ones
That should be more than wife or friend or mistress,
Give us the enduring will, the unquenchable hope,
The friendliness of the sword!—
[The song grows louder, and the last words ring out clearly. There is a loud knocking at the door, and a cry of ‘Open! open!’
CONCHUBAR.
Some king that has been loitering on the way.
Open the door, for I would have all know
That the oath’s finished and Cuchulain bound,
And that the swords are drinking up the flame.
[The door is opened by the third WOMAN, and a YOUNG MAN with a drawn sword enters.
YOUNG MAN.
I am of Aoife’s army.
[The KINGS rush towards him. CUCHULAIN throws himself between.
CUCHULAIN.
Put up your swords.
He is but one. Aoife is far away.
YOUNG MAN.
I have come alone into the midst of you
To weigh this sword against Cuchulain’s sword.
CONCHUBAR.
And are you noble? for if of common seed,
You cannot weigh your sword against his sword
But in mixed battle.
YOUNG MAN.
I am under bonds
To tell my name to no man; but it’s noble.
CONCHUBAR.
But I would know your name and not your bonds.
You cannot speak in the Assembly House,
If you are not noble.
FIRST OLD KING.
Answer the High King!
YOUNG MAN.
I will give no other proof than the hawk gives—
That it’s no sparrow!
[He is silent for a moment, then speaks to all.]
Yet look upon me, kings.
I, too, am of that ancient seed, and carry
The signs about this body and in these bones.
CUCHULAIN.
To have shown the hawk’s grey feather is enough,
And you speak highly, too. Give me that helmet.
I’d thought they had grown weary sending champions.
That sword and belt will do. This fighting’s welcome.
The High King there has promised me his wisdom;
But the hawk’s sleepy till its well-beloved
Cries out amid the acorns, or it has seen
Its enemy like a speck upon the sun.
What’s wisdom to the hawk, when that clear eye
Is burning nearer up in the high air?
[Looks hard at YOUNG MAN; then comes down steps and grasps YOUNG MAN by shoulder.
Hither into the light.
[To CONCHUBAR.]
The very tint
Of her that I was speaking of but now.
Not a pin’s difference.
[To YOUNG MAN.]
You are from the North
Where there are many that have that tint of hair—
Red-brown, the light red-brown. Come nearer, boy,
For I would have another look at you.
There’s more likeness—a pale, a stone-pale cheek.
What brought you, boy? Have you no fear of death?
YOUNG MAN.
Whether I live or die is in the gods’ hands.
CUCHULAIN.
That is all words, all words; a young man’s talk.
I am their plough, their harrow, their very strength;
For he that’s in the sun begot this body
Upon a mortal woman, and I have heard tell
It seemed as if he had outrun the moon;
That he must follow always through waste heaven,
He loved so happily. He’ll be but slow
To break a tree that was so sweetly planted.
Let’s see that arm. I’ll see it if I choose.
That arm had a good father and a good mother,
But it is not like this.
YOUNG MAN.
You are mocking me;
You think I am not worthy to be fought.
But I’ll not wrangle but with this talkative knife.
CUCHULAIN.
Put up your sword; I am not mocking you.
I’d have you for my friend, but if it’s not
Because you have a hot heart and a cold eye,
I cannot tell the reason.
[To CONCHUBAR.] He has got her fierceness,
And nobody is as fierce as those pale women.
But I will keep him with me, Conchubar,
That he may set my memory upon her
When the day’s fading.—You
