Chapter II

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The shredding dawn in beauty spread Its shafts of splendour, golden-red, High over the eastern heaven, and broke Through flaking clouds in silvern smoke That burst aflame, and fold o'er fold, Let loose their oozing floods of gold, Splashed over the foamless deep that lay Tremulous and clear. In fiery play The rippling beams that swept between The sea-cleft Sutor crags serene, Broke quivering where the waters bore The soft reflection of the shore.

The pipes of morn were sounding shrill Through budding woods on plain and hill, And stirred the air with song to wake The sweet-toned birds within the brake.

The Fians from their sheilings came, With offerings to the god a-flame, And round them thrice they sun-wise went; Then naked-kneed in silence bent Beside the pillar stones ...

But now Brave Conn upon the ship's high prow Hath raised his burnished blade on high, And calls on Woden and on Tigh With boldness, to avenge the death Of his great sire ... In one deep breath He drains the hero's draught that burns With valour of the gods; then turns His long-sought foe to meet ... Great Conn Sweeps, stooping in a boat, alone. Shoreward, with rapid blades and bright, That shower the foam-rain pearly white, And rip the waters, bending lithe, In hollowing swirls that hiss and writhe Like adders, ere they dart away Bright-spotted with the flakes of spray.

When, furrowing the sand, he drew His boat the shallowing water through, A giant he in stature rose Straight as a mast before his foes, With head thrown high, and shoulders wide And level, and set back with pride; His bared and supple arms were long As shapely oars: firm as a thong His right hand grasped his gleaming blade, Gold-hilted, and of keen bronze made In leafen shape.

With stately stride He crossed the level sands and wide, Then on his shield the challenge gave-- His broad sword thund'ring like a wave-- For single combat.

Red as gold His locks upon his shoulders rolled; A brazen helmet on his head Flashed fire; his cheeks were white and red; And all the Fians watched with awe That hero young with knotted jaw, Whose eyes, set deep, and blue and hard, Surveyed their ranks with cold regard; While his broad forehead, seamed with care, Drooped shadowily: his eyebrows fair Were sloping sideways o'er his eyes With pondering o'er the mysteries.

The eyes of all the Fians sought Heroic Groll, whose face was wrought With lines of deep, perplexing thought-- For gazing on the valiant Conn, He mourned that his own youth was gone, When, strong and fierce and bold, he shed The life-blood of the boastful Red, Whom none save he would meet. He heard The challenge, and nor spake, nor stirred, Nor feared; but now grown old, when hate And lust of glory satiate-- His heart took pride in Conn, and shared The kinship of the brave.

Who dared To meet the Viking bold, if he The succour of the band, should be Found faltering or in despair? Until that day the Fians ne'er Of one man had such fear.

Old Goll Sat musing on a grassy knoll, They deemed he shared their dread ... Not so Wise Finn, who spake forth firm and slow-- "Goll, son of Morna, peerless man, The keen desire of every clan, Far-famed for many a valiant deed, Strong hero in the time of need. I vaunt not Conn ... nor deem that thou Dost falter, save with meekness, now-- But why shouldst thou not take the head Of this bold youth, as of The Red, His sire, in other days?"

Goll spake-- "O noble Finn, for thy sweet sake Mine arms I'd seize with ready hand, Although to answer thy command My blood to its last drop were spilled-- By Crom! were all the Fians killed, My sword would never fail to be A strong defence to succour thee."

Upon his hard right arm with haste His crooked and pointed shield he braced, He clutched his sword in his left hand-- While round that hero of the band The Fian warriors pressed, and praised His valour ... Mute was Goll ... They raised, Smiting their hands, the battle-cry, To urge him on to victory.

The one-eyed Goll went forth alone, His face was like a mountain stone,-- Cold, hard, and grey; his deep-drawn breath Came heavily, like a man nigh death-- But his firm mouth, with lips drawn thin, Deep sunken in his wrinkled skin, Was cunningly crooked; his hair was white, On his bald forehead gleamed a bright And livid scar that Conn's great sire Had cloven when their swords struck fire-- Burly and dauntless, full of might, Old Goll went humbly forth to fight With arrogant Conn ... It seemed The Red In greater might was from the dead, Restored in his fierce son ...

A deep Swift silence fell, like sudden sleep, On all the Fians waiting there In sharp suspense and half despair ... The morn was still. A skylark hung In mid-air flutt'ring, and sung A lullaby that grew more sweet Amid the stillness, in the heat And splendour of the sun: the lisp Of faint wind in the herbage crisp Went past them; and around the bare And foam-striped sand-banks gleaming fair, The faintly-panting waves were cast By the wan deep fatigued and vast.

O great was Conn in that dread hour, And all the Fians feared his power, And watched, as in a darksome dream, The warriors meet ... They saw the gleam Of swift, up-lifted swords, and then A breathless moment came, as when The lithe and living lightning's flash Makes pause, until the thunder's crash Is splintered through the air.

Loud o'er The blue sea and the shining shore Broke forth the crash of arms ... The roll Of Conn's fierce blows that baffled Goll On sword and shield resounding rang, While that old warrior stooped and sprang Sideways, and swerved, or backward leapt, As swiftly as the bronze blade swept Above him and around ... He swayed, Stumbling, but rose ... But, though his blade Was ever nimble to defend, The Fians feared the fight would end In victory for Conn.

... 'Twas like As when an eagle swoops to strike, But swerves with flutt'ring wings, as nigh Its head a javelin gleams ... A cry That banished fear of Conn's great blows From out the Fian ranks arose, As, like a plumed reed in a gust, Goll suddenly stooped--a deadly thrust That drew the first blood in the fray He darting gave ... With quick dismay The valiant Conn drew back ...

Again He leapt at Goll, but sought in vain To blind him with his blows that fell Like snowflakes on a sullen well-- For Goll was calm, while great Conn raged, As hour by hour the conflict waged; He was a blast-defying tree-- A crag that spurned a furious sea, And all the Fians with one mind Set firm their faith in Goll

The wind Rose like a startled bird from out The heather at the huntsman's shout In swift and blust'ring flight At noon The sun rolled in a cloudy swoon Dimly, and over the rolling deep Gust followed gust with shadowy sweep; And waves that streamed their snowy locks Were tossing high against the rocks Seaward, while round the sands ebbed wide Scrambled the fierce devouring tide

O, Conn was like a hound at morn, That springs upon an elk forlorn Among the hills. He was a proud Cascade that leaps a cliff with loud Unspending fall So fierce, so fair Was arrogant Conn, but Goll fought there Keen-eyed, with ready guard, at bay-- He was as a boar in that fierce fray.

The waves were humbled on the shore, And silent fell, amid the roar And crash of battle Mute and still The Fians watched; while on the hill The little elves came out and gazed, To be amused and were amazed ... They saw upon the shrinking sands The warriors with restless hands And busy blades, with shields that rose To buffet the unceasing blows; They saw before the rising flood The flash of fire, the flash of blood; And watched the men with panting breath, Striving to be the slaves of death; Now darting wide, now swerving round, Now clashed together in a bound, With splitting swords that smote so fast, As hour by hour unheeded past.

The sands were torn and tossed like spray Before the whirlwind of the fray, That waged in fury till the sun Sank, and the day's last loops were spun-- Then terrible was Goll ... He rose A tempest of increasing blows, More furious and fast, as dim, Uncertain twilight fell ... More grim And great he grew as, looming large, He fought, and pressing to the marge Of ocean, he o'erpowered and drave The Viking hero back; till wave O'er ready wave that hurried fleet, Snuffled and snarled about their feet ...

Then with a mighty shout that made The rocks around him ring, his blade Swept like a flash of fire to smite The last fell blow in that fierce fight-- So great Conn perished like The Red By Goll's left hand ... his life-blood spread Over the quenching sands where rolled His head entwined with locks of gold. Then passed like thunder o'er the sea The Fian shout of victory. And, trembling on the tossing ships, The Vikings heard, with voiceless lips And dim, despairing eyes ... Alone Stood Goll, and like a silent stone Bulking upon a ben-side bare, He bent above the hero fair-- Remembering the mighty Red, And wondering that Conn lay dead.

[Footnote 1: May Day.]

[Footnote 2: Traditional Holy Hill]

THE SONG OF GOLL.

O Son of The Red, Undone and laid dead-- The blood of a hero My cold blade hath shed.

Who fought me to-day? Who sought me to slay?-- The son of yon High King I slew in the fray.

O blade that yon brave Low laid in the grave, Ye gladdened the Fians But grief to Conn gave.

Stone-hearted and strong, Lone-hearted with long, Dark brooding, he sought to Avenge his deep wrong.

Fair Son of The Red, Care none thou art dead?-- Old Goll of Clan Morna Will mourn thou hast bled.

O where shall be found To share with thee round The halls of Valhalla Thy glory renowned?

O true as the blade That slew thee, and made My fear and thine anger For ever to fade--

Ah! when upon earth Again will have birth A son of such honour And bravery and worth?

Above thee in splendour A love that could render Brave service, burned star-like And constant and tender.

With fearing my name, With hearing my fame, O none would dare combat With Goll till Conn came? ...

O great was thine ire-- The fate of thy sire, Awaiting thy coming, Consumed thee like fire.

O Son of The Red, Undone and laid dead-- The blood of a hero My cold blade hath shed.

THE BLUE MEN OF THE MINCH.

When the tide is at the turning and the wind is fast asleep, And not a wave is curling on the wide, blue Deep, O the waters will be churning on the stream that never smiles, Where the Blue Men are splashing round the charmèd isles.

As the summer wind goes droning o'er the sun-bright seas, And the Minch is all a-dazzle to the Hebrides; They will skim along like salmon--you can see their shoulders gleam, And the flashing of their fingers in the Blue Men's Stream.

But when the blast is raving and the wild tide races, The Blue Men ere breast-high with foam-grey faces; They'll plunge along with fury while they sweep the spray behind, O, they'll bellow o'er the billows and wail upon the wind.

And if my boat be storm-toss'd and beating for the bay, They'll be howling and be growling as they drench it with their spray-- For they'd like to heel it over to their laughter when it lists, Or crack the keel between them, or stave it with their fists.

O weary on the Blue Men, their anger and their wiles! The whole day long, the whole night long, they're splashing round the isles; They'll follow every fisher--ah! they'll haunt the fisher's dream-- When billows toss, O who would cross the Blue Men's Stream?

THE URISK.

O the night I met the Urisk on the wide, lone moor! Ah! would I be forgetting of The Thing that came with me? For it was big and black as black, and it was dour as dour, It shrank and grew and had no shape of aught I e'er did see.

For it came creeping like a cloud that's moving all alone, Without the sound of footsteps ... and I heard its heavy sighs ... Its face was old and grey, and like a lichen-covered stone, And its tangled locks were dropping o'er its sad and weary eyes.

O it's never the word it had to say in anger or in woe-- It would not seek to harm me that had never done it wrong, As fleet--O like the deer!--I went, or I went panting slow, The waesome thing came with me on that lonely road and long.

O eerie was the Urisk that convoy'd me o'er the moor! When I was all so helpless and my heart was full of fear, Nor when it was beside me or behind me was I sure-- I knew it would be following--I knew it would be near!

THE NIMBLE MEN.

(AURORA BOREALIS.)

When Angus Ore, the wizard,
His fearsome wand will raise,
The night is filled with splendour,
And the north is all ablaze;
From clouds of raven blackness,
Like flames that leap on high--
All merrily dance the Nimble Men across the Northern Sky.

Now come the Merry Maidens,
All gowned in white and green,
While the bold and ruddy fellows
Will be flitting in between--
O to hear the fairy piper
Who will keep them tripping by!--
The men and maids who merrily dance across the Northern Sky.

O the weird and waesome music,
And the never-faltering feet!
O their fast and strong embraces,
And their kisses hot and sweet!
There's a lost and languished lover
With a fierce and jealous eye,
As merrily flit the Nimble Folk across the Northern Sky.

So now the dance is over,
And the dancers sink to rest--
There's a maid that has two lovers,
And there's one she loves the best;
He will cast him down before her,
She will raise him with a sigh--
Her love so bright who danced to-night across the Northern Sky.

Then up will leap the other,
And up will leap his clan--
O the lover and his company
Will fight them man to man--
All shrieking from the conflict
The merry maidens fly--
There's a Battle Royal raging now across the Northern Sky.

Through all the hours of darkness
The fearsome fight will last;
They are leaping white with anger,
And the blows are falling fast--
And where the slain have tumbled
A pool of blood will lie--
O it's dripping on the dark green stones from out the Northern Sky.

When yon lady seeks her lover
In the cold and pearly morn,
She will find that he has fallen
By the hand that she would scorn,--
She will clasp her arms about him,
And in her anguish die!--
O never again will trip the twain across the Northern Sky.

MY GUNNA.

When my kine are on the hill, Who will charm them from all ill? While I'll sleep at ease until All the cocks are crowing clear. Who'll be herding them for me? It's the elf I fain would see-- For they're safe as safe can be When the Gunna will be near.

He will watch the long weird night, When the stars will shake with fright, Or the ghostly moon leaps bright O'er the ben like Beltane fire. If my kine would seek the corn, He will turn them by the horn-- And I'll find them all at morn Lowing sweet beside the byre.

Croumba's bard has second-sight, And he'll moan the Gunna's plight, When the frosts are flickering white, And the kine are housed till day; For he'll see him perched alone On a chilly old grey stone, Nibbling, nibbling at a bone That we'll maybe throw away.

He's so hungry, he's so thin, If he'd come we'd let him in, For a rag of fox's skin Is the only thing he'll wear. He'll be chittering in the cold As he hovers round the fold, With his locks of glimmering gold Twined about his shoulders bare.

THE GRUAGACH.

(MILKMAID'S SONG.)

The lightsome lad wi' yellow hair, The elfin lad that is so fair, He comes in rich and braw attire-- To loose the kine within the byre--