Cuchulain, the Hound of UlsterCeltic MythologyLegend / Oral TraditionOld and Middle Irish (retold in English)ShareCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXXHull (1909) - EnglishMoreVersion - 1 availableHull (1909)LanguageEnglishEspañol‹Cuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter ICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter IICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter IIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter IVCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter VCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter VICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter VIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter VIIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter IXCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XIIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XIVCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XVCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XVICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XVIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XVIIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XIXCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXIIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXIVCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXVCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXVICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXVIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXVIIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXIXCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXX›The Red RoutCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXXListenPlay this chapter in spoken English.Save chapterListen to chapterDaily upon the ramparts of Dun Dalgan Emer of the beauteous hair looked out and waited for Cuchulain, for nought of Laeg’s grim tale, that he was dead or dying on the Plain, would take hold on her mind. But still and evermore he came not home. Upon a certain day, far off she saw a single horseman coming towards the fort, upon a horse that wearily and weakly moved along, dropping red blood at every step. Weary the horseman seemed, and in his hand he bore a rod made out of osiers of the stream, and on it hung the gory heads of lately slaughtered men. Then trembling and affright fell on the queen. Full well she knew the horse that dripped with blood, the Grey of Macha, Cuchulain’s chariot-steed, but on his back another rider sat. “’Tis Conall the Victorious,” she exclaimed, “he rides Cuchulain’s horse. With evil news he comes to me this day. The tale is true that Laeg told, Cuchulain in his blood lies on Murthemne’s Plain, dying or dead. Woe that another rides Cuchulain’s steed! Woe that the Hound of Ulster draws not near. Full many a day in triumphant pride by this same path he hath come home to me! Full many a day along this beaten way in gallant glee he hath gone forth to war!” Sadly and sorrowfully drew Conall near and greeted Emer. And Emer said, “What gory heads are those thou bearest on the withe? How and in what fight didst thou come by them?” “These are the heads of those who slew thy hero and my friend! Alas! that I in distant lands was wandering when Cuchulain died. Too late I came to save him, if perchance he still might shun the hour of his death; but not too late my promise to redeem and to avenge his fall. See here upon the withe is Luga’s head, and here the head of dark Curoi mac Daire, and here is Erc’s, the fair young lad who stained his youth with blood, the blood of Ulster’s Guardian and its Hound. These and the others I bear here with me in token of my duty well performed, my promise kept. Where’er men speak the praise of Ulster’s Hound and tell his deeds, there also shall they speak of the Red Rout of Conall Cernach, in vengeance of his death!” Then trembling Emer said, “One head I see not here upon the withe; yet in thy bosom surely thou hast yet one head for me. I see fair hair, O Conall, bring it forth; give back to me my lover and my friend.” Then Conall said: “Listen, O Emer, to the tale I tell. When round the men of Erin in my wrath and battle-fury I had passed, cutting and hewing down their chiefs and leaders and their mighty men, close up to Tara’s wall I made my way, seeking for Erc, who fled before my steps surrounded by his chosen counsellors. Passing the playing-fields without the fort, I saw men playing hurley with a head, a human head in place of hurley-balls, a human head yet fresh and wet with blood. My own blood froze within my veins! It was the head of Ulster’s Hound they struck and flung from hand to hand! And at the shame of it methought its cheeks blushed hot and rosy red. Even as I came the head was struck; it bounded up, and nobly took the goal. A shout went up from all those reckless men. ‘So, so, the Hound of Ulster wins again; good man, good man, we hit him under once and took his head from him, but he would take revenge upon us now.’ “‘Revenge,’ I cried, ‘revenge he’ll find indeed,’ and at that word into their midst I sprang, dealing on every hand death-bringing blows. Like corn before the mower’s scythe, or like grown grass beneath the feet of many hosts, I hewed them down. Harsh cries went up, for all unarmed they fell, helpless and with no power to withstand, and Erc came out upon the green, and stood there in dismay. I held Cuchulain’s head on high in my left hand. ‘Thy head to match with his,’ I cried, and ere he raised a sound his head was rolling at my feet. I picked it up and hither came to seek thee, gentle queen.” Then Emer, white as death, and trembling as a rush that bows before the onward-flowing stream, put forth her hands, and said, “Give me Cuchulain’s head.” But when with reverence Conall placed within her hands Cuchulain’s head, a cry of sorrow and of grief rang out from Emer’s lips, and pierced the souls of all who heard it in the fort. She bent to kiss the head, and at that moment her sad heart broke within her breast, and o’er Dun Dalgan’s rampart Emer fell, her fair hair mingled with the hair of Cuchulain, her mantle rent and torn, and all her lovely face splashed o’er with blood. Gently and reverently they raised her up, and bore her, with the head still clasped within her arms, to where the body of Cuchulain lay. There on Murthemne’s plain they buried them, two lovers and two friends within one tomb, husband and wife. And when the grave was digged and filled again, the Grey of Macha roamed away; through all the fields and furrows of the plain, through all the glens and hills in Erin’s bounds he seemed to search and closely scrutinise, as though to find some being he had lost. But when he found him not, back to the lonely loch among the reeds, where first Cuchulain found and mastered him, he came again; and with one bound he leaped into the very centre of the loch, and so appeared no more. This witnessing, the Black Steed neighed in mournful wise, and went back to the glen in Donegal, and no man dared to seek or follow him, nor ever found they trace of him again. But to the three times fifty queens who wept for him, the soul of Cuchulain, radiant and noble as in life, appeared once more; and on the ramparts of Emain by night, old warriors tell how, when men are asleep, the spirit-chariot of a spirit-chief, clad in his battle armour as of yore, moves round the walls, guarding the outer ramparts from the foe; and all men sleep in safety, for the Hound of Ulster wakes. And as, with slow and stately pace the chariot moves, drawn by two noble horses, white and black, a chant goes up upon the midnight air, not like the pagan chants of other days, but sweet and gentle as a summer-song, and with a note of triumph in its sound, telling the coming of a hero-chief, who shall be called the Christ, and who will bring great peace and rest to men. And when that song is heard, rising with its sweet strain o’er all the fort, the fires of war and hate are softened in the chieftains’ hearts, and women smile upon their little babes and hug them to their breasts. And all, the young and old, set forward minds to welcome the new time when wars shall cease, and peace shall come to men. “Táin bó Cuailnge.” The two oldest versions of the long tale of the “Táin bó Cuailnge,” or “Cattle-Raid of Cooley,” from which the main part of Chapters ii.-vi. and ix.-xix. of this book are taken, are those found in the old vellum manuscripts known as the “Leabhar na h-Uidhre” (L.U.), compiled about the year 1100 in the monastery of Clonmacnois on the Shannon, and preserved in the Library of the Royal Irish Academy, Dublin, and that occurring in the Book of Leinster (L.L.), preserved in Trinity College, Dublin, the larger portion of which appears to belong to the twelfth century. A version found in the Yellow Book of Lecan corresponds closely to that in L.U., and seems to contain an even earlier text. The text of this older version is in course of publication in Ériu, the journal of the School of Irish Learning in Dublin, and a translation has been made of it by Miss W. Faraday (Grimm Library Series, vol. xvi.). The lengthy L.L. version has been published with a German translation, and copious notes and glossary, by Dr Ernst Windisch, 1905. Among the later versions of parts of this long tale, is a copy found in the British Museum (marked Add. 18748) 1800 A.D., which coincides in the main with that of the Book of Leinster. A translation of large portions of this manuscript was contributed by Dr Standish H. O’Grady to the present author’s “Cuchullin Saga in Irish Literature” (Grimm Library, vol. viii.). The story of “The Education of Cuchulain” in Alba or Scotland, with the amazon Scáth, originally formed part of the tale of “The Wooing of Emer,” but separate accounts exist of these adventures. For the details of Chapter vii., I have drawn partly upon the incidents contained in the longer version of “The Wooing of Emer,” and partly upon two late manuscripts found in the British Museum (Egerton, 106 and 145). These have since been edited by Dr Whitley Stokes in the Revue Celtique, vol. xxix. “The Wooing of Emer.” This story is taken from Dr Kuno Meyer’s edition of the tale found in Stowe MS. 992, and first published by him in the Archæological Review, vol. i. The story of “Cuchulain’s Visit to Fairy-land,” usually known as “The Sick-bed of Cuchulain” (our Chapters xx., xxi.), is adapted from the accounts as given in the only two copies known to exist of it, one found in L.U. and the other in a fifteenth-century manuscript in Trinity College, Dublin. It was first published by O’Curry in Atlantis, vols. i. and ii., and later Dr Windisch edited the tale in Irische Texte, vol. i. An English translation will be found in Leahy’s “Heroic Romances of Ireland,” vol. i. The story of “Deirdre,” usually called “The Tragical Fate of the Sons of Usnach,” is one of three favourite titles that for the last two hundred years at least have been known as “The Three Sorrowful Tales of Erin,” the other two being “The Fate of the Children of Lir” and “The Fate of the Children of Tuireann.” There is, however, no connection or similarity between these tales. The story is found in numerous versions dating from the twelfth century down to the present day, and it has undergone much modification in the course of repetition. It is still a popular story in the Highlands of Scotland, and all round Loch Etive and its neighbourhood are the remains of forts and sites bearing the names of the unfortunate lovers. No single version contains the entire story, and I have therefore been obliged to combine the accounts given in various versions belonging to different ages, slightly altering the arrangement in order to fit them together. In the chapter called “The Sleep-Wanderer,” and in the account of “The Death of the Sons of Usnach,” I have drawn largely on a very beautiful and poetic Gaelic folk-version taken down by Dr Alexander Carmichael from the lips of an old man of eighty-three years of age, John Macneill or “Iain Donn” of Barra, and first published by him in the Trans. of the Gaelic Society of Inverness, vols. xiii., xiv. It has since been republished under the title of “Deirdre.” Some suggestions I have also taken from a modern manuscript found by Dr Douglas Hyde in the Belfast Museum, part of which was printed by him in Zeit. für Celt. Phil., vol. ii. But the main body of the story follows the mediæval version, which has been printed repeatedly, one of the best recent editions being that of Dr Whitley Stokes in Irische Texte, 2nd series, pt. 2. In the oldest version, that found in the Book of Leinster, Deirdre is made to survive the sons of Usnach, and is forced to come into Conor’s house; but she will neither eat nor smile, and finally she puts an end to her intolerable existence by springing from a chariot and dashing her head against a rock. This version is much ruder and more barbaric than any of those belonging to a later period. “The Tragical Death of Conla (or Conlaech), Son of Aiffe.” Apparently the oldest form of this story, which is the Irish parallel to the Persian story of “Sohrab and Rustem,” is that found in the Yellow Book of Lecan, recently edited by Dr Kuno Meyer in Ériu, vol. i. pt. I; Mr J. G. O’Keeffe gives another ancient version in the same journal. The story is usually told in verse, and is still alive in Gaelic-speaking parts of Ireland and in the Highlands of Scotland. Miss Brooke has published one of these poetical forms in her “Reliques of Irish Poetry,” 1789. “The Tragical Death of Cuchulain.” The incidents connected with the death of Cuchulain, and immediately preceding and following it, are chiefly taken from, or suggested by, two good but comparatively recent manuscripts in the British Museum (Egerton, 132, and Add. 18947) dating from the early eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries respectively. They contain the cycle of events known as “The Great Defeat on the Plain of Murthemne,” “The Death of Cuchulain,” “The Red Rout of Conall Cernach,” “The Lay of the Heads,” and “Emer’s Death.” Portions of the material from the first of these two manuscripts were translated for my “Cuchullin Saga” by Dr S. H. O’Grady, but these five stories as a consecutive whole have not yet been published. An older (L.L.) version of Cuchulain’s death was published by Dr Whitley Stokes in Revue Celtique, vol. iii. Murthemne, or Cuchulain’s country, formed part of the present Co. Louth, and a great pillar stone is still pointed out by the people as the place of Cuchulain’s death, a split in the side having been caused, according to living tradition, by the dying sigh of the hero. The poem on p. 141 is reprinted by kind permission of Mr T. Fisher Unwin. ‹Previous chapterCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXIXSimilar passagesBy tradition and source labelFind similarCompare selectedCompare with similarAsk Deep ThoughtSelect passages to search for parallels.Tap any verse to select it, then compare selected passages or ask Deep Thought. Public domain