave welcome to him. It is this we have come for, said Mider. What was promised dam-sa or se, tucthar dam. Is fiach ma gelltar, an ro gellad to myself, said he, let it be given to me. It is a debt if a promise is given, tucus dait-siu. Ni imrordusa for Echaid, ani sin co se. I have given to thee. Not have I thought on, said Echaid, that very thing up to now. Atrugell etain fein dam-sa, ol Mider, ticht uait-siu. Thou hast promised Etain herself to me, said Mider, message (lit. a coming) from you. Imdergthar im Etain la, sodain. Na imdergthar imut for Mider, ni There was a blush on Etain thereupon. Let there be no blush on thee, said Mider, not droch banas duit-siu. Atu-sa, ol si, bliadain oc do chuingid com evil marriage-feast to thee. I am myself, said he, a year at seeking thee with mainib ocus setaib at aildem in ere, ocus ni tucus-sa treasures and jewels that are the most beautiful in Ireland and not I took thee comad chomarlecud do Echaid. Ni -la-deoas damsa ce till there should be permission of Echaid. Not by good-will to me any dotchotaind. Atrubart-sa frit-su ol si, conom rire Echaid, getting thee. I myself said to thyself, said she, until Echaid gives me up nit rius. Atometha lat ar mo chuit fein, dia nom rire Echaid. not will I come to thee. Take me with thee for my own part, if me Echaid will give up. Nit ririub immorro, for Echaid, acht tabrad a di laim Not thee will I give up however, said Echaid, but (I give) a placing of his two hands imut for lar in tige, amal ro gabais. Dogentar for Mider. about thee on floor of the house, as thou art. It shall be done! said Mider. i. mider Atetha a gaisced ina laim cli, ocus gabais in mnai fo a leth-oxail dess, that is, Mider He took his weapons in his hand left, and took the woman under his shoulder right, ocus focois-le for forles in tige. Conerget in-t-sluaig imon rig and carried her off over skylight of the house. Pose up the hosts, about the king iar melacht forro, co n-accatar in da ela timchell na Temra. Is ed after a disgrace on them, they saw the two swans around Tara. It is this, ro gabsat do sid ar Femun. Ocus luid Echaid co fomno they took (the road) to elfmound about about Femun. And went Echaid with a troop fer n-Erend imbi do sith ar Femun i. sid ban-find. of men of Ireland about him to elf mound about Femun i.e. elfmound of the fair-haired women. B (a si com)[FN#146] arli fer n-Erend, fochlaid each sid [a gap, 12 letters lost] That was the counsel of the men of Ireland, he dug up each elf-mound. [FN#146] The letters in parentheses are a conjecture by Strachan, to fill up a gap in the manuscript. tised a ben. do uadib, Foce [a gap of 13 letters, rest of the version lost.] should come his wife to him from them. 
5680	----	This eBook was produced by John B. Hare and Carrie Lorenz. HEROIC ROMANCES OF IRELAND TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH PROSE AND VERSE, WITH PREFACE, SPECIAL INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES BY A. H. LEAHY IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. I PREFACE At a time like the present, when in the opinion of many the great literatures of Greece and Rome are ceasing to hold the influence that they have so long exerted upon human thought, and when the study of the greatest works of the ancient world is derided as "useless," it may be too sanguine to hope that any attention can be paid to a literature that is quite as useless as the Greek; which deals with a time, which, if not actually as far removed from ours as are classical times, is yet further removed in ideas; a literature which is known to few and has yet to win its way to favour, while the far superior literature of Greece finds it hard to defend the position that it long ago won. It may be that reasons like these have weighed with those scholars who have opened up for us the long-hidden treasures of Celtic literature; despairing of the effort to obtain for that literature its rightful crown, and the homage due to it from those who can appreciate literary work for itself, they have been contented to ask for the support of that smaller body who from philological, antiquarian, or, strange as it may appear, from political reasons, are prepared to take a modified interest in what should be universally regarded as in its way one of the most interesting literatures of the world. The literary aspect of the ancient literature of Ireland has not indeed been altogether neglected. It has been used to furnish themes on which modern poems can be written; ancient authority has been found in it for what is essentially modern thought: modern English and Irish poets have claimed the old Irish romances as inspirers, but the romances themselves have been left to the scholars and the antiquarians. This is not the position that Irish literature ought to fill. It does undoubtedly tell us much of the most ancient legends of modern Europe which could not have been known without it; but this is not its sole, or even its chief claim to be heard. It is itself the connecting-link between the Old World and the New, written, so far as can be ascertained, at the time when the literary energies of the ancient world were dead, when the literatures of modern Europe had not been born,[FN#1] in a country that had no share in the ancient civilisation of Rome, among a people which still retained many legends and possibly a rudimentary literature drawn from ancient Celtic sources, and was producing the men who were the earliest classical scholars of the modern world. [FN#1] The only possible exceptions to this, assuming the latest possible date for the Irish work, and the earliest date for others, are the kindred Welsh literature and that of the Anglo-Saxon invaders of Britain. The exact extent of the direct influence of Irish literature upon the development of other nations is hard to trace, chiefly because the influence of Ireland upon the Continent was at its height at the time when none of the languages of modern Europe except Welsh and Anglo-Saxon had reached a stage at which they might be used for literary purposes, and a Continental literature on which the Irish one might have influence simply did not exist. Its subsequent influence, in the tenth and eleventh centuries, upon Welsh, and through Welsh upon the early Breton literature (now lost) appears to be established; it is usually supposed that its action upon the earliest French compositions was only through the medium of these languages, but it is at least possible that its influence in this case also was more direct. In Merovingian and early Carlovingian times, when French songs were composed, which are now lost but must have preceded the extant chansons de geste, the Irish schools were attracting scholars from the neighbouring countries of Europe; Ireland was sending out a steady stream of "learned men" to France, Germany, and Italy; and it is at least possible that some who knew the Irish teachers realized the merit of the literary works with which some of these teachers must have been familiar. The form of the twelfth-century French romance, "Aucassin and Nicolete," is that of the chief Irish romances, and may well have been suggested by them; whilst the variety of the rhythm and the elaborate laws of the earliest French poetry, which, both in its Northern and Southern form, dates from the first half of the twelfth century, almost imply a pre-existing model; and such a model is more easily traced in Irish than in any other vernacular literature that was then available. It is indeed nearly as hard to suppose that the beautiful literature of Ireland had absolutely no influence upon nations known to be in contact with it, as it would be to hold to the belief that the ancient Cretan civilisation had no effect upon the liter ary development that culminated in the poems of Homer. Before speaking of what the Irish literature was, it may be well to say what it was not. The incidents related in it date back, according to the "antiquaries" of the ninth to the twelfth centuries, some to the Christian era, some to a period long anterior to it; but occasional allusions to events that were unknown in Ireland before the introduction of Christianity, and a few to classical personages, show that the form of the present romances can hardly be pre-Christian, or even close translations into Old or Middle Irish of Druidic tales. It has therefore been the fashion to speak of the romances as inaccurate survivals of pre-Christian works, which have been added to by successive generations of "bards," a mode of viewing our versions of the romances which of course puts them out of the category of original literature and hands them over to the antiquarians; but before they suffer this fate, it is reasonable to ask that their own literary merit should be considered in a more serious manner than has yet been attempted. The idea that our versions of the romances are inaccurate reproductions of Druidic tales is not at all borne out by a study of the romances themselves; for each of these, except for a few very manifestly late insertions, has a style and character of its own. There were, undoubtedly, old traditions, known to the men who in the sixth and seventh centuries may have written the tales that we have, known even to men who in the tenth and eleventh centuries copied them and commented upon them; but the romances as they now stand do not look like pieces of patchwork, but like the works of men who had ideas to convey; and to me at least they seem to bear approximately the same relation to the Druid legends as the works of the Attic tragedians bear to the archaic Greek legends on which their tragedies were based. In more than one case, as in the "Courtship of Etain," which is more fully discussed below, there are two versions of the same tale, the framework being the same in both, while the treatment of the incidents and the view of the characters of the actors is essentially different; and when the story is treated from the antiquarian point of view, that which regards both versions as resting upon a common prehistoric model, the question arises, which of the two more nearly represents the "true" version? There is, I would submit, in such cases, no true version. The old Druidic story, if it could be found, would in all probability contain only a very small part of either of our two versions; it would be bald, half-savage in tone, like one of the more ancient Greek myths, and producing no literary effect; the literary effect of both the versions that we have, being added by men who lived in Christian times, were influenced by Christian ideals, and probably were, like many of their contemporaries, familiar with the literary bequests of the ancient world.[FN#2] [FN#2] It seems to be uncertain whether or not the writers of the Irish romances shared in the classical learning for which Ireland was noted in their time. The course of study at the schools established for the training of the fili in the tenth and eleventh centuries was certainly, as has been pointed out, very different from that of the ecclesiastical schools (see Joyce, vol. i. p. 430). No classical instruction was included in this training, but it is not certain that this separation of studies was so complete before what is called the "antiquarian age" set in. Cormac mac Cuninan, for example, was a classical scholar, and at the same time skilled in the learning of the fili. It should also be observed that the course at the ecclesiastical schools, as handed down to us, hardly seems to be classical enough to have produced a Columbanus or an Erigena; the studies that produced these men must have been of a different kind, and the lay schools as originally established by Sanchan Torpest may have included much that afterwards gave place to a more purely Irish training. The tale of Troy seems to have been known to the fili, and there are in their works allusions to Greek heroes, to Hercules and Hector, but it has been pointed out by Mr. Nutt that there is little if any evidence of influence produced by Latin or Greek literature on the actual matter or thought of the older Irish work. On this point reference may be made to a note on "Mae Datho's Boar" in this volume (p. 173), but even if this absence of classical influence is established (and it is hard to say what will not be found in Irish literature), it is just possible that the same literary feeling which made Irish writers of comparatively late tales keep the bronze weapons and chariots of an earlier date in their accounts of ancient wars, while they described arms of the period when speaking of battles of their own time, affected them in this instance also; and that they had enough restraint to refrain from introducing classical and Christian ideas when speaking of times in which they knew these ideas would have been unfamiliar. It may be, and often is, assumed that the appearance of grotesque or savage passages in a romance is an indication of high antiquity, and that these passages at least are faithful reproductions of Druidic originals, but this does not seem to be quite certain. Some of these passages, especially in the case of romances preserved in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri (The Book of the Dun Cow), look like insertions made by scribes of an antiquarian turn of mind,[FN#3] and are probably of very ancient date; in other cases, as for example in the "Boar of Mac Datho," where Conall dashes Anluan's head into Ket's face, the savagery is quite in 'keeping with the character of the story, and way have been deliberately invented by an author living in Christian times, to add a flavour to his tale, although in doing so he probably imitated a similar incident in some other legend. To take a classical parallel, the barbarity shown by Aeneas in Aeneid x. 518-520, in sacrificing four youths on the funeral pyre of Pallas, an act which would have been regarded with horror in Virgil's own day, does not prove that there was any ancient tale of the death of Pallas in which these victims were sacrificed, nor even that such victims were sacrificed in ancient Latium in Pallas' day; but it does show that Virgil was familiar with the fact that such victims used in some places to be sacrificed on funeral pyres; for, in a sense, he could not have actually invented the incident. [FN#3] See the exhibition of the tips of tongues in the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," page 57. Thus the appearance of an archaic element in an Irish romance is in itself no proof of the Druidic origin of that form of the romance, nor even of the existence of that element in the romance's earliest form: upon such a principle the archaic character of the motif of the "Oedipus Coloneus" would prove it to be the oldest of the Greek tragedies, while as a matter of fact it seems to be doubtful whether the introduction of this motif into the story of Oedipus was not due to Sophocles himself, although of course he drew the idea of it, if not from the original legend of Oedipus, from some other early legend. The most satisfactory test of the authorship of an Irish romance, and one of the most satisfactory tests of its date, is its literary character; and if we look at the literary character of the best of the Irish romances, there is one point that is immediately apparent, the blending of prose and verse. One, the most common, explanation of this, is that the verse was added to the original tale, another that the verse is the older part, the prose being added to make a framework for the verse, but a general view of some of the original romances appears to lead to a very different conclusion. It seems much more probable that the Irish authors deliberately chose a method of making their work at once literary and suited to please a popular audience; they told their stories in plain prose, adding to them verse, possibly chanted by the reciters of the stories, so that while the prose told the story in simple language, the emotions of pity, martial ardour, and the like were awakened by the verse. They did not use the epic form, although their knowledge of classical literature must have made them familiar with it; the Irish epic form is Romance. They had, besides the prose and what may be called the "regular" verse, a third form, that of rose, or as it is sometimes called rhetoric, which is a very irregular form of verse. Sometimes it rhymes, but more often not; the lines are of varying lengths, and to scan them is often very difficult, an alliteration taking the place of scansion in many cases. The rhetoric does not in general develop the story nor take the form of description, it usually consists of songs of triumph, challenges, prophecies, and exhortations, though it is sometimes used for other purposes. It does not conform to strict grammatical rules like the more regular verse and the prose, and many of the literal translations which Irish scholars have made for us of the romances omit this rhetoric entirely, owing to the difficulty in rendering it accurately, and because it does not develop the plots of the stories. Notable examples of such omissions are in Miss Faraday's translation of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of the "Great Tain," and in Whitley Stokes' translation of the "Destruction of Da Derga's Hostel." With all respect to these scholars, and with the full consciousness of the difficulty of the task that has naturally been felt by one who has vainly attempted to make sense of what their greater skill has omitted, it may be suggested that the total omission of such passages injures the literary effect of a romance in a manner similar to the effect of omitting all the choric pieces in a Greek tragedy: the rhetoric indeed, on account of its irregularity, its occasional strophic correspondence, its general independence of the action of the tale, and its difficulty as compared with the other passages, may be compared very closely to a Greek "chorus." Few of the romances written in prose and verse are entirely without rhetoric; but some contain very little of it; all the six romances of this character given in the present volume (counting as two the two versions of "Etain") contain some rhetoric, but there are only twenty-one such passages in the collection altogether, ten of which are in one romance, the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain." The present collection is an attempt to give to English readers some of the oldest romances in English literary forms that seem to correspond to the literary forms which were used in Irish to produce the same effect, and has been divided into two parts. The first part contains five separate stories, all of which are told in the characteristic form of prose and verse: they are the "Courtship of Etain," the "Boar of Mac Datho," the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," the "Death of the Sons of Usnach" (Book of Leinster version), and the "Combat at the Ford" out of the Book of Leinster version of the "Tain bo Cuailnge." Two versions are given of the "Courtship of Etain "; and the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," as is pointed out in the special preface prefixed to it, really consists of two independent versions. It was at first intended to add the better-known version of the "Death of the Sons of Usnach" known as that of the Glenn Masain MS., but the full translation of this has been omitted, partly to avoid making the volume too bulky, partly because this version is readily attainable in a literal form; an extract from it has, however, been added to the Book of Leinster version for the purpose of comparison. In the renderings given of these romances the translation of the prose is nearly literal, but no attempt has been made to follow the Irish idiom where this idiom sounds harsh in English; actives have been altered to passive forms and the reverse, adjectives are sometimes replaced by short sentences which give the image better in English, pronouns, in which Irish is very rich, are often replaced by the persons or things indicated, and common words, like iarom, iarsin, iartain, immorro, and the like (meaning thereafter, moreover, &c.), have been replaced by short sentences that refer back to the events indicated by the words. Nothing has been added to the Irish, except in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of "Etain," where there is a lacuna to be filled up, and there are no omissions. The translations of the verse and of the rhetoric are, so far as is possible, made upon similar lines; it was at first intended to add literal renderings of all the verse passages, but it was found that to do so would make the volume of an unmanageable size for its purpose. Literal renderings of all the verse passages in "Etain," the first of the tales in volume i., are given in the notes to that story; the literal renderings of Deirdre's lament in the "Sons of Usnach," and of two poems in "The Combat at the Ford," are also given in full as specimens, but in the case of most of the poems reference is made to easily available literal translations either in English or German: where the literal rendering adopted differs from that referred to, or where the poem in question has not before been translated, the literal rendering has been given in the notes. These examples will, it is believed, give a fair indication of the relation between my verse translations and the originals, the deviations from which have been made as small as possible. The form of four-line verse divided into stanzas has generally been used to render the passages in four-lined verse in the Irish, the only exception to this rule being in the verses at the end of the "Boar of Mac Datho": these are in the nature of a ballad version of the whole story, and have been rendered in a ballad metre that does not conform to the arrangement in verses of the original. The metre of all the Irish four-lined verses in this volume is, except in two short pieces, a seven-syllabled line, the first two lines usually rhyming with each other, and the last two similarly rhyming,[FN#4] in a few cases in the "Boar of Mac Datho" these rhymes are alternate, and in the extract from the Glenn Masain version of the "Sons of Usnach" there is a more complicated rhyme system. It has not been thought necessary to reproduce this metre in all cases, as to do so would sound too monotonous in English; the metre is, however, reproduced once at least in each tale except in that of the "Death of the Sons of Usnach." The eight-lined metre that occurs in five of the verse passages in the "Combat at the Ford" has in one case been reproduced exactly, and in another case nearly exactly, but with one syllable added to each line; the two passages in this romance that are in five-syllabled lines have been reproduced exactly in the Irish metre, in one case with the rhyme-system of the original. With the rhetoric greater liberty has been used; sometimes the original metre has been followed, but more often not; and an occasional attempt has been made to bring out the strophic correspondence in the Irish. [FN#4] An example of this metre is as follows:-- All the elves of Troom seem dead, All their mighty deeds are fled; For their Hound, who hounds surpassed, Elves have bound in slumber fast. In the first volume of the collection the presentation has then been made as near as may be to the form and matter of the Irish; in the second volume, called "Versified Romances," there is a considerable divergence from the Irish form but not from its sense. This part includes the five "Tains" or Cattle-Forays of Fraech, Dartaid, Regamon, Flidais, and Regamna; which in the originals differ from the five tales in volume i, in that they include no verse, except for a few lines in Regamna, most of which are untranslatable. The last four of these are short pieces written in a prose extremely rapid in its action, and crowded with incident. They are all expressly named as "fore-tales," remscela, or preludes to the story of the great war of Cualnge, which is the central event in the Ulster heroic cycle, and appear suited for rapid prose recitations, which were apparently as much a feature in ancient as they are in modern Irish. Such pieces can hardly be reproduced in English prose so as to bring out their character; they are represented in English by the narrative ballad, and they have been here rendered in this way. Literal translations in prose are printed upon the opposite page to the verse, these translations being much more exact than the translations in the first volume, as the object in this case is to show the literal Irish form, not its literal English equivalent, which is in this case the verse. The "Tain bo Fraich" is also, in a sense, a "fore-tale" to the Great Raid, but is of a different character to the others. It consists of two parts, the second of which is not unlike the four that have just been mentioned, but the first part is of a much higher order, containing brilliant descriptions, and at least one highly poetic passage although its Irish form is prose. Fraech has been treated like the other fore-tales, and rendered in verse with literal prose opposite to the verse for the purpose of comparison. The notes to all the five Tana in the second volume accompany the text; in the first volume all the notes to the different romances are collected together, and placed at the end of the volume. The second volume also includes a transcript from the facsimile of that part of the Irish text of the tale of Etain which has not before been published, together with an interlinear literal translation. It is hoped that this arrangement may assist some who are not Middle Irish scholars to realise what the original romances are. The manuscript authorities for the eleven different romances (counting as two the two versions of "Etain") are all old; seven are either in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, an eleventh-century manuscript, or in the Book of Leinster, a twelfth-century one; three of the others are in the fourteenth-century Yellow Book of Lecan, which is often, in the case of texts preserved both in it and the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, regarded as the better authority of the two; and the remaining one, the second version of "Etain," is in the fifteenth-century manuscript known as Egerton, 1782, which gives in an accurate form so many texts preserved in the older manuscripts that it is very nearly as good an authority as they. The sources used in making the translations are also stated in the special introductions, but it may be mentioned as a summary that the four "Preludes," the Tana of Dartaid, Regamon, Flidais, and Regamna, are taken from the text printed with accompanying German translations by Windisch in Irische Texte, vol. ii.; Windisch's renderings being followed in those portions of the text that he translates; for the "Tain bo Fraich" and the "Combat at the Ford" the Irish as given by O'Beirne Crowe and by O'Curry, with not very trustworthy English translations, has been followed; in the case of the fragment of the Glenn Masain version of "Deirdre" little reference has been made to the Irish, the literal translation followed being that given by Whitley Stokes. The remaining five romances, the "Boar of Mac Datho," the Leinster version of "Deirdre," the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," the Egerton version of "Etain," and the greater part of the Leabbar na h-Uidhri version of the same, are taken from the Irish text printed without translation in Irische Texte, vol. i., the end of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version omitted by Windisch being taken from the facsimile of the manuscript published by the Royal Irish Academy. I have to acknowledge with gratitude many corrections to O'Beirne Crowe's translation of the "Tain bo Fraich" kindly given me by Professor Kuno Meyer; in the case of O'Curry's translation of the "Combat at the Ford," similar help kindly given me by Mr. E. J. Quiggin; and in the case of the two versions of "Etain," more especially for the part taken direct from the facsimile, I have to express gratitude for the kind and ready help given to me by Professor Strachan. Professor Strachan has not only revised my transcript from the facsimile, and supplied me with translations of the many difficult passages in this of which I could make no sense, but has revised all the translation which was made by the help of Windisch's glossary to the Irische Texte of both the versions of "Etain," so that the translations given of these two romances should be especially reliable, although of course I may have made some errors which have escaped Professor Strachan's notice. The three other romances which have been translated from the Irish in Irische Texte have not been similarly revised, but all passages about which there appeared to be doubt have been referred to in the notes to the individual romances. It remains to add some remarks upon the general character of the tales, which, as may be seen after a very cursory examination, are very different both in tone and merit, as might indeed be expected if we remember that we are probably dealing with the works of men who were separated from each other by a gap of hundreds of years. Those who have read the actual works of the ancient writers of the Irish romances will not readily indulge in the generalisations about them used by those to whom the romances are only known by abstracts or a compilation. Perhaps the least meritorious of those in this collection are the "Tains" of Dartaid, Regamon, and Flidais, but the tones of these three stories are very different. Dartaid is a tale of fairy vengeance for a breach of faith; Flidais is a direct and simple story of a raid like a Border raid, reminding us of the "riding ballads" of the Scottish Border, and does not seem to trouble itself much about questions of right or wrong; Regamon is a merry tale of a foray by boys and girls; it troubles itself with the rights of the matter even less than Flidais if possible, and is an example of an Irish tale with what is called in modern times a "good ending." It may be noted that these last two tales have no trace of the supernatural element which some suppose that the Irish writers were unable to dispense with. The "Tain bo Regamna," the shortest piece in the collection, is a grotesque presentation of the supernatural, and is more closely associated with the Great Tain than any of the other fore-tales to it, the series of prophecies with which it closes exactly following the action of the part of the Tain, to which it refers. Some of the grotesque character of Regamna appears in the "Boar of Mac Datho," which, however, like Regamon and Flidais, has no supernatural element; its whole tone is archaic and savage, relieved by touches of humour, but the style of the composition is much superior to that of the first three stories. A romance far superior to "Mae Datho" is the Leinster version of the well-known Deirdre story, the "Death of the Sons of Usnach." The opening of the story is savage, the subsequent action of the prose is very rapid, while the splendid lament at the end, one of the best sustained laments in the language, and the restraint shown in its account of the tragic death of Deirdre, place this version of the story in a high position. As has been already mentioned, parts of the fifteenth-century version of the story have been added to this version for purposes of comparison: the character of the Deirdre of the Leinster version would not have been in keeping with the sentiment of the lament given to her in the later account. The remaining five romances (treating as two the two versions of "Etain") all show great beauty in different ways. Three of the four tales given in them have "good endings," and the feeling expressed in them is less primitive than that shown in the other stories, although it is an open question whether any of them rises quite so high as Deirdre's lament. "Fraech" has, as has been mentioned before, two quite separate parts; the second part is of inferior quality, showing, however, an unusual amount of knowledge of countries lying outside Celtdom, but the first is a most graceful romance; although the hero is a demi-god, and the fairies play a considerable part in it, the interest is essentially human; and the plot is more involved than is the case in most of the romances. It abounds in brilliant descriptions; the description of the Connaught palace is of antiquarian interest; and one of the most beautiful pieces of Celtic mythology, the parentage of the three fairy harpers, is included in it. The "Sick-bed of Cuchulain" and the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of the "Courtship of Etain" seem to have had their literary effect injured by the personality of the compiler of the manuscript from which the Leabhar na h-Uidhri was copied. Seemingly an antiquarian, interested in the remains of the old Celtic religion and in old ceremonies, he has inserted pieces of antiquarian information into several of the romances that he has preserved for us, and though these are often of great interest in themselves, they spoil the literary effect of the romances in which they appear. It is possible that both the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of "Etain" and the "Sick-bed" might be improved by a little judicious editing; they have, however, been left just as they stand in the manuscript. The "Sick-bed," as is pointed out in the special introduction to it, consists of two separate versions; the first has plainly some of the compiler's comments added to it, but the second and longer part seems not to have been meddled with; and, although a fragment, it makes a stately romance, full of human interest although dealing with supernatural beings; and its conclusion is especially remarkable in early literature on account of the importance of the action of the two women who are the heroines of this part of the tale. The action of Fand in resigning her lover to the weaker mortal woman who has a better claim upon him is quite modern in its tone. The nearest parallel to the longer version of the "Sick-bed" is the Egerton version of "Etain," which is a complete one, and makes a stately romance. It is full of human interest, love being its keynote; it keeps the supernatural element which is an essential to the original legend in the background, and is of quite a different character to the earlier Leabhar na h-Uidhri version, although there is no reason to assume that the latter is really the more ancient in date. In the Leabbar na h-Uidhri version of "Etain," all that relates to the love-story is told in the baldest manner, the part which deals with the supernatural being highly descriptive and poetic. I am inclined to believe that the antiquarian compiler of the manuscript did here what he certainly did in the case of the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," and pieced together two romances founded upon the same legend by different authors. The opening of the story in Fairyland and the concluding part where Mider again appears are alike both in style and feeling, while the part that comes between is a highly condensed version of the love-story of the Egerton manuscript, and suggests the idea of an abstract of the Egerton version inserted into the story as originally composed, the effect being similar to that which would be produced upon us if we had got Aeschylus' "Choaphorae" handed down to us with a condensed version of the dialogue between Electra and Chrysothemis out of Sophocles' "Electra" inserted by a conscientious antiquarian who thought that some mention of Chrysothemis was necessary. This version of the legend, however, with its strong supernatural flavour, its insistence on the idea of re-birth, its observation of nature, and especially the fine poem in which Mider invites Etain to Fairyland, is a most valuable addition to the literature, and we have to lament the gap in it owing to the loss of a column in that part of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri manuscript which has been preserved. The last piece to be mentioned is the extract from the "Tain be Cuailnge" known as the "Combat at the Ford." This seems to me the finest specimen of old Irish work that has been preserved for us; the brilliance of its descriptions, the appropriate changes in its metres, the chivalry of its sentiments, and the rapidity of its action should, even if there were nothing to stand beside it in Irish literature, give that literature a claim to be heard: as an account of a struggle between two friends, it is probably the finest in any literature. It has been stated recently, no doubt upon sound authority, that the grammatical forms of this episode show it to be late, possibly dating only to the eleventh century. The manuscript in which it appears, however, is of the earlier part of the twelfth century; no literary modem work other than Irish can precede it in time; and if it is the work of an eleventh-century author, it does seem strange that his name or the name of some one of that date who could have written it has not been recorded, as MacLiag's name has been as the traditional author of the eleventh-century "Wars of the Gaedhill and the Gaill," for the names of several Irish authors of that period axe well known, and the Early Middle Irish texts of that period are markedly of inferior quality. Compare for example the Boromaean Tribute which Stokes considers to take high rank among texts of that period (Revue Celtique, xiii. p. 32). One would certainly like to believe that this episode of the "Combat at the Ford" belongs to the best literary period, with which upon literary grounds it seems to be most closely connected. But, whether this comparative lateness of the "Combat at the Ford" be true or not, it, together with all the varied work contained in this collection, with the possible exception of the short extract from the Glenn Masain "Deirdre," is in the actual form that we have it, older than the Norman Conquest of Ireland, older than the Norse Sagas. Its manuscript authority is older than that of the Volsunga Saga; its present form precedes the birth of Chretien de Troyes, the first considerable name in French literature, and, in a form not much unlike that in which we have it, it is probably centuries older than its actual manuscript date. The whole thing stands at the very beginning of the literature of Modern Europe, and compares by no means unfavourably with that which came after, and may, in part, have been inspired by it. Surely it deserves to be raised from its present position as a study known only to a few specialists, and to form part of the mental equipment of every man who is for its own sake interested in and a lover of literature. INTRODUCTION IN VERSE 'Tis hard an audience now to win For lore that Ireland's tales can teach; And faintly, 'mid the modern din, Is heard the old heroic speech. For long the tales in silence slept; The ancient tomes by few were read; E'en those who still its knowledge kept Have thought the living music dead. And some, to save the lore from death, With modern arts each tale would deck, Inflate its rhymes with magic breath, As if to buoy a sinking wreck. They graft new morbid magic dreams On tales where beating life is felt: In each romance find mystic gleams, And traces of the "moody Celt." Yet, though with awe the grassy mound That fairies haunt, is marked to-day; And though in ancient tales are found Dim forms of gods, long passed away; Though later men to magic turned, Inserting many a Druid spell; And ill the masters' craft had learned Who told the tales, and told them well; No tale should need a magic dress Or modern art, its life to give: Each for itself, or great, or less, Should speak, if it deserves to live. Think not a dull, a scribal pen Dead legends wrote, half-known, and feared: In lettered lands to poet men Romance, who lives to-day, appeared. For when, in fear of warrior bands, Had Learning fled the western world, And, raised once more by Irish hands, Her banner stood again unfurled; 'Twas there, where men her laws revered, That Learning aided Art's advance; And Ireland bore, and Ireland reared These Eldest Children of Romance. Her poets knew the Druid creeds; Yet not on these their thoughts would rest: They sang of love, of heroes' deeds, Of kingly pomp, of cheerful jest. Not as in Greece aspired their thought, They joyed in battles wild and stern; Yet pity once to men they taught From whom a fiercer age could learn. Their frequent theme was war: they sang The praise of chiefs of courage high; Yet, from their harps the accents rang That taught to knighthood chivalry. Their heroes praise a conquered foe, Oppose their friends for honour's sake, To weaker chieftains mercy show, And strength of cruel tyrants break. Their nobles, loving fame, rejoice In glory, got from bards, to shine; Yet thus ascends Cuchulain's voice: "No skill indeed to boast is mine!" They sang, to please a warlike age, Of wars, and women's wild lament, Yet oft, restraining warriors' rage, Their harps to other themes were bent. They loved on peaceful pomp to dwell, Rejoiced in music's magic strains,. All Nature's smiling face loved well, And "glowing hues of flowery plains." Though oft of Fairy Land they spoke, No eerie beings dwelled therein, 'Twas filled throughout with joyous folk Like men, though freed from death and sin. And sure those bards were truest knights Whose thoughts of women high were set, Nor deemed them prizes, won in fights, But minds like men's, and women yet. With skilful touch they paint us each, Etain, whose beauty's type for all; Scathach, whose warriors skill could teach Emer, whose words in wisdom fall; Deirdre the seer, by love made keen; Flidais, whose bounty armies feeds The prudent Mugain, Conor's queen; Crund's wife, more swift than Conor's steeds; Finnabar, death for love who dared; Revengeful Ferb, who died of grief Fand, who a vanquished rival spared; Queen Maev, who Connaught led, its chief. Not for the creeds their lines preserve Should Ireland's hero tales be known Their pictured pages praise deserve From all, not learned men alone. Their works are here; though flawed by time, To all the living verses speak Of men who taught to Europe rhyme, Who knew no masters, save the Greek. In forms like those men loved of old, Naught added, nothing torn away, The ancient tales again are told, Can none their own true magic sway? PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES The following list of suggested pronunciations does not claim to be complete or to be necessarily correct in all cases. Some words like Ferdia and Conchobar (Conor) have an established English pronunciation that is strictly speaking wrong; some, like Murthemne are doubtful; the suggestions given here are those adopted by the editor for such information as is at his disposal. It seems to be unnecessary to give all the names, as the list would be too long; this list contains those names in the first volume as are of frequent occurrence; names that occur less commonly, and some of those in the following list, have a pronunciation indicated in foot-notes. The most important names are in small capitals. LIST OF NAMES Aife (Ee-fa), pp. 117, 129, 1342 141, 148, an instructress of Cuchulain, Ferdia, and others in the art of war. Cathbad (Cah-ba), pp. 91, 92, 93, 95, a Druid. Cualgne (Kell-ny), mentioned in the Preface, Introductions, the "Combat" and elsewhere; a district corresponding to County Louth. Cuchulain (Cu-hoo-lin), the hero of the "Sick-bed" and the "Combat," and of the Ulster Heroic cycle in general. Deirdre (Dire-dree), the heroine of the "Exile of the Sons of Usnach." Dubhtach (Doov-ta), pp. 48, 97, 98, 107, an Ulster hero. Eochaid Airem (Yeo-hay Arrem), the king in the "Courtship of Etain." Eochaid Juil (Yeo-hay Yool), pp. 63, 70, 76, 79, a fairy king killed by Cuchulain. Eogan mac Durthacht (Yeogan mac Door-ha), pp. 43, 48, 93, 97, 101, 107; an Ulster hero, the slayer of the sons of Usnach. Etain (Et-oyn), the heroine of the "Courtship of Etain." Ferdia (Fer-dee-a), Cuchulain's opponent in the "Combat at the Ford." The true pronunciation is probably Fer-deed. Fuamnach (Foom-na), pp. 79 9, 10, 19, 26, a sorceress. Laeg (Layg), son of Riangabra (Reen-gabra), the charioteer and friend of Cuchulain, frequently mentioned in the "Sick-bed" and the "Combat at the Ford." Laegaire (Leary), pp. 42, 46, 67, an Ulster hero. Leabhar na h-Uidhri (Lyow-er na hoorie), frequently mentioned, the oldest Irish manuscript of romance. It means the "Book of the Dun Cow," sometimes referred to as L.U. Mac Datho (Mac Da-ho), king of Leinster in the "Boar of Mac Datho," the word means "son of two mutes." Murthemne (Moor-temmy), pp. 57, 59, 61, 73, 77, 78, a district in Ulster, with which Cuchulain is connected in the "Sick-bed" (in the "Combat" he is "Cuchulain of Cualgne"). Naisi (Nay-see), the hero of the "Exile of the Sons of Usnach." Scathach (Ska-ha), pp. 117, 129) 131, 134, 141, 149, 151 a sorceress in the Isle of Skye, instructress of Cuchulain in war. Uathach (Oo-ha), pp. 117, 129, 134; 141) 149, daughter of Scathach. Other prominent characters, in the pronunciation of whose names as given in the text no special assistance is required, are: Ailill mac Mata (Al-ill), king of Connaught. Ailill Anglonnach, lover of Etain, in the "Courtship of Etain." Conall Cernach, Conall the Victorious, second champion of Ulster after Cuchulain. Conor (properly spelt Conchobar and pronounced Con-ower), king of Ulster. Emer, wife of Cuchulain, appears often in the "Sick-bed." This name is by some pronounced A-vair, probably from a different spelling. Fand, the fairy princess, in love with Cuchulain, in the "Sick-bed." Fergus, son of Rog, prominent in the "Exile of the Sons of Usnach," and in "Combat"; step-father to King Conor, he appears in most of the romances. Ket (spelt Cet), son of Mata, the Connaught champion, appears in the "Boar of Mac Datho." Maev (spelt Medb), the great Queen of Connaught. Mider, Etain's fairy lover, in the "Courtship of Etain." CONTENTS THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN MAC DATHO'S BOAR THE SICK-BED OF CUCHULAIN THE EXILE OF THE SONS OF USNACH THE COMBAT AT THE FORD SPECIAL NOTE ON THE COMBAT AT THE FORD GENERAL NOTES THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN INTRODUCTION The date which tradition assigns to the events related in the tale of the "Courtship of Etain" is about B.C. 100, two or, according to some accounts, three generations before the king Conaire Mor, or Conary, whose death is told in the tale called the "Destruction of Da Derga's Hostel." This king is generally spoken of as a contemporary of the chief personages of what is called more especially the "Heroic Age" of Ireland; and the two versions of the "Courtship of Etain" given in this volume at once introduce a difficulty; for the sub-kings who were tributary to Eochaid, Etain's husband, are in both versions stated to be Conor, Ailill mac Mata, Mesgegra, and Curoi, all of whom are well-known figures in the tales of the Heroic Age. As Conary is related to have ruled sixty years, and several of the characters of the Heroic Age survived him, according to the tale that describes his death, the appearance of the names of Conor and Ailill in a tale about his grandfather (or according to the Egerton version his great-grandfather) introduces an obvious discrepancy. It appears to be quite impossible to reconcile the dates given to the actors in the tales of the Heroic and preceding age. They seem to have been given in the "antiquarian age" of the tenth and eleventh centuries; not only do they differ according to different chronologers by upwards of a hundred years, but the succession of kings in the accounts given by the same chronologer is often impossible in view of their mutual relationships. The real state of things appears to be that the "Courtship of Etain," together with the story of Conary, the lost tale of the destruction of the Fairy Hill of Nennta,[FN#5] and the tale of the Bull-Feast and election of Lugaid Red-Stripes as king of Ireland, forms a short cycle of romance based upon ancient legends that had originally no connection at all with those on which the romances of the Heroic Age were built. The whole government of the country is essentially different in the two cycles; in the Etain cycle the idea is that of a land practically governed by one king, the vassal kings being of quite small importance; in the tales of the Heroic Age proper, the picture we get is of two, if not of four, practically independent kingdoms, the allusions to any over-king being very few, and in great part late. But when the stories of Etain and of Conary assumed their present forms, when the writers of our romances formed them out of the traditions which descended to them from pro-Christian sources, both cycles of tradition were pretty well known; and there was a natural tendency to introduce personages from one cycle into the other, although these personages occupy a subordinate position in the cycle to which they do not properly belong. Even Conall Cernach, who is a fairly prominent figure in the tale of the death of Conary, has little importance given to him compared with the people who really belong to the cycle, and the other warriors of the Heroic Age mentioned in the tale are little but lay figures compared with Conary, Ingcel, and Mac Cecht. A wish to connect the two cycles probably accounts for the connection of Lugaid Red-Stripes with Cuchulain, the introduction of Conor and Ailill into the story of Etain may be due to the same cause, and there is no need to suppose that the authors of our versions felt themselves bound by what other men had introduced into the tale of Conary. The practice of introducing heroes from one cycle into another was by no means uncommon, or confined to Ireland; Greek heroes' names sometimes appear in the Irish tales; Cuchulain, in much later times, comes into the tales of Finn; and in Greece itself, characters who really belong to the time of the Trojan War appear in tales of the Argonauts. [FN#5] A short account of this is in the story of King Dathi (O'Curry Lectures, p. 286). The tale seems to be alluded to in the quatrain on p. 10 of this volume. There are very few corresponding allusions to personages from the small Etain cycle found in the great cycle of romances that belong to the Heroic Age, but MacCecht's name appears in a fifteenth-century manuscript which gives a version of the tale of Flidais; and I suspect an allusion to the Etain story in a verse in the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain" (see note, p. 184). It may be observed that the introduction of Conor and his contemporaries into the story of Conary's grandparents is an additional piece of evidence that our form of the story of Etain precedes the "antiquarian age"; for at that time the version which we have of the story of Conary must have been classical and the connection of Conor's warriors with Conary well-known. A keen eye was at that time kept on departures from the recognised historical order (compare a note by Mr. Nutt in the "Voyage of Bran," vol. ii. p. 61); and the introduction of Conor into our version of the tale of Etain must have been at an earlier date. The two versions of the "Courtship of Etain," the Egerton one, and that in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, have been compared in the general preface to the volume, and little more need be said on this point; it may, however, be noted that eight pages of the Egerton version (pp. 11 to 18) are compressed into two pages in L.U. (pp. 23 and 24). References to the Etain story are found in different copies of the "Dindshenchas," under the headings of Rath Esa, Rath Croghan, and Bri Leith; the principal manuscript authorities, besides the two translated here, are the Yellow Book of Lecan, pp. 91 to 104, and the Book of Leinster, 163b (facsimile). These do not add much to our versions; there are, however, one or two new points in a hitherto untranslated manuscript source mentioned by O'Curry ("Manners and Customs," vol. ii. p 192 to 194). The Leabhar na h-Uidhri version is defective both at the beginning and at the end; there is also a complete column torn from the manuscript, making the description of the chess match defective. These three gaps have been filled up by short passages enclosed in square brackets, at the commencement of the Prologue, on p. 28, and at the end of the L.U. version. The two first of these insertions contain no matter that cannot be found by allusions in the version itself; the conclusion of the tale is drawn, partly from the "Dindshenchas" of Rath Esa, partly from the passage in O'Curry's "Manners and Customs." The only alteration that has been made is that, following a suggestion in Windisch (Irische Texte, i. p. 132), the poem on page 26 has been placed four pages earlier than the point at which it occurs in the manuscript. Three very difficult lines (Leabhar na h-Uidhri, 132a, lines 12 to 14) have not been attempted; there are no other omissions, and no insertions except the three noted above. The Prologue out of the L.U. version has been placed first, as it is essential to the understanding of any version, then follows the Egerton version as the longer of the two, then the L.U. version of the Courtship, properly so called. PROLOGUE IN FAIRYLAND FROM THE LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRI Etain of the Horses, the daughter of Ailill, was the wife of Mider, the Fairy Dweller in Bri Leith.[FN#6] Now Mider had also another wife named Fuamnach[FN#7] who was filled with jealousy against Etain, and sought to drive her from her husband's house. And Fuamnach sought out Bressal Etarlam the Druid and besought his aid; and by the spells of the Druid, and the sorcery of Fuamnach, Etain was changed into the shape of a butterfly that finds its delight among flowers. And when Etain was in this shape she was seized by a great wind that was raised by Fuamnach's spells; and she was borne from her husband's house by that wind for seven years till she came to the palace of Angus Mac O'c who was son to the Dagda, the chief god of the men of ancient Erin. Mac O'c had been fostered by Mider, but he was at enmity with his foster-father, and he recognised Etain, although in her transformed shape, as she was borne towards him by the force] of the wind. And he made a bower for Etain with clear windows for it through which she might pass, and a veil of purple was laid upon her; and that bower was carried about by Mac O'c wherever he went. And there each night she slept beside him by a means that he devised, so that she became well-nourished and fair of form; for that bower was filled with marvellously sweet-scented shrubs, and it was upon these that she thrived, upon the odour and blossom of the best of precious herbs. [FN#6] Pronounced Bree Lay. [FN#7] Pronounced Foom-na. Now to Fuamnach came tidings of the love and the worship that Etain had from Mac O'c, and she came to Mider, and "Let thy foster-son," said she, "be summoned to visit thee, that I may make peace between you two, and may then go to seek for news of Etain." And the messenger from Mider went to Mac O'c, and Mac O'c went to Mider to greet him; but Fuamnach for a long time wandered from land to land till she was in that very mansion where Etain was; and then she blew beneath her with the same blast as aforetime, so that the blast carried her out of her bower, and she was blown before it, as she had been before for seven years through all the land of Erin, and she was driven by the wind of that blast to weakness and woe. And the wind carried her over the roof of a house where the men of Ulster sat at their ale, so that she fell through the roof into a cup of gold that stood near the wife of Etar the Warrior, whose dwelling-place was near to the Bay of Cichmany in the province that was ruled over by Conor. And the woman swallowed Etain together with the milk that was in the cup, and she bare her in her womb, till the time came that she was born thereafter as in earthly maid, and the name of Etain, the daughter of Etar, was given to her. And it was one thousand and twelve years since the time of the first begetting of Etain by Ailill to the time when she was born the second time as the daughter of Etar. Now Etain was nurtured at Inver Cichmany in the house of Etar, with fifty maidens about her of the daughters of the chiefs of the land; and it was Etar himself who still nurtured and clothed them, that they might be companions to his daughter Etain. And upon a certain day, when those maidens were all at the river-mouth to bathe there, they saw a horseman on the plain who came to the water towards them. A horse he rode that was brown, curvetting, and prancing, with a broad forehead and a curly mane and tail. Green, long, and flowing was the cloak that was about him, his shirt was embroidered with embroidery of red gold, and a great brooch of gold in his cloak reached to his shoulder on either side. Upon the back of that man was a silver shield with a golden rim; the handle for the shield was silver, and a golden boss was in the midst of the shield: he held in his hand a five-pointed spear with rings of gold about it from the haft to the head. The hair that was above his forehead was yellow and fair; and upon his brow was a circlet of gold, which confined the hair so that it fell not about his face. He stood for a while upon the shore of the bay; and he gazed upon the maidens, who were all filled with love for him, and then he sang this song: West of Alba, near the Mound[FN#8] Where the Fair-Haired Women play, There, 'mid little children found, Etain dwells, by Cichmain's Bay. She hath healed a monarch's eye By the well of Loch-da-lee; Yea, and Etar's wife, when dry, Drank her: heavy draught was she! Chased by king for Etain's sake, Birds their flight from Teffa wing: 'Tis for her Da-Arbre's lake Drowns the coursers of the king. Echaid, who in Meath shall reign, Many a war for thee shall wage; He shall bring on fairies bane, Thousands rouse to battle's rage. Etain here to harm was brought, Etain's form is Beauty's test; Etain's king in love she sought: Etain with our folk shall rest! [FN#8] The metre of these verses is that of the Irish. And after that he had spoken thus, the young warrior went away from the place where the maidens were; and they knew not whence it was that he had come, nor whither he departed afterwards. Moreover it is told of Mac O'c, that after the disappearance of Etain he came to the meeting appointed between him and Mider; and when he found that Fuamnach was away: "'Tis deceit," said Mider, "that this woman hath practised upon us; and if Etain shall be seen by her to be in Ireland, she will work evil upon Etain." "And indeed," said Mac O'c, "it seemeth to me that thy guess may be true. For Etain hath long since been in my own house, even in the palace where I dwell; moreover she is now in that shape into which that woman transformed her; and 'tis most likely that it is upon her that Fuamnach hath rushed." Then Mac O'c went back to his palace, and he found his bower of glass empty, for Etain was not there. And Mac O'c turned him, and he went upon the track of Fuamnach, and he overtook her at Oenach Bodbgnai, in the house of Bressal Etarlam the Druid. And Mac O'c attacked her, and he struck off her head, and he carried the head with him till he came to within his own borders. Yet a different tale hath been told of the end of Fuamnach, for it hath been said that by the aid of Manannan both Fuamnach and Mider were slain in Bri Leith, and it is of that slaying that men have told when they said: Think on Sigmall, and Bri with its forest: Little wit silly Fuamnach had learned; Mider's wife found her need was the sorest, When Bri Leith by Manannan was burned. THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN EGERTON VERSION Once there was a glorious and stately king who held the supreme lordship over all the land of Ireland. The name of the king was Eochaid Airemm, and he was the son of Finn, who was the son of Finntan; who was the son of Rogan the Red; who was the son of Essamain; who was the son of Blathecht; who was the son of Beothecht; who was the son of Labraid the Tracker; who was the son of Enna the Swift; who was the son of Angus of Tara, called the Shamefaced; who was the son of Eochaid the Broad-jointed; who was the son of Ailill of the Twisted Teeth; who was the son of Connla the Fair; who was the son of Irer; who was the son of Melghe the Praiseworthy; who was the son of Cobhtach the Slender from the plain of Breg; who was the son of Ugaine the Great; who was the son of Eochaid the Victorious. Now all the five provinces of Ireland were obedient to the rule of Eochaid Airemm: for Conor the son of Ness, the king of Ulster, was vassal to Eochaid; and Messgegra the king of Leinster was his vassal; and so was Curoi, the son of Dare, king of the land of Munster; and so were Ailill and Maev, who ruled over the land of Connaught. Two great strongholds were in the hands of Eochaid: they were the strongholds of Fremain in Meath, and of Fremain in Tethba; and the stronghold that he had in Tethba was more pleasing to him than any of those that he possessed. Less than a year had passed since Eochaid first assumed the sovereignty over Erin, when the news was proclaimed at once throughout all the land that the Festival of Tara should be held, that all the men of Ireland should come into the presence of their king, and that he desired full knowledge of the tributes due from, and the customs proper to each. And the one answer that all of the men of Ireland made to his call was: "That they would not attend the Festival of Tara during such time, whether it be long or short, that the king of Ireland remained without a wife that was worthy of him;" for there is no noble who is a wifeless man among the men of Ireland; nor can there be any king without a queen; nor does any man go to the Festival of Tara without his wife; nor does any wife go thither without her husband. Thereupon Eochaid sent out from him his horsemen, and his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and his couriers of the boundaries throughout all Ireland; and they searched all Ireland as they sought for a wife that should be worthy of the king, in her form, and her grace, and her countenance, and her birth. And in addition to all this there yet remained one condition: that the king would take as his wife none who had been before as a wife to any other man before him. And after that they had received these commands, his horsemen, and his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries went out; and they searched all Ireland south and north; and near to the Bay of Cichmany they found a wife worthy of the king; and her name was Etain the daughter of Etar, who was the king of Echrad. And his messengers returned to Eochaid, and they told him of the maiden, of her form, and her grace, and her countenance. And Eochaid came to that place to take the maiden thence, and this was the way that he took; for as he crossed over the ground where men hold the assembly of Bri Leith, he saw the maiden at the brink of the spring. A clear comb of silver was held in her hand, the comb was adorned with gold; and near her, as for washing, was a bason of silver whereon four birds had been chased, and there were little bright gems of carbuncle on the rims of the bason. A bright purple mantle waved round her; and beneath it was another mantle, ornamented with silver fringes: the outer mantle was clasped over her bosom with a golden brooch. A tunic she wore, with a long hood that might cover her head attached to it; it was stiff and glossy with green silk beneath red embroidery of gold, and was clasped over her breasts with marvellously wrought clasps of silver and gold; so that men saw the bright gold and the green silk flashing against the sun. On her head were two tresses of golden hair, and each tress had been plaited into four strands; at the end of each strand was a little ball of gold. And there was that maiden, undoing her hair that she might wash it, her two arms out through the armholes of her smock. Each of her two arms was as white as the snow of a single night, and each of her cheeks was as rosy as the foxglove. Even and small were the teeth in her head, and they shone like pearls. Her eyes were as blue as a hyacinth, her lips delicate and crimson; very high, soft, and white were her shoulders. Tender, polished, and white were her wrists; her fingers long, and of great whiteness; her nails were beautiful and pink. White as the snow, or as the foam of the wave, was her side; long was it, slender, and as soft as silk. Smooth and white were her thighs; her knees were round and firm and white; her ankles were as straight as the rule of a carpenter. Her feet were slim, and as white as the ocean's foam; evenly set were her eyes; her eyebrows were of a bluish black, such as ye see upon the shell of a beetle. Never a maid fairer than she, or more worthy of love, was till then seen by the eyes of men; and it seemed to them that she must be one of those who have come from the fairy mounds: it is of this maiden that men have spoken when it hath been said: "All that's graceful must be tested by Etain; all that's lovely by the standard of Etain." Grace with Etain's grace compare! Etain's face shall test what's fair! And desire of her seized upon the king; and he sent a man of his people in front of him to go to her kindred, in order that she might abide to await his coming. And afterwards the king came to the maiden, and he sought speech from her: "Whence art thou sprung, O maiden?" says Eochaid, "and whence is it that thou hast come?" "It is easy to answer thee," said the maiden: "Etain is my name, the daughter of the king of Echrad; 'out of the fairy mound' am I" "Shall an hour of dalliance with thee be granted to me?" said Eochaid. "'Tis for that I have come hither under thy safeguard," said she. "And indeed twenty years have I lived in this place, ever since I was born in the mound where the fairies dwell, and the men who dwell in the elf-mounds, their kings and their nobles, have been a-wooing me: yet to never a one of them was granted sleep with me, for I have loved thee, and have set my love and affection upon thee; and that ever since I was a little child, and had first the gift of speech. It was for the high tales of thee, and of thy splendour, that I have loved thee thus; and though I have never seen thee before, I knew thee at once by reason of the report of thee that I had heard; it is thou, I know, to whom we have attained." "It is no evil-minded lover who now inviteth thee," says Eochaid. "Thou shalt be welcomed by me, and I will leave all women for thy sake, and thine alone will I be so long as it is pleasing to thee." "Let the bride-price that befits me be paid," said the maiden, "and after that let my desire be fulfilled." "It shall be as thou hast said," the king answered her; and he gave the value of seven cumals to be her brideprice; and after that he brought her to Tara, whereon a fair and hearty welcome was made to her. Now there were three brothers of the one blood, all sons of Finn, namely, Eochaid Airem, and Eochaid, and Ailill Anglonnach, or Ailill of the Single Stain, because the only stain that was upon him was the love that he had for his brother's wife. And at that time came all the men of Ireland to hold the festival of Tara; they were there for fourteen days before Samhain, the day when the summer endeth, and for fourteen days after that day. It was at the feast of Tara that love for Etain the daughter of Etar came upon Ailill Anglonnach; and ever so long as they were at the Tara Feast, so long he gazed upon the maid. And it was there that the wife of Ailill spoke to him; she who was the daughter of Luchta of the Red Hand, who came from the province of Leinster: "Ailill," said she, "why dost thou gaze at her from afar? for long gazing is a token of love." And Ailill gave blame to himself for this thing, and after that he looked not upon the maid. Now it followed that after that the Feast of Tara had been consumed, the men of Ireland parted from one another, and then it was that Ailill became filled with the pangs of envy and of desire; and he brought upon himself the choking misery of a sore sickness, and was borne to the stronghold of Fremain in Tethba after that he had fallen into that woe. There also, until a whole year had ended, sickness long brooded over Ailill, and for long was he in distress, yet he allowed none to know of his sickness. And there Eochaid came to learn of his brother's state, and he came near to his brother, and laid his hand upon his chest; and Ailill heaved a sigh. "Why," said Eochaid, "surely this sickness of thine is not such as to cause thee to lament; how fares it with thee?" "By my word," said Ailill, "'tis no easier that I grow; but it is worse each day, and each night." "Why, what ails thee?" said Eochaid, "By my word of truth," said Ailill, "I know not." "Bring one of my folk hither," said Eochaid, "one who can find out the cause of this illness." Then Fachtna, the chief physician of Eochaid, was summoned to give aid to Ailill, and he laid his hand upon his chest, and Ailill heaved a sigh. "Ah," said Fachtna, "there is no need for lament in this matter, for I know the cause of thy sickness; one or other of these two evils oppresseth thee, the pangs of envy, or the pangs of love: nor hast thou been aided to escape from them until now." And Ailill was full of shame, and he refused to confess to Fachtna the cause of his illness, and the physician left him. Now, after all this, king Eochaid went in person to make a royal progress throughout the realm of Ireland, and he left Etain behind him in his fortress; and "Lady," said he, "deal thou gently with Ailill so long as he is yet alive; and, should he die," said he, "do thou see that his burial mound be heaped for him; and that a standing-stone be set up in memory of him; and let his name be written upon it in letters of Ogham." Then the king went away for the space of a year, to make his royal progress throughout the realm of Ireland, and Ailill was left behind, in the stronghold of Fremain of Tethba; there to pass away and to die. Now upon a certain day that followed, the lady Etain came to the house where Ailill lay in his sickness, and thus she spoke to him: "What is it," she said, "that ails thee? thy sickness is great, and if we but knew anything that would content thee, thou shouldest have it." It was thus that at that time she spoke, and she sang a verse of a song, and Ailill in song made answer to her: Etain Young man, of the strong step and splendid, What hath bound thee? what ill dost thou bear? Thou hast long been on sick-bed extended, Though around thee the sunshine was fair. Ailill There is reason indeed for my sighing, I joy naught at my harp's pleasant sound; Milk untasted beside me is lying; And by this in disease am I bound. Etain Tell me all, thou poor man, of thine ailing; For a maiden am I that is wise; Is there naught, that to heal thee availing, Thou couldst win by mine aid, and arise Ailill If I told thee, thou beautiful maiden, My words, as I formed them, would choke, For with fire can eyes' curtains be laden: Woman-secrets are evil, if woke. Etain It is ill woman-secrets to waken; Yet with Love, its remembrance is long; And its part by itself may be taken, Nor a thought shall remain of the wrong. Ailill I adore thee, white lady, as grateful; Yet thy bounty deserve I but ill: To my soul is my longing but hateful, For my body doth strive with me still. Eocho Fedlech,[FN#9] his bride to him taking, Made thee queen; and from thence is my woe: For my head and my body are aching, And all Ireland my weakness must know. Etain If, among the white women who near me abide, There is one who is vexing, whose love thou dost hide; To thy side will I bring her, if thus I may please; And in love thou shalt win her, thy sickness to ease. Ah lady! said Ailill, "easily could the cure of my sickness be wrought by the aid of thee, and great gain should there come from the deed, but thus it is with me until that be accomplished: Long ago did my passion begin, A full year it exceeds in its length; And it holds me, more near than my skin, And it rules over wrath in its strength. And the earth into four it can shake, Can reach up to the heights of the sky And a neck with its might it can break, Nor from fight with a spectre would fly. In vain race up to heaven 'tis urged; It is chilled, as with water, and drowned: 'Tis a weapon, in ocean submerged; 'Tis desire for an echo, a sound. 'Tis thus my love, my passion seem; 'tis thus I strive in vain To win the heart of her whose love I long so much to gain. [FN#9] Pronounced Yeo-ho Fayllya, see note, p. 166. And the lady stood there in that place, and she looked upon Ailill, and the sickness in which he lay was perceived by her; and she was grieved on account of it: so that upon a certain day came the lady to Ailill, and "Young man," she said, "arouse thyself quickly, for in very truth thou shalt have all that thou desirest; and thereon did she make this lay: Now arouse thyself, Ailill the royal: Let thy heart, and thy courage rise high; Every longing thou hast shall be sated, For before thee, to heal thee, am I. Is my neck and its beauty so pleasing? 'Tis around it thine arms thou shalt place; And 'tis known as a courtship's beginning When a man and a woman embrace. And if this cometh not to content thee, O thou man, that art son to a king! I will dare to do crime for thy healing, And my body to please thee will bring. There were steeds, with their bridles, one hundred, When the price for my wedding was told; And one hundred of gay-coloured garments, And of cattle, and ounces of gold. Of each beast that men know, came one hundred; And king Eocho to grant them was swift: When a king gave such dowry to gain me, Is't not wondrous to win me, as gift? Now each day the lady came to Ailill to tend him, and to divide for him the portion of food that was allotted to him; and she wrought a great healing upon him: for it grieved her that he should perish for her sake. And one day the lady spoke to Ailill: "Come thou to-morrow," said she, "to tryst with me at the break of day, in the house which lieth outside, and is beyond the fort, and there shalt thou have granted thy request and thy desire." On that night Ailill lay without sleep until the coming of the morning; and when the time had come that was appointed for his tryst, his sleep lay heavily upon him; so that till the hour of his rising he lay deep in his sleep. And Etain went to the tryst, nor had she long to wait ere she saw a man coming towards her in the likeness of Ailill, weary and feeble; but she knew that he was not Ailill, and she continued there waiting for Ailill. And the lady came back from her tryst, and Ailill awoke, and thought that he would rather die than live; and he went in great sadness and grief. And the lady came to speak with him, and when he told her what had befallen him: "Thou shalt come," said she, "to the same place, to meet with me upon the morrow." And upon the morrow it was the same as upon the first day; each day came that man to her tryst. And she came again upon the last day that was appointed for the tryst, and the same man met her. "'Tis not with thee that I trysted," said she, "why dost thou come to meet me? and for him whom I would have met here; neither from desire of his love nor for fear of danger from him had I appointed to meet him, but only to heal him, and to cure him from the sickness which had come upon him for his love of me." "It were more fitting for thee to come to tryst with me," says the man, "for when thou wast Etain of the Horses, and when thou wast the daughter of Ailill, I myself was thy husband. "Why," said she, "what name hast thou in the land? that is what I would demand of thee." "It is not hard to answer thee," he said; "Mider of Bri Leith is my name." "And what made thee to part from me, if we were as thou sayest?" said Etain. "Easy again is the answer," said Mider; "it was the sorcery of Fuamnach and the spells of Bressal Etarlam that put us apart." And Mider said to Etain: "Wilt thou come with me?" "Nay," answered Etain, "I will not exchange the king of all Ireland for thee; for a man whose kindred and whose lineage is unknown." "It was I myself indeed," said Mider, "who filled all the mind of Ailill with love for thee: it was I also who prevented his coming to the tryst with thee, and allowed him not thine honour to spoil it." After all this the lady went back to her house, and she came to speech with Ailill, and she greeted him. "It hath happened well for us both," said Ailill, "that the man met thee there: for I am cured for ever from my illness, thou also art unhurt in thine honour, and may a blessing rest upon thee!" "Thanks be to our gods," said Etain, "that both of us do indeed deem that all this hath chanced so well." And after that Eochaid came back from his royal progress, and he asked at once for his brother; and the tale was told to him from the beginning to the end, and the king was grateful to Etain, in that she had been gracious to Ailill; and, "What hath been related in this tale," said Eochaid, "is well-pleasing to ourselves." And, for the after history of Eochaid and Etain, it is told that once when Eochaid was in Fremain, at such time as the people had prepared for themselves a great gathering and certain horse-races; thither also to that assembly came Etain, that she might see the sight. Thither also came Mider, and he searched through that assembly to find out where Etain might be; and he found Etain, and her women around her, and he bore her away with him, also one of her handmaidens, called Crochen the Ruddy: hideous was the form in which Mider approached them. And the wives of the men of Ireland raised cries of woe, as the queen was carried off from among them; and the horses of Ireland were loosed to pursue Mider, for they knew not whether it was into the air or into the earth he had gone. But, as for Mider, the course that he had taken was the road to the west, even to the plain of Croghan; and as he came thither, "How shall it profit us," said Crochen the Ruddy, "this journey of ours to this plain?" "For evermore," said Mider, "shall thy name be over all this plain:" and hence cometh the name of the plain of Croghan, and of the Fort of Croghan. Then Mider came to the Fairy Mound of Croghan; for the dwellers in that mound were allied to him, and his friends; and for nine days they lingered there, banqueting and feasting; so that "Is this the place where thou makest thy home?" said Crochen to Mider. "Eastwards from this is my dwelling," Mider answered her; "nearer to the rising-place of the sun;" and Mider, taking Etain with him, departed, and came to Bri Leith, where the son of Celthar had his palace. Now just at the time when they came to this palace, king Eochaid sent out from him the horsemen of Ireland, also his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries, that they might search through Ireland, and find out where his wife might be; and Eochaid himself wandered throughout Ireland to seek for his wife; and for a year from that day until the same day upon the year that followed he searched, and he found nothing to profit him. Then, at the last, king Eochaid sent for his Druid, and he set to him the task to seek for Etain; now the name of the Druid was Dalan. And Dalan came before him upon that day; and he went westwards, until he came to the mountain that was after that known as Slieve Dalan; and he remained there upon that night. And the Druid deemed it a grievous thing that Etain should be hidden from him for the space of one year, and thereupon he made three wands of yew; and upon the wands he wrote an ogham; and by the keys of wisdom that he had, and by the ogham, it was revealed to him that Etain was in the fairy mound of Bri Leith, and that Mider had borne her thither. Then Dalan the Druid turned him, and went back to the east; and he came to the stronghold of Fremain, even to the place where the king of Ireland was; and Eochaid asked from the Druid his news. Thither also came the horsemen, and the wizards, and the officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries, to the king of Ireland, and he asked them what tidings they had, and whether they had found news of Mider and Etain. And they said that they had found nothing at all; until at the last said his Druid to him: "A great evil hath smitten thee, also shame, and misfortune, on account of the loss of thy wife. Do thou assemble the warriors of Ireland, and depart to Bri Leith, where is the palace of the son of Celthar; let that palace be destroyed by thy hand, and there thou shalt find thy wife: by persuasion or by force do thou take her thence." Then Eochaid and the men of Ireland marched to Bri Leith, and they set themselves to destroy that fairy dwelling, and to demand that Etain be brought to them, and they brought her not. Then they ruined that fairy dwelling, and they brought Etain out from it; and she returned to Fremain, and there she had all the worship that a king of Ireland can bestow, fair wedded love and affection, such as was her due from Eochaid Airemm. This is that Eochaid who ruled over Ireland for twelve years, until the fire burned him in Fremain; and this tale is known by the name of the "Sick-bed of Ailill," also as "The Courtship of Etain." Etain bore no children to Eochaid Airemm, save one daughter only; and the name of her mother was given to her, and she is known by the name of Etain, the daughter of Eochaid Airemm. And it was her daughter Messbuachalla who was the mother of king Conary the Great, the son of Eterscel, and it was for this cause that the fairy host of Mag Breg and Mider of Bri Leith violated the tabus of king Conary, and devastated the plain of Breg, and out off Conary's life; on account of the capture of that fairy dwelling, and on account of the recovery of Etain, when she was carried away by violence, even by the might of Eochaid Airemm. THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRI VERSION Eochaid Airemon took the sovereignty over Erin, and the five provinces of Ireland were obedient to him, for the king of each province was his vassal. Now these were they who were the kings of the provinces at that time, even Conor the son of Ness, and Messgegra, and Tigernach Tetbannach, and Curoi, and Ailill the son of Mata of Muresc. And the royal forts that belonged to Eochaid were the stronghold of Fremain in Meath, and the stronghold of Fremain in Tethba; moreover the stronghold of Fremain in Tethba was more pleasing to him than any other of the forts of Erin. Now a year after that Eochaid had obtained the sovereignty, he sent out his commands to the men of Ireland that they should come to Tara to hold festival therein, in order that there should be adjusted the taxes and the imposts that should be set upon them, so that these might be settled for a period of five years. And the one answer that the men of Ireland made to Eochaid was that they would not make for the king that assembly which is the Festival of Tara until he found for himself a queen, for there was no queen to stand by the king's side when Eochaid first assumed the kingdom. Then Eochaid sent out the messengers of each of the five provinces to go through the land of Ireland to seek for that woman or girl who was the fairest to be found in Erin; and he bade them to note that no woman should be to him as a wife, unless she had never before been as a wife to any one of the men of the land. And at the Bay of Cichmany a wife was found for him, and her name was Etain, the daughter of Etar; and Eochaid brought her thereafter to his palace, for she was a wife meet for him, by reason of her form, and her beauty, and her descent, and her brilliancy, and her youth, and her renown. Now Finn the son of Findloga had three sons, all sons of a queen, even Eochaid Fedlech, and Eochaid Airemm, and Ailill Anguba. And Ailill Anguba was seized with love for Etain at the Festival of Tara, after that she had been wedded to Eochaid; since he for a long time gazed upon her, and, since such gazing is a token of love, Ailill gave much blame to himself for the deed that he was doing, yet it helped him not. For his longing was too strong for his endurance, and for this cause he fell into a sickness; and, that there might be no stain upon his honour, his sickness was concealed by him from all, neither did he speak of it to the lady herself. Then Fachtna, the chief physician of Eochaid, was brought to look upon Ailill, when it was understood that his death might be near, and thus the physician spoke to him: "One of the two pangs that slay a man, and for which there is no healing by leechcraft, is upon thee; either the pangs of envy or the pangs of love. And Ailill refused to confess the cause of his illness to the physician, for he was withheld by shame and he was left behind in Fremain of Tethba to die; and Eochaid went upon his royal progress throughout all Erin, and he left Etain behind him to be near Ailill, in order that the last rites of Ailill might be done by her; that she might cause his grave to be dug, and that the keen might be raised for him, and that his cattle should be slain for him as victims. And to the house where Ailill lay in his sickness went Etain each day to converse with him, and his sickness was eased by her presence; and, so long as Etain was in that place where he was, so long was he accustomed to gaze at her. Now Etain observed all this, and she bent her mind to discover the cause, and one day when they were in the house together, Etain asked of Ailill what was the cause of his sickness. "My sickness," said Ailill, "comes from my love for thee." "'Tis pity," said she, "that thou hast so long kept silence, for thou couldest have been healed long since, had we but known of its cause." "And even now could I be healed," said Ailill, "did I but find favour in thy sight." "Thou shalt find favour," she said. Each day after they had spoken thus with each other, she came to him for the fomenting of his head, and for the giving of the portion of food that was required by him, and for the pouring of water over his hands; and three weeks after that, Ailill was whole. Then he said to Etain: "Yet is the completion of my cure at thy hands lacking to me; when may it be that I shall have it?" "'Tis to-morrow it shall be," she answered him, "but it shall not be in the abode of the lawful monarch of the land that this felony shall be done. Thou shalt come," she said, "on the morrow to yonder hill that riseth beyond the fort: there shall be the tryst that thou desirest." Now Ailill lay awake all that night, and he fell into a sleep at the hour when he should have kept his tryst, and he woke not from his sleep until the third hour of the day. And Etain went to her tryst, and she saw a man before her; like was his form to the form of Ailill, he lamented the weakness that his sickness had caused him, and he gave to her such answers as it was fitting that Ailill should give. But at the third hour of the day, Ailill himself awoke: and he had for a long time remained in sorrow when Etain came into the house where he was; and as she approached him, "What maketh thee so sorrowful?" said Etain. "'Tis because thou wert sent to tryst with me," said Ailill, "and I came not to thy presence, and sleep fell upon me, so that I have but now awakened from it; and surely my chance of being healed hath now gone from me." "Not so, indeed," answered Etain, "for there is a morrow to follow to-day." And upon that night he took his watch with a great fire before him, and with water beside him to put upon his eyes. At the hour that was appointed for the tryst, Etain came for her meeting with Ailill; and she saw the same man, like unto Ailill, whom she had seen before; and Etain went to the house, and saw Ailill still lamenting. And Etain came three times, and yet Ailill kept not his tryst, and she found that same man there every time. "'Tis not for thee," she said, "that I came to this tryst: why comest thou to meet me? And as for him whom I would have met, it was for no sin or evil desire that I came to meet him; but it was fitting for the wife of the king of Ireland to rescue the man from the sickness under which he hath so long been oppressed." "It were more fitting for thee to tryst with me myself," said the man, "for when thou wert Etain of the Horses, the daughter of Ailill, it was I who was thy husband. And when thou camest to be wife to me, thou didst leave a great price behind thee; even a marriage price of the chief plains and waters of Ireland, and as much of gold and of silver as might match thee in value." "Why," said she, "what is thy name?" "'Tis easy to say," he answered; "Mider of Bri Leith is my name." "Truly," said she; "and what was the cause that parted us?" "That also is easy," he said; "it was the sorcery of Fuamnach, and the spells of Bressal Etarlam. And then Mider said to Etain: Wilt thou come to my home, fair-haired lady? to dwell In the marvellous land of the musical spell, Where the crowns of all heads are, as primroses, bright, And from head to the heel all men's bodies snow-white. In that land of no "mine" nor of "thine" is there speech, But there teeth flashing white and dark eyebrows hath each; In all eyes shine our hosts, as reflected they swarm, And each cheek with the pink of the foxglove is warm. With the heather's rich tint every blushing neck glows, In our eyes are all shapes that the blackbird's egg shows; And the plains of thine Erin, though pleasing to see, When the Great Plain is sighted, as deserts shall be. Though ye think the ale strong in this Island of Fate, Yet they drink it more strong in the Land of the Great; Of a country where marvel abounds have I told, Where no young man in rashness thrusts backward the old. There are streams smooth and luscious that flow through that land, And of mead and of wine is the best at each hand; And of crime there is naught the whole country within, There are men without blemish, and love without sin. Through the world of mankind, seeing all, can we float, And yet none, though we see them, their see-ers can note; For the sin of their sire is a mist on them flung, None may count up our host who from Adam is sprung. Lady, come to that folk; to that strong folk of mine; And with gold on thy head thy fair tresses shall shine: 'Tis on pork the most dainty that then thou shalt feed, And for drink have thy choice of new milk and of mead. "I will not come with thee," answered Etain, "I will not give up the king of Ireland for thee, a man who knows not his own clan nor his kindred." "It was indeed myself," said Mider, "who long ago put beneath the mind of Ailill the love that he hath felt for thee, so that his blood ceased to run, and his flesh fell away from him: it was I also who have taken away his desire, so that there might be no hurt to thine honour. But wilt thou come with me to my land," said Mider, "in case Eochaid should ask it of thee?" "I would come in such case," answered to him Etain. After all this Etain departed to the house. "It hath indeed been good, this our tryst," said Ailill, "for I have been cured of my sickness; moreover, in no way has thine honour been stained." "'Tis glorious that it hath fallen out so," answered Etain. And afterwards Eochaid came back from his royal progress, and he was grateful for that his brother's life had been preserved, and he gave all thanks to Etain for the great deed she had done while he was away from his palace. Now upon another time it chanced that Eochaid Airemm, the king of Tara, arose upon a certain fair day in the time of summer; and he ascended the high ground of Tara to behold the plain of Breg; beautiful was the colour of that plain, and there was upon it excellent blossom, glowing with all hues that are known. And, as the aforesaid Eochaid looked about and around him, he saw a young strange warrior upon the high ground at his side. The tunic that the warrior wore was purple in colour, his hair was of a golden yellow, and of such length that it reached to the edge of his shoulders. The eyes of the young warrior were lustrous and grey; in the one hand he held a five-pointed spear, in the other a shield with a white central boss, and with gems of gold upon it. And Eochaid held his peace, for he knew that none such had been in Tara on the night before, and the gate that led into the Liss had not at that hour been thrown open. The warrior came, and placed himself under the protection of Eochaid; and "Welcome do I give," said Eochaid, "to the hero who is yet unknown." "Thy reception is such as I expected when I came," said the warrior. "We know thee not," answered Eochaid. "Yet thee in truth I know well!" he replied. "What is the name by which thou art called?" said Eochaid. "My name is not known to renown," said the warrior; "I am Mider of Bri Leith." "And for what purpose art thou come?" said Eochaid. "I have come that I may play a game at the chess with thee," answered Mider. "Truly," said Eochaid, "I myself am skilful at the chess-play." "Let us test that skill! said Mider. "Nay," said Eochaid, the queen is even now in her sleep; and hers is the palace in which the chessboard lies." "I have here with me," said Mider, "a chessboard which is not inferior to thine." It was even as he said, for that chessboard was silver, and the men to play with were gold; and upon that board were costly stones, casting their light on every side, and the bag that held the men was of woven chains of brass. Mider then set out the chessboard, and he called upon Eochaid to play. "I will not play," said Eochaid, "unless we play for a stake." "What stake shall we have upon the game then?" said Mider. "It is indifferent to me," said Eochaid. "Then," said Mider, "if thou dost obtain the forfeit of my stake, I will bestow on thee fifty steeds of a dark grey, their heads of a blood-red colour, but dappled; their ears pricked high, and their chests broad; their nostrils wide, and their hoofs slender; great is their strength, and they are keen like a whetted edge; eager are they, high-standing, and spirited, yet easily stopped in their course." [Many games were played between Eochaid and Mider; and, since Mider did not put forth his whole strength, the victory on all occasions rested with Eochaid. But instead of the gifts which Mider had offered, Eochaid demanded that Mider and his folk should perform for him services which should be of benefit to his realm; that he should clear away the rocks and stones from the plains of Meath, should remove the rushes which made the land barren around his favourite fort of Tethba, should cut down the forest of Breg, and finally should build a causeway across the moor or bog of Lamrach that men might pass freely across it. All these things Mider agreed to do, and Eochaid sent his steward to see how that work was done. And when it came to the time after sunset, the steward looked, and he saw that Mider and his fairy host, together with fairy oxen, were labouring at the causeway over the bog;] and thereupon much of earth and of gravel and of stones was poured into it. Now it had, before that time, always been the custom of the men of Ireland to harness their oxen with a strap over their foreheads, so that the pull might be against the foreheads of the oxen; and this custom lasted up to that very night, when it was seen that the fairy-folk had placed the yoke upon the shoulders of the oxen, so that the pull might be there; and in this way were the yokes of the oxen afterwards placed by Eochaid, and thence cometh the name by which he is known; even Eochaid Airemm, or Eochaid the Ploughman, for he was the first of all the men of Ireland to put the yokes on the necks of the oxen, and thus it became the custom for all the land of Ireland. And this is the song that the host of the fairies sang, as they laboured at the making of the road: Thrust it in hand! force it in hand! Nobles this night, as an ox-troop, stand: Hard is the task that is asked, and who From the bridging of Lamrach shall gain, or rue? Not in all the world could a road have been found that should be better than the road that they made, had it not been that the fairy folk were observed as they worked upon it; but for that cause a breach hath been made in that causeway. And the steward of Eochaid thereafter came to him; and he described to him that great labouring band that had come before his eyes, and he said that there was not over the chariot-pole of life a power that could withstand its might. And, as they spake thus with each other, they saw Mider standing before them; high was he girt, and ill-favoured was the face that he showed; and Eochaid arose, and he gave welcome to him. "Thy welcome is such as I expected when I came," said Mider. "Cruel and senseless hast thou been in thy treatment of me, and much of hardship and suffering hast thou given me. All things that seemed good in thy sight have I got for thee, but now anger against thee hath filled my mind!" "I return not anger for anger," answered Eochaid; "what thou wishest shall be done." "Let it be as thou wishest," said Mider; "shall we play at the chess?" said he. "What stake shall we set upon the game?" said Eochaid. "Even such stake as the winner of it shall demand," said Mider. And in that very place Eochaid was defeated, and he forfeited his stake. "My stake is forfeit to thee," said Eochaid. "Had I wished it, it had been forfeit long ago," said Mider. "What is it that thou desirest me to grant?" said Eochaid. "That I may hold Etain in my arms, and obtain a kiss from her!" answered Mider. Eochaid was silent for a while and then he said: "One month from this day thou shalt come, and the very thing that thou hast asked for shall be given to thee." Now for a year before that Mider first came to Eochaid for the chess-play, had he been at the wooing of Etain, and he obtained her not; and the name which he gave to Etain was Befind, or Fair-haired Woman, so it was that he said: Wilt thou come to my home, fair-haired lady? as has before been recited. And it was at that time that Etain said: "If thou obtainest me from him who is the master of my house, I will go; but if thou art not able to obtain me from him, then I will not go." And thereon Mider came to Eochaid, and allowed him at the first to win the victory over him, in order that Eochaid should stand in his debt; and therefore it was that he paid the great stakes to which he had agreed; and therefore also was it that he had demanded of him that he should play that game in ignorance of what was staked. And when Mider and his folk were paying those agreed-on stakes, which were paid upon that night; to wit, the making of the road, and the clearing of the stones from Meath, the rushes from around Tethba, and of the forest that is over Breg, it was thus that he spoke, as it is written in the Book of Drom Snechta: Pile on the soil; thrust on the soil: Red are the oxen around who toil: Heavy the troops that my words obey; Heavy they seem, and yet men are they. Strongly, as piles, are the tree-trunks placed Red are the wattles above them laced: Tired are your hands, and your glances slant; One woman's winning this toil may grant! Oxen ye are, but revenge shall see; Men who are white shall your servants be: Rushes from Teffa are cleared away: Grief is the price that the man shall pay: Stones have been cleared from the rough Meath ground; Whose shall the gain or the harm be found? Now Mider appointed a day at the end of the month when he was to meet Eochaid, and Eochaid called the armies of the heroes of Ireland together, so that they came to Tara; and all the best of the champions of Ireland, ring within ring, were about Tara, and they were in the midst of Tara itself, and they guarded it, both without and within; and the king and the queen were in the midst of the palace, and the outer court thereof was shut and locked, for they knew that the great might of men would come upon them. And upon the appointed night Etain was dispensing the banquet to the kings, for it was her duty to pour out the wine, when in the midst of their talk they saw Mider standing before them in the centre of the palace. He was always fair, yet fairer than he ever was seemed Mider to be upon that night. And he brought to amazement all the hosts on which he gazed, and all thereon were silent, and the king gave a welcome to him. "Thy reception is such as I expected when I came," said Mider; "let that now be given to me that hath been promised. 'Tis a debt that is due when a promise hath been made; and I for my part have given to thee all that was promised by me." "I have not yet considered the matter," said Eochaid. "Thou hast promised Etain's very self to me," said Mider; "that is what hath come from thee." Etain blushed for shame when she heard that word. "Blush not," said Mider to Etain, "for in nowise hath thy wedding-feast been disgraced. I have been seeking thee for a year with the fairest jewels and treasures that can be found in Ireland, and I have not taken thee until the time came when Eochaid might permit it. 'Tis not through any will of thine that I have won thee." "I myself told thee," said Etain, "that until Eochaid should resign me to thee I would grant thee nothing. Take me then for my part, if Eochaid is willing to resign me to thee." "But I will not resign thee!" said Eochaid; "nevertheless he shall take thee in his arms upon the floor of this house as thou art." "It shall be done!" said Mider. He took his weapons into his left hand and the woman beneath his right shoulder; and he carried her off through the skylight of the house. And the hosts rose up around the king, for they felt that they had been disgraced, and they saw two swans circling round Tara, and the way that they took was the way to the elf-mound of Femun. And Eochaid with an army of the men of Ireland went to the elf-mound of Femun, which men call the mound of the Fair-haired-Women. And he followed the counsel of the men of Ireland, and he dug up each of the elf-mounds that he might take his wife from thence. [And Mider and his host opposed them and the war between them was long: again and again the trenches made by Eochaid were destroyed, for nine years as some say lasted the strife of the men of Ireland to enter into the fairy palace. And when at last the armies of Eochaid came by digging to the borders of the fairy mansion, Mider sent to the side of the palace sixty women all in the shape of Etain, and so like to her that none could tell which was the queen. And Eochaid himself was deceived, and he chose, instead of Etain, her daughter Messbuachalla (or as some say Esa.) But when he found that he had been deceived, he returned again to sack Bri Leith, and this time Etain made herself known to Eochaid, by proofs that he could not mistake, and he bore her away in triumph to Tara, and there she abode with the king.] MAC DATHO'S BOAR INTRODUCTION The tale of "Mac Datho's Boar" seems to deal with events that precede the principal events of the Heroic Period; most of the characters named in it appear as the chief actors in other romances; Conor and Ailill are as usual the leaders of Ulster and Connaught, but the king of Leinster is Mesroda Mac Datho, not his brother Mesgegra, who appears in the "Siege of Howth" (see Hull, Cuchullin Saga, p. 87), and the Ulster champion is not Cuchulain, but his elder comrade, Conall Cernach. The text followed is that of the Book of Leinster as printed by Windisch in Irische Texte, vol. i.; the later Harleian manuscript's readings given by Windisch have been taken in a few cases where the Leinster text seems untranslatable. There is a slightly different version, given by Kuno Meyer in the Anecdota Oxoniensia, taken from Rawlinson, B. 512, a fifteenth-century manuscript, but the text is substantially that of the Leinster version, and does not give, as in the case of the tale of Etain, a different view of the story. The verse passages differ in the two versions; two verse passages on pages 37 and 46 have been inserted from the Rawlinson manuscript, otherwise the rendering follows the Leinster text. The style of the tale is more barbaric than that of the other romances, but is relieved by touches of humour; the only supernatural touch occurs in one of the variations of the Rawlinson manuscript. Some of the chief variations en in this manuscript are pointed out in the notes; the respectful men on of Curoi mac Dari, who seems to have been a Munster hero, overshadowed in the accepted versions by the superior glory of Ulster, may be noted; also the remark that Ferloga did not get his cepoc, which seems to have been inserted by a later band of a critic who disapproved of the frivolity of the original author, or was jealous for the honour of the Ulster ladies. MAC DATHO'S BOAR FROM THE BOOK OF LEINSTER (TWELFTH-CENTURY MS.) With some Additions from Rawlinson, B. 512, written about 1560 A glorious king once hold rule over the men of Leinster; his name was Mesroda Mac Datho. Now Mac Datho had among his possessions a hound which was the guardian of all Leinster; the name of the hound was Ailbe, and all of the land of Leinster was filled with reports of the fame of it, and of that hound hath it been sung: Mesroda, son of Datho, Was he the boar who reared; And his the hound called Ailbe; No lie the tale appeared! The splendid hound of wisdom, The hound that far is famed, The hound from whom Moynalvy For evermore is named. By King Ailill and Queen Maev were sent folk to the son of Datho to demand that hound, and at that very hour came heralds from Conor the son of Ness to demand him; and to all of these a welcome was bid by the people of Mac Datho, and they were brought to speak with Mac Datho in his palace. At the time that we speak of, this palace was a hostelry that was the sixth of the hostelries of Ireland.; there were beside it the hostelry of Da Derga in the land of Cualan in Leinster; also the hostelry of Forgall the Wily, which is beside Lusk; and the hostelry of Da Reo in Breffny; and the hostelry of Da Choca in the west of Meath; and the hostelry of the landholder Blai in the country of the men of Ulster. There were seven doors to that palace, and seven passages ran through it; also there stood within it seven cauldrons, and in every one of the cauldrons was seething the flesh of oxen and the salted flesh of swine. Every traveller who came into the house after a journey would thrust a fork into a cauldron, and whatsoever he brought out at the first thrust, that had he to eat: if he got nothing at the first thrust, no second attempt was allowed him. They brought the heralds before Mac Datho as he sat upon his throne, that he might learn of their requests before they made their meal, and in this manner they made known their message. "We have come," said the men who were sent from Connaught, "that we might ask for thy hound; 'tis by Ailill and Maev we are sent. Thou shalt have in payment for him six thousand milch cows, also a two-horsed chariot with its horses, the best to be had in Connaught, and at the end of a year as much again shall be thine." "We also," said the heralds from Ulster, "have come to ask for thy hound; we have been sent by Conor, and Conor is a friend who is of no less value than these. He also will give to thee treasures and cattle, and the same amount at the end of a year, and he will be a stout friend to thee." Now after he had received this message Mac Datho sank into a deep silence, he ate nothing, neither did he sleep, but tossed about from one side to another, and then said his wife to him: "For a long time hast thou fasted; food is before thee, yet thou eatest not; what is it that ails thee? and Mac Datho made her no answer, whereupon she said: The Wife[FN#10] Gone is King Mac Datho's sleep, Restless cares his home invade; Though his thoughts from all he keep, Problems deep his mind hath weighed. He, my sight avoiding, turns Towards the wall, that hero grim; Well his prudent wife discerns Sleep hath passed away from him. [FN#10] The Irish metre is followed in the first four verses. Mac Datho Crimthann saith, Nar's sister's son, "Secrets none to women tell. Woman's secret soon is won; Never thrall kept jewel well." The Wife Why against a woman speak Till ye test, and find she fails? When thy mind to plan is weak, Oft another's wit avails. Mac Datho At ill season indeed came those heralds Who his hound from Mac Datho would take; In more wars than by thought can be counted Fair-haired champions shall fall for its sake. If to Conor I dare to deny him, He shall deem it the deed of a churl Nor shall cattle or country be left me By the hosts he against me can hurl. If refusal to Ailill I venture, With all Ireland my folk shall he sack; From our kingdom Mac Mata shall drive us, And our ashes may tell of his track. The Wife Here a counsel I find to deliver, And in woe shall our land have no share; Of that hound to them both be thou giver, And who dies for it little we care. Mac Datho Ah! the grief that I had is all ended, I have joy for this speech from thy tongue Surely Ailbe from heaven descended, There is none who can say whence he sprung. After these words the son of Datho rose up, and he shook himself, and May this fall out well for us," said he, "and well for our guests who come here to seek for him." His guests abode three days and three nights in his house, and when that time was ended, he bade that the heralds from Connaught be called to confer with him apart, and he spoke thus: "I have been," he said, "in great vexation of spirit, and for long have I hesitated before I made a decision what to do. But now have I decided to give the hound to Ailill and Maev, let them come with splendour to bear it away. They shall have plenty both to eat and to drink, and they shall have the hound to hold, and welcome shall they be." And the messengers from Connaught were well pleased with this answer that they had. Then he went to where the heralds from Ulster were, and thus he addressed them: "After long hesitation," said he, "I have awarded the hound to Conor, and a proud man should he be. Let the armies of the nobles of Ulster come to bear him away; they shall have presents, and I will make them welcome;" and with this the messengers from Ulster were content. Now Mac Datho had so planned it that both those armies, that from the East and that from the West, should arrive at his palace upon the selfsame day. Nor did they fail to keep their tryst; upon the same day those two provinces of Ireland came to Mac Datho's palace, and Mac Datho himself went outside and greeted them: "For two armies at the same time we were not prepared; yet I bid welcome to you, ye men. Enter into the court of the house." Then they went all of them into the palace; one half of the house received the Ulstermen, and the other half received the men of Connaught. For the house was no small one: it had seven doors and fifty couches between each two doors; and it was no meeting of friends that was then seen in that house, but the hosts that filled it were enemies to each other, for during the whole time of the three hundred years that preceded the birth of Christ there was war between Ulster and Connaught. Then they slaughtered for them Mac Datho's Boar; for seven years had that boar been nurtured upon the milk of fifty cows, but surely venom must have entered into its nourishment, so many of the men of Ireland did it cause to die. They brought in the boar, and forty oxen as side-dishes to it, besides other kind of food; the son of Datho himself was steward to their feast: "Be ye welcome!" said he; "this beast before you hath not its match; and a goodly store of beeves and of swine may be found with the men of Leinster! And, if there be aught lacking to you, more shall be slain for you in the morning." "It is a mighty Boar," said Conor. "'Tis a mighty one indeed," said Ailill. "How shall it be divided, O Conor?" said he. "How?" cried down Bricriu,[FN#11] the son of Carbad, from above; "in the place where the warriors of Ireland are gathered together, there can be but the one test for the division of it, even the part that each man hath taken in warlike deeds and strife: surely each man of you hath struck the other a buffet on the nose ere now!" "Thus then shall it be," said Ailill. "'Tis a fair test," said Conor in assent; "we have here a plenty of lads in this house who have done battle on the borders." "Thou shalt lose thy lads to-night, Conor," said Senlaech the charioteer, who came from rushy Conalad in the West; "often have they left a fat steer for me to harry, as they sprawled on their backs upon the road that leadeth to the rushes of Dedah." "Fatter was the steer that thou hadst to leave to us," said Munremur,[FN#12] the son of Gerrcind; "even thine own brother, Cruachniu, son of Ruadlam; and it was from Conalad of Cruachan that he came." "He was no better," cried Lugaid the son of Curoi of Munster, "than Loth the Great, the son of Fergus Mac Lete; and Echbel the son of Dedad left him lying in Tara Luachra."[FN#13] [FN#11] Pronounced Brik-roo. [FN#12] Pronounced Moon-raymer. [FN#13] Pronounced Looch-ra. "What sort of a man was he whom ye boast of?" cried Celtchar of Ulster. "I myself slew that horny-skinned son of Dedad, I cut the head from his shoulders." At the last it fell out that one man raised himself above all the men of Ireland; he was Ket, the son of Mata, he came from the land of Connaught. He hung up his weapons at a greater height than the weapons of any one else who was there, he took a knife in his hand, and he placed himself at the side of the Boar. "Find ye now," said he, "one man among the men of Ireland who can equal my renown, or else leave the division of the Boar to me." All of the Ulstermen were thrown into amazement. "Seest thou that, O Laegaire?"[FN#14] said Conor. [FN#14] Pronounced Leary. "Never shall it be," said Laegaire the Triumphant, "that Ket should have the division of this Boar in the face of us all." "Softly now, O Laegaire!" said Ket; "let me hold speech with thee. With you men of Ulster it hath for long been a custom that each lad among you who takes the arms of a warrior should play first with us the game of war: thou, O Laegaire, like to the others didst come to the border, and we rode against one another. And thou didst leave thy charioteer, and thy chariot and thy horses behind thee, and thou didst fly pierced through with a spear. Not with such a record as that shalt thou obtain the Boar;" and Laegaire sat himself down. "It shall never come to pass," said a great fair-haired warrior, stepping forward from the bench whereon he had sat, "that the division of the Boar shall be left to Ket before our very eyes." "To whom then appertains it?" asked Ket. "To one who is a better warrior than thou," he said, "even to Angus, the son of Lama Gabaid (Hand-in-danger) of the men of Ulster." "Why namest thou thy father 'Hand-in-danger?" said Ket. "Why indeed, I know not," he said. "Ah! but I know it!" said Ket. "Long ago I went upon a journey in the east, a war-cry was raised against me, all men attacked me, and Lama Gabaid was among them. He made a cast of a great spear against me, I hurled the same spear back upon him, and the spear cut his hand from him so that it lay upon the ground. How dares the son of that man to measure his renown with mine?" and Angus went back to his place. "Come, and claim a renown to match mine," said Ket; "else let me divide this Boar." "It shall never be thy part to be the first to divide it," said a great fair-haired warrior of the men of Ulster. "Who then is this?" said Ket. "'Tis Eogan, son of Durthacht,"[FN#15] said they all; "Eogan, the lord of Fernmay." "I have seen him upon an earlier day," said Ket. "Where hast thou seen me?" said Eogan. "It was before thine own house," said Ket. "As I was driving away thy cattle, a cry of war was raised in the lands about me; and thou didst come out at that cry. Thou didst hurl thy spear against me, and it was fixed in my shield; but I hurled the same spear back against thee, and it tore out one of thy two eyes. All the men of Ireland can see that thou art one-eyed; here is the man that struck thine other eye out of thy head," and he also sat down. "Make ye ready again for the strife for renown, O ye men of Ulster!" cried Ket. "Thou hast not yet gained the right to divide the Boar," said Munremur, Gerrcind's son. "Is that Munremur?" cried Ket; "I have but one short word for thee, O Munremur! Not yet hath the third day passed since I smote the heads off three warriors who came from your lands, and the midmost of the three was the head of thy firstborn son!" and Munremur also sat down. "Come to the strife for renown!" cried Ket. "That strife will I give to thee," said Mend the son of Salcholcam (the Sword-heeled). "Who is this?" asked Ket. "'Tis Mend," said all who were there. "Hey there!" cried Ket. "The son of the man with the nickname comes to measure his renown with mine! Why, Mend, it was by me that the nickname of thy father came; 'twas I who cut the heel from him with my sword so that he hopped away from me upon one leg! How shall the son of that one-legged man measure his renown with mine?" and he also sat down. [FN#15] Pronounced Yeogan, son of Doorha. "Come to the strife for renown!" cried Ket. "That warfare shalt thou have from me!" said an Ulster warrior, tall, grey, and more terrible than the rest. "Who is this?" asked Ket. "'Tis Celtchar, the son of Uitechar," cried all. "Pause thou a little, Celtchar," said Ket, "unless it be in thy mind to crush me in an instant. Once did I come to thy dwelling, O Celtchar, a cry was raised about me, and all men hurried up at that cry, and thou also camest beside them. It was in a ravine that the combat between us was held; thou didst hurl thy spear against me, and against thee I also hurled my spear; and my spear pierced thee through the leg and through the groin, so that from that hour thou hast been diseased, nor hath son or daughter been born to thee. How canst thou strive in renown with me?" and he also sat down. "Come to the strife for renown!" cried Ket. "That strife shalt thou have," said Cuscrid the Stammerer, of Macha, king Conor's son. "Who is this?" said Ket. "'Tis Cuscrid," said all; "he hath a form which is as the form of a king." "Nor hath he aught to thank thee for," said the youth. "Good!" said Ket. "It was against me that thou didst come on the day when thou didst first make trial of thy weapons, my lad: 'twas in the borderland that we met. And there thou didst leave the third part of thy folk behind thee, and thou didst fly with a spear-thrust through thy throat so that thou canst speak no word plainly, for the spear cut in sunder the sinews of thy neck; and from that hour thou hast been called Cuscrid the Stammerer." And in this fashion did Ket put to shame all the warriors of the province of Ulster. But as he was exulting near to the Boar, with his knife in his hand, all saw Conall, the Victorious enter the palace; and Conall sprang into the midst of the house, and the men of Ulster hailed him with a shout; and Conor himself took his helmet from his head, and swung it on high to greet him. "'Tis well that I wait for the portion that befalls me!" said Conall. Who is he who is the divider of the Boar for ye?" "That office must be given to the man who stands there," said Conor, "even to Ket, the son of Mata." "Is this true, O Ket?" said Conall. "Art thou the man to allot this Boar?" And then sang Ket: Conall, all hail! Hard stony spleen Wild glowing flame! Ice-glitter keen! Blood in thy breast Rageth and boils; Oft didst thou wrest Victory's spoils: Thou scarred son of Finuchoem,[FN#16] thou truly canst claim To stand rival to me, and to match me in fame! And Conall replied to him: Hail to thee, Ket! Well are we met! Heart icy-cold, Home for the bold! Ender of grief! Car-riding chief! Sea's stormy wave! Bull, fair and brave! Ket! first of the children of Matach! The proof shall be found when to combat we dart, The proof shall be found when from combat we part; He shall tell of that battle who guardeth the stirks, He shall tell of that battle at handcraft who works; And the heroes shall stride to the wild lion-fight, For by men shall fall men in this palace to-night: Welcome, Ket![FN#17] [FN#16] Pronounced Finn-hoom. [FN#17] The short lines of this rhetoric have the metre of the original Irish. "Rise thou, and depart from this Boar," said Conall. "What claim wilt thou bring why I should do this?" said Ket. "'Tis true indeed," said Conall, "thou art contending in renown with me. I will give thee one claim only, O Ket! I swear by the oath of my tribe that since the day that I first received a spear into my hand I have seldom slept without the head of a slain man of Connaught as my pillow; and I have not let pass a day or a night in which a man of Connaught hath not fallen by my hand." "'Tis true indeed," said Ket, "thou art a better warrior than I. Were but Anluan here, he could battle with thee in another fashion; shame upon us that he is not in this house!" "Aye, but Anluan is here! "cried Conall, and therewith he plucked Anluan's head from his belt. And he threw the head towards Ket, so that it smote him upon the chest, and a gulp of the blood was dashed over his lips. And Ket came away from the Boar, and Conall placed himself beside it. "Now let men come to contend for renown with me!" cried Conall. But among the men of Connaught there was none who would challenge him, and they raised a wall of shields, like a great vat around him, for in that house was evil wrangling, and men in their malice would make cowardly casts at him. And Conall turned to divide the Boar, and he took the end of the tail in his mouth. And although the tail was so great that it was a full load for nine men, yet he sucked it all into his mouth so that nothing of it was left; and of this hath been said: Strong hands on a cart thrust him forward; His great tail, though for nine men a load, Was devoured by the brave Conall Cernach, As the joints he so gaily bestowed. Now to the men of Connaught Conall gave nothing except the two fore-legs of the Boar, and this share seemed to be but small to the men of Connaught, and thereon they sprang up, and the men of Ulster also sprang up, and they rushed at each other. They buffeted each other so that the heap of bodies inside the house rose as high as the side-walls of it; and streams of blood flowed under the doors. The hosts brake out through the doors into the outer court, and great was the din that uprose; the blood upon the floor of the house might have driven a mill, so mightily did each man strike out at his fellow. And at that time Fergus plucked up by the roots a great oak-tree that stood in the outer court in the midst of it; and they all burst out of the court, and the battle went on outside. Then came out Mac Datho, leading the hound by a leash in his hand, that he might let him loose between the two armies, to see to which side the sense of the hound would turn. And the hound joined himself with the men of Ulster, and he rushed on the defeated Connaughtmen, for these were in flight. And it is told that in the plain of Ailbe, the hound seized hold of the poles of the chariot in which Ailill and Maev rode: and there Fer-loga, charioteer to Ailill and Maev, fell upon him, so that he cast his body to one side, and his head was left upon the poles of the chariot. And they say that it is for that reason that the plain of Ailbe is so named, for from the hound Ailbe the name hath come. The rout went on northwards, over Ballaghmoon, past Rurin Hill, over the Midbine Ford near to Mullaghmast, over Drum Criach Ridge which is opposite to what is Kildare to-day, over Rath Ingan which is in the forest of Gabla, then by Mac Lugna's Ford over the ridge of the two plains till they came to the Bridge of Carpre that is over the Boyne. And at the ford which is known as the Ford of the Hound's Head, which standeth in the west of Meath, the hound's head fell from the chariot. And, as they went over the heather of Meath, Ferloga the charioteer of Ailill fell into the heather, and he sprang behind Conor who followed after them in his chariot, and he seized Conor by the head. "I claim a boon from thee if I give thee thy life, O Conor!" said he. "I choose freely to grant that boon," said Conor. "'Tis no great matter," said Ferloga. "Take me with thee to Emain Macha, and at each ninth hour let the widows and the growing maidens of Ulster serenade me[FN#18] with the song: 'Ferloga is my darling.'" [FN#18] Literally, "sing me a cepoc," or a choral song. And the women were forced to do it; for they dared not to deny him, fearing the wrath of Conor; and at the end of a year Ferloga crossed byAthlone into Connaught, and he took with him two of Conor's horses bridled with golden reins. And concerning all this hath it been sung: Hear truth, ye lads of Connaught; No lies your griefs shall fill, A youth the Boar divided; The share you had was ill. Of men thrice fifty fifties Would win the Ailbe Hound; In pride of war they struggled, Small cause for strife they found. Yet there came conquering Conor, And Ailill's hosts, and Ket; No law Cuchulain granted, And brooding Bodb[FN#19] was met. Dark Durthacht's son, great Eogan, Shall find that journey hard; From east came Congal Aidni, And Fiaman,[FN#20] sailor bard; Three sons of Nera, famous For countless warlike fields; Three lofty sons of Usnach, With hard-set cruel shields. From high Conalad Croghan Wise Senlaech[FN#21] drave his car; And Dubhtach[FN#22] came from Emain, His fame is known afar; And Illan came, whom glorious For many a field they hail: Loch Sail's grim chief, Munremur; Berb Baither, smooth of tale; [FN#19] Pronounced Bobe, with sound of 'robe.' [FN#20] Pronounced Feeman. [FN#21] Pronounced Senlay, with the light final ch. [FN#22] Pronounced Doov-ta. And Celtchar, lord in Ulster; And Conall's valour wild; And Marcan came; and Lugaid Of three great hounds the child. Fergus, awaiting the glorious hound, Spreadeth a cloak o'er his mighty shield, Shaketh an oak he hath plucked from ground, Red was the woe the red cloak concealed. Yonder stood Cethern,[FN#23] of Finntan son, Holding them back; till six hours had flown Connaughtmen's slaughter his hand hath done, Pass of the ford he hath held alone. Armies with Feidlim[FN#24] the war sustain, Laegaire the Triumpher rides on east, Aed, son of Morna, ye hear complain, Little his thought is to mourn that beast. High are the nobles, their deeds show might, Housefellows fair, and yet hard in fight; Champions of strength upon clans bring doom, Great are the captives, and vast the tomb. [FN#23] Pronounced Kay-hern. [FN#24] Pronounced Fay-lim. THE SICK-BED OF CUCHULAIN INTRODUCTION The romance called the "Sick-bed of Cuchulain," the latter part of which is also known as the "Jealousy of Emer," is preserved in two manuscripts, one of which is the eleventh-century Leabhar na h-Uidhri, the other a fifteenth century manuscript in the Trinity College Library. These two manuscripts give substantially the same account, and are obviously taken from the same source, but the later of the two is not a copy of the older manuscript, and sometimes preserves a better reading. The eleventh-century manuscript definitely gives a yet older book, the Yellow Book of Slane, now lost, as its authority, and this may be the ultimate authority for the tale as we have it. But, although there is only one original version of the text, it is quite plain from internal evidence that the compiler of the Yellow Book of Slane, or of an earlier book, had two quite different forms of the story to draw from, and combined them in the version that we have. The first, which may be called the "Antiquarian" form, relates the cause of Cuchulain's illness, tells in detail of the journey of his servant Laeg to Fairyland, in order to test the truth of a message sent to Cuchulain that he can be healed by fairy help, and then breaks off. In both the Leabhar na h-Uidhri and in the fifteenth-century manuscript, follows a long passage which has absolutely nothing to do with the story, consisting of an account how Lugaid Red-Stripes was elected to be king over Ireland, and of the Bull Feast at which the coming of Lugaid is prophesied. Both manuscripts then give the counsel given by Cuchulain to Lugaid on his election (this passage being the only justification for the insertion, as Cuchulain is supposed to be on his sick-bed when the exhortation is given); and both then continue the story in a quite different form, which may be called the "Literary" form. The cause of the sickness is not given in the Literary form, which commences with the rousing of Cuchulain from his sick-bed, this rousing being due to different agency from that related in the Antiquarian form, for in the latter Cuchulain is roused by a son of the fairy king, in the former b his wife Emer. The journey of Laeg to Fairyland is then told in the literary form with different detail to that given in the Antiquarian one, and the full conclusion is then supplied in this form alone; so that we have, although in the same manuscript version, two quite distinct forms of the original legend, the first defective at the end of the story, the other at its beginning. Not only are the incidents of the two forms of the story different in many respects, but the styles are so absolutely different that it would seem impossible to attribute them to the same author. The first is a mere compilation by an antiquarian; it is difficult to imagine that it was ever recited in a royal court, although the author may have had access to a better version than his own. He inserts passages which do not develop the interest of the story; hints at incidents (the temporary absence of Fergus and Conall) which are not developed or alluded to afterwards, and is a notable early example of the way in which Irish literature can be spoiled by combining several different independent stories into one. There is only one gem, strictly so called, and that not of a high order; the only poetic touches occur in the rhetoric, and, although in this there is a weird supernatural flavour, that may have marked the original used by the compiler of this form ' the human interest seems to be exceptionally weak. The second or Literary form is as different from the other as it is possible for two compositions on the same theme to be. The first few words strike the human note in Cuchulain's message to his wife: "Tell her that it goeth better with me from hour to hour;" the poems are many, long, and of high quality; the rhetoric shows a strophic correspondence; the Greek principle of letting the messenger tell the story instead of relating the facts, in a narrative of events (the method followed in the Antiquarian version) is made full use of; the modest account given by Cuchulain of his own deeds contrasts well with the prose account of the same deeds; and the final relation of the voluntary action of the fairy lady who gives up her lover to her rival, and her motives, is a piece of literary work centuries in advance of any other literature of modern Europe. Some modern accounts of this romance have combined the two forms, and have omitted the irrelevant incidents in the Antiquarian version; there are literary advantages in this course, for the disconnected character of the Antiquarian opening, which must stand first, as it alone gives the beginning of the story, affords little indication of the high quality of the better work of the Literary form that follows; but, in order to heighten the contrast, the two forms are given just as they occur in the manuscripts, the only omissions being the account of the election of Lugaid, and the exhortation of Cuchulain to the new king. Thurneysen, in his Sagen aus dem Alten Irland, places the second description of Fairyland by Laeg with the Antiquarian form, and this may be justified not only by the allusion to Ethne, who does not appear elsewhere in the Literary form, but from the fact that there is a touch of rough humour in this poem, which appears in the Antiquarian form, but not elsewhere in the Literary one, where the manuscripts place this poem. But on the other hand the poetry of this second description, and its vividness, come much closer to the Literary form, and it has been left in the place that the manuscript gives to it. The whole has been translated direct from the Irish in Irische Texte, vol. i., with occasional reference to the facsimile of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri; the words marked as doubtful by Windisch in his glossary, which are rather numerous, being indicated by marks of interrogation in the notes, and, where Windisch goes not indicate a probable meaning, a special note is made on the word, unless it has been given in dictionaries subsequent to that of Windisch. Thurneysen's translation has sometimes been made use of, when there is no other guide; but he omits some passages, and Windisch has been followed in the rendering given in his glossary in cases where there would seem to be a difference, as Thurneysen often translates freely. THE SICK-BED OF CUCHULAIN Transcribed from the Lost Yellow Book of Slane By Maelmuiri mac Ceileachair into the Leabhar na h-Uidhri in the Eleventh Century Every year the men of Ulster were accustomed to hold festival together; and the time when they held it was for three days before Samhain, the Summer-End, and for three days after that day, and upon Samhain itself. And the time that is spoken of is that when the men of Ulster were in the Plain of Murthemne, and there they used to keep that festival every year; nor was there an thing in the world that they would do at that time except sports, and marketings, and splendours, and pomps, and feasting and eating; and it is from that custom of theirs that the Festival of the Samhain has descended, that is now held throughout the whole of Ireland. Now once upon a time the men of Ulster held festival upon the Murthemne Plain, and the reason that this festival was held was that every man of them should then give account of the combats he had made and of his valour every Summer-End. It was their custom to hold that festival in order to give account of these combats, and the manner in which they gave that account was this: Each man used to cut off the tip of the tongue of a foe whom he had killed, and he bore it with him in a pouch. Moreover, in order to make more great the numbers of their contests, some used to bring with them the tips of the tongues of beasts, and each man publicly declared the fights he had fought, one man of them after the other. And they did this also--they laid their swords over their thighs when they declared the strifes, and their own swords used to turn against them when the strife that they declared was false; nor was this to be wondered at, for at that time it was customary for demon beings to scream from the weapons of men, so that for this cause their weapons might be the more able to guard them. To that festival then came all the men of Ulster except two alone, and these two were Fergus the son of Rog, and Conall the Victorious. "Let the festival be held!" cried the men of Ulster. "Nay," said Cuchulain, "it shall not be held until Conall and Fergus come," and this he said because Fergus was the foster-father of Cuchulain, and Conall was his comrade. Then said Sencha: "Let us for the present engage in games of chess; and let the Druids sing, and let the jugglers play their feats;" and it was done as he had said. Now while they were thus employed a flock of birds came down and hovered over the lake; never was seen in Ireland more beautiful birds than these. And a longing that these birds should be given to them seized upon the women who were there; and each of them began to boast of the prowess of her husband at bird-catching. "How I wish," said Ethne Aitencaithrech, Conor's wife, "that I could have two of those birds, one of them upon each of my two shoulders." "It is what we all long for," said the women; and "If any should have this boon, I should be the first one to have it," said Ethne Inguba, the wife of Cuchulain. "What are we to do now?" said the women. "'Tis easy to answer you," said Leborcham, the daughter of Oa and Adarc; "I will go now with a message from you, and will seek for Cuchulain." She then went to Cuchulain, and "The women of Ulster would be well pleased," she said, "if yonder birds were given to them by thy hand." And Cuchulain made for his sword to unsheathe it against her: "Cannot the lasses of Ulster find any other but us," he said, "to give them their bird-hunt to-day?" "'Tis not seemly for thee to rage thus against them," said Leborcham, "for it is on thy account that the women of Ulster have assumed one of their three blemishes, even the blemish of blindness." For there were three blemishes that the women of Ulster assumed, that of crookedness of gait, and that of a stammering in their speech, and that of blindness. Each of the women who loved Conall the Victorious had assumed a crookedness of gait; each woman who loved Cuscraid Mend, the Stammerer of Macha, Conor's son, stammered in her speech; each woman in like manner who loved Cuchulain had assumed a blindness of her eyes, in order to resemble Cuchulain; for he, when his mind was angry within him, was accustomed to draw in the one of his eyes so far that a crane could not reach it in his head, and would thrust out the other so that it was great as a cauldron in which a calf is cooked. "Yoke for us the chariot, O Laeg!" said Cuchulain. And Laeg yoked the chariot at that, and Cuchulain went into the chariot, and he cast his sword at the birds with a cast like the cast of a boomerang, so that they with their claws and wings flapped against the water. And they seized upon all the birds, and they gave them and distributed them among the women; nor was there any one of the women, except Ethne alone, who had not a pair of those birds. Then Cuchulain returned to his wife; and "Thou art enraged," said he to her. "I am in no way enraged," answered Ethne, "for I deem it as being by me that the distribution was made. And thou hast done what was fitting," she said, "for there is not one of these woman but loves thee; none in whom thou hast no share; but for myself none hath any share in me except thou alone." "Be not angry," said Cuchulain, "if in the future any birds come to the Plain of Murthemne or to the Boyne, the two birds that are the most beautiful among those that come shall be thine." A little while after this they saw two birds flying over the lake, linked together by a chain of red gold. They sang a gentle song, and a sleep fell upon all the men who were there; and Cuchulain rose up to pursue the birds. "If thou wilt hearken to me," said Laeg, and so also said Ethne, "thou shalt not go against them; behind those birds is some especial power. Other birds may be taken by thee at some future day." "Is it possible that such claim as this should be made upon me?" said Cuchulain. "Place a stone in my sling, O Laeg!" Laeg thereon took a stone, and he placed it in the sling, and Cuchulain launched the stone at the birds, but the cast missed. "Alas!" said he. He took another stone, and he launched this also at the birds, but the stone flew past them. "Wretched that I am," he cried, "since the very first day that I assumed arms, I have never missed a cast until this day!" And he cast his spear at them, and the spear went through the shield of the wing of one of the birds, and the birds flew away, and went beneath the lake. After this Cuchulain departed, and he rested his back against a stone pillar, and his soul was angry within him, and a sleep fell upon him. Then saw he two women come to him; the one of them had a green mantle upon her, and upon the other was a purple mantle folded in five folds. And the woman in the green mantle approached him, and she laughed a laugh at him, and she gave him a stroke with a horsewhip. And then the other approached him, and she also laughed at him, and she struck him in the like manner; and for a long time were they thus, each of them in turn coming to him and striking him until he was all but dead; and then they departed from him. Now the men of Ulster perceived the state in which Cuchulain was in; and they cried out that he should be awakened; but "Nay," said Fergus, "ye shall not move him, for he seeth a vision;" and a little after that Cuchulain came from his sleep. "What hath happened to thee?" said the men of Ulster; but he had no power to bid greeting to them. "Let me be carried," he said, "to the sick-bed that is in Tete Brecc; neither to Dun Imrith, nor yet to Dun Delga." "Wilt thou not be carried to Dun Delga to seek for Emer?" said Laeg. "Nay," said he, "my word is for Tete Brecc;" and thereon they bore him from that place, and he was in Tete Brecc until the end of one year, and during all that time he had speech with no one. Now upon a certain day before the next Summer-End, at the end of a year, when the men of Ulster were in the house where Cuchulain was, Fergus being at the side-wall, and Conall Cernach at his head, and Lugaid Red-Stripes at his pillow, and Ethne Inguba at his feet; when they were there in this manner, a man came to them, and he seated himself near the entrance of the chamber in which Cuchulain lay. "What hath brought thee here?" said Conall the Victorious. "No hard question to answer," said the man. "If the man who lies yonder were in health, he would be a good protection to all of Ulster; in the weakness and the sickness in which he now is, so much the more great is the protection that they have from him. I have no fear of any of you," he said, "for it is to give to this man a greeting that I come." "Welcome to thee, then, and fear nothing," said the men of Ulster; and the man rose to his feet, and he sang them these staves: Ah! Cuchulain, who art under sickness still, Not long thou its cure shouldst need; Soon would Aed Abra's daughters, to heal thine ill, To thee, at thy bidding, speed. Liban, she at swift Labra's right hand who sits, Stood up on Cruach's[FN#25] Plain, and cried: "'Tis the wish of Fand's heart, she the tale permits, To sleep at Cuchulain's side. [FN#25] Pronounced something like Croogh. "'If Cuchulain would come to me,' Fand thus told, 'How goodly that day would shine! Then on high would our silver be heaped, and gold, Our revellers pour the wine. "'And if now in my land, as my friend, had been Cuchulain, of Sualtam[FN#26] son, The things that in visions he late hath seen In peace would he safe have won. "'In the Plains of Murthemne, to south that spread, Shall Liban my word fulfil: She shall seek him on Samhain, he naught need dread, By her shall be cured his ill.'" [FN#26] Pronounced Sooltam. "Who art thou, then, thyself?" said the men of Ulster. "I am Angus, the son of Aed Abra," he answered; and the man then left them, nor did any of them know whence it was he had come, nor whither he went. Then Cuchulain sat up, and he spoke to them. "Fortunate indeed is this!" said the men of Ulster; "tell us what it is that hath happened to thee." "Upon Samhain night last year," he said, "I indeed saw a vision;" and he told them of all he had seen. "What should now be done, Father Conor?" said Cuchulain. "This hast thou to do," answered Conor, "rise, and go until thou comest to the pillar where thou wert before." Then Cuchulain went forth until he came to the pillar, and then saw he the woman in the green mantle come to him. "This is good, O Cuchulain!" said she. "'Tis no good thing in my thought," said Cuchulain. "Wherefore camest thou to me last year?" he said. "It was indeed to do no injury to thee that we came," said the woman, "but to seek for thy friendship. I have come to greet thee," she said, "from Fand, the daughter of Aed Abra; her husband, Manannan the Son of the Sea, hath released her, and she hath thereon set her love on thee. My own name is Liban, and I have brought to thee a message from my spouse, Labraid the Swift, the Sword-Wielder, that he will give thee the woman in exchange for one day's service to him in battle against Senach the Unearthly, and against Eochaid Juil,[FN#27] and against Yeogan the Stream." "I am in no fit state," he said, "to contend with men to-day." "That will last but a little while," she said; "thou shalt be whole, and all that thou hast lost of thy strength shall be increased to thee. Labraid shall bestow on thee that boon, for he is the best of all warriors that are in the world." [FN#27] Pronounced, nearly, Yeo-hay Yool. "Where is it that Labraid dwelleth?" asked Cuchulain. "In Mag Mell,[FN#28] the Plain of Delight," said Liban; "and now I desire to go to another land," said she. [FN#28] Pronounced Maw Mel. "Let Laeg go with thee," said Cuchulain, "that he may learn of the land from which thou hast come." "Let him come, then," said Liban. They departed after that, and they went forward until they came to a place where Fand was. And Liban turned to seek for Laeg, and she set him upon her shoulder. "Thou wouldest never go hence, O Laeg!" said Liban, "wert thou not under a woman's protection." "'Tis not a thing that I have most been accustomed to up to this time," said Laeg, "to be under a woman's guard." "Shame, and everlasting shame," said Liban, "that Cuchulain is not where thou art." "It were well for me," answered Laeg, "if it were indeed he who is here." They passed on then, and went forward until they came opposite to the shore of an island, and there they saw a skiff of bronze lying upon the lake before them. They entered into the skiff, and they crossed over to the island, and came to the palace door, and there they saw the man, and he came towards them. And thus spoke Liban to the man whom they saw there: Say where He, the Hand-on-Sword, Labra swift, abideth? He who, of the triumphs lord, In strong chariot rideth. When victorious troops are led, Labra hath the leading; He it is, when spears are red, Sets the points a-bleeding. And the man replied to her, and spoke thus: Labra, who of speed is son, Comes, and comes not slowly; Crowded hosts together run, Bent on warfare wholly. Soon upon the Forest Plain Shall be set the killing; For the hour when men are slain Fidga's[FN#29] Fields are filling![FN#30] [FN#29] Pronounced, nearly, Feega. [FN#30] Irish metre approximately imitated in these stanzas. They entered then into the palace, and they saw there thrice fifty couches within the palace, and three times fifty women upon the couches, and the women all bade Laeg welcome, and it was in these words that they addressed him: Hail! for the guide, Laeg! of thy quest: Laeg we beside Hail, as our guest! "What wilt thou do now?" said Liban; "wilt thou go on without a delay, and hold speech with Fand?" "I will go," he answered, "if I may know the place where she is." "That is no hard matter to tell thee," she answered; "she is in her chamber apart." They went therein, and they greeted Fand, and she welcomed Laeg in the same fashion as the others had done. Fand is the daughter of Aed Abra; Aed means fire, and he is the fire of the eye: that is, of the eye's pupil: Fand moreover is the name of the tear that runs from the eye; it was on account of the clearness of her beauty that she was so named, for there is nothing else in the world except a tear to which her beauty could be likened. Now, while they were thus in that place, they heard the rattle of Labraid's chariot as he approached the island. "The spirit of Labraid is gloomy to-day," said Liban, "I will go and greet him." And she went out, and she bade welcome to Labraid, and she spoke as follows: Hail! the man who holdeth sword, the swift in fight! Heir of little armies, armed with javelins light; Spears he drives in splinters; bucklers bursts in twain; Limbs of men are wounded; nobles by him slain. He for error searcheth, streweth gifts not small, Hosts of men destroyeth; fairer he than all! Heroes whom he findeth feel his fierce attack; Labra! swiftest Sword-Hand! welcome to us back! Labraid made no reply to her, and the lady spoke again thus: Welcome! swift Labra, Hand to sword set! All win thy bounty, Praise thou shalt get; Warfare thou seekest, Wounds seam thy side; Wisely thou speakest, Law canst decide; Kindly thou rulest, Wars fightest well; Wrong-doers schoolest, Hosts shalt repel. Labraid still made no answer, and she sang another lay thus: Labra! all hail! Sword-wielder, swift: War can he wage, Warriors can sift; Valiant is he, Fighters excels; More than in sea Pride in him swells; Down in the dust Strength doth he beat; They who him trust Rise to their feet Weak ones he'll raise, Humble the strong; Labra! thy praise Peals loud and long! "Thou speakest not rightly, O lady," said Labraid; and he then spoke to her thus: O my wife! naught of boasting or pride is in me; No renown would I claim, and no falsehood shall be: Lamentation alone stirs my mind, for hard spears Rise in numbers against me: dread contest appears: The right arms of their heroes red broadswords shall swing; Many hosts Eochaid Juil holds to heart as their king: Let no pride then be ours; no high words let there be; Pride and arrogance far should be, lady, from me! "Let now thy mind be appeased," said the lady Liban to him. "Laeg, the charioteer of Cuchulain, is here; and Cuchulain hath sent word to thee that he will come to join thy hosts." Then Labraid bade welcome to Laeg, and he said to him: "Welcome, O Laeg! for the sake of the lady with whom thou comest, and for the sake of him from whom thou hast come. Do thou now go to thine own land, O Laeg!" said Labraid, "and Liban shall accompany thee." Then Laeg returned to Emain, and he gave news of what he had seen to Cuchulain, and to all others beside; and Cuchulain rose up, and he passed his hand over his face, and he greeted Laeg brightly, and his mind was strengthened within him for the news that the lad had brought him. [At this point occurs the break in the story indicated in the preface, and the description of the Bull-Feast at which Lugaid Red-Stripes is elected king over all Ireland; also the exhortation that Cuchulain, supposed to be lying on his sick-bed, gives to Lugaid as to the duties of a king. After this insertion, which has no real connection with the story, the story itself proceeds, but from another point, for the thread is taken up at the place where Cuchulain has indeed awaked from his trance, but is still on his sick-bed; the message of Angus appears to have been given, but Cuchulain does not seem to have met Liban for the second time, nor to have sent Laeg to inquire. Ethne has disappeared as an actor from the scene; her place is taken by Emer, Cuchulain's real wife; and the whole style of the romance so alters for the better that, even if it were not for the want of agreement of the two versions, we could see that we have here two tales founded upon the same legend but by two different hands, the end of the first and the beginning of the second alike missing, and the gap filled in by the story of the election of Lugaid. Now as to Cuchulain it has to be related thus: He called upon Laeg to come to him; and "Do thou go, O Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "to the place where Emer is; and say to her that women of the fairies have come upon me, and that they have destroyed my strength; and say also to her that it goeth better with me from hour to hour, and bid her to come and seek me;" and the young man Laeg then spoke these words in order to hearten the mind of Cuchulain: It fits not heroes lying On sick-bed in a sickly sleep to dream: Witches before thee flying Of Trogach's fiery Plain the dwellers seem: They have beat down thy strength, Made thee captive at length, And in womanish folly away have they driven thee far. Arise! no more be sickly! Shake off the weakness by those fairies sent: For from thee parteth quickly Thy strength that for the chariot-chiefs was meant: Thou crouchest, like a youth! Art thou subdued, in truth? Have they shaken thy prowess and deeds that were meet for the war Yet Labra's power hath sent his message plain: Rise, thou that crouchest: and be great again. And Laeg, after that heartening, departed; and he went on until he came to the place where Emer was; and he told her of the state of Cuchulain: "Ill hath it been what thou hast done, O youth!" she said; "for although thou art known as one who dost wander in the lands where the fairies dwell; yet no virtue of healing hast thou found there and brought for the cure of thy lord. Shame upon the men of Ulster!" she said, "for they have not sought to do a great deed, and to heal him. Yet, had Conor thus been fettered; had it been Fergus who had lost his sleep, had it been Conall the Victorious to whom wounds had been dealt, Cuchulain would have saved them." And she then sang a song, and in this fashion she sang it: Laeg! who oft the fairy hill[FN#31] Searchest, slack I find thee still; Lovely Dechtire's son shouldst thou By thy zeal have healed ere now. Ulster, though for bounties famed, Foster-sire and friends are shamed: None hath deemed Cuchulain worth One full journey through the earth. Yet, if sleep on Fergus fell, Such that magic arts dispel, Dechtire's son had restless rode Till a Druid raised that load. Aye, had Conall come from wars, Weak with wounds and recent scars; All the world our Hound would scour Till he found a healing power. Were it Laegaire[FN#32] war had pressed, Erin's meads would know no rest, Till, made whole from wounds, he won Mach's grandchild, Conna's son. Had thus crafty Celthar slept, Long, like him, by sickness kept; Through the elf-mounds, night and day, Would our Hound, to heal him, stray. Furbaid, girt by heroes strong, Were it he had lain thus long; Ah! our Hound would rescue bear Though through solid earth he fare. [FN#31] The metre of these verses is that of the Irish. [FN#32] Pronounced Leary. All the elves of Troom[FN#33] seem dead; All their mighty deeds have fled; For their Hound, who hounds surpassed, Elves have bound in slumber fast. Ah! on me thy sickness swerves, Hound of Smith who Conor serves! Sore my heart, my flesh must be: May thy cure be wrought by me. Ah! 'tis blood my heart that stains, Sick for him who rode the plains: Though his land be decked for feast, He to seek its plain hath ceased. He in Emain still delays; 'Tis those Shapes the bar that raise: Weak my voice is, dead its tone, He in evil form is shown. Month-long, year-long watch I keep; Seasons pass, I know not sleep: Men's sweet speech strikes not mine ear; Naught, Riangabra's[FN#34] son, I hear. [FN#33] Spelt Truim. [FN#34] Pronounced Reen-gabra. And, after that she had sung that song, Emer went forward to Emain that she might seek for Cuchulain; and she seated herself in the chamber where Cuchulain was, and thus she addressed him: "Shame upon thee!" she said, "to lie thus prostrate for a woman's love! well may this long sickbed of thine cause thee to ail!" And it was in this fashion that she addressed him, and she chanted this lay: Stand up, O thou hero of Ulster! Wake from sleep! rise up, joyful and sound! Look on Conor the king! on my beauty, Will that loose not those slumbers profound? See the Ulstermen's clear shining shoulders! Hear their trumpets that call to the fight! See their war-cars that sweep through the valleys, As in hero-chess, leaping each knight. See their chiefs, and the strength that adorns them, Their tall maidens, so stately with grace; The swift kings, springing on to the battle, The great queens of the Ulstermen's race! The clear winter but now is beginning; Lo! the wonder of cold that hangs there! 'Tis a sight that should warn thee; how chilly! Of what length I yet of colour how bare! This long slumber is ill; it decays thee: 'Tis like "milk for the full" the saw saith Hard is war with fatigue; deadly weakness Is a Prince who stands second to Death. Wake! 'tis joy for the sodden, this slumber; Throw it off with a great glowing heat: Sweet-voiced friends for thee wait in great number: Ulster's champion! stand up on thy feet! And Cuchulain at her word stood up; and he passed his hand over his face, and he cast all his heaviness and his weariness away from him, and then he arose, and went on his way before him until he came to the enclosure that he sought; and in that enclosure Liban appeared to him. And Liban spoke to him, and she strove to lead him into the fairy hill; but "What place is that in which Labraid dwelleth?" said Cuchulain. It is easy for me to tell thee!" she said: Labra's home's a pure lake, whither Troops of women come and go; Easy paths shall lead thee thither, Where thou shalt swift Labra know. Hundreds his skilled arm repelleth; Wise be they his deeds who speak: Look where rosy beauty dwelleth; Like to that think Labra's cheek. Head of wolf, for gore that thirsteth, Near his thin red falchion shakes; Shields that cloak the chiefs he bursteth, Arms of foolish foes he breaks. Trust of friend he aye requiteth, Scarred his skin, like bloodshot eye; First of fairy men he fighteth; Thousands, by him smitten, die. Chiefs at Echaid[FN#35] Juil's name tremble; Yet his land-strange tale-he sought, He whose locks gold threads resemble, With whose breath wine-scents are brought. More than all strife-seekers noted, Fiercely to far lands he rides; Steeds have trampled, skiffs have floated Near the isle where he abides. Labra, swift Sword-Wielder, gaineth Fame for actions over sea; Sleep for all his watch sustaineth! Sure no coward hound is he. The chains on the necks of the coursers he rides, And their bridles are ruddy with gold: He hath columns of crystal and silver besides, The roof of his house to uphold. [FN#35] Pronounced, apparently, Ech-ay, the ch like the sound in "loch." "I will not go thither at a woman's call," said Cuchulain. "Let Laeg then go," said the lady, "and let him bring to thee tidings of all that is there." "Let him depart, then," said Cuchulain; and Laeg rose up and departed with Liban, and they came to the Plain of Speech, and to the Tree of Triumphs, and over the festal plain of Emain, and over the festal plain of Fidga, and in that place was Aed Abra, and with him his daughters. Then Fand bade welcome to Laeg, and "How is it," said she, "that Cuchulain hath not come with thee?" "It pleased him not," said Laeg, "to come at a woman's call; moreover, he desired to know whether it was indeed from thee that had come the message, and to have full knowledge of everything." "It was indeed from me that the message was sent," she said; "and let now Cuchulain come swiftly to seek us, for it is for to-day that the strife is set." Then Laeg went back to the place where he had left Cuchulain, and Liban with him; and "How appeareth this quest to thee, O Laeg?" said Cuchulain. And Laeg answering said, "In a happy hour shalt thou go," said he, "for the battle is set for to-day;" and it was in this manner that he spake, and he recited thus: I went gaily through regions, Though strange, seen before: By his cairn found I Labra, A cairn for a score. There sat yellow-haired Labra, His spears round him rolled; His long bright locks well gathered Round apple of gold. On my five-folded purple His glance at length fell, And he said, "Come and enter Where Failbe doth dwell." In one house dwells white Failbe, With Labra, his friend; And retainers thrice fifty Each monarch attend. On the right, couches fifty, Where fifty men rest; On the left, fifty couches By men's weight oppressed. For each couch copper frontings, Posts golden, and white; And a rich flashing jewel As torch, gives them light. Near that house, to the westward, Where sunlight sinks down, Stand grey steeds, with manes dappled And steeds purple-brown. On its east side are standing Three bright purple trees Whence the birds' songs, oft ringing The king's children please. From a tree in the fore-court Sweet harmony streams; It stands silver, yet sunlit With gold's glitter gleams. Sixty trees' swaying summits Now meet, now swing wide; Rindless food for thrice hundred Each drops at its side. Near a well by that palace Gay cloaks spread out lie, Each with splendid gold fastening Well hooked through its eye. They who dwell there, find flowing A vat of glad ale: 'Tis ordained that for ever That vat shall not fail. From the hall steps a lady Well gifted, and fair: None is like her in Erin; Like gold is her hair. And so sweet, and so wondrous Her words from her fall, That with love and with longing She breaks hearts of all. "Who art thou?" said that lady, "For strange thou art here; But if Him of Murthemne Thou servest, draw near." Slowly, slowly I neared her; I feared for my fame: And she said, "Comes he hither, Of Dechtire who came?" Ah! long since, for thy healing, Thou there shouldst have gone, And have viewed that great palace Before me that shone. Though I ruled all of Erin And yellow Breg's hill, I'd give all, no small trial, To know that land still. "The quest then is a good one?" said Cuchulain. "It is goodly indeed," said Laeg, "and it is right that thou shouldest go to attain it, and all things in that land are good." And thus further also spoke Laeg, as he told of the loveliness of the fairy dwelling: I saw a land of noble form and splendid, Where dwells naught evil; none can speak a lie: There stands the king, by all his hosts attended, Brown Labra, swift to sword his hand can fly. We crossed the Plain of Speech, our steps arrested Near to that Tree, whose branches triumphs bear; At length upon the hill-crowned plain we rested, And saw the Double-Headed Serpent's lair. Then Liban said, as we that mount sat under: "Would I could see--'twould be a marvel strange-- Yet, if I saw it, dear would be that wonder, if to Cuchulain's form thy form could change." Great is the beauty of Aed Abra's daughters, Unfettered men before them conquered fall; Fand's beauty stuns, like sound of rushing waters, Before her splendour kings and queens seem small. Though I confess, as from the wise ones hearing, That Adam's race was once unstained by sin; - Yet did I swear, when Fand was there appearing, None in past ages could such beauty win. I saw the champions stand with arms for slaying, Right splendid was the garb those heroes bore; Gay coloured garments, meet for their arraying, 'Twas not the vesture of rude churls they wore. Women of music at the feast were sitting, A brilliant maiden bevy near them stood; And forms of noble youths were upwards flitting Through the recesses of the mountain wood. I saw the folk of song; their strains rang sweetly, As for the lady in that house they played; Had I not I fled away from thence, and fleetly, Hurt by that music, I had weak been made. I know the hill where Ethne took her station, And Ethne Inguba's a lovely maid; But none can drive from sense a warlike nation Save she alone, in beauty then displayed. And Cuchulain, when he had heard that report, went on with Liban to that land, and he took his chariot with him. And they came to the Island of Labraid, and there Labraid and all the women that were there bade them welcome; and Fand gave an especial welcome to Cuchulain. "What is there now set for us to do?" said Cuchulain. "No hard matter to answer," said Labraid; "we must go forth and make a circuit about the army." They went out then, and they came to the army, and they let their eyes wander over it; and the host seemed to them to be innumerable. "Do thou arise, and go hence for the present," said Cuchulain to Labraid; and Labraid departed, and Cuchulain remained confronting the army. And there were two ravens there, who spake, and revealed Druid secrets, but the armies who heard them laughed. "It must surely be the madman from Ireland who is there," said the army; "it is he whom the ravens would make known to us;" and the armies chased them away so that they found no resting-place in that land. Now at early morn Eochaid Juil went out in order to bathe his hands in the spring, and Cuchulain saw his shoulder through the hood of his tunic, and he hurled his spear at him, and he pierced him. And he by himself slew thirty-and-three of them, and then Senach the Unearthly assailed him, and a great fight was fought between them, and Cuchulain slew him; and after that Labraid approached, and he brake before him those armies. Then Labraid entreated Cuchulain to stay his hand from the slaying; and "I fear now," said Laeg, "that the man will turn his wrath upon us; for he hath not found a war to suffice him. Go now," said Laeg, "and let there be brought three vats of cold water to cool his heat. The first vat into which he goeth shall boil over; after he hath gone into the second vat, none shall be able to bear the heat of it: after he hath gone into the third vat, its water shall have but a moderate heat." And when the women saw Cuchulain's return, Fand sang thus: Fidga's[FN#36] plain, where the feast assembles, Shakes this eve, as his car he guides; All the land at the trampling trembles; Young and beardless, in state he rides. Blood-red canopies o'er him swinging Chant, but not as the fairies cry; Deeper bass from the car is singing, Deeply droning, its wheels reply. Steeds are bounding beneath the traces, None to match them my thought can find; Wait a while! I would note their graces: On they sweep, like the spring's swift wind. High in air, in his breath suspended, Float a fifty of golden balls; Kings may grace in their sports have blended, None his equal my mind recalls. [FN#36] Pronounced, nearly, Fee-ga. Dimples four on each cheek are glowing, One seems green, one is tinged with blue, One dyed red, as if blood were flowing, One is purple, of lightest hue. Sevenfold light from his eyeballs flashes, None may speak him as blind, in scorn; Proud his glances, and dark eyelashes Black as beetle, his eyes adorn. Well his excellence fame confesses, All through Erin his praise is sung; Three the hues of his high-piled tresses; Beardless yet, and a stripling young. Red his blade, it hath late been blooded; Shines above it its silver hilt; Golden bosses his shield have studded, Round its rim the white bronze is spilt. O'er the slain in each slaughter striding, War he seeketh, at risk would snatch: Heroes keen in your ranks are riding, None of these is Cuchulain's match. From Murthemne he comes, we greet him, Young Cuchulain, the champion strong; We, compelled from afar to meet him, Daughters all of Aed Abra, throng. Every tree, as a lordly token, Stands all stained with the red blood rain War that demons might wage is woken, Wails peal high as he raves again. Liban moreover bade a welcome to Cuchulain, and she chanted as follows: Hail to Cuchulain! Lord, who canst aid; Murthemne ruling, Mind undismayed; Hero-like, glorious, Heart great and still Battle-victorious, Firm rock of skill; Redly he rageth, Foemen would face; Battle he wageth Meet for his race! Brilliant his splendour, like maidens' eyes, Praises we render: praise shall arise! "Tell us now of the deeds thou hast done, O Cuchulain! cried Liban, and Cuchulain in this manner replied to her: From my hand flew a dart, as I made my cast, Through the host of Stream-Yeogan the javelin passed; Not at all did I know, though great fame was won, Who my victim had been, or what deed was done. Whether greater or less was his might than mine I have found not at all, nor can right divine; In a mist was he hid whom my spear would slay, Yet I know that he went not with life away. A great host on me closed, and on every side Rose around me in hordes the red steeds they ride; From Manannan, the Son of the Sea, came foes, From Stream-Yeogan to call them a roar arose. And I went to the battle with all at length, When my weakness had passed, and I gat full strength; And alone with three thousands the fight I fought, Till death to the foes whom I faced was brought. I heard Echaid Juil's groan, as he neared his end, The sound came to mine ears as from lips of friend; Yet, if truth must be told, 'twas no valiant deed, That cast that I threw, if 'twas thrown indeed. Now, after all these things had passed, Cuchulain slept with the lady, and he abode for a month in her company, and at the end of the month he came to bid her farewell. "Tell me," she said, "to what place I may go for our tryst, and I will be there;" and they made tryst at the strand that is known as the Strand of the Yew-Tree's Head. Now word was brought to Emer of that tryst, and knives were whetted by Emer to slay the lady; and she came to the place of the tryst, and fifty women were with her. And there she found, Cuchulain and Laeg, and they were engaged in the chess-play, so that they perceived not the women's approach. But Fand marked it, and she cried out to Laeg: "Look now, O Laeg!" she said, "and mark that sight that I see." "What sight is that of which thou speakest?" said Laeg, and he looked and saw it, and thus it was that the lady, even Fand, addressed him: Laeg! look behind thee! Close to thine ear Wise, well-ranked women Press on us near; Bright on each bosom Shines the gold clasp; Knives, with green edges Whetted, they grasp: As for the slaughter chariot chiefs race, Comes Forgall's daughter; changed is her face. "Have no fear," said Cuchulain, "no foe shalt thou meet; Enter thou my strong car, with its sunny bright seat: I will set thee before me, will guard thee from harm Against women, from Ulster's four quarters that swarm: Though the daughter of Forgall the war with thee vows, Though her dear foster-sisters against thee she rouse, No deed of destruction bold Emer will dare, Though she rageth against thee, for I will be there." Moreover to Emer he said: I avoid thee, O lady, as heroes Avoid to meet friends in a strife; The hard spear thy hand shakes cannot injure, Nor the blade of thy thin gleaming knife; For the wrath pent within thee that rageth Is but weak, nor can cause mine affright: It were hard if the war my might wageth Must be quenched by a weak woman's might! "Speak! and tell me, Cuchulain," cried Emer, "Why this shame on my head thou wouldst lay? Before women of Ulster dishonoured I stand, And all women who dwell in the wide Irish land, And all folk who love honour beside: Though I came on thee, secretly creeping, Though oppressed by thy might I remain, And though great is thy pride in the battle, If thou leavest me, naught is thy gain: Why, dear youth, such attempt dost thou make? "Speak thou, Emer, and say," said Cuchulain, "Should I not with this lady delay? For this lady is fair, pare and bright, and well skilled, A fit mate for a monarch, in beauty fulfilled, And the billows of ocean can ride: She is lovely in countenance, lofty in race, And with handicraft skilled can fine needlework trace, Hath a mind that with firmness can guide: And in steeds hath she wealth, and much cattle Doth she own; there is naught under sky A dear wife for a spouse should be keeping But that gift with this lady have I: Though the vow that I made thee I break, Thou shalt ne'er find champion Rich, like me, in scars; Ne'er such worth, such brilliance, None who wins my wars." "In good sooth," answered Emer, "the lady to whom thou dost cling is in no way better than am I myself! Yet fair seems all that's red; seems white what's new alone; and bright what's set o'erhead; and sour are things well known! Men worship what they lack; and what they have seems weak; in truth thou hast all the wisdom of the time! O youth!" she said, "once we dwelled in honour together, and we would so dwell again, if only I could find favour in thy sight!" and her grief weighed heavily upon her. "By my word," said Cuchulain, "thou dost find favour, and thou shalt find it so long as I am in life." "Desert me, then!" cried Fand. "Nay," said Emer, "it is more fitting that I should be the deserted one." "Not so, indeed," said Fand. "It is I who must go, and danger rusheth upon me from afar." And an eagerness for lamentation seized upon Fand, and her soul was great within her, for it was shame to her to be deserted and straightway to return to her home; moreover the mighty love that she bare to Cuchulain was tumultuous in her, and in this fashion she lamented, and lamenting sang this song: Mighty need compels me, I must go my way; Fame for others waiteth, Would I here could stay! Sweeter were it resting Guarded by thy power, Than to find the marvels In Aed Abra's bower. Emer! noble lady! Take thy man to thee: Though my arms resign him, Longing lives in me. Oft in shelters hidden Men to seek me came; None could win my trysting, I myself was flame. Ah! no maid her longing On a man should set Till a love full equal To her own she get. Fifty women hither, Emer! thou hast brought Thou wouldst Fand make captive, Hast on murder thought. Till the day I need them Waits, my home within; Thrice thy host! fair virgins, These my war shall win. Now upon this it was discerned by Manannan that Fand the daughter of Aed Abra was engaged in unequal warfare with the women of Ulster, and that she was like to be left by Cuchulain. And thereon Manannan came from the east to seek for the lady, and he was perceived by her, nor was there any other conscious of his presence saving Fand alone. And, when she saw Manannan, the lady was seized by great bitterness of mind and by grief, and being thus, she made this song: Lo! the Son of the Sea-Folk from plains draws near Whence Yeogan, the Stream, is poured; 'Tis Manannan, of old he to me was dear, And above the fair world we soared. Yet to-day, although excellent sounds his cry, No love fills my noble heart, For the pathways of love may be bent awry, Its knowledge in vain depart. When I dwelt in the bower of the Yeogan Stream, At the Son of the Ocean's side, Of a life there unending was then our dream, Naught seemed could our love divide. When the comely Manannan to wed me came, To me, as a spouse, full meet; Not in shame was I sold, in no chessmen's game The price of a foe's defeat. When the comely Manannan my lord was made, When I was his equal spouse, This armlet of gold that I bear he paid As price for my marriage vows. Through the heather came bride-maids, in garments brave Of all colours, two score and ten; And beside all the maidens my bounty gave To my husband a fifty men. Four times fifty our host; for no frenzied strife In our palace was pent that throng, Where a hundred strong men led a gladsome life, One hundred fair dames and strong. Manannan draws near: over ocean he speeds, From all notice of fools is he free; As a horseman he comes, for no vessel he needs Who rides the maned waves of the sea. He hath passed near us now, though his visage to view Is to all, save to fairies, forbid; Every troop of mankind his keen sight searcheth through, Though small, and in secret though hid. But for me, this resolve in my spirit shall dwell, Since weak, being woman's, my mind; Since from him whom so dearly I loved, and so well, Only danger and insult I find. I will go! in mine honour unsullied depart, Fair Cuchulain! I bid thee good-bye; I have gained not the wish that was dear to my heart, High justice compels me to fly. It is flight, this alone that befitteth my state, Though to some shall this parting be hard: O thou son of Riangabra! the insult was great: Not by Laeg shall my going be barred. I depart to my spouse; ne'er to strife with a foe Shall Manannan his consort expose; And, that none may complain that in secret I go, Behold him! his form I disclose! Then that lady rose behind Manannan as he passed, and Manannan greeted her: "O lady!" he said, "which wilt thou do? wilt thou depart with me, or abide here until Cuchulain comes to thee?" "By my troth," answered Fand, "either of the two of ye were a fitting spouse to adhere to; and neither of you two is better than the other; yet, Manannan, it is with thee that I go, nor will I wait for Cuchulain, for he hath betrayed me; and there is another matter, moreover, that weigheth with me, O thou noble prince!" said she, "and that is that thou hast no consort who is of worth equal to thine, but such a one hath Cuchulain already." And Cuchulain saw the lady as she went from him to Manannan, and he cried out to Laeg: "What meaneth this that I see?" "'Tis no hard matter to answer thee," said Laeg. "Fand goeth away with Manannan the Son of the Sea, since she hath not been pleasing in thy sight!" Then Cuchulain bounded three times high into the air, and he made three great leaps towards the south, and thus he came to Tara Luachra,[FN#37] and there he abode for a long time, having no meat and no drink, dwelling upon the mountains, and sleeping upon the high-road that runneth through the midst of Luachra. Then Emer went on to Emain, and there she sought out king Conor, and she told Conor of Cuchulain's state, and Conor sent out his learned men and the people of skill, and the Druids of Ulster, that they might seek for Cuchulain, and might bind him fast, and bring him with them to Emain. And Cuchulain strove to slay the people of skill, but they chanted wizard and fairy songs against him, and they bound fast his feet and his hands until he came a little to his senses. Then he begged for a drink at their hands, and the Druids gave him a drink of forgetfulness, so that afterwards he had no more remembrance of Fand nor of anything else that he had then done; and they also gave a drink of forgetfulness to Emer that she might forget her jealousy, for her state was in no way better than the state of Cuchulain. And Manannan shook his cloak between Cuchulain and Fand, so that they might never meet together again throughout eternity. [FN#37] Pronounced Looch-ra: Tara Luachra is on the borders of Limerick and Kerry. THE EXILE OF THE SONS' OF USNACH INTRODUCTION The version given in the following pages of the well-known tale of Deirdre has been translated from the Irish text of the Book of Leinster version as printed by Windisch in Irische Texte, vol. i. Readings from the two parallel texts of the Book of Lecan, and Egerton, 1782, have been used where the Leinster text is deficient or doubtful, but the older MS. has in the main been followed, the chief alterations being indicated in the notes. The only English translation hitherto given of this version is the unreliable one in Atlantis, vol. iii. There is a German translation in Thurneysen's Sagen aus dem alten Irland which may be consulted for literal renderings of most of the verse portions, which, however, are sometimes nearer the original than Thurneysen's renderings. It was at first intended to place beside this version the much better known version of the tale given by the Glenn Masain manuscript and its variants; but, as this version is otherwise available in English,[FN#38] it has been thought better to omit most of it: a verse translation of Deirdre's final lament in this version has, however, been added for the purpose of comparing it with the corresponding lament in the Leinster text. These two poems are nearly of the same length, but have no other point in common; the lament in the Leinster version strikes the more personal note, and it has been suggested that it shows internal evidence that it must have been written by a woman. The idea of Deirdre as a seer, which is so prominent in the Glenn Masain version of the tale, does not appear in the older Leinster text; the supernatural Druidic mist, which even in the Glenn Masain version only appears in the late manuscript which continues the story after the fifteenth-century manuscript breaks off, does not appear in the Book of Leinster; and the later version introduces several literary artifices that do not appear in the earlier one. That portion of the Glenn Masain version immediately following after Deirdre's lament is given as an instance of one of these, the common artifice of increase of horror at a catastrophe by the introduction of irrelevant matter, the tragedy of Deirdre's death being immediately followed by a cheerful account of the relationships of the chief heroes of the Heroic Period; a still better example of this practice in the old Irish literature is the almost comic relief that is introduced at the most tragic part of the tale of the murder of the son of Ronan. [FN#38] See Irische Texte, vol. ii., and the Celtic Review, vol. i. 1904-1905. THE EXILE OF THE SONS OF USNACH BOOK OF LEINSTER VERSION In the house of Feidlimid,[FN#39] the son of Dall, even he who was the narrator of stories to Conor the king, the men of Ulster sat at their ale; and before the men, in order to attend upon them, stood the wife of Feidlimid, and she was great with child. Round about the board went drinking-horns, and portions of food; and the revellers shouted in their drunken mirth. And when the men desired to lay themselves down to sleep, the woman also went to her couch; and, as she passed through the midst of the house, the child cried out in her womb, so that its shriek was heard throughout the whole house, and throughout the outer court that lay about it. And upon that shriek, all the men sprang up; and, head closely packed by head, they thronged together in the house, whereupon Sencha, the son of Ailill, rebuked them: "Let none of you stir!" cried he, "and let the woman be brought before us, that we may learn what is the meaning of that cry." Then they brought the woman before them, and thus spoke to her Feidlimid, her spouse: What is that, of all cries far the fiercest, In thy womb raging loudly and long? Through all ears with that clamour thou piercest; With that scream, from Bides swollen and strong: Of great woe, for that cry, is foreboding my heart; That is torn through with terror, and sore with the smart. [FN#39] Pronounced Feylimid. Then the woman turned her, and she approached Cathbad[FN#40] the Druid, for he was a man of knowledge, and thus she spoke to him: [FN#40] Pronounced Cah-ba. Give thou ear to me, Cathbad, thou fair one of face, Thou great crown of our honour, and royal in race; Let the man so exalted still higher be set, Let the Druid draw knowledge, that Druids can get. For I want words of wisdom, and none can I fetch; Nor to Felim a torch of sure knowledge can stretch: As no wit of a woman can wot what she bears, I know naught of that cry from within me that tears. And then said Cathbad: 'Tis a maid who screamed wildly so lately, Fair and curling shall locks round her flow, And her eyes be blue-centred and stately; And her cheeks, like the foxglove, shall glow. For the tint of her skin, we commend her, In its whiteness, like snow newly shed; And her teeth are all faultless in splendour And her lips, like to coral, are red: A fair woman is she, for whom heroes, that fight In their chariots for Ulster, to death shall be dight. 'Tis a woman that shriek who hath given, Golden-haired, with long tresses, and tall; For whose love many chiefs shall have striven, And great kings for her favours shall call. To the west she shall hasten, beguiling A great host, that from Ulster shall steal: Red as coral, her lips shall be smiling, As her teeth, white as pearls, they reveal: Aye, that woman is fair, and great queens shall be fain Of her form, that is faultless, unflawed by a stain. Then Cathbad laid his hand upon the body of the woman; and the little child moved beneath his hand: "Aye, indeed," he said, "it is a woman child who is here: Deirdre shall be her name, and evil woe shall be upon her." Now some days after that came the girl child into the world; and then thus sang Cathbad: O Deirdre! of ruin great cause thou art; Though famous, and fair, and pale: Ere that Felim's hid daughter from life shall part, All Ulster her deeds shall wail. Aye, mischief shall come, in the after-time, Thou fair shining maid, for thee; Hear ye this: Usna's sons, the three chiefs sublime, To banishment forced shall be. While thou art in life, shall a fierce wild deed In Emain, though late, be done: Later yet, it shall mourn it refused to heed The guard of Rog's powerful son. O lady of worth! It is to thee we owe That Fergus to exile flies; That a son of king Conor we hail in woe, When Fiachna[FN#41] is hurt, and dies. O lady of worth! It is all thine the guilt! Gerrc, Illadan's son, is slain; And when Eogan mac Doorha's great life is spilt, Not less shall be found our pain. Grim deed shalt thou do, and in wrath shalt rave Against glorious Ulster's king: In that spot shall men dig thee thy tiny grave; Of Deirdre they long shall sing. [FN#41] Pronounced Feena. "Let that maiden be slain!" cried out the young men of Ulster; but "Not so!" said Conor; "she shall in the morning be brought to me, and shall be reared according to my will, and she shall be my wife, and in my companionship shall she dwell." The men of Ulster were not so hardy as to turn him from his purpose, and thus it was done. The maiden was reared in a house that belonged to Conor, and she grew up to be the fairest maid in all Ireland. She was brought up at a distance from the king's court; so that none of the men of Ulster might see her till the time came when she was to share the royal couch: none of mankind was permitted to enter the house where she was reared, save only her foster-father, and her foster-mother; and in addition to these Levorcham, to whom naught could any refuse, for she was a witch. Now once it chanced upon a certain day in the time of winter that the foster-father of Deirdre had employed himself in skinning a calf upon the snow, in order to prepare a roast for her, and the blood of the calf lay upon the snow, and she saw a black raven who came down to drink it. And "Levorcham," said Deirdre, "that man only will I love, who hath the three colours that I see here, his hair as black as the raven, his cheeks red like the blood, and his body as white as the snow." "Dignity and good fortune to thee!" said Levorcham; "that man is not far away. Yonder is he in the burg which is nigh; and the name of him is Naisi, the son of Usnach." "I shall never be in good health again," said Deirdre, "until the time come when I may see him." It befell that Naisi was upon a certain day alone upon the rampart of the burg of Emain, and he sent his warrior-cry with music abroad: well did the musical cry ring out that was raised by the sons of Usnach. Each cow and every beast that heard them, gave of milk two-thirds more than its wont; and each man by whom that cry was heard deemed it to be fully joyous, and a dear pleasure to him. Goodly moreover was the play that these men made with their weapons; if the whole province of Ulster had been assembled together against them in one place, and they three only had been able to set their backs against one another, the men of Ulster would not have borne away victory from those three: so well were they skilled in parry and defence. And they were swift of foot when they hunted the game, and with them it was the custom to chase the quarry to its death. Now when this Naisi found himself alone on the plain, Deirdre also soon escaped outside her house to him, and she ran past him, and at first he know not who she might be. "Fair is the young heifer that springs past me!" he cried. "Well may the young heifers be great," she said, "in a place where none may find a bull." "Thou hast, as thy bull," said he, "the bull of the whole province of Ulster, even Conor the king of Ulster." "I would choose between you two," she said, "and I would take for myself a younger bull, even such as thou art." "Not so indeed," said Naisi, "for I fear the prophecy of Cathbad." "Sayest thou this, as meaning to refuse me?" said she. "Yea indeed," he said; and she sprang upon him, and she seized him by his two ears. "Two ears of shame and of mockery shalt thou have," she cried, "if thou take me not with thee." "Release me, O my wife!" said he. "That will I." Then Naisi raised his musical warrior-cry, and the men of Ulster heard it, and each of them one after another sprang up: and the sons of Usnach hurried out in order to hold back their brother. "What is it," they said, "that thou dost? let it not be by any fault of thine that war is stirred up between us and the men of Ulster." Then he told them all that had been done; and "There shall evil come on thee from this," said they; "moreover thou shalt lie under the reproach of shame so long as thou dost live; and we will go with her into another land, for there is no king in all Ireland who will refuse us welcome if we come to him." Then they took counsel together, and that same night they departed, three times fifty warriors, and the same number of women, and dogs, and servants, and Deirdre went with them. And for a long time they wandered about Ireland, in homage to this man or that; and often Conor sought to slay them, either by ambuscade or by treachery; from round about Assaroe, near to Ballyshannon in the west, they journeyed, and they turned them back to Benn Etar, in the north-east, which men to-day call the Mountain of Howth. Nevertheless the men of Ulster drave them from the land, and they came to the land of Alba, and in its wildernesses they dwelled. And when the chase of the wild beasts of the mountains failed them, they made foray upon the cattle of the men of Alba, and took them for themselves; and the men of Alba gathered themselves together with intent to destroy them. Then they took shelter with the king of Alba, and the king took them into his following, and they served him in war. And they made for themselves houses of their own in the meadows by the king's burg: it was on account of Deirdre that these houses were made, for they feared that men might see her, and that on her account they might be slain. Now one day the high-steward of the king went out in the early morning, and he made a cast about Naisi's house, and saw those two sleeping therein, and he hurried back to the king, and awaked him: "We have," said he, "up to this day found no wife for thee of like dignity to thyself. Naisi the son of Usnach hath a wife of worth sufficient for the emperor of the western world! Let Naisi be slain, and let his wife share thy couch." "Not so!" said the king, "but do thou prepare thyself to go each day to her house, and woo her for me secretly." Thus was it done; but Deirdre, whatsoever the steward told her, was accustomed straightway to recount it each even to her spouse; and since nothing was obtained from her, the sons of Usnach were sent into dangers, and into wars, and into strifes that thereby they might be overcome. Nevertheless they showed themselves to be stout in every strife, so that no advantage did the king gain from them by such attempts as these. The men of Alba were gathered together to destroy the sons of Usnach, and this also was told to Deirdre. And she told her news to Naisi: "Depart hence!" said she, "for if ye depart not this night, upon the morrow ye shall he slain!" And they marched away that night, and they betook themselves to an island of the sea. Now the news of what had passed was brought to the men of Ulster. "'Tis pity, O Conor!" said they, "that the sons of Usnach should die in the land of foes, for the sake of an evil woman. It is better that they should come under thy protection,[FN#42] and that the (fated) slaying should be done here, and that they should come into their own land, rather than that they should fall at the hands of foes." "Let them come to us then," said Conor, "and let men go as securities to them." The news was brought to them. [FN#42] Literally, "It is better their protection, and their slaying, and coming for them to their own land, &c." If this reading is right (and three MSS. agree), the extended words of the text seem to give the intention: it is, however, possible that the reading should be, "It is better their protection than their slaying" (oldaas for ocus), which would make sense at once. The idea of the text seems to be that the sons of Usnach were, owing to Cathbad's prophecy, thought of as fated men; and it was only a question where they should be put to death. "This is welcome news for us," they said; "we will indeed come, and let Fergus come as our surety, and Dubhtach, and Cormac the son of Conor." These then went to them, and they moved them to pass over the sea. But at the contrivance of Conor, Fergus was pressed to join in an ale-feast, while the sons of Usnach were pledged to eat no food in Erin, until they had eaten the food of Conor. So Fergus tarried behind with Dubhtach and Cormac; and the sons of Usnach went on, accompanied by Fiacha, Fergus' son; until they came to the meadows around Emain. Now at that time Eogan the son of Durthacht had come to Emain to make his peace with Conor, for they had for a long time been at enmity; and to him, and to the warmen of Conor, the charge was given that they should slay the sons of Usnach, in order that they should not come before the king. The sons of Usnach stood upon the level part of. the meadows, and the women sat upon the ramparts of Emain. And Eogan came with his warriors across the meadow, and the son of Fergus took his place by Naisi's side. And Eogan greeted them with a mighty thrust of his spear, and the spear brake Naisi's back in sunder, and passed through it. The son of Fergus made a spring, and he threw both arms around Naisi, and he brought him beneath himself to shelter him, while he threw himself down above him; and it was thus that Naisi was slain, through the body of the son of Fergus. Then there began a murder throughout the meadow, so that none escaped who did not fall by the points of the spears, or the edge of the sword, and Deirdre was brought to Conor to be in his power, and her arms were bound behind her back. Now the sureties who had remained behind, heard what had been done, even Fergus and Dubhtach, and Cormac. And thereon they hastened forward, and they forthwith performed great deeds. Dubhtach slew, with the one thrust of his spear, Mane a son of Conor, and Fiachna the son of Feidelm, Conor's daughter; and Fergus struck down Traigthren, the son of Traiglethan, and his brother. And Conor was wrath at this, and he came to the fight with them; so that upon that day three hundred of the men of Ulster fell and Dubhtach slew the women of Ulster; and, ere the day dawned, Fergus set Emain on fire. Then they went away into exile, and betook them to the land of Connaught to find shelter with Ailill and Maev, for they knew that that royal pair would give them good entertainment. To the men of Ulster the exiles showed no love: three thousand stout men went with them; and for sixteen years never did they allow cries of lamentation and of fear among the Ulstermen to cease: each night their vengeful forays caused men to quake, and to wail. Deirdre lived on for a year in the household of Conor; and during all that time she smiled no smile of laughter; she satisfied not herself with food or with sleep, and she raised not her head from her knee. And if any one brought before her people of mirth, she used to speak thus: Though eager troops, and fair to see,[FN#43] May home return, though these ye wait: When Usna's sons came home to me, They came with more heroic state. With hazel mead, my Naisi stood: And near our fire his bath I'd pour; On Aindle's stately back the wood; On Ardan's ox, or goodly boar. Though sweet that goodly mead ye think That warlike Conor drinks in hall, I oft have known a sweeter drink, Where leaps in foam the waterfall: Our board was spread beneath the tree, And Naisi raised the cooking flame: More sweet than honey-sauced to me Was meat, prepared from Naisi's game. [FN#43] A literal rendering of this poem will be found in the notes, p. 187. Though well your horns may music blow, Though sweet each month your pipes may sound, I fearless say, that well I know A sweeter strain I oft have found. Though horns and pipes be sounding clear, Though Conor's mind in these rejoice, More magic strain, more sweet, more dear Was Usna's Children's noble voice. Like sound of wave, rolled Naisi's bass; We'd hear him long, so sweet he sang: And Ardan's voice took middle place; And clearly Aindle's tenor rang. Now Naisi lies within his tomb: A sorry guard his friends supplied; His kindred poured his cup of doom, That poisoned cup, by which he died. Ah! Berthan dear! thy lands are fair; Thy men are proud, though hills be stern: Alas! to-day I rise not there To wait for Usna's sons' return. That firm, just mind, so loved, alas! The dear shy youth, with touch of scorn, I loved with him through woods to pass, And girding in the early morn. When bent on foes, they boded ill, Those dear grey eyes, that maids adored; When, spent with toil, his troops lay still, Through Irish woods his tenor soared. For this it is, no more I sleep; No more my nails with pink I stain: No joy can break the watch I keep; For Usna's sons come not again. For half the night no sleep I find; No couch can me to rest beguile: 'Mid crowds of thoughts still strays my mind; I find no time to eat or smile. In eastern Emain's proud array No time to joy is left for me; For gorgeous house, and garments gay, Nor peace, nor joy, nor rest can be. And when Conor sought to soothe her; thus Deirdre would answer him: Ah Conor! what of thee! I naught can do! Lament and sorrow on my life have passed: The ill you fashioned lives my whole life through; A little time your love for me would last. The man to me most fair beneath the sky, The man I loved, in death away you tore: The crime you did was great; for, till I die, That face I loved I never shall see more. That he is gone is all my sorrow still; Before me looms the shape of Usna's son; Though o'er his body white is yon dark hill, There's much I'd lavish, if but him I won. I see his cheeks, with meadow's blush they glow; Black as a beetle, runs his eyebrows' line; His lips are red; and, white as noble snow I see his teeth, like pearls they seem to shine. Well have I known the splendid garb he bears, Oft among Alba's warriors seen of old: A crimson mantle, such as courtier wears, And edged with border wrought of ruddy gold. Of silk his tunic; great its costly price; For full one hundred pearls thereon are sewn; Stitched with findruine,[FN#44] bright with strange device, Full fifty ounces weighed those threads alone. Gold-hilted in his hand I see his sword; Two spears he holds, with spear-heads grim and green; Around his shield the yellow gold is poured, And in its midst a silver boss is seen. Fair Fergus ruin on us all hath brought! We crossed the ocean, and to him gave heed: His honour by a cup of ale was bought; From him hath passed the fame of each high deed. If Ulster on this plain were gathered here Before king Conor; and those troops he'd give, I'd lose them all, nor think the bargain dear, If I with Naisi, Usna's son, could live. Break not, O king, my heart to-day in me; For soon, though young, I come my grave unto: My grief is stronger than the strength of sea; Thou, Conor, knowest well my word is true. "Whom dost thou hate the most," said Conor, "of these whom thou now seest?" "Thee thyself," she answered, "and with thee Eogan the son of Durthacht." [FN#44] Pronounced find-roony; usually translated "white bronze." "Then," said Conor, "thou shalt dwell with Eogan for a year;" and he gave Deirdre over into Eogan's hand. Now upon the morrow they went away over the festal plain of Macha, and Deirdre sat behind Eogan in the chariot; and the two who were with her were the two men whom she would never willingly have seen together upon the earth, and as she looked upon them, "Ha, Deirdre," said Conor, "it is the same glance that a ewe gives when between two rams that thou sharest now between me and Eogan!" Now there was a great rock of stone in front of them, and Deirdre struck her head upon that stone, and she shattered her head, and so she died. This then is the tale of the exile of the sons of Usnach, and of the Exile of Fergus, and of the death of Deirdre. THE LAMENT OF DEIRDRE OVER THE SONS OF USNACH ACCORDING TO THE GLENN MASAIN VERSION ALSO THE CONCLUSION OF THE TALE FROM THE SAME VERSION I grieved not, Usna's sons beside; But long, without them, lags the day: Their royal sire no guest denied; Three lions from Cave Hill were they. Three dragons bred in Mona's fort Are dead: to them from life I go; Three chiefs who graced the Red Branch Court, Three rocks, who broke the rush of foe. O loved by many a British maid! O swift as hawks round Gullion's peak! True sons of king, who warriors swayed, To whom bent chiefs in homage meek. No vassal look those champions wore; Full grief is mine that such should die! Those sons, whom Cathbad's daughter bore; Those props, who Cualgne's[FN#45] war held high. [FN#45] Pronounced Kell-ny. Three bears of might, to war they came; From Oona's walls, like lions, burst; Three hero-chiefs, who loved their fame; Three sons, on Ulster's bosom nursed. Twas Aife[FN#46] reared them; 'neath her yoke A kingdom bowed, and tribute brought; They propped the war, when armies broke, Those foster-sons, whom Scathach[FN#47] taught. The Three, who once from Bohvan's skill All feats have learned that heroes know; King Usna's glorious sons! 'tis ill That these afar from me should go. That I should live, with Naisi dead, Let none such shame believe of me; When Ardan's life, when Ainnle's fled, But short my life I knew would be. Great Ulster's king my hand had won; I left him, Naisi's love to find; Till Naisi's funeral rites be done, I wait a little while behind. This widowed life no more I'll bear; The Three rejoiced, when toil they faced; Where'er 'twas found, the war they'd dare, And proffered fight with joy embraced. A curse on Cathbad's wizard spell! 'Twas Naisi's death! and I the cause! None came to aid that king, who well To all the world might grant his laws. [FN#46] Pronounced Eefa. [FN#47] Pronounced Ska-ha. O man, who diggest low the grave, And from my sight my love would hide, Make wide the tomb; its room I crave, I come to seek my hero's side. Great load of hardship I'd endure with joy, If yet those heroes my companions were; No lack of house or fire could then annoy, No gloom I'd know with them, nor aught of care. Ah! many a time each shield and guardian spear To make my couch have piled those noble Three: O labouring man, their grave who diggest here, Their hardened swords above well set should be. The hounds of all the Three their masters lack, Their hawks no quarry leave, nor hear their call; The three are dead, who battle's line held back Who learned their skill in Conall Cernach's hall! Their hounds I view; from out my heart that sight Hath struck a groan; behind their leashes trail, 'Twas mine to hold them once, and keep them tight;, Now slack they lie, and cause me thus to wail. Oft in the desert I and they have strayed, Yet never lonely was that desert known For all the Three a grave to-day is made, And here I sit, and feel indeed alone. I gazed on Naisi's grave, and now am blind, For naught remains to see; the worst is spent; My soul must leave me soon, no help I find, And they are gone, the folk of my lament. 'Twas guile that crushed them: they would save my life And died therefor; themselves three billows strong: Ere Usna's children fell in cruel strife, Would I had died, and earth had held me long! To Red-Branch Hall we made our mournful way; Deceitful Fergus led; our lives he stole; A soft sweet speech indeed he'd learned to say, For me, for them was ruin near that goal. All Ulster's pleasures now are nothing worth I shun them all, each chief, each ancient friend; Alone I sit, as left behind on earth, And soon my lonely life in death shall end. I am Deirdre, the joyless, For short time alive, Though to end life be evil, 'Tis worse to survive. And, after she had made this lament, Deirdre seated herself in the tomb, and she gave three kisses to Naisi before that he was laid in his grave; and with heaviness and grief Cuchulain went on to Dun Delga. And Cathbad the Druid laid a curse upon Emain Macha to take vengeance for that great evil, and he said that, since that treachery had been done, neither king Conor nor any other of his race should hold that burg. And as for Fergus, the son of Rossa the Red, he came to Emain Macha on the morrow after the sons of Usnach had been slain. And, when he found that they had been slain, and that his pledge had been dishonoured, he himself, and Cormac the Partner of Exile, king Conor's own son, also Dubhtach, the Beetle of Ulster, and the armies they had with them, gave battle to the household of Conor; and they slew Maine the son of Conor, and three hundred of Conor's people besides. And Emain Macha was destroyed, and burned by them, and Conor's women were slain, and they collected their adherents on every side; the number of their host was three thousand warriors. And they went away to the land of Connaught, even to Ailill the Great, who was the king of Connaught at that time, and to Maev of Croghan, and with them they found a welcome and support. Moreover Fergus and Cormac the Partner of Exile and their warriors, after that they had come to the land of Connaught, never let pass one single night wherein reavers went not forth from them to harry and burn the land of Ulster, so that the district which men to-day call the land of Cualgne was subdued by them; and from that in the after-time came between the two kingdoms much of trouble and theft; and in this fashion they spent seven years, or, as some say, ten years; nor was there any truce between them, no, not for one single hour. And while those deeds were doing, Deirdre abode by Conor in his household for a whole year after the sons of Usnach had been slain. And, though it might have seemed but a small thing for her to raise her head, or to let laughter flow over her lips, yet she never did these things during all that time. And when Conor saw that neither sport nor kindness could hold her; and that neither jesting nor pleasing honour could raise her spirits, he sent word to Eogan the son of Durthacht, the lord of Fernmay;[FN#48] as some tell the story, it was this Eogan who had slain Naisi in Emain Macha. And after that Eogan had come to the place where Conor was, Conor gave command to Deirdre that, since he himself had failed to turn her heart from her grief, she must depart to Eogan, and spend another space of time with him. And with that she was placed behind Eogan in his chariot, and Conor went also in the chariot in order to deliver Deirdre into Eogan's hand. And as they went on their way, she cast a fierce glance at Eogan in front of her, and another at Conor behind her; for there was nothing in all the world that she hated more than those two men. And when Conor saw this, as he looked at her and at Eogan, he said: "Ah Deirdre! it is the glance of a ewe when set between two rams that thou castest on me and on Eogan!" And when Deirdre heard that, she sprang up, and she made a leap out of the chariot, and she struck her head against the stony rocks that were in front of her, and she shattered her head so that the brains leapt out, and thus came to Deirdre her death. [FN#48] The Irish is Fernmag; written Fearnmhuidh in the late manuscript of this part of the tale. This is the Tree of their race, and an account of the kinships of some of the Champions of the Red Branch, which is given here before we proceed to speak of the Deeds of Cuchulain: 'Twas Cathbad first won Magach's love, and arms around her threw; From Maelchro's loins, the Battle Chief, his princely source he drew; Two, more in love she knew, of these the wrath was long and dread, Fierce Rossa, named the Ruddy-Faced, and Carbre, thatched with red. To all the three were children born, and all with beauty graced, To Cathbad, and to Carbre Red, and Rossa Ruddy-faced; A gracious three indeed were they to whom she gave her love, Fair Magach, brown the lashes were that slept her eyes above. Three sons to Rossa Ruddy-faced as children Magach bore; To Carbre sons again she gave, the count of these was four; And three white shoots of grace were hers, on these no shame shall fall; To Cathbad children three she bare, and these were daughters all. To Cathbad, who in wizard lore and all its arts had might, Three daughters lovely Magach bore, each clothed in beauty white; All maids who then for grace were famed in grace those maids surpassed, And Finuchoem,[FN#49] Ailbhe twain he named, and Deithchim named the last. [FN#49] Pronounced Finn-hoom, Ail-vy, and Die-himm. To Finnchoem, wizard Cathbad's child, was born a glorious son, And well she nursed him, Conall wild, who every field hath won; And Ailbhe glorious children bare in whom no fear had place, These Ardan, Ainnle, Naisi were, who came of Usnach's race. A son to Deithchim fair was born, a bright-cheeked mother she; She bore but one: Cuchulain of Dun Delga's hold was he: Of those whom Cathbad's daughters reared the names full well ye know, And none of these a wound hath feared, or therefore shunned a foe. The sons of Usnach, who like shields their friends protected well, By might of hosts on battle-field to death were borne, and fell; And each was white of skin, and each his friends in love would hold, Now naught remains for song to teach, the Third of Griefs is told. THE COMBAT AT THE FORD INTRODUCTION This version of the "Combat at the Ford," the best-known episode of the Irish romance or romantic epic, the "War of Cualnge," will hardly be, by Irish scholars, considered to want a reference. It is given in the Book of Leinster, which cannot have been written later than 1150 A.D., and differs in many respects from the version in the fourteenth-century Book of Lecan, which is, for the purposes of this text, at least equal in authority to the Leabbar na h-Uidhri, which must have been written before 1100 A.D. Mr. Alfred Nutt has kindly contributed a note on the comparison of the two versions, which has been placed as a special note at the end of the translation of the "Combat." To this note may be added the remark that the whole of the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version of the "War of Cualnge" seems, to be subject to the same criticisms that have to be passed on the "Sickbed" and the "Courtship of Etain" in the same volume, viz. that it is a compilation from two or three different versions of the same story, and is not a connected and consistent romance, which the version in the Book of Leinster appears to be. As an illustration of this, the appearance of Conall Cernach as on the side of Connaught in the early part of the L.U. version may be mentioned; he is never so represented in other versions of the "War." In the description of the array of Ulster at the end of L.U., he is noted as being expected to be with the Ulster army but as absent (following in this the Book of Leinster, but not a later manuscript which agrees with the Book of Leinster in the main); then at the end of the L.U. version Conall again appears in the Connaught army and saves Conor from Fergus, taking the place of Cormac in the Book of Leinster version. Miss Faraday, in her version of the "War" as given in L.U., notes the change of style at page 82 of her book. Several difficulties similar to that of the position of Conall could be mentioned; and on the whole it seems as if the compiler of the manuscript from which both the Leabhar na h-Uidhri and the Yellow Book of Lecan were copied, combined into one several different descriptions of the "War," one of which is represented by the Book of Leinster version. This version shows no signs of patchwork, at any rate in the story of the "Combat at the Ford;" which has, ever since it was reintroduced to the world by O'Curry, been renowned for the chivalry of its action. It forms one of the books of Aubrey de Vere's "Foray of Queen Meave," and is there well reproduced, although with several additions; perhaps sufficient attention has not. been paid to the lofty position of the character, as distinguished from the prowess, that this version gives to Cuchulain. The first verse, put in Cuchulain's mouth, strikes a new note, contrasting alike with the muddle-headed bargaining of Ferdia and Maev, and the somewhat fussy anxiety of Fergus. The contrast between the way in which Cuchulain receives Fergus's report of the valour of Ferdia, and that in which Ferdia receives the praises of Cuchulain from his charioteer, is well worked out; Cuchulain, conscious of his own strength, accepts all Fergus's praises of his opponent and adds to them; Ferdia cannot bear to hear of Cuchulain's valour, and charges his servant with taking a bribe from his enemy in order to frighten him. Ferdia boasts loudly of what he will do, Cuchulain apologises for his own confidence in the issue of the combat, and gently banters Fergus, who is a bit of a boaster himself, on the care he had taken to choose the time for the war when king Conor was away, with a modest implication that he himself was a poor substitute for the king. Cuchulain's first two stanzas in the opening dialogue between himself and Ferdia show a spirit quite as truculent as that of his opponent; the reason of this being, as indicated in the first of these stanzas and more explicitly stated in the preceding prose, that his anxiety for his country is outweighing his feeling for his friend; but in the third stanza he resumes the attitude of conscious strength that marks all his answers to Fergus; and this, added to a feeling of pity for his friend's inevitable fate, is maintained up to the end of the tale. In the fourth stanza, which is an answer to a most insulting speech from Ferdia, he makes the first of those appeals to his former friend to abandon his purpose that come from him throughout the first three days of the fight; even in the fatal battle of the fourth day, he will not at first put forward all his strength, and only uses the irresistible Gae-Bulg when driven to it by his foe. The number of Cuchulain's laments after the battle--there are five of these (one in prose), besides his answers to Laeg--has been adversely criticised; and it is just possible that one or more of these come from some other version, and have been incorporated by a later hand than that of the author; but the only one that seems to me not to develop the interest is the "brooch of gold," which it may be noticed is very like the only lament which is preserved in the Book of Lecan text of the L.U. version. Cuchulain's allusion to Aife's only son in the first verse lament is especially noticeable (see note, p. 196). Ferdia's character, although everywhere inferior to that of his victor, is also a heroic one; he is represented at the commencement of the episode as undertaking the fight for fear of disgrace if he refused; and this does appear to be represented throughout as the true reason; his early boasts and taunts are obviously intended to conquer a secret uneasiness, and the motif of a passion for Finnabar with which Cuchulain charges him hardly appears outside Cuchulain's speeches, and has not the importance given to it in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version. The motif of resentment against Cuchulain for a fancied insult, invented by Maev, which is given in the L.U. version as the determining cause, does not appear in the Leinster version at all; and that of race enmity of the Firbolg against the Celt, given to him by Aubrey de Vere, is quite a modern idea and is in none of the old versions. His dialogue with Maev suggests that, as stated in the text, he was then slightly intoxicated; his savage language to his servant gives the idea of a man who feels himself in the wrong and makes himself out to be worse than he is by attributing to himself the worst motives, the hope of pay; but as the battle proceeds he shows himself equal to Cuchulain in generosity, and in the dialogue at the beginning of the third day's fight his higher character comes out, for while his old boastfulness appears in one passage of it, and is immediately repressed, the language of both heroes in this dialogue is noticeable for a true spirit of chivalry. The mutual compliments, "thy kingly might," "fair graceful Hound" "gently ruling Hound" recall the French "Beausire"; it may be also noted that these compliments are paid even when Ferdia is protesting against Cuchulain's reproaches; similar language is used elsewhere, as "much thine arms excel" (page 122), and "Cuchulain for beautiful feats renowned" (page 134). It may be considered that these passages are an indication that the episode is late, but it should be noticed that the very latest date that can possibly be assigned to it, the eleventh century, precedes that of all other known romances of chivalry by at least a hundred years. To this later attitude of Ferdia, and to that maintained by Cuchulain throughout the whole episode, nothing in French or Welsh romance of approximately so early a date can be compared. Is it not possible that the chivalric tone of the later Welsh romances, like the "Lady of the Fountain," which is generally supposed to have come from France, really came from an Irish model? and that this tone, together with the Arthurian Saga, passed to the Continent? A great contrast to both the two heroes is afforded by the introduction of Laeg with his cries of exultation, which come between the dying groans of Ferdia and the fine prose lament of Cuchulain, increasing the effect of both. Laeg seems quite unable to see his master's point of view, and he serves as a foil for Ferdia, just as the latter's inferiority increases the character of Cuchulain. The consistency of the whole, and the way in which our sympathy is awakened for Ferdia contrast with the somewhat disconnected character of the L.U. version, which as it stands gives a poor idea of the defeated champion; although, as Mr. Nutt suggests, the lost part may have improved this idea, and the version has beauties of its own. For the convenience of those readers who may be unacquainted with the story of the war, the following short introduction is given:-- At a time given by the oldest Irish annalists as A.D. 29, the War of Cualnge was undertaken by Maev, queen of Connaught, against the kingdom or province of Ulster. Gathering together men from all the other four provinces of Ireland, Maev marched against Ulster, the leaders of her army being herself, her husband Ailill, and Fergus the son of Rog, an exile from Ulster, and formerly, according to one account, king of that province. Not only had Maev great superiority in force, but the time she Ed chosen for the war was when Conor, king of Ulster, and with him nearly all his principal warriors, were on their sick-bed in accordance with a curse that had fallen on them in return for a cruel deed that he and his people had done. One hero however, Cuchulain, the greatest of the Ulster heroes, was unaffected by this curse; and he, with only a few followers, but with supernatural aid from demi-gods of whose race he came, had caused much loss to the queen and her army, so that Maev finally made this compact: she was each day to provide a champion to oppose Cuchulain, and was to be permitted to advance so long as that combat lasted; if her champion was killed, she was to halt her army until the next morning. Before the Combat at the Ford between Cuchulain and Ferdia, Cuchulain had killed many of Maev's champions in duel, and the epic romance of the "War of Cualnge" gives the full story of these combats and of the end of the war. The episode given in the following pages commences at the camp of Queen Maev, where her chiefs are discussing who is to be their champion against Cuchulain on the following day. THE COMBAT AT THE FORD AN EPISODE OF THE CATTLE SPOIL OF CUALNGE IN THE BOOK OF LEINSTER VERSION At that time debate was held among the men of Ireland who should be the man to go early in the morning of the following day to make combat and fight with Cuchulain. And all agreed that Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dire, was the man who should go; even the great and valiant champion of the men of Irross Donnand, for the manner in which he fought and did battle was like to the manner of Cuchulain. They had got their skill in arms, and valour, and bravery from the same teachers, from Scathach, from Uathach, and from Aife[FN#50]; nor had either of them advantage over the other except that Cuchulain alone could perform the feat of the Gae-bulg. Yet Ferdia was fenced by a horny skin-protecting armour, and this should guard him when he faced a hero in battle and combat at the Ford. So to Ferdia were sent messengers and heralds; but Ferdia denied the heralds, and he refused to depart with them, for well he knew why it was he was called; even to fight against his own friend, his comrade and fellow-pupil Cuchulain; and for that cause he came not with the heralds who were sent. [FN#50] Pronounced Scaha, Ooha, and Eefa: Scaha and Ooha end with a slight guttural like the ch in the Scotch lock, difficult to express in English. And then did Maev send to Ferdia Druids, and satirists and revilers, in order that against him should be made three crushing reproaches, and three satires; that the stains of shame, and of blemish, and of disgrace should be raised on his face; so that even if he died not at once, death should be his within the space of nine days if he went with them not. And for the sake of his honour, Ferdia came at their call; for to him it was better to fall before the shafts of valour, of bravery, and of daring than by the stings of satire, of abuse, and of reproach. And he, when he arrived, was received with all worship and service, and was served with pleasant, sweet intoxicating liquor, so that his brain reeled, and he became gently merry. And these were the great rewards that were promised to him if he consented to make that combat and fight: a chariot of the value of four times seven cumals, and the equipment of twelve men with garments of all colours, and the length and breadth of his own territory on the choice part of the plains of Maw Ay; free of tribute, without purchase, free from the incidents of attendance at courts and of military service, that therein his son, and his grandson, and all his descendants might dwell in safety to the end of life and time; also Finnabar the daughter of Maev as his wedded wife, and the golden brooch which was in the cloak of Queen Maev in addition to all this. And thus ran the speech of Maev, and she spake these words, and thus did Ferdia reply: Maev Of rings great treasure sending,[FN#51] Wide plains and woodlands bending I grant: till time hath ending I free thy tribe and kin. O thou who oft o'ercamest! 'Tis thine what gift thou namest! Why hold'st thou back, nor claimest A boon that all would win? [FN#51] The metre of this dialogue and rhyme-system are taken from the Irish but one syllable has been added to each line. The exact Irish metre is that given on page 129. Ferdia A bond must hold thee tightly, No force I lend thee lightly; Dread strife 'twill be; for rightly He bears that name of "Hound." For sharp spear-combat breaketh That morn; hard toil it waketh The war Cuchulain maketh Shall fearless war be found. Maev Our chiefs, with oaths the gravest, Shall give the pledge thou cravest; For thee, of all men bravest, Brave bridled steeds shall stand. From tax my word hath freed thee, To hostings none shall lead thee, As bosom friend I need thee, As first in all the land. Ferdia Mere words are naught availing If oaths to bind be failing; That wondrous Ford-Fight hailing, All time its tale shall greet: Though sun, moon, sea for ever And earth from me I sever; Though death I win--yet never, Unpledged, that war I'll meet. Maev These kings and chiefs behind me Their oaths shall pledge to bind me: With boundless wealth thou'lt find me, With wealth too great to pay. 'Tis thou who oaths delayest; 'Tis done whate'er thou sayest; For well I know thou slayest The foe who comes to slay. Ferdia Ere thou to slaughter lure me, Six champions' oaths procure me; Till these rewards assure me I meet, for thee, no foe: If six thou grant as gages, I'll face the war he wages, And where Cuchulain rages, A lesser chief, I go. Maev In chariots Donnal raceth, Fierce strife wild Neeman faceth, Their halls the bards' song graceth, Yet these in troth I bind. Firm pledge Morand is making, None Carpri Min knew breaking His troth: thine oath he's taking; Two sons to pledge I find. Ferdia Much poison, Maev, inflameth Thy heart; no smile thee tameth But well the land thee nameth Proud queen of Croghan's hold; Thy power no man can measure; 'Tis I will do thy pleasure; Now send thy silken treasure, Thy silver gifts, and gold. Maev This brooch, as champion's token, I give of troth unbroken; All words my lips have spoken Performed shall Sunday see. Thou glorious chief, who darest This fight, I give thee rarest Of gifts on earth, and fairest, Yea greater meed shall be. For Findabar my daughter; All Elgga's chiefs have sought her; When thou that Hound shalt slaughter, I give in love to thee. And then did Maev bind Ferdia in an easy task; that on the next day he was to come to combat and fight with six of her champions, or to make duel against Cuchulain; whichever of the two he should think the easier. And Ferdia on his side bound her by a condition that seemed to him easy for her to fulfil: even that she should lay it upon those same six champions to see to it that all those things she had promised to him should be fulfilled, in case Cuchulain should meet death at Ferdia's hand. Thereupon Fergus caused men to harness for him his horses, and his chariot was yoked, and he went to that place where Cuchulain was that he might tell him what had passed, and Cuchulain bade him welcome. I am rejoiced at your coming, O my good friend Fergus," said Cuchulain. And I gladly accept thy welcome, O my pupil," said Fergus. But I have now come hither in order to tell thee who that man is who comes to combat and fight with thee early on the morning of the day which is at hand." "We shall give all heed to thy words," said Cuchulain. "'Tis thine own friend," said Fergus, "thy companion, and thy fellow pupil; thine equal in feats and in deeds and in valour: even Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dare, the great and valiant champion of the men of Irross Donnan." "Truly," said Cuchulain, "I make mine oath to thee that I am sorry that my friend should come to such a duel." "Therefore," said Fergus, "it behoves thee to be wary and prepared, for unlike to all those men who have come to combat and fight with thee upon the Tain be Cuailgne is Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dare." "I have stood here," said Cuchulain, "detaining and delaying the men of the four great provinces of Ireland since the first Monday in Samhain (November) till the beginning of the spring, and not one foot have I gone back before any one man during all that time, nor shall I, as I trust, yield before him." And in this manner did Fergus continue to put him on his guard, and these were the words that he spoke, and thus did Cuchulain reply: Fergus Rise, Cuchulain! foes are near,[FN#52] All their covenant is clear; Daman's ruddy son in rage Comes the war with thee to wage. [FN#52] The metre is that of the Irish; a literal rendering of the whole dialogue is given in the notes, p. 191. Cuchulain Here I stand, whose valiant toil Erin's bands held back from spoil; Never a foot of ground they won, Never a foe they found me shun. Fergus Fierce is he in rage; his trust In his blade's deep searching thrust: Plates of horn protect his side, Pierced by none his strength who tried. Cuchulain Fergus, much thine arms excel; Cease, this tale no longer tell Land is none, nor battle-field Where to his my strength must yield. Fergus He is fierce, with scores can fight, Spear nor sword can on him bite; From that strength, a hundred's match, Hard 'twill be the prize to snatch. Cuchulain Yea! Ferdia's power I know; How from foughten field we go; How was fought our piercing war, Bards shall tell to ages far. Fergus Loss of much I'd little mourn Could I hear how, eastward borne, Great Cuchulain's bloody blade Proud Ferdia's spoils displayed. Cuchulain Though in boasts I count me weak, Hear me now as braggart speak: Daman's son, of Darry's race, Soon shall I, his victor, face. Fergus Brought by me, hosts eastward came, Ulster sought to hurt my fame; Here have come, to ease my grief, Many a champion, many a chief. Cuchulain Sickness Conor's might withheld, Else his sight thy host had quelled; Less the shouts of joy had been, Raised by Maev, Maw Scayl's high queen. Fergus Greater deeds than done by me O Cuchulain! thine shall be: Daman's son thy battle nears; Hear thy friend! keep hard thy spears. Then Fergus returned to where the army was encamped: Ferdia, also went from Maev and came to his own tent; and there he found his followers, and he told them how he had been bound to Maev as in an easy task, that he was on the morrow to combat and fight with six of her champions, or to make duel with Cuchulain, whichever of the two he might think the easier. Also he told them how she had been bound by a condition that was easy for her to grant: that she should lay it on these same six champions to see that her promises to him of rewards should be fulfilled in case Cuchulain met his death at Ferdia's hand. There was no cheerfulness, or happiness, or even melancholy pleasure among the inmates of Ferdia's camp that night: they were all cheerless, and sorrowful, and low in spirit; for they knew that whenever those two champions, those two slayers of hundreds met, one of the two must fall in that place, or that both of them should fall: and if one only was to fall they were sure that that one would be their own master; for it was not easy for any man to combat and fight with Cuchulain on the Tain bo Cuailnge. Now the first part of that night Ferdia slept very heavily, and when the middle of the night had come his sleep had left him, and the dizziness of his brain has passed away, and care for the combat and the fight pressed heavily upon him. Then he called for his charioteer to harness his horses, and to yoke his chariot; and the charioteer began to rebuke him, if haply he might turn him from his purpose. "It would be better for thee to stay!" said the charioteer. "Be thou silent, O my servant!" said Ferdia, and he then spoke the words that follow, and thus did his servant reply to him:-- Ferdia 'Tis a challenge provoking To war, and I go Where the ravens' hoarse croaking Shall rise for my foe: With Cuchulain still seeking The strife at yon ford; Till his strong body, reeking, Be pierced by my sword! Servant Nay, thy threats show no meekness; Yet here thou should'st stay; For on thee shall come weakness, Woe waits on thy way: For by Ulster's Rock broken This battle may be, And it long shall be spoken How ill 'twas to thee. Ferdia An ill word art thou saying; It fits not our race That a champion, delaying From fight, should thee grace. Then thy speech, my friend, fetter, No foe will we fear; But, since valour is better, His challenge we near. Then Ferdia's horses were harnessed for him, and his chariot was yoked, and he came forward to the ford of battle; but when he had come there he found that the full light of the day had not yet dawned, and "O my servant!" said Ferdia, "spread out for me the cushions and skins that are upon my chariot, that I may rest upon them till I take the deep repose of refreshing sleep, for during the latter part of this night have I taken no rest, on account of the care that I had for this combat and fight." And the servant unharnessed his horses, and he placed together the cushions and the skins that were upon the chariot, so that Ferdia might rest upon them, and he sank into the deep repose of refreshing sleep. Now in this place I will tell of the acts of Cuchulain. He rose not at all from his couch until the full light of the day; and this he did in order that the men of Ireland should not be able to say that it was from fear or from dread that he rose, if it had been early that he had arisen. And when the full daylight had come, he commanded his charioteer to harness for him his horses, and to yoke his chariot: "O my servant!" said Cuchulain, "harness for us our horses, and put the yoke to our chariot, for early rises the champion who cometh to meet us this day: even Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dare." "The horses are harnessed," said the charioteer, "and the chariot is yoked; step thou into it, for it will bring no shame on thy valour." Then did Cuchulain, the fighter of battles, the skilful in feats, the winner of victory, that red-sworded hero, the son of Sualtam, leap into his chariot. All around him screamed the Bocanachs, and the Bananachs, and the wild people of the glens, and the demons of the air; for it was the custom of the people of the wizard race of Danu to raise their cries about him in every battle, on every stricken field, in every duel, and in every fight to which he went, that thereby in such fight the hatred, and the fear, and the avoidance, and the terror that men felt for him should be increased. In no short time the charioteer of Ferdia heard the roar of Cuchulain's approach; the clamour, and the hissing, and the tramp; and the thunder, and the clatter, and the buzz: for he heard the shields that were used as missiles clank together as they touched; and he heard the spears hiss, and the swords clash, and the helmet tinkle, and the armour ring; and the arms sawed one against the other, and the javelins swung, and the ropes strained, and the wheels of the chariot clattered, and the chariot creaked, and the hoofs of the horses trampled on the ground as that warrior and champion came forward in triumph to the ford, and approached him. Then that servant of Ferdia arose, and he placed his hand upon his lord: "Arise now, O Ferdia!" said the servant, "for here they come towards thee, even to the Ford;" and this was the speech of the driver of the chariot of Ferdia as he stood before him: Lo! a chariot yoked with silver, creaking loud, draws nigh;[FN#53] O'er the chariot-wheels a man his perfect form rears high: The warlike car Rolls on from far Braeg Ross, from Braina's bounds; Past that burg they ride whose wooded side the roadway rounds; For its triumphs high in triumph cry its song resounds. [FN#53] For a literal translation of the above poem and another rendering, see the notes. Urged by hero-Hound, and yoked by charioteer's hand true, Flies the war-car southward ever; nobler hawk ne'er flew Than he who speeds His rushing steeds, That chief of stubborn might; Soon the blood to flow from slaughtered foe shall meet his sight; Sure for us 'tis ill, for soon with skill he gives us fight. Woe to him who here on hillock stands, that Hound to wait; Emain Macha's perfect Hound is he, foretold by fate: Last year I cried That him I spied Who guards his land from foe: That battle-Hound, on whom are found all hues to glow: 'Twas then from far I heard that car: its sound I know. "O my servant!" said Ferdia, "wherefore is it: that thou hast continued in thy praise of this man ever since the time that I left my tent? surely it must be a reward that thou seekest at his hand, so greatly dost thou extol him; yet Ailill and Maev have foretold that it is by me he shall fall. Certain it is that for sake of the fee I shall gain he shall be slain quickly; and 'tis full time that the relief that we wait for should come." Thus then it was that in that place he spoke these words, and thus did his servant reply: Ferdia 'Tis time that I grant my assistance! Be still: let thy praise of him sink: Peer not, like a seer, at the distance; Wilt fail me on battle-field's brink? Though Cualgne's proud champion, displaying His gambols and pride thou dost see; Full soon shalt thou witness his slaying For price to be paid down to me. Servant If he who this glory is showing Be champion of Cualgne indeed; 'Tis not in retreat he is going; To meet us he cometh with speed: He comes, nor 'tis slowly he blunders, Like wind his swift journey he makes; As stream, from the cliff-top that thunders; As bolt, from the storm-cloud that breaks. Ferdia 'Tis pay at his hand thou hast taken, So loudly resoundeth thy praise; Else why, since our tent was forsaken, Hast sung with such frequence thy lays? Men, like thou, who, when foes are appearing, Would to chant the foe's praises begin, Will attack not, when battle is nearing, But the name of base cowards shall win. Now the charioteer of Ferdia was not long in that place before he saw a marvellous sight; for before his eyes came the beautiful five-pointed, four-peaked chariot, skilfully driven with swiftness and power. A canopy of green overspread it; thin and well-seasoned was the body of it; lofty and long were the spears that adorned it; well was it fashioned for war. Under the yokes of that chariot sped forward with great bounds two great-eared, savage, and prancing steeds; bellies had they like whales, broad were their chests, and quick-panting their hearts; their flanks were high, and their hoofs wide; their pasterns fine, their loins broad, and their spirits untamable. The horse under one of the yokes was grey, with a long mane and with broad hind quarters; swiftly he galloped, and his leaps were great; the horse beneath the other yoke was black, his mane was in tufts, his back was broad, and eager was his pace. As a hawk, on a day when the wind bloweth hard, darts up from the furrow; as the gusts of the wind in spring sweep forward over a smooth plain upon a day in March; swift as a going stag at the beginning of the chase, after he hath been roused by the cry of the hounds; such was the pace of the two steeds that bore forward Cuchulain and his chariot, touching upon the soil as rapidly as if the stones that they trod on were hot with the fire, so that the whole earth trembled and shook at the violence of their going. And Cuchulain reached the ford, and Ferdia awaited him on the south side of it, and Cuchulain halted his horses upon the north. Then did Ferdia bid welcome to Cuchulain: "O Cuchulain!" said Ferdia, I rejoice to see thine approach." "Thy welcome would have been received by me upon an earlier day," said Cuchulain, "but this day I cannot receive it as one from a friend. And Ferdia," said he, "it were more suitable that it was I who bade welcome to thee rather than that thou shouldest welcome me; for out in flight before thee are my women, and my children; my youths, and my steeds, and my mares; my flocks, and my herds, and my cattle." "Ah, Cuchulain!" said Ferdia, "how hast thou been persuaded to come to this fight and this battle at all? For when we were with Scathach, with Uathach, and with Aife, thou wert mine attendant; thine was the office to whet my spears, and to make ready my couch." "'Tis true indeed," said Cuchulain, "but it was then as thy younger in years and in standing that it was my custom to perform this office for thee; and that is not my quality to-day; for now there is not in all the world any champion with whom I would refuse to fight." And then each of them reproached the other bitterly with breach of friendship, and there Ferdia spoke the words which here follow, and thus did Cuchulain reply: Ferdia Hound! why hither faring,[FN#54] Strife with strong ones daring? As if home were flaring, Woe shall come on thee! Blood from out thee draining Shall thy steeds be staining; Thou, thy home if gaining, Wounded sore shalt be. [FN#54] The metre is that of the Irish. Cuchulain Hot with indignation, Take I battle-station, Face yon warrior nation, Round their warlike king: They shall see me meet thee, Count the strifes that greet thee, Watch, as down I beat thee, Drowning, suffering. Ferdia Here is one to shame thee; How 'twas I o'ercame thee, They who champion name thee Long the tale shall tell. Ulster, near thee lying, Soon shall see thee dying; All shall say, with sighing, Theirs the chief who fell. Cuchulain Thine shall be the choosing; Say, what warfare using Hosts shall see thee losing At the Ford this fight? Swords dost choose, hard-clashing Cars, in conflict crashing? Spears, thy life-blood splashing? 'Tis thy death in sight. Ferdia Ere the twilight gleameth, Red thy life-blood streameth: Small thy stature seemeth, Like a cliff thy foe. Ulster's hosts who prated, And thy pride inflated; Through them feel thy hated Spectre sadly go. Cuchulain Down a chasm appalling Thou to death art falling; One thy foe: yet galling Weapons press thee sore. Proud thou wert but lately, Strife shall change thee greatly, Thee as champion stately Earth shall know no more. Ferdia Cease this endless vaunting, Speech for ever flaunting, Thou a chief! a taunting, Giggling child thou art. None would pay, or fee thee, I as coward see thee; Strength hast none to free thee, Caged bird! quaking heart! Cuchulain Ah! in bygone story We, as peers in glory, Sports and combats gory Shared when Scaha taught: Thou, of all who nearest To my soul appearest! Clansman! kinsman dearest! Woe thy fate hath brought! Ferdia Naught this strife avails thee, Glory fades, and fails thee; Cock-crow loudly hails thee, High on stake thy head! Cualgne's[FN#55] Hound, Cuchulain! Faults thy soul bear rule in: Thee to bitter schooling Frantic grief hath led. [FN#55] Pronounced Kell-ny. "O my friend Ferdia!" said Cuchulain, "it was not right for thee to have come to the combat and the fight with me, at the instigation and the meddling of Ailill and Maev: none of those who came before thee have gained for themselves victory or success, and they all fell at my hand; neither shalt thou win victory or success from this battle, by me shalt thou fall." And it was in this manner that he was speaking, and he recited these words, and Ferdia hearkened to him: Come not near, thou powerful man![FN#56] O Ferdia mac Daman: Worst of woe on thee is hurled, Though thy fate shall grieve the world. [FN#56] The metre is that of the Irish. Come not near, nor right forget In my hand thy fate is set: Those recall, whom late I fought, Hath their fall no wisdom taught? Thou for gifts wert passed in sale, Purple sash, firm coat of mail; Never maid, O Daman's son! In this war of thine is won. Findabar, Maev's lovely child, With her form thy sense beguiled: Brightly though her beauty glows, She no love on thee bestows. Wouldst thou win the prize they bring, Findabar, the child of king? Many ere now that maid could cheat Here, like thee, their wounds to meet. Thou hast sworn, and plighted. troth, Ne'er to fight me: keep thine oath: Friendship's tie thee firm should hold, Come not nigh me, champion bold. Fifty chiefs, who sought that maid, Fought me, fell, in earth are laid; Well I know that tempting bait, All have found, and earned their fate. Ferbay fell, though bold his boast, Him obeyed a valiant host; Quickly here his rage I stilled; Cast my spear but once, and killed. Cruel fate Srub Darry slew, Tales of hundred dames he knew; Great his fame in days of yore; Silver none, 'twas gold he wore. Though that maid, whom Erin's best Hope to gain, my heart would charm; South and north, and east and west I would keep thee safe from harm. "And, O my friend Ferdia!" said Cuchulain "this is the cause why it was not thy part to come here to the combat and the fight with me. It is because that when with Scathach, with Uathach, and with Aife we abode, it was the custom with us that together we should go to every battle, and to every field of battle; to every fight and to every skirmish; to every forest and to all wildernesses; to all things dark and difficult." These were the words of his speech, and it was in that place that he recited these staves: Tuned our hearts were beating, We, where chiefs were meeting, Brotherly went: when slumbering One was our couch: we sought Fierce fights, and fought. Oft in woods that are far away Joined we stood in our skilful play; Scathach our feats had taught. And Ferdia replied to him thus: O Cuchulain! for beautiful feats renowned, Though together we learned our skill; Though thou tellest of friendship that once we found, From me shall come first thine ill; Ah, recall not the time of our friendship's day: It shall profit thee nothing, O Hound, I say. "For too long now have we thus waited," said Ferdia; "tell me now O Cuchulain! to what weapons shall we resort?" "Thou hast the choice of the weapons till the night," said Cuchulain, "because thou wert the first to reach the Ford." "Hast thou any remembrance," said Ferdia, "of the weapons for casting, that we were accustomed to practise the use of when we were with Scathach, with Uathach, and with Aife?" "I do indeed remember them," said Cuchulain." "If thou rememberest them, let us resort to them now," said Ferdia. Then they resorted to their weapons used for the casting. They took up two shields for defence, with devices emblazoned upon them, and their eight shields with sharp edges such that they could hurl, and their eight javelins, and their eight ivory-hilted dirks, and their eight little darts for the fight. To and fro from one to the other, like bees upon a sunny day, flew the weapons, and there was no cast that they threw that did not hit. Each of them then continued to shoot at the other with their weapons for casting, from the dawn of the morning to the full middle of the day, until all of their weapons had been blunted against the faces and the bosses of their shields; and although their casting was most excellent, yet so good was the defence that neither of them wounded the other nor drew the other's blood during all that time. "Cease now from these feats, O Cuchulain!" said Ferdia, "for it is not by means of these that the struggle between us shall come." "Let us cease indeed," said Cuchulain, "if the time for ceasing hath arrived." And they ceased from their casting, and they threw the weapons they had used for it into the hands of their charioteers. "To what weapons shall we next resort, O Cuchulain?" said Ferdia. "Thou hast the choice of weapons until the night," said Cuchulain, "because thou wert the first to reach the Ford." "Then," said Ferdia, "let us turn to our straight, well-trimmed, hard, and polished casting-spears with tough cords of flax upon them." "Let us do so indeed," said Cuchulain. Then they took two stout shields of defence, and they turned to their straight, well-trimmed, hard, and polished casting-spears with the tough cords of flax upon them, and each of them continued to hurl his spears at the other from the middle of midday until the ninth hour of the evening: and though the defence was most excellent that each of them made, yet so good was the casting of the spears that each of them wounded the other at that time, and drew red blood from him. "Let us desist from this now, O Cuchulain!" said Ferdia. "Let us desist indeed," said Cuchulain, "if the time has come." They ceased, and they threw away their weapons into their charioteers' hands; and each of them at the end of that fight sought the other, and each threw his arms about the other's neck, and gave him three kisses. Their horses were in the same paddock that night, the men who had driven their chariots sat by the same fire, moreover the charioteers of both those warriors spread couches of fresh rushes for the two, and supplied them with such pillows as are needed by wounded men. And such folk as can heal and cure came to heal and to cure them, and they applied soothing and salving herbs and plants to their bruises, and their cuts, and their gashes, and to all their many wounds. And of every soothing and salving herb and plant that was brought for the bruises, the cuts, and the gashes, and all the wounds of Cuchulain, he used to send an equal portion westward across the ford to Ferdia, so that in case Ferdia fell at his hand the men of Ireland should not be able to say that it was owing to superiority in leech-craft that he had done it. And of each kind of food, and of pleasant, palatable, intoxicating drink that the men of Ireland brought to Ferdia, he would send a fair half northward across the ford to Cuchulain; for the men who provided food for Ferdia were more in number than they who provided food for Cuchulain. All the army of the men of Ireland helped to provide Ferdia with food, because he was their champion to defend them against Cuchulain; yet to Cuchulain also food was brought by the people who dwell in the Breg. And it was the custom with these that they came to converse with him at the dusk of each night. Thus they remained that night, but early in the morning they arose, and repaired to the Ford of Combat. "What weapons shall we turn to to-day, O Ferdia?" said Cuchulain. "Thou hast the choice of weapons until the night," answered Ferdia, "because it is I who had my choice of them in the day that is past." "Let us then," said Cuchulain, "resort to our great, broad-bladed, heavy spears this day, for nearer shall we be to our battle by the thrusting of our spears this day than we were by the throwing weapons of yesterday: let our horses be harnessed for us, and our chariots yoked, that upon this day from our chariots and our horses we may fight." "Let us turn to these indeed," said Ferdia. They then took to them two exceedingly stout, broad shields, and they resorted to their great, broad-bladed, heavy spears that day. And each of them continued to thrust at, and to pierce through, and to redden, and to tear the body of the other from the dawn of the morning until the ninth hour of the evening; and if it were the custom for birds in their flight to pass through the bodies of men, they could have passed through the bodies of those warriors that day, carrying with them pieces of their flesh from their wounds into the clouds and to the sky around them. So when the ninth hour of the evening was come, the horses were weary, and the charioteers were weak; and they themselves, champions and heroes of valour as they were, had themselves become weary; and "Let us cease now from this, O Ferdia!" said Cuchulain, "for our horses are weary, and our charioteers are weak; and now that these are weary, why should not we be weary too?" and then it was that he sang this stave: Not like Fomorians, men of the sea, Stubborn, unending our struggle should be; Now that the clamour of combat must cease, Quarrels forget, and between us be peace. Let us cease now indeed," said Ferdia, "if the time for it hath come." They ceased, and they threw away their weapons into their charioteers' hands, and each of them at the end of that fight sought the other, and each threw his arms about the other's neck, and gave him three kisses. Their horses were in the same paddock that night, the men who had driven their chariots sat by the same fire, moreover the charioteers of both those warriors spread couches of fresh rushes for the two, and supplied them with such pillows as are needed by wounded men. And such folk as can heal and cure came to examine into their wounds and to tend them that night, for they could do nothing more for them, so severe and so deadly were the stabs and the thrusts, and the gashes of the many wounds that they had, than to apply to them spells and incantations and charms, in order to staunch their blood, and their bleeding mortal wounds. And for every spell and incantation and charm that was applied to the stabs and the wounds of Cuchulain, he sent a full half westward across the ford to Ferdia; and of each kind of food, and of pleasant, palatable, intoxicating drink that the men of Ireland brought to Ferdia, he sent a half across the ford to Cuchulain, in the north. For the men who brought food to Ferdia were more in number than they who brought food to Cuchulain, for all the army of the men of Ireland helped to provide Ferdia with food, because he was their champion to defend them against Cuchulain; yet to Cuchulain also food was brought by the people who dwell in the Breg. And it was the custom with these that they came to converse with him at the dusk of each night. Thus they rested that night: but early in the morning they arose, and repaired to the Ford of Combat; and Cuchulain saw that an evil look and a lowering cloud was on the face of Ferdia that day. "Ill dost thou appear to me to-day, O Ferdia!" said Cuchulain. "Thy hair hath been darkened to-day, and thine eye hath been dimmed, and the form and the features and the visage that thou art wont to have are gone from thee." "'Tis from no fear or from terror of thee that I am what I am to-day," said Ferdia, "for there is not in Ireland to-day a champion that I am not able to subdue." And Cuchulain complained and lamented, and he spoke the words that follow, and thus did Ferdia reply: Cuchulain Is't indeed Ferdia's face?[FN#57] Sure his meed is dire disgrace; He, to war by woman led, Comes his comrade's blood to shed. [FN#57] The metre is that of the Irish. Ferdia Thou who warrior art indeed, Champion tried! who wounds dost breed, I am forced the sod to see Where my final grave shall be. Cuchulain Maev her daughter, Findabar, Who all maids excelleth far, Gave thee, not at love's behest, She thy kingly might would test. Ferdia Gently ruling Hound, I know That was tested long ago; None so great is known to fame, None, till now, to match it came. Cuchulain All that's chanced from thee hath sprung, Darry's grandchild, Daman's son; Woman's hest hath brought thee here Swords to test with comrade dear. Ferdia Comrade! had I fled, nor found Fight with thee, fair graceful Hound, Maev my word could broken call; Croghan hold my fame but small. Cuchulain None put meat his lips between, None to king or stainless queen Yet was born, whose praise I'd gain, None whose scorn would win thy pain. Ferdia Thou who deep in wars dost wade, 'Twas not thou, 'twas Maev betrayed: Back with conquest shalt thou ride, Fault hast none thy fame to hide. Cuchulain Clots of blood my faithful heart Choke; my soul is like to part: 'Tis with little force my arm Strikes, to do Ferdia harm! "Greatly although thou makest complaint against me to-day," said Ferdia, "tell me to what arms shall we resort?" Thine is the choice of weapons until the night," said Cuchulain, "because it was I who had the choice in the day that is past." "Then," said Ferdia, "let us this day take to our heavy hard-smiting swords; for sooner shall we attain to the end of our strife by the edge of the sword this day than we did by the thrusts of our spears in the day that is gone." "Let us do so indeed," said Cuchulain. That day they took upon them two long and exceedingly great shields, and they resorted to their heavy and hard-striking swords. And each of them began to hew, and to cut, and to slaughter, and to destroy till larger than the head of a month-old child were the masses and the gobbets of flesh which each of them cut from the shoulders and the thighs and the shoulder-blades of his foe. After this fashion did each of them hew at each other from the dawn of the day until the ninth hour of the even, and then Ferdia said, "Let us desist from this now, O Cuchulain!" "Let us cease indeed," said Cuchulain, "if the time has come." They ceased from their strife, and they threw from them their arms into the hands of their charioteers. Pleasant and cheerful and joyous was the meeting of the two: mournfully, and sorrowfully, and unhappily did they part from each other that night. Their horses were not in the same paddock, their charioteers were not at the same fire, and there they stayed for that night. It was early in the morning when Ferdia arose, and he advanced alone towards the Ford of Combat. Well did he know that the battle and the conflict would be decided that day; that upon that day and in that place one of the two would fall or that both would fall. And then, before Cuchulain could come, Ferdia put on the armour that he was to use for that battle in the conflict and fight. And this was the battle armour that he used for that conflict and fight; he put a kilt of striped silk, bordered with spangles of gold, next to his white skin, and over that he put his well-sewn apron of brown leather to protect the lower part of his body. Upon his belly he put a great stone as large as a millstone, and over that great stone as large as a millstone he put his firm deep apron of purified iron, on account of the fear and the dread that he had of the Gae-Bulg that day. And his crested helmet that he used for battle and conflict and fight he put upon his head: there were upon it four jewels of carbuncle, each one of them fit to adorn it: also it was studded with enamels, with crystals, with carbuncles, and with blazing rubies that had come from the East. Into his right hand he took his death-dealing sharp-pointed strong spear; upon his left side he hung his curved sword of battle with its golden hilt and its pommels of red gold: upon the slope of his back he took his great and magnificent shield with great bosses upon it: fifty was the number of the bosses, and upon each of them could be supported a full-grown hog: moreover in the centre of the shield was a great boss of red gold. Upon that day Ferdia displayed many noble, rapidly changing, wonderful feats of arms on high; feats which he had never learned from any other, either from his nurse or his tutor, or from Scathach, or from Uathach, or from Aife, but which he himself invented that day for his battle with Cuchulain. And Cuchulain approached the ford, and he saw the many, rapidly changing, wonderful feats that Ferdia displayed on high; and "O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "I mark those noble, rapidly changing, wonderful feats which Ferdia displays, and I know that all of those feats will in turn be tried upon me; and for this reason if it be I who begin to go backwards this day, let it be thy part to rouse me by reproaches, and by evil speech, so that my rage and my wrath may be kindled, and increase. And if it be I that shall prevail, then do thou give to me praise and approval; and speak good words tome, that my courage may be the greater." "This indeed will I do, O Cuchulain!" said Laeg. Then did Cuchulain put on his battle armour that he used for the combat and fight. And that day he displayed noble, many-changing, wonderful, and many feats that he had learned from none: neither from Scathach, from Uathach, or from Aife. And Ferdia marked those feats, and he know that each in turn would be tried upon him. "O Ferdia!" said Cuchulain, "tell me to what arms we shall resort? "Thine is the choice of weapons until the night," said Ferdia. "Then," said Cuchulain, "let us try the Feat of the Ford."[FN#58] "Let us do so indeed," said Ferdia; but although he thus spoke, it was with sorrow that he consented, for he knew that Cuchulain had ever destroyed every hero and champion who had contended with him at the Feat of the Ford. [FN#58] i.e. in which all weapons were allowed. Mighty were the deeds that were done upon that day at the ford by those two heroes, the champions of the west of Europe; by those two hands which in the north-west of the world were those that best bestowed bounty, and pay, and reward; those twin loved pillars of valour of the Gael; those two keys of the bravery of the Gaels, brought to fight from afar, owing to the urging and the intermeddling of Ailill and Maev. From the dawn till the middle of the day, each began to shoot at the other with his massive weapons; and when midday had come, the wrath of the two men became more furious, and each drew nearer to the other. And then upon a time Cuchulain sprang from the shore of the ford, and he lit upon the boss of the shield of Ferdia the son of Daman, the son of Dare, to strike at his head from above, over the rim of his shield. And then it was that Ferdia gave the shield a blow of his left elbow, and he cast Cuchulain from him like a bird, till he came down again, upon the shore of the ford. And again Cuchulain sprang from the shore of the ford, till he lit upon the boss of the shield of Ferdia the son of Daman, the son of Dare, to strike his head from above, over the rim of the shield. And Ferdia, gave the shield a stroke of his left knee, and he cast Cuchulain from him like a little child, till he came down on the shore of the ford. Laeg saw what had been done. "Ah!" said Laeg, "the warrior who is against thee, casts thee away as a loose woman casts her child; he flings thee as high as the river flings its foam; he grinds thee even as a mill would grind fresh malt; pierces thee as the axe would pierce the oak that it fells; binds thee as the woodbine binds the tree; darts upon thee even as the hawk darts upon little birds, so that never until time and life shall end, shalt thou have a call, or right, or claim for prowess or for valour: thou little fairy phantom!" said Laeg. Up sprang Cuchulain, swift as the wind; quick as the swallow; fiery as the dragon; powerful as the lion; and he bounded into the air for the third time into the troubled clouds of it, until he lit upon the boss of the shield of Ferdia, the son of Daman, striving to strike his head from above, over the rim of the shield. And the warrior shook his shield, and he threw Cuchulain from him, into the middle of the ford, just as if he had never been cast off at all. And then for the first time the countenance of Cuchulain was changed, and he rose in his full might, as if the air had entered into him, till he towered as a terrible and wonderful giant, with the hero-light playing about his head; rising as a wild man of the sea; that great and valiant champion, till he overtopped Ferdia. And now so closely were they locked in the fight, that their heads met above them, and their feet below them; and in their middles met their arms over the rims and the bosses of their shields. So closely were they locked in the fight, that they turned and bent, and shivered their spears from the points to the hafts; and cleft and loosened their shields from the centres to the rims. So closely were they locked, that the Bocanachs, and the Bananachs, and the wild people of the glens, and the demons of the air screamed from the rims of their shields, and from the hilts of their swords, and from the hafts of their spears. And so closely did they fight, that they cast the river from its bed and its course, so that there might have been a couch fit for a king and a queen to he in, there in the midst of the ford, for there was no drop of water left in it, except such as fell therein from off those two heroes and champions, as they trampled and hewed at each other in the midst of the ford. And so fierce was their fight, that the horses of the Gaels, in fear and in terror, rushed away wildly and madly, bursting their chains, and their yokes, and their tethers, and their traces; and the women, and the common folk, and the followers of the camp, fled south-westwards out of the camp. All this time they fought with the edges of their swords. And then it was that Ferdia found Cuchulain for a moment off his guard, and he struck him with the straight edge of his sword, so that it sank into his body, till the blood streamed to his girdle, and the soil of the ford was crimson with the blood that fell from the body of that warrior so valiant in fight. And Cuchulain's endurance was at an end, for Ferdia continually struck at him, not attempting to guard, and his downright blows, and quick thrusts, and crushing strokes fell constantly upon him, till Cuchulain demanded of Laeg the son of Riangabra to deliver to him the Gae-Bulg. Now the manner of using the Gae-Bulg was this: it was set with its end pointing down a stream, and was cast from beneath the toes of the foot: it made the wound of one spear on entering a person's body; but it had thirty barbs to open behind, and it could not be drawn out from a man's body until he was cut open. And when Ferdia heard mention of the Gae-Bulg, he made a stroke of his shield downwards to guard the lower part of his body. And Cuchulain thrust his unerring thorny spear off the centre of his palm over the rim of the shield, and through his breast covered by horny defensive plates of armour, so that its further half was visible behind him after piercing the heart in his chest. Ferdia gave an upward stroke of his shield to guard the upper part of his body, though too late came that help, when the danger was past. And the servant set the Gae-Bulg down the stream, and Cuchulain caught it between the toes of his foot, and he threw it with an unerring cast against Ferdia, and it broke through the firm deep apron of wrought iron, and it burst the great stone that was as large as a millstone into three parts, and it passed through the protection of his body into him, so that every crevice and cavity in him was filled with its barbs. "'Tis enough now," said Ferdia. "I have my death of that; and I have but breath enough to say that thou hast done an ill deed against me. It was not right that thy hand should be that by which I should fall." And thus did he cry, as he gasped out these words: Hound, of feats so fair![FN#59] Death from thee is ill: Thou the blame must bear, Thou my blood dost spill. Help no wretch hath found Down this chasm of woe: Sick mine accents sound, As a ghost, I go. Torn my ribs, and burst, Gore my heart hath filled: This of fights is worst, Hound! thou hast me killed. [FN#59] The metre is that of the Irish. And after those words, Cuchulain ran towards him, and with his arms and armour about him, carried him northwards across the ford, in order that the slain man might be on the north side of the ford, and not upon the western side together with the men of Erin. Then Cuchulain laid Ferdia down, and there it was that a trance and a faint and a weakness came upon Cuchulain when he saw the body of Ferdia, Laeg saw his weakness, and the men of Ireland all arose to come upon him. "Rise up now, O Cuchulain!" said Laeg, "for the men of Erin are coming towards us, and no single combat will they give to us, since Ferdia the son of Daman, the son of Dare, has fallen by thy hand." "How shall I be the better for arising, O my servant!" said he, "now that he who lieth here hath fallen by me?" And it was in this manner that his servant spoke to him, and he recited these words, and thus did Cuchulain reply: Laeg Now arise, Battle-Hound of Emania! It is joy and not grief should be sought; For the leader of armies, Ferdia, Thou hast slain, and hard battle hast fought. Cuchulain What availeth me triumph or boasting? For, frantic with grief for my deed, I am driven to mourn for that body That my sword made so sorely to bleed. Laeg 'Tis not thou shouldst lament for his dying, Rejoicing should spring to thy tongue; For in malice, sharp javelins, flying For thy wounding and bleeding he flung. Cuchulain I would mourn, if my leg he had severed, Had he hewn through this arm that remains, That he mounts not his steeds; and for ever In life, immortality gains. Laeg To the dames of Red Branch thou art giving More pleasure that thus he should fall: They will mourn for him dead, for thee living, Nor shall count of thy victims be small. Great Queen Maev thou hast chased, and hast fought her Since the day when first Cualgne was left; She shall mourn for her folk, and their slaughter, By thy hand of her champions bereft. Neither sleep nor repose hast thou taken, But thy herd, her great plunder, hast chased, Though by all but a remnant forsaken, Oft at dawn to the fight thou didst haste. Now it was in that place that Cuchulain commenced his lament and his moan for Ferdia, and thus it was that he spoke: "O my friend Ferdia! unhappy was it for thee that thou didst make no inquiry from any of the heroes who knew of the valorous deeds I had done before thou camest to meet me in that battle that was too hard for thee! Unhappy was it for thee that thou didst not inquire from Laeg, the son of Riangabra[FN#60] about what was due from thee to a comrade. Unhappy was it for thee that thou didst not ask for the honest and sincere counsel of Fergus. Unhappy it was for thee that thou hast not sought counsel from the comely, the fresh-coloured, the cheery, the victorious Conall about what was due from thee to a comrade. Well do these men know, that never, till life and time come to an end, shall be born in the land of Connaught one who shall do deeds equal to those which have been done by thee. And if thou hadst made inquiry from these men concerning the habitations, the gatherings, the promises, and the broken faith of the fair-haired ladies of Connaught; hadst thou asked them concerning spear-play and sword-play; concerning skill in backgammon and chess; concerning feats with horses, and chariots of war; they would have said that never had been found the arm of a champion who could wound a hero's flesh like the arm of Ferdia; he whose colour matched the tints of the clouds: none who like thee could excite the croak of the bloody-mouthed vulture, as she calls her friends to the feast of the many-coloured flocks; none who shall fight for Croghan or be the equal of thee to the end of life and time, O thou ruddy-cheeked son of Daman!" said Cuchulain. And then Cuchulain stood over Ferdia. "Ah! Ferdia," said Cuchulain, "great was the treachery and desertion that the men of Ireland had wrought upon thee, when they brought thee to combat and fight with me. For it was no light matter to combat and fight with me on the occasion of the Tain bo Cuailnge." And thus it was that he spoke, and he then recited these words: [FN#60] Pronounced Reen-gabra. 'Twas guile to woe that brought thee; 'Tis I that moan thy fate; For aye thy doom hath caught thee, And here, alone, I wait. To Scathach, glorious mother, Our words, when boys, we passed; No harm for each from other Should come while time should last. Alas! I loved thee dearly, Thy speech; thy ruddy face; Thy gray-blue eyes, so clearly That shone; thy faultless grace. In wrath for strife advances No chief; none shield can rear To piercing storm of lances Of Daman's son the peer. Since he whom Aife[FN#61] bore me By me was slain in fight, No champion stood before me Who matched Ferdia's might. He came to fight, thus trusting Might Findabar be won; Such hopes have madmen, thrusting With spears at sand or sun. [FN#61] Pronounced Eefa. See note on this line. Still Cuchulain continued to gaze upon Ferdia. And now, O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "strip for me the body of Ferdia, and take from him his armour and his garments, that I may see the brooch for the sake of which he undertook this combat and fight." Then Laeg arose, and he stripped Ferdia; he took his armour and his garments from him, and Cuchulain saw the brooch, and he began to lament and to mourn for him, and he spake these words: Ah! that brooch of gold![FN#62] Bards Ferdia knew: Valiantly on foes With hard blows he flew. Curling golden hair, Fair as gems it shone; Leaflike sash, on side Tied, till life had gone. [FN#62] The metre and the rhyme-system is that of the Irish. See notes, p. 196. Comrade, dear esteemed! Bright thy glances beamed: Chess play thine, worth gold: Gold from shield rim gleamed. None of friend had deemed Could such tale be told! Cruel end it seemed: Ah! that brooch of gold! "And now, O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "open the body of Ferdia, and take the Gae-Bulg out of him, for I cannot afford to be without my weapon." Laeg came, and he opened Ferdia's body, and he drew the Gae-Bulg out of him, and Cuchulain saw his weapon all bloody and red by the side of Ferdia, and then he spake these words: Ferdia, I mourn for thy dying, Thou art pale, although purple with gore: Unwashed is my weapon still lying, And the blood-streams from out of thee pour. Our friends in the East who have seen us, When with Uathach and Scathach[FN#63] we dwelled, Can bear witness, no quarrel between us Or with words or with weapons was held. Scathach came; and to conflict inciting Were her accents that smote on mine ear; "Go ye all, where a swift battle fighting, German wields his green terrible spear! To Ferdia, I flew with the story, To the son of fair Baitan I sped, And to Lugaid, whose gifts win him glory, "Come ye all to fight German," I said. [FN#63] Pronounced Ooha and Scaha. Where the land by Loch Formay lies hollowed Had we come, fit for fight was the place; And beside us four hundred men followed; From the Athisech Isles was their race. As beside me Ferdia contended Against German, at door of his dun; I slew Rind, who from Niul[FN#64] was descended, I slew Rood, of Finnool was he son. [FN#64] Pronounced Nyool. 'Twas Ferdia slew Bla by the water, Son of Cathbad red-sworded was he: And from Lugaid Mugarne gat slaughter, The grim lord of the Torrian sea. Four times fifty men, stubborn in battle, By my hand in that gateway were slain; To Ferdia, of grim mountain cattle Fell a bull, and a bull from the plain. Then his hold to the plunderers giving, Over ocean waves spangled with foam, Did we German the wily, still living, To the broad-shielded Scathach bring home. There an oath our great mistress devising, Both our valours with friendship she bound; That no anger betwixt us uprising Should 'mid Erin's fair nations be found. Much of woe with that Tuesday was dawning, When Ferdia's great might met its end; Though red blood-drink I served him that morning: Yet I loved, though I slew him, my friend. If afar thou hadst perished when striving With the bravest of heroes of Greece, 'Tis not I would thy loss be surviving; With thy death should the life of me cease. Ah! that deed which we wrought won us sorrow, Who, as pupils, by Scathach were trained: Thou wilt drive not thy chariot to-morrow; I am weak, with red blood from me drained. Ah! that deed which we wrought won us anguish, Who, as pupils, by Scathach were taught: Rough with gore, and all wounded, I languish; Thou to death altogether art brought. Ah! that deed that we wrought there was cruel For us pupils, from Scathach who learned: I am strong; thou art slain in the duel, In that conflict, with anger we burned. "Come now, Cuchulain," said Laeg, "and let us quit this ford, for too long have we been here." "Now indeed will we depart, O my friend Laeg!" said Cuchulain, "but every other combat and fight that I have made hath been only a game and a light matter to me compared with this combat and fight with Ferdia." Thus it was that he spoke; and in this fashion he recited: Wars were gay, and but light was fray[FN#65] Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Like had we both been taught, Both one kind mistress swayed; Like the rewards we sought, Like was the praise she paid. [FN#65] Metre and rhyme-system of the Irish imitated, but not exactly reproduced. Wars were gay, and but light was fray Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Like were our fights, oft fought, Like were our haunts in play; Scathach to each of us brought A shield one day. Wars were gay, and but light was fray Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Pillar of gold, loved well, Low at the Ford's side laid; He, when on troops he fell, Valour unmatched displayed. Wars were gay, and but light was fray Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Lionlike, on he sped; High, in his wrath, he blazed; Rose, as a wave of dread; Ruin his onset raised. Wars were gay, and but light was fray Ere at the Ford his steeds made stay: Never, till hour of doom, Ferdia's form shall fade; High as a cliff it loomed, Now is but left his shade. Three great armies went this Raid,[FN#66] All the price of death have paid; Choicest cattle, men, and steeds Lie in heaps, to tell my deeds. [FN#66] The metre is that of the Irish. Widely spread their battle-line, Less than half their host was mine; Though to war stout Croghan came, All I slew, for me a game! None the battle neared like thee, None of all whom Banba nursed Passed thy fame; on land, on sea, Thou, of sons of kings, art first! SPECIAL NOTE ON THE "COMBAT AT THE FORD" The episode translated in the foregoing pages is not only one of the famous examples on which Irish literature can fairly rest its claim to universal recognition, but it also affords an excellent instance of the problems involved when it comes to be studied critically. These problems, upon the solution of which must to some extent depend our estimate of the place of Irish in the general development of European literature) axe briefly dealt with in Mr. Leahy's Preface, as well as in his special Introduction (supra, pp. 114, 115), but may perhaps be thought worthy of somewhat more detailed examination. The existence of two markedly different versions of the "Tain bo Cuailnge," one, obviously older, represented by the eleventh-century MS. Leabhar na h-Uidhri (L.U.), and the fourteenth-century MS. Yellow Book of Lecan (Y.B.L.); the other, obviously younger, by the twelfth-century Book of Leinster (L.L.), was pointed out by Professor Heinrich Zimmer twenty-seven years ago in his study of the L.U. heroic saga texts (Keltische Studien V.: Zeitschrift für vergleichende Sprachforschung, vol. xxviii.). The conclusion that he drew from the fact, as also from the peculiarities disclosed by his analysis of the L.U. texts, is substantially that stated by Mr. Leahy: "On the whole it seems as if the compiler of the manuscript from which both the Leabhar na h-Uidhri and the Yellow Book of Lecan were copied, combined into one several different descriptions of the 'War,' one of which is represented by the Book of Leinster version." He furthermore emphasised a particular aspect of this compiler's activity to which Mr. Leahy also draws repeated attention; he (the compiler) was a man interested in the historical and antiquarian rather than in the literary side of the texts he harmonised and arranged: hence his preference for versions that retain archaic and emphasise mythical elements; hence his frequent interpolation of scraps of historical and antiquarian learning; hence his indifference to consistency in the conduct of the story, and to its artistic finish. Professor Zimmer urged that the "compiler" was no other than Flann, Abbot of Monasterboice, who died in 1047, and was regarded as the most famous representative of Irish learning in his day. There has come down to us under his name a considerable mass of chronological and historical writing, partly in prose, partly in verse, and it seems certain that he was one of the chief artisans in framing that pragmatic redaction of Irish myth, heroic legend, and historical tradition most fully represented by the two great compilations of the seventeenth century: the Annals of the Four Masters, emphasising its antiquarian, historical side; Keating's History, emphasising its romantic, legendary side. Whilst Professor Zimmer's conclusion as to the personality of the L.U. compiler has been challenged, his main thesis has remained unshaken. On the whole, it can be asserted positively that the common source of L.U. and Y.B.L. goes back to the early eleventh century; on the whole, that this common source itself utilised texts similar to those contained in the Book of Leinster. Moreover, the progress of linguistic analysis during the past quarter-century has strengthened the contention that some of the elements used by Flann (or another) in compiling his eleventh-century harmony are as old, in point of language, as any existing remains of Irish outside the Ogham inscriptions; in other words, being as old as the earliest glosses, they may date back to the eighth or even seventh century. In particular the L.U.-Y.B.L. version of the "Tain bo Cuailnge" contains a large proportion of such elements and may, in the main, be treated as an eighth-century text. It must, however, be pointed out, and for this reason I have italicised the qualifying "on the whole," "in the main," that this conclusion does not enable us to declare dogmatically (1) that all portions of the L.U.-Y.B.L. version must go back to the eighth century; (2) that all portions of the Book of Leinster version must precede the compilation of the common source of L.U. and Y.B.L. For as regards (1), not only must the definitely ascertained activity of the eleventh-century compiler be taken into account, but also the possible activity of later scribes. If we possessed the complete text of the L.U.-Y.B.L. redaction in both MSS., we could at least be sure concerning the possible variations introduced during the two centuries that elapsed between the writing of the Yellow Book (early fourteenth century) and that of L.U. (late eleventh century). But most unfortunately both MSS. are imperfect, the Yellow Book at the opening, L.U. at the close of our tale. Thus of the special episode under consideration, the "Combat at the Ford," the older redaction is only extant in the fourteenth-century MS., and it is always open to impugners of its archaic character to say that it has been introduced there from the rival Leinster version. Again, as regards (2), whilst it is practically certain that the great mass of the Leinster version was in existence before the time of the source whence both L.U. and Y.B.L. are derived, and must therefore date back to the early eleventh century, it is by no means certain that this version was not considerably altered and enlarged before it came to be written down in the Book of Leinster some time before 1154. The older version of the "Tain bo Cuailnge" has been translated by Miss Winifred Faraday (Grimm Library, No. xvi. 1904). In her Introduction (p. xvii.) Miss Faraday argues against the assumption "that L.L. preserves an old version of the episode," and questions "whether the whole Fer Diad[FN#67] episode may not be late." The truth of this one contention would by no means involve that of the other; and again, both might be true without invalidating any of the conclusions drawn by Mr. Leahy (supra, p. 115). If the episode as we have it first took shape in the tenth century, it would be late as compared with much of the rest of the "Tain," and yet it would be the earliest example in post-classic European literature of the sentiments and emotions to which it gives such fine and sympathetic expression. In comparing the two versions, the following fact is at once noticeable. The Y.B.L. text occupies pp. 100-112 of Miss Faraday's translation, in round figures, 320 lines of 8 words to the line, or some 2600 words; the Leinster version, omitting the verse, fills some 500 lines of 14 words, or 7000 words. Up to a certain point, however, the actual meeting of the two champions, there is no difference between the versions in length; the prose of both runs to about 2200 words. But the whole of the actual fight (supra, pp. 129-153 in the Leinster version) is compressed into a page and a half in the older redaction, some 800 words as against over 4000. Obviously this cannot represent the original state of things; it would be psychologically impossible for any story-teller to carry on his narrative up to a given stage with the dramatic vigour, point, and artistically chosen detail displayed in the first portion of the Y.B.L. version of the combat, and then to treat the culmination of the tale in such a huddled, hasty, scamped manner. The most likely explanation is that the original from which the Y.B.L. scribe was copying was imperfect, and that the lacuna was supplied from memory, and from a very faulty memory. No conclusion can thus, I think, be drawn from the fact that the details of the actual combat are so bald and meagre in the only extant text of the older redaction. [FN#67] This is the spelling in Y. B. L. In L.L. the name appears as one word, "Ferdiad"; usually scanned as a dissyllable--though occasionally as a trisyllable. The spelling Ferdia is the conventional one sanctioned by the usage of Ferguson, Aubrey de Vere, and others; the scansion of the word as a trisyllable is on the same authority. If the two versions be compared where they are really comparable, i.e. in that portion which both narrate at approximately the same length, the older redaction will be found fuller of incident, the characters drawn with a bolder, more realistic touch, the presentment more vigorous and dramatic. Ferdiad is unwilling to go against Cuchulain not, apparently, solely for prudential reasons, and he has to be goaded and taunted into action by Medb, who displays to the full her wonted magnificently resourceful unscrupulousness, regardless of any and every consideration, so long as she can achieve her purpose. The action of Fergus is far more fully dwelt upon, and the scones between him and his charioteer, as also between him and Cuchulain, are given with far greater spirit. The hero is indignant that Fergus should think it necessary to warn him against a single opponent, and says roundly that it is lucky no one else came on such an errand. The tone of the older redaction is as a whole rough, animated, individualistic as compared with the smoother, more generalised, less accentuated presentment of the Leinster version. But to conclude from this fact that the older redaction of the actual combat, if we had it in its original fulness instead of in a bald and fragmentary summary, would not have dwelt upon the details of the fighting, would not have insisted upon the courteous and chivalrous bearing of the two champions, would not have emphasised the inherent pathos of the situation, seems to me altogether unwarranted. On the contrary the older redaction, by touches of strong, vivid, archaic beauty lacking in the Leinster version leads up to and prepares for just such a situation as the latter describes so finely. One of these touches must be quoted. Cuchulain's charioteer asks him what he will do the night before the struggle, and then continues, "It is thus Fer Diad will come to seek you, with new beauty of plaiting and haircutting and washing and bathing.... It would please me if you went to the place where you will got the same adorning for yourself, to the place where is Emer of the Beautiful Hair.... So Cuchulain went thither that night, and spent the night with his own wife." There is indeed the old Irish hero faring forth to battle as a lover to the love tryst! How natural, how inevitable with warriors of such absurd and magnificent susceptibility, such boyish love of swagger, how natural, I say, the free and generous emotion combined with an overmastering sense of personal honour, and a determination to win at all costs, which are so prominent in the Leinster version of the fight.[FN#68] [FN#68] The trait must not be put down as a piece of story-teller's fancy. In another text of the Ulster cycle, Cath ruis na Rig, Conchobor's warriors adorn and beautify themselves in this way before the battle. The Aryan Celt behaved as did the Aryan Hellene. All readers of Herodotus will recall how the comrades of Leonidas prepared for battle by engaging in games and combing out their hair, and how Demaretus, the counsellor of Xerxes, explained to the king "that it is a custom with these men that when they shall prepare to imperil their lives; that is the time when they adorn their heads" (Herodotus vii. 209.) The contention that the older redaction, if we had it complete, would resemble the younger one in its insistence upon the chivalrous bearing of the two opponents, may also be urged on historical grounds. The sentiment which gives reality and power to the situation is based upon the strength of the tie of blood-brotherhood; so strong is this that it almost balances the most potent element in the ideal of old Irish heroism--the sense of personal honour and pre-eminence in all that befits a warrior. The tie itself and the sentiment based upon it certainly belong to pre-Christian times, and must have been losing rather than gaining in strength during the historic period, say from the fourth century onwards. The episode of Cuchulain's combat with Ferdiad must have existed in the older redaction of the "Tain" for the simple reason that a tenth and eleventh century story-teller would have found nothing in the feelings, customs, or literary conventions of his own day to suggest to him such a situation and such a manner of working it out. But--and this consideration may afford a ground of conciliation with Miss Faraday and the scholars who hold by the lateness of the episode--the intrinsic beauty and pathos of the situation, the fact of its constituting an artistic climax, would naturally tempt the more gifted of the story-telling class. There would be a tendency to elaborate, to adorn in the newest fashion, hence to modernise, and it is not only conceivable but most probable that the original form should be farther departed from than in the case of much else in the epic. ALFRED NUTT. GENERAL NOTES THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN The translation of both versions of this romance has been revised by Professor Strachan, and the linguistic notes are due to him, unless otherwise stated. The rendering given in the text is noted as "doubtful," in cases where Professor Strachan does not assent. PAGE 7 @@both line 17? Line 17. "By a means that he devised," do airec memman, lit. "by a device of mind." Compare airecc memman aith (Meyer, Hib. Minora, p. 28). Line 17. "So that she became well-nourished, &c.," lit. "till there came to her fatness and form;" sult probably means "fatness," and feth "form." PAGE 8 Line 25. "Curvetting and prancing," tuagmar, foran. These are guesses by O'Curry: curvetting may be right, but there is little authority for rendering foran as "prancing "; this word is doubtful. "With a broad forehead," forlethan, lit. "broad above," O'Curry renders "broad-rumped." Line 34. "Upon the shore of the bay," forsin purt. Windisch's rendering of port is "bank, harbour"; but it is doubtful whether the word means more than "place." PAGE 9 The literal rendering adopted for the poem runs thus: Etain is here thus at the elf-mound of the Fair-Haired Women west of Alba among little children to her on the shore of the Bay of Cichmaine. It is she who cured the eye of the king from the Well of Loch da lig, it is she who was drunk in a draught by the wife of Etar in a heavy draught. Through war for her the king will chase the birds from Tethba, and will drown his two horses in the lake da Airbrech. There shall be abundant and many wars through the war for thee on Echaid of Meath, destruction shall be on the elf-mounds, and war upon many thousands. It is she who was hurt in the land (?), it is she who strove to win the king, it is she as compared to whom men men speak of fair women, it is she, our Etain afterwards. Line 2. "West of Alba" is literally "behind Alba," iar n-Albai: iar is, however, also used in the sense of "west of." Line 14 is given by Windisch "through the war over Meath rich in horses"; this is impossible. The translation of line 17 is not quite certain; the literal translation of the MS. seems to be "it is she who was hurt and the land." Da Airbrech in line 12 may mean "of two chariots." PAGE 10 Literal translation of the quatrain: Ignorant was Fuamnach, the wife of Mider, Sigmall and Bri with its trees in Bri Leth: it was a full trial were burned by means of Manannan. PAGE 11 Line 5. "Labraid the Tracker." This is a very doubtful rendering, the text gives Labradae Luircc. Line 25. "That he desired full knowledge of." There seems to be something with the Irish here; the word is co fessta which could only be third singular subj. pass. "that it might be known," which does not make grammar. It should be co fessed or co festais, "that he (or they) might know." PAGE 12 Line 9. "His officers who had the care of the roads." A very doubtful rendering; the Irish is tarraluing sligeth. Line 29. "A bright purple mantle waved round her," lit. "a bright purple curling (?) mantle," but the sense of caslechta as "curling" is not certain. Line 30. "Another mantle." The word for mantle here is folai, in the former line it was brat. PAGE 13 Line 3. "As white as the snow." ba gilighuir mechto: not "whiter than the snow," as Windisch's Dict. gives it. Line 17. "All that's graceful, &c.," cach cruth co hEtain, coem cach co hEtain. Compare conid chucum bagthir cach n-delb. (L.U., 124b, 17, "Courtship of Emer "), and Ir. Text., iii. p. 356, 1. 4, from which it may be seen that the meaning is that Etain is the test to which all beauty must be compared. PAGE 14 Line 19. "So long as they were," not "so long as he was." The Irish is cein ropas, and ropas is the impersonal preterite passive. Line 29. "The choking misery, &c.," lit. "he let come to him the slaodan of a heavy sickness:" slaodan is the cough of consumption. PAGE 15 Line 2. Lit. "worse and worse," messa a cach. Line 18. "His burial mound," a fert fodbuigh. Compare Zimmer, Kuhn's Zeitschrift, xxx. 9, for fotbuig. Literal rendering of the dialogue: B. What hath happened to thee, O young man? long is thy bed of sickness, prostrate is thy full and splendid pace, however fair the weather may be. A. There is cause for my sighs; the music of my harp contents me not; neither does any milk please me, it is this that brings me into a pitiful state. E. Tell me what ails thee, O man, for I am a maiden who is wise; tell me of anything which may be of benefit to thee that thy healing may be wrought by me. A. To speak of it is not possible for me (lit. "finds not room in me"), O maiden, lovely is thy form, there is fire of some one behind her eyes (?) nor are the secrets of women good. B. Though the secrets of women are bad, yet, if it is love, the remembrance remains for long; from the time when the matter is taken into hand this thing is not deserving of its (?) recognition. A. A blessing on thee, O white maiden, I am not worthy of this speech to me; neither am I grateful to my own mind, my body is in opposition to me. Wretched indeed is this, O wife of the King, Eochaid Fedlech in very truth, my body and my head are sick, it is reported in Ireland. E. If there is among the troops of white women any one who is vexing thee, she shall come here, if it is pleasing to thee, there shall be made by my help her courtship. In verse 3, line 2, inniss dam gach dal, dal means no more than thing it is not an accusative from dal, a meeting. Verse 4, line 3. Meaning doubtful. Verse 7, line 2. The confusion between Eochaid Airemm, the king in this story, and his brother Eochaid Fedlech is obvious. It may, as Windisch thinks, be an indication that the poem is not part of the romance as originally composed, but other explanations are possible. Line 4. "It is reported." Not quite certain; Irish is issed berair. PAGE 17 Line 11. "And great gain, &c." Text defective, and meaning uncertain. Line 13. Rhetoric; the literal translation seems to be as follows, but some words are uncertain: It is love that was longer enduring (?) than a year my love, it is like being under the skin, it is the kingdom of strength over destruction. It is the dividing into quarters of the earth, it is summit (7) of heaven, it is breaking of the neck, it is a battle against a spectre. It is drowning with cold (or ? water), it is a race up heaven, it is a weapon under the ocean, it is affection for an echo; (so is) my affection and my love and my desire of the one on whom I have set (my love). PAGE 18 Line 2. The translation given is Windisch's, "it is sorrow under the skin is Strachan's rendering. Line 5. Translation uncertain. Irish is dichend nime. Line 8. Is combath fri huacht (I read husce). Literal rendering of the poem: Arise, O glorious Ailill, great bravery is more proper to thee than anything; since thou shalt find here what was wished by thee, thy healing shall be done by me. If it should please thee in thy wise mind, place hand about my neck; a beginning of courtship, beautiful its colour, woman and man kissing each other. But, if this is not enough for thee, O good man, O son of a king, O royal prince, I will give for thy healing, O glorious crime, from my knee to my navel. A hundred cows, a hundred ounces of gold, a hundred bridled horses were collecting, a hundred garments of each variegated colour, these were brought as a price for me. A hundred of each other beast came hither, the drove was great; these to me quickly, till the sum was complete, gave Eochaid at the one time. Line 14. Of poem. "Were collecting," ratinol. This is the rendering in Windisch's Dictionary, but is a doubtful one. Line 18. Imerge means "drove," not "journey," as in Windisch. Line 27 of text. "Wrought a great healing, &c." Irish, ro lessaig, "healed him" (Windisch); "waited upon him" (Strachan). PAGE 19 Line 17. "For fear of danger." Baegal, "danger," has sometimes the sense of "chance," "risk." Line 23. "That is what I would demand of thee." Translation not quite certain Irish, cid rotiarfaiged. PAGE 20 Line 2. "That both of us do indeed deem, &c." lit. "it is so indeed well to us both." Line 22. For the incident compare Bodleian Dinnshenchas (Nutt, p. 27): the introduction of Crochen is a human touch which seems to be characteristic of the author of this version. The Dinnshenchas account seems to be taken from the romance, but it gives the name of Sinech as Mider's entertainer at Mag Cruachan. Line 25. "The Fairy Mound of Croghan." Irish, co sith sínighe Cruachan; for sínighe read Maighe, "to the sid of Mag C." PAGE 21 Line 2. Until the same day upon the year, &c.," on lo cu cele, "from that day to its fellow," i.e. "till the same day next year." Line 10. "Three wands of yew." This looks like an early case of a divining-rod. Line 21. "Hath smitten thee," rotirmass for ro-t-ormaiss, "hath hit thee." Line 29. "They ruined," "docuas ar," an idiomatic phrase; "they overcame," an idiomatic phrase. Compare Annals of Ulster under years 1175, 1315, 1516. PAGE 22 Line 2. "Messbuachalla." This makes Etain the great-grandmother of Conary, the usual account makes her the grandmother, so that there is here an extra generation inserted. Yet in the opening she and Eochaid Airem are contemporary with kings who survived Conary! Line 4. "The fairy host, &c." The order of the words in the original is misleading and difficult sithchaire and Mider are the subjects to ro choillsiut and to doronsat. PAGE 23 Line 12. That there should be adjusted)" fri commus, lit. "for valuation," but commus has also the sense of "adjusting." PAGE 24 Line 4. "Since he for a long time, &c.," fodaig dognith abairt dia sirsellad. See Meyer's Contributions, s.v. abairt. Line 23. "To gaze at her." Up to this point the L.U. version (exclusive of the Prologue) bears the character of an abstract, afterwards the style improves. PAGE 25 Line 2. "But it shall not be in the abode, &c." Windisch seems to have mimed the point here, he considers these lines to be an interpolation. PAGE 26 Line 5. Following Windisch's suggestion, this poem has been placed here instead of the later place where it occurs in the text. This famous poem has been often translated; but as there appear to be points in it that have been missed, a complete literal rendering is appended: O fair-haired woman, will you come with me into a marvellous land wherein is music (?); the top of the head there is hair of primrose, the body up to the head is colour of snow. In that country is no "mine" and no "thine"; white are teeth there, black are eyebrows, the colour of the eyes is the number of our hosts, each cheek there the hue of the foxglove. The purple of the plain is (on) each neck, the colour of the eyes is (colour of) eggs of blackbird; though pleasant to the sight are the plains of Fal (Ireland), they are a wilderness (7) for a man who has known the Great Plain. Though intoxicating to ye the ale of the island of Fal, the ale of the Great Country is more intoxicating a wonder of a land is the land I speak of, a young man there goes not before an old man. Stream smooth and sweet flow through the land, there is choice of mead and wine; men handsome (?) without blemish, conception without sin, without crime. We see all on every side, and yet no one seeth us, the cloud of the sin of Adam it is that encompasses us from the reckoning. O woman, if thou wilt come to my strong people, it is top of head of gold shall be on thy head, unsalted pork, new milk and mead for drink shalt thou have with me there, O fair-haired woman. Line 2. Hi fil rind. The meaning of rind (?) music) is uncertain. Line 3. Is barr sobarche folt and. This line is often translated as "hair is wreathed with primrose": the image would be better, but it is not the Irish. Barr is "top of head," and folt is "hair." Line 4. Is and nad bi mui na tai. Muisse is in old Irish the possessive of the first sing when followed by a noun it becomes mo, when not so followed it is mui; tai is also found for do. O'Curry gave this line as "there is no sorrow nor care." Lines 7 and 10. Is li sula lin ar sluag and is li sula ugai luin are so similar that is li sula must mean the same in both, and cannot mean "splendour of eyes" in the first case unless it does so in the second. The idea in the first case seems to be that the hosts are reflected in the eyes; it is so rendered in the verse translation. A blackbird's egg has a blue ground, but is so thickly powdered with brown spots of all shapes that it looks brown at a distance. At first I was inclined to take the idea to be "hazel" eyes, but comparing line 7, it seems more likely that the idea is that all sorts of shapes appear in the pupil. Line 12. The translation of annam as a "wilderness" is very doubtful, it more probably is "seldom"; and the line should be "seldom will it be so after knowledge of, &c." Line 16. This has always been rendered "no youth there grows to old age." But the Irish is ni thecht oac and re siun, and re siun can only mean "before an old (man)." The sense possibly is, that as men do not become feeble with advancing years, the younger man has not the same advantage over his elders in the eyes of women that he has in this world. Line 17. Teith millsi, "smooth and honey-sweet" (Meyer, MacCongl., p. 196). Line 24. Compare a story of some magical pigs that could not be counted accurately (Revue Celtique, vol. xiii. p. 449). Line 31. Muc ur, "unsalted pork"; see Glossary to Laws, p. 770; also MacConglinne (Kuno Meyer), p, 99. PAGE 27 Line 23. "He ascended." Fosrocaib for sosta: fosrocaib is an unknown compound (=fo-sro-od-gaib). Perhaps frisocaib for sosta, "mounted on the heights." Line 29. Co brainni a da imdae, "to the edges of his two shoulders"; see braine, in Meyer's Contributions. PAGE 28. Line 19. "Casting their light on every side," cacha air di = cacha airidi, "in every direction." Line 25. "If thou dost obtain the forfeit of my stake," mad tu beras mo thocell. For tocell see Zimmer, Kuhn's Zeitsch., xxx. 80. Line 29. "Eager" (?), femendae. See Bruiden da Derga (Stokes), 50, 51. Line 30. "Easily stopped," so-ataidi suggested for sostaidi in the text: cf. Bruiden da Derga. The conjecture has not Strachan's authority. PAGE 29 Line 19. Literal translation of rhetoric: "Put it in hand, place it close in hand, noble are oxen for hours after sunset, heavy is the request, it is unknown to whom the gain, to whom the loss from the causeway." Line 28. "Over the chariot-pole of life" seems to be a literal rendering of for fertas in betha. Strachan renders "on the face of the world," which is of course the meaning of the simile. Line 30. "High was he girt," ard chustal. The meaning of custal is not known; it was used of some arrangement of the dress. See Ir. Text., iii. 226; also L.U. 79a, 35, L.L. 97a, 40; 98a, 51; 253a, 30. Line 31. "Eochaid arose," Atrigestar Eochaid. Strachan thinks it much more likely that this is "Eochaid feared him," the verb coming from atagur. It is, however, just possible that the word might be a deponent form from atregaim, "I arise." Eochaid does not elsewhere show any fear of Mider, the meaning given agrees better with the tone of the story, and is grammatically possible. PAGE 30 Line 1. "All things that seemed good, &c.," lit. "I have been accustomed to get what seemed good to thee," adethaind ni bad maith. Line 3. "Anger for anger," bara fri bure. Compare the word bura in Meyer's Contributions. Line 25. "In order that Eochaid should stand in his debt," lit. "that there might be cause of reproach for him to Eochaid." Line 32. "Forest that is over Breg." MS. fid dar bre, with mark of abbreviation. This is read to be dar Breg. Professor Rhys (Arthurian Legend, p. 28) renders "to cover Darbrech with trees." Line 33. "As it is written in the book of Drom Snechta. "This is a conjecture by Mrs. Hutton as a restoration of the words in L.U., which is torn just here: the words appear to be amal atbert lebor drums. PAGE 31 Line 1. This rhetoric is very obscure; much of it cannot be translated. The text seems to be as follows, according to Strachan: Cuisthe illand tochre illand airderg damrad trom inchoibden clunithar fír ferdi buidni balc-thruim crandchuir forderg saire fedar sechuib slimprib snithib scítha lama indrosc cloina fo bíth oen mna. Duib in dígail duib in trom daim tairthim flatho fer ban fomnis fomnis in fer mbranie cerpiae fomnis diad dergae fer arfeid soluig fria iss esslind fer bron for-tí ertechta in de lamnado luachair for di Thethbi dílecud (? diclochud) Midi in dracht coich les coich amles ? thocur ? dar c? moin. Apparent rendering: "Place on the land, place close on the land, very red oxen, heavy troop which hears, truly manlike ? troops, strong heavy placing of trees, very red . . . is led past them with twisted wattles, weary hands, the eye slants aside (squints) because of one woman. To you the vengeance, to you the heavy ? oxen ? splendour of sovereignty over white men, . . . man sorrow on thee . . . of childbirth, rushes over Tethba, clearing of stones from Meath . . . where the benefit where the evil, causeway over . . . moor." It seems that the oxen were transformed people of Mider's race; this appears from fír-ferdi, which is taken to mean "really men"; and duib in digail duib in trom-daim, which is taken to mean "to you the vengeance, to you heavy oxen." Professor Strachan disagrees with this, as daim, to be "oxen," should not have the accent, he makes trom-daim "heavy companies." He also renders clunithar fír ferdi buindi, as "which hears truth, manly troops." The rest of the translation he agrees to, most of it is his own. The passage from fomnis fomnis to lamnado seems untranslatable. PAGE 32 Line 1. Lit. "no evil wedding feast (banais, text banas) for thee? MAC DATHO'S BOAR PAGE 37 Line 3. The Rawlinson version gives, instead of "who was the guardian of all Leinster," the variant "who would run round Leinster in a day." This semi-supernatural power of the hound is the only supernatural touch in either version of the tale. Line 6. The verse "Mesroda son of Datho" is from the Rawlinson MS. The literal version of it is in Anecdota Oxoniensia, Mediaeval Series, part viii. p. 57. (This reference will in future be given as A.O., p. 57.) Line 20. The list of the hostelries or guest-houses of Ireland includes the scene of the famous Togail Da Derga, in the sack of which Conaire, king of Ireland, was killed. Forgall the Wily was the father of Emer, Cuchulain's wife. The tale of the plunder of da Choca is in the MS. classed as H. 3, 18 in the Trinity College, Dublin, Library. PAGE 38 The literal version of the dialogue between Mac Datho and his wife is given in A.O., p. 58, following the Leinster text (there are only two lines of it given in the Rawlinson MS.); but I note a few divergencies in the literal version from which the verse translation was made. Verse 3, line 1. Asbert Crimthann Nia Nair, "Crimthann Nia Nair has said" (A.O.). Nia is "sister's son," and has been so rendered. Nia is a champion, and this is the meaning given in the Coir Anmann; but nia has no accent in either the Leinster or Harleian manuscripts of the text. The Coir Anmann (Ir. Tex., iii. 333) says that Nar was a witch. Verse 4, lines 1, 2. Cid fri mnai atbertha-su Mani thesbad ní aire, "Why wouldest thou talk to a woman if something were not amiss?" (A.O.). "Why dost thou speak against a woman unless something fails on that account" seems as good a translation, and fits the sense better. Verse 7, line 2. Leis falmag dar sin tuaith, "By him Ireland (shall be roused) over the people." The omitted verb is apparently "to be," as above. Line 4 of the same verse is left untranslated in A.O., it is ata neblai luim luaith. It seems to mean "There is nothing on the plain for bareness (luim) of ashes," more literally, "There is a no-plain for, &c." Verse 9, lines 2, 3. Isi ním dení cutal. Ailbe do roid dia. "It does not make sorrow for me; as for Ailbe, "God sent him" seems to be the sense; but the meaning of cutal is obscure. PAGE 41 Line 8. "Forty oxen as side-dishes," lit. "forty oxen crosswise to it" (dia tarsnu). The Rawlinson MS. gives "sixty oxen to drag it" (dia tarraing). Line 33. "The son of Dedad." Clan Dedad was the Munster hero clan, having their fortress in Tara Luachra; they correspond to the more famous Clan Rury of Ulster, whose stronghold was Emain Macha. Curoi of Munster seems to have been a rival hero to Cuchulain. PAGE 42 Line 20. "Pierced through with a spear." The different ways in which Ket claims to have conquered his rivals or their relations may be noted; the variety of them recalls the detailed descriptions of wounds and methods of killing so common in Homer. There are seven victories claimed, and in no two is the wound the same, a point that distinguishes several of the old Irish romances from the less elaborate folk-tales of other nations. Arthur's knights in Malory "strike down" each other, very occasionally they "pierce through the breast" or "strike off a head," but there is seldom if ever more detail. In the Volsunga Saga men "fall," or are "slain," in a few cases of the more important deaths they are "pierced," or "cut in half," but except in the later Niebelungenlied version where Siegfried is pierced through the cross embroidered on his back, a touch which is essential to the plot, none of the Homeric detail as to the wounds appears. The same remark applies to the saga of Dietrich and indeed to most others; the only cases that I have noticed which resemble the Irish in detail are in the Icelandic Sagas (the Laxdale Saga and others), and even there the feature is not at all so prominent as here, in the "Tain be Cuailnge," and several other Irish romances, though it is by no means common to all of them. It may be noted that the Irish version of the "Tale of Troy" shows this feature, and although it is possible that the peculiarity is due to the great clearness and sharpness of detail that characterises much of the early Irish work, it may be that this is a case of an introduction into Irish descriptions of Homeric methods. It may be also noted that six of Ket's seven rivals are named among the eighteen Ulster chiefs in the great gathering of Ulster on the Hill of Slane before the final battle of the Tain, Angus being the only one named here who is not in the Hill of Slane list. Two others in the Hill of Slane list, Fergus mac Lets and Feidlimid, are mentioned elsewhere in this tale. Several of these are prominent in other tales: Laegaire (Leary) is a third with Cuchulain and Conall in the Feast of Bricriu, and again in the "Courtship of Emer;" Cuscrid makes a third with the same two principal champions in the early part of the "Sick-bed;" Eogan mac Durthacht is the slayer of the sow of Usnach in the old version of that tale; and Celtchar mac Uitechar is the Master of the Magic Spear in the "Bruiden da Derga," and has minor romances personal to himself. PAGE 45 The literal translation of the rhetoric seems to be: Ket. "Welcome, Conall! heart of stone: wild glowing fire: sparkle of ice: wrathfully boiling blood in hero breast: the scarred winner of victory: thou, son of Finnchoem, canst measure thyself with me!" Conall. "Welcome, Ket! first-born of Mata! a dwelling place for heroes thy heart of ice: end of danger (7); chariot chief of the fight: stormy ocean: fair raging bull: Ket, Magach's son! That will be proved if we are in combat: that will be proved if we are separated: the goader of oxen (?) shall tell of it: the handcraftsman (?) shall testify of it: heroes shall stride to wild lion-strife: man overturns man to-night in this house." PAGE 46 The literal translation of the quatrain is in A.O., p. 63. The quatrain does not occur in the Leinster version. PAGE 47 Line 4. "A great oak-tree." After the plucking up of the oak-tree by Fergus, the Rawlinson MS. adds: "Others say that it was Curoi mac Dari who took the oak to them, and it was then that he came to them, for there was no man of Munster there (before) except Lugaid the son of Curoi and Cetin Pauci. When Curoi had come to them, he carried off all alone one half of the Boar from all the northern half of Ireland." This exploit attributed to Curoi is an example of the survival of the Munster account of the Heroic Age, part of which may be preserved in the tales of Finn mac Cumhail. PAGE 48 The Rawlinson manuscript adds, after mentioning the rewards given to Ferloga But he did not get the serenade (cepoca), though he got the horses." Literal translation of the final poem: O lads of Connaught, I will not fill your heaviness with a lying tale; a lad, small your portion, divided the Boar of Mac Datho. Three fifties of fifty men are gone with troops of heroes; combat of pride for that Ailbe, small the fault in the matter of the dog. Victorious Conor came (?), Ailill of the hosts, and Ket; Bodb over the slaughters after the fight, Cuchulain conceded no right. Congal Aidni there from the east, Fiamain the man of harmony from the sea, (he who) suffered in journeys after that Eogan the son of dark Durthacht. three sons of Nera (famous) for numbers of battle-fields, three sons of Usnach, fierce shields: Senlaech the charioteer, he was not foolish, (came) from high Conalad Cruachan; Dubhtach of Emain, high his dignity; Berba Baither of the gentle word; Illan glorious for the multitude of his deeds; fierce Munremur of Loch Sail; Conall Cernach, hard his valour; Marcan . . . Celtchar the Ulsterman, man over man; Lugaid of Munster, son of three dogs. Fergus waits great Ailbe, shakes for them the . . . oak, took hero's cloak over very strong shield; red sorrow over red shield. By Cethern the son of Finntan they were smitten, single his number at the ford (i.& he was alone); the men of Connaught's host he released not for the time of six hours. Feidlimid with multitude of troops, Loegaire the Triumphant eastwards, was half of complaint about the dog with Aed son of Morna not great. Great nobles, mighty (?) deeds, hard heroes, fair companions in a house, great champions, destruction of clans, great hostages, great sepulchres. @@line x2? In this poem may be noted the reference to Cuchulain in line x2 in close connection with that to Bodb the Goddess of War, as indicating the original divine nature of Cuchulain as a war-god also the epithet of Lugaid, "son of three dogs." Two of the dogs are elsewhere stated to be Cu-roi and Cu-chulain, the third seems uncertain. Line 26, describing Marcan, seems untranslatable; the Irish is Marcan sinna set rod son. The epithet of the oak in line 32 is also obscure, the Irish is dairbre n-dall. THE SICK-BED OF CUCHULAIN PAGE 57 Line 2. "Samhain." Samhain was held on November 1st, and on its eve, "Hallow-e'en". The exhibition of tips of tongues, on the principle of Indian scalps, has nothing at all to do with the story, and is not mentioned in the usual descriptions of the romance. It is a piece of antiquarian information, possibly correct, and should serve to remind us that the original form of these legends was probably of a barbaric kind, before they were taken in hand by the literary men who gave to the best forms of the romances the character they now have. Line 23. For the demons screaming from the weapons of warriors compare the Book of Leinster version of the "Combat at the Ford": pages 126, 143 in this volume. PAGE 58 Line 4. The delay of Conall and Fergus leads to nothing, it is perhaps an introduction from some third form of the story. Line 19. Leborcham is, in the story of Deirdre, Deirdre's nurse and confidant. Line 26. "Their three blemishes." This disfigurement of the women of Ulster in honour of their chosen heroes seems to point to a worship of these heroes as gods in the original legend. It may, however, be a sort of rough humour intentionally introduced by the author of the form of the story that we call the Antiquarian form; there are other instances of such humour in this form of the story. PAGE 59 Line 2. "Like the cast of a boomerang." This is an attempt to translate the word taithbeim, return-stroke, used elsewhere (L.U., 63a., 4) for Cuchulain's method of capturing birds. Line 8. "I deem it as being by me that the distribution was made." The words "I deem it" are inserted, they are not in the text. It appears that what Ethne meant was that the distribution by Cuchulain was regarded by her as done by her through her husband. PAGE 60 Line 9. "Dun Imrith nor yet to Dun Delga." Dun Imrith is the castle in which Cuchulain was when he met the War-Goddess in the "Apparition of the Morrigan," otherwise called the "Tain bo Regamna." Dun Delga or Dundalk is the residence usually associated with Cuchulain. The mention of Emer here is noticeable; the usual statement about the romance is that Ethne is represented as Cuchulain's mistress, and Emer as his wife; the mention here of Emer in the Antiquarian form may support this; but this form seems to be drawn from so many sources, that it is quite possible that Ethne was the name of Cuchulain's wife in the mind of the author of the form which in the main is followed. There is no opposition between Emer and Ethne elsewhere hinted at. Line 15. The appearance of Lugaid Red-Stripes gives a reason for his subsequent introduction in the link between the two forms of the story. Line 18. "Near the entrance of the chamber in which Cuchulain lay." It does not yet seem certain whether imda was a room or a couch, and it would seem to have both meanings in the Antiquarian form of this story. The expression forsind airiniuch na imdai which occurs here might be rendered "at the head of the bed"; but if we compare i n-airniuch ind rigthige which occurs twice in "Bricriu's Feast," and plainly means "at the entrance of the palace," it seems possible that airinech is here used in the same sense, in which case imda would mean "room," as Whitley Stokes takes it in the "Bruiden da Derga." On the other hand, the word imda translated on page 63, line 11, certainly means "couches." Line 27. "Ah Cuchulain, &c." Reference may be made for most of the verses in this romance to Thurneysen's translation of the greater part of it in Sagen aus dem alten Irland but, as some of his renderings are not as close as the verse translations in the text, they require to be supplemented. The poem on pp. 60, 61 is translated by Thurneysen, pp. 84 and 85; but the first two lines should run:-- Ah Cuchulain, under thy sickness not long would have been the remaining. And lines 7 and 8 should be: Dear would be the day if truly Cuchulain would come to my land. The epithet "fair" given to Aed Abra's daughters in line 4 by Thurneysen is not in the Irish, the rest of his translation is very close. Line 32. "Plain of Cruach." Cromm Cruach is the name of the idol traditionally destroyed by St. Patrick in the "Lives." Cromm Cruach is also described In the Book of Leinster (L.L. 213b) as an idol to whom human sacrifices were offered. The name of this plain is probably connected with this god. PAGE 61 Line 30. "Hath released her," Irish ros leci. These words are usually taken to mean that Manannan had deserted Fand, and that she had then turned to Cuchulain, but to "desert" is not the only meaning of lecim. In the second form of the story, Fand seems to have left Manannan, and though of course the two forms are so different that it is not surprising to find a contradiction between the two, there does not seem to be any need to find one here; and the expression may simply mean that Manannan left Fand at liberty to pursue her own course, which divine husbands often did in other mythologies. Manannan is, of course, the Sea God, the Celtic Poseidon. PAGE 62 Line 3. Eogan Inbir (Yeogan the Stream) occurs in the Book of Leinster version of the Book of Invasions as one of the opponents of the Tuatha De Danaan, the Folk of the Gods (L.L. 9b, 45, and elsewhere). Line 15. "Said Liban." The text gives "said Fand." This seems to be a scribal slip: there is a similar error corrected on page 79, line 21, where the word "Fand" is written "Emer" in the text. Line 16. "A woman's protection." The "perilous passage," passed only by a woman's help, occurs elsewhere both in Irish and in other early literatures. See Maelduin, para. 17; Ivain (Chretien de Troyes), vv. 907 sqq.; and Mabinogion, "Lady of the Fountain" (Nutt's edition, p. 177). Line 28. "Labra." Labraid's usual title, as given to him by Liban in both forms of the romance and once by Laeg in the second description of Fairyland, is Labraid Luath lamar-claideb, the title being as closely connected with him as {Greek boh`n a?gaðo`s Mene'laos}with Menelaus in Homer. It is usually translated as "Labraid quick-hand-on-sword," but the Luath need not be joined to lam, it is not in any of the places in the facsimile closely joined to it, and others than Liban give to Labraid the title of Luath or "swift," without the addition. The literal translation of the short pieces of rhetoric on pages 62, 63 are, "Where is Labraid the swift hand-on-sword, who is the head of troops of victory? (who) triumphs from the strong frame of his chariot, who reddens red spear-points." "Labraid the son of swiftness is there, he is not slow, abundant shall be the assembly of war, slaughter is set when the plain of Fidga shall be full." "Welcome to thee, O Laeg! for the sake of her with whom thou hast come; and since thou hast come, welcome to thee for thyself!" The metre of the first two pieces is spirited and unusual. The second one runs: Ata Labraid luithe cland, ni ba mall bid immda tinol catha, cuirther ar, día ba Ian Mag Fidgae. PAGE 63 Line 24. "Fand." The derivations of the names of Fand and of Aed Abra are quite in keeping with the character of the Antiquarian form, and would be out of place in the other form of the romance. It may perhaps be mentioned that the proper meaning of Abra is "an eyelash," but the rendering "Aed Abra of the Fiery Eyebrows," which has been employed in accounts of this romance, would convey a meaning that does not seem to have been in the mind of the authors of either of the two forms. For the literal translations of the three invocations to Labraid, on pp. 63, 66, Thurneysen (p. 87) may be referred to; but there would be a few alterations. In the first, line 2 should be "heir of a little host, equipped with light spears," if Windisch's Dictionary is to be followed; line 5 would seem to begin "he seeketh out trespasses" (oirgniu); and line 7 should begin, "attacker of heroes," not "an attacking troop," which hardly makes sense. In the second invocation the first line should alter Labraid's title to "Labraid the swift hand-on-sword-of-battle;" line 3 should end with "wounded his side." In line 6 and again in the third line of the third invocation, Thurneysen translates gus as "wrath": Windisch gives the word to mean "strength." Line 4 of the third invocation is rendered "he pierceth through men" by Thurneysen; the Irish is criathraid ocu. Criathraim is given by O'Reilly as meaning "to sift": "he sifteth warriors" seems a satisfactory meaning, if O'Reilly is to be relied on. PAGE 65 Labraid's answer to the three invocations seems to run thus, but the translation is doubtful, many words are marked unknown by Windisch: "I have no pride or arrogance, O lady, nor renown, it is not error, for lamentation is stirred our judgment" (reading na ardarc nid mell, chai mescthair with the second MS.), "we shall come to a fight of very many and very hard spears, of plying of red swords in right fists, for many peoples to the one heart of Echaid Juil (?), (let be) no anbi of thine nor pride, there is no pride or arrogance in me, O lady." I can make nothing of Anbi. PAGE 66 Thurneysen does not translate the rhetoric; the translation seems to run thus: Great unprofitableness for a hero to lie in the sleep of a sick-bed; for unearthly women show themselves, women of the people of the fiery plain of Trogach, and they have subdued thee, and they have imprisoned thee, and they have chased thee away (?) amid great womanish folly. Rouse thyself from the contest of distress (Gloss, "the sickness sent by the fairy women") for all is gone of thy vigour among heroes who ride in chariots, and thou sittest (?) in the place of the young and thou art conquered (? condit chellti if connected with tochell), and thou art disturbed (?) in thy mighty deeds, for that which Labraid's power has indicated rise up, O man who sittest (?) that thou mayest be great. "Chased thee away" in line 7, for condot ellat, perhaps connected with do-ellaim (?). PAGE 67 Thurneysen's translation (p. 91) of Emer's lament may be referred to, but he misses some strong points. Among these are: Line 5. "Woe to Ulster where hospitality abounds." Line 12. "Till he found a Druid to lift the weight." Line 25. "Were it Furbaide of the heroes." Line 27. "The hound would search through the solid earth." Line 29. "The hosts of the Sid of Train are dead." Line 30. "For the hound of the Smith of Conor." Line 34. "Sick for the horseman of the plains." Note the familiarity with the land of the fairies which Laeg is asserted to have in the first verse of the poem: this familiarity appears more than once in the Literary form of the story. Laeg speaks of the land of Labraid as "known to him" in his- first description of that land, again in the same description Laeg is recognised by Labraid by his five-folded purple mantle, which seems to have been a characteristic fairy gift. Also, Laeg seems at the end of the tale to be the only one to recognise Manannan. There is no indication of any familiarity of Laeg with the fairy country in the Antiquarian form. The different Ulster heroes alluded to are mostly well-known; all except Furbaide are in "Mae Datho's Boar." Furbaide was a son of Conor; be is one of the eighteen leaders who assemble on the Hill of Slane in the "Tain bo Cuailgne." The Smith of Conor is of course Culann, from whom Cuchulain got his name. PAGES 68, 69 A translation of Emer's "Awakening of Cuchulain" may be found in Thurneysen, p. 92 but there are one or two points that seem to be noted as differing from the rendering there given. Lines 3 and 4 seem to mean: "Look on the king of Macha, on my beauty / does not that release thee from deep sleep?" Thurneysen gives "Look on the king of Macha, my heart! thy sleep pleases him not." Mo crath can hardly mean "my heart." Line 6 is in the Irish deca a churnu co comraim! "see their horns for the contest!" Instead of comraim Thurneysen seems to prefer the reading of the second MS., co cormaim, and translates "their horns full of beer." Churnu may mean trumpets as well as drinking-horns, and Emer would hardly call on Cuchulain to throw off a drunken sleep (line 21) and then take to beer! The following translation of lines 17 to 20 seems preferable to Thurneysen's: "Heavy sleep is decay, and no good thing; it is fatigue against a heavy war; it is 'milk for the satiated,' the sleep that is on thee; death-weakness is the tanist of death." The last line is tanaisi d'ec ecomnart. The tanist was the prince who stood next to the king; the image seems too good a one to be lost; Thurneysen translates "weakness is sister to death." Line 14 seems to mean "see each wonder wrought by the cold"; Emer calls Cuchulain's attention to the icicles which she thinks he is in danger of resembling. PAGE 69 For the literal translation of Liban's invitation see Thurneysen, p. 93. Line 14 should run: "Colour of eyes his skin in the fight;" the allusion is, apparently, to a bloodshot eye. PAGE 71 Line 4. The Plain of Speech (Mag Luada) and the Tree of Triumphs (Bile Buada) are apparently part of the Irish mythology; they appear again in Laeg's second description of Fairyland, which is an additional reason for keeping this poem where it is in the second version, and not following Thurneysen in transferring it to the first. Mag Luada is sometimes translated as "moving plain," apparently deriving the word from luath, "swift." Laeg's two descriptions of the Fairyland are (if we except the voyage of Bran) the two most definite descriptions of that country in Irish literature. There is very little extravagance in these descriptions; the marvellously fruitful trees, the ever-flowing vat of mead, and the silver-branched tree may be noted. Perhaps the trees of "purple glass" may be added, but for these, see note on line 30. The verse translation has been made to follow the original as closely as possible; for a literal translation Thurneysen's versions (pp. 94 and 88) may be referred to, but some alterations may be made. The first description seems to begin thus: I went with noble sportiveness to a land wonderful, yet well-known; until I came to a cairn for twenty of troops where I found Labraid the Long-haired. There I found him on that hill sitting among a thousand weapons, yellow hair on him with beautiful colour, an apple of gold for the confining of it. And it ends thus: Alas I that he went not long ago, and each cure (should come) at his searching, that he might see how it is the great palace that I saw. Though all Erin were mine and the kingship of yellow Bregia, I would resign it; no slight trial; for knowledge of the place to which I came. The following points should also be noted: Line 30 of this first description is tri bile do chorcor glain. This undoubtedly means "three trees of purple glass"; but do chorcor glan would mean "of bright purple"; and this last rendering, which is quite a common expression (see Etain, p. 12), has been adopted in the verse translation. The order of the words in the expression in the text is unusual, and the adoption of them would give an air of artificiality to the description which is otherwise quite absent from it. Lines 37 and 38 run thus: There are there thrice twenty trees, their tops meet, and meet not. Lines 43, 44, rendering: "Each with splendid gold fastening well hooked through its eye," are literally "and a brooch of gold with its splendour in the 'ear' of each cloak." The ears of a cloak, usually described as made of the peculiar white bronze, occur elsewhere in the tales, and there are different speculations as to their use and meaning. The most probable explanation is that they were bronze rings shaped like ears, and sewn into the cloak; a brooch to fasten the cloak being passed through the rings. This explanation has been suggested by Professor Ridgeway, and seems to fit admirably the passages in which these "ears" occur. Compare Fraech, line 33, in the second volume; also the "Courtship of Ferb" (Nutt), p. 6. There are also a few corrections necessary to Thurneysen's translation of the second description. Lines 13 to 20 should run thus: A beautiful band of women;--victory without fetters;-- are the daughters of Aed Abra; the beauty of Fand is a rushing sound with splendour, exceeding the beauty of a queen or king. (The last line is more literally, "not excepting a queen or, &c.") I will say, since it hath been heard by me, that the seed of Adam was sinless; but the beauty of Fand up to my time hath not found its equal. For the allusion to Adams sin, compare Etain, p. 26. Allusions like these show that the tales were composed in Christian times. There seems no reason to suppose them to be insertions, especially in cases like this one, where they come in quite naturally. Line 21 is literally "with their arms for slaying"; not "who warred on each other with weapons" as in Thurneysen. PAGE 76 For the cooling of Cuchulain's battle-frenzy with water compare the similar treatment in the account of his first foray (L.U., 63a; Miss Faraday's translation, p. 34). For a literal translation of Faud's triumph song over Cuchulain's return see Thurneysen's translation on page 97 Of the work already referred to. Thurneysen's translation is very close; perhaps the last verse should run: "Long rain of red blood at the side of the trees, a token of this proud and masterful, high with wailing is the sorrow for his fiend-like frenzy." The description of Cuchulain's appearance in verses 5 and 6 seems to point to a conception of him as the sun-god. Compare the "sunlike" seat of his chariot on page 79. PAGE 78 The literal translation of Liban's rhetoric in welcome to Cuchulain seems to be, "Hail to Cuchulain! King who brings help, great prince of Murthemne! great his mind; pomp of heroes; battle-triumphing; heart of a hero; strong rock of skill; blood-redness of wrath; ready for true foes of the hero who has the valour of Ulster (?); bright his splendour; splendour of the eyes of maidens; Hail to Cuchulain!" Torc in the second line is glossed in the MS. by "that is, a king." Cuchulain's account of his own battle is omitted by Thurneysen, possibly because the account that he gives differs from that in the text, as is pointed out by Windisch, Ir. Text., vol. i. p. 201). But it is quite in keeping with the hero's character that he should try to lessen his own glory; and the omission of this account destroys one of the features of the tale. The literal rendering is: I threw a cast with my light spear into the host of Eogan the Stream; not at all do I know, though renowned the price, the victory that I have done, or the deed. Whether he was better or inferior to my strength hitherto I chanced not on for my decision, a throw, ignorance of the man in the mist, certainly he came not away a living man. A white army, very red for multitudes of horses, they followed after me on every side (?), people of Manannan Mac Lir, Eogan the Stream called them. I set out in each manner when my full strength had come to me; one man to their thirty, hundreds, until I brought them to death. I heard the groan of Echaid Juil, lips speak in friendship, if it is really true, certainly it was not a fight (?), that cast, if it was thrown. The idea of a battle with the waves of the sea underlies the third verse of this description. PAGE 79 Five pieces of rhetoric follow, all of which are translated by Thurneysen. A few alterations may be made, but all of them would be small ones. The verse translations given are, it is believed, a little closer to the text than Thurneysen's. The metres of the first three pieces are discussed by Professor Rhys in Y Cymmrodor for 1905 (pages 166, 167). Professor Rhys reduces the second of these to a hexameter followed by three pentameters, then a hexameter followed by a pentameter. The other two reduce to hexameters mixed with curtailed hexameters and pentameters. The last two pieces of the five, not mentioned by Professor Rhys, show a strophic correspondence, which has been brought out in the verse translation; note especially their openings, and the last line of Emer's speech, cia no triallta, as balancing the last line but four of Cuchulain's speech, cia no comgellta. The last of these five pieces shows the greatest differences between the verse and literal translations. A literal translation of this would run: "Wherefore now, O Emer!" said Cuchulain, "should I not be permitted to delay with this lady? for first this lady here is bright, pure, and clear, a worthy mate for a king; of many forms of beauty is the lady, she can pass over waves of mighty seas, is of a goodly shape and countenance and of a noble race, with embroidery and skill, and with handiwork, with understanding, and sense, and firmness; with plenty of horses and many cattle, so that there is nothing under heaven, no wish for a dear spouse that she doth not. And though it hath been promised (?), Emer," he said, "thou never shalt find a hero so beautiful, so scarred with wounds, so battle-triumphing, (so worthy) as I myself am worthy." PAGE 81 Line 11. "Fair seems all that's red, &c.," is literally "fair is each red, white is each new, beautiful each lofty, sour is each known, revered is each thing absent, failure is each thing accustomed." For a translation of the poem in which Fand resigns Cuchulain reference may be made to Thurneysen (p. 101). A more accurate translation of the first verse seems to run thus: I am she who will go on a journey which is best for me on account of strong compulsion; though there is to another abundance of her fame, (and) it were dearer to me to remain. Line 16 of poem, translated by Thurneysen "I was true and held my word," is in the original daig is misi rop iran. Iran is a doubtful word, if we take it as a form of aur-an, aur being the intensitive prefix, a better translation may be, "I myself was greatly glowing." PAGE 82 Line 26. "The lady was seized by great bitterness of mind," Irish ro gab etere moir. The translation of etere is doubtful. PAGE 83 For the final poem, in which Fand returns to Manannan, reference may as before be made to Thurneysen's translation; but a few changes may be noted: Line 1 should be, "See the son of the hero people of the Sea." Line 5 seems to be, "Although" (lit. "if") "it is to-day that his cry is excellent." Line 7 is a difficult one. Thurneysen gives, "That indeed is the course of love," apparently reading rot, a road, in place of ret; but he leaves eraise untranslated; the Irish is is eraise in ret in t-serc. Might not eraise be "turning back," connected with eraim, and the line run: "It is turning back of the road of love"? Lines 13 to 16 are omitted by Thurneysen. They seem to mean: When the comely Manannan took me, he was to me a fitting spouse; nor did he at all gain me before that time, an additional stake (?) at a game at the chess. The last line, cluchi erail (lit. "excess") ar fidchill, is a difficult allusion. Perhaps the allusion is to the capture of Etain by Mider as prize at chess from her husband. Fand may be claiming superiority over a rival fairy beauty. Lines 17 and 18 repeat lines 13 and 14. Lines 46 and 47 are translated by Thurneysen, "Too hard have I been offended; Laeg, son of Riangabra, farewell," but there is no "farewell" in the Irish. The lines seem to be: "Indeed the offence was great, O Laeg, O thou son of Riangabra," and the words are an answer to Laeg, who may be supposed to try to stop her flight. PAGE 85 Line 24. "That she might forget her jealousy," lit. "a drink of forgetfulness of her jealousy," deoga dermait a heta. The translation seems to be an accepted one, and certainly gives sense, but it is doubtful whether or not eta can be regarded as a genitive of et, "jealousy "; the genitive elsewhere is eoit. There is a conclusion to this romance which is plainly added by the compiler: it is reproduced here, to show the difference between its style and the style of the original author: "This then was a token given to Cuchulain that he should be destroyed by the People of the Mound, for the power of the demons was great before the advent of the Faith; so great was that power that the demons warred against men in bodily form, and they showed delights and secret things to them; and that those demons were co-eternal was believed by them. So that from the signs that they showed, men called them the Ignorant Folk of the Mounds, the People of the Sid." THE EXILE OF THE SONS OF USNACH PAGE 91 The four pieces of rhetoric, at the beginning of this text are translated by Thurneysen, Sagen aus dem alten Irland, pp. 11 and 12. In the first, third, and fourth of those, the only difference of any importance between the text adopted and Thurneysen's versions is the third line of the third piece, which perhaps should run: "With stately eyes with blue pupils," segdaib suilib sellglassaib, taking the text of the Yellow Book of Lecan. The second piece appears to run as follows: Let Cathbad hear, the fair one, with face that all love, the prince, the royal diadem, let he who is extolled be increased by druid arts of the Druid: because I have no words of wisdom to oppose (?) to Feidlimid, the light of knowledge; for the nature of woman knows not what is under her body, (or) what in the hollow of my womb cries out. These rhetorics are remarkable for the great number of the alliterations in the original. PAGE 93 Thurneysen omits a verse of Cathbad's poem. A translation of the whole seems to run thus: Deirdre, great cause of destruction, though thou art fair of face, famous, pale, Ulster shall sorrow in thy time, thou hidden (?) daughter of Feidlimid. Windisch's Dict. gives "modest daughter" in the last line; the original is ingen fial. But the word might be more closely connected with fial, "a veil." "Modest" is not exactly the epithet that one would naturally apply to the Deirdre of the Leinster version, and the epithet of "veiled" or "hidden" would suit her much better, the reference being to her long concealment by Conor. There shall be mischief yet afterwards on thy account, O brightly shining woman, hear thou this! at that time shall be the exile of the three lofty sons of Usnach. It is in thy time that a violent deed shall be done thereupon in Emain, yet afterwards shall it repent the violation of the safeguard of the mighty son of Rog. Do foesam is read in the last verse, combining the Leinster and the Egerton texts. It is through thee, O woman with excellence, (is) the exile of Fergus from the Ulstermen, and a deed from which weeping will come, the wound of Fiachna, the son of Conor. Fiachna. is grandson to Conor in the Book of Leinster account of the battle. Fiacha is Conor's son in the Glenn Masain version. It is thy fault, O woman with excellence, the wound of Gerrc son of Illadan, and a deed of no smaller importance, the slaying of Eogan mac Durthacht. There is no account of the slaying of Eogan in the Book of Leinster version; and Eogan appears on the Hill of Slane in the Ulster army in the War of Cualgne. The sequel to the Glenn Masain version, however, describes Eogan's death at the hand of Fergus (Celtic Review, Jan. 1905, p. 227). Thou shalt do a deed that is wild and hateful for wrath against the king of noble Ulster; thy little grave shall be in that place, thy tale shall be renowned, O Deirdre. PAGE 95 Line 13. "Release me, O my wife!" eirgg uaim a ben. It is suggested that the vocative ben is "wife," not "woman." It occurs in seven other places besides this in Windisch's Dictionary, and in six of these it means wife (Emer is addressed as wife of Cuchulain in a deig-ben, in "Sick-bed," 44). In the remaining case ("Fled Bricrend," 31) the word is abbreviated, and stands b in the text, which might be for be, "O lady," though we should have then expected the accent. I suggest that Naisi, by giving to Deirdre the name of "wife," accepts her offer, for no other sign of acceptance is indicated, and the subsequent action shows that she is regarded as his wife afterwards. Line 30. "Near to Ballyshannon," and "which men to-day call the Mountain of Howth," are inserted as the modern names of the places. The words correspond to nothing in the Irish. PAGE 97 Line 13. "Fiacha." Fiacha, the son of Fergus, corresponds to Illan in the better known version. There is no one in this version who corresponds to the traitor son, Buinne. PAGE 98 The "Lament of Deirdre," one of the finest of the older Irish poems, has been rendered by Thurneysen and by others, among which should be specially mentioned Miss Hull, in the Cuchullin Saga, pp. 50-51. O'Curry's and O'Flanagan's versions seem to be very far from correct, and it will be more convenient to give that literal translation which seems nearest to the original, instead of indicating divergencies. The literal translation adopted runs as follows: Though fair to you seems the keen band of heroes who march into Emain that they lately left (lit "after departing"), more stately was the return to their home of the three heroic sons of Usnach. Naisi, with mead of delicious hazel-nuts (came), to be bathed by me at the fire, Ardan, with an ox or boar of excellence, Aindle, a faggot on his stately back. Though sweet be the excellent mead to you which is drunk by the son of Ness, the rich in strife, there has been known to me, ere now, leaping over a bank, frequent sustenance which was sweeter. Line 3 of the above stanza seems to be baithium riam reim for bra, taking reim from the Egerton text. The allusion is to a cascade. When the noble Naisi spread out a cooking-hearth on hero-board of tree, sweeter than any food dressed under honey[FN#69] was what was captured by the son of Usnach. [FN#69] For "food dressed under honey" compare Fraech, line 544, in the second volume. Though melodious to you each month (are the) pipers and horn-blowers, it is my open statement to you to-day I have heard melody sweeter far than these. For Conor, the king, is melody pipers and blowers of horns, more melodious to me, renowned, enchanting the voice given out by the sons of Usnach. Like the sound of the wave the voice of Naisi, it was a melodious sound, one to hearken to for ever, Ardan was a good barytone, the tenor of Aindle rang through the dwelling-place. Naisi is laid in his tomb, sad was the protection that he got; the nation by which he was reared poured out the cup of poison by which he died. Dear is Berthan, beautiful its lands, stately the men, though hilly the land, it is sorrowful that to-day I rise not to await the sons of Usnach. Dear the mind, firm, upright, dear the youth, lofty, modest, after going with him through the dark wood dear the girding (?) at early morning. Dear his gray eye, which women loved, it was evil-looking against enemies, after circuit of the wood (was) a noble assembly, dear the tenor through the dark wood. I sleep not therefor, and I stain not my nails with red, joy comes not to my wakefulness, for the sons of Usnach return not. The last line is the Egerton reading. I sleep not for half the night on my bed, my mind wanders amidst clouds of thoughts, I eat not, nor smile. There is no leisure or joy for me in the assemblies of eastern Emain; there is no peace, nor pleasure, nor repose in beholding fine houses or splendid ornaments. What, O Conor, of thee? for me only sorrow under lamentation hast thou prepared, such will be my life so long as it remains to me, thy love for me will not last. The man who under heaven was fairest to me, the man who was so dear thou hast torn from me; great was the crime; so that I shall not see him until I die. His absence is the cause of grief to me, the shape of the son of Usnach shows itself to me, a dark hill is above his white body which was desired before many things by me. His ruddy cheeks, more beautiful than meadows (?), red lips, eyebrows of the colour of the chafer, his teeth shining like pearls, like noble colour of snow. Well have I known his splendid garb among the warrior men of Alba; mantle of crimson, meet for an assembly, with a border of red gold. His tunic of satin of costly price, on it a hundred pearls could be counted, goodly the number (lit. "a smooth number" ? a round number), for its embroidery had been used, it was bright, fifty ounces of findruine (i.e. white bronze). A gold-hilted sword in his hand, two green spears with terrible points (?), a shield with border of yellow gold, and a boss of silver upon it. Fair Fergus brought injury upon us when inducing us to cross the sea; he has sold his honour for ale, the glory of his high deeds is departed. If there were upon this plain the warriors of Ulster in the presence of Conor, all of them would I give up without a struggle for the companionship of Naisi, the son of Usnach. Break not to-day my heart (O Conor!), soon shall I reach my early grave, stronger than the sea is my grief, dost thou not know it, O Conor? PAGE 103 For the literal translations of the poems in the Glenn Masain version see Whitley Stokes in Irische Texte, ii. 2, 172 sqq. Stanzas 13 to 16 are not in LVI. (the manuscript which is the second authority used by Stokes for this version, and is the chief authority for this part of the version). They are in the manuscript that Stokes calls II. (the version used by O'Flanagan), which, like LVI., agrees pretty closely with the Glenn Masain text so far as the latter manuscript extends. Stanza 22 is also from O'Flanagan's manuscript. This verse is not translated by Stokes, but it seems worth inserting. The literal translation of it is: I am Deirdre without joy, it is for me the end of my life; since to remain behind them is the worst thing, not long life to myself. PAGE 107 Line 21. Two passages, one describing Fergus' sons born in Connaught, the other summing up his deeds, are omitted, as it is not intended to reproduce this version in full. THE COMBAT AT THE FORD The well-known translation by O'Curry of this part of the Book of Leinster version of the "Tain bo Cuailgne" is given in the third volume of his "Manners and Customs," pp. 414-463. There are, as has often been pointed out, many inaccuracies in the translation, and the present version does not claim to correct all or even the greater part of them; for the complete version of the Great Tain by Windisch which has so long eagerly been expected should give us a trustworthy text, and the present translation is in the main founded on O'Curry; to whose version reference may be made for literal translations for such parts of the verse passages as are not noted below. A few more obvious corrections have been made; most of those in the prose will appear by comparing the rendering with O'Curry's; some of the corrections in the literal versions adopted for the poems are briefly indicated. Two poems have been literally translated in full: in these the renderings which have no authority other than O'Curry's are followed by a query, in order to give an indication of the extent to which the translation as given may for the present be regarded as uncertain. For all the more valuable of the corrections made to O'Curry's translation I am indebted to the kindness of Mr. E. J. Quiggin, Fellow of Caius College, Cambridge. PAGE 118 Line 7 Of the first stanza. O'Curry gives this as "Thou hast come out of every strife," which seems to be an impossible rendering; "Take whatever is thy will" seems to be nearer the sense of the passage, and has been adopted. Lines 5 to 8 of the fourth stanza are very uncertain; and the translation given, which is in part based upon O'Curry, is very doubtful; a more trustworthy one has not, however, been arrived at. Line 4 of the fifth stanza in O'Curry's rendering means "Here is what thou wilt not earn," i.e. "We can pay more than a full reward for thy services." Lines 5 and 6 of the sixth stanza should be, "If my request be granted me I will advance, though I am not his match." Line 2 Of the eighth stanza, "Not thine a pleasant smile for a consort." Brachail in the next line is "guardian." Line 10 of the last stanza. Elgga is one of the names of Ireland. PAGE 121 Line 1. Maeth n-araig, "in an easy task," the force of which O'Curry seems to miss, translating it "as he thought." There are several changes to make in O'Curry's rendering of the dialogue between Fergus and Cuchulain. It should run thus: F. O Cuchulain, manifest is the bargain, I see that rising is timely for thee; here comes to thee in anger Ferdiad, son of Daman, of the ruddy face. C. I am here, it is no light task valiantly delaying the men of Erin; I have not yielded a foot in retreat to shun the combat of any one man. F. Fierce is the man in his excited (?) rage because of his blood-red sword: a horny skin is about Ferdiad of the troops, against it prevails not battle or combat. C. Be silent, urge not thy story, O Fergus of the powerful weapons! on any field, on any ground, there is no unequal fight for me. F. Fierce is the man, a war for twenties, it is not easy to vanquish him, the strength of a hundred in his body, valiant his deed (?), spears pierce him not, swords cut him not. C. Should we happen to meet at a ford (i.e. a field of battle), I and Ferdiad of well-known valour, the separation shall not be without history, fierce shall be our edge-combat. F. Better would it be to me than reward, O Cuchulain of the blood-stained sword, that it was thou who carried eastward the spoils (coscur, not corcur) of the proud Ferdiad. C. I give thee my word with boasting, though I am not good at bragging, that it is I who shall gain the victory over the son of Daman, the son of Dare. F. It is I who gathered the forces eastwards in revenge for my dishonour by the men of Ulster; with me they have come from their lands, their champions and their battle warriors. C. If Conor had not been in his sickness hard would have been his nearness to thee; Medb of Magh in Scail had not made an expedition of so loud boastings. F. A greater deed awaits thy hand, battle with Ferdiad son of Daman, hardened bloody weapons, friendly is my speech, do thou have with thee, O Cuchulain! PAGE 124 Line 7 of O'Curry's rendering of the first stanza should run: "So that he may take the point of a weapon through him." Stanza 2 of the poem should run thus: It would be better for thee to stay, thy threats will not be gentle, there will be some one who shall have sickness on that account, distressful will be thy departure to encounter the Rock of Ulster; and ill may this venture turn out; long will be the remembrance of it, woe shall be to him who goeth that journey. Line 4 of the next stanza, "I will not keep back to please you." PAGE 126 The literal rendering of the poem seems to be: I hear the creaking of a chariot with a beautiful silver yoke, the figure of a man with perfection (rises) from the wheels of the stout chariot; over Breg Row, over Braine they come (?), over the highway beside the lower part of the Burg of the Trees; it (the chariot?) is triumphant for its victories. It is a heroic (?) hound who drives it, it is a trusty charioteer who yokes it, it is a noble hawk who scourges his horses to the south: he is a stubborn hero, he is certain (to cause) heavy slaughter, it is well-known that not with indexterity (?) is the bringing of the battle to us. Woe for him who shall be upon the hillock waiting for the hound who is fitly framed (lit. in harmony"); I myself declared last year that there would come, though it be from somewhere, a hound the Hound of Emain Macha, the Hound with a form on which are hues of all colours, the Hound of a territory, the Hound of battle; I hear, we have heard. As a second rendering of the above in a metre a little closer to the original than that given in the text, the following may be suggested: Shrieks from war-car wake my hearing, Silver yokes are nigh appearing; High his perfect form is rearing, He those wheels who guides! Braina, Braeg Ross past it boundeth, Triumph song for conquests soundeth, Lo! the roadway's course it roundeth, Skirting wooded sides. Hero Hound the scourge hard plieth, Trusty servant yoke-strap tieth, Swift as noble hawk, he flieth, Southward urging steeds! Hardy chief is he, and story Soon must speak his conquests gory, Great for skilful war his glory; We shall know his deeds! Thou on hill, the fierce Hound scorning, Waitest; woe for thee is dawning; Fitly framed he comes, my warning Spoke him thus last year: "Emain's Hound towards us raceth, Guards his land, the fight he faceth, Every hue his body graceth:" Whom I heard, I hear. PAGE 127 In O'Curry's rendering of the dialogue between Ferdia and his servant, line 3 should be, "That it be not a deed of prophecy," not "a deferred deed"; and line 6, With his proud sport." Last stanza of the poem: It seems thou art not without rewards, so greatly hast thou praised him; why else hast thou extolled him ever since I left my house? they who now extol the man when he is in their sight come not to attack him, but are cowardly churls. PAGE 128 Line 34. "As a hawk darts up from the furrow." O'Curry gives "from the top of a cliff." The word in the Irish is claiss. PAGE 129 The metre of this poem, which is also the metre of all the preceeding poems except the second in this romance, but does not occur elsewhere in the collection, may be illustrated by quoting the original of the fifth verse, which runs as follows: Re funiud, re n-aidchi Madit eicen airrthe, Comrac dait re bairche, Ni ba ban in gleo: Ulaid acot gairmsiu, Ra n-gabartar aillsiu, Bud olc doib in taidbsiu Rachthair thairsiu is treo. Literal translation of the first two stanzas: What has brought thee here, O Hound, to fight with a strong champion? crimson-red shall flow thy blood over the breaths of thy steeds; woe is thy journey: it shall be a kindling of fuel against a house, need shalt thou have of healing if thou reach thy home (alive). I have come before warriors who gather round a mighty host-possessing prince, before battalions, before hundreds, to put thee under the water, in anger with thee, and to slay thee in a combat of hundreds of paths of battle, so that thine shall the injury as thou protectest thy head. Line 2 of the fifth stanza, "Good is thy need of height." Line 8 of the seventh stanza, "Without valour, without strength." PAGE 133 Line 3. Literally: "Whatever be the excellence of her beauty." A similar literal translation for page 138, line 10, of the dialogue; the same line occurs in verse 3 on page 148, but is not rendered in the verse translation. PAGE 134 Line 18. "O Cuchulain! for beautiful feats renowned." O'Curry gives this as prose, but it is clearly verse in the original. PAGE 138 Lines 5, 6 of dialogue. "O Cuchulain! who art a breeder of wounds" (lit. "pregnant with wounds"); "O true warrior! O true" (?accent probably omitted) "champion!" Lines 7, 8. "There is need for some one" (i.e. himself) "to go to the sod where his final resting-place shall be." The Irish of line 7 is is eicen do neoch a thecht, which O'Curry translates "a man is constrained to come," and he is followed by Douglas Hyde, who renders the two lines: Fate constrains each one to stir, Moving towards his sepulchre. But do neoch cannot possibly mean "every man," it means "some man;" usually the person in question is obvious. Compare page 125 of this romance, line 3, which is literally: "There will be some one who shall have sickness on that account," biaid nech diamba galar, meaning, as here, Ferdia. The line is an explanation of Ferdia's appearance, and is not a moral reflection. Line 29. "O Cuchulain! with floods of deeds of valour," or "brimming over with deeds, &c." PAGE 141 Line 9. "Four jewels of carbuncle." This is the reading of H. 2, 17; T.C.D; which O'Curry quotes as an alternative to "forty" of the Book of Leinster. "Each one of them fit to adorn it" is by O'Curry translated "in each compartment." The Irish is a cach aen chumtach: apparently "for each one adornment." PAGE 144 Line 8 of poem. "Alas for the departing of my ghost." PAGE 146 Lines 1, 2. "Though he had struck off the half of my leg that is sound, though he had smitten off half my arm." PAGE 148 Line 5. "Since he whom Aife bore me," literally "Never until now have I met, since I slew Aife's only son, thy like in deeds of battle, never have I found it, O Ferdia." This is O'Curry's rendering; if it is correct, and it seems to be so substantially, the passage raises a difficulty. Aife's only son is, according to other records, Conlaoch, son of Cuchulain and Aife, killed by his father, who did not at the time know who Conlaoch was. This battle is usually represented as having taken place at the end of Cuchulain's life; but here it is represented as preceding the War of Cualgne, in which Cuchulain himself is represented to be a youth. The allusion certainly indicates an early date for the fight with Conlaoch, and if we are to lay stress on the age of Cuchulain at the time of the War, as recorded in the Book of Leinster, of whose version this incident is a part, the "Son of Aife" would not have been a son of Cuchulain at all in the mind of the writer of this verse. It is possible that there was an early legend of a fight with the son of Aife which was developed afterwards by making him the son of Cuchulain; the oldest version of this incident, that in the Yellow Book of Lecan, reconciles the difficulty by making Conlaoch only seven years old when he took up arms; this could hardly have been the original version. Line 23 of poem is literally: "It is like thrusting a spear into sand or against the sun." The metre of the poem "Ah that brooch of gold," and of that on page 144, commencing "Hound, of feats so fair," are unique in this collection, and so far as I know do not occur elsewhere. Both have been reproduced in the original metre, and the rather complicated rhyme-system has also been followed in that on page 148. The first verse of the Irish of this is Dursan, a eo oir a Fhirdiad na n-dam a belc bemnig buain ba buadach do lamh. The last syllable of the third line has no rhyme beyond the echo in the second syllable of the next line; oir, "gold," has no rhyme till the word is repeated in the third line of the third verse, rhymed in the second line of the fourth, and finally repeated at the end. The second verse has two final words echoed, brass and maeth; it runs thus Do barr bude brass ba cass, ba cain set; do chriss duillech maeth immut taeb gu t-ec. The rhymes in the last two verses are exactly those of the reproduction, they are cain sair, main, laim, chain, the other three end rhymes being oir, choir, and oir. Line 3 of this poem is "O hero of strong-striking blows." Line 4. "Triumphant was thine arm." PAGE 149 Lines 11 and 12 of the poem. "Go ye all to the swift battle that shall come to you from German the green-terrible" (? of the terrible green spear). PAGE 150 Line 12. The Torrian Sea is the Mediterranean. PAGE 151 Line 15. Literally: "Thou in death, I alive and nimble." Line 23. "Wars were gay, &c." Cluchi cach, gaine cach, "Each was a game, each was little," taking gaine as gainne, the known derivative of gand, "scanty." O'Curry gives the meaning as "sport," and has been followed by subsequent translators, but there does not seem any confirmation of this rendering. PAGE 153 Line 10. Banba is one of the names of Ireland. END OF VOL. I. VOL. II @@{Redactors Note: In the original book the 'Literal Translation' is printed on facing pages to the poetic translation. In this etext the literal translation portions have been collated after the poetic translation, for the sake of readability. Hence the page numbers are not sequential--JBH} PREFACE TO VOL. II It seems to have been customary in ancient Ireland to precede by shorter stories the recital of the Great Tain, the central story of the Irish Heroic Age. A list of fourteen of these "lesser Tains," three of which are lost, is given in Miss Hull's "Cuchullin Saga"; those preserved are the Tain bo Aingen, Dartada, Flidais, Fraich, Munad, Regamon, Regamna, Ros, Ruanadh, Sailin, and Ere. Of these, five only have been edited, viz. the Tain bo Dartada, Flidais, Fraich, Regamon, and Regamna; all these five are given in this volume. The last four tales are all short, and perhaps are more truly "preludes" (remscela) than the Tain bo Fraich, which has indeed enough of interest in itself to make it an independent tale, and is as long as the four put together. All the five tales have been rendered into verse, with a prose literal translation opposite to the verse rendering, for reasons already given in the preface to the first volume. A short introduction, describing the manuscript authority, is prefixed to each; they all seem to go back in date to the best literary period, but appear to have been at any rate put into their present form later than the Great Tain, in order to lead up to it. A possible exception to this may be found at the end of the Tain bo Flidais, which seems to give a different account of the end of the war of Cualgne, and to claim that Cuchulain was defeated, and that Connaught gained his land for its allies. It may be mentioned that the last four tales are expressly stated in the text to be "remscela" to the Great Tain. INTRODUCTION IN VERSE When to an Irish court of old Came men, who flocked from near and far To hear the ancient tale that told Cuchulain's deeds in Cualgne's War; Oft, ere that famous tale began, Before their chiefest bard they hail, Amid the throng some lesser man Arose, to tell a lighter tale; He'd fell how Maev and Ailill planned Their mighty hosts might best be fed, When they towards the Cualgne land All Irelands swarming armies led; How Maev the youthful princes sent To harry warlike Regamon, How they, who trembling, from her went, His daughters and his cattle won; How Ailill's guile gained Darla's cows, How vengeful fairies marked that deed; How Fergus won his royal spouse Whose kine all Ireland's hosts could feed; How, in a form grotesque and weird, Cuchulain found a Power Divine; Or how in shapes of beasts appeared The Magic Men, who kept the Swine; Or how the rowan's guardian snake Was roused by order of the king; Or how, from out the water, Fraech To Finnabar restored her ring. And though, in greater tales, they chose Speech mired with song, men's hearts to sway, Such themes as these they told in prose, Like speakers at the "Feis" to-day. To men who spake the Irish tongue That form of Prose was pleasing well, While other lands in ballads sung Such tales as these have loved to tell: So we, who now in English dress These Irish tales would fain And seek their spirit to express, Have set them down in ballad verse; And, though to Celts the form be strange, Seek not too much the change to blame; 'Tis but the form alone we change; The sense, the spirit rest the same. CONTENTS THE PRELUDES TO THE RAID OF CUALGNE TAIN BO FRAICH - Page 1 THE RAID FOR DARTAID'S CATTLE - Page 69 THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF REGAMON - Page 83 THE DRIVING OF THE CATTLE OF FLIDAIS - Page 101 THE APPARITION OF THE GREAT QUEEN TO CUCHULAIN - Page 127 APPENDIX IRISH TEXT AND LITERAL TRANSLATION OF PART OF THE COURTSHIP OF ETAIN - Page 143 TAIN BO FRAICH INTRODUCTION The Tain bo Fraich, the Driving of the Cattle of Fraech, has apparently only one version; the different manuscripts which contain it differing in very small points; most of which seem to be due to scribal errors. Practically the tale consists of two quite separate parts. The first, the longer portion, gives the adventures of Fraech at the court of Ailill and Maev of Connaught, his courtship of their daughter, Finnabar, and closes with a promised betrothal. The second part is an account of an expedition undertaken by Fraech to the Alps "in the north of the land of the Long Beards," to recover stolen cattle, as well as his wife," who is stated by O'Beirne Crowe, on the authority of the "Courtship of Trebland" in the Book of Fermoy, to have been Trebland, a semi-deity, like Fraech himself. Except that Fraech is the chief actor in both parts, and that there is one short reference at the end of the second part to the fact that Fraech did, as he had promised in the first part, join Ailill and Maev upon the War of Cualnge, there is no connection between the two stories. But the difference between the two parts is not only in the subject-matter; the difference in the style is even yet more apparent. The first part has, I think, the most complicated plot of any Irish romance, it abounds in brilliant descriptions, and, although the original is in prose, it is, in feeling, highly poetic. The second part resembles in its simplicity and rapid action the other "fore tales" or preludes to the War of Cualnge contained in this volume, and is of a style represented in English by the narrative ballad. In spite of the various characters of the two parts, the story seems to have been regarded as one in all the manuscripts which contain it; and the question how these two romances came to be regarded as one story becomes interesting. The natural hypothesis would be that the last part was the original version, which was in its earlier part re-written by a man of genius, possibly drawing his plot from some brief statement that Finnabar was promised to Fraech in return for the help that he and his recovered cattle could give in the Great War; but a difficulty, which prevents us from regarding the second part as an original legend, at once comes in. The second part of the story happens to contain so many references to nations outside Ireland that its date can be pretty well fixed. Fraech and his companions go, over the sea from Ulster, i.e. to Scotland; then through "north Saxon-land" to the sea of Icht (i.e. the sea of Wight or the English Channel); then to the Alps in the north of the land of the Long-Beards, or Lombards. The Long-Beards do not appear in Italy until the end of the sixth century; the suggestion of North Saxon-Land reaching down to the sea of Wight suggests that there was then a South Saxon-Land, familiar to an Irish writer, dating this part of the story as before the end of the eighth century, when both Saxons and Long-Beards were overcome by Charlemagne. The second part of the story is, then, no original legend, but belongs to the seventh or eighth century, or the classical period; and it looks as if there were two writers, one of whom, like the author of the Egerton version of Etain, embellished the love-story part of the original legend, leaving the end alone, while another author wrote an account of the legendary journey of the demi-god Fraech in search for his stolen cattle, adding the geographical and historical knowledge of his time. The whole was then put together, like the two parts of the Etain story; the difference between the two stories in the matter of the wife does not seem to have troubled the compilers. The oldest manuscript authority for the Tain bo Fraich is the Book of Leinster, written before 1150. There are at least two other manuscript authorities, one; in Egerton, 1782 (published by Professor Kuno Meyer in the Zeitschrift für Celt. Philologie, 1902); the other is in MS. XL., Advocates' Library, Edinburgh (published in the Revue Celtique, Vol. XXIV.). Professor Meyer has kindly allowed me to copy his comparison of these manuscripts and his revision of O'Beirne Crowe's translation of the Book of Leinster text. The text of the literal translation given here follows, however, in the main O'Beirne Crowe's translation, which is in the Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy for 1870; a few insertions are made from the other MSS.; when so made the insertion is indicated by a note. For those who may be interested in the subsequent history of Fraech, it may be mentioned that he was one of the first of the Connaught champions to be slain by Cuchulain in the war of Cualnge; see Miss Faraday's translation (Grimm Library, page 35). PERSONS IN THE STORY MORTALS Ailill, King of Connaught. Medb (or Maev), Queen of Connaught. Findbar (or Finnabar), their daughter. Froech (or Fraech), (pronounced Fraych); son of a Connaught man and a fairy mother. Conall Cernach (Conall the Victorious), champion of Ulster. Two Irish women, in captivity in the Alps, north of Lombardy. Lothar (or Lothur), a follower of Fraech. Bicne, a follower of Conall. IMMORTALS Befind, Fraech's fairy mother. Boand (pronounced like "owned"), sister to Befind; Queen of the Fairies. Three fairy harpers. TAIN BO FRAICH THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF FRAECH Now the news of the love of that maid to Fraech, at his home where he dwelt, was brought, And he called his folk, and with all he spoke, and for speech with the maid he sought: And they counselled him thus: "Let a message from thee be sent to thy fairy kin To entreat their aid when we seek that maid; a boon we may chance to win: For the wondrous robes of the fairy land, and for gifts from the fairies plead; And sure thy mother's sister's hand will give to thee all thy need." To Mag Breg,[FN#1] where his mother's sister dwelt, to Boand he away hath gone, And she gave to him mantles of dark black-blue, like a beetle's back they shone: Four dark-grey rings in each cloak she gave were sewn, and a brooch shone, bright With the good red gold in each mantle's fold; she gave tunics pale and white, And the tunics were bordered with golden loops, that forms as of beasts displayed; And a fifty she added of well-rimmed shields, that of silver white were made. [FN#1] Pronounced Maw Brayg. Then away they rode, in each hero's hand was a torch for a kingly hall, For studs of bronze, and of well-burned gold, shone bright on the spears of all; On carbuncle sockets the spears were set, their points with jewels blazed; And they lit the night, as with fair sunlight, as men on their glory gazed. By each of the fifty heroes' side was a sword with a hilt of gold; And a soft-grey mare was for each to ride, with a golden curb controlled; At each horse's throat was a silver plate, and in front of that plate was swung, With a tinkling sound to the horse's tread, a bell with a golden tongue. on each steed was a housing of purple hide, with threads of silver laced, And with spiral stitch of the silver threads the heads of beasts were traced, And each housing was buckled with silver and gold: of findruine[FN#2] was made the whip For each rider to hold, with a crook of gold where it came to the horse man's grip. [FN#2] Pronounced "find-roony," the unknown "white-bronze" metal. By their sides, seven chase-hounds were springing At leashes of silver they strained, And each couple a gold apple, swinging On the fetter that linked them, sustained: And their feet with bronze sheaths had been guarded, As if greaves for defence they had worn, Every hue man hath seen, or hath fancied, By those chase-hounds in brilliance was borne. Seven trumpeters strode on the road before, with colour their cloaks were bright, And their coats, that shone with the gauds they wore, flashed back as they met the light; On trumpets of silver and gold they blew, and sweet was the trumpets' sound, And their hair, soft and yellow, like fairy threads, shone golden their shoulders round. Three jesters marched in the van, their-crowns were of silver, by gilt concealed, And emblems they. carried of quaint device, engraved on each jester's shield; They had staves which with crests were adorned, and ribs down their edges in red bronze ran; Three harp-players moved by the jesters' sides, and each was a kingly man. All these were the gifts that the fairy gave, and gaily they made their start, And to Croghan's[FN#3] hold, in that guise so brave, away did the host depart. [FN#3] Pronounced Crow-han. On the fort stands a watchman to view them, And thus news down to Croghan he calls: "From yon plain comes, in fulness of numbers, A great army to Croghan's high walls; And, since Ailill the throne first ascended, Since the day we hailed Maev as our Queen, Never army so fair nor so splendid Yet hath come, nor its like shall be seen." "'Tis strange," said he," as dipped in wine, So swims, so reels my head, As o'er me steals the breath divine Of perfume from them shed." "A fair youth," said he, "forth with them goeth, And the grace of such frolicsome play, And such lightness in leap as he showeth Have I seen not on earth till to-day: For his spear a full shot's length he flingeth, Yet the spear never reacheth to ground, For his silver-chained hounds follow after, In their jaws is the spear ever found!" The Connaught hosts without the fort To see that glory rushed: Sixteen within, of baser sort, Who gazed, to death were crushed. To the fort came the youths, from their steeds they leapt, for the steeds and the stabling cared, And they loosed the hounds that in leash they kept, for the hunt were the hounds prepared; Seven deer, seven foxes and hares, they chased to the dun on Croghan's plain, Seven boars they drave, on the lawn in haste the game by the youths was slain: With a bound they dashed into Bree, whose flood by the lawns of Croghan flows; Seven otters they caught in its stream, and brought to a hill where the gateway rose. 'Twas there that Fraech and the princes sat at the castle-gate to rest, And the steward of Croghan with Fraech would speak, for such was the king's behest: Of his birth it was asked, and the men he led all truth to the herald spake: "It is Idath's son who is here," they said, and they gave him the name of Fraech. To Ailill and Maev went the steward back of the stranger's name to tell; "Give him welcome," said they: "Of a noble race is that youth, and I know it well; Let him enter the court of our house," said the king, the gateway they opened wide; And the fourth of the palace they gave to Fraech, that there might his youths abide. Fair was the palace that there they found, Seven great chambers were ranged it round; Right to the walls of the house they spread, Facing the hall, where the fire glowed red: Red yew planks, that had felt the plane, Dappled the walls with their tangled grain: Rails of bronze at the side-walls stood, Plates of bronze had made firm the wood, Seven brass bolts to the roof-tree good Firmly the vaulting tied. All that house had of pine been made, Planks, as shingles, above were laid; Sixteen windows the light let pass, Each in a frame of the shining brass: High through the roof was the sky seen bright; Girder of brass made that opening tight, Under the gap it was stretched, and light Fell on its gleaming side. All those chambers in splendour excelling, The midmost of all in the ring, Rose a room, set apart as the dwelling Of Queen Maev, and of Ailill the king. Four brass columns the awning supported For their couch, there was bronze on the wall; And two rails, formed of silver, and gilded, In that chamber encircled it all: In the front, to mid-rafters attaining, Rose in silver a wand from the floor; And with rooms was that palace engirdled, For they stretched from the door to the door. 'Twas there they went to take repose, On high their arms were hung; And down they sank, and welcome rose, Acclaimed by every tongue. By the queen and the king they were welcome made, the strangers they turned to greet; And their courtesy graciously Fraech repaid: "'Twas thus we had hoped to meet." "Not for boasting to-day are ye come!" said Maev; the men for the chess she set: And a lord of the court in the chess-man sport by Fraech in a match was met. 'Twas a marvellous board of findruine fair was prepared, when they played that game, Four handles, and edges of gold it had, nor needed they candles' flame; For the jewels that blazed at the chess-board's side, a light, as from lamps, would yield; And of silver and gold were the soldiers made, who engaged on that mimic field. "Get ye food for the chiefs!" said the king; said Maev, "Not yet, 'tis my will to stay, To sit with the strangers, and here with Fraech in a match at the chess to play!" "Let thy game be played!" said Ailill then, "for it pleaseth me none the less:" And Queen Maev and Fraech at the chess-board sate, and they played at the game of chess. Now his men, as they played, the wild beasts late caught were cooking, they thought to feed; And said Ailill to Fraech, "Shall thy harpmen play?" "Let them play," said Fraech, "indeed:" Now those harpers were wondrous men, by their sides they had sacks of the otter's skin, And about their bodies the sacks were tied, and they carried their harps within, With stitches of silver and golden thread each case for a harp was sewed; And, beneath the embroidery gleaming red, the shimmer of rubies showed! The skin of a roe about them in the middle, it was as white as snow; black-grey eyes in their centre. Cloaks of linen as white as the tunic of a swan around these ties.[FN#4] Harps of gold and silver and bronze, with figures of serpents and birds, and hounds of gold and silver: as they moved those strings those figures used to run about the men all round. [FN#4] This is the Egerton version, which is clearly right here. The Book of Leinster gives: "These figures accordingly used to run," &c., leaving out all the first part of the sentence, which is required to make the meaning plain. They play for them then so that twelve of the people[FN#5] of Ailill and Medb die with weeping and sadness. [FN#5] The Book of Leinster omits "of Ailill and Medb." Gentle and melodious were the triad, and they were the Chants of Uaithne[FN#6] (Child-birth). The illustrious triad are three brothers, namely Gol-traiges (Sorrow-strain), and Gen-traiges (Joy-strain), and Suan-traiges (Sleep-strain). Boand from the fairies is the mother of the triad: [FN#6] Pronounced something like Yew-ny. At every one of the harpers' waists was girded the hide of a roe, And black-grey spots in its midst were placed, but the hide was as white as snow; And round each of the three of them waved a cloak, as white as the wild swan's wings: Gold, silver, and bronze were the harps they woke; and still, as they touched the strings, The serpents, the birds, and the hounds on the harps took life at the harps' sweet sound, And those figures of gold round the harpmen rose, and floated in music round. Then they played, sweet and sad was the playing, Twelve of Ailill's men died, as they heard; It was Boand[FN#7] who foretold them that slaying, And right well was accomplished her word. [FN#7] Pronounced with sound of "owned." 'Tis the three Chants of Child-Birth Give names to those Three; Of the Harp of the Dagda[FN#8] The children they be. [FN#8] The Dagda seems to have been the chief god of the old Celtic mythology. To those harpers a fairy Is mother, of yore To that Harp, men call Child-Birth, Queen Boand the three bore. They are three noble brothers, And well are they known; They are kindly and gentle, And tuneful of tone. One is Joy-Song, one Sorrow's, One, "Song that gives Sleep," And the Harp's strains, their father's, Remembered they keep. For when Boand was at bearing, Came Sorrow the first, From the Harp, its strings tearing With cry, Sorrow burst. Then there came to her pleasure For birth of a boy; And a sweet smiling measure The Harp played, 'twas Joy. And she swooned in her anguish, For hard the third birth: From the Harp, her pains soothing, Sleep's strain came on earth. Then from Boand passed her slumber, And, "Uaithne,"[FN#9] she cried, Thy three sons, thou sharp Child-Birth, I take to my side. [FN#9] Pronounced something like Yew-ny. Cows and women by Ailill And Maev shall be slain; For on these cometh Sorrow, And Joy, and Sleep's strain: Yea, and men, who these harpers, Thy children, shall hear, By their art to death stricken, Shall perish in fear." Then the strains died away in the palace, The last notes seemed to sink, and to cease: "It was stately," said Fergus, "that music." And on all came a silence, and peace. Said Fraech, "The food divide ye! Come, bring ye here the meat!" And down to earth sank Lothar, On floor he set his feet; He crouched, on haunches sitting, The joints with sword he split; On bones it fell unerring, No dainty part he hit! Though long with sword he hewed, and long Was meat by men supplied, His hand struck true; for never wrong Would Lothar meat divide. Three days at the chess had they played; three nights, as they sat at the game, had gone: And they knew not the night for the sparkling light from the jewels of Fraech that shone; But to Maev turned Fraech, and he joyously cried, "I have conquered thee well at the chess! Yet I claim not the stake at the chess-board's side, lest thy palace's wealth be less." "For no lengthier day have I sat in such play," said Maev, "since I here first came." "And well may the day have seemed long," said Fraech, "for three days and three nights was the game!" Then up started Maev, and in shame she blushed that the chiefs she had failed to feed; To her husband, King Ailill, in wrath she rushed: "We have both done a goodly deed! For none from our stores hath a banquet brought for the youths who are strangers here!" And said Ailill, "In truth for the play was thy thought, and to thee was the chess more dear." "We knew not that darkness had come," said Maev, "'tis not chess thou should'st thus condemn; Though the day had gone, yet the daylight shone from the heart of each sparkling gem; Though the game we played, all could meal have made, had men brought of the night advice, But the hours sped away, and the night and the day have approached and have fled from us thrice!" "Give command," said the king, "that those wailing chants, till we give them their food, be stilled." And food to the hands of each they gave, and all with the meat were filled; And all things merrily went, for long the men with a feast were fed, For, as feasting they sat, thrice rose the day, thrice night above earth was spread. They brought Fraech, when that banquet was ended, To the House of Debate, which was near, And they asked of his errand: "In friendship, For a visit," said Fraech, "am I here!" "And 'twas joy that we felt, when receiving This your host," said the king, "ye have brought Much of pleasure to all, and with grieving, When ye go, shall your presence be sought!" "Then," said Fraech, "for a week we abide here." For two weeks in that dun they abode: And the Connaught men pressed round to view them, As each eve home from hunting they rode. Yet Fraech was sad, with Findabar A word he sought in vain; Though he in truth from home so far Had come that word to gain. Fraech, as night was ending, Sprang from out his bed; Sought the brook, intending There to lave his head. There King Ailill's daughter Stood, and there her maid: They that hour from water Sought the cleansing aid. "Stay," he cried, and speaking Caught the maiden's hand; "Thee alone as seeking, I have reached this land: Here am I who sought thee, Stay, and hear me woo!" "Ah! thy speech hath brought me Joy," she said, "most true; Yet, thy side if nearing, What for thee can I?" "Maid!" he cried, "art fearing Hence with me to fly?" "Flight I hold disloyal," Answered she in scorn; "I from mother royal, I to king was born; What should stay our wedding? None so mean or poor Thou hast seemed, nor dreading Kin of mine; be sure: I will go! 'tis spoken, Thou beloved shalt be! Take this ring as token, Lent by Maev to me! 'Twas my mother who bid me to save it, For the ring she in secret would hide; 'Tis as pledge of our love that I gave it, As its pledge it with thee should abide. Till that ring we can freely be showing I will tell them I put it astray!" And, the love of each other thus knowing, Fraech and Finnabar went on their way. "I have fear," said the king, "that with Fraech yon maid to his home as his wife would fly; Yet her hand he may win, if he rides on the Raid with his kine when the time draws nigh." Then Fraech to the Hall of Debate returned, and he cried: "Through Some secret chink Hath a whisper passed?" and the king replied, "Thou would'st fit in that space, I think!" "Will ye give me your daughter?" said Fraech: said the king, "In sight of our hosts she goes; If, as gift to suffice for her marriage price, thy hand what I ask bestows." "I will give thee what price thou dost name," said Fraech, "and now let its sum be told!"' "Then a sixty steeds do I claim," said the king, "dark-grey, and with bits of gold; And twelve milch-cows, from their udders shall come the milk in a copious stream, And by each of the cows a white calf shall run; bright red on its ears shall gleam; And thou, with thy harpers and men, shalt ride by my side on the Cualgne[FN#10] Raid, And when all thy kine driven here shall stand, shall the price of her hand be paid!" [FN#10] Pronounced Kell-ny. Now I swear by the edge of my sword," said Fraech, "I swear by my arms and shield, I would give no such pledge, even Maev to take, were it her thou wert fain to yield!" And he went from the House of Debate, but Maev with Ailill bent low in plot: All around us our foes," said the king, "shall close, if Finnabar stays here not; Many kings of Erin, who seek that maid, shall hear of her borne away, And in wrath they will rush on our land; 'twere best that Fraech we devise to slay; Ere that ruin he bring, let us make our spring, and the ill yet unwrought arrest." "It were pity such deed should be done," said Maev, "and to slay in our house our guest! 'Twill bring shame on us ever." "No shame to our house," said King Ailill, "that death shall breed!" (And he spake the words twice)--"but now hear my advice, how I plan we should do this deed." All the plot had been planned; to their house at last King Ailill and Maev through the doorway passed; And the voice of the king uprose: "'Tis now that the hounds should their prey pursue, Come away to the hunt who the hounds would view; For noon shall that hunting close." So forth went they all, on the chase intent, And they followed till strength of the hounds was spent, And the hunters were warm; and to bathe they went Where the river of Croghan flows. And, "'Tis told me," said Ailill, "that Fraech hath won A great fame for the feats he in floods hath done: Wilt thou enter these streams by our side that run? We are longing to see thee swim!" And said Fraech: "Is it good then indeed thy stream? And said Ailill: "Of danger no need to dream, For many a youth from the Connaught Court In its current hath bathed, and hath swum it in sport, Nor of any who tried have we heard report That ill hath been found by him!" Then Fraech from his body his garments stripped, And he sprang down the bank, and he swiftly slipped In the stream: and the king's glance fell On a belt, left by Fraech on the bank; the king Bent low; in the purse saw his daughter's ring, And the shape of the ring could tell. "Come hither, O Maev," Ailill softly cried; And Queen Maev came up close to her husband's side "Dost thou know of that ring?" in the purse she spied The ring, and she knew it well. Then Ailill the ring from the purse withdrew, And away from the bank the fair gem he threw; And the ring, flashing bright, through the air far flew, To be lost in the flood's swift swell. And Fraech saw the gem as it brightly flashed, And a salmon rose high, at the light it dashed, And, as back in the stream with the ring he splashed, At the fish went Fraech with a spring: By its jole was the salmon secured, and thrown To a nook in the bank, that by few was known; And unnoticed he threw it, to none was it shown As it fell to the earth, with the ring. And now Fraech from the stream would be going: But, "Come not," said the king, "to us yet: Bring a branch from yon rowan-tree, showing Its fair berries, with water-drops wet." Then Fraech, swimming away through the water, Brake a branch from the dread rowan-tree, And a sigh came from Ailill's fair daughter; "Ah! how lovely he seemeth," said she. Fair she found him, swimming Through that pool so black Brightly gleamed the berries, Bound athwart his back. White and smooth his body, Bright his glorious hair; Eyes of perfect greyness, Face of men most fair: Soft his skin, no blemish, Fault, nor spot it flawed; Small his chin, and steady, Brave his brow, and broad. Straight he seemed, and stainless; Twixt his throat and chin Straying scarlet berries Touched with red his skin. Oft, that sight recalling, Findabar would cry: "Ne'er was half such beauty, Naught its third came nigh!" To the bank he swam, and to Ailill was thrown, with its berries, the tree's torn limb: "Ah! how heavy and fair have those clusters grown; bring us more," and he turned to swim; The mid-current was reached, but the dragon was roused that was guard to that rowan-tree; And it rose from the river, on Fraech it rushed: "Throw a sword from the bank!" cried he. And no man on the bank gave the sword: they were kept by their fear of the queen and the king; But her clothes from her Finnabar stripped, and she leapt in the river his sword to bring. And the king from above hurled his five-barbed spear; the full length of a shot it sped: At his daughter it flew, and its edge shore through two tresses that crowned her head: And Fraech in his hand caught the spear as it fell, and backward its point he turned. And again to the land was the spear launched well: 'twas a feat from the champions learned. Though the beast bit his side as that spear was cast, yet fiercely the dart was flung, Through the purple robe of the king it passed, through the tunic that next him clung! Then up sprang the youths of the court, their lord in danger they well might deem, But the strong hand of Fraech had closed firm on the sword, and Finnabar rose from the stream. Now with sword in his hand, at the monster's head hewed Fraech, on its side it sank, And he came from the river with blade stained red, and the monster he dragged to the bank. Twas then Bree's Dub-lind in the Connaught land the Dark Water of Fraech was named, From that fight was it called, but the queen and the king went back to their dun, ashamed! "It is noble, this deed we have done!" said Maev: "'Tis pitiful," Ailill cried: "For the hurt of the man I repent, but to her, our daughter, shall woe betide! On the morrow her lips shall be pale, and none shall be found to aver that her guilt, When the sword for his succour to Fraech she gave, was the cause why her life was spilt! Now see that a bath of fresh bacon broth be prepared that shall heal this prince, And bid them with adze and with axe the flesh of a heifer full small to mince: Let the meat be all thrown in the bath, and there for healing let Fraech be laid!" And all that he ordered was done with care; the queen his command obeyed. Then arose from Fraech's trumpets complaining, As his men travelled back to the dun; Their soft notes lamentation sustaining, And a many their deaths from them won; And he well knew its meaning; And, "Lift me, my folk," He cried, "surely that keening From Boand's women broke: My mother, the Fairy, is nigh." Then they raised him, and bore him Where wild rose the sound; To his kin they restored him; His women pressed round: And he passed from their sight out of Croghan; For that night from earth was he freed, And he dwelt with his kin, the Sid-Dwellers In the caverns of Croghan's deep Sid.[FN#11] [FN#11] Pronounced Sheed; Sid is the fairy mound. All at nine, next morrow, Gazed, for back he came, Round their darling pressing Many a fairy dame: Brave he seemed, for healing All his wounds had got; None could find a blemish, None a sear or spot. Fifty fairies round him, Like in age and grace; Like each form and bearing; Like each lovely face. All in fairy garments, All alike were dressed; None was found unequal; None surpassed the rest. And the men who stood round, as they neared them, Were struck with a marvellous awe; They were moved at the sight, and they feared them, And hardly their breath they could draw. At the Liss all the fairies departed, But on Fraech, as they vanished, they cried: And the sound floated in of their wailing, And it thrilled through the men, and they sighed. Then first that mournful measure, "The Ban-Shee[FN#12] Wail," was heard; All hearts with grief and pleasure That air, when harped, hath stirred. [FN#12] Spelt "Ban Side," the fairy women. To the dun came Fraech, and the hosts arose, and welcome by all was shown: For it seemed as if then was his birth among men, from a world to the earth unknown! Up rose for him Maev and King Ailill, their fault they confessed, and for grace they prayed, And a penance they did, and for all that assault they were pardoned, and peace was made. And now free from all dread, they the banquet spread, the banqueting straight began: But a thought came to Fraech, and from out of his folk he called to his side a man. "Now hie thee," he said, "to the river bank, a salmon thou there shalt find; For nigh to the spot where in stream I sank, it was hurled, and 'twas left behind; To Finnabar take it, and bid her from me that the salmon with skill she broil: In the midst of the fish is the ring: and none but herself at the task must toil; And to-night, as I think, for her ring they call ": then he turned to the feast again, And the wine was drunk, and the revellers sunk, for the fumes of it seized their brain, And music and much of delights they had; but the king had his plans laid deep, "Bring ye all of my jewels," he cried-on the board they were poured in a dazzling heap. "They are wonderful, wonderful!" cried they all: "Call Finnabar!" said the king; And his daughter obeyed, and her fifty maids stood round in a lovely ring. My daughter," said Ailill, "a ring last year I gave thee, is't here with thee yet? Bring it hither to show to the chiefs, and anon in thy hand shall the gem be set." "That jewel is lost," said the maid, "nor aught of the fate of the ring I know!" Then find it," said Ailill, "the ring must be brought, or thy soul from thy limbs must go!" "Now, nay!" said they all, "it were cruel That such fate for such fault should be found: Thou hast many a fair-flashing jewel In these heaps that lie scattered around!" And said Fraech: "Of my jewels here glowing Take thy fill, if the maid be but freed; 'Tis to her that my life I am owing, For she brought me the sword in my need." "There is none of thy gems that can aid her," Said Ailill, "nor aught thou canst give; There is one thing alone that shall save her; If the ring be restored, she shall live! Said Finnabar; "Thy treasure To yield no power is mine: Do thou thy cruel pleasure, For strength, I know, is thine." "By the god whom our Connaught land haileth, I swear," answered Ailill the king, "That the life on thy lips glowing faileth, If thou place in my hand not the ring!" And that hard," he laughed softly, "the winning Of that jewel shall be, know I well; They who died since the world had beginning Shall come back to the spot where they fell Ere that ring she can find, and can bear it To my hand from the spot where 'twas tossed, And as knowing this well, have I dared her To restore what for aye hath been lost!" "No ring for treasure thus despised," She said, "exchanged should be; Yet since the king its worth hath prized, I'll find the gem for thee!" Not thus shalt thou fly," said the king, "to thy maid let the quest of the ring be bid!" And his daughter obeyed, and to one whom she sent she told where the ring was hid: "But," Finnabar cried, "by my country's god I swear that from out this hour, Will I leave this land, and my father's hand shall no more on my life have power, And no feasting shall tempt me to stay, no draughts of wine my resolve shall shake!" "No reproach would I bring, if as spouse," said the king, "thou a groom from my stalls would'st take! But that ring must be found ere thou goest! "Then back came her maid, and a dish she bore: And there lay a salmon well broiled, as sauce with honey 'twas garnished o'er: By the daughter of Ailill herself with skill had the honey-sweet sauce been made. And high on the breast of the fish, the ring of gold that they sought was laid. King Ailill and Maev at the ring gazed hard; Fraech looked, in his purse he felt: Now it seemeth," he said, "'twas to prove my host that I left on the bank my belt, And Ailill now I challenge All truth, as king to tell; What deed his cunning fashioned, And what that ring befell." "There is naught to be hidden," said Ailill; "It was mine, in thy purse though it lay And my daughter I knew as its giver: So to river I hurled it away. Now Fraech in turn I challenge By life and honour's claim: Say how from yon dark water That ring to draw ye came." "There is naught to be hidden," he answered, "The first day that I came, on the earth, Near the court round thy house, was that jewel; And I saw all its beauty and worth: In my purse then I hid it; thy daughter, Who had lost it, with care for it sought; And the day that I went to that water Was the news of her search to me brought: And I asked what reward she would give me, If the gem in her hand should be placed; And she answered that I, if I found it, For a year by her love should be graced. But not then could the ring be delivered: For afar in my chamber it lay: Till she gave me the sword in the river, We met not again on that day. 'Twas then I saw thee open My purse, and take the ring: I watched, and towards the water That gem I saw thee fling: I saw the salmon leaping, The ring it caught, and sank: I came behind, and seized it; And brought the fish to bank. Then I wrapped it up close in my mantle; And 'twas hid from inquisitive eyes; And in Finnabar's hand have I placed it: And now there on the platter it lies!" Now all who this or that would know To ask, and praise began: Said Finnabar, "I'll never throw My thoughts on other man!" Now hear her word," her parents cried, "And plight to her thy troth, And when for Cualgne's[FN#13] kine we ride Do thou redeem thine oath. [FN#13] Pronounced Kell-ny. And when with kine from out the east Ye reach our western land; That night shall be thy marriage feast; And thine our daughter's hand." "Now that oath will I take," answered back to them Fraech, "and the task ye have asked will do!" So he tarried that night till the morning's light; and they feasted the whole night through; And then homewards bound, with his comrades round, rode Fraech when the night was spent, And to Ailill and Maev an adieu he gave, and away to their land they went. TAIN BO FRAICH Part I LITERAL TRANSLATION FRAECH, son of Idath of the men of Connaught, a son he to Befind from the Side: a sister she to Boand. He is the hero who is the most beautiful that was of the men of Eriu and of Alba, but he was not long-lived. His mother gave him twelve cows out of the Sid (the fairy mound), they are white-eared. He had a good housekeeping till the end of eight years without the taking of a wife. Fifty sons of kings, this was the number of his household, co-aged, co-similar to him all between form and instruction. Findabair, daughter of Ailill and Medb, loves him for the great stories about him. It is declared to him at his house. Eriu and Alba were full of his renown and the stories about him. To Fraech[FN#14] was Idath[FN#15] father, A Connaught man was he: And well we know his mother Who dwells among the Shee;[FN#16] Befind they call her, sister To Boand,[FN#17] the Fairy Queen; And Alba ne'er, nor Erin, Such grace as Fraech's hath seen. Yet wondrous though that hero's grace, His fairy lineage high, For years but few his lovely face Was seen by human eye. [FN#14] Pronounced Fraych. [FN#15] Pronounced Eeda. [FN#16] The Fairies. [FN#17] Pronounced with the sound of "owned." Fraech had twelve of white-eared fairy-cattle, 'Twas his mother those cattle who gave: For eight years in his home he dwelt wifeless, And the state of his household was brave; Fifty princes, whose age, and whose rearing, And whose forms were as his, with him played; And his glory filled Alba and Erin Till it came to the ears of a maid: For Maev and Ailill's[FN#18] lovely child, Fair Findabar, 'twas said, By tales of Fraech to love beguiled, With Fraech in love would wed. [FN#18] Pronounced Al-ill. After this going to a dialogue with the maiden occurred to him; he discussed that matter with his people. "Let there be a message then sent to thy mother's sister, so that a portion of wondrous robing and of gifts from the Side (fairy folk) be given thee from her." He goes accordingly to the sister, that is to Boand, till he was in Mag Breg, and he carried away fifty dark-blue cloaks, and each of them was like the back of a black chafer,[FN#19] and four black-grey, rings on each cloak, and a brooch of red gold on each cloak, and pale white tunics with loop-animals of gold around them. And fifty silver shields with edges, and a candle of a king's-house in the hand of them (the men), and fifty studs of findruine[FN#20] on each of them (the lances), fifty knobs of thoroughly burned gold on each of them; points (i.e. butt-ends) of carbuncle under them beneath, and their point of precious stones. They used to light the night as if they were the sun's rays. [FN#19] The Book of Leinster gives "fifty blue cloaks, each like findruine of art." [FN#20] Pronounced "find-roony," the unknown "white-bronze" metal. And there were fifty gold-hilted swords with them, and a soft-grey mare under the seat of each man, and bits of gold to them; a plate of silver with a little bell of gold around the neck of each horse. Fifty caparisons[FN#21] of purple with threads of silver out of them, with buckles of gold and silver and with head-animals (i.e. spiral ornaments). Fifty whips of findruine, with a golden hook on the end of each of them. And seven chase-hounds in chains of silver, and an apple of gold between each of them. Greaves of bronze about them, by no means was there any colour which was not on the hounds. [FN#21] The word for caparisons is "acrann," the usual word for a shoe. It is suggested that here it may be a caparison of leather: "shoes" seem out of place here. See Irische Texts, iii. Seven trumpeters with them with golden and silver trumpets with many coloured garments, with golden fairy-yellow heads of hair, with shining tunics. There were three jesters before them with silver diadems under gilding. Shields with engraved emblems (or marks of distinction) with each of them; with crested staves, with ribs of bronze (copper-bronze) along their sides. Three harp-players with a king's appearance about each of them opposite to these.[FN#22] They depart for Cruachan with that appearance on them. [FN#22] The word for caparisons is "acrann," the usual word for a shoe. It is suggested that here it may be a caparison of leather: "shoes" seem out of place here. See Irische Texts, iii. 2. p. 531. The watchman sees them from the dun when they had come into the plain of Cruachan. "A multitude I see," he says, "(come) towards the dun in their numbers. Since Ailill and Maev assumed sovereignty there came not to them before, and there shall not come to them, a multitude, which is more beautiful, or which is more splendid. It is the same with me that it were in a vat of wine my head should be, with the breeze that goes over them. "The manipulation and play that the young hero who is in it makes--I have not before seen its likeness. He shoots his pole a shot's discharge from him; before it reaches to earth the seven chase-hounds with their seven silver chains catch it." At this the hosts come from the dun of Cruachan to view them. The people in the dun smother one another, so that sixteen men die while viewing them. They alight in front of the dun. They tent their steeds, and they loose the chase-hounds. They (the hounds) chase the seven deer to Rath-Cruachan, and seven foxes, and seven hares, and seven wild boars, until the youths kill them in the lawn of the dun. After that the chase-hounds dart a leap into Brei; they catch seven otters. They brought them to the elevation in front of the chief rath. They (Fraech and his suite) sit down there. A message comes from the king for a parley with them. It is asked whence they came, they name themselves according to their true names, "Fraech, son of Idath this," say they. The steward tells it to the king and queen. "Welcome to them," say Ailill and Maev; "It is a noble youth who is there," says Ailill, "let him come into the Liss (outer court)." The fourth of the house is allotted to them. This was the array of the house, a seven fold order in it; seven apartments from fire to side-wall in the house all round. A rail (or front) of bronze to each apartment; a partitioning of red yew under variegated planing all. Three plates of bronze in the skirting of each apartment. Seven plates of brass from the ceiling (?) to the roof-tree in the house. Of pine the house was made; it is a covering of shingle it had externally. There were sixteen windows in the house, and a frame of brass, to each of them; a tie of brass across the roof-light. Four beams of brass on the apartment of Ailill and Medb, adorned all with bronze, and it in the exact centre of the house. Two rails of silver around it under gilding. In the front a wand of silver that reached the middle rafters of the house. The house was encircled all round from the door to the other.[FN#23] [FN#23] It should be noted that it is not certain whether the word "imdai," translated apartments, really means "apartments" or "benches." The weight of opinion seems at present to take it as above. They hang up their arms in that house, and they sit, and welcome is made to them. "Welcome to you," say Ailill and Medb. "It is that we have come for," says Fraech. "It shall not be a journey for boasting[FN#24] this," says Medb, and Ailill and Medb arrange the chess-board after that. Fraech then takes to the playing of chess with a man of their (?) people. [FN#24] This is the rendering in the Yellow Book of Lecan, considered by Meyer to be the true reading. The Book of Leinster text gives "aig-baig," a word of doubtful meaning. The Eg. MS. has also a doubtful word. It was a beauty of a chess-board. A board of findruine in it with four ears[FN#25] and edges of gold. A candle of precious stones at illuminating for them. Gold and silver the figures that were upon the table. "Prepare ye food for the warriors," said Ailill. "Not it is my desire," said Medb, but to go to the chess yonder against Fraech." "Get to it, I am pleased," said Ailill, and they play the chess then, and Fraech. [FN#25] The "ears" were apparently handles shaped like ears. The same word is used for the rings in the cloaks, line 33 above. His people were meanwhile at cooking the wild animals. "Let thy harpers play for us," says Ailill to Fraech. "Let them play indeed!" says Fraech. A harp-bag[FN#26] of the skins of otters about them with their adornment of ruby (or coral), beneath their adornment of gold and silver. [FN#26] Meyer translates this: "the concave part of the harp." It is from the music which Uaithne, the Dagda's harp, played that the three are named. The time the woman was at the bearing of children it had a cry of sorrow with the soreness of the pangs at first: it was smile and joy it played in the middle for the pleasure of bringing forth the two sons: it was a sleep of soothingness played the last son, on account of the heaviness of the birth, so that it is from him that the third of the music has been named. Boand awoke afterwards out of the sleep. "I accept," she says, "thy three sons O Uaithne of full ardour, since there is Suan-traide and Gen-traide, and Gol-traide on cows and women who shall fall by Medb and Ailill, men who shall perish by the hearing of art from them." They cease from playing after that in the palace: "It is stately it has come," says Fergus. "Divide ye to us," says Fraech to his people, "the food, bring ye it into the house." Lothur went on the floor of the house: he divides to them the food. On his haunches he used to divide each joint with his sword, and he used not to touch the food part: since he commenced dividing, he never hacked the meat beneath his hand. They were three days and three nights at the playing of the chess on account of the abundance of the precious stones in the household of Fraech. After that Fraech addressed Medb. "It is well I have played against thee (i.e. have beaten thee)," he says, "I take not away thy stake from the chess-board that there be not a decay of hospitality for thee in it." "Since I have been in this dun this is the day which I deem longest in it ever," says Medb. "This is reasonable," says Fraech, "they are three days and three nights in it." At this Medb starts up. It was a shame with her that the warriors were without food. She goes to Ailill: she tells it to him. "A great deed we have done," said she, "the stranger men who have come to us to be without food." "Dearer to thee is playing of the chess," says Ailill. "It hinders not the distribution to his suite throughout the house. They have been three days and three nights in it but that we perceived not the night with the white light of the precious stones in the house." "Tell them," says Ailill, "to cease from the lamenting until distribution is made to them." Distribution is then made to them, and things were pleasing to them, and they stayed three days and three nights in it after that over the feasting. It is after that Fraech was called into the house of conversation, and it is asked of him what brought him. "A visit with you," said he, "is pleasing to me." "Your company is indeed not displeasing with the household," said Ailill, "your addition is better than your diminution." "We shall stay here then," says Fraech, "another week." They stay after that till the end of a fortnight in the dun, and they have a hunt every single day towards the dun. The men of Connaught used to come to view them. It was a trouble with Fraech not to have a conversation with the daughter: for that was the profit that had brought him. A certain day he starts up at the end of night for washing to the stream. It is the time she had gone and her maid for washing. He takes her hand. "Stay for my conversing," he says; "it is thou I have come for." "I am delighted truly," says the daughter; "if I were to come, I could do nothing for thee." "Query, wouldst thou elope with me?" he says. "I will not elope," says she, "for I am the daughter of a king and a queen. There is nothing of thy poverty that you should not get me (i.e. thy poverty is not so great that thou art not able to get me) from my family; and it shall be my choice accordingly to go to thee, it is thou whom I have loved. And take thou with thee this ring," says the daughter, "and it shall be between us for a token. My mother gave it to me to put by, and I shall say that I put it astray." Each of them accordingly goes apart after that. "I fear," says Ailill, "the eloping of yon daughter with Fraech, though she would be given to him on solemn pledge that he would come towards us with his cattle for aid at the Spoil." Fraech goes to them to the house of conversation. "Is it a secret (cocur, translated "a whisper" by Crowe) ye have?" says Fraech. "Thou wouldest fit in it," says Ailill. "Will ye give me your daughter?" says Fraech. "The hosts will clearly see she shall be given," says Ailill, "if thou wouldest give a dowry as shall be named." "Thou shalt have it," says Fraech. "Sixty black-grey steeds to me, with their bits of gold to them, and twelve milch cows, so that there be milked liquor of milk from each of them, and an ear-red, white calf with each of them; and thou to come with me with all thy force and with thy musicians for bringing of the cows from Cualgne; and my daughter to be given thee provided thou dost come" (or as soon as[FN#27] thou shalt come). "I swear by my shield, and by my sword, and by my accoutrement, I would not give that in dowry even of Medb." He went from them out of the house then. Ailill and Medb hold a conversation. "It shall drive at us several of the kings of Erin around us if he should carry off the daughter. What is good is, let us dash after him, and let us slay him forthwith, before he may inflict destruction upon us." "It is a pity this," says Medb, "and it is a decay of hospitality for us." "It shall not be a decay of hospitality for us, it shall not be a decay of hospitality for us, the way I shall prepare it." [FN#27] This is Thurneysen's rendering ("Sagen aus dem alten Irland," p. 121). Ailill and Medb go into the palace. "Let us go away," says Ailill, that we may see the chase-hounds at hunting till the middle of the day, and until they are tired." They all go off afterwards to the river to bathe themselves. "It is declared to me," says Ailill, "that thou art good in water. Come into this flood, that we may see thy swimming." "What is the quality of this flood?" he says. "We know not anything dangerous in it," says Ailill, "and bathing in it is frequent." He strips his clothes off him then, and he goes into it, and he leaves his girdle above. Ailill then opens his purse behind him, and the ring was in it. Ailill recognises it then. "Come here, O Medb," says Ailill. Medb goes then. "Dost thou recognise that?" says Ailill. "I do recognise," she says. Ailill flings it into the river down. Fraech perceived that matter. He sees something, the salmon leaped to meet it, and caught it in his mouth. He (Fraech) gives a bound to it, and he catches its jole, and he goes to land, and he brings it to a lonely[FN#28] spot on the brink of the river. He proceeds to come out of the water then. "Do not come," says Ailill, "until thou shalt bring me a branch of the rowan-tree yonder, which is on the brink of the river: beautiful I deem its berries." He then goes away, and breaks a branch off the trees and brings it on his back over the water. The remark of Find-abair was: "Is it not beautiful he looks?" Exceedingly beautiful she thought it to see Fraech over a black pool: the body of great whiteness, and the hair of great loveliness, the face of great beauty, the eye of great greyness; and he a soft youth without fault, without blemish, with a below-narrow, above-broad face; and he straight, blemishless; the branch with the red berries between the throat and the white face. It is what Find-abair used to say, that by no means had she seen anything that could come up to him half or third for beauty. [FN#28]"Hidden spot" (Windisch After that he throws the branches to them out of the water. "The berries are stately and beautiful, bring us an addition of them." He goes off again until he was in the middle of the water. The serpent catches him out of the water. "Let a sword come to me from you," he says; and there was not on the land a man who would dare to give it to him through fear of Ailill and Medb. After that Find-abair strips off her clothes, and gives a leap into the water with the sword. Her father lets fly a five-pronged spear at her from above, a shot's throw, so that it passes through her two tresses, and that Fraech caught the spear in his hand. He shoots the spear into the land up, and the monster in his side. He lets it fly with a charge of the methods of playing of championship, so that it goes through the purple robe and through the tunic (? shirt) that was about Ailill. At this the youths who were about Ailill rise to him. Find-abair goes out of the water and leaves the sword in Fraech's hand, and he cuts the head off the monster, so that it was on its side, and he brought the monster with him to land. It is from it is Dub-lind Fraech in Brei, in the lands of the men of Connaught. Ailill and Medb go to their dun afterwards. "A great deed is what we have done," says Medb. "We repent," says Ailill, "of what we have done to the man; the daughter however," he says, "her lips shall perish [common metaphor for death] to-morrow at once, and it shall not be the guilt of bringing of the sword that shall be for her. Let a bath be made by you for this man, namely, broth of fresh bacon and the flesh of a heifer to be minced in it under adze and axe, and he to be brought into the bath." All that thing was done as he said. His trumpeters then before him to the dun. They play then until thirty of the special friends of Ailill die at the long-drawn (or plaintive) music. He goes then into the dun, and he goes into the bath. The female company rise around him at the vat for rubbing, and for washing his head. He was brought out of it then, and a bed was made. They heard something, the lament-cry on Cruachan. There were seen the three times fifty women with crimson tunics, with green head-dresses, with brooches of silver on their wrists. A messenger is sent to them to learn what they had bewailed. "Fraech, son of Idath," says the woman, "boy-pet of the king of the Side of Erin." At this Fraech heard their lament-cry. Thirty men whom King Ailill loved dearly By that music were smitten to die; And his men carried Fraech, and they laid him In that bath, for his healing to lie. Around the vat stood ladies, They bathed his limbs and head; From out the bath they raised him, And soft they made his bed. Then they heard a strange music; The wild Croghan "keen"; And of women thrice fifty On Croghan were seen. They had tunics of purple, With green were they crowned; On their wrists glistened silver, Where brooches were bound. And there neared them a herald To learn why they wailed; "'Tis for Fraech," was their answer, "By sickness assailed; 'Tis for Fraech, son of Idath,[FN#29] Boy-darling is he Of our lord, who in Erin Is king of the Shee!"[FN#30] And Fraech heard the wail in their cry; [FN#29] Pronounced Eeda. [FN#30] The Fairies. "Lift me out of it," he says to his people; "this is the cry of my mother and of the women of Boand." He is lifted out at this, and he is brought to them. The women come around him, and bring him from them to the Sid of Cruachan (i.e. the deep caverns, used for burial at Cruachan). They saw something, at the ninth hour on the morrow he comes, and fifty women around him, and he quite whole, without stain and without blemish; of equal age (the women), of equal form, of equal beauty, of equal fairness, of equal symmetry, of equal stature, with the dress of women of the fairies about them so that there was no means of knowing of one beyond the other of them. Little but men were suffocated around them. They separate in front of the Liss.[FN#31] They give forth their lament on going from him, so that they troubled[FN#32] the men who were in the Liss excessively. It is from it is the Lament-cry of the Women of the Fairies with the musicians of Erin. [FN#31] The Liss is the outer court of the palace. [FN#32] "Oo corastar tar cend," "so that they upset, or put beside themselves." Meyer takes literally, "so that they fell on their backs" (?) He then goes into the dun. All the hosts rise before him, and bid welcome to him, as if it were from another world he were coming. Ailill and Medb arise, and do penance to him for the attack they had made at him, and they make peace. Feasting commenced with them then at once. Fraech calls a servant of his suite: "Go off," he says, "to the spot at which I went into the water. A salmon I left there--bring it to Find-abair, and let herself take charge over it; and let the salmon be well broiled by her, and the ring is in the centre of the salmon. I expect it will be asked of her to-night." Inebriety seizes them, and music and amusement delight them. Ailill then said: "Bring ye all my gems to me." They were brought to him then, so that the were before him. "Wonderful, wonderful," says every one. "Call ye Find-abair to me," he says. Find-abair goes to him, and fifty maidens around her. "O daughter," says Ailill, "the ring I gave to thee last year, does it remain with thee? Bring it to me that the warriors may see it. Thou shalt have it afterwards." "I do not know," she says, "what has been done about it." "Ascertain then," says Ailill, "it must be sought, or thy soul must depart from thy body." "It is by no means worth," say the warriors, "there is much of value there, without that." "There is naught of my jewels that will not go for the maid," says Fraech, "because she brought me the sword for pledge of my soul." "There is not with thee anything of gems that should aid her unless she returns the ring from her," says Ailill. "I have by no means the power to give it," says the daughter, "what thou mayest like do it in regard to me." "I swear to the god to whom my people swear, thy lips shall be pale (literally, shall perish) unless thou returnest it from thee," says Ailill. "It is why it is asked of thee, because it is impossible; for I know that until the people who have died from the beginning of the world. Come, it comes not out of the spot in which it was flung." "It shall not come for a treasure which is not appreciated,"[FN#33] says the daughter, "the ring that is asked for here, I go that I may bring it to thee, since it is keenly it is asked." "Thou shalt not go," says Ailill; "but let one go from thee to bring it." [FN#33] This is Windisch's rendering (Irische Texte, I. p. 677: s.v. main). The daughter sends her maid to bring it. "I swear to the god to whom my territories swear, if it shall be found, I shall by no means be under thy power any longer though I should be at great drinking continually." (?)[FN#34] "I shall by no means prevent you from doing that, namely even if it were to the groom thou shouldst go if the ring is found," says Ailill. The maid then brought the dish into the palace, and the broiled salmon on it, and it dressed under honey which was well made by the daughter; and the ring of gold was on the salmon from above. [FN#34] "dian dumroib for sar-ol mogreis." Meyer gives "if there is any one to protect me." The above is Crowe's rendering. Ailill and Medb view it. After that Fraech looks at it, and looks at his purse. "It seems to me it was for proof that I left my girdle," says Fraech. "On the truth of the sovereignty," says Fraech, "say what thou did'st about the ring." "This shall not be concealed from thee," says Ailill; "mine is the ring which was in thy purse, and I knew it is Find-abair gave it to thee. It is therefore I flung it into the Dark Pool. On the truth of thine honour and of thy soul, O Fraech, declare thou what way the bringing of it out happened." "It shall not be concealed on thee," says Fraech. "The first day I found the ring in front of the outer court, and I knew it was a lovely gem. It is for that reason I put it up industriously in my purse. I heard, the day I went to the water, the maiden who had lost it a-looking for it. I said to her: 'What reward shall I have at thy hands for the finding of it?' She said to me that she would give a year's love to me. "It happened I did not leave it about me; I had left it in the house behind me. We met not until we met at the giving of the sword into my hand in the river. After that I saw the time thou open'st the purse and flungest the ring into the water: I saw the salmon which leaped for it, so that it took it into its mouth. I then caught the salmon, took it up in the cloak, put it into the hand of the daughter. It is that salmon accordingly which is on the dish." The criticising and the wondering at these stories begin in the house hold. "I shall not throw my mind on another youth in Erin after thee," says Find-abair. "Bind thyself for that," say Ailill and Medb, "and come thou to us with thy cows to the Spoil of the Cows from Cualnge; and when thou shalt come with thy cows from the East back, ye shall wed here that night at once and Find-abair." "I shall do that thing," says Fraech. They are in it then until the morning. Fraech sets about him self with his suite. He then bids farewell to Ailill and Medb. They depart to their own territories then. TAIN BO FRAICH PART II Unto Fraech it hath chanced, as he roved from his lands That his cattle were stolen by wandering bands: And there met him his mother, and cried, "On thy way Thou hast tarried, and hard for thy slackness shalt pay! In the Alps of the south, the wild mountains amid, Have thy children, thy wife, and thy cattle been hid: And a three of thy kine have the Picts carried forth, And in Alba they pasture, but far to the north!" "Now, alack!" answered Fraech, "what is best to be done?" "Rest at home," said his mother, "nor seek them my son; For to thee neither cattle, nor children, nor wife Can avail, if in seeking thou losest thy life; And though cattle be lacking, the task shall be mine To replace what is lost, and to grant thee the kine." "Nay, not so," answered Fraech, "by my soul I am sworn, That when cattle from Cualgne by force shall be torn To King Ailill and Maev on my faith as their guest I must ride with those cattle for war to the west!" "Now but vainly," she said, "is this toil on thee cast; Thou shalt lose what thou seekest", and from him she passed. Three times nine of his men for that foray were chosen, and marched by his side, And a hawk flew before, and for hunting, was a hound with a hunting-leash tied; To Ben Barchi they went, for the border of Ulster their faces were set: And there, of its marches the warder, the conquering Conall they met. Fraech hailed him, the conquering Conall, and told him the tale of his spoil; "'Tis ill luck that awaits thee," said Conall, "thy quest shall be followed with toil! "'Twill be long ere the goal thou art reaching, though thy heart in the seeking may be." "Conall Cernach,[FN#35] hear thou my beseeching said Fraech, "let thine aid be to me; I had hoped for this meeting with Conall, that his aid in the quest might be lent." "I will go with thee truly," said Conall: with Fraech and his comrades he went. [FN#35] Pronounced Cayr-nach. Three times nine, Fraech and Conall before them, Over ocean from Ireland have passed; Through the Land of North Saxony bore them, And the South Sea they sighted at last. And again on the sea billows speeding, They went south, over Ichtian foam; And marched on: southward still was their leading: To the land where the Long-Beards have home: But when Lombardy's bounds they were nearing They made stand; for above and around Were the high peaks of Alpa appearing, And the goal that they sought had been found. On the Alps was a woman seen straying, and herding the flocks of the sheep, "Let our warriors behind be delaying," said Conall, "and south let us keep: 'Twere well we should speak with yon woman, perchance she hath wisdom to teach!" And with Conall went Fraech at that counsel; they neared her, and held with her speech. "Whence have come you?" she said: "Out of Ireland are we," Answered Conall: "Ill luck shall for Irishmen be In this country," she cried, "yet thy help I would win; From thy land was my mother; thou art to me kin!" "Of this land we know naught, nor where next we should turn," Answered Conall.; "its nature from thee we would learn." "'Tis a grim land and hateful," the woman replied, "And the warriors are restless who forth from it ride; For full often of captives, of women and herd Of fair kine by them taken is brought to me word." "Canst thou say what latest spoil," said Fraech, "they won?" "Ay," she said, "they harried Fraech, of Idath[FN#36] son He in Erin dwelleth, near the western sea; Kine from him they carried, wife, and children three Here his wife abideth, there where dwells the king, Turn, and see his cattle, yonder pasturing." [FN#36] Pronounced Eeda. Out spoke Conall Cernach;[FN#37] "Aid us thou" he cried: "Strength I lack," she answered, "I can only guide." "Here is Fraech," said Conall, "yon his stolen cows": "Fraech!" she asked him, "tell me, canst thou trust thy spouse?" "Why," said Fraech, "though trusty, doubtless, when she went; Now, since here she bideth, truth may well be spent." "See ye now yon woman?" said she, "with your herd, Tell to her your errand, let her hear your word; Trust in her, as Irish-sprung ye well may place; More if ye would ask me, Ulster reared her race." [FN#37] Pronounced Cayr-nach. To that woman they went, nor their names from her hid; And they greeted her; welcome in kindness she bid: "What hath moved you," she said, "from your country to go?" "On this journey," said Conall, "our guide hath been woe: All the cattle that feed in these pastures are ours, And from us went the lady that's kept in yon towers." "'Tis ill-luck," said the woman, "that waits on your way, All the men of this hold doth that lady obey; Ye shall find, amid dangers, your danger most great In the serpent who guardeth the Liss at the gate." "For that lady," said Fraech, "she is none of my She is fickle, no trust from me yet did she win: But on thee we rely, thou art trusty, we know; Never yet to an Ulsterman Ulster was foe." "Is it men out of Ulster," she said, "I have met?" "And is Conall," said Fraech, "thus unknown to you yet? Of all heroes from Ulster the battle who faced Conall Cernach is foremost." His neck she embraced, And she cried, with her arms around Conall: "Of old Of the conquering Conall our prophets have told; And 'tis ruin and doom to this hold that you bring; For that Conall shall sack it, all prophecies sing." "Hear my rede," she told him: "When at fall of day Come the kine for milking, I abroad will stay; I the castle portal every eve should close: Ye shall find it opened, free for tread of foes: I will say the weakling calves awhile I keep; 'Tis for milk, I'll tell them: come then while they sleep; Come, their castle enter, all its wealth to spoil; Only rests that serpent, he our plans may foil: Him it rests to vanquish, he will try you most; Surely from that serpent swarms a serpent host!" "Trust us well," answered Conall, "that raid will we do! And the castle they sought, and the snake at them flew: For it darted on Conall, and twined round his waist; Yet the whole of that castle they plundered in haste, And the woman was freed, and her sons with her three And away from her prison she went with them free: And of all of the jewels amassed in that dun The most costly and beauteous the conquerors won. Then the serpent from Conall was loosed, from his belt It crept safely, no harm from that serpent he felt: And they travelled back north to the Pictish domains, And a three of their cattle they found on the plains; And, where Olla Mae Briuin[FN#38] his hold had of yore, By Dunolly their cattle they drove to the shore. [FN#38] Pronounced "Brewin." It chanced at Ard Uan Echach,[FN#39] where foam is hurled on high, That doom on Bicne falling, his death he came to die: 'Twas while the cows were driven that Bicne's life was lost: By trampling hooves of cattle crushed down to death, or tossed; To him was Loegaire[FN#40] father, and Conall Cernach chief And Inver-Bicne's title still marks his comrades' grief. [FN#39] Pronounced "Ard Oon Ay-ha," [FN#40] Pronounced "Leary." Across the Stream of Bicne the cows of Fraech have passed, And near they came to Benchor, and there their horns they cast: 'Tis thence the strand of Bangor for aye is named, 'tis said: The Strand of Horns men call it; those horns his cattle shed. To his home travelled Fraech, with his children, and And his cattle, and there with them lived out his life, Till the summons of Ailill and Maev he obeyed; And when Cualgne was harried, he rode on the Raid. TAIN BO FRAICH PART II LITERAL TRANSLATION It happened that his cows had been in the meanwhile stolen. His mother came to him. "Not active (or "lucky") of journey hast thou gone; it shall cause much of trouble to thee," she says. "Thy cows have been stolen, and thy three sons, and thy wife, so that they are in the mountain of Elpa. Three cows of them are in Alba of the North with the Cruthnechi (the Picts)." "Query, what shall I do?" he says to his mother. "Thou shalt do a non-going for seeking them; thou wouldest not give thy life for them," she says. "Thou shalt have cows at my hands besides them." "Not so this," he says: "I have pledged my hospitality and my soul to go to Ailill and to Medb with my cows to the Spoil of the Cows from Cualnge." "What thou seekest shall not be obtained," says his mother. At this she goes off from him then. He then sets out with three nines, and a wood-cuckoo (hawk), and a hound of tie with them, until he goes to the territory of the Ulstermen, so that he meets with Conall Cernach (Conall the Victorious) at Benna Bairchi (a mountain on the Ulster border). He tells his quest to him. "What awaits thee," says the latter, "shall not be lucky for thee. Much of trouble awaits thee," he says, "though in it the mind should be." "It will come to me," says Fraech to Connall, "that thou wouldest help me any time we should meet." (?) "I shall go truly," says Conall Cernach. They set of the three (i.e. the three nines) over sea, over Saxony of the North, over the Sea of Icht (the sea between England and France), to the north of the Long-bards (the dwellers of Lombardy), until they reached the mountains of Elpa. They saw a herd-girl at tending of the sheep before them. "Let us go south," says Conall, "O Fraech, that we may address the woman yonder, and let our youths stay here." They went then to a conversation. She said, "Whence are ye?" "Of the men of Erin," says Conall. "It shall not be lucky for the men of Erin truly, the coming to this country. From the men of Erin too is my mother. Aid thou me on account of relationship." "Tell us something about our movements. What is the quality of the land we have to come to?" "A grim hateful land with troublesome warriors, who go on every side for carrying off cows and women as captives," she says. "What is the latest thing they have carried off?" says Fraech. "The cows of Fraech, son of Idath, from the west of Erin, and his wife, and his three sons. Here is his wife here in the house of the king, here are his cows in the country in front of you." "Let thy aid come to us," says Conall. Little is my power, save guidance only." "This is Fraech," says Conall, and they are his cows that have been carried off." "Is the woman constant in your estimation?" she says. "Though constant in our estimation when she went, perchance she is not constant after coming." "The woman who frequents the cows, go ye to her; tell ye of your errand; of the men of Ireland her race; of the men of Ulster exactly." They come to her; they receive her, and they name themselves to her, and she bids welcome to them. "What hath led you forth?" she says. "Trouble hath led us forth," says Conall; "ours are the cows and the woman that is in the Liss." "It shall not be lucky for you truly," she says, "the going up to the multitude of the woman; more troublesome to you than everything," she says, "is the serpent which is at guarding of the Liss." "She is not my country-name(?)," says Fraech, "she is not constant in my estimation; thou art constant in my estimation; we know thou wilt not lead us astray, since it is from the men of Ulster thou art." "Whence are ye from the men of Ulster?" she says. "This is Conall Cernach here, the bravest hero with the men of Ulster," says Fraech. She flings two hands around the throat of Conall Cernach. "The destruction has come in this expedition," she says, "since he has come to us; for it is to him the destruction of this dun has been prophesied. I shall go out to my house,"[FN#41] she says, "I shall not be at the milking of the cows. I shall leave the Liss opened; it is I who close it every night.[FN#42] I shall say it is for drink the calves were sucking. Come thou into the dun, when they are sleeping; only trouble. some to you is the serpent which is at the dun; several tribes are let loose from it." [FN#41] "To my house" is in the Egerton MS. only. [FN#42] "Every night" is in the Egerton MS. only. "We will go truly," says Conall. They attack the Liss; the serpent darts leap into the girdle of Conall Cernach, and they plunder the dun at once. They save off then the woman and the three sons, and they carry away whatever was the best of the gems of the dun, and Conall lets the serpent out of his girdle, and neither of them did harm to the other. And they came to the territory of the people of the Picts, until they saw three cows of their cows in it. They drove off to the Fort of Ollach mac Briuin (now Dunolly near Oban) with them, until they were at Ard Uan Echach (high-foaming Echach). It is there the gillie of Conall met his death at the driving of the cows, that is Bicne son of Loegaire; it is from this is (the name of) Inver Bicne (the Bicne estuary) at Benchor. They brought their cows over it thither. It is there they flung their horns from them, so that it is thence is (the name of) Tracht Benchoir (the Strand of Horn casting, perhaps the modern Bangor?). Fraech goes away then to his territory after, and his wife, and his sons, and his cows with him, until he goes with Ailill and Medb for the Spoil of the Cows from Cualnge. THE RAID FOR DARTAID'S CATTLE INTRODUCTION This tale is given by Windisch (Irische Texte, II. pp. 185-205), from two versions; one, whose translation he gives in full, except for one doubtful passage, is from the manuscript in the British Museum, known as Egerton, 1782 (dated 1414); the other is from the Yellow Book of Lecan (fourteenth century), in the library of Trinity College, Dublin. The version in the Yellow Book is sometimes hard to read, which seems to be the reason why Windisch prefers to translate the younger authority, but though in some places the Egerton version is the fuller, the Yellow Book version (Y.B.L.) often adds passages, some of which Windisch has given in notes; some he has left untranslated. In the following prose version as much of Y.B.L. as adds anything to the Egerton text has been translated, with marks of interrogation where the attempted rendering is not certain: variants from the text adopted are placed below the prose version as footnotes. The insertions from Y.B.L. are indicated by brackets; but no note is taken of cases where the Egerton version is fuller than Y.B.L. The opening of the story (the first five lines in the verse rendering) is in the eleventh century Book of the Dun Cow: the fragment agrees closely with the two later texts, differing in fact from Y.B.L. in one word only. All three texts are given in the original by Windisch. The story is simple and straightforward, but is a good example of fairy vengeance, the description of the appearance of the troop recalls similar descriptions in the Tain bo Fraich, and in the Courtship of Ferb. The tale is further noticeable from its connection with the province of Munster: most of the heroic tales are connected with the other three provinces only. Orlam, the hero of the end of the tale, was one of Cuchulain's earliest victims in the Tain bo Cualgne. THE RAID FOR DARTAID'S CATTLE FROM THE EGERTON MS. 1782 (EARLY FIFTEENTH-CENTURY), AND THE YELLOW BOOK OF LECAN (FOURTEENTH-CENTURY) EOCHO BEC,[FN#43] the son of Corpre, reigning in the land of Clew,[FN#44] Dwelt in Coolny's[FN#45] fort; and fostered sons of princes not a few: Forty kine who grazed his pastures gave him milk to rear his wards; Royal blood his charges boasted, sprung from Munster's noblest lords. Maev and Ailill sought to meet him: heralds calling him they sent: "Seven days hence I come" said Eocho; and the heralds from him went. Now, as Eocho lay in slumber, in the night a vision came; By a youthful squire attended, rose to view a fairy dame: "Welcome be my greeting to you!" said the king: "Canst thou discern Who we are?" the fairy answered, "how didst thou our fashion learn?" "Surely," said the king, "aforetime near to me hath been thy place!" "Very near thee have we hovered, yet thou hast not seen my face." "Where do ye abide?" said Eocho. "Yonder dwell we, with the Shee:[FN#46] "In the Fairy Mound of Coolny!" "Wherefore come ye hereto me?" "We have come," she said, "a counsel as a gift to thee to bring!" "Speak! and tell me of the counsel ye have brought me," said the king. "Noble gifts," she said, "we offer that renown for thee shall gain When in foreign lands thou ridest; worship in thine own domain; For a troop shall circle round thee, riding close beside thy hand: Stately it shall be, with goodly horses from a foreign land!" "Tell me of that troop," said Eocho, "in what numbers should we ride? " Fifty horsemen is the number that befits thee," she replied: [FN#43] Pronounced Yeo-ho Bayc. [FN#44] Cliu, a district in Munster. [FN#45] Spelt Cuillne, in Y.B.L. it is Cuille. [FN#46] The Fairies, spelt Sidh. "Fifty horses, black in colour; gold and silver reins and bits; Fifty sets of gay equipment, such as fairies well befits; These at early dawn to-morrow shall my care for thee provide: Let thy foster-children with thee on the road thou makest ride! Rightly do we come to help thee, who so valiantly in fray Guardest for us soil and country!" And the fairy passed away. Eocho's folk at dawn have risen; fifty steeds they all behold: Black the horses seemed; the bridles, stiff with silver and with gold, Firmly to the gate were fastened; fifty silver breeches there Heaped together shone, encrusted all with gold the brooches were: There were fifty knightly vestments, bordered fair with golden thread: Fifty horses, white, and glowing on their ears with deepest red, Nigh them stood; of reddish purple were the sweeping tails and manes; Silver were the bits; their pasterns chained in front with brazen chains: And, of fair findruine[FN#47] fashioned, was for every horse a whip, Furnished with a golden handle, wherewithal the goad to grip. [FN#47] Pronounced "findroony." Then King Eocho rose, and ready made him; in that fair array Forth they rode, nor did they tarry till they came to Croghan[FN#48] Ay. Scarcely could the men of Connaught bear to see that sight, amazed At the dignity and splendour of the host on which they gazed; For that troop was great; in serried ranks the fifty riders rode, Splendid with the state recounted; pride on all their faces glowed. "Name the man who comes!" said Ailill; "Easy answer!" all replied, Eocho Bee, in Clew who ruleth, hither to thy court would ride": Court and royal house were opened; in with welcome came they all; Three long days and nights they lingered, feasting in King Ailill's hall. Then to Ailill, king of Connaught, Eocho spake: "From out my land {50} Wherefore hast thou called me hither?" "Gifts are needed from thy hand," Ailill said; "a heavy burden is that task upon me laid, To maintain the men of Ireland when for Cualgne's kine we raid." [FN#48] Pronounced Crow-han. Eocho spoke: "What gift requirest thou from me?" "For milking-kine," Ailill said, "I ask"; and Eocho, "Few of these indeed are mine! Forty sons of Munster's princes have I in my halls to rear; These, my foster-sons, beside me m my troop have journeyed here; Fifty herdsmen guard the cattle, forty cows my wards to feed, Seven times twenty graze beside them, to supply my people's need." "If, for every man who follows thee as liege, and owns a farm, Thou a cow wilt yield," said Ailill, "then from foes with power to harm I will guard thee in the battle!" "Keep then faithfully thy vows," Eocho said, "this day as tribute shall to Croghan come the cows." Thrice the sun hath set and risen while they feasting there abide, Maev and Ailill's bounty tasting, homeward then they quickly ride: But the sons of Glaschu met them, who from western Donnan came; Donnan, from the seas that bound it, Irross Donnan hath for name; Seven times twenty men attacked them, and to battle they were brought, At the isle of O'Canàda, fiercely either party fought; With his foster children round him, Eocho Bec in fight was killed, All the forty princes perished, with that news the land was filled; All through Ireland lamentation rose for every youthful chief; Four times twenty Munster princes, weeping for them, died of grief. Now a vision came to Ailill, as in sleep he lay awhile, or a youth and dame approached him, fairer none in Erin's Isle: "Who are ye?" said Ailill; "Conquest," said the fairy, "and Defeat "Though Defeat I shun," said Ailill, "Conquest joyfully I meet." "Conquest thou shalt have!" she answered: "Of the future I would ask, Canst thou read my fate?" said Ailill: "Light indeed for me the task," Said the dame: "the kine of Dartaid, Eocho's daughter, may be won: Forty cows she owns; to gain them send to her thy princely son, Orlam, whom that maiden loveth: let thy son to start prepare, Forty youths from Connaught with him, each of them a prince's heir: Choose thou warriors stout and stately; I will give them garments bright, Even those that decked the princes who so lately fell in fight: Bridles, brooches, all I give thee; ere the morning sun be high Thou shalt count that fairy treasure: to our country now we fly." Swiftly to the son of Tassa sped they thence, to Corp the Gray: On the northern bank of Naymon was his hold, and there he lay; And before the men of Munster, as their champion did he stand: He hath wrought-so runs the proverb-evil, longer than his hand. As to Corp appeared the vision: "Say," he cried, "what names ye boast!" "Ruin, one is called," they answered; "one, The Gathering of the Host!" An assembled host I welcome," answered them the gray Corp Lee; "Ruin I abhor": "And ruin," they replied, "is far from thee; Thou shalt bring on sons of nobles, and of kings a ruin great": "Fairy," said Corp Lee, the Gray one, "tell me of that future fate." "Easy is the task," she answered, "youths of every royal race That in Connaught's land hath dwelling, come to-morrow to this place; Munster's kine they hope to harry, for the Munster princes fell Yesterday with Connaught fighting; and the hour I plainly ten: At the ninth hour of the morning shall they come: the band is small: Have thou valiant men to meet them, and upon the raiders fall! Munster's honour hath been tarnished! clear it by a glorious deed! Thou shalt purge the shame if only in the foray thou succeed." "What should be my force?" he asked her: "Take of heroes seven score For that fight," she said, "and with them seven times twenty warriors more: Far from thee we now are flying; but shall meet thee with thy power When to-morrow's sun is shining; at the ninth, the fated hour." At the dawn, the time appointed, all those steeds and garments gay Were in Connaught, and they found them at the gate of Croghan Ay; All was there the fay had promised, all the gifts of which we told: All the splendour that had lately decked the princes they behold. Doubtful were the men of Connaught; some desired the risk to face; Some to go refused: said Ailill, "It should bring us to disgrace If we spurned such offered bounty": Orlam his reproaches felt; Sprang to horse; and towards the country rode, where Eocho's daughter dwelt: And where flows the Shannon river, near that water's southern shore, Found her home; for as they halted, moated Clew[FN#49] rose high before. [FN#49] Spelt Cliu. Dartaid met them ere they halted, joyful there the prince to see: All the kine are not assembled, of their count is lacking three!" "Tarry not for search," said Orlam, "yet provision must we take On our steeds, for hostile Munster rings us round. Wilt home forsake, Maiden? wilt thou ride beside us?" "I will go indeed," she said. Then, with all thy gathered cattle, come with us; with me to wed! So they marched, and in the centre of their troop the kine were set, And the maiden rode beside them: but Corp Lee, the Gray, they met; Seven times twenty heroes with him; and to battle they must go, And the Connaught nobles perished, fighting bravely with the foe: All the sons of Connaught's princes, all the warriors with them died: Orlam's self escaped the slaughter, he and eight who rode beside: Yet he drave the cows to Croghan; ay, and fifty heifers too! But, when first the foe made onset, they the maid in battle slew. Near a lake, did Eocho's[FN#50] daughter, Dartaid, in the battle fall, From that lake, and her who perished, hath been named that region all: Emly Darta is that country; Tain bo Dartae is the tale: And, as prelude, 'tis recited, till the Cualgne[FN#51] Raid they hail. [FN#50] Pronounced Yeo-ho. [FN#51] Pronounced Kell-ny. THE RAID FOR DARTAID'S CATTLE LITERAL TRANSLATION The Passages that occur only in the Yellow Book (Y.B.L.) are indicated by being placed in square brackets. EOCHO BEC, the son of Corpre, king of Cliu, dwelt in the Dun of Cuillne,[FN#52] and with him were forty fosterlings, all sons of the kings of Munster; he had also forty milch-cows for their sustenance. By Ailill and Medb messengers were sent, asking him to come to a conference. "[In a week,"][FN#53] said Eocho, "I will go to that conference;" and the messengers departed from him. [FN#52] The eleventh century MS., the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, which gives the first four lines of this tale as a fragment, adds here as a note: "this is in the land of the O'Cuanach": apparently the O'Briens of Cuanach. [FN#53] At Samhuin day (Egerton). One night Eocho lay there in his sleep, when he saw something approach him; a woman, and a young man in her attendance. "Ye are welcome!" said Eocho. ["Knowest thou us?"] said she, "Where hast thou learned to know us?" "It seems to me as if I had been near to you." "I think that we have been very near to one another, though we have not seen each other face to face!" "In what place do ye dwell?" said Eocho. "Yonder in Sid Cuillne (the fairy mound of Cuillne)," said she. "And, wherefore have ye come?" "In order to give thee counsel," said she. For what purpose is the counsel," said he, "that thou givest me?" "Something," she said, "that will bring thee honour and renown on thy journey at home and abroad. A stately troop shall be round thee, and goodly foreign horses shall be under thee."[FN#54] "With how many shall I go?" said Eocho. "Fifty horsemen is the number that is suitable for thee," she answered. [FN#54] Y.B.L. adds a passage that Windisch does not translate: it seems to run thus: "Unknown to thee is the half of what thou hast met: it seems to us that foreign may be thy splendour"(?) "To-morrow in the morning fifty black horses, furnished with bridles of gold and silver, shall come to thee from me; and with them fifty sets of equipment of the equipment of the Side; and all of thy foster-children shall go with thee; well it becomes us to help thee, because thou art valiant in the defence of our country and our soil." Then the woman left him. Early in the morning they arise, there they see something: the fifty black horses, furnished with bridles of gold and silver tied fast to the gate of the castle, also fifty breeches of silver with embellishment of gold; and fifty youths' garments with their edges of spun gold, and fifty white horses with red ears and long tails, purple-red were all their tails and their manes, with silver bits (?)[FN#55] and foot-chains of brass upon each horse; there were also fifty whips of white bronze (findruine), with end pieces of gold that thereby they might be taken into hands.[FN#56] [FN#55] co m-belgib (?) Windisch translates "bridles," the same as cona srianaib above. [FN#56] Y.B.L. adds, "Through wizardry was all that thing: it was recited (?) how great a thing had appeared, and he told his dream to his people." Then King Eocho arises, and prepares himself (for the journey): they depart with this equipment to Cruachan Ai:[FN#57] and the people were well-nigh overcome with their consequence and appearance: their troop was great, goodly, splendid, compact: [fifty heroes, all with that appearance that has just been related. "How is that man named?" said Ailill. "Not hard, Eocho Bec, the king of Cliu." They entered the Liss (outer court), and the royal house; welcome was given to them, he remained there three days and three nights at the feasting.] [FN#57] Egerton here gives "Ailill and Medb made them welcome;" it omits the long passage in square brackets. "Wherefore have I have been invited to come?" said Eocho to Ailill: "To learn if I can obtain a gift from thee," said Ailill; "for a heavy need weighs upon me, even the sustenance of the men of Ireland for the bringing of the cattle from Cualgne." "What manner of gift is it that thou desirest?" said Eocho. "Nothing less than a gift of milking-kine," said Ailill. "There is no superfluity of these in my land," said Eocho; "I have forty fosterlings, sons of the kings of Munster, to bring them up (to manhood); they are here in my company, there are forty cows to supply the needs of these, to supply my own needs are seven times twenty milch-cows [there are fifty men for this cause watching over them]. "Let me have from thee," said Ailill, "one cow from each farmer who is under thy lordship as my share; moreover I will yield thee assistance if at any time thou art oppressed by superior might." "Thus let it be as thou sayest," said Eocho; "moreover, they shall come to thee this very day." For three days and three nights they were hospitably entertained by Ailill and Medb, and then they departed homewards, till they met the sons of Glaschu, who came from Irross Donnan (the peninsula of Donnan, now Mayo); the number of those who met them was seven times twenty men, and they set themselves to attack each other, and to strive with each other in combat, and [at the island of O'Conchada (Inse Ua Conchada)] they fought together. In that place fell the forty sons of kings round Eocho Bec, and that news was spread abroad over all the land of Ireland, so that four times twenty kings' sons, of the youths of Munster, died, sorrowing for the deaths of these princes. On another night, as Ailill lay in his sleep, upon his bed, he saw some thing, a young man and a woman, the fairest that could be found in Ireland. "Who are ye?" said Ailill. "Victory and Defeat are our names," she said. "Victory indeed is welcome to me, but not so Defeat," said Ailill. "Victory shall be thine in each form!" said she. ["What is the next thing after this that awaits us?" said Ailill. "Not hard to tell thee," said she] "let men march out from thy palace in the morning, that thou mayest win for thyself the cattle of Dartaid, the daughter of Eocho. Forty is the number of her milch-cows, it is thine own son, Orlam mac Ailill, whom she loves. Let Orlam prepare for his journey with a stately troop of valiant men, also forty sons of those kings who dwell in the land of Connaught; and by me shall be given to them the same equipment that the other youths had who fell in yon fight, bridles and garments and brooches; [early in the morning shall count of the treasure be made, and now we go to our own land," said she]. Then they depart from him, and forthwith they go to [Corp[FN#58] Liath (the Gray),] who was the son of Tassach. His castle was on the bank of the river Nemain, upon the northern side, he was a champion of renown for the guarding of the men of Munster; longer than his hand is the evil he hath wrought. To this man also they appeared, and "What are your names?" said he: "Tecmall and Coscrad (Gathering of Hosts, and Destruction)," said they. "Gathering of Hosts is indeed good," said Corp Liath, "an evil thing is destruction": "There will be no destruction for thee, and thou shalt destroy the sons of kings and nobles": "And what," said Corp Liath, "is the next thing to be done?" [FN#58] The Egerton MS. gives the name, Corb Cliach. "That is easy to say," they said;[FN#59] "each son of a king and a queen, and each heir of a king that is in Connaught, is now coming upon you to bear off cows from your country, for that the sons of your kings and queens have fallen by the hand of the men of Connaught. To-morrow morning, at the ninth hour they will come, and small is their troop; so if valiant warriors go thither to meet them, the honour of Munster shall be preserved; if indeed thine adventure shall meet with success." [FN#59] Y.B.L. gives the passage thus: "Assemble with you the sons of kings, and heirs of kings, that you may destroy the sons of kings and heirs of kings." "Who are they?" said Corp Liath. "A noble youth it is from Connaught: he comes to yon to drive your cows before him, after that your young men were yesterday destroyed by him, at the ninth hour of the morning they will come to take away the cows of Darta, the daughter of Eocho." "With what number should I go?" he said. "Seven times twenty heroes thou shouldest take with thee," she replied, ["and seven times twenty warriors besides"]: "And now" said the woman, "we depart to meet thee to-morrow at the ninth hour." At the time (appointed), when morning had come, the men of Connaught saw the horses and the raiment of which we have spoken, at the gate of the fort of Croghan, [even as she (the fairy) had foretold, and as we have told, so that at that gate was all she had promised, and all that had been seen on the sons of kings aforetime], and there was a doubt among the people whether they should go on that quest or not. "It is shame," said Ailill, "to refuse a thing that is good"; and upon that Orlam departed [till[FN#60] he came to the house of Dartaid, the daughter of Eocho, in Cliu Classach (Cliu the Moated), on the Shannon upon the south (bank). [FN#60] Egerton Version has only "towards Chu till he came to the home of Dartaid, the daughter of Eocho: the maiden rejoiced," &c. From this point to the end the version in the Yellow Book is much fuller. [There they halted], and the maiden rejoiced at their coming: "Three of the kine are missing." "We cannot wait for these; let the men take provision on their horses, [for rightly should we be afraid in the midst of Munster. Wilt thou depart with me, O maiden?" said he. "I will indeed go with thee," said she]. "Come then thou," said he, "and with thee all of thy cows." [Then the young men go away with the cows in the midst, and the maiden was with them; but Corp Liath, the son of Tassach, met them with seven times twenty warriors to oppose their march. A battle was fought], and in that place fell the sons of the kings of Connaught, together with the warriors who had gone with them, all except Orlam and eight others,[FN#61] who carried away with them the kine, even the forty milch-cows, and fifty heifers, [so that they came into the land of Connaught]; but the maiden fell at the beginning of the fight. [FN#61] Y.B.L. inserts Dartaid's death at this point: "and Dartaid fell at the beginning of the fight, together with the stately sons of Connaught." Hence is that place called Imlech Dartaid, (the Lake Shore of Darta), in the land of Cliu, [where Dartaid, the daughter of Eocho, the son of Corpre, fell: and for this reason this story is called the Tain bo Dartae, it is one of the preludes to the Tain bo Cualnge]. THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF REGAMON INTRODUCTION The two versions of this tale, given by Windisch in the Irische Texte, II. pp. 224-238, are from the same manuscripts as the two versions of the Raid of the Cattle of Dartaid; namely the Yellow Book of Lecan, and the Egerton MS. 1782. In the case of this tale, the Yellow Book version is more legible, and, being not only the older, but a little more full than the other version, Windisch has translated this text alone: the prose version, as given here, follows this manuscript, nearly as given by Windisch, with only one addition from the Egerton MS.; the omissions in the Egerton MS. are not mentioned, but one or two changes in words adopted from this MS. are mentioned in the foot-notes to the prose rendering. The whole tone of the tale is very unlike the tragic character of those romances, which have been sometimes supposed to represent the general character of old Irish literature: there is not even a hint of the super-natural; the story contains no slaughter; the youthful raiders seem to be regarded as quite irresponsible persons, and the whole is an excellent example of an old Celtic: romance with what is to-day called a "good ending." THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF REGAMON FROM THE YELLOW BOOK OF LECAN (A MANUSCRIPT OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY) When Ailill and Maev in the Connaught land abode, and the lordship held, A chief who many a field possessed in the land of Connaught dwelled: A great, and a fair, and a goodly herd of kine had the chieftain won: And his fame in the fight was in all men's word; his name was Regamon. Now seven daughters had Regamon; they dwelt at home with their sire: Yet the seven sons of King Ailill and Maev their beauty with love could fire: All those seven sons were as Mani[FN#62] known; the first was as Morgor hailed, For his love was great: it was Mingar's fate that in filial love he failed: The face was seen of the mother-queen on the third; and his father's face Did the fourth son show: they the fifth who know cannot speak all his strength and grace: The sixth son spoke, from his lips the words like drops of honey fell: And last came one who all gifts possessed that the tongue of a man can tell; For his father's face that Mani had, in him was his mother seen; And in him abode every grace bestowed on the king of the land or the queen. [FN#62] Pronounced Mah-nee. Of the daughters of Regamon now we speak: two names those maidens bore: For as Dunnan three ever known shall be; Dunlaith[FN#63] was the name for four: And in Breffny's land is the Ford Dunlaith, and the fame of the four recalls; The three ye know where the Dunnan's flow in western Connaught falls. With Fergus, Ailill and Maev were met: as at council all conferred; "It were well for our folk," thus Ailill spoke, "if the lord of that cattle-herd, That strays in the fields of Regamon, would tribute to us pay: And to gain that end, let us heralds send, to his burg who may make their way, And bear to our court that tribute back; for greatly we soon shall need Such kine when we in the time of war our hosts shall have to feed; And all who share in our counsels know that a burden will soon be mine, When the men must be fed of Ireland, led on the Raid for the Cuailgne[FN#64] Kine!" Thus Ailill spoke; and Queen Maev replied, "The men to perform that task Right well I know; for our sons will go, if we for their aid but ask! The seven daughters of Regamon do the Mani in love now seek: If those maidens' hands they can gain by the deed, they will heed the words we speak." To his side King Ailill has called his sons, his mind to the youth he shows. "Best son," says Maev, "and grateful he, from filial love who goes!" And Morgor said, "For the love that we owe, we go at our sire's behest:" "Yet a greater reward," thus Mingar spake, "must be ours, if we go on this quest! For naught have we of hero-craft; and small shall be found our might; And of valiant breed are the men," said he, "with whom we shall have to fight. [FN#63] Pronounced Dun-lay. [FN#64] Pronounced Kell-ny. As men from the shelter of roof who go, and must rest in the open field, So thy sons shall stand, if they come to a land where a foe might be found concealed! We have dwelt till now in our father's halls, too tenderly cared for far: Nor hath any yet thought, that to us should be taught the arts that belong to war!" Queen Maev and Ailill their sons have sped, away on the quest they went, With seven score men for the fight, whom the queen for help of her sons had sent: To the south of the Connaught realm they reached, the burg that they sought was plain For to Ninnus land they had come, and were nigh to the Corcomroe domain. "From our band," said Mani Morgor, "some must go, of that burg to learn How entrance we may attain to win, and back with the news return We must test the strength of the maidens' love!" On Mingar the task was set, And with two beside him, he searched the land, till three of the maids they met: By springs of water they found the maids, drew swords, and against them leapt! "O grant our lives!" was the maiden's cry, "and your lives shall be safely kept!" "For your lives," he said, "will ye grant a boon, set forth in three words of speech?" "At our hands," said she, "shall granted be, whatever thy tongue shall teach; Yet ask not cattle; those kine have we no power to bestow, I fear": "Why, 'tis for the sake of the kine," he said, "that all of us now are here!" "Who art thou then?" from her faltering broke: "Mani Mingar am I," he replied; I am son to King Ailill and Maev: And to me thou art welcome," the maiden cried; "But why have ye come to this land?" said she: For kine and for brides," he said, Have we come to seek: And 'tis right," said she, such demands in a speech to wed: Yet the boon that you ask will our folk refuse, and hard will your task be found; For a valiant breed shall you meet, I fear, in the men who guard this ground!" "Give your aid," he said, "then as friends: But time," said she, "we must have for thought; For a plan must be made, e'er thy word be obeyed, and the kine to thy hands be brought: Have ye journeyed here with a force of men? how great is the strength of your band?" "Seven score are there here for the fight," he said, "the warriors are near at hand!" "Wait here," said she; "to my sisters four I go of the news to tell: "And with thee we side!" all the maidens cried, "and we trust we shall aid thee well," Away from the princes the maidens sped, they came to their sisters four, And thus they spoke: "From the Connaught land come men, who are here at your door; The sons of Ailill and Maev have come; your own true loves are they!" "And why have they come to this land?" they said; "For kine and for brides, they say, Have they come to seek:" "And with zeal their wish would we joyfully now fulfil If but powers to aid were but ours," they said, "which would match with our right good will: But I fear the youths in this burg who dwell, the plans that we make may foil; or far from the land may chase that band, and drive them away from their spoil!" "Will ye follow us now, with the prince to speak?" They willingly gave consent, And together away to the water-springs the seven maidens went. They greeted Mani; "Now come!" said he, "and bring with you out your herds: And a goodly meed shall reward your deed, if you but obey my words; For our honour with sheltering arms is nigh, and shall all of you safely keep, Ye seven daughters of Regamon!" The cattle, the swine, and sheep Together the maidens drove; none saw them fly, nor to stay them sought, Till safe to the place where the Mani stood, the herd by the maids was brought. The maidens greeted the sons of Maev, and each by her lover stood; And then Morgor spoke: "Into twain this herd of kine to divide were good, At the Briuin[FN#65] Ford should the hosts unite; too strait hath the path been made For so vast a herd": and to Morgor's word they gave heed, and his speech obeyed. Now it chanced that Regamon, the king, was far from his home that day, For he to the Corco Baiscinn land had gone, for a while to stay; [FN#65] Pronounced Brewin. With the Firbolg[FN#66] clans, in debate, he sat; and a cry as the raiders rode, Was behind him raised: to the king came men, who the news of that plunder showed: Then the king arose, and behind his foes he rode, and o'ertook their flight, And on Mani Morgor his host pressed hard, and they conquered his men in the fight. "To unite our band," thus Morgor cried, "fly hence, and our comrades find! Call the warriors back from the cattle here, and leave the maids behind; Bid the maidens drive to our home the herd as far as the Croghan Fort, And to Ailill and Maev of our perilous plight let the maidens bear report." The maidens went to the Croghan Fort, to Maev with their news they pressed: "Thy sons, O Maev, at the Briuin Ford are pent, and are sore distressed, And they pray thee to aid them with speed": and Maev her host for the war prepared, With Ailill the warriors of Connaught came; and Fergus beside them fared, And the exiles came, who the Ulster name still bore, and towards that Ford All that host made speed, that their friends in need might escape from the vengeful sword. [FN#66] Pronounced Feer-bol. Now Ailill's sons, in the pass of that Ford, had hurdles strongly set: And Regamon failed through the ford to win, ere Ailill's troops were met: Of white-thorn and of black-thorn boughs were the hurdles roughly framed, And thence the name of the ford first came, that the Hurdle Ford is named; For, where the O'Feara[FN#67] Aidne folk now dwell, can ye plainly see In the land of Beara[FN#68] the Less, that Ford, yet called Ath[FN#69] Clee Maaree, In the north doth it stand; and the Connaught land divideth from Corcomroe; And thither, with Regamon's troops to fight, did Ailill's army go. [FN#67] Pronounced O'Fayra Ain-ye. [FN#68] Pronounced Bayra. [FN#69] Spelt Ath Cliath Medraidi. Ath is pronounced like Ah. Then a truce they made; to the youths, that Raid who designed, they gave back their lives; And the maidens fair all pardoned were, who had fled with the youths, as wives, Who had gone with the herd, by the maids conferred on the men who the kine had gained: But the kine, restored to their rightful lord, in Regamon's hands remained; The maiden band in the Connaught land remained with the sons of Maev; And a score of cows to each maiden's spouse the maidens' father gave: As his daughters' dower, did their father's power his right in the cows resign, That the men might be fed of Ireland, led on the Raid for the Cualgne[FN#70] Kine. This tale, as the Tain bo Regamon, is known in the Irish tongue; And this lay they make, when the harp they wake, ere the Cualgne Raid be sung. [FN#70] Pronounced Kell-ny. THE RAID FOR THE CATTLE OF REGAMON LITERAL TRANSLATION In the time of Ailill and Medb, a glorious warrior and holder of land dwelt in the land of Connaught, and his name was Regamon. He had many herds of cattle, all of them fair and well-shaped: he had also seven daughters with him. Now the seven sons of Ailill and Medb loved these (daughters): namely the seven Maine, these were Maine Morgor (Maine with great filial love), Maine Mingar (Maine with less filial love), Maine Aithremail (Maine like his father), Maine Mathremail (Maine like his mother), Maine Milbel (Maine with the mouth of honey),[FN#71] Maine Moepert (Maine too great to be described), Maine Condageb-uile (Maine who combined all qualities): now this one had the form both of father and mother, and had all the glory that belonged to both parents. [FN#71] The name of Maine Annai, making an eighth son, is given in Y.B.L., but not in the Egerton MS. The seven daughters of Regamon were the three Dunann, and the four Dunlaith;[FN#72] from the names of these is the estuary of Dunann in western Connaught, and the Ford of Dunlaith in Breffny. [FN#72] So Egerton, which Windisch follows here; the reading of Y.B.L. is Dunmed for the daughters, and Dumed for the corresponding ford. Now at a certain time, Ailill and Medb and Fergus held counsel together. "Some one from us," said Ailill, "should go to Regamon, that a present of cattle may be brought to us from him; to meet the need that there is on us for feeding the men of Ireland, when the kine are raided from Cualgne." "I know," said Medb, "who would be good to go thither, if we ask it of them; even the Maine; on account of their love for the daughters." His sons were called to Ailill, and he spoke with them. "Grateful is he, and a better journey does he go," said Maev, "who goes for the sake of his filial love." "Truly it shall be that it is owing to filial love that we go," said Mani Morgor. "But the reward should (also) for this be the better," said Mani Mingar; "it stands ill with our heroism, ill with our strength. It is like going from a house into the fields, (going) into the domains or the land of foes. Too tenderly have we been brought up; none hath let us learn of wars; moreover the warriors are valiant towards whom we go!" They took leave of Ailill and Medb, and betook themselves to the quest. They set out, seven times twenty heroes was the number, till they were in the south of Connaught, in the neighbourhood of the domain of Corcomroe[FN#73] in the land of Ninnus, near to the burg. "Some of you," said Mani Morgor, "should go to find out how to enter into the burg; and to test the love of maidens." Mani Mingar, with two others, went until he came upon three of the maidens at the water-springs, and at once he and his comrades drew their swords against them. "Give life for life!" said the maiden. "Grant to me then my three full words!" said Mani Mingar. "Whatever thy tongue sets forth shall be done," said the maiden, "only let it not be cows,[FN#74] for these have we no power to give thee." "For these indeed," said Mani, "is all that now we do."[FN#75] [FN#73] Properly "Coremodruad," the descendants of Modh Ruadh, third son of Fergus by Maev; now Corcomroe in County Clare. [FN#74]"Only let it not be cows" is in the Egerton MS. alone. [FN#75] "That we do" is Egerton MS. (cich indingnem), Y.B.L. has "cechi m-bem." "Who art thou?" said she: "Mani Mingar, son of Ailill and Medb," said he: "Welcome then," she said, "but what hath brought with you here?" "To take with us cattle and maidens," he said: "'Tis right," she said, "to take these together; (but) I fear that what has been demanded will not be granted, the men are valiant to whom you have come." "Let your entreaties be our aid!" he said. "We would desire," she said, "that it should be after that counsel hath been taken that we obey you." "What is your number?" said she: "Seven times twenty heroes," he said, "are with us." "Remain here," she said, "that we may speak with the other maidens": "We shall assist you," said the maidens, "as well as we can." They went from them, and came to the other maidens, and they said to them: "Young heroes from the lands of Connaught are come to you, your own true loves, the seven sons of Ailill and Medb." "Wherefore are they come?" "To take back with them cattle and wives." "That would we gladly have, if only we could; (but) I fear that the warriors will hinder them or drive them away," said she. "Go ye out, that ye may speak with the man." "We will speak with him," they said. The seven maidens went to the well, and they greeted Mani. "Come ye away," he said, "and bring your cattle with you. That will be a good deed. We shall assist you with our honour and our protection, O ye daughters of Regamon," said he.[FN#76] The maidens drove together their cows and their swine, and their sheep, so that none observed them; and they secretly passed on till they came to the camp of their comrades. The maidens greeted the sons of Ailill and Medb, and they remained there standing together. "The herd must be divided in two parts," said Mani Merger, "also the host must divide, for it is too great to travel by the one way; and we shall meet again at Ath Briuin (the Ford of Briuin)." So it was done. [FN#76] Windisch conjectures this instead of "said the warriors," which is in the text of Y.B.L. King Regamon was not there on that day. He was in the domain of Corco Baiscinn,[FN#77] to hold a conference with the Firbolgs. His people raised a cry behind him, message was brought to Regamon, and he went in pursuit with his army. The whole of the pursuing host overtook Mani Morgor, and brought defeat upon him. [FN#77] In the south-west of Clare. "We all," said Mani, "must go to one place, and some of you shall be sent to the cattle to summon the young men hither, and the maidens shall drive the cattle over the ford to Cruachan, and shall give Ailill and Medb tidings of the plight in which we are here." The maidens went to Cruachan, and told all the tale. "Thy sons are at Ath Briuin in distress, and have said that help should be brought to them." The men of Connaught with Ailill, and Medb, and Fergus, and the banished men of Ulster went to Ath Briuin to help their people. The sons of Ailill had for the moment made hurdles of white-thorn and black-thorn in the gut[FN#78] of the ford, as defence against Regamon and his people, so that they were unable to pass through the ford ere Ailill and his army came; so thence cometh the name Ath Cliath Medraidi[FN#79] (the Hurdle Ford of Medraide), in the country of Little Bethra in the northern part of the O'Fiachrach Aidne between Connaught and Corcomroe. There they met together with all their hosts. [FN#78] Literally "mouth." [FN#79] Ath Cliath oc Medraige, now Maaree, in Ballycourty parish, Co. Galway (Stokes, Bodleian Dinnshenchus, 26). It may be mentioned that in the Dinnshenchus, the cattle are said to have been taken "from Dartaid, the daughter of Regamon in Munster," thus confusing the Raids of Regamon and Dartaid, which may account for O'Curry's incorrect statement in the preface to Leabhar na h-Uidhri, p. xv. A treaty was then made between them on account of the fair young men who had carried off the cattle, and on account of the fair maidens who had gone with them, by whose means the herd escaped. Restitution of the herd was awarded to Regamon, and the maidens abode with the sons of Ailill and Medb; and seven times twenty milch-cows were given up, as a dowry for the maidens, and for the maintenance of the men of Ireland on the occasion of the assembly for the Tain bo Cualnge; so that this tale is called the Tain bo Regamon, and it is a prelude to the tale of the Tain bo Cualnge. Finit, amen. THE DRIVING OF THE CATTLE OF FLIDAIS INTRODUCTION The Tain bo Flidais, the Driving of the Cows of Flidais, does not, like the other three Preludes to the Tain bo Cualnge, occur in the Yellow Book of Lecan; but its manuscript age is far the oldest of the four, as it occurs in both the two oldest collections of Old Irish romance, the Leabbar na h-Uidhri (abbreviated to L.U.), and the Book of Leinster (abbreviated to L.L.), besides the fifteenth century Egerton MS., that contains the other three preludes. The text of all three, together with a translation of the L.U. text, is given by Windisch in Irische Texte, II. pp. 206-223; the first part of the story is missing in L.U. and is supplied from the Book of Leinster (L.L.) version. The prose translation given here follows Windisch's translation pretty closely, with insertions occasionally from L.L. The Egerton version agrees closely with L.L., and adds little to it beyond variations in spelling, which have occasionally been taken in the case of proper names. The Leabhar na h-Uidhri version is not only the oldest, but has the most details of the three; a few passages have, however, been supplied from the other manuscripts which agree with L.U. in the main. The whole tale is much more like an old Border riding ballad than are the other three Preludes; it resembles the tone of Regamon, but differs from it in having a good deal of slaughter to relate, though it can hardly be called tragic, like Deirdre and Ferb, the killing being taken as a matter of course. There is nothing at all supernatural about the story as contained in the old manuscripts, but a quite different' version of the story given in the Glenn Masain Manuscript, a fifteenth century manuscript now in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh, gives another complexion to the tale. The translation of this manuscript is at present being made in the Celtic Review by Professor Mackinnon; the version it gives of the story is much longer and fuller than that in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri, and its accompanying manuscripts. The translation as printed in the Celtic Review is not as yet (July 1905) completed, but, through Professor Mackinnon's kindness, an abstract of the general features of the end of the story may be given here. The Glenn Masain version makes Bricriu, who is a subordinate character in the older version, one of the principal actors, and explains many of the allusions which are difficult to understand in the shorter version; but it is not possible to regard the older version as an abridgment of that preserved in the Glenn Masain MS., for the end of the story in this manuscript is absolutely different from that in the older ones, and the romance appears to be unique in Irish in that it has versions which give two quite different endings, like the two versions of Kipling's The Light that Failed. The Glenn Masain version commences with a feast held at Cruachan, when Fergus and his exiles had joined their forces with Connaught as a result of the murder of the Sons of Usnach, as told in the earlier part of the manuscript. At this feast Bricriu. engages in conversation with Fergus, reproaching him for his broken promises to the Ulstermen who had joined him, and for his dalliance with Queen Maev. Bricriu, who in other romances is a mere buffoon, here appears as a distinguished poet, and a chief ollave; his satire remains bitter, but by no means scurrilous, and the verses put into his mouth, although far beneath the standard of the verses given to Deirdre in the earlier part of the manuscript, show a certain amount of dignity and poetic power. As an example, the following satire on Fergus's inability to keep his promises may be cited:-- Fergus, hear thy friend lamenting! Blunted is thy lofty mind; Thou, for hire, to Maev consenting, Hast thy valour's pride resigned. Ere another year's arriving, Should thy comrades, thou didst vow, Three-score chariots fair be driving, Shields and weapons have enow! When thy ladies, bent on pleasure, Crowd towards the banquet-hall, Thou of gold a goodly measure Promised hast to grant to all! Ill to-night thy friends are faring, Naught hath Fergus to bestow; He a poor man's look is wearing, Never yet was greater woe! After the dialogue with Fergus, Bricriu, with the poets that attend him, undertakes a journey to Ailill the Fair, to obtain from him the bounty that Fergus had promised but was unable to grant. He makes a fairly heavy demand upon Ailill's bounty, but is received hospitably, and gets all he had asked for, as well as honour for his poetic talents. He then asks about Ailill's wife Flidais, and is told about her marvellous cow, which was able to supply milk to more than three hundred men at one night's milking. Flidais returns from a journey, is welcomed by Bricriu, who produces a poem in honour of her and her cow, and is suitably recompensed. A long conversation is then recorded between Flidais and Bricriu in which Bricriu extols the great deeds of Fergus, supplying thereby a commentary on the short statement at the beginning of the older version, that Flidais' love to Fergus was on account of the great deeds which had been told her that he had done. Flidais declares to Bricriu her love for Fergus, and Bricriu, after a vain attempt to dissuade the queen from her purpose, consents to bring a message to Fergus that Flidais and her cow will come to him if he comes to her husband's castle to seek her. He then returns to Connaught laden with gifts. The story now proceeds somewhat upon the lines of the older version. Bricriu approaches Fergus on his return, and induces him to go in the guise of an ambassador to Ailill the Fair, with the secret intention of carrying off Flidais. Fergus receives the sanction of Maev and her husband for his errand, and departs, but not as in the older version with a few followers; all the Ulster exiles are with him. Dubhtach, by killing a servant of Maev, embroils Fergus with the queen of Connaught; and the expedition reaches Ailill the Fair's castle. Fergus sends Bricriu, who has most unwillingly accompanied him, to ask for hospitality; he is hospitably received by Ailill, and when under the influence of wine reveals to Ailill the plot. Ailill does not, as in the older version, refuse to receive Fergus, but seats him beside himself at a feast, and after reproaching him with his purpose challenges him to a duel in the morning. The result of the duel, and of the subsequent attack on the castle by Fergus' friends, is much as stated in the older version, but the two stories end quite differently. The L.U. version makes Flidais assist in the War of Cualgne by feeding the army of Ailill each seventh day with the produce of her cows; she dies after the war as wife of Fergus; the Glenn Masain version, in the "Pursuit of the Cattle of Flidais," makes the Gamanrad clan, the hero-clan of the West of Ireland, pursue Maev and Fergus, and rescue Flidais and her cow; Flidais then returns to the west with Muiretach Menn, the son of her murdered husband, Ailill the Fair. The comparison of these two versions, from the literary point of view, is most interesting. The stress laid on the supernatural cow is peculiar to the version in the later manuscript, the only analogy in the eleventh century version is the semi-supernatural feeding of the army of Ireland, but in this it is a herd (buar), not a single animal, that is credited with the feat, and there is really nothing supernatural about the matter; it is only the other version that enables us to see the true bearing of the incident. The version in the Glenn Masain Manuscript looks much more ancient in idea than that in the older texts, and is plainly capable of a mythic interpretation. It is not of course suggested that the Glenn Masain version is ancient as it stands: there are indeed enough obvious allusions in the text to comparatively late works to negative such a supposition, independently of linguistic evidence, but it does look as if the author of the eleventh century text had a super natural tale to work upon, some of whose incidents are preserved in the Glenn Masain version, and that he succeeded in making out of the traditional account a story that practically contains no supernatural element at all, so that it requires a knowledge of the other version to discover the slight trace of the supernatural that he did keep, viz. the feeding of the army of Ireland by the herd (not the cow) of Flidais. It is possible that the common origin of the two versions is preserved for us in another place, the Coir Annam, which, though it as it stands is a Middle Irish work, probably keeps ancient tradition better than the more finished romances. In this we find, following Stokes' translation, given in Irische Texte, III. P. 295, the following entries:-- "Adammair Flidaise Foltchain, that is Flidais the Queen, one of the tribe of the god-folk (the Tuatha de Danaan), she was wife of Adammair, the son of Fer Cuirp, and from her cometh the name Buar Flidaise, the Cattle of Flidais. "Nia Segamain, that is seg (deer) are a main (his treasure), for in his time cows and does were milked in the same way every day, so that he had great wealth in these things beyond that of all other kings. The Flidais spoken of above was the mother of Nia Segamain, Adammair's son, for two kinds of cattle, cows and does, were milked in the days of Nia Segamain, and by his mother was that fairy power given to him." It seems, then, not impossible that the original legend was much as stated in the Coir Annam, viz. that Flidais was a supernatural being, milking wild deer like cows, and that she was taken into the Ulster Cycle and made part of the tale of Fergus. This adoption was done by an author who made a text which may be regarded as the common original of the two versions; in his tale the supernatural character of Flidais was retained. The author of the L.U. version cut out the supernatural part, and perhaps the original embassy of Bricriu; it may, however, be noted that the opening of the older version comes from the L.L. text, which is throughout shorter than that in L.U., and the lost opening of L.U. may have been fuller. The author of the Glenn Masain version kept nearer to the old story, adding, however, more modern touches. Where the new character of Bricriu comes from is a moot point; I incline to the belief that the idea of Bricriu as a mere buffoon is a later development. But in neither version is the story, as we have it, a pre-Christian one. The original pre-Christian idea of Flidais was, as in the Coir Annam, that of a being outside the Ulster Cycle altogether. THE DRIVING OF THE CATTLE OF FLIDAIS FROM THE LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRI (ELEVENTH-CENTURY MS.), THE BEGINNING AND A FEW ADDITIONS FROM THE BOOK OF LEINSTER (TWELFTH CENTURY) A land in West Roscommon, as Kerry known of old, Was ruled by Ailill Fair-haired; of him a tale is told: How Flidais,[FN#80] Ailill's[FN#81] consort, each week, and near its end, To Ro's great son, to Fergus, her herald still would send; 'Twas Fergus' love she sought for; the deeds by Fergus done, In glorious tales recited, had Flidais' fancy won. [FN#80] Pronounced Flid-das. [FN#81] Pronounced Al-ill. When Fergus fled from Ulster, and Connaught's land he sought, To Ailill, king of Connaught, this tale of love he brought: "Now give me rede," said Fergus, "how best we here should act, That Connaught's fame and honour by none may stand attacked; Say, how can I approach them, and strip thy kingdom bare, And yet the fame of Ailill, that country's monarch, spare?" "'Tis hard indeed to teach thee," cried Ailill, sore perplexed; "Let Maev come nigh with counsel what course to follow next!" "Send thou to Ailill Fair-haired to ask for aid!" said Maev, "He well may meet a herald, who comes his help to crave Let Fergus go to crave it: no harm can there be seen; And better gifts from Ailill shall Fergus win, I ween!" So forth to Ailill Fair-haired went Fergus, son of Ro; And thirty, Dubhtach[FN#82] leading, he chose with him to go; And yet another Fergus his aid to Fergus brought; Mac Oonlama[FN#83] men called him; his sire one-handed fought. [FN#82] Pronounced Doov-ta. [FN#83] Spelt Mac Oenlama, son of the one-handed one. Beside the Ford of Fenna, in Kerry's north they came, They neared the hold, and from it rang welcome's loud acclaim: "What quest," said Ailill Fair-haired, "hath brought these warriors here?" "Of Ailill, son of Magach, we stand," they said, "in fear; A feud we hold against him; with thee would fain abide!" "For each of these," said Ailill, "who Fergus march beside, If they were foes to Connaught, for long they here might stay, And ne'er till peace was granted, I'd drive these men away: For Fergus, naught I grant him a tale of him men tell That Fergus 'tis whom Flidais, my wife, doth love too well!" "It is kine that I ask for," said Fergus, "and hard is the task on me set: For the men who have marched here beside me, the means to win life I must get." "I will give no such present," said Ailill," thou comest not here as my guest: Men will say, 'twas from fear that I gave it, lest my wife from my arms thou should'st wrest: Yet an ox of my herds, and some bacon, if thou wilt, shall my hand to thee give; That the men who have marched here beside thee on that meat may be stayed, and may live!" "I eat no bread thus thrown me!" fierce Fergus straight replied: "I asked a gift of honour; that gift thine hand denied." "Avoid my house," said Ailill in wrath, "now get thee hence! "We go indeed," said Fergus; "no siege we now commence: Yet here," he cried, "for duel beside yon ford I wait, If thou canst find a champion to meet me at thy gate." Then up and answered Ailill: "'Tis mine this strife must be And none shall hurt mine honour, or take this task from me: None hold me back from battle!"--the ford for fight he sought: "Now Dubhtach, say," said Fergus, "to whom this war is brought! Or thou or I must meet him." And Dubhtach said, "I go; For I am younger, Fergus, and bolder far with foe." To the ford for the battle with Ailill he hies, And he thrust at him fiercely, and pierced through his thighs; But a javelin by Ailill at Dubhtach was cast, And right through his body the shaft of it passed: And a shield over Dubhtach, laid low in the dust, Spread Fergus; and Ailill his spear at him thrust; And through Fergus' shield had the spear made its way, When Fergus Mae Oonlama joined in the fray, And his shield he uplifted, his namesake to guard; But at Fergus Mac Oonlama Ailill thrust hard, And he brake through the fence of Mac Oonlama's shield; And he leaped in his pain; as they lay on the field, On his comrades he fell: Flidais forth to them flew, And her cloak on the warriors to shield them she threw. Then against all the comrades of Fergus turned Ailill the Fair-haired to fight, And he chased them away from his castle, and slew as they scattered in flight; A twenty he reached, and he slew them: they fell, on that field to remain; And but seven there were of that thirty who fled, and their safety could gain: They came to the palace of Croghan, they entered the gates of that hold, And to Maev and to Ailill of Connaught the tale of the slaughter they told. Then roused himself King Ailill, of Connaught's land the king, With Maev to march to battle, their aid to friends to bring: And forth from Connaught's kingdom went many a lord of worth, Beside them marched the exiles who gat from Ulster birth: So forward went that army, and reached to Kerry's land, And near the Ford of Fenna they came, and there made stand. While this was done, the wounded three Within the hold lay still, And Flidais cared for all, for she To heal their wounds had skill. To Ailill Fair-Haired's castle the Connaught host was led, And toward the foeman's ramparts the Connaught herald sped; He called on Ailill Fair-haired to come without the gate, And there to meet King Ailill, and with him hold debate. "I come to no such meeting," the angry chief replied; "Yon man is far too haughty: too grossly swells his pride!" Yet 'twas peaceful meeting, So the old men say, Ailill willed; whose greeting Heralds bore that day. Fergus, ere he perished, First he sought to aid He that thought who cherished Friendship's claims obeyed: Then his foe he vainly Hoped in truce to bind: Peace, 'tis said, was plainly Dear to Connaught's mind! The wounded men, on litters laid, Without the walls they bore To friendly hands, with skill to aid, And fainting health restore. At the castle of Ailill the Fair-Haired the Connaught-men rushed in attack, And to win it they failed: from his ramparts in defeat were his foes driven back: For long in that contest they struggled, yet naught in the fight they prevailed - For a week were the walls of the castle of Ailill the Fair-Haired assailed, Seven score of the nobles of Connaught, and all of them warriors of might, For the castle of Ailill contended, and fell as they strove in the fight. "'Tis sure that with omen of evil this castle was sought by our folk!" Thus Bricroo,[FN#84] the Poisonous Scoffer, in mockery, jeering them, spoke: "The taunt," answered Ailill Mae Mata, "is true, and with grief I confess That the fame of the heroes of Ulster hereafter is like to be less, For a three of the Ulstermen's champions in stress of the fight have been quelled; And the vengeance we wait for from Ulster hath long been by Ulster withheld; As a pillar of warfare each hero, 'twas claimed, could a battle sustain; Yet by none of the three in this battle hath a foeman been conquered, or slain! In the future for all of these champions shall scorn and much mocking befall: One man hath come forth from yon castle; alone he hath wounded them all-- Such disgrace for such heroes of valour no times that are past ever saw, For three lords of the battle lie conquered by mannikins, fashioned of straw!" [FN#84] Spelt Bricriu. The usual epithet of Bricriu, "Bricriu of the Poison Tongue," is indicated in the verse rendering. "Ah! woe is me," said Bricroo, "how long, thus stretched on ground, The length of Father Fergus hath here by all been found! But one he sought to conquer; a single fight essayed, And here he met his victor, and low on land is laid." Then rose the men of Ulster a hardy war to wage, And forward rushed, though naked, in strong and stubborn rage: Against the castle gateway in wrathful might they dashed, And down the shattered portal within the castle crashed. Then close by Ulster's champions was Connaught's battle formed; And Connaught's troops with Ulster by might the castle stormed; But fitly framed for battle were men whom there they met, Wild war, where none showed pity between the hosts was set: And well they struck; each hero commenced with mighty blows To crush and slay, destruction was heaped by foe on foes. Of the wounding at length and the slaughter all weary the champions had grown, And the men who the castle of Ailill had held were at length over thrown: Of those who were found in that castle, and its walls had defended so well, Seven hundred by warriors of Ulster were smitten to death, and they fell: And there in his castle fell Ailill the Fair-haired, and fighting he died, And a thirty of sons stood about him, and all met their death by his side. The chief of those who perished, by Ailill's side who stood Within his hold, were Noodoo;[FN#85] and Awley[FN#86] named the Good; And Feeho[FN#87] called the Broad-backed; and Corpre Cromm the Bent; An Ailill, he from Breffny to help of Ailill went; A three whose name was Angus-fierce was each warrior's face; Three Eochaid, sea-girt Donnan[FN#88] had cradled erst their race; And there fell seven Breslen, from plains of Ay[FN#89] who came; And fifty fell beside them who all had Donnell's name. [FN#85] Spelt Nuado. [FN#86] Spelt Amalgaid. [FN#87] Spelt Fiacho. [FN#88] Irross Donnan, the promontory of Donnan (now Mayo). [FN#89] Mag Ai, a plain in Roscommon. For to Ailill the Fair-Haired for warfare had marched all the Gamanra[FN#90] clan, And his friends from the sea-girded Donnan had sent to his aid every man; All these had with Ailill been leaguered, their help to him freely they brought, And that aid from them Ailill. took gladly, he knew that his hold would be sought; He knew that the exiles of Ulster his captives from prison would save, And would come, their surrender demanding; that Ailill mac Mata and Maev Would bring all Connaught's troops to the rescue: for Fergus that aid they would lend, And Fergus the succour of Connaught could claim, and with right, as a friend. [FN#90] Spelt Gamanrad. Hero clans in Erin three of old were found; One in Irross Donnan, oceans Donnan bound, Thence came Clan Gamanra; Deda's warlike clan Nursed in Tara Loochra[FN#91] many a fighting man. Deda sprang from Munster; far in Ulster's north Oft from Emain Macha Rury's[FN#92] clan went forth: Vainly all with Rury strove to fight, the twain Rury's clan hath vanquished; Rury all hath slain! [FN#91] Temair Luachra, an ancient palace near Abbeyfeale, on the borders of the counties of Limerick and Kerry. "Tara," as is well known, is a corruption of Temair, but is now established. [FN#92] Spelt Rudraige. Then rose up the warriors of Ulster, the hold they had conquered to sack; And the folk of Queen Maev and King Ailill followed close on the Ulstermen's track: And they took with them captives; for Flidais away from her castle they tore; And the women who dwelt in the castle away to captivity bore: And all things therein that were precious they seized on as booty; the gold And the silver they seized, and the treasures amassed by the men of that hold: The horns, and the goblets for drinking, the vats for the ale, and the keys, The gay robes with all hues that were glowing lay there for the raiders to seize: And much cattle they took; in that castle were one hundred of milk giving kine; And beside them a seven score oxen; three thousand of sheep and of swine. Then Flidais went with Fergus, his wedded wife to be; For thus had Maev and Ailill pronounced their high decree: They bade that when from Cualgne to drive the kine they went, From those who then were wedded should aid for war be sent. And thus it fell thereafter: when Ireland went that Raid, By milk from cows of Flidais, the lives of all were stayed; Each seventh day she sent it; and thus fulfilled her vows, And thus the tale is ended, men tell of Flidais' Cows. Then, all that Raid accomplished, with Fergus Flidais dwell And he of Ulster's kingdom a part in lordship held: He ruled in Mag I Murthemne[FN#92], yea, more than that, he won The land where once was ruler Cuchulain, Sualtam's son: And by the shore of Bali thereafter Flidais died, And naught of good for Fergus did Flidais' death betide: For worse was all his household; if Fergus aught desired, From Flidais' wealth and bounty came all his soul required. In the days that followed, when his wife was dead, Fergus went to Connaught; there his blood was shed: There with Maev and Ailill he a while would stay; Men had made a story, he would learn the lay! There he went to cheer him, hearing converse fair: Kine beside were promised; home he these would bear: So he went to Croghan, 'twas a deadly quest, There he found his slaughter, death within the west: Slain by jealous Ailill, Fergus low was laid: Flidais' tale is ended: now comes Cualgne's Raid! [FN#92] Pronounced Maw Moortemmy THE DRIVING OF THE CATTLE OF FLIDAIS LITERAL TRANSLATION Flidais was the wife of Ailill Finn (the Fair-haired) in the district of Kerry.[FN#93] She loved Fergus the son of Rog on account of the glorious tales about him; and always there went messengers from her to him at the end of each week. [FN#93] Kerry is the district now called Castlereagh, in the west of the present county of Roscommon. So, when he came to Connaught, he brought this matter before[FN#94] Ailill: "What[FN#95] shall I do next in this matter?" said Fergus: "it is hard for me to lay bare your land, without there being loss to thee of honour and renown therewith." "Yes, what shall we do next in the matter?" said Ailill; "we will consider this in counsel with Maev." "Let one of us go to Ailill Finn," (said Maev), "that he may help us, and as this involves a meeting of some one with him, there is no reason why it should not be thyself who goest to him: the gift will be all the better for that!" [FN#94] i.e. Ailill of Connaught. [FN#95] This sentence to the end is taken from the Egerton version, which seems the clearer; the Book of Leinster gives: "What shall I do next, that there be no loss of honour or renown to thee in the matter?" Then Fergus set out thereon, in number thirty men; the two Ferguses (i.e. Fergus mac Rog, and Fergus mac Oen-lama) and Dubhtach; till they were at the Ford of Fenna in the north of the land of Kerry. They go to the burg, and welcome is brought to them.[FN#96] "What brings you here?" said Ailill Finn. "We had the intention of staying with you on a visit, for we have a quarrel with Ailill the son of Magach." [FN#96] The Book of the Dun Cow (Leabhar na h-Uidhri) version begins at this point. "If it were one of thy people who had the quarrel, he should stay with me until he had made his peace. But thou shalt not stay," said Ailill Finn, "it has been told me that my wife loves thee!" "We must have a gift of cows then," said Fergus, "for a great need lies on us, even the sustenance of the troop who have gone with me into exile." "Thou shalt carry off no such present from me," he said, "because thou art not remaining with me on a visit. Men will say that it is to keep my wife that I gave thee what thou hast required. I[FN#97] will give to your company one ox and some bacon to help them, if such is your pleasure." "I will eat not thy bread although offered (lit. however)," said Fergus, "because I can get no present of honour from thee!" [FN#97] L.L. and Egerton make the end of this speech part of the story: "There was given to them one ox with bacon, with as much as they wished of beer, as a feast for them." "Out of my house with you all, then!" said Ailill. "That shall be," said Fergus; "we shall not begin to lay siege to thee and they betake themselves outside. "Let a man come at once to fight me beside a ford at the gate of this castle!" said Fergus. "That[FN#98] will not for the sake of my honour be refused," said Ailill; "I will not hand it (the strife) over to another: I will go myself," said he. He went to a ford against him. "Which of us," said Fergus, "O Dubhtach, shall encounter this man?" "I will go," said Dubhtach; "I am younger and keener than thou art!" Dubhtach went against Ailill. Dubhtach thrust a spear through Ailill so that it went through his two thighs. He (Ailill) hurled a javelin at Dubhtach, so that he drove the spear right through him, (so that it came out) on the other side. [FN#98] The end of the speech is from L.L.: the L.U. text gives the whole speech thus: "For my honour's sake, I could not draw back in this matter." Fergus threw his shield over Dubhtach. The former (Ailill) thrust his spear at the shield of Fergus so that he even drove the shaft right through it. Fergus mac Oen-laimi comes by. Fergus mac Oen-laimi holds a shield in front of him (the other Fergus). Ailill struck his spear upon this so that it was forced right through it. He leaped so that he lay there on the top of his companions. Flidais comes by from the castle, and throws her cloak over the three. Fergus' people took to flight; Ailill pursues them. There remain (slain) by him twenty men of them. Seven of them escape to Cruachan Ai, and tell there the whole story to Ailill and Medb. Then Ailill and Medb arise, and the nobles of Connaught and the exiles from Ulster: they march into the district of Kerry Ai with their troops as far as: the Ford of Fenna. Meanwhile the wounded men were being cared for by Flidais in the castle, and their healing was undertaken by her. Then the troops come to the castle. Ailill Finn is summoned to Ailill mac Mata to come to a conference with him outside the castle. "I will not go," he said; "the pride and arrogance of that man there is great." It was,[FN#99] however, for a peaceful meeting that Ailill mac Mata had come to Ailill the Fair-haired, both that he might save Fergus, as it was right he should, and that he might afterwards make peace with him (Ailill Fair haired), according to the will of the lords of Connaught. [FN#99] This passage is sometimes considered to be an interpolation by a scribe or narrator whose sympathies were with Connaught. The passage does not occur in the Book of Leinster, nor in the Egerton MS. Then the wounded men were brought out of the castle, on hand-barrows, that they might be cared for by their own people. Then the men attack him (Ailill Finn): while they are storming the castle, and they could get no hold on him, a full week long went it thus with them. Seven times twenty heroes from among the nobles of Connaught fell during the time that they (endeavoured) to storm the castle of Ailill the Fair-haired. "It was with no good omen that with which you went to this castle," said Bricriu. "True indeed is the word that is spoken," said Ailill mac Mata. "The expedition is bad for the honour of the Ulstermen, in that their three heroes fall, and they take not vengeance for them. Each one (of the three) was a pillar of war, yet not a single man has fallen at the hands of one of the three! Truly these heroes are great to be under such wisps of straw as axe the men of this castle! Most worthy is it of scorn that one man has wounded you three!" "O woe is me," said Bricriu, "long is the length upon the ground of my Papa Fergus, since one man in single combat laid him low!" Then the champions of Ulster arise, naked as they were, and make a strong and obstinate attack in their rage and in the might of their violence, so that they forced in the outer gateway till it was in the midst of the castle, and the men of Connaught go beside them. They storm the castle with great might against the valiant warriors who were there. A wild pitiless battle is fought between them, and each man begins to strike out against the other, and to destroy him. Then, after they had wearied of wounding and overcoming one another, the people of the castle were overthrown, and the Ulstermen slay seven hundred warriors there in the castle with Ailill the Fair-Haired and thirty of his sons; and Amalgaid the Good;[FN#100] and Nuado; and Fiacho Muinmethan (Fiacho the Broad-backed); and Corpre Cromm (the Bent or Crooked); and Ailill from Brefne; and the three Oengus Bodbgnai (the Faces of Danger); and the three Eochaid of Irross (i.e. Irross Donnan); and the seven Breslene from Ai; and the fifty Domnall. [FN#100] "The Good" is in the Book of Leinster and the Egerton text, not in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri: the two later texts omit Nuado. For the assembly of the Gamanrad were with Ailill, and each of the men of Domnan who had bidden himself to come to him to aid him: they were in the same place assembled in his castle; for he knew that the exiles from Ulster and Ailill and Medb with their army would come to him to demand the surrender of Fergus, for Fergus was under their protection. This was the third race of heroes in Ireland, namely the Clan Gamanrad of Irross Donnan (the peninsula of Donnan), and (the other two were) the Clan Dedad in Temair Lochra, and the Clan Rudraige in Emain Macha. But both the other clans were destroyed by the Clan Rudraige. But the men of Ulster arise, and with them the people of Medb and of Ailill; and they laid waste the castle, and take Flidais out of the castle with them, and carry off the women of the castle into captivity; and they take with them all the costly things and the treasures that were there, gold and silver, and horns, and drinking cups, and keys, and vats; and they take what there was of garments of every colour, and they take what there was of kine, even a hundred milch-cows, and a hundred and forty oxen, and thirty hundred of little cattle. And after these things had been done, Flidais went to Fergus mac Rog according to the decree of Ailill and Medb, that they might thence have sustenance (lit. that their sustenance might be) on the occasion of the Raid of the Cows of Cualgne. As[FN#101] a result of this, Flidais was accustomed each seventh day from the produce of her cows to support the men of Ireland, in order that during the Raid she might provide them with the means of life. This then was the Herd of Flidais. [FN#101] L.L. and Egerton give "For him used every seventh day," &c. In consequence[FN#102] of all this Flidais went with Fergus to his home, and he received the lordship of a part of Ulster, even Mag Murthemni (the plain of Murthemne), together with that which had been in the hands of Cuchulain, the son of Sualtam. So Flidais died after some time at Trag Bàli (the shore of Bali), and the state of Fergus' household was none the better for that. For she used to supply all Fergus' needs whatsoever they might be (lit. she used to provide for Fergus every outfit that he desired for himself). Fergus died after some time in the land of Connaught, after the death of his wife, after he had gone there to obtain knowledge of a story. For, in order to cheer himself, and to fetch home a grant of cows from Ailill and Medb, he had gone westwards to Cruachan, so that it was in consequence of this journey that he found his death in the west, through the jealousy of Ailill. [FN#102] L.L. and Egerton give "thereafter," adopted in verse translation. This, then, is the story of the Tain bo Flidais; it[FN#103] is among the preludes of the Tain bo Cualnge. [FN#103] This sentence does not occur in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri. It is given as in the Egerton version: the Book of Leinster gives "it is among the preludes of the Tain." THE APPARITION OF THE GREAT QUEEN TO CUCHULAIN (TAIN BO REGAMNA) INTRODUCTION This tale is given by the same two manuscripts that give the Tain bo Dartada and the Tain bo Regamon; namely the Yellow Book of Lecan, and Egerton 1782. The text of both is given by Windisch, Irische Texte, II. pp. 239-254; he gives a translation of the version in the Yellow Book, with a few insertions from the Egerton MS., where the version in Y.B.L. is apparently corrupt: Miss Hull gives an English translation of Windisch's rendering, in the Cuchullin Saga, pages 103 to 107. The prose version given here is a little closer to the Irish than Miss Hull's, and differs very little from that of Windisch. The song sung by the Morrigan to Cuchulain is given in the Irish of both versions by Windisch; he gives no rendering, as it is difficult and corrupt: I can make nothing of it, except that it is a jeering account of the War of Cualgne. The title Tain bo Regamna is not connected with anything in the tale, as given; Windisch conjectures "Tain bo Morrigna," the Driving of the Cow of the Great Queen (Morrigan); as the woman is called at the end of the Egerton version. The Morrigan, one of the three goddesses of war, was the chief of them: they were Morrigan, Badb, and Macha. She is also the wife of the Dagda, the chief god of the pagan Irish. The Yellow Book version calls her Badb in this tale, but the account in the Tain bo Cualnge (Leabhar na h-Uidhri facsimile, pp. 74 and 77), where the prophecies are fulfilled, agrees with the Egerton version in calling the woman of this tale the Morrigan or the Great Queen. THE APPARITION OF THE GREAT QUEEN TO CUCHULAIN (ALSO CALLED "TAIN BO REGAMNA") FROM THE YELLOW BOOK OF LECAN (FOURTEENTH CENTURY) AT Dun Imrid lay Cuchulain,[FN#104] and slept, when a cry rang out; And in fear he heard from the north-land come ringing that terrible shout: He fell, as he woke from his slumber, with the thud of a weight, to the ground, From his couch on that side of the castle that the rising sun first found. He left his arms in the castle, as the lawns round its walls he sought, But his wife, who followed behind him, apparel and arms to him brought: Then he saw his harnessed chariot, and Laeg,[FN#105] his charioteer, From Ferta Laig who drave it: from the north the car drew near: "What bringeth thee here?" said Cuchulain: said Laeg, "By a cry I was stirred, That across the plain came sounding." "And whence was the cry thou hast heard?" "From the north-west quarter it travelled, it crossed the great Cayll[FN#106] Cooen road!" "Follow on, on that track," said Cuchulain, "till we know what that clamour may bode!" [FN#104] Pronounced Cu-hoolin. [FN#105] Pronounced Layg. [FN#106] Spelt Caill Cuan. At the ford of the Double Wonder, at Ah[FN#107] Fayrta, the car made stand For a chariot rattled toward them, from the clay-soiled Coolgarry[FN#108] land And before them came that chariot; and strange was the sight they saw: For a one-legged chestnut charger was harnessed the car to draw; And right through the horse's body the pole of the car had passed, To a halter across his forehead was the pole with a wedge made fast: A red woman sat in the chariot, bright red were her eyebrows twain A crimson cloak was round her: the folds of it touched the plain: Two poles were behind her chariot: between them her mantle flowed; And close by the side of that woman a mighty giant strode; On his back was a staff of hazel, two-forked, and the garb he wore Was red, and a cow he goaded, that shambled on before. [FN#107] Spelt Ath Ferta, or more fully Ath da Ferta, the ford of the two marvels. [FN#108] Spelt Culgaire. To that woman and man cried Cuchulain, "Ye who drive that cow do wrong, For against her will do ye drive her!" "Not to thee doth that cow belong," Said the woman; "no byre of thy comrades or thy friends hath that cow yet barred." "The kine of the land of Ulster," said Cuchulain, "are mine to guard!" "Dost thou sit on the seat of judgment?" said the dame, "and a sage decree On this cow would'st thou give, Cuchulain?--too great is that task for thee!" Said the hero, "Why speaketh this woman? hath the man with her never a word?" "'Twas not him you addressed," was her answer, "when first your reproaches we heard." "Nay, to him did I speak," said Cuchulain, "though 'tis thou to reply who would'st claim!" 'Ooer-gay-skyeo-loo-ehar-skyeo[FN#109] is the name that he bears," said the dame. [FN#109] Spelt Uar-gaeth-sceo-luachair-sceo "'Tis a marvellous name!" said Cuchulain, "if from thee all my answer must come, Let it be as thou wishest; thy comrade, this man, as it seemeth, is dumb. Tell me now of thine own name, O woman." "Faebor-bayg-byeo-ill,"[FN#110] said the man. "Coom-diewr-folt-skayv-garry-skyeo-ooa is her name, if pronounce it you can!" Then Cuchulain sprang at the chariot: "Would ye make me a fool with your jest?" He cried, as he leapt at the woman; his feet on her shoulders he pressed, And he set on her head his spear-point: "Now cease from thy sharp weapon-play!" Cried the woman. Cuchulain made answer: Thy name to me truth fully say!" "Then remove thyself from me!" she answered: I am skilled in satirical spells; The man is called Darry I mac Feena[FN#111]: in the country of Cualgne[FN#112] he dwells; I of late made a marvellous poem; and as fee for the poem this cow Do I drive to my home." "Let its verses," said Cuchulain," be sung to me now!" "Then away from me stand!" said the woman: "though above me thou shakest thy spear, It will naught avail thee to move me." Then he left her, but lingered near, Between the poles of her chariot: the woman her song then sang; And the song was a song of insult. Again at the car he sprang, But nothing he found before him: as soon as the car he had neared, The woman, the horse, and the chariot, the cow, and the man disappeared. [FN#110] Spelt Faebor-begbeoil-cuimdiuir-folt-seenb-gairit-sceo-uath. [FN#111] Spelt Daire mac Fiachna: he is the owner of the Dun of Cualgne in the Great Tain. [FN#112] Pronounced Kell-ny. At a bird on a bough, as they vanished, a glance by Cuchulain was cast, And he knew to that bird's black body the shape of the woman had passed: As a woman of danger I know you," he cried, "and as powerful in spell!" From to-day and for ever," she chanted, "this tale in yon clay-land shall dwell!" And her word was accomplished; that region to-day is the Grella Dolloo,[FN#113] The Clay-land of Evil: its name from the deeds of that woman it drew. [FN#113] Spelt Grellach Dolluid. "Had I known it was you," said Cuchulain, "not thus had you passed from my sight!" And she sang, "For thy deed it is fated that evil shall soon be thy plight!" Thou canst. do naught against me," he answered. "Yea, evil in sooth can I send; Of thy Bringer of Death I am guardian, shall guard it till cometh thine end: From the Under-world Country of Croghan this cow have I driven, to breed By the Dun Bull of Darry[FN#114] Mae Feena, the Bull that in Cualgne doth feed. So long as her calf be a yearling, for that time thy life shall endure; But, that then shall the Raid have beginning, the dread Raid of Cualgne, be sure." [FN#114] Spelt Daire mac Fiachna. "Nay, clearer my fame shall be ringing," the hero replied," for the Raid: All bards, who my deeds shall be singing, must tell of the stand that I made, Each warrior in fight shall be stricken, who dares with my valour to strive: Thou shalt see me, though battle-fields thicken, from the Tain Bo returning alive!" "How canst thou that strife be surviving?" the woman replied to his song, "For, when thou with a hero art striving, as fearful as thou, and as strong, Who like thee in his wars is victorious, who all of thy feats can perform, As brave, and as great, and as glorious, as tireless as thou in a storm, Then, in shape of an eel round thee coiling, thy feet at the Ford I will bind, And thou, in such contest when toiling, a battle unequal shalt find." "By my god now I swear, by the token that Ulstermen swear by," he cried; "On a green stone by me shall be broken that eel, to the Ford if it glide: From woe it shall ne'er be escaping, till it loose me, and pass on its way!" And she said: "As a wolf myself shaping, I will spring on thee, eager to slay, I will tear thee; the flesh shall be rended from thy chest by the wolf's savage bite, Till a strip be torn from thee, extended from the arm on thy left to thy right! With blows that my spear-shaft shall deal thee," he said, "I will force thee to fly Till thou quit me; my skill shall not heal thee, though bursts from thy head either eye!" I will come then," she cried, "as a heifer, white-skinned, but with ears that are red, At what time thou in fight shalt endeavour the blood of a hero to shed, Whose skill is full match for thy cunning; by the ford in a lake I will be, And a hundred white cows shall come running, with red ears, in like fashion to me: As the hooves of the cows on thee trample, thou shalt test 'truth of men in the fight': And the proof thou shalt have shall be ample, for from thee thy head they shall smite!" Said Cuchulain: "Aside from thee springing, a stone for a cast will I take, And that stone at thee furiously slinging, thy right or thy left leg will break: Till thou quit me, no help will I grant thee." Morreegan,[FN#115] the great Battle Queen, With her cow to Rath Croghan departed, and no more by Cuchulain was seen. For she went to her Under-World Country: Cuchulain returned to his place. The tale of the Great Raid of Cualgne this lay, as a prelude, may grace. [FN#115] Spelt Morrigan. THE APPARITION OF THE GREAT QUEEN TO CUCHULAIN LITERAL TRANSLATION When Cuchulain lay in his sleep at Dun Imrid, there he heard a cry from the north; it came straight towards him; the cry was dire, and most terrifying to him. And he awaked in the midst of his sleep, so that he fell, with the fall of a heavy load, out of his couch,[FN#116] to the ground on the eastern side of his house. He went out thereupon without his weapons, so that he was on the lawns before his house, but his wife brought out, as she followed behind him, his arms and his clothing. Then he saw Laeg in his harnessed chariot, coming from Ferta Laig, from the north; and "What brings thee here?" said Cuchulain. "A cry," said Laeg, "that I heard sounding over the plains. "On what side was it?" said Cuchulain. "From the north-west it seemed," said Laeg, "that is, across the great road of Caill Cuan."[FN#117] "Let us follow after to know of it (lit. after it, to it for us)," said Cuchulain. [FN#116] Or "out of his room." The word is imda, sometimes rendered "bed," as here by Windisch sometimes also "room," as in the Bruidne da Derga by Whitley Stokes. [FN#117] Lough Cuan was the old name for Strangford Lough. They went out thereupon till they came to Ath da Ferta. When they were there, straightway they heard the rattle of a chariot from the quarter of the loamy district of Culgaire. Then they saw the chariot come before them, and one chestnut (lit. red) horse in it. The horse was one footed, and the pole of the chariot passed through the body of the horse, till a wedge went through it, to make it fast on its forehead. A red[FN#118] woman was in the chariot, and a red mantle about her, she had two red eye-brows, and the mantle fell between the two ferta[FN#119] of her chariot behind till it struck upon the ground behind her. A great man was beside her chariot, a red[FN#120] cloak was upon him, and a forked staff of hazel at his back, he drove a cow in front of him. [FN#118] The above is the Egerton text: the text of Y.B.L. gives "A red woman there, with her two eyebrows red, and her cloak and her raiment: the cloak fell," &c. [FN#119] It is not known certainly what the ferta were: Windisch translates "wheels," but does not give this meaning in his Dictionary: the ferta were behind the car, and could be removed to sound the depth of a ford. It is suggested that they were poles, projecting behind to balance the chariot; and perhaps could be adjusted so as to project less or farther. [FN#120] This is the Egerton text; the Y.B.L. text gives "a tunic forptha on him the meaning of forptha is unknown. "That cow is not joyful at being driven by you!" said Cuchulain. "The cow does not belong to you," said the woman, "she is not the cow of any friend or acquaintance of yours." "The cows of Ulster," said Cuchulain, "are my proper (care)." "Dost thou give a decision about the cow?" said the woman; "the task is too great to which thy hand is set, O Cuchulain." "Why is it the woman who answers me?" said Cuchulain, "why was it not the man?" "It was not the man whom you addressed," said the woman. "Ay," said Cuchulain, "(I did address him), though thyself hath answered for him:" "h-Uar-gaeth-sceo-luachair-sceo[FN#121] is his name," said she. [FN#121] Cold-wind-and-much-rushes. "Alas! his name is a wondrous one," said Cuchulain. "Let it be thyself who answers,[FN#122] since the man answers not. What is thine own name?" said Cuchulain. "The woman to whom thou speakest," said the man, "is Faebor-begbeoil-cuimdiuir-folt-scenbgairit-sceo-uath."[FN#123] "Do ye make a fool of me?" cried Cuchulain, and on that Cuchulain sprang into her chariot: he set his two feet on her two shoulders thereupon, and his spear on the top of her head. "Play not sharp weapons on me!" "Name thyself then by thy true name!" said Cuchulain. "Depart then from me!" said she: "I am a female satirist in truth," she said, "and he is Daire mac Fiachna from Cualnge: I have brought the cow as fee for a master-poem." "Let me hear the poem then," said Cuchulain. "Only remove thyself from me," said the woman; "it is none[FN#124] the better for thee that thou shakest it over my head." Thereon he left her until he was between the two poles (ferta) of her chariot, and she sang to him[FN#125] . . . . . . Cuchulain threw a spring at her chariot, and he saw not the horse, nor the woman, nor the chariot, nor the man, nor the cow. [FN#122] Y.B.L. corrupt; Egerton version adopted here. [FN#123] Little-mouthed-edge-equally-small-hair-short-splinter-much-clamour. [FN#124] Not is it better for thee that" is in Egerton alone. [FN#125] See the introduction for the omission of the poem. Then he saw that she had become a black bird upon a branch near to him. "A dangerous[FN#126] (or magical) woman thou art," said Cuchulain: "Henceforward," said the woman, "this clay-land shall be called dolluid (of evil,)" and it has been the Grellach Dolluid ever since. "If only I had known it was you," said Cuchulain, "not thus should we have separated." "What thou hast done," said she, "shall be evil to thee from it." "Thou hast no power against me," said Cuchulain. "I have power indeed," said the woman; "it is at the guarding of thy death that I am; and I shall be," said she. "I brought this cow out of the fairy-mound of Cruachan, that she might breed by the Black Bull[FN#127] of Cualnge, that is the Bull of Daire Mae Fiachna. It is up to that time that thou art in life, so long as the calf which is in this cow's body is a yearling; and it is this that shall lead to the Tain bo Cualnge." "I shall myself be all the more glorious for that Tain," said Cuchulain: "I shall slay their warriors: I shall break their great hosts: I shall be survivor of the Tain." [FN#126] Windisch is doubtful about the meaning of this word. He gives it as "dangerous" in his translation; it may also mean "magical," though he thinks not. In a note he says that the meaning "dangerous" is not certain. [FN#127] In Egerton "the Dun of Cualnge." "In what way canst thou do this?" said the woman, "for when thou art in combat against a man of equal strength (to thee), equally rich in victories, thine equal in feats, equally fierce, equally untiring, equally noble, equally brave, equally great with thee, I will be an eel, and I will draw a noose about thy feet in the ford, so that it will be a great unequal war for thee." "I swear to the god that the Ulstermen swear by," said Cuchulain, "I will break thee against a green stone of the ford; and thou shalt have no healing from me, if thou leavest me not." "I will in truth be a grey wolf against thee," said she, "and I will strip a stripe[FN#128] from thee, from thy right (hand) till it extends to thy left." [FN#128] This word is left doubtful in Windisch's translation. The word is breth in Y.B.L. and breit in Egerton. Breit may be a strip of woollen material, or a strip of land; so the meaning of a strip of flesh seems possible. "I will beat thee from me," said he, "with the spear, till thy left or thy right eye bursts from thy head, and thou shalt never have healing from me, if thou leavest me not." "I shall in truth," she said, "be for thee as a white heifer with red ears, and I will go into a lake near to the ford in which thou art in combat against a man who is thine equal in feats, and one hundred white, red-eared cows shall be behind me and 'truth of men' shall on that day be tested; and they shall take thy head from thee." "I will cast at thee with a cast of my sling," said Cuchulain, "so as to break either thy left or thy right leg from under thee; and thou shalt have no help from me if thou leavest me not." They[FN#129] separated, and Cuchulain went back again to Dun Imrid, and the Morrigan with her cow to the fairy mound of Cruachan; so that this tale is a prelude to the Tain bo Cualnge. [FN#129] All this sentence up to "so that this tale" is from the Egerton version. The Yellow Book of Lecan gives "The Badb thereon went from him, and Cuchulain went to his own house, so that," &c. TEXT OF LEABHAR NA H-UIDHRI GIVING THE CONCLUSION OF THE "COURTSHIP OF ETAIN" INTRODUCTION The following pages give, with an interlinear word for word[FN#130] translation, the text of Leabhar na h-Uidhri, page 130 b. line 19 to the end of page 132 a. of the facsimile. The text corresponds to the end of the tale of the Court ship of Etain in vol. i., from page 27, line 21, to the end of the story; it also contains the poem which is in that volume placed on page 26, but occurs in the manuscript at the place where the first line of it is quoted on page 30 of vol. i. [FN#130] The Irish idiom of putting the adjective after the noun is not always followed in the translation. It is hoped that the text may be found to be convenient by scholars: special care has been taken to make it accurate, and it has not, with the exception of the poem just referred to, been published before except in the facsimile; the remainder of the text of the L.U. version of the Courtship of Etain, together with the poem, has been given by Windisch in the first volume of the Irische Texte. The immediate object of the publication of this text, with its interlinear translation, is however somewhat different; it was desired to give any who may have become interested in the subject, from the romances contained in the two volumes of this collection, some idea of their exact form in the original, and of the Irish constructions and metres, as no Irish scholarship is needed to follow the text, when supplemented by the interlinear translation. The translation may be relied on, except for a few words indicated by a mark of interrogation. The passage is especially well suited to give an idea of the style of Irish composition, as it contains all the three forms used in the romances, rhetoric, regular verse, and prose: the prose also is varied in character, for it includes narrative, rapid dialogue, an antiquarian insertion, and two descriptive passages. The piece of antiquarian information and the resume of the old legend immediately preceding the second rhetoric can be seen to be of a different character to the flowing form of the narrative proper; the inserted passage being full of explanatory words, conid, issairi, is aice, &c., and containing no imagery. The two descriptions, though short, are good examples of two styles of description which occur in some other romances; neither of these styles is universal, nor are they the only styles; the favour shown to one or the other in a romance may be regarded as a characteristic of its author. The first style, exemplified by the description of Mider's appearance, consists of a succession of images presented in short sentences, sometimes, as in this case, with no verb, sometimes with the verb batar or a similar verb repeated in each sentence, but in all cases giving a brilliant word-picture, absolutely clear and definite, of what it is intended to convey. The second style, exemplified here by the description of the horses that Mider offers to Eochaid, consists of a series of epithets or of substantives, and is often imitated in modern Irish. These passages are usually difficult to translate, as many words appear to be coined for the purpose of the descriptions; but, in the best writings, the epithets are by no means arbitrary; they are placed so as to contrast sharply with each other, and in many cases suggest brilliant metaphors; the style being in this respect more like Latin than English. Absolutely literal translations quite fail to bring out the effect of such passages; for not only is the string of adjectives a distinctively Irish feature, but both in English and in Greek such metaphors are generally expressed more definitely and by short sentences. There is also a third style of description which does not appear in the prose of any of the romances in this collection, but appears often in other romances, as in the Bruidne da Derga, Bricriu's Feast, and the Great Tain; it resembles the first style, but the sentences are longer, yet it does not give clear descriptions, only leaving a vague impression. This style is often used for descriptions of the supernatural; it may be regarded as actual reproductions of the oldest pre-Christian work, but it is also possible that it is the result of legends, dimly known to the authors of the tales, and represented by them in the half-understood way in which they were apprehended by them: the Druidic forms may have been much more clear. Such passages are those which describe Cuchulain's distortions; the only passage of the character in this collection is in the verse of the Sick-bed, vol. i. page 77. Five of the romances in the present collection have no descriptive passages in the prose; the Combat at the Ford and the Tain bo Fraich show examples of both the first and the second form, but more often the first; the Tain bo Regamna, though a very short piece, also shows one example of each; for the description of the goblins met by Cuchulain is quite clear, and cannot be regarded as belonging to the third form. There is also one case of the second form in the Tain bo Dartada, and two other cases of the first in the Court ship of Etain-one in the Egerton, one in the Leabhar na h-Uidhri version. The best example of the first style is in the Egerton version of Etain (vol. i. page 12); the best example of the second is the description of Cuchulain's horses (vol. i. page 128); a still better example of contrasts in such a description is in the Courtship of Ferb (Nutt, page 23). The piece of regular verse contained in the extract should give a fair idea of the style of this form of composition. Description is common in the verse, and it is in this case a prominent feature. It may be noted that lines 8, 16, 23, 26 will not scan unless the present diphthongs are divided, also that the poem has fewer internal rhymes than is usual in this regular verse. The two passages in rhetoric, for so I take them to be, are good examples of the style. An attempt has been made to divide them into lines, but this division is open to criticism, especially as some lines in one of the two passages cannot be translated, and the translation of some other lines is doubtful: the division suggested does, however, appear to me to give a rough metre and occasional rhymes. It is possible that, if attention is called to those lines which are at present untranslatable, something may be done for them. The verse translations given in vol. i. pages 27 and 29, give the meaning that I take the Irish to bear where I can get any meaning at all. As to the text, the usual abbreviation for n has in general not been italicized, nor has that for fri; all other abbreviations, including acht, final n in the symbol for con, and that for or in the recognized symbol for for, have been italicized. In the rhetorics, owing to their difficulty, the abbreviation for n has been italicized throughout; the symbol for ocus is not italicised. A few conjectures have been inserted, the text being given as a foot-note; a conjectured letter supposed to be missing has been inserted in brackets, and a restoration by Professor Strachan of a few letters where the MS. is torn are similarly placed in brackets. The rest of the text is carefully copied from the facsimile, including the glosses, which are inserted above the words in the same places that they occupy in the manuscript. TEXT WITH INTERLINEAR TRANSLATION Fecht n-aile asraracht Eochaid Airem ri Temrach la n-alaind Another time arose Eochaid Airem. king of Tara on a beautiful day i n-amsir samrata frisocaib[FN#131] for sosta na Temrach do imcaisiu maigi Breg, in time of summer, mounted on heights of Tara for viewing of plain of Breg, [FN#131] A conjecture: MS. fosrocaib= fo-s-ro-od-gaib, an unknown compound. boi fo a li ocus fo bluth cach datha. Am-imracacha inti was good its colour, and good blossom of every hue. When looked about the aforesaid Eochaid imbi, co acca inn oclaech n-ingnad for sin sossad[FN#132] inna Eoebaid around him, he saw the young warrior unknown on the height beside [FN#132] A conjecture: MS. tossad. chomairi. Fuan corcair imbi, ocus mong or-budi fair co brainni him. Tunic purple about him, and hair gold-yellow on him to edges a da imdae. Rosc cainlech glas ina chind. Sleg coicrind ina laim. of his two shoulders. Eye lustrous gray in his head. Spear five-pointed in his hand. Sciath taulgel ina laim con gemaib oir forri. Sochtais Eochaid, ar ni Shield white-bossed in his hand with gems of gold on it. Was silent Eochaid, for not fitir a bith isin Temraig inn aidehi riam, ocus ni orslaiethe ind lis he knew of his being in the Tara the night before, and not was opened the Liss in trath sin. Tolluid ar inchaib Eochoda iarsain asbert Eochaid iarom, at that hour. He came under protection of Eochaid thereon; said Eochaid then, fochen dond laech nad athgenmar. Is ed doroehtmar or in welcome to the hero whom we know not. It is for that we have come, said the t-oclaech. Ni tathgenmar or Eochaid. Atotgensa chetus ol in (young) warrior. We know thee not, said Eochaid. I know thee indeed, said the t-oclaech. Cia th'ainm seo? ol Eochaid. Ni airdairc son, ol se, warrior. What (is) thy own name? said Eochaid. Not illustrious that, said he, Mider Breg Leith. Cid dotroacht ol Eochaid. Do imbert fidcille Mider of Bri Leith. What brought thee? said Eochaid. To play at chess frit-su ol se. Am maith se em, ol Eochaid for fithchill. A fromad with thee, said he. I am good myself truly, said Eochaid, at chess-play. Its essaying dun ol Mider. Ata ol Eochaid, ind rigan ina cotlud, is le in tech to us! said Mider. Is, said Eochaid, the queen in her sleep, it is hers the house ata ind fithchell. Ata sund chenae, ol Mider, fidchell nad where is the chessboard. There is here yet, said Mider, a chessboard which is not messo. Ba fir on, clar n-argit ocus fir oir, ocus fursunnud cacha worse. Was true that, a board of silver and men of gold, and shining in every hairidi for sin clar di liic logmair, ocus fer-bolg di figi rond credumae. direction on that board of costly stones, and a men-bag of woven chains of brass. Ecraid Mider in fidchill iarsin. Imbir ol Mider. Ni immer acht Set out Mider the chessboard thereupon. Play! said Mider. Not will I play, except di giull ol Eochaid. Cid gell bias and? ol Mider. Cumma lim ol for a stake, said Eochaid. What stake shall be here? said Mider. Equal to me, said Eochaid. Rot-bia lim-sa ol Mider mad tu beras mo thochell, Eochaid. Thou shalt have from me, said Mider, if thou carry off my stake, L. gabur n-dub-glas ite cend-brecca, croderga, biruich, 50 horses of dark-gray, and they with dappled heads, blood-red, with ears pricked high, bruin-lethain, bolg(s)roin, coss choela, comrassa, faeborda,[FN#133] femendae,[FN#133] chests broad, nostrils distended, feet thin, strong, keen, ? vehement, aurarda, aignecha, so-(a)staidi,[FN#133] so very high, spirited, easily stopped, [FN#133] See Bruidne da Derga (Stokes), 50, 51, faeborda, lit. with an edge on them; femendae? = Lat. vehemens; soaistidi is the form adopted by Stokes in his edition of the Bruidne; Egerton MS. gives soastaide. There is a gap here, a complete column being torn from the manuscript. The lost part obviously describes the issue of the chess game or games, and the penalties demanded by Bochaid: what these penalties were is plain from the succeeding story. The work of Mider and his folk in paying these penalties must also have been described: the next column (Leabhar na h- Uidhri, 131 b. of the facsimile) opens thus: iarsin doberar uir ocus grian ocus clocha for sin monai. Fri etna thereupon is, placed earth and gravel and stones on the bog. Over foreheads dam dano-batar fedmand la firu h-Erind cosind n-aidchi sin, co of oxen then were yokes among men of Ireland till that very night, when n-aicces la lucht in t-side for a formnaib. Dognith it was seen (tbLat they were) among people of the Mounds on their shoulders. It was done samlaid la Eochaid, conid de ata do som. Echaid Airem, ar so by Eochaid, so that hence is to himself (the name of) Echaid Airem, for is aice toisech tucad cuing for muinelaib dam do ferand h-Erind. Is it is by him first was put yoke on necks of oxen for land of Ireland. This ed dino and food ro boi im belaib in t-sluaig oc denam in tocuir: is then there word which was on lips of the host at making of the causeway: Rhetoric-- Cuire illaim, Put into hand tochra illaim, place (it) into hand aurdairc damrad trathaib iar fuin noble (are) oxen for hours after sunset for trom ailges very heavy request ni fes cuich les it is not known to whom (is) gain cuich amles de thochur dar moin Lamraige. to whom harm from the causeway over moor of Lamrach. Ni biad isin bith tochur bad ferr mani bethe oca There would not be in the world a causeway which is better, if not (men) had been at n-descin Forracbad de bochtae and iartain. Iarsin dolluid the seeing them. Was left on that account a breach there thenceforth. Thereupon came in rechtaire co Echaid ocus adfet scela in mor fedma, atconnaire the steward to Echaid, and made known tales of the great serving band, that he saw fiadai, ocus asbert nad rabi for fertas in betha cumachta before him, and said that there was not on the chariot pole of life a power dodrosce de. Am batar for a m-briathraib co n-accatar Mider that excelled it. When they were at their talking they saw Mider (come) chucu. Ard chustal ocus droch gne fair. Atrigestar Eochaid, to them. High ? girt (he was), and evil face (was) on him.? Rose ?[FN#134] Eochaid, [FN#134] This is a possible rendering, taking the word as a deponent form of atregaim. It would be more natural to take the word as from adagur; being equivalent to ad-d-raigestar, and to mean "feared him," but this does not agree with Eoebaid's general attitude. ocus ferais faelti fri. Is ed dorochtmar ol Mider. Is toreda ocus is and gave welcome to him. It is for that we have come, said Mider. It is cruel and is di-cheill no tai frim, mor decrai ocus mor aingcessa do thabairt form senseless thou art to me, great hardship and great suffering thy bestowing on me adethaind ni bad maith lat chena acht is bairnech mo menma frit. I used to get what seemed good to thee still but is angry my mind against thee. Ni bara fri bure dait-siu on do-gignestar do menma for Eochaid. Not anger against anger: to thyself the thing that shall choose thy mind, said Eochaid. Gebthar dano, ol Mider. Inn imberam fidchill? for Mider. Cid gell It shall be done then, said Mider. Shall we play at chess? said Mider. What stake bias and? for Eochaid. Gell adcobra cechtar da lina for shall be there? said Eochaid. The stake that wishes each of the two parties, said Mider. Berar tochell n-Echdach alla sin. Rucais mo Mider. Is carried off stake of Echaid in that very place. Thou hast carried off my thocell, for Eebaid. Mad ail dam no-beraind o chianaib, stake, said Echaid. If wish to me (had been) I could have carried it off long since, for Mider. Cacht cid adcobrai form-sa? for Echaid. Di laim im said Mider. Question what wishest thou from myself? said Echaid. Two arms about etain, ocus poc di ol Mider. Sochtais Echaid la, sodain, ocus asbert, Etain, and a kiss from her, said Mider. Was silent Echaid thereon, and said, tis dia mis on diu, doberthar dait ani sin. In thou shalt come in a month from to-day, (and) shall be given to thee that very thing. The bliadain ria tuidecht do Mider co Echaid do imbert na fidehille boi oc year before the coming of Mider to Echaid for playing of the chess was he at tochmarc etaine, ocus nis n-etad leis. Is ed ainm dobered Mider wooing of Etain, and nothing was found by him. This is the name used to give Mider di: befind conide asbert: to her: fair-haired lady, so that thence he said: a be find in raga lim O fair-haired lady, wilt thou come with me i tir n-ingnad hi fil rind into a land marvellous, that is music? Is barr sobarche folt and (thus) is the top of the head, of primrose the hair there, is dath snechta corp co ind: is colour of snow the body to the head: Is and nad bi mui na tai, It is there not will be 'mine' or 'thine,' gela det and, dubai brai, white teeth there, black eyebrows, Is li sula lin ar sluag,[FN#135] is colour of eyes number of our hosts, [FN#135] A conjecture by Windisch. Text gives sluaig the genitive singular, which does not rhyme. [FN#136]no is brece is dath sion and cech gruad: or is many-coloured is hue of foxglove there each cheek: [FN#136] The three glosses are interesting. It may be noted that the last two certainly follow the word (above the line in which it occurs) that they seem to gloss: it is therefore probable that the first does so too; the two lines of a couplet are on the same line in the manuscript. It {footnote p. 156} seems then possible that the gloss "it is many-coloured" refers, not to the foxglove, but to the preceding line, "the colour of eyes is number of our hosts," and that the writer of this gloss gave the same meaning to the rather hard description of the colour of the eyes as is given in the verse translation (vol. i. p. 26), i.e. that the eyes had changing lights and shapes. We must hope, for the credit of his taste, that he did not think of the cheeks as many-coloured or freckled, but his gloss of lossa does not seem happy. The meaning "growth" is taken from O'Reilly's Dictionary. no lossa Is corcair maige cach muin,[FN#137] or growth? is purple of a plain each neck, [FN#137] A conjecture (Str.), main, treasure, is in the text: this does not rhyme, nor give good sense; note, however, that muin has no accent-the text gives one. no is dath is li sula ugai luin: or is hue is colour of eyes (that of) eggs of a blackbird: cid cain deicsiu maigi Fail though pleasant (is) seeing plains of Fal (isle of Destiny) annam iar gnais maige mair. a wilderness[FN#138] after knowledge of the Great Plain. [FN#138] This meaning for annam is doubtful; the sense of "seldom" is established for the word; the line possibly means "it will seldom be so after," &c. Cid mesc lib coirm inse Fail, Though intoxicating to you (is) ale of the island Fal, is mescu coirm tire mair, is more intoxicating the ale of the country great, amra tire tir asbiur, a wonder of a land the land I mention, ni theit oac and re siun. not goes a young man there before an old man. Srotha teith millsi tar tir, Streams warm (and) sweet through the land, rogu de mid ocus fin, choice of mead and wine, doini delgnaidi, cen on, men ? handsome, without blemish, combart cen pecead, cen col. conception without sin without crime. Atchiam cach for each leth, We see all on every side, ocus ni-conn acci nech; and yet not sees us anyone temel imorbais adaim the cloud of the sin of Adam do-don-archeil[FN#139] ar araim encompasses us from reckoning [FN#139] From tairchellaim. A ben dia ris mo thuaith tind, O woman, if thou wilt come to my people strong, is barr oir bias fort chind, it is top of head of gold shall be on thy head, inue ur, laith, lemnacht la lind pork unsalted, ale, new milk for drink rot bia lim and, a be find, a be find. shall be to thee with me there, O woman fair-haired. [a gap, 9 letters lost] i atumchotaise om aithech tige rag-sa, [a gap, thou obtainest me from my master of the house I will go, [9 letters lost] fetai, ni rag. Is iarsin dolluid Mider (L.U. 130 a.) co canst, not will I go. It is thereon came Mider to Echaid, ocus damair a thochell fochetoir co m-beth fôlo acai Echaid, and yields his stake immediately that may be (cause) of reproach for him do Echaid, is airi roic na comada mora, ocus issairi is to Echaid, it is therefore he paid the great stakes, and on that account it is (that) fo anfis con atig a gell. Conid iarsin giull adrubrad in tan tra under ignorance that he asked his wager. So that after that wager it was said when now ro boi Mider cona muinter oc ic comad na aidehi, i. in tochor, ocus was Mider and his folk at paying the stake of the night, that is, the causeway, and di-chlochad Midi, ocus luachair Tetbai, ocus fid dar Breg: isse[FN#140] seo clearing stones off Meath, and rushes of Tethba and forest over Breg: it is he this [FN#140] Grammar not clear: perhaps the Irish is corrupt (Str.). an no foclad boi oca muinter amal atbert lebor drom snechta: what used to say was with his folk as says Book of Drom-snechta: Rhetoric-- Cuirthe illand: Put on the field: tochre illand: Put close on the field airderg dararad: very red oxen: trom in choibden: heavy the troop clunithar fir ferdi. Which hears ?really-manly buidni balc-thruim crand-chuir troops for strong heavy setting of trees forderg saire fedar of very red ?oaks[FN#141] are led [FN#141] Reading daire for saire. sechuib slimprib snithib past them on twisted wattles: scitha lama: weary are hands, ind rosc cloina: the eye ?slants aside? fobith oen mna because of one woman Duib in digail: To you the revenge, duib in trom-daim:[FN#142] to you the heavy ?oxen [FN#142] A conjecture. MS. gives trom-daim. tairthim flatho fer ban: splendour of sovereignty over white men: fomnis, fomnis, in fer m-braine cerpae fomnis diad dergæ ? ? ? fer arfeid solaig ? fri aiss esslind ? fer bron for-ti ? sorrow shall, come on the man? i. more ertechta inde ? lamnado luachair rushes for di Thethbi over?two Tethbas di-chlochad[FN#143] Midi clearing stones from Meath [FN#143] A conjecture. MS. gives dilecad (Str.) indracht ? coich les, coich amles to whom the benefit, to whom the harm thocur dar clochach? moin.[FN#144] causeway over stony moor. [FN#144] The last line in the Ms. is t d c m. Dalis Mider dia mis Fochiallastar (i. rotinoil). Echaid formna Mider appointed a meeting for the end of a month. Echaid assembled (i.e. collected)troops. laech la-erend com batar hi Temrach, ocus an ro po dech do fiannaib of heroes of Ireland so that they were in Tara, and what was best of champions h-Erind, cach cuaird imm araile im Temrach immedon ocus a nechtair, of Ireland, each ring about another, around Tara im the middle, and outside it ocus is-tig. Ocus in ri ocus in rigan immedon in taigi, ocus ind lis and within. And the king and the queen in the middle of the house, and its Liss iatai fo glassaib, ar ro fetatar do t-icfad fer in mar cumacht. Etain shut under locks, for they knew that would comie of insen the great might. Etain boi ocon dail ind aidehi sin forsna flathi, ar ba sain dana disi dal. was dispensing that night to the princes, for it was meet then for her pouring (of the wine) Am batar iarom fora. m-briathraib, co accatar Mider chucu for When they were thereon at their talking they saw Mider (come) to them on lar ind rigthige. Ba cain som dogres ba caini dana inn aidehi sin. the floor of the royal palace. He was fair always, was fairer then on that night. Tosbert im mod na slûag ateonnairc. Sochsit uli iarom ocus He brought to amazement the hosts that he saw.[FN#145] Were silent all thereon, and [FN#145] Reading atcondairc (Str.). ferais in ri faelti fris. Is ed dorochtmar ol Mider. An ro gella the king gave welcome to him. It is this we have come for, said Mider. What was promised dam-sa or se, tucthar dam. Is fiach ma gelltar, an ro gellad to myself, said he, let it be given to me. It is a debt if a promise is given, tucus dait-siu. Ni imrordusa for Echaid, ani sin co se. I have given to thee. Not have I thought on, said Echaid, that very thing up to now. Atrugell etain fein dam-sa, ol Mider, ticht uait-siu. Thou hast promised Etain herself to me, said Mider, message (lit. a coming) from you. Imdergthar im Etain la, sodain. Na imdergthar imut for Mider, ni There was a blush on Etain thereupon. Let there be no blush on thee, said Mider, not droch banas duit-siu. Atu-sa, ol si, bliadain oc do chuingid com evil marriage-feast to thee. I am myself, said he, a year at seeking thee with mainib ocus setaib at aildem in ere, ocus ni tucus-sa treasures and jewels that are the most beautiful in Ireland and not I took thee comad chomarlecud do Echaid. Ni -la-deoas damsa ce till there should be permission of Echaid. Not by good-will to me any dotchotaind. Atrubart-sa frit-su ol si, conom rire Echaid, getting thee. I myself said to thyself, said she, until Echaid gives me up nit rius. Atometha lat ar mo chuit fein, dia nom rire Echaid. not will I come to thee. Take me with thee for my own part, if me Echaid will give up. Nit ririub immorro, for Echaid, acht tabrad a di laim Not thee will I give up however, said Echaid, but (I give) a placing of his two hands imut for lar in tige, amal ro gabais. Dogentar for Mider. about thee on floor of the house, as thou art. It shall be done! said Mider. i. mider Atetha a gaisced ina laim cli, ocus gabais in mnai fo a leth-oxail dess, that is, Mider He took his weapons in his hand left, and took the woman under his shoulder right, ocus focois-le for forles in tige. Conerget in-t-sluaig imon rig and carried her off over skylight of the house. Pose up the hosts, about the king iar melacht forro, co n-accatar in da ela timchell na Temra. Is ed after a disgrace on them, they saw the two swans around Tara. It is this, ro gabsat do sid ar Femun. Ocus luid Echaid co fomno they took (the road) to elfmound about about Femun. And went Echaid with a troop fer n-Erend imbi do sith ar Femun i. sid ban-find. of men of Ireland about him to elf mound about Femun i.e. elfmound of the fair-haired women. B (a si com)[FN#146] arli fer n-Erend, fochlaid each sid [a gap, 12 letters lost] That was the counsel of the men of Ireland, he dug up each elf-mound. [FN#146] The letters in parentheses are a conjecture by Strachan, to fill up a gap in the manuscript. tised a ben. do uadib, Foce [a gap of 13 letters, rest of the version lost.] should come his wife to him from them. 
823	----	LIFE OF ST. DECLAN OF ARDMORE (Edited from MS. in Bibliotheque Royale, Brussels). Translated from the Irish With Introduction by Rev. P. Power, M.R.I.A. University College, Cork. INTRODUCTION "If thou hast the right, O Erin, to a champion of battle to aid thee thou hast the head of a hundred thousand, Declan of Ardmore" (Martyrology of Oengus). Five miles or less to the east of Youghal Harbour, on the southern Irish coast, a short, rocky and rather elevated promontory juts, with a south-easterly trend, into the ocean [about 51 deg. 57 min. N / 7 deg. 43 min. W]. Maps and admiralty charts call it Ram Head, but the real name is Ceann-a-Rama and popularly it is often styled Ardmore Head. The material of this inhospitable coast is a hard metamorphic schist which bids defiance to time and weather. Landwards the shore curves in clay cliffs to the north-east, leaving, between it and the iron headland beyond, a shallow exposed bay wherein many a proud ship has met her doom. Nestling at the north side of the headland and sheltered by the latter from Atlantic storms stands one of the most remarkable groups of ancient ecclesiastical remains in Ireland--all that has survived of St. Declan's holy city of Ardmore. This embraces a beautiful and perfect round tower, a singularly interesting ruined church commonly called the cathedral, the ruins of a second church beside a holy well, a primitive oratory, a couple of ogham inscribed pillar stones, &c., &c. No Irish saint perhaps has so strong a local hold as Declan or has left so abiding a popular memory. Nevertheless his period is one of the great disputed questions of early Irish history. According to the express testimony of his Life, corroborated by testimony of the Lives of SS. Ailbhe and Ciaran, he preceded St. Patrick in the Irish mission and was a co-temporary of the national apostle. Objection, exception or opposition to the theory of Declan's early period is based less on any inherent improbability in the theory itself than on contradictions and inconsistencies in the Life. Beyond any doubt the Life does actually contradict itself; it makes Declan a cotemporary of Patrick in the fifth century and a cotemporary likewise of St. David a century later. In any attempted solution of the difficulty involved it may be helpful to remember a special motive likely to animate a tribal histrographer, scil.:--the family relationship, if we may so call it, of the two saints; David was bishop of the Deisi colony in Wales as Declan was bishop of their kinsmen of southern Ireland. It was very probably part of the writer's purpose to call attention to the links of kindred which bound the separated Deisi; witness his allusion later to the alleged visit of Declan to his kinsmen of Bregia. Possibly there were several Declans, as there were scores of Colmans, Finians, &c., and hence perhaps the confusion and some of the apparent inconsistencies. There was certainly a second Declan, a disciple of St. Virgilius, to whom the latter committed care of a church in Austria where he died towards close of eighth century. Again we find mention of a St. Declan who was a foster son of Mogue of Ferns, and so on. It is too much, as Delehaye ("Legendes Hagiographiques") remarks, to expect the populace to distinguish between namesakes. Great men are so rare! Is it likely there should have lived two saints of the same name in the same country! The latest commentators on the question of St. Declan's period--and they happen to be amongst the most weighty--argue strongly in favour of the pre-Patrician mission (Cfr. Prof. Kuno Meyer, "Learning Ireland in the Fifth Century"). Discussing the way in which letters first reached our distant island of the west and the causes which led to the proficiency of sixth-century Ireland in classical learning Zimmer and Meyer contend that the seeds of that literary culture, which flourished in Ireland of the sixth century, had been sown therein in the first and second decades of the preceding century by Gaulish scholars who had fled from their own country owing to invasion of the latter by Goths and other barbarians. The fact that these scholars, who were mostly Christians, sought asylum in Ireland indicates that Christianity had already penetrated thither, or at any rate that it was known and tolerated there. Dr. Meyer answers the objection that if so large and so important an invasion of scholars took place we ought have some reference to the fact in the Irish annals. The annals, he replies, are of local origin and they rarely refer in their oldest parts to national events: moreover they are very meagre in their information about the fifth century. One Irish reference to the Gaulish scholars is, however, adduced in corroboration; it occurs in that well known passage in St. Patrick's "Confessio" where the saint cries out against certain "rhetoricians" in Ireland who were hostile to him and pagan,--"You rhetoricians who do not know the Lord, hear and search Who it was that called me up, fool though I be, from the midst of those who think themselves wise and skilled in the law and mighty orators and powerful in everything." Who were these "rhetorici" that have made this passage so difficult for commentators and have caused so various constructions to be put upon it? It is clear, the professor maintains, that the reference is to pagan rhetors from Gaul whose arrogant presumption, founded on their learning, made them regard with disdain the comparatively illiterate apostle of the Scots. Everyone is familiar with the classic passage of Tacitus wherein he alludes to the harbours of Ireland as being more familiar to continental mariners than those of Britain. We have references moreover to refugee Christians who fled to Ireland from the persecutions of Diocletian more than a century before St. Patrick's day; in addition it is abundantly evident that many Irishmen--Christians like Celestius the lieutenant of Pelagius, and possibly Pelagius himself, amongst them--had risen to distinction or notoriety abroad before middle of the fifth century. Possibly the best way to present the question of Declan's age is to put in tabulated form the arguments of the pre-Patrician advocates against the counter contentions of those who claim that Declan's period is later than Patrick's:-- For the Pre-Patrician Mission. Against Theory of Early Fifth Century period. I.--Positive statement of Life, I.--Contradictions, anachronisms, corroborated by Lives of SS. &c., of Life. Ciaran and Ailbhe. II.--Lack of allusion to Declan in II.--Patrick's apparent avoidance the Lives of St. Patrick. of the Principality of Decies. III.--Prosper's testimony to the III.--The peculiar Declan cult and mission of Palladius as first the strong local hold which bishop to the believing Scots. Declan has maintained. IV.--Alleged motives for later invention of Pre-Patrician story. In this matter and at this hour it is hardly worth appealing to the authority of Lanigan and the scholars of the past. Much evidence not available in Lanigan's day is now at the service of scholars. We are to look rather at the reasoning of Colgan, Ussher, and Lanigan than to the mere weight of their names. Referring in order to our tabulated grounds of argument, pro and con, and taking the pro arguments first, we may (I.) discard as evidence for our purpose the Life of St. Ibar which is very fragmentary and otherwise a rather unsatisfactory document. The Lives of Ailbhe, Ciaran, and Declan are however mutually corroborative and consistent. The Roman visit and the alleged tutelage under Hilarius are probably embellishments; they look like inventions to explain something and they may contain more than a kernel of truth. At any rate they are matters requiring further investigation and elucidation. In this connection it may be useful to recall that the Life (Latin) of St. Ciaran has been attributed by Colgan to Evinus the disciple and panegyrist of St. Patrick. Patrick's apparent neglect of the Decies (II.) may have no special significance. At best it is but negative evidence: taken, however, in connection with (I.) and its consectaria it is suggestive. We can hardly help speculating why the apostle--passing as it were by its front door--should have given the go-bye to a region so important as the Munster Decies. Perhaps he sent preachers into it; perhaps there was no special necessity for a formal mission, as the faith had already found entrance. It is a little noteworthy too that we do not find St. Patrick's name surviving in any ecclesiastical connection with the Decies, if we except Patrick's Well, near Clonmel, and this Well is within a mile or so of the territorial frontier. Moreover the southern portion of the present Tipperary County had been ceded by Aengus to the Deisi, only just previous to Patrick's advent, and had hardly yet had sufficient time to become absorbed. The whole story of Declan's alleged relations with Patrick undoubtedly suggests some irregularity in Declan's mission--an irregularity which was capable of rectification through Patrick and which de facto was finally so rectified. (III.) No one in Eastern Munster requires to be told how strong is the cult of St. Declan throughout Decies and the adjacent territory. It is hardly too much to say that the Declan tradition in Waterford and Cork is a spiritual actuality, extraordinary and unique, even in a land which till recently paid special popular honour to its local saints. In traditional popular regard Declan in the Decies has ever stood first, foremost, and pioneer. Carthage, founder of the tribal see, has held and holds in the imagination of the people only a secondary place. Declan, whencesoever or whenever he came, is regarded as the spiritual father to whom the Deisi owe the gift of faith. How far this tradition and the implied belief in Declan's priority and independent mission are derived from circulation of the "Life" throughout Munster in the last few centuries it is difficult to gauge, but the tradition seems to have flourished as vigorously in the days of Colgan as it does to-day. Declan's "pattern" at Ardmore continues to be still the most noted celebration of its kind in Ireland. A few years ago it was participated in by as many as fourteen thousand people from all parts of Waterford, Cork, and Tipperary. The scenes and ceremonies have been so frequently described that it is not necessary to recount them here--suffice it to say that the devotional practices and, in fact, the whole celebration is of a purely popular character receiving no approbation, and but bare toleration, from church or clergy. Even to the present day Declan's name is borne as their praenomen by hundreds of Waterford men, and, before introduction of the modern practice of christening with foolish foreign names, its use was far more common, as the ancient baptismal registers of Ardmore, Old Parish, and Clashmore attest. On the other hand Declan's name is associated with comparatively few places in the Decies. Of these the best known is Relig Deaglain, a disused graveyard and early church site on the townland of Drumroe, near Cappoquin. There was also an ancient church called Killdeglain, near Stradbally. Against the theory of the pre-Patrician or citra-Patrician mission we have first the objection, which really has no weight, and which we shall not stop to discuss, that it is impossible for Christianity at that early date to have found its way to this distant island, beyond the boundary of the world. An argument on a different plane is (I.), the undoubtedly contradictory and inconsistent character of the Life. It is easy however to exaggerate the importance of this point. Modern critical methods were undreamed of in the days of our hagiographer, who wrote, moreover, for edification only in a credulous age. Most of the historical documents of the period are in a greater or less degree uncritical but that does not discredit their testimony however much it may confuse their editors. It can be urged moreover that two mutually incompatible genealogies of the saint are given. The genealogy given by MacFirbisigh seems in fact to disagree in almost every possible detail with the genealogy in 23 M. 50 R.I.A. That however is like an argument that Declan never existed. It really suggests and almost postulates the existence of a second Declan whose Acts and those of our Declan have become mutually confused. (II.) Absence of Declan's name from the Acts of Patrick is a negative argument. It is explicable perhaps by the supposed irregularity of Declan's preaching. Declan was certainly earlier than Mochuda and yet there is no reference to him in the Life of the latter saint. Ailbhe however is referred to in the Tripartite Life of Patrick and the cases of Ailbhe and Declan are "a pari"; the two saints stand or fall together. (IV.) Motives for invention of the pre-Patrician myth are alleged, scil.:--to rebut certain claims to jurisdiction, tribute or visitation advanced by Armagh in after ages. It is hard to see however how resistance to the claims in question could be better justified on the theory of a pre-Patrician Declan, who admittedly acknowledged Patrick's supremacy, than on the admission of a post-Patrician mission. That in Declan we have to deal with a very early Christian teacher of the Decies there can be no doubt. If not anterior to Patrick he must have been the latter's cotemporary. Declan however had failed to convert the chieftain of his race and for this--reading between the lines of the "Life"--we seem to hear Patrick blaming him. The monuments proper of Declan remaining at Ardmore are (a) his ORATORY near the Cathedral and Round Tower in the graveyard, (b) his STONE on the beach, (c) his WELL on the cliff, and (d) ANOTHER STONE said to have been found in his tomb and preserved at Ardmore for long ages with great reveration. The "Life" refers moreover to the saint's pastoral staff and his bell but these have disappeared for centuries. The "Oratory" is simply a primitive church of the usual sixth century type: it stands 13' 4" x 8' 9" in the clear, and has, or had, the usual high-pitched gables and square-headed west doorway with inclining jambs. Another characteristic feature of the early oratory is seen in the curious antae or prolongation of the side walls. Locally the little building is known as the "beannacan," in allusion, most likely, to its high gables or the finials which once, no doubt, in Irish fashion, adorned its roof. Though somewhat later than Declan's time this primitive building is very intimately connected with the Saint. Popularly it is supposed to be his grave and within it is a hollow space scooped out, wherein it is said his ashes once reposed. It is highly probable that tradition is quite correct as to the saint's grave, over which the little church was erected in the century following Declan's death. The oratory was furnished with a roof of slate by Bishop Mills in 1716. "St. Declan's Stone" is a glacial boulder of very hard conglomerate which lies on a rocky ledge of beach beneath the village of Ardmore. It measures some 8' 6" x 4' 6" x 4' 0" and reposes upon two slightly jutting points of the underlying metamorphic rock. Wonderful virtues are attributed to St. Declan's Stone, which, on the occasion of the patronal feast, is visited by hundreds of devotees who, to participate in its healing efficacy and beneficence, crawl laboriously on face and hands through the narrow space between the boulder and the underlying rock. Near by, at foot of a new storm-wall, are two similar but somewhat smaller boulders which, like their venerated and more famous neighbour, were all wrenched originally by a glacier from their home in the Comeragh Mountains twenty miles away. "St. Declan's Well," beside some remains of a rather large and apparently twelfth century church on the cliff, in the townland of Dysert is diverted into a shallow basin in which pilgrims bathe feet and hands. Set in some comparatively modern masonry over the well are a carved crucifixion and other figures of apparently late mediaeval character. Some malicious interference with this well led, nearly a hundred years since, to much popular indignation and excitement. The second "St. Declan's Stone" was a small, cross-inscribed jet-black piece of slate or marble, approximately--2" or 3" x 1 1/2". Formerly it seems to have had a small silver cross inset and was in great demand locally as an amulet for cattle curing. It disappeared however, some fifty years or so since, but very probably it could still be recovered in Dungarvan. Far the most striking of all the monuments at Ardmore is, of course, the Round Tower which, in an excellent state of preservation, stands with its conical cap of stone nearly a hundred feet high. Two remarkable, if not unique, features of the tower are the series of sculptured corbels which project between the floors on the inside, and the four projecting belts or zones of masonry which divide the tower into storeys externally. The tower's architectural anomalies are paralleled by its history which is correspondingly unique: it stood a regular siege in 1642, when ordnance was brought to bear on it and it was defended by forty confederates against the English under Lords Dungarvan and Broghil. A few yards to north of the Round Tower stands "The Cathedral" illustrating almost every phase of ecclesiastical architecture which flourished in Ireland from St. Patrick to the Reformation--Cyclopean, Celtic-Romanesque, Transitional and Pointed. The chancel arch is possibly the most remarkable and beautiful illustration of the Transitional that we have. An extraordinary feature of the church is the wonderful series of Celtic arcades and panels filled with archaic sculptures in relief which occupy the whole external face of the west gable. St. Declan's foundation at Ardmore seems (teste Moran's Archdall) to have been one of the Irish religious houses which accepted the reform of Pope Innocent at the Lateran Council and to have transformed itself into a Regular Canonry. It would however be possible to hold, on the evidence, that it degenerated into a mere parochial church. We hear indeed of two or three episcopal successors of the saint, scil.:--Ultan who immediately followed him, Eugene who witnessed a charter to the abbey of Cork in 1174, and Moelettrim O Duibhe-rathre who died in 1303 after he had, according to the annals of Inisfallen, "erected and finished the Church" of Ardmore. The "Wars of the Gaedhil and Gall" have reference, circa 824 or 825, to plunder by the Northmen of Disert Tipraite which is almost certainly the church of Dysert by the Holy Well at Ardmore. The same fleet, on the same expedition, plundered Dunderrow (near Kinsale), Inisshannon (Bandon River), Lismore, and Kilmolash. Regarding the age of our "Life" it is difficult with the data at hand to say anything very definite. While dogmatism however is dangerous indefiniteness is unsatisfying. True, we cannot trace the genealogy of the present version beyond middle of the sixteenth century, but its references to ancient monuments existing at date of its compilation show it to be many centuries older. Its language proves little or nothing, for, being a popular work, it would be modernised to date by each successive scribe. Colgan was of opinion it was a composition of the eighth century. Ussher and Ware, who had the Life in very ancient codices, also thought it of great antiquity. Papebrach, the Bollandist, on the other hand, considered the Life could not be older than the twelfth century, but this opinion of his seems to have been based on a misapprehension. In the absence of all diocesan colour or allusion one feels constrained to assign the production to some period previous to Rathbreasail. We should not perhaps be far wrong in assigning the first collection of materials to somewhere in the eighth century or in the century succeeding. The very vigorous ecclesiastical revival of the eleventh century, at conclusion of the Danish wars, must have led to some revision of the country's religious literature. The introduction, a century and-a-half later, of the great religious orders most probably led to translation of the Life into Latin and its casting into shape for reading in refectory or choir. Only three surviving copies of the Irish Life are known to the writer: one in the Royal Library at Brussels, the second in the Royal Irish Academy Collection (M. 23, 50, pp. 109-120), and the third in possession of Professor Hyde. As the second and third enumerated are copies of one imperfect exemplar it has not been thought necessary to collate both with the Brussels MS. which has furnished the text here printed. M. 23, 50 (R.I.A.) has however been so collated and the marginal references initialled B are to that imperfect copy. The latter, by the way, is in the handwriting of John Murphy "na Raheenach," and is dated 1740. It has not been thought necessary to give more than the important variants. The present text is a reproduction of the Brussels MS. plus lengthening of contractions. As regards lengthening in question it is to be noted that the well known contraction for "ea" or "e" has been uniformly transliterated "e." Otherwise orthography of the MS. has been scrupulously followed--even where inconsistent or incorrect. For the division into paragraphs the editor is not responsible; he has merely followed the division originated, or adopted, by the scribe. The Life herewith presented was copied in 1629 by Brother Michael O'Clery of the Four Masters' staff from an older MS. of Eochy O'Heffernan's dated 1582. The MS. of O'Heffernan is referred to by our scribe as "seinleabar," but his reference is rather to the contents than to the copy. Apparently O'Clery did more than transcribe; he re-edited, as was his wont, into the literary Irish of his day. A page of the Brussels MS., reproduced in facsimile as a frontispiece to the present volume, will give the student a good idea of O'Clery's script and style. Occasional notes on Declan in the martyrologies and elsewhere give some further information about our saint. Unfortunately however the alleged facts are not always capable of reconciliation with statements of our "Life," and again the existence of a second, otherwise unknown, Declan is suggested. The introduction of rye is attributed to him in the Calendar of Oengus, as introduction of wheat is credited to St. Finan Camm, and introduction of bees to St. Modomnoc,--"It was the full of his shoe that Declan brought, the full of his shoe likewise Finan, but the full of his bell Modomnoc" (Cal. Oeng., April 7th). More puzzling is the note in the same Calendar which makes Declan a foster son of Mogue of Ferns! This entry illustrates the way in which errors originate. A former scribe inadvertently copied in, after Declan's name, portion of the entry immediately following which relates to Colman Hua Liathain. Successive scribes re-copied the error without discovering it and so it became stereotyped. LIFE OF ST. DECLAN or "BETHA DECCLAIN" 1. The most blessed Bishop Declan of the most noble race of the kings of Ireland, i.e., the holy bishop who is called Declan was of the most noble royal family of Ireland--a family which held the sceptre and exacted tribute from all Ireland at Tara for ages. Declan was by birth of noble blood as will appear from his origin and genealogy, for it was from Eochaidh Feidhleach, the powerful Ardrigh of Ireland for twelve years, that he sprang. Eochaidh aforesaid, had three sons, scil.:--Breas, Nar, and Lothola, who are called the three Finneavna; there reigned one hundred and seven kings of their race and kindred before and after them, i.e. of the race of Eremon, king of Ireland,--before the introduction of Christianity and since. These three youths lay one day with their own sister Clothra, daughter of the same father, and she conceived of them. The son she brought forth as a consequence of that intercourse was marked by three red wavy lines which indicated his descent from the three youths aforesaid. He was named Lugaidh Sriabhdearg from the three lines [sriabaib] in question, and he was beautiful to behold and of greater bodily strength in infancy than is usual with children of his age. He commenced his reign as king of Ireland the year in which Caius Caesar [Caligula] died and he reigned for twenty-six years. His son was named Criomthan Nianair who reigned but sixteen years. Criomthan's son was named Fearadach Finnfechtnach whose son was Fiacha Finnolaidh whose son again was Tuathal Teachtmhar. This Tuathal had a son Felimidh Reachtmhar who had in turn three sons--Conn Ceadcathach, Eochaidh Finn, and Fiacha Suighde. Conn was king of Ireland for twenty years and the productiveness of crops and soil and of dairies in the time of Conn are worthy of commemoration and of fame to the end of time. Conn was killed in Magh Cobha by the Ulstermen, scil.:--by Tiopruid Tireach and it is principally his seed which has held the kingship of Ireland ever since. Eochaidh Finn was second son to Felimidh Reachtmhar and he migrated to the latter's province of Leinster, and it is in that province his race and progeny have remained since then. They are called Leinstermen, and there are many chieftains and powerful persons of them in Leinster. Fiacha Suighde moreover, although he died before he succeeded to the chief sovereignty, possessed land around Tara. He left three sons--Ross, Oengus, and Eoghan who were renowned for martial deeds--valiant and heroic in battle and in conflict. Of the three, Oengus excelled in all gallant deeds so that he came to be styled Oengus of the poisonous javelin. Cormac Mac Art Mac Conn it was who reigned in Ireland at this time. Cormac had a son named Ceallach who took by force the daughter of Eoghan Mac Fiacha Suighde to dwell with him, i.e. Credhe the daughter of Eoghan. When Oengus Gaebuaibhtheach ("of the poisonous javelin") heard this, viz., that the daughter of his brother had been abducted by Ceallach he was roused to fury and he followed Ceallach to Tara taking with him his foster child, scil.:--Corc Duibhne, the son of Cairbre, son of Conaire, son of Mogha Lamha whom Cormac held as a hostage from the Munstermen, and whom he had given for safe custody to Oengus. When Oengus reached Tara he beheld Ceallach sitting behind Cormac. He thrust his spear at Ceallach and pierced him through from front to back. However as he was withdrawing the spear the handle struck Cormac's eye and knocked it out and then, striking the steward, killed him. He himself (Oengus) with his foster child escaped safely. After a time Cormac, grieving for the loss of his son, his eye and his steward at the hands of Oengus of the poisonous javelin and of his kinsmen, ordered their expulsion from their tribal territory, i.e. from the Decies of Tara, and not alone from these, but from whole northern half of Ireland. However, seven battles were fought in which tremendous loss was inflicted on Cormac and his followers before Oengus and his people, i.e. the three sons of Fiacha Suighde, namely, Ross and Oengus and Eoghan, as we have already said, were eventually defeated, and obliged to fly the country and to suffer exile. Consequent on their banishment as above by the king of Ireland they sought hospitality from the king of Munster, Oilill Olum, because Sadhbh, daughter of Conn Ceadcathach was his wife. They got land from him, scil.: the Decies of Munster, and it is to that race, i.e. the race of Eoghan Mac Fiacha Suighde that the kings and country of the Decies belong ever since. 2. Of this same race of Eoghan was the holy bishop Declan of whom I shall speak later scil.: Declan son of Eirc, son of Trein, son of Lughaidh, son of Miaich, son of Brian, son of Eoghan, son of Art Corp, son of Moscorb, son of Mesgeadra, son of Measfore, son of Cuana Cainbhreathaigh, son of Conaire Cathbuadhaigh, son of Cairbre, son of Eoghan, son of Fiacha Suighde, son of Felimidh Reachtmhar, son of Tuathal Teachtmhar. The father of Declan was therefore Erc Mac Trein. He and his wife Deithin went on a visit to the house of his kinsman Dobhran about the time that Declan's birth was due. The child she bore was Declan, whom she brought forth without sickness, pain or difficulty but in being lifted up afterwards he struck his head against a great stone. Let it be mentioned that Declan showed proofs of sanctification and power of miracle-working in his mother's womb, as the prophet writes:--"De vulva sanctificavi te et prophetam in gentibus dedi te" [Jeremias 1:5] (Before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee and made thee a prophet unto the nations). Thus it is that Declan was sanctified in his mother's womb and was given by God as a prophet to the pagans for the conversion of multitudes of them from heathenism and the misery of unbelief to the worship of Christ and to the Catholic faith, as we shall see later on. The very soft apex of his head struck against a hard stone, as we have said, and where the head came in contact with the stone it made therein a hollow and cavity of its own form and shape, without injury of any kind to him. Great wonder thereupon seized all who witnessed this, for Ireland was at this time without the true faith and it was rarely that any one (therein) had shown heavenly Christian signs. "Declan's Rock" is the name of the stone with which the Saint's head came into contact. The water or rain which falls into the before-mentioned cavity (the place of Declan's head) dispels sickness and infirmity, by the grace of God, as proof of Declan's sanctity. 3. On the night of Declan's birth a wondrous sign was revealed to all, that is to the people who were in the neighbourhood of the birthplace; this was a ball of fire which was seen blazing on summit of the house in which the child lay, until it reached up to heaven and down again, and it was surrounded by a multitude of angels. It assumed the shape of a ladder such as the Patriarch, Jacob saw [Genesis 28:12]. The persons who saw and heard these things wondered at them. They did not know (for the true faith had not yet been preached to them or in this region) that it was God who (thus) manifested His wondrous power (works) in the infant, His chosen child. Upon the foregoing manifestation a certain true Christian, scil.:--Colman, at that time a priest and afterwards a holy bishop, came, rejoicing greatly and filled with the spirit of prophecy, to the place where Declan was; he preached the faith of Christ to the parents and made known to them that the child was full of the grace of God. He moreover revealed to them the height of glory and honour to which the infant should attain before God and men, and it was revealed to him that he (Declan) should spend his life in sanctity and devotion. Through the grace of God, these, i.e. Erc and Deithin, believed in God and Colman, and they delivered the child for baptism to Colman who baptised him thereupon, giving him the name of Declan. When, in the presence of all, he had administered Baptism, Colman spoke this prophecy concerning the infant "Truly, beloved child and lord you will be in heaven and on earth most high and holy, and your good deeds, fame, and sanctity will fill all (the four quarters of) Ireland and you will convert your own nation and the Decies from paganism to Christianity. On that account I bind myself to you by the tie of brotherhood and I commend myself to your sanctity." 4. Colman thereupon returned to his own abode; he commanded that Declan should be brought up with due care, that he should be well trained, and be set to study at the age of seven years if there could be found in his neighbourhood a competent Christian scholar to undertake his tuition. Even at the period of his baptism grace and surpassing charity manifested themselves in the countenance of Declan so that it was understood of all that great should be the goodness and the spiritual charm of his mature age. When Dobhran had heard and seen these things concerning his kinsman Erc he requested the latter and Deithin to give him the child to foster, and with this request Erc complied. The name of the locality was "Dobhran's Place" at that time, but since then it has been "Declan's Place." Dobhran presented the homestead to Declan and removed his own dwelling thence to another place. In after years, when Declan had become a bishop, he erected there a celebrated cell in honour of God, and this is the situation of the cell in question:--In the southern part of the Decies, on the east side of Magh Sgiath and not far from the city of Mochuda i.e. Lismore. For the space of seven years Declan was fostered with great care by Dobhran (his father's brother) and was much loved by him. God wrought many striking miracles through Declan's instrumentality during those years. By aid of the Holy Spirit dwelling in him he (Declan)--discreet Christian man that he was--avoided every fault and every unlawful desire during that time. 5. On the completion of seven years Declan was taken from his parents and friends and fosterers to be sent to study as Colman had ordained. It was to Dioma they sent him, a certain devout man perfect in the faith, who had come at that time by God's design into Ireland having spent a long period abroad in acquiring learning. He (Dioma) built in that place a small cell wherein he might instruct Declan and dwell himself. There was given him also, to instruct, together with Declan, another child, scil., Cairbre Mac Colmain, who became afterwards a holy learned bishop. Both these were for a considerable period pursuing their studies together. 6. There were seven men dwelling in Magh Sgiath, who frequently saw the fiery globe which it has been already told they first beheld at the time of Declan's birth. It happened by the Grace of God that they were the first persons to reveal and describe that lightning. These seven came to the place where Declan abode and took him for their director and master. They made known publicly in the presence of all that, later on, he should be a bishop and they spoke prophetically:--"The day, O beloved child and servant of God, will come when we shall commit ourselves and our lands to thee." And it fell out thus (as they foretold), for, upon believing, they were baptised and became wise, devout (and) attentive and erected seven churches in honour of God around Magh Sgiath. 7. Declan remained a long time with Dioma, the holy man we have named, and acquired science and sanctity and diversity of learning and doctrine, and he was prudent, mild, and capable so that many who knew his nobility of blood came when they had heard of the fullness of his sanctity and grace. Moreover they submitted themselves to him and accepted his religious rule. Declan judged it proper that he should visit Rome to study discipline and ecclesiastical system, to secure for himself esteem and approbation thence, and obtain authority to preach to the (Irish) people and to bring back with him the rules of Rome as these obtained in Rome itself. He set out with his followers and he tarried not till he arrived in Rome where they remained some time. 8. At the same period there was a holy bishop, i.e. Ailbe, who had been in Rome for a number of years before this and was in the household of Pope Hilary by whom he had been made a bishop. When Declan with his disciples arrived in Rome Ailbe received him with great affection and gladness and he bore testimony before the Roman people to his (Declan's) sanctity of life and nobility of blood. He (Declan) therefore received marks of honour and sincere affection from the people and clergy of Rome when they came to understand how worthy he was, for he was comely, of good appearance, humble in act, sweet in speech, prudent in counsel, frank in conversation, virtuous in mien, generous in gifts, holy in life and resplendent in miracles. 9. When Declan had spent a considerable time in Rome he was ordained a bishop by the Pope, who gave him church-books and rules and orders and sent him to Ireland that he might preach there. Having bidden farewell to the Pope and received the latter's blessing Declan commenced his journey to Ireland. Many Romans followed him to Ireland to perform their pilgrimage and to spend their lives there under the yoke and rule of Bishop Declan, and amongst those who accompanied him was Runan, son of the king of Rome; he was dear to Declan. 10. On the road through Italy Bishop Declan and Patrick met. Patrick was not a bishop at that time, though he was (made a bishop) subsequently by Pope Celestinus, who sent him to preach to the Irish. Patrick was truly chief bishop of the Irish island. They bade farewell to one another and they made a league and bond of mutual fraternity and kissed in token of peace. They departed thereupon each on his own journey, scil.:--Declan to Ireland and Patrick to Rome. 11. Declan was beginning mass one day in a church which lay in his road, when there was sent him from heaven a little black bell, (which came) in through the window of the church and remained on the altar before Declan. Declan greatly rejoiced thereat and gave thanks and glory to Christ on account of it, and it filled him with much courage to combat the error and false teaching of heathendom. He gave the bell for safe keeping and carriage, to Runan aforesaid, i.e. son of the king of Rome, and this is its name in Ireland--"The Duibhin Declain," and it is from its colour it derives its name, for its colour is black [dub]. There were manifested, by grace of God and Declan's merits, many miracles through its agency and it is still preserved in Declan's church. 12. When Declan and his holy companions arrived at the Sea of Icht [English Channel] he failed, owing to lack of money, to find a ship, for he did not have the amount demanded, and every ship was refused him on that account. He therefore struck his bell and prayed to God for help in this extremity. In a short time after this they saw coming towards them on the crest of the waves an empty, sailless ship and no man therein. Thereupon Declan said:--"Let us enter the ship in the name of Christ, and He who has sent it to us will direct it skilfully to what harbour soever He wishes we should go." At the word of Declan they entered in, and the ship floated tranquilly and safely until it reached harbour in England. Upon its abandonment by Declan and his disciples the ship turned back and went again to the place from which it had come and the people who saw the miracles and heard of them magnified the name of the Lord and Declan, and the words of the prophet David were verified:--"Mirabilis Deus in Sanctis Suis [Psalm 67(68):36] (God is wonderful in His Saints)." 13. After this Declan came to Ireland. Declan was wise like a serpent and gentle like a dove and industrious like the bee, for as the bee gathers honey and avoids the poisonous herbs so did Declan, for he gathered the sweet sap of grace and Holy Scripture till he was filled therewith. There were in Ireland before Patrick came thither four holy bishops with their followers who evangelized and sowed the word of God there; these are the four:--Ailbe, Bishop Ibar, Declan, and Ciaran. They drew multitudes from error to the faith of Christ, although it was Patrick who sowed the faith throughout Ireland and it is he who turned chiefs and kings of Ireland to the way of baptism, faith and sacrifice and everlasting judgment. 14. These three, scil.:--Declan, Ailbe and Bishop Ibar made a bond of friendship and a league amongst themselves and their spiritual posterity in heaven and on earth for ever and they loved one another. SS. Ailbe and Declan, especially, loved one another as if they were brothers so that, on account of their mutual affection they did not like to be separated from one another--except when their followers threatened to separate them by force if they did not go apart for a very short time. After this Declan returned to his own country--to the Decies of Munster--where he preached, and baptized, in the name of Christ, many whom he turned to the Catholic faith from the power of the devil. He built numerous churches in which he placed many of his own followers to serve and worship God and to draw people to God from the wiles of Satan. 15. Once on a time Declan came on a visit to the place of his birth, where he remained forty days there and established a religious house in which devout men have dwelt ever since. Then came the seven men we have already mentioned as having made their abode around Magh Sgiath and as having prophesied concerning Declan. They now dedicated themselves and their establishment to him as they had promised and these are their names:--Mocellac and Riadan, Colman, Lactain, Finnlaoc, Kevin, &c. [Mobi]. These therefore were under the rule and spiritual sway of bishop Declan thenceforward, and they spent their lives devoutly there and wrought many wonders afterwards. 16. After some time Declan set out to visit Aongus MacNatfrich, king of Cashel, to preach to him and to convert him to the faith of Christ. Declan however had two uterine brothers, sons of Aongus, scil.: Colman and Eoghan. The grace of the Holy Ghost inspiring him Colman went to Ailbe of Emly and received baptism and the religious habit at the latter's hands, and he remained for a space sedulously studying science until he became a saintly and perfect man. Eochaid however remained as he was (at home)--expecting the kingdom of Munster on his father's death, and he besought his father to show due honour to his brother Declan. The king did so and put no obstacle in the way of Declan's preaching but was pleased with Declan's religion and doctrine, although he neither believed nor accepted baptism himself. It is said that refusal (of baptism) was based on this ground: Declan was of the Decies and of Conn's Half, while Aongus himself was of the Eoghanacht of Cashel of Munster--always hostile to the Desii. It was not therefore through ill will to the faith that he believed not, as is proved from this that, when the king heard of the coming to him of Patrick, the archbishop of Ireland, a man who was of British race against which the Irish cherished no hate, not only did he believe but he went from his own city of Cashel to meet him, professed Christianity and was immediately baptised. 17. After this Declan, having sown the word of God and preached to the king (although the latter did not assent to his doctrines), proceeded to his own country and they (the Desii) believed and received baptism except the king alone and the people of his household who were every day promising to believe and be baptised. It however came about through the Devil's agency that they hesitated continually and procrastinated. 18. Other authorities declare that Declan went many times to Rome, but we have no written testimony from the ancient biographers that he went there more than three times. On one of these occasions Declan paid a visit to the holy bishop of the Britons whose name was David at the church which is called Killmuine [Menevia] where the bishop dwelt beside the shore of the sea which divides Ireland from Britain. The bishop received Declan with honour and he remained there forty days, in affection and joy, and they sang Mass each day and they entered into a bond of charity which continued between themselves and their successors for ever afterwards. On the expiration of the forty days Declan took leave of David giving him a kiss in token of peace and set out himself and his followers to the shore of the sea to take ship for Ireland. 19. Now the bell which we have alluded to as sent from heaven to Declan, was, at that time, in the custody of Runan to carry as we have said, for Declan did not wish, on any account, to part with it. On this particular day as they were proceeding towards the ship Runan entrusted it to another member of the company. On reaching the shore however the latter laid the bell on a rock by the shore and forgot it till they were half way across the sea. Then they remembered it and on remembrance they were much distressed. Declan was very sorrowful that the gift sent him by the Lord from heaven should have been forgotten in a place where he never expected to find it again. Thereupon raising his eyes heavenward he prayed to God within his heart and he said to his followers:--"Lay aside your sorrow for it is possible with God who sent that bell in the beginning to send it now again by some marvellous ship." Very fully and wonderfully and beautifully the creature without reason or understanding obeyed its creator, for the very heavy unwieldy rock floated buoyantly and without deviation, so that in a short time they beheld it in their rear with the bell upon it. And when his people saw this wondrous thing it filled them with love for God and reverence for their master. Declan thereupon addressed them prophetically:--"Permit the bell to precede you and follow it exactly and whatsoever haven it will enter into it is there my city and my bishopric will be whence I shall go to paradise and there my resurrection will be." Meantime the bell preceded the ship, and it eased down its great speed remaining slightly in advance of the ship, so that it could be seen from and not overtaken by the latter. The bell directed its course to Ireland until it reached a harbour on the south coast, scil.:--in the Decies of Munster, at an island called, at that time, High Sheep Island [Aird na gCcaorac] and the ship made the same port, as Declan declared. The holy man went ashore and gave thanks and praise to God that he had reached the place of his resurrection. Now, in that island depastured the sheep belonging to the wife of the chieftain of Decies and it is thence that it derives its Irish name--Ard-na-Ccaorac, scil.:--there was in it a high hill and it was a promontory beautiful to behold. One of the party, ascending the summit of the hill, said to Declan:--"How can this little height support your people?" Declan replied:--"Do not call it little hill, beloved son, but 'great height' [ard mor]," and that name has adhered to the city ever since, scil.:--Ardmore-Declain. After this Declan went to the king of the Desii and asked of him the aforesaid island. Whereupon the king gave it to him. 20. Declan next returned to Ait-mBreasail where, in a haven at the north side, were the shipping and boats of the island, plying thither and backwards. The people of the island hid all their boats not willing that Declan should settle there; they dreaded greatly that if Declan came to dwell there they themselves should be expelled. Whereupon his disciples addressed Declan:--"Father," said they, "Many things are required (scil.: from the mainland) and we must often go by boat to this island and there will be (crossing) more frequently when you have gone to heaven and we pray thee to abandon the place or else to obtain from God that the sea recede from the land so that it can be entered dry shod, for Christ has said:--'Whatsoever you shall ask of the Father in my name He will give it to you' [John 15:16]; the place cannot be easily inhabited unless the sea recede from it and on that account you cannot establish your city in it." Declan answered them and said:--"How can I abandon the place ordained by God and in which He has promised that my burial and resurrection shall be? As to the alleged inconvenience of dwelling therein, do you wish me to pray to God (for things) contrary to His will--to deprive the sea of its natural domain? Nevertheless in compliance with your request I shall pray to God and whatever thing be God's will, let it be done." Declan's community thereupon rose up and said:--"Father, take your crosier as Moses took the rod [Exodus 14:16] and strike the sea therewith and God will thus show His will to you." His disciples prayed therefore to him because they were tried and holy men. They put Declan's crosier in his hand and he struck the water in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost and made the sign of the cross over the water and immediately, by command and permission of God, the sea commenced to move out from its accustomed place--so swiftly too that the monsters of the sea were swimming and running and that it was with difficulty they escaped with the sea. However, many fishes were left behind on the dry strand owing to the suddenness of the ebb. Declan, his crosier in his hand, pursued the receding tide and his disciples followed after him. Moreover the sea and the departing monsters made much din and commotion and when Declan arrived at the place where is now the margin of the sea a stripling whose name was Mainchin, frightened at the thunder of the waves and the cry of the unknown monsters with gaping mouths following the (receding) water, exclaimed:--"Father, you have driven out the sea far enough; for I am afraid of those horrid monsters." When Declan heard this and (saw) the sea standing still at the word of the youth it displeased him and turning round he struck him a slight blow on the nose. Three drops of blood flowed from the wound on to the ground in three separate places at the feet of Declan. Thereupon Declan blessed the nose and the blood ceased immediately (to flow). Then Declan declared:--"It was not I who drove out the sea but God in His own great power who expelled it and He would have done still more had you not spoken the words you have said." Three little wells of clear sweet water burst forth in the place where fell the three drops of blood at the feet of Declan, and these wells are there still and the colour of blood is seen in them occasionally as a memorial of this miracle. The shore, rescued from the sea, is a mile in width and is of great length around (the island) and it is good and fertile land for tillage and pasture--lying beneath the monastery of Declan. As to the crosier which was in Declan's hand while he wrought this miracle, this is its name--the Feartach Declain, from the miracles and marvels [fertaib] wrought through it. I shall in another, subsequent, place relate some of these miracles (narrated). 21. After the expulsion of the sea by this famous Saint, scil.: Declan, whose name and renown spread throughout Erin because of his great and diverse miracles, he commenced to build a great monastery by the south side of the stream which flows through the island into the sea. This monastery is illustrious and beautiful and its name is Ardmor Declain, as we have said. After this came many persons to Declan, drawn from the uttermost parts of Ireland, by the fame of his holy living; they devoted themselves, soul and body to God and Declan, binding themselves beneath his yoke and his rule. Moreover he built himself in every place throughout the territory of the Decies, churches and monasteries and not alone in his own territory (did he build) but in other regions of Ireland under tribute to him. Great too were the multitudes (thousands) of men and women who were under his spiritual sway and rule, in the places we have referred to, throughout Ireland, where happily they passed their lives. He ordained some of his disciples bishops and appointed them in these places to sow the seed of faith and religion therein. Gentleness and charity manifested themselves in Declan to such an extent that his disciples preferred to live under his immediate control and under his direction as subjects than to be in authority in another monastery. 22. After this the holy renowned bishop, head of justice and faith in the Gaelic island came into Ireland, i.e. Patrick sent by Celestinus, the Pope. Aongus Mac Nathfrich went to meet him soon as he heard the account of his coming. He conducted him (Patrick) with reverence and great honour to his own royal city--to Cashel. Then Patrick baptised him and blessed himself and his people and his city. Patrick heard that the prince of the Decies had not been baptised and did not believe, that there was a disagreement between the prince and Declan and that the former refused to receive instruction from the latter. Patrick thereupon set out to preach to the prince aforesaid. Next, as to the four bishops we have named who had been in Rome: Except Declan alone they were not in perfect agreement with Patrick. It is true that subsequently to this they did enter into a league of peace and harmonious actions with Patrick and paid him fealty. Ciaran, however, paid him all respect and reverence and was of one mind with him present or absent. Ailbe then, when he saw the kings and rulers of Ireland paying homage to Patrick and going out to meet him, came himself to Cashel, to wait on him and he also paid homage to him (Patrick) and submitted to his jurisdiction, in presence of the king and all others. Bear in mind it was Ailbe whom the other holy bishops had elected their superior. He therefore came first to Patrick, lest the others, on his account, should offer opposition to Patrick, and also that by his example the others might be more easily drawn to his jurisdiction and rule. Bishop Ibar however would on no account consent to be subject to Patrick, for it was displeasing to him that a foreigner should be patron of Ireland. It happened that Patrick in his origin was of the Britons and he was nurtured in Ireland having been sold to bondage in his boyhood. There arose misunderstanding and dissension between Patrick and Bishop Ibar at first, although (eventually), by intervention of the angel of peace, they formed a mutual fellowship and brotherly compact and they remained in agreement for ever after. But Declan did not wish to disagree at all with Patrick for they had formed a mutual bond of friendship on the Italian highway and it is thus the angel commanded him to go to Patrick and obey him:-- 23. The angel of God came to Declan and said to him "Go quickly to Patrick and prevent him cursing your kindred and country, for to-night, in the plain which is called Inneoin, he is fasting against the king, and if he curses your people they shall be accursed for ever." Thereupon Declan set out in haste by direction of the angel to Inneoin, i.e. the place which is in the centre of the plain of Femhin in the northern part of the Decies. He crossed Slieve Gua [Knockmaeldown] and over the Suir and arrived on the following morning at the place where Patrick was. When Patrick and his disciples heard that Declan was there they welcomed him warmly for they had been told he would not come. Moreover Patrick and his people received him with great honour. But Declan made obeisance to Patrick and besought him earnestly that he should not execrate his people and that he should not curse them nor the land in which they dwelt, and he promised to allow Patrick do as he pleased. And Patrick replied:--"On account of your prayer not only shall I not curse them but I shall give them a blessing." Declan went thereupon to the place where was the king of Decies who was a neighbour of his. But he contemned Patrick and he would not believe him even at the request of Declan. Moreover Declan promised rewards to him if he would go to Patrick to receive baptism at his hands and assent to the faith. But he would not assent on any account. When Declan saw this, scil.:--that the king of the Decies, who was named Ledban, was obstinate in his infidelity and in his devilry--through fear lest Patrick should curse his race and country--he (Declan) turned to the assembly and addressed them:--"Separate yourselves from this accursed man lest you become yourselves accursed on his account, for I have myself baptised and blessed you, but come you," said he, "with us, to Patrick, whom God has sent to bless you, for he has been chosen Archbishop and chief Patron of all Erin; moreover, I have a right to my own patrimony and to be king over you as that man (Ledban) has been." At this speech they all arose and followed Declan who brought them into the presence of Patrick and said to the latter:--"See how the whole people of the Deisi have come with me as their Lord to thee and they have left the accursed prince whose subjects they have been, and behold they are ready to reverence you and to obey you for it is from me they have received baptism." At this Patrick rose up with his followers and he blessed the people of the Deisi and not them alone, but their woods and water and land. Whereupon the chiefs and nobles of the Deisi said:--"Who will be King or Lord over us now?" And Declan replied:--"I am your lord and whomsoever I shall appoint offer you as lord, Patrick and all of us will bless, and he shall be king over you all." And he whom Declan appointed was Feargal MacCormac a certain young man of the nation of the Deisi who was a kinsman of Declan himself. He (Declan) set him in the midst of the assembly in the king's place and he was pleasing to all. Whereupon Patrick and Declan blessed him and each of them apart proclaimed him chieftain. Patrick moreover promised the young man that he should be brave and strong in battle, that the land should be fruitful during his reign. Thus have the kings of the Deisi always been. 24. After these things Declan and Feargal Mac Cormac (king of the Deisi) and his people gave a large area of land to Patrick in the neighbourhood of Magh Feimhin and this belongs to his successors ever since and great lordship there. And the place which was given over to him is not far from the Suir. There is a great very clear fountain there which is called "Patrick's Well" and this was dear to Patrick. After this, with blessing, they took leave of one another and Patrick returned to Cashel to Aongus Mac Natfrich and Declan went with him. 25. A miracle was wrought at that time on Declan through the intercession and prayers of Patrick for as Declan was walking carelessly along he trod upon a piece of sharp iron which cut his foot so that blood flowed freely and Declan began to limp. Ailbe of Emly was present at this miracle and Sechnall a bishop of Patrick's and a holy and wise man, and he is said to be the first bishop buried in Ireland. The wound which Declan had received grieved them very much. Patrick was informed of the accident and was grieved thereat. He said:--"Heal, O Master (i.e. God), the foot of your own servant who bears much toil and hardship on your account." Patrick laid his hand on the wounded foot and made over it the sign of the cross when immediately the flow of blood ceased, the lips of the wound united, a cicatrix formed upon it and a cure was effected. Then Declan rose up with his foot healed and joined in praising God. The soldiers and fighting men who were present cried out loudly, blessing God and the saints. 26. As Patrick and the saints were in Cashel, i.e. Ailbe and Declan with their disciples, in the territory of Aongus Mac Nathfrich, they made much progress against paganism and errors in faith and they converted them (the pagans) to Christianity. It was ordained by Patrick and Aongus Mac Natfrich in presence of the assembly, that the Archbishopric of Munster should belong to Ailbe, and to Declan, in like manner, was ordained (committed) his own race, i.e. the Deisi, whom he had converted to be his parish and his episcopate. As the Irish should serve Patrick, so should the Deisi serve Declan as their patron, and Patrick made the "rann":-- "Humble Ailbe the Patrick of Munster, greater than any saying, Declan, Patrick of the Deisi--the Decies to Declan for ever." This is equivalent to saying that Ailbe was a second Patrick and that Declan was a second Patrick of the Decies. After that, when the king had bidden them farewell and they had all taken leave of one another, the saints returned to their respective territories to sow therein the seed of faith. 27. Declan and Ferghal Mac Cormac, king of the Deisi, with his army and followers, met one another at Indeoin and they made still more strong on the people the bond of Christian obligation. The king we have already mentioned, scil.:--Ledban, the recusant to the Christian name, was rejected of all and he came to nothing, leaving no knowledge (memory) of his history, as is written of the enemies of the faith:--"Their memory perisheth like a sound" [Psalm 9:7]. Moreover Declan and Fergal and the chief men of the Deisi decreed this as the place where the king of the Deisi should be inaugurated for ever thenceforward, because it was there Patrick and Declan blessed the king, Fergal; moreover tradition states that it was there the kings were crowned and ruled over the Deisi in pagan times. 28. At that time there broke out a dreadful plague in Munster and it was more deadly in Cashel than elsewhere. Thus it affected those whom it attacked: it first changed their colour to yellow and then killed them. Now Aongus had, in a stone fort called "Rath na nIrlann," on the western side of Cashel, seven noble hostages. It happened that in one and the same night they all died of the plague. The king was much affected thereat and he gave orders to have the fact concealed lest it should bring disgrace or even war upon him, for the hostages were scions of the strongest and most powerful families in Munster. On the morrow however Declan came to Cashel and talked with Aonghus. The king welcomed him heartily and addressing him said to him in presence of persons of his court, "I pray you, Declan, servant of God, that in the name of Christ you would raise to life for me the seven hostages whom I held in bondage from the chieftains of Munster. They have died from the plague of which you hear, and I fear their fathers will raise war and rebellion against me, for they are men of strength and power, and indeed we are ashamed of their death, for they will say that it is we ourselves who killed them." Declan answered the king, saying to him:--"Such a matter as this--to raise one to life from death--belongs to Omnipotence alone--but I shall do whatever is in my power. I go where the bodies lie and pray to God for them and let Him do in their regard what seems best to Him." Next, Declan, with a multitude and his disciples together with the king's councillors, went to the place where the corpses of the young men lay. The king followed after them until he came in sight of the bodies. Declan, full of divine faith, entered the house wherein they lay and he sprinkled holy water over them and prayed for them in the presence of all, saying:--"O Lord Jesus Christ, only Son of the living God, for thine own name's sake wake the dead that they may be strengthened in the Catholic faith through our instrumentality." Thereupon, at Declan's prayer, the group (of corpses) revived and they moved their eyelids and Declan said to them "In the name of Christ, our Saviour, stand up and bless and glorify God." And at his words they rose up immediately and spoke to all. Declan then announced to the king that they were alive and well. When people saw this remarkable miracle they all gave glory and praise to God. The fame of Declan thereupon spread throughout Erin and the king rejoiced for restoration of his hostages. 29. After this the people of Cashel besought Bishop Declan to bless their city and banish the plague from them and to intercede with God for those stricken with sickness who could not escape from its toils. Declan seeing the people's faith prayed to God and signed with the sign of Redemption the four points of the compass. As he concluded, there was verified the saying of Christ to His disciples when leaving them and going to heaven:--"Super aegros imponent manus et bene habebunt" [Mark 16:18] ("I shall place my hands on the sick and they shall be healed"). Soon as Declan had made the sign of the cross each one who was ill became well and not alone were these restored to health but (all the sick) of the whole region round about in whatsoever place there were persons ailing. Moreover the plague was banished from every place and all rejoiced greatly thereat as well as on account of the resurrection of the dead men we have narrated. The king thereupon ordered tribute and honour to Declan and his successors from himself and from every king who should hold Cashel ever after. Upon this the glorious bishop Declan blessed Aongus together with his city and people and returned back to his own place. 30. One night Declan was a guest at the house of a wealthy man who dwelt in the southern part of Magh Femhin; this is the kind of person his host was, scil.:--a pagan who rejected the true faith, and his name was Dercan. He resolved to amuse himself at the Christians' expense; accordingly he ordered his servants to kill a dog secretly, to cut off its head and feet and to bury them in the earth and then to cook the flesh properly and to set it before Declan and his company as their meal. Moreover he directed that the dog should be so fat that his flesh might pass as mutton. When, in due course, it was cooked, the flesh, together with bread and other food, was laid before Declan and his following. At that moment Declan had fallen asleep but he was aroused by his disciples that he might bless their meal. He observed to them:--"Indeed I see, connected with this meat, the ministry of the devil." Whereupon he questioned the waiters as to the meat--what kind it was and whence procured. They replied: "Our master ordered us to kill a fat ram for you and we have done as he commanded." Declan said, "Our Master is Jesus Christ and may He show us what it is that connects the ministry of Satan with this meat and preserve thy servants from eating forbidden food." As he spoke thus Declan saw in the meat the claw of a dog, for, without intending it, they had boiled one quarter of the dog with its paw adhering; they thought they had buried it (the incriminating limb) with the other paws. Declan exclaimed, "This is not a sheep's but a dog's foot." When the attendants heard this they went at once to their master and related the matter to him. Then Dercan came to Declan, accepted his faith and received Baptism at his hands, giving himself and his posterity to Declan for ever. Moreover he gave his homestead to Declan and his people were baptised. After this Dercan requested that Declan should bless something in his homestead which might remain as a memorial of him (Dercan) for ever. Then Declan blessed a bell which he perceived there and its name is Clog-Dhercain ("Dercan's Bell"); moreover, he declared: "I endow it with this virtue (power) that if the king of Decies march around it when going to battle, against his enemies, or to punish violation of his rights, he shall return safely and with victory." This promise has been frequently fulfilled, but proud (men) undertaking battle or conflict unjustly even if they march around it do not obtain victory but success remains with the enemy. The name of that homestead was Teach-Dhercain ("Dercain's House") and its name now is Coningean, from the claw [con] of the hound or dog aforesaid. To this place came the saintly concourse, scil:--Coman and Ultan, MacErc and Mocoba and Maclaisren, who dedicated themselves to (the service of) God and placed themselves under the spiritual rule and sway of Declan. 31. Thereupon Declan established a monastery in that place, scil.--in Coningin--and he placed there this holy community with a further band of disciples. Ultan however he took away with him to the place whither he went. 32. On another (subsequent) occasion Declan visited Bregia, i.e. the original territory which belonged to his race previous to the expulsion of his ancestors. There he was treated with particular honour by the king of Tara and by the chieftains of Meath by whom he was beloved, since it was from themselves (their tribe and territory) that his forbears had gone out, for that region was the patrimony of his race and within it lies Tara. Declan instituted therein a monastery of Canons, on land which he received from the king, and it is from him the place is named. Moreover he left therein a relic or illuminated book and a famous gospel which he was accustomed to carry always with him. The gospel is still preserved with much honour in the place and miracles are wrought through it. After this again he turned towards Munster. 33. Declan was once travelling through Ossory when he wished to remain for the night in a certain village. But the villagers not only did not receive him but actually drove him forth by force of arms. The saint however prayed to God that it might happen to them what the Sacred Scripture says, "Vengeance is mine I will repay" [Deuteronomy 32:35]. The dwellers in the village, who numbered sixty, died that same night with the exception of two men and ten women to whom the conduct of the others towards the saint had been displeasing. On the morrow these men and women came humbly to the place where Declan was and they told him--what he himself foreknew--how miserably the others had died. They themselves did penance and they bestowed on Declan a suitable site whereon he built a monastery and he got another piece of land and had the dead buried where he built the monastery. The name of that monastery is Cill-Colm-Dearg. This Colm-Dearg was a kind, holy man and a disciple of Declan. He was of East Leinster, i.e. of the Dal Meiscorb, and it is from him that the monastery is named. When he (Declan) had completed that place he came to his own territory again, i.e. to the Decies. 34. On a certain day Declan came to a place called Ait-Breasail and the dwellers therein would not allow him to enter their village; moreover they hid all their boats so that he could not go into his own island, for they hated him very much. In consideration however of the sanctity of his servant, who prayed in patience, God the All-Powerful turned the sea into dry land as you have already heard. Declan passed the night in an empty stable out in the plain and the people of the village did not give him even a fire. Whereupon, appropriately the anger of God fell on them, who had not compassion enough to supply the disciple of God with a fire. There came fire from heaven on them to consume them all [together with their] homestead and village, so that the place has been ever since a wilderness accursed, as the prophet writes: "civitates eorum destruxisti" [Psalm 9:7], i.e. the dwellings of the unmerciful are laid waste. 35. On yet another occasion Declan was in his own region--travelling over Slieve Gua in the Decies, when his horse from some cause got lame so that he could proceed no further. Declan however, seeing a herd of deer roaming the mountain close to him, said to one of his people: "Go, and bring me for my chariot one of these deer to replace my horse and take with you this halter for him." Without any misgiving the disciple went on till he reached the deer which waited quietly for him. He chose the animal which was largest and therefore strongest, and, bringing him back, yoked him to the chariot. The deer thereupon obediently and without effort carried Bishop Declan till he came to Magh Femhin, where, when he reached a house of entertainment, the saint unloosed the stag and bade him to go free as was his nature. Accordingly, at the command of the saintly man and in the presence of all, the stag returned on the same road back (to the mountain). Dormanach is the name of the man aforesaid who brought the stag to Declan and him Declan blessed and gave him a piece of land on the north of Decies close by the Eoghanacht and his posterity live till now in that place. 36. On another occasion, Declan, accompanied, as usual, by a large following, was travelling, when one member of the party fell on the road and broke his shin bone in twain. Declan saw the accident and, pitying the injured man, he directed an individual of the company to bandage the broken limb so that the sufferer might not die through excess of pain and loss of blood. All replied that they could not endure to dress the wound owing to their horror thereof. But there was one of the company, Daluadh by name, who faced the wound boldly and confidently and said: "In the name of Christ and of Declan our patron I shall be surgeon to this foot"; and he said that jestingly. Nevertheless he bandaged the foot carefully and blessed it aright in the name of God and Declan, and in a little while the wound healed and they all gave praise to God. Then Declan said to Daluadh: "You promised to be surgeon to that foot in Christ's name and in mine and God has vouchsafed to heal it at these words: on this account you will be a true physician for ever and your children and your seed after you for ever shall also possess the healing art, and whomsoever they shall practise healing upon in God's name and mine, provided there be no hatred [in their hearts] nor too great covetousness of a physician's fee to him, God and myself shall send relief." This promise of Declan has been fulfilled in the case of that family. 37. On another occasion, as Declan was travelling in the northern part of Magh Femhin beside the Suir, he met there a man who was carrying a little infant to get it baptised. Declan said to the people [his "muinntear," or following]: "Wait here till I baptise yonder child," for it was revealed by the Holy Ghost to him that he [the babe] should serve God. The attendant replied to him that they had neither a vessel nor salt for the baptism. Declan said: "We have a wide vessel, the Suir, and God will send us salt, for this child is destined to become holy and wonderful [in his works]." Thereupon Declan took up a fistful of earth and, making prayer in his heart to God, he signed the clay with the sign of the cross of redemption. It (the handful of earth) became white, dry salt, and all, on seeing it, gave thanks and honour to God and Declan. The infant was baptised there and the name of Ciaran given him. Declan said: "Bring up my spiritual son carefully and send him, at a fitting age, for education to a holy man who is well instructed in the faith for he will become a shining bright pillar in the Church." And it was this child, Ciaran Mac Eochaidh, who founded in after years a famous monastery (from which he migrated to heaven) and another place (monastery) besides. He worked many miracles and holy signs and this is the name of his monastery Tiprut [Tubrid] and this is where it is:--in the western part of the Decies in Ui Faithe between Slieve Grot [Galtee] and Sieve Cua and it is within the bishopric of Declan. 38. On another day there came a woman to Declan's monastery not far from the city where she dwelt. She committed a theft that day in Declan's monastery as she had often done previously, and this is the thing she stole--a "habellum" [possibly an item of tribute]; she departed homewards taking it with her and there met her a group of people on the highway, and the earth, in their presence, swallowed her up, and she cast out the tabellum from her bosom and it was quickly turned into a stone which the wayfarers took and brought with them to Declan. Declan himself had in supernatural vision seen all that happened to the woman in punishment of her theft, and the name of Declan was magnified owing to those marvels so that fear took possession of all-those present and those absent. The stone in question remains still in Declan's graveyard in his own town of Ardmore-Declain, where it stands on an elevated place in memory of this miracle. 39. A rich man named Fintan was childless, for his wife was barren for many years. He himself, with his wife, visited Declan and promised large alms and performance of good works provided he (Declan) would pray that they might have children: they held it as certain that if Declan but prayed for them God would grant them children. Declan therefore, praying to God and blessing the pair, said: "Proceed to your home and through God's bounty you shall have offspring." The couple returned home, with great joy for the blessing and for the promise of the offspring. The following night, Fintan lay with his wife and she conceived and brought forth twin sons, scil.: Fiacha and Aodh, who, together with their children and descendants were under tribute and service to God and Declan. 40. When it was made known to a certain holy man, scil.:--Ailbe of Emly Iubar, chief bishop of Munster, that his last days had come, he said to his disciples: "Beloved brethren, I wish, before I die, to visit my very dear fellow worker, scil.:--Declan." After this Ailbe set out on the journey and an angel of God came to Declan notifying him that Ailbe was on his way to visit him. On the angel's notification Declan ordered his disciples to prepare the house for Ailbe's coming. He himself went to meet Ailbe as far as the place which is called Druim Luctraidh [Luchluachra]. Thence they came home together and Ailbe, treated with great honour by Declan and his people, stayed fourteen pleasant days. After that the aged saint returned home again to his own city, scil.:--to Emly Iubar. Declan came and many of his people, escorting Ailbe, to Druim Luchtradh, and Ailbe bade him return to his own city. The two knew they should not see one another in this world ever again. In taking leave of one another, therefore, they shed plentiful tears of sorrow and they instituted an everlasting compact and league between their successors in that place. Ailbe moreover blessed the city of Declan, his clergy and people and Declan did the same for Ailbe and they kissed one another in token of love and peace and each returned to his own city. 41. On a certain day the Castle of Cinaedh, King of the Deisi, took fire and it burned violently. It happened however that Declan was proceeding towards the castle on some business and he was grieved to see it burning; he flung towards it the staff to which we have referred in connection with the drying up of the sea, and it (the staff) flew hovering in the air with heavenly wings till it reached the midst of the flame and the fire was immediately extinguished of its own accord through the grace of God and virtue of the staff and of Declan to whom it belonged. The place from which Declan cast the staff was a long mile distant from the castle and when the king, i.e. Cinaedh, and all the others witnessed this miracle they were filled with amazement and gave thanks to God and to Declan when they came to know that it was he who wrought it. Now the place where the castle stands is not far from the Suir, i.e. on the south side of it and the place from which Declan cast the staff is beside a ford which is in the Suir or a stream which flows beside the monastery called Mag Laca [Molough] which the holy virgins, daughters of the king of Decies, have built in honour of God. There is a pile of stones and a cross in the place to commemorate this miracle. 42. On another occasion there approached a foreign fleet towards Declan's city and this was their design--to destroy and to plunder it of persons and of cattle, because they (the foreigners) were people hostile to the faith. Many members of the community ran with great haste to tell Declan of the fleet which threatened the town and to request him to beg the assistance of God against the invaders. Declan knew the man amongst his own disciples who was holiest and most abounding in grace, scil., Ultan, already mentioned, and him he ordered to pray to God against the fleet. Ultan had pity on the Christian people and he went instantly, at the command of Declan, in front of the fleet and he held his left hand against it, and, on the spot, the sea swallowed them like sacks full of lead, and the drowned sailors were changed into large rocks which stand not far from the mouth of the haven where they are visible (standing) high out of the sea from that time till now. All Christians who witnessed this rejoiced and were glad and they gave great praise and glory to God and to Declan their own patron who caused the working of this miracle and of many other miracles besides. Next there arose a contention between Ultan and Declan concerning this miracle, for Ultan attributed it to Declan and Declan credited it to Ultan; and it has become a proverb since in Ireland when people hear of danger or jeopardy:--"The left hand of Ultan against you (the danger)." Ultan became, after the death of Declan, a miracle-working abbot of many other holy monks. 43. The holy and glorious archbishop, i.e. Patrick, sent one of his own followers to Declan with power and authority (delegation) from the archbishop. And proceeding through the southern part of Decies he was drowned in a river [the Lickey] there, two miles from the city of Declan. When Declan heard this he was grieved and he said: "Indeed it grieves me that a servant of God and of Patrick who sent him to visit me, having travelled all over Ireland, should be drowned in a river of my own territory. Get my chariot for me that I may go in haste to see his corpse, so that Patrick may come to hear of the worry and the grief I have undergone because of his disciple's death." The body had been recovered before the arrival of Declan by others who were close at hand and it had been placed on a bier to be carried to Ciaran for interment. Declan however met them on the way, when he ordered the body to be laid down on the ground. They supposed he was about to recite the Office for the Dead. He (Declan) advanced to the place where the bier was and lifted the sheet covering the face. It (the face) looked dark and deformed as is usual in the case of the drowned. He prayed to God and shed tears, but no one heard aught of what he said. After this he commanded:--"In the name of the Trinity, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost whose religious yoke I bear myself, arise to us for God has given your life to me." He (the dead man) rose up immediately at the command and he greeted Declan and all the others. Whereupon Declan and his disciples received him with honour. At first he was not completely cured but (was) like one convalescent until (complete) health returned to him by degrees again. He however accompanied Declan and remained some time with him and there was much rejoicing in Declan's city on account of the miracle and his (Declan's) name and fame extended over the country generally. This disciple of Patrick was named Ballin; he returned with great joy and he told him (Patrick) that Declan had raised him from the dead. To many others likewise he related what had happened to him. Patrick, in presence of many persons, hearing of the miracle gave glory and thanks to God and the name of Declan was magnified. 44. With this extraordinary miracle wrought by Declan we wish to conclude our discourse. The number of miracles he wrought, but which are not written here, you are to judge and gather from what we have written. And we wish moreover that you would understand that he healed the infirm, that he gave sight to the eyes of the blind, cleansed lepers, and gave "their walk" to cripples; that he obtained hearing for the deaf, and that he healed many and various diseases in many different places throughout Ireland--(things) which are not written here because of their length and because they are so numerous to record, for fear it should tire readers to hear so much said of one particular person. On that account we shall pass them by. 45. When Declan realised that his last days were at hand and that the time remaining to him was very short he summoned to him his own spiritual son, scil., MacLiag (residing) in the monastery which is on the eastern side of the Decies close to the Leinstermen in order that, at the hour of death, he might receive the Body and Blood of Christ and the Sacraments of the Church from his hands. Thereupon he foretold to his disciples the day of his death and he commanded them to bring him to his own city, for it was not there he dwelt at the time but in a small venerable cell which he had ordered to be built for him between the hill called Ardmore Declain and the ocean--in a narrow place at the brink of the sea by which there flows down from the hill above a small shining stream about which are trees and bushes all around, and it is called Disert Declain. Thence to the city it is a short mile and the reason why Declan used go there was to avoid turmoil and noise so that he might be able to read and pray and fast there. Indeed it was not easy for him to stay even there because of the multitude of disciples and paupers and pilgrims and beggars who followed him thither. Declan was however generous and very sympathetic and on that account it is recorded by tradition that a great following (of poor, &c.), generally accompanied him and that moreover the little cell was very dear to him for the reason we have given, and many devout people have made it their practice to dwell therein. 46. When Declan fell ill and became weak in body, but still strong in hope and faith and love of God, he returned to his own city--his people and disciples and clergy surrounding him. He discoursed to them on the commands of God and he enjoined on them to live holily after his death, to be submissive to authority and to follow as closely as possible the way he had marked out and to preserve his city in a state of piety and under religious rule. And when they had all heard the discourse it grieved them greatly to perceive, from what he had said, he realised that in a short time he would go away to heaven from them. But they were consoled by his gentle words and then there came to him the holy man, to wit, MacLiag, at his own request, already referred to. He [Declan] received the Body and Blood of Christ and the Sacraments of the Church from his [MacLiag's] hand--surrounded by holy men and his disciples, and he blessed his people and his dependents and his poor, and he kissed them in token of love and peace. Thus, having banished images and the sacrifices to idols, having converted multitudes to the true faith, having established monasteries and ecclesiastical orders in various places, having spent his whole life profitably and holily, this glorious bishop went with the angels to heaven on the ninth day of the Kalends of August and his body was blessed and honoured with Masses and chanting by holy men and by the people of the Decies and by his own monks and disciples collected from every quarter at the time of his death. He was buried with honour in his own city--in Declan's High-Place--in the tomb which by direction of an angel he had himself indicated--which moreover has wrought wonders and holy signs from that time to now. He departed to the Unity of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost in Saecula Saeculorum; Amen. FINIS. The poor brother, Michael O'Clery originally copied this life of Declan in Cashel, from the book of Eochy O'Heffernan. The date, A.D., at which that ancient book of Eochy was written is 1582. And the same life has now been re-written in the Convent of the Friars at Druiske, the date, A.D., 27th February, 1629. And this Life of St. Declan was transcribed electronically for the public domain by Dennis McCarthy, a layman, in the city of Atlanta in Georgia of the United States of America. He copied this life from the 1914 translation from the Irish to the English tongue by Rev. P. Power of University College, Cork. Dennis has completed this work on February 27 in the year of Our Lord 1997, and prayerfully dedicated it to the memory of his deceased siblings. NOTE The Irish text of the "rann" from paragraph 26 reads: Ailbe umal; Patraicc Muman, mo gacrath, Declan, Patraicc na nDeisi: na Deisi ag Declan gan brat. And the Latin rendering: Albeus est humilis dixit Caephurnia proles; Patriciusque esto hinc Ailbee Momonia. Declanus pariter patronus Desius esto; Inter Desenses Patriciusque suos. +-------------------------------------------+ | | | __ __---_ | | ,-~~~ ~\/ ~\ | | ,_/ | | | /,_ / | | _ _/ ~\ | | /~~ ~\/~-_| / | | \ /~ | | \ _ _\/ | | ,' | | | /~ Tara \ | | \ * | | | '~|__- / | | .-,/~ \ | | | / | | / | | | /_,_/~ | | | / Cashel / | | ,--~ * | | | /--- __|_-_/ | | ,-~ -,-~ | | \_-~/ \ /~ * | | ,-~/= _/~ Ardmore | | --~/_-_-/~'~ | | | +-------------------------------------------+ | MAP OF IRELAND | +-------------------------------------------+ TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE The source for this text includes an introduction, Irish text & English translation on facing pages, and notes. The introduction and the notes are quite lengthy and should take longer to transcribe than the English text. Except for the part of the introduction specific to the "Life of Declan" and a few notes transplanted in brackets to the body of the text I have not transcribed them. Due to inexperience with the Irish language and its alphabet/font I have decided not to attempt to transcribe the Irish text. Hopefully someone with the appropriate talent and interest will undertake that task some day. I have corrected the errata as indicated in the source and a few obvious printer errors. Please note that this text is full of variant spellings of names and words sometimes inconsistently applied. 
16464	----	THE ANCIENT IRISH EPIC TALE TÁIN BÓ CÚALNGE "THE CUALNGE CATTLE-RAID" Now for the first time done entire into English out of the Irish of the Book of Leinster and Allied Manuscripts By JOSEPH DUNN Professor at the Catholic University Washington WITH TWO PAGES IN FACSIMILÉ OF THE MANUSCRIPTS [Illustration: "Daig concechlabat fin hErend & Alban inn ainm sin, & bat lana beóil fer n-hErend & Alban din anmun sin."] Book of Leinster, fo. 64a. "For the men of Erin and Alba shall hear that name (Cuchulain) and the mouths of the men of Erin and Alba shall be full of that name." LONDON DAVID NUTT 17 GRAPE STREET, NEW OXFORD STREET, W.C 1914 To the Memory of MY MOTHER * * * * * [Illustration: FACSIMILE, PAGE 55--_from the Book of Leinster_.] * * * * * CONTENTS Preface, xi. I The Pillow-talk, 1. II The Occasion of the Táin, 5. III The Rising-out of the Men of Connacht at Cruachan Ai, 10. IV The Foretelling, 13. V The Route of the Táin, 19. VI The March of the Host, 21. VII The Youthful Exploits of Cuchulain, 46. VIIa The Slaying of the Smith's Hound by Cuchulain, 54. VIIb The Taking of Arms by Cuchulain and The Slaying of the Three Sons of Necht Scenè, 60. VIIc A Separate Version as far as the Slaying Of Orlam, 80. VIII The Slaying of Orlam, 82. VIIIa The Slaying of the Three MacArach, 85. VIIIb The Combat of Lethan and Cuchulain, 86. VIIIc The Killing of the Squirrel and of the Tame Bird, 88. VIIId The Slaying of Lochè, 93. VIIIe The Killing of Uala, 95. VIIIf The Harrying of Cualnge, 99. IX The Proposals, 104. X The Violent Death of Etarcumul, 115. XI The Slaying of Nathcrantail, 126. XII The Finding of the Bull, 132. XIIa The Death of Forgemen, 136. XIIb The Slaying of Redg the Lampoonist, 137. XIIc The Meeting of Cuchulain and Finnabair, 139. XIId The Combat of Munremar and Curoi, 141. XIIe The Slaughter of the Boy-troop, 143. XIIf The Slaughter of the King's Bodyguard, 145. XIII The Combat of Cûr with Cuchulain, 146. XIV The Slaying of Ferbaeth, 150. XIVa The Combat of Larinè MacNois, 155. XIVb The Colloquy of the Morrigan and Cuchulain, 161. XV The Combat of Loch and Cuchulain, and The Slaying of Loch son of Mofemis, 163. XVI The Violation of the Agreement, 175. XVIa The Healing of the Morrigan, 177. XVII The Great Rout on the Plain of Murthemne, 180. XVIIa The Slaughter of the Youths of Ulster, 184. XVIIb The Scythed Chariot, 187. XVIIc The Appearance of Cuchulain, 195. XVIId Dubthach's Jealousy, 198. XVIII The Slaying of Oengus son of Oenlam, 201. XVIIIa The Misthrow at Belach Eoin, 202. XVIIIb The Disguising of Tamon, 204. XIX The Battle of Fergus and Cuchulain, 205. XIXa The Head-place of Ferchu, 209. XIXb Mann's Fight, 211. XIXc The Combat of Calatin's Children, 213. XX The Combat of Ferdiad and Cuchulain, 217. XXI Cuchulain and the Rivers, 268. XXII Cethern's Strait-fight, 269. XXIIa Cethern's Bloody Wounds, 273. XXIII The Tooth-fight of Fintan, 283. XXIIIa The Red-Shame of Menn, 285. XXIIIb The Accoutrement of the Charioteers, 287. XXIIIc The White-fight of Rochad, 288. XXIIId Iliach's Clump-fight, 292. XXIIIe The Deer-stalking of Amargin in Taltiu, 295. XXIIIf The Adventures of Curoi son of Darè, 296. XXIV The Repeated Warning of Sualtaim, 298. XXIVa The Agitation of Celtchar, 306. XXV The Array of the Host, 309. XXVI The Decision of the Battle, 345. XXVII The Battle of Garech, 348. XXVIIa The Muster of the Men of Erin, 351. XXVIII The Battle of the Bulls, 363. XXIX The Account of the Brown Bull of Cualnge, 366. Index of Place and Personal Names, 371. * * * * * [Illustration: FACSIMILE PAGE 55--_from Leabhar na h-Uidhri_.] * * * * * PREFACE The Gaelic Literature of Ireland is vast in extent and rich in quality. The inedited manuscript materials, if published, would occupy several hundred large volumes. Of this mass only a small portion has as yet been explored by scholars. Nevertheless three saga-cycles stand out from the rest, distinguished for their compass, age and literary worth, those, namely, of the gods, of the demigod Cuchulain, and of Finn son of Cumhall. The Cuchulain cycle, also called the Ulster cycle--from the home of its hero in the North of Ireland--forms the core of this great mass of epic material. It is also known as the cycle of Conchobar, the king round whom the Ulster warriors mustered, and, finally, it has been called the Red Branch Cycle from the name of the banqueting hall at Emain Macha in Ulster. Only a few of the hundred or more tales which once belonged to this cycle have survived. There are some dozen in particular, technically known as _Remscéla_ or "Foretales," because they lead up to and explain the great Táin, the Táin Bó Cúalnge, "The Cualnge Cattle-raid," the Iliad of Ireland, as it has been called, the queen of Irish epic tales, and the wildest and most fascinating saga-tale, not only of the entire Celtic world, but even of all western Europe. The mediaeval Irish scholars catalogued their native literature under several heads, probably as an aid to the memory of the professional poets or story-tellers whose stock-in-trade it was, and to one of these divisions they gave the name _Táinte_, plural of _Táin_. By this term, which is most often followed by the genitive plural _bó_, "cows," they meant "a driving," or "a reaving," or even "a drove" or "herd" of cattle. It is only by extension of meaning that this title is applied to the Táin Bó Cúalnge, the most famous representative of the class, for it is not, strictly speaking, with the driving of cattle that it deals but with that of the Brown Bull of Cualnge. But, since to carry off the bull implies the carrying off of the herd of which he was the head, and as the "Brown" is always represented as accompanied by his fifty heifers, there were sufficient grounds for putting the Brown Bull Quest in the class of Cow-spoils. The prominence accorded to this class of stories in the early literature of Ireland is not to be wondered at when the economic situation of the country and the stage of civilization of which they are the faithful mirror is borne in mind.[1] Since all wars are waged for gain, and since among the Irish, who are still very much a nation of cattle raisers, cattle was the chief article of wealth and measure of value,[2] so marauding expeditions from one district into another for cattle must have been of frequent occurrence, just as among the North American Indians tribal wars used to be waged for the acquisition of horses. That this had been a common practice among their kinsmen on the Continent also we learn from Caesar's account of the Germans (and Celts?) who, he says, practised warfare not only for a means of subsistence but also for exercising their warriors. How long-lived the custom has been amongst the Gaelic Celts, as an occupation or as a pastime, is evident not only from the plundering incursions or "creaghs"[3] as they are called in the Highlands and described by Scott in _Waverley_ and _The Fair Maid of Perth_, but also from the "cattle-drives" which have been resorted to in our own day in Ireland, though these latter had a different motive than plunder. As has been observed by Sir Henry Sumner Maine, Lord Macaulay was mistaken in ascribing this custom to "some native vice of Irish character," for, as every student of ancient Ireland may perceive, it is rather to be regarded as "a survival, an ancient and inveterate habit" of the race. One of these many Cattle-preys was the Táin Bó Cúalnge,[4] which, there can be little doubt, had behind it no mere myth but some kernel of actual fact. Its historical basis is that a Connacht chieftain and his lady went to war with Ulster about a drove of cattle. The importance of a racial struggle between the north-east province and the remaining four grand provinces of Ireland cannot be ascribed to it. There is, it is true, strong evidence to show that two chief centres, political, if not cultural and national, existed at the time of the Táin in Ireland, Cruachan Ai, near the present Rathcroghan in Connacht, and Emain Macha, the Navan Fort, two miles west of Armagh in Ulster, and it is with the friendly or hostile relations of these two that the Ultonian cycle of tales deals. Ulster, or, more precisely, the eastern portion of the Province, was the scene of all the Cattle-raids, and there is a degree of truth in the couplet,-- "Leinster for breeding, And Ulster for reaving; Munster for reading, And Connacht for thieving." But there are no indications of a racial clash or war of tribes. With the exception of the Oghamic writings inscribed on the pillar-stones by Cuchulain, which seem to require interpretation to the men of Connacht by Ulstermen, the description of the warriors mustered by the Connacht warrior queen and those gathered round King Conchobar of Ulster accord quite closely. The Táin Bó Cúalnge is the work not of any one man but of a corporation of artists known as _filid_. The author of the Táin in its present state, whoever he may have been, was a strong partisan of Ulster and never misses an opportunity of flattering the pride of her chieftains. Later a kind of reaction against the pre-eminence given to Ulster and the glorification of its hero sets in, and a group of stories arises in which the war takes a different end and Cuchulain is shown to disadvantage, finally to fall at the hands of a Munster champion. It is to this southern province that the saga-cycle which followed the Cuchulain at an interval of two hundred years belongs, namely, the Fenian saga,--the saga of Finn son of Cumhall, which still flourishes among the Gaelic speakers of Ireland and Scotland, while the Cuchulain stories have almost died out among them. The mingling of the two sagas is the work of the eighteenth-century Scots Lowlander, James Macpherson. The Táin Bó Cúalnge is one of the most precious monuments of the world's literature, both because of the poetic worth it evidences at an early stage of civilization, and for the light it throws on the life of the people among whom it originated and that of their ancestors centuries earlier. It is not less valuable and curious because it shows us the earlier stages of an epic--an epic in the making--which it does better perhaps than any other work in literature. Ireland had at hand all the materials for a great national epic, a wealth of saga-material replete with interesting episodes, picturesque and dramatic incidents and strongly defined personages, yet she never found her Homer, a gifted poet to embrace her entire literary wealth, to piece the disjointed fragments together, smooth the asperities and hand down to posterity the finished epic of the Celtic world, superior, perhaps, to the Iliad or the Odyssey. What has come down to us is "a sort of patchwork epic," as Prescott called the Ballads of the Cid, a popular epopee in all its native roughness, wild phantasy and extravagance of deed and description as it developed during successive generations. It resembles the frame of some huge ship left unfinished by the builders on the beach and covered with shells and drift from the sea of Celtic tradition. From the historical standpoint, however, and as a picture of the old barbaric Celtic culture, and as a pure expression of elemental passion, it is of more importance to have the genuine tradition as it developed amongst the people, unvarnished by poetic art and uninfluenced by the example of older and alien societies. According to the Chronicles of Ireland, as formulated in the Annals of Tigernach,[5] who died in 1088, King Conchobar of Ulster began to reign in the year 30 B.C., and he is said to have died of grief at the news that Christ had been crucified. His reign therefore lasted about sixty years. Cuchulain died in the year 39 A.D. in the twenty-seventh year of his age, as we learn from the following entry: "The death of Cuchulain, the bravest hero of the Irish, by Lugaid son of Three Hounds, king of Munster, and by Erc, king of Tara, son of Carbre Niafer, and by the three sons of Calatin of Connacht. Seven years was his age when he assumed arms, seventeen was his age when he followed the Driving of the Kine of Cualnge, but twenty-seven years was his age when he died."[6] A very different account is given in the manuscript known as H. 3. 17, Trinity College, Dublin, quoted by O'Curry in his _Manuscript Materials_, page 508. The passage concludes with the statement: "So that the year of the Táin was the fifty-ninth year of Cuchulain's age, from the night of his birth to the night of his death." The record first quoted, however, is partly corroborated by the following passage which I translate from the Book of Ballymote, facsimilé edition, page 13, col. a, lines 9-21: "In the fourteenth year of the reign of Conairè (killed in 40 B.C.) and of Conchobar, the Blessed Virgin was born. At that time Cuchulain had completed thirteen years; and in the fourth year after the birth of Mary, the expedition of the Kine of Cualnge took place ... that is, in the eighteenth year of the reign of Conairè. Cuchulain had completed his seventeenth year at that time. That is, it was in the thirty-second year of the reign of Octavius Augustus that the same expedition took place. Eight years after the Táin Bó Cúalnge, Christ was born, and Mary had completed twelve years then, and that was in the fortieth year of the reign of Octavius Augustus; and in the twenty-sixth year of the reign of Conairè and Conchobar, and in the second year after the birth of Christ, Cuchulain died. And twenty-seven years was Cuchulain's age at that time." These apparent synchronisms, of course, may only rest upon the imagination of the Christian annalists of Ireland, who hoped to exalt their ancient rulers and heroes by bringing them into relation with and even making them participate in the events of the life of the Saviour. But in placing the date of the expedition of the Táin at about the beginning of the Christian era, Irish tradition is undoubtedly correct, as appears from the character of the civilization depicted in the Ulster tales, which corresponds in a remarkable degree with what authors of antiquity have recorded of the Celts and with the character of the age which archaeologists call "la Tène," or "Late Celtic," which terminates at the beginning of the first century of our era. Oral tradition was perhaps occupied for five hundred years working over and developing the story of the Táin, and by the close of the fifth century the saga to which it belonged was substantially the one we have now. The text of the tale must have been completed by the first half of the seventh century, and, as we shall see, its oldest extant version, the Book of the Dun, dates from about the year 1100. But, whatever may be the precise dates of these events, which we are not in a position to determine more accurately, the composition of the Táin Bó Cúalnge antedates by a considerable margin the epic tales of the Anglo-Saxons, the Scandinavians, the Franks and the Germans. It is the oldest epic tale of western Europe, and it and the cycle of tales to which it belongs form "the oldest existing literature of any of the peoples to the north of the Alps."[7] The deeds it recounts belong to the heroic age of Ireland three hundred years before the introduction of Christianity into the island, and its spirit never ceased to remain markedly pagan. The mythology that permeates it is one of the most primitive manifestations of the personification of the natural forces which the Celts worshipped. Its historical background, social organization, chivalry, mood and thought and its heroic ideal are to a large extent, and with perhaps some pre-Aryan survivals, not only those of the insular Celts of two thousand years ago, but also of the important and wide-spread Celtic race with whom Caesar fought and who in an earlier period had sacked Rome and made themselves feared even in Greece and Asia Minor. The following is the Argument of the Táin Bó Cúalnge, which, for the sake of convenience, is here divided into sections: I. The Prologue One night at the palace of Cruachan in Connacht, a dispute arose between Queen Medb, the sometime wife of Conchobar, king of Ulster, and her consort Ailill, as to the amount of their respective possessions. It may be remarked in passing that in those days in Ireland, married women retained their private fortune independent of their husbands, as well as the dowry secured to them in marriage. To procure the evidence of their wealth, the royal pair sent messengers to assemble all their chattels which, on comparison, were found to be equal, excepting only that among Ailill's kine was a lordly bull called Finnbennach, "the Whitehorned," whose match was not to be found in the herds of the queen. II. The Embassage to Darè and the Occasion of the Táin As we might expect, Medb was chagrined at the discovery. Now her herald macRoth had told her that Darè macFiachna, a landowner of Cualnge, a district in the territory of her former husband, possessed an even more wonderful bull than Ailill's, called Donn Cualnge, "the Brown Bull of Cualnge." So she despatched macRoth to Darè to pray for the loan of the bull. Darè received the queen's messengers hospitably and readily granted her request, but in the course of the entertainment, one of the messengers, deep in his cups, spoke against Darè, and he, hearing this, withdrew his promise and swore that he would never hand over the Brown Bull of Cualnge. III. The Gathering of Medb's Forces The impetuous queen, enraged at the failure of her mission, immediately mustered a formidable army, composed not only of her Connachtmen but also of allies from all parts of Ireland, wherewith to undertake the invasion of Ulster. On her side were the Ulster chieftains who had gone into exile into Connacht after the treacherous slaughter of the sons of Usnech by King Conchobar of Ulster. Chief among them was Fergus, who, moreover, had a personal grievance against Conchobar. For, while Fergus was king of Ulster, he had courted the widow Ness and, in order to win her, promised to abdicate for the term of one year in favour of her son Conchobar. But when the term had elapsed, the youth refused to relinquish the throne, and Fergus in anger entered the service of Medb of Connacht. There he was loaded with favours, became the counsellor of the realm and, as appears from more than one allusion in the tale, the more than friend of the wife of King Ailill. The four leagued provinces of Ireland being gathered at Cruachan, the guidance of the host was entrusted to Fergus, because he was acquainted with the province of Ulster through which they were to march, and at the beginning of winter--a point emphasized by the exponents of the sun-theory--the mighty host, including in its ranks the king and queen and some of the greatest warriors of Ireland, with the princess Finnabair as a lure, set forth on the raid into Ulster. They crossed the Shannon near Athlone and, marching through the province of Meath, arrived at the borders of Cualnge. Fortunately for the invaders, the expedition took place while the Ulstermen lay prostrate in their _cess_, or "Pains," a mysterious state of debility or torpor which was inflicted on them periodically in consequence of an ancient curse laid upon Conchobar and the warriors of Ulster as a punishment for a wrong done to the goddess Macha. This strange malady, resembling the _couvade_ among certain savage nations, ordinarily lasted five days and four nights, but on this occasion the Ulstermen were prostrate from the beginning of November till the beginning of February. During all that time the burden of defending the province fell on the shoulders of the youthful champion Cuchulain, who had in his particular charge the plain of Murthemne, the nearest district to Cualnge, the goal of the expedition. For Cuchulain and his father Sualtaim were alone exempt from the curse and the "Pains" which had befallen the remainder of the champions of Ulster. IV. The Youthful Exploits of Cuchulain The Connacht host had not proceeded far when they came upon evidence of some mighty force that opposed them. In answer to the inquiries of Ailill and Medb, Fergus explains that it is Cuchulain who disputes their further advance, and, as evidence of the superhuman strength and prowess of the Ulster youth, then in the seventeenth year of his age, the Ulster exiles recount the mighty deeds he had performed in his boyhood, chief among which is the tale according to which, as eric for the killing of the hound of Culann the Smith, the boy-hero Setanta assumed the station and the name which ever after clung to him of Cuchulain, "the Hound of Culann." V. The Single Combats of Cuchulain Cuchulain agrees to allow the Connacht host to continue their march on condition that every day they send one of their champions to meet him in single combat. When he shall have killed his opponent, the host shall halt and pitch camp until the following morning. Medb agrees to abide by these terms. In each of the contests which ensue, the heroic youth is victorious and slays many of the most celebrated warriors on the side of Connacht. The severest of all these single combats was the one in which he had as opponent his former friend and foster-brother Ferdiad. At the end of a four days' battle, in which both adversaries exhibited astounding deeds of valour, Ferdiad fell by the hands of Cuchulain. Impatient at these delays, Medb broke the sacred laws of ancient Irish chivalry and led her army into Ulster, overrunning the province, pillaging and burning as she went, even up to the walls of Emain Macha, the residence of Conchobar, and finally took possession of the Brown Bull of Cualnge. VI. The Gathering of the Ulstermen and the Final Battle of the Táin By this time King Conchobar and his warriors have come out of their debility and summoned their forces to an eminence in Slane of Meath. The great gathering of the Ulstermen is reported to Medb by her trusty herald macRoth, and from his description of the leaders and their troops, their exiled countryman Fergus designates them to the nobles of Connacht. In the final battle Medb's army is repulsed and retreats in flight into Connacht. Thus each host has had its share of the fortunes of war: Medb has laid waste the lands of her divorced husband and carried off the Brown Bull of Cualnge, the prize of war, while on the other hand, Conchobar has won the victory in the great battle of Garech and Ilgarech. VII. The End of the two Bulls On the way back to Connacht, the Brown Bull of Cualnge emitted such terrible bellowings that they reached the ears of the Whitehorned remaining at home in his stall in Cruachan, whence he rushed at full speed to attack the other. A furious battle took place between the bulls, but the Brown was the stronger, and raising his rival on his horns he shook the Whitehorned into fragments over all Ireland. He then returned in fury to Ulster, and in his wild rage dashed his head against a rock and was killed. The Táin Bó Cúalnge has been preserved, more or less complete, in a score of manuscripts ranging in date from the beginning of the twelfth to the middle of the nineteenth century. There probably existed other manuscripts containing not only the Táin as we have it but even episodes now wanting in it. All of the extant manuscripts go back to versions which date from the seventh century or earlier. No manuscript of the Táin is wholly in the language of the time when it was copied, but, under the cloak of the contemporaneous orthography, contains forms and words so obsolete that they were not understood by the copyist, so that glossaries had to be compiled to explain them. It is by a singular good fortune that this, the greatest of all the epic tales of the Irish, has been handed down to our day in the two most ancient and, for that reason, most precious of the great Middle Irish collections of miscellaneous contents known as the _Leabhar na hUidhre_, "the Book of The Dun (Cow)," and the Book of Leinster. The former and older of these vellum manuscripts (abbreviated LU.) is kept in the Library of the Royal Irish Academy at Dublin. It must have been written about the beginning of the twelfth century, for its compiler and writer, Moelmuire macCeilechair (Kelleher), is known to have been slain at Clonmacnois in the year 1106; some of its linguistic forms, however, are as old as the eighth century glosses. Unfortunately, LU.'s account of the Táin is incomplete at the beginning and the end, but the latter portion is made good by the closely related, though independent, version contained in the manuscript known as the Yellow Book of Lecan (abbreviated YBL.). This manuscript was written about the year 1391 and it is also kept in Dublin in the Library of Trinity College. To the same group as LU. and YBL., which for the sake of convenience we may call version A, belong also the British Museum MSS., Egerton 1782, a large fragment, and Egerton 114, both dating from the fifteenth or sixteenth century. Version B comprises the closely related accounts of the Táin as contained in the Book of Leinster (abbreviated LL.) and the following MSS.: Stowe 984 (Royal Irish Academy), written in the year 1633 and giving, except for the loss of a leaf, a complete story of the Táin; H. 1. 13 (Trinity College, Dublin), written in the year 1745 and giving the Táin entire; Additional 18748 (abbreviated Add.), British Museum, copied in the year 1800 from a 1730 original; Egerton 209 and Egerton 106 (British Museum), both fragments and dating from the eighteenth century. Fragments of a modern version are also found in MS. LIX, Advocates' Library, Edinburgh. To version C belong only fragments: H. 2. 17 (Trinity College, Dublin), dating from the end of the fourteenth or the beginning of the fifteenth century; the almost identical Egerton 93 (British Museum), consisting of only ten leaves and dating from nearly a century later, and H. 2. 12 (Trinity College, Dublin), consisting of only two pages.[8] The manuscripts belonging to each of these versions, A, B, and C, have sufficient traits in common to place them in a group by themselves. The question of the relationship of these manuscripts to one another and of the character of the suppositional archetype from which they are all descended is a most intricate one and one which has given rise to considerable discussion. The question still awaits a definite answer, which may never be forthcoming, because of the disappearance not only of the first draft of the Táin, but also of that of some of its later redactions. We must not overlook the possibility, either, of an otherwise faithful copyist having inserted in the text before him a passage, or even an entire episode, of his own fabrication. This, no doubt, happened not infrequently, especially in the earlier period of the copying of Irish manuscripts, and a single insertion of this kind, or the omission, intentionally or by oversight, of a part of the original from the copy might, it will easily be seen, lead one to conclude that there once existed a form of the story which as a matter of fact never existed. The version of the Táin which I have chosen as the basis for my translation is the one found in the Book of Leinster (_Leabhar Laighneach_), a voluminous vellum manuscript sometime called the Book of Glendalough and now kept in the Library of Trinity College, Dublin, catalogue number H. 2. 18. Only a part of the original book remains. It dates from about the year 1150. This date is established by two entries in the manuscript itself: "Aed son of Crimthann (Hugh macGriffin) hath written this book and out of many books hath he compiled it" (facsimilé, at the bottom of page 313). Who this Aed was will be clear from the other entry. It appears that he had lent the manuscript while still unfinished to Finn macGorman, who was Bishop of Kildare from 1148 and died in the year 1160, and who on returning the book wrote in it the following laudatory note in Irish to Aed: "(Life) and health from Finn, the Bishop of Kildare, to Aed son of Crimthann, tutor of the chief king (i.e. of King Dermod macMurrogh, the infamous prince who half a century later invited Strongbow and the Normans to come over from Wales to Ireland) of Mug Nuadat's Half (i.e. of Leinster and Munster), and successor of Colum son of Crimthann (this Colum was abbot of Tir da ghlass the modern Terryglas on the shore of Lough Derg, in the County Tipperary--and died in the year 548), and chief historian of Leinster in respect of wisdom and intelligence, and cultivation of books, science and learning. And let the conclusion of this little tale (i.e. the story of Ailill Aulom son of Mug Nuadat, the beginning of which was contained in the book which Finn returns) be written for me accurately by thee, O cunning Aed, thou man of the sparkling intellect. May it be long before we are without thee. My desire is that thou shouldst always be with us. And let macLonan's Songbook be given to me, that I may understand the sense of the poems that are in it. _Et vale in Christo._"[9] It would seem from another note in the manuscript[10] that the Book of Leinster afterwards belonged to some admirer of King Dermod, for he wrote: "O Mary! Great was the deed that was done in Ireland this day, the kalends of August (1166)--Dermod, son of Donnoch macMurrogh, King of Leinster and of the (Dublin) Danes to be banished by the men of Ireland over the sea eastwards. Woe, woe is me, O Lord, what shall I do!"[11] My reason for founding the translation on the LL. version, in spite of the fact that its composition is posterior by half a century to that of LU., was not merely out of respect for the injunction of the scribe of the _ne varietur_ and to merit his blessing (page 369), but also because LL.'s is the oldest _complete_ version of the Táin extant. Though as a rule (and as is easily discernible from a comparison of LU. and LL.), the shorter, terser and cruder the form of a tale is, the more primitive it is, yet it is not always the oldest preserved form of a work that represents the most ancient form of the story. Indeed, it is not at all improbable that LL. contains elements which represent a tradition antedating the composition of LU. At all events, LL. has these strong points in its favour, that, of all the versions, it is the most uniform and consistent, the most artistically arranged, the one with most colour and imagination, and the one which lends itself most readily to translation, both in itself and because of the convenient Irish text provided by Professor Windisch's edition. In order to present the Táin in its completest form, however, I have adopted the novel plan of incorporating in the LL. account the translations of what are known as conflate readings. These, as a rule, I have taken from no manuscript that does not demonstrably go back to a twelfth or earlier century redaction. Some of these additions consist of but a single word: others extend over several pages. This dovetailing could not always be accomplished with perfect accuracy, but no variants have been added that do not cohere with the context or destroy the continuity of the story. Whatever slight inconsistencies there may be in the accounts of single episodes, they are outweighed, in my opinion, by the value and interest of the additions. In all cases, however, the reader can control the translation by means of the foot-notes which indicate the sources and distinguish the accretions from the basic text. The numerous passages in which Eg. 1782 agrees with LU. and YBL. have not all been marked. The asterisk shows the beginning of each fresh page in the lithographic facsimilé of LL., and the numbers following "W" in the upper left hand margin show the corresponding lines in the edition of the Irish text by Windisch. * * * * * In general, I believe it should be the aim of a translator to give a faithful rather than a literal version of his original. But, owing to the fact that so little of Celtic scholarship has filtered down even to the upper strata of the educated public and to the additional fact that the subject matter is so incongruous to English thought, the first object of the translator from the Old Irish must continue to be, for some time to come, rather exactness in rendering than elegance, even at the risk of the translation appearing laboured and puerile. This should not, however, be carried to the extent of distorting his own idiom in order to imitate the idiomatic turns and expressions of the original. In this translation, I have endeavoured to keep as close to the sense and the literary form of the original as possible, but when there is conflict between the two desiderata, I have not hesitated to give the first the preference. I have also made use of a deliberately archaic English as, in my opinion, harmonizing better with the subject. It means much to the reader of the translation of an Old Irish text to have the atmosphere of the original transferred as perfectly as may be, and this end is attained by preserving its archaisms and quaintness of phrase, its repetitions and inherent crudities and even, without suppression or attenuation, the grossness of speech of our less prudish ancestors, which is also a mark of certain primitive habits of life but which an over-fastidious translator through delicacy of feeling might wish to omit. These side-lights on the semi-barbaric setting of the Old Irish sagas are of scarcely less interest and value than the literature itself. The Táin Bó Cúalnge, like most of the Irish saga-tales as they have come down to us in their Middle Irish dress, is chiefly in prose, but interspersed with verse. The verse-structure is very intricate and is mostly in strophic form composed of verses of fixed syllabic length, rhymed and richly furnished with alliteration. There is a third form of speech which is neither prose nor verse, but partakes of the character of both, a sort of irregular, rhymeless verse, without strophic division and exceedingly rich in alliteration, internal rhyme and assonance. This kind of speech, resembling in a way the dithyrambic passages in the Old Testament, was known to the native Irish scholars as _rosc_ and it is usually marked in the manuscripts by the abbreviation _R_. It was used in short, impetuous outbursts on occasions of triumph or mourning. While, on the whole, I believe the student will feel himself safer with a prose translation of a poem than with one in verse, it has seemed to me that a uniform translation of the Táin Bó Cúalnge in prose would destroy one of its special characteristics, which is that in it both prose and verse are mingled. It was not in my power, however, to reproduce at once closely and clearly the metrical schemes and the rich musical quality of the Irish and at the same time compress within the compass of the Irish measure such an analytic language as English, which has to express by means of auxiliaries what is accomplished in Early Irish by inflection. But I hope to have accomplished the main object of distinguishing the verse from the prose without sacrifice of the thought by the simple device of turning the verse-passages into lines of the same syllabic length as those of the original--which is most often the normal seven-syllable line--but without any attempt at imitating the rhyme-system or alliteration. In order not to swell the volume of the book, the notes have been reduced to the indispensable minimum, reserving the commentary and the apparatus of illustrative material for another volume, which we hope some day to be able to issue, wherein more definitely critical questions can be discussed. There are a few Irish words which have been retained in the translation and which require a word of explanation: The Old Irish _geis_ (later, also _geas_[12]; plural _geasa_) has as much right to a place in the English vocabulary as the Polynesian word _tabu_, by which it is often translated. It is sometimes Englished "injunction," "condition," "prohibition," "bond," "ban," "charm," "magical decree," or translated by the Scots-Gaelic "spells," none of which, however, expresses the idea which the word had according to the ancient laws of Ireland. It was an adjuration by the honour of a man, and was either positive or negative. The person adjured was either compelled or made in duty bound to do a certain thing, or, more commonly, was prohibited from doing it. The Old Irish _gilla_ is often translated "vassal," "youth," "boy," "fellow," "messenger," "servant," "page," "squire" and "guide," but these words bear false connotations for the society of the time, as does the Anglicised form of the word, "gillie," which smacks of modern sport. It meant originally a youth in the third of the six ages of man. Compare the sense of the word _varlet_ or _valet_ in English, which was once "a more honourable title; for all young gentlemen, untill they come to be eighteen years of age, were termed so" (Cotgrave), and of the same word in Old French, which was "un jeune homme de condition honorable" (J. Loth, _Les Mabinogion_, I, page 40, note). A _liss_ or _rath_ is a fortified place enclosed by a circular mound or trench, or both. A _dûn_ is a fortified residence surrounded by an earthen rampart. In the case of names of places and persons, I have thought it best to adhere as closely as possible to the spellings used in the LL. manuscript itself. It is of the utmost importance to get the names of Irish places and of Irish heroes correctly determined and to discard their English corrupted spellings. There are certain barbarisms, however, such as Slane (Slemain), Boyne (Boann), and perhaps even Cooley (Cualnge), which have been stereotyped in their English dress and nothing is to be gained by reforming them. The forms _Erin_ (dative of _Eriu_, the genuine and poetic name of the island) and _Alba_ have been retained throughout instead of the hybrids "Ireland" and "Scotland." Final _e_ is occasionally marked with a grave (_e.g._ Manè, Darè) to show that it is not silent as it often is in English. I quite perceive that I have not always succeeded in reproducing the precise shade of meaning of words certain of which had become antiquated and even unintelligible to the native scholars of the later Middle Irish period themselves. This is especially true of the passages in _rosc_, which are fortunately not numerous and which were probably intentionally made as obscure and allusive as possible, the object being, perhaps, as much the music of the words as the sense. Indeed, in some cases, I have considered myself fortunate if I have succeeded in getting their mere drift. No one takes to heart more than the present writer the truth of Zimmer's remark, that "it needs no great courage to affirm that _not one_ of the living Celtic scholars, _with_ all the aids at their disposal, possesses such a ready understanding of the contents of, for example, the most important Old Irish saga-text, "The Cualnge Cattle-raid," as was required thirty or more years ago in Germany of a good Gymnasium graduate in the matter of the Homeric poems and _without_ aids of any kind."[13] However, in spite of its defects, I trust I have not incurred the censure of Don Quijote[14] by doing what he accuses bad translators of and shown the wrong side of the tapestry, thereby obscuring the beauty and exactness of the work, and I venture to hope that my translation may prove of service in leading students to take an interest in the language and literature of Ireland. WORKS ON THE TÁIN BÓ CÚALNGE (Our Bibliography has no Pretension at being Complete) The Táin has been analysed by J.T. Gilbert, in the facsimilé edition of LU., pages xvi-xviii, based on O'Curry's unpublished account written about 1853; by Eugene O'Curry in his "Lectures on the Manuscript Materials of Ancient Irish History," pages 28-40, Dublin, 1861; by John Rhys in his "Lectures on the Origin and Growth of Religion as illustrated by Celtic Heathendom," page 136, the Hibbert Lectures, London, 1898; by J.A. MacCulloch in "The Religion of the Ancient Celts," pages 127 and 141, London, 1911; in the Celtic Magazine, vol. xiii, pages 427-430, Inverness, 1888; by Don. Mackinnon in the Celtic Review, vol. iv, page 92, Edinburgh, 1907-8; by H. d'Arbois de Jubainville, in Bibliothèque de l'école des chartes, tome xl, pages 148-150, Paris, 1879; by Bryan O'Looney, in the Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy, Second Series, vol. I, pages 242-248, Dublin, 1879; by H. Lichtenberger, "Le Poème et la Légende des Nibelungen," pages 432-434, Paris, 1891; by Eleanor Hull, in "A Text Book of Irish Literature," Pt. I, p. 24, Dublin and London, 1906; by Victor Tourneur, "La Formation du Táin Bó Cúalnge," in Mélanges Godefroid Kurth, II, 413-424, Liège, 1908; by E.C. Quiggin, in the Encyclopedia Britannica, 11th edition, page 626. The text of the Táin is found in whole or in part in the facsimilé reprints published by the Royal Irish Academy, Dublin, 1870 and following; viz.: the Book of Leinster, folios 53b-104b; the Book of the Dun Cow, folios 55a-82b, and the Yellow Book of Lecan, folios 17a.-53a; in "Die Altirische Heldensage, Táin Bó Cúalnge, herausgegeben von Ernst Windisch, Irische Texte, Extraband, Leipzig, 1905"; from LU. and YBL., by John Strachan and J.G. O'Keeffe, as a supplement to Ériu, vol. i, Dublin, 1904 and fol.; our references to LU. and YBL. are from this edition as far as it appeared; from that point, the references to YBL. are to the pages of the facsimilé edition; the LU. text of several passages also is given by John Strachan in his "Stories from the Tain," which first appeared in Irisleabhar na Gaedhilge ("The Gaelic Journal"), Dublin; reprinted, London and Dublin, 1908; Max Nettlau, "The Fer Diad Episode of the Tain Bo Cuailnge," Revue Celtique, tome x, pages 330-346, tome xi, pages 23-32, 318-343; "The Fragment of the Tain Bo Cuailnge in MS. Egerton 93," Revue Celtique, tome xiv, pages 254-266, tome xv, pages 62-78, 198-208; R. Thurneysen, "Táin Bó Cúailghni nach H. 2. 17," Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie, Bd. viii, S. 525-554; E. Windisch, "Táin Bó Cúailnge nach der Handschrift Egerton 1782," Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie, Bd. ix, S. 121-158. The text of "The Fight at the Ford," from the Murphy MS. 103 (written about 1760), is printed in Irisleabhar Muighe Nuadhad, Dublin, 1911, pp. 84-90. The Táin has been translated by Bryan O'Looney in a manuscript entitled "Tain Bo Cualnge. Translated from the original vellum manuscript known as the Book of Leinster, in the Library of Trinity College, Dublin. To which are added the ancient Prologues, Prefaces, and the Pretales or Stories, Adventures which preceded the principal Expedition or Tain, from various vellum MSS. in the Libraries of Trinity College and the Royal Irish Academy, Dublin, 1872." (A good translation, for its time. For O'Looney's works on the Táin, see the Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy, Second Series, Vol. i, No. 11, Polite Literature and Antiquities, Dublin, 1875; for W.J. Hennessy's, see The Academy, No. 873, Lee, "Dictionary of National Biography," xxv, 1891, pages 424-425, and V. Tourneur, "Esquisse d'une histoire des études celtiques," page 90, note 5.) The Royal Irish Academy contains another manuscript translation of the Táin (24, M, 39), by John O'Daly, 1857. It is a wretched translation. In one place, O'Daly speaks of William Rily as the translator. L. Winifred Faraday's "The Cattle-Raid of Cualnge," London, 1904, is based on LU. and YBL. Two copies of a complete translation of the LL. text dating from about 1850 is in the possession of John Quinn, Esq., of New York City. H. d'Arbois de Jubainville translated the Táin from the LL. text, but with many omissions: "Enlèvement [du Taureau Divin et] des Vaches de Cooley," Revue Celtique, tomes xxviii-xxxii, Paris, 1907 and fl. Eleanor Hull's "The Cuchullin Saga," London, 1898, contains (pages 111-227) an analysis of the Táin and a translation by Standish H. O'Grady of portions of the Add. 18748 text. "The Táin, An Irish Epic told in English Verse," by Mary A. Hutton, Dublin, 1907, and Lady Augusta Gregory's, "Cuchulain of Muirthemne," London, 1903, are paraphrases. The episode "The Boyish Feats of Cuchulinn" was translated by Eugene O'Curry, "On the Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish," Vol. i, Introduction, pages 359-366, and the episode "The Fight of Ferdiad and Cuchulaind," was translated by W.K. Sullivan, ibid., Vol. ii, Lectures, Vol. i, Appendix, pages 413-463. Important studies on the Táin have come from the pen of Heinrich Zimmer: "Über den compilatorischen Charakter der irischen Sagentexte im sogenannten Lebor na hUidre," Kuhn's Zeitschrift für vergleichende Sprachforschung, Bd. xxviii, 1887, pages 417-689, and especially pages 426-554; "Keltische Beiträge," Zeitschrift für deutsches Alterthum und deutsche Litteratur, Vol. xxxii, 1888, pages 196-334; "Beiträge zur Erklärung irischer Sagentexte," Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie, Bd. i, pages 74-101, and Bd. iii, pages 285-303. See also, William Ridgeway, "The Date of the first Shaping of the Cuchulainn Saga," Oxford, 1907; H. d'Arbois de Jubainville, "Étude sur le Táin Bó Cúalnge," Revue Celtique, tome xxviii, 1907, pages 17-40; Alfred Nutt, "Cuchulainn, the Irish Achilles," in Popular Studies in Mythology, Romance and Folklore, No. 8, London, 1900. The Celtic Magazine, Vol. xiii, pages 319-326, 351-359, Inverness, 1888, contains an English translation of a degenerated Scottish Gaelic version taken down by A.A. Carmichael, in Benbecula; the Gaelic text was printed in the Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Inverness, Vol. ii. In the same volume of the Celtic Magazine, pages 514-516, is a translation of a version of the Táin, taken down in the island of Eigg. Eleanor Hull's "Cuchulain, the Hound of Ulster," London, 1911, is a retelling of the story for younger readers. The following, bearing more or less closely upon the Táin, are also to be mentioned: Harry G. Tempest, "Dun Dealgan, Cuchulain's Home Fort," Dundalk, 1910; A.M. Skelly, "Cuchulain of Muirtheimhne," Dublin, 1908; Standish O'Grady, "The Coming of Cuculain," London, 1894, "In the Gates of the North," Kilkenny, 1901, "Cuculain, A Prose Epic," London, 1882 and the same author's "History of Ireland: the Heroic Period," London, 1878-80; "The High Deeds of Finn, and other Bardic Romances of Ancient Ireland," by T.W. Rolleston, London, 1910; Stephen Gwynn, "Celtic Sagas Re-told," in his "To-day and To-morrow in Ireland," pages 38-58, Dublin, 1903; Edward Thomas, "Celtic Stories," Oxford, 1911; "Children of Kings," by W. Lorcan O'Byrne, London, 1904, and "The Boy Hero of Erin," by Charles Squire, London, 1907. Among the many poems which have taken their theme from the Táin and the deeds of Cuchulain may be mentioned: "The Foray of Queen Meave," by Aubrey de Vere, Poetic Works, London, 1882, vol. ii, pages 255-343; "The Old Age of Queen Maeve," by William Butler Yeats, Collected Works, vol. I, page 41, London, 1908; "The Defenders of the Ford," by Alice Milligan, in her "Hero Lays," page 50, Dublin, 1908; George Sigerson, "Bards of the Gael and the Gall," London, 1897; "The Tain-Quest," by Sir Samuel Ferguson, in his "Lays of the Western Gael and other Poems," Dublin, 1897; "The Red Branch Crests, A Trilogy," by Charles Leonard Moore, London, 1906; "The Laughter of Scathach," by Fiona Macleod, in "The Washer of the Ford and Barbaric Tales"; Hector Maclean, "Ultonian Hero-Ballads collected in the Highlands and Western Isles of Scotland," Glasgow, 1892; ballad versions from Scotland are found in Leabhar na Feinne, pages 1 and fol., in J.G. Campbell's "The Fians," pages 6 and fol., and in the Book of the Dean of Lismore. Finally, scenes from the Táin have been dramatized by Canon Peter O'Leary, in the Cork "Weekly Examiner," April 14, 1900 and fol., by Sir Samuel Ferguson, "The Naming of Cuchulain: A Dramatic Scene," first played in Belfast, March 9, 1910; in "The Triumph of Maeve," A Romance in dramatic form, 1906; "Cuchulain," etc., (A Cycle of Plays, by S. and J. Varian, Dublin), and in "The Boy-Deeds of Cuchulain," A Pageant in three Acts, performed in Dublin in 1909. [1] "L'histoire entière de l'Irlande est une énigme si on n'a pas sans cesse à l'esprit ce fait primordial que le climat humide de l'île est tout à fait contraire à la culture des céréales, mais en revanche éminemment favorable à l'élevage du bétail, surtout de la race bovine, car le climat est encore trop humide pour l'espèce ovine." F. Lot, in _La Grande Encyclopédie_, xx, 956. [2] As it is to this day in some parts of Ireland, and as for example a female slave was sometimes appraised at three head of cattle among the ancient Gaels. [3] In fact the Clan Mackay was known as the Clan of the creaghs, and their perpetuation was enjoined on the rising generation from the cradle; See _The Old Highlands_, vol. III., p. 338, Glasgow. [4] Pronounced approximately _Thawin' bow Hooln'ya_. [5] _Revue Celtique_, 1895, tome xvi. pp. 405-406; _Rerum Hibernicarum Scriptores_, ii. 14. [6] _Mors Conchulaind fortissimi herois Scottorum la Lugaid mac trí con, i. ri Muman, agus la Ercc, i. ri Temrach, mac Coirpri Niad fir, agus la trí maccu Calattin de Chonnachtaib; vii. mbliadna a aes intan rogab gaisced. xvii. mbliadna dano a aes intan mbói indegaid Tána Bó Cúalnge. xxvii. bliadna immorro a aes intan atbath. Revue Celtique,_ tome xvi. page 407. [7] Ridgeway. [8] See H. d'Arbois de Jubainville, _Essai d'un catalogue de la littérature épique de l'Irlande_, Paris, 1883, pages 214-216, and the Supplement to the same by G. Dottin, _Revue Celtique_, t. xxxiii, pages 34-35; Donald Mackinnon, _A Descriptive Catalogue of Gaelic Manuscripts_, Edinburgh, 1912, pp. 174, 220; E. Windisch, Táin Bó Cúalnge, _Einleitung und Vorrede_, S. lx. ff. [9] Facsimilé, page 288, foot margin. [10] Facsimilé, page 275, top margin. [11] Vd. Robert Atkinson, _The Book of Leinster_, Introduction, pages 7-8; J.H. Todd, _Cogadh Gaedhel re Gallaibh, Rerum Britannicarum medii aevi scriptores_, 1867, Introduction, pages ix and ff. Eugene O'Curry, _On the Manuscript Materials of Ancient Irish History_, page 186; Ernst Windisch, _Táin Bó Cúalnge_, pages 910-911. [12] Pronounced _gesh_ or _gas_. [13] "Es gehört keine grosse Kühnheit dazu zu behaupten, dass keiner der lebenden Keltologen beispielsweise von dem wichtigsten altirischen Sagentext 'Der Rinderraub von Cualnge' ... mit allen vorhandenen Hilfsmitteln ein solches fortlaufendes Verständnis des Inhalts hat, wie von einem guten Gymnasialabiturienten hinsichtlich der homerischen Gedichte ohne jegliches Hilfsmittel vor gut 30 Jahren in Deutschland verlangt wurde."--_Die Kultur der Gegenwart_, herausgegeben von Paul Hinneberg, Berlin, 1909. Teil I, Abt. xi, I. S. 75. [14] Part II, chap, lxii (Garnier Hermanos edition, page 711). * * * * * [Page 1] Here beginneth Táin Bó Cúalnge The Cualnge Cattle-raid I THE PILLOW-TALK [W.1.] [LL.fo.53.] Once of a time, that Ailill and Medb had spread their royal bed in Cruachan, the stronghold of Connacht, such was the pillow-talk that befell betwixt them: Quoth Ailill: "True is the saying, lady, 'She is a well-off woman that is a rich man's wife.'" "Aye, that she is," answered the wife; "but wherefore opin'st thou so?" "For this," Ailill replied, "that thou art this day better off than the day that first I took thee." Then answered Medb: "As well-off was I before I ever saw thee." "It was a wealth, forsooth, we never heard nor knew of," Ailill said; "but a woman's wealth was all thou hadst, and foes from lands next thine were used to carry off the spoil and booty that they took from thee." "Not so was I," quoth Medb; "the High King of Erin himself was my sire, Eocho Fedlech ('the Enduring') son of Finn, by name, who was son of Findoman, son of Finden, son of Findguin, son of Rogen Ruad ('the Red'), son of Rigen, son of Blathacht, son of Beothacht, son of Enna Agnech, son of Oengus Turbech. Of daughters, had he six: Derbriu, Ethne and Ele, Clothru, Mugain and Medb, myself, that was the noblest and seemliest of them. 'Twas I was the goodliest of them in bounty [W.17.] and gift-giving, [1]in riches and treasures.[1] 'Twas I was best of them in battle and strife and combat. 'Twas I that had fifteen hundred royal mercenaries of the sons of aliens exiled from their own land, and as many more of the sons of freemen of the land. And there were ten men with every one of these hirelings, [2]and nine men with every hireling,[2] and eight men with every hireling, and seven men with every hireling, and six men with every hireling, and five men with every hireling, [3]and four men with every hireling,[3] and three men with every hireling, and two men with every hireling, and one hireling with every hireling. These were as a standing household-guard," continued Medb; "hence hath my father bestowed one of the five provinces of Erin upon me, even the province of Cruachan; wherefore 'Medb of Cruachan' am I called. Men came from Finn son of Ross Ruad ('the Red'), king of Leinster, to seel me [4]for a wife, and I refused him;[4] and from Carbre Niafer ('the Champion') son of Ross Ruad ('the Red'), king of Temair,[a] [5]to woo me, and I refused him;[5] and they came from Conchobar son of Fachtna Fathach ('the Mighty'), king of Ulster, [6]and I refused him in like wise.[6] They came from Eocho Bec ('the Small'), and I went not; for 'tis I that exacted a singular bride-gift, such as no woman before me had ever required of a man of the men of Erin, namely, a husband without avarice, without jealousy, without fear. For should he be mean, the man with whom I should live, we were ill-matched together, inasmuch as I am great [LL.fo.54a.] in largess and gift-giving, and it would be a disgrace for my husband if I should be better [W.34.] at spending than he, [1]and for it to be said that I was superior in wealth and treasures to him[1], while no disgrace would it be were one as great as the other[a]. Were my husband a coward, 'twere as unfit for us to be mated, for I by myself and alone break battles and fights and combats, and 'twould be a reproach for my husband should his wife be more full of life than himself, and no reproach our being equally bold. Should he be jealous, the husband with whom I should live, that too would not suit me, for there never was a time that I had not my paramour[b]. Howbeit, such a husband have I found, namely in thee thyself, Ailill son of Ross Ruad ('the Red') of Leinster. Thou wast not churlish; thou wast not jealous; thou wast not a sluggard. It was I plighted thee, and gave purchase-price to thee, which of right belongs to the bride--of clothing, namely, the raiment of twelve men, a chariot worth thrice seven bondmaids, the breadth of thy face of red gold[c], the weight of thy left forearm of silvered bronze. Whoso brings shame and sorrow and madness upon thee, no claim for compensation nor satisfaction hast thou therefor that I myself have not, [2]but it is to me the compensation belongs,"[2] said Medb, "for a man dependent upon a woman's maintenance is what thou art."[d] [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [4-4] Stowe and Add. [a] That is, from the supreme king of Ireland. [5-5] Stowe and Add. [6-6] Stowe and Add. [1-1] Stowe and, similarly Add. [a] A short sentence in LL., which is probably corrupt, is omitted here. [b] Literally, "A man behind (in) the shadow of another." [c] Instead of a ring, which would be given to the bride. [2-2] Add. and H. 1. 13. [d] For a detailed explanation of this entire passage see H. Zimmer, in the _Sitzungsberichte der Köninglich Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften_, 16 Februar, 1911. _philosophisch historischen Classe, Seite 217_. "Nay, not such was my state," said Ailill; "but two brothers had I; one of them over Temair, the other over Leinster; namely, Finn, over Leinster, and Carbre, over Temair. I left the kingship to them because they were [W.52.] older but not superior to me in largess and bounty. Nor heard I of province in Erin under woman's keeping but this province alone. And for this I came and assumed the kingship here as my mother's successor; for Mata of Muresc, daughter of Magach [1]of Connacht,[1] was my mother. And who could there be for me to have as my queen better than thyself, being, as thou wert, daughter of the High King of Erin?" "Yet so it is," pursued Medb, "my fortune is greater than thine." "I marvel at that," Ailill made answer, "for there is none that hath greater treasures and riches and wealth than I: yea, to my knowledge there is not." [1-1] Add. and H. 1. 13. * * * * * [Page 5] II [1]THE OCCASION OF THE TÁIN[1] [W.62.] Then were brought to them the least precious of their possessions, that they might know which of them had the more treasures, riches and wealth. Their pails and their cauldrons and their iron-wrought vessels, their jugs and their keeves and their eared pitchers were fetched to them. [1-1] Add. and Stowe. Likewise, their rings and their bracelets and their thumb-rings and their golden treasures were fetched to them, and their apparel, both purple and blue and black and green, yellow, vari-coloured and gray, dun, mottled and brindled. Their numerous flocks of sheep were led in from fields and meeds and plains. These were counted and compared, and found to be equal, of like size, of like number; however, there was an uncommonly fine ram over Medb's sheep, and he was equal in worth to a bondmaid, but a corresponding ram was over the ewes of Ailill. Their horses and steeds and studs were brought from pastures and paddocks. There was a noteworthy horse in Medb's herd and he was of the value of a bondmaid; a horse to match was found among Ailill's. Then were their numerous droves of swine driven from woods and shelving glens and wolds. These were numbered and counted and claimed. There was a noteworthy boar With Medb, and yet another with Ailill. Next they brought before them their droves of cattle [W.77.] and their herds and their roaming flocks from the brakes and wastes of the province. These were counted and numbered and claimed, and were the same for both, equal in size, equal in number, except only there was an especial bull of the bawn of Ailill, and he was a calf of one of Medb's cows, and Finnbennach ('the Whitehorned') was his name. But he, deeming it no honour to be in a woman's possession, [LL.fo.54b.] had left and gone over to the kine of the king. And it was the same to Medb as if she owned not a pennyworth, forasmuch as she had not a bull of his size amongst her cattle. Then it was that macRoth the messenger was summoned to Medb, and Medb strictly bade macRoth to learn where there might be found a bull of that likeness in any of the provinces of Erin. "Verily," said macRoth, "I know where the bull is that is best and better again, in the province of Ulster, in the hundred of Cualnge, in the house of Darè son of Fiachna; even Donn Cualnge ('the Brown Bull of Cualnge') he is called." "Go thou to him, macRoth, and ask for me of Darè the loan for a year of the Brown Bull of Cualnge, and at the year's end he shall have the meed of the loan, to wit, fifty heifers and the Donn Cualnge himself. And bear thou a further boon with thee, macRoth. Should the border-folk and those of the country grudge the loan of that rare jewel that is the Brown Bull of Cualnge, let Darè himself come with his bull, and he shall get a measure equalling his own land of the smooth Plain of Ai and a chariot of the worth of thrice seven bondmaids and he shall enjoy my own close friendship."[a] [a] Literally, "Habebit amicitiam fermoris mei." Thereupon the messengers fared forth to the house of Darè son of Fiachna. This was the number wherewith macRoth went, namely, nine couriers. Anon welcome was [W.99.] lavished on macRoth in Darè's house--fitting, welcome it was--chief messenger of all was macRoth. Darè asked of macRoth what had brought him upon the journey and why he was come. The messenger announced the cause for which he was come and related the contention between Medb and Ailill. "And it is to beg the loan of the Brown Bull of Cualnge to match the Whitehorned that I am come," said he; "and thou shalt receive the hire of his loan, even fifty heifers and the Brown of Cualnge himself. And yet more I may add: Come thyself with thy bull and thou shalt have of the land of the smooth soil of Mag Ai as much as thou ownest here, and a chariot of the worth of thrice seven bondmaids and enjoy Medb's friendship to boot." At these words Darè was well pleased, and he leaped for joy so that the seams of his flock-bed rent in twain beneath him. "By the truth of our conscience," said he; "however the Ulstermen take it, [1]whether ill or well,[1] this time this jewel shall be delivered to Ailill and to Medb, the Brown of Cualnge to wit, into the land of Connacht." Well pleased was macRoth at the words of the son of Fiachna. [1-1] Stowe and Add. Thereupon they were served, and straw and fresh rushes were spread under them. The choicest of food was brought to them and a feast was served to them and soon they were noisy and drunken. And a discourse took place between two of the messengers. "'Tis true what I say," spoke the one; "good is the man in whose house we are." "Of a truth, he is good." "Nay, is there one among all the men of Ulster better than he?" persisted the first. "In sooth, there is," answered the second messenger. "Better is Conchobar whose man he is, [2]Conchobar who holds the kingship of the province.[2] And though all the Ulstermen [W.120.] gathered around him, it were no shame for them. Yet is it passing good of Darè, that what had been a task for the four mighty provinces of Erin to bear away from the land of Ulster, even the Brown Bull of Cualnge, is surrendered so freely to us nine footmen." [2-2] Stowe and Add. Hereupon a third runner had his say: "What is this ye dispute about?" he asked. "Yon runner says, 'A good man is the man in whose house we are.'" "Yea, he is good," saith the other. "Is there among all the Ulstermen any that is better than he?" demanded the first runner further. "Aye, there is," answered the second runner; "better is Conchobar whose man he is; and though all the Ulstermen gathered around him, it were no shame for them. Yet, truly good it is of Darè, that what had been a task for four of the grand provinces of Erin to bear away out of the borders of Ulster is handed over even unto us nine footmen." "I would not grudge to see a retch of blood and gore in the mouth whereout that was said; for, were the bull not given [LL.fo.55a.] willingly, yet should he be taken by force!" At that moment it was that Darè macFiachna's chief steward came into the house and with him a man with drink and another with food, and he heard the foolish words of the runners; and anger came upon him, and he set down their food and drink for them and he neither said to them, "Eat," nor did he say, "Eat not." Straightway he went into the house where was Darè macFiachna and said: "Was it thou that hast given that notable jewel to the messengers, the Brown Bull of Cualnge?" "Yea, it was I," Darè made answer. "Verily, it was not the part of a king to give him. For it is true what they say: Unless thou hadst bestowed him of thine own free will, so wouldst thou yield him in despite of thee by the host of Ailill and Medb and by the great cunning of Fergus macRoig." "I swear by the gods whom I worship," [W.143.] [1]spoke Darè,[1] "they shall in no wise take by foul means what they cannot take by fair!" [1-1] Stowe and Add. There they abide till morning. Betimes on the morrow the runners arise and proceed to the house where is Darè. "Acquaint us, lord, how we may reach the place where the Brown Bull of Cualnge is kept." "Nay then," saith Darè; "but were it my wont to deal foully with messengers or with travelling folk or with them that go by the road, not one of you would depart alive!" "How sayest thou?" quoth macRoth. "Great cause there is," replied Darè; "ye said, unless I yielded in good sort, I should yield to the might of Ailill's host and Medb's and the great cunning of Fergus." "Even so," said macRoth, "whatever the runners drunken with thine ale and thy viands have said, 'tis not for thee to heed nor mind, nor yet to be charged on Ailill and on Medb." "For all that, macRoth, this time I will not give my bull, if ever I can help it!" Back then the messengers go till they arrive at Cruachan, the stronghold of Connacht. Medb asks their tidings, and macRoth makes known the same: that they had not brought his bull from Darè. "And the reason?" demanded Medb. MacRoth recounts to her how the dispute arose. "There is no need to polish knots over such affairs as that, macRoth; for it was known," said Medb, "if the Brown Bull of Cualnge would not be given with their will, he would be taken in their despite, and taken he shall be!" [2]To this point is recounted the Occasion of the Táin.[2] [2-2] Stowe and Add. * * * * * [Page 10] III [1]THE RISING-OUT OF THE MEN OF CONNACHT AT CRUACHAN AI[1] [W.161.] [2]A mighty host was now assembled by the men of Connacht, that is, by Ailill and Medb, and they sent word to the three other provinces, and[2] messengers were despatched from Medb to the Manè that they should gather in Cruachan, the seven Manè with their seven divisions; to wit: Manè "Motherlike," Manè "Fatherlike," and Manè "All-comprehending", [3]'twas he that possessed the form of his mother and of his father and the dignity of them both;[3] Manè "Mildly-submissive," and Manè "Greatly-submissive," Manè "Boastful" [4]and Manè "the Dumb."[4] [1-1] Add. [2-2] LU. 1-2; with these words, the LU. version begins, fo. 55a. [3-3] LU. 182. [4-4] Stowe and Add. Other messengers were despatched [5]by Ailill[5] to the sons of Maga; to wit: to Cet ('the First') son of Maga, Anluan ('the Brilliant Light') son of Maga, and Maccorb ('Chariot-child') son of Maga, and Bascell ('the Lunatic') son of Maga, and En ('the Bird') son of Maga, Dochè son of Maga; and Scandal ('Insult') son of Maga. [5-5] Eg. 1782. These came, and this was their muster, thirty hundred armed men. Other messengers were despatched from them to Cormac Conlongas ('the Exile') son of Conchobar and to Fergus macRoig, and they also came, thirty hundred their number. [W.173.] [1]Now Cormac had three companies which came to Cruachan.[1] Before all, the first company. A covering of close-shorn [2]black[2] hair upon them. Green mantles and [3]many-coloured cloaks[3] wound about them; therein, silvern brooches. Tunics of thread of gold next to their skin, [4]reaching down to their knees,[4] with interweaving of red gold. Bright-handled swords they bore, with guards of silver. [5]Long shields they bore, and there was a broad, grey spearhead on a slender shaft in the hand of each man.[5] "Is that Cormac, yonder?" all and every one asked. "Not he, indeed," Medb made answer. [1-1] LU. 7. [2-2] Add. [3-3] LU. 8. [4-4] LU. 9. [5-5] LU. 9-10. The second troop. Newly shorn hair they wore [6]and manes on the back of their heads,[6] [7]fair, comely indeed.[7] Dark-blue cloaks they all had about them. Next to their skin, gleaming-white tunics, [LL.fo.55b.] [8]with red ornamentation, reaching down to their calves.[8] Swords they had with round hilts of gold and silvern fist-guards, [9]and shining shields upon them and five-pronged spears in their hands.[9] "Is yonder man Cormac?" all the people asked. "Nay, verily, that is not he," Medb made answer. [6-6] Eg. 1782. [7-7] Add. [8-8] LU. 11-12. [9-9] LU. 12-13. [10]Then came[10] the last troop. Hair cut broad they wore; fair-yellow, deep-golden, loose-flowing back hair [11]down to their shoulders[11] upon them. Purple cloaks, fairly bedizened, about them; golden, embellished brooches over their breasts; [12]and they had curved shields with sharp, chiselled edges around them and spears as long as the pillars of a king's house in the hand of each man.[12] Fine, long, silken tunics [13]with hoods[13] they wore to the very instep. Together they raised their feet, and together they set them down again. "Is that Cormac, yonder?" asked all. "Aye, it is he, [14]this time,[14]" Medb made answer. [10-10] Eg. 1782. [11-11] LU. 16. [12-12] LU. 17-18. [13-13] LU. 15. [14-14] Eg. 1782. [W.186.] [1]Thus the four provinces of Erin gathered in Cruachan Ai.[1] They pitched their camp and quarters that night, so that a thick cloud of smoke and fire rose between the four fords of Ai, which are, Ath Moga, Ath Bercna, Ath Slissen and Ath Coltna. And they tarried for the full space of a fortnight in Cruachan, the hostel of Connacht, in wassail and drink and every disport, to the end that their march and muster might be easier. [2]And their poets and druids would not let them depart from thence till the end of a fortnight while awaiting good omen.[2] And then it was that Medb bade her charioteer to harness her horses for her, that she might go to address herself to her druid, to seek for light and for augury from him. [1-1] Eg. 1782. [2-2] LU. 20-21. * * * * * [Page 13] IV THE FORETELLING[a] [W.194.] When Medb was come to the place where her druid was, she craved light and augury of him. "Many there be," saith Medb, "who do part with their kinsmen and friends here to-day, and from their homes and their lands, from father and from mother; and unless unscathed every one shall return, upon me will they cast their sighs and their ban, [1]for it is I that have assembled this levy.[1] Yet there goeth not forth nor stayeth there at home any dearer to me than are we to ourselves. And do thou discover for us whether we ourselves shall return, or whether we shall never return." [a] This heading is taken from the colophon at the end of the chapter. [1-1] LU. 23-24. And the druid made answer, "Whoever comes not, thou thyself shalt come." [2]"Wait, then," spake the charioteer," let me wheel the chariot by the right,[b] that thus the power of a good omen may arise that we return again."[2] Then the charioteer wheeled his chariot round and Medb went back [3]again,[3] when she espied a thing that surprised her: A lone virgin [4]of marriageable age[4] standing on the hindpole of a chariot a little way off drawing nigh her. And thus the maiden appeared: Weaving lace was she, and in her right hand was a bordering rod of silvered [W.204.] bronze with its seven strips of red gold at the sides. A many-spotted green mantle around her; a bulging, strong-headed pin [1]of gold[1] in the mantle over her bosom; [2]a hooded tunic, with red interweaving, about her.[2] A ruddy, fair-faced countenance she had, [3]narrow below and broad above.[3] She had a blue-grey and laughing eye; [4]each eye had three pupils.[4] [5]Dark and black were her eyebrows; the soft, black lashes threw a shadow to the middle of her cheeks.[5] Red and thin were her lips. Shiny and pearly were her teeth; thou wouldst believe they were showers of white pearls that had rained into her head. Like to fresh Parthian crimson were her lips. As sweet as the strings of lutes [6]when long sustained they are played by master players' hands[6] was the melodious sound of her voice and her fair speech. [2-2] LU. 24-25. [b] Right-hand wise, as a sign of a good omen. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Eg. 1782. [1-1] Eg. 1782. [2-2] Eg. 1782. [3-3] LU. 29. [4-4] LU. 35-36. [5-5] LU. 31. [6-6] Adopting Windisch's emendation of the text. As white as snow in one night fallen was the sheen of her skin and her body that shone outside of her dress. Slender and very white were her feet; rosy, even, sharp-round nails she had; [7]two sandals with golden buckles about them.[7] Fair-yellow, long, golden hair she wore; three braids of hair [8]she wore; two tresses were wound[8] around her head; the other tress [9]from behind[9] threw a shadow down on her calves. [10]The maiden carried arms, and two black horses were under her chariot.[10] [7-7] LU. 29. [8-8] Eg. 1782. [9-9] Add. [10-10] LU. 36. Medb gazed at her. "And what doest thou here now, O maiden?" asked Medb. "I impart [LL.fo.56a.] to thee thine advantage and good fortune in thy gathering and muster of the four mighty provinces of Erin against the land of Ulster on the Raid for the Kine of Cualnge." "Wherefore doest thou this for me?" asked Medb. "Much cause have I. A bondmaid 'mid thy people am I." "Who of [W.220.] my people art thou [1]and what is thy name[1]?" asked Medb. "Not hard, in sooth, to say. The prophetess Fedelm, from the Sid ('the Fairy Mound') of Cruachan, [2]a poetess of Connacht[2] am I." [3]"Whence comest thou?" asked Medb. "From Alba, after learning prophetic skill," the maiden made answer. "Hast thou the form of divination?"[b] "Verily, have I," the maiden said.[3] [4]"Look, then, for me, how will my undertaking be." The maiden looked. Then spake Medb:--[4] [1-1] Eg. 1782. [2-2] Eg. 1782. [3-3] LU. 39-41. [b] _Imbass forosna_, 'illumination between the hands.' [4-4] Eg. 1782. "Good now, "Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid, How beholdest thou our host?" [5]Fedelm answered and spoke:[5] "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!" [5-5] Eg. 1782. [6]"That is no true augury,"[6] said Medb. "Verily, Conchobar [7]with the Ulstermen[7] is in his 'Pains' in Emain; thither fared my messengers [8]and brought me true tidings[8]; naught is there that we need dread from Ulster's men. But speak truth, O Fedelm:-- "Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid, How beholdest thou our host?" "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!" [6-6] LU. 44. [7-7] Eg. 1782. [8-8] Eg. 1782. [9]"That is no true augury.[9] Cuscraid Mend ('the Stammerer') of Macha, Conchobar's son, is in Inis Cuscraid ('Cuscraid's Isle') in his 'Pains.' Thither fared my messengers; naught need we fear from Ulster's men. But speak truth, O Fedelm:-- [W.233.] "Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid, How beholdest thou our host?" "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!" [9-9] LU. 48. "Eogan, Durthacht's son, is in Rath Airthir ('the Eastern Rath') in his 'Pains.' Thither went my messengers. Naught need we dread from Ulster's men. But speak truth, O Fedelm:-- "Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid, How beholdest thou our host?" "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!" "Celtchar, Uthechar's son, is in his fort [1]at Lethglas[1] in his 'Pains,' [2]and a third of the Ulstermen with him.[2] Thither fared my messengers. Naught have we to fear from Ulster's men. [3]And Fergus son of Roig son of Eochaid is with us here in exile, and thirty hundred with him.[3] But speak truth, O Fedelm:-- "Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid, How beholdest thou our host?" "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!" [1-1] LU. 50. [2-2] LU. 49. [3-3] LU. 50-51. "Meseemeth this not as it seemeth to thee," quoth Medb, "for when Erin's men shall assemble in one place, there quarrels will arise and broils, contentions and disputes amongst them about the ordering of themselves in the van or rear, at ford or river, over who shall be first at killing a boar or a stag or a deer or a hare. But, [4]look now again for us and[4] speak truth, O Fedelm:-- "Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid, How beholdest thou our host?" "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!" [4-4] LU. 55. Therewith she began to prophesy and to foretell the coming of Cuchulain to the men of Erin, and she chanted a lay:-- [W.255.] "[a]Fair, of deeds, the man I see; Wounded sore is his fair skin; On his brow shines hero's light; Victory's seat is in his face! "Seven gems of champions brave Deck the centre of his orbs; Naked are the spears he bears, And he hooks a red cloak round! "Noblest face is his, I see; He respects all womankind. Young the lad and fresh his hue, With a dragon's form in fight! "I know not who is the Hound, Culann's hight,[b] [1]of fairest fame[1]; But I know full well this host Will be smitten red by him! "Four small swords--a brilliant feat-- He supports in either hand; These he'll ply upon the host, Each to do its special deed! "His Gae Bulga,[c] too, he wields, With his sword and javelin. Lo, the man in red cloak girt Sets his foot on every hill! "Two spears [2]from the chariot's left[2] He casts forth in orgy wild. And his form I saw till now Well I know will change its guise! "On to battle now he comes; If ye watch not, ye are doomed. This is he seeks ye in fight Brave Cuchulain, Sualtaim's son! "All your host he'll smite in twain, Till he works your utter ruin. [W.291.] All your heads ye'll leave with him. Fedelm, prophet-maid, hides not! "Gore shall flow from warriors' wounds; Long 'twill live in memory. [LL.fo.56b.] Bodies hacked and wives in tears, Through the Smith's Hound[a] whom I see!" [a] The Eg. 1782 version of this poem differs in several details from LL. [b] That is, Cu Chulain, 'the Hound of Culann.' [1-1] Tranlating from LU. 65, Stowe and Add. [c] The _Gae Bulga_, 'barbed spear,' which only Cuchulain could wield. [2-2] Translating from LU. 72, Add. and Stowe; 'from the left,' as a sign of enmity. [a] That is, Cuchulain. See page 17. Thus far the Augury and the Prophecy and the Preface of the Tale, and the Occasion of its invention and conception, and the Pillow-talk which Ailill and Medb had in Cruachan. [1]Next follows the Body of the Tale itself.[1] [1-1] Stowe and Add. * * * * * [Page 19] V THIS IS THE ROUTE OF THE TÁIN [W.301.] and the Beginning of the Expedition and the Names of the Roads which the hosts of the four of the five grand provinces of Erin took into the land of Ulster. [1]On Monday after Summer's end[1] [2]they set forth and proceeded:[2] [1-1] LU. 81. [2-2] Eg. 1782. [3]South-east from Cruachan Ai,[3] by Mag Cruimm, over Tuaim Mona ('the Hill of Turf'), by Turloch Teora Crich ('the Creek of three Lands'), by Cul ('the Nook') of Silinne, by Dubloch ('Black Lough'), [4]by Fid Dubh ('Black Woods'),[4] by Badbgna, by Coltain, by the Shannon, by Glune Gabur, by Mag Trega, by Tethba in the north, by Tethba in the south, by Cul ('the Nook'), by Ochain, northwards by Uatu, eastwards by Tiarthechta, by Ord ('the Hammer'), by Slaiss ('the Strokes'), [5]southwards,[5] by Indeoin ('the Anvil'), by Carn, by Meath, by Ortrach, by Findglassa Assail, ('White Stream of Assail'), by Drong, by Delt, by Duelt, by Delinn, by Selaig, by Slabra, by Slechta, where swords hewed out roads before Medb and Ailill, by Cul ('the Nook') of Siblinne, by Dub ('the Blackwater'), by Ochonn [6]southwards,[6] by Catha, by Cromma [7]southwards,[7] by Tromma, [8]eastwards[8] by Fodromma, by Slane, by Gort Slane, [9]to the south of[9] Druim Liccè, by Ath Gabla, by Ardachad ('Highfield'), [W.356.] [1]northwards[1] by Feorainn, by Finnabair ('White Plain'), by Assa [2]southwards,[2] by Airne, by Aurthuile, by Druim Salfind ('Salfind Ridge'), by Druim Cain, by Druim Caimthechta, by Druim macDega, by the little Eo Dond ('Brown Tree'), by the great Eo Dond, by Meide in Togmaill ('Ferret's Neck'), by Meide in Eoin, ('Bird's Neck'), by Baille ('the Town'), by Aile, by Dall Scena, by Ball Scena, by Ross Mor ('Great Point'), by Scuap ('the Broom'), by Imscuap, by Cenn Ferna, by Anmag, by Fid Mor ('Great Wood') in Crannach of Cualnge, [3]by Colbtha, by Crond in Cualnge,[3] by Druim Cain on the road to Midluachar, [4]from Finnabair of Cualnge. It is at that point that the hosts of Erin divided over the province in pursuit of the bull. For it was by way of those places they went until they reached Finnabair. Here endeth the Title. The Story begineth in order.[4] [3-3] Stowe and Add. [4-4] LU. 87, Stowe and Add. [5-5] LU. 96. and Stowe. [6-6] Eg. 1782. [7-7] Eg. 1782. [8-8] LU. 113. [9-9] LU. 116. [1-1] LU. 119. [2-2] LU. 121. [3-3] LU. 146-148. [4-4] LU. 149-161. * * * * * [Page 21] VI THE MARCH OF THE HOST [W.389.] On the first stage the hosts went [1]from Cruachan,[1] they slept the night at Cul Silinne, [2]where to-day is Cargin's Lough.[2] And [3]in that place[3] was fixed the tent of Ailill son of Ross, [4]and the trappings were arranged, both bedding and bed-clothes.[4] The tent of Fergus macRoig was on his right hand; Cormac Conlongas, Conchobar's son, was beside him; Ith macEtgaith next to that; Fiachu macFiraba, [5]the son of Conchobar's daughter,[5] at its side; [6]Conall Cernach at its side,[6] Gobnenn macLurnig at the side of that. The place of Ailill's tent was on the right on the march, and thirty hundred men of Ulster beside him. And the thirty hundred men of Ulster on his right hand had he to the end that the whispered talk and conversation and the choice supplies of food and of drink might be the nearer to them. [1-1] Eg. 1782. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Translating from Stowe. [4-4] LU. 156-157. [5-5] LU. 160. [6-6] Eg. 1782. Medb of Cruachan, [7]daughter of Eocho Fedlech,[7] moreover, was at Ailill's left. Finnabair ('Fairbrow'), [8]daughter of Ailill and Medb,[8] at her side, [9]besides servants and henchmen.[9] Next, Flidais Foltchain ('of the Lovely Hair'), wife first of Ailill Finn ('the Fair'). She took part in the Cow-spoil of Cualnge after she had slept with Fergus; and she it was that every seventh night brought sustenance [W.404.] in milk to the men of Erin on the march, for king and queen and prince and poet and pupil. [7-7] LU. 160. [8-8] LU. 161. [9-9] Eg. 1782. Medb remained in the rear of the host that day in quest of tidings and augury [LL.fo.57a.] and knowledge. [1]She called to her charioteer to get ready her nine chariots for her,[1] [2]to make a circuit of the camp[2] that she might learn who was loath and who eager to take part in the hosting. [3]With nine chariots[a] she was wont to travel, that the dust of the great host might not soil her.[3] Medb suffered not her chariot to be let down nor her horses unyoked until she had made a circuit of the camp. [1-1] LU. 153. [2-2] Eg. 1782. [3-3] Gloss in LU. fo. 56b, 3. [a] Following the emendation suggested by L. Chr. Stern, _Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie, Band_ II, S. 417, LU. has 'nine charioteers.' Then, [4]when she had reviewed the host,[4] were Medb's horses unyoked and her chariots let down, and she took her place beside Ailill macMata. And Ailill asked tidings of Medb: who was eager and who was loath for the warfare. "Futile for all is the emprise but for one troop only, [5]namely the division of the Galian ('of Leinster'),"[5] quoth Medb. [6]"Why blamest thou these men?" queried Ailill. "It is not that we blame them," Medb made answer.[6] "What good service then have these done that they are praised above all?" asked Ailill. "There is reason to praise them," said Medb. [7]"Splendid are the warriors.[7] When the others begin making their pens and pitching their camp, these have finished building their bothies and huts. When the rest are building their bothies and huts, these have finished preparing their food and drink. When the rest are preparing their food and drink, these have finished eating and feasting, [8]and their harps are playing for them.[8] When all the others have finished eating and feasting, these are by that [W.422.] time asleep. And even as their servants and thralls are distinguished above the servants and thralls of the men of Erin, so shall their heroes and champions be distinguished beyond the heroes and champions of the men of Erin this time on this hosting. [1]It is folly then for these to go, since it is those others will enjoy the victory of the host.[1]" "So much the better, I trow," replied Ailill; "for it is with us they go and it is for us they fight." "They shall not go with us nor shall they fight for us." [2]cried Medb.[2] "Let them stay at home then," said Ailill. "Stay they shall not," answered Medb. "[3]They will fall on us in the rear and will seize our land against us.[3]" "What shall they do then," Finnabair[a] asked, "if they go not out nor yet remain at home?" "Death and destruction and slaughter is what I desire for them," answered Medb. "For shame then on thy speech," spake Ailill; "[4]'tis a woman's advice,[4] for that they pitch their tents and make their pens so promptly and unwearily." "By the truth of my conscience," cried Fergus, [5]"not thus shall it happen, for they are allies of us men of Ulster.[5] No one shall do them to death but he that does death to myself [6]along with them!"[6] [4-4] Eg. 1782. [5-5] LU. 164 and Stowe. [6-6] LU. 165. [7-7] LU. 165. [8-8] LU. 168. [1-1] LU. 169. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. 171-172. [a] 'Ailill,' in Eg. 1782. [4-4] Eg. 1782. [5-5] LU. 175-176. [6-6] Stowe "Not to me oughtest thou thus to speak, O Fergus," then cried Medb, "for I have hosts enough to slay and slaughter thee with the division of Leinstermen round thee. For there are the seven Manè, [7]that is, my seven sons[7] with their seven divisions, and the sons of Maga with their [8]seven[8] divisions, and Ailill with his division, and I myself with my own body-guard besides. We are strong enough here to kill and slaughter thee with thy cantred of the Leinstermen round thee!" [7-7] LU. 179. [8-8] Add. "It befits thee not thus to speak to me," said Fergus, [W.439.] "for I have with me here [1]in alliance with us Ulstermen,[1] the seven Under-kings of Munster, with their seven cantreds. [2]Here we have what is best of the youths of Ulster, even the division of the Black Banishment.[2] Here we have what is best of the noble youths of Ulster, even the division of the Galian ('of Leinster'). Furthermore, I myself am bond and surety and guarantee for them, since ever they left their own native land. [3]I will give thee battle in the midst of the camp,[3] and to me will they hold steadfast on the day of battle. More than all that," added Fergus, "these men shall be no subject of dispute. By that I mean I will never forsake them. [4]For the rest, we will care for these warriors, to the end that they get not the upper hand of the host. [1-1] LU. 184. [2-2] Reading with Stowe; LL. appears to be corrupt. This was the name given to Fergus, Cormac and the other exiles from Ulster. [3-3] Eg. 1782. "The number of our force is seventeen cantreds, besides our rabble and our women-folk--for with each king was his queen in Medb's company--and our striplings; the eighteenth division is namely the cantred of the Galian.[4] This division of Leinstermen I will distribute among [5]all the host of[5] the men of Erin in such wise that no five men of them shall be in any one place." "That pleaseth me well," said Medb: "let them be as they may, if only they be not in the battle-order of the ranks where they now are in such great force." [4-4] LU. 187-192. [5-5] Eg. 1782. Forthwith Fergus distributed the cantred [6]of the Galian[6] among the men of Erin in such wise that there were not five men of them in any one place. [6-6] Stowe and Add. [LL.fo.57b.] Thereupon, the troops set out on their way and march. It was no easy thing [7]for their kings and their leaders[7] to attend to that mighty host. They took part in the expedition [W.453.] according to the several tribes and according to the several stems and the several districts wherewith they had come, to the end that they might see one other and know one other, that each man might be with his comrades and with his friends and with his kinsfolk on the march. They declared that in such wise they should go. They also took counsel in what manner they should proceed on their hosting. Thus they declared they should proceed: Each host with its king, each troop with its lord, and each band with its captain; each king and each prince of the men of Erin [1]by a separate route[1] on his halting height apart. They took counsel who was most proper to seek tidings in advance of the host between the two provinces. And they said it was Fergus, inasmuch as the expedition was an obligatory one with him, for it was he that had been seven years in the kingship of Ulster. And [2]after Conchobar had usurped the kingship and[2] after the murder of the sons of Usnech who were under his protection and surety, Fergus left the Ultonians, and for seventeen years he was away from Ulster in exile and in enmity. For that reason it was fitting that he above all should go after tidings. [7-7] Stowe. [1-1] Stowe and Add. [2-2] Stowe and Add. So [3]the lead of the way was entrusted to Fergus.[3] Fergus before all fared forth to seek tidings, and a feeling of [4]love and[4] affection for his kindred of the men of Ulster came over him, and he led the troops astray in a great circuit to the north and the south. And he despatched messengers with warnings to the Ulstermen, [5]who were at that time in their 'Pains' except Cuchulain and his father Sualtaim.[5] And he began to detain and delay the host [6]until such time as the men of Ulster should have gathered together an army.[6] [7]Because of affection he did so.[7] [3-3] Eg. 1782. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 217. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 227. [7-7] Eg. 1782. [W.472.] Medb perceived this and she upbraided him for it, and chanted the lay:-- Medb: "Fergus, speak, what shall we say? What may mean this devious way? For we wander north and south; Over other lands we stray!" Fergus: "Medb, why art thou so perturbed? There's no treacherous purpose here. Ulster's land it is, O queen, Over which I've led thy host!" Medb: "Ailill, splendid with his hosts, [1]Fears thee lest thou should'st betray.[1] Thou hast not bent all thy mind To direct us on our way!" Fergus: "Not to bring the host to harm Make these changing circuits I. Haply could I now avoid Sualtach's son, the Blacksmith's Hound!"[a] Medb: "Ill of thee to wrong our host, Fergus, son of Ross the Red; Much good hast thou found with us, Fergus, in thy banishment!" "[2]If thou showest our foemen love, No more shalt thou lead our troops; Haply someone else we'll find To direct us on our way![2]" [1-1] Reading with LU. and YBL. 252. [a] That is, Cuchulain. [2-2] Eg. 1782. "I will be in the van of the troops no longer," cried Fergus; "but do thou find another to go before them." For all that, Fergus kept his place in the van of the troops. The four mighty provinces of Erin passed that night on Cul Silinne. The sharp, keen-edged anxiety for Cuchulain came upon Fergus and he warned the men of Erin to be on their guard, because there would come upon them the rapacious lion, and the doom of foes, the vanquisher of multitudes, and the chief of retainers, the mangler of great hosts, the hand that dispenseth [3]treasures,[3] and the flaming [W.502.] torch, even Cuchulain son of Sualtaim.[a] And thus he foreshowed him and chanted a lay, and Medb responded:-- Fergus: "Well for ye to heed and watch, With array of arms and men. He will come, the one we fear, Murthemne's great, deedful youth!" Medb: "How so dear, this battle-rede, Comes from thee, [LL.fo.58a.] Roig's son most bold. Men and arms have I enough To attend Cuchulain here!" Fergus: "Thou shalt need them, Medb of Ai, Men and arms for battle hard, With the grey steed's[b] horseman brave. All the night and all the day!" Medb: "I have kept here in reserve Heroes fit for fight and spoil; Thirty hundred hostage-chiefs, Leinster's bravest champions they. Fighting men from Cruachan fair, Braves from clear-streamed Luachair, Four full realms of goodly Gaels Will defend me from this man!" Fergus: "Rich in troops from Mourne and Bann, Blood he'll draw o'er shafts of spears; He will cast to mire and sand These three thousand Leinstermen. With the swallow's swiftest speed, With the rush of biting wind, So bounds on my dear brave Hound, Breathing slaughter on his foes!" Medb: "Fergus, should he come 'tween us, To Cuchulain bear this word: He were prudent to stay still; Cruachan holds a check in store." Fergus: "Valiant will the slaughter be Badb's wild daughter[c] gloats upon. For the Blacksmith's Hound will spill Showers of blood on hosts of men!" [3-3] Stowe and Add. [a] MS.: _Sualtach._ [b] _Liath Mache_ ('the Roan of Macha'), the name of one of Cuchulain's two horses. [c] That is, the goddess or fury of battle. [W.540.] After this lay the men of the four grand provinces of Erin marched [1]on the morrow[1] over Moin Coltna ('the Marsh of Coltain') eastwards that day; and there met them eight score deer [2]in a single herd.[2] The troops spread out and surrounded and killed them so that none of them escaped. [1-1] LU. 195. [2-2] Stowe and Add. But there is one event to add: Although the division of the Galian had been dispersed [3]among the men of Erin,[3] [4]wherever there was a man of the Galian, it was he that got them, except[4] five deer only which was the men of Erin's share thereof, so that one division took all the eight score deer. [3-3] Stowe and Add. [4-4] LU. 196. [5]Then they proceed to Mag Trega and they unyoke there and prepare their food. It is said that it is there that Dubthach recited this stave:-- "Grant ye have not heard till now, Giving ear to Dubthach's fray: Dire-black war upon ye waits, 'Gainst the Whitehorned of Queen Medb![a] "There will come the chief of hosts,[b] War for Murthemne to wage. Ravens shall drink garden's milk,[c] This the fruit of swineherds' strife (?)[d] "Turfy Cron will hold them back, Keep them back from Murthemne,[5] [9]Till the warriors' work is done On Ochainè's northern mount! "'Quick,' to Cormac, Ailill cries; 'Go and seek ye out your son, Loose no cattle from the fields, Lest the din of the host reach them!' "Battle they'll have here eftsoon, Medb and one third of the host. Corpses will be scattered wide If the Wildman[a] come to you!" [a] Literally, 'of Ailill's spouse.' [b] That is, Cuchulain. [c] A kenning for 'blood.' [d] Referring to the two bulls, the Brown and the Whitehorned, which were the re-incarnations through seven intermediate stages of two divine swineherds of the gods of the under-world. The story is told in _Irische Texte_, iii, i, pp. 230-275. [5-5] LU. 198-205. [a] Literally, 'the Contorted one'; that is, Cuchulain. Then Nemain, [1]the Badb to wit,[1] attacked them, and that was not the quietest of nights they had, with the noise of the churl, namely Dubthach, in their[b] sleep. Such fears he scattered amongst the host straightway, and he hurled a great stone at the throng till Medb came to check him. They continued their march then till they slept a night in Granard Tethba in the north,[9] [2]after the host had made a circuitous way across sloughs and streams.[2] [1-1] Gloss in YBL. 211. [b] 'his' Eg. 1782. [9-9] YBL. and LU. 206-215. With this passage YBL. begins, fo. 17a. [2-2] LU. 215. [W.547.] It was on that same day, [3]after the coming of the warning from Fergus[3] [4]to the Ulstermen,[4] that Cuchulain son of Sualtaim, [5]and Sualtaim[5] Sidech ('of the Fairy Mound'), his father, [6]when they had received the warning from Fergus,[6] came so near [7]on their watch for the host[7] that their horses grazed in pasture round the pillar-stone on Ard Cuillenn ('the Height of Cuillenn'). Sualtaim's horses cropped the grass north of the pillar-stone close to the ground; Cuchulain's cropped the grass south of the pillar-stone even to the ground and the bare stones. "Well, O master Sualtaim," said Cuchulain; "the thought of the host is fixed sharp upon me [8]to-night,[8] so do thou depart for us with warnings to the men of Ulster, that they remain not in the smooth plains but that they betake themselves to the woods and wastes and steep glens of the province, if so they may keep out of the way of the men of Erin." "And thou, lad, what wilt thou do?" "I must go southwards to Temair to keep tryst with the [W.556.] maid[a] of Fedlimid Nocruthach ('of the Nine Forms') [1]Conchobar's daughter,[1] according to my own agreement, till morning." "Alas, that one should go [2]on such a journey,"[2] said Sualtaim, "and leave the Ulstermen under the feet of their foes and their enemies for the sake of a tryst with a woman!" "For all that, I needs must go. For, an I go not, the troth of men will be held for false and the promises of women held for true." [3-3] LU. 218 [4-4] Eg. 1782. [5-5] _Sualtach_, in LL. [6-6] Eg. 1782. [7-7] Eg. 1782. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 220. [a] "Who was secretly as a concubine with Cuchulain"; gloss in LU. and YBL. 222 and Eg. 1782. [1-1] Eg. 1782. [2-2] Stowe and Add. Sualtaim departed with warnings to the men of Ulster. Cuchulain strode into the wood, and there, with a single blow, he lopped the prime sapling of an oak, root and top, and with only one foot and one hand and one eye he exerted himself; and he made a twig-ring thereof and set an ogam[b] script on the plug of the ring, and set the ring round the narrow part of the pillar-stone on Ard ('the Height') of Cuillenn. He forced the ring till it reached the thick of the pillar-stone. Thereafter Cuchulain went his way to his tryst with the woman. [b] The old kind of writing of the Irish. Touching the men of Erin, the account follows here: They came up to the pillar-stone at Ard Cuillenn, [3]which is called Crossa Coil to-day,[3] and they began looking out upon the province that was unknown to them, the province of Ulster. And two of Medb's people went always before them in the van of the host, at every camp and on every march, at every ford and every river [LL.fo.58b.] and every gap. They were wont to do so [4]that they might save the brooches and cushions and cloaks of the host, so that the dust of the multitude might not soil them[4] and that no stain might come on the princes' raiment in the crowd or the crush of the hosts or the throng;--these were the two sons of Nera, who was the son of Nuathar, [W.575.] son of Tacan, two sons of the house-stewards of Cruachan, Err and Innell, to wit. Fraech and Fochnam were the names of their charioteers. [3-3] Eg. 1782. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 245-246. The nobles of Erin arrived at the pillar-stone and they there beheld the signs of the browsing of the horses, cropping around the pillar, and they looked close at the rude hoop which the royal hero had left behind about the pillar-stone. [1]Then sat they down to wait till the army should come, the while their musicians played to them.[1] And Ailill took the withy in his hand and placed it in Fergus' hand, and Fergus read the ogam script graven on the plug of the withy, and made known to the men of Erin what was the meaning of the ogam writing that was on it. [2]When Medb came, she asked, "Why wait ye here?" "Because of yonder withy we wait," Fergus made answer; "there is an ogam writing on its binding and this is what it saith: 'Let no one go past here till a man be found to throw a withy like unto this, using only one hand and made of a single branch, and I except my master Fergus.' Truly," Fergus added, "it was Cuchulain threw it, and it was his steeds that grazed this plain." And he placed the hoop in the hands of the druids,[2] and it is thus he began to recite and he pronounced a lay:-- "What bespeaks this withe to us, What purports its secret rede? And what number cast it here, Was it one man or a host? "If ye go past here this night, And bide not [3]one night[3] in camp. On ye'll come the tear-flesh Hound; Yours the blame, if ye it scorn! "[4]Evil on the host he'll bring,[4] If ye go your way past this. [W.596.] Find, ye druids, find out here, For what cause this withe was made!" [1]A druid speaks[1]: "Cut by hero, cast by chief, As a perfect trap for foes. Stayer of lords--with hosts of men-- One man cast it with one hand! "With fierce rage the battle 'gins Of the Smith's Hound of Red Branch.[a] Bound to meet this madman's rage; This the name that's on the withe! [2]"Would the king's host have its will-- Else they break the law of war-- Let some one man of ye cast, As one man this withe did cast![2] "Woes to bring with hundred fights On four realms of Erin's land; Naught I know 'less it be this For what cause the withe was made!" [1-1] LU. and YBL. 250. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 252-258. [3-3] Reading with Stowe, Add. and H. 1. 13. [4-4] Reading with LU. and YBL. 261. [1-1] LU., marginal note. [a] The name of the festal hall of the kings of Ulster. [2-2] Eg. 1782. After that lay: "I pledge you my word," said Fergus, "if so ye set at naught yon withy and the royal hero that made it, [3]and if ye go beyond[3] without passing a night's camp and quarterage here, or until a man of you make a withy of like kind, using but one foot and one eye and one hand, even as he made it, [4]certain it is, whether ye be[4] under the ground or in a tight-shut house, [5]the man that wrote the ogam hereon[5] will bring slaughter and bloodshed upon ye before the hour of rising on the morrow, if ye make light of him!" "That, surely, would not be pleasing to us," quoth Medb, "that any one should [6]straightway[6] spill our blood or besmirch us red, now that we are come to this unknown province, even to the province of Ulster. More pleasing would it be to us, to spill another's blood and redden him." "Far be it from us to set this [W.618.] withy at naught," said Ailill, "nor shall we make little of the royal hero that wrought it, rather will we resort to the shelter of this great wood, [1]that is, Fidduin, ('the Wood of the Dûn')[1] southwards till morning. There will we pitch our camp and quarters." [3-3] LU. 270. [4-4] Reading with Stowe. [5-5] LU. 271. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 273. [1-1] A gloss in YBL. 274; found also in Eg. 1782. Thereupon the hosts advanced, and as they went they felled the wood with their swords before their chariots, so that Slechta ('the Hewn Road') is still the by-name of that place where is Partraige Beca ('the Lesser Partry') south-west of Cenannas na Rig ('Kells of the Kings') near Cul Sibrille. [2]According to other books, it is told as follows: After they had come to [3]Fidduin[3] they saw a chariot and therein a beautiful maiden. It is there that the conversation between Medb and Fedelm the seeress took place that we spoke of before, and it is after the answer she made to Medb that the wood was cut down: "Look for me," said Medb, "how my journey will be." "It is hard for me," the maiden made answer, "for no glance of eye can I cast upon them in the wood." "Then it is plough-land this shall be," quoth Medb; "we will cut down the wood." Now, this was done, so that this is the name of the place, Slechta, to wit.[2] [2-2] YBL. 276-283. [3-3] '_Fedaduin_,' MS. [4]They slept in Cul Sibrille, which is Cenannas.[4] A heavy snow fell on them that night, and so great it was that it reached to the shoulders[a] of the men and to the flanks of the horses and to the poles[b] of the chariots, so that all the provinces of Erin were one level plane from the snow. But no huts nor bothies nor tents did they set up that night, nor did they [LL.fo.59.] prepare food nor drink, nor made they a meal nor repast. None of the men of Erin [W.630.] wot whether friend or foe was next him until the bright hour of sunrise on the morrow. [4-4] Eg. 1782. [a] 'Girdles,' LU. and YBL. 284; 'shields,' Eg. 1782. [b] 'Wheels,' LU. and YBL. 285 and Eg. 1782. Certain it is that the men of Erin experienced not a night of encampment or of station that held more discomfort or hardship for them than that night [1]with the snow[1] at Cul Sibrille. The four grand provinces of Erin moved out early on the morrow [2]with the rising of the bright-shining sun glistening on the snow[2] and marched on from that part into another. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 287. [2-2] Reading with Stowe. Now, as regards Cuchulain: It was far from being early when he arose [3]from his tryst.[3] And then he ate a meal and took a repast, and [4]he remained until he had[4] washed himself and bathed on that day. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 288. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 289. He called to his charioteer to lead out the horses and yoke the chariot. The charioteer led out the horses and yoked the chariot, and Cuchulain mounted his chariot. And they came on the track of the army. They found the trail of the men of Erin leading past them from that part into another. "Alas, O master Laeg," cried Cuchulain, "by no good luck went we to our tryst with the woman last night. [5]Would that we had not gone thither nor betrayed the Ultonians.[5] This is the least that might be looked for from him that keeps guard on the marches, a cry, or a shout, or an alarm, or to call, 'Who goes the road?' This it fell not unto us to say. The men of Erin have gone past us, [6]without warning, without complaint,[6] into the land of Ulster." "I foretold thee that, O Cuchulain," said Laeg. "Even though thou wentest to thy woman-tryst [7]last night,[7] such a disgrace would come upon thee." "Good now, O Laeg, go thou for us on the trail of the host and make an estimate of them, and discover [W.649.] for us in what number the men of Erin went by us." [5-5] LU. and YBL. 290. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] Stowe. Laeg came on the track of the host, and he went to the front of the trail and he came on its sides and he went to the back of it. "Thou art confused in thy counting, O Laeg, my master," quoth Cuchulain. "Confused I must be," Laeg replied. [1]"It is not confusedly that I should see, if I should go," said Cuchulain.[1] "Come into the chariot then, and I will make a reckoning of them." The charioteer mounted the chariot and Cuchulain went on the trail of the hosts and [2]after a long while[2] he made a reckoning of them. [3]"Even thou, it is not easy for thee.[3] Thou art perplexed in thy counting, my little Cuchulain," quoth Laeg. "Not perplexed," answered Cuchulain; [4]"it is easier for me than for thee.[4] [5]For I have three magical virtues: Gift of sight, gift of understanding, and gift of reckoning.[5] For I know the number wherewith the hosts went past us, namely, eighteen cantreds. Nay more: the eighteenth cantred has been distributed among [6]the entire host of[6] the men of Erin, [7]so that their number is not clear, namely, that of the cantred of Leinstermen."[7] [8]This here is the third cunningest [9]and most difficult[9] reckoning that ever was made in Erin. These were: The reckoning by Cuchulain of the men of Erin on the Táin, the reckoning by Lug Lamfota ('Long-hand') of the host of the Fomorians [10]in the Battle of Moytura,[10] and the reckoning by Incel of the host in the Hostel of Da Derga.[8] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 294-295. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 297. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 297. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 297-298. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 298-299. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 302. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 302. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] LU. fo. 58a, in the margin. [10-10] LU. fo. 58a, in the margin. Now, many and divers were the magic virtues that were in Cuchulain [11]that were in no one else in his day.[11] Excellence of form, excellence of shape, excellence of build, excellence [W.661.] in swimming, excellence in horsemanship, excellence in chess and in draughts, excellence in battle, excellence in contest, excellence in single combat, excellence in reckoning, excellence in speech, excellence in counsel, excellence in bearing, excellence in laying waste and in plundering from the neighbouring border. [11-11] Stowe, and LU. fo. 58a, 24, marginal note. "Good, my friend Laeg. Brace the horses for us to the chariot; lay on the goad for us on the horses; drive on the chariot for us and give thy left[a] board to the hosts, to see can we overtake the van or the rear or the midst of the hosts, for I will cease to live unless there fall by my hand this night a friend or foe of the men of Erin." [a] A sign of enmity. Then it was that the charioteer gave the prick to the steeds. He turned his left board to the hosts till he arrived at Turloch[b] Caille More ('the Creek of the Great Wood') northwards of Cnogba na Rig ('Knowth of the Kings') which is called Ath Gabla ('the Ford of the Fork'). [1]Thereupon Cuchulain went round the host till he came to Ath Grenca.[1] He went into the wood at that place and sprang out of his chariot, and he lopped off a four-pronged fork, root and top, with a single stroke [2]of his sword.[2] He pointed and charred it and put a writing in ogam on its side, and he gave it a long throw from the hinder part of his chariot with the tip of a single hand, in such wise that two-thirds of it sank into the ground and only one-third was above it [3]in the mid part of the stream, so that no chariot could go thereby on this side or that.[3] [b] _Belach_ ('the Pass'), Eg. 1782. [1-1] Eg. 1782. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 304. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 305. Then it was that the same two striplings surprised him, namely, the two sons of Nera son of Nuathar son of Tacan, while engaged in that feat. And they vied which of the twain [4]would be the first to fight and contend with Cuchuain, which of them[4] would inflict the first wound upon [W.680.] him and be the first to behead him. Cuchulain turned on them, and straightway he struck off their four heads [1]from themselves [2]Eirr and Indell[2] and [3]from Foich and Fochlam,[3] their drivers,[1] and he fixed a head of each man of them on each of the prongs of the pole. And Cuchulain let the horses of the party go back in the direction of the men of Erin, to return by the same road, their reins loose [4]around their ears[4] and their bellies red and the bodies of the warriors dripping their blood down outside on the ribs of the chariots. [5]Thus he did,[5] for he deemed it no honour nor deemed he it fair to take horses or garments or arms from corpses or from the dead. And then the troops saw the horses of the party that had gone out in advance before them, and the headless bodies of the warriors oozing their blood down on the ribs of the chariots ([6]and their crimsoned trappings upon them[6]). The van of the army waited for the rear to come up, and all were thrown into confusion of striking, that is as much as to say, into a tumult of arms. [4-4] Stowe. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 306. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 306. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 310. Medb and Fergus and the Manè and the sons of Maga drew near. For in this wise was Medb wont to travel, and nine chariots with her alone; two of these chariots before her, and two chariots behind, and two chariots at either side, and her own chariot in the middle between them. This is why Medb did so, that the turves from the horses' hoofs, or the flakes of foam from the bridle-bits, or the dust of the mighty host or of the numerous throng might not reach the queen's diadem of gold [7]which she wore round her head.[7] "What have we here?" queried Medb. "Not hard to say," each and all made answer; [LL.fo.60.] "the horses of the band that went out before us are here and their bodies lacking their heads in their chariots." They held [W.702.] a council and they felt certain it was the sign of a multitude and of the approach of a mighty host, and that it was the Ulstermen that had come [1]and that it was a battle that had taken place before them on the ford.[1] And this was the counsel they took: to despatch Cormac Conlongas, Conchobar's son, from them to learn what was at the ford; because, even though the Ulstermen might be there, they would not kill the son of their own king. Thereupon Cormac Conlongas, Conchobar's son, set forth and this was the complement with which he went, ten hundred in addition to twenty hundred armed men, to ascertain what was at the ford. And when he was come, he saw naught save the fork in the middle of the ford, with four heads upon it dripping their blood down along the stem of the fork into the stream of the river, [2]and a writing in ogam on the side,[2] and the signs of the two horses and the track of a single chariot-driver and the marks of a single warrior leading out of the ford going therefrom to the eastward. [3]By that time,[3] the nobles of Erin had drawn nigh to the ford and they all began to look closely at the fork. They marvelled and wondered who had set up the trophy. [4]"Are yonder heads those of our people?" Medb asked. "They are our people's, and our chosen ones'," answered Ailill. One of their men deciphered the ogam-writing that was on the side of the fork, to wit: 'A single man cast this fork with but a single hand; and go ye not past it till one man of you throw it with one hand, excepting Fergus.'[4] "What name have ye men of Ulster for this ford till now, Fergus?" asked Ailill. "Ath Grenca,"[a] answered Fergus; "and Ath Gabla ('Ford of the Fork') shall now be its name forever from this fork," said Fergus. And he recited the lay:-- [7-7] Stowe. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 313. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 314. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 314-318. [a] So Stowe; LL. has '_Grena_.' [W.719.] "Grenca's ford shall change its name, From the strong and fierce Hound's deed. Here we see a four-pronged fork, Set to prove all Erin's men! "On two points--as sign of war-- Are Fraech's head and Fochnam's head; On its other points are thrust Err's head and Innell's withal! "And yon ogam on its side, Find, ye druids, in due form, Who has set it upright there? What host drove it in the ground?" (A druid answers:) "Yon forked pole--with fearful strength-- Which thou seest, Fergus, there, One man cut, to welcome us, With one perfect stroke of sword! "Pointed it and shouldered it-- Though this was no light exploit-- After that he flung it down, To uproot for one of you! "Grenca was its name till now-- All will keep its memory-- Fork-ford[a] be its name for aye, From the fork that's in the ford!" [a] That is, _Ath Gabla_. After the lay, spake Ailill: "I marvel and wonder, O Fergus, who could have sharpened the fork and slain with such speed the four that had gone out before us." "Fitter it were to marvel and wonder at him who with a single stroke lopped the fork which thou seest, root and top, pointed and charred it and flung it the length of a throw from the hinder part of his chariot, from the tip of a single hand, so that it sank over two-thirds into the ground and that naught save one-third is above; nor was a hole first dug with his sword, but through a grey stone's flag it was thrust, and thus it is geis for the men of Erin to proceed to the bed of this ford till one of ye pull out the fork with the tip of one hand, even as he erewhile drove it down." "Thou art of our hosts, O Fergus," said Medb; [W.753.] [1]avert this necessity from us,[1] and do thou draw the fork for us from the bed of the ford." "Let a chariot be brought me," cried Fergus, [2]"till I draw it out, that it may be seen that its butt is of one hewing."[2] And a chariot was brought to Fergus, and Fergus laid hold [3]with a truly mighty grip[3] on the fork, and he made splinters and [LL.fo.61a.] scraps of the chariot. "Let another chariot be brought me," cried Fergus. [4]Another[4] chariot was brought to Fergus, and Fergus made a tug at the fork and again made fragments and splinters of the chariot, [5]both its box and its yoke and its wheels.[5] "Again let a chariot be brought me," cried Fergus. And Fergus exerted his strength on the fork, and made pieces and bits of the chariot. There where the seventeen[a] chariots of the Connachtmen's chariots were, Fergus made pieces and bits of them all, and yet he failed to draw the fork from the bed of the ford. "Come now, let it be, O Fergus," cried Medb; "break our people's chariots no more. For hadst thou not been now engaged on this hosting, [6]by this time[6] should we have come to Ulster, driving divers spoils and cattle-herds with us. We wot wherefore thou workest all this, to delay and detain the host till the Ulstermen rise from their 'Pains' and offer us battle, the battle of the Táin." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 322. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 324. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. [a] "Fourteen," LU. and YBL. 325 and Eg. 1782. [6-6] Stowe. "Bring me a swift chariot," cried Fergus. And his own chariot was brought to Fergus, and Fergus gave a tug at the fork, and nor wheel nor floor nor one of the chariot-poles creaked nor cracked. Even though it was with his strength and prowess that the one had driven it down, with his might and doughtiness the other drew it out,--the battle-champion, the gap-breaker of hundreds, the crushing sledge, the stone-of-battle for enemies, the [W.777.] head of retainers, the foe of hosts, the hacking of masses, the flaming torch and the leader of mighty combat. He drew it up with the tip of one hand till it reached the slope of his shoulder, and he placed the fork in Ailill's hand. Ailill scanned it; he regarded it near. "The fork, meseems, is all the more perfect," quoth Ailill; "for a single stroke I see on it from butt to top." "Aye, all the more perfect," Fergus replied. And Fergus began to sing praise [1]of Cuchulain,[1] and he made a lay thereon:-- "Here behold the famous fork, By which cruel Cuchulain stood. Here he left, for hurt to all, Four heads of his border-foes! "Surely he'd not flee therefrom, 'Fore aught man, how brave or bold. Though the scatheless[a] Hound this left, On its hard rind there is gore! "To its hurt the host goes east, Seeking Cualnge's wild Brown bull. [2]Warriors' cleaving there shall be,[2] 'Neath Cuchulain's baneful sword! "No gain will their[b] stout bull be, For which sharp-armed war will rage; At the fall of each head's skull Erin's every tribe shall weep! "I have nothing to relate As regards Dechtirè's son.[c] Men and women hear the tale Of this fork, how it came here!" [1-1] Stowe. [a] Literally, 'painless,' referring to Cuchulain's exemption from the _cess_ or 'debility' of the Ulstermen. [2-2] Reading with Stowe and H. 1. 13. [b] Translating from Stowe; LL. has 'his' or 'its.' [c] That is, Cuchulain. After this lay: "Let us pitch our booths and tents," said Ailill, "and let us make ready food and drink, and let us sing songs and strike up harps, and let us eat and [W.807.] regale ourselves, for, of a truth, never before nor since knew the men of Erin a night of encampment or of entrenchment that held sorer discomfort or distress for them than yester-night. [1]Let us give heed to the manner of folk to whom we go and let us hear somewhat of their deeds and famous tales."[1] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 329-330. They raised their booths and pitched their tents. They got ready [LL.fo.61b.] their food and drink, and songs were sung and harping intoned by them, and feasting and eating indulged in, [2]and they were told of the feats of Cuchulain.[2] [2-2] LU. and YBL. 331. And Ailill inquired of Fergus: "I marvel and wonder who could have come to us to our lands and slain so quickly the four that had gone out before us. Is it likely that Conchobar son of Fachtna Fatach ('the Mighty'), High King of Ulster, has come to us?" "It is never likely that he has," Fergus answered; "for a shame it would be to speak ill of him in his absence. There is nothing he would not stake for the sake of his honour. For if he had come hither [3]to the border of the land[3], there would have come armies and troops and the pick of the men of Erin that are with him. And even though against him in one and the same place, and in one mass and one march and one camp, and on one and the same hill were the men of Erin and Alba, Britons and Saxons, he would give them battle, before him they would break and it is not he that would be routed." [3-3] LU. and YBL. 333. "A question, then: Who would be like to have come to us? Is it like that Cuscraid Mend ('the Stammerer') of Macha would have come, Conchobar's son, from Inis Cuscraid?" "Nay then, it is not; he, the son of the High King," Fergus answered. "There is nothing he would not hazard for the sake of his honour. For were it he that had come hither, there would have come the [W.827.] sons of kings and the royal leaders [1]of Ulster and Erin[1] that are serving as hirelings with him. And though there might be against him in one and the same place, in one mass and one march and one camp, and on one and the same hill the men of Erin and Alba, Britons and Saxons, he would give them battle, before him they would break and it is not he that would be routed." [1-1] Stowe. "I ask, then, whether Eogan son of Durthacht, King of Fernmag, would have come?" "In sooth, it is not likely. For, had he come hither, the pick of the men of Fernmag would have come with him, battle he would give them, before him they would break, and it is not he that would be routed." "I ask, then: Who would be likely to have come to us? Is it likely that he would have come, Celtchai son of Uthechar?" "No more is it likely that it was he. A shame it would be to make light of him in his absence, him the battle-stone for the foes of the province, the head of all the retainers and the gate-of-battle of Ulster. And even should there be against him in one place and one mass and one march and one camp, and on one and the same hill all the men of Erin from the west to the east, from the south to the north, battle he would give them, before him they would break and it is not he that would be routed." "I ask, then: Who would be like to have come to us?" [2]asked Ailill.[2] [3]"I know not," Fergus replied,[3] "unless it be the little lad, my nursling and Conchobar's. Cuchulain ('the Wolf-dog of Culann the Smith') he is called. [4]He is the one who could have done the deed," answered Fergus. "He it is who could have lopped the tree with one blow from its root, could have killed the four with the quickness wherewith they were killed and could have come to the border with his charioteer."[4] [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 337-340. [W.843.] "Of a truth," spake Ailill, "I heard from ye of this little boy once on a time in Cruachan. What might be the age of this little boy now?" "It is by no means his age that is most formidable in him," answered Fergus. "Because, manful were his deeds, those of that lad, at a time when he was younger than he [1]now[1] is. [2]In his fifth year he went in quest of warlike deeds among the lads of Emain Macha. In his sixth[a] year he went to learn skill in arms and feats with Scathach,[2] [3]and he went to woo Emer;[3] [4]in his seventh[b] year he took arms; in his seventeenth year he is at this time."[4] "How so!" exclaimed Medb. "Is there even now amongst the Ulstermen one his equal in age that is more redoubtable than he?" "We have not found there [5]a man-at-arms that is harder,[5] [6]nor a point that is keener, more terrible nor quicker,[6] nor a more bloodthirsty wolf, [7]nor a raven more flesh-loving,[7] nor a wilder warrior, nor a match of his age that would reach to a third or a fourth [LL.fo.62a.] the likes of Cuchulain. Thou findest not there," Fergus went on, "a hero his peer, [8]nor a lion that is fiercer, nor a plank of battle,[8] nor a sledge of destruction, [9]nor a gate of combat,[9] nor a doom of hosts, nor a contest of valour that would be of more worth than Cuchulain. Thou findest not there one that could equal his age and his growth, [10]his dress[10] [11]and his terror,[11] his size and his splendour, [12]his fame and his voice, his shape and his power,[12] his form and his speech, his strength and his feats and his valour, [13]his smiting, his heat and his anger,[13] his dash, his assault and attack, his dealing of [W.857.] doom and affliction, his roar, his speed, his fury, his rage, and his quick triumph with the feat of nine men on each sword's point[a] above him, like unto Cuchulain." [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 342-345. [a] 'Seventh,' YBL. 344. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 345. [4-4] LU. 346-347, and, similarly, YBL. [b] "Eight," YBL. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 349. [6-6] LU. 349-350. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 350. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 351-352. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 352. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 354. [11-11] YBL. 354. [12-12] LU. and YBL. 355-356. [13-13 LU. and YBL. 356-357. [a] Reading with Stowe, LU. and YBL. 359, which is more intelligible than 'on each hair,' which is the translation of LL. "We make not much import of him," quoth Medb. "It is but a single body he has; he shuns being wounded; he avoids being taken. They do say his age is but that of a girl to be wed. [1]His deeds of manhood have not yet come,[1] nor will he hold out against tried men, this young, beardless elf-man of whom thou spokest." [2]"We say not so,"[2] replied Fergus, "for manful were the deeds of the lad at a time when he was younger than he [3]now[3] is." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 363. [2-2] 'That is not true,' Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 46] VII THE YOUTHFUL EXPLOITS OF CUCHULAIN [W.865.] "Now this lad was reared in the house of his father and mother at Dairgthech[1] ('the Oak House' (?)), namely, in the plain of Murthemne, and the tales of the youths of Emain were told to him. [2]For there are [3]always[3] thrice fifty boys at play there," said Fergus.[2] "Forasmuch as in this wise Conchobar passed his reign ever since he, the king, assumed his sovereignty, to wit: As soon as he arose, forthwith in settling the cares and affairs of the province; thereafter, the day he divided in three: first, the first third he spent a-watching the youths play games of skill and of hurling; the next third of the day, a-playing draughts and chess, and the last third a-feasting on meat and [4]a-quaffing[4] ale, till sleep possessed them all, the while minstrels and harpers lulled him to sleep. For all that I am a long time in banishment because of him, I give my word," said Fergus, "there is not in Erin nor in Alba a warrior the like of Conchobar." [1] Reading with LU. and YBL. 367. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 368-369. [3-3] Eg. 1782. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 371. "And the lad was told the tales of the boys and the boy-troop in Emain; and the child said to his mother, he would go to have part in the games on the play-field of Emain. "It is too soon for thee, little son," said his mother; "wait till there go with thee a champion of the champions of [W.880.] Ulster, or some of the attendants of Conchobar to enjoin thy protection and thy safety on the boy-troop." "I think it too long for that, my mother," the little lad answered, "I will not wait for it. But do thou show me what place lies Emain [1]Macha."[1] [2]"Northwards, there;[2] it is far away from thee," said his mother, "the place wherein it lies, [3]and the way is hard.[3] Sliab Fuait lies between thee and Emain." "At all hazards, I will essay it," he answered. [1-1] Eg. 1782. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 376-377. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 377. "The boy fared forth and took his playthings with him. [4]His little lath-shield[4] he took, and his hurley of bronze and his ball of silver; and he took his little javelin for throwing; and his toy-staff he took with its fire-hardened butt-end, and he began to shorten the length of his journey with them. He would give the ball a stroke [LL.fo.62b.] with the hurl-bat, so that he sent it a long distance from him. Then with a second throw he would cast his hurley so that it went a distance no shorter than the first throw. He would hurl his little darts, and let fly his toy-staff, and make a wild chase after them. Then he would catch up his hurl-bat and pick up the ball and snatch up the dart, and the stock of the toy-staff had not touched the ground when he caught its tip which was in the air. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 380. "He went his way to the mound-seat of Emain, where was the boy-troop. Thrice fifty youths were with Folloman, Conchobar's son, at their games on the fair-green of Emain. "The little lad went on to the play-field into the midst of the boys, and he whipped the ball between his two legs away from them, nor did he suffer it to travel higher up than the top of his knee, nor did he let it lower down than his ankle, and he drove it and held it between his two legs and not one of the boys was able to get a prod nor a stroke nor a blow nor a shot at it, so that he carried it over the [W.904.] brink of the goal away from them. [1]Then he goes to the youths without binding them to protect him. For no one used to approach them on their play-field without first securing from them a pledge of protection. He was weetless thereof.[1] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 382-384. "Then they all gazed upon him. They wondered and marvelled. "Come, boys!" cried Folloman, Conchobar's son, [2]"the urchin insults us.[2] Throw yourselves all on yon fellow, and his death shall come at my hands; for it is geis among you for any youth to come into your game, without first entrusting his safety to you. And do you all attack him together, for we know that yon wight is some one of the heroes of Ulster; and they shall not make it their wont to break into your sports without first entrusting their safety and protection to you." [2-2] LU. and YBL. 384-385. "Thereupon they all set upon him together. They cast their thrice fifty hurl-bats at the poll of the boy's head. He raises his single toy-staff and wards off the thrice fifty hurlies, [3]so that they neither hurt him nor harm him,[3] [4]and he takes a load of them on his back.[4] Then they throw their thrice fifty balls at the lad. He raises his upper arm and his forearm and the palms of his hands [5]against them[5] and parries the thrice fifty balls, [6]and he catches them, each single ball in his bosom.[6] They throw at him the thrice fifty play-spears charred at the end. The boy raises his little lath-shield [7]against them[7] and fends off the thrice fifty play-staffs, [8]and they all remain stuck in his lath-shield.[8] [9]Thereupon contortions took hold of him. Thou wouldst have weened it was a hammering wherewith each hair was hammered into his head, with such an uprising it rose. Thou wouldst have weened it was a spark of fire that was on every single hair there. He closed one of his eyes so that it was no wider than the eye of a needle. He opened the other wide so that it was as big as the mouth of a mead-cup.[a] He stretched his mouth from his jaw-bones to his ears; he opened his mouth wide to his jaw so that his gullet was seen. The champion's light rose up from his crown.[9] [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 391. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 389. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 387. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 391-397. [a] Or, 'a wooden beaker,' YBL. 395. [W.919.] "It was then he ran in among them. He scattered fifty king's sons of them over the ground underneath him [1]before they got to the gate of Emain.[1] Five[b] of them," Fergus continued, "dashed headlong between me and Conchobar, where we were playing chess, even on Cennchaem ('Fair-head') [2]the chessboard of Conchobar,[2] on the mound-seat of Emain. The little boy pursued them to cut them off. [3]Then he sprang over the chessboard after the nine.[3] Conchobar seized the little lad by the wrists. "Hold, little boy. I see 'tis not gently thou dealest with the boy-band." "Good reason I have," quoth the little lad. [4]"From home, from mother and father I came to play with them, and they have not been good to me.[4] I had not a guest's honour at the hands of the boy-troop on my arrival, for all that I came from far-away lands." "How is that? Who art thou, [5]and what is thy name?"[5] asked Conchobar. "Little Setanta am I, son of Sualtaim. Son am I to Dechtirè, thine own sister; and not through thee did I expect to be thus aggrieved." "How so, little one?" said Conchobar. "Knewest thou not that it is forbidden among the boy-troop, that it is geis for them for any boy to approach them in their land without first claiming his protection from them?" "I knew it not," said the lad. [W.932.] "Had I known it, I would have been on my guard against them." "Good, now, ye boys," Conchobar cried; "take ye upon you the protection of the little lad." "We grant it, indeed," they made answer. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 398. [b] 'Nine,' LU. and YBL. 399 and Eg. 1782. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 400. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 403-404. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 405. "The little lad went [LL.fo.63a.] [1]into the game again[1] under the protection of the boy-troop. Thereupon they loosed hands from him, and once more he rushed amongst them [2]throughout the house.[2] He laid low fifty of their princes on the ground under him. Their fathers thought it was death he had given them. That was it not, but stunned they were with front-blows and mid-blows and long-blows. "Hold!" cried Conchobar. "Why art thou yet at them?" "I swear by my gods whom I worship" (said the boy) "they shall all come under my protection and shielding, as I have put myself under their protection and shielding. Otherwise I shall not lighten my hands off them until I have brought them all to earth." "Well, little lad, take thou upon thee the protection of the boy-troop." "I grant it, indeed," said the lad. Thereupon the boy-troop went under his protection and shielding. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 410. "[3]Then they all went back to the play-field, and the boys whom he had overthrown there arose. Their nurses and tutors helped them. "Now, once upon a time," continued Fergus, "when he was a gilla, he slept not in Emain Macha till morning." "Tell me," Conchobar said to him, "why sleepest thou not [4]in Emain Macha, Cuchulain?"[4] "I sleep not, unless it be equally high at my head and my feet." Then Conchobar had a pillar-stone set up at his head and another at his feet, and between them a bed apart was made for him. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 413-481. [4-4] YBL. 418. "Another time a certain man went to wake him, and the lad struck him with his fist in [1]the neck or in[1] the forehead, so that it drove in the front of his forehead on to his brain and he overthrew the pillar-stone with his forearm." "It is known," exclaimed Ailill, "that that was the fist of a champion and the arm of a hero." "And from that time," continued Fergus, "no one durst wake him, so that he used to wake of himself. [1-1] Eg. 1782. "Then, another time, he played ball on the play-field east of Emain, and he was alone on one side against the thrice fifty boys. He always worsted in every game in the east (?) in this way. Thereafter the lad began to use his fists on them, so that fifty boys of them died thereof. He took to flight then, till he took refuge under the cushion of Conchobar's couch. The Ulstermen sprang up all around him. I, too, sprang up, and Conchobar, thereat. The lad himself rose up under the couch, so that he hove up the couch and the thirty warriors that were on it withal, so that he bore it into the middle of the house. Straightway the Ulstermen sat around him in the house. We settled it then," continued Fergus, "and reconciled the boy-troop to him afterwards. "The broil of war arose between Ulster and Eogan son of Durthacht. The Ulstermen go forth to the war. The lad Setanta is left behind asleep. The men of Ulster are beaten. Conchobar and Cuscraid Menn ('the Stammerer') of Macha are left on the field and many besides them. Their groans awaken the lad. Thereat he stretches himself, so that the two stones are snapped that are near him. This took place in the presence of Bricriu yonder," Fergus added. "Then he gets up. I meet him at the door of the liss, I being severely wounded. "Hey, God keep thy life,[a] O Fergus my master," says he; "where is Conchobar?" "I know not," I answer. Thereupon he goes out. The night is dark. He makes for the battlefield, until he sees before him a man and half his head on him and half of another man on his back. "Help me, Cuchulain," he cries; "I have been stricken, and I bear on my back half of my brother. Carry it for me a while." "I will not carry it," says he. Thereupon the man throws the load at him. Cuchulain throws it back from him. They grapple with one another. Cuchulain is overthrown. Then I heard something. It was Badb[a] from the corpses: "Ill the stuff of a warrior that is there under the feet of a phantom." Thereat Cuchulain arises from underneath him, and he strikes off his head with his playing-stick and proceeds to drive the ball before him over the field of battle. [a] A Christian salutation. [a] The war-fury. "Is my master Conchobar on this battle-field?" That one makes answer. He goes towards him, to where he espies him in a ditch and the earth piled around him on both sides to hide him. "Wherefore art thou come to the battle-field?" Conchobar asks; "is it that thou mightst see mortal terror there?" Then Cuchulain lifts him out of the ditch. The six strong men of Ulster that were with us could not have lifted him out more bravely. "Get thee before us to yonder house," says Conchobar, [1]"to make me a fire there." He kindles a great fire for him. "Good now," quoth Conchobar,[1] "if one would bring me a roast pig, I would live." "I will go fetch it," says Cuchulain. Thereupon he sallies out, when he sees a man at a cooking-pit in the heart of the wood. One of his hands holds his weapons therein, the other roasts the pork. Ill-favoured, indeed, is the man. For the which, Cuchulain attacks him and takes his head and his pig with him. Conchobar eats the pig then. "Let us go to our house," says Conchobar. They meet Cuscraid son of Conchobar and there were heavy wounds on him. Cuchulain carries him on his back. The three then proceed to Emain Macha. [1-1] YBL. 461. "Another time the Ulstermen were in their 'Pains.' Now, there was no 'Pains' amongst us," Fergus continued, "in women or boys, nor in any one outside the borders of Ulster, nor in Cuchulain and his father. [1]It was for this reason no one dared shed the blood of the men of Ulster, for that the 'Pains' fell on the one that wounded them.[1] There came thrice nine men from the Isles of Faiche. They pass over our rear fort, the whiles we are in our 'Pains.' The women scream in the fort. The youths are in the play-field. They come at the cry. When the boys catch sight of the swarthy men, they all take to flight save Cuchulain alone. He hurls the hand-stones and his playing-staff at them. He slays nine of them and they leave fifty wounds on him and proceed thence on their journey.[3] [1-1] LU., edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe, page 19, note 23. [3-3] LU., and YBL. 413-481; see page 50. [W.947.] "A youngster did that deed," Fergus continued, "at the close of five years after his birth, when he overthrew the sons of champions and warriors at the very door of their liss and dûn. No need is there of wonder or surprise, [2]if he should do great deeds,[2] if he should come to the confines of the land, if he should cut off the four-pronged fork, if he should slay one man or two men or three men or four men, when there are seventeen full years of him now on the Cattle-lifting of Cualnge." [4]"In sooth, then, we know that youth," spoke out Conall Cernach ('the Victorious'), "and it is all the better we should know him, for he is a fosterling of our own."[4] [2-2] Eg. 1782. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 484-485. * * * * * [Page 54] VIIa THE SLAYING OF THE SMITH'S HOUND BY CUCHULAIN, AND THE REASON HE IS CALLED CUCHULAIN [W.956.] Then it was that Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar spake: "Again that little lad performed a second deed in the following year." "What deed was that?" asked Ailill. [1]"A goodly smith there was in the land of Ulster, Culann the Smith, by name.[1] He made ready a feast for Conchobar and set out for Emain to invite him. He made known to him that only a few should come with him, that he should bring none but a true guest along, forasmuch as it was not a domain or lands of his own that he had, but [2]the fruit of his two hands,[2] his sledges and anvils, his fists and his tongs. Conchobar replied that only a few would go to him. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU and YBL 489. "Culann went back to the stithy to prepare and make ready meat and drink [3]in readiness for the king.[3] Conchobar sat in Emain till it was time to set out [4]for the feast,[4] till came the close of the day. The king put his fine, light travelling apparel about him, [5]and went with fifty chariot-chiefs of those that were noblest and most illustrious of the heroes,[5] and betook him to the boys [6]before starting,[6] to bid them farewell. [7]It was always [W.968.] his custom to visit and revisit them when going and coming, to seek his blessing of the boys.[7] Conchobar came on to the fair-green, and he saw a thing that astounded him: Thrice fifty boys at one end of the green and a single boy at the other, and the single boy won the victory at the goal and at hurling from the thrice fifty boys. When it was at hole-play they were--a game of hole that used to be played on the fair-green of Emain--and it was their turn to drive and his to keep guard, he would catch the thrice fifty balls just outside of the hole, and not one went by him into the hole. When it was their turn to keep guard and his to drive, he would send the thrice fifty balls into the hole without fail, [1]and the boys were unable to ward them off.[1] When it was at tearing off each other's garments they played, he would strip off them their thrice fifty suits [2]so that they were quite naked,[2] and they were not able all of them to take as much as the brooch from his mantle. When it was at wrestling they were, he would throw those same thrice fifty boys to the ground under him, and they did not succeed all of them around him in lifting him up. Conchobar looked with wonder at the little lad. "O, ye youths," cried [LL.fo.63b.] Conchobar. "Hail to the land whence cometh the lad ye see, if the deeds of his manhood shall be such as are those of his boyhood!" "Tis not just to speak thus," exclaimed Fergus; "e'en as the little lad grows, so will his deeds of manhood grow with him." "The little lad shall be called to us, that he may come with us to enjoy the feast to which we go." The little lad was summoned to Conchobar. "Good, my lad," said Conchobar. "Come thou with us to enjoy the feast whereto we go, [3]for thou art a guest."[3] "Nay, but I will not go," the little boy answered. "How so?" asked Conchobar. [W.990.] "Forasmuch as the boys have not yet had their fill of games and of sport, and I will not leave them till they have had enough play." "It is too long for us to await thee till then, little boy, and by no means shall we wait." "Go then before us," said the little boy, "and I will follow after ye." "Thou knowest naught of the way, little boy," said Conchobar. "I will follow the trail of the company and of the horses and chariots." [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 489-491. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 492-494. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 497. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 502. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 507. "Thereafter Conchobar came to the house of Culann the Smith. The king was waited upon and all were shown honour, as befitted their rank and calling and privileges, nobility and gentle accomplishment. Straw and fresh rushes were spread out under them. They commenced to carouse and make merry. Culann inquired of Conchobar: "Hast thou, O king, appointed any to come after thee this night to this dûn?" "No, I appointed no one," replied Conchobar, for he had forgotten the little lad whom he had charged to come after him. "Why so?" asked Conchobar. "An excellent bloodhound have I, [1]that was brought from Spain.[1] [2]There are three[a] chains upon him, and three men at each chain. Because of our goods and our cattle he is slipped and the liss is closed.[2] When his dog-chain is loosed from him, no one dares approach the same cantred with him to make a course or a circuit, and he knows no one but myself. The power of hundreds is in him for strength." Then spake Conchobar, "Let the dûn be opened for the ban-dog, that he may guard the cantred." The dog-chain is taken off the ban-dog, and he makes a swift round of the cantred. And he comes to the mound whereon he was wont to keep guard of the stead, and there he was, his head couched on his paws, and wild, untameable, furious, savage, ferocious, ready for fight was the dog that was there. [1-1] LU. 513. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 512-513. [a] 'four,' Eg. 1782. [W.1013.] "As for the boys: They were in Emain until the time came for them to disperse. Each of them went to the house of his father and mother, of his foster-mother and foster-father. Then the little lad went on the trail of the party, till he reached the house of Culann the Smith. He began to shorten the way as he went with his play-things. [1]He threw his ball and threw his club after it, so that it hit the ball. The one throw was no greater than the other. Then he threw his staff after them both, so that it reached the ball and the club before ever they fell.[1] [2]Soon the lad came up.[2] When he was nigh to the green of the fort wherein were Culann and Conchobar, he threw all his play-things before him except only the ball. The watch-dog descried the lad and bayed at him, so that in all the countryside was heard the howl of the watch-hound. And not a division of feasting was what he was inclined to make of him, but to swallow him down at one gulp past the cavity [LL.fo.64a.] of his chest and the width of his throat and the pipe of his breast. [3]And it interfered not with the lad's play, although the hound made for him.[3] And the lad had not with him any means of defence, but he hurled an unerring cast of the ball, so that it passed through the gullet of the watch-dog's neck and carried the guts within him out through his back door, and he laid hold of the hound by the two legs and dashed him against a pillar-stone [4]that was near him, so that every limb of him sprang apart,[4] so that he broke into bits all over the ground.[a] Conchobar heard the yelp of the ban-dog. [5]Conchobar and his people could not move; they weened they would not find the lad alive before them.[5] "Alas, O warriors," cried Conchobar; "in no good luck [W.1029.] have we come to enjoy this feast." "How so?" asked all. "The little lad who has come to meet me, my sister's son, Setanta son of Sualtaim, is undone through the hound." As one man, arose all the renowned men of Ulster. Though a door of the hostel was thrown wide open, they all rushed in the other direction out over the palings of the fortress. But fast as they all got there, faster than all arrived Fergus, and he lifted the little lad from the ground on the slope of his shoulder and bore him into the presence of Conchobar. [1]They put him on Conchobar's knee. A great alarm arose amongst them that the king's sister's son should have been all but killed.[1] And Culann came out, and he saw his slaughter-hound in many pieces. He felt his heart beating against his breast. Whereupon he went into the dûn. "Welcome thy coming, little lad," said Culann, "because of thy mother and father, but not welcome is thy coming for thine own sake. [2]Yet would that I had not made a feast."[2] "What hast thou against the lad?" queried Conchobar. "Not luckily for me hast thou come to quaff my ale and to eat my food; for my substance is now a wealth gone to waste, and my livelihood is a livelihood lost [3]now after my dog.[3] [4]He hath kept honour and life for me.[4] Good was the friend thou hast robbed me of, [5]even my dog,[5] in that he tended my herds and flocks and stock for me; [6]he was the protection of all our cattle, both afield and at home."[6] "Be not angered thereat, O Culann my master," said the little boy. [7]"It is no great matter,[7] for I will pass a just judgement upon it." "What judgement thereon wilt thou pass, lad?" Conchobar asked. "If there is a whelp of the breed of that dog in Erin, he shall be reared by me till he be fit to do [W.1049.] business as was his sire. [1]Till then[1] myself will be the hound to protect his flocks and his cattle and his land [2]and even himself[2] in the meanwhile. [3]And I will safeguard the whole plain of Murthemne, and no one will carry off flock nor herd without that I know it."[3] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 515-518. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 514. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 518-519. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 525. [a] According to the LU.-YBL. version, Cuchulain seized the hound with one hand by the apple of the throat and with the other by the back. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 519-521. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 529-530. [2-2] LU and YBL. 532. [3-3] Stowe, YBL. and LU. 533-534. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 334. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 535. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 536. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 537. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Literally, 'thyself,' LU. and YBL. 539. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 540-541. "Well hast thou given judgement, little lad," said Conchobar. "In sooth, we [4]ourselves[4] could not give one that would be better," said Cathba.[a] "Why should it not be from this that thou shouldst take the name Cuchulain, ('Wolfhound of Culann')?" "Nay, then," answered the lad; "dearer to me mine own name, Setanta son of Sualtaim." "Say not so, lad," Cathba continued; "for the men of Erin and Alba shall hear that name and the mouths of the men of Erin and Alba shall be full of that name!" "It pleaseth me so, whatever the name that is given me," quoth the little lad. Hence the famous name that stuck to him, namely Cuchulain, after he had killed the hound that was Culann's the Smith's. [4-4] Stowe. [a] The name of Conchobar's druid. "A little lad did that deed," [LL.fo.64b.] added Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar, "when he had completed six years after his birth, when he slew the watch-dog that hosts nor companies dared not approach in the same cantred. No need would there be of wonder or of surprise if he should come to the edge of the marches, if he should cut off the four-pronged fork, if he should slay one man or two men or three men or four men, now when his seventeen years are completed on the Cattle-driving of Cualnge!" * * * * * [Page 60] VIIb [1]THE TAKING OF ARMS BY CUCHULAIN AND[1] [2]THE SLAYING OF THE THREE SONS OF NECHT SCENE IS NOW TOLD HERE[2] [W.1068.] "The little lad performed a third deed in the following year," said Fiachu son of Firaba. "What deed performed he?" asked Ailill. [1-1] Eg. 1782. [2-2] LU. fo. 61a, in the margin. "Cathba the druid was [3]with his son, namely Conchobar son of Ness,[3] imparting [4]learning[4] to his pupils in the north-east of Emain, and eight[a] [5]eager[5] pupils in the class of druidic cunning were with him. [6]That is the number that Cathba instructed.[6] [7]One of them[7] questioned his teacher, what fortune and presage might there be for the day they were in, whether it was good or whether it was ill. Then spake Cathba: "The little boy that takes arms [8]this day[8] shall be splendid and renowned [9]for deeds of arms[9] [10]above the youths of Erin [11]and the tales of his high deeds shall be told[11] forever,[10] but he shall be short-lived and fleeting." Cuchulain overheard what he said, though far off at his play-feats south-west of Emain; and he threw away all his play-things and hastened to Conchobar's sleep-room [12]to ask for arms.[12] "All [W.1077.] good attend thee, O king of the Fenè!" cried the little lad. "This greeting is the speech of one soliciting something of some one. What wouldst thou, lad?" said Conchobar. "To take arms," the lad made answer. "Who hath advised thee, little boy?" asked Conchobar. "Cathba the druid," said the lad. "He would not deceive thee, little boy," said Conchobar. Conchobar gave him two spears and a sword and a shield. The little boy shook and brandished the arms [1]in the middle of the house[1] so that he made small pieces and fragments of them. Conchobar gave him other two spears and a shield and a sword. He shook and brandished, flourished and poised them, so that he shivered them into small pieces and fragments. There where were the fourteen[a] suits of arms which Conchobar had in Emain, [2]in reserve in case of breaking of weapons or[2] for equipping the youths and the boys--to the end that whatever boy assumed arms, it might be Conchobar that gave him the equipment of battle, and the victory of cunning would be his thenceforward--even so, this little boy made splinters and fragments of them all. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 547. [4-4] Stowe. [a] 'One hundred' is the number in LU. and YBL. 547. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 548. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 548. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 550. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 551. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 551-552. [11-11] Stowe. [12-12] LU. and YBL. 553. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 557. [a] 'Fifteen,' LU. and YBL. 556; 'seventeen,' Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 557. "Truly these arms here are not good, O Conchobar my master," the stripling cried. "Herefrom cometh not what is worthy of me." Conchobar gave him his own two spears and his shield and his sword. He shook and he brandished, he bent and he poised them so that tip touched butt, and he brake not the arms and they bore up against him, [3]and he saluted the king whose arms they were.[3] "Truly, these arms are good," said the little boy; "they are suited to me. Hail to the king whose arms and equipment these are. Hail to the land whereout he is come!" [3-3] LU. and YBL. 559-560. "Then Cathba the druid chanced to come into the tent, and what he said was, "Hath he yonder taken arms?" [W.1101.] Cathba asked. "Aye, then, it must be," Conchobar answered. "Not by [1]his[1] mother's son would I wish them to be taken this day," said Cathba. "How so? Was it not thyself advised him?" Conchobar asked. "Not I, in faith," replied Cathba. "What mean'st thou, bewitched elf-man?" cried Conchobar [2]to Cuchulain.[2] "Is it a lie thou hast told us?" [LL.fo.65a.] "But be not wroth [3]thereat,[3] O my master Conchobar," said the little boy. [4]"No lie have I told;[4] for yet is it he that advised me, [5]when he taught his other pupils this morning.[5] For his pupil asked him what luck might lie in the day, and he said: The youth that took arms on this day would be illustrious and famous, [6]that his name would be over the men of Erin for ever, and that no evil result would be on him thereafter,[6] except that he would be fleeting and short-lived. [7]To the south of Emain I heard him, and then I came to thee."[7] "That I avow to be true," spake Cathba. [8]"Good indeed is the day,[8] glorious and renowned shalt thou be, [9]the one that taketh arms,[9] yet passing and short lived!" "Noble the gift!" cried Cuchulain. [10]"Little it recks me,[10] though I should be but one day and one night in the world, if only the fame of me and of my deeds live after me!" [1-1] Reading with Stowe, LU. and YBL. 563. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 566. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 567. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 567. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 568. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 569. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 570. [10-10] Stowe. "[11] Another day one of them asked of the druids for what that day would be propitious. "The one that mounts a chariot to-day," Cathba answered, "his name will be renowned over Erin for ever." Now Cuchulain heard that. He went to Conchobar and said to him, "O Conchobar my master, give me a chariot!" He gave him a chariot.[11] [W.1113.] "Come, lad, mount the chariot, for this is the next thing for thee." [11-11] LU. and YBL. 573-577. "He mounted the chariot. [1]He put his hands between the two poles of the chariot,[1] and the first chariot he mounted withal he shook and tossed about him till he reduced it to splinters and fragments. He mounted the second chariot, so that he made small pieces and fragments of it in like manner. Further he made pieces of the third chariot. There where were the seventeen[a] chariots which Conchobar kept for the boy-troop and youths in Emain, the lad made small pieces and fragments of them and they did not withstand him. "These chariots here are not good, O my master Conchobar," said the little boy; "my merit cometh not from them." "Where is Ibar[b] son of Riangabair?" asked Conchobar. "Here, in sooth, am I," Ibar answered. "Take with thee mine own two steeds for him yonder, and yoke my chariot." Thereupon the charioteer took the horses and yoked the chariot. Then the little boy mounted the chariot [2]and Conchobar's charioteer with him.[2] He shook the chariot about him, and it withstood him, and he broke it not. "Truly this chariot is good," cried the lad, "and this chariot is suited to me." [3]The charioteer turned the chariot under him.[3] "Prithee, little boy," said Ibar, [4]"come out[c] of the chariot now[4] and let the horses out on their pasture." "It is yet too soon, O Ibar," the lad answered. [5]"The horses are fair. I, too, am fair, their little lad.[5] [6]Only[6] let us go on a circuit of Emain to-day [7]and thou shalt have a reward therefor,[7] to-day being my first day of [W.1132.] taking arms, to the end that it be a victory of cunning for me." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 578. [a] 'Twelve,' LU. and YBL. 579. [b] The name of Conchobar's charioteer. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 580-581 and Eg. 1782. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 581. [c] Following the emendation suggested by Strachan and O'Keeffe, page 23, note 21. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 582. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 583. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 584. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 585. "Thrice they made the circuit of Emain. "Leave the horses now to their grazing, O little boy," said Ibar. "It is yet too soon, O Ibar," the little lad answered; "let us keep on, that the boys may give me a blessing to-day the first day of my taking arms." They kept their course to the place where the boys were. "Is it arms he yonder has taken?" each one asked. "Of a truth, are they." "May it be for victory, for first wounding and triumph. But we deem it too soon for thee to take arms, because thou departest from us at the game-feats." "By no means will I leave ye, but for luck I took arms this day." "Now, little boy, leave the horses to their grazing," said Ibar. "It is still too soon for that, O Ibar," the lad answered. [1]"Ply the goad on the horses," said he. "What way, then?" the charioteer asked. "As far as the road shall lead," answered Cuchulain.[1] "And this great road winding by us, what way leads it?" the lad asked. "What is that to thee?" Ibar answered. "But thou art a pleasant wight, I trow, little lad," quoth Ibar. "I wish, fellow, to inquire about the high-road of the province, what stretch it goes?" "To Ath na Foraire ('the Ford of Watching') in Sliab Fuait it goes," Ibar answered. "Wherefore is it called 'the Ford of Watching,' knowest thou?" "Yea, I know it well," Ibar made answer. "A stout warrior of Ulster is on watch and on guard there [2]every day,[2] so that there come no strange youths into Ulster to challenge them to battle, and he is a champion to give battle in behalf of the whole province. Likewise if men of song leave the Ulstermen [LL.fo.65b.] and the province in dudgeon, he is there to soothe them by proffering treasures and valuables, and so to save the honour of the province. Again, if men of song [W.1155.] enter the land, he is the man that is their surety that they win the favour of Conchobar, so that songs and lays made for him will be the first to be sung after their arrival in Emain." "Knowest thou who is at the ford to-day?" "Yea, I know," Ibar answered; "Conall Cernach ('the Triumphant'), the heroic, warlike son of Amargin, royal champion of Erin," Ibar answered. "Thither guide us, fellow, that so we reach the ford." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 589-590. [2-2] Stowe. "Onwards they drove into sight of the ford where was Conall. [1]Now it fell to Conall Cernach to guard the province that day. For each champion of Ulster spent his day on Sliab Fuait to protect him that came with a lay or to fight with a warrior, so that some one would be there to meet him, in order that none might come to Emain unperceived.[1] "Are those arms he yonder has taken?" asked Conall. "Of a truth, are they," Ibar made answer. "May it be for victory and for triumph and first wounding," said Conall; "but we think it too soon for thee to take arms, because thou art not yet capable of deeds. Were it surety he needed, he that should come hither," he continued, "so wouldst thou furnish a perfect warrant amongst the Ulstermen, and the nobles of the province would rise up to support thee in the contest." "What dost thou here, O Conall my master?" asked the lad. "Watch and ward of the province, lad, I keep here," Conall made answer. "Do thou go home now, O master Conall," said the lad, "and leave me the watch and guard of the province to keep here." "Say not so, little son," replied Conall; [2]"'twould be enough, were it to protect one that came with a song; were it to fight with a man, however, that is still too soon for thee[2]; thou art not yet able to cope with a goodly warrior." "Then, will I keep on to the south," [W.1172.] said the little boy, "to Fertas ('the Bank') of Loch Echtrann for a while; [1]champions are wont to take stand there;[1] perchance I may redden my hands on friend or on foe this day." "I will go, little boy," said Conall, "to save thee, that thou go not alone [2]into peril[2] on the border." "Not so," said the lad. "But I will go," said Conall; "for the men of Ulster will blame me for leaving thee to go alone on the border." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 592-596. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 599-601. [1-1] LU.and YBL. 603. [2-2] Stowe. "Conall's horses were caught for him and his chariot was yoked and he set out to protect the little boy. When Conall came up abreast of him, Cuchulain felt certain that, even though a chance came to him, Conall would not permit him to use it. He picked up a hand-stone from the ground which was the full of his grasp. He hurled it from him [3]from his sling[3] the length of a stone-shot at the yoke of Conall's chariot, so that he broke the chariot-collar[a] in two and thereby Conall fell to the ground, so that the nape of his neck went out from his shoulder. "What have we here, boy?" asked Conall; [4]"why threwest thou the stone?"[4] "It is I threw it to see if my cast be straight, or how I cast at all, or if I have the stuff of a warrior in me." "A bane on thy cast and a bane on thyself as well. E'en though thou leavest thy head this time with thine enemies, I will go no further to protect thee." "'Twas what I craved of thee," answered he; "for it is geis amongst you men of Ulster to proceed, after a mishap has befallen your chariots. [5]Go back[5] [6]to Emain,[6] [7]O Conall, and leave me here to keep watch." "That pleaseth me well," replied Conall.[7] Conall turned back northwards again to the Ford of Watching. [8]Thereafter Conall Cernach went not past that place.[8] [3-3] LU. and YBL. 604. [a] In LU. and YBL., 'the shaft of the chariot.' [4-4] LU. and YBL. 605-606. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 608. [6-6] LU. 608. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 609-610. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 610. [W.1192.] As for the little boy, he fared southwards to Fertas Locha Echtrann. He remained there till the end of the day [1]and they found no one there before them.[1] "If we dared tell thee, little boy," spoke Ibar, "it were time for us to return to Emain [LL.fo.66a.] now; for dealing and carving and dispensing of food is long since begun in Emain, and there is a place assigned for thee there. Every day it is appointed thee to sit between Conchobar's feet, while for me there is naught but to tarry among the hostlers and tumblers of Conchobar's household. [2]For that reason,[2] methinks it is time to have a scramble[a] among them." "Fetch then the horses for us." The charioteer fetched the horses and the lad mounted the chariot. "But, O Ibar, what hill is that there now, the hill to the north?" the lad asked. "Now, that is Sliab Moduirn," Ibar answered. [3]"Let us go and get there," said Cuchulain. Then they go on till they reach it.[3] [4]When they reached the mountain, Cuchulain asked,[4] "And what is that white cairn yonder on the height of the mountain?" "And that is Finncharn ('the White Cairn') of Sliab Moduirn," Ibar answered. "But yonder cairn is beautiful," exclaimed the lad. "It surely is beautiful," Ibar answered. "Lead on, fellow, till we reach yonder cairn." "Well, but thou art both a pleasant and tedious inquisitor, I see," exclaimed Ibar; "but this is my first [5]journey and my first[5] time with thee. It shall be my last time till the very day of doom, if once I get back to Emain." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 612. [2-2] Stowe. [a] Or, more literally, 'a clawing match.' [3-3] LU. and YBL. 615-616. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 616. [5-5] Stowe. "Howbeit they went to the top of the hill. "It is pleasant here, O Ibar," the little boy exclaimed. "Point out to me Ulster on every side, for I am no wise acquainted with the land of my master Conchobar." The horseman [W.1211.] pointed him out Ulster all around him. He pointed him out the hills and the fields and the mounts of the province on every side. He pointed him out the plains and the dûns and the strongholds of the province. "'Tis a goodly sight, O Ibar," exclaimed the little lad. "What is that indented, angular, bordered and glenny plain to the south of us?" "Mag Breg," replied Ibar. "Tell thou to me the buildings and forts of that plain." The gilla taught him [1]the name of every chief dûn between Temair and Cenannas,[1] Temair and Taltiu, Cletech and Cnogba and Brug ('the Fort') of Mac ind Oc. [2]He pointed out to him then[2] the dûn of the [3]three[3] sons of Necht Scenè ('the Fierce'): [4]Foill and Fandall and Tuachall, their names;[4] [5]Fer Ulli son of Lugaid was their father, and Necht [6]from the mouth of the[6] Scenè was their mother. Now the Ulstermen had slain their father; it was for that reason they were at war with Ulster.[5] "But are those not Necht's sons, that boast that not more of the Ulstermen are alive than have fallen at their hands?" "The same, in sooth," answered the gilla. "On with us to the dûn of the macNechta," cried the little boy. "Alas, in truth, that thou sayest so," quoth Ibar; [7]"'tis a peril for us."[7] [8]"Truly, not to avoid it do we go," answered Cuchulain.[8] "We know it is an act of great folly for us to say so, but whoever may go," said Ibar, "it will not be myself." "Living or dead, go there thou shalt," the little boy cried. "'Tis alive I shall go to the south," answered Ibar, "and dead I shall be left at the dûn, I know, even at the dûn of the macNechta." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 620. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 623. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 623. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 624. [5-5] LU. 623, marginal note. [6-6] LU. 623, gloss. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 627. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 628. "They push on to the dûn [1]and they unharness their horses in the place where the bog and the river meet south [W.1227.] of the dûn of the macNechta.[1] And the little boy sprang out of the chariot onto the green. Thus was the green of the dûn, with a pillar-stone upon it and an iron band around that, and a band for prowess it was, and there was a writing in ogam at its joint, and this is the writing it bore: 'Whoever should come to the green, if he be a champion, it is geis for him to depart from the green without giving challenge to single combat.[1] The lad deciphered the writing and put his two arms around the pillar-stone. Just as the pillar-stone was with its ring, he flung it [2]with a cast of his hand[2] into the moat, so that a wave passed over it. "Methinks," spake Ibar, "it is no better now than to be where it was. And we know thou shalt now get on this green the thing thou desirest, even the token of death, yea, of doom and destruction!" [3]For it was the violation of a geis of the sons of Necht Scenè to do that thing.[3] "Good, O Ibar, spread the chariot-coverings and its skins for me that I may [LL.fo.66b.] snatch a little sleep." "Woe is me, that thou sayest so," answered the gilla; "for a foeman's land is this and not a green for diversion." [4]And Cuchulain said to the gilla, "Do not awaken me for a few but awaken me for many."[4] The gilla arranged the chariot-coverings and its skins [5]under Cuchulain, and the lad fell asleep on the green.[5] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 629. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 630. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 631. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 634-635. [5-5] Stowe. "Then came one of the macNechta on to the fair-green, to wit, Foill son of Necht. [6]Then was the charioteer sore afraid, for he durst not waken him, for Cuchulain had told him at first not to waken him for a few.[6] "Unyoke not the horses, gilla," cried Foill. "I am not fain to, at all," answered Ibar; "the reins and the lines are still in my hand." "Whose horses are those, then?" Foill asked. [W.1246.] "Two of Conchobar's horses," answered the gilla; "the two of the dappled heads." "That is the knowledge I have of them. And what hath brought these steeds here to the borders?" "A tender youth that has assumed arms amongst us [1]to-day for luck and good omen,"[1] the horseboy answered, "is come to the edges of the marshes to display his comeliness." "May it not be for victory nor for triumph, [2]his first-taking of arms,"[2] exclaimed Foill. [3]"Let him not stop in our land and let the horses not graze here any longer.[3] If I knew he was fit for deeds, it is dead he should go back northwards to Emain and not alive!" "In good sooth, he is not fit for deeds," Ibar answered; "it is by no means right to say it of him; it is the seventh year since he was taken from the crib. [4]Think not to earn enmity,"[a] Ibar said further to the warrior; "and moreover the child sleepeth."[4] [6-6] LU. and YBL. 635-638. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 641. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 642. [a] That is, the enmity of the Ulstermen by slaying Cuchulain. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 644-645. "The little lad raised his face from the ground and drew his hand over his face, and he became as one crimson wheelball from his crown to the ground. [5]"Not a child am I, at all, but it is to seek battle with a man that this child here is come.[5] Aye, but I am fit for deeds!" the lad cried. [6]"That pleaseth me well," said the champion;[6] "but more like than what thou sayest, meseemeth, thou art not fit for deeds." "Thou wilt know that better if we go to the ford. But, go fetch thy weapons, for I see it is in the guise of a churl thou art come, and I slay nor charioteers nor grooms nor folk without arms." The man went apace after his arms. [7]"Now[7] thou shouldst have a care for us against yonder man [8]that comes to meet thee,[8] little lad," said Ibar. "And why so?" [W.1262.] asked the lad. "Foill son of Necht is the man thou seest. Neither points nor edges of weapons can harm him." "Not before me shouldst thou say that, O Ibar," quoth the lad. "I will put my hand to the lath-trick for him, namely, to the apple of twice-melted iron, and it will light upon the disc of his shield and on the flat of his forehead, and it will carry away the size of an apple of his brain out through the back of his head, so that it will make a sieve-hole outside of his head, till the light of the sky will be visible through his head." [5-5] LU. and YBL. 645-646. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 647. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 649. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 649. "Foill son of Necht came forth. Cuchulain took the lath-trick in hand for him and threw it from him the length of his cast, so that it lighted on the flat of his shield and on the front of his forehead and carried away the bulk of an apple of his brain out through the back of his head, so that it made a sieve-hole thereof outside of his head, till the light of the sky might be seen through his head. [1]He went to him then[1] and struck off the head from the trunk. [2]Thereafter he bore away his spoils and his head with him.[2] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 665. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 655. "Then came the second son out on the green, [3]his name[3] Tuachall ('the Cunning') son of Necht. "Aha, I see thou wouldst boast of this deed," quoth Tuachall. "In the first place I deem it no cause to boast for slaying one champion," said Cuchulain; "thou shalt not boast of it this time, for thou shalt fall by my hand." "Off with thee for thine arms, then, for 'tis not as a warrior thou art come." The man rushed after his arms. "Thou shouldst have a care for us against yon man, lad," said Ibar. "How so?" the lad asked. "Tuachall son of Necht is the man thou beholdest. [4]And he is nowise miss-named, for he falls not by arms at all.[4] Unless thou worstest him with the first blow or with the first shot or with the first touch, [LL.fo.67a.] thou wilt not worst him [W.1283.] ever, because of his craftiness and the skill wherewith he plays round the points of the weapons." "That should not be said before me, O Ibar," cried the lad. [1]"I swear by the god by whom my people swear, he shall never again ply his skill on the men of Ulster.[1] I will put my hand on Conchobar's well-tempered lance, on the Craisech Nemè ('the Venomous Lance'). [2]It will be an outlaw's hand to him.[2] It will light on the shield over his belly, and it will crush through his ribs on the farther side after piercing his heart in his breast. That would be the smiting cast of an enemy and not the friendliness of a fellow countryman![a] From me he shall not get sick-nursing or care till the brink of doom." [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 662-663. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 651-652. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 653; probably a proverbial expression. [a] The force of Cuchulain's boast lay in the fact that, according to the Brehon Laws, if the aggressor were not a native or of the same class as the injured party, he was exempt from the law of compensation. "Tuachall son of Necht came forth on the green, and the lad laid his hand on Conchobar's lance against him, and it struck the shield above his belly and broke through the ribs on the farther side after piercing his heart within his breast. He struck off his head or ever it reached the ground. [3]Thereafter Cuchulain carried off his head and his spoils with him to his own charioteer.[3] [3-3] LU. and YBL. 666. "Then came the youngest of the sons forth on the green, namely, Fandall son of Necht. "Fools were the folk who fought with thee here," cried Fandall. "How, now!" cried the lad. "Come down to the pool, where thy foot findeth not bottom." Fandall rushed on to the pool. "Thou shouldst be wary for us of him, little boy," said Ibar. "Why should I then?" asked the lad. "Fandall son of Necht is the man whom thou seest. For this he bears the name Fandall ('the Swallow'): like a swallow or weasel[b] he courseth the sea; the swimmers of the world [W.1302.] cannot reach him." "Thou shouldst not speak thus before me, O Ibar," said the lad. [1]"I swear, never again will he ply that feat on the men of Ulster.[1] Thou knowest the river that is in our land, in Emain, the Callann. When the boys frequent it with their games of sport and when the water is not beneath them, [2]if the surface is not reached by them all,[2] I do carry a boy over it on either of my palms and a boy on either of my shoulders, and I myself do not even wet my ankles under the weight of them." [b] LU. and YBL. have 'a swan.' [1-1] LU. and YBL. 657-658. [2-2] Stowe. That is, when the water is over their heads. "They met upon the water [3]and they engaged in wrestling upon it,[3] and the little boy closed his arms over Fandall, so that the sea came up even with him, and he gave him a deft blow with Conchobar's sword and chopped off his head from the trunk, and left the body to go down with the stream, and he carried off the head [4]and the spoils[4] with him. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 661. "Thereupon Cuchulain went into the dûn and pillaged the place and burned it so that its buildings were no higher than its walls. And they turned on their way to Sliab Fuait and carried the three heads of Necht's sons with them. [5]Soon Cuchulain heard the cry of their mother after them, of Necht Scenè, namely."[5] [6]"Now I will not give over my spoils," cried Cuchulain, "till I reach Emain Macha." Thereupon Cuchulain and Ibar set out for Emain Macha with their spoils. It was then Cuchulain spoke to his charioteer: "Thou didst promise us a good run," said Cuchulain, "and we need it now because of the storm and pursuit that is after us." Forthwith they hasten to Sliab Fuait. Such was the speed of the course they held over Breg, after the urging of the charioteer, that the horses of the chariot overtook the wind and the birds in [W.1317.] their flight and Cuchulain caught the throw he had cast from his sling or ever it reached the ground. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 667-668. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 669-679. "When they came to Sliab Fuait[6] they espied a herd of wild deer before them. "What are those many cattle, O Ibar, those nimble ones yonder?" asked the lad; "are they tame or are they other deer?" "They are real wild deer, indeed," Ibar answered; "herds of wild deer that haunt the wastes of Sliab Fuait." [1]"Which," asked Cuchulain, "would the men of Ulster deem best, to bring them dead or alive?" "More wonderful, alive," answered the charioteer; "not every one can do it so; but dead, there is none of them cannot do it. Thou canst not do this, carry off any of them alive." "Truly I can," said Cuchulain.[1] "Ply the goad for us on the horses [2]into the bog,[2] to see can we take some of them." The charioteer drove a goad into the horses. It was beyond the power of the king's overfat steeds to keep up with the deer. [3]Soon the horses stuck in the marsh.[3] The lad got down from the chariot and [4]as the fruit of his run and his race, in the morass which was around him,[4] he caught two of the swift, stout deer. He fastened them to the back poles and the bows and the thongs of the chariot. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 669-679. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 681-686. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 686. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 687. [4-4] Stowe. "They continued their way to the mound-seat of Emain, where they saw flocks of white swans flying by them. "What are those birds there, O Ibar?" the lad asked; "are yonder birds tame [LL.fo.67.] or are they other birds?" "Indeed, they are real wild birds," Ibar answered; "flocks of swans are they that come from the rocks and crags and islands of the great sea without, to feed on the plains and smooth spots of Erin." "Which would be stranger [5]to the Ulstermen,[5] O Ibar, for them to be fetched alive to Emain or dead?" asked the lad. "Stranger far, alive," [W.1333.] Ibar answered, "for not every one succeeds in taking the birds alive, [1]while they are many that take them dead."[1] Then did the lad perform one of his lesser feats upon them: [2]he put a small stone in his sling,[2] so that he brought down eight[a] of the birds; and then he performed a greater feat: [3]he threw a large stone at them[3] and he brought down sixteen[b] of their number. [4]With his return stroke all that was done.[4] He fastened them to the hind poles and the bows and the thongs and the ropes and the traces of the chariot. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 692. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [a] 'Seven,' LU. and YBL. 695. [3-3] Stowe. [b] 'Twelve,' LU. and YBL. 696. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 696-697. "Take the birds along with thee, O Ibar," cried the lad [5]to his charioteer. If I myself go to take them," he added, "the wild deer will spring upon thee."[5] "I am in sore straits," answered Ibar; "[6]I find it not easy to go."[6] "What may it be?" asked the lad. "Great cause have I. [7]The horses have become wild, so that I cannot go by them.[7] If I stir at all from where I am, the chariot's iron wheels will cut me down [8]because of their sharpness[8] and because of the strength and the power and the might of the career of the horses. If I make any move, the horns of the deer will pierce and gore me, [9]for the horns of the stag have filled the whole space between the two shafts of the chariot."[9] "Ah, no true champion art thou any longer, O Ibar," [10]said the lad;[10] [11]"step thus from his horn.[11] [12]I swear by the god by whom the Ulstermen swear,[12] because of the look I shall give at the horses they will not depart from the straight way; at the look I shall give at the deer they will bend their heads in fear and awe of me; [13]they will not dare move,[13] and [W.1346.] it will be safe for thee e'en though thou goest in front of their horns." [1]And so it was done. Cuchulain fastened the reins.[1] [2]Then[2] [3]the charioteer[3] [4]went and collected the birds, and he bound them to the hind poles and to the thongs and the traces of the chariot.[4] [5]Thus it was that he proceeded to Emain Macha: the wild deer behind his chariot, and the flock of swans flying over the same, and the three heads of the sons of Necht Scenè [6]and the jewels, treasures and wealth of their enemies arranged[6] in his chariot.[5] [5-5] LU. and YBL. 698-699. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 699. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 700. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 702. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 703. [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] LU. and YBL. 703. [12-12] LU. and YBL. 704. [13-13] LU. and YBL. 706. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 707. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 708. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 709-711. [6-6] H. 2. 17. "[7]Thereupon[7] they went on till [8]bravely, boldly, battle-victoriously, boastingly, blade-redded,[8] they reached [9]the fair plain of[9] Emain. It was then Lebarcham, [10]the watch in Emain Macha,[10] [11]came forth and[11] discerned them, she, the daughter of Aue ('Ear') and of Adarc ('Horn') [12]and she hastened to Conchobar's house, her eye restless in her head and her tongue faltering in her jaw.[12] "A single chariot-fighter is here, [13]coming towards Emain Macha,"[13] cried Lebarcham, "and his coming is fearful. The heads of his foes all red in his chariot with him. Beautiful, all-white birds he has hovering around in the chariot. With him are wild, untamed deer, bound and fettered, shackled and pinioned. And [14]I give my word,[14] if he be not attended to this night, [15]blood will flow over Conchobar's province by him and[15] the youths of Ulster will fall by his hand." "We know him, that chariot-fighter," spake Conchobar; "[16]belike it is[16] the little gilla, my sister's son, who went to the edge of the marches [17]at the beginning of the day,[17] [W.1355.] who has reddened his hands and is still unsated of combat, and unless he be attended to, all the youths of Emain will fall by his hand." [1]Soon he turned the left[a] side of his chariot towards Emain, and this was geis for Emain. And Cuchulain cried, "I swear by the god by whom the Ulstermen swear, if a man be not found to engage with me, I will spill the blood of every one in the dûn!"[1] [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 713. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] H. 2. 17. [13-13] H. 2. 17. [14-14] H. 2. 17. [15-15] H. 2. 17. [16-16] H. 2. 17. [17-17] H. 2. 17. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 715-718. [a] To turn the left side was an insult and sign of hostility. "And this was the counsel they agreed to follow: to let out the womenfolk to meet the youth, namely, thrice fifty women, even ten and seven-score bold, stark-naked women, at one and the same time, and their chieftainess, Scannlach ('the Wanton') before them, to discover their persons and their shame[b] to him. [2]"Let the young women go," said Conchobar, "and bare their paps and their breasts and their swelling bosoms, and if he be a true warrior he will not withstand being bound, and he shall be placed in a vat of cold water until his anger go from him."[2] [3]Thereupon[3] the young women all [4]arose and[4] marched out, [5]and these are the names of those queens: Sgamalus and Sgannlach and Sgiathan, Feidlim and Deigtini Finnchas, and Finngheal and Fidniam and Niam, daughter of Celtchar son of Uthechar[5]; and they discovered their nakedness and all their shame to him. [6]"These are the warriors that will meet thee to-day," quoth Mugain, wife of Conchobar son of Ness.[6] The lad hid his face from them and turned his gaze on the chariot, that he might not see the nakedness or the shame of the women.[c] Then the lad was lifted out of the chariot. He was placed in three vats of cold water to extinguish his wrath; and the first vat into which he was put burst its staves and its hoops like the cracking of nuts around him. [W.1367.] The next vat [1]into which he went[1] [2]boiled with bubbles as big as fists[2] therefrom. The third vat [3]into which he went,[3] some men might endure it and others might not. Then the boy's wrath went down. [b] 'Breasts,' LU. and YBL. 720. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 720-721. [c] This exposure was a powerful magico-religious symbol and had a quasi-sacred or ritual character. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Translating from Stowe and H. 2. 17. [3-3] H. 2. 17. "[4]Thereupon he came out,[4] and his [5]festive[5] garments were put on him [6]by Mugain the queen.[6] His comeliness appeared on him [LL.fo.68a.] and he made a crimson wheel-ball of himself from his crown to the ground. [7]A shout was raised at the bluish purple about him.[7] [8]Beautiful then was the lad[8] [9]that was raised up in view.[9] Seven toes he had to each of his two feet, and seven fingers to each of his two hands, and seven pupils to each of his two kingly eyes, and seven gems of the brilliance of the eye was each separate pupil. Four spots of down on either of his two cheeks: a blue spot, a purple spot, a green spot, a yellow spot. Fifty strands of bright-yellow hair from one ear to the other, like to a comb of birch twigs or like to a brooch of pale gold in the face of the sun. A clear, white, shorn spot was upon him, as if a cow had licked it. A [10]fair, laced[10] green[a] mantle about him; a silver pin therein [11]over his white breast, so that the eyes of men could not look at it for its gleam and its brightness.[11] A [12]hooded[12] tunic of thread of gold about him. [13]A magnificent, fair-coloured, dark purple shield he bore. Two hard, five-pointed spears in his hand. A diadem of gold round his head.[13] And the lad was seated between the two feet of Conchobar, [14]and that was his couch ever after,[14] and the king began to stroke his close-shorn hair. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 726. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] LU. 726. [7-7] H. 2. 17. Thurneysen, _Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie_, Bd. VIII, S. 538, note 13, understands this to mean, 'a bluish purple cloak was thrown around him.' [8-8] Stowe and H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [a] 'Blue,' LU. and YBL. 727 and Eg. 1782. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] LU. and YBL. 727. [13-13] H. 2. 17. [14-14] LU. and YBL. 728. [W.1381.] "A mere lad accomplished these deeds at the end of seven years after his birth," [1]continued Fiachu son of Fiarba;[1] "for he overcame heroes and battle-champions at whose hands two-thirds of the men of Ulster had fallen, and these had not got their revenge on them until that scion rose up for them. No need then is there of wonder or of surprise, though he came to the border, though he slew one man or two men or three men or four men, [2]though he cut off the four-headed pole with one cut and one blow of his shining sword[2] when now are fulfilled his seventeen years at the time of the Táin Bó Cúalnge." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 729-730. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3]Albeit gladness, joy and happiness was the part of the men of Ulster for that, sorrow, grief and unhappiness was the part of the men of Erin, for they knew that the little lad that had done those deeds in the time of his boyhood, it would be no wonder if he should do great deeds of valour in the time of his manhood.[3] [3-3] H. 2. 17. These, accordingly, are some of the youthful exploits of Cuchulain on the Raid for the Kine of Cualnge, and the Prologue of the Tale, and the Names of the Roads and the March of the Host up to this Point. The Story proper is this which follows now. * * * * * [Page 80] VIIc [1]BELOW IS A SEPARATE VERSION AS FAR AS THE SLAYING OF ORLAM "Let us fare forth now," quoth Ailill. Thereafter they reached Mag Mucceda ('the plain of the Swineherd.') Cuchulain lopped off an oak that was before him in that place and set an ogam-writing on its side. This is what was on it: 'That no one should pass by till a chariot-warrior with a chariot should overleap it.' [1-1] LU. and YBL. 733-766. They pitch there their tents and proceed to leap over the oak in their chariots. Thereat thirty horses fall and thirty chariots are broken. Now, Belach Anè ('the Pass of Sport') is the name of that place forever. They bide there till morning. Fraech [2]son of Fidach[2] was summoned to them. "Help us, O Fraech," spake Medb; "deliver us from the strait we are in. Rise up for us to meet Cuchulain, if perchance thou wilt fight him." [2-2] YBL. 741. Betimes in the morning, with nine men Fraech went out from thence till he arrived at Ath Fuait, when he saw the youth Cuchulain bathing in the river. "Bide here," spake Fraech to his people, "till I fight with yonder man; he is not good in the water," said he. He doffs his clothes and goes into the water to meet him. "Come not before me," cried Cuchulain; "it shall be thy death and it would grieve me to kill thee." "Nay, but I will go," answered Fraech, "so that we come together in the water, and it behoves thee to engage with me." "Settle that as seemeth thee good," Cuchulain made answer. "Each of us with his arms round the other," said Fraech. They fall to wrestling for a long time in the water and Fraech is thrust under. Cuchulain brings him above again. "This time," spake Cuchulain, "wilt thou acknowledge that I saved thee?" "I will not," Fraech answered. Cuchulain thrusts him under again, so that Fraech is destroyed. He is placed on the ground. His people bear the body [10]with them[10] to the camp. Ath Fraeich ('Fraech's Ford') is the name of that ford for ever. All the army keen [2]their[2] Fraech, till they see a troop of women, in green tunics standing over the corpse of Fraech son of Fidach. These women bear him into the fairy dwelling. Sid Fraeich ('Fraech's Mound') is the name of the Elfmound ever since. [10-10] Eg. 1782. [2-2] YBL. 758. Fergus leaps over the oak-stump in his [3]own[3] chariot [4]and knocks off its head.[4] [5]According to another version,[5] they proceed till they reach [6]Ath Meislir.[6] Cuchulain destroys six of them there, namely, [7]Meislir _et reliqua_,[7] [8]the six Dungals of Irrus.[8] [3-3] Eg. 1782. [4-4] Eg. 1782. [5-5] YBL. 762. [6-6] Reading with YBL. '_Ath Taiten_,' LU. 762. [7-7] YBL. 763. [8-8] LU. 763. They go thence to Fornocht. Medb had a whelp named Baiscnè. Cuchulain made a cast at him, so that he struck off his head. Now, Druim ('Ridge') is the name of that place ever after.[1] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 733-766 (see page 80). [9]According to another version, however, it is there that the youth who was in the chariot by the side of Medb and the pet bird were slain by the casts, but, according to this version, that happened after the slaying of Orlam.[9] [9] YBL. 766-769. * * * * * [Page 82] VIII THE SLAYING OF ORLAM [W.1393.] The four grand provinces of Erin set forth on the morrow eastwards over Cronn ('the Round'), which is a mountain. Cuchulain had gone out before them, till he came upon the charioteer of Orlam son of Aililla and of Medb. This was at Tamlacht Orlaim ('Orlam's Gravestone') [1]a little to the[1] north of Disert Lochaid ('Lochat's Hermitage'). The charioteer was engaged in cutting chariot-poles from a holly-tree in the wood. [2]But according to another version it is the hind pole of Cuchulain's chariot that was broken and it was to cut a pole he had gone when Orlam's charioteer came up.[2] [3]According to this version, it was the charioteer who was cutting the pole.[3] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 772. [2-2] YBL. 773-775. [3-3] LU. 773-775. [4]Not long was the battle-victorious Hound there when he heard a sound and an uproar.[4] "Behold, O Laeg," cried Cuchulain; "[5]who of the host of the foe have come into this land to carry off a share of cattle and booty from the province wherein they came?[5] How bold are the ways of the Ulstermen, if it be they that cut down the woods in this fashion in the face of the men of Erin. But, [6]check the horses and hold the chariot.[6] Tarry thou here a little, till I know who cuts down the woods in this manner." Then Cuchulain went on till he came up to [7]Orlam's[7] charioteer, [W.1401.] [1]to stop him; he thought he was one of the men of Ulster.[1] "What dost thou here, gilla?" asked Cuchulain. "Indeed, then," answered the gilla, "I cut chariot-poles from this holm, because our chariots were broken yesterday in pursuit of that famous wildling, namely Cuchulain. And for thy manhood's sake, young warrior, pray come to my aid, so that that famous Cuchulain come not upon me." "Take thy choice, gilla," said Cuchulain, "to gather or to trim them, either." "I will see to gathering them, for it is easier," [2]the gilla answered.[2] Cuchulain started to cut the poles and he drew them between the forks of his feet and his hands against their bends and their knots, so that he made them smooth and straight and slippery and trimmed; he polished them so that not even a midge could find footing thereon when he had passed them away from him. Then full sure the gilla gazed upon him. "Far then, meseems, from fitting is the task I put on thee. [3]And for love of thy valour,[3] who art thou, say, O warrior?" the gilla asked, [4]for he was sore affrighted.[4] "That same renowned Cuchulain am I of whom thou spakest [5]a while ago[5] in the morning." "Woe is me then, by reason of this," cried the gilla; "for this am I lost forever." [LL.fo.68b.] [6]"Whence comest thou [7]and who art thou[7]?" Cuchulain asked. "Charioteer am I of Orlam, Ailill's son and Medb's,"[6] [8]said he.[8] [9]"Fear nothing;[9] I will not slay thee at all, boy," said Cuchulain; "for I slay nor charioteers nor horseboys nor persons unarmed. But, prithee, where is thy master, [10]gilla[10]?" "Over yonder by the trench, [11]with his back to the pillar-stone,[11]" answered the gilla. "Off with thee thither to him and bear him a warning that he be on his guard. For if we meet he shall fall by my hand." [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] Stowe. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 777. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 786 [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 786-787. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] LU. 787. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 789. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [W.1419.] Thereupon the charioteer repaired [1]by one way[1] to his master, [2]and Cuchulain went by another,[2] and fast as the gilla sped to Orlam, faster still Cuchulain did reach him [3]and offered him combat[3] and he struck off his head, and raising it aloft displayed it to the men of Erin, [4]and he flourished it in the presence of the host.[4] [5]Then he put the head on the charioteer's back and said, "Take this with thee, and so go to the camp. Unless thou goest so, a stone out of my sling will reach thee." [1-1] H. 2. 17. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] Stowe, LU. and YBL. 792. When the charioteer came nigh to the camp he took the head from his back and told his adventures to Ailill and Medb. "It is not the same, this exploit and the catching of birds," quoth she. "And he told me" (said the boy), "unless I brought it on my back to the camp, he would break my head with a stone."[5] [6]Hence Leaca Orlaim ('Orlam's Flagstones') to the north of Disert Lochaid is the name of the place where he fell. Tamlachta ('Gravestones') is another name for it, and it is for this reason it is so called because of the little gravestones and the violent deaths which Cuchulain worked on it."[6] [5-5] LU. and YBL. 793-799. [6-6] H. 2. 17. * * * * * [Page 85] VIIIa [1]THE SLAYING OF THE THREE MacARACH[1] [W.1425.] Then came the three macArach on to the ford at Ard Ciannacht to encounter Cuchulain: Lon ('Ousel'), Uala ('Pride'), and Diliu ('Deluge');--Meslir ('Lir's Fosterling'), and Meslaoc ('Hero's Fosterling'), and Meslethain ('Lethan's Fosterling') were the names of their charioteers. This is why they came to engage with Cuchulain, for the deed he had done the day before they deemed past bearing, when the two sons of Nera son of Nuatar, son of Tacan, were slain at Ath Gabla ('Fork-ford'), and Orlam, Ailill's son and Medb's, was slain withal and his head displayed to the men of Erin, so that [2]their desire was[2] to kill Cuchulain in the same manner [3]in revenge for him,[3] [4]and that they should be the ones to rid the host of that pest[4] and bring his head with them to set it aloft. They went into the wood and cut off three [5]great[5] white-hazel wood-strips (and put them) into the hands of their charioteers, so that the six of them might engage in battle at one and the same time with Cuchulain. Cuchulain turned on them and smote their six heads from them. Thus fell the macArach at the hands of Cuchulain, [6]because they observed not fair fight with him. At that same time Orlam's charioteer was between Ailill and Medb. Cuchulain slung a stone at him, so that it broke his head and his brains came out over his ears. Fertedil was his name. Hence it is not true that Cuchulain slew no charioteers. Albeit he slew them not without fault.[6] [1-1] H. 2. 17, and, similarly, LU. fo. 64a, in the margin. LU. reads _MacGarach_. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 806. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 806-807. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 808-812. * * * * * [Page 86] VIIIb [1]THE COMBAT OF LETHAN AND CUCHULAIN[1] [W.1439.] There came also Lethan ('the Broad') to his ford on the Nith in the land of Conalle Murthemni, to fight with Cuchulain. [2]He was angered at what Cuchulain had wrought.[2] He came upon him at the ford. Ath Carpait ('Chariot-ford') is the name of the ford where they fought, for their chariots were broken in the combat on the ford. It is there that Mulcha, [3]Lethan's charioteer,[3] fell on the [4]shoulder of the[4] hill between the two fords, [5]for he had offered battle and combat to Laeg son of Riangabair.[5] Hence it is called Guala Mulchi ('Mulcha's Shoulder') ever since. It is there, too, that Cuchulain and Lethan met, and Lethan fell at Cuchulain's hands and he smote his head from his neck on the ford and left it therewith, that is, he left the head with the trunk. Wherefore the name of the ford [6]of the Nith[6] was called Ath Lethain ('Lethain's Ford') ever since in the district of Conalle Murthemni. [1-1] The superscription is taken from Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 837. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 841. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 841. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 839 and Stowe. Then came [7]unto them[7] the Crutti Cainbili ('the Tuneful Harpers'), from Ess Ruaid in the north to amuse them, [8]out of friendship for Ailill and Medb.[8] They opined it was to spy upon them [9]they were come[9] from Ulster. [10]When they came within sight of the camp of the men of Erin, fear, terror, and dread possessed them,[10] and the hosts pursued [W.1450.] them as never men pursued, far and wide, till they escaped them in the shapes of deer near the standing stones at Lia Mor ('Great Stone') [1]in the north.[1] For though they were known as the 'Mellifluous Harpers' they were [2]druids,[2] men of great cunning and great power of augury and magic. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 835. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 835. * * * * * [Page 88] VIIIc [1]THE KILLING OF THE SQUIRREL AND OF THE TAME BIRD[1] [W.1456.] Then Cuchulain made a threat [2]in Methè[2] that wherever he saw Medb he would cast a stone at her and that it would not go far from the side of her head. That he also fulfilled. In the place where he saw Medb west of the ford he cast a stone from his sling at her, so that it killed the pet bird that was on her shoulder. Medb passed over the ford eastwards, and again he cast a stone from his sling at her east of the ford, so that it killed the tame squirrel that was on her shoulder. Hence the names of those places are still, Meide in Togmail ('Squirrel's Neck') and Meide ind Eoin ('Bird's Neck'). And Ath Srethe ('Ford of the Throw') is the name of the ford over which Cuchulain cast the stone from his sling. [1-1] The superscription is taken from LU. fo. 64a, in the margin. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 813. [3]Then Reuin was drowned in his lake. Hence is Loch Reuin. "Your companion is not afar off from you," cried Ailill to the Manè. They stood up and looked around. When they sat down again, Cuchulain struck one of them so that his head was split. "It is well it was thou hast essayed that; thy[a] mirth was not seemly," quoth Manè the fool; "it is I would have taken his head off." Cuchulain flung a stone at him, so that his head was split. Thus these people were slain: Orlam, first of all, on his hill; the three sons of Arach[a] on their ford; Fertidil in his ... (?); Maenan on his hill. "I swear by the god by whom my people swear," cried Ailill; "the man that scoffs at Cuchulain here I will make two halves of. But above all let us hasten our way by day and by night," Ailill continued, "till we come to Cualnge. That man will slay two-thirds of your host in this fashion."[3] [3-3] LU. and YBL. 820-831 and, partly, in Eg. 1782. [a] Literally, 'your.' [a] '_Garech_,' LU. and YBL. 827. [1]Then did the men of Erin deliberate about going to ravage and lay waste Mag Breg and Meath and the plain of Conall and the land of Cuchulain; and it was in the presence of Fergus macRoig they discussed it.[1] [1-1] H. 2. 17. [W.1465.] The four grand provinces of Erin moved out on the morrow, and began to harry the plains of Breg and Murthemne. And the sharp, keen-edged anxiety [LL.fo.69a.] for Cuchulain came over his fosterer Fergus. And he bade the men of Erin be on their guard that night, for that Cuchulain would come upon them. And here again he sang in his praise, as we wrote it before,[b] and he uttered the lay:-- "If Cuchulain, Cualnge's Hound, And Red Branch chiefs on you come, Men will welter in their blood, Laying waste Murthemne's plain! [4]"Woe to him possesses wealth, 'Less he find a way to 'scape; And your wives will be enslaved, And your chiefs fill pools of blood![4] "Far away he[c] held his course, Till he reached Armenia's heights; Battle dared he, past his wont, And the Burnt-breasts[d] put to death! "Hardest for him was to drive Necht's sons from their chieftest haunts; And the smith's hound--mighty deed-- Hath he slain with single hand! [W.1483.] "More than this I've naught to say, As concerns Dechtirè's son; My belief, in troth, is this: Ye will now meet with your fate." [b] See above, p. 41. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [c] That is, Cuchulain. [d] That is, the Amazons. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 820-831 and, partly, in Eg. 1782. After this lay, that was the day that Donn ('the Brown Bull') of Cualnge came into the land of Marginè [1]to Sliab Culinn[1] and with him fifty heifers of the heifers [2]of Ulster;[2] and there he was pawing and digging up the earth in that place, [3]in the land of Marginè, in Cualnge;[3] that is, he flung the turf over him with his heels. [4]While the hosts were marching over Mag Breg, Cuchulain in the meanwhile laid hands on their camps.[4] It was on the same day that the Morrigan, daughter of Ernmas, [5]the prophetess[5] of the fairy-folk, came [6]in the form of a bird,[6] and she perched on the standing-stone in Temair of Cualnge giving the Brown Bull of Cualnge warning [7]and lamentations[7] before the men of Erin. Then she began to address him and what she said was this: "Good, now, O luckless one, thou Brown Bull of Cualnge," so spake the Morrigan; "take heed; for the men of Erin. [8]are on thy track and seeking thee[8] and they will come upon thee, and [9]if thou art taken[9] they will carry thee away to their camp [10]like any ox on a raid,[10] unless thou art on thy guard." And she commenced to give warning to him in this fashion, [11]telling him he would be slain on the Táin, and she delivered this judgement[11] and spake these words aloud:[a]-- [1-1] LU. and YBL. 853. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 857. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 842-843. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 844. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [a] The following passage in '_rosc_' is exceedingly difficult and obscure, and the translation given here is consequently incomplete and uncertain. "Knows not the restless Brown of the [12]truly deadly[12] [W.1502.] fray that is not uncertain?--A raven's[a] croak--The raven that doth not conceal--Foes range your checkered plain--[1]Troops on raids[1]--I have a secret--Ye shall know ... The waving fields--The deep-green grass ... and rich, soft plain--Wealth of flowers' splendour--Badb's cow-lowing--Wild the raven--Dead the men--A tale of woe--Battle-storms[b] on Cualnge evermore, to the death of mighty sons--Kith looking on the death of kin!" [12-12] LU. and YBL. 846, and Stowe. [a] The Morrigan, the Irish goddess of battle, most often appeared in the form of a raven. [1-1] Reading with H. 2. 17. [b] Translating _cloe_, as suggested by Windisch. [2]When the Brown Bull of Cualnge heard those words[2] he moved on to Glenn na Samaisce ('Heifers' Glen') in Sliab Culinn ('Hollymount') [3]in the north of Ulster,[3] and fifty of his heifers with him, [4]and his herdsman accompanied him; Forgemen was the name of the cowherd.[4] [5]And he threw off the thrice fifty boys who were wont to play on his back and he destroyed two-thirds of the boys.[5] This was one of the magic virtues of the Brown Bull of Cualnge: Fifty heifers he would cover every day. These calved before that same hour on the next day and such of them that calved not [6]at the due time[6] burst with the calves, because they could not suffer the begetting of the Brown Bull of Cualnge. One of the magic virtues of the Brown Bull of Cualnge were the fifty [7]grown[7] youths who engaged in games, [8]who[8] on his fine back [9]found room[9] every evening [10]to play draughts and assembly[c] and leaping[10]; [11]he would not put them from him nor would he totter under them.[11] Another of the magic virtues of the Brown Bull of Cualnge was the hundred warriors [W.1535.] he screened from the heat and the cold under his shadow and shelter. Another of the magic virtues of the Brown Bull of Cualnge was that no goblin nor boggart nor sprite of the glen dared come into one and the same cantred with him. Another of the magic virtues of the Brown Bull of Cualnge was his musical lowing every evening as he returned to his haggard, his shed and his byre. It was music enough and delight for a man in the north and in the south, [1]in the east and the west,[1] and in the middle of the cantred of Cualnge, the lowing he made at even as he came to his haggard, his shed, and his byre. These, then, are some of the magic virtues of the Brown Bull of Cualnge. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 854, and H. 2. 17. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 855-856. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [c] Apparently the name of some game. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [1-1] H. 2. 17. Thereupon on the morrow the hosts proceeded among the rocks and dunes of the land of Conalle Murthemni. [3]Cuchulain killed no one from Sailè ('the Sea') around Dorthè in the land of Conalle, until he reached Cualnge. At that time Cuchulain was in Cuincè, [2]that is a mountain.[2] He had threatened that, where he would see Medb, he would hurl a stone at her head. It was not easy to do this, for it was thus Medb went, with half the host around her and their canopy of shields over her head.[3] And Medb ordered a canopy of shields to be held over her head in order that Cuchulain might not strike her from the hills or hillocks or heights. Howbeit on that day, no killing nor attack came from Cuchulain upon the men of Erin, in the land of Murthemne among the rocks and dunes of Conalle Murthemni. [2-2] LU. 860. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 858-863. * * * * * [Page 93] VIIId [1]THE SLAYING OF LOCHE[1] [W.1552.] The warriors of four of the five grand provinces of Erin bided their time in Redè Lochè in Cualnge and pitched camp and took quarters therein for that night. Medb bade her fair handmaiden from amongst her attendants to go for her to the river for water for drinking and washing. Lochè was the name of the maiden. Thereupon Lochè went, and fifty[a] women in her train and the queen's diadem of gold on her head. And Cuchulain [2]espied them and he[2] [3]put a stone on his sling and[3] cast [LL.fo.69b.] a stone from his [4]staff[4]-sling at her, so that he broke the diadem of gold in three pieces and killed the maiden on her plain. Thence is Redè Lochè ('the Plain of Lochè') in Cualnge. For Cuchulain had thought, for want of acquaintance and knowledge, that it was Medb that was there. [1-1] LU. fo. 65a, in the margin. [a] 'forty,' H. 2. 17. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5]From Finnabair of Cualnge the hosts divided and set the country on fire. They gathered all their women and boys and girls and cattle in Cualnge together so that they all were in Finnabair. "Ye have not fared well," quoth Medb; "I see not the bull amongst you." "He is not in the land at all," replied every one. They summoned Lothar, the cowherd, to Medb. "Where, thinkest thou, is the bull?" she asked. "I have great fear to tell," said the cowherd. "The night," said he, "that the Ulstermen fell into their 'Pains,' the Donn went and three score heifers along with him; and he is at Dubcaire Glinni Gat ('the Black Corrie of the Osier-glen')." "Rise," said Medb, "and take a withy between each two of you." And they do accordingly. Hence is the name, Glenn Gatt, of that glen. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 867-887.] Then they led the bull to Finnabair. In the place where the bull saw Lothar, the cowherd, he attacked him, and soon he carried his entrails out on his horns and together with his thrice fifty heifers he attacked the camp, so that fifty warriors perished. Hence this is the Tragical Death of Lothar on the Táin [1]and the Finding of the Bull according to this version.[1] [2]Thereafter the bull went from them away from the camp and they knew not whither he had gone from them and they were ashamed. Medb asked the cowherd if he might know where the bull was. "I trow he is in the wilds of Sliab Culinn."[2] Then they turned back ravaging Cualnge and they found not the bull there.[5] [1-1] YBL. 882, which adds: 'We will not follow it further here.' [2-2] LU., edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe, page 34, note 16. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 867-887. * * * * * [Page 95] VIIIe [1]THE KILLING OF UALA[1] [W.1563.] [2]Early[2] on the morrow the hosts continued their way [3]to lay waste the plain of Murthemne and to sack Mag Breg and Meath and Machaire Conaill ('Conall's Plain') and the land of Cualnge. It was then that the streams and rivers of Conalle Murthemni rose to the tops of the trees, and the streams of the Cronn rose withal, until the hosts arrived at Glaiss Cruinn ('Cronn's Stream').[3] And they attempted the stream and failed to cross it [4]because of the size of its waves,[4] [5]so that they slept on its bank.[5] And Cluain Carpat ('Chariot-meadow') is the name of the first place where they reached it. This is why Cluain Carpat is the name of that place, because of the hundred[a] chariots which the river carried away from them to the sea. Medb ordered her people that one of the warriors should go try the river. And [6]on the morrow[6] there arose a great, stout, [7]wonderful[7] warrior of the [8]particular[8] people of Medb [9]and Ailill,[9] Uala by name, and he took on his back a massy rock, [10]to the end that Glaiss Cruinn might not carry him back.[10] And he went to essay the stream, and the stream threw him back dead, lifeless, with his [W.1571.] stone on his back [1]and so he was drowned.[1] Medb ordered that he be lifted [2]out of the river then[2] [3]by the men of Erin[3] and his grave dug [4]and his keen made[4] and his stone raised [5]over his grave,[5] so that it is thence Lia Ualann ('Uala's Stone') [6]on the road near the stream[6] in the land of Cualnge. [1-1] LU. fo. 65a, in the margin. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] LU. 887, a gloss. [a] H. 2. 17 has 'fifty charioteers.' [6-6] LU. and YBL. 889. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 889. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [1-1] H. 2. 17. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 891. Cuchulain clung close to the hosts that day provoking them to encounter and combat. [7]Four and seven score kings fell at his hands at that same stream,[7] and he slew a hundred of their [8]armed,[8] [9]kinglike[9] warriors around Roen and Roi, the two chroniclers of the Táin. [10]This is the reason the account of the Táin was lost and had to be sought afterwards for so long a time.[10] [7-7] LU. and YBL. 900. [8-8] Stowe and H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10-10] H. 2. 17; the story of the finding of the Táin is told in the _Imtheacht na Tromdhaimhe_ ("The Proceedings of the Great Bardic Institution"), edited by Owen Connellan, in the Transactions of the Ossianic Society, vol. v, 1857, pp. 103 fl. Medb called upon her people to go meet Cuchulain in encounter and combat [11]for the sake of the hosts.[11] "It will not be I," and "It will not be I," spake each and every one from his place. "No caitiff is due from my people. Even though one should be due, it is not I would go to oppose Cuchulain, for no easy thing is it to do battle with him." [12]When they had failed to find the Donn Cualnge,[12] the hosts kept their way along the river [13]around the river Cronn to its source,[13] being unable to cross it, till they reached the place where the river rises out of the mountains, and, had they wished it, they would have gone between the river and the mountain, but Medb would not allow it, so they had to dig and hollow out the mountain [W.1585.] before her in order [1]that their trace might remain there forever and[1] that it might be for a shame and reproach to Ulster. [11-11] Stowe. [12-12] H. 2. 17. [13-13] LU. and YBL. 893. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 895. [2]They tarried there three days and three nights till they had dug out the earth before them.[2] And Bernais ('the Gap') of the [4]Foray of Medb and the Gap of the[4] Foray of Cualnge is another name for the place ever since, for it is through it the drove afterwards passed. [3]There Cuchulain killed Cronn and Coemdele and ...[3] [2-2] LU. and YBL. 896. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 898-899. The warriors of the four grand provinces of Erin pitched camp and took quarters that night at Belat Aileain ('the Island's Crossway'). Belat Aileain was its name up to then, but Glenn Tail ('Glen of Shedding') is henceforth its name because of the abundance of curds and of milk [5]and of new warm milk[5] which the droves of cattle and the flocks [6]of the land of Conalle and Murthemne[6] yielded there [7]that night[7] for the men of Erin. And Liasa Liac ('Stone Sheds') is another name for it [8]to this day,[8] and it is for this it bears that name, for it is there that the men of Erin raised cattle-stalls and byres for their herds and droves [9]between Cualnge and Conalle.[9] [10]Botha is still another name for it, for the men of Erin erected bothies and huts there.[10] [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 909. [10-10] H. 2. 17. The four of the five grand provinces of Erin took up the march until they reached the Sechair [11]in the west on the morrow.[11] Sechair was the name of the river hitherto; Glaiss Gatlaig ('Osier-water') is its name henceforward. [12]And Glaiss Gatlaig rose up against them.[12] Now this is the reason it had that name, for it was in osiers and ropes that the men of Erin brought [W.1599.] their flocks and droves over across it, and the entire host let their osiers and ropes drift with the stream after crossing. Hence the name, Glaiss Gatlaig. [1]Then they slept at Druim Fenè in Conalle. These then are their stages from Cualnge to the plain (of Conalle Murthemni) according to this version. Other authors [2]of this Work[2] and other books aver that they followed another way on their journeyings from Finnabair to Conalle.[1] [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] LU. and YBL. 910. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 912-914. [2-2] YBL. 914. * * * * * [Page 99] VIIIf [1]THE HARRYING OF CUALNGE FOLLOWETH HERE BELOW[1] [2]After every one had come with their spoils and they were all gathered in Finnabair of Cualnge, Medb spake: "Let the camp be divided here," said Medb; "the foray cannot be caried on by a single road. Let Ailill with half his force go by Midluachair. We and Fergus will go by Bernas Bo Ulad ('the Pass of the Cattle of Ulster')." "Not fair is the part that has fallen to us of the force," said Fergus; "the cattle cannot be driven over the mountain without dividing." This then is done. Hence cometh Bernas Bo Ulad ('the Pass of the Cattle of Ulster'). [1-1] LU. fo. 65b, in the margin. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 916-1197, omitting 1079-1091. Then spake Ailill to his charioteer Cuillius: "Find out for me to-day Medb and Fergus. I wot not what hath led them to keep thus together. I would fain have a token from thee." Cuillius went where Medb and Fergus wantoned. The pair dallied behind while the warriors continued their march. Cuillius stole near them and they perceived not the spy. It happened that Fergus' sword lay close by him. Cuillius drew it from its sheath and left the sheath empty. Then Cuillius betook himself to Ailill. "Well?" said Ailill. "Well, then," replied [3]Cuillius;[3] "thou knowest the signification of this token. As thou hast thought," continued Cuillius, "it is thus I discovered them, lying together." "It is so, then." Each of them laughs, at the other. "It is well so," said Ailill; "she had no choice; to win his help on the Táin she hath done it. Keep the sword carefully by thee," said Ailill; "put it beneath thy seat in the chariot and a linen cloth wrapped round it." [3-3] LU. 930.] When Fergus got up to take his sword, "Alas!" cried he. "What aileth thee?" Medb asked. "An ill deed have I done Ailill," said he. "Wait thou here till I come out of the wood," said Fergus, "and wonder not though it be long till I come." It happened that Medb knew not of the loss of the sword. Fergus went out taking his charioteer's sword with him in his hand, and he fashioned a sword from a tree in the wood. Hence is Fid Mor Thruailli ('Great Scabbard-Wood') in Ulster. "Let us hasten after our comrades," said Fergus. The forces of all came together in the plain. They raised their tents. Fergus was summoned to Ailill for a game of chess. When Fergus entered the tent Ailill laughed at him.[a] [a] Here follows in LU. and YBL. 946-1020, Eg. 1782, a most difficult passage, rendered more obscure by the incorporation of glossarial notes into the body of the text. It is almost incapable of translation; it consists of a dialogue or series of repartees during a game of chess, in which Ailill taunts Fergus on the episode just narrated and Fergus replies. Cuchulain came so that he was before Ath Cruinn ('the Ford of the Cronn'). "O master Laeg," he cried to his driver, "here are the hosts for us." "I swear by the gods," said the charioteer, "I will do a mighty feat in the eyes of chariot-fighters, in quick spurring-on of the slender steeds; with yokes of silver and golden wheels shall they be urged on (?) in triumph. Thou shalt ride before heads of kings. The steeds I guide will bring victory with their bounding." "Take heed, O Laeg," said Cuchulain; "hold the reins for the great triumph of Macha, that the horses drag thee not over the mass at the ... (?) of a woman. Let us go over the straight plain of these ... (?). I call on the waters to help me," cried Cuchulain. "I beseech heaven and earth and the Cronn above all." Then the Cronn opposes them,[a] Holds them back from Murthemne, Till the heroes'[b] work is done On the mount of Ocainè![c] [a] That is, the men of Erin. [b] That is, Cuchulain and Laeg. [c] See above, page 97. Therewith the water rose up till it was in the tops of the trees. Manè son of Ailill and Medb marched in advance of the rest. Cuchulain slew him on the ford and thirty horsemen of his people were drowned. Again Cuchulain laid low twice sixteen warriors of theirs near the stream. The warriors of Erin pitched their tents near the ford. Lugaid son of Nos [1]grandson of Lomarc[1] Allcomach went to parley with Cuchulain. Thirty horsemen were with him. "Welcome to thee, O Lugaid," cried Cuchulain. "Should a flock of birds graze upon the plain of Murthemne, thou shalt have a wild goose with half the other. Should fish come to the falls or to the bays, thou shalt have a salmon with as much again. Thou shalt have the three sprigs, even a sprig of cresses, a sprig of laver, and a sprig of sea-grass; there will be a man to take thy place at the ford." "This welcome is truly meant," replied Lugaid; "the choice of people for the youth whom I desire!" "Splendid are your hosts," said Cuchulain. "It will be no misfortune," said Lugaid, "for thee to stand up alone before them." "True courage and valour have I," Cuchulain made answer. "Lugaid, my master," said Cuchulain, "do the hosts fear me?" "By the god," Lugaid made answer, "I swear that no one man of them nor two men dares make water outside the camp unless twenty or thirty go with him." "It will be something for them," said Cuchulain, "if I begin to cast from my sling. He will be fit for thee, O Lugaid, this companion thou hast in Ulster, [1]if the men oppose me one by one.[1] Say, then, what wouldst thou?" asked Cuchulain. "A truce with my host." "Thou shalt have it, provided there be a token therefor. And tell my master Fergus that there shall be a token on the host. Tell the leeches that there shall be a token on the host, and let them swear to preserve my life and let them provide me each night with provision." [1-1] LU. 1041. [1-1] Literally, 'if there oppose me the strength of each single man.' Lugaid went from him. It happened that Fergus was in the tent with Ailill. Lugaid called him out and reported that (proposal of Cuchulain's) to him. Then Ailill was heard:[a] [a] The sense of this proposal of Ailill's, omitted in the translation (LU. 1064-1069 and Eg. 1782), is not clear. "I swear by the god, I cannot," said [3]Fergus,[3] "unless I ask the lad. Help me, O Lugaid," said Fergus. "Do thou go to him, to see whether Ailill with a division may come to me to my company. Take him an ox with salt pork and a keg of wine." Thereupon Lugaid goes to Cuchulain and tells him that. "'Tis the same to me whether he go," said Cuchulain. Then the two hosts unite. They remain there till night, [4]or until they spend thirty nights there.[4] Cuchulain destroyed thirty of their warriors with his sling. "Your journeyings will be ill-starred," said Fergus (to Medb and Ailill); "the men of Ulster will come out of their 'Pains' and will grind you down to the earth and the gravel. Evil is the battle-corner wherein we are." He proceeds to Cul Airthir ('the Eastern Nook'). Cuchulain slays thirty of their heroes on Ath Duirn ('Ford of the Fist'). Now they could not reach Cul Airthir till night. Cuchulain killed thirty of their men there and they raised their tents in that place. In the morning Ailill's charioteer, Cuillius to wit, was washing the wheel-bands in the ford. Cuchulain struck him with a stone so that he killed him. Hence is Ath Cuillne ('Ford of Destruction') in Cul Airthir.'[2] [3-3] 'Lugaid,' LU. 1069. [4-4] YBL. 1075; but, 'they would be twenty nights there, as other books say,' LU. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 916-1197, omitting 1079-1091. * * * * * [Page 104] IX THE PROPOSALS [W.1603.] The four grand provinces of Erin proceeded till they pitched camp and took quarters in Druim En ('Birds' Ridge') in the land of Conalle Murthemni, [1]and they slept there[1] that night, [2]as we said before,[2] and Cuchulain held himself at Ferta Illergaib ('the Burial-mound on the Slopes') hard by them that night, and he, Cuchulain, shook, brandished and flourished his weapons that night. [3]Every night of the three nights they were there he made casts from his sling at them, from Ochaine nearby,[3] so that one hundred warriors of the host perished of fright and fear and dread of Cuchulain. [4]"Not long will our host endure in this way with Cuchulain," quoth Ailill.[4] Medb called upon Fiachu son of Ferfebè of the Ulstermen to go parley with Cuchulain, to come to some terms with him. "What terms shall be given him?" asked Fiachu son of Ferfebè. "Not hard to answer," Medb replied: "He shall be recompensed [5]for the loss of his lands and estates,[5] for whosoever has been slain of the Ulstermen, so that it be paid to him as the men of Erin adjudge [6]according to the will of the Ulstermen and of Fergus and of the nobles of the men of Erin who are in this camp and encampment.[6] Entertainment shall be his at all times in Cruachan; wine and [W.1614.] mead shall be poured [LL.fo.70a.] out for him. [1]He shall have from the plain of Ai the equal of the plain of Murthemne and the best chariot that is in Ai and the equipment of twelve men. Offer, if it please him more, the plain wherein he was reared and thrice seven bondmaids.[1] And he shall come into my service and Ailill's, for that is more seemly for him than to be in the service of the lordling with whom he is, [2]even of Conchobar son of Fachtna Fathatch.[2] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1097. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1098. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1100-1101. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1100-1102. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1103-1105. [2-2] H. 2. 17. Accordingly this was the greatest word of scorn and insult spoken on the Cow-Raid of Cualnge, to make a lordling of the best king of a province in Erin, even of Conchobar. Then came Fiachu son of Ferfebè to converse with Cuchulain. Cuchulain bade him welcome. "[3]Welcome thy coming and thine arrival, O Fiachu," said Cuchulain.[3] "I regard that welcome as truly meant," [4]said Fiachu.[4] "It is truly meant for thee" [5]replied Cuchulain[5]; "[6]and thou shalt have a night of hospitality this night." "Victory and a blessing attend thee, O fosterling," replied Fiachu. "Not for hospitality am I come, but[6] to parley with thee am I come from Medb, [7]and to bring thee terms."[7] "What hast thou brought with thee?" "Thou shalt be recompensed for whatsoever was destroyed of Ulster which shall be paid thee as best the men of Erin adjudge. Entertainment shalt thou enjoy in Cruachan; wine and mead shall be poured out for thee and thou shalt enter the service of Ailill and Medb, for that is more seemly for thee than to be in the service of the lordling with whom thou art." "Nay, of a truth," answered Cuchulain, "I would not sell my mother's brother[a] for any other king!" "Further," [8]continued Fiachu,[8] "that [W.1627.] thou comest to-morrow to a tryst with Medb and Fergus in Glenn Fochaine. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] Stowe. [a] That is, Conchobar. [8-8] Stowe. [1]Therewith Fiachu left behind a wish for long life and health with Cuchulain.[1] [1-1] Stowe. Accordingly, early on the morrow, Cuchulain set forth for Glenn Fochaine. Likewise Medb and Fergus went to meet him. And Medb looked narrowly at Cuchulain, and her spirit chafed her at him that day, for no bigger than the bulk of a stripling did he seem to her. "Is that yonder the renowned Cuchulain thou speakest of, O Fergus?" asked Medb, [2]"of whom it is said amongst ye Ulstermen that there is not in Erin a warrior for whom he is not a match and mighty combat?" "Not in Erin alone, did we say," Fergus made answer; "but there is not in the world a warrior for whom he is not a match and mighty combat."[2] And Medb began to address Fergus and she made this lay:-- Medb: "If that be the noble Hound, Of whom ye of Ulster boast, What man e'er stout foe hath faced, Will fend him from Erin's men!" Fergus: "Howe'er young the Hound thou seest, That Murthemne's Plain doth course, That man hath not stood on earth Whom he'd crush not with his might!" Medb: "We will bring this warrior terms; If he slight them, he is mad: Half his cows, his women, half. He shall change his way of fight!" Fergus: "My wish, that yell not o'ercome This Hound from proud Murthemne! Deeds he fears not--fierce and bright-- This I know, if it be he!" [2-2] H. 2. 17. "Accost Cuchulain, O Fergus," said Medb. "Nay, then," quoth Fergus, "but do thou accost him thyself, for ye are not asunder here in the valley, in Glenn Fochaine." [W.1653.] And Medb began to address Cuchulain and she made a lay, [1]to which he responded:[1] Medb: "Culann's Hound, whom quatrains praise,[a] Keep thy staff-sling far from us; Thy fierce, famed fight hath us ruined, Hath us broken and confused!" Cuchulain: "Medb of Mur, he, Maga's son, No base arrant wight am I. While I live I'll never cease Cualnge's raid to harass sore!" Medb: "If thou wilt take this from us, Valiant chief, thou Cualnge's Hound; Half thy cows, thy women, half, Thou shalt have [2]through fear of thee!"[2] Cuchulain: "As by right of thrusts am I Ulster's champion and defence, Naught I'll yield till I retrieve Cow and woman ta'en from Gael!" Medb: "What thou askest is too much, After slaughtering our fair troops, That we keep but steeds and gauds, All because of one sole man!" Cuchulain: "Eocho's daughter, fair, of Fal, I'm not good at wars of words; Though a warrior--[b] fair the cheer--[b] Counsel mine is little worth!" Medb: "Shame thou hast none for what thou sayest, O Dechtirè's lordly[c] son! Famous are the terms for thee, O thou battling Culann's Hound!" [1-1] Stowe. [a] Literally, 'love.' [2-2] Reading with H. 1. 13 and Stowe. [b-b] A cheville. [c] Literally, 'richly trooped.' When this lay was finished, Cuchulain accepted none of the terms which she had offered. In such wise they parted in the valley and withdrew in equal anger on the one side and on the other. The warriors of four of the five grand provinces of Erin pitched camp and took quarters for three days and three nights at Druim En ('Birds' Ridge') in Conalle Murthemni, but neither huts nor tents did they set up, nor did they [W.1688.] engage in feasts or repasts, nor sang they songs nor carols those three nights. And Cuchulain destroyed a hundred of their warriors every night ere the bright hour of sunrise on the morrow. [LL.fo.70b.] "Our hosts will not last long in this fashion," said Medb, "if Cuchulain slays a hundred of our warriors every night. Wherefore is a proposal not made to him and do we not parley with him?" "What might the proposal be?" asked Ailill. "Let the cattle that have milk be given to him and the captive women from amongst our booty. And he on his side shall check his staff-sling from the men of Erin and give leave to the hosts to sleep, [1]even though he slay them by day."[1] "Who shall go with that proposal?" Ailill asked. "Who," answered Medb, "but macRoth the [2]chief[2] runner!" "Nay, but I will not go," said macRoth, "for I am in no way experienced and know not where Cuchulain may be, [3]and even though I should meet him, I should not know him.[3]" "Ask Fergus," quoth Medb; "like enough he knows [4]where he is.[4]" "Nay, then, I know it not," answered Fergus; "but I trow he is [5]in the snow[5] between Fochain and the sea, taking the wind and the sun after his sleeplessness last night, killing and slaughtering the host single handed." And so it truly was. [6]Then on that errand to Delga macRoth set forth, the messenger of Ailill and Medb. He it is that circles Erin in one day. There it is that Fergus opined that Cuchulain would be, in Delga.[6] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1128. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1109-1111. Heavy snow fell that night so that all the [7]five[7] provinces of Erin were a white plane with the snow. And Cuchulain doffed the seven-score waxed, boardlike tunics which were used to be held under cords and strings next his skin, in order that his sense might not be deranged when [W.1709.] the fit of his fury came on him. And the snow melted for thirty feet all around him, because of the intensity of the warrior's heat and the warmth of Cuchulain's body. And the gilla [1]remained a good distance from him for he[1] could not endure to remain near him because of the might of his rage and the warrior's fury and the heat of his body. "A single warrior approacheth, O Cuchulain," cried Laeg [2]to Cuchulain.[2] "What manner of warrior is he?" asked Cuchulain. "A brown, broad-faced, handsome fellow; [3]a yellow head of hair and a linen ornament round it[3]; a splendid, brown, [4]hooded[4] cloak, [5]with red ornamentation,[5] about him; a fine, bronze pin in his cloak; a leathern three-striped doublet next his skin; two gapped shoes between his two feet and the ground; a white-hazel dog-staff in one of his hands; a single-edged sword with ornaments of walrus-tooth on its hilt in the other. "Good, O gilla," quoth Cuchulain, "these be the tokens of a herald. One of the heralds of Erin is he to bring me message and offer of parley." [7-7] Stowe. [1-1] H. 2. 17. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1112. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1112. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1113. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1114. Now was macRoth arrived at the place where Laeg was, "[6]How now[6]! What is thy title as vassal, O gilla? "macRoth asked. "Vassal am I to the youth up yonder," the gilla made answer. MacRoth came to the place where Cuchulain was. [7]Cuchulain was sitting in the snow there up to his two hips with nothing about him ... his mantle.[7] "[8]How now[8]! What is thy name as vassal, O warrior?" asked macRoth. "Vassal am I to Conchobar son of Fachtna Fathach, [9]son of the High King of this province."[9] "Hast not something, [10]a name[10] more special than that?" "Tis enough for the nonce," answered Cuchulain. "Haply, thou knowest where I might find that famous Cuchulain of whom the men [W.1729.] of Erin clamour now on this foray?" "What wouldst thou say to him that thou wouldst not to me?" asked Cuchulain. "To parley with him am I come on the part of Ailill and Medb, with terms and friendly intercourse for him." "What terms hast thou brought with thee for him?" "The milch-kine and the bondwomen of the booty he shall have, and for him to hold back his staff-sling from the hosts, for not pleasant is the thunder-feat he works every evening upon them." "Even though the one thou seekest were really at hand, he would not accept the proposals thou askest." "[1]How so, then," said macRoth[1]; "for the Ulstermen, as amends for their honour and in reprisal for injuries and satires and hindrances [2]and for bands of troops and marauders,[2] will kill [3]for meat in the winter[3] the milch-cows ye have captured, should they happen to have no yeld cattle. And, what is more, they will bring their bondwomen to bed to them, and thus will grow up a base progeny on the side of the mothers in the land of Ulster, [4]and loath I am to leave after me such a disgrace on the men of Ulster.[4] [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1116-1118. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 1120. [1] H. 2. 17. [2] H. 2. 17. [3] LU. and YBL. 1135. [4] H. 2. 17. MacRoth went his way back [5]to the camp of the men of Erin to where Ailill and Medb and Fergus were.[5] "What! Didst thou not find him?" Medb asked. "Verily, [6]I know not, but[6] I found a surly, angry, hateful, wrathful gilla [7]in the snow[7] betwixt Fochain and the sea. Sooth to say, I know not if he were Cuchulain." "Hath he accepted these proposals [8]from thee?"[8] "Nay then, he hath not." And macRoth related [9]unto them all his answer,[9] the reason why he did not accept them. "It was he himself with whom thou spakest," said Fergus. [5] H. 2. 17. [6] H. 2. 17. [7] H. 2. 17. [8] Stowe. [9] Stowe. "Another offer shall be made him," said Medb. "What is the offer?" asked Ailill. "There shall be given to him [W.1747.] the yeld cattle and the noblest of the captive women of the booty, and his sling shall be checked from the hosts, for not pleasant is the thunder-feat he works on them every evening." "Who should go make this covenant?" [1]said they.[1] "Who but macRoth [2]the king's envoy,"[2] [3]said every one.[3] "Yea, I will go," said macRoth, "because this time I know him." [1-1] H. 2. 17. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] Stowe. [4]Thereupon[4] macRoth [5]arose and[5] came to parley with Cuchulain. "To parley with thee am I come this time [6]with other terms,[6] for I wis it is thou art the renowned Cuchulain." "What hast thou brought with thee now?" [7]Cuchulain asked.[7] "What is dry of the kine and what is noblest of the captives [8]shalt thou get,[8] and hold thy staff-sling [LL.fo.71a.] from the men of Erin and suffer the men of Erin to go to sleep, for not pleasant is the thunder-feat thou workest upon them every evening." "I accept not that offer, because, as amends for their honour, the Ulstermen will kill the dry cattle. For the men of Ulster are honourable men and they would remain wholly without dry kine and milch-kine. They would bring their free women ye have captured to the querns and to the kneading-troughs and into bondage and [9]other[9] serfdom [10]besides.[10] [11]This would be a disgrace.[11] Loath I should be to leave after me this shame in Ulster, that slave-girls and bondmaids should be made of the daughters of kings and princes of Ulster." "Is there any offer at all thou wilt accept this time?" [12]said macRoth[12] "Aye, but there is," answered Cuchulain. "Then wilt thou tell me the offer?" asked macRoth. "By my word," Cuchulain made answer, "'tis not I that will tell you." "It is a question, then," said macRoth. "If there be among you in the camp," said Cuchulain, "one that knows the terms I demand, let [W.1766.] him inform you, [1]and I will abide thereby."[1] "And if there be not?"[2] said macRoth. "If there be not," said Cuchulain,[2] "let no one come near me any more with offers or with friendly intercourse [3]or concerning aught other injunction,[3] for, whosoever may come, it will be the term of his life!" [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] H. 2. 17. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] Stowe. MacRoth came back [4]to the camp and station of the men of Erin, to where Ailill, Medb, and Fergus were,[4] and Medb asked his tidings. "Didst thou find him?" Medb asked. "In truth, I found him," macRoth replied. "Hath he accepted [5]the terms?"[5] "He hath not accepted," replied macRoth. "[6]How so;" said Ailill,[6] "is there an offer he will accept?" "There is one, he said," [7]answered macRoth.[7] "Hath he made known to thee this offer?" "This is his word," said macRoth, "that he himself would not disclose it to ye." "'Tis a question, then," said Medb. "But" (macRoth continued), "should there be one in our midst that knows his terms, that one would tell it to me." "And if there be not," [8]said Ailill. "And if there be not,"[8] (answered macRoth), "let no one go seek him any more. But, there is one thing I promise [9]thee,"[9] said macRoth; "even though the kingdom of Erin were [10]given me[10] for it, I for one would not go [11]on these same legs to that place[11] to parley with him [12]again."[12] [13]"Belike, Fergus knows," quoth Ailill.[13] Therewith Medb looked at Fergus. "What are the terms yonder man demands, O Fergus? "Medb asked. [14]"I know what the man meant to disclose.[14] I see no advantage at all for ye in the terms he demands," Fergus replied. "[15]But[15] what are those terms?" asked Medb. "[16]Not difficult to say," replied Fergus.[16] "That a single champion of [W.1782.] the men of Erin [1]be sent[1] to fight [2]and contend[2] with him every day. The while he slayeth that man, the army will be permitted to continue its march. Then, when he will have slain that man, another warrior shall be sent to meet him on the ford. Either that, or the men of Erin shall halt and camp there till sunrise's bright hour in the morning. [3]And, by the ford whereon his single-handed battle and fight takes place, the cattle shall not be taken by day or by night, to see if there come to him help from the men of Ulster. And I wonder," continued Fergus, "how long it will be till they come out of their 'Pains.'[3] [4]Whatever Ulstermen are injured or wounded nearby him, your leeches shall heal them and ye shall not be paid for the price of their healing. Whatever daughter of kings or of princes of the men of Erin shall love him, ye shall bring her to him together with her purchase and bride-price.[4] And further, Cuchulain's food and clothing shall be provided by you, [5]so long as he will be[5] on this expedition." [6]"Good, O Fergus,"[6] asked Ailill,[a] [7]"will he abate aught of these terms?" "In sooth, will he," replied Fergus; "namely, he will not exact to be fed and clothed by you, but of himself will provide food and clothing."[7] [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] Stowe and H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] Stowe. [12-12] Stowe. [13-13] H. 2. 17. [14-14] LU. and YBL. 1138. [15-15] H. 2. 17. [16-16] H. 2. 17. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1140-1143. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] Stowe and H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [a] 'Medb,' H. 2. 17. [7-7] H. 2. 17. "By our conscience," said Ailill, "this is a grievous proposal." "What he asks is good," replied Medb; "and he shall obtain those terms, for we deem it easier to bear that he should have one of our warriors every day than a hundred every night." "Who will go and make known those terms to Cuchulain?" "Who, then, but Fergus?" replied Medb. "[8]Come now, O Fergus," said Medb; "take upon thee to fulfil and make good those terms to him."[8] "Nevermore!" said Fergus. "Why not?" asked Ailill. [9]"I fear ye will not make true and fulfil them for [W.1792.] me." "They will truly be fulfilled," said Medb.[9] (Then said Fergus:) "Bonds and covenants, pledges and bail shall be given for abiding by those terms and for their fulfilment towards Cuchulain." "I abide by it," said Medb, and she fast bound Fergus to them in like manner. [8-8] H. 2. 17 [9-9] H. 2. 17. * * * * * [Page 115] X [1]THE VIOLENT DEATH OF ETARCUMUL[1] [W.1798.] Fergus' horses were brought and his chariot was hitched [2]and Fergus set forth on that errand.[2] And two horses were brought for Etarcumul son of Fid and of Lethrinn, a soft youth of the people of Medb and of Ailill. [3]Now Etarcumul followed Fergus.[3] "Whither goest thou?" Fergus demanded. "We go with thee," Etarcumul made answer. [4]"And why goest thou with me?" asked Fergus.[4] "To behold the form and appearance of Cuchulain, and to gaze upon him, [5]for he is unknown to me."[5] "Wilt thou do my bidding," said Fergus, "thou wilt in no wise go thither." "Why shall I not, pray?" [6]"I would not have thee go," said Fergus; "and it is not out of hatred of thee, only I should be loath to have combat between thee and Cuchulain.[6] Thy light-heartedness, [7]thy haughtiness and thy pride[7] and thine overweeningness (I know), but (I also know) the fierceness and valour and hostility, the [8]violence and vehemence[8] of the youth against whom thou goest, [9]even Cuchulain.[9] And methinks ye will have contention before ye part. [10]No good will come from your meeting."[10] "Art thou not able to come between us [11]to protect me?"[11] [W.1806.] "I am, to be sure," Fergus answered, "provided thou thyself seek not the combat[1] and treat not what he says with contempt."[1] "I will not seek it," [2]said Etarcumul,[2] "till the very day of doom!" [1-1] LU. fo. 68a, in the margin. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1145. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1145. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1147-1149. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1149. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1150. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 1150. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1152. [2-2] Stowe and H. 2. 17. Then they went their ways [3]in two chariots to Delga,[3] to come up to Cuchulain where Cuchulain was between Fochain and the sea. [4]There it is that he was that day, with his back to the pillar-stone at Crich Rois,[4] playing draughts with Laeg, [5]to wit, his charioteer.[5] [6]The back of his head was turned towards them that approached and Laeg faced them.[6] And not a [7]living[7] thing entered the [8]entire[8] plain without Laeg perceiving it and, notwithstanding, he continued to win every other game of draughts from Cuchulain. "A lone warrior cometh towards us [9]over the plain,[9] [10]my master[10] Cucuc," spake Laeg. "What manner of warrior?" queried Cuchulain. [11]"A fine, large chariot is there," said he.[11] [12]"But what sort of chariot?"[12] "As large as one of the chief mountains that are highest on a great plain appears to me [LL.fo.71b.] the chariot that is under the warrior; [13]and I would liken to the battlements of one of the vast, royal seats of the province the chariot that is in the trappings of those horses;[13] as large as one of the noble trees on a main fort's green meseems the curly, tressed, fair-yellow, all-golden hair hanging loose around the man's head; a purple mantle fringed with thread of gold [14]wrapped[14] around him; a golden, ornamented brooch in the mantle [15]over his breast;[15] [16]a bright-shining, hooded shirt, with red embroidery of red gold trussed up on his white [W.1819.] skin;[16] a broad and grey-shafted lance, [1]perforated from _mimasc_[a] to 'horn,'[1] flaming red in his hand; over him, a bossed, plaited shield, [2]curved, with an engraved edge of silvered bronze,[2] [3]with applied ornaments of red gold thereon,[3] and a boss of red gold; a lengthy sword, as long as the oar[4] of a huge currach [5]on a wild, stormy night,[5] [6]resting on the two thighs[6] of the great haughty warrior that is within the chariot.[4]" [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1153. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] LL., in the margin. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1154-1155. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] H. 2. 17. [13-13] H. 2. 17. [14-14] H. 2. 17. [15-15] Stowe. [16-16] H. 2. 17. [a] Some part of the spear. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1159. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1158. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] Following Windisch's emendation of the text. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1160. "Holla! Welcome the coming of this guest to us!" cried Cuchulain. "We know the man; it is my master Fergus that cometh hither. [7]Empty is the great paddle that my master Fergus carries," said Cuchulain; "for there is no sword in its sheath but a sword of wood. For I have heard," Cuchulain continued, "that Ailill got a chance at him and Medb as they lay, and he took away Fergus' sword from him and gave it to his charioteer to take care of, and the sword of wood was put into its sheath."[7] [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1160-1165. "Yet another single chariot-fighter I see coming towards us. With fulness of skill and beauty and splendour his horses speed." [8]"A young, tender gilla in armour is in the chariot.[8]" "One of the youths of the men of Erin is he, O my master Laeg," responded Cuchulain. "To scan my appearance and form is that man come, for I am renowned amongst them in the midst of their camp, [9]and they know me not at all."[9] [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] H. 2. 17. Fergus came up [10]to where Cuchulain was[10] and he sprang from the chariot, and Cuchulain bade him [11]a hearty[11] welcome. [12]"Welcome to thine arrival and thy coming, O my master Fergus!" cried Cuchulain; "and a night's [W.1831.] lodging shalt thou have here this night."[12] [1]"Thy hospitality and eke thy welcome[1] I take for true," Fergus responded. "Verily, it is truly meant for thee," said Cuchulain; "for comes there a brace of birds into the plain, thou shalt have a wild goose with half the other. If fish rise to the river-mouths, [2]to the stones or waterfalls,[2] thou shalt have a salmon with as much again. Thou shalt have a handful of watercress and a handful of sea-grass and a handful of laver [3]and a drink from the sand[3] [4]afterwards.[4] If thou hast a fight or combat [5]with warrior before thee,[5] I myself will go in thy stead to the ford. [6]I will bear the fight that thou mayest return safe to the camp and the fort of the men of Erin on the morrow,[6] [7]and thou shalt lie on a litter of fresh rushes till heavy sleep and slumber come on thee,[7] [8]and I will watch and guard thee as long as thou sleepest."[8] "Well, then, [9]mayest thou have victory and blessing, O fosterling," said Fergus.[9] "We know of what sort is thy hospitality on this occasion, on the Cow-spoil of Cualnge. [10]But, not to claim that are we come,[10] [11]a night's hospitality of thee, but to fulfil and make good the terms thou askest.[11] As for this compact which thou hast asked of the men of Erin, single-handed combat with one man, thou shalt have it. It is for that I am come, to bind thee thereto, and do thou take it upon thee." "I pledge myself truly," said Cuchulain, [13]provided fair play and single-handed combat be granted to me.[13] "And, O, my master Fergus, [14]do thou take upon thee the pact," said Cuchulain. "I bind myself to it," replied Fergus.[14] [W.1841.] And no longer than that did he remain in parley, lest the men of Erin should say they were betrayed or deserted by Fergus for his disciple. Fergus' two horses were brought and his chariot was harnessed and he went back. [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] H. 2. 17. [1-1] H. 2. 17, and, similarly, Stowe. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1170 and H. 2. 17. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] Reading with Stowe. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10-10 Stowe. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [13-13] H. 2. 17. [14-14] H. 2. 17. Etarcumul tarried behind gazing for a long time at Cuchulain. "At what starest thou, gilla?" asked Cuchulain. "I look at thee," said Etarcumul. "In truth then, thou hast not far to look," said Cuchulain. [1]"There is no need of straining thine eye for that; not far from thee within sight, thine eye seeth what is not smaller than I nor bigger.[1] If thou but knewest how angered is the little creature thou regardest, myself, to wit! And how then do I appear unto thee gazing upon me?" "Thou pleasest me as thou art; a comely, [2]shapely,[2] wonderful, beautiful youth thou art, with brilliant, striking, various feats. Yet as for rating thee where goodly warriors are or forward youths or heroes of bravery or sledges of destruction, we count thee not nor consider thee at all. [3]I know not why thou shouldst be feared by any one. I behold nothing of terror or fearfulness or of the overpowering of a host in thee. So, a comely youth with arms of wood and with showy feats is all thou art!"[3] [4]"Though thou revilest me,"[4] said Cuchulain, "it is a surety for thee that thou camest from the camp under the protection of Fergus, [5]as thou well knowest.[5] For the rest, I swear by my gods whom I worship, were it not for the honour of Fergus, it would be only bits of thy bones and shreds of thy limbs, [6]thy reins drawn and thy quarters scattered[6] that would be brought back to the camp [7]behind thy horses and chariot!"[7] "But threaten me no longer [W.1858.] in this wise, [1]Cuchulain[1]!" [2]cried Etarcumul;[2] "for the [3]wonderful[3] terms thou didst exact of the men of Erin, [4]that fair play and[4] combat with one man [5]should be granted thee,[5] none other of the men of Erin but mine own self will come to-morrow [6]at morn's early hour on the ford[6] to attack thee." [1-1] Reading with H. 2. 17. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1178-1180. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1181. [5-5] Stowe; LL. reads 'I know.' [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1182-1183. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [1-1] H. 2. 17. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1185. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. "Come out, then," [7]said Cuchulain,[7] "and howso early thou comest, thou wilt find me here. I will not fly before thee. [8]Before no man have I put foot in flight till now on the Plunder of the Kine of Cualnge and neither will I fly before thee!"[8] [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. Etarcumul returned [9]from Methè and Cethè,[9] and began to talk with his driver. "I must needs fight with Cuchulain to-morrow, gilla," said Etarcumul, [10]"for I gave my word to go."[10] "'Tis true, thou didst," quoth the charioteer. [LL.fo.72a.] "Howbeit, I know not wilt thou fulfil it." "But what is better [11]for us,[11] to fulfil it to-morrow or forthwith to-night?" "To our thinking," said the gilla, "albeit no victory is to be won by fighting to-morrow, there is still less to be gained by fighting to-night, for thy combat [12]and hurt[12] is the nearer." "[13]Be that as it may," said he[13]; "turn the [14]horses and[14] chariot back again [15]from the hill[15] for us, gilla, [16]till we go to the ford of combat,[16] for I swear by the gods whom I worship, I will not return [17]to the camp[17] till the end of life and time, till I bring with me the head of that young wildling, [18]even[18] the head of Cuchulain, for a trophy!" [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1188. [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] H. 2. 17. [13-13] H. 2. 17. [14-14] H. 2. 17. [15-15] LU. and YBL. 1190. [16-16] H. 2. 17. [17-17] Stowe. [18-18] Stowe. The charioteer wheeled the chariot again towards the [W.1871.] ford. They brought the left[a] board to face the pair in a line with the ford. Laeg marked [1]this and he cried[1] [2]to Cuchulain[2]: ("Wist thou) the last chariot-fighter that was here a while ago, O Cucuc?" "What of him?" asked Cuchulain. "He has brought his left board towards us in the direction of the ford." "It is Etarcumul, O gilla, who seeks me in combat. [3]I owe no refusal,[3] but far from pleased am I thereat [4]that he should come and seek combat of me. And unwelcome is his coming,[4] because of the honour of my foster-father [5]Fergus[5] under whom he came forth from the camp [6]of the men of Erin.[6] But not that I would protect him do I thus. Fetch me my arms, gilla, to the ford. [7]Bring me my horse and my chariot after me.[7] I deem it no honour for myself if [8]the fellow[8] reaches the ford before me." And straightway Cuchulain betook himself to the ford, and he bared his sword over his fair, well-knit spalls and he was ready on the ford to await Etarcumul. [a] A sign of hostility and an insult. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1191. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1192. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. Then, too, came Etarcumul. "What seekest thou, gilla?" demanded Cuchulain. "Battle with thee I seek," replied Etarcumul. "Hadst thou been advised by me," said Cuchulain, "thou wouldst never have come. [9]I do not desire what thou demandest of me.[9] [10]I have no thought of fighting or contending with thee, Etarcumul.[10] Because of the honour of Fergus under whom thou camest out of the camp [11]and station of the men of Erin,[11] and not because I would spare thee, do I behave thus." [12]"Thou hast no choice but to fight," replied Etarcumul.[12] Thereupon Cuchulain gave him a long-blow whereby [W.1886.] he cut away the sod that was under the soles of his feet, so that he was stretched out like a sack on his back, and [1]his limbs in the air[1] and the sod on his belly. Had Cuchulain wished it it is two pieces he might have made of him. [2]"Hold, fellow.[2] Off with thee now, for I have given thee warning. [3]It mislikes me to cleanse my hands in thee. I would have cloven thee into many parts long since but for Fergus."[3] "I will not go. We will fight on," said Etarcumul. Cuchulain dealt him a well-aimed edge-stroke. [4]With the edge of his sword[4] he sheared the hair from him from poll to forehead, from one ear to the other, as if it were with a light, keen razor he had been shorn. [5]Not a scratch of his skin gave blood.[5] [6]"Hold, fellow.[6] Get thee home now," said Cuchulain, "for a laughing-stock I have made of thee." "I go not," [7]rejoined Etarcumul.[7] "We will fight to the end, till I take thy head and thy spoils and boast over thee, or till thou takest my head and my spoils and boastest over me!" "So let it be, what thou saidst last, that it shall be. I will take thy head and thy spoils and boast over thee!" [8]When now the churl became troublesome and persistent,[8] Cuchulain [9]sprang from the ground, so that he alighted on the edge of Etarcumul's shield, and he[9] dealt him a cleaving-blow on the crown of the head, so that it drove to his navel. He dealt him a second crosswise stroke, so that at the one time the three portions of his body came to the ground. Thus fell Etarcumul son of Fid and of Lethrinn. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1194-1195. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] LU. and YBL. 1195. [1-1] H. 2. 17. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1197-1199. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1204. [5-5] H. 2 17. [6-6] H. 2 17. [7-7] Stowe and H. 2. 17. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1206-1207. [9-9] H. 2. 17. [10]Then Etarcumul's charioteer went his way after Fergus,[10] and Fergus knew not that the combat had been. For thus was his wont: [11]From the day Fergus took warrior's arms in hand,[11] he never for aught looked back, whether at [W.1904.] sitting or at rising or when travelling or walking, in battle or fight or combat, lest some one might say it was out of fear he looked back, but ever he looked at the thing that was before and beside him. [1]Fergus saw the chariot go past him and a single man in it.[1] [2]And when[2] Etarcumul's squire came up abreast of Fergus, Fergus asked, "But, where is thy lord, gilla?" "He fell a while since at the ford by the hand of Cuchulain," the gilla made answer. "That indeed was not fair!" exclaimed Fergus, "for that elf-like sprite to wrong me in him that came under my safeguard [3]and protection[3] [4]from the camp and fort of the men of Erin.[4] Turn the chariot for us, gilla," cried Fergus, "that we may go to [5]the ford of fight and combat[5] for a parley with Cuchulain." [10-10] H. 2. 17. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1208. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] H. 2. 17. [5-5] H. 2. 17. Thereupon the driver wheeled the chariot. They fared thither towards the ford. [6]Fergus turned to rebuke Cuchulain.[6] "How darest thou offend me, thou wild, [7]perverse, little[7] elf-man," cried Fergus, "in him that came under my safeguard and protection? [8]Thou thinkest my club short."[8] [LL.fo.72b.] [9]"Be not wroth with me, my master Fergus," said Cuchulain.[9] "After the nurture and care thou didst bestow on me [10]and the Ulstermen bestowed and Conchobar[10] tell me, which wouldst thou hold better, [11]for the Ulstermen to be conquered without anyone to punish them but me alone and[11] for him to triumph and boast over me, or for me to triumph and boast over him? And yet more, [12]of his own fault he fell.[12] Ask his own gilla which of us was in fault in respect of the other; [13]it was none other but he.[13][a] [1]Reproach me not, O Fergus my master." He bent down so that Fergus' chariot went past him thrice. "Ask his charioteer, is it I that have caused it?" "Not thou indeed," answered his charioteer. "He said," Cuchulain went on, "he would not go till either he took my head or he left me his own."[1] [2]Then Etarcumul's gilla related to Fergus how it all befel. When Fergus heard that, what he said was:[2] [W.1921.] "Liefer to me what thou hast done, [3]O fosterling," said Fergus, "that Etarcumul is slain, and[3] a blessing on the hand that smote him, [4]for it is he that was overweening."[4] [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1209. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1210. Probably a proverbial expression. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1210. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [11-11] H. 2. 17. [12-12] H. 2. 17. [13-13] H. 2. 17. [a] Lines 1212-1216 LU. and YBL. (Edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe) are omitted in the translation. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1216-1220. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1222. So then they bound two spancels about the ankle-joints of Etarcumul's feet and he was dragged along behind his horses and chariot. At every rock that was rough for him, his lungs and his liver were left on the stones and the rugged places. At every place that was smooth for him, his skilfully severed limbs came together again round the horses. In this wise he was dragged through the camp to the door of the tent of Ailill and Medb: "There's your young warrior for you," cried Fergus, "for 'Every restoration together with its restitution' is what the law saith."[a] Medb came forth to the door of her tent and she raised her [5]quick, splitting,[5] loud voice [6]of a warrior.[6] Quoth Medb. "Truly, methought that great was the heat and the wrath of this young hound [7]on leaving us awhile since[7] at the beginning of the day as he went from the camp. [8]It is no fortune for a tender youth that falls on thee now.[8] We had thought that the honour under which he went, even the honour of Fergus, was not the honour of a dastard!" "What hath crazed the virago and wench?" cried Fergus. "Good lack, [W.1935.] is it fitting for the mongrel to seek the Hound of battle whom [1]the warriors and champions[1] of four of the five grand provinces of Erin dare not approach nor withstand? What, I myself was glad to escape whole from him!" [a] A law maxim. Since Etarcumul had broken his promise not to fight, Fergus deems himself absolved from the spirit of his engagement to bring back Etarcumul but fulfils the letter of it. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [1-1] H. 2. 17. [2]Etarcumul's grave was then dug and his tombstone erected; his name was written in ogam and they raised the keen over him. Cuchulain shot not from his sling at them that night[2] [3]and the women and maidens were brought over to him and half the cattle, and they brought provision to him by day.[3] In this manner fell Etarcumul and such was the combat of Etarcumul with Cuchulain. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1230-1232. [3-3] LU. fo. 69, between the columns. * * * * * [Page 126] XI [1]THE SLAYING OF NATHCRANTAIL[1] [2]Then the men of Erin held counsel who would be fit to fight and contend with Cuchulain and drive him off from the men of Erin.[2] [3]"What man have ye to face Cuchulain to-morrow?" asked Lugaid. "They will give him to thee to-morrow," answered Manè son of Ailill. "We find no one to meet him," quoth Medb; "let us have a truce with him then till a man be found to oppose him." This they obtain. "Whither will ye turn," asked Ailill, "to find the man to oppose Cuchulain?" "There is not in Erin," Medb answered, "one that could be got to meet him unless Curoi macDarè come, or Nathcrantail the warrior." A man of Curoi's people was in the tent. "Curoi will not come," said he; "he weens enough of his people have come!" "Let a message be sent then for Nathcrantail."[3] [W.1941.] Then arose a huge warrior of Medb's people, Nathcrantail by name. [4]Manè Andoe ('the Unslow') goes to him. They tell him their message. "Come with us for the sake of the honour of Connacht." "I will not go," said he, "unless they give Finnabair to me." Afterwards he goes with them. They bring his armour in a car from the east of Connacht and place it in the camp.[4] [5]Then was Nathcrantail called into the tent of Ailill and Medb.[5] [6]"Wherefore am I summoned to ye?" Nathcrantail asked. "It would please us well," Medb replied, "werest thou to fight and contend with Cuchulain on the ford and ward him off from us at the morning hour early on the morrow.[6] [1]Thou shalt have Finnabair," said Medb, "for going to fight yonder man." "I will do it," said he.[1] [2]He engaged to undertake the battle and combat and that night be made ready, and early on the morrow Nathcrantail arose for the battle and combat and he took his warlike implements with him to the fight, and though early he arose, Cuchulain arose still earlier.[2] [3]That night Lugaid came to Cuchulain. "Nathcrantail comes to meet thee to-morrow. Alas for thee, thou wilt not withstand him." "That matters not," Cuchulain made answer.[3][a] [1-1] Stowe, and LU. fo. 69a, in the margin. [2-2] Stowe, and, similarly, H. 2. 17. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1233-1242 and Eg. 1782. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1242-1246. [5-5] H. 2. 17. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1246-1247. [2-2] H. 2. 17. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1248-1250. [a] Here follows one line (1251 in LU., edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe, and almost similarly in YBL.) which seems to refer to some saying of Cuchulain's about Nathcrantail which we cannot locate. [4]On the morrow Nathcrantail went forth from the camp[4] and he came to attack Cuchulain. [W.1942.] He did not deign to bring along arms but thrice nine spits of holly after being sharpened, burnt and hardened in fire. And there before him on the pond was Cuchulain [5]a-fowling and his chariot hard by him,[5][b] and there was no shelter whatever. [6]And when Nathcrantail perceived Cuchulain[6] he [7]straightway[7] cast a dart at Cuchulain. Cuchulain sprang [8]from the middle of the ground[8] till he came on the tip of the dart. [9]And he performed a feat on the point of the dart and it hindered him not from catching the birds.[9] And again Nathcrantail threw a second dart. Nathcrantail threw a third dart and Cuchulain sprang on the point of the second [W.1951.] dart and so on till he was on the point of the last dart. It was then, [1]when Nathcrantail threw the ninth dart,[1] that the flock of birds [2]which Cuchulain pursued[2] on the plain [3]flew away from Cuchulain.[3] Cuchulain chased them even as any bird [4]of the air.[4] [5]He hopped on the points of the darts like a bird from each dart to the next, pursuing the birds[5] that they might not escape him but that they might leave behind a portion of food for the night. For this is what sustained and served Cuchulain, fish and fowl and game on the Cualnge Cow-spoil. Something more remains to be told: Nathcrantail deemed full surely that Cuchulain went from him in rout of defeat and flight. And he went his way till he came to the door of the tent of Ailill and Medb and he lifted up his loud voice [6]of a warrior[6]: "That famous Cuchulain that ye so talk of ran and fled in defeat [7]before me when he came to me[7] in the morning." "We knew," spake Medb, "it would be even so when able warriors and goodly youths met him, that this beardless imp would not hold out; for when a mighty warrior, [8]Nathcrantail to wit,[8] came upon him, he withstood him not but before him he ran away!" [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1253. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1255. [b] Here follow lines 1945-1946, edition of Windisch, which are unintelligible and have been omitted in the translation. [6-6] H. 2. 17. [7-7] H. 2. 17. [8-8] H. 2. 17. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1256-1257. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1258. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1258. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1259-1260. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] Stowe. And Fergus heard that, and Fergus [9]and the Ulstermen[9] were sore angered that any one should boast that Cuchulain had fled. And Fergus addressed himself to Fiachu, Feraba's son, that he should go to rebuke Cuchulain. "And tell [LL.fo.73a.] him it is an honour for him to oppose the hosts for as long or as short a space as he does deeds of valour upon them, but that it were fitter for him to hide himself than to fly before any one of their warriors, [10]forasmuch as the dishonour would be not greater for him than for the rest of Ulster."[10] [9-9] LU. 1264. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 1268. [W.1969.] Thereupon Fiachu went to address Cuchulain. Cuchulain bade him welcome. "I trow that welcome to be truly meant, but it is for counsel with thee I am come from thy fosterer Fergus. And he has said, 'It would be a glory for thee to oppose the hosts for as long or as short a space as thou doest valiantly [1]with them;[1] but it would be fitter for thee to hide thyself than to fly before any one of their warriors!'" "How now, who makes that boast among ye?" Cuchulain asked. "Nathcrantail, of a surety," Fiachu answered. "How may this be? Dost not know, thou and Fergus and the nobles of Ulster, that I slay no charioteers nor heralds nor unarmed people? And he bore no arms but a spit of wood. And I would not slay Nathcrantail until he had arms. And do thou tell him, let him come here early in the morning, [2]till he is between Ochainè and the sea, and however early he comes, he will find me here[2] and I will not fly before him!" [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1273-1275. [3]Fiachu went back to the camp[3] [4]and to the station of the men of Erin, and he bound Nathcrantail to go to the ford of combat on the morrow. They bided there that night,[4] and it seemed long to Nathcrantail till day with its light came for him to attack Cuchulain. He set out early on the morrow to attack Cuchulain. Cuchulain arose early [5]and came to his place of meeting[5] and his wrath bided with him on that day. And [6]after his night's vigil,[6] with an angry cast he threw his cloak around him, so that it passed over the pillar-stone [7]near by, the size of himself,[7] and snapped the pillar-stone off from the ground between himself and his cloak. And he was aware of naught because of the measure of anger that had come on and raged in him. Then, too, came Nathcrantail. [8]His arms were brought with him on a wagon,[8] and he spake, "Where is [W.1987.] this Cuchulain?" shouted Nathcrantail. "Why, over yonder [1]near the pillar-stone before thee,"[1] answered Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar. "Not such was the shape wherein he appeared to me yesterday," said Nathcrantail. "Repel yon warrior," quoth Cormac, "and it will be the same for thee as if thou repellest Cuchulain!" [2]"Art thou Cuchulain?" "And if I am?" answered Cuchulain. "If thou be truly he," said Nathcrantail, "I would not bring a lambkin's head to the camp. I will not take thy head, the head of a beardless boy." "It is not I at all," said Cuchulain; "go find him around the hill!" Cuchulain hastens to Laeg. "Rub a false beard on me; I cannot get the warrior to fight with me beardless." This was done for him. He goes to meet Nathcrantail on the hill. "Methinks that more fitting. Now fight with me fairly," said Nathcrantail. "Thou shalt have thy wish, if only we know it," Cuchulain made answer. "I will make a cast at thee," said Nathcrantail, "and thou shalt not avoid it." "I will not avoid it except on high," said Cuchulain. Nathcrantail makes a cast at him. Cuchulain springs on high before it. "'Tis ill of thee to avoid the cast," cried Nathcrantail. "Avoid then my cast on high!" quoth Cuchulain. Cuchulain lets the spear fly at him and it went on high, so that from above it alighted on Nathcrantail's crown and through him it went to the ground. "Alas," said he, "the best warrior in Erin art thou," spake Nathcrantail. "Four and twenty sons have I in the camp. I will go and tell them what hidden treasure I have and then return for thee to behead me, for I shall die if the spear be taken out of my head." "It is well," quoth Cuchulain; "thou shalt come back." Then Nathcrantail returns to the camp. They all come to meet him. "Where is the madman's head with thee?" [1]every one asks.[1] "Wait, ye warriors, till I tell my tale to my sons and return to do battle with Cuchulain."[2] [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Egerton 93 begins here. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1276. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1277. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1277-1278. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1279. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1281-1305. [1-1] LU. 1303. [W.1992.] Soon came Nathcrantail [3]to seek Cuchulain[3] and he made a wide sweep with his sword at Cuchulain. [4]Cuchulain leaps on high,[4] so that the sword encountered the pillar of stone that was between Cuchulain and his cloak, and the sword broke [5]atwain[5] on the pillar-stone. [6]Then Cuchulain became filled with rage, as he had been with the boys in Emain, and[6] he sprang from the ground and alighted on the top of the boss of Nathcrantail's shield and dealt him a side stroke over the upper edge of the shield, so that he struck off his head from his trunk. He raised his hand quickly again and gave him another blow on the top of the trunk so that he cleft him in twain down to the ground. [7]His four severed parts fell to the ground.[7] Thus fell Nathcrantail slain by Cuchulain. Whereupon Cuchulain spoke [8]the verse:--[8] "Now that Nathcrantail has fallen, [9]There will be increase of strife![9] Would that Medb had battle [10]now,[10] And the third part of the host!" [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1305. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1306. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1307. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1307-1308. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1310. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] Stowe, and LU. and YBL. 1313. [10-10] Stowe, and YBL. and LU. 1313. * * * * * [Page 132] XII [1]THE FINDING OF THE BULL[1] [W.2007.] Thereafter [2]on the morrow[2] Medb proceeded with a third of the host of the men of Erin about her, [3]and she set forth by the highroad of Midluachair[3] till she reached Dûn Sobairche in the north. And Cuchulain pressed heavily on Medb that day. [4]Medb went on to Cuib to seek the bull and Cuchulain pursued her. Now on the road to Midluachair she had gone to invade Ulster and Cruthne as far as Dûn Sobairche.[4] [5]There it is that Cuchulain slew all those we have mentioned in Cuib.[5] Cuchulain killed Fer Taidle, whence cometh Taidle; and [6]as they went northwards[6] he killed the macBuachalla ('the Herdsman's sons') [7]at their cairn,[7] whence cometh Carn macBuachalla; and he killed Luasce on the slopes, whence Lettre Luasc ('the Watery Slopes of Luasc'); and he slew Bobulge in his marsh, whence Grellach ('the Trampled Place') of Bubulge; and he slew Murthemne on his hill, whence Delga ('the Points') of Murthemne; [8]he slew Nathcoirpthe at his trees, Cruthen on his ford, Marc on his hill, Meille on his mound and Bodb in his tower.[8] It was afterwards then [W.2016.] that Cuchulain turned back from the north [1]to Mag Murthemni,[1] to protect and defend his own borders and land, for dearer to him was [2]his own land and inheritance and belongings[2] than the land and territory and belongings of another. [1-1] Stowe, and LU. fo. 70a. [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1315-1317. Eg. 93 mentions a number of places to which Cuchulain pursued Medb. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1341. [6-6] Eg. 93. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1343. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1342-1344. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1345.] [2-2] Eg. 93. It was then too that he came upon the Fir Crandce ('the men of Crannach') [3]from whom cometh Crannach in Murthemne;[3] to wit, the two Artinne and the two sons of Lecc, the two sons of Durcride, the two sons of Gabul, and Drucht and Delt and Dathen, Tae and Tualang and Turscur, and Torc Glaisse and Glass and Glassne, which are the same as the twenty men of Fochard. Cuchulain surprised them as they were pitching [LL.fo.73b.] camp in advance of all others--[4]ten cup-bearers and ten men-of-arms they were[4]--so that they fell by his hand. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1348. Then it was that Buide ('the Yellow') son of Ban Blai ('the White') from [5]Sliab Culinn ('Hollymount'),[5] the country of Ailill and Medb, and belonging to the special followers of [6]Ailill and[6] Medb, met Cuchulain. Four and twenty[a] warriors [7]was their strength.[7] A [8]blue[8] mantle enwrapping each man, the Brown Bull of Cualnge plunging and careering before them after he had been brought from Glenn na Samaisce ('Heifers' Glen') to Sliab Culinn, and fifty of his heifers with him. [9]Cuchulain advances to meet them.[9] "Whence bring ye the drove, [10]ye men?"[10] Cuchulain asks. "From yonder mountain," Buide answers. [11]"Where are its herdsmen?" Cuchulain asks. "One is here where we found him," the warrior answers. Cuchulain made three leaps after them, seeking to speak [W.2031.] with them, as far as the ford. Then it was he spoke to the leader[11], "What is thine own name?" said Cuchulain. "One that neither loves thee nor fears thee," Buide made answer; "Buide son of Ban Blai am I, from the country of Ailill and Medb." [1]"Wella-day, O Buide," cried Cuchulain; "haste to the ford below that we exchange a couple of throws with each other." They came to the ford and exchanged a couple of throws there.[1] "Lo, here for thee this short spear," said Cuchulain, and he casts the spear at him. It struck the shield over his belly, so that it shattered three ribs in his farther side after piercing his heart in his bosom. And Buide son of Ban Blai fell [2]on the ford.[2] So that thence is Ath Buidi ('Athboy') in Crich Roiss ('the land of Ross'). [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1318. [6-6] Stowe. [a] 'Sixty' is the number in LU. and YBL.; 'eight' in Eg. 93. [7-7] Stowe and LU. and YBL. 1319. [8-8] Eg. 93. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1320. [10-10] Eg. 93. [11-11] LU. and YBL. 1322-1325. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] LU. and YBL 1328. For as long or as short a space as [3]these bold champions and battle-warriors[3] were engaged in this work of exchanging their two short spears--for it was not in a moment they had accomplished it--the Brown Bull of Cualnge was carried away in quick course and career [4]by the eight great men[4] to the camp [5]of the men of Erin[5] as swiftly as any beeve can be brought to a camp. [6]They opined then it would not be hard to deal with Cuchulain if only his spear were got from him.[6] From this accordingly came the greatest shame and grief and madness that was brought on Cuchulain on that hosting. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] Eg. 93. [5-5] Eg. 93. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1330-1331. As regards Medb: every ford [7]and every hill[7] whereon she stopped, Ath Medba ('Medb's Ford') [8]and Dindgna Medba ('Medb's Hill')[8] is its name. Every place wherein she pitched her tent, Pupall Medba ('Medb's Tent') is its name. Every spot she rested her horselash, Bili Medba ('Medb's Tree') is its name. [7-7] LU. and YBL 1353. [8-8] LU. and YBL 1354. On this circuit Medb [9]turned back from the north after [W.2047.] she had remained a fortnight laying waste the province[9] [1]and plundering the land of the Picts and of Cualnge and the land of Conall son of Amargin,[1] and having offered battle [2]one night[2] to Findmor ('the Fair-large') wife of Celtchar [3]son of Uthechar[3] at the gate of Dûn Sobairche; and she slew Findmor and laid waste Dûn Sobairche; [5]and, after taking Dûn Sobairche from her, she brought fifty of [4]her[4] women into the province of Dalriada.[5] [6]Then she had them hanged and crucified. Whence cometh Mas na Righna ('Queen's Buttock') as the name of the hill, from their hanging.[6] [9-9] LU. and YBL 1348-1349. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Eg. 93. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1351-1352. [6-6] Eg. 33. Then came the warriors of four of the five grand provinces of Erin at the end of a long fortnight[a] to camp and station [7]at Fochard,[7] together with Medb and Ailill and the company that were bringing the bull. [a] Omitting _ar mis_ (LL.), which is not found in the other MSS. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1355. * * * * * [Page 136] XIIa THE DEATH OF FORGEMEN [W.2054.] And the bull's cowherd would not allow them [1]to carry off[1] the Brown Bull of Cualnge, so that they urged on the bull, beating shafts on shields, till they drove him into a narrow gap, and the herd trampled the cowherd's body thirty feet into the ground, so that they made fragments and shreds of his body. Forgemen was the neatherd's name. [2]And this is the name of the hill, Forgemen.[2] This then is the Death of Forgemen on the Cattle-prey of Cualnge. [3]Now there was no peril to them that night so long as a man was got to ward off Cuchulain from them on the ford.[3] [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1359. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1360-1361. * * * * * [Page 137] XIIb [1]HERE IS NARRATED THE SLAYING OF REDG THE LAMPOONIST[1] [W.2061.] When the men of Erin had come together in one place, both Medb and Ailill and the force that was bringing the bull to the camp and enclosure, they all declared Cuchulain would be no more valiant than another [2]of the men of Erin[2] were it not for the wonderful little trick he possessed, the spearlet of Cuchulain. Accordingly the men of Erin despatched from them Redg, Medb's[a] jester, to demand the light javelin [3]of Cuchulain.[3] [1-1] LU. page 70b, in the margin. [2-2] Eg. 93. [a] 'Ailill's,' LU. and YBL. 1332 and Eg. 1782. [3-3] Stowe. So Redg [4]came forward to where Cuchulain was and[4] asked for the little javelin, but Cuchulain did not give him the little javelin [5]at once[5]; he did not deem it good and proper to yield it. [6]"Give me thy spear," said the jester. "Nay then, I will not," answered Cuchulain; "but I will give thee treasure." "I will not take it," said the jester. Then he wounded the jester because he would not accept from him what he had offered him.[6] Redg declared he would deprive Cuchulain of his honour [7]unless he got the little javelin.[7] Thereupon Cuchulain hurled the javelin at him, so that it struck him in the nape of the neck[b] and fell out through his mouth on the ground. And the only words Redg uttered were these, "This precious gift is readily [W.2072.] ours," and his soul separated from his body at the ford. Therefrom that ford is ever since called Ath Solom Shet ('Ford of the Ready Treasure'). And the copper of the javelin was thrown into the river. Hence is Uman-Sruth ('Copperstream') ever after. [4-4] Eg. 93. [5-5] Eg. 93. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1333-1336. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1337. [b] More literally, 'in the pit of his occiput.' [1]"Let us ask for a sword-truce from Cuchulain," says Ailill. "Let Lugaid go to him," one and all answer. Then Lugaid goes to parley with him. "How now do I stand with the host?" Cuchulain asks. "Disgraceful indeed is the thing thou hast demanded of them," Lugaid answers, "even this, that thou shouldst have thy women and maidens and half of thy kine. But more grievous than all do they hold it that they themselves should be killed and thou provisioned." Every day there fell a man by Cuchulain till the end of a week. [2]Then[2] faith is broken with Cuchulain. Twenty are despatched at one time to attack him and he destroys them all. "Go to him, O Fergus," says Ailill, "that he may vouchsafe us a change of place." A while after this they proceed to Cronech. These are they that fell in single combat with him in that place, to wit: the two Roth, the two Luan, two women-thieves, ten fools, ten cup-bearers, the ten Fergus, the six Fedelm, the six Fiachu. Now these were all killed by him in single combat. [2-2] Eg. 1782. When their tents were pitched by them in Cronech they discussed what they had best do with Cuchulain. "I know," quoth Medb, "what is best here. Let some one go to him from us for a sword-pact from him in respect of the host, and he shall have half the cattle that are here." This message they bring to him. "I will do it," said Cuchulain, "provided the bond is not broken by you[1] [3]to-morrow.[3]" [1-1] LU. 1362-1379. [3-3] Eg. 1782. * * * * * [Page 139] XIIc [1]HERE IS TOLD THE MEETING OF CUCHULAIN AND FINNABAIR[1] [2]"Let a message be sent to him," said Ailill, "that Finnabair my daughter will be bestowed on him, and for him to keep away from the hosts." Manè Athramail ('Fatherlike') goes to him. But first he addresses himself to Laeg. "Whose man art thou?" spake Manè. Now Laeg made no answer. Thrice Manè addressed him in this [3]same[3] wise. "Cuchulain's man," Laeg answers, "and provoke me not, lest it happen I strike thy head off thee!" "This man is mad," quoth Manè as he leaves him. Then he goes to accost Cuchulain. It was there Cuchulain had doffed his tunic, and the [4]deep[4] snow was around him where he sat, up to his belt, and the snow had melted a cubit around him for the greatness of the heat of the hero. And Manè addressed him three times in like manner, whose man he was? "Conchobar's man, and do not provoke me. For if thou provokest me any longer I will strike thy head off thee as one strikes off the head of a blackbird!" "No easy thing," quoth Manè, "to speak to these two." Thereupon Manè leaves them and tells his tale to Ailill and Medb. [1-1] LU. fo. 71a, in the margin. [2-2] LU. 1380-1414. [3-3] Eg. 1782. [4-4] Eg. 1782. "Let Lugaid go to him," said Ailill, "and offer him the girl." Thereupon Lugaid goes and repeats this to Cuchulain. "O master Lugaid," quoth Cuchulain, "it is a snare!" "It is the word of a king; he hath said it," Lugaid answered; "there can be no snare in it." "So be it," said Cuchulain. Forthwith Lugaid leaves him and takes that answer to Ailill and Medb. "Let the fool go forth in my form," said Ailill, "and the king's crown on his head, and let him stand some way off from Cuchulain lest he know him; and let the girl go with him and let the fool promise her to him, and let them depart quickly in this wise. And methinks ye will play a trick on him thus, so that he will not stop you any further till he comes with the Ulstermen to the battle." Then the fool goes to him and the girl along with him, and from afar he addresses Cuchulain. The Hound comes to meet him. It happened he knew by the man's speech that he was a fool. A slingstone that was in his hand he threw at him so that it entered his head and bore out his brains. He comes up to the maiden, cuts off her two tresses and thrusts a stone through her cloak and her tunic, and plants a standing-stone through the middle of the fool. Their two pillar-stones are there, even the pillar-stone of Finnabair and the pillar-stone of the fool. Cuchulain left them in this plight. A party was sent out from Ailill and Medb to search for their people, for it was long they thought they were gone, when they saw them in this wise. This thing was noised abroad by all the host in the camp. Thereafter there was no truce for them with Cuchulain.[2] [2-2] LU. 1380-1414. * * * * * [Page 141] XIId [1]HERE THE COMBAT OF MUNREMAR AND CUROI[1] [2]While the hosts were there in the evening they perceived that one stone fell on them coming from the east and another from the west to meet it. The stones met one another in the air and kept falling between Fergus' camp, the camp of Ailill and the camp of Nera. This sport and play continued from that hour till the same hour on the next day, and the hosts spent the time sitting down, with their shields over their heads to protect them from the blocks of stones, till the plain was full of the boulders, whence cometh Mag Clochair ('the Stony Plain'). Now it happened it was Curoi macDarè did this. He had come to bring help to his people and had taken his stand in Cotal to fight against Munremar son of Gerrcend.[a] The latter had come from Emain Macha to succour Cuchulain and had taken his stand on Ard ('the Height') of Roch. Curoi knew there was not in the host a man to compete with Munremar. These then it was who carried on this sport between them. The army prayed them to cease. Whereupon Munremar and Curoi made peace, and Curoi withdrew to his house and Munremar to Emain Macha and Munremar came not again till the day of the battle. As for Curoi, he came not till the combat of Ferdiad. [1-1] LU. fo. 71b, in the margin. [a] Here a sheet is missing in Eg. 1782. [2-2] LU. 1415-1486. "Pray Cuchulain," said Medb and Ailill, "that he suffer us to change our place." This then was granted to them and the change was made. The 'Pains' of the Ulstermen left them then. When now they awoke from their 'Pains,' bands of them came continually upon the host to restrain it again. * * * * * [Page 143] XIIe [1]THE SLAUGHTER OF THE BOY-TROOP[1][a] Now the youths of Ulster discussed the matter among themselves in Emain Macha. "Alas for us," said they, "that our friend Cuchulain has no one to succour him!" "I would ask then," spake Fiachu Fulech ('the Bloody') son of Ferfebè and own brother to Fiachu[b] Fialdana ('the Generous-daring') son of Ferfebè, "shall I have a company from you to go to him with help?" [1-1] LU. fo. 71b, in the margin. [a] The LU. version of the episode is given under XVIIa, page 184. [b] Fiachna, in LU. 1436. Thrice fifty youths accompany him with their play-clubs, and that was a third of the boy-troop of Ulster. The army saw them drawing near them over the plain. "A great army approaches us over the plain," spake Ailill Fergus goes to espy them. "Some of the youths of Ulster are they," said he, "and it is to succour Cuchulain they come." "Let a troop go to meet them," said Ailill, "unknown to Cuchulain; for if they unite with him ye will never overcome them." Thrice fifty warriors went out to meet them. They fell at one another's hands, so that not one of them got off alive of the number of the youths of Lia Toll. Hence is Lia ('the Stone') of Fiachu son of Ferfebè, for it is there that he fell. "Take counsel," quoth Ailill; "inquire of Cuchulain about letting you go from hence, for ye will not go past him by force, now that his flame of valour has risen." For it was usual with him, when his hero's flame arose in him, that his feet would turn back on him and his buttocks, before him, and the knobs of his calves would come on his shins, and one eye would be in his head and the other one out of his head. A man's head would have gone into his mouth. There was not a hair on him that was not as sharp as the thorn of the haw, and a drop of blood was on each single hair. He would recognize neither comrades nor friends. Alike he would strike them before and behind. Therefrom it was that the men of Connacht gave Cuchulain the name Riastartha ('the Contorted One'). * * * * * [Page 145] XIIf [1]THE SLAUGHTER OF THE KING'S BODYGUARD[1] "Let us ask for a sword-truce from Cuchulain," said Ailill and Medb. Lugaid goes to him and Cuchulain accords the truce. "Put a man for me on the ford to-morrow," said Cuchulain. There happened to be with Medb six royal hirelings, to wit: six princes of the Clans of Deda, the three Dubs ('the Blacks') of Imlech, and the three Dergs ('the Reds') of Sruthair, by name. "Why should it not be for us," quoth they, "to go and attack Cuchulain?" So the next day they went and Cuchulain put an end to the six of them.[2] [1-1] LU. fo. 72b, in the margin. [2-2] See page 141, note 2. * * * * * [Page 146] XIII [1]THE COMBAT OF CÛR WITH CUCHULAIN[1] [W.2076.] The men of Erin discussed among themselves who of them would be fit to attack [2]and contend with[2] Cuchulain, [LL.fo.74a.] [3]and drive him off from them on the ford at the morning-hour early on the morrow.[3] And what they all said was that Cûr ('the Hero') son of Da Loth should be the one to attack him. For thus it stood with Cûr: No joy was it to be his bedfellow or to live with him. [4]He from whom he drew blood is dead ere the ninth day.[4] And [5]the men of Erin[5] said: "Even should it be Cûr that falls, a trouble [6]and care[6] would be removed from the hosts; [7]for it is not easy to be with him in regard to sitting, eating or sleeping.[7] Should it be Cuchulain, it would be so much the better." Cûr was summoned to Medb's tent. "For what do they want me?" Cûr asked. "To engage with Cuchulain," replied Medb, [8]"to do battle, and ward him off from us on the ford at the morning hour early on the morrow."[8] [9]Cûr deemed it not fitting to go and contend with a beardless boy.[9] "Little ye rate our worth. Nay, but it is wonderful how ye regard it. Too tender is the youth with whom ye compare me. Had I known [10]I was sent against him[10] I would not have come myself. I would have lads [11]enough[11] of [W.2086.] his age from amongst my people to go meet him on a ford." [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1488. [5-5] Eg. 93. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1491. [8-8] Eg. 93. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1491-1492. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 1492-1493. [11-11] Stowe and LU. and YBL. 1493. "Indeed, it is easy to talk so," quoth Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar. "It would be well worth while for thyself if by thee fell Cuchulain." [1]"Howbeit," said Cûr, "since on myself it falls,[1] make ye ready a journey [2]for me[2] at morn's early hour on the morrow, for a pleasure I will make of the way [3]to this fight,[3] [4]a-going to meet Cuchulain.[4] It is not this will detain you, namely the killing of yonder wildling, Cuchulain!" [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1496-1497. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1499-1500. [5]There they passed the night.[5] Then early on the morrow morn arose Cûr macDa Loth [6]and he came to the ford of battle and combat; and however early he arose, earlier still Cuchulain arose.[6] A cart-load of arms was taken along with him wherewith to engage with Cuchulain, and he began to ply his weapons, seeking to kill Cuchulain. [5-5] Eg. 93. [6-6] Eg. 93. Now Cuchulain had gone early that day [7]to practise[7] his feats [8]of valour and prowess.[8] These are the names of them all: the Apple-feat, and the Edge-feat, and the Level Shield-feat, and the Little Dart-feat, and the Rope-feat, and the Body-feat, and the Feat of Catt, and the Hero's Salmon-leap,[a] and the Pole-cast, and the Leap over a Blow (?), and the Folding of a noble Chariot-fighter, and the Gae Bulga ('the Barbed Spear') and the Vantage (?) of Swiftness, and the Wheel-feat, [9]and the Rim-feat,[9] and the Over-Breath-feat, and the Breaking of a Sword, and the Champion's Cry, and the Measured Stroke, and the Side Stroke, and the Running up a Lance and standing erect on its Point, and the Binding of the [10]noble[10] Hero (around spear points). [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1500. [8-8] Stowe. [a] "The Salmon-leap--lying flat on his face and then springing up, horizontally, high in the air."--J.A. Synge, "The Aran Islands," page 111, Dublin, 1907. [9-9] YBL. 1504. [10-10] LU. 1506. [W.2121.] Now this is the reason Cuchulain was wont to practise early every morning each of those feats [1]with the agility of a single hand, as best a wild-cat may,[1] in order that they might not depart from him through forgetfulness or lack of remembrance. [1-1] An obscure gloss in LL. And macDa Loth waited beside his shield until the third part of the day, [2]plying his weapons,[2] seeking the chance to kill Cuchulain; [3]and not the stroke of a blow reached Cuchulain, because of the intensity of his feats, nor was he aware that a warrior was thrusting at him.[3] It was then Laeg[a] [4]looked at him[4] and spake to Cuchulain, "Hark! Cucuc. Attend to the warrior that seeks to kill thee." Then it was that Cuchulain glanced at him and then it was that he raised and threw the eight apples on high [5]and cast the ninth apple[5] a throw's length from him at Cûr macDa Loth, so that it struck on the disk of his shield [6]between the edge and the body of the shield[6] and on the forehead [7]of the churl,[7] so that it carried the size of an apple of his brains out through the back of his head. Thus fell Cûr macDa Loth also at the hand of Cuchulain. [8]According to another version[8] [9]it was in Imslige Glendamnach that Cûr fell.[9] [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1507. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1508-1509. [a] 'Fiachu,' LU. and YBL. 1510. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Following Windisch's emendation of the text. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1512. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1513. [8-8] LU. 1513. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1513-1514. [10]Fergus greeted each one there and this is what he said:[10] "If your engagements and pledges bind you now," said Fergus, "another warrior ye must send to him yonder on the ford; else, do ye keep to your camp and your quarters here till the bright hour of sunrise on the morrow, for Cûr son of Da Loth is fallen." [11]"We will grant that," said Medb, "and we will not pitch tents nor take quarters here now, but we will remain where we were last night in camp.[11] [W.2136.] Considering why we have come, it is the same to us even though we remain in those same tents." [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] Eg. 93. [1]The four great provinces of Erin[1] remained in that camp till Cûr son of Da Loth had fallen, and Loth son of Da Bro and Srub Darè son of Feradach and [2]Morc[2] son of Tri Aigneach. These then fell in single combat with Cuchulain. But it is tedious to recount one by one the cunning and valour of each man of them. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 150] XIV [1]THE SLAYING OF FERBAETH ('THE WITLESS')[1] [2]Then again the men of Erin took counsel who would be fit to fight and do combat with Cuchulain and to ward him off from them on the ford at the morning-hour early on the morrow. What they each and all said was, that it would be his own friend and companion and the man who was his equal in arms and feats, even Ferbaeth son of Ferbend. [1-1] LU. fo. 73a, in the margin. Then was Ferbaeth son of Ferbend summoned to them, to the tent of Ailill and Medb. "Wherefore do ye call me to you?" Ferbaeth asked. "In sooth, it would please us," Medb answered, "for thee to do battle and contend with Cuchulain, and to ward him off from us on the ford at the morning hour early on the morrow." Great rewards they promised to him for making the battle and combat.[2] [3]Finnabair is given to him for this and the kingdom of his race, for he was their choice to combat Cuchulain. He was the man they thought worthy of him, for they both had learned the same service in arms with Scathach.[3] [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1529-1553. [4]"I have no desire to act thus," Ferbaeth protested. "Cuchulain is my foster-brother and of everlasting covenant with me. Yet will I go meet him to-morrow, so shall I strike off his head!" "It will be thou that canst do it," Medb made answer.[4] [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1538-1540. [W.2143.] Then it was that Cuchulain said to his charioteer, namely to Laeg: "Betake thee thither, O master Laeg," said Cuchulain, "to the camp of the men of Erin, and bear a greeting [LL.fo.74b.] from me to my comrades and foster-brothers and age-mates. Bear a greeting to Ferdiad son of Daman, and to Ferdet son of Daman, and to Brass son of Ferb, and to Lugaid son of Nos, and to Lugaid son of Solamach, to Ferbaeth son of Baetan, and to Ferbaeth son of Ferbend, and a particular greeting withal to mine own foster-brother, to Lugaid son of Nos, for that he is the one man that still has friendliness and friendship with me now on the hosting. And bear him a blessing. [1]Let it be asked diligently of him[1] that he may tell thee who [2]of the men of Erin[2] will come to attack me on the morrow." [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1525. [2-2] Stowe. Then Laeg went his way to the camp of the men of Erin and brought the aforementioned greetings to the comrades and foster-brothers of Cuchulain. And he also went into the tent of Lugaid son of Nos. Lugaid bade him welcome. "I take [3]that welcome[3] to be truly meant," said Laeg. "'Tis truly meant for thee," replied Lugaid. "To converse with thee am I come from Cuchulain," said Laeg, "and I bring these greetings truly and earnestly from him to the end that thou tell me who comes to fight with Cuchulain to-day." [4]"Truly not lucky is it for Cuchulain," said Lugaid, "the strait wherein he is alone against the men of Erin.[4] The curse of his fellowship and brotherhood and of his friendship and affection [5]and of his arms[5] be upon that man; even his own real foster-brother himself, [6]even the companion of us both,[6] Ferbaeth son of Ferbend. [7]He it is that comes to meet him to-morrow.[7] He was invited into the tent of [8]Ailill and[8] Medb a while [W.2165.] since. The daughter Finnabair was set by his side. It is she who fills up the drinking-horns for him; it is she who gives him a kiss with every drink that he takes; it is she who serveth the food [1]to him.[1] Not for every one with Medb is the ale[a] that is poured out for Ferbaeth [2]till he is drunk.[2] Only fifty wagon-loads of it have been brought to the camp." [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1526-1527. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1528. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1527. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1528. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1532. [1-1] H. 1. 13. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1535. [a] In LU. and YBL. it is wine. Then with heavy head, sorrowful, downcast, heaving sighs, Laeg retraced his steps to Cuchulain. "With heavy head, sorrowful, downcast and sighing, my master Laeg comes to meet me," said Cuchulain. "It must be that one of my brothers-in-arms comes to attack me." For he regarded as worse a man of the same training in arms as himself than aught other warrior. "Hail now, O Laeg my friend," cried Cuchulain; "who comes to attack me to-day?" "The curse of his fellowship and brotherhood, of his friendship and affection be upon him; even thine own real foster-brother himself, namely Ferbaeth son of Ferbend. A while ago he was summoned into the tent of Medb. The maiden was set by his side; It is she who fills up the drinking-horns for him; it is she who gives him a kiss with every drink; it is she who serveth his food. Not for every one with Medb is the ale that is poured out for Ferbaeth. Only fifty wagon-loads of it have been brought to the camp." [3]Cuchulain bade Laeg go to Lugaid, that he come to talk with him. Lugaid came to Cuchulain. "So Ferbaeth comes to oppose me to-morrow," said Cuchulain. "Aye, then," answered Lugaid.[3] [4]"Evil is this day," cried Cuchulain. "I shall not be alive thereafter. Two of the same age are we, two of equal deftness, two of equal weight, when we come together. O Lugaid, greet him for me. Tell him, also, it is not the part of true valour to come to oppose me. Tell him to come meet me to-night to speak with me." [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1541-1544. Lugaid brought back this word to Ferbaeth. [W.2183.] Now inasmuch as Ferbaeth shunned not the parley,[4] he by no means waited till morn but he went straightway [1]to the glen[1] [2]that night[2] to recant his friendship with Cuchulain, [3]and Fiachu son of Ferfebè went with him.[3] And Cuchulain called to mind the friendship and fellowship and brotherhood [5]that had been between them,[5] [6]and Scathach, the nurse of them both;[6] and Ferbaeth would not consent to forego the fight.[a] [7]"I must fight," said Ferbaeth. "I have promised it [8]to Medb."[8] [9]"Friendship with thee then is at an end,"[9] cried Cuchulain,[7] and in anger he left him and drove the sole of his foot against a holly-spit [10]in the glen,[10] so that it pierced through flesh and bone and skin [11]and came out by his knee.[11] [12]Thereat Cuchulain became frantic, and he gave a strong tug and[12] drew the spit out from its roots, [13]from sinew and bone, from flesh and from skin.[13] [14]"Go not, Ferbaeth, till thou seest the find I have made." "Throw it then," cried Ferbaeth.[14] And Cuchulain threw the holly-spit over his shoulder after Ferbaeth, and he would as lief that it reached him or that it reached him not. The spit struck Ferbaeth in the nape of the neck,[b] so that it passed out through his [W.2192.] mouth [1]in front[1] and fell to the ground, and thus Ferbaeth fell [2]backward into the glen.[2] [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1544-1549. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93, LU. and YBL. 1549. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1550. [4-4] See page 152, note 4. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1551-1552. [a] Reading, with Windisch, from Stowe which gives a better meaning than LL. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1552-1553. [8-8] YBL. 1553. [9-9] Literally, 'Keep thy covenant, then!' [10-10] LU. and YBL. 1554. [11-11] LU. and YBL. 1555. [12-12] Eg. 93. [13-13] Eg. 93. [14-14] LU. and YBL. 1556-1557. [b] See note, page 137. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1559. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1559-1560. "Now that was a good throw, Cucuc!" cried [3]Fiachu son of Ferfebè,[3] [4]who was on the mound between the two camps,[4] for he considered it a good throw to kill that warrior with a spit of holly. Hence it is that Focherd Murthemni ('the good Cast of Murthemne') is the name of the place where they were. [3-3] "Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar." Eg. 93. [4-4] Eg. 93. [5]Straightway Ferbaeth died in the glen. Hence cometh Glenn Ferbaeth. Something was heard. It was Fergus who sang:-- "Fool's[a] emprise was thine, Ferbaeth, That did bring thee to thy grave. Ruin hath come on anger here; Thy last end in Croen Corann! Fithi was the hill's old name, In Croenech in Murthemne. 'Ferbaeth' now shall be the name Of the plain where Ferbaeth fell!"[5] [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1563-1569. [a] With a play on the word Ferbaeth, 'a foolish man.' * * * * * [Page 155] XIVa [1]THE COMBAT OF LARINE MacNOIS[1] [2]Lugaid spake: "Let one of you be ready on the morrow to go against that other." "There shall not any one at all be found to go," quoth Ailill, "unless guile be used. Whatever man comes to you, give him wine, so that his soul may be glad, and let him be told that that is all the wine that has been brought to Cruachan: 'It would grieve us that thou shouldst drink water in our camp.' And let Finnabair be placed on his right hand and let him be told, 'She shall go with thee if thou bring us the head of the Contorted.'" So a summons was sent to each warrior, one on each night, and those words used to be told him. Cuchulain killed every man of them in turn. At length no one could be got to attack him.[2] [1-1] LU. fo. 73b, in the margin. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1574-1584 and Eg. 1782. Here Eg. 1782 breaks off. [W.2197.] [3]"Good,[3] my master Laeg," [4]said Cuchulain,[4] "go for me to the camp of the men of Erin to hold converse with Lugaid [5]macNois,[5] [6]my friend, my companion and my foster-brother,[6] [7]and bear him a greeting from me and bear him my blessing, for he is the one man that keeps amity and friendship with me on the great hosting of the Cattle-raid of Cualnge.[7] And discover [8]in what way they are in the camp,[8] whether or no anything has [W.2199.] happened to Ferbaeth,[a] [1]whether Ferbaeth has reached the camp;[1] [2]and inquire for me if the cast I made a while ago reached Ferbaeth or did not reach, and if it did reach him,[2] ask who [3]of the men of Erin[3] comes to meet me [4]to fight and do battle with me at the morning hour early[4] on the morrow." [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] Eg. 93 and Eg. 209. [5-5] Eg. 93 and Eg. 209. [6-6] Eg. 93. [7-7] Eg. 93. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1572. [a] From here to p. 170 is lacking in LL. owing to the loss of a sheet. This is supplied from Stowe. [1-1] Stowe. Eg. 209 and H. 1. 13. [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] H. 2. 17. [4-4] Eg. 93. Laeg proceeds to Lugaid's tent. Lugaid bids him welcome. [5]"Welcome to thy coming and arrival, O Laeg," said Lugaid.[5] "I take that welcome as truly meant," Laeg replied. "It is truly meant for thee," quoth Lugaid, [6]"and thou shalt have entertainment here to-night."[6] [7]"Victory and blessing shalt thou have," said Laeg; "but not for entertainment am I come, but[7] to hold converse with thee am I come from [8]thine own friend and companion and[8] foster-brother, [9]from Cuchulain,[9] that thou mayest tell me whether Ferbaeth [10]was smitten."[10] "He was," answered Lugaid, "and a blessing on the hand that smote him, for he fell dead in the valley a while ago." "Tell me who [11]of the men of Erin[11] comes to-morrow to [12]combat and[12] fight with Cuchulain [13]at the morning hour early on the morrow?"[13] "They are persuading a brother of mine own to go meet him, a foolish, haughty arrogant youth, yet dealing stout blows and stubborn. [14]And he has agreed to do the battle and combat.[14] And it is to this end they will send him to fight Cuchulain, that he, my brother, may fall at his hands, so that I myself must then go to avenge him upon Cuchulain. But I will not go there till the very day of doom. Larinè great-grandson [W.2211.] of Blathmac is that brother. [1]And, do thou tell Cuchulain to come to Ferbaeth's Glen and[1] I will go [2]thither[2] to speak with Cuchulain about him," said Lugaid. [5-5] H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93. [6-6] Eg. 93. [7-7] Eg. 93. [8-8] Eg. 93. [9-9] Eg. 209. [10-10] Following Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [11-11] Eg. 93. [12-12] Eg. 93. [13-13] Eg. 93. [14-14] Eg. 93. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93. [3]Laeg betook him to where Cuchulain was.[3] Lugaid's two horses were taken and his chariot was yoked to them [4]and[4] he came [5]to Glen Ferbaeth[5] to his tryst with Cuchulain, so that a parley was had between them. [6]The two champions and battle-warriors gave each other welcome.[6] Then it was that Lugaid spake: [7]"There is no condition that could be promised to me for fighting and combating with thee," said Lugaid, "and there is no condition on which I would undertake it, but[7] they are persuading a brother of mine to come fight thee [8]on the morrow,[8] to-wit, a foolish, dull, uncouth youth, dealing stout blows. [9]They brought him into the tent of Ailill and Medb and he has engaged to do the battle and combat with thee.[9] [10]He is befooled about the same maiden.[10] And it is for this reason they are to send him to fight thee, that he may fall at thy hands, [11]so that we two may quarrel,[11] and to see if I myself will come to avenge him upon thee. But I will not, till the very day of doom. And by the fellowship that is between us, [12]and by the rearing and nurture I bestowed on thee and thou didst bestow on me, bear me no grudge because of Larinè.[12] Slay not my brother [13]lest thou shouldst leave me brotherless."[13] [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] Eg. 93. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1592 and Eg. 93. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1593 and Eg. 93. [7-7] Eg. 93. [8-8] Eg. 209. [9-9] Eg. 93. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 1595-1596. [11-11] LU. 1597. [12-12] H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93. [13-13] LU. and YBL. 1596-1597. "By my conscience, truly," cried Cuchulain, [14]kill him I will not, but[14] the next thing to death will I inflict on him. [15]No worse would it be for him to die than what I [W.2222.] will give him."[15] "I give thee leave. [1]It would please me well shouldst thou beat him sorely,[1] for to my dishonour he comes to attack thee." [14-14] Eg. 93. [15-15] Eg. 209. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1597 and Eg. 93. Thereupon Cuchulain went back and Lugaid returned to the camp [2]lest the men of Erin should say it was betraying them or forsaking them he was if he remained longer parleying with Cuchulain.[2] [2-2] Eg. 93. Then [3]on the next day[3] it was that Larinè son of Nos, [4]brother of Lugaid king of Munster,[4] was summoned to the tent of Ailill and Medb, and Finnabair was placed by his side. It was she that filled up the drinking-horns for him and gave him a kiss with each draught that he took and served him his food. "Not to every one with Medb is given the drink that is poured out for Ferbaeth or for Larinè," quoth Finnabair; "only the load of fifty wagons of it was brought to the camp."[a] [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1598. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1585. [a] Emending the text to agree with the two similar passages above. [5]Medb looked at the pair. "Yonder pair rejoiceth my heart," said she.[5] "Whom wouldst thou say?" asked [6]Ailill.[6] "The man yonder, [7]in truth,"[7] said she. "What of him?" asked Ailill. "It is thy wont to set the mind on that which is far from the purpose (Medb answered). It were more becoming for thee to bestow thy thought on the couple in whom are united the greatest distinction and beauty to be found on any road in Erin, namely Finnabair, [8]my daughter,[8] and Larinè macNois. [9]'Twould be fitting to bring them together."[9] "I regard them as thou dost," answered Ailill; [10]"I will not oppose thee herein. He shall have her if only he brings me the head of Cuchulain."[a] "Aye, bring it I will," said Larinè.[10] [W.2235.] It was then that Larinè shook and tossed himself with joy, so that the sewings of the flock bed burst under him and the mead of the camp was speckled with its feathers. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1586. [6-6] Corrected from LL., which has 'Medb.' [7-7] Eg. 93. [8-8] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1588. [a] Literally, 'of the Contorted.' [10-10] LU. and YBL. 1588-1590. [1]They passed the night there.[1] Larinè longed for day with its full light [2]to go[2] to attack Cuchulain. At the early day-dawn on the morrow he came, [3]and the maiden came too to embolden him,[3] and he brought a wagon-load of arms with him, and he came on to the ford to encounter Cuchulain. The mighty warriors of the camp and station considered it not a goodly enough sight to view the combat of Larinè; only the women and boys and girls, [4]thrice fifty of them,[4] went to scoff and to jeer at his battle. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 209. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 1599. [4-4] H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93. Cuchulain went to meet him at the ford and he deemed it unbecoming to bring along arms [5]or to ply weapons upon him,[5] so Cuchulain came to the encounter unarmed [6]except for the weapons he wrested from his opponent.[6] [7]And when Larinè reached the ford, Cuchulain saw him and made a rush at him.[7] Cuchulain knocked all of Larinè's weapons out of his hand as one might knock toys out of the hand of an infant. Cuchulain ground and bruised him between his arms, he lashed him and clasped him, he squeezed him and shook him, so that he spilled all the dirt out of him, [8]so that the ford was defiled with his dung[8] [9]and the air was fouled with his dust[9] and an [10]unclean, filthy[10] wrack of cloud arose in the four airts wherein he was. Then from the middle of the ford Cuchulain hurled Larinè far from him across through the camp [11]till he fell into Lugaid's two hands[11] at the door of the tent of his brother. [W.2252.] Howbeit [1]from that time forth[1] [2]for the remainder of his life[2] he never got up without a [3]sigh and a[3] groan, and [4]he never lay down without hurt, and he never stood up without a moan;[4] [5]as long as he lived[5] he never ate [6]a meal[6] without plaint, and never thenceforward was he free from weakness of the loins and oppression of the chest and without cramps and the frequent need which obliged him to go out. Still he is the only man that made escape, [7]yea though a bad escape,[7] after combat with Cuchulain on the Cualnge Cattle-raid. Nevertheless that maiming took effect upon him, so that it afterwards brought him his death. Such then is the Combat of Larinè on the Táin Bó Cualnge. [5-5] Eg. 209. [6-6] Eg. 209. [7-7] Eg. 93. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1602. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1603. [10-10] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [11-11] LU. and YBL. 1604. [1-1] Eg. 93, H. 2. 17 and Eg. 209. [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] Eg. 209. [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1604. [6-6] Eg. 209. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1607. * * * * * [Page 161] XIVb [1]THE COLLOQUY OF THE MORRIGAN AND CUCHULAIN[1] [2]Then Cuchulain saw draw near him a young woman with a dress of every colour about her and her appearance was most surpassing. "Who art thou?" Cuchulain asked. "Daughter of Buan ('the Eternal'), the king," she answered. "I am come to thee; I have loved thee for the high tales they tell of thee and have brought my treasures and cattle with me." "Not good is the time thou hast come. Is not our condition weakened through hunger? Not easy then would it be for me to foregather with a woman the while I am engaged in this struggle." "Herein I will come to thy help." "Not for the love of a woman[a] did I take this in hand." "This then shall be thy lot," said she, "when I come against thee what time thou art contending with men: In the shape of an eel I will come beneath thy feet in the ford; so shalt thou fall." "More likely that, methinks, than daughter of a king! I will seize thee," said he, "in the fork of my toes till thy ribs are broken, and thou shalt remain in such sorry plight till there come my sentence of blessing on thee." "In the shape of a grey she-wolf will I drive the cattle on to the ford against thee." "I will cast a stone from my sling at thee, so shall it smash thine eye in thy head" (said he), "and thou wilt so remain maimed till my sentence of blessing come on thee." "I will attack thee," said she, "in the shape of a hornless red heifer at the head of the cattle, so that they will overwhelm thee on the waters and fords and pools and thou wilt not see me before thee." "I will," replied he, "fling a stone at thee that will break thy leg under thee, and thou wilt thus be lamed till my sentence of blessing come on thee." Therewith she went from him.[2] [1-1] LU. fo. 74a, in the margin. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1609-1629. [a] Literally, '_non causa podicis feminae_.' The MS. is partly erased here. * * * * * [Page 163] XV [1]HERE FOLLOWETH THE COMBAT OF LOCH AND CUCHULAIN ON THE TÁIN,[1] [2]AND THE SLAYING OF LOCH SON OF MOFEMIS[2] [3]Then it was debated by the men of Erin who would be fitted to fight and contend with Cuchulain and ward him off from them on the ford at the morning-hour early on the morrow. What they all agreed was that it should be Loch Mor ('the Great') son of Mofemis, the royal champion of Munster.[3] [W.2260.] It was then that Loch Mor son of Mofemis was summoned [4]like the rest[4] to the pavilion of Ailill and Medb, [5]and he was promised the equal of Mag Murthemni of the smooth field of Mag Ai, and the accoutrement of twelve men, and a chariot of the value of seven bondmaids.[5] "What would ye of me?" asked Loch. "To have fight with Cuchulain," replied Medb. "I will not go on that errand, for I esteem it no honour nor becoming to attack a tender, young, smooth-chinned, beardless boy. [6]'Tis not seemly to speak thus to me, and ask it not of me.[6] And not to belittle him do I say it, but I have [7]a doughty brother, [8]the match of himself,"[8] said Loch,[7] "a man to confront him, Long macEmonis, to wit, and he will rejoice to accept an offer from you; [9]and it were fitting for him to contend with Cuchulain for Long has no beard on cheek or lip any more than Cuchulain."[9] [1-1] YBL. 1630. [2-2] LU. fo. 74b, between the columns. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1631. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1631-1633. [6-6] Eg. 209. [7-7] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [8-8] Eg. 93. [9-9] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [W.2266.] [1]Thereupon[1] Long was summoned to the tent of Ailill and Medb, and Medb promised him great gifts, even livery for twelve men of cloth of every colour, and a chariot worth four[a] times seven bondmaids, and Finnabair to wife for him alone, and at all times entertainment in Cruachan, and that wine[b] would be poured out for him. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [a] 'Thrice.' Eg. 209. [b] 'Ale,' Eg. 209. [2]They passed there that night and he engaged to do the battle and combat, and early on the morrow[2] went Long [3]to the ford of battle and combat[3] to seek Cuchulain, and Cuchulain slew him and [5]they brought him dead into the presence of his brother, namely of Loch. And Loch [4]came forth and raised up his loud, quick voice and[4] cried, had he known it was a bearded man that slew him, he would slay him for it.[5] [6]And it was in the presence of Medb that he said it.[6] [7]"Lead a battle-force against him," Medb cried to her host, "over the ford from the west, that ye may cross, and let the law of fair fight be broken with Cuchulain." The seven Manè the warriors went first, till they saw him to the west of the edge of the ford. He wore his festive raiment on that day and the women clambered on the men that they might behold him. "It grieves me," said Medb. "I cannot see the boy because of whom they go there." "Thy mind would not be the easier for that," quoth Lethrenn, Ailill's horseboy, "if thou shouldst see him." Cuchulain came to the ford as he was. "What man is that yonder, O Fergus?" asked Medb.[c] And Medb, too, climbed on the men to get a look [W.2272.] at him.[7] [1]Then[1] Medb called upon [2]her handmaid for two woman-bands,[2] [3]fifty or twice fifty[3] of her women, to go speak with Cuchulain and to charge him to put a false beard on. The woman-troop went their way to Cuchulain and told him to put a false beard on [4]if he wished to engage in battle or combat with goodly warriors or with goodly youths of the men of Erin;[4] [5]that sport was made of him in the camp for that he had no beard, and that no good warrior would go meet him but only madmen. It were easier to make a false beard:[5] "For no brave warrior in the camp thinks it seemly to come fight with thee, and thou beardless," [6]said they.[6] [7]"If that please me," said Cuchulain, "then I shall do it."[7] Thereupon Cuchulain [8]took a handful of grass and speaking a spell over it he[8] bedaubed himself a beard [9]in order to obtain combat with a man, namely with Loch.[9] And he came onto the knoll overlooking the men of Erin and made that beard manifest to them all, [10]so that every one thought it was a real beard he had.[10] [11]"'Tis true," spake the women, "Cuchulain has a beard. It is fitting for a warrior to fight with him." They said that to urge on Loch.[11] Loch son of Mofemis saw it, and what he said was, "Why, that is a beard on Cuchulain!" "It is what I perceive," Medb answered. Medb promised the same great terms to Loch to put a check to Cuchulain. [12]"I will not undertake the fight till the end of seven days from this day," exclaimed Loch. "Not fitting is it for us to leave that man unattacked for all that time," Medb answered. "Let us put a warrior every night to spy upon him if, peradventure, we might get a chance at him." This then they did. A warrior went every night to spy upon him and he slew them all. These are the names of the men who fell there: the seven Conall, the seven Oengus, the seven Uargus, the seven Celtri, the eight Fiach, the ten Ailill, the ten Delbrath, the ten Tasach. These are the deeds of that week on Ath Grenca. [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] Eg. 93. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1637-1639. [6-6] Eg. 93. [7-7] LU. fo. 61, note 7, edition O'Keeffe and Strachan. [c] Fergus' answer, eight lines in _rosc_, LU. page 61, note 7, edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe (these lines are not in YBL.), has been omitted in the translation. [1-1] Eg. 93 and Eg. 209. [2-2] Eg. 209. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] Eg. 93. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 1640-1641. [6-6] Eg. 209. [7-7] Eg. 93. [8-8] LU. 1643. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1642.] [10-10] LU. 1644. [11-11] LU. 1645-1647. [a] In Eg. 93, this is said by Medb. Medb sought counsel, what was best to be done with Cuchulain, for she was sore grieved at all of her host that had been slain by him. This is the counsel she took: To despatch keen, high-spirited men at one time to attack him when he would come to an appointment she would make to speak with him. For she had a tryst the next day with Cuchulain, to conclude the pretence of a truce with him in order to get a chance at him. She sent forth messengers to seek him to advise him to come to her, and thus it was that he should come, unarmed, for she herself would not come but with her women attendants to converse with him. The runner, namely Traigtren ('Strongfoot') [1]son of Traiglethan ('Broadfoot')[1] went to the place where Cuchulain was and gave him Medb's message. Cuchulain promised that he would do her will. "How liketh it thee to meet Medb to-morrow, O Cuchulain?" asked Laeg. "Even as Medb desires it," answered Cuchulain. "Great are Medb's deeds," said the charioteer; "I fear a hand behind the back with her." "How is it to be done [2]by us[2] then?" asked he. "Thy sword at thy waist," the charioteer answered, "that thou be not taken off thy guard. For a warrior is not entitled to his honour-price if he be taken without arms, and it is the coward's law that falls to him in this manner." "Let it be so, then," said Cuchulain. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93. Now it was on Ard ('the Height') of Aignech which is called Fochard to-day that the meeting took place. Then fared Medb to the tryst and she stationed fourteen men of those that were bravest of her bodyguard in ambush against him. These were they: the two Glassinè, the two sons of Buccridi, the two Ardan, the two sons of Liccè, the two Glasogma, the two sons of Crund, Drucht and Delt and Dathen, Tea and Tascur and Tualang, Taur and Glesè. Then Cuchulain comes to meet her. The men rise against him. Fourteen spears are hurled at him at the same time. The Hound defends himself, so that neither his skin nor protection (?) is touched and he turns in upon them and kills them, the fourteen men. Hence these are the 'Fourteen men of Fochard.' And they are also the 'Men of Cronech,' for it is in Cronech at Fochard they were slain. And it is of this Cuchulain spake:-- "Good my skill[a] in champion's deeds. Valorous are the strokes I deal On the brilliant phantom host. War with numerous bands I wage, For the fall of warlike chief-- This, Medb's purpose and Ailill's-- Direful (?) hatred hath been raised!"[b] [a] With a play on the name _Focherd_, as is explained in the following paragraph. [b] Here follow six lines in _rosc_, LU. 1692-1697, edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe (the passage does not occur in YBL.), of uncertain meaning; they are omitted in the translation. This is the reason why the name Focherd clung to that place, to wit: _Fo_ 'Good' and _Cerd_ 'Art,' which signifieth 'Good the feat of arms' that happened to Cuchulain there. Then came Cuchulain and he overtook [1]the hosts[1] pitching camp, and there were slain the two Daigri, the two Anli and the four Dungai of Imlech. And there Medb began to urge on Loch: "Great is the scorn that is made of thee," said she, "that the man that killed thy brother should be destroying our host [2]here before thee[2] and thou not attack him. For sure we are that such as he yonder, that great and fierce madman, will not be able to withstand the valour and rage of a warrior such as thou art. And, further, from one and the same instructress the art was acquired by you both."[12] [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93. [12-12] LU. 1647-1708 and Eg. 93 (_Revue Celtique_, t. xv. 1894, pp. 64-66). [W.2283.] "I will go forth and attack him," cried Loch. Loch went to attack Cuchulain, [1]to take vengeance on him for his brother,[1] [2]for it was shown him that Cuchulain had a beard;[2] so they met on the ford where Long had fallen. "Let us move to the upper ford," said Loch, "for I will not fight on this ford," since he held it defiled, [3]cursed and unclean,[3] the ford whereon his brother had fallen. [4]Now when Cuchulain came to look for the ford, the men drove the cattle across.[4] [5]"The cattle[5] [6]will be across thy water here to-day," said Gabran[6] [7]the poet.[7] [8]Hence cometh Ath Tarteise ('the Ford over thy Water') and Tir Mor Tarteise ('the Great Land over thy Water').[8] Thereafter they fought on the upper ford [9]between Methè and Cethè at the head of Tir Mor,[9] [10]and they were for a long space and time at their feats wounding and striking each other.[10] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1709 and Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93 and LU. 1709. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [4-4] LU. and, partly, YBL. 1711. [5-5] YBL. 1711. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1711. [7-7] LU. 1712. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1712. [9-9] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [10-10] Eg. 93. Then it was that the Morrigan daughter of [11]Aed[11] Ernmas came from the fairy dwellings to destroy Cuchulain. For she had threatened on the Cattle-raid of Regomain [a] that she would come to undo Cuchulain what time he would be [13]in sore distress[13] when engaged in [14]battle and[14] combat with a goodly warrior, [15]with Loch,[15] in the course of the Cattle-spoil of Cualnge. Thither then the Morrigan [W.2293.] came in the shape of a white, [1]hornless,[1] red-eared heifer, with fifty heifers about her and a chain of silvered bronze between each two of the heifers. [2]She bursts upon the pools and fords at the head of the cattle. It was then that Cuchulain said, "I cannot see the fords for the waters."[2] The women [3]came with their strange sorcery, and[3] constrained Cuchulain by geasa and by inviolable bonds [4]to check the heifer for them[4] lest she should escape from him without harm. Cuchulain made an unerring cast [5]from his sling-stick[5] at her, so that he shattered one of the Morrigan's eyes. [11-11] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [12-12] See page 165, note 12. [a] Edited by Wh. Stokes and E. Windisch, in _Irische Texte_, Bd. II, SS. 241-254. [13-13] Eg. 93. [14-14] Eg. 93. [15-15] Eg. 209. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1722. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1722. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [5-5] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [6]Now when the men met on the ford and began to fight and to struggle, and when each of them was about to strike the other,[6] the Morrigan came thither in the shape of a slippery, black eel down the stream. Then she came on the linn and she coiled [7]three folds[7] [8]and twists[8] around the [9]two[9] feet [10]and the thighs and forks[10] of Cuchulain, [11]till he was lying on his back athwart the ford[11] [12]and his limbs in the air.[12] [6-6] LU. 1713. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 1713. [8-8] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [9-9] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [10-10] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [11-11] LU. and YBL. 1714. [12-12] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. While Cuchulain was busied freeing himself [13]and before he was able to rise,[13] Loch wounded him crosswise through the breast, [14]so that the spear[a] went through him[14] [15]and the ford was gore-red with his blood.[15] [16]"Ill, indeed," cried Fergus, "is this deed in the face of the foe. Let some of ye taunt him, ye men," he cried to his people, "to the end that he fall not in vain!" [13-13] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [14-14] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [a] 'Sword,' LU. and YBL. 1734. [15-15] LU. 1714. Bricriu Nemthenga ('Of the Venom-tongue') son of Carbad arose and began to revile Cuchulain. "Thy strength has gone from thee," said he, "when a little salmon overthrows thee even now when the Ulstermen are about to come out of their 'Pains.'[16] [1]Hard it would be for thee to take on thee warrior's deeds in the presence of the men of Erin and to repel a stout warrior clad in his armour!"[1] [16-16] LU., edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe, p. 63, note 17. Similarly, YBL. 1714-1716, and Eg. 93. [1-1] LU. fo. 63, note 19, edit. Strachan and O'Keeffe, and Eg. 93. [2]Then[2] [3]at this incitation[3] [4]Cuchulain arose,[4] [5]and with his left heel he smote the eel on the head,[5] [6]so that its ribs broke within it[6] [7]and he destroyed one half of its brains after smashing half of its head.[7] [8]And the cattle were driven by force past the hosts to the east and they even carried away the tents on their horns at the thunder-feat the two warriors made on the ford.[8] [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1716. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1717. [5-5] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1717. [7-7] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [8-8] LU. and YBL. 1718-1720. [W.2302.] The Morrigan next came in the form of a rough, grey-red bitch-wolf [9]with wide open jaws[9] [10]and she bit Cuchulain in the arm[10] [11]and drove the cattle against him westwards,[11] [12]and Cuchulain made a cast of his little javelin at her, strongly, vehemently, so that it shattered one eye in her head.[12] During this space of time, whether long or short, while Cuchulain was engaged in freeing himself, Loch wounded him [13]through the loins.[13] Thereupon Cuchulain chanted a lay.[a] [9-9] Eg. 209. [10-10] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [11-11] LU. and YBL. 1721. [12-12] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17, and, similarly, LU. and YBL. 1721. [13-13] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [a] The three stanzas of this lay in YBL. (four in LU.) are found, with slight changes, in the lay on page 172fl. [14]Then did Cuchulain to the Morrigan the three things he had threatened her on the Cattle-raid of Regomain,[14] and his anger arose within him and he [LL.fo.75a.] wounded Loch with the Gae Bulga ('the Barbed-spear'), so that it passed through [W.2307.] his heart in his breast. [1]For truly it must have been that Cuchulain could not suffer the treacherous blows and the violence of Loch Mor the warrior, and he called for the Gae Bulgae from Laeg son of Riangabair. And the charioteer sent the Gae Bulga down the stream and Cuchulain made it ready. And when Loch heard that, he gave a lunge down with his shield, so that he drove it over two-thirds deep into the pebbles and sand and gravel of the ford. And then Cuchulain let go the Barbed-spear upwards, so as to strike Loch over the border of his hauberk and the rim of his shield.[1] [2]And it pierced his body's covering, for Loch wore a horn skin when fighting with a man,[2] [3]so that his farther side was pierced clear after his heart had been thrust through in his breast.[3] [14-14] LU. and YBL. 1732. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1735-1736. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [4]"That is enough now," spake Loch; "I am smitten by that.[4] [5]For thine honour's sake[5] [6]and on the truth of thy valour and skill in arms,[6] grant me a boon now, O Cuchulain," said Loch. "What boon askest thou?" "'Tis no boon of quarter nor a prayer of cowardice that I make of thee," said Loch. "But fall back a step from me [7]and permit me to rise,[7] that it be on my face to the east I fall and not on my back to the west toward the warriors of Erin, to the end that no man of them shall say, [8]if I fall on my back,[8] it was in retreat or in flight I was before thee, for fallen I have by the Gae Bulga!" "That will I do," answered Cuchulain, "for 'tis a [9]true[9] warrior's prayer that thou makest." [4-4] Eg. 93. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Eg. 93. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [9-9] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. And Cuchulain stepped back, [10]so that Loch fell on his face, and his soul parted from his body and Laeg despoiled him.[10] [11]Cuchulain cut off his head then.[11] Hence cometh [W.2314.] the name the ford bears ever since, namely Ath Traged ('Foot-ford') in Cenn Tire Moir ('Great Headland'). [1]It was then they broke their terms of fair fight that day with Cuchulain, when five men went against him at one time, namely the two Cruaid, the two Calad and Derothor. All alone, Cuchulain killed them. Hence cometh Coicsius Focherda ('Fochard's Fortnight') and Coicer Oengoirt ('Five Warriors in one Field'). Or it may be, fifteen days Cuchulain passed in Fochard and it is hence cometh Coicsius Focherda on the Táin.[1] [10-10] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [11-11] LU. fo. 77a, in the margin. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 1739-1743. And deep distress[a] possessed Cuchulain that day [2]more than any other day[2] for his being all alone on the Táin, [3]confronting four of the five grand provinces of Erin,[3] [4]and he sank into swoons and faints.[4] Thereupon Cuchulain enjoined upon Laeg his charioteer to go to the men of Ulster, that they should come to defend their drove. [5]And, on rising, this is what he said:[5] [6]"Good, O Laeg, get thee to Emain to the Ulstermen, and bid them come henceforward to look after their drove for I can defend their fords no longer. For surely it is not fair fight nor equal contest for any man for the Morrigan to oppose and overpower him and Loch to wound and pierce him."[6] And weariness of heart and weakness overcame him, and he gave utterance to a lay:-- "Rise, O Laeg, arouse the hosts, Say for me in Emain strong: I am worn each day in fight, Full of wounds, and bathed in gore! "My right side and eke my left: Hard to say which suffers worse; Fingin's[b] hand hath touched them not, Stanching blood with strips of wood! [W.2329.] "Bring this word to Conchobar dear, I am weak, with wounded sides. Greatly has he changed in mien, Dechtire's fond, rich-trooped son! "I alone these cattle guard, Leave them not, yet hold them not. Ill my plight, no hope for me, Thus alone on many fords! "Showers of blood rain on my arms, Full of hateful wounds am I. No friend comes to help me here, Save my charioteer alone! "Few make music here for me, Joy I've none in single horn. When the mingled trumpets sound,[a] This is sweetest from the drone! "This old saying, ages old:-- 'Single log gives forth no flame;' Let there be a two or three, Up the firebrands all will blaze! "One sole log burns not so well As when one burns by its side. Guile can be employed on one; Single mill-stone doth not grind! "Hast not heard at every time, 'One is duped'?--'tis true of me. That is why I cannot last These long battles of the hosts! "However small a host may be, It receives some thought and pains; Take but this: its daily meat On one fork is never cooked! "Thus alone I've faced the host, By the ford in broad Cantire; Many came, both Loch and Badb, As foretold in 'Regomain!'[b] "Loch has mangled my two thighs; Me the grey-red wolf hath bit; Loch my sides[c] has wounded sore, And the eel has dragged me down! "With my spear I kept her off; I put out the she-wolf's eye; [W.2371.] And I broke her lower leg, At the outset of the strife! "Then when Laeg sent Aifè's spear,[a] Down the stream--like swarm of bees-- That sharp deadly spear I hurled, Loch, [1]Mobebuis'[1] son, fell there! "Will not Ulster battle give To Ailill and Eocho's lass,[b] While I linger here in pain, Full of wounds and bathed in blood? [LL.fo.75b.] "Tell the splendid Ulster chiefs They shall come to guard their drove. Maga's sons[c] have seized their kine And have portioned them all out! "Fight on fight--though much I vowed, I have kept my word in all. For pure honour's sake I fight; 'Tis too much to fight alone! "Vultures joyful at the breach In Ailill's and in Medb's camp. Mournful cries of woe are heard; On Murthemne's plain is grief! "Conchobar comes not out with help; In the fight, no troops of his. Should one leave _him_ thus alone, Hard 'twould be his rage to tell! [1]"Men have almost worn me out In these single-handed fights; Warrior's deeds I cannot do, Now that I must fight alone!"[1] [a] Literally 'repentance.' [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [5-5] Eg. 93. [6-6] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [b] Physician to King Conchobar. [a] Following Windisch's emended reading of LL. [b] See above, page 168, note a. [c] Literally, 'liver.' [a] That is, the 'barbed' spear. [1-1] Reading with MS. Stowe. [b] That is, Medb. [c] That is, the followers of Ailill.] [1-1] LU. page 64, note 5, edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe. [2]Although Cuchulain spoke thus, he had no strength for Laeg to leave him.[2] [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. This then is the Combat of Loch Mor ('the Great') son of Mofemis against Cuchulain on the Driving of the Kine of Cualnge. * * * * * [Page 175] XVI [1]THE VIOLATION OF THE AGREEMENT[1] [2]Then were five men sent against Cuchulain on the morrow to contend with him and he killed them, so that they fell by his hand, and 'the Five of Cenn Cursighi' was their name.[2] [W.2400.] Then it was that Medb despatched six men at one and the same time to attack Cuchulain, to wit: Traig ('Foot') and Dorn ('Fist') and Dernu ('Palm'), Col ('Sin') and Accuis[a] ('Curse') and Eraisè ('Heresy'), three druid-men and three druid-women, [3]their three wives.[3] Cuchulain attacked them, [4]the six of them, and struck off their six heads,[4] so that they fell at his hands [5]on this side of Ath Tire Moire ('Big Land's Ford') at Methè and Cethè.[5] [1-1] This heading is supplied by Windisch. [2-2] Eg. 93. [a] LU. 1764, H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93 have for this, _Mebul_, 'Shame.' [3-3] LU. 1767. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] LU. 1766-1767. [6]Then it was that Fergus demanded of his sureties that fair-dealing should not be broken with Cuchulain. And it was there that Cuchulain was at that time,[6] [7]that is, at Delga Murthemni. Then Cuchulain killed Fota in his field, Bomailcè on his ford, Salach in his homestead, Muinè in his fort, Luar in Lethbera, Fertoithle in Toithle. These are the names of these lands forever, every place in which each man of them fell.[7] [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1759-1760. [7-7] LU. 1761-1765. Forasmuch as covenant and terms of single combat had been broken with Cuchulain, Cuchulain took his sling in hand that day and began to shoot at the host from Delga ('the Little Dart') in the south, [8]in Murthemne.[8] Though [W.2406.] numerous were the men of Erin on that day, not one of them durst turn his face southwards [1]towards Cuchulain, towards the side where he was[1] [2]between Delga and the sea,[2] whether dog, or horse, or man. [3]So that he slew an hundred warriors till came the bright hour of sunrise on the morrow.[3] [8-8] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 1745. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. * * * * * [Page 177] XVIa [1]THE HEALING OF THE MORRIGAN[1] [W.2410.] [2]Great weariness came over Cuchulain after that night, and a great thirst, after his exhaustion.[2] Then it was that the Morrigan, daughter of Emmas, came from the fairy dwellings, in the guise of an old hag, [3]with wasted knees, long-legged,[3] [4]blind and lame,[4] engaged in milking a [5]tawny,[5] three-teated [6]milch[6] cow before the eyes of Cuchulain.[a] And for this reason she came in this fashion, that she might have redress from Cuchulain. For none whom Cuchulain ever wounded recovered therefrom without himself aided in the healing. Cuchulain, maddened with thirst, begged her for a milking. She gave him a milking of one of the teats [7]and straightway Cuchulain drank it.[7] "May this be a cure in time for me, [8]old crone," quoth Cuchulain, "and the blessing of gods and of non-gods upon thee!" said he;[8] and one of the queen's eyes became whole thereby. He begged the milking of [9]another[9] teat. [10]She milked the cow's second teat and[10] gave it to him and [11]he drank it and said,[11] "May she straightway be sound that gave it." [12]Then her head was healed so that it was whole.[12] He begged a third drink [W.2418.] [1]of the hag.[1] [2]She milked the cow's third teat[2] and gave him the milking of the teat [3]and he drank it.[3] "A blessing on thee of gods and of non-gods, O woman! [4]Good is the help and succour thou gavest me."[4] [5]And her leg was made whole thereby.[5] [6]Now these were their gods, the mighty folk: and these were their non-gods, the folk of husbandry.[6] And the queen was healed [7]forthwith.[7] [8]"Well, Cuchulain,[8] [9]thou saidst to me," spake the Morrigan, "I should not get healing [10]nor succour[10] from thee forever." "Had I known it was thou," Cuchulain made answer, "I would never have healed thee." Or, it may be Drong Conculainn ('Cuchulain's Throng') on Tarthesc is the name of this tale in the Reaving of the Kine of Cualnge.[9] [1-1] LU. fo. 77a, in the margin. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 1748. [5-5] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [6-6] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [a] Reading _fiadnaisse_. [7-7] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [8-8] Eg. 93. [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [11-11] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [12-12] LU. and YBL. 1753. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [4-4] H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93. [5-5] LU. and YBL 1755. [6-6] A gloss incorporated in the text of LL., LU., YBL., Stowe, H. 2. 17. and Eg. 93. [7-7] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [8-8] Eg. 93. [9-9] LU. and YBL. 1755-1758. [10-10] Eg. 93. [11]Then it was she alighted in the form of a royston crow on the bramble that grows over Grelach Dolair ('the Stamping-ground of Dolar') in Mag Murthemni. "Ominous is the appearance of a bird in this place above all," quoth Cuchulain. Hence cometh Sgè nah Einchi ('Crow's Bramble') as a name of Murthemne.[11] [11-11] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. Then Medb ordered out the hundred [12]armed[12] warriors [13]of her body-guard[13] at one and the same time to assail Cuchulain. Cuchulain attacked them all, so that they fell by his hand [14]at Ath Ceit Cuilè ('Ford of the First Crime').[14] "It is a dishonour for us that our people are slaughtered in this wise," quoth Medb. "It is not the first destruction that has befallen us from that same man," replied Ailill. Hence Cuilenn Cind Duni ('The Destruction of the Head [W.2426.] of the Dûn') is henceforth the name of the place where they were,[1] the mound whereon Medb and Ailill tarried that night.[1] Hence Ath Cro ('Gory Ford') is the name of the ford where they were, [2]and Glass Cro ('River of Gore') the name of the stream.[2] And fittingly, too, because of the abundance of gore and blood that went with the flow of the river. [12-12] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [13-13] LU. 1768. [14-14] LU. 1769. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17, and, similarly, LU. 1771. * * * * * [Page 180] XVII THE GREAT ROUT ON THE PLAIN OF MURTHEMNE FOLLOWETH HERE BELOW [W.2431.] [1]That night[1] the warriors of four of the five grand provinces of Erin pitched camp and made their station in the place called Breslech Mor ('the Great Rout') in the Plain of Murthemne. Their portion of cattle and spoils they sent on before them to the south to the cow-stalls of Ulster. [LL.fo.76a.] Cuchulain took station at Ferta ('the Gravemound') at Lerga ('the Slopes') hard by them. And his charioteer kindled him a fire on the evening of that night, namely Laeg son of Riangabair. Cuchulain saw far away in the distance the fiery glitter of the bright-golden arms over the heads of four of the five grand provinces of Erin, in the setting of the sun in the clouds of evening. Great anger and rage possessed him at their sight, because of the multitude of his foes, because of the number of his enemies [2]and opponents, and because of the few that were to avenge his sores and his wounds upon them.[2] [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3]Then Cuchulain arose and[3] he grasped his two spears and his shield and his sword. He shook his shield and brandished his spears and wielded his sword and sent out the hero's shout from his throat, so that the fiends and goblins and sprites of the glens and demons of the air gave answer for the fearfulness of the shout [4]that he lifted on [W.2444.] high,[4] until Nemain, [1]which is Badb,[1] brought confusion on the host. The warriors of the four provinces of Erin made such a clangour of arms with the points of their spears and their weapons that an hundred [2]strong, stout-sturdy[2] warriors of them fell dead that night of fright and of heartbreak in the middle of the camp and quarters [3]of the men of Erin at the awfulness of the horror and the shout which Cuchulain lifted on high.[3] [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [4-4] Translating from Stowe, H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93. [1-1] Stowe, and LL., in the margin. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3-3] Eg. 93. As Laeg stood there he descried something: A single man coming from the north-eastern quarter athwart the camp of the four grand provinces of Erin making directly for him. "A single man here cometh towards us now, Cucucan," cried Laeg. "But what manner of man is he?" Cuchulain asked. "Not hard to say," [4]Laeg made answer.[4] "A great, well-favoured man, then. Broad, close-shorn hair upon him, and yellow and curly his back hair. A green mantle wrapped around him. A brooch of white silver[a] in the mantle over his breast. A kirtle of silk fit for a king, with red interweaving of ruddy gold he wears trussed up on his fair skin and reaching down to his knees. [5]A great one-edged sword in his hand.[5] A black shield with hard rim of silvered bronze thereon. A five-barbed spear in his hand. A pronged bye-spear beside it. Marvellous, in sooth, the feats and the sport and the play that he makes. But him no one heeds, nor gives he heed to any one. [6]No one shows him courtesy nor does he show courtesy to any one,[6] like as if none saw him in the camp of the four grand provinces of Erin." "In sooth, O fosterling," answered Cuchulain, "it is one of my friends of fairy kin [7]that comes[7] to take pity upon me, because they know the great distress wherein I am now all alone against the four grand provinces of Erin on the Plunder of the Kine of [W.2463.] Cualnge, [1]killing a man on the ford each day and fifty each night, for the men of Erin grant me not fair fight nor the terms of single combat from noon of each day."[1] [4-4] Eg. 93. [a] 'Of gold,' Eg. 93. [5-5] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] Stowe. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. Now in this, Cuchulain spoke truth. When the young warrior was come up to Cuchulain he bespoke him and condoled with him [2]for the greatness of his toil and the length of time he had passed without sleep.[2] [3]"This is brave of thee, O Cuchulain," quoth he. "It is not much, at all," replied Cuchulain. "But I will bring thee help," said the young warrior. "Who then art thou?" asked Cuchulain. "Thy father from Faery am I, even Lug son of Ethliu." "Yea, heavy are the bloody wounds upon me; let thy healing be speedy."[3] "Sleep then awhile, O Cuchulain," said the young warrior, "thy heavy fit of sleep by Ferta in Lerga ('the Gravemound on the Slopes') till the end of three days and three nights and I will oppose the hosts during that time." [4]He examined each wound so that it became clean. Then he sang him the 'men's low strain' till Cuchulain fell asleep withal. It was then Lug recited[4] [5]the Spell-chant of Lug.[5] [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] LU. 1803-1807, and, similarly, Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [4-4] LU. 1810-1811. [5-5] LU. fo. 78a, in the margin; also in H. 2. 17. and Eg. 93. Accordingly Cuchulain slept his heavy fit of sleep at 'the Gravemound on the Slopes' till the end of three days and three nights. And well he might sleep. Yet as great as was his sleep, even so great was his weariness. For from the Monday before Samain[a] ('Summer-end') even to the Wednesday after Spring-beginning,[b] Cuchulain slept not for all that space, except for a brief snatch after mid-day, leaning against his spear, and his head on his [W.2475.] fist, and his fist clasping his spear, and his spear on his knee, [LL.fo.76b.] but hewing and cutting, slaying and destroying four of the five grand provinces of Erin during that time. [a] Hallowtide, the first of November and the beginning of winter. [b] I.e. Candlemas. Stowe contains a Christian addition: 'to the feast of Brigit;' that is, the first of February. Then it was that the warrior [1]from Faery[1] laid plants from the fairy-rath and healing herbs and put a healing charm into the cuts and stabs, into the sores and gaping wounds of Cuchulain, so that Cuchulain recovered during his sleep without ever perceiving it. [1-1] LU. 1826. * * * * * [Page 184] XVIIa THE SLAUGHTER OF THE YOUTHS OF ULSTER[a] [W.2482.] That was the time the youths came out of the north from Emain Macha [1]to the help of Cuchulain.[1] Thrice fifty boys of the sons of the kings of Ulster, accompanying Follomain, Conchobar's son, and three battles they offered to the hosts, so that thrice their number fell and the youths also fell, save Conchobar's son Follomain. Follomain vowed that never till the very day of doom and of life would he return to Emain unless he should bring Ailill's head with him together with the diadem of gold that was on it. That was no easy thing for him to achieve, for the two sons of Bethè son of Ban--the two sons of Ailill's foster-mother and foster-father [2]to whom King Ailill's diadem had been entrusted[2]--attacked and wounded [3]Follomain,[3] so that he fell by their hands. This then is the Massacre of the youths of Ulster and of Follomain son of Conchobar. [a] The LU. version of this episode was given above under XIIe, page 143. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3-3] Eg. 93. Touching Cuchulain, he remained in his sound, heavy sleep till the end of three days and three nights at the 'Gravemound on the Slopes.' Thereafter Cuchulain arose from his sleep. He passed his hand over his face and he became as a wild[b] wheel-thunder (?) from his crown to the ground, and he felt his courage strengthened, and he would have [W.2497.] been able to go into an assembly or on a march or to a tryst with a woman or to an ale-house or into one of the chief assemblies of Erin. "How long am I asleep now, young warrior?" Cuchulain asked. "Three days and three nights," the young warrior made answer. "Woe is me for that!" quoth Cuchulain. "Why so?" asked the young warrior. "For that the hosts have not been attacked in that time," answered Cuchulain. "Nay, not so were they spared," the young warrior made answer. "I would fain inquire who then attacked them?" Cuchulain asked. "The youths came hither out of the north from Emain Macha, thrice fifty boys accompanying Follomain, Conchobar's son, and they the sons of the kings of Ulster. And three battles they offered the hosts in the space of the three days and three nights wherein thou wast till now asleep, and thrice their number are fallen at their hands and the youths themselves are fallen except Follomain [1]alone,[1] Conchobar's son. And Follomain vowed that never till the very day of doom and of life [3]would he return [2]north[2] to Emain Macha till he carried off Ailill's head with the diadem of gold which was on it. Howbeit not such was his luck, for he fell at the hands of the two sons of Bethè son of Ban, after engaging in battle with them."[3] [b] Literally, 'crimson.' [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3-3] Stowe. "Alas, that I was not [4]there[4] in my strength!" cried Cuchulain; "for had I been in my strength the youths would not have fallen, as now they have, and Follomain would not have perished." "But this avow, O Cucan,"[a] [5]said the young warrior;[5] "it is no reproach to thine honour and no disgrace to thy valour." "Bide here this night with us, young warrior," said Cuchulain, "that together we avenge the youths on the hosts." "Nay then, I may not tarry," answered the [W.2515.] young warrior. [1]"Why so?" asked Cuchulain. "Easy to say," replied the young warrior;[1] "for however prodigious the deeds of valour and skill in arms one may perform in thy company, not on him will fall the glory nor the honour nor the fame but on thyself. For this reason will I not tarry with thee, but do thou thyself try thy feats of arms [2]and the strength of thy hands[2] alone on the hosts, for not with them is the power over thy life on this occasion." [4-4] Stowe. [a] A pet name for Cuchulain. [5-5] Eg. 93. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3]Then the young warrior from Faery went from him and they knew not what way he had gone. "Good, O my master Laeg," said Cuchulain; "together we will go to avenge the youths on the hosts." "I will go with thee," Laeg made answer.[3] "And the scythed chariot, my friend Laeg," said Cuchulain. "Canst thou get it ready? If thou canst get it ready and hast its equipment, make it ready, and if its equipment is not at hand, make it not ready." [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. * * * * * [Page 187] XVIIb THE SCYTHED CHARIOT [W.2525.] Thereupon the charioteer arose and donned his yeoman's suit for charioteering. Of this [LL.fo.77a.] yeoman's suit for charioteering, this is what he put on him: His soft kirtle of skin which was light and airy, which was smooth and sparkling, which was stitched and of buckskin, so that it hindered not the movements of his arms outside. Over that he put outside an over-mantle of raven's feathers, which Simon Magus had made [1]as a gift[1] [2]for Darius[2] [3]Nero,[3] king of the Romans. Darius bestowed it upon Conchobar; Conchobar gave it to Cuchulain; Cuchulain presented it to [4]Laeg son of Riangabair,[4] his charioteer. The same charioteer took the crested, plated, four-bordered battle-cap with variety of every colour and every figure, reaching [5]down[5] over the middle of his shoulders behind. It was an adornment for him and not an encumbrance. With his hand he placed the red-yellow frontlet--like one red-golden strip of glowing gold smelted over the edge of an anvil--on his forehead as a token of charioteering, to distinguish him from his master. He opened the hobbles that fastened his steeds and grasped his gold-mounted goad in his right hand. In his left hand he seized the lines, that is, the bridle-reins of his horses for restraining his steeds before performing his charioteering. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Stowe and LU. 1874. [3-3] H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93, instead of, 'Darius.' [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [5-5] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [W.2542.] He next threw the iron-sheathed gold-bedecked coats of mail over his horses, so that they covered them from forehead to forehand. [1]The chariot was[1] [2]studded with[2] dartlets, lancelets, spearlets, and hardened spits, so that every portion of the frame bristled with points in that chariot and every corner and end and point and face of that chariot was a passage of laceration. [1-1] There is a gap in the MS., and these words are supplied from the context. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. Then cast he a spell of concealment over his horses and over his fellow, so that they were not visible to any one in the camp, while all in the camp were visible to them, [3]and over this veil of protection he wounded each one and through it and behind it.[3] Well indeed was it that he cast that charm, for on that day the charioteer had to perform the three gifts of charioteership, namely leaping over a cleft in the ranks, unerring driving, and the handling of the goad. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. Then [4]arose[4] the champion and battle-warrior and the instrument of Badb's corpse-fold[a] among the men of the earth,[c] Cuchulain son of Sualtaim, and he donned his war-dress of battle and fight and combat. To that war-dress of battle and fight and combat which he put about him belonged seven and twenty[b] waxed, board-like, equally close skin-tunics which were girded by cords and swathings and ropes on his fair skin, to the end that his wit and reason might not become deranged when the violence of his nature came over him. [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [a] That is, the piled up bodies of the slain. [c] 'Of Erin,' Eg. 93. [b] 'Eight and twenty,'. Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. Over him he put on the outside his battle-girdle of a champion, of tough, tanned, stout leather cut from the forequarters of seven ox-hides of yearlings, so that it reached from the slender parts of his waist to the stout part under [W.2562.] his arm-pits. He was used to wear it to keep off spears and points and irons and lances and arrows. For in like manner they would bound back from it as if from stone or rock or horn they rebounded. Then he took his silken, glossy trews with their band of spotted pale-gold against the soft lower parts of his loins. His brown, well-sewn kilt of brown leather from the shoulders of four ox-hides of yearlings, with his battle-girdle of cow-skins, he put underneath over the shining silken trews on the outside, [1]so that it covered him from the slender part of his waist to the thick part of his thighs and reached up to the battle-belt of the hero.[1] Then the king-hero [LL.fo.77a.] [2]and king-warrior[2] seized his battle-arms of battle and fight and combat. This is what belonged to those warlike weapons of battle: He took his eight little swords together with the bright-faced, tusk-hilted straightsword [3]along with his quiver;[3] he took his eight little spears besides his five-pronged spear; he took his eight little darts together with his javelin with its walrus-tooth ornaments; he took his eight little shafts along with his play-staff; he took his eight shields for feats together with his dark-red bent-shield, whereon a show-boar could lie in its hollow boss, with its very sharp, razor-like, keen-cutting, hard [4]iron[4] rim all around it, so that it would cut a hair against the stream because of its sharpness and fineness and keenness. When the young warrior would perform the edge-feat withal, it was the same whether he cut with his shield or his spear or his sword. Next he put round his head his crested war-helm of battle and fight and combat, [5]wherein were four carbuncle-gems on each point and each end to adorn it,[5] whereout was uttered the cry of an hundred young warriors with the long-drawn wail from each of its angles and corners. [W.2583.] For this was the way that the fiends, the goblins and the sprites of the glens and the demons of the air screamed before and above and around him, what time he went forth for the shedding of blood of heroes and champions, [1]exulting in the mighty deeds wrought underneath it[1]. His veil of concealment was thrown over him then, of raiment from Tir Tairngirè ('the Land of Promise') which had been brought to him [2]as a gift[2] by Manannan son of Ler ('the Sea') from the king of Tir na Sorcha ('the Land of Light'), [3]his foster-father in magic[3]. [4]His fair, purple-red fan was placed in front of his face. Past it and through it and over it everything was visible to him and no one wounded him past it nor through it nor over it[4]. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3-3] LU. 1914. [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [5-5] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3-3] Stowe and LU. 1927. [4-4] Eg. 93. Then took place the first twisting-fit [5]and rage[5] of [6]the royal hero[6] Cuchulain, so that he made a terrible, many-shaped, wonderful, unheard of thing of himself. His flesh trembled about him like a pole against the torrent or like a bulrush against the stream, every member and every joint and every point and every knuckle of him from crown to ground. He made a mad whirling-feat of his body within his hide. His feet and his shins and his knees slid so that they came behind him. His heels and his calves and his hams shifted so that they passed to the front. The muscles of his calves moved so that they came to the front of his shins, so that each huge knot was the size of a soldier's balled fist. He stretched the sinews of his head so that they stood out on the nape of his neck, and as large as the head of a month-old child was each of the hill-like lumps, huge, incalculable, vast, immeasurable. [5-5] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [6-6] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. He next made a ruddy bowl of his face and his countenance. He gulped down one eye into his head so that it [W.2603.] would be hard work if a wild crane succeeded in drawing it out on to the middle of his cheek from the rear of his skull. Its mate sprang forth till it came out on his cheek, [1]so that it was the size of a five-fist kettle, and he made a red berry thereof out in front of his head.[1] His mouth was distorted monstrously [2]and twisted up to his ears[2]. He drew the cheek from the jaw-bone so that the interior of his throat was to be seen. His lungs and his lights stood out so that they fluttered in his mouth and his gullet. He struck a mad lion's blow with the upper jaw [3]on its fellow[3] so that as large as a wether's fleece of a three year old was each [4]red,[4] fiery flake [5]which his teeth forced[5] into his mouth from his gullet. There was heard the loud clap of his heart against his breast like the yelp of a howling bloodhound or like a lion going among bears. [LL.fo.78a.] There were seen the [a]torches of the Badb,[a] and the rain clouds of poison, and the sparks of glowing-red fire, [6]blazing and flashing[6] in hazes and mists over his head with the seething of the truly-wild wrath that rose up above him. His hair bristled all over his head like branches of a redthorn thrust into a gap in a great hedge. Had a king's apple-tree laden with royal fruit been shaken around him, scarce an apple of them all would have passed over him to the ground, but rather would an apple have stayed stuck on each single hair there, for the twisting of the anger which met it as it rose from his hair above him. The Lon Laith ('Champion's Light') stood out of his forehead, so that it was as long and as thick as a warrior's whetstone, [7]so that it was as long as his nose, till he got furious handling the shields, thrusting out the charioteer, destroying the hosts.[7] As high, as thick, as strong, as steady, as long as the sail-tree of some huge [W.2623.] prime ship was the straight spout of dark blood which arose right on high from the very ridgepole of his crown, so that a black fog of witchery was made thereof like to the smoke from a king's hostel what time the king comes to be ministered to at nightfall of a winter's day. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Reading with Stowe. [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [5-5] Reading with Eg. 93. [a-a] A kenning for 'swords.' [6-6] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [7-7] LU. 1958-1959. When now this contortion had been completed in Cuchulain, then it was that the hero of valour sprang into his scythed war-chariot, with its iron sickles, its thin blades, its hooks and its hard spikes, with its hero's fore-prongs, with its opening fixtures, with its stinging nails that were fastened to the poles and thongs and bows and lines of the chariot, [1]lacerating heads and bones and bodies, legs and necks and shoulders.[1] [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. It was then he delivered [2]over his chariot[2] the thunder-feat of a hundred and the thunder-feat of two hundred and the thunder-feat of three hundred and the thunder-feat of four hundred, and he ceased at the thunder-feat of five hundred. For he did not deem it too much that such a great number should fall by his hand at his first onset and first battle-assault on four of the five grand provinces of Erin, [3]while avenging on them the slaughter of the youths and of Follomain son of Conchobar,[3] In such wise fared he forth for to seek his foes, and he drove his chariot in a wide circuit round about the hosts of the four grand provinces of Erin. And he led his chariot a heavy way. The chariot's iron wheels sank into the ground so that [4]the earth dug up by the iron wheels[4] might have served for a dûn and a fortress, so did the chariot's iron wheels cut into the ground. For in like manner the clods and boulders and rocks and the clumps and the shingle of the earth arose up outside on a height with the iron wheels. It was for this cause he made this circling [5]hedge[5] of the Badb [W.2646.] round about the hosts of four of the five grand provinces of Erin, that they might not escape him nor get away before he would come on them to press a reprisal for the boys. And he went into the midst of the ranks and mowed down huge walls of the corpses of his foes [1]and enemies and opponents[1] in a great circle round about the host. And he made the onslaught of a foe amongst foes upon them, so that they fell sole to sole, neck to neck, [2]arm to arm, elbow to elbow, and rib to rib, [3]such was the closeness of their bodies,[3] and there were pools of ruddy blood where they moved.[2] Thrice again in this manner he circled them round, so that he left them in beds of six in a great ring around them, even the soles of three to the backs of three men in a circle around the camp. Hence Sessrech Bresligè ('Great sixfold Slaughter')[a] is the name of this event on the Táin, and it is one of the three unreckonable events of the Táin, which were, to wit, Sessrech Bresligè, Immsligè Glennamnach ('the Mutual Slaying at Glennamain'), and the battle of Garech [LL.fo.78b.] and Ilgarech; only that here, hound and horse and man were one to him [4]in the great rout on Mag Murthemni that night avenging the youths on four of the five grand provinces of Erin.[4] [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [3-3] LU. 1996. [a] Or, 'Ploughland of the Great Slaughter.' [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. What others say is that Lug son of Ethliu fought on Cuchulain's side at the Sessrech Bresligè. Their number is not known and it cannot be reckoned how many fell there of the rabble rout, but only their chiefs have been counted. Here below are their names, to wit:-- The two Cruad, two Calad, two Cir, two Ciar, two Ecell, three Cromm, three Cur, three Combirgè, four Feochar, four Furachar, four Cassè, four Fota, five Caur, five Cerman, [W.2679.] five Cobtach, six Saxan, six Duach, six Darè, [1]six Dunchadh, six Daimiach,[1] seven Rochad, seven Ronan, seven Rurthech, eight Rochlad, eight Rochtad, eight Rindach, [2]eight Corprè,[2] eight Malach, nine Daigith, nine Darè, nine Damach, ten Fiach, ten Fiacach, ten Fedlimid. [1-1] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 2010. Ten and six-score[b] kings, [3]leaders and men of the land,[3] Cuchulain laid low in the great slaughter on the Plain of Murthemne, besides a countless horde of dogs and horses and women and boys and children and common folk; for there escaped not a third man of the men of Erin [4]without a wound or a hurt or a blueing or a reddening or a lump or a mark or breaking of thigh or of leg or of shinbone,[4] without having hip-bone broken or half his skull or an eye hurt, or without an enduring mark for the course of his life. [5]And he left them then after inflicting that battle upon them, without having his blood drawn or wound brought on himself or on his charioteer or on either of his horses.[5] [b] 'Nineteen and nine-score,' H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [5-5] LU., edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe, page 72, note 19. * * * * * [Page 195] XVIIc [1]THE ACCOUNT OF THE APPEARANCE OF CUCHULAIN[1] [W.2706.] [2]Early[2] the next morning Cuchulain came to observe the host and to display his comely, beautiful form to the matrons and dames and girls and maidens and poets and men of art,[a] for he did not consider it an honour nor becoming, the [3]wild,[3] proud shape of magic which had been manifested to them the night before. It was for that then that he came to exhibit his comely, beautiful form on that day. [1-1] LU. fo. 81a, in the margin. [2-2] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [a] A general term for poets, singers, seers and druids. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. Truly fair was the youth that came there to display his form to the hosts, Cuchulain, to wit son of Sualtaim [4]son of Boefoltach ('Of little possessions') son of Morfoltach ('Of great possessions') son of Red Neil macRudhraidi.[4] Three heads of hair he wore; brown at the skin, blood-red in the middle, a golden-yellow crown what thatched it. Beautiful was the arrangement of the hair, with three coils of hair wound round the nape of his neck, so that like to a strand of thread of gold was each thread-like, loose-flowing, deep-golden, magnificent, long-tressed, splendid, beauteous-hued hair as it fell down over his shoulders. A hundred bright-purple windings of gold-flaming red gold at his neck. A hundred salmon-coloured (?) cords strung with carbuncles as a covering round his head. Four spots on either of his two cheeks, even a yellow spot, and a green spot, and a blue spot, [W.2722.] and a purple spot. Seven jewels of the eye's brilliance was either of his kingly eyes. Seven toes to either of his two feet. Seven fingers to either of his two hands, with the clutch of hawk's claw, with the grip of hedgehog's talon in every separate one of them. [4-4] H. 2. 17. He also put on him that day his fair-day dress. To this apparel about him belonged, namely, a beautiful, well-fitting, purple, fringed, five-folded mantle. A white brooch of [1]silvered bronze or of[1] white silver incrusted with burnished gold over his fair white breast, as if it were a full-fulgent lantern that eyes of men could not behold [LL.fo.79a.] for its resplendence and crystal shining. A [2]striped[2] chest-jacket of silk on his skin, fairly adorned with borders and braidings and trimmings of gold and silver and silvered bronze; it reached to the upper hem of his dark, brown-red warlike breeches of royal silk. A magnificent, brown-purple buckler he bore, [3]with five wheels of gold on it,[3] with a rim of pure white silver around it. A gold-hilted hammered sword [4]with ivory guards, raised high at his girdle[4] at his left side. A long grey-edged spear together with a trenchant bye-spear for defence, with thongs for throwing and with rivets of whitened bronze, alongside him in the chariot. Nine heads he bore in one of his hands and ten in the other, and these he brandished before the hosts in token of his prowess and cunning. [5]This then was a night's attack for Cuchulain on the hosts of four of the five provinces of Erin.[5] Medb hid her face beneath a shelter of shields lest Cuchulain should cast at her that day. [1-1] YBL. 2040. [2-2] YBL. 2043. [3-3] LU. and YBL. 2045. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 2046. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 2050. Then it was that the maidens [6]of Connacht[6] besought the men of Erin to lift them up on the flat of the shields above the warriors' shoulders; [7]and the women [8]of Munster[8] clomb on the men[7] to behold the aspect of [W.2746.] Cuchulain. For they marvelled at the beautiful, comely appearance he showed them that day compared with the low, arrogant shape of magic in which they had seen him the night before. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 1205. [7-7] LU. and YBL. 2052. [8-8] YBL, added later above the line. * * * * * [Page 198] XVIId DUBTHACH'S JEALOUSY[a] [W.2749.] [1]And Dubthach's wife prayed to be lifted to regard the form of Cuchulain.[1] Then it was that jealousy, ill-will and envy possessed Dubthach Doel ('the Black-tongue')[b] of Ulster because of his wife [2]in regard to Cuchulain; for he saw his wife climb on the men to get a glimpse of Cuchulain;[2] and he counselled the hosts to act treacherously towards Cuchulain and to entrap him, even to lay up an ambush around him on all sides to the end that he might fall by them. And he spake these words:-- "If this be the Twisted one, By him shall men's bodies fall; Shrieks there shall be round the liss; Deeds to tell of shall be wrought! "Stones shall be on graves from him; Kingly martyrs shall increase. Not well have ye battle found On the slopes with this wild Hound! [3]"If this be the Twisted one, Men shall soon be slain by him; 'Neath his feet shall corpses lie; Under bushes mantles white![3] "Now the Wildman's form I see, Nine[c] heads dangling by his side; Shattered spoils he has, behold; Ten[d] heads as his treasure great! [W.2766.] "And your women, too, I see, Raise their heads above the lines; I behold your puissant queen Makes no move t'engage in fight! "Were it mine to give advice, Men would be on every side, That they soon might end his life; If this be the Twisted one!" [a] This superscription is not found in the MSS. [1-1] Eg. 93. [b] Literally, 'the Chafer (or Scorpion?).' [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [c] 'Eight,' LU. and YBL. 2060. [d] 'Nine,' LU. and YBL. 2061, H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93. Fergus macRoig heard this and he deemed it an outrage that Dubthach should counsel how to betray Cuchulain to the hosts. And he reached him a strong, sharp kick with his foot away from him, so that Dubthach struck with his mouth against the group outside. And Fergus reproached him for all the wrongs and iniquities and treachery and shameful deeds he had ever done to the Ulstermen of old and anew. And then he spake these words:-- "If this 'Black-tongue' Dubthach be, Let him skulk behind the hosts; No good hath he ever wrought, Since he slew the princesses![a] "Base and foul, the deed he wrought: Fiachu, Conchobar's son, he slew. No more fair was heard of him: Carbrè's death, Fedilmid's son! "Ne'er for Ulster's weal doth aim Lugaid's son, Casruba's scion;[b] Such is how he acts to men: Whom he stabs not he incites! "Ulster's exiles it would grieve If their beardless boy[c] should fall. If on you come Ulster's troops They will make your herds their spoil! "Strewn afar your herds will be By the rising Ulstermen. Tales there'll be of mighty deeds That will tell of far-famed queens! [W.2800.] [1]"Corpses will be under foot,[1] [2]Food there'll be at ravens' rests;[2] Bucklers lying on the slopes; Wild and furious deeds increase! [3]"I behold just now your wives Raise their heads above the ranks. I behold your puissant queen Moves not to engage in war![3] [LL.fo.79b.] "Valour none nor generous deed Comes from Lugaid's craven son; Nor will kings see lances red, If this 'Black-tongue' Dubthach be!" [a] The reference is to the maidens of Emain Macha slain by Dubthach in punishment for the death of the sons of Usnech. [b] That is, Dubthach. [c] That is, Cuchulain. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 2077. [2-2] Reading: _Betit buind fri brannfossaib_. [3-3] This quatrain is almost identical with the one translated on page 199. Thus far 'The Scythed Chariot.'[a] [a] A very obscure and fragmentary passage in LU. and YBL. (lines 2083-2106, edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe, lacking in Eg. 93, _Revue Celtique_, tome xv, page 204), consisting of a series of short strains in _rosc_ spoken in turn by Ailill, Medb, Gabran the poet, and Fergus, is omitted in the translation. * * * * * [Page 201] XVIII [1]THE SLAYING OF OENGUS SON OF OENLAM[1] [W.2814.] Then it was that a very bold young warrior of the Ulstermen came nigh the hosts; his bye-name was Oengus son of Oenlam Gabè ('the One-handed Smith'). And he drove the hosts before him from Moda Loga, which at that time was called Lugmud, to Ath da Fert ('the Ford of the Two Gravemounds') in Sliab Fuait. [2]And he suffered them not to go by, but he showered them with stones.[2] What scholars say is: If Oengus son of Oenlam Gabè had fought them in single combat, [3]two-thirds of[3] the host would have fallen before that by him in single battle [4]at Emain Macha.[4] Howbeit it was by no means so that they acted, but they attacked him from ambush on every side, till he fell at their hands [5]in unequal fight[5] at Ath da Fert in Sliab Fuait. [1-1] LU. fo. 82a, in the margin. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 2135-2136. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] LU. and YBL. 2137. [5-5] LU. and YBL. 2139. * * * * * [Page 202] XVIIIa HERE NOW IS TOLD THE MISTHROW AT BELACH EOIN. [W.2823.] Then came to them Fiacha Fialdana ('the Generous and Intrepid') of the Ulstermen to speak with the son of his mother's sister, namely with Manè Andoè ('the Unslow') of the Connachtmen. And thus he came, and Dubthach Doel ('the Black Tongue') of Ulster with him. It was in this wise that Manè Andoè came, and Dochè son of Maga along with him. When now Dochè macMagach espied Fiacha Fialdana, he straightway hurled a spear at him, but so that it went through his own friend, through Dubthach Doel of Ulster. Then Fiacha Fialdana hurled a spear at Dochè macMagach, so that it went through his own friend, through Manè Andoè of Connacht. Thereupon said the men of Erin: "A mishap in throwing," they said, "is what hath happened to the men, for each of them to kill his friend and nearest relation." Hence this is entitled Imroll Belaig Eoin ('the Misthrow at Bird-pass'). And 'the Other Misthrow at Bird-pass' is another name for it. [1]Or it may be this from which cometh Imroll Belaig Eoin: The hosts proceed to Belach Eoin ('Bird-pass'). Their two troops wait there. Diarmait macConchobar of the Ulstermen comes from the north. "Let a horseman start from you," cries Diarmait, "that Manè may come with one man to parley with me, and I will go with another man to parley with him." A while thereafter they meet "I am come," says Diarmait, "from Conchobar, with commands to Ailill and Medb that they let the cows go and make good all the ill they have done here and bring hither the bull[a] from the west to meet the other bull,[b] to the end that they may encounter, since Medb has pledged it." "I will go," says Manè, "to tell them." He takes this message to Medb and Ailill. "This cannot be had of Medb," Manè reported. "Let us make a fair exchange of arms, then," says Diarmait, "if perchance that pleaseth thee better." "I am content," replies Manè. Each of them casts his spear at the other so that both of them die, and hence the name of this place is Imroll Belaig Eoin. Their forces rush upon one another. Three-score of each force fall. Hence is Ard in Dirma ('the Height of the Troop').[1] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 2114-2128. [a] The 'White-horned.' [b] The 'Brown of Cualnge.' * * * * * [Page 204] XVIIIb HERE NOW FOLLOWETH THE DISGUISING OF TAMON [W.2837.] Then said the men of Erin to Tamon the fool that he should don the garments of Ailill and the king's golden shawl, and go to the ford that was close before them. So he put the garments and golden shawl of Ailill upon him. [1]Ailill's people placed the king's diadem on the head of Tamon the fool, for Ailill dared not wear it himself,[1] and he went on to the ford under their eyes. The men of Erin began to scoff and to shout and jeer at him. "It is a disguising of Tamon ('a Stump') for thee, O Tamon the fool," they cried, "with the dress and the golden shawl of Ailill upon thee!" When Cuchulain saw him, it seemed to him in his ignorance and lack of knowledge that it was Ailill himself that was there. And he slung a stone from his staff-sling at him so that [2]his head was broken thereby[2] and Tamon the fool was smitten lifeless where he was on the ford. Hence Ath Tamuin ('the Ford of a Stump') [3]is the name of that ford ever since[3] and 'the Disguising of Tamon' [4]is the name of the tale.[4] [1-1] LU. and YBL. 2129. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 2131. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 205] XIX [1]THE BATTLE OF FERGUS AND CUCHULAIN[1] [W.2851.] The hosts of the four grand provinces of Erin pitched camp and entrenched themselves for that night at the pillar-stone in Crich Roiss ('the Borders of Ross'). Then Medb called upon the men of Erin for one of them to contend and do battle with Cuchulain on the morrow. And every one of them spake thus: "It shall not be I! it shall not be I!" [2]cried each from his place.[2] "No victim is owing from my people, [3]and even if one were it would not be myself whom ye would send as a victim in his stead.[3] [4]I will not be the man to go in his place to fight with Cuchulain till the very day of doom and of life!"[4] [1-1] LU. fo. 82b, in the margin. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 2141. [3-3] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17., LU. and YBL. 2142-2143. [4-4] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. Thereupon Medb summoned Fergus to [5]go forth and[5] contend and fight with Cuchulain, [6]to drive him off from them on the ford[6] [7]at the early morning-hour[7] [8]on the morrow,[8] for that the men of Erin had failed her [9]to go and do battle with him.[9] "Ill would it befit me," quoth Fergus, "to fight with a callow young lad without any beard, and mine own disciple, [10]the fosterling of Ulster,[10] [11]the foster-child that sat on Conchobar's knee, the lad from Craeb Ruad ('Red Branch')."[11] Howbeit Medb [W.2861.] murmured sore that Fergus foreswore her combat and battle. [1]They filled him with wine till he was heavily drunken and then they questioned him about going to the combat.[1] They bode the night in that place. Early on the morrow Fergus arose, [2]since they importuned him urgently,[2] [3]and his horses were got ready for him and his chariot harnessed[3] and he fared forth to the place of combat where Cuchulain was. [5-5] Stowe and H. 2. 17. [6-6] Eg. 93 and H. 2. 17. [7-7] Eg. 93. [8-8] H. 2. 17 and Eg. 93. [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] H. 2. 17. [11-11] Eg. 93. [1-1] LU. and YBL. 2145-2146. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 2147. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4]When now[4] Cuchulain saw him coming nigh, [5]this is what he said:[5] [6]"Welcome thine arrival and thy coming, O my master Fergus," spoke Cuchulain. "Truly given we esteem thy greeting," Fergus answered. "It is truly given for thee, O Fergus" said Cuchulain; "and thou shalt have a night's lodging here this night." "Success and a blessing attend thee, O fosterling; not for hospitality from thee am I come, but to fight and do battle with thee."[6] "A vain surety [LL.fo.80a.] is the one wherewith my master Fergus comes to me; for no sword is in the sheath of the great staff he bears." It was true what he said. A year before this tale,[a] [7]before the expedition of the Táin,[7] Ailill had found Fergus going to a tryst with Medb on the hillside in Cruachan and his sword on a [8]branch[8] near by him. And Ailill had torn the sword from its sheath and put a wooden sword in its stead and vowed he would not restore him the sword till came the day of the great battle, [9]when the men of Erin would clash in the great battle of the Cualnge Cattle-raid at Garech and Ilgarech.[9] [10]"It is a perilous thing for thee to come to a place of fight, O my master Fergus, without thy sword."[10] "It matters not to me, O fosterling," replied Fergus; "for had I a sword in this, it never would cut thee nor be plied on thee. But, by [W.2874.] the honour and training I bestowed upon thee and the Ulstermen and Conchobar bestowed, [1]by the troth of thy valour and knighthood[1] I adjure thee, give way before me this day in the presence of the men of Erin!" "Truly I am loath [2]to do that,"[2] answered Cuchulain, "to flee before any one man on the Cattle-spoil of Cualnge." "Nay then it is not a thing to be taken amiss by thee," said Fergus; "for I in my turn will retreat before thee when thou wilt be covered with wounds and dripping with gore and pierced with holes in the battle of the Táin. And when I alone shall turn in flight [3]before thee,[3] so will all the men of Erin also flee [4]before thee in like manner."[4] So zealous was Cuchulain to do whatever made for Ulster's weal that he had his chariot brought to him, and he mounted his chariot and he went in confusion and flight [5]from Fergus in the presence[5] of the men of Erin. [6]As far as Grellach Dolluid ('the Stamping-place at Dolluid') he fled, in order that Fergus might give way before him on the day of the battle.[6] [7]When[7] the men of Erin saw that, [8]they were joyful, and what they said was this:[8] "He is fled from thee! He is fled from thee, O Fergus!" cried all. "Pursue him, pursue him [9]quickly,[9] O Fergus," Medb cried, "that he do not escape thee." "Nay then," said Fergus, "I will pursue him no further. [10]It is not like a tryst. Yon fellow is too speedy for me.[10] For however little ye may make of the flight I have put him to, none of the men of Erin, [11]not even four of the five provinces of Erin[11] could have obtained so much as that of him on the Cow-creagh of Cualnge. For this cause, till the men of Erin take turns in single combat, I will not engage again with this same man." Hence here we have the [12]'White[12] [W.2891.] Battle' of Fergus [1]on the Táin thus far; and it is for this cause it is called the 'White Battle,' because no 'blood on weapons'[a] resulted therefrom.[1] [2]They continue their march past Cuchulain and pitch camp in Crich Roiss.[2] [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Eg. 93. [a] See above, page 99. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] Reading with Stowe; LL. has 'on the slope.' [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] Stowe. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] LU. and YBL. 2154-2155. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] LU. and YBL. 2157. [11-11] Eg. 93. [12-12] Eg. 93. [1-1] Eg. 93. [a] A traditional tag; it occurs again, page 216. [2-2] LU. and YBL. 2158-2159. * * * * * [Page 209] XIXa HERE NOW COMETH THE HEAD-PLACE OF FERCHU [W.2893.] Ferchu Longsech ('the Exile'), [1]a wonderful warrior from Loch Ce, outlawed from his land by Ailill and Medb,[1] although of the Connachtmen, was engaged in battle and plunder with Ailill and Medb. From the day these came to the kingship, there never was a time that he fared to their camp or took part in their expeditions or shared in their straits or their needs or their hardships, but he was ever at their heels, pillaging and plundering their borders and land. At that time he sojourned in the eastern part of Mag Ai. Twelve[a] men was his muster. He learned that a single man checked and stopped four of the five grand provinces of Erin from Monday at Summer's end till the beginning of Spring, slaying a man on the ford every one of those days and a hundred warriors every night. He weighed his plan privily with his people. "What better plan could we devise?" quoth he, "than to go and attack yonder man that checketh and stoppeth four of the five grand provinces of Erin, and bring his head and his arms with us to Ailill and Medb? However great the injuries and wrongs we have done to Ailill and Medb, we shall obtain our peace therefor, if only that man fall by our hand." [2]He made no doubt that if Cuchulain fell through him, the eastern territory of Connacht would be his.[2] Now this was the [W.2908.] resolve they took, and they proceeded to where Cuchulain was [1]at Ath Aladh ('Speckled Ford') on the Plain of Murthemne.[1] And when they came, [2]they espied the lone warrior and knew that it was Cuchulain.[2] It was not fair fight nor combat with one they vouchsafed him, but at one and the same time the twelve men fell upon him [3]so that their spears sank up to their middles into his shield.[3] Cuchulain on his part [4]drew his sword from the sheath of the Badb to attack them, and he fell to to cut away their weapons and to lighten his shield. Then he[4] turned on them, [5]front and back, to the left and the right,[5] and straightway he smote off their twelve heads; [6]and he engaged in a furious, bloody and violent battle with Ferchu himself, after killing his people. And not long did it avail Ferchu thus, for he fell at last by Cuchulain,[6] [7]and Cuchulain cut off Ferchu's head to the east of the ford.[7] And he set up twelve stones in the earth for them, and he put the head of each one of them on its stone and he likewise put Ferchu Longsech's head on its stone. Hence Cinnit Ferchon Longsig is [8]henceforth the name of[8] the place where Ferchu Longsech left his head [9]and his twelve men theirs and their arms and their trophies,[9] to wit, Cenn-aitt Ferchon ('the Head-place of Ferchu'). [1-1] Eg. 93. [a] 'Thirteen,' LU. and YBL. 2161, and Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93. [1-1] Eg. 93. [2-2] Eg. 93. [3-3] Eg. 93. [4-4] Eg. 93. [5-5] Eg. 93. [6-6] Eg. 93. [7-7] Eg. 93. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] Eg. 93. * * * * * [Page 211] XIXb [1]MANN'S FIGHT[1] [2]Medb despatched Mann son of Muresc son of Darè, of the Dommandach, to fight with Cuchulain. Own brothers were he and Daman, Ferdiad's father. A man, rough, inordinate in eating and sleeping was this Mann. An ill-tongued foul-mouthed man like Dubthach Doel ('Black-tongue') of Ulster. A man, stout, mighty, with strength of limb like Munremur ('Thick-neck') son of Gerrcend ('Short-head'). A fiery champion like Triscoth, the strong man of Conchobar's household. "I will go," said he, "and unarmed, and I will grind him between my hands, for I consider it no honour nor credit to use arms against a beardless madcap such as he." [1-1] LU., fo. 82, in the margin. Therewith he went to attack Cuchulain. There he was, himself and his charioteer on the ford watching the host. "A lone warrior approacheth us here," cried Laeg to Cuchulain. "What manner of man?" asked Cuchulain. "A dark, black man, strong, bull-like, and he unarmed." "Let him go by thee," said Cuchulain. At that he comes nigh them. "To fight with thee am I come," Mann announced. Therewith they fell to wrestling for a long time, and thrice Mann threw Cuchulain, till the charioteer incited Cuchulain. "Were it the champion's portion thou wast contending for in Emain," spake Laeg, "thou wouldst be all powerful over the young bloods in Emain!" At these words the hero's wrath and warrior's rage returned to Cuchulain, so that he overcame Mann at the pillar-stone and he fell to pieces in morsels. Hence cometh Mag Mandachta ('the Plain of Mann's death').[2] [2-2] YBL., and, partly, LU. 2163-2181. Here the LU. version breaks off, fo. 82b. * * * * * [Page 213] XIXc [1]THE COMBAT OF CALATIN'S CHILDREN[1] [W.2918.] Then was it debated by the men of Erin who would be fit to contend and cope with Cuchulain at the morning hour early on the next day. What they all said was, that Calatin Dana ('the Bold') would be the one, with his seven and twenty sons and his grandson[a] Glass macDelga. Thus were they: Poison was on every man of them and poison on every weapon of their arms; and not one of them missed his throw, and there was no one on whom one of them drew blood that, if he succumbed not on the spot, would not be dead before the end of the ninth day. Great gifts were promised to them for engaging to do battle and to contend [LL.fo.80b.] [2]with Cuchulain.[2] And they took the matter in hand, and it should be in the presence of Fergus that the covenant would be made. But Fergus refused to have part therein, for what they [3]all[3] contended was that they would hold it as a single combat, [4]a combat, to wit, of[4] Calatin Dana and his seven and twenty sons and his grandson Glass macDelga; for their contention was that his son was a limb of his limbs and a part of his parts, and that to Calatin Dana belonged all that proceeded from his body. [1-1] The title is taken from the colophon at the end of the chapter. [a] 'Nephew.' Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. Fergus betook himself to his tent and to his people and he breathed his sigh of weariness aloud. "Grievous it [W.2935.] seems to us, the deed to be done here on the morrow," quoth Fergus. "What deed may that be?" asked his people. "The slaying of Cuchulain," answered Fergus. "Alas," said they, "who should kill him?" "Calatin Dana," he replied, "with his seven and twenty sons and his grandson Glass macDelga. For this is their nature: Poison is on every man of them and poison on every weapon of their arms; and there is no one on whom one of them draws blood, that, if he succumb not on the spot, will not be dead before the end of the ninth day. And there is no one [1]of you[1] that would go and learn for me and be witness of the battle and fight and bring me news how Cuchulain died on whom I would not bestow my blessing and armour." "I will go thither," spake Fiachu son of Ferfebè. [1-1] Stowe. They abode so that night. Early on the morrow Calatin Dana arose with his seven and twenty sons and his grandson Glass macDelga, and they went forward to where Cuchulain was. And there went also Fiachu son of Ferfebè. And when Calatin arrived at the place where Cuchulain was, they forthwith hurled their nine and twenty spears, and not one of them went past him by a misthrow. Cuchulain played the edge-feat with his shield, so that all the spears sank up to their middles into the shield. But for all that theirs was no erring cast, not one of the spears was blooded or reddened upon him. Thereupon Cuchulain drew [2]his[2] sword from the sheath of the Badb, to cut away the weapons and lighten the shield that was on him. While thus engaged, they rushed in upon him and delivered their nine and twenty right fists at the same time on his head. They smote him and curbed him withal, till his face and his countenance and visage met the sand and gravel of the ford. Cuchulain raised his warrior's shout aloud and his cry of unequal combat, so that there was not an Ulsterman [W.2962.] alive [1]in the camp[1] of those that were not asleep but heard it. Then [2]when they all had reached for their swords,[2] came Fiachu son of Ferfebè [3]after them out of the camp,[3] and he saw what they did and a qualm of [4]love and[4] the bond of kindred came over him, and [5]when he saw all their hands raised against Cuchulain, he leaped from his chariot and[5] drew his sword from the sheath of the Badb and dealt them a blow, so that he cut off their nine and twenty right fists from them at one stroke, and they all fell backwards from the intensity of the exertion and hold which they had. [2-2] Stowe. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] YBL. 2186. [3-3] YBL. 2187. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] YBL. 2187-2188. Cuchulain raised his head and drew breath and gave a sigh of weariness and perceived who it was that had come to his aid. "A ready relief, O foster-brother, [6]what thou hast done,"[6] said Cuchulain. "Although for thee a ready relief," said Fiachu, "yet is it not so for us. Even though we are the best division of three thousand of the Clann Rudraige in the camp and station of the men of Erin, [7]nevertheless this small thing is a breach of covenant in us men of Ulster. If one of Calatin's children reaches the camp,[7] we shall all be brought under the mouth of spear and of sword, however feeble thou mayst deem the blow I struck, if this treason be found in us." "I give my word," quoth Cuchulain; "so soon as I raise my head and draw breath, [8]not a man of them shall reach the camp alive,[8] and unless thou thyself tellest the tale not one of these ever will tell it!" [6-6] YBL. 2190. [7-7] YBL. 2190-2191. [8-8] YBL. 2193. With that, Cuchulain turned on them, and he fell to smiting and hewing them, so that he sent them [LL.fo.81a.] from him in small disjointed pieces and divided quarters eastwards and westwards along the ford. A single man got away from him, trusting to his speed while Cuchulain was busied [W.2981.] beheading the rest; it was Glass macDelga. And Cuchulain raced after him like a blast of wind, and Glass ran on round the tent of Ailill and Medb, and all he could pant out was, "Fiach! Fiach!"[a] when Cuchulain fetched him a stroke that cut off his head. [a] There is a play on words. Glass attempts to pronounce the name 'Fiachu,' but is only able to utter the first syllable of the word which alone means 'debt.' "'Tis quick work was made of that man," quoth Medb. "What debt was that he spoke of, O Fergus?" "I know not," Fergus answered, "unless it be some one in the camp and quarters that owed him a debt. It is that which troubled his mind. But be that as it may," continued Fergus, "it is a debt of blood and flesh for him. And upon my word," Fergus added, "now are his debts paid to him for good and all!" In this wise fell Calatin Dana ('the Bold') at the hands of Cuchulain, together with his seven and twenty sons and his grandson Glass macDelga [1]and the two sons of Ficcè with them, two bold warriors of Ulster who had come to use their strength on the host.[1] So that for evermore in the bed of the ford is still the rock whereabout they had their strife and struggle [2]and their slaughtering of each other;[2] and the mark of their sword-hilts is in it and of their knees and their elbows [3]and their fists[3] and the butt-ends of their spears. [4]And their nine and twenty standing stones were set up there.[4] Hence Fuil Iairn ('Blood of Iron') to the west[b] of Ath Firdead ('Ferdiad's Ford') is the name of the ford. It is for this it is called Fuil Iairn, because of the 'blood over weapons'[c] that was there. [1-1] YBL. 2194-2196. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] YBL. 2198. [4-4] YBL. 2198. [b] 'South,' YBL. 2184. [c] See page 208, note _a_. Thus far then [5]this exploit on the Táin,[5] the Combat of the Clann Calatin [6]of his children and his grandson with Cuchulain,[6] [7]when they went to do battle with Cuchulain.[7] [5-5] YBL. 2196. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] YBL. 2196-2197. * * * * * [Page 217] XX THE COMBAT OF FERDIAD [1]AND CUCHULAIN[1] [2]The four grand provinces of Erin were side by side and against Cuchulain, from Monday before Samain-tide[a] to Wednesday after Spring-beginning, and without leave to work harm or vent their rage on the province of Ulster, while yet all the Ulstermen were sunk in their nine days' 'Pains,' and Conall Cernach ('the Victorious') sought out battle in strange foreign lands paying the tribute and tax of Ulster. Great was the plight and strait of Cuchulain during that time, for he was not a day or a night without fierce, fiery combat waged on him by the men of Erin, until he killed Calatin with his seven and twenty sons and Fraech son of Fiadach and performed many deeds and successes which are not enumerated here. Now this was sore and grievous for Medb and for Ailill.[2] [1-1] Stowe and YBL. 2200 and Eg. 106. [2-2] Eg. 106. [a] See note p. 182. [W.3001.] Then the men of Erin took counsel who would be fit [3]to send to the ford[3] to fight and do battle with Cuchulain, [4]to drive him off from them[4] at the morning hour early on the morrow. [3-3] YBL. 2203. [4-4] YBL. 2202. [5]With one accord[5] they declared that it should be Ferdiad son of Daman son of Darè, the great and valiant warrior of the men of Domnann, [6]the horn-skin from Irrus Domnann, the irresistible force, and the battle-rock of destruction, the own, dear, foster-brother of Cuchulain.[6] [W.3005.] [1]And fitting it was for him to go thither,[1] for well-matched and alike was their manner of fight and of combat. Under the same instructresses had they done skilful deeds of valour and arms, when learning the art with Scathach ('the Modest') and with Uathach ('the Dreadful') and with Aifè ('the Handsome'). [2]Yet was it the felling of an oak with one's fists, and the stretching of the hand into a serpent's nest, and a spring into the lair of a lion, for hero or champion in the world, aside from Cuchulain, to fight or combat with Ferdiad on whatever ford or river or mere he set his shield.[2] And neither of them overmatched the other, save in the feat of the Gae Bulga ('the Barbed Spear') which Cuchulain possessed. Howbeit, against this, Ferdiad was horn-skinned when fighting and in combat with a warrior on the ford; [3]and they thought he could avoid the Gae Bulga and defend himself against it, because of the horn about him of such kind that neither arms nor multitude of edges could pierce it.[3] [5-5] Eg. 106. [6-6] YBL. 2204-2206. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Eg. 106. [3-3] YBL. 2208-2209. Then were messengers and envoys sent [4]from Medb and Ailill[4] to Ferdiad. Ferdiad denied them their will, and dismissed and sent back the messengers, and he went not with them, for he knew wherefore they would have him, to fight and combat with his friend, with his comrade and foster-brother, [5]Cuchulain.[5] [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. Then did Medb despatch the druids [6]and the poets of the camp,[6] the lampoonists and hard-attackers,[a] for Ferdiad, to the end that they might make three satires to stay him and three scoffing speeches against him, [7]to mock at him and revile and disgrace him,[7] that they might raise three blisters on his face, Blame, Blemish and Disgrace, [8]that he might not find a place in the world to lay his head,[8] [W.3021.] if he came not [1]with them[1] [2]to the tent of Medb and Ailill on the foray.[2] [6-6] Stowe, Eg. 106, Eg. 209. [a] Literally, 'the cheek-blisterers.' [7-7] YBL. 2213. [8-8] YBL. 2214. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] YBL. 2214. Ferdiad came with them for the sake of his own honour and [3]for fear of their bringing shame on him,[3] forasmuch as he deemed it better to fall by the shafts of valour and bravery and skill, than to fall by the shafts of satire, abuse and reproach. And when [4]Ferdiad[4] was come [5]into the camp,[5] [6]Medb and Ailill beheld him, and great and most wonderful joy possessed them, and they sent him to where their trusty people were, and [6]he was honoured and waited on, and choice, well-flavoured strong liquor was poured out for him till he became drunken and merry. [7]Finnabair, daughter of Ailill and Medb, was seated at his side. It was Finnabair that placed her hand on every goblet and cup Ferdiad quaffed. She it was that gave him three kisses with every cup that he took. She it was that passed him sweet-smelling apples over the bosom of her tunic. This is what she ceased not to say, that her darling and her chosen sweetheart of the world's men was Ferdiad.[7] [8]And when Medb got Ferdiad drunken and merry,[8] great rewards were promised him if he would make the fight and combat. [3-3] YBL. 2215. [4-4] Stowe and Eg. 209. [5-5] Stowe and Eg. 209. [6-6] Eg. 106. [7-7] YBL. 2216-2221. [8-8] Eg. 106. [9]When now Ferdiad was satisfied, happy and joyful, it was that Medb spoke: "Hail now, Ferdiad. Dost know the occasion wherefore thou art summoned to this tent?" "I know not, in truth," Ferdiad replied; "unless it be that the nobles of the men of Erin are here. Why is it less fitting for me to be here than any other good warrior?" "'Tis not that, forsooth," answered Medb: "but to give thee[9] a chariot worth four[a] times seven bondmaids, and the apparel of two men and ten men, of cloth of every colour, [W.3028.] and the equivalent [1]of the Plain of Murthemne[1] of the rich Plain of Ai, [2]and that thou shouldst be at all times in Cruachan, and wine be poured out for thee there; the freedom of thy descendants and thy race forever,[2] free of tribute, free of rent, without constraint to encamp or take part in our expeditions, [LL.fo.81b.] without duress for [3]thy son, or for thy grandson, or for thy great-grandson, till the end of time and existence;[3] [4]this leaf-shaped golden brooch of mine shall be thine, wherein are ten-score ounces, and ten-score half ounces, and ten-score scruples, and ten-score quarters;[4] Finnabair, [5]my daughter and Ailill's,[5] to be thine own one wife, [6]and mine own most intimate friendship, if thou exactest that withal." "He needs it not," they cried, one and all; "great are the rewards and gifts!"[6] [9-9] YBL. 2221-2225. [a] 'Thrice seven,' YBL. 2226, Stowe, and Eg. 209. [1-1] YBL. 2227. [2-2] YBL. 2228. [3-3] In LL. this passage is reported in indirect discourse; consequently, instead of 'thy,' LL. has 'his.' [4-4] YBL. 2229-2231. [5-5] YBL. 2231-2232. [6-6] YBL. 2232-2234. Such were the words of Medb, and she spake them here and Ferdiad responded:-- Medb: "Great rewards in arm-rings, Share of plain and forest, Freedom of thy children From this day till doom! Ferdiad son of Daman, More than thou couldst hope for, Why shouldst thou refuse it, That which all would take?" Ferdiad: "Naught I'll take without bond-- No ill spearman am I-- Hard on me to-morrow: Great will be the strife! Hound that's hight of Culann, How his thrust is grievous! No soft thing to stand him; Rude will be the wound!" Medb: "Champions will be surety, Thou needst not keep hostings. Reins and splendid horses Shall be given as pledge! [W.3056.] Ferdiad, good, of battle, For that thou art dauntless, Thou shalt be my lover, Past all, free of cain!" Ferdiad: "Without bond I'll go not To engage in ford-feats; It will live till doomsday In full strength and force. Ne'er I'll yield--who hears me, Whoe'er counts upon me-- Without sun- and moon-oath, Without sea and land!" Medb: "Why then dost delay it? Bind it as it please thee, By kings' hands and princes', Who will stand for thee! Lo, I will repay thee,[a] Thou shalt have thine asking, For I know thou'lt slaughter Man that meeteth thee!" Ferdiad: "Nay, without six sureties-- It shall not be fewer-- Ere I do my exploits There where hosts will be! Should my will be granted, I swear, though unequal, That I'll meet in combat Cuchulain the brave!" Medb: "Domnall, then, or Carbrè, Niaman famed for slaughter, Or e'en folk of barddom, Natheless, thou shalt have. Bind thyself on Morann, Wouldst thou its fulfilment, Bind on smooth Man's Carbrè, And our two sons, bind!" Ferdiad: "Medb, with wealth of cunning, Whom no spouse can bridle, Thou it is that herdest Cruachan of the mounds! High thy fame and wild power! Mine the fine pied satin; Give thy gold and silver, Which were proffered me!" Medb: [W.3100.] "To thee, foremost champion, I will give my ringed brooch. From this day till Sunday, Shall thy respite be! Warrior, mighty, famous, All the earth's fair treasures Shall to thee be given; Everything be thine! "Finnabair of the champions (?), Queen of western Erin, When thou'st slain the Smith's Hound, Ferdiad, she's thine!" Ferdiad: [1]"Should I have Finnabair to wife, Falls of Ai and Cruachan too, And to dwell for alway there, I'd not seek the deedful Hound! "Equal skill to me and him--" Thus spake Ferdiad withal-- "The same nurses raised us[a] both, And with them we learned our art. "Not for fear of battle hard, Noble Eocho Fedlech's maid, Would I shun the Blacksmith's Hound, But my heart bleeds for his love!" Medb: "Thou shalt have, dear, bright-scaled[b] man,[c] One swift, proud, high-mettled steed. Thou shalt have domains and land And shalt stay not from the fight (?)!" Ferdiad: "But that Medb entreated so, And that poets' tongues did urge, I'd not go for hard rewards To contend with mine own friend!" Medb: "Son of Daman of white cheeks, Shouldst thou check this heroes' Hound, E'er so long thy fame will live, When thou comest from Ferdiad's Ford!"[1] [a] Translating from Stowe. [1-1] Eg. 106 (_Revue Celtique,_ t. x, page 339). The metre is changed designedly to agree with the original. [a] MS. 'ye.' [b] Referring to Ferdiad's horn-skin. [c] Literally, 'calf.' [2]Then said they, one and all, those gifts were great. [3]"'Tis true, they are great.[3] But though they are," said [W.3113.] Ferdiad, "with Medb herself I will leave them, and I will not accept them if it be to do battle or combat with my foster-brother, the man of my alliance and affection, [1]and my equal in skill of arms,[1] namely, with Cuchulain." And he said:-- "Greatest toil, [2]this, greatest toil,[2] Battle with the Hound of gore! Liefer would I battle twice With two hundred men of Fal! "Sad the fight, [2]and sad the fight,[2] I and Hound of feats shall wage! We shall hack both flesh and blood; Skin and body we shall hew! "Sad, O god, [2]yea, sad, O god,[2] That a woman should us part! My heart's half, the blameless Hound; Half the brave Hound's heart am I! "By my shield, [2]O, by my shield,[2] If Ath Cliath's brave Hound should fall, I will drive my slender glaive Through my heart, my side, my breast! "By my sword, [2]O, by my sword,[2] If the Hound of Glen Bolg fall! No man after him I'll slay, Till I o'er the world's brink spring! "By my hand, [2]O, by my hand![2] Falls the Hound of Glen in Sgail, Medb with all her host I'll kill, And then no more men of Fal! "By my spear, [2]O, by my spear![2] Should Ath Cro's brave Hound be slain, I'll be buried in his grave; May one grave hide me and him! [3]"Liefer would I, [2]liefer far,[2] Arms should slay me in fierce fight, Than the death of heroes' Hound,"[a] Should be food for ravenous birds?[3] "Tell him this, [2]O, tell him this,[2] To the Hound of beauteous hue, Fearless Scathach hath foretold My fall on a ford through him! [W.3149.] "Woe to Medb, [1]yea, woe to Medb,[1] Who hath used her [3]guile[3] on us; She hath set me face to face 'Gainst Cuchulain--hard the toil!" [2-2] Stowe, Add. 18,748 and Eg. 209. [3-3] YBL. 2234. [1-1] Eg. 106, Eg. 209. [2-2] Eg. 209. [a] The word is illegible in the manuscript. [3-3] Eg. 106. [1-1] Eg. 209. [3-3] Reading with Eg. 209. "Ye men," spake Medb, in the wonted fashion of stirring up disunion and dissension, [4]as if she had not heard Ferdiad at all,[4] "true is the word Cuchulain speaks." "What word is that?" asked Ferdiad. "He said, then," replied Medb, "he would not think it too much if thou shouldst fall by his hands in the choicest feat of his skill in arms, in the land whereto he should come." "It was not just for him to speak so," quoth Ferdiad; "for it is not cowardice or lack of boldness that he hath ever seen in me [5]by day or by night.[5] [6]And I speak not so to him, for I have it not to say of him.[6] And I swear by my arms [7]of valour,[7] if it be true that he spoke so, I will be the first man of the men of Erin to contend with him on the morrow, [8]how loath soever I am to do so!"[8] [4-4] YBL. 2238. [5-5] YBL. 2242. [6-6] Eg. 106. [7-7] Eg. 209. [8-8] Eg. 106. [9]And he gave his word in the presence of them all that he would go and meet Cuchulain. For it pleased Medb, if Ferdiad should fail to go, to have them as a witness against him, in order that she might say it was fear or dread that caused him to break his word.[9] "A blessing [10]and victory[10] upon thee for that!" said Medb; "it pleaseth me more than for thee to show fear and lack of boldness. For every man loves his own land, and how is it better for him to seek the welfare of Ulster, [11]because his mother was descended from the Ulstermen,[11] than for thee to seek the welfare of Connacht,[2] [12]as thou art the son of a king of Connacht?"[12] [9-9] Eg. 106. [10-10] YBL. 2244. [11-11] YBL. 2247. [12-12] YBL. 2248. Then it was that Medb obtained from Ferdiad the easy [W.3163.] surety of a covenant to fight and contend on the morrow with six warriors [1]of the champions of Erin,[1] or to fight and contend with Cuchulain alone, if to him this last seemed lighter. Ferdiad obtained [2]of Medb[2] the easy surety, [3]as he thought,[3] to send the aforesaid six men for the fulfilment of the terms which had been promised him, should Cuchulain fall at his hands. [1-1] Stowe and Eg. 209. [2-2] Stowe, Eg. 209 and Eg. 106. [3-3] A gloss, in LL. [4]There was a wonderful warrior of the Ulstermen present at that covenant, and that was Fergus macRoig. Fergus betook him to his tent. "Woe is me, for the deed that will be done on the morning of the morrow!" "What deed is that?" his tent-folk asked. "My good fosterling Cuchulain will be slain!" "Good lack! who makes that boast?" "Not hard to say: None other but his dear, devoted foster-brother, Ferdiad son of Daman. Why bear ye not my blessing," Fergus continued, "and let one of you go with a warning and mercy to Cuchulain, if perchance he would leave the ford on the morn of the morrow?" "As we live," said they; "though it were thyself was on the ford of battle, we would not go near him to seek thee." "Come, my lad," cried Fergus, "get our horses for us, and yoke the chariot!"[4] [4-4] YBL. fo. 36a, 21-36. Then were Fergus' horses fetched for him and his chariot was yoked, and he came forward to the place [5]of combat[5] where Cuchulain was, to inform him [6]of the challenge, that Ferdiad was to fight with him.[6] [5-5] YBL. fo. 36a, 38. [6-6] Eg. 209. [7]"A chariot cometh hither towards us, O Cuchulain!" cried Laeg. For in this wise was the gilla, with his back towards his lord. He used to win every other game of draughts and of chess from his master. Watch and guard of the four airts was he besides. "What manner of chariot is it?" asked Cuchulain. "A chariot like to a royal fort, huge, with its yoke, strong, golden; with its great board of copper; with its shafts of bronze; with its thin-framed, dry-bodied box (?) ... set on two horses, black, swift, stout, strong-forked, thick-set, under beautiful shafts. One kingly, broad-eyed warrior is the combatant in the chariot. A curly, forked beard he wears that reaches below outside over the smooth lower part of his soft tunic, which would shelter fifty warriors on a day of storm and rain under the heavy shield of the warrior's beard. A bent buckler, white, beautiful, of many colours, he bears, with three stout-wrought chains, so that there is room from edge to edge for four troops of ten men behind the leather of the shield which hangs upon the broad back of the warrior. A long, hard-edged, broad, red sword in a sheath woven and twisted of white silver, over the ... of the battle-warrior. A strong, three-ridged spear, wound and banded with all-gleaming white silver he has lying across the chariot." [7-7] YBL. fo. 36a, 39-36b, 15. "Not difficult to recognize him," said Cuchulain: "'tis my master Fergus that cometh hither with a warning and with compassion for me, before all the four provinces of Erin." [W.3172.] Fergus drew nigh and sprang from his chariot.[7] Cuchulain bade him welcome. [LL.fo.82a.] "Welcome is thy coming, O my master Fergus!" cried Cuchulain. [1]"If a flock of birds comes into the plain, thou shalt have a duck with half of another. If a fish comes into the river-mouths, thou shalt have a salmon with half of another. A handful of water-cress and a bunch of laver and a sprig of sea-grass and a drink of cold water from the sand thou shalt have thereafter." "Tis an outlaw's portion, that," said Fergus. "Tis true; 'tis an outlaw's portion is mine," answered Cuchulain.[1] "Truly intended, methinks, the welcome, O [W.3174.] fosterling," said Fergus. "But, [1]were it for this I came, I should think it better to leave it.[1] It is for this I am here, to inform thee who comes to fight and contend with thee at the morning hour early on the morrow." "E'en so will we hear it from thee," said Cuchulain. "Thine own friend and comrade and foster-brother, the man thine equal in feats and in skill of arms and in deeds, Ferdiad son of Daman son of Darè, the great and mighty warrior of the men of Domnann." [2]"As my soul liveth,"[2] replied Cuchulain, "it is not to an encounter we wish our friend to come, and [3]not for fear, but for love and affection of him;[3] [4]and almost I would prefer to fall by the hand of that warrior than for him to fall by mine."[4] "It is even for that," answered Fergus, "thou shouldst be on thy guard and prepared. [5]Say not that thou hast no fear of Ferdiad, for it is fitting that thou shouldst have fear and dread before fighting with Ferdiad.[5] For unlike all to whom it fell to fight and contend with thee on the Cualnge Cattle-raid on this occasion is Ferdiad son of Daman son of Darè, [9]for he hath a horny skin about him [6]in battle against a man,[6] [7]a belt,[7] [8]equally strong, victorious in battle,[8] and neither points nor edges are reddened upon it[9] [10]in the hour of strife and anger. For he is the fury of a lion, and the bursting of wrath, and the blow of doom, and the wave that drowneth foes."[10] [12]"Speak not thus!" cried Cuchulain, "for I swear [11]by my arms of valour,[11] the oath that my people swear, that every limb and every joint will be as soft as a pliant rush in the bed of a river under the point of sword, if he show himself to me on the ford![12] Truly am I here," said Cuchulain, "checking and [W.3185.] staying four of the five grand provinces of Erin from Monday at[a] Summer's end till[b] the beginning of spring, [1]and I have not left my post for a night's disport, through stoutly opposing the men of Erin on the Cattle-lifting of Cualnge.[1] And in all this time, I have not put foot in retreat before any one man [2]nor before a multitude,[2] and methinks just as little will I turn foot in flight before him." [1-1] YBL. 36b, 27-28. [7-7] YBL. fo. 36a, 39-36b, 15. [1-1] YBL. 36b, 18-24. [2-2] Literally, 'I say our confession.' [3-3] Stowe, Eg. 209, Eg. 106. [4-4] Eg. 106. [5-5] Eg. 106. [6-6] YBL. fo. 36b, 38. [7-7] Eg. 106. [8-8] Eg. 106. [9-9] Stowe and Eg. 209, and, similarly, YBL. 36b, 37. [10-10] Eg. 106. [11-11] Eg. 106. [12-12] YBL. 36b, 38-43 [1-1] YBL. 36b, 25-26. [2-2] Stowe. [3]And thus spake he, that it was not fear of Ferdiad that caused his anxiety for the fight, but his love for him. [3]And, on his part, so spake Fergus, putting him on his guard [4]because of Ferdiad's strength,[4] and he said these words and Cuchulain responded:-- Fergus: "O Cuchulain--splendid deed-- Lo, 'tis time for thee to rise. Here in rage against thee comes Ferdiad, red-faced Daman's son!" Cuchulain: "Here am I--no easy task--[c] Holding Erin's men at bay; Foot I've never turned in flight In my fight with single foe!" Fergus: "Dour the man when anger moves, Owing to his gore-red glaive; Ferdiad wears a skin of horn, 'Gainst which fight nor might prevails!" Cuchulain: "Be thou still; urge not thy tale, Fergus of the mighty arms. On no land and on no ground, For me is there aught defeat!" Fergus: "Fierce the man with scores of deeds; No light thing, him to subdue. Strong as hundreds--brave his mien-- Point pricks not, edge cuts him not!" Cuchulain: "If we clash upon the ford, I and Ferdiad of known skill, We'll not part without we know: Fierce will be our weapon fight!" Fergus: [W.3214.] "More I'd wish it than reward, O Cuchulain of red sword, Thou shouldst be the one to bring Eastward haughty Ferdiad's spoils!" Cuchulain: "Now I give my word and vow, Though unskilled in strife of words, It is I will conquer this Son of Daman macDarè!" Fergus: "It is I brought east the host, Thus requiting Ulster's wrong. With me came they from their lands, With their heroes and their chiefs!" Cuchulain: "Were not Conchobar in the 'Pains,' Hard 'twould be to come near us. Never Medb of Mag in Scail On more tearful march had come!" Fergus: "Greatest deed awaits thy hand: Fight with Ferdiad, Daman's son. Hard stern arms with stubborn edge,[b] Shalt thou have, thou Culann's Hound!" [a] Stowe and H. 1. 13: 'before'; YBL. 36b, 24: 'after.' [b] 'Till Wednesday after Spring,' is the reading of H. 1. 13. [3-3] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 209. [4-4] Stowe. [c] Literally, 'no meagre sail.' [b] Or, 'which quatrains love (?),' a cheville. [1]After that,[1] Fergus returned to the camp and halting-place [2]of the men of Erin,[2] [3]lest the men of Erin should say he was betraying them or forsaking them, if he should remain longer than he did conversing with Cuchulain. And they took farewell of each other.[3] [1-1] YBL. 37a, 22. [2-2] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [3-3] Eg. 106. [4]Now as regards the charioteer of Cuchulain [5]after Fergus went from them:[5] "What wilt thou do to-night?" asked Laeg. "What, indeed?" said Cuchulain. "It will be thus" (said the charioteer) "Ferdiad will come to attack thee, with new beauty of plaiting and dressing of hair, and washing and bathing, and the four provinces of Erin with him to look at the combat. I would that thou wouldst go where thou wilt get a like adorning for thyself, to the place where is Emer Foltchain ('Emer of the Beautiful Hair,' thy wife), [6]daughter of Forgal Monach,[6] at Cairthenn in Cluan da Dam, ('two Oxen's Meadow') in Sliab Fuait, [1]where thou wilt get even such an adorning for thyself."[1] [2]"It is fitting to do so," said Cuchulain.[2] Then Cuchulain went thither that night [3]to Dundelgan,[3] and passed the night with his wife. His doings from that time are not related here now.[4] [4-4] YBL. 37a, 29-39, and, similarly, Eg. 106. [5-5] Eg. 106. [6-6] Eg. 106. [1-1] Eg. 106. [2-2] Eg. 106. [3-3] Eg. 106. [W.3235.] [5]As for[5] Ferdiad, he betook himself to his tent and to his people, and imparted to them the easy surety which Medb had obtained from him to do combat and battle with six warriors on the morrow, or to do combat and battle with Cuchulain alone, if he thought it a lighter task. He made known to them also the fair terms he had obtained from Medb of sending the same six warriors for the fulfilment of the covenant she had made with him, should Cuchulain fall by his hands. [5-5] Eg. 106. [6]The folk of Ferdiad were not joyful, blithe, cheerful or merry that night,[6] [LL.fo.82b.] but they were sad, sorrowful and downcast, for they knew that where the two champions and the two bulwarks in a gap for a hundred, [7]the two pillars of battle and strife of the men of Erin[7] [8]of that time[8] met in combat, one or other of them would fall there or both would fall, and if it should be one of them, they believed it would be [9]their king and[9] their own lord [10]that would fall there,[10] for it was not easy to contend and do battle with Cuchulain on the Raid for the Kine of Cualnge. [6-6] LL., with the help of Stowe; LL. being partly illegible here. [7-7] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 209, Eg. 106 and YBL. 37a, 43. [8-8] YBL. 37a, 43. [9-9] H. 1. 13. [10-10] Stowe. Ferdiad slept right heavily the first part of the night, but when the end of the night was come, his sleep and his heaviness left him. And the anxiousness of the combat and the battle came upon him. [11]But most troubled in spirit was he that he should allow all the treasures to pass from him, and the maiden, by reason of combat with one man. Unless he fought with that one man, he must needs fight with six champions on the morrow. What tormented him more than that was, should he once show himself on the ford to Cuchulain he was certain he would never have power of head or of life ever after. And Ferdiad arose early on the morrow.[11] [W.3252.] And he charged his charioteer to take his horses and to yoke his chariot. The charioteer sought to dissuade him [1]from that journey.[1] [2]"By our word,"[2] said the gilla, "'twould be better for thee[a] [3]to remain than to go thither," said he; "for, not more do I commend it for thee than I condemn it."[3] "Hold thy peace about us, boy!" quoth Ferdiad, [4]"for we will brook no interference from any one concerning this journey.[4] [5]For the promise we gave to Medb and Ailill in the presence of the men of Erin, it would shame us to break it; for they would say it was fear or dread that caused us to break it. And, by my conscience, I would almost liefer fall myself by Cuchulain's hand than that he should fall by mine on this occasion. And should Cuchulain fall by my hand on the ford of combat, then shall Medb and many of the men of Erin fall by my hand because of the pledge they extorted from me, and I drunken and merry.[5] And in this manner he spake, [6]conversing with the charioteer,[6] and he uttered these words, [7]the little lay that follows, urging on the charioteer,[7] and the henchman responded:-- Ferdiad: "Let's haste to th' encounter, To battle with this man; The ford we will come to, O'er which Badb will shriek! To meet with Cuchulain, To wound his slight body, To thrust the spear through him So that he may die!" The Henchman: [W.3266.] "To stay it were better; Your threats are not gentle; Death's sickness will one have, And sad will ye part! To meet Ulster's noblest, To meet whence ill cometh; Long will men speak of it. Alas, for your[a] course!" Ferdiad: "Not fair what thou speakest; No fear hath the warrior; We owe no one meekness; We stay not for thee! Hush, gilla, about us! The time will bring strong hearts; More meet strength than weakness; [1]Let's on to the tryst!"[1] [11-11] YBL. 37a, 47-37b, 5. [1-1] Stowe, Eg. 106 and H. 1. 13. [2-2] YBL. 37b, 7. [a] MSS.: 'ye.' [3-3] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 106, Eg. 109 and H. 1. 13. [4-4] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 209, Eg. 106 and H. 1. 13. [5-5] Eg. 106. [6-6] YBL. 37b, 9. [7-7] YBL. 37b, 10. [a] MS.: 'his.' [1-1] YBL. 37b, 22. Ferdiad's horses were now brought forth and his chariot was hitched, and he set out [2]from the camp[2] for the ford of battle when yet day with its full light had not come there for him. [3]"My lad," spake Ferdiad, "it is not fitting that we make our journey without bidding farewell to the men of Erin. Turn the horses and the chariot for us towards the men of Erin." Thrice the servant turned the heads of the horses and the chariot towards the men of Erin. Then he came upon Medb letting her water from her on the floor of the tent. "Ailill, sleepest thou still?" asked Medb. "Not so!" replied Ailill. "Dost hear thy new son-in-law taking farewell, of thee?" "Is that what he doth?" asked Ailill. "'Tis that, verily," Medb made answer; "but I swear by what my tribe swears, not on the same feet will the man who makes that greeting come back to you." "Howbeit, we have profited by a happy alliance of marriage with him," quoth Ailill; "if only Cuchulain falls by his hand, I should be pleased if they both fell, yet would I prefer that Ferdiad should escape." [2-2] YBL. 37b, 24. [3-3] YBL. 37b, 25-38a, 25. Ferdiad came to the ford of combat. "Look, my lad!" said Ferdiad, "is Cuchulain on the ford?" "That he is not," replied the gilla. "Look well for us," said Ferdiad. "Cuchulain is not a little speck where he would be in hiding," answered the gilla. "'Tis true, then, my lad; till this day Cuchulain hath not heard of a goodly warrior coming to meet him on the Cow-spoil of Cualnge, and now when he has heard of one, he has left the ford." "Shame for thee to slander Cuchulain in his absence. Rememberest thou not when ye gave battle to German Garbglas above the borders of the Tyrrhene Sea, thou leftest thy sword with the hosts, and it was Cuchulain who slew a hundred warriors till he reached it and brought it to thee? And mindest thou well where we were that night?" the gilla asked further. "I know not," Ferdiad answered. "At the house of Scathach's steward," said the other; "and thou wentest ... and proudly in advance of us all into the house. The churl gave thee a blow with his three-pointed fork in the small of the back, so that thou flewest like a bolt out over the door. Cuchulain came in and gave the churl a blow with his sword, so that he made two pieces of him. I was their house-steward whilst ye were in that place. If it were that day, thou wouldst not say thou wast a better warrior than Cuchulain." "Wrong is what thou hast done, O gilla," said Ferdiad; "for I would not have come to the combat, hadst thou spoken thus to me at first. Why dost thou not lay the chariot-poles at my side and the skin-coverings under my head, that so I may sleep now?" "Alas," said the gilla, "'tis a sorry sleep before deer and packs of wolves here!" "How so, gilla? Art thou not able to keep watch and guard for me?" "I am," the gilla answered; "unless they come in clouds or in the air to attack thee, they shall not come from east or from west to attack thee without warning, without notice."[3] "Come, gilla," said Ferdiad, [1]"unharness the horses and[1] [W.3285.] spread for me the cushions and skins of my chariot under me here, so that I sleep off my heavy fit of sleep and slumber here, for I slept not the last part of the night with the anxiousness of the battle and combat." [1-1] Stowe. The gilla unharnessed the horses; he unfastened the chariot under him, [1]and spread beneath him the chariot-cloths.[1] He slept off the heavy fit of sleep that was on him. [2]The gilla remained on watch and guard for him.[2] [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Eg. 106. Now how Cuchulain fared [3]is related[3] here: He arose not till the day with its bright light had come to him, lest the men of Erin might say it was fear or fright of the champion he had, if he should arise [4]early.[4] And when day with its full light had come, he [5]passed his hand over his face and[5] bade his charioteer take his horses and yoke them to his chariot. "Come, gilla," said Cuchulain, "take out our horses for us and harness our chariot, for an early riser is the warrior appointed to meet us, Ferdiad son of Daman son of Darè. [6]If Ferdiad awaits us, he must needs think it long."[6] "The horses are taken out," [7]said the gilla;[7] "the chariot is harnessed. Mount, and be it no shame to thy valour [8]to go thither!"[8] [9]Cuchulain stepped into the chariot and they pressed forward to the ford.[9] Then it was that the cutting, feat-performing, battle-winning, red-sworded hero, Cuchulain son of Sualtaim, mounted his chariot, so that there shrieked around him the goblins and fiends and the sprites of the glens and the demons of the air; for the Tuatha De Danann ('the Folk of the Goddess Danu') were wont to set up their cries around him, to the end that the dread and the fear and the fright and the terror of him might be so much the greater in every [W.3304.] battle and on every field, in every fight and in every combat wherein he went. [3-3] Stowe and YBL. 38a, 28. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe, and, similarly Eg. 209 and Eg. 106. [6-6] YBL. 38a, 30. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] H. 1. 13. [9-9] YBL. 38a, 31-32. Not long had Ferdiad's charioteer waited when he heard something: [1]A rush and a crash and a hurtling sound, and a din and a thunder,[1] [LL.fo.83a.] and a clatter and a clash, namely, the shield-cry of feat-shields, and the jangle of javelins, and the deed-striking of swords, and the thud of the helmet, [2]and the ring of spears,[2] and the clang of the cuirass, and the striking of arms, the fury of feats, the straining of ropes, and the whirr of wheels, and the creaking of the chariot, and the trampling of horses' hoofs, and the deep voice of the hero and battle-warrior [3]in grave speech with his servant[3] on his way to the ford to attack his opponent. [1-1] From Stowe; LL. is illegible here. [2-2] H. 1. 13. [3-3] Stowe. The servant came and touched his master with his hand [4]and awakened him.[4] "Ferdiad, master," said the youth, "rise up! They are here to meet thee at the ford." [5]Then[5] [6]Ferdiad arose and girt his body in his war-dress of battle and combat.[6] And the gilla spake these words:-- "The roll of a chariot, Its fair yoke of silver; A man great and stalwart O'ertops the strong car! O'er Bri Ross, o'er Branè Their swift path they hasten; Past Old-tree Town's[a] tree-stump, Victorious they speed! "A sly Hound that driveth, A fair chief that urgeth, A free hawk that speedeth His steeds towards the south! Gore-coloured, the Cua,[b] 'Tis sure he will take us; We know--vain to hide it-- He brings us defeat![c] [W.3335.] "Woe him on the hillock, The brave Hound before him; Last year I foretold it, That some time he'd come! Hound from Emain Macha, Hound formed of all colours, The Border-hound, War-hound, I hear what I've heard!" [4-4] YBL. 38a, 35. [5-5] H. 1. 13. [6-6] Stowe and, similarly, Eg. 209, Eg. 106 and H. 1. 13. [a] _Baile in bile_, MSS. [b] A shortened form for 'Cuchulain.' [c] Literally, 'battle, strife.' "Come, gilla," said Ferdiad; "for what reason laudest thou this man ever since I am come from my house? And it is almost a cause for strife with thee that thou hast praised him thus highly. But, Ailill and Medb have prophesied to me that this man will fall by my hand. And since it is for a reward, he shall quickly be torn asunder by me. [1]And make ready the arms on the ford against his coming." "Should I turn my face backward," said the gilla; "methinks the poles of yon chariot will pass through the back of my neck." "Too much, my lad," said Ferdiad, "dost thou praise Cuchulain, for not a reward has he given thee for praising,[1] but it is time to fetch help." And he spake these words, and the henchman responded:-- Ferdiad: "'Tis time now to help me; Be silent! cease praising! 'Twas no deed of friendship, No doom o'er the brink (?)[a] The Champion of Cualnge, Thou seest 'midst proud feats, For that it's for guerdon, Shall quickly be slain!"[b] The Henchman: "I see Cualnge's hero, With feats overweening, Not fleeing he flees us, But towards us he comes. He runneth--not slowly-- Though cunning--not sparing-- Like water 'down high cliff Or thunderbolt quick!" Ferdiad: [W.3365.] "'Tis cause of a quarrel, So much thou hast praised him; And why hast thou chose him, Since I am from home? And now they extol him, They fall to proclaim him; None come to attack him, But soft simple men (?)." [1-1] YBL. 38b, 46-57. [a] The meaning is obscure. [b] Literally, 'torn.' [1]Here followeth the Description of Cuchulain's chariot, one of the three chief Chariots of the Tale of the Foray of Cualnge.[1] [1-1] YBL. 38a, 48-49. In the following description of the chariot and steeds has been incorporated part of the parallel passages in LU. 1969-1977 and YBL. 38a-38b. Eg. 106, Eg. 109 and H. 2. 12 (_Revue Celtique_, xi, 25) contain more adjectives. It was not long that Ferdiad's charioteer remained there when he saw something: [2]"How beholdest thou Cuchulain?" asked Ferdiad of his charioteer. "I behold," said he,[2] "a beautiful, live-pointed chariot, [3]broad above, of white crystal, with a thick yoke of gold, with stout plates of copper, with shafts of bronze, with wheel-bands of bronze covered with silver,[3] approaching with swiftness, with speed, with perfect skill; with a green shade, with a thin-framed, dry-bodied (?) box surmounted with feats of cunning, [4]straight-poled,[4] as long as a warrior's sword. [5]On this[5] was room for a hero's seven arms, the fair seat for its lord; [6]two wheels, dark, black; a pole of tin, with red enamel, of a beautiful colour; two inlaid, golden bridles.[6] [7]This chariot was placed[7] behind two fleet steeds, [8]nimble, furious, small-headed,[8] bounding, large-eared, [9]small-snouted, sharp-beaked, red-chested,[9] gaily prancing, with inflated[a] nostrils, broad-chested, quick-hearted, high-flanked, broad-hoofed, slender-limbed, overpowering and resolute. A grey, broad-hipped, small-stepping, long-maned horse, [10]whose name was Liath ('the Roan') of Macha,[10] was under [W.3379.] one of the yokes of the chariot; a black, crispèd-maned, swift-moving, broad-backed horse, [1]whose name was Dubh ('the Black') of Sithleann,[1] under the other. Like unto a hawk after its prey on a sharp tempestuous day, or to a tearing blast of wind of Spring on a March day over the back of a plain, or unto a startled stag when first roused by the hounds in the first of the chase, [LL.fo.83b.] were Cuchulain's two horses before the chariot, as if they were on glowing, fiery flags, so that they shook the earth and made it tremble with the fleetness of their course. [2-2] YBL. 38a, 51-52. [3-3] YBL. 38b, 1-3. [4-4] LU. 1973. [5-5] YBL. [6-6] YBL. 38b. 19-21. [7-7] LU. 1972. [8-8] LU. 1973. [9-9] LU. 1973. [10-10] Eg. 209. [a] Literally, 'bagnosed.' [1-1] Eg. 209. [2]"In the front of this chariot is a man with fair, curly, long hair. There is around him a cloak, blue, Parthian purple. A spear with red and keen-cutting blades, flaming-red in his hand. The semblance of three heads of hair he has, namely, brown hair next to the skin of his head, blood-red hair in the middle, a crown of gold is the third head of hair. "Beautiful is the arrangement of that hair so that it makes three coils down behind over his shoulders. Even as a thread of gold it seems, when its hue has been wrought over the edge of an anvil; or like to the yellow of bees whereon shines the sun on a summer's day is the shining of each single hair of his hair. Seven toes he has on each of his feet and seven fingers on each of his hands and the brilliance of a very great fire is around his eye. "Befitting him is the charioteer beside him, with curly, jet-black hair, shorn broad over his head. A cowled garment around him, open at the elbows. A horse-whip, very fine and golden in his hand, and a light-grey cloak wrapped around him, and a goad of white silver in his hand. He plies the goad on the horses whatever way would go the deed-renowned warrior that is in the chariot."[2] [2-2] YBL. 38b, 21-44. And Cuchulain reached the ford. Ferdiad waited on [W.3387.] the south side of the ford; Cuchulain stood on the north side. Ferdiad bade welcome to Cuchulain. "Welcome is thy coming, O Cuchulain!" said Ferdiad. "Truly spoken meseemed thy welcome till now," answered Cuchulain; "but to-day I put no more trust in it. And, O Ferdiad," said Cuchulain, "it were fitter for me to bid thee welcome than that thou should'st welcome me; for it is thou that art come to the land and province wherein I dwell; and it is not fitting for thee to come to contend and do battle with me, but it were fitter for me to go to contend and do battle with thee. For before thee in flight are my women and my boys and my youths, my steeds and my troops of horses, my droves, my flocks and my herds of cattle." "Good, O Cuchulain," spake Ferdiad; "what has ever brought thee out to contend and do battle with me? For when we were [1]together[1] with Scathach and with Uathach and with Aifè, [2]thou wast not a man worthy of me, for[2] thou wast my serving-man, even for arming my spear and dressing my bed." "That was indeed true," answered Cuchulain; "because of my youth and my littleness did I so much for thee, but this is by no means my mood this day. For there is not a warrior in the world I would not drive off this day [3]in the field of battle and combat."[3] [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4]It was not long before they met in the middle of the ford.[4] And then it was that each of them cast sharp-cutting reproaches at the other, renouncing his friendship; and Ferdiad spake these words there, and Cuchulain responded:-- Ferdiad: "What led thee, O Cua, To fight a strong champion? Thy flesh will be gore-red O'er smoke of thy steeds! Alas for thy journey, A kindling of firebrands; In sore need of healing, If home thou shouldst reach!" Cuchulain: [W.3417.] "I'm come before warriors Around the herd's wild Boar,[a] Before troops and hundreds, To drown thee in deep. In anger, to prove thee In hundred-fold battle, Till on thee come havoc, Defending thy head!" Ferdiad: "Here stands one to crush thee, 'Tis I will destroy thee, [1]...[1] From me there shall come The flight of their warriors In presence of Ulster, That long they'll remember The loss that was theirs!" Cuchulain: "How then shall we combat? For wrongs shall we heave sighs? Despite all, we'll go there, To fight on the ford! Or is it with hard swords, Or e'en with red spear-points, Before hosts to slay thee, If [2]thy[2] hour hath come?" Ferdiad: "'Fore sunset, 'fore nightfall-- If need be, then guard thee-- I'll fight thee at Bairchè, Not bloodlessly fight! The Ulstermen call thee, 'He has him!' Oh, hearken! The sight will distress them That through them will pass[b]!" Cuchulain: "In danger's gap fallen, At hand is thy life's term; On thee plied be weapons, Not gentle the skill! One champion will slay thee; We both will encounter; No more shalt lead forays, [3]From this day till Doom!"[3] Ferdiad: [W.3457.] "Avaunt with thy warnings, Thou world's greatest braggart; Nor guerdon nor pardon, [1]Low warrior for thee![1] 'Tis I that well know thee, Thou heart of a cageling This lad merely tickles-- Without skill or force!" Cuchulain: "When we were with Scathach, For wonted arms training, Together we'd fare forth, To seek every fight. Thou wast my heart's comrade. My clan and my kinsman; Ne'er found I one dearer; Thy loss would be sad!" Ferdiad: [LL.fo.84a.] "Thou wager'st thine honour Unless we do battle; Before the cock croweth, Thy head on a spit! Cuchulain of Cualnge, Mad frenzy hath seized thee All ill we'll wreak on thee, For thine is the sin!" [4-4] YBL. 39a. 14. [a] That is, King Conchobar. [1-1] A line has dropped out here in the MS., and cannot be reconstructed, since the stanza is found only in LL. For this reason the meaning of the following line is uncertain. [2-2] Reading with YBL. 39a, 34. [B] Literally, 'it will go over and through them!' [3-3] Translating from YBL. fo. 39a, 41. [1-1] Literally, '(For) thou art not a bush (i.e. a hero) over a bush (hero).' "Come now, O Ferdiad," cried Cuchulain, "not meet was it for thee to come to contend and do battle with me, because of the instigation and intermeddling of Ailill and Medb, [2]and because of the false promises that they made thee. Because of their deceitful terms and of the maiden have many good men been slain.[2] And all that came [3]because of those promises of deceit,[3] neither profit nor success did it bring them, and they have fallen by me. And none the more, [4]O Ferdiad,[4] shall it win victory or increase of fame for thee; and, [5]as they all fell,[5] shalt thou too fall by my hand!" Thus he spake, [W.3486.] and he further uttered these words and Ferdiad hearkened to him:-- "Come not nigh me, noble chief, Ferdiad, comrade, Daman's son. Worse for thee than 'tis for me; Thou'lt bring sorrow to a host! "Come not nigh me 'gainst all right; Thy last bed is made by me. Why shouldst thou alone escape From the prowess of my arms? "Shall not great feats thee undo, Though thou'rt purple, horny-skinned? And the maid thou boastest of, Shall not, Daman's son, be thine! "Finnabair, Medb's daughter fair, Great her charms though they may be, Fair as is the damsel's form, She's for thee not to enjoy! "Finnabair, the king's own child, Is the lure, if truth be told; Many they whom she's deceived And undone as she has thee! "Break not, weetless, oath with me; Break not friendship, break not bond; Break not promise, break not word; Come not nigh me, noble chief! "Fifty chiefs obtained in plight This same maid, a proffer vain. Through me went they to their graves; Spear-right all they had from me! "Though for brave was held Ferbaeth, With whom was a warriors' train, In short space I quelled his rage; Him I slew with one sole blow! "Srubdarè--sore sank his might-- Darling of the noblest dames, Time there was when great his fame-- Gold nor raiment saved him not! "Were she mine affianced wife, Smiled on me this fair land's head,[a] I would not thy body hurt. Right nor left, in front, behind!" [2-2] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 209 and Eg. 106. [3-3] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 209 and Eg. 106. [4-4] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 209 and Eg. 106. [5-5] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 209 and Eg. 106. [a] That is, Queen Medb. [W.3527.] "Good, O Ferdiad!" cried Cuchulain. [1]A pity it is for thee to abandon my alliance and my friendship for the sake of a woman that has been trafficked to fifty other warriors before thee, and it would be long before I would forsake thee for that woman.[1] Therefore, it is not right for thee to come to fight and combat with me; for when we were with Scathach and with Uathach and with Aifè, [2]we were together in practice of valour and arms of the world, and[2] it was together we were used to seek out every battle and every battle-field, every combat and every contest, every wood and every desert, every covert and every recess." And thus he spake and he uttered these words:-- Cuchulain: "We were heart-companions once; We were comrades in the woods; We were men that shared a bed, When we slept the heavy sleep, After hard and weary fights. Into many lands, so strange, Side by side we sallied forth, And we ranged the woodlands through, When with Scathach we learned arms!" Ferdiad: "O Cuchulain, rich in feats, Hard the trade we both have learned; Treason hath o'ercome our love; Thy first wounding hath been bought; Think not of our friendship more, Cua, it avails thee not!" [1-1] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 106 and Eg. 209. [2-2] Stowe, and, similarly, Eg. 106 and Eg. 209. "Too long are we now in this way," quoth Ferdiad; "and what arms shall we resort to to-day, O Cuchulain?" "With thee is thy choice of weapons this day till night time," answered Cuchulain, "for thou art he that first didst reach the ford." "Rememberest thou at all," asked Ferdiad, "the choice deeds of arms we were wont to practise with Scathach and with Uathach and with Aifè?" "Indeed, and I do remember," answered Cuchulain. "If thou rememberest, let us begin [3]with them."[3] [3-3] Stowe. [W.3555.] They betook them to their choicest deeds of arms. They took upon them two equally-matched shields for feats, and their eight-edged targes for feats, and their eight small darts, and their eight straightswords with ornaments of walrus-tooth and their eight lesser, ivoried spears which flew from them and to them like bees [LL.fo.84b.] on a day of fine weather. They cast no weapon that struck not. Each of them was busy casting at the other with those missiles from morning's early twilight till noon at mid-day, the while they overcame their various feats with the bosses and hollows of their feat-shields. However great the excellence of the throwing on either side, equally great was the excellence of the defence, so that during all that time neither of them bled or reddened the other. "Let us cease now from this bout of arms, O Cuchulain," said Ferdiad; "for it is not by such our decision will come." "Yea, surely, let us cease, if the time hath come," answered Cuchulain. [1]Then[1] they ceased. They threw their feat-tackle from them into the hands of their charioteers. "To what weapons shall we resort next, O Cuchulain?" asked Ferdiad. "Thine is the choice of weapons till nightfall," replied Cuchulain; "for thou art he that didst first reach the ford." "Let us begin, then," said Ferdiad, "with our straight-cut, smooth-hardened throwing-spears, with cords of full-hard flax on them." "Aye, let us begin then," assented Cuchulain. Then they took on them two hard shields, equally strong. They fell to their straight-cut, smooth-hardened spears with cords of full-hard flax on them. Each of them was engaged in casting at the other with the spears from the middle of noon [2]till yellowness came over the sun[2] at the hour of evening's sundown. However great the excellence of the defence, equally great was the excellence of the throwing on either side, so that [W.3578.] each of them bled and reddened and wounded the other during that time. [1]"Wouldst thou fain make a truce, O Cucugan?"[a] asked Ferdiad. "It would please me," replied Cuchulain; "for whoso begins with arms has the right to desist."[1] "Let us leave off from this now, O Cuchulain," said Ferdiad. "Aye, let us leave off, an the time hath come," answered Cuchulain. So they ceased. They threw their arms from them into the hands of their charioteers. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] H. 2. 12. [1-1] H. 2. 12. [a] See note, page 185. Thereupon each of them went toward the other [2]in the middle of the ford,[2] and each of them put his hand on the other's neck and gave him three kisses [3]in remembrance of his fellowship and friendship.[3] Their horses were in one and the same paddock that night, and their charioteers at one and the same fire; and their charioteers made ready a litter-bed of fresh rushes for them with pillows for wounded men on them. Then came healing and curing folk to heal and to cure them, and they laid healing herbs and grasses and a curing charm on their cuts and stabs, their gashes and many wounds. Of every healing herb and grass and curing charm that [4]was brought from the fairy dwellings of Erin to Cuchulain and[4] was applied to the cuts and stabs, to the gashes and many wounds of Cuchulain, a like portion thereof he sent across the ford westward to Ferdiad, [5]to put to his wounds and his pools of gore,[5] so that the men of Erin should not have it to say, should Ferdiad fall at his hands, it was more than his share of care had been given to him. [2-2] H. 2. 12. [3-3] H. 2. 12. [4-4] H. 2. 12. [5-5] H. 2. 12. Of every food and of every savoury, soothing and strong drink that was brought by the men of Erin to Ferdiad, a like portion thereof he sent over the ford northwards to Cuchulain; for the purveyors of Ferdiad were more numerous than the purveyors of Cuchulain. All the men of Erin were purveyors to Ferdiad, to the end that he might keep [W.3598.] Cuchulain off from them. But only the inhabitants of Mag Breg ('the Plain of Breg') were purveyors to Cuchulain. They were wont to come daily, that is, every night, to converse with him. They bided there that night. Early on the morrow they arose and went their ways to the ford of combat. "To what weapons shall we resort on this day, O Ferdiad?" asked Cuchulain. [LL.fo.85a.] "Thine is the choosing of weapons till night time," Ferdiad made answer, "because it was I had my choice of weapons on the day aforegone." "Let us take, then," said Cuchulain, "to our great, well-tempered lances to-day, for we think that the thrusting will bring nearer the decisive battle to-day than did the casting of yesterday. Let our horses be brought to us and our chariots yoked, to the end that we engage in combat over our horses and chariots on this day." "Aye, let us go so," Ferdiad assented. Thereupon they girded two full-firm broad-shields on them for that day. They took to their great, well-tempered lances on that day. Either of them began to pierce and to drive, to throw and to press down the other, from early morning's twilight till the hour of evening's close. If it were the wont for birds in flight to fly through the bodies of men, they could have passed through their bodies on that day and carried away pieces of blood and flesh through their wounds and their sores into the clouds and the air all around. And when the hour of evening's close was come, their horses were spent and their drivers were wearied, and they themselves, the heroes and warriors of valour, were exhausted. "Let us give over now, O Ferdiad," said Cuchulain, "for our horses are spent and our drivers tired, and when they are exhausted, why should we too not be exhausted?" And in this wise he spake, and he uttered these words at that place:-- "We need not our chariots break-- This, a struggle fit for giants. [W.3626.] Place the hobbles on the steeds, Now that din of arms is o'er!" "Yea, we will cease, if the time hath come," replied Ferdiad. They ceased [1]then.[1] They threw their arms away from them into the hands of their charioteers. Each of them came towards his fellow. Each laid his hand on the other's neck and gave him three kisses. Their horses were in the one pen that night, and their charioteers at the one fire. Their charioteers prepared [2]two[2] litter-beds of fresh rushes for them with pillows for wounded men on them. The curing and healing men came to attend and watch and mark them that night; for naught else could they do, because of the direfulness of their cuts and their stabs, their gashes and their numerous wounds, but apply to them philtres and spells and charms, to staunch their blood and their bleeding and their deadly pains. Of every magic potion and every spell and every charm that was applied to the cuts and stabs of Cuchulain, their like share he sent over the ford westwards to Ferdiad. Of every food and every savoury, soothing and strong drink that was brought by the men of Erin to Ferdiad, an equal portion he sent over the ford northwards to Cuchulain, for the victuallers of Ferdiad were more numerous than the victuallers of Cuchulain. For all the men of Erin were Ferdiad's nourishers, to the end that he might ward off Cuchulain from them. But the indwellers of the Plain of Breg alone were Cuchulain's nourishers. They were wont to come daily, that is, every night, to converse with him. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. They abode there that night. Early on the morrow they arose and repaired to the ford of combat. Cuchulain marked an evil mien and a dark mood that day [3]beyond every other day[3] on Ferdiad. "It is evil thou appearest to-day, O Ferdiad," spake Cuchulain; "thy hair has [W.3653.] become dark[a] to-day, and thine eye has grown drowsy, and thine upright form [LL.fo.85b.] and thy features and thy gait have gone from thee!" "Truly not for fear nor for dread of thee is that happened to me to-day," answered Ferdiad; "for there is not in Erin this day a warrior I could not repel!" [1]"Alas, O Ferdiad," said Cuchulain, "a pity it is for thee to oppose thy foster-brother and thy comrade and friend, on the counsel of any woman in the world!" "A pity it is, O Cuchulain," Ferdiad responded. "But, should I part without a struggle with thee, I should be in ill repute forever with Medb and with the nobles of the four grand provinces of Erin." "A pity it is, O Ferdiad," said Cuchulain; "not on the counsel of all the men and women in the world would I desert thee or would I do thee harm. And almost would it make a clot of gore of my heart to be combating with thee!"[1] [3-3] Eg. 209 and Eg. 106. [a] An unusual colour of the hair betokened misfortune. [1-1] Eg. 106. And Cuchulain lamented and moaned, and he spake these words and Ferdiad responded:-- Cuchulain: "Ferdiad, ah, if it be thou, Well I know thou'rt doomed to die! To have gone at woman's hest, Forced to fight thy comrade sworn!" Ferdiad: "O Cuchulain--wise decree-- Loyal champion, hero true, Each man is constrained to go 'Neath the sod that hides his grave!" Cuchulain: "Finnabair, Medb's daughter fair, Stately maiden though she be, Not for love they'll give to thee, But to prove thy kingly might!" Ferdiad: "Provèd was my might long since, Cu of gentle spirit thou. Of one braver I've not heard; Till to-day I have not found!" Cuchulain: "Thou art he provoked this fight, Son of Daman, Darè's son, To have gone at woman's word, Swords to cross with thine old friend!" Ferdiad: [W.3679.] "Should we then unfought depart, Brothers though we are, bold Hound, Ill would be my word and fame With Ailill and Cruachan's Medb!" Cuchulain: "Food has not yet passed his lips, Nay nor has he yet been born, Son of king or blameless queen, For whom I would work thee harm!" Ferdiad: "Culann's Hound, with floods of deeds, Medb, not thou, hath us betrayed; Fame and victory thou shalt have; Not on thee we lay our fault!" Cuchulain: "Clotted gore is my brave heart, Near I'm parted from my soul; Wrongful 'tis--with hosts of deeds-- Ferdiad, dear, to fight with thee!" [1]After this colloquy, Ferdiad spake:[1] "How much soever thou findest fault with me to-day," said Ferdiad, [2]"for my ill-boding mien and evil doing, it will be as an offset to my prowess." And he said,[2] "To what weapons shall we resort to-day?" "With thyself is the choice of weapons to-day till night time," replied Cuchulain, "for it is I that chose on the day gone by." "Let us resort, then," said Ferdiad, "to our heavy, hard-smiting swords this day, for we trow that the smiting each other will bring us nearer to the decision of battle to-day than was our piercing each other on yesterday." "Let us go then, by all means," responded Cuchulain. [1-1] Stowe, Eg. 106. [2-2] Eg. 106. Then they took two full-great long-shields upon them for that day. They turned to their heavy, hard-smiting swords. Each of them fell to strike and to hew, to lay low and cut down, to slay and undo [3]his fellow,[3] till as large as the head of a month-old child was each lump and each cut, [4]each clutter and each clot of gore[4] that each of them took from the shoulders and thighs and shoulder-blades of the other. [3-3] Stowe, Eg. 106. [4-4] Eg. 106. [W.3708.] Each of them was engaged in smiting the other in this way from the twilight of early morning till the hour of evening's close. "Let us leave off from this now, O Cuchulain!" cried Ferdiad. "Aye, let us leave off, if the hour has come," said Cuchulain. They parted [1]then, and[1] threw their arms away from them into the hands of their charioteers. Though it had been the meeting of two happy, blithe, cheerful, joyful men, their parting that night was of two that were sad, sorrowful and full of suffering. [2]They parted without a kiss a blessing or aught other sign of friendship, and their servants disarmed the steeds, the squires and the heroes; no healing or curing herbs were sent from Cuchulain to Ferdiad that night, and no food nor drink was brought from Ferdiad to him.[2] Their horses were not in the same paddock that night. Their charioteers were not at the same fire. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] H. 2. 12. They passed there that night. It was then that Ferdiad arose early on the morrow and went alone to the ford of combat, [3]and dauntless, vengeful and mighty was the man that went thither that day, even Ferdiad son of Daman.[3] For he knew that that would be the decisive day of the battle and combat; and he knew that one or other of them would fall there that day, or that they both would fall. It was then he donned his battle-weed of battle and fight and combat, [LL.fo.86a.] or ever Cuchulain came to meet him. And thus was the manner of this harness of battle and fight and combat: He put his silken, glossy trews with its border of speckled gold, next to his white skin. Over this, outside, he put his brown-leathern, well-sewed kilt. Outside of this he put a huge, goodly flag, the size of a millstone, [4]the shallow (?) stone of adamant which he had brought from Africa and which neither points nor edges could pierce.[4] He put his solid, very deep, iron kilt of twice molten iron over the huge, goodly flag as large as a millstone, through [W.3730.] fear and dread of the Gae Bulga on that day. About his head he put his crested war-cap of battle and fight and combat, whereon were forty carbuncle-gems beautifully adorning it and studded with red-enamel and crystal and rubies and with [1]shining stones[1] of the Eastern world. His angry, fierce-striking spear he seized in his right hand. On his left side he hung his curved battle-falchion, [2]which would cut a hair against the stream with its keenness and sharpness,[2] with its golden pommel and its rounded hilt of red gold. On the arch-slope of his back he slung his massive, fine-buffalo shield [3]of a warrior,[3] whereon were fifty bosses, wherein a boar could be shown in each of its bosses, apart from the great central boss of red gold. Ferdiad performed divers, brilliant, manifold, marvellous feats on high that day, unlearned from any one before, neither from foster-mother nor from foster-father, neither from Scathach nor from Uathach nor from Aifè, but he found them of himself that day in the face of Cuchulain. [3-3] Eg. 106. [4-4] Eg. 209. [1-1] Reading with Egerton 106, which gives better sense than LL.'s 'brilliant plants.' [2-2] Eg. 209. [3-3] Stowe and Eg. 209. Cuchulain likewise came to the ford, and he beheld the various, brilliant, manifold, wonderful feats that Ferdiad performed on high. "Thou seest yonder, O Laeg my master, the divers, bright, numerous, marvellous feats that Ferdiad performs on high, and I shall receive yon feats one after the other, and, therefore, [4]O Laeg," cried Cuchulain,[4] "if defeat be my lot this day, do thou prick me on and taunt me and speak evil to me, so that the more my spirit and anger shall rise in me. If, however, before me his defeat takes place, say thou so to me and praise me and speak me fair, to the end that the greater may be my courage!" "It shall surely be done so, if need be, O Cucuc," Laeg answered. [4-4] Stowe. Then Cuchulain, too, girded his war-harness of battle and [W.3757.] fight and combat about him, and performed all kinds of splendid, manifold, marvellous feats on high that day which he had not learned from any one before, neither with Scathach nor with Uathach nor with Aifè. Ferdiad observed those feats, and he knew they would be plied against him in turn. "To what weapons shall we resort [1]to-day[1], O Ferdiad?" asked Cuchulain. "With thee is thy choice of weapons till night time," Ferdiad responded. "Let us go to the 'Feat of the Ford,' then," said Cuchulain. "Aye, let us do so," answered Ferdiad. Albeit Ferdiad spoke that, he deemed it the most grievous thing whereto he could go, for he knew that in that sort Cuchulain used to destroy every hero and every battle-soldier who fought with him in the 'Feat of the Ford.' [1-1] Stowe. Great indeed was the deed that was done on the ford that day. The two heroes, the two champions, the two chariot-fighters of the west of Europe, the two bright torches of valour of the Gael, the two hands of dispensing favour and of giving rewards [2]and jewels and treasures[2] in the west of the northern world, [LL.fo.86b.] [3]the two veterans[3] of skill and the two keys of bravery of the Gael, [4]the man for quelling the variance and discord of Connacht, the man for guarding the cattle and herds of Ulster[4], to be brought together in encounter as from afar, [5]set to slay each other or to kill one of them[5], through the sowing of dissension and the incitement of Ailill and Medb. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Reading with Stowe. [4-4] Eg. 106. [5-5] Stowe and Eg. 106. Each of them was busy hurling at the other in those deeds of arms from early morning's gloaming till the middle of noon. When mid-day came, the rage of the men became wild, and each drew nearer to the other. Thereupon Cuchulain gave one spring once from the bank of the ford till he stood upon the boss of Ferdiad macDaman's shield, seeking to reach his head and to strike [W.3779.] it from above over the rim of the shield. Straightway Ferdiad gave the shield a blow with his left elbow, so that Cuchulain went from him like a bird onto the brink of the ford. Again Cuchulain sprang from the brink of the ford, so that he alighted upon the boss of Ferdiad macDaman's shield, that he might reach his head and strike it over the rim of the shield from above. Ferdiad gave the shield a thrust with his left knee, so that Cuchulain went from him like an infant onto the bank of the ford. Laeg espied that. "Woe then, [1]O Cuchulain!"[1] cried Laeg; [2]"meseems[2] the battle-warrior that is against thee hath shaken thee as a fond woman shakes her child. He hath washed thee as a cup is washed in a tub. He hath ground thee as a mill grinds soft malt. He hath pierced thee as a tool bores through an oak. He hath bound thee as the bindweed binds the trees. He hath pounced on thee as a hawk pounces on little birds, so that no more hast thou right or title or claim to valour or skill in arms till the very day of doom and of life, thou little imp of an elf-man!" cried Laeg. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. Thereat for the third time, Cuchulain arose with the speed of the wind, and the swiftness of a swallow, and the dash of a dragon, and the strength (of a lion) [3]into the clouds[3] of the air, till he alighted on the boss of the shield of Ferdiad son of Daman, so as to reach his head that he might strike it from above over the rim of his shield. Then it was that the battle-warrior gave the shield a [4]violent and powerful[4] shake, so that Cuchulain flew from it into the middle of the ford, the same as if he had not sprung at all. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. It was then the first twisting-fit of Cuchulain took place, so that a swelling and inflation filled him like breath in a bladder, until he made a dreadful, terrible, many-coloured, wonderful bow of himself, so that as big as a giant or a man [W.3805.] of the sea was the hugely-brave warrior towering directly over Ferdiad. Such was the closeness of the combat they made, that their heads encountered above and their feet below and their hands in the middle over the rims and bosses of the shields. Such was the closeness of the combat they made, that their shields burst and split from their rims to their centres. Such was the closeness of the combat they made, that their spears bent and turned and shivered from their tips to their rivets. Such was the closeness of the combat they made, that the boccanach and the bananach ('the puck-faced Fays' and 'the white-faced Fays') and the sprites of the glens and the eldritch beings of the air screamed from the rims of their shields and from the guards of their swords and from the tips of their spears. Such was the closeness of the combat they made, that they forced the river out of its bed and out of its course, so that there might have been a reclining place [LL.fo.87a.] for a king or a queen in the middle of the ford, and not a drop of water was in it but what fell there with the trampling and slipping which the two heroes and the two battle-warriors made in the middle of the ford. Such was the closeness of the combat they made, that the steeds of the Gael broke loose affrighted and plunging with madness and fury, so that their chains and their shackles, their traces and tethers snapped, and the women and children and pygmy-folk, the weak and the madmen among the men of Erin brake out through the camp south-westward. At that time they were at the edge-feat of swords. It was then Ferdiad caught Cuchulain in an unguarded moment, and he gave him a thrust with his tusk-hilted blade, so that he buried it in his breast, and his blood fell into his belt, [W.3831.] till the ford became crimsoned with the clotted blood from the battle-warrior's body. Cuchulain endured it not, under Ferdiad's attack, with his death-bringing, heavy blows, and his long strokes and his mighty, middle slashes at him. [1]Then Cuchulain bethought him of his friends from Faery and of his mighty folk who would come to defend him and of his scholars to protect him, what time he would be hard pressed in the combat. It was then that Dolb and Indolb arrived to help and to succour their friend, namely Cuchulain, [2]and one of them went on either side of him and they smote Ferdiad, the three of them, and Ferdiad did not perceive the men from Sid ('the Faery Dwelling')[2]. Then it was that Ferdiad felt the onset of the three together smiting his shield against him, and he gave all his care and attention thereto, and thence he called to mind that, when they were with Scathach and with Uathach [3]learning together, Dolb and Indolb used to come to help Cuchulain out of every stress wherein he was.[3] Ferdiad spake: "Not alike are our foster-brothership and our comradeship, O Cuchulain," quoth he. "How so, then?" asked Cuchulain. "Thy friends of the Fairy-folk have succoured thee, and thou didst not disclose them to me before," said Ferdiad. "Not easy for me were that," answered Cuchulain; "for if the magic veil be once revealed to one of the sons of Milè,[a] none of the Tuatha De Danann ('the Folk of the Goddess Danu') will have power to practise concealment or magic. And why complainest thou here, [4]O Ferdiad?" said Cuchulain.[4] "Thou hast a horn skin whereby to multiply feats and deeds of arms on me, and thou hast not shown me how it is closed or how it is opened." [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13. Eg. 106 and Eg. 209. [2-2] Eg. 106. [3-3] Eg. 106. [4-4] Eg. 106. [a] That is, the Milesians, the ancestors of the Irish. Then it was they displayed all their skill and secret cunning to one another, so that there was not a secret of [W.3851.] either of them kept from the other except the Gae Bulga, which was Cuchulain's. Howbeit, when the Fairy friends found Cuchulain had been wounded, each of them inflicted three great, heavy wounds on him, on Ferdiad, to wit. It was then that Ferdiad made a cast to the right, so that he slew Dolb with that goodly cast. Then followed the two woundings and the two throws that overcame him, till Ferdiad made a second throw towards Cuchulain's left, and with that throw he stretched low and killed Indolb dead on the floor of the ford. Hence it is that the story-teller sang the rann:-- "Why is this called Ferdiad's Ford, E'en though three men on it fell? None the less it washed their spoils-- It is Dolb's and Indolb's Ford!" What need to relate further! When the devoted, equally great sires[a] [2]and champions,[2] and the hard, battle-victorious wild beasts that fought for Cuchulain had fallen, it greatly strengthened the courage of Ferdiad, so that he gave two blows for every blow of Cuchulain's. When Laeg son of Riangabair saw his lord being overcome by the crushing blows of the champion who oppressed him, Laeg began to stir up and rebuke Cuchulain, in such a way that a swelling and an inflation filled Cuchulain [3]from top to ground,[3] as the wind fills a spread, open banner, so that he made a dreadful, wonderful bow of himself like a sky-bow in a shower of rain, and he made for Ferdiad with the violence of a dragon or the strength of a blood-hound.[1] [1-1] See note 1, page 255. [2-2] H. 1. 13. [3-3] Eg. 106. And Cuchulain called for the Gae Bulga from Laeg son of Riangabair. This was its nature: With the stream it was made ready, and from between the fork of the foot [a] Cuchulain was partly of divine birth, on one side the son of Lugh lámh-fhada ('Lug long-hand'), the Irish sun-god; on the earthly side he had also a mortal father, Sualtaim or Sualtach.] [W.3874.] it was cast; the wound of a single spear it gave when entering the body, and thirty[a] barbs had it when it opened, and it could not be drawn out of a man's flesh till [1]the flesh[1] had been cut about it. [a] 'Twenty four,' YBL. 39b, 23, and Eg. 106; but 'five,' Eg. 209. [1-1] Stowe. [2]Thereupon Laeg came forward to the brink of the river and to the place where the fresh water was dammed, and the Gae Bulga was sharpened and set in position. He filled the pool and stopped the stream and checked the tide of the ford. Ferdiad's charioteer watched the work, for Ferdiad had said to him early [3]in the morning:[3] "Now, gilla, do thou hold back Laeg from me to-day, and I will hold back Cuchulain from thee [4]and thy men forever."[4] "This is a pity," quoth the henchman; "no match for him am I; for a man to combat a hundred is he [5]amongst the men of Erin,[5] and that am I not. Still, however slight his help, it shall not come to his lord past me." [2-2] Stowe, Eg. 106, Eg. 209. [3-3] Eg. 106. [4-4] Eg. 209. [5-5] Eg. 106. [6]Thus were the henchmen: two brothers were they, namely, Id[b] son of Riangabair, and Laeg[c] son of Riangabair. As for Id son of Riangabair,[6] he was then watching his brother [7]thus making the dam[7] till he filled the pools and went to set the Gae Bulga downwards. It was then that Id went up and released the stream and opened the dam and undid the fixing of the Gae Bulga. Cuchulain became deep purple and red all over when he saw the setting undone on the Gae Bulga. He sprang from the top of the ground so that he alighted light and quick on the rim of Ferdiad's shield. Ferdiad gave a [8]strong[8] shake to the shield, so that he hurled Cuchulain the measure of nine paces out to the westward over the ford. Then Cuchulain called and shouted to Laeg to set about preparing the Gae Bulga for him. Laeg hastened to the pool and began the work. Id [W.3895.] ran and opened the dam and released it before the stream. Laeg sprang at his brother and they grappled on the spot. Laeg threw Id and handled him sorely, for he was loath to use weapons upon him. Ferdiad pursued Cuchulain westwards over the ford. Cuchulain sprang on the rim of the shield. Ferdiad shook the shield, so that he sent Cuchulain the space of nine paces eastwards over the ford. Cuchulain called and shouted to Laeg, [1]and bade him stop the stream and make ready the spear.[1] Laeg attempted to come nigh it, but Ferdiad's charioteer let him not, so that Laeg turned on him and left him on the sedgy bottom of the ford. He gave him many a heavy blow with clenched fist on the face and countenance, so that he broke his mouth and his nose and put out his eyes and his sight, [3]and left him lying wounded (?) and full of terror.[3] And forthwith Laeg left him and filled the pool and checked the stream and stilled the noise of the river's voice, and set in position the Gae Bulga. After some time Ferdiad's charioteer arose from his death-cloud, and set his hand on his face and countenance, and he looked away towards the ford of combat and saw Laeg fixing the Gae Bulga. He ran again to the pool and made a breach in the dike quickly and speedily, so that the river burst out in its booming, bounding, bellying, bank-breaking billows making its own wild course. Cuchulain became purple and red all over when he saw the setting of the Gae Bulga had been disturbed, and for the third time he sprang from the top of the ground and alighted on the edge of Ferdiad's shield, so as to strike him over the shield from above. Ferdiad gave a blow with his left knee against the leather of the bare shield, so that Cuchulain was thrown into the waves of the ford. [6-6] Eg. 106. [b] Ferdiad's charioteer. [c] Cuchulain's charioteer. [7-7] Eg. 106. [8-8] Eg. 106. [1-1] Eg. 106. [3-3] Eg. 106. Thereupon Ferdiad gave three severe woundings to Cuchulain. Cuchulain cried and shouted [4]loudly[4] to Laeg to make ready the Gae Bulga for him. Laeg attempted to [W.3919.] get near it, but Ferdiad's charioteer prevented him. Then Laeg grew [1]very[1] wroth [3]at his brother[3] and he made a spring at him, and he closed his long, full-valiant hands over him, so that he quickly threw him to the ground and straightway [4]bound[4] him. And [5]then[5] he went from him quickly and courageously, so that he filled the pool and stayed the stream and set the Gae Bulga. And he cried out to Cuchulain that it was served, for it was not to be discharged without a quick word of warning before it. Hence it is that Laeg cried out:-- "Ware! beware the Gae Bulga, Battle-winning Culann's hound!" _et reliqua._ [4-4] Eg. 106. [1-1] Eg. 106. [2-2] See note 2, page 257. [3-3] Eg. 106. [4-4] Reading with Eg. 106. [5-5] Eg. 106. [6]And he sent it to Cuchulain along the stream.[6] [6-6] YBL. 39b, 20. Then it was that Cuchulain let fly the white Gae Bulga from the fork of his irresistible right foot. [7]Ferdiad began to defend the ford against Cuchulain, so that the noble Cu arose with the swiftness of a swallow and the wail of the storm-play in the rafters of the firmament, so that he laid hold of the breadth of his two feet of the bed of the ford, in spite of the champion.[7] Ferdiad prepared for the feat according to the testimony thereof. He lowered his shield, so that the spear went over its edge into the watery, water-cold river. And he looked at Cuchulain, and he saw all his various, venomous feats made ready, and he knew not to which of them he should first give answer, whether to the 'Fist's breast-spear,' or to the 'Wild shield's broad-spear,' or to the 'Short spear from the middle of the palm,' or to the white Gae Bulga over the fair, watery river.[2] [7-7] Eg. 209. [8]When Ferdiad saw that his gilla had been thrown[8] and heard the Gae Bulga called for, he thrust his shield down to protect the lower part of his body. Cuchulain gripped the short spear [9]which was in his hand,[9] cast it [W.3938.] off the palm of his hand over the rim of the shield and over the edge of the [1]corselet and[1] horn-skin, so that its farther half was visible after piercing his heart in his bosom. Ferdiad gave a thrust of his shield upwards to protect the upper part of his body, though it was help that came too late. The gilla set the Gae Bulga down the stream, and Cuchulain caught it in the fork of his foot, and [2]when Ferdiad raised his shield[2] Cuchulain threw the Gae Bulga as far as he could cast [3]underneath[3] at Ferdiad, so that it passed through the strong, thick, iron apron of wrought iron, and broke in three parts the huge, goodly stone the size of a millstone, so that it cut its way through the body's protection into him, till every joint and every limb was filled with its barbs. [8-8] Eg. 106. [9-9] Stowe. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe and Eg. 209. [3-3] Stowe and Eg. 209. "Ah, that now sufficeth," sighed Ferdiad: "I am fallen of that! But, yet one thing more: mightily didst thou drive with thy right foot. And 'twas not fair of thee for me to fall by thy hand." And he yet spake and uttered these words:-- "O Cu of grand feats, Unfairly I'm slain! Thy guilt clings to me; My blood falls on thee! "No meed for the wretch[a] Who treads treason's gap. Now weak is my voice; Ah, gone is my bloom! "My ribs' armour bursts, My heart is all gore; I battled not well; I'm smitten, O Cu! [4]"Unfair, side by side, To come to the ford. 'Gainst my noble ward[b] Hath Medb turned my hand! "There'll come rooks and crows To gaze on my arms, To eat flesh and blood. A tale, Cu, for thee!"[4] [a] Reading _taobh re taobh_. [b] Omitting _seng_; the line has a syllable too many in the original. [4-4] Eg. 106 (_Revue Celtique_, tome xi, p. 327). [W.3964.] Thereupon Cuchulain hastened towards Ferdiad and clasped his two arms about him, and bore him with all his arms and his armour and his dress northwards over the ford, that so it should be [1]with his face[1] to the north[a] of the ford the triumph took place and not to the west[b] of the ford with the men of Erin. [LL.fo.87b.] Cuchulain laid Ferdiad there on the ground, and a cloud and a faint and a swoon came over Cuchulain there by the head of Ferdiad. Laeg espied it, and the men of Erin all arose for the attack upon him. "Come, O Cucuc," cried Laeg; "arise now [2]from thy trance,[2] for the men of Erin will come to attack us, and it is not single combat they will allow us, now that Ferdiad son of Daman son of Darè is fallen by thee." "What availeth it me to arise, O gilla," moaned Cuchulain, "now that this one is fallen by my hand?" In this wise the gilla spake and he uttered these words and Cuchulain responded:-- Laeg: "Now arise, O Emain's Hound; Now most fits thee courage high. Ferdiad hast thou thrown--of hosts-- God's fate! How thy fight was hard!" Cuchulain: "What avails me courage now? I'm oppressed with rage and grief, For the deed that I have done On his body sworded sore!" Laeg: "It becomes thee not to weep; Fitter for thee to exult! Yon red-speared one thee hath left Plaintful, wounded, steeped in gore!" Cuchulain: "Even had he cleaved my leg, And one hand had severed too; Woe, that Ferdiad--who rode steeds-- Shall not ever be in life!" Laeg: [W.3993.] "Liefer far what's come to pass, To the maidens of Red Branch; He to die, thou to remain; They grudge not that ye should part!" Cuchulain: "From the day I Cualnge left, Seeking high and splendid Medb, Carnage has she had--with fame-- Of her warriors whom I've slain!" Laeg: "Thou hast had no sleep in peace, In pursuit of thy great Táin; Though thy troop was few and small, Oft thou wouldst rise at early morn!" [1-1] Eg. 106. [a] That is, in Ulster. Stowe and Eg. 106 read '(with his face) to the south.' [b] That is, in Connacht. [2-2] Stowe. Cuchulain began to lament and bemoan Ferdiad, and he spake the words: "Alas, O Ferdiad," [1]spake he,[1] "'twas thine ill fortune thou didst not take counsel with any of those that knew my real deeds of valour and arms, before we met in clash of battle! [1-1] Stowe. "Unhappy for thee that Laeg son of Riangabair did not make thee blush in regard to our comradeship! "Unhappy for thee that the truly faithful warning of Fergus thou didst not take! "Unhappy for thee that dear, trophied, triumphant, battle-victorious Conall counselled thee not in regard to our comradeship! [2]"For those men would not have spoken in obedience to the messages or desires or orders or false words of promise of the fair-haired women of Connacht. "For well do those men know that there will not be born a being that will perform deeds so tremendous and so great [3]among the Connachtmen as I,[3] till the very day of doom and of everlasting life, whether at handling of shield and buckler, at plying of spear and sword, at playing at draughts and chess, at driving of steeds and chariots."[2] [2-2] The order of these two paragraphs is that of Stowe; they are found in the reverse order in LL. [3-3] Reading with Stowe. [4]And he spake these warm words, sadly, sorrowfully in praise of Ferdiad:--[4] [4-4] Eg. 209. [W.4022.] "There shall not be found the hand of a hero that will wound warrior's flesh, like cloud-coloured Ferdiad! [1]"There shall not be heard from the gap[a] the cry of red-mouthed Badb[b] to the winged, shade-speckled flocks![1] [1-1] This difficult sentence is composed of two alliterating groups, which it is impossible to follow in the translation.] [a] That is, the battle breach. [b] That is, the fury of war and carnage which appeared in the form of a carrion crow. "There shall not be one that will contend for Cruachan that will obtain covenants equal to thine, till the very day of doom and of life henceforward, O red-cheeked son of Daman!" said Cuchulain. Then it was that Cuchulain arose and stood over Ferdiad: "Ah, Ferdiad," spake Cuchulain "greatly have the men of Erin deceived and abandoned thee, to bring thee to contend and do battle [LL.fo.88a.] with me. For no easy thing is it to contend and do battle with me on the Raid for the Kine of Cualnge! [2]And yet, never before have I found combat that was so sore or distressed me so as thy combat, save the combat with Oenfer Aifè,[c] mine one own son."[2] Thus he spake, and he uttered these words:-- "Ah, Ferdiad, betrayed to death. Our last meeting, oh, how sad! Thou to die, I to remain. Ever sad our long farewell! "When we over yonder dwelt With our Scathach, steadfast, true, This we thought till end of time, That our friendship ne'er would end! "Dear to me thy noble blush; Dear thy comely, perfect form; Dear thine eye, blue-grey and clear; Dear thy wisdom and thy speech! "Never strode to rending fight, Never wrath and manhood held, Nor slung shield across broad back, One like thee, Daman's red son! [W.4051.] "Never have I met till now, Since I Oenfer Aifè slew, One thy peer in deeds of arms, Never have I found, Ferdiad! "Finnabair, Medb's daughter fair, Beauteous, lovely though she be, As a gad round sand or stones, She was shown to thee, Ferdiad!" [2-2] Stowe, Eg. 106 and Eg. 209. [c] That is, Conlaech. Then Cuchulain turned to gaze on Ferdiad. "Ah, my master Laeg," cried Cuchulain, "now strip Ferdiad and take his armour and garments off him, that I may see the brooch for the sake of which he entered on the combat and fight [1]with me."[1] Laeg came up and stripped Ferdiad. He took his armour and garments off him and he saw the brooch [2]and he placed the brooch in Cuchulain's hand,[2] and Cuchulain began to lament and complain [3]over Ferdiad,[3] and he spake these words:-- "Alas, golden brooch; Ferdiad of the hosts, O good smiter, strong, Victorious thy hand! "Thy hair blond and curled, A wealth fair and grand. Thy soft, leaf-shaped belt Around thee till death! "Our comradeship dear; Thy noble eye's gleam; Thy golden-rimmed shield; Thy sword,[a] treasures worth! [4]"Thy white-silver torque Thy noble arm binds. Thy chess-board worth wealth; Thy fair, ruddy cheek![4] "To fall by my hand, I own was not just! 'Twas no noble fight. Alas, golden brooch! [1]"Thy death at Cu's hand Was dire, O dear calf![a] Unequal the shield Thou hadst for the strife! "Unfair was our fight, Our woe and defeat! Fair the great chief; Each host overcome And put under foot! Alas, golden brooch!"[1] [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [a] Reading with YBL. 39b, 31, as more intelligible than the 'chess-board' of LL., which occurs in the next stanza. [4-4] YBL. 39b, 31-33. [1-1] YBL. 39b, 35-39. [a] A term of endearment which survives in Modern Irish. [W.4092.] "Come, O Laeg my master," cried Cuchulain; "now cut open Ferdiad and take the Gae Bulga out, because I may not be without my weapons." Laeg came and cut open Ferdiad and he took the Gae Bulga out of him. And Cuchulain saw his weapons bloody and red-stained by the side of Ferdiad, and he uttered these words:-- "O Ferdiad, in gloom we meet. Thee I see both red and pale. I myself with unwashed arms; Thou liest in thy bed of gore! "Were we yonder in the East, Scathach and our Uathach near, There would not be pallid lips Twixt us two, and arms of strife! "Thus spake Scathach trenchantly (?), Words of warning, strong and stern: 'Go ye all to furious fight; German, blue-eyed, fierce will come!' "Unto Ferdiad then I spake, And to Lugaid generous, To the son of fair Baetan,[b] German we would go to meet! "We came to the battle-rock, Over Lake Linn Formait's shore. And four hundred men we brought[c] From the Isles of the Athissech! "As I stood and Ferdiad brave At the gate of German's fort, [LL.fo.88b.] I slew Rinn the son of Nel; He slew Ruad son of Fornel! [W.4122.] "Ferdiad slew upon the slope Blath, of Colba 'Red-sword' son. Lugaid, fierce and swift, then slew Mugairne of the Tyrrhene Sea! "I slew, after going in, Four times fifty grim, wild men. Ferdiad killed--a furious horde-- Dam Dremenn and Dam Dilenn! "We laid waste shrewd German's fort O'er the broad, bespangled sea. German we brought home alive To our Scathach of broad shield! "Then our famous nurse made fast Our blood-pact[a] of amity, That our angers should not rise 'Mongst the tribes of noble Elg! "Sad the morn, a day in March, Which struck down weak Daman's son. Woe is me, the friend is fall'n Whom I pledged in red blood's draught![a] "Were it there I saw thy death, Midst the great Greeks' warrior-bands, I'd not live on after thee, But together we would die! "Woe, what us befel therefrom, Us, dear Scathach's fosterlings, Me sore wounded, red with blood, Thee no more to drive thy car! "Woe, what us befel therefrom, Us, dear Scathach's fosterlings, Me sore wounded, stiff with gore, Thee to die the death for aye! "Woe, what us befel therefrom, Us, dear Scathach's fosterlings, Thee in death, me, strong, alive. Valour is an angry strife!" [b] That is, Ferbaeth. [c] That is, as prisoners. [a] Referring to the Celtic custom of binding an alliance by each of the parties thereto drinking the blood of the other. "Good, O Cucuc," spake Laeg, "let us leave this ford now; too long are we here!" "Aye, let us leave it, O my master Laeg," replied Cuchulain. "But every combat and battle I have fought seems a game and a sport to me compared with the combat and battle of Ferdiad." Thus he spake, and he uttered these words:-- [W.4164.] "All was play, all was sport, Till came Ferdiad to the ford! One task for both of us, Equal our reward. Our kind, gentle nurse Chose him over all! "All was play, all was sport, Till came Ferdiad to the ford! One our life, one our fear, One our skill in arms. Shields gave Scathach twain To Ferdiad and me! "All was play, all was sport, Till came Ferdiad to the ford! Dear the shaft of gold[a] I smote on the ford. Bull-chief of the tribes, Braver he than all! "Only games and only sport, Till came Ferdiad to the ford! Lion, furious, flaming, fierce; Swollen wave that wrecks like doom! "Only games and only sport, Till came Ferdiad to the ford! Lovèd Ferdiad seemed to me After me would live for aye! Yesterday, a mountain's size-- He is but a shade to-day! "Three things countless on the Táin Which have fallen by my hand: Hosts of cattle, men and steeds, I have slaughtered on all sides! "Though the hosts were e'er so great, That came out of Cruachan wild, More than third and less than half, Slew I in my direful sport! "Never trod in battle's ring; Banba[b] nursed not on her breast; Never sprang from sea or land, King's son that had larger fame!" [a] That is, Ferdiad. [b] An old name for Ireland. Thus far [1]the Combat of Ferdiad with Cuchulain[1] and the Tragical Death of Ferdiad. [1-1] Stowe and Eg. 209. * * * * * [Page 268] XXI [1]CUCHULAIN AND THE RIVERS[1] [2]Now while the hosts proceeded from Ath Firdead ('Ferdiad's Ford') southwards, Cuchulain lay in his sickbed in that place.[2] [LL.fo.89a.] Then came certain men of the Ulstermen thither to help and succour Cuchulain. [W.4205.] [3]Before all,[3] Senoll Uathach and the two sons of Gegè: Muridach and Cotreb, to wit. And they bore him to the streams and rivers of Conalle Murthemni, to rub and to wash his stabs and his cuts, his sores and his many wounds in the face of these streams and rivers. For the Tuatha De Danann ('the Tribes divine of Danu') were wont to put herbs and plants of healing and a curing charm in the waters and rivers of the territory of Conalle Murthemni, to help and to succour Cuchulain, so that the streams were speckled and green-topped therewith. [1-1] This sub-title is supplied by Windisch. [2-2] YBL. 40a, 1-2. [3-3] YBL. 40a, 3. Accordingly these are the names of the healing rivers of Cuchulain:-- Sas, Buan, [4]Buas,[4] Bithslan, Findglas ('Whitewater'), Gleoir, Glenamain, Bedg, Tadg, Telameit, Rind, Bir, Brenidè, Dichaem, Muach, Miliuc, Cumung, Cuilind, Gainemain, Drong, Delt, Dubglas ('Blackwater'). [4-4] Stowe. [5]Then was the grave of Ferdiad dug by the men of Erin and his funeral games were held.[5] [5-5] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 269] XXII [1]CETHERN'S STRAIT-FIGHT[1] [2]While now Cuchulain went to bathe in the waters, the hosts went by to the south till they pitched camp at Imorach Smiromrach ('Edge of the Marrow-bath').[2] [W.4238.] Then said the men of Erin to macRoth the chief runner, to go watch and keep guard for them at Sliab Fuait, to the end that the Ulstermen might not come upon them without warning and unobserved. Thereupon macRoth went [3]from the host southwards[3] as far as Sliab Fuait [4]to spy out the men of Ulster, to learn if any one came after them.[4] MacRoth was not long there when he saw something: a lone chariot on Sliab Fuait making from the north straight towards him. A fierce man, stark-naked, in that chariot coming towards him, without arms, without armour at all save an iron spit in his hand. In equal manner he goaded his driver and his horses [5]at one and the same time.[5] And it seemed to him that he would never in his life come up to the hosts. And macRoth hastened to tell this news [6]at the fort[6] where Ailill and Medb and Fergus were and the nobles of the men of Erin. Ailill asked tidings of him on his arrival. "Aye, macRoth," inquired Ailill; "hast thou seen any of the Ulstermen on the track of the host this day?" "That, truly, I know not," answered macRoth; "but I saw something: a lone chariot coming over Sliab Fuait [W.4252.] [1]from the north[1] straight towards us. A [2]white, grey,[2] wild, stark-naked man in the chariot, without arms or armour at all, except for an iron spit in his hand. In equal manner he prodded his driver and his steeds. It seemed to him he would never in his life come up to the host. [3]A brindled greyhound before him."[3] "Who, thinkest thou, might it be, O Fergus?" asked Ailill. [4]"Is it Conchobar or Celtchar?"[4] "Of a truth, [5]that is not likely,"[5] Fergus answered; "meseems it is Cethern son of [6]generous, red-edged[6] Fintan [7]from Linè in the north[7] that came there. [8]And if so it be, ye shall be on your guard against him!"[8] Fergus indeed spoke true, that it was Fintan's son Cethern that was come there. And so Cethern son of Fintan came on them, and the camp and the garrison were confounded and he wounded all around him in every direction and on all sides [9]and they wounded him in like manner.[9] And then [10]Cethern[10] left them, [11]and it was thus he went, and the front-guard of the chariot pressed up against his belly to keep his entrails and vitals within him,[11] [12]and his intestines were wound about his legs.[12] He came to the place where was Cuchulain, to be healed and cured, and he demanded a leech of Cuchulain to heal and to cure him. [13]Cuchulain had compassion on his wounds;[13] [14] a bed of fresh rushes was made for him and a pillow set to it.[14] "Come, master Laeg!" cried Cuchulain. [15]"Arise,[15] away with thee to the garrison and camp of the men of Erin and summon [LL.fo.89.] the leeches to come out to cure Cethern macFintain. I give my word, e'en though it be under the [W.4270.] ground or in a well-shut house they are, I myself will bring death and destruction and slaughter upon them before this hour to-morrow, if they come not [1]to minister to Cethern."[1] [1-1] This heading is taken from the colophon of the episode. [2-2] YBL. 40a, 9-12. [3-3] YBL. 40a, 12-13. [4-4] YBL. 40a, 12-14. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Stowe. [1-1] Stowe, and YBL. 41a, 10. [2-2] YBL. 41a, 11. [3-3] YBL. 41a, 15. [4-4] YBL. 40a, 17. [5-5] YBL. 40a, 17. [6-6] YBL. 40a, 18. [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] Stowe and YBL. 41a, 10. [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] I have translated from the more circumstantial account in Stowe. LL. has, simply, 'his entrails and bowels outside on him.' [12-12] YBL. 40a, 21. [13-13] YBL. 40a, 22. [14-14] YBL. 40a, 23-24. [15-15] Stowe. [1-1] YBL. 40a, 29. Laeg went his way to the quarters and camp of the men of Erin, and he called upon the leeches of the men of Erin to go forth to cure Cethern son of Fintan. Truth to tell, the leeches of the men of Erin were unwilling to go cure their adversary, their enemy and their stranger-foe. But they feared Cuchulain would work death and destruction and slaughter upon them if they went not. And so they went. As one man of them [2]after the other[2] came to him, Cethern son of Fintan showed him his stabs and his cuts, his sores and his bloody wounds. [3]When the first leech that came looked at him, "thou wilt not live," he declared. "Neither wilt thou for this," replied Cethern.[3] Each man of them that said he would not live and could not be healed, Cethern son of Fintan struck him a blow with his right fist in the front of his forehead, so that he drove the brains out through the windows of his ears and the seams of his skull. Howbeit Cethern son of Fintan killed them till, by reason of him, there had come fifteen[a] leeches of the leeches of the men of Erin, [4]as the historian hath declared in proof thereof:-- "These the leeches of the Táin, Who by Cethern--bane--did fall. No light thing, in floods of tribes, That their names are known to me: "Littè, Luaidren, known o'er sea, Lot and Luaimnech, 'White-hand' Lonn, Latheirnè skilful, also Lonn, Laisrè, Slanoll 'That cures all.' "Dubthach, Fintan's blameless son, Fintan, master Firfial, too, Mainè, Boethan 'Gives not pain,' Eke his pupil, Boethan's son. "These the leeches, five and ten, Struck to death by Cethern, true; I recall them in my day; They are in the leeches' roll!"[4] [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] YBL. 40a, 31-33. [a] 'Fifty or fifteen,' YBL. 40a, 35. [4-4] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. 18,748. [W.4284.] Yea, even the fifteenth leech, it was but the tip of a blow that reached him. Yet he fell lifeless of the great stun between the bodies of the other physicians and lay there for a long space and time. Ithall, leech of Ailill and Medb, was his name. Thereafter Cethern son of Fintan asked another leech of Cuchulain to heal and to cure him [1]forasmuch as the leeches of the men of Erin had failed him.[1] "Come, master Laeg," quoth Cuchulain, "go for me to Fingin the seer-leech, at 'Fingin's Grave-mound' at Leccan ('the Brow') of Sliab Fuait, [2]him that is[2] leech to Conchobar. Bid him come to heal Cethern son of Fintan." [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] YBL. 40a, 40. Laeg hastened to Fingin the seer-leech at 'Fingin's Grave-mound' at Leccan of Sliab Fuait, to the leech of Conchobar. And he told him to go cure Cethern son of Fintan. Thereupon Fingin the prophet-leech came [3]with him to where Cuchulain and Cethern were.[3] As soon as he was come, Cethern son of Fintan showed him his stabs and his cuts, his sores and his bloody wounds. [3-3] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 273] XXIIa [1]CETHERN'S BLOODY WOUNDS[1] [W.4299.] [2]"Look at this bloody wound for me, O Fingin," said Cethern.[2] Fingin looked at the bloody wound. "Why, it is a slight, unwillingly given wound we behold here," said the leech; [3]"even a wound that some one of thine own blood hath given thee, and no desire or wish had he therefor,[3] and it will not carry thee off at once." "That, now, is true," exclaimed Cethern. "A lone man came upon me there; bushy hair on him; a blue mantle wrapped around him; a silver brooch in the mantle over his breast; an oval shield with plaited rim he bore; a five-pointed spear in his hand; a pronged spare spear at his side. He gave this bloody wound. He bore away a slight wound from me too." "Why, we know that man!" cried Cuchulain; "'twas Illann Ilarchless ('Illann of many feats') son of Fergus [4]macRoig.[4] And he would not wish that thou shouldst fall by his hand, but he gave thee this mock-blow that the men of Erin might not have it to say it was to betray them or to forsake them if he gave it not." [1-1] The heading is taken from LL. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] YBL. 41b, 19. "Now look at this bloody wound for me, O Fingin my master," said Cethern. Fingin looked closely into the bloody wound. "Why, 'tis a woman's wanton deed of arms we behold here," said the leech; [5]"namely the wound which a warrior-woman inflicted on thee," said he.[5] "Aye, that is true then," quoth Cethern; "a woman [W.4314.] came upon me there by herself. A woman, beautiful, fair-faced, long-cheeked, tall; a golden-yellow head of hair [1]down to the top of her two shoulder-blades she wore; a smock of royal sammet next to her white skin;[1] [2]two birds of gold on her shoulders;[2] a purple cloak without other colour she had around her; [LL.fo.90a.] a brooch of gold in the cloak over her bosom; a straight, ridged spear, red-flaming in her hand. She it was that gave me this bloody wound. She bore away a slight wound from me too." "Ah, but we know that woman," cried Cuchulain; "Medb daughter of Eocho Fedlech, daughter of the High King of Erin; it is she that came unto us in that dress. A victory and triumph and trophy she had considered it hadst thou fallen at her hands." [5-5] Stowe. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] YBL. 41b, 5. "Look at this bloody wound for me too, O Fingin my master," said Cethern. Fingin looked at the bloody wound. "Why, the feat of arms of two warriors is this," said the leech; [3]"that is to say, two warriors inflicted these two wounds as one wound upon thee."[3] "Yea, that is true," answered Cethern. "There came two [4]men-at-arms[4] upon me in that place; two, with bushy hair on them; two blue cloaks wrapped around them; brooches of silver in the cloaks over their breasts; a necklace of all-white silver around the neck of each of them; [5]two long shields they bore; two hard chains of silver on each of them; a band of silver around them; two five-pointed spears they bore; a vein of silver around them.[5] [6]They smote me this wound and I smote a little wound on each of them."[6] "Indeed we know that pair," quoth Cuchulain; "Oll and Othinè they, of the bodyguard of Ailill and Medb; they never go to a hosting, [7]to battle or combat,[7] but when the wounding of a man is certain. They would have held [W.4330.] it for victory and triumph and a boast hadst thou fallen at their hands." [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] YBL. 41b, 21-26. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] Stowe. "Look on this bloody wound also for me, O Fingin my master," said Cethern. Fingin looked closely at the bloody wound. "There came upon me a pair of young warriors of the Fian," [1]said Cethern;[1] "a splendid, manly appearance they had. Each of them cast a spear at me. I drave this spear through the one of them." Fingin looked into the bloody wound. "Why, this blood is all black," quoth the leech; "through thy heart those spears passed so that they formed a cross of themselves through thy heart, [2]and thy healing and curing are not easy;[2] and I prophesy no cure here, but I would get thee some healing plants and curing charms that they destroy thee not forthwith." "Ah, but we know them, that pair," quoth Cuchulain; "Bun and Mecconn ('Stump' and 'Root') are they, of the bodyguard of Ailill and Medb. It was their hope that thou shouldst fall at their hands." [1-1] YBL. 41b, 30. [2-2] Stowe. "Look at this bloody wound for me, too, O Fingin my master," said Cethern. Fingin examined the bloody wound. "Why, it is the red rush of the two sons of Ri Cailè ('the King of the Woods') that is here," said the leech. "Aye, 'tis so," replied Cethern; "there attacked me there two fair-faced, dark-browed youths, huge, with diadems of gold [3]on their heads.[3] Two green mantles folded about them; two pins of bright silver on the mantles over their breasts; two five-pronged spears in their hands." "Why, near each other are the bloody wounds they gave thee," said the leech; "into thy gullet they went, so that the points of the spears struck one another within thee, and none the easier is it to work thy cure here." "We know that pair," quoth Cuchulain; [4]"noble youths of Medb's great household,[4] Broen and Brudni, are they, [5]two[5] [W.4352.] sons of Ri teora Soillse ('the King of the three Lights'), that is, the two sons of the King of the Woods. It had been victory and triumph and a boast for them, hadst thou fallen at their hands." [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] YBL. 41b, 41. [5-5] Stowe. "Look at this bloody wound for me, too, my good Fingin," said Cethern. Fingin looked into the bloody wound. "The joint deed of two brothers is here," said the leech. "'Tis indeed true," replied Cethern. "There came upon me two leading, king's warriors. Yellow hair upon them; dark-grey mantles with fringes, wrapped around them; leaf-shaped brooches of silvered bronze in the mantles over their breasts; broad, grey lances in their hands." "Ah, but we know that pair," quoth Cuchulain; "Cormac Colomon rig ('King's pillar') is the one, and Cormac son of Mael Foga, of the bodyguard of Ailill and Medb (the other). What they sought was that thou shouldst fall at their hands." "Look at this bloody wound for me too, O Fingin my master," said Cethern. [LL.fo.90b.] Fingin looked into that bloody wound. "The assault of two brothers is here," said the leech. "Aye then, 'tis true," answered Cethern. "There came upon me two tender youths there; very much alike were they; curly [1]dark[1] hair on the one of them; curly yellow hair on the other; two green cloaks wrapped around them; two bright-silver brooches in the cloaks over their breasts; two tunics of smooth yellow silk [2]with hoods and red embroidery[2] next their skin; [3]two[3] white-hilted swords at their belts; two bright shields having the likenesses of beasts in white silver they bore; two five-pronged spears with veins of all-white silver in their hands." "Ah, but we know that pair," quoth Cuchulain; "Manè 'Like to his mother' and Manè 'Like to his father,' two sons of Ailill and Medb; and it would be matter of victory, [W.4377.] triumph and boasting to them, hadst thou fallen at their hands." [1-1] YBL. 42a, 28. [2-2] YBL. 42a, 30-31. [3-3] Stowe. "Look at this bloody wound for me, too, O Fingin my master," said Cethern. "There came upon me a pair of young warriors of the Fian there. A brilliant appearance, stately-tall and manlike, they had; wonderful garments from far-away countries upon them. Each of them thrust [1]the spear he had[1] at me. [2]Then[2] I thrust [3]this spear[3] through each of them." Fingin looked into the bloody wound. "Cunning are the bloody wounds they inflicted upon thee," said the leech; "they have severed the strings of thy heart within thee, so that thy heart rolls about in thy breast like an apple in motion or like a ball of yarn in an empty bag, and there is no string at all to support it; [4]and there is no means to cure thee or to save thee,[4] and no healing can I effect here." "Ah, but we know those twain," quoth Cuchulain; "a pair of champions from Norway who, [5]because of their cunning and violence,[5] have been sent particularly by Ailill and Medb to slay thee; for not often does one ever issue alive from their combats, and it would be their will that thou shouldst fall at their hands." [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe and YBL. 42a, 1. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. "Look upon this bloody wound for me too, my good Fingin," said Cethern. Fingin looked at that bloody wound in like manner. "Why, the alternate woundings of a son and his father we behold here," answered the leech. "Yea, it is so," quoth Cethern; "two tall men, red as torches, came upon me there, with diadems of burnished gold upon them; kingly garments they wore; gold-hilted, hammered swords at their girdles, with scabbards of pure-white silver, [6]with a cunningly ornamented and delicate embossing[6] and supports of mottled gold outside upon them. "Ah, but we know that pair," quoth Cuchulain; "Ailill and his [W.4399.] son are they, Manè 'That embraces the traits of them all.' They would deem it victory and triumph and a boast shouldst thou fall at their hands." [6-6] Stowe. Thus far the "Bloody Wounds" of the Táin. "Speak, O Fingin prophetic leech," spake Cethern son of Fintan; "what verdict and what counsel givest me now?" "This verily is what I say to thee," replied Fingin the prophetic leech: "Count not on thy big cows for yearlings this year; for if thou dost, it is not thou that will enjoy them, and no profit will they bring thee." "This is the judgement and counsel the other surgeons did give me, and certain it is it brought them neither advantage nor profit, and they fell at my hands; and none the more will it bring thee advantage or profit, and thou shalt fall at my hands!" And he gave Fingin a strong, stiff kick with his foot, and sent him between the chariot's two wheels [1]and the creaking of the chariot might be heard afar off.[1] [1-1] Stowe. "Oh, but vicious is the kick from the old warrior," cried Cuchulain; [2]"'twould be more fitting if thou shouldst ply it on foes than on leech!"[2] Hence, from this saying, is the name Uachtar Lua ('the Height of the Kick') in the land of Ross from then until this day. [2-2] YBL. 42a, 50-51. Nevertheless [LL.fo.91a.] Fingin the prophet-leech gave his choice to Cethern son of Fintan: A long illness for him and afterwards to obtain help and succour, or a red[a] healing for the space of three days and three nights, so that he might then employ his strength on his enemies. What Cethern son of Fintan chose was a red healing for the space of three days and three nights, to the end that he might then vent [3]his anger and[3] strength on his enemies. For what he said was that there would not be found after him any one he would rather have vindicate or avenge him than himself. [W.4420.] Thereupon Fingin the prophetic leech asked of Cuchulain a vat of marrow wherewith to heal and to cure Cethern son of Fintan. Cuchulain proceeded to the camp and entrenchment of the men of Erin, and whatsoever he found of herds and flocks and droves there he took away with him. And he made a marrow-mash of their flesh and their bones and their skins; and Cethern son of Fintan was placed in the marrow-bath till the end of three days and three nights. And his flesh began to drink in the marrow-bath about him and the marrow-bath entered in within his stabs and his cuts, his sores and his many wounds. Thereafter he arose from the marrow-bath at the end of three days and three nights, [1]and he slept a day and a night after taking in the marrow.[1] [2]"I have no ribs more," said Cethern; "put the ribs of the chariot-box into me." "Thou shalt have it," Cuchulain made answer.[2] It was thus Cethern arose, with a slab of the chariot pressed to his belly so that his entrails and bowels would not drop out of him. [3]"Had I my own weapons," said Cethern, "the story of what I would do would live forever!"[3] [a] That is, 'extreme or drastic.' [3-3] Stowe. [1-1] YBL. 42b, 7. [2-2] YBL. 42b, 8-9. [3-3] YBL. 42b, 10-11. That was the time when his wife came from the north, from Dûn da Benn ('Fort of the two Gables'), and she brought his sword with her, even Finna daughter of Eocho. [4]"What seest thou?" asked Cethern.[4] [5]"Meseems," answered Cuchulain, "'tis the chariot of little Finna, Eocho's daughter, thy wife, that comes nigh us."[5] [6]And they saw the woman, with the arms in the chariot.[6] Cethern son of Fintan [7]seized his arms[7] and proceeded to attack the men of Erin, [8]with the chariot-box bound around his back, for he was not the stronger therefor.[8] But this is to be added: They sent a warning before him; Ithall,[a] physician of Ailill and Medb, had remained as one dead of [W.4436.] the great stun [1]from the blow of Cethern[1] among the bodies of the other leeches for a long space and time, [2]and continued in that state till then; at last he rose and rushed to the encampment,[2] [3]and he, the leech that had alone escaped from Cethern, brought the alarm to the camp.[3] [4-4] YBL. 42b, 13. [5-5] YBL. 42b, 14. [6-6] YBL. 42b, 16. [7-7] YBL. 42b, 17. [8-8] YBL. 42b, 18-19. [a] See above, page 272. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] YBL. 42b, 20. "Hark, ye men of Erin," shouted the leech; "Cethern son of Fintan comes to attack you, now that he has been healed and cured by Fingin the prophetic leech, and take ye heed of him!" Thereat the men of Erin [4]in fear[4] put Ailill's dress and his golden shawl [5]and his regal diadem[5] on the pillar-stone in Crich Ross, that it might be thereon that Cethern son of Fintan should first give vent to his anger on his arrival. [6]Eftsoons[6] Cethern [7]reached the place where he[7] saw those things, namely Ailill's dress and his golden shawl around the standing-stone in Crich Ross, and he, being unaware and weetless, conceived it to be Ailill himself that was in it. And he made a rush at it like a blast of wind and drave the sword through the stone pillar till it went up to its pommel, [8]so that his fist went through it after the sword.[8] "Deceit is here," cried Cethern son of Fintan, "and on me have ye worked this deceit. And I swear an oath, till there be found among ye [9]of the men of Erin[9] one that will put yon royal dress about him and the golden shawl, I will not stay my hand from them, slaughtering and destroying withal!" [4-4] YBL. 42b, 22. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] Stowe [8-8] YBL. 42b, 24. [9-9] Stowe. Manè Andoe son of Ailill and Medb heard that, and he put [10]his father's[10] royal raiment about him and the golden shawl [11]and the diadem on his head, and he snatched them up in his chariot before him[11] and dashed off through the midst of the men of Erin. Cethern son of Fintan pursued him closely and hurled his shield the length of a cast at him, [W.4454.] so that the chiselled rim of the shield clave him[a] to the ground, with chariot, driver, and horses. [1]When the men of Erin saw that,[1] they surrounded Cethern on every side [2]and made him a victim of spears and lances,[2] so that he fell at their hands in the strait wherein he was. Wherefore 'Cethern's Strait-Fight and the Bloody Wounds of Cethern' [3]is the name of this tale.[3] [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] YBL. 42b, 29-30. [a] Omitting _i tri_, 'in three'; it is not found in Stowe or in YBL. and seems out of place here. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4]His wife, Finna[b] daughter of Eocho Salbuidê ('Yellow-heel') stood over him and she was in great sorrow, and she made the funeral-song below:-- "I care for naught, care for naught; Ne'er more man's hand 'neath my head, Since was dug the earthy bed, Cethern's bold, of Dûn da Benn! "Kingly Cethern, Fintan's son; Few were with him on the ford. Connacht's men with all their host, For nine hours he left them not! "Arms he bore not--this an art-- But a red, two-headed pike; With it slaughtered he the host, While his anger still was fresh! "Felled by double-headed pike, Cethern's hand held, with their crimes,[c] Seven times fifty of the hosts, Fintan's son brought to their graves! "Willa-loo, oh, willa-loo! Woman's[d] wandering through the mist. Worse it is for him that's dead. She that lives may find a man![e] "Never I shall take a man[e] Of the hosts of this good world; Never shall I sleep with man; Never shall my man with wife! [W.4485.] "Dear the homestead, 'Horse-head's Dûn,'[a] Where our hosts were wont to go. Dear the water, soft and sweet; Dear the isle, 'Isle of the Red!'[b] "Sad the care, oh, sad the care, Cualnge's Cow-raid brought on me: Cethern, Fintan's son, to keen. Oh that he had shunned his woe! "Great the doings, these, oh, great, And the deed that here was done: I bewailing him till death, Him that has been smitten down! "Finna, Eocho's daughter, I, Found a fight of circling spears. Had my champion had his arms: By his side a slaughtered heap!"[4] [4-4] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. 18,748. [b] Reading Finna, to agree with the reading in LL., _supra_, page 279. Inna, in Stowe, etc. [c] That is, unshrived of their sins (?), a Christian intrusion [d] Literally, 'heifer's.' [e] Literally, 'a bull.' [a] In Irish, _Dun cind eich_. [b] In Irish, _Innis ruaidh_. [4-4] See note 4, page 211. * * * * * [Page 283] XXIII HERE FOLLOWETH THE TOOTH-FIGHT OF FINTAN [W.4502.] Fintan, himself the son of Niall Niamglonnach ('of the brilliant Exploits') from Dûn da Benn [1]in the north,[1] was father of Cethern son of Fintan. And he came to save the honour of Ulster and to avenge his son upon the hosts. Thrice fifty [2]with many pointed weapons[2] was his number. And thus it was they came, and two spear-heads on each shaft with them, a spear-head on the top and a spear-head at the butt, so that it made no difference whether they wounded the hosts with the points or with the butts. They offered three[a] battles to the hosts. And thrice their own number fell at their hands, and there fell also the people [LL.fo.91b.] of Fintan son of Niall, all excepting Fintan's son Crimthann alone,[3] so that there did not escape any of his people excepting himself and his son.[3] This one was saved under a canopy of shields by Ailill and Medb. [4]And the son was separated from him, his father Fintan, and was saved by Ailill out of fear of Fintan and in order that Fintan might not wreak his fury on them till he should come with Conchobar to the battle.[4] Then said the men of Erin, it would be no disgrace for Fintan son of Niall to withdraw from the camp and quarters, and that they would give up Crimthann son of Fintan to him, and then the hosts would fall back a day's march to the north again; and that he [W.4515.] should cease from his deeds of arms against the hosts till he would come to encounter them on the day of the great battle at the place where the four grand provinces of Erin would clash at Garech and Ilgarech in the battle of the Cattle-reaving of Cualnge, as was foretold by the druids of the men of Erin. Fintan son of Niall consented to that, and they gave over his son to him. [1]He made friendship with them then when his son had been restored to him.[1] He withdrew from the camp and station, and the hosts marched a day's journey back to the north again, to stop and cease their advance. [2]Thereafter Fintan went to his own land.[2] In this manner they found each man of the people of Fintan son of Niall and each man of the men of Erin, with the lips and the nose [3]and the ear[3] of each of them in the teeth and tusks of the other [4]after they had used up their arms.[4] The men of Erin gave thought to that: "This is a tooth-fight for us," said they; "the tooth-fight of Fintan's people and of Fintan himself." So this is the 'Tooth-fight' of Fintan. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] YBL. 42b, 36. [a] 'Seven,' YBL. 42b, 38. [3-3] YBL. 42b, 38-39. [4-4] YBL. 42b, 39-43. [1-1] YBL. 42b, 43-44. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 285] XXIIIa THE RED-SHAME OF MENN FOLLOWETH HERE [W.4529.] [1]It was then came [2]to them[2] great[1] Menn son of Salcholga, he from Renna ('the Waterways') of the Boyne [3]in the north.[3] Twelve[a] men [4]with many-pointed weapons,[4] that was his number. It was thus they came, and two spear-heads on each shaft with them, a spear-head on the top and a spear-head at the butt, so that it made no difference whether they wounded the hosts with the points or with the butts. They offered three attacks upon the hosts. Three times their own number fell at their hands and there fell twelve men of the people of Menn, [5]so that there remained alive of them but Menn alone.[5] But Menn himself was [6]sorely[6] wounded in the strait, so that blood ran crimson on him [7]and his followers too were crimsoned.[7] Then said the men of Erin: "Red is this shame," said they, "for Menn son of Salcholga, that his people, [8]twelve men,[8] should be slain and destroyed and he himself wounded till blood ran crimson red upon him." Hence here is the 'Reddening Shame of Menn,' [9]the name of this tale on the Spoil of the Kine of Cualnge.[9] [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] YBL. 42b, 45. [3-3] Stowe. [a] 'Thirty,' YBL. 42b, 45. [4-4] YBL. 42b, 46. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] YBL. 42b, 49. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] Stowe. Then said the men of Erin, it would be no dishonour for Menn son of Salcholga to leave the camp and quarters, and that the hosts would go a day's journey back to the [W.4542.] north again, and that Menn should cease his weapon-feats[a] on the hosts till Conchobar arose out of his 'Pains' and battle would be offered them at Garech and Ilgarech [1]on the day of the great battle when the men of Erin and of Ulster would meet together in combat in the great battle of the Cualnge Cow-spoil,[1] as the druids and soothsayers and the knowers of the men of Erin had foretold it. [a] Following Windisch's emendation of the text. [1-1] Stowe. Menn son of Salcholga agreed to that, to leave the camp and halting-place. And the hosts fell back a day's march for to rest and wait, [2]and Menn went his way to his own land.[2] [2-2] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 287] XXIIIb HERE FOLLOWETH THE ACCOUTREMENT OF THE CHARIOTEERS [W.4551.] Then came the charioteers of the Ulstermen to them. Thrice fifty was their number. They offered three battles to the hosts. Thrice their number fell at their hands, and the charioteers themselves fell on the field whereon they stood. Hence this here is the 'Accoutrement of the Charioteers.' [1]It is for this cause it is called the 'Accoutrement of the Charioteers,' because it is with rocks and with boulders and with clumps of earth they accomplished the defeat of the men of Erin.[1] [1-1] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 288] XXIIIc [LL. fo. 92a.] [1]THE WHITE-FIGHT OF ROCHAD NOW FOLLOWETH[1] [W.4556.] [2]Cuchulain despatched his charioteer to[2] Rochad [3]Rigderg ('Red-king')[3] son of Fathemon, [4]from Rigdorn in the north,[4] [5]that he should come to his aid.[5] He was of Ulster. [6]The gilla comes up to Rochad and tells him, if he has come out of his weakness, to go to the help of Cuchulain, that they should employ a ruse to reach the host to seize some of them and slay them. Rochad set out from the north.[6] Thrice fifty[a] warriors was his number, and he took possession of a hill fronting the hosts. [7]"Scan the plain for us to-day," said Ailill. "I see a company crossing the plain," the watchman answered, "and a tender youth comes in their midst; the other warriors reach but up to his shoulder." "Who is that warrior, O Fergus?" asked Ailill. "Rochad son of Fathemon," he answered; "and it is to bring help to Cuchulain he comes. I know what ye had best do with him," Fergus continued. "Let a hundred warriors go from ye with the maiden yonder to the middle of the plain and let the maid go before them, and let a horseman go tell Rochad to come alone to hold converse with the maid and let hands be laid on him, and thus shall be removed all fear of his people from us.[7] Finnabair, [W.4558.] daughter of Ailill and Medb, perceived that and she went to speak to her mother thereof, even to Medb. [1]Now it happened that Finnabair loved Rochad. It is he was the fairest young warrior in Ulster at that time.[1] [2]And Finnabair disclosed her secret and her love[a] to her mother.[2] "Truly have I loved yonder warrior for a long time," said she; "and it is he is my sweetheart, [3]my first love[3] and mine own choice one in wooing [4]of the men of Erin."[4] "An thou hast [5]so[5] loved him, daughter," [6]quoth Ailill and Medb,[6] "sleep with him this night and crave for us a truce of him for the hosts, until [7]with Conchobar[7] he encounters us on the day of the great battle when four of the grand provinces of Erin will meet at Garech and Ilgarech in the battle of the Foray of Cualnge." [1-1] The LU. version of the 'White-fight,' which occurs much earlier (fo. 72a, edition of Strachan and O'Keeffe, lines 1457 and fol.), is incorporated with the LL. version above. [2-2] LU. 1457. [3-3] YBL. 43a, 6. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] LU. 1458. [6-6] LU. 1460-1463. [a] 'One hundred fighting men,' LU. 1463. [7-7] LU. 1463-1472. [1-1] LU. 1458. [2-2] Stowe. [a] Literally, 'whisper.' [3-3] YBL. 43a, 10. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] YBL. 43a, 10. [6-6] YBL. 43a, 10 [7-7] YBL. 43a, 11. [8]This then is done. Rochad sets forth to meet the horseman. "I am come," says the horseman, "from Finnabair to meet thee that thou come to speak with the maiden." Thereupon Rochad goes alone to converse with her. The army surrounds him on all sides; he is seized and hands are laid on him; his followers are routed and driven in flight. Afterwards he is set free and bound over not to oppose Ailill's host till the time he will come with all the warriors of Ulster. Also they promise to give Finnabair to him.[8] [8-8] LU. 1472-1478. Rochad son of Fathemon accepted the offer [9]and thereupon he left them[9] and that night the damsel slept with him. [9-9] LU. 1478-1479. An Under-king of Munster that was in the camp heard the tale. He went to his people to speak of it. "Yonder maiden was plighted to me [10]on fifteen hostages[10] once long ago," said he; "and it is for this I have now come on this [W.4568.] hosting." Now wherever it happened that the seven[a] Under-kings of Munster were, what they all said was that it was for this they were come. [1]"Yonder maiden was pledged to each of us in the bargain as our sole wife, to the end that we should take part in this warfare." They all declared that that was the price and condition on which they had come on the hosting.[1] "Why," said they, [2]"what better counsel could we take?[2] Should we not go to avenge our wife and our honour on the Manè [3]the sons of Ailill[3] who are watching [4]and guarding[4] the rear of the army at Imlech in Glendamrach ('Kettle-glen's navel)?" [10-10] YBL 43a, 17. [a] 'Twelve,' Stowe. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] YBL. 43a, 20. [4-4] Stowe. This was the course they resolved upon. And with their seven divisions of thirty hundreds they arose, [5]each man of them to attack the Manè. When Ailill heard that,[5] he arose [6]with a start with ready shield[6] against them and thirty hundred [7]after them.[7] Medb arose with her thirty hundred. The sons of Maga with theirs and the Leinstermen and the Munstermen and the people of Tara. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] Stowe. [8]Then arose Fergus with his thirty hundred to intervene between them, and that was a hand for that mighty work.[8] And a mediation was made between them so that each of them sat down near the other and hard by his arms. Howbeit before the intervention took place, eight hundred[b] very valiant warriors of them had fallen [9]in the slaughter of Glenn Domain ('Deep Glen').[9] [8-8] Stowe. [b] 'Seven hundred,' YBL. 43a, 24 and Stowe. [9-9] YBL. 43a, 25. Finnabair, daughter of Ailill and Medb, had tidings that so great a number of the men of Erin had fallen for her sake and on account of her. And her heart broke in her breast even as a nut, through shame and disgrace, so that Finnabair Slebè ('Finnabair of the Mount') is the name of the place where she fell, [10]died and was buried.[10] [10-10] Stowe. [W.4585.] Then said the men of Erin, "White is this battle," said they, "for Rochad son of Fathemon, in that eight hundred exceeding brave warriors fell for his sake and on his account, and he himself goes[1] safe and whole to his country and land[1] without blood-shedding or reddening on him." Hence this is the 'White-fight' of Rochad. [1] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 292] XXIIId HERE FOLLOWETH ILIACH'S CLUMP-FIGHT [W.4590.] [1]Then came to them[1] Iliach son of Cass son of Bacc son of Ross Ruad son of Rudraige. [2]He was at that time an old man cared for by his son's son, namely by Loegaire Buadach ('the Victorious') in Rath Imbil in the north.[2] It was told him that the four grand provinces of Erin even then laid waste and invaded the lands of Ulster and of the Picts [3]and of Cualnge[3] from Monday at Summer's end till the beginning of Spring, [4]and were carrying off their women and their cows and their children, their flocks, their herds and their cattle, their oxen and their kine and their droves, their steeds and their horses.[4] He then conceived a plan [5]in his mind[5] and he made perfect his plan privily with his people. "What counsel were better for me to make than to go and attack the men of Erin [6]and to use my[a] strength on them[6] and have [7]my boast and[7] victory over them, and thus avenge the honour of Ulster. And I care not though I should fall myself there thereafter." [1-1] YBL. 43a, 29. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Stowe. [a] The MS. has 'his.' [7-7] Stowe. [LL.fo.92b.] And this is the counsel he followed. His two withered, mangy, [8]sorrel[8] nags that were upon the strand hard by the fort were led to him. And to them was fastened his ancient, [9]worn-out[9] chariot. [10]Thus he mounted his chariot,[10] without either covers or cushions; [W.4601.] [1]a hurdle of wattles around it.[1] His [2]big,[2] rough, pale-grey shield of iron he carried upon him, with its rim of hard silver around it. He wore his rough, grey-hilted, huge-smiting sword at his left side. He placed his two rickety-headed, nicked, [3]blunt, rusted[3] spears by his side in the chariot. His folk furnished his chariot around him with cobbles and boulders and huge clumps, [4]so that it was full up to its ...[4] (?) [8-8] YBL. 43a, 36. [9-9] YBL. 43a, 36. [10-10] YBL. 43a, 35. [1-1] YBL. 43a, 35. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] YBL. 48a, 38. In such wise he fared forth to assail the men of Erin. And thus he came, [5]stark-naked,[5] [6]and the spittle from his gaping mouth trickling down through the chariot under him.[6] [7]When the men of Erin saw him thus, they began to mock and deride him.[7] "Truly it would be well for us," said the men of Erin,[a] "if this were the manner in which all the Ulstermen came to us [8]on the plain."[8] [5-5] YBL. 43a, 40. [6-6] This is the sense of Zimmer's translation, which is only conjectural, of this difficult passage (see _Zeitschrift für Deutsches Alterthum und Deutsche Litteratur_, Bd. xxxii, 1888, S. 275). The idea is probably more clearly expressed in Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 43a, 41, and may be rendered, '_membrum virile ejus coram viros Hiberniae et testes pendentes per currum_.' [7-7] Stowe and, similarly, H. 1. 13. [a] 'Said Medb,' Stowe. [8-8] Stowe and, similarly, H. 1. 13, Add. Dochè son of Maga met him and bade him welcome. "Welcome is thy coming, O Iliach," spake Dochè son of Maga. [9]"Who bids me welcome?" asked Iliach. "A comrade and friend of Loegaire Buadach am I, namely Dochè macMagach."[9] "Truly spoken I esteem that welcome," answered Iliach; "but do thou [10]for the sake of that welcome[10] come to me when now, alas, my deeds of arms will be over and my warlike vigour will have vanished, [11]when I will have spent my rage upon the hosts,[11] so that thou be the one to cut off my head and none other of the men of Erin. However, my sword shall remain with [W.4615.] thee [1]for thine own friend, even[1] for Loegaire [2]Buadach!"[2] [9-9] Stowe. [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] Stowe. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. He assailed the men of Erin with his weapons till he had made an end of them. And when weapons failed he assailed the men of Erin with cobbles and boulders and huge clumps [3]of earth[3] till he had used them up. And when these weapons failed him he spent his rage on the man [4]that was nearest him[4] of the men of Erin, and bruised him grievously between his fore-arms [5]and his sides[5] and the palms of his hands, till he made a marrow-mass of him, of flesh and bones and sinews and skin. Hence in memory thereof, these two masses of marrow still live on side by side, the marrow-mass that Cuchulain made of the bones of the Ulstermen's cattle for the healing of Cethern son of Fintan,[a] and the marrow-mass that Iliach made of the bones of the men of Erin. Wherefore this was one of the three innumerable things of the Táin, the number of them that fell at the hands of Iliach. So that this is the 'Clump-fight' of Iliach. It is for this reason it is called the 'Clump-fight' of Iliach, because with cobbles and boulders and massy clumps he made his fight. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. [a] See above, page 279. [6]Thereafter[6] Dochè son of Maga met him. "Is not this Iliach?" asked Dochè son of Maga. "It is truly I," Iliach gave answer; "and come to me now and cut off my head and let my sword remain with thee for thy friend, for Loegaire [7]Buadach ('the Victorious')."[7] [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] Stowe. Dochè came near him and gave him a blow with the sword so that he severed his head, [8]and he took with him the head and the spoils vauntingly to where were Ailill and Medb.[8] Thus to this point, the 'Clump-fight' of Iliach. [8-8] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 295] XXIIIe HERE NOW THE DEER-STALKING OF AMARGIN IN TALTIU [W.4638.] This Amargin was the son of Cass who was son of Bacc who was son of Ross Ruad ('the Red') who was son of Rudraige, [1]father of Conall Cernach ('the Triumphant').[1] He came upon the warriors going over Taltiu westward, and he made them turn before him over Taltiu northwards. And he put his left[a] elbow under him in Taltiu. And his people furnished him with rocks and boulders and great clumps [2]of earth,[2] and he began to pelt the men of Erin till the end of three days and three nights, [3]and he did great slaughter among them[3] [4]so that no man could show his face to him in Taltiu.[4] [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [a] As a challenge or sign of hostility. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] YBL. 43b, 13-14. * * * * * [Page 296] XXIIIf THE ADVENTURES OF CUROI SON OF DARÈ FOLLOW NOW [W.4645.] He was told that a single man was checking and stopping four of the five grand provinces of Erin [1]during the three months of winter[1] from Monday at Summer's end till the beginning of Spring. And he felt it unworthy of himself and he deemed it too long that his people were without him. And [2]it was then[2] he set out [3]to the host[3] to fight and contend with Cuchulain. And when he was come to the place where Cuchulain was, he saw Cuchulain there moaning, full of wounds and pierced through with holes, and he felt it would not be honourable nor fair to fight and contend with him after the combat with Ferdiad. [4]Because it would be said it was not that Cuchulain died of the sores [LL.fo.93a.] and wounds which he would give him so much as of the wounds which Ferdiad had inflicted on him in the conflict before.[4] Be that as it might, Cuchulain offered to engage with him in battle and combat. [1-1] YBL. 43b, 17. [2-2] YBL. 43b, 14-15. [3-3] YBL. 43b, 15. [4-4] Reading with Stowe, which is to be preferred to LL. Thereupon Curoi set forth for to seek the men of Erin and, when he was near at hand, he espied Amargin there and his left elbow under him to the west of Taltiu. Curoi reached the men of Erin from the north. His people equipped him with rocks and boulders and great clumps, and he began to hurl them right over against Amargin, so that Badb's battle-stones collided in the clouds and in the air high above them, and every rock of them was shivered [W.4662.] into an hundred stones. "By the truth of thy valour, O Curoi," cried Medb, "desist from thy throwing, for no real succour nor help comes to us therefrom, but ill is the succour [1]and help[1] that thence come to us," "I pledge my word," cried Curoi, "I will not cease till the very day of doom and of life, till first Amargin cease!" "I will cease," said Amargin; "and do thou engage that thou wilt no more come to succour or give aid to the men of Erin." Curoi consented to that and went his way to return to his land and people. [1-1] Stowe. About this time [2]the hosts[2] went past Taltiu westwards. "It is not this was enjoined upon me," quoth Amargin: "never again to cast at the hosts [3]but rather that I should part from them."[3] And he went to the west of them and he turned them before him north-eastwards past Taltiu. And he began to pelt them for a long while and time [4]so that he slaughtered more of them than can be numbered.[4] [5]This is one of the three incalculable things on the Táin, the number of those he slew. And his son Conall Cernach ('the Victorious') remained with him providing him with stones and spears.[5] [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] YBL. fo. 43b, 34-36. Then it was also that the men of Erin said it would be no disgrace for Amargin to leave the camp and quarters, and that the hosts would retire a day's march back to the north again, there to stop and stay, and for him to quit his feats of arms upon the hosts until such time as he would meet them on the day of the great battle when the four grand provinces of Erin would encounter at Garech and Ilgarech in the battle of the Raid for the Kine of Cualnge. Amargin accepted that offer, and the hosts proceeded a day's march back to the northwards again. Wherefore the 'Deer-stalking' of Amargin in Taltiu [6]is the name of this tale.[6] [6-6] Stowe. * * * * * [Page 298] XXIV THE REPEATED WARNING OF SUALTAIM [1]Now while the deeds we have told here were being done,[1] [W.4685.] Sualtaim ('Goodly fosterer') son of Becaltach ('of Small belongings') son of Moraltach ('of Great belongings'), the same the father of Cuchulain macSualtaim, [2]of Sualtaim's Rath in the plain of Murthemne,[2] was told of the distress and [3]sore wounding[3] of his son contending in unequal combat on the Cualnge Cattle-spoil, even against Calatin Dana ('the Bold') with his seven and twenty[a] sons, and against Glass son of Delga, his grandson, [4]and at the last against Ferdiad son of Daman.[4] [1-1] YBL. 43b, 38-39. [2-2] YBL. 43b, 39-40. [3-3] Stowe. [a] 'Twelve,' YBL. 43b, 41. [4-4] Stowe. [5]It is then that Sualtaim said[5]: "Whate'er it be, [6]this that I hear[6] from afar," quoth Sualtaim, "it is the sky that bursts or the sea that ebbs or the earth that quakes, or is it the distress of my son overmatched in the strife on the Driving of the Kine of Cualnge?" [5-5] Stowe and YBL. 43b, 42. [6-6] Stowe. In that, indeed, Sualtaim spoke true. And he went to learn all after a while, without hastening on his way. And when Sualtaim was come to where [7]his son[7] Cuchulain was [8]and found him covered with wounds and bloody gashes and many stabs,[8] Sualtaim began to moan and lament [9]for Cuchulain.[9] [7-7] YBL. 43b, 46. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] Stowe. [W.4695.] Forsooth Cuchulain deemed it neither an honour nor glory that Sualtaim should bemoan and lament him, for Cuchulain knew that, wounded and injured though he was, Sualtaim would not be [1]the man[1] to avenge his wrong. For such was Sualtaim: He was no mean warrior and he was no mighty warrior, but only a good, worthy man was he. "Come, my father Sualtaim," said Cuchulain; [2]"cease thy sighing and mourning for me, and[2] do thou go to Emain [3]Macha[3] to the men of Ulster and tell them to come now to have a care for their droves, for no longer am I able to protect them in the gaps and passes of the land of Conalle Murthemni. All alone am I against four of the five grand provinces of Erin from Monday at Summer's end till the beginning of Spring, every day slaying a man on a ford and a hundred warriors every night. Fair fight is not granted me nor single combat, and no [LL.fo.93b.] one comes to aid me nor to succour. [4]And such is the measure of my wounds and my sores that I cannot bear my garments or my clothing to touch my skin, so that[4] spancel-hoops hold my cloak over me. Dry tufts of grass are stuffed in my wounds. [5]There is not the space of a needle's point from my crown to my sole without wound or sore, and[5] there is not a single hair [6]on my body[6] from my crown to my sole whereon the point of a needle could stand, without a drop of deep-red blood on the top of each hair, save the left hand alone which is holding my shield, and even there thrice fifty bloody wounds are upon it. [7]And let them straightway give battle to the warriors,[7] and unless they avenge this anon, they will never avenge it till the very day of doom and of life!" [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] YBL. 43b, 49. Sualtaim set out on Liath ('the Roan') of Macha as his only horse, with warning to the men of Ulster. And when [W.4716.] he was come alongside of Emain, he shouted these words there: "Men are slain, women stolen, cattle lifted, ye men of Ulster!" cried Sualtaim. He had not [1]the answer[1] that served him from the Ulstermen, and forasmuch as he had it not he went on further to the rampart of Emain. And he cried out the same words there: "Men are slain, women stolen, cattle lifted, ye men of Ulster!" cried Sualtaim. [1-1] Stowe. And [2]a second time[2] he had not the response that served him from the men of Ulster. Thus stood it among the Ulstermen: It was geis for the Ulstermen to speak before their king, geis for the king to speak before his [3]three[3] druids. Thereafter Sualtaim drove on to the 'Flag-stone of the hostages' in Emain Macha. He shouted the same words there: "Men are slain, women stolen, cows carried off!" "But who has slain them, and who has stolen them, and who has carried them off?" asked Cathba the druid. "Ailill and Medb have, [4]with the cunning of Fergus mac Roig,[4] overwhelmed you. [5]Your people have been harassed as far as Dûn Sobairche,"[5] said Sualtaim. "Your wives and your sons and your children, your steeds and your stock of horses, your herds and your flocks and your droves of cattle have been carried away. Cuchulain all alone is checking and staying the hosts of the four great provinces of Erin at the gaps and passes of the land of Conalle Murthemni. Fair fight is refused him, nor is he granted single combat, nor comes any one to succour or aid him. [6]Cuchulain has not suffered them to enter the plain of Murthemne or into the land of Ross. Three winter months is he there.[6] The youth is wounded, his limbs are out of joint. Spancel-hoops hold his cloak over him. There is not a hair from his crown to his sole whereon the point of a needle could stand, without a drop of deep-red [W.4737.] blood on the top of each hair, except his left hand alone which is holding his shield, and even there thrice fifty bloody wounds are upon it. And unless ye avenge this betimes, ye will never avenge it till the end of time and of life." [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] YBL. 44a, 9. [4-4] YBL. 44a, 13. [5-5] YBL. 44a, 13. [6-6] YBL. 44a, 15. [LL.fo.94a.] "Fitter is death and doom and destruction for the man that so incites the king!" quoth Cathba the druid. "In good sooth, it is true!" [1]said the Ulstermen[1] all together. [1-1] Stowe. [2]Thereupon[2] Sualtaim went his way [3]from them,[3] indignant and angry because from the men of Ulster he had not had the answer that served him. Then reared Liath ('the Roan') of Macha under Sualtaim and dashed on to the ramparts of Emain. Thereat [4]Sualtaim fell under his own shield, so that[4] his own shield turned on Sualtaim and the [5]scalloped[5] edge of the shield severed Sualtaim's head, [6]though others say he was asleep on the stone, and that he fell thence onto his shield on awaking.[6] [7]Hence this is the 'Tragical Death of Sualtaim.'[7] [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] YBL. 44a, 28. [6-6] YBL. 44a, 32-33. [7-7] Stowe. The horse himself turned back again to Emain, and the shield on the horse and the head on the shield. And Sualtaim's head uttered the same words: "Men are slain, women stolen, cattle lifted, ye men of Ulster!" spake the head of Sualtaim. "Some deal too great is that cry," quoth Conchobar; "for yet is the sky above us, the earth underneath and the sea round about us. And unless the heavens shall fall with their showers of stars on the man-like[a] face of the world, or unless the ground burst open in quakes [8]beneath our feet,[8] or unless the furrowed, blue-bordered ocean break o'er the tufted brow of the earth, will I restore [W.4756.] to her byre and her stall, to her abode and her dwelling-place, each and every cow and woman of them with victory of battle and contest and combat!" [a] Reading with LL. 5027 and 5975, which gives better meaning than the expression 'fort-face,' of LL. [8-8] Stowe. Thereupon a runner of his body-guard was summoned to Conchobar, Findchad Ferbenduma ('he of the copper Horn') to wit, son of Fraech Lethan ('the Broad'), and Conchobar bade him go assemble and muster the men of Ulster. And in like manner, in the drunkenness of sleep and of his 'Pains,' Conchobar enumerated to him their quick and their dead, and he uttered these words:-- "Arise, O Findchad! [1]Thee I send forth:[1] A negligence not to be wished (?); Proclaim it to the chiefs of Ulster!" [1-1] Reading with YBL. 44a, 41. [2]The Order of the men of Ulster.[2] [2-2] Stowe and YBL. 44a, 41. [3]Go thou forward to Derg,[3] to Deda at his bay, to Lemain, to Follach, to Illann [4]son of Fergus[4] at Gabar, to Dornaill Feic at Imchlar, to Derg Imdirg, to Fedilmid [5]son of Ilar Cetach of Cualnge[5] at Ellonn, to Reochad [6]son of Fathemon[6] at Rigdonn, to Lug, to Lugaid, to Cathba at his bay, to Carfre at Ellne, to Laeg at his causeway, to Gemen in his valley, to Senoll Uathach at Diabul Ard, [LL.fo.94b.] to Cethern son of Fintan at Carrloig, [7]to Cethern at Eillne,[7] to Tarothor, to Mulach at his fort, to the royal poet Amargin, to Uathach Bodba, to the Morrigan at Dûn Sobairche, to Eit, to Roth, to Fiachna at his mound, to Dam drend, to Andiaraid, to Manè Macbriathrach ('the Eloquent'), to Dam Derg ('the Red'), to Mod, to Mothus, to Iarmothus at Corp Cliath, to Gabarlaig in Linè, to Eocho Semnech in Semne, [8]to Eochaid Laithrech at Latharne,[8] to Celtchar son of Uthecar in Lethglas, to Errgè Echbel ('Horsemouth') at Bri Errgi ('Errgè's Hill'), to Uma son of Remarfessach ('Thickbeard') at Fedain [W.4819.] in Cualnge, to Munremur ('Thickneck') son of Gerrcend ('Shorthead') at Moduirn, to Senlabair at Canann Gall ('of the Foreigners'), to Fallomain, to Lugaid, [1]king of the Fir Bolg,[1] to Lugaid of Linè, to Buadgalach ('the Victorious Hero'), to Abach, [2]to Fergna at Barrene,[2] to Anè, to Aniach, [3]to Abra,[3] to Loegaire Milbel ('Honey-mouth'), at his fire (?), to the three sons of Trosgal at Bacc Draigin ('Thornhollow'), to Drend, to Drenda, to Drendus, to Cimb, to Cimbil, to Cimbin at Fan na Coba ('the Slope of ...), to Fachtna son of Sencha at his rath, to Sencha, to Senchainte, to Bricriu, to Briccirne son of Bricriu, to Brecc, to Buan, to Barach, to Oengus of the Fir Bolg, to Oengus son of Letè, [4]to Fergus son of Letè,[4] to ...[a] (?), to Bruachar, to Slangè, to Conall Cernach ('the Victorious') son of Amargin at Midluachar, to Cuchulain son of Sualtaim at Murthemne, to Menn son of Salcholga at Rena ('the Waterways'), to the three sons of Fiachna, Ross, Darè and Imchad at Cualnge, to Connud macMorna at the Callann, to Condra son of Amargin at his rath, to Amargin at Ess Ruaid, to Laeg at Leirè, to Oengus Ferbenduma ('him of the copper Horn'), to Ogma Grianainech ('Sun-faced') at Brecc, to Eo macFornè, to Tollcend, to Sudè at Mag Eol in Mag Dea, to Conla Saeb at Uarba, to Loegaire [5]Buadach ('the Triumphant')[5] at Immail, to Amargin Iarngiunnach ('the Darkhaired') at Taltiu, [LL.fo.94c.] to Furbaide Ferbenn ('the man with Horns on his helmet') son of Conchobar at Sil in Mag Inis ('the Island-plain'), to Cuscraid Menn ('the Stammerer') of Macha son of Conchobar at Macha, to Fingin at Fingabair, to Blae 'the Hospitaller of a score,' to Blae 'the Hospitaller of six men,' to Eogan son of Durthacht at Fernmag, to Ord at Mag Sered, to Oblan, to Obail at Culenn, to Curethar, to Liana at Ethbenna, to Fernel, to Finnchad [W.4892.] of Sliab Betha, to Talgoba [1]at Bernas ('the Gap'),[1] to Menn son of the Fir Cualann at Mag Dula, to Iroll at Blarinè, [2]to Tobraidè son of Ailcoth,[2] to Ialla Ilgremma ('of many Captures'), to Ross son of Ulchrothach ('the Many-shaped') at Mag Dobla, to Ailill Finn ('the Fair'), to Fethen Bec ('the Little'), to Fethan Mor ('the Big'), to Fergus son of Finnchoem ('the Fair-comely') at Burach, to Olchar, to Ebadchar, to Uathchar, to Etatchar, to Oengus son of Oenlam Gabè ('the one-handed Smith'), to Ruadri at Mag Tail, [3]to Manè son of Crom ('the Bent'), to Nindech son of Cronn, to ... (?), to Mal macRochraidi,[3] to Beothach ('the Lively'), to Briathrach ('the Wordy') at his rath, to Narithla at Lothor, to the two sons of Feic, Muridach and Cotreb, to Fintan son of Niamglonnach ('of brilliant Exploits') at Dun da Benn ('the two-gabled Dûn'), to Feradach Finn Fechtnach ('the Fair and Upright') at Nemed ('the Shrine') of Sliab Fuait, [LL.fo.95a.] to Amargin son of Ecetsalach ('the grimy Smith') at the Buas, to Bunnè son of Munremar, to Fidach son of Dorarè, [4]to Muirnè Menn ('the Stammerer').[4] [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [4-4] YBL. 44a, 46. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] YBL. 44a, 45. [7-7] YBL. 44b, 7-8. [8-8] YBL. 44b, 28-29, Stowe and H. 1. 13. [1-1] H. 1. 13 and YBL. 44b, 36. [2-2] YBL. 44b, 40-41. [3-3] YBL. 44b, 44. [4-4] Stowe and YBL. 44b, 14. [a] The readings are corrupt. [5-5] YBL. 44b, 44. [1-1] Reading with YBL. 45a, 14; LL. is corrupt. [2-2] YBL. 45a, 3. [3-3] YBL. 45a, 7. [4-4] YBL. 45a, 14. It was nowise a heavy task for Finnchad to gather this assembly and muster which Conchobar had enjoined upon him. For all there were [5]of Ulstermen[5] to the east of Emain and to the west of Emain and to the north of Emain set out at once for the field of Emain in the service of their king, and at the word of their lord, and to await the recovery of Conchobar. Such as were from the south of Emain [6]waited not for Conchobar, but[6] set out directly on the trail of the host and on the hoof-prints of the Táin. [5-5] Stowe. The first stage the men of Ulster marched under Conchobar was [7]from Emain[7] to the green in Iraird Cuillinn [W.4932.] that night. "Why now delay we, ye men?" Conchobar asked. "We await thy sons," they answered; "Fiacha and Fiachna who have gone [1]with a division[1] from us [2]to Tara[2] to fetch Erc son of thy daughter Fedlimid Nocruthach ('Nine-shaped'), son also of Carbre Niafer [3]king of Tara,[3] to the end that he should come with the number of his muster and his troops, his levy and his forces to our host at this time. [4]Until these two divisions come to us, no further advance will we make from this place."[4] "By my word," exclaimed Conchobar; "I will delay here no longer for them, lest the men of Erin hear of my rising from the weakness and 'Pains' wherein I was. For the men of Erin know not even if I am still alive!" [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] Stowe and YBL. 45a, 24. [1-1] YBL. 45a, 26. [2-2] YBL. 45a, 27. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] YBL. 45a, 29. Thereupon Conchobar and Celtchar proceeded with thirty hundred spear-bristling chariot-fighters to Ath Irmidi ('the Ford of Spear-points'). And there met them there eight-score huge men of the body-guard of Ailill and Medb, with eight-score women [5]of the Ulstermen's women[5] as their spoils. Thus was their portion of the plunder of Ulster: A woman-captive in the hand of each man of them. Conchobar and Celtchar struck off their eight-score heads and released their eight-score captive-women. Ath Irmidi ('the Ford of Spear-points') was the name of the place till that time; Ath Fenè is its name ever since. It is for this it is called Ath Fenè, because the warriors of the Fenè from the east and the warriors of the Fenè from the west encountered one another in battle and contest man for man on the brink of the ford. [6]Touching the four grand provinces of Erin, they encamped at Slemain Midè ('Slane of Meath') that night, and[6] Conchobar and Celtchar returned that night to the green in Iraird Cuillinn hard by the men of Ulster. Thereupon Celtchar aroused the men of Ulster. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] Stowe and H. 1. 13. * * * * * [Page 306] XXIVa [1]THE AGITATION OF CELTCHAR[1] [W.4954.] It was then that Celtchar [2]in his sleep[2] uttered these words [3]to Conchobar[3] in the midst of the men of Ulster in Iraird Cuillinn that night:[a]-- "Thirty hundred chariot-men; An hundred horse-companions stout; An hundred with an hundred druids! To lead us will not fail The hero of the land, Conchobar with hosts around him! Let the battle line be formed! Gather now, ye warriors! Battle shall be fought At Garech and Ilgarech On aftermorrow's morn!" [1-1] This title is supplied by the present writer. [2-2] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [3-3] YBL. 45a, 38. [a] I can make nothing of the first four lines of the following poem, and they are consequently omitted from the translation. The translation of the remainder of the _rosc_ is largely conjectural. [4]Or it was Cuscraid Menn ('the Stammerer') of Macha, Conchobar's son, who sang this lay on the night before the battle ...,[b] after the lay 'Arise ye Kings of Macha' which Loegaire Buadach ('the Victorious ') sang.[4] [4-4] YBL. 45a, 45-45b, 2. [b] There is a small gap in the MS. On that same night Cormac Conlongas, Conchobar's son, spake these words to the men of Erin at Slemain Midè that night:-- [W.4973.] "A wonder of a morning, A wondrous [1]time![1] When hosts will be confused, [2]Kings[2] turned back in flight! [3]Necks will be broken, The sand[a] made red,[3] When forth breaks the battle, The seven chieftains before, Of Ulster's host round Conchobar! Their women will they defend, For their herds will they fight At Garech and Ilgarech, On the morning after the morrow! [4]Heroes will be slaughtered then, Hounds cut to pieces, Steeds overwhelmed!"[4] [1-1] YBL. 45b, 7. [2-2] Reading with YBL. 45b, 8; LL. has 'hosts'. [3-3] YBL. 45b, 8-9. [a] Or, 'the sun.' [4-4] YBL. 45b, 11-14. On that same night, Dubthach Doel ('the Scorpion')[b] of Ulster [5]saw the dream wherein were the hosts at Garech and Ilgarech. Then it was[5] he uttered these words [6]in his sleep[6] among the men of Erin at Slemain Midè that night:-- "Great be the morn, The morn of Meath! Great be the truce The [7]truce[7] of Culenn! "Great be the fight, The fight of [8]Clartha![8] Great, too, the steeds, The steeds of Assal! "Great be the plague, The plague of Tuath-Bressi![c] Great be the storm, Ulster's battle-storm round Conchobar! "Their women will they defend, For their herds will they fight At Garech and Ilgarech, On the morning after the morrow!" [5-5] YBL. 45b, 4-5. [6-6] YBL. 45b, 5-6. [7-7] YBL. 45b, 19. [8-8] Reading with Stowe. [b] See note, page 198. [c] Probably Connacht. [W.5003.] Then [1]when the hosts were assembled at Garech and Ilgarech,[1] Dubthach was awakened from his sleep, so that Nemain brought confusion on the host and they fell trembling in their arms under the points of their spears and weapons, so that an hundred warriors of them fell dead [LL.fo.95b.] in the midst of their camp and quarters at the fearfulness of the shout they raised on high. Be that as it would, that night was not the calmest for the men of Erin that they passed before or since, because of the forebodings and predictions and because of the spectres and visions that were revealed to them. [1-1] YBL. 45b, 4-5. * * * * * [Page 309] XXV [1]HERE FOLLOWETH THE ARRAY OF THE HOST[1] [2]While these things were being done, the Connachtmen by the counsel of Ailill, Medb, and Fergus, resolved to send messengers from thence to spy out the men of Ulster, to make certain if they had taken possession of the plain.[2] [W.5011.] Said Ailill: "Truly have I succeeded," said he, "in laying waste Ulster and the land of the Picts [3]and Cualnge[3] from Monday at Summer's end till Spring's beginning. We have taken their women and their sons and their children, their steeds and their troops of horses, their herds and their flocks and their droves. We have laid level their hills after them, so that they have become lowlands and are all one height. For this cause, will I await them no longer here, but let them offer me battle on Mag Ai, if so it please them. But, say here what we will, some one shall go forth [4]from us[4] to watch the great, wide plain of Meath, to know if the men of Ulster come hither. And, should the men of Ulster come hither, I will in no wise be the first to retreat [5]till battle be given them,[5] for it was never the wont of a good king to retreat." [1-1] YBL. 45b, 22. [2-2] YBL. 45b, 23-26. [3-3] Stowe. [4-4] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [5-5] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "Who should fitly go thither?" asked all. "Who but macRoth our chief runner yonder," [6]answered another group of them.[6] [6-6] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [W.5023.] MacRoth went his way to survey the great wide-spreading plain of Meath. Not long was macRoth there when he heard something: A rush and a crash and a clatter and a clash. Not slight the thing he judged it to be, but as though it was the firmament itself that fell on the man-like face of the world, or as though it was the furrowed, blue-bordered ocean that broke o'er the tufted brow of the earth, or as though the ground had gone asunder in quakes, or as though the forest fell, each of the trees in the crotches and forks and branches of the other. But why give further accounts! The wood's wild beasts were hunted out on the plain, so that beneath them the grassy forelocks of the plain of Meath were not to be seen. MacRoth hastened to tell this tale at the place where were Ailill and Medb and Fergus and the nobles of the men of Erin. MacRoth related the whole matter to them. "What was that there, O Fergus?" asked Ailill; [1]"to what likenest thou it?"[1] "Not hard [2]for me to say what it resembled.[2] It was the rush and tramp and clatter that he heard," said Fergus, "the din and thunder, the tumult and turmoil [3]of the Ulstermen.[3] It was the men of Ulster [4]arising from their 'Pains,'[4] who have come into the woods, the throng of champions and battle-heroes cutting down with their swords the woods in the way of their chariots. This it was that hath put the wild animals to flight on the plain, so that the grassy forelocks of the field of Meath are hidden beneath them!" [1-1] YBL. 46a, 2. [2-2] YBL. 46a, 1-2. [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [4-4] YBL. 46a, 3-4. Another time macRoth surveyed the plain and he saw something: A heavy, grey mist that filled [5]the glens and the slopes,[5] [6]the upper void and veil,[6] the space between the heavens and earth. It seemed to him that [7]the hills[7] were islands in lakes that he saw rising up out of the sloping [W.5044.] valleys of mist. It seemed to him they were wide-yawning caverns that he saw there leading into that mist. It seemed to him it was all-white, flaxy sheets of linen, or sifted snow a-falling that he saw there through a rift in the mist. It seemed to him it was a flight of many, varied, wonderful, numerous birds [1]that he[a] saw in the same mist,[1] or the constant sparkling of shining stars [LL.fo.96a.] on a bright, clear night of hoar-frost, or sparks of red-flaming fire. He heard something: A rush and a din and a hurtling sound, a noise and a thunder, a tumult and a turmoil, [2]and a great wind that all but took the hair from his[b] head and threw him[c] on his[b] back, and yet the wind of the day was not great.[2] He hastened on to impart these tidings at the place where were Ailill and Medb and Fergus and the nobles of the men of Erin. He reported the matter to them. [5-5] YBL. 45b, 40-41. [6-6] Stowe. [7-7] YBL. 45b, 41. [a] MS.: 'I.' [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [2-2] YBL. 45b, 46-46a, 1. [b] MS. 'my.' [c] MS. 'me.' "But what was that, O Fergus?" asked Ailill. "Not hard to say," Fergus made answer. "This was the great, grey mist that he saw which filled the space between the heavens and earth, namely, the streaming breath both of horses and men, the smoke of the earth and the dust of the roads as it rose over them with the driving of the wind, so that it made a heavy, deep-grey misty vapour thereof in the clouds and the air. "These were the islands over lakes that he saw there, and the tops of hills and of heights over the sloping valleys of mist, even the heads of the champions and battle-heroes over the chariots and the chariots withal. These were the wide-yawning caverns that he saw there leading into that mist, even the mouths and the nostrils of the horses and champions exhaling and inhaling the sun and the wind with the speed of the host. These were the all-white, flax-like cloths that he saw there or the streaming [W.5066.] snow a-falling, to wit the foam and the froth that the bridles of the reins flung from the bits of strong, stout steeds with the stress, [1]with the swiftness and strength and speed[1] of the host. [1-1] H. 1. 13. "These were the flights of many, various, wonderful, numerous birds that he saw there, even the dust of the ground and the top of the earth [2]and the sods[2] which the horses flung from their feet and their hoofs and arose [3]over the heads of the host[3] with the driving of the wind. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe. "This was the rush and the crash and the hurtling sound, the din and the thunder, the clatter and clash that he heard there, to wit the shield-shock of shields and the jangle of javelins and the hard-smiting of swords and the ring of helmets, the clangour of breast-plates and the rattle of arms and the fury of feats, the straining of ropes and the whirr of wheels and the trampling of horses' hoofs and the creaking of chariots, and the deep voices of heroes and battle-warriors coming hither towards us. "This was the constant sparkling of shining stars on a bright, clear night that he saw there and the sparks of red-flaming fire, even the bloodthirsty, terrible eyes of the champions and battle-warriors from under beautiful, well-shaped, finely-adorned battle-helmets; eyes full of the fury and rage they brought with them, against the which neither before nor since has equal combat nor overwhelming force of battle prevailed, and against which it will never prevail till the very day of doom and of life!" "We make not much of that," quoth Medb;[a] [4]"we will await them.[4] [5]For[5] there are goodly warriors and goodly fighting-men with us to cope with them." [6]"Thou shall have need of them," answered Fergus.[6] "Truly, I count not on that, O Medb. For I give my word, thou [W.5087.] shalt find no host in [1]all[1] Erin, nor in Alba, [2]nor in the western part of the world from Greece and Scythia westwards to the Orkney Islands, the Pillars of Hercules, Bregon's Tower and the islands of Cadiz[2] to cope with the men of Ulster when once their anger comes on them!" [a] 'Ailill,' YBL. 46a, 23. [4-4] YBL. 46a, 22. [5-5] Stowe. [6-6] YBL. 46a, 23. [1-1] YBL. 46a, 24. [2-2] YBL. 45a, 25-28. Then did the four grand provinces of Erin pitch camp and make lodgment at Clartha for that night. They sent forth folk to keep watch and guard against Ulster, to the end that the Ulstermen might not come upon them without warning, without notice. Then it was that Conchobar and Celtchar with thirty hundred bristling chariot-fighters set forth, till they halted at Slemain Midè ('Slane of Meath') [LL.fo.96b.] in the rear of the host of Erin. But, though 'halted' we have said, [3]a very brief halt made they there.[3] Not straightway pitched they camp, but proceeded for a favourable sign to the quarters of Ailill and Medb, so they might be the first of all to redden their hands [4]on the men of Erin.[4] [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [4-4] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [5]Then did macRoth go again to view the hosting of the men of Ulster, so that he reached their encampment at Slane of Meath.[5] It was not long macRoth had been there when he saw something: An incomparable, immense troop of horsemen in Slane of Meath coming straight from the north-east. He hastened forward to where were Ailill and Medb and Fergus and the chiefs of the men of Erin. Ailill asked tidings of him on his arrival: "Say, macRoth," queried Ailill; "sawest thou aught of the men of Ulster on the trail of the host this day?" "Truly I know not," answered macRoth; "but I saw an incomparable, immense troop of horsemen in Slane of Meath coming straight from the north-east." "But how many numbered the horse-troop?" asked Ailill. "Not fewer, meseemed, [W.5107.] than thirty hundred fully armed chariot-fighters were they, even ten hundred and twenty hundred fully armed chariot-fighters," macRoth made answer. [5-5] YBL. 46a, 28-31. "So, O Fergus," quoth Ailill, [1]"those are the warriors of Ulster with Conchobar![1] How thinkest thou to terrify us till now with the smoke and dust and the breath of a mighty host, while all the battle-force thou hast is that we see yonder!" [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "A little too soon belittlest thou them," Fergus retorted; "for mayhap the bands are more numerous than is said they are." "Let us take good, swift counsel on the matter," said Medb; "for yon huge, most fierce, most furious man will attack us we ween, Conchobar, to wit, son of Fachtna Fathach ('the Giant') son of Ross Ruad ('the Red') son of Rudraige, himself High King of Ulster and son of the High King of Erin. Let there be a hollow array of the men of Erin before Conchobar and a force of thirty hundred ready to close in from behind, and the men shall be taken and in no wise wounded; for, no more than is a caitiff's lot is this whereto they are come!" Wherefore this is the third most derisive word that was spoken on the Cattle-lifting of Cualnge, even to take Conchobar [2]and his people[2] prisoners without wounding, and to inflict a caitiff's lot on the ten hundred and twenty hundred who accompanied the kings of Ulster. [2-2] Stowe. And Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar heard that, and he knew that unless he took vengeance at once upon Medb for her great boast, he would not avenge it till the very day of doom and of life. It was then that Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar arose with his troop of thirty hundred to inflict the revenge of battle and prowess upon Ailill and Medb. Ailill arose [W.5129.] with his thirty hundred to meet him. Medb arose with her thirty hundred. The Manè arose with their thirty hundred. The sons of Maga arose with their thirty hundred. The Leinstermen and the Munstermen and the people of Temair arose and made interposition between them, so that on both sides each warrior sat down near to the other and near by his arms. Meanwhile a hollow array of men was made by Medb to face Conchobar and a [1]warlike[1] band of thirty hundred ready to close in from behind. Conchobar proceeded to attack the circle of men, [2]to force an opening.[2] And he was far from seeking any particular breach, but he worked a small gap, broad enough for a man-at-arms, right in front over against him in the circle of combatants, and effected a breach of an hundred on his right side, and a breach of an hundred on his left, and he turned in on them, and mingled [3]among them[3] on their ground, and there fell of them eight hundred fully brave warriors at his hands. And thereafter he left them without blood or bleeding from himself and took his station in Slane of Meath at the head of the men of Ulster. [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [2-2] Reading with Stowe. [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "Come, ye men of Erin!" cried Ailill. "Let some one go hence to scan the wide-stretching plain of Meath, to know in what guise the men of Ulster come to the height in Slane of Meath, to bring us an account of their arms and their gear [4]and their trappings, their kings and their royal leaders,[4] their champions and battle-warriors and gap-breakers of hundreds and their yeomen, [5]to which to listen will shorten the time for us."[5] [LL.fo.97a.] "Who should go thither?" asked all. "Who but macRoth the chief runner," Aililla[a] made answer. [4-4] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [5-5] Following Stowe. [a] 'Fergus,' H. 1. 13 and Stowe. MacRoth went his way till he took his station in Slane [W.5151.] of Meath, awaiting the men of Ulster. The Ulstermen were busied in marching to that hill from gloaming of early morn till sunset hour in the evening. In such manner the earth was never left naked under them during all that time, every division of them under its king, and every band under its leader, and every king and every leader and every lord with the number of his force and his muster, his gathering and his levy apart. Howbeit, by sunset hour in the evening all the men of Ulster had taken position on that height in Slane of Meath. MacRoth came forward with the account of their first company to the place where Ailill and Medb and Fergus were and the nobles of the men of Erin. Ailill and Medb asked tidings of him when he arrived. "Come, macRoth," quoth Ailill, "tell us in what manner of array do the Ulstermen advance to the hill of Slane in Meath?" "Truly, I know not," answered macRoth, "except [1]this alone:[1] There came a fiery, powerful, most well-favoured company upon the hill of Slane in Meath," said macRoth. "It seemed, on scanning and spying, that[a] thrice thirty hundred[a] warriors were in it. [2]Anon[2] they all doffed their garments and threw up a turfy mound for their leader to sit on. A youth, slender, long, exceeding great of stature, fair to behold, proud of mien, in the van of the troop. Fairest of the princes of the world was he in the midst of his warriors, as well in fearsomeness and in awe, in courage and command; fair-yellow hair, curled, delicately arranged in ridges and bushy had he [3]reaching to the nape of his neck;[3] a comely, clear-rosy countenance he had, [4]narrow below and broad above;[4] a deep-blue-grey, angry eye, devouring. [W.5175.] and fear-inspiring, in his head; a two-forked beard, yellow, fairly curled, on his chin; a purple mantle with fringes and five-folded wrapped around him; a [1]conspicuous,[1] salmon-shaped brooch of [2]red[2] gold in the mantle over his breast; a shining-white, hooded shirt under red interweaving of red gold he wore next his white skin; a bright-white shield with figures of beasts of red gold thereon; a gold-hilted, hammered sword in one of his hands; a broad and grey-green lance-head [3]on an ashen shaft[3] in the other; [4]the pillar of a king's house on his back.[4] That warrior took his station on the top of the mound, so that each one came up to him and his company took their places around him. [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [a-a] 'Thirty hundred,' Stowe, H. 1. 13, and YBL. 46a, 47. [2-2] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13, and, similarly, YBL. 46a, 42. [4-4] YBL. 46a, 47. [1-1] YBL. 46a, 44. [2-2] YBL. 46a, 44. [3-3] YBL. 46b, 3. [4-4] Stowe and H. 1. 13. That is, 'a great spear.' "There came also another company to the same height in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "Second of the two divisions of thirty hundred it was, [5]and next to the other in numbers and attendance, in accoutrements and fearfulness and horror.[5] A [6]great,[6] [7]hero-like,[7] well-favoured warrior was there likewise at the head of that company; fair-yellow hair he wore; a bright, curly beard about his chin; a green mantle wrapped around him; a bright-silvern pin in the mantle at his breast; a brown-red, soldier's tunic under red interweaving of red gold trussed up against his fair skin down to his knees; a candle of a king's house[a] in his hand, with windings of silver and bands of gold; wonderful the feats and games performed with the spear in the hand of the youth; the windings of silver ran round it by the side of the bands of gold, now from the butt to the socket, while at other times it was the bands of gold that circled by the side of the windings of silver from socket to spear-end; a smiting shield with [W.5195.] plaited edge he bore; a sword with hilt-pieces of ivory, and ornamented with thread of gold on his left side. This warrior took his station on the left of the leader[1] of the first company[1] who had come to the mound, and his followers got them seated around him. But, though we have said they sat, they did not verily seat themselves at once, but [2]they sat thus,[2] with their knees on the ground and the rims of their shields against their chins, so long it seemed to them till they should be let at us. But, one thing yet: Meseemed that [LL.fo.97b.] the great, fierce youth who led the troop stammered grievously [3]in his speech.[3] [5-5] YBL. 46b, 8-9. [6-6] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [7-7] YBL. 46b, 9. [a] That is, 'a flaming-red spear.' [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [2-2] YBL. 46b, 19. [3-3] YBL. 46b, 21. "Still another battalion there came to the same mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "Second to its fellow in number and followers and apparel. A handsome, broad-headed warrior at the head of that troop; dark-yellow hair in tresses he wore; an eager, dark-blue eye rolling restlessly in his head; a bright, curled beard, forked and tapering, at his chin; a dark-grey cloak with fringes, folded around him; a leaf-shaped brooch of silvered bronze in the mantle over his breast; a white-hooded shirt [4]reaching to his knees[4] [5]was girded[5] next to his skin; a bright shield with raised devices of beasts thereon he bore; a sword with white silver hilt in battle-scabbard at his waist; the pillar of a king's palace he bore on his back. This warrior took his station on the hill of turf facing the warrior who first came to the hill, and his company took their places around him. But sweet as the tone of lutes in masters' hands when long sustained, so seemed to me the melodious sound of the voice and the speech of the youth conversing with the warrior who first came to the hill and offering him every counsel." [4-4] YBL. 46b, 30. [5-5] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "But who might that be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. [W.5218.] "Truly, we know him well," Fergus made answer. "This, to wit, is the first hero for whom they threw up the mound of turf on the height of the hill and whom all approached, namely, Conchobar son of Fachtna Fathach son of Ross Ruad son of Rudraige, High King of Ulster, and son of the High King of Erin. [1]It is he that sat on the mound of sods.[1] This, to wit, is the stammering, great warrior," [2]Fergus continued,[2] "who took station on [3]his father[3] Conchobar's left, namely, Cuscraid Menn ('the Stammerer') of Macha, Conchobar's son, with the sons of the king of Ulster [4]and the sons of the princes of the men of Erin[4] close by him. This is the spear he saw in his hand, even the 'Torch of Cuscraid,' with its windings of silver and bands of gold. It is the wont of that spear that neither before nor after do the silver windings run round it by the side of the bands of gold but only on the eve of a triumph. Belike, it is almost before a triumph they course round it now. [1-1] YBL. 46b, 36. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] YBL. 46b, 40. [4-4] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "The well-favoured, broad-headed warrior who seated himself on the hill in the presence of the youth who first came on the mound, namely is Sencha son of Ailill son of Maelcho 'the Eloquent' of Ulster, he that is wont to appease the hosts of the men of Erin. But, yet a word more I say: It is not the counsel of cowardice nor of fear that he gives his lord this day on the day of strife, but counsel to act with valour and courage and wisdom and cunning. But, again one word further I say," added Fergus: "It is a goodly people for performing great deeds that has risen there early this day around Conchobar!" "We make not much of them," quoth Medb; "we have goodly warriors and stout youths to deal with them." "I count not that for much," answered Fergus again; "but I say this word: Thou wilt not find in Erin nor in Alba a host to be a match [W.5242.] for the men of Ulster when once their anger comes upon them." "Yet another company there came to the same mound in Slane of Meath," said macRoth. [1]"Not fewer than a battalion of thirty hundred was in it.[1] A fair, tall, great warrior [LL.fo.98a.] in the van of that battalion, and he of fiery spirit, with noble countenance. Brown, dark-coloured hair he wore, smooth and thin on his forehead; a dull-grey cloak girt around him; a silver pin in the cloak over his breast; a bright, sleeved tunic next to his skin; a curved shield with sharp, plaited rim he bore; a five-pronged spear in his hand; a straightsword with ornaments of walrus-tooth in its place." "But, who might that be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "In very sooth, we know him," Fergus made answer. "The putting of hands on strife is he; a battle-warrior for combat and destruction on foes is the one who is come there, [2]even[2] Eogan son of Durthacht, [3]king of the stout-handed[3] Fernmag in the north, is the one yonder." [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13, and, similarly, YBL. 47a, 1. [2-2] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 47a, 12. [3-3] Reading with Stowe and H. 1. 13; LL. seems to be corrupt here. "Another battalion there came thither to the same mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "It is surely no false word that boldly they took the hill. Deep the terror, great the fear they brought with them. [4]Terrible the clangour of arms they made as they advanced.[4] Their raiment all thrown back behind them. A great-headed, warlike warrior in the forefront of the company, and he eager for blood, dreadful to look upon; spare, grizzly hair had he; huge, yellow eyes in his head; a yellow, close-napped (?) cloak around him; a pin of yellow gold in the cloak over his breast; a yellow tunic with lace next his skin; [5]a great, smiting sword under his waist;[5] in his hand a nailed, broad-plated, long-shafted spear with a drop [W.5262.] of blood on its edge." "But, who might that be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "In truth then, we know him, that warrior," Fergus gave answer. "Neither battle nor battle-field nor combat nor contest shuns he, the one who is come thither. Loegaire Buadach ('the Victorious') son of Connad Buidè ('the Yellow') son of Iliach, from Immail in the north, is the one yonder." [4-4] YBL. 47a, 18-19. [5-5] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "Another company there came there too to the same mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "A thick-necked, burly warrior at the head of that troop; black, bushy hair he had; a scarred, crimsoned face he had; a deep-blue-grey, blazing eye in his head; a spear set with eyes of glass, casting shadows over him; a black shield with a hard rim of silvered bronze upon him; a dun-coloured cloak of curly wool about him; a brooch of pale gold in the cloak over his breast; a three-striped tunic of silk [1]with red embroidery[1] next to his skin; a sword with ivory hilt and with ornamentation of thread of gold over his dress on the outside." "But, who might that man be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "We know him full well," Fergus made answer. "He is the putting of hand on strife; a wave of the high sea that drowneth [2]the small streams;[2] he is the man of three shouts; the sea over walls; [3]the venomous destruction of enemies,[3] the man who comes thither. Muremur ('Thick-neck') son of Gerrcend ('Short-head') from Moduirn in the north is the one yonder." [1-1] YBL. 47a, 40. [2-2] YBL. 47a, 43. [3-3] YBL. 47a, 44. "Still another company there came to the same mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. [4]"Not fewer than thirty hundred, the battle line of the troops.[4] A [5]broad-headed,[5] stout warrior, pleasantly found of limb, in the front of that troop; he is dried and sallow; he is wild and bull-like; a dun, round eye, proud in his head; [W.5283.] yellow, very curly is his hair; a red, round shield with hard-silver rim about it he bore; a [1]trebly riveted,[1] broad-plated, long-shafted spear in his hand; a streaked-grey cloak around him; a salmon-shaped brooch of copper in the cloak over his breast; a hooded kirtle girded around him reaching down to his calves; a straightsword with ornaments of walrus-tooth on his left thigh." "But who might he be?" [LL.fo.98b.] asked Ailill of Fergus. "I know him indeed," Fergus made answer. "He is the prop of battle; [2]he is the wild heat of anger; he is the daring of every battle;[2] he is the triumph of every combat; he is the tool that pierces, is the man who comes thither. Connud macMorna, from the Callann in the north, is the man yonder." [4-4] YBL. 47b, 12-13. [5-5] Reading with Stowe and H. 1. 13. "There came still another company to the same mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. [3]"A company most fair to look upon, most notable both in numbers and in attendance and apparel.[3] It is indeed no lying word, it is with might and storm they gained the hill, so that [4]with the clash of arms they made at the approach of that company[4] they startled the hosts that had arrived there before them. A man, comely and noble, in advance of that band; most well-favoured to see of the men of the world, whether in shape or form or frame; [5]whether in hair or eyes or fearfulness; whether in voice or brightness or knowledge or adornment; whether in rank or wisdom or kindred;[5] whether in arms or apparel; whether in size or worth or beauty; whether in figure or valour or conduct." [6]"Who might that man be, O Fergus?" asked Ailill.[6] "Then it is surely no lying word," Fergus made answer: "A fitting saying is this, 'No fool 'mongst the naked'[a] is he who [W.5299.] comes thither. He is the foe of all others; he is a power irresistible; the storm-wave that drowneth, the glitter of ice is that well-favoured man. Fedilmid [1]son of[1] [2]Ilar Cetach of Cualnge,[2] from Ellonn in the north, is he yonder, [3]with trophies from other lands after dealing destruction to his enemies."[3] [1-1] YBL. 47b, 20. [2-2] YBL. 47b, 21-22. [3-3] YBL. 47a, 48-49. [4-4] YBL. 47a, 50-51. [5-5] YBL. 47b, 1-3. [6-6] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [a] A proverbial saying, the exact force of which we cannot determine. The reading of H. 1. 13 may be translated, 'No fool on a board (or shield ?),' that is, a clown or tumbler (?). [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [2-2] Reading with Stowe. [3-3] YBL. 47b, 9-10. "Still another battalion came thither to the same hill in Slane of Meath," macRoth proceeded. [4]"It is the array of an army for greatness.[4] Not often is a warrior seen more handsome than the warrior that is in the front rank of that company. Bushy, red-yellow hair he wore; [5]his countenance comely, ruddy, well-formed;[5] his face [6]slender below,[6] broad above; a deep-blue-grey, beaming eye, and it flashing and laughing in his head; a well-set, shapely man, tall, slender below and broad above; red, thin lips he had; teeth shining and pearl-like; [7]a clear, ringing voice;[7] a white-skinned body; [8]most beautiful of the forms of men;[8] [9]a purple cloak wrapped around him;[9] a brooch of gold in the mantle over his breast; a [10]hooded[10] tunic of royal silk with a red hem of red gold he wore next to his white skin; a bright, [11]curved[11] shield with [12]wonderful,[12] [13]many-coloured[13] devious figures of beasts in red gold thereon [14]and with hollows of silver he bore at his left side;[14] a gold-hilted, inlaid sword [15]hanging from his neck[15] at his left side; a long, grey-edged spear [W.5313.] along with a cutting bye-spear of attack, with thongs for throwing, with fastenings of silvered bronze, in his hand." [4-4] YBL. 47b, 26. [5-5] YBL. 47b, 29-30; Stowe and H. 1. 13. [6-6] Translating from YBL. 47b, 30, Stowe and H. 1. 13; LL. has, 'very beautiful.' [7-7] YBL. 47b, 32. [8-8] YBL. 47b, 34, Stowe and H. 1. 13. [9-9] Reading with Stowe and H. 1. 13. [10-10] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 47b, 40-41. [11-11] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 47b, 36. [12-12] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [13-13] YBL. 47b, 37. [14-14] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 47b, 37. [15-15] YBL. 47b, 40. "But who might that man be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "We know him full well," Fergus made answer. "He is half of a battle; he is the dividing[a] of combat; he is the wild rage of a watchhound, the man who is come thither; Rochad son of Fatheman, from Rigdonn in the north, is he yonder. [1]Your son-in-law is he[1]; [2]he wedded your daughter, namely Finnabair,[2] [3]without dower, and he brought neither marriage-gift nor bride-price to her."[3] [a] That is, 'a single-handed warrior,' translating from YBL. 47b, 43 and Stowe. [1-1] YBL. 47b. 45. [2-2] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 47b, 46. [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "Another battalion there came to the same hill in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "A stalwart, thick-thighed, [4]gross-calved[4] warrior at the head of that company; little but every limb of him as stout as a man. Verily it is no lying word, he is a man down to the ground," said he. "Brown, bushy hair upon his head; a round-faced, ruddy countenance [5]covered with scars[5] he had; a flashing, proud eye in his head; a splendid, dexterous man was there, in this wise: Accompanied by black-haired, black-eyed youths; with a red, flaming banner; [6]with terror and fearsomeness; with wonderful appearance, both of arms and apparel and raiment and countenance and splendour; with converse of heroes; with champions' deeds;[6] with wilful rashness, so that they seek to rout overwhelming numbers outside of equal combat, [7]with their wrath upon foes, with raids into hostile lands,[7] with the violence of assault upon them, without having aught assistance from [W.5327.] Conchobar. [1]It is no lying word, stiffly they made their march, that company to Slane of Meath."[1] [4-4] YBL. 47b, 48, Stowe and H. 1. 13. [5-5] YBL. 48a, 2, Stowe and H. 1. 13. [6-6] Stowe, and, similarly, YBL. 48a, 4-6, H. 1. 13. [7-7] YBL. 48a, 8-9, and, similarly, Stowe and H. 1. 13. [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and, similarly, YBL. 48a, 10-11. "But, who might he be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Aye then we know him," Fergus made answer. "A thirst for valour and prowess; a thirst for madness and fury; [2]a man of strength and of courage, of pride and of greatness of heart[2] is he that came thither. The welding of hosts and of arms; the point of battle and of slaughter of the men of the north of Erin, mine own real foster-brother himself, Fergus son of Letè, [3]the king[3] from Linè in the north, is the man yonder!" [2-2] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [3-3] YBL. 48a, 14. "Still another [4]great, fierce[4] company came to the same hill in Slane of Meath," macRoth continued. [5]"A battle-line with strange garments upon them,[5] steadfast, without equal. A [6]comely,[6] handsome, [7]matchless,[7] untiring warrior in the van of this company; [8]the flower of every form, whether as regards hair, or eye, or whiteness; whether of size, or followers or fitness.[8] Next to his skin a blue, narrow-bordered cloth, with strong, woven and twisted hoops of silvered bronze, with becoming, sharp-fashioned buttons of red gold on its slashes and breast-borders; a [9]green[9] mantle, pieced together with the choicest of all colours, [10]folded about him;[10] [11]a brooch of pale gold in the cloak over his breast;[11] five circles of gold, [LL.fo.99a.] that is, his shield, he bore on him; a tough, obdurate, straight-bladed sword for a hero's handling hung high on his left side. A straight, fluted spear, flaming red [12]and venomous[12] in his hand." "But, who might that be?" asked [W.5342.] Ailill of Fergus. "Truly, we know him well," Fergus made answer. [1]"Fiery is the manner of the warlike champion who has so come thither.[1] The choice flower of royal poets is he. He is the rush on the rath; he is the way to the goal; fierce is his valour, the man that came thither; Amargin son of the smith Ecetsalach ('the Grimy'), the noble poet from the Buas in the north, is he." [4-4] YBL. 48a, 16. [5-5] YBL. 48a, 17. [6-6] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 48a, 18. [7-7] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [8-8] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 48a, 19-20. [9-9] YBL. 48a, 21. [10-10] YBL. 48a, 21. [11-11] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and, similarly, YBL. 48a, 22. [12-12] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [1-1] YBL. 48a, 24-25. "There came yet another company there to the same hill in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "A fair, yellow-haired hero in the front rank of that band. Fair was the man, both in hair and eye and beard and eyebrows and apparel; a rimmed shield he bore; a gold-hilted, overlaid sword on his left side; in his hand, a five-pointed spear that reflected its glare over the entire host, [2]and a hollow lance in his hand. Hero-like was his coming!"[2] [2-2] YBL. 48b, 1-2. "But who was that man?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "In sooth, we know him well," Fergus made answer. "Cherished, in truth, is that warrior by the people, he that to us is come thither; cherished, the stout-blow-dealing beast; cherished, the bear of great deeds against foes, [3]with the violence of his attack.[3] Feradach Finn Fectnach ('the Fair and Righteous') from Nemed ('the Grove') in Sliab Fuait in the north, is the one that is come there." [3-3] Reading with Stowe and H. 1. 13. [4]"Another company there came to the mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "Three bold, high-spirited youths of noble countenance, [5]fiery and noble,[5] in the front rank of that company. Three cloaks of the one colour [6]they wore folded[6] upon them; [7]three close shorn, blae-yellow heads; three gold brooches over their arms; three sleeved tunics with embroidery of red gold, girded around them;[7] three shields wholly alike they bore; [8]three gold-hilted swords on their shoulders;[8] three five-pointed, [W.5360.] [1]broad and grey-green[1] spears in their [2]right[2] hands." "Who were those men there?" Ailill asked. "I know," Fergus answered; "the three princes of Roth, the three champions of Colph, the three of Midluachair, great in achievements, three seasoned warriors of the east of Erin, to wit, the three sons of Fiachna in quest of their bull are there, even Ros and Darè and Imchad, for theirs was the possession of the Brown Bull of Cualnge. Even had they come alone, they would have offered you battle in defence of their bull and their drove, even though before them the enemy should not be routed."[4] [4-4] Stowe, and, partly, YBL. 48b, 33-45. [5-5] YBL. 48b, 34. [6-6] YBL. 48b, 36. [7-7] YBL. 48b, 35-38. [8-8] YBL. 48b, 39. [1-1] YBL. 48b, 40. [2-2] YBL. 48b, 40. "Yet another company there came thither to the same hill in Slane of Meath," said macRoth. "Two [3]fair,[3] tender, young warriors at the head of that company, [5]and both wholly alike. Brown, curly hair on the head of one of them; fair, yellow hair on that of the other;[5] two green cloaks wrapped about them; two bright-silver brooches in the cloaks over their breasts; two tunics of smooth yellow silk next to their skin; bright-hilted swords on their belts; [6]two bright shields with devious figures of beasts in silver;[6] two five-pronged spears with windings of pure bright silver in their hands. Moreover, their years were nigh the same. [7]Together they lifted their feet and set them down again, for it was not their way for either of them to lift up his feet past the other."[7] [3-3] YBL. 48b, 20. [5-5] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [6-6] YBL. 48b, 22. [7-7] YBL. 48b, 23-25. "But, who might they be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Well do we know them," Fergus made answer. "Two single, strong-necked champions are they; two united flames; two united torches; two champions; two heroes; two ridge-poles of hosts[a]; two dragons; two thunderbolts; two destroyers (?); two boars; two bold ones; two mad ones; the two loved ones of Ulster around their king; [W.5378.] [1]two breach-makers of hundreds; two spencers; the two darlings of the north of Erin, namely[1] Fiacha and Fiachna have come thither, two sons of Conchobar son of Fachtna son of Ross Ruad son of Rudraige." [a] That is, 'two chiefs of hospitality.' [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "There came also another company to that same mound," said macRoth. "'Tis the engulphing of the sea for size; red-flaming fire [2]for splendour;[2] a legion for number; a rock for strength; annihilation for battle; thunder for might. A [3]rough-visaged,[3] wrathful, terrible, ill-favoured one at the head of that band, and he was big-nosed, large-eared, apple-eyed, [4]red-limbed,[4] [5]great-bellied, thick-lipped.[5] Coarse, grizzly hair he wore; a streaked-grey cloak about him; a skewer of iron in the cloak over his breast, so that it reached from one of his shoulders to the other; a rough, three-striped tunic next to his skin; a sword of seven charges of remelted iron he bore on his rump; a brown hillock he bore, namely his shield; a great, grey spear with thirty nails driven through its socket he had in his hand. But, what need to tell further? [6]All the host arose to meet him, and[6] the lines and battalions were thrown into disorder at the sight of that warrior, as he came surrounded by his company to the hill, in Slane of Meath [7]and the stream of battle-hosts with him."[7] "But who might that man be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Ah, but we know him well," Fergus made answer. "He is the half of the battle; he is the head of strife [8]of Ulster;[8] he is the head [9]of combat[9] in valour; [10]he is the storm-wave that drowneth;[10] he is the sea overbounds, the man that is come thither; the mighty Celtchar son of Uthechar, from Lethglass in the north, is the man there!" [2-2] YBL. 48a, 30. [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 48a, 33. [4-4] H. 1. 13 and YBL. 48a, 36. [5-5] YBL. 48a, 35. [6-6] YBL. 48a, 42. [7-7] H. 1. 13 and Stowe. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] YBL. 48a, 44. [10-10] YBL. 48a, 45-46. [W.5397.] "There came yet another company thither to the same hill in Slane of Meath," said macRoth; "one that is firm and furious; one that is ugly and fearful. A great-bellied, big-mouthed champion, [1]the size of whose mouth is the mouth of a horse,[1] in the van of that troop; with but one clear eye, and [2]half-brained,[2] long-handed. Brown, very curly hair he wore; a black, flowing mantle around him; a wheel-shaped brooch of tin in the mantle over his breast; a cunningly wrought tunic next to his skin; a great long sword under his waist; a well-tempered lance in his right hand; [LL.fo.99b.] a grey buckler he bore on him, that is, his shield." [1-1] YBL. 48b, 9-10. [2-2] YBL. has, 'broad-headed.' "Pray, who might that man be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Indeed, but we know him," Fergus made answer; "the wild, red-handed, [3]rending[3] lion; the fierce, fearful bear that overcometh valour. [4]He is the high doer of deeds, warlike, and fierce,[4] Errgè Echbel ('Horse-mouth'), from Bri Errgi ('Errgè's Mound') in the north, is the one there." [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [4-4] YBL. 48b, 16. "Yet another company there came to the same hill in Slane of Meath," said macRoth. "A large, noble, [5]fiery[5] man at the head of that company; foxy-red hair he had; huge, crimson-red eyes in his head; bulging as far as the bend of a warrior's finger is either of the very large crimson, kingly eyes he had; a many-coloured cloak about him; [6]a wheel-shaped brooch of silver therein;[6] a grey shield he bore [7]on his left arm;[7] a slender, blue lance above him; [8]a bright, hooded shirt tucked around him that reached down to his knees;[8] [9]a sword with silver hilt at his hip; a spear remarkable for keenness in his revengeful right hand;[9] a blood-smeared, becrimsoned company [W.5414.] around him; himself covered with wounds and blood in their midst." [5-5] YBL. 48b, 47. [6-6] YBL. 48b, 49-50. [7-7] YBL. 48b, 51. [8-8] YBL. 48b, 52-49a, 1. [9-9] YBL. 48b, 51-52. "Now who might he be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Well do we know him," Fergus made answer. "He is the bold, the ruthless, [1]the swift-moving eagle;[1] the eager lance; the goring beast; [2]the torrent[2] of the Colbtha; [3]the border-gate of the north of Erin;[3] the triumphant hero from Bailè; he is the shaft (?); [a] he is the bellowing hero from Bernas ('the Gap'); the furious bull; Menn son of Salcholga, from Rena ('the Waterways') of the Boyne [4]in the north; he hath come to take vengeance on ye for his bloody wounds and his sores which ye inflicted on him afore."[4] [1-1] Translating from Stowe and H. 1. 13. [2-2] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [3-3] YBL. 49a, 7. [a] A word has fallen out in the MS. [4-4] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "Yet another company came thither to the same mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. [5]"High spirited and worthy of one another.[5] A long-jawed, sallow-faced warrior, [6]huge, broad, and tall,[6] at the head of that company; black hair on his head; long limbs are his legs; a cloak of red curly wool about him; a brooch of white silver in the cloak over his breast; an [7]all-white,[7] linen shirt next to his skin; a gory-red shield with a boss [8]of gold[8] he bore; a sword with hilt of [9]white[9] silver on his left side; a sharp-cornered, gold-socketed spear he held over him; [10]a broad, grey, interwoven spear-head, fairly set on an ashen shaft, in his hand."[10] "But, who might he be?" Ailill asked of Fergus. "Truly, we know him," Fergus made answer. [11]"The man of three stout blows has come;[11] the man of three highways is he; the man of three roads, the man of three paths, the man of three [W.5431.] ways; the man of three victories, the man of three triumphs; [1]the man of three shouts; the man that breaks battles on foes in another province;[1] Fergna son of Findchoem, king of Burach, [2]from Coronn,[2] [3]royal hospitaller[3] of Ulster in the north, has come thither." [5-5] YBL. 49a, 11-12. [6-6] YBL. 49a, 12-13. [7-7] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [8-8] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [9-9] YBL. 49a, 17. [10-10] YBL. 49a, 18-20. [11-11] YBL. 49a, 20-21. [1-1] YBL. 49a, 23-24. [2-2] YBL. 49a, 25. [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. "Even another company came there to the same mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. [4]"Vaster than a division of three thousand was its appearance.[4] A large, [5]white-breasted,[5] well-favoured man in the van of that company. Like to Ailill yonder, with his pointed weapons, the restrainer, both in features and noble bearing and fairness, both in arms and apparel, in valour and bravery and fame and deeds. A blue shield [6]adapted for striking,[6] with boss of gold was [7]upon him.[7] A gold-hilted sword, [8]the pillar of a palace,[8] [9]along his shoulder[9] he bore on his left side; a five-pronged spear with gold, in his hand; [10]an exceeding fine cloak folded about him; a brooch of gold in the cloak over his breast; a tunic with red ornaments about him;[10] a golden crown on his head." [4-4] YBL. 49a, 28. [5-5] YBL. 49a, 29. [6-6] YBL. 49a, 34. [7-7] YBL. 49a, 35, Stowe and H. 1. 13. [8-8] YBL. 49a, 35. [9-9] YBL. 49a, 35. [10-10] YBL. 49a, 31-34. "But, who might that be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Ah, but we know him well," Fergus made answer. [11]"Truly, the sea over rivers is the one that is come thither; the wild rage of fire; not to be borne is his wrath against foes;[11] the root of all manhood; the assault of overwhelming power; the annihilation of men is he that is come thither. Furbaide Ferbenn son of Conchobar, from Sil in Mag Inis in the north, is there." [11-11] YBL. 49a, 36-38. [12]"Yet another company came to the mound in Slane [W.5444.] of Meath," continued macRoth. "A sharp, proud folk; a stately, royal company, with their apparel of many colours, as well white and blue and black and purple, so that to a king could be likened each spirited, chosen man in the noble, most wonderful troop. A feast for the eyes of a host, to gaze on their comeliness and their garb, as if it was going forth to some great surpassing assembly was each single man of that company. A trine of noble, distinguished men were in the front rank of that company. The first man of them with a dark-grey mantle fringed with gold thread about him; a brooch of gold in the mantle over his breast; a tunic of rare silk next to his skin; sandals of lamb's skin he wore. Not many men in the world are better-favoured than is he. A light-yellow head of hair he has; a bright-faced sword with ivory hilt and with coils of gold thread, in his right hand. He flings on high the tooth-hilted sword, so that it falls on the head of the middle man but it simply grazes it. He catches it up in the air again, so that it falls on the head of the other man, and the first man catches it in his hand, and it divided not a ringlet nor the skin of the head of either of them, and these two men did not perceive it. Two brown, rich-hued, bright-faced youths; reddish-grey mantles around them; white-silver brooches in their mantles over their breasts; a bright-hilted sword under their waists; purple sandals they wore; as sweet as strings of lutes when long sustained in players' hands was the voice and song of one of the men, so that enough of delight it was to the host to listen to the sound of his voice. Worthy of a king or of a prince was each man in that company as regards apparel and appearance; thou wouldst think, at the sight of them, they were all kings. Neither spears nor swords do they bear, but their servants bear them." [12-12] The following passage extending to page 337 is not found in LL. owing to the loss of a leaf. It is translated here from Stowe with the help of H. 1. 13 and Add. 18,748. "An over-proud body is that," quoth Ailill; "and who may they be, O Fergus?" he asked. "I know full well," [W.5466.] replied Fergus; "the poets of Ulster are they, with that Fercerdne the fair, much-gifted, whom thou sawest, even the learned master of Ulster, Fercerdne. 'Tis before him that the lakes and rivers sink when he upbraids, and they swell up high when he applauds. The two others thou sawest are Athirnè the chief poet, whom none can deny, and Ailill Miltenga ('Honey-tongue') son of Carba; and he is called Ailill 'Honey-tongue' for that as sweet as honey are the words of wisdom that fall from him." "There came yet another company to the mound in Slane of Meath," said macRoth. "A most terrible, dreadful sight to behold them. Blue and pied and green, purple, grey and white and black mantles; a kingly, white-grey, broad-eyed hero in the van of that company; wavy, grizzled hair upon him; a blue-purple cloak about him; a leaf-shaped brooch with ornamentation of gold in the cloak over his breast; a shield, stoutly braced with buckles of red copper; yellow sandals he wore; a large, strange-fashioned sword along his shoulder. Two curly-haired, white-faced youths close by him, wearing green cloaks and purple sandals and blue tunics, and with brown shields fitted with hooks, in their hands; white-hilted swords with silvered bronze ornaments they bore; a broad, somewhat light countenance had one of them. One of these cunning men raises his glance to heaven and scans the clouds of the sky and bears their answer to the marvellous troop that is with him. They all lift their eyes on high and watch the clouds and work their spells against the elements, so that the elements fall to warring with each other, till they discharge rain-clouds of fire downwards on the camp and entrenchments of the men of Erin." "Who might that be, O Fergus?" asked Ailill. "I know him," replied Fergus; "the foundation of knowledge; the master of the elements; the heaven-soaring one; he that blindeth the eyes; that depriveth his foe [W.5488.] of his strength through incantations of druids, namely Cathba the friendly druid, with the druids of Ulster about him. And to this end he makes augury when judging the elements, in order to ascertain therefrom how the great battle on Garech and Ilgarech will end. The two youths that are about him, they are his own two sons, to wit Imrinn son of Cathba and Genonn Gruadsolus ('Bright-cheek') son of Cathba, he that has the somewhat light countenance. Howbeit it will be hard for the men of Erin to withstand the spells of the druids." "Yet another company there came to the mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "A numberless, bright-faced band; unwonted garments they wore; a little bag at the waist of each man of them. A white-haired, bull-faced man in the front of that company; an eager, dragon-like eye in his head; a black, flowing robe with edges of purple around him; a many coloured, leaf-shaped brooch with gems, in the robe over his breast; a ribbed tunic of thread of gold around him; a short sword, keen and hard, with plates of gold, in his hand; they all came to show him their stabs and their sores, their wounds and their ills, and he told each one his sickness, and he gave each a cure, and what at last happened to each was even the ill he foretold him." "He is the power of leechcraft; he is the healing of wounds; he is the thwarting of death; he is the absence of every weakness, is that man," said Fergus, "namely Fingin the prophet mediciner, the physician of Conchobar, with the leeches of Ulster around him. It is he that knoweth the sickness of a man by the smoke of the house wherein he lies, or by hearing his groans. Their medicine bags are the sacks which thou sawest with them." "Another company came to the mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth. "A powerful, heavy, turbulent company; they caused uproar in their deeds of arms [W.5512.] for the accomplishment of brilliant feats;[a] they tore up the sad-sodded earth with the strength of their bitter rage, for the mighty princes of the proud province of Conchobar would not allow them to proceed to the great camp till all should be arrived. Two youths, swarthy and huge, in the front of that company; soft, playful eyes in their heads; about them, dark-grey tunics with silver pins set with stones; great, horn-topped swords with sheaths they bore; strong, stout shields they bore; hollow lances with rows of rivets, in their hands; glossy tunics next to their skin." "We know well that company," quoth Fergus; "the household of Conchobar and his vassals are those; their two leaders, Glasnè and Menn, two sons of Uthechar." [a] There is a gap here in both Stowe and H. 1. 13, and consequently the translation is uncertain. "There came yet another band to the mound in Slane of Meath," continued macRoth; "to wit, a band of a numerous body of henchmen. A black, hasty, swarthy, ..., man in the front rank of that band; seven chains around his neck; seven men at the end of each chain; these seven groups of men he drags along, so that their faces strike against the ground, and they revile him until he desists. Another terrible man is there, and the ponderous stone which powerful men could not raise, he sets on his palm and flings on high to the height a lark flies on a day of fine weather; a club of iron at his belt." "I know those men," quoth Fergus: "Triscoth the strong man of Conchobar's house; it is he that flings the stone on high. Ercenn son of the three stewards, he it is in the chains." "There came [1]another[1] large, stately company to the mound in Slane of Meath," macRoth went on. "Three, very curly-headed, white-faced youths in the van of that troop; three curly-red kirtles with brooches of silvered bronze was the apparel they wore about them; three [W.5535.] sparkling tunics of silk with golden seams tucked up about them; three studded shields with images of beasts for emblems in silvered bronze upon them and with bosses of red gold; three very keen swords with guards adorned with gold thread along their shoulders; broad-bladed javelin-heads on ashen shafts in their hands." "Who might that be there, O Fergus?" asked Ailill. "That I know," answered Fergus: "the three venoms of serpents; three cutting ones; three edges; three watchful ones; three points of combat; three pillars of the borders; three powerful companies of Ulster; three wardens of Erin; three triumph-singers of a mighty host are there," said Fergus, "the three sons of Conchobar, namely Glas and Manè and Conaing." [1-1] H. 1. 13. "Yet another company there came to the mound in Slane of Meath," said macRoth. "Stately, in beautiful colours, gleaming-bright they came to the mound. Not fewer than an army-division, as a glance might judge them. A bold, fair-cheeked youth in the van of that troop; light-yellow hair has he; though a bag of red-shelled nuts were spilled on his crown, not a nut of them would fall to the ground because of the twisted, curly locks of his head. Bluish-grey as harebell is one of his eyes; as black as beetle's back is the other; the one brow black, the other white; a forked, light-yellow beard has he; a magnificent red-brown mantle about him; a round brooch adorned with gems of precious stones fastening it in his mantle over his right shoulder; a striped tunic of silk with a golden hem next to his skin; an ever-bright shield he bore; a hard-smiting, threatening spear he held over him; a very keen sword with hilt-piece of red gold on his thigh." "Who might that be, O Fergus?" asked Ailill. "I know, then," replied Fergus: "it is battle against foes; it is the inciting of strife; it is the rage of a monster; it is the madness of a lion; it is the cunning of a snake; it is the rock of the [W.5558.] Badb; it is the sea over dikes; it is the shaking of rocks; it is the stirring of a wild host, namely Conall Cernach ('the Victorious'), the high-glorious son of Amargin, that is come hither."[12] [12-12] See note 12, page 331. "Yet another company came to the same mound in Slane of Meath," said macRoth. [1]"Very heroic and without number it is;[1] steady and dissimilar to the other companies. [2]Strange garments, unlike the other companies they wore. Famously have they come, both in arms and raiment and dress. A great host and fierce is that company.[2] Some wore red cloaks, others light-blue cloaks, [LL.fo.100a.] others dark blue cloaks, others green cloaks; white and yellow jerkins, beautiful and shiny, were over them. Behold the little, freckled, red-faced lad with purple, [3]fringed[3] mantle [4]folded about him[4] amongst them in their midst. [5]Fairest of the forms of men was his form.[5] A salmon-shaped brooch of gold in the mantle over his breast; a [6]bright, hooded[6] tunic of royal silk with red trimming of red gold next to his white skin; a bright shield with intricate figures of beasts in red gold upon it; a boss of gold on the shield; an edge of gold around it; a small, gold-hilted sword at his waist; a sharp, light lance cast its shadow over him." "But, who might he be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Truly, I know not," Fergus made answer, "that I left behind me in Ulster the like of that company nor of the little lad that is in it. But, one thing I think likely, that they are the men of Temair with [7]the well-favoured, wonderful, noble youth[7] Erc son of Fedilmid Nocruthach, [8]Conchobar's daughter,[8] and of Carbre Niafer. And if it be they, they are not more friends than their leaders here. Mayhap despite his father [W.5576.] has this lad come to succour his grandfather[a] at this time. And if these they be, a sea that drowneth shall this company be to ye, because it is through this company and the little lad that is in it that the battle shall this time be won against ye." "How through him?" asked Ailill. "Not hard to tell," Fergus responded: "for this little lad will know neither fear nor dread when slaying and slaughtering, until at length he comes into the midst of your battalion. Then shall be heard the whirr of Conchobar's sword like the yelp of a howling war-hound, or like a lion rushing among bears, [1]while the boy will be saved.[1] Then outside around the battle lines will Conchobar pile up huge walls of men's bodies [2]while he seeks the little lad.[2] In turn the princes of the men of Ulster, filled with love and devotion, will hew the enemy to pieces. Boldly will those powerful bulls, [3]the brave warriors of Ulster,[3] bellow as [4]their grandson,[4] the calf of their [5]cow,[5] is rescued in the battle on the morn of the morrow." [1-1] YBL. 49a, 41. [2-2] YBL. 49a, 42-44. [3-3] YBL. 49a, 50. [4-4] YBL. 49a, 50. [5-5] YBL. 49a, 46-47. [6-6] YBL. 49a, 52. [7-7] YBL. 49b, 4-5. [8-8] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and YBL. 49b, 6. [a] That is, Conchobar. [1-1] YBL. 49b, 17. [2-2] YBL. 49b, 18. [3-3] YBL. 49b, 19-20. [4-4] Stowe; that is, Erc son of Fedlimid, Conchobar's daughter.] [5-5] 'Of their heart,' YBL. 49b, 13. [6]"Then came there three huge (?), strong, well-braced, cunningly-built castles; three mighty, wheeled-towers like unto mountains, in this wise placed in position: Three royal castles with their thirty fully armed battalions, swarming with evil-tongued warriors and with thirty round-shielded heroes. A bright, beautiful, glistening shield-guard was on each of the three strong, stout battle-castles, with black, deadly armament of huge, high, blue, sharp pine-lances, such that one's bent knee would fit in the socket of each smooth, polished, even and hard spear-head that is on each huge, terrible, strange shaft of the terrible, awful, heavy, monstrous, indescribable armament [W.5598.] that I saw. A third part of each shaft was contained in the socket of the riveted, very long, securely placed spears; as high as [1]two[1] cubits was each citadel from the ground; as long as a warrior's spear was the height of each battle-hurdle; as sharp as charmed sword was the blade of each sickle on the sides and the flanks of each of [2]Badb's hurdles;[2] on each of the three stout and hard battle-hurdles they are to be found. Four dark, yet gleaming, well-adorned doors were on each battle-wheeled tower of the three royal wheeled-towers which were displayed and spread over the plain, with ivory door-posts, with lintels of cypress, with stately thresholds set of speckled, beautiful, strong pine, with their blue, glass door-leaves, with the glitter of crystal gems around each door-frame, so that its appearance from afar was like that of bright shining stars. As loud as the crash of a mighty wave at the great spring-tide, or of a huge heavy fleet upon the sea when toiling with the oars along the shore, was the similitude of the din and the clamour and the shouts and the tumult of the multitude and the to-and-fro of the thirty champions with their thirty heavy, iron clubs that they bear in their hands. And when the wheeled-towers advance massively and boldly against the line of heroes, these almost leave behind their arms at the fierce charge of the outland battalions. Then spring the three hundred champions with a shout of vengeful anger over the sides and over the front of the huge iron towers on wheels, so that this it was that checked the swift course and the great, hasty onslaught of the well-grounded, swiftly-moving, mighty chariots. The three stout, strong, battle-proof towers on wheels careered over rough places and over obstacles, over rocks and over heights. There coursed the thirty entire chargers, powerful, strong-backed, four abreast, the equal of ninety entire chargers, with [W.5622.] manes more than big, bold[a] and leaping, with sack-like, distended nostrils, high-headed, towering, over-powering, wonderful, so that they shook with their ramping the thick shell of the sad-sodded earth. They flecked the plain behind them with the foam dripping from the [1]swift[1] Danish steeds, from the bits and bridles, from the traces and tracks of the huge, maned, mighty[b] steeds, greater than can be told! They excited strife with their din of arms. They plunged headlong in their swift impatience. They aroused great terror at their accoutrement, at their armour, at their cunning, at their power, at their hugeness, at their destructive, terrible, hostile vengeance on the four grand, proud provinces of Erin. Amazing to me was their appearance because of the unwontedness of their trappings both in form and in garb. Three wonderful flights of birds with variety of appearance hovered over them. The first flock was all red, the second flock was white as swans, the third flock as black as ravens. Three red-mouthed, crow-shaped demons of battle sped around them as swift as hares, circling the three wheeled towers, and this is what they prophesied:-- "Sheaves[c] of battle, Might of quelling, Ill of war-deeds, Sating of foul ravens! Sodden ground, blood-red; Men low in dust; Sheaves[c] on sword-blades!" [6-6] The following passage, to page 342, is taken from Stowe and H. 1. 13; it is not found in LL. [1-1] H. 1. 13 and Add. 18,748. [2-2] That is, the movable towers. [a] Following the emendation _bairnech_, suggested by Windisch. [1-1] H. 1. 13. [b] Following the emendation _moradbal_, suggested by Windisch. [c] That is, the layers of the slain. "They wheeled about and brought them twelve[d] battle-pillars of thick, huge, iron pillars. As thick as the middle of a warrior's thigh, as tall as a champion's spear was each battle-fork of them, and they placed four forks under each [W.5646.] wheeled-tower. And their horses all ran from them and grazed upon the plain. And those forty[a] that had gone in advance descend clad in armour on the plain, and the garrison of the three battle-wheeled towers falls to attacking and harassing them, and is attacked and harassed in turn by those forty champions, so that there was heard the breaking of shields and the loud blows of hard iron poles on bucklers and battle-helmets, on coats of mail and on the iron plates of smooth, hard, blue-black, sharp-beaked, forkèd spears. And in the whole camp there is none but is on the watch for their fierceness and their wrath and their cunning and their strangeness, for their fury, their achievements and the excellence of their guard. And in the place where the forty champions are and the thousand armed men contending with them, not one of the thousand had a wounding stroke nor a blow on his opponent because of the might of their skill in arms and the excellence of their defence withal!" [d] That is, a battle-pillar or prop for each of the four wheels of each of the three towers. [a] This is the first mention of the 'forty.' "They are hard to contend with for all such as are unfamiliar with them, is the opinion held of them," spake Fergus, "but they are readily to be dealt with for such as do know them. These are three battle-wheeled towers," Fergus continued, "as I perceive from their account. Once I saw their like, namely when as prentice I accompanied Darè to Spain, so that we entered the service, of the king of Spain, Esorb to wit, and we afterwards made an expedition to Soda, that is, to the king of Africa, and we gave battle to the Carthaginians. There came their like upon us against the battle-line wherein we were, an hundred battalions and three score hundred in each battalion. One of the wheeled-towers won victory over us all, for we were not on our guard against them. And this is the way to defeat them: To mine a hole broader than the tower in the ground in the front thereof and cover over the pitfall; [W.5669.] and for the battle-line to be drawn up over against it and not to advance to attack, so that it is the towers that advance and fall into the pit. Lebarcham told me, as I passed over Taltiu, that the Ulstermen brought these towers from Germany, and the towers held a third of the exiles of Ulster among them as their only dwelling; and Cualgae ('a Heap of Spears') is their name, namely battle-penfolds. And herein have ye the sorest of all hardships, for although all the men of Erin are drawn up against them, it is the men of Erin that will be defeated. When they take it upon them to engage in battle they cannot hold out without a combat. Thus will they remain now till morning, every forty men of them contending with the others. And this is my advice to you," said Fergus: "permit me with my division to withstand them, and do ye betake yourselves to the woods and wilds of Erin, and the Ulstermen shall not find ye in any place, and I will proceed as an example, depending on my own men-of-war." "There are men here for ye!" cried Medb. "That will be a force for yourselves," Fergus made answer.[6] [6-6] See note 6, page 338. "Yet another company came there to the same height in Slane of Meath," said macRoth. "Not fewer than a division was in it; wild, dark-red, warrior-bands; [1]bright, clear, blue-purple men;[1] long, fair-yellow heads of hair they wore; handsome, shining countenances they had; clear, kingly eyes; magnificent vesture with beautiful mantles; conspicuous, golden brooches along their bright-coloured sleeves; silken, glossy tunics; blue, glassy spears; yellow shields for striking withal; gold-hilted, inlaid swords set on their thighs; loud-tongued care has beset them; sorrowful are they all, and mournful; sad are the royal leaders; orphaned the brilliant company without [W.5689.] their protecting lord who was wont to guard their lands." "But, who may they be?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Indeed, we know them well," Fergus made answer. "Furious lions are they; deeds of battle; the division from the field of Murthemne are they. [LL.fo.100b.] It is this that makes them cast-down, sorrowful, joyless [1]as they are,[1] because that their own divisional king himself is not amongst them, even Cuchulain, the restraining, victorious, red-sworded one that triumpheth in battle!" "Good reason, in truth, there is for them to be so," quoth Medb, "if they are dejected, mournful and joyless. There is no evil we have not worked on them. We have harassed and we have assailed them, [2]their territory and their land,[2] from Monday at the beginning of Samaintide till the beginning of Spring.[a] We have taken their women and their sons and their youths, their steeds and their troops of horses, their herds and their flocks and their droves. We have razed their hills after them till they are become lowlands, so that they are level with the plain. [3]We have brought their lords to bloody stabs and sores, to cuts and many wounds."[3] "Not so, O Medb!" cried Fergus. "There is naught thou canst boast over them. For thou didst them no hurt nor harm that yon fine company's leader avenged not on thee. For, every mound and every grave, every stone and every tomb that is from hence to the east of Erin is the mound and the grave, the stone and the tomb of some goodly warrior and goodly youth [4]of thy people,[4] fallen at the hands of the noble chieftain of yonder company. Happy he to whom they hold! Woe to him whom they oppose! It will be enough, e'en as much as half a battle, for the men of Erin, when these defend their lord in the battle on the morning of the morrow." [1-1] This seems out of place here; it is not found in Stowe nor in H. 1. 13. [1-1] Stowe. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [4-4] Stowe. [a] See notes a and b, page 182. "I heard a great uproar there, west of the battle or to [W.5711.] its east," said macRoth. "Say, what noise was it?" asked Ailill of Fergus. "Ah, but we know it well," Fergus made answer: "Cuchulain it was, straining to go, sick as he is, to battle, wearied at the length of his lying sick on Fert Sciach ('Thorn-mound') under hoops and clasps and ropes, and the men of Ulster do not permit him to go because of his sores and his wounds, inasmuch as he is not fit for battle and is powerless for combat after his encounter with Ferdiad." True indeed spake Fergus. Cuchulain it was, wearied at the length of his lying supine on Fert Sciach under hoops and clasps and ropes. [1]"But, there is one thing more to tell," said Fergus: "unless he be held back now, he will surely come to the battle!" Thus far the Companies of the Táin Bó Cúalnge[1] [2]mustered by Conchobar and the men of Ulster.[2] [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [2-2] H. 1. 13. Then came two women lampoonists from the camp and quarters of the men of Erin; [3]their names,[3] Fethan and Collach, to wit; and they stood with a feint of weeping and wailing over Cuchulain, telling him of the defeat of Ulster and the death of Conchobar and the fall of Fergus in combat. [3-3] Stowe. [4]Now Conchobar proceeded with his troops till he pitched camp nearby his companions. Conchobar asked a truce of Ailill till sunrise on the morrow, and Ailill granted it for the men of Erin and the exiles, and Conchobar granted it for the men of Ulster, and thereupon Conchobar's tents were pitched. In this way the ground was bare between them, and the Ulstermen came thither at sunset.[4] [4-4] YBL. 50a, 11. * * * * * [Page 345] XXVI [1]THE DECISION OF THE BATTLE[1] [W.5727.] It was on that night that the Morrigan,[a] daughter of Ernmas, came, and she was engaged in fomenting strife and sowing dissension between the two camps on either side, and she spoke these words [2]in the twilight between the two encampments[2]:-- "Ravens shall pick The necks of men! Blood shall gush [3]In combat wild![3] Skins shall be hacked; Crazed with spoils! [4]Men's sides pierced[4] In battle brave, Luibnech near! Warriors' storm; Mien of braves; Cruachan's men! [5]Upon them comes[5] Ruin complete! Lines shall be strewn Under foot; Their race die out! Then Ulster hail: To Erna[b] woe! To Ulster woe: [6]Then Erna hail![6] (This she said in Erna's ear.) Naught inglorious shall they do Who them await!" [1-1] YBL. 41a, 7. [a] The Irish goddess of war. [2-2] YBL. 50a, 18-19. [3-3] YBL. 50a, 19. [4-4] YBL. 50a, 21. [5-5] Translating from YBL. 50a, 23; LL. appears to be corrupt. [b] The Munstermen in Ailill's army. [6-6] YBL. 50a, 26. [1]Now Cuchulain was at Fedain Collna near by. Food was brought to him that night by the purveyors, and they were used to come to converse with him by day. He killed not any of the men of Erin to the left of Ferdiad's Ford.[1] [W.5756.] It was then that Cuchulain spake to Laeg son of Riangabair. "It would surely be unworthy of thee, O Laeg my master," said Cuchulain, "if between the two battle-lines there should happen anything to-day whereof thou hadst no tidings for me." "Whatsoever I shall learn, O Cucucuc," answered Laeg, "will be told thee. But, see yonder a little flock coming forth on the plain from the western camp and station now. [LL.fo.101a.] Behold a band of henchmen after them to check and to stay them. Behold also a company of henchmen emerging from the eastern camp and station to seize them." "Surely, that is so!" exclaimed Cuchulain. "That bodes a mighty combat and is the occasion of a grand battle. The little flock will come over the plain and the band of henchmen [2]from the east and the band of henchmen from the west[2] [3]will encounter one another betimes [4]about the little flock[4] on the great field of battle."[3] There, indeed, Cuchulain spoke true. And the little flock came forth upon the plain, and the companies of henchmen met in fray. "Who gives the battle now, O Laeg my master," Cuchulain asked. "The folk of Ulster," Laeg answered: "that is the same as the young warriors [5]of Ulster."[5] "But how fight they?" Cuchulain asked. "Like men they fight," Laeg answered. "There where are the heroes of valour from the east in battle, they force a breach through the ranks to the west. There where are the heroes from the west, they lay a breach through the ranks to the eastward." [6]"It would be a vow for them to fall in rescuing their herds," said Cuchulain; "and [W.5774.] now?" "The beardless youths are fighting now," said the charioteer. "Has a bright cloud come over the sun yet?" Cuchulain asked. "Nay, then," the charioteer answered.[6] "I grieve that I am not yet strong enough to be on my feet amongst them. For, were I able to be on my feet amongst them, my breach would be manifest there to-day like that of another!" "But, this avow, O Cucuc," said Laeg: "it is no reproach to thy valour; it is no disgrace to thine honour. Thou hast done bravely in time before now and thou wilt do bravely hereafter." [1-1] YBL. 50a, 28-31. [2-2] Stowe and H. 1. 13 [3-3] LL. seems to be defective here. [4-4] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [5-5] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [6-6] YBL. 50a, 39-43. [1]About the hour of sunrise: "It is a haughty folk that now fight the battle," quoth the charioteer; "but there are no kings amongst them, for sleep is still upon them."[1] "Come, O my master Laeg!" cried Cuchulain; "rouse the men of Ulster to the battle now, for it is time that they come." [1-1] YBL. 50a, 45-47. [2]Then, when the sun arose,[2] [3]Cuchulain saw the kings from the east putting their crowns on their heads and relieving their men-at-arms. Cuchulain told his charioteer to awaken the men of Ulster.[3] Laeg came and roused the men of Ulster to battle, and he uttered these words there:-- "Arise, ye kings of Macha, Valiant in your deeds! Imbel's kine the Badb doth covet: [4]Blood of hearts pours out! Goodly heroes' battle rushes in[4] With deeds of valour! Hearts all red with gore: Brows turned in flight. Dismay of battle riseth. For there was never found One like unto Cuchulain, Hound that Macha's[a] weal doth work! If it is for Cualnge's kine, Let them now arise!" [2-2] YBL. 50a, 48. [3-3] YBL. 50b, 18-23. [4-4] YBL 50b, 27-29. [a] Another name for Badb, the battle-fury. * * * * * [Page 348] XXVII [1]NOW OF THE BATTLE OF GARECH[1] [W.5804.] Thereupon arose all the men of Ulster at the one time in the train of their king, and at the word of their prince, and to prepare for the uprising in response to the call of Laeg son of Riangabair. And in this wise they arose: stark-naked all of them, only their weapons in their hands. Each one whose tent door looked to the east, through the tent westwards he went, for that he deemed it too long to go round about it. [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. "How arise the Ulstermen now to [2]the battle,[2] O Laeg my master?" asked Cuchulain. "Manfully they rise," said Laeg: "stark-naked all of them, [3]except for their arms only.[3] Every man whose tent-door faces the east, through the tent westwards he goes, for he deems it too long to go round about it." "I pledge my word!" cried Cuchulain: "at a fitting hour have they now in the early day risen around Conchobar!" [2-2] H. 1. 13, Add., Stowe, and YBL. 50b, 34. [3-3] YBL. 50b, 34. Then spake Conchobar to Sencha son of Ailill: "Come, O Sencha my master," said Conchobar; "stay the men of Ulster, and let them not go to the battle till there come the strength of a good omen and favourable portent, till the sun mounts to the roof-tree of heaven and sunshine fills the glens and lowlands and hills and watch-towers of Erin." [W.5822.] They tarried there till the strength of a good omen came and a favourable portent, till sunshine filled the glens and slopes and heights and watch-towers of the province. "Come, O Sencha my master," said Conchobar; "rouse the men of Ulster to battle, for it is time for them to proceed thither." Sencha roused the men of Ulster to battle, and he spake these words:-- "Now shall Macha's kings arise, Large-hearted folk! Weapons let them shatter: Let them fight the battle: Let them plow the earth in anger: Let them strike on shields! [1]Wearied all the hands;[1] Herds loud bellowing: Steadfast the resistance: Furious the retainers: Battle-lines shall prostrate fall 'Neath the feet of others! [2]Prince and lord prepare for battle.[2] Perish [LL.fo.101b.] shall their race! [3]Manful contest there shall be;[3] Their foes they lie in wait for And slay them all to-day! Deep draughts of blood they drink: Grief fills the hearts of queens: [4]Tender lamentations follow: Till soaked in blood shall be the grassy sod On which they're slain, To which they come.[4] If for Cualnge's kine it be, [5]Let Macha's kings![5] Let them arise!" [1-1] Reading with YBL 50a, 52. [2-2] From a conjectural emendation of YBL. 50a, 54. [3-3] YBL. 50b, 1. [4-4] YBL. 50b, 3. [5-5] YBL. 50b, 5. Not long was Laeg there when he witnessed something: the men of Erin all arising at one time, taking their shields and their spears and their swords and their helmets, and urging the men-of-war before them to the battle. The men of Erin, every single man of them, fell to smite and to batter, to cut and to hew, to slay and to destroy the others [W.5859.] for a long space and while. Thereupon Cuchulain asked of his charioteer, of Laeg son of Riangabair, at the time that a bright cloud came over the sun: [1]"Look for us![1] How fight [2]the Ulstermen[2] the battle now, O my master Laeg?" "Like men they fight," Laeg answered. "Should I mount my chariot, and En, Conall [3]Cernach's ('the Victorious')[3] charioteer, his chariot, and should we go in two chariots from one wing to the other on the points of the weapons, neither hoof nor wheel nor axle-tree nor chariot-pole would touch [4]the ground[4] for the denseness and closeness and firmness with which their arms are held in the hands of the men-at-arms at this time." [1-1] YBL. 51a, 45. [2-2] YBL. 51a, 45. [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13, Add. and YBL. 51a, 47. [4-4] Stowe and Add. "Alas, that I am not yet strong enough to be amongst them [5]now!"[5] cried Cuchulain; "for, were I able, my breach would be manifest there to-day like that of another," spake Cuchulain. "But this avow, O Cucuc," said Laeg: "'tis no reproach to thy valour; 'tis no disgrace to thine honour. Thou hast wrought great deeds before now and thou wilt work great deeds hereafter." [5-5] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. Then began the men of Erin to smite and to batter, to cut and to hew, to slay and to destroy the others for a long space and while. Next came to them the nine chariot-fighters of the champions from Norseland, and the three foot-warriors along with them, and no swifter were the nine chariot-men than the three men on foot. Then came to them also [6]on the ford of hosting[6] the governors of the men of Erin. And this was their sole office [7]with Medb[7] in the battle: to smite to death Conchobar if it were he that suffered defeat, and to rescue Ailill and Medb if it should be they were defeated. And these are the names of the governors: [6-6] YBL. 51b, 6. [7-7] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. * * * * * [Page 351] XXVIIa [1]HERE FOLLOWETH THE MUSTER OF THE MEN OF ERIN[1] [W.5883.] The three Conarè from Sliab Mis, the three Lussen from Luachair, the three Niadchorb from Tilach Loiscthe, the three Doelfer from Deill, the three Damaltach from Dergderc, the three Buder from the Buas, the three Baeth from Buagnige, the three Buageltach from Mag Breg, the three Suibnè from the Siuir, the three Eochaid from Anè, the three Malleth from Loch Erne, the three Abatruad from Loch Ri, the three macAmra from Ess Ruaid, the three Fiacha from Fid Nemain, the three Manè from Muresc, the three Muredach from Mairg, the three Loegaire from Lecc Derg, the three Broduinde from the Berba, the three Bruchnech, from Cenn Abrat, the three Descertach from Druim Fornacht, the three Finn from Finnabair, the three Conall from Collamair, the three Carbre from Cliu, the three Manè from Mossa, the three Scathglan from Scairè, the three Echtach from Ercè, the three Trenfer from Taitè, the three Fintan from Femen, [LL.fo.102a.] the three Rotanach from Rognè, the three Sarchorach from Suidè Lagen, the three Etarscel from Etarbane, the three Aed from Aidnè, the three Guarè from Gabal.[a] [1-1] YBL. 50b, 41. [a] YBL. 50b-51a has more than three times as many names as are enumerated here. Then said Medb to Fergus. "It were truly a thing to boast of for thee, [2]O Fergus," said she,[2] "werest thou [W.5943.] to use thy mightiness of battle [1]vehemently[1] without stint amongst us to-day, forasmuch as thou hast been driven out of thine own land and out of thine inheritance; amongst us hast thou found land and domain and inheritance, and much good-will hath been shown thee!" [2-2] Stowe, Add. and H. 1. 13. [1-1] Stowe, Add., and H. 1. 13. [2]Thereupon Fergus uttered this oath: "I swear," _et reliqua_, "jaws of men I would break from necks, necks of men with arms, arms of men with elbows, elbows of men with wrists, wrists of men with fists, fists of men with fingers, fingers of men with nails, nails[a] of men with scalps, scalps of men with trunks, trunks of men with thighs, thighs of men with knees, knees of men with calves, calves of men with feet, feet of men with toes, toes of men with nails,[2] so that [3]heads of men over shields[3] would be as numerous [4]with me[4] as bits of ice [5]on the miry stamping-ground[5] [6]between two dry fields[6] that a king's horses would course on. Every limb of the Ulstermen [7]would I send flying through the air[7] before and behind me this day [8]like the flitting of bees on a day of fine weather,[8] if only I had my sword!" [2-2] I have given preference to the reading of YBL. 51b, 18-30. [a] A word is omitted here in the MS., presumably for, 'nails.' [3-3] YBL. 51b, 19-20. [4-4] YBL. 51b, 19. [5-5] YBL. 51b, 20. [6-6] Adopting Windisch's emendation of the text. [7-7] YBL. 51b, 31. [8-8] YBL. 51b, 32. At that Ailill spoke to his own charioteer, Ferloga, to wit: "Fetch me a quick sword that wounds the skin, O gilla," said Ailill. [9]"A year to-day I put that sword in thy hand in the flower of its condition and bloom.[9] I give my word, if its bloom and condition be the worse at thy hands this day than the day I gave it [10]thee[10] on the hillside of Cruachan Ai [11]in the borders of Ulster,[11] though thou hadst the men of Erin and of Alba to rescue thee from me to-day, they would not all save thee!" [9-9] Stowe and YBL. 51b, 35. [10-10] Stowe. [11-11] YBL. 51b, 36. [W.5956.] Ferloga went his way, and he brought the sword with him in the flower of its safe-keeping, and fair flaming as a candle. And the sword was placed in Ailill's hand, and Ailill put it in Fergus' hand, and Fergus offered welcome to the sword:[a] "Welcome, O Calad Colg[b] ('Hardblade'), Letè's sword!" said he. "Weary, O champion of Badb! On whom shall I ply this weapon?" Fergus asked. "On the men-of-war around thee," Medb answered. "No one shall find indulgence nor quarter from thee to-day, unless some friend of thy bosom find it!" [a] Here follows in YBL. 51b, 38-57 a difficult passage in _rosc_ which I have omitted in the translation. Only a portion of it has been preserved in LL. and is here translated. [b] Reading with Stowe, II. 1. 13, Add. and YBL. 51b, 45. Whereupon, Fergus took his arms and went forward to the battle, [1]and he cleared a gap of an hundred in the battle-ranks with his sword in his two hands.[1] Ailill seized his weapons. Medb seized her weapons and entered the battle. [2]The Manè seized their arms and came to the battle. The macMagach seized their arms and came to the battle,[2] so that thrice the Ulstermen were routed before them from the north, till Cualgae[c] and sword drove them back again. [3]Or it was Cuchulain that drove the men of Erin before him, so that he brought them back into their former line in the battle.[3] [1-1] YBL. 52a, 6-8. [2-2] Stowe, and, similarly, Add. [c] The name of the wheeled towers described above, page 338 fl. [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. Conchobar heard that from his place in the line of battle, that the battle had gone against him thrice from the north. Then he addressed his bodyguard, even the inner circle of the Red Branch: "Hold ye here a while, ye men!" cried he; "even in the line [4]of battle[4] where I am, that I may go and learn by whom the battle has been thus forced against us thrice from the north." Then said his household: "We will hold out," said they, [5]"in the place wherein we are:[5] [W.5974.] for the sky is above us and the earth underneath and the sea round about us, [1]and[1] unless the heavens shall fall with their showers of stars on the man-face of the world, or unless the furrowed, blue-bordered ocean break o'er the tufted brow of the earth, or unless the ground yawns open, will we not move a thumb's breadth backward from here till the very day of doom and of everlasting life, till thou come back to us!" [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] YBL. 52a, 14. [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. Conchobar went his way to the place where he heard the battle had gone three times [LL.fo.102b.] against him from the north. [2]Then Conchobar made a rush at Fergus,[2] and he lifted shield against shield there, namely against Fergus mac Roig, even Ochain ('the Fair-ear')[a] of Conchobar with its four ears of gold and its four bracings of red gold. Therewith Fergus gave three stout blows of Badb on the Ochain of Conchobar, so that Conchobar's shield cried aloud on him [3]and the three chief waves of Erin gave answer, the Wave of Clidna, the Wave of Rudraige and the Wave of Tuag, to wit.[3] Whenever Conchobar's shield cried out, the shields of all the Ulstermen cried out. However great the strength and power with which Fergus smote Conchobar on the shield, so great also was the might and valour wherewith Conchobar held the shield, so that the ear of the shield did not even touch the ear of Conchobar. [2-2] YBL. 52a, 16-17. [a] The name of Conchobar's shield. [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. "Hearken, ye men [4]of Erin!"[4] cried Fergus; "who opposes a shield to me to-day on this day of battle when four of the five grand provinces of Erin come together on Garech and Ilgarech in the battle of the Cattle-raid of Cualnge?" "Why, then, a gilla that is younger and mightier [5]and comelier[5] than thyself is here," [6]Conchobar answered,[6] "and whose mother and father were [W.5995.] better! The man that hath driven thee out of thy borders, thy land and thine inheritance; the man that hath driven thee into the lairs of the deer and the wild hare and the foxes; the man that hath not granted thee to take the breadth [1]of thy foot[1] of thine own domain or land; the man that hath made thee dependent upon the bounty of a woman; the man that of a time disgraced thee by slaying the [2]three bright lights of the valour of the Gael,[2] the three sons of Usnech that were under thy safeguard [3]and protection;[3] the man that will repel thee this day in the presence of the men of Erin; Conchobar son of Fachtna Fathach son of Ross Ruad son of Rudraige, High King of Ulster and son of the High King of Erin; [4]and though any one should insult thee, there is no satisfaction nor reparation for thee, for thou art in the service of a woman!"[4] [4-4] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [5-5] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [6-6] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [1-1] Stowe and H. 1. 13. [2-2] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [4-4] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. "Truly hath this happened to me." Fergus responded. And Fergus placed his two hands on Calad Colg ('Hardblade'), and he heaved a blow with it backwards behind him, so that its point touched the ground, and he thought to strike his three fateful blows of Badb on the men of Ulster, so that their dead would be more in number than their living. Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar saw that and he rushed to [5]his foster-father, namely to[5] Fergus, and he closed his two [6]royal hands[6] over him [7]outside his armour.[7] [8]"Ungentle, not heedful is this, Fergus my master! Full of hate, not of friendship is this,[8] O Fergus my master! Let not the Ulstermen be slain and destroyed by thee through thy destructive blows, but take thou thought for their honour to-day on this day of battle!" [W.6013.] "Get thee away from me, boy! [1]Whom then should I strike?"[1] exclaimed Fergus; "for I will not remain alive unless I deliver my three fateful strokes of Badb on the men of Ulster this day, till their dead be more in number than their living." "Then turn thy hand slantwise," said Cormac Conlongas, "and slice off the hill-tops over the heads of the hosts [2]on every side[2] and this will be an appeasing of thine anger." "Tell Conchobar also to fall [3]back again[3] to his place in the battle," [4]said Fergus; "and I will no longer belabour the hosts."[4] [5]Cormac told this to Conchobar:[5] [6]"Go to the other side, O Conchobar," said Cormac to his father, "and this man will not visit his anger any longer here on the men of Ulster."[6] So Conchobar went to his place in the battle. [7]In this manner Fergus and Conchobar parted.[7] [5-5] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [6-6] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [7-7] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [8-8] Following Windisch's emendation of the text. The MSS. are corrupt here. [1-1] YBL. 52a, 35. [2-2] YBL. 52a, 36. [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [4-4] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [5-5] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [6-6] YBL. 52a, 39-41. [7-7] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [8]Fergus turned away. He slew a hundred warriors of Ulster in the first onslaught with the sword. He met Conall Cernach. "Too great is this rage," said Conall, "upon people and kindred because of the whim of a wanton." "What would ye have me do, ye warriors?" asked Fergus. "Smite the hills crosswise and the bushes around," Conall Cernach made answer.[8] [8-8] YBL. 52a, 41-47. Thus it was with that sword, which was the sword of Fergus: The sword of Fergus, the sword of Letè from Faery: Whenever he desired to strike with it, it became the size of a rainbow in the air. Thereupon Fergus turned his hand slantwise over the heads of the hosts, so that he smote the three tops of the three hills, so that they are still on the moor in sight of [9]the men of Erin.[9] And these are the three Maels ('the Balds') of Meath in that place, [1]which Fergus smote as a reproach and a rebuke to the men of Ulster.[1] [9-9] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [W.6027.] Now as regards Cuchulain. He heard the Ochain of Conchobar smitten by Fergus macRoig. "Come, O Laeg my master," cried Cuchulain: "who dares thus smite [2]with those strong blows, mighty and far-away,[2] the Ochain of Conchobar my master, and I alive?" [3]Then Laeg made answer, saying: "The choice of men, Fergus macRoig, the very bold, smites it:--[3] "Blood he sheds--increase of slaughter-- Splendid the hero, Fergus macRoig! Hidden had lain Fairyland's chariot-sword! Battle now hath reached the shield, Shield of my master Conchobar!" [2-2] YBL. 52a, 52. [3-3] YBL. 52b, 1-2. [4]"How far have the hosts advanced, O Laeg?" Cuchulain asked. "They have come to Garech," Laeg answered. "I give my word for that," Cuchulain cried; "they will not come as far as Ilgarech, if I catch up with them! [4]Quickly unloose the bands, gilla!" cried Cuchulain. [5]"Blood covers men. Feats of swords shall be done. Men shall be spent therefrom!"[5] [4-4] Stowe. [5-5] YBL. 52b, 7-8. [6]Since Cuchulain's going into battle had been prevented, his twisting fit came upon him, and seven and twenty skin tunics were given to him that used to be about him under strings and cords when going into battle.[6] [LL.fo.103a.] Then Cuchulain gave a mighty spring, so that the bindings of his wounds flew from him to Mag Tuag ('the Plain of the Bows') in Connacht. His bracings went from him to Bacca ('the Props') in Corcomruad [7]in the district of Boirenn,[7] [8]His supports sprang from him to [9]Rath[9] Cinn Bara ('the Rath of Spithead') in Ulster, and likewise his pins flew from him to Rath Clo ('the Rath of the Nails') in the land of the tribe of Conall.[8] The dry wisps that were stuffed in his wounds rose to the roof [W.6040.] of the air and the sky as highest larks fly on a day of sunshine when there is no wind. Thereupon, his bloody wounds got the better of him, so that the ditches and furrows of the earth were full of streams of blood and torrents of gore. [6-6] YBL. 52b, 17-20. [7-7] Stowe and Add. [8-8] Stowe. [9-9] Add. and H. 1. 13. [1]Some of the narrators aver that it was the strength of the warrior and champion that hurled these things [2]to the aforementioned places;[2] but it was not that, but his powerful friends, the fairy-folk, that brought them thither, to the end to make famous his history, so that from them these places are named.[1] [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [2-2] Add. This was the first exploit of valour that Cuchulain performed on rising [3]out of his weakness:[3] The two women lampoonists that made a feint of weeping and wailing [4]over his head,[4] Fethan and Collach to wit, he smote each of them against the head of the other, so that he[a] was red with their blood and grey with their brains. [5]These women had come from Medb to raise a pretended lamentation over him, to the end that his bloody wounds might burst forth on him, and to tell him that the men of Ulster had met with defeat and that Fergus had fallen in meeting the battle.[5] His arms had not been left near him, except his chariot only. And he took his chariot on his back [6]with its frame and its two axle-trees,[6] and he set out to attack the men of Erin, and he smote them with the chariot, until he reached the place where Fergus macRoig was. "Turn hither, O Fergus my master!" he cried. Fergus did not answer, for he heard not. He spoke again, "Turn hither, [7]turn hither,[7] O Fergus my master!" he cried; "and if thou turn not, [8]I swear to god what the Ulstermen swear,[8] I [W.6052.] will grind thee as a mill grinds fresh grain; I will wash thee as a cup is washed in a tub; I will bind thee as the woodbine binds the trees; I will pounce on thee as hawk pounces on fledglings; [1]I will go over thee as its tail goes over a cat;[1] [2]I will pierce thee as a tool bores through a tree-trunk; I will pound thee as a fish is pounded on the sand!"[2] "Truly this is my lot!" spake Fergus. "Who [3]of the men of Erin[3] dares to address these stiff, vengeful words to me, where now the four grand provinces of Erin are met on Garech and Ilgarech in the battle of the Raid for the Kine of Cualnge?" "Thy fosterling is before thee," he replied, "and fosterling of the men of Ulster and of Conchobar as well, Cuchulain son of Sualtaim [4]and sister's son to Conchobar," replied Cuchalain.[4] "And thou didst promise to flee before me what time I should be wounded, in pools of gore and riddled in the battle of the Táin.[a] For, [5]when thou hadst not thy sword with thee,[5] I did flee before thee in thine own combat on the Táin; [6]and do thou avoid me," said he. "Even that did I promise," Fergus answered. "Away with thee, then!" cried Cuchulain. "'Tis well," replied Fergus; "thou didst avoid me; now thou art pierced with wounds."[6] [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [4-4] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [a] 'The ground,' Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add.; 'so that each of them was grey with the brains of the other,' YBL. 52b, 13-14. [5-5] YBL. 52b, 14-17. [6-6] YBL. 52b, 21. [7-7] H. 1. 13 and Add. [8-8] YBL. 52b, 24. [1-1] YBL. 52b, 24-25. [2-2] H. 1. 13 and Add. [3-3] YBL. 52b, 27. [4-4] YBL. 52b, 28. [a] See page 207. [5-5] H. 1. 13 and Add. [6-6] YBL. 52b, 29-33. Fergus gave ear to that word of Cuchulain, and he turned and made his three great strides of a hero [7]back from Cuchulain and turned in flight from him.[7] And as he turned [8]with his company of three thousand warriors and the Leinstermen following after Fergus--for it is under Fergus' warrant they had come[8]--[9]and the men of Munster,[9] there turned all the men of Erin. [7-7] H. 1. 13 and Add. [8-8] H. 1. 13 and Add. [9-9] YBL. 52b, 33. [W.6065.] [1]Then[1] the men of Erin broke their ranks westwards over the hill. The battle raged around the men of Connacht, [2]around Ailill and his division and around Medb with hers and around the Manè with theirs and the mac Magach with theirs.[2] At midday Cuchulain came to the battle. At the time of sunset at the ninth hour [3]as the sun entered the tresses of the wood,[3] [4]when man and tree were no more to be known apart, Medb and[4] the last company of the men of Connacht fled in rout westwards over the hill. [1-1] H. 1. 13 and Add. [2-2] H. 1. 13 and Add. [3-3] YBL. 52b, 36. [4-4] H. 1. 13 and Add. At that time there did not remain in Cuchulain's hand of the chariot but a handful of its spokes around the wheel, and a handbreadth of its poles around the shell, with the slaying and slaughtering of the four grand provinces of Erin during all that time. Then Medb betook her to a shield-shelter in the rear of the men of Erin. Thereafter Medb sent off the Brown Bull of Cualnge along with fifty of his heifers and eight of her runners with him around to Cruachan, to the end that whoso might and whoso might not escape, the Brown Bull of Cualnge should get away safely, even as she had promised. Then it was that the issue of blood came upon Medb, [5]and she said: "Do thou, Fergus, undertake[5] a shield-shelter in the rear of the men of Erin till I let my water flow from me." "By my troth," replied Fergus, "'tis an ill hour for thee to be taken so." "Howbeit there is no help for me," Medb answered; "for I shall not live if I do not void water!" Fergus accordingly came and raised a shield-shelter in the rear of the men of Erin. Medb voided her water, so that it made three large dikes, so that a mill[a] could find room in each dike. Hence the place is known as Fual Medbha ('Medb's Water'). [5-5] H. 1. 13 and Add. [a] It is not uncommon in folk-tales that lakes, rivers, etc. arose from the micturition of a giant or fairy. Reading with Add. [W.6085.] Cuchulain came upon her as she was thus engaged, [1]on his way to the battle,[1] and he did not attack her. He would not strike her a blow from behind. [2]He spared her then because it was not his wont to slay women.[2] [3]"Spare me!" cried Medb. "If I should slay thee, it were just for me," Cuchulain answered.[3] [4]"Arise from hence," said he; "for I deem it no honour to wound thee from behind with my weapons."[4] "I crave a boon of thee this day, O Cuchulain," spake Medb. "What boon cravest thou [5]of me?"[5] asked Cuchulain. "That this host be under thine honour and thy protection till they pass westwards over Ath Mor ('the Great Ford')." [LL.fo.103b.] "Yea, I promise that," said Cuchulain. [6]Then[6] went Cuchulain around the men of Erin, and he undertook a shield-defence on one side of them, in order to protect the men of Erin. On the other side went the governors of the men of Erin. Medb went to her own place and assumed a shield-defence in the rear of the men of Erin, and in this manner they convoyed the men of Erin over Ath Mor westwards. [1-1] YBL. 52b, 41. [2-2] H. 1. 13 and Add. [3-3] YBL. 52b, 41-42. [4-4] H. 1. 13 and Add. [5-5] H. 1. 13. [6-6] H. 1. 13. and Add. [7]Then Laeg [8]son of Riangabair[8] brought Cuchulain's sword unto him, [9]the 'Hard-headed Steeling' to wit,[9] and Cuchulain took the sword in his hand.[7] Then he [10]stood still and[10] gave a blow to the three bald-topped hills of Ath Luain over against the three Maela ('the Bald Tops') of Meath, so that he struck their three heads off them. [11]And they are in the bog as a witness ever since. Hence these are the Maolain ('the Flat Tops') of Ath Luain. Cuchulain cut them off as a reproach and affront to the men of Connacht, in order that every time men should speak of Meath's three Bald Tops, these in the west should be the answer the 'Three Flat Tops of Ath Luain.'[11] [7-7] H. 1. 13 and Add. [8-8] Add. [9-9] YBL. 52b, 43. [10-10] YBL. 52b. 45. [11-11] H. 1. 13 and Add. [W.6099.] Then [1]when the battle had been lost,[1] Fergus [2]began to view[2] the host as it went westwards of Ath Mor. "It was thus indeed it behoved this day to prove, for following in the lead of a woman," [3]said Fergus.[3] "Faults and feuds have met here to-day," [4]said Medb[4] to Fergus. "Betrayed and sold is this host to-day," [5]Fergus answered.[5] "And even as a brood-mare leads her foals into a land unknown, without a head to advise or give counsel before them, such is the plight of this host to-day [6]in the train of a woman that hath ill counselled them."[6] [1-1] YBL. 52b, 47-48. [2-2] Reading with H. 1. 13. [3-3] H. 1. 13 and Add. [4-4] YBL. 52b, 48. [5-5] H. 1. 13 and Add. [6-6] YBL. 52b, 52. [7]Then Cuchulain turned to where Conchobar was with the nobles of Ulster before him. Conchobar bewailed and lamented Cuchulain, and then he uttered this lay:-- "How is this, O Cualnge's Hound, Hero of the Red Branch, thou: Great woe, champion, hast thou borne, Battling in thy land's defence! "Every morn a hundred slain, Every eve a hundred more, While the host purveyed thy fare, Feeding thee with cooling food! "Five-score heroes of the hosts, These I reckon are in graves. While their women--fair their hue-- Spend the night bewailing them!"[7] [7-7] H. 1. 13. * * * * * [Page 363] XXVIII [1]THE BATTLE OF THE BULLS[1] [W.6121.] As regards Medb, it is related here: [2]She suffered not the hosts to disperse forthwith,[2] but she gathered the men of Erin and led them forth to Cruachan to behold the battle of the bulls [3]and in what manner they would part from one another. For during the while the battle was being fought, the Brown Bull of Cualnge with fifty heifers in his company had been brought to Cruachan.[3] [1-1] YBL. 41a, 8. [2-2] H. 1. 13. [3-3] H. 1. 13 and Add. As regards the Brown Bull of Cualnge, it is now recounted in this place: When he saw the beautiful, strange land, he sent forth his three bellowing calls aloud. And Finnbennach Ai ('the Whitehorned of Ai') heard him. Now no male beast durst [4]send forth[4] a low that was louder than a moo in compare with him within the four fords of all Ai, Ath Moga and Ath Coltna, Ath Slissen and Ath Bercha. And [5]the Whitehorned[5] lifted his head with fierce anger [6]at the bellowing of the Brown of Cualnge,[6] and he hastened to Cruachan to look for the Brown Bull of Cualnge. [4-4] H. 1. 13 and Add. [5-5] H. 1. 13 and Add. [6-6] H. 1. 13 and Add. It was then the men of Erin debated who would be [7]fitted[7] to witness [8]the fight[8] of the bulls. They all agreed that it should be Bricriu son of Carbad [9]that were fitted for that office.[9] For, a year before this tale of the Cualnge Cattle-raid, Bricriu had gone from the one province into the other to make a request of Fergus. And Fergus had retained [W.6134.] him with him waiting for his treasures and goods. And a quarrel arose between him and Fergus at a game of chess.[a] And he spake evil words to Fergus. Fergus smote him with his fist and with the chess-man that was in his hand, so that he drave the chess-man into his head and broke a bone in his head. Whilst the men of Erin were on the foray of the Táin, all that time Bricriu was being cured at Cruachan. And the day they returned from the expedition was the day Bricriu rose. [1]He came with the rest to witness the battle of the bulls.[1] [2]And this is why they selected Bricriu,[2] for that Bricriu was no fairer to his friend than to his foe. [3]"Come, ye men of Erin!" cried Bricriu; "permit me to judge the fight of the bulls,[3] [4]for it is I shall most truly recount their tale and their deeds afterwards."[4] And he was brought [5]before the men of Erin[5] to a gap whence to view the bulls. [7-7] H. 1. 13 and Add. [8-8] H. 1. 13 and Add. [9-9] H. 1. 13 and Add. [a] The story is told in 'The Adventures of Nera,' published in the _Revue Celtique_, t. x, p. 227. [1-1] YBL. 53a, 4-5. [2-2] Stowe. [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [4-4] H. 1. 13 and Add. [5-5] H. 1. 13. [6]So they drove the Brown Bull the morning of the fight till he met the Whitehorned at Tarbga in the plain of Ai: or Tarbguba ('Bull-groan'), or Tarbgleo ('Bull-fight'); Roi Dedond was the first name of that hill. Every one that had lived through the battle cared for naught else than to see the combat of the two bulls.[6] [6-6] YBL. 52b, 52-53a, 3. Each of the bulls sighted the other and there was a pawing and digging up of the ground in their frenzy there, and they tossed the earth over them. They threw up the earth over their withers and shoulders, and their eyes blazed red [LL.fo.104a.] in their heads like firm balls of fire, [7]and their sides bent like mighty boars on a hill.[7] Their cheeks and their nostrils swelled like smith's bellows in a forge. And each of them gave a resounding, deadly blow to the other. Each of them began to hole and to gore, to endeavour to slaughter [W.6151.] and demolish the other. Then the Whitehorned of Ai visited his wrath upon the Brown Bull of Cualnge for the evil of his ways and his doings, and he drave a horn into his side and visited his angry rage upon him. Then they directed their headlong course to where Bricriu was, so that the hoofs of the bulls drove him a man's cubit deep into the ground after his destruction. Hence, this is the Tragical Death of Bricriu [1]son of Carbad.[1] [7-7] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar saw that, [2]and the force of affection arose in him,[2] and he laid hold of a spearshaft that filled his grasp, and gave three blows to the Brown Bull of Cualnge from ear to tail, [3]so that it broke on his thick hide from ear to rump.[3] "No wonderful, lasting treasure was this precious prize for us," said Cormac, "that cannot defend himself against a stirk of his own age!" The Brown Bull of Cualnge heard this--for he had human understanding[a]--and he turned upon the Whitehorned. [4]Thereupon the Brown of Cualnge became infuriated, and he described a very circle of rage around the Whitehorned, and he rushed at him, so that he broke his lower leg with the shock.[4] And thereafter they continued to strike at each other for a long while and great space of time, [5]and so long as the day lasted they watched the contest of the bulls[5] till night fell on the men of Erin. And when night had fallen, all that the men of Erin could hear was the bellowing and roaring. That night the bulls coursed over [6]the greater part of[6] all Erin. [7]For every spot in Erin wherein is a 'Bulls' Ditch,' or a 'Bulls' Gap,' or a 'Bulls' Fen,' or a 'Bulls' Loch,' or a 'Bulls' Rath,' [8]or a 'Bulls' Back,'[8] it is from them[7] [9]those places are named.[9] [2-2] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [a] See note [d], page 28, _supra_. [4-4] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [5-5] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [6-6] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [7-7] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [8-8] H. 1. 13 and Add. [9-9] Add. * * * * * [Page 366] XXIX [1]ACCOUNT OF THE BROWN BULL OF CUALNGE[1] [2]A journey of a day and a night the Brown Bull carried the remains of the Whitehorned till he came to the loch that is by Cruachan. And he came thereout with the loin and the shoulder-blade and the liver of the other on his horns.[2] [W.6168.] It was not long before the men of Erin, as they were there [3]in the company of Ailill and Medb[3] early on the morrow, saw coming over Cruachan from the west the Brown Bull of Cualnge with the Whitehorned of Ai in torn fragments hanging about his ears and horns. The men of Erin arose, and they knew not which of the bulls it was. "Come, ye men!" cried Fergus; "leave him alone if it be the Whitehorned that is there; and if it be the Brown of Cualnge, leave him his trophy with him!" [1-1] YBL. 41a, 8. [2-2] YBL. 53a, 13-16. [3-3] H. 1. 13 and Add. [4]Then it was that the [5]seven[5] Manè arose to take vengeance on the Brown Bull of Cualnge for his violence and his valour. "Whither go yonder men?" asked Fergus. "They go to kill the Brown of Cualnge," [6]said all,[6] "because of his evil deeds."[4] "I pledge my word," [7]shouted Fergus:[7] "what has already been done in regard to the bulls is a small thing in compare with that which will [W.6179.] now take place, [1]unless with his spoils and victory ye let the Brown of Cualnge go from you into his own land."[1] [4-4] Stowe and Add. [5-5] Add. [6-6] H. 1. 13 and Add. [7-7] H. 1. 13, Stowe and Add. [1-1] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [2]Then the Brown Bull of Cualnge gave forth the three chiefest bellowings of his throat in boast of his triumph, and fear of Fergus held back the men of Erin from attacking the Brown Bull of Cualnge.[2] [2-2] H. 1. 13. [3]Then[3] went the Brown Bull of Cualnge [4]to the west of Cruachan.[4] He turned his right[a] side towards Cruachan, and he left there a heap of the liver [5]of the Whitehorned,[5] so that thence is [6]named[6] Cruachan Ai ('Liver-reeks'). [3-3] H. 1. 13 and Add. [4-4] H. 1. 13 and Add. [a] As a sign of friendliness. [5-5] H. 1. 13 and Add. [6-6] H. 1. 13 and Add. [7]Next he [8]came to his own land and[8] reached the river Finnglas ('Whitewater'), and, [9]on coming,[9] he drank a draught from the river, and, so long as he drank the draught, he let not one drop of the river flow by him. Then he raised his head, and the shoulder-blades of the Whitehorned fell from him in that place. Hence, Sruthair Finnlethe ('Stream of the White Shoulder-blade') is the name given to it.[7] [7-7] Stowe. [8-8] YBL. 53a, 18. [9-9] YBL. 53a, 18. He pursued his way [10]to the river Shannon,[10] to the brink of Ath Mor ('the Great Ford'), [11]and he drank a draught from it, and, as long as he drank the draught, he let not one drop of the river flow past him. Then he raised his head, so that the two haunches of the Whitehorned fell from him there;[11] and he left behind the loin of the Whitehorned in that place, so that thence cometh Athlone ('Loinford'). He continued eastwards into the land of Meath to Ath Truim. [12]He sent forth his roar at Iraird Cuillinn; he was heard over the entire province. And he drank in Tromma.[12] [13]As long as he drank the draught, he let not one drop of the river flow past him.[13] And he left behind [W.6192.] there the liver of the Whitehorned. [1]Some [2]learned men[2] say, it is from the liver of the Whitehorned which fell from the Brown of Cualnge, that Ath Truim ('Liverford') is called.[1] [10-10] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [11-11] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [12-12] YBL. 53a, 22. [13-13] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [1-1] H. 1. 13 and Add. [2-2] Add. He raised his head haughtily and shook the remains of the Whitehorned from him over Erin. He sent its hind leg away from him to Port Largè ('Port of the Hind Leg'). He sent its ribs from him to Dublin, which is called Ath Cliath ('Ford of the Ribs' or 'of the Hurdles'). He turned his face northwards then, [3]and went on thence to the summit of Sliab Breg, and he saw the peaks[3] and knew the land of Cualnge, [4]and a great agitation came over him at the sight of his own land and country,[4] and he went his way towards it. In that place were women and youths and children lamenting the Brown Bull of Cualnge. They saw the Brown of Cualnge's forehead approaching them. "The forehead of a bull cometh towards us!" they shouted. Hence is Taul Tairb ('Bull's Brow') ever since. [5]Then he went on the road of Midluachar to Cuib, where he was wont to be with the yeld cow of Darè, and he tore up the earth there. Hence cometh Gort Buraig ('Field of the Trench').[5] [3-3] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [4-4] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [5-5] YBL. 53a, 26-28. [LL.fo.104b.] Then turned the Brown of Cualnge on the women and youths and children of the land of Cualnge, and [6]with the greatness of his fury and rage[6] he effected a great slaughter [7]amongst them.[7] He turned his back to the hill then and his heart broke in his breast, even as a nut breaks, [8]and he belched out his heart like a black stone of dark blood.[8] [9]He went then and died between Ulster and Ui Echach at Druim Tairb. Druim Tairb ('Bull's Back') is the name of that place.[9] [6-6] H. 1. 13 and Add. [7-7] Translating from Stowe. [8-8] Stowe, H. 1. 13 and Add. [9-9] YBL. 53a, 28-29. [1]Such, then, is the account of the Brown Bull of Cualnge, and the end of the Táin by Medb of Cruachan daughter of Eocho Fedlech, and by Ailill son of Maga, and by all the men of Ulster up to this point.[1] [2]Ailill and Medb made peace with the men of Ulster and with Cuchulain. For seven years there was no killing of men amongst them in Erin. Finnabair remained with Cuchulain, and the Connachtmen went to their own land, and the men of Ulster returned to Emain Macha with their great triumph. _Finit. Amen._[2] [1-1] Translating from H. 1. 13 and Add. [2-2] YBL. 53a, 29-33. * * * * * [W.6206.] A blessing be upon all such as shall faithfully keep the Táin in memory as it stands here and shall not add any other form to it.[a] [a] With this the Irish text concludes: What follows is in Latin. * * * * * I, however, who have copied this history, or more truly legend, give no credence to various incidents narrated in it. For, some things herein are the feats of jugglery of demons, sundry others poetic figments, a few are probable, others improbable, and even more invented for the delectation of fools. * * * * * [Page 371] INDEX AND PRONUNCIATION OF THE MORE FREQUENTLY OCCURRING PLACE AND PERSONAL-NAMES. It will simplify matters for the English reader if the following points respecting the pronunciation of proper names in medieval Irish, are borne in mind: Each _simple_ word is accented on the first syllable. Pronounce: á (long), as in _aught_; a (short), as in _hot_. c with slender vowels (e, i), as in _king_; never as _s_. c with broad vowels (a, o, u), as in _car_; never as _s_. ch with slender vowels (e, i), as in German _Ich_; never as in _church_. ch with broad vowels (a, o, u), as in German _Buch_; never as in _church_. d with slender vowels (e, i), as in French _dieu_. d with broad vowels (a, o, u), as in _thy_. é (long), as in _ale_; e (short), as in _bet_. g with slender vowels (e, i), as in _give_; never as _j_. g with broad vowels (a, o, u), as in _go_; never as _j_. gh with slender vowels (e, i) is slender ch _voiced_. gh with broad vowels (a, o, u) is broad ch _voiced_. í (long), as in _feel_; i (short), as in _it_. mh and bh intervocalic with slender vowels, as _v_. mh and bh intervocalic with broad vowels, as _w_. ó (long), as in _note_; o (short), as in _done_. s with slender vowels (e, i), as in _shine_; never as _z_. s with broad vowels (a, o, u), as _s_. t with slender vowels (e, i), as in _tin_. t with broad vowels (a, o, u), as in _threw_. th, like _h_. ú (long), as in _pool_; u (short), as in _full_. The remaining consonants are pronounced almost as in English. Aed: to rime with _Day_ Aed Ernmas: the father of the Morrigan Ai: _see_ Mag Ai Aidne: a district comprising the barony of Kiltartan, in the south-west of the County Galway Aifè: one of the three women-teachers of Cuchulain and Ferdiad (pronounced _Eefe_) Ailè: north-east of Baile, on Medb's march from Cruachan into Ulster Ailill: king-consort of Queen Medb, dwelling in Cruachan Ai (pronounced _Ayeleel_) Ailill Find Miltenga: one of the chief heroes of Ulster Ailill macMailchlo: father of Sencha Ainè: _see_ Cnoc Ainè Airnè: north-east of Assè Alba: Scotland Amargin Iarngiunnach: a leading Ulster hero; father of Conall Cernach and brother of Iliach (pronounced _Avergin_) Ane: a district in which is Knockaney in the County Limerick Ardachad: north of Druim Liccè Ard Ciannachta: a place in the barony of Ferrard, in the County Louth Ard Cuillenn: in Ulster, east of Moin Coltna Ard Macha: Armagh Assail: a place in Meath Assè: north of Finnabair (Fennor), on Medb's march out of Connacht into Ulster Ath: 'a ford' (pronounced _Ah_) Ath Aladh Ind: a ford in the Plain of Murthemne Ath Berchna: in Connacht, north-west of Croohan, near Bellanagare; it may be for Ath Bercha, in East Roscommon, and on or near the Shannon Ath Buide: the village of Athboy, in the territory of Ross, County Meath Ath Carpat: a ford on the river Nith (now the Dee), in the County Louth Ath Ceit Chule: a ford on the river Glais, in Ulster Ath Cliath: Dublin Ath Coltna: in Connacht, south-west of Ath Moga and south-east of Cruachan Ath Cro: a ford in Murthemne Ath da Fert: a ford in Sliab Fuait, probably in the south of the barony of Upper Fews, County Armagh Ath Darteisc: a ford in Murthemne Ath Feidli: a ford in Ulster Ath Fene: _see_ Ath Irmidi Ath Firdead: Ardee, a ford and a small town on the river Dee, in the County Louth Ath Gabla: a ford on the Boyne, north of Knowth, in the County Meath (pronounced _Ah gowla_) Ath Grenca: the same as Ath Gabla Ath Irmidi: the older name of Ath Fene, south of Iraird Cuillinn Ath Lethain: a ford on the Nith, in Conalle Murthemni Ath Luain: Athlone, on the Shannon, on the borders of Connacht and Meath Ath Meislir: a ford in Sliab Fuait, in Ulster Ath Moga: the present Ballymoe, on the river Suck, about ten miles to the south-west of Cruachan, County Galway Ath Mor: the old name for Ath Luain Ath na Foraire: on the road between Emain and Loch Echtrann Ath Slissen: Bellaslishen Bridge; a ford on the Owenure River, near Elphin, in Connacht Ath Solomshet: a ford, probably in Ulster Ath Srethe: a ford in Conalle Murthemni Ath Tamuin: a ford, somewhere in Ulster Ath Traged: at the extremity of Tir Mor, in Murthemne Ath Truim: Trim, on the river Boyne, in the County Meath Aue: a slave in the household of King Conchobar Aurthuile: north-east of Airne Bacca: in Corcumruad Bacc Draigin: a place in Ulster Badb: the war-fury, or goddess of war and carnage; she was wont to appear in the form of a carrion-crow. Sometimes she is the sister of the Morrigan, and, as in the Táin Bó Cúalnge, is even identified with her (pronounced _Bive_) Badbgna: now Slieve Bawne, a mountainous range, in the barony of Ballintubber, in the east of County Roscommon Baile: north-east of Meide ind Eoin, on Medb's march from Connacht into Ulster Baile in Bile: on the way to Ardee Bairche: Benna Bairche, the Mourne Mountains, north of Dundalk, in Ulster Ball Scena: north-east of Dall Scena Banba: an old name for Ireland Banna: now the Bann, a river in Ulster Becaltach: grandfather of Cuchulain Bedg: a river in Murthemne Belat Aileain: probably between Cualnge and Conalle Murthemni Belach Caille More: north of Cnogba Benna Bairche: _see_ Bairche Berba: the Barrow, a river in Leinster Bercha: on or near the Shannon, near Bellanagare, in East Roscommon Berchna: probably for Bercha Bernas: the pass cut by Medb from Louth into Armagh; probably the "Windy Gap" across the Carlingford Peninsula Betha: see Sliab Betha Bir: the name of several rivers; probably Moyola Water, a river flowing into Lough Neagh Bithslan: a river in Conalle Murthemni Blai: a rich Ulster noble and hospitaller Boann: the River Boyne Bodb: the father of Badb Boirenn: Burren, in the County Clare Branè: probably a hill not far from Ardee, in the County Louth Breslech Mor: a fort in Murthemne Brecc: a place in Ulster Brega: the eastern part of Meath Brenide: a river in Conalle Murthemni, near Strangford Lough Bricriu: son of Carbad, and the evil adviser of the Ulstermen Bri Errgi: stronghold of Errge Echbel, in the County Down Brigantia: Betanzos, in Galicia, on the north coast of Spain Bri Ross: a hill to the north of Ardee, in the County Louth Brug Meic ind Oc, or, as it is also called, Brug na Boinde: Brugh on the Boyne, near Stackallen Bridge, County Meath, one of the chief burial-places of the pagan Irish Buagnech: probably in Leinster and near the river Liffey Buan: a river in Conalle Murthemni Buas: the river Bush, in the County Antrim Burach: a place in Ulster Callann: the Callan, a river near Emain Macha Canann Gall: a place in Ulster Carn: north of Inneoin; probably Carn Fiachach, in the parish of Conry, barony of Rathconrath, Westmeath Carn macBuachalla, at Dunseverick, in Ulster Carbre: stepson of Conchobar and brother of Ailill Carrloeg: a place in Ulster Casruba: father of Lugaid and grandfather of Dubthach Cathba: north-east of Ochonn, in Meath; or a river flowing into the Boyne, some distance to the west of Slane Cathba: a druid of Conchobar's court; according to some accounts, the natural father of King Conchobar (pronounced _Cahvah_) Celtchar: son of Uthechar, an Ulster warrior Cenannas na rig: Kells, in the Covinty Meath Cenn Abrat: a range of hills on the borders of the Counties Cork and Limerick Cet macMagach: a Connacht warrior Cinn Tire: a place in Ulster Clann Dedad: one of the three warrior-clans of Erin: a sept occupying the territory around Castleisland, County Kerry Clann Rudraige: the warriors of King Conchobar: one of the three heroic tribes of Ireland Clartha: Clara, near the present town of Mullingar, in the County Westmeath Cletech: a residence of the kings of Ireland in Mag Breg, near Stackallan Bridge, on the banks of the Boyne Clidna: _see sub_ Tonn Clithar Bo Ulad: probably in the centre of the County Louth Cliu: an extensive territory in the county Limerick Clothru: sister of Medb: Medb slew her while her son, Firbaide, was still unborn Cluain Cain: now Clonkeen, in the west of County Louth Cluain Carpat: a meadow at the river Cruinn in Cualnge Cluain maccuNois: Clonmacnoise, on the Shannon, about nine miles below Athlone Cnoc Aine: Knockany, a hill and plain in the County Limerick Cnogba: Knowth, on the Boyne, near Drogheda, a couple of miles east of Slane, in the County Meath Colbtha: the mouth of the Boyne at Drogheda, or some place near the Boyne Collamair: between Gormanstown and Turvey, in the County Dublin Coltain: south of Cruachan Ai Conall: probably Tyrconnel, in the County Donegal Conall Cernach: one of the chief warriors of Ulster: foster-brother of Cuchulain and next to him in point of prowess Conalle Murthemni: a level plain in the County Louth, extending from the Cooley Mountains, or Carlingford, to the Boyne Conchobar: son of Cathba the druid, and of Ness, and foster-son of Fachtna Fatach (variously pronounced _Cruhóor_, _Connahóor_) Conlaech: son of Cuchulain and Aifè Corcumruad: the present barony of Corcomroe, in the County Clare Cormac Conlongas: King Conchobar's eldest son; called "the Intelligent Exile," because of the part he took as surety for the safety of the exiled sons of Usnech Coronn: the barony of Corran, in the County Sligo Corp Cliath: a place in Ulster Craeb ruad: ordinarily Englished "Red Branch"; better, perhaps, "Nobles' Branch:" King Conchobar's banqueting-hall, at Emain Macha Crannach: at Faughart, north-east of Fid Mor Cromma: a river flowing into the Boyne not far from Slane Cronn hi Cualngi: probably a hill or river of this name near Cualnge Cruachan Ai: the ancient seat and royal burial-place of the kings of Connacht, ten miles north-east of the modern Rathcroghan, near Belanagare, in the County Roscommon (pronounced _Croohan_) Cruinn: a river in Cualnge: probably the stream now called the Piedmont River, emptying into Dundalk Bay Cruthnech: the land of the Irish Picts; the northern part of the County Down and the southern part of the County Antrim Cu, Cucuc, Cuacain, Cucucan, Cucucuc: diminutives of the name Cuchulain Cualnge: Cooley, a mountainous district between Dundalk Bay and Drogheda, in the barony of Lower Dundalk, in the County Louth. It originally extended to the County Down, and the name is now applied to the southern side of the Carlingford Mountains (pronounced _Cooln'ya_) Cualu: a district in the County Wicklow Cuchulain: the usual name of the hero Setanta; son of the god Lug and of Dechtire, and foster-son of Sualtaim (pronounced _Cuhoolin_) Cuib: on the road to Midluachair Cuilenn: the Cully Waters flowing southward from County Armagh into County Louth Cul Siblinne: now Kells in East Meath Cul Silinne: Kilcooley, a few miles to the south-east of Cruachan, in the County Roscommon Culenn: a river in Conalle Murthemni Cuillenn: _see_ Ard Cuillenn Cuillenn Cinn Duni: a hill in Ulster Cuince: a mountain in Cualnge Cumung: a river in Conalle Murthemni Curoi: son of Darè and king of South Munster Cuscraid Menn Macha: son of Conchobar Dall Scena: a place north of Ailè Dalraida: now "the Route," a territory north of Slieve Mish, in the north of the County Antrim Darè: chieftain of the cantred of Cualnge and owner of the Brown Bull of Cualnge Dechtire: sister of King Conchobar and mother of Cuchulain Delga: _see_ Dun Delga Delga Murthemni: Dundalk Delinn: a place or river near Kells between Duelt and Selaig, on Medb's march from Cruachan into Ulster Delt: a place north of Drong, on Medb's march from Cruachan into Ulster Delt: a river in Conalle Murthemni Dergderc: Lough Derg, an expansion of the Shannon near Killaloe Dichaem: a river in Conalle Murthemni Domnann: _see_ Irrus Domnann Drong: a river in the land of the men of Assail, in Meath Druim Caimthechta: north-east of Druim Cain Druim Cain: possibly an older name for Temair (Tara) Druim En: in South Armagh; probably a wooded height, near Ballymascanlan, in the County Louth Druim Fornocht: near Newry, in the County Down Druim Liccè: north-east of Gort Slane, on Medb's march from Connacht into Ulster Druim Salfinn: now Drumshallon, a townland in the County Louth, six miles north of Drogheda Dub: the Blackwater, on the confines of Ulster and Connacht; or the confluence of the Rivers Boyne and Blackwater at Navan Dubh Sithleann (or Sainglenn): the name of one of Cuchulain's two horses Dubloch: a lake between Kilcooley and Slieve Bawne, in the County Roscommon, on Medb's march from Cruachan into Ulster Dubthach Doel Ulad: the Ulster noble who shares with Bricriu the place as prime mover of evil among the Ulstermen (pronounced _Duffach_) Duelt: north or north-west of Delt, on Medb's march from Cruachan into Ulster Dun da Benn: Mount Sandle, on the Bann, near Coleraine in the County Derry Dun Delga: Dundalk, or the moat of Castletown, on the east coast near Dundalk; Cuchulain's home town Dun macNechtain Scenè: a fort in Mag Breg, at the place where the Mattock falls into the Boyne, about three miles above Drogheda Dun Sobairche: Dunseverick, about three miles from the Giants' Causeway, in the County Antrim Elg: an old name for Ireland Ellne: probably east of the River Bann, near Coleraine Ellonn: a place in Ulster Emain Macha: the Navan Fort, or Hill, two miles west of Armagh; King Conchobar's capital and the chief town of Ulster (pronounced _Evvin Maha_) Emer Foltchain: wife of Cuchulain (pronounced _Evver_) Enna Agnech: according to the Annals of the Four Masters, he was High King of Ireland from 312 to 293 B.C. Eo Donn Mor: north-east of Eo Donn Bec, in the County Louth Eocho Fedlech: father of Medb; according to the Four Masters, he reigned as monarch of Ireland from 142 to 131 B.C. (pronounced _Yokh-ho_) Eocho Salbuide: King of Ulster and father of Cethern's wife, Inna Eogan macDurthachta: a chief warrior of Ulster and Prince of Fernmag Erc macFedilmithi: an Ulster hero, son of Fedlimid and grandson of Conchobar Erna: a sept of Munstermen who later settled about Lough Erne, in Connacht Ess Ruaid: Assaroe; a cataract on the River Erne near Ballyshannon, in the south of the County Donegal. It constituted part of the old boundary between Ulster and Connacht Etarbane: one of the "seats" of the king of Cashel, in Tipperary Ethliu: father of Lug Ethne: sister of Medb (pronounced _Ehnna_) Fachtna Fathach: king of Ulster and later of all Ireland; adoptive father of Conchobar and husband of Ness, Conchobar's mother Fal (or Inisfail): one of the bardic names for Ireland; Medb is called "of Fal," as daughter of the High King of Ireland (pronounced _Fawl_) Fan na Coba: a territory in the baronies of Upper and Lower Iveagh, in the County Down Fedain Cualngi: a place in Ulster Fedlimid Nocruthach: daughter of King Conchobar, wife of Loegaire Buadach, mother of Fiachna and cousin-german of Cuchulain (pronounced _Falemid_) Femen: a territory at Slieve-na-man, extending perhaps from Cashel to Clonmel, in the southern part of the County Tipperary Fenè: the old tribal name of the Gaels; the "King of the Fenè" is Conchobar, King of Ulster Feorainn: a place near Ardachad, on Medb's march into Ulster Fercerdne: chief poet of the men of Ulster Ferdiad: (pronounced _Fair-dee-ah_) Fergus macRoig: one time king of Ulster; in voluntary exile in Connacht after the treacherous putting to death of the sons of Usnech by Conchobar. He became the chief director of the Táin under Medb Ferloga: Ailill's charioteer Fernmag: Farney, a barony in the County Monaghan Ferta Fingin: at Sliab Fuait Fiachu macFiraba: one of the exiles of Ulster in the camp of Medb Fian: the warrior-class Fid Dub: a wood, north of Cul Silinne, on Medb's march into Ulster Fid Mor: a wood, north of Dundalk and between it and Sliab Fuait Fingabair: probably in the Fews Mountains Finnabair: daughter to Ailill and Medb (pronounced _Fín-nuh-hur_) Finnabair: Fennor, on the banks of the Boyne, near Slane, in Meath Finnabair Slebe: near Imlech Glendamrach Finncharn Slebe Moduirn: a height in the Mourne Mountains Finnglas: a river in Conalle Murthemni Finnglassa Asail: a river south-east of Cruachan Fir Assail: a district containing the barony of Farbill, in Westmeath Flidais Foltchain: wife of Ailill Finn, a Connacht chieftain; after her husband's violent death she became the wife of Fergus, and accompanied him on the Táin Fochain: near Cuchulain's abode Fochard Murthemni: Faughart, two miles north-west of Dundalk, in the County Louth Fodromma: a river flowing into the Boyne near Slane Fuil Iairn: the name of a ford west of Ardee Gabal: the Feeguile, a river in the King's County nGabar: a place near Donaghmore, perhaps to, the west of Lough Neagh in the County Tyrone Galian: a name the Leinstermen bore. They were Ailill's countrymen Gainemain: a river in Conalle Murthemni Garech: the name of the hill where the final battle of the Táin was fought, some distance south-east of Athlone and near Mullingar, in Westmeath Gegg: a woman's name Genonn Gruadsolus: a druid and poet of Ulster; son of Cathba Glaiss Colptha: the river Boyne Glaiss Gatlaig: a river in Ulster Glenamain: a river in Conalle Murthemni Glenn Fochain: probably a valley east of Bellurgan Station Glenn Gatt: a valley in Ulster Glennamain: in Murthemne Glenn in Scail: a place in Dalaraide, East Ulster Glenn na Samaisce: in Slieve Gullion, in the County Armagh Glenn Tail: another name for Belat Aileain Gleoir: the Glore, a river in Conalle Murthemni Gluine Gabur: east of the Shannon, in the County Longford Gort Slane: north of Slane and south-west of Druim Liccè Grellach Bobulge: at Dunseverick, in Ulster Grellach Dolar (or Dolluid): Girley, near Kells, in the County Meath Gualu Mulchi: the town-land of Drumgoolestown on the river Dee, in the County Louth Ialla Ilgremma: near Sliab Betha and Mag Dula Ibar macRiangabra: Conchobar's charioteer Id macRiangabra: Ferdiad's charioteer, brother to Laeg Ilgarech: a hill near Garech, _q.v._ Iliach: grandfather to Conall Cernach Illann Ilarchless: an Ulster warrior, son to Fergus Imchad: son to Fiachna Imchlar: near Donaghmore, west of Dungannon, in the County Tyrone Immail: a place in the Mourne Mountains, in Ulster Imrinn: a druid, son to Cathba Inis Cuscraid: Inch, near Downpatrick Inis Clothrann: Inishcloghran in Loch Ree, County Longford Innbir Scene: the mouth of Waterford Harbour near Tramore; or the mouth of Kenmare Bay, in the County Kerry Inncoin: the Dungolman, a river into which the Inny flows and which divides the barony of Kilkenny West from Rathconrath, in the County Westmeath Iraird Cuillinn: a height south of Emain Macha, in Ulster Irrus Domnann: the barony of Erris, in County Mayo: the clan which bore this name and to which Ferdiad belonged was one of the three heroic races of ancient Ireland Laeg: son of Riangabair and Cuchulain's faithful charioteer (pronounced _Lay_) Latharne: Larne, in the County Antrim Lebarcham: a sorceress Leire: in the territory of the Fir Roiss, in the south of the County Antrim Ler: the Irish sea-god Lethglas: Dun Lethglaisse, now Downpatrick, in Ulster Lettre Luasce: between Cualnge and Conalle Lia Mor: in Conalle Murthemni Liath Mache: 'the Roan,' one of Cuchulain's two horses. Lia Ualann: in Cualnge Linè (or Mag Linè): Moylinne, in the County Antrim Loch Ce: Lough Key, in the County Roscommon Loch Echtrann: Muckno Lake, south of Sliab Fuait, in the County Monaghan Loch Erne: Lough Erne, in the County Fermanagh Loch Ri: Lough Ree, on the Shannon, in the County Galway Loegaire Buadach: son to Connad Buide and husband of Fedlimid Nocruthach; one of the chief warriors of Ulster (pronounced _Layeray_) Lothor: a place in Ulster Luachair: probably Slieve Lougher, or the plain in which lay Temair Luachra, a fort somewhere near the town of Castleisland, in the County Kerry Lug: the divine father of Cuchulain Lugaid: father of Dubthach Lugmud: Louth, in the County of that name Luibnech: possibly a place now called Limerick, in the County Wexford MacMagach: relatives of Ailill MacRoth: Medb's chief messenger Mag: 'a plain' (pronounced _moy_) Mag Ai: the great plain in the County Roscommon, extending from Ballymore to Elphin, and from Bellanagare to Strokestown (pronounced _Moy wee_) Mag Breg: the plain along and south of the lower Boyne, comprising the east of County Meath and the north of County Dublin (pronounced _Moy bray_) Mag Cruimm: south-east of Cruachan, in Connacht Mag Dea: a plain in Ulster Mag Dula: a plain though which the Do flows by Castledawson into Lough Neagh Mag Eola: a plain in Ulster Mag Inis: the plain comprising the baronies of Lecale and Upper Castlereagh, in the County Down Mag Linè: Moylinne, a plain to the north-east of Lough Neagh, in the barony of Upper Antrim Mag Mucceda: a plain near Emain Macha Mag Trega: Moytra, in the County Longford Mag Tuaga: a plain in Mayo Maic Miled: the Milesians Mairg: a district in which is Slievemargie, in the Queen's County and the County Kilkenny Manannan: son of Ler, a fairy god Margine: a place in Cualnge Mas na Righna: Massareene, in the County Antrim Mata Murisc: mother of Ailill Medb: queen of Connacht and wife of Ailill (pronounced _Mave_; in modern Connacht Irish _Mow_ to rhyme with _cow_) Meide ind Eoin, and Meide in Togmail: places in or near the Boyne, in the County Louth Midluachair: Slige Midluachra, the name of the highroad east of Armagh, leading north from Tara to Emain and into the north of Ireland Mil: the legendary progenitor of the Milesians (See Maic Miled) Miliuc: a river in Conalle Murthemni Moduirn: _see_ Sliab Moduirn Moin Coltna: a bog between Slieve Bawne and the Shannon Moraltach: great grandfather of Cuchulain Morann: a famous judge Morrigan: the war-goddess of the ancient Irish, "_monstrum in feminae figura_" (pronounced _More-reegan_) Mossa: a territory, the southern part of which must have been in the barony of Eliogarty, not far from Cashel, in the County Tipperary Muach: a river in Conalle Murthemni Muresc: the land of Ailill's mother; Murresk Hamlet, between Clew Bay and Croagh Patrick, in the County Mayo Murthemne: a great plain along the northern coast of the County Louth between the river Boyne and the Cooley Mountains; now belonging to Leinster, but, at the time of the Táin, to Ulster (pronounced _Muhr-hev-ny_) Nemain: the Badb Ness: mother of King Conchobar by Cathba; she afterwards married Fachtna Fathach and subsequently Fergus macRoig Nith: the river Dee which flows by Ardee, in the County Louth Ochain: the name of Conchan bar's shield Ochonn Midi: a place near the Blackwater at Navan Ochtrach: near Finnglassa Asail, in Meath Oenfer Aifè: another name for Conlaech Oengus Turbech: according to the Annals of Ireland, he reigned as High King from 384 to 326 B.C. Ord: south-east of Cruachan and north of Tiarthechta Partraige beca: Partry in Slechta south-west of Kells, in Meath Port Largè: Waterford Rath Airthir: a place in Connacht Rath Cruachan: Rathcroghan, between Belanagare and Elphin, in the County Roscommon Rede Loche: a place in Cualnge Renna: the mouth of the Boyne Riangabair: father of the charioteers, Laeg and Id Rigdonn: a place in the north Rinn: a river in Conalle Murthemni Rogne: a territory between the rivers Suir and Barrow, in the barony of Kells, the County Kildare or Kilkenny Ross: a district in the south of the County Monaghan Ross Mor: probably Ross na Rig, near Ball Scena Sas: a river in Conalle Murthemni Scathach: the Amazon dwelling in Alba who taught Cuchulain and Ferdiad their warlike feats (pronounced _Scaw-ha_) Selaig: Sheelagh, a townland in the barony of Upper Dundalk Semne: Island Magee, north-east of Carrickfergus, in the County Antrim Senbothae: Templeshanbo, at the foot of Mount Leinster, in the County Wexford Sencha macAilella: the wise counsellor and judge of the Ulstermen Sered: a plain in the north of the barony of Tirhugh, County Donegal Setanta: the real name of Cuchulain Sid: the terrene gods (pronounced _She_) Sil: in Lecale, in the County Down Sinann: the river Shannon Siuir: the Suir, a river in Munster, forming the northern boundary of the County Waterford Slabra: a place north of Selaig, near Kells, in Meath Slaiss: south-east of Cruachan, between Ord and Inneoin Slane: a town on the Boyne, in Meath Slechta: south-west of Kells, in Meath Slemain Mide: "Slane of Meath," Slewen, three miles to the west of Mullingar, in Westmeath Sliab Betha: Slieve Beagh, a mountain whereon the Counties of Fermanagh, Tyrone, and Monaghan meet Sliab Culinn: Slieve Gullion, in the County Armagh Sliab Fuait: the Fews Mountains, near Newtown-Hamilton, to the west and north-west of Slieve Gullion; in the southern part of the County Armagh Sliab Mis: Slieve Mish, a mountain in the County Kerry, extending eastwards from Tralee Sliab Moduirn: the Mourne Range, in the County Monaghan, partly in Cavan and partly in Meath Sruthair Finnlethe: a river west of Athlone Sualtaim (or, Sualtach) Sidech: the human father of Cuchulain Suide Lagen: Mount Leinster, in the County Wexford Tadg: a river in Conalle Murthemni Taidle: near Cuib Taltiu: Teltown, in the County Meath, on or near the Blackwater, between Navan and Kells; one of the chief places of assembly and burial of the Ulstermen Taul Tairb: in Cualnge Telamet: a river in Conalle Murthemni Temair: Tara, the seat of the High King of Ireland, near Navan, in the County Meath (pronounced _Tavvir_) Tethba descirt: South Teffia, a territory about and south of the river Inny, in the County Longford Tethba tuascirt: south-east of Cruachan, in Teffia, County Longford Tir Mor: in Murthemne Tir na Sorcha: a fabled land, ruled over by Manannan Tir Tairngire: "the Land of Promise" Tonn Clidna: a loud surge in the Bay of Glandore Tonn Rudraige: a huge wave in the Bay of Dundrum, in the County Cork Tonn Tuage Inbir: "the Tuns," near the mouth of the river Bann on the north coast of Antrim Tor Breogain: "Bregon's Tower," in Spain Tromma: south-east of Cruachan; also the name of a river flowing into the Boyne near Slane Tuaim Mona: Tumona, a townland in the parish of Ogulla, near Tulsk, south of Cruachan Ai, County Roscommon Tuatha Bressi: a name for the people of Connacht Tuatha De Danann: "the Tribes divine of Danu," the gods of the Irish Olympus Turloch teora Crich: north of Tuaim Mona Uachtur Lua: in the land of Ross Uarba: a place in Ulster Uathach: one of the three women-teachers of Cuchulain and Ferdiad Uathu: north of Ochain Ui Echach: the barony of Iveagh, in the County Down Umansruth: a stream in Murthemne Usnech: father of Noisi, Annle and Ardan Uthechar: father of Celtchar and of Menn * * * * * _Printed by_ BUTLER & TANNER, _Frome and London_ * * * * * 
38041	----	OLD CELTIC ROMANCES OLD CELTIC ROMANCES translated from the gaelic BY P.W. JOYCE, M.A., LL.D., T.C.D. M.R.I.A. _One of the Commissioners for the Publication of the Ancient Laws of Ireland President of the Royal Society of Antiquaries, Ireland_ Author of "A SOCIAL HISTORY OF ANCIENT IRELAND" "THE STORY OF ANCIENT IRISH CIVILISATION" "A SHORT HISTORY OF IRELAND" "A CHILD'S HISTORY OF IRELAND" "IRISH NAMES OF PLACES" "ANCIENT IRISH MUSIC" AND OTHER WORKS RELATING TO IRELAND "I shall tell you a pretty tale" --Coriolanus. DUBLIN THE EDUCATIONAL CO. OF IRELAND, LIMITED 89 TALBOT STREET LONDON LONGMANS, GREEN, AND COMPANY 39 PATERNOSTER ROW 1920 PREFACE. Among the Celtic people of Ireland and the north-west of Scotland, story-telling has always been a favourite amusement. In the olden time, they had professional story-tellers, variously designated according to rank--ollaves, shanachies, filès, bards, etc.--whose duty it was to know by heart a number of old tales, poems, and historical pieces, and to recite them at festive gatherings, for the entertainment of the chiefs and their guests. These story-tellers were always well received at the houses of princes and chiefs, and treated with much consideration; and on occasions when they acquitted themselves well, so as to draw down the applause of the audience, they were often rewarded with costly presents. To meet the demand for this sort of entertainment, ingenious "men of learning," taking legends or historical events as themes, composed stories from time to time; of which those that struck the popular fancy were caught up and remembered, and handed down from one generation of story-tellers to another. In course of time, a body of romantic literature grew up, consisting chiefly of prose tales, which were classified, according to subject, into Battles, Voyages, Tragedies, Military Expeditions, Cattle-Raids, Courtships, Pursuits, Adventures, Visions, etc.[I.] Some of these tales were historical, _i.e._ founded on historical events, and corresponded closely with what is now called the historical romance; while others were altogether fictitious--pure creations of the imagination. But it is to be observed that even in the fictitious tales, the main characters are always historical, or such as were considered so. The old ollaves wove their fictions round Conor Mac Nessa and his Red Branch Knights, or Finn and his Fena, or Luga of the Long Arms and his Dedannans, or Conn the Hundred-fighter, or Cormac Mac Art; like the Welsh legends of Arthur and his Round Table, or the Arabian romances of Haroun-al-Raschid and his Court. The greater number of the tales were, as I have said, in prose. But some were in poetry; and in many of the prose tales the leading characters are often made to express themselves in verse, or some striking incident of the story is repeated in a poetical form. Not unfrequently the fragments of verse introduced into a prose tale are quotations from an older poetical version of the same tale; and hence it often happens that while the prose may be plain enough, the poetry is often archaic and obscure. At some very early period in Ireland--how early we have now no means of determining with certainty--Celtic thought began to be committed to writing; and as everything seems to have been written down that was considered worth preserving, manuscripts accumulated in course of time, which were kept either in monasteries, or in the houses of the hereditary professors of learning. But in the dark time of the Danish ravages, and during the troubled centuries that followed the Anglo-Norman invasion, the manuscript collections were gradually dispersed, and a large proportion lost or destroyed. Yet we have remaining--rescued by good fortune from the general wreck--a great body of manuscript literature. Our two most important collections are those in Trinity College and in the Royal Irish Academy, Dublin; where we have manuscripts of various ages, from the year 1100 down to the present century, on every conceivable subject--Annals, History, Biography, Theology, Romance, Legend, Science, etc. These manuscripts, which, it should be remarked, are nearly all copies from older books, contain a vast collection of romantic literature: it may, indeed, be said that there is scarcely one important event in our early history, or one important native personage or native legend, that has not been made the subject of some fanciful story. The volume I now offer to the notice of the public contains eleven tales, selected and translated from the manuscripts of Trinity College and of the Royal Irish Academy. Some have been already published, with original text and _literal_ translation, and are to be found in the Transactions of various literary societies, where, however, they are inaccessible to the general run of readers; and even if they were accessible, they are almost unreadable, the translations having been executed, not for literary, but for linguistic purposes. Others have never been translated or given to the public in any shape or form till now. Of the whole collection of eleven tales, therefore, it may be said that they are quite new to the general mass of the reading public. And furthermore, this is the first collection of the old Gaelic prose romances that has ever been published in fair English translation. Scraps and fragments of some of these tales have been given to the world in popular publications, by writers who, not being able to read the originals, took their information from printed books in the English language. But I am forced to say that many of these specimens have been presented in a very unfavourable and unjust light--distorted to make them look _funny_, and their characters debased to the mere modern conventional stage Irishman. There is none of this silly and odious vulgarity in the originals of these fine old tales, which are high and dignified in tone and feeling--quite as much so as the old romantic tales of Greece and Rome.[II.] A translation may either follow the very words, or reproduce the life and spirit, of the original; but no translation can do both. If you render word for word, you lose the spirit; if you wish to give the spirit and manner, you must depart from the exact words, and frame your own phrases. I have chosen this latter course. My translation follows the original closely enough in narrative and incident; but so far as mere phraseology is concerned, I have used the English language freely, not allowing myself to be trammelled by too close an adherence to the very words of the text. The originals are in general simple in style; and I have done my best to render them into simple, plain, homely English. In short, I have tried to tell the stories as I conceive the old shanachies themselves would have told them, if they had used English instead of Gaelic. In the originals, the stories run on without break or subdivision;[III.] but I have thought it better to divide the longer ones into chapters, with appropriate headings. In almost all cases I had at my command several copies of the same story, some of them differing in phraseology and in minor points of detail, though agreeing, in the main, in narrative and incident. I found this a considerable advantage, as it gave me more freedom in the choice of expression. I have made full use of the literal translations of those tales that have been already published in the Transactions of the Ossianic Society, in the _Atlantis_, in the Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy, and in the Journal of the Royal Historical and Archæological Association of Ireland. But, in order to secure the advantage of various readings, I compared, in every case, the published text with at least one copy of the story, in the Royal Irish Academy, in Trinity College, or in my own private manuscript collection. The ancient institution of professional story-telling held its ground both in Ireland and in Scotland down to a very recent period; and it is questionable if it be even yet quite extinct. Within my own memory, this sort of entertainment was quite usual among the farming classes of the south of Ireland. The family and workmen, and any neighbours that chose to drop in, would sit round the kitchen fire after the day's work--or perhaps gather in a barn on a summer or autumn evening--to listen to some local shanachie reciting one of his innumerable Gaelic tales. The story-teller never chose his own words--he always had the story by heart, and recited the words from memory, often gliding into a sort of recitative in poetical passages, or when he came to some favourite grandiose description abounding in high-sounding alliterative adjectives. And very interesting it was to mark the rapt attention of the audience, and to hear their excited exclamations when the speaker came to relate some mighty combat, some great exploit of the hero, or some other striking incident. Three years ago, I met a man in Kilkee, who had a great number of these stories by heart, and who actually repeated for me, without the slightest hitch or hesitation, more than half--and if I had not stopped him would have given me the whole--of "Cúirt an Mheadhon-Oidhche" ("The Midnight Court"), a poem about six times as long as Gray's "Elegy." I will now proceed to give a few particulars concerning these tales, including a short account of the manuscript or manuscripts from which each has been translated. THE THREE TRAGIC STORIES OF ERIN. Among the ancient Gaelic tales, three were known as "the three most sorrowful (tales) of story-telling," or "The Three Tragic Stories of Erin;" viz., "The Fate of the Children of Usna," "The Fate of the Children of Lir," and "The Fate of the Children of Turenn." I have not included the first in this volume, but a poetical version of it has been written and published by my brother.[IV.] THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR. Two translations of this tale have been published: one literal, with the Gaelic text, by Professor O'Curry, in the _Atlantis_ (Nos. vii. and viii.); and another, less literal, by Gerald Griffin, in his "Tales of a Jury-Room." The oldest known copies of the tale are, one in the Catholic University, Dublin, made by Andrew Mac Curtin, a well-known Gaelic scholar and scribe of the county Clare, who lived between 1680 and 1740; one in Trinity College, Dublin, made by Hugh O'Daly, in 1758; and one in the British Museum, made by Richard Tipper of Dublin, in 1718.[V.] There is also a very good copy in the Royal Irish Academy (23. C. 26), of which I made considerable use, written in or about 1782, by Peter O'Connell, a good Gaelic scholar of the county Clare. From a comparison of several of these versions, O'Curry made his copy of the text as published in the _Atlantis_. There may be, and there probably are, older copies, in Trinity College, in the British Museum, or elsewhere, if we knew only where to find them. And this observation applies to several of the tales that follow, of which we have at hand only modern copies. THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF TURENN. In the Book of Lecan (folio 28), which was compiled by the Mac Firbises, about A.D. 1416, is a short account, partly in prose and partly in verse, of the celebrated eric-fine imposed on the three sons of Turenn, by Luga of the Long Arms, for killing his father Kian; but this old book does not give the story of the quest for the fine. The full tale, text and literal translation, has been published by O'Curry in the _Atlantis_. There are several good copies in the Royal Irish Academy: one in 23. G. 10, transcribed by Patrick Brown of the county Clare, in 1805; another in 23. E. 16, written out by Michael Oge O'Longan, in 1797; and a third (imperfect) in 23. M. 47, copied by Andrew Mac Curtin, in 1734. There are references to these three sons of Turenn, and to the manner of their death, in two very old authorities, viz., Cormac's "Glossary" (about A.D. 900); and a poem by Flann of Monaster-boice (who died A.D. 1056), a copy of which is in the Book of Leinster, written about A.D. 1130. In the older references to the sons of Turenn, they are called Brian, Iuchar, Iucharba; but in some comparatively modern copies of the tale the names are a little different--for instance, Peter O'Connell calls them Uar, Iuchar, and Iucharba; and they vary still further in other copies. I have taken advantage of this variety to give the names in a more pronounceable form in my translation. In the original, this tale is introduced by an anecdote of Nuada of the Silver Hand and the two great Dedannan leeches, Midac and Armedda (see page 92, _infra_), which has nothing whatever to do with the story, and which I have omitted. THE OVERFLOWING OF LOUGH NEAGH. "Leabhar na h-Uidhre," or "The Book of the Dun Cow," from which this and the two following tales are taken, is the oldest manuscript of miscellaneous Gaelic literature we possess. It was transcribed from older books by Maelmuire Mac Ceilechair, who died A.D. 1106; and it is now deposited in the Royal Irish Academy, Dublin--or rather, I should say, a large fragment of it, for the book has suffered much mutilation. This venerable book may now be said to be in the hands of the public, as it has been lately reproduced in lithograph fac-simile, and published by the Council of the Royal Irish Academy, at the Government expense. The story of "The Overflowing of Lough Neagh" (called in the original "The Destruction of Eocho Mac Mairedo") has been published, with text and literal translation, by the late J. O'Beirne Crowe, in the Kilkenny Archæological Journal volume for 1870-1. In this story I have been obliged to make a few transpositions in the mere order of the incidents, for the narrative in the original is in some places very ill arranged. It is now nearly eight hundred years since this story was _transcribed_ from some old authority into "The Book of the Dun Cow;" and it is singular that the tradition of the formation of Lough Neagh, by the overflow of an enchanted well which was neglected by the woman in charge of it, still maintains a vivid existence among the peasantry. (See on this subject the author's "Origin and History of Irish Names of Places," Series I. 4th edition, page 176.) CONNLA OF THE GOLDEN HAIR, AND THE FAIRY MAIDEN. This tale (called in the original "Echtra Condla Cain," "The Adventures of Connla the Comely") is taken from "The Book of the Dun Cow." It has been published, with text and literal translation, by the late J. O'Beirne Crowe, in the Kilkenny Archæological Journal (volume 1874-5, page 128). This is one of the many tales that illustrate the ancient and widespread superstition that fairies sometimes take away mortals to their palaces in the fairy forts and pleasant green hills;[19] of which the last story in this book--"Oisin in Tirnanoge"--is another example. This superstition prevailed in Ireland and the Scottish Highlands as far back as either history or tradition reaches; it flourished in full vigour within my own memory; and it is scarcely quite extinct--in Ireland at least--at the present day.[VI.] In connection with the antiquity of this superstition, it must be borne in mind that the present story was transcribed into "The Book of the Dun Cow" in or about the year 1100, from some older book; and that it relates to the time of Conn the Hundred-fighter, king of Ireland, who reigned in the second century of the Christian era. THE VOYAGE OF MAILDUN. Of this tale (which is now given to the public for the first time) the oldest copy is in "The Book of the Dun Cow" (about the year 1100); but it is imperfect at both beginning and end--a portion having been torn away when the book was mutilated at some former time. There is a perfect copy in the Yellow Book of Lecan, in Trinity College, Dublin, and another in the British Museum (MS. Harl. 5280). After I had made a rough translation of the greater part of this piece, I discovered a good literal translation in manuscript in the Royal Irish Academy, made by the late J. O'Beirne Crowe, which was of great use to me, as it helped to explain some strange terms, and to clear up some obscure passages. This voyage would appear from internal evidence to have been made in the beginning of the eighth century (O'Curry says about the year 700); for I think it likely that Maildun did actually go on a voyage, which was afterwards made the framework of the story. On my translation of this tale, Lord Tennyson founded his poem "The Voyage of Maeldune." Of the _Imrama_ or voluntary sea expeditions (to which the present story belongs) there are, according to O'Curry (Lect. MS. Mat. 289), only four remaining, all very ancient. Of these the best known is the "Voyage of St. Brendan," undertaken in the sixth century, which was at one time celebrated all over Europe, and which has been lately made the theme of a fine poem by Denis Florence McCarthy. Another of these _Imrama_ is the "Voyage of the Sons of O'Corra," which has been described at some length by Professor O'Curry (Lect. MS. Mat. 289). Of this I have a copy which I made from the MS. 23. M. 50, Royal Irish Academy (and which I afterwards carefully compared with another copy lent me by my friend, Mr. W.M. Hennessy). I made a translation of this story, intending to print it in the present volume; but as there is a much older and better copy in the ancient "Book of Fermoy," which I had not time to consult in detail, I have thought it better to hold back for the present the strange adventures of the sons of O'Corra. A beautiful poetical translation of the whole tale has been made by Mr. T.D. Sullivan of Dublin, and published in his volume of Poems. THE FAIRY PALACE OF THE QUICKEN TREES. The "Bruighean Caerthainn," or "The Fairy Palace of the Quicken Trees," which is now translated for the first time, is one of the most popular of the Gaelic romances. I had three of the Royal Irish Academy MSS. before me when translating it--viz., 23. C. 30, transcribed in 1733, by the Irish writer and lexicographer, Andrew Mac Curtin of the county Clare; 24. B. 15, written in 1841; and 23. L. 24, copied in 1766, by Dermot O'Mulqueen of the county Clare. This is one of a type of stories very common in Gaelic romantic literature:--One or more of the heroes are entrapped by some enchanter and held under a spell in a castle, or a cave, or a dungeon; till, after a series of adventures, they are released by the bravery or mother-wit of some of their companions. "The Chase of Slieve Fuad" and "The Chase of Slieve Cullinn" are two other examples of this class of Gaelic tales. THE PURSUIT OF THE GILLA DACKER AND HIS HORSE. This is a humorous story of a trick--a very serious practical joke--played by Avarta, a Dedannan enchanter, on sixteen of the Fena, whom he carried off to "The Land of Promise;" and of the adventures of Finn, Dermat O'Dyna, and the others, in their pursuit of Avarta (who had taken the shape of the Gilla Dacker) to recover their companions. It may be regarded as belonging to the same class as the last story. O'Curry described the opening of this tale in his Lectures (MS. Mat. 316); and he was the first, so far as I know, to draw attention to it. I think it strange that such a story should not have been noticed before by writers on Gaelic literature; for as a work of imagination, it seems to me a marvellous and very beautiful creation. The battles fought by the king of Sorca, aided by Finn and his Fena, against the King of the World, are described at much length in the original; but I have cut them down to a very short compass; and I have omitted altogether a long episode towards the end, which travels away from the main story. This tale has never been translated till now. I translated it chiefly from the Royal Irish Academy MS., 24. B. 28, a well-written manuscript, which was copied out by Edmond Terry, in 1728: but I kept another good copy beside me for comparison, viz., that contained in the Royal Irish Academy MS., 23. G. 21, written in 1795, by Michael Oge O'Longan of Cork, father of Mr. Joseph O'Longan, now the Irish scribe in the Royal Irish Academy, and the transcriber in fac-simile of "Leabhar na h-Uidhre," "Leabhar Breac," and "Leabhar Laighneach." THE PURSUIT OF DERMAT AND GRANIA. This tale is one of those mentioned in the list contained in the Book of Leinster, which was written about A.D. 1130 (see note, page iv.); but though this proves the tale to be an ancient one, I have never come across a copy older than the last century. "The Pursuit of Dermat and Grania" has been published, with text and a very racy idiomatic literal translation, by Mr. Standish Hayes O'Grady, in the Transactions of the Ossianic Society for 1855, from a comparison of two manuscripts, one of 1780 and the other of 1842. In addition to Mr. O'Grady's published text, I made use of another good copy (MS. Royal Irish Academy, 23. G. 21) written in 1795, by Michael Oge O'Longan, already spoken of. I cannot help believing that this fine story originally ended with the death of Dermat; though in all the current versions (including Mr. O'Grady's printed text) there is an additional part recounting the further proceedings of Grania and her sons, after the death of the hero. But this part is in every respect inferior to the rest--in language, in feeling, and in play of imagination. It seems to me very clear that it was patched on to the original story by some unskilful hand; and I have accordingly omitted it, and ended the story with the death of Dermat. I have also omitted two short episodes--that of the _cnumh_ or reptile of Corca Divna, as a mere excrescence; and Finn's expedition to Scotland for aid against Dermat. And, for the sake of clearness, I have slightly changed the place of that part of the tale which recounts the origin of the Fairy Quicken Tree of Dooros. There are one or two other trifling but very necessary modifications, which need not be mentioned here. THE CHASE OF SLIEVE CULLINN: THE CHASE OF SLIEVE FUAD: OISIN IN TIRNANOGE. In the original Gaelic these are three poetical tales. All three have been printed, with Gaelic text and literal translation, in the Transactions of the Ossianic Society: the two first by the late John O'Daly, and "Oisin in Tirnanoge" by Professor O'Looney. There are many good copies of these tales in the manuscripts of the Royal Irish Academy; though of not one of them have I seen a copy older than the last century. "The Chase of Slieve Cullinn" (commonly known as "The Poem of the Chase") has been translated into English verse by Miss Brooke; and there is another metrical translation in the _Irish Penny Journal_ (page 93). And of "Oisin in Tirnanoge," Mr. T.D. Sullivan has given a graceful poetical rendering in his volume of Poems, already mentioned. PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION. In this edition there is an additional tale, "The Fate of the Sons of Usna," a notice of which will be found at page x, above. LYRE-NA-GRENA, LEINSTER ROAD, RATHMINES, 1907. FOOTNOTES: [I.] In the Book of Leinster, a manuscript now in Trinity College, Dublin, which was transcribed about the year 1130, there is a very interesting list of ancient historic tales--187 in all--classified in the manner indicated above, which an ollave was obliged to master, so as to be able to repeat any one of them from memory, whenever his patron required him to do so. (See O'Curry, "Lectures on the MS. Materials of Irish History," pages 243 and 584.) [II.] Macpherson never sinned in this way. He caught the true keynote; and his "Poems of Ossian," however perverted in other respects, are always dignified in thought and expression. Among other examples of the true interpretation of the spirit of these old romances, prose and poetry, I may mention Miss Brooke's "Reliques of Irish Poetry," published in the end of the last century; the Rev. Dr. Drummond's "Ancient Irish Minstrelsy," published in 1852; Lady Ferguson's graceful and interesting book, "The Story of the Irish before the Conquest" (1868); and Mr. Standish O'Grady's ably written volume, the "History of Ireland" (Vol. I., The Heroic Period 1878). [III.] With one partial exception. In "The Book of the Dun Cow," "The Voyage of Maildun" is divided into parts or chapters, which are numbered on the margin in Roman numerals, each chapter relating to one particular island; but no spaces are left, and the chapters have no headings. In this tale I have followed the old sub-division. [IV.] "Deirdrè," by Robert D. Joyce, M.D., M.R.I.A. Boston: Roberts Brothers. Dublin: M.H. Gill and Son. [V.] O'Curry, _Atlantis_, Nos. vii. and viii., page 390. [VI.] See the ballad and air of "The Fairy King's Courtship," in the author's "Ancient Irish Music," page 1. CONTENTS. THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR; OR, THE FOUR WHITE SWANS. CHAPTER PAGE I. Bove Derg chosen King of the Dedannans, 1 II. The Children of Lir, 4 III. The Four Children of Lir are turned into Four White 6 Swans by their Stepmother, IV. The Four White Swans on Lake Darvra, 10 V. The Four White Swans on the Sea of Moyle, 18 VI. The Four White Swans on the Western Sea, 26 VII. The Children of Lir regain their Human Shape and die, 32 THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF TURENN; OR, THE QUEST FOR THE ERIC-FINE. I. The Lochlanns invade Erin, 37 II. The Murder of Kian, 42 III. Defeat and Flight of the Lochlanns, 47 IV. The Eric-Fine on the Sons of Turenn for the Slaying of 51 Kian, V. The Sons of Turenn obtain Mannanan's Canoe, the 60 Wave-Sweeper, VI. The Apples of the Garden of Hisberna, 63 VII. The Gifted Skin of the Pig, 67 VIII. The Blazing Spear of the King of Persia, 71 IX. The Chariot and Steeds of the King of Sigar, 74 X. The Seven Pigs of the King of the Golden Pillars, 78 XI. The Hound-Whelp of the King of Iroda, 81 XII. Return of the Sons of Turenn, with part of the 84 Eric-Fine, XIII. The Cooking-Spit of the Women of Fincara, 87 XIV. The Three Shouts on Midkena's Hill, 89 XV. Return and Death of the Sons of Turenn, 91 THE OVERFLOWING OF LOUGH NEAGH, AND THE STORY OF LIBAN THE MERMAID. 97 CONNLA OF THE GOLDEN HAIR AND THE FAIRY MAIDEN. 106 THE VOYAGE OF MAILDUN. I. Maildun's Childhood and Youth. He begins his Voyage in 112 Quest of the Plunderers who slew his Father, II. The First Island. Tidings of the Plunderers, 117 III. The Island of the Monstrous Ants, 119 IV. The Terraced Isle of Birds, 120 V. A Monster, 121 VI. The Demon Horse-Race, 122 VII. The Palace of Solitude, 124 VIII. The Island of the Wonderful Apple Tree, 125 IX. The Island of Bloodthirsty Quadrupeds, 126 X. An Extraordinary Monster, 127 XI. The Isle of Red-Hot Animals, 129 XII. The Palace of the Little Cat, 131 XIII. An Island that dyed Black and White, 133 XIV. The Island of the Burning River, 135 XV. The Miller of Hell, 136 XVI. The Isle of Weeping, 137 XVII. The Isle of the Four Precious Walls, 139 XVIII. The Palace of the Crystal Bridge, 139 XIX. The Isle of Speaking Birds, 143 XX. The Aged Hermit and the Human Souls, 143 XXI. The Island of the Big Blacksmiths, 145 XXII. The Crystal Sea, 147 XXIII. A Lovely Country beneath the Waves, 147 XXIV. An Island guarded by a Wall of Water, 148 XXV. A Water-Arch in the Air, 149 XXVI. The Silver Pillar of the Sea, 150 XXVII. An Island standing on One Pillar, 151 XXVIII. The Island Queen detains them with her Magic 152 Thread-Clew, XXIX. The Isle of Intoxicating Wine-Fruits, 156 XXX. The Isle of the Mystic Lake, 157 XXXI. The Isle of Laughing, 163 XXXII. The Isle of the Blest, 164 XXXIII. The Hermit of the Sea-Rock, 164 XXXIV. Signs of Home, 174 XXXV. Maildun meets his Enemy, and arrives Home, 175 THE FAIRY PALACE OF THE QUICKEN TREES. I. Colga, King of Lochlann, invades Erin, and is slain, 177 II. Midac, the Son of Colga, meditates Revenge, 181 III. Finn is entrapped by Midac, and held by Enchantment in 189 the Palace of the Quicken Trees, IV. Innsa, Finn's Foster Son, defends the Ford leading to 196 the Palace of the Quicken Trees, V. Ficna, the Son of Finn, defends the Ford, 203 VI. Dermat O'Dyna slays the Three Kings of the Island of 213 the Torrent, breaks the Spell with their Blood, and frees Finn, VII. The Fight at the Ford with the Foreign Army, 219 THE PURSUIT OF THE GILLA DACKER AND HIS HORSE. I. Arrival of the Gilla Dacker and his Horse, 223 II. Conan and Fifteen of the Fena are carried off by the 235 Gilla Dacker's Horse, III. Pursuit, 239 IV. Dermat O'Dyna, in Quest of the Gilla Dacker, 245 encounters the Wizard-Champion at the Well, V. Dermat O'Dyna in Tir-fa-tonn, 253 VI. Finn, in Quest of Dermat, fights many Battles, 259 VII. Finn and Dermat meet, 265 VIII. Conan and his Companions found and rescued, 267 THE PURSUIT OF DERMAT AND GRANIA. I. Finn, the Son of Cumal, seeks the Princess Grania to 274 Wife, II. Dermat O'Dyna secretly espouses the Princess Grania, 277 III. Flight and Pursuit, 285 IV. The Fastness of the Seven Narrow Doors, 289 V. The Three Sea-Champions and their Three Venomous 296 Hounds on the Track of Dermat and Grania, VI. What Befell the Three Sea-Champions and their Three 305 Venomous Hounds, VII. Sharvan, the Surly Giant, and the Fairy Quicken Tree 313 of Dooros, VIII. The Attack of the Witch-Hag, 330 IX. Peace and Rest at Last, 332 X. The Death of Dermat, 334 THE CHASE OF SLIEVE CULLINN, 351 THE CHASE OF SLIEVE FUAD, 362 OISIN IN TIRNANOGE; OR, THE LAST OF THE FENA, 385 THE VOYAGE OF THE SONS OF O'CORRA, 400 THE FATE OF THE SONS OF USNA, 427 NOTES, 455 LIST OF PROPER NAMES, 471 THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR; OR, _THE FOUR WHITE SWANS._ Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water; Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose; While murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daughter Tells to the night-star her tale of woes. MOORE. CHAPTER I. BOVE DERG CHOSEN KING OF THE DEDANNANS. After the battle of Tailltenn,[VII.] the Dedannans[1][VIII.] of the five provinces of Erin assembled in one place of meeting, to consider on their state, and to choose a king. For their chiefs said it was better for them to have one king over all, than to be divided, as they were, serving sundry lords and princes. Now of those who expected the sovereignty for themselves, the following chiefs were the noblest, namely:--Bove Derg,[IX.] son of the Dagda; his brother Angus, of Bruga on the Boyne, who, however, had no earnest wish to become king, preferring to remain as he was; Ilbrec of Assaroe; Lir of Shee Finnaha; and Midir the Haughty of Bri-Leth.[1] Then the chief people went into council, all except the five above named; and the decision they came to was to elect Bove Derg, son of the Dagda, king over the whole of the Dedannan race. When the election was made known, none of those who were disappointed took the matter to heart except Lir of Shee Finnaha alone. And when Lir found that the chiefs had chosen Bove Derg, he was greatly offended, and straightway left the assembly in anger, without taking leave of any one, and without showing any mark of respect or obedience to the new king. When the chiefs heard this, they were wroth; and they said they would follow him to Shee Finnaha,[X.] and slay him with spear and sword, and burn his house, because he did not yield obedience to the king they had elected in lawful council. But Bove Derg would not permit them to do so. "This man," he said, "will defend his territory, and many will be slain; and I am none the less your king, although he has not submitted to me." Matters remained so for a long time. But at last a great misfortune happened to Lir, for his wife died after an illness of three days. This weighed heavily on him, and his heart was weary with sorrow after her. Her death, moreover, was a great event at that time, and was much spoken of throughout Erin. When the tidings reached the mansion of Bove Derg, where the chief men of the Dedannans were then assembled, the king said-- "As Lir's wife is now dead, my friendship would be of service to him, if he were willing to accept it. For I have in my house three maidens, the most beautiful and the best instructed in all Erin, namely, Eve, Eva, and Alva, my own foster children, and daughters of Allil of Ara."[XI.] The Dedannans agreed to this, and said that their king had spoken wisely and truly. Messengers were accordingly sent to Lir, and they were told to say to him-- "If thou art willing to submit to the king, he will give thee for a wife one of his three foster children; and thou shalt have his friendship for ever." It was pleasing to Lir to make this alliance; and accordingly he set out next day from Shee Finnaha with a company of fifty chariots; and they never halted or turned aside till they reached the palace of Bove Derg, on the shore of the Great Lake.[XII.] Their arrival gave much joy and happiness to the king and his household; for although Lir did not submit at first to Bove Derg, he was a good man, and was greatly beloved by the king himself and by all his subjects. So Lir and his followers got a kindly welcome; and they were supplied with everything necessary, and were well attended to that night. Next day, the three daughters of Allil of Ara sat on the same couch with the queen their foster mother; and the king said to Lir-- "Take thy choice of the three maidens, and whichever thou choosest, she shall be thy wife." "They are all beautiful," said Lir, "and I cannot tell which of them is best; but I will take the eldest, for she must be the noblest of the three." Then the king said, "Eve is the eldest, and she shall be given to thee if it be thy wish." So Lir chose Eve for his wife, and they were wedded that day. Lir remained a fortnight in the king's palace, and then departed with his wife to his own house, Shee Finnaha, where he celebrated his marriage by a great royal wedding feast. FOOTNOTES: [VII.] Now Teltown, on the river Blackwater, between Kells and Navan, in Meath. (See note 1 at the end, for this battle.) [VIII.] The numbers refer to the notes at the end of the book. [IX.] At the end of the book will be found an alphabetical list of all the names of persons and places mentioned through the volume, with their Gaelic forms, and, in many cases, their meanings. [X.] Shee Finnaha, Lir's residence, is thought to have been situated near the boundary of Armagh and Monaghan, not far from Newtown Hamilton. [XI.] Ara, the islands of Aran, in Galway Bay. [XII.] The Great Lake, _i.e._ Lough Derg, on the Shannon, above Killaloe. CHAPTER II. THE CHILDREN OF LIR. In course of time, Lir's wife bore him two children at a birth, a daughter and a son, whose names were Finola and Aed. A second time she brought forth twins, two sons, who were named Ficra and Conn: and she died in giving them birth. This was a cause of great anguish to Lir; and he would almost have died of grief, only that his mind was turned from his sorrow by his great love for his four little children. When the news of Eve's death reached the mansion of Bove Derg, the king was in deep grief, and the people of his household raised three great cries of lamentation for her. And when their mourning was ended, the king said-- "We grieve for our foster child, both on her own account, and for the sake of the good man to whom we gave her; for we are thankful for his alliance and his friendship. But our acquaintance shall not be ended, and our alliance shall not be broken; for I will give him her sister to wife, my second foster child, Eva." Messengers were sent to Lir to Shee Finnaha, to tell him of this; and he consented. So after some time he came to the king's house to espouse her, and they were united; and he brought her home with him to his own house. The four children grew up under Eva's care. She nursed them with great tenderness, and her love for them increased every day. They slept near their father; and he would often rise from his own bed at the dawn of morning, and go to their beds, to talk with them and to fondle them. The king, Bove Derg, loved them almost as well as did their father. He went many times every year to Shee Finnaha to see them; and he used to bring them often to his palace, where he kept them as long as he could on each occasion, and he always felt sad when he sent them home. At this time, too, the Dedannans used to celebrate the Feast of Age[2] at the houses of their chiefs by turns; and whenever it happened that the festival was held at Shee Finnaha, these children were the delight and joy of the Dedannans. For nowhere could four lovelier children be found; so that those who saw them were always delighted with their beauty and their gentleness, and could not help loving them with their whole heart. CHAPTER III. THE FOUR CHILDREN OF LIR ARE TURNED INTO FOUR WHITE SWANS BY THEIR STEPMOTHER. Now when Eva saw that the children of Lir received such attention and affection from their father, and from all others that came to his house, she fancied she was neglected on their account; and a poisonous dart of jealousy entered her heart, which turned her love to hatred; and she began to have feelings of bitter enmity for her sister's children. Her jealousy so preyed on her that she feigned illness, and lay in bed for nearly a year, filled with gall and brooding mischief; and at the end of that time she committed a foul and cruel deed of treachery on the children of Lir. One day she ordered her horses to be yoked to her chariot, and she set out for the palace of Bove Derg, bringing the four children with her. Finola did not wish to go, for it was revealed to her darkly in a dream that Eva was bent on some dreadful deed of fratricide;[XIII.] and she knew well that her stepmother intended to kill her and her brothers that day, or in some other way to bring ruin on them. But she was not able to avoid the fate that awaited her. When they had gone some distance from Shee Finnaha on their way to the palace, Eva tried to persuade her attendants to kill the children. "Kill them, and you shall be rewarded with all the worldly wealth you may desire; for their father loves me no longer, and has neglected and forsaken me on account of his great love for these children." But they heard her with horror, and refused, saying, "We will not kill them. Fearful is the deed thou hast contemplated, O Eva; and evil will surely befall thee for having even thought of killing them." Then she took the sword to slay them herself; but her woman's weakness prevented her, and she was not able to strike them. So they set out once more, and fared on till they came to the shore of Lake Darvra,[XIV.] where they alighted, and the horses were unyoked. She led the children to the edge of the lake, and told them to go to bathe; and as soon as they had got into the clear water, she struck them one by one with a druidical[3] fairy wand, and turned them into four beautiful snow-white swans. And she addressed them in these words-- Out to your home, ye swans, on Darvra's wave; With clamorous birds begin your life of gloom: Your friends shall weep your fate, but none can save; For I've pronounced the dreadful words of doom. After this, the four children of Lir turned their faces to their stepmother; and Finola spoke-- "Evil is the deed thou hast done, O Eva; thy friendship to us has been a friendship of treachery; and thou hast ruined us without cause. But the deed will be avenged; for the power of thy witchcraft is not greater than the druidical power of our friends to punish thee; and the doom that awaits thee shall be worse than ours." Our stepmother loved us long ago; Our stepmother now has wrought us woe: With magical wand and fearful words, She changed us to beautiful snow-white birds; And we live on the waters for evermore, By tempests driven from shore to shore. Finola again spoke and said, "Tell us now how long we shall be in the shape of swans, so that we may know when our miseries shall come to an end." "It would be better for you if you had not put that question," said Eva; "but I shall declare the truth to you, as you have asked me. Three hundred years on smooth Lake Darvra; three hundred years on the Sea of Moyle, between Erin and Alban;[XV.] three hundred years at Irros Domnann and Inis Glora[XVI.] on the Western Sea. Until the union of Largnen, the prince from the north, with Decca, the princess from the south; until the Taillkenn[XVII.] shall come to Erin, bringing the light of a pure faith; and until ye hear the voice of the Christian bell. And neither by your own power, nor by mine, nor by the power of your friends, can ye be freed till the time comes." Then Eva repented what she had done; and she said, "Since I cannot afford you any other relief, I will allow you to keep your own Gaelic speech; and ye shall be able to sing sweet, plaintive, fairy music, which shall excel all the music of the world, and which shall lull to sleep all that listen to it. Moreover, ye shall retain your human reason; and ye shall not be in grief on account of being in the shape of swans." And she chanted this lay-- Depart from me, ye graceful swans; The waters are now your home: Your palace shall be the pearly cave, Your couch the crest of the crystal wave, And your mantle the milk-white foam! Depart from me, ye snow-white swans With your music and Gaelic speech: The crystal Darvra, the wintry Moyle, The billowy margin of Glora's isle;-- Three hundred years on each! Victorious Lir, your hapless sire, His lov'd ones in vain shall call; His weary heart is a husk of gore, His home is joyless for evermore, And his anger on me shall fall! Through circling ages of gloom and fear Your anguish no tongue can tell; Till Faith shall shed her heavenly rays, Till ye hear the Taillkenn's anthem of praise, And the voice of the Christian bell! Then ordering her steeds to be yoked to her chariot she departed westwards, leaving the four white swans swimming on the lake. Our father shall watch and weep in vain; He never shall see us return again. Four pretty children, happy at home; Four white swans on the feathery foam; And we live on the waters for evermore, By tempests driven from shore to shore. FOOTNOTES: [XIII.] The word "fratricide" is the nearest English equivalent to the original word, _fionghal_, which means the murder of a relative. [XIV.] Lake Darvra, now Lough Derravaragh, in Westmeath. [XV.] The sea between Erin and Alban (Ireland and Scotland) was anciently called the Sea of Moyle, from the Moyle, or Mull, of Cantire. [XVI.] Irros Domnann; Erris, in the county Mayo. Inis Glora; a small island about five miles west from Belmullet, in the same county, still known by the same name. [XVII.] Taillkenn, a name given by the druids to St. Patrick. CHAPTER IV. THE FOUR WHITE SWANS ON LAKE DARVRA. When Eva arrived at the house of Bove Derg, the chiefs bade her welcome; and the king asked her why she had not brought the Children of Lir to him. "Because," she replied, "Lir no longer loves thee; and he does not wish to intrust his children to thee, lest thou shouldst harm them." The king was greatly astonished and troubled at this, and he said, "How can that be? For I love those children better than I love my own." But he thought in his own mind that Eva had played some treachery on them. And he sent messengers with all speed northwards to Shee Finnaha, to inquire for the children, and to ask that they might be sent to him. When the messengers had told their errand, Lir was startled; and he asked, "Have the children not reached the palace with Eva?" They answered, "Eva arrived alone, and she told the king that you refused to let the children come." A sad and sorrowful heart had Lir when he heard this; and he now felt sure that Eva had destroyed his four lovely children. So, early next morning, his chariot was yoked for him, and he set out with his attendants for the king's palace; and they travelled with all speed till they arrived at the shore of Lake Darvra. The children of Lir saw the cavalcade approaching; and Finola spoke these words-- I see a mystic warrior band From yonder brow approach the strand; I see them winding down the vale, Their bending chariots slow advancing; I see their shields and gilded mail, Their spears and helmets brightly glancing. Ah! well I know that proud array; I know too well their thoughts to-day: The Dannan host and royal Lir; Four rosy children they are seeking: Too soon, alas! they find us here, Four snowy swans like children speaking! Come, brothers dear, approach the coast, To welcome Lir's mysterious host. Oh, woful welcome! woful day, That never brings a bright to-morrow! Unhappy father, doomed for aye To mourn our fate in hopeless sorrow! When Lir came to the shore, he heard the birds speaking, and, wondering greatly, he asked them how it came to pass that they had human voices. "Know, O Lir," said Finola, "that we are thy four children, who have been changed into swans and ruined by the witchcraft of our stepmother, our own mother's sister, Eva, through her baleful jealousy." When Lir and his people heard this, they uttered three long mournful cries of grief and lamentation. After a time, their father asked them, "Is it possible to restore you to your own shapes?" "It is not possible," replied Finola; "no man has the power to release us until Largnen from the north and Decca from the south are united. Three hundred years we shall be on Lake Darvra; three hundred years on the sea-stream of Moyle; three hundred years on the Sea of Glora in the west. And we shall not regain our human shape till the Taillkenn come with his pure faith into Erin, and until we hear the voice of the Christian bell." And again the people raised three great cries of sorrow. "As you have your speech and your reason," said Lir, "come now to land, and ye shall live at home, conversing with me and my people." "We are not permitted to leave the waters of the lake, and we cannot live with our people any more. But the wicked Eva has allowed us to retain our human reason, and our own Gaelic speech; and we have also the power to chant plaintive, fairy music, so sweet that those who listen to us would never desire any other happiness. Remain with us to-night, and we will chant our music for you." Lir and his people remained on the shore of the lake; and the swans sang their slow, fairy music, which was so sweet and sad, that the people, as they listened, fell into a calm, gentle sleep. At the glimmer of dawn next morning, Lir arose, and he bade farewell to his children for a while, to seek out Eva. The time has come for me to part:-- No more, alas! my children dear, Your rosy smiles shall glad my heart, Or light the gloomy home of Lir. Dark was the day when first I brought This Eva in my home to dwell! Hard was the woman's heart that wrought This cruel and malignant spell! I lay me down to rest in vain; For, through the livelong, sleepless night, My little lov'd ones, pictured plain, Stand ever there before my sight. Finola, once my pride and joy; Dark Aed, adventurous and bold; Bright Ficra, gentle, playful boy; And little Conn, with curls of gold;-- Struck down on Darvra's reedy shore, By wicked Eva's magic power: Oh, children, children, never more My heart shall know one peaceful hour! Lir then departed, and travelled south-west till he arrived at the king's palace, where he was welcomed; and Bove Derg began to reproach him, in presence of Eva, for not bringing the children. "Alas!" said Lir; "it was not by me that the children were prevented from coming. But Eva, your own foster child, the sister of their mother, has played treachery on them; and has changed them by her sorcery into four white swans on Lake Darvra." The king was confounded and grieved at this news; and when he looked at Eva, he knew by her countenance that what Lir had told him was true; and he began to upbraid her in a fierce and angry voice. "The wicked deed thou hast committed," said he, "will be worse for thee than for the children of Lir; for their suffering shall come to an end, and they shall be happy at last." Again he spoke to her more fiercely than before; and he asked her what shape of all others, on the earth, or above the earth, or beneath the earth, she most abhorred, and into which she most dreaded to be transformed. And she, being forced to answer truly, said, "A demon of the air."[XVIII.] "That is the form you shall take," said Bove Derg; and as he spoke he struck her with a druidical magic wand, and turned her into a demon of the air. She opened her wings, and flew with a scream upwards and away through the clouds; and she is still a demon of the air, and she shall be a demon of the air till the end of time. Then Bove Derg and the Dedannans assembled on the shore of the lake, and encamped there; for they wished to remain with the birds, and to listen to their music. The Milesian people[XIX.] came and formed an encampment there in like manner; for historians say that no music that was ever heard in Erin could be compared with the singing of these swans. And so the swans passed their time. During the day they conversed with the men of Erin, both Dedannans and Milesians, and discoursed lovingly with their friends and fellow nurselings; and at night they chanted their slow, sweet, fairy music, the most delightful that was ever heard by men; so that all who listened to it, even those who were in grief, or sickness, or pain, forgot their sorrows and their sufferings, and fell into a gentle, sweet sleep, from which they awoke bright and happy. So they continued, the Dedannans and the Milesians, in their encampments, and the swans on the lake, for three hundred years.[XX.] And at the end of that time, Finola said to her brothers-- "Do you know, my dear brothers, that we have come to the end of our time here; and that we have only this one night to spend on Lake Darvra?" When the three sons of Lir heard this, they were in great distress and sorrow; for they were almost as happy on Lake Darvra, surrounded by their friends, and conversing with them day by day, as if they had been in their father's house in their own natural shapes; whereas they should now live on the gloomy and tempestuous Sea of Moyle, far away from all human society. Early next morning, they came to the margin of the lake, to speak to their Father and their friends for the last time, and to bid them farewell; and Finola chanted this lay-- I. Farewell, farewell, our father dear! The last sad hour has come: Farewell, Bove Derg! farewell to all, Till the dreadful day of doom![XXI.] We go from friends and scenes beloved, To a home of grief and pain; And that day of woe Shall come and go, Before we meet again! II. We live for ages on stormy Moyle, In loneliness and fear; The kindly words of loving friends We never more shall hear. Four joyous children long ago; Four snow-white swans to-day; And on Moyle's wild sea Our robe shall be The cold and briny spray. III. Far down on the misty stream of time, When three hundred years are o'er, Three hundred more in storm and cold, By Glora's desolate shore; Till Decca fair is Largnen's spouse; Till north and south unite; Till the hymns are sung, And the bells are rung, At the dawn of the pure faith's light. IV. Arise, my brothers, from Darvra's wave, On the wings of the southern wind; We leave our father and friends to-day In measureless grief behind. Ah! sad the parting, and sad our flight To Moyle's tempestuous main; For the day of woe Shall come and go, Before we meet again! The four swans then spread their wings, and rose from the surface of the water in sight of all their friends, till they reached a great height in the air, then resting, and looking downwards for a moment, they flew straight to the north, till they alighted on the Sea of Moyle between Erin and Alban. The men of Erin were grieved at their departure, and they made a law, and proclaimed it throughout the land, that no one should kill a swan in Erin from that time forth. FOOTNOTES: [XVIII.] demon of the air was held in great abhorrence by the ancient Irish. [XIX.] The Milesian people; the colony who conquered and succeeded the Dedannans. (See note 1 at end.) [XX.] The Dedannans were regarded as gods, and were immortal or semi-immortal. (See note 1 at the end.) [XXI.] It must be remembered that the children of Lir had some obscure foreknowledge of the coming of Christianity. CHAPTER V. THE FOUR WHITE SWANS ON THE SEA OF MOYLE. As to the children of Lir, miserable was their abode and evil their plight on the Sea of Moyle. Their hearts were wrung with sorrow for their father and their friends; and when they looked towards the steep, rocky, far-stretching coasts, and saw the great, dark wild sea around them, they were overwhelmed with fear and despair. They began also to suffer from cold and hunger, so that all the hardships they had endured on Lake Darvra appeared as nothing compared with their suffering on the sea-current of Moyle. And so they lived, till one night a great tempest fell upon the sea. Finola, when she saw the sky filled with black, threatening clouds, thus addressed her brothers-- "Beloved brothers, we have made a bad preparation for this night; for it is certain that the coming storm will separate us; and now let us appoint a place of meeting, or it may happen that we shall never see each other again." And they answered, "Dear sister, you speak truly and wisely; and let us fix on Carricknarone, for that is a rock that we are all very well acquainted with." And they appointed Carricknarone as their place of meeting. Midnight came, and with it came the beginning of the storm. A wild, rough wind swept over the dark sea, the lightnings flashed, and the great waves rose, and increased their violence and their thunder. The swans were soon scattered over the waters, so that not one of them knew in what direction the others had been driven. During all that night they were tossed about by the roaring winds and waves, and it was with much difficulty they preserved their lives. Towards morning the storm abated, and the sea became again calm and smooth; and Finola swam to Carricknarone. But she found none of her brothers there, neither could she see any trace of them when she looked all round from the summit of the rock over the wide face of the sea. Then she became terrified, for she thought she should never see them again; and she began to lament them plaintively in these words-- The heart-breaking anguish and woe of this life I am able no longer to bear: My wings are benumbed with this pitiless frost; My three little brothers are scattered and lost; And I am left here to despair. My three little brothers I never shall see Till the dead shall arise from the tomb: How I sheltered them oft with my wings and my breast, And I soothed their sorrows and lulled them to rest, As the night fell around us in gloom! Ah, where are my brothers, and why have I lived, This last worst affliction to know? What now is there left but a life of despair?-- For alas! I am able no longer to bear This heart-breaking anguish and woe.[XXII.] Soon after this she looked again over the sea, and she saw Conn coming towards the rock, with his head drooping, and his feathers all drenched with the salt spray; and she welcomed him with joyful heart. Not long after, Ficra appeared, but he was so faint with wet and cold and hardship, that he was scarce able to reach the place where Finola and Conn were standing; and when they spoke to him he could not speak one word in return. So Finola placed the two under her wings, and she said-- "If Aed were here now, all would be happy with us." In a little time they saw Aed coming towards them, with head erect and feathers all dry and radiant and Finola gave him a joyful welcome. She then placed him under the feathers of her breast, while Conn and Ficra remained under her wings; and she said to them-- "My dear brothers, though ye may think this night very bad, we shall have many like it from this time forth." So they continued for a long time on the Sea of Moyle, suffering hardships of every kind, till one winter night came upon them, of great wind and of snow and frost so severe, that nothing they ever before suffered could be compared to the misery of that night. And Finola uttered these words-- Our life is a life of woe; No shelter or rest we find: How bitterly drives the snow; How cold is this wintry wind! From the icy spray of the sea, From the wind of the bleak north east, I shelter my brothers three, Under my wings and breast. Our stepmother sent us here, And misery well we know:-- In cold and hunger and fear; Our life is a life of woe! Another year passed away on the Sea of Moyle; and one night in January, a dreadful frost came down on the earth and sea, so that the waters were frozen into a solid floor of ice all round them. The swans remained on Carricknarone all night, and their feet and their wings were frozen to the icy surface, so that they had to strive hard to move from their places in the morning; and they left the skin of their feet, the quills of their wings, and the feathers of their breasts clinging to the rock. "Sad is our condition this night, my beloved brothers," said Finola, "for we are forbidden to leave the Sea of Moyle; and yet we cannot bear the salt water, for when it enters our wounds, I fear we shall die of pain." And she spoke this lay-- Our fate is mournful here to-day; Our bodies bare and chill, Drenched by the bitter, briny spray, And torn on this rocky hill! Cruel our stepmother's jealous heart That banished us from home; Transformed to swans by magic art, To swim the ocean foam. This bleak and snowy winter day, Our bath is the ocean wide; In thirsty summer's burning ray, Our drink the briny tide. And here 'mid rugged rocks we dwell, In this tempestuous bay; Four children bound by magic spell;-- Our fate is sad to-day! They were, however, forced to swim out on the stream of Moyle, all wounded and torn as they were; for though the brine was sharp and bitter, they were not able to avoid it. They stayed as near the coast as they could, till after a long time the feathers of their breasts and wings grew again, and their wounds were healed. After this they lived on for a great number of years, sometimes visiting the shores of Erin, and sometimes the headlands of Alban. But they always returned to the sea-stream of Moyle, for it was destined to be their home till the end of three hundred years. One day they came to the mouth of the Bann, on the north coast of Erin, and looking inland, they saw a stately troop of horsemen approaching directly from the south-west. They were mounted on white steeds, and clad in bright-coloured garments, and as they wound towards the shore their arms glittered in the sun. "Do ye know yonder cavalcade?" said Finola to her brothers. "We know them not," they replied; "but it is likely they are a party of the Milesians, or perchance a troop of our own people, the Dedannans." They swam towards the shore, to find out who the strangers were; and the cavalcade on their part, when they saw the swans, knew them at once, and moved towards them till they were within speaking distance. Now these were a party of the Dedannans; and the chiefs who commanded them were the two sons of Bove Derg, the Dedannan king, namely, Aed the Keen-witted, and Fergus the Chess-player, with a third part of the Fairy Host.[XXIII.] They had been for a long time searching for the children of Lir along the northern shores of Erin, and now that they had found them, they were joyful; and they and the swans greeted each other with tender expressions of friendship and love. The children of Lir inquired after the Dedannans, and particularly after their father Lir, and Bove Derg, and all the rest of their friends and acquaintances. "They are all well," replied the chiefs; "and they and the Dedannans in general are now gathered together in the house of your father, at Shee Finnaha, celebrating the Feast of Age,[2] pleasantly and agreeably. Their happiness would indeed be complete, only that you are not with them, and that they know not where you have been since you left Lake Darvra." "Miserable has been our life since that day," said Finola; "and no tongue can tell the suffering and sorrow we have endured on the Sea of Moyle." And she chanted these words-- Ah, happy is Lir's bright home to-day, With mead and music and poet's lay: But gloomy and cold his children's home, For ever tossed on the briny foam. Our wreathèd feathers are thin and light When the wind blows keen through the wintry night: Yet oft we were robed, long, long ago, In purple mantles and furs of snow. On Moyle's bleak current our food and wine Are sandy sea-weed and bitter brine: Yet oft we feasted in days of old, And hazel-mead drank from cups of gold. Our beds are rocks in the dripping caves; Our lullaby song the roar of the waves: But soft rich couches once we pressed, And harpers lulled us each night to rest. Lonely we swim on the billowy main, Through frost and snow, through storm and rain: Alas for the days when round us moved The chiefs and princes and friends we loved! My little twin brothers beneath my wings Lie close when the north wind bitterly stings, And Aed close nestles before my breast; Thus side by side through the night we rest. Our father's fond kisses, Bove Derg's embrace, The light of Mannanan's[1] godlike face, The love of Angus[1]--all, all are o'er; And we live on the billows for evermore! After this they bade each other farewell, for it was not permitted to the children of Lir to remain away from the stream of Moyle. As soon as they had parted, the Fairy Cavalcade returned to Shee Finnaha, where they related to the Dedannan chiefs all that had passed, and described the condition of the children of Lir. And the chiefs answered-- "It is not in our power to help them; but we are glad that they are living; and we know that in the end the enchantment will be broken, and that they will be freed from their sufferings." As to the children of Lir, they returned to their home on the Sea of Moyle, and there they remained till they had fulfilled their term of years. FOOTNOTES: [XXII.] Many of these old poems begin and end with the same line or couplet. [XXIII.] Fairy host; _i.e._ the Dedannans. (See note 1 at the end of the book.) CHAPTER VI. THE FOUR WHITE SWANS ON THE WESTERN SEA. And when their three hundred years were ended, Finola said to her brothers-- "It is time for us to leave this place, for our period here has come to an end." The hour has come; the hour has come; Three hundred years have passed: We leave this bleak and gloomy home, And we fly to the west at last! We leave for ever the stream of Moyle; On the clear, cold wind we go; Three hundred years round Glora's isle, Where wintry tempests blow! No sheltered home, no place of rest, From the tempest's angry blast: Fly, brothers, fly, to the distant west, For the hour has come at last! So the swans left the Sea of Moyle, and flew westward, till they reached Irros Domnann and the sea round the isle of Glora. There they remained for a long time, suffering much from storm and cold, and in nothing better off than they were on the Sea of Moyle. It chanced that a young man named Ebric, of good family, the owner of a tract of land lying along the shore, observed the birds and heard their singing. He took great delight in listening to their plaintive music, and he walked down to the shore almost every day, to see them and to converse with them; so that he came to love them very much, and they also loved him. This young man told his neighbours about the speaking swans, so that the matter became noised abroad; and it was he who arranged the story, after hearing it from themselves, and related it as it is related here. Again their hardships were renewed, and to describe what they suffered on the great open Western Sea would be only to tell over again the story of their life on the Moyle. But one particular night came, of frost so hard that the whole face of the sea, from Irros Domnann to Achill, was frozen into a thick floor of ice; and the snow was driven by a north-west wind. On that night it seemed to the three brothers that they could not bear their sufferings any longer, and they began to utter loud and pitiful complaints. Finola tried to console them, but she was not able to do so, for they only lamented the more; and then she herself began to lament with the others. After a time, Finola spoke to them and said, "My dear brothers, believe in the great and splendid God of truth, who made the earth with its fruits, and the sea with its wonders; put your trust in Him, and He will send you help and comfort." "We believe in Him," said they. "And I also," said Finola, "believe in God, who is perfect in everything, and who knows all things." And at the destined hour they all believed, and the Lord of heaven sent them help and protection; so that neither cold nor tempest molested them from that time forth, as long as they abode on the Western Sea. So they continued at the point of Irros Domnann, till they had fulfilled their appointed time there. And Finola addressed the sons of Lir-- "My dear brothers, the end of our time here has come; we shall now go to visit our father and our people." And her brothers were glad when they heard this. Then they rose lightly from the face of the sea, and flew eastward with joyful hopes, till they reached Shee Finnaha. But when they alighted they found the place deserted and solitary, its halls all ruined and overgrown with rank grass and forests of nettles; no houses, no fire, no mark of human habitation. Then the four swans drew close together, and they uttered three loud mournful cries of sorrow. And Finola chanted this lay-- What meaneth this sad, this fearful change, That withers my heart with woe? The house of my father all joyless and lone, Its halls and its gardens with weeds overgrown,-- A dreadful and strange overthrow! No conquering heroes, no hounds for the chase, No shields in array on its walls, No bright silver goblets, no gay cavalcades, No youthful assemblies or high-born maids, To brighten its desolate halls! An omen of sadness--the home of our youth All ruined, deserted, and bare. Alas for the chieftain, the gentle and brave; His glories and sorrows are stilled in the grave, And we left to live in despair! From ocean to ocean, from age unto age, We have lived to the fulness of time; Through a life such as men never heard of we've passed, In suffering and sorrow our doom has been cast, By our stepmother's pitiless crime! The children of Lir remained that night in the ruins of the palace--the home of their forefathers, where they themselves had been nursed; and several times during the night they chanted their sad, sweet, fairy music. Early next morning they left Shee Finnaha, and flew west to Inis Glora, where they alighted on a small lake. There they began to sing so sweetly that all the birds of the district gathered in flocks round them on the lake, and on its shore, to listen to them; so that the little lake came to be called the Lake of the Bird-flocks. During the day the birds used to fly to distant points of the coast to feed, now to Iniskea of the lonely crane,[XXIV.] now to Achill, and sometimes southwards to Donn's Sea Rocks,[XXV.] and to many other islands and headlands along the shore of the Western Sea, but they returned to Inis Glora every night. They lived in this manner till holy Patrick came to Erin with the pure faith; and until Saint Kemoc came to Inis Glora. The first night Kemoc came to the island, the children of Lir heard his bell at early matin time, ringing faintly in the distance. And they trembled greatly, and started, and ran wildly about; for the sound of the bell was strange and dreadful to them, and its tones filled them with great fear. The three brothers were more affrighted than Finola, so that she was left quite alone; but after a time they came to her, and she asked them-- "Do you know, my brothers, what sound is this?" And they answered, "We have heard a faint, fearful voice, but we know not what it is." "This is the voice of the Christian bell," said Finola; "and now the end of our suffering is near; for this bell is the signal that we shall soon be freed from our spell, and released from our life of suffering; for God has willed it." And she chanted this lay-- Listen, ye swans, to the voice of the bell, The sweet bell we've dreamed of for many a year; Its tones floating by on the night breezes, tell That the end of our long life of sorrow is near! Listen, ye swans, to the heavenly strain; 'Tis the anchoret tolling his soft matin bell: He has come to release us from sorrow, from pain, From the cold and tempestuous shores where we dwell! Trust in the glorious Lord of the sky; He will free us from Eva's druidical spell: Be thankful and glad, for our freedom is nigh, And listen with joy to the voice of the bell! Then her brothers became calm; and the four swans remained listening to the music of the bell, till the cleric had finished his matins. "Let us sing our music now," said Finola. And they chanted a low, sweet, plaintive strain of fairy music, to praise and thank the great high King of heaven and earth. Kemoc heard the music from where he stood; and he listened with great astonishment. But after a time it was revealed to him that it was the children of Lir who sang that music; and he was glad, for it was to seek them he had come. When morning dawned he came to the shore of the lake, and he saw the four white swans swimming on the water. He spoke to them, and asked them were they the children of Lir. They replied, "We are indeed the children of Lir, who were changed long ago into swans by our wicked stepmother." "I give God thanks that I have found you," said Kemoc; "for it is on your account I have come to this little island in preference to all the other islands of Erin. Come ye now to land, and trust in me; for it is in this place that you are destined to be freed from your enchantment." So they, filled with joy on hearing the words of the cleric, came to the shore, and placed themselves under his care. He brought them to his own house, and, sending for a skilful workman, he caused him to make two bright, slender chains of silver; and he put a chain between Finola and Aed, and the other chain he put between Ficra and Conn. So they lived with him, listening to his instructions day by day, and joining in his devotions. They were the delight and joy of the cleric, and he loved them with his whole heart; and the swans were so happy that the memory of all the misery they had suffered during their long life on the waters caused them neither distress nor sorrow now. FOOTNOTES: [XXIV.] Iniskea; a little rocky island near the coast of Erris, in Mayo. "The lonely crane of Iniskea" was one of the "Wonders of Ireland." According to an ancient legend, which still lives among the peasantry of Mayo, a crane--one lonely bird--has lived on the island since the beginning of the world, and will live there till the day of judgment. [XXV.] Donn's Sea Rocks--called in the text _Teach-Dhuinn_, or Donn's House, which is also the present Irish name; a group of three rocks off Kenmare Bay, where Donn, one of the Milesian brothers, was drowned. These remarkable rocks are now called in English the "Bull, Cow, and Calf." CHAPTER VII. THE CHILDREN OF LIR REGAIN THEIR HUMAN SHAPE AND DIE. The king who ruled over Connaught at this time was Largnen, the son of Colman; and his queen was Decca, the daughter of Finnin,[XXVI.] king of Munster,--the same king and queen whom Eva had spoken of in her prophecy long ages before. Now word was brought to queen Decca regarding these wonderful speaking swans, and their whole history was related to her; so that even before she saw them, she could not help loving them, and she was seized with a strong desire to have them herself. So she went to the king, and besought him that he would go to Kemoc and get her the swans. But Largnen said that he did not wish to ask them from Kemoc. Whereupon Decca grew indignant; and she declared that she would not sleep another night in the palace till he had obtained the swans for her. So she left the palace that very hour, and fled southwards towards her father's home. Largnen, when he found she had gone, sent in haste after her, with word that he would try to procure the swans; but the messengers did not overtake her till she had reached Killaloe. However, she returned with them to the palace; and as soon as she had arrived, the king sent to Kemoc to request that he would send the birds to the queen; but Kemoc refused to give them. Largnen became very angry at this; and he set out at once for the cleric's house. As soon as he had come, he asked the cleric whether it was true that he had refused to give the swans to the queen. And when Kemoc answered that it was quite true, the king, being very wroth, went up to where the swans stood, and seizing the two silver chains, one in each hand, he drew the birds from the altar, and turned towards the door of the church, intending to bring them by force to the queen; while Kemoc followed him, much alarmed lest they should be injured. The king had proceeded only a little way, when suddenly the white feathery robes faded and disappeared; and the swans regained their human shape, Finola being transformed into an extremely old woman, and the three sons into three feeble old men, white-haired and bony and wrinkled. When the king saw this, he started with affright, and instantly left the place without speaking one word; while Kemoc reproached and denounced him very bitterly. As to the children of Lir, they turned towards Kemoc; and Finola spoke-- "Come, holy cleric, and baptise us without delay, for our death is near. You will grieve after us, O Kemoc; but in truth you are not more sorrowful at parting from us than we are at parting from you. Make our grave here and bury us together; and as I often sheltered my brothers when we were swans, so let us be placed in the grave--Conn standing near me at my right side, Ficra at my left, and Aed before my face."[XXVII.] Come, holy priest, with book and prayer; Baptise and shrive us here: Haste, cleric, haste, for the hour has come, And death at last is near! Dig our grave--a deep, deep grave, Near the church we loved so well; This little church, where first we heard The voice of the Christian bell. As oft in life my brothers dear Were sooth'd by me to rest-- Ficra and Conn beneath my wings, And Aed before my breast; So place the two on either hand-- Close, like the love that bound me; Place Aed as close before my face, And twine their arms around me. Thus shall we rest for evermore, My brothers dear and I: Haste, cleric, haste, baptise and shrive, For death at last is nigh! Then the children of Lir were baptised, and they died immediately. And when they died, Kemoc looked up; and lo, he saw a vision of four lovely children, with light, silvery wings, and faces all radiant with joy. They gazed on him for a moment; but even as they gazed, they vanished upwards, and he saw them no more. And he was filled with gladness, for he knew they had gone to heaven; but when he looked down on the four bodies lying before him, he became sad and wept. And Kemoc caused a wide grave to be dug near the little church; and the children of Lir were buried together, as Finola had directed--Conn at her right hand, Ficra at her left, and Aed standing before her face. And he raised a grave-mound over them, placing a tombstone on it, with their names graved in Ogam;[XXVIII.] after which he uttered a lament for them, and their funeral rites were performed. So far we have related the sorrowful story of the Fate of the Children of Lir. FOOTNOTES: [XXVI.] These are well-known historical personages, who flourished in the seventh century. [XXVII.] Among the ancient Celtic nations, the dead were often buried standing up in the grave. It was in this way Finola and her brothers were buried. [XXVIII.] Ogam, a sort of writing, often used on sepulchral stones to mark the names of the persons buried. THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF TURENN; OR, _THE QUEST FOR THE ERIC-FINE._ For the blood that we spilled, For the hero we killed, Toil and woe, toil and woe, till the doom is fulfilled! CHAPTER I. THE LOCHLANNS INVADE ERIN. When the Dedannans[1] held sway in Erin, a prosperous free-born king ruled over them, whose name was Nuada of the Silver Hand.[4] In the time of this king, the Fomorians,[5] from Lochlann,[6] in the north, oppressed the Dedannans, and forced them to pay heavy tributes; namely, a tax on kneading-troughs, a tax on querns, and a tax on baking flags; and besides all this, an ounce of gold for each man of the Dedannans. These tributes had to be paid every year at the Hill of Usna;[XXIX.] and if any one refused or neglected to pay his part, his nose was cut off by the Fomorian tyrants. At this time a great fair-meeting was held by the king of Ireland, Nuada of the Silver Hand, on the Hill of Usna. Not long had the people been assembled, when they saw a stately band of warriors, all mounted on white steeds, coming towards them from the east; and at their head, high in command over all, rode a young champion, tall and comely, with a countenance as bright and glorious as the setting sun. This young warrior was Luga of the Long Arms.[7] He was accompanied by his foster brothers, namely, the sons of Mannanan Mac Lir; and the troop he led was the Fairy Host from the Land of Promise.[8] Now in this manner was he arrayed. He rode the steed of Mannanan Mac Lir,[8] namely, Enbarr of the Flowing Mane: no warrior was ever killed on the back of this steed, for she was as swift as the clear, cold wind of spring, and she travelled with equal ease on land and on sea. He wore Mannanan's coat of mail: no one could be wounded through it, or above it, or below it. He had on his breast Mannanan's breast-plate, which no weapon could pierce. His helmet had two glittering precious stones set in front, and one behind; and whenever he took it off, his face shone like the sun on a dry day in summer. Mannanan's sword, The Answerer, hung at his left side: no one ever recovered from its wound; and those who were opposed to it in the battle-field were so terrified by looking at it, that their strength left them till they became weaker than a woman in deadly sickness. This troop came forward to where the king of Erin sat surrounded by the Dedannans, and both parties exchanged friendly greetings. A short time after this they saw another company approaching, quite unlike the first, for they were grim and fierce and surly looking; namely, the tax-gatherers of the Fomorians, to the number of nine nines, who were coming to demand their yearly tribute from the men of Erin. When they reached the place where the king sat, the entire assembly--the king himself among the rest--rose up before them. For the whole Dedannan race stood in great dread of these Fomorian tax-collectors; so much so that no man dared even to chastise his own son without first seeking their consent. Then Luga of the Long Arms spoke to the king and said, "Why have ye stood up before this hateful-looking company, when ye did not stand up for us?" "We durst not do otherwise," replied the king; "for if even an infant of a month old remained seated before them, they would deem it cause enough for killing us all." When Luga heard this he brooded in silence for a little while, and then he said, "Of a truth, I feel a great desire to kill all these men!" Then he mused again, and after a time, said, "I am strongly urged to kill these men!" "That deed would doubtless bring great evil on us," said the king, "for then the Fomorians would be sure to send an army to destroy us all." But Luga, after another pause, started up, exclaiming, "Long have ye been oppressed in this manner!" and so saying, he attacked the Fomorians, dealing red slaughter among them. Neither did he hold his hand till he had slain them all except nine. These he spared, because they ran with all speed and sat nigh the king, that he might protect them from Luga's wrath. Then Luga put his sword back into its scabbard, and said, "I would slay you also, only that I wish you to go and tell your king, and the foreigners in general, what you have seen." These nine men accordingly returned to their own country, and they told their tale to the Fomorian people from beginning to end--how the strange, noble-faced youth had slain all the tax-collectors except nine, whom he spared that they might bring home the story. When they had ended speaking, the king, Balor[9] of the Mighty Blows and of the Evil Eye, asked the chiefs, "Do ye know who this youth is?" And when they answered, "No," Kethlenda,[9] Balor's queen, said-- "I know well who the youth is: he is the Ildana,[XXX.] Luga of the Long Arms, the son of your daughter and mine; and it has been long foretold that when he should appear in Erin, our sway over the Dedannans should come to an end." Then the chief people of the Fomorians held council; namely, Balor of the Mighty Blows, and his twelve sons, and his queen Kethlenda of the Crooked Teeth; Ebb and Sencab, the grandsons of Neid; Sotal of the Large Heels; Luath the Long-bodied; Luath the Story-teller; Tinna the Mighty, of Triscadal; Loskenn of the Bare Knees; Lobas, the druid; besides the nine prophetic poets and philosophers of the Fomorians. After they had debated the matter for some time, Bres, the son of Balor, arose and said, "I will go to Erin with seven great battalions of the Fomorian army, and I will give battle to the Ildana, and I will bring his head to you to our palace of Berva."[6] The Fomorian chiefs thought well of this proposal, and it was agreed to. So the ships were got ready for Bres; abundant food and drink and war stores were put into them, their seams were calked with pitch, and they were filled with sweet-smelling frankincense. Meantime the two Luaths, that is to say, Luath the Story-teller and Luath of the Long Body, were sent all over Lochlann to summon the army. And when all the fighting men were gathered together, they arrayed themselves in their battle-dresses, prepared their arms, and set out for Erin. Balor went with them to the harbour where they were to embark, and when they were about to go on board, he said to them-- "Give battle to the Ildana, and cut off his head. And after ye have overcome him and his people, put your cables round this island of Erin, which gives us so much trouble, and tie it at the sterns of your ships: then sail home, bringing the island with you, and place it on the north side of Lochlann, whither none of the Dedannans will ever follow it." Then, having hoisted their many-coloured sails and loosed their moorings, they sailed forth from the harbour into the great sea, and never slackened speed or turned aside from their course till they reached the harbour of Eas-Dara.[XXXI.] And as soon as they landed, they sent forth an army through West Connaught, which wasted and spoiled the whole province. FOOTNOTES: [XXIX.] The Hill of Usna, in the parish of Conry, in Westmeath, one of the royal residences of Ireland. [XXX.] Luga of the Long Arms is often called The Ildana, _i.e._ the Man of many sciences, to signify his various accomplishments. CHAPTER II. THE MURDER OF KIAN. Now the king of Connaught at that time was Bove Derg, the son of the Dagda,[XXXII.] a friend to Luga of the Long Arms. It chanced that Luga was then at Tara,[XXXIII.] and news was brought to him that the Fomorians had landed at Eas-Dara, and were spoiling and wasting the province. He immediately got ready his steed, Enbarr of the Flowing Mane; and early in the morning, when the point of night met the day, he went to the king and told him that the foreigners had landed, and that they had wasted and plundered the province of Bove Derg. "I shall give them battle," said Luga; "and I wish to get from thee some help of men and arms." "I will give no help," said the king; "for I do not wish to avenge a deed that has not been done against myself." When Luga heard this reply he was wroth, and departing straightway from Tara, he rode westward. He had not travelled long when he saw at a distance three warriors, fully armed, riding towards him. Now these were three brothers, the sons of Canta; namely, Kian and Cu and Kethen; and Kian was Luga's father. And they saluted each other, and conversed together for a time. "Why art thou abroad so early?" said they. "Cause enough have I," replied Luga; "for the Fomorians have landed in Erin, and have wasted the province of Bove Derg, the son of the Dagda. It is well indeed that I have met you, for I am about to give them battle, and I wish now to know what aid I shall get from you." "We will go into the battle with you," said they; "and each of us will ward off from you a hundred of the Fomorian warriors." "That, indeed, is good help," said Luga; "but, for the present, I wish you to go to the several places throughout Erin where the Fairy Host[XXXIV.] are abiding, and summon them all to me." The three brothers accordingly separated, Cu and Kethen going south, while Luga's father, Kian, turned his face northwards, and rode on till he came to Moy Murthemna.[XXXV.] He had not been long travelling over the plain when he saw three warriors, clad in armour and fully armed, coming towards him. These were three Dedannan chiefs, the sons of Turenn, and their names were Brian, Ur, and Urcar. Now these three and the three sons of Canta were at deadly feud with each other, on account of an old quarrel, and whenever they met there was sure to be a fight for life or death. As soon as Kian saw these three, he said, "If my two brothers were now with me, we should have a brave fight; but as they are not, and as I am only one against three, it is better to avoid the combat." So saying, he looked round, and seeing near him a herd of swine he struck himself with a golden druidical[3] wand, and changed himself into a pig; and he quickly joined the herd. No sooner had he done so than Brian, the eldest of the sons of Turenn, said to his brothers, "Tell me, my brothers, do you know what has become of the warrior that we saw just now approaching us on the plain?" "We saw him," said they, "but we know not whither he has gone." "You deserve great blame," said he, "that you are not more watchful while traversing the country during this time of war. Now I know what has happened to this warrior; he has changed himself, by a druidical spell, into a pig; and he is now among yonder herd. And whoever he may be, of this be sure--he is no friend of ours." "This is an unlucky matter," said they; "for as these pigs belong to one of the Dedannans, it would be wrong for us to kill them; and even if we should do so, the enchanted pig might escape after all." "But," answered Brian, "I think I can manage to distinguish any druidical beast from a natural one; and if you had attended well to your learning, you would be able to do the same." Saying this, he struck his brothers one after the other with his golden druidical wand, and turned them into two fleet, slender, sharp-nosed hounds. The moment he had done so they put their noses to the earth, and, yelping eagerly, set off towards the herd on the trail of their enemy. When they had come near, the druidical pig fell out from the herd, and made towards a thick grove that grew hard by; but Brian was there before him, and drove his spear through his chest. The pig screamed and said, "You have done an ill deed to cast your spear at me, for you know well who I am." "Your voice, methinks, is the voice of a man," said Brian; "but I know not who you are." And the pig answered, "I am Kian, the son of Canta; and now I ask you to give me quarter." Ur and Urcar, who had regained their shape and come up, said, "We will give you quarter indeed, and we are sorry for what has happened to you." But Brian, on the other hand, said, "I swear by the gods of the air, that if your life returned to you seven times, I would take it from you seven times." "Then," said Kian, "as you will not grant me quarter, allow me first to return to my own shape." "That we will grant you," said Brian; "for I often feel it easier to kill a man than to kill a pig." Kian accordingly took his own shape; and then he said, "You indeed, ye sons of Turenn, are now about to slay me; but even so, I have outwitted you. For if you had slain me in the shape of a pig, you would have to pay only the eric-fine[10] for a pig; whereas, now that I am in my own shape, you shall pay the full fine for a man. And there never yet was killed, and there never shall be killed, a man for whom a greater fine shall be paid, than you will have to pay for me. The weapons with which I am slain shall tell the deed to my son; and he will exact the fine from you." "You shall not be slain with the weapons of a warrior," said Brian; and so saying, he and his brothers laid aside their arms, and smote him fiercely and rudely with the round stones of the earth, till they had reduced his body to a disfigured mass; and in this manner they slew him. They then buried him a man's height in the earth; but the earth, being angry at the fratricide,[XXXVI.] refused to receive the body, and cast it up on the surface. They buried him a second time, and again the body was thrown up from beneath the clay. Six times the sons of Turenn buried the body of Kian a man's height in the earth, and six times did the earth cast it up, refusing to receive it. But when they had buried him the seventh time, the earth refused no longer, and the body remained in the grave. Then the sons of Turenn prepared to go forward after Luga of the Long Arms to the battle. But as they were leaving the grave, they thought they heard a faint, muffled voice coming up from the ground beneath their feet-- The blood you have spilled, The hero you've killed, Shall follow your steps till your doom be fulfilled! FOOTNOTES: [XXXI.] Eas-Dara, now Ballysodare, in the county Sligo. [XXXII.] See page 1. [XXXIII.] Tara, in Meath, the chief seat of the kings of Ireland. [XXXIV.] Fairy Host, _i.e._ the Dedannans. (See notes 1 and 8 at end.) [XXXV.] Moy Murthemna, a plain in the county of Louth. [XXXVI.] Fratricide; Gaelic, _fionghal_, the murder of a relative. (See note, page 7.) The sons of Turenn and the sons of Canta appear to have been related to each other (see the third stanza of the poem, page 94). CHAPTER III. DEFEAT AND FLIGHT OF THE LOCHLANNS. Now as to Luga. After parting from his father, he journeyed westward till he reached Ath-Luan,[XXXVII.] thence to Ros-Coman, and over Moy-Lurg to the Curlieu Hills, and to the mountain of Kesh-Corran, till he reached the "Great Plain of the Assembly," where the foreigners were encamped, with the spoils of Connaught around them. As he drew nigh to the Fomorian encampment, Bres, the son of Balor, arose and said-- "A wonderful thing has come to pass this day; for the sun, it seems to me, has risen in the west." "It would be better that it were so," said the druids,[3] "than that matters should be as they are." "What else can it be, then?" asked Bres. "The light you see," replied the druids, "is the brightness of the face, and the flashing of the weapons of Luga of the Long Arms, our deadly enemy, he who slew our tax-gatherers, and who now approaches." Then Luga came up peacefully and saluted them. "How does it come to pass that you salute us," said they, "since you are, as we know well, our enemy?" "I have good cause for saluting you," answered Luga; "for only one half of my blood is Dedannan; the other half comes from you; for I am the son of the daughter of Balor of the Mighty Blows, your king.[7] And now I come in peace, to ask you to give back to the men of Connaught all the milch cows you have taken from them." "May ill luck follow thee," said one of the Fomorian leaders, in a voice loud and wrathful, "until thou get one of them, either a milch cow or a dry cow!" And the others spoke in a like strain. Then Luga put a druidical spell upon the plundered cattle; and he sent all the milch cows home, each to the door of her owner's house, throughout all that part of Connaught that had been plundered. But the dry cows he left, so that the Fomorians might be cumbered, and that they might not leave their encampment till the Fairy Host should arrive to give them battle. Luga tarried three days and three nights near them, and at the end of that time the Fairy Host arrived, and placed themselves under his command. They encamped near the Fomorians, and in a little time Bove Derg, son of the Dagda, joined them with twenty-nine hundred men. Then they made ready for the fight. The Ildana put on Mannanan's coat of mail and his breast-plate; he took also his helmet, which was called Cannbarr, and it glittered in the sun with dazzling brightness; he slung his broad, dark-blue shield from his shoulder at one side; his long, keen-edged sword hung at his thigh; and lastly, he took his two long, heavy-handled spears, which had been tempered in the poisonous blood of adders. The other kings and chiefs of the men of Erin arrayed their men in battle ranks; hedges of glittering spears rose high above their heads; and their shields, placed edge to edge, formed a firm fence around them. Then at the signal they attacked the Fomorians, and the Fomorians, in no degree dismayed, answered their onset. At first a cloud of whizzing javelins flew from rank to rank across the open space, and as the warriors rushed together in closer conflict, their spears were shivered in their hands. Then they drew their gold-hilted swords, and fought foot to foot and shield to shield, so that a forest of bright flashes rose high above their helmets, from the clashing of their keen-tempered weapons. In the midst of the fight, Luga looked round, and seeing at some distance, Bres, surrounded by his Fomorian warriors, dealing havoc and death among the Dedannans, he rushed through the press of battle, and attacked first Bres's guards so fiercely that in a few moments twenty of them fell beneath his blows. Then he struck at Bres himself, who, unable to withstand his furious onset, cried aloud-- "Why should we be enemies, since thou art of my kin? Let there be peace between us, for nothing can withstand thy blows. Let there be peace, and I will undertake to bring my Fomorians to assist thee at Moytura,[11] and I will promise never again to come to fight against thee." And Bres swore by the sun and the moon, by the sea and land, and by all the elements,[XXXVIII.] to fulfil his engagement; and on these conditions Luga granted him his life. Then the Fomorians, seeing their chief overcome, dropped their arms, and sued for quarter. The Fomorian druids and men of learning next came to Luga to ask him to spare their lives; and Luga answered them-- "So far am I from wishing to slay you, that in truth, if you had taken the whole Fomorian race under your protection, I would have spared them." And after this, Bres, the son of Balor, returned to his own country with his druids, and with those of his army who had escaped from the battle. FOOTNOTES: [XXXVII.] _Ath-Luan_, now Athlone; _Ros-Coman_, now Roscommon; _Moy-Lurg_, a plain in the county Roscommon; Curlieu Hills, a range of hills near Boyle, in Roscommon; Kesh-Corran, a well-known mountain in Sligo. The "Great Plain of the Assembly" must have been near Ballysodare, in Sligo. [XXXVIII.] A usual form of oath among the ancient Irish. (See, for an account of this oath, the author's "Origin and History of Irish Names of Places," Series II. chap. XIV.) CHAPTER IV. THE ERIC-FINE ON THE SONS OF TURENN FOR THE SLAYING OF KIAN. Towards the close of the day, when the battle was ended, Luga espied two of his near friends; and he asked them if they had seen his father, Kian, in the fight. And when they answered, "No," Luga said-- "My father is not alive; for if he lived he would surely have come to help me in the battle. And now I swear that neither food nor drink will I take till I have found out who has slain him, and the manner of his death." Then Luga set out with a small chosen band of the Fairy Host, and he halted not till he reached the place where he had parted from his father. And from that he travelled on to the plain of Murthemna, where Kian had been forced to take the shape of a pig to avoid the sons of Turenn, and where they had slain him. When he had come near to the very spot, he walked some little way before his companions, and the stones of the earth spoke beneath his feet, and said-- "Here thy father lies, O Luga. Grievous was Kian's strait when he was forced to take the shape of a pig on seeing the three sons of Turenn; and here they slew him in his own shape!" The blood that they spilled, The hero they killed, Shall darken their lives till their doom be fulfilled! Luga stood for a while silent, pondering on these words. But as his companions came up, he told them what had happened; and having pointed out the spot from which the voice came, he caused the ground to be dug up. There they found the body, and raised it to the surface; and when they had examined it, they saw that it was covered all over with gory wounds and bruises. Then Luga spoke after a long silence, "A cruel and merciless death has my beloved father suffered at the hands of the sons of Turenn!" He kissed his father's face three times, and again spoke, grieving, "Ill fare the day on which my father was slain! Woful is this deed to me, for my eyes see not, my ears hear not, and my heart's pulse has ceased to beat, for grief. Why, O ye gods whom I worship, why was I not present when this deed was done? Alas! an evil thing has happened, for the Dedannans have slain their brother Dedannan. Ill shall they fare of this fratricide, for its consequences shall follow them, and long shall the crime of brother against brother continue to be committed in Erin!" And he spoke this speech-- A dreadful doom my father found On that ill-omened even-tide; And here I mourn beside the mound, Where, whelmed by numbers, Kian died,-- This lonely mound of evil fame, That long shall bear the hero's name! Alas! an evil deed is done, And long shall Erin rue the day: There shall be strife 'twixt sire and son, And brothers shall their brothers slay; Vengeance shall smite the murderers too, And vengeance all their race pursue! The light has faded from mine eyes; My youthful strength and power have fled Weary my heart with ceaseless sighs; Ambition, hope, and joy are dead; And all the world is draped in gloom-- The shadow of my father's tomb! Then they placed the hero again in the grave, and they raised a tomb over him with his name graved in Ogam;[XXXIX.] after which his lamentation lays were sung, and his funeral games were performed. When these rites were ended, Luga said to his people, "Go ye now to Tara, where the king of Erin sits on his throne with the Dedannans around him; but do not make these things known till I myself have told them." So Luga's people went straightway to Tara, as he had bade them; but of the murder of Kian they said naught. Luga himself arrived some time after, and was received with great honour, being put to sit high over the others, at the king's side; for the fame of his mighty deeds at the battle of the Assembly Plain had been noised over the whole country, and had come to the ears of the king. After he was seated, he looked round the hall, and saw the sons of Turenn in the assembly. Now these three sons of Turenn exceeded all the champions in Tara, in comeliness of person, in swiftness of foot, and in feats of arms; and, next to Luga himself, they were the best and bravest in the battles against the Fomorians; wherefore they were honoured by the king beyond most others. Luga asked the king that the chain of silence[XL.] should be shaken; and when it was shaken, and when all were listening in silence, he stood up and spoke-- "I perceive, ye nobles of the Dedannan race, that you have given me your attention, and now I have a question to put to each man here present: What vengeance would you take of the man who should knowingly and of design kill your father?" They were all struck with amazement on hearing this, and the king of Erin said-- "What does this mean? For that your father has not been killed, this we all know well!" "My father has indeed been killed," answered Luga; "and I see now here in this hall those who slew him. And furthermore, I know the manner in which they put him to death, even as they know it themselves." The sons of Turenn, hearing all this, said nothing; but the king spoke aloud and said-- "If any man should wilfully slay my father, it is not in one hour or in one day I would have him put to death; but I would lop off one of his members each day, till I saw him die in torment under my hands!" All the nobles said the same, and the sons of Turenn in like manner. "The persons who slew my father are here present, and are joining with the rest in this judgment," said Luga; "and as the Dedannans are all now here to witness, I claim that the three who have done this evil deed shall pay me a fitting eric-fine for my father. Should they refuse, I shall not indeed transgress the king's law nor violate his protection; but of a certainty they shall not leave this hall of Micorta[XLI.] till the matter is settled." And the king of Erin said, "If I had killed your father, I should be well content if you were willing to accept an eric-fine from me." Now the sons of Turenn spoke among themselves; and Ur and Urcar said, "It is of us Luga speaks this speech. He has doubtless found out that we slew his father; and it is better that we now acknowledge the deed, for it will avail us naught to hide it." Brian, however, at first set his face against this, saying that he feared Luga only wanted an acknowledgment from them in presence of the other Dedannans, and that afterwards he might not accept a fine. But the other two were earnest in pressing him, so that he consented, and then he spoke to Luga-- "It is of us thou speakest all these things, Luga; for it has been said that we three have been at enmity with the three sons of Canta. Now, as to the slaying of thy father Kian, let that matter rest; but we are willing to pay an eric-fine for him, even as if we had killed him." "I shall accept an eric-fine from you," said Luga, "though ye indeed fear I shall not. I shall now name before this assembly the fine I ask, and if you think it too much, I shall take off a part of it. "The first part of my eric-fine is three apples; the second part is the skin of a pig; the third is a spear; the fourth, two steeds and a chariot; the fifth, seven pigs; the sixth, a hound-whelp; the seventh, a cooking-spit; and the eighth, three shouts on a hill. That is my eric," said Luga; "and if ye think it too much, say so now, that I may remit a part; but if not, then it will be well that ye set about paying it." "So far," said Brian, "we do not deem it too great. It seems, indeed, so small that we fear there is some hidden snare in what you ask, which may work us mischief." "I do not deem my eric too small," said Luga; "and now I engage here, before the assembled Dedannans, that I will ask no more, and that I will seek no further vengeance for my father's death. But, as I have made myself answerable to them for the faithful fulfilment of my promise, I demand the same guarantee from you, that you also be faithful to me." "Alas that you should doubt our plighted word!" said the sons of Turenn. "Are we not ourselves sufficient guarantee for the payment of an eric-fine greater even than this?" "I do not deem your word sufficient guarantee," answered Luga; "for often have we known great warriors like you to promise a fine before all the people, and afterwards to go back of their promise." And the sons of Turenn consented, though unwillingly, for they grieved that their word should be doubted. So they bound themselves on either side--Luga not to increase his claims; and the sons of Turenn, on their part, to pay him the full fine. And the king of Erin and Bove Derg, son of the Dagda, and the nobles of the Dedannans in general, were witnesses and sureties of this bond. Then Luga stood up and said, "It is now time that I give you a full knowledge of this eric-fine. "The three apples I ask are the apples of the Garden of Hisberna,[XLII.] in the east of the world, and none others will I have. There are no apples in the rest of the world like them, for their beauty and for the secret virtues they possess. Their colour is the colour of burnished gold; they have the taste of honey; and if a wounded warrior or a man in deadly sickness eat of them, he is cured immediately. And they are never lessened by being eaten, being as large and perfect at the end as at the beginning. Moreover any champion that possesses one of them may perform with it whatsoever feat he pleases, by casting it from his hand, and the apple will return to him of itself. And though you are three brave warriors, ye sons of Turenn, methinks you will not find it easy to bring away these apples; for it has been long foretold that three young champions from the Island of the West would come to take them by force, so that the king has set guards to watch for your coming. "The pig's skin I seek from you belongs to Tuis, the king of Greece. When the pig was alive, every stream of water through which she walked was turned into wine for nine days, and all sick and wounded people that touched her skin were at once cured, if only the breath of life remained. Now the king's druids told him that the virtue lay, not in the pig herself, but in her skin; so the king had her killed and skinned, and he has her skin now. This, too, ye valiant champions, is a part of my eric-fine which you will find it hard to get, either by force or by friendship. "The spear I demand from you is the venomed spear of Pezar, king of Persia. Its name is Slaughterer. In time of peace, its blazing, fiery head is always kept in a great caldron of water, to prevent it from burning down the king's palace; and in time of war, the champion who bears it to the battle-field can perform any deed he pleases with it. And it will be no easy matter to get this spear from the king of Persia. "The two steeds and the chariot belong to Dobar, king of Sigar.[XLIII.] The chariot exceeds all the chariots in the world for beauty of shape and goodliness of workmanship. The two noble steeds have no equal for strength and fleetness, and they travel with as much ease on sea as on land. "The seven pigs I demand are the pigs of Asal, the king of the Golden Pillars. Whoever eats a part of them shall not suffer from ill health or disease; and even though they should be killed and eaten to-day, they will be alive and well to-morrow. "The hound-whelp belongs to the king of Iroda,[XLIV.] and his name is Failinis. He shines as brightly as the sun in a summer sky; and every wild beast of the forest that sees him falls down to the earth powerless before him. "The cooking-spit belongs to the warlike women of the island of Fincara. They are thrice fifty in number, and woe to the champion who approaches their house; for each of them is a match for three good warriors in single combat; and they never yet gave a cooking-spit to any one without being overcome in battle. "The hill on which I require you to give three shouts is the Hill of Midkena, in the north of Lochlann.[6] Midkena and his sons are always guarding this hill, for they are under gesa[12] not to allow any one to shout on it. Moreover, it was they that instructed my father in championship and feats of arms, and they loved him very much; so that even if I should forgive you his death they would not. And, though you should be able to procure all the rest of the eric-fine, you will not, I think, succeed in this, for they will be sure to avenge on you my father's death. "And this, ye sons of Turenn, is the eric-fine I demand from you!" FOOTNOTES: [XXXIX.] A kind of writing. (See note, page 36.) [XL.] Chain of silence; a chain, probably hung with little bells, which the lord of a mansion shook when he wished to get silence and attention. [XLI.] Mic[=o]'rta; the name of the great banqueting hall of Tara, the ruins of which are to be seen to this day. [XLII.] The Garden of the Hesperides. [XLIII.] Sigar, _i.e._ Sicily. [XLIV.] Iroda was the name given by the Irish to some country in the far north of Europe, probably Norway. CHAPTER V. THE SONS OF TURENN OBTAIN MANNANAN'S CANOE, "THE WAVE-SWEEPER." The sons of Turenn were so astounded on hearing this eric-fine that they spoke not one word; but rising up, they left the meeting, and repaired to the house of their father Turenn. He heard their story to the end, and then said, "Your tidings are bad, my sons, and I fear me you are doomed to meet your death in seeking what the Ildana asks. But the doom is a just one, for it was an evil thing to kill Kian. Now as to this eric-fine: it cannot be obtained by any living man without the help of either Luga himself or of Mannanan Mac Lir;[8] but if Luga wishes to aid you, ye shall be able to get it. Go ye now, therefore, and ask him to lend you Mannanan's steed, Enbarr of the Flowing Mane. If he wishes you to get the full eric-fine, he will lend you the steed; otherwise he will refuse, saying that she does not belong to him, and that he cannot lend what he himself has got on loan. Then, if ye obtain not the steed, ask him for the loan of Mannanan's canoe, the Wave-sweeper, which would be better for you than the steed; and he will lend you that, for he is forbidden to refuse a second request." So the sons of Turenn returned to Luga, and having saluted him, they said-- "It is not in the power of any man to obtain this eric-fine without thy own aid, O Luga; we ask thee, therefore, to lend us Mannanan's steed, Enbarr of the Flowing Mane." "That steed is not my own," said Luga; "and I cannot lend that which I have myself obtained on loan." "If that be so," said Brian, "then I pray thee lend us Mannanan's canoe, the Wave-sweeper." "I shall lend you that," replied Luga; "it lies at Bruga of the Boyne;[XLV.] and ye have my consent to take it." So they came again to their father, and this time Ethnea, their sister, was with him; and they told them that Luga had given them the canoe. "I have much fear," said Turenn, "that it will avail you little against the dangers of your quest. Nevertheless, Luga desires to obtain that part of the eric that will be useful to him at the battle of Moytura,[11] and so far he will help you. But in seeking that which is of no advantage to him, namely, the cooking-spit, and the three shouts on Midkena's Hill, therein he will give you no aid, and he will be glad if ye perish in your attempts to obtain it." They then set out for Bruga of the Boyne, accompanied by their sister Ethnea, leaving Turenn lamenting after them. The canoe they found lying in the river; and Brian went into it and said-- "It seems to me that only one other person can sit here along with me;" and he began to complain very bitterly of its smallness. He ceased, however, at the bidding of Ethnea, who told him that the canoe would turn out large enough when they came to try it, and that it was under strict command not to let any one grumble at its smallness. And she went on to say-- "Alas, my beloved brothers, it was an evil deed to slay the father of Luga of the Long Arms! and I fear you will suffer much woe and hardship on account of it." ETHNEA. The deed was a dark one, a deed full of woe, Your brother Dedannan to slay; And hard and relentless the heart of your foe, The bright-faced Ildana, that forced you to go, This eric of vengeance to pay! THE BROTHERS. Oh, cease, sister Ethnea, cease thy sad wail; Why yield to this terror and gloom? Long, long shall the poets remember the tale, For our courage and valour and swords shall prevail, Or win us a glorious tomb! ETHNEA. Then search ye, my brothers, go search land and sea; Go search ye the isles of the East.-- Alas, that the cruel Ildana's decree Has banished my three gentle brothers from me, On this fearful and perilous quest! FOOTNOTES: [XLV.] Bruga of the Boyne, the palace of Angus, the great Dedannan magician, was situated on the north shore of the Boyne, not far from Slane. (See note 1 at end.) CHAPTER VI. THE APPLES OF THE GARDEN OF HISBERNA. After this the three brothers entered the canoe, which they now found large enough to hold themselves and their arms, and whatsoever else they wished to bring; for this was one of its secret gifts. They then bade their sister farewell, and, leaving her weeping on the shore, they rowed swiftly till they had got beyond the beautiful shores and bright harbours of Erin, out on the open sea. Then the two younger brothers said, "Now our quest begins: what course shall we take?" Brian answered, "As the apples are the first part of the fine, we shall seek them first." And then he spoke to the canoe, "Thou canoe of Mannanan, thou Sweeper of the waves, we ask thee and we command thee, that thou sail straightway to the Garden of Hisberna!" The canoe was not unmindful of the voice of its master, and obeyed the command without delay, according to its wont. It took the shortest way across the deep sea-chasms, and, gliding over the green-sided waves more swiftly than the clear, cold wind of March, it stayed not in its course till it reached the harbour near the land of Hisberna. Brian now spoke to his brothers, "Be sure that this quest is a perilous one, since we know that the best champions of the country, with the king at their head, are always guarding the apples. And now in what manner, think you, is it best for us to approach the garden?" "It seems to us," answered his brothers, "that we had better go straight and attack these champions, and either bring away the apples, or fall fighting for them. For we cannot escape the dangers that lie before us; and if we are doomed to fall in one of these adventures, it may, perchance, be better for us to die here than to prolong our hardships." But Brian answered, "Not so, my brothers; for it becomes a warrior to be prudent and wary as well as brave. We should now act so that the fame of our skill and valour may live after us, and that future men may not say, 'These sons of Turenn did not deserve to be called brave champions, for they were senseless and rash, and sought their own death by their folly.' In the present case, then, what I counsel is this: Let us take the shape of strong, swift hawks; and as we approach the garden, have ye care of the light, sharp lances of the guards, which they will certainly hurl at us: avoid them actively and cunningly, and when the men have thrown all, let us swoop down and bring away an apple each." They approved this counsel; and Brian, striking his two brothers and himself with a druidical magic wand, all three were changed into three beautiful hawks. Then, flying swiftly to the garden, they began to descend in circles towards the tops of the trees; but the sharp-eyed guards perceived them, and with a great shout they threw showers of venomous darts at them. The hawks, however, mindful of Brian's warning, watched the spears with keen glances, and escaped them every one, until the guards had thrown all their light weapons. Then, swooping suddenly down on the trees, the two younger brothers carried off an apple each, and Brian two, one between his talons and the other in his beak; and the three rose again into the air without wound or hurt of any kind. Then, directing their course westward, they flew over the wide sea with the speed of an arrow. The news spread quickly through the city, how three beautiful hawks had carried off the apples; and the king and his people were in great wrath. Now the king had three daughters, very skilful in magic and cunning in counsel; and they forthwith transformed themselves into three swift-winged, sharp-taloned griffins, and pursued the hawks over the sea. But the hawks, when they saw they were pursued, increased their speed, and flew like the wind, and left their pursuers so far behind that they appeared to the griffins like three specks on the sky. Then the angry griffins let fly from their eyes, and from their open beaks, bright flashes of flame straight forward, which overtook and blinded the hawks, and scorched them, so that they could bear the heat no longer. "Evil is our state now," said Ur and Urcar, "for these sheets of flame are burning us, and we shall perish if we do not get relief." "I will try whether I cannot relieve you," said Brian; and with that he struck his brothers and himself with his golden druidical wand; and all three were instantly turned into swans. The swans dropped down on the sea; and when the griffins saw the hawks no longer straight before them, they gave up the chase. And the sons of Turenn went safely to their canoe, bringing the apples with them. CHAPTER VII. THE GIFTED SKIN OF THE PIG. After resting a little while, they held council as to their next journey; and what they resolved on was to go to Greece, to seek the skin of the pig, and to bring it away, either by consent or by force. So they went into the canoe, and Brian spoke-- "Thou canoe of Mannanan, thou Sweeper of the Waves, we ask thee and we command thee that thou sail with us straightway to Greece!" And the canoe, obeying as before, glided swiftly and smoothly over the waves, till the sons of Turenn landed near the palace of the king of Greece. "In what shape, think you, should we go to this court?" said Brian. "We think it best," answered the others, "to go in our own shapes; that is to say, as three bold champions." "Not so," said Brian. "It seems best to me that we should go in the guise of learned poets from Erin; for poets are held in much honour and respect by the great nobles of Greece." "It is, indeed, hard for us to do that," answered his brothers, "for as to poems, we neither have any, nor do we know how to compose them." However, as Brian would have it so, they consented, though unwillingly; and, tying up their hair after the manner of poets, they knocked at the door of the palace. The door-keeper asked who was there. "We are skilful poets from Erin," said Brian, "and we have come to Greece with a poem for the king." The door-keeper went and gave the message. "Let them be brought in," said the king, "for it is to seek a good and bountiful master whom they may serve faithfully that they have come so far from Erin." The sons of Turenn were accordingly led in to the banquet hall, where sat the king surrounded by his nobles; and, bowing low, they saluted him; and he saluted them in return, and welcomed them. They sat at the table among the company, and joined the feast at once, drinking and making merry like the others; and they thought they had never seen a banquet hall so grand, or a household so numerous and mirthful. At the proper time the king's poets arose, according to custom, to recite their poems and their lays for the company. And when they had come to an end, Brian, speaking low, said to his brothers-- "As we have come here as poets, it is meet that we should practise the poetic art like the others; therefore now arise, and recite a poem for the king." "We have no poems," they replied, "and we do not wish to practise any art except the art we have learned and practised from our youth, namely, to fight like brave champions, and to take by valour and force of arms that which we want, if we be stronger than our enemies, or to fall in battle if they be the stronger." "That is not a pleasant way of making poetry," said Brian; and with that he arose and requested attention for his poem. And when they sat listening, he said-- To praise thee, O Tuis, we've come to this land: Like an oak among shrubs, over kings thou dost stand: Thy bounty, great monarch, shall gladden the bard; And the _Imnocta-fessa_ I claim as reward. Two neighbours shall war, with an O to an O; A bard unrequited--how dreadful a foe! Thy bounty shall add to thy wealth and thy fame; And the _Imnocta-fessa_ is all that I claim. "Your poem would doubtless be thought a very good one," said the king, "if we were able to judge of it; but it is unlike all other poems I have ever heard, for I do not in the least understand its sense." "I will unfold its sense," said Brian. To praise thee, O Tuis, we've come to this land: Like an oak among shrubs, over kings thou dost stand: "This means that as the oak excels all the other trees of the forest, so dost thou excel all the other kings of the world for greatness, nobility, and generosity. "'_Imnocta-fessa._' _Imnocta_ means 'skin,' and _fessa_ 'a pig.' That is to say; thou hast, O king, the skin of a pig, which I desire to get from thee as a guerdon for my poetry. Two neighbours shall war, with an O to an O; A bard unrequited--how dreadful a foe! "_O_ means 'an ear;' that is to say, thou and I shall be ear to ear fighting with each other for the skin, if thou give it not of thy own free will. "And that, O king, is the sense of my poem." "Thy poem would have been a very good one," said the king, "and I would have given it due meed of praise if my pig's skin had not been mentioned in it. But it is a foolish request of thine, O ferdana,[XLVI.] to ask for that skin; for, even though all the poets and men of science of Erin, and all the nobles of the whole world were to demand it from me, I would refuse it. Nevertheless, thou shalt not pass unrewarded, for I will give thee thrice the full of the skin of red gold--one for thyself, and one for each of thy brothers." "Thy ransom is a good one, O king," said Brian; "but I am a near-hearted and suspicious man, and I pray thee let me see with my eyes thy servants measure the gold, lest they deal unfairly with me." The king agreed to this; so his servants went with the three sons of Turenn to the treasure-room, and one of them drew forth the skin from its place, to measure the gold. As soon as Brian caught sight of it, he sprang suddenly towards the servant, and, dashing him to the ground with his right hand, he snatched the skin with his left, and bound it hastily over his shoulders. Then the three drew their keen swords, and rushed into the banquet hall. The king's nobles, seeing how matters stood, surrounded and attacked them; but the sons of Turenn, nothing daunted by the number of their foes, hewed down the foremost and scattered the rest, so that scarce one of the whole party escaped death or deadly wounds. Then at last Brian and the king met face to face, nor was either slow to answer the challenge of the other. They fought as great champions fight, and it was long doubtful which should prevail; but the end of the combat was, that the king of Greece fell by the overpowering valour of Brian, the son of Turenn. After this victory, the three brothers rested in the palace till they had regained their strength, and healed up their wounds by means of the apples and the pig's skin; and at the end of three days and three nights they found themselves able to undertake the next adventure. FOOTNOTES: [XLVI.] Ferdana, a poet; literally, "a man of verse." CHAPTER VIII. THE BLAZING SPEAR OF THE KING OF PERSIA. So, after holding council, they resolved to go to seek the spear of the king of Persia; and Brian reminded his brothers that now, as they had the apples and the skin to aid them, it would be all the easier to get the spear, as well as the rest of the fine. Leaving now the shores of Greece with all its blue streams, they went on board the canoe, which, at Brian's command, flew across the wide seas; and soon they made land near the palace of Pezar, king of Persia. And seeing how they had fared so well in their last undertaking, they resolved to put on the guise of poets this time also. And so they put the poet's tie on their hair, and, passing through the outer gate, they knocked at the door of the palace. The door-keeper asked who they were, and from what country they had come. "We are poets from Erin," answered Brian; "and we have brought a poem for the king." So they were admitted and brought to the presence of the king, who seated them among the nobles of his household; and they joined in the drinking and the feasting and the revelry. The king's poets now arose, and chanted their songs for the king and his guests. And when the applause had ceased, Brian, speaking softly, said to his brothers-- "Arise, now, and chant a poem for the king." But they answered, "Ask us not to do that which we are unable to do; but if you wish us to exercise the art we have learned from our youth, we shall do so, namely, the art of fighting and overcoming our foes." "That would be an unusual way of reciting poetry," said Brian; "but I have a poem for the king, and I shall now chant it for him." So saying, he stood up; and when there was silence, he recited this poem-- In royal state may Pezar ever reign, Like some vast yew tree, monarch of the plain; May Pezar's mystic javelin, long and bright, Bring slaughter to his foes in every fight! When Pezar fights and shakes his dreadful spear, Whole armies fly and heroes quake with fear: What shielded foe, what champion can withstand, The blazing spear in mighty Pezar's hand! "Your poem is a good one," said the king; "but one thing in it I do not understand, namely, why you make mention of my spear." "Because," answered Brian, "I wish to get that spear as a reward for my poem." "That is a very foolish request," said the king, "for no man ever escaped punishment who asked me for my spear. And as to your poetry, the highest reward I could now bestow on you, and the greatest favour these nobles could obtain for you, is that I should spare your life." Thereupon Brian and his brothers started up in great wrath and drew their swords, and the king and his chiefs drew their swords in like manner; and they fought a deadly fight. But Brian at last, drawing forth one of his apples, and taking sure aim, cast it at the king and struck him on the forehead; so that Pezar fell, pierced through the brain. After this Brian fought on more fiercely than before, dealing destruction everywhere around him; but when the chiefs saw that their king had fallen, they lost heart and fled through the doors, till at length none remained in the banquet hall but the three sons of Turenn. Then they went to the room where the spear was kept; and they found it with its head down deep in a great caldron of water, which hissed and bubbled round it. And Brian, seizing it boldly in his hand, drew it forth; after which the three brothers left the palace and went to their canoe. CHAPTER IX. THE CHARIOT AND STEEDS OF THE KING OF SIGAR. Resting now for some days from their toil, they resolved to seek the steeds and chariot of the king of Sigar; for this was the next part of the Ildana's eric-fine. So they commanded the canoe, and the canoe, obedient to their behest, glided swiftly and smoothly over the green waves till they landed in Sigar. Brian bore the great, heavy, venomed spear in his hand; and the three brothers were of good heart, seeing how they had succeeded in their last quest, and that they had now three parts of the fine. "In what shape think you we should go to this court?" said Brian. "How should we go," answered the others, "but in our own shapes, namely, as three hostile champions, who have come to get the chariot and steeds, either by force or by good will?" "That is not what seems best to me," said Brian. "My counsel is, that we go as soldiers from Erin, willing to serve for pay; and should the king take us into his service, it is likely we shall find out where the chariot and steeds are kept." His brothers having agreed to this, the three set out for the palace. It happened that the king was holding a fair-meeting on the broad, level green before the palace; and when the three warriors came near, the people made way for them. They bowed low to the king; and he asked them who they were, and from what part of the world they had come. "We are valiant soldiers from Erin," they answered, "seeking for service and pay among the great kings of the world." "Do you wish to enter my service?" asked the king: and they answered, "Yes." So they made a covenant with each other--the king to place them in a post of honour and trust, and they to serve him faithfully, and to name their own reward. Whereupon the brothers entered the ranks of the king's body-guard. They remained in the palace for a month and a fortnight, looking round and carefully noting everything; but they saw nothing of the chariot and steeds. At the end of that time Brian said to his brothers-- "It fares ill with us here, my brothers; for we know nothing of the chariot and steeds at this hour, more than when we first came hither." The others said this was quite true, and asked if he meant to do anything in the matter. "This is what I think we should do," answered Brian. "Let us put on our travelling array, and take our arms of valour in our hands; and in this fashion let us go before the king, and tell him that unless he shows us the chariot and steeds, we shall leave his service." This they did without delay; and when they had come before the king, he asked them why they came to his presence so armed and in travelling gear. "We will tell thee of that, O king," answered Brian. "We are valiant soldiers from Erin, and into whatsoever lands we have travelled, we have been trusted with the secret counsels of the kings who have taken us into their service; and we have been made the guardians of their rarest jewels and of all their gifted arms of victory. But as to thee, O king, thou hast not so treated us since we came hither; for thou hast a chariot and two steeds, which exceed all the chariots and steeds in the world, and yet we have never seen them." "A small thing it is that has caused you to prepare for departure," said the king; "and there is, moreover, no need that you should leave my service; for I would have shown you those steeds the day you came, had I only known that you wished it. But ye shall see them now; for I have never had in my service soldiers from a distant land, in whom I and my people have placed greater trust than we have placed in you." He then sent for the steeds, and had them yoked to the chariot--those steeds that were as fleet as the clear, cold wind of March, and which travelled with equal speed on land and on sea. Brian, viewing them narrowly, said aloud, "Hear me, O king of Sicily. We have served thee faithfully up to this time; and now we wish to name our own pay, according to the covenant thou hast made with us. The guerdon we demand is yonder chariot and steeds; these we mean to have, and we shall ask for nothing more." But the king, in great wrath, said, "Foolish and luckless men! Ye shall certainly die because you have dared to ask for my steeds!" And the king and his warriors drew their swords, and rushed towards the sons of Turenn to seize them. They, on the other hand, were not taken unaware; and a sore fight began. And Brian, watching his opportunity, sprang with a sudden bound into the chariot, and, dashing the charioteer to the ground, he seized the reins in his left hand; then, raising the venomed spear of Pezar in his right, he smote the king with its fiery point in the breast, so that he fell dead. And the three brothers dealt red slaughter among the king's guards, till those who were not slain scattered and fled in all directions. So they fared in this undertaking. CHAPTER X. THE SEVEN PIGS OF THE KING OF THE GOLDEN PILLARS. After resting till their wounds were healed, Ur and Urcar asked where they should go next. "We shall go," said Brian, "to Asal, the king of the Golden Pillars, to ask him for his seven pigs; for this is the next part of the Ildana's eric-fine." So they set out; and the canoe brought them straightway to the land of the Golden Pillars, without delay and without mishap. As they drew nigh to the harbour, they saw the shore lined with men all armed. For the fame of the deeds of these great champions had begun to be noised through many lands; how they had been forced to leave Erin by the hard sentence of the Ildana; and how they were seeking and bearing away the most precious and gifted jewels of the world to pay the fine. Wherefore the king of the Golden Pillars had armed his people, and had sent them to guard the harbours. The king himself came down to the beach to meet them. As soon as they had come within speaking distance, he bade them stay their course; and then he asked them, in an angry and chiding tone, if they were the three champions from Erin, who had overcome and slain so many kings. Brian answered, "Be not displeased with us, O king for in all this matter we are not to blame. The Ildana has demanded a fine which we perforce must pay; for we have promised, and the Dedannans are our guarantee. If the kings to whom he sent us had given us peaceably the precious things we demanded, we would gladly have departed in peace; but as they did not, we fought against them, unwillingly indeed and overthrew them; for no one has as yet been able to withstand us." "Tell me now," said the king, "what has brought you to my country?" "We have come for thy seven pigs," answered Brian; "for they are a part of the fine." "And in what manner do you think ye shall get them?" asked the king. Brian answered, "Thou hast heard, O king, how the Ildana has brought us to these straits, and we must pay him the fine, every jot, or else we shall die at the hands of our people. Thou, perchance, wilt have pity on our hardships, and give us these pigs in token of kindness and friendship, and if so we shall be thankful; but if not, then we will fight for them, and either bring them away by force, after slaying thee and thy people or fall ourselves in the attempt." Hearing this, the king and his people went into council; and after debating the matter at full length, they thought it best to give the pigs peaceably, seeing that no king, however powerful, had as yet been able to withstand the sons of Turenn. The three champions wondered greatly when this was told to them; for in no other country had they been able to get any part of the fine without battle and hardship, and without leaving much of their blood behind them. So they were now very glad; and thanked Asal and his people. The king then brought them to his palace, and gave them a kind welcome; and they were supplied with food and drink to their hearts' desire, and slept on soft, downy beds. So they rested after all their weary journeys and toils. When they arose next morning, they were brought to the king's presence, and the pigs were given to them; and Brian addressed the king in these words-- The prizes we've brought to this land, We have won them in conflict and blood; But the gift we have sought at thy hand, That gift thou hast freely bestowed. The red spear rewarded our deeds, When Pezar the mighty we slew; And the fight for the chariot and steeds, Ah, long shall the Sigarites rue! Great Asal! in happier days, When our deeds bring us glory and fame, Green Erin shall echo thy praise, And her poets shall honour thy name! CHAPTER XI. THE HOUND-WHELP OF THE KING OF IRODA. "Whither do you go next, ye sons of Turenn?" asked Asal. "We go," answered Brian, "to Iroda, for Failinis, the king's hound-whelp." "Then grant me this boon," said the king, "namely, that ye let me go with you to Iroda. For my daughter is the king's wife; and I will try to prevail on him that he give you the hound-whelp freely and without battle." This they agreed to. But the king wished that they should go in his own ship; so it was got ready, and they went on board with all their wealth; and it is not told how they fared till they reached the borders of Iroda. The shores were covered with fierce, armed men, who were there by orders of the king to guard the harbour; and these men shouted at the crew, warning them to come no farther; for they knew the sons of Turenn, and well they knew what they came for. Asal then requested the three champions to remain where they were for a time, while he went on shore to talk with his son-in-law. Accordingly he landed, and went to the king, who, after he had welcomed him, asked what had brought the sons of Turenn to his country. "They have come for your hound-whelp," answered Asal. And the king of Iroda said, "It was an evil counsel you followed, when you came with these men to my shores; for to no three champions in the world have the gods given such strength or such good luck as that they can get my hound-whelp, either by force or by my own free will." "It will be unwise to refuse them," replied Asal. "They have overpowered and slain many great kings; for they have gifted arms that no warrior, however powerful, can withstand; and behold, I have come hither to tell you what manner of men these are, that you might be advised by me, and give them your hound-whelp in peace." So he pressed him earnestly; but his words were only thrown away on the king of Iroda, who spoke scornfully of the sons of Turenn, and refused Asal's request with wrathful words. Asal, much troubled at this, went and told the sons of Turenn how matters stood. And they, having without delay put on their battle-dress, and taken their arms in their hands, challenged the king of Iroda and his people. Then began a very fierce and bloody battle; for though nothing could stand before the sons of Turenn, yet the warriors of Iroda were many and very brave. So they fought till the two younger brothers became separated from Brian, and he was quite surrounded. But as he wielded the dreadful spear of Pezar, with its blazing, fiery point, his enemies fell back dismayed, and the ranks were broken before him, so that those who crossed his path stood in a gap of danger. At length he espied the king of Iroda, where he fought hedged round by spears; and he rushed through the thick of the battle straight towards him, striking down spears and swords and men as he went. And now these two valiant warriors fought hand to hand a stout and watchful and fierce battle--for the others fell back by the king's command; and it was long before any advantage was gained on either side. But though to those who looked on, Brian seemed the more wrathful of the two, yet he held back his hand, so as not to slay his foe; and this it was, indeed, that prolonged the combat, for he sought to tire out the king. At length, watching his opportunity, Brian closed suddenly, and, seizing the king in his strong arms, he lifted him clean off the ground, and bore him to where Asal stood. Then, setting him down, he said-- "Behold thy son-in-law; it would have been easier to kill him three times over than to bring him to thee once!" When the people saw their king a prisoner, they ceased fighting; and the end of all was that peace was made, and the hound-whelp was given over to the sons of Turenn. Then they took their leave, and left the shores of Iroda in friendship with the king and with Asal his father-in-law. CHAPTER XII. RETURN OF THE SONS OF TURENN, WITH PART OF THE ERIC-FINE. Now we shall speak of Luga of the Long Arms. It was revealed to him that the sons of Turenn had obtained all those parts of the fine which he wanted for the battle of Moytura;[11] but that they had not yet got the cooking-spit, or given the three shouts on Midkena's Hill. So he sent after them a druidical spell, which, falling on them soon after they had left Iroda, caused them to forget the remaining part of the fine, and filled them with a longing desire to return to their native home. Accordingly they went on board their canoe, bringing with them every part of the fine they had gotten already; and the canoe glided swiftly over the waves to Erin. At this time Luga was with the king at a fair-meeting on the plain before Tara; and it was made known to him secretly that the sons of Turenn had landed at Bruga of the Boyne. He left the assembly anon, telling no one; and he went direct to Caher-Crofinn[XLVII.] at Tara, and, closing the gates and doors after him, he put on his battle array, namely, the smooth Greek armour of Mannanan Mac Lir, and the enchanted mantle of the daughter of Flidas. Soon after, the sons of Turenn were seen approaching; and as they came forward, the multitude flocked out to meet them, gazing with wonder at the many marvellous things they had brought. When the three champions had come to the royal tent, they were joyfully welcomed by the king and by the Dedannans in general; and then the king spoke kindly to them, and asked if they had brought the eric-fine. "We have obtained it after much hardship and danger," they replied; "and now we wish to know where Luga is, that we may hand it over to him." The king told them that Luga was at the assembly; but when they sent to search for him, he was nowhere to be found. "I can tell where he is," said Brian. "It has been made known to him that we have arrived in Erin, bringing with us gifted arms that none can withstand; and he has gone to one of the strongholds of Tara, to avoid us, fearing we might use these venomed weapons against himself." Messengers were then sent to Luga to tell him that the sons of Turenn had arrived, and to ask him to come forth to the meeting, that they might give him the fine. But he answered, "I will not come to the meeting yet; but go ye back, and tell the sons of Turenn to give the fine to the king for me." The messengers returned with this answer; and the sons of Turenn gave to the king for Luga all the wonderful things they had brought, keeping, however their own arms; after which the whole company went into the palace. When Luga was told how matters stood, he came to where the king and all the others were; and the king gave him the fine. Then Luga, looking narrowly at everything that had been given up to him, said-- "Here, indeed, is an eric enough to pay for any one that ever yet was slain, or that shall be slain to the end of time. But yet there is one kind of fine that must be paid to the last farthing, namely, an eric-fine; for of this it is not lawful to hold back even the smallest part. And moreover, O king, thou and the Dedannans whom I see here present, are guarantees for the full payment of my eric-fine. Now I see here the three apples, and the skin of the pig, and the fiery-headed spear, and the chariot and steeds, and the seven pigs, and the hound-whelp; but where, ye sons of Turenn, is the cooking-spit of the women of Fincara? And I have not heard that ye have given the three shouts on Midkena's Hill." On hearing this, the sons of Turenn fell into a faintness like the faintness before death. And when they had recovered they answered not one word, but left the assembly and went to their father's house. To him and their sister Ethnea they told all that had befallen them; and how they should set out on another quest, as they had forgotten part of the eric-fine through the spells of Luga. At this Turenn was overwhelmed with grief; and Ethnea wept in great fear and sorrow. And so they passed that night. Next day, they went down to the shore, and their father and sister went with them to their ship, and bade them farewell. FOOTNOTES: [XLVII.] Caher-Crofinn, otherwise called Rath-ree, the principal fortress at Tara, the remains of which are still to be seen. CHAPTER XIII. THE COOKING-SPIT OF THE WOMEN OF FINCARA. Then they went on board their ship--for they had Mannanan's canoe no longer--and they sailed forth on the green billowy sea to search for the Island of Fincara. For a whole quarter of a year they wandered hither and thither over the wide ocean, landing on many shores and inquiring of all they met; yet they were not able to get the least tidings of the island. At last, they came across one very old man, who told them that he had heard of the Island of Fincara in the days of his youth; and that it lay not on the surface, but down deep in the waters, for it was sunk beneath the waves by a spell in times long past.[13] Then Brian put on his water-dress, with his helmet of transparent crystal on his head, and, telling his brothers to await his return, he leaped over the side of the ship, and sank at once out of sight. He walked about for a fortnight down in the green salt sea, seeking for the Island of Fincara; and at last he found it. There were many houses on the island; but one he saw larger and grander than the rest. To this he straightway bent his steps, and found it open. On entering, he saw in one large room a great number of beautiful ladies, busily employed at all sorts of embroidery and needlework; and in their midst was a long, bright cooking-spit lying on a table. Without speaking a word, he walked straight to the table, and, seizing the spit in one hand, he turned round and walked towards the door. The women neither spoke nor moved, but each had her eyes fixed on him from the moment he entered, admiring his manly form, his beauty, and his fearlessness; but when they saw him about to walk off with the spit, they all burst out laughing; and one, who seemed chief among them, said-- "Thou hast attempted a bold deed, O son of Turenn! Know that there are thrice fifty warlike women here, and that the weakest among us would be able of herself to prevent thee taking this cooking-spit, even if thy two brothers were here to help thee. But thou art a brave and courageous champion, else thou wouldst not have attempted, unaided, to take it by force, knowing the danger. And for thy boldness and valour, and for the comeliness of thy person, we will let thee take this one, for we have many others besides." So Brian, after thanking them, brought away the spit joyfully, and sought his ship. Ur and Urcar waited for Brian in the same spot the whole time, and when he came not, they began to fear that he would return no more. With these thoughts they were at last about to leave the place, when they saw the glitter of his crystal helmet down deep in the water, and immediately after he came to the surface with the cooking-spit in his hand. They brought him on board, and now all felt very joyful and courageous of heart. CHAPTER XIV. THE THREE SHOUTS ON MIDKENA'S HILL. The three brothers next sailed away towards the north of Lochlann, and never abated speed till they moored their vessel near the Hill of Midkena, which rose smooth and green over the sea-shore. When Midkena saw them approaching, he knew them at once, and, coming towards them armed for battle, he addressed them aloud-- "You it was that slew Kian, my friend and pupil; and now come forth and fight, for you shall not leave these shores till you answer for his death." Brian, in no degree daunted by the fierce look and threatening speech of Midkena, sprang ashore, and the two heroes attacked each other with great fury. When the three sons of Midkena heard the clash of arms, they came forth, and, seeing how matters stood, they rushed down to aid their father; but just as they arrived at the shore, Midkena fell dead, cloven through helmet and head by the heavy sword of Brian. And now a fight began, three on each side; and if men were afar off, even in the land of Hisberna, in the east of the world, they would willingly come the whole way to see this battle, so fierce and haughty were the minds of those mighty champions, so skilful and active were they in the use of their weapons, so numerous and heavy were their blows, and so long did they continue to fight without either party giving way. The three sons of Turenn were at last dreadfully wounded--wounded almost to death. But neither fear nor weakness did this cause them, for their valour and their fury arose all the more for their wounds, and with one mighty onset they drove their spears through the bodies of their foes; and the sons of Midkena fell before them into the long sleep of death. But now that the fight was ended, and the battle-fury of the victors had passed off--now it was that they began to feel the effects of their wounds. They threw themselves full length on the blood-stained sward, and long they remained without moving or speaking a word, as if they were dead; and a heavy curtain of darkness fell over their eyes. At last Brian, raising his head, spoke to his brothers to know if they lived, and when they answered him feebly, he said-- "My dear brothers, let us now arise and give the three shouts on the hill while there is time, for I feel the signs of death." But they were not able to rise. Then Brian, gathering all his remaining strength, stood up and lifted one with each hand, while his own blood flowed plentifully; and then they raised three feeble shouts on Midkena's Hill. CHAPTER XV. RETURN AND DEATH OF THE SONS OF TURENN. Making no further delay, he led them to their ship, and they set sail for Erin. While they were yet far off, Brian, gazing over the sea towards the west, suddenly cried out-- "Lo, I see Ben Edar[XLVIII.] yonder, rising over the waters; and I see also Dun Turenn farther towards the north." And Ur answered from where he reclined with Urcar on the deck, "If we could but get one sight of Ben Edar methinks we should regain our health and strength; and as thou lovest us, and as thou lovest thy own renown, my brother, come and raise our heads and rest them on thy breast, that we may see Erin once more. After that, we shall welcome either life or death." UR. O brother, torch of valour, strong of hand, Come, place our weary heads upon thy breast; And let us look upon our native land, Before we sink to everlasting rest! BRIAN. Belovèd sons of Turenn, woe is me! My wounds are deep, my day of strength is past; Yet not for this I grieve, but that I see Your lives, my noble brothers, ebbing fast! UR. Would we could give our lives to purchase thine; Ah, gladly would we die to ease thy pain! For art thou not the pride of Turenn's line, The noblest champion of green Erin's plain? BRIAN. That mighty Dannan healer, Dianket;[XLIX.] Or Midac, who excelled his sire in skill; The maiden-leech, Armedda, mightier yet, Who knew the herbs to cure, the herbs to kill: Oh, were they here; or had we now at hand Those gifted apples from the distant East; Then might we hope to reach our native land, And live again in joy and peace and rest! UR. Brother, methinks could we but see once more Ben Edar's slopes, or Bregia's[L.] dewy plain, Tailltenn,[LI.] or Bruga's[LII.] mystic mansion hoar, Our blood would course in health and strength again. Or let us once behold our father's home, Or winding Liffey down by Ahaclee,[LIII.] Old Frevan's hill,[LIV.] or Tara's[LV.] regal dome; Then welcome death or life, whiche'er may be! So Brian raised their heads and rested them on his breast, and they gazed on the rocky cliffs and green slopes of Ben Edar while the ship wafted slowly towards land. Soon after this they landed on the north side of Ben Edar, from which they made their way slowly to Dun Turenn. And when they had reached the green in front of the house, Brian cried out-- "Father, dear father, come forth to thy children!" Turenn came forth and saw his sons all wounded and pale and feeble. And Brian said, "Go, beloved father--go quick to Tara, and quickly return. Bring this cooking-spit to Luga, and tell him that we have given the three shouts on Midkena's Hill. Say that we have now paid the full eric-fine, and bring back from him the apples of the Garden of Hisberna, to heal our wounds, else we die." BRIAN. Father, our wounds are deadly; nought can save Thy children's lives but Luga's friendly hand: Go, seek him, father--fare thee fast--and crave The healing apples from Hisberna's land! TURENN. In vain, my sons, ye seek to fly your doom; The stern Ildana's mind too well I know: Alas! far liefer would he see your tomb, Than all the treasures all this world could show! BRIAN. But he is just; and though his sire we slew, Have we not paid full eric for the deed? The great Ildana is our kinsman too, And will relent in this our time of need. Then go, my father, thou art swift and strong; Speed like the wind--why linger here to mourn? Go straight to Luga's home, nor tarry long; Or, father, we shall die ere thou return! Turenn set out and travelled like the wind till he reached Tara, where he found Luga. He gave him the cooking-spit, and said, "Behold, my three sons have now paid thee the full eric-fine, for they have given the three shouts on Midkena's Hill. But they are wounded even unto death; and now give me, I pray thee, the apples from the Garden of Hisberna, to cure them, else they die." But Luga refused, and turned away from Turenn. Turenn hastened back to his sons with a sorrowful heart, and told them that he had failed to get the apples. Then Brian said, "Take me with thee to Tara. I will see him, and perchance he may have pity on us, and give us the apples." And it was done so. But when Brian begged for the apples, Luga said-- "I will not give them to thee. If thou shouldst offer me the full of the whole earth of gold, I would not give them to thee. Thou and thy brothers committed a wicked and pitiless deed when you slew my father. For that deed you must suffer, and with nothing short of your death shall I be content." For the blood that you spilled, For the hero you killed-- The deed is avenged, and your doom is fulfilled! Brian turned away and went back to his brothers, and, lying down between them, his life departed; and his brothers died at the same moment. Then their father and their sister stood hand in hand over their bodies, lamenting. And Turenn spoke this lay-- Oh, pulseless is my heart this woful hour, My strength is gone, my joy for ever fled; Three noble champions, Erin's pride and power, My three fair youths, my children, cold and dead! Mild Ur, the fair-haired; Urcar, straight and tall; The kings of Banba[LVI.] worthy both to be; And Brian, bravest, noblest, best of all, Who conquered many lands beyond the sea: Lo, I am Turenn, your unhappy sire, Mourning with feeble voice above your grave; No life, no wealth, no honours I desire; A place beside my sons is all I crave! After this Turenn and Ethnea fell on the bodies of the three young heroes and died. And they were all buried in one grave. This is the story of the Fate of the Children of Turenn. FOOTNOTES: [XLVIII.] Ben Edar, now Howth Hill, near Dublin. Dun Turenn, the fortress of their father Turenn. [XLIX.] Dianket, the great Dedannan physician. His son Midac and his daughter Armedda were still more skilful than their father. (See note 1 at the end.) [L.] Bregia, the plain lying between the Liffey and the Boyne. [LI.] Tailltenn, now Teltown, on the Blackwater, about midway between Navan and Kells, in Meath. Here annual meetings were held from the most ancient times, on the first of August, and for some days before and after, at which games were celebrated, like the Olympic games of Greece. [LII.] Bruga on the Boyne, where Angus or Mac Indoc, the great Dedannan enchanter, had his "mystic mansion hoar." (See note 1 at the end.) [LIII.] Ahaclee, the old name of Dublin. [LIV.] Frevan, now the hill of Frewen, rising over Lough Owei, near Mullingar, where the ancient Irish kings had one of their palaces. [LV.] Tara, in Meath, the chief seat of the Irish kings. [LVI.] Banba, one of the ancient names of Ireland. THE OVERFLOWING OF LOUGH NEAGH, AND THE STORY OF LIBAN THE MERMAID. In the days of old a good king ruled over Muman,[LVII.] whose name was Marid Mac Carido. He had two sons, Ecca and Rib. Ecca was restless and unruly, and in many ways displeased the king; and he told his brother Rib that he had made up his mind to leave his home, and win lands for himself in some far off part of the country. Rib tried hard to dissuade him; but though this delayed his departure for a while, he was none the less bent on going. At last Ecca, being wrought upon by his stepmother Ebliu (from whom Slieve Eblinne[LVIII.] was afterwards named), did a grievous wrong to his father, and fled from Muman with all his people; and his brother Rib and his stepmother Ebliu went with him. Ten hundred men they were in all, besides women and children; and they turned their faces towards the north. After they had travelled for some time, their druids[3] told them that it was not fated for them to settle in the same place; and accordingly, when they had come to the Pass of the two Pillar Stones, they parted. Rib and his people turned to the west, and they journeyed till they came to the plain of Arbthenn. And there the water of a fountain burst forth over the land, and drowned them all; and a great lake was formed, which to this day is called the Lake of Rib.[LIX.] Ecca continued his journey northwards; and he and his people fared slowly on till they came near to Bruga[LX.] of the Boyne, the palace of Mac Indoc, where they were fain to rest. No sooner had they halted, than a tall man came forth from the palace, namely, Angus Mac Indoc of the Bruga, son of the Dagda, and commanded them to leave the place without delay. But they, being spent with the toil of travel, heeded not his words, and, pitching their tents, they rested on the plain before the palace. Whereupon Angus, being wroth that his commands were unheeded, killed all their horses that night. Next day, he came forth again, and he said to them, "Your horses I slew last night; and now, unless ye depart from this place, I will slay your people to-night." And Ecca said to him, "Much evil hast thou done to us already, for thou hast killed all our horses. And now we cannot go, even though we desire it, for without horses we cannot travel." Then Angus brought to them a very large horse in full harness, and they put all their goods on him. And when they were about to go, he said to them-- "Beware that ye keep this great steed walking continually; not even a moment's rest shall ye give him, otherwise he will certainly be the cause of your death."[14] After this they set out again, on a Sunday in the mid-month of autumn, and travelled on till they reached the Plain of the Grey Copse,[LXI.] where they intended to abide. They gathered then round the great steed to take their luggage off him, and each was busy seeing after his own property, so that they forgot to keep the horse moving. And the moment he stood still, a magic well sprang up beneath his feet.[14] Now Ecca, when he saw the well spring up, was troubled, remembering Angus's warning. And he caused a house to be built round it, and near it he built his palace, for the better security. And he chose a woman to take care of the well, charging her strictly to keep the door locked, except when the people of the palace came for water. After that the King of Ulad,[LXII.] that is to say, Muridach, the son of Fiaca Findamnas (who was grandson of Conal Carna of the Red Branch[15]) came against Ecca to drive him forth from Ulad. But Ecca made a stout fight, so that he won the lordship of half of Ulad from Muridach. And after that his people settled down on the Plain of the Grey Copse. Now Ecca had two daughters, Ariu and Liban, of whom Ariu was the wife of Curnan the Simpleton. And Curnan went about among the people, foretelling that a lake would flow over them from the well, and urging them earnestly to make ready their boats. Come forth, come forth, ye valiant men; build boats, and build ye fast! I see the water surging out, a torrent deep and vast; I see our chief and all his host o'erwhelmed beneath the wave; And Ariu, too, my best beloved, alas! I cannot save. But Liban east and west shall swim Long ages on the ocean's rim, By mystic shores and islets dim, And down in the deep sea cave! And he ceased not to warn all he met, repeating this verse continually; but the people gave no heed to the words of the Simpleton. Now the woman who had charge of the well, on a certain occasion forgot to close the door, so that the spell was free to work evil. And immediately the water burst forth over the plain, and formed a great lake, namely the Lake of the Copse. And Ecca and all his family and all his folk were drowned, save only his daughter Liban, and Conang, and Curnan the Simpleton. And they buried Ariu, and raised a mound over her, which is called from her Carn-Arenn. Of Conang nothing more is told. But as to Curnan, he died of grief after his wife Ariu; and he was buried in a mound, which is called Carn-Curnan to this day in memory of him. And thus the great Lake of the Copse was formed, which is now called Lough Necca,[LXIII.] in memory of Ecca, the son of Marid. And it was the overflow of this lake which, more than all other causes, scattered the Ultonians over Erin. Now as to Liban. She also was swept away like the others; but she was not drowned. She lived for a whole year with her lap-dog, in her chamber beneath the lake, and God protected her from the water. At the end of the year she was weary; and when she saw the speckled salmon swimming and playing all round her, she prayed and said-- "O my Lord, I wish I were a salmon, that I might swim with the others through the clear green sea!" And at the words she took the shape of a salmon, except her face and breast, which did not change. And her lap-dog was changed to an otter, and attended her afterwards whithersoever she went, as long as she lived in the sea. And so she remained swimming about from sea to sea for three hundred years; that is to say, from the time of Ecca, the son of Marid, to the time of Comgall of Bangor.[16] Now on one occasion, Comgall sent Beoc, the son of Indli, from Bangor to Rome, to talk with Gregory[LXIV.] concerning some matters of order and rule. And when Beoc's curragh[17] was sailing over the sea, he and his crew heard sweet singing in the waters beneath them, as it were the chanting of angels. And Beoc, having listened for a while, looked down into the water, and asked what the chant was for, and who it was that sang. And Liban answered, "I am Liban, the daughter of Ecca, son of Marid; and it is I who sang the chant thou hast heard." "Why art thou here?" asked Beoc. And she replied, "Lo, I have lived for three hundred years beneath the sea; and I have come hither to fix a day and a place of meeting with thee. I shall now go westward; and I beseech thee, for the sake of the holy men of Dalaradia,[LXV.] to come to Inver Ollarba[LXVI.] to meet me, on this same day at the end of a year. Say also to Comgall and to the other holy men of Bangor, all that I say to thee. Come with thy boats and thy fishing-nets, and thou shalt take me from the waters in which I have lived." "I shall not grant thee the boon thou askest," said Beoc, "unless thou give me a reward." "What reward dost thou seek?" asked Liban. "That thou be buried in one grave with me in my own monastery," answered Beoc. "That shall be granted to thee," said Liban. Beoc then went on his way to Rome. And when he had returned, he related to Comgall and to the other saints of the monastery at Bangor, the story of the mermaid. And now the end of the year was nigh. Then they made ready their nets, and on the day appointed they went in their boats to Inver Ollarba, a goodly company of the saints of Erin. And Liban was caught in the net of Fergus of Miluc:[LXVII.] and her head and shoulders were those of a maiden, but she had the body of a fish. Now the boat in which she was brought to land was kept half full of sea water, in which she remained swimming about. And many came to see her; and all were filled with wonder when they saw her strange shape and heard her story. Among the rest came the chief of the tribe of Hua-Conang, wearing a purple cloak; and she kept gazing at him earnestly. The young chief, seeing this, said to her-- "Dost thou wish to have this cloak? If so, I will give it to thee willingly." But she answered, "Not so: I desire not thy cloak. But it brings to my mind my father Ecca; for on the day he was drowned, he wore a cloak of purple like thine. But may good luck be on thee for thy gentleness, and on him who shall come after thee in thy place; and in every assembly where thy successor sits, may he be known to all without inquiry." After that there came up a large-bodied, dark-visaged, fierce hero, and killed her lap-dog. Whereupon she was grieved; and she told him that the heroism of himself and his tribe should be stained by the baseness of their minds, and that they should not be able to defend themselves against injuries till they should do penance, by fasting, for her sake. Then the warrior repented what he had done, and humbled himself before her. And now there arose a contention about her, as to whom she should belong. Comgall said she was his, forasmuch as she was caught in his territory. But Fergus urged that she belonged to him by right, as it was in his net she was taken. And Beoc said he had the best right of all to her, on account of the promise she had made to him. And as no one could settle the dispute, these three saints fasted and prayed that God would give a judgment between them, to show who should own Liban. And an angel said to one of the company, "Two wild oxen will come hither to-morrow from Carn-Arenn, that is to say, from the grave-mound of Liban's sister, Ariu. Yoke a chariot to them, and place the mermaid in it; and into whatsoever territory they shall bring her, she shall remain with the owner thereof." The oxen came on the morrow, as the angel had foretold. And when they were yoked, and when Liban was placed in the chariot, they brought her straightway to Beoc's church, namely to Tec-Da-Beoc. Then the saints gave her a choice--either to die immediately after baptism, and go to heaven; or to live on earth as long as she had lived in the sea, and then to go to heaven after these long ages. And the choice she took was to die immediately. Whereupon Comgall baptised her; and he gave her the name of Murgen, that is, "Sea-born," or Murgelt, that is "Mermaid." And she is counted among the holy virgins, and held in honour and reverence, as God ordained for her in heaven; and wonders and miracles are performed through her means at Tec-Da-Beoc. FOOTNOTES: [LVII.] Muman, _i.e._ Munster. [LVIII.] Slieve Eblinne, now Slieve Eelim or Slieve Phelim, in Tipperary, sometimes called the Twelve Hills of Evlinn. "Eblinne" is the genitive of "Ebliu." [LIX.] Now Lough Ree, on the Shannon. [LX.] See note, page 62; see also note 1 at the end of the book. [LXI.] The Plain of the Grey Copse, according to the legend, was the name of the plain now covered by Lough Neagh. [LXII.] Ulad, _i.e._ Ulster. [LXIII.] Lough Necca, now Lough Neagh. [LXIV.] Gregory, _i.e._ Pope Gregory. [LXV.] Dalaradia, the old name of a territory which included the southern half of the county Antrim and a part of Down. [LXVI.] Inver Ollarba, _i.e._ the _inver_, or mouth of the river Ollarba, which was the ancient name of the Larne Water, in Antrim. [LXVII.] Miluc, or Meelick, the name of an ancient ecclesiastical establishment in the county Antrim. See "Ecclesiastical Antiquities of Down, Connor, and Dromore" (page 3), by the Rev. William Reeves, M.B., M.R.I.A. CONNLA OF THE GOLDEN HAIR, AND THE FAIRY MAIDEN. Connla of the Golden Hair was the son of Conn the Hundred-fighter.[18] One day as he stood with his father on the royal Hill of Usna,[LXVIII.] he saw a lady a little way off, very beautiful, and dressed in strange attire. She approached the spot where he stood; and when she was near, he spoke to her, and asked who she was, and from what place she had come. The lady replied, "I have come from the Land of the Living[19]--a land where there is neither death nor old age, nor any breach of law. The inhabitants of earth call us Aes-shee,[19] for we have our dwellings within large, pleasant, green hills. We pass our time very pleasantly in feasting and harmless amusements, never growing old; and we have no quarrels or contentions." The king and his company marvelled very much; for though they heard this conversation, no one saw the lady except Connla alone. "Who is this thou art talking to, my son?" said the king. And anon she answered for the youth, "Connla is speaking with a lovely, noble-born young lady, who will never die, and who will never grow old. I love Connla of the Golden Hair, and I have come to bring him with me to Moy-mell,[19] the plain of never-ending pleasure. On the day that he comes with me he shall be made king; and he shall reign for ever in Fairyland, without weeping and without sorrow. Come with me, O gentle Connla of the ruddy cheek, the fair, freckled neck, and the golden hair! Come with me, beloved Connla, and thou shalt retain the comeliness and dignity of thy form, free from the wrinkles of old age, till the awful day of judgment!" Thy flowing golden hair, thy comely face, Thy tall majestic form of peerless grace, That show thee sprung from Conn's exalted race. King Conn the Hundred-fighter, being much troubled, called then on his druid,[3] Coran, to put forth his power against the witchery of the banshee[19]-- "O Coran of the mystic arts and of the mighty incantations, here is a contest such as I have never been engaged in since I was made king at Tara--a contest with an invisible lady, who is beguiling my son to Fairyland by her baleful charms. Her cunning is beyond my skill, and I am not able to withstand her power; and if thou, Coran, help not, my son will be taken away from me by the wiles and witchery of a woman from the fairy hills." Coran, the druid, then came forward, and began to chant against the voice of the lady. And his power was greater than hers for that time, so that she was forced to retire. As she was going away she threw an apple to Connla, who straightway lost sight of her; and the king and his people no longer heard her voice. The king and the prince returned with their company to the palace; and Connla remained for a whole month without tasting food or drink, except the apple. And though he ate of it each day, it was never lessened, but was as whole and perfect in the end as at the beginning. Moreover, when they offered him aught else to eat or drink, he refused it; for while he had his apple he did not deem any other food worthy to be tasted. And he began to be very moody and sorrowful, thinking of the lovely fairy maiden. At the end of the month, as Connla stood by his father's side among the nobles, on the Plain of Arcomin, he saw the same lady approaching him from the west. And when she had come near, she addressed him in this manner-- "A glorious seat, indeed, has Connla among wretched, short-lived mortals, awaiting the dreadful stroke of death! But now, the ever-youthful people of Moy-mell, who never feel old age, and who fear not death, seeing thee day by day among thy friends, in the assemblies of thy Fatherland, love thee with a strange love; and they will make thee king over them if thou wilt come with me." When the king heard the words of the lady, he commanded his people to call the druid again to him, saying-- "Bring my druid, Coran, to me; for I see that the fairy lady has this day regained the power of her voice." At this the lady said, "Valiant Conn, fighter of a hundred, the faith of the druids has come to little honour among the upright, mighty, numberless people of this land. When the righteous law shall be restored, it will seal up the lips of the false, black demon; and his druids shall no longer have power to work their guileful spells." Now the king observed, and marvelled greatly, that whenever the lady was present, his son never spoke one word to any one, nay, even though they addressed him many times. And when the lady had ceased to speak, the king said-- "Connla, my son, has thy mind been moved by the words of the lady?" Connla spoke then, and replied, "Father, I am very unhappy; for though I love my people beyond all, yet I am filled with sadness on account of this lady!" When Connla had said this, the maiden again addressed him, and chanted these words in a very sweet voice-- THE CHANT OF THE FAIRY MAIDEN TO CONNLA OF THE GOLDEN HAIR. I. A land of youth, a land of rest, A land from sorrow free; It lies far off in the golden west, On the verge of the azure sea. A swift canoe of crystal bright, That never met mortal view-- We shall reach the land ere fall of night, In that strong and swift canoe: We shall reach the strand Of that sunny land, From druids and demons free; The land of rest, In the golden west, On the verge of the azure sea! II. A pleasant land of winding vales, bright streams, and verdurous plains, Where summer all the live-long year, in changeless splendour reigns; A peaceful land of calm delight, of everlasting bloom; Old age and death we never know, no sickness, care, or gloom; The land of youth, Of love and truth, From pain and sorrow free; The land of rest, In the golden west, On the verge of the azure sea! III. There are strange delights for mortal men in that island of the west; The sun comes down each evening in its lovely vales to rest; And though far and dim On the ocean's rim It seems to mortal view, We shall reach its halls Ere the evening falls, In my strong and swift canoe; And ever more That verdant shore Our happy home shall be; The land of rest, In the golden west, On the verge of the azure sea! IV. It will guard thee, gentle Connla of the flowing golden hair, It will guard thee from the druids, from the demons of the air; My crystal boat will guard thee, till we reach that western shore, Where thou and I in joy and love shall live for evermore: From the druid's incantation, From his black and deadly snare, From the withering imprecation Of the demon of the air, It will guard thee, gentle Connla of the flowing golden hair: My crystal boat will guard thee, till we reach that silver strand Where thou shalt reign in endless joy, the king of the Fairy-land! [LXIX.] When the maiden had ended her chant, Connla suddenly walked away from his father's side, and sprang into the curragh, the gleaming, straight-gliding, strong, crystal canoe. The king and his people saw them afar off and dimly, moving away over the bright sea towards the sunset. They gazed sadly after them, till they lost sight of the canoe over the utmost verge; and no one can tell whither they went, for Connla was never again seen in his native land. FOOTNOTES: [LXVIII.] Hill of Usna. (See note, page 37.) [LXIX.] This is an expansion, rather than a translation, of the original, which is very short, and in some places very obscure. THE VOYAGE OF MAILDUN. AN ACCOUNT OF THE ADVENTURES OF MAILDUN AND HIS CREW, AND OF THE WONDERFUL THINGS THEY SAW DURING THEIR VOYAGE OF THREE YEARS AND SEVEN MONTHS, IN THEIR CURRAGH,[17] ON THE WESTERN SEA. CHAPTER I. MAILDUN'S CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. HE BEGINS HIS VOYAGE IN QUEST OF THE PLUNDERERS WHO SLEW HIS FATHER. There was once an illustrious man of the tribe of Owenaght[LXX.] of Ninus, Allil Ocar Aga by name, a goodly hero, and lord of his own tribe and territory. One time, when he was in his house unguarded, a fleet of plunderers landed on the coast, and spoiled his territory. The chief fled for refuge to the church of Dooclone; but the spoilers followed him thither, slew him, and burned the church over his head. Not long after Allil's death, a son was born to him. The child's mother gave him the name of Maildun; and, wishing to conceal his birth, she brought him to the queen of that country, who was her dear friend. The queen took him to her, and gave out that he was her own child, and he was brought up with the king's sons, slept in the same cradle with them, and was fed from the same breast and from the same cup. He was a very lovely child; and the people who saw him thought it doubtful if there was any other child living at the time equally beautiful. As he grew up to be a young man, the noble qualities of his mind gradually unfolded themselves. He was high-spirited and generous, and he loved all sorts of manly exercises. In ball-playing, in running and leaping, in throwing the stone, in chess-playing, in rowing, and in horse-racing, he surpassed all the youths that came to the king's palace, and won the palm in every contest. One day, when the young men were at their games, a certain youth among them grew envious of Maildun; and he said, in an angry and haughty tone of voice-- "It is a cause of much shame to us that we have to yield in every game, whether of skill or of strength, whether on land or on water, to an obscure youth, of whom no one can tell who is his father or his mother, or what race or tribe he belongs to." On hearing this, Maildun ceased at once from play; for until that moment he believed that he was the son of the king of the Owenaght, and of the queen who had nursed him. And going anon to the queen, he told her what had happened; and he said to her-- "If I am not thy son, I will neither eat nor drink till thou tell me who my father and mother are." She tried to soothe him, and said, "Why do you worry yourself searching after this matter? Give no heed to the words of this envious youth. Am I not a mother to you? And in all this country, is there any mother who loves her son better than I love you?" He answered, "All this is quite true; yet I pray thee let me know who my parents are." The queen then, seeing that he would not be put off, brought him to his mother, and put him into her hands. And when he had spoken with her, he asked her to tell him who his father was. "You are bent on a foolish quest, my child," she said; "for even if you knew all about your father, the knowledge would bring neither advantage nor happiness to you; for he died before you were born." "Even so," he replied, "I wish to know who he was." So his mother told him the truth, saying, "Your father was Allil Ocar Aga, of the tribe of Owenaght of Ninus." Maildun then set out for his father's territory; and his three foster brothers, namely, the king's three sons, who were noble and handsome youths like himself, went with him. When the people of his tribe found out that the strange youth was the son of their chief, whom the plunderers had slain years before, and when they were told that the three others were the king's sons, they gave them all a joyful welcome, feasting them, and showing them much honour; so that Maildun was made quite happy, and soon forgot all the abasement and trouble he had undergone. Some time after this, it happened that a number of young people were in the churchyard of Dooclone--the same church in which Maildun's father had been slain--exercising themselves in casting a hand-stone. The game was to throw the stone clear over the charred roof of the church that had been burned; and Maildun was there contending among the others. A foul-tongued fellow named Brickna, a servant of the people who owned the church, was standing by; and he said to Maildun-- "It would better become you to avenge the man who was burned to death here, than to be amusing yourself casting a stone over his bare, burnt bones." "Who was he?" inquired Maildun. "Allil Ocar Aga, your father," replied the other. "Who slew him?" asked Maildun. "Plunderers from a fleet slew him and burned him in this church," replied Brickna; "and the same plunderers are still sailing in the same fleet." Maildun was disturbed and sad after hearing this. He dropped the stone that he held in his hand, folded his cloak round him, and buckled on his shield. And he left the company, and began to inquire of all he met, the road to the plunderers' ships. For a long time he could get no tidings of them; but at last some persons, who knew where the fleet lay, told him that it was a long way off, and that there was no reaching it except by sea. Now Maildun was resolved to find out these plunderers, and to avenge on them the death of his father. So he went without delay into Corcomroe,[LXXI.] to the druid[3] Nuca, to seek his advice about building a curragh, and to ask also for a charm to protect him, both while building it, and while sailing on the sea afterwards. The druid gave him full instructions. He told him the day he should begin to build his curragh, and the exact day on which he was to set out on his voyage; and he was very particular about the number of the crew, which, he said, was to be sixty chosen men, neither more nor less. So Maildun built a large triple-hide curragh,[17] following the druid's directions in every particular, chose his crew of sixty, among whom were his two friends, Germane and Diuran Lekerd; and on the day appointed put out to sea. When he had got only a very little way from the land, he saw his three foster brothers running down to the shore, signalling and calling out to him to return and take them on board; for they said they wished to go with him. "We shall not turn back," said Maildun; "and you cannot come with us; for we have already got our exact number." "We will swim after you in the sea till we are drowned, if you do not return for us," replied they; and so saying, the three plunged in and swam after the curragh. When Maildun saw this, he turned his vessel towards them, and took them on board rather than let them be drowned. FOOTNOTES: [LXX.] There were several tribes named Owenaght in the south of Ireland. This particular tribe were called, as in the text, the Owenaght of Ninus, and also, according to an interlined gloss in the "Book of the Dun Cow," the Owenaght of the Aras, _i.e._ of the Aran Islands. Their territory was situated in the north-west of the county Clare, opposite the Islands of Aran. [LXXI.] Corcomroe, an ancient territory, now a barony in the north-west of the county Clare. (For the meaning and history of this name, see the author's "Origin and History of Irish Names of Places," Series I. Part i. Chapter ii.) CHAPTER II. THE FIRST ISLAND. TIDINGS OF THE PLUNDERERS. They sailed that day and night, as well as the whole of next day, till darkness came on again; and at midnight they saw two small bare islands, with two great houses on them near the shore. When they drew near, they heard the sounds of merriment and laughter, and the shouts of revellers intermingled with the loud voices of warriors boasting of their deeds. And listening to catch the conversation, they heard one warrior say to another-- "Stand off from me, for I am a better warrior than thou; it was I who slew Allil Ocar Aga, and burned Dooclone over his head; and no one has ever dared to avenge it on me. Thou hast never done a great deed like that!" "Now surely," said Germane and Diuran to Maildun, "Heaven has guided our ship to this place! Here is an easy victory. Let us now sack this house, since God has revealed our enemies to us, and delivered them into our hands!" While they were yet speaking, the wind arose, and a great tempest suddenly broke on them. And they were driven violently before the storm, all that night and a part of next day, into the great and boundless ocean; so that they saw neither the islands they had left nor any other land; and they knew not whither they were going. Then Maildun said, "Take down your sail and put by your oars, and let the curragh drift before the wind in whatsoever direction it pleases God to lead us;" which was done. He then turned to his foster brothers, and said to them, "This evil has befallen us because we took you into the curragh, thereby violating the druid's directions; for he forbade me to go to sea with more than sixty men for my crew, and we had that number before you joined us. Of a surety more evil will come of it." His foster brothers answered nothing to this, but remained silent. CHAPTER III. THE ISLAND OF THE MONSTROUS ANTS. For three days and three nights they saw no land. On the morning of the fourth day, while it was yet dark, they heard a sound to the north-east; and Germane said-- "This is the voice of the waves breaking on the shore." As soon as it was light they saw land and made towards it. While they were casting lots to know who should go and explore the country, they saw great flocks of ants coming down to the beach, each of them as large as a foal. The people judged by their numbers, and by their eager and hungry look, that they were bent on eating both ship and crew; so they turned their vessel round and sailed quickly away. Their multitudes countless, prodigious their size; Were never such ants seen or heard of before. They struggled and tumbled and plunged for the prize, And fiercely the famine-fire blazed from their eyes, As they ground with their teeth the red sand of the shore! CHAPTER IV. THE TERRACED ISLE OF BIRDS. Again for three days and three nights they saw no land. But on the morning of the fourth day they heard the murmur of the waves on the beach; and as the day dawned, they saw a large high island, with terraces all round it, rising one behind another. On the terraces grew rows of tall trees, on which were perched great numbers of large, bright-coloured birds. When the crew were about to hold council as to who should visit the island and see whether the birds were tame, Maildun himself offered to go. So he went with a few companions; and they viewed the island warily, but found nothing to hurt or alarm them; after which they caught great numbers of the birds and brought them to their ship. A shield-shaped island, with terraces crowned, And great trees circling round and round: From the summit down to the wave-washed rocks, There are bright-coloured birds in myriad flocks-- Their plumes are radiant; but hunger is keen; So the birds are killed, Till the curragh is filled, And the sailors embark on the ocean green! CHAPTER V. A MONSTER. They sailed from this, and on the fourth day discovered a large, sandy island, on which, when they came near, they saw a huge, fearful animal standing on the beach, and looking at them very attentively. He was somewhat like a horse in shape; but his legs were like the legs of a dog; and he had great, sharp claws of a blue colour. Maildun, having viewed this monster for some time, liked not his look; and, telling his companions to watch him closely, for that he seemed bent on mischief, he bade the oarsmen row very slowly towards land. The monster seemed much delighted when the ship drew nigh the shore, and gambolled and pranced about with joy on the beach, before the eyes of the voyagers; for he intended to eat the whole of them the moment they landed. "He seems not at all sorry to see us coming," said Maildun; "but we must avoid him and put back from the shore." This was done. And when the animal observed them drawing off, he ran down in a great rage to the very water's edge, and digging up large, round pebbles with his sharp claws, he began to fling them at the vessel; but the crew soon got beyond his reach, and sailed into the open sea. A horrible monster, with blazing eyes, In shape like a horse and tremendous in size, Awaiting the curragh, they saw; With big bony jaws And murderous claws, That filled them with terror and awe: How gleeful he dances, And bellows and prances, As near to the island they draw; Expecting a feast-- The bloodthirsty beast-- With his teeth like edge of a saw: Then he ran to the shore, With a deafening roar, Intending to swallow them raw: But the crew, with a shout, Put their vessel about, And escaped from his ravenous maw![LXXII.] CHAPTER VI. THE DEMON HORSE-RACE. After sailing a long distance, they came in view of a broad, flat island. It fell to the lot of Germane to go and examine it, and he did not think the task a pleasant one. Then his friend Diuran said to him-- "I will go with you this time; and when next it falls to my lot to visit an island, you shall come with me." So both went together. They found the island very large; and some distance from the shore they came to a broad green race-course, in which they saw immense hoof-marks, the size of a ship's sail, or of a large dining-table. They found nut-shells, as large as helmets, scattered about; and although they could see no one, they observed all the marks and tokens that people of huge size were lately employed there at sundry kinds of work. Seeing these strange signs, they became alarmed, and went and called their companions from the boat to view them. But the others, when they had seen them, were also struck with fear, and all quickly retired from the place and went on board their curragh. When they had got a little way from the land, they saw dimly, as it were through a mist, a vast multitude of people on the sea, of gigantic size and demoniac look, rushing along the crests of the waves with great outcry. As soon as this shadowy host had landed, they went to the green, where they arranged a horse-race. The horses were swifter than the wind; and as they pressed forward in the race, the multitudes raised a mighty shout like thunder, which reached the crew as if it were beside them. Maildun and his men, as they sat in their curragh, heard the strokes of the whips and the cries of the riders; and though the race was far off, they could distinguish the eager words of the spectators:--"Observe the grey horse!" "See that chestnut horse!" "Watch the horse with the white spots!" "My horse leaps better than yours!" After seeing and hearing these things, the crew sailed away from the island as quickly as they were able, into the open ocean, for they felt quite sure that the multitude they saw was a gathering of demons. A spacious isle of meadowy plains, with a broad and sandy shore: Two bold and trusty spies are sent, its wonders to explore. Mysterious signs, strange, awful sights, now meet the wanderers' eyes: Vast hoof-marks, and the traces dire of men of monstrous size: And lo! on the sea, in countless hosts, their shadowy forms expand; They pass the affrighted sailors by, and like demons they rush to land; They mount their steeds, and the race is run, in the midst of hell's uproar: Then the wanderers quickly raise their sails, and leave the accursèd shore. FOOTNOTES: [LXXII.] See note, page 128. CHAPTER VII. THE PALACE OF SOLITUDE. They suffered much from hunger and thirst this time, for they sailed a whole week without making land; but at the end of that time they came in sight of a high island, with a large and very splendid house on the beach near the water's edge. There were two doors--one turned inland, and the other facing the sea; and the door that looked towards the sea was closed with a great flat stone. In this stone was an opening, through which the waves, as they beat against the door every day, threw numbers of salmon into the house. The voyagers landed, and went through the whole house without meeting any one. But they saw in one large room an ornamented couch, intended for the head of the house, and in each of the other rooms was a larger one for three members of the family: and there was a cup of crystal on a little table before each couch. They found abundance of food and ale, and they ate and drank till they were satisfied, thanking God for having relieved them from hunger and thirst. Aloft, high towering o'er the ocean's foam, The spacious mansion rears its glittering dome. Each day the billows, through the marble door, Shoot living salmon floundering on the floor. Couches that lure the sailors to recline, Abundant food, brown ale, and sparkling wine; Tables and chairs in order duly placed, With crystal cups and golden goblets graced. But not a living soul the wanderers found; 'Twas silence all and solitude profound. They eat and drink, give thanks, then hoist their sail, And skim the deep once more, obedient to the gale. CHAPTER VIII. THE ISLAND OF THE WONDERFUL APPLE TREE. After leaving this, they suffered again from hunger, till they came to an island with a high hill round it on every side. A single apple tree grew in the middle, very tall and slender, and all its branches were in like manner exceedingly slender, and of wonderful length, so that they grew over the hill and down to the sea. When the ship came near the island, Maildun caught one of the branches in his hand. For three days and three nights the ship coasted the island, and during all this time he held the branch, letting it slide through his hand, till on the third day he found a cluster of seven apples on the very end. Each of these apples supplied the travellers with food and drink for forty days and forty nights. CHAPTER IX. THE ISLAND OF BLOODTHIRSTY QUADRUPEDS. A beautiful island next came in view, in which they saw, at a distance, multitudes of large animals shaped like horses. The voyagers, as they drew near, viewed them attentively, and soon observed that one of them opened his mouth and bit a great piece out of the side of the animal that stood next him, bringing away skin and flesh. Immediately after, another did the same to the nearest of his fellows. And, in short, the voyagers saw that all the animals in the island kept worrying and tearing each other from time to time in this manner; so that the ground was covered far and wide with the blood that streamed from their sides. In needless strife they oft contend, A cruel, mutual-mangling brood; Their flesh with gory tusks they rend, And crimson all the isle with blood. CHAPTER X. AN EXTRAORDINARY MONSTER. The next island had a wall all round it. When they came near the shore, an animal of vast size, with a thick, rough skin, started up inside the wall, and ran round the island with the swiftness of the wind. When he had ended his race, he went to a high point, and standing on a large, flat stone, began to exercise himself according to his daily custom, in the following manner. He kept turning himself completely round and round in his skin, the bones and flesh moving, while the skin remained at rest. When he was tired of this exercise, he rested a little; and he then began turning his skin continually round his body, down at one side and up at the other like a mill-wheel; but the bones and flesh did not move. After spending some time at this sort of work, he started and ran round the island as at first, as if to refresh himself. He then went back to the same spot, and this time, while the skin that covered the lower part of his body remained without motion, he whirled the skin of the upper part round and round like the movement of a flat-lying millstone. And it was in this manner that he spent most of his time on the island. Maildun and his people, after they had seen these strange doings, thought it better not to venture nearer. So they put out to sea in great haste. The monster, observing them about to fly, ran down to the beach to seize the ship; but finding that they had got out of his reach, he began to fling round stones at them with great force and an excellent aim. One of them struck Maildun's shield and went quite through it, lodging in the keel of the curragh; after which the voyagers got beyond his range and sailed away. In a wall-circled isle a big monster they found, With a hide like an elephant, leathery and bare; He threw up his heels with a wonderful bound, And ran round the isle with the speed of a hare. But a feat more astounding has yet to be told: He turned round and round in his leathery skin; His bones and his flesh and his sinews he rolled-- He was resting outside while he twisted within! Then, changing his practice with marvellous skill, His carcase stood rigid and round went his hide; It whirled round his bones like the wheel of a mill-- He was resting within while he twisted outside! Next, standing quite near on a green little hill, After galloping round in the very same track, While the skin of his belly stood perfectly still, Like a millstone he twisted the skin of his back! But Maildun and his men put to sea in their boat, For they saw his two eyes looking over the wall; And they knew by the way that he opened his throat, He intended to swallow them, curragh and all![LXXIII.] FOOTNOTES: [LXXIII.] The verse in the original is quite serious; but I could not resist the temptation to give it a humorous turn. The same observation applies to the verse at page 122. CHAPTER XI. THE ISLE OF RED-HOT ANIMALS. Not daring to land on this island, they turned away hurriedly, much disheartened, not knowing whither to turn or where to find a resting-place. They sailed for a long time, suffering much from hunger and thirst, and praying fervently to be relieved from their distress. At last, when they were beginning to sink into a state of despondency, being quite worn out with toil and hardship of every kind, they sighted land. It was a large and beautiful island, with innumerable fruit trees scattered over its surface, bearing abundance of gold-coloured apples. Under the trees they saw herds of short, stout animals, of a bright red colour, shaped somewhat like pigs; but coming nearer, and looking more closely, they perceived with astonishment that the animals were all fiery, and that their bright colour was caused by the red flames which penetrated and lighted up their bodies. The voyagers now observed several of them approach one of the trees in a body, and striking the trunk all together with their hind legs, they shook down some of the apples and ate them. In this manner the animals employed themselves every day, from early morning till the setting of the sun when they retired into deep caves, and were seen no more till next morning. Numerous flocks of birds were swimming on the sea, all round the island. From morning till noon, they continued to swim away from the land, farther and farther out to sea; but at noon they turned round, and from that to sunset they swam back towards the shore. A little after sunset, when the animals had retired to their caves, the birds flocked in on the island, and spread themselves over it, plucking the apples from the trees and eating them. Maildun proposed that they should land on the island, and gather some of the fruit, saying that it was not harder or more dangerous for them than for the birds; so two of the men were sent beforehand to examine the place. They found the ground hot under their feet, for the fiery animals, as they lay at rest, heated the earth all around and above their caves; but the two scouts persevered notwithstanding, and brought away some of the apples. When morning dawned, the birds left the island and swam out to sea; and the fiery animals, coming forth from their caves, went among the trees as usual, and ate the apples till evening. The crew remained in their curragh all day; and as soon as the animals had gone into their caves for the night, and the birds had taken their place, Maildun landed with all his men. And they plucked the apples till morning, and brought them on board, till they had gathered as much as they could stow into their vessel. CHAPTER XII. THE PALACE OF THE LITTLE CAT. After rowing for a long time, their store of apples failed them, and they had nothing to eat or drink; so that they suffered sorely under a hot sun, and their mouths and nostrils were filled with the briny smell of the sea. At last they came in sight of land--a little island with a large palace on it. Around the palace was a wall, white all over, without stain or flaw, as if it had been built of burnt lime, or carved out of one unbroken rock of chalk; and where it looked towards the sea it was so lofty that it seemed almost to reach the clouds. The gate of this outer wall was open, and a number of fine houses, all snowy white, were ranged round on the inside, enclosing a level court in the middle, on which all the houses opened. Maildun and his people entered the largest of them, and walked through several rooms without meeting with any one. But on reaching the principal apartment, they saw in it a small cat, playing among a number of low, square, marble pillars, which stood ranged in a row; and his play was, leaping continually from the top of one pillar to the top of another. When the men entered the room, the cat looked at them for a moment, but returned to his play anon, and took no further notice of them. Looking now to the room itself, they saw three rows of precious jewels ranged round the wall from one door-jamb to the other. The first was a row of brooches of gold and silver, with their pins fixed in the wall, and their heads outwards; the second, a row of torques of gold and silver; and the third, a row of great swords, with hilts of gold and silver. Round the room were arranged a number of couches, all pure white and richly ornamented. Abundant food of various kinds was spread on tables, among which they observed a boiled ox and a roast hog; and there were many large drinking-horns, full of good, intoxicating ale. "Is it for us that this food has been prepared?" said Maildun to the cat. The cat, on hearing the question, ceased from playing, and looked at him; but he recommenced his play immediately. Whereupon Maildun told his people that the dinner was meant for them; and they all sat down, and ate and drank till they were satisfied, after which they rested and slept on the couches. When they awoke, they poured what was left of the ale into one vessel; and they gathered the remnants of the food to bring them away. As they were about to go, Maildun's eldest foster brother asked him-- "Shall I bring one of those large torques away with me?" "By no means," said Maildun; "it is well that we have got food and rest. Bring nothing away, for it is certain that this house is not left without some one to guard it." The young man, however, disregarding Maildun's advice, took down one of the torques and brought it away. But the cat followed him, and overtook him in the middle of the court, and, springing on him like a blazing, fiery arrow, he went through his body, and reduced it in a moment to a heap of ashes. He then returned to the room, and, leaping up on one of the pillars, sat upon it. Maildun turned back, bringing the torque with him, and, approaching the cat, spoke some soothing words; after which he put the torque back to the place from which it had been taken. Having done this, he collected the ashes of his foster brother, and, bringing them to the shore, cast them into the sea. They all then went on board the curragh, and continued their voyage, grieving for their lost companion, but thanking God for His many mercies to them. CHAPTER XIII. AN ISLAND THAT DYED BLACK AND WHITE. On the morning of the third day, they came to another island, which was divided into two parts by a wall of brass running across the middle. They saw two great flocks of sheep, one on each side of the wall; and all those at one side were black, while those at the other side were white. A very large man was employed in dividing and arranging the sheep; and he often took up a sheep and threw it with much ease over the wall from one side to the other. When he threw over a white sheep among the black ones, it became black immediately; and in like manner, when he threw a black sheep over, it was instantly changed to white. The travellers were very much alarmed on witnessing these doings and Maildun said-- "It is very well that we know so far. Let us now throw something on shore, to see whether it also will change colour; if it does, we shall avoid the island." So they took a branch with black-coloured bark and threw it towards the white sheep, and no sooner did it touch the ground than it became white. They then threw a white-coloured branch on the side of the black sheep, and in a moment it turned black. "It is very lucky for us," said Maildun, "that we did not land on the island, for doubtless our colour would have changed like the colour of the branches." So they put about with much fear, and sailed away. CHAPTER XIV. THE ISLAND OF THE BURNING RIVER. On the third day, they came in view of a large, broad island, on which they saw a herd of gracefully shaped swine; and they killed one small porkling for food. Towards the centre rose a high mountain, which they resolved to ascend, in order to view the island; and Germane and Diuran Lekerd were chosen for this task. When they had advanced some distance towards the mountain, they came to a broad, shallow river; and sitting down on the bank to rest, Germane dipped the point of his lance into the water, which instantly burned off the top, as if the lance had been thrust into a furnace. So they went no farther. On the opposite side of the river, they saw a herd of animals like great hornless oxen, all lying down; and a man of gigantic size near them: and Germane began to strike his spear against his shield, in order to rouse the cattle. "Why are you frightening the poor young calves in that manner?" demanded the big shepherd, in a tremendous voice. Germane, astonished to find that such large animals were nothing more than calves, instead of answering the question, asked the big man where the mothers of those calves were. "They are on the side of yonder mountain," he replied. Germane and Diuran waited to hear no more; but, returning to their companions, told them all they had seen and heard; after which the crew embarked and left the island. CHAPTER XV. THE MILLER OF HELL. The next island they came to, which was not far off from the last, had a large mill on it; and near the door stood the miller, a huge-bodied, strong, burly man. They saw numberless crowds of men and horses laden with corn, coming towards the mill; and when their corn was ground they went away towards the west. Great herds of all kinds of cattle covered the plain as far as the eye could reach, and among them many wagons laden with every kind of wealth that is produced on the ridge of the world. All these the miller put into the mouth of his mill to be ground; and all, as they came forth, went westwards. Maildun and his people now spoke to the miller, and asked him the name of the mill, and the meaning of all they had seen on the island. And he, turning quickly towards them, replied in few words-- "This mill is called the Mill of Inver-tre-Kenand, and I am the miller of hell. All the corn and all the riches of the world that men are dissatisfied with, or which they complain of in any way, are sent here to be ground; and also every precious article, and every kind of wealth, which men try to conceal from God. All these I grind in the Mill of Inver-tre-Kenand, and send them afterwards away to the west." He spoke no more, but turned round and busied himself again with his mill. And the voyagers, with much wonder and awe in their hearts, went to their curragh and sailed away.[LXXIV.] CHAPTER XVI. THE ISLE OF WEEPING. After leaving this, they had not been long sailing when they discovered another large island, with a great multitude of people on it. They were all black, both skin and clothes, with black head-dresses also; and they kept walking about, sighing and weeping and wringing their hands, without the least pause or rest. It fell to the lot of Maildun's second foster brother to go and examine the island. And when he went among the people, he also grew sorrowful, and fell to weeping and wringing his hands, with the others. Two of the crew were sent to bring him back; but they were unable to find him among the mourners; and, what was worse, in a little time they joined the crowd, and began to weep and lament like all the rest. Maildun then chose four men to go and bring back the others by force, and he put arms in their hands, and gave them these directions-- "When you land on the island, fold your mantles round your faces, so as to cover your mouths and noses, that you may not breathe the air of the country; and look neither to the right nor to the left, neither at the earth nor at the sky, but fix your eyes on your own men till you have laid hands on them." They did exactly as they were told, and having come up with their two companions, namely, those who had been sent after Maildun's foster brother, they seized them and brought them back by force. But the other they could not find. When these two were asked what they had seen on the island, and why they began to weep, their only reply was-- "We cannot tell; we only know that we did what we saw the others doing." And after this the voyagers sailed away from the island, leaving Maildun's second foster brother behind. FOOTNOTES: [LXXIV.] The incident of the big miller occurs in the Voyage of the Sons of O'Corra, as well as in the Voyage of Maildun. The two accounts are somewhat different; and I have combined both here. CHAPTER XVII. THE ISLE OF THE FOUR PRECIOUS WALLS. The next was a high island, divided into four parts by four walls meeting in the centre. The first was a wall of gold; the second, a wall of silver; the third, a wall of copper; and the fourth, a wall of crystal. In the first of the four divisions were kings; in the second, queens; in the third, youths; and in the fourth, young maidens. When the voyagers landed, one of the maidens came to meet them, and leading them forward to a house, gave them food. This food, which she dealt out to them from a small vessel, looked like cheese, and whatever taste pleased each person best, that was the taste he found on it. And after they had eaten till they were satisfied, they slept in a sweet sleep, as if gently intoxicated, for three days and three nights. When they awoke on the third day, they found themselves in their curragh on the open sea; and there was no appearance in any direction either of the maiden or of the island. CHAPTER XVIII. THE PALACE OF THE CRYSTAL BRIDGE. They came now to a small island, with a palace on it, having a copper chain in front, hung all over with a number of little silver bells. Straight before the door there was a fountain, spanned by a bridge of crystal, which led to the palace. They walked towards the bridge, meaning to cross it, but every time they stepped on it they fell backwards flat on the ground. After some time, they saw a very beautiful young woman coming out of the palace, with a pail in her hand; and she lifted a crystal slab from the bridge, and, having filled her vessel from the fountain, she went back into the palace. "This woman has been sent to keep house for Maildun," said Germane. "Maildun indeed!" said she, as she shut the door after her. After this they began to shake the copper chain, and the tinkling of the silver bells was so soft and melodious that the voyagers gradually fell into a gentle, tranquil sleep, and slept so till next morning. When they awoke, they saw the same young woman coming forth from the palace, with the pail in her hand; and she lifted the crystal slab as before, filled her vessel, and returned into the palace. "This woman has certainly been sent to keep house for Maildun," said Germane. "Wonderful are the powers of Maildun!" said she, as she shut the door of the court behind her. They stayed in this place for three days and three nights, and each morning the maiden came forth in the same manner, and filled her pail. On the fourth day, she came towards them, splendidly and beautifully dressed, with her bright yellow hair bound by a circlet of gold, and wearing silver-work shoes on her small, white feet. She had a white mantle over her shoulders, which was fastened in front by a silver brooch studded with gold; and under all, next her soft, snow-white skin, was a garment of fine white silk. "My love to you, Maildun, and to your companions," she said; and she mentioned them all, one after another, calling each by his own proper name. "My love to you," said she. "We knew well that you were coming to our island, for your arrival has long been foretold to us." Then she led them to a large house standing by the sea, and she caused the curragh to be drawn high up on the beach. They found in the house a number of couches, one of which was intended for Maildun alone, and each of the others for three of his people. The woman then gave them, from one vessel, food which was like cheese; first of all ministering to Maildun, and then giving a triple share to every three of his companions; and whatever taste each man wished for, that was the taste he found on it. She then lifted the crystal slab at the bridge, filled her pail, and dealt out drink to them; and she knew exactly how much to give, both of food and of drink, so that each had enough and no more. "This woman would make a fit wife for Maildun," said his people. But while they spoke, she went from them with her pail in her hand. When she was gone, Maildun's companions said to him, "Shall we ask this maiden to become thy wife?" He answered, "What advantage will it be to you to ask her?" She came next morning, and they said to her, "Why dost thou not stay here with us? Wilt thou make friendship with Maildun; and wilt thou take him for thy husband?" She replied that she and all those that lived on the island were forbidden to marry with the sons of men; and she told them that she could not disobey, as she knew not what sin or transgression was. She then went from them to her house; and on the next morning, when she returned, and after she had ministered to them as usual, till they were satisfied with food and drink, and were become cheerful, they spoke the same words to her. "To-morrow," she replied, "you will get an answer to your question;" and so saying, she walked towards her house, and they went to sleep on their couches. When they awoke next morning, they found themselves lying in their curragh on the sea, beside a great high rock; and when they looked about, they saw neither the woman, nor the palace of the crystal bridge, nor any trace of the island where they had been sojourning. CHAPTER XIX. THE ISLE OF SPEAKING BIRDS. One night, soon after leaving this, they heard in the distance, towards the north-east, a confused murmur of voices, as if from a great number of persons singing psalms. They followed the direction of the sound, in order to learn from what it proceeded; and at noon the next day, they came in view of an island, very hilly and lofty. It was full of birds, some black, some brown, and some speckled, who were all shouting and speaking with human voices; and it was from them that the great clamour came. CHAPTER XX. THE AGED HERMIT, AND THE HUMAN SOULS. At a little distance from this they found another small island, with many trees on it, some standing singly, and some in clusters, on which were perched great numbers of birds. They also saw an aged man on the island, who was covered thickly all over with long, white hair, and wore no other dress. And when they landed, they spoke to him, and asked him who he was and what race he belonged to. "I am one of the men of Erin," he replied. "On a certain day, a long, long time ago, I embarked in a small curragh, and put out to sea on a pilgrimage; but I had got only a little way from shore, when my curragh became very unsteady, as if it were about to overturn. So I returned to land, and, in order to steady my boat, I placed under my feet at the bottom, a number of green surface sods, cut from one of the grassy fields of my own country, and began my voyage anew. Under the guidance of God, I arrived at this spot; and He fixed the sods in the sea for me, so that they formed a little island. At first I had barely room to stand; but every year, from that time to the present, the Lord has added one foot to the length and breadth of my island, till in the long lapse of ages it has grown to its present size. And on one day in each year, He has caused a single tree to spring up, till the island has become covered with trees. Moreover, I am so old that my body, as you see, has become covered with long, white hair, so that I need no other dress. "And the birds that ye see on the trees," he continued, "these are the souls of my children, and of all my descendants, both men and women, who are sent to this little island to abide with me according as they die in Erin. God has caused a well of ale to spring up for us on the island: and every morning the angels bring me half a cake, a slice of fish, and a cup of ale from the well; and in the evening the same allowance of food and ale is dealt out to each man and woman of my people. And it is in this manner that we live, and shall continue to live till the end of the world; for we are all awaiting here the day of judgment." Maildun and his companions were treated hospitably on the island by the old pilgrim for three days and three nights; and when they were taking leave of him, he told them that they should all reach their own country except one man. CHAPTER XXI. THE ISLAND OF THE BIG BLACKSMITHS. When they had been for a long time tossed about on the waters, they saw land in the distance. On approaching the shore, they heard the roaring of a great bellows, and the thundering sound of smiths' hammers striking a large glowing mass of iron on an anvil; and every blow seemed to Maildun as loud as if a dozen men had brought down their sledges all together. When they had come a little nearer, they heard the big voices of the smiths in eager talk. "Are they near?" asked one. "Hush! silence!" says another. "Who are they that you say are coming?" inquired a third. "Little fellows, that are rowing towards our shore in a pigmy boat," says the first. When Maildun heard this, he hastily addressed the crew-- "Put back at once, but do not turn the curragh: reverse the sweep of your oars, and let her move stern forward, so that those giants may not perceive that we are flying!" The crew at once obey, and the boat begins to move away from the shore, stern forward, as he had commanded. The first smith again spoke. "Are they near enough to the shore?" said he to the man who was watching. "They seem to be at rest," answered the other; "for I cannot perceive that they are coming closer, and they have not turned their little boat to go back." In a short time the first smith asks again, "What are they doing now?" "I think," said the watcher, "they are flying; for it seems to me that they are now farther off than they were a while ago." At this the first smith rushed out of the forge--a huge, burly giant--holding, in the tongs which he grasped in his right hand, a vast mass of iron sparkling and glowing from the furnace; and, running down to the shore with long, heavy strides, he flung the red-hot mass with all his might after the curragh. It fell a little short, and plunged down just near the prow, causing the whole sea to hiss and boil and heave up around the boat. But they plied their oars, so that they quickly got beyond his reach, and sailed out into the open ocean. CHAPTER XXII. THE CRYSTAL SEA. After a time, they came to a sea like green crystal. It was so calm and transparent that they could see the sand at the bottom quite clearly, sparkling in the sunlight. And in this sea they saw neither monsters, nor ugly animals, nor rough rocks; nothing but the clear water and the sunshine and the bright sand. For a whole day they sailed over it, admiring its splendour and beauty. CHAPTER XXIII. A LOVELY COUNTRY BENEATH THE WAVES. After leaving this they entered on another sea, which seemed like a clear, thin cloud; and it was so transparent, and appeared so light, that they thought at first it would not bear up the weight of the curragh. Looking down, they could see, beneath the clear water, a beautiful country, with many mansions surrounded by groves and woods. In one place was a single tree; and, standing on its branches, they saw an animal fierce and terrible to look upon. Round about the tree was a great herd of oxen grazing, and a man stood near to guard them, armed with shield and spear and sword; but when he looked up and saw the animal on the tree, he turned anon and fled with the utmost speed. Then the monster stretched forth his neck, and, darting his head downward, plunged his fangs into the back of the largest ox of the whole herd, lifted him off the ground into the tree, and swallowed him down in the twinkling of an eye; whereupon the whole herd took to flight. When Maildun and his people saw this, they were seized with great terror; for they feared they should not be able to cross the sea over the monster, on account of the extreme mist-like thinness of the water; but after much difficulty and danger they got across it safely. CHAPTER XXIV. AN ISLAND GUARDED BY A WALL OF WATER. When they came to the next island, they observed with astonishment that the sea rose up over it on every side, steep and high, standing, as it were, like a wall all round it. When the people of the island saw the voyagers, they rushed hither and thither, shouting, "There they are, surely! There they come again for another spoil!" Then Maildun's people saw great numbers of men and women, all shouting and driving vast herds of horses, cows, and sheep. A woman began to pelt the crew from below with large nuts; she flung them so that they alighted on the waves round the boat, where they remained floating; and the crew gathered great quantities of them and kept them for eating. When they turned to go away, the shouting ceased: and they heard one man calling aloud, "Where are they now?" and another answering him, "They are gone away!" From what Maildun saw and heard at this island, it is likely that it had been foretold to the people that their country should some day be spoiled by certain marauders; and that they thought Maildun and his men were the enemies they expected. CHAPTER XXV. A WATER-ARCH IN THE AIR. On the next island they saw a very wonderful thing, namely, a great stream of water which, gushing up out of the strand, rose into the air in the form of a rainbow, till it crossed the whole island and came down on the strand at the other side. They walked under it without getting wet; and they hooked down from it many large salmon. Great quantities of salmon of a very great size fell also out of the water over their heads down on the ground; so that the whole island smelled of fish, and it became troublesome to gather them on account of their abundance. From the evening of Sunday till the evening of Monday, the stream never ceased to flow, and never changed its place, but remained spanning the island like a solid arch of water. Then the voyagers gathered the largest of the salmon, till they had as much as the curragh would hold; after which they sailed out into the great sea. CHAPTER XXVI. THE SILVER PILLAR OF THE SEA. The next thing they found after this was an immense silver pillar standing in the sea. It had eight sides, each of which was the width of an oar-stroke of the curragh, so that its whole circumference was eight oar-strokes. It rose out of the sea without any land or earth about it, nothing but the boundless ocean; and they could not see its base deep down in the water, neither were they able to see the top on account of its vast height. A silver net hung from the top down to the very water, extending far out at one side of the pillar; and the meshes were so large that the curragh in full sail went through one of them. When they were passing through it, Diuran struck the mesh with the edge of his spear, and with the blow cut a large piece off it. "Do not destroy the net," said Maildun; "for what we see is the work of great men." "What I have done," answered Diuran, "is for the honour of my God, and in order that the story of our adventures may be more readily believed; and I shall lay this silver as an offering on the altar of Armagh, if I ever reach Erin." That piece of silver weighed two ounces and a half, as it was reckoned afterwards by the people of the church of Armagh. After this they heard some one speaking on the top of the pillar, in a loud, clear, glad voice; but they knew neither what he said, nor in what language he spoke. CHAPTER XXVII. AN ISLAND STANDING ON ONE PILLAR. The island they saw after this was named Encos;[LXXV.] and it was so called because it was supported by a single pillar in the middle. They rowed all round it, seeking how they might get into it; but could find no landing-place. At the foot of the pillar, however, down deep in the water, they saw a door securely closed and locked, and they judged that this was the way into the island. They called aloud, to find out if any persons were living there; but they got no reply. So they left it, and put out to sea once more. FOOTNOTES: [LXXV.] Encos means "one foot." CHAPTER XXVIII. THE ISLAND QUEEN DETAINS THEM WITH HER MAGIC THREAD-CLEW. The next island they reached was very large. On one side rose a lofty, smooth, heath-clad mountain, and all the rest of the island was a grassy plain. Near the sea-shore stood a great high palace, adorned with carvings and precious stones, and strongly fortified with a high rampart all round. After landing, they went towards the palace, and sat to rest on the bench before the gateway leading through the outer rampart; and, looking in through the open door, they saw a number of beautiful young maidens in the court. After they had sat for some time, a rider appeared at a distance, coming swiftly towards the palace; and on a near approach, the travellers perceived that it was a lady, young and beautiful and richly dressed. She wore a blue, rustling silk head-dress; a silver-fringed purple cloak hung from her shoulders; her gloves were embroidered with gold thread; and her feet were laced becomingly in close-fitting scarlet sandals. One of the maidens came out and held her horse, while she dismounted and entered the palace; and soon after she had gone in, another of the maidens came towards Maildun and his companions and said-- "You are welcome to this island. Come into the palace; the queen has sent me to invite you, and is waiting to receive you." They followed the maiden into the palace; and the queen bade them welcome, and received them kindly. Then, leading them into a large hall in which a plentiful dinner was laid out, she bade them sit down and eat. A dish of choice food and a crystal goblet of wine were placed before Maildun; while a single dish and a single drinking-bowl, with a triple quantity of meat and drink, were laid before each three of his companions. And having eaten and drunk till they were satisfied, they went to sleep on soft couches till morning. Next day, the queen addressed Maildun and his companions-- "Stay now in this country, and do not go a-wandering any longer over the wide ocean from island to island. Old age or sickness shall never come upon you; but you shall be always as young as you are at present, and you shall live for ever a life of ease and pleasure." "Tell us," said Maildun, "how you pass your life here." "That is no hard matter," answered the queen. "The good king who formerly ruled over this island was my husband, and these fair young maidens that you see are our children. He died after a long reign, and as he left no son, I now reign, the sole ruler of the island. And every day I go to the Great Plain, to administer justice and to decide causes among my people." "Wilt thou go from us to-day?" asked Maildun. "I must needs go even now," she replied, "to give judgments among the people; but as to you, you will all stay in this house till I return in the evening, and you need not trouble yourselves with any labour or care." They remained in that island during the three months of winter. And these three months appeared to Maildun's companions as long as three years, for they began to have an earnest desire to return to their native land. At the end of that time, one of them said to Maildun-- "We have been a long time here; why do we not return to our own country?" "What you say is neither good nor sensible," answered Maildun, "for we shall not find in our own country anything better than we have here." But this did not satisfy his companions, and they began to murmur loudly. "It is quite clear," said they, "that Maildun loves the queen of this island; and as this is so, let him stay here; but as for us, we will return to our own country." Maildun, however, would not consent to remain after them, and he told them that he would go away with them. Now, on a certain day, not long after this conversation, as soon as the queen had gone to the Great Plain to administer justice, according to her daily custom, they got their curragh ready and put out to sea. They had not gone very far from land when the queen came riding towards the shore; and, seeing how matters stood, she went into the palace and soon returned with a ball of thread in her hand. Walking down to the water's edge, she flung the ball after the curragh, but held the end of the thread in her hand. Maildun caught the ball as it was passing, and it clung to his hand; and the queen, gently pulling the thread towards her, drew back the curragh to the very spot from which they had started in the little harbour. And when they had landed, she made them promise that if ever this happened again, some one should always stand up in the boat and catch the ball. The voyagers abode on the island, much against their will, for nine months longer. For every time they attempted to escape, the queen brought them back by means of the clew, as she had done at first, Maildun always catching the ball. At the end of the nine months, the men held council, and this is what they said-- "We know now that Maildun does not wish to leave the island; for he loves this queen very much, and he catches the ball whenever we try to escape, in order that we may be brought back to the palace." Maildun replied, "Let some one else attend to the ball next time, and let us try whether it will cling to his hand." They agreed to this, and, watching their opportunity, they again put off towards the open sea. The queen arrived, as usual, before they had gone very far and flung the ball after them as before. Another man of the crew caught it, and it clung as firmly to his hand as to Maildun's; and the queen began to draw the curragh towards the shore. But Diuran, drawing his sword, cut off the man's hand, which fell with the ball into the sea; and the men gladly plying their oars, the curragh resumed her outward voyage. When the queen saw this, she began to weep and lament, wringing her hands and tearing her hair with grief; and her maidens also began to weep and cry aloud and clap their hands, so that the whole palace was full of grief and lamentation. But none the less did the men bend to their oars, and the curragh sailed away; and it was in this manner that the voyagers made their escape from the island. CHAPTER XXIX. THE ISLE OF INTOXICATING WINE-FRUITS. They were now a long time tossed about on the great billows, when at length they came in view of an island with many trees on it. These trees were somewhat like hazels, and they were laden with a kind of fruit which the voyagers had not seen before, extremely large, and not very different in appearance from apples, except that they had a rough, berry-like rind. After the crew had plucked all the fruit off one small tree, they cast lots who should try them, and the lot fell on Maildun. So he took some of them, and, squeezing the juice into a vessel, drank it. It threw him into a sleep of intoxication so deep that he seemed to be in a trance rather than in a natural slumber, without breath or motion, and with the red foam on his lips. And from that hour till the same hour next day, no one could tell whether he was living or dead. When he awoke next day, he bade his people to gather as much of the fruit as they could bring away with them; for the world, as he told them, never produced anything of such surpassing goodness. They pressed out the juice of the fruit till they had filled all their vessels; and so powerful was it to produce intoxication and sleep, that, before drinking it, they had to mix a large quantity of water with it to moderate its strength. CHAPTER XXX. THE ISLE OF THE MYSTIC LAKE. The island they came to next was larger than most of those they had seen. On one side grew a wood of yew trees and great oaks; and on the other side was a grassy plain, with one small lake in the midst. A noble-looking house stood on the near part of the plain, with a small church not far off; and numerous flocks of sheep browsed over the whole island. The travellers went to the church, and found in it a hermit, with snow-white beard and hair, and all the other marks of great old age. Maildun asked who he was, and whence he had come. He replied, "I am one of the fifteen people, who, following the example of our master, Brendan of Birra,[20] sailed on a pilgrimage out into the great ocean. After many wanderings, we settled on this island, where we lived for a long time; but my companions died one after another, and of all who came hither, I alone am left." The old pilgrim then showed them Brendan's satchel,[21] which he and his companions had brought with them on their pilgrimage; and Maildun kissed it, and all bowed down in veneration before it. And he told them that as long as they remained there, they might eat of the sheep and of the other food of the island; but to waste nothing. One day, as they were seated on a hill, gazing out over the sea, they saw what they took to be a black cloud coming towards them from the south-west. They continued to view it very closely as it came nearer and nearer; and at last they perceived with amazement that it was an immense bird, for they saw quite plainly the slow, heavy flapping of his wings. When he reached the island, he alighted on a little hillock over the lake; and they felt no small alarm, for they thought, on account of his vast size, that if he saw them, he might seize them in his talons, and carry them off over the sea. So they hid themselves under trees and in the crannies of rocks; but they never lost sight of the bird, for they were bent on watching his movements. He appeared very old, and he held in one claw a branch of a tree, which he had brought with him over the sea, larger and heavier than the largest full-grown oak. It was covered with fresh, green leaves, and was heavily laden with clusters of fruit, red and rich-looking like grapes, but much larger. He remained resting for a time on the hill, being much wearied after his flight, and at last he began to eat the fruit off the branch. After watching him for some time longer, Maildun ventured warily towards the hillock, to see whether he was inclined to mischief; but the bird showed no disposition to harm him. This emboldened the others, and they all followed their chief. The whole crew now marched in a body round the bird, headed by Maildun, with their shields raised; and as he still made no stir, one of the men, by Maildun's directions, went straight in front of him, and brought away some of the fruit from the branch which he still held in his talons. But the bird went on plucking and eating his fruit, and never took the least notice. On the evening of that same day, as the men sat looking over the sea to the south-west, where the great bird first appeared to them, they saw in the distance two others, quite as large, coming slowly towards them from the very same point. On they came, flying at a vast height, nearer and nearer, till at last they swooped down and alighted on the hillock in front of the first bird, one on each side. Although they were plainly much younger than the other, they seemed very tired, and took a long rest. Then, shaking their wings, they began picking the old bird all over, body, wings, and head, plucking out the old feathers and the decayed quill points, and smoothing down his plumage with their great beaks. After this had gone on for some time, the three began plucking the fruit off the branch, and they ate till they were satisfied. Next morning, the two birds began at the very same work, picking and arranging the feathers of the old bird as before; and at midday they ceased, and began again to eat the fruit, throwing the stones and what they did not eat of the pulp, into the lake, till the water became red like wine. After this the old bird plunged into the lake and remained in it, washing himself, till evening, when he again flew up on the hillock, but perched on a different part of it, to avoid touching and defiling himself with the old feathers and the other traces of age and decay, which the younger birds had removed from him. On the morning of the third day, the two younger birds set about arranging his feathers for the third time; and on this occasion they applied themselves to their task in a manner much more careful and particular than before, smoothing the plumes with the nicest touches, and arranging them in beautiful lines and glossy tufts and ridges. And so they continued without the least pause till midday, when they ceased. Then, after resting for a little while, they opened their great wings, rose into the air, and flew away swiftly towards the south-west, till the men lost sight of them in the distance. Meantime the old bird, after the others had left, continued to smooth and plume his feathers till evening; then, shaking his wings, he rose up, and flew three times round the island, as if to try his strength. And now the men observed that he had lost all the appearances of old age: his feathers were thick and glossy, his head was erect and his eye bright, and he flew with quite as much power and swiftness as the others. Alighting for the last time on the hillock, after resting a little, he rose again, and turning his flight after the other two, to the point from which he had come, he was soon lost to view, and the voyagers saw no more of him. It now appeared very clear to Maildun and his companions that this bird had undergone a renewal of youth from old age, according to the word of the prophet, which says, "Thy youth shall be renewed as the eagle." Diuran, seeing this great wonder, said to his companions-- "Let us also bathe in the lake, and we shall obtain a renewal of youth like the bird." But they said, "Not so, for the bird has left the poison of his old age and decay in the water." Diuran, however, would have his own way; and he told them he was resolved to try the virtue of the water, and that they might follow his example or not, whichever they pleased. So he plunged in and swam about for some time, after which he took a little of the water and mixed it in his mouth; and in the end he swallowed a small quantity. He then came out perfectly sound and whole; and he remained so ever after, for as long as he lived he never lost a tooth or had a grey hair, and he suffered not from disease or bodily weakness of any kind. But none of the others ventured in. The voyagers, having remained long enough on this island, stored in their curragh a large quantity of the flesh of the sheep; and after bidding farewell to the ancient cleric, they sought the ocean once more. Now once again, when winds and tide combine, The flying curragh cleaves the crested brine. Far to the west an island rose to view, With verdant plains, clear streams, and mountains blue. An aged hermit, bred in Erin's land, Welcomed and blessed the chieftain and his band; Brought food and drink, and bade them rest awhile, And view the wonders of that lovely isle. Lo, from the sea, three birds of monstrous size, With vast wings slowly moving, cleave the skies; And as they nearer drew, the sailors saw One held a fruit branch firmly in his claw. Down by the dear, mysterious lake they light, Eat from the branch, and rest them from their flight. The aged bird, with plumes decayed and thin, Paused on the brink awhile, then, plunging in, He bath'd and smooth'd his feathers o'er and o'er, Shook his great wings and rested on the shore. Now while the other two his plumes arrange, Through all his frame appears a wondrous change: His eyes grow bright, his head erect and bold, His glossy plumage shines like burnished gold; Free from old age, his glorious form expands; In radiant youth and beauty proud he stands! Such was the gift that lake of wonder gave; Such was the virtue of its mystic wave. CHAPTER XXXI. THE ISLE OF LAUGHING. They next came to an island with a great plain extending over its whole surface. They saw a vast multitude of people on it, engaged in sundry youthful games, and all continually laughing. The voyagers cast lots who should go to examine the island; and the lot fell upon Maildun's third foster brother. The moment he landed he went among the others and joined in their pastimes and in their laughter, as if he had been among them all his life. His companions waited for him a very long time, but were afraid to venture to land after him; and at last, as there seemed no chance of his returning, they left him and sailed away. CHAPTER XXXII. THE ISLE OF THE BLEST. They came now to a small island with a high rampart of fire all round it; and that rampart revolved continually round the island. There was one large open door in the rampart; and whenever the door, in its involution, came in front of them, they could see almost the whole island through it, and all that was therein. And this is what they saw: A great number of people, beautiful and glorious-looking, wearing rich garments adorned and radiant all over, feasting joyously, and drinking from embossed vessels of red gold which they held in their hands. The voyagers heard also their cheerful, festive songs; and they marvelled greatly, and their hearts were full of gladness at all the happiness they saw and heard. But they did not venture to land. CHAPTER XXXIII. THE HERMIT OF THE SEA-ROCK. A little time after leaving this, they saw something a long way off towards the south, which at first they took to be a large white bird floating on the sea, and rising and falling with the waves; but on turning their curragh towards it for a nearer view, they found that it was a man. He was very old, so old that he was covered all over with long, white hair, which grew from his body; and he was standing on a broad, bare rock, and kept continually throwing himself on his knees, and never ceased praying. When they saw that he was a holy man, they asked and received his blessing; after which they began to converse with him; and they inquired who he was, and how he had come to that rock. Then the old man gave them the following account:-- "I was born and bred in the island of Tory.[LXXVI.] When I grew up to be a man, I was cook to the brotherhood of the monastery; and a wicked cook I was; for every day I sold part of the food intrusted to me, and secretly bought many choice and rare things with the money. Worse even than this I did; I made secret passages underground into the church and into the houses belonging to it, and I stole from time to time great quantities of golden vestments, book-covers adorned with brass and gold, and other holy and precious things. "I soon became very rich, and had my rooms filled with costly couches, with clothes of every colour, both linen and woollen, with brazen pitchers and caldrons, and with brooches and armlets of gold. Nothing was wanting in my house, of furniture and ornament, that a person in a high rank of life might be expected to have; and I became very proud and overbearing. "One day, I was sent to dig a grave for the body of a rustic that had been brought from the mainland to be buried on the island. I went and fixed on a spot in the little graveyard; but as soon as I had set to work, I heard a voice speaking down deep in the earth beneath my feet-- "'Do not dig this grave!' "I paused for a moment, startled; but, recovering myself, I gave no further heed to the mysterious words, and again I began to dig. The moment I did so, I heard the same voice, even more plainly than before-- "'Do not dig this grave! I am a devout and holy person, and my body is lean and light; do not put the heavy, pampered body of that sinner down upon me!' "But I answered, in the excess of my pride and obstinacy, 'I will certainly dig this grave; and I will bury this body down on you!' "'If you put that body down on me, the flesh will fall off your bones, and you will die, and be sent to the infernal pit at the end of three days; and, moreover, the body will not remain where you put it.' "'What will you give me,' I asked, 'if I do not bury the corpse on you?' "'Everlasting life in heaven,' replied the voice. "'How do you know this; and how am I to be sure of it?' I inquired. "And the voice answered me, 'The grave you are digging is clay. Observe now whether it will remain so, and then you will know the truth of what I tell you. And you will see that what I say will come to pass, and that you cannot bury that man on me, even if you should try to do so.' "These words were scarce ended, when the grave was turned into a mass of white sand before my face. And when I saw this, I brought the body away, and buried it elsewhere. "It happened, some time after, that I got a new curragh made, with the hides painted red all over; and I went to sea in it. As I sailed by the shores and islands, I was so pleased with the view of the land and sea from my curragh that I resolved to live altogether in it for some time; and I brought on board all my treasures--silver cups, gold bracelets, and ornamented drinking-horns, and everything else, from the largest to the smallest article. "I enjoyed myself for a time, while the air was clear and the sea calm and smooth. But one day, the winds suddenly arose and a storm burst upon me, which carried me out to sea, so that I quite lost sight of land, and I knew not in what direction the curragh was drifting. After a time, the wind abated to a gentle gale, the sea became smooth, and the curragh sailed on as before, with a quiet, pleasant movement. "But suddenly, though the breeze continued to blow, I thought I could perceive that the curragh ceased moving, and, standing up to find out the cause, I saw with great surprise an old man not far off, sitting on the crest of a wave. "He spoke to me; and, as soon as I heard his voice, I knew it at once, but I could not at the moment call to mind where I had heard it before. And I became greatly troubled, and began to tremble, I knew not why. "'Whither art thou going?' he asked. "'I know not,' I replied; 'but this I know, I am pleased with the smooth, gentle motion of my curragh over the waves.' "'You would not be pleased,' replied the old man, 'if you could see the troops that are at this moment around you.' "'What troops do you speak of?' I asked. And he answered-- "'All the space round about you, as far as your view reaches over the sea, and upwards to the clouds, is one great towering mass of demons, on account of your avarice, your thefts, your pride, and your other crimes and vices.' "He then asked, 'Do you know why your curragh has stopped?' "I answered, 'No;' and he said, 'It has been stopped by me; and it will never move from that spot till you promise me to do what I shall ask of you.' "I replied that perhaps it was not in my power to grant his demand. "'It is in your power,' he answered; 'and if you refuse me, the torments of hell shall be your doom.' "He then came close to the curragh, and, laying his hands on me, he made me swear to do what he demanded. "'What I ask is this,' said he; 'that you throw into the sea this moment all the ill-gotten treasures you have in the curragh.' "This grieved me very much, and I replied, 'It is a pity that all these costly things should be lost.' "To which he answered, 'They will not go to loss; a person will be sent to take charge of them. Now do as I say.' "So, greatly against my wishes, I threw all the beautiful precious articles overboard, keeping only a small wooden cup to drink from. "'You will now continue your voyage,' he said; 'and the first solid ground your curragh reaches, there you are to stay.' "He then gave me seven cakes and a cup of watery whey as food for my voyage; after which the curragh moved on, and I soon lost sight of him. And now I all at once recollected that the old man's voice was the same as the voice that I had heard come from the ground, when I was about to dig the grave for the body of the rustic. I was so astonished and troubled at this discovery, and so disturbed at the loss of all my wealth, that I threw aside my oars, and gave myself up altogether to the winds and currents, not caring whither I went; and for a long time I was tossed about on the waves, I knew not in what direction. "At last it seemed to me that my curragh ceased to move; but I was not sure about it, for I could see no sign of land. Mindful, however, of what the old man had told me, that I was to stay wherever my curragh stopped, I looked round more carefully; and at last I saw, very near me, a small rock level with the surface, over which the waves were gently laughing and tumbling. I stepped on to the rock; and the moment I did so, the waves seemed to spring back, and the rock rose high over the level of the water; while the curragh drifted by and quickly disappeared, so that I never saw it after. This rock has been my abode from that time to the present day. "For the first seven years, I lived on the seven cakes and the cup of whey given me by the man who had sent me to the rock. At the end of that time the cakes were all gone; and for three days I fasted, with nothing but the whey to wet my mouth. Late in the evening of the third day, an otter brought me a salmon out of the sea; but though I suffered much from hunger, I could not bring myself to eat the fish raw, and it was washed back again into the waves. "I remained without food for three days longer; and in the afternoon of the third day, the otter returned with the salmon. And I saw another otter bring firewood; and when he had piled it up on the rock, he blew it with his breath till it took fire and lighted up. And then I broiled the salmon and ate till I had satisfied my hunger. "The otter continued to bring me a salmon every day, and in this manner I lived for seven years longer. The rock also grew larger and larger daily, till it became the size you now see it. At the end of seven years, the otter ceased to bring me my salmon, and I fasted for three days. But at the end of the third day, I was sent half a cake of fine wheaten flour and a slice of fish; and on the same day my cup of watery whey fell into the sea, and a cup of the same size, filled with good ale, was placed on the rock for me. "And so I have lived, praying and doing penance for my sins to this hour. Each day my drinking-vessel is filled with ale, and I am sent half a wheat-flour cake and a slice of fish; and neither rain nor wind, nor heat, nor cold, is allowed to molest me on this rock." This was the end of the old man's history. In the evening of that day, each man of the crew received the same quantity of food that was sent to the old hermit himself, namely, half a cake and a slice of fish; and they found in the vessel as much good ale as served them all. The next morning he said to them, "You shall all reach your own country in safety. And you, Maildun, you shall find in an island on your way, the very man that slew your father; but you are neither to kill him nor take revenge on him in any way. As God has delivered you from the many dangers you have passed through, though you were very guilty, and well deserved death at His hands; so you forgive your enemy the crime he committed against you." After this they took leave of the old man and sailed away. THE OLD HERMIT'S STORY. The storms may roar and the seas may rage, But here, on this bare, brown rock, I pray and repent and I tell my beads, Secure from the hurricane's shock. For the good, kind God, in pity to me, Holds out His protecting hand; And cold nor heat nor storm nor sleet, Can molest me where I stand. I robbed the churches and wronged the poor, And grew richer day by day; But now on this bare, brown ocean rock, A heavy penance I pay. A bloated sinner died unshrived, And they brought his corse to me-- "Go, dig the grave and bury the dead, And pray for the soul set free." I dug the grave, but my hands were stayed By a solemn and fearful sound, For the feeble tones of a dead man's voice Came up from the hollow ground! _The dead monk speaks up from the grave_-- Place not that pampered corse on mine, For my bones are weak and thin; I cannot bear the heavy weight Of a body defiled by sin. I was a meek and holy man; I fasted and watched and prayed; A sinner's corse would defile the clay Where my wasted body is laid. _The old hermit continues his story_-- The voice then ceased, and I heard no more Its hollow, beseeching tone; Then I closed the grave, and left the old monk To rest in his coffin alone. My curragh sailed on the western main, And I saw, as I viewed the sea, A withered old man upon a wave; And he fixed his eyes on me. He spoke, and his voice my heart's blood froze, And I shook with horror and fear: 'Twas the very voice of the dead old monk That sounded in mine ear! _The dead monk speaks again_-- Far from my grave the sinner's corse In unhallowed clay lies deep; And now in my coffin, undefiled, For ever in peace I sleep. Go, live and pray on the bare, brown rock, Far out in the stormy sea; A heavy penance for heavy crimes, And heaven at last for thee! _The old hermit ends his story_-- And here I live from age to age; I pray and repent and fast; An otter brings me food each day, And I hope for heaven at last. The tempests roar and the billows rage, But God holds forth His hand, And cold nor heat nor storm nor sleet, Can harm me where I stand. FOOTNOTES: [LXXVI.] Tory Island, off the coast of Donegal, where there was a monastery dedicated to St. Columkille. CHAPTER XXXIV. SIGNS OF HOME. Soon after they saw a beautiful verdant island, with herds of oxen, cows, and sheep browsing all over its hills and valleys; but no houses nor inhabitants were to be seen. And they rested for some time on this island, and ate the flesh of the cows and sheep. One day, while they were standing on a hill, a large falcon flew by; and two of the crew, who happened to look closely at him, cried out, in the hearing of Maildun-- "See that falcon! he is surely like the falcons of Erin!" "Watch him closely," cried Maildun; "and observe exactly in what direction he is flying!" And they saw that he flew to the south-east, without turning or wavering. They went on board at once; and, having unmoored, they sailed to the south-east after the falcon. After rowing the whole day, they sighted land in the dusk of the evening, which seemed to them like the land of Erin. CHAPTER XXXV. MAILDUN MEETS HIS ENEMY, AND ARRIVES HOME. On a near approach, they found it was a small island; and now they recognised it as the very same island they had seen in the beginning of their voyage, in which they had heard the man in the great house boast that he had slain Maildun's father, and from which the storm had driven them out into the great ocean. They turned the prow of their vessel to the shore, landed, and went towards the house. It happened that at this very time the people of the house were seated at their evening meal; and Maildun and his companions, as they stood outside, heard a part of their conversation. Said one to another, "It would not be well for us if we were now to see Maildun." "As to Maildun," answered another, "it is very well known that he was drowned long ago in the great ocean." "Do not be sure," observed a third; "perchance he is the very man that may waken you up some morning from your sleep." "Supposing he came now," asks another, "what should we do?" The head of the house now spoke in reply to the last question; and Maildun at once knew his voice-- "I can easily answer that," said he. "Maildun has been for a long time suffering great afflictions and hardships; and if he were to come now, though we were enemies once, I should certainly give him a welcome and a kind reception." When Maildun heard this he knocked at the door, and the door-keeper asked who was there; to which Maildun made answer-- "It is I, Maildun, returned safely from all my wanderings." The chief of the house then ordered the door to be opened; and he went to meet Maildun, and brought himself and his companions into the house. They were joyfully welcomed by the whole household; new garments were given to them; and they feasted and rested, till they forgot their weariness and their hardships. They related all the wonders God had revealed to them in the course of their voyage, according to the word of the sage who says, "It will be a source of pleasure to remember these things at a future time." After they had remained here for some days, Maildun returned to his own country. And Diuran Lekerd took the five half-ounces of silver he had cut down from the great net at the Silver Pillar, and laid it, according to his promise, on the high altar of Armagh. THE FAIRY PALACE OF THE QUICKEN TREES.[LXXVII.] CHAPTER I. COLGA, KING OF LOCHLANN, INVADES ERIN, AND IS SLAIN. Once upon a time, a noble, warlike king ruled over Lochlann,[6] whose name was Colga of the Hard Weapons. On a certain occasion, this king held a meeting of his chief people, on the broad, green plain before his palace of Berva.[6] And when they were all gathered together, he spoke to them in a loud, clear voice, from where he sat high on his throne; and he asked them whether they found any fault with the manner in which he ruled them, and whether they knew of anything deserving of blame in him as their sovereign lord and king. They replied, as if with the voice of one man, that they found no fault of any kind. Then the king spoke again and said, "You see not as I see. Do you not know that I am called King of the Four Tribes of Lochlann, and of the Islands of the Sea? And yet there is one island which acknowledges not my rule." And when they had asked which of the islands he meant, he said-- "That island is Erin of the green hills. My forefathers, indeed, held sway over it, and many of our brave warriors died there in fight. There fell the great king, Balor of the Mighty Blows;[9] his son Bres[9] also; and his queen, Kethlenda of the Crooked Teeth;[9] there, too, fell Irann and Slana, sisters of the king; and many others that I do not name. But though our hosts at last subdued the land and laid it under tribute, yet they held it not long; for the men of Erin arose and expelled our army, regaining their ancient freedom. "And now it is my desire that we once more sail to Erin with a fleet and an army, to bring it under my power, and take, either by consent or by force, the tributes that are due to me by right. And we shall thereafter hold the island in subjection till the end of the world." The chiefs approved the counsel of the king, and the meeting broke up. Then the king made proclamation, and sent his swift scouts and couriers all over the land, to muster his fighting men, till he had assembled a mighty army in one place. And when they had made ready their curve-sided, white-sailed ships, and their strong, swift-gliding boats, the army embarked. And they raised their sails and plied their oars; and they cleft the billowy, briny sea; and the clear, cold winds whistled through their sails; and they made neither stop nor stay, till they landed on the shore of the province of Ulad.[LXXVIII.] The King of Ireland at that time was Cormac Mac Art,[22] the grandson of Conn the Hundred-fighter.[18] And when Cormac heard that a great fleet had come to Erin, and landed an army of foreigners, he straightway sent tidings of the invasion to Allen[LXXIX.] of the green hill-slopes, where lived Finn,[23] and the noble Fena[23] of the Gaels. When the king's messengers had told their tale, Finn despatched his trusty, swift-footed couriers to every part of Erin where he knew the Fena dwelt; and he bade them to say that all should meet him at a certain place, near that part of the coast where the Lochlann army lay encamped. And he himself led the Fena of Leinster northwards to join the muster. They attacked the foreigners, and the foreigners were not slow to meet their onset; and the Fena were sore pressed in that battle, so that at one time the Lochlanns were like to prevail. Oscar, the son of Oisin,[23] when he saw his friends falling all round him, was grieved to the heart; and he rested for a space to gather his wrath and his strength. Then, renewing the fight, he rushed with fury towards the standard of Colga, the Lochlann king, dealing havoc and slaughter among those foreigners that stood in his track. The king saw Oscar approach, and met him; and they fought a deadly battle hand-to-hand. Soon their shields were rent, their hard helmets were dinted with sword-blows, their armour was pierced in many places, and their flesh was torn with deep wounds. And the end of the fight was, that the king of the foreigners was slain by Oscar, the son of Oisin. When the Lochlanns saw their king fall, they lost heart, and the battle went against them. But they fought on nevertheless, till evening, when their army entirely gave way, and fled from the field. And of all the nobles and princes and mighty chiefs who sailed to Erin on that expedition, not one was left alive, except the youngest son of the king, whose name was Midac. Him Finn spared on account of his youth; with intent to bring him up in his own household. After the Fena had rested for a time, and buried their dead, they turned their faces southward, and marched slowly towards Allen, bringing their sick and wounded companions. And Finn placed Midac among the household of Allen, treating him honourably, and giving him servants and tutors. Moreover, he enlisted him in the Fena, and gave him a high post as befitted a prince. FOOTNOTES: [LXXVII.] The quicken tree, or quickbeam, or mountain ash, or roan-tree; Gaelic, _caerthainn_. Many mystic virtues were anciently attributed to this tree. [LXXVIII.] Ulad, _i.e._ Ulster. [LXXIX.] The Hill of Allen, in the county Kildare, where Finn had his palace. (See note 23 at the end.) CHAPTER II. MIDAC, THE SON OF COLGA, MEDITATES REVENGE. After this things went on as before, while Midac grew up towards manhood, and hunted and feasted with the Fena, and fought with them when they fought. But he never lost an opportunity of making himself acquainted with all their haunts and hunting-grounds, their palaces and fortresses, and in particular with their manner of carrying on war. It happened one day that Finn and some of his leading chiefs were in council, considering sundry matters, especially the state and condition of the Fena; and each chief was commanded by Finn to speak, and give his opinion or advice on anything that he deemed weighty enough to be debated by the meeting. And after many had spoken, Conan Mail, the son of Morna, stood up and said-- "It seems to me, O king, that you and I and the Fena in general are now in great danger. For you have in your house, and mixing with your people, a young man who has good cause of enmity towards you; that is to say, Midac, the son of the king of Lochlann. For was it not by you that his father and brothers and many of his friends were slain? Now I notice that this young prince is silent and distant, and talks little to those around him. Moreover, I see that day after day he takes much pains to know all matters relating to the Fena; and as he has friends in Lochlann, mighty men with armies and ships, I fear me the day may come when this prince will use his knowledge to our destruction." The king said that all this was quite true, and he asked Conan to give his opinion as to what should be done. "What I advise in the matter is this," said Conan, "that Midac be not allowed to abide any longer in the palace of Allen. But as it is meet that he should be treated in a manner becoming a prince, let him be given a tract of land for himself in some other part of Erin, with a home and a household of his own. Then shall we be freed from his presence, and he can no longer listen to our counsels, and learn all our secrets and all our plans." This speech seemed to Finn and the other chiefs reasonable and prudent, and they agreed to follow the advice of Conan Mail. Accordingly Finn sent for the prince, and said to him-- "Thou knowest, Midac, that thou hast been brought up from boyhood in my household, and that thou hast been dealt with in every way as becomes a prince. Now thou art a man, and standest in no further need of instruction, for thou hast learned everything needful for a prince and for a champion of the Fena; and it is not meet that thou shouldst abide longer in the house of another. Choose, therefore, the two cantreds that please thee best in all Erin, and they shall be given to thee and to thy descendants for ever as a patrimony. There thou shalt build houses and a homestead for thyself, and I will help thee with men and with cattle and with all things else necessary." Midac listened in silence; and when the king had done speaking, he replied in a cold and distant manner and in few words, that the proposal was reasonable and proper, and pleased him well. And thereupon he chose the rich cantred of Kenri on the Shannon, and the cantred of the Islands lying next to it on the north, at the other side of the river.[LXXX.] Now Midac had good reasons for choosing these two territories beyond all others in Erin. For the river opens out between them like a great sea, in which are many islands and sheltered harbours, where ships might anchor in safety; and he hoped to bring a fleet and an army into Erin some day, to avenge on Finn and the Fena the defeats they had inflicted on his countrymen, and above all, the death of his father and brothers. And being bent on treachery, he could not have chosen in all Erin a territory better suited for carrying out his secret designs. So these two cantreds were bestowed on Midac. Finn gave him also much cattle and wealth of all kinds; so that when his houses were built, and when he was settled in his new territory, with his servants and his cattle and his wealth all round him, there was no brugaid[LXXXI.] in Erin richer or more prosperous than he. For fourteen years Midac lived in his new home, growing richer every year. But the Fena knew nothing of his way of life, for he kept himself apart, and none of his old acquaintances visited him. And though he was enrolled in the ranks of the Fena, he never, during all that time, invited one of them to his house, or offered them food or drink or entertainment of any kind. One day, Finn and the Fena went to hunt in the district of Fermorc,[C] and over the plains of Hy Conall Gavra.[LXXXII.] And when all was arranged and the chase about to begin, Finn himself, and a few of his companions, went to the top of the hill of Knockfierna[LXXXIII.] to see the sport; while the main body of the Fena scattered themselves over the plain with their dogs and attendants, to start the deer and the wild boars and all the other game of the forest. Then Finn's people pitched their tents, and made soft couches of rushes and heather, and dug cooking-places[24]; for they intended the hill to be the resting-place of all who chose to rest, till the chase was ended. After Finn and his companions had sat for some time on the hill, they saw a tall warrior coming towards them, armed in full battle array. He wore a splendid coat of mail of Lochlann workmanship, and over it a mantle of fine satin dyed in divers colours. A broad shield hung on his left shoulder, and his helmet glittered in the morning sun like polished silver. At his left side hung a long sword, with golden hilt and enamelled sheath; and he held in his right hand his two long, polished, death-dealing spears. His figure and gait were wonderfully majestic, and as he came near, he saluted the king in stately and courteous words. Finn returned the salutation, and spoke with him for a while; and at length he asked him whence he had come, and if he had brought any tidings. "As to the place I came from," he answered, "that need not be spoken of; and for news, I have nothing to tell except that I am a ferdana,[LXXXIV.] and that I have come to thee, O king of the Fena, with a poem." "Methinks, indeed," replied Finn, "that conflict and battle are the poetry you profess; for never have I seen a hero more noble in mien and feature." "I am a ferdana nevertheless," answered the stranger; "and if thou dost not forbid me, I will prove it by reciting a poem I have brought for thee." "A mountain-top is not the place for poetry," said Finn; "and moreover, there is now no opportunity either for reciting or listening. For I and these few companions of mine have come to sit here that we may view the chase, and listen to the eager shouts of the men, and the sweet cry of the hounds. "But if you are, as you say," continued Finn, "a ferdana, remain here with us till the chase is ended; and then you shall come with me to one of our palaces, where I shall listen to your poem, and bestow on you such gifts as are meet for a poet of your rank." But the strange champion answered, "It is not my wish to go to your palace; and I now put you under gesa,[12] which true heroes do not suffer, that you listen to my poem, and that you find out and explain its meaning." "Well then," said Finn, "let there be no further delay; repeat your poem." So the hero recited the following verse:-- I saw a house by a river's shore, Famed through Erin in days of yore, Radiant with sparkling gems all o'er, Its lord deep skilled in magical lore; No conqueror ever defiled its floor; No spoiler can rive its golden store; Fire cannot burn its battlements hoar; Safe it stands when the torrents pour; Feasting and joy for evermore, To all who enter its open door! Now if thou hast learned a champion's lore, Tell me the name of that mansion hoar, With roof of crystal and marble floor-- The mansion I saw by the river's shore. "I can explain that poem," said Finn. "The mansion you saw is Bruga of the Boyne,[LXXXV.] the fairy palace of Angus, the Dedannan prince, son of the Dagda, which is open to all who wish to partake of its feasts and its enjoyments. It cannot be burned by fire, or drowned by water, or spoiled by robbers, on account of the great power of its lord and master; for there is not now, and there never was, and there never shall be, in Erin, a man more skilled in magic arts than Angus of the Bruga." "That is the sense of my poem," said the stranger; "and now listen to this other, and explain it to me if thou canst"-- I saw to the south a bright-faced queen, With couch of crystal and robe of green; A numerous offspring, sprightly and small, Plain through her skin you can see them all; Slowly she moves, and yet her speed Exceeds the pace of the swiftest steed! Now tell me the name of that wondrous queen, With her couch of crystal and robe of green.[LXXXVI.] "I understand the sense of that poem also," said Finn. "The queen you saw is the river Boyne, which flows by the south side of the palace of Bruga. Her couch of crystal is the sandy bed of the river; and her robe of green the grassy plain of Bregia,[LXXXVII.] through which it flows. Her children, which you can see through her skin, are the speckled salmon, the lively, pretty trout, and all the other fish that swim in the clear water of the river. The river flows slowly indeed; but its waters traverse the whole world in seven years, which is more than the swiftest steed can do." "These are my poems," said the champion; "and thou hast truly explained their meaning." "And now," said Finn, "as I have listened to thy poetry and explained it, tell us, I pray thee, who thou art and whence thou hast come; for I marvel much that so noble a champion should live in any of the five provinces of Erin without being known to me and my companions." Then Conan Mail spoke. "Thou art, O king, the wisest and most far-seeing of the Fena, and thou hast unravelled and explained the hard poetical puzzles of this champion. Yet, on the present occasion, thou knowest not a friend from a foe; for this man is Midac, whom thou didst bring up with much honour in thine own house, and afterwards made rich, but who is now thy bitter enemy, and the enemy of all the Fena. Here he has lived for fourteen years, without fellowship or communication with his former companions. And though he is enrolled in the order of the Fena, he has never, during all that time, invited thee to a banquet, or come to see any of his old friends, or given food or entertainment to any of the Fena, either master or man." Midac answered, "If Finn and the Fena have not feasted with me, that is none of my fault; for my house has never been without a banquet fit for either king or chief; but you never came to partake of it. I did not, indeed, send you an invitation; but that you should not have waited for, seeing that I was one of the Fena, and that I was brought up in your own household. Howbeit, let that pass. I have now a feast ready, in all respects worthy of a king; and I put you under gesa that you and the chiefs that are here with you, come this night to partake of it. I have two palaces, and in each there is a banquet. One is the Palace of the Island, which stands on the sea; and the other is the Palace of the Quicken Trees, which is a little way off from this hill; and it is to this that I wish you to come." Finn consented; and Midac, after he had pointed out the way to the Palace of the Quicken Trees, left them, saying he would go before, that he might have things in readiness when they should arrive. FOOTNOTES: [LXXX.] The cantreds of Kenri and Islands are now two baronies: the former the barony of Kenry, in Limerick, a little below the city; the latter the barony of Islands, in Clare, on the opposite side of the Shannon, including the mouth of the river Fergus, with its numerous _islands_, from which the barony has its name. [LXXXI.] Brugaid, a sort of local officer, who was allowed a tract of land free, on condition that he maintained a large establishment as a house of public hospitality. Many of the brugaids were very rich. [LXXXII.] Fermorc and Hy Conall Gavra are now the baronies of Upper and Lower Connello, in the county Limerick. [LXXXIII.] Knockfierna, a conspicuous hill, celebrated for its fairy lore, near Croom, in the county Limerick; very near Kenri, Midac's territory. [LXXXIV.] Ferdana, a poet. [LXXXV.] Bruga of the Boyne. (See note, page 62.) [LXXXVI.] The poets were much given to proposing poetical puzzles of this kind; and it was considered a mark of superior education, and of great acuteness in a champion to be able to explain them. (For another example, see the enigmatical verse about the skin of the pig, in the story of "The Children of Turenn," page 69.) [LXXXVII.] Bregia or Magh Breagh, the ancient name of the plain extending from the Liffey northwards to the borders of the county Louth. (For this name, see the author's "Irish Names of Places," Series II. Part IV. chap. II.) CHAPTER III. FINN IS ENTRAPPED BY MIDAC, AND HELD BY ENCHANTMENT IN THE PALACE OF THE QUICKEN TREES. Finn now held council with his companions, and they agreed that the king's son, Oisin, and five other chiefs, with their followers, should tarry on the hill till the hunting party returned, while Finn went to the palace with the rest. And it was arranged that Finn should send back word immediately to the party on the hill, how he fared; and that Oisin and the others were to follow him to the palace when the hunting party had returned. Those that remained with Oisin were Dermat O'Dyna; Fatha Conan, the son of the son of Conn; Kylta Mac Ronan; Ficna, the son of Finn; and Innsa, the son of Swena Selga. And of those who went with Finn to the Palace of the Quicken Trees, the chief were Gaul Mac Morna; Dathkeen the Strong-limbed; Mac Luga of the Red Hand; Glas Mac Encarda from Beara; the two sons of Aed the Lesser, son of Finn; Racad and Dalgus, the two kings of Leinster; Angus Mac Bresal Bola; and the two leaders of the Connaught Fena, namely, Mac-na-Corra and Corr the Swift-footed. As Finn and his party came nigh to the palace, they were amazed at its size and splendour; and they wondered greatly that they had never seen it before. It stood on a level green, which was surrounded by a light plantation of quicken trees, all covered with clusters of scarlet berries. At one side of the little plain, very near the palace, was a broad river, with a rocky bank at the near side, and a steep pathway leading down to a ford. But what surprised them most was that all was lonely and silent--not a living soul could they see in any direction; and Finn, fearing some foul play, would have turned back, only that he bethought him of his gesa and his promise. The great door was wide open, and Conan went in before the others; and after viewing the banqueting hall, he came out quite enraptured with what he had seen. He praised the beauty and perfect arrangement of everything, and told his companions that no other king or chief in all Erin had a banqueting hall to match the hall of Midac, the son of Colga. They all now entered, but they found no one--neither host nor guests nor attendants. As they gazed around, they thought they had never seen a banquet hall so splendid. A great fire burned brightly in the middle, without any smoke, and sent forth a sweet perfume, which filled the whole room with fragrance, and cheered and delighted the heroes. Couches were placed all round, with rich coverlets and rugs, and soft, glossy furs. The curved walls were of wood,[LXXXVIII.] close-jointed and polished like ivory; and each board was painted differently from those above and below; so that the sides of the room, from floor to roof, were all radiant with a wonderful variety of colours. Still seeing no one, they seated themselves on the couches and rugs. Presently a door opened, and Midac walked into the room. He stood for a few moments before the heroes, and looked at them one after another, but never spoke one word; then, turning round, he went out and shut the great door behind him. Finn and his friends were much surprised at this; however, they said nothing, but remained resting as they were for some time, expecting Midac's return. Still no one came, and at length Finn spoke-- "We have been invited here, my friends, to a banquet; and it seems to me very strange that we should be left so long without attendance, and without either food or drink. Perhaps, indeed, Midac's attendants have made some mistake, and that the feast intended for this palace has been prepared in the Palace of the Island. But I wonder greatly that such a thing should have happened." "I see something more wonderful than that," said Gaul Mac Morna; "for lo, the fire, which was clear and smokeless when we first saw it, and which smelled more sweetly than the flowers of the plain, now fills the hall with a foul stench, and sends up a great cloud of black, sooty smoke!" "I see something more wonderful than that," said Glas Mac Encarda; "for the boards in the walls of this banquet hall, which were smooth and close-jointed and glorious all over with bright colours when we came, are now nothing but rough planks, clumsily fastened together with tough quicken tree withes, and as rude and unshapen as if they had been hacked and hewed with a blunt axe!" "I see something more wonderful than that," said Foilan, the son of Aed the Lesser; "for this palace, which had seven great doors when we came in, all wide open, and looking pleasantly towards the sunshine, has now only one small, narrow door, close fastened, and facing straight to the north!" "I see something more wonderful than that," said Conan Mail; "for the rich rugs and furs and the soft couches, which were under us when we sat here first, are all gone, not as much as a fragment or a thread remaining; and we are now sitting on the bare, damp earth, which feels as cold as the snow of one night!"[LXXXIX.] Then Finn again spoke. "You know, my friends, that I never tarry in a house having only one door. Let one of you then, arise, and break open that narrow door, so that we may go forth from this foul, smoky den!" "That shall be done," cried Conan; and, so saying, he seized his long spear, and, planting it on the floor, point downwards, he attempted to spring to his feet. But he found that he was not able to move, and turning to his companions, he cried out with a groan of anguish-- "Alas, my friends! I see now something more wonderful than all; for I am firmly fixed by some druidical spell to the cold clay floor of the Palace of the Quicken Trees!" And immediately all the others found themselves, in like manner, fixed where they sat. And they were silent for a time, being quite confounded and overwhelmed with fear and anguish. At length Gaul spoke, and said, "It seems clear, O king, that Midac has planned this treachery, and that danger lies before us. I wish, then, that you would place your thumb under your tooth of knowledge,[25] and let us know the truth; so that we may at once consider as to the best means of escaping from this strait." Whereupon Finn placed his thumb under his tooth of knowledge, and mused for a little while. Then suddenly withdrawing his thumb, he sank back in his seat and groaned aloud. "May it be the will of the gods," said Gaul, "that it is the pain of thy thumb that has caused thee to utter that groan!" "Alas! not so," replied Finn. "I grieve that my death is near, and the death of these dear companions! For fourteen years has Midac, the son of the king of Lochlann, been plotting against us; and now at last he has caught us in this treacherous snare, from which I can see no escape. "For in the Palace of the Island there is, at this moment, an army of foreigners, whom Midac has brought hither for our destruction. Chief over all is Sinsar of the Battles, from Greece, the Monarch of the World, who has under his command sixteen warlike princes, with many others of lesser note. Next to Sinsar is his son, Borba the Haughty, who commands also a number of fierce and hardy knights. "There are, besides, the three kings of the Island of the Torrent, large-bodied and bloodthirsty, like three furious dragons, who have never yet yielded to an enemy on the field of battle. It is these who, by their sorcery, have fixed us here; for this cold clay that we sit on is part of the soil of the enchanted Island of the Torrent, which they brought hither, and placed here with foul spells. Moreover, the enchantment that binds us to this floor can never be broken unless the blood of these kings be sprinkled on the clay. And very soon some of Sinsar's warriors will come over from the Palace of the Island, to slay us all, while we are fixed here helpless, and unable to raise a hand in our own defence." Full of alarm and anguish were the heroes when they heard these tidings. And some began to shed bitter tears in silence, and some lamented aloud. But Finn again spoke and said-- "It becomes us not, my friends, being heroes, to weep and wail like women, even though we are in danger of death; for tears and lamentations will avail us nothing. Let us rather sound the Dord-Fian,[XC.] sweetly and plaintively, according to our wont, that it may be a comfort to us before we die." So they ceased weeping, and, joining all together, they sounded the Dord-Fian in a slow, sad strain. FOOTNOTES: [LXXXVIII.] The houses of the ancient Irish were circular, and generally made of wood. [LXXXIX.] "As cold as the snow of one night;" "As white as the snow of one night," are usual comparisons in Gaelic. The first night's snow seems particularly cold and white when you see it in the morning on account of the contrast with the green fields of the day before. [XC.] Dord-Fian, or Dord-Fiansa, a sort of musical war-cry, usually performed by several persons in chorus. CHAPTER IV. INNSA, FINN'S FOSTER SON, DEFENDS THE FORD LEADING TO THE PALACE OF THE QUICKEN TREES. Now let us speak of Oisin, and the party who tarried with him on the hill of Knockfierna. When he found that his father Finn had not sent back a messenger as he had promised, though the night was now drawing nigh, he began to fear that something was wrong; and he said to his companions-- "I marvel much that we have got no news from the king, how he and his companions have fared in the Palace of the Quicken Trees. It is clear to me that he would have fulfilled his promise to send us word, if he had not been hindered by some unforeseen difficulty. Now, therefore, I wish to know who will go to the palace and bring me back tidings." Ficna, the son of Finn, stood forth and offered to go; and Finn's foster son, Innsa, the son of Swena Selga, said he would go with him. They both set out at once, and as they travelled with speed, they soon reached the plain on which stood the Palace of the Quicken Trees; and now the night was darkening around them. As they came near to the palace, they marvelled to hear the loud, slow strains of the Dord-Fian; and Innsa exclaimed joyfully-- "Things go well with our friends, seeing that they are amusing themselves with the Dord-Fian!" But Ficna, who guessed more truly how things really stood, replied-- "It is my opinion, friend, that matters are not so pleasant with them as you think; for it is only in time of trouble or danger that Finn is wont to have the Dord-Fian sounded in a manner so slow and sad." While they talked in this wise, it chanced that the Dord-Fian ceased for a little space; and Finn hearing the low hum of conversation outside, asked was that the voice of Ficna. And when Ficna answered, "Yes," Finn said to him-- "Come not nearer, my son; for this place teems with dangerous spells. We have been decoyed hither by Midac, and we are all held here by the foul sorcery of the three kings of the Island of the Torrent." And thereupon Finn told him the whole story of the treachery that had been wrought on them, from beginning to end; and he told him also that nothing could free them but the blood of those three kings sprinkled on the clay. Then he asked who the second man was whom he had heard conversing with Ficna; and when he was told that it was Innsa, the son of Swena Selga, he addressed Ficna earnestly-- "Fly, my son, from this fatal place! Fly, and save my foster child from the treacherous swords of the foreigners; for they are already on their way hither!" But Innsa quickly answered, "That I will never do. It would, indeed, be an ungrateful return to a kind foster father, to leave thee now in deadly strait, and seek my own safety." And Ficna spoke in a like strain. Then Finn said, "Be it so, my sons; but a sore trial awaits you. Those who come hither from the Palace of the Island must needs pass the ford under the shadow of these walls. Now this ford is rugged and hard to be crossed; and one good man, standing in the steep, narrow entrance at the hither side, might dispute the passage for a time against many. Go now, and defend this ford; and haply some help may come in time." So both went to the ford. And when they had viewed it carefully, Ficna, seeing that one man might defend it for a short time almost as well as two, said to Innsa-- "Stay thou here to guard the ford for a little time, while I go to the Palace of the Island to see how the foreigners might be attacked. Haply, too, I may meet with the party coming hither, and decoy them on some other track." And Innsa consented; and Ficna set out straightway for the Palace of the Island. Now as to the Palace of the Island. When Midac returned in the morning, and told how Finn and his people were held safe in the Palace of the Quicken Trees, the foreigners were in great joy. And they feasted and drank and were merry till evening; when an Irla[XCI.] of the King of the World spoke in secret to his brother, and said-- "I will go now to the Palace of the Quicken Trees, and I will bring hither the head of Finn the son of Cumal; and I shall gain thereby much renown, and shall be honoured by the King of the World." So he went, bringing with him a goodly number of his own knights; and nothing is told of what befell them till they arrived at the brink of the ford under the Palace of the Quicken Trees. Looking across through the darkness, the Irla thought he saw a warrior standing at the other brink; and he called aloud to ask who was there, and whether he belonged to the noble or the ignoble races of the world. And when Innsa answered that he belonged to the household of Finn, the son of Cumal, the Irla said-- "Lo, we are going to the Palace of the Quicken Trees, to bring Finn's head to the King of the World; and thou shalt come with us and lead us to the door." "That, indeed," replied Innsa, "would be a strange way for a champion to act who has been sent hither by Finn to guard this ford. I will not allow any foe to pass--of that be sure; and I warn you that you come not to my side of the ford!" At this the Irla said to his knights, "Force the ford: then shall we see if yonder hero can fight as well as he threatens." And at the word, they rushed through the water, as many as could find room. But only one or two at a time could attack; and the young champion struck them down right and left as fast as they came up, till the ford became encumbered with their bodies. And when the conflict had lasted for a long time, and when they found that they could not dislodge him, the few that remained retired across the ford; and Innsa was fain to rest after his long combat. But the Irla, seeing so many of his knights slain, was mad with wrath; and, snatching up his sword and shield, he attacked Innsa; and they fought a long and bloody fight. Now the Irla was fresh and strong, while Innsa was weary and sore wounded; and at length the young hero fell in the ford, and the Irla beheaded him, and, exulting in his victory, brought the head away. Finn and his companions, as they sat in miserable plight in the Palace of the Quicken Trees, heard the clash of arms at the ford, and the shouts and groans of warriors; and after a time all was still again; and they knew not how the fight had ended. And now the Irla, thinking over the matter, deemed it unsafe to go to the Palace of the Quicken Trees without a larger body of knights; so he returned towards the Palace of the Island, intending to bring Innsa's head to the King of the World. When he had come within a little distance of the palace, he met Ficna, who was then on his way back to the ford; and seeing that he was coming from the Palace of the Island, he deemed that he was one of the knights of the King of the World. Ficna spoke to him, and asked whither he had come. "I come," replied the Irla, "from the ford of the Palace of the Quicken Trees. There, indeed, on our way to the palace, to slay Finn the son of Cumal, we were met by a young champion, who defended the ford and slew my knights. But he fell at length beneath my sword; and, lo, I have brought his head for a triumph to the King of the World!" Ficna took the head tenderly, and kissed the cheek thrice, and said, sorrowing-- "Alas, dear youth! only this morning I saw the light of valour in those dim eyes, and the bloom of youth on that faded cheek!" Then turning wrathfully to the Irla, he asked-- "Knowest thou to whom thou hast given the young warrior's head?" And the Irla replied, "Hast thou not come from the Palace of the Island, and dost thou not belong to the host of the King of the World?" "I am not one of his knights," answered Ficna; "and neither shalt thou be, after this hour!" Whereupon they drew their swords, and fought where they stood; and the foreign Irla fell by the avenging sword of Ficna, the son of Finn. Ficna beheaded him and returned to the ford, bringing the head, and also the head of Innsa. And when he had come to the ford, he made a grave of green sods on the bank, in which he laid the body and the head of Innsa, sometimes grieving for the youth, and sometimes rejoicing that his death had been avenged. Then he went on to the Palace of the Quicken Trees, bringing the Irla's head; and when he had come nigh the door, he called aloud to Finn, who, impatient and full of anxious thoughts, asked-- "Tell us, Ficna, who fought the battle at the ford, and how it has ended." "Thine own foster son, Innsa, defended the ford against many foes, whose bodies now encumber the stream." "And how is it now with my foster son?" asked Finn. "He died where he fought," replied Ficna; "for at the end, when he was weary and sore wounded, the foreign Irla attacked him, and slew him." "And thou, my son, didst thou stand by and see my nursling slain?" "Truly I did not," answered Ficna. "Would that I had been there, and I would have defended and saved him! And even now he is well avenged; for I met the Irla soon after, and lo, I have brought thee his head. Moreover, I buried thy nursling tenderly in a grave of green sods by the ford." And Finn wept and said, "Victory and blessings be with thee, my son! Never were children better than mine. Before I saw them, few were my possessions and small my consideration in Erin; but since they have grown up around me, I have been great and prosperous, till I fell by treachery into this evil plight. And now, Ficna, return and guard the ford, and peradventure our friends may send help in time." So Ficna went and sat on the brink of the ford. FOOTNOTES: [XCI.] Irla, _i.e._ an earl, a chief. CHAPTER V. FICNA, THE SON OF FINN, DEFENDS THE FORD. Now at the Palace of the Island, another Irla, whose name was Kironn, brother to him who had been slain by Ficna, spoke to some of his own followers-- "It is long since my brother left for the Palace of the Quicken Trees; I fear me that he and his people have fared ill in their quest. And now I will go to seek for them." And he went, bringing a company of knights well armed; and when they had come to the ford, they saw Ficna at the far side. Kironn called out and asked who he was, and asked also who had made such a slaughter in the ford. Ficna answered, "I am one of the household champions of Finn the son of Cumal, and he has sent me here to guard this ford. As to the slaughter of yonder knights, your question stirs my mind to wrath, and I warn you, if you come to this side of the ford, you will get a reply, not in words, but in deeds." Then Kironn and his men rushed through the water, blind with rage, and struck wildly at Ficna. But the young hero watchfully parried their strokes and thrusts; and one after another they fell beneath his blows, till only a single man was left, who ran back with all speed to the Palace of the Island to tell the tale. And Ficna sat down on the brink, covered all over with wounds, and weary from the toil of battle. When these tidings were brought to the palace, Midac was very wroth, and he said, "These men should not have gone to force the ford without my knowledge; for they were far too few in number, and neither were they bold and hardy enough to meet Finn's valiant champions. I know these Fena well, and it is not to me a matter of surprise that the Irla and his people fell by them. "But I will now go with a choice party of my own brave men; and I will cross the ford despite their guards, and slay Finn and all his companions in the Palace of the Quicken Trees. "Moreover, there is one man among them, namely, Conan Mail,[23] who of all the men of Erin has the largest appetite, and is fondest of choice eating and drinking. To him will I bring savoury food and delicious drink, not, indeed, to delight him with eating and drinking, but that I may torment him with the sight and smell of what he cannot taste." So, having got the food, he set out with a chosen band; and when he had arrived at the ford, he saw a warrior at the far side. He asked who he was, and finding that it was Ficna, he spoke guilefully to him. "Dear art thou to me, Ficna, dearer even than all the rest of Finn's household; for during the time I lived among the Fena, you never used me ill, or lifted a hand to either man or dog belonging to me." But Ficna spurned his smooth words, and replied, "While you lived among the Fena, there was not a man among them that had less to do with you than I. But this I know, that you were treated kindly by all, especially by my father Finn, and you have repaid him by ingratitude and treachery." When Midac heard this speech he was filled with wrath, and no longer hiding his evil mind, he ordered Ficna with threats to leave the ford. But Ficna laughed with scorn, and replied-- "The task is easy, friend Midac, to dislodge a single champion; and surely it is a small matter to you whether I stand in this narrow pass or abandon my post. Come forward, then, you and your knights; but here I will remain to receive you. I only regret you did not come sooner, while my blood was hot, and before my wounds grew stiff, when you would have got a better welcome!" Then Midac ordered forward his knights, and they ran eagerly across the ford. But Ficna overthrew them with a mighty onset, like a hawk among a flight of small birds, or like a wolf among a flock of sheep. When Midac saw this, he buckled on his shield and took his sword. Then, treading warily over the rough rocks, and over the dead bodies of his knights, he confronted Ficna, and they attacked each other with deadly hate and fury. We shall now speak of those who remained on Knockfierna. When Oisin found that the two heroes did not return as soon as he expected, he thus addressed his companions-- "It seems to me a long time, my friends, since Ficna and Innsa went to the Palace of the Quicken Trees; methinks if they have sped successfully they should have long since come back with tidings of Finn and the others." And one of his companions answered, "It is plain that they have gone to partake of the feast, and it fares so well with them that they are in no haste to leave the palace." But Dermat O'Dyna of the Bright Face spoke and said, "It may be as you say, friend, but I should like to know the truth of the matter. And now I will go and find out why they tarry, for my mind misgives me that some evil thing has happened." And Fatha Conan said he would go with him. So the two heroes set out for the Palace of the Quicken Trees; and when they were yet a good way off from the ford they heard the clash of arms. They paused for a moment, breathless, to listen, and then Dermat exclaimed-- "It is the sound of single combat, the combat of mighty heroes; it is Ficna fighting with the foreigners, for I know his war-shout. I hear the clash of swords and the groans of warriors; I hear the shrieks of the ravens over the fairy-mansions, and the howls of the wild men of the glens! Hasten, Fatha, hasten, for Ficna is in sore strait, and his shout is a shout for help!" And so they ran like the wind till they reached the hill-brow over the river; and, looking across in the dim moonlight, they saw the whole ford heaped with the bodies of the slain, and the two heroes fighting to the death at the far side. And at the first glance they observed that Ficna, being sore wounded, was yielding and sheltering behind his shield, and scarce able to ward off the blows of Midac. Then Fatha cried out, "Fly, Dermat, fly! Save our dear companion! Save the king's son from death." And Dermat, pausing for a moment, said, as if communing with himself-- "This is surely an evil plight: for if I run to the other side, the foreigner, being the more enraged for seeing me, will strike with greater fury, and I may not overtake the prince alive; and if I cast my spear, I may strike the wrong man!" But Fatha, overhearing him, said, "Fear not, Dermat, for you never yet threw an erring cast of a spear!" Then Dermat, putting his finger in the silken loop of his spear, threw a deadly cast with unerring aim, and struck Midac, so that the iron spear-head went right through his body, and the length of a warrior's hand beyond. "Woe to the man," exclaimed Midac--"woe to him whom that spear reaches: for it is the spear of Dermat O'Dyna!" And now his wrath increased, and he struck at Ficna more fiercely than before. Dermat shouted to him to hold his hand and not slay the king's son; and as he spoke he rushed down the slope and across the ford, to save the young hero. But Midac, still pressing on with unabated strength and fury, replied-- "Had you wished to save the prince's life, you should have spared mine: now that I have been wounded to death by your spear, Finn shall never see his son alive!" Even as he spoke, he raised his sword for a mighty blow; and just as Dermat, shouting earnestly, was closing on them, he struck the prince lifeless to the earth, but fell down himself immediately after. Dermat came up on the instant, and looked sadly at his friend lying dead. Then, addressing Midac, he said-- "If I had found thee dead, I would have passed thee untouched; but now that I have overtaken thee alive, I must needs behead thee, for thy head will be to Finn a worthy eric[10] for his son." And so saying, he struck off Midac's head with one sweep of his heavy sword. Dermat now repaired to the Palace of the Quicken Trees, leaving Fatha to watch the ford till his return. And when he had come near, he called aloud and struck the door with his heavy spear, for his wrath had not yet left him; but the door yielded not. Finn knew the voice, and called out impatiently, "Do not try to enter here, Dermat, for this place is full of foul spells. But tell us first, I pray thee, who fought that long and bitter fight; for we heard the clash of arms and the shouts of warriors, but we know nothing more." "Thy noble son, Ficna," returned Dermat, "fought single-handed against the foreigners." "And how fares it with my son after that battle?" "He is dead," answered Dermat; "first sore wounded by many foes whom he slaughtered, and afterwards slain by Midac, the son of Colga. But thy son is avenged; for though I came to the ford indeed too late to save him, I have slain Midac, and here I have brought thee his head as an eric." And for a long time Dermat heard no more. At last Finn spoke again and said-- "Victory and blessings be with you, Dermat, for often before did you relieve the Fena from sore straits. But never have we been in such plight as this. For here we sit spell-bound, and only one thing can release us, the blood of the three fierce kings of the Island of the Torrent sprinkled on this clay. Meantime, unless the ford be well defended, the foreigners will come and slay us. In you, Dermat, we trust, and unless you aid us well and faithfully now, we shall of a certainty perish. Guard the ford till the rising of the sun, for then I know the Fena will come to aid you." "I and Fatha will of a certainty keep the enemy at bay," replied Dermat; and he bade them farewell for a time, and was about to return to the ford: but Conan Mail, with a groan, said-- "Miserable was the hour when I came to this palace, and cold and comfortless is the clay on which I sit--the clay of the Island of the Torrent. But worst of all to be without food and drink so long. And while I sit here, tormented with hunger and thirst, there is great plenty of ale and wine and of rich, savoury food yonder in the Palace of the Island. I am not able to bear this any longer; and now, Dermat, I beseech you to bring me from the palace as much food as I can eat and a drinking-horn of wine." "Cursed be the tongue that spoke these selfish words!" said Dermat. "A host of foreigners are now seeking to compass your death, with only Fatha and myself to defend you. Surely this is work enough for two good men! And now it seems I must abandon my post, and undertake a task of much danger, to get food for the gluttonous Conan Mail!" "Alas, Dermat-na-man!"[23] replied Conan, "if it were a lovely maiden, with bright eyes and golden hair, who made this little request, quickly and eagerly you would fly to please her, little recking of danger or trouble. But now you refuse me, and the reason is not hard to see. For you formerly crossed me four times in my courtships; and now it likes you well to see me die of hunger in this dungeon!" "Well, then," said Dermat, "cease your upbraiding, and I will try to bring you food; for it is better to face danger than to suffer the revilings of your foul tongue." So saying, he went back to the ford to Fatha, where he stood watching; and after he had told him how matters stood, he said to him-- "I must needs go to the Palace of the Island, to get food for Conan Mail; and you shall guard the ford till I return." But Fatha told him that there was food and drink enough at the other side of the ford, which Midac had brought from the palace, and urged him to bring a good meal of this to Conan. "Not so," said Dermat. "He would taunt me with bringing him food taken from the hands of dead men; and though one may recover from his blow, it is not so easy to recover from the venom of his tongue."[XCII.] So he left Fatha at the ford, and repaired to the Palace of the Island. As he drew nigh, he heard the noise of feasting and revelry, and the loud talk and laughter of men deep in drink. Walking tiptoe, he peered warily through the open door, and saw the chiefs and the knights sitting at the tables; with Sinsar of the Battles and his son Borba high seated over all. He saw also many attendants serving them with food and drink, each holding in his hand a large ornamented drinking-horn, filled with wine. Dermat entered the outer door softly, and stood in a dark part of the passage near the door, silent and stern, with sword drawn, watching his opportunity. And after a time one of the attendants, unsuspecting, passed close to him; when Dermat, with a swift, sure blow, struck off his head. And he snatched the drinking-horn from the man's hand before he fell, so that not a drop of the wine was spilled. Then, laying the drinking-horn aside for a moment, he walked straight into the hall, and taking up one of the dishes near where the king sat, he went out through the open door, bringing with him both dish and drinking-horn. And amidst the great crowd, and the drinking, and the noise, no one took the least notice of him, so that he got off without hindrance or harm of any kind. When he reached the ford, he found Fatha lying fast asleep on the bank. He wondered very much that he could sleep in the midst of such a slaughter; but knowing that the young warrior was worn out with watching and toil, he left him lying asleep, and went to the Palace of the Quicken Trees with the food for Conan. When he had come to the door, he called aloud to Conan and said-- "I have here a goodly meal of choice food: how am I to give it to thee?" Conan said, "Throw it towards me through yonder little opening." Dermat did so; and as fast as he threw the food, Conan caught it in his large hands, and ate it up ravenously. And when it was all gone, Dermat said-- "I have here a large drinking-horn of good wine: how am I to give it to thee?" Conan answered, "There is a place behind the palace where, from a rock, you may reach the lower parapet with a light, airy bound. Come from that straight over me, and break a hole in the roof with your spear, through which you can pour the wine down to me." Dermat did so; and as he poured down the wine, Conan, with upturned face, opened his great mouth and caught it, and swallowed it every drop. After this Dermat came down and returned to the ford, where he found Fatha still asleep; and he sat beside him, but did not awaken him. FOOTNOTES: [XCII.] A satirical allusion to Conan's well-known cowardice. CHAPTER VI. DERMAT O'DYNA SLAYS THE THREE KINGS OF THE ISLAND OF THE TORRENT, BREAKS THE SPELL WITH THEIR BLOOD, AND FREES FINN. Tidings were brought to the Palace of the Island that Midac and all whom he led were slain at the ford; and the three kings of the Island of the Torrent said-- "The young king of Lochlann did wrong to make this attempt without asking our counsel; and had we known of the thing we would have hindered him. For to us belongs the right to behead Finn and his companions, since it is the spell-venom of the clay which we brought from the Island of the Torrent that holds them bound in the Palace of the Quicken Trees. And now, indeed, we will go and slay them all." So they set out with a strong party, and soon reached the ford. Looking across in the dim light, they saw Dermat, and called aloud to ask who he was. "I am Dermat O'Dyna," he replied, "one of Finn's champions. He has sent me to guard this ford, and whoever you are, I warn you not to cross!" Then they sought to beguile Dermat, and to win him over by smooth words; and they replied-- "It is a pleasure to us to meet you, Dermat; for we are old friends of yours. We are the three kings of the Island of the Torrent, your fellow-pupils in valour and all heroic feats. For you and we lived with the same tutors from the beginning; and you never learned a feat of arms that we did not learn in like manner. Leave the ford, then, that we may pass on to the Palace of the Quicken Trees." But Dermat answered in few words, "Finn and his companions are under my protection till morning; and I will defend the ford as long as I am alive!" And he stood up straight and tall like a pillar, and scowled across the ford. A number of the foreigners now rushed towards Dermat, and raging in a confused crowd, assailed him. But the strong hero met them as a rock meets the waves, and slew them with ease as they came within the range of his sword. Yet still they pressed on, others succeeding those that fell; and in the midst of the rage of battle, Fatha started up from his sleep, awakened by the crashing of weapons and the riving of shields. He gazed for a moment, bewildered, at the combatants, and, seeing how matters stood, he was wroth with Dermat for not awakening him; so that he ran at him fiercely with drawn sword. But Dermat stepped aside, and, being angry, thus addressed him-- "Slake thy vengeance on our foes for the present: for me, the swords of the foreigners are enough, methinks, without thine to aid them!" Then Fatha turned and attacked the foe, and his onset was even more deadly than that of Dermat; so that they fell before him to the right and left on the ford. And now at last the three kings, seeing so many of their men falling, advanced slowly towards Dermat; and Dermat, unterrified, stood in his place to meet them. And their weapons clashed and tore through their shields, and the fight was long and furious; till at last the champion-pride and the battle-fury of Dermat arose, so that the three dragon-like kings fell slain one by one before him, on that ford of red slaughter. And now, though smarting with wounds, and breathless, and weary, Dermat and Fatha remembered Finn and the Fena; and Dermat called to mind what Finn had told him as to how the spell was to be broken. So he struck off the heads of the three kings, and, followed by Fatha, he ran with them, all gory as they were, to the Palace of the Quicken Trees. As they drew nigh to the door, Finn, knowing their voices and their footsteps, called aloud anxiously to ask how it fared with the combatants at the ford; "For," said he, "the crashing and the din of that battle exceeded all we have yet heard, and we know not how it has ended." Dermat answered, "King of the Fena, Fatha and I have slain the three kings of the Island of the Torrent; and lo, here we have their heads all bloody; but how am I to bring them to thee?" "Victory and blessings be with you, Dermat; you and Fatha have fought a valiant fight, worthy of the Fena of Erin! Now sprinkle the door with the blood." Dermat did so, and in a moment the door flew wide open with a crash. And inside they saw the heroes in sore plight, all pale and faint, seated on the cold clay round the wall. Dermat and Fatha, holding the gory heads by the hair, sprinkled the earth under each with the blood, beginning with Finn, and freed them one by one; and the heroes, as they found the spell broken, sprang to their feet with exulting cries. And they thanked the gods for having relieved them from that perilous strait, and they and the two heroes joyfully embraced each other. But danger still threatened, and they now took counsel what they should do; and Finn, addressing Dermat and Fatha, said-- "The venom of these foul spells has withered our strength, so that we are not able to fight; but at sunrise they will lose their power, and we shall be strong again. It is necessary, therefore, that you still guard the ford, and at the rising of the sun we shall relieve you." So the two heroes went to the ford, and Fatha returned with food and drink for Finn and the others. After the last battle at the ford, a few who had escaped brought back tidings to the King of the World and his people, that the three kings of the Island of the Torrent had fallen by the hands of Dermat and Fatha. But they knew not that Finn and the others had been released. Then arose the king's son, Borba the Haughty, who, next to the king himself, was mightiest in battle of all the foreign host. And he said-- "Feeble warriors were they who tried to cross this ford. I will go now and avenge the death of our people on these Fena, and I will bring hither the head of Finn the son of Cumal, and place it at my father's feet." So he marched forth without delay, with a large body of chosen warriors, till he reached the edge of the ford. And although Dermat and Fatha never trembled before a foe, yet when they saw the dark mass drawing nigh, and heard the heavy tread and clank of arms, they dreaded that they might be dislodged and overpowered by repeated attacks, leaving Finn and the rest helpless and unprotected. And each in his heart longed for the dawn of morning. No parley was held this time, but the foreigners came straight across the ford--as many abreast as could find footing. And as they drew near, Dermat spoke to Fatha-- "Fight warily, my friend: ward the blows of the foremost, and be not too eager to slay, but rather look to thy own safety. It behoves us to nurse our strength and prolong the fight, for the day is dawning, and sunrise is not far off!" The foreigners came on, many abreast; but their numbers availed them naught, for the pass was narrow; and the two heroes, one taking the advancing party to the right, and the other to the left, sometimes parried and sometimes slew, but never yielded an inch from where they stood. And now at last the sun rose up over the broad plain of Kenri; and suddenly the withering spell went forth from the bones and sinews of the heroes who sat at the Palace of the Quicken Trees, listening with anxious hearts to the clash of battle at the ford. Joyfully they started to their feet, and, snatching up their arms, hastened down to the ford with Finn at their head; but one they sent, the swiftest among them, to Knockfierna, to take the news to Oisin. Dermat and Fatha, fighting eagerly, heeded not that the sun had risen, though it was now indeed glittering before their eyes on the helmets and arms of their foes. But as they fought, there rose a great shout behind them; and Finn and Gaul and the rest ran down the slope to attack the foreigners. The foreigners, not in the least dismayed, answered the attack; and the fight went on, till Gaul Mac Morna and Borba the Haughty met face to face in the middle of the ford, and they fought a hard and deadly combat. The battle-fury of Gaul at length arose, so that nothing could stand before him, and, with one mighty blow, he cleft the head from the body of Borba. And now the foreigners began to yield: but they still continued to fight, till a swift messenger sped to the Palace of the Island, and told the great king, Sinsar of the Battles, that his son was dead, slain by Gaul; and that his army was sore pressed by the Fena, with Finn at their head. When the people heard these tidings, they raised a long and sorrowful cry of lamentation for the king's son; but the king himself, though sorrow filled his heart, showed it not. And he arose and summoned his whole host; and, having arranged them in their battalions and in their companies under their princes and chiefs, he marched towards the battle-field, desiring vengeance on the Fena more than the glory of victory. CHAPTER VII. THE FIGHT AT THE FORD, WITH THE FOREIGN ARMY. All the Fena who had gone to the chase from Knockfierna had returned, and were now with Oisin, the son of Finn. And the messenger came slowly up the hill-side, and told them, though with much difficulty, for he was weary and breathless, the whole story from beginning to end, of Finn's enchantment, and of the battles at the ford, and how their companions at that moment stood much in need of aid against the foreigners. Instantly the whole body marched straight towards the Palace of the Quicken Trees, and arrived on the hill-brow over the ford, just as the King of the World and his army were approaching from the opposite direction. And now the fight at the ford ceased for a time, while the two armies were put in battle array; and on neither side was there any cowardice or any desire to avoid the combat. The Fena were divided into four battalions. The active, bright-eyed Clann Baskin marched in front of the first battalion; the fierce, champion-like Clann Morna led the second; the strong, sanguinary Mic-an-Smoil brought up the third; and the fourth was led forward by the fearless, venomous Clann O'Navnan. And they marched forward, with their silken banners, each banner-staff in the hand of a tall, trusty hero; their helmets glittering with precious gems; their broad, beautiful shields on their left shoulders; with their long, straight, deadly lances in their hands; and their heavy, keen-edged swords hanging at the left side of each. Onward they marched; and woe to those who crossed the path of that host of active, high-minded champions, who never turned their backs on an enemy in battle! And now at last the fight began with showers of light, venomous missiles; and many a hero fell even before the combatants met face to face. Then they drew their long, broad-bladed swords, and the ranks closed and mingled in deadly strife. It would be vain to attempt a description of that battle, for it was hard to distinguish friend from foe. Many a high-souled hero fell wounded and helpless, and neither sigh nor groan of pain escaped them; but they died, encouraging their friends to vengeance with voice and gesture. And the first thought of each champion was to take the life of his foe rather than to save his own. The great king Finn himself moved tall and stately from battalion to battalion, now fighting in the foremost ranks, and now encouraging his friends and companions, his mighty voice rising clear over the clash of arms and the shouts of the combatants. And wherever he moved, there the courage of the Fena rose high, and their valour and their daring increased, so that the ranks of their foes fell back thinned and scattered before them. Oscar, resting for a moment from the toil of battle, looked round, and espied the standard of the King of the World, where he stood guarded by his best warriors, to protect him from the danger of being surrounded and outnumbered by his foes; and the young hero's wrath was kindled when he observed that the Fena were falling back dismayed wherever that standard was borne. Rushing through the opposing ranks like a lion maddened by dogs, he approached the king; and the king laughed a grim laugh of joy when he saw him, and ordered his guards back; for he was glad in his heart, expecting to revenge his son's death by slaying with his own hand Finn's grandson, who was most loved of all the youthful champions of the Fena. Then these two great heroes fought a deadly battle; and many a warrior stayed his hand to witness this combat. It seemed as if both should fall; for each inflicted on the other many wounds. The king's rage knew no bounds at being so long withstood, for at first sight he despised Oscar for his youth and beauty; and he made an onset that caused Oscar's friends, as they looked on, to tremble; for during this attack the young hero defended himself, and no more. But now, having yielded for a time, he called to mind the actions and the fame of his forefathers, and attacked the king in turn, and, with a blow that no shield or buckler could withstand, he swept the head from the king's body. Then a great shout went up from the Fena, and the foreigners instantly gave way; and they were pursued and slaughtered on every side. A few threw away their arms and escaped to the shore, where, hastily unmooring their ships, they sailed swiftly away to their own country, with tidings of the death of their king and the slaughter of their army. THE PURSUIT OF THE GILLA DACKER AND HIS HORSE. CHAPTER I. ARRIVAL OF THE GILLA DACKER AND HIS HORSE. One day in the beginning of summer, Finn, the son of Cumal, the son of Trenmore O'Baskin,[23] feasted the chief people of Erin at Allen[23] of the broad hill-slopes. And when the feast was over, the Fena reminded him that it was time to begin the chase through the plains and the glens and the wildernesses of Erin. For this was the manner in which the Fena were wont to spend their time. They divided the year into two parts. During the first half, namely, from Beltane to Samin,[XCIII.] they hunted each day with their dogs; and during the second half, namely, from Samin to Beltane, they lived in the mansions and the betas[XCIV.] of Erin; so that there was not a chief or a great lord or a keeper of a house of hospitality in the whole country that had not nine of the Fena quartered on him during the winter half of the year. Finn and his chiefs now held council as to which of the provinces of Erin they should begin with; and they chose Munster for the first chase. Next day they set out, both dogs and men; and they travelled through Offaly,[XCV.] and by one side of Fera-call, and to Brosna of Slieve Bloma, and by the Twelve Mountains of Evlinn, till they came to Collkilla, which is now called Knockainy. The chase was then set in order, and they scattered themselves over the broad plains of Munster. They began at Ardpatrick,[XCVI.] and they hunted over Kenn-Avrat of Slieve-Keen, and over Coill-na-drua, which is now called the district of Fermoy; over the fruitful lands of Lehan, and over the confines of Fermorc, which is now called Hy Conall Gavra. Then south to the patrimony of Curoi Mac Dara, and by the shores of Loch Lein; afterwards along the blue-streamy Suir, by Caher-Dun-Isca, over the great plain of Femin, and across the speckled summit of Slieve-na-man-finn; all over East Munster and West Munster, as far as Balla-Gavran on the one side, and on the other across the Shannon to Cratloe, near Limerick of the blue waters. In short, there was not a plain or a valley, a wood or a brake, a mountain or a wilderness, in the two provinces of Munster, that they did not hunt over on that occasion. Now it chanced at one time during the chase, while they were hunting over the plain of Cliach,[XCVII.] that Finn went to rest on the hill of Collkilla, which is now called Knockainy; and he had his hunting-tents pitched on a level spot near the summit. Some of his chief heroes tarried with him; namely, his son Oisin; the valiant Oscar, the son of Oisin; Gaul Mac Morna of the Mighty Deeds; Finn's shield-bearer, Skeabrac; Kylta Mac Ronan; Dermat O'Dyna of the Bright Face; Ligan Lumina the Swift-footed; Conan Mail of the Foul Tongue; and Finn Ban Mac Bresal. When the king and his companions had taken their places on the hill, the Fena unleashed their gracefully shaped, sweet-voiced hounds through the woods and sloping glens. And it was sweet music to Finn's ear, the cry of the long-snouted dogs, as they routed the deer from their covers, and the badgers from their dens; the pleasant, emulating shouts of the youths; the whistling and signalling of the huntsmen; and the encouraging cheers of the mighty heroes, as they spread themselves through the glens and woods, and over the broad, green plain of Cliach. Then did Finn ask who of all his companions would go to the highest point of the hill directly over them, to keep watch and ward, and to report how the chase went on. For, he said, the Dedannans[1] were ever on the watch to work the Fena mischief by their druidical spells, and more so during the chase than at other times. Finn Ban Mac Bresal stood forward and offered to go: and, grasping his broad spears, he went to the top, and sat viewing the plain to the four points of the sky. And the king and his companions brought forth the chess-board and chess-men,[26] and sat them down to a game. Finn Ban Mac Bresal had been watching only a little time, when he saw on the plain to the east, a Fomor[XCVIII.] of vast size coming towards the hill, leading a horse. As he came nearer, Finn Ban observed that he was the ugliest-looking giant his eyes ever lighted on. He had a large, thick body, bloated and swollen out to a great size; clumsy, crooked legs; and broad, flat feet, turned inwards. His hands and arms and shoulders were bony and thick and very strong-looking; his neck was long and thin; and while his head was poked forward, his face was turned up, as he stared straight at Finn Mac Bresal. He had thick lips, and long, crooked teeth; and his face was covered all over with bushy hair. He was fully armed; but all his weapons were rusty and soiled and slovenly looking. A broad shield of a dirty, sooty colour, rough and battered, hung over his back; he had a long, heavy, straight sword at his left hip; and he held in his left hand two thick-handled, broad-headed spears, old and rusty, and seeming as if they had not been handled for years. In his right hand he held an iron club, which he dragged after him, with its end on the ground; and, as it trailed along, it tore up a track as deep as the furrow a farmer ploughs with a team of oxen. The horse he led was even larger in proportion than the giant himself, and quite as ugly. His great carcase was covered all over with tangled, scraggy hair, of a sooty black; you could count his ribs, and all the points of his big bones through his hide; his legs were crooked and knotty; his neck was twisted; and as for his jaws, they were so long and heavy that they made his head look twice too large for his body. The giant held him by a thick halter, and seemed to be dragging him forward by main force, the animal was so lazy and so hard to move. Every now and then, when the beast tried to stand still, the giant would give him a blow on the ribs with his big iron club, which sounded as loud as the thundering of a great billow against the rough-headed rocks of the coast. When he gave him a pull forward by the halter, the wonder was that he did not drag the animal's head away from his body; and, on the other hand, the horse often gave the halter such a tremendous tug backwards that it was equally wonderful how the arm of the giant was not torn away from his shoulder. Now it was not an easy matter to frighten Finn Ban Mac Bresal; but when he saw the giant and his horse coming straight towards him in that wise, he was seized with such fear and horror that he sprang from his seat, and, snatching up his arms, he ran down the hill-slope with his utmost speed towards the king and his companions, whom he found sitting round the chess-board, deep in their game. They started up when they saw Finn Ban looking so scared; and, turning their eyes towards where he pointed, they saw the big man and his horse coming up the hill. They stood gazing at him in silent wonder, waiting till he should arrive; but although he was no great way off when they first caught sight of him, it was a long time before he reached the spot where they stood, so slow was the movement of himself and his horse. When at last he had come up, he bowed his head, and bended his knee, and saluted the king with great respect. Finn addressed him; and after having given him leave to speak, he asked him who he was, and what was his name; from which of the three chief divisions of the world he had come, and whether he belonged to one of the noble or ignoble races; also what was his profession or craft, and why he had no servant to attend to his horse--if, indeed, such an ugly old spectre of an animal could be called a horse at all. The big man made answer and said, "King of the Fena, I will answer everything you ask me, as far as lies in my power. Whether I come of a noble or of an ignoble race, that, indeed, I cannot tell, for I know not who my father and mother were. As to where I came from, I am a Fomor of Lochlann[6] in the north; but I have no particular dwelling-place, for I am continually travelling about from one country to another, serving the great lords and nobles of the world, and receiving wages for my service. "In the course of my wanderings I have often heard of you, O king, and of your greatness and splendour and royal bounty; and I have come now to visit you, and to ask you to take me into your service for one year; and at the end of that time I shall fix my own wages, according to my custom. "You ask me also why I have no servant for this great horse of mine. The reason of that is this: at every meal I eat, my master must give me as much food and drink as would be enough for a hundred men; and whosoever the lord or chief may be that takes me into his service, it is quite enough for him to have to provide for me, without having also to feed my servant. "Moreover, I am so very heavy and lazy that I should never be able to keep up with a company on march if I had to walk; and this is my reason for keeping a horse at all. "My name is the Gilla Dacker,[XCIX.] and it is not without good reason that I am so called. For there never was a lazier or worse servant than I am, or one that grumbles more at doing a day's work for his master. And I am the hardest person in the whole world to deal with; for, no matter how good or noble I may think my master, or how kindly he may treat me, it is hard words and foul reproaches I am likely to give him for thanks in the end. "This, O Finn, is the account I have to give of myself, and these are my answers to your questions." "Well," answered Finn, "according to your own account, you are not a very pleasant fellow to have anything to do with; and of a truth there is not much to praise in your appearance. But things may not be so bad as you say; and, anyhow, as I have never yet refused any man service and wages, I will not now refuse you." Whereupon Finn and the Gilla Dacker made covenants, and the Gilla Dacker was taken into service for a year. Then the big man turned to Conan Mail, and asked him whether the foot-service or the horse-service had the better pay among the Fena; and Conan answered that the horsemen had twice as much pay as the footmen. "If that be so," replied the Gilla Dacker, "I will join the horse-service, as I have a fine steed of my own; and indeed, if I had known this before, I would certainly have come hither on horseback, instead of walking. "And now, as to this same horse of mine, I find I must attend to him myself, as I see no one here worthy of putting a hand near him. So I will lead him to the nearest stud, as I am wont to do, and let him graze among your horses. I value him greatly, however, and it would grieve me very much if any harm were to befall him; so," continued he, turning to the king, "I put him under your protection, O king, and under the protection of all the Fena that are here present." At this speech the Fena all burst out laughing, to see the Gilla Dacker showing such concern for his miserable, worthless old skeleton of a horse. Howbeit, the big man, giving not the least heed to their merriment, took the halter off the horse's head, and turned him loose among the horses of the Fena. But now, this same wretched-looking old animal, instead of beginning to graze, as every one thought he would, ran in among the horses of the Fena, and began straightway to work all sorts of mischief. He cocked his long, hard, switchy tail straight out like a rod, and, throwing up his hind legs, he kicked about on this side and on that, maiming and disabling several of the horses. Sometimes he went tearing through the thickest of the herd, butting at them with his hard, bony forehead; and he opened out his lips with a vicious grin, and tore all he could lay hold on, with his sharp, crooked teeth, so that none were safe that came in his way either before or behind. And the end of it was, that not an animal of the whole herd escaped, without having a leg broken, or an eye knocked out, or his ribs fractured, or his ear bitten off, or the side of his face torn open, or without being in some other way cut or maimed beyond cure. At last he left them, and was making straight across to a small field where Conan Mail's horses were grazing by themselves, intending to play the same tricks among them. But Conan, seeing this, shouted in great alarm to the Gilla Dacker, to bring away his horse, and not let him work any more mischief; and threatening, if he did not do so at once, to go himself and knock the brains out of the vicious old brute on the spot. But the Gilla Dacker took the matter quite cool; and he told Conan that he saw no way of preventing his horse from joining the others, except some one put the halter on him and held him, which would, of course, he said, prevent the poor animal from grazing, and would leave him with a hungry belly at the end of the day. He said, moreover, that as he had no horse-boy, and must needs do everything for himself, he thought it quite time enough to look after his horse when he had to make ready for a journey. "But," said he to Conan, "there is the halter; and if you are in any fear for your own animals, you may go yourself and bring him away from the field." Conan was in a mighty rage when he heard this; and as he saw the big horse just about to cross the fence, he snatched up the halter, and running forward, with long strides, he threw it over the animal's head and thought to lead him back. But in a moment the horse stood stock still, and his body and legs became as stiff as if they were made of wood; and though Conan pulled and tugged with might and main, he was not able to stir him an inch from his place. He gave up pulling at last, when he found it was no use; but he still kept on holding the halter, while the big horse never made the least stir, but stood as if he had been turned into stone; the Gilla Dacker all the time looking on quite unconcernedly, and the others laughing at Conan's perplexity. But no one offered to relieve him. At last Fergus Finnvel, the poet, spoke to Conan, and said, "I never would have believed, Conan Mail, that you could be brought to do horse-service for any knight or noble in the whole world; but now, indeed, I see that you have made yourself a horse-boy to an ugly foreign giant, so hateful-looking and low-born that not a man of the Fena would have anything to say to him. As you have, however, to mind this old horse in order to save your own, would it not be better for you to mount him, and revenge yourself for all the trouble he is giving you, by riding him across the country, over the hill-tops, and down into the deep glens and valleys, and through stones and bogs and all sorts of rough places, till you have broken the heart in his big, ugly body?" Conan, stung by the cutting words of the poet, and by the jeers of his companions, jumped upon the horse's back, and began to beat him mightily with his heels, and with his two big, heavy fists, to make him go; but the horse seemed not to take the least notice and never stirred. "I know the reason he does not go," said Fergus Finnvel; "he has been accustomed to carry a horseman far heavier than you, that is to say, the Gilla Dacker; and he will not move till he has the same weight on his back." At this Conan Mail called out to his companions, and asked which of them would mount with him, and help to avenge the damage done to their horses. "I will go," said Coil Croda the Battle Victor, son of Criffan; and up he went. But the horse never moved. Dara Donn Mac Morna next offered to go, and mounted behind the others; and after him Angus Mac Art Mac Morna. And the end of it was, that fourteen men of the Clann Baskin and Clann Morna[23] got up along with Conan; and all began to thrash the horse together, with might and main. But they were none the better of it, for he remained standing stiff and immovable as before. They found, moreover, that their seat was not at all an easy one--the animal's back was so sharp and bony. FOOTNOTES: [XCIII.] Beltane, the first of May; Samin, the first of November. [XCIV.] Beta, a public house of hospitality. [XCV.] Offaly, now the name of two baronies in the county Kildare. Fera-call, or Fircal, an ancient territory in the present King's County. Brosna, a small river rising in the Slieve Bloma, or Slieve Bloom mountains, which flows by Birr, and falls into the Shannon near Banagher; usually called the Little Brosna, to distinguish it from the Great Brosna, which flows through King's County into the Shannon. The Twelve Mountains of Evlinn. (See note, page 97.) Knockainy, a small hill much celebrated in fairy lore, in the county Limerick, giving name to the village of Knockainy at its base. It appears from the text that it was more anciently called Collkilla, or hazel-wood. [XCVI.] Ardpatrick, a beautiful green hill, with a remarkable church ruin and graveyard on its summit, two miles from Kilfinane, county Limerick. Kenn-Avrat was the ancient name of Seefin mountain, rising over the village of Glenosheen, two miles from Ardpatrick. Slieve-Keen, the old name of the hill of Carrigeennamroanty, near Seefin. Fermoy, a well-known town and barony in the county Cork. It appears from the text that the district was anciently known by the name of Coill-na-drua, or the wood of the druids. Lehan, the ancient name of the district round Castlelyons, in the county Cork. Fermorc, now the baronies of Connello, in Limerick. (See note, page 184.) Curoi Mac Dara, a celebrated chief who flourished in the time of the Red Branch Knights of Ulster, viz., in the first century of the Christian era. Curoi had his residence on a mountain near Tralee, still called Caherconree (the fortress of Curoi), and his "patrimony" was South Munster. The remains of Curoi's great stone fortress are still to be seen on Caherconree. Loch Lein, the Lakes of Killarney. Caher-Dun-Isca, now the town of Caher, on the Suir, in Tipperary. Femin was the name of the great plain lying to the south and west of the mountain of Slievenaman, or Slieve-na-man-finn, near Clonmel, in Tipperary. Balla-Gavran, or the pass of Gavran, an ancient road, which ran by Gavran (now Gowran), in the county Kilkenny. Cratloe, a well-known district on the Clare side of the Shannon, near Limerick. [XCVII.] Cliach, the old name of the plain lying round Knockainy. [XCVIII.] Fomor, a gigantic warrior, a giant; its primitive meaning is "a sea-robber," commonly called a Fomorian. (See note 5 at the end.) [XCIX.] Gilla Dacker means "a slothful fellow"--a fellow hard to move, hard to manage, hard to have anything to do with. CHAPTER II. CONAN AND FIFTEEN OF THE FENA ARE CARRIED OFF BY THE GILLA DACKER'S HORSE. When the Gilla Dacker saw the Fena beating his horse at such a rate, he seemed very angry, and addressed the king in these words-- "King of the Fena, I now see plainly that all the fine accounts I heard about you and the Fena are false, and I will not stay in your service--no, not another hour. You can see for yourself the ill usage these men are giving my horse without cause; and I leave you to judge whether any one could put up with it--any one who had the least regard for his horse. The time is, indeed, short since I entered your service, but I now think it a great deal too long; so pay me my wages, and let me go my ways." But Finn said, "I do not wish you to go; stay on till the end of your year, and then I will pay you all I promised you." "I swear," answered the Gilla Dacker, "that if this were the very last day of my year, I would not wait till morning for my wages, after this insult. So, wages or no wages, I will now seek another master; but from this time forth I shall know what to think of Finn Mac Cumal and his Fena!" With that the Gilla Dacker stood up as straight as a pillar, and, turning his face towards the south-west, he walked slowly away. When the horse saw his master leaving the hill, he stirred himself at once and walked quietly after him, bringing the fifteen men away on his back. And when the Fena saw this they raised a loud shout of laughter, mocking them. The Gilla Dacker, after he had walked some little way, looked back, and seeing that his horse was following, he stood for a moment to tuck up his skirts. Then, all at once changing his pace, he set out with long, active strides; and if you know what the speed of a swallow is, flying across a mountain-side, or the dry, fairy wind of a March day sweeping over the plains, then you can understand the swiftness of the Gilla Dacker, as he ran down the hill-side towards the south-west. Neither was the horse behindhand in the race; for, though he carried a heavy load, he galloped like the wind after his master, plunging and bounding forward with as much freedom as if he had nothing at all on his back. The men now tried to throw themselves off; but this, indeed, they were not able to do, for the good reason that they found themselves fastened firmly, hands and feet and all, to the horse's back. And now Conan, looking round, raised his big voice, and shouted to Finn and the Fena, asking them were they content to let their friends be carried off in that manner by such a horrible, foul-looking old spectre of a horse. Finn and the others, hearing this, seized their arms and started off in pursuit. Now the way the Gilla Dacker and his horse took was first through Fermorc,[C.] which is at the present day called Hy Conall Gavra; next over the wide, heathy summit of Slieve Lougher; from that to Corca Divna; and they ran along by Slieve Mish, till they reached Cloghan Kincat, near the deep green sea. During all this time Finn and his people kept them in view, but were not able to overtake them; and Ligan Lumina, one of the swiftest of the Fena, kept ahead of the others. The horse now passed by Cloghan Kincat without in the least abating his speed; and when he had arrived on the beach, even at the very water's edge, Ligan overtook him, and caught him by the tail with his two hands, intending to hold him till the rest of the Fena came up. He gave a mighty pull back; but the horse, not in the least checked by this, made no more ado but plunged forward through the waves, dragging Ligan after him hanging at his tail. And Ligan now found that he could neither help his friends nor free himself, for his two hands clung fast to the tail of the horse. And so the great horse continued his course without stop or stay, bringing the sixteen Fena with him through the sea. Now this is how they fared in the sea, while the horse was rushing swiftly farther and farther to the west: they had always a dry, firm strand under them, for the waters retired before the horse while behind them was a wild, raging sea, which followed close after, and seemed ready every moment to topple over their heads. But, though the billows were tumbling and roaring all round, neither horse nor riders were wetted by as much as a drop of brine or a dash of spray. FOOTNOTES: [C.] Fermorc, now the baronies of Connello, in Limerick. Slieve Lougher, a celebrated mountain near Castle Island, in Kerry. Corca Divna, now the barony of Corkaguiny, the long peninsula lying west of Tralee, and containing the town of Dingle, and the mountain range of Slieve Mish. Cloghan Kincat, now called Cloghan, a small village on the northern coast of the peninsula. CHAPTER III. PURSUIT. Now as to Finn and the others. They stood on the bank over the beach, watching the horse and men till they lost sight of them in the sea afar off; and then they sat them down, weary after their long chase, and full of sadness for the loss of their companions. After a long silence, Finn spoke and asked the chiefs what they thought best to be done. But they replied that he was far beyond them all in knowledge and wisdom; and they told him they would follow whatsoever counsel he and Fergus Finnvel, the poet, gave them. Then Finn told Fergus to speak his mind; and Fergus said-- "My counsel is that we go straightway to Ben Edar,[CI.] where we shall find a ship ready to sail. For our forefathers, when they wrested the land from the gifted, bright-complexioned Dedannans, bound them by covenant to maintain this ship for ever, fitted with all things needful for a voyage, even to the smallest article, as one of the privileges of Ben Edar; so that if at any time one of the noble sons of Gael Glas[CII.] wished to sail to distant lands from Erin, he should have a ship lying at hand in the harbour ready to begin his voyage." They agreed to this counsel, and turned their steps without delay northwards towards Ben Edar. They had not gone far when they met two noble-looking youths, fully armed, and wearing over their armour beautiful mantles of scarlet silk, fastened by brooches of gold. The strangers saluted the king with much respect; and the king saluted them in return. Then, having given them leave to converse, he asked them who they were, whither they had come, and who the prince or chief was that they served. And the elder answered-- "My name is Feradach, and my brother's name is Foltlebar; and we are the two sons of the king of Innia. Each of us professes an art; and it has long been a point of dispute between us, which art is the better, my brother's or mine. Hearing that there is not in the world a wiser or more far-seeing man than thou art, O king, we have come to ask thee to take us into thy service among thy household troops for a year, and at the end of that time to give judgment between us in this matter." Finn asked them what were the two arts they professed. "My art," answered Feradach, "is this: If at any time a company of warriors need a ship, give me only my joiner's axe and my crann-tavall,[CIII.] and I am able to provide a ship for them without delay. The only thing I ask them to do is this--to cover their heads close, and keep them covered, while I give the crann-tavall three blows of my axe. Then I tell them to uncover their heads; and lo, there lies the ship in harbour, ready to sail!" Then Foltlebar spoke and said, "This, O king, is the art I profess: On land I can track the wild duck over nine ridges and nine glens, and follow her without being once thrown out, till I drop upon her in her nest. And I can follow up a track on sea quite as well as on land, if I have a good ship and crew." Finn replied, "You are the very men I want; and I now take you both into my service. At this moment I need a good ship and a skilful pilot more than any two things in the whole world. And though our own track-men, namely, the Clann Navin, are good, yet we now need some one still more skilful, to follow the Gilla Dacker through unknown seas." Then the two brothers asked Finn what strait he was in at that moment, and why he wanted a ship and pilot so much. Whereupon Finn told them the whole story of the Gilla Dacker's doings from beginning to end. "And we are now," said he, "on our way to Ben Edar, to seek a ship, that we may follow this giant and his horse, and rescue our companions." Then Feradach said, "I will get you a ship--a ship that will sail as swiftly as a swallow can fly!" And Foltlebar said, "I will guide your ship in the track of the Gilla Dacker till ye lay hands on him, in whatsoever quarter of the world he may have hidden himself!" And so they turned back to Cloghan Kincat. And when they had come to the beach, Feradach told them to cover their heads; and they did so. Then he struck three blows of his axe on the crann-tavall; after which he bade them look. And lo, they saw a ship, fully fitted out with oars and sails, and with all things needed for a long voyage, riding before them in the harbour! Then Kylta Mac Ronan went to the top of a high hill; and, turning his face inland, he uttered three mighty shouts, which were taken up by the people of the next valley, and after them by those of the next valley beyond. And so the signal spread, till a shout of alarm was heard in every plain and hill-side, glen and valley, wood and wilderness, in the two provinces of Munster. And when the Fena heard these shouts, they ceased anon from their sports and pastimes; for they knew their king was in danger or strait of some kind. And they formed themselves into ranks and troops and battalions, and began their march; and it is not told how they fared till they reached Cloghan Kincat. Finn told them the whole story of the Gilla Dacker and his horse, and how he had carried away Conan and fifteen others to some far-off island in the Western Ocean. He also showed them the ship, and told them that he himself and a chosen band of the Fena were about to sail westward in quest of their friends. And Oisin asked him how many of the chief men of the Fena he wished to take with him. Finn replied, "I foresee that this will be a perilous quest; and I think all the chiefs here present few enough to bring with me." "Say not so, O king," said Oisin; "too many have gone already, and some must be left behind to guard the country, and to keep order. If fifteen good men go with you, and that you find the others, the whole party will be a match for any foe you are like to meet in these western lands." And Oscar and Gaul Mac Morna spoke in like manner. To this Finn agreed. Then he picked out fifteen men, the bravest and best, the most dexterous at the sword, and the swiftest of foot among the Fena. The question then arose, who should lead the Fena in the king's absence; and what they agreed on was that Oisin should remain behind and take command, as he was the eldest and bravest and wisest of the king's sons. Of those who were chosen to go with Finn, the chief men were Dermat O'Dyna; Gaul Mac Morna; Oscar, the son of Oisin; Aed Beg, the son of Finn; Fergus Finnvel, the poet; the three sons of Encarda; and Feradach and Foltlebar, the two sons of the king of Innia. So the king and his party took leave of Oisin and the rest. And sad, indeed, were they on both sides; for no one knew how far the king might have to sail among unknown seas and islands, or how long he should be away from Erin, or the spells and dangers he and his men might encounter in this pursuit. Then they went on board, and launched their ship on the cold, bright sea; and Foltlebar was their pilot and steersman. And they set their sail and plied their slender oars, and the ship moved swiftly westward till they lost sight of the shores of Erin; and they saw nothing all round them but a wide girdle of sea. After some days' sailing, a great storm came from the west, and the black waves rose up against them, so that they had much ado to keep their vessel from sinking. But through all the roaring of the tempest, through the rain and blinding spray, Foltlebar never stirred from the helm or changed his course, but still kept close on the track of the Gilla Dacker. At length the storm abated, and the sea grew calm. And when the darkness had cleared away, they saw to the west, a little way off, a vast rocky cliff towering over their heads to such a height, that its head seemed hidden among the clouds. It rose up sheer from the very water, and looked at that distance as smooth as glass, so that at first sight there seemed no way to reach the top. Foltlebar, after examining to the four points of the sky, found the track of the Gilla Dacker as far as the cliff, but no farther. And he accordingly told the heroes that he thought it was on the top of that rock the giant lived; and that, anyhow, the horse must have made his way up the face of the cliff with their companions. When the heroes heard this they were greatly cast down and puzzled what to do; for they saw no way of reaching the top of the rock; and they feared they should have to give up the quest and return without their companions. And they sat down and looked up at the cliff, with sorrow and vexation in their hearts. FOOTNOTES: [CI.] Ben Edar, now Howth Hill, near Dublin. [CII.] Gael Glas, the traditional ancestor of the Gaels. [CIII.] Crann-tav'all, a sort of sling for projecting stones, made of an elastic piece of wood, and strung somewhat like a cross-bow. CHAPTER IV. DERMAT O'DYNA, IN QUEST OF THE GILLA DACKER, ENCOUNTERS THE WIZARD-CHAMPION AT THE WELL. When now they had been silent for a time, Fergus Finnvel, the poet, arose and said-- "My friends, we have here amongst us one who has been fostered and taught from the child to the man, by Mannanan Mac Lir[8] in Fairyland, and by Angus,[1] the wisest of the Dedannans, at Bruga of the Boyne. He has been carefully trained by both in everything a warrior should learn, and in much druidical lore besides; so that he is skilled beyond us all in manly arts and champion-feats. But now it seems that all his arts and accomplishments go for nought, seeing that he is unable to make use of them just at the time that we stand most in need of them. On the top of that rock, doubtless, the Gilla Dacker lives, and there he holds Conan and the others in bondage; and surely this hero, who now sits idly with us here in our ship, should be able to climb up the face of that cliff, and bring us back tidings of our dear friends and companions." When Dermat O'Dyna heard this speech, his cheek grew red with shame, and he made this reply-- "It is of me you have spoken these words, Fergus. Your reproaches are just; and though the task is hard, I will attempt to follow the track of the Gilla Dacker, and find out some tidings of our friends." So saying, Dermat arose, and girded on his armour, and put on his glittering helmet. He hung his sword at his left hip; and he took his two long, deadly spears, one in each hand, namely, the Crann-boi and the Ga-derg;[CIV.] and the battle-fury of a warrior descended on him, so that he looked a dreadful foe to meet in single combat. Then, leaning on the handles of his spears, after the manner of skilful champions, he leaped with a light, airy bound on the nearest shelf of rock. And using his spears and his hands, he climbed from ledge to ledge, while his companions watched him anxiously from below; till, after much toil, he measured the soles of his two feet on the green sod at the top of the rock. And when, recovering breath, he turned round and looked at his companions in the ship far below, he started back with amazement and dread at the dizzy height. He now looked inland, and saw a beautiful country spread out before him:--a lovely, flowery plain straight in front, bordered with pleasant hills, and shaded with groves of many kinds of trees. It was enough to banish all care and sadness from one's heart to view this country, and to listen to the warbling of the birds, the humming of the bees among the flowers, the rustling of the wind through the trees, and the pleasant voices of the streams and waterfalls. Making no delay, Dermat set out to walk across the plain. He had not been long walking when he saw, right before him, a great tree laden with fruit, overtopping all the other trees of the plain. It was surrounded at a little distance by a circle of pillar-stones; and one stone, taller than the others, stood in the centre near the tree. Beside this pillar-stone was a spring well, with a large, round pool as clear as crystal; and the water bubbled up in the centre, and flowed away towards the middle of the plain in a slender stream. Dermat was glad when he saw the well; for he was hot and thirsty after climbing up the cliff. He stooped down to take a drink; but before his lips touched the water, he heard the heavy tread of a body of warriors, and the loud clank of arms, as if a whole host were coming straight down on him. He sprang to his feet and looked round; but the noise ceased in an instant, and he could see nothing. After a little while he stooped again to drink; and again, before he had wet his lips, he heard the very same sounds, nearer and louder than before. A second time he leaped to his feet; and still he saw no one. He knew not what to think of this; and as he stood wondering and perplexed, he happened to cast his eyes on the tall pillar-stone that stood on the brink of the well; and he saw on its top a large, beautiful drinking-horn, chased with gold and enamelled with precious stones. "Now surely," said Dermat, "I have been doing wrong; it is, no doubt, one of the virtues of this well that it will not let any one drink of its waters except from the drinking-horn." So he took down the horn, dipped it into the well, and drank without hindrance, till he had slaked his thirst. Scarcely had he taken the horn from his lips, when he saw a tall wizard-champion[CV.] coming towards him from the east, clad in a complete suit of mail, and fully armed with shield and helmet, sword and spear. A beautiful scarlet mantle hung over his armour, fastened at his throat by a golden brooch; and a broad circlet of sparkling gold was bended in front across his forehead, to confine his yellow hair, and keep it from being blown about by the wind. As he came nearer, he increased his pace, moving with great strides; and Dermat now observed that he looked very wrathful. He offered no greeting, and showed not the least courtesy; but addressed Dermat in a rough, angry voice-- "Surely, Dermat O'Dyna, Erin of the green plains should be wide enough for you; and it contains abundance of clear, sweet water in its crystal springs and green bordered streams, from which you might have drunk your fill. But you have come into my island without my leave, and you have taken my drinking-horn, and have drunk from my well; and this spot you shall never leave till you have given me satisfaction for the insult." So spoke the wizard-champion, and instantly advanced on Dermat with fury in his eyes. But Dermat was not the man to be terrified by any hero or wizard-champion alive. He met the foe half-way; and now, foot to foot, and knee to knee, and face to face, they began a fight, watchful and wary at first, but soon hot and vengeful, till their shields and helmets could scarce withstand their strong thrusts and blows. Like two enraged lions fighting to the death, or two strong serpents intertwined in deadly strife, or two great opposing billows thundering against each other on the ocean border; such was the strength and fury and determination of the combat of these two heroes. And so they fought through the long day, till evening came, and it began to be dusk; when suddenly the wizard-champion sprang outside the range of Dermat's sword, and leaping up with a great bound, he alighted in the very centre of the well. Down he went through it, and disappeared in a moment before Dermat's eyes, as if the well had swallowed him up. Dermat stood on the brink, leaning on his spear, amazed and perplexed, looking after him in the water; but whether the hero had meant to drown himself, or that he had played some wizard trick, Dermat knew not. He sat down to rest, full of vexation that the wizard-champion should have got off so easily. And what chafed him still more was that the Fena knew nought of what had happened, and that when he returned, he could tell them nothing of the strange hero; neither had he the least token or trophy to show them after his long fight. Then he began to think what was best to be done; and he made up his mind to stay near the well all night, with the hope of finding out something further about the wizard-champion on the morrow. He walked towards the nearest point of a great forest that stretched from the mountain down to the plain on his left; and as he came near, a herd of speckled deer ran by among the trees. He put his finger into the silken loop of his spear, and, throwing it with an unerring cast, brought down the nearest of the herd. Then, having lighted a fire under a tree, he skinned the deer and fixed it on long hazel spits to roast, having first, however, gone to the well, and brought away the drinking-horn full of water. And he sat beside the roasting deer to turn it and tend the fire, waiting impatiently for his meal; for he was hungry and tired after the toil of the day. When the deer was cooked, he ate till he was satisfied, and drank the clear water of the well from the drinking-horn; after which he lay down under the shade of the tree, beside the fire, and slept a sound sleep till morning. Night passed away and the sun rose, bringing morning with its abundant light. Dermat started up, refreshed after his long sleep, and, repairing to the forest, he slew another deer, and fixed it on hazel spits to roast at the fire as before. For Dermat had this custom, that he would never eat of any food left from a former meal. And after he had eaten of the deer's flesh and drunk from the horn, he went towards the well. But though his visit was early, he found the wizard-champion there before him, standing beside the pillar-stone, fully armed as before, and looking now more wrathful than ever. Dermat was much surprised; but before he had time to speak the wizard-champion addressed him-- "Dermat O'Dyna, you have now put the cap on all your evil deeds. It was not enough that you took my drinking-horn and drank from my well: you have done much worse than this, for you have hunted on my grounds, and have killed some of my speckled deer. Surely there are many hunting-grounds in Erin of the green plains, with plenty of deer in them; and you need not have come hither to commit these robberies on me. But now for a certainty you shall not go from this spot till I have taken revenge for all these misdeeds." And again the two champions attacked each other, and fought during the long day, from morning till evening. And when the dusk began to fall, the wizard-champion leaped into the well, and disappeared down through it, even as he had done the day before. The selfsame thing happened on the third day. And each day, morning and evening, Dermat killed a deer, and ate of its flesh, and drank of the water of the well from the drinking-horn. On the fourth morning, Dermat found the wizard-champion standing as usual by the pillar-stone near the well. And as each morning he looked more angry than on the morning before, so now he scowled in a way that would have terrified any one but Dermat O'Dyna. And they fought during the day till the dusk of evening. But now Dermat watched his foe narrowly; and when he saw him about to spring into the well, he closed on him and threw his arms round him. The wizard-champion struggled to free himself, moving all the time nearer and nearer to the brink; but Dermat held on, till at last both fell into the well. Down they went, clinging to each other, Dermat and the wizard-champion; down, down, deeper and deeper they went; and Dermat tried to look round, but nothing could he see save darkness and dim shadows. At length there was a glimmer of light; then the bright day burst suddenly upon them; and presently they came to the solid ground, gently and without the least shock. FOOTNOTES: [CIV.] See note, page 302. [CV.] The original word, which I have translated "wizard-champion," is _gruagach_. This word literally means "hairy," "a hairy fellow;" and it is often used in the sense of "giant." But in these romantic tales it is commonly used to signify a champion who has always something of the supernatural about him, yet not to such a degree as to shield him completely from the valour of a great mortal hero like Dermat O'Dyna. CHAPTER V. DERMAT O'DYNA IN TIR-FA-TONN.[CVI.] At the very moment they reached the ground, the wizard-champion, with a sudden effort, tore himself away from Dermat's grasp and ran forward with great speed. Dermat leaped to his feet; and he was so amazed at what he saw around him that he stood stock still and let the wizard-champion escape: a lovely country, with many green-sided hills and fair valleys between, woods of red yew trees, and plains laughing all over with flowers of every hue. Right before him, not far off, lay a city of great tall houses with glittering roofs; and on the side nearest to him was a royal palace, larger and grander than the rest. On the level green in front of the palace were a number of knights, all armed, and amusing themselves with various warlike exercises of sword and shield and spear. Straight towards this assembly the wizard-champion ran; which, when Dermat saw, he set off in pursuit, hoping to overtake him. But the wizard-champion had too long a start, and when he reached the exercise green, the knights opened to the right and left, leaving a broad way through which he rushed. He never halted or looked behind till he had got inside the palace gate; and the moment he had passed in, the knights closed their ranks, and stood facing Dermat with threatening looks and gestures. Nothing daunted, Dermat held on his pace towards them; and now those of the front rank started forward with spears and swords, intending to crush him at once, and hew his body to mincemeat. But it was not terror nor weakness nor a desire of flight that this produced in Dermat, for his battle-fury was on him; and he rushed through them and under them and over them, as a hawk rushes among a flight of sparrows, or like a whale through a shoal of little fishes, or like a raging wolf among a flock of sheep, or like a vast billow among a fleet of small vessels, or like a great brown torrent rushing down the steep side of a mountain, that sweeps everything headlong before it. So did Dermat cleave a wide laneway through the hosts, till, from a solid band of warriors, he turned them into a scattered crowd, flying in all directions. And those that did not fall by his hand, ran hither and thither, some to hide themselves in the thick forests and remote, wooded glens of the surrounding country; while others rushed in through the outer gate of the palace, and shut themselves up in the strongest part of the fortress, neither did they deem themselves safe till they had shot home every bolt, and securely fastened every strong iron lock. At last not a living soul remained on the green, and Dermat sat down, weary after his battle-toil, and smarting all over with wounds. He was grieved and downcast also, for he knew not where he was, and he saw no chance that he should be able either to find any tidings of the friends he was in search of, or to return to his companions in the ship. At length, being quite overcome with weariness, he fell into a deep sleep. After sleeping for some time, he was awakened by a smart blow. He started up, and saw a young man standing over him, tall, and of a commanding appearance, with long, golden hair, and a manly, open countenance. Now this young man had come to Dermat, and finding him asleep in such a dangerous place, he struck him with the flat of his sword to awaken him. In an instant Dermat sprang to his feet and seized his arms; but the youth addressed him in a friendly voice, and said-- "Dermat O'Dyna, put up your arms; I am no enemy, and I have come, not to harm, but to serve you. This, indeed, is a strange place for you to fall asleep, before the very door of the castle, and within sight of your enemies. Come now with me, and I will give you a better place to sleep in, where you will also get a welcome and kindly entertainment." This speech pleased Dermat very much; and he thanked the young man and went with him. After walking for some time, they came to a large splendid house, and passing through the outer gate they entered the banqueting hall. There they found a noble company of twelve score and ten knights, and almost as many beautiful ladies, with their long hair falling on their shoulders, shining like the golden flower of the marsh-flag, and gentle and modest in their looks and conversation. They wore mantles of scarlet satin, and each mantle was fastened in front by a brooch of burnished gold. The company sat at tables round the walls of the banquet hall, some feasting, some playing chess, and some listening to the music of harps. When the two heroes entered, all the knights and ladies rose and received them with much respect, and they welcomed Dermat and invited him to join their entertainment. But the young prince--for he was in truth a prince--pointing to Dermat's clothes and arms, all soiled and stained, told them that he had endured much toil that day, and that he wanted rest and refreshment. He then brought Dermat away, and ordered the attendants to prepare a bath in a great caldron. He put soothing balsams and healing herbs into it with his own hands, and when Dermat had bathed he was immediately healed of his wounds, and he came forth refreshed and cheerful. The prince then directed that his clothes should be put aside, and had him clad in rich garments like the others. Dermat now joined the company, and ate and drank, for he had taken neither food nor drink since he had made his meal on the deer early that morning near the well; after which he talked and was cheerful with the others. Then rose up the harpers, and the professors of divers arts and sciences, and one after another they played their sweet music, and recited their poems and their tales of the heroes of the olden time. And when they had ended, the knights gave them gifts of gold and silver and jewels. At last the company broke up, and Dermat was shown to a bed richly ornamented, and soft with the red feathers of wild fowl, and soon he fell into a sound sleep after his long day's adventures. Now Dermat marvelled much at all he saw and heard; and he knew not what place he was in, or who the people were, that had treated him with such kindness. So next morning, when the company had again assembled, he stood up, and addressed the prince with gentle words and modest demeanour; and this is what he said-- "I am much surprised, O prince, at what I have seen, and at all that has befallen me in this land. Though I am here a stranger, thou hast shown me much kindness, and these noble knights and ladies have permitted me to join their sports, and have treated me with much gentleness and consideration. I wish to know, then, who thou art, O prince, and what country this is, of which I have never before heard, and who is the king thereof. Tell me also, I pray thee, the name of the champion who fought with me for four days at the well, till at last he escaped from me at the palace." The prince replied, "I will tell you all, Dermat, as you have asked, concealing nothing. This country is Tir-fa-tonn; the champion who fought with you is called the Knight of the Fountain, and that very champion is king of this land. I am the brother of the king, and my name is the Knight of Valour. Good reason indeed have I to be kind to you, Dermat O'Dyna, for though you do not remember me, I spent a year and a day in the household of Finn the son of Cumal. "A part of this kingdom belongs by right to me. But the king and his son have seized on my patrimony, and have banished me from the palace, forcing me to live here in exile with a few of my faithful followers. "It is my intention, however, to make war on the king for my part of the kingdom; and right glad I am that you have come hither, for I would rather have you on my side than all the other Fena put together, for your nobleness of mind and your valour in battle. "I have here in my household seven score and ten heroes, all champions of great deeds; and if you consent to aid me, these shall be placed under your command. By day you shall fight against the king of Tir-fa-tonn and his son, and by night you shall feast and rest and sleep with me in this palace. If you enter into friendship with me and fight on my side, well I know that I shall win back my right without delay." Dermat agreed to this. So he and the Knight of Valour made a covenant; and, placing hand in hand, they pledged themselves to observe faithfully the conditions of the league of friendship. FOOTNOTES: [CVI.] Tir-fa-tonn, literally "the country beneath the wave." (See note 13 at the end.) CHAPTER VI. FINN, IN QUEST OF DERMAT, FIGHTS MANY BATTLES. As to Finn Mac Cumal and those that remained behind with him in the ship, I will now relate what befell them. It was now many days since Dermat had left them, and they marvelled much that he did not return with tidings of the Gilla Dacker. At length, when they began to be alarmed, the two sons of the king of Innia offered to go in search of him; but Finn said no, for that they should all go together. So Feradach and Foltlebar took all the cables and ropes they could find in the ship, and tied them end to end in hard, sure knots, till they had a rope long enough to reach from the top of the rock to the bottom. Then they clambered up the steep face of the cliff, bringing with them the end of the rope; and one by one they drew up Finn and the rest. And when they looked round, they were as much surprised and delighted as Dermat was at the look of the country. Foltlebar now made a search, and soon found the track of Dermat; and the whole party set out to walk across the plain, Foltlebar leading the way. Having travelled some distance, they saw the great fruit tree afar off; and, turning to the left, they found a place where a fire had been lighted, and near it the remains of several meals of deer's flesh. By this they knew that it was here Dermat had slept, for all were well aware of his custom not to eat of what was left from a meal. They then went towards the tree, and there they found the traces of deadly combat--the ground all trampled and ploughed up, and a broken spear handle lying at the brink of the well. While they stood pondering on these things, with anxious hearts, they saw a horseman at a distance, speeding towards them across the plain. In a little while he came up and reined in. He was a young man of majestic mien, fair and noble of countenance; and he rode a beautiful chestnut steed, with a bridle of twisted gold, and a saddle of surpassing splendour, ornamented all over with gold and jewels. He alighted and saluted Finn and the Fena, and told them they were welcome to his country, for that he was king; and he put his hand on Finn's neck and kissed his cheek three times. Then he invited them to go with him, saying that the Plain of the Fountain was a comfortless resting-place after a long journey. Finn's heart was glad at this, for he and his companions were weary; and they set out to walk across the plain with the young king. Having walked a good distance, they came in sight of a noble palace, with tall towers and carved front. As they came near, they were met by a company of knights on the level green in front, who welcomed them with gentle words. And so they passed into the palace. A bath was prepared, and they bathed and were refreshed after their toils. Then they sat down to supper; and while they ate and drank, the harpers played for them, and the poets told their tales and sang their songs. They slept that night in the palace; and next day they mingled with the knights on the green, and took part in their games and pastimes. In the evening they sat down to a feast. The people of the palace were ranged at tables according to rank and inheritance, every man in his proper place. Then the feast went on; and abundance of the newest food and of the oldest drink was served out; and they ate of the savoury food, and drank of the sparkling wines and of the strong ales, till they became merry and gently intoxicated. And Finn could not call to mind that he ever saw an entertainment in the house of either king or chief better ordered. In this manner they were feasted and entertained for three days and three nights. At the end of that time a meeting was held by the king on the palace green. And Finn stood up and said-- "Tell me, I pray thee, thy name and the name of this country, which I have never seen before, or even heard of." "This country," replied the king, "is called Sorca, of which I am king; and although you know us not, we know you well, for the fame of your deeds has reached even to this land. But now I wish to know why you have come hither; also the reason why you have brought so few companions, and where the rest have tarried." Then Finn told him the whole story from beginning to end; how the Gilla Dacker and his great horse had carried off sixteen of their chief men; "And," added Finn, "I and these fifteen companions of mine are now in quest of them." The king replied, "This is a dangerous undertaking; and you and your fifteen men, valiant even as you are, are too few to venture into unknown lands, where you may meet with many enemies. Now my knights are brave and generous, and they love battle and adventure. Wherefore I will place a band of them under your command, who will follow you whithersoever you go, and who will not be behindhand even with the Fena in facing hardship and danger." Finn stood up to thank the king; but before he had time to speak, they saw a messenger speeding towards them across the plain from the north-west, breathless, and begrimed all over with mud and dust. When he had come in presence of the company, he bowed low to the king, and, standing up, waited impatient for leave to speak. The king asked him what news he had brought and he replied-- "Bad and direful news I have for thee, O king. A foreign fleet has come to our shores, which seems to cover all the sea, even as far as the eye can reach; and until the stars of heaven are counted, and the sands of the sea, and the leaves of the woods, the hosts that are landing from their black ships shall not be numbered. Even already they have let loose their plunderers over the country, who are burning and spoiling the farmsteads and the great mansions; and many noble heroes and keepers of houses of hospitality, and many people of the common sort, have been slain by them. Some say that it is the King of the World and his host, who, after conquering every country he has yet visited, has come now to ravage this land with fire and sword and spear, and bring it under his power; but I know not if this be true. And this, O king, is the news I bring thee." When the messenger had ended, the king spoke nought, though his countenance, indeed, showed trouble; but he looked earnestly at Finn. Finn understood this to mean that the king sought his help; and, with clear voice, he spoke-- "Thou hast been generous to me and my people in our day of need, O king of Sorca; and now thou shalt not find the Fena lacking in grateful memory of thy kindness. We will, for a time, give up the pursuit of the Gilla Dacker, and we will place ourselves under thy command, and help thee against these marauders. Neither do I fear the outcome of this war; for many a time have we met these foreigners on the shores of Erin and elsewhere, and they have always yielded to us in the battle-field." The king of Sorca was glad of heart when he heard these words; and he sent his swift scouts all over the country to gather his fighting men. And when all had come together, he arranged them in fighting order, and marched towards the shore where the foreigners were spoiling the land. And they met the plundering parties, and drove them with great slaughter back to their ships, retaking all the spoils. Then they formed an encampment on the shore, with ramparts and deep ditches and long rows of pointed stakes all round. And each day a party of the foreigners landed, led by one of their captains, who were met by an equal number of the men of Sorca, led by one of the Fena; and each time they were driven back to their ships, after losing their best men. When, now, this had continued for many days, the King of the World called a meeting of the chiefs of his army, and asked their counsel as to what should be done. And they spoke as one man, that their best chiefs had fallen, and that they were in worse case now for overcoming the men of Sorca than they were at first; that their sages and prophets had declared against them; and that they had met with ill luck from the day of their arrival. And the advice they gave the king was to depart from the shores of Sorca, for there seemed no chance of conquering the country as long as the Fena were there to help the king. So the king ordered the sails to be set, and he left the harbour in the night with his whole fleet, without bringing the king of Sorca under subjection, and without imposing tribute on the people. CHAPTER VII. FINN AND DERMAT MEET. When the people of Sorca and the Fena arose next morning, not a ship was in sight; and they began to rejoice greatly, finding themselves freed from this invasion. And while the king and Finn, with the chiefs and people, stood eagerly conversing on all these matters, they saw a troop at a distance coming towards them, with banners and standards and arms glittering in the morning sun. Now they wondered much who these might be; and Finn desired that some one might go and bring back tidings. So Fergus Finnvel went with a few followers, and when he was yet a good way off, he knew Dermat O'Dyna at the head of the troop, and ran forward with joy to meet him. And they embraced, even as brothers embrace who meet after being long parted. Then they came towards the assembly; and when the Fena saw Dermat they shouted with joy and welcome And Dermat, on his part, could scarce restrain the excess of his joyfulness; for, indeed, he did not expect to meet his friends so soon; and he embraced them one by one, with glad heart, beginning with Finn. Then Finn inquired from Dermat all particulars, what places he had visited since the day he had climbed up the rock, and whether he had heard any news of their lost companions; and he asked him also who were they--those valiant-looking fighting men--he had brought with him. Dermat told him of all his adventures from first to last--of his long combat at the well with the Knight of the Fountain, of his descent to Tir-fa-tonn, and how the Knight of Valour had entertained him hospitably in his palace. He related also how he headed the men of the Knight of Valour, and made war on the king of Tir-fa-tonn (who was also called the Knight of the Fountain, the wizard-champion who fought with Dermat at the well), whom he slew, and defeated his army. "And now," continued he, bringing forth the Knight of Valour from among the strange host, "this is he who was formerly called the Knight of Valour, but who is now the king of Tir-fa-tonn. Moreover, this king has told me, having himself found it out by his druidical art, that it was Avarta the Dedannan (the son of Illahan of the Many-coloured Raiment) who took the form of the Gilla Dacker, and who brought the sixteen Fena away to the Land of Promise,[8] where he now holds them in bondage." Finn and the young king then put hand in hand and made covenants of lasting friendship with each other. And the Fena were much rejoiced that they had at last got some tidings of their lost companions. CHAPTER VIII. CONAN AND HIS COMPANIONS FOUND AND RESCUED. Now after they had rested some days in the palace of the king of Sorca, Fergus Finnvel told Finn that it was time to begin once more their quest after Conan and the others. They held council, therefore; and the resolution they came to was to return to the rock at the spot where they had turned aside from the track of the Gilla Dacker, and to begin their search anew from that. And when both the king of Sorca and the king of Tir-fa-tonn would have sent men with them, Finn thanked them, but said that the small party of Fena he had with him were quite enough for that adventure. So they took leave of the two kings, and went back to the rock, and Foltlebar at once found the track. He traced it from the very edge of the rock across the plain to the sea at the other side; and they brought round their ship and began their voyage. But this time Foltlebar found it very hard to keep on the track; for the Gilla Dacker, knowing that there were not in the world men more skilled in following up a quest than the Fena, took great pains to hide all traces of the flight of himself and his horse; so that Foltlebar was often thrown out; but he always recovered the track after a little time. And so they sailed from island to island, and from bay to bay, over many seas and by many shores, ever following the track, till at length they arrived at the Land of Promise. And when they had made the land, and knew for a certainty that this was indeed the Land of Promise, they rejoiced greatly; for in this land Dermat O'Dyna had been nurtured by Mannanan Mac Lir of the Yellow Hair. Then they held council as to what was best to be done; and Finn's advice was that they should burn and spoil the country, in revenge of the outrage that had been done to his people. Dermat, however, would not hear of this. And he said-- "Not so, O king. The people of this land are of all men the most skilled in druidic art; and it is not well that they should be at feud with us. Let us rather send to Avarta a trusty herald, to demand that he should set our companions at liberty. If he does so, then we shall be at peace; if he refuse, then shall we proclaim war against him and his people, and waste this land with fire and sword, till he be forced, even by his own people, to give us back our friends." This advice was approved by all. And then Finn said-- "But how shall heralds reach the dwelling of this enchanter; for the ways are not open and straight, as in other lands, but crooked and made for concealment, and the valleys and plains are dim and shadowy, and hard to be traversed?" But Foltlebar, nothing daunted by the dangers and the obscurity of the way, offered to go with a single trusty companion; and they took up the track and followed it without being once thrown out, till they reached the mansion of Avarta. There they found their friends amusing themselves on the green outside the palace walls; for, though kept captive in the island, yet were they in no wise restrained, but were treated by Avarta with much kindness. When they saw the heralds coming towards them, their joy knew no bounds; they crowded round to embrace them, and asked them many questions regarding their home and their friends. At last Avarta himself came forth, and asked who these strangers were; and Foltlebar replied-- "We are of the people of Finn Mac Cumal, who has sent us as heralds to thee. He and his heroes have landed on this island, guided hither by me; and he bade us tell thee that he has come to wage war and to waste this land with fire and sword, as a punishment for that thou hast brought away his people by foul spells, and even now keepest them in bondage." When Avarta heard this, he made no reply, but called a council of his chief men, to consider whether they should send back to Finn an answer of war or of peace. And they, having much fear of the Fena, were minded to restore Finn's people, and to give him his own award in satisfaction for the injury done to him; and to invite Finn himself and those who had come with him to a feast of joy and friendship in the house of Avarta. Avarta himself went with Foltlebar to give this message. And after he and Finn had exchanged friendly greetings, he told them what the council had resolved; and Finn and Dermat and the others were glad at heart. And Finn and Avarta put hand in hand, and made a league of friendship. So they went with Avarta to his house, where they found their lost friends; and, being full of gladness, they saluted and embraced each other. Then a feast was prepared; and they were feasted for three days, and they ate and drank and made merry. On the fourth day, a meeting was called on the green to hear the award. Now it was resolved to make amends on the one hand to Finn, as king of the Fena, and on the other, to those who had been brought away by the Gilla Dacker. And when all were gathered together, Finn was first asked to name his award; and this is what he said-- "I shall not name an award, O Avarta; neither shall I accept an eric from thee. But the wages I promised thee when we made our covenant at Knockainy, that I will give thee. For I am thankful for the welcome thou hast given us here; and I wish that there should be peace and friendship between us for ever." But Conan, on his part, was not so easily satisfied; and he said to Finn-- "Little hast thou endured, O Finn, in all this matter; and thou mayst well waive thy award. But hadst thou, like us, suffered from the sharp bones and the rough carcase of the Gilla Dacker's monstrous horse, in a long journey from Erin to the Land of Promise, across wide seas, through tangled woods, and over rough-headed rocks, thou wouldst then, methinks, name an award." At this, Avarta, and the others who had seen Conan and his companions carried off on the back of the big horse, could scarce keep from laughing; and Avarta said to Conan-- "Name thy award, and I will fulfil it every jot: for I have heard of thee, Conan, and I dread to bring the gibes and taunts of thy foul tongue on myself and my people." "Well then," said Conan, "my award is this: that you choose fifteen of the best and noblest men in the Land of Promise, among whom are to be your own best beloved friends; and that you cause them to mount on the back of the big horse, and that you yourself take hold of his tail. In this manner you shall fare to Erin, back again by the selfsame track the horse took when he brought us hither--through the same surging seas, through the same thick thorny woods, and over the same islands and rough rocks and dark glens. And this, O Avarta, is my award," said Conan. Now Finn and his people were rejoiced exceedingly when they heard Conan's award--that he asked from Avarta nothing more than like for like. For they feared much that he might claim treasure of gold and silver, and thus bring reproach on the Fena. Avarta promised that everything required by Conan should be done, binding himself in solemn pledges. Then the heroes took their leave; and having launched their ship on the broad, green sea, they sailed back by the same course to Erin. And they marched to their camping-place at Knockainy, where they rested in their tents. Avarta then chose his men. And he placed them on the horse's back, and he himself caught hold of the tail; and it is not told how they fared till they made harbour and landing-place at Cloghan Kincat. They delayed not, but straightway journeyed over the selfsame track as before, till they reached Knockainy. Finn and his people saw them afar off coming towards the hill with great speed; the Gilla Dacker, quite as large and as ugly as ever, running before the horse; for he had let go the tail at Cloghan Kincat. And the Fena could not help laughing heartily when they saw the plight of the fifteen chiefs on the great horse's back; and they said with one voice that Conan had made a good award that time. When the horse reached the spot from which he had at first set out, the men began to dismount. Then the Gilla Dacker, suddenly stepping forward, held up his arm and pointed earnestly over the heads of the Fena towards the field where the horses were standing; so that the heroes were startled, and turned round every man to look. But nothing was to be seen except the horses grazing quietly inside the fence. Finn and the others now turned round again, with intent to speak to the Gilla Dacker and bring him and his people into the tents; but much did they marvel to find them all gone. The Gilla Dacker and his great horse and the fifteen nobles of the Land of Promise had disappeared in an instant; and neither Finn himself nor any of his chiefs ever saw them afterwards. So far we have related the story of the pursuit of the Gilla Dacker and his horse. THE PURSUIT OF DERMAT AND GRANIA. CHAPTER I. FINN, THE SON OF CUMAL, SEEKS THE PRINCESS GRANIA TO WIFE. On a certain day, Finn, the son of Cumal, rose at early morn in Allen of the broad hill-slopes, and, going forth, sat him down on the green lawn before the palace, without companion or attendant. And two of his people followed him, namely, Oisin his son, and Dering the son of Dobar O'Baskin. Oisin spoke to him and asked, "Why, O king, hast thou come forth so early?" "Cause enough have I indeed," replied Finn; "for I am without a wife since Manissa, the daughter of Garad of the Black Knee, died; and who can enjoy sweet sleep when his life is lonely like mine, with no wife to comfort and cheer him? This, my friends, is the cause of my early rising." And Oisin said, "Why should you be without a wife if you desire one? For there is not, within the sea-circle of green Erin, a maiden that we will not bring you, either by consent or by force, if you only turn the light of your eyes on her." Then Dering spoke and said, "I know where there is a maiden, who in all respects is worthy to be thy wife." And when Finn asked who she was, Dering replied-- "The maiden is Grania, daughter of king Cormac,[22] the son of Art, the son of Conn the Hundred-fighter; the most beautiful, the best instructed, and the most discreet in speech and manner of all the maidens of Erin." "There has been strife between me and Cormac for a long time," said Finn, "and it may happen that he will not give me his daughter in marriage. But go ye to Tara in my name, you and Oisin, and ask the maiden for me: if the king should refuse, so let it be; but I can better bear a refusal to you than to myself." "We will go," said Oisin; "but it is better that no man know of our journey till we return." So the two heroes took leave of Finn and went their way; and nothing is told of what befell them till they reached Tara. It chanced that the king was at this time holding a meeting; and the chiefs and great nobles of Tara were assembled round him. And when the two warriors arrived, they were welcomed, and the meeting was put off for that day; for the king felt sure that it was on some business of weight they had come. After they had eaten and drunk, the king, sending away all others from his presence, bade the two chiefs tell their errand. So Oisin told him they had come to seek his daughter Grania in marriage for Finn the son of Cumal. Then the king said, "In all Erin there is scarce a young prince or noble who has not sought my daughter in marriage; and she has refused them all. And it is on me that the ill feeling and reproach caused by her refusals have fallen; for she has ever made me the bearer of her answers. Wherefore now you shall come to my daughter's presence, and I will not mention the matter to her till she give you an answer from her own lips: so shall I be blameless if she refuse." So they went to the apartments of the women, at the sunny side of the palace. And when they had entered the princess's chamber, the king sat with her on the couch and said-- "Here, my daughter, are two of the people of Finn the son of Cumal, who have come to ask thee as a wife for him." And Grania, giving, indeed, not much thought to the matter, answered, "I know not whether he is worthy to be thy son-in-law; but if he be, why should he not be a fitting husband for me?" The two messengers were satisfied with this answer, and retired. And Cormac made a feast for them; and they ate and drank and made merry with the chiefs and nobles of the palace; after which the king bade them tell Finn to come at the end of a fortnight to claim his bride. So the two heroes returned to Allen, and told how they had fared in their quest. And as all things come at last to an end, so this fortnight wore slowly away; and at the end of the time, Finn, having collected round him the chief men of the seven standing battalions of the Fena to be his guard, marched to Tara. The king received him with great honour, and welcomed the Fena, and they were feasted with the nobles of Erin in the great banquet hall of Micorta.[CVII.] And the king sat on his throne to enjoy the feast with his guests, having Finn on his right hand, and on his left the queen, Etta, the daughter of Atan of Corca; and Grania sat next the queen, her mother, on the left. And all the others sat according to their rank and patrimony. CHAPTER II. DERMAT O'DYNA SECRETLY ESPOUSES THE PRINCESS GRANIA. Now while the feast went on, it chanced that Dara of the Poems, one of Finn's druids, sat near Grania. And he recited for her many lays about the deeds of her forefathers; after which a pleasant conversation arose between them. And when they had talked for some time, she asked him-- "What means all this feasting? And why has Finn come with his people on this visit to my father the king?" Dara was surprised at this question, and answered, "If thou dost not know, it is hard for me to know." And Grania answered, "I wish, indeed, to learn from you what has brought Finn to Tara." "It is strange to hear thee ask this question," said the druid. "Knowest thou not that he has come to claim thee for his wife?" Grania was silent for a long time after hearing this. And again she spoke-- "If, indeed, Finn had sought me for his son Oisin, or for the youthful Oscar, there would be nothing to wonder at; but I marvel much that he seeks me for himself, seeing that he is older than my father." Then Grania meditated in silence; and after a time she said to the druid-- "This is a goodly company, but I know not one among them, except only Oisin, the son of Finn. Tell me now who is that warrior on the right of Oisin." "That knightly warrior," answered the druid, "is Gaul Mac Morna the Terrible in Battle." "Who is the youthful champion to the right of Gaul?" asked Grania. "That is Oscar, the son of Oisin," said the druid. "Who is the graceful and active-looking chief sitting next Oscar?" asked the princess. "That is Kylta Mac Ronan the Swift-footed," said the druid. "Next to Kylta Mac Ronan sits a champion with fair, freckled skin, raven-black curls, a gentle, handsome, manly countenance, and soft voice: pray who is he?" "That is Dermat O'Dyna of the Bright Face, the favourite of maidens, and beloved of all the Fena for his high-mindedness, his bravery, and his generous disposition." "Who is he sitting at Dermat's shoulder?" asked Grania. "That is Dering, the son of Dobar O'Baskin," replied the druid; "a valiant champion, and also a druid and a man of science." Then Grania called her handmaid, and said to her, "Bring me the large jewelled, gold-chased drinking-horn that lies in my chamber." The handmaid brought the drinking-horn; and Grania, having filled it to the brim, said-- "Take it now to Finn from me, and tell him that I desire him to drink from it." The handmaiden did so, and Finn took a full draught. He passed the drinking-horn to the king, and the king drank; and after him the queen. Then again Grania bade the handmaid bring it to Carbri of the Liffey, the king's son; and she ceased not till all she wished to drink had drunk from the gold-chased horn. And after a little time, those who had drunk fell into a deep sleep, like the sleep of death. Then the princess rose from her seat, and, walking softly across the hall, sat down near Dermat O'Dyna; and with downcast eyes and low voice, she said-- "Wilt thou, Dermat, return my love if I give it to thee?" Dermat heard her at first with amazement and alarm. Then for a moment, even before he was aware, his heart leaped with joy; but when he bethought him of his duty to his chief, he hardened his mind, and answered with cold looks and words-- "The maiden who is betrothed to Finn, I will not love; and even if I were so minded, I dare not." And with eyes still cast down, Grania said, "I know well it is thy duty, and not thy heart, that prompts thee to speak so. Thou seest how it is with me; and I am forced to speak more boldly than a maiden should. Finn has come to ask me for his wife; but he is an old man, even older than my father, and I love him not. But I love thee, Dermat, and I beseech thee to save me from this hateful marriage. And, lest thou think that my love for thee is only a passing fancy, hear now what befell. "Of a day when a hurling match was played on the green of Tara, between Mac Luga and the Fena on the one side, and Carbri of the Liffey and the men of Tara on the other, I sat high up at the window of my sunny chamber to see the game. Thou didst remain sitting with some others that day, not meaning to take part in the play. But at last, when the game began to go against thy friends, I saw thee start up; and, snatching the hurlet from the man nearest to thee, thou didst rush into the thick of the crowd; and before sitting down thou didst win the goal three times on the men of Tara. At that hour my eyes and my heart were turned to thee; and well I knew thee to-day in this banquet hall, though I knew not thy name till the druid told me. At that same hour, too, I gave thee my love--what I never gave, and never will give, to any other." Then was Dermat sore troubled. He strove with himself, but strove in vain; for he could not help loving the princess with his whole heart. Yet none the less did he hide his thoughts; for his duty to his chief prevailed. And with looks and words cold and stern, he replied-- "I marvel greatly that thou hast not given thy love to Finn, who deserves it much better than any other man alive. And still more do I marvel that thou hast lighted on me beyond all the princes and nobles of Tara; for truly there is not one among them less worthy of thy love than I. But that thou shouldst be my wife, by no means can this be; for even were I to consent, there is not in Erin a fastness or a wilderness, however strong or remote, that could shelter us from Finn's vengeance." Then Grania said, "I read thy thoughts; and I know thou art striving against what thy heart prompts. And now, O Dermat, I place thee under gesa,[12] and under the bonds of heavy druidical spells--bonds that true heroes never break through, that thou take me for thy wife before Finn and the others awaken from their sleep; and save me from this hateful marriage." And Dermat, still unyielding, replied, "Evil are those gesa thou hast put on me; and evil, I fear, will come of them. But dost thou not know, princess, that whenever Finn sleeps at Tara, it is one of his privileges to have in his own keeping the keys of the great gates; so that even if we so willed it, we should not be able to leave the fortress?" "There is a wicket gate leading out from my apartments," said Grania, "and through that we shall pass forth." "That I cannot do," answered Dermat; "for it is one of my gesa[12] never to enter a king's mansion, or leave it, by a wicket gate." And Grania answered, "I have heard it said that every true champion, who has been instructed in all the feats that a warrior should learn, can bound over the highest rampart of a fort by means of the handles of his spears; and well I know that thou art the most accomplished champion among the Fena. I will now pass out through the wicket gate; and even if thou dost not follow, I will fly alone from Tara." And so she went forth from the banquet hall. Then Dermat, much doubting how to act, spoke to his friends and asked counsel of them. And first he addressed Oisin, the son of Finn, and asked him how he should deal with the heavy gesa-bonds that had been laid on him by the princess; and what he should do in the case. "You are blameless in regard to these bonds," answered Oisin; "and I counsel you to follow Grania; but guard yourself well against the wiles of Finn." "O dear friend Oscar," spoke Dermat again, "what think you is best for me to do, seeing that these heavy gesa-bonds have been put on me?" "I say you should follow Grania," answered Oscar; "for he, indeed, is but a pitiful champion who fears to keep his bonds." "What counsel do you give me, Kylta?" said Dermat to Kylta Mac Ronan. "I say," answered Kylta, "that I would gladly give the world's wealth that the princess had given me her love; and I counsel you to follow her." Last of all, Dermat spoke to Dering, the son of Dobar O'Baskin, and said, "Give me your judgment in this hard matter, friend Dering." And Dering answered, "If you espouse Grania, I foresee that your death will come of it, which grieves me even to think of; but even so, I counsel you to follow the princess rather than break through your gesa." And Dermat, doubting even still, asked for the last time, "Is this, my friends, the counsel you all give?" And they all answered, "Yes," as with the voice of one man. Then Dermat arose and put on his armour and his helmet; and he took his shield, and his two heavy spears, and his sword. And with tears he bade farewell to his dear companions; for well he knew that it would be long before they should meet again; and he foresaw trouble and danger. Then he went forth to where the steep side of the inner mound overlooked the outer rampart; and, placing his two spears point downwards, and leaning on them after the manner of skilful champions, with two light, airy bounds he cleared rampart and ditch, and measured the length of his two feet on the level green outside. And there the princess met him; and he said to her, with voice and manner still distant and stern-- "Evil will certainly come of this espousal, O princess, both to thee and to me. Far better would it be for thee to choose Finn and to pass me by; for now we shall wander without home or rest, fleeing from his wrath. Return, then, princess, return even now through the wicket gate, for the sleepers have not yet awakened; and Finn shall never learn what has happened." But Grania, gentle and sad indeed, but quite unmoved, replied, "I will never return; and until death takes me I will not part from thee." Then at last Dermat yielded and strove no longer; and putting off his sternness of manner and voice, he spoke gently to the princess and said-- "I will hide my thoughts from thee no more, Grania. I will be thy husband, all unworthy of thee as I am; and I will guard thee and defend thee to the death from Finn and his hirelings." And they plighted their faith, and vowed solemn vows to be faithful to each other as man and wife for ever. FOOTNOTES: [CVII.] See foot-note, page 55. CHAPTER III. FLIGHT AND PURSUIT. Then Grania showed Dermat the fenced meadow where her father's horses grazed, and bade him yoke two horses to a chariot. And when he had done so, he and Grania sat in the chariot and travelled with all speed westward, till they reached Ath-Luan.[CVIII.] And when they had come to the ford, Dermat said, "Finn will doubtless pursue us, and it will be all the easier for him to follow our track, that we have the horses." And Grania answered, "As we are now so far from Tara, we may leave the chariot and horses here, and I will fare on foot henceforward." So they alighted from the chariot; and Dermat, leading one of the horses across, left them both some distance above the ford, one at each side of the river. And he took up Grania in his strong arms, and brought her tenderly across the ford, so that not even the sole of her foot, or the skirt of her mantle was wetted. Then they walked against the stream for a mile, and turned south-west, till they reached the Wood of the two Tents.[CIX.] In the midst of the wood, where it was thickest, Dermat lopped off branches and wove a hut, where they rested. And he brought Grania the wild animals of the wood to eat, and gave her the water of a clear spring to drink. As to Finn, the son of Cumal, I will now tell what befell him. When the king and his guests arose from their sleep at early dawn next morning, they found Dermat and Grania gone; and a burning jealousy seized on Finn, and his rage was so great that for a time all his strength left him. Then he sent for his tracking-men, namely, the Clann Navin; and he commanded them forthwith to follow the track of Dermat and Grania. This they did with much ease as far as Ath-Luan, while Finn and the others followed after; but when they had come to the ford, they lost the track. Whereupon Finn, being now indeed easily kindled to wrath, told them that unless they took up the track again speedily, he would hang every man of the Clann Navin on the edge of the ford. So the trackers, being sore afraid, searched upwards against the stream, and found the two horses where they had been left, one on each side of the river. And going on a mile further, they came to the spot where Dermat and Grania had turned from the river; and there they lighted on the south-west track, Finn and the Fena still following. And when the Clann Navin had pointed out to Finn the direction of the track, he said-- "Well do I know now where we shall find Dermat and Grania; for of a certainty they have hidden themselves in the Wood of the two Tents." Now it chanced that Oisin, and Oscar, and Kylta, and Dering were present when Finn spoke these words; and they were troubled, for they loved Dermat. And going aside, they held council among themselves, and Oisin spoke-- "There is much likelihood, friends, that Finn speaks truth; for he is far-seeing, and judges not hastily. It is needful, therefore, that we send Dermat warning, lest he be taken unawares. My counsel is that you, Oscar, find out Finn's hound, Bran, and tell him to go to the Wood of the two Tents with a warning to Dermat; for Bran does not love his own master Finn better than he loves Dermat." So Oscar called Bran secretly, and told him what he should do. Bran listened with sagacious eye and ears erect, and understood Oscar's words quite well. Then, running back to the rear of the host, so that Finn might not see him, he followed the track without once losing it, till he arrived at the Wood of the two Tents. There he found Dermat and Grania asleep in their hut, and he put his head into Dermat's bosom. Dermat started up from his sleep, and seeing Bran, he awakened Grania, and said-- "Here is Bran, Finn's hound; he has come to warn me that Finn himself is near." And Grania trembled and said, "Let us take the warning, then, and fly!" But Dermat answered, "I will not leave this hut; for however long we fly, we cannot escape from Finn; and it is not worse to fall into his hands now than at any other time. Howbeit, they shall not come into this fastness unless I permit them." Then great fear fell on Grania; but, seeing Dermat gloomy and downcast, she urged the point no further. Again Oisin spoke to his three companions and said, "I fear me that Bran may not have been able to baffle Finn, or that some other mischance may have hindered him from finding Dermat; so we must needs send him another warning. Bring hither, therefore, Fergor, Kylta's errand-man." And Kylta brought forward Fergor. Now this Fergor had a voice so loud that his shout was heard over the three nearest cantreds. So they caused him to give three shouts that Dermat might hear. And Dermat heard Fergor's shouts, and, awakening Grania from her sleep, said to her-- "I hear the shout of Fergor, Kylta's errand-man. And he is with Kylta, and Kylta is with Finn; and I know that my friends have sent me this warning, as a sign that Finn himself is coming." And again Grania trembled and said, "Let us take this warning and fly!" But Dermat answered, "I will not fly; and we shall not leave this wood till Finn and the Fena overtake us. Howbeit, none shall come into this fastness unless I permit them." And Grania was in great fear; but this time Dermat looked gloomy and stern, and she pressed the matter no further. FOOTNOTES: [CVIII.] Ath-Luan, now Athlone, on the Shannon. In ancient times the river had to be crossed by a ford, where the bridge is now built. [CIX.] The Wood of the two Tents was situated in the territory of Clanrickard, in the county Galway. CHAPTER IV. THE FASTNESS OF THE SEVEN NARROW DOORS. Now as to Finn. He and the others went forward till they reached the Wood of the two Tents. And he sent forward the Clann Navin to make search; who went, and having made their way to the thickest part of the wood, they came to a fence which they could not cross. For Dermat had cleared a space round his hut, and surrounded it with a fence that no man could pierce, with seven narrow doors of strong poles woven with saplings, to face seven different parts of the wood. Then the Clann Navin climbed up to a high tree branch, and looked over the fence; and they saw Dermat with a lady. And when they had returned, Finn asked them if Dermat and Grania were in the wood. And they answered-- "Dermat, indeed, is there, and we saw a lady with him; but whether she be Grania or not we cannot tell, for we know not the princess." "May ill luck attend Dermat, and all his friends for his sake!" said Finn. "I know he is in this wood; and he shall never leave it till he give me quittance for the injury he has done me." And Oisin said, "Certain it is, that you, Finn, are blinded by jealousy; else you would never think that Dermat would await you on this plain, with no stronger fastness to shelter him from your wrath than the Wood of the two Tents." To which Finn, being angry, replied, "Your words will profit you nothing, Oisin; neither will your friendship for Dermat avail him aught. Well I knew, indeed, when I heard Fergor's three shouts, that it was ye who caused him to shout, as a warning signal to Dermat; and I know also that ye sent my dog Bran to him with another warning. But these warnings will not avail you; for he shall never leave this wood till he pay me such eric[10] as I seek for the injury he has done me." Then Oscar spoke and said, "Surely, Finn, it is mere folly to believe that Dermat would wait here for you, knowing, as he does, that you seek his head." As Oscar spoke these words, they arrived at the fence; and Finn answered, "Who then, think you, has cleared the wood in this manner, and fenced the space with this strong, sheltering enclosure, and fitted it with these narrow doors? But indeed," added he, "I will find out the truth of the matter in another way." So, raising his voice a little, he called out, "Tell us now, Dermat, which of us is telling truth, Oscar or I." And Dermat, who would not hide when called on, answered from within, "You never erred in your judgment, O king: Grania and I are here; but none shall come in unless I permit them." Then Finn placed his men around the enclosure, a company at each narrow door; and he said to each company, "If Dermat tries to escape by this door, seize him and keep him securely for me." Now when Grania saw these preparations, and overheard Finn's words, she was overcome with fear, and wept and trembled very much. And Dermat had pity on his wife, and comforted her; and he kissed her three times, bidding her be of good cheer, for that all would be well with them yet. And when Finn saw this--for he stood with some others viewing the hut from a mound at a little way off--a flame of burning jealousy went through his heart; and he said-- "Now of a certainty Dermat shall not escape from me; and I shall have his head for all these injuries!" Now Angus of Bruga,[1] the wisest and most skilled in magic arts of all the Dedannan race, was Dermat's foster father. For he had reared him from childhood, and had taught him all the arts and accomplishments of a champion; and he loved him even as a father loves his only son. And it was revealed to Angus that Dermat was in deadly strait So he arose and travelled on the wings of the cool, east wind, neither did he halt till he reached the Wood of the two Tents; and he passed into the hut without being perceived by Finn and his men. And when Dermat saw the old man his heart leaped with joy. Angus greeted Dermat and Grania, and said, "What is this thing thou hast done, my son?" And Dermat answered, "The princess Grania, daughter of the king of Tara, asked me to take her for my wife, putting heavy gesa-bonds on me; and I did so, and we fled from her father's house. And Finn, the son of Cumal, has pursued us with intent to kill me, for he sought the princess to wife for himself." And Angus said, "Come now, children, under my mantle, one under each border, and I will bring you both away from this place without the knowledge of Finn." But Dermat answered, "Take Grania; but for me, I will not go with you. However, I will leave this place; and if I am alive I will follow you. But if they slay me, send the princess to her father, and tell him to treat her neither better nor worse on account of taking me for her husband." Then Dermat kissed Grania, and bade her be of good cheer, for that he feared not his foes. And Angus placed her under his mantle, and, telling Dermat whither to follow, went forth from the enclosure without the knowledge of Finn and the Fena. They turned south then, and nothing is told of what befell them till they came to the Wood of the two Sallows, which is now called Limerick. Now as to Dermat. After Angus and Grania had left him, he girded on his armour, and took his sharp weapons in his hands; and he stood up tall and straight like a pillar, meditating in silence for a space. Then he went to one of the seven narrow doors, and asked who was outside. "No enemy of thine is here, but Oisin and Oscar, with the men of the Clann Baskin. Come out to us, and no one will dare to harm thee." "I must needs find the door where Finn himself keeps guard," answered Dermat; "so I will not go out to you." He went to the second narrow door, and asked who was there. "Kylta Mac Ronan with the Clann Ronan around him. Come out at this door, and we will fight to the death for thy sake." "I will not go out to you," answered Dermat; "for I do not wish to bring Finn's anger on you for treating me with kindness." He went to another narrow door, and asked who was there. "Conan of the Grey Rushes and the Clann Morna. We are no friends to Finn; but thee we all love. Come out to us, then, and no one will dare to harm thee." "Of a certainty I will not go out at this door," answered Dermat; "for well I know that Finn would rather see you all dead than that I should escape!" He went to another narrow door, and asked who was there. "A friend and a dear comrade of thine is here; Cuan, the chief of the Munster Fena, and his Munster men with him. Thou and we come from the same territory; and if need be we will give our lives in fight for thy sake." "I will not go out to you," said Dermat; "for it would bring Finn's sure displeasure on you to act kindly towards me." He went to another narrow door, and asked who was there. "Finn, the son of Glore of the Loud Voice, chief of the Fena of Ulster, and the Ulster men around him. Thou and we come not from the same territory; but we all love thee, Dermat; and now come forth to us, and who will dare to wound or harm thee?" "I will not go out to you," replied Dermat; "you are a faithful friend of mine, and your father in like manner; and I do not wish you to earn the enmity of Finn on my account." He went to another narrow door, and asked who was there. "No friend of thine! Here stand the Clann Navin watching for thee; namely, Aed the Lesser, and Aed the Tall, and Gonna the Wounder, and Gothan the Loud-voiced, and Cuan the Tracker, with all their men. We bear thee no love; and if thou come out at this door, we shall make thee a mark for our swords and spears!" And Dermat answered, "Lying and mean-faced dogs! It is not fear of you that keeps me from going forth at this door; but I do not wish to defile my spear with the blood of your shoeless, tracking vagabonds!" And he went to another narrow door, and asked who was there. "Finn, the son of Cumal, the son of Art, the son of Trenmore O'Baskin, and with him the Leinster Fena. No love awaits thee here; and if thou come forth we will cleave thee, flesh and bones!" "The door I have sought I have found at last!" cried Dermat; "for the door where thou, Finn, standest, that, of a certainty, is the very door by which I shall pass out!" Then Finn charged his men, under pain of death, not to let Dermat pass. But Dermat, watching an unguarded place, rose by means of his two spears with a light, airy bound over the fence, and alighted on the clear space outside; and running swiftly forward, was in a moment beyond the reach of sword and spear. And so dismayed were they by his threatening look, that not a man attempted to follow him. Then, turning southward, he never halted till he came to the Wood of the two Sallows, where he found Angus and Grania in a warm hut, with a boar fixed on hazel spits roasting before a great flaming fire. Dermat greeted them; and the spark of life all but leaped from Grania's heart with joy when she saw him.[CX.] So he told them all that had befallen him; and they ate their meal and slept in peace that night, till the morning of next day filled the world with light. Then Angus arose with the dawn, and said to Dermat, "I will now depart, my son; but Finn will still pursue you, and I leave you this counsel to guide you when I am gone. Go not into a tree having only one trunk; never enter a cave that has only one opening; never land on an island of the sea that has only one channel of approach; where you cook your food, there eat it not; where you eat, sleep not there; and where you sleep to-night, sleep not there to-morrow night!" So Angus bade them farewell; and they were sad after him. FOOTNOTES: [CX.] Original: "It was little but that the salmon of her life fled through her mouth with joy before Dermat." CHAPTER V. THE THREE SEA-CHAMPIONS AND THEIR THREE VENOMOUS HOUNDS ON THE TRACK OF DERMAT AND GRANIA. After Angus was gone, Dermat and Grania journeyed westward, keeping the Shannon on their right, till they reached the Rough Stream of the Champions, which is now called the Laune.[CXI.] They rested there; and Dermat killed a salmon with his spear, and fixed it on a hazel spit to broil on the near bank; and he crossed the river with Grania, to eat it on the further bank, as Angus had told him. And after they had eaten, they sought a sleeping-place further west. They rose early next morning, and journeyed still west, till they reached the Grey Moor of Finnlia.[CXII.] There they met a man of great size, noble in gait and feature, but with arms and armour not befitting his appearance. Dermat greeted him, and asked who he was; and he replied-- "My name is Modan, and I am seeking a lord whom I may serve for pay." "If I take you into my service," asked Dermat, "what can you do for us?" "I will serve you by day and watch for you by night," answered Modan. Whereupon they entered into bonds of agreement with one another, Modan to serve by day and watch by night, and Dermat to pay him wages. Then the three went westward till they reached the river of Carra,[CXIII.] and Modan lifted Dermat and Grania with the greatest ease, and bore them dry across the stream. From that further west to Beha,[CXIV.] and Modan bore them over this stream in like manner. Here they found a cave, on the side of the hill over that part of the sea called Tonn Toma,[CXV.] namely, the hill of Curra-Kenn-Ammid; and Modan prepared a couch of soft rushes and birch tops in the innermost part of the cave, for Dermat and Grania. After this he went to the nearest wood and cut him a long, straight quicken tree rod; and, having put a hair and a hook on the rod, and a holly berry on the hook, he stood on the brink of the stream, and with three casts he hooked three salmon. Then he put the rod by for next day; and, putting the hook and the hair under his girdle, he returned to Dermat and Grania. And he broiled the fish, and they ate their meal, Modan giving the largest salmon to Dermat, the second in size to Grania, and keeping the smallest for himself. After which Dermat and Grania went to sleep in the cave, and Modan kept watch and ward at the mouth, till morning arose with its abundant light. Dermat rose early and set out for the nearest high hill, to look round the country, telling Grania to keep watch at the mouth of the cave while Modan slept. Having come to the top of the hill, he viewed the country all round to the four points of the sky; and after a little while, he saw a fleet of black ships approaching from the west. When they had come near enough to the shore, a company of nine nines landed at the very foot of the hill where Dermat stood. He went to them, and, after greeting them, asked who they were, and from what country they had come. "We are three sea-champions from the Iccian Sea,[CXVI.] who are at the head of this troop," replied they, "and our names are Ducoss, Fincoss, and Trencoss;[CXVII.] and we have come hither at the suit of Finn the son of Cumal. For a certain chief named Dermat O'Dyna has rebelled against him, and is now an outlaw, flying through the country from one fastness to another. And Finn has asked us to come with our fleet to watch the coast, while he himself watches inland, so that this marauder may no longer escape punishment. We hear, moreover, that this Dermat is valiant and dangerous to attack, and we have brought hither three venomous hounds to loose them on his track, and scent him to his hiding-place: fire cannot burn them, water cannot drown them, and weapons cannot wound them. And now tell us who thou art, and whether thou hast heard any tidings of this Dermat O'Dyna." "I saw him, indeed, yesterday," answered Dermat. "I know him well too, and I counsel you to follow your quest warily; for if you meet with Dermat O'Dyna you will have no common man to deal with." Then he asked if they had got any wine in their ships. They replied that they had; so he asked that a tun might be brought, as he wished to drink; and he told them he would show them a champion-feat after he had drunk. Two men were accordingly sent on board for a tun of wine. When they had brought it, Dermat raised it in his arms and drank; and the others drank in like manner till the tun was empty. Then he said, "I will now show you a champion-feat that Dermat O'Dyna taught me; and I challenge any man among you to do it after me. And from this you may learn what manner of man you will have to deal with, should you have the ill luck to meet with Dermat himself." So saying, he brought the tun to the crest of the hill, and set it down at the edge of a steep cliff. Then, leaping up on it, he turned it cunningly aside from the cliff, and let it roll down the smooth slope of the hill till it reached the very bottom, while he himself remained standing on it the whole time. And three times did he do this while the strangers looked on. But they laughed, mocking him, and said, "Do you call that a champion-feat indeed? Truly, you have never in your life seen a good champion-feat!" Thereupon one among them started up and brought the tun to the top of the hill, intending to do the same feat; and, placing it on the edge of the cliff, he leaped up on it. And while he stood on it, Dermat pushed it with his foot to set it going. But the moment it moved, the man lost his balance, and while the tun went rolling down the face of the hill, he himself fell over the cliff, and was dashed to pieces on the sharp edges and points of the rocks. Another man tried the same thing, and he in like manner fell down and was killed among the rocks. And the end of the matter was, that before they would acknowledge themselves beaten, fifty of their men attempted the feat, and every man of the fifty fell over the cliff and was killed. So the others went on board their ships, gloomy and heart-sore. Dermat returned to the cave, and Grania's heart was glad when she saw him. Modan went then, and putting the hair and the hook on the rod as before, he hooked three salmon; and he went back to the cave and broiled them on hazel spits. And they ate their meal; and Modan kept watch and ward, while Dermat and Grania slept in the cave, till the pleasant morning filled the world with light. Dermat rose up with the dawn, and telling Grania to keep watch while Modan slept, he went to the same hill, and found the three sea-champions with their men on the shore before him. He greeted them, and asked whether they wished for any more champion-feats. But they answered that they would much rather he would give them some tidings of Dermat O'Dyna. Whereupon he said-- "I have seen a man who saw him this very morning. And now I will show you a champion-feat he taught me, in order that you may know what is before you, should you meet with Dermat O'Dyna himself." When he had said this, he threw off helmet and tunic and armour, till only his shirt remained over his brawny shoulders; and, taking the Ga-boi,[CXVIII.] the spear of Mannanan Mac Lir, he fixed it firmly in the earth, standing point upwards. Then, walking back some little way, he ran towards the spear, and, rising from the earth with a bird-like bound, he alighted softly on the very point; and, again leaping off it, he came to the ground on his feet without wound or hurt of any kind. Then arose one of the strange warriors and said, "If you call that a champion-feat, it is plain that you have never seen a good champion-feat in your life!" And so saying, he ran swiftly towards the spear and made a great bound; but he fell heavily on the sharp point, so that it pierced him through the heart, and he was taken down dead. Another man attempted the feat, and was killed in like manner; and before they ceased, fifty of their men were slain by Dermat's spear. Then they bade him draw his spear from the earth, saying that no more should try that feat; and they went on board their ships. So Dermat returned to the cave; and Modan hooked three salmon; and Dermat and Grania ate their meal and slept till morning, Modan keeping watch. Next morning, Dermat went to the hill, bringing two strong forked poles cut from the wood. He found the three sea-champions with their men on the shore; and he greeted them, and said-- "I have come to-day to show you a champion-feat I learned from Dermat O'Dyna, that you may know what to expect if you should meet with Dermat himself." He then fixed the poles standing firmly in the earth; and he placed the Morallta, that is, the long sword of Angus of the Bruga, in the forks, edge upwards, the hilt on one, and the point on the other, binding it firmly with withes. Then, rising up with a bound, he alighted gently on the edge; and he walked cunningly three times from hilt to point, and from point to hilt, and then leaped lightly to the earth without wound or hurt. And he challenged the strangers to do that feat. Then one arose and said, "There never yet was done a champion-feat by a man of Erin, that one among us will not do likewise." And he leaped up, intending to alight on his feet; but he came down heavily on the sharp edge, so that the sword cut him clean in two. Another tried the same, and was killed also; and, they ceased not till as many were killed that day by Dermat's sword as were killed on each of the two days before. When they were about to return to their ships, they asked him had he got any tidings of Dermat O'Dyna; and he answered-- "I have seen him this day: I will now go to seek him, and methinks I shall bring him to you in the morning." Then he returned to the cave; and he and Grania ate their meal, and slept that night, while Modan kept watch. Next morning, Dermat arose with the dawn, and this time he arrayed himself for battle. He put on his heavy armour--no man who wore it could be wounded through it, or above it, or beneath it. He hung the Morallta at his left hip, the sword of Angus of the Bruga, which never left anything for a second blow; and he took his two thick-handled spears, the Ga-derg and the Ga-boi, whose wounds no one ever recovered. Then he awakened Grania, telling her to keep watch till he returned, that Modan might sleep. And when she saw him so arrayed, she trembled with fear, for she well knew that this was his manner of preparing for battle. And she asked him what he meant to do to-day, and whether Finn's pursuers had found them. But he, to quiet her fears, put off the matter lightly, and said, "It is better to be prepared, lest the enemy come in my way;" and this soothed her. So he went to the hill, and met the strangers on the shore as before. And they asked him had he any tidings to give them of Dermat O'Dyna. He answered, "He is not very far off, for I have seen him just now." "Then," said they, "lead us to his hiding-place, that we may bring his head to Finn the son of Cumal." "That would, indeed, be an ill way of repaying friendship," answered he. "Dermat O'Dyna is my friend; and he is now under the protection of my valour: so of this be sure, I will do him no treachery." And they replied wrathfully, "If thou art a friend to Dermat O'Dyna, thou art a foe to Finn; and now we will take thy head and bring it to him along with the head of Dermat." "You might indeed do that with much ease," answered Dermat, "if I were bound hand and foot; but being as I am, free, I shall defend myself after my usual custom." Then he drew the Morallta from its sheath, and, springing forward to meet them as they closed on him, he clove the body of the foremost in two with one blow. Then he rushed through them and under them and over them, like a wolf among sheep, or a hawk among sparrows, cleaving and slaughtering them, till only a few were left, who hardly escaped to their ships. FOOTNOTES: [CXI.] The river Laune, flowing from the Lakes of Killarney into Dingle Bay. [CXII.] The Grey Moor of Finnlia (_Bogach-Fhinnléithe_ in the original) was somewhere between the river Laune and the river Caragh, but the name is now forgotten. [CXIII.] The river of Carra, the Caragh river, flowing into Dingle Bay from the beautiful lake Caragh, twenty miles west of Killarney. [CXIV.] Beha, the river Behy, about a mile and a half west from the Caragh, flowing through Glanbehy into Rossbehy creek. [CXV.] Tonn Toma, the wave of Toma (a woman). The word Tonn (a wave or billow) was often applied to the sea-waves that break over certain sandbanks and rocks with an exceptionally loud roaring. Tonn Toma is the name of a sandbank at the head of Dingle Bay, just outside the extreme point of Rossbehy peninsula; and in the winter storms, the sea thunders on this sandbank, and indeed on the whole length of the beach of the peninsula, so as often to be heard twenty miles inland. This roaring is popularly believed to predict rain. There is a chain of three hills, Stookaniller, Knockatinna, and Knockboy, lying between Behy bridge on the east and Drung mountain on the west, and isolated from the hills to the south-east by the valley of Glanbehy. These hills rise directly over Tonn Toma; and the old Gaelic name, Currach-Cinn-Adhmuid (the moor of the head [or hill] of timber) must have been anciently applied to one or all of them. (See, for an account of the great historical _tonns_ of Ireland, the author's "Origin and History of Irish Names of Places," series ii. page 251.) [CXVI.] Iccian Sea (Irish, _Muir nIcht_), the Irish name for the sea between England and France. [CXVII.] Ducoss, Fincoss, and Trencoss, _i.e._ Blackfoot, Whitefoot, and Strongfoot. [CXVIII.] Dermat had two spears, the great one called the Ga-derg or Crann-derg (red javelin), and the small one called Ga-boi or Crann-boi (yellow javelin): he had also two swords: the Morallta (great fury), and the Begallta (little fury). These spears and swords he got from Mannanan Mac Lir and from Angus of the Bruga. He carried the great spear and sword in affairs of life and death; and the smaller in adventures of less danger. CHAPTER VI. WHAT BEFELL THE THREE SEA-CHAMPIONS AND THEIR THREE VENOMOUS HOUNDS. After this Dermat returned to the cave without wound or hurt; and he and Grania ate and slept, and Modan watched till morning. Then he repaired to the hill, fully armed as before, and standing right over the ships, he struck his hollow-sounding shield[CXIX.] with his spear for a challenge, till the whole shore and the surrounding hills re-echoed. And Ducoss straightway armed himself and came ashore to fight Dermat single hand. Now Dermat by no means wished to slay his foe immediately, being, indeed, intent on worse punishment. So he closed with Ducoss; and the two champions, throwing aside their weapons, seized each other round the waists with their sinewy arms. Then they twisted and tugged and wrestled in deadly silence; and their swollen sinews strained and crackled; and the earth trembled beneath their feet; like two great writhing serpents, or like two raging lions, or like two savage bulls that strive and struggle to heave each other with horns interlocked. Thus did the heroes contend; till at last Dermat, heaving Ducoss on his shoulder, dashed him helpless and groaning to the ground; and instantly seizing him, he bound him in hard iron bonds. Fincoss came next against Dermat, and after him Trencoss; but he overcame them both, and bound them with like bonds; and then, leaving the three writhing with pain, he said to them-- "I would strike off your heads, but that I wish to prolong your torment; for none can release you from these bonds till you die!" Dermat then returned to the cave; and he and Grania ate their meal and slept that night, Modan watching. In the morning, Dermat told Grania all that had happened from beginning to end; how fifty of the foreigners had been killed each day for the first three days; how he had slain a much greater number on the fourth day; and how he had overcome and bound the three sea-champions in hard iron bonds. "I have left them bound on the hill," continued he, "instead of killing them; because I would rather their torment to be long than short. For there are only four men in Erin that can loosen the bonds I tie; that is to say, Oisin, and Oscar, and Mac Luga, and Conan Mail; and I think no one of these will free them. Finn will doubtless hear of their state, and the news will sting him to the heart. But he will know that we are here; so we must now leave this cave, to escape him, and also to escape the three venomous dogs." So they came forth from the cave, and travelled eastward till they came to the Grey Moor of Finnlia; and whenever Grania was tired, or when they had to walk over rugged places, Modan lifted her tenderly and carried her, without ever being in the least tired himself. And so they journeyed, till they reached the broad, heathery slopes of Slieve Lougher;[CXX.] and they sat down to rest on the green bank of a stream that wound through the heart of the mountain. Now as to the sea-strangers. Those of them that were left alive landed from their ships, and coming to the hill, found their three chiefs bound tightly, hand and foot and neck. And they tried to loose them, but only made their bonds the tighter. While they were so engaged, they saw Finn's errand-woman coming towards them, with the speed of a swallow, or of a weasel, or of the swift, cold wind blowing over a mountain-side. When she had come near, she greeted them, and, seeing the bodies of the slain, she asked who it was that had made that fearful slaughter. "Tell us first," said they, "who art thou that makest this inquiry?" "I am Derdri of the Black Mountain, the errand-woman of Finn the son of Cumal," she replied; "and he has sent me hither to look for you." And they said, "We know not who made this slaughter; but we can tell thee his appearance, for that we know well. He was a tall warrior, with a fair, handsome, open countenance, and jet-black, curly hair. He has been three days fighting against us; and what grieves us even more than the slaughter of our men is that our three chiefs lie here bound by him so firmly that we are not able to loose them from their bonds." "Alas, friends!" said Derdri; "you have sped but badly at the very beginning of your quest; for this man was Dermat O'Dyna himself. And now loose your three venomous dogs on his track without delay; and I will return and send Finn to meet you." Then they brought forth the three hounds, and loosed them on the track of Dermat; and leaving one of their druids to attend to the three fettered chiefs, they followed the hounds till they came to the cave, where they found the soft, rushy bed of Dermat and Grania. From that they fared east, and crossing the Carra, and the Grey Moor of Finnlia, and the Laune, they reached at length the broad, heathy Slieve Lougher. As Dermat sat by the mountain stream with Grania and Modan, looking westward, he saw the silken banners of the foreigners at a distance as they approached the hill. In front of all marched three warriors with mantles of green, who held the three fierce hounds by three chains. And Dermat, when he saw the hounds, was filled with loathing and hatred of them. Then Modan lifted Grania, and walked a mile with Dermat up the stream into the heart of the mountain. When the green-clad warriors saw them, they loosed one of the three hounds; and when Grania heard his hoarse yelps down the valley, she was in great dread. But Modan bade her not fear, for that he would deal with this hound; and then, turning round, he drew forth from beneath his girdle a small hound-whelp, and placed it on the palm of his hand. There it stood till the great hound came up raging, with jaws wide open; when the little whelp leaped from Modan's hand down the dog's throat, and broke his heart, so that he fell dead. And after that the whelp leaped back again on Modan's hand; and Modan put him under his girdle. Then they walked another mile up the stream through the mountain, Modan bringing Grania. But the second hound was loosed, and soon overtook them; and Dermat said-- "I will try the Ga-derg on this hound. For no spell can guard against the magic spear of Angus of the Bruga; and I have heard it said also that there is no charm that can shield the throat of an animal from being wounded." Then, while Modan and Grania stood to look, Dermat, putting his finger into the silken loop of the spear, threw a cast, and drove the spear-head down the hound's throat, so that the entrails of the brute were scattered about; and Dermat, leaping forward, drew the spear, and followed Modan and Grania. After they had walked yet another mile, the third hound was loosed; and Grania, seeing him coming on, said, trembling-- "This is the fiercest of the three, and I greatly fear him; guard yourself, Dermat, guard yourself well against this hound!" Even while she spoke, the hound overtook them at the place called Duban's Pillar-stone; and as they stood looking back at him, Dermat stepped in front of Grania to shield her. The hound rose with a great spring over Dermat's head to seize Grania; but Dermat grasped him by the two hind legs as he passed, and, swinging him round, he struck his carcase against a rock and dashed out his brains. Then, putting his tapering finger into the silken string of the Ga-derg, he threw the spear at the foremost of the green-clad knights, and slew him. He made another cast of the Ga-boi and brought down the second warrior; and, drawing the Morallta, he sprang on the third, and swept off his head. When the foreigners saw their leaders slain, they fled hither and thither in utter rout. And Dermat fell upon them with sword and spear, scattering and slaughtering them, so that there seemed no escape for them, unless, indeed, they could fly over the tops of the trees, or hide themselves under the earth, or dive beneath the water. And when Derdri of the Black Mountain saw this havoc, she ran, panic-stricken and crazed with fright, off the field towards the hill where the three kings lay bound. Now as to Finn. Tidings were brought to him of what happened to the three sea-kings, and how they were lying bound in hard bonds on the hill over Tonn-Toma. So he set out straightway from Allen, and travelled by the shortest ways till he reached the hill. And when he saw the three champions, he was grieved to the heart; for he knew of old that the iron fetters bound by Dermat slew by slow torment, and that none could loose them except Oisin, or Oscar, or Mac Luga, or Conan Mail. And Finn asked Oisin to loose the bonds and relieve the kings. "I cannot do so," answered Oisin, "for Dermat bound me under gesa[12] never to loose any warrior that he should bind." He next asked Oscar; but the young warrior answered, "None shall be released by me who seeks to harm Dermat O'Dyna. Fain would I indeed put heavier bonds on them." And when he asked Mac Luga and Conan, they refused in like manner. Now while they were speaking in this wise, they saw the errand-woman, Derdri of the Black Mountain, running towards them, breathless and with failing steps, and her eyes starting from the sockets with terror. And Finn asked her what tidings she had brought. "Tidings indeed, O king, tidings of grievous mishap and woe!" Whereupon she told him all that she had seen--how Dermat O'Dyna had killed the three fierce hounds, and had made a slaughter of the foreigners. "And hardly, indeed," she cried, "hardly have I myself got off scathless with the news!" The three kings, hearing this, and being worn out with the straitness and torment of their bonds, died at the same moment. And Finn caused them to be buried in three wide graves; and flagstones were placed over them with their names graved in Ogam;[CXXI.] and their funeral rites were performed. Then, with heart full of grief and gall, Finn marched northwards with his men to Allen of the green hill-slopes. FOOTNOTES: [CXIX.] A usual form of challenge among the ancient Irish warriors. It is very curious that this custom is remembered to the present day in the _patois_ of the peasantry, even where the Irish language is no longer spoken. In the south, and in parts of the west, they call a distinguished fighting man a _buailim sciach_, an expression which means literally, "I strike the shield." [CXX.] Slieve Lougher, a mountain near Castle Island. (See note, page 237.) [CXXI.] See note, page 36. CHAPTER VII. SHARVAN, THE SURLY GIANT, AND THE FAIRY QUICKEN TREE OF DOOROS. Now touching Dermat and Grania. They travelled eastward from Slieve Lougher, through Hy Conall Gavra, keeping the Shannon on their left, till they reached the Wood of the two Sallow Trees, which is now called Limerick. Here they rested; and Dermat killed a wild deer, and they ate of its flesh, and drank pure spring water, and slept that night. Next morning Modan bade them farewell, and left them. And Dermat and Grania were sad after him, for he was very gentle, and had served them faithfully. On that same day they departed from the Wood of the two Sallows; and nothing is related of what befell them till they arrived at the Forest of Dooros, in the district of Hy Ficra[CXXII.] of the Moy, which was at that time guarded by Sharvan the Surly, of Lochlann. Now this is the history of Sharvan the Surly, of Lochlann. On a certain occasion, a game of hurley was played by the Dedannans against the Fena, on the plain beside the Lake of Lein of the Crooked Teeth.[CXXIII.] They played for three days and three nights, neither side being able to win a single goal from the other during the whole time. And when the Dedannans found that they could not overcome the Fena, they suddenly withdrew from the contest, and departed from the lake, journeying in a body northwards. The Dedannans had for food during the game, and for their journey afterwards, crimson nuts and arbutus apples and scarlet quicken berries, which they had brought from the Land of Promise.[CXXIV.] These fruits were gifted with many secret virtues; and the Dedannans were careful that neither apple nor nut nor berry should touch the soil of Erin. But as they passed through the Wood of Dooros, in Hy Ficra of the Moy, one of the scarlet quicken berries dropped on the earth; and the Dedannans passed on, not heeding. From this berry a great quicken tree[CXXV.] sprang up, which had the virtues of the quicken trees that grow in Fairyland. For its berries had the taste of honey, and those who ate of them felt a cheerful flow of spirits, as if they had drunk of wine or old mead; and if a man were even a hundred years old, he returned to the age of thirty, as soon as he had eaten three of them. Now when the Dedannans heard of this tree, and knew of its many virtues, they would not that any one should eat of the berries but themselves; and they sent a Fomor[CXXVI.] of their own people to guard it, namely, Sharvan the Surly, of Lochlann; so that no man dared even to approach it. For this Sharvan was a giant of the race of the wicked Cain, burly and strong; with heavy bones, large, thick nose, crooked teeth, and one broad, red, fiery eye in the middle of his black forehead. And he had a great club tied by a chain to an iron girdle which was round his body. He was, moreover, so skilled in magic that fire could not burn him, water could not drown him, and weapons could not wound him; and there was no way to kill him but by giving him three blows of his own club. By day he sat at the foot of the tree, watching; and at night he slept in a hut he had made for himself, high up among the branches. Into this land Dermat came, knowing well that he should be safe there from the pursuit of Finn. For Sharvan did not let any of the Fena hunt in Hy Ficra. And neither they nor any others dared to come near the great Wood of Dooros, for dread of the giant; so that the land around the quicken tree for many miles was a wilderness. Dermat, leaving Grania behind in safe shelter, went boldly to the giant, where he sat at the foot of the tree, and told him he wished to live amidst the woods of Hy Ficra, and chase its wild animals for food. Whereupon the giant, bending his red eye on him, told him, in words few and surly, that he might live and hunt where he pleased, as long as he did not take and eat the berries of the quicken tree. So Dermat built him a hunting-booth near a spring, in the thick of the Forest of Dooros; and, clearing a space all round, fenced it with strong stakes interwoven with tough withes, leaving one narrow door well barred and secured. And they lived in peace for a time, eating the flesh of the wild animals of Dooros, which Dermat brought down each day in the chase, and drinking the water of the well. Now let us speak of Finn, the son of Cumal. One day, soon after his return to Allen, as he and his household troops were on the exercise green before the palace, a company of fifty horsemen were seen approaching from the east, led by two taller and nobler looking than the others. Having come near, they bowed low and greeted the king; and when he asked them who they were, and from whence they had come, they answered-- "We are enemies of thine, who now desire to make peace; and our names are Angus, the son of Art Mac Morna, and Aed, the son of Andala Mac Morna. Our fathers were present at the battle of Knocka,[27] aiding those who fought against thy father, Cumal, when he was slain; for which thou didst afterwards slay them both, and didst outlaw us, their sons, though indeed we were blameless in the matter, seeing that we were not born till after the death of Cumal. However, we have come now to ask this boon of thee: that thou make peace with us, and give us the places our fathers held in the ranks of the Fena." "I will grant your request," answered Finn, "provided you pay me eric for the death of my father." "We would indeed pay thee eric willingly if we could," answered they; "but we have neither gold, nor silver, nor cattle, nor wealth of any kind to give." And then Oisin spoke and said, "Ask them not for eric, O king; surely the death of their fathers should be eric enough." But Finn replied, "Of a truth, I think, Oisin, that if any one should slay me, it would not be hard to satisfy you in the matter of an eric. But, indeed, none of those who fought at Knocka against my father, and none of their sons, shall ever get peace from me, or join the Fena, without such eric as I demand." Then Angus, one of the two, asked, "What eric dost thou require, O king?" "I ask only one or the other of two things," answered Finn; "namely, the head of a warrior, or the full of my hand of the berries of a quicken tree." "I will give you counsel, ye sons of Morna, that will stand you in good stead, if you follow it," said Oisin, addressing the two strange chiefs; "and my counsel is, that you return to the place from whence you came, and seek this peace no longer. Know that the head the king seeks from you is the head of Dermat O'Dyna, the most dangerous of all the Fena to meddle with, who is well able to defend himself, even if you were twenty times as many as you are; and who will certainly take your heads if you attempt to take his. Know also that the berries Finn seeks from you are the berries of the quicken tree of Dooros. And it is hard to say if this be not a more perilous quest than the other; for the quicken tree belongs to the Dedannans, who have sent Sharvan, the surly giant of Lochlann, to guard it day and night." But the two chiefs, unmoved by what they had heard from Oisin, said that they would rather perish in seeking out the eric than return to their mother's country. So, leaving their people in the care of Oisin, they set out on their quest. They travelled through the Wood of the two Sallows, and from that to Dooros of the Moy, where they found the track of Dermat and Grania, and followed it till they came to the hunting-booth. Dermat heard their voices and footsteps outside, and, snatching up his weapons, went to the door and asked who was there. "We are Aed, the son of Andala Mac Morna, and Angus, the son of Art Mac Morna," they replied. "We have come hither from Allen of Leinster, to get either the head of Dermat O'Dyna, or a handful of the berries of the quicken tree of Dooros; for Finn, the son of Cumal, has demanded of us that we bring him either the one or the other, as an eric for the killing of his father." Dermat laughed when he heard this, and said, "Truly this is not pleasant news for me to hear, for I am Dermat O'Dyna. But however, friends, I am not willing to give you my head, and you will find it no easy matter to take it. And as for the berries, these are quite as hard to get; for you will have to fight the surly giant Sharvan, who cannot be burned with fire, or drowned with water, or wounded with weapons. But woe to the man who falls under the power of Finn, the son of Cumal. And you have come, methinks, on a bootless quest; for even if you should be able to bring him either of the two things he asks for, he will not grant you the place or the rank ye seek after all. And now," asked Dermat, "which of the two do ye wish to strive for first, my head or the quicken berries?" And they answered, "We will do battle with thee first." So Dermat opened the door, and they made ready for the combat. Now this is the manner in which they agreed to fight: to throw aside their weapons, and to use the strength of their hands alone. And if the sons of Morna were able to overcome Dermat, they should take his head to Finn; but if, on the other hand, they were overpowered and bound by Dermat, their heads should be in like manner forfeit to him. But the fight was, indeed, a short one; for these two chiefs were even as children in Dermat's hands, and he bound them in close and bitter bonds. Now when Grania heard of the berries of the quicken tree, she was seized with a longing desire to taste them. At first she strove against it and was silent, knowing the danger; but now she was not able to hide it any longer, and she told Dermat that she should certainly die if she did not get some of the berries to eat. This troubled Dermat, for he did not wish to quarrel with the giant Sharvan; but, seeing that harm might come to Grania if she did not get the berries, he told her he would go and get some for her, either by good will or by force. When the sons of Morna heard this, they said, "Loose these bonds, and we will go with thee and help thee to fight the giant." But Dermat answered, "Not much help, indeed, could ye give me, as I think, for the mere sight of this giant would be enough to unman you. But even were it otherwise, I would not seek your help, for if I fight at all I shall fight unaided." And they said, "Even so, let us go. Our lives are now forfeit to thee, but grant us this request before we die, to let us see thee fight this giant." And he consented to this. So Dermat went straightway to the quicken tree, followed by the two sons of Morna; and he found the giant lying asleep at the foot of the tree. He dealt him a heavy blow to awaken him, and the giant, raising his head, glared at him with his great red eye, and said-- "There has been peace between us hitherto; do you now wish for strife?" "I seek not strife," answered Dermat; "but the Princess Grania, my wife, the daughter of king Cormac Mac Art, longs to taste of these quicken berries; and if she does not get them she will die. This is why I have come; and now I pray you give me a few of the berries for the princess." But the giant answered, "I swear that if the princess and her child were now dying, and that one of my berries would save them, I would not give it!" Then Dermat said, "I do not wish to deal unfairly with you; and I have accordingly awakened you from your sleep, and made my request openly, wishing for peace. But now understand that before I leave this spot, I will have some of these quicken berries, whether you will or no." When the giant heard this, he rose up, and, seizing his club, dealt Dermat three great blows, which the hero had much ado to ward off; nor did he escape without some hurt, even though his shield was tough and his arm strong. But now, watching narrowly, and seeing that the giant expected to be attacked with sword and spear, he suddenly threw down his weapons and sprang upon him, taking him unguarded. He threw his arms round his body, and, heaving him with his shoulder, hurled him with mighty shock to the earth; and then, seizing the heavy club, he dealt him three blows, dashing out his brains with the last. Dermat sat down to rest, weary and breathless. And the sons of Morna, having witnessed the fight from beginning to end, came forth rejoiced when they saw the giant slain. Dermat told them to drag the body into the wood and bury it out of sight, lest Grania might see it and be affrighted; and when they had done so, he sent them for the princess. When she had come, Dermat said to her-- "Behold the quicken berries, Grania: take now and eat." But she answered, "I will eat no berries except those that are plucked by the hands of my husband." So Dermat stood up and plucked the berries; and Grania ate till she was satisfied. And he also plucked some for the sons of Morna, and said-- "Take these berries now, friends, as much as you please, and pay your eric to Finn; and you may, if you are so minded, tell him that it was you who slew Sharvan the Surly, of Lochlann." They answered, "We will bring to Finn as much as he demanded, one handful and no more; and we grudge even so much." Then they thanked Dermat very much; for he had given them the berries, what they should never have been able to get for themselves; and though their lives were forfeit to him, he had not so much as mentioned the matter, but had allowed them to return freely. And after bidding Dermat and Grania farewell, they went their ways. After that Dermat left his hunting-booth, and he and Grania lived thenceforth in Sharvan's hut among the branches. And they found the berries on the top of the tree the most delicious of all; those on the lower branches being as it were bitter in comparison. When the sons of Morna reached Allen, Finn asked them how they had fared, and whether they had brought him the eric: and they answered-- "Sharvan, the surly giant of Lochlann, is slain; and here we have brought thee the berries of the quicken tree of Dooros as eric for the death of thy father, Cumal, that we may have peace from thee, and be placed in our due rank among the Fena." Finn took the berries and knew them; and he smelled them three times, and said-- "These, indeed, are the berries of the quicken tree of Dooros; but they have passed through the hands of Dermat O'Dyna, for I smell his touch. And sure I am that it was Dermat, and not you, who slew Sharvan, the surly giant. It shall profit you nothing, indeed, to have brought me these berries; neither will you get from me the peace you seek, nor your place among the Fena, till you pay me fair eric for my father's death. For you have gotten the berries not by your own strength; and you have, besides, made peace with my enemy. And now I shall go to the Wood of Dooros, to learn if Dermat abides near the quicken tree." After this he gathered together the choice men of the seven battalions of the Fena, and marched with them to Dooros of Hy Ficra. They followed Dermat's track to the foot of the quicken tree, and found the berries without any one to guard them; and they ate of them as much as they pleased. Now it was noon when they had come to the tree; and the sun shone hot, and Finn said-- "We shall rest under this tree till evening come, and the heat pass away; for well I know that Dermat O'Dyna is on the tree among the branches." And Oisin said, "Truly your mind must be blinded by jealousy, if you think that Dermat O'Dyna has waited for you on that tree, since he knows well that you seek his head." Finn answered nothing to this speech, but called for a chess-board and men.[26] And he and Oisin sat down to a game; while Oscar and Mac Luga and Dering, the son of Dobar O'Baskin, sat near Oisin to advise him; for Finn played against them all. They played on for a time warily and skilfully, till at last Oisin had only one move to make; and Finn said-- "One move more would win you the game, Oisin, but I challenge all your helpers to show you that move." And Oisin was puzzled. Dermat had been viewing the game from the beginning, where he sat among the branches; and he said, speaking to himself-- "Pity that you should be in a strait, Oisin, and I not near to advise your move." Grania, sitting near, overheard him, and said, "It is a small matter whether Oisin win or lose a game; far worse is it for you to be in this hut, while the men of the seven battalions of the Fena are round about you, waiting to kill you." Then Dermat, not giving heed to Grania's words, plucked a berry, and, flinging it down with true aim, struck Oisin's chess-man--the man that should be moved. And Oisin moved the man, and won the game against Finn. The game was begun again, and it went on till it came to the same pass as before, Oisin having to make only one move to win, but that move hard to make out. And again Dermat threw a berry and struck the right man; and Oisin made the move, and won the game. A third time the game went on, and Dermat struck the chess-man as before; and Oisin won the game the third time. Whereupon the Fena raised a mighty shout. "I marvel not that you should win the game, Oisin," said Finn, "seeing that you have the best help of Oscar, and the zeal of Dering, and the skill of Mac Luga; and that, along with all, you have been prompted by Dermat O'Dyna." "It shows a mind clouded by great jealousy," said Oscar, "that you should think that Dermat O'Dyna is in that tree waiting for you to kill him." "Which of us tells truth, Dermat," said Finn, looking up, "Oscar or I?" "You, Finn, have never yet erred in your judgment," answered Dermat from the tree; "for indeed I am here with the princess Grania, in the hut of Sharvan, the surly giant of Lochlann." And, looking up, Finn and the others saw them plainly through an opening in the branches. But now Grania, seeing the danger, began to tremble with great fear, and to weep; and Dermat, taking pity on her, comforted her and kissed her three times. And Finn, seeing this, said, "Much more than this did it grieve me the night you espoused Grania, and brought her away from Tara before all the men of Erin; but even for these kisses you shall certainly pay quittance with your head!" Whereupon Finn, being now bent on killing Dermat, arose, and ordered his hirelings to surround the tree, catching hand in hand, so as to leave no gap; and he warned them, on pain of death, not to let Dermat pass out. Having done this, he offered a suit of armour and arms, and a high place of honour among the Fena, to any man who would go up into the tree, and either bring him the head of Dermat O'Dyna, or force him to come down. Garva of Slieve Cua[CXXVII.] started up and said, "Lo, I am the man! For it was Dermat's father, Donn, that slew my father; and I will now avenge the deed." And he went up the tree. Now it was revealed to Angus of the Bruga that Dermat was in deadly strait; and he came to the tree to his aid, without the knowledge of the Fena; and Dermat and Grania were filled with joy when they saw the old man. And when Garva, climbing from branch to branch, had come near the hut, Dermat dealt him a blow with his foot, which dashed him to the ground among the Fena. And Finn's hirelings cut off his head on the spot, for Angus had caused him to take the shape of Dermat; but after he was slain he took his own shape, so that all knew that it was Garva of Slieve Cua that had been killed. Then Garva of Slieve Crot[CXXVIII.] said, "It was Dermat's father, Donn, that slew my father; and I will now avenge the deed on Dermat." So saying, he went up the tree. But Angus gave him a blow which hurled him to the ground under the shape of Dermat, so that the hirelings fell on him and slew him. And then Finn told them that it was not Dermat they had killed, but Garva of Slieve Cua. Garva of Slieve Gora[CXXIX.] next started up, and said that his father had been slain by Dermat's father; and he began to climb up the tree to take Dermat's head in revenge. But Dermat flung him down like the others, while Angus gave him for the time the shape of Dermat, so that the hirelings slew him. And so matters went on till the nine Garvas had fallen; namely, Garva of Slieve Cua, Garva of Slieve Crot, Garva of Slieve Gora, Garva of Slieve Mucka,[CXXX.] Garva of Slieve-more, Garva of Slieve Luga, Garva of Ath-free, Garva of Slieve Mish, and Garva of Drom-more. And full of grief and bitterness was the heart of Finn, witnessing this. Then Angus said he would take Grania away from that place of danger. And Dermat was glad, and said-- "Take her with thee; and if I live till evening I will follow you. But if Finn slays me, send her to Tara to her father, and tell him to use her well." Then Dermat kissed his dear wife; and Angus, having thrown his mantle round her, passed out from the tree without the knowledge of the Fena, and went straightway to Bruga of the Boyne. After Angus and Grania had gone, Dermat, addressing Finn from the tree, said-- "I will now go down from this tree; and I will slaughter many of thy hirelings before they slay me. For I see that thou art resolved to compass my death; and why should I fear to die now more than at a future time? There is, indeed, no escape for me, even should I pass from this place unharmed; since I can find no shelter in Erin from thy wrath. Neither have I a friend in the far-off countries of this great world to give me protection, seeing that I have from time to time dealt defeat and slaughter among them, every one, for thy sake. For never have the Fena been caught in any strait or danger, that I did not venture my life for them and for thee. When we went to battle, moreover, I was always in front of you; and I was always behind you when leaving the field. And now I care no longer to seek to prolong my life; but of a certainty thou shalt purchase my death dearly, for I shall avenge myself by dealing destruction among thy hirelings." "Dermat speaks truly," said Oscar; "and now let him have mercy and forgiveness; for he has suffered enough already." "I swear that I will never grant him peace or forgiveness to the end of my life," answered Finn, "till he has given me the eric I seek from him for the injury he has done me; that is to say, his head." "Shame it is to hear thee say so, and a sure mark of jealousy," answered Oscar. "And now I take the body and life of Dermat under the protection of my knighthood and valour; and I pledge the word of a true champion, that sooner shall the firmament fall on me, or the earth open up and swallow me, than that I shall let any man harm Dermat O'Dyna!" Then, looking upwards, he said, "Come down now, Dermat, and thou shalt certainly go in safety from this place; for as long as I am alive, no man will dare to offer thee hurt!" Then Dermat, choosing that side of the tree where the men stood nearest to the trunk, walked along a thick branch unseen, and, leaning on the shafts of his spears, he sprang forward and downward with a light, airy bound, and alighted outside the circle of those who stood round with joined hands; and in a moment he was beyond the reach of sword and spear. And Oscar joined him, looking back threateningly, so that no man of Finn's hirelings durst follow. So the two heroes fared on together, crossing the Shannon; and nothing is told of what befell them till they reached Bruga of the Boyne, where they met Angus and Grania. And Grania was almost beside herself with joy when she saw Dermat without wound or hurt of any kind. And the two champions were welcomed by Angus; and Dermat related to him and Grania the whole story, how he had escaped from Finn and his hirelings, Oscar helping. And as Grania listened, her spirit almost left her, at the deadly peril Dermat had passed through. FOOTNOTES: [CXXII.] Hy Ficra, now the barony of Tireragh, in Sligo. [CXXIII.] The Lake of Lein of the Crooked Teeth, _i.e._ Loch Lein, or the Lakes of Killarney. [CXXIV.] The Land of Promise, or Fairyland. (See note 8 at the end.) [CXXV.] Quicken tree. (See note, page 177.) [CXXVI.] Fomor, a giant. (See note, page 227.) [CXXVII.] Slieve Cua, the ancient name of the highest of the Knockmeal-down mountains, in Waterford. [CXXVIII.] Slieve Crot, the ancient name of the Galty mountains. [CXXIX.] Slieve Gora, a mountainous district in the barony of Clankee, County Cavan. [CXXX.] Slieve Mucka, now Slievenamuck (the mountain of the pig), a long mountain ridge in Tipperary, separated from the Galties by the Glen of Aherlow. Slieve Luga, a mountainous district, formerly belonging to the O'Garas, in the barony of Costello, county Mayo. Slieve Mish, a mountain range west of Tralee. CHAPTER VIII. THE ATTACK OF THE WITCH-HAG. Now as regards Finn. After the departure of Dermat and Oscar, his heart was filled with anger and bitterness, and he vowed he would never rest till he had revenged himself on Dermat. And, leaving the Wood of Dooros, he marched eastward till he reached Allen. Making no delay, he ordered his trusted servants to make ready his best ship, and to put therein food and drink for a voyage. Then going on board, he put out to sea; and nothing is told of him till he reached the Land of Promise,[8] where his old nurse lived. When he appeared before her, she gave him a joyful welcome. And after he had eaten and drunk, she asked him the cause of his journey, knowing that some weighty matter had brought him thither. So he told her the whole story of what Dermat O'Dyna had done against him; and said that he had come to seek counsel from her how he should act. "For," he said, "no strength or cunning of men can compass his death; magic alone can overmatch him." Then the old woman told him that she would go with him next day and work magic against Dermat. Whereupon Finn was much rejoiced, and they rested that night. Next day, they set out, Finn and his people and his nurse; and it is not told how they fared till they reached Bruga of the Boyne. And the men of Erin knew not that they had come thither, for the witch-hag threw a druidical mist round them, so that no man might see them. It chanced that Dermat hunted that day in the forest, alone; for Oscar had gone from Bruga the day before. When this was known to the witch-hag, she caused herself to fly into the air by magic, on a water-lily, having by her spells turned the pale flat leaf into a broad millstone with a hole in the middle. And, rising over the tops of the trees, she floated on the clear, cold wind, till she had come straight over the hero. Then, standing on the flat millstone, she began to aim deadly poisoned darts at him through the hole. And no distress Dermat ever suffered could compare with this; for the darts stung him even through his shield and armour, the witch having breathed venomous spells on them. Seeing at last that there was no escape from death unless he could slay the witch-hag, he seized the Ga-derg, and, leaning backwards, flung it with sure aim at the millstone, so that it went right through the hole, and pierced the hag; and she fell dead at Dermat's feet. Then he beheaded her, and brought the head to Angus of the Bruga; and he related to him and to Grania how he had escaped that great danger. CHAPTER IX. PEACE AND REST AT LAST. Angus arose next morning, and, going to Finn, asked him whether he would make peace with Dermat. Finn, seeing that he was worsted in every attempt against the hero, and that moreover he had lost his nurse and many of his men, told Angus that he was weary of the quarrel, and that he was fain to make peace on whatever terms Dermat should choose. He next went to Tara to the king, Cormac, the grandson of Conn. Him he asked in like manner whether he was willing to grant Dermat peace and forgiveness; and Cormac answered that he was quite willing. Then he came to Dermat and said, "Peace is better for thee: art thou willing now to be at peace with Finn and Cormac?" And Dermat answered, "Gladly will I make peace, if they grant me such conditions as befit a champion and the husband of the princess Grania." And when Angus asked what these conditions were, he answered-- "The cantred which my father had, that is to say, the cantred of O'Dyna,[CXXXI.] without rent or tribute to the king of Erin; also the cantred of Ben-Damis,[CXXXII.] namely, Ducarn of Leinster. These two to be granted to me by Finn; and he shall not hunt over them, nor any of his Fena, without my leave. And the king of Erin shall grant me the cantred of Kesh-Corran,[CXXXIII.] as a dowry with his daughter. On these conditions will I make peace." Angus went to Finn, and afterwards to the king, with these conditions. And they granted them, and forgave Dermat all he had done against them during the time he was outlawed. So they made peace. And Cormac gave his other daughter to Finn to wife. Dermat and Grania went to live in the cantred of Kesh-Corran, far away from Finn and Cormac; and they built a house for themselves, namely, Rath-Grania, in which they abode many years in peace. And Grania bore Dermat four sons and one daughter. And his possessions increased year by year, insomuch that people said that no man of his time was richer than Dermat, in gold and silver and jewels, in sheep, and in cattle-herds. FOOTNOTES: [CXXXI.] The cantred of O'Dyna, now the barony of Corkaguiny, in Kerry. (See note, page 237.) [CXXXII.] The cantred of Ben-Damis, or Ducarn of Leinster, probably the district round Douce mountain, in the county Wicklow. [CXXXIII.] The district round the mountain of Kesh-Corran, in Sligo. CHAPTER X. THE DEATH OF DERMAT. Now when many years had passed, Grania said one day to Dermat-- "It is surely a thing unworthy of us, seeing the greatness of our household and our wealth, and the number of our folk, that we should live in a manner so much removed from the world. And in a special manner it is unbecoming that the two most illustrious men in Erin have never been in our house, namely, my father the king, and Finn the son of Cumal." For indeed she had not seen her father since the night she had left Tara with Dermat, and her heart yearned for him. "Wherefore say you this, Grania?" answered Dermat; "for though there is indeed peace between us, they are both none the less enemies of mine; and for this reason have I removed my dwelling far apart from them." And Grania said, "Their enmity has surely softened with length of time: and now I would that you give them a feast: so shall we win back their friendship and love." And in an evil hour Dermat consented. For a full year were they preparing for that great feast, and when it was ready, messengers were sent to invite the king, with his house-folk, and Finn, with the chief men of the seven batallions of the Fena. So they came, with their attendants and followers, their horses and dogs; and they lived for a whole year in Rath-Grania, hunting and feasting. It chanced one night, at the end of the year, long after all had gone to rest, that Dermat heard, through the silence of the night, the distant yelping of a hound; and he started up from his sleep. But Grania, being scared, started up also, and, throwing her arms round him, asked him what he had seen. "I have heard the voice of a hound," answered Dermat; "and I marvel much to hear it at midnight." "May all things guard thee from harm!" said Grania. "This is surely a trap laid for thee by the Dedannans, unknown to Angus of the Bruga: and now lie down on thy bed again." Dermat lay down, but did not sleep, and again he heard the hound's voice. He started up, and this time was fain to go and look to the matter; but Grania caught him and kept him back a second time, saying that it was not meet for him to seek a hound whose voice he heard in the night. A gentle slumber now fell on Dermat, and he slept through a good part of the night. But the yelping of the hound came a third time, and awakened him, so that he started up; and it being now broad day, he told Grania that he would go to seek the hound, and find out why he was abroad in the night. And though Grania consented, she felt, she knew not why, ill at ease; and she said-- "Bring with you the Morallta, the sword of Mannanan Mac Lir, and the Ga-derg,[A] Angus's spear; for there may be danger." But Dermat, regarding the matter lightly, and forced by fate to the worse choice, answered-- "How can danger arise from such a small affair? I will bring the Begallta and the Ga-boi;[CXXXIV.] and I will also bring my good hound Mac-an-coill, leading him by his chain." So Dermat went forth, and he delayed not till he reached the summit of Ben-Gulban,[CXXXV.] where he found Finn; and Dermat, offering him no salute, asked him who it was that held the chase. Finn answered-- "Some of our men came out from Rath-Grania at midnight with their hounds; and one of the hounds coming across the track of a wild boar, both men and dogs have followed it up. I indeed would have held them back, but the men were eager, and left me here alone. For this is the track of the wild boar of Ben-Gulban, and they who follow him are bent on a vain and dangerous pursuit. Often has he been chased; and he has always escaped, after killing many men and dogs. Even now thou canst see in the distance that the Fena are flying before him; and he has slain several this morning. He is coming towards this hillock where we stand; and the sooner we get out of his way the better." But Dermat said he would not leave the hillock through fear of any wild boar. "It is not meet that thou shouldst tarry here," answered Finn. "Dost thou not know that thou art under gesa[12] never to hunt a boar?" Dermat answered, "I know nothing of these gesa; wherefore were they placed on me?" And Finn said, "I will tell thee of this matter, for well do I remember it. When thou wert taken to Bruga of the Boyne, to be fostered by Angus, the son of Angus's steward was fostered with thee, that he might be a companion and playmate to thee. Now the steward, being a man of the common sort, agreed to send each day to Bruga, food and drink for nine men, as a price for having his son fostered with thee--thy father, Donn, being one of the nobles of the Fena. And thy father was accordingly permitted to visit the house of Angus when it pleased him, with eight companions, and claim the food sent by the steward; and when he did not come, it was to be given to Angus's house-folk. "It chanced on a certain day that I was at Allen of the broad hill-slopes, with the chief men of the seven battalions of the Fena. And Bran Beg O'Bucan brought to my mind, what indeed I had forgotten, that it was forbidden to me to sleep at Allen more than nine nights one after another, and that the next would be the tenth. "Now this restriction had not been placed on any of the Fena save myself, and they all went into the hall except thy father and a few others. Then I asked where we should get entertainment for that night. And thy father, Donn, answered that he would give me entertainment at Bruga of the Boyne; where food and drink awaited himself and his companions whenever he visited Angus. Donn said, moreover, that he had not been to see his son for a year, and that we were sure to get a welcome. "So Donn and I and the few that were with us went to the house of Angus, bringing our hounds; and Angus welcomed us. And thou and the steward's son were there, two children. After a while we could see that Angus loved thee, Dermat, very much, but that the house-folk loved the son of the steward; and thy father was filled with jealousy, that the people should show fondness for him and not for thee. "After night had fallen, it chanced that our hounds quarrelled over some broken meat we had thrown to them, and began to fight in the court; and the women and lesser people fled from them hither and thither. The son of the steward happened to run between thy father's knees, who, calling now to mind how the people favoured him more than thee, gave him a sudden strong squeeze with his knees, and killed him on the spot. And, without being seen by any one, he threw him under the feet of the hounds. "When at last the dogs were put asunder, the child was found dead; and the steward uttered a long, mournful cry. Then he came to me and said-- "'Of all the men in Angus's house to-night, I have come worst out of this uproar; for this boy was my only child. And now, O Finn, I demand eric from thee for his death; for thy hounds have slain him.' "I told him to examine the body of his son, and that if he found the mark of a hound's tooth or nail, I would give him eric. So the child was examined, but no hurt--either bite or scratch--was found on him. "Then the steward laid me under fearful bonds of druidical gesa,[12] to find out for him who slew his son. So I called for a chess-board and some water, and, having washed my hands, I put my thumb under my tooth of knowledge;[25] and then it was revealed to me that the boy had been slain by thy father. Not wishing to make this known, I now offered to pay eric for the boy; but the steward refused, saying that he should know who killed his son. So I was forced to tell him: whereupon he said-- "'It is easier for Donn to pay me eric than for any other man in this house. And the eric I demand is that his son be placed between my knees: if the lad gets off safe, then I shall follow up the matter no further.' "Angus was very wroth at this; and thy father would have struck off the steward's head if I had not come between and saved him. "The steward said no more, but went aside and brought forth a druidical magic wand, and, striking his son with it, he turned him into a great bristly wild boar, having neither ears nor tail. And, holding the wand aloft, he chanted this incantation over the boar-- "By this magical wand, By the wizard's command, I appoint and decree, For Dermat and thee, The same bitter strife, The same span of life: In the pride of his strength, Thou shalt slay him at length: Lo, Dermat O'Dyna Lies stretched in his gore; Behold my avengers, The tusks of the boar! And thus is decreed, For Donn's cruel deed, Sure vengeance to come-- His son's bloody doom; By this wand in my hand, By the wizard's command! "The moment he had ended the incantation, the boar rushed out through the open door, and we knew not whither he betook himself. "When Angus heard the steward's words, he laid a command on thee never to hunt a wild boar, that so thou mightest avoid the doom foretold for thee. "That same boar is the wild boar of Binbulbin; and he is now rushing furiously towards us. Come, then, let us leave this hill at once, that we may avoid him in time!" "I know nothing of these incantations and prohibitions," replied Dermat; "or if, as thou sayest, they were put on me in my boyhood, I forget them all now. And neither for fear of this wild boar of Ben-Gulban nor of any other wild beast will I leave this hillock. But thou, before thou goest, leave me thy hound, Bran, to help and encourage my dog, Mac-an-coill." "I will not leave him," answered Finn; "for often has Bran chased this boar, and has always barely escaped with his life. And now I leave; for lo, here he comes over yonder hill-shoulder." So Finn went his ways, and left Dermat standing alone on the hill. And after he had left Dermat said-- "I fear me, indeed, that thou hast begun this chase hoping that it would lead to my death. But here will I await the event; for if I am fated to die in this spot, I cannot avoid the doom in store for me." Immediately the boar came rushing up the face of the hill, with the Fena following far behind. Dermat loosed Mac-an-coill against him, but to no profit; for the hound shied and fled before him at the first glance. Then Dermat said, communing with himself-- "Woe to him who does not follow the advice of a good wife! For this morning Grania bade me bring the Morallta and the Ga-derg; but I brought instead the Begallta and the Ga-boi, disregarding her counsel." Then, putting his white taper finger into the silken loop of the Ga-boi, he threw it with careful aim, and struck the boar in the middle of the forehead; but to no purpose, for the spear fell harmless to the ground, having neither wounded nor scratched the boar, nor disturbed even a single bristle. Seeing this, Dermat, though indeed he knew not fear, felt his courage a little damped. And thereupon drawing the Begallta from its sheath, he dealt a blow on the boar's neck, with the full strength of his brawny arm. But neither did he fare better this time; for the sword flew in pieces, leaving the hilt in his hand, while not a bristle of the boar was harmed. And now the boar rushed on him as he stood defenceless, and with furious onset hurled him headlong to the earth; and, turning round, he gashed the hero's side with his tusk, inflicting a deep and ghastly wound. Turning again, he was about to renew the attack, when Dermat flung the hilt of the sword at him, and drove it through the skull to his brain, so that the brute fell dead on the spot. Finn and the Fena now came up, and found Dermat lying pale and bleeding, in the pangs of death. And Finn said-- "It likes me well, Dermat, to see thee in this plight; only I am grieved that all the women of Erin cannot see thee also. For now, indeed, the surpassing beauty of thy form, that they loved so well, is gone from thee, and thou art pale and deformed!" And Dermat answered, "Alas, O Finn! these words surely come from thy lips only, and not from thy heart. And indeed it is in thy power to heal me even now if thou wilt." "How should I heal thee?" asked Finn. "It is not hard for thee to do so," answered Dermat. "For when, at the Boyne, the noble gift of foreknowledge was given to thee,[25] this gift also thou didst receive--that to whomsoever thou shouldst give a drink of water from the closed palms of thy two hands, he should be healed from sickness or wounds, even though he stood at the point of death." "Why should I heal thee by giving thee drink from my hands?" replied Finn. "For of a certainty thou of all men dost least deserve it from me." "Thou surely speakest hastily, not remembering past services," answered Dermat. "Well, indeed, do I deserve that thou shouldst heal me. Dost thou forget the day thou didst go with the chiefs and nobles of the Fena, to the house of Derca, the son of Donnara, to a banquet? And even as we sat down, and before the feast began, Carbri of the Liffey, son of Cormac, with the men of Tara, and of Bregia, and of Meath, and of Carmna, surrounded the palace, intent on slaying thee and all thy people. And they uttered three great shouts, and threw firebrands to burn the palace over our heads. Then thou didst arise and prepare to issue forth, but I put thee back and bade thee enjoy thy feast; and, leaving the banquet untasted, I rushed forth with a chosen few of my own men, and quenched the flames. Thrice we made a circuit of the palace, dealing slaughter amongst thy foes, so that we left fifty of them dead after each circuit. And having put Carbri and his men to flight, we returned to join the feast. Had I asked thee for a drink that night, gladly wouldst thou have given it to me. And yet, not more justly was it due to me then than it is now." "Ill dost thou deserve a healing drink from me, or any other favour," said Finn; "for it was thy part to guard Grania the night we came to Tara; but thou didst espouse her secretly, and didst fly with her from Tara, knowing that she was betrothed to me." "Lay not the blame of that on me," said Dermat; "for Grania put me under heavy gesa, which for all the wealth of the world I would not break through--no, not even for life itself. Neither did I rest on my own judgment in the matter; for well thou knowest that Oisin, and Oscar, and Dering, and Mac Luga counselled me to the course I took. "And now, O Finn, I pray thee let me drink from thy hands, for I feel the weakness of death coming on me. And thou wilt not gainsay that I deserve it, if thou wilt only remember the feast that Midac, the son of Colga, made for thee in the Fairy Palace of the Quicken Trees.[CXXXVI.] To this feast Midac invited thee and thy companions; while to the Palace of the Island he brought secretly the King of the World with a great host, and the three kings of the Island of the Torrent, with intent to slay thee and all thy Fena. "Now Midac caused some of the clay of the Island of the Torrent to be placed under you, with foul spells, in the Palace of the Quicken Trees, so that your feet and your hands clove to the ground. And it was revealed to thee that the King of the World was about to send a chief with a troop of warriors, to slay you, helpless as you were, and to bring him your heads to the Palace of the Island. "But at that same time, I came to thee outside the Palace of the Quicken Trees; and thou didst make known to me your deadly strait. Then did I take thee, Finn, and those who were with thee, under the protection of my knighthood and valour; and I went to the ford to defend it against the foreigners. "And after a little time the three dragon-like kings of the Island of the Torrent came towards the palace: but I defended the ford, and, venturing my life for thee, I bore their attack and slew them all three. And I swept off their heads, and brought them, all gory as they were, in the hollow of my shield, to the palace where you lay miserably bound; and, sprinkling the clay with the blood, I broke the spell and set you free. And had I asked thee for a drink on that night, O Finn, of a surety thou wouldst not have refused me. "And many another deadly strait did I free you from, since the day I was admitted among the Fena, always putting myself forward to the post of danger, and perilling my life for your safety; and now why dost thou requite me with this foul treachery? "Moreover, many a king's son and many a brave warrior hast thou slain; and thou hast earned the enmity of powerful foes: neither is there yet an end of it. For the day will come--I see it even now--a day of direful overthrow and slaughter,[CXXXVII.] when few, alas! of the Fena will be left to tell the tale. Then thou shalt sorely need my help, O Finn, and sorely shalt thou rue this day. I grieve not, indeed, for thee, but for my dear, faithful companions--for Oscar and Mac Luga and Dering, and more than all for Oisin, who shall long outlive the others in sad old age.[CXXXVIII.] Alas! how deadly shall be their strait when I am not near to aid them!" Then Oscar, moved with pity even to tears, addressing Finn, said, "Although I am nearer akin to thee, O king, than to Dermat, yet I cannot suffer that he die, when a drink from thy hands would heal him. Bring him, then, a drink without delay." And Finn answered, "I know of no well on this mountain from which to bring drink." "Therein thou speakest not truth," said Dermat; "for thou knowest that not more than nine paces from thee, hidden under yonder bush, is a well of crystal water." Thereupon Finn went to the well, and, holding his two hands tightly together, he brought up some of the water, and came towards Dermat; but after he had walked a little way, he let it spill through his fingers, saying that he was not able to bring water in his hands so far. "Not so, Finn," said Dermat. "I saw thee that of thy own will thou didst let it spill. And now, O king, hasten, for death is on me." Again he went to the well, and was bringing the water slowly, while Dermat followed the dripping hands with his eyes; but when Finn thought of Grania he let the water spill a second time. And Dermat, seeing this, uttered a piteous sigh of anguish. And now was Oscar no longer able to contain his grief and rage; and he said, "I swear, O king, if thou dost not bring the water, that only one of us two--thou or I--shall leave this hill alive!" Hearing Oscar's words, and seeing the frowning looks of the others, Finn dipped up the water a third time, and was hastening forward; but before he had got half-way, Dermat's head dropped backwards, and his life departed. And all the Fena present raised three long loud cries of sorrow for Dermat O'Dyna. Then Oscar, looking fiercely on Finn, spoke and said, "Would that thou thyself lay dead here instead of Dermat! For now indeed the noblest heart of the Fena is still; and our mainstay in battle and danger is gone. Ah! why did I not foresee this? Why was I not told that Dermat's life was linked with the life of the wild boar of Ben-Gulban? Then would I have stayed this chase, and put off the evil day!" And Oscar wept; and Oisin, and Dering, and Mac Luga wept also, for Dermat was much loved by all. After a time, Finn said, "Let us now leave this hill, lest Angus of the Bruga overtake us. For although we had no hand in Dermat's death, nevertheless he may not believe us." So Finn and the Fena departed from the hill, Finn leading Dermat's dog, Mac-an-coill. But Oisin, and Oscar, and Dering, and Mac Luga turned back, and with tears, threw their mantles over Dermat; after which they followed the others. Grania sat that day on the highest rampart of Rath-Grania, watching for Dermat's return; for a dark fear haunted her mind on account of this chase. And when at last the Fena came in view, she saw Dermat's dog led by Finn; but not seeing Dermat himself, she said-- "Ah me! what is this I see? Surely if Dermat were alive, it is not by Finn that Mac-an-coill would be led to his home!" And as she spoke she fell forward off the rampart, and lay long in a swoon as if her spirit had fled, while her handmaid stood over her, weeping and distracted. And when at last she opened her eyes, then indeed they told her that Dermat was dead; and she uttered a long and piteous cry, so that her women and all the people of the court came round her to ask the cause of her sorrow. And when they were told that Dermat had perished by the wild boar of Ben-Gulban, they raised three loud, bitter cries of lamentation, which were heard in the glens and wildernesses around, and which pierced the clouds of heaven. When at length Grania became calm, she ordered that five hundred of her people should go to Ben-Gulban, to bring home the body of Dermat. Then, turning to Finn, who still held Mac-an-coill in his hand, she asked him to leave her Dermat's hound; but Finn refused, saying that a hound was a small matter, and that he might be allowed to inherit at least so much of Dermat's riches. When Oisin heard this, he came forward and took the hound from the hand of Finn and gave him to Grania. At the time that the men left Rath-Grania to go for the body of Dermat, it was revealed to Angus that the hero was lying dead on Ben-Gulban. And he set out straightway, and travelling on the pure, cool wind, soon reached the mountain; so that when Grania's people came up, they found him standing over the body, sorrowing, with his people behind him. And they held forward the wrong sides of their shields in token of peace. Then both companies, having viewed the dead hero, raised three mighty cries of sorrow, so loud and piercing that they were heard in the wastes of the firmament, and over the five provinces of Erin. And when they had ceased, Angus spoke and said, "Alas! why did I abandon thee, even for once, O my son? For from the day I took thee to Bruga, a tender child, I have watched over thee and guarded thee from thy foes, until last night. Ah! why did I abandon thee to be decoyed to thy doom by the guileful craft of Finn? By my neglect hast thou suffered, O Dermat; and now, indeed, I shall for ever feel the bitter pangs of sorrow!" Then Angus asked Grania's people what they had come for. And when they told him that Grania had sent them to bring the body of Dermat to Rath-Grania, he said-- "I will bring the body of Dermat with me to Bruga of the Boyne; and I will keep him on his bier, where he shall be preserved by my power, as if he lived. And though I cannot, indeed, restore him to life, yet I will breathe a spirit into him, so that for a little while each day he shall talk with me." Then he caused the body to be placed on a golden bier, with the hero's javelins fixed one on each side, points upwards. And his people raised the bier and carried it before him; and in this manner they marched slowly to Bruga of the Boyne. Grania's people then returned; and when they had told her the whole matter, though she was grieved at first, yet in the end she was content, knowing how Angus loved Dermat. FOOTNOTES: [CXXXIV.] See note, page 302. [CXXXV.] Now Benbulbin, a mountain five miles north of the town of Sligo. [CXXXVI.] See this story told at length, page 177. [CXXXVII.] A prophetic allusion to the battle of Gavra. (See note 28 at the end.) [CXXXVIII.] A prophetic allusion to the events related in the story of "Oisin in Tirnanoge," page 385. THE CHASE OF SLIEVE CULLINN. IN WHICH IT IS RELATED HOW FINN'S HAIR WAS CHANGED IN ONE DAY FROM THE COLOUR OF GOLD TO SILVERY GREY.[CXXXIX.] Culand, the smith of the Dedannans,[1] who lived at Slieve Cullinn,[CXL.] had two beautiful daughters, Milucra and Aina. They both loved Finn,[23] and each sought him for her husband. As they walked together one evening near Allen,[CXLI.] they fell to talking of many things; and their conversation turning at last on their future husbands, Aina said she would never marry a man with grey hair. When Milucra heard this, she resolved with herself that if she could not get Finn, she would plan so that he should not marry her sister Aina. So she departed immediately, and, turning her steps northwards, she summoned the Dedannans to meet her at Slieve Cullinn. Having brought them all together, she caused them to make her a lake[CXLII.] near the top of the mountain; and she breathed a druidical virtue on its waters, that all who bathed in it should become grey. On a morning not long after this, Finn happened to be walking alone on the lawn before the palace of Allen, when a doe sprang out from a thicket, and, passing quite close to him, bounded past like the wind. Without a moment's delay, he signalled for his companions and dogs; but none heard except his two hounds, Bran and Skolan. He instantly gave chase, with no other arms than his sword, Mac-an-Lona, and accompanied only by his two dogs; and before the Fena[23] knew of his absence, he had left Allen of the green slopes far behind. The chase turned northwards; and though the hounds kept close to the doe, the chief kept quite as close to the hounds the whole way. And so they continued without rest or pause, till they reached Slieve Cullinn, far in the north. Here the doe made a sudden turn and disappeared; and what direction she took, whether east or west, Finn knew not, for he never caught sight of her after. And he marvelled much that any doe in the world should be able to lead Bran and Skolan so long a chase, and escape from them in the end. Meantime they kept searching, Finn taking one side of the hill and the dogs another, so that he was at last left quite alone. While he was wandering about the hill and whistling for his hounds, he heard the plaintive cry of a woman at no great distance; and, turning his steps towards the place, he saw a lady sitting on the brink of a little lake, weeping as if her heart would break. Never before did the chieftain see a maiden so lovely. The rose colour on her cheeks was heightened by her grief; her lips were like ruddy quicken berries; the delicate blossom of the apple tree was not more white than her neck; her hair fell in heavy golden ringlets on her shoulders; and as she looked up at the chief, her eyes beamed like stars on a frosty night. Finn accosted her; and, seeing that she ceased her weeping for a moment, he asked her had she seen his two hounds pass that way. "I have not seen thy hounds," she replied, "nor have I been at all concerned in the chase; for, alas, there is something that troubles me more nearly, a misadventure that has caused me great sorrow!" And as she spoke these words, she burst out weeping and sobbing more bitterly than before. Finn was greatly moved at this, so much so, that he quite forgot all about his hounds and his own troubles; and he asked her-- "What is the cause of this great grief, gentle lady? Has death robbed you of your husband or your child, or what other evil has befallen you? I am much concerned to see a lady in such distress; and I wish you to tell me if anything can be done to lighten your sorrow, or to remove the cause of it?" She replied, "I had a precious gold ring on my finger, which I prized beyond anything in the world; and it has fallen from me into the water. I saw it roll down the steep slope at the bottom, till it went quite out of my sight. This is the cause of my sorrow, and thou canst remedy the mishap if thou wilt. The Fena are sworn never to refuse help to a woman in distress; and I now put on thee those gesa[12] that true heroes dare not break through, to search for the ring, and cease not till thou find it and restore it to me." Though the chief had indeed at the moment no inclination to swim, he could not refuse a prayer urged in this manner. So he plunged in without a moment's hesitation, and examined the lake on all sides, diving and searching into every nook and cranny at the bottom. After swimming in this manner three times round and round the lake, he found the ring at last; and, approaching the lady, he handed it to her from the water. The moment she had got it she sprang into the lake before his eyes, and, diving down, disappeared in an instant. The chief, wondering greatly at this strange behaviour, stepped forth from the water; but as soon as his feet had touched the dry land, he lost all his strength, and fell on the brink, a withered, grey old man, shrunken up and trembling all over with weakness. He sat him down in woful plight; and soon his hounds came up. They looked at him wistfully and sniffed and whined around him; but they knew him not, and, passing on, they ran round the lake, searching in vain for their master. On that day the Fena were assembled in the banquet hall of the palace of Allen; some feasting and drinking, some playing chess, and others listening to the sweet music of the harpers. While all were in this wise pleasantly engaged, Kylta Mac Ronan[23] stood up in the midst, and said in the hearing of all-- "I have observed, friends, that our master and king, Finn the son of Cumal, has not been amongst us to-day, as is his wont; and I wish to know whither he has gone." This speech caused a sudden alarm amongst us; for no one knew aught of the chief, or was aware till that moment that he was absent at all; and we knew not wherefore he had disappeared or whither he had gone. In the midst of our anxious tumult, the envious and foul-mouthed Conan Mail[23] stood up, and said-- "I have never heard sweeter music than your words, Kylta! The Fena are now about to seek for their king; and my only wish is that their quest may last for a whole year, and that it may prove a vain search in the end! Be not cast down, however, O Fena; if you should fail to find the son of Cumal, you will not be so ill off as you think; for I will undertake to be your king from this time forth!" Though we were at the time more inclined to be sad than mirthful, being weighed down with much anxiety, we could not help laughing when we heard the loud, foolish talk of Conan Mail; but we took no further notice of him. Inquiring now from the lesser people about the palace, we found that the chief and his two dogs had followed a doe northwards. So, having mustered a strong party of the Fena, we started in pursuit. Kylta and I took the lead, the rest keeping close behind; and in this order we followed the track, never taking rest or slackening speed till we reached Slieve Cullinn. We began to search round the hill, hoping to find either the chief himself or some person who might give us tidings of him. After wandering among brakes and rough, rocky places, we at last espied a grey-headed old man sitting on the brink of a lake. I went up to him to ask a question, followed by the rest of the Fena. At first I thought he might be a fisherman who had come up from the plains to fish; but when we came near him, he seemed so wretched an old creature, all shrivelled up, with the skin hanging in wrinkles over the bare points of his bones, that I felt quite sure he was not a fisherman, and that he was reduced to that state more by sickness and want than by old age. I asked the poor old man if he had seen a noble-looking hero pass that way, with two hounds, chasing a doe. He never answered a word, neither did he stir from where he sat, or even look up; but at the question, his head sank on his breast, and his limbs shook all over as with palsy. Then he fell into a sudden fit of grief, wringing his hands and uttering feeble cries of woe. We soothed him and used him gently for a time, hoping he might speak at last; but to no purpose, for he still kept silent. Then at last growing impatient, and thinking that this might be a mere headstrong humour, we drew our swords, and threatened him with instant death if he did not at once tell us all he knew of the chief and his hounds--for we felt sure he had seen them. But he only lamented the more, and still answered nothing. At last, after this had gone on for some time, and when we were about to leave him, he beckoned to Kylta Mac Ronan; and when Kylta had come near, the old man whispered into his ear the dreadful secret. And then we all came to know the truth. When we found that the withered old man was no other than our beloved king, Finn, himself, we uttered three shouts of lamentation and anger, so loud and prolonged that the foxes and badgers rushed affrighted from their dens in the hollows of the mountain. Conan now stepped forward, looking very fierce; and, unsheathing his sword with mighty bluster, he began in a loud voice to revile Finn and the Fena with the foulest language he could think of. And he ended by saying that he meant to slay the king that moment-- "Now, O Finn Mac Cumal, I will certainly strike off your head; for you are the man that never gave me credit for valour, or praised my noble deeds in battle. Ever since your father, Cumal of the Hosts, was slain on the field of Knocka[CXLIII.] by the Clann Morna[23] of the Golden Shields, you have been our bitter foe; and it is against your will that any of us are now alive. I am very glad to see you, Finn Mac Cumal, brought down to what you now are; and I only wish that the rest of the Clann Baskin[23] were like you. Then should I very soon make short work of them all; and joyful to me would be the task of raising a great carn to their memory!" To which Oscar replied with great scorn, "It is not worth while drawing a sword to punish thee, Conan Mail, vain and foolish boaster as thou art; and besides, we have at present something else to think of. But if it were not for the trouble that now lies heavy on us on account of our king, I would of a certainty chastise thee by breaking all the bones of thy mouth with my fist!" "Cease, Oscar," returned Conan, in a voice still louder than before; "cease your foolish talk! It is actions and not words that prove a man; and as to the noble warlike deeds done in past times by the Fena, it was by the Clann Morna they were performed, and not by the chicken-hearted Clann Baskin!" The fiery Oscar could bear this no longer. He rushed towards Conan Mail; but Conan, terrified at his vengeful look, ran in amongst the Fena with great outcry, beseeching them to save him from the rage of Oscar. We straightway confronted the young hero, and checked him in his headlong career; and after much ado, we soothed his anger and made peace between him and Conan. When quietness was restored, Kylta asked Finn how this dread evil had befallen him, who was the enchanter, and whether there was any hope of restoring him to his own shape. Finn told him that it was the daughter of Culand the smith who had transformed him by her spells. And then he recounted how she had lured him to swim in the lake, and how, when he came forth, he was turned into a withered old man. We now made a framework litter of slender poles, and, placing our king on it, we lifted him tenderly on our shoulders. And, turning from the lake, we marched slowly up-hill till we came to the fairy palace of Slieve Cullinn, where we knew the daughter of Culand had her dwelling deep under ground.[19] Here we set him down, and the whole troop began at once to dig, determined to find the enchantress in her cave-palace, and to take vengeance on her if she did not restore our chief. For three days and three nights we dug, without a moment's rest or pause, till at length we reached her hollow dwelling; when she, affrighted at the tumult and at the vengeful look of the heroes, suddenly started forth from the cave and stood before us. She held in her hand a drinking-horn of red gold, which was meant for the king. Yet she appeared unwilling, and held it back, notwithstanding the threatening looks of the Fena. But, happening to cast her eyes on the graceful and manly youth, Oscar, she was moved with such admiration and love for him that she wavered no longer, but placed the fairy drinking-horn in the hands of the king. No sooner had he drunk from it, than his own shape and features returned, save only that his hair remained of a silvery grey. When we gazed on our chief in his own graceful and manly form, we were all pleased with the soft, silvery hue of the grey hairs. And, though the enchantress appeared ready to restore this also, Finn himself told her that it pleased him as it pleased the others, and that he chose to remain grey for the rest of his life. When the king had drunk from the horn, he passed it to Mac Reth, who drank from it in like manner and gave it to Dering. Dering, after drinking, was about to hand it to the next, when it gave a sudden twist out of his hand, and darted into the loose earth at our feet, where it sank out of sight. We ran at once to recover it; but, though we turned up the earth deeply all round, we were not able to find the drinking-horn. This was a disappointment that vexed us exceedingly, for if we had all drunk from it, we should have been gifted with a foreknowledge of future events. A growth of slender twigs grew up afterwards over the spot where it sank into the ground; and this little thicket is still gifted with a part of the virtue of the golden drinking-horn. For any one who looks on it in the morning fasting, will know in a moment all things that are to happen that day. So ended the Chase of Slieve Cullinn; and in this wise it came to pass that Finn's hair was turned in one day from golden yellow to silvery grey. FOOTNOTES: [CXXXIX.] It is necessary to remind the reader that this story and the two following are related by Oisin, in his old age, to St. Patrick. (See the prefatory note to the story of "Oisin in Tirnanoge," p. 385; and see also note 23 at the end.) [CXL.] Now Slieve Gullion, a lofty, isolated mountain in the south of the county Armagh, celebrated in legendary lore. [CXLI.] The Hill of Allen, in Kildare, where Finn had his palace. (See note 23 at the end.) [CXLII.] The little lake for which this legendary origin is assigned lies near the top of Slieve Gullion. There were several wells in Ireland which, according to the belief of old times, had the property of turning the hair grey. Giraldus Cambrensis tells us of such a well in Munster; and he states that he once saw a man who had washed a part of his head in this well, and that the part washed was white, while the rest was black! It is to be observed that the peasantry of the district retain to this day a lingering belief in the power of the lake of Slieve Gullion to turn the hair grey. [CXLIII.] Knocka, now Castleknock, near Dublin. (See note 27 at the end.) THE CHASE OF SLIEVE FUAD. IN WHICH IT IS RELATED HOW AILNA, THE WIFE OF MERGAH OF THE SHARP SPEARS, IN ORDER TO BE REVENGED ON THE FENA FOR THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND, TRANSFORMED HERSELF INTO A DEER, AND DECOYED THEM TILL SHE GOT THEM INTO THE POWER OF HER BROTHER, DRYANTORE, A GIANT AND AN ENCHANTER; HOW HE THREW THEM INTO A DUNGEON, WITH INTENT TO KILL THEM; AND HOW THEY WERE IN THE END SET FREE BY CONAN MAIL.[CXLIV.] Finn and the Fena[23] went one day to hunt at Slieve Fuad.[CXLV.] When they had come very near to the top of the mountain, a deer suddenly bounded from a thicket right before them, very large and fierce, with a great pair of sharp, dangerous antlers. At once they loosed their dogs and gave chase; and those who were scattered here and there about the hill gave up the pursuit of smaller game to join the main body for it was very seldom they fell in with a deer that promised better sport. She led them through rugged places, over rocks and bogs, and into deep glens. The hounds several times surrounded her; but she fought her way with so much strength and fury that she always escaped, after killing many of the dogs and disabling some of the men. Soon she left Slieve Fuad behind, nor did she slacken speed till she reached the green hill of Lidas, while the hunters and dogs followed in full chase close behind. She then made her way across the open country to a rugged and bushy hill--the hill of Carrigan;[CXLVI.] and here they suddenly lost her among the rocks and thickets. They searched round the hill without avail, north, south, east, and west, till all, both men and dogs, were quite scattered; and Finn and Dara the Melodious were left alone. At length Finn's dog, Skolan, started the deer once more, and again the chase began. Back over the selfsame course she ran, by the hill of Lidas, and straight on towards Slieve Fuad, Finn and Dara close on her track; while the main body of the Fena followed far behind, guided by the cries of the dogs. When the deer reached Slieve Fuad, she again took cover and disappeared at the very spot where they had first started her; and the two chiefs, after beating the thickets on every side, were at length forced to give up the search. A druidical mist now rose up, darkening the air, and enfolding them on every side; so that they lost their way. They tried many times to regain the path, but to no purpose; for they only lost themselves more and more among the quagmires and thickets. At last they sat down to rest, weary and baffled; and Dara played a mournful strain on his timpan; after which they sounded the Dord-Fian,[CXLVII.] as a signal to their friends. When the Fena heard the Dord-Fian sounding afar off, they felt sure that their leader was in trouble or strait of some kind; and they started to his relief, making northwards straight towards the point from which they thought the signal came. But they had not gone far when they heard it sounding from the east, and altered their course accordingly. Again it changed to the west; and no sooner had they set forward in that direction than it seemed to come from the south. In this manner were they led hither and thither, till they became quite bewildered; and they found themselves no nearer to those they were in search of, for every time they heard the Dord-Fian, it seemed as far off as ever. Meantime Finn and Dara, after resting for a time, again started off, intent on trying once more to reach their friends; for they heard their shouts, and knew they were seeking them. As they were making their way through the thick fog, they heard a voice at a little distance, as if from one in distress; and, turning their steps that way, they met a young woman, very beautiful, and very pleasing in manner, but looking weary and sore perplexed, and all over in sad plight from the bogs and brambles. Finn accosted her in a gentle voice, asking how she came to be alone in a place so wild. She replied, "I and my husband were journeying along over the plain, when we heard the melodious cry of hounds; and he left me to follow the chase, telling me to continue along the same path, and promising to rejoin me without delay. But this fairy fog has risen around me, and I have lost my way, so that I know not now in what direction to go." Finn then asked her name and the name of her husband. "My husband's name is Lavaran, and mine is Glanlua. But I perceive that you are one of the Fena; and indeed I think, from your arms and from your noble mien, that you must be the great chief Finn himself. If this be so, I place myself under your protection; and I know well that you will lead me safely out of this place to my husband; for the Fena never yet refused their help to a woman in distress." Finn replied, "You are quite right, lady, for I am Finn; and this chase that has parted you and your husband belongs to me. We will certainly take you under our protection, and we will neither abandon you on this mountain, nor suffer any one to harm you. But as to leading you to your husband, it is not at present in our power to do that; for you must know, lady, that we also have been set astray by this magical fairy fog. Nevertheless, we will do the best we can; and now you had better come with us." So the three set forward in the direction they thought most likely to lead to the open plain. After walking for some time, they heard a low, sweet strain of fairy music; and they stopped to listen. It seemed to be near them and around them in the fog, so that Finn thought it came from the spot where the lady stood; and she thought it came from Finn or Dara: and the music was followed by shouts and noise, as if from a great company. When the noise ceased, the music began again more sweetly than before; so that they felt heavy, and as if inclined to sleep. Still more drowsy and powerless they became as they listened; and at last they all three sank on the ground, in a trance deep and deathlike. After a time they awoke, and slowly regained their senses; though they were so weak that they could scarcely move. The fog had cleared away, leaving the air bright and warm; and when they were able to look around, they found themselves on the margin of a blue lake. The part of the lake that lay in front of them was narrow, and quite calm and smooth; but on each side, to the right and left, it opened out into two broad, green-bordered seas, with great waves tumbling wildly about, as if the waters were torn up by whirlwinds. But where they sat, not a breath was blowing. And looking across the narrow part, they saw a stately palace right before them on the opposite shore. As they were gazing at all these strange things, silent and much astonished, they saw a warrior coming forth from the palace, in size like a giant, rough and fierce-looking, with a beautiful woman by his side. The two walked quickly down to the shore, and, plunging in, they swam straight across the middle of the lake. And Dara and Glanlua, turning to Finn, said-- "Of a surety, it is not for our good yonder strangers are approaching; but to work us treachery and mischief!" This forecast turned out to be true. The large warrior and the beautiful lady had no sooner gained the land than they came up to Finn and his two companions; and without speaking a word, the giant seized them roughly, and led them down to the shore of the lake. For the two heroes were still so weak from the spell of the fairy music that they were not able to raise a hand to defend either the lady or themselves. The giant and his companion, making no delay, plunged in, and swam back towards the palace, bringing the three with them; and as soon as they had reached the shore, the strange warrior, addressing Finn in a fierce and surly manner, said-- "For a long time have I sought Finn Mac Cumal, the evil-minded and crafty; and now, O Finn, now that thou hast been by a well-laid plan cast under my power, I will take good care that thou shalt not escape till I take revenge, even to the full, for all the injuries thou hast done to me and to my sister!" Finn listened to this speech with much surprise, for he could not call to mind that he had ever seen the hero before; and he said-- "Tell me, I pray thee, who thou art; for I know thee not; neither do I know of any injury thou hast suffered at my hands. Thou art, indeed, large of body, and fierce and boastful in speech; but know that to take revenge on a foe who is unable to defend himself, is a deed quite unbecoming a hero!" The large man replied, "Do you not remember the treachery you practised on Mergah of the Sharp Spears, and on my sons, two fair youths, whom you slew by unfair means, at the battle of Knockanare?[CXLVIII.] Well indeed do I know thee, Finn, for I am Dryantore, and this is Ailna my sister, the wife of Mergah. She is left without her husband, and I without my sons, by your cruel wiles; for it was by fraud and foul play, and not by fair fighting, that you gained the battle of Knockanare, and slew Mergah and his host!" "I remember well," said Finn, "that they all fell on the battle-field; but it was not by craft or treachery. Mergah of the Sharp Spears came with a mighty host to conquer Erin, and lay it under tribute. But they were met at Knockanare, and every man of them slain in fair, open fight, though not without sore loss to the Fena." "You may say what you please on the matter," said Dryantore; "but it is quite enough for me that you have slain Ailna's husband and my two sons. And now, indeed, I shall take revenge--of that be sure--both on you and on all the Fena that come within my reach." And having so spoken, he began without more ado to bind Finn, Dara, and Glanlua in strong fetters; and having done so, he threw them into a dungeon, where he left them without food or drink or comfort of any kind. Meantime the Fena ceased not to search for their king. They knew, by the sad strain they had heard in the distance, and by the strange manner in which the music had shifted from place to place, that he was caught under some druidic spell; and they vowed they would never rest till they had found him and punished the enchanter, whoever he might be. Next day, Ailna visited the dungeon; and Finn addressed her-- "Hast thou forgotten, Ailna, that when thou didst come to Erin after the death of thy husband, Mergah of the Sharp Spears, the Fena received thee hospitably, and, pitying thy distress, treated thee with much kindness? But for this thou hast indeed given us an ungrateful and unbecoming return; for thou hast shut us up in this dungeon, without food or drink, having, by guileful druidical spells, taken away our strength." "I remember very well," said Ailna, "that you treated me kindly. But you killed my husband; and I am well pleased that it has now come to my turn to avenge his death. I do not feel the least pity for you; and I only wish that the whole of the Fena were with you in that dungeon, to be dealt with by my brother." Then, casting her eyes on Glanlua, she began to upbraid her in bitter words for having been in the company of Finn and Dara. But Glanlua explained the matter, saying that she had never seen either of the chiefs before, and that it was only by chance she had fallen on them when she had lost her way in the fog. "If that be so," said Ailna, "it is not just that you should be punished for the evil deeds of the others." And she went and told Dryantore, who came forthwith to release the lady. Glanlua took leave of Finn and Dara, and left the prison, grieving much for their evil plight; for she was grateful for their kindness on the mountain. Ailna led her to the palace; and, having placed food before her, bade her eat. But Glanlua, being overcome by weakness, suddenly fell into a swoon, and remained for a long time without sense or motion, like one dead. When at last she opened her eyes, she saw Ailna standing near, holding in her hand a golden drinking-horn. And Ailna gave her to drink, and immediately the spells lost their power; and she regained her strength; and the bloom and beauty of her countenance returned. But now she bethought her of the two heroes; and, remembering their dismal plight in the dungeon, she became sorrowful, and began to sigh and weep. And when Ailna and Dryantore came to know the cause of her tears, they told her with much severity that Finn and Dara deserved their punishment; and that both should stay in prison till the time had come to put them to death. "I seek not to release them from prison or to save them from death," said Glanlua; "but that they are left without food and drink--this it is that moves me to pity." And Dryantore said, "If only that has caused your tears, you may, if you so please, bring them food. Besides, I do not mean to put them to death immediately. I shall let them live yet awhile, that I may decoy by them the other Fena, who are now wandering hither and thither in quest of their chief. And it is my firm belief that in a little time I shall have them all in that dungeon." So Glanlua went to the prison, bringing food and drink, and Ailna went with her. They found the heroes sitting on the floor, sorrowing, their strength and activity all gone; for the music-spell still held them, and they suffered also from want of food. And when they saw the two ladies, they shed bitter tears. Glanlua, on her part, wept with pity when she looked on the wasted face of the chief. But not so Ailna; she was pleased at their distress, for her heart was hardened with vengeance, and she longed for the time when they should suffer death. Howbeit, Glanlua placed food and drink before them, and they ate and drank and were strengthened for the time. When the two ladies returned, Dryantore asked Glanlua if it were true what he had heard, that Dara was a favourite among the Fena; and why it was that they loved him so. Glanlua replied, "I only know that he is a very skilful musician; for I never heard melody sweeter than the strains he played yesterday, when I met himself and Finn in the fog." "I should like very much to hear this music," said Dryantore, "if it be so melodious as you say;" and as he spoke these words he went towards the dungeon. And when he had come to the door, he said to Dara, in a loud, harsh, surly voice-- "I have heard that you are a skilful musician, and can play very sweet strains. I wish you to play for me now that I may know if this be true." To which Dara replied, "If I had the Fena around me, I could delight them with the melody of my timpan; but as for you, guileful and cruel as you are, I do not believe that you can take any pleasure in music. Moreover, how can you expect that I should play sweet music for you, seeing that I am shut up here in this dismal dungeon, and that all manly strength and cheerfulness of mind have left me through your foul spells?" "I will take off the spells if only you play for me," said Dryantore; "and if your strains be as delightful as I have heard reported, I will bring you forth from your prison, and I will keep you for ever in my castle, and you shall play for me whensoever I wish for music." "I shall never consent to be released, neither will I play any music for you, so long as my chief lies in bondage and under enchantment," said Dara; "for I grieve not indeed for myself, but for him." Dryantore replied, "I will lift the spells from both of you for a time; but as to releasing Finn, that is a matter I do not wish to talk of now." Whereupon Dryantore removed the spells, and the heroes regained their strength and courage. Dara then played a low, sweet tune; and Dryantore, who had never before heard such music, listened with delight and wonder. He was so charmed that he called Ailna and Glanlua, that they also might hear; and they were as much delighted as the giant. But what pleased Glanlua most was to see the heroes restored to their wonted cheerfulness. Now all this time the Fena were seeking among the glens and hollows of the mountain for Finn and Dara. After walking for some time over a stony and rugged way, a faint strain of music struck on their ears. They stopped to listen, breathless; and every man knew the sound of Dara's timpan; and they raised a shout of gladness, which reached Finn and Dara in their dungeon. At the same moment they came in view of the palace, and they drew their swords and put their shields and spears in readiness, as men do going to battle. And they went forward warily, for they feared foul play, and their hearts had a forecast that a foe was near. But, indeed, they little deemed what manner of foe they should meet. When Dryantore heard the shouts, he hid himself from the view of the Fena, and forthwith betook him to his magic arts. And again the spell fell on the two heroes, and their strength departed; and Dara's hand, losing its cunning, trembled on the strings, so that his music became dull and broken. And when Dara's music ceased, the Fena heard a low, hoarse murmur, which, growing each moment louder, sounded at last like the hollow roar of waves. And anon their strength and their swiftness left them, and they fell to the ground every man, in a deep trance as if they slept the sleep of death. Then Dryantore and Ailna came forth, and having bound them one by one in strong, hard fetters, they roused them up and led them helpless and faltering to the dungeon, where they shut them in with Finn and Dara. The Fena looked sadly on their king; and he, on his part, shed bitters tears to think that he had decoyed them--though, indeed, he had done so unwittingly--into the hands of their foe. In the midst of their sighs and tears they heard the loud voice of the giant, who, looking in on them from the open door, addressed them-- "Now at last, ye Fena, you are in my safe keeping. Truly you have done great deeds in your time, but yet, methinks, you will not be able to escape from this prison till I have taken just vengeance on you for slaying Mergah of the Sharp Spears, and my two sons, at the battle of Knockanare!" And having so spoken, he shut the door and went his way. When he came to the palace, he found that Glanlua's husband, Lavaran, had been there. Upon which he fell into a mighty rage; for he feared to let any man know the secrets of the palace; and he feared also that Lavaran might try to aid Finn and the others. He inquired of the two ladies whither he had gone; but they replied they did not know. He then began to search through the rooms, and, raising his voice, he called aloud for Lavaran; and the Fena, even in their dungeon, heard the roar quite plainly. Lavaran, hearing him, was sore afraid, and answered from a remote part of the palace. And as he came forward, the giant placed him under his spells, and, having bound him, flung him into the dungeon with the others. Dryantore's fury had not in the least abated; and, entering the dungeon, he struck off the heads of several of the Fena with his great sword, saying he would visit them each day, and do in like manner till he had killed them all. During this time the Fena were unable to defend themselves; for, besides that their strength had gone out from their limbs on account of the spells, they found that from the time the enchanter entered the prison, they were all fixed firmly in their places, every man cleaving to the ground, in whatsoever position he chanced to be, sitting, lying, or standing. And Finn shed tears--even tears of blood in sight of all--seeing his men fall one by one, while he had to look on without power to help them. After Dryantore had in this manner slain several, he approached Conan Mail,[23] with intent to end that day's work by cutting off his head; and as it chanced, Conan was lying full length on the floor. Now Conan, though he was large-boned and strong, and very boastful in his speech, was a coward at heart, and more afraid of wounds and death than any man that ever lived. So when he saw Dryantore coming towards him with his sword in his hand all dripping, he shouted aloud-- "Hold thy hand, Dryantore! Hold thy hand for a little while, and be not guilty of such treachery!" But the giant, not heeding in the least Conan's words, raised his sword with his two hands and rose on tiptoe for a mighty blow. Then Conan, terrified beyond measure, put forth all his strength to free himself, and bounded from the floor clear outside the range of the sword; but left behind him, clinging to the floor, all the skin of his back, even from the points of his shoulders to the calves of his legs. When he saw the giant still making towards him in a greater rage than ever for missing his blow, he again cried aloud-- "Hold your hand this time, Dryantore! Is it not enough that you see me in this woful plight? For it is plain that I cannot escape death. Leave me, then, to die of my wounds, and slay me not thus suddenly!" Dryantore held his hand; but he told Conan that he would for a certainty kill him next time he came, if he did not find him already dead of his wounds. Then he stalked out of the dungeon, and, shutting close the door, left the Fena in gloom and sadness. Though Lavaran had been only a little while in the palace, he made good use of his time, and now approaching Finn, he whispered in his ear-- "There is that in yonder palace which would free us from those accursed spells if we only could get at it." And when Finn asked what it was, he replied, "A magical golden drinking-horn of wondrous virtue. I saw it in the palace among many other precious jewels." And when Finn again questioned him how he knew of its secret power, he said-- "Glanlua, my wife, told me. For she said that, being herself at the point of death, Ailna fetched this drinking-horn and bade her drink. And when she had drunk, she was immediately freed from spells and sickness. She told me, moreover, that it would remove the spell from the Fena, and bring back their strength and heal their wounds, if they could get to drink from it." Conan, being near, overheard this conversation; and he inwardly resolved that he would try to secure the drinking-horn, if perchance he might be able to heal his wounds by means of it. Not long after, the giant again came to the prison, sword in hand, and addressed Conan in these words-- "Come forward now, O big, bald man, for I am about to fulfil my promise to you! Come forward, that I may strike off your large head; for I see that your wounds have not killed you!" But Conan, instead of coming forward, fell back even to the farthest part of the dungeon, and replied-- "You must know, Dryantore, that I, of all men alive, am the most unwilling to die any death unworthy of a brave hero. You see my evil plight, all wounded and faint from loss of blood; and, being as I am a valiant warrior, it would surely be a shameful thing and a foul blot on my fame, to be slain while in this state. I ask only one favour--that you cure me of my wounds first. After this, you may put me to death in any manner that is most agreeable to you." To this Dryantore consented, seeing that Conan was secure; and he called to Ailna and bade her fetch him the magical golden drinking-horn. "For I wish," said he, "to heal the wounds of yonder big, bald man." But Ailna replied, "Of what concern are his wounds to us? Is it not better that he should die at once, and all the other Fena with him?" Conan spoke out from where he stood, "Lovely Ailna, I seek not to escape death. I ask only to be healed first and slain afterwards!" Ailna went to the palace and soon returned, bringing, not the drinking-horn, but a large sheepskin, covered all over with a long growth of wool. Dryantore took it from her, and doing as she told him, he fitted it on Conan's back, where it cleaved firmly, so that his wounds were all healed up in an instant. As long as Conan lived afterwards, this sheepskin remained on his back; and the wool grew upon it every year, even as wool grows on the back of a living sheep. And from that time forth, the other Fena were always mocking him and laughing at him and calling him nicknames. As soon as Conan felt his wounds healed, he again spoke to the giant-- "It is my opinion, Dryantore, that it would be a very unwise thing for you to put me to death. I see plainly you want a servant. Now, although I am large of bone and strong of body, and very brave withal, still I am very harmless. And if you let me live, I shall be your servant for ever, and you will find me very useful to you." The giant saw the force and wisdom of Conan's words; and he felt that he wanted a servant very much, though he never perceived it till that moment, when Conan reminded him of it. So he said, "I believe, indeed, Conan, that your words are truth. Wherefore, I will not put you to death. You are now my servant, and so shall you be for the rest of your life." He then led Conan forth from the dungeon towards the palace; and he was in such good humour at having got a servant, that he forgot to kill any of the Fena on that occasion. He called to him Ailna and Glanlua, to tell them of what he had done. And he said to them-- "I find that I need a servant very much. Wherefore, I have made Conan my servant. And I am now about to free him from the spell and give him back his strength by a drink from the golden drinking-horn, so that he may be able to wait on me and do my work." For Conan, though his wounds were healed, was still so weak from the spell that he was scarce able to walk. "I do not at all approve what you have done," said Ailna. "It would be, methinks, much better to put him straightway to death along with all the others. As long as he is with us as our servant, I shall never think myself free from danger; for the Fena are treacherous all alike." "As for the other Fena," replied Dryantore, "you need not be in any trouble on their account, for their time is short. As soon as I have got Conan free from the spell, I will go straight to the dungeon and kill them, every man. And when they are fairly put out of the way, it seems to me that we need not fear danger from this big, bald man with the sheepskin on his back." When Ailna heard that the death of the Fena was near at hand, she no longer gainsaid her brother. So Dryantore led Conan to the palace; and placing the magical drinking-horn in his hand, bade him drink. And Conan drank; and immediately his strength and his spirits returned. Now it so happened, while these things went on, that Finn asked Dara to play one of his sweet, sad tunes, that they might hear the music of his timpan before they died. And Dara took his timpan, and began to play; and historians say that no one either before or since ever played sweeter strains. At the very moment that Conan had finished drinking, he and Dryantore heard the music sounding faintly in the distance; and the giant opened the door and stood on the threshold to listen. He was so charmed that he quite forgot all about Conan and the drinking-horn; and finding that he could not hear the music plainly enough where he stood, he walked hastily towards the dungeon, leaving Conan behind with the drinking-horn in his hand. No sooner had he gone out than Conan hid the drinking-horn under his cloak, and went to the dungeon after him. And when the giant saw him he said, "Why have you followed me; and what business have you here? Are you not my servant; and why have you come without being bidden by me?" "I thought," replied Conan, "that you were about to put the Fena to death; and I came to look at them once more before they died." Then suddenly Dryantore bethought him of the drinking-horn, and he said, "Where is the golden drinking-horn I gave you?" "I left it," said Conan, "just where I found it in the palace." The giant ran hastily towards the palace to secure the drinking-horn; and no sooner was he out of sight than Conan, drawing forth the horn, put it to the lips of each to drink, beginning with Finn. Only Finn and Oscar had drunk, when they heard the heavy steps of the giant running towards the dungeon; and now they saw that he was indeed inflamed with fury. Oscar seized his great, polished spear, and sprang to the door; and the others raised a mighty shout of joy; while Conan went on releasing the heroes one by one. When Dryantore saw Oscar, he uttered a roar of rage and disappointment; and then called aloud to Ailna to come to him. And she came forth; and when she saw how matters stood, she was seized with such grief and terror that she dropped down and died immediately. Glanlua was standing near at hand, rejoicing at the release of her husband and friends; but when she saw Ailna fall to the ground dead, she became sad, and, stooping down, wept over her. All this Oscar saw from where he stood; and it was with much ado he checked his tears. For though my son was the bravest of the heroes, and the most terrible in battle, he had a gentle heart, and never saw a woman or a child in distress without being moved to pity. But Conan felt not the least pity. On the contrary, he was very glad to see Ailna dead; and he told Oscar that it was very well she was out of the way, for that she was a vicious woman, and had wrought the Fena much trouble and woe. And now Oscar, casting his eyes again on Dryantore, hardened his heart for battle, and addressed the giant in these words-- "It has at last come to pass, O Dryantore, that you are in the power of the Fena; and there is no escape for you, though you are a large and strong giant, and a druid with powerful magical spells. But the Fena never yet treated an enemy ungenerously. You indeed dealt unfairly and treacherously with us; and meant to kill us all, after having taken away our strength and valour by your black, guileful magic. But even so, we give you your choice; and we challenge you now to single combat with any of our champions you may wish to choose." To which Dryantore replied, "It is very true that the Fena have prevailed over me; and it is a just punishment for my folly in releasing Conan the Bald from my spells. I desire single combat. I will fight the Fena one after another, till I either fall myself or slay them all; and I will begin with you!" Oscar then took his shield and made ready for battle. Meantime the giant, harbouring great wrath against Conan, approached him unawares; and when he had come near enough, he sprang suddenly on him, and aimed a blow with all his might at his head. But Conan, springing aside, barely escaped the edge of the sword; and, running in great fear, called to Oscar with great outcry to save him from the giant. Then Oscar ran between; and he and the giant fought a long and fierce fight, while we looked on with anxious hearts. The giant was furious and strong; but my son was active and watchful and fearless of heart; and Dryantore at length fell at the door of his own palace, pierced through and through by the long, smooth spear of Oscar. When the Fena saw the giant fall, they raised three mighty shouts of joy. And Glanlua brought the magic drinking-horn to Oscar, from which he drank, so that his wounds were healed, and his strength straightway returned to him. The Fena then went into the palace, where they found food in great plenty, with wine and mead in golden bowls and drinking-horns. And they ate and drank and made merry; after which they rested that night on soft beds and couches. When they awoke in the morning, all was changed. The palace and the lake were gone; and the heroes found themselves lying on the heathy side of Slieve Fuad, at the selfsame spot where they had first started the deer; with the morning sun shining brightly over their heads. FOOTNOTES: [CXLIV.] This story is told by Oisin to St. Patrick. (See the prefatory note to the next story, "Oisin in Tirnanoge," page 385.) [CXLV.] Slieve Fuad was the ancient name of the highest of the Fews mountains, near Newtown Hamilton, in Armagh; but the name is now lost. [CXLVI.] Now probably the village of Carrigans, on the river Foyle, five miles south-west of Londonderry. [CXLVII.] Dord-Fian, a sort of musical war-cry. (See note, page 195.) [CXLVIII.] Knockanare (the hill of slaughter), where a great battle was fought between the Fena under Finn, and the foreigners under Mergah of the Sharp Spears, in which Mergah was defeated and slain. This battle forms the subject of a poetical romance. It may be as well to observe that this hill is _not_ Knockanare in Kerry, near the mouth of the Shannon, as some say. OISIN IN TIRNANOGE;[CXLIX.] OR, THE LAST OF THE FENA. [According to an ancient legend, Finn's son, Oisin, the hero-poet, survived to the time of St. Patrick, two hundred years (the legend makes it three hundred) after the other Fena. On a certain occasion, when the saint asked him how he had lived to such a great age, the old hero related the following story.] A short time after the fatal battle of Gavra,[CL.] where so many of our heroes fell, we were hunting on a dewy morning near the brink of Lough Lein,[CLI.] where the trees and hedges around us were all fragrant with blossoms, and the little birds sang melodious music on the branches. We soon roused the deer from the thickets, and as they bounded over the plain, our hounds followed after them in full cry. We were not long so engaged, when we saw a rider coming swiftly towards us from the west; and we soon perceived that it was a maiden on a white steed. We all ceased from the chase on seeing the lady, who reined in as she approached. And Finn and the Fena were greatly surprised, for they had never before seen so lovely a maiden. A slender golden diadem encircled her head; and she wore a brown robe of silk, spangled with stars of red gold, which was fastened in front by a golden brooch, and fell from her shoulders till it swept the ground. Her yellow hair flowed far down over her robe in bright, golden ringlets. Her blue eyes were as clear as the drops of dew on the grass; and while her small, white hand held the bridle and curbed her steed with a golden bit, she sat more gracefully than the swan on Lough Lein. The white steed was covered with a smooth, flowing mantle. He was shod with four shoes of pure yellow gold, and in all Erin a better or more beautiful steed could not be found. As she came slowly to the presence of Finn, he addressed her courteously in these words-- "Who art thou, O lovely youthful princess? Tell us thy name and the name of thy country, and relate to us the cause of thy coming." She answered in a sweet and gentle voice, "Noble king of the Fena, I have had a long journey this day, for my country lies far off in the Western Sea. I am the daughter of the king of Tirnanoge, and my name is Niam of the Golden Hair." "And what is it that has caused thee to come so far across the sea? Has thy husband forsaken thee; or what other evil has befallen thee?" "My husband has not forsaken me, for I have never been married or betrothed to any man. But I love thy noble son, Oisin; and this is what has brought me to Erin. It is not without reason that I have given him my love, and that I have undertaken this long journey: for I have often heard of his bravery, his gentleness, and the nobleness of his person. Many princes and high chiefs have sought me in marriage; but I was quite indifferent to all men, and never consented to wed, till my heart was moved with love for thy gentle son, Oisin." When I heard these words, and when I looked on the lovely maiden with her glossy, golden hair, I was all over in love with her. I came near, and, taking her small hand in mine, I told her she was a mild star of brightness and beauty, and that I preferred her to all the princesses in the world for my wife. "Then," said she, "I place you under gesa,[12] which true heroes never break through, to come with me on my white steed to Tirnanoge, the land of never-ending youth. It is the most delightful and the most renowned country under the sun. There is abundance of gold and silver and jewels, of honey and wine; and the trees bear fruit and blossoms and green leaves together all the year round. You will get a hundred swords and a hundred robes of silk and satin, a hundred swift steeds, and a hundred slender, keen-scenting hounds. You will get herds of cows without number, and flocks of sheep with fleeces of gold; a coat of mail that cannot be pierced, and a sword that never missed a stroke and from which no one ever escaped alive. There are feasting and harmless pastimes each day. A hundred warriors fully armed shall always await you at call, and harpers shall delight you with their sweet music. You will wear the diadem of the king of Tirnanoge, which he never yet gave to any one under the sun, and which will guard you day and night, in tumult and battle and danger of every kind. Lapse of time shall bring neither decay nor death, and you shall be for ever young, and gifted with unfading beauty and strength. All these delights you shall enjoy, and many others that I do not mention; and I myself will be your wife if you come with me to Tirnanoge." I replied that she was my choice above all the maidens in the world, and that I would willingly go with her to the Land of Youth. When my father, Finn, and the Fena heard me say this, and knew that I was going from them, they raised three shouts of grief and lamentation. And Finn came up to me and took my hand in his, saying sadly-- "Woe is me, my son, that you are going away from me, for I do not expect that you will ever return to me!" The manly beauty of his countenance became quite dimmed with sorrow; and though I promised to return after a little time, and fully believed that I should see him again, I could not check my tears, as I gently kissed my father's cheek. I then bade farewell to my dear companions, and mounted the white steed, while the lady kept her seat before me. She gave the signal, and the steed galloped swiftly and smoothly towards the west, till he reached the strand; and when his gold-shod hoofs touched the waves, he shook himself and neighed three times. He made no delay, but plunged forward at once, moving over the face of the sea with the speed of a cloud-shadow on a March day. The wind overtook the waves and we overtook the wind, so that we straightway lost sight of land; and we saw nothing but billows tumbling before us and billows tumbling behind us. Other shores came into view, and we saw many wonderful things on our journey--islands and cities, lime-white mansions, bright greenans[CLII.] and lofty palaces. A hornless fawn once crossed our course, bounding nimbly along from the crest of one wave to the crest of another; and close after, in full chase, a white hound with red ears. We saw also a lovely young maiden on a brown steed, with a golden apple in her hand; and as she passed swiftly by, a young warrior on a white steed plunged after her, wearing a long, flowing mantle of yellow silk, and holding a gold-hilted sword in his hand. I knew naught of these things, and, marvelling much, I asked the princess what they meant; but she answered-- "Heed not what you see here, Oisin; for all these wonders are as nothing compared with what you shall see in Tirnanoge." At last we saw at a great distance, rising over the waves on the very verge of the sea, a palace more splendid than all the others; and, as we drew near, its front glittered like the morning sun. I asked the lady what royal house this was, and who was the prince that ruled over it. "This country is the Land of Virtues," she replied. "Its king is the giant, Fomor of the Blows, and its queen the daughter of the king of the Land of Life.[19] This Fomor brought the lady away by force from her own country, and keeps her in his palace; but she has put him under gesa[12] that he cannot break through, never to ask her to marry him till she can find a champion to fight him in single combat. But she still remains in bondage; for no hero has yet come hither who has the courage to meet the giant." "A blessing on you, golden-haired Niam," I replied; "I have never heard music sweeter than your voice; and although I feel pity for this princess, yet your story is pleasant to me to hear; for of a certainty I will go to the palace, and try whether I cannot kill this Fomor, and free the lady." So we came to land; and as we drew nigh to the palace, the lovely young queen met us and bade us welcome. She led us in and placed us on chairs of gold; after which choice food was placed before us, and drinking-horns filled with mead, and golden goblets of sweet wine. When we had eaten and drunk, the mild young princess told us her story, while tears streamed from her soft, blue eyes; and she ended by saying-- "I shall never return to my own country and to my father's house, so long as this great and cruel giant is alive!" When I heard her sad words, and saw her tears falling, I was moved with pity; and telling her to cease from her grief, I gave her my hand as a pledge that I would meet the giant, and either slay him or fall myself in her defence. While we were yet speaking, we saw the giant coming towards the palace, large of body, and ugly and hateful in appearance, carrying a load of deerskins on his back, and holding a great iron club in his hand. He threw down his load when he saw us, turned a surly look on the princess, and, without greeting us or showing the least mark of courtesy, he forthwith challenged me to battle in a loud, rough voice. It was not my wont to be dismayed by a call to battle, or to be terrified at the sight of an enemy; and I went forth at once without the least fear in my heart. But though I had fought many battles in Erin against wild boars and enchanters and foreign invaders, never before did I find it so hard to preserve my life. We fought for three days and three nights without food or drink or sleep; for the giant did not give me a moment for rest, and neither did I give him. At length, when I looked at the two princesses weeping in great fear, and when I called to mind my father's deeds in battle, the fury of my valour arose; and with a sudden onset I felled the giant to the earth; and instantly, before he could recover himself, I cut off his head. When the maidens saw the monster lying on the ground dead, they uttered three cries of joy; and they came to me, and led me into the palace. For I was indeed bruised all over, and covered with gory wounds; and a sudden dizziness of brain and feebleness of body seized me. But the daughter of the king of the Land of Life applied precious balsam and healing herbs to my wounds; and in a short time I was healed, and my cheerfulness of mind returned. Then I buried the giant in a deep and wide grave; and I raised a great carn over him, and placed on it a stone with his name graved in Ogam. We rested that night, and at the dawn of next morning Niam said to me that it was time for us to resume our journey to Tirnanoge. So we took leave of the daughter of the king of the Land of Life; and though her heart was joyful after her release, she wept at our departure, and we were not less sorry at parting from her. When we had mounted the white steed, he galloped towards the strand; and as soon as his hoofs touched the wave, he shook himself and neighed three times. We plunged forward over the clear, green sea with the speed of a March wind on a hill-side; and soon we saw nothing but billows tumbling before us and billows tumbling behind us. We saw again the fawn chased by the white hound with red ears; and the maiden with the golden apple passed swiftly by, followed by the young warrior in yellow silk on his white steed. And again we passed many strange islands and cities and white palaces. The sky now darkened, so that the sun was hidden from our view. A storm arose, and the sea was lighted up with constant flashes. But though the wind blew from every point of the heavens, and the waves rose up and roared around us, the white steed kept his course straight on, moving as calmly and swiftly as before, through the foam and blinding spray, without being delayed or disturbed in the least, and without turning either to the right or to the left. At length the storm abated, and after a time the sun again shone brightly; and when I looked up, I saw a country near at hand, all green and full of flowers, with beautiful smooth plains, blue hills, and bright lakes and waterfalls. Not far from the shore stood a palace of surpassing beauty and splendour. It was covered all over with gold and with gems of every colour--blue, green, crimson, and yellow; and on each side were greenans shining with precious stones, built by artists the most skilful that could be found. I asked Niam the name of that delightful country, and she replied-- "This is my native country, Tirnanoge; and there is nothing I have promised you that you will not find in it." As soon as we reached the shore, we dismounted; and now we saw advancing from the palace a troop of noble-looking warriors, all clad in bright garments, who came forward to meet and welcome us. Following these we saw a stately glittering host, with the king at their head wearing a robe of bright yellow satin covered with gems, and a crown that sparkled with gold and diamonds. The queen came after, attended by a hundred lovely young maidens; and as they advanced towards us, it seemed to me that this king and queen exceeded all the kings and queens of the world in beauty and gracefulness and majesty. After they had kissed their daughter, the king took my hand, and said aloud in the hearing of the host-- "This is Oisin, the son of Finn, for whom my daughter, Niam, travelled over the sea to Erin. This is Oisin, who is to be the husband of Niam of the Golden Hair. We give you a hundred thousand welcomes, brave Oisin. You will be for ever young in this land. All kinds of delights and innocent pleasures are awaiting you, and my daughter, the gentle, golden-haired Niam, shall be your wife; for I am the king of Tirnanoge." I gave thanks to the king, and I bowed low to the queen; after which we went into the palace, where we found a banquet prepared. The feasting and rejoicing lasted for ten days, and on the last day, I was wedded to the gentle Niam of the Golden Hair. I lived in the Land of Youth more than three hundred years; but it appeared to me that only three years had passed since the day I parted from my friends. At the end of that time, I began to have a longing desire to see my father, Finn, and all my old companions, and I asked leave of Niam and of the king to visit Erin. The king gave permission, and Niam said-- "I will give consent, though I feel sorrow in my heart, for I fear much you will never return to me." I replied that I would surely return, and that she need not feel any doubt or dread, for that the white steed knew the way, and would bring me back in safety. Then she addressed me in these words, which seemed very strange to me-- "I will not refuse this request, though your journey afflicts me with great grief and fear. Erin is not now as it was when you left it. The great king Finn and his Fena are all gone; and you will find, instead of them, a holy father and hosts of priests and saints. Now, think well on what I say to you, and keep my words in your mind. If once you alight from the white steed, you will never come back to me. Again I warn you, if you place your feet on the green sod in Erin, you will never return to this lovely land. A third time, O Oisin, my beloved husband, a third time I say to you, if you alight from the white steed, you will never see me again." I promised that I would faithfully attend to her words, and that I would not alight from the white steed. Then, as I looked into her gentle face and marked her grief, my heart was weighed down with sadness, and my tears flowed plentifully; but even so, my mind was bent on coming back to Erin. When I had mounted the white steed, he galloped straight towards the shore. We moved as swiftly as before over the clear sea. The wind overtook the waves and we overtook the wind, so that we straightway left the Land of Youth behind; and we passed by many islands and cities, till at length we landed on the green shores of Erin. As I travelled on through the country, I looked closely around me; but I scarcely knew the old places, for everything seemed strangely altered. I saw no sign of Finn and his host, and I began to dread that Niam's saying was coming true. At length, I espied at a distance a company of little men and women,[CLIII.] all mounted on horses as small as themselves; and when I came near, they greeted me kindly and courteously. They looked at me with wonder and curiosity, and they marvelled much at my great size, and at the beauty and majesty of my person. I asked them about Finn and the Fena; whether they were still living, or if any sudden disaster had swept them away. And one replied-- "We have heard of the hero Finn, who ruled the Fena of Erin in times of old, and who never had an equal for bravery and wisdom. The poets of the Gaels have written many books concerning his deeds and the deeds of the Fena, which we cannot now relate; but they are all gone long since, for they lived many ages ago. We have heard also, and we have seen it written in very old books, that Finn had a son named Oisin. Now this Oisin went with a young fairy maiden to Tirnanoge, and his father and his friends sorrowed greatly after him, and sought him long; but he was never seen again." When I heard all this, I was filled with amazement, and my heart grew heavy with great sorrow. I silently turned my steed away from the wondering people, and set forward straightway for Allen of the mighty deeds, on the broad, green plains of Leinster. It was a miserable journey to me; and though my mind, being full of sadness at all I saw and heard, forecasted further sorrows, I was grieved more than ever when I reached Allen. For there, indeed, I found the hill deserted and lonely, and my father's palace all in ruins and overgrown with grass and weeds. I turned slowly away, and afterwards fared through the land in every direction in search of my friends. But I met only crowds of little people, all strangers, who gazed on me with wonder; and none knew me. I visited every place throughout the country where I knew the Fena had lived; but I found their houses all like Allen, solitary and in ruins. At length I came to Glenasmole,[CLIV.] where many a time I had hunted in days of old with the Fena, and there I saw a crowd of people in the glen. As soon as they saw me, one of them came forward and said-- "Come to us, thou mighty hero, and help us out of our strait; for thou art a man of vast strength." I went to them, and found a number of men trying in vain to raise a large, flat stone. It was half lifted from the ground; but those who were under it were not strong enough either to raise it further or to free themselves from its weight. And they were in great distress, and on the point of being crushed to death. I thought it a shameful thing that so many men should be unable to lift this stone, which Oscar, if he were alive, would take in his right hand and fling over the heads of the feeble crowd. After I had looked a little while, I stooped forward and seized the flag with one hand; and, putting forth my strength, I flung it seven perches from its place, and relieved the little men. But with the great strain the golden saddle-girth broke, and, bounding forward to keep myself from falling, I suddenly came to the ground on my two feet. The moment the white steed felt himself free, he shook himself and neighed. Then, starting off with the speed of a cloud-shadow on a March day, he left me standing helpless and sorrowful. Instantly a woeful change came over me: the sight of my eyes began to fade, the ruddy beauty of my face fled, I lost all my strength, and I fell to the earth, a poor, withered old man, blind and wrinkled and feeble. The white steed was never seen again. I never recovered my sight, my youth, or my strength; and I have lived in this manner, sorrowing without ceasing for my gentle, golden-haired wife, Niam, and thinking ever of my father, Finn, and of the lost companions of my youth. FOOTNOTES: [CXLIX.] Tirnanoge, the Land of Youth. (See note 19 at the end.) [CL.] Gavra, now Garristown, in the north-west of the county Dublin. (For an account of this battle, see note 28 at the end.) [CLI.] Lough Lein, the Lakes of Killarney. [CLII.] Greenan, a summer-house; a house in a bright, sunny spot. [CLIII.] The gigantic race of the Fena had all passed away, and Erin was now inhabited by people who looked very small in Oisin's eyes. [CLIV.] Glenasmole, a fine valley about seven miles south of Dublin, through which the river Dodder flows. THE VOYAGE OF THE SONS OF O'CORRA.[CLV.] A princely upright hundred-herd brugaid[CLVI.] was born one time in the lovely province of Connaught, namely, Conall Derg O'Corra the fair-haired. And thus was this brugaid (circumstanced):--he was a fortunate, rich, prosperous man; and his house was never found without three shouts in it--the shout of the brewers brewing ale, and the shout of the servants over the caldrons distributing (meat) to the hosts, and the shout of the youths over the chessboards[CLVII.] winning games from one another. The same house was never without three measures:--a measure of malt for making yeast, a measure of wheat for providing bread for the guests, and a measure of salt for savouring each kind of food. His wife was Cairderga[CLVIII.] the daughter of the Erenach[CLIX.] of Clogher.[CLX.] They felt no want of any kind except being without children; and it was not that they were without children (being born to them), but that the infants always died the moment after birth. Then this brugaid said (one day) to his wife as she reclined near him on the couch:--"It is a sad thing for us," said he, "that we have no children who would take our place and fill it worthily when we are gone." "What desire is in your mind in regard to that?" says the wife. "It is my desire," says the brugaid, "to make a bond with the demon to try if he would give us a son or a daughter who would take our place after us (since God has not done so)." "Let us do that," said the woman. They accordingly fasted (and prayed) to the demon; (and the demon hearkened unto them. And in due time) the pains and struggles, of childbirth came upon the lady; and she bore three sons at that great birth, namely, a son at the beginning of the night, and a son at the middle of the night, and a son at the end of the night. And they were baptised according to the baptism of the pagans (by which they were dedicated not to God but to the demon); and their names were Lochan, Enna, and Silvester. And after that, they were reared and carefully trained up till they were swift and active on sea and land; so that they were an overmatch for all the young people of their own age in every game and in every accomplishment. And they were in the mouths and on the tongues of all who saw or heard of them in their day. One day when they were resting at the railings of the house of their father and mother, wearied after their hurling and their martial games, the housefolk said that they saw no fault or defect in these handsome much-renowned youths, except only their being baptised in the service of the devil. (And the youths hearing this said):--"If it be so," said they, "that the devil is our lord and master, it is very wrong of us not to bring ruin and wrath and woe on his enemies, that is to say, (we ought) to slaughter the clergy, and burn and spoil their churches." Then did these three youths arise, (and collecting a band), and taking unto them their arms, they came to Tuam-da-Gualann,[CLXI.] and spoiled and burned the town. And (after that) they plundered and made dreadful havoc on the churches and clergy throughout the province of Connaught, until their wicked and bloodthirsty ravages were noised over the four quarters of Erin. Thus did they run their evil course without ceasing for a whole year, during which time they destroyed more than half the churches of Connaught. At the end of the year Lochan said to his brothers: "We have made one great mistake through forgetfulness," says he, "and our lord the devil will not be thankful to us on account of it." "What is that?" said the other two youths. "Our grandfather," says he, "that is our mother's father--not to have killed him and burned his church." So they set out straightway, journeying without sparing or respite (to Clogher), and this was how they found the erenach, namely, on the green of the church with a great company of his folk around him, (waiting for the O'Corras), in order to attend on them and to deal out to them the choice of every food and the best of every ale. And the intention that the elder had towards them, that indeed was not the intention they had towards him, but to murder him and to burn and spoil his church. Then the O'Corras came to the spot where the elder was standing, and they made up their minds not to kill him or burn the houses till night, when the cows and the (other) cattle of the homestead would be housed, all in their own proper places. The elder welcomed them and led them to the homestead; and he now became aware of their intention. Nevertheless he put them in a goodly pleasant _Greenan_,[CLXII.] and they were served with food and ale till they became exhilarated and cheerful: after which couches were made ready for them on lofty bedsteads. And now deep slumber and heavy sleep fell on them, and a wonderful vision was revealed in a dream to Lochan, the eldest of the sons of O'Corra, in which he was carried to see heaven and hell. And after this he awoke. The other two awoke at the same time, and they said:--"Let us now arise, for it is time to plunder and destroy the homestead." "Seems to me," said Lochan, "that this is not the right thing for us to do: for evil is the lord we have served until now, and good is the Lord we have plundered and outraged. "And last night I had," said he, "a fearful dream, in which I saw a vision of heaven and hell. And first I was taken to see hell, where were countless souls of men and vast crowds of demons suffering divers tortures, and plagues unexampled. And I saw the four rivers of hell, that is to say, a river of toads, a river of serpents, a river of fire, and a river of snow. I saw also a monstrous serpent with many heads and legs, at sight whereof, even though it were only a single glance, all the men in the world would drop dead with loathing and horror. "After this methought I was taken to see heaven; where I beheld the Lord Himself seated on His kingly throne, and angels in the shapes of white birds singing for Him. And among them was one great snow-white bird of dazzling brightness that excelled all the others in size and beauty and voice, chanting strains of surpassing sweetness. Women in travail and men sore wounded and sick people racked with pain would fall asleep if they heard the delightful harmony of his voice. And it was made known to me that this great bird who chanted such heavenly music to his mild Lord was Michael the Archangel. "And now my brothers," said Lochan, "it is my counsel to you that you follow God henceforward." "But," said the others, "will the Lord accept repentance from us for the dreadful evils we have already done?" They go to the father of their mother, namely, the erenach, and they ask this thing of him. "He will accept your repentance without doubt," says the erenach. "Well then," said Lochan, "let Mass be celebrated for us, and put us under instruction, and let us offer our confession to God. After that we will make staffs of the handles of our spears; and we will go to Finnen of Clonard,[CLXIII.] the tutor of the saints and of the just men of all Erin. He is a very holy man, and he will advise us in regard to what we ought to do." To this counsel they agreed; and on the morrow they set out for the place where Finnen was; whom they found on the green of Clonard with a number of his clerics. "Who are these coming towards us?" said the clerics. And one said, "They are the O'Corras the robbers." Hearing this they fled, like lightning, in a body from their master, for they felt quite sure that the O'Corras were coming to slay them; so that Finnen was left quite alone before the three brothers. "It is from us the clerics are fleeing:" says Lochan. "Of a certainty it is," said his brothers. "Let us," said Lochan, "cast from us our staffs, the only little remnant of our arms left with us; and let us throw ourselves on our knees before the cleric." And this they did. "What is your desire?" says the cleric (Finnen). "Our desire," said they, "is faith and piety, and to serve God, and to abandon the lord whom we have hitherto served, namely, the devil." "That is a good resolution," says the cleric; "and let us go now to the homestead yonder, the place where live our brotherhood." They go accordingly with him to the brotherhood; and after the matter had been considered, it was arranged to set apart a young cleric to teach them; and it was decreed that they should not speak to any one except their own master till the end of a year. So they continued for a whole year till they had read the Canons through, and by the time they had come to be able to read them, the whole brotherhood felt grateful (to God) for their piety and their gentleness. At the end of the year they came to Finnen; and they knelt before him, and said to him:--"It is time now that we should be judged and sentence passed on us for the great crimes we have committed. "What," said Finnen, "do ye not think it enough--the penance you have done already for a whole year among the brotherhood?" "It is not enough," said they. "What then are the greatest crimes ye have committed?" says Finnen. "We have burned more than half the churches of Connaught; and neither priest nor bishop got quarter or protection from us." "You cannot" replied Finnen, "give back life to the people you have killed; but do ye that which will be in your power, namely, to build up the churches ye have burned, and to repair every other damage ye have committed in them. And I will give to each man of you," says he, "the swiftness and strength of a hundred; and I will take from you all weariness of feet, of hands, and of body; and I will give you light and understanding which will have neither decay nor end." So the O'Corras departed, and went first to Tuam-da-Gualann; and after that, they fared through the province, obedient to rule and working hard each day, until it came to pass that they had restored everything they had previously destroyed. After that they came at the end of the year to speak with Finnen. "Have you been able," asks Finnen, "to repair everything ye destroyed belonging to the Church?" "We have," said they, "except one place alone, namely Kenn-Mara."[CLXIV.] "Alas for that," says Finnen; "that is the very first place you should have repaired; for it is the homestead of the oldest of all the saints of Ireland, namely, the aged Camann of Kenn-Mara. And now go and carefully restore everything ye have destroyed in that homestead. And the sentence that holy man passes on you, fulfil it patiently." So they went gladly to Kenn-Mara; and they repaired everything they had ruined there. One day when they had come forth from the homestead, they sat on the margin of the little bay, watching the sun as it went westward. And as they gazed and reflected on the course of the sun, they began to marvel greatly, pondering whither it went after it had gone down beneath the verge of the sea. "What more wonderful thing is there in the whole world," said they, "than that the sea does not freeze into ice, while ice is formed in every other water!" Thereupon they formed the resolution on the spot to bring unto them a certain artificer who was a fast friend of theirs, and to (get him) to make a three-hide curragh[CLXV.] for them. Accordingly the curragh was made, and a strong-sided one it was. And the reward the artificer asked for building it was to be let go with them. When the time had come, and they were about to embark, they saw a large crowd passing close by; and this crowd was a company of _crossans_.[CLXVI.] When the _crossans_ saw the curragh putting forth on the sea, they inquired:--"Who are yonder people that are launching this curragh on the sea?" said they. The _furshore_ (juggler) of the crossans said:--"I know them well; they are the sons of Conall derg O'Corra the fair-haired of Connaught, the destroyers and robbers, going on their pilgrimage on the sea and on the great ocean, to make search for their Lord." "And indeed," added the _furshore_, "my word for it, they do not stand more in need of seeking for heaven than we do." "It is a long day I fancy till you go on your pilgrimage," said the leader of the band. "Say not so," answered the _furshore_: "for I will certainly go with these people on my pilgrimage now without delay." "Upon our word," said the _crossans_, "you will not take away our clothes with you; for not a single article of the garments you wear belongs to you." "It is not so small a matter that would keep me with you," says he. So they stripped off all his clothes, and sent him away mother naked to the curragh. "Who and what in the world are you, good man?" asked the crew. "A poor wretch who wishes to go with you on pilgrimage," said he. "Indeed," said they, "you shall not by any means come with us, seeing that you are stark naked." "Say not so, young men," said he, "for the sake of God do not refuse me; for I will amuse you and keep your hearts cheerful (with my music and singing); and your piety will not be a whit the worse for it." And (inasmuch as he had asked) for the sake of God they consented to let him go. Now this is how it was with the crew:--each man of them had built a church and raised an altar to the Lord in his own district. Their number was nine; among whom was a bishop, and a priest, and a deacon; and they had one _gilla_ (attendant) who was the ninth man. "Let us go aboard our curragh now," says Lochan, "as we have finished our task of restoring the churches, and as we have, besides, each of us built a church to the Lord in our own district." It was then they put up their prayers fervently to God in the hope that they might have fine weather; and that the Lord would quell the fury of the billows, and the might of the ocean, and the rage of the terrible sea monsters. So they embarked in their curragh, bringing their oars; and they began to question among themselves what direction they should take. "The direction in which this wind will bring us," says the bishop. And having commended themselves to God, one and all, they betook them to their oars. A great wind now arose, which drove them out on the waste of waters straight to the west; and they were forty days and forty nights on the ocean. And God revealed to them great and unheard of wonders. They had not been long rowing when the _crossan_ died; and sad and sorrowful were they for his loss, and wept much. While they were still mourning, they saw a little bird alight on the deck of the curragh. And the little bird spoke and said to them:--"Good people, tell me now in God's name what is the cause of your sorrow." "A _crossan_ that we had playing music for us; and he died a little while ago in this curragh; and that is the cause of our sorrow." And the bird said:--"Lo, I am your little _crossan_: and now be not sorrowful any longer, for I am going straightway to heaven." So saying he bade them farewell and flew away. I. They row forward for a long time till there was shown to them a wonderful island, and in it a great grove of marvellous beauty, laden with apples, golden coloured and sweet scented. A sparkling rivulet of wine flowed through the midst of the grove; and when the wind blew through the trees, sweeter than any music was the rustling it made. The O'Corras ate some of the apples and drank from the rivulet of wine, and were immediately satisfied. And from that time forth they were never troubled by either wounds or sickness. II. Then they took to their oars; and after a time they came in view of another island, and four companies of people in it, such as had never been seen before. Now these people had divided the island into four parts: old greyheaded people were in the first division; princes in the second; warriors in the third; and servants in the fourth. They were all beautiful and glorious to behold; and they diverted themselves continually with games and pastimes. One of the crew went to them to ask news: (he was a comely, well-favoured youth, but) he seemed ugly and dark-visaged in presence of these glorious people. When he had got among them, he became in a moment beautiful like the others; and he joined in their games, and laughed, and made merry. Moreover he remembered nothing more of his companions; and he sojourned in the island after that for evermore. And the O'Corras were at length forced to depart, though much grieved for the loss of their companion. III. Then they set out and rowed for some time till they sighted another marvellous island. It stood up in the air high over the great sea; and it was propped up by a pillar like a single foot standing under it in the middle. And the crew heard great shouting and the loud conversation of people on the top of the island overhead; but though the O'Corras sailed round and round, they could not get a sight of them. IV. They row forward after that till they come to an island in which lived one lone cleric. Very lovely was that island, and glorious its history. Beautiful purple flowers covered all the plains, dropping honey in abundance; and on the trees were perched flocks of bright-coloured birds singing slow sweet fairy-music. The O'Corras went to ask the cleric about himself and about the island. And he spoke as follows:-- "I am a disciple of St. Andrew the Apostle, and Dega is my name. On a certain night I neglected to read my Matins; and it is for this that I was sent on a pilgrimage on the ocean; and here I am awaiting the Judgment day. And yonder birds that are singing those incomparable strains on the trees, these are the souls of holy men." V. They took leave of the old man and plied their oars, till they reached another island, with dead people on one side of it, and living people on the other side: and many of the living people had feet of iron. All round was a burning sea, which broke over the island continually in mighty waves. And the living people uttered fearful cries when the fiery waves flowed over them, for their torments thereby were great and terrible. VI. After leaving this they rowed on till they saw an island formed of great flat stones for ever burning red hot. And thereon they saw whole hosts of people burning in great torment; and many had red fiery spits thrust through their bodies. And they uttered great cries of pain without ceasing. The crew called out from a distance to ask who they were: whereupon one answered:-- "This is one of the flagstones of hell. We are souls who in life did not fulfil the penance imposed on us; and warn all men to avoid this place; for whosoever cometh hither shall never go hence till the Day of Judgment." VII. The next island they saw was very beautiful and glorious to look upon. It had a wall of copper all round it, with a network of copper hanging out from each corner; and in the centre stood a palace. The crew left their curragh on the strand and went towards the palace. And when they had come nigh unto the wall, the wind, as it rustled and murmured through the copper network, made music so soft and sweet that they fell into a gentle slumber, and slept for three days and three nights. When they awoke they saw a beautiful maiden coming towards them from the palace. She had sandals of _findrina_ (a sort of white metal) on her feet, and an inner garment of fine silk next her snow-white skin. She wore a beautiful gold-coloured vest, and over all a bright-tinted mantle, plaited fivefold on its upper border, and fastened at the neck with a brooch of burnished gold. In one hand she held a pitcher of copper, and in the other a silver goblet. When she had come near she greeted them and bade them welcome. And she gave them food from the copper pitcher which seemed to them like cheese; and she brought them water in the silver goblet from a well on the strand. And there was no delicious flavour that was ever tasted by man that they did not find in this food and drink. Then the maiden said to them:--"Although we are all--you and I--of one race, yet shall ye go hence without delay, for your resurrection is not to be here." So they bade her farewell and took to their oars once more. VIII. After rowing for some time they saw flocks of large birds of divers colours flying over the sea; and their number was great beyond counting. One of them alighted on the deck of the curragh. "It would be a delightful thing," said one of the clerics, "if this bird were a messenger from the Lord, sent to give us news." "That would be quite possible with God," said the eldest; and as he spoke he raised his eyes and looked at the bird. Whereupon the bird spoke and said:-- "It is indeed to converse with you that I have come; for I am of the land of Erin." Now this bird was crimson red all over, except three beautiful streaks on her breast, which shone as bright as the sun. And after a time she said to the same cleric:-- "I am the soul of a woman; and I am your friend. And come ye now," says she, "to hear yonder birds; for these are the souls that are permitted to come out of hell every Sunday." "It is better that we leave this place at once," said the same old cleric. And his companions said to him:-- "We will go with thee whithersoever thou goest." So they departed from that place; (and the crimson red bird went with them). IX. And as they went, they saw three wonderful streams, namely, a stream of otters, a stream of eels, and a stream of black swans. Great flocks of birds arose from these three streams and flew past the voyagers; and the black swans followed close after, tearing and tormenting the birds. And the crimson red bird said:-- "Marvel not, neither be ye sad of heart; for these bird-shapes that ye see are the souls of people suffering the punishment of their crimes. And the black swans that follow them, these are devils who are for ever tormenting them; and the birds scream fearfully, and are for ever trying to fly from the demons and to free themselves from their torment. "And now as to me," continued the bird, "I am about to depart from you. It is not permitted me to make known to you what is to befall you; but in a little time another will tell you all that you need to know." And the cleric said:--"Tell us, I beseech thee, what are those three beautiful streaks on thy breast." "I will tell you that," answered the bird. "When I was in the world I was married; but I did not yield obedience to my husband, neither did I fulfil my lawful homely duties as a wife. And when a grievous sickness came upon him I left him to die. But thrice I went in pity to him:--once to see him and ask after his illness; once to bring him such food as befitted his state; and the third time when he was dead, to watch by the body and see it buried. These three good deeds are the three beautiful streaks that you see on my breast; and I should have been bright all over like these streaks if I had not violated my lawful marriage duties." And having so spoken, the bird bade them farewell and flew away. X. They next discovered a very beautiful island. The grass was bright green, and it was all over intermingled with pretty purple-coloured flowers. Flocks of lovely little birds of many bright colours, and myriads of bees, flew among the trees and flowers, humming and singing harmonious music. The voyagers saw a venerable grey-headed old man with a harp in his hand. He played this harp on the island continually; and the music thereof was sweeter than any music they had ever heard. They saluted the old man, who saluted them in return, with a blessing. But immediately he bade them to depart. XI. So they rowed away till they came to another island, on which they saw a man digging in a field; and his spade was all fiery, and the handle thereof, which he held in his hand, was red hot. From the sea at one side arose at times a mighty wave all flaming red with fire, which flowed quite over the island and over the man. And ever when he saw the wave coming he cried out with fear; and when the burning torrent covered him, he strove to raise his head above the flames, and roared with his great torment. Now when one of the waves had retired they spoke to him and asked:-- "Who art thou, O wretched man?" And he answered:--"Lo, this is my punishment for my misdeeds. For when I lived on earth I always worked on Sundays, digging in my garden; for which I am condemned to dig with this fiery spade, and to suffer the torments of these fiery waves. And now, for the sake of God, offer up your prayers for me, that my pains may be lightened." And they prayed fervently; after which they departed from the island. XII. Soon after leaving this they saw a horseman of vast size riding on the sea; and the horse he rode was made of fire flaming red. And as he rode, great waves of fire came after him along the sea; and when a wave began to roll over him, he yelled aloud with fear and pain. Then they asked him why he was thus tormented; and he answered:-- "I am he who stole my brother's horse; and after I had gotten him I rode him every Sunday. For this I am now undergoing my punishment, riding on this horse of fire, and tormented with these great waves of fire." XIII. After leaving this they came in sight of another island, full of people, all weeping and lamenting grievously. Great numbers of jet-black birds with beaks of fire and red-hot fiery talons followed and fluttered round about them, tearing and burning them with their talons, and rending away pieces of flesh, the full of their fiery beaks. Then the crew said aloud:-- "Who are ye, O miserable people?" "We are dishonest smiths and artisans; and because we cheated while we lived, we are punished by these hateful fiery birds. Moreover, our tongues are burning, being all afire in our heads; for that we reviled people with bitter words and foul taunts." XIV. Coming now to another place, they saw a giant huge in size, and of a sooty black colour all over. His mouth was all on fire; and from his throat he belched forth great flakes of fire, each flake as it came from his mouth larger than the skin of a three-year-old wether. He held in his hand an iron club larger than the shaft of a mill wheel; and on his back he bore an immense faggot of firewood, a good load for a team of horses. Now this faggot often blazed up and burned him; and he tried to free himself from his torment by lying down so that the sea might flow over him. But ever as he did so, the sea around him turned to fire, and rose up in mighty burning billows, covering him all over, so that he made the place resound with his bellowings. "Miserable wretch, who art thou?" asked the crew. And he answered:--"I will tell you truly. When I lived I used to cut faggots and bring them home on my back every Sunday: and lo, here is my punishment." XV. They came after that to a sea of fire full of men's heads, all black, and continually fighting with each other. And many great serpents rose up among the heads and came with fury to attack the curragh, so that at one time they pierced through the outer hide. And one of the crew who looked on cried out in great horror, and said:-- "It is enough to strike one dead to behold the fearful things I see!" And the whole crew when they saw the heads and the serpents fell flat with fear. But the elder (the bishop) comforted them, saying:-- "Be ye not afraid or troubled on account of these things; for God is able to protect us, even though we were in a curragh of only one hide; and if He wishes to save us, these monsters cannot hurt us, however furious they may be to slay us." And they took courage after this, and rowed out into the open sea. XVI. There was shown to them next another beautiful island, having in one place an open wood. The trees were laden with fruit, and the leaves dropped honey to the ground. The sides of the hills were clothed with purple blossomed heather, mixed with soft, green grass to its very centre. In the midst of the island was a pretty lake, whose waters tasted like sweet wine. They rested for a week on the shore of this lake, and cast off their weariness. And now, being about to leave the island, as they turned to go to the curragh, a monstrous reptile[CLXVII.] rose up from the lake and looked at them. And they trembled with fear at the sight of this terrible beast; for each man thought that he himself would be the first to be attacked. But after a little time the reptile dived again into the water, and they saw no more of him. XVII. From this they rowed away; and after a long time they came at midnight to an island wherein was a community of Ailbe of Emly.[CLXVIII.] On the beach they found two spring wells; one foul, the other bright and clear. The gilla wished to drink of the clear well; but the elder (the bishop) told him it was better to ask leave, if there was anyone living on the island. Then they saw a great light; and coming closer, they found the twelve men of the community at their prayers; and now they perceived that the bright light they saw came from the radiant faces of the twelve; so that these holy men needed no other light. One of them, an old man, comes towards the voyagers; and he bids them welcome and asks news of them. They tell him all their adventures, and ask his leave to drink from the well; whereupon he said to them:--"Ye may fill your pitchers from the clear well, if your elder (_i.e._ the bishop) gives you leave." "Who are ye?" asks the gilla. "A community of Ailbe of Emly," says he: "and we are the crew of one of Ailbe's curraghs. God has permitted that we live here till the Day of Judgment, praying for everyone who is drowned at sea. And now leave this land before morning," he added, "for your resurrection is not to be here. And if ye have not left by the dawn, so much the worse for yourselves; for if once ye get a view of this island in the light of day, bitter will be your anguish of mind for leaving it (on account of its surpassing loveliness). So it is better for you to go away during the night." And they did exactly all he told them to do. "Shall we take away some of the pebbles of the strand?" said they (talking among themselves). "It is better to ask leave," answered the cleric. So the gilla asked leave of the same old man. "Yes, if you have the permission (of your bishop)," answered he. "Nevertheless," he added, "those who take them will be sorry; and those who do not take them will be sorry also." They pick up pebbles, some bringing away one, some two, some three. (After which they row away in the dark night from the island.) In the morning they drank some of the spring water of the island from their pitchers; which threw them into a deep sleep from that time till next day. On wakening up, they examined their pebbles in the light; and some were found to be crystal, some silver, and some gold. Then those who brought some away were in sorrow that they had not brought more; and much greater was the sorrow of those who had brought away none. So the words of the old man came true. XVIII. After leaving this they came to a lovely island on which was a church standing all alone: and when they drew nigh they heard the voice of a cleric singing the psalms with a sweet voice. They came to the door and struck it with the hand-wood; and straightway a beautiful bright-coloured bird came to speak with them. When they had told him who they were and what they wanted, he flew back to the cleric, who bade him have the door opened for the pilgrims. And when they had come in, they found the cleric--a very old man with white hair--who sang his hymns continually. And they saluted each other; and the pilgrims stayed there that night. And an angel came and brought them supper, and ministered unto them. On the morrow the old priest bade them depart, since that was not to be the place of their resurrection on the Judgment Day. But before they went he foretold all that should happen to them during the rest of their voyage. XIX. From that they came to an island in which was a disciple of Christ. Glorious and beautiful was that island; and on it stood a church and a kingly shrine. As they came near they heard some one singing the Pater to God in the door of the church: whereupon one of the clerics said:-- "Welcome the prayer of our father and teacher, Jesus." And the priest who stood praying at the door said:-- "Why say you so? Who are ye; and where have ye seen Him?" And when they had told him that they were servants of Jesus, he spoke again:-- "I too am one of His disciples. And when I first took Him for my Lord I was faithful and steady; but after a time I left Him and came to sea in my curragh, and rowed till I came to this island. For a long time I lived on fruit and herbs; till at length an angel came from heaven to visit me. And he said to me:-- "'Thou hast not done well: nevertheless thou shalt abide on this island, eating the same food without either decay or death till the Judgment Day.' And so I have lived here to this hour: and no daily meal is sent to me, but I eat of the herbs and fruit that grow on the island." Then they all went together into one house; and being very hungry, they prayed fervently for food. And presently an angel came down from heaven; and while they looked on he placed a supper for them on a flagstone hard by the strand, namely, a cake with a slice of fish for each. And while they ate, whatsoever taste each man separately wished for, that taste he found on the food. In the morning, when they were about to bid the cleric farewell, he foretold all that should happen to them, saying:-- "Ye shall go from me now on sea till ye reach the western point of Spain. And as ye near the land, ye shall meet a boat with a crew of men fishing, who will bring you with them to land." Then turning to the bishop, he said:--"Immediately after leaving the curragh, as soon as thou hast reached the land, prostrate thyself three times to God. And the place on which thou shalt first set thy foot, there a great crowd shall gather round thee from every quarter. And they will treat thee kindly, and will give thee land on which they will build a church for thee; and after this thy fame shall spread over the whole world. And the successor of Peter (the Pope) shall bring thee eastwards to Rome. Yonder priest thou shalt leave as thy successor in the church, and the deacon thou shalt leave to be his sacristan. That place and that church shall be revered, and shall be preserved for ever. And thou shalt leave the Gilla in Britain, where he will live for the rest of his life." After this they bade the old man farewell and left the island. And all fell out just as he had foretold. And the bishop went to Rome; and he afterwards related these adventures to Saerbrethach bishop of West Munster, and to Mocolmoc, one of the holy men of Aran, as we have set them down here. Thus far the Voyage of the Sons of O'Corra. FOOTNOTES: [CLV.] I translated this tale fifteen years ago (as mentioned in Preface, page xiii) from two Royal Irish Academy MSS., 23. N. 15 and 23. M. 50; and I subsequently made some modifications after I had an opportunity of consulting the more correct text of the Book of Fermoy. This last text has since been published, with literal translation, by Dr. Whitley Stokes, in the _Revue Celtique_ (Jan. 1893). After comparing my somewhat free version with Dr. Stokes's close translation, I have not thought it necessary to make any changes. A few of the adventures in this tale are identical with those described in the Voyage of Maildun: the description of these I have omitted here. Lochan, Enna, and Silvester, the chief characters in this extraordinary fiction, are historical: they were saints of the primitive Irish church, and lived in the sixth century. [CLVI.] _Brugaid_, a sort of local officer who maintained a large establishment as keeper of a house of public hospitality. See my "Short History of Ireland," p. 57. [CLVII.] Chess-playing was a favourite amusement among the ancient Irish. [CLVIII.] Cairderga: original _Caer-derg_, red berry. [CLIX.] _Erenach_, the holder or _impropriator_ of a church and its lands: usually a layman. [CLX.] Clogher in Tyrone where there was a monastery. [CLXI.] Tuam-da-Gualann, where was formerly a celebrated ecclesiastical establishment: now Tuam in Galway. [CLXII.] Greenan: original _grianan_, literally a sunny place: a summer-house: the most lightsome, airy, and pleasant apartment of a house. See this word discussed in my "Irish Names of Places," vol. i. p. 291. [CLXIII.] For St. Finnen of Clonard in the County Meath, see my "Short History of Ireland," p. 175 [CLXIV.] _Kenn-Mara_, now Kinvarra on Galway bay. [CLXV.] _Curragh_, see note 17 at end. Some curraghs were made with two--some with three--hides, one outside another, for the better security. [CLXVI.] _Crossans_: travelling gleemen: the clothes, musical instruments, &c., were the property of the company. This word is the origin of the Scotch and Irish family name MacCrossan, now often changed to Crosbie. A company of crossans had always among them a _fuirseoir_, i.e. a juggler or buffoon. [CLXVII.] According to very ancient legends, which are still vividly remembered and recounted all over the country, almost every lake in Ireland has a tremendous hairy reptile in its waters. Some say they are demons, sent by St. Patrick to reside at the bottom of the lakes to the Day of Judgment. [CLXVIII.] St. Ailbe, the patron of Munster, was a contemporary of St. Patrick. He founded his great monastery and school at Emly in the County Limerick. THE FATE OF THE SONS OF USNA.[CLXIX.] Avenging and bright fall the swift sword of Erin On him who the brave sons of Usna betrayed. MOORE. FOOTNOTES: [CLXIX.] The translation that follows is my own, and is of course copyright, like all the other translations in this book. On this fine story is founded the epic poem of "Deirdre," by Robert Dwyer Joyce, M.D. CHAPTER I. THE FLIGHT TO ALBAN. Concobar mac Nessa, king of Ulaid,[CLXX.] ruled in Emain. And his chief story-teller, Felimid, made a feast for the king and for the knights of the Red Branch,[CLXXI.] who all came to partake of it in his house. While they were feasting right joyously, listening to the sweet music of the harps and the mellow voices of the bards, a messenger brought word that Felimid's wife had given birth to a little daughter, an infant of wondrous beauty. And when Caffa, the king's druid and seer, who was of the company, was ware of the birth of the child, he went forth to view the stars and the clouds, if he might thereby glean knowledge of what was in store for that little babe.[CLXXII.] And when he had returned to his place, he sat deep pondering for a time: and then standing up and obtaining silence, he said:-- "This child shall be called Deir-dr[)e][CLXXIII.]; and fittingly is she so named: for much of woe will befall Ulaid and Erin in general on her account. There shall be jealousies, and strifes, and wars: evil deeds will be done: many heroes will be exiled: many will fall." When the heroes heard this, they were sorely troubled, and some said that the child should be killed. But the king said:--"Not so, ye Knights of the Red Branch; it is not meet to commit a base deed in order to escape evils that may never come to pass. This little maid shall be reared out of the reach of mischief, and when she is old enough she shall be my wife: thus shall I be the better able to guard against those evils that Caffa forecasts for us." And the Ultonians did not dare to gainsay the word of the king. Then king Concobar caused the child to be placed in a strong fortress on a lonely spot nigh the palace, with no opening in front, but with door and windows looking out at the back on a lovely garden watered by a clear rippling stream: and house and garden were surrounded by a wall that no man could surmount. And those who were put in charge of her were, her tutor, and her nurse, and Concobar's poetess, whose name was Lavarcam: and save these three, none were permitted to see her. And so she grew up in this solitude, year by year, till she was of marriageable age, when she excelled all the maidens of her time for beauty. One snowy day as she and Lavarcam looked forth from the window, they saw some blood on the snow, where her tutor had killed a calf for dinner; and a raven alighted and began to drink of it. "I should like," said Deirdre, "that he who is to be my husband should have these three colours: his hair as black as the raven: his cheeks red as the blood: his skin like the snow. And I saw such a youth in a dream last night; but I know not where he is, or whether he is living on the ridge of the world." "Truly," said Lavarcam, "the young hero that answers to thy words is not far from thee; for he is among Concobar's knights: namely, Naisi the son of Usna." Now Naisi and his brothers, Ainnli and Ardan, the three sons of Usna, were the best beloved of all the Red Branch Knights, so gracious and gentle were they in time of peace, so skilful and swift-footed in the chase, so strong and valiant in battle. And when Deirdre heard Lavarcam's words, she said:--"If it be as thou sayest, that this young knight is near us, I shall not be happy till I see him: and I beseech thee to bring him to speak to me." "Alas, child," replied Lavarcam, "thou knowest not the peril of what thou askest me to do: for if thy tutor come to know of it, he will surely tell the king; and the king's anger none can bear." Deirdre answered not: but she remained for many days sad and silent: and her eyes often filled with tears through memory of her dream: so that Lavarcam was grieved: and she pondered on the thing if it could be done, for she loved Deirdre very much, and had compassion on her. At last she contrived that these two should meet without the tutor's knowledge: and the end of the matter was that they loved each other: and Deirdre said she would never wed the king, but she would wed Naisi. Knowing well the doom that awaited them when Concobar came to hear of this, Naisi and his young wife and his two brothers, with thrice fifty fighting men, thrice fifty women, thrice fifty attendants, and thrice fifty hounds, fled over sea to Alban. And the king of the western part of Alban received them kindly, and took them into military service. Here they remained for a space, gaining daily in favour: but they kept Deirdre apart, fearing evil if the king should see her. And so matters went on, till it chanced that the king's steward, coming one day by Naisi's house, saw the couple as they sat on their couch: and going directly to his master, he said:-- "O king, we have long sought in vain for a woman worthy to be thy wife, and now at last we have found her: for the woman, Deirdre, who is with Naisi, is worthy to be the wife of the king of the western world. And now I give thee this counsel:--Let Naisi be killed, and then take thou Deirdre for thy wife." The king basely agreed to do so; and forthwith he laid a plot to slay the sons of Usna; which matter coming betimes to the ears of the brothers, they fled by night with all their people. And when they had got to a safe distance, they took up their abode in a wild place, where with much ado they obtained food by hunting and fishing. And the brothers built them three hunting booths in the forest, a little distance from that part of the seashore looking towards Erin: and the booth in which their food was prepared, in that they did not eat; and the one in which they ate, in that they did not sleep. And their people in like manner built themselves booths and huts, which gave them but scant shelter from wind and weather. Now when it came to the ears of the Ultonians, that the sons of Usna and their people were in discomfort and danger, they were sorely grieved: but they kept their thoughts to themselves, for they dared not speak their mind to the king. FOOTNOTES: [CLXX.] Ulaid (pronounced _Ulla_), Ulster. [CLXXI.] For Concobar and the Red Branch Knights, see note 15 farther on: and for much fuller information, see my "Social History of Ancient Ireland," vol. i, page 83; or the Smaller Soc. Hist., page 38. [CLXXII.] The druids professed to be able to foretell by observing the stars and clouds. See Smaller Social History, p. 98. [CLXXIII.] "Deirdre" is said to mean "alarm." CHAPTER II. CONCOBAR'S GUILEFUL MESSAGE. AT this same time a right joyous and very splendid feast was given by Concobar in Emain Macha to the nobles and the knights of his household. And the number of the king's household that sat them down in the great hall of Emain on that occasion was five and three score above six hundred and one thousand.[CLXXIV.] Then arose, in turn, their musicians to sound their melodious harpstrings, and their poets and their story-tellers to sing their sweet poetic strains, and to recount the deeds of the mighty heroes of the olden time. And the feasting and the enjoyment went on, and the entire assembly were gay and cheerful. At length Concobar arose from where he sat high up on his royal seat; whereupon the noise of mirth was instantly hushed. And he raised his kingly voice and said:-- "I desire to know from you, ye Nobles and Knights of the Red Branch, have you ever seen in any quarter of Erin a house better than this house of Emain, which is my mansion: and whether you see any want in it." And they answered that they saw no better house, and that they knew of no want in it. And the king said: "I know of a great want: namely, that we have not present among us the three noble sons of Usna. And why now should they be in banishment on account of any woman in the world?" And the nobles replied:--"Truly it is a sad thing that the sons of Usna, our dear comrades, should be in exile and distress. They were a shield of defence to Ulaid: and now, O king, it will please us well that thou send for them and bring them back, lest they and their people perish by famine or fall by their enemies." "Let them come," replied Concobar, "and make submission to me: and their homes, and their lands and their places among the Knights of the Red Branch shall be restored to them." Now Concobar was mightily enraged at the marriage and flight of Naisi and Deirdre, though he hid his mind from all men; and he spoke these words pretending forgiveness and friendship. But there was guile in his heart, and he planned to allure them back to Ulaid that he might kill them. When the feast was ended, and the company had departed, the king called unto him Fergus mac Roy, and said:--"Go thou, Fergus, and bring back the sons of Usna and their people. I promise thee that I will receive them as friends should be received, and that what awaits them here is not enmity or injury, but welcome and friendship. Take my message of peace and good will, and give thyself as pledge and surety for their safety. But these two things I charge thee to do:--That the moment you land in Ulaid on your way back, you proceed straight to Barach's house which stands on the sea cliff high over the landing place fronting Alban: and that whether the time of your arrival be by day or by night, thou see that the sons of Usna tarry not, but let them come hither direct to Emain, that they may not eat food in Erin till they eat of mine." And Fergus, suspecting no evil design, promised to do as the king directed: for he was glad to be sent on this errand, being a fast friend to the sons of Usna. Fergus set out straightway, bringing with him only his two sons, Illan the Fair and Buinni the Red, and his shield-bearer to carry his shield. And as soon as he had departed, Concobar sent for Barach and said to him:-- "Prepare a feast in thy house for Fergus: and when he visits thee returning with the sons of Usna, invite him to partake of it." And Barach thereupon departed for his home to do the bidding of the king and prepare the feast. Now those heroes of old, on the day they received knighthood, were wont to make certain pledges which were to bind them for life, some binding themselves to one thing, some to another. And as they made the promises on the faith of their knighthood, with great vows, in presence of kings and nobles, they dared not violate them; no, not even if it was to save the lives of themselves and all their friends: for whosoever broke through his knighthood pledge was foully dishonoured for evermore. And one of Fergus's obligations was never to refuse an invitation to a banquet: a thing which was well known to King Concobar and to Barach. As to Fergus mac Roy and his sons: they went on board their galley and put to sea, and made no delay till they reached the harbour nigh the campment of the sons of Usna. And coming ashore, Fergus gave the loud shout of a mighty man of chase. The sons of Usna were at that same hour in their booth; and Naisi and Deirdre were sitting with a polished chessboard between them playing a game. And when they heard the shout, Naisi said:--"That is the call of a man from Erin." "Not so," replied Deirdre, "it is the call of a man of Alban." And after a little time when a second shout came, Naisi said:--"That of a certainty is the call of a man of Erin!" But Deirdre again replied:--"No, indeed: it concerns us not: let us play our game." But when a third shout came sounding louder than those before, Naisi arose and said:--"Now I know the voice: that is the shout of Fergus!" And straightway he sent Ardan to the shore to meet him. Now Deirdre knew the voice of Fergus from the first: but she kept her thoughts to herself: for her heart misgave her that the visit boded evil. And when she told Naisi that she knew the first shout, he said:--"Why, my queen, didst thou conceal it then?" And she replied:--"Lo, I saw a vision in my sleep last night: three birds came to us from Emain Macha, with three drops of honey in their beaks, and they left us the honey and took away three drops of our blood." "What dost thou read from that vision, O princess?" said Naisi. "It denotes the message from Concobar to us," said Deirdre; "for sweet as honey is the message of peace from a false man, while he has thoughts of blood hidden deep in his heart." When Ardan arrived at the shore, the sight of Fergus and his two sons was to him like rain on the parched grass; for it was long since he had seen any of his dear comrades from Erin. And he cried out as he came near, "An affectionate welcome to you, my dear companions": and he fell on Fergus's neck and kissed his cheeks, and did the like to his sons. Then he brought them to the hunting-booth; and Naisi, Ainnli, and Deirdre gave them a like kind welcome; after which they asked the news from Erin. "The best news I have," said Fergus, "is that Concobar has sent me to you with kindly greetings, to bring you back to Emain and restore you to your lands and homes, and to your places in the Red Branch; and I am myself a pledge for your safety." "It is not meet for them to go," said Deirdre: "for here they are under no man's rule; and their sway in Alban is even as great as the sway of Concobar in Erin." But Fergus said: "One's mother country is better than all else, and gloomy is life when a man sees not his home each morning." "Far dearer to me is Erin than Alban," said Naisi, "even though my sway should be greater here." It was not with Deirdre's consent he spoke these words: and she still earnestly opposed their return to Erin. But Fergus tried to re-assure her:--"If all the men of Erin were against you," said he, "it would avail nought once I have passed my word for your safety." "We trust in thee," said Naisi, "and we will go with thee to Erin." FOOTNOTES: [CLXXIV.] That is 1665. This inverted method of enumeration was often used in Ireland. But they also used direct enumeration like ours. CHAPTER III. THE RETURN TO EMAIN. Going next morning on board their galleys, Fergus and his companions put out on the wide sea: and oar and wind bore them on swiftly till they landed on the shore of Erin near the house of Barach. And Deirdre, seating herself on a cliff, looked sadly over the waters at the blue headlands of Alban: and she uttered this farewell:-- I. "Dear to me is yon eastern land: Alban with its wonders. Beloved is Alban with its bright harbours and its pleasant hills of the green slopes. From that land I would never depart except to be with Naisi. II. "Kil-Cuan, O Kil-Cuan,[CLXXV.] whither Ainnli was wont to resort: short seemed the time to me while I sojourned there with Naisi on the margins of its streams and waterfalls. III. "Glen-Lee, O Glen-Lee, where I slept happy under soft coverlets: fish and fowl, and the flesh of red deer and badgers; these were our fare in Glen-Lee. IV. "Glen-Masan, O Glen-Masan: tall its cresses of white stalks: often were we rocked to sleep in our curragh in the grassy harbour of Glen-Masan. V. "Glen-Orchy, O Glen-Orchy: over thy straight glen rises the smooth ridge that oft echoed to the voices of our hounds. No man of the clan was more light-hearted than my Naisi when following the chase in Glen-Orchy. VI. "Glen-Ettive, O Glen-Ettive: there it was that my first house was raised for me: lovely its woods in the smile of the early morn: the sun loves to shine on Glen-Ettive. VII. "Glen-da-Roy, O Glen-da-Roy: the memory of its people is dear to me: sweet is the cuckoo's note from the bending bough on the peak over Glen-da-Roy. VIII. "Dear to me is Dreenagh over the resounding shore: dear to me its crystal waters over the speckled sand. From those sweet places I would never depart, but only to be with my beloved Naisi." After this they entered the house of Barach; and when Barach had welcomed them, he said to Fergus: "Here I have a three-days banquet ready for thee, and I invite thee to come and partake of it." When Fergus heard this, his heart sank and his face waxed all over a crimson red: and he said fiercely to Barach:--"Thou hast done an evil thing to ask me to this banquet: for well thou knowest I cannot refuse thee. Thou knowest, too, that I am under solemn pledge to send the Sons of Usna this very hour to Emain: and if I remain feasting in thy house, how shall I see that my promise of safety is respected?" But none the less did Barach persist; for he was one of the partners in Concobar's treacherous design. Then Fergus turned to Naisi and said:--"I dare not violate my knighthood promise: what am I to do in this strait?" But Deirdre answered for her husband:--"The choice is before thee, Fergus; and it is more meet for thee to abandon thy feast than to abandon the sons of Usna, who have come over on thy pledge." Then Fergus was in sore perplexity; and pondering a little he said:--"I will not forsake the sons of Usna: for I will send with them to Emain Macha my two sons, Illan the Fair and Buinni the Red, who will be their pledge instead of me." But Naisi said: "We need not thy sons for guard or pledge: we have ever been accustomed to defend ourselves!" And he moved from the place in great wrath: and his two brothers, and Deirdre, and the two sons of Fergus followed him, with the rest of the clan; while Fergus remained behind silent and gloomy: for his heart misgave him that mischief was brewing for the sons of Usna. Then Deirdre tried to persuade the sons of Usna to go to Rathlin, between Erin and Alban, and tarry there till Barach's feast was ended: but they did not consent to do so, for they deemed it would be a mark of cowardice: and they sped on by the shortest ways towards Emain Macha. When now they had come to Fincarn of the Watch-tower on Slieve Fuad, Deirdre and her attendants stayed behind the others a little: and she fell asleep. And when Naisi missed her, he turned back and found her just awakening; and he said to her:--"Why didst thou tarry, my princess?" And she answered:--"I fell asleep and had a dream. And this is what I saw in my dream:--Illan the Fair took your part: Buinni the Red did not: and I saw Illan without his head: but Buinni had neither wound nor hurt." "Alas, O beauteous princess," said Naisi, "thou utterest nought but evil forebodings: but the king is true and will not break his plighted word." So they fared on till they had come to the Ridge of the Willows,[CLXXVI.] an hour's journey from the palace: and Deirdre, looking upwards in great fear, said to Naisi:--"O Naisi, see yonder cloud in the sky over Emain, a fearful chilling cloud of a blood-red tinge: a baleful red cloud that bodes disaster! Come ye now to Dundalgan and abide there with the mighty hero Cuculainn till Fergus returns from Barach's feast; for I fear Concobar's treachery." But Naisi answered:--"We cannot follow thy advice, beloved Deirdre, for it would be a mark of fear: and we have no fear." And as they came nigh the palace Deirdre said to them:--"I will now give you a sign if Concobar meditates good or evil. If you are brought into his own mansion where he sits surrounded by his nobles, to eat and drink with him, this is a token that he means no ill; for no man will injure a guest that has partaken of food at his table: but if you are sent to the house of the Red Branch, be sure he is bent on treachery." When at last they arrived at the palace, they knocked loudly with the handwood: and the door-keeper swang the great door wide open. And when he had spoken with them, he went and told Concobar that the sons of Usna and Fergus's two sons had come, with their people. And Concobar called to him his stewards and attendants and asked them:--"How is it in the house of the Red Branch as to food and drink?" And they replied that if the seven battalions of Ulaid were to come to it, they would find enough of all good things. "If that is so," said Concobar, "take the sons of Usna and their people to the Red Branch." Even then Deirdre besought them not to enter the Red Branch: for she deemed now that of a certainty there was mischief afoot. But Illan the Fair said:--"Never did we show cowardice or unmanliness, and we shall not do so now." Then she was silent and went with them into the house. And the company, when they had come in, sat them down so that they filled the great hall: and alluring viands and delicious drinks were set before them: and they ate and drank till they became satisfied and cheerful: all except Deirdre and the Sons of Usna, who did not partake much of food or drink. And Naisi asked for the king's chessboard and chessmen; which were brought: and he and Deirdre began to play. FOOTNOTES: [CLXXV.] This and the other places named in Deirdre's Farewell are all in the west of Scotland. [CLXXVI.] Irish name, _Drum-Sailech_; the ridge on which Armagh was afterwards built. CHAPTER IV. TROUBLE LOOMING. Let us now speak of Concobar. As he sat among his nobles, the thought of Deirdre came into his mind, and he said:--"Who among you will go to the Red Branch and bring me tidings of Deirdre, whether her youthful shape and looks still live upon her: for if so there is not on the ridge of the world a woman more beautiful." And Lavarcam said she would go. Now the sons of Usna were very dear to Lavarcam: and Naisi was dearer than the others. And rising up she went to the Red Branch, where she found Naisi and Deirdre with the chessboard between them, playing. And she saluted them affectionately: and she embraced Deirdre, and wept over her, and kissed her many times with the eagerness of her love: and she kissed the cheeks of Naisi and of his brothers. And when her loving greeting was ended, she said:--"Beloved children, evil is the deed that is to be done this night in Emain: for the three torches of valour of the Gaels will be treacherously assailed, and Concobar is certainly resolved to put them to death. And now set your people on guard, and bolt and bar all doors, and close all windows; and be steadfast and valorous, and defend your dear charge manfully, if you may hold the assailants at bay till Fergus comes." And she departed weeping piteously. And when Lavarcam had returned to Concobar he asked what tidings she brought. "Good tidings have I," said she: "for the three sons of Usna have come, the three valiant champions of Ulaid: and now that they are with thee, O king, thou wilt hold sway in Erin without dispute. And bad tidings I bring also: Deirdre indeed is not as she was, for her youthful form and the splendour of her countenance have fled from her." And when Concobar heard this, his jealousy abated, and he joined in the feasting. But again the thought of Deirdre came to him, and he asked:--"Who now will go for me to the Red Branch, and bring me further tidings of Deirdre and of the sons of Usna?" for he distrusted Lavarcam. But the Knights of the Red Branch had misgivings of some evil design, and all remained silent. Then he called to him Trendorn, one of the lesser chiefs: and he said:--"Knowest thou, Trendorn, who slew thy father and thy three brothers in battle?" And Trendorn answered:--"Verily, it was Naisi, the son of Usna, that slew them." Then the king said:--"Go now to the Red Branch and bring me back tidings of Deirdre and of the sons of Usna." Trendorn went right willingly. But when he found the doors and windows of the Red Branch shut up, he was seized with fear, and he said:--"It is not safe to approach the sons of Usna, for they are surely in wrathful mood: nevertheless I must needs bring back tidings to the king." Whereupon, not daring to knock at the door, he climbed nimbly to a small window high up that had been unwittingly left open, through which he viewed the spacious banquet hall, and saw Naisi and Deirdre playing chess. Deirdre chanced to look up at that moment, and seeing the face of the spy with eyes intently gazing on her, she started with affright and grasped Naisi's arm, as he was making a move with the chessman. Naisi, following her gaze, and seeing the evil-looking face, flung the chessman with unerring aim, and broke the eye in Trendorn's head. Trendorn dropped down in pain and rage; and going straight to Concobar, he said:--"I have tidings for thee, O king: the three sons of Usna are sitting in the banquet hall, stately and proud like kings: and Deirdre is seated beside Naisi; and verily for beauty and queenly grace her peer cannot be found." When Concobar heard this, a flame of jealousy and fury blazed up in his heart, and he resolved that by no means should the sons of Usna escape the doom he planned for them. CHAPTER V. THE ATTACK ON THE SONS OF USNA. Coming forth on the lawn of Emain, King Concobar now ordered a large body of hireling troops to beset the Red Branch: and he bade them force the doors and bring forth the sons of Usna. And they uttered three dreadful shouts of defiance, and assailed the house on every side; but the strong oak stood bravely, and they were not able to break through doors or walls. So they heaped up great piles of wood and brambles, and kindled them till the red flames blazed round the house. Buinni the Red now stood up and said to the sons of Usna:--"To me be entrusted the task to repel this first assault: for I am your pledge in place of my father." And marshalling his men, and causing the great door to be thrown wide open, he sallied forth and scattered the assailants, and put out the fires: slaying thrice fifty hirelings in that onslaught. But Buinni returned not to the Red Branch: for the king sent to him with a secret offer of great favours and bribes: namely, his own royal friendship, and a fruitful tract of land; which Buinni took and basely abandoned the sons of Usna. But none the better luck came to him of it: for at that same hour a blight fell on the land, so that it became a moor, waste and profitless, which is at this day called Slieve Fuad. When Illan the Fair became aware of his brother's treason, he was grieved to the heart, and he said:--"I am the second pledge in place of my father for the sons of Usna, and of a certainty I will not betray them: while this straight sword lives in my hand I will be faithful: and I will now repel this second attack." For at this time the king's hirelings were again thundering at the doors. Forth he issued with his band: and he made three quick furious circuits round the Red Branch, scattering the troops as he went: after which he returned to the mansion and found Naisi and Deirdre still playing.[CLXXVII.] But as the hireling hordes returned to the attack, he went forth a second time and fell on them, dealing death and havoc whithersoever he went. Then, while the fight was still raging, Concobar called to him his son Ficra, and said to him:--"Thou and Illan the Fair were born on the same night: and as he has his father's arms, so thou take mine, namely, my shield which is called the Ocean, and my two spears which are called Dart and Slaughter, and my great sword, the Blue-green blade. And bear thyself manfully against him, and vanquish him, else none of my troops will survive." Ficra did so and went against Illan the Fair; and they made a stout, warlike, red-wounding attack on each other, while the others looked on anxious: but none dared to interfere. And it came to pass that Illan prevailed, so that Ficra was fain to shelter himself behind his father's shield the Ocean, and he was like to be slain. Whereupon, the shield moaned, and the Three Waves of Erin uttered their hollow melancholy roar.[CLXXVIII.] The hero Conall Carnagh, sitting in his dun afar off, heard the moan of the shield and the roar of the Wave of Tuath: and springing up from where he sat, he said: "Verily, the king is in danger: I will go to his rescue." He ran with the swiftness of the wind, and arrived on the Green of Emain, where the two young heroes were fighting. Thinking it was Concobar that crouched beneath the shield, he attacked Illan, not knowing him, and wounded him even unto death. And Illan looking up said, "Is it thou, Conall? Alas, dreadful is the deed thou hast done, not knowing me, and not knowing that I am fighting in defence of the sons of Usna, who are now in deadly peril from the treachery of Concobar." And Conall, finding he had unwittingly wounded his dear young friend Illan, turned in his grief and rage on the other, and swept off his head. And he stalked fierce and silent out of the battlefield. Illan, still faithful to his charge, called aloud to Naisi to defend himself bravely: then putting forth his remaining strength, he flung his arms, namely, his sword and his spears and his shield, into the Red Branch; and falling prone on the green sward, the shades of death dimmed his eyes, and his life departed. And now when it was the dusk of evening, another great battalion of the hirelings assailed the Red Branch, and kindled fagots around it: whereupon Ardan sallied out with his valorous band and scattered them, and put out the fires, and held guard for the first third of the night. And during the second third Ainnli kept them at bay. Then Naisi took his turn, issuing forth, and fought with them till the morning's dawn: and until the sands of the seashore, or the leaves of the forest, or the dew-drops on the grass, or the stars of heaven are counted, it will not be possible to number the hirelings that were slain in that fight by Naisi and his band of heroes. And as he was returning breathless from the rout, all grimy and terrible with blood and sweat, he spied Lavarcam, as she stood watching the battle anxiously; and he said:--"Go, Lavarcam, go and stand on the outer rampart, and cast thine eyes eastwards, if perchance thou shouldst see Fergus and his men coming." For many of Naisi's brave followers had fallen in these encounters: and he doubted that he and the others could sustain much longer the continual assaults of superior numbers. And Lavarcam went, but returned downcast, saying she saw nought eastwards, but the open plain with the peaceful herds browsing over it. FOOTNOTES: [CLXXVII.] These champions, as well as their wives, took care never to show any signs of fear or alarm even in the time of greatest danger: so Naisi and Deirdre kept playing quietly as if nothing was going on outside, though they heard the din of battle resounding. [CLXXVIII.] The "Three _Tonns_ or Waves of Erin" were the Wave of Tuath outside the mouth of the river Bann, off the coast of Derry; the Wave of Rury in Dundrum Bay, off the county Down; and the Wave of Cleena in Glandore Harbour in the south of Cork. In stormy weather, when the wind blows from certain directions, the sea at those places, as it tumbles over the sandbanks, or among the caves and fissures of the rocks, utters a loud and solemn roar, which in old times was believed to forebode the death of some king. The legends also tell that the shield belonging to a king moaned when the person who wore it in battle--whether the king himself or a member of his family--was in danger of death: the moan was heard all over Ireland; and the "Three Waves of Erin" roared in response. See "Irish Names of Places," Vol. II., Chap. XVI. CHAPTER VI. DEATH OF THE SONS OF USNA. Believing now that they could no longer defend the Red Branch, Naisi took council with his brothers; and what they resolved on was this:--To sally forth with all their men and fight their way to a place of safety. Then making a close, firm fence of shields and spears round Deirdre, they marched out in solid ranks and attacked the hireling battalions and slew three hundred in that onslaught. Concobar, seeing the rout of his men, and being now sure that it was not possible to subdue the sons of Usna in open fight, cast about if he might take them by falsehood and craft. And sending for Caffa, the druid, who loved them, he said:-- "These sons of Usna are brave men, and it is our pleasure to receive them back into our service. Go now unto them, for thou art their loved friend; and say to them that if they lay down their arms and submit to me, I will restore them to favour and give them their places among the Red Branch Knights. And I pledge thee my kingly word and my troth as a true knight, that no harm shall befall them." Caffa, by no means distrusting him, went to the sons of Usna, and told them all the king had said. And they, suspecting neither guile nor treachery, joyfully threw their swords and spears aside, and went towards the king to make submission. But now, while they stood defenceless, the king caused them to be seized and bound. Then, turning aside, he sought for some one to put them to death; but he found no man of the Ultonians willing to do so. Among his followers was a foreigner named Maini of the Rough Hand, whose father and two brothers had fallen in battle by Naisi: and this man undertook to kill the sons of Usna. When they were brought forth to their doom, Ardan said:--"I am the youngest: let me be slain first, that I may not see the death of my brothers." And Ainnli earnestly pleaded for the same thing for himself, saying that he was born before Ardan, and should die before him. But Naisi said:--"Lo, I have a sword, the gift of Mannanan mac Lir, which leaves no remnant unfinished after a blow: let us be struck with it, all three together, and we shall die at the same moment." This was agreed to: and the sword was brought forth, and they laid their heads close together, and Maini swept off all three with one blow of the mighty sword. And when it became known that the sons of Usna were dead, the men of Ulaid sent forth three great cries of grief and lamentation. As for Deirdre, she cried aloud, and tore her golden hair, and became like one distracted. And after a time, when her calmness had a little returned, she uttered a lament:-- I. "Three lions of the hill are dead, and I am left alone to weep for them. The generous princes who made the stranger welcome have been guilefully lured to their doom. II. "The three strong hawks of Slieve Cullinn,[CLXXIX.] a king's three sons, strong and gentle: willing obedience was yielded to them by heroes who had conquered many lands. III. "Three generous heroes of the Red Branch, who loved to praise the valour of others: three props of the battalions of Quelna: their fall is the cause of bitter grief. IV. "Ainnli and Ardan, haughty and fierce in battle, to me were ever loving and gentle: Naisi, Naisi, beloved spouse of my choice, thou canst not hear thy Deirdre lamenting thee. V. "When they brought down the fleet red deer in the chase, when they speared the salmon skilfully in the clear water, joyful and proud were they if I looked on. VI. "Often when my feeble feet grew weary wandering along the valleys, and climbing the hills to view the chase, often would they bear me home lightly on their linked shields and spears. VII. "It was gladness of heart to be with the sons of Usna: long and weary is the day without their company: short will be my span of life since they have left me. VIII. "Sorrow and tears have dimmed my eyes, looking at the grave of Naisi: a dark deadly sickness has seized my heart: I cannot, I cannot live after Naisi. IX. "O thou who diggest the new grave, make it deep and wide: let it be a grave for four; for I will sleep for ever beside my beloved." When she had spoken these words, she fell beside the body of Naisi and died immediately. And a great cairn of stones was piled over their grave, and their names were inscribed in Ogham, and their funeral rites were performed. This is the sorrowful tale of The Fate of the Sons of Usna. FOOTNOTES: [CLXXIX.] Slieve Cullinn, now Slieve Gullion mountain in Armagh. NOTES. NOTE 1.--_The Dedannans._ According to the old bardic legends, the first man who led a colony to Ireland after the Flood was Parthalon. Next came Nemed and his people; and after these the Firbolgs, who were conquered and succeeded by the Dedannans. The legend relates that the Dedannans, in the course of their wanderings, spent some time in Greece, where they learned magic and other curious arts. From this they migrated to Lochlann, in the north of Europe (see note 6), from which they came through Scotland to their final resting-place, Ireland. From the three queens of their three last kings, Ireland got the three names, Erin, F[=o]la, and Banba. After the Dedannans had held sway in Ireland for about two hundred years, they were in their turn conquered by the last and greatest colony of all, the people of Milèd or Milesius, who are commonly known by the name of Milesians, and who are the ancestors of the leading Gaelic families of Ireland. The Milesians defeated the Dedannans in two great battles: one fought at _Tailltenn_, now Teltown, on the river Blackwater, between Navan and Kells, in Meath; and the other at _Druim-Lighean_, now Drumleene, about three miles from Lifford, in Donegal. In the legendary and romantic literature of Ireland, the Dedannans are celebrated as magicians. By the Milesians and their descendants they were regarded as gods, and ultimately, in the imagination of the people, they became what are now in Ireland called "fairies." After their defeat by the Milesians, they seem to have retired to remote and lonely places; and their reputation as magicians, as well as the obscure and mysterious manner in which they lived, gradually impressed the vulgar with the belief that they were supernatural beings. The notion was that they lived in splendid palaces in the interior of pleasant green hills. These hills were called _sidh_ (pronounced _shee_); and hence the Dedannans were called _Daoine-sidhe_ (_Deena-shee_), or people of the fairy hills; _Marcra-sidhe_ (_Markra-shee_), fairy cavalcade; and _Sluagh-sidhe_ (_Sloo-shee_), fairy host. Of this mysterious race, the following are the principal characters mentioned in these tales. Mannanan Mac Lir, the Gaelic sea-god. In "Cormac's Glossary" (written A.D. 900), we are told that he was a famous merchant who resided in, and gave name to, _Inis-Manann_, or the Isle of Man; that he was the best merchant in Western Europe; and that he used to know, by examining the heavens, the length of time the fair and the foul weather would last. The Dagda, whose name some interpret to mean "the great good fire," so called from his military ardour, who reigned as king of Ireland from A.M. 3370 to 3450. Angus or Angus Oge, the son of the Dagda, who lived at _Brugh_ or Bruga, on the north shore of the Boyne, a little below the village of Slane. Angus is spoken of as the wisest and the most skilled in magic of all the Dedannan race. Nuada of the Silver Hand. (See note 4.) Lir of Shee Finnaha, the father of the four "Children of Lir," and Bove Derg of Shee Bove, of whom we know little more than what is told of them in the "Fate of the Children of Lir." Shee Finnaha is supposed to have been situated near Newtown Hamilton, in Armagh; and Shee Bove was on the shore of Lough Derg, on the Shannon. Luga of the Long Arms, who imposed the eric-fine on the three sons of Turenn for slaying his father Kian. (See note 7 for a further account of this Luga.) Dianket, the great physician, of whose powers of cure extraordinary stories are told. He had a son Midac, and a daughter Armedda, more skilful than himself. The old legend relates that Midac took off the silver arm which his father Dianket had put on Nuada (see note 4), and, having procured the bones of the real arm, he clothed them with flesh and skin, and fixed the arm in its place as well as ever "in three moments." Dianket was so enraged at being outdone by his son that he slew him. After Midac had been buried for some time, three hundred and sixty-five healing herbs grew up from his grave, one from every joint and sinew of his body--each herb to cure disease in that part of the human body from which it grew--all which were gathered by his sister Armedda, and placed carefully in her cloak in their proper order. But before she had time to study their several virtues fully, her father Dianket mixed them all up in utter confusion. (O'Curry, _Atlantis_, vii. and viii. 158.) Were it not for this churlish proceeding, Armedda would have found out, and we should now know, the exact herb to cure each particular disease of the human frame. NOTE 2.--_The Feast of Age._ This was also called the Feast of Gobnenn the Dedannan smith. It was instituted by Mannanan Mac Lir, and whoever was present at it, and partook of the food and drink, was free ever after from sickness, decay, and old age. NOTE 3.--_The Druids._ The ancient Irish druids do not appear to have been _priests_ in any sense of the word. They were, in popular estimation, men of knowledge and power--"Men of science," as they were often designated; they knew the arts of healing and divination; and they were skilled above all in magic. In fact, the Irish druids were magicians, neither more nor less; and hence the Gaelic word for "druidical" is almost always applied where we should use the term "magical"--to spells, incantations, metamorphoses, etc. (See O'Curry, "Lectures on the Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish," Lecture ix.) NOTE 4.--_Nuada of the Silver Hand._ Nuada of the Silver Hand was king of Ireland, according to the chronology of the Four Masters, from A.M. 3311 to 3330. He commanded the Dedannans in the first battle of Moytura (see note 11), where his arm was cut off with a sword-blow by Sreng, the great Firbolg champion. Afterwards Credne the artificer made him a silver arm with a hand, which was fixed on by Dianket, the physician (see note 1). Nuada was slain in the second battle of Moytura, by Balor of the Mighty Blows (see note 11). NOTE 5.--_The Fomorians._ "Fomor," the simple form of this word, means, according to the old etymologists, a sea-robber, from _fo_, on or along, and _muir_, the sea. The word is also used to denote a giant, or a gigantic champion. The Fomorians of Irish history were sea-robbers, who infested the coasts, and indeed the interior, of Ireland, for a long series of years, and at one time fortified themselves in Tory Island. They are stated to have come to Ireland from Lochlann, in the north of Europe (for which see next note); but they were originally from Africa, being, according to the legend, the descendants of Ham the son of Noah. NOTE 6.--_Lochlann: The Lochlanns._ Lochlann was the Gaelic designation of the country from which came the people who are known in European history as Danes, _i.e._ the country round the southern shores of the Baltic, including the south part of Sweden. The Lochlanns, or Lochlannachs, or Danes, it need hardly be said, make a very conspicuous figure in our early history, and in our mediæval romantic literature. In the Gaelic tales, the chief city of Lochlann is always Berva; but whether this represents a real name, or is merely an invention of the old story-tellers, I cannot tell. NOTE 7.--_Luga of the Long Arms: The Ildana._ Luga of the Long Arms was the son of Ethlenn, daughter of the Fomorian king, Balor of the Mighty Blows (see note 9). His father, Kian (who was slain by the three sons of Turenn), was a Dedannan; so that Luga was half Fomorian and half Dedannan. But he always took the side of the Dedannans against the Fomorians. Luga is often called The Ildana, the Man of many sciences, to signify his accomplishments as a warrior and a man of general knowledge. It had been foretold that Balor would be slain by his own grandson. Accordingly, when Luga was born, Balor sent him off to be drowned. But Luga escaped, and lived to revenge the unnatural conduct of his grandfather, whom he slew in the second battle of Moytura (see note 11), after Balor had slain the Dedannan king, Nuada of the Silver Hand. Luga succeeded Nuada as king of Ireland, and reigned, according to the chronology of the Four Masters, from A.M. 3330 to 3370. It was by Luga that the celebrated yearly assembly of Tailltenn was instituted, in honour of his foster mother _Taillte_, after whom the place was called. (See note page 93, _supra._) NOTE 8.--_The Land of Promise: Fairyland._ In ancient Gaelic romantic tales, mention is often made of _Tir Tairrngire_, the Land of Promise, Fairyland, as being one of the chief dwelling-places of the Dedannans or fairy host. In many passages this Land of Promise is identified with _Inis-Manann_, or the Isle of Man, which was ruled over by Mannanan Mac Lir, the sea-god, and named from him. NOTE 9.--_Balor of the Mighty Blows._ Balor was king of the Fomorians from Lochlann in the north; his wife was Kethlenda; and his son, Bres. Balor is often called Balor of the Mighty Blows; and also Balor of the Evil Eye, for he had one eye which would strike people dead or turn them into stone, so that he kept it covered, except when he wished to use it against his enemies. Balor is remembered very vividly in tradition by the peasantry of Ireland, especially in Donegal and in Tory Island, where a very high, tower-like rock is called to this day Balor's Castle. NOTE 10.--_Eric._ The eric was a fine paid as compensation for murder or homicide. The friends of the murdered person might accept an eric, or they might refuse it and seek instead the death of the murderer. An eric was often paid for other crimes or injuries against the individual, as well as for homicide. NOTE 11.--_Battle of Moytura._ There were two great battles, each called the battle of Moytura. _First Battle of Moytura._ When the Dedannans came to invade Erin, they found the country occupied by the Firbolgs, who were by no means inclined to give up quiet possession to the newcomers. After some parleying and manoeuvring, a great battle was fought between them, A.M. 3303, at Moytura, near Cong, in Mayo, lasting for four days, in which the Firbolgs were defeated with great slaughter, and their king slain; after which the Dedannans took possession of the country, leaving Connaught, however, to a powerful remnant of the Firbolgs who survived the battle. This is called the First Battle of Moytura, or the Battle of the Southern Moytura. On the plain where it was fought, there are still great numbers of mounds, cromlechs, and other sepulchral monuments. (See Sir William Wilde's "Lough Corrib," page 210.) _Second Battle of Moytura._ King Nuada, who led the Dedannans in the first battle of Moytura, had his arm cut off by Sreng, one of the Firbolg champions. He was under cure for seven years; during which time Bres, the son of Elatha, who was a Fomorian by his father and a Dedannan by his mother, ruled Ireland as regent. But at the end of the seven years, Bres had to retire in favour of Nuada. Whereupon he repaired in anger to his father in Lochlann; and at his instigation an army of Fomorians was raised, after some years, for the invasion of Ireland, and placed under the command of Balor of the Mighty Blows. Luga of the Long Arms seems to have foreseen this invasion. He knew that Bres would have to abdicate whenever Nuada's arm came to be healed, and he conjectured truly that he would not resign the sovereignty without a struggle. But the old tales would lead to the inference that Luga had some preternatural foreknowledge of the battle. Anyhow, the legend says that for many years he made preparations for the coming struggle; and it was with this intention that he imposed the celebrated eric-fine on the sons of Turenn. The Fomorians landed, and were met by the Dedannan army at the Northern Moytura, or, as it is often called, Moytura of the Fomorians, situated in the parish of Kilmactranny, barony of Tirerrill, county Sligo. The battle was fought on the eve of Samin, _i.e._ on the last day of October, A.M. 3330; and the Fomorians were defeated with the slaughter of their principal men and the best part of their army. In the course of the battle, Nuada of the Silver Hand, the Dedannan king, was slain by Balor; but soon after, Balor himself was killed by his grandson, Luga. Luga, we are told, flung a stone at him from a crann-tavall or sling (see note, page 240), and struck him in the evil eye with so much force that the stone went clean through his head and out at the back. The site of this battle, like that of the Southern Moytura, abounds to this day in sepulchral monuments. These two battles of Moytura form the subjects of two historic tales, which are still in existence, though they have never been published. NOTE 12.--_Gesa._ "Gesa" (pronounced _gessa_, the _g_ hard, as in _get_) is plural: singular _geis_, plural _geasa_ or _gesa_. Gesa means solemn vows, conjurations, injunctions, prohibitions. "I put you under gesa" means, I adjure you solemnly, so solemnly that you dare not disobey. It would appear that individuals were often under gesa or solemn vows to observe, or to refrain from, certain lines of conduct--the vows being either taken on themselves voluntarily, or imposed on them, with their consent, by others. Thus Dermat O'Dyna was under gesa never to pass through a wicket gate when entering or leaving a palace (page 282); Finn was under gesa not to sleep at Allen more than nine nights in succession (page 337); Dermat put Oisin under gesa not to loose any one whom he bound (page 312). It would appear, also, that if one person went through the form of putting another under gesa to grant any reasonable request, the abjured person could not refuse without loss of honour and reputation. Thus Midac places Finn under gesa to come to the banquet in the Fairy Palace of the Quicken Trees (page 189); and the witch-lady places gesa on Finn to search for the ring in the lake (page 354). And sometimes, on very solemn or urgent occasions, the gesa seem to have been imposed with spells, so as to draw down ill luck as well as loss of honour on the person who disregarded the injunction (page 281). Geis or gesa also means a charm or spell. NOTE 13.--_Tir-fa-tonn._ The Gaelic tales abound in allusions to a beautiful country situated under the sea--an enchanted land sunk at some remote time, and still held under spell. In some romantic writings it is called _Tir-fa-tonn_, the land beneath the wave; and occasionally one or more of the heroes find their way to it, and meet with many strange adventures (page 253). Sometimes it is _O'Brasil_, that dim land which appears over the water once every seven years--"on the verge of the azure sea"--and which would be freed from the spell, and would remain permanently over water, if any one could succeed in throwing fire on it. (See Gerald Griffin's beautiful ballad, "O'Brasil, the Isle of the Blest.") The Island of Fincara (page 87), and the beautiful country seen beneath the waves by Maildun (page 147), are remnants of the same superstition. This very old Celtic tradition is obviously the same as the legend of the continent of Atlantis, mentioned by Plato, which at some remote time was overwhelmed and sunk under the Atlantic Ocean. And it would seem that they have the same shadowy tradition in the East; for in "Lalla Rookh" Moore makes the Peri say, in her soliloquy: "I know where the Isles of Perfume are, Many a fathom down in the sea, To the south of sun-bright Araby." NOTE 14.--_The Enchanted Well._ Res autem sic revera evenit. Cum Angus magus equum giganteum Eochaidio et popularibus traderet, monebat homines nec stabulandi neque omnino requiescendi copiam equo faciendam; ne forte quiescendo urinam demitteret, quod si fieret exitio omnibus fore. Postea vero quam at Planitiem Silvulæ Cinereæ pervenissent, intenti adeo sarcinis ingentis equi dorso detrahendis incumbebant, ut monitorum Angi obliviscerentur; restitit autem equus, et subinde urinam demisit. Extemplo hinc fons ortus; qui cum scaturiisset, submersit omnes, sicuti in historiâ narratur. NOTE 15.--_Conal Carna of the Red Branch._ The Red Branch Knights of Ulster, a sort of militia in the service of the monarch, much like the Fena of later date (see note 23), flourished in the first century of the Christian era. Their home was the palace of Emania, near the city of Armagh; and they received their name from one of the houses of the palace in which they resided, which was called _Craebh-ruadh_, or Red Branch. They attained their greatest glory in the reign of Conor Mac Nessa, king of Ulster in the first century; and Conal Carna, mentioned in the story of "Liban the Mermaid," was one of their most illustrious champions. NOTE 16.--_Ecca the Son of Marid: Comgall of Bangor._ This Marid was king of Munster about the beginning of the second century of the Christian era. St. Comgall, one of the greatest saints of the early Irish Church, flourished in the sixth century, and was the founder of the celebrated monastery of Bangor in the county of Down. NOTE 17.--_Curragh._ It would appear that in Ireland, and indeed in England and Scotland as well, navigation was carried on in ancient times chiefly by means of curraghs. The curragh was a boat or canoe, consisting of a light framework of wood, covered over with the skins of animals. Curraghs are still used on many parts of the western coast of Ireland; but they are now covered with tarred canvas instead of skins. NOTE 18.--_Conn the Hundred-fighter._ Conn Ced-cathach or Conn the Fighter of a Hundred (not Conn of the Hundred Battles, as the name is generally translated), was king of Ireland from A.D. 123 to 158. NOTE 19.--_Land of the Living: Land of Life, etc._ The ancient Irish had a sort of dim, vague belief that there was a land where people were always youthful, and free from care and trouble, suffered no disease, and lived for ever. This country they called by various names:--_Tir-na-mbeo_, the land of the [ever-]living; _Tir-na-nóg_, the land of the [ever-]youthful; _Moy-Mell_, the plain of pleasure, etc. It had its own inhabitants--fairies; but mortals were sometimes brought there; and while they lived in it, were gifted with the everlasting youth and beauty of the fairy people themselves, and partook of their pleasures. As to the exact place where Tirnanoge was situated, the references are shadowy and variable, but they often place it far out in the Atlantic Ocean, as far as the eye can reach from the high cliffs of the western coast. And here it is identical with O'Brasil, of which mention has been made in note 13. I have already remarked (see note 1) that the fairies were also supposed to live in palaces in the interior of pleasant green hills, and that they were hence called Aes-shee or Deena-shee, i.e. people of the _shee_ or fairy hills; and hence also the word "banshee" _i.e._ a woman (_bean_) of the fairy hills. Tirnanoge was often regarded as identical with these bright, subterranean palaces. In my boyhood days, the peasantry believed that the great limestone cavern near Mitchelstown, in the county Cork, was one of the entrances to Tirnanoge. NOTE 20.--_St. Brendan of Birra._ I have already, in the preface (page xiii.), spoken of the celebrated voyage of St. Brendan of Birra (Birr, in King's County), undertaken in the sixth century. He set out from near Brandon Mountain, in Kerry, sailing westwards into the Atlantic Ocean, and, according to the belief of some, landed on the shore of America. He had many imitators, who ventured out on the great ocean in their curraghs as pilgrims; but none were so enterprising as himself, or met with such a variety of strange lands, if we except Maildun and the three sons of O'Corra, whose adventures are quite as surprising as those of Brendan. NOTE 21.--_Brendan's Satchel._ The ancient Irish saints, when on their missionary journeys through the country, kept their precious books, as well as the portable sacred utensils, in leather satchels, which they brought with them from place to place. These satchels were often highly ornamented, and, like other relics, were held in extraordinary veneration after the death of the owners. The Gaelic term for this kind of satchel is _polaire_. (See Petrie, "Round Towers," page 336.) NOTE 22.--_Cormac Mac Art._ Cormac Mac Art, the most illustrious of the Irish kings, who began his reign A.D. 254, was the son of Art the Lonely, who was son of Conn the Hundred-fighter. During his reign flourished the Fena or militia, spoken of in the next note; and the old chroniclers never tire of dwelling on the magnificence of his court at Tara, and the prosperity of the country during his reign. He was renowned for learning and wisdom, and he wrote a book called _Tegusc-righ_, or instruction for kings, copies of which are extant in the Books of Leinster and Ballymote. He also caused the records of the kingdom to be collected and written down in one great book called the Psalter of Tara, but no portion of this book is now known to exist; and he established three schools at Tara--one for military science, one for law, and one for history and chronology. He spent the last years of his life in retirement and study at Cletty on the Boyne, and died A.D. 277, forty years after he had ascended the throne. NOTE 23.--_Finn and the Fena._ The Fena or "Fena of Erin" were a sort of militia or standing army, permanently maintained by the monarch for the support of the throne, and regularly trained to military service. They attained their greatest glory in the reign of Cormac Mac Art (see previous note). Each province had its own militia under its own captain, but all were under the command of one general-in-chief. Their most renowned commander was Finn the son of Cumal, who of all the heroes of ancient Ireland is most vividly remembered in popular tradition. Finn had his palace on the top of the Hill of Allen, a remarkable flat-topped hill, lying about four miles to the right of the railway as you pass Newbridge and approach Kildare, rendered more conspicuous of late years by a tall pillar erected on the top, on the very site of Finn's palace. Before the erection of the pillar, there were considerable remains of the old fort on the hill, but at present nearly every vestige is obliterated, cleared away partly to make room for the foundation of the pillar, and partly by cultivation; for the land has been tilled and cropped to the very summit. The whole neighbourhood, however, teems with living traditions of Finn and the Fena. The Fena were divided into distinct tribes or clanns, belonging to the several provinces, each under its own commander. Of these, the Clann Baskin of Leinster, under the immediate command of Finn; and the Clann Morna of Connaught, commanded by Gaul Mac Morna, were rival tribes, and, for reasons stated in note 27, regarded each other with hatred and distrust. The following are some of the principal characters celebrated in the romantic literature of the Fena. Finn the son of Cumal, commander-in-chief of the Fena under king Cormac Mac Art (see note 22); brave, wise, and far-seeing, a man of supreme military ability. His foresight seemed so extraordinary, that the people believed it was a preternatural gift of divination, and the shanachies invented a legend to account for it (see note 25). Like many great commanders, he had a little of the tyrant in his character, and was unforgiving to those who injured him. But in the story of Dermat and Grania, he is drawn in too unfavourable a light. In his old age he was killed by a fisherman at a place called Athbrea on the Boyne, A.D. 284, as recorded in the Annals of Tighernach, of the Four Masters, and of Innisfallen. Oisin or Ossian, Finn's son, the renowned hero-poet, to whom the bards attribute many poems still extant. Oscar, the son of Oisin, youthful and handsome, kind-hearted, and one of the most valiant of the Fena. Dermat O'Dyna, noble-minded, generous, of untarnished honour, and the bravest of the brave. He was as handsome as he was valiant, whence he is often styled Dermat of the Bright Face, Dermat of the White Teeth, etc. He was the idol of the ladies of Ireland, and hence he is often called Dermat-na-man, or Dermat of the Women (page 210). The Munster traditions represent him as a native of Kerry; but he was in reality a Leinsterman, though his descendants migrated to Munster at a very early period. Mr. O'Grady, in his edition of the story of Dermat and Grania (page 294), has given an ancient poetical genealogy of Dermat. This hero is equally celebrated in popular story in the Highlands of Scotland. According to Highland tradition, the great and illustrious Clann Campbell, represented by the Duke of Argyll, descend from him; and their crest is a boar's head, in memory of the manner of Dermat's death.[CLXXX.] Dermat O'Dyna is, on the whole, the finest type of hero among the Fena--as fine indeed as can be found in any literature; and his noble character is very well maintained throughout the Ossianic tales. Kylta Mac Ronan, Finn's nephew, renowned for his fleetness of foot. Dering, the son of Dobar O'Baskin, who was not only a brave warrior, but also "a man of knowledge," gifted with some insight into futurity. Ligan Lumina, also celebrated for swiftness of foot. Fergus Finnvel, poet, warrior, and frequent adviser of the Fena. Gaul Mac Morna, the leader of the Clann Morna or Connaught Fena, one of the mightiest of all the heroes. He served under Finn, but the two chiefs bore no love to each other, for Gaul had slain Finn's father, Cumal, in the battle of Knocka (see note 27). Conan Mail or Conan the Bald, the best-marked and best-sustained character in the Ossianic romances; large-bodied, a great boaster, a great coward, and a great glutton. He had a venomous tongue, and hardly ever spoke a good word of any one. He belonged to the Clann Morna, and was always reviling the Clann Baskin. He was the butt for the gibes and mockery of the Fena, but they dreaded his foul tongue. The story-tellers never lose an opportunity of having a fling at Conan, and of turning him into ridicule for his cowardice, his big talk, and his gluttony. NOTE 24.--_Cooking-Places._ The Fena, as related in the beginning of the story of the Gilla Dacker, were quartered on the principal householders during the winter half-year; and maintained themselves chiefly by the chase during the summer months. When they were on their hunting expeditions, we are told that they ate only one meal a day; and for this meal they cooked the flesh of the animals brought down in the chase, in the following manner. They first dug a deep pit in the earth near their camping-place, and, having lighted a great fire beside it, they heated a number of round stones. They next covered the bottom of the pit with the hot stones, on which they placed the meat, bound up with sedge and grass ropes, and on this again they put another layer of heated stones; and, having closely covered up the whole with branches, they let it stand till the meat was sufficiently cooked. The remains of these old earth-ovens are still to be seen, and are called by the peasantry _fulachta-na-bhfiann_, the cooking-places of the Fena. NOTE 25.--_Finn's Tooth of Knowledge._ It had been prophesied of old that a man named Finn would be the first to eat of the salmon of knowledge, which swam in the pool of Linn-Fec, in the Boyne (near the present village of Slane); and that he would thereby obtain the gifts of knowledge and of divination. A certain old poet named Finn, knowing this, hoped that he might be the lucky man; so he took up his abode on the shore of Linn-Fec; and he fished in the pool every day from morn till night, in the hope of catching the salmon of knowledge. At this time, Finn the son of Cumal was a boy, fleeing from place to place from his hereditary enemies, the Clann Morna, disguised, and bearing the assumed name of Demna; and, happening to come to Linn-Fec, the old poet took him as his servant. After long watching and waiting, Finn the poet hooked the salmon at last, and gave it to Demna to broil, warning him very strictly not to eat or even taste of it. Demna proceeded to broil the fish; and soon the heat of the fire raised a great blister from its side, which the boy pressed with his thumb to keep it down, thereby scalding himself so severely that he unthinkingly thrust his thumb into his mouth. When the salmon was cooked, the poet asked Demna had he eaten of it. "No," replied the boy; "but I scalded my thumb on the fish, and put it into my mouth." "Thy name is not Demna, but Finn," exclaimed the poet: "in thee has the prophecy been fulfilled; and thou art now a diviner and a man of knowledge!" In this manner Finn obtained the gift of divination, so that ever after, when he wished to look into futurity, he put his thumb under his tooth of knowledge, as he did when cooking the salmon of Linn-Fec, and the whole future was revealed to him. There appears to have been some sort of ceremony used, however (see page 339, _supra_); and it would seem that the process was attended with pain (page 194), so that it was only on very solemn and trying occasions he put his thumb under his tooth of knowledge.[CLXXXI.] NOTE 26.--_The Game of Chess._ Chess-playing was one of the favourite amusements of the ancient Irish chiefs. The game is constantly mentioned in the very oldest Gaelic tales; as, for instance, in the "Cattle-Spoil of Cooley," in "The Book of the Dun Cow" (A.D. 1100). (See O'Donovan's "Introduction to the Book of Rights," page lxi.) NOTE 27.--_Battle of Knocka._ The battle of Knocka or _Cnucha_ (now Castleknock, near Dublin) was fought in the reign of Conn the Hundred-fighter (see note 18). The contending parties were, on the one side, Conn with his royal forces, and the renowned hero, Gaul Mac Morna, with his Connaught Fena, the Clann Morna; and on the other side, Cumal, the father of Finn, with the Clann Baskin and the Leinster forces in general, aided by Owen More, heir to the throne of Munster, with a large army of Munstermen. The Leinster and Munster armies were defeated, chiefly through the valour of Gaul, who slew Cumal with his own hand. This was the cause of the irreconcilable enmity that existed ever after between the Clann Baskin and the Clann Morna. When Finn the son of Cumal grew up to man's estate, he succeeded to the position held by his father as leader of the Fena. But though he made peace with Gaul Mac Morna, and though Gaul submitted to his command, there was always a feeling of ill-concealed hatred and distrust between them. NOTE 28.--_Battle of Gavra._ When Carbri of the Liffey, son of Cormac Mac Art, ascended the throne of Ireland, one of his first acts was to disband and outlaw the Clann Baskin; and he took into his service in their place their rivals and deadly enemies, the Clann Morna from Connaught. Whereupon the Clann Baskin marched southwards, and entered the service of Fercorb, king of Munster, Finn's grandson, in direct disobedience to king Carbri's commands. This led to the bloody battle of Gavra, celebrated in Ossianic literature, which was fought A.D. 284, at Garristown, in the north-west of the county Dublin, where the rival clanns slaughtered each other almost to annihilation. In the heat of the battle, Carbri and Oscar met in single combat; and, after a long and terrible fight, the heroic Oscar fell pierced by Carbri's spear, and died on the evening of the same day. But Carbri himself was dreadfully wounded; and, while retiring from the field, his own kinsman, Semeon, whom he had previously banished from Tara, fell on him, and despatched him with a single blow. This battle is the subject of a poem which the bards ascribe to Oisin, and which has been published, with translation, in the first volume of the Ossianic Transactions. In this poem there is an affecting description of the death of Oscar, surrounded by his few surviving companions, and in presence of his father Oisin. FOOTNOTES: [CLXXX.] For a full account of the Highland traditions regarding Dermat, and of the Highland monuments that commemorate his name, see "Loch Etive and the Sons of Uisnach" (p. 255), a very valuable and interesting book, recently published, which came into my hands after I had written the above. [CLXXXI.] The above legend is taken from "The Boyish Exploits of Finn Mac Cumal," published, with translation, by John O'Donovan, LL.D., in the fourth volume of the Ossianic Society's Transactions, from a MS. _transcribed_ in 1453, now lying in the Bodleian Library at Oxford. But the internal evidence of the language shows that the piece is far more ancient than the fifteenth century. The legend of Finn and the Salmon of Knowledge is still current among the peasantry; and a modern popular version of it may be seen in the _Dublin Penny Journal_, Vol. I. page 110. As to the process of putting his thumb under his tooth of knowledge, even the English-speaking peasantry of the south still retain a tradition that it was painful; for they say that Finn "chewed his thumb from the skin to the flesh, from the flesh to the bone, from the bone to the marrow, and from the marrow to the _smoosagh_." LIST OF PROPER NAMES. ALPHABETICAL LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL PROPER NAMES OCCURRING IN THIS VOLUME, WITH THEIR ORIGINAL GAELIC FORMS, AND, IN MANY CASES, THEIR MEANINGS. Every writer who attempts to popularise the Gaelic literature of Ireland and Scotland, finds the proper names a serious difficulty. If they are given in their original Gaelic forms, they are not unfrequently unpronounceable and repulsive to the English reader; if they are written phonetically, they are often strange and barbarous looking. In this book, I have not followed any general principle in reducing the names to forms suitable to readers of English. I have dealt with each, as it were, on its own merits. Sometimes--very often, indeed--I have given the original spelling; sometimes I have given the names phonetically; and frequently I have mixed the two modes. But all through I have avoided any great departure from the original forms, as will be seen by a glance at the following list. In all cases the names occurring through the book may be pronounced just as the letters would indicate to the English reader. Aed, _Aedh_, a flame of fire. Ahaclee, _Ath-cliath_, hurdle-ford. Ailna, _Ailne_, beauty, joy. Aina, _Aine_. Allil, _Ailioll_, _Ailell_, or _Oilioll_. Allil Ocar Aga, _Ailell Ochair Aga_. Alva, _Ailbhe_. Balor, _Balar_. Baskin, _Baoiscne_. Begallta, _Beagalltach_, little fury. Ben-Damis, _Beann-Damhuis_. Beoc, _Beóc_, _Dabheóc_, and _Beoán_. Berva, _Berbhe_. Borba, _Borb_, proud. Bran, _Bran_, a raven. Bres, _Breas_. Brian, _Brian_. Brickna, _Briccne_. Bruga of the _Brugh-na-Boinne_. Boyne, Canta, _Cainte_. Carn-Arenn, _Carnn-Airenn_. Carricknarone, _Carraic-na-rón_, the rock of the seals. Clann Navin, _Clann-Neamhuinn_. Cloghan Kincat, _Clochan-chinn-chait_, the stepping-stones of the cat's head. Coil Croda, _Cael-crodha_, the slender valiant [man]. Colga, _Colga_. Colman, _Colman_, little dove. Comgall, _Comhghall_. Conal Carna, _Conall Cernach_. Conan Mail, _Conan Mael_, Conan the Bald. Conang, _Conaing_. Conn, the Hundred-fighter (not Conn of the Hundred Battles, as it is usually translated), _Conn-Cédcathach_. Connla, _Connla_. Coran, _Coran_. Cormac Mac Art, _Cormac Mac Airt_. Corr the _Coir Cos-luath_. Swift-footed, Cuan, _Cuan_ or _Cuadhan_. Culand, _Culand_. Curnan the _Curnan Onmit_. Simpleton, Curoi Mac Dara, _Curoi Mac Dáire_. Dagda, _Dagda_. Dara Donn, _Dáire Donn_. Darvra, Lake, _Loch Dairbhreach_, the lake of oaks. Dathkeen, _Dathchaoin_, bright-complexioned. Decca, _Deoch_. Dedannans, _Tuatha De Danann_. Derdri of the _Deirdre Duibhshleibhe_. Black Mountain, Dering, _Diorraing_. Dermat O'Dyna, _Diarmait O'Duibhne_. Dianket, _Diancecht_. Diuran Lekerd, _Diuran Lecerd_. Dobar O'Baskin, _Dobhar O'Baoiscne_. Dooclone, _Dubhchluain_, dark-coloured meadow. Dord-Fian, _Dord-Fiann_. Dryantore, _Draoigheantóir_. Ducoss, _Dubhchosach_, black-foot. Eas-Dara, _Eas-Dara_. Ebb, _Eab_. Ebliu, _Ebliu_. Ebric, _Aibhric_. Ecca, _Eochaidh_, a horseman. Enbarr, _Aenbharr_, splendid mane. Encoss, _Aenchos_, one foot. Ethnea, _Eithne_, sweet nut-kernel. Etta, _Eitche_. Eva, _Aeife_. Eve, _Aebh_. Failinis, _Failinis_. Fatha Conan, _Fatha Chonain_. Femin, _Feimeann_. Fena, _Fianna_. Ferdana, _Feardána_. Fergor, _Fearghoir_, manly or strong voice. Fergus, _Fearghus_, manly strength. Fiaca Findamnas, _Fiacha Findamnais_. Ficna, _Fiachna_, little raven. Ficra, _Fiachra_. Fincara, _Fianchaire_. Fincoss, _Finnchosach_, white-foot. Finn, _Finn_ or _Fionn_, fair-haired. Finnin, _Finghín_, fair offspring. Finola, _Fionnghuala_, white shoulder. Flidas, _Flidas_. Foltlebar, _Folt-leabhar_, long hair. Frevan, _Freamhainn_. Ga-boi, _Ga-buidhe_, yellow javelin. Ga-derg, _Ga-dearg_, red javelin. Gael Glas, _Gaodhal-Glas_. Garva, _Garbh_, rough. Gaul Mac Morna, _Goll Mac Morna_. Germane, _Germane_. Gilla Dacker, _Giolla Deacair_, lazy fellow. Glanlua, _Glanluadh_, pure-spoken. Glas Mac Encarda, _Glas Mac Aeinchearda_. Glore, _Glór_, a voice. Ilbrec, _Ilbhreach_. Ildana, _Ioldhanach_. Inis Glora, _Inis Gluaire_. Innia, _Innia_. Innsa, _Inse_. Inver-tre-Kenand, _Inbher-Tre-Cenand_. Iraun, _Irann_. Iroda, _Ioruaidhe_. Irros Domnann, _Iorrus Domnann_. Island of the _Inis Tuile_. Torrent, Kemoc, _Caemhoc_ or _Mochoemhoc_. Kenn-Avrat, _Ceann-Abhrat_. Kenri, _Caenraighe_. Kethen, _Cethen_. Kethlenda, _Ceithleann_ or _Ceithleand_. Kian, _Cian_. Kylta Mac Ronan, _Caeilte Mac Ronain_. Largnen, _Lairgnen_. Lavaran, _Lobharan_. Liban, _Liban_. Lidas, _Liadhas_. Ligan Lumina, _Liagan Luaimneach_, Ligan the Bounding. Lir, _Lir_. Lobas, _Lobais_. Lochlann, _Lochlann_. Loskenn of the _Loiscinn Lomghlúineach_. Bare Knees, Luath, _Luaith_, swift. Luga of the Long _Lugh Lamh-fada_. Arms, Mac-an-Lona, _Mac-an-Luin_. Mac Luga, _Mac Luigheach_. Mac-na-Corra, _Mac-na-Corra_. Maildun, _Mail Duin_, chief of the fort. Manissa, _Maighneis_. Mannanan Mac Lir, _Manannan Mac Lir_. Marid Mac Carido, _Mairid Mac Cairedo_. Mergah, _Meargach_. Micorta, _Miodhchuarta_. Midac, _Miodhach_ or _Mioch_. Midir, _Midhir_. Midkena, _Miodhchaoin_. Milucra, _Miluchradh_. Modan, _Muadhan_. Morallta, _Moralltach_, great fury. Moyle, _Mael_, a bare hill. Moy-Mell, _Magh-Mell_, plain of pleasures. Moytura, _Magh-tuireadh_, plain of towers. Muman, _Mumha_, gen. _Mumhan_. Muridach, _Muridach_. Murthemna, _Muirthemhne_. Niam, _Niamh_, beauty. Nuada of the _Nuadha Airgeatlaimh_. Silver Hand, Nuca, _Nuca_. Oisin, _Oisin_ (pronounced _Isheen_ in Munster, and _Osh'in_ in Ulster and in Scotland). Oscar, _Oscar_. Owenaght, _Eoghanacht_, descendants of Owen. Pezar, _Pisear_. Racad, _Rachadh_. Rib, _Rib_. Sencab, _Seanchab_, old mouth. Sharvan, _Searbhan_, a surly person. Shee Finnaha, _Sidh-Fionnachaidh_. Skeabrac, _Sciath-bhreac_, speckled shield. Skolan, _Sceolaing_. Slana, _Slánach_, healthy. Sorca, _Sorcha_. Sotal of the Large _Sotal Sálmhór_. Heels, Taillkenn, _Tailcenn_. Tinna the Mighty, _Tinne Mór_. Tir-fa-tonn, _Tir-fa-thuinn_, country beneath the wave. Tirnanoge, _Tir na n-óg_, land of youths. Trencoss, _Treunchosach_, strongfoot. Trenmore O'Baskin, _Treunmór O'Baoiscne_. Triscadal, _Triscadal_. Tuis, _Tuis_. Turenn, _Tuireann_. Ur, _Uar_. Urcar, _Urchar_. THE END Transcriber's Notes: Footnotes formatted in Roman. Endnotes formatted in Arabic. Italics shown as _Italics_. Ligatures: [=o] o macron, [)e] e breve. Inconsistent and archaic spelling retained. 
14465	----	GODS AND FIGHTING MEN: THE STORY OF THE TUATHA DE DANAAN AND OF THE FIANNA OF IRELAND, ARRANGED AND PUT INTO ENGLISH BY LADY GREGORY. WITH A PREFACE BY W.B. YEATS 1905 DEDICATION TO THE MEMBERS OF THE IRISH LITERARY SOCIETY OF NEW YORK My Friends, those I know and those I do not know, I am glad in the year of the birth of your Society to have this book to offer you. It has given great courage to many workers here--working to build up broken walls--to know you have such friendly thoughts of them in your minds. A few of you have already come to see us, and we begin to hope that one day the steamers across the Atlantic will not go out full, but come back full, until some of you find your real home is here, and say as some of us say, like Finn to the woman of enchantments-- [Illustration: Irish Gaelic] "We would not give up our own country--Ireland--if we were to get the whole world as an estate, and the Country of the Young along with it." AUGUSTA GREGORY. PREFACE I A few months ago I was on the bare Hill of Allen, "wide Almhuin of Leinster," where Finn and the Fianna lived, according to the stories, although there are no earthen mounds there like those that mark the sites of old buildings on so many hills. A hot sun beat down upon flowering gorse and flowerless heather; and on every side except the east, where there were green trees and distant hills, one saw a level horizon and brown boglands with a few green places and here and there the glitter of water. One could imagine that had it been twilight and not early afternoon, and had there been vapours drifting and frothing where there were now but shadows of clouds, it would have set stirring in one, as few places even in Ireland can, a thought that is peculiar to Celtic romance, as I think, a thought of a mystery coming not as with Gothic nations out of the pressure of darkness, but out of great spaces and windy light. The hill of Teamhair, or Tara, as it is now called, with its green mounds and its partly wooded sides, and its more gradual slope set among fat grazing lands, with great trees in the hedgerows, had brought before one imaginations, not of heroes who were in their youth for hundreds of years, or of women who came to them in the likeness of hunted fawns, but of kings that lived brief and politic lives, and of the five white roads that carried their armies to the lesser kingdoms of Ireland, or brought to the great fair that had given Teamhair its sovereignty, all that sought justice or pleasure or had goods to barter. II It is certain that we must not confuse these kings, as did the mediæval chroniclers, with those half-divine kings of Almhuin. The chroniclers, perhaps because they loved tradition too well to cast out utterly much that they dreaded as Christians, and perhaps because popular imagination had begun the mixture, have mixed one with another ingeniously, making Finn the head of a kind of Militia under Cormac MacArt, who is supposed to have reigned at Teamhair in the second century, and making Grania, who travels to enchanted houses under the cloak of Angus, god of Love, and keeps her troubling beauty longer than did Helen hers, Cormac's daughter, and giving the stories of the Fianna, although the impossible has thrust its proud finger into them all, a curious air of precise history. It is only when one separates the stories from that mediæval pedantry, as in this book, that one recognises one of the oldest worlds that man has imagined, an older world certainly than one finds in the stories of Cuchulain, who lived, according to the chroniclers, about the time of the birth of Christ. They are far better known, and one may be certain of the antiquity of incidents that are known in one form or another to every Gaelic-speaking countryman in Ireland or in the Highlands of Scotland. Sometimes a labourer digging near to a cromlech, or Bed of Diarmuid and Crania as it is called, will tell one a tradition that seems older and more barbaric than any description of their adventures or of themselves in written text or story that has taken form in the mouths of professed story-tellers. Finn and the Fianna found welcome among the court poets later than did Cuchulain; and one finds memories of Danish invasions and standing armies mixed with the imaginations of hunters and solitary fighters among great woods. One never hears of Cuchulain delighting in the hunt or in woodland things; and one imagines that the story-teller would have thought it unworthy in so great a man, who lived a well-ordered, elaborate life, and had his chariot and his chariot-driver and his barley-fed horses to delight in. If he is in the woods before dawn one is not told that he cannot know the leaves of the hazel from the leaves of the oak; and when Emer laments him no wild creature comes into her thoughts but the cuckoo that cries over cultivated fields. His story must have come out of a time when the wild wood was giving way to pasture and tillage, and men had no longer a reason to consider every cry of the birds or change of the night. Finn, who was always in the woods, whose battles were but hours amid years of hunting, delighted in the "cackling of ducks from the Lake of the Three Narrows; the scolding talk of the blackbird of Doire an Cairn; the bellowing of the ox from the Valley of the Berries; the whistle of the eagle from the Valley of Victories or from the rough branches of the Ridge of the Stream; the grouse of the heather of Cruachan; the call of the otter of Druim re Coir." When sorrow comes upon the queens of the stories, they have sympathy for the wild birds and beasts that are like themselves: "Credhe wife of Cael came with the others and went looking through the bodies for her comely comrade, and crying as she went. And as she was searching she saw a crane of the meadows and her two nestlings, and the cunning beast the fox watching the nestlings; and when the crane covered one of the birds to save it, he would make a rush at the other bird, the way she had to stretch herself out over the birds; and she would sooner have got her own death by the fox than the nestlings to be killed by him. And Credhe was looking at that, and she said: 'It is no wonder I to have such love for my comely sweetheart, and the bird in that distress about her nestlings.'" III One often hears of a horse that shivers with terror, or of a dog that howls at something a man's eyes cannot see, and men who live primitive lives where instinct does the work of reason are fully conscious of many things that we cannot perceive at all. As life becomes more orderly, more deliberate, the supernatural world sinks farther away. Although the gods come to Cuchulain, and although he is the son of one of the greatest of them, their country and his are far apart, and they come to him as god to mortal; but Finn is their equal. He is continually in their houses; he meets with Bodb Dearg, and Angus, and Manannan, now as friend with friend, now as with an enemy he overcomes in battle; and when he has need of their help his messenger can say: "There is not a king's son or a prince, or a leader of the Fianna of Ireland, without having a wife or a mother or a foster-mother or a sweetheart of the Tuatha de Danaan." When the Fianna are broken up at last, after hundreds of years of hunting, it is doubtful that he dies at all, and certain that he comes again in some other shape, and Oisin, his son, is made king over a divine country. The birds and beasts that cross his path in the woods have been fighting men or great enchanters or fair women, and in a moment can take some beautiful or terrible shape. One thinks of him and of his people as great-bodied men with large movements, that seem, as it were, flowing out of some deep below the narrow stream of personal impulse, men that have broad brows and quiet eyes full of confidence in a good luck that proves every day afresh that they are a portion of the strength of things. They are hardly so much individual men as portions of universal nature, like the clouds that shape themselves and re-shape themselves momentarily, or like a bird between two boughs, or like the gods that have given the apples and the nuts; and yet this but brings them the nearer to us, for we can remake them in our image when we will, and the woods are the more beautiful for the thought. Do we not always fancy hunters to be something like this, and is not that why we think them poetical when we meet them of a sudden, as in these lines in "Pauline": "An old hunter Talking with gods; or a nigh-crested chief Sailing with troops of friends to Tenedos" IV One must not expect in these stories the epic lineaments, the many incidents, woven into one great event of, let us say, the story of the War for the Brown Bull of Cuailgne, or that of the last gathering at Muirthemne. Even Diarmuid and Grania, which is a long story, has nothing of the clear outlines of Deirdre, and is indeed but a succession of detached episodes. The men who imagined the Fianna had the imagination of children, and as soon as they had invented one wonder, heaped another on top of it. Children--or, at any rate, it is so I remember my own childhood--do not understand large design, and they delight in little shut-in places where they can play at houses more than in great expanses where a country-side takes, as it were, the impression of a thought. The wild creatures and the green things are more to them than to us, for they creep towards our light by little holes and crevices. When they imagine a country for themselves, it is always a country where one can wander without aim, and where one can never know from one place what another will be like, or know from the one day's adventure what may meet one with to-morrow's sun. I have wished to become a child again that I might find this book, that not only tells one of such a country, but is fuller than any other book that tells of heroic life, of the childhood that is in all folk-lore, dearer to me than all the books of the western world. Children play at being great and wonderful people, at the ambitions they will put away for one reason or another before they grow into ordinary men and women. Mankind as a whole had a like dream once; everybody and nobody built up the dream bit by bit, and the ancient story-tellers are there to make us remember what mankind would have been like, had not fear and the failing will and the laws of nature tripped up its heels. The Fianna and their like are themselves so full of power, and they are set in a world so fluctuating and dream-like, that nothing can hold them from being all that the heart desires. I have read in a fabulous book that Adam had but to imagine a bird, and it was born into life, and that he created all things out of himself by nothing more important than an unflagging fancy; and heroes who can make a ship out of a shaving have but little less of the divine prerogatives. They have no speculative thoughts to wander through eternity and waste heroic blood; but how could that be otherwise, for it is at all times the proud angels who sit thinking upon the hill-side and not the people of Eden. One morning we meet them hunting a stag that is "as joyful as the leaves of a tree in summer-time"; and whatever they do, whether they listen to the harp or follow an enchanter over-sea, they do for the sake of joy, their joy in one another, or their joy in pride and movement; and even their battles are fought more because of their delight in a good fighter than because of any gain that is in victory. They live always as if they were playing a game; and so far as they have any deliberate purpose at all, it is that they may become great gentlemen and be worthy of the songs of poets. It has been said, and I think the Japanese were the first to say it, that the four essential virtues are to be generous among the weak, and truthful among one's friends, and brave among one's enemies, and courteous at all times; and if we understand by courtesy not merely the gentleness the story-tellers have celebrated, but a delight in courtly things, in beautiful clothing and in beautiful verse, one understands that it was no formal succession of trials that bound the Fianna to one another. Only the Table Round, that is indeed, as it seems, a rivulet from the same river, is bound in a like fellowship, and there the four heroic virtues are troubled by the abstract virtues of the cloister. Every now and then some noble knight builds himself a cell upon the hill-side, or leaves kind women and joyful knights to seek the vision of the Grail in lonely adventures. But when Oisin or some kingly forerunner--Bran, son of Febal, or the like--rides or sails in an enchanted ship to some divine country, he but looks for a more delighted companionship, or to be in love with faces that will never fade. No thought of any life greater than that of love, and the companionship of those that have drawn their swords upon the darkness of the world, ever troubles their delight in one another as it troubles Iseult amid her love, or Arthur amid his battles. It is one of the ailments of our speculation that thought, when it is not the planning of something, or the doing of something or some memory of a plain circumstance separates us from one another because it makes us always more unlike, and because no thought passes through another's ear unchanged. Companionship can only be perfect when it is founded on things, for things are always the same under the hand, and at last one comes to hear with envy of the voices of boys lighting a lantern to ensnare moths, or of the maids chattering in the kitchen about the fox that carried off a turkey before breakfast. This book is full of fellowship untroubled like theirs, and made noble by a courtesy that has gone perhaps out of the world. I do not know in literature better friends and lovers. When one of the Fianna finds Osgar dying the proud death of a young man, and asks is it well with him, he is answered, "I am as you would have me be." The very heroism of the Fianna is indeed but their pride and joy in one another, their good fellowship. Goll, old and savage, and letting himself die of hunger in a cave because he is angry and sorry, can speak lovely words to the wife whose help he refuses. "'It is best as it is,' he said, 'and I never took the advice of a woman east or west, and I never will take it. And oh, sweet-voiced queen,' he said, 'what ails you to be fretting after me? and remember now your silver and your gold, and your silks ... and do not be crying tears after me, queen with the white hands,' he said, 'but remember your constant lover Aodh, son of the best woman of the world, that came from Spain asking for you, and that I fought on Corcar-an-Dearg; and go to him now,' he said, 'for it is bad when a woman is without a good man.'" VI They have no asceticism, but they are more visionary than any ascetic, and their invisible life is but the life about them made more perfect and more lasting, and the invisible people are their own images in the water. Their gods may have been much besides this, for we know them from fragments of mythology picked out with trouble from a fantastic history running backward to Adam and Eve, and many things that may have seemed wicked to the monks who imagined that history, may have been altered or left out; but this they must have been essentially, for the old stories are confirmed by apparitions among the country-people to-day. The Men of Dea fought against the mis-shapen Fomor, as Finn fights against the Cat-Heads and the Dog-Heads; and when they are overcome at last by men, they make themselves houses in the hearts of hills that are like the houses of men. When they call men to their houses and to their country Under-Wave they promise them all that they have upon earth, only in greater abundance. The god Midhir sings to Queen Etain in one of the most beautiful of the stories: "The young never grow old; the fields and the flowers are as pleasant to be looking at as the blackbird's eggs; warm streams of mead and wine flow through that country; there is no care or no sorrow on any person; we see others, but we ourselves are not seen." These gods are indeed more wise and beautiful than men; but men, when they are great men, are stronger than they are, for men are, as it were, the foaming tide-line of their sea. One remembers the Druid who answered, when some one asked him who made the world, "The Druids made it." All was indeed but one life flowing everywhere, and taking one quality here, another there. It sometimes seems to one as if there is a kind of day and night of religion, and that a period when the influences are those that shape the world is followed by a period when the greater power is in influences that would lure the soul out of the world, out of the body. When Oisin is speaking with S. Patrick of the friends and the life he has outlived, he can but cry out constantly against a religion that has no meaning for him. He laments, and the country-people have remembered his words for centuries: "I will cry my fill, but not for God, but because Finn and the Fianna are not living." VII Old writers had an admirable symbolism that attributed certain energies to the influence of the sun, and certain others to the lunar influence. To lunar influence belong all thoughts and emotions that were created by the community, by the common people, by nobody knows who, and to the sun all that came from the high disciplined or individual kingly mind. I myself imagine a marriage of the sun and moon in the arts I take most pleasure in; and now bride and bridegroom but exchange, as it were, full cups of gold and silver, and now they are one in a mystical embrace. From the moon come the folk-songs imagined by reapers and spinners out of the common impulse of their labour, and made not by putting words together, but by mixing verses and phrases, and the folk-tales made by the capricious mixing of incidents known to everybody in new ways, as one deals out cards, never getting the same hand twice over. When one hears some fine story, one never knows whether it has not been hazard that put the last touch of adventure. Such poetry, as it seems to me, desires an infinity of wonder or emotion, for where there is no individual mind there is no measurer-out, no marker-in of limits. The poor fisher has no possession of the world and no responsibility for it; and if he dreams of a love-gift better than the brown shawl that seems too common for poetry, why should he not dream of a glove made from the skin of a bird, or shoes made from the skin of a fish, or a coat made from the glittering garment of the salmon? Was it not Aeschylus who said he but served up fragments from the banquet of Homer?--but Homer himself found the great banquet on an earthen floor and under a broken roof. We do not know who at the foundation of the world made the banquet for the first time, or who put the pack of cards into rough hands; but we do know that, unless those that have made many inventions are about to change the nature of poetry, we may have to go where Homer went if we are to sing a new song. Is it because all that is under the moon thirsts to escape out of bounds, to lose itself in some unbounded tidal stream, that the songs of the folk are mournful, and that the story of the Fianna, whenever the queens lament for their lovers, reminds us of songs that are still sung in country-places? Their grief, even when it is to be brief like Grania's, goes up into the waste places of the sky. But in supreme art or in supreme life there is the influence of the sun too, and the sun brings with it, as old writers tell us, not merely discipline but joy; for its discipline is not of the kind the multitudes impose upon us by their weight and pressure, but the expression of the individual soul turning itself into a pure fire and imposing its own pattern, its own music, upon the heaviness and the dumbness that is in others and in itself. When we have drunk the cold cup of the moon's intoxication, we thirst for something beyond ourselves, and the mind flows outward to a natural immensity; but if we have drunk from the hot cup of the sun, our own fullness awakens, we desire little, for wherever one goes one's heart goes too; and if any ask what music is the sweetest, we can but answer, as Finn answered, "what happens." And yet the songs and stories that have come from either influence are a part, neither less than the other, of the pleasure that is the bride-bed of poetry. VIII Gaelic-speaking Ireland, because its art has been made, not by the artist choosing his material from wherever he has a mind to, but by adding a little to something which it has taken generations to invent, has always had a popular literature. One cannot say how much that literature has done for the vigour of the race, for one cannot count the hands its praise of kings and high-hearted queens made hot upon the sword-hilt, or the amorous eyes it made lustful for strength and beauty. One remembers indeed that when the farming people and the labourers of the towns made their last attempt to cast out England by force of arms they named themselves after the companions of Finn. Even when Gaelic has gone, and the poetry with it, something of the habit of mind remains in ways of speech and thought and "come-all-ye"s and poetical saying; nor is it only among the poor that the old thought has been for strength or weakness. Surely these old stories, whether of Finn or Cuchulain, helped to sing the old Irish and the old Norman-Irish aristocracy to their end. They heard their hereditary poets and story-tellers, and they took to horse and died fighting against Elizabeth or against Cromwell; and when an English-speaking aristocracy had their place, it listened to no poetry indeed, but it felt about it in the popular mind an exacting and ancient tribunal, and began a play that had for spectators men and women that loved the high wasteful virtues. I do not think that their own mixed blood or the habit of their time need take all, or nearly all, credit or discredit for the impulse that made our modern gentlemen fight duels over pocket-handkerchiefs, and set out to play ball against the gates of Jerusalem for a wager, and scatter money before the public eye; and at last, after an epoch of such eloquence the world has hardly seen its like, lose their public spirit and their high heart and grow querulous and selfish as men do who have played life out not heartily but with noise and tumult. Had they understood the people and the game a little better, they might have created an aristocracy in an age that has lost the meaning of the word. When one reads of the Fianna, or of Cuchulain, or of some great hero, one remembers that the fine life is always a part played finely before fine spectators. There also one notices the hot cup and the cold cup of intoxication; and when the fine spectators have ended, surely the fine players grow weary, and aristocratic life is ended. When O'Connell covered with a dark glove the hand that had killed a man in the duelling field, he played his part; and when Alexander stayed his army marching to the conquest of the world that he might contemplate the beauty of a plane-tree, he played his part. When Osgar complained as he lay dying, of the keening of the women and the old fighting men, he too played his part; "No man ever knew any heart in me," he said, "but a heart of twisted horn, and it covered with iron; but the howling of the dogs beside me," he said, "and the keening of the old fighting men and the crying of the women one after another, those are the things that are vexing me." If we would create a great community--and what other game is so worth the labour?--we must recreate the old foundations of life, not as they existed in that splendid misunderstanding of the eighteenth century, but as they must always exist when the finest minds and Ned the beggar and Seaghan the fool think about the same thing, although they may not think the same thought about it. IX When I asked the little boy who had shown me the pathway up the Hill of Allen if he knew stories of Finn and Oisin, he said he did not, but that he had often heard his grandfather telling them to his mother in Irish. He did not know Irish, but he was learning it at school, and all the little boys he knew were learning it. In a little while he will know enough stories of Finn and Oisin to tell them to his children some day. It is the owners of the land whose children might never have known what would give them so much happiness. But now they can read this book to their children, and it will make Slieve-na-man, Allen, and Benbulben, the great mountain that showed itself before me every day through all my childhood and was yet unpeopled, and half the country-sides of south and west, as populous with memories as are Dundealgan and Emain Macha and Muirthemne; and after a while somebody may even take them to some famous place and say, "This land where your fathers lived proudly and finely should be dear and dear and again dear"; and perhaps when many names have grown musical to their ears, a more imaginative love will have taught them a better service. X I need say nothing about the translation and arrangement of this book except that it is worthy to be put beside "Cuchulain of Muirthemne." Such books should not be commended by written words but by spoken words, were that possible, for the written words commending a book, wherein something is done supremely well, remain, to sound in the ears of a later generation, like the foolish sound of church bells from the tower of a church when every pew is full. W.B. YEATS. CONTENTS PART I. THE GODS Book I. The Coming of the Tuatha de Danaan Chap. I. The Fight with the Firbolgs II. The Reign of Bres Book II. Lugh of the Long Hand Chap. I. The Coming of Lugh II. The Sons of Tuireann III. The Great Battle of Magh Tuireadh IV. The Hidden House of Lugh Book III. The Coming of the Gael Chap. I. The Landing II. The Battle of Tailltin Book IV. The Ever-Living Living Ones Chap. I. Bodb Dearg II. The Dagda III. Angus Og IV. The Morrigu V. Aine VI. Aoibhell VII. Midhir and Etain VIII. Manannan IX. Manannan at play X. His Call to Bran XI. His Three Calls to Cormac XII. Cliodna's Wave XIII. His Call to Connla XIV. Tadg in Manannan's Islands XV. Laegaire in the Happy Plain Book V. The Fate of The Children of Lir PART II. THE FIANNA Book I. Finn, Son of Cumhal Chap. I. The Coming of Finn II. Finn's Household III. Birth of Bran IV. Oisin's Mother V. The Best Men of the Fianna Book II. Finn's Helpers Chap. I. The Lad of the Skins II. Black, Brown, and Grey III. The Hound IV. Red Ridge Book III. The Battle of the White Strand Chap. I. The Enemies of Ireland II. Cael and Credhe III. Conn Crither IV. Glas, Son of Dremen V. The Help of the Men of Dea VI. The March of the Fianna VII. The First Fighters VIII. The King of Ulster's Son IX. The High King's Son X. The King of Lochlann and his Sons XI. Labran's Journey XII. The Great Fight XIII. Credhe's Lament Book IV. Huntings and Enchantments Chap. I. The King of Britain's Son II. The Cave of Ceiscoran III. Donn, Son of Midhir IV. The Hospitality of Cuanna's House V. Cat-Heads and Dog-Heads VI. Lomna's Head VII. Ilbrec of Ess Ruadh VIII. The Cave of Cruachan IX. The Wedding at Ceann Slieve X. The Shadowy One XI. Finn's Madness XII. The Red Woman XIII. Finn and the Phantoms XIV. The Pigs of Angus XV. The Hunt of Slieve Cuilinn Book V. Oisin's Children Book VI. Diarmuid Chap. I. Birth of Diarmuid II. How Diarmuid got his Love-Spot III. The Daughter of King Under-Wave IV. The Hard Servant V. The House of the Quicken Trees Book VII. Diarmuid and Grania Chap. I. The Flight from Teamhair II. The Pursuit III. The Green Champions IV. The Wood of Dubhros V. The Quarrel VI. The Wanderers VII. Fighting and Peace VIII. The Boar of Beinn Gulbain Book VIII. Cnoc-an-Air Chap. I. Tailc, Son of Treon II. Meargach's Wife III. Ailne's Revenge Book IX. The Wearing Away of the Fianna Chap. I. The Quarrel with the Sons of Morna II. Death of Goll III. The Battle of Gabhra Book X. The End of the Fianna Chap. I. Death of Bran II. The Call of Oisin III. The Last of the Great Men Book XI. Oisin and Patrick Chap. I. Oisin's Story II. Oisin in Patrick's House III. The Arguments IV. Oisin's Laments GODS AND FIGHTING MEN. PART ONE: THE GODS. BOOK ONE: THE COMING OF THE TUATHA DE DANAAN. CHAPTER I. THE FIGHT WITH THE FIRBOLGS It was in a mist the Tuatha de Danaan, the people of the gods of Dana, or as some called them, the Men of Dea, came through the air and the high air to Ireland. It was from the north they came; and in the place they came from they had four cities, where they fought their battle for learning: great Falias, and shining Gorias, and Finias, and rich Murias that lay to the south. And in those cities they had four wise men to teach their young men skill and knowledge and perfect wisdom: Senias in Murias; and Arias, the fair-haired poet, in Finias; and Urias of the noble nature in Gorias; and Morias in Falias itself. And they brought from those four cities their four treasures: a Stone of Virtue from Falias, that was called the Lia Fail, the Stone of Destiny; and from Gorias they brought a Sword; and from Finias a Spear of Victory; and from Murias the fourth treasure, the Cauldron that no company ever went away from unsatisfied. It was Nuada was king of the Tuatha de Danaan at that time, but Manannan, son of Lir, was greater again. And of the others that were chief among them were Ogma, brother to the king, that taught them writing, and Diancecht, that understood healing, and Neit, a god of battle, and Credenus the Craftsman, and Goibniu the Smith. And the greatest among their women were Badb, a battle goddess; and Macha, whose mast-feeding was the heads of men killed in battle; and the Morrigu, the Crow of Battle; and Eire and Fodla and Banba, daughters of the Dagda, that all three gave their names to Ireland afterwards; and Eadon, the nurse of poets; and Brigit, that was a woman of poetry, and poets worshipped her, for her sway was very great and very noble. And she was a woman of healing along with that, and a woman of smith's work, and it was she first made the whistle for calling one to another through the night. And the one side of her face was ugly, but the other side was very comely. And the meaning of her name was Breo-saighit, a fiery arrow. And among the other women there were many shadow-forms and great queens; but Dana, that was called the Mother of the Gods, was beyond them all. And the three things they put above all others were the plough and the sun and the hazel-tree, so that it was said in the time to come that Ireland was divided between those three, Coll the hazel, and Cecht the plough, and Grian the sun. And they had a well below the sea where the nine hazels of wisdom were growing; that is, the hazels of inspiration and of the knowledge of poetry. And their leaves and their blossoms would break out in the same hour, and would fall on the well in a shower that raised a purple wave. And then the five salmon that were waiting there would eat the nuts, and their colour would come out in the red spots of their skin, and any person that would eat one of those salmon would know all wisdom and all poetry. And there were seven streams of wisdom that sprang from that well and turned back to it again; and the people of many arts have all drank from that well. It was on the first day of Beltaine, that is called now May Day, the Tuatha de Danaan came, and it was to the north-west of Connacht they landed. But the Firbolgs, the Men of the Bag, that were in Ireland before them, and that had come from the South, saw nothing but a mist, and it lying on the hills. Eochaid, son of Erc, was king of the Firbolgs at that time, and messengers came to him at Teamhair, and told him there was a new race of people come into Ireland, but whether from the earth or the skies or on the wind was not known, and that they had settled themselves at Magh Rein. They thought there would be wonder on Eochaid when he heard that news; but there was no wonder on him, for a dream had come to him in the night, and when he asked his Druids the meaning of the dream, it is what they said, that it would not be long till there would be a strong enemy coming against him. Then King Eochaid took counsel with his chief advisers, and it is what they agreed, to send a good champion of their own to see the strangers and to speak with them. So they chose out Sreng, that was a great fighting man, and he rose up and took his strong red-brown shield, and his two thick-handled spears, and his sword, and his head-covering, and his thick iron club, and he set out from Teamhair, and went on towards the place the strangers were, at Magh Rein. But before he reached it, the watchers of the Tuatha de Danaan got sight of him, and they sent out one of their own champions, Bres, with his shield and his sword and his two spears, to meet him and to talk with him. So the two champions went one towards the other slowly, and keeping a good watch on one another, and wondering at one another's arms, till they came near enough for talking; and then they stopped, and each put his shield before his body and struck it hard into the ground, and they looked at one another over the rim. Bres was the first to speak, and when Sreng heard it was Irish he was talking, his own tongue, he was less uneasy, and they drew nearer, and asked questions as to one another's family and race. And after a while they put their shields away, and it was what Sreng said, that he had raised his in dread of the thin, sharp spears Bres had in his hand. And Bres said he himself was in dread of the thick-handled spears he saw with Sreng, and he asked were all the arms of the Firbolgs of the same sort. And Sreng took off the tyings of his spears to show them better, and Bres wondered at them, being so strong and so heavy, and so sharp at the sides though they had no points. And Sreng told him the name of those spears was Craisech, and that they would break through shields and crush flesh and bones, so that their thrust was death or wounds that never healed. And then he looked at the sharp, thin, hard-pointed spears that were with Bres. And in the end they made an exchange of spears, the way the fighters on each side would see the weapons the others were used to. And it is the message Bres sent to the Firbolgs, that if they would give up one half of Ireland, his people would be content to take it in peace; but if they would not give up that much, there should be a battle. And he and Sreng said to one another that whatever might happen in the future, they themselves would be friends. Sreng went back then to Teamhair and gave the message and showed the spear; and it is what he advised his people, to share the country and not to go into battle with a people that had weapons so much better than their own. But Eochaid and his chief men consulted together, and they said in the end: "We will not give up the half of the country to these strangers; for if we do," they said, "they will soon take the whole." Now as to the Men of Dea, when Bres went back to them, and showed them the heavy spear, and told them of the strong, fierce man he had got it from, and how sturdy he was and well armed, they thought it likely there would soon be a battle. And they went back from where they were to a better place, farther west in Connacht, and there they settled themselves, and made walls and ditches on the plain of Magh Nia, where they had the great mountain, Belgata, in their rear. And while they were moving there and putting up their walls, three queens of them, Badb and Macha and the Morrigu, went to Teamhair where the Firbolgs were making their plans. And by the power of their enchantments they brought mists and clouds of darkness over the whole place, and they sent showers of fire and of blood over the people, the way they could not see or speak with one another through the length of three days. But at the end of that time, the three Druids of the Firbolgs, Cesarn and Gnathach and Ingnathach, broke the enchantment. The Firbolgs gathered their men together then, and they came with their eleven battalions and took their stand at the eastern end of the plain of Magh Nia. And Nuada, king of the Men of Dea, sent his poets to make the same offer he made before, to be content with the half of the country if it was given up to him. King Eochaid bade the poets to ask an answer of his chief men that were gathered there; and when they heard the offer they would not consent. So the messengers asked them when would they begin the battle. "We must have a delay," they said; "for we want time to put our spears and our armour in order, and to brighten our helmets and to sharpen our swords, and to have spears made like the ones you have. And as to yourselves," they said, "you will be wanting to have spears like our Craisechs made for you." So they agreed then to make a delay of a quarter of a year for preparation. It was on a Midsummer day they began the battle. Three times nine hurlers of the Tuatha de Danaan went out against three times nine hurlers of the Firbolgs, and they were beaten, and every one of them was killed. And the king, Eochaid, sent a messenger to ask would they have the battle every day or every second day. And it is what Nuada answered that they would have it every day, but there should be just the same number of men fighting on each side. Eochaid agreed to that, but he was not well pleased, for there were more men of the Firbolgs than of the Men of Dea. So the battle went on for four days, and there were great feats done on each side, and a great many champions came to their death. But for those that were alive at evening, the physicians on each side used to make a bath of healing, with every sort of healing plant or herb in it, the way they would be strong and sound for the next day's fight. And on the fourth day the Men of Dea got the upper hand, and the Firbolgs were driven back. And a great thirst came on Eochaid, their king, in the battle, and he went off the field looking for a drink, and three fifties of his men protecting him; but three fifties of the Tuatha de Danaan followed after them till they came to the strand that is called Traigh Eothaile, and they had a fierce fight there, and at the last King Eochaid fell, and they buried him there, and they raised a great heap of stones over his grave. And when there were but three hundred men left of the eleven battalions of the Firbolgs, and Sreng at the head of them, Nuada offered them peace, and their choice among the five provinces of Ireland. And Sreng said they would take Connacht; and he and his people lived there and their children after them. It is of them Ferdiad came afterwards that made such a good fight against Cuchulain, and Erc, son of Cairbre, that gave him his death. And that battle, that was the first fought in Ireland by the Men of Dea, was called by some the first battle of Magh Tuireadh. And the Tuatha de Danaan took possession of Teamhair, that was sometimes called Druim Cain, the Beautiful Ridge, and Liathdruim, the Grey Ridge, and Druim na Descan, the Ridge of the Outlook, all those names were given to Teamhair. And from that time it was above all other places, for its king was the High King over all Ireland. The king's rath lay to the north, and the Hill of the Hostages to the north-east of the High Seat, and the Green of Teamhair to the west of the Hill of the Hostages. And to the north-east, in the Hill of the Sidhe, was a well called Nemnach, and out of it there flowed a stream called Nith, and on that stream the first mill was built in Ireland. And to the north of the Hill of the Hostages was the stone, the Lia Fail, and it used to roar under the feet of every king that would take possession of Ireland. And the Wall of the Three Whispers was near the House of the Women that had seven doors to the east, and seven doors to the west; and it is in that house the feasts of Teamhair used to be held. And there was the Great House of a Thousand Soldiers, and near it, to the south, the little Hill of the Woman Soldiers. CHAPTER II. THE REIGN OF BRES But if Nuada won the battle, he lost his own arm in it, that was struck off by Sreng; and by that loss there came troubles and vexation on his people. For it was a law with the Tuatha de Danaan that no man that was not perfect in shape should be king. And after Nuada had lost the battle he was put out of the kingship on that account. And the king they chose in his place was Bres, that was the most beautiful of all their young men, so that if a person wanted to praise any beautiful thing, whether it was a plain, or a dun, or ale, or a flame, or a woman, or a man, or a horse, it is what he would say, "It is as beautiful as Bres." And he was the son of a woman of the Tuatha de Danaan, but who his father was no one knew but herself. But in spite of Bres being so beautiful, his reign brought no great good luck to his people; for the Fomor, whose dwelling-place was beyond the sea, or as some say below the sea westward, began putting tribute on them, the way they would get them under their own rule. It was a long time before that the Fomor came first to Ireland; dreadful they were to look at, and maimed, having but one foot or one hand, and they under the leadership of a giant and his mother. There never came to Ireland an army more horrible or more dreadful than that army of the Fomor. And they were friendly with the Firbolgs and content to leave Ireland to them, but there was jealousy between them and the Men of Dea. And it was a hard tax they put on them, a third part of their corn they asked, and a third part of their milk, and a third part of their children, so that there was not smoke rising from a roof in Ireland but was under tribute to them. And Bres made no stand against them, but let them get their way. And as to Bres himself, he put a tax on every house in Ireland of the milk of hornless dun cows, or of the milk of cows of some other single colour, enough for a hundred men. And one time, to deceive him, Nechtan singed all the cows of Ireland in a fire of fern, and then he smeared them with the ashes of flax seed, the way they were all dark brown. He did that by the advice of the Druid Findgoll, son of Findemas. And another time they made three hundred cows of wood with dark brown pails in place of udders, and the pails were filled with black bog stuff. Then Bres came to look at the cows, and to see them milked before him, and Cian, father of Lugh, was there. And when they were milked it was the bog stuff that was squeezed out; and Bres took a drink of it thinking it to be milk, and he was not the better of it for a long time. And there was another thing against Bres; he was no way open-handed, and the chief men of the Tuatha de Danaan grumbled against him, for their knives were never greased in his house, and however often they might visit him there was no smell of ale on their breath. And there was no sort of pleasure or merriment in his house, and no call for their poets, or singers, or harpers, or pipers, or horn-blowers, or jugglers, or fools. And as to the trials of strength they were used to see between their champions, the only use their strength was put to now was to be doing work for the king. Ogma himself, the shining poet, was under orders to bring firing to the palace every day for the whole army from the Islands of Mod; and he so weak for want of food that the sea would sweep away two-thirds of his bundle every day. And as to the Dagda, he was put to build raths, for he was a good builder, and he made a trench round Rath Brese. And he used often to be tired at the work, and one time he nearly gave in altogether for want of food, and this is the way that happened. He used to meet in the house an idle blind man, Cridenbel his name was, that had a sharp tongue, and that coveted the Dagda's share of food, for he thought his own to be small beside it. So he said to him: "For the sake of your good name let the three best bits of your share be given to me." And the Dagda gave in to that every night; but he was the worse of it, for what the blind man called a bit would be the size of a good pig, and with his three bits he would take a full third of the whole. But one day, as the Dagda was in the trench, he saw his son, Angus Og, coming to him. "That is a good meeting," said Angus; "but what is on you, for you have no good appearance to-day?" "There is a reason for that," said the Dagda, "for every evening, Cridenbel, the blind man, makes a demand for the three best bits of my share of food, and takes them from me." "I will give you an advice," said Angus. He put his hand in his bag then, and took out three pieces of gold and gave them to him. "Put these pieces of gold into the three bits you will give this evening to Cridenbel," he said, "and they will be the best bits in the dish, and the gold will turn within him the way he will die." So in the evening the Dagda did that; and no sooner had Cridenbel swallowed down the gold than he died. Some of the people said then to the king: "The Dagda has killed Cridenbel, giving him some deadly herb." The king believed that, and there was anger on him against the Dagda, and he gave orders he should be put to death. But the Dagda said: "You are not giving the right judgment of a prince." And he told all that had happened, and how Cridenbel used to say, "Give me the three best bits before you, for my own share is not good to-night." "And on this night," he said, "the three pieces of gold were the best things before me, and I gave them to him, and he died." The king gave orders then to have the body cut open. And they found the gold inside it, and they knew it was the truth the Dagda had told. And Angus came to him again the next day, and he said: "Your work will soon be done, and when you are given your wages, take nothing they may offer you till the cattle of Ireland are brought before you, and choose out a heifer then, black and black-maned, that I will tell you the signs of." So when the Dagda had brought his work to an end, and they asked him what reward he wanted, he did as Angus had bidden him. And that seemed folly to Bres; he thought the Dagda would have asked more than a heifer of him. There came a day at last when a poet came to look for hospitality at the king's house, Corpre, son of Etain, poet of the Tuatha de Danaan. And it is how he was treated, he was put in a little dark narrow house where there was no fire, or furniture, or bed; and for a feast three small cakes, and they dry, were brought to him on a little dish. When he rose up on the morrow he was no way thankful, and as he was going across the green, it is what he said: "Without food ready on a dish; without milk enough for a calf to grow on; without shelter; without light in the darkness of night; without enough to pay a story-teller; may that be the prosperity of Bres." And from that day there was no good luck with Bres, but it is going down he was for ever after. And that was the first satire ever made in Ireland. Now as to Nuada: after his arm being struck off, he was in his sickness for a while, and then Diancecht, the healer, made an arm of silver for him, with movement in every finger of it, and put it on him. And from that he was called Nuada Argat-lamh, of the Silver Hand, for ever after. Now Miach, son of Diancecht, was a better hand at healing than his father, and had done many things. He met a young man, having but one eye, at Teamhair one time, and the young man said: "If you are a good physician you will put an eye in the place of the eye I lost." "I could put the eye of that cat in your lap in its place," said Miach. "I would like that well," said the young man. So Miach put the cat's eye in his head; but he would as soon have been without it after, for when he wanted to sleep and take his rest, it is then the eye would start at the squeaking of the mice, or the flight of the birds, or the movement of the rushes; and when he was wanting to watch an army or a gathering, it is then it was sure to be in a deep sleep. And Miach was not satisfied with what his father had done to the king, and he took Nuada's own hand that had been struck off, and brought it to him and set it in its place, and he said: "Joint to joint, and sinew to sinew." Three days and three nights he was with the king; the first day he put the hand against his side, and the second day against his breast, till it was covered with skin, and the third day he put bulrushes that were blackened in the fire on it, and at the end of that time the king was healed. But Diancecht was vexed when he saw his son doing a better cure than himself, and he threw his sword at his head, that it cut the flesh, but the lad healed the wound by means of his skill. Then Diancecht threw it a second time, that it reached the bone, but the lad was able to cure the wound. Then he struck him the third time and the fourth, till he cut out the brain, for he knew no physician could cure him after that blow; and Miach died, and he buried him. And herbs grew up from his grave, to the number of his joints and sinews, three hundred and sixty-five. And Airmed, his sister, came and spread out her cloak and laid out the herbs in it, according to their virtue. But Diancecht saw her doing that, and he came and mixed up the herbs, so that no one knows all their right powers to this day. Then when the Tuatha de Danaan saw Nuada as well as he was before, they gathered together to Teamhair, where Bres was, and they bade him give up the kingship, for he had held it long enough. So he had to give it up, though he was not very willing, and Nuada was put back in the kingship again. There was great vexation on Bres then, and he searched his mind to know how could he be avenged on those that had put him out, and how he could gather an army against them; and he went to his mother, Eri, daughter of Delbaith, and bade her tell him what his race was. "I know that well," she said; and she told him then that his father was a king of the Fomor, Elathan, son of Dalbaech, and that he came to her one time over a level sea in some great vessel that seemed to be of silver, but she could not see its shape, and he himself having the appearance of a young man with yellow hair, and his clothes sewed with gold, and five rings of gold about his neck. And she that had refused the love of all the young men of her own people, gave him her love, and she cried when he left her. And he gave her a ring from his hand, and bade her give it only to the man whose finger it would fit, and he went away then the same way as he had come. And she brought out the ring then to Bres, and he put it round his middle finger, and it fitted him well. And they went then together to the hill where she was the time she saw the silver vessel coming, and down to the strand, and she and Bres and his people set out for the country of the Fomor. And when they came to that country they found a great plain with many gatherings of people on it, and they went to the gathering that looked the best, and the people asked where did they come from, and they said they were come from Ireland. "Have you hounds with you?" they asked them then, for it was the custom at that time, when strangers came to a gathering, to give them some friendly challenge. "We have hounds," said Bres. So the hounds were matched against one another, and the hounds of the Tuatha de Danaan were better than the hounds of the Fomor. "Have you horses for a race?" they asked then. "We have," said Bres. And the horses of the Tuatha de Danaan beat the horses of the Fomor. Then they asked was any one among them a good hand with the sword, and they said Bres was the best. But when he put his hand to his sword, Elathan, his father, that was among them, knew the ring, and he asked who was this young man. Then his mother answered him and told the whole story, and that Bres was his own son. There was sorrow on his father then, and he said: "What was it drove you out of the country you were king over?" And Bres said: "Nothing drove me out but my own injustice and my own hardness; I took away their treasures from the people, and their jewels, and their food itself. And there were never taxes put on them before I was their king." "That is bad," said his father; "it is of their prosperity you had a right to think more than of your own kingship. And their good-will would be better than their curses," he said; "and what is it you are come to look for here?" "I am come to look for fighting men," said Bres, "that I may take Ireland by force." "You have no right to get it by injustice when you could not keep it by justice," said his father. "What advice have you for me then?" said Bres. And Elathan bade him go to the chief king of the Fomor, Balor of the Evil Eye, to see what advice and what help would he give him. BOOK TWO: LUGH OF THE LONG HAND. CHAPTER I. THE COMING OF LUGH Now as to Nuada of the Silver Hand, he was holding a great feast at Teamhair one time, after he was back in the kingship. And there were two door-keepers at Teamhair, Gamal, son of Figal, and Camel, son of Riagall. And a young man came to the door where one of them was, and bade him bring him in to the king. "Who are you yourself?" said the door-keeper. "I am Lugh, son of Cian of the Tuatha de Danaan, and of Ethlinn, daughter of Balor, King of the Fomor," he said; "and I am foster-son of Taillte, daughter of the King of the Great Plain, and of Echaid the Rough, son of Duach." "What are you skilled in?" said the door-keeper; "for no one without an art comes into Teamhair." "Question me," said Lugh; "I am a carpenter." "We do not want you; we have a carpenter ourselves, Luchtar, son of Luachaid." "Then I am a smith." "We have a smith ourselves, Colum Cuaillemech of the Three New Ways." "Then I am a champion." "That is no use to us; we have a champion before, Ogma, brother to the king." "Question me again," he said; "I am a harper." "That is no use to us; we have a harper ourselves, Abhean, son of Bicelmos, that the Men of the Three Gods brought from the hills." "I am-a poet," he said then, "and a teller of tales." "That is no use to us; we have a teller of tales ourselves, Ere, son of Ethaman." "And I am a magician." "That is no use to us; we have plenty of magicians and people of power." "I am a physician," he said. "That is no use; we have Diancecht-for our physician." "Let me be a cup-bearer," he said. "We do not want you; we have nine cup-bearers ourselves." "I am a good worker in brass." "We have a worker in brass ourselves, that is Credne Cerd." Then Lugh said: "Go and ask the king if he has any one man that can do all these things, and if he has, I will not ask to come into Teamhair." The door-keeper went into the king's house then and told him all that. "There is a young man at the door," he said, "and his name should be the Ildánach, the Master of all Arts, for all the things the people of your house can do, he himself is able to do every one of them." "Try him with the chess-boards," said Nuada. So the chess-boards were brought out, and every game that was played, Lugh won it. And when Nuada was told that, he said: "Let him in, for the like of him never came into Teamhair before." Then the door-keeper let him pass, and he came into the king's house and sat down in the seat of knowledge. And there was a great flag-stone there that could hardly be moved by four times twenty yoke of oxen, and Ogma took it up and hurled it out through the house, so that it lay on the outside of Teamhair, as a challenge to Lugh. But Lugh hurled it back again that it lay in the middle of the king's house. He played the harp for them then, and he had them laughing and crying, till he put them asleep at the end with a sleepy tune. And when Nuada saw all the things Lugh could do, he began to think that by his help the country might get free of the taxes and the tyranny put on it by the Fomor. And it is what he did, he came down from his throne, and he put Lugh on it in his place, for the length of thirteen days, the way they might all listen to the advice he would give. This now is the story of the birth of Lugh. The time the Fomor used to be coming to Ireland, Balor of the Strong Blows, or, as some called him, of the Evil Eye, was living on the Island of the Tower of Glass. There was danger for ships that went near that island, for the Fomor would come out and take them. And some say the sons of Nemed in the old time, before the Firbolgs were in Ireland, passed near it in their ships, and what they saw was a tower of glass in the middle of the sea, and on the tower something that had the appearance of men, and they went against it with Druid spells to attack it. And the Fomor worked against them with Druid spells of their own; and the sons of Nemed attacked the tower, and it vanished, and they thought it was destroyed. But a great wave rose over them then, and all their ships went down and all that were in them. And the tower was there as it was before, and Balor living in it. And it is the reason he was called "of the Evil Eye," there was a power of death in one of his eyes, so that no person could look at it and live. It is the way it got that power, he was passing one time by a house where his father's Druids were making spells of death, and the window being open he looked in, and the smoke of the poisonous spells was rising up, and it went into his eye. And from that time he had to keep it closed unless he wanted to be the death of some enemy, and then the men that were with him would lift the eyelid with a ring of ivory. Now a Druid foretold one time that it was by his own grandson he would get his death. And he had at that time but one child, a daughter whose name was Ethlinn; and when he heard what the Druid said, he shut her up in the tower on the island. And he put twelve women with her to take charge of her and to guard her, and he bade them never to let her see a man or hear the name of a man. So Ethlinn was brought up in the tower, and she grew to be very beautiful; and sometimes she would see men passing in the currachs, and sometimes she would see a man in her dreams. But when she would speak of that to the women, they would give her no answer. So there was no fear on Balor, and he went on with war and robbery as he was used, seizing every ship that passed by, and sometimes going over to Ireland to do destruction there. Now it chanced at that time there were three brothers of the Tuatha de Danaan living together in a place that was called Druim na Teine, the Ridge of the Fire, Goibniu and Samthainn and Cian. Cian was a lord of land, and Goibniu was the smith that had such a great name. Now Cian had a wonderful cow, the Glas Gaibhnenn, and her milk never failed. And every one that heard of her coveted her, and many had tried to steal her away, so that she had to be watched night and day. And one time Cian was wanting some swords made, and he went to Goibniu's forge, and he brought the Glas Gaibhnenn with him, holding her by a halter. When he came to the forge his two brothers were there together, for Samthainn had brought some steel to have weapons made for himself; and Cian bade Samthainn to hold the halter while he went into the forge to speak with Goibniu. Now Balor had set his mind for a long time on the Glas Gaibhnenn, but he had never been able to get near her up to this time. And he was watching not far off, and when he saw Samthainn holding the cow, he put on the appearance of a little boy, having red hair, and came up to him and told him he heard his two brothers that were in the forge saying to one another that they would use all his steel for their own swords, and make his of iron. "By my word," said Samthainn, "they will not deceive me so easily. Let you hold the cow, little lad," he said, "and I will go in to them." With that he rushed into the forge, and great anger on him. And no sooner did Balor get the halter in his hand than he set out, dragging the Glas along with him, to the strand, and across the sea to his own island. When Cian saw his brother coming in he rushed out, and there he saw Balor and the Glas out in the sea. And he had nothing to do then but to reproach his brother, and to wander about as if his wits had left him, not knowing what way to get his cow back from Balor. At last he went to a Druid to ask an advice from him; and it is what the Druid told him, that so long as Balor lived, the cow would never be brought back, for no one would go within reach of his Evil Eye. Cian went then to a woman-Druid, Birog of the Mountain, for her help. And she dressed him in a woman's clothes, and brought him across the sea in a blast of wind, to the tower where Ethlinn was. Then she called to the women in the tower, and asked them for shelter for a high queen she was after saving from some hardship, and the women in the tower did not like to refuse a woman of the Tuatha de Danaan, and they let her and her comrade in. Then Birog by her enchantments put them all into a deep sleep, and Cian went to speak with Ethlinn. And when she saw him she said that was the face she had seen in her dreams. So she gave him her love; but after a while he was brought away again on a blast of wind. And when her time came, Ethlinn gave birth to a son. And when Balor knew that, he bade his people put the child in a cloth and fasten it with a pin, and throw him into a current of the sea. And as they were carrying the child across an arm of the sea, the pin dropped out, and the child slipped from the cloth into the water, and they thought he was drowned. But he was brought away by Birog of the Mountain, and she brought him to his father Cian; and he gave him to be fostered by Taillte, daughter of the King of the Great Plain. It is thus Lugh was born and reared. And some say Balor came and struck the head off Cian on a white stone, that has the blood marks on it to this day; but it is likely it was some other man he struck the head off, for it was by the sons of Tuireann that Cian came to his death. And after Lugh had come to Teamhair, and made his mind up to join with his father's people against the Fomor, he put his mind to the work; and he went to a quiet place in Grellach Dollaid, with Nuada and the Dagda, and with Ogma; and Goibniu and Diancecht were called to them there. A full year they stopped there, making their plans together in secret, the way the Fomor would not know they were going to rise against them till such time as all would be ready, and till they would know what their strength was. And it is from that council the place got the name afterwards of "The Whisper of the Men of Dea." And they broke up the council, and agreed to meet again that day three years, and every one of them went his own way, and Lugh went back to his own friends, the sons of Manannan. And it was a good while after that, Nuada was holding a great assembly of the people on the Hill of Uisnech, on the west side of Teamhair. And they were not long there before they saw an armed troop coming towards them from the east, over the plain; and there was a young man in front of the troop, in command over the rest, and the brightness of his face was like the setting sun, so that they were not able to look at him because of its brightness. And when he came nearer they knew it was Lugh Lamh-Fada, of the Long Hand, that had come back to them, and along with him were the Riders of the Sidhe from the Land of Promise, and his own foster-brothers, the sons of Manannan, Sgoith Gleigeil, the White Flower, and Goitne Gorm-Shuileach, the Blue-eyed Spear, and Sine Sindearg, of the Red Ring, and Donall Donn-Ruadh, of the Red-brown Hair. And it is the way Lugh was, he had Manannan's horse, the Aonbharr, of the One Mane, under him, that was as swift as the naked cold wind of spring, and the sea was the same as dry land to her, and the rider was never killed off her back. And he had Manannan's breast-plate on him, that kept whoever was wearing it from wounds, and a helmet on his head with two beautiful precious stones set in the front of it and one at the back, and when he took it off, his forehead was like the sun on a dry summer day. And he had Manannan's sword, the Freagarthach, the Answerer, at his side, and no one that was wounded by it would ever get away alive; and when that sword was bared in a battle, no man that saw it coming against him had any more strength than a woman in child-birth. And the troop came to where the King of Ireland was with the Tuatha de Danaan, and they welcomed one another. And they were not long there till they saw a surly, slovenly troop coming towards them, nine times nine of the messengers of the Fomor, that were coming to ask rent and taxes from the men of Ireland; and the names of the four that were the hardest and the most cruel were Eine and Eathfaigh and Coron and Compar; and there was such great dread of these four on the Tuatha de Danaan, that not one of them would so much as punish his own son or his foster-son without leave from them. They came up then to where the King of Ireland was with the Riders of the Sidhe, and the king and all the Tuatha de Danaan stood up before them. And Lugh of the Long Hand said: "Why do you rise up before that surly, slovenly troop, when you did not rise up before us?" "It is needful for us to do it," said the king; "for if there was but a child of us sitting before them, they would not think that too small a cause for killing him." "By my word," said Lugh, "there is a great desire coming on me to kill themselves." "That is a thing would bring harm on us," said the king, "for we would meet our own death and destruction through it." "It is too long a time you have been under this oppression," said Lugh. And with that he started up and made an attack on the Fomor, killing and wounding them, till he had made an end of eight nines of them, but he let the last nine go under the protection of Nuada the king. "And I would kill you along with the others," he said, "but I would sooner see you go with messages to your own country than my own people, for fear they might get any ill-treatment." So the nine went back then till they came to Lochlann, where the men of the Fomor were, and they told them the story from beginning to end, and how a young well-featured lad had come into Ireland and had killed all the tax-gatherers but themselves, "and it is the reason he let us off," they said, "that we might tell you the story ourselves." "Do you know who is the young man?" said Balor of the Evil Eye then. "I know well," said Ceithlenn, his wife; "he is the son of your daughter and mine. And it was foretold," she said, "that from the time he would come into Ireland, we would never have power there again for ever." Then the chief men of the Fomor went into a council, Eab, son of Neid, and Seanchab, grandson of Neid, and Sital Salmhor, and Liath, son of Lobais, and the nine poets of the Fomor that had learning and the gift of foreknowledge, and Lobais the Druid, and Balor himself and his twelve white-mouthed sons, and Ceithlenn of the Crooked Teeth, his queen. And it was just at that time Bres and his father Elathan were come to ask help of the Fomor, and Bres said: "I myself will go to Ireland, and seven great battalions of the Riders of the Fomor along with me, and I will give battle to this Ildánach, this master of all arts, and I will strike his head off and bring it here to you, to the green of Berbhe." "It would be a fitting thing for you to do," said they all. "Let my ships be made ready for me," said Bres, "and let food and provisions be put in them." So they made no delay, but went and got the ships ready, and they put plenty of food and drink in them, and the two swift Luaths were sent out to gather the army to Bres. And when they were all gathered, they made ready their armour and their weapons, and they set out for Ireland. And Balor the king followed them to the harbour, and he said: "Give battle to that Ildánach, and strike off his head; and tie that island that is called Ireland to the back of your ships, and let the destroying water take its place, and put it on the north side of Lochlann, and not one of the Men of Dea will follow it there to the end of life and time." Then they pushed out their ships and put up their painted sails, and went out from the harbour on the untilled country, on the ridges of the wide-lying sea, and they never turned from their course till they came to the harbour of Eas Dara. And from that they sent out an army through West Connacht and destroyed it altogether, through and through. And the King of Connacht at that time was Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda. CHAPTER II. THE SONS OF TUIREANN And Lugh of the Long Hand was at that time at Teamhair with the King of Ireland, and it was showed to him that the Fomor were after landing at Eas Dara. And when he knew that, he made ready Manannan's horse, the Aonbharr, at the time of the battle of the day and night; and he went where Nuada the king was, and told him how the Fomor had landed at Eas Dara and had spoiled Bodb Dearg's country; "and it is what I want," he said, "to get help from you to give battle to them." But Nuada was not minded to avenge the destruction that was done on Bodb Dearg and not on himself, and Lugh was not well pleased with his answer, and he went riding out of Teamhair westward. And presently he saw three armed men coming towards him, his own father Cian, with his brothers Cu and Ceithen, that were the three sons of Cainte, and they saluted him. "What is the cause of your early rising?" they said. "It is good cause I have for it," said Lugh, "for the Fomor are come into Ireland and have robbed Bodb Dearg; and what help will you give me against them?" he said. "Each one of us will keep off a hundred from you in the battle," said they. "That is a good help," said Lugh; "but there is a help I would sooner have from you than that: to gather the Riders of the Sidhe to me from every place where they are." So Cu and Ceithen went towards the south, and Cian set out northward, and he did not stop till he reached the Plain of Muirthemne. And as he was going across the plain he saw three armed men before him, that were the three sons of Tuireann, son of Ogma. And it is the way it was between the three sons of Tuireann and the three sons of Cainte, they were in hatred and enmity towards one another, so that whenever they met there was sure to be fighting among them. Then Cian said: "If my two brothers had been here it is a brave fight we would make; but since they are not, it is best for me to fall back." Then he saw a great herd of pigs near him, and he struck himself with a Druid rod that put on him the shape of a pig of the herd, and he began rooting up the ground like the rest. Then Brian, one of the sons of Tuireann, said to his brothers: "Did you see that armed man that was walking the plain a while ago?" "We did see him," said they. "Do you know what was it took him away?" said Brian. "We do not know that," said they. "It is a pity you not to be keeping a better watch over the plains of the open country in time of war," said Brian; "and I know well what happened him, for he struck himself with his Druid rod into the shape of a pig of these pigs, and he is rooting up the ground now like any one of them; and whoever he is, he is no friend to us." "That is bad for us," said the other two, "for the pigs belong to some one of the Tuatha de Danaan, and even if we kill them all, the Druid pig might chance to escape us in the end." "It is badly you got your learning in the city of learning," said Brian, "when you cannot tell an enchanted beast from a natural beast." And while he was saying that, he struck his two brothers with his Druid rod, and he turned them into two thin, fast hounds, and they began to yelp sharply on the track of the enchanted pig. And it was not long before the pig fell out from among the others, and not one of the others made away but only itself, and it made for a wood, and at the edge of the wood Brian gave a cast of his spear that went through its body. And the pig cried out, and it said: "It is a bad thing you have done to have made a cast at me when you knew me." "It seems to me you have the talk of a man," said Brian. "I was a man indeed," said he; "I am Cian, son of Cainte, and give me your protection now." "I swear by the gods of the air," said Brian, "that if the life came back seven times to you, I would take it from you every time." "If that is so," said Cian, "give me one request: let me go into my own shape again." "We will do that," said Brian, "for it is easier to me to kill a man than a pig." So Cian took his own shape then, and he said: "Give me mercy now." "We will not give it," said Brian. "Well, I have got the better of you for all that," said Cian; "for if it was in the shape of a pig you had killed me there would only be the blood money for a pig on me; but as it is in my own shape you will kill me, there never was and never will be any person killed for whose sake a heavier fine will be paid than for myself. And the arms I am killed with," he said, "it is they will tell the deed to my son." "It is not with weapons you will be killed, but with the stones lying on the ground," said Brian. And with that they pelted him with stones, fiercely and roughly, till all that was left of him was a poor, miserable, broken heap; and they buried him the depth of a man's body in the earth, and the earth would not receive that murder from them, but cast it up again. Brian said it should go into the earth again, and they put it in the second time, and the second time the earth would not take it. And six times the sons of Tuireann buried the body, and six times it was cast up again; but the seventh time it was put underground the earth kept it. And then they went on to join Lugh of the Long Hand for the battle. Now as to Lugh; upon parting with his father he went forward from Teamhair westward, to the hills that were called afterwards Gairech and Ilgairech, and to the ford of the Shannon that is now called Athluain, and to Bearna nah-Eadargana, the Gap of Separation, and over Magh Luirg, the Plain of Following, and to Corr Slieve na Seaghsa, the Round Mountain of the Poet's Spring, and to the head of Sean-Slieve, and through the place of the bright-faced Corann, and from that to Magh Mor an Aonaigh, the Great Plain of the Fair, where the Fomor were, and the spoils of Connacht with them. It is then Bres, son of Elathan, rose up and said: "It is a wonder to me the sun to be rising in the west to-day, and it rising in the east every other day." "It would be better for us it to be the sun," said the Druids. "What else is it?" said he. "It is the shining of the face of Lugh, son of Ethlinn," said they. Lugh came up to them then and saluted them. "Why do you come like a friend to us?" said they. "There is good cause for that," he said, "for there is but one half of me of the Tuatha de Danaan, and the other half of yourselves. And give me back now the milch cows of the men of Ireland," he said. "May early good luck not come to you till you get either a dry or a milch cow here," said a man of them, and anger on him. But Lugh stopped near them for three days and three nights, and at the end of that time the Riders of the Sidhe came to him. And Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda, came with twenty-nine hundred men, and he said: "What is the cause of your delay in giving battle?" "Waiting for you I was," said Lugh. Then the kings and chief men of the men of Ireland took their armour on them, and they raised the points of their spears over their heads, and they made close fences of their shields. And they attacked their enemies on Magh Mor an Aonaigh, and their enemies answered them, and they threw their whining spears at one another, and when their spears were broken they drew their swords from their blue-bordered sheaths and began to strike at one another, and thickets of brown flames rose above them from the bitterness of their many-edged weapons. And Lugh saw the battle pen where Bres, son of Elathan, was, and he made a fierce attack on him and on the men that were guarding him, till he had made an end of two hundred of them. When Bres saw that, he gave himself up to Lugh's protection. "Give me my life this time," he said, "and I will bring the whole race of the Fomor to fight it out with you in a great battle; and I bind myself to that, by the sun and the moon, the sea and the land," he said. On that Lugh gave him his life, and then the Druids that were with him asked his protection for themselves. "By my word," said Lugh, "if the whole race of the Fomor went under my protection they would not be destroyed by me." So then Bres and the Druids set out for their own country. Now as to Lugh and the sons of Tuireann. After the battle of Magh Mor an Aonaigh, he met two of his kinsmen and asked them did they see his father in the fight. "We did not," said they. "I am sure he is not living," said Lugh; "and I give my word," he said, "there will no food or drink go into my mouth till I get knowledge by what death my father died." Then he set out, and the Riders of the Sidhe after him, till they came to the place where he and his father parted from one another, and from that to the place where his father went into the shape of a pig when he saw the sons of Tuireann. And when Lugh came to that place the earth spoke to him, and it said: "It is in great danger your father was here, Lugh, when he saw the sons of Tuireann before him, and it is into the shape of a pig he had to go, but it is in his own shape they killed him." Then Lugh told that to his people, and he found the spot where his father was buried, and he bade them dig there, the way he would know by what death the sons of Tuireann had made an end of him. Then they raised the body out of the grave and looked at it, and it was all one bed of wounds. And Lugh said: "It was the death of an enemy the sons of Tuireann gave my dear father." And he gave him three kisses, and it is what he said: "It is bad the way I am myself after this death, for I can hear nothing with my ears, and I can see nothing with my eyes, and there is not a living pulse in my heart, with grief after my father. And you gods I worship," he said, "it is a pity I not to have come here the time this thing was done. And it is a great thing that has been done here," he said, "the people of the gods of Dana to have done treachery on one another, and it is long they will be under loss by it and be weakened by it. And Ireland will never be free from trouble from this out, east and west," he said. Then they put Cian under the earth again, and after that there was keening made over his grave, and a stone was raised on it, and his name was written in Ogham, And Lugh said: "This hill will take its name from Cian, although he himself is stripped and broken. And it was the sons of Tuireann did this thing," he said, "and there will grief and anguish fall on them from it, and on their children after them. And it is no lying story I am telling you," he said; "and it is a pity the way I am, and my heart is broken in my breast since Cian, the brave man, is not living." Then he bade his people to go before him to Teamhair, "But do not tell the story till I tell it myself," he said. And when Lugh came to Teamhair he sat in the high seat of the king, and he looked about him and he saw the three sons of Tuireann. And those were the three that were beyond all others at Teamhair at that time for quickness and skill, for a good hand in battle, for beauty and an honourable name. Then Lugh bade his people to shake the chain of silence, and they did so, and they all listened. And Lugh said: "What are your minds fixed on at this time, Men of Dea?" "On yourself indeed," said they. "I have a question to ask of you," he said. "What is the vengeance each one of you would take on the man that would kill your father?" There was great wonder on them when they heard that, and one of the chief men among them said: "Tell us was it your own father that was killed?" "It was indeed," said Lugh; "and I see now in this house," he said, "the men that killed him, and they know themselves what way they killed him better than I know it." Then the king said: "It is not a death of one day only I would give the man that had killed my father, if he was in my power, but to cut off one of his limbs from day to day till I would make an end of him." All the chief men said the same, and the sons of Tuireann like the rest. "There are making that answer," said Lugh, "the three men that killed my father; and let them pay the fine for him now, since you are all together in the one place. And if they will not," he said, "I will not break the protection of the king's house, but they must make no attempt to quit this house till they have settled with me." "If it was I myself had killed your father," said the king, "I would be well content you to take a fine from me for him." "It is at us Lugh is saying all this," said the sons of Tuireann among themselves. "Let us acknowledge the killing of his father to him," said Iuchar and Iucharba. "I am in dread," said Brian, "that it is wanting an acknowledgment from us he is, in the presence of all the rest, and that he will not let us off with a fine afterwards." "It is best to acknowledge it," said the others; "and let you speak it out since you are the eldest." Then Brian, son of Tuireann, said: "It is at us you are speaking, Lugh, for you are thinking we went against the sons of Cainte before now; and we did not kill your father," he said, "but we will pay the fine for him the same as if we did kill him." "I will take a fine from you that you do not think of," said Lugh, "and I will say here what it is, and if it is too much for you, I will let you off a share of it." "Let us hear it from you," said they. "Here it is," said Lugh; "three apples, and the skin of a pig, and a spear, and two horses, and a chariot, and seven pigs, and a dog's whelp, and a cooking-spit, and three shouts on a hill. That is the fine I am asking," he said; "and if it is too much for you, a part of it will be taken off you presently, and if you do not think it too much, then pay it" "It is not too much," said Brian, "or a hundred times of it would not be too much. And we think it likely," he said, "because of its smallness that you have some treachery towards us behind it." "I do not think it too little of a fine," said Lugh; "and I give you the guarantee of the Tuatha de Danaan I will ask no other thing, and I will be faithful to you, and let you give the same pledge to me." "It is a pity you to ask that," said Brian, "for our own pledge is as good as any pledge in the world." "Your own pledge is not enough," said Lugh, "for it is often the like of you promised to pay a fine in this way, and would try to back out of it after." So then the sons of Tuireann bound themselves by the King of Ireland, and by Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda, and by the chief men of the Tuatha de Danaan, that they would pay that fine to Lugh. "It would be well for me now," said Lugh, "to give you better knowledge of the fine." "It would be well indeed," said they. "This is the way of it then," said Lugh. "The three apples I asked of you are the three apples from the Garden in the East of the World, and no other apples will do but these, for they are the most beautiful and have most virtue in them of the apples of the whole world. And it is what they are like, they are of the colour of burned gold, and they are the size of the head of a child a month old, and there is the taste of honey on them, and they do not leave the pain of wounds or the vexation of sickness on any one that eats them, and they do not lessen by being eaten for ever. And the skin I asked of you," he said, "is the pig skin of Tuis, King of Greece, and it heals all the wounds and all the sickness of the world, and whatever danger a man may be in, if it can but overtake the life in him, it will cure him; and it is the way it was with that pig, every stream of water it would go through would be turned into wine to the end of nine days after, and every wound it touched was healed; and it is what the Druids of Greece said, that it is not in itself this virtue was, but in the skin, and they skinned it, and the skin is there ever since. And I think, too, it will not be easy for you to get it, with or without leave." "And do you know what is the spear I am asking of you?" he said. "We do not," said they. "It is a very deadly spear belonging to the King of Persia, the Luin it is called, and every choice thing is done by it, and its head is kept steeped in a vessel of water, the way it will not burn down the place where it is, and it will be hard to get it. And do you know what two horses and what chariot I am asking of you? They are the chariot and the two wonderful horses of Dobar, King of Siogair, and the sea is the same as land to them, and there are no faster horses than themselves, and there is no chariot equal to that one in shape and in strength. "And do you know what are the seven pigs I asked of you? They are the pigs of Easal, King of the Golden Pillars; and though they are killed every night, they are found alive again the next day, and there will be no disease or no sickness on any person that will eat a share of them. "And the whelp I asked of you is Fail-Inis, the whelp belonging to the King of Ioruaidh, the Cold Country. And all the wild beasts of the world would fall down at the sight of her, and she is more beautiful than the sun in his fiery wheels, and it will be hard to get her. "And the cooking-spit I asked of you is a spit of the spits of the women of Inis Cenn-fhinne, the Island of Caer of the Fair Hair. And the three shouts you are to give on a hill must be given on the Hill of Miochaoin in the north of Lochlann. And Miochaoin and his sons are under bonds not to allow any shouts to be given on that hill; and it was with them my father got his learning, and if I would forgive you his death, they would not forgive you. And if you get through all your other voyages before you reach to them, it is my opinion they themselves will avenge him on you. And that is the fine I have asked of you," said Lugh. There was silence and darkness on the sons of Tuireann when they heard that. And they went to where their father was, and told him the fine that had been put on them. "It is bad news that is," said Tuireann; "and it is to your death and your destruction you will be going, looking for those things. But for all that, if Lugh himself had a mind to help you, you could work out the fine, and all the men of the world could not do it but by the power of Manannan or of Lugh. Go then and ask the loan of Manannan's horse, the Aonbharr, from Lugh, and if he has any wish to get the fine, he will give it to you; but if he does not wish it he will say the horse is not his, and that he would not give the loan of a loan. Ask him then for the loan of Manannan's curragh, the Scuabtuinne, the Sweeper of the Waves. And he will give that, for he is under bonds not to refuse a second request, and the curragh is better for you than the horse," he said. So the sons of Tuireann went to where Lugh was, and they saluted him, and they said they could not bring him the fine without his own help, and for that reason it would be well for them to get a loan of the Aonbharr. "I have that horse only on loan myself," said Lugh, "and I will not give a loan of a loan." "If that is so, give us the loan of Manannan's curragh," said Brian. "I will give that," said Lugh. "What place is it?" said they. "At Brugh na Boinn," said Lugh. Then they went back again to where Tuireann was, and his daughter Ethne, their sister, with him, and they told him they had got the curragh. "It is not much the better you will be for it," said Tuireann, "although Lugh would like well to get every part of this fine he could make use of before the battle with the Fomor. But he would like yourselves to come to your death looking for it." Then they went away, and they left Tuireann sorrowful and lamenting, and Ethne went with them to where the curragh was. And Brian got into it, and he said: "There is place but for one other person along with me here." And he began to find fault with its narrowness. "You ought not to be faulting the curragh," said Ethne; "and O my dear brother," she said, "it was a bad thing you did, to kill the father of Lugh of the Long Hand; and whatever harm may come to you from it, it is but just." "Do not say that, Ethne," they said, "for we are in good heart, and we will do brave deeds. And we would sooner be killed a hundred times over," they said, "than to meet with the death of cowards." "My grief," said Ethne, "there is nothing more sorrowful than this, to see you driven out from your own country." Then the three pushed out their curragh from the beautiful clear-bayed shore of Ireland. "What course shall we take first?" said they. "We will go look for the apples," said Brian, "as they were the first thing we were bade bring. And so we ask of you, curragh of Manannan that is under us, to sail to the Garden in the East of the World." And the curragh did not neglect that order, but it sailed forward over the green-sided waves and deep places till it came to its harbour in the east of the world. And then Brian asked his brothers: "What way have you a mind to get into the garden? for I think," he said, "the king's champions and the fighting men of the country are always guarding it, and the king himself is chief over them." "What should we do," said his brothers, "but to make straight at them and attack them, and bring away the apples or fall ourselves, since we cannot escape from these dangers that are before us without meeting our death in some place." "It would be better," said Brian, "the story of our bravery and our craftiness to be told and to live after us, than folly and cowardice to be told of us. And what is best for us to do now," he said, "is to go in the shape of swift hawks into the garden, and the watchers have but their light spears to throw at us, and let you take good care to keep out of their reach; and after they have thrown them all, make a quick flight to the apples and let each of you bring away an apple of them in your claws, and I will bring away the third." They said that was a good advice, and Brian struck himself and the others with his Druid rod, and changed them into beautiful hawks. And they flew towards the garden, and the watchers took notice of them and shouted on every side of them, and threw showers of spears and darts, but the hawks kept out of their reach as Brian had bade them, till all the spears were spent, and then they swept down bravely on the apples, and brought them away with them, without so much as a wound. And the news went through the city and the whole district, and the king had three wise, crafty daughters, and they put themselves into the shape of three ospreys, and they followed the hawks to the sea, and sent flashes of lightning before them and after them, that scorched them greatly. "It is a pity the way we are now," said the sons of Tuireann, "for we will be burned through and through with this lightning if we do not get some relief." "If I can give you relief I will do it," said Brian. With that he struck himself and his brothers with the Druid rod, and they were turned into three swans, and they went down quickly into the sea, and the ospreys went away from them then, and the sons of Tuireann went into their boat. After that they consulted together, and it is what they agreed, to go to Greece and to bring away the skin of the pig, with or without leave. So they went forward till they came near to the court of the King of Greece. "What appearance should we put on us going in here?" said Brian. "What appearance should we go in with but our own?" said the others. "That is not what I think best," said Brian; "but to go in with the appearance of poets from Ireland, the way the high people of Greece will hold us in respect and in honour." "It would be hard for us to do that," they said, "and we without a poem, and it is little we know how to make one." However, they put the poet's tie on their hair, and they knocked at the door of the court, and the door-keeper asked who was in it. "We are poets of Ireland," said Brian, "and we are come with a poem to the king." The door-keeper went in and told the king that there were poets from Ireland at the door. "Let them in," said the king, "for it is in search of a good man they came so far from their own country." And the king gave orders that everything should be well set out in the court, the way they would say they had seen no place so grand in all their travels. The sons of Tuireann were let in then, having the appearance of poets, and they fell to drinking and pleasure without delay; and they thought they had never seen, and there was not in the world, a court so good as that or so large a household, or a place where they had met with better treatment. Then the king's poets got up to give out their poems and songs. And then Brian, son of Tuireann, bade his brothers to say a poem for the king. "We have no poem," said they; "and do not ask any poem of us, but the one we know before, and that is to take what we want by the strength of our hand if we are the strongest, or to fall by those that are against us if they are the strongest." "That is not a good way to make a poem," said Brian. And with that he rose up himself and asked a hearing. And they all listened to him, and it is what he said: "O Tuis, we do not hide your fame; we praise you as the oak among kings; the skin of a pig, bounty without hardness, this is the reward I ask for it. "The war of a neighbour against an ear; the fair ear of his neighbour will be against him; he who gives us what he owns, his court will not be the scarcer for it. "A raging army and a sudden sea are a danger to whoever goes against them. The skin of a pig, bounty without hardness, this is the reward I ask, O Tuis." "That is a good poem," said the king; "but I do not know a word of its meaning." "I will tell you its meaning," said Brian. "'O Tuis, we do not hide your fame; we praise you as the oak above the kings.' That is, as the oak is beyond the kingly trees of the wood, so are you beyond the kings of the world for open-handedness and for grandeur. "'The skin of a pig, bounty without hardness.' That is, the skin of a pig you own is what I would wish to get from you as a reward for my poem. "'The war of a neighbour against an ear, the fair ear of his neighbour will be against him.' That is, you and I will be by the ears about the skin, unless I get it with your consent. "And that is the meaning of the poem," said Brian. "I would praise your poem," said the king, "if there was not so much about my pig-skin in it; and you have no good sense, man of poetry," he said, "to be asking that thing of me, and I would not give it to all the poets and the learned men and the great men of the world, since they could not take it away without my consent. But I will give you three times the full of the skin of gold as the price of your poem," he said. "May good be with you, king," said Brian, "and I know well it was no easy thing I was asking, but I knew I would get a good ransom for it. And I am that covetous," he said, "I will not be satisfied without seeing the gold measured myself into the skin." The king sent his servants with them then to the treasure-house to measure the gold. "Measure out the full of it to my brothers first," said Brian, "and then give good measure to myself, since it was I made the poem." But when the skin was brought out, Brian made a quick sudden snatch at it with his left hand, and drew his sword and made a stroke at the man nearest him, and made two halves of him. And then he kept a hold of the skin and put it about himself, and the three of them rushed out of the court, cutting down every armed man before them, so that not one escaped death or wounding. And then Brian went to where the king himself was, and the king made no delay in attacking him, and they made a hard fight of it, and at the end the King of Greece fell by the hand of Brian, son of Tuireann. The three brothers rested for a while after that, and then they said they would go and look for some other part of the fine. "We will go to Pisear, King of Persia," said Brian, "and ask him for the spear." So they went into their boat, and they left the blue streams of the coast of Greece, and they said: "We are well off when we have the apples and the skin." And they stopped nowhere till they came to the borders of Persia. "Let us go to the court with the appearance of poets," said Brian, "the same as we went to the King of Greece." "We are content to do that," said the others, "as all turned out so well the last time we took to poetry; not that it is easy for us to take to a calling that does not belong to us." So they put the poet's tie on their hair, and they were as well treated as they were at the other court; and when the time came for poems Brian rose up, and it is what he said: "It is little any spear looks to Pisear; the battles of enemies are broken, it is not too much for Pisear to wound every one of them. "A yew, the most beautiful of the wood, it is called a king, it is not bulky. May the spear drive on the whole crowd to their wounds of death." "That is a good poem," said the king, "but I do not understand why my own spear is brought into it, O Man of Poetry from Ireland." "It is because it is that spear of your own I would wish to get as the reward of my poem," said Brian. "It is little sense you have to be asking that of me," said the king; "and the people of my court never showed greater respect for poetry than now, when they did not put you to death on the spot." When Brian heard that talk from the king, he thought of the apple that was in his hand, and he made a straight cast and hit him in the forehead, so that his brains were put out at the back of his head, and he bared the sword and made an attack on the people about him. And the other two did not fail to do the same, and they gave him their help bravely till they had made an end of all they met of the people of the court. And then they found the spear, and its head in a cauldron of water, the way it would not set fire to the place. And after a while they said it was time for them to go and look for the rest of the great fine that was on them, and they asked one another what way should they go. "We will go to the King of the Island of Siogair," said Brian, "for it is with him are the two horses and the chariot the Ildánach asked of us." They went forward then and brought the spear with them, and it is proud the three champions were after all they had done. And they went on till they were come to the court of the King of Siogair. "It is what we will do this time," said Brian, "we will go in with the appearance of paid soldiers from Ireland, and we will make friends with the king, the way we will get to know in what place the horses and the chariot are kept." And when they had settled on that they went forward to the lawn before the king's house. The king and the chief men that were with him rose up and came through the fair that was going on there, and they saluted the king, and he asked who were they. "We are trained fighting men from Ireland," they said, "and we are earning wages from the kings of the world." "Is it your wish to stop with me for a while?" said the king. "That is what we are wanting," said they. So then they made an agreement and took service with him. They stopped in the court a fortnight and a month, and they never saw the horses through that time. Then Brian said: "This is a bad way we are in, to have no more news of the horses now than the first day we came to the place." "What is best for us to do now?" said his brothers. "Let us do this," said Brian, "let us take our arms and gather our things together, and go to the king and tell him we will leave the country and this part of the world unless he will show us those horses." So they went to the king that very day, and he asked them what did they mean by getting themselves ready for a journey. "You will hear that, high king," said Brian; "it is because trained fighting men from Ireland, like ourselves, have always trust put in them by the kings they guard, and we are used to be told the secrets and the whispers of any person we are with, and that is not the way you have treated us since we came to you. For you have two horses and a chariot that are the best in the world, as we have been told, and we have not been given a sight of them yet." "It would be a pity you to go on that account," said the king, "when I would have showed them to you the first day, if I had known you had a wish to see them. And if you have a mind to see them now," he said, "you may see them; for I think there never came soldiers from Ireland to this place that were thought more of by myself and by my people than yourselves." He sent for the horses then, and they were yoked to the chariot, and their going was as fast as the cold spring wind, and the sea was the same as the land to them. And Brian was watching the horses closely, and on a sudden he took hold of the chariot and took the chariot driver out and dashed him against the nearest rock, and made a leap into his place himself, and made a cast of the Persian spear at the king, that went through his heart. And then he and his brothers scattered the people before them, and brought away the chariot. "We will go now to Easal, the King of the Golden Pillars," said Brian, "to look for the seven pigs the Ildánach bade us bring him." They sailed on then without delay or drawback to that high country. And it is the way the people of that country were, watching their harbours for fear of the sons of Tuireann, for the story of them had been told in all parts, how they had been sent out of Ireland by force, and how they were bringing away with them all the gifted treasures of the whole world. Easal came to the edge of the harbour to meet them, and he asked was it true what he heard, that the king of every country they had gone to had fallen by them. Brian said it was true, whatever he might wish to do to them for it. "What was it made you do that?" said Easal. Brian told him then it was the oppression and the hard sentence of another had put them to it; and he told him all that had happened, and how they had put down all that offered to stand against them until that time. "What did you come to this country now for?" said the king. "For the pigs belonging to yourself," said Brian; "for to bring them away with us is a part of the fine." "What way do you think to get them?" said the king. "If we get them with good-will," said Brian, "we are ready to take them thankfully; and if we do not, we are ready to do battle with yourself and your people on the head of them, that you may fall by us, and we may bring away the pigs in spite of you." "If that is to be the end of it," said the king, "it would be a pity to bring my people into a battle." "It would be a pity indeed," said Brian. Then the king whispered and took advice with his people about the matter, and it is what they agreed, to give up the pigs of their own free will to the sons of Tuireann, since they could not see that any one had been able to stand against them up to that time. Then the sons of Tuireann gave their thanks to Easal, and there was wonder on them to have got the pigs like that, when they had to fight for every other part of the fine. And more than that, they had left a share of their blood in every other place till then. Easal brought them to his own house that night, and they were served with food, and drink, and good beds, and all they could wish for. And they rose up on the morrow and came into the king's presence, and the pigs were given to them. "It is well you have done by us, giving us these pigs," said Brian, "for we did not get any share of the fine without fighting but these alone." And he made a poem for the king then, praising him, and putting a great name on him for what he had done. "What journey are you going to make now, sons of Tuireann?" said Easal. "We are going," they said, "to the country of Ioruaidh, on account of a whelp that is there." "Give me one request," said Easal, "and that is to bring me with you to the King of Ioruaidh, for a daughter of mine is his wife, and I would wish to persuade him to give you the whelp without a battle." "That will please us well," they said. So the king's ship was made ready, and we have no knowledge of what happened till they came to the delightful, wonderful coast of Ioruaidh. The people and the armies were watching the harbours and landing-places before them, and they knew them at once and shouted at them. Then Easal went on shore peaceably, and he went to where his son-in-law, the king, was, and told him the story of the sons of Tuireann from beginning to end. "What has brought them to this country?" said the King of Ioruaidh. "To ask for the hound you have," said Easal. "It was a bad thought you had coming with them to ask it," said the king, "for the gods have not given that much luck to any three champions in the world, that they would get my hound by force or by good-will." "It would be better for you to let them have the hound," said Easal, "since they have put down so many of the kings of the world." But all he could say was only idleness to the king. So he went then to where the sons of Tuireann were, and gave them the whole account. And when they heard the king's answer, they made no delay, but put quick hands on their arms, and offered to give battle to the army of Ioruaidh. And when they met, there was a brave battle fought on both sides. And as for the sons of Tuireann, they began to kill and to strike at the men of Ioruaidh till they parted from one another in the fight, so that Iuchar and Iucharba chanced to be on one side, and Brian by himself on the other side. It was a gap of danger and a breaking of ranks was before Brian in every path he took, till he came to the King of Ioruaidh in the battle pen where he was. And then the two brave champions began a fierce fight together, and they did not spare one another in it. And at the last Brian overcame the king, and bound him, and brought him through the middle of the army, till he came to the place where Easal was, and it is what he said: "There is your son-in-law for you, and I swear by my hand of valour, I would think it easier to kill him three times than to bring him to you once like this." So then the whelp was given to the sons of Tuireann, and the king was unbound, and peace was made between them. And when they had brought all this to an end, they bade farewell to Easal and to all the rest. Now as to Lugh of the Long Hand, it was showed to him that the sons of Tuireann had got all the things that were wanting to him against the battle with the Fomor; and on that he sent a Druid spell after them to put forgetfulness on them of the rest of the fine that they had not got. And he put a great desire and longing on them to go back to Ireland; so they forgot that a part of the fine was wanting to them, and they turned back again toward home. And it is the place where Lugh was at the time, at a gathering of the people for a fair on the green outside Teamhair, and the King of Ireland along with him. And it was made known to Lugh that the sons of Tuireann were landed at Brugh na Boinn. And he went into the city of Teamhair, and shut the gate after him, and he put on Manannan's smooth armour, and the cloak, of the daughters of Flidais, and he took his own arms in his hand. And the sons of Tuireann came where the king was, and they were made welcome by him and by the Tuatha de Danaan. And the king asked them did they get the fine. "We did get it," said they; "and where is Lugh till we give it to him?" "He was here a while ago," said the king. And the whole fair was searched for him, but he was not found. "I know the place where he is," said Brian; "for it has been made known to him that we are come to Ireland, and these deadly arms with us, and he is gone into Teamhair to avoid us." Messengers were sent to him then, and it is the answer he gave them that he would not come, but that the fine should be given to the king. So the sons of Tuireann did that, and when the king had taken the fine they all went to the palace in Teamhair; and Lugh came out on the lawn and the fine was given to him, and it is what he said: "There is a good payment here for any one that ever was killed or that ever will be killed. But there is something wanting to it yet that it is not lawful to leave out. And where is the cooking-spit?" he said; "and where are the three shouts on the hill that you did not give yet?" And when the sons of Tuireann heard that there came clouds of weakness on them. And they left the place and went to their father's house that night, and they told him all they had done, and the way Lugh had treated them. There was grief and darkness on Tuireann then, and they spent the night together. And on the morrow they went to their ship, and Ethne, their sister, with them, and she was crying and lamenting, and it is what she said: "It is a pity, Brian of my life, it is not to Teamhair your going is, after all the troubles you have had before this, even if I could not follow you. "O Salmon of the dumb Boinn, O Salmon of the Lifé River, since I cannot keep you here I am loath to part from you. "O Rider of the Wave of Tuaidh, the man that stands best in the fight, if you come back again, I think it will not be pleasing to your enemy. "Is there pity with you for the sons of Tuireann leaning now on their green shields? Their going is a cause for pity, my mind is filled up with it. "You to be to-night at Beinn Edair till the heavy coming of the morning, you who have taken forfeits from brave men, it is you have increased our grief. "It is a pity your journey is from Teamhair, and from the pleasant plains, and from great Uisnech of Midhe; there is nothing so pitiful as this." After that complaint they went out on the rough waves of the green sea; and they were a quarter of a year on the sea without getting any news of the island. Then Brian put on his water dress and he made a leap, and he was a long time walking in the sea looking for the Island of the Fair-Haired Women, and he found it in the end. And he went looking for the court, and when he came to it, all he found was a troop of women doing needlework and embroidering borders. And among all the other things they had with them, there was the cooking-spit. And when Brian saw it, he took it up in his hand and he was going to bring it with him to the door. And all the women began laughing when they saw him doing that, and it is what they said: "It is a brave deed you put your hand to; for even if your brothers were along with you, the least of the three times fifty women of us would not let the spit go with you or with them. But for all that," they said, "take a spit of the spits with you, since you had the daring to try and take it in spite of us." Brian bade them farewell then, and went to look for the boat. And his brothers thought it was too long he was away from them, and just as they were going to leave the place they were, they saw him coming towards them, and that raised their courage greatly. And he went into the boat, and they went on to look for the Hill of Miochaoin. And when they came there, Miochaoin, that was the guardian of the hill, came towards them; and when Brian saw him he attacked him, and the fight of those two champions was like the fight of two lions, till Miochaoin fell at the last. And after Miochaoin had fallen, his three sons came out to fight with the three sons of Tuireann. And if any one ever came from the east of the world to look at any fight, it is to see the fight of these champions he had a right to come, for the greatness of their blows and the courage of their minds. The names of the sons of Miochaoin were Core and Conn and Aedh, and they drove their three spears through the bodies of the sons of Tuireann, and that did not discourage them at all and they put their own three spears through the bodies of the sons of Miochaoin, so that they fell into the clouds and the faintness of death. And then Brian said: "What way are you now, my dear brothers?" "We are near our death," said they. "Let us rise up," he said, "and give three shouts upon the hill, for I see the signs of death coming on us." "We are not able to do that," said they. Then Brian rose up and raised each of them with one hand, and he shedding blood heavily all the time, until they gave the three shouts. After that Brian brought them with him to the boat, and they were travelling the sea for a long time, but at last Brian said: "I see Beinn Edair and our father's dun, and Teamhair of the Kings." "We would have our fill of health if we could see that," said the others; "and for the love of your good name, brother," they said, "raise up our heads on your breast till we see Ireland again, and life or death will be the same to us after that. And O Brian," they said, "Flame of Valour without treachery, we would sooner death to bring ourselves away, than to see you with wounds upon your body, and with no physician to heal you." Then they came to Beinn Edair, and from that they went on to their father's house, and Brian said to Tuireann: "Go, dear father, to Teamhair, and give this spit to Lugh, and bring the skin that has healing in it for our relief. Ask it from him for the sake of friendship," he said, "for we are of the one blood, and let him not give hardness for hardness. And O dear father," he said, "do not be long on your journey, or you will not find us alive before you." Then Tuireann went to Teamhair, and he found Lugh of the Long Hand before him, and he gave him the spit, and he asked the skin of him to heal his children, and Lugh said he would not give it And Tuireann came back to them and told them he had not got the skin. And Brian said: "Bring me with you to Lugh, to see would I get it from him." So they went to Lugh, and Brian asked the skin of him. And Lugh said he would not give it, and that if they would give him the breadth of the earth in gold for it, he would not take it from them, unless he was sure their death would come on them in satisfaction for the deed they had done. When Brian heard that, he went to the place his two brothers were, and he lay down between them, and his life went out from him, and out from the other two at the same time. And their father cried and lamented over his three beautiful sons, that had the making of a king of Ireland in each of them, and his strength left him and he died; and they were buried in the one grave. CHAPTER III. THE GREAT BATTLE OF MAGH TUIREADH And it was not long after Lugh had got the fine from the sons of Tuireann that the Fomor came and landed at Scetne. The whole host of the Fomor were come this time, and their king, Balor, of the Strong Blows and of the Evil Eye, along with them; and Bres, and Indech, son of De Domnann, a king of the Fomor, and Elathan, son of Lobos, and Goll and Ingol, and Octriallach, son of Indech, and Elathan, son of Delbaeth. Then Lugh sent the Dagda to spy out the Fomor, and to delay them till such time as the men of Ireland would come to the battle. So the Dagda went to their camp, and he asked them for a delay, and they said he might have that. And then to make sport of him, the Fomor made broth for him, for he had a great love for broth. So they filled the king's cauldron with four times twenty gallons of new milk, and the same of meal and fat, and they put in goats and sheep and pigs along with that, and boiled all together, and then they poured it all out into a great hole in the ground. And they called him to it then, and told him he should eat his fill, the way the Fomor would not be reproached for want of hospitality the way Bres was. "We will make an end of you if you leave any part of it after you," said Indech, son of De Domnann. So the Dagda took the ladle, and it big enough for a man and a woman to lie in the bowl of it, and he took out bits with it, the half of a salted pig, and a quarter of lard a bit would be. "If the broth tastes as well as the bits taste, this is good food," he said. And he went on putting the full of the ladle into his mouth till the hole was empty; and when all was gone he put down his hand and scraped up all that was left among the earth and the gravel. Sleep came on him then after eating the broth, and the Fomor were laughing at him, for his belly was the size of the cauldron of a great house. But he rose up after a while, and, heavy as he was, he made his way home; and indeed his dress was no way sightly, a cape to the hollow of the elbows, and a brown coat, long in the breast and short behind, and on his feet brogues of horse hide, with the hair outside, and in his hand a wheeled fork it would take eight men to carry, so that the track he left after him was deep enough for the boundary ditch of a province. And on his way he saw the Battle-Crow, the Morrigu, washing herself in the river Unius of Connacht, and one of her two feet at Ullad Echne, to the south of the water, and the other at Loscuinn, to the north of the water, and her hair hanging in nine loosened locks. And she said to the Dagda, that she would bring the heart's blood of Indech, son of De Domnann, that had threatened him, to the men of Ireland. And while he was away Lugh had called together the Druids, and smiths, and physicians, and law-makers, and chariot-drivers of Ireland, to make plans for the battle. And he asked the great magician Mathgen what could he do to help them. "It is what I can do," said Mathgen, "through my power I can throw down all the mountains of Ireland on the Fomor, until their tops will be rolling on the ground. And the twelve chief mountains of Ireland will bring you their help," he said, "and will fight for you: Slieve Leag and Denda Ulad, and Bennai Boirche and Bri Ruri, and Slieve Bladma and Slieve Snechtae, and Slieve Mis and Blai-Slieve, and Nemthann and Slieve Macca Belgodon, and Segois and Cruachan Aigle." Then he asked the cup-bearers what help they could give. "We will put a strong thirst on the Fomor," they said, "and then we will bring the twelve chief lochs of Ireland before them, and however great their thirst may be, they will find no water in them: Derc-Loch, Loch Luimnech, Loch Orbsen, Loch Righ, Loch Mescdhae, Loch Cuan, Loch Laeig, Loch Echach, Loch Febail, Loch Decket, Loch Riach, Mor-Loch. And we will go," they said, "to the twelve chief rivers of Ireland: the Buas, the Boinn, the Banna, the Nem, the Laoi, the Sionnan, the Muaid, the Sligech, the Samair, the Fionn, the Ruirtech, the Siuir; and they will all be hidden away from the Fomor the way they will not find a drop in them. But as for the men of Ireland," they said, "there will be drink for them if they were to be in the battle to the end of seven years." And Figol, son of Mamos, the Druid, was asked then what he would do, and he said: "It is what I will do, I will cause three showers of fire to pour on the faces of the army of the Fomor, and I will take from them two-thirds of their bravery and their strength, and I will put sickness on their bodies, and on the bodies of their horses. But as to the men of Ireland," he said, "every breath they breathe will be an increase of strength and of bravery to them; and if they are seven years in the battle they will never be any way tired." Then Lugh asked his two witches, Bechulle and Dianan: "What power can you bring to the battle?" "It is easy to say that," they said. "We will put enchantment on the trees and the stones and the sods of the earth, till they become an armed host against the Fomor, and put terror on them and put them to the rout." Then Lugh asked Carpre, the poet, son of Etain, what could he do. "It is not hard to say that," said Carpre. "I will make a satire on them at sunrise, and the wind from the north, and I on a hill-top and my back to a thorn-tree, and a stone and a thorn in my hand. And with that satire," he said, "I will put shame on them and enchantment, the way they will not be able to stand against fighting men." Then he asked Goibniu the Smith what would he be able to do. "I will do this," he said. "If the men of Ireland stop in the battle to the end of seven years, for every sword that is broken and for every spear that is lost from its shaft, I will put a new one in its place. And no spear-point that will be made by my hand," he said, "will ever miss its mark; and no man it touches will ever taste life again. And that is more than Dolb, the smith of the Fomor, can do," he said. "And you, Credne," Lugh said then to his worker in brass, "what help can you give to our men in the battle?" "It is not hard to tell that," said Credne, "rivets for their spears and hilts for their swords and bosses and rims for their shields, I will supply them all." "And you, Luchta," he said then to his carpenter, "what will you do?" "I will give them all they want of shields and of spear shafts," said Luchta. Then he asked Diancecht, the physician, what would he do, and it is what he said: "Every man that will be wounded there, unless his head is struck off, or his brain or his marrow cut through, I will make him whole and sound again for the battle of the morrow." Then the Dagda said: "Those great things you are boasting you will do, I will do them all with only myself." "It is you are the good god!" said they, and they all gave a great shout of laughter. Then Lugh spoke to the whole army and put strength in them, so that each one had the spirit in him of a king or a great lord. Then when the delay was at an end, the Fomor and the men of Ireland came on towards one another till they came to the plain of Magh Tuireadh. That now was not the same Magh Tuireadh where the first battle was fought, but it was to the north, near Ess Dara. And then the two armies threatened one another. "The men of Ireland are daring enough to offer battle to us," said Bres to Indech, son of De Domnann. "I give my word," said Indech, "it is in small pieces their bones will be, if they do not give in to us and pay their tribute." Now the Men of Dea had determined not to let Lugh go into the battle, because of the loss his death would be to them; and they left nine of their men keeping a watch on him. And on the first day none of the kings or princes went into the battle, but only the common fighting men, and they fierce and proud enough. And the battle went on like that from day to day with no great advantage to one or the other side. But there was wonder on the Fomor on account of one thing. Such of their own weapons as were broken or blunted in the fight lay there as they were, and such of their own men as were killed showed no sign of life on the morrow; but it was not so with the Tuatha de Danaan, for if their men were killed or their weapons were broken to-day, they were as good as before on the morrow. And this is the way that happened. The well of Slaine lay to the west of Magh Tuireadh to the east of Loch Arboch. And Diancecht and his son Octruil and his daughter Airmed used to be singing spells over the well and to be putting herbs in it; and the men that were wounded to death in the battle would be brought to the well and put into it as dead men, and they would come out of it whole and sound, through the power of the spells. And not only were they healed, but there was such fire put into them that they would be quicker in the fight than they were before. And as to the arms, it is the way they were made new every day. Goibniu the Smith used to be in the forge making swords and spears, and he would make a spear-head by three turns, and then Luchta the Carpenter would make the shaft by three cuts, and the third cut was a finish, and would set it in the ring of the spear. And when the spear-heads were stuck in the side of the forge, he would throw the shaft and the rings the way they would go into the spear-head and want no more setting. And then Credne the Brazier would make the rivets by three turns and would cast the rings of the spears to them, and with that they were ready and were set together. And all this went against the Fomor, and they sent one of their young men to spy about the camp and to see could he find out how these things were done. It was Ruadan, son of Bres and of Brigit daughter of the Dagda they sent, for he was a son and grandson of the Tuatha de Danaan. So he went and saw all that was done, and came back to the Fomor. And when they heard his story it is what they thought, that Goibniu the Smith was the man that hindered them most. And they sent Ruadan back again, and bade him make an end of him. So he went back again to the forge, and he asked Goibniu would he give him a spear-head. And then he asked rivets of Credne, and a shaft of the carpenter, and all was given to him as he asked. And there was a woman there, Cron, mother to Fianlug, grinding the spears. And after the spear being given to Ruadan, he turned and threw it at Goibniu, that it wounded him. But Goibniu pulled it out and made a cast of it at Ruadan, that it went through him and he died; and Bres, his father, and the army of the Fomor, saw him die. And then Brigit came and keened her son with shrieking and with crying. And as to Goibniu, he went into the well and was healed. But after that Octriallach, son of Indech, called to the Fomor and bade each man of them bring a stone of the stones of Drinnes and throw them into the well of Slane. And they did that till the well was dried up, and a cairn raised over it, that is called Octriallach's Cairn. And it was while Goibniu was making spear-heads for the battle of Magh Tuireadh, a charge was brought against his wife. And it was seen that it was heavy news to him, and that jealousy came on him. And it is what he did, there was a spear-shaft in his hand when he heard the story, Nes its name was; and he sang spells over the spear-shaft, and any one that was struck with that spear afterwards, it would burn him up like fire. And at last the day of the great battle came, and the Fomor came out of their camp and stood in strong ranks. And there was not a leader or a fighting man of them was without good armour to his skin, and a helmet on his head, a broad spear in his right hand, a heavy sword in his belt, a strong shield on his shoulder. And to attack the army of the Fomor that day was to strike the head against a rock, or to go up fighting against a fire. And the Men of Dea rose up and left Lugh and his nine comrades keeping him, and they went on to the battle; and Midhir was with them, and Bodb Dearg and Diancecht. And Badb and Macha and the Morrigu called out that they would go along with them. And it was a hard battle was fought, and for a while it was going against the Tuatha de Danaan; and Nuada of the Silver Hand, their King, and Macha, daughter of Emmass, fell by Balor, King of the Fomor. And Cass-mail fell by Octriallach, and the Dagda got a dreadful wound from a casting spear that was thrown by Ceithlenn, wife of Balor. But when the battle was going on, Lugh broke away from those that were keeping him, and rushed out to the front of the Men of Dea. And then there was a fierce battle fought, and Lugh was heartening the men of Ireland to fight well, the way they would not be in bonds any longer. For it was better for them, he said, to die protecting their own country than to live under bonds and under tribute any longer. And he sang a song of courage to them, and the hosts gave a great shout as they went into battle, and then they met together, and each of them began to attack the other. And there was great slaughter, and laying low in graves, and many comely men fell there in the stall of death. Pride and shame were there side by side, and hardness and red anger, and there was red blood on the white skin of young fighting men. And the dashing of spear against shield, and sword against sword, and the shouting of the fighters, and the whistling of casting spears and the rattling of scabbards was like harsh thunder through the battle. And many slipped in the blood that was under their feet, and they fell, striking their heads one against another; and the river carried away bodies of friends and enemies together. Then Lugh and Balor met in the battle, and Lugh called out reproaches to him; and there was anger on Balor, and he said to the men that were with him: "Lift up my eyelid till I see this chatterer that is talking to me." Then they raised Balor's eyelid, but Lugh made a cast of his red spear at him, that brought the eye out through the back of his head, so that it was towards his own army it fell, and three times nine of the Fomor died when they looked at it. And if Lugh had not put out that eye when he did, the whole of Ireland would have been burned in one flash. And after this, Lugh struck his head off. And as for Indech, son of De Domnann, he fell and was crushed in the battle, and blood burst from his mouth, and he called out for Leat Glas, his poet, as he lay there, but he was not able to help him. And then the Morrigu came into the battle, and she was heartening the Tuatha de Danaan to fight the battle well; and, as she had promised the Dagda, she took the full of her two hands of Indech's blood, and gave it to the armies that were waiting at the ford of Unius; and it was called the Ford of Destruction from that day. And after that it was not a battle any more, but a rout, and the Fomor were beaten back to the sea. And Lugh and his comrades were following them, and they came up with Bres, son of Elathan, and no guard with him, and he said: "It is better for you to spare my life than to kill me. And if you spare me now," he said, "the cows of Ireland will never go dry." "I will ask an advice about that from our wise men," said Lugh. So he told Maeltine Mor-Brethach, of the Great Judgments, what Bres was after saying. But Maeltine said: "Do not spare him for that, for he has no power over their offspring, though he has power so long as they are living." Then Bres said: "If you spare me, the men of Ireland will reap a harvest of corn every quarter." But Maeltine said: "The spring is for ploughing and sowing, and the beginning of summer for the strength of corn, and the beginning of autumn for its ripeness, and the winter for using it." "That does not save you," said Lugh then to Bres. But then to make an excuse for sparing him, Lugh said: "Tell us what is the best way for the men of Ireland to plough and to sow and to reap." "Let their ploughing be on a Tuesday, and their casting seed into the field on a Tuesday, and their reaping on a Tuesday," said Bres. So Lugh said that would do, and he let him go free after that. It was in this battle Ogma found Orna, the sword of Tethra, a king of the Fomor, and he took it from its sheath and cleaned it. And when the sword was taken out of the sheath, it told all the deeds that had been done by it, for there used to be that power in swords. And Lugh and the Dagda and Ogma followed after the Fomor, for they had brought away the Dagda's harp with them, that was called Uaitne. And they came to a feasting-house, and in it they found Bres and his father Elathan, and there was the harp hanging on the wall. And it was in that harp the Dagda had bound the music, so that it would not sound till he would call to it. And sometimes it was called Dur-da-Bla, the Oak of Two Blossoms, and sometimes Coir-cethar-chuin, the Four-Angled Music. And when he saw it hanging on the wall it is what he said: "Come summer, come winter, from the mouth of harps and bags and pipes." Then the harp sprang from the wall, and came to the Dagda, and it killed nine men on its way. And then he played for them the three things harpers understand, the sleepy tune, and the laughing tune, and the crying tune. And when he played the crying tune, their tearful women cried, and then he played the laughing tune, till their women and children laughed; and then he played the sleepy tune, and all the hosts fell asleep. And through that sleep the three went away through the Fomor that would have been glad to harm them. And when all was over, the Dagda brought out the heifer he had got as wages from Bres at the time he was making his dun. And she called to her calf, and at the sound of her call all the cattle of Ireland the Fomor had brought away as tribute, were back in their fields again. And Cé, the Druid of Nuada of the Silver Hand, was wounded in the battle, and he went southward till he came to Carn Corrslebe. And there he sat down to rest, tired with his wounds and with the fear that was on him, and the journey. And he saw a smooth plain before him, and it full of flowers, and a great desire came on him to reach to that plain, and he went on till he came to it, and there he died. And when his grave was made there, a lake burst out over it and over the whole plain, and it was given the name of Loch Cé. And there were but four men of the Fomor left in Ireland after the battle, and they used to be going through the country, spoiling corn and milk and fruit, and whatever came from the sea, till they were driven out one Samhain night by the Morrigu and by Angus Og, that the Fomor might never be over Ireland again. And after the battle was won, and the bodies were cleared away, the Morrigu gave out the news of the great victory to the hosts and to the royal heights of Ireland and to its chief rivers and its invers, and it is what she said: "Peace up to the skies, the skies down to earth, the earth under the skies; strength to every one." And as to the number of men that fell in the battle, it will not be known till we number the stars of the sky, or flakes of snow, or the dew on the grass, or grass under the feet of cattle, or the horses of the Son of Lir in a stormy sea. And Lugh was made king over the Men of Dea then, and it was at Nas he had his court. And while he was king, his foster-mother Taillte, daughter of Magh Mor, the Great Plain, died. And before her death she bade her husband Duach the Dark, he that built the Fort of the Hostages in Teamhair, to clear away the wood of Cuan, the way there could be a gathering of the people around her grave. So he called to the men of Ireland to cut down the wood with their wide-bladed knives and bill-hooks and hatchets, and within a month the whole wood was cut down. And Lugh buried her in the plain of Midhe, and raised a mound over her, that is to be seen to this day. And he ordered fires to be kindled, and keening to be made, and games and sports to be held in the summer of every year out of respect to her. And the place they were held got its name from her, that is Taillten. And as to Lugh's own mother, that was tall beautiful Ethlinn, she came to Teamhair after the battle of Magh Tuireadh, and he gave her in marriage to Tadg, son of Nuada. And the children that were born to them were Muirne, mother of Finn, the Head of the Fianna of Ireland, and Tuiren, that was mother of Bran. CHAPTER IV. THE HIDDEN HOUSE OF LUGH And after Lugh had held the kingship for a long time, the Dagda was made king in his place. And Lugh went away out of Ireland, and some said he died at Uisnech, the place where the five provinces meet, and the first place there was ever a fire kindled in Ireland. It was by Mide, son of Brath, it was kindled, for the sons of Nemed, and it was burning through six years, and it was from that fire every chief fire was kindled in Ireland. But Lugh was seen again in Ireland at the time Conchubar and the Men of the Red Branch went following white birds southward to the Boinn at the time of Cuchulain's birth. And it was he came and kept watch over Cuchulain in his three days' sleep at the time of the War for the Bull of Cuailgne. And after that again he was seen by Conn of the Hundred Battles, and this is the way that happened. Conn was in Teamhair one time, and he went up in the early morning to the Rath of the Kings at the rising of the sun, and his three Druids with him, Maol and Bloc and Bhuice; and his three poets, Ethain and Corb and Cesarn. And the reason he had for going up there with them every day, was to look about on every side, the way if any men of the Sidhe would come into Ireland they would not come unknown to him. And on this day he chanced to stand upon a stone that was in the rath, and the stone screamed under his feet, that it was heard all over Teamhair and as far as Bregia. Then Conn asked his chief Druid how the stone came there, and what it screamed for. And the Druid said he would not answer that till the end of fifty-three days. And at the end of that time, Conn asked him again, and it is what the Druid said: "The Lia Fail is the name of the stone; it is out of Falias it was brought, and it is in Teamhair it was set up, and in Teamhair it will stay for ever. And as long as there is a king in Teamhair it is here will be the gathering place for games, and if there is no king to come to the last day of the gathering, there will be hardness in that year. And when the stone screamed under your feet," he said, "the number of the screams it gave was a foretelling of the number of kings of your race that would come after you. But it is not I myself will name them for you," he said. And while they were in the same place, there came a great mist about them and a darkness, so that they could not know what way they were going, and they heard the noise of a rider coming towards them. "It would be a great grief to us," said Conn, "to be brought away into a strange country." Then the rider threw three spears at them, and every one came faster than the other. "It is the wounding of a king indeed," said the Druids, "any one to cast at Conn of Teamhair." The rider stopped casting his spears on that, and he came to them and bade Conn welcome, and asked him to come to his house. They went on then till they came to a beautiful plain, and there they saw a king's rath, and a golden tree at its door, and inside the rath a grand house with a roof of white bronze. So they went into the house, and the rider that had come to meet them was there before them, in his royal seat, and there had never been seen a man like him in Teamhair for comeliness or for beauty, or the wonder of his face. And there was a young woman in the house, having a band of gold on her head, and a silver vessel with hoops of gold beside her, and it full of red ale, and a golden bowl on its edge, and a golden cup at its mouth. She said then to the master of the house: "Who am I to serve drink to?" "Serve it to Conn of the Hundred Battles," he said, "for he will gain a hundred battles before he dies." And after that he bade her to pour out the ale for Art of the Three Shouts, the son of Conn; and after that he went through the names of all the kings of Ireland that would come after Conn, and he told what would be the length of their lifetime. And the young woman left the vessel with Conn, and the cup and the bowl, and she gave him along with that the rib of an ox and of a hog; twenty-four feet was the length of the ox-rib. And the master of the house told them the young woman was the Kingship of Ireland for ever. "And as for myself," he said, "I am Lugh of the Long Hand, son of Ethlinn." BOOK THREE: THE COMING OF THE GAEL. CHAPTER I. THE LANDING It is not known, now, for what length of time the Tuatha de Danaan had the sway over Ireland, and it is likely it was a long time they had it, but they were put from it at last. It was at Inver Slane, to the north of Leinster, the sons of Gaedhal of the Shining Armour, the Very Gentle, that were called afterwards the Sons of the Gael, made their first attempt to land in Ireland to avenge Ith, one of their race that had come there one time and had met with his death. It is under the leadership of the sons of Miled they were, and it was from the south they came, and their Druids had told them there was no country for them to settle in till they would come to that island in the west. "And if you do not get possession of it yourselves," they said, "your children will get possession of it." But when the Tuatha de Danaan saw the ships coming, they flocked to the shore, and by their enchantments they cast such a cloud over the whole island that the sons of Miled were confused, and all they could see was some large thing that had the appearance of a pig. And when they were hindered from landing there by enchantments, they went sailing along the coast till at last they were able to make a landing at Inver Sceine in the west of Munster. From that they marched in good order as far as Slieve Mis. And there they were met by a queen of the Tuatha de Danaan, and a train of beautiful women attending on her, and her Druids and wise men following her. Amergin, one of the sons of Miled, spoke to her then, and asked her name, and she said it was Banba, wife of Mac Cuill, Son of the Hazel. They went on then till they came to Slieve Eibhline, and there another queen of the Tuatha de Danaan met them, and her women and her Druids after her, and they asked her name, and she said it was Fodhla, wife of Mac Cecht, Son of the Plough. They went on then till they came to the hill of Uisnech, and there they saw another woman coming towards them. And there was wonder on them while they were looking at her, for in the one moment she would be a wide-eyed most beautiful queen, and in another she would be a sharp-beaked, grey-white crow. She came on to where Eremon, one of the sons of Miled, was, and sat down before him, and he asked her who was she, and she said: "I am Eriu, wife of Mac Greine, Son of the Sun." And the names of those three queens were often given to Ireland in the after time. The Sons of the Gael went on after that to Teamhair, where the three sons of Cermait Honey-Mouth, son of the Dagda, that had the kingship between them at that time held their court. And these three were quarrelling with one another about the division of the treasures their father had left, and the quarrel was so hot it seemed likely it would come to a battle in the end. And the Sons of the Gael wondered to see them quarrelling about such things, and they having so fruitful an island, where the air was so wholesome, and the sun not too strong, or the cold too bitter, and where there was such a plenty of honey and acorns, and of milk, and of fish, and of corn, and room enough for them all. Great grandeur they were living in, and their Druids about them, at the palace of Teamhair. And Amergin went to them, and it is what he said, that they must give up the kingship there and then, or they must leave it to the chance of a battle. And he said he asked this in revenge for the death of Ith, of the race of the Gael, that had come to their court before that time, and that had been killed by treachery. When the sons of Cermait Honey-Mouth heard Amergin saying such fierce words, there was wonder on them, and it is what they said, that they were not willing to fight at that time, for their army was not ready. "But let you make an offer to us," they said, "for we see well you have good judgment and knowledge. But if you make an offer that is not fair," they said, "we will destroy you with our enchantments." At that Amergin bade the men that were with him to go back to Inver Sceine, and to hurry again into their ships with the rest of the Sons of the Gael, and to go out the length of nine waves from the shore. And then he made his offer to the Tuatha de Danaan, that if they could hinder his men from landing on their island, he and all his ships would go back again to their own country, and would never make any attempt to come again; but that if the Sons of the Gael could land on the coast in spite of them, then the Tuatha de Danaan should give up the kingship and be under their sway. The Tuatha de Danaan were well pleased with that offer, for they thought that by the powers of their enchantments over the winds and the sea, and by their arts, they would be well able to keep them from ever setting foot in the country again. So the Sons of the Gael did as Amergin bade them and they went back into their ship and drew up their anchors, and moved out to the length of nine waves from the shore. And as soon as the Men of Dea saw they had left the land, they took to their enchantments and spells, and they raised a great wind that scattered the ships of the Gael, and drove them from one another. But Amergin knew it was not a natural storm was in it, and Arranan, son of Miled, knew that as well, and he went up in the mast of his ship to look about him. But a great blast of wind came against him, and he fell back into the ship and died on the moment. And there was great confusion on the Gael, for the ships were tossed to and fro, and had like to be lost. And the ship that Donn, son of Miled, was in command of was parted from the others by the dint of the storm, and was broken in pieces, and he himself and all with him were drowned, four-and-twenty men and women in all. And Ir, son of Miled, came to his death in the same way, and his body was cast on the shore, and it was buried in a small island that is now called Sceilg Michill. A brave man Ir was, leading the Sons of the Gael to the front of every battle, and their help and their shelter in battle, and his enemies were in dread of his name. And Heremon, another of the sons of Miled, with his share of the ships, was driven to the left of the island, and it is hardly he got safe to land. And the place where he landed was called Inver Colpa, because Colpa of the Sword, another of the sons of Miled, was drowned there, and he trying to get to land. Five of the sons of Miled in all were destroyed by the storm and the winds the Men of Dea had raised by their enchantments, and there were but three of them left, Heber, and Heremon, and Amergin. And one of them, Donn, before he was swept into the sea, called out: "It is treachery our knowledgeable men are doing on us, not to put down this wind." "There is no treachery," said Amergin, his brother. And he rose up then before them, and whatever enchantment he did on the winds and the sea, he said these words along with it: "That they that are tossing in the great wide food-giving sea may reach now to the land. "That they may find a place upon its plains, its mountains, and its valleys; in its forests that are full of nuts and of all fruits; on its rivers and its streams, on its lakes and its great waters. "That we may have our gatherings and our races in this land; that there may be a king of our own in Teamhair; that it may be the possession of our many kings. "That the sons of Miled may be seen in this land, that their ships and their boats may find a place there. "This land that is now under darkness, it is for it we are asking; let our chief men, let their learned wives, ask that we may come to the noble woman, great Eriu." After he had said this, the wind went down and the sea was quiet again on the moment. And those that were left of the sons of Miled and of the Sons of the Gael landed then at Inver Sceine. And Amergin was the first to put his foot on land, and when he stood on the shore of Ireland, it is what he said: "I am the wind on the sea; I am the wave of the sea; I am the bull of seven battles; I am the eagle on the rock; I am a flash from the sun; I am the most beautiful of plants; I am a strong wild boar; I am a salmon in the water; I am a lake in the plain; I am the word of knowledge; I am the head of the spear in battle; I am the god that puts fire in the head; Who spreads light in the gathering on the hills? Who can tell the ages of the moon? Who can tell the place where the sun rests?" CHAPTER II. THE BATTLE OF TAILLTIN And three days after the landing of the Gael, they were attacked by Eriu, wife of Mac Greine, Son of the Sun, and she having a good share of men with her. And they fought a hard battle, and many were killed on both sides. And this was the first battle fought between the Sons of the Gael and the Men of Dea for the kingship of Ireland. It was in that battle Fais, wife of Un, was killed in a valley at the foot of the mountain, and it was called after her, the Valley of Fais. And Scota, wife of Miled, got her death in the battle, and she was buried in a valley on the north side of the mountain near the sea. But the Sons of the Gael lost no more than three hundred men, and they beat back the Men of Dea and killed a thousand of them. And Eriu was beaten back to Tailltin, and as many of her men as she could hold together; and when she came there she told the people how she had been worsted in the battle, and the best of her men had got their death. But the Gael stopped on the battle-field, and buried their dead, and they gave a great burial to two of their Druids, Aer and Eithis, that were killed in the fight. And after they had rested for a while, they went on to Inver Colpa in Leinster, and Heremon and his men joined them there. And then they sent messengers to the three kings of Ireland, the three sons of Cermait Honey-Mouth, and bade them to come out and fight a battle that would settle the ownership of the country once for all. So they came out, and the best of the fighters of the Tuatha de Danaan with them, to Tailltin. And there they attacked one another, and the Sons of the Gael remembered the death of Ith, and there was great anger on them, and they fell on the Men of Dea to avenge him, and there was a fierce battle fought. And for a while neither side got the better of the other, but at the last the Gael broke through the army of the Men of Dea and put them to the rout, with great slaughter, and drove them out of the place. And their three kings were killed in the rout, and the three queens of Ireland, Eriu and Fodhla and Banba. And when the Tuatha de Danaan saw their leaders were dead they fell back in great disorder, and the Sons of the Gael followed after them. But in following them they lost two of their best leaders, Cuailgne, son of Breagan, at Slieve Cuailgne, and Fuad, his brother, at Slieve Fuad. But they were no way daunted by that, but followed the Men of Dea so hotly that they were never able to bring their army together again, but had to own themselves beaten, and to give up the country to the Gael. And the leaders, the sons of Miled, divided the provinces of Ireland between them. Heber took the two provinces of Munster, and he gave a share of it to Amergin; and Heremon got Leinster and Connacht for his share, and Ulster was divided between Eimhir, son of Ir, son of Miled, and some others of their chief men. And it was of the sons of Eimhir, that were called the Children of Rudraighe, and that lived in Emain Macha for nine hundred years, some of the best men of Ireland came; Fergus, son of Rogh, was of them, and Conall Cearnach, of the Red Branch of Ulster. And from the sons of Ith, the first of the Gael to get his death in Ireland, there came in the after time Fathadh Canaan, that got the sway over the whole world from the rising to the setting sun, and that took hostages of the streams and the birds and the languages. And it is what the poets of Ireland used to be saying, that every brave man, good at fighting, and every man that could do great deeds and not be making much talk about them, was of the Sons of the Gael; and that every skilled man that had music and that did enchantments secretly, was of the Tuatha de Danaan. But they put a bad name on the Firbolgs and the men of Domnand and the Gaileoin, for lies and for big talk and injustice. But for all that there were good fighters among them, and Ferdiad, that made so good a stand against Cuchulain, in the war for the Bull of Cuailgne was one of them. And the Gaileoin fought well in the same war; but the men of Ireland had no great liking for them, and their Druids drove them out of the country afterwards. BOOK FOUR: THE EVER-LIVING LIVING ONES. CHAPTER I. BODB DEARG But as to the Tuatha de Danaan after they were beaten, they would not go under the sway of the sons of Miled, but they went away by themselves. And because Manannan, son of Lir, understood all enchantments, they left it to him to find places for them where they would be safe from their enemies. So he chose out the most beautiful of the hills and valleys of Ireland for them to settle in; and he put hidden walls about them, that no man could see through, but they themselves could see through them and pass through them. And he made the Feast of Age for them, and what they drank at it was the ale of Goibniu the Smith, that kept whoever tasted it from age and from sickness and from death. And for food at the feast he gave them his own swine, that though they were killed and eaten one day, would be alive and fit for eating again the next day, and that would go on in that way for ever. And after a while they said: "It would be better for us one king to be over us, than to be scattered the way we are through the whole of Ireland." Now the men among them that had the best chance of getting the kingship at that time were Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda; and Ilbrech of Ess Ruadh; and Lir of Sidhe Fionnachaidh, the Hill of the White Field, on Slieve Fuad; and Midhir the Proud of Bri Leith, and Angus Og, son of the Dagda; but he did not covet the kingship at all, but would sooner be left as he was. Then all the chief men but those five went into council together, and it is what they agreed, to give the kingship to Bodb Dearg, for the sake of his father, for his own sake, and because he was the eldest among the children of the Dagda. It was in Sidhe Femen Bodb Dearg had his house, and he put great enchantments about it. Cliach, the Harper of the King of the Three Rosses in Connacht, went one time to ask one of his daughters in marriage, and he stayed outside the place through the whole length of a year, playing his harp, and able to get no nearer to Bodb or to his daughter. And he went on playing till a lake burst up under his feet, the lake that is on the top of a mountain, Loch Bel Sead. It was Bodb's swineherd went to Da Derga's Inn, and his squealing pig along with him, the night Conaire, the High King of Ireland, met with his death; and it was said that whatever feast that swineherd would go to, there would blood be shed before it was over. And Bodb had three sons, Angus, and Artrach, and Aedh. And they used often to be living among men in the time of the Fianna afterwards. Artrach had a house with seven doors, and a free welcome for all that came, and the king's son of Ireland, and of Alban, used to be coming to Angus to learn the throwing of spears and darts; and troops of poets from Alban and from Ireland used to be with Aedh, that was the comeliest of Bodb's sons, so that his place used to be called "The Rath of Aedh of the Poets." And indeed it was a beautiful rath at that time, with golden-yellow apples in it and crimson-pointed nuts of the wood. But after the passing away of the Fianna, the three brothers went back to the Tuatha de Danaan. And Bodb Dearg was not always in his own place, but sometimes he was with Angus at Brugh na Boinn. Three sons of Lugaidh Menn, King of Ireland, Eochaid, and Fiacha, and Ruide, went there one time, for their father refused them any land till they would win it for themselves. And when he said that, they rose with the ready rising of one man, and went and sat down on the green of Brugh na Boinn, and fasted there on the Tuatha de Danaan, to see if they could win some good thing from them. And they were not long there till they saw a young man, quiet and with pleasant looks, coming towards them, and he wished them good health, and they answered him the same way. "Where are you come from?" they asked him then. "From the rath beyond, with the many lights," he said. "And I am Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda," he said, "and come in with me now to the rath." So they went in, and supper was made ready for them, but they did not use it. Bodb Dearg asked them then why was it they were using nothing. "It is because our father has refused land to us," said they; "and there are in Ireland but the two races, the Sons of the Gael and the Men of Dea, and when the one failed us we are come to the other." Then the Men of Dea consulted together. And the chief among them was Midhir of the Yellow Hair, and it is what he said: "Let us give a wife to every one of these three men, for it is from a wife that good or bad fortune comes." So they agreed to that, and Midhir's three daughters, Doirenn, and Aife, and Aillbhe, were given to them. Then Midhir asked Bodb to say what marriage portion should be given to them. "I will tell you that," said Bodb. "We are three times fifty sons of kings in this hill; let every king's son give three times fifty ounces of red gold. And I myself," he said, "will give them along with that, three times fifty suits of clothing of all colours." "I will give them a gift," said a young man of the Tuatha de Danaan, from Rachlainn in the sea. "A horn I will give them, and a vat. And there is nothing wanting but to fill the vat with pure water, and it will turn into mead, fit to drink, and strong enough to make drunken. And into the horn," he said, "you have but to put salt water from the sea, and it will turn into wine on the moment." "A gift to them from me," said Lir of Sidhe Fionnachaidh, "three times fifty swords, and three times fifty well-riveted long spears." "A gift from me," said Angus Og, son of the Dagda, "a rath and a good town with high walls, and with bright sunny houses, and with wide houses, in whatever place it will please them between Rath Chobtaige and Teamhair." "A gift to them from me," said Aine, daughter of Modharn, "a woman-cook that I have, and there is _geasa_ on her not to refuse food to any; and according as she serves it out, her store fills up of itself again." "Another gift to them from me," said Bodb Dearg, "a good musician that I have, Fertuinne, son of Trogain; and although there were women in the sharpest pains of childbirth, and brave men wounded early in the day, in a place where there were saws going through wood, they would sleep at the sweetness of the music he makes. And whatever house he may be in, the people of the whole country round will hear him." So they stopped in Brugh na Boinne three days and three nights, and when they left it, Angus bade them bring away from the oak-wood three apple-trees, one in full bloom, and one shedding its blossom, and the third covered with ripe fruit. They went then to their own dun that was given them, and it is a good place they had there, and a troop of young men, and great troops of horses and of greyhounds; and they had three sorts of music that comely kings liked to be listening to, the music of harps and of lutes, and the chanting of Trogain's son; and there were three great sounds, the tramping on the green, and the uproar of racing, and the lowing of cattle; and three other sounds, the grunting of good pigs with the fat thick on them, and the voices of the crowd on the green lawn, and the noise of men drinking inside the house. And as to Eochaid, it was said of him that he never took a step backwards in flight, and his house was never without music or drinking of ale. And it was said of Fiacha that there was no man of his time braver than himself, and that he never said a word too much. And as to Ruide, he never refused any one, and never asked anything at all of any man. And when their lifetime was over, they went back to the Tuatha de Danaan, for they belonged to them through their wives, and there they have stopped ever since. And Bodb Dearg had a daughter, Scathniamh, the Flower of Brightness, that gave her love to Caoilte in the time of the Fianna; and they were forced to part from one another, and they never met again till the time Caoilte was, old and withered, and one of the last that was left of the Fianna. And she came to him out of the cave of Cruachan, and asked him for the bride-price he had promised her, and that she was never able to come and ask for till then. And Caoilte went to a cairn that was near and that was full up of gold, that was wages earned by Conan Maol and hidden there, and he gave the gold to Bodb Dearg's daughter. And the people that were there wondered to see the girl so young and comely, and Caoilte so grey and bent and withered. "There is no wonder in that," said Caoilte, "for I am of the sons of Miled that wither and fade away, but she is of the Tuatha de Danaan that never change and that never die." CHAPTER II. THE DAGDA And it was at Brugh na Boinne the Dagda, the Red Man of all Knowledge, had his house. And the most noticeable things in it were the Hall of the Morrigu, and the Bed of the Dagda, and the Birthplace of Cermait Honey-Mouth, and the Prison of the Grey of Macha that was Cuchulain's horse afterwards. And there was a little hill by the house that was called the Comb and the Casket of the Dagda's wife; and another that was called the Hill of Dabilla, that was the little hound belonging to Boann. And the Valley of the Mata was there, the Sea-Turtle that could suck down a man in armour. And it is likely the Dagda put up his cooking oven there, that Druimne, son of Luchair, made for him at Teamhair. And it is the way it was, the axle and the wheel were of wood, and the body was iron, and there were twice nine wheels in its axle, that it might turn the faster; and it was as quick as the quickness of a stream in turning, and there were three times nine spits from it, and three times nine pots. And it used to lie down with the cinders and to rise to the height of the roof with the flame. The Dagda himself made a great vat one time for Ainge, his daughter, but she was not well satisfied with it, for it would not stop from dripping while the sea was in flood, though it would not lose a drop during the ebb-tide. And she gathered a bundle of twigs to make a new vat for herself, but Gaible, son of Nuada of the Silver Hand, stole it from her and hurled it away. And in the place where it fell a beautiful wood grew up, that was called Gaible's Wood. And the Dagda had his household at Brugh na Boinne, and his steward was Dichu, and Len Linfiaclach was the smith of the Brugh. It was he lived in the lake, making the bright vessels of Fand, daughter of Flidhais; and every evening when he left off work he would make a cast of the anvil eastward to Indeoin na Dese, the Anvil of the Dese, as far as the Grave End. Three showers it used to cast, a shower of fire, and a shower of water, and a shower of precious stones of pure purple. But Tuirbe, father of Goibniu the Smith, used to throw better again, for he would make a cast of his axe from Tulach na Bela, the Hill of the Axe, in the face of the flood tide, and he would put his order on the sea, and it would not come over the axe. And Corann was the best of the harpers of the household; he was harper to the Dagda's son, Diancecht. And one time he called with his harp to Cailcheir, one of the swine of Debrann. And it ran northward with all the strength of its legs, and the champions of Connacht were following after it with all their strength of running, and their hounds with them, till they got as far as Ceis Corain, and they gave it up there, all except Niall that went on the track of the swine till he found it in the oak-wood of Tarba, and then it made away over the plain of Ai, and through a lake. And Niall and his hound were drowned in following it through the lake. And the Dagda gave Corann a great tract of land for doing his harping so well. But however great a house the Dagda had, Angus got it away from him in the end, through the help of Manannan, son of Lir. For Manannan bade him to ask his father for it for the length of a day and a night, and that he by his art would take away his power of refusing. So Angus asked for the Brugh, and his father gave it to him for a day and a night. But when he asked it back again, it is what Angus said, that it had been given to him for ever, for the whole of life and time is made up of a day and a night, one following after the other. So when the Dagda heard that he went away and his people and his household with him, for Manannan had put an enchantment on them all. But Dichu the Steward was away at the time, and his wife and his son, for they were gone out to get provisions for a feast for Manannan and his friends. And when he came back and knew his master was gone, he took service with Angus. And Angus stopped in Brugh na Boinne, and some say he is there to this day, with the hidden walls about him, drinking Goibniu's ale and eating the pigs that never fail. As to the Dagda, he took no revenge, though he had the name of being revengeful and quick in his temper. And some say it was at Teamhair he made his dwelling-place after that, but wherever it was, a great misfortune came on him. It chanced one time Corrgenn, a great man of Connacht, came to visit him, and his wife along with him. And while they were there, Corrgenn got it in his mind that there was something that was not right going on between his wife and Aedh, one of the sons of the Dagda. And great jealousy and anger came on him, and he struck at the young man and killed him before his father's face. Every one thought the Dagda would take Corrgenn's life then and there in revenge for his son's life. But he would not do that, for he said if his son was guilty, there was no blame to be put on Corrgenn for doing what he did. So he spared his life for that time, but if he did, Corrgenn did not gain much by it. For the punishment he put on him was to take the dead body of the young man on his back, and never to lay it down till he would find a stone that would be its very fit in length and in breadth, and that would make a gravestone for him; and when he had found that, he could bury him in the nearest hill. So Corrgenn had no choice but to go, and he set out with his load; but he had a long way to travel before he could find a stone that would fit, and it is where he found one at last, on the shore of Loch Feabhail. So then he left the body up on the nearest hill, and he went down and raised the stone and brought it up and dug a grave and buried the Dagda's son. And it is many an Ochone! he gave when he was putting the stone over him, and when he had that done he was spent, and he dropped dead there and then. And the Dagda brought his two builders, Garbhan and Imheall, to the place, and he bade them build a rath there round the grave. It was Garbhan cut the stones and shaped them, and Imheall set them all round the house till the work was finished, and then he closed the top of the house with a slab. And the place was called the Hill of Aileac, that is, the Hill of Sighs and of a Stone, for it was tears of blood the Dagda shed on account of the death of his son. CHAPTER III. ANGUS OG And as to Angus Og, son of the Dagda, sometimes he would come from Brugh na Boinn and let himself be seen upon the earth. It was a long time after the coming of the Gael that he was seen by Cormac, King of Teamhair, and this is the account he gave of him. He was by himself one day in his Hall of Judgment, for he used to be often reading the laws and thinking how he could best carry them out. And on a sudden he saw a stranger, a very comely young man, at the end of the hall; and he knew on the moment it was Angus Og, for he had often heard his people talking of him, but he himself used to be saying he did not believe there was any such person at all. And when his people came back to the hall, he told them how he had seen Angus himself, and had talked with him, and Angus had told him his name, and had foretold what would happen him in the future. "And he was a beautiful young man," he said, "with high looks, and his appearance was more beautiful than all beauty, and there were ornaments of gold on his dress; in his hand he held a silver harp with strings of red gold, and the sound of its strings was sweeter than all music under the sky; and over the harp were two birds that seemed to be playing on it. He sat beside me pleasantly and played his sweet music to me, and in the end he foretold things that put drunkenness on my wits." The birds, now, that used to be with Angus were four of his kisses that turned into birds and that used to be coming about the young men of Ireland, and crying after them. "Come, come," two of them would say, and "I go, I go," the other two would say, and it was hard to get free of them. But as to Angus, even when he was in his young youth, he used to be called the Frightener, or the Disturber; for the plough teams of the world, and every sort of cattle that is used by men, would make away in terror before him. And one time he appeared in the shape of a land-holder to two men, Ribh and Eocho, that were looking for a place to settle in. The first place they chose was near Bregia on a plain that was belonging to Angus; and it was then he came to them, leading his horse in his hand, and told them they should not stop there. And they said they could not carry away their goods without horses. Then he gave them his horse, and bade them to put all they had a mind to on that horse and he would carry it, and so he did. But the next place they chose was Magh Find, the Fine Plain, that was the playing ground of Angus and of Midhir. And that time Midhir came to them in the same way and gave them a horse to put their goods on, and he went on with them as far as Magh Dairbthenn. And there were many women loved Angus, and there was one Enghi, daughter of Elcmair, loved him though she had not seen him. And she went one time looking for him to the gathering for games between Cletech and Sidhe in Broga; and the bright troops of the Sidhe used to come to that gathering every Samhain evening, bringing a moderate share of food with them, that is, a nut. And the sons of Derc came from the north, out of Sidhe Findabrach, and they went round about the young men and women without their knowledge and they brought away Elcmair's daughter. There were great lamentations made then, and the name the place got was Cnoguba, the Nut Lamentation, from the crying there was at that gathering. And Derbrenn, Eochaid Fedlech's daughter, was another that was loved by Angus, and she had six fosterlings, three boys and three girls. But the mother of the boys, Dalb Garb, the Rough, put a spell on them she made from a gathering of the nuts of Caill Ochuid, that turned them into swine. And Angus gave them into the care of Buichet, the Hospitaller of Leinster, and they stopped a year with him. But at the end of that time there came a longing On Buichet's wife to eat a bit of the flesh of one of them. So she gathered a hundred armed men and a hundred hounds to take them. But the pigs made away, and went to Brugh na Boinn, to Angus, and he bade them welcome, and they asked him to give them his help. But he said he could not do that till they had shaken the Tree of Tarbga, and eaten the salmon of Inver Umaill. So they went to Glascarn, and stopped a year in hiding with Derbrenn. And then they shook the Tree of Tarbga, and they went on towards Inver Umaill. But Maeve gathered the men of Connacht to hunt them, and they all fell but one, and their heads were put in a mound, and it got the name of Duma Selga, the Mound of the Hunting. And it was in the time of Maeve of Cruachan that Angus set his love on Caer Ormaith, of the Province of Connacht, and brought her away to Brugh na Boinn. CHAPTER IV. THE MORRIGU As to the Morrigu, the Great Queen, the Crow of Battle, where she lived after the coming of the Gael is not known, but before that time it was in Teamhair she lived. And she had a great cooking-spit there, that held three sorts of food on it at the one time: a piece of raw meat, and a piece of dressed meat, and a piece of butter. And the raw was dressed, and the dressed was not burned, and the butter did not melt, and the three together on the spit. Nine men that were outlaws went to her one time and asked for a spit to be made for themselves. And they brought it away with them, and it had nine ribs in it, and every one of the outlaws would carry a rib in his hand wherever he would go, till they would all meet together at the close of day. And if they wanted the spit to be high, it could be raised to a man's height, and at another time it would not be more than the height of a fist over the fire, without breaking and without lessening. And Mechi, the son the Morrigu had, was killed by Mac Cecht on Magh Mechi, that till that time had been called Magh Fertaige. Three hearts he had, and it is the way they were, they had the shapes of three serpents through them. And if Mechi had not met with his death, those serpents in him would have grown, and what they left alive in Ireland would have wasted away. And Mac Cecht burned the three hearts on Magh Luathad, the Plain of Ashes, and he threw the ashes into the stream; and the rushing water of the stream stopped and boiled up, and every creature in it died. And the Morrigu used often to be meddling in Ireland in Cuchulain's time, stirring up wars and quarrels. It was she came and roused up Cuchulain one time when he was but a lad, and was near giving in to some enchantment that was used against him. "There is not the making of a hero in you," she said to him, "and you lying there under the feet of shadows." And with that Cuchulain rose up and struck off the head of a shadow that was standing over him, with his hurling stick. And the time Conchubar was sending out Finched to rouse up the men of Ulster at the time of the war for the Bull of Cuailgne, he bade him to go to that terrible fury, the Morrigu, to get help for Cuchulain. And she had a dispute with Cuchulain one time he met her, and she bringing away a cow from the Hill of Cruachan; and another time she helped Talchinem, a Druid of the household of Conaire Mor, to bring away a bull his wife had set her mind on. And indeed she was much given to meddling with cattle, and one time she brought away a cow from Odras, that was of the household of the cow-chief of Cormac Hua Cuined, and that was going after her husband with cattle. And the Morrigu brought the cow away with her to the Cave of Cruachan, and the Hill of the Sidhe. And Odras followed her there till sleep fell on her in the oak-wood of Falga; and the Morrigu awoke her and sang spells over her, and made of her a pool of water that went to the river that flows to the west of Slieve Buane. And in the battle of Magh Rath, she fluttered over Congal Claen in the shape of a bird, till he did not know friend from foe. And after that again at the battle of Cluantarbh, she was flying over the head of Murchadh, son of Brian; for she had many shapes, and it was in the shape of a crow she would sometimes fight her battles. And if it was not the Morrigu, it was Badb that showed herself in the battle of Dunbolg, where the men of Ireland were fighting under Aedh, son of Niall; and Brigit was seen in the same battle on the side of the men of Leinster. CHAPTER V. AINE And as to Aine, that some said was a daughter of Manannan, but some said was the Morrigu herself, there was a stone belonging to her that was called Cathair Aine. And if any one would sit on that stone he would be in danger of losing his wits, and any one that would sit on it three times would lose them for ever. And people whose wits were astray would make their way to it, and mad dogs would come from all parts of the country, and would flock around it, and then they would go into the sea to Aine's place there. But those that did cures by herbs said she had power over the whole body; and she used to give gifts of poetry and of music, and she often gave her love to men, and they called her the Leanan Sidhe, the Sweet-heart of the Sidhe. And it was no safe thing to offend Aine, for she was very revengeful. Oilioll Oluim, a king of Ireland, killed her brother one time, and it is what she did, she made a great yew-tree by enchantment beside the river Maigh in Luimnech, and she put a little man in it, playing sweet music on a harp. And Oilioll's son was passing the river with his step-brother, and they saw the tree and heard the sweet music from it. And first they quarrelled as to which of them would have the little harper, and then they quarrelled about the tree, and they asked a judgment from Oilioll, and he gave it for his own son. And it was the bad feeling about that judgment that led to the battle of Magh Mucruimhe, and Oilioll and his seven sons were killed there, and so Aine got her revenge. CHAPTER VI. AOIBHELL And Aoibhell, another woman of the Sidhe, made her dwelling-place in Craig Liath, and at the time of the battle of Cluantarbh she set her love on a young man of Munster, Dubhlaing ua Artigan, that had been sent away in disgrace by the King of Ireland. But before the battle he came back to join with Murchadh, the king's son, and to fight for the Gael. And Aoibhell came to stop him; and when he would not stop with her she put a Druid covering about him, the way no one could see him. And he went where Murchadh was fighting, and he made a great attack on the enemies of Ireland, and struck them down on every side. And Murchadh looked around him, and he said; "It seems to me I hear the sound of the blows of Dubhlaing ua Artigan, but I do not see himself." Then Dubhlaing threw off the Druid covering that was about him, and he said: "I will not keep this covering upon me when you cannot see me through it. And come now across the plain to where Aoibhell is," he said, "for she can give us news of the battle." So they went where she was, and she bade them both to quit the battle, for they would lose their lives in it. But Murchadh said to her, "I will tell you a little true story," he said; "that fear for my own body will never make me change my face. And if we fall," he said, "the strangers will fall with us; and it is many a man will fall by my own hand, and the Gael will be sharing their strong places." "Stop with me, Dubhlaing," she said then, "and you will have two hundred years of happy life with myself." "I will not give up Murchadh," he said, "or my own good name, for silver or gold." And there was anger on Aoibhell when he said that, and she said: "Murchadh will fall, and you yourself will fall, and your proud blood will be on the plain to-morrow." And they went back into the battle, and got their death there. And it was Aoibhell gave a golden harp to the son of Meardha the time he was getting his learning at the school of the Sidhe in Connacht and that he heard his father had got his death by the King of Lochlann. And whoever heard the playing of that harp would not live long after it. And Meardha's son went where the three sons of the King of Lochlann were, and played on his harp for them, and they died. It was that harp Cuchulain heard the time his enemies were gathering against him at Muirthemne, and he knew by it that his life was near its end. CHAPTER VII. MIDHIR AND ETAIN And Midhir took a hill for himself, and his wife Fuamach was with him there, and his daughter, Bri. And Leith, son of Celtchar of Cualu, was the most beautiful among the young men of the Sidhe of Ireland at that time, and he loved Bri, Midhir's daughter. And Bri went out with her young girls to meet him one time at the Grave of the Daughters beside Teamhair. And Leith came and his young men along with him till he was on the Hill of the After Repentance. And they could not come nearer to one another because of the slingers on Midhir's hill that were answering one another till their spears were as many as a swarm of bees on a day of beauty. And Cochlan, Leith's servant, got a sharp wound from them and he died. Then the girl turned back to Midhir's hill, and her heart broke in her and she died. And Leith said: "Although I am not let come to this girl, I will leave my name with her." And the hill was called Bri Leith from that time. After a while Midhir took Etain Echraide to be his wife. And there was great jealousy on Fuamach, the wife he had before, when she saw the love that Midhir gave to Etain, and she called to the Druid, Bresal Etarlaim to help her, and he put spells on Etain the way Fuamach was able to drive her away. And when she was driven out of Bri Leith, Angus Og, son of the Dagda, took her into his keeping; and when Midhir asked her back, he would not give her up, but he brought her about with him to every place he went. And wherever they rested, he made a sunny house for her, and put sweet-smelling flowers in it, and he made invisible walls about it, that no one could see through and that could not be seen. But when news came to Fuamach that Etain was so well cared by Angus, anger and jealousy came on her again, and she searched her mind for a way to destroy Etain altogether. And it is what she did, she persuaded Midhir and Angus to go out and meet one another and to make peace, for there had been a quarrel between them ever since the time Etain was sent away. And when Angus was away from Brugh na Boinn, Fuamach went and found Etain there, in her sunny house. And she turned her with Druid spells into a fly, and then she sent a blast of wind into the house, that swept her away through the window. But as to Midhir and Angus, they waited a while for Fuamach to come and join them. And when she did not come they were uneasy in their minds, and Angus hurried back to Brugh na Boinn. And when he found the sunny house empty, he went in search of Fuamach, and it was along with Etarlaim, the Druid, he found her, and he struck her head off there and then. And for seven years Etain was blown to and fro through Ireland in great misery. And at last she came to the house of Etar, of Inver Cechmaine, where there was a feast going on, and she fell from a beam of the roof into the golden cup that was beside Etar's wife. And Etar's wife drank her down with the wine, and at the end of nine months she was born again as Etar's daughter. And she had the same name as before, Etain; and she was reared as a king's daughter, and there were fifty young girls, daughters of princes, brought up with her to keep her company. And it happened one day Etain and all the rest of the young girls were out bathing in the bay at Inver Cechmaine, and they saw from the water a man, with very high looks, coming towards them over the plain, and he riding a bay horse with mane and tail curled. A long green cloak he had on him, and a shirt woven with threads of red gold, and a brooch of gold that reached across to his shoulders on each side. And he had on his back a shield of silver with a rim of gold and a boss of gold, and in his hand a sharp-pointed spear covered with rings of gold from heel to socket. Fair yellow hair he had, coming over his forehead, and it bound with a golden band to keep it from loosening. And when he came near them he got down from his horse, and sat down on the bank, and it is what he said: "It is here Etain is to-day, at the Mound of Fair Women. It is among little children is her life on the strand of Inver Cechmaine. "It is she healed the eye of the king from the well of Loch da Lig; it is she was swallowed in a heavy drink by the wife of Etar. "Many great battles will happen for your sake to Echaid of Midhe; destruction will fall upon the Sidhe, and war on thousands of men." And when he had said that, he vanished, and no one knew where he went. And they did not know the man that had come to them was Midhir of Bri Leith. And when Etain was grown to be a beautiful young woman, she was seen by Eochaid Feidlech, High King of Ireland, and this is the way that happened. He was going one time over the fair green of Bri Leith, and he saw at the side of a well a woman, with a bright comb of gold and silver, and she washing in a silver basin having four golden birds on it, and little bright purple stones set in the rim of the basin. A beautiful purple cloak she had, and silver fringes to it, and a gold brooch; and she had on her a dress of green silk with a long hood, embroidered in red gold, and wonderful clasps of gold and silver on her breasts and on her shoulder. The sunlight was falling on her, so that the gold and the green silk were shining out. Two plaits of hair she had, four locks in each plait, and a bead at the point of every lock, and the colour of her hair was like yellow flags in summer, or like red gold after it is rubbed. There she was, letting down her hair to wash it, and her arms out through the sleeve-holes of her shift. Her soft hands were as white as the snow of a single night, and her eyes as blue as any blue flower, and her lips as red as the berries of the rowan-tree, and her body as white as the foam of a wave. The bright light of the moon was in her face, the highness of pride in her eyebrows, a dimple of delight in each of her cheeks, the light of wooing in her eyes, and when she walked she had a step that was steady and even like the walk of a queen. And Eochaid sent his people to bring her to him, and he asked her name, and she told him her name was Etain, daughter of Etar, King of the Riders of the Sidhe. And Eochaid gave her his love, and he paid the bride-price, and brought her home to Teamhair as his wife, and there was a great welcome before her there. And after a while there was a great feast made at Teamhair, and all the chief men of Ireland came to it, and it lasted from the fortnight before Samhain to the fortnight after it. And King Eochaid's brother Ailell, that was afterwards called Ailell Anglonach, of the Only Fault, came to the feast. And when he saw his brother's wife Etain, he fell in love with her on the moment, and all through the length of the feast he was not content unless he could be looking at her. And a woman, the daughter of Luchta Lamdearg, of the Red Hand, took notice of it, and she said: "What far thing are you looking at, Ailell? It is what I think, that to be looking the way you are doing is a sign of love." Then Ailell checked himself, and did not look towards Etain any more. But when the feast was at an end, and the gathering broken up, great desire and envy came on Ailell, so that he fell sick, and they brought him to a house in Teffia. And he stopped there through the length of a year, and he was wasting away, but he told no one the cause of his sickness. And at the end of the year, Eochaid came to visit his brother, and he passed his hand over his breast, and Ailell let a groan. "What way are you?" said Eochaid then. "Are you getting any easier, for you must not let this illness come to a bad end." "By my word," said Ailell, "it is not easier I am, but worse and worse every day and every night." "What is it ails you?" said Eochaid. "And what is it that is coming against you." "By my word, I cannot tell you that," said Ailell. "I will bring one here that will know the cause of your sickness," said the king. With that he sent Fachtna, his own physician, to Ailell; and when he came he passed his hand over Ailell's heart, and at that he groaned again. "This sickness will not be your death," said Fachtna then; "and I know well what it comes from. It is either from the pains of jealousy, or from love you have given, and that you have not found a way out of." But there was shame on Ailell, and he would not confess to the physician that what he said was right. So Fachtna went away then and left him. As to King Eochaid, he went away to visit all the provinces of Ireland that were under his kingship, and he left Etain after him, and it is what he said: "Good Etain," he said, "take tender care of Ailell so long as he is living; and if he should die from us, make a sodded grave for him, and raise a pillar stone over it, and write his name on it in Ogham." And with that he went away on his journey. One day, now, Etain went into the house where Ailell was lying in his sickness, and they talked together, and then she made a little song for him, and it is what she said: "What is it ails you, young man, for it is a long time you are wasted with this sickness, and it is not the hardness of the weather has stopped your light footstep." And Ailell answered her in the same way, and he said: "I have good cause for my hurt; the music of my own harp does not please me; there is no sort of food is pleasant to me, and so I am wasted away." Then Etain said: "Tell me what is it ails you, for I am a woman that is wise. Tell me is there anything that would cure you, the way I may help you to it?" And Ailell answered her: "O kind, beautiful woman, it is not good to tell a secret to a woman, but sometimes it may be known through the eyes." And Etain said: "Though it is bad to tell a secret, yet it ought to be told now, or how can help be given to you?" And Ailell answered: "My blessing on you, fair-haired Etain. It is not fit I am to be spoken with; my wits have been no good help to me; my body is a rebel to me. All Ireland knows, O king's wife, there is sickness in my head and in my body." And Etain said: "If there is a woman of the fair-faced women of Ireland tormenting you this way, she must come to you here if it pleases you; and it is I myself will woo her for you," she said. Then Ailell said to her: "Woman, it would be easy for you yourself to put my sickness from me. And my desire," he said, "is a desire that is as long as a year; but it is love given to an echo, the spending of grief on a wave, a lonely fight with a shadow, that is what my love and my desire have been to me." And it is then Etain knew what was the sickness that was on him, and it was a heavy trouble to her. But she came to him every day to tend him, and to make ready his food, and to pour water over his hands, and all she could do she did for him, for it was a grief to her, he to wither away and to be lost for her sake. And at last one day she said to him: "Rise up, Ailell, son of a king, man of high deeds, and I will do your healing." Then he put his arms about her, and she kissed him, and she said: "Come at the morning of to-morrow at the break of day to the house outside the dun, and I will give you all your desire." That night Ailell lay without sleep until the morning was at hand. And at the very time he should have risen to go to her, it was at that time his sleep settled down upon him, and he slept on till the full light of day. But Etain went to the house outside the dun, and she was not long there when she saw a man coming towards her having the appearance of Ailell, sick and tired and worn. But when he came near and she looked closely at him, she saw it was not Ailell that was in it. Then he went away, and after she had waited a while, she herself went back into the dun. And it was then Ailell awoke, and when he knew the morning had passed by, he would sooner have had death than life, and he fretted greatly. And Etain came in then, and he told her what had happened him. And she said: "Come to-morrow to the same place." But the same thing happened the next day. And when it happened on the third day, and the same man came to meet Etain, she said to him: "It is not you at all I come to meet here, and why is it that you come to meet me? And as to him I came to meet," she said, "indeed it is not for gain or through lightness I bade him come to me, but to heal him of the sickness he is lying under for my sake." Then the man said: "It would be more fitting for you to come to meet me than any other one. For in the time long ago," he said, "I was your first husband, and your first man." "What is it you are saying," she said, "and who are you yourself?" "It is easy to tell that," he said; "I am Midhir of Bri Leith." "And what parted us if I was your wife?" said Etain. "It was through Fuamach's sharp jealousy and through the spells of Bresal Etarlaim, the Druid, we were parted. And will you come away with me now?" he said. But Etain said: "It is not for a man whose kindred is unknown I will give up the High King of Ireland." And Midhir said: "Surely it was I myself put that great desire for you on Ailell, and it was I hindered him from going to meet you, the way you might keep your good name." And when she went back to Ailell's house, she found his sickness was gone from him, and his desire. And she told him all that had happened, and he said: "It has turned out well for us both: I am well of my sickness and your good name is not lessened." "We give thanks to our gods for that," said Etain, "for we are well pleased to have it so." And just at that time Eochaid came back from his journey, and they told him the whole story, and he was thankful to his wife for the kindness she had showed to Ailell. It was a good while after that, there was a great fair held at Teamhair, and Etain was out on the green looking at the games and the races. And she saw a rider coming towards her, but no one could see him but herself; and when he came near she saw he had the same appearance as the man that came and spoke with her and her young girls the time they were out in the sea at Inver Cechmaine. And when he came up to her he began to sing words to her that no one could hear but herself. And it is what he said: "O beautiful woman, will you come with me to the wonderful country that is mine? It is pleasant to be looking at the people there, beautiful people without any blemish; their hair is of the colour of the flag-flower, their fair body is as white as snow, the colour of the foxglove is on every cheek. The young never grow old there; the fields and the flowers are as pleasant to be looking at as the blackbird's eggs; warm, sweet streams of mead and of wine flow through that country; there is no care and no sorrow on any person; we see others, but we ourselves are not seen. "Though the plains of Ireland are beautiful, it is little you would think of them after our great plain; though the ale of Ireland is heady, the ale of the great country is still more heady. O beautiful woman, if you come to my proud people it is the flesh of pigs newly killed I will give you for food; it is ale and new milk I will give you for drink; it is feasting you will have with me there; it is a crown of gold you will have upon your hair, O beautiful woman! "And will you come there with me, Etain?" he said. But Etain said she would not leave Eochaid the High King. "Will you come if Eochaid gives you leave?" Midhir said then. "I will do that," said Etain. One day, after that time, Eochaid the High King was looking out from his palace at Teamhair, and he saw a strange man coming across the plain. Yellow hair he had, and eyes blue and shining like the flame of a candle, and a purple dress on him, and in his hand a five-pronged spear and a shield having gold knobs on it. He came up to the king, and the king bade him welcome. "Who are you yourself?" he said; "and what are you come for, for you are a stranger to me?" "If I am a stranger to you, you are no stranger to me, for I have known you this long time," said the strange man. "What is your name?" said the king. "It is nothing very great," said he; "I am called Midhir of Bri Leith." "What is it brings you here?" said Eochaid. "I am come to play a game of chess with you," said the stranger. "Are you a good player?" said the king. "A trial will tell you that," said Midhir. "The chessboard is in the queen's house, and she is in her sleep at this time," said Eochaid. "That is no matter," said Midhir, "for I have with me a chess-board as good as your own." And with that he brought out his chessboard, and it made of silver, and precious stones shining in every corner of it. And then he brought out the chessmen, and they made of gold, from a bag that was of shining gold threads. "Let us play now," said Midhir. "I will not play without a stake," said the king. "What stake shall We play for?" said Midhir. "We can settle that after the game is over," said the king. They played together then, and Midhir was beaten, and it is what the king asked of him, fifty brown horses to be given to him. And then they played the second time, and Midhir was beaten again, and this time the king gave him four hard things to do: to make a road over Moin Lamraide, and to clear Midhe of stones, and to cover the district of Tethra with rushes, and the district of Darbrech with trees. So Midhir brought his people from Bri Leith to do those things, and it is bard work they had doing them. And Eochaid used to be out watching them, and he took notice that when the men of the Sidhe yoked their oxen, it was by the neck and the shoulder they used to yoke them, and not by the forehead and the head. And it was after Eochaid taught his people to yoke them that way, he was given the name of Eochaid Airem, that is, of the Plough. And when all was done, Midhir came to Eochaid again, looking thin and wasted enough with the dint of the hard work he had been doing, and he asked Eochaid to play the third game with him. Eochaid agreed, and it was settled as before, the stake to be settled by the winner. It was Midhir won the game that time, and when the king asked him what he wanted, "It is Etain, your wife, I want," said he. "I will not give her to you," said the king. "All I will ask then," said Midhir, "is to put my arms about her and to kiss her once." "You may do that," said the king, "if you will wait to the end of a month." So Midhir agreed to that, and went away for that time. At the end of the month he came back again, and stood in the great hall at Teamhair, and no one had ever seen him look so comely as he did that night. And Eochaid had all his best fighting men gathered in the hall, and he shut all the doors of the palace when he saw Midhir come in, for fear he would try to bring away Etain by force. "I am come to be paid what is due to me," said Midhir. "I have not been thinking of it up to this time," said Eochaid, and there was anger on him. "You promised me Etain, your wife," said Midhir. The redness of shame came on Etain when she heard that, but Midhir said: "Let there be no shame on you, Etain, for it is through the length of a year I have been asking your love, and I have offered you every sort of treasure and riches, and you refused to come to me till such a time as your husband would give you leave." "It is true I said that," said Etain, "I will go if Eochaid gives me up to you." "I will not give you up," said Eochaid; "I will let him do no more than put his arms about you in this place, as was promised him." "I will do that," said Midhir. With that he took his sword in his left hand, and he took Etain in his right arm and kissed her. All the armed men in the house made a rush at him then, but he rose up through the roof bringing Etain with him, and when they rushed out of the house to follow him, all they could see was two swans high up in the air, linked together by a chain of gold. There was great anger on Eochaid then, and he went and searched all through Ireland, but there were no tidings of them to be had, for they were in the houses of the Sidhe. It was to the Brugh of Angus on the Boinn they went first, and after they had stopped there a while they went to a hill of the Sidhe in Connacht. And there was a serving-maid with Etain at that time, Cruachan Croderg her name was, and she said to Midhir: "Is this your own place we are in?" "It is not," said Midhir; "my own place is nearer to the rising of the sun." She was not well pleased to stop there when she heard that, and Midhir said to quiet her: "It is your own name will be put on this place from this out." And the hill was called the Hill of Cruachan from that time. Then they went to Bri Leith; and Etain's daughter Esa came to them there, and she brought a hundred of every sort of cattle with her, and Midhir fostered her for seven years. And all through that time Eochaid the High King was making a search for them. But at last Codal of the Withered Breast took four rods of yew and wrote Oghams on them, and through them and through his enchantments he found out that Etain was with Midhir in Bri Leith. So Eochaid went there, and made an attack on the place, and he was for nine years besieging it, and Midhir was driving him away. And then his people began digging through the hill; and when they were getting near to where Etain was, Midhir sent three times twenty beautiful women, having all of them the appearance of Etain, and he bade the king choose her out from among them. And the first he chose was his own daughter Esa. But then Etain called to him, and he knew her, and he brought her home to Teamhair. And Eochaid gave his daughter Esa her choice of a place for herself. And she chose it, and made a rath there, that got the name of Rath Esa. And from it she could see three notable places, the Hill of the Sidhe in Broga, and the Hill of the Hostages in Teamhair, and Dun Crimthain on Beinn Edair. But there was great anger on Midhir and his people because of their hill being attacked and dug into. And it was in revenge for that insult they brought Conaire, High King of Ireland, that was grandson of Eochaid and of Etain, to his death afterwards at Da Derga's Inn. CHAPTER VIII. MANANNAN Now as to Manannan the Proud, son of Lir, after he had made places for the rest of the Tuatha de Danaan to live in, he went away out of Ireland himself. And some said he was dead, and that he got his death by Uillenn Faebarderg, of the Red Edge, in battle. And it is what they said, that the battle was fought at Magh Cuilenn, and that Manannan was buried standing on his feet, and no sooner was he buried than a great lake burst up under his feet in the place that was a red bog till that time. And the lake got the name of Loch Orbson, from one of the names of Manannan. And it was said that red Badb was glad and many women were sorry at that battle. But he had many places of living, and he was often heard of in Ireland after. It was he sent a messenger to Etain, mother of Conaire the High King, the time she was hidden in the cowherd's house. And it was he brought up Deirdre's children in Emhain of the Apple Trees, and it was said of that place, "a house of peace is the hill of the Sidhe of Emhain." And it was he taught Diarmuid of the Fianna the use of weapons, and it was he taught Cuchulain the use of the Gae Bulg, and some say it was he was Deirdre's father, and that he brought Conchubar, king of Ulster, to the place she was hidden, and he running with the appearance of a hare before the hounds of the men of Ulster to bring them there. And it is what they say, that the time Conchubar had brought the sons of Usnach to Emain Macha, and could not come at them to kill them because of their bravery, it was to Manannan he went for help. And Manannan said he would give him no help, for he had told him at the time he brought Deirdre away that she would be the cause of the breaking up of his kingdom, and he took her away in spite of him. But Conchubar asked him to put blindness for a while on the sons of Usnach, or the whole army would be destroyed with their blows. So after a while he consented to that. And when the sons of Usnach came out again against the army of Ulster, the blindness came on them, and it was at one another they struck, not seeing who was near them, and it was by one another's hands they fell. But more say Manannan had no hand in it, and that it was Cathbad, the Druid, put a sea about them and brought them to their death by his enchantments. And some say Culain, the Smith, that gave his name to Cuchulain afterwards, was Manannan himself, for he had many shapes. Anyway, before Culain came to Ulster, he was living in the Island of Falga, that was one of Manannan's places. And one time before Conchubar came into the kingdom, he went to ask advice of a Druid, and the Druid bade him to go to the Island of Falga and to ask Culain, the smith he would find there, to make arms for him. So Conchubar did so, and the smith promised to make a sword and spear and shield for him. And while he was working at them Conchubar went out one morning early to walk on the strand, and there he saw a sea-woman asleep on the shore. And he put bonds on her in her sleep, the way she would not make her escape. But when she awoke and saw what had happened, she asked him to set her free. "And I am Tiabhal," she said, "one of the queens of the sea. And bid Culain," she said, "that is making your shield for you, to put my likeness on it and my name about it. And whenever you will go into a battle with that shield the strength of your enemies will lessen, and your own strength and the strength of your people will increase." So Conchubar let her go, and bade the smith do as she had told him. And when he went back to Ireland he got the victory wherever he brought that shield. And he sent for Culain then, and offered him a place on the plains of Muirthemne. And whether he was or was not Manannan, it is likely he gave Cuchulain good teaching the time he stopped with him there after killing his great dog. Manannan had good hounds one time, but they went hunting after a pig that was destroying the whole country, and making a desert of it. And they followed it till they came to a lake, and there it turned on them, and no hound of them escaped alive, but they were all drowned or maimed. And the pig made for an island then, that got the name of Muc-inis, the Pigs Island afterwards; and the lake got the name of Loch Conn, the Lake of the Hounds. And it was through Manannan the wave of Tuaig, one of the three great waves of Ireland, got its name, and this is the way that happened. There was a young girl of the name of Tuag, a fosterling of Conaire the High King, was reared in Teamhair, and a great company of the daughters of the kings of Ireland were put about her to protect her, the way she would be kept for a king's asking. But Manannan sent Fer Ferdiad, of the Tuatha de Danaan, that was a pupil of his own and a Druid, in the shape of a woman of his own household, and he went where Tuag was, and sang a sleep-spell over her, and brought her away to Inver Glas. And there he laid her down while he went looking for a boat, that he might bring her away in her sleep to the Land of the Ever-Living Women. But a wave of the flood-tide came over the girl, and she was drowned, and Manannan killed Fer Ferdiad in his anger. And one time Manannan's cows came up out of the sea at Baile Cronin, three of them, a red, and a white, and a black, and the people that were there saw them standing on the strand for a while, as if thinking, and then they all walked up together, side by side, from the strand. And at that time there were no roads in Ireland, and there was great wonder on the people when they saw a good wide road ready before the three cows to walk on. And when they got about a mile from the sea they parted; the white cow went to the north-west, towards Luimnech, and the red cow went to the south-west, and on round the coast of Ireland, and the black cow went to the north-east, towards Lis Mor, in the district of Portlairge, and a road opened before each of them, that is to be seen to this day. And some say it was Manannan went to Finn and the Fianna in the form of the Gilla Decair, the Bad Servant, and brought them away to Land-under-Wave. Anyway, he used often to go hunting with them on Cnoc Aine, and sometimes he came to their help. CHAPTER IX. MANANNAN AT PLAY And it was he went playing tricks through Ireland a long time after that again, the time he got the name of O'Donnell's Kern. And it is the way it happened, Aodh Dubh O'Donnell was holding a feast one time in Bel-atha Senaig, and his people were boasting of the goodness of his house and of his musicians. And while they were talking, they saw a clown coming towards them, old striped clothes he had, and puddle water splashing in his shoes, and his sword sticking out naked behind him, and his ears through the old cloak that was over his head, and in his hand he had three spears of hollywood scorched and blackened. He wished O'Donnell good health, and O'Donnell did the same to him, and asked where did he come from. "It is where I am," he said, "I slept last night at Dun Monaidhe, of the King of Alban; I am a day in Ile, a day in Cionn-tire, a day in Rachlainn, a day in the Watchman's Seat in Slieve Fuad; a pleasant, rambling, wandering man I am, and it is with yourself I am now, O'Donnell," he said. "Let the gate-keeper be brought to me," said O'Donnell. And when the gate-keeper came, he asked was it he let in this man, and the gate-keeper said he did not, and that he never saw him before. "Let him off, O'Donnell," said the stranger, "for it was as easy for me to come in, as it will be to me to go out again." There was wonder on them all then, any man to have come into the house without passing the gate. The musicians began playing their music then, and all the best musicians of the country were there at the time, and they played very sweet tunes on their harps. But the strange man called out: "By my word, O'Donnell, there was never a noise of hammers beating on iron in any bad place was so bad to listen to as this noise your people are making." With that he took a harp, and he made music that would put women in their pains and wounded men after a battle into a sweet sleep, and it is what O'Donnell said: "Since I first heard talk of the music of the Sidhe that is played in the hills and under the earth below us, I never heard better music than your own. And it is a very sweet player you are," he said. "One day I am sweet, another day I am sour," said the clown. Then O'Donnell bade his people to bring him up to sit near himself. "I have no mind to do that," he said; "I would sooner be as I am, an ugly clown, making sport for high-up people." Then O'Donnell sent him down clothes, a hat and a striped shirt and a coat, but he would not have them. "I have no mind," he said, "to let high-up people be making a boast of giving them to me." They were afraid then he might go from them, and they put twenty armed horsemen and twenty men on foot to hold him back from leaving the house, and as many more outside at the gate, for they knew him not to be a man of this world. "What are these men for?" said he. "They are to keep you here," said O'Donnell. "By my word, it is not with you I will be eating my supper to-morrow," he said, "but at Cnoc Aine, where Seaghan, Son of the Earl is, in Desmumain." "If I find you giving one stir out of yourself, between this and morning, I will knock you into a round lump there on the ground," said O'Donnell. But at that the stranger took up the harp again, and he made the same sweet music as before. And when they were all listening to him, he called out to the men outside: "Here I am coming, and watch me well now or you will lose me." When the men that were watching the gate heard that, they lifted up their axes to strike at him, but in their haste it was at one another they struck, till they were all lying stretched in blood. Then the clown said to the gate-keeper: "Let you ask twenty cows and a hundred of free land of O'Donnell as a fee for bringing his people back to life. And take this herb," he said, "and rub it in the mouth of each man of them, and he will rise up whole and well again." So the gate-keeper did that, and he got the cows and the land from O'Donnell, and he brought all the people to life again. Now at that time Seaghan, Son of the Earl, was holding a gathering on the green in front of his dun, and he saw the same man coming towards him, and dressed in the same way, and the water splashing in his shoes. But when he asked who was he, he gave himself the name of a very learned man, Duartane O'Duartane, and he said it was by Ess Ruadh he was come, and by Ceiscorainn and from that to Corrslieve, and to Magh Lorg of the Dagda, and into the district of Hy'Conaill Gabhra, "till I came to yourself," he said, "by Cruachan of Magh Ai." So they brought him into the house, and gave him wine for drinking and water for washing his feet, and he slept till the rising of the sun on the morrow. And at that time Seaghan, Son of the Earl, came to visit him, and he said: "It is a long sleep you had, and there is no wonder in that, and your journey so long yesterday. But I often heard of your learning in books and of your skill on the harp, and I would like to hear you this morning," he said. "I am good in those arts indeed," said the stranger. So they brought him a book, but he could not read a word of it, and then they brought him a harp, and he could not play any tune. "It is likely your reading and your music are gone from you," said Seaghan; and he made a little rann on him, saying it was a strange thing Duartane O'Duartane that had such a great name not to be able to read a line of a book, or even to remember one. But when the stranger heard how he was being mocked at, he took up the book, and read from the top to the bottom of the page very well and in a sweet-sounding voice. And after that he took the harp and played and sang the same way he did at O'Donnell's house the day before. "It is a very sweet man of learning you are," said Seaghan. "One day I am sweet, another day I am sour," said the stranger. They walked out together then on Cnoc Aine, but while they were talking there, the stranger was gone all of a minute, and Seaghan, Son of the Earl, could not see where he went. And after that he went on, and he reached Sligach just at the time O'Conchubar was setting out with the men of Connacht to avenge the Connacht hag's basket on the hag of Munster. And this time he gave himself the name of the Gilla Decair, the Bad Servant. And he joined with the men of Connacht, and they went over the Sionnan westward into Munster, and there they hunted and drove every creature that could be made travel, cattle and horses and flocks, into one place, till they got the hornless bull of the Munster hag and her two speckled cows, and O'Conchubar brought them away to give to the Connacht hag in satisfaction for her basket. But the men of Munster made an attack on them as they were going back; and the Gilla Decair asked O'Conchubar would he sooner have the cows driven, or have the Munster men checked, and he said he would sooner have the Munster men checked. So the Gilla Decair turned on them, and with his bow and twenty-four arrows he kept them back till O'Conchubar and his people were safe out of their reach in Connacht. But he took some offence then, on account of O'Conchubar taking the first drink himself when they came to his house, and not giving it to him, that had done so much, and he took his leave and went from them on the moment. After that he went to where Tadg O'Cealaigh was, and having his old striped clothes and his old shoes as before. And when they asked him what art he had, he said: "I am good at tricks. And if you will give me five marks I will show you a trick," he said. "I will give that," said Tadg. With that the stranger put three rushes on the palm of his hand. "I will blow away the middle rush now," he said, "and the other two will stop as they are." So they told him to do that, and he put the tops of two of his fingers on the two outside rushes, and blew the middle one away. "There is a trick now for you, Tadg O'Cealaigh," he said then. "By my word, that is not a bad trick," said O'Cealaigh. But one of his men said: "That there may be no good luck with him that did it. And give me the half of that money now, Tadg," he said, "and I will do the same trick for you myself." "I will give you the half of what I got if you will do it," said the stranger. So the other put the rushes on his hand, but if he did, when he tried to do the trick, his two finger-tips went through the palm of his hand. "Ob-Ob-Ob!" said the stranger, "that is not the way I did the trick. But as you have lost the money," he said, "I will heal you again." "I could do another trick for you," he said; "I could wag the ear on one side of my head and the ear on the other side would stay still." "Do it then," said O'Cealaigh. So the man of tricks took hold of one of his ears and wagged it up and down. "That is a good trick indeed," said O'Cealaigh. "I will show you another one now," he said. With that he took from his bag a thread of silk, and gave a cast of it up into the air, that it was made fast to a cloud. And then he took a hare out of the same bag, and it ran up the thread; and then took out a little dog and laid it on after the hare, and it followed yelping on its track; and after that again he brought out a little serving-boy and bade him to follow dog and hare up the thread. Then out of another bag he had with him he brought out a beautiful, well-dressed young woman, and bade her to follow after the hound and the boy, and to take care and not let the hare be torn by the dog. She went up then quickly after them, and it was a delight to Tadg O'Cealaigh to be looking at them and to be listening to the sound of the hunt going on in the air. All was quiet then for a long time, and then the man of tricks said: "I am afraid there is some bad work going on up there." "What is that?" said O'Cealaigh. "I am thinking," said he, "the hound might be eating the hare, and the serving-boy courting the girl." "It is likely enough they are," said O'Cealaigh. With that the stranger drew in the thread, and it is what he found, the boy making love to the girl and the hound chewing the bones of the hare. There was great anger on the man of tricks when he saw that, and he took his sword and struck the head off the boy. "I do not like a thing of that sort to be done in my presence," said Tadg O'Cealaigh. "If it did not please you, I can set all right again," said the stranger. And with that he took up the head and made a cast of it at the body, and it joined to it, and the young man stood up, but if he did his face was turned backwards. "It would be better for him to be dead than to be living like that," said O'Cealaigh. When the man of tricks heard that, he took hold of the boy and twisted his head straight, and he was as well as before. And with that the man of tricks vanished, and no one saw where was he gone. That is the way Manannan used to be going round Ireland, doing tricks and wonders. And no one could keep him in any place, and if he was put on a gallows itself, he would be found safe in the house after, and some other man on the gallows in his place. But he did no harm, and those that would be put to death by him, he would bring them to life again with a herb out of his bag. And all the food he would use would be a vessel of sour milk and a few crab-apples. And there never was any music sweeter than the music he used to be playing. CHAPTER X. HIS CALL TO BRAN And there were some that went to Manannan's country beyond the sea, and that gave an account of it afterwards. One time Bran, son of Febal, was out by himself near his dun, and he heard music behind him. And it kept always after him, and at last he fell asleep with the sweetness of the sound. And when he awoke from his sleep he saw beside him a branch of silver, and it having white blossoms, and the whiteness of the silver was the same as the whiteness of the blossoms. And he brought the branch in his hand into the royal house, and when all his people were with him they saw a woman with strange clothing standing in the house. And she began to make a song for Bran, and all the people were looking at her and listening to her, and it is what she said: "I bring a branch of the apple-tree from Emhain, from the far island around which are the shining horses of the Son of Lir. A delight of the eyes is the plain where the hosts hold their games; curragh racing against chariot in the White Silver Plain to the south. "There are feet of white bronze under it, shining through life and time; a comely level land through the length of the world's age, and many blossoms falling on it. "There is an old tree there with blossoms, and birds calling from among them; every colour is shining there, delight is common, and music, in the Gentle-Voiced Plain, in the Silver Cloud Plain to the south. "Keening is not used, or treachery, in the tilled familiar land; there is nothing hard or rough, but sweet music striking on the ear. "To be without grief, without sorrow, without death, without any sickness, without weakness; that is the sign of Emhain; it is not common wonder that is. "There is nothing to liken its mists to, the sea washes the wave against the land; brightness falls from its hair. "There are riches, there are treasures of every colour in the Gentle Land, the Bountiful Land. Sweet music to be listening to; the best of wine to drink. "Golden chariots in the Plain of the Sea, rising up to the sun with the tide; silver chariots and bronze chariots on the Plain of Sports. "Gold-yellow horses on the strand, and crimson horses, and others with wool on their backs, blue like the colour of the sky. "It is a day of lasting weather, silver is dropping on the land; a pure white cliff on the edge of the sea, getting its warmth from the sun. "The host race over the Plain of Sports; it is beautiful and not weak their game is; death or the ebbing of the tide will not come to them in the Many-Coloured Land. "There will come at sunrise a fair man, lighting up the level lands; he rides upon the plain that is beaten by the waves, he stirs the sea till it is like blood. "An army will come over the clear sea, rowing to the stone that is in sight, that a hundred sounds of music come from. "It sings a song to the army; it is not sad through the length of time; it increases music with hundreds singing together; they do not look for death or the ebb-tide. "There are three times fifty far islands in the ocean to the west of us, and every one of them twice or three times more than Ireland. "It is not to all of you I am speaking, though I have made all these wonders known. Let Bran listen from the crowd of the world to all the wisdom that has been told him. "Do not fall upon a bed of sloth; do not be overcome by drunkenness; set out on your voyage over the clear sea, and you may chance to come to the Land of Women." With that the woman went from them, and they did not know where she went. And she brought away her branch with her, for it leaped into her hand from Bran's hand, and he had not the strength to hold it. Then on the morrow Bran set out upon the sea, and three companies of nine along with him; and one of his foster-brothers and comrades was set over each company of nine. And when they had been rowing for two days and two nights, they saw a man coming towards them in a chariot, over the sea. And the man made himself known to them, and he said that he was Manannan, son of Lir. And then Manannan spoke to him in a song, and it is what he said: "It is what Bran thinks, he is going in his curragh over the wonderful, beautiful clear sea; but to me, from far off in my chariot, it is a flowery plain he is riding on. "What is a clear sea to the good boat Bran is in, is a happy plain with many flowers to me in my two-wheeled chariot. "It is what Bran sees, many waves beating across the clear sea; it is what I myself see, red flowers without any fault. "The sea-horses are bright in summer-time, as far as Bran's eyes can reach; there is a wood of beautiful acorns under the head of your little boat. "A wood with blossom and with fruit, that has the smell of wine; a wood without fault, without withering, with leaves of the colour of gold. "Let Bran row on steadily, it is not far to the Land of Women; before the setting of the sun you will reach Emhain, of many-coloured hospitality." With that Bran went from him; and after a while he saw an island, and he rowed around it, and there was a crowd on it, wondering at them, and laughing; and they were all looking at Bran and at his people, but they would not stop to talk with them, but went on giving out gusts of laughter. Bran put one of his men on the island then, but he joined with the others, and began to stare the same way as the men of the island. And Bran went on rowing round about the island; and whenever they went past his own man, his comrades would speak to him, but he would not answer them, but would only stare and wonder at them. So they went away and left him on that island that is called the Island of Joy. It was not long after that they reached to the Land of Women. And they saw the chief one of the women at the landing-place, and it is what she said: "Come hither to land, Bran, son of Febal, it is welcome your coming is." But Bran did not dare to go on shore. Then the woman threw a ball of thread straight to him, and he caught it in his hand, and it held fast to his palm, and the woman kept the thread in her own hand, and she pulled the curragh to the landing-place. On that they went into a grand house, where there was a bed for every couple, three times nine beds. And the food that was put on every dish never came to an end, and they had every sort of food and of drink they wished for. And it seemed to them they were only a year there when the desire of home took hold on one of them, Nechtan, son of Collbrain, and his kinsmen were begging and praying Bran to go back with him to Ireland. The woman said there would be repentance on them if they went; but in spite of that they set out in the end. And the woman said to them not to touch the land when they would come to Ireland, and she bade them to visit and to bring with them the man they left in the Island of Joy. So they went on towards Ireland till they came to a place called Srub Bruin. And there were people on the strand that asked them who they were that were coming over the sea. And Bran said: "I am Bran, son of Febal." But the people said: "We know of no such man, though the voyage of Bran is in our very old stories." Then Nechtan, son of Collbrain, made a leap out of the curragh, and no sooner did he touch the shore of Ireland than he was a heap of ashes, the same as if he had been in the earth through hundreds of years. And then Bran told the whole story of his wanderings to the people, from the beginning. And after that he bade them farewell, and his wanderings from that time are not known. CHAPTER XI. HIS THREE CALLS TO CORMAC And another that went to Manannan's country was Cormac, grandson of Conn, King of Teamhair, and this is the way it happened. He was by himself in Teamhair one time, and he saw an armed man coming towards him, quiet, with high looks, and having grey hair; a shirt ribbed with gold thread next his skin, broad shoes of white bronze between his feet and the ground, a shining branch, having nine apples of red gold, on his shoulder. And it is delightful the sound of that branch was, and no one on earth would keep in mind any want, or trouble, or tiredness, when that branch was shaken for him; and whatever trouble there might be on him, he would forget it at the sound. Then Cormac and the armed man saluted one another, and Cormac asked where did he come from. "I come," he said, "from a country where there is nothing but truth, and where there is neither age nor withering away, nor heaviness, nor sadness, nor jealousy nor envy, nor pride." "That is not so with us," said Cormac, "and I would be well pleased to have your friendship," he said. "I am well pleased to give it," said the stranger. "Give me your branch along with it," said Cormac. "I will give it," said the stranger, "if you will give me the three gifts I ask in return." "I will give them to you indeed," said Cormac. Then the strange man left the branch and went away, and Cormac did not know where was he gone to. He went back then into the royal house, and there was wonder on all the people when they saw the branch. And he shook it at them, and it put them all asleep from that day to the same time on the morrow. At the end of a year the strange man came back again, and he asked for the first of his three requests. "You will get it," said Cormac. "I will take your daughter, Aille, to-day," said the stranger. So he brought away the girl with him, and the women of Ireland gave three loud cries after the king's daughter. But Cormac shook the branch at them, until it put away sorrow from them, and put them all into their sleep. That day month the stranger came again, and he brought Cormac's son, Carpre Lifecar, away with him. There was crying and lamenting without end in Teamhair after the boy, and on that night no one ate or slept, and they were all under grief and very downhearted. But when Cormac shook the branch their sorrow went from them. Then the stranger came the third time, and Cormac asked him what did he want. "It is your wife, Ethne, I am asking this time," he said. And he went away then, bringing Ethne, the queen, along with him. But Cormac would not bear that, and he went after them, and all his people were following him. But in the middle of the Plain of the Wall, a thick mist came on them, and when it was gone, Cormac found himself alone on a great plain. And he saw a great dun in the middle of the plain, with a wall of bronze around it, and in the dun a house of white silver, and it half thatched with the white wings of birds. And there was a great troop of the Riders of the Sidhe all about the house, and their arms full of white birds' wings for thatching. But as soon as they would put on the thatch, a blast of wind would come and carry it away again. Then he saw a man kindling a fire, and he used to throw a thick oak-tree upon it. And when he would come back with a second tree, the first one would be burned out. "I will be looking at you no longer," Cormac said then, "for there is no one here to tell me your story, and I think I could find good sense in your meanings if I understood them," he said. Then he went on to where there was another dun, very large and royal, and another wall of bronze around it, and four houses within it. And he went in and saw a great king's house, having beams of bronze and walls of silver, and its thatch of the wings of white birds. And then he saw on the green a shining well, and five streams flowing from it, and the armies drinking water in turn, and the nine lasting purple hazels of Buan growing over it. And they were dropping their nuts into the water, and the five salmon would catch them and send their husks floating down the streams. And the sound of the flowing of those streams is sweeter than any music that men sing. Then he went into the palace, and he found there waiting for him a man and a woman, very tall, and having clothes of many colours. The man was beautiful as to shape, and his face wonderful to look at; and as to the young woman that was with him, she was the loveliest of all the women of the world, and she having yellow hair and a golden helmet. And there was a bath there, and heated stones going in and out of the water of themselves, and Cormac bathed himself in it. "Rise up, man of the house," the woman said after that, "for this is a comely traveller is come to us; and if you have one kind of food or meat better than another, let it be brought in." The man rose up then and he said: "I have but seven pigs, but I could feed the whole world with them, for the pig that is killed and eaten to-day, you will find it alive again to-morrow." Another man came into the house then, having an axe in his right hand, and a log in his left hand, and a pig behind him. "It is time to make ready," said the man of the house, "for we have a high guest with us to-day." Then the man struck the pig and killed it, and he cut the logs and made a fire and put the pig on it in a cauldron. "It is time for you to turn it," said the master of the house after a while. "There would be no use doing that," said the man, "for never and never will the pig be boiled until a truth is told for every quarter of it." "Then let you tell yours first," said the master of the house. "One day," said the man, "I found another man's cows in my land, and I brought them with me into a cattle pound. The owner of the cows followed me, and he said he would give me a reward to let the cows go free. So I gave them back to him, and he gave me an axe, and when a pig is to be killed, it is with the axe it is killed, and the log is cut with it, and there is enough wood to boil the pig, and enough for the palace besides. And that is not all, for the log is found whole again in the morning. And from that time till now, that is the way they are." "It is true indeed that story is," said the man of the house. They turned the pig in the cauldron then, and but one quarter of it was found to be cooked. "Let us tell another true story," they said. "I will tell one," said the master of the house. "Ploughing time had come, and when we had a mind to plough that field outside, it is the way we found it, ploughed, and harrowed, and sowed with wheat. When we had a mind to reap it, the wheat was found in the haggard, all in one thatched rick. We have been using it from that day to this, and it is no bigger and no less." Then they turned the pig, and another quarter was found to be ready. "It is my turn now," said the woman. "I have seven cows," she said, "and seven sheep. And the milk of the seven cows would satisfy the whole of the men of the world, if they were in the plain drinking it, and it is enough for all the people of the Land of Promise, and it is from the wool of the seven sheep all the clothes they wear are made." And at that story the third quarter of the pig was boiled. "If these stories are true," said Cormac to the man of the house, "you are Manannan, and this is Manannan's wife; for no one on the whole ridge of the world owns these treasures but himself. It was to the Land of Promise he went to look for that woman, and he got those seven cows with her." They said to Cormac that it was his turn now. So Cormac told them how his wife, and his son, and his daughter, had been brought away from him, and how he himself had followed them till he came to that place. And with that the whole pig was boiled, and they cut it up, and Cormac's share was put before him. "I never used a meal yet," said he, "having two persons only in my company." The man of the house began singing to him then, and put him asleep. And when he awoke, he saw fifty armed men, and his son, and his wife, and his daughter, along with them. There was great gladness and courage on him then, and ale and food were given out to them all. And there was a gold cup put in the hand of the master of the house, and Cormac was wondering at it, for the number of the shapes on it, and for the strangeness of the work. "There is a stranger thing yet about it," the man said; "let three lying words be spoken under it, and it will break into three, and then let three true words be spoken under it, and it will be as good as before." So he said three lying words under it, and it broke in three pieces. "It is best to speak truth now under it," he said, "and to mend it. And I give my word, Cormac," he said, "that until to-day neither your wife or your daughter has seen the face of a man since they were brought away from you out of Teamhair, and that your son has never seen the face of a woman." And with that the cup was whole again on the moment. "Bring away your wife and your children with you now," he said, "and this cup along with them, the way you will have it for judging between truth and untruth. And I will leave the branch with you for music and delight, but on the day of your death they will be taken from you again." "And I myself," he said, "am Manannan, son of Lir, King of the Land of Promise, and I brought you here by enchantments that you might be with me to-night in friendship. "And the Riders you saw thatching the house," he said, "are the men of art and poets, and all that look for a fortune in Ireland, putting together cattle and riches. For when they go out, all that they leave in their houses goes to nothing, and so they go on for ever. "And the man you saw kindling the fire," he said, "is a young lord that is more liberal than he can afford, and every one else is served while he is getting the feast ready, and every one else profiting by it. "And the well you saw is the Well of Knowledge, and the streams are the five streams through which all knowledge goes. And no one will have knowledge who does not drink a draught out of the well itself or out of the streams. And the people of many arts are those who drink from them all." And on the morning of the morrow, when Cormac rose up, he found himself on the green of Teamhair, and his wife, and his son, and his daughter, along with him, and he having his branch and his cup. And it was given the name of Cormac's Cup, and it used to judge between truth and falsehood among the Gael. But it was not left in Ireland after the night of Cormac's death, as Manannan had foretold him. CHAPTER XII. CLIODNA'S WAVE And it was in the time of the Fianna of Ireland that Ciabhan of the Curling Hair, the king of Ulster's son, went to Manannan's country. Ciabhan now was the most beautiful of the young men of the world at that time, and he was as far beyond all other kings' sons as the moon is beyond the stars. And Finn liked him well, but the rest of the Fianna got to be tired of him because there was not a woman of their women, wed or unwed, but gave him her love. And Finn had to send him away at the last, for he was in dread of the men of the Fianna because of the greatness of their jealousy. So Ciabhan went on till he came to the Strand of the Cairn, that is called now the Strand of the Strong Man, between Dun Sobairce and the sea. And there he saw a curragh, and it having a narrow stern of copper. And Ciabhan got into the curragh, and his people said: "Is it to leave Ireland you have a mind, Ciabhan?" "It is indeed," he said, "for in Ireland I get neither shelter or protection." He bade farewell to his people then, and he left them very sorrowful after him, for to part with him was like the parting of life from the body. And Ciabhan went on in the curragh, and great white shouting waves rose up about him, every one of them the size of a mountain; and the beautiful speckled salmon that are used to stop in the sand and the shingle rose up to the sides of the curragh, till great dread came on Ciabhan, and he said: "By my word, if it was on land I was I could make a better fight for myself" And he was in this danger till he saw a rider coming towards him on a dark grey horse having a golden bridle, and he would be under the sea for the length of nine waves, and he would rise with the tenth wave, and no wet on him at all. And he said: "What reward would you give to whoever would bring you out of this great danger?" "Is there anything in my hand worth offering you?" said Ciabhan. "There is," said the rider, "that you would give your service to whoever would give you his help." Ciabhan agreed to that, and he put his hand into the rider's hand. With that the rider drew him on to the horse, and the curragh came on beside them till they reached to the shore of Tir Tairngaire, the Land of Promise. They got off the horse there, and came to Loch Luchra, the Lake of the Dwarfs, and to Manannan's city, and a feast was after being made ready there, and comely serving-boys were going round with smooth horns, and playing on sweet-sounding harps till the whole house was filled with the music. Then there came in clowns, long-snouted, long-heeled, lean and bald and red, that used to be doing tricks in Manannan's house. And one of these tricks was, a man of them to take nine straight willow rods, and to throw them up to the rafters of the house, and to catch them again as they came down, and he standing on one leg, and having but one hand free. And they thought no one could do that trick but themselves, and they were used to ask strangers to do it, the way they could see them fail. So this night when one of them had done the trick, he came up to Ciabhan, that was beyond all the Men of Dea or the Sons of the Gael that were in the house, in shape and in walk and in name, and he put the nine rods in his hand. And Ciabhan stood up and he did the feat before them all, the same as if he had never learned to do any other thing. Now Gebann, that was a chief Druid in Manannan's country, had a daughter, Cliodna of the Fair Hair, that had never given her love to any man. But when she saw Ciabhan she gave him her love, and she agreed to go away with him on the morrow. And they went down to the landing-place and got into a curragh, and they went on till they came to Teite's Strand in the southern part of Ireland. It was from Teite Brec the Freckled the strand got its name, that went there one time for a wave game, and three times fifty young girls with her, and they were all drowned in that place. And as to Ciabhan, he came on shore, and went looking for deer, as was right, under the thick branches of the wood; and he left the young girl in the boat on the strand. But the people of Manannan's house came after them, having forty ships. And Iuchnu, that was in the curragh with Cliodna, did treachery, and he played music to her till she lay down in the boat and fell asleep. And then a great wave came up on the strand and swept her away. And the wave got its name from Cliodna of the Fair Hair, that will be long remembered. CHAPTER XIII. HIS CALL TO CONNLA And it is likely it was Manannan sent his messenger for Connla of the Red Hair the time he went away out of Ireland, for it is to his country Connla was brought; and this is the way he got the call. It chanced one day he was with his father Conn, King of Teamhair, on the Hill of Uisnach, and he saw a woman having wonderful clothing coming towards him. "Where is it you come from?" he asked her. "I come," she said, "from Tir-nam-Beo, the Land of the Ever-Living Ones, where no death comes. We use feasts that are lasting," she said, "and we do every kind thing without quarrelling, and we are called the people of the Sidhe." "Who are you speaking to, boy?" said Conn to him then, for no one saw the strange woman but only Connla. "He is speaking to a high woman that death or old age will never come to," she said. "I am asking him to come to Magh Mell, the Pleasant Plain where the triumphant king is living, and there he will be a king for ever without sorrow or fret. Come with me, Connla of the Red Hair," she said, "of the fair freckled neck and of the ruddy cheek; come with me, and your body will not wither from its youth and its comeliness for ever." They could all hear the woman's words then, though they could not see her, and it is what Conn said to Coran his Druid: "Help me, Coran, you that sing spells of the great arts. There is an attack made on me that is beyond my wisdom and beyond my power, I never knew so strong an attack since the first day I was a king. There is an unseen figure fighting with me; she is using her strength against me to bring away my beautiful son; the call of a woman is bringing him away from the hands of the king." Then Coran, the Druid, began singing spells against the woman of the Sidhe, the way no one would hear her voice, and Connla could not see her any more. But when she was being driven away by the spells of the Druid, she threw an apple to Connla. And through the length of a month from that time, Connla used no other food nor drink but that apple, for he thought no other food or drink worth the using. And for all he ate of it, the apple grew no smaller, but was whole all the while. And there was great trouble on Connla on account of the woman he had seen. And at the end of a month Connla was at his father's side in Magh Archomnim, and he saw the same woman coming towards him, and it is what she said: "It is a high place indeed Connla has among dying people, and death before him. But the Ever-Living Living Ones," she said, "are asking you to take the sway over the people of Tethra, for they are looking at you every day in the gatherings of your country among your dear friends." When Conn, the king, heard her voice, he said to his people: "Call Coran, the Druid to me, for I hear the sound of the woman's voice again." But on that she said: "O Conn, fighter of a hundred, it is little love and little respect the wonderful tribes of Traig Mor, the Great Strand, have for Druids; and where its law comes, it scatters the spells on their lips." Then Conn looked to his son Connla to see what he would say, and Connla said: "My own people are dearer to me than any other thing, yet sorrow has taken hold of me because of this woman." Then the woman spoke to him again, and it is what she said: "Come now into my shining ship, if you will come to the Plain of Victory. There is another country it would not be worse for you to look for; though the bright sun is going down, we shall reach to that country before night. That is the country that delights the mind of every one that turns to me. There is no living race in it but women and girls only." And when the woman had ended her song, Connla made a leap from his people into the shining boat, and they saw him sailing away from them far off and as if in a mist, as far as their eyes could see. It is away across the sea they went, and they have never come back again, and only the gods know where was it they went. CHAPTER XIV. TADG IN MANANNAN'S ISLANDS And another that went to the Land of the Ever-Living Ones, but that came back again, was Tadg, son of Cian, son of Olioll; and this is the way that happened. It was one time Tadg was going his next heir's round, into the west of Munster, and his two brothers, Airnelach and Eoghan, along with him. And Cathmann, son of Tabarn, that was king of the beautiful country of Fresen that lay to the south-east of the Great Plain, was searching the sea for what he could find just at that time, and nine of his ships with him. And they landed at Beire do Bhunadas, to the west of Munster, and the country had no stir in it, and so they slipped ashore, and no one took notice of them till all were surrounded, both men and cattle. And Tadg's wife Liban, daughter of Conchubar Abratrudh of the Red Brows, and his two brothers, and a great many of the people of Munster, were taken by the foreigners and brought away to the coasts of Fresen. And Cathmann took Liban to be his own wife, and he put hardship on Tadg's two brothers: Eoghan he put to work a common ferry across a channel of the coast, and Airnelach to cut firing and to keep up fires for all the people; and all the food they got was barley seed and muddy water. And as to Tadg himself, it was only by his courage and the use of his sword he made his escape, but there was great grief and discouragement on him, his wife and his brothers to have been brought away. But he had forty of his fighting men left that had each killed a man of the foreigners, and they had brought one in alive. And this man told them news of the country he came from. And when Tadg heard that, he made a plan in his own head, and he gave orders for a curragh to be built that would be fit for a long voyage. Very strong it was, and forty ox-hides on it of hard red leather, that was after being soaked in bark. And it was well fitted with masts, and oars, and pitch, and everything that was wanting. And they put every sort of meat, and drink, and of clothes in it, that would last them through the length of a year. When all was ready, and the curragh out in the tide, Tadg said to his people: "Let us set out now on the high sea, looking for our own people that are away from us this long time." They set out then over the stormy, heavy flood, till at last they saw no land before them or behind them, but only the hillsides of the great sea. And farther on again they heard the singing of a great flock of unknown birds; and pleasant white-bellied salmon were leaping about the curragh on every side, and seals, very big and dark, were coming after them, breaking through the shining wash of the oars; and great whales after them again, so that the young men liked to be looking at them, for they were not used to see the like before. They went on rowing through twenty days and twenty nights, and at the end of that time they got sight of a high land, having a smooth coast. And when they reached it they all landed, and they pulled up the curragh and lit their fires, and food was given out to them, and they were not long making an end of it. They made beds for themselves then on the beautiful green grass, and enjoyed their sleep till the rising of the sun on the morrow. Tadg rose up then and put on his arms, and went out, and thirty of his men along with him, to search the whole island. They went all through it, but they found no living thing on it, man or beast, but only flocks of sheep. And the size of the sheep was past all telling, as big as horses they were, and the whole island was filled with their wool. And there was one great flock beyond all the others, all of very big rams, and one of them was biggest of all, nine horns he had, and he charged on Tadg's chief men, attacking them and butting at them. There was vexation on them then, and they attacked him again, and there was a struggle between them. And at the first the ram broke through five of their shields. But Tadg took his spear that there was no escape from, and made a lucky cast at the ram and killed him. And they brought the ram to the curragh and made it ready for the young men to eat, and they stopped three nights on the island, and every night it was a sheep they had for their food. And they gathered a good share of the wool and put it in the curragh because of the wonder and the beauty of it. And they found the bones of very big men on the island, but whether they died of sickness or were killed by the rams they did not know. They left that island then and went forward till they found two strange islands where there were great flocks of wonderful birds, like blackbirds, and some of them the size of eagles or of cranes, and they red with green heads on them, and the eggs they had were blue and pure crimson. And some of the men began eating the eggs, and on the moment feathers began to grow out on them. But they went bathing after that, and the feathers dropped off them again as quick as they came. It was the foreigner they had with them gave them the course up to this time, for he had been on the same track before. But now they went on through the length of six weeks and never saw land, and he said then, "We are astray on the great ocean that has no boundaries." Then the wind with its sharp voice began to rise, and there was a noise like the tramping of feet in the sea, and it rose up into great mountains hard to climb, and there was great fear on Tadg's people, for they had never seen the like. But he began to stir them up and to rouse them, and he bade them to meet the sea like men. "Do bravery," he said, "young men of Munster, and fight for your lives against the waves that are rising up and coming at the sides of the curragh." Tadg took one side of the curragh then and his men took the other side, and he was able to pull it round against the whole twenty-nine of them, and to bale it out and keep it dry along with that. And after a while they got a fair wind and put up their sail, the way less water came into the curragh, and then the sea went down and lay flat and calm, and there were strange birds of many shapes singing around them in every part. They saw land before them then, with a good coast, and with that courage and gladness came on them. And when they came nearer to the land they found a beautiful inver, a river's mouth, with green hills about it, and the bottom of it sandy and as bright as silver, and red-speckled salmon in it, and pleasant woods with purple tree-tops edging the stream. "It is a beautiful country this is," said Tadg, "and it would be happy for him that would be always in it; and let you pull up the ship now," he said, "and dry it out." A score of them went forward then into the country, and a score stopped to mind the curragh. And for all the cold and discouragement and bad weather they had gone through, they felt no wish at all for food or for fire, but the sweet smell of the crimson branches in the place they were come to satisfied them. They went on through the wood, and after a while they came to an apple garden having red apples in it, and leafy oak-trees, and hazels yellow with nuts. "It is a wonder to me," said Tadg, "to find summer here, and it winter time in our own country." It was a delightful place they were in, but they went on into another wood, very sweet smelling, and round purple berries in it, every one of them bigger than a man's head, and beautiful shining birds eating the berries, strange birds they were, having white bodies and purple heads and golden beaks. And while they were eating the berries they were singing sweet music, that would have put sick men and wounded men into their sleep. Tadg and his men went farther on again till they came to a great smooth flowery plain with a dew of honey over it, and three steep hills on the plain, having a very strong dun on every one of them. And when they got to the nearest hill they found a white-bodied woman, the best of the women of the whole world, and it is what she said: "Your coming is welcome, Tadg, son of Cian, and there will be food and provision for you as you want it." "I am glad of that welcome," said Tadg; "and tell me now, woman of sweet words," he said, "what is that royal dun on the hill, having walls of white marble around it?" "That is the dun of the royal line of the kings of Ireland, from Heremon, son of Miled, to Conn of the Hundred Battles, that was the last to go into it." "What is the name of this country?" Tadg said then. "It is Inislocha, the Lake Island," she said, "and there are two kings over it, Rudrach and Dergcroche, sons of Bodb." And then she told Tadg the whole story of Ireland, to the time of the coming of the Sons of the Gael. "That is well," said Tadg then, "and you have good knowledge and learning. And tell me now," he said, "who is living in that middle dun that has the colour of gold?" "It is not myself will tell you that," she said, "but go on to it yourself and you will get knowledge of it." And with that she went from them into the dun of white marble. Tadg and his men went on then till they came to the middle dun, and there they found a queen of beautiful shape, and she wearing a golden dress. "Health to you, Tadg," she said. "I thank you for that," said Tadg. "It is a long time your coming on this journey was foretold," she said. "What is your name?" he asked then. "I am Cesair," she said, "the first that ever reached Ireland. But since I and the men that were with me came out of that dark, unquiet land, we are living for ever in this country." "Tell me, woman," said Tadg, "who is it lives in that dun having a wall of gold about it?" "It is not hard to tell that," she said, "every king, and every chief man, and every noble person that was in a high place of all those that had power in Ireland, it is in that dun beyond they are; Parthalon and Nemed, Firbolgs and Tuatha de Danaan." "It is good knowledge and learning you have," said Tadg. "Indeed I have good knowledge of the history of the world," she said, "and this island," she said, "is the fourth paradise of the world; and as to the others, they are Inis Daleb to the south, and Inis Ercandra to the north, and Adam's Paradise in the east of the world." "Who is there living in that dun with the silver walls?" said Tadg then. "I will not tell you that, although I have knowledge of it," said the woman; "but go to the beautiful hill where it is, and you will get knowledge of it." They went on then to the third hill, and on the top of the hill was a very beautiful resting-place, and two sweethearts there, a boy and a girl, comely and gentle. Smooth hair they had, shining like gold, and beautiful green clothes of the one sort, and any one would think them to have had the same father and mother. Gold chains they had around their necks, and bands of gold above those again. And Tadg spoke to them: "O bright, comely children," he said, "it is a pleasant place you have here." And they answered him back, and they were praising his courage and his strength and his wisdom, and they gave him their blessing. And it is how the young man was, he had a sweet-smelling apple, having the colour of gold, in his hand, and he would eat a third part of it, and with all he would eat, it would never be less. And that was the food that nourished the two of them, and neither age or sorrow could touch them when once they had tasted it. "Who are you yourself?" Tadg asked him then. "I am son to Conn of the Hundred Battles," he said. "Is it Connla you are?" said Tadg. "I am indeed," said the young man, "and it is this girl of many shapes that brought me here." And the girl said: "I have given him my love and my affection, and it is because of that I brought him to this place, the way we might be looking at one another for ever, and beyond that we have never gone." "That is a beautiful thing and a strange thing," said Tadg, "and a thing to wonder at. And who is there in that grand dun with the silver walls?" he said. "There is no one at all in it," said the girl. "What is the reason of that?" said Tadg. "It is for the kings that are to rule Ireland yet," she said; "and there will be a place in it for yourself, Tadg. And come now," she said, "till you see it." The lovers went on to the dun, and it is hardly the green grass was bent under their white feet. And Tadg and his people went along with them. They came then to the great wonderful house that was ready for the company of the kings; it is a pleasant house that was, and any one would like to be in it. Walls of white bronze it had, set with crystal and with carbuncles, that were shining through the night as well as through the day. Tadg looked out from the house then, and he saw to one side of him a great sheltering apple-tree, and blossoms and ripe fruit on it. "What is that apple tree beyond?" said Tadg. "It is the fruit of that tree is food for the host in this house," said the woman. "And it was an apple of that apple-tree brought Connla here to me; a good tree it is, with its white-blossomed branches, and its golden apples that would satisfy the whole house." And then Connla and the young girl left them, and they saw coming towards them a troop of beautiful women. And there was one among them was most beautiful of all, and when she was come to them she said: "A welcome to you, Tadg." "I thank you for that welcome," said Tadg; "and tell me," he said, "who are you yourself?" "I am Cliodna of the Fair Hair," she said, "daughter of Gebann, son of Treon, of the Tuatha de Danaan, a sweetheart of Ciabhan of the Curling Hair; and it is from me Cliodna's wave on the coast of Munster got its name; and I am a long time now in this island, and it is the apples of that tree you saw that we use for food." And Tadg was well pleased to be listening to her talk, but after a while he said: "It is best for us to go on now to look for our people." "We will be well pleased if you stop longer with us," said the woman. And while she was saying those words they saw three beautiful birds coming to them, one of them blue and his head crimson, and one was crimson and his head green, and the third was speckled and his head the colour of gold, and they lit on the great apple-tree, and every bird of them ate an apple, and they sang sweet music then, that would put sick men into their sleep. "Those birds will go with you," Cliodna said then; "they will give you guidance on your way, and they will make music for you, and there will be neither sorrow or sadness on you, by land or by sea, till you come to Ireland. And bring away this beautiful green cup with you," she said, "for there is power in it, and if you do but pour water into it, it will be turned to wine on the moment. And do not let it out of your hand," she said, "but keep it with you; for at whatever time it will escape from you, your death will not be far away. And it is where you will meet your death, in the green valley at the side of the Boinn; and it is a wandering wild deer will give you a wound, and after that, it is strangers will put an end to you. And I myself will bury your body, and there will be a hill over it, and the name it will get is Croidhe Essu." They went out of the shining house then, and Cliodna of the Fair Hair went with them to the place they had left their ship, and she bade their comrades a kindly welcome; and she asked them how long had they been in that country. "It seems to us," they said, "we are not in it but one day only." "You are in it through the whole length of a year," said she, "and through all that time you used neither food nor drink. But however long you would stop here," she said, "cold or hunger would never come on you." "It would be a good thing to live this way always," said Tadg's people when they heard that. But he himself said: "It is best for us to go on and to look for our people. And we must leave this country, although it is displeasing to us to leave it." Then Cliodna and Tadg bade farewell to one another, and she gave her blessing to him and to his people. And they set out then over the ridges of the sea; and they were downhearted after leaving that country until the birds began to sing for them, and then their courage rose up, and they were glad and light-hearted. And when they looked back they could not see the island they had come from, because of a Druid mist that came on it and hid it from them. Then by the leading of the birds they came to the country of Fresen, and they were in a deep sleep through the whole voyage. And then they attacked the foreigners and got the better of them, and Tadg killed Cathmann, the king, after a hard fight; and Liban his wife made no delay, and came to meet her husband and her sweetheart, and it is glad she was to see him. And after they had rested a while they faced the sea again, and Tadg and his wife Liban, and his two brothers, and a great many other treasures along with them, and they came home to Ireland safely at the last. CHAPTER XV. LAEGAIRE IN THE HAPPY PLAIN And another that went to visit Magh Mell, the Happy Plain, was Laegaire, son of the King of Connacht, Crimthan Cass. He was out one day with the king, his father, near Loch na-n Ean, the Lake of Birds, and the men of Connacht with them, and they saw a man coming to them through the mist. Long golden-yellow hair he had, and it streaming after him, and at his belt a gold-hilted sword, and in his hand two five-barbed darts, a gold-rimmed shield on his back, a five-folded crimson cloak about his shoulders. "Give a welcome to the man that is coming towards you," said Laegaire, that had the best name of all the men of Connacht, to his people. And to the stranger he said: "A welcome to the champion we do not know." "I am thankful to you all," said he. "What is it you are come for, and where are you going?" said Laegaire then. "I am come to look for the help of fighting men," said the stranger. "And my name," he said, "is Fiachna, son of Betach, of the men of the Sidhe; and it is what ails me, my wife was taken from my pillow and brought away by Eochaid, son of Sal. And we fought together, and I killed him, and now she is gone to a brother's son of his, Goll, son of Dalbh, king of a people of Magh Mell. Seven battles I gave him, but they all went against me; and on this very day there is another to be fought, and I am come to ask help. And to every one that deserves it, I will give a good reward of gold and of silver for that help." And it is what he said: "The most beautiful of plains is the Plain of the Two Mists; it is not far from this; it is a host of the men of the Sidhe full of courage are stirring up pools of blood upon it. "We have drawn red blood from the bodies of high nobles; many women are keening them with cries and with tears. "The men of the host in good order go out ahead of their beautiful king; they march among blue spears, white troops of fighters with curled hair. "They scatter the troops of their enemies, they destroy every country they make an attack on; they are beautiful in battle, a host with high looks, rushing, avenging. "It is no wonder they to have such strength: every one of them is the son of a king and a queen; manes of hair they have of the colour of gold. "Their bodies smooth and comely; their eyes blue and far-seeing; their teeth bright like crystal, within their thin red lips. "White shields they have in their hands, with patterns on them of white silver; blue shining swords, red horns set with gold. "They are good at killing men in battle; good at song-making, good at chess-playing. "The most beautiful of plains is the Plain of the Two Mists; the men of the Sidhe are stirring up pools of blood on it; it is not far from this place." "It would be a shameful thing not to give our help to this man," said Laegaire. Fiachna, son of Betach, went down into the lake then, for it was out of it he had come, and Laegaire went down into it after him, and fifty fighting men along with him. They saw a strong place before them then, and a company of armed men, and Goll, son of Dalbh, at the head of them. "That is well," said Laegaire, "I and my fifty men will go out against this troop." "I will answer you," said Goll, son of Dalbh. The two fifties attacked one another then, and Goll fell, but Laegaire and his fifty escaped with their lives and made a great slaughter of their enemies, that not one of them made his escape. "Where is the woman now?" said Laegaire. "She is within the dun of Magh Mell, and a troop of armed men keeping guard about it," said Fiachna. "Let you stop here, and I and my fifty will go there," said Laegaire. So he and his men went on to the dun, and Laegaire called out to the men that were about it: "Your king has got his death, your chief men have fallen, let the woman come out, and I will give you your own lives." The men agreed to that, and they brought the woman out. And when she came out she made this complaint: "It is a sorrowful day that swords are reddened for the sake of the dear dead body of Goll, son of Dalbh. It was he that loved me, it was himself I loved, it is little Laegaire Liban cares for that. "Weapons were hacked and were split by Goll; it is to Fiachna, son of Betach, I must go; it is Goll son of Dalbh, I loved." And that complaint got the name of "The Lament of the Daughter of Eochaid the Dumb." Laegaire went back with her then till he put her hand in Fiachna's hand. And that night Fiachna's daughter, Deorgreine, a Tear of the Sun, was given to Laegaire as his wife, and fifty other women were given to his fifty fighting men, and they stopped with them there to the end of a year. And at the end of that time, Laegaire said: "Let us go and ask news of our own country." "If you have a mind to go," said Fiachna, "bring horses with you; but whatever happens," he said, "do not get off from them." So they set out then; and when they got back to Ireland, they found a great gathering of the whole of the men of Connacht that were keening them. And when the men of Connacht saw them coming they rose up to meet them, and to bid them welcome. But Laegaire called out: "Do not come to us, for it is to bid you farewell we are here." "Do not go from us again," said Crimthan, his father, "and I will give you the sway over the three Connachts, their silver and their gold, their horses and their bridles, and their beautiful women, if you will not go from us." And it is what Laegaire said: "In the place we are gone to, the armies move from kingdom to kingdom, they listen to the sweet-sounding music of the Sidhe, they drink from shining cups, we talk with those we love, it is beer that falls instead of rain. "We have brought from the dun of the Pleasant Plain thirty cauldrons, thirty drinking horns; we have brought the complaint that was sung by the Sea, by the daughter of Eochaid the Dumb. "There is a wife for every man of the fifty; my own wife to me is the Tear of the Sun; I am made master of a blue sword; I would not give for all your whole kingdom one night of the nights of the Sidhe." With that Laegaire turned from them, and went back to the kingdom. And he was made king there along with Fiachna, son of Betach, and his daughter, and he did not come out of it yet. BOOK FIVE: THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR Now at the time when the Tuatha de Danaan chose a king for themselves after the battle of Tailltin, and Lir heard the kingship was given to Bodb Dearg, it did not please him, and he left the gathering without leave and with no word to any one; for he thought it was he himself had a right to be made king. But if he went away himself, Bodb was given the kingship none the less, for not one of the five begrudged it to him but only Lir, And it is what they determined, to follow after Lir, and to burn down his house, and to attack himself with spear and sword, on account of his not giving obedience to the king they had chosen. "We will not do that," said Bodb Dearg, "for that man would defend any place he is in; and besides that," he said, "I am none the less king over the Tuatha de Danaan, although he does not submit to me." All went on like that for a good while, but at last a great misfortune came on Lir, for his wife died from him after a sickness of three nights. And that came very hard on Lir, and there was heaviness on his mind after her. And there was great talk of the death of that woman in her own time. And the news of it was told all through Ireland, and it came to the house of Bodb, and the best of the Men of Dea were with him at that time. And Bodb said: "If Lir had a mind for it," he said, "my help and my friendship would be good for him now, since his wife is not living to him. For I have here with me the three young girls of the best shape, and the best appearance, and the best name in all Ireland, Aobh, Aoife, and Ailbhe, the three daughters of Oilell of Aran, my own three nurselings." The Men of Dea said then it was a good thought he had, and that what he said was true. Messages and messengers were sent then from Bodb Dearg to the place Lir was, to say that if he had a mind to join with the Son of the Dagda and to acknowledge his lordship, he would give him a foster-child of his foster-children. And Lir thought well of the offer, and he set out on the morrow with fifty chariots from Sidhe Fionnachaidh; and he went by every short way till he came to Bodb's dwelling-place at Loch Dearg, and there was a welcome before him there, and all the people were merry and pleasant before him, and he and his people got good attendance that night. And the three daughters of Oilell of Aran were sitting on the one seat with Bodb Dearg's wife, the queen of the Tuatha de Danaan, that was their foster-mother. And Bodb said: "You may have your choice of the three young girls, Lir." "I cannot say," said Lir, "which one of them is my choice, but whichever of them is the eldest, she is the noblest, and it is best for me to take her." "If that is so," said Bodb, "it is Aobh is the eldest, and she will be given to you, if it is your wish." "It is my wish," he said. And he took Aobh for his wife that night, and he stopped there for a fortnight, and then he brought her away to his own house, till he would make a great wedding-feast. And in the course of time Aobh brought forth two children, a daughter and a son, Fionnuala and Aodh their names were. And after a while she was brought to bed again, and this time she gave birth to two sons, and they called them Fiachra and Conn. And she herself died at their birth. And that weighed very heavy on Lir, and only for the way his mind was set on his four children he would have gone near to die of grief. The news came to Bodb Dearg's place, and all the people gave out three loud, high cries, keening their nursling. And after they had keened her it is what Bodb Dearg said: "It is a fret to us our daughter to have died, for her own sake and for the sake of the good man we gave her to, for we are thankful for his friendship and his faithfulness. However," he said, "our friendship with one another will not be broken, for I will give him for a wife her sister Aoife." When Lir heard that, he came for the girl and married her, and brought her home to his house. And there was honour and affection with Aoife for her sister's children; and indeed no person at all could see those four children without giving them the heart's love. And Bodb Dearg used often to be going to Lir's house for the sake of those children; and he used to bring them to his own place for a good length of time, and then he would let them go back to their own place again. And the Men of Dea were at that time using the Feast of Age in every hill of the Sidhe in turn; and when they came to Lir's hill those four children were their joy and delight, for the beauty of their appearance; and it is where they used to sleep, in beds in sight of their father Lir. And he used to rise up at the break of every morning, and to lie down among his children. But it is what came of all this, that a fire of jealousy was kindled in Aoife, and she got to have a dislike and a hatred of her sister's children. Then she let on to have a sickness, that lasted through nearly the length of a year. And the end of that time she did a deed of jealousy and cruel treachery against the children of Lir. And one day she got her chariot yoked, and she took the four children in it, and they went forward towards the house of Bodb Dearg; but Fionnuala had no mind to go with her, for she knew by her she had some plan for their death or their destruction, and she had seen in a dream that there was treachery against them in Aoife's mind. But all the same she was not able to escape from what was before her. And when they were on their way Aoife said to her people: "Let you kill now," she said, "the four children of Lir, for whose sake their father has given up my love, and I will give you your own choice of a reward out of all the good things of the world." "We will not do that indeed," said they; "and it is a bad deed you have thought of, and harm will come to you out of it." And when they would not do as she bade them, she took out a sword herself to put an end to the children with; but she being a woman and with no good courage, and with no great strength in her mind, she was not able to do it. They went on then west to Loch Dairbhreach, the Lake of the Oaks, and the horses were stopped there. And Aoife bade the children of Lir to go out and bathe in the lake, and they did as she bade them. And as soon as Aoife saw them out in the lake she struck them with a Druid rod, and put on them the shape of four swans, white and beautiful. And it is what she said: "Out with you, children of the king, your luck is taken away from you for ever; it is sorrowful the story will be to your friends; it is with flocks of birds your cries will be heard for ever." And Fionnuala said: "Witch, we know now what your name is, you have struck us down with no hope of relief; but although you put us from wave to wave, there are times when we will touch the land. We shall get help when we are seen; help, and all that is best for us; even though we have to sleep upon the lake, it is our minds will be going abroad early." And then the four children of Lir turned towards Aoife, and it is what Fionnuala said: "It is a bad deed you have done, Aoife, and it is a bad fulfilling of friendship, you to destroy us without cause; and vengeance for it will come upon you, and you will fall in satisfaction for it, for your power for our destruction is not greater than the power of our friends to avenge it on you; and put some bounds now," she said, "to the time this enchantment is to stop on us." "I will do that," said Aoife, "and it is worse for you, you to have asked it of me. And the bounds I set to your time are this, till the Woman from the South and the Man from the North will come together. And since you ask to hear it of me," she said, "no friends and no power that you have will be able to bring you out of these shapes you are in through the length of your lives, until you have been three hundred years on Loch Dairbhreach, and three hundred years on Sruth na Maoile between Ireland and Alban, and three hundred years at Irrus Domnann and Inis Gluaire; and these are to be your journeys from this out," she said. But then repentance came on Aoife, and she said: "Since there is no other help for me to give you now, you may keep your own speech; and you will be singing sweet music of the Sidhe, that would put the men of the earth to sleep, and there will be no music in the world equal to it; and your own sense and your own nobility will stay with you, the way it will not weigh so heavy on you to be in the shape of birds. And go away out of my sight now, children of Lir," she said, "with your white faces, with your stammering Irish. It is a great curse on tender lads, they to be driven out on the rough wind. Nine hundred years to be on the water, it is a long time for any one to be in pain; it is I put this on you through treachery, it is best for you to do as I tell you now. "Lir, that got victory with so many a good cast, his heart is a kernel of death in him now; the groaning of the great hero is a sickness to me, though it is I that have well earned his anger." And then the horses were caught for Aoife, and the chariot yoked for her, and she went on to the palace of Bodb Dearg, and there was a welcome before her from the chief people of the place. And the son of the Dagda asked her why she did not bring the children of Lir with her. "I will tell you that," she said. "It is because Lir has no liking for you, and he will not trust you with his children, for fear you might keep them from him altogether." "I wonder at that," said Bodb Dearg, "for those children are dearer to me than my own children." And he thought in his own mind it was deceit the woman was doing on him, and it is what he did, he sent messengers to the north to Sidhe Fionnachaidh. And Lir asked them what did they come for. "On the head of your children," said they. "Are they not gone to you along with Aoife?" he said. "They are not," said they; "and Aoife said it was yourself would not let them come." It is downhearted and sorrowful Lir was at that news, for he understood well it was Aoife had destroyed or made an end of his children. And early in the morning of the morrow his horses were caught, and he set out on the road to the south-west. And when he was as far as the shore of Loch Dairbhreach, the four children saw the horses coming towards them, and it is what Fionnuala said: "A welcome to the troop of horses I see coming near to the lake; the people they are bringing are strong, there is sadness on them; it is us they are following, it is for us they are looking; let us move over to the shore, Aodh, Fiachra, and comely Conn. Those that are coming can be no others in the world but only Lir and his household." Then Lir came to the edge of the lake, and he took notice of the swans having the voice of living people, and he asked them why was it they had that voice. "I will tell you that, Lir," said Fionnuala. "We are your own four children, that are after being destroyed by your wife, and by the sister of our own mother, through the dint of her jealousy." "Is there any way to put you into your own shapes again?" said Lir. "There is no way," said Fionnuala, "for all the men of the world could not help us till we have gone through our time, and that will not be," she said, "till the end of nine hundred years." When Lir and his people heard that, they gave out three great heavy shouts of grief and sorrow and crying. "Is there a mind with you," said Lir, "to come to us on the land, since you have your own sense and your memory yet?" "We have not the power," said Fionnuala, "to live with any person at all from this time; but we have our own language, the Irish, and we have the power to sing sweet music, and it is enough to satisfy the whole race of men to be listening to that music. And let you stop here to-night," she said, "and we will be making music for you." So Lir and his people stopped there listening to the music of the swans, and they slept there quietly that night. And Lir rose up early on the morning of the morrow and he made this complaint:-- "It is time to go out from this place. I do not sleep though I am in my lying down. To be parted from my dear children, it is that is tormenting my heart. "It is a bad net I put over you, bringing Aoife, daughter of Oilell of Aran, to the house. I would never have followed that advice if I had known what it would bring upon me. "O Fionnuala, and comely Conn, O Aodh, O Fiachra of the beautiful arms; it is not ready I am to go away from you, from the border of the harbour where you are." Then Lir went on to the palace of Bodb Dearg, and there was a welcome before him there; and he got a reproach from Bodb Dearg for not bringing his children along with him. "My grief!" said Lir. "It is not I that would not bring my children along with me; it was Aoife there beyond, your own foster-child and the sister of their mother, that put them in the shape of four white swans on Loch Dairbhreach, in the sight of the whole of the men of Ireland; but they have their sense with them yet, and their reason, and their voice, and their Irish." Bodb Dearg gave a great start when he heard that, and he knew what Lir said was true, and he gave a very sharp reproach to Aoife, and he said: "This treachery will be worse for yourself in the end, Aoife, than to the children of Lir. And what shape would you yourself think worst of being in?" he said. "I would think worst of being a witch of the air," she said. "It is into that shape I will put you now," said Bodb. And with that he struck her with a Druid wand, and she was turned into a witch of the air there and then, and she went away on the wind in that shape, and she is in it yet, and will be in it to the end of life and time. As to Bodb Dearg and the Tuatha de Danaan they came to the shore of Loch Dairbhreach, and they made their camp there to be listening to the music of the swans. And the Sons of the Gael used to be coming no less than the Men of Dea to hear them from every part of Ireland, for there never was any music or any delight heard in Ireland to compare with that music of the swans. And they used to be telling stories, and to be talking with the men of Ireland every day, and with their teachers and their fellow-pupils and their friends. And every night they used to sing very sweet music of the Sidhe; and every one that heard that music would sleep sound and quiet whatever trouble or long sickness might be on him; for every one that heard the music of the birds, it is happy and contented he would be after it. These two gatherings now of the Tuatha de Danaan and of the Sons of the Gael stopped there around Loch Dairbhreach through the length of three hundred years. And it is then Fionnuala said to her brothers: "Do you know," she said, "we have spent all we have to spend of our time here, but this one night only." And there was great sorrow on the sons of Lir when they heard that, for they thought it the same as to be living people again, to be talking with their friends and their companions on Loch Dairbhreach, in comparison with going on the cold, fretful sea of the Maoil in the north. And they came early on the morrow to speak with their father and with their foster-father, and they bade them farewell, and Fionnuala made this complaint:-- "Farewell to you, Bodb Dearg, the man with whom all knowledge is in pledge. And farewell to our father along with you, Lir of the Hill of the White Field. "The time is come, as I think, for us to part from you, O pleasant company; my grief it is not on a visit we are going to you. "From this day out, O friends of our heart, our comrades, it is on the tormented course of the Maoil we will be, without the voice of any person near us. "Three hundred years there, and three hundred years in the bay of the men of Domnann, it is a pity for the four comely children of Lir, the salt waves of the sea to be their covering by night. "O three brothers, with the ruddy faces gone from you, let them all leave the lake now, the great troop that loved us, it is sorrowful our parting is." After that complaint they took to flight, lightly, airily, till they came to Sruth na Maoile between Ireland and Alban. And that was a grief to the men of Ireland, and they gave out an order no swan was to be killed from that out, whatever chance there might be of killing one, all through Ireland. It was a bad dwelling-place for the children of Lir they to be on Sruth na Maoile. When they saw the wide coast about them, they were filled with cold and with sorrow, and they thought nothing of all they had gone through before, in comparison to what they were going through on that sea. Now one night while they were there a great storm came on them, and it is what Fionnuala said: "My dear brothers," she said, "it is a pity for us not to be making ready for this night, for it is certain the storm will separate us from one another. And let us," she said, "settle on some place where we can meet afterwards, if we are driven from one another in the night." "Let us settle," said the others, "to meet one another at Carraig na Ron, the Rock of the Seals, for we all have knowledge of it." And when midnight came, the wind came on them with it, and the noise of the waves increased, and the lightning was flashing, and a rough storm came sweeping down, the way the children of Lir were scattered over the great sea, and the wideness of it set them astray, so that no one of them could know what way the others went. But after that storm a great quiet came on the sea, and Fionnuala was alone on Sruth na Maoile; and when she took notice that her brothers were wanting she was lamenting after them greatly, and she made this complaint:-- "It is a pity for me to be alive in the state I am; it is frozen to my sides my wings are; it is little that the wind has not broken my heart in my body, with the loss of Aodh. "To be three hundred years on Loch Dairbhreach without going into my own shape, it is worse to me the time I am on Sruth na Maoile. "The three I loved, Och! the three I loved, that slept under the shelter of my feathers; till the dead come back to the living I will see them no more for ever. "It is a pity I to stay after Fiachra, and after Aodh, and after comely Conn, and with no account of them; my grief I to be here to face every hardship this night." She stopped all night there upon the Rock of the Seals until the rising of the sun, looking out over the sea on every side till at last she saw Conn coming to her, his feathers wet through and his head hanging, and her heart gave him a great welcome; and then Fiachra came wet and perished and worn out, and he could not say a word they could understand with the dint of the cold and the hardship he had gone through. And Fionnuala put him under her wings, and she said: "We would be well off now if Aodh would but come to us." It was not long after that, they saw Aodh coming, his head dry and his feathers beautiful, and Fionnuala gave him a great welcome, and she put him in under the feathers of her breast, and Fiachra under her right wing and Conn under her left wing, the way she could put her feathers over them all. "And Och! my brothers," she said, "this was a bad night to us, and it is many of its like are before us from this out." They stayed there a long time after that, suffering cold and misery on the Maoil, till at last a night came on them they had never known the like of before, for frost and snow and wind and cold. And they were crying and lamenting the hardship of their life, and the cold of the night and the greatness of the snow and the hardness of the wind. And after they had suffered cold to the end of a year, a worse night again came on them, in the middle of winter. And they were on Carraig na Ron, and the water froze about them, and as they rested on the rock, their feet and their wings and their feathers froze to the rock, the way they were not able to move from it. And they made such a hard struggle to get away, that they left the skin of their feet and their feathers and the tops of their wings on the rock after them. "My grief, children of Lir," said Fionnuala, "it is bad our state is now, for we cannot bear the salt water to touch us, and there are bonds on us not to leave it; and if the salt water goes into our sores," she said, "we will get our death." And she made this complaint:-- "It is keening we are to-night; without feathers to cover our bodies; it is cold the rough, uneven rocks are under our bare feet. "It is bad our stepmother was to us the time she played enchantments on us, sending us out like swans upon the sea. "Our washing place is on the ridge of the bay, in the foam of flying manes of the sea; our share of the ale feast is the salt water of the blue tide. "One daughter and three sons; it is in the clefts of the rocks we are; it is on the hard rocks we are, it is a pity the way we are." However, they came on to the course of the Maoil again, and the salt water was sharp and rough and bitter to them, but if it was itself, they were not able to avoid it or to get shelter from it. And they were there by the shore under that hardship till such time as their feathers grew again, and their wings, and till their sores were entirely healed. And then they used to go every day to the shore of Ireland or of Alban, but they had to come back to Sruth na Maoile every night. Now they came one day to the mouth of the Banna, to the north of Ireland, and they saw a troop of riders, beautiful, of the one colour, with well-trained pure white horses under them, and they travelling the road straight from the south-west. "Do you know who those riders are, sons of Lir?" said Fionnuala. "We do not," they said; "but it is likely they might be some troop of the Sons of the Gael, or of the Tuatha de Danaan." They moved over closer to the shore then, that they might know who they were, and when the riders saw them they came to meet them until they were able to hold talk together. And the chief men among them were two sons of Bodb Dearg, Aodh Aithfhiosach, of the quick wits, and Fergus Fithchiollach, of the chess, and a third part of the Riders of the Sidhe along with them, and it was for the swans they had been looking for a long while before that, and when they came together they wished one another a kind and loving welcome. And the children of Lir asked for news of all the Men of Dea, and above all of Lir, and Bodb Dearg and their people. "They are well, and they are in the one place together," said they, "in your father's house at Sidhe Fionnachaidh, using the Feast of Age pleasantly and happily, and with no uneasiness on them, only for being without yourselves, and without knowledge of what happened you from the day you left Loch Dairbhreach." "That has not been the way with us," said Fionnuala, "for we have gone through great hardship and uneasiness and misery on the tides of the sea until this day." And she made this complaint:-- "There is delight to-night with the household of Lir! Plenty of ale with them and of wine, although it is in a cold dwelling-place this night are the four children of the king. "It is without a spot our bedclothes are, our bodies covered over with curved feathers; but it is often we were dressed in purple, and we drinking pleasant mead. "It is what our food is and our drink, the white sand and the bitter water of the sea; it is often we drank mead of hazel-nuts from round four-lipped drinking cups. "It is what our beds are, bare rocks out of the power of the waves; it is often there used to be spread out for us beds of the breast-feathers of birds. "Though it is our work now to be swimming through the frost and through the noise of the waves, it is often a company of the sons of kings were riding after us to the Hill of Bodb. "It is what wasted my strength, to be going and coming over the current of the Maoil the way I never was used to, and never to be in the sunshine on the soft grass. "Fiachra's bed and Conn's bed is to come under the cover of my wings on the sea. Aodh has his place under the feathers of my breast, the four of us side by side. "The teaching of Manannan without deceit, the talk of Bodb Dearg on the pleasant ridge; the voice of Angus, his sweet kisses; it is by their side I used to be without grief." After that the riders went on to Lir's house, and they told the chief men of the Tuatha de Danaan all the birds had gone through, and the state they were in. "We have no power over them," the chief men said, "but we are glad they are living yet, for they will get help in the end of time." As to the children of Lir, they went back towards their old place in the Maoil, and they stopped there till the time they had to spend in it was spent. And then Fionnuala said: "The time is come for us to leave this place. And it is to Irrus Domnann we must go now," she said, "after our three hundred years here. And indeed there will be no rest for us there, or any standing ground, or any shelter from the storms. But since it is time for us to go, let us set out on the cold wind, the way we will not go astray." So they set out in that way, and left Sruth na Maoile behind them, and went to the point of Irrus Domnann, and there they stopped, and it is a life of misery and a cold life they led there. And one time the sea froze about them that they could not move at all, and the brothers were lamenting, and Fionnuala was comforting them, for she knew there would help come to them in the end. And they stayed at Irrus Domnann till the time they had to spend there was spent. And then Fionnuala said: "The time is come for us to go back to Sidhe Fionnachaidh, where our father is with his household and with all our own people." "It pleases us well to hear that," they said. So they set out flying through the air lightly till they came to Sidhe Fionnachaidh; and it is how they found the place, empty before them, and nothing in it but green hillocks and thickets of nettles, without a house, without a fire, without a hearthstone. And the four pressed close to one another then, and they gave out three sorrowful cries, and Fionnuala made this complaint:-- "It is a wonder to me this place is, and it without a house, without a dwelling-place. To see it the way it is now, Ochone! it is bitterness to my heart. "Without dogs, without hounds for hunting, without women, without great kings; we never knew it to be like this when our father was in it. "Without horns, without cups, without drinking in the lighted house; without young men, without riders; the way it is to-night is a foretelling of sorrow. "The people of the place to be as they are now, Ochone! it is grief to my heart! It is plain to my mind to-night the lord of the house is not living. "Och, house where we used to see music and playing and the gathering of people! I think it a great change to see it lonely the way it is to-night. "The greatness of the hardships we have gone through going from one wave to another of the sea, we never heard of the like of them coming on any other person. "It is seldom this place had its part with grass and bushes; the man is not living that would know us, it would be a wonder to him to see us here." However, the children of Lir stopped that night in their father's place and their grandfather's, where they had been reared, and they were singing very sweet music of the Sidhe. And they rose up early on the morning of the morrow and went to Inis Gluaire, and all the birds of the country gathered near them on Loch na-n Ean, the Lake of the Birds. And they used to go out to feed every day to the far parts of the country, to Inis Geadh and to Accuill, the place Donn, son of Miled, and his people that were drowned were buried, and to all the western islands of Connacht, and they used to go back to Inis Gluaire every night. It was about that time it happened them to meet with a young man of good race, and his name was Aibric; and he often took notice of the birds, and their singing was sweet to him and he loved them greatly, and they loved him. And it is this young man that told the whole story of all that had happened them, and put it in order. And the story he told of what happened them in the end is this. It was after the faith of Christ and blessed Patrick came into Ireland, that Saint Mochaomhog came to Inis Gluaire. And the first night he came to the island, the children of Lir heard the voice of his bell, ringing near them. And the brothers started up with fright when they heard it "We do not know," they said, "what is that weak, unpleasing voice we hear." "That is the voice of the bell of Mochaomhog," said Fionnuala; "and it is through that bell," she said, "you will be set free from pain and from misery." They listened to that music of the bell till the matins were done, and then they began to sing the low, sweet music of the Sidhe. And Mochaomhog was listening to them, and he prayed to God to show him who was singing that music, and it was showed to him that the children of Lir were singing it. And on the morning of the morrow he went forward to the Lake of the Birds, and he saw the swans before him on the lake, and he went down to them at the brink of the shore. "Are you the children of Lir?" he said. "We are indeed," said they. "I give thanks to God for that," said he, "for it is for your sakes I am come to this island beyond any other island, and let you come to land now," he said, "and give your trust to me, that you may do good deeds and part from your sins." They came to the land after that, and they put trust in Mochaomhog, and he brought them to his own dwelling-place, and they used to be hearing Mass with him. And he got a good smith and bade him make chains of bright silver for them, and he put a chain between Aodh and Fionnuala, and a chain between Conn and Fiachra. And the four of them were raising his heart and gladdening his mind, and no danger and no distress that was on the swans before put any trouble on them now. Now the king of Connacht at that time was Lairgnen, son of Colman, son of Cobthach, and Deoch, daughter of Finghin, was his wife. And that was the coming together of the Man from the North and the Woman from the South, that Aoife had spoken of. And the woman heard talk of the birds, and a great desire came on her to get them, and she bade Lairgnen to bring them to her, and he said he would ask them of Mochaomhog. And she gave her word she would not stop another night with him unless he would bring them to her. And she set out from the house there and then. And Lairgnen sent messengers after her to bring her back, and they did not overtake her till she was at Cill Dun. She went back home with them then, and Lairgnen sent messengers to ask the birds of Mochaomhog, and he did not get them. There was great anger on Lairgnen then, and he went himself to the place Mochaomhog was, and he asked was it true he had refused him the birds. "It is true indeed," said he. At that Lairgnen rose up, and he took hold of the swans, and pulled them off the altar, two birds in each hand, to bring them away to Deoch. But no sooner had he laid his hand on them than their bird skins fell off, and what was in their place was three lean, withered old men and a thin withered old woman, without blood or flesh. And Lairgnen gave a great start at that, and he went out from the place. It is then Fionnuala said to Mochaomhog: "Come and baptize us now, for it is short till our death comes; and it is certain you do not think worse of parting with us than we do of parting with you. And make our grave afterwards," she said, "and lay Conn at my right side and Fiachra on my left side, and Aodh before my face, between my two arms. And pray to the God of Heaven," she said, "that you may be able to baptize us." The children of Lir were baptized then, and they died and were buried as Fionnuala had desired; Fiachra and Conn one at each side of her, and Aodh before her face. And a stone was put over them, and their names were written in Ogham, and they were keened there, and heaven was gained for their souls. And that is the fate of the children of Lir so far. PART TWO: THE FIANNA. BOOK ONE: FINN, SON OF CUMHAL. CHAPTER I. THE COMING OF FINN At the time Finn was born his father Cumhal, of the sons of Baiscne, Head of the Fianna of Ireland, had been killed in battle by the sons of Morna that were fighting with him for the leadership. And his mother, that was beautiful long-haired Muirne, daughter of Tadg, son of Nuada of the Tuatha de Danaan and of Ethlinn, mother of Lugh of the Long Hand, did not dare to keep him with her; and two women, Bodhmall, the woman Druid, and Liath Luachra, came and brought him away to care him. It was to the woods of Slieve Bladhma they brought him, and they nursed him secretly, because of his father's enemies, the sons of Morna, and they kept him there a long time. And Muirne, his mother, took another husband that was king of Carraighe; but at the end of six years she came to see Finn, going through every lonely place till she came to the wood, and there she found the little hunting cabin, and the boy asleep in it, and she lifted him up in her arms and kissed him, and she sang a little sleepy song to him; and then she said farewell to the women, and she went away again. And the two women went on caring him till he came to sensible years; and one day when he went out he saw a wild duck on the lake with her clutch, and he made a cast at her that cut the wings off her that she could not fly, and he brought her back to the cabin, and that was his first hunt. And they gave him good training in running and leaping and swimming. One of them would run round a tree, and she having a thorn switch, and Finn after her with another switch, and each one trying to hit at the other; and they would leave him in a field, and hares along with him, and would bid him not to let the hares quit the field, but to keep before them whichever way they would go; and to teach him swimming they would throw him into the water and let him make his way out. But after a while he went away with a troop of poets, to hide from the sons of Morna, and they hid him in the mountain of Crotta Cliach; but there was a robber in Leinster at that time, Fiacuil, son of Codhna, and he came where the poets were in Fidh Gaible and killed them all. But he spared the child and brought him to his own house, that was in a cold marsh. But the two women, Bodhmall and Liath, came looking for him after a while, and Fiacuil gave him up to them, and they brought him back to the same place he was before. He grew up there, straight and strong and fair-haired and beautiful. And one day he was out in Slieve Bladhma, and the two women along with him, and they saw before them a herd of the wild deer of the mountain. "It is a pity," said the old women, "we not to be able to get a deer of those deer." "I will get one for you," said Finn; and with that he followed after them, and caught two stags of them and brought them home to the hunting cabin. And after that he used to be hunting for them every day. But at last they said to him: "It is best for you to leave us now, for the sons of Morna are watching again to kill you." So he went away then by himself, and never stopped till he came to Magh Lifé, and there he saw young lads swimming in a lake, and they called to him to swim against them. So he went into the lake, and he beat them at swimming. "Fair he is and well shaped," they said when they saw him swimming, and it was from that time he got the name of Finn, that is, Fair. But they got to be jealous of his strength, and he went away and left them. He went on then till he came to Loch Lein, and he took service there with the King of Finntraigh; and there was no hunter like him, and the king said: "If Cumhal had left a son, you would be that son." He went from that king after, and he went into Carraighe, and there he took service with the king, that had taken his mother Muirne for his wife. And one day they were playing chess together, and he won seven games one after another. "Who are you at all?" said the king then. "I am a son of a countryman of the Luigne of Teamhair," said Finn. "That is not so," said the king, "but you are the son that Muirne my wife bore to Cumhal. And do not stop here any longer," he said, "that you may not be killed under my protection." From that he went into Connacht looking for his father's brother, Crimall, son of Trenmor; and as he was going on his way he heard the crying of a lone woman. He went to her, and looked at her, and tears of blood were on her face. "Your face is red with blood, woman," he said. "I have reason for it," said she, "for my only son is after being killed by a great fighting man that came on us." And Finn followed after the big champion and fought with him and killed him. And the man he killed was the same man that had given Cumhal his first wound in the battle where he got his death, and had brought away his treasure-bag with him. Now as to that treasure-bag, it is of a crane skin it was made, that was one time the skin of Aoife, the beautiful sweetheart of Ilbrec, son of Manannan, that was put into the shape of a crane through jealousy. And it was in Manannan's house it used to be, and there were treasures kept in it, Manannan's shirt and his knife, and the belt and the smith's hook of Goibniu, and the shears of the King of Alban, and the helmet of the King of Lochlann, and a belt of the skin of a great fish, and the bones of Asal's pig that had been brought to Ireland by the sons of Tuireann. All those treasures would be in the bag at full tide, but at the ebbing of the tide it would be empty. And it went from Manannan to Lugh, son of Ethlinn, and after that to Cumhal, that was husband to Muirne, Ethlinn's daughter. And Finn took the bag and brought it with him till he found Crimall, that was now an old man, living in a lonely place, and some of the old men of the Fianna were with him, and used to go hunting for him. And Finn gave him the bag, and told him his whole story. And then he said farewell to Crimall, and went on to learn poetry from Finegas, a poet that was living at the Boinn, for the poets thought it was always on the brink of water poetry was revealed to them. And he did not give him his own name, but he took the name of Deimne. Seven years, now, Finegas had stopped at the Boinn, watching the salmon, for it was in the prophecy that he would eat the salmon of knowledge that would come there, and that he would have all knowledge after. And when at the last the salmon of knowledge came, he brought it to where Finn was, and bade him to roast it, but he bade him not to eat any of it. And when Finn brought him the salmon after a while he said: "Did you eat any of it at all, boy?" "I did not," said Finn; "but I burned my thumb putting down a blister that rose on the skin, and after doing that, I put my thumb in my mouth." "What is your name, boy?" said Finegas. "Deimne," said he. "It is not, but it is Finn your name is, and it is to you and not to myself the salmon was given in the prophecy." With that he gave Finn the whole of the salmon, and from that time Finn had the knowledge that came from the nuts of the nine hazels of wisdom that grow beside the well that is below the sea. And besides the wisdom he got then, there was a second wisdom came to him another time, and this is the way it happened. There was a well of the moon belonging to Beag, son of Buan, of the Tuatha de Danaan, and whoever would drink out of it would get wisdom, and after a second drink he would get the gift of foretelling. And the three daughters of Beag, son of Buan, had charge of the well, and they would not part with a vessel of it for anything less than red gold. And one day Finn chanced to be hunting in the rushes near the well, and the three women ran out to hinder him from coming to it, and one of them that had a vessel of the water in her hand, threw it at him to stop him, and a share of the water went into his mouth. And from that out he had all the knowledge that the water of that well could give. And he learned the three ways of poetry; and this is the poem he made to show he had got his learning well:-- "It is the month of May is the pleasant time; its face is beautiful; the blackbird sings his full song, the living wood is his holding, the cuckoos are singing and ever singing; there is a welcome before the brightness of the summer. "Summer is lessening the rivers, the swift horses are looking for the pool; the heath spreads out its long hair, the weak white bog-down grows. A wildness comes on the heart of the deer; the sad restless sea is asleep. "Bees with their little strength carry a load reaped from the flowers; the cattle go up muddy to the mountains; the ant has a good full feast. "The harp of the woods is playing music; there is colour on the hills, and a haze on the full lakes, and entire peace upon every sail. "The corncrake is speaking, a loud-voiced poet; the high lonely waterfall is singing a welcome to the warm pool, the talking of the rushes has begun. "The light swallows are darting; the loudness of music is around the hill; the fat soft mast is budding; there is grass on the trembling bogs. "The bog is as dark as the feathers of the raven; the cuckoo makes a loud welcome; the speckled salmon is leaping; as strong is the leaping of the swift fighting man. "The man is gaining; the girl is in her comely growing power; every wood is without fault from the top to the ground, and every wide good plain. "It is pleasant is the colour of the time; rough winter is gone; every plentiful wood is white; summer is a joyful peace. "A flock of birds pitches in the meadow; there are sounds in the green fields, there is in them a clear rushing stream. "There is a hot desire on you for the racing of horses; twisted holly makes a leash for the hound; a bright spear has been shot into the earth, and the flag-flower is golden under it. "A weak lasting little bird is singing at the top of his voice; the lark is singing clear tidings; May without fault, of beautiful colours. "I have another story for you; the ox is lowing, the winter is creeping in, the summer is gone. High and cold the wind, low the sun, cries are about us; the sea is quarrelling. "The ferns are reddened and their shape is hidden; the cry of the wild goose is heard; the cold has caught the wings of the birds; it is the time of ice-frost, hard, unhappy." And after that, Finn being but a young lad yet, made himself ready and went up at Samhain time to the gathering of the High King at Teamhair. And it was the law at that gathering, no one to raise a quarrel or bring out any grudge against another through the whole of the time it lasted. And the king and his chief men, and Goll, son of Morna, that was now Head of the Fianna, and Caoilte, son of Ronan, and Conan, son of Morna, of the sharp words, were sitting at a feast in the great house of the Middle Court; and the young lad came in and took his place among them, and none of them knew who he was. The High King looked at him then, and the horn of meetings was brought to him, and he put it into the boy's hand, and asked him who was he. "I am Finn, son of Cumhal," he said, "son of the man that used to be head over the Fianna, and king of Ireland; and I am come now to get your friendship, and to give you my service." "You are son of a friend, boy," said the king, "and son of a man I trusted." Then Finn rose up and made his agreement of service and of faithfulness to the king; and the king took him by the hand and put him sitting beside his own son, and they gave themselves to drinking and to pleasure for a while. Every year, now, at Samhain time, for nine years, there had come a man of the Tuatha de Danaan out of Sidhe Finnachaidh in the north, and had burned up Teamhair. Aillen, son of Midhna, his name was, and it is the way he used to come, playing music of the Sidhe, and all the people that heard it would fall asleep. And when they were all in their sleep, he would let a flame of fire out of his mouth, and would blow the flame till all Teamhair was burned. The king rose up at the feast after a while, and his smooth horn in his hand, and it is what he said: "If I could find among you, men of Ireland, any man that would keep Teamhair till the break of day to-morrow without being burned by Aillen, son of Midhna, I would give him whatever inheritance is right for him to have, whether it be much or little." But the men of Ireland made no answer, for they knew well that at the sound of the sweet pitiful music made by that comely man of the Sidhe, even women in their pains and men that were wounded would fall asleep. It is then Finn rose up and spoke to the King of Ireland. "Who will be your sureties that you will fulfil this?" he said. "The kings of the provinces of Ireland," said the king, "and Cithruadh with his Druids." So they gave their pledges, and Finn took in hand to keep Teamhair safe till the breaking of day on the morrow. Now there was a fighting man among the followers of the King of Ireland, Fiacha, son of Conga, that Cumhal, Finn's father, used to have a great liking for, and he said to Finn: "Well, boy," he said, "what reward would you give me if I would bring you a deadly spear, that no false cast was ever made with?" "What reward are you asking of me?" said Finn. "Whatever your right hand wins at any time, the third of it to be mine," said Fiacha, "and a third of your trust and your friendship to be mine." "I will give you that," said Finn. Then Fiacha brought him the spear, unknown to the sons of Morna or to any other person, and he said: "When you will hear the music of the Sidhe, let you strip the covering off the head of the spear and put it to your forehead, and the power of the spear will not let sleep come upon you." Then Finn rose up before all the men of Ireland, and he made a round of the whole of Teamhair. And it was not long till he heard the sorrowful music, and he stripped the covering from the head of the spear, and he held the power of it to his forehead. And Aillen went on playing his little harp, till he had put every one in their sleep as he was used; and then he let a flame of fire out from his mouth to burn Teamhair. And Finn held up his fringed crimson cloak against the flame, and it fell down through the air and went into the ground, bringing the four-folded cloak with it deep into the earth. And when Aillen saw his spells were destroyed, he went back to Sidhe Finnachaidh on the top of Slieve Fuad; but Finn followed after him there, and as Aillen was going in at the door he made a cast of the spear that went through his heart. And he struck his head off then, and brought it back to Teamhair, and fixed it on a crooked pole and left it there till the rising of the sun over the heights and invers of the country. And Aillen's mother came to where his body was lying, and there was great grief on her, and she made this complaint:-- "Ochone! Aillen is fallen, chief of the Sidhe of Beinn Boirche; the slow clouds of death are come on him. Och! he was pleasant, Och! he was kind. Aillen, son of Midhna of Slieve Fuad. "Nine times he burned Teamhair. It is a great name he was always looking for, Ochone, Ochone, Aillen!" And at the breaking of day, the king and all the men of Ireland came out upon the lawn at Teamhair where Finn was. "King," said Finn, "there is the head of the man that burned Teamhair, and the pipe and the harp that made his music. And it is what I think," he said, "that Teamhair and all that is in it is saved." Then they all came together into the place of counsel, and it is what they agreed, the headship of the Fianna of Ireland to be given to Finn. And the king said to Goll, son of Morna: "Well, Goll," he said, "is it your choice to quit Ireland or to put your hand in Finn's hand?" "By my word, I will give Finn my hand," said Goll. And when the charms that used to bring good luck had done their work, the chief men of the Fianna rose up and struck their hands in Finn's hand, and Goll, son of Morna, was the first to give him his hand the way there would be less shame on the rest for doing it. And Finn kept the headship of the Fianna until the end; and the place he lived in was Almhuin of Leinster, where the white dun was made by Nuada of the Tuatha de Danaan, that was as white as if all the lime in Ireland was put on it, and that got its name from the great herd of cattle that died fighting one time around the well, and that left their horns there, speckled horns and white. And as to Finn himself, he was a king and a seer and a poet; a Druid and a knowledgeable man; and everything he said was sweet-sounding to his people. And a better fighting man than Finn never struck his hand into a king's hand, and whatever any one ever said of him, he was three times better. And of his justice it used to be said, that if his enemy and his own son had come before him to be judged, it is a fair judgment he would have given between them. And as to his generosity it used to be said, he never denied any man as long as he had a mouth to eat with, and legs to bring away what he gave him; and he left no woman without her bride-price, and no man without his pay; and he never promised at night what he would not fulfil on the morrow, and he never promised in the day what he would not fulfil at night, and he never forsook his right-hand friend. And if he was quiet in peace he was angry in battle, and Oisin his son and Osgar his son's son followed him in that. There was a young man of Ulster came and claimed kinship with them one time, saying they were of the one blood. "If that is so," said Oisin, "it is from the men of Ulster we took the madness and the angry heart we have in battle." "That is so indeed," said Finn. CHAPTER II. FINN'S HOUSEHOLD And the number of the Fianna of Ireland at that time was seven score and ten chief men, every one of them having three times nine righting men under him. And every man of them was bound to three things, to take no cattle by oppression, not to refuse any man, as to cattle or riches; no one of them to fall back before nine fighting men. And there was no man taken into the Fianna until his tribe and his kindred would give securities for him, that even if they themselves were all killed he would not look for satisfaction for their death. But if he himself would harm others, that harm was not to be avenged on his people. And there was no man taken into the Fianna till he knew the twelve books of poetry. And before any man was taken, he would be put into a deep hole in the ground up to his middle, and he having his shield and a hazel rod in his hand. And nine men would go the length of ten furrows from him and would cast their spears at him at the one time. And if he got a wound from one of them, he was not thought fit to join with the Fianna. And after that again, his hair would be fastened up, and he put to run through the woods of Ireland, and the Fianna following after him to try could they wound him, and only the length of a branch between themselves and himself when they started. And if they came up with him and wounded him, he was not let join them; or if his spears had trembled in his hand, or if a branch of a tree had undone the plaiting of his hair, or if he had cracked a dry stick under his foot, and he running. And they would not take him among them till he had made a leap over a stick the height of himself, and till he had stooped under one the height of his knee, and till he had taken a thorn out from his foot with his nail, and he running his fastest. But if he had done all these things, he was of Finn's people. It was good wages Finn and the Fianna got at that time; in every district a townland, in every house the fostering of a pup or a whelp from Samhain to Beltaine, and a great many things along with that. But good as the pay was, the hardships and the dangers they went through for it were greater. For they had to hinder the strangers and robbers from beyond the seas, and every bad thing, from coming into Ireland. And they had hard work enough in doing that. And besides the fighting men, Finn had with him his five Druids, the best that ever came into the west, Cainnelsciath, of the Shining Shield, one of them was, that used to bring down knowledge from the clouds in the sky before Finn, and that could foretell battles. And he had his five wonderful physicians, four of them belonging to Ireland, and one that came over the sea from the east. And he had his five high poets and his twelve musicians, that had among them Daighre, son of Morna, and Suanach, son of Senshenn, that was Finn's teller of old stories, the sweetest that ever took a harp in his hand in Ireland or in Alban. And he had his three cup-bearers and his six door-keepers and his horn-players and the stewards of his house and his huntsman, Comhrag of the five hundred hounds, and his serving-men that were under Garbhcronan, of the Rough Buzzing; and a great troop of others along with them. And there were fifty of the best sewing-women in Ireland brought together in a rath on Magh Feman, under the charge of a daughter of the King of Britain, and they used to be making clothing for the Fianna through the whole of the year. And three of them, that were a king's daughters, used to be making music for the rest on a little silver harp; and there was a very great candlestick of stone in the middle of the rath, for they were not willing to kindle a fire more than three times in the year for fear the smoke and the ashes might harm the needlework. And of all his musicians the one Finn thought most of was Cnu Deireoil, the Little Nut, that came to him from the Sidhe. It was at Slieve-nam-ban, for hunting, Finn was the time he came to him. Sitting down he was on the turf-built grave that is there; and when he looked around him he saw a small little man about four feet in height standing on the grass. Light yellow hair he had, hanging down to his waist, and he playing music on his harp. And the music he was making had no fault in it at all, and it is much that the whole of the Fianna did not fall asleep with the sweetness of its sound. He came up then, and put his hand in Finn's hand. "Where do you come from, little one, yourself and your sweet music?" said Finn. "I am come," he said, "out of the place of the Sidhe in Slieve-nam-ban, where ale is drunk and made; and it is to be in your company for a while I am come here." "You will get good rewards from me, and riches and red gold," said Finn, "and my full friendship, for I like you well." "That is the best luck ever came to you, Finn," said all the rest of the Fianna, for they were well pleased to have him in their company. And they gave him the name of the Little Nut; and he was good in speaking, and he had so good a memory he never forgot anything he heard east or west; and there was no one but must listen to his music, and all the Fianna liked him well. And there were some said he was a son of Lugh Lamh-Fada, of the Long Hand. And the five musicians of the Fianna were brought to him, to learn the music of the Sidhe he had brought from that other place; for there was never any music heard on earth but his was better. These were the three best things Finn ever got, Bran and Sceolan that were without fault, and the Little Nut from the House of the Sidhe in Slieve-nam-ban. CHAPTER III. BIRTH OF BRAN. This, now, is the story of the birth of Bran. Finn's mother, Muirne, came one time to Almhuin, and she brought with her Tuiren, her sister. And Iollan Eachtach, a chief man of the Fianna of Ulster, was at Almhuin at the time, and he gave his love to Tuiren, and asked her in marriage, and brought her to his own house. But before they went, Finn made him gave his word he would bring her back safe and sound if ever he asked for her, and he bade him find sureties for himself among the chief men of the Fianna. And Iollan did that, and the sureties he got were Caoilte and Goll and Lugaidh Lamha, and it was Lugaidh gave her into the hand of Iollan Eachtach. But before Iollan made that marriage, he had a sweetheart of the Sidhe, Uchtdealb of the Fair Breast; and there came great jealousy on her when she knew he had taken a wife. And she took the appearance of Finn's woman-messenger, and she came to the house where Tuiren was, and she said: "Finn sends health and long life to you, queen, and he bids you to make a great feast; and come with me now," she said, "till I speak a few words with you, for there is hurry on me." So Tuiren went out with her, and when they were away from the house the woman of the Sidhe took out her dark Druid rod from under her cloak and gave her a blow of it that changed her into a hound, the most beautiful that was ever seen. And then she went on, bringing the hound with her, to the house of Fergus Fionnliath, king of the harbour of Gallimh. And it is the way Fergus was, he was the most unfriendly man to dogs in the whole world, and he would not let one stop in the same house with him. But it is what Uchtdealb said to him: "Finn wishes you life and health, Fergus, and he says to you to take good care of his hound till he comes himself; and mind her well," she said, "for she is with young, and do not let her go hunting when her time is near, or Finn will be no way thankful to you." "I wonder at that message," said Fergus, "for Finn knows well there is not in the world a man has less liking for dogs than myself. But for all that," he said, "I will not refuse Finn the first time he sent a hound to me." And when he brought the hound out to try her, she was the best he ever knew, and she never saw the wild creature she would not run down; and Fergus took a great liking for hounds from that out. And when her time came near, they did not let her go hunting any more, and she gave birth to two whelps. And as to Finn, when he heard his mother's sister was not living with Iollan Eachtach, he called to him for the fulfilment of the pledge that was given to the Fianna. And Iollan asked time to go looking for Tuiren, and he gave his word that if he did not find her, he would give himself up in satisfaction for her. So they agreed to that, and Iollan went to the hill where Uchtdealb was, his sweetheart of the Sidhe, and told her the way things were with him, and the promise he had made to give himself up to the Fianna. "If that is so," said she, "and if you will give me your pledge to keep me as your sweetheart to the end of your life, I will free you from that danger." So Iollan gave her his promise, and she went to the house of Fergus Fionnliath, and she brought Tuiren away and put her own shape on her again, and gave her up to Finn. And Finn gave her to Lugaidh Lamha that asked her in marriage. And as to the two whelps, they stopped always with Finn, and the names he gave them were Bran and Sceolan. CHAPTER IV. OISIN'S MOTHER. It happened one time Finn and his men were coming back from the hunting, a beautiful fawn started up before them, and they followed after it, men and dogs, till at last they were all tired and fell back, all but Finn himself and Bran and Sceolan. And suddenly as they were going through a valley, the fawn stopped and lay down on the smooth grass, and Bran and Sceolan came up with it, and they did not harm it at all, but went playing about it, licking its neck and its face. There was wonder on Finn when he saw that, and he went on home to Almhuin, and the fawn followed after him playing with the hounds, and it came with them into the house at Almhuin. And when Finn was alone late that evening, a beautiful young woman having a rich dress came before him, and she told him it was she herself was the fawn he was after hunting that day. "And it is for refusing the love of Fear Doirche, the Dark Druid of the Men of Dea," she said, "I was put in this shape. And through the length of three years," she said, "I have lived the life of a wild deer in a far part of Ireland, and I am hunted like a wild deer. And a serving-man of the Dark Druid took pity on me," she said, "and he said that if I was once within the dun of the Fianna of Ireland, the Druid would have no more power over me. So I made away, and I never stopped through the whole length of a day till I came into the district of Almhuin. And I never stopped then till there was no one after me but only Bran and Sceolan, that have human wits; and I was safe with them, for they knew my nature to be like their own." Then Finn gave her his love, and took her as his wife, and she stopped in Almhuin. And so great was his love for her, he gave up his hunting and all the things he used to take pleasure in, and gave his mind to no other thing but herself. But at last the men of Lochlann came against Ireland, and their ships were in the bay below Beinn Edair, and they landed there. And Finn and the battalions of the Fianna went out against them, and drove them back. And at the end of seven days Finn came back home, and he went quickly over the plain of Almhuin, thinking to see Sadbh his wife looking out from the dun, but there was no sign of her. And when he came to the dun, all his people came out to meet him, but they had a very downcast look. "Where is the flower of Almhuin, beautiful gentle Sadbh?" he asked them. And it is what they said: "While you were away fighting, your likeness, and the likeness of Bran and of Sceolan appeared before the dun, and we thought we heard the sweet call of the Dord Fiann. And Sadbh, that was so good and so beautiful, came out of the house," they said, "and she went out of the gates, and she would not listen to us, and we could not stop her." "Let me go meet my love," she said, "my husband, the father of the child that is not born." And with that she went running out towards the shadow of yourself that was before her, and that had its arms stretched out to her. But no sooner did she touch it than she gave a great cry, and the shadow lifted up a hazel rod, and on the moment it was a fawn was standing on the grass. Three times she turned and made for the gate of the dun, but the two hounds the shadow had with him went after her and took her by the throat and dragged her back to him. "And by your hand of valour, Finn," they said, "we ourselves made no delay till we went out on the plain after her. But it is our grief, they had all vanished, and there was not to be seen woman, or fawn or Druid, but we could hear the quick tread of feet on the hard plain, and the howling of dogs. And if you would ask every one of us in what quarter he heard those sounds, he would tell you a different one." When Finn heard that, he said no word at all, but he struck his breast over and over again with his shut hands. And he went then to his own inside room, and his people saw him no more for that day, or till the sun rose over Magh Lifé on the morrow. And through the length of seven years from that time, whenever he was not out fighting against the enemies of Ireland, he went searching and ever searching in every far corner for beautiful Sadbh. And there was great trouble on him all the time, unless he might throw it off for a while in hunting or in battle. And through all that time he never brought out to any hunting but the five hounds he had most trust in, Bran and Sceolan and Lomaire and Brod and Lomluath, the way there would be no danger for Sadbh if ever he came on her track. But after the end of seven years, Finn and some of his chief men were hunting on the sides of Beinn Gulbain, and they heard a great outcry among the hounds, that were gone into some narrow place. And when they followed them there, they saw the five hounds of Finn in a ring, and they keeping back the other hounds, and in the middle of the ring was a young boy, with high looks, and he naked and having long hair. And he was no way daunted by the noise of the hounds, and did not look at them at all, but at the men that were coming up. And as soon as the fight was stopped Bran and Sceolan went up to the little lad, and whined and licked him, that any one would think they had forgotten their master. Finn and the others came up to him then, and put their hands on his head, and made much of him. And they brought him to their own hunting cabin, and he ate and drank with them, and before long he lost his wildness and was the same as themselves. And as to Bran and Sceolan, they were never tired playing about him. And it is what Finn thought, there was some look of Sadbh in his face, and that it might be he was her son, and he kept him always beside him. And little by little when the boy had learned their talk, he told them all he could remember. He used to be with a deer he loved very much, he said, and that cared and sheltered him, and it was in a wide place they used to be, having hills and valleys and streams and woods in it, but that was shut in with high cliffs on every side, that there was no way of escape from it. And he used to be eating fruits and roots in the summer, and in the winter there was food left for him in the shelter of a cave. And a dark-looking man used to be coming to the place, and sometimes he would speak to the deer softly and gently, and sometimes with a loud angry voice. But whatever way he spoke, she would always draw away from him with the appearance of great dread on her, and the man would go away in great anger. And the last time he saw the deer, his mother, the dark man was speaking to her for a long time, from softness to anger. And at the end he struck her with a hazel rod, and with that she was forced to follow him, and she looking back all the while at the child, and crying after him that any one would pity her. And he tried hard to follow after her, and made every attempt, and cried out with grief and rage, but he had no power to move, and when he could hear his mother no more he fell on the grass and his wits went from him. And when he awoke it is on the side of the hill he was, where the hounds found him. And he searched a long time for the place where he was brought up, but he could not find it. And the name the Fianna gave him was Oisin, and it is he was their maker of poems, and their good fighter afterwards. CHAPTER V. THE BEST MEN OF THE FIANNA And while Oisin was in his young youth, Finn had other good men along with him, and the best of them were Goll, son of Morna, and Caoilte, son of Ronan, and Lugaidh's Son. As to Goll, that was of Connacht, he was very tall and light-haired, and some say he was the strongest of all the Fianna. Finn made a poem in praise of him one time when some stranger was asking what sort he was, saying how hardy he was and brave in battle, and as strong as a hound or as the waves, and with all that so kind and so gentle, and open-handed and sweet-voiced, and faithful to his friends. And the chessboard he had was called the Solustairtech, the Shining Thing, and some of the chessmen were made of gold, and some of them of silver, and each one of them was as big as the fist of the biggest man of the Fianna; and after the death of Goll it was buried in Slieve Baune. And as to Caoilte, that was a grey thin man, he was the best runner of them all. And he did a good many great deeds; a big man of the Fomor he killed one time, and he killed a five-headed giant in a wheeling door, and another time he made an end of an enchanted boar that no one else could get near, and he killed a grey stag that had got away from the Fianna through twenty-seven years. And another time he brought Finn out of Teamhair, where he was kept by force by the High King, because of some rebellion the Fianna had stirred up. And when Caoilte heard Finn had been brought away to Teamhair, he went out to avenge him. And the first he killed was Cuireach, a king of Leinster that had a great name, and he brought his head up to the hill that is above Buadhmaic. And after that he made a great rout through Ireland, bringing sorrow into every house for the sake of Finn, killing a man in every place, and killing the calves with the cows. And every door the red wind from the east blew on, he would throw it open, and go in and destroy all before him, setting fire to the fields, and giving the wife of one man to another. And when he came to Teamhair, he came to the palace, and took the clothes off the door-keeper, and he left his own sword that was worn thin in the king's sheath, and took the king's sword that had great power in it. And he went into the palace then in the disguise of a servant, to see how he could best free Finn. And when evening came Caoilte held the candle at the king's feast in the great hall, and after a while the king said: "You will wonder at what I tell you, Finn, that the two eyes of Caoilte are in my candlestick." "Do not say that," said Finn, "and do not put reproach on my people although I myself am your prisoner; for as to Caoilte," he said, "that is not the way with him, for it is a high mind he has, and he only does high deeds, and he would not stand serving with a candle for all the gold of the whole world." After that Caoilte was serving the King of Ireland with drink, and when he was standing beside him he gave out a high sorrowful lament. "There is the smell of Caoilte's skin on that lament," said the king. And when Caoilte saw he knew him he spoke out and he said: "Tell me what way I can get freedom for my master." "There is no way to get freedom for him but by doing one thing," said the king, "and that is a thing you can never do. If you can bring me together a couple of all the wild creatures of Ireland," he said, "I will give up your master to you then." When Caoilte heard him say that he made no delay, but he set out from Teamhair, and went through the whole of Ireland to do that work for the sake of Finn. It is with the flocks of birds he began, though they were scattered in every part, and from them he went on to the beasts. And he gathered together two of every sort, two ravens from Fiodh da Bheann; two wild ducks from Loch na Seillein; two foxes from Slieve Cuilinn; two wild oxen from Burren; two swans from blue Dobhran; two owls from the wood of Faradhruim; two polecats from the branchy wood on the side of Druim da Raoin, the Ridge of the Victories; two gulls from the strand of Loch Leith; four woodpeckers from white Brosna; two plovers from Carraigh Dhain; two thrushes from Leith Lomard; two wrens from Dun Aoibh; two herons from Corrain Cleibh; two eagles from Carraig of the stones; two hawks from Fiodh Chonnach; two sows from Loch Meilghe; two water-hens from Loch Erne; two moor-hens from Monadh Maith; two sparrow-hawks from Dubhloch; two stonechats from Magh Cuillean; two tomtits from Magh Tuallainn; two swallows from Sean Abhla; two cormorants from Ath Cliath; two wolves from Broit Cliathach; two blackbirds from the Strand of the Two Women; two roebucks from Luachair Ire; two pigeons from Ceas Chuir; two nightingales from Leiter Ruadh; two starlings from green-sided Teamhair; two rabbits from Sith Dubh Donn; two wild pigs from Cluaidh Chuir; two cuckoos from Drom Daibh; two lapwings from Leanain na Furraich; two woodcocks from Craobh Ruadh; two hawks from the Bright Mountain; two grey mice from Luimneach; two otters from the Boinn; two larks from the Great Bog; two bats from the Cave of the Nuts; two badgers from the province of Ulster; two landrail from the banks of the Sionnan; two wagtails from Port Lairrge; two curlews from the harbour of Gallimh; two hares from Muirthemne; two deer from Sith Buidhe; two peacocks from Magh Mell; two cormorants from Ath Cliath; two eels from Duth Dur; two goldfinches from Slieve na-n Eun; two birds of slaughter from Magh Bhuilg; two bright swallows from Granard; two redbreasts from the Great Wood; two rock-cod from Cala Chairge; two sea-pigs from the great sea; two wrens from Mios an Chuil; two salmon from Eas Mhic Muirne; two clean deer from Gleann na Smoil; two cows from Magh Mor; two cats from the Cave of Cruachan; two sheep from bright Sidhe Diobhlain; two pigs of the pigs of the son of Lir; a ram and a crimson sheep from Innis. And along with all these he brought ten hounds of the hounds of the Fianna, and a horse and a mare of the beautiful horses of Manannan. And when Caoilte had gathered all these, he brought them to the one place. But when he tried to keep them together, they scattered here and there from him; the raven went away southward, and that vexed him greatly, but he overtook it again in Gleann da Bheann, beside Loch Lurcan. And then his wild duck went away from him, and it was not easy to get it again, but he followed it through every stream to grey Accuill till he took it by the neck and brought it back, and it no way willing. And indeed through the length of his life Caoilte remembered well all he went through that time with the birds, big and little, travelling over hills and ditches and striving to bring them with him, that he might set Finn his master free. And when he came to Teamhair he had more to go through yet, for the king would not let him bring them in before morning, but gave him a house having nine doors in it to put them up in for the night. And no sooner were they put in than they raised a loud screech all together, for a little ray of light was coming to them through fifty openings, and they were trying to make their escape. And if they were not easy in the house, Caoilte was not easy outside it, watching every door till the rising of the sun on the morrow. And when he brought out his troop, the name the people gave them was "Caoilte's Rabble," and there was no wonder at all in that. But all the profit the King of Ireland got from them was to see them together for that one time. For no sooner did Finn get his freedom than the whole of them scattered here and there, and no two of them went by the same road out of Teamhair. And that was one of the best things Caoilte, son of Ronan, ever did. And another time he ran from the wave of Cliodna in the south to the wave of Rudraige in the north. And Colla his son was a very good runner too, and one time he ran a race backwards against the three battalions of the Fianna for a chessboard. And he won the race, but if he did, he went backward over Beinn Edair into the sea. And very good hearing Caoilte had. One time he heard the King of the Luigne of Connacht at his hunting, and Blathmec that was with him said, "What is that hunt, Caoilte?" "A hunt of three packs of hounds," he said, "and three sorts of wild creatures before them. The first hunt," he said, "is after stags and large deer and the second hunt is after swift small hares, and the third is a furious hunt after heavy boars." "And what is the fourth hunt, Caoilte?" said Blathmec. "It is the hunting of heavy-sided, low-bellied badgers." And then they heard coming after the hunt the shouts of the lads and of the readiest of the men and the serving-men that were best at carrying burdens. And Blathmec went out to see the hunting, and just as Caoilte had told him, that was the way it was. And he understood the use of herbs, and one time he met with two women that were very downhearted because their husbands had gone from them to take other wives. And Caoilte gave them Druid herbs, and they put them in the water of a bath and washed in it, and the love of their husbands came back to them, and they sent away the new wives they had taken. And as to Lugaidh's Son, that was of Finn's blood, and another of the best men of the Fianna, he was put into Finn's arms as a child, and he was reared up by Duban's daughter, that had reared eight hundred fighting men of the Fianna, till his twelfth year, and then she gave him all he wanted of arms and of armour, and he went to Chorraig Conluain and the mountains of Slieve Bladhma, where Finn and the Fianna were at that time. And Finn gave him a very gentle welcome, and he struck his hand in Finn's hand, and made his agreement of service with him. And he stopped through the length of a year with the Fianna; but he was someway sluggish through all that time, so that under his leading not more than nine of the Fianna got to kill so much as a boar or a deer. And along with that, he used to beat both his servants and his hounds. And at last the three battalions of the Fianna went to where Finn was, at the Point of the Fianna on the edge of Loch Lein, and they made their complaint against Lugaidh's Son, and it is what they said: "Make your choice now, will you have us with you, or will you have Lugaidh's Son by himself." Then Lugaidh's Son came to Finn, and Finn asked him, "What is it has put the whole of the Fianna against you?" "By my word," said the lad, "I do not know the reason, unless it might be they do not like me to be doing my feats and casting my spears among them." Then Finn gave him an advice, and it is what he said: "If you have a mind to be a good champion, be quiet in a great man's house; be surly in the narrow pass. Do not beat your hound without a cause; do not bring a charge against your wife without having knowledge of her guilt; do not hurt a fool in fighting, for he is without his wits. Do not find fault with high-up persons; do not stand up to take part in a quarrel; have no dealings with a bad man or a foolish man. Let two-thirds of your gentleness be showed to women and to little children that are creeping on the floor, and to men of learning that make the poems, and do not be rough with the common people. Do not give your reverence to all; do not be ready to have one bed with your companions. Do not threaten or speak big words, for it is a shameful thing to speak stiffly unless you can carry it out afterwards. Do not forsake your lord so long as you live; do not give up any man that puts himself under your protection for all the treasures of the world. Do not speak against others to their lord, that is not work for a good man. Do not be a bearer of lying stories, or a tale-bearer that is always chattering. Do not be talking too much; do not find fault hastily; however brave you may be, do not raise factions against you. Do not be going to drinking-houses, or finding fault with old men; do not meddle with low people; this is right conduct I am telling you. Do not refuse to share your meat; do not have a niggard for your friend; do not force yourself on a great man or give him occasion to speak against you. Hold fast to your arms till the hard fight is well ended. Do not give up your opportunity, but with that follow after gentleness." That was good advice Finn gave, and he was well able to do that; for it was said of him that he had all the wisdom of a little child that is busy about the house, and the mother herself not understanding what he is doing; and that is the time she has most pride in him. And as to Lugaidh's Son, that advice stayed always with him, and he changed his ways, and after a while he got a great name among the poets of Ireland and of Alban, and whenever they would praise Finn in their poems, they would praise him as well. And Aoife, daughter of the King of Lochlann, that was married to Mal, son of Aiel, King of Alban, heard the great praise the poets were giving to Lugaidh's Son, and she set her love on him for the sake of those stories. And one time Mal her husband and his young men went hunting to Slieve-mor-Monaidh in the north of Alban. And when he was gone Aoife made a plan in her sunny house where she was, to go over to Ireland, herself and her nine foster-sisters. And they set out and went over the manes of the sea till they came to Beinn Edair, and there they landed. And it chanced on that day there was a hunting going on, from Slieve Bladhma to Beinn Edair. And Finn was in his hunting seat, and his fosterling, brown-haired Duibhruinn, beside him. And the little lad was looking about him on every side, and he saw a ship coming to the strand, and a queen with modest looks in the ship, and nine women along with her. They landed then, and they came up to where Finn was, bringing every sort of present with them, and Aoife sat down beside him. And Finn asked news of her, and she told him the whole story, and how she had given her love to Lugaidh's Son, and was come over the sea looking for him; and Finn made her welcome. And when the hunting was over, the chief men of the Fianna came back to where Finn was, and every one asked who was the queen that was with him. And Finn told them her name, and what it was brought her to Ireland. "We welcome her that made that journey," said they all; "for there is not in Ireland or in Alban a better man than the man she is come looking for, unless Finn himself." And as to Lugaidh's Son, it was on the far side of Slieve Bladhma he was hunting that day, and he was the last to come in. And he went into Finn's tent, and when he saw the woman beside him he questioned Finn the same as the others had done, and Finn told him the whole story. "And it is to you she is come," he said; "and here she is to you out of my hand, and all the war and the battles she brings with her; but it will not fall heavier on you," he said, "than on the rest of the Fianna." And she was with Lugaidh's Son a month and a year without being asked for. But one day the three battalions of the Fianna were on the Hill of the Poet in Leinster, and they saw three armed battalions equal to themselves coming, against them, and they asked who was bringing them. "It is Mal, son of Aiel, is bringing them," said Finn, "to avenge his wife on the Fianna. And it is a good time they are come," he said, "when we are gathered together at the one spot." Then the two armies went towards one another, and Mal, son of Aiel, took hold of his arms, and three times he broke through the Fianna, and every time a hundred fell by him. And in the middle of the battle he and Lugaidh's Son met, and they fought against one another with spear and sword. And whether the fight was short or long, it was Mal fell by Lugaidh's Son at the last. And Aoife stood on a hill near by, as long as the battle lasted. And from that out she belonged to Lugaidh's Son, and was a mother of children to him. BOOK TWO: FINN'S HELPERS CHAPTER I. THE LAD OF THE SKINS Besides all the men Finn had in his household, there were some that would come and join him from one place or another. One time a young man wearing a dress of skins came to Finn's house at Almhuin, and his wife along with him, and he asked to take service with Finn. And in the morning, as they were going to their hunting, the Lad of the Skins said to Finn: "Let me have no one with me but myself, and let me go into one part of the country by myself, and you yourself with all your men go to another part." "Is it on the dry ridges you will go," said Finn, "or is it in the deep bogs and marshes, where there is danger of drowning?" "I will go in the deep boggy places," said he. So they all went out from Almhuin, Finn and the Fianna to one part, and the Lad of the Skins to another part, and they hunted through the day. And when they came back at evening, the Lad of the Skins had killed more than Finn and all his men together. When Finn saw that, he was glad to have so good a servant. But Conan said to him: "The Lad of the Skins will destroy ourselves and the whole of the Fianna of Ireland unless you will find some way to rid yourself of him." "I never had a good man with me yet, Conan," said Finn, "but you wanted me to put him away; and how could I put away a man like that?" he said. "The way to put him away," said Conan, "is to send him to the King of the Floods to take from him the great cauldron that is never without meat, but that has always enough in it to feed the whole world. And let him bring that cauldron back here with him to Almhuin," he said. So Finn called to the Lad of the Skins, and he said: "Go from me now to the King of the Floods and get the great cauldron that is never empty from him, and bring it here to me." "So long as I am in your service I must do your work," said the Lad of the Skins. With that he set out, leaping over the hills and valleys till he came to the shore of the sea. And then he took up two sticks and put one of them across the other, and a great ship rose out of the two sticks. The Lad of the Skins went into the ship then, and put up the sails and set out over the sea, and he heard nothing but the whistling of eels in the sea and the calling of gulls in the air till he came to the house of the King of the Floods. And at that time there were hundreds of ships waiting near the shore; and he left his ship outside them all, and then he stepped from ship to ship till he stood on land. There was a great feast going on at that time in the king's house, and the Lad of the Skins went up to the door, but he could get no farther because of the crowd. So he stood outside the door for a while, and no one looked at him, and he called out at last: "This is a hospitable house indeed, and these are mannerly ways, not to ask a stranger if there is hunger on him or thirst." "That is true," said the king; "and give the cauldron of plenty now to this stranger," he said, "till he eats his fill." So his people did that, and no sooner did the Lad of the Skins get a hold of the cauldron than he made away to the ship and put it safe into it. But when he had done that he said: "There is no use in taking the pot by my swiftness, if I do not take it by my strength." And with that he turned and went to land again. And the whole of the men of the army of the King of the Floods were ready to fight; but if they were, so was the Lad of the Skins, and he went through them and over them all till the whole place was quiet. He went back to his ship then and raised the sails and set out again for Ireland, and the ship went rushing back to the place where he made it. And when he came there, he gave a touch of his hand to the ship, and there was nothing left of it but the two sticks he made it from, and they lying on the strand before him, and the cauldron of plenty with them. And he took up the cauldron on his back, and brought it to Finn, son of Cumhal, at Almhuin. And Finn gave him his thanks for the work he had done. One day, now, Finn was washing himself at the well, and a voice spoke out of the water, and it said: "You must give back the cauldron, Finn, to the King of the Floods, or you must give him battle in place of it." Finn told that to the Lad of the Skins, but the answer he got from him was that his time was up, and that he could not serve on time that was past. "But if you want me to go with you," he said, "let you watch my wife, that is Manannan's daughter, through the night; and in the middle of the night, when she will be combing her hair, any request you make of her, she cannot refuse it. And the request you will make is that she will let me go with you to the King of the Floods, to bring the cauldron to his house and to bring it back again." So Finn watched Manannan's daughter through the night, and when he saw her combing her hair, he made his request of her. "I have no power to refuse you," she said; "but you must promise me one thing, to bring my husband back to me, alive or dead. And if he is alive," she said, "put up a grey-green flag on the ship coming back; but if he is dead, put up a red flag." So Finn promised to do that, and he himself and the Lad of the Skins set out together for the dun of the King of the Floods, bringing the cauldron with them. No sooner did the king see them than he gave word to all his armies to make ready. But the Lad of the Skins made for them and overthrew them, and he went into the king's dun, and Finn with him, and they overcame him and brought away again the cauldron that was never empty. But as they were going back to Ireland, they saw a great ship coming towards them. And when the Lad of the Skins looked at the ship, he said: "I think it is an old enemy of my own is in that ship, that is trying to bring me to my death, because of my wife that refused him her love." And when the ship came alongside, the man that was in it called out: "I know you well, and it is not by your dress I know you, son of the King of the Hills." And with that he made a leap on to the ship, and the two fought a great battle together, and they took every shape; they began young like two little boys, and fought till they were two old men; they fought from being two young pups until they were two old dogs; from being two young horses till they were two old horses. And then they began to fight in the shape of birds, and it is in that shape they killed one another at the last. And Finn threw the one bird into the water, but the other, that was the Lad of the Skins, he brought with him in the ship. And when he came in sight of Ireland, he raised a red flag as he had promised the woman. And when he came to the strand, she was there before him, and when she saw Finn, she said: "It is dead you have brought him back to me." And Finn gave her the bird, and she asked was that what she was to get in the place of her husband. And she was crying over the bird, and she brought it into a little boat with her, and she bade Finn to push out the boat to sea. And he pushed it out, and it was driven by wind and waves till at last she saw two birds flying, having a dead one between them. And the two living birds let down the dead one on an island; and it was not long till it rose up living, and the three went away together. And when Manannan's daughter saw that, she said: "There might be some cure for my man on the island, the way there was for that dead bird." And the sea brought the boat to the island, and she went searching around, but all she could find was a tree having green leaves. "It might be in these leaves the cure is," she said; and she took some of the leaves and brought them to where the Lad of the Skins was, and put them about him. And on that moment he stood up as well and as sound as ever he was. They went back then to Ireland, and they came to Almhuin at midnight, and the Lad of the Skins knocked at the door, and he said: "Put me out my wages." "There is no man, living or dead, has wages on me but the Lad of the Skins," said Finn; "and I would sooner see him here to-night," he said, "than the wages of three men." "If that is so, rise up and you will see him," said he. So Finn rose up and saw him, and gave him a great welcome, and paid him his wages. And after that he went away and his wife with him to wherever his own country was; but there were some said he was gone to the country of his wife's father, Manannan, Son of the Sea. CHAPTER II. BLACK, BROWN, AND GREY Finn was hunting one time near Teamhair of the Kings, and he saw three strange men coming towards him, and he asked what were their names. "Dubh and Dun and Glasan, Black, Brown, and Grey, are our names," they said, "and we are come to find Finn, son of Cumhal, Head of the Fianna, and to take service with him." So Finn took them into his service, and when evening came he said: "Let each one of you watch through a third part of the night." And there was a trunk of a tree there, and he bade them make three equal parts of it, and he gave a part to each of the three men, and he said: "When each one of you begins his watch, let him set fire to his own log, and as long as the wood burns let him watch." Then they drew lots, and the lot fell to Dubh to go on the first watch. So he set fire to his log, and he went out around the place, and Bran with him. He went farther and farther till at last he saw a bright light, and when he came to the place where it was, he saw a large house. He went inside, and there was a great company of very strange-looking men in it, and they drinking out of a single cup. One of the men, that seemed to be the highest, gave the cup to the man nearest him; and after he had drunk his fill he passed it on to the next, and so on to the last. And while it was going round, he said: "This is the great cup that was taken from Finn, son of Cumhal, a hundred years ago, and however many men may be together, every man of them can drink his fill from it, of whatever sort of drink he has a mind for." Dubh was sitting near the door, on the edge of the crowd, and when the cup came to him he took a drink from it, and then he slipped away in the dark, bringing it with him. And when he came to the place where Finn was, his log was burned out. Then it was the turn of Dun to go out, for the second lot had fallen on him, and he put a light to his log, and went out, and Bran with him. He walked on through the night till he saw a fire that was shining from a large house, and when he went in he saw a crowd of men, and they fighting. And a very old man that was in a high place above the rest called out: "Stop fighting now, for I have a better gift for you than the one you lost to-night." And with that he drew a knife out of his belt and held it up, and said: "This is the wonderful knife, the small knife of division, that was stolen from Finn, son of Cumhal, a hundred years ago; and you have but to cut on a bone with that knife and you will get your fill of the best meat in the world." Then he gave the knife to the man nearest him, and a bare bone with it, and the man began to cut, and there came off the bone slices of the best meat in the world. The knife and the bone were sent round then from man to man till they came to Dun, and as soon as he had the knife in his hand he slipped out unknown and hurried back, and he had just got to the well where Finn was, when his part of the log burned out. Then Glasan lighted his log and went out on his watch till he came to the house, the same way the others did. And he looked in and he saw the floor full of dead bodies, and he thought to himself: "There must be some great wonder here. And if I lie down on the floor and put some of the bodies over me," he said, "I will be able to see all that happens." So he lay down and pulled some of the bodies over him, and he was not long there till he saw an old hag coming into the house, having one leg and one arm and one upper tooth, that was long enough to serve her in place of a crutch. And when she came inside the door she took up the first dead body she met with, and threw it aside, for it was lean. And as she went on, she took two bites out of every fat body she met with, and threw away every lean one. She had her fill of flesh and blood before she came to Glasan, and she dropped down on the floor and fell asleep, and Glasan thought that every breath she drew would bring down the roof on his head. He rose up then and looked at her, and wondered at the bulk of her body. And at last he drew his sword and hit her a slash that killed her; but if he did, three young men leaped out of her body. And Glasan made a stroke that killed the first of them, and Bran killed the second, but the third made his escape. Glasan made his way back then, and just when he got to where Finn was, his log of wood was burned out, and the day was beginning to break. And when Finn rose up in the morning he asked news of the three watchers, and they gave him the cup and the knife and told him all they had seen, and he gave great praise to Dubh and to Dun; but to Glasan he said: "It might have been as well for you to have left that old hag alone, for I am in dread the third young man may bring trouble on us all." It happened at the end of twenty-one years, Finn and the Fianna were at their hunting in the hills, and they saw a Red-Haired Man coming towards them, and he spoke to no one, but came and stood before Finn. "What is it you are looking for?" said Finn. "I am looking for a master for the next twenty-one years," he said. "What wages are you asking?" said Finn. "No wages at all, but only if I die before the twenty-one years are up, to bury me on Inis Caol, the Narrow Island." "I will do that for you," said Finn. So the Red-Haired Man served Finn well through the length of twenty years. But in the twenty-first year he began to waste and to wither away, and he died. And when he was dead, the Fianna were no way inclined to go to Inis Caol to bury him. But Finn said he would break his word for no man, and that he himself would bring his body there. And he took an old white horse that had been turned loose on the hills, and that had got younger and not older since it was put out, and he put the body of the Red-Haired Man on its back, and let it take its own way, and he himself followed it, and twelve men of the Fianna. And when they came to Inis Caol they saw no trace of the horse or of the body. And there was an open house on the island, and they went in. And there were seats for every man of them inside, and they sat down to rest for a while. But when they tried to rise up it failed them to do it, for there was enchantment on them. And they saw the Red-Haired Man standing before them in that moment. "The time is come now," he said, "for me to get satisfaction from you for the death of my mother and my two brothers that were killed by Glasan in the house of the dead bodies." He began to make an attack on them then, and he would have made an end of them all, but Finn took hold of the Dord Fiann, and blew a great blast on it. And before the Red-Haired Man was able to kill more than three of them, Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne, that had heard the sound of the Dord Fiann, came into the house and made an end of him, and put an end to the enchantment. And Finn, with the nine that were left of the Fianna, came back again to Almhuin. CHAPTER III. THE HOUND One day the three battalions of the Fianna came to Magh Femen, and there they saw three young men waiting for them, having a hound with them; and there was not a colour in the world but was on that hound, and it was bigger than any other hound. "Where do you come from, young men?" said Finn. "Out of the greater Iruath in the east," said they; "and our names are Dubh, the Dark, and Agh, the Battle, and Ilar, the Eagle." "What is it you came for?" "To enter into service, and your friendship," said they. "What good will it do us, you to be with us?" said Finn. "We are three," said they, "and you can make a different use of each one of us." "What uses are those?" said Finn. "I will do the watching for all the Fianna of Ireland and of Alban," said one of them. "I will take the weight of every fight and every battle that will come to them, the way they can keep themselves in quiet," said the second. "I will meet every troublesome thing that might come to my master," said the third; "and let all the wants of the world be told to me and I will satisfy them. And I have a pipe with me," he said; "and all the men of the world would sleep at the sound of it, and they in their sickness. And as to the hound," he said, "as long as there are deer in Ireland he will get provision for the Fianna every second night. And I myself," he said, "will get it on the other nights." "What will you ask of us to be with us like that?" said Finn. "We will ask three things," they said: "no one to come near to the place where we have our lodging after the fall of night; nothing to be given out to us, but we to provide for ourselves; and the worst places to be given to us in the hunting." "Tell me by your oath now," said Finn, "why is it you will let no one see you after nightfall?" "We have a reason," said they; "but do not ask it of us, whether we are short or long on the one path with you. But we will tell you this much," they said, "every third night, one of us three is dead and the other two are watching him, and we have no mind for any one to be looking at us." So Finn promised that; but if he did there were some of the Fianna were not well pleased because of the ways of those three men, living as they did by themselves, and having a wall of fire about them, and they would have made an end of them but for Finn protecting them. About that time there came seven men of poetry belonging to the people of Cithruadh, asking the fee for a poem, three times fifty ounces of gold and the same of silver to bring back to Cithruadh at Teamhair. "Whatever way we get it, we must find some way to get that," said a man of the Fianna. Then the three young men from Iruath said: "Well, men of learning," they said, "would you sooner get the fee for your poem to-night or to-morrow?" "To-morrow will be time enough," said they. And the three young men went to the place where the hound had his bed a little way off from the rath, and the hound threw out of his mouth before them the three times fifty ounces of gold and three times fifty of silver, and they gave them to the men of poetry, and they went away. Another time Finn said: "What can the three battalions of the Fianna do to-night, having no water?" And one of the men of Iruath said: "How many drinking-horns are with you?" "Three hundred and twelve," said Caoilte. "Give me the horns into my hand," said the young man, "and whatever you will find in them after that, you may drink it." He filled the horns then with beer and they drank it, and he did that a second and a third time; and with the third time of filling they were talkative and their wits confused. "This is a wonderful mending of the feast," said Finn. And they gave the place where all that happened the name of the Little Rath of Wonders. And one time after that again there came to Finn three bald red clowns, holding three red hounds in their hands, and three deadly spears. And there was poison on their clothes and on their hands and their feet, and on everything they touched. And Finn asked them who were they. And they said they were three sons of Uar, son of Indast of the Tuatha de Danaan; and it was by a man of the Fianna, Caoilte son of Ronan, their father was killed in the battle of the Tuatha de Danaan on Slieve nan Ean, the Mountain of Birds, in the east. "And let Caoilte son of Ronan give us the blood-fine for him now," they said. "What are your names?" said Finn. "Aincel and Digbail and Espaid; Ill-wishing and Harm and Want are our names. And what answer do you give us now, Finn?" they said. "No one before me ever gave a blood-fine for a man killed in battle, and I will not give it," said Finn. "We will do revenge and robbery on you so," said they. "What revenge is that?" said Finn. "It is what I will do," said Aincel, "if I meet with two or three or four of the Fianna, I will take their feet and their hands from them." "It is what I will do," said Digbail, "I will not leave a day without loss of a hound or a serving-boy or a fighting man to the Fianna of Ireland." "And I myself will be always leaving them in want of people, or of a hand, or of an eye," said Espaid. "Without we get some help against them," said Caoilte, "there will not be one of us living at the end of a year." "Well," said Finn, "we will make a dun and stop here for a while, for I will not be going through Ireland and these men following after me, till I find who are the strongest, themselves or ourselves." So the Fianna made little raths for themselves all about Slieve Mis, and they stopped there through a month and a quarter and a year. And through all that time the three red bald-headed men were doing every sort of hurt and harm upon them. But the three sons of the King of Iruath came to speak with Finn, and it is what they said: "It is our wish, Finn, to send the hound that is with us to go around you three times in every day, and however many may be trying to hurt or to rob you, they will not have power to do it after that. But let there be neither fire nor arms nor any other dog in the house he goes into," they said. "I will let none of these things go into the one house with him," said Finn, "and he will go safe back to you." So every day the hound would be sent to Finn, having his chain of ridges of red gold around his neck, and he would go three times around Finn, and three times he would put his tongue upon him. And to the people that were nearest to the hound when he came into the house it would seem like as if a vat of mead was being strained, and to others there would come the sweet smell of an apple garden. And every harm and sickness the three sons of Uar would bring on the Fianna, the three sons of the King of Iruath would take it off them with their herbs and their help and their healing. And after a while the High King of Ireland came to Slieve Mis with a great, troop of his men, to join with Finn and the Fianna. And they told the High King the whole story, and how the sons of Uar were destroying them, and the three sons of the King of Iruath were helping them against them. "Why would not the men that can do all that find some good spell that would drive the sons of Uar out of Ireland?" said the High King. With that Caoilte went looking for the three young men from Iruath and brought them to the High King. "These are comely men," said the High King, "good in their shape and having a good name. And could you find any charm, my sons," he said, "that will drive out these three enemies that are destroying the Fianna of Ireland?" "We would do that if we could find those men near us," said they; "and it is where they are now," they said, "at Daire's Cairn at the end of the raths." "Where are Garb-Cronan, the Rough Buzzing One, and Saltran of the Long Heel?" said Finn. "Here we are, King of the Fianna," said they. "Go out to those men beyond, and tell them I will give according to the judgment of the King of Ireland in satisfaction for their father." The messengers went out then and brought them in, and they sat down on the bank of the rath. Then the High King said: "Rise up, Dubh, son of the King of Iruath, and command these sons of Uar with a spell to quit Ireland." And Dubh rose up, and he said: "Go out through the strength of this spell and this charm, you three enemies of the Fianna, one-eyed, lame-thighed, left-handed, of the bad race. And go out on the deep bitter sea," he said, "and let each one of you strike a blow of his sword on the head of his brothers. For it is long enough you are doing harm and destruction on the King of the Fianna, Finn, son of Cumhal." With that the hound sent a blast of wind under them that brought them out into the fierce green sea, and each of them struck a blow on the head of the others. And that was the last that was seen of the three destroying sons of Uar, Aincel and Digbail and Espaid. But after the time of the Fianna, there came three times in the one year, into West Munster, three flocks of birds from the western sea having beaks of bone and fiery breath, and the wind from their wings was as cold as a wind of spring. And the first time they came was at reaping time, and every one of them brought away an ear of corn from the field. And the next time they came they did not leave apple on tree, or nut on bush, or berry on the rowan; and the third time they spared no live thing they could lift from the ground, young bird or fawn or silly little child. And the first day they came was the same day of the year the three sons of Uar were put out in the sea. And when Caoilte, that was one of the last of the Fianna, and that was living yet, heard of them, he remembered the sons of Uar, and he made a spell that drove them out into the sea again, and they perished there by one another. It was about the length of a year the three sons of the King of Iruath stopped with Finn. And at the end of that time Donn and Dubhan, two sons of the King of Ulster, came out of the north to Munster. And one night they kept watch for the Fianna, and three times they made a round of the camp. And it is the way the young men from Iruath used to be, in a place by themselves apart from the Fianna, and their hound in the middle between them; and at the fall of night there used a wall of fire to be around them, the way no one could look at them. And the third time the sons of the King of Ulster made the round of the camp, they saw the fiery wall, and Donn said: "It is a wonder the way those three young men are through the length of a year now, and their hound along with them, and no one getting leave to look at them." With that he himself and his brother took their arms in their hands, and went inside the wall of fire, and they began looking at the three men and at the hound. And the great hound they used to see every day at the hunting was at this time no bigger than a lap-dog that would be with a queen or a high person. And one of the young men was watching over the dog, and his sword in his hand, and another of them was holding a vessel of white silver to the mouth of the dog; and any drink any one of the three would ask for, the dog would put it out of his mouth into the vessel. Then one of the young men said to the hound: "Well, noble one and brave one and just one, take notice of the treachery that is done to you by Finn." When the dog heard that he turned to the King of Ulster's sons, and there rose a dark Druid wind that blew away the shields from their shoulders and the swords from their sides into the wall of fire. And then the three men came out and made an end of them; and when that was done the dog came and breathed on them, and they turned to ashes on the moment, and there was never blood or flesh or bone of them found after. And the three battalions of the Fianna divided themselves into companies of nine, and went searching through every part of Ireland for the King of Ulster's two sons. And as to Finn, he went to Teamhair Luachra, and no one with him but the serving-lads and the followers of the army. And the companies of nine that were looking for the King of Ulster's sons came back to him there in the one night; but they brought no word of them, if they were dead or living. But as to the three sons of the King of Iruath and the hound that was with them, they were seen no more by Finn and the Fianna. CHAPTER IV. RED RIDGE There was another young man came and served Finn for a while; out of Connacht he came, and he was very daring, and the Red Ridge was the name they gave him. And he all but went from Finn one time, because of his wages that were too long in coming to him. And the three battalions of the Fianna came trying to quiet him, but he would not stay for them. And at the last Finn himself came, for it is a power he had, if he would make but three verses he would quiet any one. And it is what he said: "Daring Red Ridge," he said, "good in battle, if you go from me to-day with your great name it is a good parting for us. But once at Rath Cro," he said, "I gave you three times fifty ounces in the one day; and at Cam Ruidhe I gave you the full of my cup of silver and of yellow gold. And do you remember," he said, "the time we were at Rath Ai, when we found the two women, and when we ate the nuts, myself and yourself were there together." And after that the young man said no more about going from him. And another helper came to Finn one time he was fighting at a ford, and all his weapons were used or worn with the dint of the fight. And there came to him a daughter of Mongan of the Sidhe, bringing him a flat stone having a chain of gold to it. And he took the stone and did great deeds with it. And after the fight the stone fell into the ford, that got the name of Ath Liag Finn. And that stone will never be found till the Woman of the Waves will find it, and will bring it to land on a Sunday morning; and on that day seven years the world will come to an end. BOOK THREE: THE BATTLE OF THE WHITE STRAND. CHAPTER I. THE ENEMIES OF IRELAND Of all the great battles the Fianna fought to keep the foreigners out of Ireland, the greatest was the one that was fought at Finntraigh the White Strand, in Munster; and this is the whole story of it, and of the way the Fianna came to have so great a name. One time the enemies of Ireland gathered together under Daire Donn, High King of the Great World, thinking to take Ireland and to put it under tribute. The King of Greece was of them, and the King of France, and the King of the Eastern World, and Lughman of the Broad Arms, King of the Saxons, and Fiacha of the Long Hair, King of the Gairean, and Tor the son of Breogan, King of the Great Plain, and Sligech, son of the King of the Men of Cepda, and Comur of the Crooked Sword, King of the Men of the Dog-Heads, and Caitchenn, King of the Men of the Cat-Heads, and Caisel of the Feathers, King of Lochlann, and Madan of the Bent Neck, son of the King of the Marshes, and three kings from the rising of the sun in the east, and Ogarmach, daughter of the King of Greece, the best woman-warrior that ever came into the world, and a great many other kings and great lords. The King of the World asked then: "Who is there can give me knowledge of the harbours of Ireland?" "I will do that for you, and I will bring you to a good harbour," said Glas, son of Bremen, that had been put out of Ireland by Finn for doing some treachery. Then the armies set out in their ships, and they were not gone far when the wind rose and the waves, and they could hear nothing but the wild playing of the sea-women, and the screams of frightened birds, and the breaking of ropes and of sails. But after a while, when the wind found no weakness in the heroes, it rose from them and went up into its own high place. And then the sea grew quiet and the waves grew tame and the harbours friendly, and they stopped for a while at an island that was called the Green Rock. But the King of the World said then: "It is not a harbour like this you promised me, Glas, son of Dremen, but a shore of white sand where my armies could have their fairs and their gatherings the time they would not be fighting." "I know a harbour of that sort in the west of Ireland," said Glas, "the Harbour of the White Strand in Corca Duibhne." So they went into their ships again, and went on over the sea towards Ireland. CHAPTER II. CAEL AND CREDHE Now as to Finn, when it was shown to him that the enemies of Ireland were coming, he called together the seven battalions of the Fianna. And the place where they gathered was on the hill that was called Fionntulach, the White Hill, in Munster. They often stopped on that hill for a while, and spear-shafts with spells on them were brought to them there, and they had every sort of thing for food, beautiful blackberries, haws of the hawthorn, nuts of the hazels of Cenntire, tender twigs of the bramble bush, sprigs of wholesome gentian, watercress at the beginning of summer. And there would be brought to their cooking-pots birds out of the oak-woods, and squirrels from Berramain, and speckled eggs from the cliffs, and salmon out of Luimnech, and eels of the Sionnan, and woodcocks of Fidhrinne, and otters from the hidden places of the Doile, and fish from the coasts of Buie and Beare, and dulse from the bays of Cleire. And as they were going to set out southwards, they saw one of their young men, Gael, grandson of Nemhnain, coming towards them. "Where are you come from, Cael?" Finn asked him. "From Brugh na Boinne," said he. "What were you asking there?" said Finn. "I was asking to speak with Muirenn, daughter of Derg, that was my own nurse," said he. "For what cause?" said Finn. "It was about a high marriage and a woman of the Sidhe that was showed to me in a dream; Credhe it was I saw, daughter of the King of Ciarraighe Luachra." "Do you know this, Cael," said Finn, "that she is the greatest deceiver of all the women of Ireland; and there is hardly a precious thing in Ireland but she has coaxed it away to her own great dun." "Do you know what she asks of every man that comes asking for her?" said Cael. "I know it," said Finn; "she will let no one come unless he is able to make a poem setting out the report of her bowls and her horns and her cups, her grand vessels and all her palaces." "I have all that ready," said Cael; "it was given to me by my nurse, Muirenn, daughter of Derg." They gave up the battle then for that time, and they went on over every hilly place and every stony place till they came to Loch Cuire in the west; and they came to the door of the hill of the Sidhe and knocked at it with the shafts of their long gold-socketted spears. And there came young girls having yellow hair to the windows of the sunny houses; and Credhe herself, having three times fifty women with her, came out to speak with them. "It is to ask you in marriage we are come," said Finn. "Who is it is asking for me?" said she. "It is Cael, the hundred-killer, grandson of Nemhnain, son of the King of Leinster in the east." "I have heard talk of him, but I have never seen him," said Credhe. "And has he any poem for me?" she said. "I have that," said Cael, and he rose up then and sang his poem: "A journey I have to make, and it is no easy journey, to the house of Credhe against the breast of the mountain, at the Paps of Dana; it is there I must be going through hardships for the length of seven days. It is pleasant her house is, with men and boys and women, with Druids and musicians, with cup-bearer and door-keeper, with horse-boy that does not leave his work, with distributer to share food; and Credhe of the Fair Hair having command over them all. "It would be delightful to me in her dun, with coverings and with down, if she has but a mind to listen to me. "A bowl she has with juice of berries in it to make her eyebrows black; crystal vats of fermenting grain; beautiful cups and vessels. Her house is of the colour of lime; there are rushes for beds, and many silken coverings and blue cloaks; red gold is there, and bright drinking-horns. Her sunny house is beside Loch Cuire, made of silver and yellow gold; its ridge is thatched without any fault, with the crimson wings of birds. The doorposts are green, the lintel is of silver taken in battle. Credhe's chair on the left is the delight of delights, covered with gold of Elga; at the foot of the pleasant bed it is, the bed that was made of precious stones by Tuile in the east. Another bed there is on the right, of gold and silver, it is made without any fault, curtains it has of the colour of the foxglove, hanging on rods of copper. "The people of her house, it is they have delight, their cloaks are not faded white, they are not worn smooth; their hair is fair and curling. Wounded men in their blood would sleep hearing the birds of the Sidhe singing in the eaves of the sunny house. "If I have any thanks to give to Credhe, for whom the cuckoo calls, she will get better praise than this; if this love-service I have done is pleasing to her, let her not delay, let her say, 'Your coming is welcome to me.' "A hundred feet there are in her house, from one corner to another; twenty feet fully measured is the width of her great door; her roof has its thatch of the wings of blue and yellow birds, the border of her well is of crystals and carbuncles. "There is a vat there of royal bronze; the juice of pleasant malt is running from it; over the vat is an apple-tree with its heavy fruit; when Credhe's horn is filled from the vat, four apples fall into it together. "She that owns all these things both at low water and at flood, Credhe from the Hill of the Three Peaks, she is beyond all the women of Ireland by the length of a spear-cast. "Here is this song for her, it is no sudden bride-gift it is, no hurried asking; I bring it to Credhe of the beautiful shape, that my coming may be very bright to her." Then Credhe took him for her husband, and the wedding-feast was made, and the whole of the Fianna stopped there through seven days, at drinking and pleasure, and having every good thing. CHAPTER III. CONN CRITHER Finn now, when he had turned from his road to go to Credhe's house, had sent out watchmen to every landing-place to give warning when the ships of the strangers would be in sight. And the man that was keeping watch at the White Strand was Conn Crither, son of Bran, from Teamhair Luachra. And after he had been a long time watching, he was one night west from the Round Hill of the Fianna that is called Cruachan Adrann, and there he fell asleep. And while he was in his sleep the ships came; and what roused him was the noise of the breaking of shields and the clashing of swords and of spears, and the cries of women and children and of dogs and horses that were under flames, and that the strangers were making an attack on. Conn Crither started up when he heard that, and he said: "It is great trouble has come on the people through my sleep; and I will not stay living after this," he said, "for Finn and the Fianna of Ireland to see me, but I will rush into the middle of the strangers," he said, "and they will fall by me till I fall by them." He put on his suit of battle then and ran down towards the strand. And on the way he saw three women dressed in battle clothes before him, and fast as he ran he could not overtake them. He took his spear then to make a cast of it at the woman was nearest him, but she stopped on the moment, and she said: "Hold your hand and do not harm us, for we are not come to harm you but to help you." "Who are you yourselves?" said Conn Crither. "We are three sisters," she said, "and we are come from Tir nan Og, the Country of the Young, and we have all three given you our love, and no one of us loves you less than the other, and it is to give you our help we are come." "What way will you help me?" said Conn. "We will give you good help," she said, "for we will make Druid armies about you from stalks of grass and from the tops of the watercress, and they will cry out to the strangers and will strike their arms from their hands, and take from them their strength and their eyesight. And we will put a Druid mist about you now," she said, "that will hide you from the armies of the strangers, and they will not see you when you make an attack on them. And we have a well of healing at the foot of Slieve Iolair, the Eagle's Mountain," she said, "and its waters will cure every wound made in battle. And after bathing in that well you will be as whole and as sound as the day you were born. And bring whatever man you like best with you," she said, "and we will heal him along with you." Conn Crither gave them his thanks for that, and he hurried on to the strand. And it was at that time the armies of the King of the Great Plain were taking spoils from Traigh Moduirn in the north to Finntraighe in the south. And Conn Crither came on them, and the Druid army with him, and he took their spoils from them, and the Druid army took their sight and their strength from them, and they were routed, and they made away to where the King of the Great Plain was, and Conn Crither followed, killing and destroying. "Stop with me, king-hero," said the King of the Great Plain, "that I may fight with you on account of my people, since there is not one of them that turns to stand against you." So the two set their banners in the earth and attacked one another, and fought a good part of the day until Conn Crither struck off the king's head. And he lifted up the head, and he was boasting of what he had done. "By my word," he said, "I will not let myself be parted from this body till some of the Fianna, few or many, will come to me." CHAPTER IV. GLAS, SON OF BREMEN The King of the World heard that, and he said: "It is a big word that man is saying," he said; "and rise up now, Glas, son of Dremen, and see which of the Fianna of Ireland it is that is saying it." Glas left the ship then, and he went to where Conn Crither was, and he asked who was he. "I am Conn Crither, son of Bran, from Teamhair Luachra," said he. "If that is so," said Glas, "you are of the one blood with myself, for I am Glas, son of Bremen from Teamhair Luachra." "It is not right for you to come fighting against me from those foreigners, so," said Conn. "It is a pity indeed," said Glas; "and but for Finn and the Fianna driving me from them, I would not fight against you or against one of themselves for all the treasures of the whole world." "Do not say that," said Conn, "for I swear by my hand of valour," he said, "if you had killed Finn's own son and the sons of his people along with him, you need not be in dread of him if only you came under his word and his protection." "I think indeed the day is come for me to fight beside you," said Glas, "and I will go back and tell that to the King of the World." He went back then to where the king was, and the king asked him which of the men of the Fianna was in it. "It is a kinsman of my own is in it, High King," said Glas; "and it is weak my heart is, he to be alone, and I have a great desire to go and help him." "If you go," said the King of the World, "it is what I ask you, to come and to tell me every day how many of the Fianna of Ireland have fallen by me; and if a few of my own men should fall," he said, "come and tell me who it was they fell by." "It is what I ask you," said Glas, "not to let your armies land till the Fianna come to us, but to let one man only come to fight with each of us until that time," he said. So two of the strangers were sent against them that day, and they got their death by Glas and by Conn Crither. Then they asked to have two men sent against each of them, and that was done; and three times nine fell by them before night. And Conn Crither was covered with wounds after the day, and he said to Glas: "Three women came to me from the Country of the Young, and they promised to put me in a well of healing for my wounds. And let you watch the harbour to-night," he said, "and I will go look for them." So he went to them, and they bathed him in the well of healing, and he was whole of his wounds. And as to Glas, son of Dremen, he went down to the harbour, and he said: "O King of the World," he said, "there is a friend of mine in the ships, Madan of the Bent Neck, son of the King of the Marshes; and it is what he said in the great world in the east, that he himself would be enough to take Ireland for you, and that he would bring it under tribute to you by one way or another. And I ask you to let him come alone against me to-night, till we see which of us will fight best for Ireland." So Madan came to the land, and the two attacked one another, and made a very hard fight; but as it was not in the prophecy that Glas would find his death there, it was the son of the King of the Marshes that got his death by him. And not long after that Conn Crither came back to Glas, and he gave Glas great praise for all he had done. CHAPTER V. THE HELP OF THE MEN OF DEA Then Taistellach that was one of Finn's messengers came to the White Strand asking news; and Conn bade him go back to where Finn was and tell him the way things were. But Taistellach would not go until he had wetted his sword in the blood of one of the enemies of Ireland, the same as the others had done. And he sent a challenge to the ships, and Coimhleathan, a champion that was very big and tall, came and fought with him on the strand, and took him in his arms to bring him back living to the ship of the High King; but Taistellach struck his head off in the sea and brought it back to land. "Victory and blessing be with you!" said Conn Crither. "And go now to-night," he said, "to the house of Bran, son of Febal my father at Teamhair Luachra, and bid him to gather all the Tuatha de Danaan to help us; and go on to-morrow to the Fianna of Ireland." So Taistellach went on to Bran's house, and he told him the whole story and gave him the message. Then Bran, son of Febal, went out to gather the Tuatha de Danaan, and he went to Dun Sesnain in Ui Conall Gabra, where they were holding a feast at that time. And there he found three of the best young men of the Tuatha de Danaan, Ilbrec the Many Coloured, son of Manannan, and Nemanach the Pearly, son of Angus Og, and Sigmall, grandson of Midhir, and they made him welcome and bade him to stop with them. "There is a greater thing than this for you to do, Men of Dea," said Bran; and he told them the whole story, and the way Conn Crither his son was. "Stop with me to-night," said Sesnan, "and my son Dolb will go to Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda, and gather in the Tuatha de Danaan to us." So he stopped there, and Dolb, son of Sesnan, went to Sidhe Bean Finn above Magh Femen, and Bodb Dearg was there at that time, and Dolb gave him his message. "Young man," said Bodb Dearg, "we are no way bound to help the men of Ireland out of that strait." "Do not say that," said Dolb, "for there is not a king's son or a prince or a leader of the Fianna of Ireland without having a wife or a mother or a foster-mother or a sweetheart of the Tuatha de Danaan; and it is good help they have given you every time you were in want of it." "I give my word," said Bodb Dearg, "it is right to give a good answer to so good a messenger." With that he sent word to the Tuatha de Danaan in every place where they were, and they gathered to him. And from that they went on to Dun Sesnain, and they stopped there through the night And they rose up in the morning and put on their shirts of the dearest silk and their embroidered coats of rejoicing, and they took their green shields and their swords and their spears. And their leaders at that time besides Bodb Dearg were Midhir of Bri Leith, and Lir of Sidhe Finnachaidh, and Abarthach, son of Ildathach, and Ilbrec, son of Manannan, and Fionnbhar of Magh Suil, and Argat Lamh, the Silver Hand, from the Sionnan, and the Man of Sweet Speech from the Boinn. And the whole army of them came into Ciarraighe Luachra, and to red-haired Slieve Mis, and from that to the harbour of the White Strand. "O Men of Dea," said Abarthach then, "let a high mind and high courage rise within you now in the face of the battle. For the doings of every one among you," he said, "will be told till the end of the world; and let you fulfil now the big words you have spoken in the drinking-houses." "Rise up, Glas, son of Dremen," said Bodb Dearg then, "and tell out to the King of the World that I am come to do battle." Glas went then to the King of the World. "Are those the Fianna of Ireland I see?" said the king. "They are not," said Glas, "but another part of the men of Ireland that do not dare to be on the face of the earth, but that live in hidden houses under the earth, and it is to give warning of battle from them I am come." "Who will answer the Tuatha de Danaan for me?" said the King of the World. "We will go against them," said two of the kings that were with him, Comur Cromchenn, King of the Men of the Dog-Heads, and Caitchenn, King of the Men of the Cat-Heads. And they had five red-armed battalions with them, and they went to the shore like great red waves. "Who is there to match with the King of the Dog-Heads for me?" said Bodb Dearg. "I will go against him," said Lir of Sidhe Finnachaidh, "though I heard there is not in the world a man with stronger hands than himself." "Who will be a match for the King of the Cat-Heads?" said Bodb Dearg. "I will be a match for him," said Abarthach, son of Ildathach. So Lir and the King of the Dog-Heads attacked one another, and they made a hard fight; but after a while Lir was getting the worst of it. "It is a pity the way Lir is," said Bodb Dearg; "and let some of you rise up and help him," he said. Then Ilbrec, son of Manannan, went to his help; but if he did, he got a wound himself and could do nothing. Then Sigmal, grandson of Midhir, went to his help, and after him the five sons of Finnaistucan, and others of the Men of Dea, but they were all driven off by the King of the Dog-Heads. But at that time Abarthach had made an end of the King of the Cat-Heads, and he rose on his spear, and made a leap, and came down between Lir and his enemy. "Leave off now and look on at the fight," he said to Lir, "and leave it to me and the foreigner." With that he took his sword in his left hand and made a thrust with his spear in through the king's armour. And as the king was raising up his shield, he struck at him with the sword that was in his left hand, and cut off both his legs at the knees, and the king let fall his shield then, and Abarthach struck off his head. And the two kings being dead, their people broke away and ran, but the Men of Dea followed them and made an end of them all; but if they did, they lost a good many of their own men. CHAPTER VI. THE MARCH OF THE FIANNA Ana Finn and the Fianna were at the house of Credhe yet, and they saw Taistellach coming towards them. It was the custom, now, with Finn when he sent any one looking for news, that it was to himself it was to be told first, the way that if he got bad news he would let on not to mind it; and if it was good news he got, he would have the satisfaction of telling it himself. So Taistellach told him how the foreigners were come to the harbour of the White Strand. Then Finn turned to his chief men, and he said: "Fianna of Ireland, there never came harm or danger to Ireland to be put aside this great danger that is come against us now. And you get great tribute and great service from the chief men of Ireland," he said, "and if you take that from them it is right for you to defend them now." And the Fianna all said they would not go back one step from the defence of Ireland. And as to Credhe, she gave every one of them a battle dress, and they were taking leave of her, and Finn said: "Let the woman come along with us till we know is it good or bad the end of this journey will be." So she came with them, bringing a great herd of cattle; and through the whole length of the battle, that lasted a year and a day, she had new milk for them, and it was to her house the wounded were brought for healing. Then the Fianna set out, and they went to the borders of Ciarraighe Luachra and across by the shores of the Bannlid with their left hand to Slieve Mis, and they made shelters for themselves that night, and kindled fires. But Caoilte and Oisin and Lugaidh's Son said to one another they would go on to the harbour, the way they would have time to redden their hands in the blood of the foreigners before the rest of the Fianna would come. And at that time the King of the World bade some of his chief men to go on shore and to bring him back some spoils. So they went to land and they gave out a great shout, and the people of the ships gave out a great shout at the same time. "I swear by the oath my people swear by," said Caoilte, "I have gone round the whole world, but I never heard so many voices together in the one place." And with that he himself and Oisin and Lugaidh's Son made an attack on the strangers, and struck great blows at them. And when Conn Crither and Glas, son of Bremen, heard the noise of those blows, they knew they were struck by some of the Fianna of Ireland, and they came and joined with them, and did great destruction on the strangers, till there was not one left of all that had come to land. CHAPTER VII. THE FIRST FIGHTERS And in the morning they saw Finn and all his people coming to the rath that is above the harbour. "My father Finn," said Oisin than, "let us fight now with the whole of the foreigners altogether." "That is not my advice," said Finn, "for the number of their armies is too great for us, and we could not stand against them. But we will send out every day," he said, "some son of a king or of a leader against some king of the kings of the world that is equal in blood to ourselves. And let none of you redden your arms," he said, "but against a king or a chief man at first, for when a king is fallen, his people will be more inclined to give way. And who will give out a challenge of battle from me now?" he said. "I will do that," said the son of Cuban, leader of the Fianna of Munster. "Do not go, my son," said Finn, "for it is not showed to me that you will have good luck in the battle, and I never sent out any man to fight without I knew he would come back safe to me." "Do not say that," said Cuban's son, "for I would not for the treasure of the whole world go back from a fight on account of a bad foretelling. And as it is my own country they have done their robbery in first," he said, "I will defend it for you." "It is sorrowful I am for that," said Finn, "for whichever of the kings of the world will meet you to-day, yourself and himself will fall together." Then Glas, son of Dremen, gave out a challenge of fight from Cuban's son, and the King of Greece answered it. And the two fought hand to hand, and the King of Greece made a great cast of his thick spear at Cuban's son, that went through his body and broke his back in two. But he did not take that blow as a gift, but he paid for it with a strong cast of his own golden spear that went through the ringed armour of the King of Greece. And those two fell together, sole to sole, and lip to lip. "There is grief on me, Cuban's son to have fallen," said Finn, "for no one ever went from his house unsatisfied; and a man that I would not keep, or the High King of Ireland would not keep for a week, he would keep him in his house through the length of a year. And let Follamain, his son, be called to me now," he said, "and I will give him his father's name and place." They stopped there then till the next morning. "Who will go and fight to-day?" said Finn then. "I will do that," said Goll Garb, son of the King of Alban and of the daughter of Goll, son of Morna. So he put on his battle dress, and there came against him the three kings from the rising of the sun in the east, and their three battalions with them. And Goll Garb rushed among their men, and wounded and maimed and destroyed them, and blinded their eyes for ever, so that their wits went from them, and they called to him to stop his deadly sword for a while. So he did that; and it is what they agreed to take their three kings and to give them over to Goll Garb that he might stop doing destruction with his sword. "Who will go out and fight to-day?" said Finn, on the morning of the morrow. "I will go," said Oisin, "and the chief men of the sons of Baiscne with me; for we get the best share of all the pleasant things of Ireland, and we should be first to defend her." "I will answer that challenge," said the King of France, "for it is against Finn I am come to Ireland, on account of my wife that he brought away from me; and these men will fall by me now," he said, "and Finn himself at the last; for when the branches of a tree are cut off, it is not hard to cut down the tree itself." So the King of France and Oisin met one another at the eastern end of the strand, and they struck their banners of soft silk into the green hill, and bared their swords and made a quick attack on one another. And at one time the king struck such a great blow that he knocked a groan out of Oisin. But for all that he was worsted in the end, and great fear came on him, like the fear of a hundred horses at the sound of thunder, and he ran from Oisin, and he rose like a swallow, that his feet never touched the earth at all; and he never stopped till he came to Gleann na-n Gealt, the Valley of Wild Men. And ever since that time, people that have lost their wits make for that valley; and every mad person in Ireland, if he had his way, would go there within twenty-four hours. And there rose great cries of lamentation from the armies of the World when they saw him going from them, and the Fianna of Ireland raised great shouts of joy. And when the night was coming on, it is what Finn said: "It is sad and gloomy the King of the World is to-night; and it is likely he will make an attack on us. And which of you will keep watch over the harbour through the night?" he said. "I will," said Oisin, "with the same number that was fighting along with me to-day; for it is not too much for you to fight for the Fianna of Ireland through a day and a night," he said. So they went down to the harbour, and it was just at that time the King of the World was saying, "It seems to me, men of the World, that our luck of battle was not good to-day. And let a share of you rise up now," he said, "and make an attack on the Fianna of Ireland." Then there rose up the nine sons of Garb, King of the Sea of Icht, that were smiths, and sixteen hundred of their people along with them, and they all went on shore but Dolar Durba that was the eldest of them. And the sons of Baiscne were ready for them, and they fought a great battle till the early light of the morrow. And not one of them was left alive on either side that could hold a weapon but only Oisin and one of the sons of Garb. And they made rushes at one another, and threw their swords out of their hands, and closed their arms about one another, and wrestled together, so that it was worth coming from the east to the west of the world to see the fight of those two. Then the foreigner gave a sudden great fall to Oisin, to bring him into the sea, for he was a great swimmer, and he thought to get the better of him there. And Oisin thought it would not be worthy of him to refuse any man his place of fighting. So they went into the water together, and they were trying to drown one another till they came to the sand and the gravel of the clear sea. And it was a torment to the heart of the Fianna, Oisin to be in that strait. "Rise up, Fergus of the Sweet Lips," said Finn then, "and go praise my son and encourage him." So Fergus went down to the edge of the sea, and he said: "It is a good fight you are making, Oisin, and there are many to see it, for the armies of the whole world are looking at you, and the Fianna of Ireland. And show now," he said, "your ways and your greatness, for you never went into any place but some woman of high beauty or some king's daughter set her love on you." Then Oisin's courage increased, and anger came on him and he linked his hands behind the back of the foreigner and put him down on the sand under the sea with his face upwards, and did not let him rise till the life was gone from him. And he brought the body to shore then, and struck off his head and brought it to the Fianna. But there was great grief and anger on Dolar Durba, the eldest of the sons of Garb, that had stopped in the ship, and he made a great oath that he would have satisfaction for his brothers. And he went to the High King, and he said: "I will go alone to the strand, and I will kill a hundred men every day till I have made an end of the whole of the armies of Ireland; and if any one of your own men comes to interfere with me," he said, "I will kill him along with them." The next morning Finn asked who would lead the battle that day. "I will," said Dubhan, son of Donn. "Do not," said Finn, "but let some other one go." But Dubhan went to the strand, and a hundred men along with him; and there was no one there before him but Dolar Durba, and he said he was there to fight with the whole of them. And Dubhan's men gave a great shout of laughter when they heard that; but Dolar Durba rushed on them, and he made an end of the whole hundred, without a man of them being able to put a scratch on him. And then he took a hurling stick and a ball, and he threw up the ball and kept it in the air with the hurl from the west to the east of the strand without letting it touch the ground at all. And then he put the ball on his right foot and kicked it high into the air, and when it was coming down he gave it a kick of his left foot and kept it in the air like that, and he rushing like a blast of March wind from one end of the strand to the other. And when he had done that he walked up and down on the strand making great boasts, and challenging the men of Ireland to do the like of those feats. And every day he killed a hundred of the men that were sent against him. CHAPTER VIII. THE KING OF ULSTER'S SON Now it chanced at that time that news of the great battle that was going on reached to the court of the King of Ulster. And the king's son, that was only twelve years of age, and that was the comeliest of all the young men of Ireland, said to his father: "Let me go to help Finn, son of Cumhal, and his men." "You are not old enough, or strong enough, boy; your bones are too soft," said the king. And when the boy went on asking, his father shut him up in some close place, and put twelve young men, his foster-brothers, in charge of him. There was great anger on the young lad then, and he said to his foster-brothers: "It is through courage and daring my father won a great name for himself in his young youth, and why does he keep me from winning a name for myself? And let you help me now," he said, "and I will be a friend to you for ever." And he went on talking to them and persuading them till he got round them all, and they agreed to go with him to join Finn and the Fianna. And when the king was asleep, they went into the house where the arms were kept, and every lad of them brought away with him a shield and a sword and a helmet and two spears and two greyhound whelps. And they went across Ess Ruadh in the north, and through Connacht of many tribes, and through Caille an Chosanma, the Woods of Defence, that were called the choice of every king and the true honour of every poet, and into Ciarraighe, and so on to the White Strand. And when they came there Dolar Durba was on the strand, boasting before the men of Ireland. And Oisin was rising up to go against him, for he said he would sooner die fighting with him than see the destruction he was doing every day on his people. And all the wise men and the fighting men and the poets and the musicians of the Fianna gave a great cry of sorrow when they heard Oisin saying that. And the King of Ulster's son went to Finn and stood before him and saluted him, and Finn asked who was he, and where did he come from. "I am the son of the King of Ulster," he said; "and I am come here, myself and my twelve foster-brothers, to give you what help we can." "I give you a welcome," said Finn. Just then they heard the voice of Dolar Durba, very loud and boastful. "Who is that I hear?" said the king's son. "It is a man of the foreigners asking for a hundred of my men to go and meet him," said Finn. Now, when the twelve foster-brothers heard that, they said no word but went down to the strand, unknown to the king's son and to Finn. "You are not a grown man," said Conan; "and neither yourself or your comrades are fit to face any fighting man at all." "I never saw the Fianna of Ireland till this day," said the young lad; "but I know well that you are Conan Maol, that never says a good word of any man. And you will see now," he said, "if I am in dread of that man on the strand, or of any man in the world, for I will go out against him by myself." But Finn kept him back and was talking with him; but then Conan began again, and he said: "It is many men Dolar Durba has made an end of, and there was not a man of all those that could not have killed a hundred of the like of you every day." When the king's son heard that, there was great anger on him, and he leaped up, and just then Dolar Durba gave a great shout on the strand. "What is he giving, that shout for?" said the king's son. "He is shouting for more men to come against him," said Conan, "for he is just after killing your twelve comrades." "That is a sorrowful story," said the king's son. And with that he took hold of his arms, and no one could hold him or hinder him, and he rushed down to the strand where Dolar Durba was. And all the armies of the strangers gave a great shout of laughter, for they thought all Finn's men had been made an end of, when he sent a young lad like that against their best champion. And when the boy heard that, his courage grew the greater, and he fell on Dolar Durba and gave him many wounds before he knew he was attacked at all. And they fought a very hard fight together, till their shields and their swords were broken in pieces. And that did not stop the battle, but they grappled together and fought and wrestled that way, till the tide went over them and drowned them both. And when the sea went over them the armies on each side gave out a great sorrowful cry. And after the ebb-tide on the morrow, the two bodies were found cold and quiet, each one held fast by the other. But Dolar Durba was beneath the king's son, so they knew it was the young lad was the best and had got the victory. And they buried him, and put a flag-stone over his grave, and keened him there. CHAPTER IX. THE HIGH KING'S SON Then Finn said he would send a challenge himself to Daire Bonn, the King of the Great World. But Caoilte asked leave to do that day's fighting himself. And Finn said he would agree to that if he could find enough of men to go with him. And he himself gave him a hundred men, and Oisin did the same, and so on with the rest. And he gave out his challenge, and it was the son of the King of the Great Plain that answered it. And while they were in the heat of the fight, a fleet of ships came into the harbour, and Finn thought they were come to help the foreigners. But Oisin looked at them, and he said: "It is seldom your knowledge fails you, Finn, but those are friends of our own: Fiachra, son of the King of the Fianna of the Bretons, and Duaban Donn, son of the King of Tuathmumain with his own people." And when those that were in the ships came on shore, they saw Caoilte's banner going down before the son of the King of the Great Plain. And they all went hurrying on to his help, and between them they made an end of the king's son and of all his people. "Who will keep watch to-night?" said Finn then. "We will," said the nine Garbhs of the Fianna, of Slieve Mis, and Slieve Cua, and Slieve Clair, and Slieve Crot, and Slieve Muice, and Slieve Fuad, and Slieve Atha Moir, and Dun Sobairce and Dundealgan. And they were not long watching till they saw the King of the Men of Dregan coming towards them, and they fought a fierce battle; and at the end of the night there were left standing but three of the Garbhs, and the King of the Men of Dregan. And they fought till their wits were gone from them; and those four fell together, sole against sole, and lip against lip. And the fight went on from day to day, and from week to week, and there were great losses on both sides. And when Fergus of the Sweet Lips saw that so many of the Fianna were fallen, he asked no leave but went to Teamhair of the Kings, where the High King of Ireland was, and he told him the way it was with Finn and his people. "That is good," said the High King, "Finn to be in that strait; for there is no labouring man dares touch a pig or a deer or a salmon if he finds it dead before him on account of the Fianna; and there is no man but is in dread to go from one place to another without leave from Finn, or to take a wife till he knows if she has a sweetheart among the Fianna of Ireland. And it is often Finn has given bad judgments against us," he said, "and it would be better for us the foreigners to gain the day than himself." Then Fergus went out to the lawn where the High King's son was playing at ball. "It is no good help you are giving to Ireland," said Fergus then, "to be playing a game without lasting profit, and strangers taking away your country from you." And he was urging him and blaming him, and great shame came on the young man, and he threw away the stick and went through the people of Teamhair and brought together all the young men, a thousand and twenty of them that were in it. And they asked no leave and no advice from the High King, but they set out and went on till they came to Finntraigh. And Fergus went to where Finn was, and told him the son of the High King of Ireland was come with him; and all the Fianna rose up before the young man and bade him welcome. And Finn said: "Young man," he said, "we would sooner see you coming at a time when there would be musicians and singers and poets and high-up women to make pleasure for you than at the time we are in the straits of battle the way we are now." "It is not for playing I am come," said the young man, "but to give you my service in battle." "I never brought a lad new to the work into the breast of battle," said Finn, "for it is often a lad coming like that finds his death, and I would not wish him to fall through me." "I give my word," said the young man, "I will do battle with them on my own account if I may not do it on yours." Then Fergus of the Fair Lips went out to give a challenge of battle from the son of the High King of Ireland to the King of the World. "Who will answer the King of Ireland's son for me?" said the King of the World. "I will go against him," said Sligech, King of the Men of Cepda; and he went on shore, and his three red battalions with him. And the High King's son went against them, and his comrades were near him, and they were saying to him: "Take a good heart now into the fight, for the Fianna will be no better pleased if it goes well with you than if it goes well with the foreigner." And when the High King's son heard that, he made a rush through the army of the foreigners, and began killing and overthrowing them, till their chief men were all made an end of. Then Sligech their king came to meet him, very angry and destroying, and they struck at one another and made a great fight, but at the last the King of Ireland's son got the upper hand, and he killed the King of the Men of Cepda and struck off his head. CHAPTER X. THE KING OF LOCHLANN AND HIS SONS And the fighting went on from day to day, and at last Finn said to Fergus of the Sweet Lips: "Go out, Fergus, and see how many of the Fianna are left for the fight to-day." And Fergus counted them, and he said: "There is one battalion only of the Fianna left in good order; but there are some of the men of it," he said, "are able to fight against three, and some that are able to fight against nine or thirty or a hundred." "If that is so," said Finn, "rise up and go to where the King of the World is, and bid him to come out to the great battle." So Fergus went to the King of the World, and it is the way he was, on his bed listening to the music of harps and pipes. "King of the World," said Fergus, "it is long you are in that sleep; and that is no shame for you," he said, "for it will be your last sleep. And the whole of the Fianna are gone out to their place of battle," he said, "and let you go out and answer them." "In my opinion," said the King of the World, "there is not a man of them is able to fight against me; and how many are there left of the Fianna of Ireland?" "One battalion only that is in good order," said Fergus. "And how many of the armies of the World are there left?" he said. "Thirty battalions came with me to Ireland; and there are twenty of them fallen by the Fianna, and what is left of them is ten red battalions in good order. And there are eight good fighters of them," he said, "that would put down the men of the whole world if they were against me; that is, myself, and Conmail my son, and Ogarmach, the daughter of the King of Greece, that is the best hand in battle of the whole world after myself, and Finnachta of the Teeth, the chief of my household, and the King of Lochlann, Caisel Clumach of the Feathers, and his three sons, Tocha, and Forne of the Broad Shoulders, and Mongach of the Sea." "I swear by the oath of my people," said the King of Lochlann then, "if any man of the armies goes out against the Fianna before myself and my three sons, we will not go at all, for we would not get the satisfaction we are used to, unless our swords get their fill of blood." "I will go out against them alone," said Forne, the youngest son of the King of Lochlann. With that he put on his battle suit, and he went among the Fianna of Ireland, and a red-edged sword in each of his hands. And he destroyed those of their young men that were sent against him, and he made the strand narrow with their bodies. And Finn saw that, and it was torment to his heart, and danger of death and loss of wits to him, and he was encouraging the men of Ireland against Forne. And Fergus of the True Lips stood up, and it is what he said: "Fianna of Ireland," he said, "it is a pity the way you are under hardship and you defending Ireland. And one man is taking her from you to-day," he said, "and you are like no other thing but a flock of little birds looking for shelter in a bush from a hawk that is after them. And it is going into the shelter of Finn and Oisin and Caoilte you are," he said; "and not one of you is better than another, and none of you sets his face against the foreigner." "By my oath," said Oisin, "all that is true, and no one of us tries to do better than another keeping him off." "There is not one of you is better than another," said Fergus. Then Oisin gave out a great shout against the King of Lochlann's son. "Stop here with me, king's son," he said, "until I fight with you for the Fianna." "I give my word it is short the delay will be," said Forne. Then he himself and Oisin made an attack on one another, and it seemed for a while that the battle was going against Oisin. "By my word, Man of Poetry," said Finn then to Fergus of the True Lips, "it is a pity the way you sent my son against the foreigner. And rise up and praise him and hearten him now," he said. So Fergus went down to where the fight was, and he said: "There is great shame on the Fianna, Oisin, seeing you so low in this fight; and there is many a foot messenger and many a horsemen from the daughters of the kings and princes of Ireland looking at you now," he said. And great courage rose in Oisin then, and he drove his spear through the body of Forne, the King of Lochlann's son. And he himself came back to the Fianna of Ireland. Then the armies of the World gave out a great cry, keening Forne; and there was anger and not fear on his brothers, for they thought it no right thing he to have fallen by a man of the Fianna. And Tocha, the second son of the King of Lochlann, went on shore to avenge his brother. And he went straight into the middle of the Fianna, and gave his sword good feeding on their bodies, till they broke away before him and made no stand till Lugaidh's Son turned round against him. And those two fought a great fight, till their swords were bent and their spears crumbled away, and they lost their golden shields. And at the last Lugaidh's Son made a stroke of his sword that cut through the foreigner's sword, and then he made another stroke that cut his heart in two halves. And he came back high and proud to the Fianna. Then the third son of the King of Lochlann, Mongach of the Sea, rose up, and all the armies rose up along with him. "Stop here, Men of the World," he said, "for it is not you but myself that has to go and ask satisfaction for the bodies of my brothers." So he went on shore; and it is the way he was, with a strong iron flail in his hand having seven balls of pure iron on it, and fifty iron chains, and fifty apples on every chain, and fifty deadly thorns on every apple. And he made a rush through the Fianna to break them up entirely and to tear them into strings, and they gave way before him. And great shame came on Fidach, son of the King of the Bretons, and he said: "Come here and praise me, Fergus of the True Lips, till I go out and fight with the foreigner." "It is easy to praise you, son," said Fergus, and he was praising him for a long time. Then the two looked at one another and used fierce, proud words. And then Mongach of the Sea raised his iron flail and made a great blow at the King of the Bretons' son. But he made a quick leap to one side and gave him a blow of his sword that cut off his two hands at the joint; and he did not stop at that, but made a blow at his middle that cut him into two halves. But as he fell, an apple of the flail with its deadly thorns went into Fidach's comely mouth and through his brain, and it was foot to foot those two fell, and lip to lip. And the next that came to fight on the strand was the King of Lochlann himself, Caisel of the Feathers. And he came to the battle having his shield on his arm; and it is the way the shield was, that was made for him by the smith of the Fomor, there were red flames coming from it; and if it was put under the sea itself, not one of its flames would stop blazing. And when he had that shield on his arm no man could come near him. And there was never such destruction done on the men of Ireland as on that day, for the flames of fire that he sent from his shield went through the bodies of men till they blazed up like a splinter of oak that was after hanging through the length of a year in the smoke of a chimney; and any one that would touch the man that was burning would catch fire himself. And every other harm that ever came into Ireland before was small beside this. Then Finn said: "Lift up your hands, Fianna of Ireland, and give three shouts of blessing to whoever will hinder this foreigner." And the Fianna gave those three shouts; and the King of Lochlann gave a great laugh when he heard them. And Druimderg, grandson of the Head of the Fianna of Ulster, was near him, and he had with him a deadly spear, the Croderg, the Red-Socketed, that came down from one to another of the sons of Rudraighe. And he looked at the King of Lochlann, and he could see no part of him without armour but his mouth that was opened wide, and he laughing at the Fianna. Then Druimderg made a cast with the Croderg that hit him in the open mouth, and he fell, and his shield fell along with its master, and its flame went out. And Druimderg struck the head from his body, and made great boasts of the things he had done. CHAPTER XI. LABRAN'S JOURNEY It is then Fergus of the True Lips set out again and went through the length of Ireland till he came to the house of Tadg, son of Nuada, that was grandfather to Finn. And there was great grief on Muirne, Finn's mother, and on Labran of the Long Hand her brother, and on all her people, when they knew the great danger he was in. And Tadg asked his wife who did she think would escape with their lives from the great fighting at the White Strand. "It is a pity the way they are there," said she; "for if all the living men of the world were on one side, Daire Donn, the King of the World, would put them all down; for there are no weapons in the world that will ever be reddened on him. And on the night he was born, the smith of the Fomor made a shield and a sword, and it is in the prophecy that he will fall by no other arms but those. And it is to the King of the Country of the Fair Men he gave them to keep, and it is with him they are now." "If that is so," said Tadg, "you might be able to get help for Finn, son of Cumhal, the only son of your daughter. And bid Labran Lamfada to go and ask those weapons of him," he said. "Do not be asking me," said she, "to go against Daire Donn that was brought up in my father's house." But after they had talked for a while, they went out on the lawn, and they sent Labran looking for the weapons in the shape of a great eagle. And he went on from sea to sea, till at noon on the morrow he came to the dun of the King of the Country of the Fair Men; and he went in his own shape to the dun and saluted the king, and the king bade him welcome, and asked him to stop with him for a while. "There is a thing I want more than that," said Labran, "for the wife of a champion of the Fianna has given me her love, and I cannot get her without fighting for her; and it is the loan of that sword and that shield you have in your keeping I am come asking now," he said. There were seven rooms, now, in the king's house that opened into one another, and on the first door was one lock, and on the second two locks, and so on to the door of the last room that had seven locks; and it was in that the sword and the shield that were made by the smith of the Fomor were kept. And they were brought out and were given to Labran, and stalks of luck were put with them, and they were bound together with shield straps. Then Labran of the Long Hand went back across the seas again, and he reached his father's dun between the crowing of the cock and the full light of day; and the weakness of death came on him. "It is a good message you are after doing, my son," said Tadg, "and no one ever went that far in so short a time as yourself." "It is little profit that is to me," said Labran, "for I am not able to bring them to Finn in time for the fight to-morrow." But just at that time one of Tadg's people saw Aedh, son of Aebinn, that was as quick as the wind over a plain till the middle of every day, and after that, there was no man quicker than he was. "You are come at a good time," said Tadg. And with that he gave him the sword and the shield to bring to Finn for the battle. So Aedh, son of Aebinn, went with the swiftness of a hare or of a fawn or a swallow, till at the rising of the day on the morrow he came to the White Strand. And just at that time Fergus of the True Lips was rousing up the Fianna for the great fight, and it is what he said: "Fianna of Ireland," he said, "if there was the length of seven days in one day, you would have work to fill it now; for there never was and there never will be done in Ireland a day's work like the work of to-day." Then the Fianna of Ireland rose up, and they saw Aedh, son of Aebinn, coming towards them with his quick running, and Finn asked news from him. "It is from the dun of Tadg, son of Nuada, I am come," he said, "and it is to yourself I am sent, to ask how it is you did not redden your weapons yet upon the King of the World." "I swear by the oath of my people," said Finn, "if I do not redden my weapons on him, I will crush his body within his armour." "I have here for you, King of the Fianna," said Aedh then, "the deadly weapons that will bring him to his death; and it was Labran of the Long Hand got them for you through his Druid arts." He put them in Finn's hand then, and Finn took the coverings off them, and there rose from them flashes of fire and deadly bubbles; and not one of the Fianna could stay looking at them, but it put great courage into them to know they were with Finn. "Rise up now," said Finn to Fergus of the True Lips, "and go where the King of the World is, and bid him to come out to the place of the great fight." CHAPTER XII. THE GREAT FIGHT Then the King of the World came to the strand, and all his armies with him; and all that were left of the Fianna went out against them, and they were like thick woods meeting one another, and they made great strokes, and there were swords crashing against bones, and bodies that were hacked, and eyes that were blinded, and many a mother was left without her son, and many a comely wife without her comrade. Then the creatures of the high air answered to the battle, foretelling the destruction that would be done that day; and the sea chattered of the losses, and the waves gave heavy shouts keening them, and the water-beasts roared to one another, and the rough hills creaked with the danger of the battle, and the woods trembled mourning the heroes, and the grey stones cried out at their deeds, and the wind sobbed telling them, and the earth shook, foretelling the slaughter; and the cries of the grey armies put a blue cloak over the sun, and the clouds were dark; and the hounds and the whelps and the crows, and the witches of the valley, and the powers of the air, and the wolves of the forests, howled from every quarter and on every side of the armies, urging them against one another. It was then Conan, son of Morna, brought to mind that himself and his kindred had done great harm to the sons of Baiscne, and he had a wish to do some good thing for them on account of that, and he raised up his sword and did great deeds. And Finn was over the battle, encouraging the Fianna; and the King of the World was on the other side encouraging the foreigners. "Rise up now, Fergus," said Finn, "and praise Conan for me that his courage may be the greater, for it is good work he is doing on my enemies." So Fergus went where Conan was, and at that time he was heated with the dust of the fight, and he was gone outside to let the wind go about him. "It is well you remember the old quarrel between the sons of Morna and the sons of Baiscne, Conan," said Fergus; "and you would be ready to go to your own death if it would bring harm on the sons of Baiscne," he said. "For the love of your good name, Man of Poetry," said Conan, "do not be speaking against me without cause, and I will do good work on the foreigners when I get to the battle again." "By my word," said Fergus, "that would be a good thing for you to do." He sang a verse of praise for him then, and Conan went back into the battle, and his deeds were not worse this time than they were before. And Fergus went back to where Finn was. "Who is best in the battle now?" said Finn. "Duban, son of Cas, a champion of your own people," said Fergus, "for he never gives but the one stroke to any man, and no man escapes with his life from that stroke, and three times nine and eighty men have fallen by him up to this time." And Duban Donn, great-grandson of the King of Tuathmumhain, was there listening to him, and it is what he said: "By my oath, Fergus," he said, "all you are saying is true, for there is not a son of a king or of a lord is better in the battle than Duban, son of Cas; and I will go to my own death if I do not go beyond him." With that he went rushing through the battle like flames over a high hill that is thick with furze. Nine times he made a round of the battle, and he killed nine times nine in every round. "Who is best in the battle now?" said Finn, after a while. "It is Duban Donn that is after going from us," said Fergus. "For there has been no one ahead of him since he was in his seventh year, and there is no one ahead of him now." "Rise up and praise him that his courage may be the greater," said Finn. "It is right to praise him," said Fergus, "and the foreigners running before him on every side as they would run from a heavy drenching of the sea." So Fergus praised him for a while, and he went back then to Finn. "Who is best in the battle now?" said Finn. "It is Osgar is best in it now," said Fergus, "and he is fighting alone against two hundred Franks and two hundred of the men of Gairian, and the King of the Men of Gairian himself. And all these are beating at his shield," he said, "and not one of them has given him a wound but he gave him a wound back for it." "What way is Caoilte, son of Ronan?" said Finn. "He is in no great strait after the red slaughter he has made," said Fergus. "Go to him then," said Finn, "and bid him to keep off a share of the foreigners from Osgar." So Fergus went to him. "Caoilte," he said, "it is great danger your friend Osgar is in under the blows of the foreigners, and let you rise up and give him some help," he said. Caoilte went then to the place where Osgar was, and he gave a straight blow of his sword at the man who was nearest him, that made two halves of him. Osgar raised his head then and looked at him. "It is likely, Caoilte," he said, "you did not dare redden your sword on any one till you struck down a man that was before my sword. And it is a shame for you," he said, "all the men of the great world and the Fianna of Ireland to be in the one battle, and you not able to make out a fight for yourself without coming to take a share of my share of the battle. And I give my oath," he said, "I would be glad to see you put down in your bed of blood on account of that thing." Caoilte's mind changed when he heard that, and he turned again to the army of the foreigners with the redness of anger on his white face; and eighty fighting men fell in that rout. "What way is the battle now?" said Finn. "It is a pity," said Fergus, "there never came and there never will come any one that can tell the way it is now. For by my word," he said, "the tree-tops of the thickest forest in the whole of the western world are not closer together than the armies are now. For the bosses of their shields are in one another's hands. And there is fire coming from the edges of their swords," he said, "and blood is raining down like a shower on a day of harvest; and there were never so many leaves torn by the wind from a great forest as there are locks of long golden hair, and of black curled hair, cut off by sharp weapons, blowing into the clouds at this time. And there is no person could tell one man from another, now," he said, "unless it might be by their voices." With that he went into the very middle of the fight to praise and to hearten the men of the Fianna. "Who is first in the battle now, Fergus?" said Finn, when he came back to him. "By my oath, it is no friend of your own is first in it," said Fergus, "for it is Daire Donn, the King of the World; and it is for you he is searching through the battle," he said, "and three times fifty of his own people were with him. But two of the men of your Fianna fell on them," he said, "Cairell the Battle Striker, and Aelchinn of Cruachan, and made an end of them. But they were not able to wound the King of the World," he said, "but the two of them fell together by him." Then the King of the World came towards Finn, and there was no one near him but Arcallach of the Black Axe, the first that ever brought a wide axe into Ireland. "I give my word," said Arcallach, "I would never let Finn go before me into any battle." He rose up then and made a terrible great blow of his axe at the king, that went through his royal crown to the hair of his head, but that did not take a drop of blood out of him, for the edge of the axe turned and there went balls of fire over the plain from that blow. And the King of the World struck back at Arcallach, and made two halves of him. Then Finn and the King of the World turned on one another. And when the king saw the sword and the shield in Finn's hand, he knew those were the weapons that were to bring him to his death, and great dread came on him, and his comeliness left him, and his fingers were shaking, and his feet were unsteady, and the sight of his eyes was weakened. And then the two fought a great fight, striking at one another like two days of judgment for the possession of the world. But the king, that had never met with a wound before, began to be greatly weakened in the fight. And Finn gave great strokes that broke his shield and his sword, and that cut off his left foot, and at the last he struck off his head. But if he did, he himself fell into a faint of weakness with the dint of the wounds he had got. Then Finnachta of the Teeth, the first man of the household of the King of the World, took hold of the royal crown of the king, and brought it where Conmail his son was, and put it on his head. "That this may bring you success in many battles, my son," he said. And he gave him his father's weapons along with it; and the young man went through the battle looking for Finn, and three fifties of the men of the Fianna fell by him. Then Goll Garbh the Rough, son of the King of Alban, saw him and attacked him, and they fought a hard fight. But the King of Albain's son gave him a blow under the shelter of the shield, in his left side, that made an end of him. Finnachta of the Teeth saw that, and he made another rush at the royal crown, and brought it to where Ogarmach was, the daughter of the King of Greece. "Put on that crown, Ogarmach," he said, "as it is in the prophecy the world will be owned by a woman; and it will never be owned by any woman higher than yourself," he said. She went then to look for Finn in the battle, and Fergus of the True Lips saw her, and he went where Finn was. "O King of the Fianna," he said then, "bring to mind the good fight you made against the King of the World and all your victories before that; for it is a great danger is coming to you now," he said, "and that is Ogarmach, daughter of the King of Greece." With that the woman-fighter came towards him. "O Finn," she said, "it is little satisfaction you are to me for all the kings and lords that have fallen by you and by your people; but for all that," she said, "there is nothing better for me to get than your own self and whatever is left of your people." "You will not get that," said Finn, "for I will lay your head in its bed of blood the same as I did to every other one." Then those two attacked one another like as if there had risen to smother one another the flooded wave of Cliodna, and the seeking wave of Tuaigh, and the big brave wave of Rudraighe. And though the woman-warrior fought for a long time, a blow from Finn reached to her at last and cut through the royal crown, and with a second blow he struck her head off. And then he fell himself in his bed of blood, and was the same as dead, but that he rose again. And the armies of the World and the Fianna of Ireland were fallen side by side there, and there were none left fit to stand but Cael, son of Crimthan of the Harbours, and the chief man of the household of the King of the World, Finnachta of the Teeth. And Finnachta went among the dead bodies and lifted up the body of the King of the World and brought it with him to his ship, and he said: "Fianna of Ireland," he said, "although it is bad this battle was for the armies of the World, it was worse for yourselves; and I am going back to tell that in the East of the World," he said. Finn heard him saying that, and he lying on the ground in his blood, and the best men of the sons of Baiscne about him, and he said: "It is a pity I not to have found death before I heard the foreigner saying those words. And nothing I myself have done, or the Fianna of Ireland, is worth anything since there is left a man of the foreigners alive to go back into the great world again to tell that story. And is there any one left living near me?" he said. "I am," said Fergus of the True Lips. "What way is the battle now?" said Finn. "It is a pity the way it is," said Fergus, "for, by my word," he said, "since the armies met together to-day, no man of the foreigners or of the men of Ireland took a step backward from one another till they all fell foot to foot, and sole to sole. And there is not so much as a blade of grass or a grain of sand to be seen," he said, "with the bodies of fighting men that are stretched on them; and there is no man of the two armies that is not stretched in that bed of blood, but only the chief man of the household of the King of the World, and your own foster-son, Cael, son of Crimthan of the Harbours." "Rise up and go to him," said Finn. So Fergus went where Cael was, and asked what way was he. "It is a pity the way I am," said Cael, "for I swear by my word that if my helmet and my armour were taken from me, there is no part of my body but would fall from the other; and by my oath," he said, "it is worse to me to see that man beyond going away alive than I myself to be the way I am. And I leave my blessing to you, Fergus," he said; "and take me on your back to the sea till I swim after the foreigner, and it is glad I would be the foreigner to fall by me before the life goes out from my body." Fergus lifted him up then and brought him to the sea, and put him swimming after the foreigner. And Finnachta waited for him to reach the ship, for he thought he was one of his own people. And Cael raised himself up when he came beside the ship, and Finnachta stretched out his hand to him. And Cael took hold of it at the wrist, and clasped his fingers round it, and gave a very strong pull at him, that brought him over the side. Then their hands shut across one another's bodies, and they went down to the sand and the gravel of the clear sea. CHAPTER XIII. CREDHE'S LAMENT Then there came the women and the musicians and the singers and the physicians of the Fianna of Ireland to search out the kings and the princes of the Fianna, and to bury them; and every one that might be healed was brought to a place of healing. And Credhe, wife of Cael, came with the others, and went looking through the bodies for her comely comrade, and crying as she went. And as she was searching, she saw a crane of the meadows and her two nestlings, and the cunning beast the fox watching the nestlings; and when the crane covered one of the birds to save it, he would make a rush at the other bird, the way she had to stretch herself out over the birds; and she would sooner have got her own death by the fox than her nestlings to be killed by him. And Credhe was looking at that, and she said: "It is no wonder I to have such love for my comely sweetheart, and the bird in that distress about her nestlings." Then she heard a stag in Druim Ruighlenn above the harbour, that was making great lamentations for his hind from place to place, for they had been nine years together, and had lived in the wood at the foot of the harbour, Fidh Leis, and Finn had killed the hind, and the stag was nineteen days without tasting grass or water, lamenting after the hind. "It is no shame for me," said Credhe, "I to die for grief after Cael, since the stag is shortening his life sorrowing after the hind." Then she met with Fergus of the True Lips. "Have you news of Cael for me, Fergus?" she said. "I have news," said Fergus, "for he and the last man that was left of the foreigners, Finnachta Fiaclach, are after drowning one another in the sea." And at that time the waves had put Cael back on the strand, and the women and the men of the Fianna that were looking for him raised him up, and brought him to the south of the White Strand. And Credhe came to where he was, and she keened him and cried over him, and she made this complaint:-- "The harbour roars, O the harbour roars, over the rushing race of the Headland of the Two Storms, the drowning of the hero of the Lake of the Two Dogs, that is what the waves are keening on the strand. "Sweet-voiced is the crane, O sweet-voiced is the crane in the marshes of the Ridge of the Two Strong Men; it is she cannot save her nestlings, the wild dog of two colours is taking her little ones. "Pitiful the cry, pitiful the cry the thrush is making in the Pleasant Ridge, sorrowful is the cry of the blackbird in Leiter Laeig. "Sorrowful the call, O sorrowful the call of the deer in the Ridge of Two Lights; the doe is lying dead in Druim Silenn, the mighty stag cries after her. "Sorrowful to me, O sorrowful to me the death of the hero that lay beside me; the son of the woman of the Wood of the Two Thickets, to be with a bunch of grass under his head. "Sore to me, O sore to me Cael to be a dead man beside me, the waves to have gone over his white body; it is his pleasantness that has put my wits astray. "A woeful shout, O a woeful shout the waves are making on the strand; they that took hold of comely Cael, a pity it is he went to meet them. "A woeful crash, O a woeful crash the waves are making on the strand to the north, breaking against the smooth rock, crying after Cael now he is gone. "A sorrowful fight, O a sorrowful fight, the sea is making with the strand to the north; my beauty is lessened; the end of my life is measured. "A song of grief, O a song of grief is made by the waves of Tulcha Leis; all I had is gone since this story came to me. Since the son of Crimthann is drowned I will love no one after him for ever; many a king fell by his hand; his shield never cried out in the battle." After she had made that complaint, Credhe laid herself down beside Cael and died for grief after him. And they were put in the one grave, and it was Caoilte raised the stone over them. And after that great battle of the White Strand, that lasted a year and a day, there was many a sword and shield left broken, and many a dead body lying on the ground, and many a fighting man left with a foolish smile on his face. And the great name that was on the armies of the World went from them to the Fianna of Ireland; and they took the ships and the gold and the silver and all the spoils of the armies of the World. And from that time the Fianna had charge of the whole of Ireland, to keep it from the Fomor and from any that might come against it. And they never lost power from that time until the time of their last battle, the sorrowful battle of Gabhra. BOOK FOUR: HUNTINGS AND ENCHANTMENTS. CHAPTER I. THE KING OF BRITAIN'S SON Arthur, son of the King of Britain, came one time to take service with Finn, and three times nine men along with him. And they went hunting one day on Beinn Edair, and Finn took his place on the Cairn of the Fianna between the hill and the sea, and Arthur took his stand between the hunt and the sea, the way the deer would not escape by swimming. And while Arthur was there he took notice of three of Finn's hounds, Bran, and Sceolan and Adhnuall, and he made a plan in his mind to go away across the sea, himself and his three nines, bringing those three hounds along with him. So he did that, and he himself and his men brought away the hounds and crossed the sea, and the place where they landed was Inver Mara Gamiach on the coast of Britain. And after they landed, they went to the mountain of Lodan, son of Lir, to hunt on it. And as to the Fianna, after their hunting was done they gathered together on the hill; and as the custom was, all Finn's hounds were counted. Three hundred full-grown hounds he had, and two hundred whelps; and it is what the poets used to say, that to be counting them was like counting the branches on a tree. Now on this day when they were counted, Bran and Sceolan and Adhnuall were missing; and that was told to Finn. He bade his people to search again through the three battalions of the Fianna, but search as they would, the hounds were not to be found. Then Finn sent for a long-shaped basin of pale gold, and water in it, and he put his face in the water, and his hand over his face, and it was showed him what had happened, and he said: "The King of Britain's son has brought away the hound. And let nine men be chosen out to follow after them," he said. So nine men were chosen out, Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne; Goll, son of Morna; Oisin, son of Finn; Faolan, the friend of the hounds, son of a woman that had come over the sea to give her love to Finn; Ferdoman, son of Bodb Dearg; two sons of Finn, Raighne Wide Eye and Cainche the Crimson-Red; Glas, son of Enchered Bera, with Caoilte and Lugaidh's Son. And their nine put their helmets on their heads, and took their long spears in their hands, and they felt sure they were a match for any four hundred men from the east to the west of the world. They set out then, till they came to the mountain of Lodan, son of Lir; and they were not long there till they heard talk of men that were hunting in that place. Arthur of Britain and his people were sitting on a hunting mound just at that time, and the nine men of the Fianna made an attack on them and killed all of them but Arthur, that Goll, son of Morna, put his two arms about and saved from death. Then they turned to go back to Ireland, bringing Arthur with them, and the three hounds. And as they were going, Goll chanced to look around him and he saw a dark-grey horse, having a bridle with fittings of worked gold. And then he looked to the left and saw a bay mare that was not easy to get hold of, and it having a bridle of silver rings and a golden bit. And Goll took hold of the two, and he gave them into Oisin's hand, and he gave them on to Diarmuid. They went back to Finn then, bringing his three hounds with them, and the King of Britain's son as a prisoner; and Arthur made bonds with Finn, and was his follower till he died. And as to the horse and the mare, they gave them to Finn; and the mare bred eight times, at every birth eight foals, and it is of that seed came all the horses of the fair Fianna of the Gael, for they had used no horses up to that time. And that was not the only time Finn was robbed of some of his hounds. For there was a daughter of Roman was woman-Druid to the Tuatha de Danaan, and she set her love on Finn. But Finn said, so long as there was another woman to be found in the world, he would not marry a witch. And one time, three times fifty of Finn's hounds passed by the hill where she was; and she breathed on the hounds and shut them up in the hill, and they never came out again. It was to spite Finn she did that, and the place got the name of Duma na Conn, the Mound of the Hounds. And as to Adhnuall, one of the hounds Finn thought most of, and that was brought back from the King of Britain's son, this is the way he came to his death afterwards. There was a great fight one time between the Fianna and Macoon, son of Macnia, at some place in the province of Leinster, and a great many of the Fianna were killed. And the hound Adhnuall went wandering northward from the battle and went astray; and three times he went round the whole of Ireland, and then he came back to the place of the battle, and to a hill where three young men of the Fianna that had fallen there were buried after their death, and three daughters of a King of Alban that had died for love of them. And when Adhnuall came to that hill, he gave three loud howls and he stretched himself out and died. CHAPTER II. THE CAVE OF CEISCORAN Finn called for a great hunt one time on the plains of Magh Chonaill and in the forest parts of Cairbre of the Nuts. And he himself went up to the top of Ceiscoran, and his two dogs Bran and Sceolan with him. And the Fianna were shouting through the whole country where they were hunting, the way the deer were roused in their wild places and the badgers in their holes, and foxes in their wanderings, and birds on the wing. And Conaran, son of Imidd, of the Tuatha de Danaan, had the sway in Ceiscoran at that time, and when he heard the shouting and the cry of the hounds all around, he bade his three daughters that had a great share of enchantments, to do vengeance on Finn for his hunting. The three women went then to the opening of a cave that was in the hills, and there they sat down together, and they put three strong enchanted hanks of yarn on crooked holly-sticks, and began to reel them off outside the cave. They were not long there till Finn and Conan came towards them, and saw the three ugly old hags at their work, their coarse hair tossed, their eyes red and bleary, their teeth sharp and crooked, their arms very long, their nails like the tips of cows' horns, and the three spindles in their hands. Finn and Conan passed through the hanks of yarn to get a better look at the hags. And no sooner had they done that, than a deadly trembling came on them and a weakness, and the bold hags took hold of them and put them in tight bonds. Two other men of the Fianna came up then, and the sons of Menhann along with them, and they went through the spindles to where Finn and Conan were, and their strength went from them in the same way, and the hags tied them fast and carried them into the cave. They were not long there till Caoilte and Lugaidh's Son came to the place, and along with them the best men of the sons of Baiscne. The sons of Morna came as well, and no sooner did they see the hanks than their strength and their bravery went out of them the same as it went from the others. And in the end the whole number of them, gentle and simple, were put in bonds by the hags, and brought into the cave. And there began at the mouth of the cave a great outcry of hounds calling for their masters that had left them there. And there was lying on the hillside a great heap of deer, and wild pigs, and hares, and badgers, dead and torn, that were brought as far as that by the hunters that were tied up now in the cave. Then the three women came in, having swords in their hands, to the place where they were lying, to make an end of them. But first they looked out to see was there ever another man of the Fianna to bring in and to make an end of with the rest. And they saw coming towards them a very tall man that was Goll, son of Morna, the Flame of Battle. And when the three hags saw him they went to meet him, and they fought a hard battle with him. And great anger came on Goll, and he made great strokes at the witches, and at the last he raised up his sword, and with one blow he cut the two that were nearest him through and through. And then the oldest of the three women wound her arms about Goll, and he beheading the two others, and he turned to face her and they wrestled together, till at last Goll gave her a great twist and threw her on the ground. He tied her fast then with the straps of a shield, and took his sword to make an end of her. But the hag said: "O champion that was never worsted, strong man that never went back in battle, I put my body and my life under the protection of your bravery. And it is better for you," she said, "to get Finn and the Fianna safe and whole than to have my blood; and I swear by the gods my people swear by," she said, "I will give them back to you again." With that Goll set her free, and they went together into the hill where the Fianna were lying. And Goll said: "Loose off the fastenings first from Fergus of the True Lips and from the other learned men of the Fianna; and after that from Finn, and Oisin, and the twenty-nine sons of Morna, and from all the rest." She took off the fastenings then, and the Fianna made no delay, but rose up and went out and sat down on the side of the hill. And Fergus of the Sweet Lips looked at Goll, son of Morna, and made great praises of him, and of all that he had done. CHAPTER III. DONN SON OF MIDHIR One time the Fianna were at their hunting at the island of Toraig to the north of Ireland, and they roused a fawn that was very wild and beautiful, and it made for the coast, and Finn and six of his men followed after it through the whole country, till they came to Slieve-nam-Ban. And there the fawn put down its head and vanished into the earth, and none of them knew where was it gone to. A heavy snow began to fall then that bent down the tops of the trees like a willow-gad, and the courage and the strength went from the Fianna with the dint of the bad weather, and Finn said to Caoilte: "Is there any place we can find shelter to-night?" Caoilte made himself supple then, and went over the elbow of the hill southward. And when he looked around him he saw a house full of light, with cups and horns and bowls of different sorts in it. He stood a good while before the door of the house, that he knew to be a house of the Sidhe, thinking would it be best go in and get news of it, or to go back to Finn and the few men that were with him. And he made up his mind to go into the house, and there he sat down on a shining chair in the middle of the floor; and he looked around him, and he saw, on the one side, eight-and-twenty armed men, each of them having a well-shaped woman beside him. And on the other side he saw six nice young girls, yellow-haired, having shaggy gowns from their shoulders. And in the middle there was another young girl sitting in a chair, and a harp in her hand, and she playing on it and singing. And every time she stopped, a man of them would give her a horn to drink from, and she would give it back to him again, and they were all making mirth around her. She spoke to Caoilte then. "Caoilte, my life," she said, "give us leave to attend on you now." "Do not," said Caoilte, "for there is a better man than myself outside, Finn, son of Cumhal, and he has a mind to eat in this house to-night." "Rise up, Caoilte, and go for Finn," said a man of the house then; "for he never refused any man in his own house, and he will get no refusal from us." Caoilte went back then to Finn, and when Finn saw him he said: "It is long you are away from us, Caoilte, for from the time I took arms in my hands I never had a night that put so much hardship on me as this one." The six of them went then into the lighted house and their shields and their arms with them. And they sat down on the edge of a seat, and a girl having yellow hair came and brought them to a shining seat in the middle of the house, and the newest of every food, and the oldest of every drink was put before them. And when the sharpness of their hunger and their thirst was lessened, Finn said: "Which of you can I question?" "Question whoever you have a mind to," said the tallest of the men that was near him. "Who are you yourself then?" said Finn, "for I did not think there were so many champions in Ireland, and I not knowing them." "Those eight-and-twenty armed men you see beyond," said the tall man, "had the one father and mother with myself; and we are the sons of Midhir of the Yellow Hair, and our mother is Fionnchaem, the fair, beautiful daughter of the King of the Sidhe of Monaid in the east. And at one time the Tuatha de Danaan had a gathering, and gave the kingship to Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda, at his bright hospitable place, and he began to ask hostages of myself and of my brothers; but we said that till all the rest of the Men of Dea had given them, we would not give them. Bodb Dearg said then to our father: 'Unless you will put away your sons, we will wall up your dwelling-place on you.' So the eight-and-twenty brothers of us came out to look for a place for ourselves; and we searched all Ireland till we found this secret hidden place, and we are here ever since. And my own name," he said, "is Donn, son of Midhir. And we had every one of us ten hundred armed men belonging to himself, but they are all worn away now, and only the eight-and-twenty of us left." "What is it is wearing you away?" said Finn. "The Men of Dea," said Donn, "that come three times in every year to give battle to us on the green outside." "What is the long new grave we saw on the green outside?" said Finn. "It is the grave of Diangalach, a man of enchantments of the Men of Dea; and that is the greatest loss came on them yet," said Donn; "and it was I myself killed him," he said. "What loss came next to that?" said Finn. "All the Tuatha de Danaan had of jewels and riches and treasures, horns and vessels and cups of pale gold, we took from them at the one time." "What was the third greatest loss they had?" said Finn. "It was Fethnaid, daughter of Feclach, the woman-harper of the Tuatha de Danaan, their music and the delight of their minds," said Donn. "And to-morrow," he said, "they will be coming to make an attack on us, and there is no one but myself and my brothers left; and we knew we would be in danger, and that we could make no stand against them. And we sent that bare-headed girl beyond to Toraig in the North in the shape of a foolish fawn, and you followed her here. It is that girl washing herself, and having a green cloak about her, went looking for you. "And the empty side of the house," he said, "belonged to our people that the Men of Dea have killed." They spent that night in drinking and in pleasure. And when they rose up in the morning of the morrow, Donn, son of Midhir, said to Finn, "Come out with me now on the lawn till you see the place where we fight the battles every year." They went out then and they looked at the graves and the flag-stones, and Donn said: "It is as far as this the Men of Dea come to meet us." "Which of them come here?" said Finn. "Bodb Dearg with his seven sons," said Donn; "and Angus Og, son of the Dagda, with his seven sons; and Finnbharr of Cnoc Medha with his seventeen sons; Lir of Sidhe Fionnachaidh with his twenty-seven sons and their sons; Tadg, son of Nuada, out of the beautiful hill of Almhuin; Donn of the Island and Donn of the Vat; the two called Glas from the district of Osraige; Dobhran Dubthaire from the hill of Liamhain of the Smooth Shirt; Aedh of the Island of Rachrainn in the north; Ferai and Aillinn and Lir and Fainnle, sons of Eogobal, from Cnoc Aine in Munster; Cian and Coban and Conn, three sons of the King of Sidhe Monaid in Alban; Aedh Minbhreac of Ess Ruadh with his seven sons; the children of the Morrigu, the Great Queen, her six-and-twenty women warriors, the two Luaths from Magh Life; Derg and Drecan out of the hill of Beinn Edair in the east; Bodb Dearg himself with his great household, ten hundred ten score and ten. Those are the chief leaders of the Tuatha de Danaan that come to destroy our hill every year." Finn went back into the hill then, and told all that to his people. "My people," he said, "it is in great need and under great oppression the sons of Midhir are, and it is into great danger we are come ourselves. And unless we make a good fight now," he said, "it is likely we will never see the Fianna again." "Good Finn," every one of them said then, "did you ever see any drawing-back in any of us that you give us that warning?" "I give my word," said Finn, "if I would go through the whole world having only this many of the Fianna of Ireland along with me, I would not know fear nor fright. And good Donn," he said, "is it by day or by night the Men of Dea come against you?" "It is at the fall of night they come," said Donn, "the way they can do us the most harm." So they waited till night came on, and then Finn said: "Let one of you go out now on the green to keep watch for us, the way the Men of Dea will not come on us without word or warning." And the man they set to watch was not gone far when he saw five strong battalions of the Men of Dea coming towards him. He went back then to the hill and he said: "It is what I think, that the troops that are come against us this time and are standing now around the grave of the Man of Enchantments are a match for any other fighting men." Finn called to his people then, and he said: "These are good fighters are come against you, having strong red spears. And let you all do well now in the battle. And it is what you have to do," he said, "to keep the little troop of brothers, the sons of Midhir, safe in the fight; for it would be a treachery to friendship any harm to come on them, and we after joining them; and myself and Caoilte are the oldest among you, and leave the rest of the battle to us." Then from the covering time of evening to the edge of the morning they fought the battle. And the loss of the Tuatha de Danaan was no less a number than ten hundred ten score and ten men. Then Bodb Dearg and Midhir and Fionnbhar said to one another: "What are we to do with all these? And let Lir of Sidhe Fionnachaidh give us an advice," they said, "since he is the oldest of us." And Lir said: "It is what I advise, let every one carry away his friends and his fosterlings, his sons and his brothers, to his own place. And as for us that stop here," he said, "let a wall of fire be made about us on the one side, and a wall of water on the other side." Then the Men of Dea put up a great heap of stones, and brought away their dead; and of all the great slaughter that Finn and his men and the sons of Midhir had made, there was not left enough for a crow to perch upon. And as to Finn and his men, they went back into the hill, hurt and wounded and worn-out. And they stopped in the hill with the sons of Midhir through the whole length of a year, and three times in the year the Men of Dea made an attack on the hill, and a battle was fought. And Conn, son of Midhir, was killed in one of the battles; and as to the Fianna, there were so many wounds on them that the clothing was held off from their bodies with bent hazel sticks, and they lying in their beds, and two of them were like to die. And Finn and Caoilte and Lugaidh's Son went out on the green, and Caoilte said: "It was a bad journey we made coming to this hill, to leave two of our comrades after us." "It is a pity for whoever will face the Fianna of Ireland," said Lugaidh's Son, "and he after leaving his comrades after him." "Whoever will go back and leave them, it will not be myself," said Finn. Then Bonn, son of Midhir, came to them. "Good Donn," said Finn, "have you knowledge of any physician that can cure our men?" "I only know one physician could do that," said Donn; "a physician the Tuatha de Danaan have with them. And unless a wounded man has the marrow of his back cut through, he will get relief from that physician, the way he will be sound at the end of nine days." "How can we bring that man here," said Finn, "for those he is with are no good friends to us?" "He goes out every morning at break of day," said Donn, "to gather healing herbs while the dew is on them." "Find some one, Donn," said Caoilte, "that will show me that physician, and, living or dead, I will bring him with me." Then Aedh and Flann, two of the sons of Midhir, rose up. "Come with us, Caoilte," they said, and they went on before him to a green lawn with the dew on it; and when they came to it they saw a strong young man armed and having a cloak of the wool of the seven sheep of the Land of Promise, and it full of herbs of healing he was after gathering for the Men of Dea that were wounded in the battle. "Who is that man?" said Caoilte. "That is the man we came looking for," said Aedh. "And mind him well now," he said, "that he will not make his escape from us back to his own people." They ran at him together then, and Caoilte took him by the shoulders and they brought him away with them to the ford of the Slaine in the great plain of Leinster, where the most of the Fianna were at that time; and a Druid mist rose up about them that they could not be seen. And they went up on a little hill over the ford, and they saw before them four young men having crimson fringed cloaks and swords with gold hilts, and four good hunting hounds along with them. And the young man could not see them because of the mist, but Caoilte saw they were his own two sons, Colla and Faolan, and two other young men of the Fianna, and he could hear them talking together, and saying it was a year now that Finn, son of Cumhal, was gone from them. "And what will the Fianna of Ireland do from this out," said one of them, "without their lord and their leader?" "There is nothing for them to do," said another, "but to go to Teamhair and to break up there, or to find another leader for themselves." And there was heavy sorrow on them for the loss of their lord; and it was grief to Caoilte to be looking at them. And he and the two sons of Midhir went back then by the Lake of the Two Birds to Slieve-nam Ban, and they went into the hill. And Finn and Donn gave a great welcome to Luibra, the physician, and they showed him their two comrades that were lying in their wounds. "Those men are brothers to me," said Donn, "and tell me how can they be cured?" Luibra looked then at their wounds, and he said: "They can be cured if I get a good reward." "You will get that indeed," said Caoilte; "and tell me now," he said, "how long will it take to cure them?" "It will take nine days," said Luibra. "It is a good reward you will get," said Caoilte, "and this is what it is, your own life to be left to you. But if these young men are not healed," he said, "it is my own hand will strike off your head." And within nine days the physician had done a cure on them, and they were as well and as sound as before. And it was after that time the High King sent a messenger to bring the Fianna to the Feast of Teamhair. And they all gathered to it, men and women, boys and heroes and musicians. And Goll, son of Morna, was sitting at the feast beside the king. "It is a great loss you have had, Fianna of Ireland," said the king, "losing your lord and your leader, Finn, son of Cumhal." "It is a great loss indeed," said Goll. "There has no greater loss fallen on Ireland since the loss of Lugh, son of Ethne," said the king. "What orders will you give to the Fianna now, king?" said Goll. "To yourself, Goll," said the king, "I will give the right of hunting over all Ireland till we know if the loss of Finn is lasting." "I will not take Finn's place," said Goll, "till he has been wanting to us through the length of three years, and till no person in Ireland has any hope of seeing him again." Then Ailbe of the Freckled Face said to the king: "What should these seventeen queens belonging to Finn's household do?" "Let a safe, secret sunny house be given to every one of them," said the king; "and let her stop there and her women with her, and let provision be given to her for a month and a quarter and a year till we have knowledge if Finn is alive or dead." Then the king stood up, and a smooth drinking-horn in his hand, and he said: "It would be a good thing, men of Ireland, if any one among you could get us news of Finn in hills or in secret places, or in rivers or invers, or in any house of the Sidhe in Ireland or in Alban." With that Berngal, the cow-owner from the borders of Slieve Fuad, that was divider to the King of Ireland, said: "The day Finn came out from the north, following after a deer of the Sidhe, and his five comrades with him, he put a sharp spear having a shining head in my hand, and a hound's collar along with it, and he bade me to keep them till he would meet me again in the same place." Berngal showed the spear and the collar then to the king and to Goll, and they looked at them and the king said: "It is a great loss to the men of Ireland the man is that owned this collar and this spear. And were his hounds along with him?" he said. "They were," said Berngal; "Bran and Sceolan were with Finn, and Breac and Lainbhui with Caoilte, and Conuall and Comrith with Lugaidh's Son." The High King called then for Fergus of the True Lips, and he said: "Do you know how long is Finn away from us?" "I know that well," said Fergus; "it is a month and a quarter and a year since we lost him. And indeed it is a great loss he is to the Fianna of Ireland," he said, "himself and the men that were with him." "It is a great loss indeed," said the king, "and I have no hope at all of finding those six that were the best men of Ireland or of Alban." And then he called to Cithruadh, the Druid, and he said: "It is much riches and many treasures Finn gave you, and tell us now is he living or is he dead?" "He is living," said Cithruadh then. "But as to where he is, I will give no news of that," he said, "for he himself would not like me to give news of it." There was great joy among them when they heard that, for everything Cithruadh had ever foretold had come true. "Tell us when will he come back?" said the king. "Before the Feast of Teamhair is over," said the Druid, "you will see the Leader of the Fianna drinking at it." And as to Finn and his men, they stopped in the House of the Two Birds till they had taken hostages for Donn, son of Midhir, from the Tuatha de Danaan. And on the last day of the Feast of Teamhair they came back to their people again. And from that time out the Fianna of Ireland had not more dealings with the people living in houses than they had with the People of the Gods of Dana. CHAPTER IV. THE HOSPITALITY OF CUANNA'S HOUSE It happened one day Finn and Oisin and Caoilte and Diarmuid and Lugaidh's Son went up on the top of Cairn Feargall, and their five hounds with them, Bran and Sceolan, Sear Dubh, Luath Luachar and Adhnuall. And they were not long there till they saw a giant coming towards them, very tall and rough and having an iron fork on his back and a squealing pig between the prongs of the fork. And there was a beautiful eager young girl behind the giant, shoving him on before her. "Let some one go speak with those people," said Finn. So Diarmuid went towards them, but they turned away before he came to them. Then Finn and the rest rose up and went after them, but before they came to the giant and the girl, a dark Druid mist rose up that hid the road. And when the mist cleared away, Finn and the rest looked about them, and they saw a good light-roofed house at the edge of a ford near at hand. They went on to the house, and there was a green lawn before it, and in the lawn two wells, and on the edge of one well there was a rough iron vessel, and on the edge of the other a copper vessel. They went into the house then, and they found there a very old white-haired man, standing to the right hand of the door, and the beautiful young girl they saw before, sitting near him, and the great rough giant beside the fire, and he boiling a pig. And on the other side of the fire there was an old countryman, having dark-grey hair and twelve eyes in his head, and his twelve eyes were twelve sons of battle. And there was a ram in the house having a white belly and a very black head, and dark-blue horns and green feet. And there was a hag in the end of the house and a worn grey gown on her, and there was no one in the house but those. And the man at the door gave them a welcome, and then the five of them sat down on the floor of the house, and their hounds along with them. "Let great respect be shown to Finn, son of Cumhal, and to his people," said the man at the door. "It is the way I am," said the giant, "to be asking always and getting nothing." But for all that he rose up and showed respect to Finn. Presently there came a great thirst on Finn, and no one took notice of it but Caoilte, and he began complaining greatly. "Why are you complaining, Caoilte?" said the man at the door; "you have but to go out and get a drink for Finn at whichever of the wells you will choose." Caoilte went out then, and he brought the full of the copper vessel to Finn, and Finn took a drink from it, and there was the taste of honey on it while he was drinking, and the taste of gall on it after, so that fierce windy pains and signs of death came on him, and his appearance changed, that he would hardly be known. And Caoilte made greater complaints than he did before on account of the way he was, till the man at the door bade him to go out and to bring him a drink from the other well. So Caoilte did that, and brought in the full of the iron vessel. And Finn never went through such great hardship in any battle as he did drinking that draught, from the bitterness of it; but no sooner did he drink it than his own colour and appearance came back to him and he was as well as before, and his people were very glad when they saw that. Then the man of the house asked was the pig ready that was in the cauldron. "It is ready," said the giant; "and leave the dividing of it to me," he said. "What way will you divide it?" said the man of the house. "I will give one hind quarter to Finn and his dogs," said the giant, "and the other hind quarter to Finn's four comrades; and the fore quarter to myself, and the chine and the rump to the old man there by the fire and the hag in the corner; and the entrails to yourself and to the young girl that is beside you." "I give my word," said the man of the house, "you have shared it well." "I give my word," said the ram, "it is a bad division to me, for you have forgotten my share in it." With that he took hold of the quarter that was before the Fianna, and brought it into a corner and began to eat it. On that the four of them attacked him with their swords, but with all the hard strokes they gave they could not harm him at all, for the swords slipped from his back the same as they would from a rock. "On my word it is a pity for any one that has the like of you for comrades," said the man with the twelve eyes, "and you letting a sheep bring away your food from you." With that he went up to the ram and took him by the feet and threw him out from the door that he fell on his back, and they saw him no more. It was not long after that, the hag rose up and threw her pale grey gown over Finn's four comrades, and they turned to four old men, weak and withered, their heads hanging. When Finn saw that there came great dread on him, and the man at the door saw it, and he bade him to come over to him, and to put his head in his breast and to sleep. Finn did that, and the hag took her covering off the four men, the way that when Finn awoke they were in their own shape again, and it is well pleased he was to see that. "Is there wonder on you, Finn?" said the man at the door, "at the ways of this house?" "I never wondered more at anything I ever saw," said Finn. "I will tell you the meaning of them, so," said the man. "As to the giant you saw first," he said, "having the squealing pig in the prongs of his fork, Sluggishness is his name; and the girl here beside me that was shoving him along is Liveliness, for liveliness pushes on sluggishness, and liveliness goes farther in the winking of an eye than the foot can travel in a year. The old man there beyond with the twelve bright eyes betokens the World, and he is stronger than any other, and he showed that when he made nothing of the ram. The ram you saw betokens the Desires of Men. The hag is Old Age, and her gown withered up your four comrades. And the two wells you drank the two draughts out of," he said, "betoken Lying and Truth; for it is sweet to people to be telling a lie, but it is bitter in the end. And as to myself," he said, "Cuanna from Innistuil is my name, and it is not here I am used to be, but I took a very great love for you, Finn, because of your wisdom and your great name, and so I put these things in your way that I might see you. And the hospitality of Cuanna's house to Finn will be the name of this story to the end of the world. And let you and your men come together now," he said, "and sleep till morning." So they did that, and when they awoke in the morning, it is where they were, on the top of Cairn Feargall, and their dogs and their arms beside them. CHAPTER V. CAT-HEADS AND DOG-HEADS Nine of the Fianna set out one time, looking for a pup they wanted, and they searched through many places before they found it. All through Magh Leine they searched, and through the Valley of the Swords, and through the storm of Druim Cleibh, and it is pleasant the Plain of the Life looked after it; but not a pup could they find. Then they went searching through Durlass of the generous men, and great Teamhair and Dun Dobhran and Ceanntsaile, men and dogs searching the whole of Ireland, but not a pup could they find. And while they were going from place to place, and their people with them, they saw the three armies of the sons of the King of Ruadhleath coming towards them. Cat-headed one army was, and the one alongside of it was Dog-headed, and the men of the third army were White-backed. And when the Fianna saw them coming, Finn held up his shining spear, and light-hearted Caoilte gave out a great shout that was heard in Almhuin, and in Magh Leine, and in Teamhair, and in Dun Reithlein. And that shout was answered by Goll, son of Morna, and by Faolan, Finn's son that was with him, and by the Stutterers from Burren, and by the two sons of Maith Breac, and by Iolunn of the Sharp Edge, and by Cael of the Sharp Sword, that never gave his ear to tale-bearers. It is pleasant the sound was then of the spears and the armies and of the silken banners that were raised up in the gusty wind of the morning. And as to the banners, Finn's banner, the Dealb-Greine, the Sun-Shape, had the likeness of the sun on it; and Coil's banner was the Fulang Duaraidh, that was the first and last to move in a battle; and Faolan's banner was the Coinneal Catha, the Candle of Battle; and Oisin's banner was the Donn Nimhe, the Dark Deadly One; and Caoilte's was the Lamh Dearg, the Red Hand; and Osgar's was the Sguab Gabhaidh that had a Broom of rowan branches on it, and the only thing asked when the fight was at the hottest was where that Broom was; and merry Diarmuid's banner was the Liath Loinneach, the Shining Grey; and the Craobh Fuileach, the Bloody Branch, was the banner of Lugaidh's Son. And as to Conan, it is a briar he had on his banner, because he was always for quarrels and for trouble. And it used to be said of him he never saw a man frown without striking him, or a door left open without going in through it. And when the Fianna had raised their banners they attacked the three armies; and first of all they killed the whole of the Cat-Heads, and then they took the Dog-Heads in hand and made an end of them, and of the White-Backs along with them. And after that they went to a little hill to the south, having a double dun on it, and it is there they found a hound they were able to get a pup from. And by that time they had searched through the whole of Ireland, and they did not find in the whole of it a hundred men that could match their nine. And as well as their banners, some of the Fianna had swords that had names to them, Mac an Luin, Son of the Waves, that belonged to Finn; and Ceard-nan Gallan, the Smith of the Branches, that was Oisin's; and Caoilte's Cruadh-Chosgarach, the Hard Destroying One; and Diarmuid's Liomhadoir, the Burnisher; and Osgar's Cosgarach Mhor, the Great Triumphant One. And it is the way they got those swords: there came one time to where Finn and Caoilte and some others of the Fianna were, a young man, very big and ugly, having but one foot and one eye; a cloak of black skins he had over his shoulders, and in his hand a blunt ploughshare that was turning to red. And he told them he was Lon, son of Liobhan, one of the three smiths of the King of Lochlann. And whether he thought to go away from the Fianna, or to bring them to his smithy, he started running, and they followed after him all through Ireland, to Slieve-na-Righ, and to Luimnech, and to Ath Luain, and by the right side of Cruachan of Connacht, and to Ess Ruadh and to Beinn Edair, and so to the sea. And wherever it was they found the smithy, they went into it, and there they found four smiths working, and every one of them having seven hands. And Finn and Caoilte and the rest stopped there watching them till the swords were made, and they brought them away with them then, and it is good use they made of them afterwards. And besides his sword, Mac an Luin, Finn had a shield was called Sgiath Gailbhinn, the Storm Shield; and when it called out it could be heard all through Ireland. And whether or not it was the Storm Shield, Finn had a wonderful shield that he did great deeds with, and the story of it is this: At the time of the battle of the Great Battle of Magh Tuireadh, Lugh, after he had struck the head off Balor of the Evil Eye, hung it in the fork of a hazel-tree. And the tree split, and the leaves fell from it with the dint of the poison that dropped from the head. And through the length of fifty years that tree was a dwelling-place of crows and of ravens. And at the end of that time Manannan, son of Lir, was passing by, and he took notice of the tree that it was split and withered, and he bade his men to dig it up. And when they began to dig, a mist of poison rose up from the roots, and nine of the men got their death from it, and another nine after them, and the third nine were blinded. And Luchtaine the Carpenter made a shield of the wood of that hazel for Manannan. And after a while Manannan gave it, and a set of chessmen along with it, to Tadg, son of Nuada; and from him it came to his grandson, Finn, son of Muirne and of Cumhal. CHAPTER VI. LOMNA'S HEAD FINN took a wife one time of the Luigne of Midhe. And at the same time there was in his household one Lomna, a fool. Finn now went into Tethra, hunting with the Fianna, but Lomna stopped at the house. And after a while he saw Coirpre, a man of the Luigne, go in secretly to where Finn's wife was. And when the woman knew he had seen that, she begged and prayed of Lomna to hide it from Finn. And Lomna agreed to that, but it preyed on him to have a hand in doing treachery on Finn. And after a while he took a four-square rod and wrote an Ogham on it, and these were the words he wrote:--"An alder stake in a paling of silver; deadly night-shade in a bunch of cresses; a husband of a lewd woman; a fool among the well-taught Fianna; heather on bare Ualann of Luigne." Finn saw the message, and there was anger on him against the woman; and she knew well it was from Lomna he had heard the story, and she sent a message to Coirpre bidding him to come and kill the fool. So Coirpre came and struck his head off, and brought it away with him. And when Finn came back in the evening he saw the body, and it without a head. "Let us know whose body is this," said the Fianna. And then Finn did the divination of rhymes, and it is what he said: "It is the body of Lomna; it is not by a wild boar he was killed; it is not by a fall he was killed; it is not in his bed he died; it is by his enemies he died; it is not a secret to the Luigne the way he died. And let out the hounds now on their track," he said. So they let out the hounds, and put them on the track of Coirpre, and Finn followed them, and they came to a house, and Coirpre in it, and three times nine of his men and he cooking fish on a spit; and Lomna's head was on a spike beside the fire. And the first of the fish that was cooked Coirpre divided between his men, but he put no bit into the mouth of the head. And then he made a second division in the same way. Now that was against the law of the Fianna, and the head spoke, and it said: "A speckled white-bellied salmon that grows from a small fish under the sea; you have shared a share that is not right; the Fianna will avenge it upon you, Coirpre." "Put the head outside," said Coirpre, "for that is an evil word for us." Then the head said from outside: "It is in many pieces you will be; it is great fires will be lighted by Finn in Luigne." And as it said that, Finn came in, and he made an end of Coirpre, and of his men. CHAPTER VII. ILBREC OF ESS RUADH One time Caoilte was hunting on Beinn Gulbain, and he went on to Ess Ruadh. And when he came near the hill of the Sidhe that is there, he saw a young man waiting for him, having a crimson fringed cloak about him, and on his breast a silver brooch, and a white shield, ornamented with linked beasts of red gold, and his hair rolled in a ball at the back, and covered with a golden cup. And he had heavy green weapons, and he was holding two hounds in a silver chain. And when Caoilte came up to him he gave him three loving kisses, and sat down beside him on the grass. "Who are you, young champion?" said Caoilte. "I am Derg, son of Eoghan of the people of Usnach," he said, "and foster-brother of your own." Caoilte knew him then, and he said: "And what is your life with your mother's people, the Tuatha de Danaan in Sidhe Aedha?" "There is nothing wanting to us there of food or of clothing," said the young man. "But for all that," he said, "I would sooner live the life of the worst treated of the serving-boys of the Fianna than the life I am living in the hill of the Sidhe." "Lonely as you are at your hunting to-day," said Caoilte, "it is often I saw you coming to the Valley of the Three Waters in the south, where the Siuir and the Beoir and the Berba come together, with a great company about you; fifteen hundred young men, fifteen hundred serving-boys, and fifteen hundred women." "That was so," said Derg; "and although myself and my gentle hound are living in the hill of the Sidhe, my mind is always on the Fianna. And I remember well the time," he said, "when you yourself won the race against Finn's lasting black horse. And come now into the hill," he said, "for the darkness of the night is coming on." So he brought Caoilte into the hill with him, and they were set down in their right places. It was at that time, now, there was great war between Lir of Sidhe Fionnachaidh and Ilbrec of Ess Ruadh. There used a bird with an iron beak and a tail of fire to come every evening to a golden window of Ilbrec's house, and there he would shake himself till he would not leave sword on pillow, or shield on peg, or spear in rack, but they would come down on the heads of the people of the house; and whatever they would throw at the bird, it is on the heads of some of themselves it would fall. And the night Caoilte came in, the hall was made ready for a feast, and the bird came in again, and did the same destruction as before, and nothing they threw at him would touch him at all. "Is it long the bird has been doing this?" said Caoilte. "Through the length of a year now," said Derg, "since we went to war with Sidhe Fionnachaidh." Then Caoilte put his hand within the rim of his shield, and he took out of it a copper rod he had, and he made a cast of it at the bird, that brought it down on the floor of the hall. "Did any one ever make a better cast than that?" said Ilbrec. "By my word," said Caoilte, "there is no one of us in the Fianna has any right to boast against another." Then Ilbrec took down a sharp spear, having thirty rivets of gold in it, from its place, and he said: "That is the Spear of Fiacha, son of Congha, and it is with that Finn made an end of Aillen, son of Midhna, that used to burn Teamhair. And keep it beside you now, Caoilte," he said, "till we see will Lir come to avenge his bird on us." Then they took up their horns and their cups, and they were at drinking and pleasure, and Ilbrec said: "Well, Caoilte," he said, "if Lir comes to avenge his bird on us, who will you put in command of the battle?" "I will give the command to Derg there beyond," said he. "Will you take it in hand, Derg?" said the people of the hill. "I will take it," said Derg, "with its loss and its gain." So that is how they spent the night, and it was not long in the morning till they heard blowing of horns, and rattling of chariots, and clashing of shields, and the uproar of a great army that came all about the hill. They sent some of their people out then to see were there many in it, and they saw three brave armies of the one size. "It would be a great vexation to me," said Aedh Nimbrec, the Speckled, then, "we to get our death and Lir's people to take the hill." "Did you never hear, Aedh," said Caoilte, "that the wild boar escapes sometimes from both hounds and from wolves, and the stag in the same way goes away from the hounds with a sudden start; and what man is it you are most in dread of in the battle?" he said. "The man that is the best fighter of all the Men of Dea," said they all, "and that is Lir of Sidhe Fionnachaidh." "The thing I have done in every battle I will not give up to-day," said Caoilte, "to meet the best man that is in it hand to hand." "The two that are next to him in fighting," they said then, "are Donn and Dubh." "I will put down those two," said Derg. Then the host of the Sidhe went out to the battle, and the armies attacked one another with wide green spears and with little casting spears, and with great stones; and the fight went on from the rising of the day till midday. And then Caoilte and Lir met with one another, and they made a very fierce fight, and at the last Lir of Sidhe Fionnachaidh fell by the hand of Caoilte. Then the two good champions Dubh and Donn, sons of Eirrge, determined to go on with the battle, and it is how they fought, Dubh in the front of the whole army, and Donn behind all, guarding the rear. But Derg saw that, and he put his finger into the thong of his spear and made a cast at the one that was nearest him, and it broke his back and went on into the body of the other, so that the one cast made an end of the two. And that ended the battle, and all that was left of the great army of Lir went wearing away to the north. And there was great rejoicing in the hill at Ess Ruadh, and Ilbrec took the spoils of the beaten army for his people, and to Caoilte he gave the enchanted spear of Fiacha, together with nine rich cloaks and nine long swords with hilts and guards of gold, and nine hounds for hunting. And they said farewell to one another, and Caoilte left his blessing to the people of the hill, and he brought their thanks with him. And as hard as the battle had been, it was harder again for Derg to part from his comrade, and the day he was parted from Finn and from all the Fianna was no sadder to him than this day. It was a long time after that Caoilte went again to the hill of Ilbrec at Ess Ruadh, and this is the way it happened. It was in a battle at Beinn Edair in the east that Mane, son of the King of Lochlann, made a cast at him in the middle of the battle with a deadly spear. And he heard the whistling of the spear, and it rushing to him; and he lifted his shield to protect his head and his body, but that did not save him, for it struck into his thigh, and left its poison in it, so that he had to go in search of healing. And it is where he went, to the hill of the Sidhe at Ess Ruadh, to ask help of Bebind, daughter of Elcmar of Brugh na Boinne, that had the drink of healing of the Tuatha de Danaan, and all that was left of the ale of Goibniu that she used to be giving out to them. And Caoilte called to Cascorach the Musician, son of Caincenn, and bade him bring his harp and come along with him. And they stopped for a night in the hill of the Sidhe of Druim Nemed in Luigne of Connacht, and from that they went forward by Ess Dara, the Fall of the Oaks, and Druim Dearg na Feinne, the Red Ridge of the Fianna, and Ath Daim Glas, the Ford of the Grey Stag, and to Beinn Gulbain, and northward into the plain of Ceitne, where the Men of Dea used to pay their tribute to the Fomor; and up to the Footstep of Ess Ruadh, and the High Place of the Boys, where the boys of the Tuatha de Danaan used to be playing their hurling. And Aedh of Ess Ruadh and Ilbrec of Ess Ruadh were at the door of the hill, and they gave Caoilte a true welcome. "I am glad of that welcome," said Caoilte. And then Bebind, daughter of Elcmar of Brugh na Boinne, came out, and three times fifty comely women about her, and she sat down on the green grass and gave three loving kisses to the three, to Caoilte and to Cascorach and to Fermaise, that had come with them out of the hill of the Sidhe in Luigne of Connacht. And all the people of the hill welcomed them, and they said: "It is little your friendship would be worth if you would not come to help us and we in need of help." "It was not for bravery I was bade come," said Cascorach; "but when the right time comes I will make music for you if you have a mind to hear it." "It is not for deeds of bravery we are come," said Fermaise, "but we will give you our help if you are in need of it." Then Caoilte told them the cause of his journey. "We will heal you well," said they. And then they all went into the hill and stayed there three days and three nights at drinking and pleasure. And indeed it was good help Caoilte and Cascorach gave them after that. For there was a woman-warrior used to come every year with the ships of the men of Lochlann to make an attack on the Tuatha de Danaan. And she had been reared by a woman that knew all enchantments, and there was no precious thing in all the hills of the Sidhe but she had knowledge of it, and would bring it away. And just at this time there came a messenger to the door of the hill with news that the harbour was full of ships, and that a great army had landed, and the woman-warrior along with it. And it was Cascorach the Musician went out against her, having a shield he got the loan of from Donn, son of Midhir; and she used high words when she saw so young a man coming to fight with her, and he alone. But he made an end of her for all her high talk, and left her lying on the strand with the sea foam washing up to her. And as to Caoilte, he went out in a chariot belonging to Midhir of the Yellow Hair, son of the Dagda, and a spear was given him that was called Ben-badb, the War-Woman, and he made a cast of the spear that struck the King of Lochlann, that he fell in the middle of his army, and the life went from him. And Fermaise went looking for the king's brother, Eolus, that was the comeliest of all the men of the world; and he knew him by the band of gold around his head, and his green armour, and his red shield, and he killed him with a cast of a five-pronged spear. And when the men of Lochlann saw their three leaders were gone, they went into their ships and back to their own country. And there was great joy through the whole country, both among the men of Ireland and the Tuatha de Danaan, the men of Lochlann to have been driven away by the deeds of Caoilte and Fermaise and Cascorach. And that was not all they did, for it was at that time there came three flocks of beautiful red birds from Slieve Fuad in the north, and began eating the green grass before the hill of the Sidhe. "What birds are those?" said Caoilte. "Three flocks they are that come and destroy the green every year, eating it down to the bare flag-stones, till they leave us no place for our races," said Ilbrec. Then Caoilte and his comrades took up three stones and threw them at the flocks and drove them away. "Power and blessings to you," said the people of the Sidhe then, "that is a good work you have done. And there is another thing you can do for us," they said, "for there are three ravens come to us every year out of the north, and the time the young lads of the hill are playing their hurling, each one of the ravens carries off a boy of them. And it is to-morrow the hurling will be," they said. So when the full light of day was come on the morrow, the whole of the Tuatha de Danaan went out to look at the hurling; and to every six men of them was given a chess-board, and a board for some other game to every five, and to every ten men a little harp, and a harp to every hundred men, and pipes that were sharp and powerful to every nine. Then they saw the three ravens from the north coming over the sea, and they pitched on the great tree of power that was on the green, and they gave three gloomy screeches, that if such a thing could be, would have brought the dead out of the earth or the hair off the head of the listeners; and as it was, they took the courage out of the whole gathering. Then Cascorach, son of Caincenn, took a man of the chessmen and made a cast at one of the ravens that struck his beak and his throat, and made an end of him; and Fermaise killed the second of them, and Caoilte the third of them in the same way. "Let my cure be done now," said Caoilte, "for I have paid my fee for it, and it is time." "You have paid it indeed," said Ilbrec. "And where is Bebind, daughter of Elcmar?" he said. "I am here," said she. "Bring Caoilte, son of Ronan, with you into some hidden place," he said, "and do his cure, and let him be well served, for he has driven every danger from the Men of Dea and from the Sons of the Gael. And let Cascorach make music for him, and let Fermaise, son of Eogabil, be watching him and guarding him and attending him." So Elcmar's daughter went to the House of Arms, and her two sons with her, and a bed of healing was made ready for Caoilte, and a bowl of pale gold was brought to her, and it full of water. And she took a crystal vessel and put herbs into it, and she bruised them and put them in the water, and gave the bowl to Caoilte, and he drank a great drink out of it, that made him cast up the poison of the spear that was in him. Five drinks of it he took, and after that she gave him new milk to drink; but with the dint of the reaching he was left without strength through the length of three days and three nights. "Caoilte, my life," she said then, "in my opinion you have got relief." "I have got it indeed," he said, "but that the weakness of my head is troubling me." "The washing of Flann, daughter of Flidais, will be done for you now," she said, "and the head that washing is done for will never be troubled with pain, or baldness, or weakness of sight." So that cure was done to him for a while; and the people of the hill divided themselves into three parts; the one part of their best men and great nobles, and another of their young men, and another of their women and poets, to be visiting him and making mirth with him as long as he would be on his bed of healing. And everything that was best from their hunting, it was to him they would bring it. And one day, when Elcmar's daughter and her two sons and Cascorach and Fermaise were with Caoilte, there was heard a sound of music coming towards them from the waters of Ess Ruadh, and any one would leave the music of the whole world for that music. And they put their harps on the corners of the pillars and went out, and there was wonder on Caoilte that they left him. And he took notice that his strength and the strength of his hands was not come to him yet, and he said: "It is many a rough battle and many a hard fight I went into, and now there is not enough strength in me so much as to go out along with the rest," and he cried tears down. And the others came back to him then, and he asked news of them. "What was that sound of music we heard?" he said. "It was Uaine out of the hill of the Sidhe, at the Wave of Cliodna in the south," said they; "and with her the birds of the Land of Promise; and she is musician to the whole of that country. And every year she goes to visit one of the hills of the Sidhe, and it is our turn this time." Then the woman from the Land of Promise came into the house, and the birds came in along with her, and they pitched on the pillars and the beams, and thirty of them came in where Caoilte was, began singing together. And Cascorach took his harp, and whatever he would play, the birds would sing to it. "It is much music I have heard," said Caoilte, "but music so good as that I never heard before." And after that Caoilte asked to have the healing of his thigh done, and the daughter of Elcmar gave herself to that, and all that was bad was sucked from the wound by her serving people till it was healed. And Caoilte stopped on where he was for three nights after that. And then the people of the hill rose up and went into the stream to swim. And Caoilte said: "What ails me now not to go swim, since my health has come back to me?" And with that he went into the water. And afterwards they went back into the hill, and there was a great feast made that night. And Caoilte bade them farewell after that, and Cascorach, but Fermaise stopped with them for a while. And the people of the hill gave good gifts to Caoilte; a fringed crimson cloak of wool from the seven sheep of the Land of Promise; and a fish-hook that was called Aicil mac Mogha, and that could not be set in any river or inver but it would take fish; and along with that they gave him a drink of remembrance, and after that drink there would be no place he ever saw, or no battle or fight he ever was in, but it would stay in his memory. "That is a good help from kinsmen and from friends," said Caoilte. Then Caoilte and Cascorach went out from the hill, and the people of it made a great lamentation after them. CHAPTER VIII. THE CAVE OF CRUACHAN CAOLITE was one time at Cruachan of Connacht, and Cascorach was with him, and there he saw sitting on a heap of stones a man with very rough grey hair, having a dark brown cloak fastened with a pin of bronze, and a long stick of white hazel in his hand; and there was a herd of cattle before him in a fenced field. Caoilte asked news of him. "I am steward to the King of Ireland," said the old man, "and it is from him I hold this land. And we have great troubles on us in this district," he said. "What troubles are those?" said Caoilte. "I have many herds of cattle," he said, "and every year at Samhain time, a woman comes out of the hill of the Sidhe of Cruachan and brings away nine of the best out of every herd. And as to my name, I am Bairnech, son of Carbh of Collamair of Bregia." "Who was the best man that ever came out of Collamair?" said Caoilte. "I know, and the men of Ireland and of Alban know," said he, "it was Caoilte, son of Ronan. And do you know where is that man now?" he said. "I myself am that man and your own kinsman," said Caoilte. When Bairnech heard that, he gave him a great welcome, and Caoilte gave him three kisses. "It seems to me that to-night is Samhain night," said Caoilte. "If that is so, it is to-night the woman will come to rob us," said Bernech. "Let me go to-night to the door of the hill of the Sidhe," said Cascorach. "You may do that, and bring your arms with you," said Caoilte. So Cascorach went then, and it was not long till he saw the girl going past him out of the hill of Cruachan, having a beautiful cloak of one colour about her; a gown of yellow silk tied up with a knot between her thighs, two spears in her hands, and she not in dread of anything before her or after her. Then Cascorach blew a blast against her, and put his finger into the thong of his spear, and made a cast at the girl that went through her, and that is the way she was made an end of by Cascorach of the Music. And then Bernech said to Caoilte: "Caoilte," he said, "do you know the other oppression that is on me in this place?" "What oppression is that?" said Caoilte. "Three she-wolves that come out of the Cave of Cruachan every year and destroy our sheep and our wethers, and we can do nothing against them, and they go back into the cave again. And it will be a good friend that will rid us of them," he said. "Well, Cascorach," said Caoilte, "do you know what are the three wolves that are robbing this man?" "I know well," said Cascorach, "they are the three daughters of Airetach, of the last of the people of oppression of the Cave of Cruachan, and it is easier for them to do their robbery as wolves than as women." "And will they come near to any one?" said Caoilte. "They will only come near to one sort," said Cascorach; "if they see the world's men having harps for music, they will come near to them." "And how would it be for me," he said, "to go to-morrow to the cairn beyond, and to bring my harp with me?" So in the morning he rose up and went to the cairn and stopped on it, playing his harp till the coming of the mists of the evening. And while he was there he saw the three wolves coming towards him, and they lay down before him, listening to the music. But Cascerach found no way to make an attack on them, and they went back into the cave at the end of the day. Cascorach went back then to Caoilte and told him what had happened. "Go up to-morrow to the same place," said Caoilte, "and say to them it would be better for them to be in the shape of women for listening to music than in the shape of wolves." So on the morrow Cascorach went out to the same cairn, and set his people about it, and the wolves came there and stretched themselves to listen to the music. And Cascorach was saying to them: "If you were ever women," he said, "it would be better for you to be listening to the music as women than as wolves." And they heard that, and they threw off the dark trailing coverings that were about them, for they liked well the sweet music of the Sidhe. And when Caoilte saw them there side by side, and elbow by elbow, he made a cast of his spear, and it went through the three women, that they were like a skein of thread drawn together on the spear. And that is the way he made an end of the strange, unknown three. And that place got the name of the Valley of the Shapes of the Wolves. CHAPTER IX. THE WEDDING AT CEANN SLIEVE Finn and the Fianna made a great hunting one time on the hill of Torc that is over Loch Lein and Feara Mor. And they went on with their hunting till they came to pleasant green Slieve Echtge, and from that it spread over other green-topped hills, and through thick tangled woods, and rough red-headed hills, and over the wide plains of the country. And every chief man among them chose the place that was to his liking, and the gap of danger he was used to before. And the shouts they gave in the turns of the hunt were heard in the woods all around, so that they started the deer in the wood, and sent the foxes wandering, and the little red beasts climbing rocks, and badgers from their holes, and birds flying, and fawns running their best. Then they let out their angry small-headed hounds and set them hunting. And it is red the hands of the Fianna were that day, and it is proud they were of their hounds that were torn and wounded before evening. It happened that day no one stopped with Finn but only Diorraing, son of Domhar. "Well, Diorraing," said Finn, "let you watch for me while I go asleep, for it is early I rose to-day, and it is an early rising a man makes when he cannot see the shadow of his five fingers between himself and the light of day, or know the leaves of the hazel from the leaves of the oak." With that he fell into a quiet sleep that lasted till the yellow light of the evening. And the rest of the Fianna, not knowing where he was gone, gave over the hunt. And the time was long to Diorraing while Finn was asleep, and he roused him and told him the Fianna must have given up the hunt, for he could not hear a cry or a whistle from them. "The end of day is come," said Finn then, "and we will not follow them to-night. And go now to the wood," he said, "and bring timber and dead branches for a shelter, and I will go looking for food for the night." So Diorraing went to the wood, but he was not gone far till he saw a fine well-lighted house of the Sidhe before him on the edge of the wood near at hand, and he went back to Finn with the news. "Let us go to it," said Finn, "for we ought not to be working in this place, and people living so near at hand." They went then to the door of the house and knocked at it, and the door-keeper came to it. "Whose house is this?" said Diorraing. "It belongs to Conan of Ceann Slieve," said the door-keeper. "Tell him," said Diorraing, "there are two of the Fianna of the Gael at the door." The door-keeper went in then and told Conan there were two men of the Fianna at the door. "The one of them," he said, "is young and strong, and quiet and fair-haired, and more beautiful than the rest of the men of the world, and he has in his hand a small-headed, white-breasted hound, having a collar of rubbed gold and a chain of old silver. And the other of them," he said, "is brown and ruddy and white-toothed, and he is leading a yellow-spotted hound by a chain of bright bronze." "It is well you have made your report of them," said Conan, "and I know them by it; for the man you spoke of first is Finn, son of Cumhal, Head of the Fianna of Ireland, and Bran in his hand; and the other is Diorraing, and Sceolan in his hand. And go now quickly and let them in," he said. Finn and Diorraing were brought in then, and they got good attendance, and their arms were taken from them, and a grand feast was made ready that pleased them well. And the wife of Conan was at the one side of Finn, and his daughter, Finndealbh, of the Fair Shape, was at his other side. And they had a great deal of talk together, and at last, seeing her so beautiful, the colour of gold on her curled hair, and her eyes as blue as flowers, and a soft four-cornered cloak fastened at her breast with a silver pin, he asked her of Conan for his wife. "Leave asking that, Finn," said Conan, "for your own courage is not greater than the courage of the man she is promised to." "Who is that?" said Finn. "He is Fatha, son of the King of Ess Ruadh," said Conan. "Your wounds and your danger on yourself," said Diorraing; "and it would be right," he said, "that stammering tongue that gave out those words to be tied and to be shortened for ever, and a drink of death to be given to you; for if the whole of the Men of Dea," he said, "could be put into the one body, Finn would be better than them all." "Leave off, Diorraing," said Finn, "for it is not fighting I am here, but asking a wife, and I will get her whether the Men of Dea think good or bad of it." "I will not be making a quarrel with you," said Conan, "but I put you under bonds as a true hero to answer me everything I am going to ask you." "I will do that," said Finn. With that Conan put questions to Finn as to his birth and his rearing, and the deeds he had done since he came to the Fianna, and Finn gave full answers to them all. And at last he said: "Let us go on with this no longer, but if you have musicians with you, let them be brought to us now; for it is not my custom," he said, "to be for a single night without music." "Tell me this first," said Conan, "who was it made the Dord Fiann, the Mutterer of the Fianna, and when was it made?" "I will tell you the truth of that," said Finn; "it was made in Ireland by the three sons of Cearmait Honey-Mouth; and nine men used to be sounding it, and since it came to me I have fifty men sounding it." "And tell me this," said Conan, "what is the music pleased you best of all you ever heard?" "I will tell you that," said Finn; "the time the seven battalions of the Fianna are gathered in the one place and raise their spear-shafts over their heads, and the sharp whining of the clear, cold wind goes through them, that is very sweet to me. And when the drinking-hall is set out in Almhuin, and the cup-bearers give out the bright cups to the chief men of the Fianna, that is very sweet to me; and it is sweet to me to be listening to the voice of the sea-gull and the heron, and the noise of the waves of Traig Liath, the song of the three sons of Meardha, the whistle of Lugaidh's Son, and the voice of the cuckoo in the beginning of summer, and the grunting of the pigs on the Plain of Eithne, and the shouting of laughter in Doire." And it is what he said: "The Dord in the green-topped woods, the lasting wash of the waves against the shore, the noise of the waves at Traig Liath meeting with the river of the White Trout; the three men that came to the Fianna, a man of them gentle and a man of them rough, another man of them ploughing the clouds, they were sweeter than any other thing. "The grey mane of the sea, the time a man cannot follow its track; the swell that brings the fish to the land, it is sleep-music, its sound is sweet. "Feargall, son of Fionn, a man that was ready-handed, it is long his leap was, it is well marked his track is; he never gave a story that did not do away with secrets; it is his voice was music of sleep to me." And when Finn had answered all the questions so well, Conan said he would give him his daughter, and that he would have a wedding-feast ready at the end of a month. They spent the rest of the night then in sleep; but Finn saw a dreadful vision through his sleep that made him start three times from his bed. "What makes you start from your bed, Finn?" said Diorraing. "It was the Tuatha de Danaan I saw," said he, "taking up a quarrel against me, and making a great slaughter of the Fianna." Now as to the Fianna, they rested at Fotharladh of Moghna that night, and they were downhearted, having no tidings of Finn. And early on the morrow two of them, Bran Beag and Bran Mor, rose up and went to Mac-an-Reith, son of the Ram, that had the gift of true knowledge, and they asked him where did Finn spend the night. And Mac-an-Reith was someway unwilling to tell them, but at the last he said it was at the house of Conan of Ceann Slieve. The two Brans went on then to Conan's house, and Finn made them welcome; but they blamed him when they heard he was taking a wife, and none of his people with him. "Bid all the Fianna to come to the feast at the end of a month," said Conan then. So Finn and Diorraing and the two Brans went back to where the Fianna were and told them all that had happened, and they went on to Almhuin. And when they were in the drinking-hall at Almhuin that night, they saw the son of the King of Ireland coming to where they were. "It is a pity the king's son to have come," said Finn; "for he will not be satisfied without ordering everything in the hall in his own way." "We will not take his orders," said Oisin, "but we will leave the half of the hall to him, and keep the other half ourselves." So they did that; but it happened that in the half of the house that was given up to the King of Ireland's son, there were sitting two of the Men of Dea, Failbhe Mor and Failbhe Beag; and it is what they said, that it is because they were in that side of the hall it was given up. "It is a pity," said Failbhe Beag, "this shame and this great insult to have been put on us to-night; and it is likely Finn has a mind to do more than that again to us," he said, "for he is going to bring away the woman that is promised to the third best man of the Tuatha de Danaan, and against the will of her father and mother." And these two went away early in the morning to Fionnbhar of Magh Feabhail, and told him of the insults Finn and the Fianna of Ireland had a mind to put on the Tuatha de Danaan. And when Fionnbhar that was king over the Tuatha de Danaan heard that, he sent out messengers through the length of Ireland to gather them all to him. And there came six good battalions to him on the edge of Loch Derg Dheirc at the end of a month; and it was the same day Conan had the wedding-feast made ready for Finn and his people. And Finn was at Teamhair Luachra at that time, and when he heard the feast was ready, he set out to go to it. And it chanced that the most of the men he had with him at that time were of the sons of Morna. And when they were on their way, Finn said to Goll, "O Goll," he said, "I never felt any fear till now going to a feast. And there are but few of my people with me," he said; "and I know there is no good thing before me, but the Men of Dea are going to raise a quarrel against me and to kill my people." "I will defend you against anything they may do," said Goll. They went on then to Conan's house, and there was a welcome before them, and they were brought into the drinking-hall, and Finn was put in the place beside the door, and Goll on his right and Finndeilb, of the Fair Shape, on his left, and all the rest in the places they were used to. And as to Fionnbhar of Magh Feabhail and the Tuatha de Danaan, they put a Druid mist about themselves and went on, hidden and armed, in sixteen battalions, to the lawn before Conan's house. "It is little profit we have being here," they said then, "and Goll being with Finn against us." "Goll will not protect him this time," said Ethne, the woman-Druid, "for I will entice Finn out of the house, however well he is watched." She went on to the house then, and took her stand before Finn outside. "Who is that before me?" she said then. "It is I myself," said Finn. "I put you under the bonds a true hero never broke," she said, "to come out to me here." When Finn heard that, he made no delay and went out to her; and for all there were so many in the house, not one of them took notice of him going, only Caoilte, and he followed him out. And at the same time the Tuatha de Danaan let out a flock of blackbirds having fiery beaks, that pitched on the breasts of all the people in the house, and burned them and destroyed them, till the young lads and the women and children of the place ran out on all sides, and the woman of the house, Conan's wife, was drowned in the river outside the dun. But as to Ethne, the woman-Druid, she asked Finn would he run against her. "For it is to run a race against you I called you out," she said. "What length of a race?" said Finn. "From Doire da Torc, the Wood of the Two Boars, to Ath Mor, the Great Ford," she said. So they set out, but Finn got first over the ford. And Caoilte was following after them, and Finn was urging him, and he said: "It is ashamed of your running you should be, Caoilte, a woman to be going past you." On that Caoilte made a leap forward, and when he was in front of the witch he turned about and gave a blow of his sword that made two equal halves of her. "Power and good luck to you, Caoilte!" said Finn; "for though it is many a good blow you have struck, you never struck a better one than this." They went back then to the lawn before Conan's dun, and there they found the whole company of the Tuatha de Danaan, that had put the Druid mist off them. "It seems to me, Caoilte," said Finn, "that we are come into the middle of our enemies." With that they turned their backs to one another, and they were attacked on all sides till groans of weakness from the unequal fight were forced from Finn. And when Goll, that was in the house, heard that, he said: "It is a pity the Tuatha de Danaan to have enticed Finn and Caoilte away from us; and let us go to their help and make no delay," he said. Then he rushed out, and all that were there of the Fianna with him, and Conan of Ceann Slieve and his sons. And great anger came on Goll, that he looked like a tall mountain under his grey shield in the battle. And he broke through the Tuatha de Danaan till he reached to Fionnbhar their leader, and they attacked one another, cutting and wounding, till at the last Fionnbhar of Magh Feabhail fell by the strokes of Goll. And a great many others fell in that battle, and there never was a harder battle fought in Ireland, for there was no man on one side or the other had a mind to go back one step before whoever he was fighting against. For they were the two hardest fighting troops to be found in the four parts of the world, the strong, hardy Fianna of the Gael, and the beautiful Men of Dea; and they went near to being all destroyed in that battle. But after a while they saw the rest of the Fianna that were not in the battle coming from all parts of Ireland. And when the Tuatha de Danaan saw them coming, they put the Druid mist about themselves again and made away. And clouds of weakness came on Finn himself, and on them that were with him, with the dint of the fight. And there were many men of the Fianna lost in that battle; and as to the rest, it is a long time they stopped in Almhuin of Leinster, till their wounds were entirely healed. CHAPTER X. THE SHADOWY ONE And indeed Finn had no great luck in going to look for a wife that time; and he had no better luck another time he asked a wife from among the Sidhe. And this is the way that happened. It was on the mountain of Bearnas Mor he was hunting, and a great wild pig turned on the hounds of the Fianna and killed the most of them, but Bran made an attack on it then and got the best of it. And the pig began to scream, and with that a very tall man came out of the hill and he asked Finn to let the pig go free. And when he agreed to that, the man brought them into the hill of the Sidhe at Glandeirgdeis; and when they came to the door of the house he struck the pig with his Druid rod, and on the moment it changed into a beautiful young woman, and the name he called her by was Scathach, the Shadowy One. And he made a great feast for the Fianna, and Finn asked the young girl in marriage, and the tall man, her father, said he would give her to him on that very night. But when night came on, Scathach asked the loan of a harp, and it was brought to her. One string it had of iron, and one of bronze, and one of silver. And when the iron string would be played, it would set all the hosts of the world crying and ever crying; and when the bright bronze string would be played, it would set them all laughing from the one day to the same hour on the morrow; and when the silver string would be played, all the men of the whole world would fall into a long sleep. And it is the sleepy silver string the Shadowy One played upon, till Finn and Bran and all his people were in their heavy sleep. And when they awoke at the rising of the sun on the morrow, it is outside on the mountain of Bearnas they were, where they first saw the wild pig. CHAPTER XI. FINN'S MADNESS One time Finn and the Fianna were come to a ford of the Slaine, and they sat down for a while. And as they were sitting there they saw on the round rock up over the ford a young woman, having a dress of silk and a green cloak about her, and a golden brooch in the cloak, and the golden crown that is the sign of a queen on her head. "Fianna of Ireland," she said, "let one of you come now and speak with me." Then Sciathbreac, of the Speckled Shield, went towards her. "Who is it you are wanting?" he said, "Finn, son of Cumhal," said she. Finn went over then to talk with her. "Who are you?" he said, "and what is it you are wanting?" "I am Daireann, daughter of Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda," she said; "and I am come to be your wife if you will give me the bride-gift I ask." "What bride-gift is that?" said Finn. "It is your promise," said she, "I to be your only wife through the length of a year, and to have the half of your time after that." "I will not give that promise," said Finn, "to any woman of the world, and I will not give it to you," he said. On that the young woman took a cup of white silver from under a covering, and filled it with strong drink, and she gave it to Finn. "What is this?" said Finn. "It is very strong mead," said she. Now there were bonds on Finn not to refuse anything belonging to a feast, so he took the cup and drank what was in it, and on the moment he was like one gone mad. And he turned his face towards the Fianna, and every harm and every fault and every misfortune in battle that he knew against any one of them, he sprang it on them, through the mad drunkenness the young woman had put on him. Then the chief men of the Fianna of Ireland rose up and left the place to him, every one of them setting out for his own country, till there was no one left upon the hill but Finn and Caoilte. And Caoilte rose up and followed after them, and he said: "Fianna of Ireland," he said, "do not leave your lord and your leader through the arts and the tricks of a woman of the Sidhe." Thirteen times he went after them, bringing them back to the hill in that way. And with the end of the day and the fall of night the bitterness went from Finn's tongue; and by the time Caoilte had brought back the whole of the Fianna, his sense and his memory were come back to him, and he would sooner have fallen on his sword and got his death, than have stayed living. And that was the hardest day's work Caoilte ever did, unless the day he brought the flock of beasts and birds to Teamhair, to ransom Finn from the High King of Ireland. Another time Maer, wife of Bersa of Berramain, fell in love with Finn, and she made nine nuts of Segair with love charms, and sent them to Finn, and bade him eat them. "I will not," said Finn; "for they are not nuts of knowledge, but nuts of ignorance; and it is not known what they are, unless they might be an enchantment for drinking love." So he buried them a foot deep in the earth. CHAPTER XII. THE RED WOMAN One time the Fianna were in Almhuin with no great work to do, and there came a very misty morning, and Finn was in dread that sluggishness would come on his men, and he rose up, and he said: "Make yourselves ready, and we will go hunting to Gleann-na-Smol." They all said the day was too misty to go hunting; but there was no use in talking: they had to do as Finn bade them. So they made themselves ready and went on towards Gleann-na-Smol; and they were not gone far when the mist lifted and the sun came shining out. And when they were on the edge of a little wood, they saw a strange beast coming towards them with the quickness of the wind, and a Red Woman on its track. Narrow feet the beast had, and a head like the head of a boar, and long horns on it; but the rest of it was like a deer, and there was a shining moon on each of its sides. Finn stopped, and he said: "Fianna of Ireland," he said, "did you ever see a beast like that one until now?" "We never did indeed," said they; "and it would be right for us to let out the hounds after it." "Wait a while," said Finn, "till I speak with the Red Woman; but do not let the beast go past you," he said. They thought to keep back the beast then, going before it; but they were hardly able to hinder it at all, and it went away through them. And when the Red Woman was come up to them, Finn asked her what was the name of the beast she was following. "I do not know that," she said, "though I am on its track since I left the borders of Loch Dearg a month ago, and I never lost sight of it since then; and the two moons that are on its two sides shine through the country all around in the night time. And I must follow it till it falls," she said, "or I will lose my own life and the lives of my three sons that are the best fighting men in the whole world." "We will take the beast for you if you have a mind," said Finn. "Do not try to do that," she said, "for I myself am swifter than you are, and I cannot come up with it." "We will not let it go till we know what sort of a beast is it," said Finn. "If you yourself or your share of men go after it, I will bind you hand and foot," said she. "It is too stiff your talk is," said Finn. "And do you not know," he said, "I am Finn, son of Cumhal; and there are fourscore fighting men along with me that were never beaten yet." "It is little heed I give to yourself or your share of men," said the Red Woman; "and if my three sons were here, they would stand up against you." "Indeed it will be a bad day," said Finn, "when the threat of a woman will put fear on myself or on the Fianna of Ireland." With that he sounded his horn, and he said: "Let us all follow now, men and dogs, after that beast that we saw." He had no sooner said that word than the woman made a great water-worm of herself, and made an attack on Finn, and she would have killed him then and there but for Bran being with him. Bran took a grip of the worm and shook it, and then it wound itself round Bran's body, and would have crushed the life out of her, but Finn thrust his sharp sword into its throat. "Keep back your hand," said the worm then, "and you will not have the curse of a lonely woman upon you." "It is what I think," said Finn, "that you would not leave me my life if you could take it from me; but go out of my sight now," he said, "and that I may never see you again." Then she made herself into a Red Woman again, and went away into the wood. All the Fianna were gone on the track of the beast while Finn was talking and fighting with the Red Woman; and he did not know in what place they were, but he went following after them, himself and Bran. It was late in the evening when he came up with a share of them, and they still on the track of the beast. The darkness of the night was coming on, but the two moons in the sides of the beast gave a bright light, and they never lost it from sight. They followed it on always; and about midnight they were pressing on it, and it began to scatter blood after it, and it was not long till Finn and his men were red from head to foot. But that did not hinder them, and they followed him on till they saw him going in at the foot of Cnoc-na-righ at the breaking of day. When they came to the foot of the hill the Red Woman was standing there before them. "You did not take the beast," she said. "We did not take it, but we know where it is," said Finn. She took a Druid rod then, and she struck a blow on the side of the hill, and on the moment a great door opened, and they heard sweet music coming from within. "Come in now," said the Red Woman, "till you see the wonderful beast." "Our clothing is not clean," said Finn, "and we would not like to go in among a company the way we are," he said. She put a horn to her mouth and blew it, and on the moment there came ten young men to her. "Bring water for washing," she said, "and four times twenty suits of clothes, and a beautiful suit and a crown of shining stones for Finn, son of Cumhal." The young men went away then, and they came back at the end of a minute with water and with clothing. When the Fianna were washed and dressed, the Red Woman brought them into a great hall, where there was the brightness of the sun and of the moon on every side. From that she brought them into another great room; and although Finn and his men had seen many grand things up to that time, they had never seen any sight so grand as what they saw in this place. There was a king sitting in a golden chair, having clothes of gold and of green, and his chief people were sitting around him, and his musicians were playing. And no one could know what colour were the dresses of the musicians, for every colour of the rainbow was in them. And there was a great table in the middle of the room, having every sort of thing on it, one better than another. The king rose up and gave a welcome to Finn and to his men, and he bade them to sit down at the table; and they ate and drank their fill, and that was wanting to them after the hunt they had made. And then the Red Woman rose up, and she said: "King of the Hill, if it is your will, Finn and his men have a mind to see the wonderful beast, for they spent a long time following after it, and that is what brought them here." The king struck a blow then on his golden chair, and a door opened behind him, and the beast came through it and stood before the king. And it stooped down before him, and it said: "I am going on towards my own country now; and there is not in the world a runner so good as myself, and the sea is the same to me as the land. And let whoever can come up with me come now," it said, "for I am going." With that the beast went out from the hill as quick as a blast of wind, and all the people that were in it went following after it. It was not long till Finn and his men were before the rest, in the front of the hunt, gaining on the beast. And about midday Bran made the beast turn, and then she forced it to turn a second time, and it began to put out cries, and it was not long until its strength began to flag; and at last, just at the setting of the sun, it fell dead, and Bran was at its side when it fell. Then Finn and his men came up, but in place of a beast it was a tall man they saw lying dead before them. And the Red Woman came up at the same time, and she said: "High King of the Fianna, that is the King of the Firbolgs you have killed; and his people will put great troubles on this country in the time to come, when you yourself, Finn, and your people will be under the sod. And I myself am going now to the Country of the Young," she said, "and I will bring you with me if you have a mind to come." "We give you our thanks for that," said Finn, "but we would not give up our own country if we were to get the whole world as an estate, and the Country of the Young along with it." "That is well," said the Red Woman; "but you are going home empty after your hunt." "It is likely we will find a deer in Gleann-na-Smol," said Finn. "There is a fine deer at the foot of that tree beyond," said the Red Woman, "and I will rouse it for you." With that she gave a cry, and the deer started out and away, and Finn and his men after it, and it never stopped till it came to Gleann-na-Smol, but they could not come up with it. Then the Red Woman came to them, and she said: "I think you are tired now with following after the deer; and call your hounds off now," she said, "and I will let out my own little dog after it." So Finn sounded a little horn he had at his side, and on the moment the hounds came back to him. And then the Red Woman brought out a little hound as white as the snow of the mountains, and put it after the deer; and it was not long till it had come up with the deer and killed it, and then it came back and made a leap in under the cloak of the Red Woman. There was great wonder on Finn; but before he could ask a question of the Red Woman, she was gone out of sight. And as to the deer, Finn knew there was enchantment on it, and so he left it there after him. And it is tired and empty the Fianna were, going back to Almhuin that night. CHAPTER XIII. FINN AND THE PHANTOMS Finn went to a gathering one time at Aonach Clochair, and a great many of the men of Munster crowded to it. And the horses of the Fianna were brought there, and the horses of the men of Munster, and they ran races against one another. And Fiachu, son of Eoghan, was in it; and when the games were over he gave good presents to Finn, a lasting black horse that won the three prizes of the gathering, and a chariot, and a horse for the chariot-driver, and a spear, having a deadly spell, and weapons of silver, and three comely hounds, Feirne and Derchaem and Dialath, having collars of yellow gold and chains of white bronze. And Finn rose up and gave his thanks to Fiachu, son of Eoghan, and he and his people set out to the house of Cacher at Cluain-da-loch. And they stopped three days feasting in Cacher's house, and then Finn gave him the price of his feast and of his ale, fifty rings, and fifty horses and fifty cows. And he himself and the Fianna went on from that over Luachair to the strand at Berramain. And Finn went trying his black horse on the strand, and Caoilte and Oisin went racing against him; but it was only folly for them to do that, for he gave a blow to his horse, and away with him to Traigh Liath and over the Plain of Health to the Old Yew of the Old Valley, and to the inver of the Flesc and the inver of the Lemain to Loch Lein, till he came to the hill of Bairnech, and Caoilte and Oisin after him. "Night is coming on us," said Finn then; "and go look for some place where we can sleep," he said. He looked round then at the rocks on his left hand and he saw a house, and a fire shining out from it in the valley below. "I never knew of a house in this valley," he said. "It is best for us to go see it," said Caoilte, "for there are many things we have no knowledge of." The three went on then to the house, and they heard screams and crying from it; and when they came to the house, the people of it were very fierce and rough; and a big grey man took hold of their horses and brought them in and shut the door of the house with iron hooks. "My welcome to you, Finn of the great name," he said then; "it is a long time you were in coming here." They sat down then on the hard boards of a bed, and the grey man kindled a fire, and he threw logs of elder-wood on it, till they went near being smothered with the smoke. They saw a hag in the house then having three heads on her lean neck; and there was on the other side a man without a head, having one eye, and it in his breast. "Rise up, you that are in the house, and make music for the King of the Fianna," said the grey man then. With that nine bodies rose up out of the corner nearest the Fianna, and nine heads rose up on the other side of the bed, and they raised nine harsh screeches together, that no one would like to be listening to. And then the hag answered to them, and the headless man answered; and if all of that music was harsh, there was none of it that you would not wish to hear sooner than the music of the one-eyed man. And the music that was sung went near to breaking the bones of their heads; and indeed it is no sweet music that was. Then the big grey man rose up and took the axe that was for cutting logs, and he began striking at the horses, flaying and destroying them. Then there were brought fifty pointed spits of the rowan-tree, and he put a piece of the horse's flesh on each one of the spits, and settled them on the hearth. But when he took the spits from the fire and put them before Finn, it is raw the flesh was on them yet. "Take your food away," said Finn then, "for I have never eaten meat that was raw, and I never will eat it because of being without food for one day." "If you are come into our house to refuse our food," said the grey man, "we will surely go against yourselves, Finn and Caoilte and Oisin." With that all in the house made an attack on the three; and they were driven back into the corner, and the fire was quenched, and the fight went on through the whole night in the darkness, and but for Finn and the way he fought, they would have been put down. And when the sun rose and lighted up the house on the morrow, a mist came into the head of each of the three, so that they fell as if dead on the floor. But after awhile they rose up again, and there was nothing to be seen of the house or of the people of the house, but they had all vanished. And their horses were there, and they took them and went on, very weak and tired, for a long way, till they came to the strand of Berramain. And those three that fought against them were the three Shapes out of the Valley of the Yew Tree that came to avenge their sister, Cuillen of the Wide Mouth. Now as to Cuillen, she was a daughter of the King of Munster, and her husband was the King of Ulster's son. And they had a son that was called Fear Og, the Young Man; and there was hardly in Ireland a man so good as himself in shape and in courage and in casting a spear. And one time he joined in a game with the Fianna, and he did better than them all, and Finn gave him a great reward. And after that he went out to a hunt they made, and it was by him and by none of the Fianna the first blood was got of pig or of deer. And when they came back, a heavy sickness fell on the young man through the eyes and the envy of the Fianna, and it left him without life at the end of nine days. And he was buried under a green hill, and the shining stone he used to hold in his hand, and he doing his feats, was put over his head. And his mother, Cuillen, came to his grave keening him every day through the length of a year. And one day she died there for grief after her son, and they put her into the same green hill. But as to Finn, he was afraid of no earthly thing, and he killed many great serpents in Loch Cuilinn and Loch Neathach, and at Beinn Edair; and Shadow-Shapes at Loch Lein and Drom Cleib and Loch Liath, and a serpent and a cat in Ath Cliath. CHAPTER XIV. THE PIGS OF ANGUS Angus Og, son of the Dagda, made a feast one time at Brugh na Boinne for Finn and the Fianna of the Gael. Ten hundred of them were in it, and they wearing green clothing and crimson cloaks; and as to the people of Angus' house, it is clothing of red silk they had. And Finn was sitting beside Angus in the beautiful house, and it is long since the like of those two were seen in Ireland. And any stranger would wonder to see the way the golden cups were going from hand to hand. And Angus said out in a loud voice that every one could hear: "It is a better life this is than to be hunting." There was anger on Finn then, and he said: "It is a worse life than hunting to be here, without hounds, without horses, without battalions, without the shouting of armies." "Why are you talking like that, Finn?" said Angus, "for as to the hounds you have," he said, "they would not kill so much as one pig." "You have not yourself," said Finn, "and the whole host of the Tuatha de Danaan have not a pig that ever went on dry land that Bran and Sceolan would not kill." "I will send you a pig," said Angus, "that will go from you and your hounds, and that will kill them in the end." The steward of the house called out then in a loud voice: "Let every one go now to his bed, before the lightness of drunkenness comes on you." But Finn said to his people: "Let us make ready and leave this; for we are but a few," he said, "among the Men of Dea." So they set out and went westward till they came to Slieve Fuad where the Fianna were at that time. And through the whole length of a year after that, the Tuatha de Danaan were boasting how they would get the better of the Fianna, and the Fianna were thinking how they could do best in the hunt. And at the end of that time Angus sent messengers to Finn, asking him with great respect if he was ready to keep his word. And Finn said he was, and the hounds were brought out, and he himself was holding Bran and Sceolan, one in each hand, and Caoilte had Adhnuall, and Oisin had Ablach, and merry Bran Beag had Lonn, and Diarmuid was holding Eachtach, and Osgar was holding Mac an Truim, and Garraidh was held by Faolan, and Rith Fada, of the Long Run, by hungry Conan. And they were not long there with their hounds till they saw on the plain to the east a terrible herd of great pigs, every one of them the height of a deer. And there was one pig out in front of the rest was blacker than a smith's coal, and the bristles on its head were like a thicket of thorn-trees. Then Caoilte let out Adhnuall, and she was the first to kill a pig of the herd. And then Bran made away from the leash that Finn was holding, and the pigs ran their best, but she came up with them, and took hold of a pig of them. And at that Angus said: "O Bran, fosterling of fair-haired Fergus, it is not a right thing you are doing, to kill my own son." But when Bran heard that, her ways changed and it was like an enemy she took hold of the pig, and did not let it go, and held her breath back and kept it for the Fianna. And it was over Slieve Cua the hunt went, and Slieve Crot, and from Magh Cobha to Cruachan, and to Fionnabraic and to Finnias. And at evening when the hunt was over, there was not one pig of the whole herd without a hurt, and there were but a hundred and ten pigs left living. But if the hunt brought destruction on Angus, it brought losses on the Fianna as well, for there were ten hundred of their men missing besides serving-lads and dogs. "Let us go to Brugh na Boinne and get satisfaction for our people," said Oisin then. "That is the advice of a man without sense," said Finn; "for if we leave these pigs the way they are, they will come to life again. And let us burn them," he said, "and throw their ashes in the sea." Then the seven battalions of the Fianna made seven fires to every battalion; but for all they could do, they could not set fire to one pig. Then Bran, that had great sense and knowledge, went away, and she came back bringing three logs along with her, but no one knows what wood it was they came from. And when the logs were put on the fire they lit up like a candle, and it is with them the pigs were burned; and after that their ashes were thrown into the sea. Then Oisin said again: "Let us go now to Brugh na Boinne and avenge the death of our people." So the whole of the Fianna set out for Brugh na Boinne, and every step they made could surely be heard through the whole of the skies. And Angus sent out messengers to where Finn was, offering any one thing to him if he would spare his people. "I will take no gift at all from you, Angus of the slender body," said Finn, "so long as there is a room left in your house, north or east, without being burned." But Angus said: "Although you think bad of the loss of your fine people that you have the sway over, yet, O Finn, father of Oisin, it is sorrowful to me the loss of my own good son is. For as to the black pig that came before you on the plain," he said, "it was no common pig was in it, but my own son. And there fell along with him," he said, "the son of the King of the Narrow Sea, and the son of the King of the Sea of Gulls, and the son of Ilbhrec, son of Manannan, and seven score of the comely sons of kings and queens. And it is what destroyed my strength and my respect entirely, they to have been burned away from me in a far place. And it is a pity for you, sweet daring Bran," he said, "fosterling of Fergus of the thirty woods and plains, that you did not do something worth praise before killing your own foster-brother. And I will put a curse on you, Bran," he said, "beyond every hound in Ireland, that you will never see with your eyes any deer you may ever kill." There was anger on Finn when he heard that, and he said: "If you put a curse on Bran, Angus, there will not be a room left, east or west, in the whole of your great house without being burned." "If you do that," said Angus, "I will put trees and stones in front of you in every battle; and I will know what number of men you have in your armies," he said, "looking at them through my ring." Then Oisin, that was wise, said: "It is best for you to agree between yourselves now; and let us be helpful to one another," he said, "and pay whatever fines are due." So they agreed to that, and they made peace, and gave children to be fostered by one another: a son of Finn's to Angus, and son of Angus Og to the Fianna. But for all that, it is not very friendly to Finn Angus was afterwards, at the time he was following after Diarmuid and Grania through the whole length of Ireland. CHAPTER XV. THE HUNT OF SLIEVE CUILINN Finn was one time out on the green of Almhuin, and he saw what had the appearance of a grey fawn running across the plain. He called and whistled to his hounds then, but neither hound nor man heard him or came to him, but only Bran and Sceolan. He set them after the fawn, and near as they kept to her, he himself kept nearer to them, till at last they reached to Slieve Cuilinn in the province of Ulster. But they were no sooner at the hill than the fawn vanished from them, and they did not know where was she gone, and Finn went looking for her eastward, and the two hounds went towards the west. It was not long till Finn came to a lake, and there was sitting on the brink of it a young girl, the most beautiful he had ever seen, having hair of the colour of gold, and a skin as white as lime, and eyes like the stars in time of frost; but she seemed to be some way sorrowful and downhearted. Finn asked her did she see his hounds pass that way. "I did not see them," she said; "and it is little I am thinking of your hounds or your hunting, but of the cause of my own trouble." "What is it ails you, woman of the white hands?" said Finn; "and is there any help I can give you?" he said. "It is what I am fretting after," said she, "a ring of red gold I lost off my finger in the lake. And I put you under bonds, Finn of the Fianna," she said, "to bring it back to me out of the lake." With that Finn stripped off his clothes and went into the lake at the bidding of the woman, and he went three times round the whole lake and did not leave any part of it without searching, till he brought back the ring. He handed it up to her then out of the water, and no sooner had he done that than she gave a leap into the water and vanished. And when Finn came up on the bank of the lake, he could not so much as reach to where his clothes were; for on the moment he, the head and the leader of the Fianna of Ireland, was but a grey old man, weak and withered. Bran and Sceolan came up to him then, but they did not know him, and they went on round the lake, searching after their master. In Almhuin, now, when he was missed, Caoilte began asking after him. "Where is Finn," he said, "of the gentle rule and of the spears?" But no one knew where was he gone, and there was grief on the Fianna when they could not find him. But it is what Conan said: "I never heard music pleased me better than to hear the son of Cumhal is missing. And that he may be so through the whole year," he said, "and I myself will be king over you all." And downhearted as they were, it is hardly they could keep from laughing when they heard Conan saying that. Caoilte and the rest of the chief men of the Fianna set out then looking for Finn, and they got word of him; and at last they came to Slieve Cuilinn, and there they saw a withered old man sitting beside the lake, and they thought him to be a fisherman. "Tell us, old man," said Caoilte, "did you see a fawn go by, and two hounds after her, and a tall fair-faced man along with them?" "I did see them," he said, "and it is not long since they left me." "Tell us where are they now?" said Caoilte. But Finn made no answer, for he had not the courage to say to them that he himself was Finn their leader, being as he was an ailing, downhearted old man, without leaping, without running, without walk, grey and sorrowful. Caoilte took out his sword from the sheath then, and he said: "It is short till you will have knowledge of death unless you will tell us what happened those three." Then Finn told them the whole story; and when the seven battalions of the Fianna heard him, and knew it was Finn that was in it, they gave three loud sorrowful cries. And to the lake they gave the name of Loch Doghra, the Lake of Sorrow. But Conan of the sharp tongue began abusing Finn and all the Fianna by turns. "You never gave me right praise for my deeds, Finn, son of Cumhal," he said, "and you were always the enemy of the sons of Morna; but we are living in spite of you," he said, "and I have but the one fault to find with your shape, and that is, that it was not put on the whole of the Fianna the same as on yourself." Caoilte made at him then; "Bald, senseless Conan," he said, "I will break your mouth to the bone." But Conan ran in then among the rest of the Fianna and asked protection from them, and peace was made again. And as to Finn, they asked him was there any cure to be found for him. "There is," he said; "for I know well the enchantment was put on me by a woman of the Sidhe, Miluchradh, daughter of Cuilinn, through jealousy of her sister Aine. And bring me to the hill that belongs to Cuilinn of Cuailgne," he said, "for he is the only one can give me my shape again." They came around him then, and raised him up gently on their shields, and brought him on their shoulders to the hill of the Sidhe in Cuailgne, but no one came out to meet them. Then the seven battalions began digging and rooting up the whole hill, and they went on digging through the length of three nights and three days. And at the end of that time Cuilinn of Cuailgne, that some say was Manannan, son of Lir, came out of the hill, holding in his hand a vessel of red gold, and he gave the vessel into Finn's hand. And no sooner did Finn drink what was in the vessel than his own shape and his appearance came back to him. But only his hair, that used to be so fair and so beautiful, like the hair of a woman, never got its own colour again, for the lake that Cuilinn's daughter had made for Finn would have turned all the men of the whole world grey if they had gone into it. And when Finn had drunk all that was in the vessel it slipped from his hand into the earth, that was loosened with the digging, and he saw it no more. But in the place where it went into the earth, a tree grew up, and any one that would look at the branches of that tree in the morning, fasting, would have knowledge of all that was to happen on that day. That, now, is the way Finn came by his grey hair, through the jealousy of Miluchradh of the Sidhe, because he had not given his love to her, but to her sister Aine. BOOK FIVE: OISIN'S CHILDREN Now as to Oisin, that was so brave and so comely, and that could overtake a deer at its greatest speed, and see a thistle thorn on the darkest night, the wife he took was Eibhir of the plaited yellow hair, that was the foreign sweetheart of the High King of Ireland. It is beyond the sea she lived, in a very sunny place; and her father's name was lunsa, and her sunny house was thatched with the feathers of birds, and the doorposts were of gold, and the doors of ribbed grass. And Oisin went there looking for her, and he fought for her against the High King and against an army of the Firbolgs he had helping him; and he got the better of them all, and brought away Eibhir of the yellow hair to Ireland. And he had a daughter that married the son of Oiliol, son of Eoghan, and of Beara, daughter of the King of Spain. It was that Eoghan was driven out of Ireland one time, and it is to Spain he went for safety. And Beara, that was daughter of the King of Spain, was very shining and beautiful, and her father had a mind to know who would be her husband, and he sent for his Druid and asked the question of him. "I can tell you that," said the Druid, "for the man that is to be her husband will come to land in Spain this very night. And let your daughter go eastward to the river Eibhear," he said, "and she will find a crimson-spotted salmon in that river, having shining clothing on him from head to tail. And let her strip that clothing off him," he said, "and make with it a shining shirt for her husband." So Beara went to the river Eibhear, and found the golden salmon as the Druid had said, and she stripped him of his crimson clothing and made a shining shirt of it. And as to Eoghan, the waves of the shore put a welcome before him, and he came the same night to the king's house. And the king gave him a friendly welcome; and it is what all the people said, that there was never seen a comelier man than Eoghan, or a woman more beautiful than Beara, and that it was fitting for them to come together. And Eoghan's own people said they would not be sorry for being sent away out of Ireland, if only Eoghan could get her for his wife. And after a while the king sent his Druid to ask Eoghan why he did not ask for Beara. "I will tell you that," said Eoghan; "it would not be fitting for me to be refused a wife, and I am but an exile in this country, and I have brought no treasures or goods with me out of Ireland for giving to learned men and to poets. But for all that," he said, "the king's daughter is dear to me, and I think I have the friendship of the king." The Druid went back with that message. "That is the answer of a king," said the King of Spain; "and bid my daughter to sit at Eoghan's right hand," he said, "and I will give her to him this very night." And when Beara, the king's daughter, heard that, she sent out her serving-maid to bring the shirt she had made for Eoghan, and he put it on him over his armour, and its shining was seen in every place; and it was from wearing that shirt he got the name of Eoghan the Bright. And Oiliol was the first son they had; it was he that had his ear bitten off by Aine of the Sidhe in revenge for her brother, and it was his son married Oisin's daughter afterwards. And as to Osgar, that was Oisin's son, of all the young men of the Fianna he was the best in battle. And when he was but a young child he was made much of by the whole of the Fianna, and it is for him they used to keep the marrow bones, and they did not like to put any hardship on him. And he grew up tall and idle, and no one thought he would turn out so strong as he did. And one day there was an attack made on a troop of the Fianna, and all that were in it went out to fight, but they left Osgar after them. And when he knew the fight was going on, he took a log of wood that was the first thing he could find, and attacked the enemy and made a great slaughter, and they gave way and ran before him. And from that out there was no battle he did not go into; and he was said to be the strongest of all the Fianna, though the people of Connacht said that Goll was the strongest. And he and Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne, were comrades and dear friends; and it was Diarmuid taught him feats of arms and of skill, and chess-playing. And Oisin his father took great pride in him, and his grandfather Finn. And one time Finn was holding a feast at Almhuin, and he asked the chief men of the Fianna that were there what was the music they thought the best. "To be playing at games," said Conan, "that is the best music I ever heard;" for though Conan was a good hand against an enemy, there never was a man had less sense. "The music I like the best is to be talking with a woman," said Diarmuid. "My music is the outcry of my hounds, and they putting a deer to its last stand," said Lugaidh's Son. "The music of the woods is best to me," said Oisin; "the sound of the wind and of the cuckoo and the blackbird, and the sweet silence of the crane." And then Osgar was asked, and he said: "The best music is the striking of swords in a battle." And it is likely he took after Finn in that, for in spite of all the sweet sounds he gave an account of the time he was at Conan's house, at Ceann Slieve, it used to be said by the Fianna that the music that was best with Finn was what happened. This now is the way Osgar met with his wife. One time Finn and his men came to Slieve Crot, and they saw a woman waiting there before them, having a crimson fringed cloak, and a gold brooch in it, and a band of yellow gold on her forehead. Finn asked her name, and where she came from. "Etain of the Fair Hair is my name," she said, "daughter of Aedh of the White Breast, of the hill of the Sidhe at Beinn Edair, son of Angus Og." "What is it brought you here, girl?" said Finn. "To ask a man of the Fianna of Ireland to run a race with me." "What sort of a runner are you?" said Diarmuid. "I am a good runner," said the girl; "for it is the same to me if the ground is long or short under my feet." All of the Fianna that were there then set out to run with her, and they ran to the height over Badhamair and on to Ath Cliath, and from that on to the hill of the Sidhe at Beinn Edair. And there was a good welcome before them, and they were brought meat and wine for drinking, and water for washing their feet. And after a while they saw a nice fair-haired girl in front of the vats, and a cup of white silver in her hand, and she giving out drink to every one. "It seems to me that is the girl came asking the Fianna to race against her at Slieve Crot," said Finn. "It is not," said Aedh of the White Breast, "for that is the slowest woman there is among us." "Who was it so?" said Finn. "It was Be-mannair, daughter of Ainceol, woman-messenger of the Tuatha de Danaan. And it is she that changes herself into all shapes; and she will take the shape of a fly, and of a true lover, and every one leaves their secret with her. And it was she outran you coming from the east," he said, "and not this other girl that was drinking and making merry here in the hall." "What is her name?" said Finn. "Etain of the Fair Hair," he said; "a daughter of my own, and a darling of the Tuatha de Danaan. And it is the way with her, she has a lover of the men of the Fianna." "That is well," said Finn; "and who is that lover?" "It is Osgar, son of Oisin," said Aedh; "and it is she herself sent her messenger for you," he said, "in her own shape, to Slieve Crot in the south. And the son of the High King of Ireland has offered a great bride-price to the Men of Dea for her," he said, "three hundreds of the land nearest to Bregia and to Midhe, and to put himself and his weight of gold into a balance, and to give it all to her. But we did not take it," he said, "since she had no mind or wish for it herself, and so we made no dealing or agreement about her." "Well," said Finn, "and what conditions will you ask of Osgar?" "Never to leave me for anything at all but my own fault," said the girl. "I will make that agreement with you indeed," said Osgar. "Give me sureties for it," said she; "give me the sureties of Goll for the sons of Morna, and of Finn, son of Cumhal, for the Fianna of Ireland." So they gave those sureties, and the wedding-feast was made, and they stopped there for twenty nights. And at the end of that time Osgar asked Finn where would he bring his wife. "Bring her to wide Almhuin for the first seven years," said Finn. But a while after that, in a great battle at Beinn Edair, Osgar got so heavy a wound that Finn and the Fianna were as if they had lost their wits. And when Etain of the Fair Hair came to the bed where Osgar was lying, and saw the way he was, and that the great kinglike shape he had was gone from him, greyness and darkness came on her, and she raised pitiful cries, and she went to her bed and her heart broke in her like a nut; and she died of grief for her husband and her first love. But it was not at that time Osgar got his death, but afterwards in the battle of Gabhra. BOOK SIX: DIARMUID. CHAPTER I. BIRTH OF DIARMUID Diarmuid, now, was son of Bonn, son of Duibhne of the Fianna, and his mother was Crochnuit, that was near in blood to Finn. And at the time he was born, Bonn was banished from the Fianna because of some quarrel they had with him, and Angus Og took the child from him to rear him up at Brugh na Boinne. And after a while Crochnuit bore another son to Roc Diocain, that was Head Steward to Angus. Roc Diocain went then to Donn, and asked would he rear up his son for him, the way Angus was rearing Donn's son. But Donn said he would not take the son of a common man into his house, and it would be best for Angus to take him. So Angus took the child into Brugh na Boinne, and he and Diarmuid were reared up together. And one day Finn was on the great Hill at Almhuin of Leinster, and no one with him but Donn and a few of the poets and learned men of the Fianna, and their hounds and dogs, and Bran Beag came in and asked did he remember there were bonds on him, not to stop in Almhuin for ten nights together. Finn asked the people about him then where would he go and be entertained for that night, and Donn said: "I will bring you to the house of Angus, son of the Dagda, where my young son is being reared." So they went together to the house of Angus at Brugh na Boinne, and the child Diarmuid was there, and it is great love Angus had for him. And the Steward's son was with him that night, and the people of the household made as much of him as Angus made of Diarmuid; and there was great vexation on Donn when he saw that. It chanced after a while a great fight rose between two of Finn's hounds about some broken meat that was thrown to them; and the women and the common people of the place ran from them, and the others rose up to part them from one another. And in running away, the Steward's child ran between the knees of Donn, and Donn gave the child a strong squeeze between his two knees that killed him on the moment, and he threw him under the feet of the hounds. And when the Steward came after that and found his son dead, he gave a long very pitiful cry, and he said to Finn: "There is not a man in the house to-night has suffered more than myself from this uproar, for I had but one son only, and he has been killed; and what satisfaction will I get from you for that, Finn?" he said. "Try can you find the mark of a tooth or of a nail of one of the hounds on him," said Finn, "and if you can, I will give you satisfaction for him." So they looked at the child, and there was no scratch or mark of a tooth on him at all. Then the Steward put Finn under the destroying bonds of the Druid cave of Cruachan, to give him knowledge of who it was killed his son. And Finn asked for a chess-board, and for water to be brought to him, in a basin of pale gold, and he searched, and it was shown to him truly that it was Donn had killed the Steward's son between his two knees. When Finn knew that, he said he would take the fine on himself; but the Steward would not consent to that, but forced him to tell who was it had done him the wrong. And when he knew it was Donn had killed the child, he said: "There is no man in the house it is easier to get satisfaction from than from him, for his own son is here, and I have but to put him between my two knees, and if I let him go from me safe, I will forgive the death of my son." Angus was vexed at what the Steward said, and as to Donn, he thought to strike his head off till Finn put him back from him. Then the Steward came again, having a Druid rod with him, and he struck his own son with the rod, and he made of him a wild boar, without bristle or ear or tail, and he said: "I put you under bonds to bring Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne, to his death; and your own life will be no longer than his life," he said. With that the wild boar rose up and ran out of the open door; and he was called afterwards the Boar of Slieve Guillion, and it was by him Diarmuid came to his death at the last. And when Diarmuid came to his full strength he was given a place among the Fianna of Ireland; and all women loved him, and he did many great deeds, fighting with the enemies of the Fianna and of Ireland; and one time he fought a wild ox through the length of seven days and seven nights on the top of the Mountain of Happiness. CHAPTER II. HOW DIARMUID GOT HIS LOVE-SPOT Diarmuid and Conan and Goll and Osgar went one day hunting, and they went so far they could not get home in the evening, and they spent the first part of the night walking through the woods and pulling berries and eating them. And when it was about midnight they saw a light, and they went towards it, and they found a little house before them, and the light shining from it. They went in then, and they saw an old man there, and he bade them welcome, and he called them all by their names. And they saw no one in the house but the old man and a young girl and a cat. And the old man bade the girl to make food ready for the Fianna of Ireland, for there was great hunger on them. And when the food was ready and put on the table, there came a great wether that was fastened up in the back of the house, and he rose up on the table where they were eating, and when they saw that, they looked at one another. "Rise up, Conan," said Goll, "and fasten that wether in the place it was before." Conan rose up and took hold of it, but the wether gave itself a shake that threw Conan under one of its feet. The rest were looking at that, and Goll said: "Let you rise up, Diarmuid, and fasten up the wether." So Diarmuid rose up and took hold of it, but it gave itself a shake the same way as before; and when Diarmuid was down it put one of its feet on him. Goll and Osgar looked at one another then, and shame came on them, a wether to have done so much as that. And Osgar got up, but the wether put him down under one of his feet, so that it had now the three men under him. Then Goll rose up and took hold of it and threw it down; but if he did, it rose up again in spite of him, and put Goll under his fourth foot. "It is a great shame," said the old man then, "the like of that to be done to the Fianna of Ireland. And rise up now, cat," he said, "and tie the wether in the place where he was." The cat rose up then and took hold of the wether, and brought it over and tied it in its place at the end of the house. The men rose up then, but they had no mind to go on eating, for there was shame on them at what the wether had done to them. "You may go on eating," said the old man; "and when you are done I will show you that now you are the bravest men of the world." So they ate their fill then, and the old man spoke to them, and it is what he said: "Goll," he said, "you are the bravest of all the men of the world, for you have wrestled with the world and you threw it down. The strength of the world is in the wether, but death will come to the world itself; and that is death," he said, showing them the cat. They were talking together then, and they had their food eaten, and the old man said their beds were ready for them that they could go to sleep. The four of them went then into the one room, and when they were in their beds the young girl came to sleep in the same room with them, and the light of her beauty was shining on the walls like as if it was the light of a candle. And when Conan saw her he went over to the side of the bed where she was. Now, it was Youth the young girl was, and when she saw Conan coming to her: "Go back to your bed, Conan," she said; "I belonged to you once, and I will never belong to you again." Conan went back to his bed then, and Osgar had a mind to go over where she was. Then she said to him: "Where are you going?" "I am going over to yourself for a while," said he. "Go back again, Osgar," she said; "I belonged to you once, and I will never belong to you again." Then Diarmuid rose up to go to her: "Where are you going, Diarmuid?" she said. "I am going over to yourself for a while," said he. "O Diarmuid," she said, "that cannot be; I belonged to you once, and I can never belong to you again; but come over here to me, Diarmuid," she said, "and I will put a love-spot on you, that no woman will ever see without giving you her love." So Diarmuid went over to her, and she put her hand on his forehead, and she left the love-spot there, and no woman that ever saw him after that was able to refuse him her love. CHAPTER III. THE DAUGHTER OF KING UNDER-WAVE One snowy night of winter the Fianna were come into the house after their hunting. And about midnight they heard a knocking at the door, and there came in a woman very wild and ugly, and her hair hanging to her heels. She went to the place Finn was lying, and she asked him to let her in under the border of his covering. But when he saw her so strange and so ugly and so wild-looking he would not let her in. She gave a great cry then, and she went to where Oisin was, and asked him to let her shelter under the border of his covering. But Oisin refused her the same way. Then she gave another great scream, and she went over where Diarmuid was. "Let me in," she said, "under the border of your covering." Diarmuid looked at her, and he said: "You are strange-looking and wild and ugly, and your hair is down to your heels. But come in for all that," he said. So she came in under the border of his covering. "O Diarmuid," she said then, "I have been travelling over sea and ocean through the length of seven years, and in all that time I never got shelter any night till this night. And let me to the warmth of the fire now," she said. So Diarmuid brought her over to the fire, and all the Fianna that were sitting there went away from it seeing her so ugly and so dreadful to look at. And she was not long at the fire when she said: "Let me go under the warmth of the covering with you now." "It is asking too much you are," said Diarmuid; "first it was to come under the border you asked, and then to come to the fire, and now it is under the bed-covering with me you want to be. But for all that you may come," he said. So she came in under the covering, and he turned a fold of it between them. But it was not long till he looked at her, and what he saw was a beautiful young woman beside him, and she asleep. He called to the others then to come over, and he said: "Is not this the most beautiful woman that ever was seen?" "She is that," they said, and they covered her up and did not awaken her. But after a while she stirred, and she said: "Are you awake, Diarmuid?" "I am awake," he said. "Where would you like to see the best house built that ever was built?" she said. "Up there on the hillside, if I had my choice," said he, and with that he fell asleep. And in the morning two men of the Fianna came in, and they said they were after seeing a great house up on the hill, where there was not a house before. "Rise up, Diarmuid," said the strange woman then; "do not be lying there any longer, but go up to your house, and look out now and see it," she said. So he looked out and he saw the great house that was ready, and he said: "I will go to it, if you will come along with me." "I will do that," she said, "if you will make me a promise not to say to me three times what way I was when I came to you." "I will never say it to you for ever," said Diarmuid. They went up then to the house, and it was ready for them, with food and servants; and everything they could wish for they had it. They stopped there for three days, and when the three days were ended, she said: "You are getting to be sorrowful because you are away from your comrades of the Fianna." "I am not sorrowful indeed," said Diarmuid. "It will be best for you to go to them; and your food and your drink will be no worse when you come back than they are now," said she. "Who will take care of my greyhound bitch and her three pups if I go?" said Diarmuid. "There is no fear for them," said she. So when he heard that, he took leave of her and went back to the Fianna, and there was a great welcome before him. But for all that they were not well pleased but were someway envious, Diarmuid to have got that grand house and her love from the woman they themselves had turned away. Now as to the woman, she was outside the house for a while after Diarmuid going away, and she saw Finn, son of Cumhal, coming towards her, and she bade him welcome. "You are vexed with me, Queen?" he said. "I am not indeed," she said; "and come in now and take a drink of wine from me." "I will go in if I get my request," said Finn. "What request is there that you would not get?" said she. "It is what I am asking, one of the pups of Diarmuid's greyhound bitch." "That is no great thing to ask," she said; "and whichever one you choose of them you may bring it away." So he got the pup, and he brought it away with him. At the fall of night Diarmuid came back to the house, and the greyhound met him at the door and gave a yell when she saw him, and he looked for the pups, and one of them was gone. There was anger on him then, and he said to the woman: "If you had brought to mind the way you were when I let you in, and your hair hanging, you would not have let the pup be brought away from me." "You ought not to say that, Diarmuid," said she. "I ask your pardon for saying it," said Diarmuid. And they forgave one another, and he spent the night in the house. On the morrow Diarmuid went back again to his comrades, and the woman stopped at the house, and after a while she saw Oisin coming towards her. She gave him a welcome, and asked him into the house, and he said he would come if he would get his request. And what he asked was another of the pups of the greyhound. So she gave him that, and he went away bringing the pup with him. And when Diarmuid came back that night the greyhound met him, and she cried out twice. And he knew that another of the pups was gone, and he said to the greyhound, and the woman standing there: "If she had remembered the way she was when she came to me, she would not have let the pup be brought away." The next day he went back again to the Fianna, and when he was gone, the woman saw Caoilte coming towards her, and he would not come in to take a drink from her till he had got the promise of one of the pups the same as the others. And when Diarmuid came back that night the greyhound met him and gave three yells, the most terrible that ever were heard. There was great anger on him then, when he saw all the pups gone, and he said the third time: "If this woman remembered the way she was when I found her, and her hair down to her heels, she would not have let the pup go." "O Diarmuid, what is it you are after saying?" she said. He asked forgiveness of her then, and he thought to go into the house, but it was gone and the woman was gone on the moment, and it was on the bare ground he awoke on the morrow. There was great sorrow on him then, and he said he would search in every place till he would find her again. So he set out through the lonely valleys, and the first thing he saw was the greyhound lying dead, and he put her on his shoulder and would not leave her because of the love he had for her. And after a while he met with a cowherd, and he asked him did he see a woman going the way. "I saw a woman early in the morning of yesterday, and she walking hard," said the cowherd. "What way was she going?" said Diarmuid. "Down that path below to the strand, and I saw her no more after that," he said. So he followed the path she took down to the strand till he could go no farther, and then he saw a ship, and he leaned on the handle of his spear and made a light leap on to the ship, and it went on till it came to land, and then he got out and lay down on the side of a hill and fell asleep, and when he awoke there was no ship to be seen. "It is a pity for me to be here," he said, "for I see no way of getting from it again." But after a while he saw a boat coming, and a man in the boat rowing it, and he went down and got into the boat, and brought the greyhound with him. And the boat went out over the sea, and then down below it; and Diarmuid, when he went down, found himself on a plain. And he went walking along it, and it was not long before he met with a drop of blood. He took it up and put it in a napkin. "It is the greyhound lost this," he said. And after a while he met with another drop of blood, and then with a third, and he put them in the napkin. And after that again he saw a woman, and she gathering rushes as if she had lost her wits. He went towards her and asked her what news had she. "I cannot tell it till I gather the rushes," she said. "Be telling it while you are gathering them," said Diarmuid. "There is great haste on me," she said. "What is this place where we are?" said Diarmuid. "It is Land-under-Wave," said she. "And what use have you for the rushes when they are gathered?" "The daughter of King Under-Wave is come home," she said, "and she was for seven years under enchantment, and there is sickness on her now, and all the physicians are gathered together and none of them can do her any good, and a bed of rushes is what she finds the wholesomest." "Will you show me where the king's daughter is?" said Diarmuid. "I will do that," said the woman; "I will put you in the sheaf of rushes, and I will put the rushes under you and over you, and I will carry you to her on my back." "That is a thing you cannot do," said Diarmuid. But she put the rushes about him, and lifted him on her back, and when she got to the room she let down the bundle. "O come here to me," said the daughter of King Under-Wave, and Diarmuid went over to her, and they took one another's hands, and were very joyful at that meeting. "Three parts of my sickness is gone from me now," she said then; "but I am not well yet, and I never will be, for every time I thought of you, Diarmuid, on my journey, I lost a drop of the blood of my heart." "I have got those three drops here in this napkin," said Diarmuid, "and take them now in a drink and you will be healed of your sickness." "They would do nothing for me," she said, "since I have not the one thing in the world that I want, and that is the thing I will never get," she said. "What thing is that?" said Diarmuid. "It is the thing you will never get, nor any man in the world," she said, "for it is a long time they have failed to get it." "If it is in any place on the whole ridge of the world I will get it," said Diarmuid. "It is three draughts from the cup of the King of Magh an Ionganaidh, the Plain of Wonder," she said, "and no man ever got it or ever will get it." "Tell me where that cup is to be found," said Diarmuid, "for there are not as many men as will keep it from me on the whole ridge of the world." "That country is not far from the boundary of my father's country," she said; "but there is a little river between, and you would be sailing on that river in a ship, having the wind behind it, for a year and a day before you would reach to the Plain of Wonder." Diarmuid set out then, and he came to the little river, and he was a good while walking beside it, and he saw no way to cross it. But at last he saw a low-sized, reddish man that was standing in the middle of the river. "You are in straits, Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne," he said; "and come here and put your foot in the palm of my hand and I will bring you through." Diarmuid did as he bade him, and put his foot in the red man's palm, and he brought him across the river. "It is going to the King of the Plain of Wonder you are," he said, "to bring away his cup from him; and I myself will go with you." They went on then till they came to the king's dun, and Diarmuid called out that the cup should be sent out to him, or else champions to fight with him should be sent out. It was not the cup was sent out, but twice eight hundred fighting men; and in three hours there was not one of them left to stand against him. Then twice nine hundred better fighters again were sent out against him, and within four hours there was not one of them left to stand against him. Then the king himself came out, and he stood in the great door, and he said: "Where did the man come from that has brought destruction on the whole of my kingdom?" "I will tell you that," said he; "I am Diarmuid, a man of the Fianna of Ireland." "It is a pity you not to have sent a messenger telling me that," said the king, "and I would not have spent my men upon you; for seven years before you were born it was put in the prophecy that you would come to destroy them. And what is it you are asking now?" he said. "It is the cup of healing from your own hand I am asking," said Diarmuid. "No man ever got that cup from me but yourself," said the king, "but it is easy for me to give it to you, whether or not there is healing in it." Then the King of the Plain of Wonder gave Diarmuid the cup, and they parted from one another; and Diarmuid went on till he came to the river, and it was then he thought of the red man, that he had given no thought to while he was at the king's house. But he was there before him, and took his foot in the palm of his hand and brought him over the river. "I know where it is you are going, Diarmuid," he said then; "it is to heal the daughter of King Under-Wave that you have given your love to. And it is to a well I will give you the signs of you should go," he said, "and bring a share of the water of that well with you. And when you come where the woman is, it is what you have to do, to put that water in the cup, and one of the drops of blood in it, and she will drink it, and the same with the second drop and the third, and her sickness will be gone from her from that time. But there is another thing will be gone along with it," he said, "and that is the love you have for her." "That will not go from me," said Diarmuid. "It will go from you," said the man; "and it will be best for you make no secret of it, for she will know, and the king will know, that you think no more of her then than of any other woman. And King Under-Wave will come to you," he said, "and will offer you great riches for healing his daughter. But take nothing from him," he said, "but ask only a ship to bring you home again to Ireland. And do you know who am I myself?" he said. "I do not know," said Diarmuid. "I am the messenger from beyond the world," he said; "and I came to your help because your own heart is hot to come to the help of another." So Diarmuid did as he bade him, and he brought the water and the cup and the drops of blood to the woman, and she drank them, and at the third draught she was healed. And no sooner was she healed than the love he had for her was gone, and he turned away from her. "O Diarmuid," she said, "your love is gone from me." "O, it is gone indeed," said he. Then there was music made in the whole place, and the lamenting was stopped, because of the healing of the king's daughter. And as to Diarmuid, he would take no reward and he would not stop there, but he asked for a ship to bring him home to Ireland, to Finn and the Fianna. And when he came where they were, there was a joyful welcome before him. CHAPTER IV. THE HARD SERVANT The Fianna went hunting one time in the two proud provinces of Munster. They went out from Almhuin by the nearest paths till they came to the Brosna river in Slieve Bladhma, and from there to the twelve mountains of Eiblinne, and on to Aine Cliach, the harp of Aine. They scattered themselves then and hunted through the borders of the forest that is called Magh Breogain, through blind trackless places and through broken lands, over beautiful level plains and the high hills of Desmumum, under pleasant Slieve Crot and smooth Slieve na Muc, along the level banks of the blue Siuir and over the green plain of Feman and the rough plain of Eithne, and the dark woods of Belach Gabrain. And Finn was at the side of a hill, and the chief men of the Fianna along with him, to watch the hunting; for they liked to be listening to the outcry of the hounds and the hurried cries of the boys, and the noise and the whistling and the shouts of the strong men. Finn asked then which of the men that were with him would go and keep watch on the side of the hill where they were. And Finnbane, son of Bresel, said he would go. And he went on to the top of the hill, where he could see about him on all sides. And he was not long there till he saw coming from the east a very big man, ugly and gloomy and deformed; and it is how he was, a dark-coloured shield on his back, a wide sword on his crooked left thigh, two spears on his shoulder, a torn loose cloak over his limbs, that were as black as a quenched coal. A sulky horse he had with him that had no good appearance, bony and thin as to body, and weak in the legs, and he leading it with a rough iron halter; and it was a great wonder the head was not pulled from the horse's body, or the arms pulled out of his owner, with the sudden stands and stops and the jerks it made. And the big man was striking blows on the horse with an iron cudgel to try and knock some going out of him, and the sound of the blows was like the breaking of strong waves. And when Finnbane saw all that, he thought to himself it would not be right to let the like of that stranger go up unknown to Finn and the Fianna, and he ran back in haste to where they were and told them all he had seen. And when he had told his story, they saw the big man coming towards them; but as short as he was from them he was long in coming, from the badness of his walk and his going. And when he came into Finn's presence he saluted him, and bowed his head and bent his knee, making signs of humility. Finn raised his hand over his head then, and asked news of him, and if he was of the noble or of the mean blood of the great world. He answered that he had no knowledge who he came from, but only that he was a man of the Fomor, travelling in search of wages to the kings of the earth, "and I heard," he said, "that Finn never refused wages to any man." "I never did indeed," said Finn, "and I will not refuse you. But why is it," he said, "you are without a boy to mind your horse?" "I have a good reason for that," said the big man; "there is nothing in the world is worse to me than a boy to be with me; for it is a hundred men's share of food," he said, "that serves me for one day, and it is little enough I think it, and I would begrudge a boy to be sharing it with me." "What is the name you have?" said Finn. "The name I have is the Gilla Decair, the Hard Servant," said he. "Why did you get that name?" said Finn. "There is a good reason for that," said the big man, "for there is nothing in the world is harder to me than to do anything at all for my master, or whatever person I am with. And tell me this, Conan, son of Morna," he said, "who gets the best wages, a horseman or a man afoot?" "A horseman gets twice as much," said Conan. "Then I call you to witness, Conan," he said, "that I am a horseman, and that it was as a horseman I came to the Fianna. And give me your guarantee now, Finn, son of Cumhal, and the guarantee of the Fianna, and I will turn out my horse with your horses." "Let him out then," said Finn. The big man pulled off the iron halter then from his horse, and it made off as hard as it could go, till it came where the horses of the Fianna were; and it began to tear and to kick and to bite at them, killing and maiming. "Take your horse out of that, big man," said Conan; "and by the earth and the sky," he said, "only it was on the guarantee of Finn and the Fianna you took the halter off him, I would let out his brains through the windows of his head; and many as is the bad prize Finn has found in Ireland," he said, "he never got one as bad as yourself." "And I swear by earth and sky as well as yourself," said the big man, "I will never bring him out of that; for I have no serving-boy to do it for me, and it is not work for me to be leading my horse by the hand." Conan, son of Morna, rose up then and took the halter and put it on the horse, and led it back to where Finn was, and held it with his hand. "You would never have done a horse-boy's service, Conan," said Finn, "to any one of the Fianna, however far he might be beyond this Fomor. And if you will do what I advise," he said, "you will get up on the horse now, and search out with him all the hills and hollows and flowery plains of Ireland, till his heart is broken in his body in payment for the way he destroyed the horses of the Fianna." Conan made a leap then on to the horse, and struck his heels hard into him, but with all that the horse would not stir. "I know what ails him," said Finn, "he will not stir till he has the same weight of horsemen on him as the weight of the big man." On that thirteen men of the Fianna went up behind Conan, and the horse lay down with them and rose up again. "I think that you are mocking at my horse and at myself," said the big man; "and it is a pity for me to be spending the rest of the year with you, after all the humbugging I saw in you to-day, Finn. And I know well," he said, "that all I heard about you was nothing but lies, and there was no cause for the great name you have through the world. And I will quit you now, Finn," he said. With that he went from them, slow and weak, dragging himself along till he had put a little hill between himself and the Fianna. And as soon as he was on the other side of it, he tucked up his cloak to his waist, and away with him, as if with the quickness of a swallow or a deer, and the rush of his going was like a blast of loud wind going over plains and mountains in spring-time. When the horse saw his master going from him, he could not bear with it, but great as his load was he set out at full gallop following after him. And when Finn and the Fianna saw the thirteen men behind Conan, son of Morna, on the horse, and he starting off, they shouted with mocking laughter. And when Conan found that he was not able to come down off the horse, he screeched and shouted to them not to let him be brought away with the big man they knew nothing of, and he began abusing and reproaching them. "A cloud of death over water on you, Finn," he said, "and that some son of a slave or a robber of the bad blood, one that is a worse son of a father and mother even than yourself, may take all that might protect your life, and your head along with that, unless you follow us to whatever place or island the big man will carry us to, and unless you bring us back to Ireland again." Finn and the Fianna rose up then, and they followed the Gilla Decair over every bald hill, and through every valley and every river, on to pleasant Slieve Luachra, into the borders of Corca Duibhne; and the big man, that was up on the horse then along with Conan and the rest, faced towards the deep sea. And Liagan Luath of Luachar took hold of the horse's tail with his two hands, thinking to drag him back by the hair of it; but the horse gave a great tug, and away with him over the sea, and Liagan along with him, holding on to his tail. It was a heavy care to Finn, those fourteen men of his people to be brought away from him, and he himself under bonds to bring them back. "What can we do now?" Oisin asked him. "What should we do, but to follow our people to whatever place or island the big man has brought them, and, whatever way we do it, to bring them back to Ireland again." "What can we do, having neither a ship or any kind of boat?" said Oisin. "We have this," said Finn, "the Tuatha de Danaan left as a gift to the children of the Gael, that whoever might have to leave Ireland for a while, had but to go to Beinn Edair, and however many would go along with him, they would find a ship that would hold them all." Finn looked towards the sea then, and he saw two strong armed men coming towards him. The first one had on his back a shield ribbed and of many colours, having shapes of strange, wonderful beasts engraved on it, and a heavy sword at his side, and two thick spears on his shoulders; a cloak of lasting crimson about him, with a gold brooch on the breast; a band of white bronze on his head, gold under each of his feet; and the other was dressed in the same way. They made no delay till they came to where Finn was, and they bowed their heads and bent their knees before him, and Finn raised his hand over their heads, and bade them to give an account of themselves. "We are sons of the King of the Eastern World," they said, "and we are come to Ireland asking to be taken into the service of Finn; for we heard there was not a man in all Ireland," they said, "would be better than yourself to judge of the skill we have." "What is your name, and what skill is that?" said Finn. "My name is Feradach, the Very Brave," he said; "and I have a carpenter's axe and a sling, and if there were so many as thirty hundred of the men of Ireland along with me in one spot, with three blows of the axe on the sling-stick I could get a ship that would hold them all. And I would ask no more help of them," he said, "than to bow down their heads while I was striking those three blows." "That is a good art," said Finn. "And tell me now," he said, "what can the other man do?" "I can do this," he said, "I can follow the track of the teal over nine ridges and nine furrows until I come on her in her bed; and it is the same to me to do it on sea as on land," he said. "That is a good art," said Finn; "and it would be a good help to us if you would come following a track with us now." "What is gone from you?" said one of the men. Finn told them then the whole story of the Hard Servant. Then Feradach, the Very Brave, struck three blows on his sling-stick with the axe that he had, and the whole of the Fianna bowed their heads, and on the moment the whole of the bay and of the harbour was filled with ships and with fast boats. "What will we do with that many ships?" said Finn. "We will do away with all you make no use of," he said. Caoilte rose up then and let out three great shouts, and all the Fianna of Ireland, in whatever places they were, heard them, and they thought Finn and his people to be in some kind of danger from men from beyond the sea. They came then in small companies as they chanced to be, till they came to the stepping-stones of the Cat's Head in the western part of Corca Duibhne. And they asked news of Finn, what had happened that he called them away from their hunting, and Finn told them all that had happened. Then Finn and Oisin went into council together, and it is what they agreed; that as but fifteen of his people were brought away from Finn, he himself with fifteen others would go on their track; Oisin to be left at the head of the Fianna to guard Ireland. And they said farewell to one another, and a grand ship was made ready for Finn and his people, and there was food put in it for using and gold for giving away. The young men and the heroes took to their seats then, and took hold of the oars, and they set out over the restless hills and the dark valleys of the great sea. And the sea rose up and bellowed, and there was madness on the broken green waters; but to Finn and his people it was a call in the morning and a sleepy time at night to be listening to the roaring and the crooning that was ever and always about the sides of the ship. They went on like that for three days and three nights, and saw no country or island. But at the end of that time a man of them went up into the head of the ship, and he saw out before them a great, rough grey cliff. They went on towards it then, and they saw on the edge of the cliff a high rock, round-shaped, having sides more slippery than an eel's back. And they found the track of the Hard Servant as far as to the foot of the rock. Fergus of the True Lips said then to Diarmuid: "It is no brave thing you are doing, Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne, to hold back like this, for it was with Manannan the Powerful, son of Lir, you were reared and got your learning, in the Land of Promise and in the coasts of the harbours, and with Angus Og, the Dagda's son. And are you without any share of their skill and their daring now," he said, "that would bring Finn and his people up this rock?" Diarmuid's face reddened when he heard those words, and he took hold of Manannan's staves of power that were with him, and he reddened again, and he rose on the staves and gave a leap, and got a standing-place for his two feet on the overhanging rock. He looked down from that on Finn and his people, but whatever wish he had to bring them up to where he was, he was not able to do it. He left the rock behind him then, and he was not gone far when he saw a wild tangled place before him, with thick woods that were of all he had ever walked the most leafy and the fullest of the sounds of wind and streams and birds, and of the humming of bees. He went on walking the plain, and as he was looking about him, he saw a great tree with many twigs and branches, and a rock beside it, and a smooth-pointed drinking-horn on it, and a beautiful fresh well at its foot. And there was a great drouth on Diarmuid after the sea-journey, and he had a mind to drink a hornful of the water. But when he stooped to it he heard a great noise coming towards him, and he knew then there was enchantment in the water. "I will drink my fill of it for all that," he said. And it was not long after that till he saw a Man of Enchantments coming towards him armed, having no friendly look. And it was in no friendly way he spoke to Diarmuid when he came up to him, but he gave him great abuse. "It is no right thing," he said, "to be walking through my thickets and to be drinking up my share of water." With that they faced one another angrily, and they fought till the end of the day. The Enchanter thought it well to leave off fighting then, and he made a leap into the bottom of the well away from him, but there was vexation on Diarmuid to be left like that. He looked around him then, and he saw a herd of deer coming through the scrub, and he went towards them, and threw a spear that went through the nearest stag and drove the bowels out of him. He kindled a fire then, and he cut thin bits of the flesh and put them on spits of white hazel, and that night he had his fill of meat and of the water of the well. He rose up early on the morrow, and he found the Enchanter at the well before him. "It seems to me, Grandson of Duibhne," he said, "that it is not enough for you to be walking my scrub and my woods without killing my deer as well." With that they started again, giving one another blow for blow, thrust for thrust, and wound for wound till the end of the day came on them. And Diarmuid killed another great deer that night, and in the morning the fight began again. But in the evening, when the Enchanter was making his leap into the well, Diarmuid threw his arms about his neck, thinking to stop him, but it is what happened, he fell in himself. And when he was at the bottom of the well the Enchanter left him. Diarmuid went then following after the Enchanter, and he found before him a beautiful wide flowery plain, and a comely royal city in the plain, and on the green before the dun he saw a great army; and when they saw Diarmuid following after the Enchanter, they left a way and a royal road for the Enchanter to pass through till he got inside the dun. And then they shut the gates, and the whole army turned on Diarmuid. But that put no fear or cowardice on him, but he went through them and over them like a hawk would go through little birds, or a wild dog through a flock of sheep, killing all before him, till some of them made away to the woods and wastes, and another share of them through the gates of the dun, and they shut them, and the gates of the city after them. And Diarmuid, all full of hurts and wounds after the hard fight, lay down on the plain. A very strong daring champion came then and kicked at him from behind, and at that Diarmuid roused himself up, and put out his brave ready hand for his weapons. "Wait a while, Grandson of Duibhne," the champion said then; "it is not to do you any hurt or harm I am come, but to say to you it is a bad sleeping-place for you to have, and it on your ill-wisher's lawn. And come now with me," he said, "and I will give you a better resting-place." Diarmuid followed him then, and they went a long, long way from that, till they came to a high-topped city, and three times fifty brave champions in it, three times fifty modest women, and another young woman on a bench, with blushes in her cheeks, and delicate hands, and having a silken cloak about her, and a dress sewed with gold threads, and on her head the flowing veil of a queen. There was a good welcome before Diarmuid for his own sake and the sake of his people, and he was put in a house of healing that was in the city, and good herbs were put to his hurts till he was smooth and sound again. And a feast was made then, and the tables and the benches were set, and no high person was put in the place of the mean, or mean in the place of the high, but every one in his own place, according to his nobility, or his descent, or his art. Plenty of good food was brought to them then, and well-tasting strong drinks, and they spent the first part of the night in drinking, and the second part with music and delight and rejoicing of the mind, and the third part in sound sleep that lasted till the sun rose over the heavy sodded earth on the morrow. Three days and three nights Diarmuid stopped in that city, and the best feast he ever found was given to him all through. And at the end of that time he asked what was the place he was in, and who was head of it. And the champion that brought him there told him it was Land-Under-Wave, and that the man that had fought with him was its king. "And he is an enemy of the Red Hand to me," he said. "And as to myself," he said, "I was one time getting wages from Finn, son of Cumhal, in Ireland, and I never put a year over me that pleased me better. And tell me now," he said, "what is the journey or the work that is before you?" And Diarmuid told him the story of the Hard Servant then from beginning to end. Now, as to Finn and his people, when they thought Diarmuid was too long away from them, they made ladders of the cords of the ship and put them against the rock, looking for him. And after a while they found the leavings of the meat he had eaten, for Diarmuid never ate meat without leaving some after him. Finn looked then on every side, and he saw a rider coming towards him over the plain on a dark-coloured beautiful horse, having a bridle of red gold. Finn saluted him when he came up, and the rider stooped his head and gave Finn three kisses, and asked him to go with him. They went on a long way till they came to a wide, large dwelling-place full of arms, and a great troop of armed men on the green before the fort. Three nights and three days Finn and his people stopped in the dun, and the best feast they ever got was served out to them. At the end of that time Finn asked what country was he in, and the man that brought him there told him it was the land of Sorcha, and that he himself was its king. "And I was with yourself one time, Finn, son of Cumhal," he said, "taking your wages through the length of a year in Ireland." Then Finn and the King of Sorcha called a great gathering of the people and a great meeting. And when it was going on they saw a woman-messenger coming to them through the crowd, and the king asked news of her. "I have news indeed," she said; "the whole of the bay and the harbour is full of ships and of boats, and there are armies all through the country robbing all before them." "I know well," said the king, "it is the High King of Greece is in it, for he has a mind to put the entire world under him, and to get hold of this country like every other." The King of Sorcha looked at Finn then, and Finn understood it was help from him he was asking, and it is what he said: "I take the protection of this country on myself so long as I am in it." He and his people rose up then, and the King of Sorcha along with them, and they went looking for the strange army. And when they came up with it they made great slaughter of its champions, and those they did not kill ran before them, and made no better stand than a flock of frightened birds, till there were hardly enough of them left to tell the story. The High King spoke then, and it is what he said: "Who is it has done this great slaughter of my people? And I never heard before," he said, "any talk of the courage or of the doings of the men of Ireland either at this time or in the old times. But from this out," he said, "I will banish the Sons of the Gael for ever to the very ends of the earth." But Finn and the King of Sorcha raised a green tent in view of the ships of the Greeks. The King of the Greeks called then for help against Finn and the King of Sorcha, to get satisfaction for the shame that was put on his people. And the sons of kings of the eastern and southern world came to his help, but they could make no stand against Finn and Osgar and Oisin and Goll, son of Morna. And at the last the King of Greece brought all his people back home, the way no more of them would be put an end to. And then Finn and the King of Sorcha called another great gathering. And while it was going on, they saw coming towards them a great troop of champions, bearing flags of many-coloured silk, and grey swords at their sides and high spears reared up over their heads. And in the front of them was Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne. When Finn saw him, he sent Fergus of the True Lips to ask news of him, and they told one another all that had happened. And it would take too long to tell, and it would tire the hearers, how Finn made the Hard Servant bring home his fifteen men that he had brought away. And when he had brought them back to Ireland, the whole of the Fianna were watching to see him ride away again, himself and his long-legged horse. But while they were watching him, he vanished from them, and all they could see was a mist, and it stretching out towards the sea. And that is the story of the Hard Servant, and of Diarmuid's adventures on the island Under-Wave. CHAPTER V. THE HOUSE OF THE QUICKEN TREES And it is often the Fianna would have been badly off without the help of Diarmuid. It was he came to their help the time Miodac, the son of the King of Lochlann, brought them into the enchanted House of the Quicken Trees. It was by treachery he brought them in, giving himself out to be a poet, and making poems for Finn to make out the meaning of. A verse he made about a great army that he saw riding over the plains to victory, and robbing all before it, and the riders of it having no horses but plants and branches. "I understand that," said Finn, "it was an army of bees you saw, that was gathering riches from the flowers as it went." And another verse Miodac made was about a woman in Ireland that was swifter than the swiftest horse. "I know that," said Finn, "that woman is the River Boinn; and if she goes slow itself, she is swifter in the end than the swiftest horse, for her going never stops." And other verses he made about Angus' house at Brugh na Boinn, but Finn made them all out. And after that he said he had a feast ready for them, and he bade them go into his House of the Quicken Trees till he would bring it. And they did that, and went in, and it was a beautiful house, having walls of every colour, and foreign coverings of every colour on the floor, and a fire that gave out a very pleasant smoke. And they sat down there, and after a while Finn said: "It is a wonder such a beautiful house to be here." "There is a greater wonder than that," said Goll; "that fire that was so pleasant when we came in is giving out now the worst stench in the world." "There is a greater wonder than that," said Glas; "the walls that were of all colours are now but rough boards joined together." "There is a greater wonder than that," said Fiacha; "where there were seven high doors to the house there is now but one little door, and it shut." "Indeed, there is a more wonderful thing than that," said Conan; "for we sat down on beautiful coverings, and now there is nothing between us and the bare ground, and it as cold as the snow of one night." And he tried to rise up, but he could not stir, or any of the rest of them, for there was enchantment that kept them where they were. And it was the treachery of Miodac, and the spells of the Three Kings of the Island of the Floods that had brought them into that danger. And Finn knew by his divination that their enemies were gathering to make an end of them, and he said to his people there was no use in making complaints, but to sound the music of the Dord Fiann. And some of the Fianna that were waiting for him not far off heard that sorrowful music, and came fighting against Miodac and his armies, and they fought well, but they could not stand against them. And at the last it was Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne, that made an end of Miodac that was so treacherous, and of the Three Kings of the Island of the Floods, and took the enchantment off the floor of the House of the Rowan Trees with their blood. And when he was freeing the Fianna, Conan called out, asking him to bring him a share of the feast Miodac had made ready for his own friends, for there was hunger on him. And when Diarmuid took no heed of him, he said: "If it was a comely woman was speaking to you, Diarmuid, you would not refuse to listen." For if many women loved Diarmuid, there were many he himself gave his love to; and if he was often called Diarmuid the brave, or the hardy, or the comely, or the Hawk of Ess Ruadh, it is often he was called as well the friend and the coaxer of women, Diarmuid-na-man. BOOK SEVEN: DIARMUID AND GRANIA. CHAPTER I. THE FLIGHT FROM TEAMHAIR Finn rose up one morning early in Almhuin of Leinster, and he sat out alone on the green lawn without a boy or a servant being with him. And Oisin followed him there, and Diorraing the Druid. "What is the cause of your early rising, Finn?" said Oisin. "It is not without cause, indeed, I rise early," said Finn, "for I am without a wife or a companion since Maighneis, daughter of Black Garraidh, died from me; for quiet sleep is not used to come to a man that is without a fitting wife." "Why would you be like that?" said Oisin, "for there is not a woman in all green Ireland you would throw a look on but we would bring her to you, willing or unwilling." "I myself could find a wife would be fitting for you," said Diorraing. "Who is that?" said Finn. "It is Grania, daughter of the High King of Ireland," said Diorraing; "and she is the woman of the best make and shape and the best speech of the women of the whole world." "By my word, Diorraing," said Finn, "there is strife and disagreement between the High King and myself this long time, and it would not be pleasing to me to get a refusal from him. And it is best for you two to go together," he said, "and to ask his daughter for me in marriage; the way that if he gives a refusal, it will be to you and not to myself he will give it." "We will go," said Oisin, "even if it is little profit we will get by it. And let no one at all know of our going," he said, "until such time as we are come back again." After that the two bade farewell to Finn, and set out, and it is not told what they did till they came to Teamhair. The King of Ireland was holding a gathering at that time on the green of Teamhair, and the chief nobles of his people were with him. And there was a friendly welcome given to Oisin and to Diorraing, and the king put off the gathering till the next day, for he was sure it was some pressing thing had brought these two men of the Fianna to Teamhair. And Oisin went aside with him, and told him it was to ask his daughter Grania in marriage they were come from Finn, Head of the Fianna of Ireland. The king spoke, and it is what he said: "There is not a son of a king or of a great prince, there is not a champion in Ireland my daughter has not given a refusal to, and it is on me they all lay the blame of that. And I will give you no answer at all," he said, "till you go to herself; for it is better for you to get her own answer, than to be displeased with me." So they went together to the sunny house of the women, and the king sat down at the head of the high seat beside Grania, and he said: "Here, Grania, are two of the people of Finn, son of Cumhal, come to ask you as a wife for him, and what answer have you a mind to give them?" And it is what Grania said: "If he is a fitting son-in-law for you, why would he not be a fitting husband for me?" They were satisfied then, and there was a feast made for them that night in Grania's sunny house, and the king settled for a meeting a fortnight from that time between himself and Finn at Teamhair. So Oisin and Diorraing went back again to Almhuin, and told Finn their story from beginning to end. And as everything wears away, so did that time of delay. And then Finn gathered together the seven battalions of the Fianna from every part where they were to Almhuin. And they set out in great bands and troops till they came to Teamhair. The king was out on the green before them, and the great people of the men of Ireland, and there was a great welcome before Finn and the Fianna. But when Grania saw grey-haired Finn, she said: "It is a great wonder it was not for Oisin Finn asked me, for he would be more fitting for me than a man that is older than my father." But they talked together for a while, and Finn was putting questions to Grania, for she had the name of being very quick with answers. "What is whiter than snow?" he said. "The truth," said Grania. "What is the best colour?" said Finn. "The colour of childhood," said she. "What is hotter than fire?" "The face of a hospitable man when he sees a stranger coming in, and the house empty." "What has a taste more bitter than poison?" "The reproach of an enemy." "What is best for a champion?" "His doings to be high, and his pride to be low." "What is the best of jewels?" "A knife." "What is sharper than a sword?" "The wit of a woman between two men." "What is quicker than the wind?" said Finn then. "A woman's mind," said Grania. And indeed she was telling no lie when she said that. And for all their talk together she had no liking for Finn, and she felt the blood in her heart to be rising against him. And the wedding-feast was made ready then, and they all went into the king's feasting-house in the Middle Court. And the king sat down to take his share of drinking and pleasure, and his wife at his left side, and Grania beside her again; and Finn, son of Cumhal, at the right hand of the king, and Oisin at the other side, and every other one according to his nobility and his birth. Then Daire of the poems stood up before Grania, and sang the songs and good poems of her fathers to her. And there was sitting near to Grania a knowledgeable man, a Druid of Finn's people, and it was not long until they began to talk together. "Tell me now," said Grania, "who is that man on the right hand of Oisin?" "That is Goll, son of Morna," said the Druid, "the ready fighter." "Who is that beside Goll?" said Grania. "Osgar, son of Oisin," said the Druid. "And who is that thin-legged man beside Osgar?" "That is Caoilte, son of Ronan." "Who is that proud, hasty man beside Caoilte?" "Lugaidh's Son of the Strong Hand." "Who is that sweet-worded man," she said then, "with the dark hair, and cheeks like the rowan berry, on the left side of Oisin, son of Finn?" "That is Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne," said the Druid, "that is the best lover of women in the whole world." "That is a good company," said Grania. And after the feast had gone on a while, their own feast was made for the dogs outside. And the dogs began to fight with one another, and the noise was heard in the hall, and the chief men of the Fianna went to drive them away from one another. Now Diarmuid was used to keep his cap always over the love-spot the woman had left on his forehead, for no woman could see that spot but she would give him her love. And it chanced, while he was driving the dogs apart, the cap fell from him, and Grania was looking cut at him as it fell, and great love for him came on her there and then. And she called her serving-maid to her, and bade her bring the great golden cup that held drink for nine times nine men from the sunny house. And when the serving-maid brought the cup, she filled it with wine that had enchantment in it, and she said: "Give the cup first to Finn, and bid him take a drink from it, and tell him it is I myself sent it to him." So the serving-maid did that, and Finn took the cup and drank out of it, and no sooner did he drink than he fell into a deep sleep. And then the cup was given to the king, and the queen, and the sons of kings, and the whole company, but only Oisin and Osgar and Caoilte and Diarmuid, and Diorraing the Druid. And all that drank of it fell into the same heavy sleep. And when they were all in their sleep, Grania rose up softly from the seat where she was, and she turned her face to Diarmuid, and she said: "Will you take my love, Diarmuid, son of Duibhne, and will you bring me away out of this house to-night?" "I will not," said Diarmuid; "I will not meddle with the woman that is promised to Finn." "If that is so," said Grania, "I put you under Druid bonds, to bring me out of this house to-night before the awaking of Finn and of the King of Ireland from their sleep." "It is under bad bonds you are putting me, Grania," said Diarmuid. "And why is it," he said, "that you put them on me more than on the great men and sons of kings that are in the Middle Court to-night? for there is not one of them all but is as well worthy of a woman's love as myself." "By my hand, Diarmuid, it is not without cause I laid those bonds on you," said Grania; "for I was at the door a while ago when you were parting the dogs," she said, "and my eyes fell on you, and I gave you the love there and then that I never gave to any other, and never will give for ever." "It is a wonder you to give that love to me, and not to Finn," said Diarmuid, "for there is not in Ireland a man is a better lover of a woman than himself. And do you know this, Grania," he said, "the night Finn is in Teamhair it is he himself is the keeper of its gates. And as that is so, we cannot leave the town." "There is a side door of escape at my sunny house," said Grania, "and we will go out by it." "It is a thing I will never do," said Diarmuid, "to go out by any side door of escape at all." "That may be so," said Grania, "but I heard it said that every fighting man has leave to pass over the walls of any dun and of any strong place at all by the shafts of his spears. And I will go out through the door," she said, "and let you follow me like that." With that she went out, and Diarmuid spoke to his people, and it is what he said, "O Oisin, son of Finn, what must I do with these bonds that are laid on me?" "You are not guilty if the bonds were laid on you," said Oisin; "and I tell you to follow Grania, and to keep yourself well out of the hands of Finn." "Osgar, son of Oisin," he said then, "what must I do with these bonds that are put on me?" "I tell you to follow Grania," said Osgar, "for it is a pitiful man that would break his bonds." "What advice do you give me, Caoilte?" said Diarmuid. "It is what I say," said Caoilte, "that I myself have a fitting wife; and that it would be better to me than all the riches of the world Grania to have given me that love." "What advice do you give me, Diorraing?" "I tell you to follow Grania," said Diorraing, "although you will get your death by it, and that is bad to me." "Is that the advice you all give me?" said Diarmuid. "It is," said Oisin, and all the rest with him. With that Diarmuid stood up and stretched out his hand for his weapons, and he said farewell to Oisin and the others, and every tear he shed was of the size of a mountain berry. He went out then to the wall of the dun, and he put the shafts of his two spears under him, and he rose with a light leap and he came down on the grassy earth outside, and Grania met him there. Then Diarmuid said: "It is a bad journey you are come on, Grania. For it would be better for you to have Finn, son of Cumhal, as a lover than myself, for I do not know any part or any western corner of Ireland that will hide you. And if I do bring you with me," he said, "it is not as a wife I will bring you, but I will keep my faith to Finn. And turn back now to the town," he said, "and Finn will never get news of what you are after doing." "It is certain I will not turn back," said Grania, "and I will never part with you till death parts us." "If that is so, let us go on, Grania," said Diarmuid. They went on then, and they were not gone far out from the town when Grania said: "I am getting tired, indeed." "It is a good time to be tired," said Diarmuid, "and go now back again to your own house. For I swear by the word of a true champion," he said, "I will never carry yourself or any other woman to the end of life and time." "That is not what you have to do," said Grania, "for my father's horses are in a grass field by themselves, and chariots with them; and turn back now, and bring two horses of them, and I will wait in this place till you come to me again." Diarmuid went back then for the horses, and we have no knowledge of their journey till they reached to the ford on the Sionnan, that is called now Ath-luain. And Diarmuid said then to Grania: "It is easier to Finn to follow our track, the horses being with us." "If that is so," said Grania: "leave the horses here, and I will go on foot from this out." Diarmuid went down to the river then, and he brought a horse with him over the ford, and left the other horse the far side of the river. And he himself and Grania went a good way with the stream westward, and they went to land at the side of the province of Connacht. And wherever they went, Diarmuid left unbroken bread after him, as a sign to Finn he had kept his faith with him. And from that they went on to Doire-da-Bhoth, the Wood of the Two Huts. And Diarmuid cut down the wood round about them, and he made a fence having seven doors of woven twigs, and he set out a bed of soft rushes and of the tops of the birch-tree for Grania in the very middle of the wood. CHAPTER II. THE PURSUIT And as to Finn, son of Cumhal, I will tell out his story now. All that were in Teamhair rose up early in the morning of the morrow, and they found Diarmuid and Grania were wanting from them, and there came a scorching jealousy and a weakness on Finn. He sent out his trackers then on the plain, and bade them to follow Diarmuid and Grania. And they followed the track as far as the ford on the Sionnan, and Finn and the Fianna followed after them, but they were not able to carry the track across the ford. And Finn gave them his word that unless they would find the track again without delay, he would hang them on each side of the ford. Then the sons of Neamhuin went up against the stream, and they found a horse on each side of it, and then they went on with the stream westward, and they found the track going along the side of the Province of Connacht, and Finn and the Fianna of Ireland followed it on. And Finn said: "I know well where we will find Diarmuid and Grania now; it is in Doire-da-Bhoth they are." Oisin and Osgar and Caoilte and Diorraing were listening when Finn said those words. And Osgar spoke to the others, and it is what he said: "There is danger they might be there, and it would be right for us to give them some warning; and look now, Osgar, where is Bran the hound, for Finn himself is no dearer to him than Diarmuid, and bid him go now with a warning to him." So Osgar told Bran, and Bran understood him well, and she went to the rear of the whole troop the way Finn would not see her, and she followed on the track of Diarmuid and Grania till she came to Doire-da-Bhoth, and she put her head into Diarmuid's bosom, and he in his sleep. Diarmuid started up out of his sleep then, and he awoke Grania, and said to her: "Here is Bran, Finn's hound, and she is come with a warning to tell us Finn himself is coming." "Let us take that warning, then," said Grania, "and make your escape." "I will not take it," said Diarmuid, "for if I cannot escape Finn, I would as soon he took me now as at any other time." When Grania heard that, great fear came on her. Bran went away from them then, and when Oisin saw her coming back, he said: "I am in dread Bran found no chance to get to Diarmuid, and we should send him some other warning. And look where is Fearghoin," he said, "Caoilte's serving-man." Now it was the way with Fearghoin, every shout he would give would be heard in the three nearest hundreds to him. So they made him give out three shouts the way Diarmuid would hear him. And Diarmuid heard him, and he said to Grania: "I hear Caoilte's serving-man, and it is with Caoilte he is, and it is along with Finn Caoilte is, and those shouts were sent as a warning to me." "Take that warning," said Grania. "I will not take it," said Diarmuid, "for Finn and the Fianna will come up with us before we leave the wood." And fear and great dread came on Grania when she heard him say that. As for Finn, he did not leave off following the track till he came to Doire-da-Bhoth, and he sent the sons of Neamhuin to search through the wood, and they saw Diarmuid, and the woman along with him. They came back then where Finn was, and he asked them were Diarmuid and Grania in the wood? "Diarmuid is in it," they said, "and there is some woman with him, but we knew Diarmuid, and we do not know Grania." "May no good come to the friends of Diarmuid for his sake," said Finn, "and he will not quit that wood till he has given me satisfaction for everything he has done to me." "It is jealousy has put you astray, Finn," said Oisin; "you to think Diarmuid would stop here on the plain of Maen Mhagh, and no close place in it but Doire-da-Bhoth, and you following after him." "Saying that will do you no good," said Finn, "for I knew well when I heard the three shouts Caoilte's serving-man gave out, it was you sent them to Diarmuid as a warning. And another thing," he said, "it was you sent my own hound Bran to him. But none of those things you have done will serve you, for he will not leave Doire-da-Bhoth till he gives me satisfaction for everything he has done to me, and every disgrace he has put on me." "It is great foolishness for you, Finn," said Osgar then, "to be thinking Diarmuid would stop in the middle of this plain and you waiting here to strike the head off him." "Who but himself cut the wood this way," said Finn, "and made this close sheltered place with seven woven narrow doors to it. And O Diarmuid," he said out then, "which of us is the truth with, myself or Oisin?" "You never failed from your good judgment, Finn," said Diarmuid, "and indeed I myself and Grania are here." Then Finn called to his men to go around Diarmuid and Grania, and to take them. Now it was shown at this time to Angus Og, at Brugh na Boinne, the great danger Diarmuid was in, that was his pupil at one time, and his dear foster-son. He set out then with the clear cold wind, and did not stop in any place till he came to Doire-da-Bhoth. And he went unknown to Finn or the Fianna into the place where Diarmuid and Grania were, and he spoke kind words to Diarmuid, and he said: "What is the thing you have done, grandson of Duibhne?" "It is," said Diarmuid, "the daughter of the King of Ireland that has made her escape with me from her father and from Finn, and it is not by my will she came." "Let each of you come under a border of my cloak, so," said Angus, "and I will bring you out of the place where you are without knowledge of Finn or his people." "Bring Grania with you," said Diarmuid, "but I will never go with you; but if I am alive I will follow you before long. And if I do not," he said, "give Grania to her father, and he will do well or ill to her." With that Angus put Grania under the border of his cloak, and brought her out unknown to Finn or the Fianna, and there is no news told of them till they came to Ros-da-Shoileach, the Headland of the Two Sallows. And as to Diarmuid, after Angus and Grania going from him, he stood up as straight as a pillar and put on his armour and his arms, and after that he went to a door of the seven doors he had made, and he asked who was at it. "There is no enemy to you here," they said, "for there are here Oisin and Osgar and the best men of the sons of Baiscne along with us. And come out to us now, and no one will have the daring to do any harm or hurt on you." "I will not go out to you," said Diarmuid, "till I see at what door Finn himself is." He went then to another door of the seven and asked who was at it. "Caoilte, son of Ronan, and the rest of the sons of Ronan along with him; and come out to us now, and we will give ourselves for your sake." "I will not go out to you," said Diarmuid, "for I will not put you under Finn's anger for any well-doing to myself." He went on to another door then and asked who was at it. "There is Conan, son of Morna, and the rest of the sons of Morna along with him; and it is enemies to Finn we are, and you are a great deal more to us than he is, and you may come out and no one will dare lay a hand on you." "I will not indeed," said Diarmuid, "for Finn would be better pleased to see the death of every one of you than to let me escape." He went then to another door and asked who was at it. "A friend and a comrade of your own, Fionn, son of Cuadan, head of the Fianna of Munster, and his men along with him; and we are of the one country and the one soil, and we will give our bodies and our lives for your sake." "I will not go out to you," said Diarmuid, "for I would not like Finn to have a grudge against you for any good you did to me." He went then to another door and asked who was at it. "It is Fionn, son of Glor, head of the Fianna of Ulster, and his men along him; and come out now to us and there is no one will dare hurt or harm you." "I will not go out to you," said Diarmuid, "for you are a friend to me, and your father along with you, and I would not like the unfriendliness of Finn to be put on you for my sake." He went then to another door, and he asked who was at it. "There is no friend of yours here," they said, "for there is here Aodh Beag the Little from Eamhuin, and Aodh Fada the Long from Eamhuin, and Caol Crodha the Fierce, and Goineach the Wounder, and Gothan the White-fingered, and Aoife his daughter, and Cuadan the Tracker from Eamhuin; and we are unfriendly people to you, and if you come out to us we will not spare you at all, but will make an end of you." "It is a bad troop is in it," said Diarmuid; "you of the lies and of the tracking and of the one shoe, and it is not fear of your hands is upon me, but because I am your enemy I will not go out." He went then to the last of the seven doors and asked who was at it. "No friend of yours," they said, "but it is Finn, son of Cumhal, and four hundred paid fighting men along with him; and if you will come out to us we will make opened marrow of you." "I give you my word, Finn," said Diarmuid, "that the door you are at yourself is the first door I will pass out of." When Finn heard that, he warned his battalions on pain of lasting death not to let Diarmuid past them unknown. But when Diarmuid heard what he said, he rose on the staves of his spears and he went with a very high, light leap on far beyond Finn and his people, without their knowledge. He looked back at them then, and called out that he had gone past them, and he put his shield on his back and went straight on towards the west, and it was not long before he was out of sight of Finn and the Fianna. Then when he did not see any one coming after him, he turned back to where he saw Angus and Grania going out of the wood, and he followed on their track till he came to Ros-da-Shoileach. He found Angus and Grania there in a sheltered, well-lighted cabin, and a great blazing fire kindled in it, and the half of a wild boar on spits. Diarmuid greeted them, and the life of Grania all to went out of her with joy before him. Diarmuid told them his news from beginning to end, and they ate their share that night, and they went to sleep till the coming of the day and of the full light on the morrow. And Angus rose up early, and he said to Diarmuid: "I am going from you now, grandson of Duibhne; and I leave this advice with you," he said, "not to go into a tree with one trunk, and you flying before Finn, and not to be going into a cave of the earth that has but one door, and not to be going to an island of the sea that has but one harbour. And in whatever place you cook your share of food," he said, "do not eat it there; and in whatever place you eat it, do not lie down there; and in whatever place you lie down, do not rise up there on the morrow." He said farewell to them after that, and went his way. CHAPTER III. THE GREEN CHAMPIONS Then Diarmuid and Grania went along the right bank of the Sionnan westward till they came to Garbh-abha-na-Fiann, the rough river of the Fianna. And Diarmuid killed a salmon on the brink of the river, and put it to the fire on a spit. Then he himself and Grania went across the stream to eat it, as Angus bade them; and then they went westward to sleep. They rose up early on the morrow, and they travelled straight westward till they came to the marsh of Finnliath. And on the marsh they met with a young man, having a good shape and appearance, but without fitting dress or arms. Diarmuid greeted the young man, and asked news of him. "A fighting lad I am, looking for a master," he said, "and Muadhan is my name." "What would you do for me, young man?" said Diarmuid. "I would be a servant to you in the day, and watch for you in the night," he said. "I tell you to keep that young man," said Grania, "for you cannot be always without people." Then they made an agreement with him, and bound one another, and they went on together westward till they reached the Carrthach river. And then Muadhan bade Diarmuid and Grania to go up on his back till he would carry them over the stream. "That would be a big load for you," said Grania. But he put them upon his back and carried them over. Then they went on till they came to the Beith, and Muadhan brought them over on his back the same way. And they went into a cave at the side of Currach Cinn Adhmuid, the Woody Headland of the Bog, over Tonn Toime, and Muadhan made ready beds of soft rushes and tops of the birch for them in the far end of the cave. And he went himself into the scrub that was near, and took a straight long rod of a quicken-tree, and he put a hair and a hook on the rod, and a holly berry on the hook, and he went up the stream, and he took a salmon with the first cast. Then he put on a second berry and killed another fish, and he put on a third berry and killed the third fish. Then he put the hook and the hair under his belt, and struck the rod into the earth, and he brought the three salmon where Diarmuid and Grania were, and put them on spits. When they were done, Muadhan said: "I give the dividing of the fish to you, Diarmuid." "I would sooner you to divide it than myself," said Diarmuid. "I will give the dividing of the fish to you, so, Grania," said he. "I am better satisfied you to divide it," said Grania. "If it was you that divided the fish, Diarmuid," said Muadhan, "you would have given the best share to Grania; and if it was Grania divided it, she would have given you the best share; and as it is myself is dividing it, let you have the biggest fish, Diarmuid, and let Grania have the second biggest, and I myself will have the one is smallest." They spent the night there, and Diarmuid and Grania slept in the far part of the cave, and Muadhan kept watch for them until the rising of the day and the full light of the morrow. Diarmuid rose up early, and he bade Grania keep watch for Muadhan, and that he himself would go and take a walk around the country. He went out then, and he went up on a hill that was near, and he was looking about him, east and west, north and south. He was not long there till he saw a great fleet of ships coming from the west, straight to the bottom of the hill where he was. And when they were come to land, nine times nine of the chief men of the ships came on shore, and Diarmuid went down and greeted them, and asked news of them, and to what country they belonged. "Three kings we are of the Green Champions of Muir-na-locht," said they; "and Finn, son of Cumhal, sent looking for us by cause of a thief of the woods, and an enemy of his own that has gone hiding from him; and it is to hinder him we are come. And we are twenty hundred good fighting men, and every one of us is a match for a hundred, and besides that," he said, "we have three deadly hounds with us; fire will not burn them, and water will not drown them, and arms will not redden on them, and we will lay them on his track, and it will be short till we get news of him. And tell us who you are yourself?" they said, "and have you any word of the grandson of Duibhne?" "I saw him yesterday," said Diarmuid; "and I myself," he said, "am but a fighting man, walking the world by the strength of my hand and by the hardness of my sword. And by my word," he said, "you will know Diarmuid's hand when you will meet it." "Well, we found no one up to this," said they. "What are your own names?" said Diarmuid. "Dubh-chosach, the Black-footed, Fionn-chosach, the Fair-footed, and Treun-chosach, the Strong-footed," they said. "Is there wine in your ships?" said Diarmuid. "There is," said they. "If you have a mind to bring out a tun of wine," said Diarmuid, "I will do a trick for you." They sent men to get the tun, and when it came Diarmuid took it between his two hands and drank a drink out of it, and the others drank what was left of it. Diarmuid took up the tun after that, and brought it to the top of the hill, and he went up himself on the tun, and let it go down the steep of the hill till it was at the bottom. And then he brought the tun up the hill again, and he himself on it coming and going, and he did that trick three times before the strangers. But they said he was a man had never seen a good trick when he called that a trick; and with that a man of them went up on the tun, but Diarmuid gave a stroke of his foot at it and the young man fell from it before it began to move, and it rolled over him and crushed him, that he died. And another man went on it, and another after him again, till fifty of them were killed trying to do Diarmuid's trick, and as many of them as were not killed went back to their ships that night. Diarmuid went back then to where he left Grania; and Muadhan put the hair and the hook on the rod till he killed three salmon; and they ate their meal that night, and he kept watch for them the same way he did before. Diarmuid went out early the next day again to the hill, and it was not long till he saw the three strangers coming towards him, and he asked them would they like to see any more tricks. They said they would sooner get news of the grandson of Duibhne. "I saw a man that saw him yesterday," said Diarmuid. And with that he put off his arms and his clothes, all but the shirt that was next his skin, and he struck the Crann Buidhe, the spear of Manannan, into the earth with the point upwards. And then he rose with a leap and lit on the point of the spear as light as a bird, and came down off it again without a wound on him. Then a young man of the Green Champions said: "It is a man has never seen feats that would call that a feat"; and he put off his clothing and made a leap, and if he did he came down heavily on the point of the spear, and it went through his heart, and he fell to the ground. The next day Diarmuid came again, and he brought two forked poles out of the wood and put them standing upright on the hill, and he put the sword of Angus Og, the Mor-alltach, the Big-fierce one, between the two forks on its edge. Then he raised himself lightly over it, and walked on the sword three times from the hilt to the point, and he came down and asked was there a man of them could do that feat. "That is a foolish question," said a man of them then, "for there was never any feat done in Ireland but a man of our own would do it." And with that he rose up to walk on the sword; but it is what happened, he came down heavily on it the way he was cut in two halves. The rest of the champions bade him take away his sword then, before any more of their people would fall by it; and they asked him had he any word of the grandson of Duibhne. "I saw a man that saw him to-day," said Diarmuid, "and I will go ask news of him to-night." He went back then to where Grania was, and Muadhan killed three salmon for their supper, and kept a watch for them through the night. And Diarmuid rose up at the early break of day, and he put his battle clothes on him, that no weapon could go through, and he took the sword of Angus, that left no leavings after it, at his left side, and his two thick-handled spears, the Gae Buidhe and the Gae Dearg, the Yellow and the Red, that gave wounds there was no healing for. And then he wakened Grania, and he bade her to keep watch for Muadhan, and he himself would go out and take a look around. When Grania saw him looking so brave, and dressed in his clothes of anger and of battle, great fear took hold of her, and she asked what was he going to do. "It is for fear of meeting my enemies I am like this," said he. That quieted Grania, and then Diarmuid went out to meet the Green Champions. They came to land then, and they asked had he news of the grandson of Duibhne. "I saw him not long ago," said Diarmuid. "If that is so, let us know where is he," said they, "till we bring his head to Finn, son of Cumhal." "I would be keeping bad watch for him if I did that," said Diarmuid, "for his life and his body are under the protection of my valour, and by reason of that I will do no treachery on him." "Is that true?" said they. "It is true indeed," said Diarmuid. "Let you yourself quit this place, so," they said, "or we will bring your head to Finn since you are an enemy to him." "It is in bonds I would be," said Diarmuid, "the time I would leave my head with you." And with that he drew his sword the Mor-alltach out of its sheath, and he made a fierce blow at the head nearest him that put it in two halves. Then he made an attack on the whole host of the Green Champions, and began to destroy them, cutting through the beautiful shining armour of the men of Muir-na-locht till there was hardly a man but got shortening of life and the sorrow of death, or that could go back to give news of the fight, but only the three kings and a few of their people that made their escape back to their ships. Diarmuid turned back then without wound or hurt on him, and he went to where Crania and Muadhan were. They bade him welcome, and Grania asked him did he hear any news of Finn and the Fianna of Ireland, and he said he did not, and they ate their food and spent the night there. He rose up again with the early light of the morrow and went back to the hill, and when he got there he struck a great blow on his shield that set the strand shaking with the sound. And Dubh-chosach heard it, and he said he himself would go fight with Diarmuid, and he went on shore there and then. And he and Diarmuid threw the arms out of their hands and rushed on one another like wrestlers, straining their arms and their sinews, knotting their hands on one another's backs, fighting like bulls in madness, or like two daring hawks on the edge of a cliff. But at the last Diarmuid raised up Dubh-chosach on his shoulder and threw his body to the ground, and bound him fast and firm on the spot. And Fionn-chosach and Treun-chosach came one after the other to fight with him then, and he put the same binding on them; and he said he would strike the heads off them, only he thought it a worse punishment to leave them in those bonds. "For there is no one can free you," he said. And he left them there, worn out and sorrowful. The next morning after that, Diarmuid told Grania the whole story of the strangers from beginning to end, and of all he had done to them, and how on the fifth day he had put their kings in bonds. "And they have three fierce hounds in a chain ready to hunt me," he said. "Did you take the heads off those three kings?" said Grania, "I did not," said Diarmuid, "for there is no man of the heroes of Ireland can loosen those bonds but four only, Oisin, son of Finn, and Osgar, son of Oisin, and Lugaidh's Son of the Strong Hand, and Conan, son of Morna; and I know well," he said, "none of those four will do it. But all the same, it is short till Finn will get news of them, and it is best for us to be going from this cave, or Finn and the three hounds might come on us." After that they left the cave, and they went on till they came to the bog of Finnliath. Grania began to fall behind them, and Muadhan put her on his back and carried her till they came to the great Slieve Luachra. Then Diarmuid sat down on the brink of the stream that was flowing through the heart of the mountain, and Grania was washing her hands, and she asked his knife from him to cut her nails with. As to the strangers, as many of them as were alive yet, they came to the hill where their three leaders were bound, and they thought to loose them; but it is the way those bonds were, all they did by meddling with them was to draw them tighter. And they were not long there till they saw a woman coming towards them with the quickness of a swallow or a weasel or a blast of wind over bare mountain-tops. And she asked them who was it had done that great slaughter on them. "Who are you that is asking that?" said they. "I am the Woman of the Black Mountain, the woman-messenger of Finn, son of Cumhal," she said; "and it is looking for you Finn sent me." "Indeed we do not know who it was did this slaughter," they said, "but we will tell you his appearance. A young man he was, having dark curling hair and ruddy cheeks. And it is worse again to us," they said, "our three leaders to be bound this way, and we not able to loose them." "What way did that young man go from you?" said the woman. "It was late last night he left us," they said, "and we do not know where is he gone." "I give you my word," she said, "it was Diarmuid himself that was in it; and take your hounds now and lay them on his track, and I will send Finn and the Fianna of Ireland to you." They left a woman-Druid then attending on the three champions that were bound, and they brought their three hounds out of the ship and laid them on Diarmuid's track, and followed them till they came to the opening of the cave, and they went into the far part of it and found the beds where Diarmuid and Crania had slept. Then they went on westward till they came to the Carrthach river, and to the bog of Finnliath, and so on to the great Slieve Luachra. But Diarmuid did not know they were after him till he got sight of them with their banners of soft silk and their three wicked hounds in the front of the troop and three strong champions holding them in chains. And when he saw them coming like that he was filled with great hatred of them. There was one of them had a well-coloured green cloak on him, and he came out far beyond the others, and Grania gave the knife back to Diarmuid. "I think you have not much love for that young man of the green cloak, Grania," said Diarmuid. "I have not indeed," said Grania; "and it would be better if I had never given love to any man at all to this day." Diarmuid put the knife in the sheath then, and went on; and Muadhan put Grania on his back and carried her on into the mountain. It was not long till a hound of the three hounds was loosed after Diarmuid, and Muadhan said to him to follow Grania, and he himself would check the hound. Then Muadhan turned back, and he took a whelp out of his belt, and put it on the flat of his hand. And when the whelp saw the hound rushing towards him, and its jaws open, he rose up and made a leap from Muadhan's hand into the throat of the hound, and came out of its side, bringing the heart with it, and he leaped back again to Muadhan's hand, and left the hound dead after him. Muadhan went on then after Diarmuid and Grania, and he took up Grania again and carried her a bit of the way into the mountain. Then another hound was loosened after them, and Diarmuid said to Muadhan: "I often heard there is nothing can stand against weapons of Druid wounding, and the throat of no beast can be made safe from them. And will you stand now," he said, "till I put the Gae Dearg, the Red Spear, through that hound." Then Muadhan and Grania stopped to see the cast. And Diarmuid made a cast at the hound, and the spear went through its body and brought out its bowels; and he took up the spear again, and they went forward. It was not long after that the third hound was loosed. And Grania said then: "This is the one is fiercest of them, and there is great fear on me, and mind yourself now, Diarmuid." It was not long till the hound overtook them, and the place he overtook them was Lic Dhubhain, the flag-stone of Dubhan, on Slieve Luachra. He rose with a light leap over Diarmuid, as if he had a mind to seize on Grania, but Diarmuid took him by the two hind legs, and struck a blow of his carcase against the side of the rock was nearest, till he had let out his brains through the openings of his head and of his ears. And then Diarmuid took up his arms and his battle clothes, and put his narrow-topped finger into the silken string of the Gae Dearg, and he made a good cast at the young man of the green cloak that was at the head of the troop that killed him. Then he made another cast at the second man and killed him, and the third man in the same way. And as it is not the custom to stand after leaders are fallen, the strangers when they saw what had happened took to flight. And Diarmuid followed after them, killing and scattering, so that unless any man of them got away over the forests, or into the green earth, or under the waters, there was not a man or messenger of them left to tell the news, but only the Woman-messenger of the Black Mountain, that kept moving around about when Diarmuid was putting down the strangers. And it was not long till Finn saw her coming towards him where he was, her legs failing, and her tongue muttering, and her eyes drooping, and he asked news of her. "It is very bad news I have to tell you," she said; "and it is what I think, that it is a person without a lord I am." Then she told Finn the whole story from beginning to end, of the destruction Diarmuid had done, and how the three deadly hounds had fallen by him. "And it is hardly I myself got away," she said. "What place did the grandson of Duibhne go to?" said Finn. "I do not know that," she said. And when Finn heard of the Kings of the Green Champions that were bound by Diarmuid, he called his men to him, and they went by every short way and every straight path till they reached the hill, and it was torment to the heart of Finn to see the way they were. Then he said: "Oisin," he said, "loosen those three kings for me." "I will not loosen them," said Oisin, "for Diarmuid put bonds on me not to loosen any man he would bind." "Loosen them, Osgar," said Finn then. "I give my word," said Osgar, "it is more bonds I would wish to put on them sooner than to loosen them." Neither would Conan help them, or Lugaidh's Son. And any way, they were not long talking about it till the three kings died under the hardness of the bonds that were on them. Then Finn made three wide-sodded graves for them, and a flag-stone was put over them, and another stone raised over that again, and their names were written in branching Ogham, and it is tired and heavy-hearted Finn was after that; and he and his people went back to Almhuin of Leinster. CHAPTER IV. THE WOOD OF DUBHROS And as to Diarmuid and Grania and Muadhan, they went on through Ui Chonaill Gabhra, and left-hand ways to Ros-da-Shoileach, and Diarmuid killed a wild deer that night, and they had their fill of meat and of pure water, and they slept till the morning of the morrow. And Muadhan rose up early, and spoke to Diarmuid, and it is what he said, that he himself was going away. "It is not right for you to do that," said Diarmuid, "for everything I promised you I fulfilled it, without any dispute." But he could not hinder him, and Muadhan said farewell to them and left them there and then, and it is sorrowful and downhearted Diarmuid and Grania were after him. After that they travelled on straight to the north, to Slieve Echtge, and from that to the hundred of Ui Fiachrach; and when they got there Grania was tired out, but she took courage and went on walking beside Diarmuid till they came to the wood of Dubhros. Now, there was a wonderful quicken-tree in that wood, and the way it came to be there is this: There rose a dispute one time between two women of the Tuatha de Danaan, Aine and Aoife, daughters of Manannan, son of Lir, for Aoife had given her love to Lugaidh's Son, and Aine had given her love to a man of her own race, and each of them said her own man was a better hurler than the other. And it came from that dispute that there was a great hurling match settled between the Men of Dea and the Fianna of Ireland, and the place it was to be played was on a beautiful plain near Loch Lein. They all came together there, and the highest men and the most daring of the Tuatha de Danaan were there, the three Garbhs of Slieve Mis, and the three Mases of Slieve Luachra, and the three yellow-haired Murchadhs, and the three Eochaidhs of Aine, and the three Fionns of the White House, and the three Sgals of Brugh na Boinne, and the three Ronans of Ath na Riogh, and the Suirgheach Suairc, the Pleasant Wooer from Lionan, and the Man of Sweet Speech from the Boinn, and Ilbrec, the Many-Coloured, son of Manannan, and Neamhanach, son of Angus Og, and Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda, and Manannan, son of Lir. They themselves and the Fianna were playing the match through the length of three days and three nights, from Leamhain to the valley of the Fleisg, that is called the Crooked Valley of the Fianna, and neither of them winning a goal. And when the Tuatha de Danaan that were watching the game on each side of Leamhain saw it was so hard for their hurlers to win a goal against the Fianna, they thought it as well to go away again without playing out the game. Now the provision the Men of Dea had brought with them from the Land of Promise was crimson nuts, and apples, and sweet-smelling rowan berries. And as they were passing through the district of Ui Fiachrach by the Muaidh, a berry of the rowan berries fell from them, and a tree grew up from it. And there was virtue in its berries, and no sickness or disease would ever come on any person that would eat them, and those that would eat them would feel the liveliness of wine and the satisfaction of mead in them, and any old person of a hundred years that would eat them would go back to be young again, and any young girl that would eat them would grow to be a flower of beauty. And it happened one time after the tree was grown, there were messengers of the Tuatha de Danaan going through the wood of Dubhros. And they heard a great noise of birds and of bees, and they went where the noise was, and they saw the beautiful Druid tree. They went back then and told what they had seen, and all the chief men of the Tuatha de Danaan when they heard it knew the tree must have grown from a berry of the Land of the Ever-Living Living Ones. And they enquired among all their people, till they knew it was a young man of them, that was a musician, had dropped the berry. And it is what they agreed, to send him in search of a man of Lochlann that would guard the tree by day and sleep in it by night. And the women of the Sidhe were very downhearted to see him going from them, for there was no harper could play half so sweetly on his harp as he could play on an ivy leaf. He went on then till he came to Lochlann, and he sat down on a bank and sleep came on him. And he slept till the rising of the sun on the morrow; and when he awoke he saw a very big man coming towards him, that asked him who was he. "I am a messenger from the Men of Dea," he said; "and I am come looking for some very strong man that would be willing to guard a Druid tree that is in the wood of Dubhros. And here are some of the berries he will be eating from morning to night," he said. And when the big man had tasted the berries, he said: "I will go and guard all the trees of the wood to get those berries." And his name was the Searbhan Lochlannach, the Surly One of Lochlann. Very black and ugly he was, having crooked teeth, and one eye only in the middle of his forehead. And he had a thick collar of iron around his body, and it was in the prophecy that he would never die till there would be three strokes of the iron club he had, struck upon himself. And he slept in the tree by night and stopped near it in the daytime, and he made a wilderness of the whole district about him, and none of the Fianna dared go hunt there because of the dread of him that was on them. But when Diarmuid came to the wood of Dubhros, he went into it to where the Surly One was, and he made bonds of agreement with him, and got leave from him to go hunting in the wood, so long as he would not touch the berries of the tree. And he made a cabin then for himself and for Grania in the wood. As for Finn and his people, they were not long at Almhuin till they saw fifty armed men coming towards them, and two that were taller and handsomer than the rest in the front of them. Finn asked did any of his people know them. "We do not know them," they said, "but maybe you yourself know them, Finn." "I do not," he said; "but it seems to be they are enemies to myself." The troop of armed men came up to them then and they greeted him, and Finn asked news of them, and from what country they came. "I am Aonghus, son of Art Og of the children of Morna," one of them said, "and this is Aodh, son of Andela; and we are enemies of your own, and our fathers were at the killing of your father, and they themselves died for that deed. And it is to ask peace we are come now to you," they said. "Where were you the time my father was killed?" "In our mothers' wombs," said they; "and our mothers were two women of the Tuatha de Danaan, and it is time for us now to get our father's place among the Fianna." "I will give you that," said Finn, "but I must put a fine on you first in satisfaction for my father's death." "We have neither gold or silver or goods or cattle to give you, Finn," said they. "Do not put a fine on them, Finn," said Oisin, "beyond the death of their fathers for your father." "It is what I think," said Finn, "if any one killed myself, Oisin, it would be easy to pay the fine you would ask. And there will no one come among the Fianna," he said, "without giving what I ask in satisfaction for my father's death." "What is it you are asking of us?" said Aonghus, son of Art Og. "I am asking but the head of a champion, or the full of a fist of the berries of the quicken-tree at Dubhros." "I will give you a good advice, children of Morna," said Oisin, "to go back to the place you were reared, and not to ask peace of Finn through the length of your lives. For it is not an easy thing Finn is asking of you; and do you know whose head he is asking you to bring him?" "We do not," said they. "The head of Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne, is the head he is asking of you. And if you were twenty hundred men in their full strength, Diarmuid would not let you take that head." "And what are the berries Finn is asking of us?" they said then. "There is nothing is harder for you to get than those berries," said Oisin. He told them then the whole story of the tree, and of the Searbhan, the Surly One of Lochlann, that was put to mind it by the Tuatha de Danaan. But Aodh, son of Andela, spoke then, and it is what he said, that he would sooner get his death looking for those berries than to go home again to his mother's country. And he said to Oisin to care his people till he would come back again, and if anything should happen himself and his brother in their journey, to send them back again to the Land of Promise. And the two said farewell then to Oisin and to the chief men of the Fianna, and they went forward till they reached Dubhros. And they went along the wood till they found a track, and they followed it to the door of the hunting-cabin where Diarmuid and Grania were. Diarmuid heard them coming, and he put his hand on his weapons and asked who was at the door. "We are of the children of Morna," they said, "Aodh, son of Andela, and Aonghus, son of Art Og." "What brings you to this wood?" said Diarmuid. "Finn, son of Cumhal, that put us looking for your head, if you are Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne," said they. "I am indeed," said Diarmuid. "If that is so," they said, "Finn will take nothing from us but your head, or a fistful of the berries of the quicken-tree of Dubhros as satisfaction for the death of his father." "It is not easy for you to get either of those things," said Diarmuid, "and it is a pity for any one to be under the power of that man. And besides that," he said, "I know it was he himself made an end of your fathers, and that was enough satisfaction for him to get; and if you do bring him what he asks, it is likely he will not make peace with you in the end." "Is it not enough for you," said Aodh, "to have brought his wife away from Finn without speaking ill of him?" "It is not for the sake of speaking ill of him I said that," said Diarmuid, "but to save yourselves from the danger he has sent you into." "What are those berries Finn is asking?" said Grania, "that they cannot be got for him?" Diarmuid told her then the whole story of the berry the Tuatha de Danaan had lost, and of the tree that had sprung up from it, and of the man of Lochlann that was keeping the tree. "And at the time Finn sent me hiding here and became my enemy," he said, "I got leave from the Surly One to hunt, but he bade me never to meddle with the berries. And now, sons of Morna," he said, "there is your choice, to fight with me for my head, or to go asking the berries of the Surly One." "I swear by the blood of my people," said each of them, "I will fight with yourself first." With that the two young men made ready for the fight. And it is what they chose, to fight with the strength of their hands alone. And Diarmuid put them down and bound the two of them there and then. "That is a good fight you made," said Grania. "But, by my word," she said, "although the children of Morna do not go looking for those berries, I will not lie in a bed for ever till I get a share of them; and I will not live if I do not get them," she said. "Do not make me break my peace with the Surly One," said Diarmuid, "for he will not let me take them." "Loose these tyings from us," said the two young men, "and we will go with you, and we will give ourselves for your sake." "You must not come with me," said Diarmuid; "for if you got the full of your eyes of that terrible one, you would be more likely to die than to live." "Well, do us this kindness," they said then; "loosen these bonds on us, and give us time to go by ourselves and see the fight before you strike off our heads." So Diarmuid did that for them. Then Diarmuid went to the Surly One, and he chanced to be asleep before him, and he gave him a stroke of his foot the way he lifted his head and looked up at him, and he said: "Have you a mind to break our peace, Grandson of Duibhne?" "That is not what I want," said Diarmuid; "but it is Grania, daughter of the High King," he said, "has a desire to taste those berries, and it is to ask a handful of them I am come." "I give my word," said he, "if she is to die for it, she will never taste a berry of those berries." "I would not do treachery on you," said Diarmuid; "and so I tell you, willing or unwilling, I will take those berries from you." When the Surly One heard that, he rose up on his feet and lifted his club and struck three great blows on Diarmuid, that gave him some little hurt in spite of his shield. But when Diarmuid saw him not minding himself, he threw down his weapons, and made a great leap and took hold of the club with his two hands. And when he had a hold of the club he struck three great blows on him that put his brains out through his head. And the two young men of the sons of Morna were looking at the whole fight; and when they saw the Surly One was killed they came out. And Diarmuid sat down, for he was spent with the dint of the fight, and he bid the young men to bury the body under the thickets of the wood, the way Grania would not see it. "And after that," he said, "let you go back to her and bring her here." So they dragged away the body and buried it, and they went then for Grania and brought her to Diarmuid. "There are the berries you were asking, Grania," he said, "and you may take what you like of them now." "I give my word," said Grania, "I will not taste a berry of those berries but the one your own hand will pluck, Diarmuid." Diarmuid rose up then and plucked the berries for Grania, and for the children of Morna, and they ate their fill of them. And he said then to the young men: "Take all you can of these berries, and bring them with you to Finn, and tell him it was yourselves made an end of the Surly One of Lochlann." "We give you our word," said they, "we begrudge giving any of them to Finn." But Diarmuid plucked a load of the berries for them, and they gave him great thanks for all he had done; and they went back to where Finn was with the Fianna. And Diarmuid and Grania went up into the top of the tree where the bed of the Surly One was. And the berries below were but bitter berries beside the ones above in the tree. And when the two young men came to Finn, he asked news of them. "We have killed the Surly One of Lochlann," they said; "and we have brought you berries from the quicken-tree of Dubhros, in satisfaction for your father, that we may get peace from you." They gave the berries then into Finn's hand, and he knew them, and he said to the young men: "I give you my word," he said, "it was Diarmuid himself plucked those berries, for I know the smell of his hand on them; and I know well it was he killed the Surly One, and I will go now and see is he himself alive at the quicken-tree." After that he called for the seven battalions of the Fianna, and he set out and went forward to Dubhros. And they followed the track of Diarmuid to the foot of the quicken-tree, and they found the berries without protection, so they ate their fill of them. And the great heat of the day came on them, and Finn said they would stop where they were till the heat would be past; "for I know well," he said, "Diarmuid is up in the quicken-tree." "It is a great sign of jealousy in you, Finn," said Oisin, "to think that Diarmuid would stop there up in the quicken-tree and he knowing you are wanting to kill him." Finn asked for a chess-board after that, and he said to Oisin: "I will play a game with you now on this." They sat down then, Oisin and Osgar and Lugaidh's Son and Diorraing on the one side of the board, and Finn on the other side. And they were playing that game with great skill and knowledge, and Finn pressed Oisin so hard that he had no move to make but the one, and Finn said: "There is one move would win the game for you, Oisin, and I defy all that are with you to show you that move." Then Diarmuid said up in the tree where he was, and no one heard him but Grania: "It is a pity you be in straits, and without myself to show you that move." "It is worse off you are yourself," said Grania, "to be in the bed of the Surly One of Lochlann in the top of the quicken-tree, and the seven battalions of the Fianna round about it to take your life." But Diarmuid took a berry of the tree, and aimed at the one of the chessmen that ought to be moved, and Oisin moved it and turned the game against Finn by that move. It was not long before the game was going against Oisin the second time, and when Diarmuid saw that he threw another berry at the chessman it was right to move, and Oisin moved it and turned the game against Finn in the same way. And the third time Finn was getting the game from Oisin, and Diarmuid threw the third berry on the man that would give the game to Oisin, and the Fianna gave a great shout when the game was won. Finn spoke then, and it is what he said: "It is no wonder you to win the game, Oisin, and you having the help of Osgar, and the watchfulness of Diorraing, and the skill of Lugaidh's Son, and the teaching of the grandson of Duibhne with you." "That is a great sign of jealousy in you, Finn," said Osgar, "to think Diarmuid would stop in this tree, and you so near him." "Which of us has the truth, Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne," Finn said out then, "myself or Osgar?" "You never lost your good judgment, Finn," said Diarmuid then; "and I myself and Grania are here, in the bed of the Surly One of Lochlann." Then Diarmuid rose up and gave three kisses to Grania in the sight of Finn and the Fianna. And a scorching jealousy and a weakness came on Finn when he saw that, and he said: "It was worse to me, Diarmuid, the seven battalions of the Fianna to see what you did at Teamhair, taking away Grania the night you were yourself my guard. But for all that," he said, "you will give your head for the sake of those three kisses." With that Finn called to the four hundred paid fighting men that were with him that they might make an end of Diarmuid; and he put their hands into one another's hands around that quicken-tree, and bade them, if they would not lose their lives, not to let Diarmuid pass out through them. And he said that to whatever man would take Diarmuid, he would give his arms and his armour, and a place among the Fianna of Ireland. Then one of the Fianna, Garbh of Slieve Cua, said it was Diarmuid had killed his own father, and he would avenge him now, and he went up the quicken-tree to make an end of him. Now, about that time it was made known to Angus Og, in Brugh na Boinne, the danger Diarmuid was in, and he came to his help, unknown to the Fianna. And when Garbh of Slieve Cua was coming up the tree, Diarmuid gave him a kick of his foot, and he fell down among the hired men, and they struck off his head, for Angus Og had put the appearance of Diarmuid on him. But after he was killed, his own shape came on him again, and the Fianna knew that it was Garbh was killed. Then Garbh of Slieve Crot said it was Diarmuid had killed his father, and he went up to avenge him, and the same thing happened. And in the end all the nine Garbhs, of Slieve Guaire, and Slieve Muice, and Slieve Mor, and Slieve Lugha, and Ath Fraoch, and Slieve Mis and Drom-mor, went trying to take Diarmuid's life and lost their own lives, every one of them having the shape and appearance of Diarmuid when he died. And Finn was very sorry and discouraged when he saw that these nine men had come to their death. Then Angus said he would bring away Grania with him. "Do so," said Diarmuid; "and if I am living at evening I will follow you." Then Angus said farewell to Diarmuid, and he put his Druid cloak about Grania and about himself, and they went away in the safety of the cloak, unknown to Finn and the Fianna, till they came to Brugh na Boinne. Then Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne, spoke, and it is what he said: "I will come down to you, Finn, and to the Fianna. And I will do death and destruction on you and on your people, for I am certain your mind is made up to give me no rest, but to bring me to my death in some place. And I have nowhere to go from this danger," he said, "for I have no friend or comrade under whose protection I could go in any far part of the great world, for it is often I fought against the men of the great world for love of you. For there never came battle or fight, danger or trouble on you, but I would go into it for your sake and the sake of the Fianna; and not only that, but I would fight before you and after you. And I give my word, Finn," he said, "you will pay hard for me, and you will not get me as a free gift." "It is the truth Diarmuid is speaking," said Osgar, "and give him forgiveness now, and peace." "I will not do that," said Finn, "to the end of life and time; and he will not get peace or rest for ever till I get satisfaction from him for every reproach he has put on me." "It is a great shame and a great sign of jealousy you to say that," said Osgar. "And I give the word of a true champion," he said, "that unless the skies come down upon me, or the earth opens under my feet, I will not let you or any one of the Fianna of Ireland give him cut or wound; and I take his body and his life under the protection of my valour, and I will keep him safe against all the men of Ireland." "Those are big words you have, Osgar," said Goll then, "to say you would bring a man away in spite of all the men of Ireland." "It is not you will raise them up against me, Goll," said Osgar, "for none of them would mind what you would say." "If that is what you are saying, you champion of great fights," said Goll, "let us see now what you can do." "You will have to go through with the fight you have taken on yourself," said Corrioll, son of Goll, in a loud voice. And Osgar answered him fiercely: "If I do I will shorten your bones, and your father's bones along with them. And come down now, Diarmuid," he said, "since Finn has no mind to leave you in peace, and I promise on my body and my life there will no harm be done to you to-day." Then Diarmuid stood up on a high bough of the boughs of the tree, and he rose with a light leap by the shaft of his spear, and lit on the grass far beyond Finn and the Fianna. And he himself and Osgar went towards one another, in spite of the Fianna that went between them, and Diarmuid struck down those that were in his way; and as to Osgar, the throwing of his spears as he scattered the Fianna was like the sound of the wind going through a valley, or water falling over flag-stones. And Conan, that was always bitter, said: "Let the sons of Baiscne go on killing one another." But Finn, when he saw Diarmuid was gone from him, bade them put their weapons up, and turn back again to Almhuin. And he sent those of his men that could be healed to places of healing, and the nine Garbhs, and the others of his men that were killed, he put into wide-sodded graves. And it is tired and downhearted and sorrowful he was after that, and he made an oath he would take no great rest till he would have avenged on Diarmuid all that he had done. CHAPTER V. THE QUARREL And as to Osgar and Diarmuid, they went on, and no cut or wound on them, to where Angus and Grania were at Brugh na Boinne; and there was a good welcome before them, and Diarmuid told them the whole story from beginning to end, and it is much that Grania did not die then and there, hearing all he had gone through. And then she and Diarmuid set out again, and they went and stopped for a while in a cave that was near the sea. And one night while they were there a great storm came on, so that they went into the far part of the cave. But bad as the night was, a man of the Fomor, Ciach, the Fierce One, his name was, came over the western ocean in a currach, with two oars, and he drew it into the cave for shelter. And Diarmuid bade him welcome, and they sat down to play chess together. And he got the best of the game, and what he asked as his winnings was Grania to be his wife, and he put his arms about her as if to bring her away. And Grania said: "I am this long time going with the third best man of the Fianna, and he never came as near as that to me." And Diarmuid took his sword to kill Ciach, and there was anger on Grania when she saw that, and she had a knife in her hand and she struck it into Diarmuid's thigh. And Diarmuid made an end of the Fomor, and he said no word to Grania, but ran out and away through the storm. And Grania went following after him, and calling to him, but there was great anger on him and he would not answer her. And at last at the break of day she overtook him, and after a while they heard the cry of a heron, and she asked him what was it made the heron cry out. "Tell me that," she said, "Grandson of Duibhne, to whom I gave my love." And Diarmuid said: "O Grania, daughter of the High King, woman who never took a step aright, it is because she was frozen to the rocks she gave that cry." And Grania was asking forgiveness of him, and he was reproaching her, and it is what he said: "O Grania of the beautiful hair, though you are more beautiful than the green tree under blossom, your love passes away as quickly as the cold cloud at break of day. And you are asking a hard thing of me now," he said, "and it is a pity what you said to me, Grania, for it was you brought me away from the house of my lord, that I am banished from it to this day; and now I am troubled through the night, fretting after its delight in every place. "I am like a wild deer, or a beast that is astray, going ever and always through the long valleys; there is great longing on me to see one of my kindred from the host. "I left my own people that were brighter than lime or snow; their heart was full of generosity to me, like the sun that is high above us; but now they follow me angrily, to every harbour and every strand. "I lost my people by you, and my lord, and my large bright ships on every sea; I lost my treasure and my gold; it is hunger you gave me through your love. "I lost my country and my kindred; my men that were used to serve me; I lost quietness and affection; I lost the men of Ireland and the Fianna entirely. "I lost delight and music; I lost my own right doing and my honour; I lost the Fianna of Ireland, my great kinsmen, for the sake of the love you gave me. "O Grania, white as snow, it would have been a better choice for you to have given hatred to me, or gentleness to the Head of the Fianna." And Grania said: "O Diarmuid of the face like snow, or like the down of the mountains, the sound of your voice was dearer to me than all the riches of the leader of the Fianna. "Your blue eye is dearer to me than his strength, and his gold and his great hall; the love-spot on your forehead is better to me than honey in streams; the time I first looked on it, it was more to me than the whole host of the King of Ireland. "My heart fell down there and then before your high beauty; when you came beside me, it was like the whole of life in one day. "O Diarmuid of the beautiful hands, take me now the same as before; it was with me the fault was entirely; give me your promise not to leave me." But Diarmuid said: "How can I take you again, you are a woman too fond of words; one day you give up the Head of the Fianna, and the next day myself, and no lie in it. "It is you parted me from Finn, the way I fell under sorrow and grief; and then you left me yourself, the time I was full of affection." And Grania said: "Do not leave me now this way, and my love for you ever growing like the fresh branches of the tree with the kind long heat of the day." But Diarmuid would not give in to her, and he said: "You are a woman full of words, and it is you have put me under sorrow. I took you with myself, and you struck at me for the sake of the man of the Fomor." They came then to a place where there was a cave, and water running by it, and they stopped to rest; and Grania said: "Have you a mind to eat bread and meat now, Diarmuid?" "I would eat it indeed if I had it," said Diarmuid. "Give me a knife, so," she said, "till I cut it." "Look for the knife in the sheath where you put it yourself," said Diarmuid. She saw then that the knife was in his thigh where she had struck it, for he would not draw it out himself. So she drew it out then; and that was the greatest shame that ever came upon her. They stopped then in the cave. And the next day when they went on again, Diarmuid did not leave unbroken bread like he had left every other day as a sign to Finn that he had kept his faith with him, but it was broken bread he left after him. CHAPTER VI. THE WANDERERS And they went on wandering after that, all through Ireland, hiding from Finn in every place, sleeping under the cromlechs, or with no shelter at all, and there was no place they would dare to stop long in. And wherever they went Finn would follow them, for he knew by his divination where they went. But one time he made out they were on a mountain, for he saw them with heather under them; and it was beside the sea they were, asleep on heather that Diarmuid had brought down from the hills for their bed; and so he went searching the hills and did not find them. And Grania would be watching over Diarmuid while he slept, and she would make a sleepy song for him, and it is what she would be saying: "Sleep a little, a little little, for there is nothing at all to fear, Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne; sleep here soundly, soundly, Diarmuid, to whom I have given my love. "It is I will keep watch for you, grandchild of shapely Duibhne; sleep a little, a blessing on you, beside the well of the strong field; my lamb from above the lake, from the banks of the strong streams. "Let your sleep be like the sleep in the South, of Dedidach of the high poets, the time he took away old Morann's daughter, for all Conall could do against him. "Let your sleep be like the sleep in the North, of fair comely Fionnchadh of Ess Ruadh, the time he took Slaine with bravery as we think, in spite of Failbhe of the Hard Head. "Let your sleep be like the sleep in the West, of Aine, daughter of Gailian, the time she went on a journey in the night with Dubhthach from Doirinis, by the light of torches. "Let your sleep be like the sleep in the East, of Deaghadh the proud, the brave fighter, the time he took Coincheann, daughter of Binn, in spite of fierce Decheall of Duibhreann. "O heart of the valour of the lands to the west of Greece, my heart will go near to breaking if I do not see you every day. The parting of us two will be the parting of two children of the one house; it will be the parting of life from the body, Diarmuid, hero of the bright lake of Carman." And then to rouse him she would make another song, and it is what she would say: "Caoinche will be loosed on your track; it is not slow the running of Caoilte will be; do not let death reach to you, do not give yourself to sleep for ever. "The stag to the east is not asleep, he does not cease from bellowing; though he is in the woods of the blackbirds, sleep is not in his mind; the hornless doe is not asleep, crying after her speckled fawn; she is going over the bushes, she does not sleep in her home. "The cuckoo is not asleep, the thrush is not asleep, the tops of the trees are a noisy place; the duck is not asleep, she is made ready for good swimming; the bog lark is not asleep to-night on the high stormy bogs; the sound of her clear voice is sweet; she is not sleeping between the streams." One time they were in a cave of Beinn Edair, and there was an old woman befriending them and helping them to keep a watch. And one day she chanced to go up to the top of Beinn Edair, and she saw an armed man coming towards her, and she did now know him to be Finn; and when he was come near she asked what was he looking for. "It is looking for a woman I am come," he said, "and for a woman's love. And will you do all I will ask you?" he said. "I will do that," she said; for she thought it was her own love he was asking. "Tell me then," he said, "where is Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne?" So she told him where he was hiding, and he bade her to keep him in the cave till such time as he would come back with his men. The old woman went back then, and it is what she did, she dipped her cloak in the sea-water before she went into the cave; and Diarmuid asked her why was her cloak so wet. "It is," she said, "that I never saw or never heard of the like of this day for cold and for storms. There is frost on every hillside," she said, "and there is not a smooth plain in all Elga where there is not a long rushing river between every two ridges. And there is not a deer or a crow in the whole of Ireland can find a shelter in any place." And she was shaking the wet off her cloak, and she was making a complaint against the cold, and it is what she said: "Cold, cold, cold to-night is the wide plain of Lurg; the snow is higher than the mountains, the deer cannot get at their share of food. "Cold for ever; the storm is spread over all; every furrow on the hillside is a river, every ford is a full pool, every full loch is a great sea; every pool is a full loch; horses cannot go through the ford of Ross any more than a man on his two feet. "The fishes of Inisfail are going astray; there is no strand or no pen against the waves; there are no dwellings in the country, there is no bell heard, no crane is calling. "The hounds of the wood of Cuan find no rest or no sleep in their dwelling-place; the little wren cannot find shelter in her nest on the slope of Lon. "A sharp wind and cold ice have come on the little company of birds; the blackbird cannot get a ridge to her liking or shelter for her side in the woods of Cuan. "It is steady our great pot hangs from its hook; it is broken the cabin is on the slope of Lon; the snow has made the woods smooth, it is hard to climb to the ridge of Bennait Bo. "The ancient bird of Glen Ride gets grief from the bitter wind; it is great is her misery and her pain, the ice will be in her mouth. "Mind well not to rise up from coverings and from down, mind this well; there would be no good sense in it. Ice is heaped up in every ford; it is for that I am saying and ever saying 'Cold.'" The old woman went out after that, and when she was gone, Grania took hold of the cloak she had left there and she put her tongue to it, and found the taste of salt water on it. "My grief, Diarmuid," she said then, "the old woman has betrayed us. And rise up now," she said, "and put your fighting suit upon you." So Diarmuid did that, and he went out, and Grania along with him. And no sooner were they outside than they saw Finn and the Fianna of Ireland coming towards them. Then Diarmuid looked around him and he saw a little boat at hand in the shelter of the harbour, and he himself and Grania went into it. And there was a man before them in the boat having beautiful clothes on him, and a wide embroidered golden-yellow cloak over his shoulders behind. And they knew it was Angus was in it, that had come again to help them to escape from Finn, and they went back with him for a while to Brugh na Boinne, and Osgar came to them there. CHAPTER VII. FIGHTING AND PEACE And after a while Finn bade his people to make his ship ready, and to put a store of food and of drink in it. They did that, and he himself and a thousand of his men went into the ship; and they were nine days between sailing and rowing till they came to harbour in the north of Alban. They bound the ship to the posts of the harbour then, and Finn with five of his people went to the dun of the King of Alban, and Finn struck a blow with the hand-wood on the door, and the door-keeper asked who was in it, and they told him it was Finn, son of Cumhal. "Let him in," said the king. Then Finn and his people went in, and the king made them welcome, and he bade Finn to sit down in his own place, and they were given strong pleasant drinks, and the king sent for the rest of Finn's people and bade them welcome to the dun. Then Finn told what it was brought him there, and that it was to ask help and advice against the grandson of Duibhne he was come. "And you have a right to give me your help," he said, "for it was he that killed your father and your two brothers, and many of your best men along with them." "That is true," said the king; "and I will give you my own two sons and a thousand men with each of them." Finn was glad when he heard that, and he and his men took leave of the king and of his household, and left wishes for life and health with them, and the king did the same by them. And it was near Brugh na Boinne Finn and his people came to land, and Finn sent messengers to the house of Angus to give out a challenge of battle against Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne. "What should I do about this, Osgar?" said Diarmuid. "We will both go out and make a stand against them, and we will not let a serving-man of them escape, but we will make an end of them all," said Osgar. So they rose up on the morning of the morrow and they put their suits of battle on their comely bodies; and it would be a pity for those, be they many or few, that would meet those two men, and their anger on them. And they bound the rims of their shields together the way they would not be parted from one another in the right. And the sons of the King of Alban said that they themselves and their people would go first to meet them. So they came to shore, and made a rush to meet Diarmuid and Osgar. But the two fought so well that they beat them back and scattered them, and made a great slaughter, and put great terror on them, so that at the last there was not a man left to stand against them. And after that, Finn went out again on the sea, and his people with him, and there is no word of them till they came to the Land of Promise where Finn's nurse was. And when she saw Finn coming she was very joyful before him. And Finn told her the whole story from beginning to end, and the cause of his quarrel with Diarmuid; and he said it was to ask an advice from her he was come, and that it was not possible to put him down by any strength of an army, unless enchantment would put him down. "I will go with you," said the old woman, "and I will do enchantment on him." Finn was very glad when he heard that, and he stopped there that night, and they set out for Ireland on the morrow. And when they came to Brugh na Boinne, the nurse put a Druid mist around Finn and the Fianna, the way no one could know they were there. Now the day before that, Osgar had parted from Diarmuid, and Diarmuid was out hunting by himself. That was shown to the hag, and she took a drowned leaf having a hole in it, like the quern of a mill, and she rose with that by her enchantments on a blast of Druid wind over Diarmuid, and began to aim at him through the hole with deadly spears, till she had done him great harm, for all his arms and his clothing, and he could not make away he was so hard pressed. And every danger he was ever in was little beside that danger. And it is what he thought, that unless he could strike the old woman through the hole that was in the leaf, she would give him his death there and then. And he lay down on his back, and the Gae Dearg, the Red Spear, in his hand, and he made a great cast of the spear, that it went through the hole, and the hag fell dead on the spot. And he struck off her head and brought it back with him to Angus Og. And the next morning early, Angus rose up, and he went where Finn was, and he asked would he make peace with Diarmuid, and Finn said he would. And then he went to the King of Ireland to ask peace for Diarmuid, and he said he would agree to it. And then he went back to where Diarmuid and Grania were, and asked him would he make peace with the High King and with Finn. "I am willing," said Diarmuid, "if they will give the conditions I will ask." "What conditions are those?" said Angus. "The district my father had," said Diarmuid, "that is, the district of Ui Duibhne, without right of hunting to Finn, and without rent or tribute to the King of Ireland, and with that the district of Dumhais in Leinster, for they are the best in Ireland, and the district of Ceis Corainn from the King of Ireland as a marriage portion with his daughter; and those are the conditions on which I will make peace with them." "Would you be peaceable if you got those conditions?" said Angus. "It would go easier with me to make peace if I got them," said Diarmuid. Then Angus went with that news to where the King of Ireland was with Finn. And they gave him all those conditions, and they forgave him all he had done through the whole of the time he had been in his hiding, that was sixteen years. And the place Diarmuid and Grania settled in was Rath Grania, in the district of Ceis Corainn, far away from Finn and from Teamhair. And Grania bore him children there, four sons and one daughter. And they lived there in peace, and the people used to be saying there was not a man living at the same time was richer as to gold and to silver, as to cattle and to sheep, than Diarmuid. CHAPTER VIII. THE BOAR OF BEINN GULBAIN But at last one day Grania spoke to Diarmuid, and it is what she said, that it was a shame on them, with all the people and the household they had, and all their riches, the two best men in Ireland never to have come to the house, the High King, her father, and Finn, son of Cumhal. "Why do you say that, Grania," said Diarmuid, "and they being enemies to me?" "It is what I would wish," said Grania, "to give them a feast, the way you would get their affection." "I give leave for that," said Diarmuid. So Grania was making ready a great feast through the length of a year, and messengers were sent for the High King of Ireland, and for Finn and the seven battalions of the Fianna; and they came, and they were using the feast from day to day through the length of a year. And on the last night of the year, Diarmuid was in his sleep at Rath Grania; and in the night he heard the voice of hounds through his sleep, and he started up, and Grania caught him and put her two arms about him, and asked what had startled him. "The voice of a hound I heard," said he; "and it is a wonder to me to hear that in the night." "Safe keeping on you," said Grania, "for it is the Tuatha de Danaan are doing that on you, on account of Angus of Brugh na Boinn, and lie down on the bed again." But for all that no sleep came to him, and he heard the voice of the hound again, and he started up a second time to follow after it. But Grania caught hold of him the second time and bade him to lie down, and she said it was no fitting thing to go after the voice of a hound in the night. So he lay down again, and he fell asleep, but the voice of the hound awakened him the third time. And the day was come with its full light that time, and he said: "I will go after the voice of the hound now, since the day is here." "If that is so," said Grania, "bring the Mor-alltach, the Great Fierce One, the sword of Manannan, with you, and the Gae Dearg." "I will not," he said; "but I will take the Beag-alltach, the Little Fierce One, and the Gae Buidhe in the one hand, and the hound Mac an Chuill, the Son of the Hazel, in the other hand." Then Diarmuid went out of Rath Grania, and made no delay till he came to the top of Beinn Gulbain, and he found Finn before him there, without any one at all in his company. Diarmuid gave him no greeting, but asked him was it he was making that hunt. Finn said it was not a hunt he was making, but that he and some of the Fianna had gone out after midnight; "and one of our hounds that was loose beside us, came on the track of a wild boar," he said, "and they were not able to bring him back yet. And there is no use following that boar he is after," he said, "for it is many a time the Fianna hunted him, and he went away from them every time till now, and he has killed thirty of them this morning. And he is coming up the mountain towards us," he said, "and let us leave this hill to him now." "I will not leave the hill through fear of him," said Diarmuid. "It would be best for you, Diarmuid," said Finn, "for it is the earless Green Boar of Beinn Gulbain is in it, and it is by him you will come to your death, and Angus knew that well when he put bonds on you not to go hunting pigs." "I never knew of those bonds," said Diarmuid; "but however it is, I will not quit this through fear of him. And let you leave Bran with me now," he said, "along with Mac an Chuill." "I will not," said Finn, "for it is often he met this boar before and could do nothing against him." He went away then and left Diarmuid alone on the top of the hill. "I give my word," said Diarmuid, "you made this hunt for my death, Finn; and if it is here I am to find my death," he said, "I have no use in going aside from it now." The boar came up the face of the mountain then, and the Fianna after him. Diarmuid loosed Mac an Chuill from his leash then, but that did not serve him, for he did not wait for the boar, but ran from him. "It is a pity not to follow the advice of a good woman," said Diarmuid, "for Grania bade me this morning to bring the Mor-alltach and the Gae Dearg with me." Then he put his finger into the silken string of the Gae Buidhe, and took a straight aim at the boar and hit him full in the face; but if he did, the spear did not so much as give him a scratch. Diarmuid was discouraged by that, but he drew the Beag-alltach, and made a full stroke at the back of the boar, but neither did that make a wound on him, but it made two halves of the sword. Then the boar made a brave charge at Diarmuid, that cut the sod from under his feet and brought him down; but Diarmuid caught hold of the boar on rising, and held on to him, having one of his legs on each side of him, and his face to his hinder parts. And the boar made away headlong down the hill, but he could not rid himself of Diarmuid; and he went on after that to Ess Ruadh, and when he came to the red stream he gave three high leaps over it, backwards and forwards, but he could not put him from his back, and he went back by the same path till he went up the height of the mountain again. And at last on the top of the mountain he freed himself, and Diarmuid fell on the ground. And then the boar made a rush at him, and ripped him open, that his bowels came out about his feet. But if he did, Diarmuid made a cast at him with the hilt of his sword that was in his hand yet, and dashed out his brains, so that he fell dead there and then. And Rath na h-Amhrann, the Rath of the Sword Hilt, is the name of that place to this day. It was not long till Finn and the Fianna of Ireland came to the place, and the pains of death were coming on Diarmuid at that time. "It is well pleased I am to see you that way, Diarmuid," said Finn; "and it is a pity all the women of Ireland not to be looking at you now, for your great beauty is turned to ugliness, and your comely shape to uncomeliness." "For all that, you have power to heal me, Finn," said Diarmuid, "if you had a mind to do it." "What way could I heal you?" said Finn. "Easy enough," said Diarmuid, "for the time you were given the great gift of knowledge at the Boinn, you got this gift with it, that any one you would give a drink to out of the palms of your hands would be young and well again from any sickness after it." "You are not deserving of that drink from me," said Finn. "That is not true," said Diarmuid; "it is well I deserve it from you; for the time you went to the house of Dearc, son of Donnarthadh, and your chief men with you for a feast, your enemies came round the house, and gave out three great shouts against you, and threw fire and firebrands into it. And you rose up and would have gone out, but I bade you to stop there at drinking and pleasure, for that I myself would go out and put them down. And I went out, and put out the flames, and made three red rushes round the house, and I killed fifty in every rush, and I came in again without a wound. And it is glad and merry and in good courage you were that night, Finn," he said, "and if it was that night I had asked a drink of you, you would have given it; and it would be right for you to give it to me now." "That is not so," said Finn; "it is badly you have earned a drink or any good thing from me; for the night you went to Teamhair with me, you took Grania away from me in the presence of all the men of Ireland, and you being my own guard over her that night." "Do not blame me for that, Finn," said Diarmuid, "for what did I ever do against you, east or west, but that one thing; and you know well Grania put bonds on me, and I would not fail in my bonds for the gold of the whole world. And you will know it is well I have earned a drink from you, if you bring to mind the night the feast was made in the House of the Quicken Tree, and how you and all your men were bound there till I heard of it, and came fighting and joyful, and loosed you with my own blood, and with the blood of the Three Kings of the Island of the Floods; and if I had asked a drink of you that night, Finn, you would not have refused it. And I was with you in the smiting of Lon, son of Liobhan, and you are the man that should not forsake me beyond any other man. And many is the strait has overtaken yourself and the Fianna of Ireland since I came among you, and I was ready every time to put my body and my life in danger for your sake, and you ought not to do this unkindness on me now. And besides that," he said, "there has many a good champion fallen through the things you yourself have done, and there is not an end of them yet; and there will soon come great misfortunes on the Fianna, and it is few of their seed will be left after them. And it is not for yourself I am fretting, Finn," he said, "but for Oisin and Osgar, and the rest of my dear comrades, and as for you, Oisin, you will be left lamenting after the Fianna. And it is greatly you will feel the want of me yet, Finn," he said; "and if the women of the Fianna knew I was lying in my wounds on this ridge, it is sorrowful their faces would be at this time." And Osgar said then: "Although I am nearer in blood to you, Finn, than to Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne, I will not let you refuse him this drink; and by my word," he said, "if any prince in the world would do the same unkindness to Diarmuid that you have done, it is only the one of us that has the strongest hand would escape alive. And give him a drink now without delay," he said. "I do not know of any well at all on this mountain," said Finn. "That is not so," said Diarmuid, "for there is not nine footsteps from you the well that has the best fresh water that can be found in the world." Then Finn went to the well, and he took the full of his two hands of the water. But when he was no more than half-way back, the thought of Grania came on him, and he let the water slip through his hands, and he said he was not able to bring it. "I give my word," said Diarmuid, "it was of your own will you let it from you." Then Finn went back the second time to get the water, but coming back he let it through his hands again at the thought of Grania. And Diarmuid gave a pitiful sigh of anguish when he saw that. "I swear by my sword and by my spear," said Osgar, "that if you do not bring the water without any more delay, Finn, there will not leave this hill but yourself or myself." Finn went back the third time to the well after what Osgar said, and he brought the water to Diarmuid, but as he reached him the life went out of his body. Then the whole company of the Fianna that were there gave three great heavy shouts, keening for Diarmuid. And Osgar looked very fiercely at Finn, and it is what he said, that it was a greater pity Diarmuid to be dead than if he himself had died. And the Fianna of Ireland had lost their yoke of battle by him, he said. "Let us leave this hill," said Finn then, "before Angus and the Tuatha de Danaan come upon us, for although we have no share in the death of Diarmuid, he would not believe the truth from us." "I give my word," said Osgar, "if I had thought it was against Diarmuid you made the hunt of Beinn Gulbain, you would never have made it" Then Finn and the Fianna went away from the hill, and Finn leading Diarmuid's hound Mac an Chuill. But Oisin and Osgar and Caoilte and Lugaidh's Son turned back again and put their four cloaks over Diarmuid, and then they went after the rest of the Fianna. And when they came to the Rath, Grania was out on the wall looking for news of Diarmuid; and she saw Finn and the Fianna of Ireland coming towards her. Then she said: "If Diarmuid was living, it is not led by Finn that Mac an Chuill would be coming home." And she was at that time heavy with child, and her strength went from her and she fell down from the wall. And when Oisin saw the way she was he bade Finn and the others to go on from her, but she lifted up her head and she asked Finn to leave Mac an Chuill with her. And he said he would not, and that he did not think it too much for him to inherit from Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne. When Oisin heard that, he snatched the hound out of Finn's hand and gave it to Grania, and then he followed after his people. Then when Grania was certain of Diarmuid's death she gave out a long very pitiful cry that was heard through the whole place, and her women and her people came to her, and asked what ailed her to give a cry like that. And she told them how Diarmuid had come to his death by the Boar of Beinn Gulbain in the hunt Finn had made. "And there is grief in my very heart," she said, "I not to be able to fight myself with Finn, and I would not have let him go safe out of this place." When her people heard of the death of Diarmuid they gave three great heavy cries in the same way, that were heard in the clouds and the waste places of the sky. And then Grania bade the five hundred that she had for household to go to Beinn Gulbain for the body of Diarmuid. And when they were bringing it back, she went out to meet them, and they put down the body of Diarmuid, and it is what she said: "I am your wife, beautiful Diarmuid, the man I would do no hurt to; it is sorrowful I am after you to-night. "I am looking at the hawk and the hound my secret love used to be hunting with; she that loved the three, let her be put in the grave with Diarmuid. "Let us be glad to-night, let us make all welcome to-night, let us be open-handed to-night, since we are sitting by the body of a king. "And O Diarmuid," she said, "it is a hard bed Finn has given you, to be lying on the stones and to be wet with the rain. Ochone!" she said, "your blue eyes to be without sight, you that were friendly and generous and pursuing. O love! O Diarmuid! it is a pity it is he sent you to your death. "You were a champion of the men of Ireland, their prop in the middle of the fight; you were the head of every battle; your ways were glad and pleasant. "It is sorrowful I am, without mirth, without light, but only sadness and grief and long dying; your harp used to be sweet to me, it wakened my heart to gladness. Now my courage is fallen down, I not to hear you but to be always remembering your ways. Och! my grief is going through me. "A thousand curses on the day when Grania gave you her love, that put Finn of the princes from his wits; it is a sorrowful story your death is to-day. "Many heroes were great and strong about me in the beautiful plain; their hands were good at wrestling and at battle; Ochone! that I did not follow them. "You were the man was best of the Fianna, beautiful Diarmuid, that women loved. It is dark your dwelling-place is under the sod, it is mournful and cold your bed is; it is pleasant your laugh was to-day; you were my happiness, Diarmuid." And she went back then into the Rath, and bade her people to bring the body to her there. Now just at this time, it was showed to Angus at Brugh na Boinne that Diarmuid was dead on Beinn Gulbain, for he had kept no watch over him the night before. And he went on the cold wind towards Beinn Gulbain, and his people with him, and on the way they met with Grania's people that were bringing the body to the Rath. And when they saw him they held out the wrong sides of their shields as a sign of peace, and Angus knew them; and he and his people gave three great terrible cries over the body of Diarmuid. And Angus spoke then, and it is what he said: "I was never one night since the time I brought you to Brugh na Boinne, being nine months old, without keeping watch and protection over you till last night, Diarmuid, grandson of Duibhne; and now your blood has been shed and you have been cut off sharply, and the Boar of Beinn Gulbain has put you down, Diarmuid of the bright face and the bright sword. And it is a pity Finn to have done this treachery," he said, "and you at peace with him. "And lift up his body now," he said, "and bring it to the Brugh in the lasting rocks. And if I cannot bring him back to life," he said, "I will put life into him the way he can be talking with me every day." Then they put his body on a golden bier, and his spears over it pointed upwards, and they went on till they came to Brugh na Boinne. And Grania's people went to her and told her how Angus would not let them bring the body into the Rath, but brought it away himself to Brugh na Boinne. And Grania said she had no power over him. And she sent out then for her four sons that were being reared in the district of Corca Ui Duibhne. And when they came she gave them a loving welcome, and they came into the Rath and sat down there according to their age. And Grania spoke to them with a very loud, clear voice, and it is what she said: "My dear children, your father has been killed by Finn, son of Cumhal, against his own bond and agreement of peace, and let you avenge it well upon him. And here is your share of the inheritance of your father," she said, "his arms and his armour, and his feats of valour and power; and I will share these arms among you myself," she said, "and that they may bring you victory in every battle. Here is the sword for Donnchadh," she said, "the best son Diarmuid had; and the Gae Dearg for Eochaidh; and here is the armour for Ollann, for it will keep the body it is put on in safety; and the shield for Connla. And make no delay now," she said, "but go and learn every sort of skill in fighting, till such time as you will come to your full strength to avenge your father." So they took leave of her then, and of their household. And some of their people said: "What must we do now, since our lords will be going into danger against Finn and the Fianna of Ireland?" And Donnchadh, son of Diarmuid, bade them stop in their own places; "for if we make peace with Finn," he said, "there need be no fear on you, and if not, you can make your choice between ourselves and him." And with that they set out on their journey. But after a while Finn went secretly and unknown to the Fianna to the place where Grania was, and he got to see her in spite of all her high talk, and he spoke gently to her. And she would not listen to him, but bade him to get out of her sight, and whatever hard thing her tongue could say, she said it. But all the same, he went on giving her gentle talk and loving words, till in the end he brought her to his own will. And there is no news told of them, until such time as they came to where the seven battalions of the Fianna were waiting for Finn. And when they saw him coming, and Grania with him, like any new wife with her husband, they gave a great shout of laughter and of mockery, and Grania bowed down her head with shame, "By my word, Finn," said Oisin, "you will keep a good watch on Grania from this out." And some said the change had come on her because the mind of a woman changes like the water of a running stream; but some said it was Finn that had put enchantment on her. And as to the sons of Diarmuid, they came back at the end of seven years, after learning all that was to be learned of valour in the far countries of the world. And when they came back to Rath Grania they were told their mother was gone away with Finn, son of Cumhal, without leaving any word for themselves or for the King of Ireland. And they said if that was so, there was nothing for them to do. But after that they said they would make an attack on Finn, and they went forward to Almhuin, and they would take no offers, but made a great slaughter of every troop that came out against them. But at last Grania made an agreement of peace between themselves and Finn, and they got their father's place among the Fianna; and that was little good to them, for they lost their lives with the rest in the battle of Gabhra. And as to Finn and Grania, they stopped with one another to the end. BOOK EIGHT: CNOC-AN-AIR. CHAPTER I. TAILC, SON OF TREON One time the Fianna were all gathered together doing feats and casting stones. And after a while the Druid of Teamhair that was with them said: "I am in dread, Finn of the Fianna, that there is some trouble near at hand; and look now at those dark clouds of blood," he said, "that are threatening us side by side overhead. And there is fear on me," he said, "that there is some destruction coming on the Fianna." Finn looked up then, and he saw the great cloud of blood, and he called Osgar to look at it. "That need not knock a start from you," said Osgar, "with all the strength there is in your arms, and in the men that are with you." Then all the Fianna looked up at the cloud, and some of them were glad and cheerful and some were downhearted. Then the Druid bade Finn to call all his battalions together and to divide them into two halves, that they could be watching for the coming of the enemy. So Finn sounded the Dord Fiann, and they answered with a shout, every one hurrying to be the first. And Finn bade Osgar and Goll and Faolan to keep watch through the night, and he bade Conan the Bald to stop in the darkness of the cave of Liath Ard. "For it is you can shout loudest," he said, "to warn us if you see the enemy coming." "That I may be pierced through the middle of my body," said Conan, "if I will go watching for troubles or for armies alone, without some more of the Fianna being with me." "It is not fitting for you to refuse Finn," said Lugaidh's Son; "and it is you can shout the loudest," he said, "if the enemies come near the height." "Do not be speaking to me any more," said Conan, "for I will not go there alone, through the length of my days, for Finn and the whole of the Fianna." "Go then, Conan," said Osgar, "and Aodh Beag will go with you, and you can bring dogs with you, Bran and Sceolan and Fuaim and Fearagan; and let you go now without begrudging it," he said. So Conan went then to Liath Ard, and Aodh Beag and Finn's hounds along with him. And as to Finn, he lay down to sleep, and it was not long till he saw through his sleep Aodh Beag his son, and he without his head. And after that he saw Goll fighting with a very strong man. And he awoke from his sleep, and called the Druid of the Fianna to him, and asked him the meaning of what he saw. "I am in dread there is some destruction coming on the Fianna," said the Druid; "but Aodh Beag will not be wounded in the fight, or Goll," he said. And it was not long till Finn heard a great shout, and he sounded the Dord Fiann, and then he saw Conan running, and the hounds after him. And Finn sounded the Dord Fiann again before Conan came up, and when he came, Osgar asked him where was Aodh Beag. "He was at the door of the cave when I left it," said Conan, "but I did not look behind me since then," he said; "and it was not Aodh Beag was troubling me." "What was troubling you then?" said Osgar. "Nothing troubles me but myself," said Conan; "although I am well pleased at any good that comes to you," he said. Osgar went then running hard, till he came to the cave, and there he found Aodh Beag with no fear or trouble on him at all, stopping there till he would hear the noise of the shields. And Osgar brought him back to where the Fianna were, and they saw a great army coming as if in search of them. And a beautiful woman, having a crimson cloak, came to them over the plain, and she spoke to Finn, and her voice was as sweet as music. And Finn asked her who was she, and who did she come looking for. "I am the daughter of Garraidh, son of Dolar Dian, the Fierce," she said; "and my curse upon the King of Greece that bound me to the man that is following after me, and that I am going from, Tailc, son of Treon." "Tell me why are you shunning him, and I will protect you in spite of him," said Finn. "It is not without reason I hate him," said she, "for he has no good appearance, and his skin is of the colour of coal, and he has the head and the tail of a cat. And I have walked the world three times," she said, "and I did not leave a king or a great man without asking help from him, and I never got it yet." "I will give you protection," said Finn, "or the seven battalions of the Fianna will fall for your sake." With that they saw the big strange man, Tailc, son of Treon, coming towards them, and he said no word at all of greeting to Finn, but he called for a battle on account of his wife. So a thousand of the Fianna went out to meet him and his men; and if they did they all fell, and not one of them came back again. And then another thousand of the best men of the Fianna, having blue and green shields, went out under Caoilte, son of Ronan, and they were worsted by Tailc and his people. And then Osgar asked leave of Finn to go out and fight the big man. "I will give you leave," said Finn, "although I am sure you will fall by him." So Osgar went out, and he himself and Tailc, son of Treon, were fighting through the length of five days and five nights without food or drink or sleep. And at the end of that time, Osgar made an end of Tailc, and struck his head off. And when the Fianna saw that, they gave a shout of lamentation for those they had lost of the Fianna, and two shouts of joy for the death of Tailc. And as to the young woman, when she saw all the slaughter that had been done on account of her, shame reddened her face, and she fell dead there and then. And to see her die like that, after all she had gone through, preyed more on the Fianna than any other thing. CHAPTER II. MEARGACH'S WIFE And while the Fianna were gathered yet on the hill where Tailc, son of Treon, had been put down, they saw a very great champion coming towards them, having an army behind him. He took no notice of any one more than another, but he asked in a very rough voice where was Finn, the Head of the Fianna. And Aodh Beag, that had a quiet heart, asked him who was he, and what was he come for. "I will tell you nothing at all, child," said the big man, "for it is short your years are, and I will tell nothing at all to any one but Finn." So Aodh Beag brought him to where Finn was, and Finn asked him his name. "Meargach of the Green Spears is my name," he said; "and arms were never reddened yet on my body, and no one ever boasted of driving me backwards. And was it you, Finn," he said, "put down Tailc, son of Treon?" "It was not by me he fell," said Finn, "but by Osgar of the strong hand." "Was it not a great shame for you, Finn," said Meargach then, "to let the queen-woman that had such a great name come to her death by the Fianna?" "It was not by myself or by any of the Fianna she got her death," said Finn; "it was seeing the army lost that brought her to her death. But if it is satisfaction for her death or the death of Tailc you want," he said, "You can get it from a man of the Fianna, or you can go quietly from this place." Then Meargach said he would fight with any man they would bring against him, to avenge Tailc, son of Treon. And it was Osgar stood up against him, and they fought a very hard fight through the length of three days, and at one time the Fianna thought it was Osgar was worsted, and they gave a great sorrowful shout. But in the end Osgar put down Meargach and struck his head off, and at that the seven battalions of the Fianna gave a shout of victory, and the army of Meargach keened him very sorrowfully. And after that, the two sons of Meargach, Ciardan the Swift and Liagan the Nimble, came up and asked who would come against them, hand to hand, that they might get satisfaction for their father. And it was Goll stood up against Ciardan, and it was not long till he put him down; and Conan came out against Liagan, and Liagan mocked at him and said: "It is foolishness your coming is, bald man!" But Conan made a quick blow and struck his head off before the fight was begun at all. And Faolan said that was a shameful thing to do, not to stand his ground and make a fair fight. But Conan said: "If I could make an end of the whole army by one blow, I would do it, and I would not be ashamed, and the whole of the Fianna could not shelter them from me." Then the two armies came towards each other, and they were making ready for the attack. And they saw a beautiful golden-haired woman coming towards them, and she crying and ever crying, and the battle was given up on both sides, waiting for her to come; and the army of Meargach knew it was their queen, Ailne of the Bright Face, and they raised a great cry of grief; and the Fianna were looking at her, and said no word. And she asked where was her husband, and where were her two sons. "High Queen," said Finn then, "for all they were so complete and quick and strong, the three you are asking for fell in fight." And when the queen-woman heard that, she cried out aloud, and she went to the place where her husband and her two sons were lying, and she stood over their bodies, and her golden hair hanging, and she keened them there. And her own people raised a sharp lamentation listening to her, and the Fianna themselves were under grief. And it is what she said: "O Meargach," she said, "of the sharp green spears, it is many a fight and many a heavy battle your hard hand fought in the gathering of the armies or alone. "I never knew any wound to be on your body after them; and it is full sure I am, it was not strength but treachery got the upper hand of you now. "It is long your journey was from far off, from your own kind country to Inisfail, to come to Finn and the Fianna, that put my three to death through treachery. "My grief! to have lost my husband, my head, by the treachery of the Fianna; my two sons, my two men that were rough in the fight. "My grief! my food and my drink; my grief! my teaching everywhere; my grief! my journey from far off, and I to have lost my high heroes. "My grief! my house thrown down; my grief! my shelter and my shield; my grief! Meargach and Ciardan; my grief! Liagan of the wide chest. "My grief! my protection and my shelter; my grief! my strength and my power; my grief! there is darkness come from this thing; my grief to-night you to be in your weakness. "My grief! my gladness and my pleasure; my grief! my desire in every place; my grief! my courage is gone and my strength; my grief from this night out for ever. "My grief! my guide and my going; my grief! my desire to the day of my death; my grief! my store and my sway; my grief! my heroes that were open-handed. "My grief! my bed and my sleep; my grief! my journey and my coming; my grief! my teacher and my share; my sorrowful grief! my three men. "My grief! my beauty and my ornaments; my grief! my jewels and my riches; my grief! my treasures and my goods; my grief! my three Candles of Valour. "My grief! my friends and my kindred; my grief! my people and my friends. My grief! my father and my mother; my grief and my trouble! you to be dead. "My grief my portion and my welcome; my grief! my health at every time; my grief! my increase and my light; my sore trouble, you to be without strength. "My grief! your spear and your sword; my grief! your gentleness and your love; my grief! your country and your home; my grief! you to be parted from my reach. "My grief! my coasts and my harbours; my grief! my wealth and my prosperity; my grief! my greatness and my kingdom; my grief and my crying are until death. "My grief! my luck altogether; my grief for you in time of battle; my grief! my gathering of armies; my grief! my three proud lions. "My grief! my games and my drinking; my grief! my music and my delight; my grief! my sunny house and my women; my crying grief, you to be under defeat. "My grief! my lands and my hunting; my grief! my three sure fighters; Och! my grief! they are my sorrow, to fall far off by the Fianna. "I knew by the great host of the Sidhe that were fighting over the dun, giving battle to one another in the valleys of the air, that destruction would put down my three. "I knew by the noise of the voices of the Sidhe coming into my ears, that a story of new sorrow was not far from me; it is your death it was foretelling. "I knew at the beginning of the day when my three good men went from me, when I saw tears of blood on their cheeks, that they would not come back to me as winners. "I knew by the voice of the battle-crow over your dun every evening, since you went from me comely and terrible, that misfortune and grief were at hand. "It is well I remember, my three strong ones, how often I used to be telling you that if you would go to Ireland, I would not see the joy of victory on your faces. "I knew by the voice of the raven every morning since you went from me, that your fall was sure and certain; that you would never come back to your own country. "I knew, my three great ones, by your forgetting the thongs of your hounds, that you would not gain the day or escape from the treachery of the Fianna. "I knew, Candles of Valour, by the stream near the dun turning to blood when you set out, that there would be treachery in Finn. "I knew by the eagle coming every evening over the dun, that it would not be long till I would hear a story of bad news of my three. "I knew by the withering of the tree before the dun, that you would never come back as conquerors from the treachery of Finn, son of Cumhal." When Grania, now, heard what the woman was saying, there was anger on her, and she said: "Do not be speaking against Finn or the Fianna, Queen, for it was not by any treachery or any deceit your three men were brought to their end." But Ailne made her no answer and gave no heed to her, but she went on with her complaint, and she crying and ever crying. "I knew, looking after you the day you went out from the dun, by the flight of the raven before you, there was no good sign of your coming back again. "I knew by Ciardan's hounds that were howling mournfully every evening, that it would not be long till I would have bad news of you. "I knew by my sleep that went from me, by my tears through every lasting night, that there was no luck before you. "I knew by the sorrowful vision that showed myself in danger, my head and my hands cut off, that it was yourselves were without sway. "I knew by the voice of Uaithnin, the hound that is dearest to Liagan, howling early every morning, that death was certain for my three. "I knew when I saw in a vision a lake of blood in the place of the dun, that my three were put down by the deceit that was always with Finn." "Do not be faulting Finn," said Grania then, "however vexed your heart may be. And leave off now," she said, "speaking against the Fianna and against himself; for if your men had stopped in their own country," she said, "without coming to avenge the son of Treon, there would no harm have happened them." "I would not put any reproach on the Fianna, Grania," said Ailne, "if my three men had been put down in fair battle, but they are not living to bear witness to me," she said; "and it is likely they were put under Druid spells at the first, or they would never have given in." "If they were living, Queen," said Grania, "they would not be running down the Fianna, but they would tell you it was by bravery and the strong hand they fell." "I do not believe you or the Fianna when you say that," said Ailne; "for no one that came to meet them ever got the sway over them by the right of the sword." "If you do not believe what I am saying, beautiful Ailne," said Grania, "I tell you more of your great army will fall by the Fianna, and that not by treachery." "That is not so," said Ailne, "but I have good hopes that my own army will do destruction on the Fianna, for the sake of the men that are dead." "Well, Ailne," said Grania, "I know it is a far journey you have come. And come now and eat and drink," she said, "with myself and with the Fianna." But Ailne would not do that, but she said it would not be fitting for her to take food from people that did such deeds, and what she wanted was satisfaction for the death of her husband and her two sons. And first it was settled for two men of each side to go out against one another; and then Ailne said that there should be thirty men on each side, and then she said she would not be satisfied to go back to her own country till she brought the head of Finn with her, or till the last of his men had fallen. And there was a great battle fought in the end, and it is seldom the Fianna fought so hard a battle as that. And it would be too long to tell, and it would tire the hearers, how many good men were killed on each side. But in the end Ailne of the Bright Face was worsted, and she went back with what were left of her men to their own country, and no one knew where they went. And the hill in the west those battles were fought on got the name of Cnoc-an-Air, the Hill of Slaughter. CHAPTER III. AILNE'S REVENGE One day Finn and his people were hunting on Slieve Fuad, and a stag stood against them for a while and fought with his great rough horns, and then he turned and ran, and the Fianna followed after him till they came to the green hill of Liadhas, and from that to rocky Cairgin. And there they lost him again for a while, till Sceolan started him again, and he went back towards Slieve Fuad, and the Fianna after him. But Finn and Daire of the Songs, that were together, went astray and lost the rest of their people, and they did not know was it east or west they were going. Finn sounded the Dord Fiann then, and Daire played some sorrowful music to let their people know where they were. But when the Fianna heard the music, it seemed to be a long way off; and sometimes they thought it was in the north it was, and sometimes in the east, and then it changed to the west, the way they did not know in the wide world where was it coming from. And as to Finn and Daire, a Druid mist came about them, and they did not know what way they were going. And after a while they met with a young woman, comely and pleasant, and they asked who was she, and what brought her there. "Glanluadh is my name," she said, "and my husband is Lobharan; and we were travelling over the plain together a while ago, and we heard the cry of hounds, and he left me and went after the hunt, and I do not know where is he, or what way did he go." "Come on then with us," said Finn, "and we will take care of you, for we ourselves do not know what way the hunt is gone, east or west." So they went on, and before long they came to a hill, and they heard sleepy music of the Sidhe beside them. And after that there came shouts and noises, and then the music began again, and heavy sleep came on Finn and Daire. And when they awoke from their sleep they saw a very large lighted house before them, and a stormy blue sea around it. Then they saw a very big grey man coming through the waves, and he took hold of Finn and of Daire, and all their strength went from them, and he brought them across the waves and into the house, and he shut the door of the house with iron hooks. "My welcome to you, Finn of the great name," he said then in a very harsh voice; "it is long we are waiting here for you." They sat down then on the hard side of a bed, and the woman of the house came to them, and they knew her to be Ailne, wife of Meargach. "It is long I am looking for you, Finn," she said, "to get satisfaction for the treachery you did on Meargach and on my two comely young sons, and on Tailc, son of Treon, and all his people. And do you remember that, Finn?" she said. "I remember well," said Finn, "that they fell by the swords of the Fianna, not by treachery but in fighting." "It was by treachery they fell," said the Grey Man then; "and it is our witness to it, pleasant Ailne to be the way she is, and many a strong army under grief on account of her." "What is Ailne to you, man of the rough voice?" said Finn. "I am her own brother," said the man. With that he put bonds on the three, Finn and Daire and Glanluadh, and he put them down into some deep shut place. They were very sorrowful then, and they stopped there to the end of five days and five nights, without food, without drink, without music. And Ailne went to see them then, and Finn said to her: "O Ailne," he said, "bring to mind the time you come to Cnoc-an-Air, and the way the Fianna treated you with generosity; and it is not fitting for you," he said, "to keep us now under shame and weakness and in danger of death." "I know well I got kind treatment from Grania," said Ailne in a sorrowful voice; "but for all that, Finn," she said, "if all the Fianna were in that prison along with you under hard bonds, it would please me well, and I would not pity their case. And what is it set you following after Finn," she said then to Glanluadh, "for that is not a fitting thing for you to do, and his own kind wife living yet." Then Glanluadh told her the whole story, and how she was walking the plain with Lobharan her husband, and he followed the hunt, and the mist came about her that she did not know east from west, and how she met then with Finn that she never saw before that time. "If that is so," said Ailne, "it is not right for you to be under punishment without cause." She called then to her brother the Grey Man, and bade him take the spells off Glanluadh. And when she was set free it is sorry she was to leave Daire in bonds, and Finn. And when she had bidden them farewell she went out with Ailne, and there was food brought to her, but a cloud of weakness came on her of a sudden, that it was a pity to see the way she was. And when Ailne saw that, she brought out an enchanted cup of the Sidhe and gave her a drink from it. And no sooner did Glanluadh drink from the cup than her strength and her own appearance came back to her again; but for all that, she was fretting after Finn and Daire in their bonds. "It seems to me, Glanluadh, you are fretting after those two men," said Ailne. "I am sorry indeed," said Glanluadh, "the like of those men to be shut up without food or drink." "If it is pleasing to you to give them food you may give it," said Ailne, "for I will not make an end of them till I see can I get the rest of the Fianna into bonds along with them." The two women brought food and drink then to Finn, and to Daire; and Glanluadh gave her blessing to Finn, and she cried when she saw the way he was; but as to Ailne, she had no pity at all for the King of the Fianna. Now as to the Grey Man, he heard them talking of the Fianna, and they were saying that Daire had a great name for the sweetness of his music. "I have a mind to hear that sweet music," said he. So he went to the place where they were, and he bade Daire to let him hear what sort of music he could make. "My music pleased the Fianna well," said Daire; "but I think it likely it would not please you." "Play it for me now, till I know if the report I heard of you is true," said the Grey Man. "Indeed, I have no mind for music," said Daire, "being weak and downhearted the way I am, through your spells that put down my courage." "I will take my spells off you for so long as you play for me," said the Grey Man. "I could never make music seeing Finn in bonds the way he is," said Daire; "for it is worse to me, he to be under trouble than myself." "I will take the power of my spells off Finn till you play for me," said the Grey Man. He weakened the spells then, and gave them food and drink, and it pleased him greatly the way Daire played the music, and he called to Glanluadh and to Ailne to come and to listen to the sweetness of it. And they were well pleased with it, and it is glad Glanluadh was, seeing them not so discouraged as they were. Now as to the Fianna, they were searching for Finn and for Daire in every place they had ever stopped in. And when they came to this place they could hear Daire's sweet music; and at first they were glad when they heard it, and then when they knew the way he himself and Finn were, they made an attack on Ailne's dun to release them. But the Grey Man heard their shouts, and he put the full power of his spells again on Finn and on Daire. And the Fianna heard the music as if stammering, and then they heard a great noise like the loud roaring of waves, and when they heard that, there was not one of them but fell into a sleep and clouds of death, under those sorrowful spells. And then the Grey Man and Ailne came out quietly from where they were, and they brought the whole of the men of the Fianna that were there into the dun. And they put hard bonds on them, and put them where Finn and Daire were. And there was great grief on Finn and Daire when they saw them, and they were all left there together for a while. Then Glanluadh said to the Grey Man: "If Daire's music is pleasing to you, let him play it to us now." "If you have a mind for music," said the Grey Man, "Daire must play it for us, and for Finn and his army as well." They went then to where they were, and bade Daire to play. "I could never play sweet music," said Daire, "the time the Fianna are in any trouble; for when they are in trouble, I myself am in trouble, and I could not sound any sweet string," he said, "while there is trouble on any man of them." The Grey Man weakened the spells then on them all, and Daire played first the strings of sweetness, and of the noise of shouting, and then he sang his own grief and the grief of all the Fianna. And at that the Grey Man said it would not be long before he would put the whole of the Fianna to death; and then Daire played a tune of heavy shouts of lamentation. And then at Finn's bidding he played the music of sweet strings for the Fianna. They were kept, now, a long time in that prison, and they got very hard treatment; and sometimes Ailne's brother would come in and strike the heads off some of them, for none of them could rise up from the seats they were sitting on through his enchantments. But one time he was going to strike the bald head off Conan, and Conan made a great leap from the seat; but if he did, he left strips of his skin hanging to it, that his back was left bare. And then he came round the Grey Man with his pitiful words: "Stop your hand now," he said, "for that is enough for this time; and do not send me to my death yet awhile, and heal me of my wounds first," he said, "before you make an end of me." And the reason he said that was because he knew Ailne to have an enchanted cup in the dun, that had cured Glanluadh. And the Grey Man took pity on his case, and he brought him out and bade Ailne to bring the cup to him and to cure his wounds. "I will not bring it," said Ailne, "for it would be best give no time at all to him or to the Fianna, but to make an end of them." "It is not to be saved from death I am asking, bright-faced Ailne," said Conan, "but only not to go to my death stripped bare the way I am." When Ailne heard that, she brought a sheepskin and she put it on Conan's back, and it fitted and grew to him, and covered his wounds. "I will not put you to death, Conan," said the Grey Man then, "but you can stop with myself to the end of your life." "You will never be without grief and danger and the fear of treachery if you keep him with you," said Ailne; "for there is treachery in his heart the same as there is in the rest of them." "There is no fear of that," said her brother, "or I will make no delay until I put the whole of the Fianna to death." And with that he brought Conan to where the enchanted cup was, and he put it in his hand. And just at that moment they heard Daire playing very sweet sorrowful music, and the Grey Man went to listen to it, very quick and proud. And Conan followed him there, and after a while the Grey Man asked him what did he do with the enchanted cup. "I left it where I found it, full of power," said Conan. The Grey Man hurried back then to the place where the treasures of the dun were. But no sooner was he gone than Conan took out the cup that he had hidden, and he gave a drink from it to Finn and to Osgar and to the rest of the Fianna. And they that were withered and shaking, without strength, without courage, got back their own appearance and their strength again on the moment. And when the Grey Man came back from looking for the cup, and saw what had happened, he took his sword and made a stroke at Conan. But Conan called to Osgar to defend him, and Osgar attacked the Grey Man, and it was not long till he made him acquainted with death. And when Ailne saw that, with the grief and the dread that came on her, she fell dead then and there. Then all the Fianna made a feast with what they found of food and of drink, and they were very joyful and merry. But when they rose up in the morning, there was no trace or tidings of the dun, but it was on the bare grass they were lying. But as to Conan, the sheepskin never left him; and the wool used to grow on it every year, the same as it would on any other skin. BOOK NINE: THE WEARING AWAY OF THE FIANNA. CHAPTER I. THE QUARREL WITH THE SONS OF MORNA One time when the Fianna were gone here and there hunting, Black Garraidh and Caoilte were sitting beside Finn, and they were talking of the battle where Finn's father was killed. And Finn said then to Garraidh: "Tell me now, since you were there yourself, what way was it you brought my father Cumhal to his death?" "I will tell you that since you ask me," said Garraidh; "it was my own hand and the hands of the rest of the sons of Morna that made an end of him." "That is cold friendship from my followers the sons of Morna," said Finn. "If it is cold friendship," said Garraidh, "put away the liking you are letting on to have for us, and show us the hatred you have for us all the while." "If I were to lift my hand against you now, sons of Morna," said Finn, "I would be well able for you all without the help of any man." "It was by his arts Cumhal got the upper hand of us," said Garraidh; "and when he got power over us," he said, "he banished us to every far country; a share of us he sent to Alban, and a share of us to dark Lochlann, and a share of us to bright Greece, parting us from one another; and for sixteen years we were away from Ireland, and it was no small thing to us to be without seeing one another through that time. And the first day we came back to Ireland," he said, "we killed sixteen hundred men, and no lie in it, and not a man of them but would be keened by a hundred. And we took their duns after that," he said, "and we went on till we were all around one house in Munster of the red walls. But so great was the bravery of the man in that house, that was your father, that it was easier to find him than to kill him. And we killed all that were of his race out on the hill, and then we made a quick rush at the house where Cumhal was, and every man of us made a wound on his body with his spear. And I myself was in it, and it was I gave him the first wound. And avenge it on me now, Finn, if you have a mind to," he said. * * * * * It was not long after that, Finn gave a feast at Almhuin for all his chief men, and there came to it two sons of the King of Alban, and sons of the kings of the great world. And when they were all sitting at the feast, the serving-men rose up and took drinking-horns worked by skilled men, and having shining stones in them, and they poured out strong drink for the champions; and it is then mirth rose up in their young men, and courage in their fighting men, and kindness and gentleness in their women, and knowledge and foreknowledge in their poets. And then a crier rose up and shook a rough iron chain to silence the clowns and the common lads and idlers, and then he shook a chain of old silver to silence the high lords and chief men of the Fianna, and the learned men, and they all listened and were silent. And Fergus of the True Lips rose up and sang before Finn the songs and the good poems of his forefathers; and Finn and Oisin and Lugaidh's Son rewarded him with every good thing. And then he went on to Goll, son of Morna, and told the fights and the destructions and the cattle-drivings and the courtings of his fathers; and it is well-pleased and high-minded the sons of Morna were, listening to that. And Goll said then: "Where is my woman-messenger?" "I am here, King of the Fianna," said she. "Have you brought me my hand-tribute from the men of Lochlann?" "I have brought it surely," said she. And with that she rose up and laid on the floor of the hall before Goll a load of pure gold, the size of a good pig, and that would be a heavy load for a strong man. And Goll loosened the covering that was about it, and he gave Fergus a good reward from it as he was used to do; for there never was a wise, sharp-worded poet, or a sweet harp-player, or any learned man of Ireland or of Alban, but Goll would give him gold or silver or some good thing. And when Finn saw that, he said: "How long is it, Goll, you have this rent on the men of Lochlann, and my own rent being on them always with it, and one of my own men, Ciaran son of Latharne, and ten hundred men of his household, guarding it and guarding my right of hunting?" And Goll saw there was anger on Finn, and he said: "It is a long time, Finn, I have that rent on the men of Lochlann, from the time your father put war and quarrels on me, and the King of Ireland joined with him, and I was made to quit Ireland by them. And I went into Britain," he said, "and I took the country and killed the king himself and did destruction on his people, but Cumhal put me out of it; and from that I went to Fionnlochlann, and the king fell by me, and his household, and Cumhal put me out of it; and I went from that to the country of the Saxons, and the king and his household fell by me, and Cumhal put me out of it. But I came back then to Ireland, and I fought a battle against your father, and he fell by me there. And it was at that time I put this rent upon the men of Lochlann. And, Finn," he said, "it is not a rent of the strong hand you have put on them, but it is a tribute for having the protection of the Fianna of Ireland, and I do not lessen that. And you need not begrudge that tribute to me," he said, "for if I had more than that again, it is to you and to the men of Ireland I would give it." There was great anger on Finn then, and he said: "You tell me, Goll," he said, "by your own story, that you came from the city of Beirbhe to fight against my father, and that you killed him in the battle; and it is a bold thing you to tell that to me." "By your own hand," said Goll, "if you were to give me the same treatment your father gave me, I would pay you the same way as I paid him." "It would be hard for you to do that," said Finn, "for there are a hundred men in my household against every man there is in your household." "That was the same with your father," said Goll, "and I avenged my disgrace on him; and I would do the same on yourself if you earned it," he said. Then Cairell of the White Skin, son of Finn, said: "It is many a man of Finn's household you have put down, Goll!" And Bald Conan when he heard that said: "I swear by my arms, Goll was never without having a hundred men in his household, every one of them able to get the better of yourself." "And is it to them you belong, crooked-speaking, bare-headed Conan?" said Cairell. "It is to them I belong, you black, feeble, nail-scratching, rough-skinned Cairell; and I will make you know it was Finn was in the wrong," said Conan. With that Cairell rose up and gave a furious blow of his fist to Conan, and Conan took it with no great patience, but gave him back a blow in his teeth, and from that they went on to worse blows again. And the two sons of Goll rose up to help Conan, and Osgar went to the help of Cairell, and it was not long till many of the chief men of the Fianna were fighting on the one side or the other, on the side of Finn or on the side of the sons of Morna. But then Fergus of the True Lips rose up, and the rest of the poets of the Fianna along with him, and they sang their songs and their poems to check and to quiet them. And they left off their fighting at the sound of the poets' songs, and they let their weapons fall on the floor, and the poets took them up, and made peace between the fighters; and they put bonds on Finn and on Goll to keep the peace for a while, till they could ask for a judgment from the High King of Ireland. And that was the end for that time of the little quarrel at Almhuin. But it broke out again, one time there was a falling out between Finn and Goll as to the dividing of a pig of the pigs of Manannan. And at Daire Tardha, the Oak Wood of Bulls, in the province of Connacht, there was a great fight between Finn's men and the sons of Morna. And the sons of Morna were worsted, and fifteen of their men were killed; and they made their mind up that from that time they would set themselves against any friends of Finn or of his people. And it was Conan the Bald gave them that advice, for he was always bitter, and a maker of quarrels and of mischief in every place. And they kept to their word, and spared no one. There was a yellow-haired queen that Finn loved, Berach Brec her name was, and she was wise and comely and worthy of any good man, and she had her house full of treasures, and never refused the asking of any. And any one that came to her house at Samhain time might stay till Beltaine, and have his choice then to go or to stay. And the sons of Morna had fostered her, and they went where she was and bade her to give up Finn and she need be in no dread of them. But she said she would not give up her kind lover to please them; and she was going away from them to her ship, and Art, son of Morna, made a cast of his spear that went through her body, that she died, and her people brought her up from the strand and buried her. And as to Goll, he took a little hound that Finn thought a great deal of, Conbeg its name was, and he drowned it in the sea; and its body was brought up to shore by a wave afterwards, and it was buried under a little green hill by the Fianna. And Caoilte made a complaint over it, and he said how swift the little hound was after deer, or wild pigs, and how good at killing them, and that it was a pity it to have died, out on the cold green waves. And about that time, nine women of the Tuatha de Danaan came to meet with nine men of the Fianna, and the sons of Morna saw them coming and made an end of them. And when Caoilte met with Goll, he made a cast of his spear at him that struck the golden helmet off his head and a piece of his flesh along with it. But Goll took it very proudly, and put on the helmet again and took up his weapons, and called out to his brothers that he was no way ashamed. And Finn went looking for the sons of Morna in every place to do vengeance on them. They were doing robbery and destruction one time in Slieve Echtge, that got its name from Echtge, daughter of Nuada of the Silver Hand, and Finn and the Fianna were to the west, at Slieve Cairn in the district of Corcomruadh. And Finn was in doubt if the sons of Morna were gone southward into Munster or north into Connacht. So he sent Aedan and Cahal, two sons of the King of Ulster, and two hundred righting men with them, into the beautiful pleasant province of Connacht, and every day they used to go looking for the sons of Morna from place to place. But after a while the three battalions of the Fianna that were in Corcomruadh saw the track of a troop of men, and they thought it to be the track of the sons of Morna; and they closed round them at night, and made an end of them all. But when the full light came on the morrow, they knew them to be their own people, that were with the King of Ulster's sons, and they gave three great heavy cries, keening the friends they had killed in mistake. And Caoilte and Oisin went to Rath Medba and brought a great stone and put it over the king's sons, and it was called Lia an Imracail, the Stone of the Mistake. And the place where Goll brought his men the time he parted from Finn in anger got the name of Druimscarha, the Parting Hill of Heroes. CHAPTER II. DEATH OF GOLL And at last it chanced that Goll and Cairell, son of Finn, met with one another, and said sharp words, and they fought in the sea near the strand, and Cairell got his death by Goll. And there was great anger and great grief on Finn, seeing his son, that was so strong and comely, lying dead and grey, like a blighted branch. And as to Goll, he went away to a cave that was in a point stretching out into the sea; and he thought to stop there till Finn's anger would have passed. And Osgar knew where he was, and he went to see him, that had been his comrade in so many battles. But Goll thought it was as an enemy he came, and he made a cast of his spear at him, and though Osgar got no wound by it, it struck his shield and crushed it. And Finn took notice of the way the shield was, and when he knew that Goll had made a cast at Osgar there was greater anger again on him. And he sent out his men and bade them to watch every path and every gap that led to the cave where Goll was, the way they would make an end of him. And when Goll knew Finn to be watching for his life that way, he made no attempt to escape, but stopped where he was, without food, without drink, and he blinded with the sand that was blowing into his eyes. And his wife came to a rock where she could speak with him, and she called to him to come to her. "Come over to me," she said; "and it is a pity you to be blinded where you are, on the rocks of the waste sea, with no drink but the salt water, a man that was first in every fight. And come now to be sleeping beside me," she said; "and in place of the hard sea-water I will nourish you from my own breast, and it is I will do your healing. And the gold of your hair is my desire for ever," she said, "and do not stop withering there like an herb in the winter-time, and my heart black with grief within me." But Goll would not leave the spot where he was for all she could say. "It is best as it is," he said, "and I never took the advice of a woman east or west, and I never will take it. And O sweet-voiced queen," he said, "what ails you to be fretting after me; and remember now your silver and your gold, and your silks and stuffs, and remember the seven hounds I gave you at Cruadh Ceirrge, and every one of them without slackness till he has killed the deer. And do not be crying tears after me, queen with the white hands," he said; "but remember your constant lover, Aodh, the son of the best woman of the world, that came out from Spain asking for you, and that I fought at Corcar-an-Deirg; and go to him now," he said, "for it is bad when a woman is in want of a good man." And he lay down on the rocks, and at the end of twelve days he died. And his wife keened him there, and made a great lamentation for her husband that had such a great name, and that was the second best of the Fianna of Ireland. And when Conan heard of the death of Goll his brother, there was great anger on him, and he went to Garraidh, and asked him to go with him to Finn to ask satisfaction for Goll. "I am not willing to go," said Garraidh, "since we could get no satisfaction for the great son of Morna." "Whether you have a mind to go or not, I will go," said Conan; "and I will make an end of every man I meet with, for the sake of yellow-haired Goll; I will have the life of Oisin, Finn's great son, and of Osgar and of Caoilte and of Daire of the Songs; I will have no forgiveness for them; we must show no respect for Finn, although we may die in the fight, having no help from Goll. And let us take that work in hand, and make no delay," he said; "for if Finn is there, his strength will be there, until we put him under his flag-stone." But it is not likely Garraidh went with him, and he after speaking such foolish words. And what happened Conan in the end is not known. But there is a cairn of stones on a hill of Burren, near to Corcomruadh, and the people of Connacht say it is there he is buried, and that there was a stone found there one time, having on it in the old writing: "Conan the swift-footed, the bare-footed." But the Munster people say it is on their own side of Burren he is buried. CHAPTER III. THE BATTLE OF GABHRA Now, with one thing and another, the High King of Ireland had got to be someway bitter against Finn and the Fianna; and one time that he had a gathering of his people he spoke out to them, and he bade them to remember all the harm that had been done them through the Fianna, and all their pride, and the tribute they asked. "And as to myself," he said, "I would sooner die fighting the Fianna, if I could bring them down along with me, than live with Ireland under them the way it is now." All his people were of the same mind, and they said they would make no delay, but would attack the Fianna and make an end of them. "And we will have good days of joy and of feasting," they said, "when once Almhuin is clear of them." And the High King began to make plans against Finn; and he sent to all the men of Ireland to come and help him. And when all was ready, he sent and bade Osgar to come to a feast he was making at Teamhair. And Osgar, that never was afraid before any enemy, set out for Teamhair, and three hundred of his men with him. And on the way they saw a woman of the Sidhe washing clothes at a river, and there was the colour of blood on the water where she was washing them. And Osgar said to her: "There is red on the clothes you are washing; and it is for the dead you are washing them." And the woman answered him, and it is what she said: "It is not long till the ravens will be croaking over your own head after the battle." "Is there any weakness in our eyes," said Osgar, "that a little story like that would set us crying? And do another foretelling for us now," he said, "and tell us will any man of our enemies fall by us before we ourselves are made an end of?" "There will nine hundred fall by yourself," she said; "and the High King himself will get his death-wound from you." Osgar and his men went on then to the king's house at Teamhair, and they got good treatment, and the feast was made ready, and they were three days at pleasure and at drinking. And on the last day of the drinking, the High King called out with a loud voice, and he asked Osgar would he make an exchange of spears with him. "Why do you ask that exchange," said Osgar, "when I myself and my spear were often with yourself in time of battle? And you would not ask it of me," he said, "if Finn and the Fianna were with me now." "I would ask it from any fighting man among you," said the king, "and for rent and tribute along with it." "Any gold or any treasure you might ask of us, we would give it to you," said Osgar, "but it is not right for you to ask my spear." There were very high words between them then, and they threatened one another, and at the last the High King said: "I will put my spear of the seven spells out through your body." "And I give my word against that," said Osgar, "I will put my spear of the nine spells between the meeting of your hair and your beard." With that he and his men rose up and went out of Teamhair, and they stopped to rest beside a river, and there they heard the sound of a very sorrowful tune, that was like keening, played on a harp. And there was great anger on Osgar when he heard that, and he rose up and took his arms and roused his people, and they went on again to where Finn was. And there came after them a messenger from the High King, and the message he brought was this, that he never would pay tribute to the Fianna or bear with them at all from that time. And when Finn heard that, he sent a challenge of battle, and he gathered together all the Fianna that were left to him. But as to the sons of Morna, it was to the High King of Ireland they gathered. And it was at the hill of Gabhra the two armies met, and there were twenty men with the King of Ireland for every man that was with Finn. And it is a very hard battle was fought that day, and there were great deeds done on both sides; and there never was a greater battle fought in Ireland than that one. And as to Osgar, it would be hard to tell all he killed on that day; five score of the Sons of the Gael, and five score fighting men from the Country of Snow, and seven score of the Men of Green Swords that never went a step backward, and four hundred from the Country of the Lion, and five score of the sons of kings; and the shame was for the King of Ireland. But as to Osgar himself, that began the day so swift and so strong, at the last he was like leaves on a strong wind, or like an aspen-tree that is falling. But when he saw the High King near him, he made for him like a wave breaking on the strand; and the king saw him coming, and shook his greedy spear, and made a cast of it, and it went through his body and brought him down on his right knee, and that was the first grief of the Fianna. But Osgar himself was no way daunted, but he made a cast of his spear of the nine spells that went into the High King at the meeting of the hair and the beard, and gave him his death. And when the men nearest to the High King saw that, they put the king's helmet up on a pillar, the way his people would think he was living yet. But Osgar saw it, and he lifted a thin bit of a slab-stone that was on the ground beside him, and he made a cast of it that broke the helmet where it was; and then he himself fell like a king. And there fell in that battle the seven sons of Caoilte, and the son of the King of Lochlann that had come to give them his help, and it would be hard to count the number of the Fianna that fell in that battle. And when it was ended, those that were left of them went looking for their dead. And Caoilte stooped down over his seven brave sons, and every living man of the Fianna stooped over his own dear friends. And it was a lasting grief to see all that were stretched in that place, but the Fianna would not have taken it to heart the way they did, but for being as they were, a beaten race. And as to Oisin, he went looking for Osgar, and it is the way he found him, lying stretched, and resting on his left arm and his broken shield beside him, and his sword in his hand yet, and his blood about him on every side. And he put out his hand to Oisin, and Oisin took it and gave out a very hard cry. And Osgar said: "It is glad I am to see you safe, my father." And Oisin had no answer to give him. And just then Caoilte came where they were, and he looked at Osgar. "What way are you now, my darling?" he said. "The way you would like me to be," said Osgar. Then Caoilte searched the wound, and when he saw how the spear had torn its way through to the back, he cried out, and a cloud came over him and his strength failed him. "O Osgar," he said, "you are parted from the Fianna, and they themselves must be parted from battle from this out," he said, "and they must pay their tribute to the King of Ireland." Then Caoilte and Oisin raised up Osgar on their shields and brought him to a smooth green hill till they would take his dress off. And there was not a hands-breadth of his white body that was without a wound. And when the rest of the Fianna saw what way Osgar was, there was not a man of them that keened his own son or his brother, but every one of them came keening Osgar. And after a while, at noonday, they saw Finn coming towards them, and what was left of the Sun-banner raised on a spear-shaft. All of them saluted Finn then, but he made no answer, and he came up to the hill where Osgar was. And when Osgar saw him coming he saluted him, and he said: "I have got my desire in death, Finn of the sharp arms." And Finn said: "It is worse the way you were, my son, on the day of the battle at Beinn Edair when the wild geese could swim on your breast, and it was my hand that gave you healing." "There can no healing be done for me now for ever," said Osgar, "since the King of Ireland put the spear of seven spells through my body." And Finn said: "It is a pity it was not I myself fell in sunny scarce Gabhra, and you going east and west at the head of the Fianna." "And if it was yourself fell in the battle," said Osgar, "you would not hear me keening after you; for no man ever knew any heart in me," he said, "but a heart of twisted horn, and it covered with iron. But the howling of the dogs beside me," he said, "and the keening of the old righting men, and the crying of the women one after another, those are the things that are vexing me." And Finn said: "Child of my child, calf of my calf, white and slender, it is a pity the way you are. And my heart is starting like a deer," he said, "and I am weak after you and after the Fianna of Ireland. And misfortune has followed us," he said; "and farewell now to battles and to a great name, and farewell to taking tributes; for every good thing I ever had is gone from me now," he said. And when Osgar heard those words he stretched out his hands, and his eyelids closed. And Finn turned away from the rest, and he cried tears down; and he never shed a tear through the whole length of his lifetime but only for Osgar and for Bran. And all that were left of the Fianna gave three gorrowful cries after Osgar, for there was not one of the Fianna beyond him, unless it might be Finn or Oisin. And it is many of the Fianna were left dead in Gabhra, and graves were made for them. And as to Lugaidh's Son, that was so tall a man and so good a fighter, they made a very wide grave for him, as was fitting for a king. And the whole length of the rath at Gabhra, from end to end, it is that was the grave of Osgar, son of Oisin, son of Finn. And as to Finn himself, he never had peace or pleasure again from that day. BOOK TEN: THE END OF THE FIANNA. CHAPTER I. DEATH OF BRAN One day Finn was hunting, and Bran went following after a fawn. And they were coming towards Finn, and the fawn called out, and it said: "If I go into the sea below I will never come back again; and if I go up into the air above me, it will not save me from Bran." For Bran would overtake the wild geese, she was that swift. "Go out through my legs," said Finn then. So the fawn did that, and Bran followed her; and as Bran went under him, Finn squeezed his two knees on her, that she died on the moment. And there was great grief on him after that, and he cried tears down the same as he did when Osgar died. And some said it was Finn's mother the fawn was, and that it was to save his mother he killed Bran. But that is not likely, for his mother was beautiful Muirne, daughter of Tadg, son of Nuada of the Tuatha de Danaan, and it was never heard that she was changed into a fawn. It is more likely it was Oisin's mother was in it. But some say Bran and Sceolan are still seen to start at night out of the thicket on the hill of Almhuin. CHAPTER II. THE CALL OF OISIN One misty morning, what were left of the Fianna were gathered together to Finn, and it is sorrowful and downhearted they were after the loss of so many of their comrades. And they went hunting near the borders of Loch Lein, where the bushes were in blossom and the birds were singing; and they were waking up the deer that were as joyful as the leaves of a tree in summer-time. And it was not long till they saw coming towards them from the west a beautiful young woman, riding on a very fast slender white horse. A queen's crown she had on her head, and a dark cloak of silk down to the ground, having stars of red gold on it; and her eyes were blue and as clear as the dew on the grass, and a gold ring hanging down from every golden lock of her hair; and her cheeks redder than the rose, and her skin whiter than the swan upon the wave, and her lips as sweet as honey that is mixed through red wine. And in her hand she was holding a bridle having a golden bit, and there was a saddle worked with red gold under her. And as to the horse, he had a wide smooth cloak over him, and a silver crown on the back of his head, and he was shod with shining gold. She came to where Finn was, and she spoke with a very kind, gentle voice, and she said: "It is long my journey was, King of the Fianna." And Finn asked who was she, and what was her country and the cause of her coming. "Niamh of the Golden Head is my name," she said; "and I have a name beyond all the women of the world, for I am the daughter of the King of the Country of the Young." "What was it brought you to us from over the sea, Queen?" said Finn then. "Is it that your husband is gone from you, or what is the trouble that is on you?" "My husband is not gone from me," she said, "for I never went yet to any man. But O King of the Fianna," she said, "I have given my love and my affection to your own son, Oisin of the strong hands." "Why did you give your love to him beyond all the troops of high princes that are under the sun?" said Finn. "It was by reason of his great name, and of the report I heard of his bravery and of his comeliness," she said. "And though there is many a king's son and high prince gave me his love, I never consented to any till I set my love on Oisin." When Oisin heard what she was saying, there was not a limb of his body that was not in love with beautiful Niamh; and he took her hand in his hand, and he said: "A true welcome before you to this country, young queen. It is you are the shining one," he said; "it is you are the nicest and the comeliest; it is you are better to me than any other woman; it is you are my star and my choice beyond the women of the entire world." "I put on you the bonds of a true hero," said Niamh then, "you to come away with me now to the Country of the Young." And it is what she said: "It is the country is most delightful of all that are under the sun; the trees are stooping down with fruit and with leaves and with blossom. "Honey and wine are plentiful there, and everything the eye has ever seen; no wasting will come on you with the wasting away of time; you will never see death or lessening. "You will get feasts, playing and drinking; you will get sweet music on the strings; you will get silver and gold and many jewels. "You will get, and no lie in it, a hundred swords; a hundred cloaks of the dearest silk; a hundred horses, the quickest in battle; a hundred willing hounds. "You will get the royal crown of the King of the Young that he never gave to any one under the sun. It will be a shelter to you night and day in every rough fight and in every battle. "You will get a right suit of armour; a sword, gold-hilted, apt for striking; no one that ever saw it got away alive from it. "A hundred coats of armour and shirts of satin; a hundred cows and a hundred calves; a hundred sheep having golden fleeces; a hundred jewels that are not of this world. "A hundred glad young girls shining like the sun, their voices sweeter than the music of birds; a hundred armed men strong in battle, apt at feats, waiting on you, if you will come with me to the Country of the Young. "You will get everything I have said to you, and delights beyond them, that I have no leave to tell; you will get beauty, strength and power, and I myself will be with you as a wife." And after she had made that song, Oisin said: "O pleasant golden-haired queen, you are my choice beyond the women of the world; and I will go with you willingly," he said. And with that he kissed Finn his father and bade him farewell, and he bade farewell to the rest of the Fianna, and he went up then on the horse with Niamh. And the horse set out gladly, and when he came to the strand he shook himself and he neighed three times, and then he made for the sea. And when Finn and the Fianna saw Oisin facing the wide sea, they gave three great sorrowful shouts. And as to Finn, he said: "It is my grief to see you going from me; and I am without a hope," he said, "ever to see you coming back to me again." CHAPTER III. THE LAST OF THE GREAT MEN And indeed that was the last time Finn and Oisin and the rest of the Fianna of Ireland were gathered together, for hunting, for battle, for chess-playing, for drinking or for music; for they all wore away after that, one after another. As to Caoilte, that was old and had lost his sons, he used to be fretting and lonesome after the old times. And one day that there was very heavy snow on the ground, he made this complaint:-- "It is cold the winter is; the wind is risen; the fierce high-couraged stag rises up; it is cold the whole mountain is to-night, yet the fierce stag is calling. The deer of Slievecarn of the gatherings does not lay his side to the ground; he no less than the stag of the top of cold Echtge hears the music of the wolves. "I, Caoilte, and brown-haired Diarmuid and pleasant light-footed Osgar, we used to be listening to the music of the wolves through the end of the cold night. It is well the brown deer sleeps with its hide to the hollow, hidden as if in the earth, through the end of the cold night. "To-day I am in my age, and I know but a few men; I used to shake my spear bravely in the ice-cold morning. It is often I put silence on a great army that is very cold to-night." And after a while he went into a hill of the Sidhe to be healed of his old wounds. And whether he came back from there or not is not known; and there are some that say he used to be talking with Patrick of the Bells the same time Oisin was with him. But that is not likely, or Oisin would not have made complaints about his loneliness the way he did. But a long time after that again, there was a king of Ireland making a journey. And he and his people missed their way, and when night-time came on, they were in a dark wood, and no path before them. And there came to them a very tall man, that was shining like a burning flame, and he took hold of the bridle of the king's horse, and led him through the wood till they came to the right road. And the King of Ireland asked him who was he, and first he said: "I am your candlestick"; and then he said: "I was with Finn one time." And the king knew it was Caoilte, son of Ronan, was in it. And three times nine of the rest of the Fianna came out of the west one time to Teamhair. And they took notice that now they were wanting their full strength and their great name, no one took notice of them or came to speak with them at all. And when they saw that, they lay down on the side of the hill at Teamhair, and put their lips to the earth and died. And for three days and a month and a year from the time of the destruction of the Fianna of Ireland, Loch Dearg was under mists. * * * * * And as to Finn, there are some say he died by the hand of a fisherman; but it is likely that is not true, for that would be no death for so great a man as Finn, son of Cumhal. And there are some say he never died, but is alive in some place yet. And one time a smith made his way into a cave he saw, that had a door to it, and he made a key that opened it. And when he went in he saw a very wide place, and very big men lying on the floor. And one that was bigger than the rest was lying in the middle, and the Dord Fiann beside him; and he knew it was Finn and the Fianna were in it. And the smith took hold of the Dord Fiann, and it is hardly he could lift it to his mouth, and he blew a very strong blast on it, and the sound it made was so great, it is much the rocks did not come down on him. And at the sound, the big men lying on the ground shook from head to foot. He gave another blast then, and they all turned on their elbows. And great dread came on him when he saw that, and he threw down the Dord Fiann and ran from the caye and locked the door after him, and threw the key into the lake. And he heard them crying after him, "You left us worse than you found us." And the cave was not found again since that time. But some say the day will come when the Dord Fiann will be sounded three times, and that at the sound of it the Fianna will rise up as strong and as well as ever they were. And there are some say Finn, son of Cumhal, has been on the earth now and again since the old times, in the shape of one of the heroes of Ireland. And as to the great things he and his men did when they were together, it is well they have been kept in mind through the poets of Ireland and of Alban. And one night there were two men minding sheep in a valley, and they were saying the poems of the Fianna while they were there. And they saw two very tall shapes on the two hills on each side of the valley, and one of the tall shapes said to the other: "Do you hear that man down below? I was the second doorpost of battle at Gabhra, and that man knows all about it better than myself." BOOK ELEVEN: OISIN AND PATRICK. CHAPTER I. OISIN'S STORY As to Oisin, it was a long time after he was brought away by Niamh that he came back again to Ireland. Some say it was hundreds of years he was in the Country of the Young, and some say it was thousands of years he was in it; but whatever time it was, it seemed short to him. And whatever happened him through the time he was away, it is a withered old man he was found after coming back to Ireland, and his white horse going away from him, and he lying on the ground. And it was S. Patrick had power at that time, and it was to him Oisin was brought; and he kept him in his house, and used to be teaching him and questioning him. And Oisin was no way pleased with the way Ireland was then, but he used to be talking of the old times, and fretting after the Fianna. And Patrick bade him to tell what happened him the time he left Finn and the Fianna and went away with Niamh. And it is the story Oisin told:--"The time I went away with golden-haired Niamh, we turned our backs to the land, and our faces westward, and the sea was going away before us, and filling up in waves after us. And we saw wonderful things on our journey," he said, "cities and courts and duns and lime-white houses, and shining sunny-houses and palaces. And one time we saw beside us a hornless deer running hard, and an eager white red-eared hound following after it. And another time we saw a young girl on a horse and having a golden apple in her right hand, and she going over the tops of the waves; and there was following after her a young man riding a white horse, and having a crimson cloak and a gold-hilted sword in his right hand." "Follow on with your story, pleasant Oisin," said Patrick, "for you did not tell us yet what was the country you went to." "The Country of the Young, the Country of Victory, it was," said Oisin. "And O Patrick," he said, "there is no lie in that name; and if there are grandeurs in your Heaven the same as there are there, I would give my friendship to God. "We turned our backs then to the dun," he said, "and the horse under us was quicker than the spring wind on the backs of the mountains. And it was not long till the sky darkened, and the wind rose in every part, and the sea was as if on fire, and there was nothing to be seen of the sun. "But after we were looking at the clouds and the stars for a while the wind went down, and the storm, and the sun brightened. And we saw before us a very delightful country under full blossom, and smooth plains in it, and a king's dun that was very grand, and that had every colour in it, and sunny-houses beside it, and palaces of shining stones, made by skilled men. And we saw coming out to meet us three fifties of armed men, very lively and handsome. And I asked Niamh was this the Country of the Young, and she said it was. 'And indeed, Oisin,' she said, 'I told you no lie about it, and you will see all I promised you before you for ever.' "And there came out after that a hundred beautiful young girls, having cloaks of silk worked with gold, and they gave me a welcome to their own country. And after that there came a great shining army, and with it a strong beautiful king, having a shirt of yellow silk and a golden cloak over it, and a very bright crown on his head. And there was following after him a young queen, and fifty young girls along with her. "And when all were come to the one spot, the king took me by the hand, and he said out before them all: 'A hundred thousand welcomes before you, Oisin, son of Finn. And as to this country you are come to,' he said, 'I will tell you news of it without a lie. It is long and lasting your life will be in it, and you yourself will be young for ever. And there is no delight the heart ever thought of,' he said, 'but it is here against your coming. And you can believe my words, Oisin,' he said, 'for I myself am the King of the Country of the Young, and this is its comely queen, and it was golden-headed Niamh our daughter that went over the sea looking for you to be her husband for ever.' I gave thanks to him then, and I stooped myself down before the queen, and we went forward to the royal house, and all the high nobles came out to meet us, both men and women, and there was a great feast made there through the length of ten days and ten nights. "And that is the way I married Niamh of the Golden Hair, and that is the way I went to the Country of the Young, although it is sorrowful to me to be telling it now, O Patrick from Rome," said Oisin. "Follow on with your story, Oisin of the destroying arms," said Patrick, "and tell me what way did you leave the Country of the Young, for it is long to me till I hear that; and tell us now had you any children by Niamh, and was it long you were in that place." "Two beautiful children I had by Niamh," said Oisin, "two young sons and a comely daughter. And Niamh gave the two sons the name of Finn and of Osgar, and the name I gave to the daughter was The Flower. "And I did not feel the time passing, and it was a long time I stopped there," he said, "till the desire came on me to see Finn and my comrades again. And I asked leave of the king and of Niamh to go back to Ireland. 'You will get leave from me,' said Niamh; 'but for all that,' she said, 'it is bad news you are giving me, for I am in dread you will never come back here again through the length of your days.' But I bade her have no fear, since the white horse would bring me safe back again from Ireland. 'Bear this in mind, Oisin,' she said then, 'if you once get off the horse while you are away, or if you once put your foot to ground, you will never come back here again. And O Oisin,' she said, 'I tell it to you now for the third time, if you once get down from the horse, you will be an old man, blind and withered, without liveliness, without mirth, without running, without leaping. And it is a grief to me, Oisin,' she said, 'you ever to go back to green Ireland; and it is not now as it used to be, and you will not see Finn and his people, for there is not now in the whole of Ireland but a Father of Orders and armies of saints; and here is my kiss for you, pleasant Oisin,' she said, 'for you will never come back any more to the Country of the Young.' "And that is my story, Patrick, and I have told you no lie in it," said Oisin. "And O Patrick," he said, "if I was the same the day I came here as I was that day, I would have made an end of all your clerks, and there would not be a head left on a neck after me." "Go on with your story," said Patrick, "and you will get the same good treatment from me you got from Finn, for the sound of your voice is pleasing to me." So Oisin went on with his story, and it is what he said: "I have nothing to tell of my journey till I came back into green Ireland, and I looked about me then on all sides, but there were no tidings to be got of Finn. And it was not long till I saw a great troop of riders, men and women, coming towards me from the west. And when they came near they wished me good health; and there was wonder on them all when they looked at me, seeing me so unlike themselves, and so big and so tall. "I asked them then did they hear if Finn was still living, or any other one of the Fianna, or what had happened them. 'We often heard of Finn that lived long ago,' said they, 'and that there never was his equal for strength or bravery or a great name; and there is many a book written down,' they said, 'by the sweet poets of the Gael, about his doings and the doings of the Fianna, and it would be hard for us to tell you all of them. And we heard Finn had a son,' they said, 'that was beautiful and shining, and that there came a young girl looking for him, and he went away with her to the Country of the Young.' "And when I knew by their talk that Finn was not living or any of the Fianna, it is downhearted I was, and tired, and very sorrowful after them. And I made no delay, but I turned my face and went on to Almhuin of Leinster. And there was great wonder on me when I came there to see no sign at all of Finn's great dun, and his great hall, and nothing in the place where it was but weeds and nettles." And there was grief on Oisin then, and he said: "Och, Patrick! Och, ochone, my grief! It is a bad journey that was to me; and to be without tidings of Finn or the Fianna has left me under pain through my lifetime." "Leave off fretting, Oisin," said Patrick, "and shed your tears to the God of grace. Finn and the Fianna are slack enough now, and they will get no help for ever." "It is a great pity that would be," said Oisin, "Finn to be in pain for ever; and who was it gained the victory over him, when his own hand had made an end of so many a hard fighter?" "It is God gained the victory over Finn," said Patrick, "and not the strong hand of an enemy; and as to the Fianna, they are condemned to hell along with him, and tormented for ever." "O Patrick," said Oisin, "show me the place where Finn and his people are, and there is not a hell or a heaven there but I will put it down. And if Osgar, my own son, is there," he said, "the hero that was bravest in heavy battles, there is not in hell or in the Heaven of God a troop so great that he could not destroy it." "Let us leave off quarrelling on each side now," said Patrick; "and go on, Oisin, with your story. What happened you after you knew the Fianna to be at an end?" "I will tell you that, Patrick," said Oisin. "I was turning to go away, and I saw the stone trough that the Fianna used to be putting their hands in, and it full of water. And when I saw it I had such a wish and such a feeling for it that I forgot what I was told, and I got off the horse. And in the minute all the years came on me, and I was lying on the ground, and the horse took fright and went away and left me there, an old man, weak and spent, without sight, without shape, without comeliness, without strength or understanding, without respect. "There, Patrick, is my story for you now," said Oisin, "and no lie in it, of all that happened me going away and coming back again from the Country of the Young." CHAPTER II. OISIN IN PATRICK'S HOUSE And Oisin stopped on with S. Patrick, but he was not very well content with the way he was treated. And one time he said: "They say I am getting food, but God knows I am not, or drink; and I Oisin, son of Finn, under a yoke, drawing stones." "It is my opinion you are getting enough," said S. Patrick then, "and you getting a quarter of beef and a churn of butter and a griddle of bread every day." "I often saw a quarter of a blackbird bigger than your quarter of beef," said Oisin, "and a rowan berry as big as your churn of butter, and an ivy leaf as big as your griddle of bread." S, Patrick was vexed when he heard that, and he said to Oisin that he had told a lie. There was great anger on Oisin then, and he went where there was a litter of pups, and he bade a serving-boy to nail up the hide of a freshly killed bullock to the wall, and to throw the pups against it one by one. And every one that he threw fell down from the hide till it came to the last, and he held on to it with his teeth and his nails. "Rear that one," said Oisin, "and drown all the rest." Then he bade the boy to keep the pup in a dark place, and to care it well, and never to let it taste blood or see the daylight. And at the end of a year, Oisin was so well pleased with the pup, that he gave it the name of Bran Og, young Bran. And one day he called to the serving-boy to come on a journey with him, and to bring the pup in a chain. And they set out and passed by Slieve-nam-ban, where the witches of the Sidhe do be spinning with their spinning-wheels; and then they turned eastward into Gleann-na-Smol. And Oisin raised a rock that was there, and he bade the lad take from under it three things, a great sounding horn of the Fianna, and a ball of iron they had for throwing, and a very sharp sword. And when Oisin saw those things, he took them in his hands, and he said: "My thousand farewells to the day when you were put here!" He bade the lad to clean them well then; and when he had done that, he bade him to sound a blast on the horn. So the boy did that, and Oisin asked him did he see anything strange. "I did not," said the boy. "Sound it again as loud as you can," said Oisin. "That is as hard as I can sound it, and I can see nothing yet," said the boy when he had done that. Then Oisin took the horn himself, and he put it to his mouth, and blew three great blasts on it. "What do you see now?" he said. "I see three great clouds coming," he said, "and they are settling down in the valley; and the first cloud is a flight of very big birds, and the second cloud is a flight of birds that are bigger again, and the third flight is of the biggest and the blackest birds the world ever saw." "What is the dog doing?" said Oisin. "The eyes are starting from his head, and there is not a rib of hair on him but is standing up." "Let him loose now," said Oisin. The dog rushed down to the valley then, and he made an attack on one of the birds, that was the biggest of all, and that had a shadow like a cloud. And they fought a very fierce fight, but at last Bran Og made an end of the big bird, and lapped its blood. But if he did, madness came on him, and he came rushing back towards Oisin, his jaws open and his eyes like fire. "There is dread on me, Oisin," said the boy, "for the dog is making for us, mad and raging." "Take this iron ball and make a cast at him when he comes near," said Oisin. "I am in dread to do that," said the boy. "Put it in my hand, and turn it towards him," said Oisin. The boy did that, and Oisin made a cast of the ball that went into the mouth and the throat of the dog, and choked him, and he fell down the slope, twisting and foaming. Then they went where the great bird was left dead, and Oisin bade the lad to cut a quarter off it with the sword, and he did so. And then he bade him cut open the body, and in it he found a rowan berry, the biggest he had ever seen, and an ivy leaf that was bigger than the biggest griddle. So Oisin turned back then, and went to where S. Patrick was, and he showed him the quarter of the bird that was bigger than any quarter of a bullock, and the rowan berry that was bigger than a churning of butter, and the leaf. "And you know now, Patrick of the Bells," he said, "that I told no lie; and it is what kept us all through our lifetime," he said, "truth that was in our hearts, and strength in our arms, and fulfilment in our tongues." "You told no lie indeed," said Patrick. And when Oisin had no sight left at all, he used every night to put up one of the serving-men on his shoulders, and to bring him out to see how were the cattle doing. And one night the servants had no mind to go, and they agreed together to tell him it was a very bad night. And it is what the first of them said; "It is outside there is a heavy sound with the heavy water dropping from the tops of trees; the sound of the waves is not to be heard for the loud splashing of the rain." And then the next one said: "The trees of the wood are shivering, and the birch is turning black; the snow is killing the birds; that is the story outside." And the third said: "It is to the east they have turned their face, the white snow and the dark rain; it is what is making the plain so cold is the snow that is dripping and getting hard." But there was a serving-girl in the house, and she said: "Rise up, Oisin, and go out to the white-headed cows, since the cold wind is plucking the trees from the hills." Oisin went out then, and the serving-man on his shoulders; but it is what the serving-man did, he brought a vessel of water and a birch broom with him, and he was dashing water in Oisin's face, the way he would think it was rain. But when they came to the pen where the cattle were, Oisin found the night was quiet, and after that he asked no more news of the weather from the servants. CHAPTER III. THE ARGUMENTS And S. Patrick took in hand to convert Oisin, and to bring him to baptism; but it was no easy work he had to do, and everything he would say, Oisin would have an answer for it. And it is the way they used to be talking and arguing with one another, as it was put down afterwards by the poets of Ireland:-- PATRICK. "Oisin, it is long your sleep is. Rise up and listen to the Psalm. Your strength and your readiness are gone from you, though you used to be going into rough fights and battles." OLSIN. "My readiness and my strength are gone from me since Finn has no armies living; I have no liking for clerks, their music is not sweet to me after his." PATRICK. "You never heard music so good from the beginning of the world to this day; it is well you would serve an army on a hill, you that are old and silly and grey." OLSIN. "I used to serve an army on a hill, Patrick of the closed-up mind; it is a pity you to be faulting me; there was never shame put on me till now. "I have heard music was sweeter than your music, however much you are praising your clerks: the song of the blackbird in Leiter Laoi, and the sound of the Dord Fiann; the very sweet thrush of the Valley of the Shadow, or the sound of the boats striking the strand. The cry of the hounds was better to me than the noise of your schools, Patrick. "Little Nut, little Nut of my heart, the little dwarf that was with Finn, when he would make tunes and songs he would put us all into deep sleep. "The twelve hounds that belonged to Finn, the time they would be let loose facing out from the Siuir, their cry was sweeter than harps and than pipes. "I have a little story about Finn; we were but fifteen men; we took the King of the Saxons of the feats, and we won a battle against the King of Greece. "We fought nine battles in Spain, and nine times twenty battles in Ireland; from Lochlann and from the eastern world there was a share of gold coming to Finn. "My grief! I to be stopping after him, and without delight in games or in music; to be withering away after my comrades; my grief it is to be living. I and the clerks of the Mass books are two that can never agree. "If Finn and the Fianna were living, I would leave the clerks and the bells; I would follow the deer through the valleys, I would like to be close on his track. "Ask Heaven of God, Patrick, for Finn of the Fianna and his race; make prayers for the great man; you never heard of his like." PATRICK. "I will not ask Heaven for Finn, man of good wit that my anger is rising against, since his delight was to be living in valleys with the noise of hunts." OISIN. "If you had been in company with the Fianna, Patrick of the joyless clerks and of the bells, you would not be attending on schools or giving heed to God." PATRICK. "I would not part from the Son of God for all that have lived east or west; O Oisin, O shaking poet, there will harm come on you in satisfaction for the priests." OISIN. "It was a delight to Finn the cry of his hounds on the mountains, the wild dogs leaving their harbours, the pride of his armies, those were his delights." PATRICK. "There was many a thing Finn took delight in, and there is not much heed given to it after him; Finn and his hounds are not living now, and you yourself will not always be living, Oisin." OISIN. "There is a greater story of Finn than of us, or of any that have lived in our time; all that are gone and all that are living, Finn was better to give out gold than themselves." PATRICK. "All the gold you and Finn used to be giving out, it is little it does for you now; he is in Hell in bonds because he did treachery and oppression." OISIN. "It is little I believe of your truth, man from Rome with the white books, Finn the open-handed head of the Fianna to be in the hands of devils or demons." PATRICK. "Finn is in bonds in Hell, the pleasant man that gave out gold; in satisfaction for his disrespect to God, he is under grief in the house of pain." OISIN. "If the sons of Morna were within it, or the strong men of the sons of Baiscne, they would take Finn out of it, or they would have the house for themselves." PATRICK. "If the five provinces of Ireland were within it, or the strong seven battalions of the Fianna, they would not be able to bring Finn out of it, however great their strength might be." OISIN. "If Faolan and Goll were living, and brown-haired Diarmuid and brave Osgar, Finn of the Fianna could not be held in any house that was made by God or devils." PATRICK. "If Faolan and Goll were living, and all the Fianna that ever were, they could not bring out Finn from the house where he is in pain." OISIN. "What did Finn do against God but to be attending on schools and on armies? Giving gold through a great part of his time, and for another while trying his hounds." PATRICK. "In payment for thinking of his hounds and for serving the schools of the poets, and because he gave no heed to God, Finn of the Fianna is held down." OISIN. "You say, Patrick of the Psalms, that the Fianna could not take out Finn, or the five provinces of Ireland along with them. "I have a little story about Finn. We were but fifteen men when we took the King of Britain of the feasts by the strength of our spears and our own strength. "We took Magnus the great, the son of the King of Lochlann of the speckled ships; we came back no way sorry or tired, we put our rent on far places. "O Patrick, the story is pitiful, the King of the Fianna to be under locks; a heart without envy, without hatred, a heart hard in earning victory. "It is an injustice, God to be unwilling to give food and riches; Finn never refused strong or poor, although cold Hell is now his dwelling-place. "It is what Finn had a mind for, to be listening to the sound of Druim Dearg; to sleep at the stream of Ess Ruadh, to be hunting the deer of Gallimh of the bays. "The cries of the blackbird of Leiter Laoi, the wave of Rudraighe beating the strand, the bellowing of the ox of Magh Maoin, the lowing of the calf of Gleann da Mhail. "The noise of the hunt on Slieve Crot, the sound of the fawns round Slieve Cua, the scream of the sea-gulls there beyond on Iorrus, the screech of the crows over the battle. "The waves vexing the breasts of the boats, the howling of the hounds at Druim Lis; the voice of Bran on Cnoc-an-Air, the outcry of the streams about Slieve Mis. "The call of Osgar going to the hunt; the voice of the hounds on the road of the Fianna, to be listening to them and to the poets, that was always his desire. "A desire of the desires of Osgar was to listen to the striking of shields; to be hacking at bones in a battle, it is what he had a mind for always. "We went westward one time to hunt at Formaid of the Fianna, to see the first running of our hounds. "It was Finn was holding Bran, and it is with myself Sceolan was; Diarmuid of the Women had Fearan, and Osgar had lucky Adhnuall. "Conan the Bald had Searc; Caoilte, son of Ronan, had Daol; Lugaidh's Son and Goll were holding Fuaim and Fothran. "That was the first day we loosed out a share of our hounds to a hunting; and Och! Patrick, of all that were in it, there is not one left living but myself. "O Patrick, it is a pity the way I am now, a spent old man without sway, without quickness, without strength, going to Mass at the altar. "Without the great deer of Slieve Luchra; without the hares of Slieve Cuilinn; without going into fights with Finn; without listening to the poets. "Without battles, without taking of spoils; without playing at nimble feats; without going courting or hunting, two trades that were my delight." PATRICK. "Leave off, old man, leave your foolishness; let what you have done be enough for you from this out. Think on the pains that are before you; the Fianna are gone, and you yourself will be going." OISIN. "If I go, may yourself not be left after me, Patrick of the hindering heart; if Conan, the least of the Fianna, were living, your buzzing would not be left long to you." "Or if this was the day I gave ten hundred cows to the headless woman that came to the Valley of the Two Oxen; the birds of the air brought away the ring I gave her, I never knew where she went herself from me." PATRICK. "That is little to trouble you, Oisin; it was but for a while she was with you; it is better for you to be as you are than to be among them again." OISIN. "O Son of Calphurn of the friendly talk, it is a pity for him that gives respect to clerks and bells; I and Caoilte my friend, we were not poor when we were together. "The music that put Finn to his sleep was the cackling of the ducks from the lake of the Three Narrows; the scolding talk of the blackbird of Doire an Cairn, the bellowing of the ox from the Valley of the Berries. "The whistle of the eagle from the Valley of Victories, or from the rough branches of the ridge by the stream; the grouse of the heather of Cruachan; the call of the otter of Druim-re-Coir. "The song of the blackbird of Doire an Cairn indeed I never heard sweeter music, if I could be under its nest. "My grief that I ever took baptism; it is little credit I got by it, being without food, without drink, doing fasting and praying." PATRICK. "In my opinion it did not harm you, old man; you will get nine score cakes of bread, wine and meat to put a taste on it; it is bad talk you are giving." OISIN. "This mouth that is talking with you, may it never confess to a priest, if I would not sooner have the leavings of Finn's house than a share of your own meals." PATRICK. "He got but what he gathered from the banks, or whatever he could kill on the rough hills; he got hell at the last because of his unbelief." OISIN. "That was not the way with us at all, but our fill of wine and of meat; justice and a right beginning at the feasts, sweet drinks and every one drinking them. "It is fretting after Diarmuid and Goll I am, and after Fergus of the True Lips, the time you will not let me be speaking of them, O new Patrick from Rome." PATRICK. "We would give you leave to be speaking of them, but first you should give heed to God. Since you are now at the end of your days, leave your foolishness, weak old man." OISIN. "O Patrick, tell me as a secret, since it is you have the best knowledge, will my dog or my hound be let in with me to the court of the King of Grace?" PATRICK. "Old man in your foolishness that I cannot put any bounds to, your dog or your hound will not be let in with you to the court of the King of Power." OISIN. "If I had acquaintance with God, and my hound to be at hand, I would make whoever gave food to myself give a share to my hound as well. "One strong champion that was with the Fianna of Ireland would be better than the Lord of Piety, and than you yourself, Patrick." PATRICK. "O Oisin of the sharp blades, it is mad words you are saying. God is better for one day than the whole of the Fianna of Ireland." OISIN. "Though I am now without sway and my life is spent to the end, do not put abuse, Patrick, on the great men of the sons of Baiscne. "If I had Conan with me, the man that used to be running down the Fianna, it is he would break your head within among your clerks and your priests." PATRICK. "It is a silly thing, old man, to be talking always of the Fianna; remember your end is come, and take the Son of God to help you." OISIN. "I used to sleep out on the mountain under the grey dew; I was never used to go to bed without food, while there was a deer on the hill beyond." PATRICK. "You are astray at the end of your life between the straight way and the crooked. Keep out from the crooked path of pains, and the angels of God will come beneath your head." OISIN. "If myself and open-handed Fergus and Diarmuid were together now on this spot, we would go in every path we ever went in, and ask no leave of the priests." PATRICK. "Leave off, Oisin; do not be speaking against the priests that are telling the word of God in every place. Unless you leave off your daring talk, it is great pain you will have in the end." OISIN. "When myself and the leader of the Fianna were looking for a boar in a valley, it was worse to me not to see it than all your clerks to be without their heads." PATRICK. "It is pitiful seeing you without sense; that is worse to you than your blindness; if you were to get sight within you, it is great your desire would be for Heaven." OISIN. "It is little good it would be to me to be sitting in that city, without Caoilte, without Osgar, without my father being with me. "The leap of the buck would be better to me, or the sight of badgers between two valleys, than all your mouth is promising me, and all the delights I could get in Heaven." PATRICK. "Your thoughts are foolish, they will come to nothing; your pleasure and your mirth are gone. Unless you will take my advice to-night, you will not get leave on this side or that." OISIN. "If myself and the Fianna were on the top of a hill to-day drawing our spear-heads, we would have our choice of being here or there in spite of books and priests and bells." PATRICK. "You were like the smoke of a wisp, or like a stream in a valley, or like a whirling wind on the top of a hill, every tribe of you that ever lived." OISIN. "If I was in company with the people of strong arms, the way I was at Bearna da Coill, I would sooner be looking at them than at this troop of the crooked croziers. "If I had Scolb Sceine with me, or Osgar, that was smart in battles, I would not be without meat to-night at the sound of the bell of the seven tolls." PATRICK. "Oisin, since your wits are gone from you be glad at what I say; it is certain to me you will leave the Fianna and that you will receive the God of the stars." OISIN. "There is wonder on me at your hasty talk, priest that has travelled in every part, to say that I would part from the Fianna, a generous people, never niggardly." PATRICK. "If you saw the people of God, the way they are settled at feasts, every good thing is more plentiful with them than with Finn's people, however great their name was. "Finn and the Fianna are lying now very sorrowful on the flag-stone of pain; take the Son of God in their place; make your repentance and do not lose Heaven." OISIN. "I do not believe your talk now. O Patrick of the crooked staves, Finn and the Fianna to be there within, unless they find pleasure being in it." PATRICK. "Make right repentance now, before you know when your end is coming; God is better for one hour than the whole of the Fianna of Ireland." OISIN. "That is a daring answer to make to me, Patrick of the crooked crozier; your crozier would be in little bits if I had Osgar with me now. "If my son Osgar and God were hand to hand on the Hill of the Fianna, if I saw my son put down, I would say that God was a strong man. "How could it be that God or his priests could be better men than Finn, the King of the Fianna, a generous man without crookedness. "If there was a place above or below better than the Heaven of God, it is there Finn would go, and all that are with him of his people. "You say that a generous man never goes to the hell of pain; there was not one among the Fianna that was not generous to all. "Ask of God, Patrick, does He remember when the Fianna were alive, or has He seen east or west any man better than themselves in their fighting. "The Fianna used not to be saying treachery; we never had the name of telling lies. By truth and the strength of our hands we came safe out of every battle. "There never sat a priest in a church, though you think it sweet to be singing psalms, was better to his word than the Fianna, or more generous than Finn himself. "If my comrades were living to-night, I would take no pleasure in your crooning in the church; as they are not living now, the rough voice of the bells has deafened me. "Och! in the place of battles and heavy fights, where I used to have my place and to take my pleasure, the crozier of Patrick being carried, and his clerks at their quarrelling. "Och! slothful, cheerless Conan, it is great abuse I used to be giving you; why do you not come to see me now? you would get leave for making fun and reviling through the whole of the niggardly clerks. "Och! where are the strong men gone that they do not come together to help me! O Osgar of the sharp sword of victory, come and free your father from his bonds! "Where is the strong son of Lugaidh? Och! Diarmuid of all the women! Och! Caoilte, son of Ronan, think of our love, and travel to me!" PATRICK. "Stop your talk, you withered, witless old man; it is my King that made the Heavens, it is He that gives blossom to the trees, it is He made the moon and the sun, the fields and the grass." OISIN. "It was not in shaping fields and grass that my king took his delight, but in overthrowing fighting men, and defending countries, and bringing his name into every part. "In courting, in playing, in hunting, in baring his banner at the first of a fight; in playing at chess, at swimming, in looking around him at the drinking-hall. "O Patrick, where was your God when the two came over the sea that brought away the queen of Lochlann of the Ships? Where was He when Dearg came, the son of the King of Lochlann of the golden shields? Why did not the King of Heaven protect them from the blows of the big man? "Or when Tailc, son of Treon, came, the man that did great slaughter on the Fianna; it was not by God that champion fell, but by Osgar, in the sight of all. "Many a battle and many a victory was gained by the Fianna of Ireland; I never heard any great deed was done by the King of Saints, or that He ever reddened His hand. "It would be a great shame for God not to take the locks of pain off Finn; if God Himself were in bonds, my king would fight for His sake. "Finn left no one in pain or in danger without freeing him by silver or gold, or by fighting till he got the victory. "For the strength of your love, Patrick, do not forsake the great men; bring in the Fianna unknown to the King of Heaven. "It is a good claim I have on your God, to be among his clerks the way I am; without food, without clothing, without music, without giving rewards to poets. "Without the cry of the hounds or the horns, without guarding coasts, without courting generous women; for all that I have suffered by the want of food, I forgive the King of Heaven in my will." Oisin said: "My story is sorrowful. The sound of your voice is not pleasant to me. I will cry my fill, but not for God, but because Finn and the Fianna are not living." CHAPTER IV. OISIN'S LAMENTS And Oisin used to be making laments, and sometimes he would be making praises of the old times and of Finn; and these are some of them that are remembered yet:-- I saw the household of Finn; it was not the household of a soft race; I had a vision of that man yesterday. I saw the household of the High King, he with the brown, sweet-voiced son; I never saw a better man. I saw the household of Finn; no one saw it as I saw it; I saw Finn with the sword, Mac an Luin. Och! it was sorrowful to see it. I cannot tell out every harm that is on my head; free us from our trouble for ever; I have seen the household of Finn. It is a week from yesterday I last saw Finn; I never saw a braver man. A king of heavy blows; my law, my adviser, my sense and my wisdom, prince and poet, braver than kings, King of the Fianna, brave in all countries; golden salmon of the sea, clean hawk of the air, rightly taught, avoiding lies; strong in his doings, a right judge, ready in courage, a high messenger in bravery and in music. His skin lime-white, his hair golden; ready to work, gentle to women. His great green vessels full of rough sharp wine, it is rich the king was, the head of his people. Seven sides Finn's house had, and seven score shields on every side. Fifty fighting men he had about him having woollen cloaks; ten bright drinking-cups in his hall; ten blue vessels, ten golden horns. It is a good household Finn had, without grudging, without lust, without vain boasting, without chattering, without any slur on any one of the Fianna. Finn never refused any man; he never put away any one that came to his house. If the brown leaves falling in the woods were gold, if the white waves were silver, Finn would have given away the whole of it. Blackbird of Doire an Chairn, your voice is sweet; I never heard on any height of the world music was sweeter than your voice, and you at the foot of your nest. The music is sweetest in the world, it is a pity not to be listening to it for a while, O son of Calphurn of the sweet bells, and you would overtake your nones again. If you knew the story of the bird the way I know it, you would be crying lasting tears, and you would give no heed to your God for a while. In the country of Lochlann of the blue streams, Finn, son of Cumhal, of the red-gold cups, found that bird you hear now; I will tell you its story truly. Doire an Chairn, that wood there to the west, where the Fianna used to be delaying, it is there they put the blackbird, in the beauty of the pleasant trees. The stag of the heather of quiet Cruachan, the sorrowful croak from the ridge of the Two Lakes; the voice of the eagle of the Valley of the Shapes, the voice of the cuckoo on the Hill of Brambles. The voice of the hounds in the pleasant valley; the scream of the eagle on the edge of the wood; the early outcry of the hounds going over the Strand of the Red Stones. The time Finn lived and the Fianna, it was sweet to them to be listening to the whistle of the blackbird; the voice of the bells would not have been sweet to them. There was no one of the Fianna without his fine silken shirt and his soft coat, without bright armour, without shining stones on his head, two spears in his hand, and a shield that brought victory. If you were to search the world you would not find a harder man, best of blood, best in battle; no one got the upper hand of him. When he went out trying his white hound, which of us could be put beside Finn? One time we went hunting on Slieve-nam-ban; the sun was beautiful overhead, the voice of the hounds went east and west, from hill to hill. Finn and Bran sat for a while on the hill, every man was jealous for the hunt. We let out three thousand hounds from their golden chains; every hound of them brought down two deer. Patrick of the true crozier, did you ever see, east or west, a greater hunt than that hunt of Finn and the Fianna? O son of Calphurn of the bells, that day was better to me than to be listening to your lamentations in the church. * * * * * There is no strength in my hands to-night, there is no power within me; it is no wonder I to be sorowful, being thrown down in the sorrow of old age. Everything is a grief to me beyond any other man on the face of the earth, to be dragging stones along to the church and the hill of the priests. I have a little story of our people. One time Finn had a mind to make a dun on the bald hill of Cuailgne, and he put it on the Fianna of Ireland to bring stones for building it; a third on the sons of Morna, a third on myself, and a third on the sons of Baiscne. I gave an answer to Finn, son of Cumhal; I said I would be under his sway no longer, and that I would obey him no more. When Finn heard that, he was silent a long time, the man without a He, without fear. And he said to me then: "You yourself will be dragging stones before your death comes to you." I rose up then with anger on me, and there followed me the fourth of the brave battalions of the Fianna. I gave my own judgments, there were many of the Fianna with me. Now my strength is gone from me, I that was adviser to the Fianna; my whole body is tired to-night, my hands, my feet, and my head, tired, tired, tired. It is bad the way I am after Finn of the Fianna; since he is gone away, every good is behind me. Without great people, without mannerly ways; it is sorrowful I am after our king that is gone. I am a shaking tree, my leaves gone from me; an empty nut, a horse without a bridle; a people without a dwelling-place, I Oisin, son of Finn. * * * * * It is long the clouds are over me to-night! it is long last night was; although this day is long, yesterday was longer again to me; every day that comes is long to me! That is not the way I used to be, without fighting, without battles, without learning feats, without young girls, without music, without harps, without bruising bones, without great deeds; without increase of learning, without generosity, without drinking at feasts, without courting, without hunting, the two trades I was used to; without going out to battle, Ochone! the want of them is sorrowful to me. No hunting of deer or stag, it is not like that I would wish to be; no leashes for our hounds, no hounds; it is long the clouds are over me to-night! Without rising up to do bravery as we were used, without playing as we had a mind; without swimming of our fighting men in the lake; it is long the clouds are over me to-night! There is no one at all in the world the way I am; it is a pity the way I am; an old man dragging stones; it is long the clouds are over me to-night! I am the last of the Fianna, great Oisin, son of Finn, listening to the voice of bells; it is long the clouds are over me to-night! NOTES I. THE APOLOGY The Irish text of the greater number of the stories in this book has been published, and from this text I have worked, making my own translation as far as my scholarship goes, and when it fails, taking the meaning given by better scholars. In some cases the Irish text has not been printed, and I have had to work by comparing and piecing together various translations. I have had to put a connecting sentence of my own here and there, and I have fused different versions together, and condensed many passages, and I have left out many, using the choice that is a perpetual refusing, in trying to get some clear outline of the doings of the heroes. I have found it more natural to tell the stories in the manner of the thatched houses, where I have heard so many legends of Finn and his friends, and Oisin and Patrick, and the Ever-Living Ones, and the Country of the Young, rather than in the manner of the slated houses, where I have not heard them. Four years ago, Dr Atkinson, a Professor of Trinity College, Dublin, in his evidence before the Commission of Intermediate Education, said of the old literature of Ireland:--"It has scarcely been touched by the movements of the great literatures; it is the untrained popular feeling. Therefore it is almost intolerably low in tone--I do not mean naughty, but low; and every now and then, when the circumstance occasions it, it goes down lower than low ... If I read the books in the Greek, the Latin or the French course, in almost every one of them there is something with an ideal ring about it--something that I can read with positive pleasure--something that has what the child might take with him as a [Greek: ktêma eis dei]--a perpetual treasure; but if I read the Irish books, I see nothing ideal in them, and my astonishment is that through the whole range of Irish literature that I have read (and I have read an enormous range of it), the smallness of the element of idealism is most noticeable ... And as there is very little idealism there is very little imagination ... The Irish tales as a rule are devoid of it fundamentally." Dr Atkinson is an Englishman, but unfortunately not only fellow-professors in Trinity but undergraduates there have been influenced by his opinion, that Irish literature is a thing to be despised. I do not quote his words to draw attention to a battle that is still being fought, but to explain my own object in working, as I have worked ever since that evidence was given, to make a part of Irish literature accessible to many, especially among my young countrymen, who have not opportunity to read the translations of the chief scholars, scattered here and there in learned periodicals, or patience and time to disentangle overlapping and contradictory versions, that they may judge for themselves as to its "lowness" and "want of imagination," and the other well-known charges brought against it before the same Commission. I believe that those who have once learned to care for the story of Cuchulain of Muirthemne, and of Finn and Lugh and Etain, and to recognise the enduring belief in an invisible world and an immortal life behind the visible and the mortal, will not be content with my redaction, but will go, first to the fuller versions of the best scholars, and then to the manuscripts themselves. I believe the forty students of old Irish lately called together by Professor Kuno Meyer will not rest satisfied until they have explored the scores and scores of uncatalogued and untranslated manuscripts in Trinity College Library, and that the enthusiasm which the Gaelic League has given birth to will lead to much fine scholarship. A day or two ago I had a letter from one of the best Greek scholars and translators in England, who says of my "Cuchulain": "It opened up a great world of beautiful legend which, though accounting myself as an Irishman, I had never known at all. I am sending out copies to Irish friends in Australia who, I am sure, will receive the same sort of impression, almost an impression of pride in the beauty of the Irish mind, as I received myself." And President Roosevelt wrote to me a little time ago that after he had read "Cuchulain of Muirthemne," he had sent for all the other translations from the Irish he could get, to take on his journey to the Western States. I give these appreciative words not, I think, from vanity, for they are not for me but for my material, to show the effect our old literature has on those who come fresh to it, and that they do not complain of its "want of imagination." I am, of course, very proud and glad in having had the opportunity of helping to make it known, and the task has been pleasant, although toil-some. Just now, indeed, on the 6th October, I am tired enough, and I think with sympathy of the old Highland piper, who complained that he was "withered with yelping the seven Fenian battalions." II. THE AGE AND ORIGIN OF THE STORIES OF THE FIANNA Mr Alfred Nutt says in _Ossian and the Ossianic Literature,_ No. 3 of his excellent series of sixpenny pamphlets, _Popular Studies in Mythology, Romance, and Folklore_:-- "The body of Gaelic literature connected with the name of Ossian is of very considerable extent and of respectable antiquity. The oldest texts, prose for the most part, but also in verse, are preserved in Irish MSS. of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and go back to a period from one hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty years older at least. The bulk of Ossianic literature is, however, of later date as far as the form under which it has come down to us is concerned. A number of important texts, prose for the most part, are preserved in MSS. of the fourteenth century, but were probably redacted in the thirteenth and twelfth centuries. But by far the largest mass consists of narrative poems, as a rule dramatic in structure. These have come down to us in MSS. written in Scotland from the end of the fifteenth to the middle of the seventeenth century, in Ireland from the sixteenth down to the middle of the nineteenth century. The Gaelic-speaking peasantry, alike in Ireland and Scotland, have preserved orally a large number of these ballads, as also a great mass of prose narratives, the heroes of which are Ossian and his comrades. "Were all Ossianic texts preserved in MSS. older than the present century to be printed, they would fill some eight to ten thousand octavo pages. The mere bulk of the literature, even if we allow for considerable repetition of incident, arrests attention. If we further recall that for the last five hundred years this body of romance has formed the chief imaginative recreation of Gaeldom, alike in Ireland and Scotland, and that a peasantry unable to read or write has yet preserved it almost entire, its claims to consideration and study will appear manifest." He then goes on to discuss how far the incidents in the stories can be accepted as they were accepted by Irish historical writers of the eleventh century as authentic history:-- "Fortunately there is little need for me to discuss the credibility or otherwise of the historic records concerning Finn, his family, and his band of warriors. They may be accepted or rejected according to individual bent of mind without really modifying our view of the literature. For when we turn to the romances, whether in prose or verse, we find that, although the history is professedly the same as that of the Annals, firstly, we are transported to a world entirely romantic, in which divine and semi-divine beings, ungainly monsters and giants, play a prominent part, in which men and women change shapes with animals, in which the lives of the heroes are miraculously prolonged--in short, we find ourselves in a land of Faery; secondly, we find that the historic conditions in which the heroes are represented as living do not, for the most part, answer to anything we know or can surmise of the third century. For Finn and his warriors are perpetually on the watch to guard Ireland against the attacks of over-sea raiders, styled Lochlannac by the narrators, and by them undoubtedly thought of as Norsemen. But the latter, as is well known, only came to Ireland at the close of the eighth century, and the heroic period of their invasions extended for about a century, from 825 to 925; to be followed by a period of comparative settlement during the tenth century, until at the opening of the eleventh century the battle of Clontarf, fought by Brian, the great South Irish chieftain, marked the break-up of the separate Teutonic organisations and the absorption of the Teutons into the fabric of Irish life. In these pages then we may disregard the otherwise interesting question of historic credibility in the Ossianic romances: firstly, because they have their being in a land unaffected by fact; secondly, because if they ever did reflect the history of the third century the reflection was distorted in after-times, and a pseudo-history based upon events of the ninth and tenth centuries was substituted for it. What the historian seeks for in legend is far more a picture of the society in which it took rise than a record of the events which it commemorates." In a later part of the pamphlet Mr Nutt discusses such questions as whether we may look for examples of third-century customs in the stories, what part of the stories first found their way into writing, whether the Oisin and Patrick dialogues were written under the influence of actual Pagan feeling persisting from Pagan times, or whether "a change came over the feeling of Gaeldom during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries," when the Oisin and Patrick dialogues in their present form began to be written. His final summing-up is that "well-nigh the same stories that were told of Finn and his warrior braves by the Gael of the eleventh century are told in well-nigh the same way by his descendant to-day." Mr Nutt does not enquire how long the stories may have been told before the first story was written down. Larminie, however, whose early death was the first great loss of our intellectual movement, pushes them backward for untold ages in the introduction to his _West Irish Folk Tales and Romances_. He builds up a detailed and careful argument, for which I must refer readers to his book, to prove that the Scottish Highlands and Ireland have received their folk-lore both from "Aryan and Non-Aryan sources," and that in the Highlands there is more non-Aryan influence and more non-Aryan blood than in Ireland. He argues that nothing is more improbable than that all folk-tales are Aryan, as has sometimes been supposed, and sums up as follows:-- "They bear the stamp of the genius of more than one race. The pure and placid but often cold imagination of the Aryan has been at work on some. In others we trace the more picturesque fancy, the fierceness and sensuality, the greater sense of artistic elegance belonging to races whom the Aryan, in spite of his occasional faults of hardness and coarseness, has, on the whole, left behind him. But as the greatest results in the realm of the highest art have always been achieved in the case of certain blends of Aryan with other blood, I should hardly deem it extravagant if it were asserted that in the humbler regions of the folk-tale we might trace the working of the same law. The process which has gone on may in part have been as follows:--Every race which has acquired very definite characteristics must have been for a long time isolated. The Aryans during their period of isolation probably developed many of their folk-germs into their larger myths, owing to the greater constructiveness of their imagination, and thus, in a way, they used up part of their material. Afterwards, when they became blended with other races less advanced, they acquired fresh material to work on. We have in Ireland an instance to hand, of which a brief discussion may help to illustrate the whole race theory. "The larger Irish legendary literature divides itself into three cycles--the divine, the heroic, the Fenian. Of these three the last is so well-known orally in Scotland that it has been a matter of dispute to which country it really belongs. It belongs, in fact, to both. Here, however, comes in a strange contrast with the other cycles. The first is, so far as I am aware, wholly unknown in Scotland, the second comparatively unknown. What is the explanation? Professor Zimmer not having established his late-historical view as regards Finn, and the general opinion among scholars having tended of recent years towards the mythical view, we want to know why there is so much more community in one case than in the other. Mr O'Grady long since seeing this difficulty, and then believing Finn to be historical, was induced to place the latter in point of time before Cuchulain and his compeers. But this view is of course inadmissible when Finn is seen not to be historical at all. There remains but one explanation. The various bodies of legend in question are, so far as Ireland is concerned, only earlier or later, as they came into the island with the various races to which they belonged. The wider prevalence, then, of the Finn Saga would indicate that it belonged to an early race occupying both Ireland and Scotland. Then entered the Aryan Gael, and for him henceforth, as the ruler of the island, his own gods and heroes were sung by his own bards. His legends became the subject of what I may call the court poetry, the aristocratic literature. When he conquered Scotland, he took with him his own gods and heroes; but in the latter country the bardic system never became established, and hence we find but feeble echoes of the heroic cycle among the mountains of the North. That this is the explanation is shown by what took place in Ireland. Here the heroic cycle has been handed down in remembrance almost solely by the bardic literature. The popular memory retains but few traces of it. Its essentially aristocratic character is shown by the fact that the people have all but forgotten it, if they ever knew it. But the Fenian cycle has not been forgotten. Prevailing everywhere, still cherished by the conquered peoples, it held its ground in Scotland and Ireland alike, forcing its way in the latter country even into the written literature, and so securing a twofold lease of existence ... The Fenian cycle, in a word, is non-Aryan folk-literature partially subjected to Aryan treatment." The whole problem is extremely complex, and several other writers have written upon it. Mr Borlase, for instance, has argued in his big book on the Dolmens that the cromlechs, and presumably the Diarmuid and Crania legend, is connected with old religious rites of an erotic nature coming down from a very primitive state of society. I have come to my own conclusion not so much because of any weight of argument, as because I found it impossible to arrange the stories in a coherent form so long as I considered them a part of history. I tried to work on the foundation of the Annalists, and fit the Fianna into a definite historical epoch, but the whole story seemed trivial and incoherent until I began to think of them as almost contemporaneous with the battle of Magh Tuireadh, which even the Annalists put back into mythical ages. In this I have only followed some of the story-tellers, who have made the mother of Lugh of the Long Hand the grandmother of Finn, and given him a shield soaked with the blood of Balor. I cannot think of any of the stories as having had a modern origin, or that the century in which each was written down gives any evidence as to its age. "How Diarmuid got his Love-Spot," for instance, which was taken down only a few years ago from some old man's recitation by Dr Hyde, may well be as old as "Finn and the Phantoms," which is in one of the earliest manuscripts. It seems to me that one cannot choose any definite period either from the vast living mass of folk-lore in the country or from the written text, and that there is as good evidence of Finn being of the blood of the gods as of his being, as some of the people tell me, "the son of an O'Shaughnessy who lived at Kiltartan Cross." Dr Douglas Hyde, although he placed the Fenian after the Cuchulain cycle in his _History of Irish Literature_, has allowed me to print this note:-- "While believing in the real objective existence of the Fenians as a body of Janissaries who actually lived, ruled, and hunted in King Cormac's time, I think it equally certain that hundreds of stories, traits, and legends far older and more primitive than any to which they themselves could have given rise, have clustered about them. There is probably as large a bulk of primitive mythology to be found in the Finn legend as in that of the Red Branch itself. The story of the Fenians was a kind of nucleus to which a vast amount of the flotsam and jetsam of a far older period attached itself, and has thus been preserved." As I found it impossible to give that historical date to the stories, I, while not adding in anything to support my theory, left out such names as those of Cormac and Art, and such more or less historical personages, substituting "the High King." And in the "Battle of the White Strand," I left out the name of Caelur, Tadg's wife, because I had already followed another chronicler in giving him Ethlinn for a wife. In the earlier part I have given back to Angus Og the name of "The Disturber," which had, as I believe, strayed from him to the Saint of the same name. III. THE AUTHORITIES The following is a list of the authorities I have been chiefly helped by in putting these stories together and in translation of the text. But I cannot make it quite accurate, for I have sometimes transferred a mere phrase, sometimes a whole passage from one story to another, where it seemed to fit better. I have sometimes, in the second part of the book, used stories preserved in the Scottish Gaelic, as will be seen by my references. I am obliged to write these notes away from libraries, and cannot verify them, but I think they are fairly correct. PART ONE. BOOKS ONE, TWO, AND THREE THE COMING OF THE TUATHA DE DANAAN, AND LUGH OF THE LONG HAND, AND THE COMING OF THE GAEL.-- O'Curry, _Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish_; _MSS. Materials_; _Atlantis_; De Jubainville, _Cycle Mythologique_; Hennessy, _Chronicum Scotorum_; Atkinson, _Book of Leinster_; _Annals of the Four Masters_; Nennius, _Hist, Brit._ (Irish Version); Zimmer, _Glossae Hibernacae_; Whitley Stokes, _Three Irish Glossaries_; _Revue Celtique_ and _Irische Texte_; _Gaedelica_; Nutt, _Voyage of Bran_; _Proceedings Ossianic Societ_; O'Beirne Crowe, _Amra Columcille_; Dean of Lismore's Book; Windisch, _Irische Texte_; Hennessy and others in _Revue Celtique_; _Kilkenny Archaeological Journal_; Keatinge's _History_; _Ogyia_; Curtin's _Folk Tales_; _Proceedings Royal Irish Academy_, MSS. Series; Dr Sigerson, _Bards of Gael and Gall_; Miscellanies, _Celtic Society_. BOOK FOUR THE EVER-LIVING LIVING ONES I have used many of the above, and for separate stories, I may give these authorities:-- MIDHIR AND ETAIN.-- O'Curry, _Manners and Customs_; Whitley Stokes, _Dinnsenchus_; Müller, _Revue Celtique_; Nutt, _Voyage of Bran_; De Jubainville, _Epopée Celtique_; Standish Hayes O'Grady, MS. lent me by him. MANANNAN AT PLAY.-- S. Hayes O'Grady, _Silva Gaedelica_. HIS CALL TO BRAN.-- Professor Kuno Meyer in Nutt's _Voyage of Bran_; S. Hayes O'Grady, _Silva Gaedelica_; De Jubainville, _Cycle Mythologique_. HIS THREE CALLS TO CORMAC.-- Whitley Stokes, _Irische Texte_. CLIODNA'S WAVE.-- S. Hayes O'Grady, _Silva Gaedelica_; Whitley Stokes, _Dinnsenchus_. HIS CALL TO CONNLA.-- O'Beirne Crowe, _Kilkenny Arch. Journal_; Windisch, _Irische Texte_. TADG IN THE ISLANDS.-- S. Hayes O'Grady, _Silva Gaedelica_. LAEGAIRE IN THE HAPPY PLAIN.-- S.H. O'Grady, _Silva Gaedelica_; Kuno Meyer in Nutt's _Voyage of Bran_. FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR.-- O'Curry, _Atlantis_. PART TWO. THE FIANNA THE COMING OF FINN, AND FINN'S HOUSEHOLD.-- _Proceedings Ossianic Society_; Kuno Meyer, _Four Songs of Summer and Winter_; _Revue Celtique_; S. Hayes O'Grady, _Silva Gaedelica_; Curtin's _Folk Tales_. BIRTH OF BRAN.-- _Proc. Ossianic Society_. OISIN'S MOTHER.-- Kennedy, _Legendary Fictions Irish Celts_; Mac Innis; _Leabhar na Feinne_. BEST MEN OF THE FIANNA.-- Dean of Lismore's Book; _Silva Gaedelica; Leabhar na Feinne_. LAD OF THE SKINS.-- _Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition_; Larminie's _Folk Tales_; Curtin's _Tales_. THE HOUND.-- _Silva Gaedelica_; Whitley Stokes, _Dinnsenchus_. RED RIDGE.-- _Silva Gaedelica_. BATTLE OF THE WHITE STRAND.-- Kuno Meyer, _Anec. Oxonienses_; Hanmer's _Chronicle_; Dean of Lismore; Curtin's _Tales_; _Silva Gaedelica_. KING OF BRITAIN'S SON.-- _Silva Gaedelica_. THE CAVE OF CEISCORAN.-- _Silva Gaedelica_. DONN, SON OF MIDHIR.-- _Silva Gaedelica_. HOSPITALITY OF CUANNA'S HOUSE.-- _Proc. Ossianic Society_. CAT-HEADS AND DOG-HEADS.-- Dean of Lismore; _Leabhar na Feinne_; Campbell's _Popular Tales of the Western Highlands_. LOMNA'S HEAD.-- O'Curry, _Orc. Treith_, O'Donovan, ed. Stokes. ILBREC OF ESS RUADH.-- _Silva Gaedelica_. CAVE OF CRUACHAN.-- Stokes, _Irische Texts._ WEDDING AT CEANN SLIEVE.-- _Proc. Ossianic Society_. THE SHADOWY ONE.-- O'Curry. FINN'S MADNESS.-- _Silva Gaedelica_. THE RED WOMAN.-- Hyde, _Sgealuidhe Gaedhealach_. FINN AND THE PHANTOMS.-- Kuno Meyer, _Revue Celtique_. THE PIGS OF ANGUS.-- _Proc. Ossianic Society_. HUNT OF SLIEVE CUILINN.-- _Proc. Ossianic Society_. OISIN'S CHILDREN.-- O'Curry; _Leabhar na Feinne_; Campbell's _Popular Tales of the Western Highlands_; Stokes, _Irische Texte_; Dean of Lismore; _Celtic Magazine_; _Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition_. BIRTH OF DIARMUID.-- _Pursuit of Diarmuid and Grania_ (Society for Preservation of the Irish Language); Campbell's _Popular Tales_. HOW DIARMUID GOT HIS LOVE-SPOT.-- Hyde, _Sgealuidhe Gaedhealach_. DAUGHTER OF KING UNDER-WAVE.-- Campbell's _Popular Tales_. THE HARD SERVANT.-- _Silva Gaedelica_. HOUSE OF THE QUICKEN TREES.-- MSS. in Royal Irish Academy, and in Dr Hyde's possession. DIARMUID AND GRANIA.-- Text Published by S. Hayes O'Grady, _Proc. Ossianic Society_, and re-edited by N. O'Duffey for Society for Preservation of the Irish Language; Kuno Meyer, _Revue Celtique_, and _Four Songs_; _Leabhar na Feinne_; Campbell's _Popular Tales_; _Kilkenny Arch. Journal_; _Folk Lore_, vol. vii., 1896; Dean of Lismore; Nutt, _Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition_. CNOC-AN-AIR, ETC.-- _Proc. Ossianic Society_. WEARING AWAY OF THE FIANNA.-- _Silva Gaedelica_; Dean of Lismore; _Leabhar na Feinne_; Campbell's _Popular Tales_; _Proc. Ossianic Society_; O'Curry; _Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition_; Stokes, _Irische Texte_. THE END OF THE FIANNA.-- Hyde, _Sgealuidhe Gaedhealach_; _Proc. Ossianic Society_; _Silva Gaedelica_; Miss Brooke's _Reliques_; _Annals of the Four Masters_; _Celtic Magazine_. OISIN AND PATRICK, AND OISIN'S LAMENTS.-- _Proc. Ossianic Society_; Dean of Lismore; _Kilkenny Arch, fournal_; Curtin's _Tales_. I have taken Grania's sleepy song, and the description of Finn's shield and of Cumhal's treasure-bag, and the fact of Finn's descent from Ethlinn, from _Duanaire Finn_, now being edited for the Irish Texts Society by Mr John MacNeill, the proofs of which I have been kindly allowed to see. And I have used sometimes parts of stories, or comments on them gathered directly from the people, who have kept these heroes so much in mind. The story of Caoilte coming to the help of the King of Ireland in a dark wood is the only one I have given without either a literary or a folk ancestry. It was heard or read by Mr Yeats, he cannot remember where, but he had, with it in his mind, written of "Caoilte's burning hair" in one of his poems. I and my readers owe special thanks to those good workers in the discovery of Irish literature, Professor Kuno Meyer and Mr Whitley Stokes, translators of so many manuscripts; and to my friend and kinsman Standish Hayes O'Grady, for what I have taken from that wonderful treasure-house, his _Silva Gaedelica_. IV. THE PRONUNCIATION This is the approximate pronunciation of some of the more difficult names: Adhnuall Ai-noo-al. Ailbhe. Alva. Almhuin All-oon, _or_ Alvin. Aobh Aev, _or_ Eev. Aodh Ae (rhyming to "day"). Aoibhill Evill. Aoife Eefa. Badb Bibe. Beltaine, or Bealtaine Bal-tinna. Bladhma Bly-ma. Bodb Dearg Bove Darrig. Caoilte Cweeltia. Cam Ruidhe Corn Rwee. Ciabhan Kee-a-van. Cliodna Cleevna. Coincheann Kun-Kann. Crann Buidhe Cran bwee. Credhe Crae-a. Cumhal Coo-al. Deaghadh D'ya-a. Dubhthach Duffach. Duibhreann Dhiv-ran. Duibhrium Dhiv-rinn. Dun Doon. Eimher Aevir. Emhain Avvin. Eochaid Eohee. Eoghan Owen. Fionnchad Finn-ach-a. Fodhla Fóla. Fodla Fola. Gallimh Gol-yiv. Glas Gaibhnenn Glos Gov-nan. Leith Laeig Leh Laeg. Loch Dairbhreach Loch Darvragh. Lugaidh Loo-ee, _or_ Lewy. Lugh Loo. Magh an Ionganaidh Moy-in-eean-ee. Magh Cuillean Moy Cullin. Magh Feabhail Moy Fowl. Magh Macraimhe Moy Mucrivva. Magh Mell Moy Mal. Magh Rein Moy Raen. Magh Tuireadh Moytirra. Manannan Mananaun. Midhe Mee. Midhna Mec-na. Mochaomhog Mo-cwecv-og. Muadhan Moo-aun. Murchadh Murachu. Nemhnain Now-nin. Niamh Nee-av. Og Og. Rath Medba, or Meadhbha Ra Maev-a. Rudraighe Rury. Samhain Sow-in. Scathniamh Scau-nee-av. Sceolan Skolaun. Searbhan Sharavaun. Sidhe Shee. Slieve Echtge Sleev Acht-ga. Tadg Teig. Teamhair T'yower, _or_ Tavvir. Tuatha de Danaan Too-a-ha dae Donnan. Tuathmumhain Too-moon. I have not followed a fixed rule as to the spelling of Irish names; I have taken the spelling I give from various good authorities, but they vary so much that, complete accuracy not being easy, I sometimes look to custom and convenience. I use, for instance, "Slieve" for "Sliabh," because it comes so often, and a mispronunciation would spoil so many names. I have treated "Inbhir" (a river mouth) in the same way, spelling it "Inver," and even adopting it as an English word, because it is so useful. The forty scholars of the New School of Old Irish will do us good service if they work at the question both of spelling and of pronunciation of the old names and settle them as far as is possible. V. THE PLACE NAMES Accuill Achill, Co. Mayo. Aine Cliach Cnoc Aine, Co. Limerick. Almhuin Near Kildare. Ath Cliath Dublin. Athluain Athlone. Ath na Riogh Athenry. Badhamain Cahir, Co. Tipperary. Baile Cronin Barony of Imokilty, Co. Cork. Banna The Bann. Beare Berehaven. Bearna na Eadargana Roscommon. Bearnas Mor Co. Donegal. Beinn Gulbain Benbulban, Co. Sligo. Beire do Bhunadas Berehaven. Bel-atha Senaig Ballyshannon. Belgata In Connemara. Benna Boirde Source of the Bann and Mourne Mountains. Berramain Near Tralee. Bhas River Bush. Boinn River Boyne. Bri Leith Co. Longford. Cairbre Carbury. Cairgin Three miles south of Londonderry. Carrthach River River Carra, near Dunkerrin Mountains. Ceanntaile Kinsale. Ceiscorainn Co. Sligo. Cill Dolun Killaloe, Co. Clare. Cliodna's Wave At Glandore, Co. Cork. Cluantarbh Clontarf. Cnoc Aine Co. Limerick. Cnoc-an-Air Co. Kerry. Cnoc na righ Co. Sligo. Corca Duibhne Corcaguiny, Co. Kerry. Corrslieve Carlow Mountains. Crotta Cliach Galtee Mountains. Cruachan Co. Roscommon. Cruachan Aigle Croagh Patrick. Doire a Cairn Derrycarn, Co. Meath. Doire-da-Bhoth In Slieve Echtge. Druim Cleibh Co. Sligo. Druim Lis Near Loch Gill. Druimscarha Near River Arighis, Co. Cork. Dun Sobairce Dunsevenh, Co. Antrim. Durlas Thurles. Ess Dara Near Sligo. Ess Ruadh Assaroe, Co. Donegal. Fidh Gaible Fergill, Co. Sligo. Finntraighe Ventry. Fionn The Finn. Fionnabraic Kilfenna, Co. Clare. Fionntutach Co. Limerick. Fleisge Co. Kerry. Gabhra Near Tara. Gaibh atha na Fiann River Leamhar, flows from Killarney. Gairech and Ilgairech Hills near Mullingar. Gallimh Galway. Gleann na Caor Co. Cork. Gullach Dollairb Barony of Rathconrath. Hill of Bairnech Near Killarney. Hill of Uisnech Co. Westmeath. Inver Cechmaine East coast of Ulster. Inver Colpa Drogheda. Inver Slane N.E. of Leinster. Irrus Domnann Erris, Co. Mayo. Island of Toraig Tory Island, Co. Donegal. Laoi River Lee. Leith Laoi Leitrim. Linn Feic Near Slaney. Loch Bel Sead Co. Tipperary. Loch Cé Co. Roscommon. Loch Dairbhreach Loch Derryvaragh, Co. Westmeath. Loch Deirg Dheirc Loch Derg on the Shannon. Loch Eirne Loch Erne. Loch Feabhail Loch Foyle. Loch Lein Killarney. Loch Orbson Loch Corrib. Loch na-n Ean In Co. Roscommon. Lough Neatach Loch Neagh. Luimneach Limerick. Maev Mhagh Plain about Loughrea. Magh Cobha Iveagh, Co. Down. Magh Cuilenn Moycullen, Co. Galway. Magh Femen Co. Tipperary. Magh Larg Co. Roscommon. Magh Leine King's County. Magh Luirg Co. Roscommon. Magh Maini Co. Wexford. Magh Mucraimhe Near Athenry. Magh Nia Same as Magh Tuireadh. Magh Rein Co. Leitrim. Magh Tuireadh Moytura near Sligo, scene of great battle, and Moytura, near Cong, scene of first battle. March of Finnliath River Lee, near Tralee. Midhe Meath, west of Ardagh. Mis Geadh In Bay of Erris. Muaid River Moy. Muc-inis Muckinish, off Connemara. Nas Naas. Nem The Nem. Oenach Clochan Morristown, Co. Limerick. Osraige Ossory. Paps of Dana Co. Kerry. Portlairge Waterford. River Maigh Co. Limerick. Ros da Shioleach Limerick. Ruirlech Liffey. Samair R. Cumhair, runs through Bruff. Sionnan River Shannon. Siuir River Suir, Co. Tipperary. Siuir and Beoir Suir and Nore and Barrow. and Berba Slieve Baisne Co. Roscommon. Slieve Bladmai Slieve Bloom. Slieve Buane Slieve Banne, Co. Roscommon. Slieve Conaill Border of Leitrim and Donegal. Slieve Crot Co. Tipperary. Slieve Cua Co. Waterford. Slieve Cua and Slieve Crot In Galtee Mountains. Slieve Cuailgne Co. Louth. Slieve Echtge Co. Galway. Slieve Fuad Co. Armagh. Slieve Guaire Co. Cavan. Slieve Luchra Co. Kerry. Slieve Lugha Co. Mayo. Slieve Mis Co. Kerry. Slieve Muice Co. Tipperary. Slieve-nam-Ban Co. Tipperary Sligach Sligo. Srub Bruin In West Kerry. Sruth na Maoile Mull of Cantire. Tailltin Telltown. Teamhair Tara, Co. Meath. Teunhair Luchra Near Castle Island, Co. Kerry. The Beith River Behy, Barony of Dunkerrin. The Beoir The Berba. The Islands of Mod In Clew Bay. The Lemain River Laune, Co. Kerry. The Muaidh River Moy, Co. Sligo. Tonn Toime Toines, near Killarney. Traigh Eothaile Near Ballisodare. Tuathmumain Thomond. Ui Chonaill Gabhra Co. Limerick. Ui Fiachraih, Fiachraig Co. Mayo. Wave of Rudraighe Bay of Dundrum.