Part 6 (1/2)
”'Twas then that our chieftain rode and ran Along the strand of Barriman; Trying the speed Of his swift black steed,-- Who now but Find was a happy man?
”Myself and Cailte at each side, In wantonness of youthful pride, Would ride with him where he might ride.
Fast and furious rode he, Urging his steed to far Tralee.
On from Tralee by Lerg duv-gla.s.s, And o'er Fraegmoy, o'er Finna.s.s, O'er Moydeo, o'er Monaken, On to Shan-iber, o'er Shan-glen, Till the clear stream of Flesk we win, And reach the pillar of Crofinn; O'er Sru-Muny, o'er Moneket, And where the fisher spreads his net To snare the salmon of Lemain, And thence to where our coursers' feet Wake the glad echoes of Loch Leane; And thus fled he, Nor slow were we; Through rough and smooth our course we strain.
”Long and swift our stride,--more fleet Than the deer of the mountain our coursers' feet!
Away to Flesk by Carnwood dun; And past Mac Scalve's Mangerton, Till Find reached Barnec Hill at last; There rested he, and then we pa.s.sed Up the high hill before him, and: 'Is there no hunting hut at hand?'
He thus addressed us; 'The daylight Is gone, and shelter for the night We lack.' He scarce had ended, when Gazing adown the rocky glen, On the left hand, just opposite, He saw a house with its fire lit; 'That house till now I've never seen, Though many a time and oft I've been In this wild glen. Come, look at it!'
”Yes, there are things that our poor wit Knows little of,' said Cailte; 'thus This may be some miraculous Hostel we see, whose generous blaze Thy hospitality repays, Large-handed son of c.u.mal!'--So On to the house all three we go....”
Of their entry to the mysterious house, of the ogre and the witch they found there, of the horrors that gathered on all sides, when
”From iron benches on the right Nine headless bodies rose to sight, And on the left, from grim repose, Nine heads that had no bodies rose,...”
Ossin likewise tells, and how, overcome, they fell at last into a deathlike trance and stupor, till the sunlight woke them lying on the heathery hillside, the house utterly vanished away.
The scenes of all the happenings in the story are well known: the rath of Badamar is near Caher on the Suir, in the midst of the Golden Vale, a plain of wonderful richness and beauty, walled in by the red precipices of the Galtee Mountains, and the Knock-Mealdown Hills. From the rath of Badamar Find could watch the western mountains reddening and glowing in front of the dawn, as the sun-rays shot level over the burnished plain.
Clocar is thirty miles westward over the Golden Vale, near where Croom now stands; and here were run the races; here Find gained the gift of the coal-black steed. It is some forty miles still westwards to the Strand of Tralee; the last half of the way among hills carpeted with heather; and the Strand itself, with the tide out, leaves a splendid level of white sand as far as the eye can reach, tempting Find to try his famous courser. The race carried them southwards some fifteen miles to the beautiful waters of Lough Leane, with its overhanging wooded hills, the Lake of Killarney, southward of which rises the huge red ma.s.s of Mangerton, in the midst of a country everywhere rich in beauty.
The Hill of Barnec is close by, but the site of the magic dwelling, who can tell? Perhaps Find; or Cailte, or golden-tongued Ossin himself.
There was abundant fighting in those days, for well within memory was the time of Conn of the Five-score Fights, against whom c.u.mal had warred because Conn lord of Connacht had raised Crimtan of the Yellow Hair to the kings.h.i.+p of Leinster. c.u.mal fought at the Rath that bears his name, now softened to Rathcool, twelve miles inward from the sea at Dublin, with the hills rising up from the plain to the south of the Rath. c.u.mal fought and fell, slain by Goll Mac Morna, and enmity long endured between Find and Goll who slew his sire. But like valiant men they were reconciled, and when Goll in his turn died, Find made a stirring poem on Goll's mighty deeds.
Another fateful fight for Find was the battle of Kinvarra, among the southern rocks of Galway Bay; for though he broke through the host of his foeman Uince, that chieftain himself escaped, and, riding swiftly with a score of men, came to Find's own dwelling at Druim Dean on the Red Hills of Leinster, and burned the dwelling, leaving it a smoldering ruin. Find pursuing, overtook them, slaying them at the ford called to this day Ath-uince, the ford of Uince. Returning homewards, Find found his house desolate, and the song he sang still holds the memory of his sorrow.
Two poems he made, on the Plain of Swans and on Roirend in Offaly, full of vivid pictures and legends; and one of romantic tragedy, telling how the two daughters of King Tuatal Tectmar were treacherously slain, through the malice of the Leinster king. But of romances and songs of fair women in the days of Find, the best is the Poem of Gael, who composed it to win a princess for his bride.
Of fair Crede of the Yellow Hair it was said that there was scarce a gem in all Erin that she had not got as a love-token, but that she would give her heart to none. Crede had vowed that she would marry the man who made the best verses on her home, a richly-adorned dwelling in the south, under the twin cones of the Paps, and within sight of Lough Leane and Killarney. Cael took up the challenge, and invoking the Genius that dwelt in the sacred pyramid of Brugh on the Boyne he made these verses, and came to recite them to yellow-haired Crede:
”It would be happy for me to be in her home, Among her soft and downy couches, Should Crede deign to hear me; Happy for me would be my journey.
A bowl she has, whence berry-juice flows, With which she colors her eyebrows black; She has clear vessels of fermenting ale; Cups she has, and beautiful goblets.
The color of her house is white like lime; Within it are couches and green rushes; Within it are silks and blue mantles; Within it are red gold and crystal cups.
Of its sunny chamber the corner stones Are all of silver and yellow gold, Its roof in stripes of faultless order Of wings of brown and crimson red.
Two doorposts of green I see, Nor is the door devoid of beauty; Of carved silver,--long has it been renowned,-- Is the lintel that is over the door.
Crede's chair is on your right hand, The pleasantest of the pleasant it is; All over a blaze of Alpine gold, At the foot of her beautiful couch...
The household which is in her house To the happiest fate has been destined; Grey and glossy are their garments; Twisted and fair is their flowing hair.
Wounded men would sink in sleep, Though ever so heavily teeming with blood, With the warbling of the fairy birds From the eaves of her sunny summer-room.
If I am blessed with the lady's grace, Fair Crede for whom the cuckoo sings, In songs of praise shall ever live, If she but repay me for my gift....
There is a vat of royal bronze, Whence flows the pleasant; nice of malt; An apple-tree stands over the vat, With abundance of weighty fruit.
When Crede's goblet is filled With the ale of the n.o.ble vat, There drop down into the cup forthwith Four apples at the same time.
The four attendants that have been named, Arise and go to the distributing, They present to four of the guests around A drink to each man and an apple.