V. THE ÚBO WARS.

V. THE ÚBO WARS.1

	Arába continues:
After the War of the Gods, Ífè returns to the arts of peace.	Oíbo, graven on my memory Is the sad legend which my father told me Of the Great Gods' departure. . . The years slid by Unnoted while King Ógun2 reigned. The World Was young: upon the craggy slopes the trees Shot forth red buds, and ancient Ífè, gaunt With suffering, dreamed again her early dreams. Taught by the Gods, the folk began to learn The arts of Heaven's peace anew; the drum Returned to measures of the dance, and Great Orísha saw the joy of life once more In his creatures' eyes. Thus lived mankind among
The foundation of Úbo	The Gods, and multiplied until the youth Of Ífè sought new homes and wider lands In the vast Forest; and thus was born the first Fair daughter of Odúwa's city. Men called Her Úbo, and the leader took the name Olúbo of Úbo with his chieftaincy.
is attended by strife from the first.	But to these colonists the Gods, their Fathers, Gave no good gifts: 'midst battles with the Wild, 'Mid struggles with the Forest the town grew- While dull remembrance of unnatural wrongs p. 41 Bred Man's first rebel thought against the Gods; And when the time of festival was near, Word came to Ífè that the folk of Úbo Would bring no gifts, nor worship at the feet Of Ógun. But the King scorned them, laughing: "Who lights His lamp between the leopard's paws?"3
The Chief	Years passed
of Úbo seeks advice,	In grieving while Olúbo sought the homes Of spirits of the Forest springs, laid gifts At crossway shrines where childless women go, Or wandered to drear coasts to share his wrongs With Ocean chafing at his old restraint. But rivers answered not, not brooks, nor Gods Of crossway altars at the light of dawn; And through the unceasing hissing of the foam No voice of counsel came. . . With Autumn's fall Olúbo came with gifts before the shrine Of the grim Forest-God who hedged his land, And prayed him to accept the corn he brought And the fat beasts, nor seize his lands again. And the God saw the oil, and smelled the blood Of birds and cattle; and the longed-for voice
which the Forest-God gives him	p. 42 Came to Olúbo: "See with the rain I come Each year upon your fields with springing trees, Rank-growing grass and vegetation wild: Your work of yester-year is all undone By my swift desolation. Be this your symbol: Go thus against the Scornful Ones arrayed As I."
	In Ífè was great joy: the last
	Black thundercloud has passed; the maids were wed, And all men feasted on the sacred days
Olúbo in- vades Ifè, and takes the men away as slaves.	Of Ógun and the Lord of Day—when sudden, From the still Forest o'er the walls there broke Portents of moving trees and hurrying grass On Ífè's stone-still revellers. (Hope perishes In the dark hour a mother sees the dance Of white-robed goblins1 of the midnight streets— A glimpse, no more; and her sick child is lost). Despair held rule: the new-wed wives were lone; Their men were slaves of Úbo lords. The drum Was silent, and laughter mute. About dull tasks A listless people wandered; but not so
Mórimi consults Ífa,	p. 43 Mórimi—for she, assured of triumph, strode To the dim court of Ífa, and laid bare Her gift. A vision flickered and was gone, And the priest prophesied: "The bode is good. As when a sick man lies beset by fiends1 I call not to the Gods for aid, but take The pepper on my tongue and thus invoke Those very fiends in their dread mother's name, And then command the Prince of leaguing Woes (Though hastening to the River's lip) to turn Again—such now is Ífa's counsel, borne Swift in the form of Messengers to me
who advises her to go to Úbo.	His priest, his voice: 'Evil has come down on Ífè: By Evil only can desire prevail. Take six he-goats to Éshu, the Undoer; Thus crave his aid and go, Great Mórimi, A harlot to the land of Úbo'" . . So sped Mórimi to the rebel town; and when
She finds out the secret.	A lord of Úbo sought her midst the shades Of night, the Undoer's will possessed his lips, And he betrayed the way of Úbo's downfall.      While Éshu's shrine yet ran with blood, the Gods,
Meanwhile, the gods transform to stones, rivers, etc.,	p. 44 Unknowing, sat alone in their abasement, And Ógun said: "We scorned our upstart son; Scorned him and let him be—nor bore in mind The wisdom of the Past, 'A little snake Is yet a snake.'1 See now the end has come: Swift from the sight of mocking men we must Depart. The sage Osányi will lay wide The door of our deliverance: come then— For naked of dominion what are we Gods?" And one by one Osányi gave his charms To the lorn Gods. . Orísha could but moan "Children I made you—who but I?" and sank Beneath the soil he loved. And Óshun2 threw Her body down—but never ceased: a stream Gushed up, the sacred stream that flows for ever. Olókun3 fell; 'neath the wide Earth she flowed To the broad spaces of her troubled realm. . .
except Ógun.	So went the Gods; but last, as Osányi gave The charm to Ógun, last of all the Gods— Back from the rebel town Great Mórimi Rushed back, and cried: "The fire the vulture brought p. 45 Shall slay the hosts of Úbo!". . . The months crept by Fate-laden, white King Ógun's warrior son,
Orányan destroys the Úbo army.	Orányan,1 schooled the sireless lads to War; But when the festive season came, he hid Them with red fire prepared within the city, And, as the invading hosts of Úbo scaled The walls, a rush of flaming boughs destroyed Grass garments and rebellious men. Thus fell Úbo before Orányan, and her folk Saw slavery in Ífè. . .
	Time spared these deeds—
	But gave to the impenetrable wilds The place where Úbo stood, her rebel Gods,
The Édi Festival	Her rites. And here in Ífè, by command Of Mórimi, the children of the captives Worship Olúbo, but must flee before Orányan's fire. And on those days of feasting No man may blame his wife for her misdeeds— All-mindful of the guile of Mórimi.