Part 7 (1/2)
SLEEPY SONG.
(_Sung by Grainne to Diarmid in their Flight from the Fians_.)
Sleep a little O Diarmid, Diarmid, Sleep in the deep lone cave; Sleep a little--a little little, Love whom my love I gave-- Wearily falls O Diarmid, Diarmid, Wearily falls the wave.
Sleep a little, O Diarmid, Diarmid, Sleep, and have never a fear; Sleep a little--a little little, Love whom I love so dear-- A weary wind, O Diarmid, Diarmid, A weary wind I hear.
Sleep a little, O Diarmid, Diarmid, Sleep, while I watch till you wake; Sleep a little--a little little, Love whom I'll ne'er forsake-- Sleep a little, and blessings on you My lamb, or my heart will break.
SONG OF THE SEA.
The sea sings loud, the sea sings low, And sweet is the chime of its ebb and flow Over the s.h.i.+ngly strand; For its strange, sweet song that woos my ear The first man heard, as the last shall hear-- Seeking to understand ...
THE DEATH OF CUCHULLIN.
Now when the last hour of his life drew nigh, Cuchullin woke from dreams forewarning death; And cold and awesome came the night-bird's cry-- An evil omen the magician saith-- A low gust panted like a man's last breath, As morning crept into the chamber black; Then all his weapons clashed and tumbled from the rack.
For the last time his evil foemen came; The sons of Calatin by Lugaid led.
The land lay smouldering with smoke and flame; The duns were fallen and the fords ran red; And widows fled, lamenting for their dead, To fair Emania on that fateful day, Where all forsworn with fighting great Cuchullin lay.
Levarchan, whom he loved, a maid most fair, Rose-lipp'd, with yellow hair and sea-grey eyes, The evil tidings to Cuchullin bare.
And, trembling in her beauty, bade him rise; Niamh, brave Conal's queen, the old, the wise, Urged him with clamour of the land's alarms, And, stirr'd with vengeful might, the hero sprang to arms.
His purple mantle o'er his shoulders wide In haste he flung, and tow'ring o'er them stood All scarr'd and terrible in battle pride-- His brooch, that clasp'd his mantle and his hood Then fell his foot to pierce, and his red blood Follow'd, like fate, behind him as he stepp'd Levarchan shriek'd, and Niamh moaned his doom and wept
Thus sallying forth he called his charioteer, And bade him yoke the war-steeds of his choice-- The Grey of Macha, shuddering in fear, Had scented death, and pranced with fearsome noise, But when it heard Cuchullin's chiding voice, Meekly it sought the chariot to be bound, And wept big tears of blood before him on the ground
Then to his chariot leapt the lord of war 'O leave me not!' Levarchan cried in woe, Thrice fifty queens, who gather'd from afar, Moan'd with one voice, 'Ah, would'st thou from us go?'
They smote their hands, and fast their tears did flow-- Cuchullin's chariot thunder'd o'er the plain Full well he knew that he would ne'er return again
How vehement and how beautiful they swept-- The Grey of Macha and the Black most bold And keen-eyed Laegh, the watchful and adept, Nor turn'd, nor spake, as on the chariot roll'd The steeds he urged with his red goad of gold Stooping he drave, with wing'd cloak and spheres, Slender and tall and red--the King of Charioteers!
Cuchullin stood impatient for the fray, His golden hilted bronze sword on his thigh A sharp and venomous dart beside him lay, He clasp'd his ashen spear, bronze-tipp'd and high, As flames the sun upon the western sky, His round s.h.i.+eld from afar was flas.h.i.+ng bright, Figured with radiant gold and rimm'd with silver white
Stern-lipp'd he stood, his great broad head thrown back, The white pearls sprayed upon his thick, dark hair, Deep set, his eyes, beneath his eyebrows black, Were swift and grey, and fix'd his fearless stare, Red-edg'd his white hood flamed, his tunic rare Of purple gleam'd with gold, his cloak behind His shoulders shone with silver, floating in the wind
Betimes three crones him meet upon the way, Half-blind and evil-eyed, with matted hair-- Workers of spells and witcheries are they-- The brood of Calatin--beware! beware!
They proffer of their fulsome food a share, And, 'Stay with us a while,' a false crone cries 'Unseemly is the strong who would the weak despise'
He fain would pa.s.s, but leapt upon the ground, The proud, the fearless! for sweet honour's sake-- With spells and poisons had they cook'd a hound, Of which he was forbidden to partake But his name-charm the brave Cuchullin brake, And their foul food he in his left hand took-- Eftsoons his former strength that arm and side forsook
For, O Cuchullin! could'st thou ere forget, When fast by Culann's fort on yon black night, Thou fought'st and slew the ban-dog dark as jet, Which scared the thief, and put the foe to flight!
A tender youth thou wert of warrior might, And all the land did with thy fame resound, As Cathbad, the magician, named thee 'Culann's hound'
Loud o'er Mid Luachair road the chariot roll'd, Round Shab Fuad desolate and grand, Till Ere with hate the hero did behold, Hast'ning to sweep the foemen from the land, His sword flash'd red and radiant in his hand, In sunny splendour was his spear upraised, And hovering o'er his head the light of heroes blazed
He comes! he comes!' cried Ere as he drew near 'Await him, Men of Erin, and be strong!'