Elves and Heroes | Page 5

giant he in stature rose
Straight as a mast before his foes,

With head thrown high, and shoulders wide
And level, and set
back with pride;

His bared and supple arms were long
As shapely
oars: firm as a thong
His right hand grasped his gleaming blade,

Gold-hilted, and of keen bronze made
In leafen shape.

With stately stride
He crossed the level sands and wide,
Then on his
shield the challenge gave--
His broad sword thund'ring like a wave--

For single combat.
Red as gold
His locks upon his shoulders rolled;
A brazen helmet
on his head
Flashed fire; his cheeks were white and red;
And all the
Fians watched with awe
That hero young with knotted jaw,
Whose
eyes, set deep, 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