[Preface]

[Contents]

OLD CELTIC ROMANCES

OLD CELTIC ROMANCES

translated from the gaelic

BY

P.W. JOYCE, M.A., LL.D., T.C.D.
M.R.I.A.

One of the Commissioners for the Publication of
the Ancient Laws of Ireland
President of the Royal Society of Antiquaries, Ireland

Author of

"A SOCIAL HISTORY OF ANCIENT IRELAND"
"THE STORY OF ANCIENT IRISH CIVILISATION"
"A SHORT HISTORY OF IRELAND"
"A CHILD'S HISTORY OF IRELAND"
"IRISH NAMES OF PLACES"
"ANCIENT IRISH MUSIC"
AND OTHER WORKS RELATING TO IRELAND

"I shall tell you a pretty tale"
—Coriolanus.

DUBLIN
THE EDUCATIONAL CO. OF IRELAND, LIMITED
89 TALBOT STREET

LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND COMPANY
39 PATERNOSTER ROW

1920

PREFACE.

Among the Celtic people of Ireland and the north-west of Scotland, story-telling has always been a favourite amusement. In the olden time, they had professional story-tellers, variously designated according to rank—ollaves, shanachies, filès, bards, etc.—whose duty it was to know by heart a number of old tales, poems, and historical pieces, and to recite them at festive gatherings, for the entertainment of the chiefs and their guests. These story-tellers were always well received at the houses of princes and chiefs, and treated with much consideration; and on occasions when they acquitted themselves well, so as to draw down the applause of the audience, they were often rewarded with costly presents.

To meet the demand for this sort of entertainment, ingenious "men of learning," taking legends or historical events as themes, composed stories from time to time; of which those that struck the popular fancy were caught up and remembered, and handed down from one generation of story-tellers to another. In course of time, a body of romantic literature grew up, consisting chiefly of prose tales, which were classified, according to subject, into Battles, Voyages, Tragedies, Military Expeditions, Cattle-Raids, Courtships, Pursuits, Adventures, Visions, etc.[I.]

Some of these tales were historical, i.e. founded on historical events, and corresponded closely with what is now called the historical romance; while others were altogether fictitious—pure creations of the imagination. But it is to be observed that even in the fictitious tales, the main characters are always historical, or such as were considered so. The old ollaves wove their fictions round Conor Mac Nessa and his Red Branch Knights, or Finn and his Fena, or Luga of the Long Arms and his Dedannans, or Conn the Hundred-fighter, or Cormac Mac Art; like the Welsh legends of Arthur and his Round Table, or the Arabian romances of Haroun-al-Raschid and his Court.

The greater number of the tales were, as I have said, in prose. But some were in poetry; and in many of the prose tales the leading characters are often made to express themselves in verse, or some striking incident of the story is repeated in a poetical form. Not unfrequently the fragments of verse introduced into a prose tale are quotations from an older poetical version of the same tale; and hence it often happens that while the prose may be plain enough, the poetry is often archaic and obscure.

At some very early period in Ireland—how early we have now no means of determining with certainty—Celtic thought began to be committed to writing; and as everything seems to have been written down that was considered worth preserving, manuscripts accumulated in course of time, which were kept either in monasteries, or in the houses of the hereditary professors of learning. But in the dark time of the Danish ravages, and during the troubled centuries that followed the Anglo-Norman invasion, the manuscript collections were gradually dispersed, and a large proportion lost or destroyed. Yet we have remaining—rescued by good fortune from the general wreck—a great body of manuscript literature. Our two most important collections are those in Trinity College and in the Royal Irish Academy, Dublin; where we have manuscripts of various ages, from the year 1100 down to the present century, on every conceivable subject—Annals, History, Biography, Theology, Romance, Legend, Science, etc. These manuscripts, which, it should be remarked, are nearly all copies from older books, contain a vast collection of romantic literature: it may, indeed, be said that there is scarcely one important event in our early history, or one important native personage or native legend, that has not been made the subject of some fanciful story.

The volume I now offer to the notice of the public contains eleven tales, selected and translated from the manuscripts of Trinity College and of the Royal Irish Academy. Some have been already published, with original text and literal translation, and are to be found in the Transactions of various literary societies, where, however, they are inaccessible to the general run of readers; and even if they were accessible, they are almost unreadable, the translations having been executed, not for literary, but for linguistic purposes. Others have never been translated or given to the public in any shape or form till now.

Of the whole collection of eleven tales, therefore, it may be said that they are quite new to the general mass of the reading public. And furthermore, this is the first collection of the old Gaelic prose romances that has ever been published in fair English translation.

Scraps and fragments of some of these tales have been given to the world in popular publications, by writers who, not being able to read the originals, took their information from printed books in the English language. But I am forced to say that many of these specimens have been presented in a very unfavourable and unjust light—distorted to make them look funny, and their characters debased to the mere modern conventional stage Irishman. There is none of this silly and odious vulgarity in the originals of these fine old tales, which are high and dignified in tone and feeling—quite as much so as the old romantic tales of Greece and Rome.[II.]

A translation may either follow the very words, or reproduce the life and spirit, of the original; but no translation can do both. If you render word for word, you lose the spirit; if you wish to give the spirit and manner, you must depart from the exact words, and frame your own phrases. I have chosen this latter course. My translation follows the original closely enough in narrative and incident; but so far as mere phraseology is concerned, I have used the English language freely, not allowing myself to be trammelled by too close an adherence to the very words of the text. The originals are in general simple in style; and I have done my best to render them into simple, plain, homely English. In short, I have tried to tell the stories as I conceive the old shanachies themselves would have told them, if they had used English instead of Gaelic.

In the originals, the stories run on without break or subdivision;[III.] but I have thought it better to divide the longer ones into chapters, with appropriate headings.

In almost all cases I had at my command several copies of the same story, some of them differing in phraseology and in minor points of detail, though agreeing, in the main, in narrative and incident. I found this a considerable advantage, as it gave me more freedom in the choice of expression.

I have made full use of the literal translations of those tales that have been already published in the Transactions of the Ossianic Society, in the Atlantis, in the Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy, and in the Journal of the Royal Historical and Archæological Association of Ireland. But, in order to secure the advantage of various readings, I compared, in every case, the published text with at least one copy of the story, in the Royal Irish Academy, in Trinity College, or in my own private manuscript collection.

The ancient institution of professional story-telling held its ground both in Ireland and in Scotland down to a very recent period; and it is questionable if it be even yet quite extinct. Within my own memory, this sort of entertainment was quite usual among the farming classes of the south of Ireland. The family and workmen, and any neighbours that chose to drop in, would sit round the kitchen fire after the day's work—or perhaps gather in a barn on a summer or autumn evening—to listen to some local shanachie reciting one of his innumerable Gaelic tales. The story-teller never chose his own words—he always had the story by heart, and recited the words from memory, often gliding into a sort of recitative in poetical passages, or when he came to some favourite grandiose description abounding in high-sounding alliterative adjectives. And very interesting it was to mark the rapt attention of the audience, and to hear their excited exclamations when the speaker came to relate some mighty combat, some great exploit of the hero, or some other striking incident. Three years ago, I met a man in Kilkee, who had a great number of these stories by heart, and who actually repeated for me, without the slightest hitch or hesitation, more than half—and if I had not stopped him would have given me the whole—of "Cúirt an Mheadhon-Oidhche" ("The Midnight Court"), a poem about six times as long as Gray's "Elegy."

I will now proceed to give a few particulars concerning these tales, including a short account of the manuscript or manuscripts from which each has been translated.

THE THREE TRAGIC STORIES OF ERIN.

Among the ancient Gaelic tales, three were known as "the three most sorrowful (tales) of story-telling," or "The Three Tragic Stories of Erin;" viz., "The Fate of the Children of Usna," "The Fate of the Children of Lir," and "The Fate of the Children of Turenn." I have not included the first in this volume, but a poetical version of it has been written and published by my brother.[IV.]

THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR.

Two translations of this tale have been published: one literal, with the Gaelic text, by Professor O'Curry, in the Atlantis (Nos. vii. and viii.); and another, less literal, by Gerald Griffin, in his "Tales of a Jury-Room."

The oldest known copies of the tale are, one in the Catholic University, Dublin, made by Andrew Mac Curtin, a well-known Gaelic scholar and scribe of the county Clare, who lived between 1680 and 1740; one in Trinity College, Dublin, made by Hugh O'Daly, in 1758; and one in the British Museum, made by Richard Tipper of Dublin, in 1718.[V.] There is also a very good copy in the Royal Irish Academy (23. C. 26), of which I made considerable use, written in or about 1782, by Peter O'Connell, a good Gaelic scholar of the county Clare. From a comparison of several of these versions, O'Curry made his copy of the text as published in the Atlantis.

There may be, and there probably are, older copies, in Trinity College, in the British Museum, or elsewhere, if we knew only where to find them. And this observation applies to several of the tales that follow, of which we have at hand only modern copies.

THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF TURENN.

In the Book of Lecan (folio 28), which was compiled by the Mac Firbises, about a.d. 1416, is a short account, partly in prose and partly in verse, of the celebrated eric-fine imposed on the three sons of Turenn, by Luga of the Long Arms, for killing his father Kian; but this old book does not give the story of the quest for the fine. The full tale, text and literal translation, has been published by O'Curry in the Atlantis. There are several good copies in the Royal Irish Academy: one in 23. G. 10, transcribed by Patrick Brown of the county Clare, in 1805; another in 23. E. 16, written out by Michael Oge O'Longan, in 1797; and a third (imperfect) in 23. M. 47, copied by Andrew Mac Curtin, in 1734.

There are references to these three sons of Turenn, and to the manner of their death, in two very old authorities, viz., Cormac's "Glossary" (about a.d. 900); and a poem by Flann of Monaster-boice (who died a.d. 1056), a copy of which is in the Book of Leinster, written about a.d. 1130.

In the older references to the sons of Turenn, they are called Brian, Iuchar, Iucharba; but in some comparatively modern copies of the tale the names are a little different—for instance, Peter O'Connell calls them Uar, Iuchar, and Iucharba; and they vary still further in other copies. I have taken advantage of this variety to give the names in a more pronounceable form in my translation.

In the original, this tale is introduced by an anecdote of Nuada of the Silver Hand and the two great Dedannan leeches, Midac and Armedda ([see page 92, infra]), which has nothing whatever to do with the story, and which I have omitted.

THE OVERFLOWING OF LOUGH NEAGH.

"Leabhar na h-Uidhre," or "The Book of the Dun Cow," from which this and the two following tales are taken, is the oldest manuscript of miscellaneous Gaelic literature we possess. It was transcribed from older books by Maelmuire Mac Ceilechair, who died a.d. 1106; and it is now deposited in the Royal Irish Academy, Dublin—or rather, I should say, a large fragment of it, for the book has suffered much mutilation. This venerable book may now be said to be in the hands of the public, as it has been lately reproduced in lithograph fac-simile, and published by the Council of the Royal Irish Academy, at the Government expense.

The story of "The Overflowing of Lough Neagh" (called in the original "The Destruction of Eocho Mac Mairedo") has been published, with text and literal translation, by the late J. O'Beirne Crowe, in the Kilkenny Archæological Journal volume for 1870-1.

In this story I have been obliged to make a few transpositions in the mere order of the incidents, for the narrative in the original is in some places very ill arranged.

It is now nearly eight hundred years since this story was transcribed from some old authority into "The Book of the Dun Cow;" and it is singular that the tradition of the formation of Lough Neagh, by the overflow of an enchanted well which was neglected by the woman in charge of it, still maintains a vivid existence among the peasantry. (See on this subject the author's "Origin and History of Irish Names of Places," Series I. 4th edition, page 176.)

CONNLA OF THE GOLDEN HAIR, AND THE FAIRY MAIDEN.

This tale (called in the original "Echtra Condla Cain," "The Adventures of Connla the Comely") is taken from "The Book of the Dun Cow." It has been published, with text and literal translation, by the late J. O'Beirne Crowe, in the Kilkenny Archæological Journal (volume 1874-5, page 128).

This is one of the many tales that illustrate the ancient and widespread superstition that fairies sometimes take away mortals to their palaces in the fairy forts and pleasant green hills;[19] of which the last story in this book—"Oisin in Tirnanoge"—is another example. This superstition prevailed in Ireland and the Scottish Highlands as far back as either history or tradition reaches; it flourished in full vigour within my own memory; and it is scarcely quite extinct—in Ireland at least—at the present day.[VI.] In connection with the antiquity of this superstition, it must be borne in mind that the present story was transcribed into "The Book of the Dun Cow" in or about the year 1100, from some older book; and that it relates to the time of Conn the Hundred-fighter, king of Ireland, who reigned in the second century of the Christian era.

THE VOYAGE OF MAILDUN.

Of this tale (which is now given to the public for the first time) the oldest copy is in "The Book of the Dun Cow" (about the year 1100); but it is imperfect at both beginning and end—a portion having been torn away when the book was mutilated at some former time. There is a perfect copy in the Yellow Book of Lecan, in Trinity College, Dublin, and another in the British Museum (MS. Harl. 5280).

After I had made a rough translation of the greater part of this piece, I discovered a good literal translation in manuscript in the Royal Irish Academy, made by the late J. O'Beirne Crowe, which was of great use to me, as it helped to explain some strange terms, and to clear up some obscure passages.

This voyage would appear from internal evidence to have been made in the beginning of the eighth century (O'Curry says about the year 700); for I think it likely that Maildun did actually go on a voyage, which was afterwards made the framework of the story. On my translation of this tale, Lord Tennyson founded his poem "The Voyage of Maeldune."

Of the Imrama or voluntary sea expeditions (to which the present story belongs) there are, according to O'Curry (Lect. MS. Mat. 289), only four remaining, all very ancient. Of these the best known is the "Voyage of St. Brendan," undertaken in the sixth century, which was at one time celebrated all over Europe, and which has been lately made the theme of a fine poem by Denis Florence M^cCarthy.

Another of these Imrama is the "Voyage of the Sons of O'Corra," which has been described at some length by Professor O'Curry (Lect. MS. Mat. 289). Of this I have a copy which I made from the MS. 23. M. 50, Royal Irish Academy (and which I afterwards carefully compared with another copy lent me by my friend, Mr. W. M. Hennessy). I made a translation of this story, intending to print it in the present volume; but as there is a much older and better copy in the ancient "Book of Fermoy," which I had not time to consult in detail, I have thought it better to hold back for the present the strange adventures of the sons of O'Corra. A beautiful poetical translation of the whole tale has been made by Mr. T.D. Sullivan of Dublin, and published in his volume of Poems.

THE FAIRY PALACE OF THE QUICKEN TREES.

The "Bruighean Caerthainn," or "The Fairy Palace of the Quicken Trees," which is now translated for the first time, is one of the most popular of the Gaelic romances. I had three of the Royal Irish Academy MSS. before me when translating it—viz., 23. C. 30, transcribed in 1733, by the Irish writer and lexicographer, Andrew Mac Curtin of the county Clare; 24. B. 15, written in 1841; and 23. L. 24, copied in 1766, by Dermot O'Mulqueen of the county Clare.

This is one of a type of stories very common in Gaelic romantic literature:—One or more of the heroes are entrapped by some enchanter and held under a spell in a castle, or a cave, or a dungeon; till, after a series of adventures, they are released by the bravery or mother-wit of some of their companions. "The Chase of Slieve Fuad" and "The Chase of Slieve Cullinn" are two other examples of this class of Gaelic tales.

THE PURSUIT OF THE GILLA DACKER AND HIS HORSE.

This is a humorous story of a trick—a very serious practical joke—played by Avarta, a Dedannan enchanter, on sixteen of the Fena, whom he carried off to "The Land of Promise;" and of the adventures of Finn, Dermat O'Dyna, and the others, in their pursuit of Avarta (who had taken the shape of the Gilla Dacker) to recover their companions. It may be regarded as belonging to the same class as the last story.

O'Curry described the opening of this tale in his Lectures (MS. Mat. 316); and he was the first, so far as I know, to draw attention to it. I think it strange that such a story should not have been noticed before by writers on Gaelic literature; for as a work of imagination, it seems to me a marvellous and very beautiful creation.

The battles fought by the king of Sorca, aided by Finn and his Fena, against the King of the World, are described at much length in the original; but I have cut them down to a very short compass; and I have omitted altogether a long episode towards the end, which travels away from the main story.

This tale has never been translated till now. I translated it chiefly from the Royal Irish Academy MS., 24. B. 28, a well-written manuscript, which was copied out by Edmond Terry, in 1728: but I kept another good copy beside me for comparison, viz., that contained in the Royal Irish Academy MS., 23. G. 21, written in 1795, by Michael Oge O'Longan of Cork, father of Mr. Joseph O'Longan, now the Irish scribe in the Royal Irish Academy, and the transcriber in fac-simile of "Leabhar na h-Uidhre," "Leabhar Breac," and "Leabhar Laighneach."

THE PURSUIT OF DERMAT AND GRANIA.

This tale is one of those mentioned in the list contained in the Book of Leinster, which was written about a.d. 1130 ([see note, page iv.]); but though this proves the tale to be an ancient one, I have never come across a copy older than the last century.

"The Pursuit of Dermat and Grania" has been published, with text and a very racy idiomatic literal translation, by Mr. Standish Hayes O'Grady, in the Transactions of the Ossianic Society for 1855, from a comparison of two manuscripts, one of 1780 and the other of 1842. In addition to Mr. O'Grady's published text, I made use of another good copy (MS. Royal Irish Academy, 23. G. 21) written in 1795, by Michael Oge O'Longan, already spoken of.

I cannot help believing that this fine story originally ended with the death of Dermat; though in all the current versions (including Mr. O'Grady's printed text) there is an additional part recounting the further proceedings of Grania and her sons, after the death of the hero. But this part is in every respect inferior to the rest—in language, in feeling, and in play of imagination. It seems to me very clear that it was patched on to the original story by some unskilful hand; and I have accordingly omitted it, and ended the story with the death of Dermat. I have also omitted two short episodes—that of the cnumh or reptile of Corca Divna, as a mere excrescence; and Finn's expedition to Scotland for aid against Dermat. And, for the sake of clearness, I have slightly changed the place of that part of the tale which recounts the origin of the Fairy Quicken Tree of Dooros. There are one or two other trifling but very necessary modifications, which need not be mentioned here.

THE CHASE OF SLIEVE CULLINN: THE CHASE OF SLIEVE FUAD: OISIN IN TIRNANOGE.

In the original Gaelic these are three poetical tales. All three have been printed, with Gaelic text and literal translation, in the Transactions of the Ossianic Society: the two first by the late John O'Daly, and "Oisin in Tirnanoge" by Professor O'Looney. There are many good copies of these tales in the manuscripts of the Royal Irish Academy; though of not one of them have I seen a copy older than the last century.

"The Chase of Slieve Cullinn" (commonly known as "The Poem of the Chase") has been translated into English verse by Miss Brooke; and there is another metrical translation in the Irish Penny Journal (page 93). And of "Oisin in Tirnanoge," Mr. T.D. Sullivan has given a graceful poetical rendering in his volume of Poems, already mentioned.

PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION.

In this edition there is an additional tale, "The Fate of the Sons of Usna," a notice of which will be found at [page x], above.

Lyre-na-Grena, Leinster Road, Rathmines, 1907.

CONTENTS.

THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR;
OR,
THE FOUR WHITE SWANS.

Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water;
Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose;
While murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daughter
Tells to the night-star her tale of woes.

Moore.

CHAPTER I.

BOVE DERG CHOSEN KING OF THE DEDANNANS.

After the battle of Tailltenn,[VII.] the Dedannans[1][VIII.] of the five provinces of Erin assembled in one place of meeting, to consider on their state, and to choose a king. For their chiefs said it was better for them to have one king over all, than to be divided, as they were, serving sundry lords and princes.

Now of those who expected the sovereignty for themselves, the following chiefs were the noblest, namely:—Bove Derg,[IX.] son of the Dagda; his brother Angus, of Bruga on the Boyne, who, however, had no earnest wish to become king, preferring to remain as he was; Ilbrec of Assaroe; Lir of Shee Finnaha; and Midir the Haughty of Bri-Leth.[1]

Then the chief people went into council, all except the five above named; and the decision they came to was to elect Bove Derg, son of the Dagda, king over the whole of the Dedannan race. When the election was made known, none of those who were disappointed took the matter to heart except Lir of Shee Finnaha alone. And when Lir found that the chiefs had chosen Bove Derg, he was greatly offended, and straightway left the assembly in anger, without taking leave of any one, and without showing any mark of respect or obedience to the new king.

When the chiefs heard this, they were wroth; and they said they would follow him to Shee Finnaha,[X.] and slay him with spear and sword, and burn his house, because he did not yield obedience to the king they had elected in lawful council.

But Bove Derg would not permit them to do so. "This man," he said, "will defend his territory, and many will be slain; and I am none the less your king, although he has not submitted to me."

Matters remained so for a long time. But at last a great misfortune happened to Lir, for his wife died after an illness of three days. This weighed heavily on him, and his heart was weary with sorrow after her. Her death, moreover, was a great event at that time, and was much spoken of throughout Erin.

When the tidings reached the mansion of Bove Derg, where the chief men of the Dedannans were then assembled, the king said—

"As Lir's wife is now dead, my friendship would be of service to him, if he were willing to accept it. For I have in my house three maidens, the most beautiful and the best instructed in all Erin, namely, Eve, Eva, and Alva, my own foster children, and daughters of Allil of Ara."[XI.]

The Dedannans agreed to this, and said that their king had spoken wisely and truly.

Messengers were accordingly sent to Lir, and they were told to say to him—

"If thou art willing to submit to the king, he will give thee for a wife one of his three foster children; and thou shalt have his friendship for ever."

It was pleasing to Lir to make this alliance; and accordingly he set out next day from Shee Finnaha with a company of fifty chariots; and they never halted or turned aside till they reached the palace of Bove Derg, on the shore of the Great Lake.[XII.] Their arrival gave much joy and happiness to the king and his household; for although Lir did not submit at first to Bove Derg, he was a good man, and was greatly beloved by the king himself and by all his subjects. So Lir and his followers got a kindly welcome; and they were supplied with everything necessary, and were well attended to that night.

Next day, the three daughters of Allil of Ara sat on the same couch with the queen their foster mother; and the king said to Lir—

"Take thy choice of the three maidens, and whichever thou choosest, she shall be thy wife."

"They are all beautiful," said Lir, "and I cannot tell which of them is best; but I will take the eldest, for she must be the noblest of the three."

Then the king said, "Eve is the eldest, and she shall be given to thee if it be thy wish."

So Lir chose Eve for his wife, and they were wedded that day.

Lir remained a fortnight in the king's palace, and then departed with his wife to his own house, Shee Finnaha, where he celebrated his marriage by a great royal wedding feast.

CHAPTER II.

THE CHILDREN OF LIR.

In course of time, Lir's wife bore him two children at a birth, a daughter and a son, whose names were Finola and Aed. A second time she brought forth twins, two sons, who were named Ficra and Conn: and she died in giving them birth. This was a cause of great anguish to Lir; and he would almost have died of grief, only that his mind was turned from his sorrow by his great love for his four little children.

When the news of Eve's death reached the mansion of Bove Derg, the king was in deep grief, and the people of his household raised three great cries of lamentation for her. And when their mourning was ended, the king said—

"We grieve for our foster child, both on her own account, and for the sake of the good man to whom we gave her; for we are thankful for his alliance and his friendship. But our acquaintance shall not be ended, and our alliance shall not be broken; for I will give him her sister to wife, my second foster child, Eva."

Messengers were sent to Lir to Shee Finnaha, to tell him of this; and he consented. So after some time he came to the king's house to espouse her, and they were united; and he brought her home with him to his own house.

The four children grew up under Eva's care. She nursed them with great tenderness, and her love for them increased every day. They slept near their father; and he would often rise from his own bed at the dawn of morning, and go to their beds, to talk with them and to fondle them.

The king, Bove Derg, loved them almost as well as did their father. He went many times every year to Shee Finnaha to see them; and he used to bring them often to his palace, where he kept them as long as he could on each occasion, and he always felt sad when he sent them home.

At this time, too, the Dedannans used to celebrate the Feast of Age[2] at the houses of their chiefs by turns; and whenever it happened that the festival was held at Shee Finnaha, these children were the delight and joy of the Dedannans. For nowhere could four lovelier children be found; so that those who saw them were always delighted with their beauty and their gentleness, and could not help loving them with their whole heart.

CHAPTER III.

THE FOUR CHILDREN OF LIR ARE TURNED INTO FOUR WHITE SWANS BY THEIR STEPMOTHER.

Now when Eva saw that the children of Lir received such attention and affection from their father, and from all others that came to his house, she fancied she was neglected on their account; and a poisonous dart of jealousy entered her heart, which turned her love to hatred; and she began to have feelings of bitter enmity for her sister's children.

Her jealousy so preyed on her that she feigned illness, and lay in bed for nearly a year, filled with gall and brooding mischief; and at the end of that time she committed a foul and cruel deed of treachery on the children of Lir.

One day she ordered her horses to be yoked to her chariot, and she set out for the palace of Bove Derg, bringing the four children with her.

Finola did not wish to go, for it was revealed to her darkly in a dream that Eva was bent on some dreadful deed of fratricide;[XIII.] and she knew well that her stepmother intended to kill her and her brothers that day, or in some other way to bring ruin on them. But she was not able to avoid the fate that awaited her.

When they had gone some distance from Shee Finnaha on their way to the palace, Eva tried to persuade her attendants to kill the children. "Kill them, and you shall be rewarded with all the worldly wealth you may desire; for their father loves me no longer, and has neglected and forsaken me on account of his great love for these children."

But they heard her with horror, and refused, saying, "We will not kill them. Fearful is the deed thou hast contemplated, O Eva; and evil will surely befall thee for having even thought of killing them."

Then she took the sword to slay them herself; but her woman's weakness prevented her, and she was not able to strike them.

So they set out once more, and fared on till they came to the shore of Lake Darvra,[XIV.] where they alighted, and the horses were unyoked.

She led the children to the edge of the lake, and told them to go to bathe; and as soon as they had got into the clear water, she struck them one by one with a druidical[3] fairy wand, and turned them into four beautiful snow-white swans. And she addressed them in these words—

Out to your home, ye swans, on Darvra's wave;
With clamorous birds begin your life of gloom:
Your friends shall weep your fate, but none can save;
For I've pronounced the dreadful words of doom.

After this, the four children of Lir turned their faces to their stepmother; and Finola spoke—

"Evil is the deed thou hast done, O Eva; thy friendship to us has been a friendship of treachery; and thou hast ruined us without cause. But the deed will be avenged; for the power of thy witchcraft is not greater than the druidical power of our friends to punish thee; and the doom that awaits thee shall be worse than ours."

Our stepmother loved us long ago;
Our stepmother now has wrought us woe:
With magical wand and fearful words,
She changed us to beautiful snow-white birds;
And we live on the waters for evermore,
By tempests driven from shore to shore.

Finola again spoke and said, "Tell us now how long we shall be in the shape of swans, so that we may know when our miseries shall come to an end."

"It would be better for you if you had not put that question," said Eva; "but I shall declare the truth to you, as you have asked me. Three hundred years on smooth Lake Darvra; three hundred years on the Sea of Moyle, between Erin and Alban;[XV.] three hundred years at Irros Domnann and Inis Glora[XVI.] on the Western Sea. Until the union of Largnen, the prince from the north, with Decca, the princess from the south; until the Taillkenn[XVII.] shall come to Erin, bringing the light of a pure faith; and until ye hear the voice of the Christian bell. And neither by your own power, nor by mine, nor by the power of your friends, can ye be freed till the time comes."

Then Eva repented what she had done; and she said, "Since I cannot afford you any other relief, I will allow you to keep your own Gaelic speech; and ye shall be able to sing sweet, plaintive, fairy music, which shall excel all the music of the world, and which shall lull to sleep all that listen to it. Moreover, ye shall retain your human reason; and ye shall not be in grief on account of being in the shape of swans."

And she chanted this lay—

Depart from me, ye graceful swans;
The waters are now your home:
Your palace shall be the pearly cave,
Your couch the crest of the crystal wave,

Depart from me, ye snow-white swans
With your music and Gaelic speech:
The crystal Darvra, the wintry Moyle,
The billowy margin of Glora's isle;—
Three hundred years on each!

Victorious Lir, your hapless sire,
His lov'd ones in vain shall call;
His weary heart is a husk of gore,
His home is joyless for evermore,
And his anger on me shall fall!

Through circling ages of gloom and fear
Your anguish no tongue can tell;
Till Faith shall shed her heavenly rays,
Till ye hear the Taillkenn's anthem of praise,
And the voice of the Christian bell!

Then ordering her steeds to be yoked to her chariot she departed westwards, leaving the four white swans swimming on the lake.

Our father shall watch and weep in vain;
He never shall see us return again.
Four pretty children, happy at home;
Four white swans on the feathery foam;
And we live on the waters for evermore,
By tempests driven from shore to shore.

CHAPTER IV.

THE FOUR WHITE SWANS ON LAKE DARVRA.

When Eva arrived at the house of Bove Derg, the chiefs bade her welcome; and the king asked her why she had not brought the Children of Lir to him.

"Because," she replied, "Lir no longer loves thee; and he does not wish to intrust his children to thee, lest thou shouldst harm them."

The king was greatly astonished and troubled at this, and he said, "How can that be? For I love those children better than I love my own."

But he thought in his own mind that Eva had played some treachery on them. And he sent messengers with all speed northwards to Shee Finnaha, to inquire for the children, and to ask that they might be sent to him.

When the messengers had told their errand, Lir was startled; and he asked, "Have the children not reached the palace with Eva?"

They answered, "Eva arrived alone, and she told the king that you refused to let the children come."

A sad and sorrowful heart had Lir when he heard this; and he now felt sure that Eva had destroyed his four lovely children. So, early next morning, his chariot was yoked for him, and he set out with his attendants for the king's palace; and they travelled with all speed till they arrived at the shore of Lake Darvra.

The children of Lir saw the cavalcade approaching; and Finola spoke these words—

I see a mystic warrior band
From yonder brow approach the strand;
I see them winding down the vale,
Their bending chariots slow advancing;
I see their shields and gilded mail,

Ah! well I know that proud array;
I know too well their thoughts to-day:
The Dannan host and royal Lir;
Four rosy children they are seeking:
Too soon, alas! they find us here,
Four snowy swans like children speaking!

Come, brothers dear, approach the coast,
To welcome Lir's mysterious host.
Oh, woful welcome! woful day,
That never brings a bright to-morrow!
Unhappy father, doomed for aye
To mourn our fate in hopeless sorrow!

When Lir came to the shore, he heard the birds speaking, and, wondering greatly, he asked them how it came to pass that they had human voices.

"Know, O Lir," said Finola, "that we are thy four children, who have been changed into swans and ruined by the witchcraft of our stepmother, our own mother's sister, Eva, through her baleful jealousy."

When Lir and his people heard this, they uttered three long mournful cries of grief and lamentation.

After a time, their father asked them, "Is it possible to restore you to your own shapes?"

"It is not possible," replied Finola; "no man has the power to release us until Largnen from the north and Decca from the south are united. Three hundred years we shall be on Lake Darvra; three hundred years on the sea-stream of Moyle; three hundred years on the Sea of Glora in the west. And we shall not regain our human shape till the Taillkenn come with his pure faith into Erin, and until we hear the voice of the Christian bell."

And again the people raised three great cries of sorrow.

"As you have your speech and your reason," said Lir, "come now to land, and ye shall live at home, conversing with me and my people."

"We are not permitted to leave the waters of the lake, and we cannot live with our people any more. But the wicked Eva has allowed us to retain our human reason, and our own Gaelic speech; and we have also the power to chant plaintive, fairy music, so sweet that those who listen to us would never desire any other happiness. Remain with us to-night, and we will chant our music for you."

Lir and his people remained on the shore of the lake; and the swans sang their slow, fairy music, which was so sweet and sad, that the people, as they listened, fell into a calm, gentle sleep.

At the glimmer of dawn next morning, Lir arose, and he bade farewell to his children for a while, to seek out Eva.

The time has come for me to part:—
No more, alas! my children dear,
Your rosy smiles shall glad my heart,
Or light the gloomy home of Lir.

Dark was the day when first I brought
This Eva in my home to dwell!
Hard was the woman's heart that wrought
This cruel and malignant spell!

I lay me down to rest in vain;
For, through the livelong, sleepless night,
My little lov'd ones, pictured plain,

Finola, once my pride and joy;
Dark Aed, adventurous and bold;
Bright Ficra, gentle, playful boy;
And little Conn, with curls of gold;—

Struck down on Darvra's reedy shore,
By wicked Eva's magic power:
Oh, children, children, never more
My heart shall know one peaceful hour!

Lir then departed, and travelled south-west till he arrived at the king's palace, where he was welcomed; and Bove Derg began to reproach him, in presence of Eva, for not bringing the children.

"Alas!" said Lir; "it was not by me that the children were prevented from coming. But Eva, your own foster child, the sister of their mother, has played treachery on them; and has changed them by her sorcery into four white swans on Lake Darvra."

The king was confounded and grieved at this news; and when he looked at Eva, he knew by her countenance that what Lir had told him was true; and he began to upbraid her in a fierce and angry voice.

"The wicked deed thou hast committed," said he, "will be worse for thee than for the children of Lir; for their suffering shall come to an end, and they shall be happy at last."

Again he spoke to her more fiercely than before; and he asked her what shape of all others, on the earth, or above the earth, or beneath the earth, she most abhorred, and into which she most dreaded to be transformed.

And she, being forced to answer truly, said, "A demon of the air."[XVIII.]

"That is the form you shall take," said Bove Derg; and as he spoke he struck her with a druidical magic wand, and turned her into a demon of the air. She opened her wings, and flew with a scream upwards and away through the clouds; and she is still a demon of the air, and she shall be a demon of the air till the end of time.

Then Bove Derg and the Dedannans assembled on the shore of the lake, and encamped there; for they wished to remain with the birds, and to listen to their music. The Milesian people[XIX.] came and formed an encampment there in like manner; for historians say that no music that was ever heard in Erin could be compared with the singing of these swans.

And so the swans passed their time. During the day they conversed with the men of Erin, both Dedannans and Milesians, and discoursed lovingly with their friends and fellow nurselings; and at night they chanted their slow, sweet, fairy music, the most delightful that was ever heard by men; so that all who listened to it, even those who were in grief, or sickness, or pain, forgot their sorrows and their sufferings, and fell into a gentle, sweet sleep, from which they awoke bright and happy.

So they continued, the Dedannans and the Milesians, in their encampments, and the swans on the lake, for three hundred years.[XX.] And at the end of that time, Finola said to her brothers—

"Do you know, my dear brothers, that we have come to the end of our time here; and that we have only this one night to spend on Lake Darvra?"

When the three sons of Lir heard this, they were in great distress and sorrow; for they were almost as happy on Lake Darvra, surrounded by their friends, and conversing with them day by day, as if they had been in their father's house in their own natural shapes; whereas they should now live on the gloomy and tempestuous Sea of Moyle, far away from all human society.

Early next morning, they came to the margin of the lake, to speak to their Father and their friends for the last time, and to bid them farewell; and Finola chanted this lay—

I.

Farewell, farewell, our father dear!
The last sad hour has come:
Farewell, Bove Derg! farewell to all,
Till the dreadful day of doom![XXI.]
We go from friends and scenes beloved,
To a home of grief and pain;
And that day of woe
Shall come and go,

II.

We live for ages on stormy Moyle,
In loneliness and fear;
The kindly words of loving friends
We never more shall hear.
Four joyous children long ago;
Four snow-white swans to-day;
And on Moyle's wild sea
Our robe shall be
The cold and briny spray.

III.

Far down on the misty stream of time,
When three hundred years are o'er,
Three hundred more in storm and cold,
By Glora's desolate shore;
Till Decca fair is Largnen's spouse;
Till north and south unite;
Till the hymns are sung,
And the bells are rung,
At the dawn of the pure faith's light.

IV.

Arise, my brothers, from Darvra's wave,
On the wings of the southern wind;
We leave our father and friends to-day
In measureless grief behind.
Ah! sad the parting, and sad our flight
To Moyle's tempestuous main;
For the day of woe
Shall come and go,
Before we meet again!

The four swans then spread their wings, and rose from the surface of the water in sight of all their friends, till they reached a great height in the air, then resting, and looking downwards for a moment, they flew straight to the north, till they alighted on the Sea of Moyle between Erin and Alban.

The men of Erin were grieved at their departure, and they made a law, and proclaimed it throughout the land, that no one should kill a swan in Erin from that time forth.

CHAPTER V.

THE FOUR WHITE SWANS ON THE SEA OF MOYLE.

As to the children of Lir, miserable was their abode and evil their plight on the Sea of Moyle. Their hearts were wrung with sorrow for their father and their friends; and when they looked towards the steep, rocky, far-stretching coasts, and saw the great, dark wild sea around them, they were overwhelmed with fear and despair. They began also to suffer from cold and hunger, so that all the hardships they had endured on Lake Darvra appeared as nothing compared with their suffering on the sea-current of Moyle.

And so they lived, till one night a great tempest fell upon the sea. Finola, when she saw the sky filled with black, threatening clouds, thus addressed her brothers—

"Beloved brothers, we have made a bad preparation for this night; for it is certain that the coming storm will separate us; and now let us appoint a place of meeting, or it may happen that we shall never see each other again."

And they answered, "Dear sister, you speak truly and wisely; and let us fix on Carricknarone, for that is a rock that we are all very well acquainted with."

And they appointed Carricknarone as their place of meeting.

Midnight came, and with it came the beginning of the storm. A wild, rough wind swept over the dark sea, the lightnings flashed, and the great waves rose, and increased their violence and their thunder.

The swans were soon scattered over the waters, so that not one of them knew in what direction the others had been driven. During all that night they were tossed about by the roaring winds and waves, and it was with much difficulty they preserved their lives.

Towards morning the storm abated, and the sea became again calm and smooth; and Finola swam to Carricknarone. But she found none of her brothers there, neither could she see any trace of them when she looked all round from the summit of the rock over the wide face of the sea.

Then she became terrified, for she thought she should never see them again; and she began to lament them plaintively in these words—

The heart-breaking anguish and woe of this life
I am able no longer to bear:
My wings are benumbed with this pitiless frost;
My three little brothers are scattered and lost;

My three little brothers I never shall see
Till the dead shall arise from the tomb:
How I sheltered them oft with my wings and my breast,
And I soothed their sorrows and lulled them to rest,
As the night fell around us in gloom!

Ah, where are my brothers, and why have I lived,
This last worst affliction to know?
What now is there left but a life of despair?—
For alas! I am able no longer to bear
This heart-breaking anguish and woe.[XXII.]

Soon after this she looked again over the sea, and she saw Conn coming towards the rock, with his head drooping, and his feathers all drenched with the salt spray; and she welcomed him with joyful heart.

Not long after, Ficra appeared, but he was so faint with wet and cold and hardship, that he was scarce able to reach the place where Finola and Conn were standing; and when they spoke to him he could not speak one word in return. So Finola placed the two under her wings, and she said—

"If Aed were here now, all would be happy with us."

In a little time they saw Aed coming towards them, with head erect and feathers all dry and radiant and Finola gave him a joyful welcome. She then placed him under the feathers of her breast, while Conn and Ficra remained under her wings; and she said to them—

"My dear brothers, though ye may think this night very bad, we shall have many like it from this time forth."

So they continued for a long time on the Sea of Moyle, suffering hardships of every kind, till one winter night came upon them, of great wind and of snow and frost so severe, that nothing they ever before suffered could be compared to the misery of that night. And Finola uttered these words—

Our life is a life of woe;
No shelter or rest we find:
How bitterly drives the snow;
How cold is this wintry wind!

From the icy spray of the sea,
From the wind of the bleak north east,
I shelter my brothers three,
Under my wings and breast.

Our stepmother sent us here,
And misery well we know:—
In cold and hunger and fear;
Our life is a life of woe!

Another year passed away on the Sea of Moyle; and one night in January, a dreadful frost came down on the earth and sea, so that the waters were frozen into a solid floor of ice all round them. The swans remained on Carricknarone all night, and their feet and their wings were frozen to the icy surface, so that they had to strive hard to move from their places in the morning; and they left the skin of their feet, the quills of their wings, and the feathers of their breasts clinging to the rock.

"Sad is our condition this night, my beloved brothers," said Finola, "for we are forbidden to leave the Sea of Moyle; and yet we cannot bear the salt water, for when it enters our wounds, I fear we shall die of pain."

And she spoke this lay—

Our fate is mournful here to-day;
Our bodies bare and chill,
Drenched by the bitter, briny spray,
And torn on this rocky hill!

Cruel our stepmother's jealous heart
That banished us from home;
Transformed to swans by magic art,
To swim the ocean foam.

This bleak and snowy winter day,
Our bath is the ocean wide;
In thirsty summer's burning ray,
Our drink the briny tide.

And here 'mid rugged rocks we dwell,
In this tempestuous bay;
Four children bound by magic spell;—
Our fate is sad to-day!

They were, however, forced to swim out on the stream of Moyle, all wounded and torn as they were; for though the brine was sharp and bitter, they were not able to avoid it. They stayed as near the coast as they could, till after a long time the feathers of their breasts and wings grew again, and their wounds were healed.

After this they lived on for a great number of years, sometimes visiting the shores of Erin, and sometimes the headlands of Alban. But they always returned to the sea-stream of Moyle, for it was destined to be their home till the end of three hundred years.

One day they came to the mouth of the Bann, on the north coast of Erin, and looking inland, they saw a stately troop of horsemen approaching directly from the south-west. They were mounted on white steeds, and clad in bright-coloured garments, and as they wound towards the shore their arms glittered in the sun.

"Do ye know yonder cavalcade?" said Finola to her brothers.

"We know them not," they replied; "but it is likely they are a party of the Milesians, or perchance a troop of our own people, the Dedannans."

They swam towards the shore, to find out who the strangers were; and the cavalcade on their part, when they saw the swans, knew them at once, and moved towards them till they were within speaking distance.

Now these were a party of the Dedannans; and the chiefs who commanded them were the two sons of Bove Derg, the Dedannan king, namely, Aed the Keen-witted, and Fergus the Chess-player, with a third part of the Fairy Host.[XXIII.] They had been for a long time searching for the children of Lir along the northern shores of Erin, and now that they had found them, they were joyful; and they and the swans greeted each other with tender expressions of friendship and love. The children of Lir inquired after the Dedannans, and particularly after their father Lir, and Bove Derg, and all the rest of their friends and acquaintances.

"They are all well," replied the chiefs; "and they and the Dedannans in general are now gathered together in the house of your father, at Shee Finnaha, celebrating the Feast of Age,[2] pleasantly and agreeably. Their happiness would indeed be complete, only that you are not with them, and that they know not where you have been since you left Lake Darvra."

"Miserable has been our life since that day," said Finola; "and no tongue can tell the suffering and sorrow we have endured on the Sea of Moyle."

And she chanted these words—

Ah, happy is Lir's bright home to-day,
With mead and music and poet's lay:
But gloomy and cold his children's home,
For ever tossed on the briny foam.

Our wreathèd feathers are thin and light
When the wind blows keen through the wintry night:
Yet oft we were robed, long, long ago,
In purple mantles and furs of snow.

On Moyle's bleak current our food and wine
Are sandy sea-weed and bitter brine:
Yet oft we feasted in days of old,
And hazel-mead drank from cups of gold.

Our beds are rocks in the dripping caves;
Our lullaby song the roar of the waves:
But soft rich couches once we pressed,

Lonely we swim on the billowy main,
Through frost and snow, through storm and rain:
Alas for the days when round us moved
The chiefs and princes and friends we loved!

My little twin brothers beneath my wings
Lie close when the north wind bitterly stings,
And Aed close nestles before my breast;
Thus side by side through the night we rest.

Our father's fond kisses, Bove Derg's embrace,
The light of Mannanan's[1] godlike face,
The love of Angus[1]—all, all are o'er;
And we live on the billows for evermore!

After this they bade each other farewell, for it was not permitted to the children of Lir to remain away from the stream of Moyle. As soon as they had parted, the Fairy Cavalcade returned to Shee Finnaha, where they related to the Dedannan chiefs all that had passed, and described the condition of the children of Lir. And the chiefs answered—

"It is not in our power to help them; but we are glad that they are living; and we know that in the end the enchantment will be broken, and that they will be freed from their sufferings."

As to the children of Lir, they returned to their home on the Sea of Moyle, and there they remained till they had fulfilled their term of years.

CHAPTER VI.

THE FOUR WHITE SWANS ON THE WESTERN SEA.

And when their three hundred years were ended, Finola said to her brothers—

"It is time for us to leave this place, for our period here has come to an end."

The hour has come; the hour has come;
Three hundred years have passed:
We leave this bleak and gloomy home,
And we fly to the west at last!

We leave for ever the stream of Moyle;
On the clear, cold wind we go;
Three hundred years round Glora's isle,
Where wintry tempests blow!

No sheltered home, no place of rest,
From the tempest's angry blast:
Fly, brothers, fly, to the distant west,
For the hour has come at last!

So the swans left the Sea of Moyle, and flew westward, till they reached Irros Domnann and the sea round the isle of Glora. There they remained for a long time, suffering much from storm and cold, and in nothing better off than they were on the Sea of Moyle.

It chanced that a young man named Ebric, of good family, the owner of a tract of land lying along the shore, observed the birds and heard their singing. He took great delight in listening to their plaintive music, and he walked down to the shore almost every day, to see them and to converse with them; so that he came to love them very much, and they also loved him. This young man told his neighbours about the speaking swans, so that the matter became noised abroad; and it was he who arranged the story, after hearing it from themselves, and related it as it is related here.

Again their hardships were renewed, and to describe what they suffered on the great open Western Sea would be only to tell over again the story of their life on the Moyle. But one particular night came, of frost so hard that the whole face of the sea, from Irros Domnann to Achill, was frozen into a thick floor of ice; and the snow was driven by a north-west wind. On that night it seemed to the three brothers that they could not bear their sufferings any longer, and they began to utter loud and pitiful complaints. Finola tried to console them, but she was not able to do so, for they only lamented the more; and then she herself began to lament with the others.

After a time, Finola spoke to them and said, "My dear brothers, believe in the great and splendid God of truth, who made the earth with its fruits, and the sea with its wonders; put your trust in Him, and He will send you help and comfort."

"We believe in Him," said they.

"And I also," said Finola, "believe in God, who is perfect in everything, and who knows all things."

And at the destined hour they all believed, and the Lord of heaven sent them help and protection; so that neither cold nor tempest molested them from that time forth, as long as they abode on the Western Sea.

So they continued at the point of Irros Domnann, till they had fulfilled their appointed time there. And Finola addressed the sons of Lir—

"My dear brothers, the end of our time here has come; we shall now go to visit our father and our people."

And her brothers were glad when they heard this.

Then they rose lightly from the face of the sea, and flew eastward with joyful hopes, till they reached Shee Finnaha. But when they alighted they found the place deserted and solitary, its halls all ruined and overgrown with rank grass and forests of nettles; no houses, no fire, no mark of human habitation.

Then the four swans drew close together, and they uttered three loud mournful cries of sorrow.

And Finola chanted this lay—

What meaneth this sad, this fearful change,
That withers my heart with woe?
The house of my father all joyless and lone,
Its halls and its gardens with weeds overgrown,—
A dreadful and strange overthrow!

No conquering heroes, no hounds for the chase,
No shields in array on its walls,
No bright silver goblets, no gay cavalcades,
No youthful assemblies or high-born maids,

An omen of sadness—the home of our youth
All ruined, deserted, and bare.
Alas for the chieftain, the gentle and brave;
His glories and sorrows are stilled in the grave,
And we left to live in despair!

From ocean to ocean, from age unto age,
We have lived to the fulness of time;
Through a life such as men never heard of we've passed,
In suffering and sorrow our doom has been cast,
By our stepmother's pitiless crime!

The children of Lir remained that night in the ruins of the palace—the home of their forefathers, where they themselves had been nursed; and several times during the night they chanted their sad, sweet, fairy music.

Early next morning they left Shee Finnaha, and flew west to Inis Glora, where they alighted on a small lake. There they began to sing so sweetly that all the birds of the district gathered in flocks round them on the lake, and on its shore, to listen to them; so that the little lake came to be called the Lake of the Bird-flocks.

During the day the birds used to fly to distant points of the coast to feed, now to Iniskea of the lonely crane,[XXIV.] now to Achill, and sometimes southwards to Donn's Sea Rocks,[XXV.] and to many other islands and headlands along the shore of the Western Sea, but they returned to Inis Glora every night.

They lived in this manner till holy Patrick came to Erin with the pure faith; and until Saint Kemoc came to Inis Glora.

The first night Kemoc came to the island, the children of Lir heard his bell at early matin time, ringing faintly in the distance. And they trembled greatly, and started, and ran wildly about; for the sound of the bell was strange and dreadful to them, and its tones filled them with great fear. The three brothers were more affrighted than Finola, so that she was left quite alone; but after a time they came to her, and she asked them—

"Do you know, my brothers, what sound is this?"

And they answered, "We have heard a faint, fearful voice, but we know not what it is."

"This is the voice of the Christian bell," said Finola; "and now the end of our suffering is near; for this bell is the signal that we shall soon be freed from our spell, and released from our life of suffering; for God has willed it."

And she chanted this lay—

Listen, ye swans, to the voice of the bell,
The sweet bell we've dreamed of for many a year;
Its tones floating by on the night breezes, tell

Listen, ye swans, to the heavenly strain;
'Tis the anchoret tolling his soft matin bell:
He has come to release us from sorrow, from pain,
From the cold and tempestuous shores where we dwell!

Trust in the glorious Lord of the sky;
He will free us from Eva's druidical spell:
Be thankful and glad, for our freedom is nigh,
And listen with joy to the voice of the bell!

Then her brothers became calm; and the four swans remained listening to the music of the bell, till the cleric had finished his matins.

"Let us sing our music now," said Finola.

And they chanted a low, sweet, plaintive strain of fairy music, to praise and thank the great high King of heaven and earth.

Kemoc heard the music from where he stood; and he listened with great astonishment. But after a time it was revealed to him that it was the children of Lir who sang that music; and he was glad, for it was to seek them he had come.

When morning dawned he came to the shore of the lake, and he saw the four white swans swimming on the water. He spoke to them, and asked them were they the children of Lir.

They replied, "We are indeed the children of Lir, who were changed long ago into swans by our wicked stepmother."

"I give God thanks that I have found you," said Kemoc; "for it is on your account I have come to this little island in preference to all the other islands of Erin. Come ye now to land, and trust in me; for it is in this place that you are destined to be freed from your enchantment."

So they, filled with joy on hearing the words of the cleric, came to the shore, and placed themselves under his care. He brought them to his own house, and, sending for a skilful workman, he caused him to make two bright, slender chains of silver; and he put a chain between Finola and Aed, and the other chain he put between Ficra and Conn.

So they lived with him, listening to his instructions day by day, and joining in his devotions. They were the delight and joy of the cleric, and he loved them with his whole heart; and the swans were so happy that the memory of all the misery they had suffered during their long life on the waters caused them neither distress nor sorrow now.

CHAPTER VII.

THE CHILDREN OF LIR REGAIN THEIR HUMAN SHAPE AND DIE.

The king who ruled over Connaught at this time was Largnen, the son of Colman; and his queen was Decca, the daughter of Finnin,[XXVI.] king of Munster,—the same king and queen whom Eva had spoken of in her prophecy long ages before.

Now word was brought to queen Decca regarding these wonderful speaking swans, and their whole history was related to her; so that even before she saw them, she could not help loving them, and she was seized with a strong desire to have them herself. So she went to the king, and besought him that he would go to Kemoc and get her the swans. But Largnen said that he did not wish to ask them from Kemoc. Whereupon Decca grew indignant; and she declared that she would not sleep another night in the palace till he had obtained the swans for her. So she left the palace that very hour, and fled southwards towards her father's home.

Largnen, when he found she had gone, sent in haste after her, with word that he would try to procure the swans; but the messengers did not overtake her till she had reached Killaloe. However, she returned with them to the palace; and as soon as she had arrived, the king sent to Kemoc to request that he would send the birds to the queen; but Kemoc refused to give them.

Largnen became very angry at this; and he set out at once for the cleric's house. As soon as he had come, he asked the cleric whether it was true that he had refused to give the swans to the queen. And when Kemoc answered that it was quite true, the king, being very wroth, went up to where the swans stood, and seizing the two silver chains, one in each hand, he drew the birds from the altar, and turned towards the door of the church, intending to bring them by force to the queen; while Kemoc followed him, much alarmed lest they should be injured.

The king had proceeded only a little way, when suddenly the white feathery robes faded and disappeared; and the swans regained their human shape, Finola being transformed into an extremely old woman, and the three sons into three feeble old men, white-haired and bony and wrinkled.

When the king saw this, he started with affright, and instantly left the place without speaking one word; while Kemoc reproached and denounced him very bitterly.

As to the children of Lir, they turned towards Kemoc; and Finola spoke—

"Come, holy cleric, and baptise us without delay, for our death is near. You will grieve after us, O Kemoc; but in truth you are not more sorrowful at parting from us than we are at parting from you. Make our grave here and bury us together; and as I often sheltered my brothers when we were swans, so let us be placed in the grave—Conn standing near me at my right side, Ficra at my left, and Aed before my face."[XXVII.]

Come, holy priest, with book and prayer;
Baptise and shrive us here:
Haste, cleric, haste, for the hour has come,

Dig our grave—a deep, deep grave,
Near the church we loved so well;
This little church, where first we heard
The voice of the Christian bell.

As oft in life my brothers dear
Were sooth'd by me to rest—
Ficra and Conn beneath my wings,
And Aed before my breast;

So place the two on either hand—
Close, like the love that bound me;
Place Aed as close before my face,
And twine their arms around me.

Thus shall we rest for evermore,
My brothers dear and I:
Haste, cleric, haste, baptise and shrive,
For death at last is nigh!

Then the children of Lir were baptised, and they died immediately. And when they died, Kemoc looked up; and lo, he saw a vision of four lovely children, with light, silvery wings, and faces all radiant with joy. They gazed on him for a moment; but even as they gazed, they vanished upwards, and he saw them no more. And he was filled with gladness, for he knew they had gone to heaven; but when he looked down on the four bodies lying before him, he became sad and wept.

And Kemoc caused a wide grave to be dug near the little church; and the children of Lir were buried together, as Finola had directed—Conn at her right hand, Ficra at her left, and Aed standing before her face. And he raised a grave-mound over them, placing a tombstone on it, with their names graved in Ogam;[XXVIII.] after which he uttered a lament for them, and their funeral rites were performed.

So far we have related the sorrowful story of the Fate of the Children of Lir.

THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF TURENN;
OR,
THE QUEST FOR THE ERIC-FINE.

For the blood that we spilled,
For the hero we killed,
Toil and woe, toil and woe, till the doom is fulfilled!

CHAPTER I.

THE LOCHLANNS INVADE ERIN.

When the Dedannans[1] held sway in Erin, a prosperous free-born king ruled over them, whose name was Nuada of the Silver Hand.[4]

In the time of this king, the Fomorians,[5] from Lochlann,[6] in the north, oppressed the Dedannans, and forced them to pay heavy tributes; namely, a tax on kneading-troughs, a tax on querns, and a tax on baking flags; and besides all this, an ounce of gold for each man of the Dedannans. These tributes had to be paid every year at the Hill of Usna;[XXIX.] and if any one refused or neglected to pay his part, his nose was cut off by the Fomorian tyrants.

At this time a great fair-meeting was held by the king of Ireland, Nuada of the Silver Hand, on the Hill of Usna. Not long had the people been assembled, when they saw a stately band of warriors, all mounted on white steeds, coming towards them from the east; and at their head, high in command over all, rode a young champion, tall and comely, with a countenance as bright and glorious as the setting sun.

This young warrior was Luga of the Long Arms.[7] He was accompanied by his foster brothers, namely, the sons of Mannanan Mac Lir; and the troop he led was the Fairy Host from the Land of Promise.[8]

Now in this manner was he arrayed. He rode the steed of Mannanan Mac Lir,[8] namely, Enbarr of the Flowing Mane: no warrior was ever killed on the back of this steed, for she was as swift as the clear, cold wind of spring, and she travelled with equal ease on land and on sea. He wore Mannanan's coat of mail: no one could be wounded through it, or above it, or below it. He had on his breast Mannanan's breast-plate, which no weapon could pierce. His helmet had two glittering precious stones set in front, and one behind; and whenever he took it off, his face shone like the sun on a dry day in summer. Mannanan's sword, The Answerer, hung at his left side: no one ever recovered from its wound; and those who were opposed to it in the battle-field were so terrified by looking at it, that their strength left them till they became weaker than a woman in deadly sickness.

This troop came forward to where the king of Erin sat surrounded by the Dedannans, and both parties exchanged friendly greetings.

A short time after this they saw another company approaching, quite unlike the first, for they were grim and fierce and surly looking; namely, the tax-gatherers of the Fomorians, to the number of nine nines, who were coming to demand their yearly tribute from the men of Erin. When they reached the place where the king sat, the entire assembly—the king himself among the rest—rose up before them. For the whole Dedannan race stood in great dread of these Fomorian tax-collectors; so much so that no man dared even to chastise his own son without first seeking their consent.

Then Luga of the Long Arms spoke to the king and said, "Why have ye stood up before this hateful-looking company, when ye did not stand up for us?"

"We durst not do otherwise," replied the king; "for if even an infant of a month old remained seated before them, they would deem it cause enough for killing us all."

When Luga heard this he brooded in silence for a little while, and then he said, "Of a truth, I feel a great desire to kill all these men!"

Then he mused again, and after a time, said, "I am strongly urged to kill these men!"

"That deed would doubtless bring great evil on us," said the king, "for then the Fomorians would be sure to send an army to destroy us all."

But Luga, after another pause, started up, exclaiming, "Long have ye been oppressed in this manner!" and so saying, he attacked the Fomorians, dealing red slaughter among them. Neither did he hold his hand till he had slain them all except nine. These he spared, because they ran with all speed and sat nigh the king, that he might protect them from Luga's wrath.

Then Luga put his sword back into its scabbard, and said, "I would slay you also, only that I wish you to go and tell your king, and the foreigners in general, what you have seen."

These nine men accordingly returned to their own country, and they told their tale to the Fomorian people from beginning to end—how the strange, noble-faced youth had slain all the tax-collectors except nine, whom he spared that they might bring home the story.

When they had ended speaking, the king, Balor[9] of the Mighty Blows and of the Evil Eye, asked the chiefs, "Do ye know who this youth is?"

And when they answered, "No," Kethlenda,[9] Balor's queen, said—

"I know well who the youth is: he is the Ildana,[XXX.] Luga of the Long Arms, the son of your daughter and mine; and it has been long foretold that when he should appear in Erin, our sway over the Dedannans should come to an end."

Then the chief people of the Fomorians held council; namely, Balor of the Mighty Blows, and his twelve sons, and his queen Kethlenda of the Crooked Teeth; Ebb and Sencab, the grandsons of Neid; Sotal of the Large Heels; Luath the Long-bodied; Luath the Story-teller; Tinna the Mighty, of Triscadal; Loskenn of the Bare Knees; Lobas, the druid; besides the nine prophetic poets and philosophers of the Fomorians.

After they had debated the matter for some time, Bres, the son of Balor, arose and said, "I will go to Erin with seven great battalions of the Fomorian army, and I will give battle to the Ildana, and I will bring his head to you to our palace of Berva."[6]

The Fomorian chiefs thought well of this proposal, and it was agreed to.

So the ships were got ready for Bres; abundant food and drink and war stores were put into them, their seams were calked with pitch, and they were filled with sweet-smelling frankincense. Meantime the two Luaths, that is to say, Luath the Story-teller and Luath of the Long Body, were sent all over Lochlann to summon the army. And when all the fighting men were gathered together, they arrayed themselves in their battle-dresses, prepared their arms, and set out for Erin.

Balor went with them to the harbour where they were to embark, and when they were about to go on board, he said to them—

"Give battle to the Ildana, and cut off his head. And after ye have overcome him and his people, put your cables round this island of Erin, which gives us so much trouble, and tie it at the sterns of your ships: then sail home, bringing the island with you, and place it on the north side of Lochlann, whither none of the Dedannans will ever follow it."

Then, having hoisted their many-coloured sails and loosed their moorings, they sailed forth from the harbour into the great sea, and never slackened speed or turned aside from their course till they reached the harbour of Eas-Dara.[XXXI.] And as soon as they landed, they sent forth an army through West Connaught, which wasted and spoiled the whole province.

CHAPTER II.

THE MURDER OF KIAN.

Now the king of Connaught at that time was Bove Derg, the son of the Dagda,[XXXII.] a friend to Luga of the Long Arms. It chanced that Luga was then at Tara,[XXXIII.] and news was brought to him that the Fomorians had landed at Eas-Dara, and were spoiling and wasting the province. He immediately got ready his steed, Enbarr of the Flowing Mane; and early in the morning, when the point of night met the day, he went to the king and told him that the foreigners had landed, and that they had wasted and plundered the province of Bove Derg.

"I shall give them battle," said Luga; "and I wish to get from thee some help of men and arms."

"I will give no help," said the king; "for I do not wish to avenge a deed that has not been done against myself."

When Luga heard this reply he was wroth, and departing straightway from Tara, he rode westward. He had not travelled long when he saw at a distance three warriors, fully armed, riding towards him. Now these were three brothers, the sons of Canta; namely, Kian and Cu and Kethen; and Kian was Luga's father. And they saluted each other, and conversed together for a time.

"Why art thou abroad so early?" said they.

"Cause enough have I," replied Luga; "for the Fomorians have landed in Erin, and have wasted the province of Bove Derg, the son of the Dagda. It is well indeed that I have met you, for I am about to give them battle, and I wish now to know what aid I shall get from you."

"We will go into the battle with you," said they; "and each of us will ward off from you a hundred of the Fomorian warriors."

"That, indeed, is good help," said Luga; "but, for the present, I wish you to go to the several places throughout Erin where the Fairy Host[XXXIV.] are abiding, and summon them all to me."

The three brothers accordingly separated, Cu and Kethen going south, while Luga's father, Kian, turned his face northwards, and rode on till he came to Moy Murthemna.[XXXV.] He had not been long travelling over the plain when he saw three warriors, clad in armour and fully armed, coming towards him. These were three Dedannan chiefs, the sons of Turenn, and their names were Brian, Ur, and Urcar. Now these three and the three sons of Canta were at deadly feud with each other, on account of an old quarrel, and whenever they met there was sure to be a fight for life or death.

As soon as Kian saw these three, he said, "If my two brothers were now with me, we should have a brave fight; but as they are not, and as I am only one against three, it is better to avoid the combat." So saying, he looked round, and seeing near him a herd of swine he struck himself with a golden druidical[3] wand, and changed himself into a pig; and he quickly joined the herd.

No sooner had he done so than Brian, the eldest of the sons of Turenn, said to his brothers, "Tell me, my brothers, do you know what has become of the warrior that we saw just now approaching us on the plain?"

"We saw him," said they, "but we know not whither he has gone."

"You deserve great blame," said he, "that you are not more watchful while traversing the country during this time of war. Now I know what has happened to this warrior; he has changed himself, by a druidical spell, into a pig; and he is now among yonder herd. And whoever he may be, of this be sure—he is no friend of ours."

"This is an unlucky matter," said they; "for as these pigs belong to one of the Dedannans, it would be wrong for us to kill them; and even if we should do so, the enchanted pig might escape after all."

"But," answered Brian, "I think I can manage to distinguish any druidical beast from a natural one; and if you had attended well to your learning, you would be able to do the same."

Saying this, he struck his brothers one after the other with his golden druidical wand, and turned them into two fleet, slender, sharp-nosed hounds. The moment he had done so they put their noses to the earth, and, yelping eagerly, set off towards the herd on the trail of their enemy. When they had come near, the druidical pig fell out from the herd, and made towards a thick grove that grew hard by; but Brian was there before him, and drove his spear through his chest.

The pig screamed and said, "You have done an ill deed to cast your spear at me, for you know well who I am."

"Your voice, methinks, is the voice of a man," said Brian; "but I know not who you are."

And the pig answered, "I am Kian, the son of Canta; and now I ask you to give me quarter."

Ur and Urcar, who had regained their shape and come up, said, "We will give you quarter indeed, and we are sorry for what has happened to you."

But Brian, on the other hand, said, "I swear by the gods of the air, that if your life returned to you seven times, I would take it from you seven times."

"Then," said Kian, "as you will not grant me quarter, allow me first to return to my own shape."

"That we will grant you," said Brian; "for I often feel it easier to kill a man than to kill a pig."

Kian accordingly took his own shape; and then he said, "You indeed, ye sons of Turenn, are now about to slay me; but even so, I have outwitted you. For if you had slain me in the shape of a pig, you would have to pay only the eric-fine[10] for a pig; whereas, now that I am in my own shape, you shall pay the full fine for a man. And there never yet was killed, and there never shall be killed, a man for whom a greater fine shall be paid, than you will have to pay for me. The weapons with which I am slain shall tell the deed to my son; and he will exact the fine from you."

"You shall not be slain with the weapons of a warrior," said Brian; and so saying, he and his brothers laid aside their arms, and smote him fiercely and rudely with the round stones of the earth, till they had reduced his body to a disfigured mass; and in this manner they slew him.

They then buried him a man's height in the earth; but the earth, being angry at the fratricide,[XXXVI.] refused to receive the body, and cast it up on the surface. They buried him a second time, and again the body was thrown up from beneath the clay. Six times the sons of Turenn buried the body of Kian a man's height in the earth, and six times did the earth cast it up, refusing to receive it. But when they had buried him the seventh time, the earth refused no longer, and the body remained in the grave.

Then the sons of Turenn prepared to go forward after Luga of the Long Arms to the battle. But as they were leaving the grave, they thought they heard a faint, muffled voice coming up from the ground beneath their feet—

The blood you have spilled,
The hero you've killed,
Shall follow your steps till your doom be fulfilled!

CHAPTER III.

DEFEAT AND FLIGHT OF THE LOCHLANNS.

Now as to Luga. After parting from his father, he journeyed westward till he reached Ath-Luan,[XXXVII.] thence to Ros-Coman, and over Moy-Lurg to the Curlieu Hills, and to the mountain of Kesh-Corran, till he reached the "Great Plain of the Assembly," where the foreigners were encamped, with the spoils of Connaught around them.

As he drew nigh to the Fomorian encampment, Bres, the son of Balor, arose and said—

"A wonderful thing has come to pass this day; for the sun, it seems to me, has risen in the west."

"It would be better that it were so," said the druids,[3] "than that matters should be as they are."

"What else can it be, then?" asked Bres.

"The light you see," replied the druids, "is the brightness of the face, and the flashing of the weapons of Luga of the Long Arms, our deadly enemy, he who slew our tax-gatherers, and who now approaches."

Then Luga came up peacefully and saluted them.

"How does it come to pass that you salute us," said they, "since you are, as we know well, our enemy?"

"I have good cause for saluting you," answered Luga; "for only one half of my blood is Dedannan; the other half comes from you; for I am the son of the daughter of Balor of the Mighty Blows, your king.[7] And now I come in peace, to ask you to give back to the men of Connaught all the milch cows you have taken from them."

"May ill luck follow thee," said one of the Fomorian leaders, in a voice loud and wrathful, "until thou get one of them, either a milch cow or a dry cow!"

And the others spoke in a like strain.

Then Luga put a druidical spell upon the plundered cattle; and he sent all the milch cows home, each to the door of her owner's house, throughout all that part of Connaught that had been plundered. But the dry cows he left, so that the Fomorians might be cumbered, and that they might not leave their encampment till the Fairy Host should arrive to give them battle.

Luga tarried three days and three nights near them, and at the end of that time the Fairy Host arrived, and placed themselves under his command. They encamped near the Fomorians, and in a little time Bove Derg, son of the Dagda, joined them with twenty-nine hundred men.

Then they made ready for the fight. The Ildana put on Mannanan's coat of mail and his breast-plate; he took also his helmet, which was called Cannbarr, and it glittered in the sun with dazzling brightness; he slung his broad, dark-blue shield from his shoulder at one side; his long, keen-edged sword hung at his thigh; and lastly, he took his two long, heavy-handled spears, which had been tempered in the poisonous blood of adders. The other kings and chiefs of the men of Erin arrayed their men in battle ranks; hedges of glittering spears rose high above their heads; and their shields, placed edge to edge, formed a firm fence around them.

Then at the signal they attacked the Fomorians, and the Fomorians, in no degree dismayed, answered their onset. At first a cloud of whizzing javelins flew from rank to rank across the open space, and as the warriors rushed together in closer conflict, their spears were shivered in their hands. Then they drew their gold-hilted swords, and fought foot to foot and shield to shield, so that a forest of bright flashes rose high above their helmets, from the clashing of their keen-tempered weapons.

In the midst of the fight, Luga looked round, and seeing at some distance, Bres, surrounded by his Fomorian warriors, dealing havoc and death among the Dedannans, he rushed through the press of battle, and attacked first Bres's guards so fiercely that in a few moments twenty of them fell beneath his blows.

Then he struck at Bres himself, who, unable to withstand his furious onset, cried aloud—

"Why should we be enemies, since thou art of my kin? Let there be peace between us, for nothing can withstand thy blows. Let there be peace, and I will undertake to bring my Fomorians to assist thee at Moytura,[11] and I will promise never again to come to fight against thee."

And Bres swore by the sun and the moon, by the sea and land, and by all the elements,[XXXVIII.] to fulfil his engagement; and on these conditions Luga granted him his life.

Then the Fomorians, seeing their chief overcome, dropped their arms, and sued for quarter. The Fomorian druids and men of learning next came to Luga to ask him to spare their lives; and Luga answered them—

"So far am I from wishing to slay you, that in truth, if you had taken the whole Fomorian race under your protection, I would have spared them."

And after this, Bres, the son of Balor, returned to his own country with his druids, and with those of his army who had escaped from the battle.

CHAPTER IV.

THE ERIC-FINE ON THE SONS OF TURENN FOR THE SLAYING OF KIAN.

Towards the close of the day, when the battle was ended, Luga espied two of his near friends; and he asked them if they had seen his father, Kian, in the fight. And when they answered, "No," Luga said—

"My father is not alive; for if he lived he would surely have come to help me in the battle. And now I swear that neither food nor drink will I take till I have found out who has slain him, and the manner of his death."

Then Luga set out with a small chosen band of the Fairy Host, and he halted not till he reached the place where he had parted from his father. And from that he travelled on to the plain of Murthemna, where Kian had been forced to take the shape of a pig to avoid the sons of Turenn, and where they had slain him.

When he had come near to the very spot, he walked some little way before his companions, and the stones of the earth spoke beneath his feet, and said—

"Here thy father lies, O Luga. Grievous was Kian's strait when he was forced to take the shape of a pig on seeing the three sons of Turenn; and here they slew him in his own shape!"

The blood that they spilled,
The hero they killed,
Shall darken their lives till their doom be fulfilled!

Luga stood for a while silent, pondering on these words. But as his companions came up, he told them what had happened; and having pointed out the spot from which the voice came, he caused the ground to be dug up. There they found the body, and raised it to the surface; and when they had examined it, they saw that it was covered all over with gory wounds and bruises.

Then Luga spoke after a long silence, "A cruel and merciless death has my beloved father suffered at the hands of the sons of Turenn!"

He kissed his father's face three times, and again spoke, grieving, "Ill fare the day on which my father was slain! Woful is this deed to me, for my eyes see not, my ears hear not, and my heart's pulse has ceased to beat, for grief. Why, O ye gods whom I worship, why was I not present when this deed was done? Alas! an evil thing has happened, for the Dedannans have slain their brother Dedannan. Ill shall they fare of this fratricide, for its consequences shall follow them, and long shall the crime of brother against brother continue to be committed in Erin!"

And he spoke this speech—

A dreadful doom my father found
On that ill-omened even-tide;
And here I mourn beside the mound,
Where, whelmed by numbers, Kian died,—
This lonely mound of evil fame,
That long shall bear the hero's name!

Alas! an evil deed is done,
And long shall Erin rue the day:
There shall be strife 'twixt sire and son,
And brothers shall their brothers slay;
Vengeance shall smite the murderers too,
And vengeance all their race pursue!

The light has faded from mine eyes;
My youthful strength and power have fled
Weary my heart with ceaseless sighs;
Ambition, hope, and joy are dead;
And all the world is draped in gloom—
The shadow of my father's tomb!

Then they placed the hero again in the grave, and they raised a tomb over him with his name graved in Ogam;[XXXIX.] after which his lamentation lays were sung, and his funeral games were performed.

When these rites were ended, Luga said to his people, "Go ye now to Tara, where the king of Erin sits on his throne with the Dedannans around him; but do not make these things known till I myself have told them."

So Luga's people went straightway to Tara, as he had bade them; but of the murder of Kian they said naught. Luga himself arrived some time after, and was received with great honour, being put to sit high over the others, at the king's side; for the fame of his mighty deeds at the battle of the Assembly Plain had been noised over the whole country, and had come to the ears of the king.

After he was seated, he looked round the hall, and saw the sons of Turenn in the assembly. Now these three sons of Turenn exceeded all the champions in Tara, in comeliness of person, in swiftness of foot, and in feats of arms; and, next to Luga himself, they were the best and bravest in the battles against the Fomorians; wherefore they were honoured by the king beyond most others.

Luga asked the king that the chain of silence[XL.] should be shaken; and when it was shaken, and when all were listening in silence, he stood up and spoke—

"I perceive, ye nobles of the Dedannan race, that you have given me your attention, and now I have a question to put to each man here present: What vengeance would you take of the man who should knowingly and of design kill your father?"

They were all struck with amazement on hearing this, and the king of Erin said—

"What does this mean? For that your father has not been killed, this we all know well!"

"My father has indeed been killed," answered Luga; "and I see now here in this hall those who slew him. And furthermore, I know the manner in which they put him to death, even as they know it themselves."

The sons of Turenn, hearing all this, said nothing; but the king spoke aloud and said—

"If any man should wilfully slay my father, it is not in one hour or in one day I would have him put to death; but I would lop off one of his members each day, till I saw him die in torment under my hands!"

All the nobles said the same, and the sons of Turenn in like manner.

"The persons who slew my father are here present, and are joining with the rest in this judgment," said Luga; "and as the Dedannans are all now here to witness, I claim that the three who have done this evil deed shall pay me a fitting eric-fine for my father. Should they refuse, I shall not indeed transgress the king's law nor violate his protection; but of a certainty they shall not leave this hall of Micorta[XLI.] till the matter is settled."

And the king of Erin said, "If I had killed your father, I should be well content if you were willing to accept an eric-fine from me."

Now the sons of Turenn spoke among themselves; and Ur and Urcar said, "It is of us Luga speaks this speech. He has doubtless found out that we slew his father; and it is better that we now acknowledge the deed, for it will avail us naught to hide it."

Brian, however, at first set his face against this, saying that he feared Luga only wanted an acknowledgment from them in presence of the other Dedannans, and that afterwards he might not accept a fine. But the other two were earnest in pressing him, so that he consented, and then he spoke to Luga—

"It is of us thou speakest all these things, Luga; for it has been said that we three have been at enmity with the three sons of Canta. Now, as to the slaying of thy father Kian, let that matter rest; but we are willing to pay an eric-fine for him, even as if we had killed him."

"I shall accept an eric-fine from you," said Luga, "though ye indeed fear I shall not. I shall now name before this assembly the fine I ask, and if you think it too much, I shall take off a part of it.

"The first part of my eric-fine is three apples; the second part is the skin of a pig; the third is a spear; the fourth, two steeds and a chariot; the fifth, seven pigs; the sixth, a hound-whelp; the seventh, a cooking-spit; and the eighth, three shouts on a hill. That is my eric," said Luga; "and if ye think it too much, say so now, that I may remit a part; but if not, then it will be well that ye set about paying it."

"So far," said Brian, "we do not deem it too great. It seems, indeed, so small that we fear there is some hidden snare in what you ask, which may work us mischief."

"I do not deem my eric too small," said Luga; "and now I engage here, before the assembled Dedannans, that I will ask no more, and that I will seek no further vengeance for my father's death. But, as I have made myself answerable to them for the faithful fulfilment of my promise, I demand the same guarantee from you, that you also be faithful to me."

"Alas that you should doubt our plighted word!" said the sons of Turenn. "Are we not ourselves sufficient guarantee for the payment of an eric-fine greater even than this?"

"I do not deem your word sufficient guarantee," answered Luga; "for often have we known great warriors like you to promise a fine before all the people, and afterwards to go back of their promise."

And the sons of Turenn consented, though unwillingly, for they grieved that their word should be doubted. So they bound themselves on either side—Luga not to increase his claims; and the sons of Turenn, on their part, to pay him the full fine. And the king of Erin and Bove Derg, son of the Dagda, and the nobles of the Dedannans in general, were witnesses and sureties of this bond.

Then Luga stood up and said, "It is now time that I give you a full knowledge of this eric-fine.

"The three apples I ask are the apples of the Garden of Hisberna,[XLII.] in the east of the world, and none others will I have. There are no apples in the rest of the world like them, for their beauty and for the secret virtues they possess. Their colour is the colour of burnished gold; they have the taste of honey; and if a wounded warrior or a man in deadly sickness eat of them, he is cured immediately. And they are never lessened by being eaten, being as large and perfect at the end as at the beginning. Moreover any champion that possesses one of them may perform with it whatsoever feat he pleases, by casting it from his hand, and the apple will return to him of itself. And though you are three brave warriors, ye sons of Turenn, methinks you will not find it easy to bring away these apples; for it has been long foretold that three young champions from the Island of the West would come to take them by force, so that the king has set guards to watch for your coming.

"The pig's skin I seek from you belongs to Tuis, the king of Greece. When the pig was alive, every stream of water through which she walked was turned into wine for nine days, and all sick and wounded people that touched her skin were at once cured, if only the breath of life remained. Now the king's druids told him that the virtue lay, not in the pig herself, but in her skin; so the king had her killed and skinned, and he has her skin now. This, too, ye valiant champions, is a part of my eric-fine which you will find it hard to get, either by force or by friendship.

"The spear I demand from you is the venomed spear of Pezar, king of Persia. Its name is Slaughterer. In time of peace, its blazing, fiery head is always kept in a great caldron of water, to prevent it from burning down the king's palace; and in time of war, the champion who bears it to the battle-field can perform any deed he pleases with it. And it will be no easy matter to get this spear from the king of Persia.

"The two steeds and the chariot belong to Dobar, king of Sigar.[XLIII.] The chariot exceeds all the chariots in the world for beauty of shape and goodliness of workmanship. The two noble steeds have no equal for strength and fleetness, and they travel with as much ease on sea as on land.

"The seven pigs I demand are the pigs of Asal, the king of the Golden Pillars. Whoever eats a part of them shall not suffer from ill health or disease; and even though they should be killed and eaten to-day, they will be alive and well to-morrow.

"The hound-whelp belongs to the king of Iroda,[XLIV.] and his name is Failinis. He shines as brightly as the sun in a summer sky; and every wild beast of the forest that sees him falls down to the earth powerless before him.

"The cooking-spit belongs to the warlike women of the island of Fincara. They are thrice fifty in number, and woe to the champion who approaches their house; for each of them is a match for three good warriors in single combat; and they never yet gave a cooking-spit to any one without being overcome in battle.

"The hill on which I require you to give three shouts is the Hill of Midkena, in the north of Lochlann.[6] Midkena and his sons are always guarding this hill, for they are under gesa[12] not to allow any one to shout on it. Moreover, it was they that instructed my father in championship and feats of arms, and they loved him very much; so that even if I should forgive you his death they would not. And, though you should be able to procure all the rest of the eric-fine, you will not, I think, succeed in this, for they will be sure to avenge on you my father's death.

"And this, ye sons of Turenn, is the eric-fine I demand from you!"

CHAPTER V.

THE SONS OF TURENN OBTAIN MANNANAN'S CANOE, "THE WAVE-SWEEPER."

The sons of Turenn were so astounded on hearing this eric-fine that they spoke not one word; but rising up, they left the meeting, and repaired to the house of their father Turenn.

He heard their story to the end, and then said, "Your tidings are bad, my sons, and I fear me you are doomed to meet your death in seeking what the Ildana asks. But the doom is a just one, for it was an evil thing to kill Kian. Now as to this eric-fine: it cannot be obtained by any living man without the help of either Luga himself or of Mannanan Mac Lir;[8] but if Luga wishes to aid you, ye shall be able to get it. Go ye now, therefore, and ask him to lend you Mannanan's steed, Enbarr of the Flowing Mane. If he wishes you to get the full eric-fine, he will lend you the steed; otherwise he will refuse, saying that she does not belong to him, and that he cannot lend what he himself has got on loan. Then, if ye obtain not the steed, ask him for the loan of Mannanan's canoe, the Wave-sweeper, which would be better for you than the steed; and he will lend you that, for he is forbidden to refuse a second request."

So the sons of Turenn returned to Luga, and having saluted him, they said—

"It is not in the power of any man to obtain this eric-fine without thy own aid, O Luga; we ask thee, therefore, to lend us Mannanan's steed, Enbarr of the Flowing Mane."

"That steed is not my own," said Luga; "and I cannot lend that which I have myself obtained on loan."

"If that be so," said Brian, "then I pray thee lend us Mannanan's canoe, the Wave-sweeper."

"I shall lend you that," replied Luga; "it lies at Bruga of the Boyne;[XLV.] and ye have my consent to take it."

So they came again to their father, and this time Ethnea, their sister, was with him; and they told them that Luga had given them the canoe.

"I have much fear," said Turenn, "that it will avail you little against the dangers of your quest. Nevertheless, Luga desires to obtain that part of the eric that will be useful to him at the battle of Moytura,[11] and so far he will help you. But in seeking that which is of no advantage to him, namely, the cooking-spit, and the three shouts on Midkena's Hill, therein he will give you no aid, and he will be glad if ye perish in your attempts to obtain it."

They then set out for Bruga of the Boyne, accompanied by their sister Ethnea, leaving Turenn lamenting after them. The canoe they found lying in the river; and Brian went into it and said—

"It seems to me that only one other person can sit here along with me;" and he began to complain very bitterly of its smallness. He ceased, however, at the bidding of Ethnea, who told him that the canoe would turn out large enough when they came to try it, and that it was under strict command not to let any one grumble at its smallness. And she went on to say—

"Alas, my beloved brothers, it was an evil deed to slay the father of Luga of the Long Arms! and I fear you will suffer much woe and hardship on account of it."

Ethnea.

The deed was a dark one, a deed full of woe,
Your brother Dedannan to slay;
And hard and relentless the heart of your foe,
The bright-faced Ildana, that forced you to go,
This eric of vengeance to pay!

The Brothers.

Oh, cease, sister Ethnea, cease thy sad wail;
Why yield to this terror and gloom?
Long, long shall the poets remember the tale,
For our courage and valour and swords shall prevail,
Or win us a glorious tomb!

Ethnea.

Then search ye, my brothers, go search land and sea;
Go search ye the isles of the East.—
Alas, that the cruel Ildana's decree
Has banished my three gentle brothers from me,
On this fearful and perilous quest!

CHAPTER VI.

THE APPLES OF THE GARDEN OF HISBERNA.

After this the three brothers entered the canoe, which they now found large enough to hold themselves and their arms, and whatsoever else they wished to bring; for this was one of its secret gifts. They then bade their sister farewell, and, leaving her weeping on the shore, they rowed swiftly till they had got beyond the beautiful shores and bright harbours of Erin, out on the open sea.

Then the two younger brothers said, "Now our quest begins: what course shall we take?"

Brian answered, "As the apples are the first part of the fine, we shall seek them first."

And then he spoke to the canoe, "Thou canoe of Mannanan, thou Sweeper of the waves, we ask thee and we command thee, that thou sail straightway to the Garden of Hisberna!"

The canoe was not unmindful of the voice of its master, and obeyed the command without delay, according to its wont. It took the shortest way across the deep sea-chasms, and, gliding over the green-sided waves more swiftly than the clear, cold wind of March, it stayed not in its course till it reached the harbour near the land of Hisberna.

Brian now spoke to his brothers, "Be sure that this quest is a perilous one, since we know that the best champions of the country, with the king at their head, are always guarding the apples. And now in what manner, think you, is it best for us to approach the garden?"

"It seems to us," answered his brothers, "that we had better go straight and attack these champions, and either bring away the apples, or fall fighting for them. For we cannot escape the dangers that lie before us; and if we are doomed to fall in one of these adventures, it may, perchance, be better for us to die here than to prolong our hardships."

But Brian answered, "Not so, my brothers; for it becomes a warrior to be prudent and wary as well as brave. We should now act so that the fame of our skill and valour may live after us, and that future men may not say, 'These sons of Turenn did not deserve to be called brave champions, for they were senseless and rash, and sought their own death by their folly.' In the present case, then, what I counsel is this: Let us take the shape of strong, swift hawks; and as we approach the garden, have ye care of the light, sharp lances of the guards, which they will certainly hurl at us: avoid them actively and cunningly, and when the men have thrown all, let us swoop down and bring away an apple each."

They approved this counsel; and Brian, striking his two brothers and himself with a druidical magic wand, all three were changed into three beautiful hawks. Then, flying swiftly to the garden, they began to descend in circles towards the tops of the trees; but the sharp-eyed guards perceived them, and with a great shout they threw showers of venomous darts at them. The hawks, however, mindful of Brian's warning, watched the spears with keen glances, and escaped them every one, until the guards had thrown all their light weapons. Then, swooping suddenly down on the trees, the two younger brothers carried off an apple each, and Brian two, one between his talons and the other in his beak; and the three rose again into the air without wound or hurt of any kind. Then, directing their course westward, they flew over the wide sea with the speed of an arrow.

The news spread quickly through the city, how three beautiful hawks had carried off the apples; and the king and his people were in great wrath. Now the king had three daughters, very skilful in magic and cunning in counsel; and they forthwith transformed themselves into three swift-winged, sharp-taloned griffins, and pursued the hawks over the sea. But the hawks, when they saw they were pursued, increased their speed, and flew like the wind, and left their pursuers so far behind that they appeared to the griffins like three specks on the sky. Then the angry griffins let fly from their eyes, and from their open beaks, bright flashes of flame straight forward, which overtook and blinded the hawks, and scorched them, so that they could bear the heat no longer.

"Evil is our state now," said Ur and Urcar, "for these sheets of flame are burning us, and we shall perish if we do not get relief."

"I will try whether I cannot relieve you," said Brian; and with that he struck his brothers and himself with his golden druidical wand; and all three were instantly turned into swans. The swans dropped down on the sea; and when the griffins saw the hawks no longer straight before them, they gave up the chase. And the sons of Turenn went safely to their canoe, bringing the apples with them.

CHAPTER VII.

THE GIFTED SKIN OF THE PIG.

After resting a little while, they held council as to their next journey; and what they resolved on was to go to Greece, to seek the skin of the pig, and to bring it away, either by consent or by force. So they went into the canoe, and Brian spoke—

"Thou canoe of Mannanan, thou Sweeper of the Waves, we ask thee and we command thee that thou sail with us straightway to Greece!"

And the canoe, obeying as before, glided swiftly and smoothly over the waves, till the sons of Turenn landed near the palace of the king of Greece.

"In what shape, think you, should we go to this court?" said Brian.

"We think it best," answered the others, "to go in our own shapes; that is to say, as three bold champions."

"Not so," said Brian. "It seems best to me that we should go in the guise of learned poets from Erin; for poets are held in much honour and respect by the great nobles of Greece."

"It is, indeed, hard for us to do that," answered his brothers, "for as to poems, we neither have any, nor do we know how to compose them."

However, as Brian would have it so, they consented, though unwillingly; and, tying up their hair after the manner of poets, they knocked at the door of the palace. The door-keeper asked who was there.

"We are skilful poets from Erin," said Brian, "and we have come to Greece with a poem for the king."

The door-keeper went and gave the message.

"Let them be brought in," said the king, "for it is to seek a good and bountiful master whom they may serve faithfully that they have come so far from Erin."

The sons of Turenn were accordingly led in to the banquet hall, where sat the king surrounded by his nobles; and, bowing low, they saluted him; and he saluted them in return, and welcomed them. They sat at the table among the company, and joined the feast at once, drinking and making merry like the others; and they thought they had never seen a banquet hall so grand, or a household so numerous and mirthful.

At the proper time the king's poets arose, according to custom, to recite their poems and their lays for the company. And when they had come to an end, Brian, speaking low, said to his brothers—

"As we have come here as poets, it is meet that we should practise the poetic art like the others; therefore now arise, and recite a poem for the king."

"We have no poems," they replied, "and we do not wish to practise any art except the art we have learned and practised from our youth, namely, to fight like brave champions, and to take by valour and force of arms that which we want, if we be stronger than our enemies, or to fall in battle if they be the stronger."

"That is not a pleasant way of making poetry," said Brian; and with that he arose and requested attention for his poem. And when they sat listening, he said—

To praise thee, O Tuis, we've come to this land:
Like an oak among shrubs, over kings thou dost stand:
Thy bounty, great monarch, shall gladden the bard;
And the Imnocta-fessa I claim as reward.

Two neighbours shall war, with an O to an O;
A bard unrequited—how dreadful a foe!
Thy bounty shall add to thy wealth and thy fame;
And the Imnocta-fessa is all that I claim.

"Your poem would doubtless be thought a very good one," said the king, "if we were able to judge of it; but it is unlike all other poems I have ever heard, for I do not in the least understand its sense."

"I will unfold its sense," said Brian.

To praise thee, O Tuis, we've come to this land:
Like an oak among shrubs, over kings thou dost stand:

"This means that as the oak excels all the other trees of the forest, so dost thou excel all the other kings of the world for greatness, nobility, and generosity.

"'Imnocta-fessa.' Imnocta means 'skin,' and fessa 'a pig.' That is to say; thou hast, O king, the skin of a pig, which I desire to get from thee as a guerdon for my poetry.

Two neighbours shall war, with an O to an O;
A bard unrequited—how dreadful a foe!

"O means 'an ear;' that is to say, thou and I shall be ear to ear fighting with each other for the skin, if thou give it not of thy own free will.

"And that, O king, is the sense of my poem."

"Thy poem would have been a very good one," said the king, "and I would have given it due meed of praise if my pig's skin had not been mentioned in it. But it is a foolish request of thine, O ferdana,[XLVI.] to ask for that skin; for, even though all the poets and men of science of Erin, and all the nobles of the whole world were to demand it from me, I would refuse it. Nevertheless, thou shalt not pass unrewarded, for I will give thee thrice the full of the skin of red gold—one for thyself, and one for each of thy brothers."

"Thy ransom is a good one, O king," said Brian; "but I am a near-hearted and suspicious man, and I pray thee let me see with my eyes thy servants measure the gold, lest they deal unfairly with me."

The king agreed to this; so his servants went with the three sons of Turenn to the treasure-room, and one of them drew forth the skin from its place, to measure the gold. As soon as Brian caught sight of it, he sprang suddenly towards the servant, and, dashing him to the ground with his right hand, he snatched the skin with his left, and bound it hastily over his shoulders.

Then the three drew their keen swords, and rushed into the banquet hall. The king's nobles, seeing how matters stood, surrounded and attacked them; but the sons of Turenn, nothing daunted by the number of their foes, hewed down the foremost and scattered the rest, so that scarce one of the whole party escaped death or deadly wounds.

Then at last Brian and the king met face to face, nor was either slow to answer the challenge of the other. They fought as great champions fight, and it was long doubtful which should prevail; but the end of the combat was, that the king of Greece fell by the overpowering valour of Brian, the son of Turenn.

After this victory, the three brothers rested in the palace till they had regained their strength, and healed up their wounds by means of the apples and the pig's skin; and at the end of three days and three nights they found themselves able to undertake the next adventure.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE BLAZING SPEAR OF THE KING OF PERSIA.

So, after holding council, they resolved to go to seek the spear of the king of Persia; and Brian reminded his brothers that now, as they had the apples and the skin to aid them, it would be all the easier to get the spear, as well as the rest of the fine.

Leaving now the shores of Greece with all its blue streams, they went on board the canoe, which, at Brian's command, flew across the wide seas; and soon they made land near the palace of Pezar, king of Persia. And seeing how they had fared so well in their last undertaking, they resolved to put on the guise of poets this time also.

And so they put the poet's tie on their hair, and, passing through the outer gate, they knocked at the door of the palace. The door-keeper asked who they were, and from what country they had come.

"We are poets from Erin," answered Brian; "and we have brought a poem for the king."

So they were admitted and brought to the presence of the king, who seated them among the nobles of his household; and they joined in the drinking and the feasting and the revelry.

The king's poets now arose, and chanted their songs for the king and his guests. And when the applause had ceased, Brian, speaking softly, said to his brothers—

"Arise, now, and chant a poem for the king."

But they answered, "Ask us not to do that which we are unable to do; but if you wish us to exercise the art we have learned from our youth, we shall do so, namely, the art of fighting and overcoming our foes."

"That would be an unusual way of reciting poetry," said Brian; "but I have a poem for the king, and I shall now chant it for him."

So saying, he stood up; and when there was silence, he recited this poem—

In royal state may Pezar ever reign,
Like some vast yew tree, monarch of the plain;
May Pezar's mystic javelin, long and bright,
Bring slaughter to his foes in every fight!

When Pezar fights and shakes his dreadful spear,
Whole armies fly and heroes quake with fear:
What shielded foe, what champion can withstand,
The blazing spear in mighty Pezar's hand!

"Your poem is a good one," said the king; "but one thing in it I do not understand, namely, why you make mention of my spear."

"Because," answered Brian, "I wish to get that spear as a reward for my poem."

"That is a very foolish request," said the king, "for no man ever escaped punishment who asked me for my spear. And as to your poetry, the highest reward I could now bestow on you, and the greatest favour these nobles could obtain for you, is that I should spare your life."

Thereupon Brian and his brothers started up in great wrath and drew their swords, and the king and his chiefs drew their swords in like manner; and they fought a deadly fight. But Brian at last, drawing forth one of his apples, and taking sure aim, cast it at the king and struck him on the forehead; so that Pezar fell, pierced through the brain.

After this Brian fought on more fiercely than before, dealing destruction everywhere around him; but when the chiefs saw that their king had fallen, they lost heart and fled through the doors, till at length none remained in the banquet hall but the three sons of Turenn.

Then they went to the room where the spear was kept; and they found it with its head down deep in a great caldron of water, which hissed and bubbled round it. And Brian, seizing it boldly in his hand, drew it forth; after which the three brothers left the palace and went to their canoe.

CHAPTER IX.

THE CHARIOT AND STEEDS OF THE KING OF SIGAR.

Resting now for some days from their toil, they resolved to seek the steeds and chariot of the king of Sigar; for this was the next part of the Ildana's eric-fine. So they commanded the canoe, and the canoe, obedient to their behest, glided swiftly and smoothly over the green waves till they landed in Sigar. Brian bore the great, heavy, venomed spear in his hand; and the three brothers were of good heart, seeing how they had succeeded in their last quest, and that they had now three parts of the fine.

"In what shape think you we should go to this court?" said Brian.

"How should we go," answered the others, "but in our own shapes, namely, as three hostile champions, who have come to get the chariot and steeds, either by force or by good will?"

"That is not what seems best to me," said Brian. "My counsel is, that we go as soldiers from Erin, willing to serve for pay; and should the king take us into his service, it is likely we shall find out where the chariot and steeds are kept."

His brothers having agreed to this, the three set out for the palace.

It happened that the king was holding a fair-meeting on the broad, level green before the palace; and when the three warriors came near, the people made way for them. They bowed low to the king; and he asked them who they were, and from what part of the world they had come.

"We are valiant soldiers from Erin," they answered, "seeking for service and pay among the great kings of the world."

"Do you wish to enter my service?" asked the king: and they answered, "Yes." So they made a covenant with each other—the king to place them in a post of honour and trust, and they to serve him faithfully, and to name their own reward. Whereupon the brothers entered the ranks of the king's body-guard.

They remained in the palace for a month and a fortnight, looking round and carefully noting everything; but they saw nothing of the chariot and steeds. At the end of that time Brian said to his brothers—

"It fares ill with us here, my brothers; for we know nothing of the chariot and steeds at this hour, more than when we first came hither."

The others said this was quite true, and asked if he meant to do anything in the matter.

"This is what I think we should do," answered Brian. "Let us put on our travelling array, and take our arms of valour in our hands; and in this fashion let us go before the king, and tell him that unless he shows us the chariot and steeds, we shall leave his service."

This they did without delay; and when they had come before the king, he asked them why they came to his presence so armed and in travelling gear.

"We will tell thee of that, O king," answered Brian. "We are valiant soldiers from Erin, and into whatsoever lands we have travelled, we have been trusted with the secret counsels of the kings who have taken us into their service; and we have been made the guardians of their rarest jewels and of all their gifted arms of victory. But as to thee, O king, thou hast not so treated us since we came hither; for thou hast a chariot and two steeds, which exceed all the chariots and steeds in the world, and yet we have never seen them."

"A small thing it is that has caused you to prepare for departure," said the king; "and there is, moreover, no need that you should leave my service; for I would have shown you those steeds the day you came, had I only known that you wished it. But ye shall see them now; for I have never had in my service soldiers from a distant land, in whom I and my people have placed greater trust than we have placed in you."

He then sent for the steeds, and had them yoked to the chariot—those steeds that were as fleet as the clear, cold wind of March, and which travelled with equal speed on land and on sea.

Brian, viewing them narrowly, said aloud, "Hear me, O king of Sicily. We have served thee faithfully up to this time; and now we wish to name our own pay, according to the covenant thou hast made with us. The guerdon we demand is yonder chariot and steeds; these we mean to have, and we shall ask for nothing more."

But the king, in great wrath, said, "Foolish and luckless men! Ye shall certainly die because you have dared to ask for my steeds!"

And the king and his warriors drew their swords, and rushed towards the sons of Turenn to seize them.

They, on the other hand, were not taken unaware; and a sore fight began. And Brian, watching his opportunity, sprang with a sudden bound into the chariot, and, dashing the charioteer to the ground, he seized the reins in his left hand; then, raising the venomed spear of Pezar in his right, he smote the king with its fiery point in the breast, so that he fell dead. And the three brothers dealt red slaughter among the king's guards, till those who were not slain scattered and fled in all directions. So they fared in this undertaking.

CHAPTER X.

THE SEVEN PIGS OF THE KING OF THE GOLDEN PILLARS.

After resting till their wounds were healed, Ur and Urcar asked where they should go next.

"We shall go," said Brian, "to Asal, the king of the Golden Pillars, to ask him for his seven pigs; for this is the next part of the Ildana's eric-fine."

So they set out; and the canoe brought them straightway to the land of the Golden Pillars, without delay and without mishap. As they drew nigh to the harbour, they saw the shore lined with men all armed. For the fame of the deeds of these great champions had begun to be noised through many lands; how they had been forced to leave Erin by the hard sentence of the Ildana; and how they were seeking and bearing away the most precious and gifted jewels of the world to pay the fine. Wherefore the king of the Golden Pillars had armed his people, and had sent them to guard the harbours.

The king himself came down to the beach to meet them. As soon as they had come within speaking distance, he bade them stay their course; and then he asked them, in an angry and chiding tone, if they were the three champions from Erin, who had overcome and slain so many kings.

Brian answered, "Be not displeased with us, O king for in all this matter we are not to blame. The Ildana has demanded a fine which we perforce must pay; for we have promised, and the Dedannans are our guarantee. If the kings to whom he sent us had given us peaceably the precious things we demanded, we would gladly have departed in peace; but as they did not, we fought against them, unwillingly indeed and overthrew them; for no one has as yet been able to withstand us."

"Tell me now," said the king, "what has brought you to my country?"

"We have come for thy seven pigs," answered Brian; "for they are a part of the fine."

"And in what manner do you think ye shall get them?" asked the king.

Brian answered, "Thou hast heard, O king, how the Ildana has brought us to these straits, and we must pay him the fine, every jot, or else we shall die at the hands of our people. Thou, perchance, wilt have pity on our hardships, and give us these pigs in token of kindness and friendship, and if so we shall be thankful; but if not, then we will fight for them, and either bring them away by force, after slaying thee and thy people or fall ourselves in the attempt."

Hearing this, the king and his people went into council; and after debating the matter at full length, they thought it best to give the pigs peaceably, seeing that no king, however powerful, had as yet been able to withstand the sons of Turenn.

The three champions wondered greatly when this was told to them; for in no other country had they been able to get any part of the fine without battle and hardship, and without leaving much of their blood behind them. So they were now very glad; and thanked Asal and his people.

The king then brought them to his palace, and gave them a kind welcome; and they were supplied with food and drink to their hearts' desire, and slept on soft, downy beds. So they rested after all their weary journeys and toils.

When they arose next morning, they were brought to the king's presence, and the pigs were given to them; and Brian addressed the king in these words—

The prizes we've brought to this land,
We have won them in conflict and blood;
But the gift we have sought at thy hand,
That gift thou hast freely bestowed.

The red spear rewarded our deeds,
When Pezar the mighty we slew;
And the fight for the chariot and steeds,
Ah, long shall the Sigarites rue!

Great Asal! in happier days,
When our deeds bring us glory and fame,
Green Erin shall echo thy praise,
And her poets shall honour thy name!

CHAPTER XI.

THE HOUND-WHELP OF THE KING OF IRODA.

"Whither do you go next, ye sons of Turenn?" asked Asal.

"We go," answered Brian, "to Iroda, for Failinis, the king's hound-whelp."

"Then grant me this boon," said the king, "namely, that ye let me go with you to Iroda. For my daughter is the king's wife; and I will try to prevail on him that he give you the hound-whelp freely and without battle."

This they agreed to. But the king wished that they should go in his own ship; so it was got ready, and they went on board with all their wealth; and it is not told how they fared till they reached the borders of Iroda. The shores were covered with fierce, armed men, who were there by orders of the king to guard the harbour; and these men shouted at the crew, warning them to come no farther; for they knew the sons of Turenn, and well they knew what they came for.

Asal then requested the three champions to remain where they were for a time, while he went on shore to talk with his son-in-law. Accordingly he landed, and went to the king, who, after he had welcomed him, asked what had brought the sons of Turenn to his country.

"They have come for your hound-whelp," answered Asal.

And the king of Iroda said, "It was an evil counsel you followed, when you came with these men to my shores; for to no three champions in the world have the gods given such strength or such good luck as that they can get my hound-whelp, either by force or by my own free will."

"It will be unwise to refuse them," replied Asal. "They have overpowered and slain many great kings; for they have gifted arms that no warrior, however powerful, can withstand; and behold, I have come hither to tell you what manner of men these are, that you might be advised by me, and give them your hound-whelp in peace."

So he pressed him earnestly; but his words were only thrown away on the king of Iroda, who spoke scornfully of the sons of Turenn, and refused Asal's request with wrathful words.

Asal, much troubled at this, went and told the sons of Turenn how matters stood. And they, having without delay put on their battle-dress, and taken their arms in their hands, challenged the king of Iroda and his people. Then began a very fierce and bloody battle; for though nothing could stand before the sons of Turenn, yet the warriors of Iroda were many and very brave. So they fought till the two younger brothers became separated from Brian, and he was quite surrounded. But as he wielded the dreadful spear of Pezar, with its blazing, fiery point, his enemies fell back dismayed, and the ranks were broken before him, so that those who crossed his path stood in a gap of danger.

At length he espied the king of Iroda, where he fought hedged round by spears; and he rushed through the thick of the battle straight towards him, striking down spears and swords and men as he went. And now these two valiant warriors fought hand to hand a stout and watchful and fierce battle—for the others fell back by the king's command; and it was long before any advantage was gained on either side. But though to those who looked on, Brian seemed the more wrathful of the two, yet he held back his hand, so as not to slay his foe; and this it was, indeed, that prolonged the combat, for he sought to tire out the king. At length, watching his opportunity, Brian closed suddenly, and, seizing the king in his strong arms, he lifted him clean off the ground, and bore him to where Asal stood. Then, setting him down, he said—

"Behold thy son-in-law; it would have been easier to kill him three times over than to bring him to thee once!"

When the people saw their king a prisoner, they ceased fighting; and the end of all was that peace was made, and the hound-whelp was given over to the sons of Turenn. Then they took their leave, and left the shores of Iroda in friendship with the king and with Asal his father-in-law.

CHAPTER XII.

RETURN OF THE SONS OF TURENN, WITH PART OF THE ERIC-FINE.

Now we shall speak of Luga of the Long Arms. It was revealed to him that the sons of Turenn had obtained all those parts of the fine which he wanted for the battle of Moytura;[11] but that they had not yet got the cooking-spit, or given the three shouts on Midkena's Hill. So he sent after them a druidical spell, which, falling on them soon after they had left Iroda, caused them to forget the remaining part of the fine, and filled them with a longing desire to return to their native home. Accordingly they went on board their canoe, bringing with them every part of the fine they had gotten already; and the canoe glided swiftly over the waves to Erin.

At this time Luga was with the king at a fair-meeting on the plain before Tara; and it was made known to him secretly that the sons of Turenn had landed at Bruga of the Boyne. He left the assembly anon, telling no one; and he went direct to Caher-Crofinn[XLVII.] at Tara, and, closing the gates and doors after him, he put on his battle array, namely, the smooth Greek armour of Mannanan Mac Lir, and the enchanted mantle of the daughter of Flidas.

Soon after, the sons of Turenn were seen approaching; and as they came forward, the multitude flocked out to meet them, gazing with wonder at the many marvellous things they had brought. When the three champions had come to the royal tent, they were joyfully welcomed by the king and by the Dedannans in general; and then the king spoke kindly to them, and asked if they had brought the eric-fine.

"We have obtained it after much hardship and danger," they replied; "and now we wish to know where Luga is, that we may hand it over to him."

The king told them that Luga was at the assembly; but when they sent to search for him, he was nowhere to be found.

"I can tell where he is," said Brian. "It has been made known to him that we have arrived in Erin, bringing with us gifted arms that none can withstand; and he has gone to one of the strongholds of Tara, to avoid us, fearing we might use these venomed weapons against himself."

Messengers were then sent to Luga to tell him that the sons of Turenn had arrived, and to ask him to come forth to the meeting, that they might give him the fine.

But he answered, "I will not come to the meeting yet; but go ye back, and tell the sons of Turenn to give the fine to the king for me."

The messengers returned with this answer; and the sons of Turenn gave to the king for Luga all the wonderful things they had brought, keeping, however their own arms; after which the whole company went into the palace.

When Luga was told how matters stood, he came to where the king and all the others were; and the king gave him the fine. Then Luga, looking narrowly at everything that had been given up to him, said—

"Here, indeed, is an eric enough to pay for any one that ever yet was slain, or that shall be slain to the end of time. But yet there is one kind of fine that must be paid to the last farthing, namely, an eric-fine; for of this it is not lawful to hold back even the smallest part. And moreover, O king, thou and the Dedannans whom I see here present, are guarantees for the full payment of my eric-fine. Now I see here the three apples, and the skin of the pig, and the fiery-headed spear, and the chariot and steeds, and the seven pigs, and the hound-whelp; but where, ye sons of Turenn, is the cooking-spit of the women of Fincara? And I have not heard that ye have given the three shouts on Midkena's Hill."

On hearing this, the sons of Turenn fell into a faintness like the faintness before death. And when they had recovered they answered not one word, but left the assembly and went to their father's house. To him and their sister Ethnea they told all that had befallen them; and how they should set out on another quest, as they had forgotten part of the eric-fine through the spells of Luga.

At this Turenn was overwhelmed with grief; and Ethnea wept in great fear and sorrow. And so they passed that night. Next day, they went down to the shore, and their father and sister went with them to their ship, and bade them farewell.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE COOKING-SPIT OF THE WOMEN OF FINCARA.

Then they went on board their ship—for they had Mannanan's canoe no longer—and they sailed forth on the green billowy sea to search for the Island of Fincara. For a whole quarter of a year they wandered hither and thither over the wide ocean, landing on many shores and inquiring of all they met; yet they were not able to get the least tidings of the island.

At last, they came across one very old man, who told them that he had heard of the Island of Fincara in the days of his youth; and that it lay not on the surface, but down deep in the waters, for it was sunk beneath the waves by a spell in times long past.[13]

Then Brian put on his water-dress, with his helmet of transparent crystal on his head, and, telling his brothers to await his return, he leaped over the side of the ship, and sank at once out of sight. He walked about for a fortnight down in the green salt sea, seeking for the Island of Fincara; and at last he found it.

There were many houses on the island; but one he saw larger and grander than the rest. To this he straightway bent his steps, and found it open. On entering, he saw in one large room a great number of beautiful ladies, busily employed at all sorts of embroidery and needlework; and in their midst was a long, bright cooking-spit lying on a table.

Without speaking a word, he walked straight to the table, and, seizing the spit in one hand, he turned round and walked towards the door. The women neither spoke nor moved, but each had her eyes fixed on him from the moment he entered, admiring his manly form, his beauty, and his fearlessness; but when they saw him about to walk off with the spit, they all burst out laughing; and one, who seemed chief among them, said—

"Thou hast attempted a bold deed, O son of Turenn! Know that there are thrice fifty warlike women here, and that the weakest among us would be able of herself to prevent thee taking this cooking-spit, even if thy two brothers were here to help thee. But thou art a brave and courageous champion, else thou wouldst not have attempted, unaided, to take it by force, knowing the danger. And for thy boldness and valour, and for the comeliness of thy person, we will let thee take this one, for we have many others besides."

So Brian, after thanking them, brought away the spit joyfully, and sought his ship.

Ur and Urcar waited for Brian in the same spot the whole time, and when he came not, they began to fear that he would return no more. With these thoughts they were at last about to leave the place, when they saw the glitter of his crystal helmet down deep in the water, and immediately after he came to the surface with the cooking-spit in his hand. They brought him on board, and now all felt very joyful and courageous of heart.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE THREE SHOUTS ON MIDKENA'S HILL.

The three brothers next sailed away towards the north of Lochlann, and never abated speed till they moored their vessel near the Hill of Midkena, which rose smooth and green over the sea-shore. When Midkena saw them approaching, he knew them at once, and, coming towards them armed for battle, he addressed them aloud—

"You it was that slew Kian, my friend and pupil; and now come forth and fight, for you shall not leave these shores till you answer for his death."

Brian, in no degree daunted by the fierce look and threatening speech of Midkena, sprang ashore, and the two heroes attacked each other with great fury. When the three sons of Midkena heard the clash of arms, they came forth, and, seeing how matters stood, they rushed down to aid their father; but just as they arrived at the shore, Midkena fell dead, cloven through helmet and head by the heavy sword of Brian.

And now a fight began, three on each side; and if men were afar off, even in the land of Hisberna, in the east of the world, they would willingly come the whole way to see this battle, so fierce and haughty were the minds of those mighty champions, so skilful and active were they in the use of their weapons, so numerous and heavy were their blows, and so long did they continue to fight without either party giving way. The three sons of Turenn were at last dreadfully wounded—wounded almost to death. But neither fear nor weakness did this cause them, for their valour and their fury arose all the more for their wounds, and with one mighty onset they drove their spears through the bodies of their foes; and the sons of Midkena fell before them into the long sleep of death.

But now that the fight was ended, and the battle-fury of the victors had passed off—now it was that they began to feel the effects of their wounds. They threw themselves full length on the blood-stained sward, and long they remained without moving or speaking a word, as if they were dead; and a heavy curtain of darkness fell over their eyes.

At last Brian, raising his head, spoke to his brothers to know if they lived, and when they answered him feebly, he said—

"My dear brothers, let us now arise and give the three shouts on the hill while there is time, for I feel the signs of death."

But they were not able to rise.

Then Brian, gathering all his remaining strength, stood up and lifted one with each hand, while his own blood flowed plentifully; and then they raised three feeble shouts on Midkena's Hill.

CHAPTER XV.

RETURN AND DEATH OF THE SONS OF TURENN.

Making no further delay, he led them to their ship, and they set sail for Erin. While they were yet far off, Brian, gazing over the sea towards the west, suddenly cried out—

"Lo, I see Ben Edar[XLVIII.] yonder, rising over the waters; and I see also Dun Turenn farther towards the north."

And Ur answered from where he reclined with Urcar on the deck, "If we could but get one sight of Ben Edar methinks we should regain our health and strength; and as thou lovest us, and as thou lovest thy own renown, my brother, come and raise our heads and rest them on thy breast, that we may see Erin once more. After that, we shall welcome either life or death."

Ur.

O brother, torch of valour, strong of hand,
Come, place our weary heads upon thy breast;
And let us look upon our native land,
Before we sink to everlasting rest!

Brian.

Belovèd sons of Turenn, woe is me!
My wounds are deep, my day of strength is past;
Yet not for this I grieve, but that I see
Your lives, my noble brothers, ebbing fast!

Ur.

Would we could give our lives to purchase thine;
Ah, gladly would we die to ease thy pain!
For art thou not the pride of Turenn's line,
The noblest champion of green Erin's plain?

Brian.

That mighty Dannan healer, Dianket;[XLIX.]
Or Midac, who excelled his sire in skill;
The maiden-leech, Armedda, mightier yet,
Who knew the herbs to cure, the herbs to kill:

Oh, were they here; or had we now at hand
Those gifted apples from the distant East;
Then might we hope to reach our native land,
And live again in joy and peace and rest!

Ur.

Brother, methinks could we but see once more
Ben Edar's slopes, or Bregia's[L.] dewy plain,
Tailltenn,[LI.] or Bruga's[LII.] mystic mansion hoar,
Our blood would course in health and strength again.

Or let us once behold our father's home,
Or winding Liffey down by Ahaclee,[LIII.]
Old Frevan's hill,[LIV.] or Tara's[LV.] regal dome;
Then welcome death or life, whiche'er may be!

So Brian raised their heads and rested them on his breast, and they gazed on the rocky cliffs and green slopes of Ben Edar while the ship wafted slowly towards land.

Soon after this they landed on the north side of Ben Edar, from which they made their way slowly to Dun Turenn. And when they had reached the green in front of the house, Brian cried out—

"Father, dear father, come forth to thy children!"

Turenn came forth and saw his sons all wounded and pale and feeble.

And Brian said, "Go, beloved father—go quick to Tara, and quickly return. Bring this cooking-spit to Luga, and tell him that we have given the three shouts on Midkena's Hill. Say that we have now paid the full eric-fine, and bring back from him the apples of the Garden of Hisberna, to heal our wounds, else we die."

Brian.

Father, our wounds are deadly; nought can save
Thy children's lives but Luga's friendly hand:
Go, seek him, father—fare thee fast—and crave
The healing apples from Hisberna's land!

Turenn.

In vain, my sons, ye seek to fly your doom;
The stern Ildana's mind too well I know:
Alas! far liefer would he see your tomb,
Than all the treasures all this world could show!

Brian.

But he is just; and though his sire we slew,
Have we not paid full eric for the deed?
The great Ildana is our kinsman too,
And will relent in this our time of need.

Then go, my father, thou art swift and strong;
Speed like the wind—why linger here to mourn?
Go straight to Luga's home, nor tarry long;
Or, father, we shall die ere thou return!

Turenn set out and travelled like the wind till he reached Tara, where he found Luga.

He gave him the cooking-spit, and said, "Behold, my three sons have now paid thee the full eric-fine, for they have given the three shouts on Midkena's Hill. But they are wounded even unto death; and now give me, I pray thee, the apples from the Garden of Hisberna, to cure them, else they die."

But Luga refused, and turned away from Turenn.

Turenn hastened back to his sons with a sorrowful heart, and told them that he had failed to get the apples.

Then Brian said, "Take me with thee to Tara. I will see him, and perchance he may have pity on us, and give us the apples."

And it was done so. But when Brian begged for the apples, Luga said—

"I will not give them to thee. If thou shouldst offer me the full of the whole earth of gold, I would not give them to thee. Thou and thy brothers committed a wicked and pitiless deed when you slew my father. For that deed you must suffer, and with nothing short of your death shall I be content."

For the blood that you spilled,
For the hero you killed—
The deed is avenged, and your doom is fulfilled!

Brian turned away and went back to his brothers, and, lying down between them, his life departed; and his brothers died at the same moment.

Then their father and their sister stood hand in hand over their bodies, lamenting. And Turenn spoke this lay—

Oh, pulseless is my heart this woful hour,
My strength is gone, my joy for ever fled;
Three noble champions, Erin's pride and power,
My three fair youths, my children, cold and dead!

Mild Ur, the fair-haired; Urcar, straight and tall;
The kings of Banba[LVI.] worthy both to be;
And Brian, bravest, noblest, best of all,
Who conquered many lands beyond the sea:

Lo, I am Turenn, your unhappy sire,
Mourning with feeble voice above your grave;
No life, no wealth, no honours I desire;
A place beside my sons is all I crave!

After this Turenn and Ethnea fell on the bodies of the three young heroes and died.

And they were all buried in one grave.

This is the story of the Fate of the Children of Turenn.

THE OVERFLOWING OF LOUGH NEAGH,
AND THE
STORY OF LIBAN THE MERMAID.

In the days of old a good king ruled over Muman,[LVII.] whose name was Marid Mac Carido. He had two sons, Ecca and Rib. Ecca was restless and unruly, and in many ways displeased the king; and he told his brother Rib that he had made up his mind to leave his home, and win lands for himself in some far off part of the country. Rib tried hard to dissuade him; but though this delayed his departure for a while, he was none the less bent on going.

At last Ecca, being wrought upon by his stepmother Ebliu (from whom Slieve Eblinne[LVIII.] was afterwards named), did a grievous wrong to his father, and fled from Muman with all his people; and his brother Rib and his stepmother Ebliu went with him. Ten hundred men they were in all, besides women and children; and they turned their faces towards the north.

After they had travelled for some time, their druids[3] told them that it was not fated for them to settle in the same place; and accordingly, when they had come to the Pass of the two Pillar Stones, they parted.

Rib and his people turned to the west, and they journeyed till they came to the plain of Arbthenn. And there the water of a fountain burst forth over the land, and drowned them all; and a great lake was formed, which to this day is called the Lake of Rib.[LIX.]

Ecca continued his journey northwards; and he and his people fared slowly on till they came near to Bruga[LX.] of the Boyne, the palace of Mac Indoc, where they were fain to rest. No sooner had they halted, than a tall man came forth from the palace, namely, Angus Mac Indoc of the Bruga, son of the Dagda, and commanded them to leave the place without delay. But they, being spent with the toil of travel, heeded not his words, and, pitching their tents, they rested on the plain before the palace. Whereupon Angus, being wroth that his commands were unheeded, killed all their horses that night.

Next day, he came forth again, and he said to them, "Your horses I slew last night; and now, unless ye depart from this place, I will slay your people to-night."

And Ecca said to him, "Much evil hast thou done to us already, for thou hast killed all our horses. And now we cannot go, even though we desire it, for without horses we cannot travel."

Then Angus brought to them a very large horse in full harness, and they put all their goods on him. And when they were about to go, he said to them—

"Beware that ye keep this great steed walking continually; not even a moment's rest shall ye give him, otherwise he will certainly be the cause of your death."[14]

After this they set out again, on a Sunday in the mid-month of autumn, and travelled on till they reached the Plain of the Grey Copse,[LXI.] where they intended to abide. They gathered then round the great steed to take their luggage off him, and each was busy seeing after his own property, so that they forgot to keep the horse moving. And the moment he stood still, a magic well sprang up beneath his feet.[14]

Now Ecca, when he saw the well spring up, was troubled, remembering Angus's warning. And he caused a house to be built round it, and near it he built his palace, for the better security. And he chose a woman to take care of the well, charging her strictly to keep the door locked, except when the people of the palace came for water.

After that the King of Ulad,[LXII.] that is to say, Muridach, the son of Fiaca Findamnas (who was grandson of Conal Carna of the Red Branch[15]) came against Ecca to drive him forth from Ulad. But Ecca made a stout fight, so that he won the lordship of half of Ulad from Muridach. And after that his people settled down on the Plain of the Grey Copse.

Now Ecca had two daughters, Ariu and Liban, of whom Ariu was the wife of Curnan the Simpleton. And Curnan went about among the people, foretelling that a lake would flow over them from the well, and urging them earnestly to make ready their boats.

Come forth, come forth, ye valiant men; build boats, and build ye fast!
I see the water surging out, a torrent deep and vast;
I see our chief and all his host o'erwhelmed beneath the wave;
And Ariu, too, my best beloved, alas! I cannot save.
But Liban east and west shall swim
Long ages on the ocean's rim,
By mystic shores and islets dim,
And down in the deep sea cave!

And he ceased not to warn all he met, repeating this verse continually; but the people gave no heed to the words of the Simpleton.

Now the woman who had charge of the well, on a certain occasion forgot to close the door, so that the spell was free to work evil. And immediately the water burst forth over the plain, and formed a great lake, namely the Lake of the Copse. And Ecca and all his family and all his folk were drowned, save only his daughter Liban, and Conang, and Curnan the Simpleton. And they buried Ariu, and raised a mound over her, which is called from her Carn-Arenn.

Of Conang nothing more is told. But as to Curnan, he died of grief after his wife Ariu; and he was buried in a mound, which is called Carn-Curnan to this day in memory of him.

And thus the great Lake of the Copse was formed, which is now called Lough Necca,[LXIII.] in memory of Ecca, the son of Marid. And it was the overflow of this lake which, more than all other causes, scattered the Ultonians over Erin.

Now as to Liban. She also was swept away like the others; but she was not drowned. She lived for a whole year with her lap-dog, in her chamber beneath the lake, and God protected her from the water. At the end of the year she was weary; and when she saw the speckled salmon swimming and playing all round her, she prayed and said—

"O my Lord, I wish I were a salmon, that I might swim with the others through the clear green sea!"

And at the words she took the shape of a salmon, except her face and breast, which did not change. And her lap-dog was changed to an otter, and attended her afterwards whithersoever she went, as long as she lived in the sea.

And so she remained swimming about from sea to sea for three hundred years; that is to say, from the time of Ecca, the son of Marid, to the time of Comgall of Bangor.[16]

Now on one occasion, Comgall sent Beoc, the son of Indli, from Bangor to Rome, to talk with Gregory[LXIV.] concerning some matters of order and rule. And when Beoc's curragh[17] was sailing over the sea, he and his crew heard sweet singing in the waters beneath them, as it were the chanting of angels.

And Beoc, having listened for a while, looked down into the water, and asked what the chant was for, and who it was that sang.

And Liban answered, "I am Liban, the daughter of Ecca, son of Marid; and it is I who sang the chant thou hast heard."

"Why art thou here?" asked Beoc.

And she replied, "Lo, I have lived for three hundred years beneath the sea; and I have come hither to fix a day and a place of meeting with thee. I shall now go westward; and I beseech thee, for the sake of the holy men of Dalaradia,[LXV.] to come to Inver Ollarba[LXVI.] to meet me, on this same day at the end of a year. Say also to Comgall and to the other holy men of Bangor, all that I say to thee. Come with thy boats and thy fishing-nets, and thou shalt take me from the waters in which I have lived."

"I shall not grant thee the boon thou askest," said Beoc, "unless thou give me a reward."

"What reward dost thou seek?" asked Liban.

"That thou be buried in one grave with me in my own monastery," answered Beoc.

"That shall be granted to thee," said Liban.

Beoc then went on his way to Rome. And when he had returned, he related to Comgall and to the other saints of the monastery at Bangor, the story of the mermaid. And now the end of the year was nigh.

Then they made ready their nets, and on the day appointed they went in their boats to Inver Ollarba, a goodly company of the saints of Erin. And Liban was caught in the net of Fergus of Miluc:[LXVII.] and her head and shoulders were those of a maiden, but she had the body of a fish.

Now the boat in which she was brought to land was kept half full of sea water, in which she remained swimming about. And many came to see her; and all were filled with wonder when they saw her strange shape and heard her story.

Among the rest came the chief of the tribe of Hua-Conang, wearing a purple cloak; and she kept gazing at him earnestly. The young chief, seeing this, said to her—

"Dost thou wish to have this cloak? If so, I will give it to thee willingly."

But she answered, "Not so: I desire not thy cloak. But it brings to my mind my father Ecca; for on the day he was drowned, he wore a cloak of purple like thine. But may good luck be on thee for thy gentleness, and on him who shall come after thee in thy place; and in every assembly where thy successor sits, may he be known to all without inquiry."

After that there came up a large-bodied, dark-visaged, fierce hero, and killed her lap-dog. Whereupon she was grieved; and she told him that the heroism of himself and his tribe should be stained by the baseness of their minds, and that they should not be able to defend themselves against injuries till they should do penance, by fasting, for her sake.

Then the warrior repented what he had done, and humbled himself before her.

And now there arose a contention about her, as to whom she should belong. Comgall said she was his, forasmuch as she was caught in his territory. But Fergus urged that she belonged to him by right, as it was in his net she was taken. And Beoc said he had the best right of all to her, on account of the promise she had made to him.

And as no one could settle the dispute, these three saints fasted and prayed that God would give a judgment between them, to show who should own Liban.

And an angel said to one of the company, "Two wild oxen will come hither to-morrow from Carn-Arenn, that is to say, from the grave-mound of Liban's sister, Ariu. Yoke a chariot to them, and place the mermaid in it; and into whatsoever territory they shall bring her, she shall remain with the owner thereof."

The oxen came on the morrow, as the angel had foretold. And when they were yoked, and when Liban was placed in the chariot, they brought her straightway to Beoc's church, namely to Tec-Da-Beoc.

Then the saints gave her a choice—either to die immediately after baptism, and go to heaven; or to live on earth as long as she had lived in the sea, and then to go to heaven after these long ages. And the choice she took was to die immediately. Whereupon Comgall baptised her; and he gave her the name of Murgen, that is, "Sea-born," or Murgelt, that is "Mermaid."

And she is counted among the holy virgins, and held in honour and reverence, as God ordained for her in heaven; and wonders and miracles are performed through her means at Tec-Da-Beoc.

CONNLA OF THE GOLDEN HAIR,
AND THE FAIRY MAIDEN.

Connla of the Golden Hair was the son of Conn the Hundred-fighter.[18] One day as he stood with his father on the royal Hill of Usna,[LXVIII.] he saw a lady a little way off, very beautiful, and dressed in strange attire. She approached the spot where he stood; and when she was near, he spoke to her, and asked who she was, and from what place she had come.

The lady replied, "I have come from the Land of the Living[19]—a land where there is neither death nor old age, nor any breach of law. The inhabitants of earth call us Aes-shee,[19] for we have our dwellings within large, pleasant, green hills. We pass our time very pleasantly in feasting and harmless amusements, never growing old; and we have no quarrels or contentions."

The king and his company marvelled very much; for though they heard this conversation, no one saw the lady except Connla alone.

"Who is this thou art talking to, my son?" said the king.

And anon she answered for the youth, "Connla is speaking with a lovely, noble-born young lady, who will never die, and who will never grow old. I love Connla of the Golden Hair, and I have come to bring him with me to Moy-mell,[19] the plain of never-ending pleasure. On the day that he comes with me he shall be made king; and he shall reign for ever in Fairyland, without weeping and without sorrow. Come with me, O gentle Connla of the ruddy cheek, the fair, freckled neck, and the golden hair! Come with me, beloved Connla, and thou shalt retain the comeliness and dignity of thy form, free from the wrinkles of old age, till the awful day of judgment!"

Thy flowing golden hair, thy comely face,
Thy tall majestic form of peerless grace,
That show thee sprung from Conn's exalted race.

King Conn the Hundred-fighter, being much troubled, called then on his druid,[3] Coran, to put forth his power against the witchery of the banshee[19]—

"O Coran of the mystic arts and of the mighty incantations, here is a contest such as I have never been engaged in since I was made king at Tara—a contest with an invisible lady, who is beguiling my son to Fairyland by her baleful charms. Her cunning is beyond my skill, and I am not able to withstand her power; and if thou, Coran, help not, my son will be taken away from me by the wiles and witchery of a woman from the fairy hills."

Coran, the druid, then came forward, and began to chant against the voice of the lady. And his power was greater than hers for that time, so that she was forced to retire.

As she was going away she threw an apple to Connla, who straightway lost sight of her; and the king and his people no longer heard her voice.

The king and the prince returned with their company to the palace; and Connla remained for a whole month without tasting food or drink, except the apple. And though he ate of it each day, it was never lessened, but was as whole and perfect in the end as at the beginning. Moreover, when they offered him aught else to eat or drink, he refused it; for while he had his apple he did not deem any other food worthy to be tasted. And he began to be very moody and sorrowful, thinking of the lovely fairy maiden.

At the end of the month, as Connla stood by his father's side among the nobles, on the Plain of Arcomin, he saw the same lady approaching him from the west. And when she had come near, she addressed him in this manner—

"A glorious seat, indeed, has Connla among wretched, short-lived mortals, awaiting the dreadful stroke of death! But now, the ever-youthful people of Moy-mell, who never feel old age, and who fear not death, seeing thee day by day among thy friends, in the assemblies of thy Fatherland, love thee with a strange love; and they will make thee king over them if thou wilt come with me."

When the king heard the words of the lady, he commanded his people to call the druid again to him, saying—

"Bring my druid, Coran, to me; for I see that the fairy lady has this day regained the power of her voice."

At this the lady said, "Valiant Conn, fighter of a hundred, the faith of the druids has come to little honour among the upright, mighty, numberless people of this land. When the righteous law shall be restored, it will seal up the lips of the false, black demon; and his druids shall no longer have power to work their guileful spells."

Now the king observed, and marvelled greatly, that whenever the lady was present, his son never spoke one word to any one, nay, even though they addressed him many times. And when the lady had ceased to speak, the king said—

"Connla, my son, has thy mind been moved by the words of the lady?"

Connla spoke then, and replied, "Father, I am very unhappy; for though I love my people beyond all, yet I am filled with sadness on account of this lady!"

When Connla had said this, the maiden again addressed him, and chanted these words in a very sweet voice—

THE CHANT OF THE FAIRY MAIDEN TO CONNLA OF THE GOLDEN HAIR.

I.

A land of youth, a land of rest,
A land from sorrow free;
It lies far off in the golden west,
On the verge of the azure sea.
A swift canoe of crystal bright,
That never met mortal view—
We shall reach the land ere fall of night,
In that strong and swift canoe:
We shall reach the strand
Of that sunny land,
From druids and demons free;
The land of rest,
In the golden west,
On the verge of the azure sea!

II.

A pleasant land of winding vales, bright streams, and verdurous plains,
Where summer all the live-long year, in changeless splendour reigns;
A peaceful land of calm delight, of everlasting bloom;
Old age and death we never know, no sickness, care, or gloom;
The land of youth,
Of love and truth,
From pain and sorrow free;
The land of rest,
In the golden west,
On the verge of the azure sea!

III.

There are strange delights for mortal men in that island of the west;
The sun comes down each evening in its lovely vales to rest;
And though far and dim

IV.

It will guard thee, gentle Connla of the flowing golden hair,
It will guard thee from the druids, from the demons of the air;
My crystal boat will guard thee, till we reach that western shore,
Where thou and I in joy and love shall live for evermore:
From the druid's incantation,
From his black and deadly snare,
From the withering imprecation
Of the demon of the air,
It will guard thee, gentle Connla of the flowing golden hair:
My crystal boat will guard thee, till we reach that silver strand
Where thou shalt reign in endless joy, the king of the Fairy-land![LXIX.]

When the maiden had ended her chant, Connla suddenly walked away from his father's side, and sprang into the curragh, the gleaming, straight-gliding, strong, crystal canoe. The king and his people saw them afar off and dimly, moving away over the bright sea towards the sunset. They gazed sadly after them, till they lost sight of the canoe over the utmost verge; and no one can tell whither they went, for Connla was never again seen in his native land.

THE VOYAGE OF MAILDUN.

AN ACCOUNT
OF THE ADVENTURES OF MAILDUN AND HIS CREW,
AND OF THE WONDERFUL THINGS THEY SAW DURING THEIR VOYAGE OF THREE YEARS AND SEVEN MONTHS, IN THEIR CURRAGH,[17]
ON THE WESTERN SEA.

CHAPTER I.

MAILDUN'S CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. HE BEGINS HIS VOYAGE IN QUEST OF THE PLUNDERERS WHO SLEW HIS FATHER.

There was once an illustrious man of the tribe of Owenaght[LXX.] of Ninus, Allil Ocar Aga by name, a goodly hero, and lord of his own tribe and territory. One time, when he was in his house unguarded, a fleet of plunderers landed on the coast, and spoiled his territory. The chief fled for refuge to the church of Dooclone; but the spoilers followed him thither, slew him, and burned the church over his head.

Not long after Allil's death, a son was born to him. The child's mother gave him the name of Maildun; and, wishing to conceal his birth, she brought him to the queen of that country, who was her dear friend. The queen took him to her, and gave out that he was her own child, and he was brought up with the king's sons, slept in the same cradle with them, and was fed from the same breast and from the same cup. He was a very lovely child; and the people who saw him thought it doubtful if there was any other child living at the time equally beautiful.

As he grew up to be a young man, the noble qualities of his mind gradually unfolded themselves. He was high-spirited and generous, and he loved all sorts of manly exercises. In ball-playing, in running and leaping, in throwing the stone, in chess-playing, in rowing, and in horse-racing, he surpassed all the youths that came to the king's palace, and won the palm in every contest.

One day, when the young men were at their games, a certain youth among them grew envious of Maildun; and he said, in an angry and haughty tone of voice—

"It is a cause of much shame to us that we have to yield in every game, whether of skill or of strength, whether on land or on water, to an obscure youth, of whom no one can tell who is his father or his mother, or what race or tribe he belongs to."

On hearing this, Maildun ceased at once from play; for until that moment he believed that he was the son of the king of the Owenaght, and of the queen who had nursed him. And going anon to the queen, he told her what had happened; and he said to her—

"If I am not thy son, I will neither eat nor drink till thou tell me who my father and mother are."

She tried to soothe him, and said, "Why do you worry yourself searching after this matter? Give no heed to the words of this envious youth. Am I not a mother to you? And in all this country, is there any mother who loves her son better than I love you?"

He answered, "All this is quite true; yet I pray thee let me know who my parents are."

The queen then, seeing that he would not be put off, brought him to his mother, and put him into her hands. And when he had spoken with her, he asked her to tell him who his father was.

"You are bent on a foolish quest, my child," she said; "for even if you knew all about your father, the knowledge would bring neither advantage nor happiness to you; for he died before you were born."

"Even so," he replied, "I wish to know who he was."

So his mother told him the truth, saying, "Your father was Allil Ocar Aga, of the tribe of Owenaght of Ninus."

Maildun then set out for his father's territory; and his three foster brothers, namely, the king's three sons, who were noble and handsome youths like himself, went with him. When the people of his tribe found out that the strange youth was the son of their chief, whom the plunderers had slain years before, and when they were told that the three others were the king's sons, they gave them all a joyful welcome, feasting them, and showing them much honour; so that Maildun was made quite happy, and soon forgot all the abasement and trouble he had undergone.

Some time after this, it happened that a number of young people were in the churchyard of Dooclone—the same church in which Maildun's father had been slain—exercising themselves in casting a hand-stone. The game was to throw the stone clear over the charred roof of the church that had been burned; and Maildun was there contending among the others. A foul-tongued fellow named Brickna, a servant of the people who owned the church, was standing by; and he said to Maildun—

"It would better become you to avenge the man who was burned to death here, than to be amusing yourself casting a stone over his bare, burnt bones."

"Who was he?" inquired Maildun.

"Allil Ocar Aga, your father," replied the other.

"Who slew him?" asked Maildun.

"Plunderers from a fleet slew him and burned him in this church," replied Brickna; "and the same plunderers are still sailing in the same fleet."

Maildun was disturbed and sad after hearing this. He dropped the stone that he held in his hand, folded his cloak round him, and buckled on his shield. And he left the company, and began to inquire of all he met, the road to the plunderers' ships. For a long time he could get no tidings of them; but at last some persons, who knew where the fleet lay, told him that it was a long way off, and that there was no reaching it except by sea.

Now Maildun was resolved to find out these plunderers, and to avenge on them the death of his father. So he went without delay into Corcomroe,[LXXI.] to the druid[3] Nuca, to seek his advice about building a curragh, and to ask also for a charm to protect him, both while building it, and while sailing on the sea afterwards.

The druid gave him full instructions. He told him the day he should begin to build his curragh, and the exact day on which he was to set out on his voyage; and he was very particular about the number of the crew, which, he said, was to be sixty chosen men, neither more nor less.

So Maildun built a large triple-hide curragh,[17] following the druid's directions in every particular, chose his crew of sixty, among whom were his two friends, Germane and Diuran Lekerd; and on the day appointed put out to sea.

When he had got only a very little way from the land, he saw his three foster brothers running down to the shore, signalling and calling out to him to return and take them on board; for they said they wished to go with him.

"We shall not turn back," said Maildun; "and you cannot come with us; for we have already got our exact number."

"We will swim after you in the sea till we are drowned, if you do not return for us," replied they; and so saying, the three plunged in and swam after the curragh.

When Maildun saw this, he turned his vessel towards them, and took them on board rather than let them be drowned.

CHAPTER II.

THE FIRST ISLAND. TIDINGS OF THE PLUNDERERS.

They sailed that day and night, as well as the whole of next day, till darkness came on again; and at midnight they saw two small bare islands, with two great houses on them near the shore. When they drew near, they heard the sounds of merriment and laughter, and the shouts of revellers intermingled with the loud voices of warriors boasting of their deeds. And listening to catch the conversation, they heard one warrior say to another—

"Stand off from me, for I am a better warrior than thou; it was I who slew Allil Ocar Aga, and burned Dooclone over his head; and no one has ever dared to avenge it on me. Thou hast never done a great deed like that!"

"Now surely," said Germane and Diuran to Maildun, "Heaven has guided our ship to this place! Here is an easy victory. Let us now sack this house, since God has revealed our enemies to us, and delivered them into our hands!"

While they were yet speaking, the wind arose, and a great tempest suddenly broke on them. And they were driven violently before the storm, all that night and a part of next day, into the great and boundless ocean; so that they saw neither the islands they had left nor any other land; and they knew not whither they were going.

Then Maildun said, "Take down your sail and put by your oars, and let the curragh drift before the wind in whatsoever direction it pleases God to lead us;" which was done.

He then turned to his foster brothers, and said to them, "This evil has befallen us because we took you into the curragh, thereby violating the druid's directions; for he forbade me to go to sea with more than sixty men for my crew, and we had that number before you joined us. Of a surety more evil will come of it."

His foster brothers answered nothing to this, but remained silent.

CHAPTER III.

THE ISLAND OF THE MONSTROUS ANTS.

For three days and three nights they saw no land. On the morning of the fourth day, while it was yet dark, they heard a sound to the north-east; and Germane said—

"This is the voice of the waves breaking on the shore."

As soon as it was light they saw land and made towards it. While they were casting lots to know who should go and explore the country, they saw great flocks of ants coming down to the beach, each of them as large as a foal. The people judged by their numbers, and by their eager and hungry look, that they were bent on eating both ship and crew; so they turned their vessel round and sailed quickly away.

Their multitudes countless, prodigious their size;
Were never such ants seen or heard of before.
They struggled and tumbled and plunged for the prize,
And fiercely the famine-fire blazed from their eyes,
As they ground with their teeth the red sand of the shore!

CHAPTER IV.

THE TERRACED ISLE OF BIRDS.

Again for three days and three nights they saw no land. But on the morning of the fourth day they heard the murmur of the waves on the beach; and as the day dawned, they saw a large high island, with terraces all round it, rising one behind another. On the terraces grew rows of tall trees, on which were perched great numbers of large, bright-coloured birds.

When the crew were about to hold council as to who should visit the island and see whether the birds were tame, Maildun himself offered to go. So he went with a few companions; and they viewed the island warily, but found nothing to hurt or alarm them; after which they caught great numbers of the birds and brought them to their ship.

A shield-shaped island, with terraces crowned,
And great trees circling round and round:
From the summit down to the wave-washed rocks,
There are bright-coloured birds in myriad flocks—
Their plumes are radiant; but hunger is keen;
So the birds are killed,
Till the curragh is filled,
And the sailors embark on the ocean green!

CHAPTER V.

A MONSTER.

They sailed from this, and on the fourth day discovered a large, sandy island, on which, when they came near, they saw a huge, fearful animal standing on the beach, and looking at them very attentively. He was somewhat like a horse in shape; but his legs were like the legs of a dog; and he had great, sharp claws of a blue colour.

Maildun, having viewed this monster for some time, liked not his look; and, telling his companions to watch him closely, for that he seemed bent on mischief, he bade the oarsmen row very slowly towards land.

The monster seemed much delighted when the ship drew nigh the shore, and gambolled and pranced about with joy on the beach, before the eyes of the voyagers; for he intended to eat the whole of them the moment they landed.

"He seems not at all sorry to see us coming," said Maildun; "but we must avoid him and put back from the shore."

This was done. And when the animal observed them drawing off, he ran down in a great rage to the very water's edge, and digging up large, round pebbles with his sharp claws, he began to fling them at the vessel; but the crew soon got beyond his reach, and sailed into the open sea.

A horrible monster, with blazing eyes,
In shape like a horse and tremendous in size,
Awaiting the curragh, they saw;
With big bony jaws
And murderous claws,
That filled them with terror and awe:
How gleeful he dances,
And bellows and prances,
As near to the island they draw;
Expecting a feast—
The bloodthirsty beast—
With his teeth like edge of a saw:
Then he ran to the shore,
With a deafening roar,
Intending to swallow them raw:
But the crew, with a shout,
Put their vessel about,
And escaped from his ravenous maw![LXXII.]

CHAPTER VI.

THE DEMON HORSE-RACE.

After sailing a long distance, they came in view of a broad, flat island. It fell to the lot of Germane to go and examine it, and he did not think the task a pleasant one. Then his friend Diuran said to him—

"I will go with you this time; and when next it falls to my lot to visit an island, you shall come with me." So both went together.

They found the island very large; and some distance from the shore they came to a broad green race-course, in which they saw immense hoof-marks, the size of a ship's sail, or of a large dining-table. They found nut-shells, as large as helmets, scattered about; and although they could see no one, they observed all the marks and tokens that people of huge size were lately employed there at sundry kinds of work.

Seeing these strange signs, they became alarmed, and went and called their companions from the boat to view them. But the others, when they had seen them, were also struck with fear, and all quickly retired from the place and went on board their curragh.

When they had got a little way from the land, they saw dimly, as it were through a mist, a vast multitude of people on the sea, of gigantic size and demoniac look, rushing along the crests of the waves with great outcry. As soon as this shadowy host had landed, they went to the green, where they arranged a horse-race.

The horses were swifter than the wind; and as they pressed forward in the race, the multitudes raised a mighty shout like thunder, which reached the crew as if it were beside them. Maildun and his men, as they sat in their curragh, heard the strokes of the whips and the cries of the riders; and though the race was far off, they could distinguish the eager words of the spectators:—"Observe the grey horse!" "See that chestnut horse!" "Watch the horse with the white spots!" "My horse leaps better than yours!"

After seeing and hearing these things, the crew sailed away from the island as quickly as they were able, into the open ocean, for they felt quite sure that the multitude they saw was a gathering of demons.

A spacious isle of meadowy plains, with a broad and sandy shore:
Two bold and trusty spies are sent, its wonders to explore.
Mysterious signs, strange, awful sights, now meet the wanderers' eyes:
Vast hoof-marks, and the traces dire of men of monstrous size:
And lo! on the sea, in countless hosts, their shadowy forms expand;
They pass the affrighted sailors by, and like demons they rush to land;
They mount their steeds, and the race is run, in the midst of hell's uproar:
Then the wanderers quickly raise their sails, and leave the accursèd shore.

CHAPTER VII.

THE PALACE OF SOLITUDE.

They suffered much from hunger and thirst this time, for they sailed a whole week without making land; but at the end of that time they came in sight of a high island, with a large and very splendid house on the beach near the water's edge. There were two doors—one turned inland, and the other facing the sea; and the door that looked towards the sea was closed with a great flat stone. In this stone was an opening, through which the waves, as they beat against the door every day, threw numbers of salmon into the house.

The voyagers landed, and went through the whole house without meeting any one. But they saw in one large room an ornamented couch, intended for the head of the house, and in each of the other rooms was a larger one for three members of the family: and there was a cup of crystal on a little table before each couch. They found abundance of food and ale, and they ate and drank till they were satisfied, thanking God for having relieved them from hunger and thirst.

Aloft, high towering o'er the ocean's foam,
The spacious mansion rears its glittering dome.
Each day the billows, through the marble door,
Shoot living salmon floundering on the floor.
Couches that lure the sailors to recline,
Abundant food, brown ale, and sparkling wine;
Tables and chairs in order duly placed,
With crystal cups and golden goblets graced.
But not a living soul the wanderers found;
'Twas silence all and solitude profound.
They eat and drink, give thanks, then hoist their sail,
And skim the deep once more, obedient to the gale.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE ISLAND OF THE WONDERFUL APPLE TREE.

After leaving this, they suffered again from hunger, till they came to an island with a high hill round it on every side. A single apple tree grew in the middle, very tall and slender, and all its branches were in like manner exceedingly slender, and of wonderful length, so that they grew over the hill and down to the sea.

When the ship came near the island, Maildun caught one of the branches in his hand. For three days and three nights the ship coasted the island, and during all this time he held the branch, letting it slide through his hand, till on the third day he found a cluster of seven apples on the very end. Each of these apples supplied the travellers with food and drink for forty days and forty nights.

CHAPTER IX.

THE ISLAND OF BLOODTHIRSTY QUADRUPEDS.

A beautiful island next came in view, in which they saw, at a distance, multitudes of large animals shaped like horses. The voyagers, as they drew near, viewed them attentively, and soon observed that one of them opened his mouth and bit a great piece out of the side of the animal that stood next him, bringing away skin and flesh. Immediately after, another did the same to the nearest of his fellows. And, in short, the voyagers saw that all the animals in the island kept worrying and tearing each other from time to time in this manner; so that the ground was covered far and wide with the blood that streamed from their sides.

In needless strife they oft contend,
A cruel, mutual-mangling brood;
Their flesh with gory tusks they rend,
And crimson all the isle with blood.

CHAPTER X.

AN EXTRAORDINARY MONSTER.

The next island had a wall all round it. When they came near the shore, an animal of vast size, with a thick, rough skin, started up inside the wall, and ran round the island with the swiftness of the wind. When he had ended his race, he went to a high point, and standing on a large, flat stone, began to exercise himself according to his daily custom, in the following manner. He kept turning himself completely round and round in his skin, the bones and flesh moving, while the skin remained at rest.

When he was tired of this exercise, he rested a little; and he then began turning his skin continually round his body, down at one side and up at the other like a mill-wheel; but the bones and flesh did not move.

After spending some time at this sort of work, he started and ran round the island as at first, as if to refresh himself. He then went back to the same spot, and this time, while the skin that covered the lower part of his body remained without motion, he whirled the skin of the upper part round and round like the movement of a flat-lying millstone. And it was in this manner that he spent most of his time on the island.

Maildun and his people, after they had seen these strange doings, thought it better not to venture nearer. So they put out to sea in great haste. The monster, observing them about to fly, ran down to the beach to seize the ship; but finding that they had got out of his reach, he began to fling round stones at them with great force and an excellent aim. One of them struck Maildun's shield and went quite through it, lodging in the keel of the curragh; after which the voyagers got beyond his range and sailed away.

In a wall-circled isle a big monster they found,
With a hide like an elephant, leathery and bare;
He threw up his heels with a wonderful bound,
And ran round the isle with the speed of a hare.

But a feat more astounding has yet to be told:
He turned round and round in his leathery skin;
His bones and his flesh and his sinews he rolled—
He was resting outside while he twisted within!

Then, changing his practice with marvellous skill,
His carcase stood rigid and round went his hide;
It whirled round his bones like the wheel of a mill—
He was resting within while he twisted outside!

Next, standing quite near on a green little hill,
After galloping round in the very same track,
While the skin of his belly stood perfectly still,
Like a millstone he twisted the skin of his back!

But Maildun and his men put to sea in their boat,
For they saw his two eyes looking over the wall;
And they knew by the way that he opened his throat,
He intended to swallow them, curragh and all![LXXIII.]

CHAPTER XI.

THE ISLE OF RED-HOT ANIMALS.

Not daring to land on this island, they turned away hurriedly, much disheartened, not knowing whither to turn or where to find a resting-place. They sailed for a long time, suffering much from hunger and thirst, and praying fervently to be relieved from their distress. At last, when they were beginning to sink into a state of despondency, being quite worn out with toil and hardship of every kind, they sighted land.

It was a large and beautiful island, with innumerable fruit trees scattered over its surface, bearing abundance of gold-coloured apples. Under the trees they saw herds of short, stout animals, of a bright red colour, shaped somewhat like pigs; but coming nearer, and looking more closely, they perceived with astonishment that the animals were all fiery, and that their bright colour was caused by the red flames which penetrated and lighted up their bodies.

The voyagers now observed several of them approach one of the trees in a body, and striking the trunk all together with their hind legs, they shook down some of the apples and ate them. In this manner the animals employed themselves every day, from early morning till the setting of the sun when they retired into deep caves, and were seen no more till next morning.

Numerous flocks of birds were swimming on the sea, all round the island. From morning till noon, they continued to swim away from the land, farther and farther out to sea; but at noon they turned round, and from that to sunset they swam back towards the shore. A little after sunset, when the animals had retired to their caves, the birds flocked in on the island, and spread themselves over it, plucking the apples from the trees and eating them.

Maildun proposed that they should land on the island, and gather some of the fruit, saying that it was not harder or more dangerous for them than for the birds; so two of the men were sent beforehand to examine the place. They found the ground hot under their feet, for the fiery animals, as they lay at rest, heated the earth all around and above their caves; but the two scouts persevered notwithstanding, and brought away some of the apples.

When morning dawned, the birds left the island and swam out to sea; and the fiery animals, coming forth from their caves, went among the trees as usual, and ate the apples till evening. The crew remained in their curragh all day; and as soon as the animals had gone into their caves for the night, and the birds had taken their place, Maildun landed with all his men. And they plucked the apples till morning, and brought them on board, till they had gathered as much as they could stow into their vessel.

CHAPTER XII.

THE PALACE OF THE LITTLE CAT.

After rowing for a long time, their store of apples failed them, and they had nothing to eat or drink; so that they suffered sorely under a hot sun, and their mouths and nostrils were filled with the briny smell of the sea. At last they came in sight of land—a little island with a large palace on it. Around the palace was a wall, white all over, without stain or flaw, as if it had been built of burnt lime, or carved out of one unbroken rock of chalk; and where it looked towards the sea it was so lofty that it seemed almost to reach the clouds.

The gate of this outer wall was open, and a number of fine houses, all snowy white, were ranged round on the inside, enclosing a level court in the middle, on which all the houses opened. Maildun and his people entered the largest of them, and walked through several rooms without meeting with any one. But on reaching the principal apartment, they saw in it a small cat, playing among a number of low, square, marble pillars, which stood ranged in a row; and his play was, leaping continually from the top of one pillar to the top of another. When the men entered the room, the cat looked at them for a moment, but returned to his play anon, and took no further notice of them.

Looking now to the room itself, they saw three rows of precious jewels ranged round the wall from one door-jamb to the other. The first was a row of brooches of gold and silver, with their pins fixed in the wall, and their heads outwards; the second, a row of torques of gold and silver; and the third, a row of great swords, with hilts of gold and silver.

Round the room were arranged a number of couches, all pure white and richly ornamented. Abundant food of various kinds was spread on tables, among which they observed a boiled ox and a roast hog; and there were many large drinking-horns, full of good, intoxicating ale.

"Is it for us that this food has been prepared?" said Maildun to the cat.

The cat, on hearing the question, ceased from playing, and looked at him; but he recommenced his play immediately. Whereupon Maildun told his people that the dinner was meant for them; and they all sat down, and ate and drank till they were satisfied, after which they rested and slept on the couches.

When they awoke, they poured what was left of the ale into one vessel; and they gathered the remnants of the food to bring them away. As they were about to go, Maildun's eldest foster brother asked him—

"Shall I bring one of those large torques away with me?"

"By no means," said Maildun; "it is well that we have got food and rest. Bring nothing away, for it is certain that this house is not left without some one to guard it."

The young man, however, disregarding Maildun's advice, took down one of the torques and brought it away. But the cat followed him, and overtook him in the middle of the court, and, springing on him like a blazing, fiery arrow, he went through his body, and reduced it in a moment to a heap of ashes. He then returned to the room, and, leaping up on one of the pillars, sat upon it.

Maildun turned back, bringing the torque with him, and, approaching the cat, spoke some soothing words; after which he put the torque back to the place from which it had been taken. Having done this, he collected the ashes of his foster brother, and, bringing them to the shore, cast them into the sea. They all then went on board the curragh, and continued their voyage, grieving for their lost companion, but thanking God for His many mercies to them.

CHAPTER XIII.

AN ISLAND THAT DYED BLACK AND WHITE.

On the morning of the third day, they came to another island, which was divided into two parts by a wall of brass running across the middle. They saw two great flocks of sheep, one on each side of the wall; and all those at one side were black, while those at the other side were white.

A very large man was employed in dividing and arranging the sheep; and he often took up a sheep and threw it with much ease over the wall from one side to the other. When he threw over a white sheep among the black ones, it became black immediately; and in like manner, when he threw a black sheep over, it was instantly changed to white.

The travellers were very much alarmed on witnessing these doings and Maildun said—

"It is very well that we know so far. Let us now throw something on shore, to see whether it also will change colour; if it does, we shall avoid the island."

So they took a branch with black-coloured bark and threw it towards the white sheep, and no sooner did it touch the ground than it became white. They then threw a white-coloured branch on the side of the black sheep, and in a moment it turned black.

"It is very lucky for us," said Maildun, "that we did not land on the island, for doubtless our colour would have changed like the colour of the branches."

So they put about with much fear, and sailed away.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE ISLAND OF THE BURNING RIVER.

On the third day, they came in view of a large, broad island, on which they saw a herd of gracefully shaped swine; and they killed one small porkling for food. Towards the centre rose a high mountain, which they resolved to ascend, in order to view the island; and Germane and Diuran Lekerd were chosen for this task.

When they had advanced some distance towards the mountain, they came to a broad, shallow river; and sitting down on the bank to rest, Germane dipped the point of his lance into the water, which instantly burned off the top, as if the lance had been thrust into a furnace. So they went no farther.

On the opposite side of the river, they saw a herd of animals like great hornless oxen, all lying down; and a man of gigantic size near them: and Germane began to strike his spear against his shield, in order to rouse the cattle.

"Why are you frightening the poor young calves in that manner?" demanded the big shepherd, in a tremendous voice.

Germane, astonished to find that such large animals were nothing more than calves, instead of answering the question, asked the big man where the mothers of those calves were.

"They are on the side of yonder mountain," he replied.

Germane and Diuran waited to hear no more; but, returning to their companions, told them all they had seen and heard; after which the crew embarked and left the island.

CHAPTER XV.

THE MILLER OF HELL.

The next island they came to, which was not far off from the last, had a large mill on it; and near the door stood the miller, a huge-bodied, strong, burly man. They saw numberless crowds of men and horses laden with corn, coming towards the mill; and when their corn was ground they went away towards the west. Great herds of all kinds of cattle covered the plain as far as the eye could reach, and among them many wagons laden with every kind of wealth that is produced on the ridge of the world. All these the miller put into the mouth of his mill to be ground; and all, as they came forth, went westwards.

Maildun and his people now spoke to the miller, and asked him the name of the mill, and the meaning of all they had seen on the island. And he, turning quickly towards them, replied in few words—

"This mill is called the Mill of Inver-tre-Kenand, and I am the miller of hell. All the corn and all the riches of the world that men are dissatisfied with, or which they complain of in any way, are sent here to be ground; and also every precious article, and every kind of wealth, which men try to conceal from God. All these I grind in the Mill of Inver-tre-Kenand, and send them afterwards away to the west."

He spoke no more, but turned round and busied himself again with his mill. And the voyagers, with much wonder and awe in their hearts, went to their curragh and sailed away.[LXXIV.]

CHAPTER XVI.

THE ISLE OF WEEPING.

After leaving this, they had not been long sailing when they discovered another large island, with a great multitude of people on it. They were all black, both skin and clothes, with black head-dresses also; and they kept walking about, sighing and weeping and wringing their hands, without the least pause or rest.

It fell to the lot of Maildun's second foster brother to go and examine the island. And when he went among the people, he also grew sorrowful, and fell to weeping and wringing his hands, with the others. Two of the crew were sent to bring him back; but they were unable to find him among the mourners; and, what was worse, in a little time they joined the crowd, and began to weep and lament like all the rest.

Maildun then chose four men to go and bring back the others by force, and he put arms in their hands, and gave them these directions—

"When you land on the island, fold your mantles round your faces, so as to cover your mouths and noses, that you may not breathe the air of the country; and look neither to the right nor to the left, neither at the earth nor at the sky, but fix your eyes on your own men till you have laid hands on them."

They did exactly as they were told, and having come up with their two companions, namely, those who had been sent after Maildun's foster brother, they seized them and brought them back by force. But the other they could not find. When these two were asked what they had seen on the island, and why they began to weep, their only reply was—

"We cannot tell; we only know that we did what we saw the others doing."

And after this the voyagers sailed away from the island, leaving Maildun's second foster brother behind.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE ISLE OF THE FOUR PRECIOUS WALLS.

The next was a high island, divided into four parts by four walls meeting in the centre. The first was a wall of gold; the second, a wall of silver; the third, a wall of copper; and the fourth, a wall of crystal. In the first of the four divisions were kings; in the second, queens; in the third, youths; and in the fourth, young maidens.

When the voyagers landed, one of the maidens came to meet them, and leading them forward to a house, gave them food. This food, which she dealt out to them from a small vessel, looked like cheese, and whatever taste pleased each person best, that was the taste he found on it. And after they had eaten till they were satisfied, they slept in a sweet sleep, as if gently intoxicated, for three days and three nights. When they awoke on the third day, they found themselves in their curragh on the open sea; and there was no appearance in any direction either of the maiden or of the island.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE PALACE OF THE CRYSTAL BRIDGE.

They came now to a small island, with a palace on it, having a copper chain in front, hung all over with a number of little silver bells. Straight before the door there was a fountain, spanned by a bridge of crystal, which led to the palace. They walked towards the bridge, meaning to cross it, but every time they stepped on it they fell backwards flat on the ground.

After some time, they saw a very beautiful young woman coming out of the palace, with a pail in her hand; and she lifted a crystal slab from the bridge, and, having filled her vessel from the fountain, she went back into the palace.

"This woman has been sent to keep house for Maildun," said Germane.

"Maildun indeed!" said she, as she shut the door after her.

After this they began to shake the copper chain, and the tinkling of the silver bells was so soft and melodious that the voyagers gradually fell into a gentle, tranquil sleep, and slept so till next morning. When they awoke, they saw the same young woman coming forth from the palace, with the pail in her hand; and she lifted the crystal slab as before, filled her vessel, and returned into the palace.

"This woman has certainly been sent to keep house for Maildun," said Germane.

"Wonderful are the powers of Maildun!" said she, as she shut the door of the court behind her.

They stayed in this place for three days and three nights, and each morning the maiden came forth in the same manner, and filled her pail. On the fourth day, she came towards them, splendidly and beautifully dressed, with her bright yellow hair bound by a circlet of gold, and wearing silver-work shoes on her small, white feet. She had a white mantle over her shoulders, which was fastened in front by a silver brooch studded with gold; and under all, next her soft, snow-white skin, was a garment of fine white silk.

"My love to you, Maildun, and to your companions," she said; and she mentioned them all, one after another, calling each by his own proper name. "My love to you," said she. "We knew well that you were coming to our island, for your arrival has long been foretold to us."

Then she led them to a large house standing by the sea, and she caused the curragh to be drawn high up on the beach. They found in the house a number of couches, one of which was intended for Maildun alone, and each of the others for three of his people. The woman then gave them, from one vessel, food which was like cheese; first of all ministering to Maildun, and then giving a triple share to every three of his companions; and whatever taste each man wished for, that was the taste he found on it. She then lifted the crystal slab at the bridge, filled her pail, and dealt out drink to them; and she knew exactly how much to give, both of food and of drink, so that each had enough and no more.

"This woman would make a fit wife for Maildun," said his people. But while they spoke, she went from them with her pail in her hand.

When she was gone, Maildun's companions said to him, "Shall we ask this maiden to become thy wife?"

He answered, "What advantage will it be to you to ask her?"

She came next morning, and they said to her, "Why dost thou not stay here with us? Wilt thou make friendship with Maildun; and wilt thou take him for thy husband?"