The Tree of Life in Gadhelic Legend
(The Death of Fraoch)

On Cluan Fraoich a friend doth sigh
Where doth lie a warrior low
On his bier;
And his moan makes warriors grieve
And bereft of love his spouse.
For Idad’s son she doth keen
For whom is named Cairn Laive:
Fraoch mac Idad of soft locks,
Idad’s son of raven hair
Westward there lies Fraoch mac Idad

To Cluan Fraoich comes Find-abair:
She doth weep- a sad ladye;
With tresses soft and curling locks
And her hand
Of Queen Meve proud heroes sought.

Find-abair of golden hair
Ailill’s one daughter she
Lies side by Faorch to-night:
Of many loved, of many sought
But never a love
But Fraoch had Find-abair.

Her cause of hatred unprovoked Meve found
For Fraoch the best of knights,
Bravest and friendliest:
When love for him she found
Her passion he did scorn
And hence his wound:
Fraoch lies a corpse to-night.
Great was the wrong thus wrought by Meve:
Simply we still unfold
The story old:
(With woman-kind side not in ill)
His death her scheme foretold.
          (On Cluan Fraoich a friend doth sigh.)

II

A rowan tree grew on Loch Meve –
    Southwards is seen the shore—
Every fourth and every month
    Ripe fruit the rowan bore:
Fruit more sweet than honey-comb,
Its clusters’ virtues strong,
Its berries red could one but taste
Hunger they staved off long.

Its berries’ juice and fruit when red
For a year would life prolong:
From dread disease it gave relief
If what is told be our belief.

Yet though it proved a means of life
    Peril lay closely nigh;
Coiled by its root a dragon lay
    Forbidding passage by.

A messenger for Fraoch was sent
    By Eochaidh’s daughter keen-
When sickness sore Meve rent:
    “What ails?” quoth Fraoch, “the Queen?”

And Eochaidh’s daughter made reply-
  Eochaidh of the festive horns-
That ne’er would she be whole
  Till her soft palm were full
Of berries from the island in the lake-
  Fraoch’s hand alone to pull.

“Such I ne’er cull’d,” said Idad’s son
    Of blushing face;
“Yet will I what I yet ne’er willed,”
    Quoth Fraoch, out of grace.

Sir Fraoch moved forward to his fate
    Forth to the lake and swam the tide;
He found asleep the dragon-snake
    Around the tree, mouth open wide.
        (On Cluan Fraoich a friend doth sign.)

III

Fraoch, Idad’s son, of weapon keen
    Of the beast being unperceived,
Of berries red a lapful brought
    Meve’s longing to relieve.

“Though good be that which thou hast
    brought,”
Quoth Meve of form so fair,
“Nought me relieves, O Champion bold
Save branch from trunk thou bear.”

Fraoch gave consent: no fear he knew
    But swam the lake once more:
But hero never yet did pass
    The fate for him in store.

The rowan by the top he seized
    From root he pulled the tree;
And the monster of the lake perceived
    As Fraoch from the land made free

With his gaping maw the hero’s hand
    He seized in the liquid tide:
Fraoch seized the monster by the jaw,
    Would a knife were by his side!

Find-abair of lovely tresses
    For Sir Fraoch her love,
Unperceived, a knife she bore;
    Fraoch’s fair skin the monster tore
  And gnawing shore his arm away.

Fraoch, Idad’s son, in conflict dire
    With the monster’s woeful ire:
On the southern strand they fought and fell
    And the blood the boulders dyed.

Nor short the conflict: in his hand
    Fraoch held the monster’s head;
Which when the maiden did perceive
    On the strand she swooned as dead.

The maid then spake as she awoke-
    In her palm his hand she placed,
“Though now but food for birds-of-prey,
    Thy renown on earth is traced.”

And from the death the hero died
    The lake doth take its name;
For ever is it hight Loch Meve
    And thus resounds his fame.
        (On Cluan Fraoich a friend doth sigh.)

IV

His body to Cluan Fraoich is borne
    A hero on his bier laid low;
And still the mead his name makes known
    Ah! Pity the survivor’s woe.

Cairn-of-the-Hand beside me here
    Is names from Froach Cairn Laive,
Back he ne’er turned his hand but fought
    The foremost when alive.

Belov’d the mouth that friends ne’er scorned
    The lips which woman’s lips had pressed;
Belov’d the chief, of hosts the lord,
    Belov’d the cheeks the rosiest.

Cheek redder than the blood of fawn
    Hair darker than the raven’s crest,
And softer than the streaming foam,
    Whiter than snow Fraoch’s waist.

More fringed than meadow-sweet his locks,
    Than violet his eye more blue;
Than rowans ripe his lips more red,
    Whiter his teeth than woodbine hue.

Thou mast his spear was higher; his voice
    More musical than lute:
No swimmer tat with Fraoch could vie
    His side by water put.

Broader than door-leaf was his shield,
    Whoso could wield it, happy lord!
Long as his lance the arm of Fraoch
    Than ship’s plate more broad his sword.

Would that Fraoch by heroes bold,
    The bestower of gold – fell;
Alas and alas! Through a monster’s hold
    We hear his funeral knell.
        (On Cluan Fraoich a friend doth sigh.)

Retold after the book of the Dean of Linsmore, a 16th century text
From The Celtic Dragon Myth

 

Main Index