And said; ‘that sound is distant thirty leagues,
And huge that host;’ then bade prepare his car,
And southward sped, counsel to hold as wont
With Faythleen nigh to Tara.
Eve grew dim
When lo! a chariot from the woods emerged
In swift pursuit: an old man urged the steeds,
A grey old man that chattered evermore
With blinking eyes that ceased not from amaze.
That sight displeased Cuchullain: ne’ertheless
He stayed his course; and Saltain soon drew nigh,
Clamouring, ‘O son--and when was son like thee--
Forsake not thou thy father! In old time,
Then when some God had laid on me his hand,
Dectara, my wife, immured me in my house,
Year after year, and weighed the lessening dole:
But thou, to manhood grown, though even to her
Reverent, didst pluck her from that place usurped,
Lifting thy poor old father.’ At that word
Cuchullain left his car, and kissed his sire,
And soothed his wandering wits with meat and wine;
And spake dissembling; ‘lo, these mantles warm!
Prescient, for thee I stored them! Night is near;
Lie down and rest.’ Thus speaking, with both hands
Deftly he spread them wide; and Saltain slept:
Then, tethering first the horses of his sire,
Lastly his own, upon the chill, wet grass
He likewise lay, and slept not.
On, at dawn
They drave; but Faythleen, witch perverse of will,
That oft through spleenful change her purpose slew,
Had broken tryst; and northward they returned.
That day Cuchullain clomb a rock tree-girt
And kenned beyond the forest’s roof a host
Innumerable, the standards of Queen Meave,
And Fergus, and the great confederate kings.
The warrior eyed them long with bitter smile;
Few words he spake: ‘At fifty thousand men
I count them.’ To his father then he turned:
‘Haste to Emania! Bid the Red Branch Knights
Attend me in Murthemné. I till then
Hang on the invaders’ flank, a fiery scourge.’
Saltain made answer: ‘Be it! northward I:
But Dectara, thy mother, and my wife,
Till thou art by my side I will not see;
For dreadful are her eyes as death or fate;
And many deem her mad.’
He spake, and drave
Northward; nor ceased from chatterings all day long,
Since, like a Poplar, vocal was the man
Not less than visible. Meantime his son
Took counsel in his heart, and made resolve
To skirt, in homeward course, that eastern sea,
The woods primeval ’twixt him and the foe,
Still sallying night and day through alley and glade
And taming thus their pride.
Three days went by:
Then stood Cuchullain where great wood-ways met;
And lo! betwixt four yews a warrior’s grave,
The pillar-stone above it! O’er that stone
In mirthful mood he twined an osier wreath,
Cyphering thereon his name in Ogham signs:
For thus he said; ‘On no man unawares
Fall I, but warned.’ The hostile host approached,
And, halting stood in wonder at that wreath;
Yet none could spell the Ogham. Last drew nigh
Fergus, and read it: on him fell that hour
Memories full dear, and loud he sang and long;
He sang a warrior’s praise: yet named him not;
He sang; ‘From name of man to name of beast
A warrior changed: then mightiest grew of men!’
And, as he sang, the cheek of Meave grew red.
Next morn Neara’s sons outsped the rest
Car-borne with brandished spears; and, ere the dew
Was lifted, came to where Cuchullain sat
Beneath an oak, sporting with black-birds twain
That followed him for aye. Toward the youths
He waved his hand; ‘Away, for ye are young!’
In answer forth they flung their spears: he caught them,
And snapt them on his knee; next, swift as fire,
Sprang on the twain, and slew them with his sword,
One blow:--anon he loosed their horses’ bits,
And they, with madness winged, rejoined the host,
Bearing those headless bulks. Forth looked the queen;
Beheld; and, trembling, cried; ‘It might have been
Orloff, my son!’
That eve, at banquet ranged
The warriors questioned Fergus; ‘Who is best
Among the Uladh chiefs?’ Ere answer came
King Conor’s son self-exiled, Conlinglas,
Upleaping cried, ‘Cuchullain is his name!
Cuchullain! From his childhood man was he!
On Eman Macha[28] ever was his thought,
Its walls, its bulwarks, and its Red Branch Knights,
The wonder of the world.’ Then told the prince
How, when his mother mocked his zeal, that child
Fared forth alone, with wooden sword and shield,
And fife, and silver ball; and how he hurled
His little spears before him as he ran,
And caught them ere they fell; and how, arrived,
He spurned great Eman’s gates, and scaled its wall,
And lighted in the pleasaunce of the king,
His mother’s brother, Conor Conchobar;
And how the noble youths of all that land
There trained in warlike arts, had on him dashed
With insult and with blows: and how the child
This way and that had hurled them, while the king
Who sat that hour with Fergus, playing chess,
Gazed from his turret wondering.
Next he told
How to that child, Setanta first, there fell
Cuchullain’s nobler name. ‘To Eman near
There dwelt an armourer, Cullain was his name,
That earliest rose, and latest with his forge
Reddened the night: mail-clad in might of his
The Red Branch Knights forth rode; the bard, the chief
Claimed him for friend. One day, when Conor’s self
Partook his feast, the armourer held discourse;
“The Gods have made my house a house of fame:
The craftsmen grin and grudge because I prosper:
The forest bandits hunger for my goods,
Yea, and would eat mine anvil if they might--
Trow ye what saves me, Sirs? A Hound is mine,
Each eve I loose him, lion-like, and fell;
The blood of many a rogue is on his mouth:
The bravest, if they hear him bay far off,
Flee like a deer!” Setanta’s shout rang loud
That moment at the gate, and, with it blent,
The baying of that hound! “The boy is dead,”
King Conor cried in horror. Forth they rushed--
There stood he, bright and calm, his rigid hands
Clasping the dead hound’s throat! They wept for joy:
The armourer wept for grief. “My friend is dead!
My friend that kept my house and me at peace:
My friend that loved his lord!” Setanta heard
Then first that cry forth issuing from the heart
Of him whose labour wins his children’s bread;
That cry he honours yet. Red-cheeked he spake;
“Cullain! unwittingly I did thee wrong!
I make amends. I, child of kings, henceforth
Abide, thy watch-hound, warder of thy house.”
Thenceforth the ‘Hound of Cullain’[29] was his name,
And Cullain’s house well warded.’
Stern of brow
The queen arose: ‘Enough of fables, lords!
Drink to the victory! Ere yon moon is dead
We knock at gates of Eman.’ High she held
The crimson goblet. Instant, felt ere heard,
Vibration strange troubled the moonlit air;
A long-drawn hiss o’er-ran it: then a cry,
Death-cry of warrior wounded to the death.
They rose: they gazed around: upon a rock
Cuchullain stood. The warrior said in heart,
‘I will not slay her; yet her pride shall die!’
Again that hiss: instant the golden crown
Fell from her head! In anger round she glared:--
Once more that hiss long-drawn, and in her hand
The goblet, shivered, stood! She cast it down;
She cried; ‘Since first I sat, a queen new-crowned,
Never such ignominy, or spleen of scorn
Hath mocked my greatness!’ Fiercely rushed the chiefs
Against the aggressor. Through the high-roofed woods
They saw him distant like a falling star
Kindling the air with speed. Ere long, close by
He stood with sling high holden. At its sound
Ever some great one died!
The morrow morn
Cuchullain reached a lawn: tall autumn grass
Whitened within it; but the Beech trees round
Were russet brown, the thorn-brakes berry-flushed:
Passing, he raised his spear, and launched it forth
Earthward: there stood it buried in the soil
Halfway, and quivering. Loud Cuchullain laughed,
And cried, ‘It quivers like the tail of swine
Gladdened by acorn feast!’ then drew he rein
And with one sword-stroke felled a youngling Birch
And bound it to that spear, and on its bark
Silvery and smooth, graved with his lance’s point
In Ogham characters the words, ‘Beware!
Unless thou know’st what hand this Ogham traced
Twine yonder berries mid thy young bride’s locks,
But spare to tempt that hand!’ An hour passed by
And Meave had reached the spot. Chief following chief
Drew near in turn; yet none could drag from earth
That spear deep-buried. Fergus laughed; ‘Let be
Connacians! Task is here for Uladh’s hand!’
Then, standing in his car, he clutched the spear
And tugged it thrice. The third time ’neath his feet
Down crashed the strong-built chariot to the ground.
He laughed! The queen in anger cried, ‘March on!’
The host advanced, disordered. Foremost drave
Orloff, Meave’s son. That morning he had wed
A maid, the loveliest in his mother’s court,
And yearned to prove his valour in her eyes.
Sudden he came to where Cuchullain stood
Pasturing his steeds with grass and flower forth held
In wooing, dallying hand. Cuchullain said
‘The queen’s son this! I will not harm the youth,’
And waved him to depart. That stripling turned
Yet, turning, hurled his javelin. As it flew
The swift one caught it; poised it; hurled it home:
It pierced that youth from back to breast; he fell
Dead on the chariot’s floor. The steeds rushed on
Wind-swift; and reached the camp. There sat the queen
Throned in her car, listening the host’s applause:
In swoon she fell, and lay as lie the dead.
Next morn again the invaders marched, nor knew
What foe was he who, mocking, thinned their ranks,
Trampled their pride; who, lacking spear and car,
Viewless by day, by night a fleeting fire,
Dragged down their mightiest, in the death cry shrill
Drowning the revel. Fergus knew the man,
Fergus alone; nor yet divulged his name,
Oft muttering, ‘These be men who fight for Bulls--
I war to shake a Perjurer from his throne,
And count no brave man foe.’ Again at feast
Ailill made question of the Red Branch Knights:
Fergus replied; ‘Cuchullain is their best:
I taught him arms! Hear of his Knighting Day!
‘Northward of Eman lies a pleasaunce green:
The Arch-Druid, Cathbad, gazer on the stars,
While there the youths contended, beckoned one
And whispered, “Happy shall that stripling prove
Knighted this day! Glorious his life, though brief!”
That hour Cuchullain stood beyond the wall
South of the city, yet that whisper heard!
He heard, and cried; “Enough one day of life
If great my deeds, and helpful!” Swift of foot
He sped to Conor. “I demand, great king,
Knighthood this day, and knighthood at thy hand.”
But Conor laughed; “Not fifteen years are thine!
Withhold thyself yet three.” That self-same hour
Old Cathbad entered, and his Druid clan,
And spake; “King Conor! by my bed last night
Great Macha stood, the worship of our race,
Our strength in realms unseen. ‘Arise,’ she said;
‘To Conor speed: to him report my will:
That youth knighted this day is mine Elect!
I, Macha, send him forth!’
‘“She spake and passed:
Trembled the place like cliffs o’er ocean caves:
Like thunder underground I heard her wheels
In echoes slowly dying.”
‘Fixed and firm
King Conor stood. Sternly he made reply:
“Queen Macha had her day and ruled: far down
Doubtless this hour she rules, or rules aloft:
I rule in Eman and this Uladh realm:
I will not knight a stripling!” Prophet-like
Up-towered old Cathbad, and his clan black-stoled.
This way and that they rolled prophetic bolts
Three hours; and brake with warnings from the stars
And mandates from the synod of the Gods,
The king’s resolve. At last he cried, “So be it!
Since Gods, like men, grow witless, be it so!
The worse for Eman, and great Macha’s land--
Stand forth, my sister’s son!” He spake and bound
The Geisa, and the edicts, and the vows
Of that dread Red Branch Order on the boy,
And gave him sword and lance.
‘An eye star-keen
That boy upon them fixed, and, each on each,
Smote them. They snapt in twain. Laughing, he cried,
“Good art thou, Uncle mine; but these are base:
I need a warrior’s weapons!” Conor signed;
Then brought his knaves ten swords, and lances ten:
Cuchullain eyed them each and snapt them all,
The concourse marvelling. “Varlets,” cried the king,
“Bring forth my arms of battle!” These in turn
Cuchullain proved: they brake not. Up they dragged
A battle-car. Cuchullain leaped therein:
With feet far set he spurned its brazen floor
That roared and sank in fragments. Chariots twelve
Successive thus he vanquished. “Uncle mine,
Good art thou,” cried the youth; “but these are base!”
King Conor signed, “My car of battle!” Leagh
The charioteer forth brought it with the steeds:
Cuchullain proved that war-car and it stood.
Careless he spake: “So, well! The car will serve!
Abide ye my return.”
‘He shook the reins:
He called the horses by their names well-known:
He dashed through Eman’s gateway as a storm:
Far off a darksome wood and darksome tower
Frowned over Mallok’s wave: therein abode
Three bandit chieftains, foes to man: well pleased
Those bandits eyed the on-rushing car, and youth,
Exulting in their prey: arrived, with gibes
He summoned them to judgment: forth they thronged,
They and their clan: he slew them with his sling,
The three; and severed with his sword their heads,
And fixed them on the chariot’s front. His mood
Changed into mirthful: fleeter than the wind
Six stags went by him, stateliest of the herd;
Afoot he chased them, caught them, bound them fast
Behind the chariot rail. Birds saw he next
White as a foam-wreath of their native sea,
Spotting the glebe new turned. A net lay near:
He caged them; next he tied them to his car
Wide-winged, and wailing loud. To Eman’s towers
Returned he then with laughter: at its gate
The king, the chiefs, grey Druids, maids red-cloaked,
Agape to see him--on his chariot’s front
The grim heads of those bandits; in its rear
Those stags wide-horned; and, high o’erhead the birds!’
The laughter ceasing, spake King Conor’s son;
‘Recount the wonder of those fairy steeds
That drag Cuchullain’s war-car!’ Fergus then,
Despite Queen Meave, who plaited still her robe
With angry hectic hand, the tale began.
‘Cuchullain paced the herbage thin that clothes
Slieve Fuad’s summit. On that airy height
A wan lake glittered, whitening in the blast,
Pale plains around it. From beneath that lake
Emerged a horse foam-white! Cuchullain saw,
And straightway round that creature’s neck high-held
Locked the lithe arms no struggles could unwind.
That courser baffled clothed his strength with speed:
From cliff to cliff he sped; cleared at a bound
Inlet, and rocky rift; nor stayed his course,
Men say, till he had circled Erin’s Isle.
Panting then lay he, on his conqueror’s knee
Resting his head; thenceforth that conqueror’s friend,
His “Liath Macha.” Gentle-souled is she
“Sangland,” the wild one’s comrade. As the night
Sank on those huge red-berried woods of Yew
Loch Darvra’s girdle, from beneath the wave
She issued, darker still. Softly she paced,
As though with woman’s foot, the grassy marge
In violets diapered, and laid her head
Upon Cuchullain’s shoulder. In his wars
Emulous those mated marvels drag his car:
In peace he yokes them never.’
Fergus rose:
‘Night wanes,’ he said, ‘and tasks await my hand:’
Passing the throne he whispered thus the queen,
‘The Hound of Uladh is your visitant
Both day and night.’ The cheek of Meave grew pale.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
FRAGMENT II.
_THE DEEDS OF CUCHULLAIN._
ARGUMENT.
Fergus is sent to Cuchullain with gifts, and requires him to forsake
King Conor. This he will not do, yet consents to forbear Meave’s host
till she has reached the border of Uladh, the queen engaging that the
warfare shall then be restricted to a combat between himself and a
single champion sent against him day by day. Each day Meave’s champion
is slain. Cailitin, lord of the Magic Clan, counsels Meave to send
against Cuchullain his best-loved friend Ferdīa; yet she sends, instead,
Lok Mac Favesh. When he too falls, Cailitin and his twenty-seven sons,
all magicians, fling themselves upon Cuchullain to slay him. Cuchullain
slays them. The Mor Reega, the War-Goddess of the Gael, prophesies to
him that there yet awaits him the greatest of his trials. After ninety
days of combat Cuchullain’s father brings him tidings that all Uladh
lies bound under a spell of imbecility.