The loss of three
warriors
of such renown soon began to be felt by the nobles of Ulster, who no longer found themselves able to make head with their accustomed success against the southern provinces.
Universal Anthology - v05
The marks of the blows she had given herself were visible about her bosom, and altogether her whole person seemed no less afflicted than her soul.
But, for all this, her old charm, and the boldness of her youthful beauty, had not wholly left her, and, in spite of her present condition, still sparkled from within, and let itself appear in all the movements of her coun
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 241
tenance. Caesar, desiring her to repose herself, sat down by her ; and, on this opportunity, she said something to justify her actions, attributing what she had done to the necessity she was under, and to her fear of Antony ; and when Caesar, on each point, made his objections, and she found herself confuted, she broke off at once into language of entreaty and depreca tion, as if she desired nothing more than to prolong her life. And at last, having by her a list of her treasure, she gave it into his hands ; and when Seleucus, one of her stewards, who was by, pointed out that various articles were omitted, and charged her with secreting them, she flew up and caught him by the hair, and struck him several blows on the face. Caesar smiling and withholding her, " Is it not very hard, Caesar," said she, " when you do me the honor to visit me in this condi tion I am in, that I should be accused by one of my own servants of laying by some women's toys, not meant to adorn, be sure, my unhappy self, but that I might have some little present by me to make your Octavia and your Livia, that by their inter
cession I might hope to find you in some measure disposed to mercy ? " Caesar was pleased to hear her talk thus, being now assured that she was desirous to live. And, therefore, letting her know that the things she had laid by she might dispose of as she pleased, and his usage of her should be honorable above her expectation, he went away, well satisfied that he had over reached her ; but, in fact, he was himself deceived.
There was a young man of distinction among Caesar's com panions, named Cornelius Dolabella. He was not without a certain tenderness for Cleopatra, and sent her word privately, as she had besought him to do, that Caesar was about to return through Syria, and that she and her children were to be sent on within three days. When she understood this, she made her request to Caesar that he would be pleased to permit her to make oblations to the departed Antony ; which being granted, she ordered herself to be carried to the place where he was buried, and there, accompanied by her women, she embraced his tomb with tears in her eyes, and spoke in this manner : " O dearest Antony," said she, " it is not long since that with these hands I buried you ; then they were free, now I am a captive, and pay these last duties to you with a guard upon me, for fear that my just griefs and sorrows should impair my servile body, and make it less fit to appear in their triumph over you. No
further offerings or libations expect from me ; these are the vol. v. — 16 •
242 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
last honors that Cleopatra can pay your memory, for she is to be hurried away far from you. Nothing could part us whilst we lived, but death seems to threaten to divide us. You, a Roman born, have found a grave in Egypt ; I, an Egyptian, am to seek that favor, and none but that, in your country. But if the gods below, with whom you now are, either can or will do anything (since those above have betrayed us), suffer not your living wife to be abandoned ; let me not be led in triumph to your shame, but hide me and bury me here with you, since, amongst all my bitter misfortunes, nothing has afflicted me like this brief time that I have lived away from you. "
Having made these lamentations, crowning the tomb with garlands and kissing it, she gave orders to prepare her a bath, and, coming out of the bath, she lay down and made a sumptu ous meal. And a country fellow brought her a little basket, which the guards intercepting and asking what it was, the fel low put the leaves which lay uppermost aside, and showed them it was full of figs ; and on their admiring the largeness and beauty of the figs, he laughed, and invited them to take some, which they refused, and, suspecting nothing, bade him carry them in. After her repast, Cleopatra sent to Caesar a letter which she had written and sealed ; and, putting every body out of the monument but her two women, she shut the doors. Caesar, opening her letter, and finding pathetic prayers and entreaties that she might be buried in the same tomb with Antony, soon guessed what was doing. At first he was going himself in all haste, but, changing his mind, he sent others to see. The thing had been quickly done. The messengers came at full speed, and found the guards apprehensive of nothing ; but on opening the doors they saw her stone-dead, lying upon a bed of gold, set out in all her royal ornaments. Iras, one of her women, lay dying at her feet, and Charmion, just ready to fall, scarce able to hold up her head, was adjusting her mis tress' diadem. And when one that came in said angrily,
" Was this well done of your lady, Charmion ? " " Extremely well," she answered, "and as became the descendant of so many kings ; " and as she said this, she fell down dead by the bedside.
Some relate that an asp was brought in amongst those figs and covered with the leaves, and that Cleopatra had arranged that it might settle on her before she knew, but, when she took away some of the figs and saw she said, " So here is," and
it,
it
CLEOPATRA. 243
held out her bare arm to be bitten. Others say that it was kept in a vase, and that she vexed and pricked it with a golden spindle till it seized her arm. But what really took place is known to no one. Since it was also said that she carried poison in a hollow bodkin, about which she wound her hair; yet there was not so much as a spot found, or any symptom of poison upon her body, nor was the asp seen within the monu ment ; only something like the trail of it was said to have been noticed on the sand by the sea, on the part towards which the building faced and where the windows were. Some relate that two faint puncture marks were found on Cleopatra's arm, and to this account Caesar seems to have given credit ; for in his triumph there was carried a figure of Cleopatra, with an asp clinging to her. Such are the various accounts. But Caesar, though much disappointed by her death, yet could not but admire the greatness of her spirit, and gave order that her body should be buried beside Antony with royal splendor and magnificence. Her women also received honorable burial by his directions.
CLEOPATRA.
By WILLIAM WETMORE STORY.
[William Wetmore Stoky, lawyer, sculptor, and poet, was born in Salem, Mass. , February 19, 1819, the son of Joseph Story, the eminent jurist. After graduating at Harvard, he studied law with his father and amused his leisure with sculpture. He went to Rome in 1848, and soon became proficient in the art which he had taken up as an amateur at home. He wrote legal treatises," and volumes of prose and poetry, among them being "Nature and Art : a Poem (1844), " Roba di Roma, or Walks and Talks in Rome " (1862), " Excursus in Art and Letters " (1891), and " A Poet's Portfolio " (1894). He died at Vallom- brosa, near Florence, October 8, 1896. ]
Here, Charmian, take my bracelets — They bar with a purple stain —
My arms ; turn over my pillows They are hot where I have lain:
Open the lattice wider,
A gauze on my bosom throw,
And let me inhale the odors That over the garden blow.
CLEOPATRA.
I dreamed I was with my Antony, And in his arms Ilay; —
Ah, me! the vision has vanished Its music has died away.
The flame and the perfume have perished As this spiced aromatic pastille
That wound the blue smoke of its odor Is now but an ashy hill.
Scatter upon me rose leaves, — They cool me after my sleep ;
And with sandal odors fan me Till into my veins they creep ;
Reach down the lute, and play me A melancholy tune,
—
To rhyme with the dream that has vanished, And the slumbering afternoon.
There, drowsing in golden sunlight, Loiters the slow smooth Nile,
Through slender papyri, that cover The sleeping crocodile.
The lotus lolls on the water, And opens its heart of gold,
And over its broad leaf pavement Never a ripple is rolled.
The twilight breeze is too lazy Those feathery palms to wave, And yon little cloud is motionless
As a stone above a grave.
Ah, me ! this lifeless nature Oppresses my heart and brain !
Oh ! for a storm and thunder —
For lightning and wild fierce rain !
Fling down that lute — I hate it ! Take rather his buckler and sword,
And crash them and clash them together Till this sleeping world is stirred.
Hark ! to my Indian beauty — My cockatoo, creamy white, —
With roses under his feathers That flashes across the light.
Look ! listen ! as backward and forward To his hoop of gold he clings,
CLEOPATRA.
How he trembles, with crest uplifted, And shrieks as he madly swings !
Oh, cockatoo, shriek for Antony !
Cry, " Come, my love, come home I " Shriek, " Antony ! Antony ! Antony ! "
Till he hears you even in Rome.
There — leave me, and take from my chamber That wretched little gazelle,
With its bright black eyes so meaningless, And its silly tinkling bell !
Take him, — my nerves he vexes, — The thing without blood or brain,
Or, by the body of Isis,
I'll snap his thin neck in twain I
Leave me to gaze at the landscape Mistily stretching away,
When the afternoon's opaline tremors O'er the mountains quivering play ;
Till the fiercer splendor of sunset Pours from the west its fire,
And melted, as in a crucible, Their earthly forms expire ;
And the bald blear skull of the desert With glowing mountains is crowned,
That burning like molten jewels Circle its temples round.
I will lie and dream of the past time, iEons of thought away,
And through the jungle of memory Loosen my fancy to play ;
When, a smooth and velvety tiger, Ribbed with yellow and black,
Supple and cushion-footed
I wandered, where never the track
Of a human creature had rustled The silence of mighty woods,
And fierce in a tyrannous freedom, I knew but the law of my moods.
The elephant, trumpeting, started, When he heard my footstep near,
And the spotted giraffes fled wildly In a yellow cloud of fear.
CLEOPATRA.
I sucked in the noontide splendor, Quivering along the glade,
Or yawning, panting, and dreaming, Basked in the tamarisk shade,
Till I heard my wild mate roaring, As the shadows of night came on,
To brood in the trees' thick branches, And the shadow of sleep was gone;
Then I roused, and roared in answer,
And unsheathed from my cushioned feet
My curving claws, and stretched me, And wandered my mate to greet.
We toyed in the amber moonlight,
Upon the warm flat sand, —
And struck at each other our massive arms How powerful he was and grand !
His yellow eyes flashed fiercely
As he crouched and gazed at me,
And his quivering tail, like a serpent, Twitched, curving nervously.
Then like a storm he seized me, With a wild triumphant cry,
And we met, as two clouds in heaven When the thunders before them fly.
We grappled and struggled together, For his love like his rage was rude ;
And his teeth in the swelling folds of my neck At times, in our play, drew blood.
Often another suitor —
For I was flexile and fair —
Fought for me in the moonlight, While I lay crouching there,
Till his blood was drained by the desert ; And, ruffled with triumph and power,
He licked me and lay beside me To breathe him a vast half-hour.
Then down to the fountain we loitered, Where the antelopes came to drink ;
Like a bolt we sprang upon them, Ere they had time to shrink.
We drank their blood and crushed them, And tore them limb from limb,
And the hungriest lion doubted Ere he disputed with him.
THE SAVAGERY OF CLASSIC TIMES. 247
That was a life to live for ! Not this weak human life,
With its frivolous, bloodless passions, Its poor and petty strife !
Come to my arms, my hero :
The shadows of twilight grow, And the tiger's ancient fierceness
In my veins begins to flow. Come not cringing to sue me !
Take me with triumph and power, As a warrior that storms a fortress !
I will not shrink or cower. Come, as you came in the desert, Ere we were women and men,
When the tiger passions were in us, And love as you loved me then !
THE SAVAGERY OF CLASSIC TIMES. By ANTHONY TROLLOPE.
[Akthont Trollofe : An English novelist ; born in London, April 24, 1816 ; died December 6, 1882. He assisted in establishing the Fortnightly Review (1866). Among his works are: "The Macdermots of Ballycloran" (1847); ««The Kellys and the O'Kellys " (1848) ; " La Vendee " (1860) ; " The Warden " (1855); " Barchester Towers " (1857); " Doctor Thome " (1858) ; "The West Indies and the Spanish Main," a book of travel (1859) ; "Castle Richmond" (1860) ; "OrleyFarm" (1861-1862) ; " Framley Parsonage " (1861) ; "Tales of All Countries" (1861-1863) ; " North America," travels (1862) ; " Rachel Ray " (18631 ; " The Small House at Allington " (1864); "Can You Forgive Her? "
(1864); " Miss Mackenzie " (1865); " The Last Chronicle of Barset" (1867); " Linda Tressel" (1868); " Phineas Finn " (1869); "The Vicar of Bullhamp- ton" (1870) ; "Phineas Redux" (1873) ; "Lady Anna" (1874) ; "The Prime Minister" (1875); "The American Senator" (1877); "Is He Popenjoy? "
(1878); "Thackeray," in English Men of Letters (1879); "Life of Cicero" (1880); "Ayala's Angel" (1881); " Mr. Scarborough's Family " (1882); "The
Landleaguers," unfinished (1882) ; " An Old Man's Love " (1884). ]
That which will most strike the ordinary English reader in the narrative of Caesar is the cruelty of the Romans, — cruelty of which Caesar himself is guilty to a frightful extent, and of which he never expresses horror. And yet among his contem poraries he achieved a character for clemency which he has re tained to the present day. In describing the character of Caesar,
248 THE SAVAGERY OF CLASSIC TIMES.
without reference to that of his contemporaries, it is impossible not to declare him to have been terribly cruel. From blood- thirstiness he slaughtered none; but neither from tenderness did he spare any. All was done from policy; and when policy seemed to him to demand blood, he could, without a scruple, — as far as we can judge, without a pang, — order the destruction of human beings, having no regard to number, sex, age, inno cence, or helplessness. Our only excuse for him is that he was a Roman, and that Romans were indifferent to blood. Suicide was with them the common mode of avoiding otherwise in evitable misfortune, and it was natural that men who made light of their own lives should also make light of the lives of others.
Of all those with whose names the reader will become acquainted in the following pages [of Roman history], hardly one or two died in their beds. Caesar and Pompey, the two great ones, were murdered. Dumnorix, the iEduan, was killed by Caesar's orders. Vercingetorix, the gallantest of the Gauls, was kept alive for years that his death might grace Caesar's Triumph. Ariovistus, the German, escaped from Caesar, but we hear soon after of his death, and that the Germans resented it: he doubtless was killed by a Roman weapon. What became of the hunted Ambiorix we do not know, but his brother king Cativolcus poisoned himself with the juice of a yew tree. Cras- sus, the partner of Caesar and Pompey in the first triumvirate, was killed by the Parthians. Young Crassus, the son, Caesar's officer in Gaul, had himself killed by his own men that he might not fall into the hands of the Parthians, and his head was cut off and sent to his father. Labienus fell at Munda, in the last civil war with Spain. Quintus Cicero, Caesar's lieutenant, and his greater brother, the orator, and his son, perished in the proscriptions of the second triumvirate. Titurius and Cotta were slaughtered with all their army by Ambiorix. Afranius was killed by Caesar's soldiers after the last battle in Africa. Petreius was hacked to pieces in amicable contest by King Juba. Varro indeed lived to be an old man, and to write many books. Domitius, who defended Marseilles for Pompey, was killed in the flight after Pharsalia. Trebonius, who attacked Marseilles by land, was killed by a son-in-law of Cicero at Smyrna. Of Decimus Brutus, who attacked Marseilles by sea, one Camillus cut off the head and sent it as a present to Antony. Curio, who attempted to master the province of
Savagery of Classic Times From the painting in the Louvre
THE SAVAGERY OP CLASSIC TIMES. 249
Africa on behalf of Caesar, rushed amidst his enemies' swords and was slaughtered. King Juba, who conquered him, failing to kill himself, had himself killed by a slave. Attius Varus, who had held the province for Pompey, fell afterwards at Munda. Marc Antony, Caesar's great lieutenant in the Phar- salian wars, stabbed himself. Cassius Longinus, another lieu tenant under Caesar, was drowned. Scipio, Pompey's partner in greatness at Pharsalia, destroyed himself in Africa. Bibu- lus, his chief admiral, pined to death. Young Ptolemy, to whom Pompey fled, was drowned in the Nile. The fate of his sister Cleopatra is known to all the world. Pharnaces, Caesar's enemy in Asia, fell in battle. Cato destroyed himself at Utica. Pompey's eldest son, Cnaeus, was caught wounded in Spain and slaughtered. Sextus the younger was killed some years after ward by one of Antony's soldiers. Brutus and Cassius, the two great conspirators, both committed suicide. But"of these two we hear little or nothing in the " Commentaries ; nor of Augustus Caesar, who did contrive to live in spite of all the bloodshed through which he had waded to the throne. Among the whole number there are not above three, if so many, who died fairly fighting in battle. —
The above is a list of the names of men of mark,
riors chiefly, of men who, with their eyes open, knowing what was before them, went out to encounter danger for certain pur poses. The bloody catalogue is so complete, so nearly com prises all whose names are mentioned, that it strikes the reader with almost a comic horror. But when we come to the slaughter of whole towns, the devastation of a country effected purposely that men and women might starve, to the abandon ment of the old, the young, and the tender, that they might perish on the hillsides, to the mutilation of crowds of men, to the burning of cities told us in a passing word, to the drown ing of many thousands, — mentioned as we should mention the destruction of a brood of rats, —the comedy is all over, and the heart becomes sick. Then it is that we remember that the coming of Christ has changed all things, and that men now — though terrible things have been done since Christ came to us — are not as men were in the days of Caesar.
of war
250 ROMAN AND CELT IN OUR DAYS.
ROMAN AND CELT IN OUR DAYS. By Professor CHARLES F. JOHNSON.
Under the slanting light of the yellow sun of October,
A " gang of Dagos " were working close by the side of the car track. Pausing a moment to catch a note of their liquid Italian,
Faintly I heard an echo of Rome's imperial accents, —
Broken-down forms of Latin words from the Senate and Forum, Now smoothed over by use to the musical lingua Romana.
Then came the thought — Why I these are the heirs of the conquer
ing Romans ;
These are the sons of the men who founded the empire of Caesar. These are they whose fathers carried the conquering eagles
Over all Gaul and across the sea to Ultima Thule. [figures The race type persists unchanged in their eyes, and profiles, and Muscular, short, and thick-set, with prominent noses, recalling
" Romanos rerum dominos, gentemque togatam. "
See, Labienus is swinging a pick with rhythmical motion ;
Yonder one pushing the shovel might be Julius Caesar, —
Lean, deep-eyed, broad-browed, and bald, a man of a thousand; Further along stands the jolly Horatius Flaccus ;
Grim and grave, with rings in his ears, see Cato the Censor;
And the next has precisely the bust of Cneius Pompeius.
Blurred and worn the surface, I grant, and the coin is but copper ; Look more closely, you'll catch a hint of the old superscription, Perhaps the stem of a letter, perhaps a leaf of the laurel.
On the side of the street, in proud and gloomy seclusion,
" Bossing the job," stood a Celt, the race enslaved by the legions, Sold in the market of Rome to meet the expenses of Caesar.
And as I loitered, the Celt cried out, " Wot-ruk, ye Dagos !
Full up your shovel, Paythro, ye hay then, — I'll dock yees a quarther ! " This he said to the one who resembled the great Imperator.
Meekly the dignified Roman kept on patiently digging.
Such are the changes and chances the centuries bring to the nations ; Surely the ups and downs of this world are past calculation.
How the races troop over the stage in endless nrocession !
Persian and Arab and Greek, and Hun and Roman and Saxon, Master the world in turn, and then disappear in the darkness, Leaving a remnant as hewers of wood and drawers of water.
" Possibly " (this I thought to myself) " the yoke of the Irish May in turn be lifted from us in the tenth generation.
Now the Celt is on top ; but Time may bring his revenges,
Turning the Fenian down once more to be ' bossed by a Dago. ' "
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE. 251
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
The Death of the Children of Usnach.
(From the King Conor MacNessa Cycle. Time : first century b. c. Abridged by Lady Ferguson. )
[King Conor goes to a banquet in the house of Feilimid, his story-teller. During the festivity, Deirdre, the daughter of Feilimid, is born. Cathbad, the Druid, foretells her future beauty and the destruction it will bring on Ulster and on the king and nobles. Thereupon, the nobles demand the death of the infant ; but the king orders her to be shut up in a strong tower until she grows old enough to become his wife. ]
Notwithstanding the precautions of Conor, Deirdre* saw and loved Naisi, the son of Usnach. He was sitting in the midst of the plain of Emania, playing on a harp. Sweet was the music of the sons of Usnach — great also was their prowess ; they were fleet as hounds in the chase — they slew deer with their speed. As Naisi sat singing, he perceived a maiden approaching him. She held down her head as she came near him, and would have passed in silence. " Gentle is the damsel who passeth by," said Naisi. Then the maiden, looking up, replied, " Damsels may well be gentle when there are no youths. " Then Naisi knew it was Deirdre", and great dread fell upon him. "The king of the province is betrothed to thee, O damsel," he said. " I love him not," she replied ; "he is an aged man. I would rather love a youth like thee. " " Say not so, O damsel," answered Naisi" , " the king is a bet ter spouse than the king's servant. " Thou sayest so," said Deirdre, " that thou mayest avoid me. " Then plucking a rose from a brier, she flung it towards him, and said, " Now thou art ever disgraced if thou rejectest me. " " Depart from me, I beseech thee, damsel," said Naisi. "If thou dost not take me to be thy wife," said Deirdre, " thou art dishonored before all the men of Erin after what I have done. " Then Naisi said no more, and Deirdre" took the harp, and sat beside him, play ing sweetly. But the other sons of Usnach, rushing forth, came running to the spot where Naisi sat, and Deirdre with him. "Alas ! " they cried, "what hast thou done, O brother?
252 EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
After wandering through various parts of Erin, from Easroe to Ben Edar, from Dundalgan to Almain, the fugitives at length took shelter in Alba,1 where they found an asylum on the banks of Loch Etive.
The loss of three warriors of such renown soon began to be felt by the nobles of Ulster, who no longer found themselves able to make head with their accustomed success against the southern provinces. They therefore urged Conor to abandon his resentment and recall the fugitives. Conor, with no other intention than that of repossessing himself of Deirdre, feigned compliance. But, to induce Clan Usnach to trust themselves again in the hands of him whom their leader had so outraged, it was necessary that the message of pardon should be borne by one on whose warranty of safe conduct the most implicit reliance could be placed. After sounding some of his chief nobles who were of sufficient authority to under take the mission, and finding that any attempt to tamper with them would be unavailing, Conor fixes on Fergus, the son of Roy, as a more likely instrument, and commits the embassy to him. But though he does not much fear the consequences of compromising the safe conduct of Fergus, he yet does not venture to enlist him openly in the meditated treachery, but proceeds by a stratagem. Fergus was of the order of the Red Branch knights, and the brethren of the Red Branch were under vow never to refuse hospitality at one another's hands. Conor, therefore, arranged with Barach, one of his minions, and a brother of the order, to intercept Fergus on his return by the tender of a three days' banquet, well knowing that Clan Usnach must in that case proceed to Emania without the pres ence of their protector. Meanwhile, Fergus, arriving in the harbor of Loch Etive, where dwelt Clan Usnach in green hunting booths along the shore, " sends forth the loud cry of a mighty man of chase. " Deirdre and Naisi were sitting to-
1 Scotland.
Is not this damsel fated to ruin Ulster ? "
before the men of Erin forever," replied Naisi, " if I take her not after that which she hath done. " "Evil will come of it," said the brothers. " I care not," said Naisi. " I would rather be in misfortune than dishonor. We will fly with her to an other country. " So that night they departed, taking with them three times fifty men of might, and three times fifty women, and three times fifty greyhounds, and three times fifty attendants ; and Naisi took Deirdre to be his wife.
"I am disgraced
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
253
gether in their tent, and Conor's polished chessboard between them. And Naisi, hearing the cry, said, " I hear the call of a man of Erin. " " That was not the call of a man of Erin," replied Deirdre, " but the call of a man of Alba. " Then again Fergus shouted a second time. " Surely that was the call of a man of Erin," said Naisi. " Surely no," said Deirdre ; " let us play on. " Then again Fergus shouted a third time, and Naisi knew that
it was the cry of Fergus, and he said : "
in existence, I hear his hunting shout from the Loch. Go forth, Ardan, my brother, and give our kinsman welcome. " " Alas ! " cried Deirdre, " I knew the call of Fergus from the first. " For she has a prophetic dread that foul play is intended them, and this feeling never subsides in her breast from that hour until the catastrophe. Quite different are the feelings of Naisi ; he reposes the most unlimited confidence in the safe conduct vouched for by his brother in arms, and, in spite of the remonstrance of Deirdre, embarks with all his retainers for Ireland. Deirdre, on leaving the only secure or happy home she ever expects to enjoy, sings this farewell to Alba and her green sheeling on the shores of Glen Etive : —
(Translation of Sir Samuel Ferguson. )
Harp, take my bosom's burthen on thy string, And, turning it to sad, sweet melody,
Waste and disperse it on the careless air.
Air, take the harp string's burthen on thy breast, And, softly thrilling soulward through the sense, Bring my love's heart again in tune with mine.
Blessed were the hours when, heart in tune with hearty My love and I desired no happier home
Than Etive's airy glades and lonely shore.
Alba, farewell ! Farewell, fair Etive bank ! Sun kiss thee ; moon caress thee ; dewy stars Refresh thee long, dear scene of quiet days !
Barach meets them on their landing, near Dunseverick on the coast of Antrim, and detains Fergus, who reluctantly assigns his charge to his two sons, Red Buine Borb and Illan Finn, to conduct them in safety to their journey's end. Deir- dre's fears are more and more excited. "A blood-red cloud
If the son of Roy be
254 EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
floats before her and hovers above the palace of Emania. " She has dreams and visions of disasters. She urges Naisi to go to Dunseverick or to Dundalgan and there await the com ing of Fergus. Naisi is inflexible. It would injure the honor of his companion in arms to admit any apprehension of danger while under his safe conduct. The omens multiply. Deirdre's sense of danger becomes more and more acute. Still Naisi's
reply is :
"I fear not; let us proceed. " At length they reach Emania, and are assigned the house of the Red Branch for their lodging. Calm, and to all appearance unconscious of any cause for apprehension, Naisi takes his place at the chess table, and Deirdre, full of fears, sits opposite. Meanwhile the king, knowing that Deirdre was again within his reach, could not rest at the banquet, but sends spies to bring him word " if her beauty yet lived upon her. " The first messenger, friendly to Clan Usnach, reports that she is "quite bereft of her own aspect, and is lovely and desirable no longer. " This allays Conor's passion for a time ; but growing heated with wine, he shortly after sends another messenger, who brings back the intelligence that not only is Deirdre " the fairest woman on the ridge of the world," but that he himself has been wounded by Naisi, who had resented his gazing in at the window of the Red Branch by flinging a chessman at his head, and dashing out one of his eyes. This was all that Conor wanted ; he starts up in pretended indignation at the violence done his servant, calls his bodyguard, and attacks the Red Branch. The defense now devolves on the sons of Fergus. Clan Usnach scorn to evince alarm, or interfere in any way with the duties of their pro tectors. But Deirdre cannot "conceal her consciousness that they are betrayed. " Ah, me ! she cries, hearing the soldiery of Conor at the gates, " I knew that Fergus was a traitor. " " If Fergus hath betrayed you," replied Red Buine Borb, " yet will not I betray you. " And he issues out and slays his " thrice fifty men of might. " But when Conor offers him Slieve Fuad for a bribe, he holds back his hand from the slaughter, and goes his way. Then calls Deirdre, " Traitor father, traitor son ! " "No," replied Illan Finn, "though Red Buine Borb be a traitor, yet will not I be a traitor. While liveth this small straight sword in my hand, I will not forsake Clan Usnach. " Then Illan Finn, encountering Fiachra, the son of Conor, who was armed with Ocean, Flight, and Victory, the shield, spear, and sword of his father, they fight " a fair fight, stout and manly,
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE. 255
bitter and bloody, savage and hot, and vehement and terrible, until the waves round the blue rim of Ocean roared, for it was the nature of Conor's shield that it ever resounded as with the noise of stormy waters when he who bore it was in danger. " Summoned by which signal, one of King Conor's nobles, coming behind Illan Finn, thrusts him through. "The weakness of death then fell darkly upon Illan, and he threw his arms into the mansion, and called to Naisi to fight manfully, and ex pired. " Clan Usnach at length designed to lay aside their chess tables and stand to their arms. Ardan first sallies out, and slays his " three hundred men of might," then Ainle, who makes twice that havoc ; and last Naisi himself ; and " till the sands of the sea, the dewdrops of the meadows, the leaves of the forest, or the stars of heaven be counted, it is not possi ble to tell the number of heads and hands and lopped limbs of heroes that there lay bare and red from the hands of Naisi and his brothers on that plain. " Then Naisi came again into the Red Branch to Deirdre ; and she encouraged him, and said, "We will yet escape; fight manfully, and fear not. " Then the sons of Usnach made a phalanx of their shields, and spread the links of their joined bucklers round Deirdre, and bounding forth like three eagles, swept down upon the troops of Conor, making great havoc of the people. But when Cathbad, the Druid, saw that the sons of Usnach were bent on the destruc tion of Conor himself, he had recourse to his arts of magic and he cast an enchantment over them, so that their arms fell from their hands, and they were taken by the men of Ulster ; for the spell was like a sea of thick gums about them, and their limbs were clogged in that they could not move. The sons of Usnach were then put to death, and Deirdre, standing over
—
(Translation of Sir Samuel Ferguson. )
The lions of the hill are gone,
And am left alone — alone.
Dig the grave both wide and deep, For am sick, and fain would sleep
The falcons of the wood are flown, And am left alone — alone.
Dig the grave both deep and wide, And let us slumber side by side.
their grave, sang this funeral song
III it, :
!
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
The dragons of the rock are sleeping, Sleep that wakes not for our weeping. Dig the grave, and make it ready, Lay me on my true love's body.
Lay their spears and bucklers bright By the warriors' sides aright.
Many a day the three before me
On their linked bucklers bore me.
Lay upon the low grave floor,
'Neath each head, the blue claymore ; Many a time the noble three Reddened these blue blades for me.
Lay the collars, as is meet,
Of their greyhounds at their feet ; Many a time for me have they Brought the tall red deer to bay.
In the falcon's jesses throw Hook and arrow, line and bow: Never again by stream or plain Shall the gentle woodsmen go.
Sweet companions ye were ever — Harsh to me, your sister, never ; Woods and wilds and misty valleys Were with you as good's a palace.
Oh ! to hear my true love singing,
Sweet as sound of trumpets ringing; Like the sway of Ocean swelling
Rolled his deep voice round our dwelling.
Oh! to hear the echoes pealing
Round our green and fairy sheeling, When the three, with soaring chorus, Passed the silent skylark o'er us.
Echo, now sleep morn and even — Lark, alone enchant the heaven ! — Ardan's lips are scant of breath, Naisi's tongue is cold in death.
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE. 267
Stag, exult on glen and mountain ; Salmon, leap from loch to fountain ; Heron, in the free air warm ye ; Usnach's sons no more will harm ye.
Erin's stay no more ye are,
Rulers of the ridge of war ! Nevermore 'twill be your fate
To keep the beam of battle straight !
Woe is me ! by fraud and wrong, Traitors false and tyrants strong, Fell Clan Usnach, bought and sold, For Barach's feast and Conor's gold I
Woe to Emain, roof and wall !
Woe to Red Branch, hearth and hall ! Tenfold woe and black dishonor
To the foul and false Clan Conor !
Dig the grave both wide and deep, Sick I am, and fain would sleep. Dig the grave and make it ready, Lay me on my true love's body !
So saying, she flung herself into the grave, and expired.
(Episodes from the Tain Bo Cuailqne, or Cattle Spoil of Coolnet, the chief epic of ancient Ireland. Time : the first century b. c. )
The Pillow Conversation of King Ailill and Queen Maev that caused the War.
Translation of O'CURRY.
On one occasion that Ailill and Maev had arisen from their royal bed in Cruachan of Rath Conrach, a pillow conversation was "carried on between them : — "
It is a true saying, O woman," said Ailill, that a good man's wife is a happy creature. "
"Why do you say so ? " said Maev.
" The reason that I say so," said Ailill, " is because you are happier this day than the day I espoused you. "
" I was happy before I knew you," said Maev.
" It was a happiness of which we never heard," said Ailill.
vol. v. — 17
258 EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
" We only heard of your being in the dependent position of a woman, while your nearest enemies stole and plundered, and carried off your property. "
" Not so was I," said Maev, " but my father was arch king of Erin ; that is, Eochy Fiedlech, son of Finn, son of Finno- man, son of Finneon, son of Finnlag, etc. He had six daughters of daughters; namely, Derbrin, Eithne, Ele, Clothra, Mugain, and Maev, myself, who was the most noble and illustrious of them, for I was the best for gifts and presents of them. I was the best for battle and fight and combat of them. It was I that had fifteen hundred noble mercenaries, soldiers — sons of foreign chiefs — and as many more of the sons of my own landholders ; and there were ten men with every soldier of them ; and eight with every soldier, and seven with every soldier, and six with every soldier, and five with every soldier, and three with every soldier, and two with every soldier, and a soldier with every soldier. These I had for my ordinary household, and for that it was that my father gave me a province of the provinces of Erin ; namely, the province of Cruachan, where I am called Maev of Cruachan. And I was sought in marriage by Finn, son of Ross Ruadh, king of Laighin, and by Cairpri Nia Fear, son of the king of Flamair, and by Conor, son of Fachna Fathach. And I was sought by Eochy, son of Luchta ; and I did not go, because it was I that demanded the extraordinary dowry, such as no woman ever sought before from the men of Erin ; namely, a man without parsimoniousness, without jealousy, without fear. If the man who would have me were parsimonious, we were not fit to be united in one, because I am good at bestowing gifts and pres ents, and it would be a reproach to my husband that I were better in gifts than he ; and it would be no reproach now, if we were equally good, provided that we were both good. If my husband were timid, we were not the more fit to unite, because I go in battle and fights and combats, by myself alone ; and it would be a reproach to my husband that his wife were more active than himself ; and it is no reproach if we are equally active. If the man who had me were jealous, we were not matched either, because I never was without having a man in the shadow of another. I have found that man ; namely, you ; namely, Ailill, the son of Ross Ruadh, of the men of Laighin. You were not parsimonious ; you were not jealous ; you were not timid. I gave you an engagement and a dowry,
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
259
the best that is desired of woman ; namely, of clothes, the array of twelve men ; a chariot, with thrice seven cumhals (steeds) ; the breadth of your face of red gold ; the span of your left wrist of carved silver. Should any one work reproach or injury or incantation on you, you are not entitled to DirS (fine for bodily injury) or Uneclann (fine for satire and calumny) for but what comes to me. Because man in
attendance on woman what you are. "
"Such was not my state," said Ailill, "but had two
brothers, one the king of Temar, and the other the king of Laighin. left them the sovereignty because of their senior ity. And you were not the better for gifts and presents than
was. have not heard of province of Erin in woman's keep ing but this province alone. came, then, and assumed sovereignty here in succession to my mother for Mata of Murisy, the daughter of Magach, was my mother, and what better queen need desire to have than you, since you happen to be the daughter of the arch king of Erin. "
"It happens, however," said Maev, "that my goodness greater than yours. "
" wonder at that," said Ailill, " since there no one that has more jewels, and wealth, and riches than have — and know there not. "
Ailill and Maev then commenced a comparison of their goods and effects — for women at this time did not lose by marriage their separate rights of property. Their jewels, garments, flocks, were compared, and found to be of equal value, with one exception. There was particularly splendid bull of AHill's cows. Now he was the calf of one of Maev's cows, and Finn- bennach (White Horn) was his name but he deemed not honorable to be in a woman's dependence, and he passed over to the king's cows. And the queen was indignant, but hearing that Dare, son of Factna, of Cuailgne", was the possessor of brown bull, still finer animal than the white-horned deserter of her drove, she dispatched her courier, MacRoth, to Dare, requesting of him the loan of the Donn Cuailgne (the Brown One of Coolney) for year, and promising to restore him with fifty heifers to boot, chariot worth sixty-three cows, and other tokens of her friendship. On his refusal, she summoned her forces to join in foray for the capture of the Donn Cuailgne.
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260 EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
How Setanta, the Hero of the Tatv, received the Name of Cuchullin, the Hound of Cullan.
Translation of Sir SAMUEL FERGUSON.
[King Conor, going with a few guests to a feast at the Dun of Cullan, the Smith, meets his nephew, Setanta, who is playing with his companions on the plain of Emania. ]
Conor —
Setanta, if bird nesting in the woods
And ball feats on the playgreen please thee not More than discourse of warrior and sage,
And sight of warrior weapons in the forge,
I offer an indulgence. For we go —
Myself, my step-sire Fergus, and my Bard — To visit Cullan, the illustrious smith
Of Coolney. Come thou also if thou wilt.
Setanta —
Ask me not, O good Conor, yet to leave
The playgreen ; for the ball feats just begun
Are those which most delight my playmate youths, And they entreat me to defend the goal :
But let me follow ; for the chariot tracks
Are easy to discern ; and much I long
To hear discourse of warrior and sage,
And see the nest that hatches deaths of men,
The tongs a-flash, and Cullan's welding blow.
Conor —
Too late the hour ; too difficult the way.
Set forward, drivers : give our steeds the goad.
Cullan —
Great King of Emain, welcome. Welcome, thou, Fergus, illustrious step-sire of the King :
And, Seer and Poet, Cathbad, welcome too, Behold the tables set, the feast prepared.
Sit. But before I cast my chain hound loose, Give me assurance that ye be all in.
For night descends ; and perilous the wild ;
And other watchman none of house or herds, Here, in this solitude remote from men,
Own I, but one hound only. Once his chain
Is loosened, and he makes three bounds at large Before my doorposts, after fall of night,
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
There lives not man nor company of men, Less than a cohort, shall within my close Set foot of trespass, short of life or limb.
Conor —
Yea ; all are in. Let loose, and sit secure.
Good are thy viands, Smith, and strong thine ale.
Hark, the hound growling Cullan —
! —
Wild dogs are abroad.
Fergus —
Not ruddier the fire that laps a sword — Steeled for a king, oh Cullan, than thy wine.
Hark, the hound baying Cullan —
! —
Wolves, belike, are near.
Cathbad —
Not cheerfuller the ruddy forge's light
To wayfarer benighted, nor the glow
Of wine and viands to a hungry man
Than look of welcome passed from host to guest. — Hark, the hound yelling ! —
Cullan — — Friends, arise and arm ! Some enemy intrudes! Tush! 'tis a boy.
Setanta —
Setanta here, the son of Suailtam.
Conor —
Setanta, whom I deemed on Emain green, Engaged at ball play, on our track, indeed !
Setanta —
Not difficult the track to find, oh King,
But difficult, indeed, to follow home.
Cullan, 'tis evil welcome for a guest
This unwarned onset of a savage beast,
Which, but that 'gainst the stone posts of thy gate I three times threw him, leaping at my throat, And, at the third throw, on the stone edge, slew, Had brought on thee the shame indelible
Of bidden guest, at his host's threshold, torn.
Conor —
Yea, he was bidden : it was I myself
Said, as I passed him with the youths at play, This morning : Come thou also if thou wilt. But little thought I, — when he said the youths Desired his presence still to hold the goal,
Yet asked to follow — for he said he longed
To hear discourse of warrior and sage,
And see the nest that hatches deaths of men
262
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
The tongs a-flash, and Cullan's welding blow — That such a playful, young, untutored boy Would come on this adventure of a man.
Cullan —
I knew not he was bidden ; and I asked,
Ere I cast loose, if all the train were in. — But, since thy word has made the boy my guest, Boy, for his sake who bade thee to my board,
I give thee welcome : for thine own sake, no.
For thou hast slain my servant and my friend,
The hound I loved, that fierce, intractable
To all men else, was ever mild to me.
He knew me ; and he knew my uttered words,
All my commandments, as a man might know : More than a man, he knew my looks and tones
And turns of gesture, and discerned my mind, Unspoken, if in grief or if in joy.
He was my pride, my strength, my company,
For I am childless ; and that hand of thine
Has left an old man lonely in the world.
Setanta —
Since, Cullan, by mischance, I've slain thy hound, So much thy grief compassion stirs in me,
Hear me pronounce a sentence on myself.
If of his seed there liveth but a whelp
In Uladh, I will rear him till he grow
To such ability as had his sire
For knowing, honoring, and serving thee.
Meantime, but give a javelin in my hand,
And a good buckler, and there never went
About thy bounds, from daylight — gone till dawn, Hound watchf uller, or of a keener fang
Against intruder, than myself shall be.
Cullan —
A sentence, a just sentence.
Setanta —
Setanta I, the son of Suailtam,
Nor other name assume I, or desire.
Conor —
Hath made award more righteous. Be it so. Wherefore what hinders that we give him now His hero name, no more Setanta called
But now Cuchullin, chain hound of the Smith ?
Cathbad —
Take, son of Suailtam, the offered name.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 241
tenance. Caesar, desiring her to repose herself, sat down by her ; and, on this opportunity, she said something to justify her actions, attributing what she had done to the necessity she was under, and to her fear of Antony ; and when Caesar, on each point, made his objections, and she found herself confuted, she broke off at once into language of entreaty and depreca tion, as if she desired nothing more than to prolong her life. And at last, having by her a list of her treasure, she gave it into his hands ; and when Seleucus, one of her stewards, who was by, pointed out that various articles were omitted, and charged her with secreting them, she flew up and caught him by the hair, and struck him several blows on the face. Caesar smiling and withholding her, " Is it not very hard, Caesar," said she, " when you do me the honor to visit me in this condi tion I am in, that I should be accused by one of my own servants of laying by some women's toys, not meant to adorn, be sure, my unhappy self, but that I might have some little present by me to make your Octavia and your Livia, that by their inter
cession I might hope to find you in some measure disposed to mercy ? " Caesar was pleased to hear her talk thus, being now assured that she was desirous to live. And, therefore, letting her know that the things she had laid by she might dispose of as she pleased, and his usage of her should be honorable above her expectation, he went away, well satisfied that he had over reached her ; but, in fact, he was himself deceived.
There was a young man of distinction among Caesar's com panions, named Cornelius Dolabella. He was not without a certain tenderness for Cleopatra, and sent her word privately, as she had besought him to do, that Caesar was about to return through Syria, and that she and her children were to be sent on within three days. When she understood this, she made her request to Caesar that he would be pleased to permit her to make oblations to the departed Antony ; which being granted, she ordered herself to be carried to the place where he was buried, and there, accompanied by her women, she embraced his tomb with tears in her eyes, and spoke in this manner : " O dearest Antony," said she, " it is not long since that with these hands I buried you ; then they were free, now I am a captive, and pay these last duties to you with a guard upon me, for fear that my just griefs and sorrows should impair my servile body, and make it less fit to appear in their triumph over you. No
further offerings or libations expect from me ; these are the vol. v. — 16 •
242 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
last honors that Cleopatra can pay your memory, for she is to be hurried away far from you. Nothing could part us whilst we lived, but death seems to threaten to divide us. You, a Roman born, have found a grave in Egypt ; I, an Egyptian, am to seek that favor, and none but that, in your country. But if the gods below, with whom you now are, either can or will do anything (since those above have betrayed us), suffer not your living wife to be abandoned ; let me not be led in triumph to your shame, but hide me and bury me here with you, since, amongst all my bitter misfortunes, nothing has afflicted me like this brief time that I have lived away from you. "
Having made these lamentations, crowning the tomb with garlands and kissing it, she gave orders to prepare her a bath, and, coming out of the bath, she lay down and made a sumptu ous meal. And a country fellow brought her a little basket, which the guards intercepting and asking what it was, the fel low put the leaves which lay uppermost aside, and showed them it was full of figs ; and on their admiring the largeness and beauty of the figs, he laughed, and invited them to take some, which they refused, and, suspecting nothing, bade him carry them in. After her repast, Cleopatra sent to Caesar a letter which she had written and sealed ; and, putting every body out of the monument but her two women, she shut the doors. Caesar, opening her letter, and finding pathetic prayers and entreaties that she might be buried in the same tomb with Antony, soon guessed what was doing. At first he was going himself in all haste, but, changing his mind, he sent others to see. The thing had been quickly done. The messengers came at full speed, and found the guards apprehensive of nothing ; but on opening the doors they saw her stone-dead, lying upon a bed of gold, set out in all her royal ornaments. Iras, one of her women, lay dying at her feet, and Charmion, just ready to fall, scarce able to hold up her head, was adjusting her mis tress' diadem. And when one that came in said angrily,
" Was this well done of your lady, Charmion ? " " Extremely well," she answered, "and as became the descendant of so many kings ; " and as she said this, she fell down dead by the bedside.
Some relate that an asp was brought in amongst those figs and covered with the leaves, and that Cleopatra had arranged that it might settle on her before she knew, but, when she took away some of the figs and saw she said, " So here is," and
it,
it
CLEOPATRA. 243
held out her bare arm to be bitten. Others say that it was kept in a vase, and that she vexed and pricked it with a golden spindle till it seized her arm. But what really took place is known to no one. Since it was also said that she carried poison in a hollow bodkin, about which she wound her hair; yet there was not so much as a spot found, or any symptom of poison upon her body, nor was the asp seen within the monu ment ; only something like the trail of it was said to have been noticed on the sand by the sea, on the part towards which the building faced and where the windows were. Some relate that two faint puncture marks were found on Cleopatra's arm, and to this account Caesar seems to have given credit ; for in his triumph there was carried a figure of Cleopatra, with an asp clinging to her. Such are the various accounts. But Caesar, though much disappointed by her death, yet could not but admire the greatness of her spirit, and gave order that her body should be buried beside Antony with royal splendor and magnificence. Her women also received honorable burial by his directions.
CLEOPATRA.
By WILLIAM WETMORE STORY.
[William Wetmore Stoky, lawyer, sculptor, and poet, was born in Salem, Mass. , February 19, 1819, the son of Joseph Story, the eminent jurist. After graduating at Harvard, he studied law with his father and amused his leisure with sculpture. He went to Rome in 1848, and soon became proficient in the art which he had taken up as an amateur at home. He wrote legal treatises," and volumes of prose and poetry, among them being "Nature and Art : a Poem (1844), " Roba di Roma, or Walks and Talks in Rome " (1862), " Excursus in Art and Letters " (1891), and " A Poet's Portfolio " (1894). He died at Vallom- brosa, near Florence, October 8, 1896. ]
Here, Charmian, take my bracelets — They bar with a purple stain —
My arms ; turn over my pillows They are hot where I have lain:
Open the lattice wider,
A gauze on my bosom throw,
And let me inhale the odors That over the garden blow.
CLEOPATRA.
I dreamed I was with my Antony, And in his arms Ilay; —
Ah, me! the vision has vanished Its music has died away.
The flame and the perfume have perished As this spiced aromatic pastille
That wound the blue smoke of its odor Is now but an ashy hill.
Scatter upon me rose leaves, — They cool me after my sleep ;
And with sandal odors fan me Till into my veins they creep ;
Reach down the lute, and play me A melancholy tune,
—
To rhyme with the dream that has vanished, And the slumbering afternoon.
There, drowsing in golden sunlight, Loiters the slow smooth Nile,
Through slender papyri, that cover The sleeping crocodile.
The lotus lolls on the water, And opens its heart of gold,
And over its broad leaf pavement Never a ripple is rolled.
The twilight breeze is too lazy Those feathery palms to wave, And yon little cloud is motionless
As a stone above a grave.
Ah, me ! this lifeless nature Oppresses my heart and brain !
Oh ! for a storm and thunder —
For lightning and wild fierce rain !
Fling down that lute — I hate it ! Take rather his buckler and sword,
And crash them and clash them together Till this sleeping world is stirred.
Hark ! to my Indian beauty — My cockatoo, creamy white, —
With roses under his feathers That flashes across the light.
Look ! listen ! as backward and forward To his hoop of gold he clings,
CLEOPATRA.
How he trembles, with crest uplifted, And shrieks as he madly swings !
Oh, cockatoo, shriek for Antony !
Cry, " Come, my love, come home I " Shriek, " Antony ! Antony ! Antony ! "
Till he hears you even in Rome.
There — leave me, and take from my chamber That wretched little gazelle,
With its bright black eyes so meaningless, And its silly tinkling bell !
Take him, — my nerves he vexes, — The thing without blood or brain,
Or, by the body of Isis,
I'll snap his thin neck in twain I
Leave me to gaze at the landscape Mistily stretching away,
When the afternoon's opaline tremors O'er the mountains quivering play ;
Till the fiercer splendor of sunset Pours from the west its fire,
And melted, as in a crucible, Their earthly forms expire ;
And the bald blear skull of the desert With glowing mountains is crowned,
That burning like molten jewels Circle its temples round.
I will lie and dream of the past time, iEons of thought away,
And through the jungle of memory Loosen my fancy to play ;
When, a smooth and velvety tiger, Ribbed with yellow and black,
Supple and cushion-footed
I wandered, where never the track
Of a human creature had rustled The silence of mighty woods,
And fierce in a tyrannous freedom, I knew but the law of my moods.
The elephant, trumpeting, started, When he heard my footstep near,
And the spotted giraffes fled wildly In a yellow cloud of fear.
CLEOPATRA.
I sucked in the noontide splendor, Quivering along the glade,
Or yawning, panting, and dreaming, Basked in the tamarisk shade,
Till I heard my wild mate roaring, As the shadows of night came on,
To brood in the trees' thick branches, And the shadow of sleep was gone;
Then I roused, and roared in answer,
And unsheathed from my cushioned feet
My curving claws, and stretched me, And wandered my mate to greet.
We toyed in the amber moonlight,
Upon the warm flat sand, —
And struck at each other our massive arms How powerful he was and grand !
His yellow eyes flashed fiercely
As he crouched and gazed at me,
And his quivering tail, like a serpent, Twitched, curving nervously.
Then like a storm he seized me, With a wild triumphant cry,
And we met, as two clouds in heaven When the thunders before them fly.
We grappled and struggled together, For his love like his rage was rude ;
And his teeth in the swelling folds of my neck At times, in our play, drew blood.
Often another suitor —
For I was flexile and fair —
Fought for me in the moonlight, While I lay crouching there,
Till his blood was drained by the desert ; And, ruffled with triumph and power,
He licked me and lay beside me To breathe him a vast half-hour.
Then down to the fountain we loitered, Where the antelopes came to drink ;
Like a bolt we sprang upon them, Ere they had time to shrink.
We drank their blood and crushed them, And tore them limb from limb,
And the hungriest lion doubted Ere he disputed with him.
THE SAVAGERY OF CLASSIC TIMES. 247
That was a life to live for ! Not this weak human life,
With its frivolous, bloodless passions, Its poor and petty strife !
Come to my arms, my hero :
The shadows of twilight grow, And the tiger's ancient fierceness
In my veins begins to flow. Come not cringing to sue me !
Take me with triumph and power, As a warrior that storms a fortress !
I will not shrink or cower. Come, as you came in the desert, Ere we were women and men,
When the tiger passions were in us, And love as you loved me then !
THE SAVAGERY OF CLASSIC TIMES. By ANTHONY TROLLOPE.
[Akthont Trollofe : An English novelist ; born in London, April 24, 1816 ; died December 6, 1882. He assisted in establishing the Fortnightly Review (1866). Among his works are: "The Macdermots of Ballycloran" (1847); ««The Kellys and the O'Kellys " (1848) ; " La Vendee " (1860) ; " The Warden " (1855); " Barchester Towers " (1857); " Doctor Thome " (1858) ; "The West Indies and the Spanish Main," a book of travel (1859) ; "Castle Richmond" (1860) ; "OrleyFarm" (1861-1862) ; " Framley Parsonage " (1861) ; "Tales of All Countries" (1861-1863) ; " North America," travels (1862) ; " Rachel Ray " (18631 ; " The Small House at Allington " (1864); "Can You Forgive Her? "
(1864); " Miss Mackenzie " (1865); " The Last Chronicle of Barset" (1867); " Linda Tressel" (1868); " Phineas Finn " (1869); "The Vicar of Bullhamp- ton" (1870) ; "Phineas Redux" (1873) ; "Lady Anna" (1874) ; "The Prime Minister" (1875); "The American Senator" (1877); "Is He Popenjoy? "
(1878); "Thackeray," in English Men of Letters (1879); "Life of Cicero" (1880); "Ayala's Angel" (1881); " Mr. Scarborough's Family " (1882); "The
Landleaguers," unfinished (1882) ; " An Old Man's Love " (1884). ]
That which will most strike the ordinary English reader in the narrative of Caesar is the cruelty of the Romans, — cruelty of which Caesar himself is guilty to a frightful extent, and of which he never expresses horror. And yet among his contem poraries he achieved a character for clemency which he has re tained to the present day. In describing the character of Caesar,
248 THE SAVAGERY OF CLASSIC TIMES.
without reference to that of his contemporaries, it is impossible not to declare him to have been terribly cruel. From blood- thirstiness he slaughtered none; but neither from tenderness did he spare any. All was done from policy; and when policy seemed to him to demand blood, he could, without a scruple, — as far as we can judge, without a pang, — order the destruction of human beings, having no regard to number, sex, age, inno cence, or helplessness. Our only excuse for him is that he was a Roman, and that Romans were indifferent to blood. Suicide was with them the common mode of avoiding otherwise in evitable misfortune, and it was natural that men who made light of their own lives should also make light of the lives of others.
Of all those with whose names the reader will become acquainted in the following pages [of Roman history], hardly one or two died in their beds. Caesar and Pompey, the two great ones, were murdered. Dumnorix, the iEduan, was killed by Caesar's orders. Vercingetorix, the gallantest of the Gauls, was kept alive for years that his death might grace Caesar's Triumph. Ariovistus, the German, escaped from Caesar, but we hear soon after of his death, and that the Germans resented it: he doubtless was killed by a Roman weapon. What became of the hunted Ambiorix we do not know, but his brother king Cativolcus poisoned himself with the juice of a yew tree. Cras- sus, the partner of Caesar and Pompey in the first triumvirate, was killed by the Parthians. Young Crassus, the son, Caesar's officer in Gaul, had himself killed by his own men that he might not fall into the hands of the Parthians, and his head was cut off and sent to his father. Labienus fell at Munda, in the last civil war with Spain. Quintus Cicero, Caesar's lieutenant, and his greater brother, the orator, and his son, perished in the proscriptions of the second triumvirate. Titurius and Cotta were slaughtered with all their army by Ambiorix. Afranius was killed by Caesar's soldiers after the last battle in Africa. Petreius was hacked to pieces in amicable contest by King Juba. Varro indeed lived to be an old man, and to write many books. Domitius, who defended Marseilles for Pompey, was killed in the flight after Pharsalia. Trebonius, who attacked Marseilles by land, was killed by a son-in-law of Cicero at Smyrna. Of Decimus Brutus, who attacked Marseilles by sea, one Camillus cut off the head and sent it as a present to Antony. Curio, who attempted to master the province of
Savagery of Classic Times From the painting in the Louvre
THE SAVAGERY OP CLASSIC TIMES. 249
Africa on behalf of Caesar, rushed amidst his enemies' swords and was slaughtered. King Juba, who conquered him, failing to kill himself, had himself killed by a slave. Attius Varus, who had held the province for Pompey, fell afterwards at Munda. Marc Antony, Caesar's great lieutenant in the Phar- salian wars, stabbed himself. Cassius Longinus, another lieu tenant under Caesar, was drowned. Scipio, Pompey's partner in greatness at Pharsalia, destroyed himself in Africa. Bibu- lus, his chief admiral, pined to death. Young Ptolemy, to whom Pompey fled, was drowned in the Nile. The fate of his sister Cleopatra is known to all the world. Pharnaces, Caesar's enemy in Asia, fell in battle. Cato destroyed himself at Utica. Pompey's eldest son, Cnaeus, was caught wounded in Spain and slaughtered. Sextus the younger was killed some years after ward by one of Antony's soldiers. Brutus and Cassius, the two great conspirators, both committed suicide. But"of these two we hear little or nothing in the " Commentaries ; nor of Augustus Caesar, who did contrive to live in spite of all the bloodshed through which he had waded to the throne. Among the whole number there are not above three, if so many, who died fairly fighting in battle. —
The above is a list of the names of men of mark,
riors chiefly, of men who, with their eyes open, knowing what was before them, went out to encounter danger for certain pur poses. The bloody catalogue is so complete, so nearly com prises all whose names are mentioned, that it strikes the reader with almost a comic horror. But when we come to the slaughter of whole towns, the devastation of a country effected purposely that men and women might starve, to the abandon ment of the old, the young, and the tender, that they might perish on the hillsides, to the mutilation of crowds of men, to the burning of cities told us in a passing word, to the drown ing of many thousands, — mentioned as we should mention the destruction of a brood of rats, —the comedy is all over, and the heart becomes sick. Then it is that we remember that the coming of Christ has changed all things, and that men now — though terrible things have been done since Christ came to us — are not as men were in the days of Caesar.
of war
250 ROMAN AND CELT IN OUR DAYS.
ROMAN AND CELT IN OUR DAYS. By Professor CHARLES F. JOHNSON.
Under the slanting light of the yellow sun of October,
A " gang of Dagos " were working close by the side of the car track. Pausing a moment to catch a note of their liquid Italian,
Faintly I heard an echo of Rome's imperial accents, —
Broken-down forms of Latin words from the Senate and Forum, Now smoothed over by use to the musical lingua Romana.
Then came the thought — Why I these are the heirs of the conquer
ing Romans ;
These are the sons of the men who founded the empire of Caesar. These are they whose fathers carried the conquering eagles
Over all Gaul and across the sea to Ultima Thule. [figures The race type persists unchanged in their eyes, and profiles, and Muscular, short, and thick-set, with prominent noses, recalling
" Romanos rerum dominos, gentemque togatam. "
See, Labienus is swinging a pick with rhythmical motion ;
Yonder one pushing the shovel might be Julius Caesar, —
Lean, deep-eyed, broad-browed, and bald, a man of a thousand; Further along stands the jolly Horatius Flaccus ;
Grim and grave, with rings in his ears, see Cato the Censor;
And the next has precisely the bust of Cneius Pompeius.
Blurred and worn the surface, I grant, and the coin is but copper ; Look more closely, you'll catch a hint of the old superscription, Perhaps the stem of a letter, perhaps a leaf of the laurel.
On the side of the street, in proud and gloomy seclusion,
" Bossing the job," stood a Celt, the race enslaved by the legions, Sold in the market of Rome to meet the expenses of Caesar.
And as I loitered, the Celt cried out, " Wot-ruk, ye Dagos !
Full up your shovel, Paythro, ye hay then, — I'll dock yees a quarther ! " This he said to the one who resembled the great Imperator.
Meekly the dignified Roman kept on patiently digging.
Such are the changes and chances the centuries bring to the nations ; Surely the ups and downs of this world are past calculation.
How the races troop over the stage in endless nrocession !
Persian and Arab and Greek, and Hun and Roman and Saxon, Master the world in turn, and then disappear in the darkness, Leaving a remnant as hewers of wood and drawers of water.
" Possibly " (this I thought to myself) " the yoke of the Irish May in turn be lifted from us in the tenth generation.
Now the Celt is on top ; but Time may bring his revenges,
Turning the Fenian down once more to be ' bossed by a Dago. ' "
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE. 251
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
The Death of the Children of Usnach.
(From the King Conor MacNessa Cycle. Time : first century b. c. Abridged by Lady Ferguson. )
[King Conor goes to a banquet in the house of Feilimid, his story-teller. During the festivity, Deirdre, the daughter of Feilimid, is born. Cathbad, the Druid, foretells her future beauty and the destruction it will bring on Ulster and on the king and nobles. Thereupon, the nobles demand the death of the infant ; but the king orders her to be shut up in a strong tower until she grows old enough to become his wife. ]
Notwithstanding the precautions of Conor, Deirdre* saw and loved Naisi, the son of Usnach. He was sitting in the midst of the plain of Emania, playing on a harp. Sweet was the music of the sons of Usnach — great also was their prowess ; they were fleet as hounds in the chase — they slew deer with their speed. As Naisi sat singing, he perceived a maiden approaching him. She held down her head as she came near him, and would have passed in silence. " Gentle is the damsel who passeth by," said Naisi. Then the maiden, looking up, replied, " Damsels may well be gentle when there are no youths. " Then Naisi knew it was Deirdre", and great dread fell upon him. "The king of the province is betrothed to thee, O damsel," he said. " I love him not," she replied ; "he is an aged man. I would rather love a youth like thee. " " Say not so, O damsel," answered Naisi" , " the king is a bet ter spouse than the king's servant. " Thou sayest so," said Deirdre, " that thou mayest avoid me. " Then plucking a rose from a brier, she flung it towards him, and said, " Now thou art ever disgraced if thou rejectest me. " " Depart from me, I beseech thee, damsel," said Naisi. "If thou dost not take me to be thy wife," said Deirdre, " thou art dishonored before all the men of Erin after what I have done. " Then Naisi said no more, and Deirdre" took the harp, and sat beside him, play ing sweetly. But the other sons of Usnach, rushing forth, came running to the spot where Naisi sat, and Deirdre with him. "Alas ! " they cried, "what hast thou done, O brother?
252 EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
After wandering through various parts of Erin, from Easroe to Ben Edar, from Dundalgan to Almain, the fugitives at length took shelter in Alba,1 where they found an asylum on the banks of Loch Etive.
The loss of three warriors of such renown soon began to be felt by the nobles of Ulster, who no longer found themselves able to make head with their accustomed success against the southern provinces. They therefore urged Conor to abandon his resentment and recall the fugitives. Conor, with no other intention than that of repossessing himself of Deirdre, feigned compliance. But, to induce Clan Usnach to trust themselves again in the hands of him whom their leader had so outraged, it was necessary that the message of pardon should be borne by one on whose warranty of safe conduct the most implicit reliance could be placed. After sounding some of his chief nobles who were of sufficient authority to under take the mission, and finding that any attempt to tamper with them would be unavailing, Conor fixes on Fergus, the son of Roy, as a more likely instrument, and commits the embassy to him. But though he does not much fear the consequences of compromising the safe conduct of Fergus, he yet does not venture to enlist him openly in the meditated treachery, but proceeds by a stratagem. Fergus was of the order of the Red Branch knights, and the brethren of the Red Branch were under vow never to refuse hospitality at one another's hands. Conor, therefore, arranged with Barach, one of his minions, and a brother of the order, to intercept Fergus on his return by the tender of a three days' banquet, well knowing that Clan Usnach must in that case proceed to Emania without the pres ence of their protector. Meanwhile, Fergus, arriving in the harbor of Loch Etive, where dwelt Clan Usnach in green hunting booths along the shore, " sends forth the loud cry of a mighty man of chase. " Deirdre and Naisi were sitting to-
1 Scotland.
Is not this damsel fated to ruin Ulster ? "
before the men of Erin forever," replied Naisi, " if I take her not after that which she hath done. " "Evil will come of it," said the brothers. " I care not," said Naisi. " I would rather be in misfortune than dishonor. We will fly with her to an other country. " So that night they departed, taking with them three times fifty men of might, and three times fifty women, and three times fifty greyhounds, and three times fifty attendants ; and Naisi took Deirdre to be his wife.
"I am disgraced
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
253
gether in their tent, and Conor's polished chessboard between them. And Naisi, hearing the cry, said, " I hear the call of a man of Erin. " " That was not the call of a man of Erin," replied Deirdre, " but the call of a man of Alba. " Then again Fergus shouted a second time. " Surely that was the call of a man of Erin," said Naisi. " Surely no," said Deirdre ; " let us play on. " Then again Fergus shouted a third time, and Naisi knew that
it was the cry of Fergus, and he said : "
in existence, I hear his hunting shout from the Loch. Go forth, Ardan, my brother, and give our kinsman welcome. " " Alas ! " cried Deirdre, " I knew the call of Fergus from the first. " For she has a prophetic dread that foul play is intended them, and this feeling never subsides in her breast from that hour until the catastrophe. Quite different are the feelings of Naisi ; he reposes the most unlimited confidence in the safe conduct vouched for by his brother in arms, and, in spite of the remonstrance of Deirdre, embarks with all his retainers for Ireland. Deirdre, on leaving the only secure or happy home she ever expects to enjoy, sings this farewell to Alba and her green sheeling on the shores of Glen Etive : —
(Translation of Sir Samuel Ferguson. )
Harp, take my bosom's burthen on thy string, And, turning it to sad, sweet melody,
Waste and disperse it on the careless air.
Air, take the harp string's burthen on thy breast, And, softly thrilling soulward through the sense, Bring my love's heart again in tune with mine.
Blessed were the hours when, heart in tune with hearty My love and I desired no happier home
Than Etive's airy glades and lonely shore.
Alba, farewell ! Farewell, fair Etive bank ! Sun kiss thee ; moon caress thee ; dewy stars Refresh thee long, dear scene of quiet days !
Barach meets them on their landing, near Dunseverick on the coast of Antrim, and detains Fergus, who reluctantly assigns his charge to his two sons, Red Buine Borb and Illan Finn, to conduct them in safety to their journey's end. Deir- dre's fears are more and more excited. "A blood-red cloud
If the son of Roy be
254 EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
floats before her and hovers above the palace of Emania. " She has dreams and visions of disasters. She urges Naisi to go to Dunseverick or to Dundalgan and there await the com ing of Fergus. Naisi is inflexible. It would injure the honor of his companion in arms to admit any apprehension of danger while under his safe conduct. The omens multiply. Deirdre's sense of danger becomes more and more acute. Still Naisi's
reply is :
"I fear not; let us proceed. " At length they reach Emania, and are assigned the house of the Red Branch for their lodging. Calm, and to all appearance unconscious of any cause for apprehension, Naisi takes his place at the chess table, and Deirdre, full of fears, sits opposite. Meanwhile the king, knowing that Deirdre was again within his reach, could not rest at the banquet, but sends spies to bring him word " if her beauty yet lived upon her. " The first messenger, friendly to Clan Usnach, reports that she is "quite bereft of her own aspect, and is lovely and desirable no longer. " This allays Conor's passion for a time ; but growing heated with wine, he shortly after sends another messenger, who brings back the intelligence that not only is Deirdre " the fairest woman on the ridge of the world," but that he himself has been wounded by Naisi, who had resented his gazing in at the window of the Red Branch by flinging a chessman at his head, and dashing out one of his eyes. This was all that Conor wanted ; he starts up in pretended indignation at the violence done his servant, calls his bodyguard, and attacks the Red Branch. The defense now devolves on the sons of Fergus. Clan Usnach scorn to evince alarm, or interfere in any way with the duties of their pro tectors. But Deirdre cannot "conceal her consciousness that they are betrayed. " Ah, me ! she cries, hearing the soldiery of Conor at the gates, " I knew that Fergus was a traitor. " " If Fergus hath betrayed you," replied Red Buine Borb, " yet will not I betray you. " And he issues out and slays his " thrice fifty men of might. " But when Conor offers him Slieve Fuad for a bribe, he holds back his hand from the slaughter, and goes his way. Then calls Deirdre, " Traitor father, traitor son ! " "No," replied Illan Finn, "though Red Buine Borb be a traitor, yet will not I be a traitor. While liveth this small straight sword in my hand, I will not forsake Clan Usnach. " Then Illan Finn, encountering Fiachra, the son of Conor, who was armed with Ocean, Flight, and Victory, the shield, spear, and sword of his father, they fight " a fair fight, stout and manly,
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE. 255
bitter and bloody, savage and hot, and vehement and terrible, until the waves round the blue rim of Ocean roared, for it was the nature of Conor's shield that it ever resounded as with the noise of stormy waters when he who bore it was in danger. " Summoned by which signal, one of King Conor's nobles, coming behind Illan Finn, thrusts him through. "The weakness of death then fell darkly upon Illan, and he threw his arms into the mansion, and called to Naisi to fight manfully, and ex pired. " Clan Usnach at length designed to lay aside their chess tables and stand to their arms. Ardan first sallies out, and slays his " three hundred men of might," then Ainle, who makes twice that havoc ; and last Naisi himself ; and " till the sands of the sea, the dewdrops of the meadows, the leaves of the forest, or the stars of heaven be counted, it is not possi ble to tell the number of heads and hands and lopped limbs of heroes that there lay bare and red from the hands of Naisi and his brothers on that plain. " Then Naisi came again into the Red Branch to Deirdre ; and she encouraged him, and said, "We will yet escape; fight manfully, and fear not. " Then the sons of Usnach made a phalanx of their shields, and spread the links of their joined bucklers round Deirdre, and bounding forth like three eagles, swept down upon the troops of Conor, making great havoc of the people. But when Cathbad, the Druid, saw that the sons of Usnach were bent on the destruc tion of Conor himself, he had recourse to his arts of magic and he cast an enchantment over them, so that their arms fell from their hands, and they were taken by the men of Ulster ; for the spell was like a sea of thick gums about them, and their limbs were clogged in that they could not move. The sons of Usnach were then put to death, and Deirdre, standing over
—
(Translation of Sir Samuel Ferguson. )
The lions of the hill are gone,
And am left alone — alone.
Dig the grave both wide and deep, For am sick, and fain would sleep
The falcons of the wood are flown, And am left alone — alone.
Dig the grave both deep and wide, And let us slumber side by side.
their grave, sang this funeral song
III it, :
!
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
The dragons of the rock are sleeping, Sleep that wakes not for our weeping. Dig the grave, and make it ready, Lay me on my true love's body.
Lay their spears and bucklers bright By the warriors' sides aright.
Many a day the three before me
On their linked bucklers bore me.
Lay upon the low grave floor,
'Neath each head, the blue claymore ; Many a time the noble three Reddened these blue blades for me.
Lay the collars, as is meet,
Of their greyhounds at their feet ; Many a time for me have they Brought the tall red deer to bay.
In the falcon's jesses throw Hook and arrow, line and bow: Never again by stream or plain Shall the gentle woodsmen go.
Sweet companions ye were ever — Harsh to me, your sister, never ; Woods and wilds and misty valleys Were with you as good's a palace.
Oh ! to hear my true love singing,
Sweet as sound of trumpets ringing; Like the sway of Ocean swelling
Rolled his deep voice round our dwelling.
Oh! to hear the echoes pealing
Round our green and fairy sheeling, When the three, with soaring chorus, Passed the silent skylark o'er us.
Echo, now sleep morn and even — Lark, alone enchant the heaven ! — Ardan's lips are scant of breath, Naisi's tongue is cold in death.
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE. 267
Stag, exult on glen and mountain ; Salmon, leap from loch to fountain ; Heron, in the free air warm ye ; Usnach's sons no more will harm ye.
Erin's stay no more ye are,
Rulers of the ridge of war ! Nevermore 'twill be your fate
To keep the beam of battle straight !
Woe is me ! by fraud and wrong, Traitors false and tyrants strong, Fell Clan Usnach, bought and sold, For Barach's feast and Conor's gold I
Woe to Emain, roof and wall !
Woe to Red Branch, hearth and hall ! Tenfold woe and black dishonor
To the foul and false Clan Conor !
Dig the grave both wide and deep, Sick I am, and fain would sleep. Dig the grave and make it ready, Lay me on my true love's body !
So saying, she flung herself into the grave, and expired.
(Episodes from the Tain Bo Cuailqne, or Cattle Spoil of Coolnet, the chief epic of ancient Ireland. Time : the first century b. c. )
The Pillow Conversation of King Ailill and Queen Maev that caused the War.
Translation of O'CURRY.
On one occasion that Ailill and Maev had arisen from their royal bed in Cruachan of Rath Conrach, a pillow conversation was "carried on between them : — "
It is a true saying, O woman," said Ailill, that a good man's wife is a happy creature. "
"Why do you say so ? " said Maev.
" The reason that I say so," said Ailill, " is because you are happier this day than the day I espoused you. "
" I was happy before I knew you," said Maev.
" It was a happiness of which we never heard," said Ailill.
vol. v. — 17
258 EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
" We only heard of your being in the dependent position of a woman, while your nearest enemies stole and plundered, and carried off your property. "
" Not so was I," said Maev, " but my father was arch king of Erin ; that is, Eochy Fiedlech, son of Finn, son of Finno- man, son of Finneon, son of Finnlag, etc. He had six daughters of daughters; namely, Derbrin, Eithne, Ele, Clothra, Mugain, and Maev, myself, who was the most noble and illustrious of them, for I was the best for gifts and presents of them. I was the best for battle and fight and combat of them. It was I that had fifteen hundred noble mercenaries, soldiers — sons of foreign chiefs — and as many more of the sons of my own landholders ; and there were ten men with every soldier of them ; and eight with every soldier, and seven with every soldier, and six with every soldier, and five with every soldier, and three with every soldier, and two with every soldier, and a soldier with every soldier. These I had for my ordinary household, and for that it was that my father gave me a province of the provinces of Erin ; namely, the province of Cruachan, where I am called Maev of Cruachan. And I was sought in marriage by Finn, son of Ross Ruadh, king of Laighin, and by Cairpri Nia Fear, son of the king of Flamair, and by Conor, son of Fachna Fathach. And I was sought by Eochy, son of Luchta ; and I did not go, because it was I that demanded the extraordinary dowry, such as no woman ever sought before from the men of Erin ; namely, a man without parsimoniousness, without jealousy, without fear. If the man who would have me were parsimonious, we were not fit to be united in one, because I am good at bestowing gifts and pres ents, and it would be a reproach to my husband that I were better in gifts than he ; and it would be no reproach now, if we were equally good, provided that we were both good. If my husband were timid, we were not the more fit to unite, because I go in battle and fights and combats, by myself alone ; and it would be a reproach to my husband that his wife were more active than himself ; and it is no reproach if we are equally active. If the man who had me were jealous, we were not matched either, because I never was without having a man in the shadow of another. I have found that man ; namely, you ; namely, Ailill, the son of Ross Ruadh, of the men of Laighin. You were not parsimonious ; you were not jealous ; you were not timid. I gave you an engagement and a dowry,
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
259
the best that is desired of woman ; namely, of clothes, the array of twelve men ; a chariot, with thrice seven cumhals (steeds) ; the breadth of your face of red gold ; the span of your left wrist of carved silver. Should any one work reproach or injury or incantation on you, you are not entitled to DirS (fine for bodily injury) or Uneclann (fine for satire and calumny) for but what comes to me. Because man in
attendance on woman what you are. "
"Such was not my state," said Ailill, "but had two
brothers, one the king of Temar, and the other the king of Laighin. left them the sovereignty because of their senior ity. And you were not the better for gifts and presents than
was. have not heard of province of Erin in woman's keep ing but this province alone. came, then, and assumed sovereignty here in succession to my mother for Mata of Murisy, the daughter of Magach, was my mother, and what better queen need desire to have than you, since you happen to be the daughter of the arch king of Erin. "
"It happens, however," said Maev, "that my goodness greater than yours. "
" wonder at that," said Ailill, " since there no one that has more jewels, and wealth, and riches than have — and know there not. "
Ailill and Maev then commenced a comparison of their goods and effects — for women at this time did not lose by marriage their separate rights of property. Their jewels, garments, flocks, were compared, and found to be of equal value, with one exception. There was particularly splendid bull of AHill's cows. Now he was the calf of one of Maev's cows, and Finn- bennach (White Horn) was his name but he deemed not honorable to be in a woman's dependence, and he passed over to the king's cows. And the queen was indignant, but hearing that Dare, son of Factna, of Cuailgne", was the possessor of brown bull, still finer animal than the white-horned deserter of her drove, she dispatched her courier, MacRoth, to Dare, requesting of him the loan of the Donn Cuailgne (the Brown One of Coolney) for year, and promising to restore him with fifty heifers to boot, chariot worth sixty-three cows, and other tokens of her friendship. On his refusal, she summoned her forces to join in foray for the capture of the Donn Cuailgne.
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260 EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
How Setanta, the Hero of the Tatv, received the Name of Cuchullin, the Hound of Cullan.
Translation of Sir SAMUEL FERGUSON.
[King Conor, going with a few guests to a feast at the Dun of Cullan, the Smith, meets his nephew, Setanta, who is playing with his companions on the plain of Emania. ]
Conor —
Setanta, if bird nesting in the woods
And ball feats on the playgreen please thee not More than discourse of warrior and sage,
And sight of warrior weapons in the forge,
I offer an indulgence. For we go —
Myself, my step-sire Fergus, and my Bard — To visit Cullan, the illustrious smith
Of Coolney. Come thou also if thou wilt.
Setanta —
Ask me not, O good Conor, yet to leave
The playgreen ; for the ball feats just begun
Are those which most delight my playmate youths, And they entreat me to defend the goal :
But let me follow ; for the chariot tracks
Are easy to discern ; and much I long
To hear discourse of warrior and sage,
And see the nest that hatches deaths of men,
The tongs a-flash, and Cullan's welding blow.
Conor —
Too late the hour ; too difficult the way.
Set forward, drivers : give our steeds the goad.
Cullan —
Great King of Emain, welcome. Welcome, thou, Fergus, illustrious step-sire of the King :
And, Seer and Poet, Cathbad, welcome too, Behold the tables set, the feast prepared.
Sit. But before I cast my chain hound loose, Give me assurance that ye be all in.
For night descends ; and perilous the wild ;
And other watchman none of house or herds, Here, in this solitude remote from men,
Own I, but one hound only. Once his chain
Is loosened, and he makes three bounds at large Before my doorposts, after fall of night,
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
There lives not man nor company of men, Less than a cohort, shall within my close Set foot of trespass, short of life or limb.
Conor —
Yea ; all are in. Let loose, and sit secure.
Good are thy viands, Smith, and strong thine ale.
Hark, the hound growling Cullan —
! —
Wild dogs are abroad.
Fergus —
Not ruddier the fire that laps a sword — Steeled for a king, oh Cullan, than thy wine.
Hark, the hound baying Cullan —
! —
Wolves, belike, are near.
Cathbad —
Not cheerfuller the ruddy forge's light
To wayfarer benighted, nor the glow
Of wine and viands to a hungry man
Than look of welcome passed from host to guest. — Hark, the hound yelling ! —
Cullan — — Friends, arise and arm ! Some enemy intrudes! Tush! 'tis a boy.
Setanta —
Setanta here, the son of Suailtam.
Conor —
Setanta, whom I deemed on Emain green, Engaged at ball play, on our track, indeed !
Setanta —
Not difficult the track to find, oh King,
But difficult, indeed, to follow home.
Cullan, 'tis evil welcome for a guest
This unwarned onset of a savage beast,
Which, but that 'gainst the stone posts of thy gate I three times threw him, leaping at my throat, And, at the third throw, on the stone edge, slew, Had brought on thee the shame indelible
Of bidden guest, at his host's threshold, torn.
Conor —
Yea, he was bidden : it was I myself
Said, as I passed him with the youths at play, This morning : Come thou also if thou wilt. But little thought I, — when he said the youths Desired his presence still to hold the goal,
Yet asked to follow — for he said he longed
To hear discourse of warrior and sage,
And see the nest that hatches deaths of men
262
EARLY CELTIC LITERATURE.
The tongs a-flash, and Cullan's welding blow — That such a playful, young, untutored boy Would come on this adventure of a man.
Cullan —
I knew not he was bidden ; and I asked,
Ere I cast loose, if all the train were in. — But, since thy word has made the boy my guest, Boy, for his sake who bade thee to my board,
I give thee welcome : for thine own sake, no.
For thou hast slain my servant and my friend,
The hound I loved, that fierce, intractable
To all men else, was ever mild to me.
He knew me ; and he knew my uttered words,
All my commandments, as a man might know : More than a man, he knew my looks and tones
And turns of gesture, and discerned my mind, Unspoken, if in grief or if in joy.
He was my pride, my strength, my company,
For I am childless ; and that hand of thine
Has left an old man lonely in the world.
Setanta —
Since, Cullan, by mischance, I've slain thy hound, So much thy grief compassion stirs in me,
Hear me pronounce a sentence on myself.
If of his seed there liveth but a whelp
In Uladh, I will rear him till he grow
To such ability as had his sire
For knowing, honoring, and serving thee.
Meantime, but give a javelin in my hand,
And a good buckler, and there never went
About thy bounds, from daylight — gone till dawn, Hound watchf uller, or of a keener fang
Against intruder, than myself shall be.
Cullan —
A sentence, a just sentence.
Setanta —
Setanta I, the son of Suailtam,
Nor other name assume I, or desire.
Conor —
Hath made award more righteous. Be it so. Wherefore what hinders that we give him now His hero name, no more Setanta called
But now Cuchullin, chain hound of the Smith ?
Cathbad —
Take, son of Suailtam, the offered name.
