Poems by Denis Florence MacCarthy Part 8

Then were the horses of Ferdiah yoked Unto the chariot, and he rode full speed Unto the Ford of battle, and the day Began to break, and all the east grew red.

Beside the Ford he halted. "Good, my friend,"

He said unto his servant, "Spread for me The skins and cushions of my chariot here Beneath me, that I may a full deep sleep Enjoy before the hour of fight arrives; For in the latter portion of the night I slept not, thinking of the fight to come."

Unharnessed were the horses, and the boy Spread out the cushions and the chariot's skins, And heavy sleep fell on Ferdiah's lids.

Now of Cuchullin will I speak. He rose Not until day with all its light had come, In order that the men of Erin ne'er Should say of him that it was fear or dread That made him from a restless couch arise.

When in the fulness of its light at length Shone forth the day, he bade his charioteer Harness his horses and his chariot yoke.

"Harness my horses, good, my servant," said Cuchullin, "and my chariot yoke for me, For lo! an early-rising champion comes To meet us here beside the Ford to-day-- Ferdiah, son of Daman, Dare's son."

"My lord, the steeds are ready to thy hand; Thy chariot stands here yoked, do thou step in; The n.o.ble car will not disgrace its lord."

Into the chariot, then, the dextrous, bold, Red-sworded, battle-winning hero sprang Cuchullin, son of Sualtam, at a bound.

Invisible Bocanachs and Bananachs, And Geniti Glindi[48] shouted round the car, And demons of the earth and of the air.

For thus the Tuatha de Danaans used By sorceries to raise those fearful cries Around him, that the terror and the fear Of him should be the greater, as he swept On with his staff of spirits to the war.

Soon was it when Ferdiah's charioteer Heard the approaching clamour and the shout, The rattle and the clatter, and the roar, The whistle, and the thunder, and the tramp, The clanking discord of the missive shields, The clang of swords, the hissing sound of spears, The tinkling of the helmet, the sharp crash Of armour and of arms, the straining ropes, The dangling bucklers, the resounding wheels, The creaking chariot, and the proud approach Of the triumphant champion of the Ford.

Clutching his master's robe, the charioteer Cried out, "Ferdiah, rise! for lo, thy foes Are on thee!" Then the Spirit of Insight fell Prophetic on the youth, and thus he sang.

CHARIOTEER.

I hear the rushing of a car, Near and more near its proud wheels run A chariot for the G.o.d of War Bursts--as from clouds the sun!

Over Bregg-Ross it speeds along, Hark! its thunders peal afar!

Oh! its steeds are swift and strong, And the Victories guide that car.

The Hound of Ulster shaketh the reins, And white with foam is each courser's mouth; The Hawk of Ulster swoops o'er the plains To his quarry here in the south.

Like wintry storm that warrior's form, Slaughter and Death beside him rush; The groaning air is dark and warm, And the low clouds bleed and blush.[49]

Oh, woe to him that is here on the hill, Who is here on the hillock awaiting the Hound; Last year it was in a vision of ill I saw this sight and I heard this sound.

Methought Emania's Hound drew nigh, Methought the Hound of Battle drew near, I heard his steps and I saw his eye, And again I see and I hear.

Then answer made Ferdiah in this wise: "Why dost thou chafe me, talking of this man?

For thou hast never ceased to sing his praise Since from his home he came. Thou surely art Not without wage for this: but nathless know Ailill and Mave have both foretold--by me This man shall fall, shall fall for a reward Just as the deed: This day he shall be slain, For it is fated that I free the Ford.

'Tis time for the relief."--And thus they spake:

FERDIAH.

Yes, it is time for the relief; Be silent then, nor speak his praise, For prophecy forebodes this chief Shall pa.s.s not the predestined days; Does fate for this forego its claim, That Cuailgne's champion here should come In all his pride and pomp of fame?-- Be sure he comes but to his doom.

CHARIOTEER.

If Cuailgne's champion here I see In all his pride and pomp of fame, He little heeds the prophecy, So swift his course, so straight his aim.

Towards us he flies, as flies the gleam Of lightning, or as waters flow From some high cliff o'er which the stream Drops in the foaming depths below.

FERDIAH.

Highly rewarded thou must be, For much reward thou sure canst claim, Else why with such persistency Thus sing his praises since he came?

And now that he approacheth nigh, And now that he doth draw more near, It seems it is to glorify And not to attack him thou art here.

Not long Ferdiah's charioteer had gazed With wondering look on the majestic car, When, as with thunder-speed it wheeled more near, He saw its whole construction and its plan: A fair, flesh-seeking, four-peaked front it had, And for its body a magnificent creit Fashioned for war, in which the hero stood Full-armed and brandishing a mighty spear, While o'er his head a green pavilion hung; Beneath, two fleetly-bounding, large-eared, fierce, Whale-bellied, lively-hearted, high-flanked, proud, Slender-legged, wide-hoofed, broad-b.u.t.tocked, prancing steeds, Exulting leaped and bore the car along: Under one yoke, the broad-backed steed was gray, Under the other, black the long-maned steed.

Like to a hawk swooping from off a cliff, Upon a day of harsh and biting wind, Or like a spring gust on a wild March morn Rushing resistless o'er a level plain, Or like the fleetness of a stag when first 'Tis started by the hounds in its first field-- So swept the horses of Cuchullin's car, Bounding as if o'er fiery flags they flew, Making the earth to shake beneath their tread, And tremble 'neath the fleetness of their speed.

At length, upon the north side of the Ford, Cuchullin stopped. Upon the southern bank Ferdiah stood, and thus addressed the chief: "Glad am I, O Cuchullin, thou hast come."

"Up to this day," Cuchullin made reply, "Thy welcome would by me have been received As coming from a friend, but not to-day.

Besides, 'twere fitter that I welcomed thee, Than that to me thou shouldst the welcome give; 'Tis I that should go forth to fight with thee, Not thou to me, because before thee are My women and my children, and my youths, My herds and flocks, my horses and my steeds."

Ferdiah, half in scorn, spake then these words-- And then Cuchullin answered in his turn.

"Good, O Cuchullin, what untoward fate Has brought thee here to measure swords with me?

For when we two with Scatha lived, in Skye, With Uatha, and with Aife, thou wert then My page to spread my couch for me at night, Or tie my spears together for the chase."

"True hast thou spoken," said Cuchullin; "yes, I then was young, thy junior, and I did For thee the services thou dost recall; A different story shall be told of us From this day forth, for on this day I feel Earth holds no champion that I dare not fight!"

And thus invectives bitter, sharp and cold, Between the two were uttered, and first spake Ferdiah, then alternate each with each.

FERDIAH.

What has brought thee here, O Hound, To encounter a strong foe?

O'er the trappings of thy steeds Crimson-red thy blood shall flow.

Woe is in thy journey, woe; Let the cunning leech prepare; Shouldst thou ever reach thy home, Thou shalt need his care.

CUCHULLIN.

I, who here with warriors fought, With the lordly chiefs of hosts, With a hundred men at once, Little heed thy empty boasts.

Thee beneath the wave to place, Thee to strike and thee to slay In the first path of our fight Am I here to-day.

FERDIAH.

Thy reproach in me behold, For 'tis I that deed will do, 'Tis of me that Fame shall tell He the Ultonian's champion slew.

Yes, in spite of all their hosts, Yes, in spite of all their prayers: So it shall long be told That the loss was theirs.

CUCHULLIN.

How, then, shall we first engage-- Is it with the hard-edged sword?

In what order shall we go To the battle of the Ford?

Shall we in our chariots ride?

Shall we wield the b.l.o.o.d.y spear?

How am I to hew thee down With thy proud hosts here?

FERDIAH.

Ere the setting of the sun, Ere shall come the darksome night, If again thou must be told, With a mountain thou shalt fight: Thee the Ultonians will extol, Thence impetuous wilt thou grow, Oh! their grief, when through their ranks Will thy spectre go!

CUCHULLIN.

Thou hast fallen in danger's gap, Yes, thy end of life is nigh; Sharp spears shall be plied on thee Fairly 'neath the open sky: Pompous thou wilt be and vain Till the time for talk is o'er, From this day a battle-chief Thou shalt be no more.

FERDIAH.

Cease thy boastings, for the world Sure no braggart hath like thee: Thou art not the chosen chief-- Thou hast not the champion's fee:-- Without action, without force, Thou art but a giggling page; Yes, thou trembler, with thy heart Like a bird's in cage.

CUCHULLIN.