Chapter 2
... 'Twas like As when an eagle swoops to strike, But swerves with flutt'ring wings, as nigh Its head a javelin gleams ... A cry That banished fear of Conn's great blows From out the Fian ranks arose, As, like a plumed reed in a gust, Goll suddenly stooped--a deadly thrust That drew the first blood in the fray He darting gave ... With quick dismay The valiant Conn drew back ...
Again He leapt at Goll, but sought in vain To blind him with his blows that fell Like snowflakes on a sullen well-- For Goll was calm, while great Conn raged, As hour by hour the conflict waged; He was a blast-defying tree-- A crag that spurned a furious sea, And all the Fians with one mind Set firm their faith in Goll
The wind Rose like a startled bird from out The heather at the huntsman's shout In swift and blust'ring flight At noon The sun rolled in a cloudy swoon Dimly, and over the rolling deep Gust followed gust with shadowy sweep; And waves that streamed their snowy locks Were tossing high against the rocks Seaward, while round the sands ebbed wide Scrambled the fierce devouring tide
O, Conn was like a hound at morn, That springs upon an elk forlorn Among the hills. He was a proud Cascade that leaps a cliff with loud Unspending fall So fierce, so fair Was arrogant Conn, but Goll fought there Keen-eyed, with ready guard, at bay-- He was as a boar in that fierce fray.
The waves were humbled on the shore, And silent fell, amid the roar And crash of battle Mute and still The Fians watched; while on the hill The little elves came out and gazed, To be amused and were amazed ... They saw upon the shrinking sands The warriors with restless hands And busy blades, with shields that rose To buffet the unceasing blows; They saw before the rising flood The flash of fire, the flash of blood; And watched the men with panting breath, Striving to be the slaves of death; Now darting wide, now swerving round, Now clashed together in a bound, With splitting swords that smote so fast, As hour by hour unheeded past.
The sands were torn and tossed like spray Before the whirlwind of the fray, That waged in fury till the sun Sank, and the day's last loops were spun-- Then terrible was Goll ... He rose A tempest of increasing blows, More furious and fast, as dim, Uncertain twilight fell ... More grim And great he grew as, looming large, He fought, and pressing to the marge Of ocean, he o'erpowered and drave The Viking hero back; till wave O'er ready wave that hurried fleet, Snuffled and snarled about their feet ...
Then with a mighty shout that made The rocks around him ring, his blade Swept like a flash of fire to smite The last fell blow in that fierce fight-- So great Conn perished like The Red By Goll's left hand ... his life-blood spread Over the quenching sands where rolled His head entwined with locks of gold. Then passed like thunder o'er the sea The Fian shout of victory. And, trembling on the tossing ships, The Vikings heard, with voiceless lips And dim, despairing eyes ... Alone Stood Goll, and like a silent stone Bulking upon a ben-side bare, He bent above the hero fair-- Remembering the mighty Red, And wondering that Conn lay dead.
[Footnote 1: May Day.]
[Footnote 2: Traditional Holy Hill]
THE SONG OF GOLL.
O Son of The Red, Undone and laid dead-- The blood of a hero My cold blade hath shed.
Who fought me to-day? Who sought me to slay?-- The son of yon High King I slew in the fray.
O blade that yon brave Low laid in the grave, Ye gladdened the Fians But grief to Conn gave.
Stone-hearted and strong, Lone-hearted with long, Dark brooding, he sought to Avenge his deep wrong.
Fair Son of The Red, Care none thou art dead?-- Old Goll of Clan Morna Will mourn thou hast bled.
O where shall be found To share with thee round The halls of Valhalla Thy glory renowned?
O true as the blade That slew thee, and made My fear and thine anger For ever to fade--
Ah! when upon earth Again will have birth A son of such honour And bravery and worth?
Above thee in splendour A love that could render Brave service, burned star-like And constant and tender.
With fearing my name, With hearing my fame, O none would dare combat With Goll till Conn came? ...
O great was thine ire-- The fate of thy sire, Awaiting thy coming, Consumed thee like fire.
O Son of The Red, Undone and laid dead-- The blood of a hero My cold blade hath shed.
THE BLUE MEN OF THE MINCH.
When the tide is at the turning and the wind is fast asleep, And not a wave is curling on the wide, blue Deep, O the waters will be churning on the stream that never smiles, Where the Blue Men are splashing round the charmèd isles.
As the summer wind goes droning o'er the sun-bright seas, And the Minch is all a-dazzle to the Hebrides; They will skim along like salmon--you can see their shoulders gleam, And the flashing of their fingers in the Blue Men's Stream.
But when the blast is raving and the wild tide races, The Blue Men ere breast-high with foam-grey faces; They'll plunge along with fury while they sweep the spray behind, O, they'll bellow o'er the billows and wail upon the wind.
And if my boat be storm-toss'd and beating for the bay, They'll be howling and be growling as they drench it with their spray-- For they'd like to heel it over to their laughter when it lists, Or crack the keel between them, or stave it with their fists.
O weary on the Blue Men, their anger and their wiles! The whole day long, the whole night long, they're splashing round the isles; They'll follow every fisher--ah! they'll haunt the fisher's dream-- When billows toss, O who would cross the Blue Men's Stream?
THE URISK.
O the night I met the Urisk on the wide, lone moor! Ah! would I be forgetting of The Thing that came with me? For it was big and black as black, and it was dour as dour, It shrank and grew and had no shape of aught I e'er did see.
For it came creeping like a cloud that's moving all alone, Without the sound of footsteps ... and I heard its heavy sighs ... Its face was old and grey, and like a lichen-covered stone, And its tangled locks were dropping o'er its sad and weary eyes.
O it's never the word it had to say in anger or in woe-- It would not seek to harm me that had never done it wrong, As fleet--O like the deer!--I went, or I went panting slow, The waesome thing came with me on that lonely road and long.
O eerie was the Urisk that convoy'd me o'er the moor! When I was all so helpless and my heart was full of fear, Nor when it was beside me or behind me was I sure-- I knew it would be following--I knew it would be near!
THE NIMBLE MEN.
(AURORA BOREALIS.)
When Angus Ore, the wizard, His fearsome wand will raise, The night is filled with splendour, And the north is all ablaze; From clouds of raven blackness, Like flames that leap on high-- All merrily dance the Nimble Men across the Northern Sky.
Now come the Merry Maidens, All gowned in white and green, While the bold and ruddy fellows Will be flitting in between-- O to hear the fairy piper Who will keep them tripping by!-- The men and maids who merrily dance across the Northern Sky.
O the weird and waesome music, And the never-faltering feet! O their fast and strong embraces, And their kisses hot and sweet! There's a lost and languished lover With a fierce and jealous eye, As merrily flit the Nimble Folk across the Northern Sky.
So now the dance is over, And the dancers sink to rest-- There's a maid that has two lovers, And there's one she loves the best; He will cast him down before her, She will raise him with a sigh-- Her love so bright who danced to-night across the Northern Sky.
Then up will leap the other, And up will leap his clan-- O the lover and his company Will fight them man to man-- All shrieking from the conflict The merry maidens fly-- There's a Battle Royal raging now across the Northern Sky.
Through all the hours of darkness The fearsome fight will last; They are leaping white with anger, And the blows are falling fast-- And where the slain have tumbled A pool of blood will lie-- O it's dripping on the dark green stones from out the Northern Sky.
When yon lady seeks her lover In the cold and pearly morn, She will find that he has fallen By the hand that she would scorn,-- She will clasp her arms about him, And in her anguish die!-- O never again will trip the twain across the Northern Sky.
MY GUNNA.
When my kine are on the hill, Who will charm them from all ill? While I'll sleep at ease until All the cocks are crowing clear. Who'll be herding them for me? It's the elf I fain would see-- For they're safe as safe can be When the Gunna will be near.
He will watch the long weird night, When the stars will shake with fright, Or the ghostly moon leaps bright O'er the ben like Beltane fire. If my kine would seek the corn, He will turn them by the horn-- And I'll find them all at morn Lowing sweet beside the byre.
Croumba's bard has second-sight, And he'll moan the Gunna's plight, When the frosts are flickering white, And the kine are housed till day; For he'll see him perched alone On a chilly old grey stone, Nibbling, nibbling at a bone That we'll maybe throw away.
He's so hungry, he's so thin, If he'd come we'd let him in, For a rag of fox's skin Is the only thing he'll wear. He'll be chittering in the cold As he hovers round the fold, With his locks of glimmering gold Twined about his shoulders bare.
THE GRUAGACH.
(MILKMAID'S SONG.)
The lightsome lad wi' yellow hair, The elfin lad that is so fair, He comes in rich and braw attire-- To loose the kine within the byre--
My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
He's dressed so fine, he's dressed so grand, A supple switch is in his hand; I've seen while I a-milking sat The shadow of his beaver hat.
My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
My chuckling lad, so full o' fun, Around the corners he will run; Behind the door he'll sometimes jink, And blow to make my candle blink.
My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
The elfin lad that is so braw, He'll sometimes hide among the straw; He's sometimes leering from the loft-- He's tittering low and tripping soft.
My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
And every time I'll milk the kine He'll have his share--the luck be mine! I'll pour it in yon hollowed stone, He'll sup it when he's all alone--
My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
O me! if I'd his milk forget, Nor cream, nor butter I would get; Ye needna' tell--I ken full well-- On all my kine he'd cast his spell.
My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
On nights when I would rest at ease, The merry lad begins to tease; He'll loose the kine to take me out, And titter while I move about.
My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF THE BARN.
When all the big lads will be hunting the deer, And no one for helping Old Callum comes near, O who will be busy at threshing his corn? Who will come in the night and be going at morn?
The Little Old Man of the Barn, Yon Little Old Man-- A bodach forlorn will be threshing his corn, The Little Old Man of the Barn.
When the peat will turn grey and the shadows fall deep, And weary Old Callum is snoring asleep; When yon plant by the door will keep fairies away, And the horse-shoe sets witches a-wandering till day.
The Little Old Man of the Barn, Yon Little Old Man-- Will thresh with no light in the mouth of the night, The Little Old Man of the Barn.
For the bodach is strong though his hair is so grey, He will never be weary when he goes away-- The bodach is wise--he's so wise, he's so dear-- When the lads are all gone, he will ever be near.
The Little Old Man of the Barn, Yon Little Old Man-- So tight and so braw he will bundle the straw-- The Little Old Man of the Barn.
YON FAIRY DOG.
'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals, Whose heart would never fail, Would hear yon fairy ban-dog fierce Come howling down the gale; The patt'ring of the paws would sound Like horse's hoofs on frozen ground, While o'er its back and curling round Uprose its fearsome tail.
'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals-- Yon man that hath no fears-- Beheld the dog with dark-green back That bends not when it rears; Its sides were blacker than the night, But underneath the hair was white; Its paws were yellow, its eyes were bright, And blood-red were its ears.
'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals-- The man who naught will dread-- Would wait it, stooping with his spear, As nigh to him it sped; The big black head it turn'd and toss'd, "I'll strike," cried he, "ere I'll be lost," For every living thing that cross'd Its path would tumble dead.
'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals-- The man who ne'er took fright-- Would watch it bounding from the hills And o'er the moors in flight. When it would leave the Uist shore, Across the Minch he heard it roar-- Like yon black cloud it bounded o'er The Coolin Hills that night.
THE WATER-HORSE.
O the Water-Horse will come over the heath, With the foaming mouth and the flashing eyes, He's black above and he's white beneath-- The hills are hearing the awesome cries; The sand lies thick in his dripping hair, And his hoofs are twined with weeds and ware.
Alas! for the man who would clutch the mane-- There's no spell to help and no charm to save! Who rides him will never return again, Were he as strong, O were he as brave As Fin-mac-Coul, of whom they'll tell-- He thrashed the devil and made him yell.
He'll gallop so fierce, he'll gallop so fast, So high he'll rear, and so swift he'll bound-- Like the lightning flash he'll go prancing past, Like the thunder-roll will his hoofs resound-- And the man perchance who sees and hears, He would blind his eyes, he would close his ears.
The horse will bellow, the horse will snort, And the gasping rider will pant for breath-- Let the way be long, or the way be short, It will have one end, and the end is death; In yon black loch, from off the shore, The horse will splash, and be seen no more.
THE CHANGELING.
By night they came and from my bed They stole my babe, and left behind A thing I hate, a thing I dread-- A changeling who is old and blind; He's moaning all the night and day For those who took my babe away.
My little babe was sweet and fair, He crooned to sleep upon my breast-- But O the burden I must bear! This drinks all day and will not rest-- My little babe had hair so light-- And his is growing dark as night.
Yon evil day when I would leave My little babe the stook behind!-- The fairies coming home at eve Upon an eddy of the wind, Would cast their eyes with envy deep Upon my heart's-love in his sleep.
What holy woman will ye find To weave a spell and work a charm? A holy woman, pure and kind, Who'll keep my little babe from harm-- Who'll make the evil changeling flee, And bring my sweet one back to me?
MY FAIRY LOVER.
My fairy lover, my fairy lover, My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, I would be dying, my love, for thee.
Thine eyes were glowing like blue-bells blowing, With dew-drops twinkling their silvery fires; Thine heart was panting with love enchanting, For mine was granting its fond desires.
My fairy lover, my fairy lover, My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, I would be dying, my love, for thee.
Thy brow had brightness and lily-whiteness, Thy cheeks were clear as yon crimson sea; Like broom-buds gleaming, thy locks were streaming, As I lay dreaming, my love, of thee.
My fairy lover, my fairy lover, My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, I would be dying, my love, for thee.
Thy lips that often with love would soften, They beamed like blooms for the honey-bee; Thy voice came ringing like some bird singing When thou wert bringing thy gifts to me.
My fairy lover, my fairy lover, My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, I would be dying, my love, for thee.
O thou'rt forgetting the hours we met in The Vale of Tears at the even-tide, Or thou'd come near me to love and cheer me, And whisper clearly, "O be my bride!"
My fairy lover, my fairy lover, My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, I would be dying, my love, for thee.
What spell can bind thee? I search to find thee Around the knoll that thy home would be-- Where thou did'st hover, my fairy lover, The clods will cover and comfort me.
My fairy lover, my fairy lover, My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- All night I'm sighing, on thee I'm crying, I would be dying, my love, for thee.
THE FIANS OF KNOCKFARREL.
(A Ross-shire Legend.)
I.
On steep Knockfarrel had the Fians made, For safe retreat, a high and strong stockade Around their dwellings. And when winter fell And o'er Strathpeffer laid its barren spell-- When days were bleak with storm, and nights were drear And dark and lonesome, well they loved to hear The songs of Ossian, peerless and sublime-- Their blind, grey bard, grown old before his time, Lamenting for his son--the young, the brave Oscar, who fell beside the western wave In Gavra's bloody and unequal fight.
Round Ossian would they gather in the night, Beseeching him for song ... And when he took His clarsach, from the magic strings he shook A maze of trembling music, falling sweet As mossy waters in the summer heat; And soft as fainting moor-winds when they leave The fume of myrtle, on a dewy eve, Bound flush'd and teeming tarns that all night hear Low elfin pipings in the woodlands near.
'Twas thus he sang of love, and in a dream The fair maids sighed to hear. But when his theme Was the long chase that Finn and all his men Followed with lightsome heart from glen to glen-- His song was free as morn, and clear and loud As skylarks carolling below a cloud In sweet June weather ... And they heard the fall Of mountain streams, the huntsman's windy call Across the heaving hills, the baying hound Among the rocks, while echoes answered round-- They heard, and shared the gladness of the chase.
He sang the glories of the Fian race, Whose fame is flashed through Alba far and wide-- Their valorous deeds he sang with joy and pride ... When their dark foemen from the west came o'er The ragged hills, and when on Croumba's shore The Viking hordes descending, fought and fled-- And when brave Conn, who would avenge the Red, By one-eyed Goll was slain. Of Finn he sang, And Dermaid, while the clash of conflict rang In billowy music through the heroes' hall-- And many a Fian gave the battle-call When Ossian sang.
Haggard and old, with slow And falt'ring steps, went Winter through the snow, As if its dreary round would ne'er be done-- The last long winter of their days--begun Ere yet the latest flush of falling leaves Had faded in the breath of chilling eves; Nor ended in the days of longer light, When dawn and eve encroached upon the night-- A weary time it was! The long Strath lay Snow-wreathed and pathless, and from day to day The tempests raved across the low'ring skies, And they grew weak and pale, with hollow eyes, The while their stores shrank low, waiting the dawn Of that sweet season when through woodlands wan Fresh flowers flutter and the wild birds sing-- For Winter on the forelock of the Spring Its icy fingers laid. The huntsmen pined In their dim dwellings, wearily confined, While the loud, hungry tempest held its sway-- The red-eyed wolves grew bold and came by day, And birds fell frozen in the snow.
Then through The trackless Strath a balmy south wind blew To usher lusty Spring. Lo! in a night The snows 'gan shrinking upon plain and height, And morning broke in brightness to the sound Of falling waters, while a peace profound Possessed the world around them, and the blue Bared heaven above ... Then all the Fians knew That Winter's spell was broken, and each one Made glad obeisance to the golden sun.
Three days around Knockfarrel they pursued The chase across the hills and through the wood, Round Ussie Loch and Dingwall's soundless shore; But meagre were the burdens that they bore At even to their dwellings. To the west "But sorrow not," said Finn, when all dismay'd They hastened on a drear and bootless quest-- With weary steps they turned to their stockade, "To-morrow will we hunt towards the east To high Dunskaith, and then make gladsome feast By night when we return."
Or ever morn Had broken, Finn arose, and on his horn Blew loud the huntsman's blast that round the ben Was echoed o'er and o'er ... Then all his men Gathered about him in the dusk, nor knew What dim forebodings filled his heart and drew His brows in furrowed care. His eyes a-gleam Still stared upon the horrors of a dream Of evil omen that in vain he sought To solve ... His voice came faint from battling thought, As he to Garry spake--"Be thou the ward Strong son of Morna: who, like thee, can guard Our women from all peril!" ... Garry turned From Finn in sullen silence, for he yearned To join the chase once more. In stature he Was least of all the tribe, but none could be More fierce in conflict, fighting in the van, Than that grim, wolfish, and misshapen man!
Then Finn to Caoilte spake, and gave command To hasten forth before the Fian band-- The King of Scouts was he! And like the deer He sped to find if foemen had come near-- Fierce, swarthy hillmen, waiting at the fords For combat eager, or red Viking hordes From out the Northern isles ... In Alba wide No runner could keep pace by Caoilte's side, And ere the Fians, following in his path, Had wended from the deep and dusky strath, He swept o'er Clyne, and heard the awesome owls That hoot afar and near in woody Foulis, And he had reached the slopes of fair Rosskeen Ere Finn by Fyrish came.
The dawn broke green-- For the high huntsman of the morn had flung His mantle o'er his back: stooping, he strung His silver bow; then rising, bright and bold, He shot a burning arrow of pure gold That rent the heart of Night.