south, and one to the east, and one to the west, and one up into the
sky, and the spell was broken, and the giant's limbs were free. Then
Sharvan and the fairy page set off for Dooros Wood, and it was not
long until they came within view of the fairy tree. When Sharvan saw
the berries glistening in the sun, he gave a shout so loud and strong
that the wind of it blew the little fairy back to fairyland. But he
had to return to the wood to tell the giant that he was to stay all
day at the foot of the tree ready to do battle with anyone who might
come to steal the berries, and that during the night he was to sleep
amongst the branches.

"All right," said the giant, who could scarcely speak, as his mouth
was full of berries.

Well, the fame of the fairy-tree spread far and wide, and every day
some adventurer came to try if he could carry away some of the
berries; but the giant, true to his word, was always on the watch, and
not a single day passed on which he did not fight and slay a daring
champion, and the giant never received a wound, for fire could not
burn him, nor water drown him, nor weapon wound him.

Now, at this time, when Sharvan was keeping watch and ward over the
tree, a cruel king was reigning over the lands that looked towards the
rising sun. He had slain the rightful king by foul means, and his
subjects, loving their murdered sovereign, hated the usurper; but much
as they hated him they feared him more, for he was brave and
masterful, and he was armed with a helmet and shield which no weapon
made by mortal hands could pierce, and he carried always with him two
javelins that never missed their mark, and were so fatal that they
were called "the shafts of death." The murdered king had two
children--a boy, whose name was Niall, and a girl, who was called
Rosaleen--that is, little Rose; but no rose that ever bloomed was half
as sweet or fresh or fair as she. Cruel as the tyrant king was, he was
afraid of the people to kill the children. He sent the boy adrift on
the sea in an open boat, hoping the waves would swallow it; and he got
an old witch to cast the spell of deformity over Rosaleen, and under
the spell her beauty faded, until at last she became so ugly and
wasted that scarcely anyone would speak to her. And, shunned by
everyone, she spent her days in the out-houses with the cattle, and
every night she cried herself to sleep.

One day, when she was very lonely, a little robin came to pick the
crumbs that had fallen about her feet. He appeared so tame that she
offered him the bread from her hand, and when he took it she cried
with joy at finding that there was one living thing that did not shun
her. After this the robin came every day, and he sang so sweetly for
her that she almost forgot her loneliness and misery. But once while
the robin was with her the tyrant king's daughter, who was very
beautiful, passed with her maids of honour, and, seeing Rosaleen, the
princess said:

"Oh, there is that horrid ugly thing."

The maids laughed and giggled, and said they had never seen such a
fright.

Poor Rosaleen felt as if her heart would break, and when the princess
and her maids were out of sight she almost cried her eyes out. When
the robin saw her crying he perched on her shoulder and rubbed his
little head against her neck and chirruped softly in her ear, and
Rosaleen was comforted, for she felt she had at least one friend in
the world, although it was only a little robin. But the robin could do
more for her than she could dream of. He heard the remark made by the
princess, and he saw Rosaleen's tears, and he knew now why she was
shunned by everybody, and why she was so unhappy. And that very
evening he flew off to Dooros Wood, and called on a cousin of his and
told him all about Rosaleen.

"And you want some of the fairy berries, I suppose," said his cousin,
Robin of the Wood.

"I do," said Rosaleen's little friend.

"Ah," said Robin of the Wood, "times have changed since you were here
last. The tree is guarded now all the day long by a surly giant. He
sleeps in the branches during the night, and he breathes upon them and
around them every morning, and his breath is poison to bird and bee.
There is only one chance open, and if you try that it may cost you
your life."

"Then tell me what it is, for I would give a hundred lives for
Rosaleen," said her own little robin.

"Well," said Robin of the Wood, "every day a champion comes to battle
with the giant, and the giant, before he begins the fight, puts a
branch of berries in the iron belt that's around his waist, so that
when he feels tired or thirsty he can refresh himself, and there is
just a bare chance, while he is fighting, of picking one of the
berries from the branch; but if his breath fall on you it is certain
death."

"I will take the chance," said Rosaleen's robin.

"Very well," said the other. And the two birds flew through the wood
until they came within sight of the fairy tree. The giant was lying
stretched at the foot of it, eating the berries; but it was not long
until a warrior came, who challenged him to battle. The giant jumped
up, and plucking a branch from the tree stuck it in his belt, and
swinging his iron club above his head strode towards the warrior, and
the fight began. The robin perched on a tree behind the giant, and
watched and waited for his chance; but it was a long time coming, for
the berries were in front of the giant's belt. At last the giant, with
one great blow, struck the warrior down, but as he did so he stumbled
and fell upon him, and before he had time to recover himself the
little robin darted towards him like a flash and picked off one of the
berries, and then, as fast as wings could carry him, he flew towards
home, and on his way he passed over a troop of warriors on snow-white
steeds. All the horsemen except one wore silver helmets and shining
mantles of green silk, fastened by brooches of red gold, but the
chief, who rode at the head of the troop, wore a golden helmet, and
his mantle was of yellow silk, and he looked by far the noblest of
them all. When the robin had left the horsemen far behind him he spied
Rosaleen sitting outside the palace gates bemoaning her fate. The
robin perched upon her shoulder, and almost before she knew he was
there he put the berry between her lips, and the taste was so
delicious that Rosaleen ate it at once, and that very moment the
witch's withering spell passed away from her, and she became as lovely
as the flower of beauty. Just then the warriors on the snow-white
steeds came up, and the chief with the mantle of yellow silk and the
golden helmet leaped from his horse, and bending his knee before her,
said:

"Fairest of all fair maidens, you are surely the daughter of the king
of these realms, even though you are without the palace gates,
unattended, and wear not royal robes. I am the Prince of the Sunny
Valleys."

"Daughter of a king I am," said Rosaleen, "but not of the king who
rules these realms."

And saying this she fled, leaving the prince wondering who she could
be. The prince then ordered his trumpeters to give notice of his
presence outside the palace, and in a few moments the king and all his
nobles came out to greet the prince and his warriors, and give them
welcome. That night a great feast was spread in the banquet-hall, and
the Prince of the Sunny Valleys sat by the king, and beside the prince
sat the king's beautiful daughter, and then in due order sat the
nobles of the court and the warriors who had come with the prince, and
on the wall behind each noble and warrior his shield and helmet were
suspended, flashing radiance through the room. During the feast the
prince spoke most graciously to the lovely lady at his side, but all
the time he was thinking of the unknown beauty he had met outside the
palace gates, and his heart longed for another glimpse of her. When
the feast was ended, and the jewelled drinking-cups had gone merrily
around the table, the bards sang, to the accompaniment of harps, the
"Courtship of the Lady Eimer," and as they pictured her radiant beauty
outshining that of all her maidens, the prince thought that fair as
Lady Eimer was there was one still fairer.

When the feast was ended the king asked the prince what brought him
into his realms.

"I come," said the prince, "to look for a bride, for it was foretold
to me in my own country that here only I should find the lady who is
destined to share my throne, and fame reported that in your kingdom
are to be found the loveliest maidens in all the world, and I can well
believe that," added the prince, "after what I have seen to-day."

When the king's daughter heard this she hung down her head and blushed
like a rose, for, of course, she thought the prince was alluding only
to herself, as she did not know that he had seen Rosaleen, and she had
not heard of the restoration of her beauty.

Before another word could be spoken a great noise and the clang of
arms were heard outside the palace. The king and his guests started
from their seats and drew their swords, and the bards raised the song
of battle; but their voices were stilled and their harps silenced when
they saw at the threshold of the banquet hall a battle champion, in
whose face they recognised the features of their murdered king.

"'Tis Niall come back to claim his father's throne," said the chief
bard. "Long live Niall!"

"Long live Niall!" answered all the others.

The king, white with rage and amazement, turned to the chiefs and
nobles of his court, and cried out:

"Is there none loyal enough to drive that intruder from the banquet
hall?"

But no one stirred, and no answer was given. Then the king rushed
forward alone, but before he could reach the spot where Niall was
standing he was seized by a dozen chiefs and at once disarmed.

During this scene the king's daughter had fled frightened; but
Rosaleen, attracted by the noise, and hearing her brother's name and
the cheers which greeted it, had entered the banquet hall unperceived
by anyone. But when her presence was discovered every eye was dazzled
with her beauty. Niall looked at her for a second, wondering if the
radiant maiden before him could be the little sister he had been
separated from for so many years. In another second she was clasped in
his arms.

Then the feast was spread again, and Niall told the story of his
adventures; and when the Prince of the Sunny Valley asked for the hand
of Rosaleen, Niall told his lovely sister to speak for herself. With
downcast eyes and smiling lips she said, "yes," and that very day was
the gayest and brightest wedding that ever took place, and Rosaleen
became the prince's bride.

In her happiness she did not forget the little robin, who was her
friend in sorrow. She took him home with her to Sunny Valleys, and
every day she fed him with her own hands, and every day he sang for
her the sweetest songs that were ever heard in lady's bower.

THE ENCHANTED CAVE.

A long, long time ago, Prince Cuglas,[7] master of the hounds to the
high King of Erin, set out from Tara to the chase. As he was leaving
the palace the light mists were drifting away from the hill-tops, and
the rays of the morning sun were falling aslant on the _grinan_ or
sunny bower of the Princess Ailinn. Glancing towards it the prince
doffed his plumed and jewelled hunting-cap, and the princess answered
his salute by a wave of her little hand, that was as white as a wild
rose in the hedges in June, and leaning from her bower, she watched
the huntsman until his tossing plumes were hidden by the green waving
branches of the woods.

The Princess Ailinn was over head and ears in love with Cuglas, and
Cuglas was over head and ears in love with the Princess Ailinn, and he
believed that never was summer morning half as bright, or as sweet, or
as fair as she. The glimpse which he had just caught of her filled his
heart with delight, and almost put all thought of hunting out of his
head, when suddenly the tuneful cries of the hounds, answered by a
hundred echoes from the groves, broke upon his ear.

The dogs had started a dappled deer that bounded away through the
forest. The prince, spurring his gallant steed, pushed on in eager
pursuit.

On through the forest sped the deer, through soft, green, secret ways
and flowery dells, then out from the forest, up heathery hills, and
over long stretches of moorland, and across brown rushing streams,
sometimes in view of the hounds, sometimes lost to sight, but always
ahead of them.

All day long the chase continued, and at last, when the sun was
sinking, the dogs were close upon the panting deer, and the prince
believed he was about to secure his game, when the deer suddenly
disappeared through the mouth of a cave which opened before him. The
dogs followed at his heels, and the prince endeavoured to rein in his
steed, but the impetuous animal bore him on, and soon was clattering
over the stony floor of the cave in perfect darkness. Cuglas could
hear ahead of him the cries of the hounds growing fainter and fainter,
as they increased the distance between them and him. Then the cries
ceased altogether, and the only sound the prince heard was the noise
of his horse's hoofs sounding in the hollow cave. Once more he
endeavoured to check his career, but the reins broke in his hands, and
in that instant the prince felt the horse had taken a plunge into a
gulf, and was sinking down and down, as a stone cast from the summit
of a cliff sinks down to the sea. At last the horse struck the
ground again, and the prince was almost thrown out of his saddle, but
he succeeded in regaining his seat. Then on through the darkness
galloped the steed, and when he came into the light the prince's eyes
were for some time unable to bear it. But when he got used to the
brightness he saw he was galloping over a grassy plain, and in the
distance he perceived the hounds rushing towards a wood faintly
visible through a luminous summer haze. The prince galloped on, and as
he approached the wood he saw coming towards him a comely champion,
wearing a shining brown cloak, fastened by a bright bronze spear-like
brooch, and bearing a white hazel wand in one hand, and a single-edged
sword with a hilt made from the tooth of a sea-horse in the other;[8]
and the prince knew by the dress of the champion, and by his wand and
sword, that he was a royal herald. As the herald came close to him the
prince's steed stopped of his own accord.

[Illustration: "The Prince endeavoured to rein in his steed, but the
impetuous animal bore him on"--p. 102]

"You are welcome, Cuglas," said the herald, "and I have been sent by
the Princess Crede to greet you and to lead you to her court, where
you have been so long expected."

"I know not how this may be," said Cuglas.

"How it has come about I shall tell you as we go along," said the
herald. "The Princess Crede is the Queen of the Floating Island. And
it chanced, once upon a day, when she was visiting her fairy kinsmen,
who dwell in one of the pleasant hills that lie near Tara, she saw you
with the high king and princes and nobles of Erin following the chase.
And seeing you her heart went out to you, and wishing to bring you to
her court, she sent one of her nymphs, in the form of a deer, to lure
you on through the cave, which is the entrance to this land."

"I am deeply honoured by the preference shown me by the princess,"
said Cuglas, "but I may not tarry in her court; for above in Erin
there is the Lady Ailinn, the loveliest of all the ladies who grace
the royal palace, and before the princess and chiefs of Erin she has
promised to be my bride."

"Of that I know not," said the herald; "but a true champion, like you,
cannot, I know, refuse to come with me to the court of the Princess
Crede."

As the herald had said these words the prince and he were on the verge
of the wood, and they entered upon a mossy pathway that broadened out
as they advanced until it was as wide as one of the great roads of
Erin. Before they had gone very far the prince heard the tinkling of
silver bells in the distance, and almost as soon as he heard them he
saw coming up towards him a troop of warriors on coal black steeds.
All the warriors wore helmets of shining silver, and cloaks of blue
silk. And on the horses' breasts were crescents of silver, on which
were hung tiny silver bells, shaking out music with the motion of the
horses. As the prince approached the champions they lowered their
spears, and dividing in two lines the prince and the herald passed
between the ranks, and the champions, forming again, followed on
behind the prince.

At last they passed through the wood, and they found themselves on a
green plain, speckled with flowers, and they had not gone far when the
prince saw coming towards him a hundred champions on snow-white
steeds, and around the breasts of the steeds were crescents of gold,
from which were hanging little golden bells.[9] The warriors all wore
golden helmets, and the shafts of their shining spears were of gold,
and golden sandals on their feet, and yellow silken mantles fell down
over their shoulders. And when the prince came near them they lowered
their lances, and then they turned their horses' heads around and
marched before him. And it was not long until above the pleasant
jingle of the bells the prince heard the measured strains of music,
and he saw coming towards him a band of harpers, dressed in green and
gold, and when the harpers had saluted the prince they marched in
front of the cavalcade, playing all the time, and it was not long
until they came to a stream that ran like a blue riband around the
foot of a green hill, on the top of which was a sparkling palace; the
stream was crossed by a golden bridge, so narrow that the horsemen had
to go two-by-two. The herald asked the prince to halt and to allow all
the champions to go before him; and the cavalcade ascended the hill,
the sunlight brightly glancing on helmet and on lance, and when it
reached the palace the horsemen filed around the walls.

When at length the prince and herald crossed the bridge and began to
climb the hill, the prince thought he felt the ground moving under
them, and on looking back he could see no sign of the golden bridge,
and the blue stream had already become as wide as a great river, and
was becoming wider every second.

"You are on the floating island now," said the herald, "and before you
is the palace of the Princess Crede."

At that moment the queen came out through the palace door, and the
prince was so dazzled by her beauty, that only for the golden bracelet
he wore upon his right arm, under the sleeve of his silken tunic, he
might almost have forgotten the Princess Ailinn. This bracelet was
made by the dwarfs who dwell in the heart of the Scandinavian
Mountains, and was sent with other costly presents by the King of
Scandinavia to the King of Erin, and he gave it to the princess, and
it was the virtue of this bracelet, that whoever was wearing it could
not forget the person who gave it to him, and it could never be
loosened from the arm by any art or magic spell; but if the wearer,
even for a single moment, liked anyone better than the person who gave
it to him, that very moment the bracelet fell off from the arm and
could never again be fastened on. And when the princess promised her
hand in marriage to the Prince Cuglas, she closed the bracelet on his
arm.

The fairy queen knew nothing about the bracelet, and she hoped that
before the prince was long in the floating island he would forget all
about the princess.

"You are welcome, Cuglas," said the queen, as she held out her hand,
and Cuglas, having thanked her for her welcome, they entered the
palace together.

"You must be weary after your long journey," said the queen. "My page
will lead you to your apartments, where a bath of the cool blue waters
of the lake has been made ready for you, and when you have taken your
bath the pages will lead you to the banquet hall, where the feast is
spread."

At the feast the prince was seated beside the queen, and she talked to
him of all the pleasures that were in store for him in fairyland,
where pain, and sickness, and sorrow, and old age, are unknown, and
where every rosy hour that flies is brighter than the one that has
fled before it. And when the feast was ended the queen opened the
dance with the prince, and it was not until the moon was high above
the floating island that the prince retired to rest.

He was so tired after his journey and the dancing that he fell into a
sound sleep. When he awoke the next morning the sun was shining
brightly, and he heard outside the palace the jingle of bells and the
music of baying hounds, and his heart was stirred by memories of the
many pleasant days on which he had led the chase over the plains and
through the green woods of Tara.

He looked out through the window, and he saw all the fairy champions
mounted on their steeds ready for the chase, and at their head the
fairy queen. And at that moment the pages came to say the queen wished
to know if he would join them, and the prince went out and found his
steed ready saddled and bridled, and they spent the day hunting in the
forest that stretched away for miles behind the palace, and the night
in feasting and dancing.

When the prince awoke the following morning he was summoned by the
pages to the presence of the queen. The prince found the queen on the
lawn outside the palace surrounded by her court.

"We shall go on the lake to-day, Cuglas," said the queen, and taking
his arm she led him along the water's edge, all the courtiers
following.

When she was close to the water she waved her wand, and in a second a
thousand boats, shining like glass, shot up from beneath the lake and
set their bows against the bank. The queen and Cuglas stepped into
one, and when they were seated two fairy harpers took their places in
the prow. All the other boats were soon thronged by fairies, and then
the queen waved her wand again, and an awning of purple silk rose over
the boat, and silken awning of various colours over the others, and
the royal boat moved off from the bank followed by all the rest, and
in every boat sat a harper with a golden harp, and when the queen
waved her wand for the third time, the harpers struck the trembling
chords, and to the sound of the delightful music the boats glided over
the sunlit lake. And on they went until they approached the mouth of a
gentle river sliding down between banks clad with trees. Up the river,
close to the bank and under the drooping trees, they sailed, and when
they came to a bend in the river, from which the lake could be no
longer seen, they pushed their prows in against the bank, and the
queen and Cuglas, and all the party, left the boats and went on under
the trees until they came to a mossy glade.

Then the queen waved her wand, and silken couches were spread under
the trees, and she and Cuglas sat on one apart from the others, and
the courtiers took their places in proper order.

And the queen waved her wand again, and wind shook the trees above
them, and the most luscious fruit that was ever tasted fell down into
their hands; and when the feast was over there was dancing in the
glades to the music of the harps, and when they were tired dancing
they set out for the boats, and the moon was rising above the trees as
they sailed away over the lake, and it was not long until they reached
the bank below the fairy palace.

Well, between hunting in the forest, and sailing over the lake, and
dancing in the greenwood glade and in the banquet hall, the days
passed, but all the time the prince was thinking of the Princess
Ailinn, and one moonlit night, when he was lying awake on his couch
thinking of her, a shadow was suddenly cast on the floor.

The prince looked towards the window, and what should he see sitting
on the sill outside but a little woman tapping the pane with a golden
bodkin.

The prince jumped from his couch and opened the window, and the little
woman floated on the moonbeams into the room and sat down on the
floor.

"You are thinking of the Princess Ailinn," said the little woman.

"I never think of anyone else," said the prince.

"I know that," said the little woman, "and it's because of your love
for each other, and because her mother was a friend to me in the
days gone by, that I have come here to try and help you; but there is
not much time for talking, the night advances. At the bank below a
boat awaits you. Step into it and it will lead you to the mainland,
and when you reach it you will find before you a path that will
take you to the green fields of Erin and the plains of Tara. I know
you will have to face danger. I know not what kind of danger; but
whatever it may be do not draw your sword before you tread upon the
mainland, for if you do you shall never reach it, and the boat
will come back again to the floating island; and now go and may luck
go with you;" and saying this the little woman climbed up the
moonbeams and disappeared.

The prince left the palace and descended to the lake, and there before
him he saw a glistening boat; he stepped into it, and the boat went on
and on beneath the moon, and at last he saw the mainland, and he could
trace a winding pathway going away from the shore. The sight filled
his heart with joy, but suddenly the milk-white moonshine died away,
and looking up to the sky he saw the moon turning fiery red, and the
waters of the lake, shining like silver a moment before, took a
blood-red hue, and a wind arose that stirred the waters, and they
leaped up against the little boat, tossing it from side to side. While
Cuglas was wondering at the change, he heard a strange, unearthly
noise ahead of him, and a bristling monster, lifting its claws above
the water, in a moment was beside the boat and stuck one of his claws
in the left arm of the prince, and pierced the flesh to the bone.
Maddened by the pain the prince drew his sword and chopped off the
monster's claw. The monster disappeared beneath the lake, and, as it
did so, the colour of the water changed, and the silver moonlight
shone down from the sky again, but the boat no longer went on towards
the mainland, but sped back towards the floating island, while forth
from the island came a fleet of fairy boats to meet it, led by the
shallop of the fairy queen. The queen greeted the prince as if she
knew not of his attempted flight, and to the music of the harps the
fleet returned to the palace.

The next day passed and the night came, and again the prince was lying
on the couch, thinking of the Princess Ailinn, and again he saw the
shadow on the floor and heard the tapping against the window.

And when he opened it the little woman slid into the room.

"You failed last night," she said, "but I come to give you another
chance. To-morrow the queen must set out on a visit to her fairy
kinsmen, who dwell in the green hill near the plain of Tara; she
cannot take you with her, for if your feet once touched the green
grass that grows in the fruitful fields of Erin, she could never bring
you back again. And so, when you find she has left the palace, go at
once into the banquet hall and look behind the throne, and you will
see a small door let down into the ground. Pull this up and descend
the steps which you will see. Where they lead to I cannot tell. What
dangers may be before you I do not know; but this I know, if you
accept anything, no matter what it is, from anyone you may meet on
your way, you shall not set foot on the soil of Erin."

And having said this the little woman, rising from the floor, floated
out through the window.

The prince returned to his couch, and the next morning, as soon as he
heard the queen had left the palace, he hastened to the banquet hall.
He discovered the door and descended the steps, and he found himself
in a gloomy and lonesome valley. Jagged mountains, black as night,
rose on either side, and huge rocks seemed ready to topple down upon
him at every step. Through broken clouds a watery moon shed a faint,
fitful light, that came and went as the clouds, driven by a moaning
wind, passed over the valley.

Cuglas, nothing daunted, pushed on boldly until a bank of cloud shut
out completely the struggling moon, and closing over the valley
covered it like a pall, leaving him in perfect darkness. At the same
moment the moaning wind died away, and with it died away all sound.
The darkness and the death-like silence sent an icy chill to the heart
of Cuglas. He held his hand close to his eyes, but he saw it not. He
shouted that he might hear the sound of his own voice, but he heard it
not. He stamped his foot on the rocky ground, but no sound was
returned to him. He rattled his sword in its brazen scabbard, but it
gave no answer back to him. His heart grew colder and colder, when
suddenly the cloud above him was rent in a dozen places, and lightning
flashed through the valley, and the thunder rolled over the echoing
mountains. In the lurid glare of the lightning Cuglas saw a hundred
ghostly forms sweeping towards him, uttering as they came nearer and
nearer shrieks so terrible that the silence of death could more easily
be borne. Cuglas turned to escape, but they hemmed him round, and
pressed their clammy hands upon his face.

With a yell of horror he drew his sword and slashed about him, and
that very moment the forms vanished, the thunder ceased, the dark
cloud passed, and the sun shone out as bright as on a summer day, and
then Cuglas knew the forms he had seen were those of the wild people
of the glen.[10]

With renewed courage he pursued his way through the valley, and after
three or four windings it took him out upon a sandy desert. He had no
sooner set foot upon the desert than he heard behind him a crashing
sound louder than thunder. He looked around, and he saw that the walls
of mountain through which he had just passed had fallen into the
valley, and filled it up so that he could no longer tell where it had
been.

The sun was beating fiercely on the desert, and the sands were almost
as hot as burning cinders; and as Cuglas advanced over them his body
became dried up, and his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and
when his thirst was at its height a fountain of sparkling water sprang
up in the burning plain a few paces in front of him; but when he came
up quite close to it and stretched out his parched hands to cool them
in the limped waters, the fountain vanished as suddenly as it
appeared. With great pain, and almost choking with heat and thirst, he
struggled on, and again the fountain sprang up in front of him and
moved before him, almost within his reach. At last he came to the end
of the desert, and he saw a green hill up which a pathway climbed; but
as he came to the foot of the hill, there, sitting right in his way,
was a beautiful fairy holding out towards him a crystal cup, over the
rim of which flowed water as clear as crystal. Unable to resist the
temptation, the prince seized the cold, bright goblet, and drank the
water. When he did so his thirst vanished, but the fairy, and the
green hill, and the burning desert disappeared, and he was standing in
the forest behind the palace of the fairy queen.

That evening the queen returned, and at the feast she talked as gaily
to the prince as if she knew not of his attempt to leave the Floating
Island, and the prince spoke as gaily as he could to her, although in
his heart there was sadness when he remembered that if he had only
dashed away the crystal cup, he would be at that moment in the royal
banquet hall of Tara, sitting beside the Princess Ailinn.

And he thought the feast would never end; but it was over at last, and
the prince returned to his apartments. And that night, as he lay on
his couch, he kept his eyes fixed upon the window; but hours passed,
and there was no sign of anyone. At long last, and when he had given
up all hope of seeing her, he heard a tapping at the window, and he
got up and opened it, and the little woman came in.

"You failed again to-day," said she--"failed just at the very moment
when you were about to step on the green hills of Erin. I can give you
only one chance more. It will be your last. The queen will go hunting
in the morning. Join the hunt, and when you are separated from the
rest of the party in the wood throw your reins upon your horse's neck
and he will lead you to the edge of the lake. Then cast this golden
bodkin into the lake in the direction of the mainland, and a golden
bridge will be thrown across, over which you can pass safely to the
fields of Erin; but take care and do not draw your sword, for if you
do your steed will bear you back again to the Floating Island, and
here you must remain for ever." Then handing the bodkin to the prince,
and saying good-bye, the little woman disappeared.

The next morning the queen and the prince and all the court went out
to hunt, and a fleet white deer started out before them, and the royal
party pressed after him in pursuit. The prince's steed outstripped the
others, and when he was alone the prince flung the reins upon his
horse's neck, and before long he came to the edge of the lake.

Then the prince cast the bodkin on to the water, and a golden bridge
was thrown across to the mainland, and the horse galloped on to it,
and when the prince was more than half-way he saw riding towards him a
champion wearing a silver helmet, and carrying on his left arm a
silver shield, and holding in his right hand a gleaming sword. As he
came nearer he struck his shield with his sword and challenged the
prince to battle. The prince's sword almost leaped out of its scabbard
at the martial sound, and, like a true knight of Tara, he dashed
against his foe, and swinging his sword above his head, with one blow
he clove the silver helmet, and the strange warrior reeled from his
horse and fell upon the golden bridge. The prince, content with this
achievement, spurred his horse to pass the fallen champion, but the
horse refused to stir, and the bridge broke in two almost at his feet,
and the part of it between him and the mainland disappeared beneath
the lake, carrying with it the horse and the body of the champion, and
before the prince could recover from his surprise, his steed wheeled
round and was galloping back, and when he reached the land he rushed
through the forest, and the prince was not able to pull him up until
he came to the palace door.

All that night the prince lay awake on his couch with his eyes fixed
upon the window, but no shadow fell upon the floor, and there was no
tapping at the pane, and with a heavy heart he joined the hunting
party in the morning. And day followed day, and his heart was sadder
and sadder, and found no pleasure in the joys and delights of
fairyland. And when all in the palace were at rest he used to roam
through the forest, always thinking of the Princess Ailinn, and hoping
against hope that the little woman would come again to him, but at
last he began to despair of ever seeing her. It chanced one night he
rambled so far that he found himself on the verge of the lake, at the
very spot from which the golden bridge had been thrown across the
waters, and as he gazed wistfully upon them a boat shot up and came
swiftly to the bank, and who should he see sitting in the stern but
the little woman.

"Ah, Cuglas, Cuglas," she said, "I gave you three chances, and you
failed in all of them."

"I should have borne the pain inflicted by the monster's claw," said
Cuglas. "I should have borne the thirst on the sandy desert, and
dashed the crystal cup untasted from the fairy's hand; but I could
never have faced the nobles and chiefs of Erin if I had refused to
meet the challenge of the battle champion on the golden bridge."

"And you would have been no true knight of Erin, and you would not
have been worthy of the wee girl who loves you, the bonny Princess
Ailinn, if you had refused to meet it," said the little woman; "but
for all that you can never return to the fair hills of Erin. But cheer
up, Cuglas, there are mossy ways and forest paths and nestling bowers
in fairyland. Lonely they are, I know, in your eyes now," said the
little woman; "but maybe," she added, with a laugh as musical as the
ripple on a streamlet when summer is in the air, "maybe you won't
always think them so lonely."

"You think I'll forget Ailinn for the fairy queen," said Cuglas, with
a sigh.

"I don't think anything of the kind," said she.

"Then what do you mean?" said the prince.

"Oh, I mean what I mean," said the little woman. "But I can't stop
here all night talking to you: and, indeed, it is in your bed you
ought to be yourself. So now good night; and I have no more to say,
except that perhaps, if you happen to be here this night week at this
very hour, when the moon will be on the waters, you will see----. But
no matter what you will see," said she; "I must be off."

And before the prince could say another word the boat sped away from
the bank, and he was alone. He went back to the palace, and he fell
asleep that night only to dream of the Princess Ailinn.

As for the princess, she was pining away in the palace of Tara, the
colour had fled from her cheeks, and her eyes, which had been once so
bright they would have lighted darkness like a star, lost nearly all
their lustre, and the king's leeches could do nothing for her, and at
last they gave up all hope, and the king and queen of Erin and the
ladies of the court watched her couch by night and by day sadly
waiting for her last hour.

At length one day, when the sun was shining brightly over Tara's
plain, and its light, softened by the intervening curtains, was
falling in the sick chamber, the royal watchers noticed a sweet change
coming over the face of the princess; the bloom of love and youth were
flushing on her cheeks, and from her eyes shone out the old, soft,
tender light, and they began to hope she was about to be restored to
them, when suddenly the room was in darkness as if the night had swept
across the sky, and blotted out the sun. Then they heard the sound of
fairy music, and over the couch where the princess lay they beheld a
gleam of golden light, but only for a moment; and again there was
perfect darkness, and the fairy music ceased. Then, as suddenly as it
came the darkness vanished, the softened sunlight once more filled the
chamber, and rested upon the couch; but the couch was empty, and the
royal watchers, looking at each other, said in whispers: "The fairies
have carried away the Princess Ailinn to fairyland."

Well, that very day the prince roamed by himself through the forest,
counting the hours until the day would fade in the sky and the moon
come climbing up, and at last, when it was shining full above the
waters, he went down to the verge of the lake, and he looked out over
the gleaming surface watching for the vision promised by the little
woman. But he could see nothing, and was about to turn away when he
heard the faint sound of fairy music. He listened and listened, and
the sound came nearer and clearer, and away in the distance, like
drops of glistening water breaking the level of the lake, he saw a
fleet of fairy boats, and he thought it was the fairy queen sailing in
the moonlight. And it was the fairy queen, and soon he was able to
recognise the royal shallop leading the others, and as it came close
to the bank he saw the little woman sitting in the prow between the
little harpers, and at the stern was the fairy queen, and by her side
the lady of his heart, the Princess Ailinn. In a second the boat was
against the bank, and the princess in his arms. And he kissed her
again and again.

"And have you never a kiss for me," said the little woman, tapping his
hand with the little gold bodkin.

"A kiss and a dozen," said Cuglas, as he caught the little fairy up in
his arms.

"Oh, fie, Cuglas," said the queen.

"Oh, the princess isn't one bit jealous," said the little woman. "Are
you, Ailinn?"

"Indeed I am not," said Ailinn.

"And you should not be," said the fairy queen, "for never lady yet had
truer knight than Cuglas. I loved him, and I love him dearly. I lured
him here hoping that in the delights of fairyland he might forget you.
It was all in vain. I know now that there is one thing no fairy power
above or below the stars, or beneath the waters, can ever subdue, and
that is love. And here together forever shall you and Cuglas dwell,
where old age shall never come upon you, and where pain or sorrow or
sickness are unknown."

And Cuglas never returned to the fair hills of Erin, and ages passed
away since the morning he followed the hounds into the fatal cave, but
his story was remembered by the firesides, and sometimes, even yet,
the herdboy watching his cattle in the fields hears the tuneful cry of
hounds, and follows it till it leads him to a darksome cave, and as
fearfully he listens to the sound becoming fainter and fainter he
hears the clatter of hoofs over the stony floor, and to this day the
cave bears the name of the prince who entered it never to return.
[Footnote: _Uaimh Belaigh Conglais_, the cave of the road of
Cuglas--now Baltinglass--in the county Wicklow.]

THE HUNTSMAN'S SON.

A long, long time ago there lived in a little hut on the borders of a
great forest a huntsman and his wife and son. From his earliest years
the boy, whose name was Fergus, used to hunt with his father in the
forest, and he grew up strong and active, sure and swift-footed as a
deer, and as free and fearless as the wind. He was tall and handsome;
as supple as a mountain ash, his lips were as red as its berries; his
eyes were as blue as the skies in spring; and his hair fell down over
his shoulders like a shower of gold. His heart was as light as a
bird's, and no bird was fonder of green woods and waving branches. He
had lived since his birth in the hut in the forest, and had never
wished to leave it, until one winter night a wandering minstrel sought
shelter there, and paid for his night's lodging with songs of love and
battle. Ever since that night Fergus pined for another life. He no
longer found joy in the music of the hounds or in the cries of the
huntsmen in forest glades. He yearned for the chance of battle, and
the clang of shields, and the fierce shouts of fighting warriors, and
he spent all his spare hours practising on the harp and learning the
use of arms, for in those days the bravest warriors were also bards.
In this way the spring and summer and autumn passed; and when the
winter came again it chanced that on a stormy night, when thunder was
rattling through the forest, smiting the huge oaks and hurling them
crashing to the earth, Fergus lay awake thinking of his present lot,
and wondering what the future might have in store for him. The
lightning was playing around the hut, and every now and then a flash
brightened up the interior.

After a peal, louder than any which had preceded it, Fergus heard
three loud knocks at the door. He called out to his parents that some
one was knocking.

"If that is so," said his father, "open at once; this is no night to
keep a poor wanderer outside our door."

Fergus did as he was bidden, and as he opened the door a flash of
lightning showed him, standing at the threshold, a little wizened old
man with a small harp under his arm.

"Come in, and welcome," said Fergus, and the little man stepped into
the room.

"It is a wild night, neighbours," said he.

"It is, indeed, a wild night," said the huntsman and his wife, who had
got up and dressed themselves; "and sorry we are we have no better
shelter or better fare to offer you, but we give you the best we
have."

"A king cannot do more than his best," said the little man.

The huntsman's wife lit the fire, and soon the pine logs flashed up
into a blaze, and made the hut bright and warm. She then brought forth
a peggin of milk and a cake of barley-bread.

"You must be hungry, sir," she said.

"Hungry I am," said he; "but I wouldn't ask for better fare than this
if I were in the king's palace."

"Thank you kindly, sir," said she, "and I hope you will eat enough,
and that it will do you good."

"And while you are eating your supper," said the huntsman, "I'll make
you a bed of fresh rushes."

"Don't put yourself to that trouble," said the little man. "When I
have done my supper I'll lie down here by the fire, if it is pleasing
to you, and I'll sleep like a top until morning. And now go back to
your beds and leave me to myself, and maybe some time when you won't
be expecting it I'll do a good turn for your kindness to the poor
wayfarer."

"Oh, it's no kindness at all," said the huntsman's wife. "It would be
a queer thing if an Irish cabin would not give shelter and welcome in
a wild night like this. So good night, now, and we hope you will
sleep well."

"Good night," said the little man, "and may you and yours never sup
sorrow until your dying day."

The huntsman and his wife and Fergus then went back to their beds, and
the little man, having finished his supper, curled himself up by the
fire, and was soon fast asleep.

About an hour after a loud clap of thunder awakened Fergus, and before
it had died away he heard three knocks at the door. He aroused his
parents and told them.

"Get up at once," said his mother, "this is no night to keep a
stranger outside our door."

Fergus rose and opened the door, and a flash of lightning showed him a
little old woman, with a shuttle in her hand, standing outside.

"Come in, and welcome," said he, and the little old woman stepped into
the room.

"Blessings be on them who give welcome to a wanderer on a wild night
like this," said the old woman.

"And who wouldn't give welcome on a night like this?" said the
huntsman's wife, coming forward with a peggin of milk and a barley
cake in her hand, "and sorry we are we have not better fare to offer
you."

"Enough is as good as a feast," said the little woman, "and now go
back to your beds and leave me to myself."

"Not till I shake down a bed of rushes for you," said the huntsman's
wife.

"Don't mind the rushes," said the little woman; "go back to your beds.
I'll sleep here by the fire."

The huntsman's wife went to bed, and the little old woman, having
eaten her supper, lay down by the fire, and was soon fast asleep.

About an hour later another clap of thunder startled Fergus. Again he
heard three knocks at the door. He roused his parents, but he did not
wait for orders from them. He opened the door, and a flash of
lightning showed him outside the threshold a low-sized, shaggy,
wild-looking horse. And Fergus knew it was the Pooka, the wild horse
of the mountains. Bold as Fergus was, his heart beat quickly as he saw
fire issuing from the Pooka's nostrils. But, banishing fear, he cried
out:

"Come in, and welcome."

"Welcome you are," said the huntsman, "and sorry we are that we have
not better shelter or fare to offer you."

"I couldn't wish a better welcome," said the Pooka, as he came over
near the fire and sat down on his haunches.

"Maybe you would like a little bit of this, Master Pooka," said the
huntsman's wife, as she offered him a barley cake.

"I never tasted anything sweeter in my life," said the Pooka,
crunching it between his teeth, "and now if you can give me a sup of
milk, I'll want for nothing."

The huntsman's wife brought him a peggin of milk. When he had drunk
it, "Now," says the Pooka, "go back to your beds, and I'll curl myself
up by the fire and sleep like a top till morning."

And soon everybody in the hut was fast asleep.

When the morning came the storm had gone, and the sun was shining
through the windows of the hut. At the song of the lark Fergus got up,
and no one in the world was ever more surprised than he when he saw no
sign of the little old man, or the little old woman, or the wild horse
of the mountains. His parents were also surprised, and they all
thought that they must have been dreaming until they saw the empty
peggins around the fire and some pieces of broken bread; and they did
not know what to think of it all.

From that day forward the desire grew stronger in the heart of Fergus
for a change of life; and one day he told his parents that he was
resolved to seek his fortune. He said he wished to be a soldier, and
that he would set out for the king's palace, and try to join the ranks
of the Feni.

About a week afterwards he took leave of his parents, and having
received their blessing he struck out for the road that led to the
palace of the High King of Erin. He arrived there just at the time
when the great captain of the Fenian host was recruiting his
battalions, which had been thinned in recent battle.

The manly figure of Fergus, his gallant bearing, and handsome face,
all told in his favour. But before he could be received into the
Fenian ranks he had to prove that he could play the harp like a bard,
that he could contend with staff and shield against nine Fenian
warriors, that he could run with plaited hair through the tangled
forest without loosening a single hair, and that in his course he
could jump over trees as high as his head, and stoop under trees as
low as his knee, and that he could run so lightly that the rotten
twigs should not break under his feet. Fergus proved equal to all the
tests, thanks to the wandering minstrel who taught him the use of the
harp, to his own brave heart, and to his forest training. He was
enrolled in the second battalion of the Feni, and before long he was
its bravest and ablest champion.

At that very time it happened that the niece of the High King of Erin
was staying with the king and queen in their palace at Tara. The
princess was the loveliest lady in all the land. She was as proud as
she was beautiful. The princes and chieftains of Erin in vain sought
her hand in marriage. From Alba and Spain, and the far-off isles of
Greece, kings came to woo her. From the northern lands came vikings in
stately galleys with brazen prows, whose oarsmen tore the white foam
from the emerald seas as they swept towards the Irish coasts. But the
lady had vowed she would wed with no one except a battle champion who
could excel in music the chief bard of the High King of Erin; who
could outstrip on his steed in the great race of Tara the white steed
of the plains; and who could give her as a wedding robe a garment of
all the colours of the rainbow, so finely spun that when folded up it
would fit in the palm of her small white hand. To fulfil these three
conditions was impossible for all her suitors, and it seemed as if the
loveliest lady of the land should go unmarried to her grave.

It chanced that once, on a day when the Fenian battalions were engaged
in a hurling-match, Fergus beheld the lady watching the match from her
sunny bower. He no sooner saw her than he fell over head and ears in
love with her, and he thought of her by night, and he thought of her
by day, and believing that his love was hopeless, he often wished he
had never left his forest-home.

The great fair of Tara[11] was coming on, and all the Feni were busy
from morning till night practising feats of arms and games, in order
to take part in the contests to be held during the fair. And Fergus,
knowing that the princess would be present, determined to do his best
to win the prizes which were to be contended for before the ladies'
eyes.

The fair began on the 1st of August, but for a whole week before the
five great roads of Erin were thronged with people of all sorts.
Princes and warriors on their steeds, battle champions in their
chariots, harpers in hundreds, smiths with gleaming spears and shields
and harness for battle steeds and chariots; troops of men and boys
leading racehorses; jewellers with gold drinking-horns, and
brooches, and pins, and ear-rings, and costly gems of all kinds, and
chess-boards of silver and gold, and golden and silver chessmen in
bags of woven brass; dyers with their many-coloured fabrics; bands
of jugglers; drovers goading on herds of cattle; shepherds driving
their sheep; huntsmen with spoils of the chase; dwellers in the lakes
or by the fish-abounding rivers with salmon and speckled trout; and
countless numbers of peasants on horseback and on foot, all wending
their way to the great meeting-place by the mound, which a thousand
years before had been raised over the grave of the great queen. For
there the fair was to be held.

On the opening day the High King, attended by the four kings of Erin,
set out from the palace, and with them went the queen and the ladies
of the court in sparkling chariots. The princess rode in the chariot
with the high queen, under an awning made of the wings of birds, to
protect them from the rays of the sun. Following the queen were the
court ladies in other chariots, under awnings of purple or of yellow
silk. Then came the brehons, the great judges of the land, and the
chief bards of the high court of Tara, and the Druids, crowned with
oak leaves, and carrying wands of divination in their hands.

When the royal party reached the ground it took its place in
enclosures right up against the monumental mound. The High King sat
with the four kings of Erin, all wearing their golden helmets, for
they wore their diadems in battle only. In an enclosure next the
king's sat the queen and the princess and all the ladies of the court.
At either side of the royal pavilions were others for the dames and
ladies and nobles and chiefs of different degrees, forming part of a
circle on the plain, and the stands and benches for the people were so
arranged as to complete the circle, and in the round green space
within it, so that all might hear and see, the contests were to take
place.

At a signal from the king, who was greeted with a thunderous
cheer, the heralds rode round the circle, and having struck their
sounding shields three times with their swords, they made a solemn
proclamation of peace. Then was sung by all the assembled bards,
to the accompaniment of their harps, the chant in honour of the
mighty dead. When this was ended, again the heralds struck their
shields, and the contests began. The first contest was the contest
of spear-throwing between the champions of the seven battalions of
the Feni. When the seven champions took their places in front of the
royal enclosure, everyone, even the proud princess, was struck by
the manly beauty and noble bearing of Fergus.

The champions poised their spears, and at a stroke from the heralds
upon their shields the seven spears sped flashing through the air.
They all struck the ground, shafts up, and it was seen that two were
standing side by side in advance of the rest, one belonged to Fergus,
the other to the great chief, Oscar. The contest for the prize then
lay between Oscar and Fergus, and when they stood in front of the
king, holding their spears aloft, every heart was throbbing with
excitement. Once more the heralds struck their shields, and, swifter
than the lightning's flash, forth went the spears, and when Fergus's
spear was seen shivering in the ground a full length ahead of the
great chief Oscar's, the air was shaken by a wild cheer that was
heard far beyond the plains of Tara. And as Fergus approached the high
king to receive the prize the cheers were renewed. But Fergus thought
more of the winsome glance of the princess than he did of the prize or
the sounding cheers. And Princess Maureen was almost sorry for her
vow, for her heart was touched by the beauty of the Fenian champion.

Other contests followed, and the day passed, and the night fell, and
while the Fenian warriors were revelling in their camps the heart of
Fergus, victor as he was, was sad and low. He escaped from his
companions, and stole away to his native forest, for--

                 "When the heart is sick and sorest,
                 There is balsam in the forest--
                 There is balsam in the forest
                                     For its pain."

And as he lay under the spreading branches, watching the stars
glancing through the leaves, and listening to the slumb'rous murmur of
the waters, a strange peace came over him.

But in the camp which he had left, and in the vast multitude on the
plains of Tara, there was stir and revelry, and babbling speculation
as to the contest of to-morrow--the contest which was to decide
whether the chief bard of Erin was to hold his own against all
comers, or yield the palm. For rumour said that a great Skald had come
from the northern lands to compete with the Irish bard.

At last, over the Fenian camp, and over the great plain and the
multitude that thronged it, sleep fell, clothing them with a silence
as deep as that which dwelt in the forest, where, dreaming of the
princess, Fergus lay. He awoke at the first notes of the birds, but
though he felt he ought to go back to his companions and be witness of
the contest which might determine whether the princess was to be
another's bride, his great love and his utter despair of winning her
so oppressed him that he lay as motionless as a broken reed. He
scarcely heard the music of the birds, and paid no heed to the murmur
of the brook rushing by his feet. The crackling of branches near him
barely disturbed him, but when a shadow fell across his eyes he looked
up gloomily, and saw, or thought he saw, someone standing before him.
He started up, and who should he see but the little wizened old man
who found shelter in his father's hut on the stormy night.

[Illustration: "He started up, and who should he see but a little wizened
old man"--p. 136.]

"This is a nice place for a battle champion to be. This is a nice
place for _you_ to be on the day which is to decide who will be the
successful suitor of the princess."

"What is it to me," said Fergus, "who is to win her since I cannot."

"I told you," said the little man, "the night you opened the door for
me, that the time might come when I might be able to do a good turn
for you and yours. The time has come. Take this harp, and my luck go
with you, and in the contest of the bards to-day you'll reap the
reward of the kindness you did when you opened your door to the poor
old wayfarer in the midnight storm."

The little man handed his harp to Fergus and disappeared as swiftly as
the wind that passes through the leaves.

Fergus, concealing the harp under his silken cloak, reached the camp
before his comrades had aroused themselves from sleep.

At length the hour arrived when the great contest was to take place.

The king gave the signal, and as the chief bard of Erin was seen
ascending the mound in front of the royal enclosures he was greeted
with a roar of cheers, but at the first note of his harp silence like
that of night fell on the mighty gathering.

As he moved his fingers softly over the strings every heart was
hushed, filled with a sense of balmy rest. The lark soaring and
singing above his head paused mute and motionless in the still air,
and no sound was heard over the spacious plain save the dreamy music.
Then the bard struck another key, and a gentle sorrow possessed the
hearts of his hearers, and unbidden tears gathered to their eyes.
Then, with bolder hand, he swept his fingers across his lyre, and all
hearts were moved to joy and pleasant laughter, and eyes that had been
dimmed by tears sparkled as brightly as running waters dancing in the
sun. When the last notes had died away a cheer arose, loud as the
voice of the storm in the glen when the live thunder is revelling on
the mountain tops. As soon as the bard had descended the mound the
Skald from the northern lands took his place, greeted by cries of
welcome from a hundred thousand throats. He touched his harp, and in
the perfect silence was heard the strains of the mermaid's song, and
through it the pleasant ripple of summer waters on the pebbly beach.
Then the theme was changed, and on the air was borne the measured
sweep of countless oars and the swish of waters around the prows of
contending galleys, and the breezy voices of the sailors and the
sea-bird's cry. Then his theme was changed to the mirth and laughter
of the banquet-hall, the clang of meeting drinking-horns, and songs of
battle. When the last strain ended, from the mighty host a great shout
went up, loud as the roar of winter billows breaking in the hollows of
the shore; and men knew not whom to declare the victor, the chief
bard of Erin or the Skald of the northern lands.

In the height of the debate the cry arose that another competitor had
ascended the mound, and there standing in view of all was Fergus, the
huntsman's son. All eyes were fastened upon him, but no one looked so
eagerly as the princess.

He touched his harp with gentle fingers, and a sound low and soft as a
faint summer breeze passing through forest trees stole out, and then
was heard the rustle of birds through the branches, and the dreamy
murmur of waters lost in deepest woods, and all the fairy echoes
whispering when the leaves are motionless in the noonday heat; then
followed notes cool and soft as the drip of summer showers on the
parched grass, and then the song of the blackbird, sounding as clearly
as it sounds in long silent spaces of the evening, and then in one
sweet jocund burst the multitudinous voices that hail the breaking of
the morn. And the lark, singing and soaring above the minstrel, sank
mute and motionless upon his shoulder, and from all the leafy woods
the birds came thronging out and formed a fluttering canopy above his
head.

When the bard ceased playing no shout arose from the mighty multitude,
for the strains of his harp, long after its chords were stilled, held
their hearts spell-bound.

And when he had passed away from the mound of contest all knew there
was no need to declare the victor.[12] And all were glad the comely
Fenian champion had maintained the supremacy of the bards of Erin. But
there was one heart sad, the heart of the princess; and now she wished
more than ever that she had never made her hateful vow.

Other contests went on, but Fergus took no interest in them; and once
more he stole away to the forest glade. His heart was sorrowful, for
he thought of the great race of the morning, and he knew that he could
not hope to compete with the rider of the white steed of the plains.
And as he lay beneath the spreading branches during the whole night
long his thoughts were not of the victory he had won, but of the
princess, who was as far away from him as ever. He passed the night
without sleep, and when the morning came he rose and walked aimlessly
through the woods.

A deer starting from a thicket reminded him of the happy days of his
boyhood, and once more the wish came back to him that he had never
left his forest home. As his eyes followed the deer wistfully,
suddenly he started in amazement. The deer vanished from view, and in
his stead was the wild horse of the mountains.

"I told you I'd do you a good turn," said the Pooka, "for the
kindness you and yours did me on that wild winter's night. The day is
passing. You have no time to lose. The white steed of the plains is
coming to the starting-post. Jump on my back, and remember, 'Faint
heart never won fair lady.'"

In half a second Fergus was bestride the Pooka, whose coat of shaggy
hair became at once as glossy as silk, and just at the very moment
when the king was about to declare there was no steed to compete with
the white steed of the plains, the Pooka with Fergus upon his back,
galloped up in front of the royal enclosure. When the people saw the
champion a thunderous shout rose up that startled the birds in the
skies, and sent them flying to the groves.

And in the ladies' enclosure was a rustle of many-coloured scarves
waving in the air. At the striking of the shields the contending
steeds rushed from the post with the swiftness of a swallow's flight.
But before the white steed of the plains had gone half-way round,
Fergus and the wild horse of the mountains had passed the winning
post, greeted by such cheers as had never before been heard on the
plains of Tara.

Fergus heard the cheers, but scarcely heeded them, for his heart went
out through his eyes that were fastened on the princess, and a wild
hope stirred him that his glance was not ungrateful to the loveliest
lady of the land.

And the princess was sad and sorry for her vow, for she believed that
it was beyond the power of Fergus to bring her a robe of all the
colours of the rainbow, so subtly woven as to fit in the palm of her
soft, white hand.

That night also Fergus went to the forest, not too sad, because there
was a vague hope in his heart that had never been there before. He lay
down under the branches, with his feet towards the rustling waters,
and the smiles of the princess gilded his slumbers, as the rays of the
rising sun gild the glades of the forest; and when the morning came he
was scarcely surprised when before him appeared the little old woman
with the shuttle he had welcomed on the winter's night.

"You think you have won her already," said the little woman. "And so
you have, too; her heart is all your own, and I'm half inclined to
think that my trouble will be thrown away, for if you had never a
wedding robe to give her, she'd rather have you this minute than all
the kings of Erin, or than all the other princes and kings and
chieftains in the whole world. But you and your father and mother were
kind to me on a wild winter's night, and I'd never see your mother's
son without a wedding robe fit for the greatest princess that ever
set nations to battle for her beauty. So go and pluck me a handful of
wild forest flowers, and I'll weave out of them a wedding robe with
all the colours of the rainbow, and one that will be as sweet and as
fragrant as the ripe, red lips of the princess herself."

Fergus, with joyous heart, culled the flowers, and brought them to the
little old woman.

In the twinkling of an eye she wove with her little shuttle a wedding
robe, with all the colours of the rainbow, as light as the fairy dew,
as soft as the hand of the princess, as fragrant as her little red
mouth, and so small that it would pass through the eye of a needle.

"Go now, Fergus," said she, "and may luck go with you; but, in the
days of your greatness and of the glory which will come to you when
you are wedded to the princess, be as kind, and have as open a heart
and as open a door for the poor as you had when you were only a poor
huntsman's son."

Fergus took the robe and went towards Tara. It was the last day of the
fair, and all the contests were over, and the bards were about to
chant the farewell strains to the memory of the great queen. But
before the chief bard could ascend the mound, Fergus, attended by a
troop of Fenian warriors on their steeds, galloped into the enclosure,
and rode up in front of the queen's pavilion. Holding up the glancing
and many-coloured robe, he said:

"O Queen and King of Erin! I claim the princess for my bride. You, O
king, have decided that I have won the prize in the contest of the
bards; that I have won the prize in the race against the white steed
of the plains; it is for the princess to say if the robe which I give
her will fit in the hollow of her small white hand."

"Yes," said the king. "You are victor in the contests; let the
princess declare if you have fulfilled the last condition."

The princess took the robe from Fergus, closed her fingers over it, so
that no vestige of it was seen.

"Yes, O king!" said she, "he has fulfilled the last condition; but
before ever he had fulfilled a single one of them, my heart went out
to the comely champion of the Feni. I was willing then, I am ready
now, to become the bride of the huntsman's son."

NOTES.

I.

_The Birds of the Mystic Lake._

The incident of the birds coming to the mystic lake is taken from "The
Voyage of Maildun," a translation of which is given in Joyce's Old
Celtic Romances. The operations of the birds were witnessed by Maildun
and his companions, who, in the course of their wanderings, had
arrived at the Isle of the Mystic Lake. One of Maildun's companions,
Diuran, on seeing the wonder, said to the others: "Let us bathe in the
lake, and we shall obtain a renewal of our youth like the birds."

But they said: "Not so, for the bird has left the poison of his old
age and decay in the water."

_Diuran_, however, plunged in, and swam about for some time; after
which he took a little of the water and mixed it in his mouth, and in
the end he swallowed a small quantity. He then came out perfectly
sound and whole, and remained so ever after as long as he lived. But
none of the others ventured in.

The return of the birds in the character of the cormorants of the
western seas and guardians of the lake does not occur in the old tale.
The oldest copy of the voyage is in the book of "The Dun Cow" (about
the year 1100). O'Curry says the voyage was undertaken about the year
700. It was made by Maildun in search of pirates who had slain his
father. The story is full of fancy.

II.

_The House in the Lake._

In the Irish annals lake dwellings, which were formerly common in
Ireland, are called _crannogs_, from crann, a tree, either because of
the timber framework of which the island was formed or of the wooden
huts erected thereon.

Some _crannogs_ appear to have been veritable islands, the only means
of communication with the land being canoes. Remains of these have
been frequently found near the dwelling, in some instances alongside
the landing stage, as if sunk at their moorings.

"Favourite sites for _crannogs_ were marshes, small loughs surrounded
by woods and large sheets of water. As providing good fishing grounds
the entrance to or exit of a stream from a lake was eagerly
selected."--"Lake Dwellings of Ireland," Col. Wood Martin, M.R.I.A.

III.

_Brian's Water-dress._

Brian, Ur, and Urcar, the three sons of Turenn, were Dedanaan chiefs.
They slew Kian, the father of Luga of the Long Arms, who was grandson
of Balor of the Evil Eye. Luga imposed an extraordinary eric fine on
the sons of Turenn, part of which was "the cooking-spit of the women
of Fincara." For a quarter of a year Brian and his brothers sailed
hither and thither over the wide ocean, landing on many shores,
seeking tidings of the Island of Fincara. At last they met a very old
man, who told them that the island lay deep down in the waters, having
been sunk beneath the waves by a spell in times long past.

Then Brian put on his water-dress, with his helmet of transparent
crystal on his head, telling his brothers to wait his return. He
leaped over the side of the ship, and sank at once out of sight. He
walked about for a fortnight down in the green salt sea, seeking for
the Island of Fincara, and at last he found it.

His brothers waited for him in the same spot the whole time, and when
he came not they began to fear he would return no more. At last they
were about to leave the place, when they saw the glitter of his
crystal helmet deep down in the water, and immediately after he came
to the surface with the cooking-spit in his hand.--"Old Celtic
Romances" (Joyce), p. 87.

IV.

_The Palace of the Little Cat._

The description of the rows of jewels ranged round the wall of the
palace of the Little Cat is taken from "The Voyage of Maildun."--See
Note I.

V.

_Liban the Mermaid._

Liban was the daughter of Ecca, son of Mario, King of Munster. Ecca,
having conquered the lordship of the half of Ulster, settled down with
his people in the plain of the Grey Copse, which is now covered by the
waters of Lough Necca, now Lough Neagh. A magic well had sprung up in
the plain, and not being properly looked after by the woman in charge
of it, its waters burst forth over the plain, drowning Ecca and nearly
all his family. Liban, although swept away like the others, was not
drowned. She lived for a whole year, with her lap-dog, in a chamber
beneath the lake, and God protected her from the water. At the end of
that time she was weary, and when she saw the speckled salmon swimming
and playing all round her, she prayed to be changed into a salmon that
she might swim with the others through the green, salt sea. Her prayer
was granted; she took the shape of a salmon, except her face and
breast, which did not change. And her lap-dog was changed into an
otter, and attended her afterwards whithersoever she went as long as
she lived in the sea.

It is nearly eight hundred years ago since the story was transcribed
from some old authority into the Book of the Dun Cow, the oldest
manuscript of Gaelic literature we possess.--Joyce's "Old Celtic
Romances," p. 97.

VI.

_The Fairy Tree of Dooros._

The forest of Dooros was in the district of Hy Fiera of the Moy (now
the barony of Tireragh, in Sligo).

On a certain occasion the Dedanns, returning from a hurling match with
the Feni, passed through the forest, carrying with them for food
during the journey crimson nuts, and arbutus apples, and scarlet
quicken-berries, which they had brought from the Land of Promise. One
of the quicken-berries dropped on the earth, and the Dedanns passed on
not heeding.

From this berry a great quicken-tree sprang up, which had the virtues
of the quicken-trees that grow in fairyland. Its berries had the taste
of honey, and those who ate of them felt a cheerful glow, as if they
had drunk of wine or old mead, and if a man were even a hundred years
old he returned to the age of thirty as soon as he had eaten three of
them.

The Dedanns having heard of this tree, and not wishing that anyone
should eat of the berries but themselves, sent a giant of their own
people to guard it, namely, Sharvan the Surly, of Lochlann.--"The
Pursuit of Diarmuid and Grania," "Old Celtic Romances," p. 313
(Joyce).

VII.

_Prince Cuglas._

In the list of the historic tales mentioned in the Book of Leinster,
and which is given in O'Curry's appendix to his "Lectures on the MSS.
Materials of Ancient Irish History," "The Cave of the Road of Cuglas"
finds place. O'Curry has the following note:--

"Cuglas was the son of Donn Desa, King of Leinster, and master of the
hounds to the monarch Conairé Mor. Having one day followed the chase
from Tara to this road, the chase suddenly disappeared in a cave, into
which he followed, and was _never seen after_. Hence the cave was
called _Uaimh Bealach Conglais_, or the cave of the road of Cuglas
(now Baltinglass, in the County of Wicklow). It is about this cave,
nevertheless, that so many of our pretended Irish antiquarians have
written so much nonsense in connection with some imaginary pagan
worship to which they gravely assure the world, on etymological
authority, the spot was devoted. The authority for the legend of
Cuglas is the _Dinnoean Chus_ on the place _Bealach Conglais_ (Book of
Lecain). The full tale has not come down to us."

VIII.

_The Herald._

"Here comes a single champion towards us, O _Cuchulain_," said _Laegh_
(Cuchulain's charioteer). "What sort of a champion is he?" said
_Cuchulain_. "A brown-haired, broad faced, beautiful youth; a splendid
brown cloak on him; a bright bronze spear-like brooch fastening his
cloak. A full and well-fitting shirt to his skin. Two firm shoes
between his two feet and the ground. A hand-staff of white hazel in
one hand of his; a single-edged sword with a sea-horse hilt in his
other hand." "Good, my lad," said _Cuchulain_; "these are the tokens
of a herald."--Description of the herald _MacRoath_ in the story of
the Tain bo Chuailgné.--O'Curry's "Manners and Customs of the Ancient
Irish," Vol. II., p. 301.

IX.

_Golden Bells._

In O'Curry's "Lectures on the Manners and Customs of the Ancient
Irish" are several dazzling descriptions of cavalcades taken from the
old tales. Silver and golden bells are frequently mentioned as part of
the horse furniture.

X.

_The Wild People of the Glen._

"And then he put on his helmet of battle and of combat and of
fighting, from every recess and from every angle of which issued the
shout as it were of an hundred warriors; because it was alike that
woman of the valley (_de bananaig_), and hobgoblins (_bacanaig_), _and
wild people of the glen (geinti glindi)_, and demons of the air
(_demna acoir_), shouted in front of it, and in rear of it, and over
it, and around it, wherever he went, at the spurting of blood, and of
heroes upon it."

Description of Cuchulain's helmet in the story of The _Tain bo
Chuailgné_.--"O'Curry's Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish,"
Vol. II., p. 301.

XI.

_The Fair of Tara._

"The great fairs anciently held in Ireland were not like their modern
representatives, mere markets, but were assemblies of the people to
celebrate funeral games, and other religious rites; during pagan times
to hold parliaments, promulgate laws, listen to the recitation of
tales and poems, engage in or witness contests in feats of arms,
horse-racing, and other popular games. They were analogous in many
ways to the Olympian and other celebrated games of ancient Greece.

"These assemblies were regulated by a strict by-law, a breach of which
was punishable by death. Women were especially protected, a certain
place being set apart for their exclusive use, as a place was set
apart at one side of the lists of mediæval tournaments for the Queen
of Beauty and the other ladies.

"At the opening of the assembly there was always a solemn proclamation
of peace, and the king who held the fair awarded prizes to the most
successful poets, musicians, and professors and masters of every
art."--See Dr. Sullivan's "Introduction to O'Curry's Lectures."

XII.

_The Contest of the Bards._

"The three musical feats of the _Daghda_, a celebrated Dedanann chief
and Druid, were the _Suantraighe_, which from its deep murmuring
caused sleep. The _Goltraighe_, which from its meltive plaintiveness
caused weeping, and the Goltraighe, which from its merriment caused
laughter.

"_Bose_, the great Norse harper, could give on his harp the
Gyarslager, or stroke of the sea gods, which produced mermaids'
music."--O'Curry's Lectures.

Transcriber's Notes:

    Typographical problems have been changed and are listed below.
    Author's archaic and variable spelling is preserved.
    Author's punctuation style is preserved.
    Passages in italics indicated by _underscores_.

Transcriber's Changes:

    his own motion, with scarce a word of encouragement[** Was
    'encourage ment' over line break]

    myself before that day. Then the king[** Was 'King'] asked

    the door. Around, outside[** Was 'ouside'] the hut, on a level
    with

    name," said the cat,[** Changed '.' to ','] "I am a friend of
    yours,

    Princess Kathleen, and you can either go or stay."[** Added
    closing double-quote]

    beneath the waters.[** Changed ',' to '.'] The white steed pulled
    up

    "Don't be frightened, little man," said he,[** Added comma] "and

    darkness. Cuglas[** Was 'Cuglass'] could hear ahead of him the

    "You are welcome, Cuglas[** Was 'Cuglass']," said the queen, as

    could run so lightly that the rotten twigs[** Was 'twigg'] should

    world, on etymological[** Was 'entymological'] authority, the spot
    was devoted.

    the story of the Tain bo Chuailgné[** Was 'Chuaillgné'].--O'Curry's
    "Manners

    the Ancient Irish" are several dazzling descriptions of
    cavalcades[** Was 'calvacades']

    of it, and in rear of it,[** Added comma] and over it, and around
    it, wherever he

    and other popular games. They were analogous[** Was 'analagous']
    in many ways

    "These[** Added opening double-quote] assemblies were regulated by
    a strict by-law, a breach

    "At[** Added opening double-quote] the opening of the assembly
    there was always a solemn

    "_Bose_[** Added opening double-quote], the great Norse harper,
    could give on his harp the