Part 1

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ETAIN THE BELOVED AND OTHER POEMS

_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_

The Quest The Bell-Branch The Awakening The Wisdom of the West Ben Madighan (out of Print) Sung by Six " The Legend of the Blemished King (out of Print) The Voice of One "

ETAIN THE BELOVED

AND OTHER POEMS

BY JAMES H. COUSINS

MAUNSEL & COMPANY, LIMITED, 96 MIDDLE ABBEY STREET, DUBLIN 1912

CONTENTS

ETAIN THE BELOVED 1

POEMS AND LYRICS

DEATH AND LIFE 49

A SCHOOLBOY PLAYS CUCHULAIN 54

HOW THE MOUNTAINS CAME TO BE 56

LOVE IN ABSENCE 58

TREES IN WINTER 60

A SPRING CAPRICE 62

A SPRING RONDEL 63

THE FAIRY RING 64

LABORARE EST ORARE 65

PARAPHRASES AND INTERPRETATIONS

DAEDALUS AND ICARUS 69

A PARAPHRASE 71

HOSPITALITY 72

THE STUDENT 73

AT A HOLY WELL 74

THE PRIEST'S LAKE 75

SONNETS

A PAPER-SELLER 79

TO ONE IN PRISON 80

A HOME-COMING 81

LOVE, THE DESTROYER 82

ENVOY

THE LOVING CUP 84

NOTES 87

ETAIN THE BELOVED

_TO PENROSE MORRIS_

ETAIN THE BELOVED

I

Strong in the strength that finds in gentleness A way to peace, King Eochaidh on the throne Of Erin sits. Around his footstool press Clansmen and chiefs. Some wind of thought has blown Their eyes to flame. Some purpose, in the stress Of travailing tongues, to birth finds not a way: What all would utter, none has wit to say.

Into their midst one came, an agéd bard Upon whose flowing hair Wisdom had laid Her gift of silver. On those faces, scarred From old forgotten fights, he looked, and weighed The meaning in their eyes, though sorely marred; And from the tangled fibre of their thought Into the web of speech their purpose wrought.

"Thy word, O King, has passed by hill and dale Throughout all Erin, bidding to the Feast Of Tara all thy people, with the tale Of tribute due from greatest and from least. Nor should this word than others less prevail, But that the herald-spear thy will hath sent, Against the shield of custom has been bent.

"Thou knowest, O King, that from most ancient years No chieftain wifeless rules for thee the land, Nor mateless at a festival appears; But fixed in all experience doth stand: And thus, made master of all human fears, Fears not, but strongly round the camp-fires goes, Full sharer of thy people's joys and woes.

"Equal in yoke and honour, as the day And night, that are but breathings of the soul, They on life's crooked journey take their way Diverse in gift, in essence one and whole. This is the custom, King! Yet custom may, If but of man, be as a smith who twists An iron chain to bind upon his wrists.

"But custom may, if fashioned to the Law That made the world, be as the straitened string From which the Master of the Feast may draw Majestic speech, a living, wondrous thing To rid the brow of pale contention's flaw, And passing like the honey-cup along, Gather their wandering lips to one great song.

"And such the custom that thy people plead: For when of old the deathless Lord of Life Dagda came forth, and knew the immortal need That burned within his heart, he took to wife Dana the Mother of all human seed. In her his breath found music and a name. In her his fire has blossomed into flame.

"Throughout the world that fire and music run One sings within the maiden's wondering heart: One stirs the veins of manhood, as the sun Sets the spring's fingers thrilling with the smart Of keen, ecstatic life that's but begun. In every seed that breaks and wind that blows, Each in the other seeks and finds repose.

"Wherefore, O King, since thou art yet unwed, And thus in kingship standest incomplete, Unfurnished in thy heart, from whence are fed The streams of power and wisdom, it is not meet That unto thee thy people bow the head, And here thy sovereignty with tribute own Till thou hast set a Queen upon thy throne."

He ceased, and all the faces of the crowd Shone with the light that kindles when the boon Of speech has eased the heart; as when a cloud Falls from the labouring shoulder of the moon, And all the world stands smiling silver-browed. King Eochaidh for a moment bent his head In thought; then smiling he arose and said:

"I am not careless of the ancient need That moves your minds. Within my own it moves Like a long-hidden, unforgotten seed The spring has touched uneasily: like hooves Long captive, when the trumpet has decreed A royal pilgrimage, and in the liss They dance to taste the highway's ringing bliss.

"So have I watched for that sure sign that fills The horn of fate, that bending this our realm Unto the Will that works behind our wills, It may remain; as when storms overwhelm, And leafy spray whirls over the roaring hills, The swaying pine bends as the storm wars by, And lives to shake proud arms against the sky.

"But now the horn is full, the hour is here. Our wills as one move onward to their end. Here now I lift on high the royal spear, And thus through Erin proclamation send: 'Search for the promised maiden far and near Whom the high Gods have destined at my side To reign.' Go forth. The King awaits his bride.

"She shall be found in some most quiet place Where Beauty sits all day beside her knee And looks with happy envy on her face; Where Virtue blushes, her own guilt to see, And Grace learns new, sweet meanings from her grace; Where all that ever was or will be wise Pales at the burning wisdom of her eyes.

"When you at last, far off like worshippers Within some holy circle, bow your heads, You shall await till on that face of her's A smile like spring's first morning slowly spreads; And when her lip with wondrous music stirs, Bear hither like the wind her deathless name, That I may light my heart at its white flame."

Scarce had he ceased when from the royal tent Broke the full tide of their loud ecstacy, And through the woods like summer thunder went, Full of great rumour of mighty things to be That died far off like twilight breezes spent. Then sang the bard in hidden wisdom skilled: "Thus is the purpose of the Gods fulfilled.

"_Lift now the hands that may not bless A wifeless feast, a queenless throne, A court or council womanless, Or life one-limbed and sideways grown, That holds the hands that may not bless._

"_The starry Virgin of the east Steps up the sky to lead the sign Where most has kissed and mixed with least, And one-in-twain life's torches shine Behind the Virgin of the east._

"_Then lift the hands that gladly bless Full life, to life's great fulness grown, A power to stand through shock and stress, And rear an everlasting throne Held high on hands that gladly bless._"

Then on a night when on his hearth the gleam Of crackling faggots flung a wavering glow Along his red-yew roof from beam to beam Like glancing eyes, King Eochaidh to and fro Turned on his couch, dreaming a happy dream Of snapping stems, and crisp leaves crushed by feet With high desire made musical and fleet.

Out of the fire a swift and slender shaft Of yellow flame pierced through the King's dropped lids, And woke a murmur of bees whose eager craft Rifled the treasures of blossomy pyramids; Whereat the King, raising his hand, low laughed, Then passed like some worn swimmer on the sweep Of strong waves toward the unfathomed gulf of sleep.

At length in that white hour when dewy wings Stir with new day's delight, there came a sound As though a passion of voices and smitten strings Mingled and swelled and flew along the ground, Till at the utmost of its triumphings, Through the King's sleep and on his door the dawn Broke, and a mighty shout: "Etain! Etain!"

II

Thereafter, on a morning rich with spring, When round his feet new-opened flowers looked up Wide-eyed and wet at some most wondrous thing, And crystal draughts from many an odorous cup Were spilled by winds in playful rioting, King Eochaidh stood beside a quiet shore, Dumb with a joy he never knew before.

From league to league alone his path had lain On windy hills, through forests dark, or deep In dank, sonorous glens. Through every vein A burning joy had drunk the mists of sleep, And sung "Etain, Etain," till the refrain Irked, and he slept, and when he sprang awake Saw that which made his heart with rapture shake.

There by the sea, Etain his destined bride Sat unabashed, unwitting of the sight Of him who gazed upon her gleaming side, Fair as the snowfall of a single night; Her arms like foam upon the flowing tide; Her curd-white limbs in all their beauty bare, Straight as the rule of Dagda's carpenter.

Her cheeks were like the foxglove when it glows At noon: her eyes blue as the hyacinth. Like moonlight struck to marble, nobly rose Her neck upon her shoulder's polished plinth; And like the light that swiftly comes and goes Through breaking waves, among her hair her hands Broke into wavy gold its plaited strands.

Then came her maidens, bright and blossoming With beauty, and before her beauty bowed, And stood around her in a laughing ring To robe her starry splendour like a cloud. And as her hair they twined, the hidden king Scarce knew if on her lips, that knew no wrong, Or in his own hushed heart he heard this song.

_The king comes riding from the north, From battles won, with marching men. Ah, whose white eager arms go forth To bid him welcome home again When he comes riding from the north?_

_The king comes riding from the south, And halts beside the royal liss. Ah, whose the happy smiling mouth That gives and takes a long warm kiss When he comes riding from the south?_

_The king comes riding from the east. O night how dark! O way how long! Ah, whose dear eyes shall light the feast? Ah, who shall lift his heart with song When he comes riding from the east?_

_The king comes riding from the west, And smiles unto himself, and sighs. Ah, whose the white and easeful breast Where he shall close his kingly eyes When he comes riding from the west?_

Small wonder now that Eochaidh's leaping heart Strained like a hound in leash: yet through his bliss There passed a thin cold blade with sudden smart Of doubt that he but dreamed, of dread that this Was but a vision that would soon depart: But when the song had ceased, there stood the maid Flushed with keen joy, and like a queen arrayed.

A mantle of bright purple, waving, wound Her form, and from her shoulders white as milk Fell in reluctant folds and touched the ground. Upon her breast the flash of emerald silk-- As though the glory of earth had wrapped her round-- Mixed with the glow of red embroidered gold That seemed with light her body to enfold.

A sudden breeze came singing from the sea And broke with sunlight through the leafy shade. Then came King Eochaidh forth, and on his knee Bent low before the silent, trembling maid. "The king," he said, "has come, and kneels to thee, Foredoomed to share the burden of his throne, And glorify its glory with thine own."

Then through her frame a gentle tremor went And lit her face with exquisite swift fire That woke forgotten dreams, whose shaken scent Sweetened the quiet winds of her desire With some divine, unuttered ravishment, Some earnest of great doom that filled her heart With sorrow, joy's majestic counterpart.

Upon his head she gently laid her hand, And said, "Arise! To thee my heart has bowed When minstrel after minstrel, tired and tanned, Has supped beside our hearth, and sung the proud High song that bears thy greatness through the land. For thee from life's clear dawn my love remained Fixed, and at length to thee I have attained."

III

Across the woods of Meath the bird of day Fell from the boughs of noon with bleeding wing, While dark-browed Balor strode the eastern way, And scattered darkness from his cloudy sling, Till at his feet the hosts of Erin lay Smitten with sleep; then round their dreams he cast The chains wherewith he binds his prisoners fast.

From dawn till dark, in many a hero-game Glad eyes had flashed, or bent in pride august To hear the chant of some undying name Whose deeds were strong as wine. Anon the dust Of festive feet stormed in a wild acclaim Around the royal place where, side by side, Sat Eochaidh and Etain his new-made bride.

Now ancient Sleep, with Silence for his queen, Reigns o'er those palaces of stately fir That drowse in curtained moonlight's misty sheen. Within, the arras hardly seems to stir Its languorous folds of purple, blue and green, Whose colours part or mix, as rise and fall The pine fire's odorous gleams on roof and wall.

No sound, no life, save where with soft salute The wide-eyed sentinels a moment wait And listen sidelong to the passing bruit Of ghostly winds, that murmur at their state And pass, with peevish cry and soundless foot, Where the dead fly upon the waveless moat Makes of the dead dropped leaf a funeral boat.

Yet in the midst of silence so profound, One stirred his rushy couch as though in pain, For through his dreams a torrent of swift sound Stumbled in foam about his echoing brain, And all his thought in loud confusion drowned And bore him toward a dim and perilous steep That flung its shadow on a writhing deep.

Then like the sun obscured by valley smoke, With some vague trouble glooming in his eye, Ailill the brother of the king awoke And scanned the portents of the morning sky, Till on his mind a mellowing radiance broke, And in his heart there dawned a wondrous face That lit his world with Love's exalted grace.

Often in dreams a shadow by his side Had sung of one who came in some great hour With Love--and woe. Now came his brother's bride; And when he bent before her in her bower, Within his heart the shadow rose and cried, And passed away, while all his being shook, Stricken with joy and sorrow in a look.

Among the clamours of the festal time His love for ease he hid, again pursued, Finding a solace in the chanted rhyme Of agéd bards, or youths in merry mood Where angry words were counted as a crime; And fireside friendship staunched his hungry sighs When she no more was banquet for his eyes.

But when the marriage festival was past, And restless day gave place to torturing night, His captive passion burst its chains, and cast Its ardours from his brain in living light; Then like the thin voice of a spell-raised blast, A dissonant note from hidden harp-strings drawn Troubled the dreams of Eochaidh and Etain.

By day the dream had faded to a mist In some far-folded valley of the mind; But when, heart-charmed in evening's amethyst, The labouring world grew wonderfully kind, And upturned lips by brooding love were kissed; Like silent rain in summer twilight spilled, A wandering thought King Eochaidh touched and chilled.

Meanwhile with steps that would and would not shun Bliss craved and spurned; with tongue that might not speak The pain that some strange sweetness now had won, Ailill moved to and fro; and soon his cheek Paled like the austere Servants of the Sun; And day by day his passion's famished flame Nourished itself upon his wasting frame.

In vain the king's diviners daily strove To find the spring of Ailill's gathering ill; In vain Etain by stream and murmuring grove Sought for the shadowy hand that held his will; And when dark Balor cracked his whip, and drove His winter herd across the bounds of day, Ailill upon his couch in weakness lay.

So when a year had passed, and through the land The king went forth on royal pilgrimage, Unto Etain he gave his last command That she, his brother's sickness to assuage, Withhold no gift, but give with regal hand; And should chill death blow out his flickering blaze, His funeral-stone with honour she should raise.

IV.

From day to day Etain with eager thought Outran sick Ailill's fleetest-footed needs; From sun and wind a subtle medicine caught, And charmed swift healing from the fresh-strewn reeds Upon his floor, which her own hands had brought From ferny hollows, where cool waters laughed That Ailill from her cup with gladness quaffed.

Yet with each dawn that came with growing power There grew a cloudy thought in Ailill's mind That gloomed the joy of health's returning hour, And put a sigh in evening's gentle wind, And touched with ill-timed frost life's opening flower, And turned to poverty the proffered wealth In hands that wrought his sickness and his health.

And she, in service, found a hidden way To strange new meanings in the eyes of life; And reached a joy beyond the shrill affray Of horns and harps loud with the songs of strife Or little triumphs of a passing day; And grasped, in giving, life's most perfect gift-- Love that is raised by that which it doth lift.

So moved the twain through sunshine barred with gloom, Finding in each twin solace and despair: He, like a frail and gently tended bloom, Grudged each day's health that took him past her care; And she, o'ershadowed by approaching doom, Watching his need of her grow less and less, Sickened with grief her lips dare not express.

Tossed thus on hidden billows of the soul, And swept by winds that warred against the will, They drained the little draught in life's poor bowl, And all unwitting wrought each other ill; Until at last, stung past the heart's control, Marking Etain's white brow and pensive eye, Thus Ailill broke the silence with a cry.

"O bitter joy! O sorrow passing sweet! O blossoming life that leads to love's pale death! O gain that speeds to loss on laggard feet! O living voice that kills the word it saith! O cooling touch that kindles quenchless heat! How shall I all my heart's dear burden speak, Or how keep silence at thy paling cheek?

"I love thee, Queen Etain, but in such wise As never man loved woman heretofore: Not with the love that lives upon her eyes, And counts her breast the summit and the shore Of all desire, and with tempestuous sighs Flings to the winds the spoils of reason's thrift In barter for her body's utmost gift.

"My love, O queen, is that serener kind Whose word outruns the lumbering wain of speech, And springs in light from mind to answering mind; And takes its bliss beyond the body's reach, Thought mixed with thought, as sunlight with sweet wind; And crowds the ways, where human sorrow pleads, With generations of exalted deeds.

"Ah, then take back the life that thou hast spent In vain, since thou dost slay and heal my heart; And let quick death beat down my failing tent, And its lone habitant be blown apart Through the wide wastes of night's black firmament, Where move the Powers in whose dread hands may be The source and end of dreams and destiny.

"There past the chain of hours my faithful ghost May through thy dreams move silently and dim; And needing then the least, may serve thee most; Or crying seaward from life's misty rim, Call forth thy heart beyond its mortal coast: Happy if in thy spirit's wakening sigh My name one murmured moment live and die."

Thus Ailill spoke; and like a summer shower His eager words, tingling on heart and brain, Stirred many a leaf to life, and many a flower; And sank beneath her spirit's thirsty plain, Till hidden springs, touched with a strange new power, Welled in her eyes with flash of sudden streams From hills that crowned some far-off world of dreams.

Clear-visioned in her meditative eye Rolled the great world, and lo! a silent moth Shredded its mighty frame, till down the sky It fluttered like a poor discarded cloth From some dead face flung out by hands that die; And thinned like vapours round the lips of day, And like a breath passed utterly away.

And as it passed she knew that nevermore Life would be life again; yet in her mind Lurked the dim fear of one who leaves the shore, And on the sightless hazard of the wind Moves into doubt and darkness. O'er and o'er She turned her thought, till softly on her ear There broke a song a bard was chanting near.

_Because the strong are fallen low, Who deems that Strength himself is slain? Through depth and height his arm shall go, And he shall rear his house again, Although the strong are fallen low._

_Because the living all are dead, Who deems that Life has found a grave? Among the stars she lifts her head, She dances lightly on the wave, Although the living all are dead._

_Because the beautiful has passed, Was Beauty but a passing word? Behold, the dust through chaos cast With lovelier loveliness is stirred, Although the beautiful has passed._

_And if earth's lovers love amiss, Who deems that Love has perished quite? Lo, cloudy lips the mountains kiss, And day is bosomed on the night, Although earth's lovers love amiss._

Swiftly and silently her thought's faint wing Sought between wind and wind a certain way; For one was keen with glad awakening In perfumed morn of some ecstatic day; And one was loud with song, and quivering string, And all life's pageantry and noisy breath Wherewith men strive to drown the voice of death.

Then said Etain: "King Eochaidh in his might Drew me to bonds of happiness; but thou Art as a voice that calls across the night To where some dawn blows freshly on the brow, And love with love moves freely as the light, Mingling in happy dreams their shadowy wings Beyond these perishing substantial things.

"Ah, me, the pain in joy, the joy in grief! Who tells the end when once has moved the foot? Thy hand is on my life's new-opened leaf: Who knows the hand may pluck its ripened fruit? To thee--and past, the journey may be brief. Yet I the king's behest shall all fulfil-- 'Nothing withhold to heal my brother's ill.'

"So in the gaze of dawn and wondering flowers We shall keep tryst by stream and whispering tree; Perchance to win from life's controlling powers The healing of thy heart's infirmity; Perchance--" "Oh! speed the hazard of those hours," He cried, "that blind the flame of low desire In the white light of Love's transmuting fire."

V

Hard by the swift-winged star, the moth-like moon Sheds golden dust on waves of day that ebb Into the deep beyond life's wan lagoon. The spider Night now spins his monstrous web, And spots the dark with many a pale cocoon Hung in his vaporous cave, whose phantoms creep In visions round the heavy brain of sleep.

Yet one, among the sleepers, never turns To ease his shoulder of the weight of night; But with the shield of sweet oblivion spurns Those wandering shafts that tease with sound and sight; Till in a quiet, deep as kingly urns In buried places, Ailill deadly lies, Blind to the spreading signal of the skies.