Elves and Heroes

by Donald A. Mackenzie

A deep
Swift silence fell, like sudden sleep,
On all the Fians waiting there
In sharp suspense and half despair …
The morn was still. A skylark hung
In mid-air flutt'ring, and sung
A lullaby that grew more sweet
Amid the stillness, in the heat
And splendour of the sun: the lisp
Of faint wind in the herbage crisp
Went past them; and around the bare
And foam-striped sand-banks gleaming fair,
The faintly-panting waves were cast
By the wan deep fatigued and vast.

O great was Conn in that dread hour,
And all the Fians feared his power,
And watched, as in a darksome dream,
The warriors meet … They saw the gleam
Of swift, up-lifted swords, and then
A breathless moment came, as when
The lithe and living lightning's flash
Makes pause, until the thunder's crash
Is splintered through the air.

Loud o'er
The blue sea and the shining shore
Broke forth the crash of arms … The roll
Of Conn's fierce blows that baffled Goll
On sword and shield resounding rang,
While that old warrior stooped and sprang
Sideways, and swerved, or backward leapt,
As swiftly as the bronze blade swept
Above him and around … He swayed,
Stumbling, but rose … But, though his blade
Was ever nimble to defend,
The Fians feared the fight would end
In victory for Conn.

… 'Twas like
As when an eagle swoops to strike,
But swerves with flutt'ring wings, as nigh
Its head a javelin gleams … A cry
That banished fear of Conn's great blows
From out the Fian ranks arose,
As, like a plumed reed in a gust,
Goll suddenly stooped—a deadly thrust
That drew the first blood in the fray
He darting gave … With quick dismay
The valiant Conn drew back …

Again
He leapt at Goll, but sought in vain
To blind him with his blows that fell
Like snowflakes on a sullen well—
For Goll was calm, while great Conn raged,
As hour by hour the conflict waged;
He was a blast-defying tree—
A crag that spurned a furious sea,
And all the Fians with one mind
Set firm their faith in Goll

The wind
Rose like a startled bird from out
The heather at the huntsman's shout
In swift and blust'ring flight At noon
The sun rolled in a cloudy swoon
Dimly, and over the rolling deep
Gust followed gust with shadowy sweep;
And waves that streamed their snowy locks
Were tossing high against the rocks
Seaward, while round the sands ebbed wide
Scrambled the fierce devouring tide

O, Conn was like a hound at morn,
That springs upon an elk forlorn
Among the hills. He was a proud
Cascade that leaps a cliff with loud
Unspending fall So fierce, so fair
Was arrogant Conn, but Goll fought there
Keen-eyed, with ready guard, at bay—
He was as a boar in that fierce fray.

The waves were humbled on the shore,
And silent fell, amid the roar
And crash of battle Mute and still
The Fians watched; while on the hill
The little elves came out and gazed,
To be amused and were amazed …
They saw upon the shrinking sands
The warriors with restless hands
And busy blades, with shields that rose
To buffet the unceasing blows;
They saw before the rising flood
The flash of fire, the flash of blood;
And watched the men with panting breath,
Striving to be the slaves of death;
Now darting wide, now swerving round,
Now clashed together in a bound,
With splitting swords that smote so fast,
As hour by hour unheeded past.

The sands were torn and tossed like spray
Before the whirlwind of the fray,
That waged in fury till the sun
Sank, and the day's last loops were spun—
Then terrible was Goll … He rose
A tempest of increasing blows,
More furious and fast, as dim,
Uncertain twilight fell … More grim
And great he grew as, looming large,
He fought, and pressing to the marge
Of ocean, he o'erpowered and drave
The Viking hero back; till wave
O'er ready wave that hurried fleet,
Snuffled and snarled about their feet …

Then with a mighty shout that made
The rocks around him ring, his blade
Swept like a flash of fire to smite
The last fell blow in that fierce fight—
So great Conn perished like The Red
By Goll's left hand … his life-blood spread
Over the quenching sands where rolled
His head entwined with locks of gold.
Then passed like thunder o'er the sea
The Fian shout of victory.
And, trembling on the tossing ships,
The Vikings heard, with voiceless lips
And dim, despairing eyes … Alone
Stood Goll, and like a silent stone
Bulking upon a ben-side bare,
He bent above the hero fair—
Remembering the mighty Red,
And wondering that Conn lay dead.