When Ossian from Knockfarrel went, a band Of merry maidens, trooping hand in hand, Came forth, with laughing eyes and flowing hair, To share the freedom of the morning air; Adown the steep they went, and through the wood Where Garry splintered logs in sullen mood-- Pining to join the chase! His wrath he wrought Upon the trees that morn, as if he fought Against a hundred foemen from the west, Till he grew weary, and was fain to rest.
The maids were wont to shower upon his head Their merry taunts, and oft from them he fled; For of their quips and jests he had more fear Than e'er he felt before a foeman's spear-- And so he chose to be alone.
The air Was heavily laden with the odour rare Of deep, wind-shaken fir trees, breathing sweet, As through the wood, the maids, with silent feet, Went treading needled sward, in light and shade, Now bright, now dim, like flow'rs that gleam and fade, And ever bloom and ever pass away ...
Upon a fairy hillock Garry lay In sunshine fast asleep: his head was bare, And the wind rippling through his golden hair Laid out the seven locks that were his pride, Which one by one the maids securely tied To tether-pins, while Garry, breathing deep, Moaned low, and moved about in troubled sleep Then to a thicket all the maidens crept, And raised the Call of Warning ... Garry leapt From dreams that boded ill, with sudden fear That a fierce band of foemen had come near-- The seven fetters of his golden hair He wrenched off as he leapt, and so laid bare A shredded scalp of ruddy wounds that bled With bitter agony ... The maidens fled With laughter through the wood, and climb'd the path Of steep Knockfarrel. Fierce was Garry's wrath When he perceived who wronged him. With a shriek That raised the eagles from the mountain peak, He shook his spear, and ran with stumbling feet, And sought for vengeance, speedy and complete-- The lust of blood possessed him, and he swore To slay them.... But they shut the oaken door Ere he had reached that high and strong stockade-- From whence, alas! nor wife, nor child, nor maid Came forth again.
IV.
Soft-couch'd upon a bank Lay Caoilte on the cliff-top, while he drank The sweetness of the morning air, that brought A spell of dreamful ease and pleasant thought, With mem'ries from the deeps of other years When Dermaid, unforgotten by his peers, And Oscar, fair and young, went forth with mirth A-hunting o'er the hills around the firth On such an April morn....
He leapt to hear The Fians shouting from a woodland near Their hunting-call. Then swift he sped a-pace, With bounding heart, to join the gladsome chase; Stooping he ran, with poised, uplifted spear, As through the woods approached the nimble deer That swerved, beholding him. With startled toss Of antlers, down the slope it fled, to cross The open vale before him ... To the west The Fians, merging from the woodland, pressed To head it shoreward ... All the fierce hounds bayed With hungry ardour, and the deer, dismayed, With foaming nostrils leapt, and strove to flee Towards the deep, dark woods of Calrossie.
But Caoilte, fresh from resting, was more fleet Than deer or dogs, and sped with naked feet, Until upon a loose and sandy bank, Plunging his spear into the smoking flank, Its flight he stayed.... He stabbed it as it sank, The life-blood spurting; and he saw it die Or ever dog or huntsman had come nigh.
Then eager feast they made; and after long And frequent fast of winter, they grew strong As they had been of old. And of their fare The lean and scrambling hounds had ready share.
Nor over-fed they in their merry mood, But set to hunt again, and through the wood Scattered with eager pace, ere yet the sun Had climbed to highest noon; for lo! each one Had mem'ry of the famished cheeks and white Of those who waited their return by night, In steep Knockfarrel's desolate stockade-- O' many a beauteous and bethrothed maid, And mothers nursing babes, and warriors lying In winter-fever's spell, the old men dying, And slim, fair lads who waited to acclaim, With gladsome shout, the huntsmen when they came With burdens of the chase ... So they pursued The hunt till eve was nigh. In Geanies wood Another deer they slew ...
Caoilte, who stood On a high ridge alone ... with eager eyes Scanning the prospect wide ... in mute surprise Saw rising o'er Knockfarrel, a dark cloud Of thick and writhing smoke ... Then fierce and loud Upon his horn he blew the warning blast-- From out the woods the Fians hastened fast-- Lo! when they stared towards the western sky, They saw their winter dwelling blazing high.
Then fear possessed them for their own, and grief Unutterable. And thus spake their wise chief, To whom came knowledge and the swift, sure thought-- "Alas! alas! an enemy hath wrought Black vengeance on our kind. In yonder gleam Of fearsome flame, the horrors of my dream Are now accomplished--all we loved and cherished, And sought, and fought for, in that pyre have perished!"
White-lipped they heard.... Then, wailing loud, they ran, Following the nimble Caoilte, man by man, Towards Knockfarrel; leaping on their spears O'er marsh and stream. MacReithin, blind with tears, Tumbled or leapt into a swollen flood That swept him to the sea. But no man stood To help or mourn him, for the eve grew dim-- And some there were, indeed, who envied him.
V.
As snarls the wolf at bay within the wood On huntsmen and their hounds, so Garry stood Raging before the women who had made Secure retreat within the high stockade; He cursed them all, and their loud laughter rang More bitter to his heart than e'en the pang Of his fierce wounds. Then while his streaming blood Half-blinded him, he hastened to the wood, And a small tree upon his shoulders bore, And fixed it fast against the oaken door, That none might issue forth.
Then once again Towards the wood he turned, but all in vain The women waited his return, till they Grey weary.. for in pain and wrath he lay In a close thicket, brooding o'er his shame, And panting for revenge.
Then Finn's wife came To set the women to the wheel and loom, With angry chiding; and a heavy gloom Fell on them all. "Who knoweth," thus she spake, "What evil may the Fian men o'ertake This day of evil omens. Yester-night I say the pale ghost of my sire with white And trembling lips ... At morn before my sight A raven darted from the wood, and slew A brooding dove ... What fear is mine!... for who Would us defend if our fierce foemen came-- When Garry is against us ... Much I blame Thy wanton deed." ... The women heard in shame, Nor answer made.
The sun, with fiery gleam, Scattered the feath'ry clouds, as in a dream The spirits of the dead are softly swept From severed visions sweet. A low wind crept Around with falt'ring steps, and, pausing, sighed-- Then fled to murmur from the mountain side Amid the pine-tree shade; while all aglow Ben-Wyvis bared a crest of shining snow In barren splendour o'er the slumbering strath; While some sat trembling, fearing Garry's wrath, Some feared the coming of the foe, and some Had vague forebodings, and were brooding dumb, And longed to greet the huntsmen. Mothers laid Their babes to sleep, and many a gentle maid Sighed for her lover in that lone stockade; And one who sat apart, with pensive eye, Thus sang to hear the peewee's plaintive cry--
_Peewee, peewee, crying sweet, Crying early, crying late-- Will your voice be never weary Crying for your mate?
Other hearts than thine are lonely, Other hearts must wait.
Peewee, peewee, I'd be flying O'er the hills and o'er the sea, Till I found the love I long for Whereso'er he'd be-- Peewee crying, I'd be flying, Could I fly like thee!_
When Garry, who had stanched his wounds, arose, He seized his axe, and 'gan with rapid blows To fell down fir trees. Through the silent strath The hollow echoes rang. With fiendish wrath He made resolve to heap the splintered wood Against the door, and burn the hated brood Of his tormentors one and all. He hewed An ample pyre, then piled it thick and high, While the sun, sloping to the western sky, Proclaimed the closing of that fateful day.
But the doomed women little dreamed that they Would have such fearsome end ... As Garry lay Rubbing the firesticks till they 'gan to glow, He heard a Fian mother singing low--
_Sleep, O sleep, I'll sing to thee-- Moolachie, O moolachie.
Sleep, O sleep, like yon grey stone, Moolachie, mine own.
Sleep, O sleep, nor sigh nor fret ye, And the goblins will not get ye, I will shield ye, I will pet ye-- Moolachie, mine own._
The mother sang, the gentle babe made moan-- And Garry heard them with a heart of stone ...
With fiendish laugh, he saw the leaping flames Possess the pyre; he heard the shrieking dames, And maids and children, wailing in the gloom Of smothering smoke, e'er they had met their doom.
Then when the high stockade was blazing red, Ere yet their cries were silenced, Garry fled, And westward o'er the shouldering hills he sped.
VI.
A broad, faint twilight lingered to unfold The sun's slow-dying beams of tangled gold, And the long, billowy hills, in gathering shade, Their naked peaks and ebon crags displayed Sharp-rimmed against the tender heaven and pale; And misty shadows gathered in the vale-- When Caoilte to Knockfarrel came, and saw Amid the dusk, with sorrow and with awe, The ruins of their winter dwelling laid In smouldering ashes; while the high stockade Around the rocky wall, like ragged teeth, Was crackling o'er the melting stones beneath, Still darting flame, and flickering in the breeze.
He sped towards the wood, and through the trees Called loud for those who perished. On his fair And gentle spouse he called in his despair.
His sweet son, and his sire, whose hair was white As Wyvis snow, he called for in the night.
Full loud and long across the Strath he cried-- The echoes mocked him from the mountain side.
Ah! when his last hope faded like the wave Of twilight ebbing o'er the hills, he gave His heart to utter grief and deep despair; And the cold stars peer'd down with pitiless stare, While sank the wind in silence on its flight Through the dark hollows of the spacious night; And distant sounds seem'd near. In his dismay He heard a Fian calling far away.
The night-bird answered back with dismal cry, Like to a wounded man about to die-- But Caoilte's lips were silent ... Once again And nearer, came the voice that cried in vain.
Then swift steps climbed Knockfarrel's barren steep, And Alvin called, with trembling voice and deep, To Caoilte, crouching low, with bended head, "Who liveth?" ... "I am here alone," he said ...
Thus Fian after Fian came to share Their bitter grief, in silence and despair.
All night they kept lone watch, until the dawn With stealthy fingers o'er the east had drawn Its dewy veil and dim. Then Finn arose From deep and sleepless brooding o'er his woes, And spake unto the Fians, "Who shall rest While flees our evil foeman farther west?
Arise!" ... "But who hath done this deed?" they sighed; And Finn made answer, "Garry." ... Then they cried For vengeance swift and terrible, and leapt To answer Finn's command.
A cold wind swept From out the gates of morning, moaning loud, As swift they hastened forth. A ragged shroud Of gathering tempest o'er Ben-Wyvis cast A sudden gloom, and round it, falling fast, It drifted o'er the darkened slopes and bare, And snow-flakes swirled in the chill morning air-- Then o'er the sea, the sun leapt large and bright, Scatt'ring the storm. And moor and crag lay white, As westward o'er the hills the Fians all In quest of Garry sped.
At even-fall They found him ... On the bald and rocky side Of steep Scour-Vullin, Garry lay to hide Within a cave, which, backward o'er the snow, He entered, that his steps might seem to show He had fled eastward by the path he came.
All day he sought to flee them in his shame, Watching from lofty crag or deep ravine, And crouching in the heath, with haggard mien-- He sought in vain to hide till darkness cast Its blinding cloak betwixt them.
When at last Finn cried, "Come forth, thou dog of evil deeds, Nor respite seek!" ... His limbs like wind-swept reeds Trembled and bent beneath him; so he rose And came to meet his friends who were his foes-- Then unto Finn he spake with accents meek, "One last request I of the Fians seek, Whom I have loved in peace and served in strife"-- "'Tis thine," said Finn, "but ask not for thy life, For thou art 'mong the Fians." ... "I would die,"
Said Garry, "with my head laid on thy thigh; And let young Alvin take thy sword, that he May give the death that will mine honour be."
'Twas so he lay to die ... But as the blade Swept bright, young Alvin, keen for vengeance, swayed, And slipped upon the sward ... And his fierce blow That Garry slew, the Fian chief laid low-- A grievous wound was gaping on his thigh, And poured his life-blood forth ... A low, weird cry The great Finn gave, as he fell back and swooned-- In vain they strove to stanch the fearsome wound-- His life ebbed slowly with the sun's last ray In gathering gloom ... And when in death he lay, The glory of the Fians passed away.
HER EVIL EYE.
O Mairi Dhu, the weaver's wife, Will have the evil eye; The fear will come about my heart When she'll be passing by; She'll have the piercing look to wound The very birds that fly.
I would not have her evil wish, I would not have her praise, For like the shadow would her curse, Me follow all my days-- When she my churning will speak well, No butter can I raise.
O Mairi Dhu will have the eye To wound the very deer-- Ah! would she scowl upon my bairns When her they would come near?
They'll have the red cords round their necks, So they'll have naught to fear.