🧚 Opening, part 3 · page 2

Not so old Levarcam! a spasm of dread Oft blanched her cheek remembering Conor’s word, ‘Keep safe the child, or forfeit is thy head!’45 In Deirdré’s absence, if a leaf but stirred She shook; and endless tales, and legends told To keep her young lamb safe within the fold.46

She told how first, from regions of the morn With black-sailed ships stemming the ocean tide To Erin’s forest, yet of men forlorn, Came Partholan, the Grecian Parricide: And how the ill race had perished.47 Deirdré cried With reddening cheek; ‘Glad am I that they died!’48

Then, with a brightening in her old, pale face, Her nurse resumed: ‘But we--the Gael--but we, The offspring are we of a lordlier race, The heirs of some diviner destiny!49 King Miledh was our sire!50 From far Espán His dauntless sons led forth the Gaedil clan.’51

Of Scota next she told, the widowed Queen; And how that sad one left her lonely throne Girt by eight sons; and how, with eye serene, She marked above the wine-black ocean prone The monsters rise; nor feared to watch the wave Heaven-high, anon descending to its grave.52

Time on her brow had graved no characters; Sorrow no splendour stol’n from that wide eye That ever, as the legend old avers, Reposed on some far seat of sovereignty By others hoped;--to her alone revealed Beyond sea-cloud, and ocean’s heaving field.53

She saw the waves engulf the drowning decks; Yet nought could scare that eye, or blanch that cheek: Four sons she saw upon their mastless wrecks High driven on Erin’s rocks and headlands bleak From Inver Scena to the house of Donn: She said; ‘The price is paid; the Isle is won!’54

She saw the victory’s prelude and no more; Half-way ’twixt ocean marge and mountain crest Where sleep the Great Ones of the days of yore Early she made her venerable rest, And holds, well-pleased, an ever-spreading fame, Sealing a mighty people with her name.55 [11]56

Not all the themes were war: the fabler told Of Feale, the dusk-eyed beauty of the South, By Lewy won mid olive forests old: Such minstrelsies went freshening from his mouth That in his hand her own the princess placed, Nor feared, his wife, to dare the wan sea-waste.57

She told how, later, by that northern tide A blush of causeless shame her cheek had stained; And how, heart-grieved at fancied wrong, she died, Where wrong was none; and how her husband plained Year after year, while she, at Scota’s feet, Rested revered where earth and ocean meet.58

Next told she how for Tara’s King they found No consort worthy of the royal bed From east to west through Erin’s utmost bound; And how, dream-warned, the youth had northward sped: And how, from fountain-bower by Fairy Brugh, A white maid looked on him with eyes of blue.59

And how that beauteous phantom, Eadane, Had laid a hand like light upon his hair; And next, lest he should die of yearnings vain, Assumed a woman’s form, though woven of air; And borne him pretty babes within their bower; Yet ofttimes bade him ’ware the destined hour.60

And how at Tara, while the nobles sate Gracing his feast, that queen sent forth a cry: And how the Fairy-King through guards and gate Passed swiftly, mailed in dew-like jewelry, And like a whirlwind bore in sight of all, The Fairy Princess to her father’s hall!61

While thus the tales ran on, the years ran by, Tales, some of sadness, some of mirth and jest, Till now the child to maiden prime was nigh: The tales of war and wonder pleased her best: The love-tales well began, no doubt: yet all Ended, she thought, in something slight and small.62

And still whate’er she heard of good and pure Within the virgin’s memory held its place Like names on tree-stems graved that aye endure: Of questionable things survived no trace: They passed, like letters written in a rill That upward laughs to heaven, re-virgined still.63

One day it chanced that, while the March wind’s breath Was softening round the daffodil’s first bud, Their shepherd old had saved a lamb from death, And slain the wolf, and in their gateway stood; And, as the wounded creature bled, below A crimson blood-pool stained the last night’s snow.64

Sudden there swooped to earth a raven black, And feasted on that blood.65 As in a dream The maiden watched it long: at last she spake, Whilst o’er her grave face ran a laughing gleam, ‘These be Love’s colours, black and red, and white;-- Yet love we know, is nought, when judged aright!66

‘These be Love’s colours, white and black, and red:-- Some little foolish maid, to love inclined, Might say: “Though all should love me none shall wed Until in one dear face those three I find; Not raven locks alone, or front of snow, But on the heroic cheek the battle’s glow!”’67

Beside the girl stood Levarcam; she smiled, And spake; ‘Good sooth, your shaft hath hit its mark; Yea doubtless, you were born a prophet’s child!68 For Naisi’s front is white, his tresses dark; And still of him men say; “On Naisi’s cheek Not roses, but red dawns of battles break!”’69

Then to the flash from Deirdré’s peerless eyes Her nurse made answer; ‘Naisi! who is he?70 Warrior there treads not under Erin’s skies But knows the man! the swiftest of those Three!71 No hounds they need! alone they chase, each morn, The stag, and downward drag him head and horn!72

‘Ever at Uladh’s feasts the clansmen say “Set ye the sons of Usnach side by side, A rock behind them, or some cromlech grey, Then blow a trump o’er Erin, far and wide; And range her hosts against them, face to face, Those Three shall hew them down, and homeward chase!”73

‘Their singing is the best all Uladh boasts; Of all her sons most courteous they and kind; To heaven devoutest of her countless hosts: Softly along his path they lead the blind; Submission made, no more remember ill; Nor ever kissed a maid against her will.74

‘To these the clans send embassies from far Laden with gifts, and suing, “Grant us aid!75 Rule us in battle’s hour, and head our war!”76 But women say, “How well their mother prayed For sons both mild and valiant!”77 Lo, a ray Of her sweet countenance lives in theirs this day!’78

Here Levarcam a moment stopped for breath; Then Deirdré rose and sought the neighbouring strand: Ice-bound it was, and cold that hour as death: To her ’twas warm as mead by May breeze fanned: She paced along its pebbly beach for hours; And to her feet its shingles felt like flowers.79

Returned, more lofty looked she than at morn; With more of inward gladness, yet less gay; More confident, though lost her girlish scorn In some half womanhood’s benigner ray: Smiling, she met her nurse’s smile, and then ‘Naisi,’ she said, ‘will love me!80 Who cares when?’81

The maiden paused; she mused; again she spake, Fixing on Levarcam those marvellous eyes; ‘Three be Love’s colours--white, and red, and black: White, for the sake of Love’s white sanctities; And red, for Love must war on many a foe; And black, since Love, though crowned, must end in woe.’82