Early English Hero Tales

, our Great Palace of English Literature could not have been the same palace, nor half so beautiful. It is not only that there would not have been so many wonderful golden doors leading int

at was true of their speech and their buildings was more true of the gifts they have left in the Great Palace. They have the same delightful way of telling a st

a. The epic cycle of Conchubar and Cuchulain is the first group of tales in Irish literature. They are made up of prose with occasional verses here and there. The Irish are very clever at invention, and

e, not much changed from what it was two thousand years ago, and shows all the Irish sense of form. By sense of form is meant simply the story's way of expressing itself. You see, a story or poem is like a human being. It has not only thoughts, but

e than a brother can love. This friendship of a king's son with the son of a shepherd was very beautiful and tender and pure. "The Battle at the Ford" is not s

next day. But when they sent messengers to fetch Ferdiad he would not come

heir hurtful poems about Ferdiad should raise three bliste

m great riches if he would fight against his friend Cuchulain-spe

ffered[Pg 21] me land and sea I would n

there was no wealth which could tempt Fe

f the jewels of the earth. Here is my brooch w

d Cuchulain. Nothing shall come between him and me-he who is the half of my heart without fault, and I the half of his own heart. By my spear, were Cuchulain

she should stir him up a

people, "Is it a true

that?" asked Fe

would be no wonder in it did you fall i

no right to say! If it be true he said this

g

eve, and went out in his chariot t

uchulain, "for my friend to c

red up," said Fergus, "a

hulain, "for I can stan

e better of him," answered Fergus, "

chulain, "it is I who will

my and heavy-hearted, slept only through the early part of the nigh

better for you to stop here, for grief

rd, and day and its full light came upon them there. Then

and said to his driver, "Laeg, yoke the chariot, for t

g

e harnessed,"

, and about him shouted the people of the g

he harness, the creaking of the chariot, the ringing of the

"rise up. Cuchulain comes, and he is coming not slowly, but quic

hem like a hawk from a cliff on a day of hard win

your coming,"

ar that welcome," answered Cuchulain; "but

riendly words and e

Ferdiad, "you will be fighting as with a moun

anger," answered Cuchulain, "an

ed Ferdiad, "you heart of a bird

g

heart companion, you were my people, you wer

e of this talk?

me through the meddling of Maeve. Do not break your oath not to fight with me.

r companionship, for it will not protect you th

rs, and these weapons were flying to and fro like bees on the wing on a summer's day. Yet good as the throwing was, the defense was better, and neither hurt

the middle of midday till the fall of evening each threw spears at the

this, now,"

d their horses and at one fire sat their chariot-drivers. And of every healing herb that was put on Cuchulain's wounds Cuchulain sent an equa

ey rose up and came t

ll we use to-day?

or I made the choice yest

ars, for so by the end of evening sha

at and wounded the other, till, were it the custom of birds in their flig

"for our horses and men are tired and down-hea

ave him three kisses. And that night they slept on wounded[Pg 26] men's pillows their chariot-drivers had made for them. A f

to the ford of battle, and there w

e looking to-day,

ead of you I am looking th

Ferdiad, and no one has ever been bor

ho has betrayed us, and now my word and my name will be w

om dawn till evening. When they threw their swords from them into the hands

of speckled gold, over that a coat of brown leather, and on his head a crested helmet of battle. Taking his strong spear in his right hand

n the brink of the ford, or as foam is thrown from a [Pg 28]wave. Then did Cuchulain leap with the quickness of the wind and the lightness of a swallow, and lit on the boss of Ferdiad's shield. But Ferdiad shook his shield and cast Cuchulain from him. Cuchulain's anger cam

is body. And Cuchulain took his spear, Gae Bulg, cast it at Ferdi

not right that I should fall by your hand! My end is come, my r

gan to keen and lament: "What are joy and shouting to me now? It is to madness I am driven after the thing

iving. Our parting for ever[Pg 29] is a grief for ever! We gave ou

ur comely form, dear to me your clear gray eye, dear yo

iend to whom I have given a drink of red blood. O Ferdiad, this thing will hang over me for ever