CHAPTER X. THE DEATH OF DERMAT.

Now when many years had passed, Grania said one day to Dermat--

"It is surely a thing unworthy of us, seeing the greatness of our household and our wealth, and the number of our folk, that we should live in a manner so much removed from the world. And in a special manner it is unbecoming that the two most illustrious men in Erin have never been in our house, namely, my father the king, and Finn the son of Cumal."

For indeed she had not seen her father since the night she had left Tara with Dermat, and her heart yearned for him.

"Wherefore say you this, Grania?" answered Dermat; "for though there is indeed peace between us, they are both none the less enemies of mine; and for this reason have I removed my dwelling far apart from them."

And Grania said, "Their enmity has surely softened with length of time: and now I would that you give them a feast: so shall we win back their friendship and love."

And in an evil hour Dermat consented.

For a full year were they preparing for that great feast, and when it was ready, messengers were sent to invite the king, with his house-folk, and Finn, with the chief men of the seven batallions of the Fena. So they came, with their attendants and followers, their horses and dogs; and they lived for a whole year in Rath-Grania, hunting and feasting.

It chanced one night, at the end of the year, long after all had gone to rest, that Dermat heard, through the silence of the night, the distant yelping of a hound; and he started up from his sleep. But Grania, being scared, started up also, and, throwing her arms round him, asked him what he had seen.

"I have heard the voice of a hound," answered Dermat; "and I marvel much to hear it at midnight."

"May all things guard thee from harm!" said Grania. "This is surely a trap laid for thee by the Dedannans, unknown to Angus of the Bruga: and now lie down on thy bed again."

Dermat lay down, but did not sleep, and again he heard the hound's voice. He started up, and this time was fain to go and look to the matter; but Grania caught him and kept him back a second time, saying that it was not meet for him to seek a hound whose voice he heard in the night.

A gentle slumber now fell on Dermat, and he slept through a good part of the night. But the yelping of the hound came a third time, and awakened him, so that he started up; and it being now broad day, he told Grania that he would go to seek the hound, and find out why he was abroad in the night.

And though Grania consented, she felt, she knew not why, ill at ease; and she said--

"Bring with you the Morallta, the sword of Mannanan Mac Lir, and the Ga-derg,[A] Angus's spear; for there may be danger."

But Dermat, regarding the matter lightly, and forced by fate to the worse choice, answered--

"How can danger arise from such a small affair? I will bring the Begallta and the Ga-boi;[CXXXIV.] and I will also bring my good hound Mac-an-coill, leading him by his chain."

So Dermat went forth, and he delayed not till he reached the summit of Ben-Gulban,[CXXXV.] where he found Finn; and Dermat, offering him no salute, asked him who it was that held the chase. Finn answered--

"Some of our men came out from Rath-Grania at midnight with their hounds; and one of the hounds coming across the track of a wild boar, both men and dogs have followed it up. I indeed would have held them back, but the men were eager, and left me here alone. For this is the track of the wild boar of Ben-Gulban, and they who follow him are bent on a vain and dangerous pursuit. Often has he been chased; and he has always escaped, after killing many men and dogs. Even now thou canst see in the distance that the Fena are flying before him; and he has slain several this morning. He is coming towards this hillock where we stand; and the sooner we get out of his way the better."

But Dermat said he would not leave the hillock through fear of any wild boar.

"It is not meet that thou shouldst tarry here," answered Finn. "Dost thou not know that thou art under gesa[12] never to hunt a boar?"

Dermat answered, "I know nothing of these gesa; wherefore were they placed on me?"

And Finn said, "I will tell thee of this matter, for well do I remember it. When thou wert taken to Bruga of the Boyne, to be fostered by Angus, the son of Angus's steward was fostered with thee, that he might be a companion and playmate to thee. Now the steward, being a man of the common sort, agreed to send each day to Bruga, food and drink for nine men, as a price for having his son fostered with thee--thy father, Donn, being one of the nobles of the Fena. And thy father was accordingly permitted to visit the house of Angus when it pleased him, with eight companions, and claim the food sent by the steward; and when he did not come, it was to be given to Angus's house-folk.

"It chanced on a certain day that I was at Allen of the broad hill-slopes, with the chief men of the seven battalions of the Fena. And Bran Beg O'Bucan brought to my mind, what indeed I had forgotten, that it was forbidden to me to sleep at Allen more than nine nights one after another, and that the next would be the tenth.

"Now this restriction had not been placed on any of the Fena save myself, and they all went into the hall except thy father and a few others. Then I asked where we should get entertainment for that night. And thy father, Donn, answered that he would give me entertainment at Bruga of the Boyne; where food and drink awaited himself and his companions whenever he visited Angus. Donn said, moreover, that he had not been to see his son for a year, and that we were sure to get a welcome.

"So Donn and I and the few that were with us went to the house of Angus, bringing our hounds; and Angus welcomed us. And thou and the steward's son were there, two children. After a while we could see that Angus loved thee, Dermat, very much, but that the house-folk loved the son of the steward; and thy father was filled with jealousy, that the people should show fondness for him and not for thee.

"After night had fallen, it chanced that our hounds quarrelled over some broken meat we had thrown to them, and began to fight in the court; and the women and lesser people fled from them hither and thither. The son of the steward happened to run between thy father's knees, who, calling now to mind how the people favoured him more than thee, gave him a sudden strong squeeze with his knees, and killed him on the spot. And, without being seen by any one, he threw him under the feet of the hounds.

"When at last the dogs were put asunder, the child was found dead; and the steward uttered a long, mournful cry. Then he came to me and said--

"'Of all the men in Angus's house to-night, I have come worst out of this uproar; for this boy was my only child. And now, O Finn, I demand eric from thee for his death; for thy hounds have slain him.'

"I told him to examine the body of his son, and that if he found the mark of a hound's tooth or nail, I would give him eric. So the child was examined, but no hurt--either bite or scratch--was found on him.

"Then the steward laid me under fearful bonds of druidical gesa,[12] to find out for him who slew his son. So I called for a chess-board and some water, and, having washed my hands, I put my thumb under my tooth of knowledge;[25] and then it was revealed to me that the boy had been slain by thy father. Not wishing to make this known, I now offered to pay eric for the boy; but the steward refused, saying that he should know who killed his son. So I was forced to tell him: whereupon he said--

"'It is easier for Donn to pay me eric than for any other man in this house. And the eric I demand is that his son be placed between my knees: if the lad gets off safe, then I shall follow up the matter no further.'

"Angus was very wroth at this; and thy father would have struck off the steward's head if I had not come between and saved him.

"The steward said no more, but went aside and brought forth a druidical magic wand, and, striking his son with it, he turned him into a great bristly wild boar, having neither ears nor tail. And, holding the wand aloft, he chanted this incantation over the boar--

"By this magical wand, By the wizard's command, I appoint and decree, For Dermat and thee, The same bitter strife, The same span of life: In the pride of his strength, Thou shalt slay him at length: Lo, Dermat O'Dyna Lies stretched in his gore; Behold my avengers, The tusks of the boar! And thus is decreed, For Donn's cruel deed, Sure vengeance to come-- His son's bloody doom; By this wand in my hand, By the wizard's command!

"The moment he had ended the incantation, the boar rushed out through the open door, and we knew not whither he betook himself.

"When Angus heard the steward's words, he laid a command on thee never to hunt a wild boar, that so thou mightest avoid the doom foretold for thee.

"That same boar is the wild boar of Binbulbin; and he is now rushing furiously towards us. Come, then, let us leave this hill at once, that we may avoid him in time!"

"I know nothing of these incantations and prohibitions," replied Dermat; "or if, as thou sayest, they were put on me in my boyhood, I forget them all now. And neither for fear of this wild boar of Ben-Gulban nor of any other wild beast will I leave this hillock. But thou, before thou goest, leave me thy hound, Bran, to help and encourage my dog, Mac-an-coill."

"I will not leave him," answered Finn; "for often has Bran chased this boar, and has always barely escaped with his life. And now I leave; for lo, here he comes over yonder hill-shoulder."

So Finn went his ways, and left Dermat standing alone on the hill. And after he had left Dermat said--

"I fear me, indeed, that thou hast begun this chase hoping that it would lead to my death. But here will I await the event; for if I am fated to die in this spot, I cannot avoid the doom in store for me."

Immediately the boar came rushing up the face of the hill, with the Fena following far behind. Dermat loosed Mac-an-coill against him, but to no profit; for the hound shied and fled before him at the first glance. Then Dermat said, communing with himself--

"Woe to him who does not follow the advice of a good wife! For this morning Grania bade me bring the Morallta and the Ga-derg; but I brought instead the Begallta and the Ga-boi, disregarding her counsel."

Then, putting his white taper finger into the silken loop of the Ga-boi, he threw it with careful aim, and struck the boar in the middle of the forehead; but to no purpose, for the spear fell harmless to the ground, having neither wounded nor scratched the boar, nor disturbed even a single bristle.

Seeing this, Dermat, though indeed he knew not fear, felt his courage a little damped. And thereupon drawing the Begallta from its sheath, he dealt a blow on the boar's neck, with the full strength of his brawny arm. But neither did he fare better this time; for the sword flew in pieces, leaving the hilt in his hand, while not a bristle of the boar was harmed.

And now the boar rushed on him as he stood defenceless, and with furious onset hurled him headlong to the earth; and, turning round, he gashed the hero's side with his tusk, inflicting a deep and ghastly wound. Turning again, he was about to renew the attack, when Dermat flung the hilt of the sword at him, and drove it through the skull to his brain, so that the brute fell dead on the spot.

Finn and the Fena now came up, and found Dermat lying pale and bleeding, in the pangs of death. And Finn said--

"It likes me well, Dermat, to see thee in this plight; only I am grieved that all the women of Erin cannot see thee also. For now, indeed, the surpassing beauty of thy form, that they loved so well, is gone from thee, and thou art pale and deformed!"

And Dermat answered, "Alas, O Finn! these words surely come from thy lips only, and not from thy heart. And indeed it is in thy power to heal me even now if thou wilt."

"How should I heal thee?" asked Finn.

"It is not hard for thee to do so," answered Dermat. "For when, at the Boyne, the noble gift of foreknowledge was given to thee,[25] this gift also thou didst receive--that to whomsoever thou shouldst give a drink of water from the closed palms of thy two hands, he should be healed from sickness or wounds, even though he stood at the point of death."

"Why should I heal thee by giving thee drink from my hands?" replied Finn. "For of a certainty thou of all men dost least deserve it from me."

"Thou surely speakest hastily, not remembering past services," answered Dermat. "Well, indeed, do I deserve that thou shouldst heal me. Dost thou forget the day thou didst go with the chiefs and nobles of the Fena, to the house of Derca, the son of Donnara, to a banquet? And even as we sat down, and before the feast began, Carbri of the Liffey, son of Cormac, with the men of Tara, and of Bregia, and of Meath, and of Carmna, surrounded the palace, intent on slaying thee and all thy people. And they uttered three great shouts, and threw firebrands to burn the palace over our heads. Then thou didst arise and prepare to issue forth, but I put thee back and bade thee enjoy thy feast; and, leaving the banquet untasted, I rushed forth with a chosen few of my own men, and quenched the flames. Thrice we made a circuit of the palace, dealing slaughter amongst thy foes, so that we left fifty of them dead after each circuit. And having put Carbri and his men to flight, we returned to join the feast. Had I asked thee for a drink that night, gladly wouldst thou have given it to me. And yet, not more justly was it due to me then than it is now."

"Ill dost thou deserve a healing drink from me, or any other favour," said Finn; "for it was thy part to guard Grania the night we came to Tara; but thou didst espouse her secretly, and didst fly with her from Tara, knowing that she was betrothed to me."

"Lay not the blame of that on me," said Dermat; "for Grania put me under heavy gesa, which for all the wealth of the world I would not break through--no, not even for life itself. Neither did I rest on my own judgment in the matter; for well thou knowest that Oisin, and Oscar, and Dering, and Mac Luga counselled me to the course I took.

"And now, O Finn, I pray thee let me drink from thy hands, for I feel the weakness of death coming on me. And thou wilt not gainsay that I deserve it, if thou wilt only remember the feast that Midac, the son of Colga, made for thee in the Fairy Palace of the Quicken Trees.[CXXXVI.] To this feast Midac invited thee and thy companions; while to the Palace of the Island he brought secretly the King of the World with a great host, and the three kings of the Island of the Torrent, with intent to slay thee and all thy Fena.

"Now Midac caused some of the clay of the Island of the Torrent to be placed under you, with foul spells, in the Palace of the Quicken Trees, so that your feet and your hands clove to the ground. And it was revealed to thee that the King of the World was about to send a chief with a troop of warriors, to slay you, helpless as you were, and to bring him your heads to the Palace of the Island.

"But at that same time, I came to thee outside the Palace of the Quicken Trees; and thou didst make known to me your deadly strait. Then did I take thee, Finn, and those who were with thee, under the protection of my knighthood and valour; and I went to the ford to defend it against the foreigners.

"And after a little time the three dragon-like kings of the Island of the Torrent came towards the palace: but I defended the ford, and, venturing my life for thee, I bore their attack and slew them all three. And I swept off their heads, and brought them, all gory as they were, in the hollow of my shield, to the palace where you lay miserably bound; and, sprinkling the clay with the blood, I broke the spell and set you free. And had I asked thee for a drink on that night, O Finn, of a surety thou wouldst not have refused me.

"And many another deadly strait did I free you from, since the day I was admitted among the Fena, always putting myself forward to the post of danger, and perilling my life for your safety; and now why dost thou requite me with this foul treachery?

"Moreover, many a king's son and many a brave warrior hast thou slain; and thou hast earned the enmity of powerful foes: neither is there yet an end of it. For the day will come--I see it even now--a day of direful overthrow and slaughter,[CXXXVII.] when few, alas! of the Fena will be left to tell the tale. Then thou shalt sorely need my help, O Finn, and sorely shalt thou rue this day. I grieve not, indeed, for thee, but for my dear, faithful companions--for Oscar and Mac Luga and Dering, and more than all for Oisin, who shall long outlive the others in sad old age.[CXXXVIII.] Alas! how deadly shall be their strait when I am not near to aid them!"

Then Oscar, moved with pity even to tears, addressing Finn, said, "Although I am nearer akin to thee, O king, than to Dermat, yet I cannot suffer that he die, when a drink from thy hands would heal him. Bring him, then, a drink without delay."

And Finn answered, "I know of no well on this mountain from which to bring drink."

"Therein thou speakest not truth," said Dermat; "for thou knowest that not more than nine paces from thee, hidden under yonder bush, is a well of crystal water."

Thereupon Finn went to the well, and, holding his two hands tightly together, he brought up some of the water, and came towards Dermat; but after he had walked a little way, he let it spill through his fingers, saying that he was not able to bring water in his hands so far.

"Not so, Finn," said Dermat. "I saw thee that of thy own will thou didst let it spill. And now, O king, hasten, for death is on me."

Again he went to the well, and was bringing the water slowly, while Dermat followed the dripping hands with his eyes; but when Finn thought of Grania he let the water spill a second time. And Dermat, seeing this, uttered a piteous sigh of anguish.

And now was Oscar no longer able to contain his grief and rage; and he said, "I swear, O king, if thou dost not bring the water, that only one of us two--thou or I--shall leave this hill alive!"

Hearing Oscar's words, and seeing the frowning looks of the others, Finn dipped up the water a third time, and was hastening forward; but before he had got half-way, Dermat's head dropped backwards, and his life departed.

And all the Fena present raised three long loud cries of sorrow for Dermat O'Dyna.

Then Oscar, looking fiercely on Finn, spoke and said, "Would that thou thyself lay dead here instead of Dermat! For now indeed the noblest heart of the Fena is still; and our mainstay in battle and danger is gone. Ah! why did I not foresee this? Why was I not told that Dermat's life was linked with the life of the wild boar of Ben-Gulban? Then would I have stayed this chase, and put off the evil day!"

And Oscar wept; and Oisin, and Dering, and Mac Luga wept also, for Dermat was much loved by all.

After a time, Finn said, "Let us now leave this hill, lest Angus of the Bruga overtake us. For although we had no hand in Dermat's death, nevertheless he may not believe us."

So Finn and the Fena departed from the hill, Finn leading Dermat's dog, Mac-an-coill. But Oisin, and Oscar, and Dering, and Mac Luga turned back, and with tears, threw their mantles over Dermat; after which they followed the others.

Grania sat that day on the highest rampart of Rath-Grania, watching for Dermat's return; for a dark fear haunted her mind on account of this chase. And when at last the Fena came in view, she saw Dermat's dog led by Finn; but not seeing Dermat himself, she said--

"Ah me! what is this I see? Surely if Dermat were alive, it is not by Finn that Mac-an-coill would be led to his home!"

And as she spoke she fell forward off the rampart, and lay long in a swoon as if her spirit had fled, while her handmaid stood over her, weeping and distracted. And when at last she opened her eyes, then indeed they told her that Dermat was dead; and she uttered a long and piteous cry, so that her women and all the people of the court came round her to ask the cause of her sorrow. And when they were told that Dermat had perished by the wild boar of Ben-Gulban, they raised three loud, bitter cries of lamentation, which were heard in the glens and wildernesses around, and which pierced the clouds of heaven.

When at length Grania became calm, she ordered that five hundred of her people should go to Ben-Gulban, to bring home the body of Dermat. Then, turning to Finn, who still held Mac-an-coill in his hand, she asked him to leave her Dermat's hound; but Finn refused, saying that a hound was a small matter, and that he might be allowed to inherit at least so much of Dermat's riches. When Oisin heard this, he came forward and took the hound from the hand of Finn and gave him to Grania.

At the time that the men left Rath-Grania to go for the body of Dermat, it was revealed to Angus that the hero was lying dead on Ben-Gulban. And he set out straightway, and travelling on the pure, cool wind, soon reached the mountain; so that when Grania's people came up, they found him standing over the body, sorrowing, with his people behind him. And they held forward the wrong sides of their shields in token of peace.

Then both companies, having viewed the dead hero, raised three mighty cries of sorrow, so loud and piercing that they were heard in the wastes of the firmament, and over the five provinces of Erin.

And when they had ceased, Angus spoke and said, "Alas! why did I abandon thee, even for once, O my son? For from the day I took thee to Bruga, a tender child, I have watched over thee and guarded thee from thy foes, until last night. Ah! why did I abandon thee to be decoyed to thy doom by the guileful craft of Finn? By my neglect hast thou suffered, O Dermat; and now, indeed, I shall for ever feel the bitter pangs of sorrow!"

Then Angus asked Grania's people what they had come for. And when they told him that Grania had sent them to bring the body of Dermat to Rath-Grania, he said--

"I will bring the body of Dermat with me to Bruga of the Boyne; and I will keep him on his bier, where he shall be preserved by my power, as if he lived. And though I cannot, indeed, restore him to life, yet I will breathe a spirit into him, so that for a little while each day he shall talk with me."

Then he caused the body to be placed on a golden bier, with the hero's javelins fixed one on each side, points upwards. And his people raised the bier and carried it before him; and in this manner they marched slowly to Bruga of the Boyne.

Grania's people then returned; and when they had told her the whole matter, though she was grieved at first, yet in the end she was content, knowing how Angus loved Dermat.

FOOTNOTES:

[CXXXIV.] See note, page 302.

[CXXXV.] Now Benbulbin, a mountain five miles north of the town of Sligo.

[CXXXVI.] See this story told at length, page 177.

[CXXXVII.] A prophetic allusion to the battle of Gavra. (See note 28 at the end.)

[CXXXVIII.] A prophetic allusion to the events related in the story of "Oisin in Tirnanoge," page 385.

THE CHASE OF SLIEVE CULLINN.

IN WHICH IT IS RELATED HOW FINN'S HAIR WAS CHANGED IN ONE DAY FROM THE COLOUR OF GOLD TO SILVERY GREY.[CXXXIX.]

Culand, the smith of the Dedannans,[1] who lived at Slieve Cullinn,[CXL.] had two beautiful daughters, Milucra and Aina. They both loved Finn,[23] and each sought him for her husband.

As they walked together one evening near Allen,[CXLI.] they fell to talking of many things; and their conversation turning at last on their future husbands, Aina said she would never marry a man with grey hair.

When Milucra heard this, she resolved with herself that if she could not get Finn, she would plan so that he should not marry her sister Aina. So she departed immediately, and, turning her steps northwards, she summoned the Dedannans to meet her at Slieve Cullinn. Having brought them all together, she caused them to make her a lake[CXLII.] near the top of the mountain; and she breathed a druidical virtue on its waters, that all who bathed in it should become grey.

On a morning not long after this, Finn happened to be walking alone on the lawn before the palace of Allen, when a doe sprang out from a thicket, and, passing quite close to him, bounded past like the wind. Without a moment's delay, he signalled for his companions and dogs; but none heard except his two hounds, Bran and Skolan. He instantly gave chase, with no other arms than his sword, Mac-an-Lona, and accompanied only by his two dogs; and before the Fena[23] knew of his absence, he had left Allen of the green slopes far behind.

The chase turned northwards; and though the hounds kept close to the doe, the chief kept quite as close to the hounds the whole way. And so they continued without rest or pause, till they reached Slieve Cullinn, far in the north.

Here the doe made a sudden turn and disappeared; and what direction she took, whether east or west, Finn knew not, for he never caught sight of her after. And he marvelled much that any doe in the world should be able to lead Bran and Skolan so long a chase, and escape from them in the end. Meantime they kept searching, Finn taking one side of the hill and the dogs another, so that he was at last left quite alone.

While he was wandering about the hill and whistling for his hounds, he heard the plaintive cry of a woman at no great distance; and, turning his steps towards the place, he saw a lady sitting on the brink of a little lake, weeping as if her heart would break. Never before did the chieftain see a maiden so lovely. The rose colour on her cheeks was heightened by her grief; her lips were like ruddy quicken berries; the delicate blossom of the apple tree was not more white than her neck; her hair fell in heavy golden ringlets on her shoulders; and as she looked up at the chief, her eyes beamed like stars on a frosty night.

Finn accosted her; and, seeing that she ceased her weeping for a moment, he asked her had she seen his two hounds pass that way.

"I have not seen thy hounds," she replied, "nor have I been at all concerned in the chase; for, alas, there is something that troubles me more nearly, a misadventure that has caused me great sorrow!"

And as she spoke these words, she burst out weeping and sobbing more bitterly than before.

Finn was greatly moved at this, so much so, that he quite forgot all about his hounds and his own troubles; and he asked her--

"What is the cause of this great grief, gentle lady? Has death robbed you of your husband or your child, or what other evil has befallen you? I am much concerned to see a lady in such distress; and I wish you to tell me if anything can be done to lighten your sorrow, or to remove the cause of it?"

She replied, "I had a precious gold ring on my finger, which I prized beyond anything in the world; and it has fallen from me into the water. I saw it roll down the steep slope at the bottom, till it went quite out of my sight. This is the cause of my sorrow, and thou canst remedy the mishap if thou wilt. The Fena are sworn never to refuse help to a woman in distress; and I now put on thee those gesa[12] that true heroes dare not break through, to search for the ring, and cease not till thou find it and restore it to me."

Though the chief had indeed at the moment no inclination to swim, he could not refuse a prayer urged in this manner. So he plunged in without a moment's hesitation, and examined the lake on all sides, diving and searching into every nook and cranny at the bottom.

After swimming in this manner three times round and round the lake, he found the ring at last; and, approaching the lady, he handed it to her from the water. The moment she had got it she sprang into the lake before his eyes, and, diving down, disappeared in an instant.

The chief, wondering greatly at this strange behaviour, stepped forth from the water; but as soon as his feet had touched the dry land, he lost all his strength, and fell on the brink, a withered, grey old man, shrunken up and trembling all over with weakness. He sat him down in woful plight; and soon his hounds came up. They looked at him wistfully and sniffed and whined around him; but they knew him not, and, passing on, they ran round the lake, searching in vain for their master.

On that day the Fena were assembled in the banquet hall of the palace of Allen; some feasting and drinking, some playing chess, and others listening to the sweet music of the harpers. While all were in this wise pleasantly engaged, Kylta Mac Ronan[23] stood up in the midst, and said in the hearing of all--

"I have observed, friends, that our master and king, Finn the son of Cumal, has not been amongst us to-day, as is his wont; and I wish to know whither he has gone."

This speech caused a sudden alarm amongst us; for no one knew aught of the chief, or was aware till that moment that he was absent at all; and we knew not wherefore he had disappeared or whither he had gone. In the midst of our anxious tumult, the envious and foul-mouthed Conan Mail[23] stood up, and said--

"I have never heard sweeter music than your words, Kylta! The Fena are now about to seek for their king; and my only wish is that their quest may last for a whole year, and that it may prove a vain search in the end! Be not cast down, however, O Fena; if you should fail to find the son of Cumal, you will not be so ill off as you think; for I will undertake to be your king from this time forth!"

Though we were at the time more inclined to be sad than mirthful, being weighed down with much anxiety, we could not help laughing when we heard the loud, foolish talk of Conan Mail; but we took no further notice of him.

Inquiring now from the lesser people about the palace, we found that the chief and his two dogs had followed a doe northwards. So, having mustered a strong party of the Fena, we started in pursuit. Kylta and I took the lead, the rest keeping close behind; and in this order we followed the track, never taking rest or slackening speed till we reached Slieve Cullinn.

We began to search round the hill, hoping to find either the chief himself or some person who might give us tidings of him. After wandering among brakes and rough, rocky places, we at last espied a grey-headed old man sitting on the brink of a lake. I went up to him to ask a question, followed by the rest of the Fena. At first I thought he might be a fisherman who had come up from the plains to fish; but when we came near him, he seemed so wretched an old creature, all shrivelled up, with the skin hanging in wrinkles over the bare points of his bones, that I felt quite sure he was not a fisherman, and that he was reduced to that state more by sickness and want than by old age.

I asked the poor old man if he had seen a noble-looking hero pass that way, with two hounds, chasing a doe. He never answered a word, neither did he stir from where he sat, or even look up; but at the question, his head sank on his breast, and his limbs shook all over as with palsy. Then he fell into a sudden fit of grief, wringing his hands and uttering feeble cries of woe.

We soothed him and used him gently for a time, hoping he might speak at last; but to no purpose, for he still kept silent. Then at last growing impatient, and thinking that this might be a mere headstrong humour, we drew our swords, and threatened him with instant death if he did not at once tell us all he knew of the chief and his hounds--for we felt sure he had seen them. But he only lamented the more, and still answered nothing.

At last, after this had gone on for some time, and when we were about to leave him, he beckoned to Kylta Mac Ronan; and when Kylta had come near, the old man whispered into his ear the dreadful secret. And then we all came to know the truth. When we found that the withered old man was no other than our beloved king, Finn, himself, we uttered three shouts of lamentation and anger, so loud and prolonged that the foxes and badgers rushed affrighted from their dens in the hollows of the mountain.

Conan now stepped forward, looking very fierce; and, unsheathing his sword with mighty bluster, he began in a loud voice to revile Finn and the Fena with the foulest language he could think of. And he ended by saying that he meant to slay the king that moment--

"Now, O Finn Mac Cumal, I will certainly strike off your head; for you are the man that never gave me credit for valour, or praised my noble deeds in battle. Ever since your father, Cumal of the Hosts, was slain on the field of Knocka[CXLIII.] by the Clann Morna[23] of the Golden Shields, you have been our bitter foe; and it is against your will that any of us are now alive. I am very glad to see you, Finn Mac Cumal, brought down to what you now are; and I only wish that the rest of the Clann Baskin[23] were like you. Then should I very soon make short work of them all; and joyful to me would be the task of raising a great carn to their memory!"

To which Oscar replied with great scorn, "It is not worth while drawing a sword to punish thee, Conan Mail, vain and foolish boaster as thou art; and besides, we have at present something else to think of. But if it were not for the trouble that now lies heavy on us on account of our king, I would of a certainty chastise thee by breaking all the bones of thy mouth with my fist!"

"Cease, Oscar," returned Conan, in a voice still louder than before; "cease your foolish talk! It is actions and not words that prove a man; and as to the noble warlike deeds done in past times by the Fena, it was by the Clann Morna they were performed, and not by the chicken-hearted Clann Baskin!"

The fiery Oscar could bear this no longer. He rushed towards Conan Mail; but Conan, terrified at his vengeful look, ran in amongst the Fena with great outcry, beseeching them to save him from the rage of Oscar. We straightway confronted the young hero, and checked him in his headlong career; and after much ado, we soothed his anger and made peace between him and Conan.

When quietness was restored, Kylta asked Finn how this dread evil had befallen him, who was the enchanter, and whether there was any hope of restoring him to his own shape. Finn told him that it was the daughter of Culand the smith who had transformed him by her spells. And then he recounted how she had lured him to swim in the lake, and how, when he came forth, he was turned into a withered old man.

We now made a framework litter of slender poles, and, placing our king on it, we lifted him tenderly on our shoulders. And, turning from the lake, we marched slowly up-hill till we came to the fairy palace of Slieve Cullinn, where we knew the daughter of Culand had her dwelling deep under ground.[19] Here we set him down, and the whole troop began at once to dig, determined to find the enchantress in her cave-palace, and to take vengeance on her if she did not restore our chief.

For three days and three nights we dug, without a moment's rest or pause, till at length we reached her hollow dwelling; when she, affrighted at the tumult and at the vengeful look of the heroes, suddenly started forth from the cave and stood before us. She held in her hand a drinking-horn of red gold, which was meant for the king. Yet she appeared unwilling, and held it back, notwithstanding the threatening looks of the Fena. But, happening to cast her eyes on the graceful and manly youth, Oscar, she was moved with such admiration and love for him that she wavered no longer, but placed the fairy drinking-horn in the hands of the king. No sooner had he drunk from it, than his own shape and features returned, save only that his hair remained of a silvery grey.

When we gazed on our chief in his own graceful and manly form, we were all pleased with the soft, silvery hue of the grey hairs. And, though the enchantress appeared ready to restore this also, Finn himself told her that it pleased him as it pleased the others, and that he chose to remain grey for the rest of his life.

When the king had drunk from the horn, he passed it to Mac Reth, who drank from it in like manner and gave it to Dering. Dering, after drinking, was about to hand it to the next, when it gave a sudden twist out of his hand, and darted into the loose earth at our feet, where it sank out of sight. We ran at once to recover it; but, though we turned up the earth deeply all round, we were not able to find the drinking-horn. This was a disappointment that vexed us exceedingly, for if we had all drunk from it, we should have been gifted with a foreknowledge of future events.

A growth of slender twigs grew up afterwards over the spot where it sank into the ground; and this little thicket is still gifted with a part of the virtue of the golden drinking-horn. For any one who looks on it in the morning fasting, will know in a moment all things that are to happen that day.

So ended the Chase of Slieve Cullinn; and in this wise it came to pass that Finn's hair was turned in one day from golden yellow to silvery grey.

FOOTNOTES:

[CXXXIX.] It is necessary to remind the reader that this story and the two following are related by Oisin, in his old age, to St. Patrick. (See the prefatory note to the story of "Oisin in Tirnanoge," p. 385; and see also note 23 at the end.)

[CXL.] Now Slieve Gullion, a lofty, isolated mountain in the south of the county Armagh, celebrated in legendary lore.

[CXLI.] The Hill of Allen, in Kildare, where Finn had his palace. (See note 23 at the end.)

[CXLII.] The little lake for which this legendary origin is assigned lies near the top of Slieve Gullion. There were several wells in Ireland which, according to the belief of old times, had the property of turning the hair grey. Giraldus Cambrensis tells us of such a well in Munster; and he states that he once saw a man who had washed a part of his head in this well, and that the part washed was white, while the rest was black!

It is to be observed that the peasantry of the district retain to this day a lingering belief in the power of the lake of Slieve Gullion to turn the hair grey.

[CXLIII.] Knocka, now Castleknock, near Dublin. (See note 27 at the end.)

THE CHASE OF SLIEVE FUAD.

IN WHICH IT IS RELATED HOW AILNA, THE WIFE OF MERGAH OF THE SHARP SPEARS, IN ORDER TO BE REVENGED ON THE FENA FOR THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND, TRANSFORMED HERSELF INTO A DEER, AND DECOYED THEM TILL SHE GOT THEM INTO THE POWER OF HER BROTHER, DRYANTORE, A GIANT AND AN ENCHANTER; HOW HE THREW THEM INTO A DUNGEON, WITH INTENT TO KILL THEM; AND HOW THEY WERE IN THE END SET FREE BY CONAN MAIL.[CXLIV.]

Finn and the Fena[23] went one day to hunt at Slieve Fuad.[CXLV.] When they had come very near to the top of the mountain, a deer suddenly bounded from a thicket right before them, very large and fierce, with a great pair of sharp, dangerous antlers. At once they loosed their dogs and gave chase; and those who were scattered here and there about the hill gave up the pursuit of smaller game to join the main body for it was very seldom they fell in with a deer that promised better sport.

She led them through rugged places, over rocks and bogs, and into deep glens. The hounds several times surrounded her; but she fought her way with so much strength and fury that she always escaped, after killing many of the dogs and disabling some of the men.

Soon she left Slieve Fuad behind, nor did she slacken speed till she reached the green hill of Lidas, while the hunters and dogs followed in full chase close behind. She then made her way across the open country to a rugged and bushy hill--the hill of Carrigan;[CXLVI.] and here they suddenly lost her among the rocks and thickets. They searched round the hill without avail, north, south, east, and west, till all, both men and dogs, were quite scattered; and Finn and Dara the Melodious were left alone.

At length Finn's dog, Skolan, started the deer once more, and again the chase began. Back over the selfsame course she ran, by the hill of Lidas, and straight on towards Slieve Fuad, Finn and Dara close on her track; while the main body of the Fena followed far behind, guided by the cries of the dogs.

When the deer reached Slieve Fuad, she again took cover and disappeared at the very spot where they had first started her; and the two chiefs, after beating the thickets on every side, were at length forced to give up the search.

A druidical mist now rose up, darkening the air, and enfolding them on every side; so that they lost their way. They tried many times to regain the path, but to no purpose; for they only lost themselves more and more among the quagmires and thickets. At last they sat down to rest, weary and baffled; and Dara played a mournful strain on his timpan; after which they sounded the Dord-Fian,[CXLVII.] as a signal to their friends.

When the Fena heard the Dord-Fian sounding afar off, they felt sure that their leader was in trouble or strait of some kind; and they started to his relief, making northwards straight towards the point from which they thought the signal came. But they had not gone far when they heard it sounding from the east, and altered their course accordingly. Again it changed to the west; and no sooner had they set forward in that direction than it seemed to come from the south. In this manner were they led hither and thither, till they became quite bewildered; and they found themselves no nearer to those they were in search of, for every time they heard the Dord-Fian, it seemed as far off as ever.

Meantime Finn and Dara, after resting for a time, again started off, intent on trying once more to reach their friends; for they heard their shouts, and knew they were seeking them. As they were making their way through the thick fog, they heard a voice at a little distance, as if from one in distress; and, turning their steps that way, they met a young woman, very beautiful, and very pleasing in manner, but looking weary and sore perplexed, and all over in sad plight from the bogs and brambles.

Finn accosted her in a gentle voice, asking how she came to be alone in a place so wild.

She replied, "I and my husband were journeying along over the plain, when we heard the melodious cry of hounds; and he left me to follow the chase, telling me to continue along the same path, and promising to rejoin me without delay. But this fairy fog has risen around me, and I have lost my way, so that I know not now in what direction to go."

Finn then asked her name and the name of her husband.

"My husband's name is Lavaran, and mine is Glanlua. But I perceive that you are one of the Fena; and indeed I think, from your arms and from your noble mien, that you must be the great chief Finn himself. If this be so, I place myself under your protection; and I know well that you will lead me safely out of this place to my husband; for the Fena never yet refused their help to a woman in distress."

Finn replied, "You are quite right, lady, for I am Finn; and this chase that has parted you and your husband belongs to me. We will certainly take you under our protection, and we will neither abandon you on this mountain, nor suffer any one to harm you. But as to leading you to your husband, it is not at present in our power to do that; for you must know, lady, that we also have been set astray by this magical fairy fog. Nevertheless, we will do the best we can; and now you had better come with us."

So the three set forward in the direction they thought most likely to lead to the open plain.

After walking for some time, they heard a low, sweet strain of fairy music; and they stopped to listen. It seemed to be near them and around them in the fog, so that Finn thought it came from the spot where the lady stood; and she thought it came from Finn or Dara: and the music was followed by shouts and noise, as if from a great company. When the noise ceased, the music began again more sweetly than before; so that they felt heavy, and as if inclined to sleep. Still more drowsy and powerless they became as they listened; and at last they all three sank on the ground, in a trance deep and deathlike.

After a time they awoke, and slowly regained their senses; though they were so weak that they could scarcely move. The fog had cleared away, leaving the air bright and warm; and when they were able to look around, they found themselves on the margin of a blue lake. The part of the lake that lay in front of them was narrow, and quite calm and smooth; but on each side, to the right and left, it opened out into two broad, green-bordered seas, with great waves tumbling wildly about, as if the waters were torn up by whirlwinds. But where they sat, not a breath was blowing. And looking across the narrow part, they saw a stately palace right before them on the opposite shore.

As they were gazing at all these strange things, silent and much astonished, they saw a warrior coming forth from the palace, in size like a giant, rough and fierce-looking, with a beautiful woman by his side. The two walked quickly down to the shore, and, plunging in, they swam straight across the middle of the lake. And Dara and Glanlua, turning to Finn, said--

"Of a surety, it is not for our good yonder strangers are approaching; but to work us treachery and mischief!"

This forecast turned out to be true. The large warrior and the beautiful lady had no sooner gained the land than they came up to Finn and his two companions; and without speaking a word, the giant seized them roughly, and led them down to the shore of the lake. For the two heroes were still so weak from the spell of the fairy music that they were not able to raise a hand to defend either the lady or themselves.

The giant and his companion, making no delay, plunged in, and swam back towards the palace, bringing the three with them; and as soon as they had reached the shore, the strange warrior, addressing Finn in a fierce and surly manner, said--

"For a long time have I sought Finn Mac Cumal, the evil-minded and crafty; and now, O Finn, now that thou hast been by a well-laid plan cast under my power, I will take good care that thou shalt not escape till I take revenge, even to the full, for all the injuries thou hast done to me and to my sister!"

Finn listened to this speech with much surprise, for he could not call to mind that he had ever seen the hero before; and he said--

"Tell me, I pray thee, who thou art; for I know thee not; neither do I know of any injury thou hast suffered at my hands. Thou art, indeed, large of body, and fierce and boastful in speech; but know that to take revenge on a foe who is unable to defend himself, is a deed quite unbecoming a hero!"

The large man replied, "Do you not remember the treachery you practised on Mergah of the Sharp Spears, and on my sons, two fair youths, whom you slew by unfair means, at the battle of Knockanare?[CXLVIII.] Well indeed do I know thee, Finn, for I am Dryantore, and this is Ailna my sister, the wife of Mergah. She is left without her husband, and I without my sons, by your cruel wiles; for it was by fraud and foul play, and not by fair fighting, that you gained the battle of Knockanare, and slew Mergah and his host!"

"I remember well," said Finn, "that they all fell on the battle-field; but it was not by craft or treachery. Mergah of the Sharp Spears came with a mighty host to conquer Erin, and lay it under tribute. But they were met at Knockanare, and every man of them slain in fair, open fight, though not without sore loss to the Fena."

"You may say what you please on the matter," said Dryantore; "but it is quite enough for me that you have slain Ailna's husband and my two sons. And now, indeed, I shall take revenge--of that be sure--both on you and on all the Fena that come within my reach."

And having so spoken, he began without more ado to bind Finn, Dara, and Glanlua in strong fetters; and having done so, he threw them into a dungeon, where he left them without food or drink or comfort of any kind.

Meantime the Fena ceased not to search for their king. They knew, by the sad strain they had heard in the distance, and by the strange manner in which the music had shifted from place to place, that he was caught under some druidic spell; and they vowed they would never rest till they had found him and punished the enchanter, whoever he might be.

Next day, Ailna visited the dungeon; and Finn addressed her--

"Hast thou forgotten, Ailna, that when thou didst come to Erin after the death of thy husband, Mergah of the Sharp Spears, the Fena received thee hospitably, and, pitying thy distress, treated thee with much kindness? But for this thou hast indeed given us an ungrateful and unbecoming return; for thou hast shut us up in this dungeon, without food or drink, having, by guileful druidical spells, taken away our strength."

"I remember very well," said Ailna, "that you treated me kindly. But you killed my husband; and I am well pleased that it has now come to my turn to avenge his death. I do not feel the least pity for you; and I only wish that the whole of the Fena were with you in that dungeon, to be dealt with by my brother."

Then, casting her eyes on Glanlua, she began to upbraid her in bitter words for having been in the company of Finn and Dara. But Glanlua explained the matter, saying that she had never seen either of the chiefs before, and that it was only by chance she had fallen on them when she had lost her way in the fog.

"If that be so," said Ailna, "it is not just that you should be punished for the evil deeds of the others."

And she went and told Dryantore, who came forthwith to release the lady.

Glanlua took leave of Finn and Dara, and left the prison, grieving much for their evil plight; for she was grateful for their kindness on the mountain. Ailna led her to the palace; and, having placed food before her, bade her eat. But Glanlua, being overcome by weakness, suddenly fell into a swoon, and remained for a long time without sense or motion, like one dead. When at last she opened her eyes, she saw Ailna standing near, holding in her hand a golden drinking-horn. And Ailna gave her to drink, and immediately the spells lost their power; and she regained her strength; and the bloom and beauty of her countenance returned.

But now she bethought her of the two heroes; and, remembering their dismal plight in the dungeon, she became sorrowful, and began to sigh and weep. And when Ailna and Dryantore came to know the cause of her tears, they told her with much severity that Finn and Dara deserved their punishment; and that both should stay in prison till the time had come to put them to death.

"I seek not to release them from prison or to save them from death," said Glanlua; "but that they are left without food and drink--this it is that moves me to pity."

And Dryantore said, "If only that has caused your tears, you may, if you so please, bring them food. Besides, I do not mean to put them to death immediately. I shall let them live yet awhile, that I may decoy by them the other Fena, who are now wandering hither and thither in quest of their chief. And it is my firm belief that in a little time I shall have them all in that dungeon."

So Glanlua went to the prison, bringing food and drink, and Ailna went with her. They found the heroes sitting on the floor, sorrowing, their strength and activity all gone; for the music-spell still held them, and they suffered also from want of food. And when they saw the two ladies, they shed bitter tears. Glanlua, on her part, wept with pity when she looked on the wasted face of the chief. But not so Ailna; she was pleased at their distress, for her heart was hardened with vengeance, and she longed for the time when they should suffer death. Howbeit, Glanlua placed food and drink before them, and they ate and drank and were strengthened for the time.

When the two ladies returned, Dryantore asked Glanlua if it were true what he had heard, that Dara was a favourite among the Fena; and why it was that they loved him so.

Glanlua replied, "I only know that he is a very skilful musician; for I never heard melody sweeter than the strains he played yesterday, when I met himself and Finn in the fog."

"I should like very much to hear this music," said Dryantore, "if it be so melodious as you say;" and as he spoke these words he went towards the dungeon.

And when he had come to the door, he said to Dara, in a loud, harsh, surly voice--

"I have heard that you are a skilful musician, and can play very sweet strains. I wish you to play for me now that I may know if this be true."

To which Dara replied, "If I had the Fena around me, I could delight them with the melody of my timpan; but as for you, guileful and cruel as you are, I do not believe that you can take any pleasure in music. Moreover, how can you expect that I should play sweet music for you, seeing that I am shut up here in this dismal dungeon, and that all manly strength and cheerfulness of mind have left me through your foul spells?"

"I will take off the spells if only you play for me," said Dryantore; "and if your strains be as delightful as I have heard reported, I will bring you forth from your prison, and I will keep you for ever in my castle, and you shall play for me whensoever I wish for music."

"I shall never consent to be released, neither will I play any music for you, so long as my chief lies in bondage and under enchantment," said Dara; "for I grieve not indeed for myself, but for him."

Dryantore replied, "I will lift the spells from both of you for a time; but as to releasing Finn, that is a matter I do not wish to talk of now."

Whereupon Dryantore removed the spells, and the heroes regained their strength and courage.

Dara then played a low, sweet tune; and Dryantore, who had never before heard such music, listened with delight and wonder. He was so charmed that he called Ailna and Glanlua, that they also might hear; and they were as much delighted as the giant. But what pleased Glanlua most was to see the heroes restored to their wonted cheerfulness.

Now all this time the Fena were seeking among the glens and hollows of the mountain for Finn and Dara. After walking for some time over a stony and rugged way, a faint strain of music struck on their ears. They stopped to listen, breathless; and every man knew the sound of Dara's timpan; and they raised a shout of gladness, which reached Finn and Dara in their dungeon. At the same moment they came in view of the palace, and they drew their swords and put their shields and spears in readiness, as men do going to battle. And they went forward warily, for they feared foul play, and their hearts had a forecast that a foe was near. But, indeed, they little deemed what manner of foe they should meet.

When Dryantore heard the shouts, he hid himself from the view of the Fena, and forthwith betook him to his magic arts. And again the spell fell on the two heroes, and their strength departed; and Dara's hand, losing its cunning, trembled on the strings, so that his music became dull and broken.

And when Dara's music ceased, the Fena heard a low, hoarse murmur, which, growing each moment louder, sounded at last like the hollow roar of waves. And anon their strength and their swiftness left them, and they fell to the ground every man, in a deep trance as if they slept the sleep of death.

Then Dryantore and Ailna came forth, and having bound them one by one in strong, hard fetters, they roused them up and led them helpless and faltering to the dungeon, where they shut them in with Finn and Dara.

The Fena looked sadly on their king; and he, on his part, shed bitters tears to think that he had decoyed them--though, indeed, he had done so unwittingly--into the hands of their foe.

In the midst of their sighs and tears they heard the loud voice of the giant, who, looking in on them from the open door, addressed them--

"Now at last, ye Fena, you are in my safe keeping. Truly you have done great deeds in your time, but yet, methinks, you will not be able to escape from this prison till I have taken just vengeance on you for slaying Mergah of the Sharp Spears, and my two sons, at the battle of Knockanare!"

And having so spoken, he shut the door and went his way.

When he came to the palace, he found that Glanlua's husband, Lavaran, had been there. Upon which he fell into a mighty rage; for he feared to let any man know the secrets of the palace; and he feared also that Lavaran might try to aid Finn and the others. He inquired of the two ladies whither he had gone; but they replied they did not know. He then began to search through the rooms, and, raising his voice, he called aloud for Lavaran; and the Fena, even in their dungeon, heard the roar quite plainly.

Lavaran, hearing him, was sore afraid, and answered from a remote part of the palace. And as he came forward, the giant placed him under his spells, and, having bound him, flung him into the dungeon with the others.

Dryantore's fury had not in the least abated; and, entering the dungeon, he struck off the heads of several of the Fena with his great sword, saying he would visit them each day, and do in like manner till he had killed them all.

During this time the Fena were unable to defend themselves; for, besides that their strength had gone out from their limbs on account of the spells, they found that from the time the enchanter entered the prison, they were all fixed firmly in their places, every man cleaving to the ground, in whatsoever position he chanced to be, sitting, lying, or standing. And Finn shed tears--even tears of blood in sight of all--seeing his men fall one by one, while he had to look on without power to help them.

After Dryantore had in this manner slain several, he approached Conan Mail,[23] with intent to end that day's work by cutting off his head; and as it chanced, Conan was lying full length on the floor. Now Conan, though he was large-boned and strong, and very boastful in his speech, was a coward at heart, and more afraid of wounds and death than any man that ever lived.

So when he saw Dryantore coming towards him with his sword in his hand all dripping, he shouted aloud--

"Hold thy hand, Dryantore! Hold thy hand for a little while, and be not guilty of such treachery!"

But the giant, not heeding in the least Conan's words, raised his sword with his two hands and rose on tiptoe for a mighty blow. Then Conan, terrified beyond measure, put forth all his strength to free himself, and bounded from the floor clear outside the range of the sword; but left behind him, clinging to the floor, all the skin of his back, even from the points of his shoulders to the calves of his legs.

When he saw the giant still making towards him in a greater rage than ever for missing his blow, he again cried aloud--

"Hold your hand this time, Dryantore! Is it not enough that you see me in this woful plight? For it is plain that I cannot escape death. Leave me, then, to die of my wounds, and slay me not thus suddenly!"

Dryantore held his hand; but he told Conan that he would for a certainty kill him next time he came, if he did not find him already dead of his wounds. Then he stalked out of the dungeon, and, shutting close the door, left the Fena in gloom and sadness.

Though Lavaran had been only a little while in the palace, he made good use of his time, and now approaching Finn, he whispered in his ear--

"There is that in yonder palace which would free us from those accursed spells if we only could get at it."

And when Finn asked what it was, he replied, "A magical golden drinking-horn of wondrous virtue. I saw it in the palace among many other precious jewels."

And when Finn again questioned him how he knew of its secret power, he said--

"Glanlua, my wife, told me. For she said that, being herself at the point of death, Ailna fetched this drinking-horn and bade her drink. And when she had drunk, she was immediately freed from spells and sickness. She told me, moreover, that it would remove the spell from the Fena, and bring back their strength and heal their wounds, if they could get to drink from it."

Conan, being near, overheard this conversation; and he inwardly resolved that he would try to secure the drinking-horn, if perchance he might be able to heal his wounds by means of it.

Not long after, the giant again came to the prison, sword in hand, and addressed Conan in these words--

"Come forward now, O big, bald man, for I am about to fulfil my promise to you! Come forward, that I may strike off your large head; for I see that your wounds have not killed you!"

But Conan, instead of coming forward, fell back even to the farthest part of the dungeon, and replied--

"You must know, Dryantore, that I, of all men alive, am the most unwilling to die any death unworthy of a brave hero. You see my evil plight, all wounded and faint from loss of blood; and, being as I am a valiant warrior, it would surely be a shameful thing and a foul blot on my fame, to be slain while in this state. I ask only one favour--that you cure me of my wounds first. After this, you may put me to death in any manner that is most agreeable to you."

To this Dryantore consented, seeing that Conan was secure; and he called to Ailna and bade her fetch him the magical golden drinking-horn. "For I wish," said he, "to heal the wounds of yonder big, bald man."

But Ailna replied, "Of what concern are his wounds to us? Is it not better that he should die at once, and all the other Fena with him?"

Conan spoke out from where he stood, "Lovely Ailna, I seek not to escape death. I ask only to be healed first and slain afterwards!"

Ailna went to the palace and soon returned, bringing, not the drinking-horn, but a large sheepskin, covered all over with a long growth of wool. Dryantore took it from her, and doing as she told him, he fitted it on Conan's back, where it cleaved firmly, so that his wounds were all healed up in an instant.

As long as Conan lived afterwards, this sheepskin remained on his back; and the wool grew upon it every year, even as wool grows on the back of a living sheep. And from that time forth, the other Fena were always mocking him and laughing at him and calling him nicknames.

As soon as Conan felt his wounds healed, he again spoke to the giant--

"It is my opinion, Dryantore, that it would be a very unwise thing for you to put me to death. I see plainly you want a servant. Now, although I am large of bone and strong of body, and very brave withal, still I am very harmless. And if you let me live, I shall be your servant for ever, and you will find me very useful to you."

The giant saw the force and wisdom of Conan's words; and he felt that he wanted a servant very much, though he never perceived it till that moment, when Conan reminded him of it.

So he said, "I believe, indeed, Conan, that your words are truth. Wherefore, I will not put you to death. You are now my servant, and so shall you be for the rest of your life."

He then led Conan forth from the dungeon towards the palace; and he was in such good humour at having got a servant, that he forgot to kill any of the Fena on that occasion.

He called to him Ailna and Glanlua, to tell them of what he had done. And he said to them--

"I find that I need a servant very much. Wherefore, I have made Conan my servant. And I am now about to free him from the spell and give him back his strength by a drink from the golden drinking-horn, so that he may be able to wait on me and do my work."

For Conan, though his wounds were healed, was still so weak from the spell that he was scarce able to walk.

"I do not at all approve what you have done," said Ailna. "It would be, methinks, much better to put him straightway to death along with all the others. As long as he is with us as our servant, I shall never think myself free from danger; for the Fena are treacherous all alike."

"As for the other Fena," replied Dryantore, "you need not be in any trouble on their account, for their time is short. As soon as I have got Conan free from the spell, I will go straight to the dungeon and kill them, every man. And when they are fairly put out of the way, it seems to me that we need not fear danger from this big, bald man with the sheepskin on his back."

When Ailna heard that the death of the Fena was near at hand, she no longer gainsaid her brother. So Dryantore led Conan to the palace; and placing the magical drinking-horn in his hand, bade him drink. And Conan drank; and immediately his strength and his spirits returned.

Now it so happened, while these things went on, that Finn asked Dara to play one of his sweet, sad tunes, that they might hear the music of his timpan before they died. And Dara took his timpan, and began to play; and historians say that no one either before or since ever played sweeter strains.

At the very moment that Conan had finished drinking, he and Dryantore heard the music sounding faintly in the distance; and the giant opened the door and stood on the threshold to listen. He was so charmed that he quite forgot all about Conan and the drinking-horn; and finding that he could not hear the music plainly enough where he stood, he walked hastily towards the dungeon, leaving Conan behind with the drinking-horn in his hand.

No sooner had he gone out than Conan hid the drinking-horn under his cloak, and went to the dungeon after him.

And when the giant saw him he said, "Why have you followed me; and what business have you here? Are you not my servant; and why have you come without being bidden by me?"

"I thought," replied Conan, "that you were about to put the Fena to death; and I came to look at them once more before they died."

Then suddenly Dryantore bethought him of the drinking-horn, and he said, "Where is the golden drinking-horn I gave you?"

"I left it," said Conan, "just where I found it in the palace."

The giant ran hastily towards the palace to secure the drinking-horn; and no sooner was he out of sight than Conan, drawing forth the horn, put it to the lips of each to drink, beginning with Finn. Only Finn and Oscar had drunk, when they heard the heavy steps of the giant running towards the dungeon; and now they saw that he was indeed inflamed with fury. Oscar seized his great, polished spear, and sprang to the door; and the others raised a mighty shout of joy; while Conan went on releasing the heroes one by one.

When Dryantore saw Oscar, he uttered a roar of rage and disappointment; and then called aloud to Ailna to come to him. And she came forth; and when she saw how matters stood, she was seized with such grief and terror that she dropped down and died immediately. Glanlua was standing near at hand, rejoicing at the release of her husband and friends; but when she saw Ailna fall to the ground dead, she became sad, and, stooping down, wept over her.

All this Oscar saw from where he stood; and it was with much ado he checked his tears. For though my son was the bravest of the heroes, and the most terrible in battle, he had a gentle heart, and never saw a woman or a child in distress without being moved to pity.

But Conan felt not the least pity. On the contrary, he was very glad to see Ailna dead; and he told Oscar that it was very well she was out of the way, for that she was a vicious woman, and had wrought the Fena much trouble and woe.

And now Oscar, casting his eyes again on Dryantore, hardened his heart for battle, and addressed the giant in these words--

"It has at last come to pass, O Dryantore, that you are in the power of the Fena; and there is no escape for you, though you are a large and strong giant, and a druid with powerful magical spells. But the Fena never yet treated an enemy ungenerously. You indeed dealt unfairly and treacherously with us; and meant to kill us all, after having taken away our strength and valour by your black, guileful magic. But even so, we give you your choice; and we challenge you now to single combat with any of our champions you may wish to choose."

To which Dryantore replied, "It is very true that the Fena have prevailed over me; and it is a just punishment for my folly in releasing Conan the Bald from my spells. I desire single combat. I will fight the Fena one after another, till I either fall myself or slay them all; and I will begin with you!"

Oscar then took his shield and made ready for battle. Meantime the giant, harbouring great wrath against Conan, approached him unawares; and when he had come near enough, he sprang suddenly on him, and aimed a blow with all his might at his head. But Conan, springing aside, barely escaped the edge of the sword; and, running in great fear, called to Oscar with great outcry to save him from the giant.

Then Oscar ran between; and he and the giant fought a long and fierce fight, while we looked on with anxious hearts. The giant was furious and strong; but my son was active and watchful and fearless of heart; and Dryantore at length fell at the door of his own palace, pierced through and through by the long, smooth spear of Oscar.

When the Fena saw the giant fall, they raised three mighty shouts of joy. And Glanlua brought the magic drinking-horn to Oscar, from which he drank, so that his wounds were healed, and his strength straightway returned to him.

The Fena then went into the palace, where they found food in great plenty, with wine and mead in golden bowls and drinking-horns. And they ate and drank and made merry; after which they rested that night on soft beds and couches.

When they awoke in the morning, all was changed. The palace and the lake were gone; and the heroes found themselves lying on the heathy side of Slieve Fuad, at the selfsame spot where they had first started the deer; with the morning sun shining brightly over their heads.

FOOTNOTES:

[CXLIV.] This story is told by Oisin to St. Patrick. (See the prefatory note to the next story, "Oisin in Tirnanoge," page 385.)

[CXLV.] Slieve Fuad was the ancient name of the highest of the Fews mountains, near Newtown Hamilton, in Armagh; but the name is now lost.

[CXLVI.] Now probably the village of Carrigans, on the river Foyle, five miles south-west of Londonderry.

[CXLVII.] Dord-Fian, a sort of musical war-cry. (See note, page 195.)

[CXLVIII.] Knockanare (the hill of slaughter), where a great battle was fought between the Fena under Finn, and the foreigners under Mergah of the Sharp Spears, in which Mergah was defeated and slain. This battle forms the subject of a poetical romance. It may be as well to observe that this hill is _not_ Knockanare in Kerry, near the mouth of the Shannon, as some say.

OISIN IN TIRNANOGE;[CXLIX.]

OR,

THE LAST OF THE FENA.

[According to an ancient legend, Finn's son, Oisin, the hero-poet, survived to the time of St. Patrick, two hundred years (the legend makes it three hundred) after the other Fena. On a certain occasion, when the saint asked him how he had lived to such a great age, the old hero related the following story.]

A short time after the fatal battle of Gavra,[CL.] where so many of our heroes fell, we were hunting on a dewy morning near the brink of Lough Lein,[CLI.] where the trees and hedges around us were all fragrant with blossoms, and the little birds sang melodious music on the branches. We soon roused the deer from the thickets, and as they bounded over the plain, our hounds followed after them in full cry.

We were not long so engaged, when we saw a rider coming swiftly towards us from the west; and we soon perceived that it was a maiden on a white steed. We all ceased from the chase on seeing the lady, who reined in as she approached. And Finn and the Fena were greatly surprised, for they had never before seen so lovely a maiden. A slender golden diadem encircled her head; and she wore a brown robe of silk, spangled with stars of red gold, which was fastened in front by a golden brooch, and fell from her shoulders till it swept the ground. Her yellow hair flowed far down over her robe in bright, golden ringlets. Her blue eyes were as clear as the drops of dew on the grass; and while her small, white hand held the bridle and curbed her steed with a golden bit, she sat more gracefully than the swan on Lough Lein. The white steed was covered with a smooth, flowing mantle. He was shod with four shoes of pure yellow gold, and in all Erin a better or more beautiful steed could not be found.

As she came slowly to the presence of Finn, he addressed her courteously in these words--

"Who art thou, O lovely youthful princess? Tell us thy name and the name of thy country, and relate to us the cause of thy coming."

She answered in a sweet and gentle voice, "Noble king of the Fena, I have had a long journey this day, for my country lies far off in the Western Sea. I am the daughter of the king of Tirnanoge, and my name is Niam of the Golden Hair."

"And what is it that has caused thee to come so far across the sea? Has thy husband forsaken thee; or what other evil has befallen thee?"

"My husband has not forsaken me, for I have never been married or betrothed to any man. But I love thy noble son, Oisin; and this is what has brought me to Erin. It is not without reason that I have given him my love, and that I have undertaken this long journey: for I have often heard of his bravery, his gentleness, and the nobleness of his person. Many princes and high chiefs have sought me in marriage; but I was quite indifferent to all men, and never consented to wed, till my heart was moved with love for thy gentle son, Oisin."

When I heard these words, and when I looked on the lovely maiden with her glossy, golden hair, I was all over in love with her. I came near, and, taking her small hand in mine, I told her she was a mild star of brightness and beauty, and that I preferred her to all the princesses in the world for my wife.

"Then," said she, "I place you under gesa,[12] which true heroes never break through, to come with me on my white steed to Tirnanoge, the land of never-ending youth. It is the most delightful and the most renowned country under the sun. There is abundance of gold and silver and jewels, of honey and wine; and the trees bear fruit and blossoms and green leaves together all the year round. You will get a hundred swords and a hundred robes of silk and satin, a hundred swift steeds, and a hundred slender, keen-scenting hounds. You will get herds of cows without number, and flocks of sheep with fleeces of gold; a coat of mail that cannot be pierced, and a sword that never missed a stroke and from which no one ever escaped alive. There are feasting and harmless pastimes each day. A hundred warriors fully armed shall always await you at call, and harpers shall delight you with their sweet music. You will wear the diadem of the king of Tirnanoge, which he never yet gave to any one under the sun, and which will guard you day and night, in tumult and battle and danger of every kind. Lapse of time shall bring neither decay nor death, and you shall be for ever young, and gifted with unfading beauty and strength. All these delights you shall enjoy, and many others that I do not mention; and I myself will be your wife if you come with me to Tirnanoge."

I replied that she was my choice above all the maidens in the world, and that I would willingly go with her to the Land of Youth.

When my father, Finn, and the Fena heard me say this, and knew that I was going from them, they raised three shouts of grief and lamentation. And Finn came up to me and took my hand in his, saying sadly--

"Woe is me, my son, that you are going away from me, for I do not expect that you will ever return to me!"

The manly beauty of his countenance became quite dimmed with sorrow; and though I promised to return after a little time, and fully believed that I should see him again, I could not check my tears, as I gently kissed my father's cheek.

I then bade farewell to my dear companions, and mounted the white steed, while the lady kept her seat before me. She gave the signal, and the steed galloped swiftly and smoothly towards the west, till he reached the strand; and when his gold-shod hoofs touched the waves, he shook himself and neighed three times. He made no delay, but plunged forward at once, moving over the face of the sea with the speed of a cloud-shadow on a March day. The wind overtook the waves and we overtook the wind, so that we straightway lost sight of land; and we saw nothing but billows tumbling before us and billows tumbling behind us.

Other shores came into view, and we saw many wonderful things on our journey--islands and cities, lime-white mansions, bright greenans[CLII.] and lofty palaces. A hornless fawn once crossed our course, bounding nimbly along from the crest of one wave to the crest of another; and close after, in full chase, a white hound with red ears. We saw also a lovely young maiden on a brown steed, with a golden apple in her hand; and as she passed swiftly by, a young warrior on a white steed plunged after her, wearing a long, flowing mantle of yellow silk, and holding a gold-hilted sword in his hand.

I knew naught of these things, and, marvelling much, I asked the princess what they meant; but she answered--

"Heed not what you see here, Oisin; for all these wonders are as nothing compared with what you shall see in Tirnanoge."

At last we saw at a great distance, rising over the waves on the very verge of the sea, a palace more splendid than all the others; and, as we drew near, its front glittered like the morning sun. I asked the lady what royal house this was, and who was the prince that ruled over it.

"This country is the Land of Virtues," she replied. "Its king is the giant, Fomor of the Blows, and its queen the daughter of the king of the Land of Life.[19] This Fomor brought the lady away by force from her own country, and keeps her in his palace; but she has put him under gesa[12] that he cannot break through, never to ask her to marry him till she can find a champion to fight him in single combat. But she still remains in bondage; for no hero has yet come hither who has the courage to meet the giant."

"A blessing on you, golden-haired Niam," I replied; "I have never heard music sweeter than your voice; and although I feel pity for this princess, yet your story is pleasant to me to hear; for of a certainty I will go to the palace, and try whether I cannot kill this Fomor, and free the lady."

So we came to land; and as we drew nigh to the palace, the lovely young queen met us and bade us welcome. She led us in and placed us on chairs of gold; after which choice food was placed before us, and drinking-horns filled with mead, and golden goblets of sweet wine.

When we had eaten and drunk, the mild young princess told us her story, while tears streamed from her soft, blue eyes; and she ended by saying--

"I shall never return to my own country and to my father's house, so long as this great and cruel giant is alive!"

When I heard her sad words, and saw her tears falling, I was moved with pity; and telling her to cease from her grief, I gave her my hand as a pledge that I would meet the giant, and either slay him or fall myself in her defence.

While we were yet speaking, we saw the giant coming towards the palace, large of body, and ugly and hateful in appearance, carrying a load of deerskins on his back, and holding a great iron club in his hand. He threw down his load when he saw us, turned a surly look on the princess, and, without greeting us or showing the least mark of courtesy, he forthwith challenged me to battle in a loud, rough voice.

It was not my wont to be dismayed by a call to battle, or to be terrified at the sight of an enemy; and I went forth at once without the least fear in my heart. But though I had fought many battles in Erin against wild boars and enchanters and foreign invaders, never before did I find it so hard to preserve my life. We fought for three days and three nights without food or drink or sleep; for the giant did not give me a moment for rest, and neither did I give him. At length, when I looked at the two princesses weeping in great fear, and when I called to mind my father's deeds in battle, the fury of my valour arose; and with a sudden onset I felled the giant to the earth; and instantly, before he could recover himself, I cut off his head.

When the maidens saw the monster lying on the ground dead, they uttered three cries of joy; and they came to me, and led me into the palace. For I was indeed bruised all over, and covered with gory wounds; and a sudden dizziness of brain and feebleness of body seized me. But the daughter of the king of the Land of Life applied precious balsam and healing herbs to my wounds; and in a short time I was healed, and my cheerfulness of mind returned.

Then I buried the giant in a deep and wide grave; and I raised a great carn over him, and placed on it a stone with his name graved in Ogam.

We rested that night, and at the dawn of next morning Niam said to me that it was time for us to resume our journey to Tirnanoge. So we took leave of the daughter of the king of the Land of Life; and though her heart was joyful after her release, she wept at our departure, and we were not less sorry at parting from her. When we had mounted the white steed, he galloped towards the strand; and as soon as his hoofs touched the wave, he shook himself and neighed three times. We plunged forward over the clear, green sea with the speed of a March wind on a hill-side; and soon we saw nothing but billows tumbling before us and billows tumbling behind us. We saw again the fawn chased by the white hound with red ears; and the maiden with the golden apple passed swiftly by, followed by the young warrior in yellow silk on his white steed. And again we passed many strange islands and cities and white palaces.

The sky now darkened, so that the sun was hidden from our view. A storm arose, and the sea was lighted up with constant flashes. But though the wind blew from every point of the heavens, and the waves rose up and roared around us, the white steed kept his course straight on, moving as calmly and swiftly as before, through the foam and blinding spray, without being delayed or disturbed in the least, and without turning either to the right or to the left.

At length the storm abated, and after a time the sun again shone brightly; and when I looked up, I saw a country near at hand, all green and full of flowers, with beautiful smooth plains, blue hills, and bright lakes and waterfalls. Not far from the shore stood a palace of surpassing beauty and splendour. It was covered all over with gold and with gems of every colour--blue, green, crimson, and yellow; and on each side were greenans shining with precious stones, built by artists the most skilful that could be found. I asked Niam the name of that delightful country, and she replied--

"This is my native country, Tirnanoge; and there is nothing I have promised you that you will not find in it."

As soon as we reached the shore, we dismounted; and now we saw advancing from the palace a troop of noble-looking warriors, all clad in bright garments, who came forward to meet and welcome us. Following these we saw a stately glittering host, with the king at their head wearing a robe of bright yellow satin covered with gems, and a crown that sparkled with gold and diamonds. The queen came after, attended by a hundred lovely young maidens; and as they advanced towards us, it seemed to me that this king and queen exceeded all the kings and queens of the world in beauty and gracefulness and majesty.

After they had kissed their daughter, the king took my hand, and said aloud in the hearing of the host--

"This is Oisin, the son of Finn, for whom my daughter, Niam, travelled over the sea to Erin. This is Oisin, who is to be the husband of Niam of the Golden Hair. We give you a hundred thousand welcomes, brave Oisin. You will be for ever young in this land. All kinds of delights and innocent pleasures are awaiting you, and my daughter, the gentle, golden-haired Niam, shall be your wife; for I am the king of Tirnanoge."

I gave thanks to the king, and I bowed low to the queen; after which we went into the palace, where we found a banquet prepared. The feasting and rejoicing lasted for ten days, and on the last day, I was wedded to the gentle Niam of the Golden Hair.

I lived in the Land of Youth more than three hundred years; but it appeared to me that only three years had passed since the day I parted from my friends. At the end of that time, I began to have a longing desire to see my father, Finn, and all my old companions, and I asked leave of Niam and of the king to visit Erin. The king gave permission, and Niam said--

"I will give consent, though I feel sorrow in my heart, for I fear much you will never return to me."

I replied that I would surely return, and that she need not feel any doubt or dread, for that the white steed knew the way, and would bring me back in safety. Then she addressed me in these words, which seemed very strange to me--

"I will not refuse this request, though your journey afflicts me with great grief and fear. Erin is not now as it was when you left it. The great king Finn and his Fena are all gone; and you will find, instead of them, a holy father and hosts of priests and saints. Now, think well on what I say to you, and keep my words in your mind. If once you alight from the white steed, you will never come back to me. Again I warn you, if you place your feet on the green sod in Erin, you will never return to this lovely land. A third time, O Oisin, my beloved husband, a third time I say to you, if you alight from the white steed, you will never see me again."

I promised that I would faithfully attend to her words, and that I would not alight from the white steed. Then, as I looked into her gentle face and marked her grief, my heart was weighed down with sadness, and my tears flowed plentifully; but even so, my mind was bent on coming back to Erin.

When I had mounted the white steed, he galloped straight towards the shore. We moved as swiftly as before over the clear sea. The wind overtook the waves and we overtook the wind, so that we straightway left the Land of Youth behind; and we passed by many islands and cities, till at length we landed on the green shores of Erin.

As I travelled on through the country, I looked closely around me; but I scarcely knew the old places, for everything seemed strangely altered. I saw no sign of Finn and his host, and I began to dread that Niam's saying was coming true. At length, I espied at a distance a company of little men and women,[CLIII.] all mounted on horses as small as themselves; and when I came near, they greeted me kindly and courteously. They looked at me with wonder and curiosity, and they marvelled much at my great size, and at the beauty and majesty of my person.

I asked them about Finn and the Fena; whether they were still living, or if any sudden disaster had swept them away. And one replied--

"We have heard of the hero Finn, who ruled the Fena of Erin in times of old, and who never had an equal for bravery and wisdom. The poets of the Gaels have written many books concerning his deeds and the deeds of the Fena, which we cannot now relate; but they are all gone long since, for they lived many ages ago. We have heard also, and we have seen it written in very old books, that Finn had a son named Oisin. Now this Oisin went with a young fairy maiden to Tirnanoge, and his father and his friends sorrowed greatly after him, and sought him long; but he was never seen again."

When I heard all this, I was filled with amazement, and my heart grew heavy with great sorrow. I silently turned my steed away from the wondering people, and set forward straightway for Allen of the mighty deeds, on the broad, green plains of Leinster. It was a miserable journey to me; and though my mind, being full of sadness at all I saw and heard, forecasted further sorrows, I was grieved more than ever when I reached Allen. For there, indeed, I found the hill deserted and lonely, and my father's palace all in ruins and overgrown with grass and weeds.

I turned slowly away, and afterwards fared through the land in every direction in search of my friends. But I met only crowds of little people, all strangers, who gazed on me with wonder; and none knew me. I visited every place throughout the country where I knew the Fena had lived; but I found their houses all like Allen, solitary and in ruins.

At length I came to Glenasmole,[CLIV.] where many a time I had hunted in days of old with the Fena, and there I saw a crowd of people in the glen. As soon as they saw me, one of them came forward and said--

"Come to us, thou mighty hero, and help us out of our strait; for thou art a man of vast strength."

I went to them, and found a number of men trying in vain to raise a large, flat stone. It was half lifted from the ground; but those who were under it were not strong enough either to raise it further or to free themselves from its weight. And they were in great distress, and on the point of being crushed to death.

I thought it a shameful thing that so many men should be unable to lift this stone, which Oscar, if he were alive, would take in his right hand and fling over the heads of the feeble crowd. After I had looked a little while, I stooped forward and seized the flag with one hand; and, putting forth my strength, I flung it seven perches from its place, and relieved the little men. But with the great strain the golden saddle-girth broke, and, bounding forward to keep myself from falling, I suddenly came to the ground on my two feet.

The moment the white steed felt himself free, he shook himself and neighed. Then, starting off with the speed of a cloud-shadow on a March day, he left me standing helpless and sorrowful. Instantly a woeful change came over me: the sight of my eyes began to fade, the ruddy beauty of my face fled, I lost all my strength, and I fell to the earth, a poor, withered old man, blind and wrinkled and feeble.

The white steed was never seen again. I never recovered my sight, my youth, or my strength; and I have lived in this manner, sorrowing without ceasing for my gentle, golden-haired wife, Niam, and thinking ever of my father, Finn, and of the lost companions of my youth.

FOOTNOTES:

[CXLIX.] Tirnanoge, the Land of Youth. (See note 19 at the end.)

[CL.] Gavra, now Garristown, in the north-west of the county Dublin. (For an account of this battle, see note 28 at the end.)

[CLI.] Lough Lein, the Lakes of Killarney.

[CLII.] Greenan, a summer-house; a house in a bright, sunny spot.

[CLIII.] The gigantic race of the Fena had all passed away, and Erin was now inhabited by people who looked very small in Oisin's eyes.

[CLIV.] Glenasmole, a fine valley about seven miles south of Dublin, through which the river Dodder flows.

THE

VOYAGE OF THE SONS OF O'CORRA.[CLV.]

A princely upright hundred-herd brugaid[CLVI.] was born one time in the lovely province of Connaught, namely, Conall Derg O'Corra the fair-haired. And thus was this brugaid (circumstanced):--he was a fortunate, rich, prosperous man; and his house was never found without three shouts in it--the shout of the brewers brewing ale, and the shout of the servants over the caldrons distributing (meat) to the hosts, and the shout of the youths over the chessboards[CLVII.] winning games from one another.

The same house was never without three measures:--a measure of malt for making yeast, a measure of wheat for providing bread for the guests, and a measure of salt for savouring each kind of food.

His wife was Cairderga[CLVIII.] the daughter of the Erenach[CLIX.] of Clogher.[CLX.] They felt no want of any kind except being without children; and it was not that they were without children (being born to them), but that the infants always died the moment after birth.

Then this brugaid said (one day) to his wife as she reclined near him on the couch:--"It is a sad thing for us," said he, "that we have no children who would take our place and fill it worthily when we are gone."

"What desire is in your mind in regard to that?" says the wife.

"It is my desire," says the brugaid, "to make a bond with the demon to try if he would give us a son or a daughter who would take our place after us (since God has not done so)."

"Let us do that," said the woman.

They accordingly fasted (and prayed) to the demon; (and the demon hearkened unto them. And in due time) the pains and struggles, of childbirth came upon the lady; and she bore three sons at that great birth, namely, a son at the beginning of the night, and a son at the middle of the night, and a son at the end of the night.

And they were baptised according to the baptism of the pagans (by which they were dedicated not to God but to the demon); and their names were Lochan, Enna, and Silvester. And after that, they were reared and carefully trained up till they were swift and active on sea and land; so that they were an overmatch for all the young people of their own age in every game and in every accomplishment. And they were in the mouths and on the tongues of all who saw or heard of them in their day.

One day when they were resting at the railings of the house of their father and mother, wearied after their hurling and their martial games, the housefolk said that they saw no fault or defect in these handsome much-renowned youths, except only their being baptised in the service of the devil. (And the youths hearing this said):--"If it be so," said they, "that the devil is our lord and master, it is very wrong of us not to bring ruin and wrath and woe on his enemies, that is to say, (we ought) to slaughter the clergy, and burn and spoil their churches."

Then did these three youths arise, (and collecting a band), and taking unto them their arms, they came to Tuam-da-Gualann,[CLXI.] and spoiled and burned the town. And (after that) they plundered and made dreadful havoc on the churches and clergy throughout the province of Connaught, until their wicked and bloodthirsty ravages were noised over the four quarters of Erin. Thus did they run their evil course without ceasing for a whole year, during which time they destroyed more than half the churches of Connaught.

At the end of the year Lochan said to his brothers: "We have made one great mistake through forgetfulness," says he, "and our lord the devil will not be thankful to us on account of it." "What is that?" said the other two youths. "Our grandfather," says he, "that is our mother's father--not to have killed him and burned his church."

So they set out straightway, journeying without sparing or respite (to Clogher), and this was how they found the erenach, namely, on the green of the church with a great company of his folk around him, (waiting for the O'Corras), in order to attend on them and to deal out to them the choice of every food and the best of every ale. And the intention that the elder had towards them, that indeed was not the intention they had towards him, but to murder him and to burn and spoil his church.

Then the O'Corras came to the spot where the elder was standing, and they made up their minds not to kill him or burn the houses till night, when the cows and the (other) cattle of the homestead would be housed, all in their own proper places.

The elder welcomed them and led them to the homestead; and he now became aware of their intention. Nevertheless he put them in a goodly pleasant _Greenan_,[CLXII.] and they were served with food and ale till they became exhilarated and cheerful: after which couches were made ready for them on lofty bedsteads.

And now deep slumber and heavy sleep fell on them, and a wonderful vision was revealed in a dream to Lochan, the eldest of the sons of O'Corra, in which he was carried to see heaven and hell. And after this he awoke. The other two awoke at the same time, and they said:--"Let us now arise, for it is time to plunder and destroy the homestead."

"Seems to me," said Lochan, "that this is not the right thing for us to do: for evil is the lord we have served until now, and good is the Lord we have plundered and outraged.

"And last night I had," said he, "a fearful dream, in which I saw a vision of heaven and hell. And first I was taken to see hell, where were countless souls of men and vast crowds of demons suffering divers tortures, and plagues unexampled. And I saw the four rivers of hell, that is to say, a river of toads, a river of serpents, a river of fire, and a river of snow. I saw also a monstrous serpent with many heads and legs, at sight whereof, even though it were only a single glance, all the men in the world would drop dead with loathing and horror.

"After this methought I was taken to see heaven; where I beheld the Lord Himself seated on His kingly throne, and angels in the shapes of white birds singing for Him. And among them was one great snow-white bird of dazzling brightness that excelled all the others in size and beauty and voice, chanting strains of surpassing sweetness. Women in travail and men sore wounded and sick people racked with pain would fall asleep if they heard the delightful harmony of his voice. And it was made known to me that this great bird who chanted such heavenly music to his mild Lord was Michael the Archangel.

"And now my brothers," said Lochan, "it is my counsel to you that you follow God henceforward."

"But," said the others, "will the Lord accept repentance from us for the dreadful evils we have already done?"

They go to the father of their mother, namely, the erenach, and they ask this thing of him. "He will accept your repentance without doubt," says the erenach.

"Well then," said Lochan, "let Mass be celebrated for us, and put us under instruction, and let us offer our confession to God. After that we will make staffs of the handles of our spears; and we will go to Finnen of Clonard,[CLXIII.] the tutor of the saints and of the just men of all Erin. He is a very holy man, and he will advise us in regard to what we ought to do."

To this counsel they agreed; and on the morrow they set out for the place where Finnen was; whom they found on the green of Clonard with a number of his clerics.

"Who are these coming towards us?" said the clerics. And one said, "They are the O'Corras the robbers." Hearing this they fled, like lightning, in a body from their master, for they felt quite sure that the O'Corras were coming to slay them; so that Finnen was left quite alone before the three brothers.

"It is from us the clerics are fleeing:" says Lochan.

"Of a certainty it is," said his brothers. "Let us," said Lochan, "cast from us our staffs, the only little remnant of our arms left with us; and let us throw ourselves on our knees before the cleric."

And this they did. "What is your desire?" says the cleric (Finnen). "Our desire," said they, "is faith and piety, and to serve God, and to abandon the lord whom we have hitherto served, namely, the devil."

"That is a good resolution," says the cleric; "and let us go now to the homestead yonder, the place where live our brotherhood."

They go accordingly with him to the brotherhood; and after the matter had been considered, it was arranged to set apart a young cleric to teach them; and it was decreed that they should not speak to any one except their own master till the end of a year.

So they continued for a whole year till they had read the Canons through, and by the time they had come to be able to read them, the whole brotherhood felt grateful (to God) for their piety and their gentleness.

At the end of the year they came to Finnen; and they knelt before him, and said to him:--"It is time now that we should be judged and sentence passed on us for the great crimes we have committed.

"What," said Finnen, "do ye not think it enough--the penance you have done already for a whole year among the brotherhood?" "It is not enough," said they. "What then are the greatest crimes ye have committed?" says Finnen. "We have burned more than half the churches of Connaught; and neither priest nor bishop got quarter or protection from us."

"You cannot" replied Finnen, "give back life to the people you have killed; but do ye that which will be in your power, namely, to build up the churches ye have burned, and to repair every other damage ye have committed in them. And I will give to each man of you," says he, "the swiftness and strength of a hundred; and I will take from you all weariness of feet, of hands, and of body; and I will give you light and understanding which will have neither decay nor end."

So the O'Corras departed, and went first to Tuam-da-Gualann; and after that, they fared through the province, obedient to rule and working hard each day, until it came to pass that they had restored everything they had previously destroyed.

After that they came at the end of the year to speak with Finnen. "Have you been able," asks Finnen, "to repair everything ye destroyed belonging to the Church?" "We have," said they, "except one place alone, namely Kenn-Mara."[CLXIV.] "Alas for that," says Finnen; "that is the very first place you should have repaired; for it is the homestead of the oldest of all the saints of Ireland, namely, the aged Camann of Kenn-Mara. And now go and carefully restore everything ye have destroyed in that homestead. And the sentence that holy man passes on you, fulfil it patiently."

So they went gladly to Kenn-Mara; and they repaired everything they had ruined there.

One day when they had come forth from the homestead, they sat on the margin of the little bay, watching the sun as it went westward. And as they gazed and reflected on the course of the sun, they began to marvel greatly, pondering whither it went after it had gone down beneath the verge of the sea. "What more wonderful thing is there in the whole world," said they, "than that the sea does not freeze into ice, while ice is formed in every other water!"

Thereupon they formed the resolution on the spot to bring unto them a certain artificer who was a fast friend of theirs, and to (get him) to make a three-hide curragh[CLXV.] for them. Accordingly the curragh was made, and a strong-sided one it was. And the reward the artificer asked for building it was to be let go with them.

When the time had come, and they were about to embark, they saw a large crowd passing close by; and this crowd was a company of _crossans_.[CLXVI.] When the _crossans_ saw the curragh putting forth on the sea, they inquired:--"Who are yonder people that are launching this curragh on the sea?" said they.

The _furshore_ (juggler) of the crossans said:--"I know them well; they are the sons of Conall derg O'Corra the fair-haired of Connaught, the destroyers and robbers, going on their pilgrimage on the sea and on the great ocean, to make search for their Lord." "And indeed," added the _furshore_, "my word for it, they do not stand more in need of seeking for heaven than we do."

"It is a long day I fancy till you go on your pilgrimage," said the leader of the band. "Say not so," answered the _furshore_: "for I will certainly go with these people on my pilgrimage now without delay."

"Upon our word," said the _crossans_, "you will not take away our clothes with you; for not a single article of the garments you wear belongs to you." "It is not so small a matter that would keep me with you," says he.

So they stripped off all his clothes, and sent him away mother naked to the curragh.

"Who and what in the world are you, good man?" asked the crew. "A poor wretch who wishes to go with you on pilgrimage," said he. "Indeed," said they, "you shall not by any means come with us, seeing that you are stark naked." "Say not so, young men," said he, "for the sake of God do not refuse me; for I will amuse you and keep your hearts cheerful (with my music and singing); and your piety will not be a whit the worse for it."

And (inasmuch as he had asked) for the sake of God they consented to let him go.

Now this is how it was with the crew:--each man of them had built a church and raised an altar to the Lord in his own district. Their number was nine; among whom was a bishop, and a priest, and a deacon; and they had one _gilla_ (attendant) who was the ninth man.

"Let us go aboard our curragh now," says Lochan, "as we have finished our task of restoring the churches, and as we have, besides, each of us built a church to the Lord in our own district."

It was then they put up their prayers fervently to God in the hope that they might have fine weather; and that the Lord would quell the fury of the billows, and the might of the ocean, and the rage of the terrible sea monsters. So they embarked in their curragh, bringing their oars; and they began to question among themselves what direction they should take. "The direction in which this wind will bring us," says the bishop. And having commended themselves to God, one and all, they betook them to their oars. A great wind now arose, which drove them out on the waste of waters straight to the west; and they were forty days and forty nights on the ocean. And God revealed to them great and unheard of wonders.

They had not been long rowing when the _crossan_ died; and sad and sorrowful were they for his loss, and wept much. While they were still mourning, they saw a little bird alight on the deck of the curragh. And the little bird spoke and said to them:--"Good people, tell me now in God's name what is the cause of your sorrow."

"A _crossan_ that we had playing music for us; and he died a little while ago in this curragh; and that is the cause of our sorrow."

And the bird said:--"Lo, I am your little _crossan_: and now be not sorrowful any longer, for I am going straightway to heaven." So saying he bade them farewell and flew away.

I.

They row forward for a long time till there was shown to them a wonderful island, and in it a great grove of marvellous beauty, laden with apples, golden coloured and sweet scented. A sparkling rivulet of wine flowed through the midst of the grove; and when the wind blew through the trees, sweeter than any music was the rustling it made. The O'Corras ate some of the apples and drank from the rivulet of wine, and were immediately satisfied. And from that time forth they were never troubled by either wounds or sickness.

II.

Then they took to their oars; and after a time they came in view of another island, and four companies of people in it, such as had never been seen before. Now these people had divided the island into four parts: old greyheaded people were in the first division; princes in the second; warriors in the third; and servants in the fourth. They were all beautiful and glorious to behold; and they diverted themselves continually with games and pastimes. One of the crew went to them to ask news: (he was a comely, well-favoured youth, but) he seemed ugly and dark-visaged in presence of these glorious people. When he had got among them, he became in a moment beautiful like the others; and he joined in their games, and laughed, and made merry. Moreover he remembered nothing more of his companions; and he sojourned in the island after that for evermore. And the O'Corras were at length forced to depart, though much grieved for the loss of their companion.

III.

Then they set out and rowed for some time till they sighted another marvellous island. It stood up in the air high over the great sea; and it was propped up by a pillar like a single foot standing under it in the middle. And the crew heard great shouting and the loud conversation of people on the top of the island overhead; but though the O'Corras sailed round and round, they could not get a sight of them.

IV.

They row forward after that till they come to an island in which lived one lone cleric. Very lovely was that island, and glorious its history. Beautiful purple flowers covered all the plains, dropping honey in abundance; and on the trees were perched flocks of bright-coloured birds singing slow sweet fairy-music. The O'Corras went to ask the cleric about himself and about the island. And he spoke as follows:--

"I am a disciple of St. Andrew the Apostle, and Dega is my name. On a certain night I neglected to read my Matins; and it is for this that I was sent on a pilgrimage on the ocean; and here I am awaiting the Judgment day. And yonder birds that are singing those incomparable strains on the trees, these are the souls of holy men."

V.

They took leave of the old man and plied their oars, till they reached another island, with dead people on one side of it, and living people on the other side: and many of the living people had feet of iron. All round was a burning sea, which broke over the island continually in mighty waves. And the living people uttered fearful cries when the fiery waves flowed over them, for their torments thereby were great and terrible.

VI.

After leaving this they rowed on till they saw an island formed of great flat stones for ever burning red hot. And thereon they saw whole hosts of people burning in great torment; and many had red fiery spits thrust through their bodies. And they uttered great cries of pain without ceasing. The crew called out from a distance to ask who they were: whereupon one answered:--

"This is one of the flagstones of hell. We are souls who in life did not fulfil the penance imposed on us; and warn all men to avoid this place; for whosoever cometh hither shall never go hence till the Day of Judgment."

VII.

The next island they saw was very beautiful and glorious to look upon. It had a wall of copper all round it, with a network of copper hanging out from each corner; and in the centre stood a palace. The crew left their curragh on the strand and went towards the palace. And when they had come nigh unto the wall, the wind, as it rustled and murmured through the copper network, made music so soft and sweet that they fell into a gentle slumber, and slept for three days and three nights. When they awoke they saw a beautiful maiden coming towards them from the palace. She had sandals of _findrina_ (a sort of white metal) on her feet, and an inner garment of fine silk next her snow-white skin. She wore a beautiful gold-coloured vest, and over all a bright-tinted mantle, plaited fivefold on its upper border, and fastened at the neck with a brooch of burnished gold. In one hand she held a pitcher of copper, and in the other a silver goblet.

When she had come near she greeted them and bade them welcome. And she gave them food from the copper pitcher which seemed to them like cheese; and she brought them water in the silver goblet from a well on the strand. And there was no delicious flavour that was ever tasted by man that they did not find in this food and drink. Then the maiden said to them:--"Although we are all--you and I--of one race, yet shall ye go hence without delay, for your resurrection is not to be here."

So they bade her farewell and took to their oars once more.

VIII.

After rowing for some time they saw flocks of large birds of divers colours flying over the sea; and their number was great beyond counting. One of them alighted on the deck of the curragh.

"It would be a delightful thing," said one of the clerics, "if this bird were a messenger from the Lord, sent to give us news."

"That would be quite possible with God," said the eldest; and as he spoke he raised his eyes and looked at the bird. Whereupon the bird spoke and said:--

"It is indeed to converse with you that I have come; for I am of the land of Erin."

Now this bird was crimson red all over, except three beautiful streaks on her breast, which shone as bright as the sun. And after a time she said to the same cleric:--

"I am the soul of a woman; and I am your friend. And come ye now," says she, "to hear yonder birds; for these are the souls that are permitted to come out of hell every Sunday."

"It is better that we leave this place at once," said the same old cleric. And his companions said to him:--

"We will go with thee whithersoever thou goest." So they departed from that place; (and the crimson red bird went with them).

IX.

And as they went, they saw three wonderful streams, namely, a stream of otters, a stream of eels, and a stream of black swans. Great flocks of birds arose from these three streams and flew past the voyagers; and the black swans followed close after, tearing and tormenting the birds. And the crimson red bird said:--

"Marvel not, neither be ye sad of heart; for these bird-shapes that ye see are the souls of people suffering the punishment of their crimes. And the black swans that follow them, these are devils who are for ever tormenting them; and the birds scream fearfully, and are for ever trying to fly from the demons and to free themselves from their torment.

"And now as to me," continued the bird, "I am about to depart from you. It is not permitted me to make known to you what is to befall you; but in a little time another will tell you all that you need to know."

And the cleric said:--"Tell us, I beseech thee, what are those three beautiful streaks on thy breast."

"I will tell you that," answered the bird. "When I was in the world I was married; but I did not yield obedience to my husband, neither did I fulfil my lawful homely duties as a wife. And when a grievous sickness came upon him I left him to die. But thrice I went in pity to him:--once to see him and ask after his illness; once to bring him such food as befitted his state; and the third time when he was dead, to watch by the body and see it buried. These three good deeds are the three beautiful streaks that you see on my breast; and I should have been bright all over like these streaks if I had not violated my lawful marriage duties."

And having so spoken, the bird bade them farewell and flew away.

X.

They next discovered a very beautiful island. The grass was bright green, and it was all over intermingled with pretty purple-coloured flowers. Flocks of lovely little birds of many bright colours, and myriads of bees, flew among the trees and flowers, humming and singing harmonious music. The voyagers saw a venerable grey-headed old man with a harp in his hand. He played this harp on the island continually; and the music thereof was sweeter than any music they had ever heard. They saluted the old man, who saluted them in return, with a blessing. But immediately he bade them to depart.

XI.

So they rowed away till they came to another island, on which they saw a man digging in a field; and his spade was all fiery, and the handle thereof, which he held in his hand, was red hot. From the sea at one side arose at times a mighty wave all flaming red with fire, which flowed quite over the island and over the man. And ever when he saw the wave coming he cried out with fear; and when the burning torrent covered him, he strove to raise his head above the flames, and roared with his great torment. Now when one of the waves had retired they spoke to him and asked:--

"Who art thou, O wretched man?"

And he answered:--"Lo, this is my punishment for my misdeeds. For when I lived on earth I always worked on Sundays, digging in my garden; for which I am condemned to dig with this fiery spade, and to suffer the torments of these fiery waves. And now, for the sake of God, offer up your prayers for me, that my pains may be lightened."

And they prayed fervently; after which they departed from the island.

XII.

Soon after leaving this they saw a horseman of vast size riding on the sea; and the horse he rode was made of fire flaming red. And as he rode, great waves of fire came after him along the sea; and when a wave began to roll over him, he yelled aloud with fear and pain. Then they asked him why he was thus tormented; and he answered:--

"I am he who stole my brother's horse; and after I had gotten him I rode him every Sunday. For this I am now undergoing my punishment, riding on this horse of fire, and tormented with these great waves of fire."

XIII.

After leaving this they came in sight of another island, full of people, all weeping and lamenting grievously. Great numbers of jet-black birds with beaks of fire and red-hot fiery talons followed and fluttered round about them, tearing and burning them with their talons, and rending away pieces of flesh, the full of their fiery beaks. Then the crew said aloud:--

"Who are ye, O miserable people?"

"We are dishonest smiths and artisans; and because we cheated while we lived, we are punished by these hateful fiery birds. Moreover, our tongues are burning, being all afire in our heads; for that we reviled people with bitter words and foul taunts."

XIV.

Coming now to another place, they saw a giant huge in size, and of a sooty black colour all over. His mouth was all on fire; and from his throat he belched forth great flakes of fire, each flake as it came from his mouth larger than the skin of a three-year-old wether. He held in his hand an iron club larger than the shaft of a mill wheel; and on his back he bore an immense faggot of firewood, a good load for a team of horses. Now this faggot often blazed up and burned him; and he tried to free himself from his torment by lying down so that the sea might flow over him. But ever as he did so, the sea around him turned to fire, and rose up in mighty burning billows, covering him all over, so that he made the place resound with his bellowings.

"Miserable wretch, who art thou?" asked the crew.

And he answered:--"I will tell you truly. When I lived I used to cut faggots and bring them home on my back every Sunday: and lo, here is my punishment."

XV.

They came after that to a sea of fire full of men's heads, all black, and continually fighting with each other. And many great serpents rose up among the heads and came with fury to attack the curragh, so that at one time they pierced through the outer hide. And one of the crew who looked on cried out in great horror, and said:--

"It is enough to strike one dead to behold the fearful things I see!"

And the whole crew when they saw the heads and the serpents fell flat with fear. But the elder (the bishop) comforted them, saying:--

"Be ye not afraid or troubled on account of these things; for God is able to protect us, even though we were in a curragh of only one hide; and if He wishes to save us, these monsters cannot hurt us, however furious they may be to slay us."

And they took courage after this, and rowed out into the open sea.

XVI.

There was shown to them next another beautiful island, having in one place an open wood. The trees were laden with fruit, and the leaves dropped honey to the ground. The sides of the hills were clothed with purple blossomed heather, mixed with soft, green grass to its very centre. In the midst of the island was a pretty lake, whose waters tasted like sweet wine. They rested for a week on the shore of this lake, and cast off their weariness. And now, being about to leave the island, as they turned to go to the curragh, a monstrous reptile[CLXVII.] rose up from the lake and looked at them. And they trembled with fear at the sight of this terrible beast; for each man thought that he himself would be the first to be attacked. But after a little time the reptile dived again into the water, and they saw no more of him.

XVII.

From this they rowed away; and after a long time they came at midnight to an island wherein was a community of Ailbe of Emly.[CLXVIII.] On the beach they found two spring wells; one foul, the other bright and clear. The gilla wished to drink of the clear well; but the elder (the bishop) told him it was better to ask leave, if there was anyone living on the island.

Then they saw a great light; and coming closer, they found the twelve men of the community at their prayers; and now they perceived that the bright light they saw came from the radiant faces of the twelve; so that these holy men needed no other light. One of them, an old man, comes towards the voyagers; and he bids them welcome and asks news of them. They tell him all their adventures, and ask his leave to drink from the well; whereupon he said to them:--"Ye may fill your pitchers from the clear well, if your elder (_i.e._ the bishop) gives you leave."

"Who are ye?" asks the gilla.

"A community of Ailbe of Emly," says he: "and we are the crew of one of Ailbe's curraghs. God has permitted that we live here till the Day of Judgment, praying for everyone who is drowned at sea. And now leave this land before morning," he added, "for your resurrection is not to be here. And if ye have not left by the dawn, so much the worse for yourselves; for if once ye get a view of this island in the light of day, bitter will be your anguish of mind for leaving it (on account of its surpassing loveliness). So it is better for you to go away during the night."

And they did exactly all he told them to do.

"Shall we take away some of the pebbles of the strand?" said they (talking among themselves).

"It is better to ask leave," answered the cleric. So the gilla asked leave of the same old man.

"Yes, if you have the permission (of your bishop)," answered he. "Nevertheless," he added, "those who take them will be sorry; and those who do not take them will be sorry also."

They pick up pebbles, some bringing away one, some two, some three. (After which they row away in the dark night from the island.) In the morning they drank some of the spring water of the island from their pitchers; which threw them into a deep sleep from that time till next day. On wakening up, they examined their pebbles in the light; and some were found to be crystal, some silver, and some gold. Then those who brought some away were in sorrow that they had not brought more; and much greater was the sorrow of those who had brought away none. So the words of the old man came true.

XVIII.

After leaving this they came to a lovely island on which was a church standing all alone: and when they drew nigh they heard the voice of a cleric singing the psalms with a sweet voice. They came to the door and struck it with the hand-wood; and straightway a beautiful bright-coloured bird came to speak with them. When they had told him who they were and what they wanted, he flew back to the cleric, who bade him have the door opened for the pilgrims. And when they had come in, they found the cleric--a very old man with white hair--who sang his hymns continually. And they saluted each other; and the pilgrims stayed there that night. And an angel came and brought them supper, and ministered unto them. On the morrow the old priest bade them depart, since that was not to be the place of their resurrection on the Judgment Day. But before they went he foretold all that should happen to them during the rest of their voyage.

XIX.

From that they came to an island in which was a disciple of Christ. Glorious and beautiful was that island; and on it stood a church and a kingly shrine. As they came near they heard some one singing the Pater to God in the door of the church: whereupon one of the clerics said:--

"Welcome the prayer of our father and teacher, Jesus."

And the priest who stood praying at the door said:--

"Why say you so? Who are ye; and where have ye seen Him?"

And when they had told him that they were servants of Jesus, he spoke again:--

"I too am one of His disciples. And when I first took Him for my Lord I was faithful and steady; but after a time I left Him and came to sea in my curragh, and rowed till I came to this island. For a long time I lived on fruit and herbs; till at length an angel came from heaven to visit me. And he said to me:--

"'Thou hast not done well: nevertheless thou shalt abide on this island, eating the same food without either decay or death till the Judgment Day.' And so I have lived here to this hour: and no daily meal is sent to me, but I eat of the herbs and fruit that grow on the island."

Then they all went together into one house; and being very hungry, they prayed fervently for food. And presently an angel came down from heaven; and while they looked on he placed a supper for them on a flagstone hard by the strand, namely, a cake with a slice of fish for each. And while they ate, whatsoever taste each man separately wished for, that taste he found on the food. In the morning, when they were about to bid the cleric farewell, he foretold all that should happen to them, saying:--

"Ye shall go from me now on sea till ye reach the western point of Spain. And as ye near the land, ye shall meet a boat with a crew of men fishing, who will bring you with them to land."

Then turning to the bishop, he said:--"Immediately after leaving the curragh, as soon as thou hast reached the land, prostrate thyself three times to God. And the place on which thou shalt first set thy foot, there a great crowd shall gather round thee from every quarter. And they will treat thee kindly, and will give thee land on which they will build a church for thee; and after this thy fame shall spread over the whole world. And the successor of Peter (the Pope) shall bring thee eastwards to Rome. Yonder priest thou shalt leave as thy successor in the church, and the deacon thou shalt leave to be his sacristan. That place and that church shall be revered, and shall be preserved for ever. And thou shalt leave the Gilla in Britain, where he will live for the rest of his life."

After this they bade the old man farewell and left the island. And all fell out just as he had foretold. And the bishop went to Rome; and he afterwards related these adventures to Saerbrethach bishop of West Munster, and to Mocolmoc, one of the holy men of Aran, as we have set them down here.

Thus far the Voyage of the Sons of O'Corra.

FOOTNOTES:

[CLV.] I translated this tale fifteen years ago (as mentioned in Preface, page xiii) from two Royal Irish Academy MSS., 23. N. 15 and 23. M. 50; and I subsequently made some modifications after I had an opportunity of consulting the more correct text of the Book of Fermoy. This last text has since been published, with literal translation, by Dr. Whitley Stokes, in the _Revue Celtique_ (Jan. 1893). After comparing my somewhat free version with Dr. Stokes's close translation, I have not thought it necessary to make any changes.

A few of the adventures in this tale are identical with those described in the Voyage of Maildun: the description of these I have omitted here. Lochan, Enna, and Silvester, the chief characters in this extraordinary fiction, are historical: they were saints of the primitive Irish church, and lived in the sixth century.

[CLVI.] _Brugaid_, a sort of local officer who maintained a large establishment as keeper of a house of public hospitality. See my "Short History of Ireland," p. 57.

[CLVII.] Chess-playing was a favourite amusement among the ancient Irish.

[CLVIII.] Cairderga: original _Caer-derg_, red berry.

[CLIX.] _Erenach_, the holder or _impropriator_ of a church and its lands: usually a layman.

[CLX.] Clogher in Tyrone where there was a monastery.

[CLXI.] Tuam-da-Gualann, where was formerly a celebrated ecclesiastical establishment: now Tuam in Galway.

[CLXII.] Greenan: original _grianan_, literally a sunny place: a summer-house: the most lightsome, airy, and pleasant apartment of a house. See this word discussed in my "Irish Names of Places," vol. i. p. 291.

[CLXIII.] For St. Finnen of Clonard in the County Meath, see my "Short History of Ireland," p. 175

[CLXIV.] _Kenn-Mara_, now Kinvarra on Galway bay.

[CLXV.] _Curragh_, see note 17 at end. Some curraghs were made with two--some with three--hides, one outside another, for the better security.

[CLXVI.] _Crossans_: travelling gleemen: the clothes, musical instruments, &c., were the property of the company. This word is the origin of the Scotch and Irish family name MacCrossan, now often changed to Crosbie. A company of crossans had always among them a _fuirseoir_, i.e. a juggler or buffoon.

[CLXVII.] According to very ancient legends, which are still vividly remembered and recounted all over the country, almost every lake in Ireland has a tremendous hairy reptile in its waters. Some say they are demons, sent by St. Patrick to reside at the bottom of the lakes to the Day of Judgment.

[CLXVIII.] St. Ailbe, the patron of Munster, was a contemporary of St. Patrick. He founded his great monastery and school at Emly in the County Limerick.

THE FATE OF THE SONS OF USNA.[CLXIX.]

Avenging and bright fall the swift sword of Erin On him who the brave sons of Usna betrayed.

MOORE.

FOOTNOTES:

[CLXIX.] The translation that follows is my own, and is of course copyright, like all the other translations in this book. On this fine story is founded the epic poem of "Deirdre," by Robert Dwyer Joyce, M.D.