Etain the Beloved and Other Poems Part 1

Etain the Beloved and Other Poems.

by James Henry Cousins.

ETAIN THE BELOVED

I

Strong in the strength that finds in gentleness A way to peace, King Eochaidh on the throne Of Erin sits. Around his footstool press Clansmen and chiefs. Some wind of thought has blown Their eyes to flame. Some purpose, in the stress Of travailing tongues, to birth finds not a way: What all would utter, none has wit to say.

Into their midst one came, an aged bard Upon whose flowing hair Wisdom had laid Her gift of silver. On those faces, scarred From old forgotten fights, he looked, and weighed The meaning in their eyes, though sorely marred; And from the tangled fibre of their thought Into the web of speech their purpose wrought.

"Thy word, O King, has pa.s.sed by hill and dale Throughout all Erin, bidding to the Feast Of Tara all thy people, with the tale Of tribute due from greatest and from least.

Nor should this word than others less prevail, But that the herald-spear thy will hath sent, Against the s.h.i.+eld of custom has been bent.

"Thou knowest, O King, that from most ancient years No chieftain wifeless rules for thee the land, Nor mateless at a festival appears; But fixed in all experience doth stand: And thus, made master of all human fears, Fears not, but strongly round the camp-fires goes, Full sharer of thy people's joys and woes.

"Equal in yoke and honour, as the day And night, that are but breathings of the soul, They on life's crooked journey take their way Diverse in gift, in essence one and whole.

This is the custom, King! Yet custom may, If but of man, be as a smith who twists An iron chain to bind upon his wrists.

"But custom may, if fas.h.i.+oned to the Law That made the world, be as the straitened string From which the Master of the Feast may draw Majestic speech, a living, wondrous thing To rid the brow of pale contention's flaw, And pa.s.sing like the honey-cup along, Gather their wandering lips to one great song.

"And such the custom that thy people plead: For when of old the deathless Lord of Life Dagda came forth, and knew the immortal need That burned within his heart, he took to wife Dana the Mother of all human seed.

In her his breath found music and a name.

In her his fire has blossomed into flame.

"Throughout the world that fire and music run One sings within the maiden's wondering heart: One stirs the veins of manhood, as the sun Sets the spring's fingers thrilling with the smart Of keen, ecstatic life that's but begun.

In every seed that breaks and wind that blows, Each in the other seeks and finds repose.

"Wherefore, O King, since thou art yet unwed, And thus in kings.h.i.+p standest incomplete, Unfurnished in thy heart, from whence are fed The streams of power and wisdom, it is not meet That unto thee thy people bow the head, And here thy sovereignty with tribute own Till thou hast set a Queen upon thy throne."

He ceased, and all the faces of the crowd Shone with the light that kindles when the boon Of speech has eased the heart; as when a cloud Falls from the labouring shoulder of the moon, And all the world stands smiling silver-browed.

King Eochaidh for a moment bent his head In thought; then smiling he arose and said:

"I am not careless of the ancient need That moves your minds. Within my own it moves Like a long-hidden, unforgotten seed The spring has touched uneasily: like hooves Long captive, when the trumpet has decreed A royal pilgrimage, and in the liss They dance to taste the highway's ringing bliss.

"So have I watched for that sure sign that fills The horn of fate, that bending this our realm Unto the Will that works behind our wills, It may remain; as when storms overwhelm, And leafy spray whirls over the roaring hills, The swaying pine bends as the storm wars by, And lives to shake proud arms against the sky.

"But now the horn is full, the hour is here.

Our wills as one move onward to their end.

Here now I lift on high the royal spear, And thus through Erin proclamation send: 'Search for the promised maiden far and near Whom the high G.o.ds have destined at my side To reign.' Go forth. The King awaits his bride.

"She shall be found in some most quiet place Where Beauty sits all day beside her knee And looks with happy envy on her face; Where Virtue blushes, her own guilt to see, And Grace learns new, sweet meanings from her grace; Where all that ever was or will be wise Pales at the burning wisdom of her eyes.

"When you at last, far off like wors.h.i.+ppers Within some holy circle, bow your heads, You shall await till on that face of her's A smile like spring's first morning slowly spreads; And when her lip with wondrous music stirs, Bear hither like the wind her deathless name, That I may light my heart at its white flame."

Scarce had he ceased when from the royal tent Broke the full tide of their loud ecstacy, And through the woods like summer thunder went, Full of great rumour of mighty things to be That died far off like twilight breezes spent.

Then sang the bard in hidden wisdom skilled: "Thus is the purpose of the G.o.ds fulfilled.

"_Lift now the hands that may not bless A wifeless feast, a queenless throne, A court or council womanless, Or life one-limbed and sideways grown, That holds the hands that may not bless._

"_The starry Virgin of the east Steps up the sky to lead the sign Where most has kissed and mixed with least, And one-in-twain life's torches s.h.i.+ne Behind the Virgin of the east._

"_Then lift the hands that gladly bless Full life, to life's great fulness grown, A power to stand through shock and stress, And rear an everlasting throne Held high on hands that gladly bless._"

Then on a night when on his hearth the gleam Of crackling f.a.ggots flung a wavering glow Along his red-yew roof from beam to beam Like glancing eyes, King Eochaidh to and fro Turned on his couch, dreaming a happy dream Of snapping stems, and crisp leaves crushed by feet With high desire made musical and fleet.

Out of the fire a swift and slender shaft Of yellow flame pierced through the King's dropped lids, And woke a murmur of bees whose eager craft Rifled the treasures of blossomy pyramids; Whereat the King, raising his hand, low laughed, Then pa.s.sed like some worn swimmer on the sweep Of strong waves toward the unfathomed gulf of sleep.

At length in that white hour when dewy wings Stir with new day's delight, there came a sound As though a pa.s.sion of voices and smitten strings Mingled and swelled and flew along the ground, Till at the utmost of its triumphings, Through the King's sleep and on his door the dawn Broke, and a mighty shout: "Etain! Etain!"

II

Thereafter, on a morning rich with spring, When round his feet new-opened flowers looked up Wide-eyed and wet at some most wondrous thing, And crystal draughts from many an odorous cup Were spilled by winds in playful rioting, King Eochaidh stood beside a quiet sh.o.r.e, Dumb with a joy he never knew before.

From league to league alone his path had lain On windy hills, through forests dark, or deep In dank, sonorous glens. Through every vein A burning joy had drunk the mists of sleep, And sung "Etain, Etain," till the refrain Irked, and he slept, and when he sprang awake Saw that which made his heart with rapture shake.

There by the sea, Etain his destined bride Sat unabashed, unwitting of the sight Of him who gazed upon her gleaming side, Fair as the snowfall of a single night; Her arms like foam upon the flowing tide; Her curd-white limbs in all their beauty bare, Straight as the rule of Dagda's carpenter.

Her cheeks were like the foxglove when it glows At noon: her eyes blue as the hyacinth.

Like moonlight struck to marble, n.o.bly rose Her neck upon her shoulder's polished plinth; And like the light that swiftly comes and goes Through breaking waves, among her hair her hands Broke into wavy gold its plaited strands.

Then came her maidens, bright and blossoming With beauty, and before her beauty bowed, And stood around her in a laughing ring To robe her starry splendour like a cloud.

And as her hair they twined, the hidden king Scarce knew if on her lips, that knew no wrong, Or in his own hushed heart he heard this song.

_The king comes riding from the north, From battles won, with marching men.

Ah, whose white eager arms go forth To bid him welcome home again When he comes riding from the north?_

_The king comes riding from the south, And halts beside the royal liss.

Ah, whose the happy smiling mouth That gives and takes a long warm kiss When he comes riding from the south?_

_The king comes riding from the east.

O night how dark! O way how long!

Ah, whose dear eyes shall light the feast?

Ah, who shall lift his heart with song When he comes riding from the east?_

_The king comes riding from the west, And smiles unto himself, and sighs.

Ah, whose the white and easeful breast Where he shall close his kingly eyes When he comes riding from the west?_

Small wonder now that Eochaidh's leaping heart Strained like a hound in leash: yet through his bliss There pa.s.sed a thin cold blade with sudden smart Of doubt that he but dreamed, of dread that this Was but a vision that would soon depart: But when the song had ceased, there stood the maid Flushed with keen joy, and like a queen arrayed.

A mantle of bright purple, waving, wound Her form, and from her shoulders white as milk Fell in reluctant folds and touched the ground.

Upon her breast the flash of emerald silk-- As though the glory of earth had wrapped her round-- Mixed with the glow of red embroidered gold That seemed with light her body to enfold.

A sudden breeze came singing from the sea And broke with sunlight through the leafy shade.

Then came King Eochaidh forth, and on his knee Bent low before the silent, trembling maid.