Fedrick Herbert Trench (1865-1923) VOICE OF URMAEL Out of the Sixth Century The slender Hazels askd the Yew like night Beside the river-green of Lisnacaun: Who is this woman beautiful as light Sitting in dolour on thy branchèd lawn, With sun-red hair, entangled as with flight, Sheening the knees up to her bosom drawn? What horses mud-besprent so thirstily Bellying the hush pools with their nostrils wide? And the Yew, old as the long mountain-side, Answerd, I saw her hither with Clan Usnach ride! Come, love, and climb with me Findruims woods Alone! Naois prayd. Through broom and bent Strewn with swift-travelling shadows like their moods, Leaving below the camps thin cries, they went; And never a tress, escaping from her snoods, Made the brown river with a kiss content, So safe he raised up Deirdre through the ford. Thanks, piteous Gods, that no foreboding gave He should so bear her after to the grave, Breasting the druid ice, breasting the phantom wave! O, bear me on, she breathed, for ever so! And light as notes the Achill shepherd plays On his twin pipes, they wantond light and slow Up the broad valley. Birds saild from the haze Far up, where darkling copses over-grow Scarps of the grey cliff from his riverd base. Diaphaneity, the spirits beauty, Along the dimmèd combes did float and reign, And many a mountains scarry flank was plain Through nets of youngling gold betrimmd with rain. But when an upward space of grass-so free- So endless-beckond to the realms of wind Deirdre broke from his side, and airily Fled up the slopes, flinging disdains behind, And paused, and round a little vivid tree The wolf-skins from her neck began to bind. Naois watchd below this incantation; Then upward on his javelins length he swung To catch some old crones ditty freshly sung, Bidding that shoot be wise, for yet twas young. With gaze in gaze, thus ever up and on Roved they, unwitting of the world outrolld, Their ears dinnd by the breezes clarion That quicks the blood while yet the cheek is cold; Great whitenesses rose past them, brooks ran down, And step by step Findruim bare and bold Uplifted. So a swimmer is uplifted, Horsed on a streaming shoulder of the Sea, Our hasty master, who to such as we Tosses some glittering hour of mastery. They heard out of the zenith swoop and sting Feathery voices, keen and soft and light: Mate ye as eagles mate, that on the wing Grapple-heaven-high-hell-deep-for yours is flight! Souls like the granite candles of a king, Flaming unshook amid the noise of night. What of pursuit, that you to-day should fear it? Pursuit they reckd not, save of wind that pours Surging and urging on to other shores Over the restless forest of a thousand doors. Deirdre, he cried, the blowings of thy hair Uncoil the clouds that everlasting stream Forth from the castles of those islands rare, Black in the ragged-misted oceans gleam, And glimpsed by Iceland galleys as they fare Northward! But in her bosoms open seam She set the powderd yew-spring silently; Speak not of me nor give my beauty praise, Whose beauty is to follow in thy ways, So that my days be numberd with thy days! In the high pastures of that boundless place Their feet wist not if they should soar or run; They turned, at earth astonishd, face to face, Deeming unearthly blessedness begun. And slow, mid nests of running larks, they pace Drinking from the recesses of the sun Tremble of those wings that beat light into music. There the worlds ends lay open; open wide The bodys windows. What shall them divide Who have walkd once that country side by side? She mused: O why doth happiness too much Fountains of blood and spirit seem to fill? The woods, over-flowing, cannot bear that such An hour should be so sweet and yet be still. Even the low-tangled bushes at a touch Break into wars of gleemen, thrill on thrill. O, son of Usnach, bring me not thy glories! Bring me defeats and shames and secret woe; That where no brother goeth I may go, And kneel to wash thy wounds in caverns bleak and low! Here, up in sight of the far shine of sea, (He sang) once after hunting, by the fire I knelt, and kindling brushwood raised up thee, Deirdre, nor wist the star of my desire Should ever walk Findruims head with me, Far from a kings loud house and soft attire. Fain would I thatch us here a booth of hazels, Thatch it with drift and snow of sea-gulls wings; And thy hornd harp should wonder to its strings, What spoil is it to-night Naois brings? Listen, quoth he, when scarce those words were gone (A neck of the bare down it was, a ledge Of wind-sleek turf, the lovers roamd upon, And sent young rabbits scuttling to the edge Of underwoods beneath), I think that you Some beast-haply a stag-takes harbourage. And Deirdre at a word come back from regions Of bliss too nigh to pain, snatchd with no fear Out of his hand the battle-haunted spear And, questing swiftly down the pasture sheer, Enterd the yews black vault. Therein profound Green-litten air, and there, as seeking fresh Enemies, one haunch crushd against the ground The grey boar slewd, tusking the tender flesh Of shoots, his ravage-whetted bulk around: But, when his ear across the straggling mesh Of featherd sticks report of Deirdre found, He quiverd, snorted; from his jaws like wine Foam dripped; the brawny horror of his spine Bristled with keen spikes like a ridge of pine. Mortals, the maiden deemd that guise a mask- Believed that in the beast sate to ensnare He of the red eye-little need to ask The druid-wrinkled hide, the sluttish hair: This was to escape-how vain poor passions task!- Connachar of the illimitable lair! He crashd at her! she heaved the point embrownd In blood of dragons. Heavily the boar Grazed by the iron, reeld, leapt, charged once more And thrice in passage her frail vesture tore. As when a herd-boy lying on the scar (Who pipes to flocks below him on the steep Melodies like their neckbells, scattering far, Cool as the running water, soft as sleep) Hurls out a flint from peril to debar And from the boulderd chasm recall his sheep- So with a knife Naois leapt and struck. Strange! in the very fury of a stride The grey beast like a phantom from his side Plunged without scathe to thickets undescried. Naois sheathed his iron with no stain, And laughd, This shall be praised in revels mad Around Lugs peak, when women scatter grain Upon the warriors! Why shouldst thou be sad Pale victory? But she, Ah, thus again Ere night do I imperil thee, and add Burden to burden! And he strove to lead her From grief, and said, What, bride! thy raiment torn? Content thee, O content thee, man of scorn, Ill brooch it with no jewel but a thorn! They seek down through the Wood of Awe that hems Findruim, like the throng about his grave, Dusk with the swarth locks of ten thousand stems In naked poise. These make no rustle save Some pine-cone dropt, or murmur that condemns Murmur; bedumbd with moss that giant nave. But let Findruim shake out overhead His old sea-sigh, and when it doth arrive At once their tawny boles become alive With gleams that come and go, and they revive The norths Fomorian roar.-I am enthralld, He said, as by the blueness of a ray That, dropping through this presence sombre-walld, Burns low about the image of a spray Of some poor beech-spray witchd to emerald. Wilt thou not dance, daughter of heaven, to-day Free, at last free? For here no moody raindrop Can reach thee, nor betrayer overpeer; And none the self-delightful measure hear That thy soul moves to, quit of mortal ear! Full loth she pleads, yet cannot him resist And on the enmossèd lights begins to dance. Away, away, far floating like a mist To fade into some leafy brilliance; Then, smiling to the inward melodist, Over the printless turf with slow advance Of showery footsteps, makes she infinite That crowded glen. But quick, possessd by strange Rapture, wider than dreams her motions range, Till to a span the forests shrink and change. And in her eyes and glimmering arms she brings Hither all promise, all the unlookd-for boon Of rainbowd life, all rare and speechless things That shine and swell under the brimming Moon. Who shall pluck tympans? For what need of strings To waft her blood who is herself the tune- Herself the warm and breathing melody? Art come from the Land of the Ever-Young? O stay! For his heart, after thee rising away, Falls dark and spirit-faint back to the clay. Griefs, like the yellow leaves by winter curld, Rise after her-long-buried pangs arouse- About that bosom the grey forests whirld, And tempests with her beauty might espouse; She rose with the green waters of the world And the winds heaved with her their depth of boughs. Then vague again as blows the beanfields odour On the dark lap of air she chose to sink, As, winnowing with plumes, to the river-brink The pigeons from the cliff come down to drink. Sudden distraught, shading her eyes, she ceased, Listening, like bride whom cunning faery strain Forth from the trumpet-bruited spousal feast Steals. But she beckond soon, and quick with pain He ran, he craved at those white feet the least Pardon; nor, till he felt her hand again Descend flake-soft, durst spy that she was weeping, Or kneel with burning murmurs to atone. For sleep she wept. Long fasting had they gone And ridden from the breaking of the dawn. It chanced that waters, nigh to that selve grove, From Sleeps own lake as from a cauldron pass; He led towards their sound his weary love And lay before her in the fresh of grass Resting-the white cirque of the cliffs above- Against a sun-abandond stem there was. Spray from the strings of water spilling over The weir of rock, their feverd cheeks bewet; And to its sound a voiceless bread they ate, And drank the troth that is unbroken yet. Out in the mere, brown, unbesilverd now By finest skimming of the elfin breeze, An isle was moord, with rushes at its prow And fraught with haze of deeply-mirrord trees; And knowing Deirdre still was mindful how The boar yet lived, that she might sleep at ease Naois swore to harbour on that islet. Nine strides he waded in, on footings nine Deep, deeper yet, until his basnets shine Sank to the cold lips of the lake divine. Divine; for once the sunk stones of that way Approachd the pool-god; and the outermost Had been the black slab whereon druids slay With stoop and mutter to the waters ghost, Though since, to glut some whim malign, the fay Had swelld over the flags. Of all the host Few save Naois, and at sore adventure, Had taen this pass. But who would not have pressd Through straits by the chill-fingerd fiend possessd To bear unto that isle Deirdre to rest? Seal up thy sight! My shield of iron rims Unhook; cast in this shatterd helm for spoil! Twas done, and then with rush of cleaving limbs He swam and bore her out with happy toil, Secret and fierce as the flat otter swims Out of the whistling reeds, as if through oil. And Deirdre, whiter than the wave-swan floating, Smiled that he sufferd her no stroke to urge. At length they reach the gnarld and ivied verge And from the shallows to the sun emerge. She spreads her wolf-skins on the rock that glows And sun-tears wrings out of the heavy strands Of corded hair. He, watching to the close, Sees not the white silk tissue as she stands Clinging bedulld to the clear limbs of rose. She turnd and to him stretched misdoubting hands: Tell me, ere thou dissolve, O wordless watcher, Am I that Deirdre that would sit and spin Beside Keshcorran? Dost thou love me? Then I touch thee. For I, too, have love within. O sacred cry! Again, again the first Love-cry! How the steep woods thirst for thy voice, O never-dying one! That voice, like the outburst And gush of a young springs delicious noise Driven from the ancient heights whereon twas nursed! Yet, as deaths heart is silent, so is joys. His mouth spake not; for, as in dusk Glen Treithim Smelters of bubbling gold brook not to breathe Reek of the coloured fumes whose hissings wreathe The brim, he choked at his own spirits seethe. Sternly he looked on her and strangely said: What touch is thine? It hath unearthly powers. I think thou art the woman Cairbre made Out of the dazzle and the wind of flowers. Behold, the flame-like children of the shade, The buds, about thee rise like servitors! It seems I had not lippd the cup of living Till thou didst stretch it out. Vaguely I felt Irreparable waste. Why hast thou dwelld Near me on earth so long, yet unbeheld? Chanters! The Night brings nigh the deeps far off, But Twilight shows the distance of the near; And with a million dawns that pierce above Mixes the soul of suns that disappear; To make mans eyes approach the eyes of love In simpleness, in mystery and fear. All blooms both bright and pale are in her gardens, All chords both shrill and deep under her hand Who, sounding forth the richness of the land, Estrangeth all, that we may understand. So still it was, they heard in the evening skies Creak as of eagles wing-feathers afar Coasting the grey cliffs. On him slowly rise, As to Cuchullain came his signal star, Out of the sheeted rivers, Deirdres eyes. And who lookd in them well was girt for war, Seeing in that gaze all who for love had perishd: The queens calamitous unbowd at last- The supreme fighters that alone stood fast- Fealties obscure, unwitnessd, and long past; Cloud over cloud-the host that had attaind By love,-in very essence, force, heat, breath, Now, now arose in Deirdres eyes and deignd Summons to him-Canst follow us? it saith- Till from that great contagion he hath gaind An outlook like to conquest over death. Then he discerns the solemn-rafterd world By this frail braziers glowings, wherein blend Coals that no man hath kindled, without end Born and re-born, from ashes to ascend. And face to face to him unbared she cleaves Woman no more-scarce breathing-infinite, Grave as the fair-browd priestess Earth receives In all her lochs and plains and invers bright And shores wide-trembling, where one image heaves, Him that is lord of silence and of light. Slow the God sighd himself from rocks and waters, But in his soft withdrawals from the air No creature in the weightless world was there Uttered its beings secret round the pair. Ah! them had Passions self-enshrouding arm Taken, as a green fury of ocean takes, Through the dense thickets smitten with alarm To the islets trancèd core. And Deirdre wakes, Lifting hot lids that shut against the storm, Lying on a hillock, amid slender brakes Of grey trees, to the babble of enchantments From mouths of chill-born flowers. The place was new To rapture. Branchèd sunbursts plashing through After, had laid the mound with fire and dew. Naois cuts down osiers. Now he seeks A narrow grass-plot shorn as if with scythe And over two great boulders wrinkled cheeks Draws down and knots a hull of saplings lithe, Well-staunchd with earthy-odourd moss and sticks Known to the feet of birds. This darkness blithe He frames against the stars for forest sleepers. The living tide of stars aloft that crept Compassiond far below. No wavelet leapt; And deep rest fell upon them there. They slept. Long, long, the melancholy mountains lay Aware; mute-rippling shades that isle enwound. Naois fell through dreams, like the snapt spray That drops from branch to branch-that stillest sound!- And while from headlands scarce a league away The din of the sea-breakers come aground Rolld up the valley, he in vision governd His ribbèd skiff under Dun Aengus sweeping, Triumphing with his love, and leaping, leaping, Drew past the ocean-shelves of seals a-sleeping. But over starrd peat-water, where the flag Rustles, and listens for the scud of teal; Over coast, forest, and bethunderd crag Night-mother of despairs, who proves the steel In men, to see if they be dross and slag Or fit with trusts and enemies to deal Uneyed, alone-diffusing her wide veils Bowd from the heavens to his exultant ear: A questioner awaits thee: rouse! The mere Slept on, save for the twilight-footed deer. Those antlerd shadows of the forest-roof Nigh to the shore must be assembled thick, He thought, and bringing necks round to the hoof; Or being aslaked and crouching, seek to lick The fawns. Some heady bucks engage aloof, So sharp across the water comes the click Of sparring horns! But was it a vain terror, Son of the sword, or one for courage staunch, That the herd, dismayd, at a bound, with a quivering haunch Murmurd away into night at the crack of a branch? And Deirdre woke. Reverberate from on high Amongst the sullen hills, distinct there fell A mournful keen, like to the broken cry From the House of Hostage in some citadel Of hostages lifting up their agony After the land they must remember well, Deirdre is gone! Gone is my young one, Deirdre! And she knowing not the voice as voice of man Stood up. Lie still, lest thee the spirit ban; O vein of life, lie still! But Deirdre ran Like the moon through brakes, and saw, where nought had been, On the vague shore a weatherd stone that stood; Faceless, rough-hewn, it forward seemd to lean Like the worn pillar of Cenn Cruaich, the God. She cried across, If thou with things terrene Be numberd, tell me why thy sorrowful blood Mourneth, O Cathva, father! But the stone Shiverd, and broke the staff it leand upon, Shouting, What! livst thou yet? Begone, begone!
Posted on: Sat, 26 Oct 2013 23:04:17 +0000
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