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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:33:52 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:33:52 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/10089-0.txt b/10089-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..432bf8b --- /dev/null +++ b/10089-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2714 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10089 *** + +Editorial note: Many paragraphs in the original text ended without + punctuation, and this state has been preserved in + this Project Gutenberg edition. + + + + + +ELVES AND HEROES + +BY + +DONALD A. MACKENZIE. + +1909 + + + + + + + + +TO + +Miss YULE, of TARRADALE. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +THE ELVES. + +The immemorial folk-beliefs of our native land are passing away, but +they still retain for us a poetic appeal, not only on account of the +glamour of early associations, but also because they afford us inviting +glimpses of the mental habits and inherent characteristics of the men +and women of past generations. When we re-tell the old tales of our +ancestors, we sit beside them over the peat-fire; and, as we glory with +them in their strong heroes, and share their elemental joys and fears, +we breathe the palpitating air of that old mysterious world of theirs, +peopled by spirits beautiful, and strange, and awe-inspiring. + +The attitude of the Gael towards the supernatural, and his general +outlook upon life in times gone by, was not associated with unbroken +gloom; nor was he always an ineffectual dreamer and melancholy fatalist. +These attributes belong chiefly to the Literary Celt of latter-day +conception--the Celt of Arnold and Renan, and other writers following in +their wake, who have woven misty impressions of a people whom they have +met as strangers, and never really understood. Celtic literature is not +a morbid literature. In Highland poetry there is more light than shadow, +much symbolism, but no vagueness; pictures are presented in minute +detail; stanzas are cunningly wrought in a spirit of keen artistry; and +the literary style is direct and clear and comprehensible. In Highland +folklore we find associated with the haunting "fear of things +invisible," common to all peoples in early stages of development, a +confident feeling of security inspired by the minute observances of +ceremonial practices. We also note a distinct tendency to discriminate +between spirits, some of which are invariably friendly, some merely +picturesque, and perhaps fearsome, and others constantly harbouring a +desire to work evil upon mankind. Associated with belief in the efficacy +of propitiatory offerings and "ceremonies of riddance," is the ethical +suggestion that good wishes and good deeds influence spirits to perform +acts of kindly intent. + +Of fairies the Highlanders spoke, as they are still prone to do in these +districts where belief in them is not yet extinct, with no small degree +of regard and affection. It may be that "the good folk" and the +"peace-people" (_sitchean_) were so called that good intention might be +compelled by the conjuring influence of a name, as well as to avoid +giving offence by uttering real names, as if it were desired to exercise +a magical influence by their use. Be that as it may, it is evident from +Highland folk-tales that the fairies were oftener the friends than the +foes of mankind. When men and women were lured to their dwellings they +rarely suffered injury; indeed, the fairies appeared to have taken +pleasure in their company. To such as they favoured they imparted the +secrets of their skill in the arts of piping, of sword-making, etc. At +sowing time or harvest they were at the service of human friends. On the +needy they took pity. They never failed in a promise; they never forgot +an act of kindness, which they invariably rewarded seven-fold. Against +those who wronged them they took speedy vengeance. It would appear that +on these humanised spirits of his conception the Highlander left, as one +would expect him to do, the impress of his own character--his shrewdness +and high sense of honour, his love of music and gaiety, his warmth of +heart and love of comrades, and his indelible hatred of tyranny and +wrong. + +The Highland "wee folk" are not so diminutive as the fairies of +England--at least that type of fairy, beloved of the poet, which hovers +bee-like over flowers and feeds on honey-dew. Power they had to shrink +in stature and to render themselves invisible, but they are invariably +"little people," from three to four feet high. It may be that the Gael's +conception of humanised spirits may not have been uninfluenced by the +traditions of that earlier diminutive race whose arrow-heads of flint +were so long regarded as "elf-bolts." The fairies dwelt only in grassy +knolls, on the summits of high hills, and inside cliffs. Although +capable of living for several centuries, they were not immortal. They +required food, and borrowed meal and cooking utensils from human beings, +and always returned what they received on loan. They could be heard +within the knolls grinding corn and working at their anvils, and they +were adepts at spinning and weaving and harvesting. When they went on +long journeys they became invisible, and were carried through the air on +eddies of western wind. + +At the seasonal changes of the year, "the wee folk" were for several +days on end inspired, like all other supernatural furies, with enmity +against mankind. Their evil influences were negatived by spells and +charms. We who still hang on our walls at Christmas the mystic holly, +are unconsciously perpetuating an old-world custom connected with belief +in the efficacy of the magical circle to protect us against evil +spirits. And in our concern about luck, our proneness to believe in +omens, the influence of colours and numbers, in dreams and in prophetic +warnings, we retain as much of the spirit as the poetry of the religion +of our remote ancestors. + + +THE HEROES. + +The heroes, with the exception of Cuchullin, who appear in this volume, +figure in the tales and poems of the Ossianic or Fian Cycle, which is +common to Ireland and to Scotland. They have been neglected by our +Scottish poets since Gavin Douglas and Barbour. In Ireland the Fians are +a band of militia--the original Fenians. In Scotland the tales vary +considerably, and belong to the hunting period before the introduction +of agriculture. But in this country, as well as in Ireland, they are +evidently influenced by historic happenings. There are tales of Norse +conflicts, as well as tales of adventure among giants and spirits. + +The cycle had evidently remote beginnings. When we find Diarmid and +Grainnè, like Paris and Helen, the cause of conflict and disaster; and +Diarmid, like Achilles, charmed of body, and vulnerable only on his +heel-spot, we incline to the theory that from a mid-European centre +migrating "waves" swept over prehistoric Greece, and left traces of +their mythology and folk-lore in Homer, while other "waves," sweeping +northward, bequeathed to us as a literary inheritance the Celtic +folk-tales, in which the deeds and magical attributes of remote tribal +heroes and humanised deities are co-mingled and perpetuated. + +On fragments of these folk-tales the poet Macpherson reared his Ossianic +epic, in imitation of the Iliad and Paradise Lost. + +The "Death of Cuchullin" is a rendering in verse of an Irish prose +translation of a fragment of the Cuchullin Cycle, which moves in the +Bronze Age period. Cuchullin, with "the light of heroes" on his +forehead, is also reminiscent of Achilles. One of the few Cuchullin +tales found in Scotland is that which relates his conflict with his son, +and bears a striking similarity to the legend of Sohrab and Rustum. +Macpherson also drew from this Cycle in composing his Ossian, and +mingled it with the other, with which it has no connection. + +The third great Celtic Cycle--the Arthurian--bears close resemblances, +as Campbell, of "The West Highland Tales," has shown, to the Fian Cycle, +and had evidently a common origin. Its value as a source of literary +inspiration has been fully appreciated, but the Fian and Cuchullin +cycles still await, like virgin soil, to yield an abundant harvest for +the poets of the future. + +Notes on the folk-beliefs and tales will be found at the end of this +volume. + +Some of the short poems have appeared in the "Glasgow Herald" and +"Inverness Courier"; the three tales appeared in the "Celtic Review." + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +Preface + +The Wee Folk + +The Remnant Bannock + +The Banshee + +Conn, Son of the Red + +The Song of Goll + +The Blue Men of the Minch + +The Urisk + +The Nimble Men + +My Gunna + +The Gruagach + +The Little Old Man of the Barn + +Yon Fairy Dog + +The Water-Horse + +The Changeling + +My Fairy Lover + +The Fians of Knockfarrel + +Her Evil Eye + +A Cursing + +Leobag's Warning + +Tober Mhuire + +Sleepy Song + +Song of the Sea + +The Death of Cuchullin + +Lost Songs + + +OTHER POEMS. + +The Dream + +Free Will + +Strife + +Sonnet + +"Out of the Mouths of Babes" + +Notes + + + + + + +THE WEE FOLK. + + +In the knoll that is the greenest, + And the grey cliff side, +And on the lonely ben-top + The wee folk bide; +They'll flit among the heather, + And trip upon the brae-- +The wee folk, the green folk, the red folk and grey. + +As o'er the moor at midnight + The wee folk pass, +They whisper 'mong the rushes + And o'er the green grass; +All through the marshy places + They glint and pass away-- +The light folk, the lone folk, the folk that will not stay. + +O many a fairy milkmaid + With the one eye blind, +Is 'mid the lonely mountains + By the red deer hind; +Not one will wait to greet me, + For they have naught to say-- +The hill folk, the still folk, the folk that flit away. + +When the golden moon is glinting + In the deep, dim wood, +There's a fairy piper playing + To the elfin brood; +They dance and shout and turn about, + And laugh and swing and sway-- +The droll folk, the knoll folk, the folk that dance alway. + +O we that bless the wee folk + Have naught to fear, +And ne'er an elfin arrow + Will come us near; +For they'll give skill in music, + And every wish obey-- +The wise folk, the peace folk, the folk that work and play. + +They'll hasten here at harvest, + They will shear and bind; +They'll come with elfin music + On a western wind; +All night they'll sit among the sheaves, + Or herd the kine that stray-- +The quick folk, the fine folk, the folk that ask no pay. + +Betimes they will be spinning + The while we sleep, +They'll clamber down the chimney, + Or through keyholes creep; +And when they come to borrow meal + We'll ne'er them send away-- +The good folk, the honest folk, the folk that work alway. + +O never wrong the wee folk-- + The red folk and green, +Nor name them on the Fridays, + Or at Hallowe'en; +The helpless and unwary then + And bairns they lure away-- +The fierce folk, the angry folk, the folk that steal and slay. + + + + +BONNACH FALLAIDH. + +(THE REMNANT BANNOCK.) + + +O, the good-wife will be singing + When her meal is all but done-- +Now all my bannocks have I baked, + I've baked them all but one; +And I'll dust the board to bake it, + I'll bake it with a spell-- +O, it's Finlay's little bannock + For going to the well. + +The bannock on the brander + Smells sweet for your desire-- +O my crisp ones I will count not + On two sides of the fire; +And not a farl has fallen + Some evil to foretell!-- +O it's Finlay's little bannock + For going to the well. + +The bread would not be lasting, + 'Twould crumble in your hand; +When fairies would be coming here + To turn the meal to sand-- +But what will keep them dancing + In their own green dell? +O it's Finlay's little bannock + For going to the well. + +Now, not a fairy finger + Will do my baking harm-- +The little bannock with the hole, + O it will be the charm. +I knead it, I knead it, 'twixt my palms, + And all the bairns I tell-- +O it's Finlay's little bannock + For going to the well. + + + + +THE BANSHEE. + + +Knee-deep she waded in the pool-- + The Banshee robed in green-- +She sang yon song the whole night long, + And washed the linen clean; +The linen that would wrap the dead + She beetled on a stone, +She stood with dripping hands, blood-red, + Low singing all alone-- + +_His linen robes are pure and white, +For Fergus More must die to-night!_ + +'Twas Fergus More rode o'er the hill, + Come back from foreign wars, +His horse's feet were clattering sweet + Below the pitiless stars; +And in his heart he would repeat-- + "O never again I'll roam; +All weary is the going forth, + But sweet the coming home!" + +_His linen robes are pure and white, +For Fergus More must die to-night!_ + +He saw the blaze upon his hearth + Come gleaming down the glen; +For he was fain for home again, + And rode before his men-- +"'Tis many a weary day," he'd sigh, + "Since I would leave her side; +I'll never more leave Scotland's shore + And yon, my dark-eyed bride." + +_His linen robes are pure and white, +For Fergus More must die to-night!_ + +So dreaming of her tender love, + Soft tears his eyes would blind-- +When up there crept and swiftly leapt + A man who stabbed behind-- +"'Tis you," he cried, "who stole my bride, + This night shall be your last!" ... +When Fergus fell, the warm, red tide + Of life came ebbing fast ... + +_His linen robes are pure and white, +For Fergus More must die to-night!_ + + + + +CONN, SON OF THE RED. + + +The Fians sojourned by the shore +Of comely Cromarty, and o'er +The wooded hill pursued the chase +With ardour. 'Twas a full moon's space +Ere Beltane[1] rites would be begun +With homage to the rising sun-- +Ere to the spirits of the dead +Would sacrificial blood be shed +In yon green grove of Navity--[2] +When Conn came over the Eastern Sea, +His heart aflame with vengeful ire, +To seek for Goll, who slew his sire +When he was seven years old. + + Finn saw +In dreams, ere yet he came, with awe +The Red One's son, so fierce and bold, +In combat with his hero old-- +The king-like Goll of valorous might-- +A stormy billow in the fight +No foe could ere withstand. + + He knew +The strange ship bore brave Conn, and blew +Clear on his horn the Warning Call; +And round him thronged the Fians all +With wond'ring gaze. + + The sun drew nigh +The bale-fires of the western sky, +And faggot clouds with blood-red glare, +Caught flame, and in the radiant air +Lone Wyvis like a jewel shone-- +The Fians, as they stared at Conn, +Were stooping on the high Look-Out. +They watched the ship that tacked about, +Now slant across the firth, and now +Laid bare below the cliff's broad brow, +And heaving on a billowy steep, +Like to a monster of the deep +That wallowed, labouring in pain-- +And Conn stared back with cold disdain. + +Pondering, he sat alone behind +The broad sail swallowing the wind, +As over the hollowing waves that leapt +And snarled with foaming lips, and swept +Around the bows in querulous fray, +And tossed in curves of drenching spray, +The belching ship with ardour drove; +Then like a lordly elk that strove +Amid the hounds and, charging, rent +The pack asunder as it went, +It bore round and in beauty sprang-- +The sea-wind through the cordage sang +With high and wintry merriment +That stirred the heart of Conn, intent +On vengeance, and for battle keen-- +So hard, so steadfast, and serene. + +Then Ossian, sweet of speech, spake low, +With musing eyes upon the foe, +"Is Conn more noble than The Red, +Whom Goll in battle vanquished?" +"The Red was fiercer," Conan cried-- +"Nay, Conn is nobler," Finn replied, +"More comely, stalwart, mightier far-- +What sayest thou, Goll, my man of war?" +Then Goll made answer on the steep, +Nor ceased to gaze on Conn full deep-- +"His equal never came before +Across the seas to Alban shore, +Nor ever have I peered upon +A nobler, mightier man than Conn" + +The ship flew seaward, tacking wide, +Contending with the wind and tide, +And when upon the broad stream's track +It baffled hung, or drifted back, +With grunt and shriek, like battling boars, +The shock and swing of bladed oars +Came sounding o'er the sea + + The dusk +Grew round the twilight, like a husk +That holds a kernel choice, and keen, +Cold stars impaled the sky serene, +When Conn's ship through the slackening tide +Drew round the wistful bay and wide, +Behind the headlands high that snout +The seas like giant whales, and spout +The salt foam high and loud + + Then sighed +The gasping men who all day plied +Their oars in plunging seas, with hands +Grown stiff, and arms, like twisted bands +Drawn numbly, as they rose outspent, +And staggering from their benches went +The sail napped quarrelling, and drank +The wind in broken gasps, and sank +With sullen pride upon the boards, +And smote the mast and shook the cords + +Darkly loomed that alien land, +And darkly lowered the Fian band, +For hovering on the shoreland grey +The ship they followed round the bay +Nor sought the sheltering woods until +The shadows folded o'er the hill +Full heavily, and night fell blind, +And laid its spell upon the wind + +The swelling waters sank with sip +And hollow gurgle round the ship, +The long mast rocked against the dim, +Soft heaven above the headland's rim + +But while the seamen crouched to sleep, +Conn sat alone in reverie deep, +And saw before him in a maze +The mute procession of his days, +In gloom and glamour wending fast-- +His heart a-hungering for the past-- +Again he leapt, a tender boy, +To greet his sire with eager joy, +When he came over the wide North Sea, +Enriched with spoils of victory-- +Then heavily loomed that fateful morn +When tidings of his fall were borne +From Alban shore ... Again he saw +The youth who went alone with awe +To swear the avenging oath before +The smoking altar red with gore. + +Ah! strange to him it seemed to be +That hour was drawing nigh when he +Would vengeance take ... And still more strange, +O sorrow! it would bring no change +Though blood for blood be spilled, and life +For life be taken in fierce strife; +'Twill ne'er recall the life long sped, +Or break the silence of the dead. + +But when he heard his mother's wail, +Once more uplifted on the gale, +Moaning The Red who ne'er returned-- +His cheeks with sudden passion burned; +And darkly frowned that valiant man, +As through his quivering body ran +The lightnings of impelling ire +And impulses of fierce desire, +That surged, with a consuming hate +Against a world made desolate, +Unceasing and unreconciled, +And ever clamouring ... like wild, +Dark-deeded waves that stun the shore, +And through the anguished twilight roar +The hungry passions of the wide +And gluttonous deep unsatisfied. + + + + +II. + +The shredding dawn in beauty spread +Its shafts of splendour, golden-red, +High over the eastern heaven, and broke +Through flaking clouds in silvern smoke +That burst aflame, and fold o'er fold, +Let loose their oozing floods of gold, +Splashed over the foamless deep that lay +Tremulous and clear. In fiery play +The rippling beams that swept between +The sea-cleft Sutor crags serene, +Broke quivering where the waters bore +The soft reflection of the shore. + +The pipes of morn were sounding shrill +Through budding woods on plain and hill, +And stirred the air with song to wake +The sweet-toned birds within the brake. + +The Fians from their sheilings came, +With offerings to the god a-flame, +And round them thrice they sun-wise went; +Then naked-kneed in silence bent +Beside the pillar stones ... + + But now +Brave Conn upon the ship's high prow +Hath raised his burnished blade on high, +And calls on Woden and on Tigh +With boldness, to avenge the death +Of his great sire ... In one deep breath +He drains the hero's draught that burns +With valour of the gods; then turns +His long-sought foe to meet ... Great Conn +Sweeps, stooping in a boat, alone. +Shoreward, with rapid blades and bright, +That shower the foam-rain pearly white, +And rip the waters, bending lithe, +In hollowing swirls that hiss and writhe +Like adders, ere they dart away +Bright-spotted with the flakes of spray. + +When, furrowing the sand, he drew +His boat the shallowing water through, +A giant he in stature rose +Straight as a mast before his foes, +With head thrown high, and shoulders wide +And level, and set back with pride; +His bared and supple arms were long +As shapely oars: firm as a thong +His right hand grasped his gleaming blade, +Gold-hilted, and of keen bronze made +In leafen shape. + + With stately stride +He crossed the level sands and wide, +Then on his shield the challenge gave-- +His broad sword thund'ring like a wave-- +For single combat. + + Red as gold +His locks upon his shoulders rolled; +A brazen helmet on his head +Flashed fire; his cheeks were white and red; +And all the Fians watched with awe +That hero young with knotted jaw, +Whose eyes, set deep, and blue and hard, +Surveyed their ranks with cold regard; +While his broad forehead, seamed with care, +Drooped shadowily: his eyebrows fair +Were sloping sideways o'er his eyes +With pondering o'er the mysteries. + +The eyes of all the Fians sought +Heroic Groll, whose face was wrought +With lines of deep, perplexing thought-- +For gazing on the valiant Conn, +He mourned that his own youth was gone, +When, strong and fierce and bold, he shed +The life-blood of the boastful Red, +Whom none save he would meet. He heard +The challenge, and nor spake, nor stirred, +Nor feared; but now grown old, when hate +And lust of glory satiate-- +His heart took pride in Conn, and shared +The kinship of the brave. + + Who dared +To meet the Viking bold, if he +The succour of the band, should be +Found faltering or in despair? +Until that day the Fians ne'er +Of one man had such fear. + + Old Goll +Sat musing on a grassy knoll, +They deemed he shared their dread ... Not so +Wise Finn, who spake forth firm and slow-- +"Goll, son of Morna, peerless man, +The keen desire of every clan, +Far-famed for many a valiant deed, +Strong hero in the time of need. +I vaunt not Conn ... nor deem that thou +Dost falter, save with meekness, now-- +But why shouldst thou not take the head +Of this bold youth, as of The Red, +His sire, in other days?" + + Goll spake-- +"O noble Finn, for thy sweet sake +Mine arms I'd seize with ready hand, +Although to answer thy command +My blood to its last drop were spilled-- +By Crom! were all the Fians killed, +My sword would never fail to be +A strong defence to succour thee." + +Upon his hard right arm with haste +His crooked and pointed shield he braced, +He clutched his sword in his left hand-- +While round that hero of the band +The Fian warriors pressed, and praised +His valour ... Mute was Goll ... They raised, +Smiting their hands, the battle-cry, +To urge him on to victory. + +The one-eyed Goll went forth alone, +His face was like a mountain stone,-- +Cold, hard, and grey; his deep-drawn breath +Came heavily, like a man nigh death-- +But his firm mouth, with lips drawn thin, +Deep sunken in his wrinkled skin, +Was cunningly crooked; his hair was white, +On his bald forehead gleamed a bright +And livid scar that Conn's great sire +Had cloven when their swords struck fire-- +Burly and dauntless, full of might, +Old Goll went humbly forth to fight +With arrogant Conn ... It seemed The Red +In greater might was from the dead, +Restored in his fierce son ... + + A deep +Swift silence fell, like sudden sleep, +On all the Fians waiting there +In sharp suspense and half despair ... +The morn was still. A skylark hung +In mid-air flutt'ring, and sung +A lullaby that grew more sweet +Amid the stillness, in the heat +And splendour of the sun: the lisp +Of faint wind in the herbage crisp +Went past them; and around the bare +And foam-striped sand-banks gleaming fair, +The faintly-panting waves were cast +By the wan deep fatigued and vast. + +O great was Conn in that dread hour, +And all the Fians feared his power, +And watched, as in a darksome dream, +The warriors meet ... They saw the gleam +Of swift, up-lifted swords, and then +A breathless moment came, as when +The lithe and living lightning's flash +Makes pause, until the thunder's crash +Is splintered through the air. + + Loud o'er +The blue sea and the shining shore +Broke forth the crash of arms ... The roll +Of Conn's fierce blows that baffled Goll +On sword and shield resounding rang, +While that old warrior stooped and sprang +Sideways, and swerved, or backward leapt, +As swiftly as the bronze blade swept +Above him and around ... He swayed, +Stumbling, but rose ... But, though his blade +Was ever nimble to defend, +The Fians feared the fight would end +In victory for Conn. + + ... 'Twas like +As when an eagle swoops to strike, +But swerves with flutt'ring wings, as nigh +Its head a javelin gleams ... A cry +That banished fear of Conn's great blows +From out the Fian ranks arose, +As, like a plumed reed in a gust, +Goll suddenly stooped--a deadly thrust +That drew the first blood in the fray +He darting gave ... With quick dismay +The valiant Conn drew back ... + + Again +He leapt at Goll, but sought in vain +To blind him with his blows that fell +Like snowflakes on a sullen well-- +For Goll was calm, while great Conn raged, +As hour by hour the conflict waged; +He was a blast-defying tree-- +A crag that spurned a furious sea, +And all the Fians with one mind +Set firm their faith in Goll + + The wind +Rose like a startled bird from out +The heather at the huntsman's shout +In swift and blust'ring flight At noon +The sun rolled in a cloudy swoon +Dimly, and over the rolling deep +Gust followed gust with shadowy sweep; +And waves that streamed their snowy locks +Were tossing high against the rocks +Seaward, while round the sands ebbed wide +Scrambled the fierce devouring tide + +O, Conn was like a hound at morn, +That springs upon an elk forlorn +Among the hills. He was a proud +Cascade that leaps a cliff with loud +Unspending fall So fierce, so fair +Was arrogant Conn, but Goll fought there +Keen-eyed, with ready guard, at bay-- +He was as a boar in that fierce fray. + +The waves were humbled on the shore, +And silent fell, amid the roar +And crash of battle Mute and still +The Fians watched; while on the hill +The little elves came out and gazed, +To be amused and were amazed ... +They saw upon the shrinking sands +The warriors with restless hands +And busy blades, with shields that rose +To buffet the unceasing blows; +They saw before the rising flood +The flash of fire, the flash of blood; +And watched the men with panting breath, +Striving to be the slaves of death; +Now darting wide, now swerving round, +Now clashed together in a bound, +With splitting swords that smote so fast, +As hour by hour unheeded past. + +The sands were torn and tossed like spray +Before the whirlwind of the fray, +That waged in fury till the sun +Sank, and the day's last loops were spun-- +Then terrible was Goll ... He rose +A tempest of increasing blows, +More furious and fast, as dim, +Uncertain twilight fell ... More grim +And great he grew as, looming large, +He fought, and pressing to the marge +Of ocean, he o'erpowered and drave +The Viking hero back; till wave +O'er ready wave that hurried fleet, +Snuffled and snarled about their feet ... + +Then with a mighty shout that made +The rocks around him ring, his blade +Swept like a flash of fire to smite +The last fell blow in that fierce fight-- +So great Conn perished like The Red +By Goll's left hand ... his life-blood spread +Over the quenching sands where rolled +His head entwined with locks of gold. +Then passed like thunder o'er the sea +The Fian shout of victory. +And, trembling on the tossing ships, +The Vikings heard, with voiceless lips +And dim, despairing eyes ... Alone +Stood Goll, and like a silent stone +Bulking upon a ben-side bare, +He bent above the hero fair-- +Remembering the mighty Red, +And wondering that Conn lay dead. + + +[Footnote 1: May Day.] + +[Footnote 2: Traditional Holy Hill] + + + + + + +THE SONG OF GOLL. + +O Son of The Red, +Undone and laid dead-- + The blood of a hero +My cold blade hath shed. + +Who fought me to-day? +Who sought me to slay?-- + The son of yon High King +I slew in the fray. + +O blade that yon brave +Low laid in the grave, + Ye gladdened the Fians +But grief to Conn gave. + +Stone-hearted and strong, +Lone-hearted with long, + Dark brooding, he sought to +Avenge his deep wrong. + +Fair Son of The Red, +Care none thou art dead?-- + Old Goll of Clan Morna +Will mourn thou hast bled. + +O where shall be found +To share with thee round + The halls of Valhalla +Thy glory renowned? + +O true as the blade +That slew thee, and made + My fear and thine anger +For ever to fade-- + +Ah! when upon earth +Again will have birth + A son of such honour +And bravery and worth? + +Above thee in splendour +A love that could render + Brave service, burned star-like +And constant and tender. + +With fearing my name, +With hearing my fame, + O none would dare combat +With Goll till Conn came? ... + +O great was thine ire-- +The fate of thy sire, + Awaiting thy coming, +Consumed thee like fire. + +O Son of The Red, +Undone and laid dead-- + The blood of a hero +My cold blade hath shed. + + + + +THE BLUE MEN OF THE MINCH. + + +When the tide is at the turning and the wind is fast asleep, +And not a wave is curling on the wide, blue Deep, +O the waters will be churning on the stream that never smiles, +Where the Blue Men are splashing round the charmèd isles. + +As the summer wind goes droning o'er the sun-bright seas, +And the Minch is all a-dazzle to the Hebrides; +They will skim along like salmon--you can see their shoulders gleam, +And the flashing of their fingers in the Blue Men's Stream. + +But when the blast is raving and the wild tide races, +The Blue Men ere breast-high with foam-grey faces; +They'll plunge along with fury while they sweep the spray behind, +O, they'll bellow o'er the billows and wail upon the wind. + +And if my boat be storm-toss'd and beating for the bay, +They'll be howling and be growling as they drench it with their spray-- +For they'd like to heel it over to their laughter when it lists, +Or crack the keel between them, or stave it with their fists. + +O weary on the Blue Men, their anger and their wiles! +The whole day long, the whole night long, they're splashing round the isles; +They'll follow every fisher--ah! they'll haunt the fisher's dream-- +When billows toss, O who would cross the Blue Men's Stream? + + + + +THE URISK. + + +O the night I met the Urisk on the wide, lone moor! +Ah! would I be forgetting of The Thing that came with me? +For it was big and black as black, and it was dour as dour, +It shrank and grew and had no shape of aught I e'er did see. + +For it came creeping like a cloud that's moving all alone, +Without the sound of footsteps ... and I heard its heavy sighs ... +Its face was old and grey, and like a lichen-covered stone, +And its tangled locks were dropping o'er its sad and weary eyes. + +O it's never the word it had to say in anger or in woe-- +It would not seek to harm me that had never done it wrong, +As fleet--O like the deer!--I went, or I went panting slow, +The waesome thing came with me on that lonely road and long. + +O eerie was the Urisk that convoy'd me o'er the moor! +When I was all so helpless and my heart was full of fear, +Nor when it was beside me or behind me was I sure-- +I knew it would be following--I knew it would be near! + + + + +THE NIMBLE MEN. + +(AURORA BOREALIS.) + + + When Angus Ore, the wizard, + His fearsome wand will raise, + The night is filled with splendour, + And the north is all ablaze; + From clouds of raven blackness, + Like flames that leap on high-- +All merrily dance the Nimble Men across the Northern Sky. + + Now come the Merry Maidens, + All gowned in white and green, + While the bold and ruddy fellows + Will be flitting in between-- + O to hear the fairy piper + Who will keep them tripping by!-- +The men and maids who merrily dance across the Northern Sky. + + O the weird and waesome music, + And the never-faltering feet! + O their fast and strong embraces, + And their kisses hot and sweet! + There's a lost and languished lover + With a fierce and jealous eye, +As merrily flit the Nimble Folk across the Northern Sky. + +So now the dance is over, + And the dancers sink to rest-- + There's a maid that has two lovers, + And there's one she loves the best; + He will cast him down before her, + She will raise him with a sigh-- +Her love so bright who danced to-night across the Northern Sky. + + Then up will leap the other, + And up will leap his clan-- + O the lover and his company + Will fight them man to man-- + All shrieking from the conflict + The merry maidens fly-- +There's a Battle Royal raging now across the Northern Sky. + + Through all the hours of darkness + The fearsome fight will last; + They are leaping white with anger, + And the blows are falling fast-- + And where the slain have tumbled + A pool of blood will lie-- +O it's dripping on the dark green stones from out the Northern Sky. + + When yon lady seeks her lover + In the cold and pearly morn, + She will find that he has fallen + By the hand that she would scorn,-- + She will clasp her arms about him, + And in her anguish die!-- +O never again will trip the twain across the Northern Sky. + + + + +MY GUNNA. + + +When my kine are on the hill, +Who will charm them from all ill? +While I'll sleep at ease until + All the cocks are crowing clear. +Who'll be herding them for me? +It's the elf I fain would see-- +For they're safe as safe can be + When the Gunna will be near. + +He will watch the long weird night, +When the stars will shake with fright, +Or the ghostly moon leaps bright + O'er the ben like Beltane fire. +If my kine would seek the corn, +He will turn them by the horn-- +And I'll find them all at morn + Lowing sweet beside the byre. + +Croumba's bard has second-sight, +And he'll moan the Gunna's plight, +When the frosts are flickering white, + And the kine are housed till day; +For he'll see him perched alone +On a chilly old grey stone, +Nibbling, nibbling at a bone + That we'll maybe throw away. + +He's so hungry, he's so thin, +If he'd come we'd let him in, +For a rag of fox's skin + Is the only thing he'll wear. +He'll be chittering in the cold +As he hovers round the fold, +With his locks of glimmering gold + Twined about his shoulders bare. + + + + +THE GRUAGACH. + +(MILKMAID'S SONG.) + + +The lightsome lad wi' yellow hair, +The elfin lad that is so fair, +He comes in rich and braw attire-- +To loose the kine within the byre-- + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +He's dressed so fine, he's dressed so grand, +A supple switch is in his hand; +I've seen while I a-milking sat +The shadow of his beaver hat. + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +My chuckling lad, so full o' fun, +Around the corners he will run; +Behind the door he'll sometimes jink, +And blow to make my candle blink. + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +The elfin lad that is so braw, +He'll sometimes hide among the straw; +He's sometimes leering from the loft-- +He's tittering low and tripping soft. + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +And every time I'll milk the kine +He'll have his share--the luck be mine! +I'll pour it in yon hollowed stone, +He'll sup it when he's all alone-- + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +O me! if I'd his milk forget, +Nor cream, nor butter I would get; +Ye needna' tell--I ken full well-- +On all my kine he'd cast his spell. + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +On nights when I would rest at ease, +The merry lad begins to tease; +He'll loose the kine to take me out, +And titter while I move about. + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + + + + +THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF THE BARN. + + +When all the big lads will be hunting the deer, +And no one for helping Old Callum comes near, +O who will be busy at threshing his corn? +Who will come in the night and be going at morn? + + The Little Old Man of the Barn, + Yon Little Old Man-- + A bodach forlorn will be threshing his corn, + The Little Old Man of the Barn. + +When the peat will turn grey and the shadows fall deep, +And weary Old Callum is snoring asleep; +When yon plant by the door will keep fairies away, +And the horse-shoe sets witches a-wandering till day. + + The Little Old Man of the Barn, + Yon Little Old Man-- + Will thresh with no light in the mouth of the night, + The Little Old Man of the Barn. + +For the bodach is strong though his hair is so grey, +He will never be weary when he goes away-- +The bodach is wise--he's so wise, he's so dear-- +When the lads are all gone, he will ever be near. + + The Little Old Man of the Barn, + Yon Little Old Man-- + So tight and so braw he will bundle the straw-- + The Little Old Man of the Barn. + + + + +YON FAIRY DOG. + + +'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals, + Whose heart would never fail, +Would hear yon fairy ban-dog fierce + Come howling down the gale; +The patt'ring of the paws would sound +Like horse's hoofs on frozen ground, +While o'er its back and curling round + Uprose its fearsome tail. + +'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals-- + Yon man that hath no fears-- +Beheld the dog with dark-green back + That bends not when it rears; +Its sides were blacker than the night, +But underneath the hair was white; +Its paws were yellow, its eyes were bright, + And blood-red were its ears. + +'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals-- + The man who naught will dread-- +Would wait it, stooping with his spear, + As nigh to him it sped; +The big black head it turn'd and toss'd, +"I'll strike," cried he, "ere I'll be lost," +For every living thing that cross'd + Its path would tumble dead. + +'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals-- + The man who ne'er took fright-- +Would watch it bounding from the hills + And o'er the moors in flight. +When it would leave the Uist shore, +Across the Minch he heard it roar-- +Like yon black cloud it bounded o'er + The Coolin Hills that night. + + + + +THE WATER-HORSE. + + +O the Water-Horse will come over the heath, + With the foaming mouth and the flashing eyes, +He's black above and he's white beneath-- + The hills are hearing the awesome cries; +The sand lies thick in his dripping hair, +And his hoofs are twined with weeds and ware. + +Alas! for the man who would clutch the mane-- + There's no spell to help and no charm to save! +Who rides him will never return again, + Were he as strong, O were he as brave +As Fin-mac-Coul, of whom they'll tell-- +He thrashed the devil and made him yell. + +He'll gallop so fierce, he'll gallop so fast, + So high he'll rear, and so swift he'll bound-- +Like the lightning flash he'll go prancing past, + Like the thunder-roll will his hoofs resound-- +And the man perchance who sees and hears, +He would blind his eyes, he would close his ears. + +The horse will bellow, the horse will snort, + And the gasping rider will pant for breath-- +Let the way be long, or the way be short, + It will have one end, and the end is death; +In yon black loch, from off the shore, +The horse will splash, and be seen no more. + + + + +THE CHANGELING. + + +By night they came and from my bed + They stole my babe, and left behind +A thing I hate, a thing I dread-- + A changeling who is old and blind; +He's moaning all the night and day +For those who took my babe away. + +My little babe was sweet and fair, + He crooned to sleep upon my breast-- +But O the burden I must bear! + This drinks all day and will not rest-- +My little babe had hair so light-- +And his is growing dark as night. + +Yon evil day when I would leave + My little babe the stook behind!-- +The fairies coming home at eve + Upon an eddy of the wind, +Would cast their eyes with envy deep +Upon my heart's-love in his sleep. + +What holy woman will ye find + To weave a spell and work a charm? +A holy woman, pure and kind, + Who'll keep my little babe from harm-- +Who'll make the evil changeling flee, +And bring my sweet one back to me? + + + + +MY FAIRY LOVER. + + +My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- +All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + +Thine eyes were glowing like blue-bells blowing, + With dew-drops twinkling their silvery fires; +Thine heart was panting with love enchanting, + For mine was granting its fond desires. + + My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- + All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + +Thy brow had brightness and lily-whiteness, + Thy cheeks were clear as yon crimson sea; +Like broom-buds gleaming, thy locks were streaming, + As I lay dreaming, my love, of thee. + + My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- + All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + +Thy lips that often with love would soften, + They beamed like blooms for the honey-bee; +Thy voice came ringing like some bird singing + When thou wert bringing thy gifts to me. + + My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- + All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + +O thou'rt forgetting the hours we met in + The Vale of Tears at the even-tide, +Or thou'd come near me to love and cheer me, + And whisper clearly, "O be my bride!" + + My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- + All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + +What spell can bind thee? I search to find thee + Around the knoll that thy home would be-- +Where thou did'st hover, my fairy lover, + The clods will cover and comfort me. + + My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- + All night I'm sighing, on thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + + + + +THE FIANS OF KNOCKFARREL. + +(A Ross-shire Legend.) + + +I. + +On steep Knockfarrel had the Fians made, +For safe retreat, a high and strong stockade +Around their dwellings. And when winter fell +And o'er Strathpeffer laid its barren spell-- +When days were bleak with storm, and nights were drear +And dark and lonesome, well they loved to hear +The songs of Ossian, peerless and sublime-- +Their blind, grey bard, grown old before his time, +Lamenting for his son--the young, the brave +Oscar, who fell beside the western wave +In Gavra's bloody and unequal fight. + +Round Ossian would they gather in the night, +Beseeching him for song ... And when he took +His clarsach, from the magic strings he shook +A maze of trembling music, falling sweet +As mossy waters in the summer heat; +And soft as fainting moor-winds when they leave +The fume of myrtle, on a dewy eve, +Bound flush'd and teeming tarns that all night hear +Low elfin pipings in the woodlands near. + +'Twas thus he sang of love, and in a dream +The fair maids sighed to hear. But when his theme +Was the long chase that Finn and all his men +Followed with lightsome heart from glen to glen-- +His song was free as morn, and clear and loud +As skylarks carolling below a cloud +In sweet June weather ... And they heard the fall +Of mountain streams, the huntsman's windy call +Across the heaving hills, the baying hound +Among the rocks, while echoes answered round-- +They heard, and shared the gladness of the chase. + +He sang the glories of the Fian race, +Whose fame is flashed through Alba far and wide-- +Their valorous deeds he sang with joy and pride ... +When their dark foemen from the west came o'er +The ragged hills, and when on Croumba's shore +The Viking hordes descending, fought and fled-- +And when brave Conn, who would avenge the Red, +By one-eyed Goll was slain. Of Finn he sang, +And Dermaid, while the clash of conflict rang +In billowy music through the heroes' hall-- +And many a Fian gave the battle-call +When Ossian sang. + + Haggard and old, with slow +And falt'ring steps, went Winter through the snow, +As if its dreary round would ne'er be done-- +The last long winter of their days--begun +Ere yet the latest flush of falling leaves +Had faded in the breath of chilling eves; +Nor ended in the days of longer light, +When dawn and eve encroached upon the night-- +A weary time it was! The long Strath lay +Snow-wreathed and pathless, and from day to day +The tempests raved across the low'ring skies, +And they grew weak and pale, with hollow eyes, +The while their stores shrank low, waiting the dawn +Of that sweet season when through woodlands wan +Fresh flowers flutter and the wild birds sing-- +For Winter on the forelock of the Spring +Its icy fingers laid. The huntsmen pined +In their dim dwellings, wearily confined, +While the loud, hungry tempest held its sway-- +The red-eyed wolves grew bold and came by day, +And birds fell frozen in the snow. + + Then through +The trackless Strath a balmy south wind blew +To usher lusty Spring. Lo! in a night +The snows 'gan shrinking upon plain and height, +And morning broke in brightness to the sound +Of falling waters, while a peace profound +Possessed the world around them, and the blue +Bared heaven above ... Then all the Fians knew +That Winter's spell was broken, and each one +Made glad obeisance to the golden sun. + +Three days around Knockfarrel they pursued +The chase across the hills and through the wood, +Round Ussie Loch and Dingwall's soundless shore; +But meagre were the burdens that they bore +At even to their dwellings. To the west +"But sorrow not," said Finn, when all dismay'd +They hastened on a drear and bootless quest-- +With weary steps they turned to their stockade, +"To-morrow will we hunt towards the east +To high Dunskaith, and then make gladsome feast +By night when we return." + + Or ever morn +Had broken, Finn arose, and on his horn +Blew loud the huntsman's blast that round the ben +Was echoed o'er and o'er ... Then all his men +Gathered about him in the dusk, nor knew +What dim forebodings filled his heart and drew +His brows in furrowed care. His eyes a-gleam +Still stared upon the horrors of a dream +Of evil omen that in vain he sought +To solve ... His voice came faint from battling thought, +As he to Garry spake--"Be thou the ward +Strong son of Morna: who, like thee, can guard +Our women from all peril!" ... Garry turned +From Finn in sullen silence, for he yearned +To join the chase once more. In stature he +Was least of all the tribe, but none could be +More fierce in conflict, fighting in the van, +Than that grim, wolfish, and misshapen man! + +Then Finn to Caoilte spake, and gave command +To hasten forth before the Fian band-- +The King of Scouts was he! And like the deer +He sped to find if foemen had come near-- +Fierce, swarthy hillmen, waiting at the fords +For combat eager, or red Viking hordes +From out the Northern isles ... In Alba wide +No runner could keep pace by Caoilte's side, +And ere the Fians, following in his path, +Had wended from the deep and dusky strath, +He swept o'er Clyne, and heard the awesome owls +That hoot afar and near in woody Foulis, +And he had reached the slopes of fair Rosskeen +Ere Finn by Fyrish came. + + The dawn broke green-- +For the high huntsman of the morn had flung +His mantle o'er his back: stooping, he strung +His silver bow; then rising, bright and bold, +He shot a burning arrow of pure gold +That rent the heart of Night. + + As far behind +The Fians followed, Caoilte, like the wind, +Sped on--yon son of Ronan--o'er the wide +And marshy moor, and 'thwart the mountain side,-- +By Delny's shore far-ebbed, and wan, and brown, +And through the woods of beautous Balnagown: +The roaring streams he vaulted on his spear, +And foaming torrents leapt, as he drew near +The sandy slopes of Nigg. He climbed and ran +Till high above Dunskaith he stood to scan +The outer ocean for the Viking ships, +Peering below his hand, with panting lips +A-gape, but wide and empty lay the sea +Beyond the barrier crags of Cromarty, +To the far sky-line lying blue and bare-- +For no red pirate sought as yet to dare +The gloomy hazards of the fitful seas, +The gusty terrors, and the treacheries +Of fickle April and its changing skies-- +And while he scanned the waves with curious eyes, +The sea-wind in his nostrils, who had spent +A long, bleak winter in Knockfarrel pent +Over the snow-wreathed Strath and buried wood, +A sense of freedom tingled in his blood-- +The large life of the Ocean, heaving wide, +His heart possessed with gladness and with pride, +And he rejoiced to be alive.... Once more +He heard the drenching waves on that rough shore +Raking the shingles, and the sea-worn rocks +Sucking the brine through bared and lapping locks +Of bright, brown tangle; while the shelving ledges +Poured back the swirling waters o'er their edges; +And billows breaking on a precipice +In spouts of spray, fell spreading like a fleece. + +Sullen and sunken lay the reef, with sleek +And foaming lips, before the flooded creek +Deep-bunched with arrowy weed, its green expanse +Wind-wrinkled and translucent ... A bright trance +Of sun-flung splendour lay athwart the wide +Blue ocean swept with loops of silvern tide +Heavily heaving in a long, slow swell. + +A lonely fisher in his coracle +Came round a headland, lifted on a wave +That bore him through the shallows to his cave, +Nor other being he saw. + + The birds that flew +Clamorous about the cliffs, and diving drew +Their prey from bounteous waters, on him cast +Cold, beady eyes of wonder, wheeling past +And sliding down the wind. + + + + +II. + + The warm sun shone +On blind, grey Ossian musing all alone +Upon a knoll before the high stockade, +When Oscar's son came nigh. His hand he laid +On the boy's curls, and then his fingers strayed +Over the face and round the tender chin-- +"Be thou as brave as Oscar, wise as Finn," +Said Ossian, with a sigh. "Nay, I would be +A bard," the boy made answer, "like to thee." +"Alas! my son," the gentle Ossian said, +"My song was born in sorrow for the dead!... +O may such grief as Ossian's ne'er be thine!-- +If thou would'st sing, may thou below the pine +Murmuring, thy dreams conceive, and happy be, +Nor hear but sorrow in the breaking sea +And death-sighs in the gale. Alas! my song +That rose in sorrow must survive in wrong-- +My life is spent and vain--a day of thine +Were better than a long, dark year of mine.... +But come, my son--so lead me by the hand-- +To hear the sweetest harper in the land-- +The wild, free wind of Spring; all o'er the hills +And under, let us go, by tuneful rills +We'll wander, and my heart shall sweetened be +With echoes of the moorland melody-- +My clarsach wilt thou bear." And so went they +Together from Knockfarrel. Long they lay +Within the woods of Brahan, and by the shore +Of silvery Conon wended, crossing o'er +The ford at Achilty, where Ossian told +The tale of Finn, who there had slain the bold +Black Arky in his youth. And ere the tale +Was ended, they had crossed to Tarradale. +Where dwelt a daughter of an ancient race +Deep-learned in lore, and with the gift to trace +The thread of life in the dark web of fate. +And she to Ossian cried, "Thou comest late +Too late, alas! this day of all dark days-- +Knockfarrel is before me all ablaze-- +A fearsome vision flaming to mine eyes-- +O beating heart that bleeds! I hear the cries +Of those that perish in yon high stockade-- +O many a tender lad, and lonesome maid, +Sweet wife and sleeping babe, and hero old-- +O Ossian could'st thou see--O child, behold +Yon ruddy, closing clouds ... so falls the fate +Of all the tribe ... Alas! thou comest late." ... + + + + +III. + +When Ossian from Knockfarrel went, a band +Of merry maidens, trooping hand in hand, +Came forth, with laughing eyes and flowing hair, +To share the freedom of the morning air; +Adown the steep they went, and through the wood +Where Garry splintered logs in sullen mood-- +Pining to join the chase! His wrath he wrought +Upon the trees that morn, as if he fought +Against a hundred foemen from the west, +Till he grew weary, and was fain to rest. + +The maids were wont to shower upon his head +Their merry taunts, and oft from them he fled; +For of their quips and jests he had more fear +Than e'er he felt before a foeman's spear-- +And so he chose to be alone. + + The air +Was heavily laden with the odour rare +Of deep, wind-shaken fir trees, breathing sweet, +As through the wood, the maids, with silent feet, +Went treading needled sward, in light and shade, +Now bright, now dim, like flow'rs that gleam and fade, +And ever bloom and ever pass away ... + +Upon a fairy hillock Garry lay +In sunshine fast asleep: his head was bare, +And the wind rippling through his golden hair +Laid out the seven locks that were his pride, +Which one by one the maids securely tied +To tether-pins, while Garry, breathing deep, +Moaned low, and moved about in troubled sleep +Then to a thicket all the maidens crept, +And raised the Call of Warning ... Garry leapt +From dreams that boded ill, with sudden fear +That a fierce band of foemen had come near-- +The seven fetters of his golden hair +He wrenched off as he leapt, and so laid bare +A shredded scalp of ruddy wounds that bled +With bitter agony ... The maidens fled +With laughter through the wood, and climb'd the path +Of steep Knockfarrel. Fierce was Garry's wrath +When he perceived who wronged him. With a shriek +That raised the eagles from the mountain peak, +He shook his spear, and ran with stumbling feet, +And sought for vengeance, speedy and complete-- +The lust of blood possessed him, and he swore +To slay them.... But they shut the oaken door +Ere he had reached that high and strong stockade-- +From whence, alas! nor wife, nor child, nor maid +Came forth again. + + + + +IV. + + Soft-couch'd upon a bank +Lay Caoilte on the cliff-top, while he drank +The sweetness of the morning air, that brought +A spell of dreamful ease and pleasant thought, +With mem'ries from the deeps of other years +When Dermaid, unforgotten by his peers, +And Oscar, fair and young, went forth with mirth +A-hunting o'er the hills around the firth +On such an April morn.... + + He leapt to hear +The Fians shouting from a woodland near +Their hunting-call. Then swift he sped a-pace, +With bounding heart, to join the gladsome chase; +Stooping he ran, with poised, uplifted spear, +As through the woods approached the nimble deer +That swerved, beholding him. With startled toss +Of antlers, down the slope it fled, to cross +The open vale before him ... To the west +The Fians, merging from the woodland, pressed +To head it shoreward ... All the fierce hounds bayed +With hungry ardour, and the deer, dismayed, +With foaming nostrils leapt, and strove to flee +Towards the deep, dark woods of Calrossie. +But Caoilte, fresh from resting, was more fleet +Than deer or dogs, and sped with naked feet, +Until upon a loose and sandy bank, +Plunging his spear into the smoking flank, +Its flight he stayed.... He stabbed it as it sank, +The life-blood spurting; and he saw it die +Or ever dog or huntsman had come nigh. + +Then eager feast they made; and after long +And frequent fast of winter, they grew strong +As they had been of old. And of their fare +The lean and scrambling hounds had ready share. + +Nor over-fed they in their merry mood, +But set to hunt again, and through the wood +Scattered with eager pace, ere yet the sun +Had climbed to highest noon; for lo! each one +Had mem'ry of the famished cheeks and white +Of those who waited their return by night, +In steep Knockfarrel's desolate stockade-- +O' many a beauteous and bethrothèd maid, +And mothers nursing babes, and warriors lying +In winter-fever's spell, the old men dying, +And slim, fair lads who waited to acclaim, +With gladsome shout, the huntsmen when they came +With burdens of the chase ... So they pursued +The hunt till eve was nigh. In Geanies wood +Another deer they slew ... + + Caoilte, who stood +On a high ridge alone ... with eager eyes +Scanning the prospect wide ... in mute surprise +Saw rising o'er Knockfarrel, a dark cloud +Of thick and writhing smoke ... Then fierce and loud +Upon his horn he blew the warning blast-- +From out the woods the Fians hastened fast-- +Lo! when they stared towards the western sky, +They saw their winter dwelling blazing high. + +Then fear possessed them for their own, and grief +Unutterable. And thus spake their wise chief, +To whom came knowledge and the swift, sure thought-- +"Alas! alas! an enemy hath wrought +Black vengeance on our kind. In yonder gleam +Of fearsome flame, the horrors of my dream +Are now accomplished--all we loved and cherished, +And sought, and fought for, in that pyre have perished!" + +White-lipped they heard.... Then, wailing loud, they ran, +Following the nimble Caoilte, man by man, +Towards Knockfarrel; leaping on their spears +O'er marsh and stream. MacReithin, blind with tears, +Tumbled or leapt into a swollen flood +That swept him to the sea. But no man stood +To help or mourn him, for the eve grew dim-- +And some there were, indeed, who envied him. + + + + +V. + +As snarls the wolf at bay within the wood +On huntsmen and their hounds, so Garry stood +Raging before the women who had made +Secure retreat within the high stockade; +He cursed them all, and their loud laughter rang +More bitter to his heart than e'en the pang +Of his fierce wounds. Then while his streaming blood +Half-blinded him, he hastened to the wood, +And a small tree upon his shoulders bore, +And fixed it fast against the oaken door, +That none might issue forth. + + Then once again +Towards the wood he turned, but all in vain +The women waited his return, till they +Grey weary.. for in pain and wrath he lay +In a close thicket, brooding o'er his shame, +And panting for revenge. + + Then Finn's wife came +To set the women to the wheel and loom, +With angry chiding; and a heavy gloom +Fell on them all. "Who knoweth," thus she spake, +"What evil may the Fian men o'ertake +This day of evil omens. Yester-night +I say the pale ghost of my sire with white +And trembling lips ... At morn before my sight +A raven darted from the wood, and slew +A brooding dove ... What fear is mine!... for who +Would us defend if our fierce foemen came-- +When Garry is against us ... Much I blame +Thy wanton deed." ... The women heard in shame, +Nor answer made. + + The sun, with fiery gleam, +Scattered the feath'ry clouds, as in a dream +The spirits of the dead are softly swept +From severed visions sweet. A low wind crept +Around with falt'ring steps, and, pausing, sighed-- +Then fled to murmur from the mountain side +Amid the pine-tree shade; while all aglow +Ben-Wyvis bared a crest of shining snow +In barren splendour o'er the slumbering strath; +While some sat trembling, fearing Garry's wrath, +Some feared the coming of the foe, and some +Had vague forebodings, and were brooding dumb, +And longed to greet the huntsmen. Mothers laid +Their babes to sleep, and many a gentle maid +Sighed for her lover in that lone stockade; +And one who sat apart, with pensive eye, +Thus sang to hear the peewee's plaintive cry-- + + _Peewee, peewee, crying sweet, + Crying early, crying late-- + Will your voice be never weary + Crying for your mate? + Other hearts than thine are lonely, + Other hearts must wait. + + Peewee, peewee, I'd be flying + O'er the hills and o'er the sea, + Till I found the love I long for + Whereso'er he'd be-- + Peewee crying, I'd be flying, + Could I fly like thee!_ + +When Garry, who had stanched his wounds, arose, +He seized his axe, and 'gan with rapid blows +To fell down fir trees. Through the silent strath +The hollow echoes rang. With fiendish wrath +He made resolve to heap the splintered wood +Against the door, and burn the hated brood +Of his tormentors one and all. He hewed +An ample pyre, then piled it thick and high, +While the sun, sloping to the western sky, +Proclaimed the closing of that fateful day. +But the doomed women little dreamed that they +Would have such fearsome end ... As Garry lay +Rubbing the firesticks till they 'gan to glow, +He heard a Fian mother singing low-- + + _Sleep, O sleep, I'll sing to thee-- + Moolachie, O moolachie. + Sleep, O sleep, like yon grey stone, + Moolachie, mine own. + + Sleep, O sleep, nor sigh nor fret ye, + And the goblins will not get ye, + I will shield ye, I will pet ye-- + Moolachie, mine own._ + +The mother sang, the gentle babe made moan-- +And Garry heard them with a heart of stone ... +With fiendish laugh, he saw the leaping flames +Possess the pyre; he heard the shrieking dames, +And maids and children, wailing in the gloom +Of smothering smoke, e'er they had met their doom. +Then when the high stockade was blazing red, +Ere yet their cries were silenced, Garry fled, +And westward o'er the shouldering hills he sped. + + + + +VI. + +A broad, faint twilight lingered to unfold +The sun's slow-dying beams of tangled gold, +And the long, billowy hills, in gathering shade, +Their naked peaks and ebon crags displayed +Sharp-rimmed against the tender heaven and pale; +And misty shadows gathered in the vale-- +When Caoilte to Knockfarrel came, and saw +Amid the dusk, with sorrow and with awe, +The ruins of their winter dwelling laid +In smouldering ashes; while the high stockade +Around the rocky wall, like ragged teeth, +Was crackling o'er the melting stones beneath, +Still darting flame, and flickering in the breeze. + +He sped towards the wood, and through the trees +Called loud for those who perished. On his fair +And gentle spouse he called in his despair. +His sweet son, and his sire, whose hair was white +As Wyvis snow, he called for in the night. +Full loud and long across the Strath he cried-- +The echoes mocked him from the mountain side. + +Ah! when his last hope faded like the wave +Of twilight ebbing o'er the hills, he gave +His heart to utter grief and deep despair; +And the cold stars peer'd down with pitiless stare, +While sank the wind in silence on its flight +Through the dark hollows of the spacious night; +And distant sounds seem'd near. In his dismay +He heard a Fian calling far away. +The night-bird answered back with dismal cry, +Like to a wounded man about to die-- +But Caoilte's lips were silent ... Once again +And nearer, came the voice that cried in vain. +Then swift steps climbed Knockfarrel's barren steep, +And Alvin called, with trembling voice and deep, +To Caoilte, crouching low, with bended head, +"Who liveth?" ... "I am here alone," he said ... +Thus Fian after Fian came to share +Their bitter grief, in silence and despair. + +All night they kept lone watch, until the dawn +With stealthy fingers o'er the east had drawn +Its dewy veil and dim. Then Finn arose +From deep and sleepless brooding o'er his woes, +And spake unto the Fians, "Who shall rest +While flees our evil foeman farther west? +Arise!" ... "But who hath done this deed?" they sighed; +And Finn made answer, "Garry." ... Then they cried +For vengeance swift and terrible, and leapt +To answer Finn's command. + + A cold wind swept +From out the gates of morning, moaning loud, +As swift they hastened forth. A ragged shroud +Of gathering tempest o'er Ben-Wyvis cast +A sudden gloom, and round it, falling fast, +It drifted o'er the darkened slopes and bare, +And snow-flakes swirled in the chill morning air-- +Then o'er the sea, the sun leapt large and bright, +Scatt'ring the storm. And moor and crag lay white, +As westward o'er the hills the Fians all +In quest of Garry sped. + + At even-fall +They found him ... On the bald and rocky side +Of steep Scour-Vullin, Garry lay to hide +Within a cave, which, backward o'er the snow, +He entered, that his steps might seem to show +He had fled eastward by the path he came. +All day he sought to flee them in his shame, +Watching from lofty crag or deep ravine, +And crouching in the heath, with haggard mien-- +He sought in vain to hide till darkness cast +Its blinding cloak betwixt them. + + When at last +Finn cried, "Come forth, thou dog of evil deeds, +Nor respite seek!" ... His limbs like wind-swept reeds +Trembled and bent beneath him; so he rose +And came to meet his friends who were his foes-- +Then unto Finn he spake with accents meek, +"One last request I of the Fians seek, +Whom I have loved in peace and served in strife"-- +"'Tis thine," said Finn, "but ask not for thy life, +For thou art 'mong the Fians." ... "I would die," +Said Garry, "with my head laid on thy thigh; +And let young Alvin take thy sword, that he +May give the death that will mine honour be." + +'Twas so he lay to die ... But as the blade +Swept bright, young Alvin, keen for vengeance, swayed, +And slipped upon the sward ... And his fierce blow +That Garry slew, the Fian chief laid low-- +A grievous wound was gaping on his thigh, +And poured his life-blood forth ... A low, weird cry +The great Finn gave, as he fell back and swooned-- +In vain they strove to stanch the fearsome wound-- +His life ebbed slowly with the sun's last ray +In gathering gloom ... And when in death he lay, +The glory of the Fians passed away. + + + + +HER EVIL EYE. + + +O Mairi Dhu, the weaver's wife, + Will have the evil eye; +The fear will come about my heart + When she'll be passing by; +She'll have the piercing look to wound + The very birds that fly. + +I would not have her evil wish, + I would not have her praise, +For like the shadow would her curse, + Me follow all my days-- +When she my churning will speak well, + No butter can I raise. + +O Mairi Dhu will have the eye + To wound the very deer-- +Ah! would she scowl upon my bairns + When her they would come near? +They'll have the red cords round their necks, + So they'll have naught to fear. + +It's Murdo Ban, the luckless man, + Against her would prevail; +And first her eye was on his churn, + Then on the milking pail; +When she would praise the brindled cow, + The cow began to ail. + +The trout that gambol in the pool + She'll wound when she goes past; +Then weariness will come upon + The fins that flicked so fast; +And one by one the lifeless things + Will on the stones be cast. + +O Mairi Dhu, you gave yon sprain + To poor Dun Para's arm; +It is myself would have the work + Undoing of the harm-- +I'd twist around the three-ply cord + Well-knotted o'er the charm. + +Your eye you'd put on yon sweet babe + O' Lachlan o' Loch-Glass; +He'd fill the wooden ladle where + The dead and living pass-- +And with the water, silver-charmed, + He'd save his little lass. + +I'll lock my cheese within the chest, + My butter I will hide; +I'll bar the byre at milking time, + Although you'll wait outside-- +You'll maybe go another way-- + Who'll care for you to bide? + + + + +A CURSING + + +So you're coming, ye reivers and rogues, + When the men will be fighting afar-- +Oh! all the Mac Quithens[1] are bold + When it's only with women they'll war + +Weasels that creep in the dark! + Foxes that prowl in the night! +Rats that are hated and vile!-- + O hasten you out of my sight! + +Oh! my cow you would take from my byre?-- + This day will the beggars be brave! +You'd be lifting the thatch from the roof + If you hadna' a roof to your cave + +Your chief he's the lord o' the lies! + A wind-bag his wife wi' the brag! +Your clan is the pride o' the thieves-- + Whose meal will you have in your bag? + +Now, Laspuig Maclan[2] may blush-- + Oh! he'll be the sorrowful man-- +His fame for the thieving is gone + To the reivers and rogues of your clan + +You'll spare me "so old and so frail, + Fitter to die than to live?" +But maybe I'll slay with the tongue + And the heart that will never forgive + +The curse of the frail will be strong, + The curse of the widow be sure; +O the curse of the wrong'd will avenge, + Black, black is the curse of the poor! + +Ha! laugh at your ease while you can-- + Laugh! it's the devil's turn next-- +For after I'm done with you all, + O who will be doleful and vext? + +Bare-kneed on the ground will I go-- + My hair on my shoulders let fall, +Now hear me and never forget + My curses I'll cast on you all + +_Little increase to your clan! + The down-mouth to you and to yours! +The blight on your little black cave! + The luck o' a Friday on moors! + +Fire upon land be your lot! + Drowning in storm on the deep! +Leave not a son to succeed! + Leave not a daughter to weep! + +Here's the bad meeting to you! + Death without priest be your fate! +Go to your grandfather's[3] house-- + The Son of the Cursing[4] will wait!_ + +[Footnote 1: This clan, which had an evil reputation, is extinct] + +[Footnote 2: Laspuig MacIan--A famous thief] + +[Footnote 3: "Grandfather's house"--The grave] + +[Footnote 4: "Son of the Cursing"--The devil] + + + + +LEOBAG'S[1] WARNING. + + +Would Murdo make the wry mouth? + Is Ailie cross-eyed? +O mock no more the beggar man, + You'll scorn wi' pride! +The wind that will be blowing west, + Might turn and blow south-- +O, Ailie, it would fix your eyes + And Murdo's wry mouth. + +O mind ye o' the Leobag + And yon rock cod-- +"Ho! there's the mouth," the 'cute one cried, + "For the hook and rod!" +The tide it would be turning while + The Leobag would mock-- +And that is why it's gaping as + It gaped below the rock. + +[Footnote 1: Leobag--The flounder.] + + + + +TOBER MHUIRE. + +(WELL OF ST MARY.) + + +'Tis for thee I will be pining, + _Tober Mhuire_. +Thou art deep and sweet and shining, + _Tober Mhuire_. +In the dimness I'll be dying, +And my soul for thee is sighing +With the blessings on thee lying-- + _Tober Mhuire_. + +O thy cool, sweet waters dripping, + _Tober Mhuire_, +Now my sere lips would be sipping, + _Tober Mhuire_. +O my lips are sere and burning-- +For thy waters I'll be yearning, +And yon road of no returning, + _Tober Mhuire_. + +O thy coolness and thy sweetness, + _Tober Mhuire_. +O thy sureness and completeness, + _Tober Mhuire_. +O this life I would be leaving, +With the greyness of its grieving, +And the deeps of its deceiving, + _Tober Mhuire_. + +I would sip thy waters holy, + _Tober Mhuire_. +While the drops of life drip slowly, + _Tober Mhuire_-- +Till the wings of angel whiteness, +With their softness and their lightness, +Blind me, fold me, in their brightness-- + _Tober Mhuire_. + + + + +SLEEPY SONG. + +(_Sung by Grainne to Diarmid in their Flight from the Fians_.) + + + Sleep a little O Diarmid, Diarmid, + Sleep in the deep lone cave; +Sleep a little--a little little, + Love whom my love I gave-- + Wearily falls O Diarmid, Diarmid, + Wearily falls the wave. + + Sleep a little, O Diarmid, Diarmid, + Sleep, and have never a fear; +Sleep a little--a little little, + Love whom I love so dear-- + A weary wind, O Diarmid, Diarmid, + A weary wind I hear. + + Sleep a little, O Diarmid, Diarmid, + Sleep, while I watch till you wake; + Sleep a little--a little little, + Love whom I'll ne'er forsake-- +Sleep a little, and blessings on you + My lamb, or my heart will break. + + + + +SONG OF THE SEA. + + +The sea sings loud, the sea sings low, +And sweet is the chime of its ebb and flow + Over the shingly strand; +For its strange, sweet song that woos my ear +The first man heard, as the last shall hear-- + Seeking to understand ... + + + + +THE DEATH OF CUCHULLIN. + + + Now when the last hour of his life drew nigh, + Cuchullin woke from dreams forewarning death; + And cold and awesome came the night-bird's cry-- + An evil omen the magician saith-- + A low gust panted like a man's last breath, + As morning crept into the chamber black; +Then all his weapons clashed and tumbled from the rack. + + For the last time his evil foemen came; + The sons of Calatin by Lugaid led. + The land lay smouldering with smoke and flame; + The duns were fallen and the fords ran red; + And widows fled, lamenting for their dead, + To fair Emania on that fateful day, +Where all forsworn with fighting great Cuchullin lay. + + Levarchan, whom he loved, a maid most fair, + Rose-lipp'd, with yellow hair and sea-grey eyes, + The evil tidings to Cuchullin bare. + And, trembling in her beauty, bade him rise; + Niamh, brave Conal's queen, the old, the wise, + Urged him with clamour of the land's alarms, +And, stirr'd with vengeful might, the hero sprang to arms. + + His purple mantle o'er his shoulders wide + In haste he flung, and tow'ring o'er them stood + All scarr'd and terrible in battle pride-- + His brooch, that clasp'd his mantle and his hood + Then fell his foot to pierce, and his red blood + Follow'd, like fate, behind him as he stepp'd +Levarchan shriek'd, and Niamh moaned his doom and wept + + Thus sallying forth he called his charioteer, + And bade him yoke the war-steeds of his choice-- + The Grey of Macha, shuddering in fear, + Had scented death, and pranced with fearsome noise, + But when it heard Cuchullin's chiding voice, + Meekly it sought the chariot to be bound, +And wept big tears of blood before him on the ground + + Then to his chariot leapt the lord of war + 'O leave me not!' Levarchan cried in woe, + Thrice fifty queens, who gather'd from afar, + Moan'd with one voice, 'Ah, would'st thou from us go?' + They smote their hands, and fast their tears did flow-- + Cuchullin's chariot thunder'd o'er the plain +Full well he knew that he would ne'er return again + + How vehement and how beautiful they swept-- + The Grey of Macha and the Black most bold + And keen-eyed Laegh, the watchful and adept, + Nor turn'd, nor spake, as on the chariot roll'd + The steeds he urged with his red goad of gold + Stooping he drave, with wing'd cloak and spheres, +Slender and tall and red--the King of Charioteers! + + Cuchullin stood impatient for the fray, + His golden hilted bronze sword on his thigh + A sharp and venomous dart beside him lay, + He clasp'd his ashen spear, bronze-tipp'd and high, + As flames the sun upon the western sky, + His round shield from afar was flashing bright, +Figured with radiant gold and rimm'd with silver white + + Stern-lipp'd he stood, his great broad head thrown back, + The white pearls sprayed upon his thick, dark hair, + Deep set, his eyes, beneath his eyebrows black, + Were swift and grey, and fix'd his fearless stare, + Red-edg'd his white hood flamed, his tunic rare + Of purple gleam'd with gold, his cloak behind +His shoulders shone with silver, floating in the wind + + Betimes three crones him meet upon the way, + Half-blind and evil-eyed, with matted hair-- + Workers of spells and witcheries are they-- + The brood of Calatin--beware! beware! + They proffer of their fulsome food a share, + And, 'Stay with us a while,' a false crone cries +'Unseemly is the strong who would the weak despise' + + He fain would pass, but leapt upon the ground, + The proud, the fearless! for sweet honour's sake-- + With spells and poisons had they cook'd a hound, + Of which he was forbidden to partake + But his name-charm the brave Cuchullin brake, + And their foul food he in his left hand took-- +Eftsoons his former strength that arm and side forsook + + For, O Cuchullin! could'st thou ere forget, + When fast by Culann's fort on yon black night, + Thou fought'st and slew the ban-dog dark as jet, + Which scared the thief, and put the foe to flight! + A tender youth thou wert of warrior might, + And all the land did with thy fame resound, +As Cathbad, the magician, named thee 'Culann's hound' + + Loud o'er Mid Luachair road the chariot roll'd, + Round Shab Fuad desolate and grand, + Till Ere with hate the hero did behold, + Hast'ning to sweep the foemen from the land, + His sword flash'd red and radiant in his hand, + In sunny splendour was his spear upraised, +And hovering o'er his head the light of heroes blazed + + He comes! he comes!' cried Ere as he drew near + 'Await him, Men of Erin, and be strong!' + Their faces blanch'd, their bodies shook with fear-- + 'Now link thy shields and close together throng, + And shout the war-cry loud and fierce and long + Then Ere, with cunning of his evil heart, +Set heroes forth in pairs to feign to fight apart + + As furious tempests, that in deep woods roar + Assault the giant trees and lay them low, + As billows toss the seaweed on the shore, + As sweeping sickles do the ripe fields mow-- + Cuchullin, rolling fiercely on the foe, + Broke through the linked ranks upon the plain, +To drench the field with blood and round him heap the slain + + And when he reach'd a warrior-pair that stood + In feignèd strife upon a knoll of green, + Their weapons clashing but unstained with blood, + A satirist him besought to intervene, + Whereat he slew them as he drave between-- + "Thy spear to me," the satirist cried the while, +The hero answering, "Nay," he cried, "I'll thee revile." + + 'Reviled for churlishness I ne'er have been," + Cuchullin call'd, up-rising in his pride, + And cast his ashen spear bronze-tipp'd and keen + And slew the satirist and nine beside, + Then his fresh onslaught made the host divide + And flee before him clamouring with fear, +The while the stealthy Lugaid seized Cuchullin's spear + + "O sons of Calatin," did Lugaid call, + "What falleth by the weapon I hold here?" + Together they acclaim'd, "A King will fall, + For so foretold," they said, "the aged seer." + Then at the chariot he flung the spear, + And Laegh was stricken unto death and fell +Cuchullin drew the spear and bade a last farewell + + "The victor I, and eke the charioteer!" + He cried, and drave the war-steeds fierce and fast. + Another pair he slew, "To me thy spear," + Again a satirist call'd. The spear was cast, + And through the satirist and nine men pass'd + But Lugaid grasps it, and again doth call,-- +"What falleth by this spear?" They shout, "A King will fall" + + "Then fall," cried Lugaid, as he flung the spear-- + The Grey of Macha sank in death's fierce throes, + Snapping the yoke, the while the Black ran clear: + Cuchullin groan'd, and dash'd upon his foes; + Another pair he slew with rapid blows, + And eke the satirist and nine men near: +Then once more Lugaid sprang to seize the charmèd spear. + + "What falleth by this weapon?" he doth call + "A King will fall," they answer him again ... + "But twice before ye said, 'A King will fall'" ... + They cried, "The King of Steeds hath fled the plain, + And lo, the King of Charioteers is slain!" ... + For the last time he drave the spear full well, +And smote the great Cuchullin--and Cuchullin fell + + The Black steed snapp'd the yoke, and left alone + The King of Heroes dying on the plain: + "I fain would drink," they heard Cuchullin groan, + "From out yon loch" ... He thirsted in fierce pain. + "We give thee leave, but thou must come again," + His foemen said; then low made answer he, +"If I will not return, I'll bid you come to me" + + His wound he bound, and to the loch did hie, + And drank his drink, and wash'd, and made no moan. + Then came the brave Cuchullin forth to die, + Sublimely fearless, strengthless and alone ... + He wended to the standing pillar-stone, + Clutching his sword and leaning on his spear, +And to his foemen called, "Come ye, and meet me here." + + A vision swept upon his fading brain-- + A passing vision glorious and sweet, + That hour of youth return'd to him again + When he took arms with fearless heart a-beat, + As Cathbad, the magician, did repeat, + "Who taketh arms upon this day of grief, +His name shall live forever and his life be brief" + + Fronting his foes, he stood with fearless eye, + His body to the pillar-stone he bound, + Nor sitting nor down-lying would he die ... + He would die standing ... so they gathered round + In silent wonder on the blood-drench'd ground, + And watch'd the hero who with Death could strive; +But no man durst approach ... He seem'd to be alive ... + + + + +LOST SONGS. + + +Harp of my fathers--on the mouldering wall + Of days forgotten--like a far-off wind +Hushing the fir-wood at soft even-fall, + Thy low-heard whispers to my heart recall +The wistful songs, to Silence Old consigned, + That Ossian sang when he was frail and blind. + +Thy fitful notes from the melodious trees, + I fain would echo in my feeble rhyme-- +The inner music quivering on the breeze + I hear; and throbbing from the beating seas, +On ancient shores, the wearied pulse of Time + That mingles with thy melodies sublime. + + + + +OTHER POEMS. + +THE DREAM. + + +'Twas when I woke I knew it was a dream, +Measured by moments, that to me did seem, + A life-long spell of joy and peace to be-- + +Will that last dream that comes ere death descends, +From which I shall not wake to know it ends, + Thus seem to live on through Eternity? + + + + +FREE WILL. + + +Say not the will of man is free + Within the limits of his soul-- +Who from his heritage can flee? + Who can his destiny control? + +In vain we wage perpetual strife, + 'Gainst instincts dumb and blind desires-- +Who leads must serve.. The pulse of life + Throbs with the dictates of our sires. + +Since when the world began to be, + And life through hidden purpose came, +From sire to son unceasingly + The task bequeathed hath been the same. + +We strive, while fetters bind us fast, + We seek to do what needs must be-- +We move through bondage with the past + In service to posterity. + + + + +STRIFE. + + +Weary of strife-- +The surge and clash of city life-- +I sought for peace in solitude, +Within the hushed and darkened wood +And on the lonesome moor-- +But found contending leaf and root +Engaged in conflict fierce though mute, +While what was frail was slain +By what was strong in dire dispute-- +I sought for peace in vain! +The world, sustained by strife, endures in pain. + +"All things that are in conflict be," +I murmured on the shelving strand, +Where struggling winds would fain be free-- +The tides in conflict with the wind's command, +Turned tossing, wearily-- +I heard the loud sea labouring to the land-- +I saw the dumb land striving with the sea. + + + + +SONNET. + +(_Written in the Stone Gallery of St Paul's._) + + +The drowsing city sparkles in the heat, +And murmur in mine ears unceasingly +The surging tides of that vast human sea-- +The billows of life that break with muffled beat +And vibrate through this high and lone retreat; +While over all, serene, and fair, and free, +Thy dome is reared in naked majesty +Grey, old St Paul's ... In thee the Ages meet, +Slumbering amidst the trophies of their strife. +And in their dreams thou hearest, while the cries +Of triumph and despair ascend from Life, +The murmurings of immortality-- +Thou Sentinel of Hope that doth despise +What was and is not, waiting what shall be! + + + + +"OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF BABES." + + +"Is baby dead?" he whispered, with wide eyes + Tearless, but full of eloquent regret, +His childish face grown prematurely wise-- + Pond'ring the problem death before him set. + +"Baby is dead," I answered, as I laid + My hand on her frail forehead with a sigh; +"Oh! daddy, why did God do this?" he said, + And silently my heart made answer, "Why?" + +He touched her white, worn face, and said, "How cold + Is our wee baby now." ... His eyes were deep ... +Then came his little brother, two years old, + He looked, and lisped, "The baby is asleep." + + + + +NOTES. + + +_The Wee Folk_.--In Gaelic they are usually called "The Peace People" +(sithchean). Other names are "Wee Folk" (daoine beaga); "Light Folk" +(slaugh eutrom), etc. As in the Lowlands, they are also referred to as +"guid fowk" and "guid neighbours." + +_The Banshee_ (Beanshith).--Sometimes referred to as "The Fairy Queen," +sometimes as "The Green Lady." She sings a song while she washes the +clothes of one about to meet a swift and tragic fate. In the Fian poems +she converses with those who see her, and foretells the fate of warriors +going to battle. + +_The Blue Men of the Minch_ (Na Fir Ghorm).--Between the Shant Isles +(Charmed Isles) and Lewis is the "Stream of the Blue Men." They are the +"sea-horses" of the island Gaels. Their presence in the strait was +believed to be the cause of its billowy restlessness and swift currents. + +_The Changeling_.--When the fairies robbed a mother of her babe, they +left behind a useless, old, and peevish fairy, who took the form of a +child. This belief may have originated in the assumption that when a +baby became ill and fretful, it was a changeling. + +_The Urisk_ is, if anything, a personification of fear. It is a silent, +cloudy shape which haunts lonely moors, and follows travellers, but +rarely does more than scare them. + +_My Fairy Lover_.--Fairies fell in love with human beings, and deserted +them when their love was returned. Women of unsound mind, given to +wandering alone in solitary places, were believed to be the victims of +fairy love. + +_Yon Fairy Dog_ (An Cu Sith) was heard howling on stormy nights. He was +"big as a stirk," one informant has declared The "fearsome tail" appears +to have been not the least impressive thing about it. The MacCodrums +were brave and fearless, and were supposed to be descended from Seals, +which were believed to be human beings under spells. + +_My Gunna_.--This kindly, but solitary, elf herded cattle by night, and +prevented them from falling over the rocks. He was seen only by those +gifted with the faculty of "second sight." The Gunna resembles the +Lowland "Brownie." + +_Her Evil Eye_.--Belief in the Evil Eye is still quite common, even +among educated people, in the Highlands. Not a few children wear "the +cord," to which a silver coin is appended, as a charm against the +influence of "the eye." + +_The Little Old Man of the Barn_ (Bodachan Sabhaill).--Like the Gunna, +he is a variety the kindly Brownie, and assisted the needy. + +_Nimble Men_ (Na Fir Chlis) are "The Merry Dancers," or Aurora Borealis. +It was believed that, when the streamers were coloured, the "men and +maids" were dancing, and that after the dance the lovers fought for the +love of the queen. When the streamers are particularly vivid, a pink +cloud is seen below them, and this is called "the pool of blood." It +drips upon blood-stones, the spots on which are referred to as fairy +blood (fuil siochaire). A wizard could, by waving his wand, summon the +"Nimble Men" to dance in the northern sky. + +_The Water Horse_ haunted lonely lochs, and lured human beings to a +terrible death. When a hand was laid on its main, power to remove it was +withdrawn. + +_A Cursing_--The Gaelic curses are quaint in translation, but terrible +in the original. + +_Bonnach Fallaidh_.--It was considered unlucky to throw away the +remnants of a baking. So the good-wife made a little bannock, which was +pierced in the middle, as a charm against fairy influence. It was given +to a child for performing an errand, but the charm would be broken if +the reason for gifting it were explained. That was the good-wife's +secret. It was also unlucky to count the bannocks, and when they fell, +"bad luck" was foretold. Finlay's bannock was not kneaded on the board +or placed on the brander, but, unlike the other bannocks, was toasted in +front of the fire. + +_The Gruagach_ was a gentlemanly Brownie, who haunted byres. It was +never seen, although its shadow occasionally danced on the wall as it +flitted about. Often, when chased, it was heard tittering round corners. +In some barns, Clach-na-gruagach--"the Gruagach's stone"--is still +seen. Milkers pour an offering of milk into the hollowed stone "for +luck." The cream might not rise and the churn yield no butter if this +service were neglected. A favourite trick of the Gruagach was to untie +the cattle in the byre, so as to bring out the milkmaid, especially if +she had forgotten to leave the offering of milk. + +_Tober Mhuire_ (St Mary's Well) is situated at Tarradale, Ross-shire. +When a sick person asks for a drink of Tober Mhuire water, it is taken +as a sign of approaching death. It is a curious thing that this +reverence for holy water should be perpetuated among a Presbyterian +people. Wishing and curative wells are numerous in the North. + +_The Fians of Knockfarrel_.--This story belongs to the Ossianic or Fian +cycle of Gaelic tales in prose and verse. Hugh Miller makes reference to +it, but speaks of the Fians as giants. In Strathpeffer district the tale +is well known, and it is referred to in "Waifs and Strays of Celtic +Tradition." It is also localised in Skye. There are several Fian +place-names in the Highlands. The warriors are supposed to lie in a +charmed sleep in Craig-a-howe Cave, near Munlochy, Ross-shire. Caoilte, +the swift runner, was a famous Fian. Finn was chief, and Goll and Garry +were of Clan Morna, which united with the Fians. "Moolachie" is a little +babe, and "clarsach," a harp. + +_Ledbag's Warning_.--Children who twist their mouths, or squint, are +warned that, if the wind changes, their contortions will remain. The +fate of the flounder, which mocked the cod, is cited as a terrible +example. + +_Conn, Son of the Red_ is a Fian tale of which several old Gaelic +versions have been collected. Goll, the "first hero" of the Fians, slew +the Red when Conn, his son, was seven years old. In the fullness of time +the young hero, whom his enemies admire as well as fear, crossed the sea +to avenge his father's death, and engaged in a long and fierce duel with +Goll. + +_Death of Cuchullin_ is from the Cuchullin Cycle of Bronze Age heroic +tales. The enemy have invaded and laid waste the province of Ulster, and +the chief warriors of the Red Branch, except Cuchullin, who must needs +fight alone, are laid under spells by the magicians of the invaders. The +poem is suffused with evidences of magical beliefs and practices. +Cuchullin goes forth knowing that he will meet his doom. His name +signifies "hound of Culann." In his youth he slew Culann's ferocious +watch-hound which attacked him, and took its place until another was +trained. It was "geis" (taboo) for him to partake of the flesh of a +hound (his totem), or eat at a cooking hearth; but he must needs accept +the hospitality of the witches. The satirists are satirical bards who, +it was believed, could not only lampoon a hero, but infuse their +compositions with magical powers like incantations. Cuchullin cannot be +slain except by his own spear, which he must deliver up to a satirist +who demands it. Emania, the capital of Ulster, was the home of the Bed +Branch warriors. + +_Sleepy Song_.--When Diarmid eloped with Grianne, as Paris did with +Helen, the Fians followed them, so that Finn, their chief, might be +avenged. Diarmid, who is the unwilling victim of Grainne's spells, +dreads to meet Finn, and is in constant fear of discovery. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10089 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ef5abd1 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #10089 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10089) diff --git a/old/10089-8.txt b/old/10089-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b603fc7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10089-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3139 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Elves and Heroes, by Donald A. MacKenzie + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Elves and Heroes + +Author: Donald A. MacKenzie + +Release Date: November 15, 2003 [eBook #10089] + +Language: English + +Chatacter set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELVES AND HEROES*** + + +E-text prepared by Ted Garvin, Brett Koonce, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + +Editorial note: Many paragraphs in the original text ended without + punctuation, and this state has been preserved in + this Project Gutenberg edition. + + + + + +ELVES AND HEROES + +BY + +DONALD A. MACKENZIE. + +1909 + + + + + + + + +TO + +Miss YULE, of TARRADALE. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +THE ELVES. + +The immemorial folk-beliefs of our native land are passing away, but +they still retain for us a poetic appeal, not only on account of the +glamour of early associations, but also because they afford us inviting +glimpses of the mental habits and inherent characteristics of the men +and women of past generations. When we re-tell the old tales of our +ancestors, we sit beside them over the peat-fire; and, as we glory with +them in their strong heroes, and share their elemental joys and fears, +we breathe the palpitating air of that old mysterious world of theirs, +peopled by spirits beautiful, and strange, and awe-inspiring. + +The attitude of the Gael towards the supernatural, and his general +outlook upon life in times gone by, was not associated with unbroken +gloom; nor was he always an ineffectual dreamer and melancholy fatalist. +These attributes belong chiefly to the Literary Celt of latter-day +conception--the Celt of Arnold and Renan, and other writers following in +their wake, who have woven misty impressions of a people whom they have +met as strangers, and never really understood. Celtic literature is not +a morbid literature. In Highland poetry there is more light than shadow, +much symbolism, but no vagueness; pictures are presented in minute +detail; stanzas are cunningly wrought in a spirit of keen artistry; and +the literary style is direct and clear and comprehensible. In Highland +folklore we find associated with the haunting "fear of things +invisible," common to all peoples in early stages of development, a +confident feeling of security inspired by the minute observances of +ceremonial practices. We also note a distinct tendency to discriminate +between spirits, some of which are invariably friendly, some merely +picturesque, and perhaps fearsome, and others constantly harbouring a +desire to work evil upon mankind. Associated with belief in the efficacy +of propitiatory offerings and "ceremonies of riddance," is the ethical +suggestion that good wishes and good deeds influence spirits to perform +acts of kindly intent. + +Of fairies the Highlanders spoke, as they are still prone to do in these +districts where belief in them is not yet extinct, with no small degree +of regard and affection. It may be that "the good folk" and the +"peace-people" (_sitchean_) were so called that good intention might be +compelled by the conjuring influence of a name, as well as to avoid +giving offence by uttering real names, as if it were desired to exercise +a magical influence by their use. Be that as it may, it is evident from +Highland folk-tales that the fairies were oftener the friends than the +foes of mankind. When men and women were lured to their dwellings they +rarely suffered injury; indeed, the fairies appeared to have taken +pleasure in their company. To such as they favoured they imparted the +secrets of their skill in the arts of piping, of sword-making, etc. At +sowing time or harvest they were at the service of human friends. On the +needy they took pity. They never failed in a promise; they never forgot +an act of kindness, which they invariably rewarded seven-fold. Against +those who wronged them they took speedy vengeance. It would appear that +on these humanised spirits of his conception the Highlander left, as one +would expect him to do, the impress of his own character--his shrewdness +and high sense of honour, his love of music and gaiety, his warmth of +heart and love of comrades, and his indelible hatred of tyranny and +wrong. + +The Highland "wee folk" are not so diminutive as the fairies of +England--at least that type of fairy, beloved of the poet, which hovers +bee-like over flowers and feeds on honey-dew. Power they had to shrink +in stature and to render themselves invisible, but they are invariably +"little people," from three to four feet high. It may be that the Gael's +conception of humanised spirits may not have been uninfluenced by the +traditions of that earlier diminutive race whose arrow-heads of flint +were so long regarded as "elf-bolts." The fairies dwelt only in grassy +knolls, on the summits of high hills, and inside cliffs. Although +capable of living for several centuries, they were not immortal. They +required food, and borrowed meal and cooking utensils from human beings, +and always returned what they received on loan. They could be heard +within the knolls grinding corn and working at their anvils, and they +were adepts at spinning and weaving and harvesting. When they went on +long journeys they became invisible, and were carried through the air on +eddies of western wind. + +At the seasonal changes of the year, "the wee folk" were for several +days on end inspired, like all other supernatural furies, with enmity +against mankind. Their evil influences were negatived by spells and +charms. We who still hang on our walls at Christmas the mystic holly, +are unconsciously perpetuating an old-world custom connected with belief +in the efficacy of the magical circle to protect us against evil +spirits. And in our concern about luck, our proneness to believe in +omens, the influence of colours and numbers, in dreams and in prophetic +warnings, we retain as much of the spirit as the poetry of the religion +of our remote ancestors. + + +THE HEROES. + +The heroes, with the exception of Cuchullin, who appear in this volume, +figure in the tales and poems of the Ossianic or Fian Cycle, which is +common to Ireland and to Scotland. They have been neglected by our +Scottish poets since Gavin Douglas and Barbour. In Ireland the Fians are +a band of militia--the original Fenians. In Scotland the tales vary +considerably, and belong to the hunting period before the introduction +of agriculture. But in this country, as well as in Ireland, they are +evidently influenced by historic happenings. There are tales of Norse +conflicts, as well as tales of adventure among giants and spirits. + +The cycle had evidently remote beginnings. When we find Diarmid and +Grainnè, like Paris and Helen, the cause of conflict and disaster; and +Diarmid, like Achilles, charmed of body, and vulnerable only on his +heel-spot, we incline to the theory that from a mid-European centre +migrating "waves" swept over prehistoric Greece, and left traces of +their mythology and folk-lore in Homer, while other "waves," sweeping +northward, bequeathed to us as a literary inheritance the Celtic +folk-tales, in which the deeds and magical attributes of remote tribal +heroes and humanised deities are co-mingled and perpetuated. + +On fragments of these folk-tales the poet Macpherson reared his Ossianic +epic, in imitation of the Iliad and Paradise Lost. + +The "Death of Cuchullin" is a rendering in verse of an Irish prose +translation of a fragment of the Cuchullin Cycle, which moves in the +Bronze Age period. Cuchullin, with "the light of heroes" on his +forehead, is also reminiscent of Achilles. One of the few Cuchullin +tales found in Scotland is that which relates his conflict with his son, +and bears a striking similarity to the legend of Sohrab and Rustum. +Macpherson also drew from this Cycle in composing his Ossian, and +mingled it with the other, with which it has no connection. + +The third great Celtic Cycle--the Arthurian--bears close resemblances, +as Campbell, of "The West Highland Tales," has shown, to the Fian Cycle, +and had evidently a common origin. Its value as a source of literary +inspiration has been fully appreciated, but the Fian and Cuchullin +cycles still await, like virgin soil, to yield an abundant harvest for +the poets of the future. + +Notes on the folk-beliefs and tales will be found at the end of this +volume. + +Some of the short poems have appeared in the "Glasgow Herald" and +"Inverness Courier"; the three tales appeared in the "Celtic Review." + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +Preface + +The Wee Folk + +The Remnant Bannock + +The Banshee + +Conn, Son of the Red + +The Song of Goll + +The Blue Men of the Minch + +The Urisk + +The Nimble Men + +My Gunna + +The Gruagach + +The Little Old Man of the Barn + +Yon Fairy Dog + +The Water-Horse + +The Changeling + +My Fairy Lover + +The Fians of Knockfarrel + +Her Evil Eye + +A Cursing + +Leobag's Warning + +Tober Mhuire + +Sleepy Song + +Song of the Sea + +The Death of Cuchullin + +Lost Songs + + +OTHER POEMS. + +The Dream + +Free Will + +Strife + +Sonnet + +"Out of the Mouths of Babes" + +Notes + + + + + + +THE WEE FOLK. + + +In the knoll that is the greenest, + And the grey cliff side, +And on the lonely ben-top + The wee folk bide; +They'll flit among the heather, + And trip upon the brae-- +The wee folk, the green folk, the red folk and grey. + +As o'er the moor at midnight + The wee folk pass, +They whisper 'mong the rushes + And o'er the green grass; +All through the marshy places + They glint and pass away-- +The light folk, the lone folk, the folk that will not stay. + +O many a fairy milkmaid + With the one eye blind, +Is 'mid the lonely mountains + By the red deer hind; +Not one will wait to greet me, + For they have naught to say-- +The hill folk, the still folk, the folk that flit away. + +When the golden moon is glinting + In the deep, dim wood, +There's a fairy piper playing + To the elfin brood; +They dance and shout and turn about, + And laugh and swing and sway-- +The droll folk, the knoll folk, the folk that dance alway. + +O we that bless the wee folk + Have naught to fear, +And ne'er an elfin arrow + Will come us near; +For they'll give skill in music, + And every wish obey-- +The wise folk, the peace folk, the folk that work and play. + +They'll hasten here at harvest, + They will shear and bind; +They'll come with elfin music + On a western wind; +All night they'll sit among the sheaves, + Or herd the kine that stray-- +The quick folk, the fine folk, the folk that ask no pay. + +Betimes they will be spinning + The while we sleep, +They'll clamber down the chimney, + Or through keyholes creep; +And when they come to borrow meal + We'll ne'er them send away-- +The good folk, the honest folk, the folk that work alway. + +O never wrong the wee folk-- + The red folk and green, +Nor name them on the Fridays, + Or at Hallowe'en; +The helpless and unwary then + And bairns they lure away-- +The fierce folk, the angry folk, the folk that steal and slay. + + + + +BONNACH FALLAIDH. + +(THE REMNANT BANNOCK.) + + +O, the good-wife will be singing + When her meal is all but done-- +Now all my bannocks have I baked, + I've baked them all but one; +And I'll dust the board to bake it, + I'll bake it with a spell-- +O, it's Finlay's little bannock + For going to the well. + +The bannock on the brander + Smells sweet for your desire-- +O my crisp ones I will count not + On two sides of the fire; +And not a farl has fallen + Some evil to foretell!-- +O it's Finlay's little bannock + For going to the well. + +The bread would not be lasting, + 'Twould crumble in your hand; +When fairies would be coming here + To turn the meal to sand-- +But what will keep them dancing + In their own green dell? +O it's Finlay's little bannock + For going to the well. + +Now, not a fairy finger + Will do my baking harm-- +The little bannock with the hole, + O it will be the charm. +I knead it, I knead it, 'twixt my palms, + And all the bairns I tell-- +O it's Finlay's little bannock + For going to the well. + + + + +THE BANSHEE. + + +Knee-deep she waded in the pool-- + The Banshee robed in green-- +She sang yon song the whole night long, + And washed the linen clean; +The linen that would wrap the dead + She beetled on a stone, +She stood with dripping hands, blood-red, + Low singing all alone-- + +_His linen robes are pure and white, +For Fergus More must die to-night!_ + +'Twas Fergus More rode o'er the hill, + Come back from foreign wars, +His horse's feet were clattering sweet + Below the pitiless stars; +And in his heart he would repeat-- + "O never again I'll roam; +All weary is the going forth, + But sweet the coming home!" + +_His linen robes are pure and white, +For Fergus More must die to-night!_ + +He saw the blaze upon his hearth + Come gleaming down the glen; +For he was fain for home again, + And rode before his men-- +"'Tis many a weary day," he'd sigh, + "Since I would leave her side; +I'll never more leave Scotland's shore + And yon, my dark-eyed bride." + +_His linen robes are pure and white, +For Fergus More must die to-night!_ + +So dreaming of her tender love, + Soft tears his eyes would blind-- +When up there crept and swiftly leapt + A man who stabbed behind-- +"'Tis you," he cried, "who stole my bride, + This night shall be your last!" ... +When Fergus fell, the warm, red tide + Of life came ebbing fast ... + +_His linen robes are pure and white, +For Fergus More must die to-night!_ + + + + +CONN, SON OF THE RED. + + +The Fians sojourned by the shore +Of comely Cromarty, and o'er +The wooded hill pursued the chase +With ardour. 'Twas a full moon's space +Ere Beltane[1] rites would be begun +With homage to the rising sun-- +Ere to the spirits of the dead +Would sacrificial blood be shed +In yon green grove of Navity--[2] +When Conn came over the Eastern Sea, +His heart aflame with vengeful ire, +To seek for Goll, who slew his sire +When he was seven years old. + + Finn saw +In dreams, ere yet he came, with awe +The Red One's son, so fierce and bold, +In combat with his hero old-- +The king-like Goll of valorous might-- +A stormy billow in the fight +No foe could ere withstand. + + He knew +The strange ship bore brave Conn, and blew +Clear on his horn the Warning Call; +And round him thronged the Fians all +With wond'ring gaze. + + The sun drew nigh +The bale-fires of the western sky, +And faggot clouds with blood-red glare, +Caught flame, and in the radiant air +Lone Wyvis like a jewel shone-- +The Fians, as they stared at Conn, +Were stooping on the high Look-Out. +They watched the ship that tacked about, +Now slant across the firth, and now +Laid bare below the cliff's broad brow, +And heaving on a billowy steep, +Like to a monster of the deep +That wallowed, labouring in pain-- +And Conn stared back with cold disdain. + +Pondering, he sat alone behind +The broad sail swallowing the wind, +As over the hollowing waves that leapt +And snarled with foaming lips, and swept +Around the bows in querulous fray, +And tossed in curves of drenching spray, +The belching ship with ardour drove; +Then like a lordly elk that strove +Amid the hounds and, charging, rent +The pack asunder as it went, +It bore round and in beauty sprang-- +The sea-wind through the cordage sang +With high and wintry merriment +That stirred the heart of Conn, intent +On vengeance, and for battle keen-- +So hard, so steadfast, and serene. + +Then Ossian, sweet of speech, spake low, +With musing eyes upon the foe, +"Is Conn more noble than The Red, +Whom Goll in battle vanquished?" +"The Red was fiercer," Conan cried-- +"Nay, Conn is nobler," Finn replied, +"More comely, stalwart, mightier far-- +What sayest thou, Goll, my man of war?" +Then Goll made answer on the steep, +Nor ceased to gaze on Conn full deep-- +"His equal never came before +Across the seas to Alban shore, +Nor ever have I peered upon +A nobler, mightier man than Conn" + +The ship flew seaward, tacking wide, +Contending with the wind and tide, +And when upon the broad stream's track +It baffled hung, or drifted back, +With grunt and shriek, like battling boars, +The shock and swing of bladed oars +Came sounding o'er the sea + + The dusk +Grew round the twilight, like a husk +That holds a kernel choice, and keen, +Cold stars impaled the sky serene, +When Conn's ship through the slackening tide +Drew round the wistful bay and wide, +Behind the headlands high that snout +The seas like giant whales, and spout +The salt foam high and loud + + Then sighed +The gasping men who all day plied +Their oars in plunging seas, with hands +Grown stiff, and arms, like twisted bands +Drawn numbly, as they rose outspent, +And staggering from their benches went +The sail napped quarrelling, and drank +The wind in broken gasps, and sank +With sullen pride upon the boards, +And smote the mast and shook the cords + +Darkly loomed that alien land, +And darkly lowered the Fian band, +For hovering on the shoreland grey +The ship they followed round the bay +Nor sought the sheltering woods until +The shadows folded o'er the hill +Full heavily, and night fell blind, +And laid its spell upon the wind + +The swelling waters sank with sip +And hollow gurgle round the ship, +The long mast rocked against the dim, +Soft heaven above the headland's rim + +But while the seamen crouched to sleep, +Conn sat alone in reverie deep, +And saw before him in a maze +The mute procession of his days, +In gloom and glamour wending fast-- +His heart a-hungering for the past-- +Again he leapt, a tender boy, +To greet his sire with eager joy, +When he came over the wide North Sea, +Enriched with spoils of victory-- +Then heavily loomed that fateful morn +When tidings of his fall were borne +From Alban shore ... Again he saw +The youth who went alone with awe +To swear the avenging oath before +The smoking altar red with gore. + +Ah! strange to him it seemed to be +That hour was drawing nigh when he +Would vengeance take ... And still more strange, +O sorrow! it would bring no change +Though blood for blood be spilled, and life +For life be taken in fierce strife; +'Twill ne'er recall the life long sped, +Or break the silence of the dead. + +But when he heard his mother's wail, +Once more uplifted on the gale, +Moaning The Red who ne'er returned-- +His cheeks with sudden passion burned; +And darkly frowned that valiant man, +As through his quivering body ran +The lightnings of impelling ire +And impulses of fierce desire, +That surged, with a consuming hate +Against a world made desolate, +Unceasing and unreconciled, +And ever clamouring ... like wild, +Dark-deeded waves that stun the shore, +And through the anguished twilight roar +The hungry passions of the wide +And gluttonous deep unsatisfied. + + + + +II. + +The shredding dawn in beauty spread +Its shafts of splendour, golden-red, +High over the eastern heaven, and broke +Through flaking clouds in silvern smoke +That burst aflame, and fold o'er fold, +Let loose their oozing floods of gold, +Splashed over the foamless deep that lay +Tremulous and clear. In fiery play +The rippling beams that swept between +The sea-cleft Sutor crags serene, +Broke quivering where the waters bore +The soft reflection of the shore. + +The pipes of morn were sounding shrill +Through budding woods on plain and hill, +And stirred the air with song to wake +The sweet-toned birds within the brake. + +The Fians from their sheilings came, +With offerings to the god a-flame, +And round them thrice they sun-wise went; +Then naked-kneed in silence bent +Beside the pillar stones ... + + But now +Brave Conn upon the ship's high prow +Hath raised his burnished blade on high, +And calls on Woden and on Tigh +With boldness, to avenge the death +Of his great sire ... In one deep breath +He drains the hero's draught that burns +With valour of the gods; then turns +His long-sought foe to meet ... Great Conn +Sweeps, stooping in a boat, alone. +Shoreward, with rapid blades and bright, +That shower the foam-rain pearly white, +And rip the waters, bending lithe, +In hollowing swirls that hiss and writhe +Like adders, ere they dart away +Bright-spotted with the flakes of spray. + +When, furrowing the sand, he drew +His boat the shallowing water through, +A giant he in stature rose +Straight as a mast before his foes, +With head thrown high, and shoulders wide +And level, and set back with pride; +His bared and supple arms were long +As shapely oars: firm as a thong +His right hand grasped his gleaming blade, +Gold-hilted, and of keen bronze made +In leafen shape. + + With stately stride +He crossed the level sands and wide, +Then on his shield the challenge gave-- +His broad sword thund'ring like a wave-- +For single combat. + + Red as gold +His locks upon his shoulders rolled; +A brazen helmet on his head +Flashed fire; his cheeks were white and red; +And all the Fians watched with awe +That hero young with knotted jaw, +Whose eyes, set deep, and blue and hard, +Surveyed their ranks with cold regard; +While his broad forehead, seamed with care, +Drooped shadowily: his eyebrows fair +Were sloping sideways o'er his eyes +With pondering o'er the mysteries. + +The eyes of all the Fians sought +Heroic Groll, whose face was wrought +With lines of deep, perplexing thought-- +For gazing on the valiant Conn, +He mourned that his own youth was gone, +When, strong and fierce and bold, he shed +The life-blood of the boastful Red, +Whom none save he would meet. He heard +The challenge, and nor spake, nor stirred, +Nor feared; but now grown old, when hate +And lust of glory satiate-- +His heart took pride in Conn, and shared +The kinship of the brave. + + Who dared +To meet the Viking bold, if he +The succour of the band, should be +Found faltering or in despair? +Until that day the Fians ne'er +Of one man had such fear. + + Old Goll +Sat musing on a grassy knoll, +They deemed he shared their dread ... Not so +Wise Finn, who spake forth firm and slow-- +"Goll, son of Morna, peerless man, +The keen desire of every clan, +Far-famed for many a valiant deed, +Strong hero in the time of need. +I vaunt not Conn ... nor deem that thou +Dost falter, save with meekness, now-- +But why shouldst thou not take the head +Of this bold youth, as of The Red, +His sire, in other days?" + + Goll spake-- +"O noble Finn, for thy sweet sake +Mine arms I'd seize with ready hand, +Although to answer thy command +My blood to its last drop were spilled-- +By Crom! were all the Fians killed, +My sword would never fail to be +A strong defence to succour thee." + +Upon his hard right arm with haste +His crooked and pointed shield he braced, +He clutched his sword in his left hand-- +While round that hero of the band +The Fian warriors pressed, and praised +His valour ... Mute was Goll ... They raised, +Smiting their hands, the battle-cry, +To urge him on to victory. + +The one-eyed Goll went forth alone, +His face was like a mountain stone,-- +Cold, hard, and grey; his deep-drawn breath +Came heavily, like a man nigh death-- +But his firm mouth, with lips drawn thin, +Deep sunken in his wrinkled skin, +Was cunningly crooked; his hair was white, +On his bald forehead gleamed a bright +And livid scar that Conn's great sire +Had cloven when their swords struck fire-- +Burly and dauntless, full of might, +Old Goll went humbly forth to fight +With arrogant Conn ... It seemed The Red +In greater might was from the dead, +Restored in his fierce son ... + + A deep +Swift silence fell, like sudden sleep, +On all the Fians waiting there +In sharp suspense and half despair ... +The morn was still. A skylark hung +In mid-air flutt'ring, and sung +A lullaby that grew more sweet +Amid the stillness, in the heat +And splendour of the sun: the lisp +Of faint wind in the herbage crisp +Went past them; and around the bare +And foam-striped sand-banks gleaming fair, +The faintly-panting waves were cast +By the wan deep fatigued and vast. + +O great was Conn in that dread hour, +And all the Fians feared his power, +And watched, as in a darksome dream, +The warriors meet ... They saw the gleam +Of swift, up-lifted swords, and then +A breathless moment came, as when +The lithe and living lightning's flash +Makes pause, until the thunder's crash +Is splintered through the air. + + Loud o'er +The blue sea and the shining shore +Broke forth the crash of arms ... The roll +Of Conn's fierce blows that baffled Goll +On sword and shield resounding rang, +While that old warrior stooped and sprang +Sideways, and swerved, or backward leapt, +As swiftly as the bronze blade swept +Above him and around ... He swayed, +Stumbling, but rose ... But, though his blade +Was ever nimble to defend, +The Fians feared the fight would end +In victory for Conn. + + ... 'Twas like +As when an eagle swoops to strike, +But swerves with flutt'ring wings, as nigh +Its head a javelin gleams ... A cry +That banished fear of Conn's great blows +From out the Fian ranks arose, +As, like a plumed reed in a gust, +Goll suddenly stooped--a deadly thrust +That drew the first blood in the fray +He darting gave ... With quick dismay +The valiant Conn drew back ... + + Again +He leapt at Goll, but sought in vain +To blind him with his blows that fell +Like snowflakes on a sullen well-- +For Goll was calm, while great Conn raged, +As hour by hour the conflict waged; +He was a blast-defying tree-- +A crag that spurned a furious sea, +And all the Fians with one mind +Set firm their faith in Goll + + The wind +Rose like a startled bird from out +The heather at the huntsman's shout +In swift and blust'ring flight At noon +The sun rolled in a cloudy swoon +Dimly, and over the rolling deep +Gust followed gust with shadowy sweep; +And waves that streamed their snowy locks +Were tossing high against the rocks +Seaward, while round the sands ebbed wide +Scrambled the fierce devouring tide + +O, Conn was like a hound at morn, +That springs upon an elk forlorn +Among the hills. He was a proud +Cascade that leaps a cliff with loud +Unspending fall So fierce, so fair +Was arrogant Conn, but Goll fought there +Keen-eyed, with ready guard, at bay-- +He was as a boar in that fierce fray. + +The waves were humbled on the shore, +And silent fell, amid the roar +And crash of battle Mute and still +The Fians watched; while on the hill +The little elves came out and gazed, +To be amused and were amazed ... +They saw upon the shrinking sands +The warriors with restless hands +And busy blades, with shields that rose +To buffet the unceasing blows; +They saw before the rising flood +The flash of fire, the flash of blood; +And watched the men with panting breath, +Striving to be the slaves of death; +Now darting wide, now swerving round, +Now clashed together in a bound, +With splitting swords that smote so fast, +As hour by hour unheeded past. + +The sands were torn and tossed like spray +Before the whirlwind of the fray, +That waged in fury till the sun +Sank, and the day's last loops were spun-- +Then terrible was Goll ... He rose +A tempest of increasing blows, +More furious and fast, as dim, +Uncertain twilight fell ... More grim +And great he grew as, looming large, +He fought, and pressing to the marge +Of ocean, he o'erpowered and drave +The Viking hero back; till wave +O'er ready wave that hurried fleet, +Snuffled and snarled about their feet ... + +Then with a mighty shout that made +The rocks around him ring, his blade +Swept like a flash of fire to smite +The last fell blow in that fierce fight-- +So great Conn perished like The Red +By Goll's left hand ... his life-blood spread +Over the quenching sands where rolled +His head entwined with locks of gold. +Then passed like thunder o'er the sea +The Fian shout of victory. +And, trembling on the tossing ships, +The Vikings heard, with voiceless lips +And dim, despairing eyes ... Alone +Stood Goll, and like a silent stone +Bulking upon a ben-side bare, +He bent above the hero fair-- +Remembering the mighty Red, +And wondering that Conn lay dead. + + +[Footnote 1: May Day.] + +[Footnote 2: Traditional Holy Hill] + + + + + + +THE SONG OF GOLL. + +O Son of The Red, +Undone and laid dead-- + The blood of a hero +My cold blade hath shed. + +Who fought me to-day? +Who sought me to slay?-- + The son of yon High King +I slew in the fray. + +O blade that yon brave +Low laid in the grave, + Ye gladdened the Fians +But grief to Conn gave. + +Stone-hearted and strong, +Lone-hearted with long, + Dark brooding, he sought to +Avenge his deep wrong. + +Fair Son of The Red, +Care none thou art dead?-- + Old Goll of Clan Morna +Will mourn thou hast bled. + +O where shall be found +To share with thee round + The halls of Valhalla +Thy glory renowned? + +O true as the blade +That slew thee, and made + My fear and thine anger +For ever to fade-- + +Ah! when upon earth +Again will have birth + A son of such honour +And bravery and worth? + +Above thee in splendour +A love that could render + Brave service, burned star-like +And constant and tender. + +With fearing my name, +With hearing my fame, + O none would dare combat +With Goll till Conn came? ... + +O great was thine ire-- +The fate of thy sire, + Awaiting thy coming, +Consumed thee like fire. + +O Son of The Red, +Undone and laid dead-- + The blood of a hero +My cold blade hath shed. + + + + +THE BLUE MEN OF THE MINCH. + + +When the tide is at the turning and the wind is fast asleep, +And not a wave is curling on the wide, blue Deep, +O the waters will be churning on the stream that never smiles, +Where the Blue Men are splashing round the charmèd isles. + +As the summer wind goes droning o'er the sun-bright seas, +And the Minch is all a-dazzle to the Hebrides; +They will skim along like salmon--you can see their shoulders gleam, +And the flashing of their fingers in the Blue Men's Stream. + +But when the blast is raving and the wild tide races, +The Blue Men ere breast-high with foam-grey faces; +They'll plunge along with fury while they sweep the spray behind, +O, they'll bellow o'er the billows and wail upon the wind. + +And if my boat be storm-toss'd and beating for the bay, +They'll be howling and be growling as they drench it with their spray-- +For they'd like to heel it over to their laughter when it lists, +Or crack the keel between them, or stave it with their fists. + +O weary on the Blue Men, their anger and their wiles! +The whole day long, the whole night long, they're splashing round the isles; +They'll follow every fisher--ah! they'll haunt the fisher's dream-- +When billows toss, O who would cross the Blue Men's Stream? + + + + +THE URISK. + + +O the night I met the Urisk on the wide, lone moor! +Ah! would I be forgetting of The Thing that came with me? +For it was big and black as black, and it was dour as dour, +It shrank and grew and had no shape of aught I e'er did see. + +For it came creeping like a cloud that's moving all alone, +Without the sound of footsteps ... and I heard its heavy sighs ... +Its face was old and grey, and like a lichen-covered stone, +And its tangled locks were dropping o'er its sad and weary eyes. + +O it's never the word it had to say in anger or in woe-- +It would not seek to harm me that had never done it wrong, +As fleet--O like the deer!--I went, or I went panting slow, +The waesome thing came with me on that lonely road and long. + +O eerie was the Urisk that convoy'd me o'er the moor! +When I was all so helpless and my heart was full of fear, +Nor when it was beside me or behind me was I sure-- +I knew it would be following--I knew it would be near! + + + + +THE NIMBLE MEN. + +(AURORA BOREALIS.) + + + When Angus Ore, the wizard, + His fearsome wand will raise, + The night is filled with splendour, + And the north is all ablaze; + From clouds of raven blackness, + Like flames that leap on high-- +All merrily dance the Nimble Men across the Northern Sky. + + Now come the Merry Maidens, + All gowned in white and green, + While the bold and ruddy fellows + Will be flitting in between-- + O to hear the fairy piper + Who will keep them tripping by!-- +The men and maids who merrily dance across the Northern Sky. + + O the weird and waesome music, + And the never-faltering feet! + O their fast and strong embraces, + And their kisses hot and sweet! + There's a lost and languished lover + With a fierce and jealous eye, +As merrily flit the Nimble Folk across the Northern Sky. + +So now the dance is over, + And the dancers sink to rest-- + There's a maid that has two lovers, + And there's one she loves the best; + He will cast him down before her, + She will raise him with a sigh-- +Her love so bright who danced to-night across the Northern Sky. + + Then up will leap the other, + And up will leap his clan-- + O the lover and his company + Will fight them man to man-- + All shrieking from the conflict + The merry maidens fly-- +There's a Battle Royal raging now across the Northern Sky. + + Through all the hours of darkness + The fearsome fight will last; + They are leaping white with anger, + And the blows are falling fast-- + And where the slain have tumbled + A pool of blood will lie-- +O it's dripping on the dark green stones from out the Northern Sky. + + When yon lady seeks her lover + In the cold and pearly morn, + She will find that he has fallen + By the hand that she would scorn,-- + She will clasp her arms about him, + And in her anguish die!-- +O never again will trip the twain across the Northern Sky. + + + + +MY GUNNA. + + +When my kine are on the hill, +Who will charm them from all ill? +While I'll sleep at ease until + All the cocks are crowing clear. +Who'll be herding them for me? +It's the elf I fain would see-- +For they're safe as safe can be + When the Gunna will be near. + +He will watch the long weird night, +When the stars will shake with fright, +Or the ghostly moon leaps bright + O'er the ben like Beltane fire. +If my kine would seek the corn, +He will turn them by the horn-- +And I'll find them all at morn + Lowing sweet beside the byre. + +Croumba's bard has second-sight, +And he'll moan the Gunna's plight, +When the frosts are flickering white, + And the kine are housed till day; +For he'll see him perched alone +On a chilly old grey stone, +Nibbling, nibbling at a bone + That we'll maybe throw away. + +He's so hungry, he's so thin, +If he'd come we'd let him in, +For a rag of fox's skin + Is the only thing he'll wear. +He'll be chittering in the cold +As he hovers round the fold, +With his locks of glimmering gold + Twined about his shoulders bare. + + + + +THE GRUAGACH. + +(MILKMAID'S SONG.) + + +The lightsome lad wi' yellow hair, +The elfin lad that is so fair, +He comes in rich and braw attire-- +To loose the kine within the byre-- + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +He's dressed so fine, he's dressed so grand, +A supple switch is in his hand; +I've seen while I a-milking sat +The shadow of his beaver hat. + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +My chuckling lad, so full o' fun, +Around the corners he will run; +Behind the door he'll sometimes jink, +And blow to make my candle blink. + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +The elfin lad that is so braw, +He'll sometimes hide among the straw; +He's sometimes leering from the loft-- +He's tittering low and tripping soft. + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +And every time I'll milk the kine +He'll have his share--the luck be mine! +I'll pour it in yon hollowed stone, +He'll sup it when he's all alone-- + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +O me! if I'd his milk forget, +Nor cream, nor butter I would get; +Ye needna' tell--I ken full well-- +On all my kine he'd cast his spell. + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +On nights when I would rest at ease, +The merry lad begins to tease; +He'll loose the kine to take me out, +And titter while I move about. + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + + + + +THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF THE BARN. + + +When all the big lads will be hunting the deer, +And no one for helping Old Callum comes near, +O who will be busy at threshing his corn? +Who will come in the night and be going at morn? + + The Little Old Man of the Barn, + Yon Little Old Man-- + A bodach forlorn will be threshing his corn, + The Little Old Man of the Barn. + +When the peat will turn grey and the shadows fall deep, +And weary Old Callum is snoring asleep; +When yon plant by the door will keep fairies away, +And the horse-shoe sets witches a-wandering till day. + + The Little Old Man of the Barn, + Yon Little Old Man-- + Will thresh with no light in the mouth of the night, + The Little Old Man of the Barn. + +For the bodach is strong though his hair is so grey, +He will never be weary when he goes away-- +The bodach is wise--he's so wise, he's so dear-- +When the lads are all gone, he will ever be near. + + The Little Old Man of the Barn, + Yon Little Old Man-- + So tight and so braw he will bundle the straw-- + The Little Old Man of the Barn. + + + + +YON FAIRY DOG. + + +'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals, + Whose heart would never fail, +Would hear yon fairy ban-dog fierce + Come howling down the gale; +The patt'ring of the paws would sound +Like horse's hoofs on frozen ground, +While o'er its back and curling round + Uprose its fearsome tail. + +'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals-- + Yon man that hath no fears-- +Beheld the dog with dark-green back + That bends not when it rears; +Its sides were blacker than the night, +But underneath the hair was white; +Its paws were yellow, its eyes were bright, + And blood-red were its ears. + +'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals-- + The man who naught will dread-- +Would wait it, stooping with his spear, + As nigh to him it sped; +The big black head it turn'd and toss'd, +"I'll strike," cried he, "ere I'll be lost," +For every living thing that cross'd + Its path would tumble dead. + +'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals-- + The man who ne'er took fright-- +Would watch it bounding from the hills + And o'er the moors in flight. +When it would leave the Uist shore, +Across the Minch he heard it roar-- +Like yon black cloud it bounded o'er + The Coolin Hills that night. + + + + +THE WATER-HORSE. + + +O the Water-Horse will come over the heath, + With the foaming mouth and the flashing eyes, +He's black above and he's white beneath-- + The hills are hearing the awesome cries; +The sand lies thick in his dripping hair, +And his hoofs are twined with weeds and ware. + +Alas! for the man who would clutch the mane-- + There's no spell to help and no charm to save! +Who rides him will never return again, + Were he as strong, O were he as brave +As Fin-mac-Coul, of whom they'll tell-- +He thrashed the devil and made him yell. + +He'll gallop so fierce, he'll gallop so fast, + So high he'll rear, and so swift he'll bound-- +Like the lightning flash he'll go prancing past, + Like the thunder-roll will his hoofs resound-- +And the man perchance who sees and hears, +He would blind his eyes, he would close his ears. + +The horse will bellow, the horse will snort, + And the gasping rider will pant for breath-- +Let the way be long, or the way be short, + It will have one end, and the end is death; +In yon black loch, from off the shore, +The horse will splash, and be seen no more. + + + + +THE CHANGELING. + + +By night they came and from my bed + They stole my babe, and left behind +A thing I hate, a thing I dread-- + A changeling who is old and blind; +He's moaning all the night and day +For those who took my babe away. + +My little babe was sweet and fair, + He crooned to sleep upon my breast-- +But O the burden I must bear! + This drinks all day and will not rest-- +My little babe had hair so light-- +And his is growing dark as night. + +Yon evil day when I would leave + My little babe the stook behind!-- +The fairies coming home at eve + Upon an eddy of the wind, +Would cast their eyes with envy deep +Upon my heart's-love in his sleep. + +What holy woman will ye find + To weave a spell and work a charm? +A holy woman, pure and kind, + Who'll keep my little babe from harm-- +Who'll make the evil changeling flee, +And bring my sweet one back to me? + + + + +MY FAIRY LOVER. + + +My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- +All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + +Thine eyes were glowing like blue-bells blowing, + With dew-drops twinkling their silvery fires; +Thine heart was panting with love enchanting, + For mine was granting its fond desires. + + My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- + All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + +Thy brow had brightness and lily-whiteness, + Thy cheeks were clear as yon crimson sea; +Like broom-buds gleaming, thy locks were streaming, + As I lay dreaming, my love, of thee. + + My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- + All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + +Thy lips that often with love would soften, + They beamed like blooms for the honey-bee; +Thy voice came ringing like some bird singing + When thou wert bringing thy gifts to me. + + My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- + All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + +O thou'rt forgetting the hours we met in + The Vale of Tears at the even-tide, +Or thou'd come near me to love and cheer me, + And whisper clearly, "O be my bride!" + + My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- + All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + +What spell can bind thee? I search to find thee + Around the knoll that thy home would be-- +Where thou did'st hover, my fairy lover, + The clods will cover and comfort me. + + My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- + All night I'm sighing, on thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + + + + +THE FIANS OF KNOCKFARREL. + +(A Ross-shire Legend.) + + +I. + +On steep Knockfarrel had the Fians made, +For safe retreat, a high and strong stockade +Around their dwellings. And when winter fell +And o'er Strathpeffer laid its barren spell-- +When days were bleak with storm, and nights were drear +And dark and lonesome, well they loved to hear +The songs of Ossian, peerless and sublime-- +Their blind, grey bard, grown old before his time, +Lamenting for his son--the young, the brave +Oscar, who fell beside the western wave +In Gavra's bloody and unequal fight. + +Round Ossian would they gather in the night, +Beseeching him for song ... And when he took +His clarsach, from the magic strings he shook +A maze of trembling music, falling sweet +As mossy waters in the summer heat; +And soft as fainting moor-winds when they leave +The fume of myrtle, on a dewy eve, +Bound flush'd and teeming tarns that all night hear +Low elfin pipings in the woodlands near. + +'Twas thus he sang of love, and in a dream +The fair maids sighed to hear. But when his theme +Was the long chase that Finn and all his men +Followed with lightsome heart from glen to glen-- +His song was free as morn, and clear and loud +As skylarks carolling below a cloud +In sweet June weather ... And they heard the fall +Of mountain streams, the huntsman's windy call +Across the heaving hills, the baying hound +Among the rocks, while echoes answered round-- +They heard, and shared the gladness of the chase. + +He sang the glories of the Fian race, +Whose fame is flashed through Alba far and wide-- +Their valorous deeds he sang with joy and pride ... +When their dark foemen from the west came o'er +The ragged hills, and when on Croumba's shore +The Viking hordes descending, fought and fled-- +And when brave Conn, who would avenge the Red, +By one-eyed Goll was slain. Of Finn he sang, +And Dermaid, while the clash of conflict rang +In billowy music through the heroes' hall-- +And many a Fian gave the battle-call +When Ossian sang. + + Haggard and old, with slow +And falt'ring steps, went Winter through the snow, +As if its dreary round would ne'er be done-- +The last long winter of their days--begun +Ere yet the latest flush of falling leaves +Had faded in the breath of chilling eves; +Nor ended in the days of longer light, +When dawn and eve encroached upon the night-- +A weary time it was! The long Strath lay +Snow-wreathed and pathless, and from day to day +The tempests raved across the low'ring skies, +And they grew weak and pale, with hollow eyes, +The while their stores shrank low, waiting the dawn +Of that sweet season when through woodlands wan +Fresh flowers flutter and the wild birds sing-- +For Winter on the forelock of the Spring +Its icy fingers laid. The huntsmen pined +In their dim dwellings, wearily confined, +While the loud, hungry tempest held its sway-- +The red-eyed wolves grew bold and came by day, +And birds fell frozen in the snow. + + Then through +The trackless Strath a balmy south wind blew +To usher lusty Spring. Lo! in a night +The snows 'gan shrinking upon plain and height, +And morning broke in brightness to the sound +Of falling waters, while a peace profound +Possessed the world around them, and the blue +Bared heaven above ... Then all the Fians knew +That Winter's spell was broken, and each one +Made glad obeisance to the golden sun. + +Three days around Knockfarrel they pursued +The chase across the hills and through the wood, +Round Ussie Loch and Dingwall's soundless shore; +But meagre were the burdens that they bore +At even to their dwellings. To the west +"But sorrow not," said Finn, when all dismay'd +They hastened on a drear and bootless quest-- +With weary steps they turned to their stockade, +"To-morrow will we hunt towards the east +To high Dunskaith, and then make gladsome feast +By night when we return." + + Or ever morn +Had broken, Finn arose, and on his horn +Blew loud the huntsman's blast that round the ben +Was echoed o'er and o'er ... Then all his men +Gathered about him in the dusk, nor knew +What dim forebodings filled his heart and drew +His brows in furrowed care. His eyes a-gleam +Still stared upon the horrors of a dream +Of evil omen that in vain he sought +To solve ... His voice came faint from battling thought, +As he to Garry spake--"Be thou the ward +Strong son of Morna: who, like thee, can guard +Our women from all peril!" ... Garry turned +From Finn in sullen silence, for he yearned +To join the chase once more. In stature he +Was least of all the tribe, but none could be +More fierce in conflict, fighting in the van, +Than that grim, wolfish, and misshapen man! + +Then Finn to Caoilte spake, and gave command +To hasten forth before the Fian band-- +The King of Scouts was he! And like the deer +He sped to find if foemen had come near-- +Fierce, swarthy hillmen, waiting at the fords +For combat eager, or red Viking hordes +From out the Northern isles ... In Alba wide +No runner could keep pace by Caoilte's side, +And ere the Fians, following in his path, +Had wended from the deep and dusky strath, +He swept o'er Clyne, and heard the awesome owls +That hoot afar and near in woody Foulis, +And he had reached the slopes of fair Rosskeen +Ere Finn by Fyrish came. + + The dawn broke green-- +For the high huntsman of the morn had flung +His mantle o'er his back: stooping, he strung +His silver bow; then rising, bright and bold, +He shot a burning arrow of pure gold +That rent the heart of Night. + + As far behind +The Fians followed, Caoilte, like the wind, +Sped on--yon son of Ronan--o'er the wide +And marshy moor, and 'thwart the mountain side,-- +By Delny's shore far-ebbed, and wan, and brown, +And through the woods of beautous Balnagown: +The roaring streams he vaulted on his spear, +And foaming torrents leapt, as he drew near +The sandy slopes of Nigg. He climbed and ran +Till high above Dunskaith he stood to scan +The outer ocean for the Viking ships, +Peering below his hand, with panting lips +A-gape, but wide and empty lay the sea +Beyond the barrier crags of Cromarty, +To the far sky-line lying blue and bare-- +For no red pirate sought as yet to dare +The gloomy hazards of the fitful seas, +The gusty terrors, and the treacheries +Of fickle April and its changing skies-- +And while he scanned the waves with curious eyes, +The sea-wind in his nostrils, who had spent +A long, bleak winter in Knockfarrel pent +Over the snow-wreathed Strath and buried wood, +A sense of freedom tingled in his blood-- +The large life of the Ocean, heaving wide, +His heart possessed with gladness and with pride, +And he rejoiced to be alive.... Once more +He heard the drenching waves on that rough shore +Raking the shingles, and the sea-worn rocks +Sucking the brine through bared and lapping locks +Of bright, brown tangle; while the shelving ledges +Poured back the swirling waters o'er their edges; +And billows breaking on a precipice +In spouts of spray, fell spreading like a fleece. + +Sullen and sunken lay the reef, with sleek +And foaming lips, before the flooded creek +Deep-bunched with arrowy weed, its green expanse +Wind-wrinkled and translucent ... A bright trance +Of sun-flung splendour lay athwart the wide +Blue ocean swept with loops of silvern tide +Heavily heaving in a long, slow swell. + +A lonely fisher in his coracle +Came round a headland, lifted on a wave +That bore him through the shallows to his cave, +Nor other being he saw. + + The birds that flew +Clamorous about the cliffs, and diving drew +Their prey from bounteous waters, on him cast +Cold, beady eyes of wonder, wheeling past +And sliding down the wind. + + + + +II. + + The warm sun shone +On blind, grey Ossian musing all alone +Upon a knoll before the high stockade, +When Oscar's son came nigh. His hand he laid +On the boy's curls, and then his fingers strayed +Over the face and round the tender chin-- +"Be thou as brave as Oscar, wise as Finn," +Said Ossian, with a sigh. "Nay, I would be +A bard," the boy made answer, "like to thee." +"Alas! my son," the gentle Ossian said, +"My song was born in sorrow for the dead!... +O may such grief as Ossian's ne'er be thine!-- +If thou would'st sing, may thou below the pine +Murmuring, thy dreams conceive, and happy be, +Nor hear but sorrow in the breaking sea +And death-sighs in the gale. Alas! my song +That rose in sorrow must survive in wrong-- +My life is spent and vain--a day of thine +Were better than a long, dark year of mine.... +But come, my son--so lead me by the hand-- +To hear the sweetest harper in the land-- +The wild, free wind of Spring; all o'er the hills +And under, let us go, by tuneful rills +We'll wander, and my heart shall sweetened be +With echoes of the moorland melody-- +My clarsach wilt thou bear." And so went they +Together from Knockfarrel. Long they lay +Within the woods of Brahan, and by the shore +Of silvery Conon wended, crossing o'er +The ford at Achilty, where Ossian told +The tale of Finn, who there had slain the bold +Black Arky in his youth. And ere the tale +Was ended, they had crossed to Tarradale. +Where dwelt a daughter of an ancient race +Deep-learned in lore, and with the gift to trace +The thread of life in the dark web of fate. +And she to Ossian cried, "Thou comest late +Too late, alas! this day of all dark days-- +Knockfarrel is before me all ablaze-- +A fearsome vision flaming to mine eyes-- +O beating heart that bleeds! I hear the cries +Of those that perish in yon high stockade-- +O many a tender lad, and lonesome maid, +Sweet wife and sleeping babe, and hero old-- +O Ossian could'st thou see--O child, behold +Yon ruddy, closing clouds ... so falls the fate +Of all the tribe ... Alas! thou comest late." ... + + + + +III. + +When Ossian from Knockfarrel went, a band +Of merry maidens, trooping hand in hand, +Came forth, with laughing eyes and flowing hair, +To share the freedom of the morning air; +Adown the steep they went, and through the wood +Where Garry splintered logs in sullen mood-- +Pining to join the chase! His wrath he wrought +Upon the trees that morn, as if he fought +Against a hundred foemen from the west, +Till he grew weary, and was fain to rest. + +The maids were wont to shower upon his head +Their merry taunts, and oft from them he fled; +For of their quips and jests he had more fear +Than e'er he felt before a foeman's spear-- +And so he chose to be alone. + + The air +Was heavily laden with the odour rare +Of deep, wind-shaken fir trees, breathing sweet, +As through the wood, the maids, with silent feet, +Went treading needled sward, in light and shade, +Now bright, now dim, like flow'rs that gleam and fade, +And ever bloom and ever pass away ... + +Upon a fairy hillock Garry lay +In sunshine fast asleep: his head was bare, +And the wind rippling through his golden hair +Laid out the seven locks that were his pride, +Which one by one the maids securely tied +To tether-pins, while Garry, breathing deep, +Moaned low, and moved about in troubled sleep +Then to a thicket all the maidens crept, +And raised the Call of Warning ... Garry leapt +From dreams that boded ill, with sudden fear +That a fierce band of foemen had come near-- +The seven fetters of his golden hair +He wrenched off as he leapt, and so laid bare +A shredded scalp of ruddy wounds that bled +With bitter agony ... The maidens fled +With laughter through the wood, and climb'd the path +Of steep Knockfarrel. Fierce was Garry's wrath +When he perceived who wronged him. With a shriek +That raised the eagles from the mountain peak, +He shook his spear, and ran with stumbling feet, +And sought for vengeance, speedy and complete-- +The lust of blood possessed him, and he swore +To slay them.... But they shut the oaken door +Ere he had reached that high and strong stockade-- +From whence, alas! nor wife, nor child, nor maid +Came forth again. + + + + +IV. + + Soft-couch'd upon a bank +Lay Caoilte on the cliff-top, while he drank +The sweetness of the morning air, that brought +A spell of dreamful ease and pleasant thought, +With mem'ries from the deeps of other years +When Dermaid, unforgotten by his peers, +And Oscar, fair and young, went forth with mirth +A-hunting o'er the hills around the firth +On such an April morn.... + + He leapt to hear +The Fians shouting from a woodland near +Their hunting-call. Then swift he sped a-pace, +With bounding heart, to join the gladsome chase; +Stooping he ran, with poised, uplifted spear, +As through the woods approached the nimble deer +That swerved, beholding him. With startled toss +Of antlers, down the slope it fled, to cross +The open vale before him ... To the west +The Fians, merging from the woodland, pressed +To head it shoreward ... All the fierce hounds bayed +With hungry ardour, and the deer, dismayed, +With foaming nostrils leapt, and strove to flee +Towards the deep, dark woods of Calrossie. +But Caoilte, fresh from resting, was more fleet +Than deer or dogs, and sped with naked feet, +Until upon a loose and sandy bank, +Plunging his spear into the smoking flank, +Its flight he stayed.... He stabbed it as it sank, +The life-blood spurting; and he saw it die +Or ever dog or huntsman had come nigh. + +Then eager feast they made; and after long +And frequent fast of winter, they grew strong +As they had been of old. And of their fare +The lean and scrambling hounds had ready share. + +Nor over-fed they in their merry mood, +But set to hunt again, and through the wood +Scattered with eager pace, ere yet the sun +Had climbed to highest noon; for lo! each one +Had mem'ry of the famished cheeks and white +Of those who waited their return by night, +In steep Knockfarrel's desolate stockade-- +O' many a beauteous and bethrothèd maid, +And mothers nursing babes, and warriors lying +In winter-fever's spell, the old men dying, +And slim, fair lads who waited to acclaim, +With gladsome shout, the huntsmen when they came +With burdens of the chase ... So they pursued +The hunt till eve was nigh. In Geanies wood +Another deer they slew ... + + Caoilte, who stood +On a high ridge alone ... with eager eyes +Scanning the prospect wide ... in mute surprise +Saw rising o'er Knockfarrel, a dark cloud +Of thick and writhing smoke ... Then fierce and loud +Upon his horn he blew the warning blast-- +From out the woods the Fians hastened fast-- +Lo! when they stared towards the western sky, +They saw their winter dwelling blazing high. + +Then fear possessed them for their own, and grief +Unutterable. And thus spake their wise chief, +To whom came knowledge and the swift, sure thought-- +"Alas! alas! an enemy hath wrought +Black vengeance on our kind. In yonder gleam +Of fearsome flame, the horrors of my dream +Are now accomplished--all we loved and cherished, +And sought, and fought for, in that pyre have perished!" + +White-lipped they heard.... Then, wailing loud, they ran, +Following the nimble Caoilte, man by man, +Towards Knockfarrel; leaping on their spears +O'er marsh and stream. MacReithin, blind with tears, +Tumbled or leapt into a swollen flood +That swept him to the sea. But no man stood +To help or mourn him, for the eve grew dim-- +And some there were, indeed, who envied him. + + + + +V. + +As snarls the wolf at bay within the wood +On huntsmen and their hounds, so Garry stood +Raging before the women who had made +Secure retreat within the high stockade; +He cursed them all, and their loud laughter rang +More bitter to his heart than e'en the pang +Of his fierce wounds. Then while his streaming blood +Half-blinded him, he hastened to the wood, +And a small tree upon his shoulders bore, +And fixed it fast against the oaken door, +That none might issue forth. + + Then once again +Towards the wood he turned, but all in vain +The women waited his return, till they +Grey weary.. for in pain and wrath he lay +In a close thicket, brooding o'er his shame, +And panting for revenge. + + Then Finn's wife came +To set the women to the wheel and loom, +With angry chiding; and a heavy gloom +Fell on them all. "Who knoweth," thus she spake, +"What evil may the Fian men o'ertake +This day of evil omens. Yester-night +I say the pale ghost of my sire with white +And trembling lips ... At morn before my sight +A raven darted from the wood, and slew +A brooding dove ... What fear is mine!... for who +Would us defend if our fierce foemen came-- +When Garry is against us ... Much I blame +Thy wanton deed." ... The women heard in shame, +Nor answer made. + + The sun, with fiery gleam, +Scattered the feath'ry clouds, as in a dream +The spirits of the dead are softly swept +From severed visions sweet. A low wind crept +Around with falt'ring steps, and, pausing, sighed-- +Then fled to murmur from the mountain side +Amid the pine-tree shade; while all aglow +Ben-Wyvis bared a crest of shining snow +In barren splendour o'er the slumbering strath; +While some sat trembling, fearing Garry's wrath, +Some feared the coming of the foe, and some +Had vague forebodings, and were brooding dumb, +And longed to greet the huntsmen. Mothers laid +Their babes to sleep, and many a gentle maid +Sighed for her lover in that lone stockade; +And one who sat apart, with pensive eye, +Thus sang to hear the peewee's plaintive cry-- + + _Peewee, peewee, crying sweet, + Crying early, crying late-- + Will your voice be never weary + Crying for your mate? + Other hearts than thine are lonely, + Other hearts must wait. + + Peewee, peewee, I'd be flying + O'er the hills and o'er the sea, + Till I found the love I long for + Whereso'er he'd be-- + Peewee crying, I'd be flying, + Could I fly like thee!_ + +When Garry, who had stanched his wounds, arose, +He seized his axe, and 'gan with rapid blows +To fell down fir trees. Through the silent strath +The hollow echoes rang. With fiendish wrath +He made resolve to heap the splintered wood +Against the door, and burn the hated brood +Of his tormentors one and all. He hewed +An ample pyre, then piled it thick and high, +While the sun, sloping to the western sky, +Proclaimed the closing of that fateful day. +But the doomed women little dreamed that they +Would have such fearsome end ... As Garry lay +Rubbing the firesticks till they 'gan to glow, +He heard a Fian mother singing low-- + + _Sleep, O sleep, I'll sing to thee-- + Moolachie, O moolachie. + Sleep, O sleep, like yon grey stone, + Moolachie, mine own. + + Sleep, O sleep, nor sigh nor fret ye, + And the goblins will not get ye, + I will shield ye, I will pet ye-- + Moolachie, mine own._ + +The mother sang, the gentle babe made moan-- +And Garry heard them with a heart of stone ... +With fiendish laugh, he saw the leaping flames +Possess the pyre; he heard the shrieking dames, +And maids and children, wailing in the gloom +Of smothering smoke, e'er they had met their doom. +Then when the high stockade was blazing red, +Ere yet their cries were silenced, Garry fled, +And westward o'er the shouldering hills he sped. + + + + +VI. + +A broad, faint twilight lingered to unfold +The sun's slow-dying beams of tangled gold, +And the long, billowy hills, in gathering shade, +Their naked peaks and ebon crags displayed +Sharp-rimmed against the tender heaven and pale; +And misty shadows gathered in the vale-- +When Caoilte to Knockfarrel came, and saw +Amid the dusk, with sorrow and with awe, +The ruins of their winter dwelling laid +In smouldering ashes; while the high stockade +Around the rocky wall, like ragged teeth, +Was crackling o'er the melting stones beneath, +Still darting flame, and flickering in the breeze. + +He sped towards the wood, and through the trees +Called loud for those who perished. On his fair +And gentle spouse he called in his despair. +His sweet son, and his sire, whose hair was white +As Wyvis snow, he called for in the night. +Full loud and long across the Strath he cried-- +The echoes mocked him from the mountain side. + +Ah! when his last hope faded like the wave +Of twilight ebbing o'er the hills, he gave +His heart to utter grief and deep despair; +And the cold stars peer'd down with pitiless stare, +While sank the wind in silence on its flight +Through the dark hollows of the spacious night; +And distant sounds seem'd near. In his dismay +He heard a Fian calling far away. +The night-bird answered back with dismal cry, +Like to a wounded man about to die-- +But Caoilte's lips were silent ... Once again +And nearer, came the voice that cried in vain. +Then swift steps climbed Knockfarrel's barren steep, +And Alvin called, with trembling voice and deep, +To Caoilte, crouching low, with bended head, +"Who liveth?" ... "I am here alone," he said ... +Thus Fian after Fian came to share +Their bitter grief, in silence and despair. + +All night they kept lone watch, until the dawn +With stealthy fingers o'er the east had drawn +Its dewy veil and dim. Then Finn arose +From deep and sleepless brooding o'er his woes, +And spake unto the Fians, "Who shall rest +While flees our evil foeman farther west? +Arise!" ... "But who hath done this deed?" they sighed; +And Finn made answer, "Garry." ... Then they cried +For vengeance swift and terrible, and leapt +To answer Finn's command. + + A cold wind swept +From out the gates of morning, moaning loud, +As swift they hastened forth. A ragged shroud +Of gathering tempest o'er Ben-Wyvis cast +A sudden gloom, and round it, falling fast, +It drifted o'er the darkened slopes and bare, +And snow-flakes swirled in the chill morning air-- +Then o'er the sea, the sun leapt large and bright, +Scatt'ring the storm. And moor and crag lay white, +As westward o'er the hills the Fians all +In quest of Garry sped. + + At even-fall +They found him ... On the bald and rocky side +Of steep Scour-Vullin, Garry lay to hide +Within a cave, which, backward o'er the snow, +He entered, that his steps might seem to show +He had fled eastward by the path he came. +All day he sought to flee them in his shame, +Watching from lofty crag or deep ravine, +And crouching in the heath, with haggard mien-- +He sought in vain to hide till darkness cast +Its blinding cloak betwixt them. + + When at last +Finn cried, "Come forth, thou dog of evil deeds, +Nor respite seek!" ... His limbs like wind-swept reeds +Trembled and bent beneath him; so he rose +And came to meet his friends who were his foes-- +Then unto Finn he spake with accents meek, +"One last request I of the Fians seek, +Whom I have loved in peace and served in strife"-- +"'Tis thine," said Finn, "but ask not for thy life, +For thou art 'mong the Fians." ... "I would die," +Said Garry, "with my head laid on thy thigh; +And let young Alvin take thy sword, that he +May give the death that will mine honour be." + +'Twas so he lay to die ... But as the blade +Swept bright, young Alvin, keen for vengeance, swayed, +And slipped upon the sward ... And his fierce blow +That Garry slew, the Fian chief laid low-- +A grievous wound was gaping on his thigh, +And poured his life-blood forth ... A low, weird cry +The great Finn gave, as he fell back and swooned-- +In vain they strove to stanch the fearsome wound-- +His life ebbed slowly with the sun's last ray +In gathering gloom ... And when in death he lay, +The glory of the Fians passed away. + + + + +HER EVIL EYE. + + +O Mairi Dhu, the weaver's wife, + Will have the evil eye; +The fear will come about my heart + When she'll be passing by; +She'll have the piercing look to wound + The very birds that fly. + +I would not have her evil wish, + I would not have her praise, +For like the shadow would her curse, + Me follow all my days-- +When she my churning will speak well, + No butter can I raise. + +O Mairi Dhu will have the eye + To wound the very deer-- +Ah! would she scowl upon my bairns + When her they would come near? +They'll have the red cords round their necks, + So they'll have naught to fear. + +It's Murdo Ban, the luckless man, + Against her would prevail; +And first her eye was on his churn, + Then on the milking pail; +When she would praise the brindled cow, + The cow began to ail. + +The trout that gambol in the pool + She'll wound when she goes past; +Then weariness will come upon + The fins that flicked so fast; +And one by one the lifeless things + Will on the stones be cast. + +O Mairi Dhu, you gave yon sprain + To poor Dun Para's arm; +It is myself would have the work + Undoing of the harm-- +I'd twist around the three-ply cord + Well-knotted o'er the charm. + +Your eye you'd put on yon sweet babe + O' Lachlan o' Loch-Glass; +He'd fill the wooden ladle where + The dead and living pass-- +And with the water, silver-charmed, + He'd save his little lass. + +I'll lock my cheese within the chest, + My butter I will hide; +I'll bar the byre at milking time, + Although you'll wait outside-- +You'll maybe go another way-- + Who'll care for you to bide? + + + + +A CURSING + + +So you're coming, ye reivers and rogues, + When the men will be fighting afar-- +Oh! all the Mac Quithens[1] are bold + When it's only with women they'll war + +Weasels that creep in the dark! + Foxes that prowl in the night! +Rats that are hated and vile!-- + O hasten you out of my sight! + +Oh! my cow you would take from my byre?-- + This day will the beggars be brave! +You'd be lifting the thatch from the roof + If you hadna' a roof to your cave + +Your chief he's the lord o' the lies! + A wind-bag his wife wi' the brag! +Your clan is the pride o' the thieves-- + Whose meal will you have in your bag? + +Now, Laspuig Maclan[2] may blush-- + Oh! he'll be the sorrowful man-- +His fame for the thieving is gone + To the reivers and rogues of your clan + +You'll spare me "so old and so frail, + Fitter to die than to live?" +But maybe I'll slay with the tongue + And the heart that will never forgive + +The curse of the frail will be strong, + The curse of the widow be sure; +O the curse of the wrong'd will avenge, + Black, black is the curse of the poor! + +Ha! laugh at your ease while you can-- + Laugh! it's the devil's turn next-- +For after I'm done with you all, + O who will be doleful and vext? + +Bare-kneed on the ground will I go-- + My hair on my shoulders let fall, +Now hear me and never forget + My curses I'll cast on you all + +_Little increase to your clan! + The down-mouth to you and to yours! +The blight on your little black cave! + The luck o' a Friday on moors! + +Fire upon land be your lot! + Drowning in storm on the deep! +Leave not a son to succeed! + Leave not a daughter to weep! + +Here's the bad meeting to you! + Death without priest be your fate! +Go to your grandfather's[3] house-- + The Son of the Cursing[4] will wait!_ + +[Footnote 1: This clan, which had an evil reputation, is extinct] + +[Footnote 2: Laspuig MacIan--A famous thief] + +[Footnote 3: "Grandfather's house"--The grave] + +[Footnote 4: "Son of the Cursing"--The devil] + + + + +LEOBAG'S[1] WARNING. + + +Would Murdo make the wry mouth? + Is Ailie cross-eyed? +O mock no more the beggar man, + You'll scorn wi' pride! +The wind that will be blowing west, + Might turn and blow south-- +O, Ailie, it would fix your eyes + And Murdo's wry mouth. + +O mind ye o' the Leobag + And yon rock cod-- +"Ho! there's the mouth," the 'cute one cried, + "For the hook and rod!" +The tide it would be turning while + The Leobag would mock-- +And that is why it's gaping as + It gaped below the rock. + +[Footnote 1: Leobag--The flounder.] + + + + +TOBER MHUIRE. + +(WELL OF ST MARY.) + + +'Tis for thee I will be pining, + _Tober Mhuire_. +Thou art deep and sweet and shining, + _Tober Mhuire_. +In the dimness I'll be dying, +And my soul for thee is sighing +With the blessings on thee lying-- + _Tober Mhuire_. + +O thy cool, sweet waters dripping, + _Tober Mhuire_, +Now my sere lips would be sipping, + _Tober Mhuire_. +O my lips are sere and burning-- +For thy waters I'll be yearning, +And yon road of no returning, + _Tober Mhuire_. + +O thy coolness and thy sweetness, + _Tober Mhuire_. +O thy sureness and completeness, + _Tober Mhuire_. +O this life I would be leaving, +With the greyness of its grieving, +And the deeps of its deceiving, + _Tober Mhuire_. + +I would sip thy waters holy, + _Tober Mhuire_. +While the drops of life drip slowly, + _Tober Mhuire_-- +Till the wings of angel whiteness, +With their softness and their lightness, +Blind me, fold me, in their brightness-- + _Tober Mhuire_. + + + + +SLEEPY SONG. + +(_Sung by Grainne to Diarmid in their Flight from the Fians_.) + + + Sleep a little O Diarmid, Diarmid, + Sleep in the deep lone cave; +Sleep a little--a little little, + Love whom my love I gave-- + Wearily falls O Diarmid, Diarmid, + Wearily falls the wave. + + Sleep a little, O Diarmid, Diarmid, + Sleep, and have never a fear; +Sleep a little--a little little, + Love whom I love so dear-- + A weary wind, O Diarmid, Diarmid, + A weary wind I hear. + + Sleep a little, O Diarmid, Diarmid, + Sleep, while I watch till you wake; + Sleep a little--a little little, + Love whom I'll ne'er forsake-- +Sleep a little, and blessings on you + My lamb, or my heart will break. + + + + +SONG OF THE SEA. + + +The sea sings loud, the sea sings low, +And sweet is the chime of its ebb and flow + Over the shingly strand; +For its strange, sweet song that woos my ear +The first man heard, as the last shall hear-- + Seeking to understand ... + + + + +THE DEATH OF CUCHULLIN. + + + Now when the last hour of his life drew nigh, + Cuchullin woke from dreams forewarning death; + And cold and awesome came the night-bird's cry-- + An evil omen the magician saith-- + A low gust panted like a man's last breath, + As morning crept into the chamber black; +Then all his weapons clashed and tumbled from the rack. + + For the last time his evil foemen came; + The sons of Calatin by Lugaid led. + The land lay smouldering with smoke and flame; + The duns were fallen and the fords ran red; + And widows fled, lamenting for their dead, + To fair Emania on that fateful day, +Where all forsworn with fighting great Cuchullin lay. + + Levarchan, whom he loved, a maid most fair, + Rose-lipp'd, with yellow hair and sea-grey eyes, + The evil tidings to Cuchullin bare. + And, trembling in her beauty, bade him rise; + Niamh, brave Conal's queen, the old, the wise, + Urged him with clamour of the land's alarms, +And, stirr'd with vengeful might, the hero sprang to arms. + + His purple mantle o'er his shoulders wide + In haste he flung, and tow'ring o'er them stood + All scarr'd and terrible in battle pride-- + His brooch, that clasp'd his mantle and his hood + Then fell his foot to pierce, and his red blood + Follow'd, like fate, behind him as he stepp'd +Levarchan shriek'd, and Niamh moaned his doom and wept + + Thus sallying forth he called his charioteer, + And bade him yoke the war-steeds of his choice-- + The Grey of Macha, shuddering in fear, + Had scented death, and pranced with fearsome noise, + But when it heard Cuchullin's chiding voice, + Meekly it sought the chariot to be bound, +And wept big tears of blood before him on the ground + + Then to his chariot leapt the lord of war + 'O leave me not!' Levarchan cried in woe, + Thrice fifty queens, who gather'd from afar, + Moan'd with one voice, 'Ah, would'st thou from us go?' + They smote their hands, and fast their tears did flow-- + Cuchullin's chariot thunder'd o'er the plain +Full well he knew that he would ne'er return again + + How vehement and how beautiful they swept-- + The Grey of Macha and the Black most bold + And keen-eyed Laegh, the watchful and adept, + Nor turn'd, nor spake, as on the chariot roll'd + The steeds he urged with his red goad of gold + Stooping he drave, with wing'd cloak and spheres, +Slender and tall and red--the King of Charioteers! + + Cuchullin stood impatient for the fray, + His golden hilted bronze sword on his thigh + A sharp and venomous dart beside him lay, + He clasp'd his ashen spear, bronze-tipp'd and high, + As flames the sun upon the western sky, + His round shield from afar was flashing bright, +Figured with radiant gold and rimm'd with silver white + + Stern-lipp'd he stood, his great broad head thrown back, + The white pearls sprayed upon his thick, dark hair, + Deep set, his eyes, beneath his eyebrows black, + Were swift and grey, and fix'd his fearless stare, + Red-edg'd his white hood flamed, his tunic rare + Of purple gleam'd with gold, his cloak behind +His shoulders shone with silver, floating in the wind + + Betimes three crones him meet upon the way, + Half-blind and evil-eyed, with matted hair-- + Workers of spells and witcheries are they-- + The brood of Calatin--beware! beware! + They proffer of their fulsome food a share, + And, 'Stay with us a while,' a false crone cries +'Unseemly is the strong who would the weak despise' + + He fain would pass, but leapt upon the ground, + The proud, the fearless! for sweet honour's sake-- + With spells and poisons had they cook'd a hound, + Of which he was forbidden to partake + But his name-charm the brave Cuchullin brake, + And their foul food he in his left hand took-- +Eftsoons his former strength that arm and side forsook + + For, O Cuchullin! could'st thou ere forget, + When fast by Culann's fort on yon black night, + Thou fought'st and slew the ban-dog dark as jet, + Which scared the thief, and put the foe to flight! + A tender youth thou wert of warrior might, + And all the land did with thy fame resound, +As Cathbad, the magician, named thee 'Culann's hound' + + Loud o'er Mid Luachair road the chariot roll'd, + Round Shab Fuad desolate and grand, + Till Ere with hate the hero did behold, + Hast'ning to sweep the foemen from the land, + His sword flash'd red and radiant in his hand, + In sunny splendour was his spear upraised, +And hovering o'er his head the light of heroes blazed + + He comes! he comes!' cried Ere as he drew near + 'Await him, Men of Erin, and be strong!' + Their faces blanch'd, their bodies shook with fear-- + 'Now link thy shields and close together throng, + And shout the war-cry loud and fierce and long + Then Ere, with cunning of his evil heart, +Set heroes forth in pairs to feign to fight apart + + As furious tempests, that in deep woods roar + Assault the giant trees and lay them low, + As billows toss the seaweed on the shore, + As sweeping sickles do the ripe fields mow-- + Cuchullin, rolling fiercely on the foe, + Broke through the linked ranks upon the plain, +To drench the field with blood and round him heap the slain + + And when he reach'd a warrior-pair that stood + In feignèd strife upon a knoll of green, + Their weapons clashing but unstained with blood, + A satirist him besought to intervene, + Whereat he slew them as he drave between-- + "Thy spear to me," the satirist cried the while, +The hero answering, "Nay," he cried, "I'll thee revile." + + 'Reviled for churlishness I ne'er have been," + Cuchullin call'd, up-rising in his pride, + And cast his ashen spear bronze-tipp'd and keen + And slew the satirist and nine beside, + Then his fresh onslaught made the host divide + And flee before him clamouring with fear, +The while the stealthy Lugaid seized Cuchullin's spear + + "O sons of Calatin," did Lugaid call, + "What falleth by the weapon I hold here?" + Together they acclaim'd, "A King will fall, + For so foretold," they said, "the aged seer." + Then at the chariot he flung the spear, + And Laegh was stricken unto death and fell +Cuchullin drew the spear and bade a last farewell + + "The victor I, and eke the charioteer!" + He cried, and drave the war-steeds fierce and fast. + Another pair he slew, "To me thy spear," + Again a satirist call'd. The spear was cast, + And through the satirist and nine men pass'd + But Lugaid grasps it, and again doth call,-- +"What falleth by this spear?" They shout, "A King will fall" + + "Then fall," cried Lugaid, as he flung the spear-- + The Grey of Macha sank in death's fierce throes, + Snapping the yoke, the while the Black ran clear: + Cuchullin groan'd, and dash'd upon his foes; + Another pair he slew with rapid blows, + And eke the satirist and nine men near: +Then once more Lugaid sprang to seize the charmèd spear. + + "What falleth by this weapon?" he doth call + "A King will fall," they answer him again ... + "But twice before ye said, 'A King will fall'" ... + They cried, "The King of Steeds hath fled the plain, + And lo, the King of Charioteers is slain!" ... + For the last time he drave the spear full well, +And smote the great Cuchullin--and Cuchullin fell + + The Black steed snapp'd the yoke, and left alone + The King of Heroes dying on the plain: + "I fain would drink," they heard Cuchullin groan, + "From out yon loch" ... He thirsted in fierce pain. + "We give thee leave, but thou must come again," + His foemen said; then low made answer he, +"If I will not return, I'll bid you come to me" + + His wound he bound, and to the loch did hie, + And drank his drink, and wash'd, and made no moan. + Then came the brave Cuchullin forth to die, + Sublimely fearless, strengthless and alone ... + He wended to the standing pillar-stone, + Clutching his sword and leaning on his spear, +And to his foemen called, "Come ye, and meet me here." + + A vision swept upon his fading brain-- + A passing vision glorious and sweet, + That hour of youth return'd to him again + When he took arms with fearless heart a-beat, + As Cathbad, the magician, did repeat, + "Who taketh arms upon this day of grief, +His name shall live forever and his life be brief" + + Fronting his foes, he stood with fearless eye, + His body to the pillar-stone he bound, + Nor sitting nor down-lying would he die ... + He would die standing ... so they gathered round + In silent wonder on the blood-drench'd ground, + And watch'd the hero who with Death could strive; +But no man durst approach ... He seem'd to be alive ... + + + + +LOST SONGS. + + +Harp of my fathers--on the mouldering wall + Of days forgotten--like a far-off wind +Hushing the fir-wood at soft even-fall, + Thy low-heard whispers to my heart recall +The wistful songs, to Silence Old consigned, + That Ossian sang when he was frail and blind. + +Thy fitful notes from the melodious trees, + I fain would echo in my feeble rhyme-- +The inner music quivering on the breeze + I hear; and throbbing from the beating seas, +On ancient shores, the wearied pulse of Time + That mingles with thy melodies sublime. + + + + +OTHER POEMS. + +THE DREAM. + + +'Twas when I woke I knew it was a dream, +Measured by moments, that to me did seem, + A life-long spell of joy and peace to be-- + +Will that last dream that comes ere death descends, +From which I shall not wake to know it ends, + Thus seem to live on through Eternity? + + + + +FREE WILL. + + +Say not the will of man is free + Within the limits of his soul-- +Who from his heritage can flee? + Who can his destiny control? + +In vain we wage perpetual strife, + 'Gainst instincts dumb and blind desires-- +Who leads must serve.. The pulse of life + Throbs with the dictates of our sires. + +Since when the world began to be, + And life through hidden purpose came, +From sire to son unceasingly + The task bequeathed hath been the same. + +We strive, while fetters bind us fast, + We seek to do what needs must be-- +We move through bondage with the past + In service to posterity. + + + + +STRIFE. + + +Weary of strife-- +The surge and clash of city life-- +I sought for peace in solitude, +Within the hushed and darkened wood +And on the lonesome moor-- +But found contending leaf and root +Engaged in conflict fierce though mute, +While what was frail was slain +By what was strong in dire dispute-- +I sought for peace in vain! +The world, sustained by strife, endures in pain. + +"All things that are in conflict be," +I murmured on the shelving strand, +Where struggling winds would fain be free-- +The tides in conflict with the wind's command, +Turned tossing, wearily-- +I heard the loud sea labouring to the land-- +I saw the dumb land striving with the sea. + + + + +SONNET. + +(_Written in the Stone Gallery of St Paul's._) + + +The drowsing city sparkles in the heat, +And murmur in mine ears unceasingly +The surging tides of that vast human sea-- +The billows of life that break with muffled beat +And vibrate through this high and lone retreat; +While over all, serene, and fair, and free, +Thy dome is reared in naked majesty +Grey, old St Paul's ... In thee the Ages meet, +Slumbering amidst the trophies of their strife. +And in their dreams thou hearest, while the cries +Of triumph and despair ascend from Life, +The murmurings of immortality-- +Thou Sentinel of Hope that doth despise +What was and is not, waiting what shall be! + + + + +"OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF BABES." + + +"Is baby dead?" he whispered, with wide eyes + Tearless, but full of eloquent regret, +His childish face grown prematurely wise-- + Pond'ring the problem death before him set. + +"Baby is dead," I answered, as I laid + My hand on her frail forehead with a sigh; +"Oh! daddy, why did God do this?" he said, + And silently my heart made answer, "Why?" + +He touched her white, worn face, and said, "How cold + Is our wee baby now." ... His eyes were deep ... +Then came his little brother, two years old, + He looked, and lisped, "The baby is asleep." + + + + +NOTES. + + +_The Wee Folk_.--In Gaelic they are usually called "The Peace People" +(sithchean). Other names are "Wee Folk" (daoine beaga); "Light Folk" +(slaugh eutrom), etc. As in the Lowlands, they are also referred to as +"guid fowk" and "guid neighbours." + +_The Banshee_ (Beanshith).--Sometimes referred to as "The Fairy Queen," +sometimes as "The Green Lady." She sings a song while she washes the +clothes of one about to meet a swift and tragic fate. In the Fian poems +she converses with those who see her, and foretells the fate of warriors +going to battle. + +_The Blue Men of the Minch_ (Na Fir Ghorm).--Between the Shant Isles +(Charmed Isles) and Lewis is the "Stream of the Blue Men." They are the +"sea-horses" of the island Gaels. Their presence in the strait was +believed to be the cause of its billowy restlessness and swift currents. + +_The Changeling_.--When the fairies robbed a mother of her babe, they +left behind a useless, old, and peevish fairy, who took the form of a +child. This belief may have originated in the assumption that when a +baby became ill and fretful, it was a changeling. + +_The Urisk_ is, if anything, a personification of fear. It is a silent, +cloudy shape which haunts lonely moors, and follows travellers, but +rarely does more than scare them. + +_My Fairy Lover_.--Fairies fell in love with human beings, and deserted +them when their love was returned. Women of unsound mind, given to +wandering alone in solitary places, were believed to be the victims of +fairy love. + +_Yon Fairy Dog_ (An Cu Sith) was heard howling on stormy nights. He was +"big as a stirk," one informant has declared The "fearsome tail" appears +to have been not the least impressive thing about it. The MacCodrums +were brave and fearless, and were supposed to be descended from Seals, +which were believed to be human beings under spells. + +_My Gunna_.--This kindly, but solitary, elf herded cattle by night, and +prevented them from falling over the rocks. He was seen only by those +gifted with the faculty of "second sight." The Gunna resembles the +Lowland "Brownie." + +_Her Evil Eye_.--Belief in the Evil Eye is still quite common, even +among educated people, in the Highlands. Not a few children wear "the +cord," to which a silver coin is appended, as a charm against the +influence of "the eye." + +_The Little Old Man of the Barn_ (Bodachan Sabhaill).--Like the Gunna, +he is a variety the kindly Brownie, and assisted the needy. + +_Nimble Men_ (Na Fir Chlis) are "The Merry Dancers," or Aurora Borealis. +It was believed that, when the streamers were coloured, the "men and +maids" were dancing, and that after the dance the lovers fought for the +love of the queen. When the streamers are particularly vivid, a pink +cloud is seen below them, and this is called "the pool of blood." It +drips upon blood-stones, the spots on which are referred to as fairy +blood (fuil siochaire). A wizard could, by waving his wand, summon the +"Nimble Men" to dance in the northern sky. + +_The Water Horse_ haunted lonely lochs, and lured human beings to a +terrible death. When a hand was laid on its main, power to remove it was +withdrawn. + +_A Cursing_--The Gaelic curses are quaint in translation, but terrible +in the original. + +_Bonnach Fallaidh_.--It was considered unlucky to throw away the +remnants of a baking. So the good-wife made a little bannock, which was +pierced in the middle, as a charm against fairy influence. It was given +to a child for performing an errand, but the charm would be broken if +the reason for gifting it were explained. That was the good-wife's +secret. It was also unlucky to count the bannocks, and when they fell, +"bad luck" was foretold. Finlay's bannock was not kneaded on the board +or placed on the brander, but, unlike the other bannocks, was toasted in +front of the fire. + +_The Gruagach_ was a gentlemanly Brownie, who haunted byres. It was +never seen, although its shadow occasionally danced on the wall as it +flitted about. Often, when chased, it was heard tittering round corners. +In some barns, Clach-na-gruagach--"the Gruagach's stone"--is still +seen. Milkers pour an offering of milk into the hollowed stone "for +luck." The cream might not rise and the churn yield no butter if this +service were neglected. A favourite trick of the Gruagach was to untie +the cattle in the byre, so as to bring out the milkmaid, especially if +she had forgotten to leave the offering of milk. + +_Tober Mhuire_ (St Mary's Well) is situated at Tarradale, Ross-shire. +When a sick person asks for a drink of Tober Mhuire water, it is taken +as a sign of approaching death. It is a curious thing that this +reverence for holy water should be perpetuated among a Presbyterian +people. Wishing and curative wells are numerous in the North. + +_The Fians of Knockfarrel_.--This story belongs to the Ossianic or Fian +cycle of Gaelic tales in prose and verse. Hugh Miller makes reference to +it, but speaks of the Fians as giants. In Strathpeffer district the tale +is well known, and it is referred to in "Waifs and Strays of Celtic +Tradition." It is also localised in Skye. There are several Fian +place-names in the Highlands. The warriors are supposed to lie in a +charmed sleep in Craig-a-howe Cave, near Munlochy, Ross-shire. Caoilte, +the swift runner, was a famous Fian. Finn was chief, and Goll and Garry +were of Clan Morna, which united with the Fians. "Moolachie" is a little +babe, and "clarsach," a harp. + +_Ledbag's Warning_.--Children who twist their mouths, or squint, are +warned that, if the wind changes, their contortions will remain. The +fate of the flounder, which mocked the cod, is cited as a terrible +example. + +_Conn, Son of the Red_ is a Fian tale of which several old Gaelic +versions have been collected. Goll, the "first hero" of the Fians, slew +the Red when Conn, his son, was seven years old. In the fullness of time +the young hero, whom his enemies admire as well as fear, crossed the sea +to avenge his father's death, and engaged in a long and fierce duel with +Goll. + +_Death of Cuchullin_ is from the Cuchullin Cycle of Bronze Age heroic +tales. The enemy have invaded and laid waste the province of Ulster, and +the chief warriors of the Red Branch, except Cuchullin, who must needs +fight alone, are laid under spells by the magicians of the invaders. The +poem is suffused with evidences of magical beliefs and practices. +Cuchullin goes forth knowing that he will meet his doom. His name +signifies "hound of Culann." In his youth he slew Culann's ferocious +watch-hound which attacked him, and took its place until another was +trained. It was "geis" (taboo) for him to partake of the flesh of a +hound (his totem), or eat at a cooking hearth; but he must needs accept +the hospitality of the witches. The satirists are satirical bards who, +it was believed, could not only lampoon a hero, but infuse their +compositions with magical powers like incantations. Cuchullin cannot be +slain except by his own spear, which he must deliver up to a satirist +who demands it. Emania, the capital of Ulster, was the home of the Bed +Branch warriors. + +_Sleepy Song_.--When Diarmid eloped with Grianne, as Paris did with +Helen, the Fians followed them, so that Finn, their chief, might be +avenged. Diarmid, who is the unwilling victim of Grainne's spells, +dreads to meet Finn, and is in constant fear of discovery. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELVES AND HEROES*** + + +******* This file should be named 10089-8.txt or 10089-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/0/8/10089 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** diff --git a/old/10089-8.zip b/old/10089-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c25947e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10089-8.zip diff --git a/old/10089.txt b/old/10089.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ce154de --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10089.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3139 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Elves and Heroes, by Donald A. MacKenzie + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Elves and Heroes + +Author: Donald A. MacKenzie + +Release Date: November 15, 2003 [eBook #10089] + +Language: English + +Chatacter set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELVES AND HEROES*** + + +E-text prepared by Ted Garvin, Brett Koonce, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + +Editorial note: Many paragraphs in the original text ended without + punctuation, and this state has been preserved in + this Project Gutenberg edition. + + + + + +ELVES AND HEROES + +BY + +DONALD A. MACKENZIE. + +1909 + + + + + + + + +TO + +Miss YULE, of TARRADALE. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +THE ELVES. + +The immemorial folk-beliefs of our native land are passing away, but +they still retain for us a poetic appeal, not only on account of the +glamour of early associations, but also because they afford us inviting +glimpses of the mental habits and inherent characteristics of the men +and women of past generations. When we re-tell the old tales of our +ancestors, we sit beside them over the peat-fire; and, as we glory with +them in their strong heroes, and share their elemental joys and fears, +we breathe the palpitating air of that old mysterious world of theirs, +peopled by spirits beautiful, and strange, and awe-inspiring. + +The attitude of the Gael towards the supernatural, and his general +outlook upon life in times gone by, was not associated with unbroken +gloom; nor was he always an ineffectual dreamer and melancholy fatalist. +These attributes belong chiefly to the Literary Celt of latter-day +conception--the Celt of Arnold and Renan, and other writers following in +their wake, who have woven misty impressions of a people whom they have +met as strangers, and never really understood. Celtic literature is not +a morbid literature. In Highland poetry there is more light than shadow, +much symbolism, but no vagueness; pictures are presented in minute +detail; stanzas are cunningly wrought in a spirit of keen artistry; and +the literary style is direct and clear and comprehensible. In Highland +folklore we find associated with the haunting "fear of things +invisible," common to all peoples in early stages of development, a +confident feeling of security inspired by the minute observances of +ceremonial practices. We also note a distinct tendency to discriminate +between spirits, some of which are invariably friendly, some merely +picturesque, and perhaps fearsome, and others constantly harbouring a +desire to work evil upon mankind. Associated with belief in the efficacy +of propitiatory offerings and "ceremonies of riddance," is the ethical +suggestion that good wishes and good deeds influence spirits to perform +acts of kindly intent. + +Of fairies the Highlanders spoke, as they are still prone to do in these +districts where belief in them is not yet extinct, with no small degree +of regard and affection. It may be that "the good folk" and the +"peace-people" (_sitchean_) were so called that good intention might be +compelled by the conjuring influence of a name, as well as to avoid +giving offence by uttering real names, as if it were desired to exercise +a magical influence by their use. Be that as it may, it is evident from +Highland folk-tales that the fairies were oftener the friends than the +foes of mankind. When men and women were lured to their dwellings they +rarely suffered injury; indeed, the fairies appeared to have taken +pleasure in their company. To such as they favoured they imparted the +secrets of their skill in the arts of piping, of sword-making, etc. At +sowing time or harvest they were at the service of human friends. On the +needy they took pity. They never failed in a promise; they never forgot +an act of kindness, which they invariably rewarded seven-fold. Against +those who wronged them they took speedy vengeance. It would appear that +on these humanised spirits of his conception the Highlander left, as one +would expect him to do, the impress of his own character--his shrewdness +and high sense of honour, his love of music and gaiety, his warmth of +heart and love of comrades, and his indelible hatred of tyranny and +wrong. + +The Highland "wee folk" are not so diminutive as the fairies of +England--at least that type of fairy, beloved of the poet, which hovers +bee-like over flowers and feeds on honey-dew. Power they had to shrink +in stature and to render themselves invisible, but they are invariably +"little people," from three to four feet high. It may be that the Gael's +conception of humanised spirits may not have been uninfluenced by the +traditions of that earlier diminutive race whose arrow-heads of flint +were so long regarded as "elf-bolts." The fairies dwelt only in grassy +knolls, on the summits of high hills, and inside cliffs. Although +capable of living for several centuries, they were not immortal. They +required food, and borrowed meal and cooking utensils from human beings, +and always returned what they received on loan. They could be heard +within the knolls grinding corn and working at their anvils, and they +were adepts at spinning and weaving and harvesting. When they went on +long journeys they became invisible, and were carried through the air on +eddies of western wind. + +At the seasonal changes of the year, "the wee folk" were for several +days on end inspired, like all other supernatural furies, with enmity +against mankind. Their evil influences were negatived by spells and +charms. We who still hang on our walls at Christmas the mystic holly, +are unconsciously perpetuating an old-world custom connected with belief +in the efficacy of the magical circle to protect us against evil +spirits. And in our concern about luck, our proneness to believe in +omens, the influence of colours and numbers, in dreams and in prophetic +warnings, we retain as much of the spirit as the poetry of the religion +of our remote ancestors. + + +THE HEROES. + +The heroes, with the exception of Cuchullin, who appear in this volume, +figure in the tales and poems of the Ossianic or Fian Cycle, which is +common to Ireland and to Scotland. They have been neglected by our +Scottish poets since Gavin Douglas and Barbour. In Ireland the Fians are +a band of militia--the original Fenians. In Scotland the tales vary +considerably, and belong to the hunting period before the introduction +of agriculture. But in this country, as well as in Ireland, they are +evidently influenced by historic happenings. There are tales of Norse +conflicts, as well as tales of adventure among giants and spirits. + +The cycle had evidently remote beginnings. When we find Diarmid and +Grainne, like Paris and Helen, the cause of conflict and disaster; and +Diarmid, like Achilles, charmed of body, and vulnerable only on his +heel-spot, we incline to the theory that from a mid-European centre +migrating "waves" swept over prehistoric Greece, and left traces of +their mythology and folk-lore in Homer, while other "waves," sweeping +northward, bequeathed to us as a literary inheritance the Celtic +folk-tales, in which the deeds and magical attributes of remote tribal +heroes and humanised deities are co-mingled and perpetuated. + +On fragments of these folk-tales the poet Macpherson reared his Ossianic +epic, in imitation of the Iliad and Paradise Lost. + +The "Death of Cuchullin" is a rendering in verse of an Irish prose +translation of a fragment of the Cuchullin Cycle, which moves in the +Bronze Age period. Cuchullin, with "the light of heroes" on his +forehead, is also reminiscent of Achilles. One of the few Cuchullin +tales found in Scotland is that which relates his conflict with his son, +and bears a striking similarity to the legend of Sohrab and Rustum. +Macpherson also drew from this Cycle in composing his Ossian, and +mingled it with the other, with which it has no connection. + +The third great Celtic Cycle--the Arthurian--bears close resemblances, +as Campbell, of "The West Highland Tales," has shown, to the Fian Cycle, +and had evidently a common origin. Its value as a source of literary +inspiration has been fully appreciated, but the Fian and Cuchullin +cycles still await, like virgin soil, to yield an abundant harvest for +the poets of the future. + +Notes on the folk-beliefs and tales will be found at the end of this +volume. + +Some of the short poems have appeared in the "Glasgow Herald" and +"Inverness Courier"; the three tales appeared in the "Celtic Review." + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +Preface + +The Wee Folk + +The Remnant Bannock + +The Banshee + +Conn, Son of the Red + +The Song of Goll + +The Blue Men of the Minch + +The Urisk + +The Nimble Men + +My Gunna + +The Gruagach + +The Little Old Man of the Barn + +Yon Fairy Dog + +The Water-Horse + +The Changeling + +My Fairy Lover + +The Fians of Knockfarrel + +Her Evil Eye + +A Cursing + +Leobag's Warning + +Tober Mhuire + +Sleepy Song + +Song of the Sea + +The Death of Cuchullin + +Lost Songs + + +OTHER POEMS. + +The Dream + +Free Will + +Strife + +Sonnet + +"Out of the Mouths of Babes" + +Notes + + + + + + +THE WEE FOLK. + + +In the knoll that is the greenest, + And the grey cliff side, +And on the lonely ben-top + The wee folk bide; +They'll flit among the heather, + And trip upon the brae-- +The wee folk, the green folk, the red folk and grey. + +As o'er the moor at midnight + The wee folk pass, +They whisper 'mong the rushes + And o'er the green grass; +All through the marshy places + They glint and pass away-- +The light folk, the lone folk, the folk that will not stay. + +O many a fairy milkmaid + With the one eye blind, +Is 'mid the lonely mountains + By the red deer hind; +Not one will wait to greet me, + For they have naught to say-- +The hill folk, the still folk, the folk that flit away. + +When the golden moon is glinting + In the deep, dim wood, +There's a fairy piper playing + To the elfin brood; +They dance and shout and turn about, + And laugh and swing and sway-- +The droll folk, the knoll folk, the folk that dance alway. + +O we that bless the wee folk + Have naught to fear, +And ne'er an elfin arrow + Will come us near; +For they'll give skill in music, + And every wish obey-- +The wise folk, the peace folk, the folk that work and play. + +They'll hasten here at harvest, + They will shear and bind; +They'll come with elfin music + On a western wind; +All night they'll sit among the sheaves, + Or herd the kine that stray-- +The quick folk, the fine folk, the folk that ask no pay. + +Betimes they will be spinning + The while we sleep, +They'll clamber down the chimney, + Or through keyholes creep; +And when they come to borrow meal + We'll ne'er them send away-- +The good folk, the honest folk, the folk that work alway. + +O never wrong the wee folk-- + The red folk and green, +Nor name them on the Fridays, + Or at Hallowe'en; +The helpless and unwary then + And bairns they lure away-- +The fierce folk, the angry folk, the folk that steal and slay. + + + + +BONNACH FALLAIDH. + +(THE REMNANT BANNOCK.) + + +O, the good-wife will be singing + When her meal is all but done-- +Now all my bannocks have I baked, + I've baked them all but one; +And I'll dust the board to bake it, + I'll bake it with a spell-- +O, it's Finlay's little bannock + For going to the well. + +The bannock on the brander + Smells sweet for your desire-- +O my crisp ones I will count not + On two sides of the fire; +And not a farl has fallen + Some evil to foretell!-- +O it's Finlay's little bannock + For going to the well. + +The bread would not be lasting, + 'Twould crumble in your hand; +When fairies would be coming here + To turn the meal to sand-- +But what will keep them dancing + In their own green dell? +O it's Finlay's little bannock + For going to the well. + +Now, not a fairy finger + Will do my baking harm-- +The little bannock with the hole, + O it will be the charm. +I knead it, I knead it, 'twixt my palms, + And all the bairns I tell-- +O it's Finlay's little bannock + For going to the well. + + + + +THE BANSHEE. + + +Knee-deep she waded in the pool-- + The Banshee robed in green-- +She sang yon song the whole night long, + And washed the linen clean; +The linen that would wrap the dead + She beetled on a stone, +She stood with dripping hands, blood-red, + Low singing all alone-- + +_His linen robes are pure and white, +For Fergus More must die to-night!_ + +'Twas Fergus More rode o'er the hill, + Come back from foreign wars, +His horse's feet were clattering sweet + Below the pitiless stars; +And in his heart he would repeat-- + "O never again I'll roam; +All weary is the going forth, + But sweet the coming home!" + +_His linen robes are pure and white, +For Fergus More must die to-night!_ + +He saw the blaze upon his hearth + Come gleaming down the glen; +For he was fain for home again, + And rode before his men-- +"'Tis many a weary day," he'd sigh, + "Since I would leave her side; +I'll never more leave Scotland's shore + And yon, my dark-eyed bride." + +_His linen robes are pure and white, +For Fergus More must die to-night!_ + +So dreaming of her tender love, + Soft tears his eyes would blind-- +When up there crept and swiftly leapt + A man who stabbed behind-- +"'Tis you," he cried, "who stole my bride, + This night shall be your last!" ... +When Fergus fell, the warm, red tide + Of life came ebbing fast ... + +_His linen robes are pure and white, +For Fergus More must die to-night!_ + + + + +CONN, SON OF THE RED. + + +The Fians sojourned by the shore +Of comely Cromarty, and o'er +The wooded hill pursued the chase +With ardour. 'Twas a full moon's space +Ere Beltane[1] rites would be begun +With homage to the rising sun-- +Ere to the spirits of the dead +Would sacrificial blood be shed +In yon green grove of Navity--[2] +When Conn came over the Eastern Sea, +His heart aflame with vengeful ire, +To seek for Goll, who slew his sire +When he was seven years old. + + Finn saw +In dreams, ere yet he came, with awe +The Red One's son, so fierce and bold, +In combat with his hero old-- +The king-like Goll of valorous might-- +A stormy billow in the fight +No foe could ere withstand. + + He knew +The strange ship bore brave Conn, and blew +Clear on his horn the Warning Call; +And round him thronged the Fians all +With wond'ring gaze. + + The sun drew nigh +The bale-fires of the western sky, +And faggot clouds with blood-red glare, +Caught flame, and in the radiant air +Lone Wyvis like a jewel shone-- +The Fians, as they stared at Conn, +Were stooping on the high Look-Out. +They watched the ship that tacked about, +Now slant across the firth, and now +Laid bare below the cliff's broad brow, +And heaving on a billowy steep, +Like to a monster of the deep +That wallowed, labouring in pain-- +And Conn stared back with cold disdain. + +Pondering, he sat alone behind +The broad sail swallowing the wind, +As over the hollowing waves that leapt +And snarled with foaming lips, and swept +Around the bows in querulous fray, +And tossed in curves of drenching spray, +The belching ship with ardour drove; +Then like a lordly elk that strove +Amid the hounds and, charging, rent +The pack asunder as it went, +It bore round and in beauty sprang-- +The sea-wind through the cordage sang +With high and wintry merriment +That stirred the heart of Conn, intent +On vengeance, and for battle keen-- +So hard, so steadfast, and serene. + +Then Ossian, sweet of speech, spake low, +With musing eyes upon the foe, +"Is Conn more noble than The Red, +Whom Goll in battle vanquished?" +"The Red was fiercer," Conan cried-- +"Nay, Conn is nobler," Finn replied, +"More comely, stalwart, mightier far-- +What sayest thou, Goll, my man of war?" +Then Goll made answer on the steep, +Nor ceased to gaze on Conn full deep-- +"His equal never came before +Across the seas to Alban shore, +Nor ever have I peered upon +A nobler, mightier man than Conn" + +The ship flew seaward, tacking wide, +Contending with the wind and tide, +And when upon the broad stream's track +It baffled hung, or drifted back, +With grunt and shriek, like battling boars, +The shock and swing of bladed oars +Came sounding o'er the sea + + The dusk +Grew round the twilight, like a husk +That holds a kernel choice, and keen, +Cold stars impaled the sky serene, +When Conn's ship through the slackening tide +Drew round the wistful bay and wide, +Behind the headlands high that snout +The seas like giant whales, and spout +The salt foam high and loud + + Then sighed +The gasping men who all day plied +Their oars in plunging seas, with hands +Grown stiff, and arms, like twisted bands +Drawn numbly, as they rose outspent, +And staggering from their benches went +The sail napped quarrelling, and drank +The wind in broken gasps, and sank +With sullen pride upon the boards, +And smote the mast and shook the cords + +Darkly loomed that alien land, +And darkly lowered the Fian band, +For hovering on the shoreland grey +The ship they followed round the bay +Nor sought the sheltering woods until +The shadows folded o'er the hill +Full heavily, and night fell blind, +And laid its spell upon the wind + +The swelling waters sank with sip +And hollow gurgle round the ship, +The long mast rocked against the dim, +Soft heaven above the headland's rim + +But while the seamen crouched to sleep, +Conn sat alone in reverie deep, +And saw before him in a maze +The mute procession of his days, +In gloom and glamour wending fast-- +His heart a-hungering for the past-- +Again he leapt, a tender boy, +To greet his sire with eager joy, +When he came over the wide North Sea, +Enriched with spoils of victory-- +Then heavily loomed that fateful morn +When tidings of his fall were borne +From Alban shore ... Again he saw +The youth who went alone with awe +To swear the avenging oath before +The smoking altar red with gore. + +Ah! strange to him it seemed to be +That hour was drawing nigh when he +Would vengeance take ... And still more strange, +O sorrow! it would bring no change +Though blood for blood be spilled, and life +For life be taken in fierce strife; +'Twill ne'er recall the life long sped, +Or break the silence of the dead. + +But when he heard his mother's wail, +Once more uplifted on the gale, +Moaning The Red who ne'er returned-- +His cheeks with sudden passion burned; +And darkly frowned that valiant man, +As through his quivering body ran +The lightnings of impelling ire +And impulses of fierce desire, +That surged, with a consuming hate +Against a world made desolate, +Unceasing and unreconciled, +And ever clamouring ... like wild, +Dark-deeded waves that stun the shore, +And through the anguished twilight roar +The hungry passions of the wide +And gluttonous deep unsatisfied. + + + + +II. + +The shredding dawn in beauty spread +Its shafts of splendour, golden-red, +High over the eastern heaven, and broke +Through flaking clouds in silvern smoke +That burst aflame, and fold o'er fold, +Let loose their oozing floods of gold, +Splashed over the foamless deep that lay +Tremulous and clear. In fiery play +The rippling beams that swept between +The sea-cleft Sutor crags serene, +Broke quivering where the waters bore +The soft reflection of the shore. + +The pipes of morn were sounding shrill +Through budding woods on plain and hill, +And stirred the air with song to wake +The sweet-toned birds within the brake. + +The Fians from their sheilings came, +With offerings to the god a-flame, +And round them thrice they sun-wise went; +Then naked-kneed in silence bent +Beside the pillar stones ... + + But now +Brave Conn upon the ship's high prow +Hath raised his burnished blade on high, +And calls on Woden and on Tigh +With boldness, to avenge the death +Of his great sire ... In one deep breath +He drains the hero's draught that burns +With valour of the gods; then turns +His long-sought foe to meet ... Great Conn +Sweeps, stooping in a boat, alone. +Shoreward, with rapid blades and bright, +That shower the foam-rain pearly white, +And rip the waters, bending lithe, +In hollowing swirls that hiss and writhe +Like adders, ere they dart away +Bright-spotted with the flakes of spray. + +When, furrowing the sand, he drew +His boat the shallowing water through, +A giant he in stature rose +Straight as a mast before his foes, +With head thrown high, and shoulders wide +And level, and set back with pride; +His bared and supple arms were long +As shapely oars: firm as a thong +His right hand grasped his gleaming blade, +Gold-hilted, and of keen bronze made +In leafen shape. + + With stately stride +He crossed the level sands and wide, +Then on his shield the challenge gave-- +His broad sword thund'ring like a wave-- +For single combat. + + Red as gold +His locks upon his shoulders rolled; +A brazen helmet on his head +Flashed fire; his cheeks were white and red; +And all the Fians watched with awe +That hero young with knotted jaw, +Whose eyes, set deep, and blue and hard, +Surveyed their ranks with cold regard; +While his broad forehead, seamed with care, +Drooped shadowily: his eyebrows fair +Were sloping sideways o'er his eyes +With pondering o'er the mysteries. + +The eyes of all the Fians sought +Heroic Groll, whose face was wrought +With lines of deep, perplexing thought-- +For gazing on the valiant Conn, +He mourned that his own youth was gone, +When, strong and fierce and bold, he shed +The life-blood of the boastful Red, +Whom none save he would meet. He heard +The challenge, and nor spake, nor stirred, +Nor feared; but now grown old, when hate +And lust of glory satiate-- +His heart took pride in Conn, and shared +The kinship of the brave. + + Who dared +To meet the Viking bold, if he +The succour of the band, should be +Found faltering or in despair? +Until that day the Fians ne'er +Of one man had such fear. + + Old Goll +Sat musing on a grassy knoll, +They deemed he shared their dread ... Not so +Wise Finn, who spake forth firm and slow-- +"Goll, son of Morna, peerless man, +The keen desire of every clan, +Far-famed for many a valiant deed, +Strong hero in the time of need. +I vaunt not Conn ... nor deem that thou +Dost falter, save with meekness, now-- +But why shouldst thou not take the head +Of this bold youth, as of The Red, +His sire, in other days?" + + Goll spake-- +"O noble Finn, for thy sweet sake +Mine arms I'd seize with ready hand, +Although to answer thy command +My blood to its last drop were spilled-- +By Crom! were all the Fians killed, +My sword would never fail to be +A strong defence to succour thee." + +Upon his hard right arm with haste +His crooked and pointed shield he braced, +He clutched his sword in his left hand-- +While round that hero of the band +The Fian warriors pressed, and praised +His valour ... Mute was Goll ... They raised, +Smiting their hands, the battle-cry, +To urge him on to victory. + +The one-eyed Goll went forth alone, +His face was like a mountain stone,-- +Cold, hard, and grey; his deep-drawn breath +Came heavily, like a man nigh death-- +But his firm mouth, with lips drawn thin, +Deep sunken in his wrinkled skin, +Was cunningly crooked; his hair was white, +On his bald forehead gleamed a bright +And livid scar that Conn's great sire +Had cloven when their swords struck fire-- +Burly and dauntless, full of might, +Old Goll went humbly forth to fight +With arrogant Conn ... It seemed The Red +In greater might was from the dead, +Restored in his fierce son ... + + A deep +Swift silence fell, like sudden sleep, +On all the Fians waiting there +In sharp suspense and half despair ... +The morn was still. A skylark hung +In mid-air flutt'ring, and sung +A lullaby that grew more sweet +Amid the stillness, in the heat +And splendour of the sun: the lisp +Of faint wind in the herbage crisp +Went past them; and around the bare +And foam-striped sand-banks gleaming fair, +The faintly-panting waves were cast +By the wan deep fatigued and vast. + +O great was Conn in that dread hour, +And all the Fians feared his power, +And watched, as in a darksome dream, +The warriors meet ... They saw the gleam +Of swift, up-lifted swords, and then +A breathless moment came, as when +The lithe and living lightning's flash +Makes pause, until the thunder's crash +Is splintered through the air. + + Loud o'er +The blue sea and the shining shore +Broke forth the crash of arms ... The roll +Of Conn's fierce blows that baffled Goll +On sword and shield resounding rang, +While that old warrior stooped and sprang +Sideways, and swerved, or backward leapt, +As swiftly as the bronze blade swept +Above him and around ... He swayed, +Stumbling, but rose ... But, though his blade +Was ever nimble to defend, +The Fians feared the fight would end +In victory for Conn. + + ... 'Twas like +As when an eagle swoops to strike, +But swerves with flutt'ring wings, as nigh +Its head a javelin gleams ... A cry +That banished fear of Conn's great blows +From out the Fian ranks arose, +As, like a plumed reed in a gust, +Goll suddenly stooped--a deadly thrust +That drew the first blood in the fray +He darting gave ... With quick dismay +The valiant Conn drew back ... + + Again +He leapt at Goll, but sought in vain +To blind him with his blows that fell +Like snowflakes on a sullen well-- +For Goll was calm, while great Conn raged, +As hour by hour the conflict waged; +He was a blast-defying tree-- +A crag that spurned a furious sea, +And all the Fians with one mind +Set firm their faith in Goll + + The wind +Rose like a startled bird from out +The heather at the huntsman's shout +In swift and blust'ring flight At noon +The sun rolled in a cloudy swoon +Dimly, and over the rolling deep +Gust followed gust with shadowy sweep; +And waves that streamed their snowy locks +Were tossing high against the rocks +Seaward, while round the sands ebbed wide +Scrambled the fierce devouring tide + +O, Conn was like a hound at morn, +That springs upon an elk forlorn +Among the hills. He was a proud +Cascade that leaps a cliff with loud +Unspending fall So fierce, so fair +Was arrogant Conn, but Goll fought there +Keen-eyed, with ready guard, at bay-- +He was as a boar in that fierce fray. + +The waves were humbled on the shore, +And silent fell, amid the roar +And crash of battle Mute and still +The Fians watched; while on the hill +The little elves came out and gazed, +To be amused and were amazed ... +They saw upon the shrinking sands +The warriors with restless hands +And busy blades, with shields that rose +To buffet the unceasing blows; +They saw before the rising flood +The flash of fire, the flash of blood; +And watched the men with panting breath, +Striving to be the slaves of death; +Now darting wide, now swerving round, +Now clashed together in a bound, +With splitting swords that smote so fast, +As hour by hour unheeded past. + +The sands were torn and tossed like spray +Before the whirlwind of the fray, +That waged in fury till the sun +Sank, and the day's last loops were spun-- +Then terrible was Goll ... He rose +A tempest of increasing blows, +More furious and fast, as dim, +Uncertain twilight fell ... More grim +And great he grew as, looming large, +He fought, and pressing to the marge +Of ocean, he o'erpowered and drave +The Viking hero back; till wave +O'er ready wave that hurried fleet, +Snuffled and snarled about their feet ... + +Then with a mighty shout that made +The rocks around him ring, his blade +Swept like a flash of fire to smite +The last fell blow in that fierce fight-- +So great Conn perished like The Red +By Goll's left hand ... his life-blood spread +Over the quenching sands where rolled +His head entwined with locks of gold. +Then passed like thunder o'er the sea +The Fian shout of victory. +And, trembling on the tossing ships, +The Vikings heard, with voiceless lips +And dim, despairing eyes ... Alone +Stood Goll, and like a silent stone +Bulking upon a ben-side bare, +He bent above the hero fair-- +Remembering the mighty Red, +And wondering that Conn lay dead. + + +[Footnote 1: May Day.] + +[Footnote 2: Traditional Holy Hill] + + + + + + +THE SONG OF GOLL. + +O Son of The Red, +Undone and laid dead-- + The blood of a hero +My cold blade hath shed. + +Who fought me to-day? +Who sought me to slay?-- + The son of yon High King +I slew in the fray. + +O blade that yon brave +Low laid in the grave, + Ye gladdened the Fians +But grief to Conn gave. + +Stone-hearted and strong, +Lone-hearted with long, + Dark brooding, he sought to +Avenge his deep wrong. + +Fair Son of The Red, +Care none thou art dead?-- + Old Goll of Clan Morna +Will mourn thou hast bled. + +O where shall be found +To share with thee round + The halls of Valhalla +Thy glory renowned? + +O true as the blade +That slew thee, and made + My fear and thine anger +For ever to fade-- + +Ah! when upon earth +Again will have birth + A son of such honour +And bravery and worth? + +Above thee in splendour +A love that could render + Brave service, burned star-like +And constant and tender. + +With fearing my name, +With hearing my fame, + O none would dare combat +With Goll till Conn came? ... + +O great was thine ire-- +The fate of thy sire, + Awaiting thy coming, +Consumed thee like fire. + +O Son of The Red, +Undone and laid dead-- + The blood of a hero +My cold blade hath shed. + + + + +THE BLUE MEN OF THE MINCH. + + +When the tide is at the turning and the wind is fast asleep, +And not a wave is curling on the wide, blue Deep, +O the waters will be churning on the stream that never smiles, +Where the Blue Men are splashing round the charmed isles. + +As the summer wind goes droning o'er the sun-bright seas, +And the Minch is all a-dazzle to the Hebrides; +They will skim along like salmon--you can see their shoulders gleam, +And the flashing of their fingers in the Blue Men's Stream. + +But when the blast is raving and the wild tide races, +The Blue Men ere breast-high with foam-grey faces; +They'll plunge along with fury while they sweep the spray behind, +O, they'll bellow o'er the billows and wail upon the wind. + +And if my boat be storm-toss'd and beating for the bay, +They'll be howling and be growling as they drench it with their spray-- +For they'd like to heel it over to their laughter when it lists, +Or crack the keel between them, or stave it with their fists. + +O weary on the Blue Men, their anger and their wiles! +The whole day long, the whole night long, they're splashing round the isles; +They'll follow every fisher--ah! they'll haunt the fisher's dream-- +When billows toss, O who would cross the Blue Men's Stream? + + + + +THE URISK. + + +O the night I met the Urisk on the wide, lone moor! +Ah! would I be forgetting of The Thing that came with me? +For it was big and black as black, and it was dour as dour, +It shrank and grew and had no shape of aught I e'er did see. + +For it came creeping like a cloud that's moving all alone, +Without the sound of footsteps ... and I heard its heavy sighs ... +Its face was old and grey, and like a lichen-covered stone, +And its tangled locks were dropping o'er its sad and weary eyes. + +O it's never the word it had to say in anger or in woe-- +It would not seek to harm me that had never done it wrong, +As fleet--O like the deer!--I went, or I went panting slow, +The waesome thing came with me on that lonely road and long. + +O eerie was the Urisk that convoy'd me o'er the moor! +When I was all so helpless and my heart was full of fear, +Nor when it was beside me or behind me was I sure-- +I knew it would be following--I knew it would be near! + + + + +THE NIMBLE MEN. + +(AURORA BOREALIS.) + + + When Angus Ore, the wizard, + His fearsome wand will raise, + The night is filled with splendour, + And the north is all ablaze; + From clouds of raven blackness, + Like flames that leap on high-- +All merrily dance the Nimble Men across the Northern Sky. + + Now come the Merry Maidens, + All gowned in white and green, + While the bold and ruddy fellows + Will be flitting in between-- + O to hear the fairy piper + Who will keep them tripping by!-- +The men and maids who merrily dance across the Northern Sky. + + O the weird and waesome music, + And the never-faltering feet! + O their fast and strong embraces, + And their kisses hot and sweet! + There's a lost and languished lover + With a fierce and jealous eye, +As merrily flit the Nimble Folk across the Northern Sky. + +So now the dance is over, + And the dancers sink to rest-- + There's a maid that has two lovers, + And there's one she loves the best; + He will cast him down before her, + She will raise him with a sigh-- +Her love so bright who danced to-night across the Northern Sky. + + Then up will leap the other, + And up will leap his clan-- + O the lover and his company + Will fight them man to man-- + All shrieking from the conflict + The merry maidens fly-- +There's a Battle Royal raging now across the Northern Sky. + + Through all the hours of darkness + The fearsome fight will last; + They are leaping white with anger, + And the blows are falling fast-- + And where the slain have tumbled + A pool of blood will lie-- +O it's dripping on the dark green stones from out the Northern Sky. + + When yon lady seeks her lover + In the cold and pearly morn, + She will find that he has fallen + By the hand that she would scorn,-- + She will clasp her arms about him, + And in her anguish die!-- +O never again will trip the twain across the Northern Sky. + + + + +MY GUNNA. + + +When my kine are on the hill, +Who will charm them from all ill? +While I'll sleep at ease until + All the cocks are crowing clear. +Who'll be herding them for me? +It's the elf I fain would see-- +For they're safe as safe can be + When the Gunna will be near. + +He will watch the long weird night, +When the stars will shake with fright, +Or the ghostly moon leaps bright + O'er the ben like Beltane fire. +If my kine would seek the corn, +He will turn them by the horn-- +And I'll find them all at morn + Lowing sweet beside the byre. + +Croumba's bard has second-sight, +And he'll moan the Gunna's plight, +When the frosts are flickering white, + And the kine are housed till day; +For he'll see him perched alone +On a chilly old grey stone, +Nibbling, nibbling at a bone + That we'll maybe throw away. + +He's so hungry, he's so thin, +If he'd come we'd let him in, +For a rag of fox's skin + Is the only thing he'll wear. +He'll be chittering in the cold +As he hovers round the fold, +With his locks of glimmering gold + Twined about his shoulders bare. + + + + +THE GRUAGACH. + +(MILKMAID'S SONG.) + + +The lightsome lad wi' yellow hair, +The elfin lad that is so fair, +He comes in rich and braw attire-- +To loose the kine within the byre-- + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +He's dressed so fine, he's dressed so grand, +A supple switch is in his hand; +I've seen while I a-milking sat +The shadow of his beaver hat. + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +My chuckling lad, so full o' fun, +Around the corners he will run; +Behind the door he'll sometimes jink, +And blow to make my candle blink. + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +The elfin lad that is so braw, +He'll sometimes hide among the straw; +He's sometimes leering from the loft-- +He's tittering low and tripping soft. + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +And every time I'll milk the kine +He'll have his share--the luck be mine! +I'll pour it in yon hollowed stone, +He'll sup it when he's all alone-- + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +O me! if I'd his milk forget, +Nor cream, nor butter I would get; +Ye needna' tell--I ken full well-- +On all my kine he'd cast his spell. + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + +On nights when I would rest at ease, +The merry lad begins to tease; +He'll loose the kine to take me out, +And titter while I move about. + + My lightsome lad, my leering lad, + He's tittering here; he's tittering there-- + I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain + To find my lad wi' yellow hair. + + + + +THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF THE BARN. + + +When all the big lads will be hunting the deer, +And no one for helping Old Callum comes near, +O who will be busy at threshing his corn? +Who will come in the night and be going at morn? + + The Little Old Man of the Barn, + Yon Little Old Man-- + A bodach forlorn will be threshing his corn, + The Little Old Man of the Barn. + +When the peat will turn grey and the shadows fall deep, +And weary Old Callum is snoring asleep; +When yon plant by the door will keep fairies away, +And the horse-shoe sets witches a-wandering till day. + + The Little Old Man of the Barn, + Yon Little Old Man-- + Will thresh with no light in the mouth of the night, + The Little Old Man of the Barn. + +For the bodach is strong though his hair is so grey, +He will never be weary when he goes away-- +The bodach is wise--he's so wise, he's so dear-- +When the lads are all gone, he will ever be near. + + The Little Old Man of the Barn, + Yon Little Old Man-- + So tight and so braw he will bundle the straw-- + The Little Old Man of the Barn. + + + + +YON FAIRY DOG. + + +'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals, + Whose heart would never fail, +Would hear yon fairy ban-dog fierce + Come howling down the gale; +The patt'ring of the paws would sound +Like horse's hoofs on frozen ground, +While o'er its back and curling round + Uprose its fearsome tail. + +'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals-- + Yon man that hath no fears-- +Beheld the dog with dark-green back + That bends not when it rears; +Its sides were blacker than the night, +But underneath the hair was white; +Its paws were yellow, its eyes were bright, + And blood-red were its ears. + +'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals-- + The man who naught will dread-- +Would wait it, stooping with his spear, + As nigh to him it sped; +The big black head it turn'd and toss'd, +"I'll strike," cried he, "ere I'll be lost," +For every living thing that cross'd + Its path would tumble dead. + +'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals-- + The man who ne'er took fright-- +Would watch it bounding from the hills + And o'er the moors in flight. +When it would leave the Uist shore, +Across the Minch he heard it roar-- +Like yon black cloud it bounded o'er + The Coolin Hills that night. + + + + +THE WATER-HORSE. + + +O the Water-Horse will come over the heath, + With the foaming mouth and the flashing eyes, +He's black above and he's white beneath-- + The hills are hearing the awesome cries; +The sand lies thick in his dripping hair, +And his hoofs are twined with weeds and ware. + +Alas! for the man who would clutch the mane-- + There's no spell to help and no charm to save! +Who rides him will never return again, + Were he as strong, O were he as brave +As Fin-mac-Coul, of whom they'll tell-- +He thrashed the devil and made him yell. + +He'll gallop so fierce, he'll gallop so fast, + So high he'll rear, and so swift he'll bound-- +Like the lightning flash he'll go prancing past, + Like the thunder-roll will his hoofs resound-- +And the man perchance who sees and hears, +He would blind his eyes, he would close his ears. + +The horse will bellow, the horse will snort, + And the gasping rider will pant for breath-- +Let the way be long, or the way be short, + It will have one end, and the end is death; +In yon black loch, from off the shore, +The horse will splash, and be seen no more. + + + + +THE CHANGELING. + + +By night they came and from my bed + They stole my babe, and left behind +A thing I hate, a thing I dread-- + A changeling who is old and blind; +He's moaning all the night and day +For those who took my babe away. + +My little babe was sweet and fair, + He crooned to sleep upon my breast-- +But O the burden I must bear! + This drinks all day and will not rest-- +My little babe had hair so light-- +And his is growing dark as night. + +Yon evil day when I would leave + My little babe the stook behind!-- +The fairies coming home at eve + Upon an eddy of the wind, +Would cast their eyes with envy deep +Upon my heart's-love in his sleep. + +What holy woman will ye find + To weave a spell and work a charm? +A holy woman, pure and kind, + Who'll keep my little babe from harm-- +Who'll make the evil changeling flee, +And bring my sweet one back to me? + + + + +MY FAIRY LOVER. + + +My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- +All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + +Thine eyes were glowing like blue-bells blowing, + With dew-drops twinkling their silvery fires; +Thine heart was panting with love enchanting, + For mine was granting its fond desires. + + My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- + All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + +Thy brow had brightness and lily-whiteness, + Thy cheeks were clear as yon crimson sea; +Like broom-buds gleaming, thy locks were streaming, + As I lay dreaming, my love, of thee. + + My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- + All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + +Thy lips that often with love would soften, + They beamed like blooms for the honey-bee; +Thy voice came ringing like some bird singing + When thou wert bringing thy gifts to me. + + My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- + All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + +O thou'rt forgetting the hours we met in + The Vale of Tears at the even-tide, +Or thou'd come near me to love and cheer me, + And whisper clearly, "O be my bride!" + + My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- + All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + +What spell can bind thee? I search to find thee + Around the knoll that thy home would be-- +Where thou did'st hover, my fairy lover, + The clods will cover and comfort me. + + My fairy lover, my fairy lover, + My fair, my rare one, come back to me-- + All night I'm sighing, on thee I'm crying, + I would be dying, my love, for thee. + + + + +THE FIANS OF KNOCKFARREL. + +(A Ross-shire Legend.) + + +I. + +On steep Knockfarrel had the Fians made, +For safe retreat, a high and strong stockade +Around their dwellings. And when winter fell +And o'er Strathpeffer laid its barren spell-- +When days were bleak with storm, and nights were drear +And dark and lonesome, well they loved to hear +The songs of Ossian, peerless and sublime-- +Their blind, grey bard, grown old before his time, +Lamenting for his son--the young, the brave +Oscar, who fell beside the western wave +In Gavra's bloody and unequal fight. + +Round Ossian would they gather in the night, +Beseeching him for song ... And when he took +His clarsach, from the magic strings he shook +A maze of trembling music, falling sweet +As mossy waters in the summer heat; +And soft as fainting moor-winds when they leave +The fume of myrtle, on a dewy eve, +Bound flush'd and teeming tarns that all night hear +Low elfin pipings in the woodlands near. + +'Twas thus he sang of love, and in a dream +The fair maids sighed to hear. But when his theme +Was the long chase that Finn and all his men +Followed with lightsome heart from glen to glen-- +His song was free as morn, and clear and loud +As skylarks carolling below a cloud +In sweet June weather ... And they heard the fall +Of mountain streams, the huntsman's windy call +Across the heaving hills, the baying hound +Among the rocks, while echoes answered round-- +They heard, and shared the gladness of the chase. + +He sang the glories of the Fian race, +Whose fame is flashed through Alba far and wide-- +Their valorous deeds he sang with joy and pride ... +When their dark foemen from the west came o'er +The ragged hills, and when on Croumba's shore +The Viking hordes descending, fought and fled-- +And when brave Conn, who would avenge the Red, +By one-eyed Goll was slain. Of Finn he sang, +And Dermaid, while the clash of conflict rang +In billowy music through the heroes' hall-- +And many a Fian gave the battle-call +When Ossian sang. + + Haggard and old, with slow +And falt'ring steps, went Winter through the snow, +As if its dreary round would ne'er be done-- +The last long winter of their days--begun +Ere yet the latest flush of falling leaves +Had faded in the breath of chilling eves; +Nor ended in the days of longer light, +When dawn and eve encroached upon the night-- +A weary time it was! The long Strath lay +Snow-wreathed and pathless, and from day to day +The tempests raved across the low'ring skies, +And they grew weak and pale, with hollow eyes, +The while their stores shrank low, waiting the dawn +Of that sweet season when through woodlands wan +Fresh flowers flutter and the wild birds sing-- +For Winter on the forelock of the Spring +Its icy fingers laid. The huntsmen pined +In their dim dwellings, wearily confined, +While the loud, hungry tempest held its sway-- +The red-eyed wolves grew bold and came by day, +And birds fell frozen in the snow. + + Then through +The trackless Strath a balmy south wind blew +To usher lusty Spring. Lo! in a night +The snows 'gan shrinking upon plain and height, +And morning broke in brightness to the sound +Of falling waters, while a peace profound +Possessed the world around them, and the blue +Bared heaven above ... Then all the Fians knew +That Winter's spell was broken, and each one +Made glad obeisance to the golden sun. + +Three days around Knockfarrel they pursued +The chase across the hills and through the wood, +Round Ussie Loch and Dingwall's soundless shore; +But meagre were the burdens that they bore +At even to their dwellings. To the west +"But sorrow not," said Finn, when all dismay'd +They hastened on a drear and bootless quest-- +With weary steps they turned to their stockade, +"To-morrow will we hunt towards the east +To high Dunskaith, and then make gladsome feast +By night when we return." + + Or ever morn +Had broken, Finn arose, and on his horn +Blew loud the huntsman's blast that round the ben +Was echoed o'er and o'er ... Then all his men +Gathered about him in the dusk, nor knew +What dim forebodings filled his heart and drew +His brows in furrowed care. His eyes a-gleam +Still stared upon the horrors of a dream +Of evil omen that in vain he sought +To solve ... His voice came faint from battling thought, +As he to Garry spake--"Be thou the ward +Strong son of Morna: who, like thee, can guard +Our women from all peril!" ... Garry turned +From Finn in sullen silence, for he yearned +To join the chase once more. In stature he +Was least of all the tribe, but none could be +More fierce in conflict, fighting in the van, +Than that grim, wolfish, and misshapen man! + +Then Finn to Caoilte spake, and gave command +To hasten forth before the Fian band-- +The King of Scouts was he! And like the deer +He sped to find if foemen had come near-- +Fierce, swarthy hillmen, waiting at the fords +For combat eager, or red Viking hordes +From out the Northern isles ... In Alba wide +No runner could keep pace by Caoilte's side, +And ere the Fians, following in his path, +Had wended from the deep and dusky strath, +He swept o'er Clyne, and heard the awesome owls +That hoot afar and near in woody Foulis, +And he had reached the slopes of fair Rosskeen +Ere Finn by Fyrish came. + + The dawn broke green-- +For the high huntsman of the morn had flung +His mantle o'er his back: stooping, he strung +His silver bow; then rising, bright and bold, +He shot a burning arrow of pure gold +That rent the heart of Night. + + As far behind +The Fians followed, Caoilte, like the wind, +Sped on--yon son of Ronan--o'er the wide +And marshy moor, and 'thwart the mountain side,-- +By Delny's shore far-ebbed, and wan, and brown, +And through the woods of beautous Balnagown: +The roaring streams he vaulted on his spear, +And foaming torrents leapt, as he drew near +The sandy slopes of Nigg. He climbed and ran +Till high above Dunskaith he stood to scan +The outer ocean for the Viking ships, +Peering below his hand, with panting lips +A-gape, but wide and empty lay the sea +Beyond the barrier crags of Cromarty, +To the far sky-line lying blue and bare-- +For no red pirate sought as yet to dare +The gloomy hazards of the fitful seas, +The gusty terrors, and the treacheries +Of fickle April and its changing skies-- +And while he scanned the waves with curious eyes, +The sea-wind in his nostrils, who had spent +A long, bleak winter in Knockfarrel pent +Over the snow-wreathed Strath and buried wood, +A sense of freedom tingled in his blood-- +The large life of the Ocean, heaving wide, +His heart possessed with gladness and with pride, +And he rejoiced to be alive.... Once more +He heard the drenching waves on that rough shore +Raking the shingles, and the sea-worn rocks +Sucking the brine through bared and lapping locks +Of bright, brown tangle; while the shelving ledges +Poured back the swirling waters o'er their edges; +And billows breaking on a precipice +In spouts of spray, fell spreading like a fleece. + +Sullen and sunken lay the reef, with sleek +And foaming lips, before the flooded creek +Deep-bunched with arrowy weed, its green expanse +Wind-wrinkled and translucent ... A bright trance +Of sun-flung splendour lay athwart the wide +Blue ocean swept with loops of silvern tide +Heavily heaving in a long, slow swell. + +A lonely fisher in his coracle +Came round a headland, lifted on a wave +That bore him through the shallows to his cave, +Nor other being he saw. + + The birds that flew +Clamorous about the cliffs, and diving drew +Their prey from bounteous waters, on him cast +Cold, beady eyes of wonder, wheeling past +And sliding down the wind. + + + + +II. + + The warm sun shone +On blind, grey Ossian musing all alone +Upon a knoll before the high stockade, +When Oscar's son came nigh. His hand he laid +On the boy's curls, and then his fingers strayed +Over the face and round the tender chin-- +"Be thou as brave as Oscar, wise as Finn," +Said Ossian, with a sigh. "Nay, I would be +A bard," the boy made answer, "like to thee." +"Alas! my son," the gentle Ossian said, +"My song was born in sorrow for the dead!... +O may such grief as Ossian's ne'er be thine!-- +If thou would'st sing, may thou below the pine +Murmuring, thy dreams conceive, and happy be, +Nor hear but sorrow in the breaking sea +And death-sighs in the gale. Alas! my song +That rose in sorrow must survive in wrong-- +My life is spent and vain--a day of thine +Were better than a long, dark year of mine.... +But come, my son--so lead me by the hand-- +To hear the sweetest harper in the land-- +The wild, free wind of Spring; all o'er the hills +And under, let us go, by tuneful rills +We'll wander, and my heart shall sweetened be +With echoes of the moorland melody-- +My clarsach wilt thou bear." And so went they +Together from Knockfarrel. Long they lay +Within the woods of Brahan, and by the shore +Of silvery Conon wended, crossing o'er +The ford at Achilty, where Ossian told +The tale of Finn, who there had slain the bold +Black Arky in his youth. And ere the tale +Was ended, they had crossed to Tarradale. +Where dwelt a daughter of an ancient race +Deep-learned in lore, and with the gift to trace +The thread of life in the dark web of fate. +And she to Ossian cried, "Thou comest late +Too late, alas! this day of all dark days-- +Knockfarrel is before me all ablaze-- +A fearsome vision flaming to mine eyes-- +O beating heart that bleeds! I hear the cries +Of those that perish in yon high stockade-- +O many a tender lad, and lonesome maid, +Sweet wife and sleeping babe, and hero old-- +O Ossian could'st thou see--O child, behold +Yon ruddy, closing clouds ... so falls the fate +Of all the tribe ... Alas! thou comest late." ... + + + + +III. + +When Ossian from Knockfarrel went, a band +Of merry maidens, trooping hand in hand, +Came forth, with laughing eyes and flowing hair, +To share the freedom of the morning air; +Adown the steep they went, and through the wood +Where Garry splintered logs in sullen mood-- +Pining to join the chase! His wrath he wrought +Upon the trees that morn, as if he fought +Against a hundred foemen from the west, +Till he grew weary, and was fain to rest. + +The maids were wont to shower upon his head +Their merry taunts, and oft from them he fled; +For of their quips and jests he had more fear +Than e'er he felt before a foeman's spear-- +And so he chose to be alone. + + The air +Was heavily laden with the odour rare +Of deep, wind-shaken fir trees, breathing sweet, +As through the wood, the maids, with silent feet, +Went treading needled sward, in light and shade, +Now bright, now dim, like flow'rs that gleam and fade, +And ever bloom and ever pass away ... + +Upon a fairy hillock Garry lay +In sunshine fast asleep: his head was bare, +And the wind rippling through his golden hair +Laid out the seven locks that were his pride, +Which one by one the maids securely tied +To tether-pins, while Garry, breathing deep, +Moaned low, and moved about in troubled sleep +Then to a thicket all the maidens crept, +And raised the Call of Warning ... Garry leapt +From dreams that boded ill, with sudden fear +That a fierce band of foemen had come near-- +The seven fetters of his golden hair +He wrenched off as he leapt, and so laid bare +A shredded scalp of ruddy wounds that bled +With bitter agony ... The maidens fled +With laughter through the wood, and climb'd the path +Of steep Knockfarrel. Fierce was Garry's wrath +When he perceived who wronged him. With a shriek +That raised the eagles from the mountain peak, +He shook his spear, and ran with stumbling feet, +And sought for vengeance, speedy and complete-- +The lust of blood possessed him, and he swore +To slay them.... But they shut the oaken door +Ere he had reached that high and strong stockade-- +From whence, alas! nor wife, nor child, nor maid +Came forth again. + + + + +IV. + + Soft-couch'd upon a bank +Lay Caoilte on the cliff-top, while he drank +The sweetness of the morning air, that brought +A spell of dreamful ease and pleasant thought, +With mem'ries from the deeps of other years +When Dermaid, unforgotten by his peers, +And Oscar, fair and young, went forth with mirth +A-hunting o'er the hills around the firth +On such an April morn.... + + He leapt to hear +The Fians shouting from a woodland near +Their hunting-call. Then swift he sped a-pace, +With bounding heart, to join the gladsome chase; +Stooping he ran, with poised, uplifted spear, +As through the woods approached the nimble deer +That swerved, beholding him. With startled toss +Of antlers, down the slope it fled, to cross +The open vale before him ... To the west +The Fians, merging from the woodland, pressed +To head it shoreward ... All the fierce hounds bayed +With hungry ardour, and the deer, dismayed, +With foaming nostrils leapt, and strove to flee +Towards the deep, dark woods of Calrossie. +But Caoilte, fresh from resting, was more fleet +Than deer or dogs, and sped with naked feet, +Until upon a loose and sandy bank, +Plunging his spear into the smoking flank, +Its flight he stayed.... He stabbed it as it sank, +The life-blood spurting; and he saw it die +Or ever dog or huntsman had come nigh. + +Then eager feast they made; and after long +And frequent fast of winter, they grew strong +As they had been of old. And of their fare +The lean and scrambling hounds had ready share. + +Nor over-fed they in their merry mood, +But set to hunt again, and through the wood +Scattered with eager pace, ere yet the sun +Had climbed to highest noon; for lo! each one +Had mem'ry of the famished cheeks and white +Of those who waited their return by night, +In steep Knockfarrel's desolate stockade-- +O' many a beauteous and bethrothed maid, +And mothers nursing babes, and warriors lying +In winter-fever's spell, the old men dying, +And slim, fair lads who waited to acclaim, +With gladsome shout, the huntsmen when they came +With burdens of the chase ... So they pursued +The hunt till eve was nigh. In Geanies wood +Another deer they slew ... + + Caoilte, who stood +On a high ridge alone ... with eager eyes +Scanning the prospect wide ... in mute surprise +Saw rising o'er Knockfarrel, a dark cloud +Of thick and writhing smoke ... Then fierce and loud +Upon his horn he blew the warning blast-- +From out the woods the Fians hastened fast-- +Lo! when they stared towards the western sky, +They saw their winter dwelling blazing high. + +Then fear possessed them for their own, and grief +Unutterable. And thus spake their wise chief, +To whom came knowledge and the swift, sure thought-- +"Alas! alas! an enemy hath wrought +Black vengeance on our kind. In yonder gleam +Of fearsome flame, the horrors of my dream +Are now accomplished--all we loved and cherished, +And sought, and fought for, in that pyre have perished!" + +White-lipped they heard.... Then, wailing loud, they ran, +Following the nimble Caoilte, man by man, +Towards Knockfarrel; leaping on their spears +O'er marsh and stream. MacReithin, blind with tears, +Tumbled or leapt into a swollen flood +That swept him to the sea. But no man stood +To help or mourn him, for the eve grew dim-- +And some there were, indeed, who envied him. + + + + +V. + +As snarls the wolf at bay within the wood +On huntsmen and their hounds, so Garry stood +Raging before the women who had made +Secure retreat within the high stockade; +He cursed them all, and their loud laughter rang +More bitter to his heart than e'en the pang +Of his fierce wounds. Then while his streaming blood +Half-blinded him, he hastened to the wood, +And a small tree upon his shoulders bore, +And fixed it fast against the oaken door, +That none might issue forth. + + Then once again +Towards the wood he turned, but all in vain +The women waited his return, till they +Grey weary.. for in pain and wrath he lay +In a close thicket, brooding o'er his shame, +And panting for revenge. + + Then Finn's wife came +To set the women to the wheel and loom, +With angry chiding; and a heavy gloom +Fell on them all. "Who knoweth," thus she spake, +"What evil may the Fian men o'ertake +This day of evil omens. Yester-night +I say the pale ghost of my sire with white +And trembling lips ... At morn before my sight +A raven darted from the wood, and slew +A brooding dove ... What fear is mine!... for who +Would us defend if our fierce foemen came-- +When Garry is against us ... Much I blame +Thy wanton deed." ... The women heard in shame, +Nor answer made. + + The sun, with fiery gleam, +Scattered the feath'ry clouds, as in a dream +The spirits of the dead are softly swept +From severed visions sweet. A low wind crept +Around with falt'ring steps, and, pausing, sighed-- +Then fled to murmur from the mountain side +Amid the pine-tree shade; while all aglow +Ben-Wyvis bared a crest of shining snow +In barren splendour o'er the slumbering strath; +While some sat trembling, fearing Garry's wrath, +Some feared the coming of the foe, and some +Had vague forebodings, and were brooding dumb, +And longed to greet the huntsmen. Mothers laid +Their babes to sleep, and many a gentle maid +Sighed for her lover in that lone stockade; +And one who sat apart, with pensive eye, +Thus sang to hear the peewee's plaintive cry-- + + _Peewee, peewee, crying sweet, + Crying early, crying late-- + Will your voice be never weary + Crying for your mate? + Other hearts than thine are lonely, + Other hearts must wait. + + Peewee, peewee, I'd be flying + O'er the hills and o'er the sea, + Till I found the love I long for + Whereso'er he'd be-- + Peewee crying, I'd be flying, + Could I fly like thee!_ + +When Garry, who had stanched his wounds, arose, +He seized his axe, and 'gan with rapid blows +To fell down fir trees. Through the silent strath +The hollow echoes rang. With fiendish wrath +He made resolve to heap the splintered wood +Against the door, and burn the hated brood +Of his tormentors one and all. He hewed +An ample pyre, then piled it thick and high, +While the sun, sloping to the western sky, +Proclaimed the closing of that fateful day. +But the doomed women little dreamed that they +Would have such fearsome end ... As Garry lay +Rubbing the firesticks till they 'gan to glow, +He heard a Fian mother singing low-- + + _Sleep, O sleep, I'll sing to thee-- + Moolachie, O moolachie. + Sleep, O sleep, like yon grey stone, + Moolachie, mine own. + + Sleep, O sleep, nor sigh nor fret ye, + And the goblins will not get ye, + I will shield ye, I will pet ye-- + Moolachie, mine own._ + +The mother sang, the gentle babe made moan-- +And Garry heard them with a heart of stone ... +With fiendish laugh, he saw the leaping flames +Possess the pyre; he heard the shrieking dames, +And maids and children, wailing in the gloom +Of smothering smoke, e'er they had met their doom. +Then when the high stockade was blazing red, +Ere yet their cries were silenced, Garry fled, +And westward o'er the shouldering hills he sped. + + + + +VI. + +A broad, faint twilight lingered to unfold +The sun's slow-dying beams of tangled gold, +And the long, billowy hills, in gathering shade, +Their naked peaks and ebon crags displayed +Sharp-rimmed against the tender heaven and pale; +And misty shadows gathered in the vale-- +When Caoilte to Knockfarrel came, and saw +Amid the dusk, with sorrow and with awe, +The ruins of their winter dwelling laid +In smouldering ashes; while the high stockade +Around the rocky wall, like ragged teeth, +Was crackling o'er the melting stones beneath, +Still darting flame, and flickering in the breeze. + +He sped towards the wood, and through the trees +Called loud for those who perished. On his fair +And gentle spouse he called in his despair. +His sweet son, and his sire, whose hair was white +As Wyvis snow, he called for in the night. +Full loud and long across the Strath he cried-- +The echoes mocked him from the mountain side. + +Ah! when his last hope faded like the wave +Of twilight ebbing o'er the hills, he gave +His heart to utter grief and deep despair; +And the cold stars peer'd down with pitiless stare, +While sank the wind in silence on its flight +Through the dark hollows of the spacious night; +And distant sounds seem'd near. In his dismay +He heard a Fian calling far away. +The night-bird answered back with dismal cry, +Like to a wounded man about to die-- +But Caoilte's lips were silent ... Once again +And nearer, came the voice that cried in vain. +Then swift steps climbed Knockfarrel's barren steep, +And Alvin called, with trembling voice and deep, +To Caoilte, crouching low, with bended head, +"Who liveth?" ... "I am here alone," he said ... +Thus Fian after Fian came to share +Their bitter grief, in silence and despair. + +All night they kept lone watch, until the dawn +With stealthy fingers o'er the east had drawn +Its dewy veil and dim. Then Finn arose +From deep and sleepless brooding o'er his woes, +And spake unto the Fians, "Who shall rest +While flees our evil foeman farther west? +Arise!" ... "But who hath done this deed?" they sighed; +And Finn made answer, "Garry." ... Then they cried +For vengeance swift and terrible, and leapt +To answer Finn's command. + + A cold wind swept +From out the gates of morning, moaning loud, +As swift they hastened forth. A ragged shroud +Of gathering tempest o'er Ben-Wyvis cast +A sudden gloom, and round it, falling fast, +It drifted o'er the darkened slopes and bare, +And snow-flakes swirled in the chill morning air-- +Then o'er the sea, the sun leapt large and bright, +Scatt'ring the storm. And moor and crag lay white, +As westward o'er the hills the Fians all +In quest of Garry sped. + + At even-fall +They found him ... On the bald and rocky side +Of steep Scour-Vullin, Garry lay to hide +Within a cave, which, backward o'er the snow, +He entered, that his steps might seem to show +He had fled eastward by the path he came. +All day he sought to flee them in his shame, +Watching from lofty crag or deep ravine, +And crouching in the heath, with haggard mien-- +He sought in vain to hide till darkness cast +Its blinding cloak betwixt them. + + When at last +Finn cried, "Come forth, thou dog of evil deeds, +Nor respite seek!" ... His limbs like wind-swept reeds +Trembled and bent beneath him; so he rose +And came to meet his friends who were his foes-- +Then unto Finn he spake with accents meek, +"One last request I of the Fians seek, +Whom I have loved in peace and served in strife"-- +"'Tis thine," said Finn, "but ask not for thy life, +For thou art 'mong the Fians." ... "I would die," +Said Garry, "with my head laid on thy thigh; +And let young Alvin take thy sword, that he +May give the death that will mine honour be." + +'Twas so he lay to die ... But as the blade +Swept bright, young Alvin, keen for vengeance, swayed, +And slipped upon the sward ... And his fierce blow +That Garry slew, the Fian chief laid low-- +A grievous wound was gaping on his thigh, +And poured his life-blood forth ... A low, weird cry +The great Finn gave, as he fell back and swooned-- +In vain they strove to stanch the fearsome wound-- +His life ebbed slowly with the sun's last ray +In gathering gloom ... And when in death he lay, +The glory of the Fians passed away. + + + + +HER EVIL EYE. + + +O Mairi Dhu, the weaver's wife, + Will have the evil eye; +The fear will come about my heart + When she'll be passing by; +She'll have the piercing look to wound + The very birds that fly. + +I would not have her evil wish, + I would not have her praise, +For like the shadow would her curse, + Me follow all my days-- +When she my churning will speak well, + No butter can I raise. + +O Mairi Dhu will have the eye + To wound the very deer-- +Ah! would she scowl upon my bairns + When her they would come near? +They'll have the red cords round their necks, + So they'll have naught to fear. + +It's Murdo Ban, the luckless man, + Against her would prevail; +And first her eye was on his churn, + Then on the milking pail; +When she would praise the brindled cow, + The cow began to ail. + +The trout that gambol in the pool + She'll wound when she goes past; +Then weariness will come upon + The fins that flicked so fast; +And one by one the lifeless things + Will on the stones be cast. + +O Mairi Dhu, you gave yon sprain + To poor Dun Para's arm; +It is myself would have the work + Undoing of the harm-- +I'd twist around the three-ply cord + Well-knotted o'er the charm. + +Your eye you'd put on yon sweet babe + O' Lachlan o' Loch-Glass; +He'd fill the wooden ladle where + The dead and living pass-- +And with the water, silver-charmed, + He'd save his little lass. + +I'll lock my cheese within the chest, + My butter I will hide; +I'll bar the byre at milking time, + Although you'll wait outside-- +You'll maybe go another way-- + Who'll care for you to bide? + + + + +A CURSING + + +So you're coming, ye reivers and rogues, + When the men will be fighting afar-- +Oh! all the Mac Quithens[1] are bold + When it's only with women they'll war + +Weasels that creep in the dark! + Foxes that prowl in the night! +Rats that are hated and vile!-- + O hasten you out of my sight! + +Oh! my cow you would take from my byre?-- + This day will the beggars be brave! +You'd be lifting the thatch from the roof + If you hadna' a roof to your cave + +Your chief he's the lord o' the lies! + A wind-bag his wife wi' the brag! +Your clan is the pride o' the thieves-- + Whose meal will you have in your bag? + +Now, Laspuig Maclan[2] may blush-- + Oh! he'll be the sorrowful man-- +His fame for the thieving is gone + To the reivers and rogues of your clan + +You'll spare me "so old and so frail, + Fitter to die than to live?" +But maybe I'll slay with the tongue + And the heart that will never forgive + +The curse of the frail will be strong, + The curse of the widow be sure; +O the curse of the wrong'd will avenge, + Black, black is the curse of the poor! + +Ha! laugh at your ease while you can-- + Laugh! it's the devil's turn next-- +For after I'm done with you all, + O who will be doleful and vext? + +Bare-kneed on the ground will I go-- + My hair on my shoulders let fall, +Now hear me and never forget + My curses I'll cast on you all + +_Little increase to your clan! + The down-mouth to you and to yours! +The blight on your little black cave! + The luck o' a Friday on moors! + +Fire upon land be your lot! + Drowning in storm on the deep! +Leave not a son to succeed! + Leave not a daughter to weep! + +Here's the bad meeting to you! + Death without priest be your fate! +Go to your grandfather's[3] house-- + The Son of the Cursing[4] will wait!_ + +[Footnote 1: This clan, which had an evil reputation, is extinct] + +[Footnote 2: Laspuig MacIan--A famous thief] + +[Footnote 3: "Grandfather's house"--The grave] + +[Footnote 4: "Son of the Cursing"--The devil] + + + + +LEOBAG'S[1] WARNING. + + +Would Murdo make the wry mouth? + Is Ailie cross-eyed? +O mock no more the beggar man, + You'll scorn wi' pride! +The wind that will be blowing west, + Might turn and blow south-- +O, Ailie, it would fix your eyes + And Murdo's wry mouth. + +O mind ye o' the Leobag + And yon rock cod-- +"Ho! there's the mouth," the 'cute one cried, + "For the hook and rod!" +The tide it would be turning while + The Leobag would mock-- +And that is why it's gaping as + It gaped below the rock. + +[Footnote 1: Leobag--The flounder.] + + + + +TOBER MHUIRE. + +(WELL OF ST MARY.) + + +'Tis for thee I will be pining, + _Tober Mhuire_. +Thou art deep and sweet and shining, + _Tober Mhuire_. +In the dimness I'll be dying, +And my soul for thee is sighing +With the blessings on thee lying-- + _Tober Mhuire_. + +O thy cool, sweet waters dripping, + _Tober Mhuire_, +Now my sere lips would be sipping, + _Tober Mhuire_. +O my lips are sere and burning-- +For thy waters I'll be yearning, +And yon road of no returning, + _Tober Mhuire_. + +O thy coolness and thy sweetness, + _Tober Mhuire_. +O thy sureness and completeness, + _Tober Mhuire_. +O this life I would be leaving, +With the greyness of its grieving, +And the deeps of its deceiving, + _Tober Mhuire_. + +I would sip thy waters holy, + _Tober Mhuire_. +While the drops of life drip slowly, + _Tober Mhuire_-- +Till the wings of angel whiteness, +With their softness and their lightness, +Blind me, fold me, in their brightness-- + _Tober Mhuire_. + + + + +SLEEPY SONG. + +(_Sung by Grainne to Diarmid in their Flight from the Fians_.) + + + Sleep a little O Diarmid, Diarmid, + Sleep in the deep lone cave; +Sleep a little--a little little, + Love whom my love I gave-- + Wearily falls O Diarmid, Diarmid, + Wearily falls the wave. + + Sleep a little, O Diarmid, Diarmid, + Sleep, and have never a fear; +Sleep a little--a little little, + Love whom I love so dear-- + A weary wind, O Diarmid, Diarmid, + A weary wind I hear. + + Sleep a little, O Diarmid, Diarmid, + Sleep, while I watch till you wake; + Sleep a little--a little little, + Love whom I'll ne'er forsake-- +Sleep a little, and blessings on you + My lamb, or my heart will break. + + + + +SONG OF THE SEA. + + +The sea sings loud, the sea sings low, +And sweet is the chime of its ebb and flow + Over the shingly strand; +For its strange, sweet song that woos my ear +The first man heard, as the last shall hear-- + Seeking to understand ... + + + + +THE DEATH OF CUCHULLIN. + + + Now when the last hour of his life drew nigh, + Cuchullin woke from dreams forewarning death; + And cold and awesome came the night-bird's cry-- + An evil omen the magician saith-- + A low gust panted like a man's last breath, + As morning crept into the chamber black; +Then all his weapons clashed and tumbled from the rack. + + For the last time his evil foemen came; + The sons of Calatin by Lugaid led. + The land lay smouldering with smoke and flame; + The duns were fallen and the fords ran red; + And widows fled, lamenting for their dead, + To fair Emania on that fateful day, +Where all forsworn with fighting great Cuchullin lay. + + Levarchan, whom he loved, a maid most fair, + Rose-lipp'd, with yellow hair and sea-grey eyes, + The evil tidings to Cuchullin bare. + And, trembling in her beauty, bade him rise; + Niamh, brave Conal's queen, the old, the wise, + Urged him with clamour of the land's alarms, +And, stirr'd with vengeful might, the hero sprang to arms. + + His purple mantle o'er his shoulders wide + In haste he flung, and tow'ring o'er them stood + All scarr'd and terrible in battle pride-- + His brooch, that clasp'd his mantle and his hood + Then fell his foot to pierce, and his red blood + Follow'd, like fate, behind him as he stepp'd +Levarchan shriek'd, and Niamh moaned his doom and wept + + Thus sallying forth he called his charioteer, + And bade him yoke the war-steeds of his choice-- + The Grey of Macha, shuddering in fear, + Had scented death, and pranced with fearsome noise, + But when it heard Cuchullin's chiding voice, + Meekly it sought the chariot to be bound, +And wept big tears of blood before him on the ground + + Then to his chariot leapt the lord of war + 'O leave me not!' Levarchan cried in woe, + Thrice fifty queens, who gather'd from afar, + Moan'd with one voice, 'Ah, would'st thou from us go?' + They smote their hands, and fast their tears did flow-- + Cuchullin's chariot thunder'd o'er the plain +Full well he knew that he would ne'er return again + + How vehement and how beautiful they swept-- + The Grey of Macha and the Black most bold + And keen-eyed Laegh, the watchful and adept, + Nor turn'd, nor spake, as on the chariot roll'd + The steeds he urged with his red goad of gold + Stooping he drave, with wing'd cloak and spheres, +Slender and tall and red--the King of Charioteers! + + Cuchullin stood impatient for the fray, + His golden hilted bronze sword on his thigh + A sharp and venomous dart beside him lay, + He clasp'd his ashen spear, bronze-tipp'd and high, + As flames the sun upon the western sky, + His round shield from afar was flashing bright, +Figured with radiant gold and rimm'd with silver white + + Stern-lipp'd he stood, his great broad head thrown back, + The white pearls sprayed upon his thick, dark hair, + Deep set, his eyes, beneath his eyebrows black, + Were swift and grey, and fix'd his fearless stare, + Red-edg'd his white hood flamed, his tunic rare + Of purple gleam'd with gold, his cloak behind +His shoulders shone with silver, floating in the wind + + Betimes three crones him meet upon the way, + Half-blind and evil-eyed, with matted hair-- + Workers of spells and witcheries are they-- + The brood of Calatin--beware! beware! + They proffer of their fulsome food a share, + And, 'Stay with us a while,' a false crone cries +'Unseemly is the strong who would the weak despise' + + He fain would pass, but leapt upon the ground, + The proud, the fearless! for sweet honour's sake-- + With spells and poisons had they cook'd a hound, + Of which he was forbidden to partake + But his name-charm the brave Cuchullin brake, + And their foul food he in his left hand took-- +Eftsoons his former strength that arm and side forsook + + For, O Cuchullin! could'st thou ere forget, + When fast by Culann's fort on yon black night, + Thou fought'st and slew the ban-dog dark as jet, + Which scared the thief, and put the foe to flight! + A tender youth thou wert of warrior might, + And all the land did with thy fame resound, +As Cathbad, the magician, named thee 'Culann's hound' + + Loud o'er Mid Luachair road the chariot roll'd, + Round Shab Fuad desolate and grand, + Till Ere with hate the hero did behold, + Hast'ning to sweep the foemen from the land, + His sword flash'd red and radiant in his hand, + In sunny splendour was his spear upraised, +And hovering o'er his head the light of heroes blazed + + He comes! he comes!' cried Ere as he drew near + 'Await him, Men of Erin, and be strong!' + Their faces blanch'd, their bodies shook with fear-- + 'Now link thy shields and close together throng, + And shout the war-cry loud and fierce and long + Then Ere, with cunning of his evil heart, +Set heroes forth in pairs to feign to fight apart + + As furious tempests, that in deep woods roar + Assault the giant trees and lay them low, + As billows toss the seaweed on the shore, + As sweeping sickles do the ripe fields mow-- + Cuchullin, rolling fiercely on the foe, + Broke through the linked ranks upon the plain, +To drench the field with blood and round him heap the slain + + And when he reach'd a warrior-pair that stood + In feigned strife upon a knoll of green, + Their weapons clashing but unstained with blood, + A satirist him besought to intervene, + Whereat he slew them as he drave between-- + "Thy spear to me," the satirist cried the while, +The hero answering, "Nay," he cried, "I'll thee revile." + + 'Reviled for churlishness I ne'er have been," + Cuchullin call'd, up-rising in his pride, + And cast his ashen spear bronze-tipp'd and keen + And slew the satirist and nine beside, + Then his fresh onslaught made the host divide + And flee before him clamouring with fear, +The while the stealthy Lugaid seized Cuchullin's spear + + "O sons of Calatin," did Lugaid call, + "What falleth by the weapon I hold here?" + Together they acclaim'd, "A King will fall, + For so foretold," they said, "the aged seer." + Then at the chariot he flung the spear, + And Laegh was stricken unto death and fell +Cuchullin drew the spear and bade a last farewell + + "The victor I, and eke the charioteer!" + He cried, and drave the war-steeds fierce and fast. + Another pair he slew, "To me thy spear," + Again a satirist call'd. The spear was cast, + And through the satirist and nine men pass'd + But Lugaid grasps it, and again doth call,-- +"What falleth by this spear?" They shout, "A King will fall" + + "Then fall," cried Lugaid, as he flung the spear-- + The Grey of Macha sank in death's fierce throes, + Snapping the yoke, the while the Black ran clear: + Cuchullin groan'd, and dash'd upon his foes; + Another pair he slew with rapid blows, + And eke the satirist and nine men near: +Then once more Lugaid sprang to seize the charmed spear. + + "What falleth by this weapon?" he doth call + "A King will fall," they answer him again ... + "But twice before ye said, 'A King will fall'" ... + They cried, "The King of Steeds hath fled the plain, + And lo, the King of Charioteers is slain!" ... + For the last time he drave the spear full well, +And smote the great Cuchullin--and Cuchullin fell + + The Black steed snapp'd the yoke, and left alone + The King of Heroes dying on the plain: + "I fain would drink," they heard Cuchullin groan, + "From out yon loch" ... He thirsted in fierce pain. + "We give thee leave, but thou must come again," + His foemen said; then low made answer he, +"If I will not return, I'll bid you come to me" + + His wound he bound, and to the loch did hie, + And drank his drink, and wash'd, and made no moan. + Then came the brave Cuchullin forth to die, + Sublimely fearless, strengthless and alone ... + He wended to the standing pillar-stone, + Clutching his sword and leaning on his spear, +And to his foemen called, "Come ye, and meet me here." + + A vision swept upon his fading brain-- + A passing vision glorious and sweet, + That hour of youth return'd to him again + When he took arms with fearless heart a-beat, + As Cathbad, the magician, did repeat, + "Who taketh arms upon this day of grief, +His name shall live forever and his life be brief" + + Fronting his foes, he stood with fearless eye, + His body to the pillar-stone he bound, + Nor sitting nor down-lying would he die ... + He would die standing ... so they gathered round + In silent wonder on the blood-drench'd ground, + And watch'd the hero who with Death could strive; +But no man durst approach ... He seem'd to be alive ... + + + + +LOST SONGS. + + +Harp of my fathers--on the mouldering wall + Of days forgotten--like a far-off wind +Hushing the fir-wood at soft even-fall, + Thy low-heard whispers to my heart recall +The wistful songs, to Silence Old consigned, + That Ossian sang when he was frail and blind. + +Thy fitful notes from the melodious trees, + I fain would echo in my feeble rhyme-- +The inner music quivering on the breeze + I hear; and throbbing from the beating seas, +On ancient shores, the wearied pulse of Time + That mingles with thy melodies sublime. + + + + +OTHER POEMS. + +THE DREAM. + + +'Twas when I woke I knew it was a dream, +Measured by moments, that to me did seem, + A life-long spell of joy and peace to be-- + +Will that last dream that comes ere death descends, +From which I shall not wake to know it ends, + Thus seem to live on through Eternity? + + + + +FREE WILL. + + +Say not the will of man is free + Within the limits of his soul-- +Who from his heritage can flee? + Who can his destiny control? + +In vain we wage perpetual strife, + 'Gainst instincts dumb and blind desires-- +Who leads must serve.. The pulse of life + Throbs with the dictates of our sires. + +Since when the world began to be, + And life through hidden purpose came, +From sire to son unceasingly + The task bequeathed hath been the same. + +We strive, while fetters bind us fast, + We seek to do what needs must be-- +We move through bondage with the past + In service to posterity. + + + + +STRIFE. + + +Weary of strife-- +The surge and clash of city life-- +I sought for peace in solitude, +Within the hushed and darkened wood +And on the lonesome moor-- +But found contending leaf and root +Engaged in conflict fierce though mute, +While what was frail was slain +By what was strong in dire dispute-- +I sought for peace in vain! +The world, sustained by strife, endures in pain. + +"All things that are in conflict be," +I murmured on the shelving strand, +Where struggling winds would fain be free-- +The tides in conflict with the wind's command, +Turned tossing, wearily-- +I heard the loud sea labouring to the land-- +I saw the dumb land striving with the sea. + + + + +SONNET. + +(_Written in the Stone Gallery of St Paul's._) + + +The drowsing city sparkles in the heat, +And murmur in mine ears unceasingly +The surging tides of that vast human sea-- +The billows of life that break with muffled beat +And vibrate through this high and lone retreat; +While over all, serene, and fair, and free, +Thy dome is reared in naked majesty +Grey, old St Paul's ... In thee the Ages meet, +Slumbering amidst the trophies of their strife. +And in their dreams thou hearest, while the cries +Of triumph and despair ascend from Life, +The murmurings of immortality-- +Thou Sentinel of Hope that doth despise +What was and is not, waiting what shall be! + + + + +"OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF BABES." + + +"Is baby dead?" he whispered, with wide eyes + Tearless, but full of eloquent regret, +His childish face grown prematurely wise-- + Pond'ring the problem death before him set. + +"Baby is dead," I answered, as I laid + My hand on her frail forehead with a sigh; +"Oh! daddy, why did God do this?" he said, + And silently my heart made answer, "Why?" + +He touched her white, worn face, and said, "How cold + Is our wee baby now." ... His eyes were deep ... +Then came his little brother, two years old, + He looked, and lisped, "The baby is asleep." + + + + +NOTES. + + +_The Wee Folk_.--In Gaelic they are usually called "The Peace People" +(sithchean). Other names are "Wee Folk" (daoine beaga); "Light Folk" +(slaugh eutrom), etc. As in the Lowlands, they are also referred to as +"guid fowk" and "guid neighbours." + +_The Banshee_ (Beanshith).--Sometimes referred to as "The Fairy Queen," +sometimes as "The Green Lady." She sings a song while she washes the +clothes of one about to meet a swift and tragic fate. In the Fian poems +she converses with those who see her, and foretells the fate of warriors +going to battle. + +_The Blue Men of the Minch_ (Na Fir Ghorm).--Between the Shant Isles +(Charmed Isles) and Lewis is the "Stream of the Blue Men." They are the +"sea-horses" of the island Gaels. Their presence in the strait was +believed to be the cause of its billowy restlessness and swift currents. + +_The Changeling_.--When the fairies robbed a mother of her babe, they +left behind a useless, old, and peevish fairy, who took the form of a +child. This belief may have originated in the assumption that when a +baby became ill and fretful, it was a changeling. + +_The Urisk_ is, if anything, a personification of fear. It is a silent, +cloudy shape which haunts lonely moors, and follows travellers, but +rarely does more than scare them. + +_My Fairy Lover_.--Fairies fell in love with human beings, and deserted +them when their love was returned. Women of unsound mind, given to +wandering alone in solitary places, were believed to be the victims of +fairy love. + +_Yon Fairy Dog_ (An Cu Sith) was heard howling on stormy nights. He was +"big as a stirk," one informant has declared The "fearsome tail" appears +to have been not the least impressive thing about it. The MacCodrums +were brave and fearless, and were supposed to be descended from Seals, +which were believed to be human beings under spells. + +_My Gunna_.--This kindly, but solitary, elf herded cattle by night, and +prevented them from falling over the rocks. He was seen only by those +gifted with the faculty of "second sight." The Gunna resembles the +Lowland "Brownie." + +_Her Evil Eye_.--Belief in the Evil Eye is still quite common, even +among educated people, in the Highlands. Not a few children wear "the +cord," to which a silver coin is appended, as a charm against the +influence of "the eye." + +_The Little Old Man of the Barn_ (Bodachan Sabhaill).--Like the Gunna, +he is a variety the kindly Brownie, and assisted the needy. + +_Nimble Men_ (Na Fir Chlis) are "The Merry Dancers," or Aurora Borealis. +It was believed that, when the streamers were coloured, the "men and +maids" were dancing, and that after the dance the lovers fought for the +love of the queen. When the streamers are particularly vivid, a pink +cloud is seen below them, and this is called "the pool of blood." It +drips upon blood-stones, the spots on which are referred to as fairy +blood (fuil siochaire). A wizard could, by waving his wand, summon the +"Nimble Men" to dance in the northern sky. + +_The Water Horse_ haunted lonely lochs, and lured human beings to a +terrible death. When a hand was laid on its main, power to remove it was +withdrawn. + +_A Cursing_--The Gaelic curses are quaint in translation, but terrible +in the original. + +_Bonnach Fallaidh_.--It was considered unlucky to throw away the +remnants of a baking. So the good-wife made a little bannock, which was +pierced in the middle, as a charm against fairy influence. It was given +to a child for performing an errand, but the charm would be broken if +the reason for gifting it were explained. That was the good-wife's +secret. It was also unlucky to count the bannocks, and when they fell, +"bad luck" was foretold. Finlay's bannock was not kneaded on the board +or placed on the brander, but, unlike the other bannocks, was toasted in +front of the fire. + +_The Gruagach_ was a gentlemanly Brownie, who haunted byres. It was +never seen, although its shadow occasionally danced on the wall as it +flitted about. Often, when chased, it was heard tittering round corners. +In some barns, Clach-na-gruagach--"the Gruagach's stone"--is still +seen. Milkers pour an offering of milk into the hollowed stone "for +luck." The cream might not rise and the churn yield no butter if this +service were neglected. A favourite trick of the Gruagach was to untie +the cattle in the byre, so as to bring out the milkmaid, especially if +she had forgotten to leave the offering of milk. + +_Tober Mhuire_ (St Mary's Well) is situated at Tarradale, Ross-shire. +When a sick person asks for a drink of Tober Mhuire water, it is taken +as a sign of approaching death. It is a curious thing that this +reverence for holy water should be perpetuated among a Presbyterian +people. Wishing and curative wells are numerous in the North. + +_The Fians of Knockfarrel_.--This story belongs to the Ossianic or Fian +cycle of Gaelic tales in prose and verse. Hugh Miller makes reference to +it, but speaks of the Fians as giants. In Strathpeffer district the tale +is well known, and it is referred to in "Waifs and Strays of Celtic +Tradition." It is also localised in Skye. There are several Fian +place-names in the Highlands. The warriors are supposed to lie in a +charmed sleep in Craig-a-howe Cave, near Munlochy, Ross-shire. Caoilte, +the swift runner, was a famous Fian. Finn was chief, and Goll and Garry +were of Clan Morna, which united with the Fians. "Moolachie" is a little +babe, and "clarsach," a harp. + +_Ledbag's Warning_.--Children who twist their mouths, or squint, are +warned that, if the wind changes, their contortions will remain. The +fate of the flounder, which mocked the cod, is cited as a terrible +example. + +_Conn, Son of the Red_ is a Fian tale of which several old Gaelic +versions have been collected. Goll, the "first hero" of the Fians, slew +the Red when Conn, his son, was seven years old. In the fullness of time +the young hero, whom his enemies admire as well as fear, crossed the sea +to avenge his father's death, and engaged in a long and fierce duel with +Goll. + +_Death of Cuchullin_ is from the Cuchullin Cycle of Bronze Age heroic +tales. The enemy have invaded and laid waste the province of Ulster, and +the chief warriors of the Red Branch, except Cuchullin, who must needs +fight alone, are laid under spells by the magicians of the invaders. The +poem is suffused with evidences of magical beliefs and practices. +Cuchullin goes forth knowing that he will meet his doom. His name +signifies "hound of Culann." In his youth he slew Culann's ferocious +watch-hound which attacked him, and took its place until another was +trained. It was "geis" (taboo) for him to partake of the flesh of a +hound (his totem), or eat at a cooking hearth; but he must needs accept +the hospitality of the witches. The satirists are satirical bards who, +it was believed, could not only lampoon a hero, but infuse their +compositions with magical powers like incantations. Cuchullin cannot be +slain except by his own spear, which he must deliver up to a satirist +who demands it. Emania, the capital of Ulster, was the home of the Bed +Branch warriors. + +_Sleepy Song_.--When Diarmid eloped with Grianne, as Paris did with +Helen, the Fians followed them, so that Finn, their chief, might be +avenged. Diarmid, who is the unwilling victim of Grainne's spells, +dreads to meet Finn, and is in constant fear of discovery. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELVES AND HEROES*** + + +******* This file should be named 10089.txt or 10089.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/0/8/10089 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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