| A man came slowly from the setting sun, |
| To Emer, raddling raiment in her dun, |
| And said, I am that
swineherd whom you bid |
| Go watch the road between the wood and tide, |
| But now I have no need to
watch it more. |
|
|
|
|
| Then Emer cast the web upon the floor, |
| And raising arms all raddled with the dye, |
| Parted
her lips with a loud sudden cry. |
|
|
|
|
| That swineherd stared upon her face and said, |
| No man alive, no man
among the dead, |
| Has won the gold his cars of battle bring. |
|
|
|
|
| But if your master comes home triumphing |
| Why must you blench and shake from foot to crown? |
|
|
|
|
| Thereon he shook the more and cast him down |
| Upon the web-heaped floor, and cried his word: |
| With him is one sweet-throated like a bird. |
|
|
|
|
| You dare
me to my face, and thereupon |
| She smote with raddled fist, and where her son |
| Herded the cattle came
with stumbling feet, |
| And cried with angry voice, It is not meet |
| To idle life away, a common herd. |
|
|
|
|
| I have
long waited, mother, for that word: |
| But wherefore now? |
| There is a man to die; |
| You have the heaviest
arm under the sky. |
|
|
|
|
| Whether under its daylight or its stars |
| My father stands amid his battle-cars. |
|
|
|
|
| But
you have grown to be the taller man. |
|
|
|
|
| Yet somewhere under starlight or the sun |
| My father stands. |
| Aged,
worn out with wars |
| On foot, on horseback or in battle-cars. |
|
|
|
|
| I only ask what way my journey lies, |
| For He
who made you bitter made you wise. |
|
|
|
|
| The Red Branch camp in a great company |
| Between woods rim
and the horses of the sea. |
|
|
|
|
| Go there, and light a camp-fire at woods rim; |
| But tell your name and lineage
to him |
| Whose blade compels, and wait till they have found |
| Some feasting man that the same oath has
bound. |
|
|
|
|
| Among those feasting men Cuchulain dwelt, |
| And his young sweetheart close beside him knelt, |
| Stared on the mournful wonder of his eyes, |
| Even as Spring upon the ancient skies, |
| And pondered on
the glory of his days; |
| And all around the harp-string told his praise, |
| And Conchubar, the Red Branch
king of kings, |
| With his own fingers touched the brazen strings. |
|
|
|
|
| At last Cuchulain spake, Some man
has made |
| His evening fire amid the leafy shade. |
| I have often heard him singing to and fro, |
| I have often
heard the sweet sound of his bow. |
| Seek out what man he is. |
|
|
|
|
| One went and came. |
| He bade me let all
know he gives his name |
| At the sword-point, and waits till we have found |
| Some feasting man that the
same oath has bound. |
|
|
|
|
| Cuchulain cried, I am the only man |
| Of all this host so bound from childhood on. |
|
|
|
|
| After short fighting in the leafy shade, |
| He spake to the young man, Is there no maid |
| Who loves you,
no white arms to wrap you round, |
| Or do you long for the dim sleepy ground, |
| That you have come and
dared me to my face? |
|
|
|
|
| The dooms of men are in Gods hidden place. |
|
|
|
|
| Your head a while seemed like
a womans head |
| That I loved once. |
| Again the fighting sped, |
| But now the war-rage in Cuchulain woke, |
| And through that new blades guard the old blade broke, |
| And pierced him. |
| Speak before your breath
is done. |
|
|
|
|
| Cuchulain I, mighty Cuchulains son. |
|
|
|
|
| I put you from your pain. I can no more. |
|
|
|
|
| While day
its burden on to evening bore, |
| With head bowed on his knees Cuchulain stayed; |
| Then Conchubar sent
that sweet-throated maid, |
| And she, to win him, his grey hair caressed; |
| In vain her arms, in vain her soft
white breast. |
| Then Conchubar, the subtlest of all men, |
| Ranking his Druids round him ten by ten, |
| Spake
thus: Cuchulain will dwell there and brood |
| For three days more in dreadful quietude, |
| And then arise, and
raving slay us all. |
| Chaunt in his ear delusions magical, |
| That he may fight the horses of the sea. |
| The
Druids took them to their mystery, |
| And chaunted for three days. |
|
|
|
|
| Cuchulain stirred, |
| Stared on the horses
of the sea, and heard |
| The cars of battle and his own name cried; |
| And fought with the invulnerable tide. |