Chapter II: 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[8] 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[9] 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,[10]
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.[11]

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[12] Falls to sea-beat Binedar.[13]

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.

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