Thus sallying forth he called his charioteer,
And bade him yoke the war-steeds of his choice—
The Grey of Macha, shuddering in fear,
Had scented death, and pranced with fearsome noise,
But when it heard Cuchullin's chiding voice,
Meekly it sought the chariot to be bound,
And wept big tears of blood before him on the ground
Then to his chariot leapt the lord of war
'O leave me not!' Levarchan cried in woe,
Thrice fifty queens, who gather'd from afar,
Moan'd with one voice, 'Ah, would'st thou from us go?'
They smote their hands, and fast their tears did flow—
Cuchullin's chariot thunder'd o'er the plain
Full well he knew that he would ne'er return again
How vehement and how beautiful they swept—
The Grey of Macha and the Black most bold
And keen-eyed Laegh, the watchful and adept,
Nor turn'd, nor spake, as on the chariot roll'd
The steeds he urged with his red goad of gold
Stooping he drave, with wing'd cloak and spheres,
Slender and tall and red—the King of Charioteers!
Cuchullin stood impatient for the fray,
His golden hilted bronze sword on his thigh
A sharp and venomous dart beside him lay,
He clasp'd his ashen spear, bronze-tipp'd and high,
As flames the sun upon the western sky,
His round shield from afar was flashing bright,
Figured with radiant gold and rimm'd with silver white
Stern-lipp'd he stood, his great broad head thrown back,
The white pearls sprayed upon his thick, dark hair,
Deep set, his eyes, beneath his eyebrows black,
Were swift and grey, and fix'd his fearless stare,
Red-edg'd his white hood flamed, his tunic rare
Of purple gleam'd with gold, his cloak behind
His shoulders shone with silver, floating in the wind
Betimes three crones him meet upon the way,
Half-blind and evil-eyed, with matted hair—
Workers of spells and witcheries are they—
The brood of Calatin—beware! beware!
They proffer of their fulsome food a share,
And, 'Stay with us a while,' a false crone cries
'Unseemly is the strong who would the weak despise'
He fain would pass, but leapt upon the ground,
The proud, the fearless! for sweet honour's sake—
With spells and poisons had they cook'd a hound,
Of which he was forbidden to partake
But his name-charm the brave Cuchullin brake,
And their foul food he in his left hand took—
Eftsoons his former strength that arm and side forsook
For, O Cuchullin! could'st thou ere forget,
When fast by Culann's fort on yon black night,
Thou fought'st and slew the ban-dog dark as jet,
Which scared the thief, and put the foe to flight!
A tender youth thou wert of warrior might,
And all the land did with thy fame resound,
As Cathbad, the magician, named thee 'Culann's hound'
Loud o'er Mid Luachair road the chariot roll'd,
Round Shab Fuad desolate and grand,
Till Ere with hate the hero did behold,
Hast'ning to sweep the foemen from the land,
His sword flash'd red and radiant in his hand,
In sunny splendour was his spear upraised,
And hovering o'er his head the light of heroes blazed
He comes! he comes!' cried Ere as he drew near
'Await him, Men of Erin, and be strong!'
Their faces blanch'd, their bodies shook with fear—
'Now link thy shields and close together throng,
And shout the war-cry loud and fierce and long
Then Ere, with cunning of his evil heart,
Set heroes forth in pairs to feign to fight apart