Elves and Heroes

by Donald A. Mackenzie

When Ossian from Knockfarrel went, a band
Of merry maidens, trooping hand in hand,
Came forth, with laughing eyes and flowing hair,
To share the freedom of the morning air;
Adown the steep they went, and through the wood
Where Garry splintered logs in sullen mood—
Pining to join the chase! His wrath he wrought
Upon the trees that morn, as if he fought
Against a hundred foemen from the west,
Till he grew weary, and was fain to rest.

The maids were wont to shower upon his head
Their merry taunts, and oft from them he fled;
For of their quips and jests he had more fear
Than e'er he felt before a foeman's spear—
And so he chose to be alone.

The air
Was heavily laden with the odour rare
Of deep, wind-shaken fir trees, breathing sweet,
As through the wood, the maids, with silent feet,
Went treading needled sward, in light and shade,
Now bright, now dim, like flow'rs that gleam and fade,
And ever bloom and ever pass away …

Upon a fairy hillock Garry lay
In sunshine fast asleep: his head was bare,
And the wind rippling through his golden hair
Laid out the seven locks that were his pride,
Which one by one the maids securely tied
To tether-pins, while Garry, breathing deep,
Moaned low, and moved about in troubled sleep
Then to a thicket all the maidens crept,
And raised the Call of Warning … Garry leapt
From dreams that boded ill, with sudden fear
That a fierce band of foemen had come near—
The seven fetters of his golden hair
He wrenched off as he leapt, and so laid bare
A shredded scalp of ruddy wounds that bled
With bitter agony … The maidens fled
With laughter through the wood, and climb'd the path
Of steep Knockfarrel. Fierce was Garry's wrath
When he perceived who wronged him. With a shriek
That raised the eagles from the mountain peak,
He shook his spear, and ran with stumbling feet,
And sought for vengeance, speedy and complete—
The lust of blood possessed him, and he swore
To slay them…. But they shut the oaken door
Ere he had reached that high and strong stockade—
From whence, alas! nor wife, nor child, nor maid
Came forth again.

IV.

Soft-couch'd upon a bank
Lay Caoilte on the cliff-top, while he drank
The sweetness of the morning air, that brought
A spell of dreamful ease and pleasant thought,
With mem'ries from the deeps of other years
When Dermaid, unforgotten by his peers,
And Oscar, fair and young, went forth with mirth
A-hunting o'er the hills around the firth
On such an April morn….

He leapt to hear
The Fians shouting from a woodland near
Their hunting-call. Then swift he sped a-pace,
With bounding heart, to join the gladsome chase;
Stooping he ran, with poised, uplifted spear,
As through the woods approached the nimble deer
That swerved, beholding him. With startled toss
Of antlers, down the slope it fled, to cross
The open vale before him … To the west
The Fians, merging from the woodland, pressed
To head it shoreward … All the fierce hounds bayed
With hungry ardour, and the deer, dismayed,
With foaming nostrils leapt, and strove to flee
Towards the deep, dark woods of Calrossie.
But Caoilte, fresh from resting, was more fleet
Than deer or dogs, and sped with naked feet,
Until upon a loose and sandy bank,
Plunging his spear into the smoking flank,
Its flight he stayed…. He stabbed it as it sank,
The life-blood spurting; and he saw it die
Or ever dog or huntsman had come nigh.

Then eager feast they made; and after long
And frequent fast of winter, they grew strong
As they had been of old. And of their fare
The lean and scrambling hounds had ready share.

Nor over-fed they in their merry mood,
But set to hunt again, and through the wood
Scattered with eager pace, ere yet the sun
Had climbed to highest noon; for lo! each one
Had mem'ry of the famished cheeks and white
Of those who waited their return by night,
In steep Knockfarrel's desolate stockade—
O' many a beauteous and bethrothèd maid,
And mothers nursing babes, and warriors lying
In winter-fever's spell, the old men dying,
And slim, fair lads who waited to acclaim,
With gladsome shout, the huntsmen when they came
With burdens of the chase … So they pursued
The hunt till eve was nigh. In Geanies wood
Another deer they slew …

Caoilte, who stood
On a high ridge alone … with eager eyes
Scanning the prospect wide … in mute surprise
Saw rising o'er Knockfarrel, a dark cloud
Of thick and writhing smoke … Then fierce and loud
Upon his horn he blew the warning blast—
From out the woods the Fians hastened fast—
Lo! when they stared towards the western sky,
They saw their winter dwelling blazing high.