Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE BURIAL OF KING CORMAC, by SAMUEL FERGUSON Poem Explanation Poet's Biography First Line: Crom cruach and his sub-gods twelve Last Line: For still 'tis only dawning day. Subject(s): Cormac, King Of Ireland (3d Century) | ||||||||
"Crom Cruach and his sub-gods twelve,' Said Cormac, "are but craven treene; The axe that made them, haft or helve, Hath worthier of our worship been. "But He who made the tree to grow, And his in earth the iron-stone, And made the man with mind to know The axe's use, is God alone.' Anon to priests of Crom was brought -- Where, girded in their service dread, They minister'd on red Moy Slaught -- Word of the words King Cormac said. They loosed their curse against the king; They cursed him in his flesh and bones; And daily in their mystic ring They turn'd the maledictive stones. Till, where at meat the monarch sate, Amid the revel and the wine, He choked upon the food he ate, At Sletty, southward of the Boyne. High vaunted then the priestly throng, And far and wide they noised abroad With trump and loud liturgic song The praise of their avenging God. But ere the voice was wholly spent That priest and prince should still obey, To awed attendants o'er him bent Great Cormac gathered breath to say, -- "Spread not the beds of Brugh for me When restless death-bed's use is done: But bury me at Rossnaree And face me to the rising sun. "For all the kings who lie in Brugh Put trust in gods of wood and stone; And 'twas at Ross that first I knew One, Unseen, who is God alone. "His glory lightens from the east; His message soon shall reach our shore; And idol-god, and cursing priest Shall plague us from Moy Slaught no more.' Dead Cormac on his bier they laid: "He reign'd a king for forty years, And shame it were', his captains said, "He lay not with his royal peers. "His grandsire, Hundred-Battle, sleeps Serene in Brugh: and, all around, Dead kings in stone sepulchral keeps Protect the sacred burial ground. "What though a dying man should rave Of changes o'er the eastern sea? In Brugh of Boyne shall be his grave, And not in noteless Rossnaree.' Then northward forth they bore the bier, And down from Sletty side they drew, With horsemen and with charioteer, To cross the fords of Boyne to Brugh. There came a breath of finer air That touched the Boyne with ruffling wings, It stirr'd him in his sedgy lair And in his mossy moorland springs. And as the burial train came down With dirge and savage dolorous shows, Across their pathway, broad and brown The deep, full-hearted river rose; From bank to bank through all his fords, 'Neath blackening squalls he swell'd and boil'd; And thrice the wondering gentile lords Essay'd to cross, and thrice recoil'd. Then forth stepp'd grey-haired warriors four: They said, "Through angrier floods than these, On link'd shields once our king we bore From Dread-Spear and the hosts of Deece. "And long as loyal will holds good, And limbs respond with helpful thews, Nor flood, not fiend within the flood, Shall bar him of his burial dues.' With slanted necks they stoop'd to lift; They heaved him up to neck and chin: And, pair and pair, with footsteps swift, Lock'd arm and shoulder, bore him in. 'Twas brave to see them leave the shore; To mark the deep'ning surges rise, And fall subdued in foam before The tension of their striding thighs. 'Twas brave, when now a spear-cast out, Breast-high the battling surges ran; For weight was great, and limbs were stout, And loyal man put trust in man. But ere they reach'd the middle deep, Nor steadying weight of clay they bore, Nor strain of sinewy limbs could keep Their feet beneath the swerving four. And now they slide, and now they swim, and now, amid the blackening squall, Grey locks afloat, with clutching grim, They plunge around the floating pall. While, as a youth with practised spear Through justling crowds bears off the ring, Boyne from their shoulders caught the bier And proudly bore away the king. At morning, on the grassy marge Of Rossnaree, the corpse was found, And shepherds at their early charge Entomb'd it in the peaceful ground. A tranquil spot: a hopeful sound Comes from the ever youthful stream, And still on daisied mead and mound The dawn delays with tenderer beam. Round Cormac Spring renews her buds: In march perpetual by her side, Down come the earth-fresh April floods, And up the sea-fresh salmon glide; And life and time rejoicing run From age to age their wonted way; But still he waits the risen Sun, For still 'tis only dawning Day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FAIRY THORN; AN ULSTER BALLAD by SAMUEL FERGUSON THE PRETTY GIRL OF LOCH DAN by SAMUEL FERGUSON AIDEEN'S GRAVE by SAMUEL FERGUSON GRACE O'MALY by SAMUEL FERGUSON THE FORESTER'S COMPLAINT by SAMUEL FERGUSON THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR by SAMUEL FERGUSON THE GIANT WALKER by SAMUEL FERGUSON THE WASHER OF THE FORD by SAMUEL FERGUSON WELSHMAN OF TIRAWLEY by SAMUEL FERGUSON MOLLY ASTHORE by SAMUEL FERGUSON |
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