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 Beltanerites 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 —

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

Then sighed

The gasping men who all day plied

Their oars in plunging seas, with hands

Grown stiff, and arms, like twisted bands

Drawn numbly, as they rose outspent,

And staggering from their benches went

The sail napped quarrelling, and drank

The wind in broken gasps, and sank

With sullen pride upon the boards,

And smote the mast and shook the cords

Darkly loomed that alien land,

And darkly lowered the Fian band,

For hovering on the shoreland grey

The ship they followed round the bay

Nor sought the sheltering woods until

The shadows folded o'er the hill

Full heavily, and night fell blind,

And laid its spell upon the wind

The swelling waters sank with sip

And hollow gurgle round the ship,

The long mast rocked against the dim,

Soft heaven above the headland's rim

But while the seamen crouched to sleep,

Conn sat alone in reverie deep,

And saw before him in a maze

The mute procession of his days,

In gloom and glamour wending fast —

His heart a-hungering for the past —

Again he leapt, a tender boy,

To greet his sire with eager joy,

When he came over the wide North Sea,

Enriched with spoils of victory —

Then heavily loomed that fateful morn

When tidings of his fall were borne

From Alban shore... Again he saw

The youth who went alone with awe

To swear the avenging oath before

The smoking altar red with gore.

Ah! strange to him it seemed to be

That hour was drawing nigh when he

Would vengeance take... And still more strange,

O sorrow! it would bring no change

Though blood for blood be spilled, and life

For life be taken in fierce strife;

‘ Twill ne'er recall the life long sped,

Or break the silence of the dead.

But when he heard his mother's wail,

Once more uplifted on the gale,

Moaning The Red who ne'er returned —

His cheeks with sudden passion burned;

And darkly frowned that valiant man,

As through his quivering body ran

The lightnings of impelling ire

And impulses of fierce desire,

That surged, with a consuming hate

Against a world made desolate,

Unceasing and unreconciled,

And ever clamouring... like wild,

Dark-deeded waves that stun the shore,

And through the anguished twilight roar

The hungry passions of the wide

And gluttonous deep unsatisfied.