English Literature For Boys and Girls | Page 7

who had been
long parted. Then Fergus told the three brothers that Conor had forgiven them, and that
he longed to see them back again in the land of Erin.
So although the heart of Deirdre was sad and heavy with foreboding of evil, they set sail
for the land of Erin. But Deirdre looked behind her as the shore faded from sight and sang
a mournful song: -
"O eastern land I leave, I loved you well, Home of my heart, I love and loved you well, I
ne'er had left you had not Naisi left."*
*Douglas Hyde
And so they fared on their journey and came at last to Conor's palace. And the story tells
how the boding sorrow that Deirdre felt fulfilled itself, and how they were betrayed, and
how the brothers fought and died, and how Deirdre mourned until

"Her heart-strings snapt, And death had overmastered her. She fell Into the grave where
Naisi lay and slept. There at his side the child of Felim fell, The fair-haired daughter of a
hundred smiles. Men piled their grave and reared their stone on high, And wrote their
names in Ogham.* So they lay All four united in the dream of death."**
* Ancient Gaelic writing. ** Douglas Hyde
Such in a few words is the story of Deirdre. But you must read the tale itself to find out
how beautiful it is. That you can easily do, for it has been translated many times out of
the old Gaelic in which it was first written and it has been told so simply that even those
of you who are quite young can read it for yourselves.
In both The Tain and in Deirdre we find the love of fighting, the brave joy of the strong
man when he finds a gallant foe. The Tain is such history as those far-off times afforded,
but it is history touched with fancy, wrought with poetry. In the Three Sorrows we have
Romance. They are what we might call the novels of the time. It is in stories like these
that we find the keen sense of what is beautiful in nature, the sense of "man's brotherhood
with bird and beast, star and flower," which has become the mark of "Celtic" literature.
We cannot put it into words, perhaps, for it is something mystic and strange, something
that takes us nearer fairyland and makes us see that land of dreams with clearer eyes.
BOOKS TO READ
The Celtic Wonder World, by C. L. Thomson. The Enchanted Land (for version of
Deirdre), by L Chisholm. Three Sorrows (verse), by Douglas Hyde.



Chapter IV
THE STORY OF A LITERARY LIE
WHO wrote the stories which are found in the old Gaelic manuscripts we do not know,
yet the names of some of the old Gaelic poets have come down to us. The best known of
all is perhaps that of Ossian. But as Ossian, if he ever lived, lived in the third century, as
it is not probable that his poems were written down at the time, and as the oldest books
that we have containing any of his poetry were written in the twelfth century, it is very
difficult to be sure that he really made the poems called by his name.
Ossian was a warrior and chief as well as a poet, and as a poet he is claimed both by
Scotland and by Ireland. But perhaps his name has become more nearly linked to
Scotland because of the story that I am going to tell you now. It belongs really to a time
much later than that of which we have been speaking, but because it has to do with this
old Gaelic poet Ossian, I think you will like to hear it now.
In a lonely Highland village more than a hundred and fifty years ago there lived a little
boy called James Macpherson. His father and mother were poor farmer people, and
James ran about barefooted and wild among the hills and glens. When he was about
seven years old the quiet of his Highland home was broken by the sounds of war, for the
Highland folk had risen in rebellion against King George II., and were fighting for Prince
Charlie, hoping to have a Stewart king once more. This was the rebellion called the '45,
for it was fought in 1745.

Now little James watched the red coats of the southern soldiers as, with bayonets
gleaming in the sun, they wound through the glens. He heard the Highland battle-cry and
the clash of steel on steel, for fighting came near his home, and his own people joined the
standard of the Pretender. Little James never forgot these things, and long afterwards,
when he grew to be