Cuchullin the great chief had pitched his tent,From Samhain[29] time, till now 'twas budding spring,Fast by the Ford, and held the land at bay.All Erin, save the fragment that he led,His sword held back, nor dared a man to crossThe rippling Ford without Cuchullin's leave:Chief after chief had fallen in the attempt;And now the men of Erin through the nightAsked in dismay, "Oh! who shall be the nextTo face the northern hound[30] and free the Ford?""Let it now be," with one accord they cried,"Ferdiah, son of Dâman Dáré's son,Of Domnann[31] lord, and all its warrior men."The chiefs thus fated now to meet as foesIn early life were friends--had both been taughtAll feats of arms by the same skilful handsIn Scatha's[32] school beneath the peaks of Skye,Which still preserve Cuchullin's glorious name.One feat of arms alone Cuchullin knewFerdiah knew not of--the fatal cast--The dread expanding force of the gaebulg[33]Flung from the foot resistless on the foe.But, on the other hand, Ferdiah woreA skin-protecting suit of flashing steel[34]Surpassing all in Erin known till then.At length the council closed, and to the chiefHeralds were sent to tell them that the choiceThat night had fallen on him; but he withinHis tent retired, received them not, nor went.For well he knew the purport of their suitWas this--that he should fight beside the FordHis former fellow-pupil and his friend.Then Mave,[35] the queen, her powerful druids sent,Armed not alone with satire's scorpion stings,But with the magic power even on the face,By their malevolent taunts and biting sneers,To raise three blistering blots[36] that typifiedDisgrace, dishonour, and a coward's shame,Which with their mortal venom him would kill,Or on the hour, or ere nine days had sped,If he declined the combat, and refusedUpon the instant to come forth with them,And so, for honour's sake, Ferdiah came.For he preferred to die a warrior's death,Pierced to the heart by a proud foeman's spear,Than by the serpent sting of slanderous tongues--By satire and abuse, and foul reproach.When to the court he came, where the great queenHeld revel, he received all due respect:The sweet intoxicating cup went round,And soon Ferdiah felt the power of wine.Great were the rich rewards then promised himFor going forth to battle with the Hound:A chariot worth seven cumals four times told,[37]The outfit then of twelve well-chosen menMade of more colours than the rainbow knows,His own broad plains of level fair Magh Aie,[38]To him and his assured till time was o'erFree of all tribute, without fee or fine;The golden brooch, too, from the queen's own cloak,And, above all, fair Finavair[39] for wife.But doubtful was Ferdiah of the queen,And half excited by the fiery cup,And half distrustful, knowing wily Mave,He asked for more assurance of her faith.Then she to him, in rhythmic rise of song,And he in measured ranns to her replied.MAVE.[40]A rich reward of golden ringsI'll give to thee, Ferdiah fair,The forest, where the wild bird sings,the broad green plain, with me thou'lt share;Thy children and thy children's seed,for ever, until time is o'er,Shall be from every service freedwithin the sea-surrounding shore.Oh, Daman's son, Ferdiah fair,oh, champion of the wounds renowned,For thou a charmèd life dost bear,since ever by the victories crowned,Oh! why the proffered gifts decline,oh! why reject the nobler fame,Which many an arm less brave than thine,which many a heart less bold, would claim?FERDIAH.Without a guarantee, O queen!without assurance made most sure,Thy grassy plains, thy woodlands green,thy golden rings are but a lure.The champion's place is not for meuntil thou art most firmly bound,For dreadful will the battle bebetween me and Emania's Hound.For such is Chuland's name,O queen, and such is Chuland's nature, too,The noble Hound, the Hound of fame,the noble heart to dare and do,The fearful fangs that never yield,the agile spring so swift and light:Ah! dread the fortune of the field!ah! fierce will be the impending fight!MAVE.I'll give a champion's guarantee,and with thee here a compact make,That in the assemblies thou shalt beno longer bound thy place to take;Rich silver-bitted bridles fair--for such each noble neck demands--And gallant steeds that paw the air,shall all be given into thy hands.For thou, Ferdiah, art indeeda truly brave and valorous man,The first of all the chiefs I lead,the foremost hero in the van;My chosen champion now thou art,my dearest friend henceforth thou'lt be,The very closest to my heart,from every toll and tribute free.FERDIAH.Without securities, I say,united with thy royal word,I will not go, when breaks the day,to seek the combat at the Ford.That contest, while time runs its course,and fame records what ne'er should die,Shall live for ever in full force,until the judgment day draws nigh.I will not go, though death ensue,though thou through some demoniac rite,Even as thy druid sorcerers do,canst kill me with thy words of might:I will not go the Ford to free,until, O queen! thou here dost swearBy sun and moon,[41] by land and sea,by all the powers of earth and air.MAVE.Thou shalt have all; dothoudecide.I'll give thee an unbounded claim;Until thy doubts are satisfied,oh! bind us by each sacred name;--Bind us upon the hands of kings,upon the hands of princes bind;Bind us by every act that bringsassurance to the doubting mind.Ask what thou wilt, and do not fearthat what thou wouldst cannot be wrought;Ask what thou wilt, there standeth hereone who will ne'er refuse thee aught;Ask what thou wilt, thy wildest wishbe certain thou shalt have this night,For well I know that thou wilt kill thisman who meets thee in the fight.FERDIAH.I will have six securities,no less will I accept from thee;Be some our country's deities,the lords of earth, and sky, and sea;Be some thy dearest ones, O queen!the darlings of thy heart and eye,Before my fatal fall is seento-morrow, when the hosts draw nigh.Do this, and though I lose my fame--do this, and though my life I lose,The glorious championship I'll claim,the glorious risk will not refuse.On, on, in equal strength and mightshall I advance, O queenly Mave,And Uladh's hero meet in fight,and battle with Cuchullin brave.MAVE.Though Domnal[42] it should be, the sun,swift-speeding in his fiery car;Though Niaman's[43] dread name be one,the consort of the God of War;These, even these I'll give, though hardto lure them from their realms serene,For though they list to lowliest bard,[44]they may be deaf unto a queen.Bind it on Morand, if thou wilt,to make assurance doubly sure;Bind it, nor dream that dream of guiltthat such a pact will not endure.By spirits of the wave and wind,by every spell, by every art,Bind Carpri Min of Manand,bind my sons, the darlings of my heart.FERDIAH.O Mave! with venom of deceitthat adder tongue of thine o'erflows,Nor is thy temper over-sweet,as well thine earlier consort knows.Thou'rt truly worthy of thy famefor boastful speech and lust of power,And well dost thou deserve thy name--the Brachail of Rathcroghan's tower.[45]Thy words are fair and soft, O queen!but still I crave one further proof--Give me the scarf of silken sheen,give me the speckled satin woof,Give from thy cloak's empurpled foldthe golden brooch so fair to see,And when the glorious gift I hold,for ever am I bound to thee.MAVE.Oh! art thou not my chosen chief,my foremost champion, sure to win,My tower, my fortress of relief,to whom I give this twisted pin?These, and a thousand gifts more rare,the treasures of the earth and sea,Jewels a queen herself might wear,my grateful hands will give to thee.And when at length beneath thy swordthe Hound of Ulster shall lie low,When thou hast ope'd the long-locked Ford,and let the unguarded water flow,Then shall I give my daughter's hand,then my own child shall be thy bride--She, the fair daughter of the landwhere western Elgga's[46] waters glide.And thus did Mave Ferdiah bind to fightSix chosen champions on the morrow morn,Or combat with Cuchullin all alone,Whichever might to him the easier seem.And he, by the gods' names and by her sons,Boundherthe promise she had made to keep,The rich reward to pay to him in full,If by his hand Cuchullin should be slain.For Fergus, young Cuchullin's early friend,The steeds that night were harnessed, and he flewSwift in his chariot to the hero's tent."Glad am I at thy coming, O my friend!"Cuchullin said: "My pupil, I acceptWith joy thy welcome," Fergus quick replied:"But what I come for is to give thee newsOf him who here will fight thee in the morn.""I listen," said Cuchullin, "do thou speak.""Thine own companion is it, thine own peer,Thy rival in all daring feats of arms,Ferdiah, son of Dáman, Daré's son,Of Domnand lord and all its warrior men.""Be sure of this," Cuchullin made reply,"That never wish of mine it could have beenA friend should thus come forth with me to fight.""It therefore doth behove thee now, my son,"Fergus replied, "to be upon thy guard,Prepared at every point; for not like thoseWho hitherto have come to fight with theeUpon theTain Bó Cuailgné,is the chief,Ferdiah, son of Dáman, Daré's son.""Here I have been," Cuchullin proudly said,"From Samhain up to Imbule--from the firstOf winter days even to the first of spring--Holding the four great provinces in checkThat make up Erin, not one foot have IYielded 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 flightYielded 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 brightHe 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 foeI 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 recompenseTo me it were, O champion of the sword,That thine it were to carry eastward henceThe 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 gainOver the son of Dáman, Daré's son.FERGUS.'Twas I that gathered eastward all the bands,Revenging the foul wrong upon me wroughtBy the Ultonians. Hither from their landsThe 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 madeA foray then of so much boastful pride.FERGUS.To-day awaits thy hand a greater deed,To battle with Ferdiah, Dáman'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 repairedFerdiah, and he told them of the pactMade that same night between him and the queen.The dwellers in Ferdiah's tent that nightWere scant of comfort, a foreboding fearFell on their spirits and their hearts weighed down;Because they knew in whatsoever fightThe mighty chiefs, the hundred-slaying twoMet 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 theTain Bó Cuailgné,it was plainThat no one with Cuchullin could contend.Nor was their chief less troubled; but at firstThe fumes of the late revel overpoweredHis senses, and he slept a heavy sleep.Later he woke, the intoxicating steamHad left his brain, and now in sober calmAll the anxieties of the impending fightPressed on his soul and made him grave.[47] He roseFrom off his couch, and bade his charioteerHarness his pawing horses to the car.The boy would fain persuade his lord to stay,Because he loved his master, and he feltHe went but to his death; but he repelledThe youth's advice, and spoke to him these words--"Oh! cease, my servant. I will not be turnedBy 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 croakO'er my blood-dripping sword.Oh, woe for Cuchullin!That sword will be red;Oh, woe! for to-morrowThe 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 championShould shrink from the fight.The blood I inheritDoth prompt me to do--Let us go to the challenge,To the Ford let us go!Then were the horses of Ferdiah yokedUnto the chariot, and he rode full speedUnto the Ford of battle, and the dayBegan to break, and all the east grew red.Beside the Ford he halted. "Good, my friend,"He said unto his servant, "Spread for meThe skins and cushions of my chariot hereBeneath me, that I may a full deep sleepEnjoy before the hour of fight arrives;For in the latter portion of the nightI slept not, thinking of the fight to come."Unharnessed were the horses, and the boySpread out the cushions and the chariot's skins,And heavy sleep fell on Ferdiah's lids.Now of Cuchullin will I speak. He roseNot until day with all its light had come,In order that the men of Erin ne'erShould say of him that it was fear or dreadThat made him from a restless couch arise.When in the fulness of its light at lengthShone forth the day, he bade his charioteerHarness his horses and his chariot yoke."Harness my horses, good, my servant," saidCuchullin, "and my chariot yoke for me,For lo! an early-rising champion comesTo meet us here beside the Ford to-day--Ferdiah, son of Daman, Daré'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 sprangCuchullin, 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 usedBy sorceries to raise those fearful criesAround him, that the terror and the fearOf him should be the greater, as he sweptOn with his staff of spirits to the war.Soon was it when Ferdiah's charioteerHeard 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 crashOf armour and of arms, the straining ropes,The dangling bucklers, the resounding wheels,The creaking chariot, and the proud approachOf the triumphant champion of the Ford.Clutching his master's robe, the charioteerCried out, "Ferdiah, rise! for lo, thy foesAre on thee!" Then the Spirit of Insight fellProphetic on the youth, and thus he sang.CHARIOTEER.I hear the rushing of a car,Near and more near its proud wheels runA chariot for the God of WarBursts--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 plainsTo 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 illI 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 praiseSince from his home he came. Thou surely artNot without wage for this: but nathless knowAilill and Mave have both foretold--by meThis man shall fall, shall fall for a rewardJust 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 chiefShall pass not the predestined days;Does fate for this forego its claim,That Cuailgné's champion here should comeIn all his pride and pomp of fame?--Be sure he comes but to his doom.CHARIOTEER.If Cuailgné's champion here I seeIn 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 gleamOf lightning, or as waters flowFrom some high cliff o'er which the streamDrops in the foaming depths below.FERDIAH.Highly rewarded thou must be,For much reward thou sure canst claim,Else why with such persistencyThus 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 glorifyAnd not to attack him thou art here.Not long Ferdiah's charioteer had gazedWith 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 creitFashioned for war, in which the hero stoodFull-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 mornRushing 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 stopped. Upon the southern bankFerdiah stood, and thus addressed the chief:"Glad am I, O Cuchullin, thou hast come.""Up to this day," Cuchullin made reply,"Thy welcome would by me have been receivedAs coming from a friend, but not to-day.Besides, 'twere fitter that I welcomed thee,Than that to me thou shouldst the welcome give;'Tis I that should go forth to fight with thee,Not thou to me, because before thee areMy women and my children, and my youths,My herds and flocks, my horses and my steeds."Ferdiah, half in scorn, spake then these words--And then Cuchullin answered in his turn."Good, O Cuchullin, what untoward fateHas brought thee here to measure swords with me?For when we two with Scatha lived, in Skye,With Uatha, and with Aifé, thou wert thenMy page to spread my couch for me at night,Or tie my spears together for the chase.""True hast thou spoken," said Cuchullin; "yes,I then was young, thy junior, and I didFor thee the services thou dost recall;A different story shall be told of usFrom this day forth, for on this day I feelEarth holds no champion that I dare not fight!"And thus invectives bitter, sharp and cold,Between the two were uttered, and first spakeFerdiah, then alternate each with each.FERDIAH.What has brought thee here, O Hound,To encounter a strong foe?O'er the trappings of thy steedsCrimson-red thy blood shall flow.Woe is in thy journey, woe;Let the cunning leech prepare;Shouldst thou ever reach thy home,Thou shalt need his care.CUCHULLIN.I, who here with warriors fought,With the lordly chiefs of hosts,With a hundred men at once,Little heed thy empty boasts.Thee beneath the wave to place,Thee to strike and thee to slayIn the first path of our fightAm I here to-day.FERDIAH.Thy reproach in me behold,For 'tis I that deed will do,'Tis of me that Fame shall tellHe the Ultonian's champion slew.Yes, in spite of all their hosts,Yes, in spite of all their prayers:So it shall long be toldThat the loss was theirs.CUCHULLIN.How, then, shall we first engage--Is it with the hard-edged sword?In what order shall we goTo the battle of the Ford?Shall we in our chariots ride?Shall we wield the bloody spear?How am I to hew thee downWith thy proud hosts here?FERDIAH.Ere the setting of the sun,Ere shall come the darksome night,If again thou must be told,With a mountain thou shalt fight:Thee the Ultonians will extol,Thence impetuous wilt thou grow,Oh! their grief, when through their ranksWill thy spectre go!CUCHULLIN.Thou hast fallen in danger's gap,Yes, thy end of life is nigh;Sharp spears shall be plied on theeFairly 'neath the open sky:Pompous thou wilt be and vainTill the time for talk is o'er,From this day a battle-chiefThou shalt be no more.FERDIAH.Cease thy boastings, for the worldSure no braggart hath like thee:Thou art not the chosen chief--Thou hast not the champion's fee:--Without action, without force,Thou art but a giggling page;Yes, thou trembler, with thy heartLike a bird's in cage.CUCHULLIN.When we were with Scatha once,It but seemed our valour's dueThat we should together fight,Both as one our sports pursue.Thou wert then my dearest friend,Comrade, kinsman, thou wert all,--Ah, how sad, if by my handThou at last should fall.FERDIAH.Much of honour shalt thou lose,We may then mere words forego:--On a stake thy head shall beEre the early cock shall crow.O Cuchullin, Cuailgné's pride,Grief and madness round thee twine;I will do thee every ill,For the fault is thine."Good, O Ferdiah, 'twas no knightly act,"Cuchullin said, "to have come meanly here,To combat and to fight with an old friend,Through instigation of the wily Mave,Through intermeddling of Ailill the king;To none of those who here before thee cameWas victory given, for they all fell by me:--Thou too shalt win nor victory, nor increaseOf fame in this encounter thou dost dare,For as they fell, so thou by me shall fall."Thus was he saying and he spake these words,To which Ferdiah listened, not unmoved.CUCHULLIN.Come not to me, O champion of the host,Come not to me, Ferdiah, as my foe,For though it is thy fate to suffer most,All, all must feel the universal woe.Come not to me defying what is right,Come not to me, thy life is in my power;Ah, the dread issue of each former fightWhy hast thou not remembered ere this hour?Art thou not bright with diverse dainty arms,A purple girdle and a coat of mail?And yet to win the maid of peerless charmsFor whom thou dar'st the battle thou shalt fail.Yes, Finavair, the daughter of the queen,The faultless form, the gold without alloy,The glorious virgin of majestic mien,Shalt not be thine, Ferdiah, to enjoy.No, the great prize shall not by thee be won,--A fatal lure, a false, false light is she,To numbers promised and yet given to none,And wounding many as she now wounds thee.Break not thy vow, never with me to fight,Break not the bond that once thy young heart gave,Break not the truth we both so loved to plight,Come not to me, O champion bold and brave!To fifty champions by her smiles made slavesThe maid was proffered, and not slight the gift;By me they have been sent into their graves,From me they met destruction sure and swift.Though vauntingly Ferbaeth my arms defied,He of a house of heroes prince and peer,Short was the time until I tamed his prideWith one swift cast of my true battle-spear.Srub Dairé's valour too had swift decline:Hundreds of women's secrets he possessed,Great at one time was his renown as thine,In cloth of gold, not silver, was he dressed.Though 'twas to me the woman was betrothedOn whom the chiefs of the fair province smile,To shed thy blood my spirit would have loathedEast, west, or north, or south of all the isle."Good, O Ferdiah," still continuing, spokeCuchullin, "thus it is that thou shouldst notHave come with me to combat and to fight;For when we were with Scatha, long ago,With Uatha and with Aifé, we were wontTo go together to each battle-field,To every combat and to every fight,Through every forest, every wilderness,Through every darksome path and dangerous way."And thus he said and thus he spake these words:CUCHULLIN.We were heart-comrades then,--Comrades in crowds of men,In the same bed have lain,When slumber sought us;In countries far and near,Hurling the battle spear,Chasing the forest deer,As Scatha taught us."O Cuchullin of the beautiful feats,"Replied Ferdiah, "though we have pursuedTogether thus the arts of war and peace,And though the bonds of friendship that we sworeThou hast recalled to mind, from me shall comeThy first of wounds. O Hound, remember notOur old companionship, which shall not nowAvail thee, shall avail thee not, O Hound!""Too long here have we waited in this way,"Again resumed Ferdiah. "To what arms,Say then, Cuchullin, shall we now resort?""The choice of arms is thine until the night,"Cuchullin made reply; "for so it chancedThat thou shouldst be the first to reach the Ford.""Dost thou at all remember," then rejoinedFerdiah, "those swift missive spears with whichWe practised oft with Scatha in our youth,With Uatha and with Aifé, and our friends?""Them I, indeed, remember well," repliedCuchullin. "If thou dost remember well,Let us to them resort," Ferdiah said.Their missive weapons then on either sideThey both resorted to. Upon their armsThey braced two emblematic missive shields,And their eight well-turned-handled lances took,Their eight quill-javelins also, and their eightWhite ivory-hilted swords, and their eight spears,Sharp, ivory-hafted, with hard points of steel.Betwixt the twain the darts went to and fro,Like bees upon the wing on a fine day;No cast was made that was not sure to hit.From morn to nigh mid-day the missiles flew,Till on the bosses of the brazen shieldsTheir points were blunted, but though true the aim,And excellent the shooting, the defenceWas so complete that not a wound was given,And neither champion drew the other's blood."'Tis time to drop these feats," Ferdiah said,"For not by such as these shall we decideOur battle here this day." "Let us desist,"Cuchullin answered, "if the time hath come."They ceased, and threw their missile shafts asideInto the hands of their two charioteers."What weapons, O Cuchullin, shall we nowResort to?" said Ferdiah. "Unto thee,"Cuchullin answered, "doth belong the choiceOf arms until the night, because thou wertThe first that reached the Ford." "Well, let us, then,"Ferdiah said, "resume our straight, smooth, hard,Well-polished spears with their hard flaxen strings.""Let us resume them, then," Cuchullin said.They braced upon their arms two stouter shields,And then resorted to their straight, smooth, hard,Well-polished spears, with their hard flaxen strings.[50]'Twas now mid-day, and thus 'till eventideThey shot against each other with the spears.But though the guard was good on either side,The shooting was so perfect that the bloodRan from the wounds of each, by each made red."Let us now, O Cuchullin," interposedFerdiah, "for the present time desist.""Let us indeed desist," Cuchullin said"If, O Ferdiah, the fit time hath come."They ceased, and laid their gory weapons down,Their faithful charioteers' attendant care.Each to the other gently then approached,Each round the other's neck his hands entwined,And gave him three fond kisses on the cheek.Their horses fed in the same field that night,Their charioteers were warmed at the same fire,Their charioteers beneath their bodies spreadGreen rushes, and beneath the heads the downOf wounded men's soft pillows. Then the skilledProfessors of the art of healing cameWith herbs, which to the scars of all their woundsThey put. Of every herb and healing plantThat to Cuchullin's wound they did apply,He would an equal portion westward sendOver the Ford, Ferdiah's wounds to heal.So that the men of Erin could not say,If it should chance Ferdiah fell by him,That it was through superior skill and careCuchullin was enabled him to slay.Of each kind, too, of palatable foodAnd sweet, intoxicating, pleasant drink,The men of Erin to Ferdiah sent,He a fair moiety across the FordSent northward to Cuchullin, where he lay;Because his own purveyors far surpassedIn numbers those the Ulster chief retained:For all the federate hosts of Erin werePurveyors to Ferdiah, with the hopeThat he would beat Cuchullin from the Ford.The Bregians[51] only were Cuchullin's friends,His sole purveyors, and their wont it wasTo come to him and talk to him at night.That night they rested there. Next morn they roseAnd to the Ford of battle early came."What weapons shall we use to-day?" inquiredCuchullin. "Until night the choice is thine,"Replied Ferdiah; "for the choice of armsHas hitherto been mine." "Then let us takeOur great broad spears to-day," Cuchullin said,"And may the thrusting bring us to an endSooner than yesterday's less powerful darts.Let then our charioteers our horses yokeBeneath our chariots, so that we to-dayMay from our horses and our chariots fight."Ferdiah answered: "Let it so be done."And then they braced their two broad, full-firm shieldsUpon their arms that day, and in their handsThat day they took their great broad-bladed spears.And thus from early morn to evening's closeThey smote each other with such dread effectThat both were pierced, and both made red with gore,--Such wounds, such hideous clefts in either breastLay open to the back, that if the birdsCared ever through men's wounded frames to pass,They might have passed that day, and with them bornePieces of quivering flesh into the air.When evening came, their very steeds were tired,Their charioteers depressed, and they themselvesWorn out--even they the champions bold and brave."Let us from this, Ferdiah, now desist,"Cuchullin said; "for see, our charioteersDroop, and our very horses flag and fail,And when fatigued they yield, so well may we."And further thus he spoke, persuading rest:--CUCHULLIN.Not with the obstinate rage and spiteWith which Fomorian pirates fightLet us, since now has fallen the night,Continue thus our feud;In brief abeyance it may rest,Now that a calm comes o'er each breast:--When with new light the world is blest,Be it again renewed.""Let us desist, indeed," Ferdiah said,"If the fit time hath come."--And so they ceased.From them they threw their arms into the handsOf their two charioteers. Each of them cameForward to meet the other. Each his handsPut round the other's neck, and thus embraced,Gave to him three fond kisses on the cheek.Their horses fed in the same field that night;Their charioteers were warmed by the same fire.Their charioteers beneath their bodies spreadGreen rushes, and beneath their heads the downOf wounded men's soft pillows. Then the skilledProfessors of the art of healing cameTo tend them and to cure them through the night.But they for all their skill could do no more,So numerous and so dangerous were the wounds,The cuts, and clefts, and scars so large and deep,But to apply to them the potent charmsOf witchcraft, incantations, and barb spells,As sorcerers use, to stanch the blood and stayThe life that else would through the wounds escape:--Of every charm of witchcraft, every spell,Of every incantation that was usedTo heal Cuchullin's wounds, a full fair halfOver the Ford was westward sent to healFerdiah's hurts: of every sort of food,And sweet, intoxicating, pleasant drinkThe men of Erin to Ferdiah sent,He a fair moiety across the FordSent northward to Cuchullin where he lay,Because his own purveyors far surpassedIn number those the Ulster chief retained.For all the federate hosts of Erin werePurveyors to Ferdiah, with the hopeThat he would beat Cuchullin from the Ford.The Bregians only were Cuchullin's friends--His sole purveyors--and their wont it wasTo come to him, and talk with him at night.They rested there that night. Next morn they rose,And to the Ford of battle forward came.That day a great, ill-favoured, lowering cloudUpon Ferdiah's face Cuchullin saw."Badly," said he, "dost thou appear this day,Ferdiah, for thy hair has duskier grownThis day, and a dull stupour dims thine eyes,And thine own face and form, and what thou wertIn outward seeming have deserted thee.""'Tis not through fear of thee that I am so,"Ferdiah said, "for Erin doth not holdThis day a champion I could not subdue."And thus betwixt the twain this speech arose,And thus Cuchullin mourned and he replied:CUCHULLIN.O Ferdiah, if it be thou,Certain am I that on thy browThe blush should burn and the shame should rise,Degraded man whom the gods despise,Here at a woman's bidding to wendTo fight thy fellow-pupil and friend.FERDIAH.O Cuchullin, O valiant man,Inflicter of wounds since the war began,O true champion, a man must comeTo the fated spot of his final home,--To the sod predestined by fate's decreeHis resting-place and his grave to be.CUCHULLIN.Finavair, the daughter of Mave,Although thou art her willing slave,Not for thy long-felt love has beenPromised to thee by the wily queen,--No, it was but to test thy mightThat thou wert lured into this fatal fight.FERDIAH.My might was tested long agoIn many a battle, as thou dost know,Long, O Hound of the gentle rule,Since we fought together in Scatha's school:Never a braver man have I seen,Never, I feel, hath a braver been.CUCHULLIN.Thou art the cause of what has been done,O son of Dáman, Daré's son,Of all that has happened thou art the cause,Whom hither a woman's counsel draws--Whom hither a wily woman doth sendTo measure swords with thy earliest friend.FERDIAH.If I forsook the field, O Hound,If I had turned from the battleground--This battleground without fight with thee,Hard, oh, hard had it gone with me;Bad should my name and fame have beenWith King Ailill and with Mave the queen.CUCHULLIN.Though Mave of Croghan had given me food,Even from her lips, though all of goodThat the heart can wish or wealth can giveWere offered to me, there does not liveA king or queen on the earth for whomI would do thee ill or provoke thy doom.FERDIAH.O Cuchullin, thou victor in fight,Of battle triumphs the foremost knight;To what result the fight may lead,'Twas Mave alone that prompted the deed;Not thine the fault, not thine the blame,Take thou the victory and the fame.CUCHULLIN.My faithful heart is a clot of blood,A feud thus forced cannot end in good;Oh, woe to him who is here to be slain!Oh, grief to him who his life will gain!For feats of valour no strength have ITo fight the fight where my friend must die."A truce to these invectives," then broke inFerdiah; "we far other work this dayHave yet to do than rail with woman's words.Say, what shall be our arms in this day's fight?""Till night," Cuchullin said, "the choice is thine,For yester morn the choice was given to me.""Let us," Ferdiah answered, "then resortUnto our heavy, sharp, hard-smiting swords,For we are nearer to the end to-dayOf this our fight, by hewing, than we wereOn yesterday by thrusting of the spears.""So let us do, indeed," Cuchullin said.Then on their arms two long great shields they took,And in their hands their sharp, hard-smiting swords.Each hewed the other with such furious strokesThat pieces larger than an infant's headOf four weeks' old were cut from out the thighsAnd great broad shoulder-blades of each brave chief.And thus they persevered from early mornTill evening's close in hewing with the swords."Let us desist," at length Ferdiah said."Let us indeed desist, if the fit timeHath come," Cuchullin said; and so they ceased.From them they cast their arms into the handsOf their two charioteers; and though that mornTheir meeting was of two high-spirited men,Their separation, now that night had come,Was of two men dispirited and sad.Their horses were not in one field that night,Their charioteers were warmed not at one fire.That night they rested there, and in the mornFerdiah early rose and sought aloneThe Ford of battle, for he knew that dayWould end the fight, and that the hour drew nighWhen one or both of them should surely fall.Then was it for the first time he put onHis battle suit of battle and of fight,Before Cuchullin came unto the Ford.That battle suit of battle and of fightWas this: His apron of white silk, with fringeOf spangled gold around it, he put onNext his white skin. A leather apron then,Well sewn, upon his body's lower partHe placed, and over it a mighty stoneAs large as any mill-stone was secured.His firm, deep, iron apron then he bracedOver the mighty stone--an apron madeOf iron purified from every dross--Such dread had he that day of the Gaebulg.His crested helm of battle on his headHe last put on--a helmet all ablazeFrom forty gems in each compartment set,Cruan, and crystal, carbuncles of fire,And brilliant rubies of the Eastern world.In his right hand a mighty spear he seized,Destructive, sharply-pointed, straight and strong:--On his left side his sword of battle swung,Curved, with its hilt and pommel of red gold.Upon the slope of his broad back he placedHis dazzling shield, around whose margin roseFifty huge bosses, each of such a sizeThat on it might a full-grown hog recline,Exclusive of the larger central bossThat raised its prominent round of pure red gold.Full many noble, varied, wondrous featsFerdiah on that day displayed, which heHad never learned at any tutor's hand,From Uatha, or from Aifé, or from her,Scatha, his early nurse in lonely Skye:--But which were all invented by himselfThat day, to bring about Cuchullin's fall.Cuchullin to the Ford approached and sawThe many noble, varied, wondrous featsFerdiah on that day displayed on high."O Laegh, my friend," Cuchullin thus addressedHis charioteer, "I see the wondrous featsFerdiah doth display on high to-day:All these on me in turn shall soon be tried,And therefore note, that if it so should chanceI shall be first to yield, be sure to taunt,Excite, revile me, and reproach me so,That wrath and rage in me may rise the more:--If I prevail, then let thy words be praise,Laud me, congratulate me, do thy bestTo stimulate my courage to its height.""It shall be done, Cuchullin," Laegh replied.Then was it that Cuchullin first assumedHis battle suit of battle: then he triedFull many, various, noble, wondrous featsHe never learned from any tutor's hands,From Uatha, or from Aifé, or from her,Scatha, his early nurse in lonely Skye.Ferdiah saw these various feats, and knewAgainst himself they soon would be applied."Say, O Ferdiah, to what arms shall weResort in this day's fight?" Cuchullin said.Ferdiah answered, "Unto thee belongsThe choice of weapons now until the night.""Let us then try the Ford Feat on this day,"Replied Cuchullin. "Let us then, indeed,"Rejoined Ferdiah, with a careless airConsenting, though in truth it was to himThe cause of grief to say so, since he knewThat in the Ford Feat lay Cuchullin's strength,And that he never failed to overthrowChampion or hero in that last appeal.Great was the feat that was performed that dayIn and beside the Ford: the mighty two,The two great heroes, warriors, champions, chiefsOf western Europe--the two open handsLaden with gifts of the north-western world,--The two beloved pillars that upheldThe valour of the Gaels--the two strong keysThat kept the bravery of the Gaels secure--Thus to be brought together from afarTo fight each other through the meddling schemesOf Ailill and his wily partner Mave.From each to each the missive weapons flewFrom dawn of early morning to mid-day;And when mid-day had come, the ire of bothBecame more furious, and they drew more near.Then was it that Cuchullin made a springFrom the Ford's brink, and came upon the bossOf the great shield Ferdiah's arm upheld,That thus he might, above the broad shield's rim,Strike at his head. Ferdiah with a touchOf his left elbow, gave the shield a shakeAnd cast Cuchullin from him like a bird,Back to the brink of the Ford. Again he sprangFrom the Ford's brink, and came upon the bossOf the great shield once more, to strike his headOver the rim. Ferdiah with a strokeOf his left knee made the great shield to ring,And cast Cuchullin back upon the brink,As if he only were a little child.Laegh saw the act. "Alas! indeed," said Laegh,"The warrior casts thee from him in the wayThat an abandoned woman would her child.He flings thee as a river flings its foam;He grinds thee as a mill would grind fresh malt;He fells thee as the axe does fell the oak;He binds thee as the woodbine binds the tree;He darts upon thee as a hawk doth dartUpon small birds, so that from this hour forthUntil the end of time, thou hast no claimOr title to be called a valorous man:Thou little puny phantom form," said Laegh.Then with the rapid motion of the wind,The fleetness of a swallow on the wing,The fierceness of a dragon, and the strengthOf a roused lion, once again up sprangCuchullin, high into the troubled air,And lighted for the third time on the bossOf the broad shield, to strike Ferdiah's headOver the rim. The warrior shook the shield,And cast Cuchullin mid-way in the Ford,With such an easy effort that it seemedAs if he scarcely deigned to shake him off.Then, as he lay, a strange distortion cameUpon Cuchullin; as a bladder swellsInflated by the breath, to such a sizeAnd fulness did he grow, that he becameA fearful, many-coloured, wondrous Tuaig--Gigantic shape, as big as a man of the sea,Or monstrous Fomor, so that now his formIn perfect height over Ferdiah stood.So close the fight was now, that their heads metAbove, their feet below, their arms half-wayOver the rims and bosses of their shields:--So close the fight was now, that from their rimsUnto their centres were their shields cut through,And loosed was every rivet from its hold;So close the fight was now, that their strong spearsWere turned and bent and shivered point and haft;Such was the closeness of the fight they madeThat the invisible and unearthly hostsOf Spirits, Bocanachs and Bananachs,And the wild wizard people of the glenAnd of the air the demons, shrieked and screamedFrom their broad shields' reverberating rim,From their sword-hilts and their long-shafted spears:Such was the closeness of the fight they made,They forced the river from its natural course,Out of its bed, so that it might have beenA couch whereon a king or queen might lie,For not a drop of water it retained,Except what came from the great tramp and splashOf the two heroes fighting in its midst.Such was the fierceness of the fight they waged,That a wild fury seized upon the steedsThe Gaels had gathered with them; in affrightThey burst their traces and their binding ropes,Nay even their chains, and panting fled away.The women, too, and youths, by equal fearsInspired and scared, and all the varied crowdOf followers and non-combatants who thereWere with the men of Erin, from the campSouth-westward broke away, and fled the Ford.At the edge-feat of swords they were engagedWhen this surprise occurred, and it was thenFerdiah an unguarded moment foundUpon Cuchullin, and he struck him deep,Plunging his straight-edged sword up to the hiltWithin his body, till his girdle filledWith blood, and all the Ford ran red with goreFrom the brave battle-warrior's veins outshed.This could Cuchullin now no longer bearBecause Ferdiah still the unguarded spotStruck and re-struck with quick, strong, stubborn strokes;And so he called aloud to Laegh, the sonOf Riangabra, for the dread Gaebulg.The manner of that fearful feat was this:Adown the current was it sent, and caughtBetween the toes: a single spear would makeThe wound it made when entering, but once lodgedWithin the body, thirty barbs outsprung,So that it could not be withdrawn untilThe body was cut open where it lay.And when of the Gaebulg Ferdiah heardThe name, he made a downward stroke of his shield,To guard his body. Then Cuchullin thrustThe unerring thorny spear straight o'er the rim,And through the breast-plate of his coat of mail,So that its farther half was seen beyondHis body, after passing through his heart.Ferdiah gave an upward stroke of his shield,His breast to cover, though it was "the reliefAfter the danger." Then the servant setThe dread Gaebulg adown the flowing stream;Cuchullin caught it firmly 'twixt his toes,And from his foot a fearful cast he threwUpon Ferdiah with unerring aim.Swift through the well-wrought iron apron guardIt passed, and through the stone which was as largeAs a huge mill-stone, cracking it in three,And so into his body, every partOf which was filled with the expanding barbs"That is enough: by that one blow I fall,"Ferdiah said. "Indeed, I now may ownThat I am sickly after thee this day,Though it behoved not thee that I should fallBy stroke of thine;" and then these dying wordsHe added, tottering back upon the bank:FERDIAH.O Hound, so famed for deeds of valour doing,'Twas not thy place my death to give to me;Thine is the fault of my most certain ruin,And yet 'tis best to have my blood on thee.The wretch escapes not from his false position,Who to the gap of his destruction goes;Alas! my death-sick voice needs no physician,My end hath come--my life's stream seaward flows.The natural ramparts of my breast are broken,In its own gore my struggling heart is drowned:--Alas! I have not fought as I have spoken,For thou hast killed me in the fight, O Hound!Cuchullin towards him ran, and his two armsClasping about him, lifted him and boreThe body in its armour and its clothesAcross the Ford unto the northern bank,In order that the slain should thus be placedUpon the north bank of the Ford, and notAmong the men of Erin, on the west.Cuchullin laid Ferdiah down, and thenA sudden trance, a faintness on him cameWhen bending o'er the body of his friend.Laegh saw the weakness, which was seen as wellBy all the men of Erin, who aroseUpon the moment to attack him there."Good, O Cuchullin," Laegh exclaimed, "arise,For all the men of Erin hither come.It is no single combat they will give,Since fair Ferdiah, Dáman's son, the sonOf Daré, by thy hands has here been slain.""O servant, what availeth me to rise,"Cuchullin said, "since he hath fallen by me?"And so the servant said, and so repliedCuchullin, in his turn, unto the end;LAEGH.Arise, Emania's slaughter-hound, arise,Exultant pride should be thy mood this day:--Ferdiah of the hosts before thee lies--Hard was the fight and dreadful was the fray.CUCHULLIN.Ah, what availeth me a hero's pride?Madness and grief are in my heart and brain,For the dear blood with which my hand is dyed--For the dear body that I here have slain.LAEGH.It suits thee ill to shed these idle tears,Fitter by far for thee a fiercer mood--At thee he flung the flying pointed spears,Malicious, wounding, dripping, dyed with blood.CUCHULLIN.Even though he left me crippled, maimed, and lame,Even though I lost this arm that now but bleeds,All would I bear, but now the fields of fameNo more shall see Ferdiah mount his steeds.LAEGH.More pleasing is the victory thou hast gained,More pleasing to the women of Creeve Rue,He to have died and thou to have remained,To them the brave who fell here are too few.From that black day in brilliant Mave's long reignThou camest out of Cuailgné it has been--Her people slaughtered and her champions slain--A time of desolation to the queen.When thy great plundered flock was borne away,Thou didst not lie with slumber-sealèd eyes,--Then 'twas thy boast to rise before the day:--Arise again, Emania's Hound, arise!So Laegh addressed the hero, though he seemedTo hear him not, but mourned his friend the more.And thus he spoke these words, and thus he moaned:"Alas! Ferdiah, an unhappy chanceIt was for thee that thou didst not consultSome of the heroes who my prowess knew,Before thou camest forth to meet me here,In the hard battle combat by the Ford.Unhappy was it that it was not Laegh,The son of Riangabra, thou didst askAbout our fellow-pupilship--a bondThat might the unnatural combat so have stayed;Unhappy was it that thou didst not askHonest advice from Fergus, son of Roy;Or that it was not battle-winning, proud,Exulting, ruddy Connall thou didst askAbout our fellow-pupilship of old.For well do these men know there will not beA being born among the Conacians whoShall do the deeds of valour thou hast doneFrom this day forth until the end of time.For if thou hadst consulted these brave menAbout the places where the assemblies meet,About the plightings and the broken vowsUttered too oft by Connaught's fair-haired dames;If thou hadst asked about the games and sportsPlayed with the targe and shield, the sword and spear,If of backgammon or the moves of chess,Or races with the chariots and the steeds,They never would have found a champion's armAs strong to pierce a hero's flesh as thine,O rose-cloud hued Ferdiah! None to raiseThe red-mouthed vulture's hoarse, inviting croakUnto the many-coloured flocks, nor oneWho will for Croghan combat like to thee,O red-cheeked son of Dáman!" Thus he said,Then standing o'er Ferdiah he resumed:"Oh! great has been the treachery and fraudThe men of Erin practised upon thee,Ferdiah, thus to bring thee here to fightWith me, 'gainst whom it is no easy taskUpon theTain Bó Cuailgnéto contend."And thus he said, and thus again he spake:CUCHULLIN.O my Ferdiah, O my friend, forgive:'Tis not my hand but treachery lays thee low:--Thou doomed to die and I condemned to live,Both doomed for ever to be severed so!When we were far away in our young prime,With Scatha, dread Buánnan's chosen friend,A vow we made, that till the end of time,With hostile arms we never should contend.Dear was thy lovely ruddiness to me,Dear was thy gray-blue eye, so bright and clear,--Thy comely, perfect form how sweet to see!Thy wisdom and thy eloquence how dear!In body-cutting combat, on the fieldOf spears, when all is lost or all is won,None braver ever yet held up a shield,Than thou, Ferdiah, Dáman's ruddy son.Never since Aifé's only son I slew,Not knowing who the gallant youth might be,--Ah! hapless deed, that still my heart doth rue!--None have I found, Ferdiah, like to thee.Thy dream it was to win fair Finavair,From Mave her beauteous daughter's hand to gain;As soon might'st thou in the wide fields of airThe glancing sunbeam's swift-winged flight restrain.He paused awhile, still gazing on the dead,Then to his charioteer he spoke: "Friend Laegh,Strip now Ferdiah, take his armour off,That I may see the golden brooch of Mave,For which he undertook the fatal fight."Laegh took the armour then from off his breast,And then Cuchullin saw the golden pinThat cost so dear, and then these words he spake:CUCHULLIN.Alas! O brooch of gold!O chief, whose fame each poet knows,O hero of stout slaughtering blows,Thy arm was brave and bold.Thy yellow flowing hair,Thy purple girdle's silken foldStill even in death around thee rolled,--Thy twisted jewel rare.Thy noble beaming eyes,Now closed in death, make mine grow dim,Thy dazzling shield with golden rim,Thy chess a king might prize.Oh! piteous to behold,My fellow-pupil falls by me:It was an end that should not be,Alas! O brooch of gold!After another pause Cuchullin spoke:--"O Laegh, my friend, open Ferdiah now,And from his body the Gaebulg take out,For I without my weapon cannot be."Laegh then approached, and with a strong, sharp knifeOpened Ferdiah's body, and drew outThe dread Gaebulg. And when Cuchullin sawHis bloody weapon lying red besideFerdiah on the ground, again he thoughtOf all their past career, and thus he said:CUCHULLIN.Sad is my fate that I should see thee lying,Sad is the fate, Ferdiah, I deplore,--I with my weapon which thy blood is dyeing,Thou on the ground a mass of streaming gore.When we were young, where Scatha's eye hath seen usFond fellow-pupils in her schools of Skye,Never was heard the angry word between us,Never was seen the angry spear to fly.Scatha, with words of eloquent persuading,Roused us in many a glorious feat to join;"Go," she exclaimed, "each other bravely aiding,Go forth to battle with the dread Germoin."I to Ferdiah said: "Oh, come, my brother,"I to the ever-generous Luaigh said,I to fair Baetan's son, and many another:"Come, let us go and fight this foe so dread."Crossing the sea in ships of peaceful traders,All of us came to lone Lind Formairt's lake,With us we brought four hundred brave invadersOut of the islands of the Athisech.I and Ferdiah were the first to enter,Where he himself, the dread Germoin, held rule,Rind, Nial's son, I clove from head to centre,Ruad I killed, the son of Finniule.First on the shore, as swift our fleet ships flew there,Bláth, son of Calba of red swords, was slain;Struck by Ferdiah, Luaigh also slew thereFierce rude Mugarne of the Torrian main.Bravely we battled against that court enchanted,Full four times fifty heroes fell by me:He, by their savage onslaught nothing daunted,Slew ox-like monsters clambering from the sea.Wily Germoin, amid so many slaughters,We took alive as trophy of the field,Him o'er the broad, bright sea of spangled watersWe bore to Scatha of the bright broad shield.She, our famed tutoress, with kind endeavour,Bound us from that day forth with heart and hand,When met fair Elgga's tribes, that we should neverIn hostile ranks before each other stand.Oh, day of woe! oh, day without a morrow!Oh, fatal Tuesday morning, when the budOf his young life was scattered! Oh! the sorrow,To give the friend I loved a drink of blood!Ah, if I saw thee among heroes lyingDead on some glorious battlefield of Greece,Soon would I follow thee, and proudly dying,Sleep with my friend triumphant and at peace.We, Scatha's pupils, ah, how sad the story!Thou to be dead and I to be alive:I to be wounded here, all gashed and gory,Thou never more thy chariot's steeds to drive.We, Scatha's pupils, ah! how sad the story;Sad is the fate to which we both are led:I to be wounded here, all gashed and gory,And thou, alas! my friend, to lie here dead.We, Scatha's pupils, ah, how sad the story!Sad is the deed and sorrowful the wrong:Thou to be dead without thy meed of glory,And I, oh! shame, to be alive and strong!Laegh interposed at length, and thus he said:"Good, O Cuchullin, let us leave the Ford,For long have we been here, by far too long.""Let us then leave it now," Cuchullin said,"O Laegh, my friend, but know that every fightIn which I hitherto have drawn my sword,Has been but as a pastime and a sportCompared with this one with Ferdiah fought."And he was saying, and he spake these words:CUCHULLIN.Until Ferdiah sought the Ford,I played but with the spear and sword:Alike the teaching we received,Alike were glad, alike were grieved,Alike were we by Scatha's graceDeemed worthy of the highest place.Until Ferdiah sought the Ford,I played but with the spear and sword:Alike our habits and our ways,Alike our prowess and our praise,Alike the trophies of the brave,The glittering shields that Scatha gave.Until Ferdiah sought the Ford,I played but with the spear and sword:How dear to me, ah! who can know?This golden pillar here laid low,This mighty tree so strong and tall,The chief, the champion of us all!Until Ferdiah sought the Ford,I played but with the spear and sword:The lion rushing with a roar,The wave that swallows up the shore,When storm-winds blow and heaven is dim,Could only be compared to him.Until Ferdiah sought the Ford,I played but with the spear and sword:Through me the friend I loved is dead,A cloud is ever on my head--The mountain form, the giant frame,Is now a shadow and a name.The countless legions of theTain,Those hands of mine have turned and slain:Their men and steeds before me died,Their flocks and herds on either side,Though numerous were the hosts that cameFrom Croghan's Rath of fatal fame.Though less than half the foes I led,Before me soon my foes lay dead:Never to gory battle pressed,Never was nursed on Bamba's breast,Never from sons of kings there cameA hero of more glorious fame.[52]
28This poem is now published for the first time in its complete state.
29Autumn; strictly the last night in October. (See O'Curry's "Sick Bed of Cuchullin,"Atlantis,i., p. 370).
30Culann was the name of Conor MacNessa's smith, and it was from him that Setanta derived the name of Cu-Chulainn, or Culann's Hound.
31Iorrus Domnann, now Erris, in the county of Mayo. It derived its name ("Bay of the Domnanns," or "Deep-diggers,") from the party of the Firbolgs, so called, having settled there, under their chiefs Genann and Rudhraighe. (See "The Fate of the Children of Lir," by O'Curry,Atlantis,iv., p. 123; Dr. Reeve's "Adamnan's Life of St. Columba," note 6, p. 31; O'Flaherty's "Ogygia," p. 280; and Hardiman's "West Connaught," by O'Flaherty, published by the Irish Archæological Society.)
32The name of Scatha, the Amazonian instructress of Ferdiah and Cuchullin, is still preserved in Dun Sciath, in the island of Skye, where great Cuchullin's name and glory yet linger. The Cuchullin Mountains, named after him, "those thunder-smitten, jagged, Cuchullin peaks of Skye," the grandest mountain range in Great Britain, attract to that remote island of the Hebrides many worshippers of the sublime and beautiful in nature, whose enjoyments would be largely enhanced if they knew the heroic legends which are connected with the glorious scenes they have travelled so far to witness. Cuchullin is one of the foremost characters in MacPherson's "Ossian," but the quasi-translator of Gaelic poems places him more than two centuries later than the period at which he really lived. (Lady Ferguson's "The Irish before the Conquest," pp. 57, 58.)
33For a description of this mysterious instrument, see Dr. Todd's "Additional Notes to the Irish version of Nennius," p. 12.
34On the use of mail armour by the ancient Irish, see Dr. O'Donovan's "Introduction and Notes to the Battle of Magh-Rath," edited for the Archæological Society.
35For an interesting account of this sovereign, so famous in Irish story, see O'Curry's "Lectures," pp. 33, 34. Her Father, according to the chronology of the "Four Masters," is supposed to have reigned as monarch of Erin about a century before the Christian era. "Of all the children of the monarch Eochaidh Fiedloch," says O'Donovan (cited in O'Mahony's translation of Keating's "History," p. 276) "by far the most celebrated was Meadbh or Mab, who is still remembered as the fairy queen of the Irish, the 'Queen Mab' of Spenser."
36"The belief that aferbor ulcer could be produced," says Mr. Stokes, in his preface to 'Cormac's Glossary,' "forms the groundwork of the tale of Nêde mac Adnae and his uncle, Caier." The names of the three blisters (Stain, Blemish, and Defect) are almost identical with those Ferdiah is threatened with in the present poem.
37Acumalwas three cows, or their value. On the use of chariots, see "The Sick Bed of Cuchullin,"Atlantis,i., p. 375.
38"The plains of Aie" (son of Allghuba the Druid), in Roscommon. Here stood the palace of Cruachain (O'Curry's "Lectures," p. 35; "Battle of Magh Leana," p. 61).
39"Fair-brow" (O'Curry, "Exile of the Children of Uisnech,"Atlantis,ii., p. 386).
40Here in the original there is a sudden change from prose to verse. "It is generally supposed that these stories were recited by the ancient Irish poets for the amusement of their chieftains at their public feasts, and that the portions given in metre were sung" ("Battle of Magh Rath," p. 12). The prose portions of this tale are represented in the translation by blank verse, and the lyrical portions by rhymed verse.
41"Ugainè Mor exacted oaths by the sun and moon, the sea, the dew, and colours . . . that the sovereignty of Erin should be invested in his descendants for ever" (Ib.p. 3).
42The high dignity of Domnal may be inferred from the following lines, quoted from MacLenini, in the preface to "Cormac's Glossary," p. 51:—"As blackbirds to swans, as an ounce to a mass of gold,As the forms of peasant women to the forms of queens,As a king to Domnal . . .As a taper to a candle, so is a sword tomysword."
43She was the wife of Nêd, the war-god. See O'Donovan's "Annals of the Four Masters," vol. i., p. 24.
44Etán is said to have beenmuime na filed,nurse of the poets ("Three Irish Glossaries," preface, p. 33).
45At Rathcroghan was the palace of the Kings of Connacht.
46A name of Ireland ("Battle of Magh Leana," p. 79).
47So the night before the battle of Magh Rath, "the monarch, grandson of Ainmire, slept not, in consequence of the weight of the battle and the anxiety of the conflict pressing on his mind; for he was certain that his own beloved foster-son would, on the morrow, meet his last fate."
48In the "Battle of Magh Leana" these mysterious beings are called "the Women of the Valley" (p. 120).
49For this line and for many valuable suggestions throughout the poem I am indebted to the deep poetical insight and correct judgment of my friend, Aubrey de Vere.
50"Derg Dian Scothach saw this order, and he put his forefinger into the string of the spear." "Fate of the Children of Tuireann," by O'Curry,Atlantis,iv., p. 233. See also "Battle of Magh Rath," pp. 140, 141, 152.
51Bregia was the ancient name of the plain watered by the Boyne.
52According to the marginal note of the learned editor, the last four lines appear to be a sort of epilogue, in which the poet extols the victor.