Ireland, Historic and Picturesque Part 6

"'Twas then that our chieftain rode and ran Along the strand of Barriman; Trying the speed Of his swift black steed,-- Who now but Find was a happy man?

"Myself and Cailte at each side, In wantonness of youthful pride, Would ride with him where he might ride.

Fast and furious rode he, Urging his steed to far Tralee.

On from Tralee by Lerg duv-gla.s.s, And o'er Fraegmoy, o'er Finna.s.s, O'er Moydeo, o'er Monaken, On to Shan-iber, o'er Shan-glen, Till the clear stream of Flesk we win, And reach the pillar of Crofinn; O'er Sru-Muny, o'er Moneket, And where the fisher spreads his net To snare the salmon of Lemain, And thence to where our coursers' feet Wake the glad echoes of Loch Leane; And thus fled he, Nor slow were we; Through rough and smooth our course we strain.

"Long and swift our stride,--more fleet Than the deer of the mountain our coursers' feet!

Away to Flesk by Carnwood dun; And past Mac Scalve's Mangerton, Till Find reached Barnec Hill at last; There rested he, and then we pa.s.sed Up the high hill before him, and: 'Is there no hunting hut at hand?'

He thus addressed us; 'The daylight Is gone, and shelter for the night We lack.' He scarce had ended, when Gazing adown the rocky glen, On the left hand, just opposite, He saw a house with its fire lit; 'That house till now I've never seen, Though many a time and oft I've been In this wild glen. Come, look at it!'

"Yes, there are things that our poor wit Knows little of,' said Cailte; 'thus This may be some miraculous Hostel we see, whose generous blaze Thy hospitality repays, Large-handed son of c.u.mal!'--So On to the house all three we go...."

Of their entry to the mysterious house, of the ogre and the witch they found there, of the horrors that gathered on all sides, when

"From iron benches on the right Nine headless bodies rose to sight, And on the left, from grim repose, Nine heads that had no bodies rose,..."

Ossin likewise tells, and how, overcome, they fell at last into a deathlike trance and stupor, till the sunlight woke them lying on the heathery hillside, the house utterly vanished away.

The scenes of all the happenings in the story are well known: the rath of Badamar is near Caher on the Suir, in the midst of the Golden Vale, a plain of wonderful richness and beauty, walled in by the red precipices of the Galtee Mountains, and the Knock-Mealdown Hills. From the rath of Badamar Find could watch the western mountains reddening and glowing in front of the dawn, as the sun-rays shot level over the burnished plain.

Clocar is thirty miles westward over the Golden Vale, near where Croom now stands; and here were run the races; here Find gained the gift of the coal-black steed. It is some forty miles still westwards to the Strand of Tralee; the last half of the way among hills carpeted with heather; and the Strand itself, with the tide out, leaves a splendid level of white sand as far as the eye can reach, tempting Find to try his famous courser. The race carried them southwards some fifteen miles to the beautiful waters of Lough Leane, with its overhanging wooded hills, the Lake of Killarney, southward of which rises the huge red ma.s.s of Mangerton, in the midst of a country everywhere rich in beauty.

The Hill of Barnec is close by, but the site of the magic dwelling, who can tell? Perhaps Find; or Cailte, or golden-tongued Ossin himself.

There was abundant fighting in those days, for well within memory was the time of Conn of the Five-score Fights, against whom c.u.mal had warred because Conn lord of Connacht had raised Crimtan of the Yellow Hair to the kingship of Leinster. c.u.mal fought at the Rath that bears his name, now softened to Rathcool, twelve miles inward from the sea at Dublin, with the hills rising up from the plain to the south of the Rath. c.u.mal fought and fell, slain by Goll Mac Morna, and enmity long endured between Find and Goll who slew his sire. But like valiant men they were reconciled, and when Goll in his turn died, Find made a stirring poem on Goll's mighty deeds.

Another fateful fight for Find was the battle of Kinvarra, among the southern rocks of Galway Bay; for though he broke through the host of his foeman Uince, that chieftain himself escaped, and, riding swiftly with a score of men, came to Find's own dwelling at Druim Dean on the Red Hills of Leinster, and burned the dwelling, leaving it a smoldering ruin. Find pursuing, overtook them, slaying them at the ford called to this day Ath-uince, the ford of Uince. Returning homewards, Find found his house desolate, and the song he sang still holds the memory of his sorrow.

Two poems he made, on the Plain of Swans and on Roirend in Offaly, full of vivid pictures and legends; and one of romantic tragedy, telling how the two daughters of King Tuatal Tectmar were treacherously slain, through the malice of the Leinster king. But of romances and songs of fair women in the days of Find, the best is the Poem of Gael, who composed it to win a princess for his bride.

Of fair Crede of the Yellow Hair it was said that there was scarce a gem in all Erin that she had not got as a love-token, but that she would give her heart to none. Crede had vowed that she would marry the man who made the best verses on her home, a richly-adorned dwelling in the south, under the twin cones of the Paps, and within sight of Lough Leane and Killarney. Cael took up the challenge, and invoking the Genius that dwelt in the sacred pyramid of Brugh on the Boyne he made these verses, and came to recite them to yellow-haired Crede:

"It would be happy for me to be in her home, Among her soft and downy couches, Should Crede deign to hear me; Happy for me would be my journey.

A bowl she has, whence berry-juice flows, With which she colors her eyebrows black; She has clear vessels of fermenting ale; Cups she has, and beautiful goblets.

The color of her house is white like lime; Within it are couches and green rushes; Within it are silks and blue mantles; Within it are red gold and crystal cups.

Of its sunny chamber the corner stones Are all of silver and yellow gold, Its roof in stripes of faultless order Of wings of brown and crimson red.

Two doorposts of green I see, Nor is the door devoid of beauty; Of carved silver,--long has it been renowned,-- Is the lintel that is over the door.

Crede's chair is on your right hand, The pleasantest of the pleasant it is; All over a blaze of Alpine gold, At the foot of her beautiful couch...

The household which is in her house To the happiest fate has been destined; Grey and glossy are their garments; Twisted and fair is their flowing hair.

Wounded men would sink in sleep, Though ever so heavily teeming with blood, With the warbling of the fairy birds From the eaves of her sunny summer-room.

If I am blessed with the lady's grace, Fair Crede for whom the cuckoo sings, In songs of praise shall ever live, If she but repay me for my gift....

There is a vat of royal bronze, Whence flows the pleasant; nice of malt; An apple-tree stands over the vat, With abundance of weighty fruit.

When Crede's goblet is filled With the ale of the n.o.ble vat, There drop down into the cup forthwith Four apples at the same time.

The four attendants that have been named, Arise and go to the distributing, They present to four of the guests around A drink to each man and an apple.

She who possesses all these things, With the strand and the stream that flow by them, Crede of the three-pointed hill, Is a spear-cast beyond the women of Erin.

Here is a poem for her,--no mean gift.

It is not a hasty, rash composition; To Crede now it is here presented: May my journey be brightness to her!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: Colleen Bawn Caves, Klllarney.]

Tradition says that the heart of the yellow-haired beauty was utterly softened and won, so that she delayed not to make Cael master of the dwelling he so well celebrated; master, perhaps, of all the jewels of Erin that her suitors had given her. Yet their young love was not destined to meet the storms and frosts of the years; for Cael the gallant fell in battle, his melodious lips for ever stilled. Thus have these two become immortal in song.

We have seen Cailte with Ossin following Find in his wild ride through the mountains of Killarney, and to Cailte is attributed the saying that echoes down the ages: "There are things that our poor wit knows nothing off!" Cailte was a great lover of the supernatural, yet there was in him also a vein of sentiment, shown in his poem on the death of Clidna--"Clidna the fair-haired, long to be remembered," who was tragically drowned at Glandore harbor in the south, and whose sad wraith still moans upon the bar, in hours of fate for the people of Erin.

In a gayer vein is the poem of Fergus the Eloquent, who sang the legend of Tipra Seangarmna, the Fountain of the Feale River, which flows westward to the sea from the mountains north of Killarney. The river rises among precipices, gloomy caverns and ravines, and pa.s.ses through vales full of mysterious echoes amid mist-shrouded hills. There, as Fergus sings, were Ossin and his following hunting, when certain ominous fair women lured them to a cave,--women who were but insubstantial wraiths,--to hold them captive till the seasons ran full circle, summer giving place again to winter and spring. But Ossin, being himself of more than human wisdom, found a way to trick the spirits; for daily he cut chips from his spear and sent them floating down the spring, till Find at last saw them, and knew the tokens as Ossin's, and, coming, delivered his son from durance among ghosts.

The great romantic theme of the time binds the name of Find, son of c.u.mal, with that of Cormac, son of Art, and grandson of Conn of the Five-score Battles. This Cormac was himself a notable man of wisdom, and here are some of the Precepts he taught to Cairbre, his son:

"O grandson of Conn, O Cormac," Cairbre asked him, "what is good for a king?"

"This is plain," answered Cormac. "It is good for him to have patience and not to dispute, self-government without anger, affability without haughtiness, diligent attention to history, strict observance of covenants and agreements, justice tempered by mercy in the execution of the laws. It is good for him to make fertile land, to invite ships, to import jewels of price from across the sea, to purchase and distribute raiment, to keep vigorous swordsmen who may protect his territory, to make war beyond his territory, to attend to the sick, to discipline his soldiers. Let him enforce fear, let him perfect peace, let him give mead and wine, let him p.r.o.nounce just judgments of light, let him speak all truth, for it is through the truth of a king that G.o.d gives favorable seasons."

"O grandson of Conn, O Cormac," Cairbre again asked him, "what is good for the welfare of a country?"

"This is plain," answered Cormac. "Frequent a.s.semblies of wise and good men to investigate its affairs, to abolish every evil and retain every wholesome inst.i.tution, to attend to the precepts of the seniors; let every a.s.sembly be convened according to the law, let the law be in the hands of the n.o.blest, let the chieftains be upright and unwilling to oppress the poor."

"O grandson of Conn, O Cormac," again asked Cairbre, "what are duties of a prince in the banqueting-house?"

"A prince on the Day of Spirits should light his lamps and welcome his guests with clapping of hands, offering comfortable seats; the cup-bearers should be active in distributing meat and drink. Let there be moderation of music, short stories, a welcoming countenance, a greeting for the learned, pleasant conversation. These are the duties of a prince and the arrangement of a banqueting-house."

"O grandson of Conn, O Cormac, for what qualifications is a king elected over countries and tribes of people?"

"From the goodness of his shape and family, from his experience and wisdom, from his prudence and magnanimity, from his eloquence and bravery in battle, and from the number of his friends."

"O grandson of Conn, O Cormac, what was thy deportment when a youth?"

"I was cheerful at the banquet of the House of Mead, I was fierce in battle, but vigilant and careful. I was kind to friends, a physician to the sick, merciful to the weak, stern toward the headstrong. Though possessed of knowledge, I loved silence. Though strong, I was not overbearing. Though young, I mocked not the old. Though valiant, I was not vain. When I spoke of one absent I praised and blamed him not, for by conduct like this are we known to be courteous and refined."

"O grandson of Conn, O Cormac, what is good for me?"

"If thou attend to my command, thou wilt not scorn the old though thou art young, nor the poor though thou art well clad, nor the lame though thou art swift, nor the blind though thou seest, nor the weak though thou art strong, nor the ignorant though thou art wise. Be not slothful, be not pa.s.sionate, be not greedy, be not idle, be not jealous; for he who is so is hateful to G.o.d and man."

"O grandson of Conn, O Cormac, I would know how to hold myself with the wise and the foolish, with friends and strangers, with old and young."

"Be not too knowing or simple, too proud or inactive, too humble or haughty, talkative or too silent, timid or too severe. For if thou art too knowing, thou wilt be mocked at and abused; if too simple, thou wilt be deceived; if proud, thou wilt be shunned; if too humble, thou wilt suffer; if talkative, thou wilt be thought foolish; if too severe, men will speak ill of thee; if timid, thy rights will suffer."

"O grandson of Conn, O Cormac, how shall I discern the characters of women?"

"I know them, but I cannot describe them. Their counsel is foolish, they are forgetful of love, most headstrong in their desires, fond of folly, p.r.o.ne to enter rashly into engagements, given to swearing, proud to be asked in marriage, tenacious of enmity, cheerless at the banquet, rejectors of reconciliation, p.r.o.ne to strife, of much garrulity. Until evil be good, until h.e.l.l be heaven, until the sun hide his light, until the stars of heaven fall, women will remain as we have declared. Woe to him, my son, who desires or serves a bad woman, woe to him who has a bad wife."

Was there some thought of his daughter Grania in Cormac's mind, behind these keen-edged; words?--of Grania, beloved of Diarmuid? When the winters of the years were already white on Find, son of c.u.mal, when Ossin his son had a son of his own, Oscur the valiant, the two old men, Cormac the king and Find leader of the warriors, bethought them to make a match between Find and Grania, one of the famous beauties of the olden time. A banquet was set in the great House of Mead, and Find and his men were there, Diarmuid son of Duibne being also there, best beloved among Find's warriors. There was a custom, much in honor among the chieftains, that a princess should send her goblet to the guests, offering it to each with gentle courtesy. This grace fell to the lady Grania, whose whole heart rose up against her grey-bearded lover, and was indeed set on Diarmuid the son of Duibne. Grania compounded a dreamy draught to mix with the mead, so that all the chieftains and warriors, with Cormac and Find himself, even while praising the drink, fell straightway a-nodding, and were soon in silent sleep, all except Ossin and Diarmuid, whom Grania had bidden not to drink.

Then Grania, her voice all tremulous with tears, told to Ossin the fate that awaited her, looking at him, but speaking for Diarmuid; bewailing bitterly the misery of fair youth in the arms of withered eld, and at last turning and openly begging Diarmuid to save her from her fate. To carry away a king's daughter, betrothed to the leader of the warriors, was a perilous thing, and Diarmuid's heart stood still at the thought of it; yet Grania's tears prevailed, and they two fled forth that night to the hills and forests. Dire and ruinous was the wrath of Cormac and of Find when they awoke and found that these two were fled; and whatever might was in the king's hand, whatever power in the hosts of Find, was straightway turned against them in pursuit. Yet the two fled as the deer might fly, visiting with their loves every wood and valley in Erin, till the memory of them lingers throughout all the hills. Finally, after a year's joyful and fearsome fleeing, the Fian warriors everywhere aiding them for love of Diarmuid, swift death came upon Diarmuid, and Grania was left desolate.

But Angus the Ever-Young, guardian Genius of the pyramid-shrine of Brugh by the Boyne, De Danaan dweller in the secret house, Angus of the Immortals received the spirit of Diarmuid, opening for him the ways of the hidden world.

But enmity grew between Find with his warriors and Cormac the king, till at last a battle was fought where Find's men fell, and Cairbre, the well-instructed son of Cormac also fell. Thus pa.s.sed away the ruling spirits of that age, the flowering time of the genius of Erin.

VIII.