’Tis the sigh of a friend from Fraoch’s green mound,
’Tis the warrior’s sigh from his lonely bier,[123]
’Tis a sigh might grieve the manly heart,
And might make a maid to weep.
Here to the east the cairn, where lies
Fraoch Fitheach’s son of softest locks,
Who nobly strove to favour Mai,
And from whom Cairn[124] Fraoch is named.
In Cruachan east a woman weeps,
A mournful tale ’tis she laments;
Heavy, heavy sighs she gives
For Fraoch mac Fithich of ancient fame.
She ’tis, in truth, who sorely weeps,
As Fraoch’s green mound she visits oft;
Maid of the locks that wave so fair,
Mai’s daughter so beloved of men.
This night Orla’s soft-haired daughter,
Lies side by side with Fraoch mac Fithich.
Many were the men who loved her,
She, of them all, loved Fraoch alone.
Mai is filled with bitter hate,
As the love of Fraoch she learns.
His body got its grievous wounds,
Because with her he’d do no wrong;
She doomed him to a bitter death:
Judge not of women by her deed,
Grief ’twas that he should fall by Mai,
Yet I’ll relate it without guile. A sigh.[125]
A rowan tree stood in Loch Mai,
We see its shore there to the south;
Every quarter every month,
It bore its fair, well-ripened fruit;
There stood the tree alone, erect,
Its fruit than honey sweeter far;
That precious fruit so richly red,
Did suffice for a man’s nine meals;
A year it added to man’s life,--
The tale I tell is very truth.
Health to the wounded it could bring,
Such virtue had its red-skinned fruit.
One thing alone was to be feared
By him who sought men’s ills to soothe:
A monster[126] fierce lay at its root,
Which they who sought its fruit must fight.
A heavy, heavy sickness fell
On Athach’s daughter, of liberal horn;
Her messenger she sent for Fraoch,
Who asked her what ’twas ailed her now.
Mai said her health would ne’er return,
Unless her fair soft palm was filled
With berries from the deep cold lake,
Gleaned by the hand of none but Fraoch.
“Ne’er have I yet request refused,”
Said Fithich’s son of ruddy hue;
“Whate’er the lot of Fraoch may be,
The berries I will pull for Mai.”
The fair-formed Fraoch then moved away
Down to the lake, prepared to swim.
He found the monster in deep sleep,
With head up-pointed to the tree. A sigh.
Fraoch Fithich’s son of pointed arms,
Unheard by the monster, then approached.
He plucked a bunch of red-skinned fruit,
And brought it to where Mai did lie.
“Though what thou did’st thou hast done well,”
Said Mai, she of form so fair,
“My purpose nought, brave man, wilt serve,
But that from the root thou’dst tear the tree.”
No bolder heart there was than Fraoch’s,
Again the slimy lake he swam;
Yet great as was his strength, he couldn’t
Escape the death for him ordained.
Firm by its top he seized the tree,
And from the root did tear it up:
With speed again he makes for land,
But not before the beast awakes.
Fast he pursues, and, as he swam,
Seized in his horrid maw his arm.
Fraoch by the jaw then grasped the brute,
’Twas sad for him to want his knife:
The maid of softest waving hair,
In haste brought him a knife of gold.
The monster tore his soft white skin,
And hacked most grievously his arm.
Then fell they, sole to sole opposed,
Down on the southern stony strand,
Fraoch mac Fithich, he and the beast,
’Twere well that they had never fought.[127]
Fierce was the conflict, yet ’twas long,--
The monster’s head at length he took.
When the maid what happened saw,
Upon the strand she fainting fell.
Then from her trance when she awoke,
In her soft hand she seized his hand:
“Although for wild birds thou art food,
Thy last exploit was nobly done.”
’Tis from that death which he met then,
The name is given to Loch Mai;
That name it will for ever bear,
Men have called it so till now. A sigh.
They bear along to Fraoch’s green mound
The hero’s body to its grave.
By his name they call the glen,
Sad for those he left behind.
Cairn Laive is the hill beside me,
Close by it many a happy day
The hero lived, of matchless strength,
The bravest heart in battle’s day.
Lovely those lips with welcomes rich,
Which woman liked so well to kiss;
Lovely the chief whom men obeyed,
Lovely those cheeks like roses red,
Than raven’s hue more dark his hair,
Redder than hero’s blood his cheeks;
Softer than froth of streams his skin,
Whiter it was than whitest snow;
His hair in curling locks fell down,
His eye more blue than bluest ice;
Than rowans red more red his lips,
Whiter than blossoms were his teeth;
Tall was his spear like any mast,
Sweeter his voice than sounding chord;
None could better swim than Fraoch,
Who ever breasted running stream.
Broader than any gate his shield,
Joyous he swung it o’er his back;
His arm and sword of equal length,
In size he like a ship did look.
Would it had been in warrior’s fight
That Fraoch, who spared not gold, had died;
’Twas sad to perish by a Beast,
’Tis just as sad he lives not now.
’Tis the sigh.
[122] The author of this composition is altogether unknown, nor is
it easy to decipher even the name accurately. In the original it
is distinctly “in keich o cloan.” According to the Dean’s usual
orthography, this should be “An caoch O’Cluain,” which means the _blind
O’ Cloan_, or the _blind man from the green mound_. Some of the readers
of the MS. have made it out to be the name of a woman. We have given
the form of the name most likely to be accurate. The composition itself
is usually called “Bàs Fhraoich,” or _the death of Fraoch_.
[123] “Caiseal chrò,” usually translated _bier_, is a curious term.
“Caiseal” means a _castle_ or _stronghold_, “crò,” a _fold_ or _pen_;
so that the word really means the _stone pen_, or _fortified pen_.
Is not this in all likelihood the stone coffin, with which we are so
familiar in ancient Celtic sepulture?
[124] It is not easy identifying the topography of this poem. It is
generally believed in Perthshire that the scene of Fraoch’s death was
in Glen Cuaich, a valley lying between those of the Tay and the Almond.
We have a Loch Fraoch there, but I have not been able to identify Carn
Fraoich, or Carn Laimh. Cruachan is spoken of as lying to the east,
which goes rather in favour of the opinion, that the scene of the poem
was in Argyleshire, Ben Cruachan being to the east of the locality
so designated in that part of the country. I cannot find any lake in
Scotland now called Loch Mai, although Loch Fraoch may have been so
called.
[125] The introduction of the “sigh,” would seem to indicate that a
sigh was expected at certain parts of the poem from the reciter.
[126] It is needless to point out the analogy between this tale and
that of Hercules and the garden of the Hesperides. It will strike any
one acquainted with the classical story.
[127] The story is simple and intelligible. Mai loved Fraoch, and
became jealous of her own daughter, usually called Gealcheann, or
Fairhead. She accordingly planned and accomplished Fraoch’s destruction
as related.