His linen robes are pure and white, For Fergus More must die to-night!
CONN, SON OF THE RED.
The Fians sojourned by the shore
Of comely Cromarty, and o'er
The wooded hill pursued the chase
With ardour. 'Twas a full moon's space
Ere Beltane[1] rites would be begun
With homage to the rising sun—
Ere to the spirits of the dead
Would sacrificial blood be shed
In yon green grove of Navity—[2]
When Conn came over the Eastern Sea,
His heart aflame with vengeful ire,
To seek for Goll, who slew his sire
When he was seven years old.
Finn saw
In dreams, ere yet he came, with awe
The Red One's son, so fierce and bold,
In combat with his hero old—
The king-like Goll of valorous might—
A stormy billow in the fight
No foe could ere withstand.
He knew
The strange ship bore brave Conn, and blew
Clear on his horn the Warning Call;
And round him thronged the Fians all
With wond'ring gaze.
The sun drew nigh
The bale-fires of the western sky,
And faggot clouds with blood-red glare,
Caught flame, and in the radiant air
Lone Wyvis like a jewel shone—
The Fians, as they stared at Conn,
Were stooping on the high Look-Out.
They watched the ship that tacked about,
Now slant across the firth, and now
Laid bare below the cliff's broad brow,
And heaving on a billowy steep,
Like to a monster of the deep
That wallowed, labouring in pain—
And Conn stared back with cold disdain.
Pondering, he sat alone behind
The broad sail swallowing the wind,
As over the hollowing waves that leapt
And snarled with foaming lips, and swept
Around the bows in querulous fray,
And tossed in curves of drenching spray,
The belching ship with ardour drove;
Then like a lordly elk that strove
Amid the hounds and, charging, rent
The pack asunder as it went,
It bore round and in beauty sprang—
The sea-wind through the cordage sang
With high and wintry merriment
That stirred the heart of Conn, intent
On vengeance, and for battle keen—
So hard, so steadfast, and serene.
Then Ossian, sweet of speech, spake low,
With musing eyes upon the foe,
"Is Conn more noble than The Red,
Whom Goll in battle vanquished?"
"The Red was fiercer," Conan cried—
"Nay, Conn is nobler," Finn replied,
"More comely, stalwart, mightier far—
What sayest thou, Goll, my man of war?"
Then Goll made answer on the steep,
Nor ceased to gaze on Conn full deep—
"His equal never came before
Across the seas to Alban shore,
Nor ever have I peered upon
A nobler, mightier man than Conn"
The ship flew seaward, tacking wide,
Contending with the wind and tide,
And when upon the broad stream's track
It baffled hung, or drifted back,
With grunt and shriek, like battling boars,
The shock and swing of bladed oars
Came sounding o'er the sea
The dusk
Grew round the twilight, like a husk
That holds a kernel choice, and keen,
Cold stars impaled the sky serene,
When Conn's ship through the slackening tide
Drew round the wistful bay and wide,
Behind the headlands high that snout
The seas like giant whales, and spout
The salt foam high and loud