MAVE.

Cuchullin the great chief had pitched his tent, From Samhaintime, till now‘ twas budding spring, Fast by the Ford, and held the land at bay. All Erin, save the fragment that he led,

His sword held back, nor dared a man to cross The rippling Ford without Cuchullin's leave: Chief after chief had fallen in the attempt; And now the men of Erin through the night

Asked in dismay, “Oh! who shall be the next To face the northern houndand free the Ford?” “Let it now be,” with one accord they cried, “Ferdiah, son of Daman Dare's son,

Of Domnannlord, and all its warrior men.” The chiefs thus fated now to meet as foes In early life were friends — had both been taught All feats of arms by the same skilful hands

In Scatha'sschool beneath the peaks of Skye, Which still preserve Cuchullin's glorious name. One feat of arms alone Cuchullin knew Ferdiah knew not of — the fatal cast —

The dread expanding force of the gaebulg Flung from the foot resistless on the foe. But, on the other hand, Ferdiah wore A skin-protecting suit of flashing steel

Surpassing all in Erin known till then. At length the council closed, and to the chief Heralds were sent to tell them that the choice That night had fallen on him; but he within

His tent retired, received them not, nor went. For well he knew the purport of their suit Was this — that he should fight beside the Ford His former fellow-pupil and his friend.

Then Mave,the queen, her powerful druids sent, Armed not alone with satire's scorpion stings, But with the magic power even on the face, By their malevolent taunts and biting sneers,

To raise three blistering blotsthat typified Disgrace, dishonour, and a coward's shame, Which with their mortal venom him would kill, Or on the hour, or ere nine days had sped,

If he declined the combat, and refused Upon the instant to come forth with them, And so, for honour's sake, Ferdiah came. For he preferred to die a warrior's death,

Pierced to the heart by a proud foeman's spear, Than by the serpent sting of slanderous tongues — By satire and abuse, and foul reproach. When to the court he came, where the great queen

Held revel, he received all due respect: The sweet intoxicating cup went round, And soon Ferdiah felt the power of wine. Great were the rich rewards then promised him

For going forth to battle with the Hound: A chariot worth seven cumals four times told, The outfit then of twelve well-chosen men Made of more colours than the rainbow knows,

His own broad plains of level fair Magh Aie, To him and his assured till time was o'er Free of all tribute, without fee or fine; The golden brooch, too, from the queen's own cloak,

And, above all, fair Finavairfor wife. But doubtful was Ferdiah of the queen, And half excited by the fiery cup, And half distrustful, knowing wily Mave,

He asked for more assurance of her faith. Then she to him, in rhythmic rise of song, And he in measured ranns to her replied. A rich reward of golden rings

I'll give to thee, Ferdiah fair, The forest, where the wild bird sings, The broad green plain, with me thou'lt share; Thy children and thy children's seed,

For ever, until time is o'er, Shall be from every service freed Within the sea-surrounding shore. Oh, Daman's son, Ferdiah fair,

Oh, champion of the wounds renowned, For thou a charm `ed life dost bear, Since ever by the victories crowned, Oh! why the proffered gifts decline,

Oh! why reject the nobler fame, Which many an arm less brave than thine, Which many a heart less bold, would claim? Without a guarantee, O queen! without assurance made most sure,

Thy grassy plains, thy woodlands green, thy golden rings are but a lure. The champion's place is not for me until thou art most firmly bound, For dreadful will the battle be between me and Emania's Hound. For such is Chuland's name,

O queen, and such is Chuland's nature, too, The noble Hound, the Hound of fame, the noble heart to dare and do, The fearful fangs that never yield, the agile spring so swift and light: Ah! dread the fortune of the field! ah! fierce will be the impending fight!

Thou shalt have all; do thou decide. I'll give thee an unbounded claim; Until thy doubts are satisfied, Oh! bind us by each sacred name;—

Bind us upon the hands of kings, Upon the hands of princes bind; Bind us by every act that brings Assurance to the doubting mind.

Ask what thou wilt, and do not fear That what thou wouldst cannot be wrought; Ask what thou wilt, there standeth here One who will ne'er refuse thee aught;

Ask what thou wilt, thy wildest wish Be certain thou shalt have this night, For well I know that thou wilt kill this Man who meets thee in the fight.

And thus did Mave Ferdiah bind to fight Six chosen champions on the morrow morn, Or combat with Cuchullin all alone, Whichever might to him the easier seem.

And he, by the gods’ names and by her sons, Bound her the promise she had made to keep, The rich reward to pay to him in full, If by his hand Cuchullin should be slain.

For Fergus, young Cuchullin's early friend, The steeds that night were harnessed, and he flew Swift in his chariot to the hero's tent. “Glad am I at thy coming, O my friend!”

Cuchullin said: “My pupil, I accept With joy thy welcome,” Fergus quick replied: “But what I come for is to give thee news Of him who here will fight thee in the morn.”

“I listen,” said Cuchullin, “do thou speak.” “Thine own companion is it, thine own peer, Thy rival in all daring feats of arms, Ferdiah, son of Daman, Dare's son,

Of Domnand lord and all its warrior men.” “Be sure of this,” Cuchullin made reply, “That never wish of mine it could have been A friend should thus come forth with me to fight.”

“It therefore doth behove thee now, my son,” Fergus replied, “to be upon thy guard, Prepared at every point; for not like those Who hitherto have come to fight with thee

Upon the‘ Tain Bo Cuailgne,’ is the chief, Ferdiah, son of Daman, Dare's son.” “Here I have been,” Cuchullin proudly said, “From Samhain up to Imbule — from the first

Of winter days even to the first of spring — Holding the four great provinces in check That make up Erin, not one foot have I Yielded to any man in all that time,

Nor even to him shall I a foot give way.” And thus the parley went: first Fergus spoke, Cuchullin then to him in turn replied: Time is it, O Cuchullin, to arise,

Time for the fearful combat to prepare; For hither with the anger in his eyes, To fight thee comes Ferdiah called the Fair. Here I have been, nor has the task been light,

Holding all Erin's warriors at bay: No foot of ground have I in recreant flight Yielded to any man or shunned the fray. When roused to rage, resistless in his might,

Fearless the man is, for his sword ne'er fails: A skin-protecting coat of armour bright He wears,‘ gainst which no valour e'er prevails. Oh! brave in arms, my Fergus, say not so,

Urge not thy story further on the night:— On any friend, or facing any foe I never was behind him in the fight. Brave is the man, I say, in battles fierce,

Him it will not be easy to subdue, Swords cut him not, nor can the sharp spear pierce, Strong as a hundred men to dare and do. Well, should we chance to meet beside the Ford,

I and this chief whose valour ne'er has failed, Story shall tell the fortune of each sword, And who succumbed and who it was prevailed. Ah! liefer than a royal recompense

To me it were, O champion of the sword, That thine it were to carry eastward hence The proud Ferdiah's purple from the Ford. I pledge my word, I vow, and not in vain,

Though in the combat we may be as one, That it is I who shall the victory gain Over the son of Daman, Dare's son. ‘ Twas I that gathered eastward all the bands,

Revenging the foul wrong upon me wrought By the Ultonians. Hither from their lands The chiefs, the battle-warriors I have brought. If Conor's royal strength had not decayed,

Hard would have been the strife on either side: Mave of the Plain of Champions had not made A foray then of so much boastful pride. To-day awaits thy hand a greater deed,

To battle with Ferdiah, Daman's son. Hard, bloody weapons with sharp points thou'lt need, Cuchullin, ere the victory be won. Then Fergus to the court and camp went back,

While to his people and his tent repaired Ferdiah, and he told them of the pact Made that same night between him and the queen. The dwellers in Ferdiah's tent that night

Were scant of comfort, a foreboding fear Fell on their spirits and their hearts weighed down; Because they knew in whatsoever fight The mighty chiefs, the hundred-slaying two

Met face to face, that one of them must fall, Or both, perhaps, or if but only one, Certain were they it would their own lord be, Since on the Tain Bo Cuailgne, it was plain

That no one with Cuchullin could contend. Nor was their chief less troubled; but at first The fumes of the late revel overpowered His senses, and he slept a heavy sleep.

Later he woke, the intoxicating steam Had left his brain, and now in sober calm All the anxieties of the impending fight Pressed on his soul and made him grave.He rose

From off his couch, and bade his charioteer Harness his pawing horses to the car. The boy would fain persuade his lord to stay, Because he loved his master, and he felt

He went but to his death; but he repelled The youth's advice, and spoke to him these words — “Oh! cease, my servant. I will not be turned By any youth from what I have resolved.”

And thus in speech and answer spoke the two — Let us go to this challenge, Let us fly to the Ford, When the raven shall croak

O'er my blood-dripping sword. Oh, woe for Cuchullin! That sword will be red; Oh, woe! for to-morrow

The hero lies dead. Thy words are not gentle, Yet rest where thou art, ‘ Twill be dreadful to meet,

And distressful to part. The champion of Ulster! Oh! think what a foe! In that meeting there's grief,

In that journey there's woe! Thy counsel is craven, Thy caution I slight, No brave-hearted champion

Should shrink from the fight. The blood I inherit Doth prompt me to do — Let us go to the challenge,

To the Ford let us go! Then were the horses of Ferdiah yoked Unto the chariot, and he rode full speed Unto the Ford of battle, and the day

Began to break, and all the east grew red. Beside the Ford he halted. “Good, my friend,” He said unto his servant, “Spread for me The skins and cushions of my chariot here

Beneath me, that I may a full deep sleep Enjoy before the hour of fight arrives; For in the latter portion of the night I slept not, thinking of the fight to come.”

Unharnessed were the horses, and the boy Spread out the cushions and the chariot's skins, And heavy sleep fell on Ferdiah's lids. Now of Cuchullin will I speak. He rose

Not until day with all its light had come, In order that the men of Erin ne'er Should say of him that it was fear or dread That made him from a restless couch arise.

When in the fulness of its light at length Shone forth the day, he bade his charioteer Harness his horses and his chariot yoke. “Harness my horses, good, my servant,” said

Cuchullin, “and my chariot yoke for me, For lo! an early-rising champion comes To meet us here beside the Ford to-day — Ferdiah, son of Daman, Dare's son.”

“My lord, the steeds are ready to thy hand; Thy chariot stands here yoked, do thou step in; The noble car will not disgrace its lord.” Into the chariot, then, the dextrous, bold,

Red-sworded, battle-winning hero sprang Cuchullin, son of Sualtam, at a bound. Invisible Bocanachs and Bananachs, And Geniti Glindishouted round the car,

And demons of the earth and of the air. For thus the Tuatha de Danaans used By sorceries to raise those fearful cries Around him, that the terror and the fear

Of him should be the greater, as he swept On with his staff of spirits to the war. Soon was it when Ferdiah's charioteer Heard the approaching clamour and the shout,

The rattle and the clatter, and the roar, The whistle, and the thunder, and the tramp, The clanking discord of the missive shields, The clang of swords, the hissing sound of spears,

The tinkling of the helmet, the sharp crash Of armour and of arms, the straining ropes, The dangling bucklers, the resounding wheels, The creaking chariot, and the proud approach

Of the triumphant champion of the Ford. Clutching his master's robe, the charioteer Cried out, “Ferdiah, rise! for lo, thy foes Are on thee!” Then the Spirit of Insight fell

Prophetic on the youth, and thus he sang. I hear the rushing of a car, Near and more near its proud wheels run A chariot for the God of War

Bursts — as from clouds the sun! Over Bregg-Ross it speeds along, Hark! its thunders peal afar! Oh! its steeds are swift and strong,

And the Victories guide that car. The Hound of Ulster shaketh the reins, And white with foam is each courser's mouth; The Hawk of Ulster swoops o'er the plains

To his quarry here in the south. Like wintry storm that warrior's form, Slaughter and Death beside him rush; The groaning air is dark and warm,

And the low clouds bleed and blush. Oh, woe to him that is here on the hill, Who is here on the hillock awaiting the Hound; Last year it was in a vision of ill

I saw this sight and I heard this sound. Methought Emania's Hound drew nigh, Methought the Hound of Battle drew near, I heard his steps and I saw his eye,

And again I see and I hear. Then answer made Ferdiah in this wise: “Why dost thou chafe me, talking of this man? For thou hast never ceased to sing his praise

Since from his home he came. Thou surely art Not without wage for this: but nathless know Ailill and Mave have both foretold — by me This man shall fall, shall fall for a reward

Just as the deed: This day he shall be slain, For it is fated that I free the Ford. ‘ Tis time for the relief.” — And thus they spake: Yes, it is time for the relief;

Be silent then, nor speak his praise, For prophecy forebodes this chief Shall pass not the predestined days; Does fate for this forego its claim,

That Cuailgne's champion here should come In all his pride and pomp of fame?— Be sure he comes but to his doom. If Cuailgne's champion here I see

In all his pride and pomp of fame, He little heeds the prophecy, So swift his course, so straight his aim. Towards us he flies, as flies the gleam

Of lightning, or as waters flow From some high cliff o'er which the stream Drops in the foaming depths below. Highly rewarded thou must be,

For much reward thou sure canst claim, Else why with such persistency Thus sing his praises since he came? And now that he approacheth nigh,

And now that he doth draw more near, It seems it is to glorify And not to attack him thou art here. Not long Ferdiah's charioteer had gazed

With wondering look on the majestic car, When, as with thunder-speed it wheeled more near, He saw its whole construction and its plan: A fair, flesh-seeking, four-peaked front it had,

And for its body a magnificent creit Fashioned for war, in which the hero stood Full-armed and brandishing a mighty spear, While o'er his head a green pavilion hung;

Beneath, two fleetly-bounding, large-eared, fierce, Whale-bellied, lively-hearted, high-flanked, proud, Slender-legged, wide-hoofed, broad-buttocked, prancing steeds, Exulting leaped and bore the car along:

Under one yoke, the broad-backed steed was gray, Under the other, black the long-maned steed. Like to a hawk swooping from off a cliff, Upon a day of harsh and biting wind,

Or like a spring gust on a wild March morn Rushing resistless o'er a level plain, Or like the fleetness of a stag when first ‘ Tis started by the hounds in its first field —

So swept the horses of Cuchullin's car, Bounding as if o'er fiery flags they flew, Making the earth to shake beneath their tread, And tremble‘ neath the fleetness of their speed.

At length, upon the north side of the Ford, Cuchullin stopped. Upon the southern bank Ferdiah stood, and thus addressed the chief: “Glad am I, O Cuchullin, thou hast come.”

“Up to this day,” Cuchullin made reply, “Thy welcome would by me have been received As coming from a friend, but not to-day. Besides,‘ twere fitter that I welcomed thee,

Than that to me thou shouldst the welcome give; ‘ Tis I that should go forth to fight with thee, Not thou to me, because before thee are My women and my children, and my youths,

My herds and flocks, my horses and my steeds.” Ferdiah, half in scorn, spake then these words — And then Cuchullin answered in his turn. “Good, O Cuchullin, what untoward fate

Has brought thee here to measure swords with me? For when we two with Scatha lived, in Skye, With Uatha, and with Aife, thou wert then My page to spread my couch for me at night,

Or tie my spears together for the chase.” “True hast thou spoken,” said Cuchullin; “yes, I then was young, thy junior, and I did For thee the services thou dost recall;

A different story shall be told of us From this day forth, for on this day I feel Earth holds no champion that I dare not fight!” And thus invectives bitter, sharp and cold,

Between the two were uttered, and first spake Ferdiah, then alternate each with each. What has brought thee here, O Hound, To encounter a strong foe?

O'er the trappings of thy steeds Crimson-red thy blood shall flow. Woe is in thy journey, woe; Let the cunning leech prepare;

Shouldst thou ever reach thy home, Thou shalt need his care. I, who here with warriors fought, With the lordly chiefs of hosts,

With a hundred men at once, Little heed thy empty boasts. Thee beneath the wave to place, Thee to strike and thee to slay

In the first path of our fight Am I here to-day. Thy reproach in me behold, For‘ tis I that deed will do,

‘ Tis of me that Fame shall tell He the Ultonian's champion slew. Yes, in spite of all their hosts, Yes, in spite of all their prayers:

So it shall long be told That the loss was theirs. How, then, shall we first engage — Is it with the hard-edged sword?

In what order shall we go To the battle of the Ford? Shall we in our chariots ride? Shall we wield the bloody spear?

How am I to hew thee down With thy proud hosts here? Ere the setting of the sun, Ere shall come the darksome night,

If again thou must be told, With a mountain thou shalt fight: Thee the Ultonians will extol, Thence impetuous wilt thou grow,

Oh! their grief, when through their ranks Will thy spectre go! Thou hast fallen in danger's gap, Yes, thy end of life is nigh;

Sharp spears shall be plied on thee Fairly‘ neath the open sky: Pompous thou wilt be and vain Till the time for talk is o'er,

From this day a battle-chief Thou shalt be no more. Cease thy boastings, for the world Sure no braggart hath like thee:

Thou art not the chosen chief — Thou hast not the champion's fee:— Without action, without force, Thou art but a giggling page;

Yes, thou trembler, with thy heart Like a bird's in cage. When we were with Scatha once, It but seemed our valour's due

That we should together fight, Both as one our sports pursue. Thou wert then my dearest friend, Comrade, kinsman, thou wert all,—

Ah, how sad, if by my hand Thou at last should fall. Much of honour shalt thou lose, We may then mere words forego:—

On a stake thy head shall be Ere the early cock shall crow. O Cuchullin, Cuailgne's pride, Grief and madness round thee twine;

I will do thee every ill, For the fault is thine. “Good, O Ferdiah,‘ twas no knightly act,” Cuchullin said, “to have come meanly here,

To combat and to fight with an old friend, Through instigation of the wily Mave, Through intermeddling of Ailill the king; To none of those who here before thee came

Was victory given, for they all fell by me:— Thou too shalt win nor victory, nor increase Of fame in this encounter thou dost dare, For as they fell, so thou by me shall fall.”

Thus was he saying and he spake these words, To which Ferdiah listened, not unmoved. Come not to me, O champion of the host, Come not to me, Ferdiah, as my foe,

For though it is thy fate to suffer most, All, all must feel the universal woe. Come not to me defying what is right, Come not to me, thy life is in my power;

Ah, the dread issue of each former fight Why hast thou not remembered ere this hour? Art thou not bright with diverse dainty arms, A purple girdle and a coat of mail?

And yet to win the maid of peerless charms For whom thou dar'st the battle thou shalt fail. Yes, Finavair, the daughter of the queen, The faultless form, the gold without alloy,

The glorious virgin of majestic mien, Shalt not be thine, Ferdiah, to enjoy. No, the great prize shall not by thee be won,— A fatal lure, a false, false light is she,

To numbers promised and yet given to none, And wounding many as she now wounds thee. Break not thy vow, never with me to fight, Break not the bond that once thy young heart gave,

Break not the truth we both so loved to plight, Come not to me, O champion bold and brave! To fifty champions by her smiles made slaves The maid was proffered, and not slight the gift;

By me they have been sent into their graves, From me they met destruction sure and swift. Though vauntingly Ferbaeth my arms defied, He of a house of heroes prince and peer,

Short was the time until I tamed his pride With one swift cast of my true battle-spear. Srub Daire's valour too had swift decline: Hundreds of women's secrets he possessed,

Great at one time was his renown as thine, In cloth of gold, not silver, was he dressed. Though‘ twas to me the woman was betrothed On whom the chiefs of the fair province smile,

To shed thy blood my spirit would have loathed East, west, or north, or south of all the isle. “Good, O Ferdiah,” still continuing, spoke Cuchullin, “thus it is that thou shouldst not

Have come with me to combat and to fight; For when we were with Scatha, long ago, With Uatha and with Aife, we were wont To go together to each battle-field,

To every combat and to every fight, Through every forest, every wilderness, Through every darksome path and dangerous way.” And thus he said and thus he spake these words:

We were heart-comrades then,— Comrades in crowds of men, In the same bed have lain, When slumber sought us;

In countries far and near, Hurling the battle spear, Chasing the forest deer, As Scatha taught us.

“O Cuchullin of the beautiful feats,” Replied Ferdiah, “though we have pursued Together thus the arts of war and peace, And though the bonds of friendship that we swore

Thou hast recalled to mind, from me shall come Thy first of wounds. O Hound, remember not Our old companionship, which shall not now Avail thee, shall avail thee not, O Hound!”

“Too long here have we waited in this way,” Again resumed Ferdiah. “To what arms, Say then, Cuchullin, shall we now resort?” “The choice of arms is thine until the night,”

Cuchullin made reply; “for so it chanced That thou shouldst be the first to reach the Ford.” “Dost thou at all remember,” then rejoined Ferdiah, “those swift missive spears with which

We practised oft with Scatha in our youth, With Uatha and with Aife, and our friends?” “Them I, indeed, remember well,” replied Cuchullin. “If thou dost remember well,

Let us to them resort,” Ferdiah said. Their missive weapons then on either side They both resorted to. Upon their arms They braced two emblematic missive shields,

And their eight well-turned-handled lances took, Their eight quill-javelins also, and their eight White ivory-hilted swords, and their eight spears, Sharp, ivory-hafted, with hard points of steel.

Betwixt the twain the darts went to and fro, Like bees upon the wing on a fine day; No cast was made that was not sure to hit. From morn to nigh mid-day the missiles flew,

Till on the bosses of the brazen shields Their points were blunted, but though true the aim, And excellent the shooting, the defence Was so complete that not a wound was given,

And neither champion drew the other's blood. “‘ Tis time to drop these feats,” Ferdiah said, “For not by such as these shall we decide Our battle here this day.” “Let us desist,”

Cuchullin answered, “if the time hath come.” They ceased, and threw their missile shafts aside Into the hands of their two charioteers. “What weapons, O Cuchullin, shall we now

Resort to?” said Ferdiah. “Unto thee,” Cuchullin answered, “doth belong the choice Of arms until the night, because thou wert The first that reached the Ford.” “Well, let us, then,”

Ferdiah said, “resume our straight, smooth, hard, Well-polished spears with their hard flaxen strings.” “Let us resume them, then,” Cuchullin said. They braced upon their arms two stouter shields,

And then resorted to their straight, smooth, hard, Well-polished spears, with their hard flaxen strings. ‘ Twas now mid-day, and thus‘ till eventide They shot against each other with the spears.

But though the guard was good on either side, The shooting was so perfect that the blood Ran from the wounds of each, by each made red. “Let us now, O Cuchullin,” interposed

Ferdiah, “for the present time desist.” “Let us indeed desist,” Cuchullin said “If, O Ferdiah, the fit time hath come.” They ceased, and laid their gory weapons down,

Their faithful charioteers’ attendant care. Each to the other gently then approached, Each round the other's neck his hands entwined, And gave him three fond kisses on the cheek.

Their horses fed in the same field that night, Their charioteers were warmed at the same fire, Their charioteers beneath their bodies spread Green rushes, and beneath the heads the down

Of wounded men's soft pillows. Then the skilled Professors of the art of healing came With herbs, which to the scars of all their wounds They put. Of every herb and healing plant

That to Cuchullin's wound they did apply, He would an equal portion westward send Over the Ford, Ferdiah's wounds to heal. So that the men of Erin could not say,

If it should chance Ferdiah fell by him, That it was through superior skill and care Cuchullin was enabled him to slay. Of each kind, too, of palatable food

And sweet, intoxicating, pleasant drink, The men of Erin to Ferdiah sent, He a fair moiety across the Ford Sent northward to Cuchullin, where he lay;

Because his own purveyors far surpassed In numbers those the Ulster chief retained: For all the federate hosts of Erin were Purveyors to Ferdiah, with the hope

That he would beat Cuchullin from the Ford. The Bregiansonly were Cuchullin's friends, His sole purveyors, and their wont it was To come to him and talk to him at night.

That night they rested there. Next morn they rose And to the Ford of battle early came. “What weapons shall we use to-day?” inquired Cuchullin. “Until night the choice is thine,”

Replied Ferdiah; “for the choice of arms Has hitherto been mine.” “Then let us take Our great broad spears to-day,” Cuchullin said, “And may the thrusting bring us to an end

Sooner than yesterday's less powerful darts. Let then our charioteers our horses yoke Beneath our chariots, so that we to-day May from our horses and our chariots fight.”

Ferdiah answered: “Let it so be done.” And then they braced their two broad, full-firm shields Upon their arms that day, and in their hands That day they took their great broad-bladed spears.

And thus from early morn to evening's close They smote each other with such dread effect That both were pierced, and both made red with gore,— Such wounds, such hideous clefts in either breast

Lay open to the back, that if the birds Cared ever through men's wounded frames to pass, They might have passed that day, and with them borne Pieces of quivering flesh into the air.

When evening came, their very steeds were tired, Their charioteers depressed, and they themselves Worn out — even they the champions bold and brave. “Let us from this, Ferdiah, now desist,”

Cuchullin said; “for see, our charioteers Droop, and our very horses flag and fail, And when fatigued they yield, so well may we.” And further thus he spoke, persuading rest:—

Not with the obstinate rage and spite With which Fomorian pirates fight Let us, since now has fallen the night, Continue thus our feud;

In brief abeyance it may rest, Now that a calm comes o'er each breast:— When with new light the world is blest, Be it again renewed.”

“Let us desist, indeed,” Ferdiah said, “If the fit time hath come.” — And so they ceased. From them they threw their arms into the hands Of their two charioteers. Each of them came

Forward to meet the other. Each his hands Put round the other's neck, and thus embraced, Gave to him three fond kisses on the cheek. Their horses fed in the same field that night;

Their charioteers were warmed by the same fire. Their charioteers beneath their bodies spread Green rushes, and beneath their heads the down Of wounded men's soft pillows. Then the skilled

Professors of the art of healing came To tend them and to cure them through the night. But they for all their skill could do no more, So numerous and so dangerous were the wounds,

The cuts, and clefts, and scars so large and deep, But to apply to them the potent charms Of witchcraft, incantations, and barb spells, As sorcerers use, to stanch the blood and stay

The life that else would through the wounds escape:— Of every charm of witchcraft, every spell, Of every incantation that was used To heal Cuchullin's wounds, a full fair half

Over the Ford was westward sent to heal Ferdiah's hurts: of every sort of food, And sweet, intoxicating, pleasant drink The men of Erin to Ferdiah sent,

He a fair moiety across the Ford Sent northward to Cuchullin where he lay, Because his own purveyors far surpassed In number those the Ulster chief retained.

For all the federate hosts of Erin were Purveyors to Ferdiah, with the hope That he would beat Cuchullin from the Ford. The Bregians only were Cuchullin's friends —

His sole purveyors — and their wont it was To come to him, and talk with him at night. They rested there that night. Next morn they rose, And to the Ford of battle forward came.

That day a great, ill-favoured, lowering cloud Upon Ferdiah's face Cuchullin saw. “Badly,” said he, “dost thou appear this day, Ferdiah, for thy hair has duskier grown

This day, and a dull stupour dims thine eyes, And thine own face and form, and what thou wert In outward seeming have deserted thee.” “‘ Tis not through fear of thee that I am so,”

Ferdiah said, “for Erin doth not hold This day a champion I could not subdue.” And thus betwixt the twain this speech arose, And thus Cuchullin mourned and he replied:

O Ferdiah, if it be thou, Certain am I that on thy brow The blush should burn and the shame should rise, Degraded man whom the gods despise,

Here at a woman's bidding to wend To fight thy fellow-pupil and friend. O Cuchullin, O valiant man, Inflicter of wounds since the war began,

O true champion, a man must come To the fated spot of his final home,— To the sod predestined by fate's decree His resting-place and his grave to be.

Finavair, the daughter of Mave, Although thou art her willing slave, Not for thy long-felt love has been Promised to thee by the wily queen,—

No, it was but to test thy might That thou wert lured into this fatal fight. My might was tested long ago In many a battle, as thou dost know,

Long, O Hound of the gentle rule, Since we fought together in Scatha's school: Never a braver man have I seen, Never, I feel, hath a braver been.

Thou art the cause of what has been done, O son of Daman, Dare's son, Of all that has happened thou art the cause, Whom hither a woman's counsel draws —

Whom hither a wily woman doth send To measure swords with thy earliest friend. If I forsook the field, O Hound, If I had turned from the battleground —

This battleground without fight with thee, Hard, oh, hard had it gone with me; Bad should my name and fame have been With King Ailill and with Mave the queen.

Though Mave of Croghan had given me food, Even from her lips, though all of good That the heart can wish or wealth can give Were offered to me, there does not live

A king or queen on the earth for whom I would do thee ill or provoke thy doom. O Cuchullin, thou victor in fight, Of battle triumphs the foremost knight;

To what result the fight may lead, ‘ Twas Mave alone that prompted the deed; Not thine the fault, not thine the blame, Take thou the victory and the fame.

My faithful heart is a clot of blood, A feud thus forced cannot end in good; Oh, woe to him who is here to be slain! Oh, grief to him who his life will gain!

For feats of valour no strength have I To fight the fight where my friend must die. “A truce to these invectives,” then broke in Ferdiah; “we far other work this day

Have yet to do than rail with woman's words. Say, what shall be our arms in this day's fight?” “Till night,” Cuchullin said, “the choice is thine, For yester morn the choice was given to me.”

“Let us,” Ferdiah answered, “then resort Unto our heavy, sharp, hard-smiting swords, For we are nearer to the end to-day Of this our fight, by hewing, than we were

On yesterday by thrusting of the spears.” “So let us do, indeed,” Cuchullin said. Then on their arms two long great shields they took, And in their hands their sharp, hard-smiting swords.

Each hewed the other with such furious strokes That pieces larger than an infant's head Of four weeks’ old were cut from out the thighs And great broad shoulder-blades of each brave chief.

And thus they persevered from early morn Till evening's close in hewing with the swords. “Let us desist,” at length Ferdiah said. “Let us indeed desist, if the fit time

Hath come,” Cuchullin said; and so they ceased. From them they cast their arms into the hands Of their two charioteers; and though that morn Their meeting was of two high-spirited men,

Their separation, now that night had come, Was of two men dispirited and sad. Their horses were not in one field that night, Their charioteers were warmed not at one fire.

That night they rested there, and in the morn Ferdiah early rose and sought alone The Ford of battle, for he knew that day Would end the fight, and that the hour drew nigh

When one or both of them should surely fall. Then was it for the first time he put on His battle suit of battle and of fight, Before Cuchullin came unto the Ford.

That battle suit of battle and of fight Was this: His apron of white silk, with fringe Of spangled gold around it, he put on Next his white skin. A leather apron then,

Well sewn, upon his body's lower part He placed, and over it a mighty stone As large as any mill-stone was secured. His firm, deep, iron apron then he braced

Over the mighty stone — an apron made Of iron purified from every dross — Such dread had he that day of the Gaebulg. His crested helm of battle on his head

He last put on — a helmet all ablaze From forty gems in each compartment set, Cruan, and crystal, carbuncles of fire, And brilliant rubies of the Eastern world.

In his right hand a mighty spear he seized, Destructive, sharply-pointed, straight and strong:— On his left side his sword of battle swung, Curved, with its hilt and pommel of red gold.

Upon the slope of his broad back he placed His dazzling shield, around whose margin rose Fifty huge bosses, each of such a size That on it might a full-grown hog recline,

Exclusive of the larger central boss That raised its prominent round of pure red gold. Full many noble, varied, wondrous feats Ferdiah on that day displayed, which he

Had never learned at any tutor's hand, From Uatha, or from Aife, or from her, Scatha, his early nurse in lonely Skye:— But which were all invented by himself

That day, to bring about Cuchullin's fall. Cuchullin to the Ford approached and saw The many noble, varied, wondrous feats Ferdiah on that day displayed on high.

“O Laegh, my friend,” Cuchullin thus addressed His charioteer, “I see the wondrous feats Ferdiah doth display on high to-day: All these on me in turn shall soon be tried,

And therefore note, that if it so should chance I shall be first to yield, be sure to taunt, Excite, revile me, and reproach me so, That wrath and rage in me may rise the more:—

If I prevail, then let thy words be praise, Laud me, congratulate me, do thy best To stimulate my courage to its height.” “It shall be done, Cuchullin,” Laegh replied.

Then was it that Cuchullin first assumed His battle suit of battle: then he tried Full many, various, noble, wondrous feats He never learned from any tutor's hands,

From Uatha, or from Aife, or from her, Scatha, his early nurse in lonely Skye. Ferdiah saw these various feats, and knew Against himself they soon would be applied.

“Say, O Ferdiah, to what arms shall we Resort in this day's fight?” Cuchullin said. Ferdiah answered, “Unto thee belongs The choice of weapons now until the night.”

“Let us then try the Ford Feat on this day,” Replied Cuchullin. “Let us then, indeed,” Rejoined Ferdiah, with a careless air Consenting, though in truth it was to him

The cause of grief to say so, since he knew That in the Ford Feat lay Cuchullin's strength, And that he never failed to overthrow Champion or hero in that last appeal.

Great was the feat that was performed that day In and beside the Ford: the mighty two, The two great heroes, warriors, champions, chiefs Of western Europe — the two open hands

Laden with gifts of the north-western world,— The two beloved pillars that upheld The valour of the Gaels — the two strong keys That kept the bravery of the Gaels secure —

Thus to be brought together from afar To fight each other through the meddling schemes Of Ailill and his wily partner Mave. From each to each the missive weapons flew

From dawn of early morning to mid-day; And when mid-day had come, the ire of both Became more furious, and they drew more near. Then was it that Cuchullin made a spring

From the Ford's brink, and came upon the boss Of the great shield Ferdiah's arm upheld, That thus he might, above the broad shield's rim, Strike at his head. Ferdiah with a touch

Of his left elbow, gave the shield a shake And cast Cuchullin from him like a bird, Back to the brink of the Ford. Again he sprang From the Ford's brink, and came upon the boss

Of the great shield once more, to strike his head Over the rim. Ferdiah with a stroke Of his left knee made the great shield to ring, And cast Cuchullin back upon the brink,

As if he only were a little child. Laegh saw the act. “Alas! indeed,” said Laegh, “The warrior casts thee from him in the way That an abandoned woman would her child.

He flings thee as a river flings its foam; He grinds thee as a mill would grind fresh malt; He fells thee as the axe does fell the oak; He binds thee as the woodbine binds the tree;

He darts upon thee as a hawk doth dart Upon small birds, so that from this hour forth Until the end of time, thou hast no claim Or title to be called a valorous man:

Thou little puny phantom form,” said Laegh. Then with the rapid motion of the wind, The fleetness of a swallow on the wing, The fierceness of a dragon, and the strength

Of a roused lion, once again up sprang Cuchullin, high into the troubled air, And lighted for the third time on the boss Of the broad shield, to strike Ferdiah's head

Over the rim. The warrior shook the shield, And cast Cuchullin mid-way in the Ford, With such an easy effort that it seemed As if he scarcely deigned to shake him off.

Then, as he lay, a strange distortion came Upon Cuchullin; as a bladder swells Inflated by the breath, to such a size And fulness did he grow, that he became

A fearful, many-coloured, wondrous Tuaig — Gigantic shape, as big as a man of the sea, Or monstrous Fomor, so that now his form In perfect height over Ferdiah stood.

So close the fight was now, that their heads met Above, their feet below, their arms half-way Over the rims and bosses of their shields:— So close the fight was now, that from their rims

Unto their centres were their shields cut through, And loosed was every rivet from its hold; So close the fight was now, that their strong spears Were turned and bent and shivered point and haft;

Such was the closeness of the fight they made That the invisible and unearthly hosts Of Spirits, Bocanachs and Bananachs, And the wild wizard people of the glen

And of the air the demons, shrieked and screamed From their broad shields’ reverberating rim, From their sword-hilts and their long-shafted spears: Such was the closeness of the fight they made,

They forced the river from its natural course, Out of its bed, so that it might have been A couch whereon a king or queen might lie, For not a drop of water it retained,

Except what came from the great tramp and splash Of the two heroes fighting in its midst. Such was the fierceness of the fight they waged, That a wild fury seized upon the steeds

The Gaels had gathered with them; in affright They burst their traces and their binding ropes, Nay even their chains, and panting fled away. The women, too, and youths, by equal fears

Inspired and scared, and all the varied crowd Of followers and non-combatants who there Were with the men of Erin, from the camp South-westward broke away, and fled the Ford.

At the edge-feat of swords they were engaged When this surprise occurred, and it was then Ferdiah an unguarded moment found Upon Cuchullin, and he struck him deep,

Plunging his straight-edged sword up to the hilt Within his body, till his girdle filled With blood, and all the Ford ran red with gore From the brave battle-warrior's veins outshed.

This could Cuchullin now no longer bear Because Ferdiah still the unguarded spot Struck and re-struck with quick, strong, stubborn strokes; And so he called aloud to Laegh, the son

Of Riangabra, for the dread Gaebulg. The manner of that fearful feat was this: Adown the current was it sent, and caught Between the toes: a single spear would make

The wound it made when entering, but once lodged Within the body, thirty barbs outsprung, So that it could not be withdrawn until The body was cut open where it lay.

And when of the Gaebulg Ferdiah heard The name, he made a downward stroke of his shield, To guard his body. Then Cuchullin thrust The unerring thorny spear straight o'er the rim,

And through the breast-plate of his coat of mail, So that its farther half was seen beyond His body, after passing through his heart. Ferdiah gave an upward stroke of his shield,

His breast to cover, though it was “the relief After the danger.” Then the servant set The dread Gaebulg adown the flowing stream; Cuchullin caught it firmly‘ twixt his toes,

And from his foot a fearful cast he threw Upon Ferdiah with unerring aim. Swift through the well-wrought iron apron guard It passed, and through the stone which was as large

As a huge mill-stone, cracking it in three, And so into his body, every part Of which was filled with the expanding barbs “That is enough: by that one blow I fall,”

Ferdiah said. “Indeed, I now may own That I am sickly after thee this day, Though it behoved not thee that I should fall By stroke of thine;” and then these dying words

He added, tottering back upon the bank: O Hound, so famed for deeds of valour doing, ‘ Twas not thy place my death to give to me; Thine is the fault of my most certain ruin,

And yet‘ tis best to have my blood on thee. The wretch escapes not from his false position, Who to the gap of his destruction goes; Alas! my death-sick voice needs no physician,

My end hath come — my life's stream seaward flows. The natural ramparts of my breast are broken, In its own gore my struggling heart is drowned:— Alas! I have not fought as I have spoken,

For thou hast killed me in the fight, O Hound! Cuchullin towards him ran, and his two arms Clasping about him, lifted him and bore The body in its armour and its clothes

Across the Ford unto the northern bank, In order that the slain should thus be placed Upon the north bank of the Ford, and not Among the men of Erin, on the west.

Cuchullin laid Ferdiah down, and then A sudden trance, a faintness on him came When bending o'er the body of his friend. Laegh saw the weakness, which was seen as well

By all the men of Erin, who arose Upon the moment to attack him there. “Good, O Cuchullin,” Laegh exclaimed, “arise, For all the men of Erin hither come.

It is no single combat they will give, Since fair Ferdiah, Daman's son, the son Of Dare, by thy hands has here been slain.” “O servant, what availeth me to rise,”

Cuchullin said, “since he hath fallen by me?” And so the servant said, and so replied Cuchullin, in his turn, unto the end; Arise, Emania's slaughter-hound, arise,

Exultant pride should be thy mood this day:— Ferdiah of the hosts before thee lies — Hard was the fight and dreadful was the fray. Ah, what availeth me a hero's pride?

Madness and grief are in my heart and brain, For the dear blood with which my hand is dyed — For the dear body that I here have slain. It suits thee ill to shed these idle tears,

Fitter by far for thee a fiercer mood — At thee he flung the flying pointed spears, Malicious, wounding, dripping, dyed with blood. Even though he left me crippled, maimed, and lame,

Even though I lost this arm that now but bleeds, All would I bear, but now the fields of fame No more shall see Ferdiah mount his steeds. More pleasing is the victory thou hast gained,

More pleasing to the women of Creeve Rue, He to have died and thou to have remained, To them the brave who fell here are too few. From that black day in brilliant Mave's long reign

Thou camest out of Cuailgne it has been — Her people slaughtered and her champions slain — A time of desolation to the queen. When thy great plundered flock was borne away,

Thou didst not lie with slumber-seal `ed eyes,— Then‘ twas thy boast to rise before the day:— Arise again, Emania's Hound, arise! So Laegh addressed the hero, though he seemed

To hear him not, but mourned his friend the more. And thus he spoke these words, and thus he moaned: “Alas! Ferdiah, an unhappy chance It was for thee that thou didst not consult

Some of the heroes who my prowess knew, Before thou camest forth to meet me here, In the hard battle combat by the Ford. Unhappy was it that it was not Laegh,

The son of Riangabra, thou didst ask About our fellow-pupilship — a bond That might the unnatural combat so have stayed; Unhappy was it that thou didst not ask

Honest advice from Fergus, son of Roy; Or that it was not battle-winning, proud, Exulting, ruddy Connall thou didst ask About our fellow-pupilship of old.

For well do these men know there will not be A being born among the Conacians who Shall do the deeds of valour thou hast done From this day forth until the end of time.

For if thou hadst consulted these brave men About the places where the assemblies meet, About the plightings and the broken vows Uttered too oft by Connaught's fair-haired dames;

If thou hadst asked about the games and sports Played with the targe and shield, the sword and spear, If of backgammon or the moves of chess, Or races with the chariots and the steeds,

They never would have found a champion's arm As strong to pierce a hero's flesh as thine, O rose-cloud hued Ferdiah! None to raise The red-mouthed vulture's hoarse, inviting croak

Unto the many-coloured flocks, nor one Who will for Croghan combat like to thee, O red-cheeked son of Daman!” Thus he said, Then standing o'er Ferdiah he resumed:

“Oh! great has been the treachery and fraud The men of Erin practised upon thee, Ferdiah, thus to bring thee here to fight With me,‘ gainst whom it is no easy task

Upon the Tain Bo Cuailgne to contend.” And thus he said, and thus again he spake: O my Ferdiah, O my friend, forgive: ‘ Tis not my hand but treachery lays thee low:—

Thou doomed to die and I condemned to live, Both doomed for ever to be severed so! When we were far away in our young prime, With Scatha, dread Buannan's chosen friend,

A vow we made, that till the end of time, With hostile arms we never should contend. Dear was thy lovely ruddiness to me, Dear was thy gray-blue eye, so bright and clear,—

Thy comely, perfect form how sweet to see! Thy wisdom and thy eloquence how dear! In body-cutting combat, on the field Of spears, when all is lost or all is won,

None braver ever yet held up a shield, Than thou, Ferdiah, Daman's ruddy son. Never since Aife's only son I slew, Not knowing who the gallant youth might be,—

Ah! hapless deed, that still my heart doth rue!— None have I found, Ferdiah, like to thee. Thy dream it was to win fair Finavair, From Mave her beauteous daughter's hand to gain;

As soon might'st thou in the wide fields of air The glancing sunbeam's swift-winged flight restrain. He paused awhile, still gazing on the dead, Then to his charioteer he spoke: “Friend Laegh,

Strip now Ferdiah, take his armour off, That I may see the golden brooch of Mave, For which he undertook the fatal fight.” Laegh took the armour then from off his breast,

And then Cuchullin saw the golden pin That cost so dear, and then these words he spake: Alas! O brooch of gold! O chief, whose fame each poet knows,

O hero of stout slaughtering blows, Thy arm was brave and bold. Thy yellow flowing hair, Thy purple girdle's silken fold

Still even in death around thee rolled,— Thy twisted jewel rare. Thy noble beaming eyes, Now closed in death, make mine grow dim,

Thy dazzling shield with golden rim, Thy chess a king might prize. Oh! piteous to behold, My fellow-pupil falls by me:

It was an end that should not be, Alas! O brooch of gold! After another pause Cuchullin spoke:— “O Laegh, my friend, open Ferdiah now,

And from his body the Gaebulg take out, For I without my weapon cannot be.” Laegh then approached, and with a strong, sharp knife Opened Ferdiah's body, and drew out

The dread Gaebulg. And when Cuchullin saw His bloody weapon lying red beside Ferdiah on the ground, again he thought Of all their past career, and thus he said:

Sad is my fate that I should see thee lying, Sad is the fate, Ferdiah, I deplore,— I with my weapon which thy blood is dyeing, Thou on the ground a mass of streaming gore.

When we were young, where Scatha's eye hath seen us Fond fellow-pupils in her schools of Skye, Never was heard the angry word between us, Never was seen the angry spear to fly.

Scatha, with words of eloquent persuading, Roused us in many a glorious feat to join; “Go,” she exclaimed, “each other bravely aiding, Go forth to battle with the dread Germoin.”

I to Ferdiah said: “Oh, come, my brother,” I to the ever-generous Luaigh said, I to fair Baetan's son, and many another: “Come, let us go and fight this foe so dread.”

Crossing the sea in ships of peaceful traders, All of us came to lone Lind Formairt's lake, With us we brought four hundred brave invaders Out of the islands of the Athisech.

I and Ferdiah were the first to enter, Where he himself, the dread Germoin, held rule, Rind, Nial's son, I clove from head to centre, Ruad I killed, the son of Finniule.

First on the shore, as swift our fleet ships flew there, Blath, son of Calba of red swords, was slain; Struck by Ferdiah, Luaigh also slew there Fierce rude Mugarne of the Torrian main.

Bravely we battled against that court enchanted, Full four times fifty heroes fell by me: He, by their savage onslaught nothing daunted, Slew ox-like monsters clambering from the sea.

Wily Germoin, amid so many slaughters, We took alive as trophy of the field, Him o'er the broad, bright sea of spangled waters We bore to Scatha of the bright broad shield.

She, our famed tutoress, with kind endeavour, Bound us from that day forth with heart and hand, When met fair Elgga's tribes, that we should never In hostile ranks before each other stand.

Oh, day of woe! oh, day without a morrow! Oh, fatal Tuesday morning, when the bud Of his young life was scattered! Oh! the sorrow, To give the friend I loved a drink of blood!

Ah, if I saw thee among heroes lying Dead on some glorious battlefield of Greece, Soon would I follow thee, and proudly dying, Sleep with my friend triumphant and at peace.

We, Scatha's pupils, ah, how sad the story! Thou to be dead and I to be alive: I to be wounded here, all gashed and gory, Thou never more thy chariot's steeds to drive.

We, Scatha's pupils, ah! how sad the story; Sad is the fate to which we both are led: I to be wounded here, all gashed and gory, And thou, alas! my friend, to lie here dead.

We, Scatha's pupils, ah, how sad the story! Sad is the deed and sorrowful the wrong: Thou to be dead without thy meed of glory, And I, oh! shame, to be alive and strong!

Laegh interposed at length, and thus he said: “Good, O Cuchullin, let us leave the Ford, For long have we been here, by far too long.” “Let us then leave it now,” Cuchullin said,

“O Laegh, my friend, but know that every fight In which I hitherto have drawn my sword, Has been but as a pastime and a sport Compared with this one with Ferdiah fought.”

And he was saying, and he spake these words: Until Ferdiah sought the Ford, I played but with the spear and sword: Alike the teaching we received,

Alike were glad, alike were grieved, Alike were we by Scatha's grace Deemed worthy of the highest place. Until Ferdiah sought the Ford,

I played but with the spear and sword: Alike our habits and our ways, Alike our prowess and our praise, Alike the trophies of the brave,

The glittering shields that Scatha gave. Until Ferdiah sought the Ford, I played but with the spear and sword: How dear to me, ah! who can know?

This golden pillar here laid low, This mighty tree so strong and tall, The chief, the champion of us all! Until Ferdiah sought the Ford,

I played but with the spear and sword: The lion rushing with a roar, The wave that swallows up the shore, When storm-winds blow and heaven is dim,

Could only be compared to him. Until Ferdiah sought the Ford, I played but with the spear and sword: Through me the friend I loved is dead,

A cloud is ever on my head — The mountain form, the giant frame, Is now a shadow and a name. The countless legions of the‘ Tain,’

Those hands of mine have turned and slain: Their men and steeds before me died, Their flocks and herds on either side, Though numerous were the hosts that came

From Croghan's Rath of fatal fame. Though less than half the foes I led, Before me soon my foes lay dead: Never to gory battle pressed,

Never was nursed on Bamba's breast, Never from sons of kings there came A hero of more glorious fame.