🧚 Opening, part 8

Then to the Gael their bard, Amergin, spake: ‘Sail forth, my sons, nine waves across the deep, And when this island-race are armed, come back; Take then their realm by force; and, taking, keep!’1 The Gael sailed forth, nine waves; then turned, and gazed-- Night wrapt the isle, and storm by magic raised!2

Round Erin’s shores like leaves their ships were blown: Strewn on her reefs lay bard and warrior drowned: Not less the Gael upreared ere long that throne Two thousand years through all the West renowned.3 O’er Taillten’s field God held the scales of Fate: That last dread battle closed the dire debate.4

There fell those three Tuatha queens who gave The land their names--they fell by death discrowned:[17] There many a Gaelic chieftain found his grave: Thenceforth the races twain adjusted bound And right, at times by league, at times by war; Nor any reigned as yet from shore to shore.5

Still here and there Tuatha princes ruled Now in green vale, and now on pale blue coast, A warrior one, and one in magic schooled; The graver made Druidic lore their boast, And knew the secret might of star and leaf: Grey-haired King Bove stood up of these the chief.6

Southward by broad Lough Derg his palace stood: Northward, beside Emania’s lonely mere, In Finnahá, embowered mid lawn and wood, King Lir abode, a warrior, not a seer; Well loved was he, plain man with great, true heart, Who loathed, despite his race, the sorcerer’s art.7

Five centuries lived he ere that better light Gladdened the earth from Bethlehem: ne’ertheless He judged his land with justice and with might, Tempering the same at times with gentleness; And gave the poor their due; and made proclaim, ‘Let no man smite the old; the virgin shame.’8

His prime was spent in wars: in middle life He bade a youthful princess share his throne: Nor e’er had monarch yet a truer wife With tenderer palm or voice of sweeter tone: The one sole lady of that race was she Sun-haired, with large eyes azure as the sea.9

She moved amid the crafty as a child; Amid the lawless, chaste as unsunned maid; Amid the unsparing, as a turtle mild; Wondering at wrong; too gentle to upbraid: Yet many a fell resolve, as she rode by, Died at its birth--the ill-thinker knew not why!10

Sadness before her fled: in years long past As on a cliff the warriors sang their songs A harper maid, with eyes that stared aghast, Had chaunted, ‘Not to us this isle belongs!11 The Fates reserve it for a race more true, Ye children of Dedannan’s stock, than you!’12

And since she scorned her music to abate, Nor ceased to freeze their triumph with her dirge, The princes and the people rose in hate And hurled her harp and her into the surge: Yet still, halfway ’twixt midnight and the morn, That dirge swelled up, by tempest onward borne!13

Remembering oft this spectre of his youth King Lir would sit, a frown upon his brow: Then came the queen with words of peace and truth; ‘Mourn they that sinned!14 A child that hour wert thou!15 Thou rul’st this land to-day: in years to be Who best deserves shall wield her sovereignty.’16

Then would the monarch doff his sullen mood With kingly joy, and, bright as May-day’s morn, Ride forth amid his hounds through wild and wood, Thrilling far glens with echoes of his horn; Or meet the land’s invaders face to face Well pleased, and homeward hew them with disgrace.17

Thus happy lived the pair, and happier far When four fair children graced the royal house, Fairer than flowers, more bright than moon or star Shining through vista long of forest boughs.18 Finola was the eldest, eight years old: The yearling, Conn, best loved of all that fold.19

These beauteous creatures with their mother shared Alike her blissful nature and sweet looks, Like her swan-soft, swan-white, blue-eyed, bright-haired, With voices musical as birds or brooks: Beings they seemed reserved for some great fate, Mysterious, high, elect, and separate.20

At times they gambolled in the sunny sheen; At times, Fiacre and Aodh at her side, Finola paced the high-arched alleys green, At once their youthful playmate and their guide: A mother-hearted child she walked, and pressed That infant, daily heavier, to her breast.21

Great power of Love that, wide as heaven, dost brood O’er all the earth, and doest all things well!22 Light of the wise, and safeguard of the good!23 Nowhere, methinks, thou better lov’st to dwell Than in the hearts of innocents that still, By dangerous love untempted, work Love’s will!24

Thou shalt be with them when the sleet-wind blows Not less than in the violet-braided bower: Through thee the desert sands shall bud the rose, The wild wave anthems sing!25 In grief’s worst hour A germ of thine shall breed that quenchless Faith Amaranth of life, and asphodel of death.26

Ah lot of man!27 Ah world whose life is change!28 Ah sheer descent from topmost height of good To deepest gulf of anguish sudden and strange!29 A nation round their monarch’s gateway stood: All day there stood they, whispering in great dread: The herald came at last--‘The Queen is dead!’30

In silence still they stood an hour and more, Till through the West had sunk the great red sun, And from the castle wall and turrets hoar The latest crimson utterly had gone: At last the truth had reached them! then on high An orphaned People hurled its funeral cry.31

They hurled it forth again and yet again, The dreadful wont of that barbaric time; Cry after cry that reached the far off main, And, echoing, seemed from cloud to cloud to climb; Then lifted hands like creatures broken-hearted, Or sentenced men; and homeward, mute, departed.32

Fast-speeding Time, albeit the wounded wing He may not bind, brings us at least the crutch;-- Winter was over, and the on-flying Spring Grazed the sad monarch’s brow with heavenly touch, And raised the head, now whitening, from the ground, And stanched, not healed, the heart’s eternal wound.33

King Bove, chief sovereign of the dark-haired race, Sent to him saying, ‘Quit thee like a man!34 The Gaels, our scourge, and Erin’s sore disgrace, Advance, each day, their armies, clan on clan; Against them march thy host with mine, and take To wife my daughter, for thy children’s sake.’35

Lir sadly mused; but answered: ‘Let it be!’36 And drave with fifty chariots in array To where the land’s chief river like a sea, There named Lough Derg, spreads out in gulf and bay And many a woody mountain sees its face Imaged in that clear flood with softened grace.37

There with King Bove the widowed man abode Two days amid great feastings.38 On the third The king led forth his daughter--o’er her glowed A dim veil jewel-tissued--with this word: ‘Behold thy wife!39 The world proclaims her fair: I know her strong to love, and strong to dare.’40

And Lir made answer: ‘Fair she is as when A mist-veiled yew, red-berried, stands in state: Can love, you say!41 Love she my babes! and then With her my love shall bide; if not--my hate.’42 And she, a crimson on her dusky brow, Replied, ‘If so it be, then be it so!’43

King Lir, a fortnight more in revels spent, Made journey to his castle in the North With her, his youthful consort, well content.44 Arrived, in rapture of their loving mirth Forth rushed into his arms his children four Bright as those wavelets on their blue lake’s shore;--45