Soft-couch'd upon a bank
Lay Caoilte on the cliff-top, while he drank
The sweetness of the morning air, that brought
A spell of dreamful ease and pleasant thought,
With mem'ries from the deeps of other years
When Dermaid, unforgotten by his peers,
And Oscar, fair and young, went forth with mirth
A-hunting o'er the hills around the firth
On such an April morn….

He leapt to hear
The Fians shouting from a woodland near
Their hunting-call. Then swift he sped a-pace,
With bounding heart, to join the gladsome chase;
Stooping he ran, with poised, uplifted spear,
As through the woods approached the nimble deer
That swerved, beholding him. With startled toss
Of antlers, down the slope it fled, to cross
The open vale before him … To the west
The Fians, merging from the woodland, pressed
To head it shoreward … All the fierce hounds bayed
With hungry ardour, and the deer, dismayed,
With foaming nostrils leapt, and strove to flee
Towards the deep, dark woods of Calrossie.
But Caoilte, fresh from resting, was more fleet
Than deer or dogs, and sped with naked feet,
Until upon a loose and sandy bank,
Plunging his spear into the smoking flank,
Its flight he stayed…. He stabbed it as it sank,
The life-blood spurting; and he saw it die
Or ever dog or huntsman had come nigh.

Then eager feast they made; and after long
And frequent fast of winter, they grew strong
As they had been of old. And of their fare
The lean and scrambling hounds had ready share.

Nor over-fed they in their merry mood,
But set to hunt again, and through the wood
Scattered with eager pace, ere yet the sun
Had climbed to highest noon; for lo! each one
Had mem'ry of the famished cheeks and white
Of those who waited their return by night,
In steep Knockfarrel's desolate stockade—
O' many a beauteous and bethrothÈd maid,
And mothers nursing babes, and warriors lying
In winter-fever's spell, the old men dying,
And slim, fair lads who waited to acclaim,
With gladsome shout, the huntsmen when they came
With burdens of the chase … So they pursued
The hunt till eve was nigh. In Geanies wood
Another deer they slew …

Caoilte, who stood
On a high ridge alone … with eager eyes
Scanning the prospect wide … in mute surprise
Saw rising o'er Knockfarrel, a dark cloud
Of thick and writhing smoke … Then fierce and loud
Upon his horn he blew the warning blast—
From out the woods the Fians hastened fast—
Lo! when they stared towards the western sky,
They saw their winter dwelling blazing high.

Then fear possessed them for their own, and grief
Unutterable. And thus spake their wise chief,
To whom came knowledge and the swift, sure thought—
"Alas! alas! an enemy hath wrought
Black vengeance on our kind. In yonder gleam
Of fearsome flame, the horrors of my dream
Are now accomplished—all we loved and cherished,
And sought, and fought for, in that pyre have perished!"

White-lipped they heard…. Then, wailing loud, they ran,
Following the nimble Caoilte, man by man,
Towards Knockfarrel; leaping on their spears
O'er marsh and stream. MacReithin, blind with tears,
Tumbled or leapt into a swollen flood
That swept him to the sea. But no man stood
To help or mourn him, for the eve grew dim—
And some there were, indeed, who envied him.