Elves and Heroes | Page 5

and blue and hard,?Surveyed their ranks with cold regard;?While his broad forehead, seamed with care,?Drooped shadowily: his eyebrows fair?Were sloping sideways o'er his eyes?With pondering o'er the mysteries.
The eyes of all the Fians sought?Heroic Groll, whose face was wrought?With lines of deep, perplexing thought--?For gazing on the valiant Conn,?He mourned that his own youth was gone,?When, strong and fierce and bold, he shed?The life-blood of the boastful Red,?Whom none save he would meet. He heard?The challenge, and nor spake, nor stirred,?Nor feared; but now grown old, when hate?And lust of glory satiate--?His heart took pride in Conn, and shared?The kinship of the brave.
Who dared?To meet the Viking bold, if he?The succour of the band, should be?Found faltering or in despair??Until that day the Fians ne'er?Of one man had such fear.
Old Goll?Sat musing on a grassy knoll,?They deemed he shared their dread ... Not so?Wise Finn, who spake forth firm and slow--?"Goll, son of Morna, peerless man,?The keen desire of every clan,?Far-famed for many a valiant deed,?Strong hero in the time of need.?I vaunt not Conn ... nor deem that thou?Dost falter, save with meekness, now--?But why shouldst thou not take the head?Of this bold youth, as of The Red,?His sire, in other days?"
Goll spake--?"O noble Finn, for thy sweet sake?Mine arms I'd seize with ready hand,?Although to answer thy command?My blood to its last drop were spilled--?By Crom! were all the Fians killed,?My sword would never fail to be?A strong defence to succour thee."
Upon his hard right arm with haste?His crooked and pointed shield he braced,?He clutched his sword in his left hand--?While round that hero of the band?The Fian warriors pressed, and praised?His valour ... Mute was Goll ... They raised,?Smiting their hands, the battle-cry,?To urge him on to victory.
The one-eyed Goll went forth alone,?His face was like a mountain stone,--?Cold, hard, and grey; his deep-drawn breath?Came heavily, like a man nigh death--?But his firm mouth, with lips drawn thin,?Deep sunken in his wrinkled skin,?Was cunningly crooked; his hair was white,?On his bald forehead gleamed a bright?And livid scar that Conn's great sire?Had cloven when their swords struck fire--?Burly and dauntless, full of might,?Old Goll went humbly forth to fight?With arrogant Conn ... It seemed The Red?In greater might was from the dead,?Restored in his fierce son ...
A deep?Swift silence fell, like sudden sleep,?On all the Fians waiting there?In sharp suspense and half despair ...?The morn was still. A skylark hung?In mid-air flutt'ring, and sung?A lullaby that grew more sweet?Amid the stillness, in the heat?And splendour of the sun: the lisp?Of faint wind in the herbage crisp?Went past them; and around the bare?And foam-striped sand-banks gleaming fair,?The faintly-panting waves were cast?By the wan deep fatigued and vast.
O great was Conn in that dread hour,?And all the Fians feared his power,?And watched, as in a darksome dream,?The warriors meet ... They saw the gleam?Of swift, up-lifted swords, and then?A breathless moment came, as when?The lithe and living lightning's flash?Makes pause, until the thunder's crash?Is splintered through the air.
Loud o'er?The blue sea and the shining shore?Broke forth the crash of arms ... The roll?Of Conn's fierce blows that baffled Goll?On sword and shield resounding rang,?While that old warrior stooped and sprang?Sideways, and swerved, or backward leapt,?As swiftly as the bronze blade swept?Above him and around ... He swayed,?Stumbling, but rose ... But, though his blade?Was ever nimble to defend,?The Fians feared the fight would end?In victory for Conn.
... 'Twas like?As when an eagle swoops to strike,?But swerves with flutt'ring wings, as nigh?Its head a javelin gleams ... A cry?That banished fear of Conn's great blows?From out the Fian ranks arose,?As, like a plumed reed in a gust,?Goll suddenly stooped--a deadly thrust?That drew the first blood in the fray?He darting gave ... With quick dismay?The valiant Conn drew back ...
Again?He leapt at Goll, but sought in vain?To blind him with his blows that fell?Like snowflakes on a sullen well--?For Goll was calm, while great Conn raged,?As hour by hour the conflict waged;?He was a blast-defying tree--?A crag that spurned a furious sea,?And all the Fians with one mind?Set firm their faith in Goll
The wind?Rose like a startled bird from out?The heather at the huntsman's shout?In swift and blust'ring flight At noon?The sun rolled in a cloudy swoon?Dimly, and over the rolling deep?Gust followed gust with shadowy sweep;?And waves that streamed their snowy locks?Were tossing high against the rocks?Seaward, while round the sands ebbed wide?Scrambled the fierce devouring tide
O, Conn was like a hound at morn,?That springs upon an elk forlorn?Among the hills. He was a proud?Cascade that leaps a cliff with loud?Unspending fall So fierce, so fair?Was arrogant Conn, but Goll fought there?Keen-eyed, with ready guard, at bay--?He was as a boar in that fierce fray.
The waves were humbled on the shore,?And silent fell, amid the roar?And crash of battle Mute and