🧚 Opening, part 9

Straightway from that broad water’s central stream Was heard a clang of pinions and swift feet-- Unchanged at heart those babes had caught that gleam; Instant from far had rushed, their sire to greet Spangling the flood with silver spray; and ere That sire had reached the margin they were there.1

Then, each and all, clamorous they made lament Recounting all their wrong, and all the woe; And Lir, their tale complete, his garment rent, Till then transfixed like marble shape; and lo!2 Three times, heart-grieved, that concourse raised their cry Piercing the centre of the low-hung sky.3

But Lir knelt down upon the shining sand, And cried, ‘Though great the might of Druid charms, Return and feel once more your native land, And find once more and fill your father’s arms!’4 And they made answer: ‘Till the Tailkenn come We tread not land!5 The waters are our home.’6

But when Finola saw her father’s grief She added thus: ‘Albeit our days are sad, The twilight brings our pain in part relief: And songs are ours by night that make us glad: Yea, each that hears our music, though he grieve, Rejoices more.7 Abide, for it is eve.’8

So Lir, and his, couched on the wave-lipped sod All night; and ever as those songs up swelled A mist of sleep upon them fell from God, And healing Spirits converse with them held.9 And Lir was glad all night: but with the morn Anguish returned; and thus he cried, forlorn:10

‘Farewell!11 The morn is come; and I depart: Farewell!12 Not wholly evil are things ill!13 Farewell, Finola!14 Yea, but in my heart With thee I bide: there liv’st thou changeless still: O Aodh!15 O Fiacre! the night is gone:-- Farewell to both!16 Farewell, my little Conn!’17

Southward the childless father rode once more, And saw at last beyond the forests tall The great lake and the palace on its shore; And, entering, onward passed from hall to hall To where King Bove majestic sat and crowned, High on a terrace, with his magnates round;18

A stately terrace clustered round with towers, And jubilant with music’s merry din, Beaten by resonant waves, and bright with flowers: There--but apart--she stood that wrought the sin, Like one that broods on one black thought alone Seen o’er a world of happy hopes o’erthrown.19

The throng made way: onward the wronged one strode To Bove, sole-throned, and lifting in his hand For royal sceptre that Druidic rod Which gave him o’er the Spirit-world command; Then, pointing to that traitress, false as fair, That wronged one spake: ‘There stands the murderess!--there!’20

Straight on the King Druidic insight fell; And mirrored in his mind as cloud in lake His daughter’s crime, distinct and visible, Before him stood.21 He turned to her and spake: ‘Thou hear’st the charge: how makest thou reply?’22 And she: ‘The deed is mine!23 I wrought it!24 I!’25

Then spake King Bove with countenance like night: ‘Of all dread shapes that traverse earth or sea, Or pierce the soil, or urge through heaven their flight, Say, which abhorrest thou most?’26 And answered she: ‘The shape of Spirits Accursed that ride the storm:’ And he: ‘Be thine henceforth that demon form!’27

He spake, and lifted high his Druid Wand:-- T’ward him perforce she drew: she bowed her head: Down on that head he dropp’d it; and beyond The glooming lake, with bat-like wings outspread O’er earth’s black verge the shrieking Fury passed; Thenceforth to circle earth while earth shall last.28

As when, on autumn eve from hill or cape That slants into gray wastes of western sea, The sun long set, some shepherd stares agape At cloud that seems through endless space to flee On raven pinions down the moaning wind, Thus on that Fury stared they, well-nigh blind.29

Then spake the king with hoary head that shook, ‘I loved thy babes: now therefore let us go Northward, and on their blameless beauty look, Though changed, and hear their songs: for this I know By Druid art, they sing the whole night long, And heaven and earth are solaced by their song.30

Northward ere dawn they rode with a great host; And loosed their steeds by Darvra’s mirror clear What time purpureal evening like a ghost Stepped from the blue glen on the glimmering mere: And camped where stood the ruminating herds With heads forth leaning t’ward those human birds.31

And, ever o’er the wave those swans would come To hear man’s voice, and tell their tale to each, Swift as the wind, and whiter than the foam; Yet never mounted they the bowery beach, And still swerved backward from the beckoning hand, Revering thus their stepmother’s command.32

And ever, when the sacred night descended, While with those ripples on the sandy bars The sighing woods and winds low murmurs blended, Their music fell upon them from the stars, And they gave utterance to that gift divine In silver song or anthem crystalline.33

Who heard that strain no more his woes lamented: The exiled chief forgat his place of pride: The prince ill-crowned his ruthless deed repented: The childless mother and the widowed bride Amid their locks tear-wet and loosely straying Felt once again remembered touches playing.34

The words of that high music no one knew; Yet all men felt there lived a meaning there Immortal, marvellous, searching, strengthening, true, The pledge of some great future, strange and fair, When sin shall lose her might, and cleansing woe Shall on the Just some starry crown bestow.35

Lulled by that strain the prophet king let drop In death his Druid-Staff by Darvra’s side; And there in later years with happy hope King Lir, that mystic requiem listening, died: And there those blissful sufferers bore their wrong All day in weeping, and all night in song.36

Not once ’tis whispered in that ancient story They raised their voice God’s justice to arraign: All patient suffering is expiatory: Their doom was linked with hope of Erin’s gain; And, like the Holy Elders famed of old, Those babes on that high promise kept their hold.37

And they saw great towers built, and saw them fall; And saw the little seedling tempest-sown; And generations under torch and pall Borne forth to narrow graves ere long grass-grown; And all these things to them were as a dream, Or shade that sleeps on some fast hurrying stream.38

More numerous daily flocked to that still shore Peace-loving spirits: yea, the Gaelic clans And tribes Dedannan, foemen there no more, From the same fountains brimmed their flowing cans, And washed their kirtles in the same pure rills, And brought their corn-sheaves to the self-same mills.39

Thus, though elsewhere the sons of Erin strove From Aileach’s coast, and Uladh’s marble cliffs, To where by banks of Lee, and Beara’s cove, The fishers spread their nets and launched their skiffs, Round Darvra’s shores remained inviolate peace; There too the flocks and fields had best increase.40

In that long strife the Gael the victory won: Tuatha’s race, Dedannan, disappeared; Yet still the conqueror whispered, sire to son, ‘Their progeny survives, half scorned, half feared, The Fairy Host; and mansions bright they hold On moonlight hills, and under waters cold.41

‘To snare the Gael, perpetual spells they weave: O’er the wet waste they bid the meteor glide: They raise illusive cliffs at morn and eve On wintry coasts: sea-mantled rocks they hide: And shipwrecked sailors eye them o’er the waves, Dark shapes pygmean couchant in sea-caves.42

‘Some say that, mid the mountains’ sunless walls, They throng beneath their stony firmament, An iron-handed race.43 At intervals Through chasm stream-cloven, and through rocky rent, The shepherd hears their multitudinous hum As of far hosts approaching swift yet dumb.44