Aislinge Oengusso - the Dream of Oengus - a retelling of the ancient love story of Newgrange by Anthony Murphy

THE DREAM OF OENGUS

D Eduard Muller’s translation updated for modern readers by Anthony Murphy

The story known as ‘Aislinge Oengusso’ (the vision or dream of Oengus) was first mentioned as a remscéla (introductory tale) to the Táin bó Cuailgne in the 12^th century Book of Leinster, but is not recounted there. The story is contained in full in a British Library Egerton manuscript (1782, folio 70b) dating from AD1517. A translation by Eduard Müller was published in Revue Celtique in the 1870s. This translation uses somewhat archaic English, so I decided to update it for a more modern audience. (Note: It is not always implicit from the dialogue who is speaking, so I have had to use some judgement in a couple of instances. Any errors are, of course, mine). 

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Oengus was sleeping one night when he saw something like a maiden near him at the top of his bed. She was the most beautiful woman in Ireland. Oengus tried to take her by the hands to bring her into his bed, but she suddenly vanished. His mind was uneasy until the morning. 

The episode brought an illness upon him – this vision of a figure he had seen but with whom he hadn’t spoken. He did not eat any food. The next night, he saw her again, this time with a cymbal in her hand. She played a song to him so that he fell asleep. He was there until morning. When he woke, he did not have any breakfast.

A whole year passed by and she continued to visit him in his bed so that he fell in love. He didn’t tell anybody about this mysterious maiden. He fell ill and nobody knew what was wrong with him.

The physicians of Erinn assembled. They did not know what was wrong. One went to Fergne, the physician of Conn. He came to Oengus. He knew from looking at Oengus’s face what was wrong with him. He had an illness of the mind.

Fergne spoke with Oengus and told him that an “accidental love has fallen on you”. 

“My illness has judged me,” said Oengus. “I loved in heartlessness. And nobody dared say it to the other.”

“It is true,” said Oengus. “I met a beautiful woman, the most beautiful that is in Erinn, with a distinguished appearance; she had a cymbal in her hand on which she used to play to me every night.”

Fergne knew that love sickness had seized Oengus, so he went to fetch the young man’s mother, Boann, to come and speak with him.

“I was trying to cure this man,” said Fergne, “who has been seized by an uncertain illness.”

Fergne asked Boann to search the whole of Ireland for a maiden like that which her son had seen at night. And so Boann searched Ireland for a year, but nothing was found.

Fergne was called for again. “We have not found any help in this matter,” said Boann.

Fergne said: “Send for the Dagda, so that he may come and speak with his son.”

Brug Mac ind Oicc (Newgrange), where Oengus had his dream of the maiden Caer.

Dagda came. “Why have I been called here?” he asked. “To help your son,” said Boann.  “Your help is better for him. It would be a pity for him to die. He has an illness. He has fallen in an accidental love and there is no help for him.”

“What use is it to him to speak with me?” said the Dagda. “My knowledge is no better than yours.”

Fergne said to the Dagda that he was the “fairy king of Erinn” and he implored Dagda to send to the fairy king of Munster, Bodb, whose knowledge was known far and wide. 

So they went to Bodb, who asked why they had come. “Oengus the son of the Dagda is in love this past two years,” said Fergne. “What for?” said Bodb. “He saw a maiden in his dreams. We don’t know anywhere in Ireland that this maiden can be found.” Bodb was asked to search Ireland for a woman of this form and appearance. Bodb agreed and said it would take him a year until he could answer with certainty.

Fergne went at the end of a year back to the house of Bodb, at Síd fer Femoin. 

“I have investigated all Erinn,” said Bodb, “until I found the maiden at Loch bel Draccon at the harp of Cliach.”

The two went to Dagda with the good news. “The maiden has been found,” said Fergne. “Now Bodb insists that Oengus is to come with us in order to ascertain whether he recognises her as the maiden he saw in his dreams.”

Oengus was brought in a chariot to Síd fer Feimin. A great feast was held with king Bodb for three days and nights. Afterwards, Bodb beckoned Oengus outside, to see if he recognised the woman.

They travelled until they were at the sea, where they saw 150 young women and the maiden was among them. A silvery chain linked every two of the women, a silvery necklace around the neck and a chain of burnished gold.

Caer took the form of a swan for a year and a human the next year.

“Do you recognise the maiden?” Bodb asked.

“Of course I recognise her,” replied Oengus.

“This is not your greatest power,” said Bodb.

“Not so,” replied Oengus. “For I will not be able to take her with me this time.”

“Who is this maiden, o Bodb?” asked Oengus.

“I know who she is. She is Caer ib Ormaith, daughter of Ethal Anbual from Sid Uaman in the province of Connacht.”

Oengus returned with Bodb to Brug mac ind Oicc (Newgrange) to visit the Dagda and Boann. They related how they had seen the maiden, and had heard the name of her father and grandfather. Bodb suggested to the Dagda that he should go to Ailell and Medb in their territory in the land of Connacht, where the maiden was located.

The Dagda travelled with 60 chariots to Connacht. The king and queen welcomed him. They had a feast and drank beer for a whole week. The king asked Dagda what was the reason for his journey.

“There is a maiden in your land,” said the Dagda,” and my son is in love with her and an illness has seized him. I came to ask if you could give her to my son.”

“Which woman is she?” asked Ailell.

“The daughter of Ethal Anbual.”

“We have no power over her,” said Ailill and Medb, “that we could give her to him.”

“Let the king be called here,” said the Dagda.

The stuart of Ailell went to Ethal Anbual and told him he was to go and speak with Ailell and Medb.

“I will not go,” he said. “I will not give my daughter to the son of the Dagda.”

Ethel Anbual’s answer was related to Ailell. “He will not come. He knows the reason for which he is called.”

“Not so,” said Ailell. “I will go and my soldiers will be taken to him.”

Then the household of Ailell and the army of the Dagda rose up towards the fairies. They destroyed the whole síd. They went to the king who was in the caves of anxiety.

Ailell said to Ethal Anbual: “Give your daughter to the son of the Dagda.”

“I cannot,” he said. “There is a greater power in them.”

“What greater power?” asked Ailell.

“Not difficult to say,” replied Ethal Anbual. “To be in the shape of a bird every day of a year; and the other year to be in human shape.”

“Which year will she be in the shape of a bird?” said Ailell.

“I don’t know,” said Caer’s father.

 

Ailell threatened to cut his head off if he did not explain. So he did.

“She will be in the shape of a bird the next summer at Loch bel Draccon and beautiful birds will be seen with her and there will be 150 swans about her.”

Afterwards, Ailell, Ethal and the Dagda became good friends and Ethal was set free.

The Dagda went to his house and told the news to his son.

“Next summer, you must go to Loch bel Draccon and call her to you at the lake.”

Mac Og went to Loch bel Draccon when he saw the 150 white birds at the lake with their silvery chains and golden caps around their heads. Oengus was in human shape at the edge of the lake. He called the maiden to him.

“Come to speak with me, o Chaer.”

“Who calls me?” said Caer.

“Oengus calls you. Come and yield to me.”

Swans at Newgrange...these birds may have inspired some of the old myths.

“I will come,” she said. She went over to him. He put his two hands on her. They slept in the shape of two swans until they surrounded the lake three times. They left the lake in the form of two white birds until they were at the Brug of the mic ind Oicc and they made sweet music so that the people fell asleep for three days and three nights.

The maiden Caer remained with Oengus at the Brug after that.

Afterwards, Oengus became good friends with Ailell and Medb and as a consequence Oengus went with three hundred others to Ailell and Medb for the Táin bo Cuailgne.

Caiseal Oengus, prehistoric henge site at Brugh na Bóinne, captured in the early morning spring sunlight

This large henge (embanked enclosure) located beside the River Boyne at Brugh na Bóinne, known on archaeological maps simply as Site P, has been identified tentatively by archaeologist Geraldine Stout as the site referred to in ancient lore as Caisel nOengussa, the Cashel of Oengus.

Aerial photo showing Caiseal Oengus (Site P), the double pond feature and Mound B all along the Boyne.

A description of sixteen sites at the Brug na Bóinne complex is described in the Dindshenchas, a collection of middle Irish legends from around AD900-1200 that poetically describe the "lore of the landmarks". 

It is not known why Oengus/Anghus had a site attributed to him separately to Newgrange (called Tech Mic ind Óc and Sid i mBruig Míc ind Óc in the Dindshenchas poem Brug na Bóinde). It is just one of a number of such embanked enclosures in the area. Perhaps the most famous in the Bend of the Boyne is the Dowth Henge (Site Q) which is one of the largest in Ireland.

Because of its somewhat denuded nature, Site P is best seen when the sun is low in the sky, as demonstrated by this photo taken at 7am this morning on a beautiful spring dawn. Behind the henge to the upper left is a double pond, often described as a figure-of-eight pond, which is thought might be a manmade feature. Caiseal Oengusa and the double pond attract whooper swans, which spend some of their time at these locations when they come to the Boyne Valley from Iceland to spend the winter here. Further off in the distance, behind the double pond, is Mound B, on the flood plain of the Boyne.

Easter Sunday and controlling time at Brug na Bóinne

I suppose it's fitting that I should come to Newgrange on Easter Sunday, as the country remembers the events of a century ago, events that gave birth to a new nation. It's fitting in many ways. It's fitting because of the rebirth that Newgrange represents - the rebirth of the sun, and of new life, and perhaps also the rebirth of the soul.

I've come here for a short time to get away from the distractions of home, and to perhaps clear the mind a little, to allow the whispers of the gods to be heard among the chill winds of this bright but showery March evening.

Sunset at Newgrange on Easter Sunday. © Anthony Murphy.

What an auspicious day, Easter Sunday. A time when we think of resurrection, of the rebirth of dreams long forgotten in the shadow of winter. Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom. Aonghus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom. Just as I write that, I can hear the spring lambs bleating here on the grassy slopes in front of Newgrange. Oh lamb, why is it that you had to be sacrificed? What is it within us that believes something good will come of something so foul? Why do we feel we have to destroy life in order that life may flourish?

Perhaps those who were executed after the Easter Rising were the sacrificial lambs who had to be slaughtered in order for new life to thrive. But I don't know why that should be. I doubt I will ever understand it. Live and let live.

The sun comes now, beneath the cumulonimbus to the west, high above Rosnaree. Knowth reopens to the public after the winter at Easter. That is highly fortuitous, given that ancient Knowth was a site seemingly designed with finding Easter in mind. Ironically, the only time Newgrange closes is at Christmas.

At Knowth, at Easter, let us put Jesus into the eastern tomb at dawn, and perhaps at dusk we will find him emerging from the western tomb, facing Slane, awaiting the lighting of the Paschal Fire. In doing so, we might be putting him on the cross again, for the eastern tomb is cruciform, and the western tomb is not. He will shed his cross in order to come out the other side. Who knows what miracles might have been wrought in the depths of Buí's hill, overlooking the mighty Boyne.

Here at Newgrange, on the solstice, we will watch as god himself is born in man, a miracle of light in the darkness.

What we should not do is to try to control time. The Dagda tried to control time at Newgrange, so that he could lie with Bóinn for the conception of the new miracle son, Aonghus Óg, the son of god. But the plan came to nought because the Milesians arrived and sent them all underground.

Bressail Bó Dibad tried to control time at Dowth, so that his ego could be raised to new heights using a new tower of Babylon. But his plan came to nought when he lay with his sister, and the tower remained unfinished.

Today, on Easter Sunday, the period known as Daylight Saving Time began. At 1am this morning, the clocks went forward by an hour. Yet again, we are trying to control time. But the bleating lambs don't notice. The blackbirds in the hedge don't notice. The Dagda himself, in silent slumber somewhere in a realm known as the sídhe, doesn't notice. Today, we've fooled ourselves into thinking that the newly risen Jesus will tarry an extra hour at the doorway of Knowth.

Now that we think we have mastered time, what will become of us? Will our Milesians come, to banish us to another realm? Will darkness fall on our rush to build that tower to reach heaven - that new tower of Babylon, the one with which we will climb to heaven and converse with god himself?

The sun strikes the milky quartz on the western limb of Newgrange's great wall. The shadows from the great circle stones are much the same as they were yesterday. The lone crow riding the wind above the great mound does not see an extra hour of daylight. The sun sets when the sun sets. He does not put a number on it.

Last light at Newgrange on Easter Sunday 2016. © Anthony Murphy.

But I will delay a while longer, here at Newgrange on Easter Sunday, in the hope that, as Lady Gregory might have wished, Aonghus Óg will come out from the Brug and let himself be seen on the earth.

There are other people now. I gather by their accents that they are foreign. Sure weren't we all foreign once? Didn't we all come to this enchanted isle from across nine waves? We all come to Newgrange as foreigners. And we all leave as if leaving home. That is the power of the Brug. You leave it feeling that you are just a speck of dust on the master's table.

We cannot control time. It is futile. We can count it, and doubtless the builders of the great monuments did just that. And in counting it, and measuring it, and putting numbers on it, can we get any sense of beginnings and origins, of endings and destinies? This is one of the key questions that preoccupied the masterful builders of the great monuments:

Where did we come from?

Tied up with that question, bound inevitably to it. is the second part:

Where are we going, and what will happen to us?

In the pages of this blog, and the Mythical Ireland website, and my books, there is my own feeble exploration of those questions, a quest of sorts, an adventure in landscape and myth and time, an effort to put into words my own flimsy and fallible understanding of why I think the monuments, and the myths, of the Boyne Valley, are tied up with that ultimate quest.

How Aonghus took the Brugh from Elcmar

'What counsel do you give this lad?' asked Midhir. 'I have this for him' replied Eochaid 'On the day of the Samhain let him go into the Brugh and let him go armed. That is a day of peace and amity among the men of Ireland, on which none is at enmity with his fellow. And Elcmar will be at Cnoc Síd in Broga unarmed save for a fork of white hazel in his hand, his cloak folded about him, and a gold brooch in his cloak, and three fifties playing before him in the playing field; and let Aengus go to him and threaten to kill him. But it is important that he does not kill him provided Elcmar promises him his will. And let this be the will of Aengus, that he be king a day and a night in the Brugh; and see that he yields not the land again to Elcmar until he submit himself to my decision. And when he comes let Aengus plea that the land has fallen to him in simple payment for the sparing of Elcmar's life, and that what he has asked for is kingship for a day and a night, and it is in days and nights that the world is spanned.