The Yellow Muilearteach
1—Bard.
On a day when the Fhinn were on Oirill’s mound,
A watching the Eireann all around,
There was seen coming on the tops of the wave,
The crooked, clamouring, shivering brave.
2.
The name of that undaunted wraith
Was the bald russet-yellow Muilearteach;
From Lochlann’s bounds, coming on brine,
All in a day to cover Eirinn.
From a stone coffin at Govan.—Sculptured Stones of Scotland, Pl. cxxxiv.
3.
A rusted glaive was upon her belt,
Will give them a grim darkling pelt;
When the time of the fury of battle shall come.
4.
There were two slender spears of battle,
Upon the other side of the carlin;
Her face was blue-black of the lustre of coal,
And her bone tufted tooth was like rusted bone,
5.
In her head was one deep pool-like eye,
Swifter than a star in a winter sky;
Upon her head gnarled brushwood,
Like the clawed old wood of the aspen root.
6.
Her heart was merry for joy,
As she saw in the south the Fiantaidh;
“Will ye not teach the wretch to her ruin,
Let not her’s be a good gift without return.”
7.
And a hundred warriors she sportively slew,
And there was a grim on her rugged maw;
A warrior exalted each warrior of these,
And that were raised up on slender trees.
8.
A pouring of their blood amongst the hounds,
And the juice of the fruit of Oireal was threatened;
9—Witch.
“Who are the warriors better than they?”
Out spoke the yellow Muilearteach;
“Terror or fear there is not upon me,
Before the king since I happened upon ye.”
10—Bard.
To Fionn Prince of the Finne there came,
The ill-favoured goblin right valiant;
By her there were slaughtered nine in the plain,
As she sought for detestable combat.
11—Witch.
“Now since I have come over the brine,
For the taking of all Eirinn;
Let yielding be given me without pain,
Or else a whole battle of hardy men.”
Bard and Fionn.
12.
Mae Chumhail would give that without displeasure,
Ten hundred hounds, upon leashes of leather;
“Take the bribe, and besides (behold),
Ten hundred ruddy apples of gold.”
13—Witch.
“Although I should get all the value of Eirinn,
With her gold and her silver and her precious things;
I would rather have on board of my vessel,
The heads of Osgar, and Raonaidh, and Coiril,”
14—Bard and Conan.
Spoke a hero that brooked no slur,
Son of great Morna, by name Conan;
“Thou shalt loose the bush of thy round head,
Because thou hast asked for the son of Oisein.”
15—Bard.
When they saw the wrath of the monster,
Up rose Fionn the Prince of the Finne;
Up rose Oisean, Prince of the men,
Up rose Osgar, and IoHainn.
16.
Up rose Diarmaid o’ Duibhne;
Up rose they, and Iall o’ Buidhne;
Three sons of the dusky black king Dhuinne;
Up rose they, and Cearbhal.
17.
Up rose Glaisean o’ Damhach;
Up rose they, and Ard Amharc;
Up rose Ciar Dhubh, Prince of Lomhann,
The doughtiest four that were in the Fhinn.
18.
Went to do battle with the beast.
19.
She was serving them out in turn,
As a blade might run through flame;
Until there met MacChumail the grand,
And the Muilearteach hand to hand.
20.
Their equal was never yet seen,
Since the smithy of Lonn MacLiobhainn; *
There was dew on the point of the spears,
Of MacChumhail of the sides so fair.
21.
Her side was pierced with sharp wound,
There was rain of her blood on the heather;
The Muilearteach was slain by the king,
And if she was slain, it was no smooth slaying.
22—Smith.
The smith took with him her bree *
To Tur Leoin of the high king.
“My sorrow!” said the smith of the axes,
If bald russet Muilearteach is slain.”
23—King.
The king said, “the people never stood,
That on the bald russet could bring blood;
Unless in a land of holes fell she,
Or was drowned upon the smooth bare sea.”
24.
“There never yet have come of any,
Those who the yellow Muilearteach could slay;
They did not slay her, but the Fhinn,
A band from whom tribute is not won.”
25.
“Great is the shame to the blossom of Phail,
To give under to the people of a single isle;
To the travelling, and to the west,
Travel we, and travel we in haste.”
26.
“That I would give my vow again,
If my mild Muilearteach has been slain;
That I with my people should never return,
Till Eirinn to a heap of ashes should burn.
“It seems that she was the wife of a superhuman Celtic sea
smith, who goes by the name of Bulcan sometimes,
27.
“In Eirinn let me not leave a stone,
In burn, or in moor, or in mountain lone;
Unlifted upon the beaks of my fleet,
Eirinn level of such great weight.”
28.
“I will bring my plungers upon the brine
To bring out of her sea bent all Eirinn.”
29—Bard.
Creat is the brag for the white ships
The whole of Eirinn to uplift,
And that there are not white ships in being
That could uplift one fifth of Eirinn.
30—King.
“Gather to me my worthy race,
King of the Spaniards and his force,
The king of Greece and of Gallia clean,
King of Hispania and of the Inds.”
31—Bard.
Gather of the whole world the clan,
The children of a king and of a single man,
Goblin or champion shall not get clear
From the beautiful Fhinn of the yellow hair.
32.
Seven score ships, and one thousand
Gathered the king, what a heavy band
For the taking of all Eirinn,
Could it be brought to Fionn, prince of the Finne.
33.
There was not a port nor a half port within
The five-fifths of the Eireann
That of beaked barks was not full,
And of the barges of their lords all.
34.
Though it was evil to be waiting for them,
’Twas no better for them that to us they came.
35.
A messenger came from Blaith Phail,
To find for him the Muilearteach,
Or else the bold youth of all Eirinn,
The children of a single man or of a king.
That MacChumhail would give to the
King of Lochlann, and without a grudge.
36.
Ten hundred helmets and fine mail,
Ten hundred shields and sheathed glaives,
Ten hundred collars of gold upon hounds,
Ten hundred slender stingers of battle.
37.
Ten hundred fine coloured flags,
Ten hundred wise warriors whom he might choose
Ten hundred bridles of gold and saddles.
38.
Though he got all that, the king of Lochlann
And the bold youth of the whole of Eirionn,
For ever with his people he would not be still
Till Eirinn should become a ruddy hill.
39—Lochlanners.
Then spoke an answerable true wise bard,
The lad that could answer with a knowing word;
And he spoke timidly and like a sneer
Unto the king that was too early.
40—Bard.
“Though you, like the whole of the Fhinn,
In the front of battle and combat
You must come as lions, weighty and gray,
Or else you will work out your own decay.
41.
“It were better to get us on a single place
Than from billow to billow to be on our trace.”
42—King.
“Thy counsel is lying, thou musical bard,”
Out spoke the king, wrathfully, hatingly,
“Because a third part of what is there (seen)
Thou hast never beheld in Eirinn.”
43—Feene.
If you will take my counsel, Fhinn,
Let submission be given on the sea,
That for ever under his sway you may be.”
44—Bard.
Up rose Iollain with a hero’s tread,
And each one followed him side by side,
To give a leathering to Garaidh from the wild,
Who the service of man could not abide.
45—Fionn.
“Stay thou, Iollain, as thou mayest be,”
Said MacChnmhail, the prince so high,
“Though evil the counsel of the man,
Stalwart his hand when the strife began.”
46—Osgar.
Said Osgar, as he felt the pain,
“Whatever ship is of loftiest sail,
Shall swim in blood beneath her keel,
If there be enough within her hull.”
47—Bard.
Then raised they, and they were not scarce,
Their slender pennons on their slender shafts
The standard of MacChumhail of Victories,
“Sun’s brightness,” above the trees.
48.
There were nine chains from it downward fell
Of the yellow gold, of no lustre dull,
A hero at every chain of these,
That was holding them against the stays.
49.
In the camp there was many a thousand of men,
Many a one with blades and spears so keen,
Many a trunkless head was there,
Many a neck there was swept bare.
From the first of the sun till the same evening
50.
Those heroes the greatest of the tribe
That came to us with an army (of pride),
To them the camp was the narrowest
Ere their rough vapouring was dispersed.
51.
In the thick of the people Osgar slew
One hundred spearmen for the first time,
Another hundred of the people by three,
Seeking a way to their Ard Righ.
52.
Another hundred of the hosts of men
On the further side of the King of Lochlann,
Until he slew, in the thick of the host,
The king for all his great honour’s boast.
53.
When they saw that the king had fallen,
Their courage failed them, and in great swiftness,
They went all in ranks to the sea;
And the battle poet was driving them.
54.
Amongst the warriors in turn,
It was the Osgar that was urging them.
After he had given the war
Came succour to the hero of bright arms.
55.
For through the spear-holes there might go
The sickles (*) through the back of Osgar.
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Whatever that day might hap to be
On the battle steep side of Beinn-Eudainn,
Such like great peril was not there found
From the first of the Finne till one day
On the day when the Fhinn were on Oirill’s Mound.
Wrote down this poem from the recitation of Angus MacDonald, Staoine-breac, South Uist, September 1860, and again from that of Allan MacPhie, tailor. MacDonald gives the same authority for it as for the ‘Great Fool,” and MacPhie says he learnt it from one Donald MacIntyre, who has gone to America, and if living is now about 80 years of age. In Barra, I heard it from Alexander MacDonald, Burgh; and from Donald MacPhie, smith, Brubhaig, who learnt it from an uncle of his, Hector MacLaine, also a smith. Some versions have lines which are wanting in others, and in some lines there are a few slight variations. I have inserted those lines and words which I thought best when differences occurred. H. M‘L.
(1) Maclean translates this brushwood, but the carlin was bald, and I have heard the word used to express a picture on a shield of some large bird, like an eagle, which is often mentioned in stories as “Creveenach.” The word may have something to do with Griffin, or Tree Lion.
(2) This warrior is said to have given the name to Glengarry. There are legends about him still current in that neigbourhood.
(3) Herons is the more evident meaning, but corr means any crooked instrument. The line occurs elsewhere,
{In translating this, I have aimed at giving the meaning of each line, at imitating the rhythm of the original, as well as I could, and at giving the same amount of rhyme, where I was able to hit upon rhymes that would not altar the meaning. MacLean’s manuscript is not divided into quatrains, but I have heard this chanted, and the measure, and the music, and the meaning, all
56
’S latha dha ’n Fhinn air tulach Oirill. point to a division into quatrains. I am indebted to the collector for a literal translation, which has been of the greatest assistance; but I have here and there followed Armstrong’s Dictionary, which contains many rare words, avowedly taken from the Ossianic poems. If there be errors in the translation, I hope they may be overlooked.
MacDonald, who sang this and two other poems to me in Barra, September 10, 1860, did it with only one mistake. He forgot something near the beginning, and stopped short, and uttering several expressions of strong disgust at his own forgetfulness, he turned back to the first line and began again, and got over the difficulty with a rush that reminded me of a man taking a running leap over a stiff hedge. With that one mistake he recited a whole poem; and so far as I can judge, from hearing such crabbed Gaelic once, it was the same poem which is here given, but we made out that there were fourscore verses in it, whereas there are but fifty-five incomplete in MacLean’s manuscript.
I observed that, two or three times, in reciting this and other poems, MacDonald repeated a couple of lines to fill up the time and complete a quatrain.
The poem was attributed to Oisean, and whoever composed it, clearly did so in the character of that old half mythical bard, for he speaks like an eye-witness, and dwells on the prowess of his son Osgar. I am not sufficiently acquainted with early Norwegian and Irish history, to be able to guess at the event which is celebrated, or at a date, but I suspect the poem was composed in remembrance of some real invasion of Ireland by the sea rovers of Lochlann, in which they got the worst of the fight, and that it has been preserved traditionally in the Hebrides ever since. Could it be Brian’s famous battle, A.D. 1014. MacLean has named his authorities; one of them, MacDonald, is referred to above. He is a workman who cannot read, and who speaks no language but Gaelic. He is a fine intelligent man, with a clear gray eye and smooth dark hair, very fond of the old poetry of his native country, and charmed to recite it to an audience able to take an interest in it. The audience was a numerous one on the 10th of September, and we were highly attentive. One woman was industriously weaving in a corner, another was carding wool, and a girl was spinning dexterously with a distaff made of a rough forked birch-branch, and a spindle which was little better than a splinter of fir. In the warm nook behind the fire sat a girl with one of those strange foreign faces which are occasionally to be seen in the Western Isles, and which are often supposed by their neighbours to mark the descendants of the Spanish crews of the wrecked armada—a face which, at the time, reminded me of the Nineveh sculptures, and of faces seen in St. Sebastian. Her hair was as black as night, and her clear dark eyes glittered through the peat smoke. Her complexion was dark, and her features so unlike those who sat about her, that I asked if she were a native of the island, and learned that she was a Highland girl. Old men and young lads, newly returned from the eastern fishing, sat about on benches fixed to the wall, and smoked and listened; and MacDonald sat on a low stool in the midst, and chanted forth his lays amidst suitable remarks and ejaculations of praise and sympathy. One of the poems was the Lay of Diarmaid, much the same as it appears here; as I had got it from MacLean, who had written it from the dictation of another man elsewhere. “Och! och!—aw! is not that sad?” said the women when Diarmaid was expiring, One of the audience was a stranger from the south, a Campbell, who had come to Barra from some other place, and who, as usual, hailed me as a kinsman, claimed Diarmaid as our common ancestor, and MacCalain Mor as the head of his family. His hair was yellow, though tinged with white; and amongst the short, dark natives of Barra, he looked large, and gaunt, and bony. He gave me his prose version of the escape and pursuit of Diarmaid and Graidhne, and brought the fugitives from Ireland to the Isle of Skye. The main incidents were similar to those already given, but in detail they differed entirely, as all versions which I have, do from each other. The house where our meeting was held was one of those which are only to be found in the far west, and this may serve to give a notion of the people, who still preserve and delight in this old Gaelic poetic lore.
May 11, 1861.—Since this was printed, I have found a version of “Duan a Mhuirearteach” in a collection of Gaelic poetry, made by Hugh Gillies, and printed in 1786 at Perth. 1 am indebted to the Rev. Mr. MacLauchlan for a loan of the book, which is rare, and which I had sought in vain at the British Museum and elsewhere. There are 112 lines arranged in stanzas in the published version; 213 in the traditional version here given. The story, and some lines of the poetry, also appear in the proceedings of the antiquaries of Scotland (vol. iii., part ii. 1861), these are taken from a MS, collection made in Lewis. It appears that the heroine was wife of a superhuman Celtic sea smith, who is a kind of Neptune, and who had been maltreated by the Feen.
Another version of the poem was written from the dictation of a man at Gairloch ten years ago; and another has lately been written by Mr. Torrie in Benbecula, from the recitation of an old beggar wife.