Poems by Denis Florence MacCarthy (websites to read books for free .TXT) 📖

of spring- Holding the four great provinces in check That make up Erin, not one foot have I Yielded to any man in all that time, Nor even to him shall I a foot give way." And thus the parley went: first Fergus spoke, Cuchullin then to him in turn replied:

FERGUS.

Time is it, O Cuchullin, to arise,
Time for the fearful combat to prepare; For hither with the anger in his eyes,
To fight thee comes Ferdiah called the Fair.

CUCHULLIN.

Here I have been, nor has the task been light,
Holding all Erin's warriors at bay: No foot of ground have I in recreant flight
Yielded to any man or shunned the fray.

FERGUS.

When roused to rage, resistless in his might,
Fearless the man is, for his sword ne'er fails: A skin-protecting coat of armour bright
He wears, 'gainst which no valour e'er prevails.

CUCHULLIN.

Oh! brave in arms, my Fergus, say not so,
Urge not thy story further on the night:- On any friend, or facing any foe
I never was behind him in the fight.

FERGUS.

Brave is the man, I say, in battles fierce,
Him it will not be easy to subdue, Swords cut him not, nor can the sharp spear pierce,
Strong as a hundred men to dare and do.

CUCHULLIN.

Well, should we chance to meet beside the Ford,
I and this chief whose valour ne'er has failed, Story shall tell the fortune of each sword,
And who succumbed and who it was prevailed.

FERGUS.

Ah! liefer than a royal recompense
To me it were, O champion of the sword, That thine it were to carry eastward hence
The proud Ferdiah's purple from the Ford.

CUCHULLIN.

I pledge my word, I vow, and not in vain,
Though in the combat we may be as one, That it is I who shall the victory gain
Over the son of Daman, Dare's son.

FERGUS.

'Twas I that gathered eastward all the bands,
Revenging the foul wrong upon me wrought By the Ultonians. Hither from their lands
The chiefs, the battle-warriors I have brought.

CUCHULLIN.

If Conor's royal strength had not decayed,
Hard would have been the strife on either side: Mave of the Plain of Champions had not made
A foray then of so much boastful pride.

FERGUS.

To-day awaits thy hand a greater deed,
To battle with Ferdiah, Daman's son. Hard, bloody weapons with sharp points thou'lt need,
Cuchullin, ere the victory be won.

Then Fergus to the court and camp went back, While to his people and his tent repaired Ferdiah, and he told them of the pact Made that same night between him and the queen.

The dwellers in Ferdiah's tent that night Were scant of comfort, a foreboding fear Fell on their spirits and their hearts weighed down; Because they knew in whatsoever fight The mighty chiefs, the hundred-slaying two Met face to face, that one of them must fall, Or both, perhaps, or if but only one, Certain were they it would their own lord be, Since on the Tain Bo Cuailgne, it was plain That no one with Cuchullin could contend.

Nor was their chief less troubled; but at first The fumes of the late revel overpowered His senses, and he slept a heavy sleep. Later he woke, the intoxicating steam Had left his brain, and now in sober calm All the anxieties of the impending fight Pressed on his soul and made him grave.[47] He rose From off his couch, and bade his charioteer Harness his pawing horses to the car. The boy would fain persuade his lord to stay, Because he loved his master, and he felt He went but to his death; but he repelled The youth's advice, and spoke to him these words- "Oh! cease, my servant. I will not be turned By any youth from what I have resolved." And thus in speech and answer spoke the two-

FERDIAH.

Let us go to this challenge,
Let us fly to the Ford, When the raven shall croak
O'er my blood-dripping sword. Oh, woe for Cuchullin!
That sword will be red; Oh, woe! for to-morrow
The hero lies dead.

CHARIOTEER.

Thy words are not gentle,
Yet rest where thou art, 'Twill be dreadful to meet,
And distressful to part. The champion of Ulster!
Oh! think what a foe! In that meeting there's grief,
In that journey there's woe!

FERDIAH.

Thy counsel is craven,
Thy caution I slight, No brave-hearted champion
Should shrink from the fight. The blood I inherit
Doth prompt me to do- Let us go to the challenge,
To the Ford let us go!

Then were the horses of Ferdiah yoked Unto the chariot, and he rode full speed Unto the Ford of battle, and the day Began to break, and all the east grew red.

Beside the Ford he halted. "Good, my friend," He said unto his servant, "Spread for me The skins and cushions of my chariot here Beneath me, that I may a full deep sleep Enjoy before the hour of fight arrives; For in the latter portion of the night I slept not, thinking of the fight to come." Unharnessed were the horses, and the boy Spread out the cushions and the chariot's skins, And heavy sleep fell on Ferdiah's lids.

Now of Cuchullin will I speak. He rose Not until day with all its light had come, In order that the men of Erin ne'er Should say of him that it was fear or dread That made him from a restless couch arise. When in the fulness of its light at length Shone forth the day, he bade his charioteer Harness his horses and his chariot yoke. "Harness my horses, good, my servant," said Cuchullin, "and my chariot yoke for me, For lo! an early-rising champion comes To meet us here beside the Ford to-day- Ferdiah, son of Daman, Dare's son." "My lord, the steeds are ready to thy hand; Thy chariot stands here yoked, do thou step in; The noble car will not disgrace its lord."

Into the chariot, then, the dextrous, bold, Red-sworded, battle-winning hero sprang Cuchullin, son of Sualtam, at a bound. Invisible Bocanachs and Bananachs, And Geniti Glindi[48] shouted round the car, And demons of the earth and of the air. For thus the Tuatha de Danaans used By sorceries to raise those fearful cries Around him, that the terror and the fear Of him should be the greater, as he swept On with his staff of spirits to the war.

Soon was it when Ferdiah's charioteer Heard the approaching clamour and the shout, The rattle and the clatter, and the roar, The whistle, and the thunder, and the tramp, The clanking discord of the missive shields, The clang of swords, the hissing sound of spears, The tinkling of the helmet, the sharp crash Of armour and of arms, the straining ropes, The dangling bucklers, the resounding wheels, The creaking chariot, and the proud approach Of the triumphant champion of the Ford.
Clutching his master's robe, the charioteer Cried out, "Ferdiah, rise! for lo, thy foes Are on thee!" Then the Spirit of Insight fell Prophetic on the youth, and thus he sang.

CHARIOTEER.

I hear the rushing of a car,
Near and more near its proud wheels run A chariot for the God of War
Bursts-as from clouds the sun! Over Bregg-Ross it speeds along,
Hark! its thunders peal afar! Oh! its steeds are swift and strong,
And the Victories guide that car.

The Hound of Ulster shaketh the reins,
And white with foam is each courser's mouth; The Hawk of Ulster swoops o'er the plains
To his quarry here in the south. Like wintry storm that warrior's form,
Slaughter and Death beside him rush; The groaning air is dark and warm,
And the low clouds bleed and blush.[49]

Oh, woe to him that is here on the hill,
Who is here on the hillock awaiting the Hound; Last year it was in a vision of ill
I saw this sight and I heard this sound. Methought Emania's Hound drew nigh,
Methought the Hound of Battle drew near, I heard his steps and I saw his eye,
And again I see and I hear.

Then answer made Ferdiah in this wise: "Why dost thou chafe me, talking of this man? For thou hast never ceased to sing his praise Since from his home he came. Thou surely art Not without wage for this: but nathless know Ailill and Mave have both foretold-by me This man shall fall, shall fall for a reward Just as the deed: This day he shall be slain, For it is fated that I free the Ford. 'Tis time for the relief."-And thus they spake:

FERDIAH.

Yes, it is time for the relief;
Be silent then, nor speak his praise, For prophecy forebodes this chief
Shall pass not the predestined days; Does fate for this forego its claim,
That Cuailgne's champion here should come In all his pride and pomp of fame?-
Be sure he comes but to his doom.

CHARIOTEER.

If Cuailgne's champion here I see
In all his pride and pomp of fame, He little heeds the prophecy,
So swift his course, so straight his aim. Towards us he flies, as flies the gleam
Of lightning, or as waters flow From some high cliff o'er which the stream
Drops in the foaming depths below.

FERDIAH.

Highly rewarded thou must be,
For much reward thou sure canst claim, Else why with such persistency
Thus sing his praises since he came? And now that he approacheth nigh,
And now that he doth draw more near, It seems it is to glorify
And not to attack him thou art here.

Not long Ferdiah's charioteer had gazed With wondering look on the majestic car, When, as with thunder-speed it wheeled more near, He saw its whole construction and its plan: A fair, flesh-seeking, four-peaked front it had, And for its body a magnificent creit Fashioned for war, in which the hero stood Full-armed and brandishing a mighty spear, While o'er his head a green pavilion hung; Beneath, two fleetly-bounding, large-eared, fierce, Whale-bellied, lively-hearted, high-flanked, proud, Slender-legged, wide-hoofed, broad-buttocked, prancing steeds, Exulting leaped and bore the car along: Under one yoke, the broad-backed steed was gray, Under the other, black the long-maned steed.

Like to a hawk swooping from off a cliff, Upon a day of harsh and biting wind, Or like a spring gust on a wild March morn Rushing resistless o'er a level plain, Or like the fleetness of a stag when first 'Tis started by the hounds in its first field- So swept the horses of Cuchullin's car, Bounding as if o'er fiery flags they flew, Making the earth to shake beneath their tread, And tremble 'neath the fleetness of their speed.

At length, upon the north side of the Ford, Cuchullin