The Tain-Quest

"Bear the cup to Sanchan Torpest; yield the bard his poet's meed;
What we've heard was but a foretaste; lays more lofty now succeed.
Though my stores be emptied well-nigh, twin bright
cups there yet remain,—
Win them with the Raid of Cuailgne; chaunt us, Bard, the famous Tain!"

Thus, in hall of Gort, spake Guary; for the king, let truth be told.
Bounteous though he was, was weary giving goblets, giving gold,
Giving aught the bard demanded; but, when for the Tain he call'd,
Sanchan from his seat descended; shame and anger fired the Scald.

"Well," he said, " 'tis known through Erin, known
through Alba, main and coast,
Since the Staff-Book's disappearing over sea, the Tain is lost:
For the lay was cut in tallies on the corners of the staves
Patrick in his pilgrim galleys carried o'er the Ictian waves.

"Well 'tis known that Erin's Ollaves, met in Tara Luachra's hall,
Fail'd to find the certain knowledge of the Tain amongst them all,
Though there sat the sages hoary, men who in their day had known
All the foremost kings of story; but the lay was lost and gone.
"Wherefore from that fruitless session went I forth myself in quest
Of the Tain; nor intermission, even for hours of needful rest,

Gave I to my sleepless searches, till I Erin, hill and plain,
Courts and castles, cells and churches, roam'd and
ransack'd, but in vain.

For the chief delight of sages and of kings was still the Tain

"Made when mighty Maev invaded Cuailgnia for her brown-bright bull;
Fergus was the man that made it, for he saw the war in full,
And in Maev's own chariot mounted, sang what pass'd before his eyes.
As you'd hear it now recounted, knew I but where Fergus lies,

"Bear me witness. Giant Bouchaill, herdsman of the mountain drove,
How with spell and spirit-struggle many a midnight hour I strove.
Back to life to call the author! for before I'd hear it said,
'Neither Sanchan knew it,' rather would I learn it from the dead;

"Ay, and pay the dead their teaching with the one price spirits crave,
When the hand of magic, reaching past the barriers of the grave,
Drags the struggling phantom lifeward :—but the Ogham on his stone
Still must mock us undecipher'd; grave and lay alike unknown.

"So that put to shame the direst, here I stand and own, O King,
Thou a lawful lay requirest Sanchan Torpest cannot sing.
Take again the gawds you gave me,—cup nor crown no more will I ;—
Son, from further insult save me: lead me hence, and let me die."

Leaning on young Murgen's shoulder—Murgen was his youngest son—
Jeer'd of many a lewd beholder, Sanchan from the hall has gone:
But, when now beyond Loch Lurgan, three days thence
he reach'd his home,
"Give thy blessing, Sire," said Murgen.—" Whither
wouldst thou, son? "—" To Rome;

"Rome, or, haply. Tours of Martin; wheresoever over ground
Hope can deem that tidings certain of the lay may yet be found."
Answered Eimena his brother, " Not alone thou leav'st the west.
Though thou ne'er shouldst find another, I'll be comrade of the quest."

Eastward, breadthwise, over Erin straightway travell'd forth the twain,
Till with many days' wayfaring Murgen fainted by Loch Ein:
"Dear my brother, thou art weary: I for present aid am flown:
Thou tor my returning tarry here beside this Standing Stone."

Shone the sunset red and solemn: Murgen, where he leant, observed
Down the corners of the column letter-strokes of Ogham carved.
"'Tis, belike, a burial pillar," said he, " and these shallow lines
Hold some warrior's name of valour, could I rightly spell the signs."

Letter then by letter tracing, soft he breathed the sound of each;
Sound and sound then interlacing, lo, the signs took form of speech;
And with joy and wonder mainly thrilling, part a-thrill with fear,
Murgen read the legend plainly, " Fergus, son of Roy IS HERE."

"Lo," said he, " my quest is ended, knew I but the spell to say;
Underneath my feet extended, lies the man that made the lay:
Yet, though spell nor incantation know I, were the words but said
That could speak my soul's elation, I, methinks, could raise the dead

"Be an arch-bard's name my warrant. Murgen, son of Sanchan, here,
Vow'd upon a venturous errand to the door-sills of Saint Pierre,
Where, beyond Slieve Alpa's barrier, sits the Coiirb of the keys,
I conjure thee, buried warrior, rise and give my wanderings ease.

"Thou, the first in rhythmic cadence dressing life's discordant tale,
Wars of chiefs and loves of maidens, gavest the Poem to the Gael;
Now they've lost their noblest measure, and in dark days hard at hand,
Song shall be the only treasure left them in their native land.

"Not for selfish gawds or baubles dares my soul disturb the graves:
Love consoles, but song ennobles; songless men are meet for slaves:
Fergus, for the Gael's sake, waken! never let the scornful Gauls
'Mongst our land's reproaches reckon lack of Song within our halls!"

Fergus rose. A mist ascended with him, and a flash was seen
As of brazen sandals blended with a mantle's wafture green;
But SO thick the cloud closed o'er him, Eimena, return'd at last,
Found not on the field before him but a mist-heap grey and vast.

Thrice to pierce the hoar recesses faithful Eimena essay'd;
Thrice through foggy wildernesses back to open air he stray'd;
Till a deep voice through the vapours fill'd the twilight far and near.
And the Night her starry tapers kindling, stoop'd from heaven to hear

Seem'd as though the skiey Shepherd back to earth had cast the fleece
Envying gods of old caught upward from the darkening shrines of Greece;
So the white mists curl'd and glisten'd, so from heaven's expanses bare,
Stars enlarging lean'd and listen'd down the emptied depths of air.

All night long by mists surrounded Murgen lay in vapoury bars;
All night long the deep voice sounded 'neath the keen, enlarging stars:
But when, on the orient verges, stars grew dim and mists retired,
Rising by the stone of Fergus, Murgen stood a man inspired

"Back to Sanchan !—Father, hasten, ere the hour of power be past,
Ask not how obtain'd but listen to the lost lay found at last!"
"Yea, these words have tramp of heroes in them and the marching rhyme
Rolls the voices of the Era's down the echoing steeps of Time."

So, again to Gort the splendid, when the drinking boards were spread,
Sanchan, as of old attended, came and sat at table-head.
"Bear the cup to Sanchan Torpest: twin gold goblets. Bard, are thine.
If with voice and string thou harpest, Tain-Bo-Cuailgne, line for line."

"Yea, with voice and string I'll chant it." Murgen to his father's knee
Set the harp: no prelude wanted, Sanchan struck the master key.
And, as bursts the brimful river all at once from caves of Cong,
Forth at once, and once for ever, leap'd the torrent of the song

Floating on a brimful torrent, men go down and banks go by:
Caught adown the lyric current, Guary, captured, ear and eye,
Heard no more the courtiers jeering, saw no more the walls of Gort,
Creeve Roe's meeds instead appearing, and Emania's royal fort.

Vision chasing splendid vision, Sanchan roll'd the rhythmic scene;
They that mock'd in lewd derision now, at gaze, with wondering mien
Sate, and, as the glorying master sway'd the tightening reins of song,
Felt emotion's pulses faster — fancies faster bound along.

Pity dawn'd on savage faces, when for love of captive Crunn,
Macha, in the ransom-races, girt her gravid loins, to run
'Gainst the fleet Ultonian horses; and, when Deirdre on the road
Headlong dash'd her 'mid the corses, brimming eye-lids overflow'd.

Light of manhood's generous ardour, under brows relaxing shone;
When, mid-ford, on Uladh's border, young Cuchullin stood alone,
Maev and all her hosts withstanding :—" Now, for love of knightly play,
Yield the youth his soul's demanding; let the hosts their marchings stay,

"Till the death he craves be given; and, upon his burial stone
Champion-praises duly graven, make his name and glory known;
For, in speech-containing token, age to ages never gave
Salutation better spoken, than, ' Behold a hero's grave.'"

What, another and another, and he still for combat calls?
Ah, the lot on thee, his brother sworn in arms, Ferdia, falls;
And the hall with wild applauses sobb'd like women ere they wist,
When the champions in the pauses of the deadly combat kiss'd.

Now, for love of land and cattle, while Cuchullin in the fords
Stays the march of Connaught's battle, ride and rouse the Northern Lords;
Swift as angry eagles wing them toward the plunder'd eyrie's call,
Thronging from Dun Dealga bring them, bring them
from the Red Branch hall!

Heard ye not the tramp of armies? Hark! amid the sudden gloom,
'Twas the stroke of Conall's war-mace sounded through the startled room;
And while still the hall grew darker, king and courtier chill'd with dread.
Heard the rattling of the war-car of Cuchullin overhead.

Half in wonder, half in terror, loth to stay and loth to fly,
Seem'd to each beglamour'd hearer shades of kings went thronging by:
But the troubled joy of wonder merged at last in mastering fear,
As they heard through pealing thunder, " Fergus, son OF Roy is here!"

Brazen-sandall'd, vapour-shrouded, moving in an icy blast.
Through the doorway terror-crowded, up the tables Fergus pass'd :—
"Stay thy hand, oh harper, pardon! cease the wild unearthly lay!
Murgen, bear thy sire his guerdon." Murgen sat, a shape of clay.