Classic Poem

Fair of all fairings, sound the horn
In the delaying air and when the fires
Of branding scatter from the driven hoofs
Of war, praise then the happy, forest-belted,
The meadow-sunned and cattle-pasturing, plains
Of Cruachan; as ripe barley to the hook
My singing falls, for never Tailteann Fair
Fattening the red wattle with the noise
Of horseman and of dealers could surpass
The hosting of the cattle of the west:
The side of every glen had emptied out
Great droves into the highways and the cries
Of men hung on the cattle-clouded ridges
As showers in a gap; invading herds —
From every grazing land and hilly farm
Of boulders — even to the pools of Corran,
Bare inlets of the sky where the salt winds
Sow but themselves — small, firm in the hoof
Or fat and dappled, tail after dropping tail,
Thickened upon the plains until their steams
Had horned them in a rising of thick haze
Sun-beaten into gold.
Queen Maeve
Surrounded by the yellow-haired tall sons
Of Maine, lower rings of rough-browed men
With belts of red cowhide and hunting knives
Of horn, large-thoughted, gazed upon that plain
Of wealth nor heard the cursing cattlemen,
Boys walloping among the lairs, the roar
Of bulls humped on the slipping cows, the cud
Doubling the fodder and the happy sound
Of dropping dung.
Halfway from flowing haze
White milch cows moved upon the cobble road,
Bewildered, pawing for the soft rich grass.
" Whose herds are these?"
She said,
" Sloughing their way
Through golden air?"
And Caoilte whistled
" The king
Has more cattle than Maeve. I will sing of the flower of the herd
For they drove her with harps from the west,
Her slaver was silver and O Hide of red gold,
The king has more cattle than Maeve."
A drove
Of bulls loomed out of fog dragging the ring
With blood-rimmed nostril.
" They are the king's and bred
Far in the Ox Mountains and their fence
Is the salt ocean. . . ."
So the herds were told
And when the haze was red and dark came down
The folk made merry in the fields outside
The booths of drinking, barrels of sweet apples
And fiery rings of pitchlight where the tumblers
Rolled on a strip of mat as Mannanaun
Or caught nine mangolds from the air; the noise
Of cattle in the lairs as though men held
A yearly market in the west, skirling
Of pipes and ructions, where the islandmen
That carried knives cried for the king and women
Squabbled about his wife, had grown so loud
And wild among the shows that farming voices
Had come to sudden blows — for when the great
Fall out, what shall the people do? — but men
Hammered the boards and laughing girls tucked up
Red flannel petticoats around their forks
And footed to the reeds, as washerwomen,
The high-step jig; the boys tripped from the drink
And caught them into sixteen-handed reels
And grabbing hold of bolder wenches, big
Of bone, with coarse red hair, shouting, clapping
A gamey hand upon those buttocks loud
And shapely as a mare's, they danced them off
Their feet. Oro, the music squeezed below
The elbow!
" Have you been upon Goose Green
And what saw you there?"
" Men drinking black porter
And women gallivanting on their own
To any air."
Oro, the dancing at the fair and
The boozing!
" Blow the pipes ,
O Bagman."
" Take a woman if you can ."
" I cannot dance. I may not dance
For I am married to the red-haired man."
" O the droning."
" Sails were bobbing from the waves
To carry me."
" O swing her by the middle ."
" They drank upon the wedding night"
" They broke
The iron griddle"
" Turn "
" The boys all sang
When the happy couple got into the bed:
" Good tailor, if the needle's eye is small,
Wet the thread. " "
" Hands round "
" I will not dance ."
" She cannot dance, for she is married to
The red-haired man."
So merrily the legs
Were mixing and the concertina went in
And out. . . .
Within the brazen hall of Maeve
A Brehon rose:
" The wealth of man and wife,
In pot and pan, in flock and herd, in cock
And hen, being cut upon the wood, is found
Alike, but for a bull who fiercely scorning
A woman's rule, trampled rebellious herds
And followed the king."
Ailill got up in haste
And said:
" I have disowned
The bull now. Geld him. Dip an iron brand
In tar. I give him back to her. The night
Burns low."
" No, no, nothing will do
But that I have a like to size him,"
Cried
The wife,
" It is for me to give, not to
Receive. I am the owner of the house
Not he, and I believe for all these words
That I am wealthier; men counting fish
Into the barrels on an island when
The boats are shored had been as quick, flinging
The number and handfuls of the white salt,
The nets had been remended, codheads thrown
To sink i' the sun, the children on the knee
Before your words were done. Now I must have
Another bull and is there anybody
Can tell for praise, for such thanks as are shown
In bread, fire, sleep, of such a bull?"
Fergus
Replied:
" I have heard tell there is a beast
As fierce and wild owned by a countryman
In Cualgne."
" I must have that bull."
She called the royal messenger,
" Go, go,
MacRoth, with drovers, stable boys and food,
Hurry into his lands and know a queen
Follows your wind. Promise him what you will
So that you get the bull, nay fifty bloods
To stock his field or, if he would, the best
Of acreage in Connaught that has yielded
The sea no tribute. We give powers to you
For peace and war. If he is filled with greed
As such small farmers are, promise him more
Than a foolish head can hold and pinch the bargain
In the black o' the nail, or name the dreaded will
And majesty of the west, for empty or full,
I will not sleep until I have that bull."
Half-witted Caoilte sang outside the door
Above the jigging:
" Hurry, boys, or lag
She will harry those lands and marry that bull
Yet for all that they say and for all that he gave
The king has more cattle and meadows than Maeve."