oman on the edge
of the crowd, a lady ... She came nearer, as though hypnotized ...

The country bard stopped suddenly, exalted, and swung dramatically into
Gaelic ... Dropping the alien tongue he seemed to have dropped
fetters.... His voice rose to a paean ... he took on stature ... he
looked straight in the eye of the sun ... And for Shane the clamor of
the drovers ceased ... And there was the plucked note of harpers ... And
fires of ancient oak ... and wolf-dogs sleeping on skins of elk ... And
there was a wasted place in the twilight, and grass through a split
hearthstone ... And a warrior-poet, beaten, thinking bitter under the
stars ...

_Do threasgar an saoghal agas do thainic an gaoth mar smal--
Alastrom, Caesar, 's an mead do bhi da bpairt;
Ta an Teamhair na fear agas feach an Traoi mar ta!
'S na Sasanaigh fein, do b' fheidir go bhfaigh dis bas!_

A voice spoke excitedly, imperiously to Shane:

"What is he saying? Do you know Gaelic?"

"I'm afraid I've forgotten my Gaelic, but I know this song."

"Then what is it? Please tell me. I must know."

"He says:

"The world conquers them all. The wind whirls like dust.
Alexander, Caesar, and the companies whom they led.
Tara is grass, and see how Troy is now!
And the English themselves, even they may die."

"How great!" she said. "How very great!" She turned to Shane, and as he
saw the dark imperious face, he knew intuitively he was speaking to the
Woman of Tusa hErin. She seemed puzzled for an instant. Something in
Shane's clothes, his carriage ...

"You don't look as if you understood Gaelic? How is it you can translate
this poem?"

"I knew it as a boy. My father was a Gaelic poet."

"Then you are Shane Campbell."

"And you are the woman of Tusa hErin!"

"You know Tusa hErin?"

"I know every blade of grass in the glens."

"If you are ever near Tusa hErin, come and see me."

"I should like to."

"Will you really?"

"Yes."

She left him as abruptly as she spoke to him, going over to the
ballad-monger. She left him a little dazed ... He was aware of vitality
... He was like a man on a wintry day who experiences a sudden shaft of
warm sun, or somebody in quiet darkness whose eye is caught by the
rising of the moon.

Section 6

As in a story from some old unsubtle book, in passing the gates of Tusa
hErin, he had gone into another world, a grave and courteous world, not
antique--that was not the word, but just older ... A c