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 shore,

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, nobly 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 passed 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.

“The king,” he said, “has come, and kneels to thee,

Foredoomed to share the burden of his throne,

And glorify its glory with thine own.”

Then through her frame a gentle tremor went

And lit her face with exquisite swift fire

That woke forgotten dreams, whose shaken scent

Sweetened the quiet winds of her desire

With some divine, unuttered ravishment,

Some earnest of great doom that filled her heart

With sorrow, joy's majestic counterpart.

Upon his head she gently laid her hand,

And said, “Arise! To thee my heart has bowed

When minstrel after minstrel, tired and tanned,

Has supped beside our hearth, and sung the proud

High song that bears thy greatness through the land.

For thee from life's clear dawn my love remained

Fixed, and at length to thee I have attained.”