🧚 Opening, part 2 · page 2

The present work concludes a series of poems intended to illustrate Irish history at its chief periods.41 The ‘Legends of St. Patrick’ deal with Ireland’s ‘saintly time,’ and ‘Inisfail’ with those six centuries between the Norman invasion and the repeal of the penal laws in the latter half of the eighteenth century--a period calamitously misrepresented by partisan historians; one in which the wild passions and wilder political theories which, since the first French Revolution, have in so many countries directed high aspirations to mean or fatal ends, had no existence; a period of which ‘all the struggles were characterised by the spirit of liberty, nor less by that of loyalty, whether directed to Gaelic princes, to Norman chiefs who had become Irish, to Charles, or James.’42 [6] Another period remained, that of Ireland’s ‘Heroic Age.’43 This volume is a contribution to its illustration.44 I trust that the poets of a later day will illustrate it more worthily, and do for Irish history what the lofty and stainless poetry of Scott did for that of his country.45 The theme is large; and the quarry, so rich in materials, is as yet scarcely opened.46 Notwithstanding the destruction of numberless Irish books which certainly existed as late as 1631, and the yet larger number known to have been extant in the eleventh century, besides the vast collections which perished during the Danish invasions, we are informed that the Irish books still preserved in Trinity College, Dublin, and the Royal Irish Academy would alone fill 30,000 quarto pages.47 These volumes exist, almost all of them, in MS. only; while a few, which, without State aid or any public encouragement, have been translated, remain unprinted--a circumstance not honourable either to Ireland’s patriotism, or to that love of learning once her boast.48 A mere fragment of the remaining surplus from the Irish Church property would restore to light all the best specimens of ancient Irish genius for the benefit not of Ireland’s sons only, but of learning in all lands; and she has still scholars competent to the task.49 Those who cannot study the originals may wish to know where they may find some valuable translations.50 Several have appeared in the ‘Atlantis,’ a periodical established in connection with the Catholic University of Ireland when Cardinal Newman was its rector, in the publications of the ‘Ossianic Society,’ of the ‘Irish Archæological and Celtic Society,’ and of the ‘Kilkenny Archæological Society.’51 The English reader is more likely to be already acquainted with Dr. O’Donovan’s great translation of the ‘Annals of the Four Masters;’ with the works of Dr. Petrie, of Dr. Todd, and Dr. Reeves; with the ‘Tripartite Life of St. Patrick,’ translated, as well as many ancient tales, by Mr. W. M. Hessessy; with Dr. Joyce’s ‘Old Celtic Romances;’ and with Mr. Standish O’Grady’s brilliant bardic ‘History of Ireland.’52 How entirely early Irish legends are susceptible of a high poetic rendering in our own day can be doubted by no one who has read the poems founded on them which we owe to the genius of Sir Samuel Ferguson.53 [7]54

CONTENTS.55

PAGE THE SONS OF USNACH 156

THE CHILDREN OF LIR 7157

THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE: Prologue 117 1.58 The Cause of the Great War 119 2.59 The Deeds of Cuchullain 143 3.60 The Combat at the Ford 160 4.61 The Invasion of Uladh 183 5.62 Queen Meave’s Retreat 20163

NOTES 23164

THE SONS OF USNACH65

TO THE MEMORY66

OF67

EUGENE O’CURRY,68

FIRST PROFESSOR OF IRISH HISTORY IN THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF IRELAND,69

THIS POEM70

IS DEDICATED.71

_THE SONS OF USNACH.72

CANTO THE FIRST.73

In Felim’s house they kept the royal feast, And all the echoing hall with tumult rang, Tumult that still from morn to eve increased; And now the tale they told, and now they sang.74 Chief minstrel he to Conor, Uladh’s[8] lord, Who graced that day, as oft, his favourite’s board.75

Sudden to Felim’s seat a woman rushed, An ancient nurse with wrinkled face and worn Clamouring, her hands upheld and forehead flushed, ‘Felim, rejoice! for lo, thy babe is born!76 And proud be thou, for goodlier is this child Than e’er till now on proudest parent smiled!’77

These tidings heard, yet higher swelled the acclaim; The Red Branch Knights oft pledged that infant’s health, And prayed that all high gifts of wealth and fame, Great lordship, and great valour, and great wealth Might grace its life, and in the far-off days Compass its head with everlasting praise.78

But when an hour had passed, and somewhat more, The feasters heard far off a dulcet strain, And soon to them there entered damsels four; With measured step advanced they twain by twain, Bearing a cradle.79 On a low-raised throne They reared it, bowered in silk, and blossom-strewn.80

Therein a little maiden-wonder lay Unlike all babes besides in mien and hue, Bright as a lily-bud at break of day That flashes through the night’s unlifted dew: Beaming her eyes; like planets glad and fair: And o’er her forehead curved a fringe of hair.81

The tender fairy hand, whose substance fine Glimmered as of compacted moonbeams made With such a stealthy smoothness did it shine, Above the coverlet unquiet strayed; And some one said, ‘It knows the things to be, And seeks its wand of destined empery!’82

From bannered stalls the Red Branch Knights drew nigh Circling that cradle. ’83 Neath the raftered roof A far-sunk window opened to the sky, While purple twilight wove with warp and woof O’er deepening heavens its dewy mantle dark, And dusking woods, that hour unseen; when, hark84

Outside that casement rang a piercing wail; Then, past it slow, a dread and shrouded Form On demon wings was seen of all to sail: Shriek after shriek out-swelled into a storm: And o’er that flower new-born of infancy All heard the Banshee’s death-denouncing cry.85

Then, from his seat in that high hall remote Whereon all day in silence he had sate Advanced, unguided, to that Infant’s cot Cathbad, the Druid old, and man of Fate, And o’er that infant held his arms out-spread, And raised to heaven his grey and sightless head86

At last he spake, ‘This day a woe to man, And yet the crown of woman’s kind, is born: This day is sent a blessing and a ban; She shall be black as night, and white as morn; And lo, upon her cheek I see such red As stains great warriors on the war-field dead.87

‘A death to mighty hosts that face shall be: Through her a king shall pass to banishment: Through her shall perish Usnach’s peerless Three; Through her from sacred Eman’s[9] roofs fire-rent Even now I see the reddening smoke-cloud leap: Deirdré her name.88 Through her shall widows weep.’89

King Conor heard, and in his angry mood Had risen to speak her doom; ‘That child shall die!’90 Save that the Uladh nobles where they stood The king forestalling, hurled abroad their cry; ‘She must not live!’91 Of all those knights but two Will’d not that deed--the bravest Erin knew.92

For at that hour upon the cradle’s right Stood Conal Carnach; at its left, though young, Swifter in chase, and stronger yet in fight, Cuchullain.93 Neither swelled that shout of wrong.94 Once more it rose: but Conor ne’er was known To walk in any counsel save his own.95