A man came slowly from the setting sun, |
To Emer, raddling raiment in her dun, |
And said, I am that
swineherd whom you bid |
Go watch the road between the wood and tide, |
But now I have no need to
watch it more. |
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Then Emer cast the web upon the floor, |
And raising arms all raddled with the dye, |
Parted
her lips with a loud sudden cry. |
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That swineherd stared upon her face and said, |
No man alive, no man
among the dead, |
Has won the gold his cars of battle bring. |
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But if your master comes home triumphing |
Why must you blench and shake from foot to crown? |
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Thereon he shook the more and cast him down |
Upon the web-heaped floor, and cried his word: |
With him is one sweet-throated like a bird. |
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You dare
me to my face, and thereupon |
She smote with raddled fist, and where her son |
Herded the cattle came
with stumbling feet, |
And cried with angry voice, It is not meet |
To idle life away, a common herd. |
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I have
long waited, mother, for that word: |
But wherefore now? |
There is a man to die; |
You have the heaviest
arm under the sky. |
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Whether under its daylight or its stars |
My father stands amid his battle-cars. |
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But
you have grown to be the taller man. |
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Yet somewhere under starlight or the sun |
My father stands. |
Aged,
worn out with wars |
On foot, on horseback or in battle-cars. |
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I only ask what way my journey lies, |
For He
who made you bitter made you wise. |
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The Red Branch camp in a great company |
Between woods rim
and the horses of the sea. |
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Go there, and light a camp-fire at woods rim; |
But tell your name and lineage
to him |
Whose blade compels, and wait till they have found |
Some feasting man that the same oath has
bound. |
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Among those feasting men Cuchulain dwelt, |
And his young sweetheart close beside him knelt, |
Stared on the mournful wonder of his eyes, |
Even as Spring upon the ancient skies, |
And pondered on
the glory of his days; |
And all around the harp-string told his praise, |
And Conchubar, the Red Branch
king of kings, |
With his own fingers touched the brazen strings. |
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At last Cuchulain spake, Some man
has made |
His evening fire amid the leafy shade. |
I have often heard him singing to and fro, |
I have often
heard the sweet sound of his bow. |
Seek out what man he is. |
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One went and came. |
He bade me let all
know he gives his name |
At the sword-point, and waits till we have found |
Some feasting man that the
same oath has bound. |
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Cuchulain cried, I am the only man |
Of all this host so bound from childhood on. |
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After short fighting in the leafy shade, |
He spake to the young man, Is there no maid |
Who loves you,
no white arms to wrap you round, |
Or do you long for the dim sleepy ground, |
That you have come and
dared me to my face? |
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The dooms of men are in Gods hidden place. |
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Your head a while seemed like
a womans head |
That I loved once. |
Again the fighting sped, |
But now the war-rage in Cuchulain woke, |
And through that new blades guard the old blade broke, |
And pierced him. |
Speak before your breath
is done. |
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Cuchulain I, mighty Cuchulains son. |
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I put you from your pain. I can no more. |
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While day
its burden on to evening bore, |
With head bowed on his knees Cuchulain stayed; |
Then Conchubar sent
that sweet-throated maid, |
And she, to win him, his grey hair caressed; |
In vain her arms, in vain her soft
white breast. |
Then Conchubar, the subtlest of all men, |
Ranking his Druids round him ten by ten, |
Spake
thus: Cuchulain will dwell there and brood |
For three days more in dreadful quietude, |
And then arise, and
raving slay us all. |
Chaunt in his ear delusions magical, |
That he may fight the horses of the sea. |
The
Druids took them to their mystery, |
And chaunted for three days. |
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Cuchulain stirred, |
Stared on the horses
of the sea, and heard |
The cars of battle and his own name cried; |
And fought with the invulnerable tide. |