Part 13

’Twas on a day Finn went to drink In Alve, with his people few; Six women and six men were there, The women fair, with whitest skin. Finn was there and guileless Diarmad, Caoilte and Ossian too, and Oscar, Conan the bald, slow in the field, With the wives of these six men; Maighinis the wife of dauntless Finn, The fair-bosomed maid, my own dear wife, Fair skin Gormlay, of blackest eye, Naoif, and the daughter of Angus. When drunkenness had the women seized, They had a talk among themselves: They said that throughout all the earth No six women were so chaste. Then said the maiden without guile, “The world is a many-sided heap; Though pure are ye, they are not few Women quite as chaste as you.” They had been a short time thus, When they saw a maid approach, Her covering a single seamless robe, Of spotless white from end to end; The maiden of the pure white robe Drew near to where M’Cumhal sat. She blessed the king of guileless heart, And close beside him there sat down. Finn asks her to give them her tale, The handsome maid of whitest hand: “Maid of the seamless robe, I ask, What virtue’s in thy spotless veil?” “My seamless robe has this strange power That women, such as are not chaste, Can in its folds no shelter find,-- None but the spotless wife it shields.” “Give my wife the robe at once,” Said the bulky, senseless Conan, “That we may learn what is the truth Of what the women just have said.” Then Conan’s wife does take the robe, And in vexation pulls it on; ’Twas truly pity it was done, Her fair-skinned breast was all exposed. Then when the bald-pate Conan saw How that the robe shrunk into folds, He seized in passion his sharp spear, And with it did the woman slay. Then the loved Diarmad’s wife The robe from Conan’s wife did take; No better did she fare than she, About her locks it clung in folds. Then Oscar’s wife seized on the robe, Which looked so long and softly smooth; But wide and large as were its wings, The robe her middle did not reach. Then fair Maighinis took the robe, And put it also o’er her head; The robe there creased and folded up, And gathered fast about her ears. “Give my wife the robe,” said Mac Rea, “For the result I have no fear, That we may see, without deceit, Of her merit further proof.” “I would pass my word for it, Though I claim not to be learned, That never have I once transgressed, I’ve been faithful aye to thee.” Mac Rea’s wife now showed her side, The robe was then put o’er her head; Her body was covered, feet and hands, None of it all was left exposed. Her bosom then one kiss received From Mac O’Duine, from Diarmad; The robe from her he then unfolds, From her who thus did stand alone. “Women, give me now my robe, I am the daughter of Deirg the fierce, I have done nought to cause me shame, I only erred with sharp-armed Finn.” “Bear thou my curse, and quick away,” These were then the words of Mac Cumhail. On women he denounced a curse, Because of her who came that day. ’Twas on a day.

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The expedition of eight I remember, Which oft returns to my mind; Some of their exploits I’ll relate, Though now my strength is all gone. Oscar and manly Caoilte were there, And Mac Luy of ceaseless praise; Finn and white-toothed Diarmad, Of the eight heroes these were five. There were myself and Ryno and Caroll, A gentle, matchless band; Bred were we all in Banva’s soil, These were the names of the eight. When we set forth, true the tale, ’Twas with a proud and manly step. From Mac Cumhal’s fort we set out, The expedition of eight I remember. First of all we made for Albain, ’Twas with a struggle we reached it, There a king fell by Mac Cumhal, The expedition of eight I remember. We then strove to get to Sasunn,[139] Exploits and slayings were there; Every stronghold was seized by Finn, The expedition of eight I remember. To Italy we then carried the battle, And fiercely fought in its harbours; Triumphs and treaties we had then, The expedition of eight I remember. In France did we then make war, Where we had many great hardships; Submission and treaties were made, The expedition of eight I remember. After that we fought in Spain, There we had prey and great spoil; I have traversed the earth in my day, The expedition of eight I remember. We next carried war to Britain, ’Twas fearful and full of danger; Yet did we earn a triumph, The expedition of eight I remember. We bore along “Crom nan carn,”[140] O’er the fierce, stormy sea; Every land made to us submission, The expedition of eight I remember. After it we led the chiefs, Most gentle and holy Patrick, Who made their submission to Finn, The expedition of eight I remember. Sanctify, O Patrick, my soul, Thou blessed and privileged man, For I have sinned in thy sight, The expedition of eight I remember. The expedition.

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Nine[141] of us once did bind ourselves To find material for a pup’s head, To find material for a dog-pup’s head; Though no attempt was more laborious. We searched the plain of Leny Leirg, And Glen Frenich of bloody swords; True, we found not there one hound From which we could obtain a pup. Then did we search a dark, black glen, A glen of deep corries, full of stones; True, we found not there one hound From which we could obtain a pup. We searched the Sian of Drum Cliff, Fair after it seemed the plain of Liff; True, we found not there one hound From which we could obtain a pup. We searched in Thurles of liberal hosts, In Bregian Tara and Dun Dobhran; True, we found not there one hound From which we could obtain a pup. We searched, too, through Glen a Cuaich, Looking out for something noble; True, we found not there one hound From which we could obtain a pup. We searched Moylena of slopes, Through Bregian Tara and Kinsale; True, we found not there one hound From which we could obtain a pup. We searched the whole of Eire, Men and dogs ranging together; True, we found not there one hound From which we could obtain a pup. Shortly were we thus engaged, Ourselves, our followers, and friends, When three battalions were seen, Sons to the King of Rualay.[142] Cat-headed one battalion was, Dog-headed was the one beside it; The other behind them was white-backed, Brown the rest, though white the back. Aloft the mighty javelin shone Of Finn, hero of bloody strength; Above his noble, murderous shield, He bore that spear of hundred fights. Bright was the glitter of the spear In the white hand of Finn himself. Beneath the shield of cheerful Caoilte Was the javelin, bloody in fight; The javelin glittering below, Held by Caoilte of joyful heart. Beneath his round and handsome shield Cruinchan’s son his javelin bore. Caoilte gave a loud, far-sounding shout, In distant Alvin it was heard, And in Magh Lena of sharp spears, In Tavar and in Dun Reillin. ’Twas answered loud by Gaul Mac Morn, The noble chief of Cronwoyn, Where Faolan, son of Finn, is found, The Balwas, too, from Borrin. ’Twas answered by Manwoe Breck’s two sons, And by Mac Elle from Uabreck, Fair Sciath, the son of Daithein Dian, And Ceall the brave, of sharp-edged arms. Keangach the bold gave answer too, And Iolunn of the bloody edge, And Ceall the brave, of handsome form, Who ne’er to scandal’s tale gave ear. Pleasing the sound of clashing spears, Pleasing, too, the hum of warriors, Of waving banners sweet the sound, As in morn’s frosty wind they rose. The “Image of the Sun”[143] we raised, The banner of great Fenian Finn, Studded all around with gold, Great was its price as red it gleamed. We raised “Fulang Duari”[144] aloft, The banner of great Gaul Mac Morn. Oft when the javelins were in motion, ’Twas both the first and last to move. Aloft we raised the “Mincheann Oir,” Banner of Ryno and his men; Under its folds were bones and heads Cloven, and ankles steeped in blood. The “Cineal chath” we also raised, The banner of the oaken Faolan; Finn’s son, chief of the Feinn, Who cast with powerful arm his spear. Then we raised aloft “Dun nimh,” The banner of Ossian of the brave; The banner of Mac Ronan, “the Red-hand,”[145] Whose other side was all adorned. “Sguab Ghabhaidh,” too, we raised aloft, Banner of the well-armed Oscar, When the stormy conflict raged, Oft was “Sguab Ghabhaidh” waving seen. The “Lia Luinneach” aloft we raised, The banner of nimble, powerful Diarmaid; Oft when the men began their march, ’Twas seen to flutter vigorously. Then was the “Bearn Reubainn” raised, Banner of Oscar, no saintly sign; The echo of the glens replied To its fierce sounds, waving on high. The “Bloody hand” aloft we raised, Banner of Mac Luy, and his men; When the Feinn went forth to fight, Its place was always in the van. Then did we fight a bloody fight, As round the noble Finn we stood, Round the steel of manly Finn, First of all the valorous Feinn. The whole of the Catheads were killed, The Dogheads we seized to a man; The whole of the Whitebacks fell Round dauntless Finn of Alvin. We found a little hill to the south, On which was built a double fort; There indeed we found a hound From which we could obtain a pup. The whole of Eire we had searched, All of us, both men and dogs. In all its length we could not find A hundred who could match our nine. Nine.

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Sweet is man’s voice in the land of gold, Sweet the sounds the birds produce, Sweet is the murmur of the crane, Sweet sound the waves at Bun Datreor, Sweet the soft murmuring of the wind, Sweet sounds the cuckoo at Cas a choin. How soft and pleasing shines the sun, Sweet the blackbird sings his song; Sweet the eagle’s voice of Easaroy, Above the sea of great Mac Morn; Sweet the cuckoo ’mongst the branches, Sweet the silence of the crane. Finn Mac Cumhail is my father, Who nobly leads the Feinn’s seven bands; When he his hounds lets loose to hunt, To follow him is truly sweet. Sweet.

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A noble tale of sweetest music, To Carn Vallar now I’ll bring; That whether others hear or not, It may be heard by Mac Cumhail. Mac Cumhail once had a feast On Almhuin’s slope, of finest gold; O’er the music he presided, Finn who ever graced the feast. Brave Oscar and Diarmad were there, And good Mac Luy, warriors bold; With other two who ne’er shunned fight, Conan himself, and with him Oscar. “Tell me now, my warriors brave, As at the feast of Finn ye sit, Which do ye count the sweetest music?” “The clang of gaming,” Conan said, “The sweetest sounds I ever heard.” Vigorous his arm before the foe, Yet ne’er a man who more lacked sense. “The sound of swords drawing on the foe,” Said he who never spared in fight, “Cleaving of men’s heads and legs,” The sweetest music Oscar heard. “The sounds which ever pleased me most,” Said Diarmad of slow rolling eye, “That I loved most all my life, Was woman’s voice, as soft she talked.” “My music, thou son of Morn,” Said Mac Luy of the glittering arms, “Is leaping ’midst the tumult of my dogs, As swift upon the deer they gain.” “’Tis this that music is for me,” Said Finn, the chief of all the host, “To have my banner in the wind, Heroes ranged by its golden side.” “When of the bards I had no fear, Ossian,” he said, as still he spoke; “And when my Feinn were still around me, Sweet its music in my ears.”

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A great feast was made by Finn,[146] I tell thee now, O tonsured Priest, Many were the men were there, Of the Feine of Alba and Erin. The great Mac Morn did ask Of the queen of whitest hand, “Did’st thou see so rich a feast Since thou cam’st ’mongst the Feine of Erin?” Finn of the Feine himself replied, Chiefest of all both east and west; He said she saw a richer feast Than any Fenian feast in Erin. We then saw coming from the waves A warrior tall, manly, fair-haired, No man was with him but himself, And a noble man he was. When he had come near the Feine, Thus did he mildly, wisely say, “Come, Finn, come along with me, And take with thee a hundred men; Thirty sons of the great Morn, Let them be the first around thee; One man and eight of thy own sons, Take them and Oscar of the Feine’s Fians; Let ten of the sons of Smoil be there, And twenty of the sons of Ronan; Let some of Muin’s sons be there, Other ten, not counting Diarmad; Take with thee Diarmad O’Duine, He who could either court or hunt, Both him and Caroll in thy ship; Let there be ten of men and crew, Of thy men take with thee nine, Of those whom thou’dst most like to have; Besides them all thyself, O Finn, Thou dauntless and well-armed man. Take o’er the waves a hundred men Of those that follow Finn Mac Cumhail, A hundred shields with golden studs, For Finn Mac Cumhail, Mac Tranevor. Take now with thee also, Finn, The two best hounds that are in Erin; Bran and Scoilean[147] take them with thee, The swiftest-footed of the pack. Have no fear about thee, Finn,” The tall and cheerful warrior said; “Let them all be brought in peace, And trouble not our men or ships.” “Foolish the speech thou now hast made, Thou man who cam’st amongst us; Wert thou to approach nearer Finn, Thy body soon would want its head.” “Little care I for what thou say’st, Bald-headed Conan of the gibes; Pity for thy friends that thou art there, Ugly and feeble as thou art.” “Rise ye up, ye sons of Boisgne,” Then spoke Conan, so well known; Each man did seize a hero’s arms, From every side the Fians came fast. Then fell there slain a son of Finn, One of the stalwart, white-hand Fians, A man of Mac Morn’s followers too, A vigorous hand ’midst battle’s blows. “Fergus, now go rouse thee up, And mingle boldly in the fight; Ask whether Gaul has aught to give To Conan, whom he knows so well.” “Let Finn himself then be the judge,” Said the great Gaul of mighty blows; “Conan or I shall take his head, Or else his brains we will dash out.” Fergus, Caol, and thirty are in the glen, Who never more shall see this earth, Unknown to all the Feine of Finn. Sad is my tale, O tonsured Priest. Much do I weary, valiant Priest, For now I never see the Feine, Hunting, as wont, from glen to glen, With herds of deer on every side. Much loved I Ossian, son of Finn, He only never yet forsook me; But above all the men I saw, Finn of the feasts I loved most. A great feast.

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’Tis sad that the hill of the Feine, Should now by the clerics be held, And that the songs of men of books Should fill the halls of clan Baoisgne. I myself was once in Rath Cruachan,[148] Happily beneath thy banks, I little thought I e’er should find A priest upon thy summit dwelling. There would be found my shield and spear, My dogs and hounds along thy ridge, Although to-night the Fenian hill Is under clerics and their crosiers. Were the sons of Morn alive, The priestly order soon must quit; You would find yourselves cut up, Ye men of the spotted crooks. Were Mac Luy alive, With his six heroes bold, Ere you had quitted the hill You’d find your garments curtailed. Were the sons of Ceard alive, Who never hypocrisy knew, Neither your bells nor crooks Would in place of their banners be found. Were the sons of Muin alive, Who knew no weakness in fight, Men would not see thy people So powerful amidst our hills. Were the sons of black Garry alive, Or Caoilte, who was ever so brave, Neither the sounds of bells or priests Would now be heard in Rath Cruachan. Were red-haired Ryno alive, And brave Caol, son of Revan, Thy books would not be so whole, Oh man, who readest the Bible. And for all thy hooked crosiers, Which have travelled over the earth, Thy staves would be in splinters, Were only brave Oscar alive. Thou of the yellow[149] garment, Who sittest so much at thine ease, ’Tis well for thee that Conan is dead, Else thou’dst feel the weight of his fist. Were the blue-eyed hero alive, Bald Conan, the son of the Feine, Cleric, though thy office be sacred, With his fist he’d strike thee down. Were the son of O’Duine alive, Thou man of the crooked staff, Thy staff should be all in shivers, Smashed at the pillar of stone. Thou man of the bell, I do think, If Daoruinn were now in life, Thy bell would be now in pieces, Scattered before the pillar. Were the red point seen, old man, Of the swift-flying spear of Mac Ronan, Thy bell would not be faintly sounding, Thou who sing’st the howling song. I cannot be joyful now, I see not Mac Cumhail in life, I see not Diarmad O’Duine, I see not Caoilte Mac Ronan. No wonder though I should be sad, As I sit on this mound, Patrick. I see not the son of Luy, I see not the hero so loved, I see not Fearluth by my side, I see not the Fenian Oscar; I see not warlike exercises, I see not the noble hounds; I see not the sons of Smoil, I see not Gaul of great feats, I see not the generous Faolan, I see not with him the Feine. I see not Fergus, my brother, So gentle and worthy of praise; I see not Daire of the songs, Whose music we always enjoyed. I see not Fatha[150] Canan, Whose presence filled us with joy; I see not one of our band, Whose noise was like thunder in war. I see neither music nor joy, I hear not if music there be, Ere I was laid in my cave Freely I scattered my gold. Patrick, I tell thee it now, If I chose my knowledge to give, That ’tis not in my power to relate How much of their joy I have seen. I and the mass-book clerics, Are two that can never agree. Though this night so mournful I am, I’m sad for the hill of Feine. ’Tis sad.

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I now will tell thee, O Grainne,[151] What I have seen with Mac Cumhail. The misery I suffer now I cannot much longer endure. I have seen sport and rejoicing ’Mongst those who now are despised. I have seen maidens and men, I now will tell thee, O Grainne. Courtesy and cheerfulness too, I’ve seen with feasts, steeds, and shouting. I’ve seen the violin played, I now will tell thee, O Grainne. Great Caoilte and Mac Luy, A couple who can’t be despised, We oft gained nought by their wrath. I now will tell thee, O Grainne. Gaul and Oscar and Ossian, A brood who did nought by halves; These all loved us well, I now will tell thee, O Grainne. Finn himself of fearless heart, Whose welcome was always sure, We’ve seen him cheerful too, I now will tell thee, O Grainne. I have in nine battles been, To me no joy is now left. Looking on nought but their graves, I now will tell thee, O Grainne. In wrath we crossed over hills, And over Banva’s fierce tops; Then in singing their praise, Employment was found for my lips. We feared for nought in the valleys, I now will tell thee, O Grainne. I was both long time and short Traversing Erin the fair; We were famous and powerful then, I now will tell thee, O Grainne. I now will tell.

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