{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_7488/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_7488","id":"gutenberg_7488","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/7488","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Children's Myths, Fairy Tales, etc.","Fairy tales -- Great Britain","Folklore"],"text":"Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Clare Elliott, Brendan Lane,\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCELTIC TALES\nTOLD TO THE CHILDREN\n\nBY\nLOUEY CHISHOLM\n\nWITH PICTURES BY\nKATHARINE CAMERON\n\n\n\nTO CHRISTOPHER\n\n\n\nNOTE\n\n\nThis little book was written after several variants of the Tales had been\nread:--'Old Celtic Romances,' by Dr. Joyce; 'Reliquae Celticae,' by Dr.\nCameron; 'The Pursuit after Diarmud O'Duibhne and Grainne the daughter of\nCormac Mac Airt,' by Standish Hayes O'Grady; 'The Three Sorrows of\nStory-telling,' by Dr. Douglas Hyde; 'The Laughter of Peterkin,' by Fiona\nMacleod, and other translations and retellings.\n\nL.C.\n\n\n\nABOUT THIS BOOK\n\n\nOne of my friends tells me that you, little reader, will not like these\nold, old tales; another says they are too sad for you, and yet another\nasks what the stories are meant to teach.\n\nNow I, for my part, think you will like these Celtic Tales very much\nindeed. It is true they are sad, but you do not always want to be amused.\nAnd I have not told the stories for the sake of anything they may teach,\nbut because of their sheer beauty, and I expect you to enjoy them as\nhundreds and hundreds of Irish and Scottish children have already enjoyed\nthem--without knowing or wondering why.\n\nLOUEY CHISHOLM.\n\n\n\nLIST OF STORIES\n\n\nThe Star-Eyed Deirdre\n\nThe Four White Swans\n\nDermat and Grania\n\n\n\nLIST OF PICTURES\n\n\nTHE STAR-EYED DEIRDRE\n\n'Art thou indeed Deirdre?'\n\nThence ofttimes in the young summer would they sail southward\n\nThe Hedge of Spears\n\n\nTHE FOUR WHITE SWANS\n\nAs she touched Aed, Fiacra, and Conn, the three brothers were as the maid\n\nThey would swim far out into a dim grey wilderness of waters\n\nIt was Saint Kemoc\n\n\nDERMAT AND GRANIA\n\nDermat\n\nGrania\n\n\n\nTHE STAR-EYED DEIRDRE\n\n\nIn olden days, when many Kings reigned throughout the Green Island of\nErin, none was greater than the great Concobar. So fair was his realm that\npoets sang its beauty, and such the wonder of his palace that the sweetest\nsongs of Erin were of its loveliness.\n\nIn a castle of this fair realm dwelt Felim, a warrior and harper dear unto\nthe King. And it was told him that Concobar with his chief lords would\nvisit the castle.\n\nThen Felim made a feast, and there was great rejoicing, and all men were\nglad.\n\nBut in the midst of the feast an old magician, who was of those that had\ncome with the King, stood up before the great gathering. Long and white\nwas the hair that fell upon his bent shoulders, black were the eyes that\ngazed into space from beneath his shaggy eyebrows.\n\n'Speak,' said the King to the old man, 'speak, and tell us that thou\nseest, for well we know thou piercest the veil that hideth from us the\nsecrets of the morrow.'\n\nSilently and with great awe did all the company look at the wise old man,\nfor those things that he had already foretold had they not come to pass?\nThe magician, also silent, looked from the face of one to the face of\nanother, but when his eyes fell on Concobar, the King, long did they dwell\nthere, and when he lifted them, on Felim did they rest.\n\nThen the Wise Man spake:\n\n'This night, O Felim the Harper, shall a girl-babe be born to thee within\nthese castle walls. Loveliest among the lovely shall thy star-eyed\ndaughter be; no harp-strings shall yield such music as her voice, no fairy\nstrains pour forth such wonder-stirring sound. Yet, O Felim, in days to\ncome, because of this fair child shall great sorrow come upon our King\nConcobar and upon all his realm. In those days shall Erin's chief glory\nperish, for if the House of the Red Branch fall, who shall stand?'\n\nThen did a cry of fear burst from those gathered to the feast, and leaping\nto their feet, each man laid his hand upon his sword, for the word that\nthe wise man had spoken would it not come to pass?\n\n'Let our swords be in readiness,' they cried, 'to kill the babe that shall\nbe born this night, for better far is it that one child perish than that\nthe blood of a nation be spilt.'\n\nAnd Felim spake: 'Great sorrow is mine that fear of the child who shall be\nborn this night should be upon you. Therefore, if it please the King, let\nmy daughter die, and so may peace yet reign in the realm. For dear as\nwould be a child to my wife and to me, dearer yet is the common weal.'\n\nBut the answer of King Concobar came not for a time. His soul was filled\nwith desire to see the star-eyed maiden and to hear the wonder of her\nvoice. Still was the hand of each upon his sword when the King spake.\n\n'Put far from thee, O Felim, the will to do this thing. Bend not thy mind\nto the death of thine own child. And ye, my people, sheathe your swords.\nLet the babe live. I, Concobar, will be her guardian, and if ill befall,\nlet it be upon me, your King.'\n\nAt these words arose a Prince.\n\n'It would be well, O King, but for the word spoken by the Wise Man, for\nhath he not said, \"Because of this fair child shall great sorrow come upon\nthe King Concobar\"? If we let the babe live, then must thy people see thee\nin sore distress, for the word that the Wise Man speaketh, shall it not\ncome to pass?'\n\n'Of that am I not unmindful. Deep within the forest, beyond the Moor of\nLoneliness, shall her childish days be spent. Gently tended shall she be,\nbut the eye of man shall not behold her, and solitary shall she live as\nsome unmated bird in distant wilderness.'\n\nThen with one accord did the people cry, 'Wilt thou indeed be guardian to\nthis child, knowing the ill that the Wise Man hath foretold?'\n\n'Yea, truly will I be guardian to the child, and when she be a woman then\nshall she be my wedded wife. And if with the maiden come sorrow, then be\nthat sorrow upon me, and not upon the land.'\n\n'What sayest thou, O Felim the Harper?' cried the people.\n\n'It were better to slay the child than to let that come which hath been\nforetold.'\n\n'And what sayest thou, O Wise Man?'\n\n'That which shall come, shall come.'\n\nAt the same moment there entered the hall a servant of Felim, and loudly\ndid he proclaim that the girl-babe, who had been foretold, was born.\n'Right beautiful and strong is the child, most fair to look upon.'\n\n'And Deirdre shall her name be,' said the Wise Man, 'Deirdre the\nStar-eyed.'\n\nAnd because of the words that the King Concobar had spoken, the life of\nthe babe was spared, and when the days of feasting were past, Concobar\nreturned to his palace, and with him he took the infant child and her\nmother. Yet after a month he bade the mother return to Felim her husband,\nbut the babe Deirdre he kept.\n\nAnd deep within the forest, beyond the Moor of Loneliness, did the King\ncommand that a cottage be built, and when Deirdre was one year, thither\nwas she sent with a trusted nurse. But on the trees of the forest and\nthroughout the land was proclaimed the order of the King Concobar, that\nwhosoever should hunt, or for other purpose enter the wood, death should\nbe his portion.\n\nOnce each week did the King visit the fair babe, and daily were stores of\nfood and milk brought to the lone dwelling. And Deirdre each year grew\nmore fair, but none beheld her beauty, save her nurse, her tutor, and\nLavarcam.\n\nThis Lavarcam was a woman well trusted of the King, and she alone went to\nand fro between the palace and the cottage. It was she who told to Deirdre\nthe old tales of knights and ladies, of dragons and of fairies that dwelt\nin the Enchanted Land.\n\nWhen Deirdre was seven years old the King no longer came every week to the\nforest, but twice in the year only, and that as the Spring put forth her\nfirst green shoots, and again when Autumn gleaned her harvest of gold.\n\nAnd when another seven years had sped, then came not the King thither,\neither when the earth was green or golden, nor in the blue summer nor the\nhoary winter, but from Lavarcam he heard that it was well with the maid.\n\nOne white winter's morning Deirdre looked from her window, and saw lying\nin the snow a calf. It had been killed by her nurse to provide food for\nthe little household, and its bright red blood dyed the thick-lying snow.\nAs Deirdre watched the flow of the scarlet stream, a raven, black as\nnight, flew down and drank of the warm blood. Then Deirdre smiled.\n\n'Where are thy thoughts, fair child?' asked Lavarcam, entering the room.\n\n'Only did I think,' said Deirdre, 'that if a youth could be found whose\nskin was white as snow, his cheek crimson as that pool of blood, and his\nhair black as the raven's wing, him could I love right gladly.'\n\nThen Lavarcam spake: 'Such a man have I seen, and one only.'\n\n'His name, Lavarcam, his name?' cried Deirdre. 'Whence comes he, and\nwherefrom he be found?'\n\n'The fairest of three fair brothers is this Nathos, the son of Usna, and\nnow is he with Concobar the King.'\n\nAnd Deirdre would thereafter think of none but Nathos, and Lavarcam was\nmuch troubled because of the words that she had spoken. And when Deirdre\nlonged grievously by day and night to see this Nathos of whom she had\nheard, Lavarcam thought of a plan whereby she might end the maiden's\ndream.\n\nOne day, as she came from the palace of the King, she met on the Moor of\nLoneliness a swineherd and two shepherd lads. And well though she knew\nthat none might enter the forest, she led them to a well in its leafy\ndepths. Then said this woman trusted of the King, 'Wait here by this well\nuntil the jay cry and the hill-fox bark. Then move slowly on your way, but\nspeak to none whom ye may meet, and when ye leave the wood let not your\nlips tell those things ye shall have seen and heard.'\n\nWith these words Lavarcam left the three men, and entered the cottage.\n\n'Come, Deirdre,' she cried, 'the crisp snow glistens in the sunshine. Let\nus wander forth.'\n\nAnd Deirdre came, and dreamily she trod where Lavarcam led. Of a sudden\nthe older woman left her side, and bent as though she would gather a\nwoodland flower. At the same moment was heard the cry of the jay and the\nbark of the hill-fox. Then came Lavarcam to the maiden's side.\n\n'Passing strange is it,' said Deirdre, 'to hear the jay cry and the\nhill-fox bark while yet the snow lies thick.'\n\n'Heed not strange sounds, fair Deirdre, but cast thine eyes toward yonder\nwell.'\n\nAnd as Deirdre gazed she saw, as in a dream, the forms of three men come\nslowly through the forest.\n\n'These, Deirdre, are men,' said Lavarcam.\n\n'Yet seem they not as the men I have seen ride by across the Moor of\nLoneliness, for they were fair to look upon, but mine eyes have no\npleasure in beholding these strange forms.'\n\n'Yet you look upon Nathos, for these men are none other than the three\nsons of Usna.'\n\nDeirdre started. 'Idle are your words, false Lavarcam. Yonder walks not a\nman with skin white as snow, with cheek crimson as blood, nor with hair\nblack as the raven's wing. You lie!' And the maid made haste, and she\nreached the men, and stood before them.\n\nAmazed at her exceeding beauty, they gazed in silence. 'Tell me if ye be\nthe sons of Usna. Speak!'\n\nBut in wonder at the loveliness of the maiden, and in fear of the anger of\nLavarcam, the men were dumb.\n\n'Speak!' she again cried. 'If indeed ye be Nathos and his brothers, then\ntruly hath Concobar the King my pity.'\n\nAt these words the swineherd could no longer keep silence.\n\n'It is thy exceeding beauty that telleth us that thou art that Deirdre\nwhom the King hideth in this forest. Why mock us by asking if we are the\nfairest of Concobar's nobles? Clearly canst thou see we are but men of the\nhills, I a poor swineherd, and these men shepherds.'\n\n'Then wilt thou, swineherd, for truly do I believe thy words, get thee to\nthe sons of Usna, and say to Nathos the eldest, that in the forest beyond\nthe Moor of Loneliness, Deirdre awaits his coming. Tell him that\nto-morrow, an hour before the setting of the sun, he will find her by this\nwell.'\n\n'If it be known that I so break the law of the King, I die, yet will I go\nright gladly.'\n\nThen Deirdre left the men, and walked slowly after Lavarcam. And Lavarcam\nwould fain have known what Deirdre had told the swineherd, but the girl\ntold her nought, and was in a dream all that day and all the morrow.\n\nIt was in the wane of the morrow that Lavarcam went forth to take counsel\nof the King. And Deirdre ran with great speed to the well, but no man was\nthere, and she waited long, but none came.\n\nWhile Deirdre waited by the well, Lavarcam came near to the King's palace.\nAnd lo! there, on the ground before her, lay the dead body of the\nswineherd. Thus was it made known to Lavarcam that in some wise Concobar\nthe King had heard that the swineherd had spoken with Deirdre.\n\nTherefore Lavarcam went not to the palace, but turned aside to the camp of\nthe sons of Usna. And Nathos came out to her, and she told him of the\nloneliness of the fair Deirdre and of her longing to see him.\n\nThen said Nathos, 'But it may not be yet awhile, for Concobar found that\nthe fair Deirdre had spoken with the swineherd, and for that cause lies he\nyonder, a dead man.'\n\n'Yet tarry not long, for if thou wouldst hunt in the forest, beyond the\nwell, then surely wouldst thou see Deirdre the Star-eyed, and none should\nknow.'\n\nSeven days passed, and Deirdre roamed in the wood dreaming her dream, when\nof a sudden there came an unknown sound. Ah, could it be the hunting-horn\nof which Lavarcam had spoken in her tales of chase? The maiden paused. The\nhorn ceased. Nathos had left the hunt and wandered through the glade.\nThere, against a background of blue haze, encircled by a network of\nblossoming blackthorn, shone forth the fairest vision mortal eye had\nbeheld.\n\nSpeech tarried as Nathos gazed spell-bound.\n\nAt length the maiden questioned, 'Nathos, son of Usna, what wouldst thou?'\n\n'Strange is it that thou shouldst know my name, most fair. No mortal art\nthou. Fain would I enter yonder cottage, did I but dare, and speak with\nthe daughter of Felim the Harper. Yet it is death should the King know of\nmy desire.'\n\n'I am that Deirdre whom thou seekest, and if I be fair in thine eyes, it\npleaseth me well. It is for thee I have watched long, for is not thy skin\nwhite as snow, thy cheek crimson as blood, and thy hair black as the\nraven's wing? Lonely are my days in this place, where none dwells save my\nnurse, my tutor, and Lavarcam.'\n\nNever did harp-strings yield such music as her voice, never did fairy\nstrains pour forth such wonder-stirring sound.\n\n'Art thou indeed Deirdre the Star-eyed, and is it that King Concobar\nkeepeth thee here like some caged bird?'\n\n[Illustration: 'Art thou indeed Deirdre?']\n\n'I am Deirdre, and it is the King's will that I wander not forth from\nyonder cottage but by the side of Lavarcam. Ill would it please him that I\nshould thus roam the forest alone.'\n\n'I love thee, Deirdre, and I would serve thee ever.'\n\n'I love thee, Nathos, and I would that I might be ever by thy side. Let me\nflee with thee from this place.'\n\nNathos knit his brows in thought. 'Fair one, if we are seen as we leave\nthe forest, then is it death to us both; and if we are not seen, still is\nit death, for when it is known of the King that Deirdre is fled, then will\nthe land be searched until she be found, and then shall we die.'\n\n'But, Nathos, Concobar is not King in the land of Alba. Let us flee from\nErin, and there in thine own land shall we surely find safety.'\n\n'Thou speakest well, brave Deirdre. If a host be sent from Concobar to\nAlba, then shall it be met by a host of mine own land. And a fair land it\nis. Scented with pine and seaweed are its shores, blue as thine eyes are\nits waters, and of its setting sun the glory cannot be told.'\n\n'Let us go forth,' said Deirdre.\n\n'Then let it be now and without delay, or it may never be,' and as Nathos\nuttered these words Deirdre saw a strange look in his eyes, and in a\nmoment he had flung his javelin among the bracken but a few paces apart.\n\n'What beast wouldst thou slay?' cried Deirdre, affrighted.\n\n'It was no beast,' said Nathos, 'but yonder among the bracken lieth a dead\nman, if my javelin missed not its mark.'\n\nIn fear and wonder Deirdre ran to the spot. No man lay there, but she saw\non the bracken the form of a crouching man. She saw, too, the tracks that\nmarked his escape.\n\nNathos followed her, and stooped to take his javelin from the ground. And\nthere, beside it, lay a wooden-hilted knife.\n\n'It is as I thought,' he said. 'This knife is used but by the hillmen who\nare in bondage to Concobar. The King seeketh my life. Go thou, then, back\nto thy lonely cottage, and await that day when he shall make thee his\nQueen.'\n\n'Ask me not to turn from following thee, O Nathos, for thy way must be\nmine, this day and ever.'\n\n'Come, then,' and Nathos took her by the hand.\n\nThrough the shadowy forest they walked swiftly, until of a sudden he bade\nher rest among the bracken. Then went he forward and told his waiting\nhuntsmen to return by a long and winding path to the castle of the sons of\nUsna.\n\nThree days would it thus take them to reach it, and Nathos with Deirdre\nwould be there on the morrow, if, tarrying not, they walked on through the\ndark night. But Concobar's messengers would follow the hounds, thinking so\nto capture Nathos.\n\n'By dawn, Deirdre, shall we reach the castle, and there may we rest in\nsafety one day and one night. Then must we set out for the hills and lochs\nof Alba, and with us Ailne and Ardan, for if the King cometh and findeth\nme fled, then will he slay my brothers.'\n\nOn and on they sped, through the forest, across the Moor of Loneliness, up\nthe glens and gorges, and over the hills. Above glimmered the pale stars,\naround them was the screech and the moan of wakeful bird and beast.\n\nIt was not till the dawn broke that they rested on the mountain-side.\nThere they stayed till the pink stole through the grey, and the sky\ngleamed mother-o'-pearl. Then they rose and followed the stream that\ntrickled to the valley below. And now Nathos was glad.\n\n'Look, Deirdre, yonder stands the castle of the sons of Usna.' And with\nthat he gave a cry known by the brothers each of the other, and Ailne and\nArdan came forth gladly. But when they stood before Deirdre, so great was\ntheir wonder at her exceeding beauty, that they stood spell-bound and\nuttered no word.\n\nThen Nathos spake: 'The fair maiden whom ye behold is none other than\nDeirdre, the daughter of Felim the Harper. From this day I hold her as my\nwedded wife, and to you she cometh as a sister.'\n\nBut when the brothers heard, they were filled with fear, for had not the\nKing Concobar vowed that this same fair maid should be his Queen? And had\nnot the Wise Man foretold the sorrow that the daughter of Felim should\nbring upon the land?\n\n'I ask none to share the sorrow that may come,' said Nathos. 'To-morrow\nDeirdre and I set forth for the bay where our galley is harboured, and if\nso be that we gain the shores of Alba, before Concobar overtake us, there,\nif he come thither, shall he be met by a host of our own land. Yet, lest\nthe King should follow me hither, and, finding me not, seek to slay you,\nwere it not well that ye leave this place?'\n\nArdan spake: 'Not for fear of that which might come upon us, but for the\nlove we bear you and our fair sister Deirdre will we never leave thee. If\nsorrow come upon thee, let it be upon us also. Are we not the children of\none mother, and if death come, let us face it together like men. Are we\nnot under a bond that we will stand each by each, even unto death?'\n\nThen said Ailne, 'As Ardan hath spoken, so let it be, for although the\nwords of the Wise Man come to pass, and sorrow be upon us, yet will we not\nhenceforth leave thee.'\n\nBut when Deirdre heard how the sons of Usna would thus face death for her\nsake, she sighed aloud. 'Alas! it is not for me to bring sorrow upon the\nland. Let me even now return to the cottage in the forest, and there with\nLavarcam will I live and die, unless it be that Concobar take me thence.'\n\nBut Ardan answered: 'For fear of what may befall us, the sons of Usna,\nshalt thou never leave us, nor shalt thou go forth from us, but of thine\nown free will.'\n\nEarly next morning one hundred and fifty men rode with the three sons of\nUsna and Deirdre, the wife of Nathos, toward the bay where their black\ngalley was harboured. It was not till night, when on the high ridge of a\nhill, that they looked backward, and there in the far valley below, where\nstood the castle of the sons of Usna, they beheld a column of flame.\n\nAnd Nathos' brow grew dark. 'The fire that ye see in the valley below\ndevours the castle of the sons of Usna. The hand that lit the fire is none\nother than the hand of Concobar the King.'\n\nThen they rode on and rested not until they reached the black galley in\nthe golden bay. The scent of the sea and the gleam of its blue waters and\ndancing waves made them strong and glad and free.\n\nAs for Deirdre, who had never beheld the sea and its great wonders, she\nlaughed with joy and sang a song of the ocean which Lavarcam had taught\nher long since and when its meaning was dark.\n\nAt sundown the galley came to the shores of Mull, and because the wind\nfell they put into a bay, and as they gazed across the waters to the rocky\nheadlands of Alba, they talked long as to whither they should sail on the\nmorrow. Should it be to crave protection of the King, or should it be to\nwhere their father's castle had stood before it had been destroyed?\n\nBut that night there came a galley from the long island to the north. In\nit sailed twenty men with their chief. And with the chief came a\nrichly-clad stranger, but so hooded that none might look upon his face.\n\nSteadfastly did the stranger gaze upon Deirdre, as the chief urged the\nsons of Usna to cross the sea to Alba, and journey inland to the palace of\nthe King.\n\n'But first come, Nathos, to my high-walled castle,' said the stranger, 'and\nbring with thee thy wife and thy brothers.'\n\n'It were not well to come to a man's castle and know not the man's name,'\nsaid Nathos.\n\n'My name is Angus,' answered the stranger.\n\n'Then, Angus, let me behold thy face, for it were not well to come to a\nman's castle, having not looked upon the man's face.'\n\nSo Angus threw back his hood, and Nathos saw that Deirdre's lips grew\nwhite, as she said, 'Not to-morrow, Angus; but on the morn that follows,\nif thou wilt come again, then shalt thou lead us to thy high-walled\ncastle. This day have we travelled far and would fain rest.'\n\nBut Angus turned him again to the sons of Usna and pleaded that they\nshould linger no longer in the isle. 'To-night may this island be\ntempest-swept, to-night may the host of Concobar be upon you, and then\nwhat shall befall this fair one? Bring her rather to my castle, and there\nlet her rest in safety with my wife and her maidens.'\n\nBut as Nathos glanced at Deirdre, he saw that her purpose was firm, and he\nsaid once again the words she had spoken, 'Not tomorrow, Angus; but on the\nmorn that follows, if thou wilt come again, then shall we come with thee\nto thy high-walled castle'\n\nThen Angus, frowning, went with the chief and his men to their galley. And\nas they set sail he asked how many men the sons of Usna had with them. But\nwhen it was told him that they numbered one hundred and fifty, he said no\nmore, for there were but thirty that sailed with the chief, and what could\none man do against five?\n\nIt was not until the strangers had gone that Nathos asked Deirdre\nwherefore she delayed to visit so great a lord as Angus.\n\n'Thou shalt hear wherefore I went not this day, nor shall go on any day to\ncome to the castle of him who calleth himself Angus. So he calleth\nhimself, but in truth he is none other than the King of Alba. In a dream\nwas it so revealed unto me, when I saw him stand victorious over your dead\nbody. Nathos, that man would fain steal me from you, and deliver you into\nthe hands of Concobar.'\n\n'Deirdre hath wisdom,' said Ardan. 'By the morn after to-morrow we must be\nfar hence, for ere the sun shall rise may not yonder chief be upon us with\nthrice the number of our men?'\n\nAnd Nathos, though he was sore grieved for the weariness of Deirdre, bowed\nhis head. So they set sail, and through the thick mist of a starless night\ntheir galley silently breasted the unseen waves. But when they came north\nof the long island, they bent to their oars, and as they rowed yet\nnorthward Deirdre laughed again for joy, as she listened to the music of\nthe rowers' strokes.\n\nWhen dawn glimmered they came to a sea-loch, its waters o'ershadowed by\nthe sleeping hills. And there they were told that the King of Alba, who\nhad called himself Angus, had no castle in the west, and had already left\nfor Dunedin. They heard, too, that the chief who sailed with him to Mull\nwas no longer a great lord, and that they had nought to fear.\n\nGreatly did the sons of Usna rejoice, for now might they sail south to the\nland upon which their father's castle had stood in their boyhood.\n\nBut for eight days they lingered by the shores of the sea-loch, and as its\nsalt breath touched Deirdre's cheeks, she grew yet more fair, and as her\neyes drank in the glory of Western Alba, they shone with a radiance that\ndazzled the beholder.\n\nThen when the eighth day was come, they sailed forth and settled close by\nthe ground on which had stood their boyhood's home. And it was with great\njoy that those who dwelt on hill and shore heard of the return of the sons\nof Usna, and many gathered around them, doing homage.\n\nThen the hundred and fifty men whom Nathos had brought with him, sent he\nback to their own Green Isle.\n\n'And thou, Ailne, and thou, Ardan, will ye not also return? Here may\nDeirdre and I, with a few followers, dwell alone in safety.'\n\nBut his brothers would not leave Nathos, for were they not under a bond\nthat they would stand each by each, even unto death?\n\nAll through the winter they dwelt in peace and content. By day they would\nhunt and fish, and when night fell Deirdre let fall from her lips such\nwonder-stirring sounds that their heroic bosoms swelled with dreams of\nnoble deeds and high endeavour.\n\nBut when Spring burst upon the land with her blossom and her\nsinging-birds, it was told the sons of Usna that the King of Alba had\nsworn to burn to the ground every stone that stood on the land that had\nbeen their father's, and to slay Nathos, and wed the Star-eyed Deirdre.\n\nSo in their great galley they set forth, taking with them fifty men.\nNorthward they sailed, through narrow sea-lochs, until they reached the\nmountains that had been the childhood's home of their dead mother.\n\nOn the summit of a high hill stood the castle where she had once dwelt.\nNow it was forsaken of all save wandering shepherds and nesting birds, and\nhere, in all the glory of spring, did the sons of Usna make their home.\nNor was it long before the chiefs of the mountain-lands swore allegiance\nto Nathos and did him homage, and he was as a king among the people of his\nmother's land.\n\nAnd while yet the wild thyme bloomed, word was brought to the sons of Usna\nthat the King of Alba was dead, and that the King who now reigned would\nfain sign a bond of friendship with Nathos and his brothers.\n\nAnd the bond was signed, and for three years the sons of Usna dwelt in\npeace and great joy. In the north they rested while yet the mountain-sides\nwere aglow with the purple and gold of heather and bracken, but ever\nbefore the first frosts came would they sail south to the land that the\nbrave Usna had ruled, where now they could dwell in safety and in peace.\n\nThence ofttimes in the young summer would they sail southwards. No bluer\nblue, no greener green, had it been given mortal eye to behold. And\nthroughout the land of Alba was it told of the fame of the sons of Usna,\nand no poet or bard had a song so fair as that which sang of the wondrous\nbeauty of Deirdre.\n\n[Illustration: Thence ofttimes in the young summer would they sail\nsouthward]\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn his dazzling palace in the Green Isle of Erin, Concobar dwelt with\ngloomy thoughts of vengeance. This Nathos who had stolen Deirdre from the\nforest beyond the Moor of Loneliness should no longer be suffered to live\nin peace. He should surely die, and Deirdre the Star-eyed should yet be\nConcobar's Queen.\n\nAnd the King made a feast so magnificent that such had never been seen in\nthe Green Isle. And to it were called all the princes and nobles of the\nland over which Concobar held sway.\n\nIt was in the midst of the feast, as they sat around the board, that a\nhush fell upon the great company, while Concobar spoke to them of his\ndiscontent. 'It is not meet that these three heroes of the realm, Nathos,\nArdan and Ailne, should be exiled from our isle for the sake of a woman,\nbe she fair as May. Should dark days befall, sore would be our need,\ntherefore let the sons of Usna be brought hither from their northern\nmountain home.'\n\nAt these words great was the joy of all, for there was not one but knew\nthat it was for fear of the pitiless anger of Concobar that Nathos had\nfled from the Green Isle.\n\n'Go forth,' said Concobar, when he saw the gladness of the people, 'go\nhence to Alba and come not again until ye bring with you the three sons of\nUsna.'\n\nThen spake one among them, 'Right gladly we go, but who can bring to thee\nNathos, if it be not his will?'\n\n'He who loves me most,' answered the King, 'he it is that will fail not to\nbring with him the exiled heroes.'\n\nAnd after the feast the King drew aside a warrior prince, and spake thus:\n'Were I to send thee to Alba to the sons of Usna, and if at my command\nthou didst see them slain before thee, what then wouldst thou do?'\n\n'Then, O King, would I slay those who did the monstrous deed, even were it\nat thy command.'\n\nAgain the King called to him a warrior prince. To him he spake as to the\nfirst. And this prince made answer, 'If by thy command I saw the sons of\nUsna lie dead before me, then woe be upon thee, for with mine own hand\nshould I take thy life.'\n\nThen spake the King likewise to Fergus, and Fergus answered, 'Let what may\nbefall the sons of Usna, never shall my hand be lifted against the King.'\n\n'To thee, good Fergus, do I intrust this thing. Go thou to Alba and bring\nhither with thee Nathos, and Ailne, and Ardan. And when thou art come\nagain to Erin, keep thou thy bond to feast at the house of Borrach, but\nthe three sons of Usna send thou straightway hither.'\n\nSo it was that on the morrow Fergus set sail in a black barge for Alba,\ntaking with him but his two sons and a steersman.\n\nThe bloom of early summer made bright the earth, and Nathos and his\nbrothers had not yet left their father's home for the castle in the north.\nBut the days were hot, and they had pitched three tents on the seashore,\none for Nathos and Deirdre, one for Ailne and Ardan, and one in which to\neat and to drink. It was on a bright noon that Nathos and Deirdre sat\nbefore the tents, playing chess.\n\nThe chess-board was of ivory, the chessmen were of wrought gold, and they\nhad belonged to Concobar, for on the day before the sons of Usna fled from\nAlba, the King had been hunting by their castle, and there had he left the\nboard and men.\n\nAs Nathos and Deirdre played, of a sudden was a cry heard from adown the\nshore.\n\n'Yonder is the voice of a man of Erin,' said Nathos, as they paused in\ntheir game.\n\nAgain a loud cry, and the sons of Usna were called by name.\n\n'Yea, most truly is that the cry of a man of Erin.'\n\nBut Deirdre said, 'Nay, thou dreamest, Nathos. Let us play on.'\n\nThen nearer and clearer came a third cry, and there was none but knew that\nit was indeed the voice of a man of Erin.\n\n'Go, Ardan,' said Nathos, 'go to the harbour, and there welcome Fergus\nfrom the Green Isle, for he indeed it is and none other.'\n\nBut when Ardan went, Nathos saw that Deirdre's lips grew pale and a great\nfear looked out from her eyes.\n\n'What terror is it that hath hold of thee?' he asked.\n\n'Hath it not been revealed to me in a dream, O Nathos, that this Fergus\nwho should come with honey-sweet words hath in his mind the shedding of\nour blood?'\n\nEven as she spake Ardan led Fergus to where the two sat on either side of\nthe chess-board.\n\nEagerly did the exiled sons of Usna beg for tidings of their friends in\nthe Green Isle.\n\n'I come to you,' said Fergus, 'with greetings from Concobar the King. Fain\nwould he see once more in Erin the fairest and bravest heroes of his\nrealm. Peace he would pledge with you, and great shall be your welcome, if\nye will come back with me.'\n\nBut before the brothers could answer, Deirdre spake. 'Here in Alba is\nNathos now lord over lands wider than the realm of Concobar. Wherefore\nthen should he seek forgiveness of the King?'\n\n'Yet,' replied Fergus, 'Erin is the land of his adoption. Since his\nboyhood's days Nathos has been a hero in the Green Isle, and it were well\nthat he should yet rejoice in the land, and, if need be, defend it still.'\n\n'We have two lands,' said Ardan, 'and both are dear unto us. Yet, if\nNathos will go with thee to Erin, so also will Ailne and I, myself.'\n\n'I will go,' said Nathos, but he looked not at his star-eyed wife as he\nspake the words.\n\nThat night all rejoiced save Deirdre. Heavy was her heart as she thought\nshe would never again, in shadow or in sunlight, rest in the land of Alba\nof the lochs.\n\nOn the morrow they set sail, and swiftly the galley bore them to the\nshores of the Green Isle. And when Deirdre stood once more on the soil of\nher own land, then was her heart glad, and for a brief space she\nremembered not her fears or her dreams.\n\nIn three days they came to the castle of Borrach, and there had Fergus to\nkeep his bond to feast with Borrach. 'For,' he said, turning to those with\nhim, 'my feast-bond I must keep, yet send I with you my two sons.'\n\n'Of a surety, Fergus, must thou keep thy feast-bond,' answered Nathos,\n'but as for thy sons, I need not their protection, yet in the company each\nof the other will we fare southward together.'\n\nBut as they went, Deirdre urged that they should tarry, and when they had\ngone further, Nathos found that his wife had vanished from his side. Going\nback he found her in deep sleep by the wayside.\n\nGently waking her, Nathos read terror in her starry eyes.\n\n'What aileth thee, my Queen?'\n\n'Again have I dreamed, O Nathos, and in my dream I saw our little company,\nbut as I looked, on the younger son of Fergus alone, was the head left\nupon his body. Turn aside, and let us go not to Concobar, or that thing\nwhich I saw in my dream, it shall come to pass.'\n\nBut Nathos feared not, for had not Fergus come to them with the bond of\npeace from the King?\n\nAnd on the morrow they came to the great palace.\n\nWhen it was told Concobar that the three sons of Usna and Deirdre the\nStar-eyed, and the two sons of Fergus were without, he ordered that they\nshould be taken into the House of the Red Branch. And he ordered, too,\nthat there should be given unto them of pleasant foods, and that all that\ndwelt in the castle should do them honour.\n\nBut when evening was come, and all the company was merry, Deirdre was\nwearied with journeying, and she lay upon a couch draped with deerskins,\nand played with Nathos upon the gold and ivory chess-board.\n\nAnd as Deirdre rested, the door opened, and there entered a messenger from\nthe King. And this messenger was none other than Lavarcam, who had been\nsent to discover if Deirdre were still as fair as in days of old. And when\nLavarcam beheld Deirdre, her eyes filled with tears. 'You do not well, O\nNathos, thus to play upon the chess-board which Concobar holds dearer than\naught else save Deirdre, thy wife. Both have ye taken from him, and here,\nwithin these walls, are ye now in his power.'\n\nOf a sudden Deirdre spake, her gaze fixed as if on some strange thing. 'I\nsee as in a dream. As in a dream I see three torches. The three torches\nare this night put out. The names on the torches are Nathos, Ailne, Ardan.\nAlas! it is but for the beauty of a woman that these brave ones perish.'\n\nThe sons of Usna were silent awhile, and the sons of Fergus spake not.\nThen said Nathos, 'It were better, Deirdre, to be a torch quenched for thy\nsake than to live for aught save thee. That which shall come, shall come.'\n\n'Now must I get me hence,' said Lavarcam, 'for Concobar awaiteth my\ncoming. But, sons of Usna, see ye well to it, that the doors and windows\nbe this night barred.'\n\nThen Lavarcam hastened to the King and told him how that the sons of Usna\nhad come to Erin to live peaceably, but how that the beauty of Deirdre had\nfaded until she was no longer fairest among women.\n\nThen was Concobar wroth, and he sent yet another messenger.\n\nTo this man he said, 'Who was it that slew thy father and thy brother?'\n\n'Nathos, son of Usna, O King!'\n\n'Then go thou to the House of the Red Branch, and bring me word hither if\nDeirdre be still the fairest among women.'\n\nAnd the man went. But when he found that bar and bolt were drawn across\ndoor and window, he knew well that the sons of Usna were warned of the\nwrath of the King. But espying one open window, he put his eye near to the\nlower corner that he might glance within. And Deirdre saw the man's eye,\nand told Nathos, and he, with the ivory bishop that was in his hand, took\naim as if with a javelin, and the chessman pierced the spy's eye, and it\nbecame blind.\n\nAnd the man returned to King Concobar and said, 'Of a surety Deirdre, the\nwife of Nathos, is yet of all fair women the most fair.'\n\nThen could not Concobar contain his wrath, but burst forth, 'Arise, ye\nUltonians; the fort that surroundeth the House of the Red Branch set ye in\nflames.'\n\nAnd the Ultonians set it in flames.\n\nThen came out the younger of the sons of Fergus from the burning fort, and\nhe rushed upon the Ultonians and killed three hundred men. And when King\nConcobar beheld the onslaught, he cried aloud, 'Who hath done this thing?'\n\nAnd when it was told him that it was the son of Fergus, he said, 'To such\na hero will I give the choice of lands, and he will be to me as a son, if\nhe will but forsake the sons of Usna.'\n\nAnd the son of Fergus made answer, 'I swear to abide by thee and to return\nnot to the House of the Red Branch.'\n\nAnd when he returned not, Deirdre, said, 'Even as Fergus hath deceived us,\neven so hath his son.'\n\nThen went forth the elder son of Fergus, and he fell upon the Ultonians,\nand there perished by his hand three hundred men. And when Concobar saw\nwho it was that had done this thing, he called his own son, who had been\nborn the same night as this son of Fergus. 'Take these, my magic arms,' he\ncried, 'and fall upon the foe.'\n\nThen did the son of Concobar strike with his enchanted weapons, and all\nthe waves of Erin thundered at the stroke. And a great warrior, hearing\nthe thunder, came riding across the plain, and in his hand he held a magic\nsword with blade of blue. Coming upon the fighting men, he rushed at the\nson of Fergus from behind, and thrust the blue blade through his heart. 'I\nwould that mine enemy had fought me fair,' said the dying man.\n\n'Who art thou?' asked the stranger.\n\nAnd the son of Fergus told his name, and of that which had come to pass in\nthe House of the Red Branch.\n\nThen answered the stranger, 'I shall not depart hence, no, not until the\nson of Concobar be slain in the dust'; and thereupon he rushed upon the\nKing's son, and with one stroke of the blue blade severed his head from\nhis body. So he departed, and soon the son of Fergus also lay dead.\n\nAnd now the Ulstermen surrounded the House of the Red Branch and set fire\nto its walls. But Ardan came forth, and put out the fire, and slew three\nhundred men, and after he had gone in, then came Ailne forth, and slew a\ncountless multitude beside.\n\nA glimmering ray of dim grey light now broke, and spread over the forms of\ndead and dying men.\n\nIt was at that hour that Nathos kissed Deirdre and went forth from the\nHouse. And there was not a man but quailed as the hero rushed upon the\nUltonians and slew a thousand men.\n\nWhen Concobar heard this, he sent for that Wise Man who in the house of\nFelim the Harper had foretold the sorrow that would come upon his realm.\n\nAnd when the old man had come, Concobar said, 'I swear that I mean no harm\nunto the sons of Usna, yet will they slay every Ultonian in the land.\nTherefore I would that thou wouldst help me by thy magic power.'\n\nAnd the Wise Man believed the words of Concobar, and he caused a hedge of\nspears to encircle the burning House. And as the flames rose higher the\nsons of Usna came forth with Deirdre the Star-eyed. And around her they\nplaced their shields, and they cleft a way through the Hedge of Spears and\ncame safely to the plain beyond.\n\n[Illustration: The Hedge of Spears]\n\nBut when the Wise Man saw that his magic availed nought, he laid upon the\nland yet another enchantment, for the plain upon which Deirdre stood with\nthe sons of Usna, he caused to be covered with tempestuous water.\n\nAnd the magic sea rose higher and yet more high, so that Nathos raised\nDeirdre on his shoulder, and there she rested, her white arms around the\nhero's neck.\n\nBut now the waters grew calm, and it was seen that drowning was not their\ndoom.\n\nThen, as the waters withdrew from the plain, soldiers came to bind Nathos,\nAilne, and Ardan, and to take them before the King. And Concobar commanded\nthat they should be slain before his eyes.\n\n'If such be our doom, then slay me first,' said Ardan, 'for I am the\nyoungest of Usna's sons.'\n\n'Nay,' said Ailne, 'but let the first blow fall upon me.'\n\nThen Nathos spake: 'It were not meet that we three, the sons of one\nmother, should be divided in death. Together have we sowed the seeds in\nthe springtime, side by side have we plucked the fruits of summer; autumn\nis still afar, yet must we be cut down as ripe corn. But let us fall each\nby each, that there may not be left the one to mourn the other. With this\nsword that was given me by a hero of the land may our heads at one stroke\nbe severed from our bodies.'\n\nWith that they laid their heads upon the block. A flash of the steel, and\nAlba was bereft of the fairest and noblest of her sons. And the air was\nrent with cries of lamentation.\n\nThen did a great champion ride across the plain, and to him did Deirdre\ntell of the fate of the sons of Usna. And under his care the star-eyed\nmaiden came where the heroes lay dead.\n\nAnd Deirdre kneeled, and she bent low over the head of Nathos, and kissed\nhis dead lips.\n\nThen, at the bidding of the champion, three graves were digged, and in\nthem, standing upright, were buried Nathos and Ailne and Ardan, and upon\nthe shoulders of each was his head placed.\n\nAnd as Deirdre gazed into the grave of Nathos, she moaned a lay which told\nof the brave deeds of the sons of Usna. It told, too, of her love for\nNathos, and as she ended the mournful strain, her heartstrings broke, and\nshe fell at the feet of her husband, and there did she die, and by his\nside was she buried.\n\nIn that same hour died the Wise Man; and as he died, he cried aloud, 'That\nwhich shall come, shall come.'\n\nAnd so it was, for on the morrow Concobar's host was scattered as autumn\nleaves, and the House of the Red Branch perished, and ere long Concobar\ndied in a madness of despair, and throughout the Green Isle was mourning\nand desolation.\n\nBut through the ages has the tale of the wondrous beauty of Deirdre been\nsung, and yet shall it be told again, for when shall the world tire of the\nsorrowfullest of 'The Three Sorrows of Story-telling,'--the Fate of the\nSons of Usna and of Deirdre the Star-eyed?\n\n\n\nTHE FOUR WHITE SWANS\n\n\nIn the days of long ago there lived in the Green Isle of Erin a race of\nbrave men and fair women--the race of the Dedannans. North, south, east,\nand west did this noble people dwell, doing homage to many chiefs.\n\nBut one blue morning after a great battle the Dedannans met on a wide\nplain to choose a King. 'Let us,' they said, 'have one King over all. Let\nus no longer have many rulers.'\n\nForth from among the Princes rose five well fitted to wield a sceptre and\nto wear a crown, yet most royal stood Bove Derg and Lir. And forth did the\nfive chiefs wander, that the Dedannan folk might freely say to whom they\nwould most gladly do homage as King.\n\nNot far did they roam, for soon there arose a great cry, 'Bove Derg is\nKing. Bove Derg is King.' And all were glad, save Lir.\n\nBut Lir was angry, and he left the plain where the Dedannan people were,\ntaking leave of none, and doing Bove Derg no reverence. For jealousy\nfilled the heart of Lir.\n\nThen were the Dedannans wroth, and a hundred swords were unsheathed and\nflashed in the sunlight on the plain. 'We go to slay Lir who doeth not\nhomage to our King and regardeth not the choice of the people.'\n\nBut wise and generous was Bove Derg, and he bade the warriors do no hurt\nto the offended Prince.\n\nFor long years did Lir live in discontent, yielding obedience to none. But\nat length a great sorrow fell upon him, for his wife, who was dear unto\nhim, died, and she had been ill but three days. Loudly did he lament her\ndeath, and heavy was his heart with sorrow.\n\nWhen tidings of Lir's grief reached Bove Derg, he was surrounded by his\nmightiest chiefs. 'Go forth,' he said, 'in fifty chariots go forth. Tell\nLir I am his friend as ever, and ask that he come with you hither. Three\nfair foster-children are mine, and one may he yet have to wife, will he\nbut bow to the will of the people, who have chosen me their King.'\n\nWhen these words were told to Lir, his heart was glad. Speedily he called\naround him his train, and in fifty chariots set forth. Nor did they\nslacken speed until they reached the palace of Bove Derg by the Great\nLake. And there at the still close of day, as the setting rays of the sun\nfell athwart the silver waters, did Lir do homage to Bove Derg. And Bove\nDerg kissed Lir and vowed to be his friend for ever.\n\nAnd when it was known throughout the Dedannan host that peace reigned\nbetween these mighty chiefs, brave men and fair women and little children\nrejoiced, and nowhere were there happier hearts than in the Green Isle of\nErin.\n\nTime passed, and Lir still dwelt with Bove Derg in his palace by the Great\nLake. One morning the King said, 'Full well thou knowest my three fair\nfoster-daughters, nor have I forgotten my promise that one thou shouldst\nhave to wife. Choose her whom thou wilt.'\n\nThen Lir answered, 'All are indeed fair, and choice is hard. But give unto\nme the eldest, if it be that she be willing to wed.'\n\nAnd Eve, the eldest of the fair maidens, was glad, and that day was she\nmarried to Lir, and after two weeks she left the palace by the Great Lake\nand drove with her husband to her new home.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\nHappily dwelt Lir's household and merrily sped the months. Then were born\nunto Lir twin babes. The girl they called Finola, and her brother did they\nname Aed.\n\nYet another year passed and again twins were born, but before the infant\nboys knew their mother, she died. So sorely did Lir grieve for his\nbeautiful wife that he would have died of sorrow, but for the great love\nhe bore his motherless children.\n\nWhen news of Eve's death reached the palace of Bove Derg by the Great Lake\nall mourned aloud for love of Eve and sore pity for Lir and his four\nbabes. And Bove Derg said to his mighty chiefs, 'Great indeed is our\ngrief, but in this dark hour shall Lir know our friendship. Ride forth,\nmake known to him that Eva, my second fair foster-child, shall in time\nbecome his wedded wife and shall cherish his lone babes.'\n\nSo messengers rode forth to carry these tidings to Lir, and in time Lir\ncame again to the palace of Bove Derg by the Great Lake, and he married\nthe beautiful Eva and took her back with him to his little daughter,\nFinola, and to her three brothers, Aed and Fiacra and Conn.\n\nFour lovely and gentle children they were, and with tenderness did Eva\ncare for the little ones who were their father's joy and the pride of the\nDedannans.\n\nAs for Lir, so great was the love he bore them, that at early dawn he\nwould rise, and, pulling aside the deerskin that separated his\nsleeping-room with theirs, would fondle and frolic with the children until\nmorning broke.\n\nAnd Bove Derg loved them well-nigh as did Lir himself. Ofttimes would he\ncome to see them, and ofttimes were they brought to his palace by the\nGreat Lake.\n\nAnd through all the Green Isle, where dwelt the Dedannan people, there\nalso was spread the fame of the beauty of the children of Lir.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\nTime crept on, and Finola was a maid of twelve summers. Then did a wicked\njealousy find root in Eva's heart, and so did it grow that it strangled\nthe love which she had borne her sister's children. In bitterness she\ncried, 'Lir careth not for me; to Finola and her brothers hath he given\nall his love.'\n\nAnd for weeks and months Eva lay in bed planning how she might do hurt to\nthe children of Lir.\n\nAt length, one midsummer morn, she ordered forth her chariot, that with\nthe four children she might come to the palace of Bove Derg.\n\nWhen Finola heard it, her fair face grew pale, for in a dream had it been\nrevealed unto her that Eva, her step-mother, should that day do a dark\ndeed among those of her own household. Therefore was Finola sore afraid,\nbut only her large eyes and pale cheeks spake her woe, as she and her\nbrothers drove along with Eva and her train.\n\nOn they drove, the boys laughing merrily, heedless alike of the black\nshadow resting on their step-mother's brow, and of the pale, trembling\nlips of their sister. As they reached a gloomy pass, Eva whispered to her\nattendants, 'Kill, I pray you, these children of Lir, for their father\ncareth not for me, because of his great love for them. Kill them, and\ngreat wealth shall be yours.'\n\nBut the attendants answered in horror, 'We will not kill them. Fearful, O\nEva, were the deed, and great is the evil that will befall thee, for\nhaving it in thine heart to do this thing.'\n\nThen Eva, filled with rage, drew forth her sword to slay them with her own\nhand, but too weak for the monstrous deed, she sank back in the chariot.\n\nOnward they drove, out of the gloomy pass into the bright sunlight of the\nwhite road. Daisies with wide-open eyes looked up into the blue sky\noverhead. Golden glistened the buttercups among the shamrock. From the\nditches peeped forget-me-not. Honeysuckle scented the hedgerows. Around,\nabove, and afar, carolled the linnet, the lark, and the thrush. All was\ncolour and sunshine, scent and song, as the children of Lir drove onward\nto their doom.\n\nNot until they reached a still lake were the horses unyoked for rest.\nThere Eva bade the children undress and go bathe in the waters. And when\nthe children of Lir reached the water's edge, Eva was there behind them,\nholding in her hand a fairy wand. And with the wand she touched the\nshoulder of each. And, lo! as she touched Finola, the maiden was changed\ninto a snow-white swan, and behold! as she touched Aed, Fiacra, and Conn,\nthe three brothers were as the maid. Four snow-white swans floated on the\nblue lake, and to them the wicked Eva chanted a song of doom.\n\n[Illustration: As she touched Aed, Fiacra, and Conn, the three brothers\nwere as the maid]\n\nAs she finished, the swans turned towards her, and Finola spake:\n\n'Evil is the deed thy magic wand hath wrought, O Eva, on us the children\nof Lir, but greater evil shall befall thee, because of the hardness and\njealousy of thine heart.' And Finola's white swan-breast heaved as she\nsang of their pitiless doom.\n\nThe song ended, again spake the swan-maiden. 'Tell us, O Eva, when death\nshall set us free.'\n\nAnd Eva made answer, 'Three hundred years shall your home be on the smooth\nwaters of this lone lake. Three hundred years shall ye pass on the stormy\nwaters of the sea betwixt Erin and Alba, and three hundred years shall ye\nbe tempest-tossed on the wild Western Sea. Until Decca be the Queen of\nLargnen, and the good Saint come to Erin, and ye hear the chime of the\nChrist-bell, neither your plaints nor prayers, neither the love of your\nfather Lir, nor the might of your King, Bove Derg, shall have power to\ndeliver you from your doom. But lone white swans though ye be, ye shall\nkeep for ever your own sweet Gaelic speech, and ye shall sing, with\nplaintive voices, songs so haunting that your music will bring peace to\nthe souls of those who hear. And still beneath your snowy plumage shall\nbeat the hearts of Finola, Aed, Fiacra and Conn, and still for ever shall\nye be the children of Lir.'\n\nThen did Eva order the horses to be yoked to the chariot, and away\nwestward did she drive.\n\nAnd swimming on the lone lake were four white swans.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen Eva reached the palace of Bove Derg alone, greatly was he troubled\nlest evil had befallen the children of Lir.\n\nBut the attendants, because of their great fear of Eva, dared not to tell\nthe King of the magic spell she had wrought by the way. Therefore Bove\nDerg asked, 'Wherefore, O Eva, come not Finola and her brothers to the\npalace this day?'\n\nAnd Eva answered, 'Because, O King, Lir no longer trusteth thee, therefore\nwould he not let the children come hither.'\n\nBut Bove Derg believed not his foster-daughter, and that night he secretly\nsent messengers across the hills to the dwelling of Lir.\n\nWhen the messengers came there, and told their errand, great was the grief\nof the father. And in the morning with a heavy heart he summoned a company\nof the Dedannans, and together they set out for the palace of Bove Derg.\nAnd it was not until sunset as they reached the lone shore of Lake Darvra,\nthat they slackened speed.\n\nLir alighted from his chariot and stood spellbound. What was that\nplaintive sound? The Gaelic words, his dear daughter's voice more\nenchanting even than of old, and yet, before and around, only the lone\nblue lake. The haunting music rang clearer, and as the last words died\naway, four snow-white swans glided from behind the sedges, and with a wild\nflap of wings flew toward the eastern shore. There, stricken with wonder,\nstood Lir.\n\n'Know, O Lir,' said Finola, 'that we are thy children, changed by the\nwicked magic of our step-mother into four white swans.' When Lir and the\nDedannan people heard these words, they wept aloud.\n\nStill spake the swan-maiden. 'Three hundred years must we float on this\nlone lake, three hundred years shall we be storm-tossed on the waters\nbetween Erin and Alba, and three hundred years on the wild Western Sea.\nNot until Decca be the Queen of Largnen, not until the good Saint come to\nErin and the chime of the Christ-bell be heard in the land, not until then\nshall we be saved from our doom.'\n\nThen great cries of sorrow went up from the Dedannans, and again Lir\nsobbed aloud. But at the last silence fell upon his grief, and Finola told\nhow she and her brothers would keep for ever their own sweet Gaelic\nspeech, how they would sing songs so haunting that their music would bring\npeace to the souls of all who heard. She told, too, how, beneath their\nsnowy plumage, the human hearts of Finola, Aed, Fiacra, and Conn should\nstill beat--the hearts of the children of Lir. 'Stay with us to-night by\nthe lone lake,' she ended, 'and our music will steal to you across its\nmoonlit waters and lull you into peaceful slumber. Stay, stay with us.'\n\nAnd Lir and his people stayed on the shore that night and until the\nmorning glimmered. Then, with the dim dawn, silence stole over the lake.\n\nSpeedily did Lir rise, and in haste did he bid farewell to his children,\nthat he might seek Eva and see her tremble before him.\n\nSwiftly did he drive and straight, until he came to the palace of Bove\nDerg, and there by the waters of the Great Lake did Bove Derg meet him.\n'Oh, Lir, wherefore have thy children come not hither?' And Eva stood by\nthe King.\n\nStern and sad rang the answer of Lir. 'Alas! Eva, your foster-child, hath\nby her wicked magic changed them into four snow-white swans. On the blue\nwaters of Lake Darvra dwell Finola, Aed, Fiacra, and Conn, and thence come\nI that I may avenge their doom.'\n\nA silence as the silence of death fell upon the three, and all was still\nsave that Eva trembled greatly. But ere long Bove Derg spake. Fierce and\nangry did he look, as, high above his foster-daughter, he held his magic\nwand. Awful was his voice as he pronounced her doom. 'Wretched woman,\nhenceforth shalt thou no longer darken this fair earth, but as a demon of\nthe air shalt thou dwell in misery till the end of time.' And of a sudden\nfrom out her shoulders grew black, shadowy wings, and, with a piercing\nscream, she swirled upward, until the awe-stricken Dedannans saw nought\nsave a black speck vanish among the lowering clouds. And as a demon of the\nair do Eva's black wings swirl her through space to this day.\n\nBut great and good was Bove Derg. He laid aside his magic wand and so\nspake: 'Let us, my people, leave the Great Lake, and let us pitch our\ntents on the shores of Lake Darvra. Exceeding dear unto us are the\nchildren of Lir, and I, Bove Derg, and Lir, their father, have vowed\nhenceforth to make our home for ever by the lone waters where they dwell.'\n\nAnd when it was told throughout the Green Island of Erin of the fate of\nthe children of Lir and of the vow that Bove Derg had vowed, from north,\nsouth, east, and west did the Dedannans flock to the lake, until a mighty\nhost dwelt by its shores.\n\nAnd by day Finola and her brothers knew not loneliness, for in the sweet\nGaelic speech they told of their joys and fears; and by night the mighty\nDedannans knew no sorrowful memories, for by haunting songs were they\nlulled to sleep, and the music brought peace to their souls.\n\nSlowly did the years go by, and upon the shoulders of Bove Derg and Lir\nfell the long white hair. Fearful grew the four swans, for the time was\nnot far off, when they must wing their flight north to the wild sea of\nMoyle.\n\nAnd when at length the sad day dawned, Finola told her brothers how their\nthree hundred happy years on Lake Darvra were at an end, and how they must\nnow leave the peace of its lone waters for evermore.\n\nThen, slowly and sadly, did the four swans glide to the margin of the\nlake. Never had the snowy whiteness of their plumage so dazzled the\nbeholders, never had music so sweet and sorrowful floated to Lake Darvra's\nsunlit shores. As the swans reached the water's edge, silent were the\nthree brothers, and alone Finola chanted a farewell song.\n\nWith bowed white heads did the Dedannan host listen to Finola's chant, and\nwhen the music ceased and only sobs broke the stillness, the four swans\nspread their wings, and, soaring high, paused but for one short moment to\ngaze on the kneeling forms of Lir and Bove Derg. Then, stretching their\ngraceful necks toward the north, they winged their flight to the waters of\nthe stormy sea that separates the blue Alba from the Green Island of Erin.\n\nAnd when it was known throughout the Green Isle that the four white swans\nhad flown, so great was the sorrow of the people that they made a law that\nno swan should be killed in Erin from that day forth.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\nWith hearts that burned with longing for their father and their friends,\ndid Finola and her brothers reach the sea of Moyle. Cold and chill were\nits wintry waters, black and fearful were the steep rocks overhanging\nAlba's far-stretching coasts. From hunger, too, the swans suffered. Dark\nindeed was all, and darker yet as the children of Lir remembered the still\nwaters of Lake Darvra and the fond Dedannan host on its peaceful shores.\nHere the sighing of the wind among the reeds no longer soothed their\nsorrow, but the roar of the breaking surf struck fresh terror in their\nsouls.\n\nIn misery and terror did their days pass, until one night the black,\nlowering clouds overhead told that a great tempest was nigh. Then did\nFinola call to her Aed, Fiacra, and Conn. 'Beloved brothers, a great fear\nis at my heart, for, in the fury of the coming gale, we may be driven the\none from the other. Therefore, let us say where we may hope to meet when\nthe storm is spent.'\n\nAnd Aed answered, 'Wise art thou, dear, gentle sister. If we be driven\napart, may it be to meet again on the rocky isle that has ofttimes been\nour haven, for well known is it to us all, and from far can it be seen.'\n\nDarker grew the night, louder raged the wind, as the four swans dived and\nrose again on the giant billows. Yet fiercer blew the gale, until at\nmidnight loud bursts of thunder mingled with the roaring wind, but, in the\nglare of the blue lightning's flashes, the children of Lir beheld each the\nsnowy form of the other. The mad fury of the hurricane yet increased, and\nthe force of it lifted one swan from its wild home on the billows, and\nswept it through the blackness of the night. Another blue lightning flash,\nand each swan saw its loneliness, and uttered a great cry of desolation.\nTossed hither and thither, by wind and wave, the white birds were\nwell-nigh dead when dawn broke. And with the dawn fell calm.\n\nSwift as her tired wings would bear her, Finola sailed to the rocky isle,\nwhere she hoped to find her brothers. But alas! no sign was there of one\nof them. Then to the highest summit of the rocks she flew. North, south,\neast, and west did she look, yet nought saw she save a watery wilderness.\nNow did her heart fail her, and she sang the saddest song she had yet\nsung.\n\nAs the last notes died Finola raised her eyes, and lo! Conn came slowly\nswimming towards her with drenched plumage and head that drooped. And as\nshe looked, behold! Fiacra appeared, but it was as though his strength\nfailed. Then did Finola swim toward her fainting brother and lend him her\naid, and soon the twins were safe on the sunlit rock, nestling for warmth\nbeneath their sister's wings.\n\nYet Finola's heart still beat with alarm as she sheltered her younger\nbrothers, for Aed came not, and she feared lest he were lost for ever.\nBut, at noon, sailing he came over the breast of the blue waters, with\nhead erect and plumage sunlit. And under the feathers of her breast did\nFinola draw him, for Conn and Fiacra still cradled beneath her wings.\n'Rest here, while ye may, dear brothers,' she said.\n\nAnd she sang to them a lullaby so surpassing sweet that the sea-birds\nhushed their cries and flocked to listen to the sad, slow music. And when\nAed and Fiacra and Conn were lulled to sleep, Finola's notes grew more and\nmore faint and her head drooped, and soon she too slept peacefully in the\nwarm sunlight.\n\nBut few were the sunny days on the sea of Moyle, and many were the\ntempests that ruffled its waters. Still keener grew the winter frosts, and\nthe misery of the four white swans was greater than ever before. Even\ntheir most sorrowful Gaelic songs told not half their woe. From the fury\nof the storm they still sought shelter on that rocky isle where Finola had\ndespaired of seeing her dear ones more.\n\nSlowly passed the years of doom, until one mid-winter a frost more keen\nthan any known before froze the sea into a floor of solid black ice. By\nnight the swans crouched together on the rocky isle for warmth, but each\nmorning they were frozen to the ground and could free themselves only with\nsore pain, for they left clinging to the ice-bound rock the soft down of\ntheir breasts, the quills from their white wings, and the skin of their\npoor feet.\n\nAnd when the sun melted the ice-bound surface of the waters, and the swans\nswam once more in the sea of Moyle, the salt water entered their wounds,\nand they well-nigh died of pain. But in time the down on their breasts and\nthe feathers on their wings grew, and they were healed of their wounds.\n\nThe years dragged on, and by day Finola and her brothers would fly toward\nthe shores of the Green Island of Erin, or to the rocky blue headlands of\nAlba, or they would swim far out into a dim grey wilderness of waters. But\never as night fell it was their doom to return to the sea of Moyle.\n\n[Illustration: They would swim far out into a dim grey wilderness of\nwaters]\n\nOne day, as they looked toward the Green Isle, they saw coming to the\ncoast a troop of horsemen mounted on snow-white steeds, and their armour\nglittered in the sun.\n\nA cry of great joy went up from the children of Lir, for they had seen no\nhuman form since they spread their wings above Lake Darvra, and flew to\nthe stormy sea of Moyle.\n\n'Speak,' said Finola to her brothers, 'speak, and say if these be not our\nown Dedannan folk.' And Aed and Fiacra and Conn strained their eyes, and\nAed answered, 'It seemeth, dear sister, to me, that it is indeed our own\npeople.'\n\nAs the horsemen drew nearer and saw the four swans, each man shouted in\nthe Gaelic tongue, 'Behold the children of Lir!'\n\nAnd when Finola and her brothers heard once more the sweet Gaelic speech,\nand saw the faces of their own people, their happiness was greater than\ncan be told. For long they were silent, but at length Finola spake.\n\nOf their life on the sea of Moyle she told, of the dreary rains and\nblustering winds, of the giant waves and the roaring thunder, of the black\nfrost, and of their own poor battered and wounded bodies. Of their\nloneliness of soul, of that she could not speak. 'But tell us,' she went\non, 'tell us of our father, Lir. Lives he still, and Bove Derg, and our\ndear Dedannan friends?'\n\nScarce could the Dedannans speak for the sorrow they had for Finola and\nher brothers, but they told how Lir and Bove Derg were alive and well, and\nwere even now celebrating the Feast of Age at the house of Lir. 'But for\ntheir longing for you, your father and friends would be happy indeed.'\n\nGlad then and of great comfort were the hearts of Finola and her brothers.\nBut they could not hear more, for they must hasten to fly from the\npleasant shores of Erin to the sea-stream of Moyle, which was their doom.\nAnd as they flew, Finola sang, and faint floated her voice over the\nkneeling host.\n\nAs the sad song grew fainter and more faint, the Dedannans wept aloud.\nThen, as the snow-white birds faded from sight, the sorrowful company\nturned the heads of their white steeds from the shore, and rode southward\nto the home of Lir.\n\nAnd when it was told there of the sufferings of Finola and her brothers,\ngreat was the sorrow of the Dedannans. Yet was Lir glad that his children\nwere alive, and he thought of the day when the magic spell would be\nbroken, and those so dear to him would be freed from their bitter woe.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\nOnce more were ended three hundred years of doom, and glad were the four\nwhite swans to leave the cruel sea of Moyle. Yet might they fly only to\nthe wild Western Sea, and tempest-tossed as before, here they in no way\nescaped the pitiless fury of wind and wave. Worse than aught they had\nbefore endured was a frost that drove the brothers to despair. Well-nigh\nfrozen to a rock, they one night cried aloud to Finola that they longed\nfor death. And she, too, would fain have died.\n\nBut that same night did a dream come to the swan-maiden, and, when she\nawoke, she cried to her brothers to take heart. 'Believe, dear brothers,\nin the great God who hath created the earth with its fruits and the sea\nwith its terrible wonders. Trust in Him, and He will yet save you.' And\nher brothers answered, 'We will trust.'\n\nAnd Finola also put her trust in God, and they all fell into a deep\nslumber.\n\nWhen the children of Lir awoke, behold! the sun shone, and thereafter,\nuntil the three hundred years on the Western Sea were ended, neither wind\nnor wave nor rain nor frost did hurt to the four swans.\n\nOn a grassy isle they lived and sang their wondrous songs by day, and by\nnight they nestled together on their soft couch, and awoke in the morning\nto sunshine and to peace. And there on the grassy island was their home,\nuntil the three hundred years were at an end. Then Finola called to her\nbrothers, and tremblingly she told, and tremblingly they heard, that they\nmight now fly eastward to seek their own old home.\n\nLightly did they rise on outstretched wings, and swiftly did they fly\nuntil they reached land. There they alighted and gazed each at the other,\nbut too great for speech was their joy. Then again did they spread their\nwings and fly above the green grass on and on, until they reached the\nhills and trees that surrounded their old home. But, alas! only the ruins\nof Lir's dwelling were left. Around was a wilderness overgrown with rank\ngrass, nettles, and weeds.\n\nToo downhearted to stir, the swans slept that night within the ruined\nwalls of their old home, but, when day broke, each could no longer bear\nthe loneliness, and again they flew westward. And it was not until they\ncame to Inis Glora that they alighted. On a small lake in the heart of the\nisland they made their home, and, by their enchanting music, they drew to\nits shores all the birds of the west, until the lake came to be called\n'The Lake of the Bird-flocks.'\n\nSlowly passed the years, but a great longing filled the hearts of the\nchildren of Lir. When would the good Saint come to Erin? When would the\nchime of the Christ-bell peal over land and sea?\n\nOne rosy dawn the swans awoke among the rushes of the Lake of the\nBird-flocks, and strange and faint was the sound that floated to them from\nafar. Trembling, they nestled close the one to the other, until the\nbrothers stretched their wings and fluttered hither and thither in great\nfear. Yet trembling they flew back to their sister, who had remained\nsilent among the sedges. Crouching by her side they asked, 'What, dear\nsister, can be the strange, faint sound that steals across our island?'\n\nWith quiet, deep joy Finola answered, 'Dear brothers, it is the chime of\nthe Christ-bell that ye hear, the Christ-bell of which we have dreamed\nthrough thrice three hundred years. Soon the spell will be broken, soon\nour sufferings will end.' Then did Finola glide from the shelter of the\nsedges across the rose-lit lake, and there by the shore of the Western Sea\nshe chanted a song of hope.\n\nCalm crept into the hearts of the brothers as Finola sang, and, as she\nended, once more the chime stole across the isle. No longer did it strike\nterror into the hearts of the children of Lir, rather as a note of peace\ndid it sink into their souls.\n\nThen, when the last chime died, Finola said, 'Let us sing to the great\nKing of Heaven and Earth.'\n\nFar stole the sweet strains of the white swans, far across Inis Glora,\nuntil they reached the good Saint Kemoc, for whose early prayers the\nChrist-bell had chimed.\n\nAnd he, filled with wonder at the surpassing sweetness of the music, stood\nmute, but when it was revealed unto him that the voices he heard were the\nvoices of Finola and Aed and Fiacra and Conn, who thanked the High God for\nthe chime of the Christ-bell, he knelt and also gave thanks, for it was to\nseek the children of Lir that the Saint had come to Inis Glora.\n\nIn the glory of noon, Kemoc reached the shore of the little lake, and saw\nfour white swans gliding on its waters. And no need had the Saint to ask\nwhether these indeed were the children of Lir. Rather did he give thanks\nto the High God who had brought him hither.\n\n[Illustration: It was Saint Kemoc]\n\nThen gravely the good Kemoc said to the swans, 'Come ye now to land, and\nput your trust in me, for it is in this place that ye shall be freed from\nyour enchantment.'\n\nThese words the four white swans heard with great joy, and coming to the\nshore they placed themselves under the care of the Saint. And he led them\nto his cell, and there they dwelt with him. And Kemoc sent to Erin for a\nskilful workman, and ordered that two slender chains of shining silver be\nmade. Betwixt Finola and Aed did he clasp one silver chain, and with the\nother did he bind Fiacra and Conn.\n\nThen did the children of Lir dwell with the holy Kemoc, and he taught them\nthe wonderful story of Christ that he and Saint Patrick had brought to the\nGreen Isle. And the story so gladdened their hearts that the misery of\ntheir past sufferings was well-nigh forgotten, and they lived in great\nhappiness with the Saint. Dear to him were they, dear as though they had\nbeen his own children.\n\nThrice three hundred years had gone since Eva had chanted the fate of the\nchildren of Lir. 'Until Decca be the Queen of Largnen, until the good\nSaint come to Erin, and ye hear the chime of the Christ-bell, shall ye not\nbe delivered from your doom.'\n\nThe good Saint had indeed come, and the sweet chimes of the Christ-bell\nhad been heard, and the fair Decca was now the Queen of King Largnen.\n\nSoon were tidings brought to Decca of the swan-maiden and her three\nswan-brothers. Strange tales did she hear of their haunting songs. It was\ntold her, too, of their cruel miseries. Then begged she her husband, the\nKing, that he would go to Kemoc and bring to her these human birds.\n\nBut Largnen did not wish to ask Kemoc to part with the swans, and\ntherefore he did not go.\n\nThen was Decca angry, and swore she would live no longer with Largnen,\nuntil he brought the singing swans to the palace. And that same night she\nset out for her father's kingdom in the south.\n\nNevertheless Largnen loved Decca, and great was his grief when he heard\nthat she had fled. And he commanded messengers to go after her, saying he\nwould send for the white swans if she would but come back. Therefore Decca\nreturned to the palace, and Largnen sent to Kemoc to beg of him the four\nwhite swans. But the messenger returned without the birds.\n\nThen was Largnen wroth, and set out himself for the cell of Kemoc. But he\nfound the Saint in the little church, and before the altar were the four\nwhite swans. 'Is it truly told me that you refused these birds to Queen\nDecca?' asked the King.\n\n'It is truly told,' replied Kemoc.\n\nThen Largnen was more wroth than before, and seizing the silver chain of\nFinola and Aed in the one hand, and the chain of Fiacra and Conn in the\nother, he dragged the birds from the altar and down the aisle, and it\nseemed as though he would leave the church. And in great fear did the\nSaint follow.\n\nBut lo! as they reached the door, the snow-white feathers of the four\nswans fell to the ground, and the children of Lir were delivered from\ntheir doom. For was not Decca the bride of Largnen, and the good Saint had\nhe not come, and the chime of the Christ-bell was it not heard in the\nland?\n\nBut aged and feeble were the children of Lir. Wrinkled were their once\nfair faces, and bent their little white bodies.\n\nAt the sight Largnen, affrighted, fled from the church, and the good Kemoc\ncried aloud, 'Woe to thee, O King!'\n\nThen did the children of Lir turn toward the Saint, and thus Finola spake:\n'Baptize us now, we pray thee, for death is nigh. Heavy with sorrow are\nour hearts that we must part from thee, thou holy one, and that in\nloneliness must thy days on earth be spent. But such is the will of the\nHigh God. Here let our graves be digged, and here bury our four bodies,\nConn standing at my right side, Fiacra at my left, and Aed before my face,\nfor thus did I shelter my dear brothers for thrice three hundred years\n'neath wing and breast.'\n\nThen did the good Kemoc baptize the children of Lir, and thereafter the\nSaint looked up, and lo! he saw a vision of four lovely children with\nsilvery wings, and faces radiant as the sun; and as he gazed they floated\never upward, until they were lost in a mist of blue. Then was the good\nKemoc glad, for he knew that they had gone to Heaven.\n\nBut, when he looked downward, four worn bodies lay at the church door, and\nKemoc wept sore.\n\nAnd the Saint ordered a wide grave to be digged close by the little\nchurch, and there were the children of Lir buried, Conn standing at\nFinola's right hand, and Fiacra at her left, and before her face her twin\nbrother Aed.\n\nAnd the grass grew green above them, and a white tombstone bore their\nnames, and across the grave floated morning and evening the chime of the\nsweet Christ-bell.\n\n\n\nDERMAT AND GRANIA\n\n\nIt was at Tara that King Cormac would hold a great meeting, and the chiefs\nand nobles of the land were gathered together there.\n\nBut ere the business of the day was begun, it was told that two warriors\nwere without and would talk with the King.\n\nThen did Cormac welcome the messengers, and when he heard that they came\nfrom the broad hill slopes of Allen and bore a message from Finn, their\nKing, he said that the meeting should not be held that day, but that he\nwould speak with the warriors alone.\n\nAnd after they had eaten and drunk, Cormac bade them tell their errand.\n\nThen spake Oisin, the son of Finn, and he told how his mother had long\nbeen dead, and how his father would fain marry Grania, the fair daughter\nof Cormac.\n\nBut Cormac made answer, 'Scarce in all Erin is there a prince that hath\nnot sought in marriage the hand of my daughter, but she hath refused them\nall. For this cause have I their ill-will, for the Princess hath ever made\nme tell how none had won her favour. Wherefore shall I bring you to my\ndaughter's presence, that from her own lips ye may hear the answer that ye\nshall carry to your King.'\n\nSo Cormac went with Oisin the son of Finn and with Dering his friend to\nthe sunny room of the Princess. And Cormac sat by Grania on the couch and\ntold her wherefore the champions were come.\n\n[Illustration: Grania]\n\nAnd Grania, giving little heed to the matter, made answer, 'If Finn be a\nfitting son-in-law for my father, the King, then may he well be a worthy\nhusband for me.'\n\nWhen Oisin the son of Finn and Dering his friend heard these words they\nwere glad, for they knew not how little thought the Princess gave to her\nwords.\n\nAnd Cormac made a feast for the champions, and ere they departed he told\nthem that after two weeks Finn should come thither.\n\nSo the warriors bade farewell to the palace of Cormac and went back to\nAllen, and there they told Finn that after two weeks he should go to Tara\nand wed the fair Grania.\n\nSlow sped the days, but when they were passed, Finn, with many chiefs and\nnobles as his guard, marched to Tara. And there Cormac received him right\nroyally and made ready a great feast. On his right hand sat Finn and on\nhis left the Queen. And next the Queen sat Grania.\n\nNow it chanced that the chief who sat on the other side of Grania was a\nstory-teller, and the Princess listened gladly to the tales he told.\n\nBut when he ceased from his tales Grania asked, 'Wherefore is it that Finn\nhath come hither to feast?'\n\nAnd the chief, filled with wonder that the Princess should question him\nthus, made answer, 'Of a truth hath Finn come hither this day to claim\nthee for his wife.'\n\nThen Grania bethought her of the words she had spoken to Oisin the son of\nFinn and to Dering his friend, and of how she spake without heed. And now\nwas Finn come hither to seek her for his wife.\n\nA long, deep silence fell upon the Princess, while her eyes roved among\nthe goodly company.\n\nAt length she turned again to the chief who sat next her. 'Of this goodly\ncompany,' she said, 'I know none save Oisin the son of Finn and Dering his\nfriend. Tell me, I pray thee, who sitteth yonder by Oisin's side?'\n\nAnd the chief told his name and sang his praise.\n\nAgain Grania asked, 'And who, I pray thee, sitteth by his side?'\n\nAnd the chief told his name and sang his praise.\n\nAfterwards Grania sought of the chief the names of many of the nobles, and\nhe told her, and he told too of the deeds they had done.\n\nThen the Princess called her handmaid and said, 'Bring me from my room the\njewelled drinking horn.' And the handmaiden brought it and Grania filled\nit to the brim and said, 'Take it to Finn, and say that I would have him\ndrink from it.'\n\nAnd Finn drank from the drinking horn, and then passed it to Cormac the\nKing. And the King drank from it and also the Queen.\n\nThen again Grania filled the drinking horn to the brim, and yet again,\nuntil all whom she wished to drink had drunk from it. And it was not long\nuntil a deep sleep had fallen upon all who had drunk.\n\nGrania then rose slowly from her seat and crossed the hall to where Dermat\nsat, for Dermat, of those nobles that Finn brought with him, pleased her\nthe best. And to him she spake thus:\n\n[Illustration: Dermat]\n\n'Dermat, it is from the champion who sat next me that I have learnt thy\nname, but ere I knew it I loved thee. From the sunny window of my chamber\ndid I not watch thee on the day of the hurling-match? No part didst thou\ntake in the contest till, seeing the game go against the men of Allen,\nthou didst rush into the crowd, and three times didst thou win the goal.\nMy heart went out to thee that day, and now do I know that thee only do I\nlove. Sore is my distress for the heedless words I spake which have\nbrought Finn hither. Older is he than Cormac my father, and him will I not\nwed. Therefore, I pray thee, flee with me hence.'\n\nSore troubled was Dermat as he listened to these words, and at length he\nreplied, 'Unworthy am I of thy love, and there is not a stronghold in Erin\nthat would shelter us from the wrath of Finn were this thing to be.'\n\nWhen Grania heard the words that Dermat spake, she said, 'I place thee\nunder a solemn vow that thou follow me from Tara ere Finn shall wake. And\nthou knowest there is no true hero but will hold his vow binding even unto\ndeath.'\n\n'Even though we so willed it,' replied Dermat, 'could we not escape from\nTara, for Finn hath in his keeping the keys of the great gate.'\n\n'Yet canst thou escape if thou wilt,' said Grania, 'for a champion such as\nthou canst bound over the highest wall in Erin. By the wicket-gate leading\nfrom my chamber shall I go forth, and if thou followest me not, alone\nshall I flee from the sight of Finn.' And having spoken thus, Grania went\nforth from the hall.\n\nThen was Dermat in sore plight, for he would not depart from the solemn\nvow that Grania had laid upon him, and yet he feared lest the Princess\nshould not escape the wrath of Finn.\n\nAnd he took counsel of the nobles who had come hither with Finn, and there\nwas not one but said, 'Even though death come of it, thou canst not depart\nfrom thy solemn vow.'\n\nThen Dermat arose, and when he was armed he bade his companions a tearful\nfarewell, for he knew they might see his face no more.\n\nForth he went, and with an exceeding light bound he cleared the rampart\nand alighted on the green grass beyond. And there Grania met him.\n\nAnd Dermat said to the Princess, 'Even now, I pray of thee, return to thy\nfather's home and Finn shall hear nought of this thing.'\n\nBut Grania's will was firm, and she said, 'I will not return now nor will\nI return hereafter, for death only shall part me and thee.'\n\n'Then go forward, O Grania,' said Dermat, and the two went forth.\n\nBut when they were scarce a mile from Tara Grania told Dermat that she was\nweary.\n\nAnd Dermat said, 'It is a good time to weary, O Grania. Get thee back to\nthine own household, for I plight thee the word of a true warrior that I\nwill not carry thee from thy father's house.'\n\n'Neither is there need,' answered Grania, 'for my father's horses are in a\nfenced meadow by themselves, and chariots also will ye find there. Yoke\ntwo horses to a chariot, and I will wait for thee on this spot until thou\novertake me again.'\n\nThen Dermat did as Grania said, and he brought the horses and the chariot,\nand they drove forth.\n\nBut when they came to the banks of the river Shannon, Dermat said, 'Now\nthat we have the horses it is easier for Finn to follow in our track.'\n\n'Then,' said Grania, 'leave the horses on this spot and I will journey on\nfoot henceforth.'\n\nAnd Dermat, when he saw that the Princess would not be moved, told her how\ngreat was his love for her, and how he would defend her even with his life\nfrom the wrath of Finn.\n\nAnd Dermat wed Grania, and they vowed solemn vows that they would be\nfaithful each to each even unto death.\n\nThen tenderly did Dermat lift his wife in his strong arms and bear her\nacross the ford, and neither the sole of her foot nor the hem of her\nmantle touched the stream.\n\nAfterwards Dermat led one of the horses across the ford, but the other he\nleft on the far side.\n\nDermat and Grania then walked until they came to a thick wood, and there\nDermat lopped branches from the trees and made a hut, and he made for\nGrania a bed of the soft rushes and of the tops of the birch.\n\nAnd there Grania rested, and there did Dermat bring to her food of the\nforest and water from a clear spring.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was early dawn at Tara when Cormac and Finn awoke from their deep\nsleep.\n\nWhen Finn found that Grania had fled with Dermat, great was his wrath, and\nhe called to him his nobles, and ordered them with all speed to follow in\nthe track of Dermat and Grania.\n\nAnd Finn went with them, nor was the track hard to follow until they came\nto the river Shannon, but there it was lost and no man could find it.\n\nThen was the wrath of Finn so great that he said he would hang his nobles,\nand not one would he spare, if they did not again find the track, and that\nwith all speed.\n\nSo, being sore afraid, they crossed the river, and when they had searched\nthey saw the horses one on either side, and they found, too, the spot\nwhere Dermat and Grania had turned from the river.\n\nAnd when they told Finn, he was content, for he knew of a surety that\nDermat and Grania hid in the deep wood.\n\nNow among the nobles were those who loved Dermat, and would fain save him\nfrom the hate of Finn. And one said, 'It behooveth us to send warning to\nDermat. Let us send to him Bran, the hound of Finn, for Bran loveth Dermat\nas though he were his own master.'\n\nAnd they called the hound and told him secretly what he should do.\n\nBran listened with ears erect, and then, losing no time, he followed the\ntrack, nor did he miss it once until it brought him unto the hut. And\ngoing in he found Dermat and Grania asleep, and he thrust his head into\nDermat's bosom.\n\nAnd Dermat woke with a start, and when he saw Bran there was no need for\nthe hound to tell whence he came.\n\nThen Dermat awoke his wife and told her that Finn was near.\n\nGreat fear looked from out the eyes of Grania when she heard, and she\nbegged that they might flee.\n\nBut Dermat answered, 'Were we to flee, yet would Finn overtake us, and it\nwere as ill to fall into his hands then as at this time, but neither he\nnor his men shall enter this hut without my leave.'\n\nStill Grania feared greatly, but she spake no further, for in Dermat's\neyes she read his gloom.\n\nWhile Bran still tarried by the hut, the nobles who loved Dermat thought\nof yet another warning to send their friend. They had with them a\nserving-man whose voice was so loud that it could be heard for many miles,\nand they made this man give three shouts that Dermat might hear.\n\nAnd when Dermat heard the shouts he said to Grania, 'Well I know whose is\nthe voice that shouteth, and full well I know that it cometh as a warning\nthat Finn is nigh.'\n\nThen great fear took hold of Grania, and she trembled, and again she said,\n'Let us flee, for how shall we withstand the wrath of Finn?'\n\nBut Dermat said, 'We will not flee, but neither Finn nor his men shall\nenter the hut without my leave.'\n\nThen was Grania filled with foreboding, yet spake she no further, for sad\nand stern was her husband's voice, and in his eyes she read his gloom.\n\nNow Finn, having reached the wood, sent forward his men, but when they\ncame to the thickest part of the forest they beheld a fence which no man\ncould break through or climb. For Dermat had cleared a space round his hut\nand around the space had he built the strong fence.\n\nThen the nobles climbed a high tree and from it did they look within the\nfence, and there they saw Dermat and with him a lady.\n\nBut for their love of Dermat did the nobles hide from Finn that they had\nseen his foe. And one said to him, 'Far would it be from the mind of\nDermat to await thee here, knowing as he does that his life is in peril.'\n\nThen did Finn's wrath wax strong, and he replied, 'That Dermat hath thee\nfor friend will avail him nought. Was it not to warn him that your\nserving-man gave three shouts, and was it not to warn him that ye sent\nunto him my dog Bran? Full well I know that Dermat is hid behind yonder\nstrong fence.'\n\nAnd Finn cried aloud, 'Which of us, Dermat, is it that speaketh truth? Art\nthou behind the fence?'\n\n'Thou, as ever, art right, O King,' cried Dermat. 'I am here, and with me\nis Grania, but none other shall come hither save with my leave.'\n\nNow in the circle fence were seven doors, and at each door did Finn place\nstrong men, so that Dermat should by no means escape.\n\nAnd Grania, when she heard Finn's voice, was filled with fear, and she\ntrembled greatly. Then Dermat kissed her three times and bade her be of\ngood cheer for all would yet be well.\n\nNow it was by Angus of Bruga that Dermat had been brought up. Most skilled\nin magic was this Angus, and to him was the plight of Dermat\nrevealed--Dermat, whom he loved as though he were his own son.\n\nSo Angus arose and travelled on the wings of the wind until he came to the\nhut where Dermat and Grania dwelt, and, unseen of Finn or his chiefs, he\nentered the dwelling.\n\nAnd Dermat, when he saw his foster-father, greeted him gladly and told him\nof the solemn vow which the Princess Grania had laid upon him, and how she\nwas his wedded wife. 'And now are we in sore strait, for Finn, whose will\nit was to marry Grania, hath pursued us and would fain take my life.'\n\n'No harm shall befall you,' said Angus, 'if ye will but shelter under my\nmantle, the one on the right side and the other on the left, for then will\nI bring you both forth from this place, and Finn shall know it not.'\n\nBut Dermat would not flee from Finn, yet it was his will that Grania\nshould go with Angus. 'And I will follow if it be that I leave this place\nalive, yet should I be slain, I pray thee, Angus, send the Princess to her\nfather and beg him that he deal gently with her.'\n\nThen Dermat kissed Grania, and Angus, having told the way that they would\ngo, placed the Princess beneath his mantle and was carried forth on the\nwings of the wind unseen of Finn.\n\nWhen Angus and Grania had gone, Dermat girded on his armour, and, deep in\nthought, he walked to one of the seven doors and asked who was without.\n\nAnd the answer came, 'True friends are we, and no harm shall befall thee,\nshouldst thou venture forth.'\n\nBut Dermat answered, 'I seek the door guarded by Finn, and by none other\nshall I leave this place.'\n\nAnd he came to another door and asked who was without, and again was it\ntold him, 'Thy bounden friends.'\n\nThen to the third, to the fourth, and to the fifth door did Dermat go, and\nat each was he told how the men without were willing to fight to the death\nfor their love of him.\n\nBut when Dermat came to the sixth door and asked by whom it was guarded,\nthe answer came, 'No friends of thine, for shouldst thou dare to venture\nforth, we will make thee a mark for our swords and spears.'\n\n'Cowards, no fear of you keepeth me from coming forth, but I crave not the\nblood of such as ye.'\n\nAnd he went to the seventh door and asked who was without. And the voice\nof Finn answered, 'He that hateth thee, and will sever thy head from thy\nbody shouldst thou dare to come forth.'\n\n'At length have I found the door I seek, for by the door that Finn\nguardeth, by it only shall I pass out.'\n\nBut Dermat, seeing of a sudden an unguarded spot, sprang with a light\nbound over the fence, and ran so swiftly that soon he was beyond the reach\nof sword or spear. And no man dared to follow Dermat. Nor did the hero\nrest until he came to the warm, well-lighted hut where Grania sat with\nAngus before a blazing fire.\n\nWhen Grania saw Dermat her heart leaped for joy. Then did he tell her his\ntidings from beginning to end, and after they had eaten they slept in\npeace until the morning brake.\n\nAnd while it was yet early Angus bid them farewell, and he left with them\nthis warning, knowing that Finn would pursue them still: 'Go into no tree\nthat has but one trunk; nor into any cave having but one opening; land on\nno island that has but one way leading to it; where you cook your food,\nthere eat it not; where you eat, sleep not there; and where you sleep\nto-night, rise not there to-morrow.' [Footnote: Angus meant that Dermat\nshould change his place of sleeping during the night.]\n\nAnd when Angus had left them, Dermat and Grania sorrowed after him, and it\nwas not long until they journeyed forth.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\nAll that befell Dermat and Grania cannot be told in this book, but of\nSharvan the giant and of the fairy quicken-tree you shall hear now.\n\nAfter many wanderings Dermat came with Grania to the wood where Sharvan\nguarded the quicken-tree. Honey-sweet were the berries of the tree, and\ngladness flowed through the veins of him who ate thereof. Though he were\none hundred years old, yet would he be but thirty so soon as he had eaten\nthree of the fairy berries.\n\nBy day Sharvan the giant sat at the foot of the tree, and by night he sat\nin a hut in its branches, and no man dared to come near. Fearful to behold\nand wicked was this Sharvan. One eye, one red eye gleamed from the middle\nof his black forehead. On his body was a girdle of iron, and from the\ngirdle was a heavy club hung by a heavy chain. And by magic was Sharvan\nsaved from death, for water would not drown him nor fire burn; neither was\nthere weapon, save one, that could wound the giant. The one weapon was\nSharvan's own club, for were he by it dealt three blows, his doom was\ncome.\n\nNow Dermat knew of the giant that guarded the fairy quicken-tree,\ntherefore he left Grania in shelter and went alone to the foot of the\ntree. And there sat Sharvan, for it was day.\n\nAnd Dermat told the giant how he would fain build a hut in the forest and\nhunt amid the woods.\n\nThen the giant, casting his red eye upon the champion, told him in surly\ntone that it mattered not to him who lived or hunted in the forest, so\nlong as he did not eat the berries of the quicken-tree.\n\nSo Dermat built a hut near to a clear well, and there he and Grania lived\nin peace for many days, eating the food of the forest and drinking water\nfrom the spring.\n\nNow it was at this time that two chiefs came to Finn on the green slopes\nof Allen. And when he asked them who they were and whence they came, they\ntold how they were enemies that would fain make peace.\n\nBut Finn answered, 'One of two things must ye bring hither would ye win\npeace from me. Either must ye bring me the head of a warrior or a handful\nof berries from the quicken-tree.'\n\nThen said Oisin the son of Finn, 'I counsel you, get ye hence, for the\nhead that the King seeketh from you is the head of Dermat, and were ye to\nattempt to take it, then would Dermat take yours, were ye twenty times the\nnumber that ye be. And as for the quicken-berries, know ye that they grow\non a fairy tree, guarded by the one-eyed giant Sharvan.'\n\nBut the two chiefs were firm and would not be moved, for it were better to\ndie in their quest than to return to the hilly slopes of Allen at enmity\nwith Finn. So they left the palace, and journeyed without rest until they\ncame to Dermat's hut by the clear well.\n\nNow Dermat, when he heard footsteps without, seized his weapons, and going\nto the door, asked of the strangers who they were and whence they came.\n\nAnd the chiefs told their names and for what cause they were come thither.\n\nThen Dermat said, 'I am not willing to give you my head, nor will you find\nit an easy matter to take it. Neither may ye hope to fare better in your\nquest of the quicken-berries, for the surly giant Sharvan guards the tree.\nFire will not burn him nor water drown, nor is there a weapon that hath\npower to wound him, save only his own club. Say, therefore, which ye will\ndo battle for first, my head or the quicken-berries?'\n\nAnd they answered, 'We will first do battle with thee.'\n\nSo they made ready, and it was agreed that they should use nought save\ntheir hands in the combat. And if Dermat were overcome then should his\nhead be taken by the chiefs to Finn; if they were overpowered then should\ntheir heads be forfeit to Dermat.\n\nBut the fight was short, for the chiefs were as children in the hands of\nthe hero, and he bound them sore in bitter bonds.\n\nNow when Grania heard of the quicken-berries she longed with a great\nlonging to taste them. At first she said nought for she knew how they were\nguarded by the surly giant Sharvan; but when she could hide her desire no\nlonger, she said to Dermat, 'So great is my longing for the berries of the\nquicken-tree that if I may not eat of them I shall surely die.'\n\nAnd Dermat, who would see no ill befall his dear wife, said he would bring\nher the berries.\n\nWhen the two chiefs heard this, they prayed Dermat to loose their bonds\nthat they also might fight the giant.\n\nBut Dermat answered, 'At the mere sight of Sharvan ye would flee, and even\nwere it not so I wish the aid of none.'\n\nThen the chiefs begged that they might see the fight, and Dermat gave them\nleave.\n\nWhen the champion came to the foot of the quicken-tree he found Sharvan\nthere, asleep. And he struck the giant a mighty blow to awake him.\n\nThen Sharvan raised his head, and, glaring at Dermat with his one red eye,\nsaid, 'There hath been peace betwixt us heretofore, wherefore should we\nnow depart from it?'\n\nAnd Dermat said, 'It is not to strive that I come hither, but to beg of\nthee berries from the quicken-tree, for Grania, my wife, longeth for them\nwith a great longing.'\n\nBut the giant answered, 'Though the Princess were at the point of death,\nyet would I not give her berries from the quicken-tree.'\n\nWhen Dermat heard this he said, 'It had pleased me well to remain at peace\nwith thee, but now must I take the berries from the tree whether it be thy\nwill or no.'\n\nAt these words Sharvan waxed exceeding wroth, and with his club did he\ndeal Dermat three sore blows. But the champion, recovering, sprang upon\nthe giant, and seizing his great club, he ceased not to belabour him until\nhe fell to earth a dead man.\n\nThen Dermat sat down to rest. And he told the captive chiefs to drag the\nbody of the giant into the wood and bury it, that Grania might not be\naffrighted. And when they had come back he sent for the Princess.\n\nAnd Grania, when she came to the quicken-tree, would not gather the fruit,\nfor she said, 'I will eat no berries save those plucked by the hand of my\nhusband.'\n\nSo Dermat plucked the berries, and Grania ate and was satisfied.\n\nThen the champion gave berries of the quicken-tree to the captive chiefs,\nsaying, 'Take these to Finn and so win your peace.' And this he said as\nthough they were free men.\n\nThey thanked the hero for his words, and also for the berries, which they\ncould not have got of themselves. Then having bid Dermat and Grania\nfarewell they journeyed forth towards the hilly slopes of Allen.\n\nWhen they were gone, Dermat and Grania went to the top of the\nquicken-tree, into the hut of Sharvan, and the berries below were but\nbitter compared to the berries that were above upon the tree.\n\nNow when Finn's two enemies were come to Allen he asked them how they had\nfared, and whether they had brought with them the head of Dermat or a\nhandful of berries from the quicken-tree.\n\nAnd they answered, 'Sharvan the giant is slain, and behold here we have\nbrought thee berries from the quicken-tree so that henceforth we may live\nat peace.'\n\nThen Finn took the berries in his hand, and when he had smelled them three\ntimes he said, 'Of a truth these be the berries of the quicken-tree, but\nnot of your own strength have ye gotten them. Full well I know that by\nDermat hath Sharvan the giant been slain, and from his hand have ye gotten\nthe berries. Therefore have ye no peace from me, and now shall I summon an\narmy that I may march to the wood of the quicken-tree, for there surely\ndoth Dermat dwell.'\n\nNow when Finn came with his army to the quicken-tree it was noon, and the\nsun shone with great heat.\n\nTherefore Finn said to his men, 'Under this tree shall we rest until the\nsun be set, for well I know that Dermat is among the branches. Bring\nhither a chess-board that I may play.'\n\nAnd Finn sat down to play against Oisin his son, but there were with Oisin\nthree nobles to help him, while Finn played without aid.\n\nWith care and with skill did they play, until at length Finn said to his\nson, 'I see one move, Oisin, that would win thee the game, yet is there\nnone of thine helpers that can show thee how thou mayest win.'\n\nThen Dermat, who had watched the game from among the branches overhead,\nspoke aloud to himself the move that should be played.\n\nAnd Grania sat by her husband ill at ease. 'It matters not, Dermat,' she\nsaid, 'whether Oisin win or lose the game, but if thou speakest so that\nthey hear, it may cost thee thy life.'\n\nYet did Dermat pay no heed to the counsel of Grania, but plucked a berry,\nand with it took aim so true that he hit the chessman that Oisin should\nmove.\n\nAnd Oisin moved the man and won the game.\n\nYet again did Finn play against Oisin and his friends, and once more had\nOisin to make but one move to win the game.\n\nThen did Dermat throw down a berry as before and it struck the right man.\n\nAnd Oisin moved the piece and won the game.\n\nA third time did Oisin, son of Finn, play against his father, and it fell\nas before, for once more he won with Dermat's aid. And this time the\nnobles raised a mighty cheer.\n\nBut Finn said, 'No marvel is it, Oisin, that thou hast won the game, for\nof a surety thou hast had the aid of Dermat who dwelleth amid the branches\nof the quicken-tree.' And looking up he said, 'Have I not, Dermat, spoken\ntruth?'\n\n'I have never known thy judgment err, O King,' replied Dermat. 'In truth I\ndwell here with Grania in the hut that was built by Sharvan the giant.'\n\nAnd they looked up, and through an opening in the branches they beheld\nDermat kiss Grania three times, for the Princess was in great fear.\n\nThen was Finn exceeding wroth, and he bade his men surround the tree, each\nholding the hand of each so that Dermat might by no means escape. And he\noffered great reward to any man that would go up into the tree and bring\nto him the hero's head or force him to come down.\n\nOne of Finn's men then spake: 'It was Dermat's father that slew my father,\ntherefore will I go up into the tree.' And he went up.\n\nNow it was revealed to Angus of Bruga that Dermat was in sore plight, and\non the wings of the wind he came to his aid, unseen of Finn or his chiefs.\nSo when the avenger climbed into the tree, Angus was there. And when\nDermat with a stroke of his foot flung his enemy to the ground, Angus\ncaused him to take the shape of Dermat, and for this reason Finn's men\nfell upon him and slew him.\n\nBut no sooner was he slain than he again took his own shape, and Finn knew\nthat Dermat was still alive in the quicken-tree. Then nine times did a man\nof Finn's army climb the tree, and nine times was he thrown to earth and\nkilled by his own friends. For each time did Angus cause the warrior to\ntake Dermat's shape.\n\nWhen Finn saw nine of his men lie dead before him his heart failed him,\nand his soul was filled with bitterness.\n\nAt this time Angus said that he would take Grania away with him. And\nDermat was content and said, 'If it be that I live until evening I will\nfollow thee, but if Finn killeth me, I pray thee send the Princess to her\nfather at Tara.'\n\nSo Angus flung his magic mantle around Grania, and on the wings of the\nwind they were carried to Bruga, unknown to Finn or his men.\n\nThen Dermat spake from the tree: 'Thou surely shalt not escape my\nvengeance, O Finn, nor shalt thou easily compass my death. Oft have I\ncleared the way for thee when thou didst go forth to battle, and oft have\nI sheltered thy retreat when thou didst quit the field. Yet art thou\nunmindful of mine help, and I swear that I will be avenged.'\n\nWhen the hero ceased from speaking, one of Finn's nobles said, 'Dermat\nspeaketh truth, now therefore grant him thy forgiveness.'\n\nBut Finn answered, 'I will not to the end of my life grant him\nforgiveness, nor shall he know rest or peace until he yieldeth to me his\nhead.'\n\nAgain the noble spake: 'Now pledge I thee the word of a true warrior that,\nunless the skies fall upon me or the earth open and swallow me up, no harm\nshall come nigh Dermat, for under my care I take his body and his life.'\nAnd looking up, the noble cried, 'O Dermat, I pledge thee my body and my\nlife that no ill shall befall thee this day, therefore come down out of\nthe tree.'\n\nThen Dermat rose and stood upon a high bough. With an airy, bird-like\nbound he sprang forward and alighted outside the circle formed by the men\nwho had joined hands, and was soon far beyond the reach of Finn.\n\nAnd the noble who saved him followed, and they came together to Bruga, and\nthere Angus and Grania met them, and the joy of the Princess cannot be\ntold.\n\nYet was it not long ere Dermat was again in sore strait, for Finn followed\nhim to Bruga, and with Finn came his old nurse. And she was a witch.\n\nNow it chanced on the day that they came thither that Dermat hunted alone\nin the wood. And the witch flew on the leaf of a yellow water-lily till\nshe came straight over the place where Dermat was. Then through a hole in\nthe leaf she aimed deadly darts at the hero, and though he was clad in\nstrong armour they did him great hurt.\n\nSo sore were his wounds that Dermat thought the witch would cause his\ndeath on the spot, unless he could pierce her through the hole in the\nleaf.\n\nTherefore he took his red javelin and cast it with all care. And so sure\nwas his aim that it reached the witch through the leaf, and she fell to\nthe ground dead. Then Dermat cut off her head and took it to Angus.\n\nEarly on the morrow Angus rose and went where Finn was, and he asked him\nif he would make peace with Dermat.\n\nAnd Finn, because he had now lost his witch-nurse as well as many men, was\nglad to make peace in whatever way Dermat might choose.\n\nThen Angus went to Cormac, and he too was glad to make peace with the\nhero.\n\nBut when Angus came to Dermat he said he would not make peace unless he\nreceived from Finn and from Cormac all the wide lands that he asked.\n\nAnd Cormac and Finn gave him the lands, and forgave him all he had done.\n\nThen was there at last peace between them, and Dermat and Grania built a\nhouse in Sligo, far from Cormac and Finn, and they called the name of\ntheir house Rath-Grania. And there were born unto them one daughter and\nfour sons.\n\nAnd it was said that there was not living in Erin a man richer than Dermat\nin gold and silver, in sheep and cattle herds.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow it fell on a day after many years that Grania sat as one in a dream.\nAnd Dermat asked his wife in what troublous thought she was lost, for he\nsaw well that she was ill at ease.\n\nAnd Grania answered, 'It seemeth not well to me that, having so great\nwealth, we live removed from the world, and welcome to our home neither my\nfather nor Finn, though with both are we now at peace.'\n\nDermat gave heed to the words of his wife and then spake thus: 'Of a truth\nthere is peace betwixt us, but thou knowest well that neither thy father\nthe King nor yet Finn bears me aught but ill-will, and for this cause have\nwe dwelt apart.'\n\n'Yet will time have softened their hearts,' replied Grania, 'and wouldst\nthou but make them a feast, so mightest thou win their favour and their\nlove.'\n\nAnd Dermat, because of the love he bore Grania, granted her wish, and for\na year they were making ready for the great feast.\n\nThen were messengers sent to bid thither Cormac and Finn. And they came,\nand with them their nobles, their horses and their dogs, and for a full\nyear they hunted and feasted at Rath-Grania.\n\nWhen a year had passed, it chanced one night that the distant yelping of a\nhound woke Dermat from his sleep, and Grania too awoke and in great fear\nsaid, 'Of a truth doth that sound forebode ill. Heed it not, but lie down\non thy bed and rest.'\n\nDermat lay down, but ere long he again heard the hound's voice. Then he\nstarted up, and made as though he would go to find for himself wherefore\nthe hound disturbed the silence of the night. But again Grania begged him\nto lie down and to give no heed to the matter.\n\nSo Dermat lay down and fell into a light sleep, and when the hound\nawakened him the third time it was broad day. And Grania, seeing that his\nmind was set, did not beg him longer to stay, yet, fearing danger, she\nbegged him to take with him his red javelin and his sword named 'The\nGreater Fury.'\n\nBut Dermat, deeming the matter light, took with him his yellow javelin and\nhis sword 'The Lesser Fury,' and leading his faithful hound by the chain,\nwent forth. And he did not rest till he came to the summit of a hill where\nhe found Finn, and of him he asked the meaning of the chase.\n\nAnd Finn answered that the men and hounds were tracking a wild boar which\nhad ofttimes been chased, but had always escaped. Even now was it coming\ntowards them, so it were well that they should betake themselves to some\nsafer spot.\n\nDermat knew no fear of the wild boar, and he would not leave the summit of\nthe hill where he stood. Yet did he pray Finn to leave with him his hound\nBran, that it might help his own dog were he in need.\n\nBut Finn would not leave Bran to be torn by the wild boar that could now\nbe seen coming towards them.\n\nSo Dermat stood alone on the summit of the hill, and he knew well it was\nthat he might meet his death that Finn's men did hunt the boar this day.\nYet would he not leave the hill, for if it were his fate to meet death,\nnought could save him from his doom.\n\nThen as the boar came rushing up the face of the hill, Dermat let loose\nhis good hound, but it, seeing the fearful monster, fled before him.\n\nAnd now Dermat knew that he would have need of his red javelin, and he\nsorrowed that he had given no heed to the counsel of Grania. Yet seizing\nhis yellow javelin he cast it with careful aim and it struck the boar in\nits forehead. But it fell harmless to the ground, doing the monster no\nhurt.\n\nThen Dermat drew his sword from its sheath, and with a mighty blow did he\nstrike at the boar's neck. But the sword broke in his hand, and the boar\nfelt not so much as a prick.\n\nNow was Dermat without any weapon save the hilt of his sword, and the boar\nmade a deadly onslaught, thrusting his tusk into the hero's side. But with\nthe strength that was left him Dermat flung the hilt of the sword at the\nbrute's head, and it pierced his skull and entered his brain, whereupon\nthe boar fell dead.\n\nBut so deep was the wound in Dermat's side that when Finn came to him he\nfound the hero near unto death.\n\nAnd Finn said, 'Now am I well content, for thine end hath come.'\n\n'Sure the words that thou speakest come not from thine heart,' answered\nDermat, 'for it is in thy power to heal me, and that thou knowest full\nwell.'\n\n'How might I heal thee?' asked Finn.\n\n'Thou knowest that power was given thee to heal him who might be at the\npoint of death. Let him but drink water from the palms of thy closed\nhands, and he is healed of his hurt.'\n\n'Yet wherefore should I heal thee who hast worked me nought but ill?'\n\n'Thou wouldst not speak thus wert thou mindful of the day when I saved\nthee from the flames. Thou wast bidden to a banquet, and ere the feast\nbegan the palace was set a-fire by those who wished thee ill. And I and my\nmen rushed forth and quenched the flames and slew thy foes. Had I begged\nwater from thy hands that night thou hadst not said me nay.'\n\n'Thou forgettest that but for thee the fair Grania were my wedded wife.'\n\n'Of a surety am I not blameworthy in this matter, O Finn, for Grania laid\nupon me a solemn vow that I should follow her from Tara ere thou shouldst\nwake from thy sleep. And I took counsel of many nobles, and there was not\none but said, \"Even though death come of it, thou canst not depart from\nthe solemn vow that Grania hath laid upon thee.\" And now, I pray of thee,\nlet me drink from thine hands, else surely death will overtake me in this\nplace. From many another deadly strait have I delivered thee, yet hast\nthou forgotten them all. But the hour will come when surely thou wilt need\nmy help shouldst thou let me die this day. Yet grieve I not to think that\nthou wilt be in deadly strait, but rather grieve I for those true heroes\nwhom I shall no longer aid.'\n\nThen one of the nobles, hearing these words, prayed Finn that he would let\nDermat drink from his hands.\n\nFinn replied, 'I know not of any well on this hill whence I can bring\nwater.'\n\nBut Dermat said, 'Right well thou knowest that hidden by yonder bush is a\nwell of crystal water. No more than nine paces must thou go to reach it.\nLet me, I pray thee, drink from thine hands.'\n\nThen Finn went to the well, and in his two hands tightly together did he\nbring the water towards Dermat. But as he came nearer he spilled it\nthrough his fingers, saying that he could not in such manner carry water\nso far.\n\nBut Dermat believed him not, and said, 'Of thine own will hast thou\nspilled the water. I pray thee go once more to the well and bring me to\ndrink, or I die.'\n\nAgain the King went to the well, and with failing sight did Dermat follow\nthe dripping hands that came nearer and yet more near. But of a sudden\nFinn thought of Grania, and a second time was the water spilled. And when\nDermat saw it, he uttered a piteous cry.\n\nThen were the champions no longer able to see Dermat in such grievous\nplight, and one said to Finn, 'I swear to thee that if thou bringest not\nwater to Dermat, thou shalt not leave this hill alive, save I be a dead\nman.'\n\nFinn, hearing these words and seeing their frowns, went a third time to\nfetch water from the well. And this time he made haste to bring it to\nDermat, but ere he had got half-way, the hero's head fell backward and he\ndied.\n\nThen were raised three long cries of sorrow for Dermat, who had been dear\nunto them all.\n\nAfter some time had passed Finn said, 'Let us leave this hill lest Angus\ncome, for he may not believe that it was not at our hands that Dermat met\nhis death.'\n\nSo Finn and his nobles left the hill, Finn leading Dermat's hound. But\nfour of the nobles turned back and laid their mantles over the champion.\nThen they once more followed the King.\n\nGrania sat that day on the highest tower of Rath-Grania, watching for\nDermat. The fear she had felt in the night would not be stilled, and when\nat length Finn came in sight, leading by the chain Dermat's hound, she\nknew that she would not henceforth see Dermat alive. And when the truth\nhad taken hold upon her, she fell in a swoon from the tower, and her\nhandmaiden stood over her in great fear.\n\nBut at length her eyes opened, and when it was told her that Dermat was\ndead she uttered a long, piercing cry, so that all flocked to hear what\nhad befallen the Princess. And when it was told that Dermat had been\nkilled by the wild boar, the air was rent with cries of lamentation.\n\nAt length, when silence had fallen upon her grief, Grania arose, and\nordered that five hundred men should go to the hill and bring to her the\nbody of Dermat. Then turning to Finn she begged of him to leave with her\nDermat's hound. And Finn would not. But a noble, hearing that Grania\nwished the hound took him from the hand of Finn and gave him to the\nPrincess.\n\nNow as the men left Rath-Grania to bring home the body of Dermat, it was\nrevealed to Angus of Bruga that the hero lay dead on the hill. And he at\nonce set out on the wings of the wind and reached the sorrowful place ere\nGrania's messengers had come there. And they, when they came, found Angus\nmourning over the body of Dermat, and he asked them wherefore they were\ncome.\n\nWhen it was told Angus that Grania had sent them to bring the body of\nDermat to Rath-Grania, he stayed for some time wrapt in thought. At length\nhe spake these words: 'Let it be told the Princess that I will take with\nme the body of Dermat to my home, that he may be preserved by my power as\nthough he still lived. For though I cannot bring him back to life, yet\neach day shall he speak with me for some space.'\n\nAnd Angus turned to his men that he had brought with him there and ordered\nthat Dermat's body should be placed on a golden bier, with the red and\nyellow javelins, one on either side, points upward. Thus was the dead hero\ncarried to the home of Angus.\n\nWhen Grania's messengers came back to her bringing not with them the body\nof Dermat, she was at first sore grieved. But when she heard how the hero\nlay on a golden bier in the keeping of his foster-father, and would each\nday speak with Angus for some space, then was she content, for she knew\nthat Angus loved Dermat as a father loveth his only son.\n\nAnd Grania sent messengers to her sons to bid them come to her. And when\nthey were come, she welcomed them gently and kissed them. Then with an\nexceeding loud and clear voice she said, 'O dear children, your father\nhath been slain by the will of Finn, though peace had been sworn between\nthem. Therefore get ye hence and avenge his death. And that ye may have\nsuccess in the battle, I will myself portion out among you your\ninheritance of arms, of arrows, and of sharp weapons. Spare none that\nwould do good to Finn, yet see ye to it that ye deal not treacherously\nwith any man. Hasten ye and depart.'\n\nThen the sons of Dermat bade their mother a tender farewell, and went\nforth to avenge their father's death.","title":"Celtic Tales, Told to the Children","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":22183}