quering. Nevertheless, the men and women who loved him pleaded and implored him, and for two days they kept him from fighting, but only with difficulty. They had the help of the sweetest singers and the most noble poets. The women danced in their loveliest dresses before him; the poets chanted for him poems that made words stronger and more beautiful than anything else in the world of men or Nature; the melodies of the singers must have been woven by magic, because they were as pure and sweet as flowers, and yet they were full of the feeling which is in the speech of mothers, of children, of friends, and of lovers, So Cohoolin sat down, and they tempted him with wine and delicious food. But they could never be sure that the dance, or poem, or song, or wine would not excite him to do exactly what they wished him not to do. At one moment these things soothed him, at another they stirred him. He listened to a song, and his thoughts became happy, but gradually floated away altogether from the cause of the song, and he would stand and look as if King Ere of Tara were within a sword's length of him.
One maiden sang about the hosts of faery. They carry white shields with devices of silver, glittering swords and mighty blue horns. Their bands of pale curly-headed warriors march amid blue spears before their fair chieftain. They scatter their enemies, and every land they invade they leave desolate. It is no wonder their strength is great, for they are all sons of queens and kings; they have manes of beautiful golden-yellow upon their heads, smooth comely bodies, teeth like crystal, and fine red lips. They are good at slaughter; they make good songs, and sing them sweetly; and they are clever at games of skill. At the sound of the word 'horns', Cohoolin's mind began to travel joyfully through
