Chapter 2

'Tis not I alone who in the fulness of desires has gone astray to meet a woman-- No reproach to thee, though it was for thy sake--wretched is our last meeting! Had we known it would be thus, it had not been hard to desist.

The noble-faced, grey-horsed warrior-band has not betrayed me. Alas! for the wonderful yew-forest,[6] that they should have gone into the abode of clay!

Had they been alive, they would have revenged their lords; Had mighty death not intervened, this warrior-band had not been unavenged by me.

To their very end they were brave; they ever strove for victory over their foes; They would still sing a stave--a deep-toned shout,--they sprang from the race of a noble lord.

That was a joyous, lithe-limbed band to the very hour when they were slain: The green-leaved forest has received them--it was an all-fierce slaughter.

Well-armed Domnall, he of the red draught, he was the Lugh[7] of the well-accoutred hosts: By him in the ford--it was doom of death--Congal the Slender fell.

The three Eoghans, the three Flanns, they were renowned outlaws; Four men fell by each of them, it was not a coward's portion.

Swiftly Cu-Domna reached us, making for his namesake: On the hill of the encounter the body of Flann the Little will be found.

With him where his bloody bed is thou wilt find eight men: Though we thought them feeble, the leavings of the weapon of Mughirne's son.

Not feebly fights Falvey the Red; the play of his spear-strings withers the host; Ferchorb of radiant body leapt upon the field and dealt seven murderous blows.

Front to front twelve warriors stood against me in mutual fight: Not one of them all remains that I did not leave in slaughter.

Then we two exchanged spears, I and Alill, Eoghan's son: We both perished--O the fierceness of those stout thrusts! We fell by each other though it was senseless: it was the encounter of two heroes.

Do not await the terror of night on the battle-field among the slain warriors: One should not hold converse with ghosts! betake thee home, carry my spoils with thee!

Every one will tell thee that mine was not the raiment of a churl: A crimson cloak and a white tunic, a belt of silver, no paltry work!

My five-edged spear, a murderous lance, whose slaughters have been many; A shield with five circles and a boss of bronze, by which they used to swear binding oaths.

The white cup of my cup-bearer, a shining gem, will glitter before thee; My golden finger-ring, my bracelets, treasures without a flaw, King Nia Nar had brought them over the sea.

Cailte's brooch, a pin with luck, it was one of his marvellous treasures: Two heads of silver round a head of gold, a goodly piece, though small.

My draught-board--no mean treasure!--is thine; take it with thee. Noble blood drips on its rim, it lies not far hence.

Many a body of the spear-armed host lies here and there around its crimson woof; A dense bush of the ruddy oak-wood conceals it by the side of the grave.

As thou carefully searchest for it thou shouldst not speak much: Earth never covered anything so marvellous.

One half of its pieces are yellow gold, the other are white bronze; Its woof is of pearls; it is the wonder of smiths how it was wrought.

The bag for its pieces,--'tis a marvel of a story--its rim is embroidered with gold; The master-smith has left a lock upon it which no ignorant person can open.

A four-cornered casket,--it is but tiny--made of coils of red gold; One hundred ounces of white bronze have been put into it firmly.

For it is of a coil of firm red gold, Dinoll the goldsmith brought it over the sea; Even one of its clasps only has been priced at seven slave-women.[8]

Memories describe it as one of Turvey's master-works: In the time of Art--he was a luxurious king--'tis then Turvey, lord of many herds, made it.

Smiths never made any work comparable with it; Earth never hid a king's jewel so marvellous.

If thou be cunning as to its price, I know thy children will never be in want; If thou hoard it, a close treasure, none of thy offspring will ever be destitute.

There are around us here and there many spoils of famous luck: Horrible are the huge entrails which the Morrigan[9] washes.

She came to us from the edge of a spear, 'tis she that egged us on. Many are the spoils she washes, terrible the hateful laugh she laughs.

She has flung her mane over her back--it is a stout heart that will not quail at her: Though she is so near to us, do not let fear overcome thee!

In the morning I shall part from all that is human, I shall follow the warrior-band; Go to thy house, stay not here, the end of the night is at hand.

Some one will at all times remember this song of Fothad Canann; My discourse with thee shall not be unrenowned, if thou remember my bequest.

Since my grave will be frequented, let a conspicuous tomb be raised; Thy trouble for thy love is no loss of labour.

My riddled body must now part from thee awhile, my soul to be tortured by the black demon. Save for the worship of Heaven's King, love of this world is folly.

I hear the dusky ousel that sends a joyous greeting to all the faithful: My speech, my shape are spectral--hush, woman, do not speak to me!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 6: A kenning for a band of warriors. 'The flowers of the forest have all wede away.']

[Footnote 7: A famous mythical hero.]

[Footnote 8: A slave-woman (rated at three cows) was the standard of value among the ancient Irish.]

[Footnote 9: A battle-goddess.]

DEIRDRE'S FAREWELL TO SCOTLAND

A beloved land is yon land in the east, Alba[10] with its marvels. I would not have come hither[11] out of it, Had I not come with Noisi.

Beloved are Dun Fidga and Dun Finn, Beloved is the fortress above them, Beloved is the Isle of the Thorn-bush, And beloved is Dun Sweeny.

Caill Cuan! Unto which Ainnle would go, alas! Short we thought the time there, Noisi and I in the land of Alba.

Glen Lay! There I used to sleep under a shapely rock. Fish and venison and badger's fat, That was my portion in Glen Lay.

Glen Massan! Tall is its wild garlic, white are its stalks: We used to have a broken sleep On the grassy river-mouth of Massan.

Glen Etive! There I raised my first house. Delightful its house! when we rose in the morning A sunny cattle-fold was Glen Etive.

Glen Urchain! That was the straight, fair-ridged glen! Never was man of his age prouder Than Noisi in Glen Urchain.

Glen Da Ruadh! Hail to him who hath it as an heritage! Sweet is the cuckoo's voice on bending branch On the peak above Glen Da Ruadh.

Beloved is Draighen over a firm beach! Beloved its water in pure sand! I would never have left it, from the east, Had I not come with my beloved.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 10: _i.e._ Scotland.]

[Footnote 11: _i.e._ to Ireland.]

DEIRDRE'S LAMENT

And Deirdre dishevelled her hair and began kissing Noisi and drinking his blood, and the colour of embers came into her cheeks, and she uttered this lay.

Long is the day without Usnagh's Children; It was never mournful to be in their company. A king's sons, by whom exiles were rewarded, Three lions from the Hill of the Cave.

Three dragons of Dun Monidh, The three champions from the Red Branch: After them I shall not live-- Three that used to break every onrush.

Three darlings of the women of Britain, Three hawks of Slieve Gullion, Sons of a king whom valour served, To whom soldiers would pay homage.

Three heroes who were not good at homage, Their fall is cause of sorrow-- Three sons of Cathba's daughter, Three props of the battle-host of Coolney.

Three vigorous bears, Three lions out of Liss Una, Three lions who loved their praise, Three pet sons of Ulster.

That I should remain after Noisi Let no one in the world suppose! After Ardan and Ainnle My time would not be long.

Ulster's high-king, my first husband, I forsook for Noisi's love: Short my life after them, I will perform their funeral game.

After them I will not be alive-- Three that would go into every conflict, Three who liked to endure hardships, Three heroes who never refused combat.

O man that diggest the tomb, And that puttest my darling from me, Make not the grave too narrow, I shall be beside the noble ones.

THE HOSTS OF FAERY

White shields they carry in their hands, With emblems of pale silver; With glittering blue swords, With mighty stout horns.

In well-devised battle array, Ahead of their fair chieftain They march amid blue spears, Pale-visaged, curly-headed bands.

They scatter the battalions of the foe, They ravage every land they attack, Splendidly they march to combat, A swift, distinguished, avenging host!

No wonder though their strength be great: Sons of queens and kings are one and all; On their heads are Beautiful golden-yellow manes.

With smooth comely bodies, With bright blue-starred eyes, With pure crystal teeth, With thin red lips.

Good they are at man-slaying, Melodious in the ale-house, Masterly at making songs, Skilled at playing _fidchell_.[12]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 12: A game like draughts or chess.]

FROM THE VISION OF MAC CONGLINNE

A vision that appeared to me, An apparition wonderful I tell to all: There was a coracle all of lard Within a port of New-milk Lake Upon the world's smooth sea.

We went into that man-of-war, 'Twas warrior-like to take the road O'er ocean's heaving waves. Our oar-strokes then we pulled Across the level of the main, Throwing the sea's harvest up Like honey, the sea-soil.

The fort we reached was beautiful, With works of custards thick, Beyond the lake. Fresh butter was the bridge in front, The rubble dyke was fair white wheat, Bacon the palisade.

Stately, pleasantly it sat, A compact house and strong. Then I went in: The door of it was hung beef, The threshold was dry bread, Cheese-curds the walls.

Smooth pillars of old cheese And sappy bacon props Alternate ranged; Stately beams of mellow cream, White posts of real curds Kept up the house.

Behind it was a well of wine, Beer and bragget in streams, Each full pool to the taste. Malt in smooth wavy sea Over a lard-spring's brink Flowed through the floor.

A lake of juicy pottage Under a cream of oozy lard Lay 'twixt it and the sea. Hedges of butter fenced it round, Under a crest of white-mantled lard Around the wall outside.

A row of fragrant apple-trees, An orchard in its pink-tipped bloom, Between it and the hill. A forest tall of real leeks, Of onions and of carrots, stood Behind the house.

Within, a household generous, A welcome of red, firm-fed men, Around the fire: Seven bead-strings and necklets seven Of cheeses and of bits of tripe Round each man's neck.

The Chief in cloak of beefy fat Beside his noble wife and fair I then beheld. Below the lofty caldron's spit Then the Dispenser I beheld, His fleshfork on his back.

Wheatlet son of Milklet, Son of juicy Bacon, Is mine own name. Honeyed Butter-roll Is the man's name That bears my bag.

Haunch of Mutton Is my dog's name, Of lovely leaps. Lard, my wife, Sweetly smiles Across the brose.

Cheese-curds, my daughter, Goes round the spit, Fair is her fame. Corned Beef is my son, Who beams over a cloak, Enormous, of fat.

Savour of Savours Is the name of my wife's maid: Morning-early Across New-milk Lake she went.

Beef-lard, my steed, An excellent stallion That increases studs; A guard against toil Is the saddle of cheese Upon his back.

A large necklace of delicious cheese-curds Around his back; His halter and his traces all Of fresh butter.

RELIGIOUS POETRY

THE DEER'S CRY

Patrick sang this hymn when the ambuscades were laid against him by King Loeguire (Leary) that he might not go to Tara to sow the faith. Then it seemed to those lying in ambush that he and his monks were wild deer with a fawn, even Benen, following them. And its name is 'Deer's Cry.'

I arise to-day Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, Through belief in the threeness, Through confession of the oneness Of the Creator of Creation.

I arise to-day Through the strength of Christ's birth with His baptism, Through the strength of His crucifixion with His burial, Through the strength of His resurrection with His ascension, Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of Doom.

I arise to-day Through the strength of the love of Cherubim, In obedience of angels, In the service of archangels, In hope of resurrection to meet with reward, In prayers of patriarchs, In predictions of prophets, In preachings of apostles, In faiths of confessors, In innocence of holy virgins, In deeds of righteous men.

I arise to-day Through the strength of heaven: Light of sun, Radiance of moon, Splendour of fire, Speed of lightning, Swiftness of wind, Depth of sea, Stability of earth, Firmness of rock.

I arise to day Through God's strength to pilot me: God's might to uphold me, God's wisdom to guide me, God's eye to look before me, God's ear to hear me, God's word to speak for me, God's hand to guard me, God's way to lie before me, God's shield to protect me, God's host to save me From snares of devils, From temptations of vices, From every one who shall wish me ill, Afar and anear, Alone and in a multitude.

I summon to-day all these powers between me and those evils, Against every cruel merciless power that may oppose my body and soul, Against incantations of false prophets, Against black laws of pagandom, Against false laws of heretics, Against craft of idolatry, Against spells of women and smiths and wizards, Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul.

Christ to shield me to-day Against poison, against burning, Against drowning, against wounding, So that there may come to me abundance of reward. Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ on my right, Christ on my left, Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me, Christ in the mouth of every one who speaks of me, Christ in every eye that sees me, Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise to-day Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, Through belief in the threeness, Through confession of the oneness Of the Creator of Creation.

AN EVEN-SONG

PATRICK SANG THIS

May Thy holy angels, O Christ, son of living God, Guard our sleep, our rest, our shining bed.

Let them reveal true visions to us in our sleep, O high-prince of the universe, O great king of the mysteries!

May no demons, no ill, no calamity or terrifying dreams Disturb our rest, our willing, prompt repose.

May our watch be holy, our work, our task, Our sleep, our rest without let, without break.

PATRICK'S BLESSING ON MUNSTER

God's blessing upon Munster, Men, women, children! A blessing on the land Which gives them fruit!

A blessing on every wealth Which is brought forth on their marches! No one to be in want of help: God's blessing upon Munster!

A blessing on their peaks, On their bare flagstones, A blessing on their glens, A blessing on their ridges!

Like sand of sea under ships Be the number of their hearths: On slopes, on plains, On mountain-sides, on peaks.

THE HERMIT'S SONG

I wish, O Son of the living God, O ancient, eternal King, For a hidden little hut in the wilderness that it may be my dwelling.

An all-grey lithe little lark to be by its side, A clear pool to wash away sins through the grace of the Holy Spirit.

Quite near, a beautiful wood around it on every side, To nurse many-voiced birds, hiding it with its shelter.

A southern aspect for warmth, a little brook across its floor, A choice land with many gracious gifts such as be good for every plant.

A few men of sense--we will tell their number-- Humble and obedient, to pray to the King:--

Four times three, three times four, fit for every need, Twice six in the church, both north and south:--

Six pairs besides myself, Praying for ever the King who makes the sun shine.

A pleasant church and with the linen altar-cloth, a dwelling for God from Heaven; Then, shining candles above the pure white Scriptures.

One house for all to go to for the care of the body, Without ribaldry, without boasting, without thought of evil.

This is the husbandry I would take, I would choose, and will not hide it: Fragrant leek, hens, salmon, trout, bees.

Raiment and food enough for me from the King of fair fame, And I to be sitting for a while praying God in every place.

A PRAYER TO THE VIRGIN

Gentle Mary, noble maiden, give us help! Shrine of our Lord's body, casket of the mysteries!

Queen of queens, pure holy maiden, Pray for us that our wretched transgression be forgiven for Thy sake.

Merciful one, forgiving one, with the grace of the Holy Spirit, Pray with us the true-judging King of the goodly ambrosial clan.

Branch of Jesse's tree in the beauteous hazel-wood, Pray for me until I obtain forgiveness of my foul sins.

Mary, splendid diadem, Thou that hast saved our race, Glorious noble torch, orchard of Kings!

Brilliant one, transplendent one, with the deed of pure chastity, Fair golden illumined ark, holy daughter from Heaven!

Mother of righteousness, Thou that excellest all else, Pray with me Thy first-born to save me on the day of Doom.

Noble rare star, tree under blossom, Powerful choice lamp, sun that warmeth every one.

Ladder of the great track by which every saint ascends, Mayst Thou be our safeguard towards the glorious Kingdom.

Fair fragrant seat chosen by the King, The noble guest who was in Thy womb three times three months.

Glorious royal porch through which He was incarnated, The splendid chosen sun, Jesus, Son of the living God.

For the sake of the fair babe that was conceived in Thy womb, For the sake of the holy child that is High-King in every place,

For the sake of His cross that is higher than any cross, For the sake of His burial when He was buried in a stone-tomb,

For the sake of His resurrection when He arose before every one, For the sake of the holy household from every place to Doom,

Be Thou our safeguard in the Kingdom of the good Lord, That we may meet with dear Jesus--that is our prayer--hail!

EVE'S LAMENT

I am Eve, great Adam's wife, 'Tis I that outraged Jesus of old; 'Tis I that robbed my children of Heaven, By rights 'tis I that should have gone upon the cross.

I had a kingly house to please me, Grievous the evil choice that disgraced me, Grievous the wicked advice that withered me! Alas! my hand is not pure.

'Tis I that plucked the apple, Which went across my gullet: So long as they endure in the light of day, So long women will not cease from folly.

There would be no ice in any place, There would be no glistening windy winter, There would be no hell, there would be no sorrow, There would be no fear, if it were not for me.

ON THE FLIGHTINESS OF THOUGHT

Shame to my thoughts, how they stray from me! I fear great danger from it on the day of eternal Doom.

During the psalms they wander on a path that is not right: They fash, they fret, they misbehave before the eyes of great God.

Through eager crowds, through companies of wanton women, Through woods, through cities--swifter they are than the wind.

Now through paths of loveliness, anon of riotous shame!

Without a ferry or ever missing a step they go across every sea: Swiftly they leap in one bound from earth to heaven.

They run a race of folly anear and afar: After a course of giddiness they return to their home.

Though one should try to bind them or put shackles on their feet, They are neither constant nor mindful to take a spell of rest.

Neither sword-edge nor crack of whip will keep them down strongly: As slippery as an eel's tail they glide out of my grasp.

Neither lock nor firm-vaulted dungeon nor any fetter on earth, Stronghold nor sea nor bleak fastness restrains them from their course.

O beloved truly chaste Christ to whom every eye is clear, May the grace of the seven-fold Spirit come to keep them, to check them!

Rule this heart of mine, O dread God of the elements, That Thou mayst be my love, that I may do Thy will.

That I may reach Christ with His chosen companions, that we may be together! _They_ are neither fickle nor inconstant--not as I am.

TO CRINOG

Crinog, melodious is your song. Though young no more you are still bashful. We two grew up together in Niall's northern land, When we used to sleep together in tranquil slumber.

That was my age when you slept with me, O peerless lady of pleasant wisdom: A pure-hearted youth, lovely without a flaw, A gentle boy of seven sweet years.

We lived in the great world of Banva[13] Without sullying soul or body, My flashing eye full of love for you, Like a poor innocent untempted by evil.

Your just counsel is ever ready, Wherever we are we seek it: To love your penetrating wisdom is better Than glib discourse with a king.

Since then you have slept with four men after me, Without folly or falling away: I know, I hear it on all sides, You are pure, without sin from man.

At last, after weary wanderings, You have come to me again, Darkness of age has settled on your face: Sinless your life draws near its end.

You are still dear to me, faultless one, You shall have welcome from me without stint; You will not let us be drowned in torment: We will earnestly practise devotion with you.

The lasting world is full of your fame, Far and wide you have wandered on every track: If every day we followed your ways, We should come safe into the presence of dread God.

You leave an example and a bequest To every one in this world, You have taught us by your life: Earnest prayer to God is no fallacy.

Then may God grant us peace and happiness! May the countenance of the King Shine brightly upon us When we leave behind us our withered bodies.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 13: A name for Ireland.]

THE DEVIL'S TRIBUTE TO MOLING