🧚 Opening, part 8 · page 2

On whom the new queen cast a glance oblique One moment’s space; then, flinging wide her arms, With instinct changed, and impulse lightning-like, Clasped them in turn and wondered at their charms, And cried, ‘If e’er a stepmother could love I of that tribe renowned will tenderest prove.’46

And so by her great loving of those four Still from her husband won she praises sweet And plaudits from his people more and more; Her own she called them: nor was this deceit: She loved them with a fitful love--a will To make them or to mar, for good or ill.47

She wooed them still with shows, with flowers, with fruit; Daily for them new sports she sought and found: Yet, if their father praised them, she was mute, And, when he placed them on his knee, she frowned, Murmuring, ‘How blue their eyes! their cheek how pale!48 Their voices too are voices of the Gael!’49

Meantime, as month by month in grace they grew, Their father loved them better than before; And so, one eve, their slender cots he drew Each from its place remote, and lightly bore, And laid them ranged before his royal bed; And o’er the four a veil gold-woven spread;50

Their mother’s bridal-veil: and still as dawn Was in its glittering tissue caged and caught He left his couch, and, that light veil withdrawn, Before his children stood in silent thought; And, if they slept, he kissed them in their sleep, Then watched them with clasped hands in musings deep.51

And, if they slept not, from their balmy nest With under-sliding arms he raised them high, And clasped them each, successive, to his breast, Or on them flashed the first light from the sky: Then laid him by his mute, sleep-feigning bride, And slept once more: and oft in sleep he sighed.52

Which things abhorring, she her face averse Turned all day steadfast from the astonished throng: And next, as one that broods upon a curse, She sat in her sick-chamber three weeks long, And never raised her eyes, nor made complaint, Dark as a fiend and silent as a saint.53

Lastly to Lir she spake: ‘Daily I sink Downward to death.54 I wither in my prime: Home to my father I would speed, and drink Once more the breezes of my native clime.55 All night in sleep along Lough Derg I strayed, And wings of strength about my shoulders played.56

‘These four--thy children--with me I will take To please my father’s eye; he loves them well: Thou too, whene’er thy leisure serves, shalt make Thither thy journey.’57 All the powers of Hell Thrilled at that speech in penal vaults below: But Lir, no fraud suspecting, answered, ‘Go!’58

Therefore next morn when earliest sunrise smote Green mead to golden near the full-fed stream, They caught four steeds that grazed thereby remote, And yoked abreast beside the chariot beam; And when the sun was sinking toward the West By Darvra’s lake drew rein, and made their rest.59

Then the bad queen, descending, round her cast A baleful look of mingled hate and woe, And with those babes into a thicket passed, And drew a dagger from her breast; and lo!60 She struck them not, but only wailed and wailed-- In her so strongly womanhood prevailed.61

The mood was changed.62 She smiled that smile which none How wise soe’er, beholding, could resist, And drew those children to her, one by one; Then wailed once more, and last their foreheads kissed, And cried with finger pointing to the lake, ‘Hence! and in that clear bath your pastime take!’63

She spoke, and from their silken garb forth-sliding, Ere long those babes were sporting in the bay: And, as it chanced, the eddy past them gliding Wafted a swan’s plume: ’twas less white than they: Frowning, the queen beheld them, and on high Waved thrice her Druid wand athwart the sky:64

Then, standing on the marge wan-cheeked, wide-eyed, As near they drew, awe-struck and wondering, Therewith she smote their golden heads, and cried, ‘Fly hence, ye pale-faced children of the king!65 Cleave the blue mere, or on through ether sail; No more his loved ones, but a dolorous tale!’66

Straightway to snow-white swans those children turned: And, sideway as they swerved the creatures four Fixed on her looks with human grief that yearned; Then slowly drifted backward from the shore; While loud with voice unchanged, Finola cried, ‘Bad deed is thine, false queen and bitter bride!67

‘Bad deed afflicting babes that harmed thee not; Bad deed, and to thyself an evil dower: Disastrous more than ours shall be thy lot!68 Thou too shalt feel the weight of Druid power: From age to age thy penance ne’er shall cease: Our doom, though long it lasts, shall end in peace.’69

Then rang a wild shriek from that dreadful shape: ‘Long, long, aye long shall last those years of woe!70 Here on this lake from misty cape to cape Three centuries ye shall wander to and fro; Three centuries more shall stem with heavier toil Far Alba’s waves, the black sea-strait[18] of Moyle.71

‘Lastly three centuries where the Eagle-Crest[19] O’er-looks the western deep, and Inisglaire, Upon the mountain waves that know not rest Shall be your rolling palace, foul or fair, Till comes the Tailkenn,[20] sent to sound the knell Of darkness, and ye hear his Christian bell.’72

Lo, as a band of lilies, white and tall Beneath a breeze of morning bend their head High held in virgin state majestical, So meekly cowered those swans in holy dread Hearing that promised Tailkenn’s blissful name: For they long since had heard in dream the same.73

Then fell a dew of meekness on the proud Noting their humble heart; and drooped her front; And sorrow closed around her like a cloud; And thus with other voice than was her wont To those soft victims of her wrath she cried: ‘Woe, woe!74 Yet Fate must rule, whate’er betide!75

‘The deed is done; yet thus much I concede: In you the human heart shall never fail, Changed though ye be, and masked in feathery weed: Your voice shall sweet remain as voice of Gael; And all who hear your songs shall sink in trance And, sleeping, dream some great deliverance.’76

She spake, and smote her hands; and at her word Once more the attendants caught the royal steeds Grazing in peace beside the hornèd herd Amid the meadow flowers, and yellow weeds: And fiercely through the night that dark one drave, And reached Lough Derg what time above its wave77

The sun was rising; and at set of sun Entered once more her father’s palace gate: Seated thereby, his nobles, every one, Arose and welcomed her with loving state: She answered naught, but sternly past them strode And found her girlhood’s bower, and there abode.78

But when of Lir King Bove had made demand, She answered thus: ‘Enough!79 My Lord is naught; Nor will he trust his children to thy hand, Lest thou should’st slay them.’80 Long in silent thought The old man stood, then murmured in low tone, ‘I loved those children better than mine own!’81

That night in dream King Lir had anguish sore, And southward, ere the dawn, rode far away With many a chief to see his babes once more Beside Lough Derg; and lo, at close of day Nighing to Darvra’s lake, the westering sun In splendour on the advancing horsemen shone.82