Other contests followed, and the day passed, and the night fell, and while the Fenian warriors were revelling in their camps the heart of Fergus, victor as he was, was sad and low. He escaped from his companions, and stole away to his native forest, for—

"When the heart is sick and sorest, There is balsam in the forest— There is balsam in the forest For its pain."

And as he lay under the spreading branches, watching the stars glancing through the leaves, and listening to the slumb'rous murmur of the waters, a strange peace came over him.

But in the camp which he had left, and in the vast multitude on the plains of Tara, there was stir and revelry, and babbling speculation as to the contest of to-morrow—the contest which was to decide whether the chief bard of Erin was to hold his own against all comers, or yield the palm. For rumour said that a great Skald had come from the northern lands to compete with the Irish bard.

At last, over the Fenian camp, and over the great plain and the multitude that thronged it, sleep fell, clothing them with a silence as deep as that which dwelt in the forest, where, dreaming of the princess, Fergus lay. He awoke at the first notes of the birds, but though he felt he ought to go back to his companions and be witness of the contest which might determine whether the princess was to be another's bride, his great love and his utter despair of winning her so oppressed him that he lay as motionless as a broken reed. He scarcely heard the music of the birds, and paid no heed to the murmur of the brook rushing by his feet. The crackling of branches near him barely disturbed him, but when a shadow fell across his eyes he looked up gloomily, and saw, or thought he saw, someone standing before him. He started up, and who should he see but the little wizened old man who found shelter in his father's hut on the stormy night.



"This is a nice place for a battle champion to be. This is a nice place for you to be on the day which is to decide who will be the successful suitor of the princess."

"What is it to me," said Fergus, "who is to win her since I cannot."

"I told you," said the little man, "the night you opened the door for me, that the time might come when I might be able to do a good turn for you and yours. The time has come. Take this harp, and my luck go with you, and in the contest of the bards to-day you'll reap the reward of the kindness you did when you opened your door to the poor old wayfarer in the midnight storm."

The little man handed his harp to Fergus and disappeared as swiftly as the wind that passes through the leaves.

Fergus, concealing the harp under his silken cloak, reached the camp before his comrades had aroused themselves from sleep.

At length the hour arrived when the great contest was to take place.

The king gave the signal, and as the chief bard of Erin was seen ascending the mound in front of the royal enclosures he was greeted with a roar of cheers, but at the first note of his harp silence like that of night fell on the mighty gathering.

As he moved his fingers softly over the strings every heart was hushed, filled with a sense of balmy rest. The lark soaring and singing above his head paused mute and motionless in the still air, and no sound was heard over the spacious plain save the dreamy music. Then the bard struck another key, and a gentle sorrow possessed the hearts of his hearers, and unbidden tears gathered to their eyes. Then, with bolder hand, he swept his fingers across his lyre, and all hearts were moved to joy and pleasant laughter, and eyes that had been dimmed by tears sparkled as brightly as running waters dancing in the sun. When the last notes had died away a cheer arose, loud as the voice of the storm in the glen when the live thunder is revelling on the mountain tops. As soon as the bard had descended the mound the Skald from the northern lands took his place, greeted by cries of welcome from a hundred thousand throats. He touched his harp, and in the perfect silence was heard the strains of the mermaid's song, and through it the pleasant ripple of summer waters on the pebbly beach. Then the theme was changed, and on the air was borne the measured sweep of countless oars and the swish of waters around the prows of contending galleys, and the breezy voices of the sailors and the sea-bird's cry. Then his theme was changed to the mirth and laughter of the banquet-hall, the clang of meeting drinking-horns, and songs of battle. When the last strain ended, from the mighty host a great shout went up, loud as the roar of winter billows breaking in the hollows of the shore; and men knew not whom to declare the victor, the chief bard of Erin or the Skald of the northern lands.

In the height of the debate the cry arose that another competitor had ascended the mound, and there standing in view of all was Fergus, the huntsman's son. All eyes were fastened upon him, but no one looked so eagerly as the princess.

He touched his harp with gentle fingers, and a sound low and soft as a faint summer breeze passing through forest trees stole out, and then was heard the rustle of birds through the branches, and the dreamy murmur of waters lost in deepest woods, and all the fairy echoes whispering when the leaves are motionless in the noonday heat; then followed notes cool and soft as the drip of summer showers on the parched grass, and then the song of the blackbird, sounding as clearly as it sounds in long silent spaces of the evening, and then in one sweet jocund burst the multitudinous voices that hail the breaking of the morn. And the lark, singing and soaring above the minstrel, sank mute and motionless upon his shoulder, and from all the leafy woods the birds came thronging out and formed a fluttering canopy above his head.

When the bard ceased playing no shout arose from the mighty multitude, for the strains of his harp, long after its chords were stilled, held their hearts spell-bound.

And when he had passed away from the mound of contest all knew there was no need to declare the victor.[12] And all were glad the comely Fenian champion had maintained the supremacy of the bards of Erin. But there was one heart sad, the heart of the princess; and now she wished more than ever that she had never made her hateful vow.

Other contests went on, but Fergus took no interest in them; and once more he stole away to the forest glade. His heart was sorrowful, for he thought of the great race of the morning, and he knew that he could not hope to compete with the rider of the white steed of the plains. And as he lay beneath the spreading branches during the whole night long his thoughts were not of the victory he had won, but of the princess, who was as far away from him as ever. He passed the night without sleep, and when the morning came he rose and walked aimlessly through the woods.

A deer starting from a thicket reminded him of the happy days of his boyhood, and once more the wish came back to him that he had never left his forest home. As his eyes followed the deer wistfully, suddenly he started in amazement. The deer vanished from view, and in his stead was the wild horse of the mountains.

"I told you I'd do you a good turn," said the Pooka, "for the kindness you and yours did me on that wild winter's night. The day is passing. You have no time to lose. The white steed of the plains is coming to the starting-post. Jump on my back, and remember, 'Faint heart never won fair lady.'"

In half a second Fergus was bestride the Pooka, whose coat of shaggy hair became at once as glossy as silk, and just at the very moment when the king was about to declare there was no steed to compete with the white steed of the plains, the Pooka with Fergus upon his back, galloped up in front of the royal enclosure. When the people saw the champion a thunderous shout rose up that startled the birds in the skies, and sent them flying to the groves.

And in the ladies' enclosure was a rustle of many-coloured scarves waving in the air. At the striking of the shields the contending steeds rushed from the post with the swiftness of a swallow's flight. But before the white steed of the plains had gone half-way round, Fergus and the wild horse of the mountains had passed the winning post, greeted by such cheers as had never before been heard on the plains of Tara.

Fergus heard the cheers, but scarcely heeded them, for his heart went out through his eyes that were fastened on the princess, and a wild hope stirred him that his glance was not ungrateful to the loveliest lady of the land.

And the princess was sad and sorry for her vow, for she believed that it was beyond the power of Fergus to bring her a robe of all the colours of the rainbow, so subtly woven as to fit in the palm of her soft, white hand.

That night also Fergus went to the forest, not too sad, because there was a vague hope in his heart that had never been there before. He lay down under the branches, with his feet towards the rustling waters, and the smiles of the princess gilded his slumbers, as the rays of the rising sun gild the glades of the forest; and when the morning came he was scarcely surprised when before him appeared the little old woman with the shuttle he had welcomed on the winter's night.

"You think you have won her already," said the little woman. "And so you have, too; her heart is all your own, and I'm half inclined to think that my trouble will be thrown away, for if you had never a wedding robe to give her, she'd rather have you this minute than all the kings of Erin, or than all the other princes and kings and chieftains in the whole world. But you and your father and mother were kind to me on a wild winter's night, and I'd never see your mother's son without a wedding robe fit for the greatest princess that ever set nations to battle for her beauty. So go and pluck me a handful of wild forest flowers, and I'll weave out of them a wedding robe with all the colours of the rainbow, and one that will be as sweet and as fragrant as the ripe, red lips of the princess herself."

Fergus, with joyous heart, culled the flowers, and brought them to the little old woman.

In the twinkling of an eye she wove with her little shuttle a wedding robe, with all the colours of the rainbow, as light as the fairy dew, as soft as the hand of the princess, as fragrant as her little red mouth, and so small that it would pass through the eye of a needle.

"Go now, Fergus," said she, "and may luck go with you; but, in the days of your greatness and of the glory which will come to you when you are wedded to the princess, be as kind, and have as open a heart and as open a door for the poor as you had when you were only a poor huntsman's son."

Fergus took the robe and went towards Tara. It was the last day of the fair, and all the contests were over, and the bards were about to chant the farewell strains to the memory of the great queen. But before the chief bard could ascend the mound, Fergus, attended by a troop of Fenian warriors on their steeds, galloped into the enclosure, and rode up in front of the queen's pavilion. Holding up the glancing and many-coloured robe, he said:

"O Queen and King of Erin! I claim the princess for my bride. You, O king, have decided that I have won the prize in the contest of the bards; that I have won the prize in the race against the white steed of the plains; it is for the princess to say if the robe which I give her will fit in the hollow of her small white hand."

"Yes," said the king. "You are victor in the contests; let the princess declare if you have fulfilled the last condition."

The princess took the robe from Fergus, closed her fingers over it, so that no vestige of it was seen.

"Yes, O king!" said she, "he has fulfilled the last condition; but before ever he had fulfilled a single one of them, my heart went out to the comely champion of the Feni. I was willing then, I am ready now, to become the bride of the huntsman's son."



NOTES.

I.

The Birds of the Mystic Lake.

The incident of the birds coming to the mystic lake is taken from "The Voyage of Maildun," a translation of which is given in Joyce's Old Celtic Romances. The operations of the birds were witnessed by Maildun and his companions, who, in the course of their wanderings, had arrived at the Isle of the Mystic Lake. One of Maildun's companions, Diuran, on seeing the wonder, said to the others: "Let us bathe in the lake, and we shall obtain a renewal of our youth like the birds."

But they said: "Not so, for the bird has left the poison of his old age and decay in the water."

Diuran, however, plunged in, and swam about for some time; after which he took a little of the water and mixed it in his mouth, and in the end he swallowed a small quantity. He then came out perfectly sound and whole, and remained so ever after as long as he lived. But none of the others ventured in.

The return of the birds in the character of the cormorants of the western seas and guardians of the lake does not occur in the old tale. The oldest copy of the voyage is in the book of "The Dun Cow" (about the year 1100). O'Curry says the voyage was undertaken about the year 700. It was made by Maildun in search of pirates who had slain his father. The story is full of fancy.

II.

The House in the Lake.

In the Irish annals lake dwellings, which were formerly common in Ireland, are called crannogs, from crann, a tree, either because of the timber framework of which the island was formed or of the wooden huts erected thereon.

Some crannogs appear to have been veritable islands, the only means of communication with the land being canoes. Remains of these have been frequently found near the dwelling, in some instances alongside the landing stage, as if sunk at their moorings.

"Favourite sites for crannogs were marshes, small loughs surrounded by woods and large sheets of water. As providing good fishing grounds the entrance to or exit of a stream from a lake was eagerly selected."—"Lake Dwellings of Ireland," Col. Wood Martin, M.R.I.A.

III.

Brian's Water-dress.

Brian, Ur, and Urcar, the three sons of Turenn, were Dedanaan chiefs. They slew Kian, the father of Luga of the Long Arms, who was grandson of Balor of the Evil Eye. Luga imposed an extraordinary eric fine on the sons of Turenn, part of which was "the cooking-spit of the women of Fincara." For a quarter of a year Brian and his brothers sailed hither and thither over the wide ocean, landing on many shores, seeking tidings of the Island of Fincara. At last they met a very old man, who told them that the island lay deep down in the waters, having been sunk beneath the waves by a spell in times long past.

Then Brian put on his water-dress, with his helmet of transparent crystal on his head, telling his brothers to wait 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.

His brothers waited for him in the same spot the whole time, and when he came not they began to fear he would return no more. At last they were about to leave the place, when they saw the glitter of his crystal helmet deep down in the water, and immediately after he came to the surface with the cooking-spit in his hand.—"Old Celtic Romances" (Joyce), p. 87.

IV.

The Palace of the Little Cat.

The description of the rows of jewels ranged round the wall of the palace of the Little Cat is taken from "The Voyage of Maildun."—See Note I.

V.

Liban the Mermaid.

Liban was the daughter of Ecca, son of Mario, King of Munster. Ecca, having conquered the lordship of the half of Ulster, settled down with his people in the plain of the Grey Copse, which is now covered by the waters of Lough Necca, now Lough Neagh. A magic well had sprung up in the plain, and not being properly looked after by the woman in charge of it, its waters burst forth over the plain, drowning Ecca and nearly all his family. Liban, although swept away like the others, was not drowned. She lived for a whole year, with her lap-dog, in a chamber beneath the lake, and God protected her from the water. At the end of that time she was weary, and when she saw the speckled salmon swimming and playing all round her, she prayed to be changed into a salmon that she might swim with the others through the green, salt sea. Her prayer was granted; she took the shape of a salmon, except her face and breast, which did not change. And her lap-dog was changed into an otter, and attended her afterwards whithersoever she went as long as she lived in the sea.

It is nearly eight hundred years ago since the story was transcribed from some old authority into the Book of the Dun Cow, the oldest manuscript of Gaelic literature we possess.—Joyce's "Old Celtic Romances," p. 97.

VI.

The Fairy Tree of Dooros.

The forest of Dooros was in the district of Hy Fiera of the Moy (now the barony of Tireragh, in Sligo).

On a certain occasion the Dedanns, returning from a hurling match with the Feni, passed through the forest, carrying with them for food during the journey crimson nuts, and arbutus apples, and scarlet quicken-berries, which they had brought from the Land of Promise. One of the quicken-berries dropped on the earth, and the Dedanns passed on not heeding.

From this berry a great quicken-tree sprang up, which had the virtues of the quicken-trees that grow in fairyland. Its berries had the taste of honey, and those who ate of them felt a cheerful glow, as if they had drunk of wine or old mead, and if a man were even a hundred years old he returned to the age of thirty as soon as he had eaten three of them.

The Dedanns having heard of this tree, and not wishing that anyone should eat of the berries but themselves, sent a giant of their own people to guard it, namely, Sharvan the Surly, of Lochlann.—"The Pursuit of Diarmuid and Grania," "Old Celtic Romances," p. 313 (Joyce).

VII.

Prince Cuglas.

In the list of the historic tales mentioned in the Book of Leinster, and which is given in O'Curry's appendix to his "Lectures on the MSS. Materials of Ancient Irish History," "The Cave of the Road of Cuglas" finds place. O'Curry has the following note:—

"Cuglas was the son of Donn Desa, King of Leinster, and master of the hounds to the monarch Conaire Mor. Having one day followed the chase from Tara to this road, the chase suddenly disappeared in a cave, into which he followed, and was never seen after. Hence the cave was called Uaimh Bealach Conglais, or the cave of the road of Cuglas (now Baltinglass, in the County of Wicklow). It is about this cave, nevertheless, that so many of our pretended Irish antiquarians have written so much nonsense in connection with some imaginary pagan worship to which they gravely assure the world, on etymological authority, the spot was devoted. The authority for the legend of Cuglas is the Dinnoean Chus on the place Bealach Conglais (Book of Lecain). The full tale has not come down to us."

VIII.

The Herald.

"Here comes a single champion towards us, O Cuchulain," said Laegh (Cuchulain's charioteer). "What sort of a champion is he?" said Cuchulain. "A brown-haired, broad faced, beautiful youth; a splendid brown cloak on him; a bright bronze spear-like brooch fastening his cloak. A full and well-fitting shirt to his skin. Two firm shoes between his two feet and the ground. A hand-staff of white hazel in one hand of his; a single-edged sword with a sea-horse hilt in his other hand." "Good, my lad," said Cuchulain; "these are the tokens of a herald."—Description of the herald MacRoath in the story of the Tain bo Chuailgne.—O'Curry's "Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish," Vol. II., p. 301.

IX.

Golden Bells.

In O'Curry's "Lectures on the Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish" are several dazzling descriptions of cavalcades taken from the old tales. Silver and golden bells are frequently mentioned as part of the horse furniture.

X.

The Wild People of the Glen.

"And then he put on his helmet of battle and of combat and of fighting, from every recess and from every angle of which issued the shout as it were of an hundred warriors; because it was alike that woman of the valley (de bananaig), and hobgoblins (bacanaig), and wild people of the glen (geinti glindi), and demons of the air (demna acoir), shouted in front of it, and in rear of it, and over it, and around it, wherever he went, at the spurting of blood, and of heroes upon it."

Description of Cuchulain's helmet in the story of The Tain bo Chuailgne.—"O'Curry's Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish," Vol. II., p. 301.

XI.

The Fair of Tara.

"The great fairs anciently held in Ireland were not like their modern representatives, mere markets, but were assemblies of the people to celebrate funeral games, and other religious rites; during pagan times to hold parliaments, promulgate laws, listen to the recitation of tales and poems, engage in or witness contests in feats of arms, horse-racing, and other popular games. They were analogous in many ways to the Olympian and other celebrated games of ancient Greece.

"These assemblies were regulated by a strict by-law, a breach of which was punishable by death. Women were especially protected, a certain place being set apart for their exclusive use, as a place was set apart at one side of the lists of mediaeval tournaments for the Queen of Beauty and the other ladies.

"At the opening of the assembly there was always a solemn proclamation of peace, and the king who held the fair awarded prizes to the most successful poets, musicians, and professors and masters of every art."—See Dr. Sullivan's "Introduction to O'Curry's Lectures."

XII.

The Contest of the Bards.

"The three musical feats of the Daghda, a celebrated Dedanann chief and Druid, were the Suantraighe, which from its deep murmuring caused sleep. The Goltraighe, which from its meltive plaintiveness caused weeping, and the Goltraighe, which from its merriment caused laughter.

"Bose, the great Norse harper, could give on his harp the Gyarslager, or stroke of the sea gods, which produced mermaids' music."—O'Curry's Lectures.



* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

Typographical problems have been changed and are listed below. Author's archaic and variable spelling is preserved. Author's punctuation style is preserved. Passages in italics indicated by underscores.

Transcriber's Changes:

his own motion, with scarce a word of encouragement[** Was 'encourage ment' over line break]

myself before that day. Then the king[** Was 'King'] asked

the door. Around, outside[** Was 'ouside'] the hut, on a level with

name," said the cat,[** Changed '.' to ','] "I am a friend of yours,

Princess Kathleen, and you can either go or stay."[** Added closing double-quote]

beneath the waters.[** Changed ',' to '.'] The white steed pulled up

"Don't be frightened, little man," said he,[** Added comma] "and

darkness. Cuglas[** Was 'Cuglass'] could hear ahead of him the

"You are welcome, Cuglas[** Was 'Cuglass']," said the queen, as

could run so lightly that the rotten twigs[** Was 'twigg'] should

world, on etymological[** Was 'entymological'] authority, the spot was devoted.

the story of the Tain bo Chuailgne[** Was 'Chuaillgne'].—O'Curry's "Manners

the Ancient Irish" are several dazzling descriptions of cavalcades[** Was 'calvacades']

of it, and in rear of it,[** Added comma] and over it, and around it, wherever he

and other popular games. They were analogous[** Was 'analagous'] in many ways

"These[** Added opening double-quote] assemblies were regulated by a strict by-law, a breach

"At[** Added opening double-quote] the opening of the assembly there was always a solemn

"Bose[** Added opening double-quote], the great Norse harper, could give on his harp the

THE END