Chapter IV: 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.

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THE CHILDREN OF LIR

_AN ANCIENT IRISH ROMANCE_

‘Deus dedit carmina in nocte’--JOB, cap. xxxv. v. 10

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TO THE MEMORY OF

DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY,

TO WHOM ENGLISH AND IRISH READERS OWE,

BESIDE MANY A GAELIC LEGEND,

THE BEST WORKS OF CALDERON,

THIS POEM

IS DEDICATED.

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_THE CHILDREN OF LIR._