The Loves of Liadan and Curithir
Curithir, maker of sweet song,By me beloved, you do me wrong!Dear master of the two Grey Feet,Is it like this we meet?
Of late,Since I and Liadan understood our fate,Each day hath been a month of fasting days,Each month a year of doubting of God's ways.
I had my choiceTo see her gentle form, or hear her voice;"Some comfort yet may reach her from my speech,"I said; "we have been ever looking each at each."
His voice comes up to me again,Is it in blame, or is it pain?I catch its accents strained and deep,And cannot sleep.
The flagstone where he bent the knee,Beside the wattled oratory,'Tis there, at eve, each lonely day,I go to pray.
Never for him dear hearth or wife,Homestead, or innocent baby life;No mate at his right handWill ever stand.
Cleric, thy thought is ill;Not with my will you link my name with his,From Loch Seng's borderland he comes, I wis,I from Iar-Conchin's Cill.
We met, you say;But sure, no honeyed pastures of the flockWhere lover's arms in lover's arms enlock,Was ours that May.
If Curithir is gone to-dayTo teach the little scholars of the school,Small help he'll get who does not know his rule;Curithir's thoughts are very far away.
'Tis done!Joyless the victory I have won,The tender heart of him I loved I wrung!
He called me nearA little space to please him, but the fearOf God in heaven withheld me, and I would not hear.
Great gainTo us the way love pointed plain,To win the gates of Paradise through pain.
Reckless and vainThe whim that caused my lover's love to dim;Great ever was my gentleness to him.
Liadan am I,And Curithir I loved; it is no lie,He would not doubt me now if he were by.
Short while were weTogether in the closest intimacy,Sweet was the time to him, and sweet to me.
The music of the lightly waving tree,When Curithir was here, would sing to me,With the deep voice of the empurpled sea.
Surely to-dayNo whim of mine would turn his heart away,No senseless act or speech, do what I may.
And to myself I say,My love to him was given, my heart, unshriven,At his dear feet I lay.
My heart is flame,A tempest heat no ice on earth can tame,I cry "I was to blame! I was to blame!"
Words in this poem
- flagstone n.
- A flat stone used in paving, or any rock which will split into such stones. See Flag, a stone.
- wattled a.
- Furnished with wattles, or pendent fleshy processes at the chin or throat.
- cleric n.
- A clerk, a clergyman. Bp. Horsley. [AS., fr. L. clericus. See Clerk.]
- loch n.
- A lake; a bay or arm of the sea. [Gael. & Olr. loch. See Lake of water.]
- honeyed a.
- Covered with honey.
- enlock v. t.
- To lock; to inclose.
- joyless a.
- Not having joy; not causing joy; unenjoyable.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Loves of Liadan and Curithir is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poem-Book of the Gael Translations from Irish Gaelic Poetry into English Prose and Verse, Project Gutenberg ebook #46917; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Eleanor Hull, The Loves of Liadan and Curithir, in The Poem-Book of the Gael (1912), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #46917, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hull-gael/the-loves-of-liadan-and-curithir.html, id L11692.
Form and metre
The Loves of Liadan and Curithir is 66 lines in 19 verse paragraphs. It is in rhyming couplets, 64% of the lines: octosyllabic couplets. This poem did not settle on a metre of its own; the book it comes from is in iambic tetrameter. 97% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.8 syllables. 2 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 15% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in octosyllabic couplets, other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 AABB songA · wrongA · feetB · meetB
- 2 AABB lateA · fateA · daysB · waysB
- 3 AABB choiceA · voiceA · speechB · eachB
- 4 AABB againA · painA · deepB · sleepB
- 5 --AA knee · oratory · dayA · prayA
- 6 AABB wifeA · lifeA · handB · standB
- 7 A--A illA · his · wis · cillA
- 8 ABBA sayA · flockB · enlockB · mayA
- 9 ABBA dayA · schoolB · ruleB · awayA
- 10 AA- doneA · wonA · wrung
- 11 AAA nearA · fearA · hearA
- 12 AAA gainA · plainA · painA
- 13 -AA vain · dimA · himA
- 14 AAA iA · lieA · byA
- 15 A-A weA · intimacy · meA
- 16 AAA treeA · meA · seaA
- 17 AAA dayA · awayA · mayA
- 18 A-A sayA · unshriven · layA
- 19 AAA flameA · tameA · blameA
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Curithir, maker of sweet song, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| By me beloved, you do me wrong! | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| Dear master of the two Grey Feet, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Is it like this we meet? | 6 | ······ |
| Of late, | 2 | ·· |
| Since I and Liadan understood our fate, | 10 | ······˘//· |
| Each day hath been a month of fasting days, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Each month a year of doubting of God's ways. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| I had my choice | 4 | ···· |
| To see her gentle form, or hear her voice; | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| "Some comfort yet may reach her from my speech," | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| I said; "we have been ever looking each at each." | 11 | ·····//˘··· |
| His voice comes up to me again, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Is it in blame, or is it pain? | 8 | ········ |
| I catch its accents strained and deep, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And cannot sleep. | 4 | ·/˘· |
| The flagstone where he bent the knee, | 8 | ·/······ |
| Beside the wattled oratory, | 9 | ˘/·/˘/˘·˘ |
| 'Tis there, at eve, each lonely day, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| I go to pray. | 4 | ···· |
| Never for him dear hearth or wife, | 8 | /˘······ |
| Homestead, or innocent baby life; | 8 | /··/˘/˘· |
| No mate at his right hand | 6 | ······ |
| Will ever stand. | 4 | ·/˘· |
| Cleric, thy thought is ill; | 6 | /˘···· |
| Not with my will you link my name with his, | 10 | ·········· |
| From Loch Seng's borderland he comes, I wis, | 10 | ·········· |
| I from Iar-Conchin's Cill. | 6 | ······ |
| We met, you say; | 4 | ···· |
| But sure, no honeyed pastures of the flock | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Where lover's arms in lover's arms enlock, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘·˘/ |
| Was ours that May. | 5 | ·/˘·· |
| If Curithir is gone to-day | 8 | ········ |
| To teach the little scholars of the school, | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Small help he'll get who does not know his rule; | 10 | ·········· |
| Curithir's thoughts are very far away. | 10 | ·····/˘·˘/ |
| 'Tis done! | 2 | ·· |
| Joyless the victory I have won, | 8 | /˘·/˘··· |
| The tender heart of him I loved I wrung! | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| He called me near | 4 | ···· |
| A little space to please him, but the fear | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Of God in heaven withheld me, and I would not hear. | 12 | ···/˘/······ |
| Great gain | 2 | ·· |
| To us the way love pointed plain, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| To win the gates of Paradise through pain. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Reckless and vain | 4 | /˘·· |
| The whim that caused my lover's love to dim; | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Great ever was my gentleness to him. | 8 | ·/··/˘·· |
| Liadan am I, | 4 | ···· |
| And Curithir I loved; it is no lie, | 10 | ·········· |
| He would not doubt me now if he were by. | 10 | ·········· |
| Short while were we | 4 | ···· |
| Together in the closest intimacy, | 9 | ˘/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Sweet was the time to him, and sweet to me. | 10 | ·········· |
| The music of the lightly waving tree, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| When Curithir was here, would sing to me, | 10 | ·········· |
| With the deep voice of the empurpled sea. | 9 | ········· |
| Surely to-day | 4 | /˘·· |
| No whim of mine would turn his heart away, | 10 | ········˘/ |
| No senseless act or speech, do what I may. | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| And to myself I say, | 6 | ···/·· |
| My love to him was given, my heart, unshriven, | 11 | ·····/····· |
| At his dear feet I lay. | 6 | ······ |
| My heart is flame, | 4 | ···· |
| A tempest heat no ice on earth can tame, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| I cry "I was to blame! I was to blame!" | 10 | ·········· |
Notes from the edition 1
Eleanor Hull's notes to The Poem-Book of the Gael (1912; Project Gutenberg #46917).
- Stanza 1, line 3 A play on Curithir's patronymic, Mac Doborchon, i.e. "Son of the Otter."
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.