The Sons of Usnach

Canto the First.

In Felim’s house they kept the royal feast,
And all the echoing hall with tumult rang,
Tumult that still from morn to eve increased;
And now the tale they told, and now they sang.
Chief minstrel he to Conor, Uladh’s lord,
Who graced that day, as oft, his favourite’s board.

Sudden to Felim’s seat a woman rushed,
An ancient nurse with wrinkled face and worn
Clamouring, her hands upheld and forehead flushed,
‘Felim, rejoice! for lo, thy babe is born!
And proud be thou, for goodlier is this child
Than e’er till now on proudest parent smiled!’

These tidings heard, yet higher swelled the acclaim;
The Red Branch Knights oft pledged that infant’s health,
And prayed that all high gifts of wealth and fame,
Great lordship, and great valour, and great wealth
Might grace its life, and in the far-off days
Compass its head with everlasting praise.

But when an hour had passed, and somewhat more,
The feasters heard far off a dulcet strain,
And soon to them there entered damsels four;
With measured step advanced they twain by twain,
Bearing a cradle. On a low-raised throne
They reared it, bowered in silk, and blossom-strewn.

Therein a little maiden-wonder lay
Unlike all babes besides in mien and hue,
Bright as a lily-bud at break of day
That flashes through the night’s unlifted dew:
Beaming her eyes; like planets glad and fair:
And o’er her forehead curved a fringe of hair.

The tender fairy hand, whose substance fine
Glimmered as of compacted moonbeams made
With such a stealthy smoothness did it shine,
Above the coverlet unquiet strayed;
And some one said, ‘It knows the things to be,
And seeks its wand of destined empery!’

From bannered stalls the Red Branch Knights drew nigh
Circling that cradle. ’Neath the raftered roof
A far-sunk window opened to the sky,
While purple twilight wove with warp and woof
O’er deepening heavens its dewy mantle dark,
And dusking woods, that hour unseen; when, hark

Outside that casement rang a piercing wail;
Then, past it slow, a dread and shrouded Form
On demon wings was seen of all to sail:
Shriek after shriek out-swelled into a storm:
And o’er that flower new-born of infancy
All heard the Banshee’s death-denouncing cry.

Then, from his seat in that high hall remote
Whereon all day in silence he had sate
Advanced, unguided, to that Infant’s cot
Cathbad, the Druid old, and man of Fate,
And o’er that infant held his arms out-spread,
And raised to heaven his grey and sightless head

At last he spake, ‘This day a woe to man,
And yet the crown of woman’s kind, is born:
This day is sent a blessing and a ban;
She shall be black as night, and white as morn;
And lo, upon her cheek I see such red
As stains great warriors on the war-field dead.

‘A death to mighty hosts that face shall be:
Through her a king shall pass to banishment:
Through her shall perish Usnach’s peerless Three;
Through her from sacred Eman’s roofs fire-rent
Even now I see the reddening smoke-cloud leap:
Deirdré her name. Through her shall widows weep.’

King Conor heard, and in his angry mood
Had risen to speak her doom; ‘That child shall die!’
Save that the Uladh nobles where they stood
The king forestalling, hurled abroad their cry;
‘She must not live!’ Of all those knights but two
Will’d not that deed—the bravest Erin knew.

For at that hour upon the cradle’s right
Stood Conal Carnach; at its left, though young,
Swifter in chase, and stronger yet in fight,
Cuchullain. Neither swelled that shout of wrong.
Once more it rose: but Conor ne’er was known
To walk in any counsel save his own.

He spake: ‘She shall not die: this babe I take,
My ward, until her destinies be known:
An isle tower-girt is mine in yonder lake:
There shall she live; and there shall live alone:
By none that fatal beauty shall be seen:
Full-grown the maid perchance may be my queen.’

Wondering they heard, but no man made reply,
For Conor’s will was lord to all and each,
A man of counsel deep, and purpose high,
In action sudden, sparing of his speech:
Early he won the people to his will:
Ere long they feared him: but they loved him still.

While yet a child, the stepson of that king
Who reigned in Uladh, Fergus son of Roy,
Conor had shared his home. That prince would bring
Oft to his judgment court Queen Nessa’s boy
Whose forward wit unravelled every suit,
Delighting in the wrangling clan’s dispute.

Fergus was loftier-minded: ever more
He loathed the sordid plea, the varnished wrong,
And inly scorned the Ollamb’s learnèd lore:
More dear to him the chase, the feast, the song:
Wearied one day, he cried with laughing face,
‘Conor! speak thou the judgment in my place!’

The boy made answer none; but instant bowed,
And judgment gave so full, so just, so clear,
A shout rang upward from the astonished crowd,
‘Worthy of kingship thou!’ His crowned compeer,
Fergus arose; incensed he made reply;
‘Throne him your king, if worthier he than I!’

Conor since then had ruled the Ulidian race,
And ever waxed in subtlety and power,
Though better loved was Fergus’ honest face,
And princely port, forth issuing from his tower
At times with horse and hound to chase the boar,
Crowning at times the topmost ridge of war.

Conor was loved and feared: one clan alone
Nor feared, nor loved him, Usnach’s: and the king
In Usnach’s house a rival to his throne
Or noting, or belike imagining,
Still watched that house to crush it, had he dared;
But Uladh loved it, and her monarch spared.

Meantime to that green island in the lake
The years came softly: softly went they by
As like as snowy flake to snowy flake,
As like as smile to smile, as sigh to sigh;
And as some flower that feeds on beams and dew
Its inmate rose in beauty ever new,

Deirdré. With her abode an ancient dame,
The tale-recounter of the royal court
In years departed; Levarcam her name:
None other to that island made resort
Save now and then treading the downward rocks
Some shepherd with the firstling of his flocks.

Beauteous as heaven that gladsome captive was;
With every month more fair, more gladsome grew;
Her pastime, counting jewels in the grass,
Emerald and amethyst, and sapphire blue,
Or chasing—never part had she in sloth—
From bloom to bloom the evening-gilded moth.

Impassioned friendships hers with every kind:
To her the Robin came; to her the Hare;
And still with insight flashed from heart to mind,
She guessed their lives in tree or bosky lair,
Sharing their vernal joys, and, when the snows
Besieged their haunts, condoling with their woes.

Inquisitive the creature was, and brave:
From rock to rock alone she roamed; untaught
She knew to climb the tree and swim the wave;
Soaring and swift, for knowledge still she sought,
Nor sought in vain, far wiser than she wist;
Infantine minstrel, and mythologist.

For when she heard the wintry tempests raving,
Fables she told of immemorial feuds,
And warring Gods that still, for vengeance craving,
Devastated some rival’s peaceful woods;
And when the morning shone, serene and mild,
She laughed and said, ‘These Gods are reconciled!’

Betwixt that island and the forest green
A causeway stretched. Scorning King Conor’s law,
O’er it in summer maidens tripped unseen,
And told her tales of all they heard and saw,
And flowers in May, and fruits in summer brought her,
Or with her danced beside the moonlit water.

Two men alone she saw; at times the king:
His grizzled beard and searching eye she fled,
And wept to think that in some far-off spring
She must be his. That thought alone with dread
Touched her keen instinct. In that face august
Something unblest she saw, and ill to trust.

Yet oft he came, watching that flower of beauty
That still from crude, reluctant bud emerged;
And citing still past vow, and future duty
Impledged thereby; and still with presents urged;
And ever reaped for such more scoffs than gain—
Officious is his zeal whose hope is vain!

The other visitor she better loved,
A Druid, silver-headed: to her isle
Daily he came, a teacher well-approved;
And much he taught her, with his grave calm smile
Advancing still into his pupil’s heart:
To elicit thence, he knew, was to impart.

He taught her all a monarch’s bride had need
In those old days to learn. Devout and grave,
He taught her all the Ogham signs to read,
Inscribed on mossy stone or mystic stave;
And how to trace green Erin’s Kings, each one
To Heber or Heremon, Ir, or Donn.

One morn as on their glories he descanted,
‘Where are they now?’ his wondering listener said;
Then silent stood, like shape to stone enchanted:
But when he answered sadly, ‘They are dead,’
She bounded t’ward the on-wavering butterfly,
And cried, ‘At least he lives; and so do I!’

Once too she caught that Druid by the sleeve,
And spake; ‘Great Master, this I ask of thee!
Who was it made the sun, the morn and eve,
The stars, the flying clouds, the boundless sea?’
Her great wide eyes, clasped hands, and lips compressed,
Better than words enforced the unending quest.

The Druid answered, dubious, still refining
With stress and strain of profluent words that left
The problem’s jet-black surface smooth and shining
But ne’er the mystery’s heart of marble cleft,
And ended; ‘God is God:—but ah, the woe!
That which God is, not even the Druids know!’

‘Then God must be a God who hides Himself
In sport, or else for cause we know not of!
And doubtless,’ thus ran on the careless elf,
‘Who hides in sport will show His face in love;
Much seeking will not find Him. He will come
Then when He wills; and take His children home.

‘For I remember once in yonder wood
My nurse, to mock me, hid her in an oak,
Whilst idly I a dragon-fly pursued:
I missed her soon: I wept: then forth she broke!
Thus likewise God, hearing His creatures moan,
Will flash on them, and cry, “Mine own, mine own!”

‘That day the wise will serve Him; but the fool
Will sport with Ogham stave, or dragon-fly
That lights his spark—lo there—on dusky pool!
Of those that sport at once, and serve am I!
Therefore, come quickly, God! And thou, good stave,
Fly hence!’ And forth she flung it on the wave!

But when she found within the Master’s face,
Not wrath—for that she looked—but awe-struck woe,
A change there passed, too swift for eye to trace,
Athwart her rain-dark eyes, and front of snow;
And straight the child, by love’s remorse possessed,
Kissed with her whole bright face that Druid’s breast.

The years passed by; and, onward as they sped,
That child from beauty still to beauty grew;
In her, full many a fair one came and fled
Like sunny gleams that each the last pursue;
And yet that glad succession brought no change;
Each child in turn was wilful, sweet, and strange.

Older, beyond her island bounds she strayed
Despite the king; for, ever since her birth,
Of nought that tender heart had been afraid:
Banshee, or ghost, she heard of, now with mirth,
And now with awe, but never with affright;
And gladly would have faced them if she might.

Not so old Levarcam! a spasm of dread
Oft blanched her cheek remembering Conor’s word,
‘Keep safe the child, or forfeit is thy head!’
In Deirdré’s absence, if a leaf but stirred
She shook; and endless tales, and legends told
To keep her young lamb safe within the fold.

She told how first, from regions of the morn
With black-sailed ships stemming the ocean tide
To Erin’s forest, yet of men forlorn,
Came Partholan, the Grecian Parricide:
And how the ill race had perished. Deirdré cried
With reddening cheek; ‘Glad am I that they died!’

Then, with a brightening in her old, pale face,
Her nurse resumed: ‘But we—the Gael—but we,
The offspring are we of a lordlier race,
The heirs of some diviner destiny!
King Miledh was our sire! From far Espán
His dauntless sons led forth the Gaedil clan.’

Of Scota next she told, the widowed Queen;
And how that sad one left her lonely throne
Girt by eight sons; and how, with eye serene,
She marked above the wine-black ocean prone
The monsters rise; nor feared to watch the wave
Heaven-high, anon descending to its grave.

Time on her brow had graved no characters;
Sorrow no splendour stol’n from that wide eye
That ever, as the legend old avers,
Reposed on some far seat of sovereignty
By others hoped;—to her alone revealed
Beyond sea-cloud, and ocean’s heaving field.

She saw the waves engulf the drowning decks;
Yet nought could scare that eye, or blanch that cheek:
Four sons she saw upon their mastless wrecks
High driven on Erin’s rocks and headlands bleak
From Inver Scena to the house of Donn:
She said; ‘The price is paid; the Isle is won!’

She saw the victory’s prelude and no more;
Half-way ’twixt ocean marge and mountain crest
Where sleep the Great Ones of the days of yore
Early she made her venerable rest,
And holds, well-pleased, an ever-spreading fame,
Sealing a mighty people with her name.

Not all the themes were war: the fabler told
Of Feale, the dusk-eyed beauty of the South,
By Lewy won mid olive forests old:
Such minstrelsies went freshening from his mouth
That in his hand her own the princess placed,
Nor feared, his wife, to dare the wan sea-waste.

She told how, later, by that northern tide
A blush of causeless shame her cheek had stained;
And how, heart-grieved at fancied wrong, she died,
Where wrong was none; and how her husband plained
Year after year, while she, at Scota’s feet,
Rested revered where earth and ocean meet.

Next told she how for Tara’s King they found
No consort worthy of the royal bed
From east to west through Erin’s utmost bound;
And how, dream-warned, the youth had northward sped:
And how, from fountain-bower by Fairy Brugh,
A white maid looked on him with eyes of blue.

And how that beauteous phantom, Eadane,
Had laid a hand like light upon his hair;
And next, lest he should die of yearnings vain,
Assumed a woman’s form, though woven of air;
And borne him pretty babes within their bower;
Yet ofttimes bade him ’ware the destined hour.

And how at Tara, while the nobles sate
Gracing his feast, that queen sent forth a cry:
And how the Fairy-King through guards and gate
Passed swiftly, mailed in dew-like jewelry,
And like a whirlwind bore in sight of all,
The Fairy Princess to her father’s hall!

While thus the tales ran on, the years ran by,
Tales, some of sadness, some of mirth and jest,
Till now the child to maiden prime was nigh:
The tales of war and wonder pleased her best:
The love-tales well began, no doubt: yet all
Ended, she thought, in something slight and small.

And still whate’er she heard of good and pure
Within the virgin’s memory held its place
Like names on tree-stems graved that aye endure:
Of questionable things survived no trace:
They passed, like letters written in a rill
That upward laughs to heaven, re-virgined still.

One day it chanced that, while the March wind’s breath
Was softening round the daffodil’s first bud,
Their shepherd old had saved a lamb from death,
And slain the wolf, and in their gateway stood;
And, as the wounded creature bled, below
A crimson blood-pool stained the last night’s snow.

Sudden there swooped to earth a raven black,
And feasted on that blood. As in a dream
The maiden watched it long: at last she spake,
Whilst o’er her grave face ran a laughing gleam,
‘These be Love’s colours, black and red, and white;—
Yet love we know, is nought, when judged aright!

‘These be Love’s colours, white and black, and red:—
Some little foolish maid, to love inclined,
Might say: “Though all should love me none shall wed
Until in one dear face those three I find;
Not raven locks alone, or front of snow,
But on the heroic cheek the battle’s glow!”’

Beside the girl stood Levarcam; she smiled,
And spake; ‘Good sooth, your shaft hath hit its mark;
Yea doubtless, you were born a prophet’s child!
For Naisi’s front is white, his tresses dark;
And still of him men say; “On Naisi’s cheek
Not roses, but red dawns of battles break!”’

Then to the flash from Deirdré’s peerless eyes
Her nurse made answer; ‘Naisi! who is he?
Warrior there treads not under Erin’s skies
But knows the man! the swiftest of those Three!
No hounds they need! alone they chase, each morn,
The stag, and downward drag him head and horn!

‘Ever at Uladh’s feasts the clansmen say
“Set ye the sons of Usnach side by side,
A rock behind them, or some cromlech grey,
Then blow a trump o’er Erin, far and wide;
And range her hosts against them, face to face,
Those Three shall hew them down, and homeward chase!”

‘Their singing is the best all Uladh boasts;
Of all her sons most courteous they and kind;
To heaven devoutest of her countless hosts:
Softly along his path they lead the blind;
Submission made, no more remember ill;
Nor ever kissed a maid against her will.

‘To these the clans send embassies from far
Laden with gifts, and suing, “Grant us aid!
Rule us in battle’s hour, and head our war!”
But women say, “How well their mother prayed
For sons both mild and valiant!” Lo, a ray
Of her sweet countenance lives in theirs this day!’

Here Levarcam a moment stopped for breath;
Then Deirdré rose and sought the neighbouring strand:
Ice-bound it was, and cold that hour as death:
To her ’twas warm as mead by May breeze fanned:
She paced along its pebbly beach for hours;
And to her feet its shingles felt like flowers.

Returned, more lofty looked she than at morn;
With more of inward gladness, yet less gay;
More confident, though lost her girlish scorn
In some half womanhood’s benigner ray:
Smiling, she met her nurse’s smile, and then
‘Naisi,’ she said, ‘will love me! Who cares when?’

The maiden paused; she mused; again she spake,
Fixing on Levarcam those marvellous eyes;
‘Three be Love’s colours—white, and red, and black:
White, for the sake of Love’s white sanctities;
And red, for Love must war on many a foe;
And black, since Love, though crowned, must end in woe.’

Again she mused:—‘Yes, Love must war! Who fears?
Though Love must fight, he fights in love, not hate!
Some glorious conflict rages through the years;
Great Love must take therein his part, elate.
And woe comes last. On raven pinions borne
Night comes not less:—but after night comes morn!’

From that time Naisi’s name she named no more;
Nothing she seemed to lack; nothing to crave:
Her heart through spiritual realms was strong to soar,
Self-lifted as from windless seas the wave;
A spirit of strength from earthly bonds escaped
She trod; her body’s self but spirit draped;

A Spirit of strength and swiftness onward borne
Through luminous realms, all resonant and free,
Happier because unwinged, like endless morn
With silver feet circling the spherèd sea:
And still her lonely thought with song was blent;
And bird-like still she warbled as she went.

For music then, like warfare, not from art
Grew up laborious:—born of frank good-will,
’Twas Joy’s loud clarion in the generous heart;
Through pains more perfect grew the harper’s skill;
Yet still from purest soul, and noblest breast
The minstrelsy perforce became the best.

Deirdré besides, on Naisi’s music musing—
That strain far-famed she once had heard in dream—
Through some strange craft of Nature’s sweet infusing
Unconscious copied it. A lily’s gleam
Shines thus, reflected in the lake below,
More softly, green for green, and snow for snow.

Once too she marked two mated eagles flying
Far from their cliff, her little lake above,
Sunward in strength, and clapped her hands loud crying,
‘On, wedded Spirits, on! for this is Love!
No woodland murmurs yours, and thraldom none!
Sail on till buried in the ascending sun!’

That vision shaped her life. Through wild and wood
Long hours that morn had Naisi chased the stag:
It took the wave and vanished. Silent stood
At noon the hunter on a jutting crag:
His eye upon a tower-crowned island fell;
Thereon it fastened, bound as by a spell.

‘There lies,’ he mused, ‘that wondrous-countenanced child,
Like some poor bird a captive from its birth,
In that lone island year by year exiled:
How little she suspects her grace and worth!
Our household foe ere long will clutch that hand—
Is yon a causeway leading to the land?’

An hour had fled, and lo! that bridge he paced;
Ere long, no child, but, sparkling like a flower,
The imprisoned maid, nor startled nor shame-faced,
Passed by the youth, advancing from her bower
With breeze-like step, yet down-dropp’d lids of snow:
‘Ah foot,’ he cried, ‘more light than foot of doe!’

An instant back she flashed her magic eyes
And from her laughing lip the answer leaped,
‘Where stags are none, the doe must monarchise!’
Some ballad old it was, but never steeped
Till then with such strange sweetness to his ear:
Was it reproof or challenge, vague yet dear?

Naisi rejoined; ‘A monarch rules this land;
For you he destines Erin’s proudest throne!
Ah, but for that how many a warrior’s brand’—
‘His realm,’ she said, ‘is his: my heart mine own:
A maiden I have lived: maiden would die:’
The warrior fixed on hers his strong grey eye.

That eye, though young and sweet with such clear light,
Had marshalled many a death-strewn battle-field;
Had watched the meeting tides of many a fight;
Taught many a proud, inviolate fort to yield.
With gaze as frank and clear thus answered she,
‘I know you well! the eldest of those Three!

‘Where are your brothers? She whom nurse I call
Has told me all the Three are kind and brave:
Fain would I sister be to each and all:
Fain too my life from love tyrannic save!’
‘Their sister you shall be,’ the youth replied;
‘Mine if you will; but none the less my bride!’

He spake; then, for the maiden’s safety fearing,
With passion changed continued; ‘Spurn my suit!
The king will slay thee!’ She, the warrior nearing,
Held forth both hands, and gazed upon him mute;
And last, in love’s high truth—and truth is best—
Made answer; ‘Thine!’ He snatched her to his breast.

Thence lifting soon a countenance glad yet tearful,
She spake; ‘Your knighthood stands consummate now!
Since a true maid, of Conor’s wrath not fearful,
Has heard, and with her own has crowned your vow.
Forth, on your task decreed! Fly hence, and prove
Ten years in battle-fields what might hath Love!

‘In ten years bring me back your trophied spoils
From every land and clime; for mine they are!
I that inspired, can well requite your toils:
Ever till then, my spirit like a star,
Shall o’er you hang! Farewell! yet, ere you go,
Sing! for how great your songs long since I know.’

So, hand in hand, upon that causeway standing,
Those youthful lovers measure after measure
Poured forth, their bosoms more and more expanding
At once with music’s zeal, and love’s pure pleasure;
For Deirdré still her voice with Naisi’s twined,
All-perfect harmony though undesigned.

And though till then no war-song she had sung
That hour her song grew warlike as his own!
And, o’er her heaven-like beauty as he hung,
His war-songs tender grew, and sweet of tone:
And still they sang, till now through woods loud ringing
The men of Erin, east and west, came winging,

And found those lovers in that lonely haunt,
That sunset round them glowing and above;
And saw the forests flash, the blue waves pant;
And heard that mingled praise of war and love:—
Then ceased that pair, and softly smiled, and said,
‘What makes us glad is this; we two are wed!’

But when, to many a questioner replying,
They found that they had only met that noon,
The lovers laughed a sweet-voiced laughter, crying,
‘We thought we had been wedded many a moon!
Great love, it seems, lives long in little time;
Yet shall great love be ever in his prime!

‘Perchance of us some future bard shall say,
Their bright, swift life went o’er them like a breath
Of stormy southwind in the merry May;
And brief their unfeared, undivided death:
For unto those who love, and love aright,
Life is Love’s day; and Death his long, sweet night.’

But straight the men of Erin cried aloud,
‘The king, the king!’ and Naisi’s brothers twain,
Ainli and Ardan, though to help him vowed
At need, not less to break that troth were fain:
‘Beware,’ they cried; ‘since Cathbad long ago
Foretold that Babe was born for Uladh’s woe!’

Yet, when within those lovers’ eyes they saw
Wild mirth alone, and blank astonishment,
They deemed the thing divine; and, though with awe,
Their spirits on the high adventure bent,
And council took, and with one mind decreed
That self-same night o’er Uladh’s bound to speed.

This therefore was the order of their going:
A hundred warriors marching in the van;
A hundred maidens next with veils loose flowing;
A hundred clansmen next of Usnach’s clan,
And each a greyhound leading in a cord;
Swiftly with these they trod the moonlit sward.

So well were Usnach’s sons both loved and feared
King Conor could but rail against the wrong:
All round the isle they marched with banner reared,
And trumpet blown, and many a tale and song,
Welcomed in court and camp both near and far,
From Esro’s Falls to sea-beat Binedar.

Nathless through Conor’s craft such toils were woven
’Twixt them and Erin’s Kings, to spare that wrong
Felt at low hearths when royal pacts are cloven,
They built by northern Moyle a fleet ere long,
And spread their sails from Kermnah Dûn, and o’er
The grey-green billows sailed to Alba’s shore.

Canto the Second.

O noble Alba, Scotia later named,
Then when the race of Scota and her Lord
O’er all thy holy isles and highlands famed
Had raised the Gaelic harp, the Gaelic sword,
And Kenneth, Pictish rule extinguished, reared
That throne of kings for centuries revered!

Great land of Alba! in that hour supreme
Conqueror, not conquered, wert thou! Thy great heart,
Flinging from off it, like a nightmare dream,
A sway ignobler, chose the better part,
Throning the lofty spirit in lofty place:
It brought thee bliss and bale, but nothing base!

When, centuries earlier, stood on Alba’s coast
Usnach’s brave sons, her king received them well:
Treaty they made: they joined to his their host,
And taught him soon the insurgent tribes to quell,
Yet still they loved him not: ‘His soul is mean,’
They said; ‘by him shall Deirdré ne’er be seen.’

Yet near his court they dwelt; and once it chanced
A palace churl while o’er the forest boughs
New leaved, the earliest beam of morning glanced,
Made way, with missives sent, to Naisi’s house,
And on by dusky doors, though timorous, crept,
And found at last that room where Naisi slept.

Before its stony threshold slumbering lay
Ainli and Ardan, clasping, each, a sword,
For ever wont were these by night and day
Their brother and their sister thus to ward:
The intruder o’er them stepp’d and entrance made
To where in sleep that princely pair were laid.

Between them stretched from pillow on to pillow
The massive trail of Deirdré’s luminous hair,
Like gold-touched tendrils of a budded willow
Breeze-blown against the dawn. Already there
The greedy, youngling sunrise made his feast,
Though still in cloud half muffled was the east.

Longer that churl had stood save that in sleep
Growled the great wolf-hound couched beside the bed:
The traitor turned; and, skilled to crawl and creep,
Reached the half open gates, and homeward fled,
And found the king new-risen, and nodding spake,
‘Rejoice, great monarch, for thy kingdom’s sake!

‘Till now thou hast not found a woman meet
In all thy land the royal throne to share;
Behold, the loveliest lady and most sweet
Of all the earth is near, and thou not ’ware!
Compared with her the rest are sheep and kine—
Bid Naisi die! his consort crown as thine!’

Then told the man his tale from first to last
With added circumstance. The Pict replied
Well pleased, albeit at Naisi’s name aghast,
‘To slay that chief were hard; to snare his bride
Were sweet. In secret traffic with her! Say,
She must be first my love; my queen one day!’

Forth sped the accursed one on his mission foul,
And came on Deirdré singing all alone,
And took his stand, ill visaged as a Ghoul,
And named the terms, base love and future throne:
And she with darkening eyes no word replied
Save this alone; ‘Till I return, abide!’

Swiftly she walked: she came where stood the Three;
Then from her white lips rushed her wrong like flame;
‘Dishonoured wife!’ she cried, ‘with me, with me,
Though not the treason, lives for aye the shame!
Ah, surely never wife such scorn has known
Unless the fault was first in part her own!’

But Naisi smiled, forth issuing with his brand,
And said but this; ‘Abide till I return;’
And soon, that head ill-omened in his hand,
Came back with countenance bright, at once and stern:
Then Deirdré spake, ‘My hand had borne that freight
If thine had spared it! At the bad king’s gate

‘Lay first that head, and march we hence this night!’
The Brothers answered; ‘No! nor yet three days!’
Three days in pride they paced a neighbouring height:
Three days the Pict, thus challenged, stood at gaze,
And ofttimes grimly turned from lord to lord:
They answered nought; nor any raised his sword.

But when the fourth dawn o’er the forest soaring
Sent through the heavens divergent beams of splendour,
Upon the earth glory and gladness pouring,
That host arose; nor took they farewell tender:
Three stones the clansman, each, above his head
Flung backward far in scorn: then forth they sped.

And, lest the sun should dazzle Deirdré’s eyes,
Westward that morn their pilgrimage began:
First, under standards bright with myriad dyes,
A hundred Usnach warriors led the van:
Maids next: then clansmen, holding, each, a hound
That strained against the leash with bark and bound.

Ere long their march was through the misty highlands:
They tracked Glenorchy’s immemorial woods;
Loch Lomond’s bosky mountain-skirts and islands;
Birch-braided Katrine’s sylvan solitudes;
And where on shores of Fyne, now low now higher,
With punctual tide the salt sea floods respire.

Meantime the natives of those lonely regions
Came fiercely forth from many a distant shore
Though worsted oft, in ever thickening legions,
Till now the foray swelled into the war;
And still there flocked from Uladh’s coast in swarms
Her noblest youth, their great one’s mates in arms.

For still, beside the spring her pitcher watching,
The maid would sing of Naisi’s strength and fleetness,
Ofttimes in turn on breeze of evening catching
Some shepherd’s song of Deirdré’s truth and sweetness:
And still they ended, each; ‘Ill deed, King Conor,
That banished such! Alas, the land’s dishonour!’

With varying fortune long time raged the feud:
Clan Usnach triumphed now: anon the foe:
And oft, a swordless warrior mild of mood,
Amid those Three was Deirdré seen: and lo!
Still, as the radiance bickers round the gem,
So flashed the battle’s flame round her and them.

Thus lived they prosperous mid that storm of war,
In victory glad, not downcast in defeat:
Three winter months when fortune pressed them sore
Within a western isle they made retreat,
The nearest of those rock-bound Hebrides
Set mid the crystal splendour of the seas.

With Spring-tide back returned they. Victory’s sun
Full-orbed that April on their banners played:
A third part of the realm their valour won:
Last, with the Picts alliance firm they made,
And making kept. All things thenceforth went well;
And gladsome were their sports on field and fell.

It was that season when the spirit of joy
Runs million-footed forth through earth and air;
When the hale shepherd grows once more the boy;
The girl-like youth is prompt to do and dare;
When womanhood looks softer than its wont;
The star shines whiter on the infant’s front.

It was that season when the maiden’s heart,
Though guarded, faster beats against its bound;
When Love’s long hidden fount, by happier art
Divined, is nearer to the surface found:
When to the faded cheek returns its bloom;
And tears less bitter stain the flower-decked tomb.

It was that season when on fields late dreary
Thickest at dawn the awakened daisy throngeth;
When in the dim sweet gloaming, never weary,
Latest her song the darkling thrush prolongeth;
And pillow-spurning children fret for morn,
Fresh flowers, new leaves, and ecstacies re-born.

Ah then to Naisi, and to Deirdré then
Like fire the gladness of the spring-tide came:
That causeway old they seemed to tread again,
Sang the same song! Love’s wild, yet vestal flame
Caught them once more as on that first of May;
And three glad wedded years became a day.

Then, dawn by dawn, ere yet the low-tongued wind
From unreluctant buds their sweets was wooing,
While earliest shafts through ragged fissures blind
Of cloud forth flashed, the flying night pursuing,
Those brothers and that sister clomb the crag
And blew the horn, and roused the antlered stag.

O joy his course through woodland gulfs to follow,
Deirdré and they, to Etive’s salt sea lake!
To hear from shadowy cliff and cavern hollow
Through glistening air the clarion’s echo break,
And mark, o’er wide green plain, and purple mere,
The mountain-wall its glooming bastion rear

More high when seen through mist: to watch it quivering;
From rock to cloud to track the eagle’s flight;
And then, close by, on spray shining and shivering,
To mark the tender-footed bird alight,
Or flower down-bending ’neath the silenced bee,
Or gleam from rill remote on-winding noiselessly!

And O, to hear in woods the loud hounds baying,
Or plunge of floods adown some hoarse ravine!
Or watch, from far, the waves o’er sea-ledge swaying;
Thence refluent dragged in trails of grassy green;
Or, farther yet, that surge forever hoary
Seething round lone tormented promontory!

Three tents they planted where the forest’s skirt
Sheltered the lowland from the increasing heat;
In one, with hand assiduous and expert,
Deirdré prepared that food by toil made sweet;
In one they held their banquet; and in one
Sang their glad songs till half the night was done.

And many a night on Etive’s flowery margin
She moved, while moonbeams glazed the purple wave,
Happiest of wives; light-footed as a virgin;
Or at the entrance of some ivied cave
Sang note prolonged that ended oft in laughter—
Sweet were the days, pledging some sweet hereafter!

One night, when Naisi to his rest had passed,
Deirdré, long lingering at the bridal door,
Her eyes on Ainli and on Ardan cast,
Great eyes with tears unused all misted o’er,
And took their hands, and spake, in low, soft tone,
‘To you my Naisi’s weal is as your own!

‘But you, like Naisi, must have, each, your bride,
Unhumbled maids not willing to be wed,
To walk in glorying gladness at your side:
Find such, and I round each a silver thread
Will twine; and bring the creatures to you bound:
Discrowned the proud must be; and Love be crowned!’

The heroic song hath sorrows, but not sighs;
The heroic legend tender is, yet hard;
With grief alike, and joy, can sympathise,
Yet keeps the heroic heart from weakness barred.
Love’s ‘stormy southwind’ three glad years had blown:
Then Fate, that rules the nations, claimed her own.

Thus it befell; once more at Conor’s call
The Red-Branch Knights partook their monarch’s feast,
Ranged ’neath their standards round Emania’s hall;
And when at last the hunger rage had ceased,
And many an echo of loud songs had died,
King Conor rose, thus speaking in his pride;

‘What say ye, Lords? Deem ye that kinglier cheer,
Or palace more majestic under sun,
Gladdens mankind than those that greet us here?’
They answered, ‘Feast or house like thine is none!’
Through the great hall the acclaim unmeasured brake:
It sank; and once again King Conor spake;

‘How say ye, Lords, for leave ye have to speak;
That which ye think, reveal: all doubts repel;
Find ye in Uladh aught decayed or weak,
Amiss, or lacking? Or are all things well?’
And they made answer; ‘All things right we find,
Nor aught deficient. King, we speak our mind!’

Yet once again, King Conor rose and said,
‘My mind is other-minded, Lords, than yours;
For I, though ne’er by random counsel swayed,
Far less by murmurs low of kernes and boors,
Find this amiss—that Usnach’s sons this day
For one bad woman’s sake are far away;

‘A loss to Uladh, and to me the most,
Lacking our bravest.’ Then the vast acclaim
Burst louder thrice from that exulting host;
And thus they cried; ‘We feared the royal blame,
And therefore hid our counsel; but that morn
Those Three return, old Uladh stands re-born.’

Again the plot-deviser rose and spake:
‘Men of great stomachs, Lords, we count those Three:
“Exiles,” they sware, “we go: but ne’er come back
Till sureties strong are ours, and guarantee
By Conor sent, firm pledge of endless troth:”
Thus Naisi sware: and sacred is an oath.

‘Likewise thus vowed he, ne’er to tread again
Green Erin’s soil, his glory and his joy,
Till Conal Carnach fetched him o’er the main,
Or else Cuchullain, or the son of Roy,
Fergus, my dearest. I these three will test,
And learn by proof which loves King Conor best.’

Then Conor unto Conal signed; and these
Stood speaking in a casement far apart:
‘Conal, if I should send thee o’er the seas,
And lo! on Uladh’s soil, through Naisi’s heart
The Fates sent darkness, what would happen then?’
And Conal answered; ‘Deaths of many men!

‘King! if he fell, of Uladh’s sons one half
For Naisi’s sake should lie ere three days dead,
And for my surety broken.’ With a laugh
King Conor fillip’d Conal’s cheek, and said,
‘Fool! that canst never understand a jest!
Go hence! It is not thou that lov’st me best!’

Next, to Cuchullain Conor signed; then spake;
‘Cuchullain! if I sent thee o’er the sea,
With Usnach’s exiled sons a pact to make,
And then, despite thy surety given, those Three
Vanished, late-landed; what would happen then?’
Cuchullain answered; ‘Deaths of many men!

‘For, not alone who wrought that deed accursed,
Slaying those Three, should perish by this hand,
But they the impious deed who counselled, first;
And, next the man who issued that command!’
Then Conor frowned:—‘What night-mare loads thy breast?
Hence, for thou know’st me not; nor lov’st me best!’

To Fergus last the royal plotter signed,
And made, yet softlier tuned, the self-same quest;
But he the questioner’s meaning nought divined,
A Prince whose heart, uncovered as his crest,
Contemned disguise; suspecting treachery none
Thus answered Fergus, Roy’s once sceptred son:

‘King, thou, and I, and Usnach’s sons must die—
What matters when, if spotless our good name?
The hand that strikes in daylight I defy;
If traitor’s knife attempts them, for that shame
All Uladh’s race shall perish, save alone
The stained, yet guiltless king on Uladh’s throne!’

Then Conor caught his hand: ‘Thou, sole of all
Lov’st me! The rest but fear:—they never loved!
Cautious are they: thou swift at honour’s call!
Now therefore be thy love and fealty proved:
To Alba speed: bring home that exiled Three,
Thyself their surety, pledge, and guarantee.

‘But with them plight this covenant beside,
That instant when they tread my kingdom’s strand
To me they speed; with no man else abide;
Favour or feast accept at no man’s hand:
My bread must be the first those exiles break;
All griefs thenceforth forgotten for its sake.

‘I charge thee too from Alba’s coast returned
To land at Barach’s castle in the north;—
There shall thy monarch’s further will be learned:’
Then Fergus pledged his word, and issued forth:
But Conor beckoned Barach from the feast;
Then long time stood a-gazing north and east.

Low-toned he spake; ‘Barach! a keep thou hast
There where the grey cliffs break the northern brine:
When Fergus comes from Alba, hold him fast:
Heap high thy banquet; make that proud one thine!
If from thy board he turns he stands forsworn,
By Geisa bound no good man’s feast to scorn.

‘But thou, the sons of Usnach send to me:
What cause I have to trust that race thou knowest:
Be sure thy feast hold out two days or three:
My love thenceforth thou hast where’er thou goest.’
The courtier smiled, and bowed, ‘I hear, and heed:’
And Conor thus; ‘True friend is friend at need!’

Next morning Fergus o’er the waters sped
At earliest dawn; with him his sons alone,
Illan the Fair; Buini the Ruthless Red,
His shield-bearer, the third. By swift winds blown
They rushed above the waves a day and night;
At dawn Loch Etive’s mountains loomed in sight.

Ere noon he landed on the Alban coast:
Wild from the woods a stag there issued bounding;
The prince his mission grave forgat, and tossed
Through the green-caverned forest loud-resounding,
As he was ever wont, his hunting cry;
And lo! the tents where Naisi dwelt were nigh.

Deirdré and he were playing chess together:
Their bent heads well nigh met above the board;
While sunny gleams of that unclouded weather
Glancing through boughs the chequered ivory scored.
Her brow was bright with thought; her hand, raised high,
Above its destined prize hung hoveringly.

The cry of Fergus reached them. Naisi spake;
‘Erin! A son of Erin breathed that shout!’
Deirdré replied; ‘Not so! On Etive’s lake
Some fisher boasts a spoil, or chieftain’s scout
Welcomes his fellows far away. Play on!’
She laughed; but from her cheek the rose was gone.

Once more abroad the cry of Fergus pealed;
And Naisi cried: ‘Our Erin nursed that voice!’
Then Deirdré: ‘Nay, but from some rock-girt field
Loud-voiced the shepherd bids his mates rejoice:
Some boar is slain, or wolf that vexed the land;
Play on!’ And on her heart she pressed her hand.

But when a third time rang that shout, now nearer,
The three brave brothers recognised the sound,
And, listening, larger grew their eyes, and clearer,
And from their seats they leaped, and gazed around,
And smote their palms, and clamoured, ‘O the joy!
Fergus is come! Our Fergus! Fergus Roy!’

Then Naisi sent the twain abroad to meet him;
But Deirdré said, ‘I knew that earliest cry!
Woe to the man, and them this hour who greet him!
This day the bolt is launched from yonder sky:
This day the Destiny foretold beginneth:
Woe to the Three! Worst woe to him who sinneth!

‘All night I saw three birds from Erin’s peaks
To Alba strain through tempest and eclipse:
Three honey-drops they wafted on their beaks:—
O Love! they dropped that sweetness on thy lips;
Ere long each death-black beak, and crownèd head
With life-blood from thy heart, O Love, was red!’

She rose: on visions dread she seemed to stare!
She stood: she pressed her hands upon her eyes:
From the wan brows the horror-stricken hair
Bickering like meteors rose, or seemed to rise;
She towered aloft a prophetess; till, near,
The step well known of Fergus smote their ear.

She whispered low: ‘Trample the honeyed lure!
Make not with Conor! He would have thy blood!’
A moment more, and, entering from the moor,
Fergus, that royal presence, by them stood:
The cloud fell from her! Basking like blue sky
She met her husband’s guest full lovingly.

There stood they, Fergus loftiest by the head,
His sons beside him, stalwart men, and tall,
Illan the Fair, Buini the Ruthless Red:
Reverent and sweet she kissed them, each and all,
She and the Brothers: next they made demand
Of news the latest from their native land.

Swift came the answer; ‘Friends, the news is this;
The king repents him of the ignoble deed
That cost his realm her bravest; zealous is
To quench that deed, and cancel; hath decreed
That you and yours, henceforth and evermore
Shall live secure on Erin’s sacred shore:

‘Likewise of this, a kingdom’s oath and pledge,
I stand myself, surety and guarantee:
Conor in turn, to dull past injury’s edge
Demands, implores a single vow from thee,
That till beside his board thou breakest bread
No meaner house than his shall roof thy head.’

Then Naisi and the brethren rose in joy;
But Deirdré came before them speaking thus,
‘King—for, except the race and stock of Roy,
O’er Uladh kings may reign, but not o’er us—
The eagle lives not save in large domain:
My husband won this land, and here must reign!

‘King Conor caught and caged me, yet a child;
King Conor into exile drave these Three;
The growing greatness of that race exiled
This day he fears; and calls them back: but we
Desire a healthier breeze than makes resort
Within the perfumed precinct of a court.’

‘Lady, you doubt the safety of your Lord!—
“Must reign!” I reign no more; not less my name
Would move in might before him like a sword
Though all the hosts of Erin ’gainst him came!’
A red spot stood on Fergus’ crownless brow;
The Three looked up; and spake: ‘We go, and now!’

Then Deirdré inly said; ‘We go to die:’
Death-pale she stood, yet spake no further word;
Their promise pledged, albeit unwittingly,
The worst that might befall them she preferred
To treason’s semblance and a vow forsworn:
She spread the feast; westward they sailed ere morn.

And ever as the wine-dark seas they clave
The sons of Usnach stood upon the prow
And spread their arms to Erin o’er the wave;
And each to each exclaimed; ‘To guide the plough
Or break the clod, still breathing Erin’s air,
Were better than to rule and reign elsewhere!’

But Deirdré stood upon the vessel’s stern,
Alone, with eyes on Alba’s headlands bent,
Dreaming the hills she could no more discern,
And as they faded thus she made lament,
‘O Land, our home no more, to me and mine
Gentle thou wert; therefore my heart is thine!

‘O beauteous Land, oft on thy heathery bed,
Wearied with chase, upon my sleepless heart
My Naisi laid at noon his sleeping head;
And therefore thine I am; and dear thou art.
I came to thee with Naisi hand in hand,
But now no more I see thee, beauteous Land!

‘O Coona! mid thy maiden buds the thrush
Sang well in spring! In thee the autumnal berry
Sent forth its flash from reddening brake and bush
Like scoff from hard old lip of beldam merry!
We laughed to mark it, while far off we heard
Ainli with Ardan sing as bird with bird.

‘Glenorchy, O Glenorchy! sweet in thee
To hear the cuckoo’s note, that glad new-comer;
And sweet o’er Masan’s sands to watch the sea
Sleep on unwakened half the long, blue summer!
Thou gav’st us, O thou Erin of the East!
The song, the chase, the battle, and the feast!

‘Loch Etive, O Loch Etive! near thy shore,
Lulled by thy waters pure, and airs heart-healing,
Latest we lived, who live there now no more;
Earliest in thee we raised our little shieling:—
Good things the sons of Usnach gat from thee,
And I, the ill-omened sister of the Three!’

Thus in her song honouring the land she loved
Sad Deirdré stood while back the waters hoar
Streamed from the ship; and singing never moved:
From her chilled lip the wind its music bore,
Till plainly Erin’s cliffs at last shone forth,
And Barach’s castle facing to the North.

Then Barach, as that fated bark drew near,
With courteous seeming but a purpose fell
Sailed forth to meet it, making goodly cheer
With bannered boat and tossing coracle
So densely clustered that the billow green
Betwixt them scarcely showed its sparkling sheen.

Ere long the exiles leaped on Erin’s strand:
The courtier followed fast: with loud-voiced glee
He bade them welcome to their native land,
And kissed the hands of each full reverently,
Deirdré’s the last; and said; ‘Your home is here!
Abide a week, and after that a year!’

But when the Brothers told him of their oath
In no man’s house to eat, or rest their head,
Howe’er to slight a friendly welcome loth,
Until with Conor they had broken bread,
He turned to Fergus;—‘Oath thou too hast sworn
Long since, to pass no friendly feast in scorn.

‘Behold, for thee this day my board is decked;
My dish is garnished; and my fatlings slain:
Likewise to greet thee many a chief elect
Hath sped this day from distant vale and plain:
If vain their zeal, and all that loyal haste
To greet my guest, I stand henceforth disgraced.’

Him Fergus heard, and stood in anguish mute,
His giant bulk bowed by his spirit’s pain
That ever downward worked from scalp to foot:
Like stag whom serpent folds begin to strain
He stood—that strives in vain that coil to break—
And flame was on his face while thus he spake;

‘Ill done, ill done, O Barach, is thy deed!
Ill-timed, ill-omened, and unblest thy feast’—
Then Barach; ‘Let those Three to Conor speed;
The king is greatest here, and I the least:
But thou—thine oath that later pledge foreran:
If broke, it lays thine honour under ban.’

Still Fergus mused;—‘’Tis true: that oath I made;
Made ere an upstart’s craft had filched my crown:
To break it were my greatness to degrade,
To blot a princely birth, a life’s renown:
Uladh would cry; “He shames the blood of Roy
To ’scape the frown of Nessa’s ill-crowned boy!”’

Doubt bred new doubt:—away the False One strode;
But Fergus still mused on, and never stirred,
His royal head depressed and neck embowed;
At last he turned to Naisi with this word,
‘What must I do?’ But ere her lord replied,
Deirdré spake first, with queenly port and pride:

‘The choice is thine, not his; and this that choice;
For a feast’s sake to cast from thee thy charge,
Subject and servile to a courtier’s voice;
Or spurn that feast, and walk, a soul at large.’
And Fergus said; ‘My sons with thine and thee
Might ride. I bind on them my guarantee.’

Low-toned he spake; but Naisi heard, and thus
Made answer, reddening like a rising moon,
‘We scorn their aid! Our swords suffice for us!
All help beside we count a worthless boon!’
Then Fergus frowned: At once from doubt released
With them he sent his sons, and joined the feast.

Canto the Third.

So forth the Brothers rode, while high o’erhead
Through that primeval forest’s woven screen
Now in long lanes the sky its radiance shed,
And now in purple stars of splendour keen;
Nor far behind them marched the Usnach clan,
Loud singing and on trampling like one man.

But Deirdré slowly lifting eyes divine,
Dewed with dark tears, upon the Brothers, spake;
‘True counsel, lo! I give you, brothers mine;
And yet that counsel true ye will not take;
There shine the rocks of Rathlin! On its shore
Abide till this disastrous feast is o’er!’

Then spake to Illan, Fergus’ kindlier son,
The Ruthless Red; ‘Small faith in us they place!’
Whom Naisi hearing, made reply, ‘Ride on:’
And Deirdré raised to heaven her heaven-sweet face,
And made this song; for, as in girlhood, all
Her musings, dark or bright, grew musical.

‘O would my Love were safe in some far isle,
And I were like some shadow passed away;
Yea, though some other liegeful wife, the while,
Partook his board at eve, his chase by day:
For I am that doomed Babe of long ago;
And I on those fair Three have brought this woe!

‘One time by far Loch Etive—’twas in jest—
My Naisi kissed a sweet-eyed Alban maid:
I sought my death! my bark from crest to crest
I dashed, too deeply wounded to upbraid!
The Brothers saw, and followed fast—and I—
Ah, that for me those peerless Three should die!’

Meanwhile all day in light discourse or deep
The sons of Usnach and of Fergus rode,
And came at eve to Fuad’s mountain-steep;
But Deirdré, bent for once by sorrow’s load
Though strong, behind them dropped, and on a bank
Moon-lit sat down; and slumber on her sank.

There Naisi found her ’neath a yew-tree old,
Shivering; and she his steps approaching knew
Though sleeping still; and through the moonlight cold
T’wards him stretched forth her hand so kind and true;
And, ‘What, O what is this,’ he said, ‘My Queen?’
Wak’ning she answered, anguished yet serene:

‘A dream it was that kept me from thy side:
Wakeful all day that dream I saw, and see:
I saw great Fergus’ sons beside us ride,
Brothers in blood; disjoined in destiny:
Illan a bleeding bulk without a head,
I saw: yet true he proved when traitors fled.

‘Buini I saw, the Ruthless Red; full strong
He towered, and stately as a summer tree:
But, when that strife dishonest did us wrong,
No help he proved, O Love, to thine and thee!
So one was faithful, yet of greatness shorn:
And one was greatness perjured and forsworn.

‘Now ride we on!’ they rode for many an hour,
Till, through an oak-glade in that glimmering wood,
They saw Emania, veiled in cloud and shower:
Above the edge of that black cloud there stood
A moon nigh setting in a sanguine shroud;
And many thunders heard they, far, not loud.

Upon that sanguine shroud as on a sign
Deirdré gazed long; then turned her eyes, and spake;
‘True counsel, lo! I give you, brothers mine,
And yet that counsel true ye will not take;
No further t’wards Emania ride this hour;
Seek we, not far it stands, Cuchullain’s tower!

‘Or house with Conal Carnach, leal and true:
He to the court ere noon with us will ride—
Naisi! when on that causeway I and you
That evening sang, what prayer hadst thou denied?’
Yet, though she chid him, nearer him she crept:
The one sole time that in his arms she wept!

Buini drew near! At once the Three replied,
‘Because we never feared and cannot fear
To Eman on we will whate’er betide!’
Unseen by him she wiped away her tear;
While from the black boughs fell a poison-dew;
And Fate her net more closely round them drew.

Thenceforth was Deirdré changed. To Eman’s gate
They rode, and thrice beneath it blew their horn:
Indifferent, yea, as one with either fate
Alike content, she spake in careless scorn;
‘Omens the Druids find in bird and beast:
A Druid I; a laughing one at least!

‘I doubted Conor’s faith: if mine the fault
Harbouring distrust, King Conor thus will speak:
“Abide with me three months: partake my salt;
Drink of my cup; my bread securely break!”
If under alien roof he bids us lie
Then know his pit is dug; and we shall die.’

She spake! around her lip a smile there curled;
Her kindling eye was fixed as eye of one
Who sees, beyond the limits of the world,
Beyond the thresholds of our moon and sun,
Beyond the abysmal night, a gleam of day,
And can abide the issue come what may.

As thus they stood the gates were opened wide;
Anon forth stepped a herald with this word,
‘Great Sirs, the King, himself by sickness tried,
Within the Red-Branch House hath decked your board
With Uladh’s best, from mead and river brought:’
They on each other gazed, yet answered nought.

‘He bids you there with blessing.’ At that speech
Silent they sought that House. In stately throng
The knights received them: yet on brows of each
Devoid of guile, a dubious sadness clung:
Not less the seats were set; the tables spread:
Nor ceased that revel till the day was sped.

Not all partook it. Silent and apart
In a huge window caverned from the wall
By some high builder’s long-forgotten art,
Sat Deirdré, and the Brothers three. No thrall
To royal craft the warriors now. What meant
The king, they knew, and waited the event.

Scorning to make complaint, they scorned not less
To share a traitor’s feast, and ate of nought,
Waving each dish away in haughtiness,
Save little loaves that with them they had brought.
Their chess-board next they ranged with pawn and queen;
And Deirdré laughed or frowned the moves between.

Meantime with Levarcam King Conor spake;
‘Forth, since I spared thy life when Deirdré fled,
And tidings bring me whether, for love’s sake,
Yet lives her beauty on that False One’s head:
The girl hath known rough skies and scanty board:’
Then Levarcam went forth, with wiles well stored.

Drawing a thousand thoughts into one noose
Of woman-craft she sped, in silks arrayed;
And came with speed, such speed as age may use,
To where at chess the sentenced princes played
In that high window; next one finger raised
High as her brow; then round her peering gazed.

Naisi she loved from childhood; loved scarce less
His brothers; felt for Deirdré love and spleen:—
‘Through grace of yours, all-bashful Forwardness,
Save for my craft this trunk had headless been!
I wiled the sword from Conor’s hand! Well, well!
My Wanton’s face retains its childish spell!

‘I come to you at peril of my life—
Hush, hush! place hand on lip! They must not hear!
With rumours dark Emania’s streets are rife:
The king has vowed your death:—draws any near?
Then when the Babe was born, the seer foretold—
What? Must men die because a maid was bold?’

In tears awhile the faded fine one stood;
And next, mechanic-wise oracular,
Kept nodding of her head. Then changed her mood
To fires of youth. ‘Close gate, and casement bar!
Fight well, ye sons of Fergus! If your sire
Makes speed, he’ll trample down this flame in mire!’

Last, like that bird which fan-like spreads her plumes
For pride, to Conor’s palace she returned,
And found him seated in presageful glooms;
And cried as though some reptile shape she spurned,
‘Woe, woe; for Deirdré’s brightness is gone by;—
Brown moth is she that once was butterfly!’

King Conor heard, ill-pleased, and yet well-pleased,
And stood, before him dangling still this thought
At least then Naisi of his love is eased;
And that proud minx has lost my realm for nought:
Perhaps ’twere best to let old rancours pass:
Kingdoms live on; but beauty fades like grass.

Thus mused the king: but while he sat at meat
And, later, when the wine had fired his blood,
The thought of Deirdré’s face, tender and sweet,
Too bright to fade, star-like before him stood:
And loud he cried: ‘Sits any brave man here
Who dreads not death, and holds King Conor dear?

‘Forth to the Red-Branch Mansion let him speed,
And there with Deirdré secret converse hold,
And learn if yet upon her lives indeed
The glory of that beauty hers of old.’
Then Trendorn went, a sordid churl, ill-starred,
And found that mansion’s gateways closed and barred:

Yet clomb he darkling, to that casement high;
And Deirdré turned her face:—in awe and fear
Of that great splendour o’er it shed, the spy
Slid from his place, and, racing like a deer,
To Conor cried; ‘As shines in heaven the sun,
So she on earth: and like her there is none!’

That instant Conor saw the maid again!
That instant rage of love his heart possessed
Venomed by past repulse, and jealous pain:
And thus he cried, hoarse-voiced with stifling breast,
‘Storm ye the Red-Branch House! Die, he that will!
Mine was that maid: and mine I deem her still.’

In silence sat the chiefs, mindful at once
Of duty sworn to Uladh’s king, their Lord,
And of his counter-pledge to Usnach’s sons;
But all the Bonachts ranged adown the board
Rushed forth to boast their zeal, and clutch their prey,
Aliens base-born that fought not save for pay.

To these were joined the vile ones of the street;
For in their breasts Conor this seed had sown,
Imposture sordid, and obscene conceit,
‘Traitors, in Alba late to princes grown,
Would make their Pictish tyrant Uladh’s king!’
They girt the Red-Branch House, thus clamouring.

Long time in silence stood, and sore amazed,
Those brave but simple knights o’er Erin feared:
For Usnach’s sons as kings they prized and praised;
But like a God King Conor they revered:
At last they spake, and after that changed not,
‘We in this war will bear nor part, nor lot.’

And when the stony storm blackened the heaven,
And gate rolled in, and casement burst and brake,
And all that House was as a ship rock-riven,
In midnight storm, they sat, and never spake;
For two contrarient thoughts their minds had cleft—
Astonied men of manhood’s might bereft.

Naisi, meantime, and Deirdré, fixed, attent,
Their eyes in stillness on the ivory board,
And silent o’er their game the brothers bent;
But Fergus’ sons stood up with hand on sword,
Forth from the casement gazing; and the red
Burned on their brows: then Deirdré, careless, said,

‘Long time, methinks, at feast doth Fergus tarry—
Good speed for that crowned hawk which hangs on high
With beak turned downward t’ward his skiey quarry!’
Buini broke in; ‘My sire is false; not I!’
And gat him down; and shouted Fergus’ name:
And straight a host around him flocking came.

But Conor sent for Buini, and at door
Whispered him low; ‘I yield thee Fo-äd-Fell!’
Yet Buini spurned the bribe, and said; ‘What more?’
And Conor thus; ‘Henceforth mine oracle
At council board be thou, and only thou!’
Then Buini pledged with Conor hand and vow.

Thenceforth around the Red-Branch Mansion higher
The madness of the people surged, and roar
As though of tempest when great woods catch fire,
Or winter waves raking some northern shore;
And on the portals seven they dashed; and lo!
Their mighty hinges groaned ’neath blow on blow.

Meantime the Red-Branch Knights, like men in sleep
Trod the vast courts; or like some shepherd boor
Who feels his way on cliffs that crest the deep
When mist invests the mountain and the moor;
Or stood and gazed from far on Deirdré’s brow—
Strong knights of old; men ineffectual now.

Then Deirdré, as the battle raged below,
Spake lightly thus, while on she pushed a pawn,
‘Buini has gone like Fergus—let him go!’
But Illan, grieved at heart, with sword half drawn,
Replied, ‘While lives this sword, whoe’er may fly,
Faithful and true to Usnach’s Sons am I!’

And gat him down, and drew a host, and drave
Southward that seething mass a mile and more,
As when the wind before it drives the wave;
And shouted, ‘traitors’ still; and slew six score.
Then—sped from heaven—above the heads of all
Ran Fear; and reached King Conor’s council-hall.

There, girt by chiefs sat Conor on his throne
With cloudy brows, and pale lips ridged in scorn,
Who thus addressed Fiacre, his first-born son;
‘Son, thou and he the self-same hour were born,
Illan—the man that from this head even now
Sweeps Uladh’s crown! Go forth and meet him, thou!

‘And, since the arms he weareth of his sire,
Fergus, once king, wear thou mine arms this day,
“Ocean,” my shield, that sea-like roars in ire
Echoed on Erin’s farthest coasts, men say;
And “Victory’s wing,” and “Flying Fate,” my spears
And “Death,” my sword, annealed in widows’ tears.’

Then strode Fiacre to battle, iron-mailed:
But straight the king to Conal Carnach sent,
‘My kingdom reels by rebel hosts assailed:
My son goes forth to meet them. Sickness-bent
I wait the close. My bravest knight, my best!
Strike for thy king! What care I for the rest?’

Next to Cuchullain sent he: but that knight
Frowned on the herald in his perilous mood,
And said; ‘What part have I in civil fight?’
Soon, face to face Fiacre and Illan stood:
At last the royal youth, ’neath Illan’s sword
Sank to one knee: at once in fury roared—

Thus much and more the legends old avouch—
‘Ocean,’ King Conor’s shield; for wroth was he
A prince’s head beneath his shade should crouch,
And wroth Emania’s coming doom to see:
Three times the shield sent forth that sea-like roar;
And thrice the three chief waves on Erin’s shore

Responded, from the blue deeps landward rolling;
The wave of Toth on Erin’s northern coast;
Green Clidna’s wave like funeral bells far tolling;
And Rory’s wave, the loudest. Through the host
Rushed Conal Carnach at the third wave’s cry,
And, shouting thus, ‘King Conor’s son will die!’

In dashed while Illan o’er Fiacre was bending—
Illan his friend—and drave through Illan’s side,
Knowing him not, the sword, his heart-strings rending:
But Illan rose, and spake before he died:
‘Thy deeds were great, O friend! This last—this one—
Was not like Conal! I am Fergus’ son!

‘I die to guard his name and Conor’s pledge.’
Then Conal cried in storm of rage and woe,
‘Since Conor lied to me this faulchion’s edge
Shall pay the debt he owes, and that I owe,
A death to honour and to vengeance due;’
And down he dragged Fiacre, and, trampling, slew.

That hour the royal host pierced through by grief,
Clamoured, yet quailed at glance of Conal’s eye;
While shouted Illan’s band, ‘Be thou our chief!
Illan is dead.’ Vouchsafing no reply
Silent from both he turned; and, like a God
Spurning some death-doomed city, homeward strode.

But when the tidings came, ‘Fiacre is dead,’
King Conor dropped in swoon; and if that hour
Illan had lived, and not the Ruthless Red,
All Eman’s chiefs had joined to his their power;
For Illan, like his sire, had Eman’s love:—
Thus Fate round Usnach’s Sons her net enwove.

Around the Red-Branch House that Bonacht host
Gathered once more: but on the left the might
Of Ardan backward hurled them and their boast;
And Ainli’s strength rebuked them on the right:
Till came to Conor’s heart a wingèd thought;
And ‘Fire!’ he cried; and branch and beam were brought,

Circling the walls: up rushed the red flames roaring;
And one by one, the seven great gates fell down;
Then rushed from court to court, still onward pouring,
Native with alien, man-at-arms with clown:
Yet still the assailed fought on from stair to stair,
Long time in rage, and later in despair.

Meanwhile along the loftier cloister floors
As though with fettered feet moved knight with knight,
Or, idiot-like, stood peering by the doors,
Divided purpose making null their might;
Or stood in groups, and watched where, undismayed,
That haughty pair at chess in silence played.

But Naisi, glancing up, on Deirdré’s hair
Saw the fierce reflex from a roof far off,
And on her marble cheek the fiery glare,
And heard from her fine lip the careless scoff,
‘At Conor’s fireside welcome sits the guest!’—
He rose, and sudden clasped her to his breast;

Then held her from him, on her countenance bright
Gazing. In neither face that hour was fear:
She saw in his a sadness infinite:
He saw, in hers, content, and princely cheer.
At last she spake; ‘Self-questioning thoughts repel,
Nor grieve at trust misplaced; for all is well!

‘O Love, not thus upon that causeway old
We stood that day, chaunting our nuptials high!
Yet nothing is that was not then foretold—
Hast thou not happy been? More happy I,
That hour thy love; for three glad years thy bride;
That ran, and slept, and wakened at thy side!

‘The good must still the auspice be of good;
They never loved who dream that Love can die!
In lordlier strength, in happier sanctitude
Be sure he waits us in some realm more high.
All thanks, thou Power Unknown!’ She spake and kissed
With all her young bright face her husband’s breast.

Then rushed to them the Brothers shouting, ‘Forth!’
And forth they sped through courts foot deep in blood,
And reached the gate that issued to the north
Where fierceliest raged the fight: and Deirdré trod
Midmost between the twain, and Naisi first;
And on the battle lion-like they burst.

And still the Three above their sister raised
Their mighty shields that, like three glittering spheres
Glared through the gloom, and friend and foeman dazed;
And fierce as living creatures worked their spears
Dealing the death around, till all the plain
Lay like a death-vault, strewn by warriors slain.

And, foot by foot, the hostile hosts fell back;
And, more and more, true friends, till then dismayed,
Fought by their side, or followed in their track:
Due northward t’ward the sea their march they made;
And, marching, eyed full oft that fortress fired—
Therein full many a Red-Branch Knight expired.

Then, as a poplar near a river whitens
By gusts o’er-blown, and as some snowy vale
Grows grimly dark when sudden o’er it brightens
The mountain’s moonlit flank, thus dark, thus pale,
Grew Conor with far eyes their course pursuing;
‘They ’scape,’ he cried, ‘and that is my undoing!

‘Cathbad! give ear!’—for by him stood that hour
The blind old Druid with the silver hair—
‘To Alba make they; thence ere long with power
Return in vengeance! Think you they will spare?
And Conal and Cuchullain by their side
Will march; and Fergus! Would that I had died!

‘Help, Cathbad! last of friends! If e’er from thee
Or child or stripling, help or love I gat;
My craft has futile proved: my legions flee;
Yet magic power, we know, can level flat
All power of man in one brief moment’s space:
Slay me, or spare my kingdom this disgrace!’

To whom replied the old man tremulously,
‘Would God that ne’er had come that night of old
When shriek on shriek confused the revelry,
And I that new-born Infant’s fate foretold;
For ne’er in ninety years deceived was I
Or by man’s art, or wiles of Destiny!

‘Not less, great king, this deed I dare not do,
For Justice keeps an axe, and keen its edge,
In worlds unseen; and they their sin shall rue
Who spill the righteous blood, or break the pledge.
Here Wrong holds court; but Justice reigneth there:—
King! In those unseen regions I have share!’

Him Conor answered: ‘Cathbad! oath I make
By all those regions sacred and unseen,
By all the Powers that in them sleep or wake,
The Gods that are, or shall be, or have been,
This hand on Usnach’s sons shall work no wrong;
Captive, not dead, I wish them—nor for long.’

He spake, and softly to the Druid stept
And pressed that Druid’s hand to lips and eyes;
Then o’er the old man’s heart compassion crept,
With flatter’d pride, which oft to good and wise
Makes way, thus veiled, in weak, unwary hour;
And o’er the North he waved his wand of power.

Three times with muttered spell he waved that wand,
Filling the air with visions of dismay:
That hour through Conor’s host, and far beyond,
Usnach’s brave clan had carved its desperate way;
Yet, galled and broken, hung upon their rear
That Bonacht swarm. It raged, but came not near.

On Usnach’s clan the Druid’s spells took hold,
Feigning what was not: and the wide green plain
Seemed to their eyes a great flood slowly rolled
From phantom hills. Through it they pushed with pain:
And on their eyes a phantom mist was driven:
And o’er them leaned, low-hung, a phantom heaven.

But, forward as they toiled, that flood ere long
Deepened, so seemed it, to a billowy sea;
And they, with arms in swimmer’s act forth flung,
Clave that imagined deep. Alone the Three
And Deirdré, spite of spells, illusion-proof,
Saw still green field, and heaven’s unclouded roof.

Ah God! How oft in agony that hour
Caught they this man and that, and cried, ‘Arise!
But now triumphant, will ye crouch and cower
In death the coward’s jest, the traitor’s prize?’
’Twas vain! Those dreamers still swam on till brand
And shield down dropt from every helpless hand.

The Bonachts stood in marvel; then dashed on,
Their terror past; and Conor sent decree,
‘Except the woman, see ye spare not one!
Smite first the sons of Usnach, smite the Three!’
And lo! like sheep that old and far-famed clan
Lay on the war-field, slaughtered to a man.

Alone, girt round by hostile rank on rank,
Usnach’s great sons, unvanquished, still fought on;
And ever when their arms exhausted sank,
And for a moment strength was all but gone,
Deirdré, amidst them, like a prophet poured
Her war-songs forth, and still their strength restored.

’Twas vain! At noon the direful battle ceased:
That glorious Three who late the world o’er-strode
Lay facing to the South, and West, and East;
A frozen spectre Deirdré o’er them stood:
The Bonachts gat their hire:—kneeling drew near
Uladh’s sad sons, with many a moan and tear.

Remembering days gone by, the victors there
Wept for the dead: and when the king sent word
To leave those Three unburied, stark and bare
For beasts to rend, his mandate they abhorred,
And dug the grave where those brave Brothers died;
And, reverent, therein laid them, side by side.

Upon the right of that dim burial pit
Was Conal Carnach standing; on its left
Cuchullain; each with brows in sorrow knit,
Each with a heart by one sharp memory cleft:
For true to Usnach’s sons in word and deed
These twain had lived; yet failed them at their need.

But Deirdré at the grave-head stood alone,
The surging crowd held back by holy dread;
Her face was white as monumental stone;
Her hands, her garb, from throat to foot were red
With blood—their blood. Standing on life’s dark verge
She scorned to die till she had sung their dirge.

‘Dead are the eagles three of Culan’s peaks;
The lions three of Uladh’s forest glades;
The wonders three of Alba’s lakes and creeks;
The loved ones three of Etive’s fair young maids:
The crownless sons of Erin’s Throne are sped:
The glories of the Red Branch Order dead.

‘Is there who dreams that, now my Naisi’s breath
Is stilled, his wife will tarry from his side?
Thou man that mak’st far down yon cave of death,
Be sure thou dig it deep, and dig it wide!
There lie the Brothers Three! ’Tis just, ’tis meet
Their Sister take her place before their feet.

‘Ofttimes for me they piled their shields and spears
In Alba’s woods, roofing my winter bed:
Thou man that build’st, this day, far down their biers,
Be sure the spear and shield are nigh the head!
They had great joy in these of old: below
Lack them they shall not, though they meet no foe.

‘Ofttimes I heard in Etive’s hunting grounds
Their deep-toned voices rolling like the sea—
My Naisi led me from our native bounds:
Ainli and Ardan followed. Woe is me!
That hour when I was born I should have died:
The ill-omened Infant was the ill-omened Bride!’

Thus Deirdré sang, and silent stood a space;
Then spake once more: ‘I come, my Love, my Lord!’
And forward fell into that loved embrace,
In happy death to him she loved restored:
When Conal and Cuchullain raised her head:
There lay she smiling, dead among the dead.

The men of Erin reared the funeral stone,
And piled the cairn, in Ogham characters
Cyphering the sorrows of the Four thereon:
And, age by age, that legend grey avers,
Sad voices issuing from that grave foretold
The fates of lovers young and kingdoms old.

But Cathbad laid a curse upon the king,
Likewise his race: and Eman, and the land,
Because they hated not that evil thing,
And hindered not, with dreadful rites he banned;
And lastly, ‘Woe to me not less,’ he cried,
Three times; and gat him to his place; and died.

With speed came up at earliest gleam of morn
Fergus to Eman. Dreadful his array;
For many a chief, though Conor’s liegeman sworn,
In wrath had joined the old king on his way:
And Fergus cursed the Ruthless Red, and said,
‘A woman’s hand one day shall strike him dead!’

The battle ceased not till that day was done:
With his own hand, at noontide, Fergus slew
Maini, King Conor’s last surviving son:
Old Eman’s walls and towers to earth he threw;
And burned the city. Half the men therein
Perished, and many an infant, for its sin.