Poems by Denis Florence MacCarthy Part 7

Bind it on Morand, if thou wilt, to make a.s.surance doubly sure; Bind it, nor dream that dream of guilt that such a pact will not endure.

By spirits of the wave and wind, by every spell, by every art, Bind Carpri Min of Manand, bind my sons, the darlings of my heart.

FERDIAH.

O Mave! with venom of deceit that adder tongue of thine o'erflows, Nor is thy temper over-sweet, as well thine earlier consort knows.

Thou'rt truly worthy of thy fame for boastful speech and l.u.s.t of power, And well dost thou deserve thy name-- the Brachail of Rathcroghan's tower.[45]

Thy words are fair and soft, O queen!

but still I crave one further proof-- Give me the scarf of silken sheen, give me the speckled satin woof, Give from thy cloak's empurpled fold the golden brooch so fair to see, And when the glorious gift I hold, for ever am I bound to thee.

MAVE.

Oh! art thou not my chosen chief, my foremost champion, sure to win, My tower, my fortress of relief, to whom I give this twisted pin?

These, and a thousand gifts more rare, the treasures of the earth and sea, Jewels a queen herself might wear, my grateful hands will give to thee.

And when at length beneath thy sword the Hound of Ulster shall lie low, When thou hast ope'd the long-locked Ford, and let the unguarded water flow, Then shall I give my daughter's hand, then my own child shall be thy bride-- She, the fair daughter of the land where western Elgga's[46] waters glide.

And thus did Mave Ferdiah bind to fight Six chosen champions on the morrow morn, Or combat with Cuchullin all alone, Whichever might to him the easier seem.

And he, by the G.o.ds' names and by her sons, Bound her the promise she had made to keep, The rich reward to pay to him in full, If by his hand Cuchullin should be slain.

For Fergus, young Cuchullin's early friend, The steeds that night were harnessed, and he flew Swift in his chariot to the hero's tent.

"Glad am I at thy coming, O my friend!"

Cuchullin said: "My pupil, I accept With joy thy welcome," Fergus quick replied: "But what I come for is to give thee news Of him who here will fight thee in the morn."

"I listen," said Cuchullin, "do thou speak."

"Thine own companion is it, thine own peer, Thy rival in all daring feats of arms, Ferdiah, son of Daman, Dare's son, Of Domnand lord and all its warrior men."

"Be sure of this," Cuchullin made reply, "That never wish of mine it could have been A friend should thus come forth with me to fight."

"It therefore doth behove thee now, my son,"

Fergus replied, "to be upon thy guard, Prepared at every point; for not like those Who hitherto have come to fight with thee Upon the 'Tain Bo Cuailgne,' is the chief, Ferdiah, son of Daman, Dare's son."

"Here I have been," Cuchullin proudly said, "From Samhain up to Imbule--from the first Of winter days even to the first of spring-- Holding the four great provinces in check That make up Erin, not one foot have I Yielded to any man in all that time, Nor even to him shall I a foot give way."

And thus the parley went: first Fergus spoke, Cuchullin then to him in turn replied:

FERGUS.

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

CUCHULLIN.

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

FERGUS.

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

CUCHULLIN.

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

FERGUS.

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

CUCHULLIN.

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

FERGUS.

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

CUCHULLIN.

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

FERGUS.

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

CUCHULLIN.

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

FERGUS.

To-day awaits thy hand a greater deed, To battle with Ferdiah, Daman's son.

Hard, b.l.o.o.d.y weapons with sharp points thou'lt need, Cuchullin, ere the victory be won.

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

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

Nor was their chief less troubled; but at first The fumes of the late revel overpowered His senses, and he slept a heavy sleep.

Later he woke, the intoxicating steam Had left his brain, and now in sober calm All the anxieties of the impending fight Pressed on his soul and made him grave.[47] He rose From off his couch, and bade his charioteer Harness his pawing horses to the car.

The boy would fain persuade his lord to stay, Because he loved his master, and he felt He went but to his death; but he repelled The youth's advice, and spoke to him these words-- "Oh! cease, my servant. I will not be turned By any youth from what I have resolved."

And thus in speech and answer spoke the two--

FERDIAH.

Let us go to this challenge, Let us fly to the Ford, When the raven shall croak O'er my blood-dripping sword.

Oh, woe for Cuchullin!

That sword will be red; Oh, woe! for to-morrow The hero lies dead.

CHARIOTEER.

Thy words are not gentle, Yet rest where thou art, 'Twill be dreadful to meet, And distressful to part.

The champion of Ulster!

Oh! think what a foe!

In that meeting there's grief, In that journey there's woe!

FERDIAH.

Thy counsel is craven, Thy caution I slight, No brave-hearted champion Should shrink from the fight.

The blood I inherit Doth prompt me to do-- Let us go to the challenge, To the Ford let us go!