“Well, the story goes that she went out iv her mind, bekase of loosin’ the king’s son—for she was tindher-hearted, God help her! like the rest iv us—and pined away after him, until at last no one about seen her, good or bad; and the story wint that the fairies took her away.
“Well, sir, in coorse o’ time the white throut, God bless it! was seen in the sthrame beyant; and sure the people didn’t know what to think of the crathur, seein’ as how awhitebrown throut was never heerd av afore nor sence; and years upon years the throut was there, just where you seen it this blessed minit, longer nor I can tell—aye, throth, and beyant the memory o’ th’ ouldest in the village.
“At last the people began to think it must be a fairy; for what else could it be?—and no hurt nor harm was iver put an the throut, until some wicked sinners of sojers kem to these parts, and laughed at all the people, and gibed and jeered them for thinkin’ o’ the likes; and one o’ them in partic’lar (bad luck to him—God forgi’ me for sayin’ it!) swore he’d catch the throut and ate it for his dinner—the blackguard!
Well, what would you think o’ the villiany of the sojer?—sure enough he cotch the throut, and away wid him home, and puts an the fryin’ pan, and into it he pitches the purty little thing. The throut squeeled all as one as a Christian crathur, and, my dear, you’d think the sojer id split his sides laughin’—for he was a harden’d villian; and when he thought one side was done, he turns it over to fry the other; and what would you think? but the divil a taste of a burn was an it at all at all; and sure the sojer thought it was aquarethrout that couldn’t be briled; ‘but,’ says he, ‘I’ll give it another turn by and by’—little thinkin’ what was in store for him, the haythen!
“Well, when he thought that side was done he turns it again—and lo and behould you, the divil a taste more done that side was nor the other. ‘Bad luck to me,’ says the sojer, ‘but that bates the world,’ says he; ‘but I’ll thry you agin, my darlint,’ says he, ‘as cunnin’ as you think yourself’—and so with that he turns it over and over, but not a sign av the fire was an the purty throut. ‘Well,’ says the desperate villian—(for sure, sir, only he was a desperate villianentirely; he might know he was doin’ a wrong thing, seein’that all his endayvours was no good)—‘well,’ says he, ‘my jolly little throut, maybe you’re fried enough, though you don’t seem over well dress’d; but you may be better than you look, like a singed cat, and a tit-bit, afther all,’ says he; and with that he ups with his knife and fork to taste a piece o’ the throut—but, my jew’l, the minit he puts his knife into the fish there was a murtherin’ screech, that you’d think the life id lave you if you heerd it, and away jumps the throut out av the fryin’ pan into the middle o’ the flure; and an the spot where it fell up riz a lovely lady—the beautifullest young crathur that eyes ever seen, dressed in white, and a band o’ goold in her hair, and a sthrame o’ blood runnin’ down her arm.
Look where you cut me, you villian,’ says she, and she held out her arm to him—and, my dear, he thought the sight id lave his eyes.
“‘Couldn’t you lave me cool and comfortable in the river where you snared me, and not disturb me in my duty?’ says she.
“Well, he thrimbled like a dog in a wet sack, and at last he stammered out somethin’, and begged for his life, and ax’d her ladyship’s pardin, and said he didn’t know she was an duty, or he was too good a sojer not to know betther nor to meddle with her.
“‘Iwason duty then,’ says the lady; ‘I was watchin’ for my thrue love that is comin’ by wather to me,’ says she; ‘an’ if he comes while I am away, an’ that I miss iv him, I’ll turn you into a pinkeen, and I’ll hunt you up and down for evermore, while grass grows or wather runs.’
“Well, the sojer thought the life id lave him at the thoughts iv his bein’ turned into a pinkeen, and begged for marcy; and, with that, says the lady:
“‘Renounce your evil coorses,’ says she, ‘you villian, or you’ll repint it too late. Be a good man for the futhur, and go to your duty reg’lar. And now,’ says she, ‘take me back and put me into the river agin, where you found me.’
“‘Oh, my lady,’ says the sojer, ‘how could I have the heart to drownd a beautiful lady like you?’
But before he could say another word the lady was vanished, and there he saw the little throut an the ground. Well, he put it in a clane plate, and away he run for the bare life, for fear her lover would come while she was away; and he run, and he run, ever till he came to the cave agin, and threw the throut into the river. The minit he did, the wather was as red as blood until the sthrame washed the stain away; and to this day there’s a little red mark an the throut’s side where it was cut.
“Well, sir, from that day out the sojer was an althered man, and reformed his ways, and wint to his duty reg’lar, and fasted three times a week—though it was never fish he tuk an fastin’ days; for afther the fright he got fish id never rest an his stomach—savin’ your presence. But, anyhow, he was an althered man, as I said before; and in coorse o’ time he left the army, and turned hermit at last; and they say heused to pray evermore for the sowl of the White Throut.”
Samuel Lover.
When it was running away it went by a barn full of threshers, and they asked it where it was running. “Oh,” says it, “I’m running away from the mouse, the rat, and the little red hen, and from you, too, if I can.” So they rushed away after it with their flails, and it ran, and it ran till it came to a ditch full of ditchers, and they asked it where it was running.
Oh, I am running away from the mouse, the rat, and the little red hen, and from a barn full of threshers, and from you, too, if I can.”
Well, they all ran after it along with the rest, till it came to a well full of washers, and they asked the same question, and it returned the same answer, and after it they went.
At last it came to a ford where it met with a fox, and he asked where it was running. “Oh, I’m running away from the mouse, the rat, and the little red hen, from a barn full of threshers, a ditch full of ditchers, a well full of washers, and from you, too, if I can.”
“But you can’t cross the ford,” says the fox. “And can’t you carry me over?” says the cake. “What’ll you give me?” says the fox. “A kiss at Christmas and an egg at Easter,” says the cake.
“Very well,” says the fox—“up with you.” So he sat on his haunches with his nose in the air, and the cake got up by his tail till it sat on his crupper.
“Now, over with you,” says the cake. “You’re not high enough,” says the fox. Then it scrambled up on his shoulder. “Up higher still,” says he; “you wouldn’t besafe there.” “Am I right now?” says he. “You’ll be safer on the ridge pole of my nose.”
“Well,” says the cake, “I think I can go no further.” “Oh, yes,” says he, and he shot it up in the air, caught it in his mouth, and sent it down the Red Lane. And that was the end of the cake.
“Oh, think o’ the iligant stirabout that’ll be spylte intirely.”
“To the divil with the stirabout!” says he.
“God forgive you,” says she, “for cursin’ your good brekquest.”
Well, he left the loom at last and wint over to the stirabout, and what would you think, but whin he looked at it, it was as black as a crow; for, you see, it was in the hoighth o’ summer, and the flies lit upon it to that degree that the stirabout was fairly covered with them.
Why, thin, bad luck to your impidence,” says the waiver; “would no place sarve you but that? And is it spyling my brekquest yiz are, you dirty bastes?” And with that, bein’ altogether cruked tempered at the time, he lifted his hand, and he made one great slam at the dish o’ stirabout and killed no less than three score and tin flies at the one blow. It was three score and tin exactly, for he counted the carcasses one by one, and laid them out on a clane plate for to view them.
Well, he felt a powerful sperit risin’ in him when he seen the slaughter he done at one blow, and with that he got as consaited as the very dickens, and not a sthroke more work he’d do that day, but out he wint, and was fractious and impident to everyone he met, and was squarein’ up into their faces and sayin’, “Look at that fist! That’s the fist that killed three score and tin at one blow. Whoo! It is throwin’ away my time I have been all my life,” says he, “stuck to my loom, nothin’ but a poor waiver, when it is Saint George or the Dhraggin I ought to be, which is two of the sivin champions o’ Christendom. I’m detarmined on it, and I’ll set off immediately and be a knight arriant.” Well, sure enough, he wint about among his neighbours thenext day, and he got an owld kittle from one and a saucepan from another, and he took them to the tailor, and he sewed him up a shuit o’ tin clothes like any knight arriant, and he borrowed a pot lid, andthathe was very partic’lar about, bekase it was his shield, and he wint to a friend o’ his, a painther and glaizier, and made him paint an his shield in big letthers:
“I’M THE MAN OF ALL MIN,THAT KILL’D THREE SCORE AND TINAT A BLOW.”
“When the people sees that,” says the waiver to himself, “the sorra one will dar for to come near me.”
And with that he towld the housekeeper to scour out the small iron pot for him, “for,” says he, “it will make an iligant helmet.” And when it was done he put it an his head, and says she, “Is it puttin’ a great heavy iron pot an your head you are by way iv a hat?”
“Sartinly,” says he, “for a knight arriant should always have a woight an his brain.”
“But,” says she, “there’s a hole in it, and it can’t keep out the weather.”
“It will be the cooler,” says he, puttin’ it an him; “besides, if I don’t like it, it is aisy to stop it with a wisp o’ sthraw, or the like o’ that.”
“The three legs of it looks mighty quare stickin’ up,” says she.
“Every helmet has a spike stickin’ out o’ the top of it,” says the waiver, “and if mine has three, it’s only the grandher it is.”
“Well,” says the housekeeper, getting bitther at last, “all I can say is, it isn’t the first sheep’s head was dhress’d in it.”
“Your sarvint, ma’am,” says he; and off he set.
Well, he was in want of a horse, and so he wint to a field hard by where the miller’s horse was grazin’ that used to carry the ground corn round the counthry.
“This is the idintical horse for me,” says the waiver. “He is used to carryin’ flour and male; and what am I but the flower o’ shovelry in a coat o’ mail; so that the horse won’t be put out iv his way in the laste.”
But as he was ridin’ him out o’ the field, who should see him but the miller. “Is it stalin’ my horse you are, honest man?” says the miller.
“No,” says the waiver; “I’m only goin’ to axercise him,” says he, “in the cool o’ the evenin’; it will be good for his health.”
“Thank you kindly,” says the miller, “but lave him where he is, and you’ll obleege me.”
“I can’t afford it,” says the waiver, runnin’ the horse at the ditch.
“Bad luck to your impidence,” says the miller; “you’ve as much tin about you as a thravellin’ tinker, but you’ve more brass. Come back here, you vagabone,” says he.
But he was too late—away galloped the waiver, and took the road to Dublin, for he thought the best thing he could do was to go to the King o’ Dublin (for Dublin was a grate place thin, and had a king iv its own), and he thought maybe the King o’ Dublin would give him work. Well, he was four days goin’ to Dublin, for the baste was not the best,and the roads worse, not all as one as now; but there was no turnpikes then, glory be to God! Whin he got to Dublin he wint sthrait to the palace, and whin he got into the coortyard he let his horse go and graze about the place, for the grass was growin’ out betune the stones; everything was flourishin’ thin in Dublin, you see. Well, the King was lookin’ out of his dhrawin’-room windy for divarshin, whin the waiver kem in; but the waiver pretended not to see him, and he wint over to a stone sate undher the windy—for, you see, there was stone sates all around about the place for the accommodation o’ the people—for the King was a dacent, obleegin’ man. Well, as I said, the waiver wint over and lay down an one o’ the sates, just undher the King’s windy, and purtended to go asleep; but he took care to turn out the front of his shield that had the letthers an it. Well, my dear, with that the King calls out to one of the lords of his coort that was standin’ behind him howldin’ up the skirt of his coat, according to rayson, and says he, “Look here,” says he, “what do you think of a vagabone like that comin’ undher my very nose to go sleep? It is thrue I’m a good King,” says he, “and I ’commodate the people by havin’ sates for them to sit down and enjoy the raycreation and contimplation of seein’ me here lookin’ out o’ my dhrawin’-room windy for divarshin; but that is no rayson they are to make a hotel o’ the place and come and sleep here. Who is it at all?” says the King.
“Not a one o’ me knows, plaze your majesty.”
“I think he must be a furriner,” says the King, “bekase his dhress is outlandish.”
“And doesn’t know manners, more betoken,” says the lord.
“I’ll go down and circumspect him myself,” says the King. “Folly me,” says he to the lord, wavin’ his hand at the same time in the most dignacious manner.
Down he wint accordingly, followed by the lord; and whin he wint over to where the waiver was lying, sure, the first thing he seen was his shield with the big letthers an it, and with that, says he to the lord, “By dad,” says he, “this is the very man I want.”
“For what, plaze your majesty?” says the lord.
To kill that vagabone dhraggin, to be sure,” says the King.
“Sure, do you think he could kill him,” says the lord, “whin all the stoutest knights in the land wasn’t aiquil to it, but never kem back, and was ate up alive by the cruel desaiver.”
“Sure, don’t you see there,” says the King, pointin’ at the shield, “that he killed three score and tin at one blow; and the man that done that, I think, is a match for anything.”
So, with that, he wint over to the waiver and shuck him by the shouldher for to wake him, and the waiver rubbed his eyes as if just wakened, and the King says to him, “God save you!” said he.
“God save you kindly!” says the waiver, purtendin’ he was quite onknowst who he was spakin’ to.
“Do you know who I am,” says the King, “that you make so free, good man?”
“No, indeed,” says the waiver; “you have the advantage o’ me.”
“To be sure I have,” says the King, moighty high; “sure, ain’t I the King o’ Dublin?” says he.
The waiver dhropped down on his two knees forninst the King, and says he, “I beg God’s pardon and yours for the liberty I tuk; plaze your holiness, I hope you’ll excuse it.”
“No offince,” says the King; “get up, good man. And what brings you here?” says he.
“I’m in want o’ work, plaze your riverence,” says the waiver.
“Well, suppose I give you work?” says the King.
“I’ll be proud to sarve you, my lord,” says the waiver.
“Very well,” says the King. “You killed three score and tin at one blow, I understan’,” says the King.
“Yis,” says the waiver; “that was the last thrifle o’ work I done, and I’m afeared my hand ’ill go out o’ practice if I don’t get some job to do at wanst.”
You shall have a job immediantly,” says the King. “It is not three score and tin, or any fine thing like that; it is only a blaguard dhraggin that is disturbin’ the counthry and ruinatin’ my tinanthry wid aitin’ their powlthry, and I’m lost for want of eggs,” says the King.
“Throth, thin, plaze your worship,” says the waiver, “you look as yellow as if you swallowed twelve yolks this minit.”
“Well, I want this dhraggin to be killed,” says the King. “It will be no throuble in life to you; and I’m only sorry that it isn’t betther worth your while, for he isn’t worth fearin’ at all; only I must tell you that he lives in the county Galway, in the middle of a bog, and he has an advantage in that.”
“Oh, I don’t value it in the laste,” says the waiver; “forthe last three score and tin I killed was in a soft place.”
“When will you undhertake the job then?” says the King.
“Let me at him at wanst,” says the waiver.
“That’s what I like,” says the King; “you’re the very man for my money,” says he.
“Talkin’ of money,” says the waiver, “by the same token, I’ll want a thrifle o’ change from you for my thravellin’ charges.”
As much as you plaze,” says the King; and with the word he brought him into his closet, where there was an owld stockin’ in an oak chest burstin’ wid goolden guineas.
“Take as many as you plaze,” says the King; and sure enough, my dear, the little waiver stuffed his tin clothes as full as they could howld with them.
“Now, I’m ready for the road,” says the waiver.
“Very well,” says the King; “but you must have a fresh horse,” says he.
“With all my heart,” says the waiver, who thought he might as well exchange the miller’s owld garron for a betther.
And, maybe, it’s wondherin’ you are that the waiver would think of goin’ to fight the dhraggin afther what he heerd about him when he was purtendin’ to be asleep. But he had no sitch notion: all he intended was—to fob the goold and ride back again to Duleek with his gains and a good horse. But, you see, cute as the waiver was, the King was cuter still; for these high quolity, you see, is great desaivers; and so the horse the waiver was put an was learned anpurpose; and, sure, the minit he was mounted away powdhered the horse, and the divil a toe he’d go but right down to Galway. Well, for four days he was goin’ evermore, until at last the waiver seen a crowd o’ people runnin’ as if Owld Nick was at their heels, and they shoutin’ a thousand murdhers and cryin’, “The dhraggin, thedhraggin!” and he couldn’t stop the horse nor make him turn back, but away he pelted right forinst the terrible baste that was comin’ up to him, and there was the most nefarious smell o’ sulphur, savin’ your presence, enough to knock you down; and, faith, the waiver seen he had no time to lose, and so he threwn himself off the horse and made to a three that was growin’ nigh hand, and away he clambered up into it as nimble as a cat; and not a minit had he to spare, for the dhraggin kem up in a powerful rage, and he devoured the horse, body and bones, in less than no time; and then he began to sniffle and scent about for the waiver, and at last he clapt his eye an him where he was up in the three, and says he, “In throth, you might as well come down out o’ that,” says he, “for I’ll have you as sure as eggs is mate.”
“Divil a fut I’ll go down,” says the waiver.
“Sorra care I care,” says the dhraggin, “for you’re as good as ready money in my pocket this minit, for I’ll lie undher this three,” says he, “and sooner or later you must fall to my share”; and, sure enough, he sot down and began to pick his teeth with his tail afther the heavy brekquest he made that mornin’ (for he ate a whole village, let alone the horse), and he got dhrowsy at last and fell asleep; but before he wint to sleep he wound himself all round the three, all as one as a lady windin’ ribbon round her finger, so that the waiver could not escape.
Well, as soon as the waiver knew he was dead asleep by the snorin’ of him—and every snore he let out of him was like a clap o’ thunder——
The minit, the waiver began to creep down the three as cautious as a fox; and he was very nigh hand the bottom when, bad cess to it, a thievin’ branch he was dipindin’ an bruk, and down he fell right atop o’ the dhraggin. But if he did, good luck was an his side, for where should he fall but with his two legs right acrass the dhraggin’s neck, and, my jew’l, he laid howlt o’ the baste’s ears, and there he kept his grip, for the dhraggin wakened and endayvoured for to bite him; but, you see, by rayson the waiver was behind his ears he could not come at him, and, with that, he endayvoured for to shake him off; but the divil of a stir could he stir the waiver; and though he shuk all the scales an his body he could not turn the scale again the waiver.
By the hokey, this is too bad intirely,” says the dhraggin; “but if you won’t let go,” says he, “by the powers o’ wildfire, I’ll give you a ride that ’ill astonish your siven small sinses, my boy”; and with that away he flew like mad; and where do you think he did fly? By dad, he flew sthraight for Dublin—divil a less. But the waiver bein’ an his neck was a great disthress to him, and he would rather have made him an insidepassenger; but, anyway, he flew and he flew till he kem slap up agin the palace o’ the King; for, bein’ blind with the rage, he never seen it, and he knocked his brains out—that is, the small thrifle he had, and down he fell spacheless. An’, you see, good luck would have it that the King o’ Dublin waslookin’ out iv his dhrawin’-room windy for divarshin that day also, and whin he seen the waiver ridin’ and the fiery dhraggin (for he was blazin’ like a tar barrel), he called out to his coortyers to come and see the show. “By the powdhers o’ war, here comes the knight arriant,” says the King, “ridin’ the dhraggin that’s all afire, and if he gets into the palace, yiz must be ready wid the fire ingines,” says he, “for to put him out.” But when they seen the dhraggin fall outside they all run downstairs and scampered into the palace yard for to circumspect the curiosity; and by the time they got down the waiver had got off o’ the dhraggin’s neck, and runnin’ up to the King, says he, “Plaze your holiness,” says he, “I did not think myself worthy of killin’ this facetious baste, so I brought him to yourself for to do him the honour of decripitation by your own royal five fingers. But I tamed him first before I allowed him the liberty for to dar’ to appear in your royal prisince, and you’ll oblige me if you just make your mark with your own hand upon the onruly baste’s neck.” And with that the King, sure enough, dhrew out his swoord and took the head aff the dirty brute as clane as a new pin. Well, there was great rejoicin’ in the coort that the dhraggin was killed; and says the King to the little waiver, says he, “You are a knight arriant as it is, and so it would be no use for to knight you over agin; but I will make you a lord,” says he.
“Oh, Lord!” says the waiver, thunderstruck like at his own good luck.
“I will,” says the King; “and as you are the first man I ever heerd tell of that rode a dhraggin, you shall be called Lord Mount Dhraggin,” says he.
“But that is not all I’ll do for you,” says the King; “I’llgive you my daughter, too, in marriage,” says he. Now, you see, that was nothing more than what he promised the waiver in his first promise; for by all accounts the King’s daughter was the greatest dhraggin ever was seen, and had the divil’s own tongue, and a beard a yard long, which she purtended was put an her, by way of a penance, by Father Mulcahy, her confissor; but it was well known it was in the family for ages, and no wondher it was so long by rayson of that same.
Samuel Lover.
Mor of Cloyne
Mor of Cloyne, a Munster Princess, is singing at the door of a Fairy Rath to her sister, a captive within it, the magic tune by which she once escaped from a like captivity.
Little Sister, whom the FayHides away within his doon,Deep below yon seeding fern,Oh, list and learn my magic tune.Long ago, when snared like theeBy the Shee, my harp and IO’er them wove the slumber spell,Warbling well its lullaby.Till with dreamy smiles they sank,Rank on rank, before the strain;And I rose from out the rath,And found my path to earth again.Little Sister, to my woeHid below among the Shee,List and learn the magic tune,That it full soon may succour thee.
Little Sister, whom the FayHides away within his doon,Deep below yon seeding fern,Oh, list and learn my magic tune.Long ago, when snared like theeBy the Shee, my harp and IO’er them wove the slumber spell,Warbling well its lullaby.Till with dreamy smiles they sank,Rank on rank, before the strain;And I rose from out the rath,And found my path to earth again.Little Sister, to my woeHid below among the Shee,List and learn the magic tune,That it full soon may succour thee.
Alfred Perceval Graves.
The man went up to the King, gave him a blow on the face, and drove three teeth from his mouth. The same blow put the King’s head in the dirt. When he rose from the earth, the King went back to his castle, and lay down sick and sorrowful.
The King had three sons, and their names were Ur, Arthur, and Lawn Dyarrig. The three were at school that day, and came home in the evening. The father sighed when the sons were coming in.
“What is wrong with our father?” asked the eldest.
“Your father is sick on his bed,” said the mother.
The three sons went to their father and asked what was on him.
“A strong man that I met to-day gave me a blow in the face, put my head in the dirt, and knocked three teeth from my mouth. What would you do to him if you met him?” asked the father of the eldest son.
“If I met that man,” replied Ur, “I would make four parts of him between four horses.”
You are my son,” said the King. “What would you do if you met him?” asked he then as he turned to the second son.
“If I had a grip on that man I would burn him between four fires.”
“You, too, are my son. What would you do?” asked the King of Lawn Dyarrig.
“If I met that man, I would do my best against him, and he might not stand long before me.”
“You are not my son. I would not lose lands or property on you,” said the father. “You must go from me, and leave this to-morrow.”
On the following morning the three brothers rose with the dawn; the order was given Lawn Dyarrig to leave the castle and make his own way for himself. The other two brothers were going to travel the world to know could they find the man who had injured their father. Lawn Dyarrig lingered outside till he saw the two, and they going off by themselves.
“It is a strange thing,” said he, “for two men of high degree to go travelling without a servant.”
“We need no one,” said Ur.
“Company wouldn’t harm us,” said Arthur.
The two let Lawn Dyarrig go with them as a serving-boy, and set out to find the man who had struck down their father. They spent all that day walking, and came late to a house where one woman was living. She shook hands with Ur and Arthur, and greeted them. Lawn Dyarrig she kissed and welcomed; called him son of the King of Erin.
It is a strange thing to shake hands with the elder, and kiss the younger,” said Ur.
“This is a story to tell,” said the woman, “the same as if your death were in it.”
They made three parts of that night. The first part they spent in conversation, the second in telling tales, the third in eating and drinking, with sound sleep and sweet slumber. As early as the day dawned next morning the old woman was up, and had food for the young men. When the three had eaten, she spoke to Ur, and this is what she asked of him: “What was it that drove you from home, and what brought you to this place?”
“A champion met my father, and took three teeth from him and put his head in the dirt. I am looking for that man, to find him alive or dead.”
“That was the Green Knight from Terrible Valley. He is the man who took the three teeth from your father. I am three hundred years living in this place, and there is not a year of the three hundred in which three hundred heroes,fresh, young, and noble, have not passed on the way to Terrible Valley, and never have I seen one coming back, and each of them had the look of a man better than you. And now where are you going, Arthur?”
“I am on the same journey with my brother.”
“Where are you going, Lawn Dyarrig?”
“I am going with these as a servant,” said Lawn Dyarrig.
God’s help to you, it’s bad clothing that’s on your body,” said the woman. “And now I will speak to Ur. A day and a year since a champion passed this way. He wore a suit as good as was ever above ground. I had a daughter sewing there in the open window. He came outside, put a finger under her girdle, and took her with him. Her father followed straightway to save her, but I have never seen daughter nor father from that day to this. That man was the Green Knight of Terrible Valley. He is better than all the men that could stand on a field a mile in length and a mile in breadth. If you take my advice you’ll turn back and go home to your father.”
’Tis how she vexed Ur with this talk, and he made a vow to himself to go on. When Ur did not agree to turn home, the woman said to Lawn Dyarrig, “Go back to my chamber; you’ll find in it the apparel of a hero.”
He went back, and there was not a bit of the apparel he did not go into with a spring.
“You may be able to do something now,” said the woman, when Lawn Dyarrig came to the front. “Go back to my chamber and search through all the old swords. You will find one at the bottom. Take that.”
He found the old sword, and at the first shake that he gave he knocked seven barrels of rust out of it; after the second shake it was as bright as when made.
“You may be able to do well with that,” said the woman. “Go out, now, to that stable abroad, and take the slim white steed that is in it. That one will never stop nor halt in any place till he brings you to the Eastern World. If you like, take these two men behind you; if not, let them walk. But I think it is useless for you to have them at all with you.”
Lawn Dyarrig went out to the stable, took the slim white steed, mounted, rode to the front, and catching the two brothers, planted them on the horse behind him.
Now, Lawn Dyarrig,” said the woman, “this horse will never stop till he stands on the little white meadow in the Eastern World. When he stops, you’ll come down, and cut the turf under his beautiful right front foot.”
The horse started from the door, and at every leap he crossed seven hills and valleys, seven castles with villages, acres, roods, and odd perches. He could overtake the whirlwind before him seven hundred times before the whirlwind behind him could overtake him once. Early in the afternoon of the next day he was in the Eastern World. When he dismounted, Lawn Dyarrig cut the sod from under the foot of the slim white steed, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and Terrible Valley was down under him there. What he did next was to tighten the reins on the neck of the steed and let him go home.
“Now,” said Lawn Dyarrig to his brothers, “which would you rather be doing—making a basket or twisting gads (withes)?”
“We would rather be making a basket; our help is among ourselves,” answered they.
Ur and Arthur went at the basket and Lawn Dyarrig at twisting the gads. When Lawn Dyarrig came to the opening with the gads all twisted and made into one, they hadn’t the ribs of the basket in the ground yet.
“Oh, then, haven’t ye anything done but that?”
“Stop your mouth,” said Ur, “or we’ll make a mortar of your head on the next stone.”
“To be kind to one another is the best for us,” said Lawn Dyarrig. “I’ll make the basket.”
While they’d be putting one rod in the basket he had the basket finished.
“Oh, brother,” said they, “you are a quick workman.”
They had not called him brother since they left home till that moment.
“Who will go in the basket now?” said Lawn Dyarrig when it was finished and the gad tied to it.
“Who but me?” said Ur. “I am sure, brothers, if I see anything to frighten me you’ll draw me up.”
“We will,” said the other two.
He went in, but had not gone far when he cried to pull him up again.
“By my father, and the tooth of my father, and by all that is in Erin, dead or alive, I would not give one other sight on Terrible Valley!” he cried, when he stepped out of the basket.
“Who will go now?” said Lawn Dyarrig.
“Who will go but me?” answered Arthur.
Whatever length Ur went, Arthur didn’t go the half of it.
“By my father, and the tooth of my father, I wouldn’t give another look at Terrible Valley for all that’s in Erin, dead or alive!”
“I will go now,” said Lawn Dyarrig, “and as I put no foul play on you, I hope ye’ll not put foul play on me.”
“We will not, indeed,” said they.
Whatever length the other two went, Lawn Dyarrig didn’t go the half of it, till he stepped out of the basket and went down on his own feet. It was not far he had travelled in Terrible Valley when he met seven hundred heroes guarding the country.
“In what place here has the Green King his castle?” asked he of the seven hundred.
“What sort of a sprisawn goat or sheep from Erin are you?” asked they.
“If we had a hold of you, the two arms of me, that’s a question you would not put a second time; but if we haven’t you, we’ll not be so long.”
They faced Lawn Dyarrig then and attacked him; but he went through them like a hawk or a raven through small birds. He made a heap of their feet, a heap of their heads, and a castle of their arms.
After that he went his way walking, and had not gone far when he came to a spring. “I’ll have a drink before I go further,” thought he. With that he stooped down and took a drink of the water. When he had drunk he lay on the ground and fell asleep.
“The finest hero that ever a woman laid eyes on is sleeping at the spring.”
“That’s a thing that cannot be till Lawn Dyarrig comes to the age of a hero. When that time comes he’ll be sleeping at the spring.”
“He is in it now,” said the girl.
The lady did not stop to get any drop of the water on herself, but ran quickly from the castle. When she came to the spring she roused Lawn Dyarrig. If she found him lying, she left him standing. She smothered him with kisses, drowned him with tears, dried him with garments of fine silk and with her own hair. Herself and himself locked arms and walked into the castle of the Green Knight. After that they were inviting each other with the best food and entertainment till the middle of the following day. Then the lady said:
When the Green Knight bore me away from my father and mother he brought me straight to this castle, but I put him under bonds not to marry me for seven years and a day, and he cannot; still, I must serve him. When he goes fowling he spends three days away and the next three days at home. This is the day for him to come back, and for me to prepare his dinner. There is no stir that you or I have made here to-day but that brass head beyond there will tell of it.”
“It is equal to you what it tells,” said Lawn Dyarrig, “only make ready a clean long chamber for me.”
She did so, and he went back into it. Herself rose up then to prepare dinner for the Green Knight. When he came, she welcomed him as every day. She left down his food before him, and he sat to take his dinner. He wassitting with knife and fork in hand when the brass head spoke. “I thought when I saw you taking food and drink with your wife that you had the blood of a man in you. If you could see that sprisawn of a goat or sheep out of Erin taking meat and drink with her all day, what would you do?”
“Oh, my suffering and sorrow!” cried the knight. “I’ll never take another bite or sup till I eat some of his liver and heart. Let three hundred heroes, fresh and young, go back and bring his heart to me, with the liver and lights, till I eat them.”
The three hundred heroes went, and hardly were they behind in the chamber when Lawn Dyarrig had them all dead in one heap.
“He must have some exercise to delay my men, they are so long away,” said the knight. “Let three hundred more heroes go for his heart, with the liver and lights, and bring them here to me.”
The second three hundred went, and as they were entering the chamber Lawn Dyarrig was making a heap of them, till the last one was inside, where there were two heaps.
“He has some way of coaxing my men to delay,” said the knight. “Do you go now, three hundred of my savage hirelings, and bring him.” The three hundred savage hirelings went, and Lawn Dyarrig let every man of them enter before he raised a hand, then he caught the bulkiest of them all by the two ankles, and began to wallop the others with him, and he walloped them till he drove the life out of the two hundred and ninety-nine. The bulkiest one was wornto the shin-bones that Lawn Dyarrig held in his two hands. The Green Knight, who thought Lawn Dyarrig was coaxing the men, called out then, “Come down, my men, and take dinner.”
“I’ll be with you,” said Lawn Dyarrig, “and have the best food in the house, and I’ll have the best bed in the house. God not be good to you for it, either.”
He went down to the Green Knight, and took the food from before him and put it before himself. Then he took the lady, set her on his own knee, and he and she went on eating. After dinner he put his finger under her girdle, took her to the best chamber in the castle, and stood on guard upon it till morning. Before dawn the lady said to Lawn Dyarrig:
“If the Green Knight strikes the pole of combat first, he’ll win the day; if you strike first, you’ll win if you do what I tell you. The Green Knight has so much enchantment that if he sees it is going against him the battle is, he’ll rise like a fog in the air, come down in the same form, strike you, and make a green stone of you. When yourself and himself are going out to fight in the morning, cut a sod a perch long, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; you’ll leave the sod on the next little hillock you meet. When the Green Knight is coming down and is ready to strike, give him a blow with the sod. You’ll make a green stone of him.”
As early as the dawn Lawn Dyarrig rose and struck the pole of combat. The blow that he gave did not leave calf, foal, lamb, kid, or child waiting for birth, without turning them five times to the left and five times to the right.
“What do you want?” asked the knight.
“All that’s in your kingdom to be against me the first quarter of the day, and yourself the second quarter.
“You have not left in the kingdom now but myself, and it is early enough for you that I’ll be at you.”
The knight faced him, and they went at each other, and fought till late in the day. The battle was strong against Lawn Dyarrig, when the lady stood in the door of the castle.
Increase on your blows and increase on your courage,” cried she. “There is no woman here but myself to wail over you, or to stretch you before burial.”
When the knight heard the voice he rose in the air like a lump of fog. As he was coming down Lawn Dyarrig struck him with the sod on the right side of his breast, and made a green stone of him.
The lady rushed out then, and whatever welcome she had for Lawn Dyarrig the first time, she had twice as much now. Herself and himself went into the castle, and spent that night very comfortably. In the morning they rose early, and collected all the gold, utensils, and treasures. Lawn Dyarrig found the three teeth of his father in a pocket of the Green Knight, and took them. He and the lady brought all the riches to where the basket was. “If I send up this beautiful lady,” thought Lawn Dyarrig, “she may be taken from me by my brothers; if I remain below with her, she may be taken from me by people here.” He put her in the basket, and she gave him a ring so that they might know each other if they met. He shook the gad, and she rose in the basket.
When Ur saw the basket, he thought, “What’s above let it be above, and what’s below let it stay where it is.”
“I’ll have you as wife for ever for myself,” said he to the lady.
“I put you under bonds,” says she, “not to lay a hand on me for a day and three years.”
“That itself would not be long even if twice the time,” said Ur.
The two brothers started home with the lady; on the way Ur found the head of an old horse with teeth in it, and took them, saying, “These will be my father’s three teeth.”
They travelled on, and reached home at last. Ur would not have left a tooth in his father’s mouth, trying to put in the three that he had brought; but the father stopped him.
Lawn Dyarrig, left in Terrible Valley, began to walk around for himself. He had been walking but one day when whom should he meet but the lad Short-clothes, and he saluted him. “By what way can I leave Terrible Valley?” asked Lawn Dyarrig.
“If I had a grip on you that’s what you wouldn’t ask me a second time,” said Short-clothes.
“If you haven’t touched me, you will before you are much older.”
“If you do, you will not treat me as you did all my people and my master.”
“I’ll do worse to you than I did to them,” said Lawn Dyarrig.
They caught each other then, one grip under the arm and one on the shoulder. ’Tis not long they were wrestlingwhen Lawn Dyarrig had Short-clothes on the earth, and he gave him the five thin tyings dear and tight.
“You are the best hero I have ever met,” said Short-clothes; “give me quarter for my soul—spare me. When I did not tell you of my own will, I must tell in spite of myself.”
“It is as easy for me to loosen you as to tie you,” said Lawn Dyarrig, and he freed him.
“Since you are not dead now,” said Short-clothes, “there is no death allotted to you. I’ll find a way for you to leave Terrible Valley. Go and take that old bridle hanging there beyond and shake it; whatever beast comes and puts its head into the bridle will carry you.”
Lawn Dyarrig shook the bridle, and a dirty, shaggy little foal came and put its head in the bridle. Lawn Dyarrig mounted, dropped the reins on the foal’s neck, and let him take his own choice of roads. The foal brought Lawn Dyarrig out by another way to the upper world, and took him to Erin. Lawn Dyarrig stopped some distance from his father’s castle, and knocked at the house of an old weaver.
“Who are you?” asked the old man.
“I am a weaver,” said Lawn Dyarrig.
“What can you do?”
“I can spin for twelve and twist for twelve.”
“This is a very good man,” said the old weaver to his sons, “let us try him.”
The work they had been doing for a year he had done in one hour. When dinner was over the old man beganto wash and shave, and his two sons began to do the same.
“Why is this?” asked Lawn Dyarrig.
“Haven’t you heard that Ur, son of the King, is to marry to-night the woman that he took from the Green Knight of Terrible Valley?”
“I have not,” said Lawn Dyarrig; “as all are going to the wedding, I suppose I may go without offence?”
“Oh, you may,” said the weaver; “there will be a hundred thousand welcomes before you.”
“Are there any linen sheets within?”
“There are,” said the weaver.
“It is well to have bags ready for yourself and two sons.”
The weaver made bags for the three very quickly. They went to the wedding. Lawn Dyarrig put what dinner was on the first table into the weaver’s bag, and sent the old man home with it. The food of the second table he put in the eldest son’s bag, filled the second son’s bag from the third table, and sent the two home.
The complaint went to Ur that an impudent stranger was taking all the food.
“It is not right to turn any man away,” said the bridegroom, “but if that stranger does not mind he will be thrown out of the castle.”
“Let me look at the face of the disturber,” said the bride.
“Go and bring the fellow who is troubling the guests,” said Ur to the servants.
Lawn Dyarrig was brought right away, and stood before the bride, who filled a glass with wine and gave it to him. Lawn Dyarrig drank half the wine, and dropped in thering which the lady had given him in Terrible Valley.
When the bride took the glass again the ring went of itself with one leap on to her finger. She knew then who was standing before her.
“This is the man who conquered the Green Knight and saved me from Terrible Valley,” said she to the King of Erin; “this is Lawn Dyarrig, your son.”
Lawn Dyarrig took out the three teeth and put them in his father’s mouth. They fitted there perfectly, and grew into their old place. The King was satisfied, and as the lady would marry no man but Lawn Dyarrig, he was the bridegroom.
Imust give you a present,” said the bride to the Queen. “Here is a beautiful scarf which you are to wear as a girdle this evening.”
The Queen put the scarf round her waist.
“Tell me now,” said the bride to the Queen, “who was Ur’s father.”
“What father could he have but his own father, the King of Erin?”
“Tighten, scarf,” said the bride.
That moment the Queen thought that her head was in the sky and the lower half of her body down deep in the earth.
“Oh, my grief and my woe!” cried the Queen.
“Answer my question in truth, and the scarf will stop squeezing you. Who was Ur’s father?”
“The gardener,” said the Queen.
“Whose son is Arthur?”
“The King’s son.”
“Tighten, scarf,” said the bride.
If the Queen suffered before, she suffered twice as much this time, and screamed for help.
“Answer me truly, and you’ll be without pain; if not, death will be on you this minute. Whose son is Arthur?”
“The swineherd’s.”
“Who is the King’s son?”
“The King has no son but Lawn Dyarrig.”
“Tighten, scarf.”
The scarf did not tighten, and if the Queen had been commanding it a day and a year it would not have tightened, for the Queen told the truth that time. When the wedding was over, the King gave Lawn Dyarrig half his kingdom, and made Ur and Arthur his servants.
Jeremiah Curtin.