Classic Poem

An Episode from the Ancient Irish Epic Romance, "The Tain Bo Cuailgne;
or, the Cattle Prey of Cuailgne."

["The 'Tain Bo Cuailgne'" says the late Professor O'Curry, "is to Irish
what the Argonautic Expedition, or the Seven against Thebes, is to
Grecian history." For an account of this, perhaps the earliest epic
romance of Western Europe, see the Professor's "Lectures on the
Manuscript Materials of Irish History."

The Fight of Cuchullin with Ferdiah took place in the modern county of
Louth, at the ford of Ardee, which still preserves the name of the
departed champion, Ardee being the softened form of 'Ath Ferdiah,' or
Ferdiah's Ford.

The circumstances under which this famous combat took place are thus
succinctly mentioned by O'Curry, in his description of the Tain Bo
Cuailgne:--

"Cuchulainn confronts the invaders of his province, demands single
combat, and conjures his opponents by the laws of Irish chivalry (the
'Fir comhlainn') not to advance farther until they had conquered him.
This demand, in accordance with the Irish laws of warfare, is granted;
and then the whole contest is resolved into a succession of single
combats, in each of which Cuchulainn was victorious."--"Lectures," p.
37.

The original Irish text of this episode, with a literal translation, on
which the present metrical version is founded, may be consulted in the
appendix to the second series of the Lectures by O'Curry, vol. ii., p.
413.

The date assigned to the famous expedition of the Tain Bo Cuailgne, and
consequently to the episode which forms the subject of the present poem,
is the close of the century immediately preceding the commencement of
the Christian era. This will account for the complete absence of all
Christian allusions, so remarkable throughout the poem: an additional
proof, if that were required, of its extreme antiquity.]

Cuchullin the great chief had pitched his tent,
From Samhain time, till now 'twas budding spring,
Fast by the Ford, and held the land at bay.
All Erin, save the fragment that he led,
His sword held back, nor dared a man to cross
The rippling Ford without Cuchullin's leave:
Chief after chief had fallen in the attempt;
And now the men of Erin through the night
Asked in dismay, "Oh! who shall be the next
To face the northern hound and free the Ford?"
"Let it now be," with one accord they cried,
"Ferdiah, son of Daman Dare's son,
Of Domnann lord, and all its warrior men."
The chiefs thus fated now to meet as foes
In early life were friends--had both been taught
All feats of arms by the same skilful hands
In Scatha's school beneath the peaks of Skye,
Which still preserve Cuchullin's glorious name.
One feat of arms alone Cuchullin knew
Ferdiah knew not of--the fatal cast--
The dread expanding force of the gaebulg
Flung from the foot resistless on the foe.
But, on the other hand, Ferdiah wore
A skin-protecting suit of flashing steel
Surpassing all in Erin known till then.
At length the council closed, and to the chief
Heralds were sent to tell them that the choice
That night had fallen on him; but he within
His tent retired, received them not, nor went.
For well he knew the purport of their suit
Was this--that he should fight beside the Ford
His former fellow-pupil and his friend.
Then Mave, the queen, her powerful druids sent,
Armed not alone with satire's scorpion stings,
But with the magic power even on the face,
By their malevolent taunts and biting sneers,
To raise three blistering blots that typified
Disgrace, dishonour, and a coward's shame,
Which with their mortal venom him would kill,
Or on the hour, or ere nine days had sped,
If he declined the combat, and refused
Upon the instant to come forth with them,
And so, for honour's sake, Ferdiah came.
For he preferred to die a warrior's death,
Pierced to the heart by a proud foeman's spear,
Than by the serpent sting of slanderous tongues--
By satire and abuse, and foul reproach.
When to the court he came, where the great queen
Held revel, he received all due respect:
The sweet intoxicating cup went round,
And soon Ferdiah felt the power of wine.
Great were the rich rewards then promised him
For going forth to battle with the Hound:
A chariot worth seven cumals four times told,
The outfit then of twelve well-chosen men
Made of more colours than the rainbow knows,
His own broad plains of level fair Magh Aie,
To him and his assured till time was o'er
Free of all tribute, without fee or fine;
The golden brooch, too, from the queen's own cloak,
And, above all, fair Finavair for wife.
But doubtful was Ferdiah of the queen,
And half excited by the fiery cup,
And half distrustful, knowing wily Mave,
He asked for more assurance of her faith.
Then she to him, in rhythmic rise of song,
And he in measured ranns to her replied.

MAVE.

A rich reward of golden rings
I'll give to thee, Ferdiah fair,
The forest, where the wild bird sings,
the broad green plain, with me thou'lt share;
Thy children and thy children's seed,
for ever, until time is o'er,
Shall be from every service freed
within the sea-surrounding shore.
Oh, Daman's son, Ferdiah fair,
oh, champion of the wounds renowned,
For thou a charm`ed life dost bear,
since ever by the victories crowned,
Oh! why the proffered gifts decline,
oh! why reject the nobler fame,
Which many an arm less brave than thine,
which many a heart less bold, would claim?

FERDIAH.

Without a guarantee, O queen!
without assurance made most sure,
Thy grassy plains, thy woodlands green,
thy golden rings are but a lure.
The champion's place is not for me
until thou art most firmly bound,
For dreadful will the battle be
between me and Emania's Hound.
For such is Chuland's name,
O queen, and such is Chuland's nature, too,
The noble Hound, the Hound of fame,
the noble heart to dare and do,
The fearful fangs that never yield,
the agile spring so swift and light:
Ah! dread the fortune of the field!
ah! fierce will be the impending fight!

MAVE.

I'll give a champion's guarantee,
and with thee here a compact make,
That in the assemblies thou shalt be
no longer bound thy place to take;
Rich silver-bitted bridles fair--
for such each noble neck demands--
And gallant steeds that paw the air,
shall all be given into thy hands.
For thou, Ferdiah, art indeed
a truly brave and valorous man,
The first of all the chiefs I lead,
the foremost hero in the van;
My chosen champion now thou art,
my dearest friend henceforth thou'lt be,
The very closest to my heart,
from every toll and tribute free.

FERDIAH.

Without securities, I say,
united with thy royal word,
I will not go, when breaks the day,
to seek the combat at the Ford.
That contest, while time runs its course,
and fame records what ne'er should die,
Shall live for ever in full force,
until the judgment day draws nigh.
I will not go, though death ensue,
though thou through some demoniac rite,
Even as thy druid sorcerers do,
canst kill me with thy words of might:
I will not go the Ford to free,
until, O queen! thou here dost swear
By sun and moon, by land and sea,
by all the powers of earth and air.

MAVE.

Thou shalt have all; do thou decide.
I'll give thee an unbounded claim;
Until thy doubts are satisfied,
oh! bind us by each sacred name;--
Bind us upon the hands of kings,
upon the hands of princes bind;
Bind us by every act that brings
assurance to the doubting mind.
Ask what thou wilt, and do not fear
that what thou wouldst cannot be wrought;
Ask what thou wilt, there standeth here
one who will ne'er refuse thee aught;
Ask what thou wilt, thy wildest wish
be certain thou shalt have this night,
For well I know that thou wilt kill this
man who meets thee in the fight.

FERDIAH.

I will have six securities,
no less will I accept from thee;
Be some our country's deities,
the lords of earth, and sky, and sea;
Be some thy dearest ones, O queen!
the darlings of thy heart and eye,
Before my fatal fall is seen
to-morrow, when the hosts draw nigh.
Do this, and though I lose my fame--
do this, and though my life I lose,
The glorious championship I'll claim,
the glorious risk will not refuse.
On, on, in equal strength and might
shall I advance, O queenly Mave,
And Uladh's hero meet in fight,
and battle with Cuchullin brave.

MAVE.

Though Domnal it should be, the sun,
swift-speeding in his fiery car;
Though Niaman's dread name be one,
the consort of the God of War;
These, even these I'll give, though hard
to lure them from their realms serene,
For though they list to lowliest bard,
they may be deaf unto a queen.
Bind it on Morand, if thou wilt,
to make assurance doubly sure;
Bind it, nor dream that dream of guilt
that such a pact will not endure.
By spirits of the wave and wind,
by every spell, by every art,
Bind Carpri Min of Manand,
bind my sons, the darlings of my heart.

FERDIAH.

O Mave! with venom of deceit
that adder tongue of thine o'erflows,
Nor is thy temper over-sweet,
as well thine earlier consort knows.
Thou'rt truly worthy of thy fame
for boastful speech and lust of power,
And well dost thou deserve thy name--
the Brachail of Rathcroghan's tower.
Thy words are fair and soft, O queen!
but still I crave one further proof--
Give me the scarf of silken sheen,
give me the speckled satin woof,
Give from thy cloak's empurpled fold
the golden brooch so fair to see,
And when the glorious gift I hold,
for ever am I bound to thee.

MAVE.

Oh! art thou not my chosen chief,
my foremost champion, sure to win,
My tower, my fortress of relief,
to whom I give this twisted pin?
These, and a thousand gifts more rare,
the treasures of the earth and sea,
Jewels a queen herself might wear,
my grateful hands will give to thee.
And when at length beneath thy sword
the Hound of Ulster shall lie low,
When thou hast ope'd the long-locked Ford,
and let the unguarded water flow,
Then shall I give my daughter's hand,
then my own child shall be thy bride--
She, the fair daughter of the land
where western Elgga's waters glide.

And thus did Mave Ferdiah bind to fight
Six chosen champions on the morrow morn,
Or combat with Cuchullin all alone,
Whichever might to him the easier seem.
And he, by the gods' names and by her sons,
Bound her the promise she had made to keep,
The rich reward to pay to him in full,
If by his hand Cuchullin should be slain.
For Fergus, young Cuchullin's early friend,
The steeds that night were harnessed, and he flew
Swift in his chariot to the hero's tent.
"Glad am I at thy coming, O my friend!"
Cuchullin said: "My pupil, I accept
With joy thy welcome," Fergus quick replied:
"But what I come for is to give thee news
Of him who here will fight thee in the morn."
"I listen," said Cuchullin, "do thou speak."
"Thine own companion is it, thine own peer,
Thy rival in all daring feats of arms,
Ferdiah, son of Daman, Dare's son,
Of Domnand lord and all its warrior men."
"Be sure of this," Cuchullin made reply,
"That never wish of mine it could have been
A friend should thus come forth with me to fight."
"It therefore doth behove thee now, my son,"
Fergus replied, "to be upon thy guard,
Prepared at every point; for not like those
Who hitherto have come to fight with thee
Upon the 'Tain Bo Cuailgne,' is the chief,
Ferdiah, son of Daman, Dare's son."
"Here I have been," Cuchullin proudly said,
"From Samhain up to Imbule--from the first
Of winter days even to the first of spring--
Holding the four great provinces in check
That make up Erin, not one foot have I
Yielded to any man in all that time,
Nor even to him shall I a foot give way."
And thus the parley went: first Fergus spoke,
Cuchullin then to him in turn replied:

FERGUS.

Time is it, O Cuchullin, to arise,
Time for the fearful combat to prepare;
For hither with the anger in his eyes,
To fight thee comes Ferdiah called the Fair.

CUCHULLIN.

Here I have been, nor has the task been light,
Holding all Erin's warriors at bay:
No foot of ground have I in recreant flight
Yielded to any man or shunned the fray.

FERGUS.

When roused to rage, resistless in his might,
Fearless the man is, for his sword ne'er fails:
A skin-protecting coat of armour bright
He wears, 'gainst which no valour e'er prevails.

CUCHULLIN.

Oh! brave in arms, my Fergus, say not so,
Urge not thy story further on the night:--
On any friend, or facing any foe
I never was behind him in the fight.

FERGUS.

Brave is the man, I say, in battles fierce,
Him it will not be easy to subdue,
Swords cut him not, nor can the sharp spear pierce,
Strong as a hundred men to dare and do.

CUCHULLIN.

Well, should we chance to meet beside the Ford,
I and this chief whose valour ne'er has failed,
Story shall tell the fortune of each sword,
And who succumbed and who it was prevailed.

FERGUS.

Ah! liefer than a royal recompense
To me it were, O champion of the sword,
That thine it were to carry eastward hence
The proud Ferdiah's purple from the Ford.

CUCHULLIN.

I pledge my word, I vow, and not in vain,
Though in the combat we may be as one,
That it is I who shall the victory gain
Over the son of Daman, Dare's son.

FERGUS.

'Twas I that gathered eastward all the bands,
Revenging the foul wrong upon me wrought
By the Ultonians. Hither from their lands
The chiefs, the battle-warriors I have brought.

CUCHULLIN.

If Conor's royal strength had not decayed,
Hard would have been the strife on either side:
Mave of the Plain of Champions had not made
A foray then of so much boastful pride.

FERGUS.

To-day awaits thy hand a greater deed,
To battle with Ferdiah, Daman's son.
Hard, bloody weapons with sharp points thou'lt need,
Cuchullin, ere the victory be won.

Then Fergus to the court and camp went back,
While to his people and his tent repaired
Ferdiah, and he told them of the pact
Made that same night between him and the queen.

The dwellers in Ferdiah's tent that night
Were scant of comfort, a foreboding fear
Fell on their spirits and their hearts weighed down;
Because they knew in whatsoever fight
The mighty chiefs, the hundred-slaying two
Met face to face, that one of them must fall,
Or both, perhaps, or if but only one,
Certain were they it would their own lord be,
Since on the Tain Bo Cuailgne, it was plain
That no one with Cuchullin could contend.

Nor was their chief less troubled; but at first
The fumes of the late revel overpowered
His senses, and he slept a heavy sleep.
Later he woke, the intoxicating steam
Had left his brain, and now in sober calm
All the anxieties of the impending fight
Pressed on his soul and made him grave. He rose
From off his couch, and bade his charioteer
Harness his pawing horses to the car.
The boy would fain persuade his lord to stay,
Because he loved his master, and he felt
He went but to his death; but he repelled
The youth's advice, and spoke to him these words--
"Oh! cease, my servant. I will not be turned
By any youth from what I have resolved."
And thus in speech and answer spoke the two--

FERDIAH.

Let us go to this challenge,
Let us fly to the Ford,
When the raven shall croak
O'er my blood-dripping sword.
Oh, woe for Cuchullin!
That sword will be red;
Oh, woe! for to-morrow
The hero lies dead.

CHARIOTEER.

Thy words are not gentle,
Yet rest where thou art,
'Twill be dreadful to meet,
And distressful to part.
The champion of Ulster!
Oh! think what a foe!
In that meeting there's grief,
In that journey there's woe!

FERDIAH.

Thy counsel is craven,
Thy caution I slight,
No brave-hearted champion
Should shrink from the fight.
The blood I inherit
Doth prompt me to do--
Let us go to the challenge,
To the Ford let us go!

Then were the horses of Ferdiah yoked
Unto the chariot, and he rode full speed
Unto the Ford of battle, and the day
Began to break, and all the east grew red.

Beside the Ford he halted. "Good, my friend,"
He said unto his servant, "Spread