e been made of them, we can
see that the Celtic authors of that period are already remarkable for
qualities that have since shone with extreme brilliancy among various
nations belonging to the same race: the sense of form and beauty, the
dramatic gift, fertility of invention.[14] This is all the more
noticeable as the epoch was a barbarous one, and a multitude of passages
recall the wild savageness of the people. We find in these legends as
many scenes of slaughter and ferocious deeds as in the oldest Germanic
poems: _Provincia ferox_, said Tacitus of Britain. The time is still
distant when woman shall become a deity; the murder of a man is
compensated by twenty-one head of cattle, and the murder of a woman by
three head only.[15] The warlike valour of the heroes is carried as far
as human nature and imagination allow; not even Roland or Ragnar Lodbrok
die more heroically than Cuchulainn, who, mortally wounded, dies
standing:

"He fixed his eye on this hostile group. Then he leaned himself against
the high stone in the plain, and, by means of his belt, he fastened his
body to the high stone. Neither sitting nor lying would he die; but he
would die standing. Then his enemies gathered round him. They remained
about him, not daring to approach; he seemed to be still alive."[16]

At the same time, things of beauty have their place in these tales.
There are birds and flowers; women are described with loving admiration;
their cheeks are purple "as the fox-glove," their locks wave in the
light.

Above all, such a dramatic gift is displayed as to stand unparalleled in
any European literature at its dawn.[17] Celtic poets excel in the art
of giving a lifelike representation of deeds and events, of graduating
their effects, and making their characters talk; they are matchless for
speeches and quick repartees. Compositions have come down to us that are
all cut out into dialogues, so that the narrative becomes a drama. In
such tales as the "Murder of the Sons of Usnech," or "Cuchulainn's
Sickness," in which love finds a place, these remarkable traits are to
be seen at their best. The story of "Mac Datho's Pig" is as powerfully
dramatic and savage as the most cruel Germanic or Scandinavian songs;
but it is at the same time infinitely more varied in tone and artistic
in shape. Pictures of everyday life, familiar fireside discussions
abound, together with the scenes of blood loved by all nations in the
season of their early manhood